CNN (that's right, the leading cable news channel in the country) has been chattering on for fifteen minutes now on the topic of Armageddon and its apparently imminent coming.
You read that right. Wolf Blitzer, on what could be considered prime time (it's 5:30 in the evening) is holding serious discussion about the Biblical ramifications of the most recent "spate" of natural disasters. No less an intellectual giant than Jerry Falwell himself was on, telling us that the two Gulf Coast hurricanes and the earthquake in Pakistan represent but a few of the many "birth pangs" foretold in the Book of Revelation, signaling the imminent return of Jesus. The 72-year old preacher, looking more porcine than ever, happily proclaimed that he thought it probable that Jesus would return in his lifetime.
Moments prior, in the same segment, Franklin Graham (son and heir of the famous Billy) seemed to imply that it was no accident that New Orleans was destroyed by hurricanes, since the city has a long history of sinful activities like Mardi Gras and voodoo. (Never mind that the tradition of Mardi Gras is much older than New Orleans, it being an unofficial celebration among Catholics on the day before Ash Wednesday, one last hurrah before the self-imposed hardship and sacrifice of Lent.)
So New Orleans is the Sodom of our times, and its destruction was a signal from God that he doesn't like jazz, wild parades, or college students getting crunked and topless in exchange for plastic beads. But if God destroyed N'awlins as a lesson to the rest of us sinners, then why are we bothering to save anyone, or even talking about this as a tragedy? Wake up, America. GOD. IS. PISSED.
Oh, wait. Here's why: The vast majority of us aren't so completely unhinged as to believe this claptrap about divine retribution. A hurricane hit New Orleans. They form out in the Atlantic from the swirling winds of a tropical depression. This phenomenon is just a freak of the weather in that region of the world. It may be incredibly complicated, but it's just physics. These storms tend to move with the prevailing winds, and unfortunately, the 11th storm of the season, "Katrina," ended up making landfall right smack into New Orleans. For a variety of reasons (that can be summed up by "BushCo fucked up"), a whole lot of people couldn't get out in time and died when the levees broke. It was a horrific event. All natural disasters are. In fact, as human beings, we tend to want there to be some greater meaning because we can't really fathom so much death and destruction.
That's why we created religion in the first place - to supply these explanations. It doesn't make them any less inadequate. Realistically, there is no cosmic reason these disasters happened. A lot of people just happened to be living in the way of some nasty stuff Nature threw at them. But it's emotionally easier to bear for a whole lot of people, and if you feel better being a believer, go for it. Just don't go mistaking the belief for truth. More importantly, don't ever try force-feeding it to anyone else.
I'm sure that we'll soon be treated to some more excrement about the significance of the Pakistani earthquake - God's punishment for being poor, Muslim, and within 500 miles of Osama.
A few final thoughts - why the hell are these wackjobs even given airtime? Do they really represent that significant a portion of our population? If not, then when did our news media lose the balls to call these people ridiculous, and instead feel the need to have a dedicated "faith and values" correspondent? (And, I won't start because this rant is too long, faith and values are not always the same thing. In fact they seem to rarely go hand-in-hand, at least among the people who hoot the loudest about having deeply held "faith and values.") On the other hand, if a bunch of America really does agree with these bastards, then my only question is this: Can I get a few bucks from you to help pay my application fee for Canadian citizenship?
Monday, October 10, 2005
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Smiling Like a Butcher's Dog
It’s Sunday morning. My eyes are red. My head hurts. What’s left of my voice is hoarse and raspy. A rough Saturday night on the town? Sort of, but probably not in the way you’re thinking of. Last night, Zavo, our buddy Karasic and I were among the 17,000 plus fans lucky enough to attend the Penguins home opener.
Walking into the arena, I was struck by the number of fans wearing Penguins jerseys. Given the events of the last few months, this was one of the hottest tickets in all of sports. Deep down, I was worried that the Penguins games were gonna go NBA, and become a social status thing. You know the deal, people in the best seats who are only at the game because their company has season tickets. Even then, they’re more interested in being seen on television than in who’s playing. Good first returns on avoiding this in the arena this season.
(The best jersey of the night, by far, was a guy wearing Lemiuex’s Laval Voisins throwback from juniors. Great stuff.)
We got to our seats in E section about 45 minutes before game time. It was at an odd angle, but we had a pretty good view of the ice. A couple years ago, we had unknowingly bought partially obstructed view seats for a game against the Senators. You could see just enough of the ice to make out what was going on, but the scoreboard and the corners at the opposite end of the ice were completely blocked. Given how late we bought our tickets for last night’s game, I was pretty sure we were looking at a similar situation. Had this happened, there’s no doubt Sidney Crosby’s first NHL goal would have come from one of these corners.
The pre-game stuff was pretty cool. I generally have low expectations for these things, but I was pleased last night. There was a nice video montage of the Penguins history, buttressed around the idea of a grandfather relating the story to his grandson. I even got a little chill when the old guy wrapped up the video with “I have a feeling that the best part of this story is yet to come.” The moment was quickly broken by Karasic doing an impersonation of Mario Lemieux.
(Every opportunity we get, Karasic and I whip out the impersonation we do of Mario Lemieux. We get a kick out of the idea of this mild-mannered French Canadian bossing people around. Over the years, he’s kind of grown into this megalomaniacal asshole, only interested in telling people what to do. A couple of years ago, the team didn’t sign any players in the off-season, but instead brought in cheerleaders and a pre-game lights show. This can’t be done justice in print but the impersonation went something like this “Hey Craig, forget about…uh…resigning Kovy. I…uh…just want to make sure…uh…we have enough money for…uh…tits and lasers, eh.” It’s juvenile but even writing about it right now it cracks me up.)
Finally, at around 7:30 they dropped the puck. It was a crazy game, and there’s no way I could do it justice with a blow-by-blow account. Still, there are plenty of moments that will stick with me. Like…
…Being scared to death in the opening two minutes. Boston’s offense was flying and the home team looked tense and stiff. Had the Bruins scored that quickly it might have shot the Penguins confidence, and likely would have taken the crowd out of the game. Sebastian Caron didn’t make many good saves, but those two in the opening minute were huge. There was some serious blow-out potential.
…The number of penalties called on both sides. I know Gary Bettman was in attendance, but 16 total calls gives me hope they may be serious about cracking down on obstruction this time. I remember wincing through so many non-calls during the height of the trap era you’d have thought I had a twitch. If anything, last night they may have called too many pen—forget it, I’m not even gonna say it.
…Palffy breaking in all alone three minutes into the game. So often during the last two or three years, the Pens would have an odd man break and you’d start to get excited about. Then slowly you’d realize, about the time the shot sailed over the goal, that Matt Hussey isn’t exactly a “game breaker.” It was nice to realize it was Palffy on the break, and to top it off he absolutely buried the shot.
… The face Karasic made after the second period. At the intermission, we’d already seen two breakaways, 10 goals, 12 power plays and about 600 defensive break downs by the Penguins. He looked like he’d just gotten off a Zero-G flight. After about two minutes of dead silence he just mutters, “I can’t believe we have to go through this for twenty more minutes.”
…Lemieux. What more can be said about Le Magnifique? Every hockey fan should see him play in person once before they die. Even someone who’s never seen a hockey game before could tell he’s the best player on the ice. He’s everywhere, making tape-to-tape passes, breaking up an odd man rush, crashing the net at just the right time. It used to be Lemieux scored most of his goals by getting a step on his man and the taking it off to the races. Now he scores a lot of goals based on vision and pure hockey sense. Both lamps last night came on plays where he snuck in behind the defense, read the puck correctly and poked it into a wide open net
…Joe Thornton missing a wide open net during a 5-on-3 power play late in the first period. I mean he absolutely whiffed on the shot. This is memorable if only because it allowed me to taunt him for the rest of the power play. Every time Boston set-up I would scream “Give the puck to Thornton!” followed by a chorus of “shank, shank, shank…” whenever his teammates threw it his way. Again it’s not as funny in print, but it amused me at the time.
…The “Blue Line Band,” local musicians, who look like parents in a John Hughes movie, hired by the team to play music in between periods. If you want Pittsburgh’s cultural scene summed up, come take a look at these guys. They rattled out off-key versions of “Peg” “Domino” and “Superstition” (all released before 1980) to booming applause from the grateful crowd.
…Sidney Crosby. Wow. Talk about a flair for The Moment. A great beginning for the phenom from Cole Harbour, who got his first (of what should be several thousand) standing ovations from the home crowd last night. It’s funny though, it’s not the ovation or the pass he made to Brooks Orpik in the second period (that prompted Orpik to say “If I don’t bury that, I need to find a new career”), that I’ll remember most fondly. It’s not even his first NHL goal, which, for the record, happened right in front of us. Rather, it was his reaction to the goal that I’ll take away. As the goal light flashed Crosby skated backwards to the boards, completely in awe of the moment for a second, before letting out a high-pitched “Yeahhhhhhh!!!!” In that moment, he wasn’t “the next Gretzky” or “the Superstar” or “the Chosen One,” no, right then he was just an 18 year-old kid who scored a big goal.
….Not feeling safe at all with a 6-4 lead and thirteen minutes to play. The Penguins fired blanks on two power play opportunities to open the third period. As time expired on the second one, I remember thinking that they may have just blown the game. I guess when your defensive rotation includes Josef Melichar, Rob Scuderi and Steve Poapst (guys more suited for March of the Penguins than the Pittsburgh Penguins) you have every right to be afraid.
I have a confession. I’ll probably remember having my fears justified, and the Penguins blowing the lead, losing 7-6 in OT. When the Bruins scored the game winning goal, I was crushed. I cursed. I kicked my seat. I wanted to bolt from the arena as quickly as possible. Another Pittsburgh sports near miss, in a decade of near misses. I was even preparing to hash out an entry where I talked about the rotten luck Pittsburgh teams have had since the last Stanley Cup win in 1992. This game was going to buttress my argument.
But a funny thing happened when I woke up this morning. The loss didn’t sting as much anymore. All the storybook things that went right rushed through my head. Two goals for Lemieux. Three points, and a first NHL goal for Crosby. Palffy burying a breakaway. The return of Mark Recchi. It was a good night, no a great night, and one that an OT loss in the third game of the season can ruin.
Walking out of Mellon Arena last night, we spotted a couple walking side-by-side. She was in a Lemieux jersey and he was decked out in a #77 Ray Bourque jersey. It was pretty ironic given how often Lemieux had made Ray Bourque look like a turnstile throughout their respective careers. As the crowd got more congested, he stepped back and let his wife or girlfriend walk in front of him. Trudging towards the escalator, she remained a few paces ahead. Inspired, I called out “hey look, there’s something new, Lemieux’s got a step on Bourque!” I couldn’t have said that a year ago. A team that loses more than forty games and finishes with the lowest point total in the league doesn’t give you the right to say things like that. But last night, it was okay again. Win or lose, the Penguins were back.
Walking into the arena, I was struck by the number of fans wearing Penguins jerseys. Given the events of the last few months, this was one of the hottest tickets in all of sports. Deep down, I was worried that the Penguins games were gonna go NBA, and become a social status thing. You know the deal, people in the best seats who are only at the game because their company has season tickets. Even then, they’re more interested in being seen on television than in who’s playing. Good first returns on avoiding this in the arena this season.
(The best jersey of the night, by far, was a guy wearing Lemiuex’s Laval Voisins throwback from juniors. Great stuff.)
We got to our seats in E section about 45 minutes before game time. It was at an odd angle, but we had a pretty good view of the ice. A couple years ago, we had unknowingly bought partially obstructed view seats for a game against the Senators. You could see just enough of the ice to make out what was going on, but the scoreboard and the corners at the opposite end of the ice were completely blocked. Given how late we bought our tickets for last night’s game, I was pretty sure we were looking at a similar situation. Had this happened, there’s no doubt Sidney Crosby’s first NHL goal would have come from one of these corners.
The pre-game stuff was pretty cool. I generally have low expectations for these things, but I was pleased last night. There was a nice video montage of the Penguins history, buttressed around the idea of a grandfather relating the story to his grandson. I even got a little chill when the old guy wrapped up the video with “I have a feeling that the best part of this story is yet to come.” The moment was quickly broken by Karasic doing an impersonation of Mario Lemieux.
(Every opportunity we get, Karasic and I whip out the impersonation we do of Mario Lemieux. We get a kick out of the idea of this mild-mannered French Canadian bossing people around. Over the years, he’s kind of grown into this megalomaniacal asshole, only interested in telling people what to do. A couple of years ago, the team didn’t sign any players in the off-season, but instead brought in cheerleaders and a pre-game lights show. This can’t be done justice in print but the impersonation went something like this “Hey Craig, forget about…uh…resigning Kovy. I…uh…just want to make sure…uh…we have enough money for…uh…tits and lasers, eh.” It’s juvenile but even writing about it right now it cracks me up.)
Finally, at around 7:30 they dropped the puck. It was a crazy game, and there’s no way I could do it justice with a blow-by-blow account. Still, there are plenty of moments that will stick with me. Like…
…Being scared to death in the opening two minutes. Boston’s offense was flying and the home team looked tense and stiff. Had the Bruins scored that quickly it might have shot the Penguins confidence, and likely would have taken the crowd out of the game. Sebastian Caron didn’t make many good saves, but those two in the opening minute were huge. There was some serious blow-out potential.
…The number of penalties called on both sides. I know Gary Bettman was in attendance, but 16 total calls gives me hope they may be serious about cracking down on obstruction this time. I remember wincing through so many non-calls during the height of the trap era you’d have thought I had a twitch. If anything, last night they may have called too many pen—forget it, I’m not even gonna say it.
…Palffy breaking in all alone three minutes into the game. So often during the last two or three years, the Pens would have an odd man break and you’d start to get excited about. Then slowly you’d realize, about the time the shot sailed over the goal, that Matt Hussey isn’t exactly a “game breaker.” It was nice to realize it was Palffy on the break, and to top it off he absolutely buried the shot.
… The face Karasic made after the second period. At the intermission, we’d already seen two breakaways, 10 goals, 12 power plays and about 600 defensive break downs by the Penguins. He looked like he’d just gotten off a Zero-G flight. After about two minutes of dead silence he just mutters, “I can’t believe we have to go through this for twenty more minutes.”
…Lemieux. What more can be said about Le Magnifique? Every hockey fan should see him play in person once before they die. Even someone who’s never seen a hockey game before could tell he’s the best player on the ice. He’s everywhere, making tape-to-tape passes, breaking up an odd man rush, crashing the net at just the right time. It used to be Lemieux scored most of his goals by getting a step on his man and the taking it off to the races. Now he scores a lot of goals based on vision and pure hockey sense. Both lamps last night came on plays where he snuck in behind the defense, read the puck correctly and poked it into a wide open net
…Joe Thornton missing a wide open net during a 5-on-3 power play late in the first period. I mean he absolutely whiffed on the shot. This is memorable if only because it allowed me to taunt him for the rest of the power play. Every time Boston set-up I would scream “Give the puck to Thornton!” followed by a chorus of “shank, shank, shank…” whenever his teammates threw it his way. Again it’s not as funny in print, but it amused me at the time.
…The “Blue Line Band,” local musicians, who look like parents in a John Hughes movie, hired by the team to play music in between periods. If you want Pittsburgh’s cultural scene summed up, come take a look at these guys. They rattled out off-key versions of “Peg” “Domino” and “Superstition” (all released before 1980) to booming applause from the grateful crowd.
…Sidney Crosby. Wow. Talk about a flair for The Moment. A great beginning for the phenom from Cole Harbour, who got his first (of what should be several thousand) standing ovations from the home crowd last night. It’s funny though, it’s not the ovation or the pass he made to Brooks Orpik in the second period (that prompted Orpik to say “If I don’t bury that, I need to find a new career”), that I’ll remember most fondly. It’s not even his first NHL goal, which, for the record, happened right in front of us. Rather, it was his reaction to the goal that I’ll take away. As the goal light flashed Crosby skated backwards to the boards, completely in awe of the moment for a second, before letting out a high-pitched “Yeahhhhhhh!!!!” In that moment, he wasn’t “the next Gretzky” or “the Superstar” or “the Chosen One,” no, right then he was just an 18 year-old kid who scored a big goal.
….Not feeling safe at all with a 6-4 lead and thirteen minutes to play. The Penguins fired blanks on two power play opportunities to open the third period. As time expired on the second one, I remember thinking that they may have just blown the game. I guess when your defensive rotation includes Josef Melichar, Rob Scuderi and Steve Poapst (guys more suited for March of the Penguins than the Pittsburgh Penguins) you have every right to be afraid.
I have a confession. I’ll probably remember having my fears justified, and the Penguins blowing the lead, losing 7-6 in OT. When the Bruins scored the game winning goal, I was crushed. I cursed. I kicked my seat. I wanted to bolt from the arena as quickly as possible. Another Pittsburgh sports near miss, in a decade of near misses. I was even preparing to hash out an entry where I talked about the rotten luck Pittsburgh teams have had since the last Stanley Cup win in 1992. This game was going to buttress my argument.
But a funny thing happened when I woke up this morning. The loss didn’t sting as much anymore. All the storybook things that went right rushed through my head. Two goals for Lemieux. Three points, and a first NHL goal for Crosby. Palffy burying a breakaway. The return of Mark Recchi. It was a good night, no a great night, and one that an OT loss in the third game of the season can ruin.
Walking out of Mellon Arena last night, we spotted a couple walking side-by-side. She was in a Lemieux jersey and he was decked out in a #77 Ray Bourque jersey. It was pretty ironic given how often Lemieux had made Ray Bourque look like a turnstile throughout their respective careers. As the crowd got more congested, he stepped back and let his wife or girlfriend walk in front of him. Trudging towards the escalator, she remained a few paces ahead. Inspired, I called out “hey look, there’s something new, Lemieux’s got a step on Bourque!” I couldn’t have said that a year ago. A team that loses more than forty games and finishes with the lowest point total in the league doesn’t give you the right to say things like that. But last night, it was okay again. Win or lose, the Penguins were back.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
10 Observations and Thoughts from a Wedding in West Pittsburgh
Tonight I attended the wedding of a family friend. It was you're pretty standard deal: about 150 people; ceremony in a church at 3:30; reception right after at a community center a few miles away. Here, without the benefit of a night's sleep are my random notes and observations from the evening.
---Instead of communion cups, the eucharist gift from the church to the newly married couple should be Target cards.
---"Wedding Crashers" seriously messed up some people's game. Before, when an older guy danced with a toddler, he was "good with kids" and "sensitive and sweet." Now he "probably hasn't been laid in a while and is trying way too hard."
---I don't know if it says more about me or my good friend from high school, that, I think the happiest profession he could have in life would be as a drummer in a wedding band.
---Speaking of which, Phil, if you ever figure out the above, please remember if it's 20 minutes after dinner and the bar is still open, playing a "Smashmouth" cover isn't the answer to getting people on the dance floor.
---When the groom's sister is older than the bride and still single, you really need to keep an eye on her. At the reception, said sister alternated between trips to the bar for another Mike's Hard Lemonade, and locking onto new targets at whom to throw herself. At one time or another she pursued: the best man, the bartender, the bride's 17 year-old younger brother, the band's lead singer, her college friend's father (who looked like he'd just won the power ball, until his wife spotted him) and the priest who performed the nuptials. I'm kidding about the last one, but I would bet anything he was next on the list. The clincher though, was when the sister found a single guy around her age with enough alcohol and lost inhibitions that he responded to her vibes. The two of them were grinding pretty hot and heavy to "Celebration" and "Loveshack." She might have actually gotten lucky had the hard lemonade's not caught up with her. There was actually a moment where you could see her trying to hold it in, knowing both booting in front of everyone or the dash to the ladies room would kill her momentum with this guy. Eventually, she gave up and made the dash, but the look on her face during that moment of decision was priceless.
---There's nothing creepier than being 22 years old, 5 or 6 drinks deep and the only guy on the dance floor with 15 women who remember when Chubby Checker's "The Twist" was actually a hit on the billboard charts.
---I love how at 3:30 a girl can is crossing herself and kneeling in church and at 10:30 is humping the dance floor to Miami Sound Machine.
---New wedding game to play. Try to pick out the couple where both members will have too much to drink and end up in a screaming match where they hash out there relationship issues in front of all the guests. Seriously all the talk of commitment and holy matrimony in the air makes couples on the edge bring their issues to the surface. The free booze brings down the inhibitions just enough that a public fight is inevitable.
---Here's a tip for the game. If the older sister of the groom is in a relationship bet on her. If she's single, bet on the girl who ends up humping the floor.
---I think I'm going to elope.
---Instead of communion cups, the eucharist gift from the church to the newly married couple should be Target cards.
---"Wedding Crashers" seriously messed up some people's game. Before, when an older guy danced with a toddler, he was "good with kids" and "sensitive and sweet." Now he "probably hasn't been laid in a while and is trying way too hard."
---I don't know if it says more about me or my good friend from high school, that, I think the happiest profession he could have in life would be as a drummer in a wedding band.
---Speaking of which, Phil, if you ever figure out the above, please remember if it's 20 minutes after dinner and the bar is still open, playing a "Smashmouth" cover isn't the answer to getting people on the dance floor.
---When the groom's sister is older than the bride and still single, you really need to keep an eye on her. At the reception, said sister alternated between trips to the bar for another Mike's Hard Lemonade, and locking onto new targets at whom to throw herself. At one time or another she pursued: the best man, the bartender, the bride's 17 year-old younger brother, the band's lead singer, her college friend's father (who looked like he'd just won the power ball, until his wife spotted him) and the priest who performed the nuptials. I'm kidding about the last one, but I would bet anything he was next on the list. The clincher though, was when the sister found a single guy around her age with enough alcohol and lost inhibitions that he responded to her vibes. The two of them were grinding pretty hot and heavy to "Celebration" and "Loveshack." She might have actually gotten lucky had the hard lemonade's not caught up with her. There was actually a moment where you could see her trying to hold it in, knowing both booting in front of everyone or the dash to the ladies room would kill her momentum with this guy. Eventually, she gave up and made the dash, but the look on her face during that moment of decision was priceless.
---There's nothing creepier than being 22 years old, 5 or 6 drinks deep and the only guy on the dance floor with 15 women who remember when Chubby Checker's "The Twist" was actually a hit on the billboard charts.
---I love how at 3:30 a girl can is crossing herself and kneeling in church and at 10:30 is humping the dance floor to Miami Sound Machine.
---New wedding game to play. Try to pick out the couple where both members will have too much to drink and end up in a screaming match where they hash out there relationship issues in front of all the guests. Seriously all the talk of commitment and holy matrimony in the air makes couples on the edge bring their issues to the surface. The free booze brings down the inhibitions just enough that a public fight is inevitable.
---Here's a tip for the game. If the older sister of the groom is in a relationship bet on her. If she's single, bet on the girl who ends up humping the floor.
---I think I'm going to elope.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
More on Mushmouth
I was at that game with Andy, and I tend to enjoy watching BP from those seats whenever I'm at PNC Park. The guy stands there waiting for balls every single day, along with his two friends:
- Balding, Ugly Man-child (who seems to do nothing useful except get his back whenever the rest of the section boos him for mauling some poor soul with a ball). This guy looks exactly like every eager 9-year-old with his Little League glove, except he's got to be at least 5 times their age. Still he stands there, bright-eyed and anxious, hoping a ball comes his way. Actually at this particular game, he legitimately caught one of Pujols' other BP bombs to our section. Good for him.
- Hairy Opposition Guy (who's always sitting in the far corner of the right-center field section, decked out in the opposing team's gear and a dizzying array of esoteric gadgets on a toolbelt) This Sasquatch lookalike seems to love antagonizing us Pirate fans. The outfit of the day was a McGwire jersey. How very current. He also seemed to know the kid in the full Yankee uniform (why would you wear Yankees schwag to a Pirates-Cardinals game?).
Friday, September 02, 2005
Lyle Odelein
The Penguins came to terms with defenseman Lyle Odelein today. During the 1999 playoffs, when Odelein was on the Devils, he was part of one of the top 10 moments in Pens history. In an attempt to psych the Odelein out, Pens winger Matthew Barnaby told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette that Odelein's face resembled Dr. Cornelius from Planet of the Apes. When asked for a response, Odelein said that Barnaby's wife was "god-awful to look at." I give Barnaby the nod on this one. Tremendous stuff, just tremendous.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
A couple years ago, Sports Illustrated ran an article about the courtdispute over Barry Bonds' 73rd home run ball. The two guys, eachsuing the other for sole ownership, both had compelling claims to theball. As Bonds' blast headed for the right centerfield bleachers Guy#1 positioned himself above the crowd and caught the ball on the fly,for a brief instant holding it firmly in his glove. Instantly though,he was overwhelmed by the anxious and rowdy by-standers, with a scrum ensuing. Eventually, Guy #2 emerged from the bottom of the pile clutching the ball close to his chest. Security arrived, escorting Guy #2 to safety.
It's not a complete shock that Guy #1 sued for rights to the ball. In 1998, Phil Ozersky sold Mark McGwire's 70th home run ball for over a million dollars, easily one of the more profitable memorabilia exchanges. The case over the Bonds ball dragged on for years, going through several levels of hearings. In 2004, a judge ruled the ball had to be put up for auction with the two men splitting the profits. Unfortunatley for them, while the case was in court, the economy collapsed, an MLB steroids scandal was exposed and the memorabilia market hit the skids. When the ball was finally sold, it profited each man around $200,000, barely enough to cover their lawyers fees.
Someone in Pittsburgh must have missed the memo. In PNC Park, my favorite seats, for the money are the right center field "outfield reserve" bleachers. For $17 you get a good view of the strike zone, and a great perspective on any fly ball hit to the outfield. Until a couple weeks ago, it was hard for me to find any draw back to the location. At the game that night, I was witness to some of the most ridiculous and stupid fan behavior that I've ever seen at a baseball game.
For the game against St. Louis, my friends and I got the the park about 90 minutes before game time. With the Cardinals collection of sluggers, batting practice figured to be a show worth seeing. As we sat down, I recognized a familiar face. There was a slightly built guy mustachioed guy, wearing a green baseball cap and glasses fastened to his head with a rubber band. He sort of looked like a nerdier version of Mushmouth from "The Cosby Gang." I'd seen him in the section before, the few times I'd sat out there this season. I had vague recollections of him dashing off after home run balls, but nothing too out of the ordinary. (As an aside: A lot of people are bothered by grown-ups chasing after balls in the stands. It's never been the thing to get my goat. I'm much more perturbed by a fan trying to start the wave with two outs in the bottom of the eight inning and the tying run on third base then I am with an adult who wears a glove to a major league game). Anyway, something must have come over Mushmouth tonight. He was a man on a mission.
Every ball that landed in our section was like Willy Wonka's golden ticket. First he took off after an Albert Pujols moonshot that landed several rows away. A couple teenagers got to the ball before Mushmouth could cut the gap, but god help them if he'd been sitting closer. He had that look in his eyes. Yes, that look. Like when someone grabs Chuck D by the collar and whispers "open buffet" in ear.
Jim Edmonds pounded one out a few minutes later, and this time a middle-aged woman caught the full brunt of Mushmouth's force. Leading a stampede to the ball, he managed to both elbow her in the stomach and trample over both of her toes. The woman glared at him with a look of disgust and muttered under her breath something about manners, but all she got back from Mushmouth was a shake of the head and a whimpering excuse for an apology.
Mushmouth went full force for the rest of batting practice, chasing out any ball that landed within a 100-yard radius. I'd love to know the exact distance he covered in that half an hour or so. I would almost be willing to bet it's farther than I can run without stopping to catch my breath. I suppose that really isn't saying much, but you get the idea.
As the section began to fill up before game time, more and more people became aware just how determined Mushmouth was to get a ball. With more and more eyes on him everytime he made one of his ridiculous sprints, he began to throw in a little hand signal to the crowd. Now matter how close he got to any ball, every falied attempt was followed by Mushmouth shaking his head, then holding up his thumb and pointer finger about a quarter inch apart. This close, man. This close.
I'd like to think that had Mushmouth caught a batting practice ball, it would have eased his nerves for the main event. He and the fans around him might have been able to watch the game in peace, without worrying whether or not he was going to leap into their laps in some vein attempt to pursue a home-run ball that landed 25 yards away. Unfortunately, Mushmouth came away from batting practice empty-handed, setting the stage for the bottom of the sixth inning.
Pirates rookie Nate McLouth (who unlike Barry Bonds isn't familiar to anyone outside of Pittsburgh. Come to think of it, I'll bet you could convince most Pittsburghers he was on the Steelers practice squad) launched a high-arching drive into the right center field bleachers, a few sections over from us, just to the left of the Clemente Wall. The ball landed in the first row of handi-capped seating, in the lap of an elderly woman in a wheel chair. "That's nice," I thought to myself. "Good for her for..." WHAM! Sure enough, there was Mushmouth pushing her out of the way, scratching and clawing his way to the now loose ball. He emerged from the section victorious, holding the ball high above his head, punching his fist in the air, and high stepping it up and down the aisle like a Soul Train dancer on a pogo stick. Seriously, the guy was pumped. I'm not sure if the dance moves were an in-your-face to the woman in the wheel chair, whose ball he took, or just a general pronouncement of joy over having caught a ball. Actually, Im not sure which one would be scarier.
Fortunately, the dance moves brought Mushmouth to the attention of security. The guards asked him if he would very kindly return the ball to the woman in the wheelchair. Much to everyone's surprise, Mushmouth obliged, though not without looking for a second like a kid who's parents forgot Christmas.
I hope Mushmouth sues the woman in the wheelchair for the ball. Now that would be a story worth reading about in Sports Illustrated.
Addendum: I went to a Pirates game a few nights later. Before the starting line-ups were announced, a season highlight video played on the scoreboard. Sure enough, halfway through the video, there was Mushmouth, celebrating with the McLouth ball. The production crew had edited out the part where he mauls the woman in the wheel chair, so it appeared like he was just celebrating a Pirates home run. It looked pretty good too. The guy was the most excited fan in the video.
It's not a complete shock that Guy #1 sued for rights to the ball. In 1998, Phil Ozersky sold Mark McGwire's 70th home run ball for over a million dollars, easily one of the more profitable memorabilia exchanges. The case over the Bonds ball dragged on for years, going through several levels of hearings. In 2004, a judge ruled the ball had to be put up for auction with the two men splitting the profits. Unfortunatley for them, while the case was in court, the economy collapsed, an MLB steroids scandal was exposed and the memorabilia market hit the skids. When the ball was finally sold, it profited each man around $200,000, barely enough to cover their lawyers fees.
Someone in Pittsburgh must have missed the memo. In PNC Park, my favorite seats, for the money are the right center field "outfield reserve" bleachers. For $17 you get a good view of the strike zone, and a great perspective on any fly ball hit to the outfield. Until a couple weeks ago, it was hard for me to find any draw back to the location. At the game that night, I was witness to some of the most ridiculous and stupid fan behavior that I've ever seen at a baseball game.
For the game against St. Louis, my friends and I got the the park about 90 minutes before game time. With the Cardinals collection of sluggers, batting practice figured to be a show worth seeing. As we sat down, I recognized a familiar face. There was a slightly built guy mustachioed guy, wearing a green baseball cap and glasses fastened to his head with a rubber band. He sort of looked like a nerdier version of Mushmouth from "The Cosby Gang." I'd seen him in the section before, the few times I'd sat out there this season. I had vague recollections of him dashing off after home run balls, but nothing too out of the ordinary. (As an aside: A lot of people are bothered by grown-ups chasing after balls in the stands. It's never been the thing to get my goat. I'm much more perturbed by a fan trying to start the wave with two outs in the bottom of the eight inning and the tying run on third base then I am with an adult who wears a glove to a major league game). Anyway, something must have come over Mushmouth tonight. He was a man on a mission.
Every ball that landed in our section was like Willy Wonka's golden ticket. First he took off after an Albert Pujols moonshot that landed several rows away. A couple teenagers got to the ball before Mushmouth could cut the gap, but god help them if he'd been sitting closer. He had that look in his eyes. Yes, that look. Like when someone grabs Chuck D by the collar and whispers "open buffet" in ear.
Jim Edmonds pounded one out a few minutes later, and this time a middle-aged woman caught the full brunt of Mushmouth's force. Leading a stampede to the ball, he managed to both elbow her in the stomach and trample over both of her toes. The woman glared at him with a look of disgust and muttered under her breath something about manners, but all she got back from Mushmouth was a shake of the head and a whimpering excuse for an apology.
Mushmouth went full force for the rest of batting practice, chasing out any ball that landed within a 100-yard radius. I'd love to know the exact distance he covered in that half an hour or so. I would almost be willing to bet it's farther than I can run without stopping to catch my breath. I suppose that really isn't saying much, but you get the idea.
As the section began to fill up before game time, more and more people became aware just how determined Mushmouth was to get a ball. With more and more eyes on him everytime he made one of his ridiculous sprints, he began to throw in a little hand signal to the crowd. Now matter how close he got to any ball, every falied attempt was followed by Mushmouth shaking his head, then holding up his thumb and pointer finger about a quarter inch apart. This close, man. This close.
I'd like to think that had Mushmouth caught a batting practice ball, it would have eased his nerves for the main event. He and the fans around him might have been able to watch the game in peace, without worrying whether or not he was going to leap into their laps in some vein attempt to pursue a home-run ball that landed 25 yards away. Unfortunately, Mushmouth came away from batting practice empty-handed, setting the stage for the bottom of the sixth inning.
Pirates rookie Nate McLouth (who unlike Barry Bonds isn't familiar to anyone outside of Pittsburgh. Come to think of it, I'll bet you could convince most Pittsburghers he was on the Steelers practice squad) launched a high-arching drive into the right center field bleachers, a few sections over from us, just to the left of the Clemente Wall. The ball landed in the first row of handi-capped seating, in the lap of an elderly woman in a wheel chair. "That's nice," I thought to myself. "Good for her for..." WHAM! Sure enough, there was Mushmouth pushing her out of the way, scratching and clawing his way to the now loose ball. He emerged from the section victorious, holding the ball high above his head, punching his fist in the air, and high stepping it up and down the aisle like a Soul Train dancer on a pogo stick. Seriously, the guy was pumped. I'm not sure if the dance moves were an in-your-face to the woman in the wheel chair, whose ball he took, or just a general pronouncement of joy over having caught a ball. Actually, Im not sure which one would be scarier.
Fortunately, the dance moves brought Mushmouth to the attention of security. The guards asked him if he would very kindly return the ball to the woman in the wheelchair. Much to everyone's surprise, Mushmouth obliged, though not without looking for a second like a kid who's parents forgot Christmas.
I hope Mushmouth sues the woman in the wheelchair for the ball. Now that would be a story worth reading about in Sports Illustrated.
Addendum: I went to a Pirates game a few nights later. Before the starting line-ups were announced, a season highlight video played on the scoreboard. Sure enough, halfway through the video, there was Mushmouth, celebrating with the McLouth ball. The production crew had edited out the part where he mauls the woman in the wheel chair, so it appeared like he was just celebrating a Pirates home run. It looked pretty good too. The guy was the most excited fan in the video.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Holy shit
Secret bombing raids 9 months before the invasion...(and well before the big run-up in administration hype for the war)
If this is true, it's huge. I tend to believe the London Times.
I wonder if this, after all, will be the one to push them over the edge. I doubt it, but I can always hope...
If this is true, it's huge. I tend to believe the London Times.
I wonder if this, after all, will be the one to push them over the edge. I doubt it, but I can always hope...
Monday, June 27, 2005
...or laugh.
Congressional Republicans start threatening Major League Baseball when they hear George Soros is interested in buying the Nationals.
Side note: Tom Davis, the rep quoted in there, used to be my rep when I lived in VA - he's one of those Repubs who swept in with Gingrich in '94 and jump-started this whole shindig. He's currently also one of the point men on the baseball steroid inquiry. I guess even moving to one of the most Democratic cities in the country doesn't get me away from these nutjobs...
Side note: Tom Davis, the rep quoted in there, used to be my rep when I lived in VA - he's one of those Repubs who swept in with Gingrich in '94 and jump-started this whole shindig. He's currently also one of the point men on the baseball steroid inquiry. I guess even moving to one of the most Democratic cities in the country doesn't get me away from these nutjobs...
I don't know whether to cry...
Gotta love our hometown boy.
Rick "Man On Dog" Santorum, on the Catholic priest sex scandal:
"When the culture is sick, every element in it becomes infected. While it is no excuse for this scandal, it is no surprise that Boston, a seat of academic, political and cultural liberalism in America, lies at the center of the storm."
Full link to his op-ed for Catholic Online.
Rick "Man On Dog" Santorum, on the Catholic priest sex scandal:
"When the culture is sick, every element in it becomes infected. While it is no excuse for this scandal, it is no surprise that Boston, a seat of academic, political and cultural liberalism in America, lies at the center of the storm."
Full link to his op-ed for Catholic Online.
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