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Sunday, August 5, 2007

Lucky guess

About 3 weeks ago, I bought a ticket to the Giants-Padres game in San Diego, just in case Barry Bonds tied or broke the all-time home run record that night.

Well, he did, and I was lucky enough to be there.

I bought the ticket in the right-field bleachers because that's where most of Bonds' homers land. I figured if I was gonna go, I might as well put myself in the best position possible to catch the ball. But when I got to my seat, it was further up in the bleachers than I expected. No way could anyone hit a home run that far. Unless he was on steroids. Bonds hit it to left field anyway.

So now I revel in the fact that I saw history. At least until sometime next week when Bonds hits the record-breaking home run, and no one gives a crap about the tying one last night. I saved my ticket stub though and resisted the temptation of all the eBay freaks outside the gates after the game offering to buy them for $5 each.

No 755

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Betting on history

I bet on baseball last night. I bet $20 that Barry Bonds will break (or at least tie) Hank Aaron's all-time home run record on Saturday, August 4, in San Diego.

Just to be clear, I don't like Bonds and would love nothing more than for his career to end (how're those knees holding up, Barry?) before he can break Aaron's record. However, that isn't going to happen so I checked the Giants schedule and did the math. The Giants have played 87 games this year, and Bonds has 17 home runs, which means he hits one approximately every 5 games. That August 4 game is 21 games away, and Bonds is four away from tying Aaron's record, five from breaking it. If Bonds' average holds, that's about right.

So I bought a $20 ticket in the lower right-field bleachers, which is the area where the lion's share of Bonds' home runs land. You know, just in case. I'm not above punching a 10-year-old to snag a ball that will be worth the equivalent of 30 times my yearly salary.

And I realize the odds of Bonds hitting the magic number in that exact game is slim despite the averages, but I'll still get to boo a guy who either is about to break or just has broken one of sports' most revered records.

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Right on schedule

Milwaukee Brewers

Every 25 years, the baseball team in Milwaukee makes it to the World Series. In 1957, the Milwaukee Braves beat the Yankees. A quarter century later in 1982, the Brewers came this close to beating the damned St. Louis Cardinals, but lost in Game 7.

Here's a guarantee: the Milwaukee Brewers will be in the World Series this year.

How do I know? After not having a winning season in 15 years and not making the playoffs since that '82 season, the 2007 Brewers have the best record in baseball and show no signs of slowing down (12-3 over the Mets today).

But that's not the reason why I know they'll make the World Series. Nor is it because truly bizarre Web sites have cropped up around this year's team. (And no, I have not signed up. I won my long battle with incontinence three years ago and do not want to tempt fate.)

I know Milwaukee will make the Series this year because I won't be able to watch it. The games are scheduled for October 24 to November 1. My honeymoon is October 20 to November 3, and you know what? It ain't in Wisconsin. It's in New Zealand, and I don't know what the TV lineup looks like there, but I'm guessing that the Kiwi version of ESPN broadcasts cricket or rugby or some other sport the Brewers don't play.

Think Debz will let me reschedule the honeymoon?

Monday, March 12, 2007

I don't know much about tennis...

Tennis Chick

But I do know that Arnaud Clement is a dick.

We scored free tickets to the Pacific Life Open on Saturday, and even though I didn't get to see Maria Sharapova play, I did get to meet Martina Hingis. We also got to see Rafael Nadal whomp ass on that jerkwad Clement.

Since the tickets were free, they weren't exactly close to the court. But even from my vantage point, I could tell Clement was taking his frustration at losing out on the ballkids. Eventually, after an unforced error into the net, Clement yelled at a ballgirl since his crappy play clearly was her fault. I don't know what he said, but apparently a good chunk of the crowd did and started booing. After losing that game, Clement whacked a ball high into the stands. Some guy a few feet away from us caught it, and remember, we're in the nosebleeds. Which I suppose is a testament to his forehand strength as well as his maturity.

I found Clement's tantrum almost as funny as the lady who was knitting (!) in front of us. Chill, dude. You're ranked somewhere in the 50s, and you're playing the No. 2 player in the world; you're supposed to lose. Fortunately, you did.

Now, in addition to knowing Roger Federer because he's good; Sharapova because she's hot; and Hingis because I met her, I also recognize Clement because he's a dick.

(By the way, I don't know who the chick in the photo is. Obviously, she's not a top-tier player because they let me get that close to her without releasing the hounds.)

Tuesday, February 6, 2007

Craptastic

Ugh.

That was awful.

So yeah, the Super Bowl did not turn out the way I had hoped. Although I'm really not angry. I think I would have been more upset if the Bears actually played well and still lost. But other than the first 14 seconds, they played like crap. They were fortunate to lose by only 12 points. I must admit the best team won, and unfortunately, it wasn't the Bears.

I would like to thank all those travelers at O'Hare on Monday who acknowledged the otherwise great season by wearing their Bears swag. I'd also like to thank the one Colts fan at the office. She was extremely courteous in victory, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't the one who cinched a noose around the Bear at my desk.

I'll bounce back. After all, if everything in life went the way you wanted it to all the time, the good things wouldn't be savored as much.

Right?

Right?

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Oh hell yes

Da Bears

39-14. Sorry, New Orleans. Under other circumstances, I would have been rooting for you. Have a good offseason!

Unfortunately, I have been told that I am not allowed to dye Robin navy blue to match her orange brother. But what if we happened to have a large vat of navy blue dye sitting on the counter, and said vat was accidently spilled on the cat? That certainly would be a shame.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

"Super" Bowl XL

Holmgren vs. Cowher

Forget Seahawks vs. Steelers. This one is Mike Holmgren vs. Bill Cowher. And may the best mustache win.

If I were a betting man, I'd take Seattle over Pittsburgh 23-20 as the Seahawks win the first ever Super Bowl to go into overtime. In their haste to celebrate, Seattle players grab the wrong container, and instead of dousing Holmgren with Gatorade, they hit him with a vat of Campbell's Chunky Soup.

Of course, the term "Super Bowl" itself is grossly misleading and inappropriate. As everyone knows, by definition, nothing may be considered super unless it directly involves Chuck Norris.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

The List

Richard Nixon had one. So does Homer Simpson. And Stephen Colbert, who I just learned was the voice of Ace in SNL's The Ambiguously Gay Duo shorts. But I can't find a link to his list.

I'm talking about an Enemies List.

Today, I am adding the Carolina Panthers to my list because they knocked the Chicago Bears out of the playoffs. Steve Smith gets special individual recognition because even though I can't prove it, I'm pretty sure he cheated today. Probably took a mixture of steroids, amphetamines and Viagra.

So to recap the list as it currently stands: the Carolina Panthers, Ferrellgas, that guy who was a real dick to me in high school, 99% of southern Beaufort County, and Bill O'Reilly.

Tuesday, April 5, 2005

Bleeding orange

Illinois lost, and I blame the cat. Why? Because he's orange, same color as the Illini school colors. It's as good a reason as any, I suppose.

To amuse myself after the game, I sought refuge in the web... specifically, this site of inventive and creative ways for a bunny to commit suicide. I particularly like the Darth Vader and Terminator methods.

I think I like the Darth Vader cartoon mainly because, despite being the Dark Lord of the Sith, he's no good at cursing.

Bunny suicide

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Oh ye of little faith

I'm still happily surprised Illinois came back from 15 down with 4 minutes left to beat Arizona in the NCAA tournament. A few minutes earlier, I had written them off with several four-letter words, prompting Debz and Vicki to accuse me of giving up too soon. I'm more than happy to admit they were right, and I was soon jumping around in glee as Deron Williams hit a 3 to force OT. When Arizona missed their final shot in OT to give the Fighting Illini a one-point win, I sighed in relief.

And for the record, if when North Carolina and Kentucky win on Sunday, joining Illinois and Louisville, I will have nailed the entire Final Four in my NCAA bracket. Then when Illinois beats North Carolina in the championship, all will bow down in awe of my prognosticating skills.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Weird Rugby Wannabe Guy

Playing basketball in 40 degree weather is a fantastic way to try to catch a cold. I wasn't content with contracting a mere case of the sniffles tonight either; I went for the big N (pneumonia) and ditched the sweatshirt in favor of my Norm t-shirt. I had no choice... the sleeves were interfering with my silky smooth J. Or maybe I had a hard time shooting because I lost the ability to feel my hands after the first game. Hard to tell.

However, the real treat tonight was Weird Rugby Wannabe Guy (WRWG). Because the gaggle of rugby players (or do they comprise a swarm?) practicing near us wouldn't let him play, WRWG spent the whole time running up and down the sideline with the action, but obviously not participating in the game. He also spent some time yelling at us from across the courts.

"Hey, dude! Are you the guy from TV?" Because none of us have ever been on TV, and because there's no way WRWG could make out any of our faces from afar, we didn't think he was talking to us and paid no attention. This seemed to annoy WRWG. I'm still not sure which one of us he picked out as the television superstar, especially considering all of our rugged good looks.

Once he got our attention, WRWG yelled something about mouse (or monkey?) peanuts buffalo turds. At this point we all decided that not looking in the direction of the obviously not right WRWG was in our best interests.

But seriously, how fucked up do you have to be if a bunch of rugby guys decide you're too insane to play with them?

Sunday, October 31, 2004

Good omen

The Green Bay Packers beat the Washington Redskins today, so according to tradition, John Kerry will be elected president.

But if Kerry somehow loses on Tuesday, I won't have the Packers to blame. Instead, I'll pin it right where it belongs: squarely on the shoulders of this country's grossly uneducated electorate.

Thursday, October 28, 2004

Temporary turn to the Dark Side

This weekend will be a terribly difficult one for this long-time Chicago Bears fan who still has a copy of the Super Bowl Shuffle video, personally signed by William "The Refrigerator" Perry.

The Bears will play the lowly San Francisco 49ers so they may pull out a W. And it's the ESPN Sunday night game so I can actually watch it. But my anguish won't stem from anything Da Bears do or don't do. It's because this weekend, I'll be rooting for the hated Green Bay Packers. (Just writing that made me feel dirty.)

The reason is simple: the Packers play the Washington Redskins in D.C. this Sunday. Ever since the Redskins have been in existence, their performance in their final home game before a presidential election has foretold who wins the election. When Washington has won that game, the party that held the presidency retained it in the election; if the Skins lost, the ruling party was dumped quicker than Washington's own Generals.

It's true... the Redskins' streak dates back to 1936 without fail.

Go Pack Go. Now excuse me, I have a sudden overpowering urge to take a long hot shower.

Monday, October 18, 2004

Down the drain

All-Starz

The Macker saga continues...

We "fought" our way into the Toilet Bowl Championship, only to come up short against Gellin'. So ended the 2004 Macker tournament for the Packet All-Starz, and we prepared to leave the court, heads held high, but hands empty of any hardware.

But wait!

The ref beckoned and informed us that we won the Sportsmanship Award for our bracket. The illustrious Mackerville Gusette called the Sportsmanship Award "the most coveted trophy in all of Mackerville." I doubted the validity of that statement, but I wasn't about to turn down my trophy.

Later, we pondered how the hell we won the award. We weren't bad sports, but I didn't think we did anything to earn our honor. However, since a number of teams in our bracket were colossal pricks, I concluded we were simply the least objectionable choice for the award. Morgan took an even more cynical view, suggesting that by awarding the tournament sponsor's team something, that sponsor would be more likely to repeat its philanthropy next year.

In any case, I should mention that this was the Gus Macker World Championship. So not only were we the best sports at this tournament, we were the best goddamn sports in the world.

Saturday, October 16, 2004

Packet All-Starz

Morgan lets one fly
Morgan lets one fly

Caution: White boy jumping
Caution: White boy jumping

The vaunted Packet All-Starz - comprised of myself, Morgan, Tom and Ryan - have survived the first day of the Gus Macker World Championship.

By "survive," I mean the four of us are still breathing and any competent doctor would proclaim us in good health, despite Morgan's monstrous daily salt intake. Our record, however, stands at a dismal 0-2.

Now here comes the part where I defend our performance.

1. This is the "World Championship" of 3-on-3. Every team playing won their bracket in the tournaments in their home cities. Except our team; we got in on a sponsor's exemption because we work for The Island Packet and The Packet ponied up some dough to plaster its logo on all the backboards. I think we did ok, considering we went up against some of the best teams from previous tournaments. We even led both our games 4-2 at one point and hung in pretty well throughout both. One of those elusive moral victories, I suppose.

2. The size factor: We were massively undersized compared to our opponents. Not making an excuse, but it's pretty tough for any of us to rebound over a 6-3 guy, especially when our combined vertical leap is just over a foot.

3. The health factor: Ryan spent most of the past 24 hours crouched over a toilet due to an unfortunate choice for lunch on Friday. He's our biggest player, and I'm just happy he felt well enough to show up.

I did discover one important thing about myself today: I suck at the fine art of trash talking. This revelation hit me when an opposing player, who probably weighed 275, crashed into Tom, who's 190 tops, as he received a pass. Tom went flying, the ref blew the whistle and Mr. 275 threw his hands up in the air and put on his best "What'd I do?" face to argue the call. I yelled at him, "You mauled him! It's a foul! Don't look so damn incredulous!"

Incredulous? What the hell was I thinking??? Oh well... on to tomorrow and the Toilet Bowl bracket. Ryan should feel right at home.

Wednesday, September 1, 2004

Temporary reprieve from athletic embarrassment

This weekend's Gus Macker basketball tournament that I'm playing in has been rescheduled to mid-October due to the threat of Hurricane Frances.

In other news, there's a massive Category 4 storm trundling vaguely in this direction.

But as of now, it looks like Hilton Head once again will escape the brunt of it. West Palm Beach, however, is looking like a poor choice as a Labor Day getaway destination.

Saturday, August 28, 2004

White men can't jump ... or shoot ... or dribble ...

The inaccurately named Packet All-Stars (comprised of Ryan, Tom, Morgan and me) held our first practice today in preparation for the Gus Macker tournament on Hilton Head next weekend.

I was a bit worried after the four of us played one game of 2-on-2 to 21 ... and then we all stood around panting after the relatively little amount of physical exertion we just experienced. For the love of Pete! It's only half court! (In our defense, it was 90 and humid today.) But we got our second wind and zipped through 3 more games, plus a round of H-O-R-S-E, thanks to the wonders contained in the freakishly colored but amazingly refreshing Cool Blue Gatorade.

If anyone's interested, our first game is at noon next Saturday on court Yellow J. Somehow, we got a first-round bye and take on the winner of the Bad Boyz/Playaz Ball Family matchup. I think we'll do ok. We'll do even better if Morgan gets "injured" sometime next week and can't play. Watch out for that malfunctioning automatic door at work, Morgan!

Saturday, April 24, 2004

Strike one

First Pitch

Everyone should have a list of things they want to do sometime during their life. This list may or may not be realistic. Maybe it includes climbing Mount Everest. Running a marathon. Visiting the South Pacific. Shagging Halle Berry.

My list is mostly unrealistic (it includes the latter example above). But last night, I got to cross something off the list when I threw out the first pitch at a professional baseball game. Yup, that's me in the pic flinging a fastball home at Friday's Savannah Sand Gnats game against the hated Lake County Captains at Grayson Stadium. Click it for the big version, where you can (kinda) tell it's me. I was representing The Packet because we sponsored Hardeeville Night at the stadium.

For the record, I threw a strike that caught the inside corner. The Gnats actually won the game too, 3-2, on a bases-loaded single in the bottom of the 10th inning.

Now that's done. Time to decide whether I should concentrate next on sitting in on drums for a couple tunes with the Barenaked Ladies or making an appearance on Letterman.

Monday, April 5, 2004

Opening Day

I can think of a number of reasons why I should hate Major League Baseball.

Whiny, overpriced players. Greedy owners. $6 hot dogs and $15 parking. Steroids. The New York Goddamn Yankees. The Seligs. World Series games that drag into November.

In theory, everyone should hate MLB. But I can't.

I spent 97.7% of my childhood on baseball. (The remaining 2.3% was spent running away from or being stung by bees.) I pretended to smack 95-mph fastballs over the fence (in real life, the woodshed in the backyard). I collected about a kajillion baseball cards, all of which actually survive to this day in their home under my bed. I played Little League for 8 years until I realized I couldn't hit or throw a curveball. I went to countless games at County Stadium in Milwaukee, including the last one ever.

After all the time and effort I put into the game as a kid, I can't just dismiss it now. It's such a simple game - just hit, throw and catch a ball - but with more than enough complexities and idiosyncrasies to keep it interesting. Yeah, it can get boring watching a game on TV, but there's nothing quite like catching a game in person. Which reminds me... the Savannah Sand Gnats are about to start losing again. And how will Mr. Hilton Hed adjust to Thirsty Thursdays now that he works on Fridays?

And hey, my Milwaukee Brewers actually won their first game. Even though the Brewers soon will settle into their familiar 5th place position, they're in first place right now. However unrealistic, there's still hope for this year...

Wednesday, August 27, 2003

9 in a row

I'm about to write a sentence I may never be able to write -- truthfully -- again:

My Milwaukee Brewers have won 9 games in a row.

Seriously.

They go for #10 tomorrow afternoon against Cincinnati. They win that one, and I'm wearing my old Brewers jersey to work on Friday, and the hell with the dress code.

Now granted, they beat Pittsburgh and the Reds three times apiece during their streak, and those teams have traded away everyone but their batboys (and the Reds may have accidently sent one of theirs to Chicago) in the past month. But the Brewers also knocked Philadelphia out three times, and Philly is fighting for a playoff spot.

So now the Brewers have gone from having a downright horrible record to being merely bad. Baby steps.

Update: Ten! They won ten! They did not make it to 11. Not complaining.

Thursday, July 10, 2003

Sausage assault

The Milwaukee Brewers finally made the headlines yesterday. But it wasn't because they won in spectacular fashion or because one of their players had a stellar game. Nope. It was because an opposing player whacked a 10-foot-tall sausage mascot with a bat. Fortunately, the woman in the costume was ok, and the player was led from the stadium in handcuffs.

The Brewers are a pretty sorry team. Haven't made the playoffs since '82. Haven't even had a winning season since '92. You can make fun of the team. You can taunt the players, badmouth the owners. You can ridicule Bernie Brewer, the mascot who slides down from his chalet into an oversized beer mug full of balloons on the rare occasions when a Brewer knocks a homer. But diehard Brewer fans (all four of us) know that you...don't... fuck... with... the...sausages.

The Incredible Edible Sausage Race pits four sausages (Italian, Polish, bratwurst and hot dog) in a race from left field to home plate with the fans going nuts. It's basically a minor league promotion in a major league stadium. The sausages always garnered more cheers than anything the Brewers did on the field. Some people even leave the game after the race. The Brewers really only have three traditions:

1. Bob Uecker, the greatest radio color guy ever to grace a press box.

2. Singing "Roll Out The Barrel" in addition to "Take Me Out To The Ball Game" during the 7th inning stretch.

3. The Incredible Edible Sausage Race.

That's all we have. Please, be kind to the sausages.

Saturday, June 7, 2003

Par for the (baseball) course


Despite intermittent rain all night, the Savannah Sand Gnats got hammered again, this time by Augusta. At least I assume they got hammered. We left the stadium after the 7th inning when the Gnats were down 11-2 and the rain started again. They were down 5-0 before their pitcher even recorded an out and were down 10-0 after two innings. I should explain that half of the charm of the Sand Gnats is their complete and utter ineptitude.

Tonight's Sand Gnat crew was a small one: only Mr. Hilton Hed and I made the trek. No one else carries the faith.

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