Saturday, April 26, 2008
2:13 PM
All Marissa Miller photos courtesty of Will Byington Photography.
Take that, Billy Joel!
Thursday, March 20, 2008
12:44 PM
Cubs SPRING TRAINING, 2008
A's beat Cubs 5-2.
Fukudome takes a healthy swing yesterday versus the A's.
Soriano readies for a pitch.
Aramis Ramirez greets Derrek Lee at home after his solo homerun for the first run of yesterday's game.
"Lady in red was lying next to me. Didn't see her cheeks."
I hope she's old enough.
My buddy Jeremy joined me at yesterday's game.
His friend Heather has one fantastic tattoo, perfectly excluding the White Sox logo.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
10:40 AM
With Jade and Mike at yesterday's Cubs game. Jade got some JUST SHAVE IT panties for her birthday today. The shirt says IF YOU'RE NOT A CUBS FAN THEN ... and the fuzzy guy flips the bird.
Jose Contreras warms up in the bullpen on St. Patty's Day in Tucson vs. the Angels.
Cubs-Sux in Tucson.
One asshole ruins the bunch.
Some fans of The Heckler at Hohokam Park in Mesa.
My lone sniper shot this Spring, milfs included.
Then I asked a mom to exploit their daughters for my ShaveYourHead.com readers.
She's so hot. And she thinks I'm cute, via a Blackberry message to Gellie.
Rich Hill (left) and Matt Murton.
Cubs superstar Derrek Lee.
Chasing October writer-producer and star, Matt Liston.
Jenna and Patti from Illinois State U.
A day in the Spring Training life of a Cubs fan!
March 23. Cubs beat the Barry Bonds-less Giants 6-2
I've seen around 10 games this Spring, perhaps the most ever in my 'career' coming to the desert for my March Madness. Missed one year since 2000. I'm a little biased toward the Cactus League versus the Grapefruit League, mainly because of my beloved Cubbies, but also because I lived in the Phoenix area for three years. I know how to get around and have a place to stay annually. Plus there are some friends to see the games with. Sometimes.
This year that's only been the case a few times. Going it alone has gotten a little lonely of late. There's no one to point out hot chicks to and no one to take pictures of me with the Hooters girls. You'll notice that I've yet to post a single picture with the busty gals pimpin' the wings. I see them at every game, and maybe it's 'cause I'm getting older and further away from the 24-year-old Daisy Dukes with their tight white tanktops, but I feel dirtier this year than ever. The thought of simply asking a stranger and then the Hooters girls for a photo opp is cringe-inducing. Instead I walk by, think about my throng of 36 readers who would enjoy the picture, and head for another hog dog.
Spring of 2007 has seen a buzz about the park. Fans are excited with Lou Piniella and Alfonso Soriano. Prior and Wood appear to be healthy, and Derrek Lee is back to 2005 MVP-type form.
Then again, it's Spring. We're wearing shorts and sitting in the outfield for six bucks. Nothing is every won in the Spring. Aside from a starting job at second or a spot as the fifth man in the rotation. Still are both undecided. Personally I'd like to see the gritty Ryan Theriot at second and Prior as the #5. At least to start the season. If Prior struggles in April and May, then asess from there. If you send him down, though, that could kill any remaining confidence. However, if he begins in the minors simply to get more work and then comes up in May or June, that may help his cause.
But enough of me sounding like a scout or a coach. I'm not either. I'm a loyal fan who just happens to work at Wrigley Field, serving carrot cake and cookies to fellow fans, celebs and corportate yo-yo's. Spring Training, like for the pros, gets me ready for the season. I drink at the games, which is something I can't do on the clock. Afterwards is a whole 'nother story.
So on with a day in the Spring Training life of a Cubs fan ...
This year I've driven to Sluggo's for every game in Mesa. I'm not really sure how I found Sluggo's. Probably like most other things in life - you get to talking to someone and they tell ya. In the past I've parked near Hohokam for free or paid to park with the tailgaters. Either way the traffic sucks getting in and out; Sluggo's is your answer to all that is frustrating about sitting in your car, waiting. And waiting.
Haven't Cubs fans waited long enough? There's booze to be had and a tan to be gotten. Move along already.
In Tuscon I rode my bike twice. Did it once up in Phoenix to see the Rangers-Brewers. Thought about riding to see the Cubs, but from where I'm staying, that would take two hours - one way. I'd rather park in the Sluggo's covered parking garage for free and then walk to the game.
Or there's the shuttle service. You never really know when it runs for sure. On too many occasions I've just missed it. The walk is maybe 20 minutes, but when you're feeling lazy and hungover, it seems to take forever.
Sluggo's used to be owned by Steve Stone and Harry Caray, but I guess Harry was a tough guy to own a bar with, so Stoney bought Harry's stake, and owned it outright. Then Stoney sold it to Doug, a fellow bald, glasses-clad guy from Kansas City. A second Sluggo's opened a few months ago about 20 minutes east.
Once inside you'll see a sea of Cubs fans. The wall-to-wall Cubs jerseys and hats make it feel like Murphy's or the Cubby Bear after a Cubs game. But you look at your watch or - these days - your Blackberry, and see that it's March. You look down at your feet and see them wiggling in sandals attached to your pasty white legs. You know you're in Arizona and you know you will burn if you drink too much and forget the sunscreen.
Old Styles are $1.50 a can. The food's pretty good, too. Try a burger or the all you can eat fish on Friday. I had 7 pieces yesterday. Didn't know it was all you can eat, though. Some friends I met, which is what stragers quickly become at Sluggo's, were having a fish feast. "You guys are killing that stuff. How much do they charge for the extra pieces?"
"Nothing. It's all you can eat." I asked for two more and the girl brought four. Fine by me. And to add frosting to the cake, one of my new 'friends' picked up my meal. I left the tip.
But that's well after the game. Let's get back to Sluggo's before the game, shall we?
All over the walls have pictures, autographs, license plates, murals, jerseys, posters, neon signs - and anything else sports related. It's 75% Cubs stuff, but you'll find other Chicago teams, some Arizona teams and a few random things.
There's only a stall and a urinal in the bathroom. Well, in the guy's anyway. Nothing like the troughs at Wrigley. When the games are packed on weekends, a few port-o-potties will be outside. You wait in line to pee, bullshit with the guy in front of and behind you, and make yet another friend. Then shake his hand ... before he tugs at his crank.
Some of the staff knows me by name. I interviewed Doug about Sluggo's for my first Vine Line column last season. Some of the regulars even know me, too. I think AA is the next step.
Yesterday I met a guy as I sat at the bar. He was ordering drinks for his friends outside. A young kid, maybe 25. From Iowa but living in the Phoenix area for three years and working in real estate. I asked if he had an extra ticket.
"Hey man. We have 10 tickets, but the guy with the tickets isn't here yet. I'll let you know, though. If you wanna come out and join us, we're back there in the corner."
His group was incredibly cool. Especially when the two hot girls joined us. Then another one, holding the hand of the guy with the tickets. She was really smokin', short shorts and tan legs. A blonde with glossy lips and a great smile. They all had that preppy look, mid-20's college grads. I was glaringly outta place, in age and appearance. My sunglasses weren't Prada or Dolce & Gabana. Or whatever the fuck they're called.
"Hello. I'm Scott who knows nobody here. I'm just looking for an extra ticket." They laughed a little and some raised an eyebrow and wondered who the freak show was.
With two beers in me and only a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, the buzz was already creeping up. I know it's Spring Training and the games count as much as an attemped handjob through your jeans, but I hate to miss the first pitch. I like to be there at the beginning and stay till the end, even though my early departure last Wednesday made me miss the 9th Inning heroics of one, Daryl Ward. His grandslam broke a 7-7 tie and gave the Cubs an 11-7 win. That's what I get for trying to catch the shuttle back Drinkyville.
The friendly crew had reached 8. I kept counting, trying to see if I would score a ticket. The main guy said he expected the last two to show, so I was out. But I sat a few minutes longer to look at the hotties.
One of them, an ASU student with long reddish-brown hair, wore a tanktop. It was cold in the shade, though. I could see her shivering. On her left shoulder was what appeared to be a rugburn. I envisioned her being a wild child, earning the burn from a night of unbridled passion with a sorority girl. Or just some off the wall sex with a comedian.
"She got hit by a car," her roommate said, "on campus, riding her bike to school last week. She doesn't always look this rough."
My feeling-like-a-total-asshole meter had reached new heights. Here I was thinking about her fire crotch and legs flailing about in ecstasy, and in reality she almost died.
Their gang wasn't too into being there on time. The shuttle arrived at 12:43 and I knew it may be the last one. The guy I met initially, Landon, asked the driver to come back for his crew. I still needed a ticket, so I hopped in the stretch Hummer limo, and headed to the park.
I asked the guys inside if they had an extra ticket. And they did, a lawn seat. They charged me face plus the serice charge since they bought 'em on-line.
8 bucks to see Cubs-Giants.
The weather was okay. Partly cloudy and cool when the sun was covered. I walked around for a few inning. My backpack was filled with frozen and unfrozen water, squirt guns, 3 SPF's of lotion, Hecklers, seeds and tons of miscellaneous crap. I was truly my mother's sun.
Hanging around a shoulder strap was my Wrigley Field sweatshirt given as an end-of-the-year gift in 2005. It never got that cold, though. I also had my water proof blanket from the day before. It came in very handy when the rains came in Peoria for Cubs-Padres. That was a gift, too, a 'tip' from a suite hostess entertaining some clients and customers. It was given to their people, and since they didn't wanna haul the extras around, I got one. A very useful little item. Although not helping much with my rent.
I wandered and wandered. An Internet radio show back in Chicago, the Visitor's Locker Room, had me on the air. We played phonetag for a few minutes and then I came on to talk about the Cubs and the Spring Training fans. Because the two hosts are sports fans and comedians, it was a struggle to get a word in edge wise. Plus it was loud and cell phones aren't radio-friendly devices.
I found Jade, the girlfriend of Mike with Section 8 Industries, a small company that makes t-shirts. I met 'em two weeks ago at Sluggo's. Mike and a friend came to a show in Tucson last week, and then I met him at the bar where Jade works this past Tuesday night. We swapped shirts and have each worn them out in public, although Mike wore mine under a nice shirt; Yesterday I wore his to the game, a blue shirt that reads IF YOU'RE NOT A CUBS FAN THEN ... and it shows a picture of a fuzzy guy flipping the bird. Tons of people asked about it and I told 'em to check out their Web site, section8industries.com.
Today is Jade's 27th birthday. Happy Birthday, Jade. Like she will ever waste her time reading this shit.
Because it was Friday in Lent, I got some veggie pizza, covered in black olives. YUCK! But I was starving and ate like a hostage, olives and all. Even the mushrooms. Double YUCK.
Back out to the lawn. There I found Landon. He said he had called me with an extra ticket, and then invited me down to sit with his group. They were in leftcenter right behind the fence. A pretty good spot actually. We all reintroduced outselves, but that's really where the fun ended. The really hot girl kissed her buff boyfriend a few times. Others talked on their Blackberries and shared stories about people and places I knew nothing about. While that enabled me to actually watch the game, it kinda made me feel really fuckin' pathetic.
Sure I was sitting with some cool people and hot chicks, but I was the "Who the hell is that guy?" guy. Never a good title.
Two other nice looking girls joined their crew just as I was about to leave. So I stayed for a few more minutes. I had my brand new camera with me and knew a picture was inevitable. They only needed to drink a little more.
There were five girls total, all of whom were outta my league in the worst way. Everyone had the ridiculously huge, stylish sunglasses, one guy had a visor turned backwards. He appeared to be flirting with the rugburn-turned-bike-accident-victim. The two new girls had an ethnic look, dark hair and tan skin. Very cute. One sat lower on the blanket just to my right. Her jeans exposed the very top of her anal crevice. How I love that sight, but even sexier would've been some stringy underwear. I kill for that look.
Because they were all into their own group, which is totally expected, I bid farewell, citing "It's my friend's birthday and they just called. They're sitting over there." I pointed to where Jade and Mike were, knowing they weren't really missing my presence in the least.
I wandered aimlessly, catching a glimpse of the game and the fans along the right field sidewalk. It was somewhat melancholy, though. I saw tons of groups laughing and drinking. Me and my Bud Light didn't work it the same way.
I found Mike and Jade and sat with them for the end of the game. We took some pictures once the game ended and then headed out. They pseudo offered me a ride, but I opted to walk. "I'll see you guys at Sluggo's, right?"
Back at Sluggo's, the bar was packed. Quite a few Giants fans were there among the sea of red, white and blue. I found Mike and Jade at a corner table. The Sweet 16 had just started, so fans were visiting and watching basketball. I had hoped to see Landon and his crew, mainly to say thanks for the invite but also to take a picture with the lovelies. Not such luck, though.
Jade and Mike scooted over and made room for me. They had 5 other guys there, too. We bullshitted for a few hour, and then Mike and Jade left. I stayed with the guys and ordered the aforementioned fish. North Carolina was coming on next, so I stayed for that game, too. It was 4 hours after the Cubs game and I was still at Sluggo's. Not much different from the Sports Corner back home, eh?
And that turned into 10 p.m., drinking Jack & Cokes at this point. Because of all the fish however, I wasn't feeling a thing. I played the triva game at the end of the bar while Lucy, a tiny waitress just off the clock, sat with regulars and got ripped. I gave her a ride home where her roommate and her 2 kids and a neice were hanging out. I didn't really know these people aside from Sluggo's. The kids were 13, 11 and 11. They talked about MySpace and pictures on their cell phones, things that didn't exist when I was in junior high.
It wasn't going well. Leaving was the only option. Lucy had done too many shots and was clutching the corner of the couch from the floor. The mom was fighting with the oldest daughter in a way that reminds me why I don't want kids. I held my head in my hand, feeling embarrassed for them both. I knew it wouldn't get better. On this night or possibly ever in their life. The mom said her life as a child was a rough one. And had become that of her daughters'. Although it can end, the circle of dysfunction, it usually just manifests itself. I'm not here to judge, I'm just here to witness. I couldn't take any more, though. It was an uncomfortable feeling like never before. I had to leave.
But first I got a group photo.
Then I left.
And here I am now, thinking you actually give a shit.
Go Cubbies. Today it's Giants-Cubs again, this time in Scottsdale. Tickets will be impossible to come by. Barry Zito against Wade Miller, the only Cubs pitcher I haven't seen this Spring.
There may be one more game left before I leave next Wednesday. Until then ...
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
1:14 PM
From Maryvale, Arizona, home of the Milwaukee Brewers.
Rangers beats Brewers 11-7.
It's a gorgerous park. Too bad only 4,000 fans were there to see it.
Sunbathe your beer belly at a Brewers game? Brat of course.
After all the Grammys, USHER's been relegated to duties in the desert.
Of all the players' names to appear on the scorebaord - Sammy Sosa, Prince Fielder, Bill Hall, Kenny Lofton - I pick Rickie Weeks to be in my shot. Yet another douchebaggitty move.
A Ranger father-son due has 'a catch' in the left field lawn.
***********************************
My balls bagan hurting within 15 minutes of riding to the game. Maybe not so much my balls but that taint area. I mean, it's not the meatiest part of the body. I wonder if a masseuse would rub it for an extra 20 bucks?
The ride through southwest Phoenix was nothing of the scenic varitey. Landfills, warehouses, undeveloped land, construction, and then city life every so often. Sometimes there were sidewalks and sometimes I took the rugged route, over dirt, rocks, sand and even broken glass. I was Annie Lennox minus the walking.
Because my head was crisp from the day before and because I'm still without health insurance, the helmet was needed. Sure I looked like a toolbox on wheels, but better safe than sorry, right? Plus I feel like a real biker. Now where are my testicle-revealing spandex shorts?
Lawn seats in Maryvale are 7 bucks. They're 6 bucks for the Cubs in Mesa. With far less people seeing the Brew-crew, I guess they need to make as much money as possible. And speaking of the lawn, it's the steepest lawn I've seen in the Cactus League. After a few beers, you're likely to take a spill if you're not careful. Heck, after a few Cokes even.
Sammy Sosa is the DH for the Rangers, batting fourth. He received some good cheers from the fake fans and a smattering of boos from the real baseball fans. I thought about sitting close enough to capture a good shot of Slammin' Sammy, but figured that was too much for a guy who cheated and so adamantly denies it.
Sure Sosa single-handedly brought billions of dollars to the Cubs and made some otherwise unwatchable games intriguing. Sure he had the corked bat and left early on the last game of the season in 2004, which was his worst move in my opinion, but the Cubs made him into what he was. They knew he was on something enhancing his performance, but the money pouring in caused a blind eye to be turned effortlessly. They embraced his homerun hop, his sprint out to right field, his ear-to-ear smile, his broken English, all the while enjoying the winter home and yachts on the lake. People came to see Sammy and THEN to see Wrigley and the Cubs. And for that he's become an after-thought, a player no more valued than Kevin Orie or Dick Tidrow. Now a pitcher with nearly a 6 ERA last season and a thick, New York City accents wears # 21.
I'm a bit torn, that's all.
Monday, March 12, 2007
6:17 AM
My 3rd Spring Training Game, March 11.
Cubs beat Brewers 6-3 at Hohokam Park
My seat was off to the left of home plate, second row. Pretty damn good. Off-season acquisition Jason Marquis, very impressive in three Spring Training starts, delivers a pitch to Bill Hall as Geoff Jenkins waits on-deck.
New comers Neal Cotts (the white guy) and Cliff Floyd (not the white guy) sign for fans toward the end of Sunday's game. Cotts is making a run at the 5th spot in the rotation while Floyd, a Chicago native, will platoon in left and possibly right field. Cotts won the World Series with the White Sox in 2005 and Floyd won it with the Florida Marlins in 1997.
The Miller Lite girls host some beanbag toss at Sluggo's after the game.
Fans gather at Sluggo's, a downtown Mesa bar and grill.
My buddy Joe didn't make it to the game. Wife was sick so stayed home with the kid.
I got to Sluggo's around 11:35 and enjoyed a Bloody Mary. So much for not drinking alone and on the sabbath. Like either's ever stopped me before.
I ran back to my car to grab my bag and a different shirt. I was wearing a Jack Daniel's shirt to show to one of the waitresses, but she wasn't working. When I returned for the free shuttle to the park, it was literally pulling away. Sure I could've run for it, but the walking could do me some good. (I've been here for almost a week and have ridden my bike for all of 10 minutes.)
Had it not been for walking, though, I wouldn't have gotten the chance for pose for the GUN SHOW. I looked like a douche-and-half flexing on the corner, complete with camera set-up on a mini-tripod.
Hohohkam Park was packed. By the time I got to the window, the lawn was sold out. How the hell that happens is beyond me. Most people don't even sit in the damn grass out there anyway. They walk around, play catch and stare at bikini-clad chicks. Still, any ticket you by can be used to sit in the lawn. Not sure a $22 box seat it worth the $6 view from the lawn, though.
"Here's comes three blondes with Daisy Dukes and high heels."
Okay, maybe it is worth it.
I asked the lady for the best single seat in the house. She offered a second row seat to the left of homeplate.
"You have anything off to the sides some more?" I asked.
She looked at me as if I was a fuckin' lunatic.
"It's just that the net is right there and I'd rather have a clear view." This didn't seem to make her think more of me. I took the ticket and got in line to enter. A couple behind me asked to borrow my sunscreen. "Sure. As much as you need. It's not mine anyway. A friend left it." Small talk is always nice before, during or after a game. Especially when you go it alone.
My seat was amazing. Well, not the seat itself, but the view was amazing. Had the seat come equipped with a fan and a water spout, perhaps amazing would've been accurate.
I was surrounded by a sea of old folks. Like The Golden Girls and Cocoon had rented out the joint. Some people didn't show and others arrived late. On my left was a young couple who'd received the tickets from a friend. The guy was cool, maybe 25. The girl, while being a brunette with great tits, was drunk and obnoxious. She kept whining about 'how boring this is.'
And then, as if some switch went off, she incessantly demanded that they find out where UCLA was seeded in the tournament. "It's done at 3:30 EST." I knew she was wrong at the time, but she insisted. "Let's call someone right now." She was loud and not making friends. But her cleavage, so tasty. Her man, a lucky one.
She went to UCLA for undergrad and then USC for her MBA. I could smell her afluent, southern California aroma whenever she moved. I engaged her in a little debate on why UCLA sucked, even though I had no idea what kind of team they had. I just wanted to hear her garbled speech remind me why college is overrated. If mommy and daddy have money, go for it. Mine didn't. And that's why I'm 32-years-old and watching meaningless practice games in the desert. But my tan's coming along nicely.
Kerry Wood came in to relieve starter Jason Marquis, who was impressive in his third start of the Spring. Wood walked the first batter he faced. A grounder was then hit right up the middle and Wood attempted to make one his classic behind-the-back-with-the-glove plays, but missed. Second baseman Ryan Theriot dove into the hole to make the play, getting the force at second.
"Way to go man. That's a double play. How awesome was that?! Double play, man. All the way." The guy next to me swore it was a double play, obviously.
"See the key to the double play is getting two outs. They only got one," I alerted him.
"Oh. Well that was an awesome single play." The people around us were getting annoyed. They whispered to each other and I only wished to hear them. I walked down to use the bathroom as Wood finished his inning. The young couple followed me. As I made my way out of the bathroom, who was coming in but the same young couple. Yep, both of them, in the men's bathroom. The guy pointed the girl toward the stall. I was hoping her drunk ass would give it a go with the urinal, though. You know, make mommy, daddy, the Bruins and the Trojans all very proud.
I heard her talk to the kid sitting on the throne behind the stall door, as if to say "what are you doing here little boy?" Not sure if someone complained or what, but about 15 muinutes later the guy came back to our seats and announced he was leaving. We all took a moment of silence for their departure.
The Cubs third string catcher slammed a pinch-hit 3-run homer in the sixth. Fox, #74. Not sure of his first name and not wanting to find out at 4:02 a.m.
I watched local prospect Carmen Pignatiello throw in the bullpen at the end of the game. He's a tall lefty who went to Providence Catholic High School, wears #63 for the Cubs. Looked good with great movement on his pitches.
I'm tired. Good night.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
12:59 AM
More fun times at Hohokam Park in Mesa during a Cubbies Win!!!
10-6 over Padres.
March 9 Cubs Spring Training Report
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Words escape me.
Still speechless.
Ronnie with some adoring fans.
Phoenix comedian Travis Thurman.
Kevin Carlson, a former comedian and now a staunch Scott Derenger supporter.
I know it's getting old with Woo Woo, but the half-naked chicks don't pose as freely or as often as Ronnie. So until then, enjoy the one-time homeless guy now with a cult following. And a publicist, too.
Friday, March 09, 2007
10:45 AM
Some random Spring Training thoughts before Game 2 for me, Cubs-Padres split-squad at Mesa, March 9. 1:05 p.m. MST.
***(Scroll down to see pictures and a video from Wednesday's game.)***
Spring Training is quite the event. I've been coming here for 9 of the last 10 years, including 1997-1999 when I lived in Tempe, about 15 minutes from Mesa's Hohokam Park.
Fans are excited as they see their favorite players with unfamiliar accessibility. They stretch in the outfield - the players, not the fans - before, during and after the games, often times willing to sign autographs for just about anyone for however long it takes. Usually. Then again, they have a schedule to adhere to, so ease off it you didn't get your ticket or hat signed.
Because I work at Wrigley and am now 32-years-old, seeing the Cubs has taken on a different meaning. Maybe I take it for granted that Michael Barrett is standing a few feet from me in the Mesa bullpen, or that Carlos Zambrano is walking alongside me to the Wrigley lockerroom as I make my way to the suites to unwrap veggies trays.
I'm still a fan. A huge fan. I just embrace that fandom differently, that's all.
Yesterday I downloaded MLB.com's package to listen live to all the baseball games. I'll be outta town for many of the Cubs games this summer and will have no excuse to miss any. Yesterday's radio feed was from the Padres affiliate. Former Cubs radio pre and postgame host, Andy Masur, recently was hired by the Padres to do their radio play-by-play. I got to hear him and his partner, the venerable but misprounouncement-laden Jerry Coleman, call the game. For Masur, it wasn't a far cry from Ron Santo's botching of any number of last names. Even though Masur corrected the names when asked, Coleman, 83 years-young, insisted on his own version of players' names. Quite entertaining, to saythe least.
"Is it Pee-ay or just Pie, like apple or cherry?"
"Theer-i-ott? Or Therr-i-ott?" I think Jerry went with a few different ones for Ryan Theriot.
"And this Brian Dopirak," pronounced Da-peer-ak, was butchered with a fine steak knife. Coleman swore it should be said DOPE-RI-ACK. And he stuck with that the rest of the game.
***********
Today I'm seeing the Cubs-Padres in Mesa. I have two $20 tickets, purchased within seconds of entering Sluggo's Bar and Grille this past Wednesday. Normally I just spend $5 to sit in the lawn, which has been upped to $6 this year. (Someone's gotta pay for Soriano's Lexus.) But I'd wanted to sit close and actually watch the game instead of the scantily-clad co-eds on Spring Break. And lemme tell ya, there's a surplus wherever you look, especially at Cubs game, home or away.
The bartender's husband sold 'em to me. She smiled, pulled 'em outta her purse, and I handed over $40. When I looked at the seat chart yesterday, they didn't appear to be right in the front row as promised. I want to sit in the sun and get this dome nice and tan; the seats look like they're in the shade. That and a friend of mine wants to bring his girl, which is fine with me but I don't have another ticket.
Stay tuned.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
1:51 PM
March 7 Cubs Spring Training report
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Jeff, the former Notre Dame wide receiver (it's easier to write that than his real last name), warms up in the bullpen with Oakland A's players looking on.
Matt Murton (top left), Michael Barrett, that Jeff guy again, and Brian Dopirak run in the outfield to stay loose.
Ronnie Woo Woo signs a picture for a fan, who actually took the shot of Ronnie at Spring Training a few years ago. "How much you think you'll get for one of 'em," I asked the guy, knowing he wouldn't realize my sarcasm, "especially now that it's autographed."
"Well I'm not sure. Not a lot of people have something like this," the fan said, as serious as a heart attack. "I wonder why nobody has one, pal," I began. I mean, come on - it's fuckin' Ronnie Woo Woo. He wears a Cubs fannie pack for shit's sake." The fan walked away dejectedly. Not all Cubs fans can handle the truth apparently.
I think this lady asked Woo Woo to sign the napkin she just wiped her face with. And Ronnie happily obliged.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
1:05 AM
Vine Line, September 2006
1:00 AM
Vine Line August 2006
Monday, June 05, 2006
1:02 PM
Vine Line column, JUNE 2006.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
9:08 AM
Sunday, May 28. Braves strikeout 18 times, but hit 8 homeruns. Cubs rally in 9th, but lose in the 11th on a bouncing ball of Aramis Ramirez's head. Braves beat Cubs 13-12 in 11.
It was hot as shit Sunday. Christina and I thought about walking to the game, but figured we'd pass out by the time we got there. The bus wasn't in sight when we walked out, so we headed for the train.
"Shit. I forgot my water bottle. It's sitting right in the fridge door. And my squirt guns. If I were in shape I'd run back to get them," I said, standing in the shade on the sidewalk. "Maybe there's a store near the train." And there was, a dollar store. They had a ton of water bottle and squirt gun selections. Christina bought hair ties. "Why didn't you put your hair up back at my place?" I asked. "Well, with this shirt it made my hair look funny." Amazing what logic women have when it comes to fashion. 'Sure these shoes kill my feet but they make me taller and they look great!'
Wrigley was crawling with people on the Sunday before Memorial Day. I had our tickets in hand and treated Christina to the Sunday brunch in the Wrigley Stadium Club. "Will I be able to get a bloddy mary at this place?" she wondered. "Oh yeah. There's a whole bar just for that. You'll love it."
Once inside we sat at Jen's bar table. Jimmy was the lone bartender. We were back in the corner away from the main dining room and all the food. Christina ordered a bloody mary. Jen brought it seconds later. "Look, the ice is all melted. It's all watery. I'm gonna ask for a new one."
"I bet they're pre-made, the salt on the rim and everything," I said. "Here, just poor it in my glass. I'll drink some water first." She poured her 'water' into my water glass, and then headed to the bar. I walked with her to look at the bloody mary spread. Christina sighed, almost in shock. "That wasn't water in my glass. That was vodka."
I figured they were pre-made but without the vodka. As much as I wanted to call her a giant boob, I was also clueless. We laughed and she went to try to remedy her bloody mess. I headed for the chef's table. Slices of ribeye, turkey and ham, huge bowls of salad and broiled red snapper. It was far from anything having to do with hot dogs and popcorn at a baseball game. This was how the other side lives. And for a change, I was on that side - no apron around my waist and no nametag dangling from my jersey's top button.
I had two servings of ribeye with the scallion-laded mashed potatoes. Fuckin' great. Christina came back with round two of the bloody mary experience. "You won't believe this," she said. I had no idea what happened this time. "I tried to experiment with the different sauces," she began, "and this really hot one came flyin' out." She made a sound with her tongue like a 1-year-old does when watching a Cubs game. Some call it a raspberry. What a dumb fuckin' name for a wet-sounding fart noise.
"You're a piece of work. Put some more ice and water in it," I suggested. She tried this, but to no avail. "It's way too hot."
"I can't take you anywhere." Jen came back to the table. Christina told her about the second debacle. "I can get you another one. No problem. Just let me know if you need one." She tried to suck it up, literally and figuratively, but couldn't do it. A minute later I asked Jen to get Christina another glass. "Sorry, Jen. It's someone's first and last time at Wrigley."
Because I serve the desserts like a dozen times a month, they did nothing for me. I told Christina to get whatever she wanted and we'd share. Carrot cake and a chocolate/vanilla mousse combo. served in a martini glass were her choices. Delicious. I hadn't seen the mousse before, topped with Oreo cookie crumbles.
"We need to be in our seats for the National Anthem. We'll head out at 1." And we did.
Our seats were in the sun the whole game, Section 142, Row 15, Seats 108-109. Great seats but hot as hell. Literally. I thought Satan was picthing for the Cubs. Instead it was a Korean rookie who got lit up like a phat joint. He didn't make it outta the second inning.
There was no one seated to our right. To our left were two young couples, maybe in their mid-20's. Not sure if they were dating. Both girls were brunettes, tasty, like an Oreo mousse concoction. I sprayed my water bottle in the air and they loved me. "You're my favorite person in the world ... right now," the girl closest to me admitted. "Right now? Thanks. I bet if you the beer guy gives you a free beer I'll be number two." She paused and laughed. "You're right."
After Jae-Kuk Ryu allowed like his fourt homerun of the game, a disgrunted fan - and father of two small children seated next to him - took his daughter's Cubs helmet and threw it onto the field. It barely made it over the wall.
"What a fuckin' douchebag," I said to Christina. "His kids are right there. That was his daughter's helmet he fuckin' threw out there. He's gonna get kicked out for sure."
His daughter will be playing with her friends later that night, all of whom will have on their free helmets from the Wrigley give-away. "Chelsie, where's your helmet?" She just puts her head down and shrugs her shoulders, continuing to come Barbie's hair. "My daddy's a die-hard Cubs fan, which means he's an asshole. He got really mad today when some 'fuckin Jap' as daddy called him even though he's from Korea, gave up like 10 homeruns. Mommy's thinks he's major prick, and now so do I. He threw my helmet on the field. Then he took me for ice cream so he wouldn't get kicked out. I guess he's not that much of a prick. I like ice cream."
A girl and her boyfriend - he had his arm around her so I just assumed - sat to our right later in the game. She initially had on a white tank top, but removed it, revealing a teal bikini top. She was tan and wearing those fuckin' yuppie trendy over-sized sun glasses. I tried to get a picture of her stretching, showing off her great tits. The chase for the picture is better than the picture itself. Same thing's true with the ladies. Getting them in the sack is more fun than what happens in the sack. That could be all on me, though.
Friday, May 26, 2006
9:15 AM
This is the article called into question in the e-mail below. It's been posted here before, but for those of you who haven't read it yet, I was thinking of you. See, a thoughtful douchebag am I.
Now here's the e-mail from a troubled reader.
a working man,
I read with regret the article published in May 2006 issue of Vine Line
entitled "Wrigley 'Sweets.' "
The article began by whining about the temperature and how hard it was to
eat candy when it is cold.
The next sentence which ironically encompassed the whole paragraph revealed
the mystery. An investment firm seems to have purchased part of Wrigley
Field.
The article then proceeds to tell how as a "true" cub fan, he is above all
others who pay for the honor of his company.
Then a real fan showed up and I do quote " 'Nice World Series hat. I'm
actually shocked to see you in a shirt with the sleeves.' "
I take this to mean he was not a whining about the temperature but was very
glad to have the chance to watch a baseball game.
It continues " 'Say whatever you want, man,' the guy said to me, 'but we won
the whole thing.'
No you didn't. You sat and watched. Maybe you stood a few times, but you
didn't win anything.' "
They didn't win anything?
That is not spoken like a true baseball fan, or do you disagree?
Then the article returns to whining and talking about how everyone loves the
cubs, but it always only seems to involve money, elitism and empty words.
It is alright though I guess, the increasing profits made from the gate
receipts and the value of the property surrounding the 'park' must make the
annual losing seasons easier to bear, or actually meaningless, in the big
'ivy covered' picture.
a deeply disaffected cubs, no, baseball fan
Monday, May 22, 2006
1:15 PM
Recapping the Cubs-Sox Series, May 19-21 at Comiskey.
Saturday I drink, play on-line, and miss the fight.
Sunday in the stands for the 7-4 Cubs Win!
Saturday.
I sat at this computer with the TV on mute. I was writing and editing pictures and I didn't see the fight live. By the time I turned around, the score was 5-0. I turned again and it was 7-0. I still knew nothing about the fight.
When I saw some ESPN highlights, I began watching the game. I was frustrated by how badly the Cubs were playing, and knew Barrett did it out of his own frustation. To calm my nevers, I consulted my friend Jack Daniel's. He did the trick. I proceeded to drink more, write less, and in the end I had written a bunch of shit on Cubs massage boards about them sucking, mainly because we support the losing year after year. Then I went to a party, got more riled up and came home to write more about the fight and the Cubs sucking. Then I went to bed, knowing that a game awaited with Angel and friends on Sunday.
This is the view from Angel's condo in the Gold Coast.
My buddy Jack hangs out on one of the buildings.
Lake Michigan is in the back.
Simply gorgeous. And you hear no honking at all.
This will be a common theme - me flipping off just about anything White Sox.
Inside the Cell's stadium club. Thanks Alex and Jimmy.
Zoilo, the guy in the middle, works with me at Wrigley. Here he's donning the chef's hat to make omlettes for Sunday brunch in the club.
From our seats, Section 143, Row A. Handicapped seats, comfy and next to food and beer.
Jim Thome awaits a Carlos Zambrano pitch.
A clever Office Max ad.
The Cubs celebrate with hand shakes and high-fives after their 7-4 win.
Angel treated me to the game. A free ticket to the Cubs-Sox at the Cell? Sure I will!
After the game this felt good with a Cubs win.
With Tim, Donnie and Angel in the club after the game.
Budweiser pays tribute to the Sux World Series title. I know, I know, I need to stop biting my nails.
Jimmy bartends at both the Cell and Wrigley. I don't approve of this jersey.
Natalie also works at Wrigley.
How did a Heckler get into the Cell Stadium Club? And why is it opened to this ad?
Rons runs the show in the club. And looks like me.
This Sox mother taught her Sox daughter to make a raspberry-sound when anyone mentions the Cubs. It was really cute, even for a Cubs fan.
Outside Jimbo's Lounge with Jimmy, Jimbo the owner, John, and The Heckler.
Getting along as best we can.
Erin's making friends with the 'lil puppy.
So damn cute, except for the hat and jacket.
L-R: Sammy, Chrissy, Shocka and Kelly outside Jimbo's as we waited in line.
I met these sisters in Arizona for Spring Training.
.
See, on St. Patty's Day in Tucson.
I probably should've flipped it off instead of gagging myself. That's Mark, a Comiskey big-whig, wearing his World Series ring with Sox Pride.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
8:00 AM
Vine Line humor column #2, May issue, 2006
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
9:25 AM
Friday, April 21. Cards beat Cubs 9-3 in St. Louis.
I arrived in St. Louis around 4 p.m. Friday. In addition to all my Cubs swag I also had a red, white and blue giant afro wig. I wanted to be as obnoxious as possible at the game on Saturday. The wig place was huge, had tons of costumes for all occasions, on Chicago's west side. If you can think-up any costume for any occasion, Fantasy Costumes in Chicago is the place. Freaks. They had a blue and white wig, too, but I that lacked the red for the Cubs. Plus with the red, white and blue, I can wear it to be patriotic on America's holidays. Always thinking ahead.
Christina and I met some of her friends for dinner at a Soulard restaurant. Soulard's a historic New Orleans-feel part of St. Louis, maybe 5 minutes from Busch Stadium. Of course her friends are all Cards fans, the same crew who came to Chicago for the Cubs home opener when the Cards got swept the fuck outta town. So at least I had that going for me.
After dinner we went right across the street to Nadine's, a small neighborhood bar where they always hang out. And I do mean always. I left my Cubs garb in the car for dinner. I figured I'd look respectable while drinking wine and eating filets. I've never been an advocate of wearing jerseys and shit to anywhere that isn't a sporting event or a sports bar. Jenny's boyfriend, Rob, a great guy and die hard Cards fan, thought otherwise. There he was, downing a Miller Lite in his Albert Pujols 'kock-off' road jersey, cargo shorts, and flip-flops.
Rob knows someone with a hook-up for authentic baseball jerseys. Sure, I thought the same thing. When I was in Korea playing for the troops back in 2000, I saw a bunch of 'authentic sports apparel' shops. With names and numbers on the back and everything. But that's just it - they never showed the names on the back on the finished products hanging on the walls or in the window. "35 bucks for the jersey INCLUDING the name and number on the back? You're fuckin' kidding me! I'll buy a whole bunch. Let me make a list and I'll be right back."
I bought three: a gray Red Sox jersey for my buddy, Chris Marconi, his last name on the back and the always clever and juvenile #69 below MARCONI; my buddy John Wielgat got a black White Sox jersey, his last name on the back and I think #99 below WIELGAT; and then my brother, Brian, got a home Cubs pinstriped jersey, #99 on the back with CHUNK right above it.
The jerseys themselves looked nice. From the front. Not a hint of authenticity in sight, though. But as soon as you turned them around and saw the third-grade art project on the back, it was all you could do to not laugh. The letters and numbers were all bumpy. Looked like a one-armed man sewed them on in the dark with his eyes closed while completely fuckin' hammered. I wouldn't have worn the jerseys to bed much less to a sports bar. But of course - all sales were final in Korea.
I've never seen John wear his jersey. Ever. That's a shame. Seriously, it is. Shortly after John and I became friends about 13 years ago, he got some people together to throw money in the pot and bought me a genuine authentic Mark Grace Cubs road jersey. It was when they featured 'Cubs' in cursive on the front, but looked more like it said 'Cuba'. Instead of overflowing with 'Thank You's' or any apparent joy, I appeared shocked, like "Why the hell is my buddy who writes for our junior college newspaper spending this kind of dough on a douchebag like me?" John later claimed that he paid for most of the jersey himself. My underappreciation of the jersey gave John a reason to not talk to me for a couple of months.
And then I showed up in Arizona a few years later, crashed on his couch, took over his closet space, got him a job wearing jean shorts and line dancing, introduced him to his currently-pregnant wife, got in a huge fight with his wife-then-fiancee to the point she threw her glass of beer at me, didn't talk for a long while, eventually made up, was invited to their wedding, took a girl who John used to date to the wedding as my date, she passed out on the way home and I put her to bed on her couch only to have her roll off the couch and onto the floor as I walked out the door so I left her there, helped John and Erin move cross-country twice, lived with them and their 4 animals in Rogers Park, and had dinner with their friends and John's mother-in-law, Nancy, this past Sunday night.
And all John got outta me is some lame fuckin' knock-off White Sox jersey their dog used to wear outside when it was cold. Some friend I am.
Chris Marconi has his jersey prominently displayed in his computer/sports memorabilia room, the back of the jersey actually facing you as you walk into the room. Doubtful he's ever worn it, either.
As for my brother's jersey, CHUNK is located in the middle of his back versus across the shoulders as it should be. It looks more like our soccer jerseys when we were 10 than a 'would-be authentic' baseball jersey. "Fat guys don't wear stripes," my insenstive-like-me brother said to me upon receiving the jersey. "And we definately don't wear stripes on clothes with our name in the middle of our back." I'm gonna get Brian a real Cubs jersey since I work at Wrigley. Maybe that will shut him up for a change.
Sorry. That was getting off on a tangent-and-a-half. Now back to last weekend in St. Louis.
"Glad you got dressed up for dinner," I said to Rob, like the asshole I am. "At least the jersey's buttoned, so I'll give you that." I bought Rob's beer and wasn't sure if I came off like an ass or not. Maybe the beer made things okay.
Rob's co-worker, Phil, took 'casual attire' to a whole new level. Rob and Phil both work contruction and since it was rather early, only 5:30, neither had time to go home and change. So they claimed. Phil's white t-shirt with grease and dirt stains scattered about the front made Rob's jersey-wearing seem almost tuxedo-like.
At Nadine's, Rob and Jenny joined us for a beer before they headed out to a concert. Christina and I stayed there. We walked in and it was already 3-0 Cards. By the time I sat down it was 4-0 and at the end of the inning it was 7-0. Michael Barret eventually hit a 3-run homer to make it 7-3. I had some hope revisit my loins.
The bar had made 10 people in it. Most of the people were outside in the beer garden. I didn't even ask if there were TV's out there and Christina never suggested we head out there. Two older men sat at the table behind us. Bellied up to the bar were patrons who seemed to know the bartender. Everyone there seemed to know one another. Not a loud, raucous crowd by any means. And the beers were cheap.
In the fifth inning, with the Cards still ahead 7-3, the Cubs David Aardsma, recently called up from Triple A Iowa, served up a 2-run homer to Jim Edmonds, an opposite field shot that landed in the Cubs bullpen. Just then a guy seated at the bar, a Cards fan who I had exchanged some friendly banter with earlier, turned to me from his stool and yelled, "Where's Derrek Lee?"
I was completely taken aback by this. Lee had suffered two broken bones in his right wrist in a collision with Dodger's shortstop Rafael Furcal on Wedneday night. It was announced the next day that Lee would spend 8-10 weeks on the DL with a broken wrist.
"What the fuck does that mean, 'Where is Derrek Lee?'" I snapped back. I had a few beers in me and was somewhat ready for some Cardinal fan bullshit. "What the fuck does Derrek Lee have to do with an Edmonds homerun to left? Where the fuck is Darryl Kile?"
The old men behind us dropped their forks against their glass plates. The bartender stopped pouring the draft beer. The waitress stopped in mid-stride. The two black men drinking beer from a pitcher turned to each other and then to me. It was silent in Nadine's.
"Holy shit, man. That guy died. What an asshole," the Derrek Lee bringer-upper said. "Fuckin' eh.
"I know. But what the fuck do you want me to say? For no reason you bring up our best player who got hurt in a freak accident on the field. So I brought up Darryl Kile. Big fuckin' deal. He's on the DL, too. The Dead List."
Back in the summer of 2002, when the Cards were playing in Chicago against the Cubs, starting pitcher Darryl Kile died in his hotel room. He was only 33 years-old. Even though I was not working there yet, I remember that fateful Wrigley Saturday afternoon. Cyndi, who was working there but was off on that day, and I were walking along Clark Street. I noticed the people leaving the ballpark. They weren't very lively, but instead very somber. The weather was nice, so I wondered what the mass exodus. I asked a few fans and they told us that Kile had died. The then Cubs catcher and eventual Cardinal catcher and current Marlins manager, Joe Girardi, announced that the game had been post-poned due to Kile's death.
The guy at the bar rose from his stool and began toward me. I stayed seated. "What? Did you fuckin' know him personally? He was a player you were a fan. So what. Sure I feel bad for his family and friends, but I simply said it as a reaction to your dumbass [in my best whiny yet manly, drunk voice] 'Where is Derrek Lee?' Lee had nothing to do with that fuckin' homerun. Sit the fuck down. I meant nothing by it."
The man began to stumble a bit. One of the older men behind us spoke up. "Just sit down, Rich. He didn't mean anything by it. We're all havin' fun here." Rich wiped his mouth against the sleeve of his shirt and stared at me, the glassy-eyed stare of a drunken Cardinal fan.
"You better watch your fuckin' mouth, my friend. That shit ain't funny." Rich sat back down on the stool and began mumbling, whispering his angst to himself. But I could hear him.
"Darryl Kile. How 'bout I got fuck your grandma?"
"What the fuck did you say, cocksucker?" I stood up and removed my wig, tossing it across the table into Christina's lap. There was a line left on my forehead from where the snug fit resided.
"What the fuck did you just say? Don't get all shy now, bitch! I heard something about you wanting to fuck my grandma!"
The old men looked at one another. Christina reached for my left arm, but to no avail. The black men at the bar moved their stools in unison away from where I was standing and where Rich was sitting, his back facing me.
"Go ahead, fuck her if you want. She's dead, just like your boy Darryl Kile. What else ya got for me?"
The bartender hurried out from behind the bar and stopped me about two feet from Rich, who remained at the bar but had turned to face me.
"I got a yiayia, asshole, but no grandma. Your dumb ass doesn't what yiayia means. Fuckin' douchebag."
Christina pulled me back to the table. Rich left, his half-full drink on its coaster at the bar. I put my wig back on, apologized to the remaining Nadine's patrons, and watched the Cubs lose 9-3.
Monday, April 24, 2006
1:41 PM
April 22. Cubs vs. Cards in St. Louis @ new Busch Stadium. Cards win 4-1.
An awesome view of the new Busch and downtown St. Louis. Note the finger - this is just the beginning.
This is how I looked Friday night watching the game at Nadine's in historic Soulard, minutes from both Busch Stadium and the Budwesier brewery. The Cubs lost 9-3, so the wig didn't stay on too long.
With Ryan from SIU Carbondale, Illinois. He's a student advisor and helped my sister begin to enroll at SIU back in 2004. She never went there, but I told Ryan about my work at Wrigley and this Website. He stopped me at Busch and asked, "Do you work at Wrigley Field?" It was nice to see him, even though he hasn't been to ShaveYourHead.com in many months. "This is Pastor John," Ryan said, introducing his friend to Christina and I. Well, that explains why he's not been back here. He's friends with a pastor. Oooops. They still may come to my show at SIU May 3rd at Mugsy's.
Scott Derenger look-alikes ran amuck in St. Louis over the weekend.
Christina bought the tickets so I had nothing to say about her hat or the team for which she cheered.
But I could salute the bird and the beer.
Look for this picture for sale on ShaveYourHead.com soon.
A Cubbie couple having a smoke before the game. I'm obviously still not good with my camera settings.
Fans gather outside of Busch around the statue of The Iron Horse, the legendary Hall of Famer and Cardinal great, Stan Musial.
The center field scoreboard and lawn look virtually the same as they did in the old Busch. Sorry that I don't have pics from last season in St. Louis.
It just won't be the same with Derrek Lee being anywhere else than at first base.
I made Christina take off that shitty hat before she even thought about this move.
These two are married. Not sure if it's ever 'happily' during a Cubs-Cards game, though.
There's really nothing Cubs fans can say to a shirt like this.
Or this one.
But you can make fun of a dead guy.
1980's rivals Darrel Porter and Ryne Sandberg made it out for the game.
A trio of Albert Pujols' supporters donning his World Baseball Classic jersey.
In the upper deck of the new Busch. The Arch in the background affords a great view. The White Sux should have done something like this with downtown Chicago. I would say our skyline is far better than seeing some fuckin' shiny horseshoe-like near a river.
I ran into my Habitat friends from New Orleans. That's Rob and his son, along with his father, Bob, and Rob's mom. Rob, Bob and I all enjoyed some coffees and walked through the French Quarter back in early February. We also built houses for a week. Rob's the one whose toolbelt I nailed to the wall because I thought he fell asleep. In realtiy, he was burning CD's for fellow volunteers in their RV.
Always can welcome a Harry Caray wanna-be.
From the right-center field walkway.
Thanking Busch one more time for being hospitable.
Fans getting along at Al Hrbowski's Bar across from Busch after the game.
"Dude, you keep drinkin' beer while she drinks water, you're getting nothing but a headache and blue balls."
It's easy to get along when being served beers from these chicks.
And from this dynamic duo.
The Heckler found its way into the Cubs-Cards after-party at Al Hrbowski's.
Doesn't this douchebag know the stigma about Cubs fans being gay on the northside of town? I'm guessing NO since he's dancing while holding a purse. Ryne Sandberg wouldn't be happy.
In addition to beer and broads at Al Hrbowski's, the window in front of the urinals is an extraordinary touch. Those are women lined-up outside of the 'window' awaiting their turn for the bathroom as men hold their weenies and wave. Most of the ladies don't know that the mirror they are looking into is really a window on the other side. Fuckin' awesome!
Hrbowski's has a tribute in the curse corner dedicated to Cubbie futility.
Who needs all Budweiser in St. Louis? Especially with the Cubs in town.
'Cuck the Fardinals' is the best we can come with? That's sad.
Dusty Baker signed my hat and then posed for a picture right after. I really didn't want the autograph, but as long as he did, why not have it on my Cubs hat. Having it on my ticket would have been okay, but I wear the hat all the time. And if they win it all this year ...
A closer look at the Cubs field general's penmanship.
"Come on Dusty, you wish you made that Mark Prior for Bobby Abreu trade now? And if you and Hendry decide to pick up that option on fuckin' Kerry Wood at the end of the year, it's your ass. Oh wait. If the Cubs don't make the playoffs you won't be back anyway. So we won't care about your toothpicks or your ass."
"Hello, ladies. Do you like it doggie style? I mean would you like an Old Style?"
Some of the Busch Stadium staff.
Some unknown 'friends' at a cajun bar near Busch. Damnit when the flash isn't on. The shirt in the middle reads 'St. Louis Sucks.' Short and to the point.
There's the flash. None of us look any better.
Perhaps her panties - if there are any under there - are blue. That would be a nice look for a Cubs fan.
2:13 PM
All Marissa Miller photos courtesty of Will Byington Photography.
Take that, Billy Joel!
Thursday, March 20, 2008
12:44 PM
Cubs SPRING TRAINING, 2008
A's beat Cubs 5-2.
Fukudome takes a healthy swing yesterday versus the A's.
Soriano readies for a pitch.
Aramis Ramirez greets Derrek Lee at home after his solo homerun for the first run of yesterday's game.
"Lady in red was lying next to me. Didn't see her cheeks."
I hope she's old enough.
My buddy Jeremy joined me at yesterday's game.
His friend Heather has one fantastic tattoo, perfectly excluding the White Sox logo.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
10:40 AM
With Jade and Mike at yesterday's Cubs game. Jade got some JUST SHAVE IT panties for her birthday today. The shirt says IF YOU'RE NOT A CUBS FAN THEN ... and the fuzzy guy flips the bird.
Jose Contreras warms up in the bullpen on St. Patty's Day in Tucson vs. the Angels.
Cubs-Sux in Tucson.
One asshole ruins the bunch.
Some fans of The Heckler at Hohokam Park in Mesa.
My lone sniper shot this Spring, milfs included.
Then I asked a mom to exploit their daughters for my ShaveYourHead.com readers.
She's so hot. And she thinks I'm cute, via a Blackberry message to Gellie.
Rich Hill (left) and Matt Murton.
Cubs superstar Derrek Lee.
Chasing October writer-producer and star, Matt Liston.
Jenna and Patti from Illinois State U.
A day in the Spring Training life of a Cubs fan!
March 23. Cubs beat the Barry Bonds-less Giants 6-2
I've seen around 10 games this Spring, perhaps the most ever in my 'career' coming to the desert for my March Madness. Missed one year since 2000. I'm a little biased toward the Cactus League versus the Grapefruit League, mainly because of my beloved Cubbies, but also because I lived in the Phoenix area for three years. I know how to get around and have a place to stay annually. Plus there are some friends to see the games with. Sometimes.
This year that's only been the case a few times. Going it alone has gotten a little lonely of late. There's no one to point out hot chicks to and no one to take pictures of me with the Hooters girls. You'll notice that I've yet to post a single picture with the busty gals pimpin' the wings. I see them at every game, and maybe it's 'cause I'm getting older and further away from the 24-year-old Daisy Dukes with their tight white tanktops, but I feel dirtier this year than ever. The thought of simply asking a stranger and then the Hooters girls for a photo opp is cringe-inducing. Instead I walk by, think about my throng of 36 readers who would enjoy the picture, and head for another hog dog.
Spring of 2007 has seen a buzz about the park. Fans are excited with Lou Piniella and Alfonso Soriano. Prior and Wood appear to be healthy, and Derrek Lee is back to 2005 MVP-type form.
Then again, it's Spring. We're wearing shorts and sitting in the outfield for six bucks. Nothing is every won in the Spring. Aside from a starting job at second or a spot as the fifth man in the rotation. Still are both undecided. Personally I'd like to see the gritty Ryan Theriot at second and Prior as the #5. At least to start the season. If Prior struggles in April and May, then asess from there. If you send him down, though, that could kill any remaining confidence. However, if he begins in the minors simply to get more work and then comes up in May or June, that may help his cause.
But enough of me sounding like a scout or a coach. I'm not either. I'm a loyal fan who just happens to work at Wrigley Field, serving carrot cake and cookies to fellow fans, celebs and corportate yo-yo's. Spring Training, like for the pros, gets me ready for the season. I drink at the games, which is something I can't do on the clock. Afterwards is a whole 'nother story.
So on with a day in the Spring Training life of a Cubs fan ...
This year I've driven to Sluggo's for every game in Mesa. I'm not really sure how I found Sluggo's. Probably like most other things in life - you get to talking to someone and they tell ya. In the past I've parked near Hohokam for free or paid to park with the tailgaters. Either way the traffic sucks getting in and out; Sluggo's is your answer to all that is frustrating about sitting in your car, waiting. And waiting.
Haven't Cubs fans waited long enough? There's booze to be had and a tan to be gotten. Move along already.
In Tuscon I rode my bike twice. Did it once up in Phoenix to see the Rangers-Brewers. Thought about riding to see the Cubs, but from where I'm staying, that would take two hours - one way. I'd rather park in the Sluggo's covered parking garage for free and then walk to the game.
Or there's the shuttle service. You never really know when it runs for sure. On too many occasions I've just missed it. The walk is maybe 20 minutes, but when you're feeling lazy and hungover, it seems to take forever.
Sluggo's used to be owned by Steve Stone and Harry Caray, but I guess Harry was a tough guy to own a bar with, so Stoney bought Harry's stake, and owned it outright. Then Stoney sold it to Doug, a fellow bald, glasses-clad guy from Kansas City. A second Sluggo's opened a few months ago about 20 minutes east.
Once inside you'll see a sea of Cubs fans. The wall-to-wall Cubs jerseys and hats make it feel like Murphy's or the Cubby Bear after a Cubs game. But you look at your watch or - these days - your Blackberry, and see that it's March. You look down at your feet and see them wiggling in sandals attached to your pasty white legs. You know you're in Arizona and you know you will burn if you drink too much and forget the sunscreen.
Old Styles are $1.50 a can. The food's pretty good, too. Try a burger or the all you can eat fish on Friday. I had 7 pieces yesterday. Didn't know it was all you can eat, though. Some friends I met, which is what stragers quickly become at Sluggo's, were having a fish feast. "You guys are killing that stuff. How much do they charge for the extra pieces?"
"Nothing. It's all you can eat." I asked for two more and the girl brought four. Fine by me. And to add frosting to the cake, one of my new 'friends' picked up my meal. I left the tip.
But that's well after the game. Let's get back to Sluggo's before the game, shall we?
All over the walls have pictures, autographs, license plates, murals, jerseys, posters, neon signs - and anything else sports related. It's 75% Cubs stuff, but you'll find other Chicago teams, some Arizona teams and a few random things.
There's only a stall and a urinal in the bathroom. Well, in the guy's anyway. Nothing like the troughs at Wrigley. When the games are packed on weekends, a few port-o-potties will be outside. You wait in line to pee, bullshit with the guy in front of and behind you, and make yet another friend. Then shake his hand ... before he tugs at his crank.
Some of the staff knows me by name. I interviewed Doug about Sluggo's for my first Vine Line column last season. Some of the regulars even know me, too. I think AA is the next step.
Yesterday I met a guy as I sat at the bar. He was ordering drinks for his friends outside. A young kid, maybe 25. From Iowa but living in the Phoenix area for three years and working in real estate. I asked if he had an extra ticket.
"Hey man. We have 10 tickets, but the guy with the tickets isn't here yet. I'll let you know, though. If you wanna come out and join us, we're back there in the corner."
His group was incredibly cool. Especially when the two hot girls joined us. Then another one, holding the hand of the guy with the tickets. She was really smokin', short shorts and tan legs. A blonde with glossy lips and a great smile. They all had that preppy look, mid-20's college grads. I was glaringly outta place, in age and appearance. My sunglasses weren't Prada or Dolce & Gabana. Or whatever the fuck they're called.
"Hello. I'm Scott who knows nobody here. I'm just looking for an extra ticket." They laughed a little and some raised an eyebrow and wondered who the freak show was.
With two beers in me and only a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, the buzz was already creeping up. I know it's Spring Training and the games count as much as an attemped handjob through your jeans, but I hate to miss the first pitch. I like to be there at the beginning and stay till the end, even though my early departure last Wednesday made me miss the 9th Inning heroics of one, Daryl Ward. His grandslam broke a 7-7 tie and gave the Cubs an 11-7 win. That's what I get for trying to catch the shuttle back Drinkyville.
The friendly crew had reached 8. I kept counting, trying to see if I would score a ticket. The main guy said he expected the last two to show, so I was out. But I sat a few minutes longer to look at the hotties.
One of them, an ASU student with long reddish-brown hair, wore a tanktop. It was cold in the shade, though. I could see her shivering. On her left shoulder was what appeared to be a rugburn. I envisioned her being a wild child, earning the burn from a night of unbridled passion with a sorority girl. Or just some off the wall sex with a comedian.
"She got hit by a car," her roommate said, "on campus, riding her bike to school last week. She doesn't always look this rough."
My feeling-like-a-total-asshole meter had reached new heights. Here I was thinking about her fire crotch and legs flailing about in ecstasy, and in reality she almost died.
Their gang wasn't too into being there on time. The shuttle arrived at 12:43 and I knew it may be the last one. The guy I met initially, Landon, asked the driver to come back for his crew. I still needed a ticket, so I hopped in the stretch Hummer limo, and headed to the park.
I asked the guys inside if they had an extra ticket. And they did, a lawn seat. They charged me face plus the serice charge since they bought 'em on-line.
8 bucks to see Cubs-Giants.
The weather was okay. Partly cloudy and cool when the sun was covered. I walked around for a few inning. My backpack was filled with frozen and unfrozen water, squirt guns, 3 SPF's of lotion, Hecklers, seeds and tons of miscellaneous crap. I was truly my mother's sun.
Hanging around a shoulder strap was my Wrigley Field sweatshirt given as an end-of-the-year gift in 2005. It never got that cold, though. I also had my water proof blanket from the day before. It came in very handy when the rains came in Peoria for Cubs-Padres. That was a gift, too, a 'tip' from a suite hostess entertaining some clients and customers. It was given to their people, and since they didn't wanna haul the extras around, I got one. A very useful little item. Although not helping much with my rent.
I wandered and wandered. An Internet radio show back in Chicago, the Visitor's Locker Room, had me on the air. We played phonetag for a few minutes and then I came on to talk about the Cubs and the Spring Training fans. Because the two hosts are sports fans and comedians, it was a struggle to get a word in edge wise. Plus it was loud and cell phones aren't radio-friendly devices.
I found Jade, the girlfriend of Mike with Section 8 Industries, a small company that makes t-shirts. I met 'em two weeks ago at Sluggo's. Mike and a friend came to a show in Tucson last week, and then I met him at the bar where Jade works this past Tuesday night. We swapped shirts and have each worn them out in public, although Mike wore mine under a nice shirt; Yesterday I wore his to the game, a blue shirt that reads IF YOU'RE NOT A CUBS FAN THEN ... and it shows a picture of a fuzzy guy flipping the bird. Tons of people asked about it and I told 'em to check out their Web site, section8industries.com.
Today is Jade's 27th birthday. Happy Birthday, Jade. Like she will ever waste her time reading this shit.
Because it was Friday in Lent, I got some veggie pizza, covered in black olives. YUCK! But I was starving and ate like a hostage, olives and all. Even the mushrooms. Double YUCK.
Back out to the lawn. There I found Landon. He said he had called me with an extra ticket, and then invited me down to sit with his group. They were in leftcenter right behind the fence. A pretty good spot actually. We all reintroduced outselves, but that's really where the fun ended. The really hot girl kissed her buff boyfriend a few times. Others talked on their Blackberries and shared stories about people and places I knew nothing about. While that enabled me to actually watch the game, it kinda made me feel really fuckin' pathetic.
Sure I was sitting with some cool people and hot chicks, but I was the "Who the hell is that guy?" guy. Never a good title.
Two other nice looking girls joined their crew just as I was about to leave. So I stayed for a few more minutes. I had my brand new camera with me and knew a picture was inevitable. They only needed to drink a little more.
There were five girls total, all of whom were outta my league in the worst way. Everyone had the ridiculously huge, stylish sunglasses, one guy had a visor turned backwards. He appeared to be flirting with the rugburn-turned-bike-accident-victim. The two new girls had an ethnic look, dark hair and tan skin. Very cute. One sat lower on the blanket just to my right. Her jeans exposed the very top of her anal crevice. How I love that sight, but even sexier would've been some stringy underwear. I kill for that look.
Because they were all into their own group, which is totally expected, I bid farewell, citing "It's my friend's birthday and they just called. They're sitting over there." I pointed to where Jade and Mike were, knowing they weren't really missing my presence in the least.
I wandered aimlessly, catching a glimpse of the game and the fans along the right field sidewalk. It was somewhat melancholy, though. I saw tons of groups laughing and drinking. Me and my Bud Light didn't work it the same way.
I found Mike and Jade and sat with them for the end of the game. We took some pictures once the game ended and then headed out. They pseudo offered me a ride, but I opted to walk. "I'll see you guys at Sluggo's, right?"
Back at Sluggo's, the bar was packed. Quite a few Giants fans were there among the sea of red, white and blue. I found Mike and Jade at a corner table. The Sweet 16 had just started, so fans were visiting and watching basketball. I had hoped to see Landon and his crew, mainly to say thanks for the invite but also to take a picture with the lovelies. Not such luck, though.
Jade and Mike scooted over and made room for me. They had 5 other guys there, too. We bullshitted for a few hour, and then Mike and Jade left. I stayed with the guys and ordered the aforementioned fish. North Carolina was coming on next, so I stayed for that game, too. It was 4 hours after the Cubs game and I was still at Sluggo's. Not much different from the Sports Corner back home, eh?
And that turned into 10 p.m., drinking Jack & Cokes at this point. Because of all the fish however, I wasn't feeling a thing. I played the triva game at the end of the bar while Lucy, a tiny waitress just off the clock, sat with regulars and got ripped. I gave her a ride home where her roommate and her 2 kids and a neice were hanging out. I didn't really know these people aside from Sluggo's. The kids were 13, 11 and 11. They talked about MySpace and pictures on their cell phones, things that didn't exist when I was in junior high.
It wasn't going well. Leaving was the only option. Lucy had done too many shots and was clutching the corner of the couch from the floor. The mom was fighting with the oldest daughter in a way that reminds me why I don't want kids. I held my head in my hand, feeling embarrassed for them both. I knew it wouldn't get better. On this night or possibly ever in their life. The mom said her life as a child was a rough one. And had become that of her daughters'. Although it can end, the circle of dysfunction, it usually just manifests itself. I'm not here to judge, I'm just here to witness. I couldn't take any more, though. It was an uncomfortable feeling like never before. I had to leave.
But first I got a group photo.
Then I left.
And here I am now, thinking you actually give a shit.
Go Cubbies. Today it's Giants-Cubs again, this time in Scottsdale. Tickets will be impossible to come by. Barry Zito against Wade Miller, the only Cubs pitcher I haven't seen this Spring.
There may be one more game left before I leave next Wednesday. Until then ...
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
1:14 PM
From Maryvale, Arizona, home of the Milwaukee Brewers.
Rangers beats Brewers 11-7.
It's a gorgerous park. Too bad only 4,000 fans were there to see it.
Sunbathe your beer belly at a Brewers game? Brat of course.
After all the Grammys, USHER's been relegated to duties in the desert.
Of all the players' names to appear on the scorebaord - Sammy Sosa, Prince Fielder, Bill Hall, Kenny Lofton - I pick Rickie Weeks to be in my shot. Yet another douchebaggitty move.
A Ranger father-son due has 'a catch' in the left field lawn.
***********************************
My balls bagan hurting within 15 minutes of riding to the game. Maybe not so much my balls but that taint area. I mean, it's not the meatiest part of the body. I wonder if a masseuse would rub it for an extra 20 bucks?
The ride through southwest Phoenix was nothing of the scenic varitey. Landfills, warehouses, undeveloped land, construction, and then city life every so often. Sometimes there were sidewalks and sometimes I took the rugged route, over dirt, rocks, sand and even broken glass. I was Annie Lennox minus the walking.
Because my head was crisp from the day before and because I'm still without health insurance, the helmet was needed. Sure I looked like a toolbox on wheels, but better safe than sorry, right? Plus I feel like a real biker. Now where are my testicle-revealing spandex shorts?
Lawn seats in Maryvale are 7 bucks. They're 6 bucks for the Cubs in Mesa. With far less people seeing the Brew-crew, I guess they need to make as much money as possible. And speaking of the lawn, it's the steepest lawn I've seen in the Cactus League. After a few beers, you're likely to take a spill if you're not careful. Heck, after a few Cokes even.
Sammy Sosa is the DH for the Rangers, batting fourth. He received some good cheers from the fake fans and a smattering of boos from the real baseball fans. I thought about sitting close enough to capture a good shot of Slammin' Sammy, but figured that was too much for a guy who cheated and so adamantly denies it.
Sure Sosa single-handedly brought billions of dollars to the Cubs and made some otherwise unwatchable games intriguing. Sure he had the corked bat and left early on the last game of the season in 2004, which was his worst move in my opinion, but the Cubs made him into what he was. They knew he was on something enhancing his performance, but the money pouring in caused a blind eye to be turned effortlessly. They embraced his homerun hop, his sprint out to right field, his ear-to-ear smile, his broken English, all the while enjoying the winter home and yachts on the lake. People came to see Sammy and THEN to see Wrigley and the Cubs. And for that he's become an after-thought, a player no more valued than Kevin Orie or Dick Tidrow. Now a pitcher with nearly a 6 ERA last season and a thick, New York City accents wears # 21.
I'm a bit torn, that's all.
Monday, March 12, 2007
6:17 AM
My 3rd Spring Training Game, March 11.
Cubs beat Brewers 6-3 at Hohokam Park
My seat was off to the left of home plate, second row. Pretty damn good. Off-season acquisition Jason Marquis, very impressive in three Spring Training starts, delivers a pitch to Bill Hall as Geoff Jenkins waits on-deck.
New comers Neal Cotts (the white guy) and Cliff Floyd (not the white guy) sign for fans toward the end of Sunday's game. Cotts is making a run at the 5th spot in the rotation while Floyd, a Chicago native, will platoon in left and possibly right field. Cotts won the World Series with the White Sox in 2005 and Floyd won it with the Florida Marlins in 1997.
The Miller Lite girls host some beanbag toss at Sluggo's after the game.
Fans gather at Sluggo's, a downtown Mesa bar and grill.
My buddy Joe didn't make it to the game. Wife was sick so stayed home with the kid.
I got to Sluggo's around 11:35 and enjoyed a Bloody Mary. So much for not drinking alone and on the sabbath. Like either's ever stopped me before.
I ran back to my car to grab my bag and a different shirt. I was wearing a Jack Daniel's shirt to show to one of the waitresses, but she wasn't working. When I returned for the free shuttle to the park, it was literally pulling away. Sure I could've run for it, but the walking could do me some good. (I've been here for almost a week and have ridden my bike for all of 10 minutes.)
Had it not been for walking, though, I wouldn't have gotten the chance for pose for the GUN SHOW. I looked like a douche-and-half flexing on the corner, complete with camera set-up on a mini-tripod.
Hohohkam Park was packed. By the time I got to the window, the lawn was sold out. How the hell that happens is beyond me. Most people don't even sit in the damn grass out there anyway. They walk around, play catch and stare at bikini-clad chicks. Still, any ticket you by can be used to sit in the lawn. Not sure a $22 box seat it worth the $6 view from the lawn, though.
"Here's comes three blondes with Daisy Dukes and high heels."
Okay, maybe it is worth it.
I asked the lady for the best single seat in the house. She offered a second row seat to the left of homeplate.
"You have anything off to the sides some more?" I asked.
She looked at me as if I was a fuckin' lunatic.
"It's just that the net is right there and I'd rather have a clear view." This didn't seem to make her think more of me. I took the ticket and got in line to enter. A couple behind me asked to borrow my sunscreen. "Sure. As much as you need. It's not mine anyway. A friend left it." Small talk is always nice before, during or after a game. Especially when you go it alone.
My seat was amazing. Well, not the seat itself, but the view was amazing. Had the seat come equipped with a fan and a water spout, perhaps amazing would've been accurate.
I was surrounded by a sea of old folks. Like The Golden Girls and Cocoon had rented out the joint. Some people didn't show and others arrived late. On my left was a young couple who'd received the tickets from a friend. The guy was cool, maybe 25. The girl, while being a brunette with great tits, was drunk and obnoxious. She kept whining about 'how boring this is.'
And then, as if some switch went off, she incessantly demanded that they find out where UCLA was seeded in the tournament. "It's done at 3:30 EST." I knew she was wrong at the time, but she insisted. "Let's call someone right now." She was loud and not making friends. But her cleavage, so tasty. Her man, a lucky one.
She went to UCLA for undergrad and then USC for her MBA. I could smell her afluent, southern California aroma whenever she moved. I engaged her in a little debate on why UCLA sucked, even though I had no idea what kind of team they had. I just wanted to hear her garbled speech remind me why college is overrated. If mommy and daddy have money, go for it. Mine didn't. And that's why I'm 32-years-old and watching meaningless practice games in the desert. But my tan's coming along nicely.
Kerry Wood came in to relieve starter Jason Marquis, who was impressive in his third start of the Spring. Wood walked the first batter he faced. A grounder was then hit right up the middle and Wood attempted to make one his classic behind-the-back-with-the-glove plays, but missed. Second baseman Ryan Theriot dove into the hole to make the play, getting the force at second.
"Way to go man. That's a double play. How awesome was that?! Double play, man. All the way." The guy next to me swore it was a double play, obviously.
"See the key to the double play is getting two outs. They only got one," I alerted him.
"Oh. Well that was an awesome single play." The people around us were getting annoyed. They whispered to each other and I only wished to hear them. I walked down to use the bathroom as Wood finished his inning. The young couple followed me. As I made my way out of the bathroom, who was coming in but the same young couple. Yep, both of them, in the men's bathroom. The guy pointed the girl toward the stall. I was hoping her drunk ass would give it a go with the urinal, though. You know, make mommy, daddy, the Bruins and the Trojans all very proud.
I heard her talk to the kid sitting on the throne behind the stall door, as if to say "what are you doing here little boy?" Not sure if someone complained or what, but about 15 muinutes later the guy came back to our seats and announced he was leaving. We all took a moment of silence for their departure.
The Cubs third string catcher slammed a pinch-hit 3-run homer in the sixth. Fox, #74. Not sure of his first name and not wanting to find out at 4:02 a.m.
I watched local prospect Carmen Pignatiello throw in the bullpen at the end of the game. He's a tall lefty who went to Providence Catholic High School, wears #63 for the Cubs. Looked good with great movement on his pitches.
I'm tired. Good night.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
12:59 AM
More fun times at Hohokam Park in Mesa during a Cubbies Win!!!
10-6 over Padres.
March 9 Cubs Spring Training Report
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Words escape me.
Still speechless.
Ronnie with some adoring fans.
Phoenix comedian Travis Thurman.
Kevin Carlson, a former comedian and now a staunch Scott Derenger supporter.
I know it's getting old with Woo Woo, but the half-naked chicks don't pose as freely or as often as Ronnie. So until then, enjoy the one-time homeless guy now with a cult following. And a publicist, too.
Friday, March 09, 2007
10:45 AM
Some random Spring Training thoughts before Game 2 for me, Cubs-Padres split-squad at Mesa, March 9. 1:05 p.m. MST.
***(Scroll down to see pictures and a video from Wednesday's game.)***
Spring Training is quite the event. I've been coming here for 9 of the last 10 years, including 1997-1999 when I lived in Tempe, about 15 minutes from Mesa's Hohokam Park.
Fans are excited as they see their favorite players with unfamiliar accessibility. They stretch in the outfield - the players, not the fans - before, during and after the games, often times willing to sign autographs for just about anyone for however long it takes. Usually. Then again, they have a schedule to adhere to, so ease off it you didn't get your ticket or hat signed.
Because I work at Wrigley and am now 32-years-old, seeing the Cubs has taken on a different meaning. Maybe I take it for granted that Michael Barrett is standing a few feet from me in the Mesa bullpen, or that Carlos Zambrano is walking alongside me to the Wrigley lockerroom as I make my way to the suites to unwrap veggies trays.
I'm still a fan. A huge fan. I just embrace that fandom differently, that's all.
Yesterday I downloaded MLB.com's package to listen live to all the baseball games. I'll be outta town for many of the Cubs games this summer and will have no excuse to miss any. Yesterday's radio feed was from the Padres affiliate. Former Cubs radio pre and postgame host, Andy Masur, recently was hired by the Padres to do their radio play-by-play. I got to hear him and his partner, the venerable but misprounouncement-laden Jerry Coleman, call the game. For Masur, it wasn't a far cry from Ron Santo's botching of any number of last names. Even though Masur corrected the names when asked, Coleman, 83 years-young, insisted on his own version of players' names. Quite entertaining, to saythe least.
"Is it Pee-ay or just Pie, like apple or cherry?"
"Theer-i-ott? Or Therr-i-ott?" I think Jerry went with a few different ones for Ryan Theriot.
"And this Brian Dopirak," pronounced Da-peer-ak, was butchered with a fine steak knife. Coleman swore it should be said DOPE-RI-ACK. And he stuck with that the rest of the game.
***********
Today I'm seeing the Cubs-Padres in Mesa. I have two $20 tickets, purchased within seconds of entering Sluggo's Bar and Grille this past Wednesday. Normally I just spend $5 to sit in the lawn, which has been upped to $6 this year. (Someone's gotta pay for Soriano's Lexus.) But I'd wanted to sit close and actually watch the game instead of the scantily-clad co-eds on Spring Break. And lemme tell ya, there's a surplus wherever you look, especially at Cubs game, home or away.
The bartender's husband sold 'em to me. She smiled, pulled 'em outta her purse, and I handed over $40. When I looked at the seat chart yesterday, they didn't appear to be right in the front row as promised. I want to sit in the sun and get this dome nice and tan; the seats look like they're in the shade. That and a friend of mine wants to bring his girl, which is fine with me but I don't have another ticket.
Stay tuned.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
1:51 PM
March 7 Cubs Spring Training report
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Jeff, the former Notre Dame wide receiver (it's easier to write that than his real last name), warms up in the bullpen with Oakland A's players looking on.
Matt Murton (top left), Michael Barrett, that Jeff guy again, and Brian Dopirak run in the outfield to stay loose.
Ronnie Woo Woo signs a picture for a fan, who actually took the shot of Ronnie at Spring Training a few years ago. "How much you think you'll get for one of 'em," I asked the guy, knowing he wouldn't realize my sarcasm, "especially now that it's autographed."
"Well I'm not sure. Not a lot of people have something like this," the fan said, as serious as a heart attack. "I wonder why nobody has one, pal," I began. I mean, come on - it's fuckin' Ronnie Woo Woo. He wears a Cubs fannie pack for shit's sake." The fan walked away dejectedly. Not all Cubs fans can handle the truth apparently.
I think this lady asked Woo Woo to sign the napkin she just wiped her face with. And Ronnie happily obliged.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
1:05 AM
Vine Line, September 2006
1:00 AM
Vine Line August 2006
Monday, June 05, 2006
1:02 PM
Vine Line column, JUNE 2006.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
9:08 AM
Sunday, May 28. Braves strikeout 18 times, but hit 8 homeruns. Cubs rally in 9th, but lose in the 11th on a bouncing ball of Aramis Ramirez's head. Braves beat Cubs 13-12 in 11.
It was hot as shit Sunday. Christina and I thought about walking to the game, but figured we'd pass out by the time we got there. The bus wasn't in sight when we walked out, so we headed for the train.
"Shit. I forgot my water bottle. It's sitting right in the fridge door. And my squirt guns. If I were in shape I'd run back to get them," I said, standing in the shade on the sidewalk. "Maybe there's a store near the train." And there was, a dollar store. They had a ton of water bottle and squirt gun selections. Christina bought hair ties. "Why didn't you put your hair up back at my place?" I asked. "Well, with this shirt it made my hair look funny." Amazing what logic women have when it comes to fashion. 'Sure these shoes kill my feet but they make me taller and they look great!'
Wrigley was crawling with people on the Sunday before Memorial Day. I had our tickets in hand and treated Christina to the Sunday brunch in the Wrigley Stadium Club. "Will I be able to get a bloddy mary at this place?" she wondered. "Oh yeah. There's a whole bar just for that. You'll love it."
Once inside we sat at Jen's bar table. Jimmy was the lone bartender. We were back in the corner away from the main dining room and all the food. Christina ordered a bloody mary. Jen brought it seconds later. "Look, the ice is all melted. It's all watery. I'm gonna ask for a new one."
"I bet they're pre-made, the salt on the rim and everything," I said. "Here, just poor it in my glass. I'll drink some water first." She poured her 'water' into my water glass, and then headed to the bar. I walked with her to look at the bloody mary spread. Christina sighed, almost in shock. "That wasn't water in my glass. That was vodka."
I figured they were pre-made but without the vodka. As much as I wanted to call her a giant boob, I was also clueless. We laughed and she went to try to remedy her bloody mess. I headed for the chef's table. Slices of ribeye, turkey and ham, huge bowls of salad and broiled red snapper. It was far from anything having to do with hot dogs and popcorn at a baseball game. This was how the other side lives. And for a change, I was on that side - no apron around my waist and no nametag dangling from my jersey's top button.
I had two servings of ribeye with the scallion-laded mashed potatoes. Fuckin' great. Christina came back with round two of the bloody mary experience. "You won't believe this," she said. I had no idea what happened this time. "I tried to experiment with the different sauces," she began, "and this really hot one came flyin' out." She made a sound with her tongue like a 1-year-old does when watching a Cubs game. Some call it a raspberry. What a dumb fuckin' name for a wet-sounding fart noise.
"You're a piece of work. Put some more ice and water in it," I suggested. She tried this, but to no avail. "It's way too hot."
"I can't take you anywhere." Jen came back to the table. Christina told her about the second debacle. "I can get you another one. No problem. Just let me know if you need one." She tried to suck it up, literally and figuratively, but couldn't do it. A minute later I asked Jen to get Christina another glass. "Sorry, Jen. It's someone's first and last time at Wrigley."
Because I serve the desserts like a dozen times a month, they did nothing for me. I told Christina to get whatever she wanted and we'd share. Carrot cake and a chocolate/vanilla mousse combo. served in a martini glass were her choices. Delicious. I hadn't seen the mousse before, topped with Oreo cookie crumbles.
"We need to be in our seats for the National Anthem. We'll head out at 1." And we did.
Our seats were in the sun the whole game, Section 142, Row 15, Seats 108-109. Great seats but hot as hell. Literally. I thought Satan was picthing for the Cubs. Instead it was a Korean rookie who got lit up like a phat joint. He didn't make it outta the second inning.
There was no one seated to our right. To our left were two young couples, maybe in their mid-20's. Not sure if they were dating. Both girls were brunettes, tasty, like an Oreo mousse concoction. I sprayed my water bottle in the air and they loved me. "You're my favorite person in the world ... right now," the girl closest to me admitted. "Right now? Thanks. I bet if you the beer guy gives you a free beer I'll be number two." She paused and laughed. "You're right."
After Jae-Kuk Ryu allowed like his fourt homerun of the game, a disgrunted fan - and father of two small children seated next to him - took his daughter's Cubs helmet and threw it onto the field. It barely made it over the wall.
"What a fuckin' douchebag," I said to Christina. "His kids are right there. That was his daughter's helmet he fuckin' threw out there. He's gonna get kicked out for sure."
His daughter will be playing with her friends later that night, all of whom will have on their free helmets from the Wrigley give-away. "Chelsie, where's your helmet?" She just puts her head down and shrugs her shoulders, continuing to come Barbie's hair. "My daddy's a die-hard Cubs fan, which means he's an asshole. He got really mad today when some 'fuckin Jap' as daddy called him even though he's from Korea, gave up like 10 homeruns. Mommy's thinks he's major prick, and now so do I. He threw my helmet on the field. Then he took me for ice cream so he wouldn't get kicked out. I guess he's not that much of a prick. I like ice cream."
A girl and her boyfriend - he had his arm around her so I just assumed - sat to our right later in the game. She initially had on a white tank top, but removed it, revealing a teal bikini top. She was tan and wearing those fuckin' yuppie trendy over-sized sun glasses. I tried to get a picture of her stretching, showing off her great tits. The chase for the picture is better than the picture itself. Same thing's true with the ladies. Getting them in the sack is more fun than what happens in the sack. That could be all on me, though.
Friday, May 26, 2006
9:15 AM
This is the article called into question in the e-mail below. It's been posted here before, but for those of you who haven't read it yet, I was thinking of you. See, a thoughtful douchebag am I.
Now here's the e-mail from a troubled reader.
a working man,
I read with regret the article published in May 2006 issue of Vine Line
entitled "Wrigley 'Sweets.' "
The article began by whining about the temperature and how hard it was to
eat candy when it is cold.
The next sentence which ironically encompassed the whole paragraph revealed
the mystery. An investment firm seems to have purchased part of Wrigley
Field.
The article then proceeds to tell how as a "true" cub fan, he is above all
others who pay for the honor of his company.
Then a real fan showed up and I do quote " 'Nice World Series hat. I'm
actually shocked to see you in a shirt with the sleeves.' "
I take this to mean he was not a whining about the temperature but was very
glad to have the chance to watch a baseball game.
It continues " 'Say whatever you want, man,' the guy said to me, 'but we won
the whole thing.'
No you didn't. You sat and watched. Maybe you stood a few times, but you
didn't win anything.' "
They didn't win anything?
That is not spoken like a true baseball fan, or do you disagree?
Then the article returns to whining and talking about how everyone loves the
cubs, but it always only seems to involve money, elitism and empty words.
It is alright though I guess, the increasing profits made from the gate
receipts and the value of the property surrounding the 'park' must make the
annual losing seasons easier to bear, or actually meaningless, in the big
'ivy covered' picture.
a deeply disaffected cubs, no, baseball fan
Monday, May 22, 2006
1:15 PM
Recapping the Cubs-Sox Series, May 19-21 at Comiskey.
Saturday I drink, play on-line, and miss the fight.
Sunday in the stands for the 7-4 Cubs Win!
Saturday.
I sat at this computer with the TV on mute. I was writing and editing pictures and I didn't see the fight live. By the time I turned around, the score was 5-0. I turned again and it was 7-0. I still knew nothing about the fight.
When I saw some ESPN highlights, I began watching the game. I was frustrated by how badly the Cubs were playing, and knew Barrett did it out of his own frustation. To calm my nevers, I consulted my friend Jack Daniel's. He did the trick. I proceeded to drink more, write less, and in the end I had written a bunch of shit on Cubs massage boards about them sucking, mainly because we support the losing year after year. Then I went to a party, got more riled up and came home to write more about the fight and the Cubs sucking. Then I went to bed, knowing that a game awaited with Angel and friends on Sunday.
This is the view from Angel's condo in the Gold Coast.
My buddy Jack hangs out on one of the buildings.
Lake Michigan is in the back.
Simply gorgeous. And you hear no honking at all.
This will be a common theme - me flipping off just about anything White Sox.
Inside the Cell's stadium club. Thanks Alex and Jimmy.
Zoilo, the guy in the middle, works with me at Wrigley. Here he's donning the chef's hat to make omlettes for Sunday brunch in the club.
From our seats, Section 143, Row A. Handicapped seats, comfy and next to food and beer.
Jim Thome awaits a Carlos Zambrano pitch.
A clever Office Max ad.
The Cubs celebrate with hand shakes and high-fives after their 7-4 win.
Angel treated me to the game. A free ticket to the Cubs-Sox at the Cell? Sure I will!
After the game this felt good with a Cubs win.
With Tim, Donnie and Angel in the club after the game.
Budweiser pays tribute to the Sux World Series title. I know, I know, I need to stop biting my nails.
Jimmy bartends at both the Cell and Wrigley. I don't approve of this jersey.
Natalie also works at Wrigley.
How did a Heckler get into the Cell Stadium Club? And why is it opened to this ad?
Rons runs the show in the club. And looks like me.
This Sox mother taught her Sox daughter to make a raspberry-sound when anyone mentions the Cubs. It was really cute, even for a Cubs fan.
Outside Jimbo's Lounge with Jimmy, Jimbo the owner, John, and The Heckler.
Getting along as best we can.
Erin's making friends with the 'lil puppy.
So damn cute, except for the hat and jacket.
L-R: Sammy, Chrissy, Shocka and Kelly outside Jimbo's as we waited in line.
I met these sisters in Arizona for Spring Training.
. See, on St. Patty's Day in Tucson.
I probably should've flipped it off instead of gagging myself. That's Mark, a Comiskey big-whig, wearing his World Series ring with Sox Pride.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
8:00 AM
Vine Line humor column #2, May issue, 2006
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
9:25 AM
Friday, April 21. Cards beat Cubs 9-3 in St. Louis.
I arrived in St. Louis around 4 p.m. Friday. In addition to all my Cubs swag I also had a red, white and blue giant afro wig. I wanted to be as obnoxious as possible at the game on Saturday. The wig place was huge, had tons of costumes for all occasions, on Chicago's west side. If you can think-up any costume for any occasion, Fantasy Costumes in Chicago is the place. Freaks. They had a blue and white wig, too, but I that lacked the red for the Cubs. Plus with the red, white and blue, I can wear it to be patriotic on America's holidays. Always thinking ahead.
Christina and I met some of her friends for dinner at a Soulard restaurant. Soulard's a historic New Orleans-feel part of St. Louis, maybe 5 minutes from Busch Stadium. Of course her friends are all Cards fans, the same crew who came to Chicago for the Cubs home opener when the Cards got swept the fuck outta town. So at least I had that going for me.
After dinner we went right across the street to Nadine's, a small neighborhood bar where they always hang out. And I do mean always. I left my Cubs garb in the car for dinner. I figured I'd look respectable while drinking wine and eating filets. I've never been an advocate of wearing jerseys and shit to anywhere that isn't a sporting event or a sports bar. Jenny's boyfriend, Rob, a great guy and die hard Cards fan, thought otherwise. There he was, downing a Miller Lite in his Albert Pujols 'kock-off' road jersey, cargo shorts, and flip-flops.
Rob knows someone with a hook-up for authentic baseball jerseys. Sure, I thought the same thing. When I was in Korea playing for the troops back in 2000, I saw a bunch of 'authentic sports apparel' shops. With names and numbers on the back and everything. But that's just it - they never showed the names on the back on the finished products hanging on the walls or in the window. "35 bucks for the jersey INCLUDING the name and number on the back? You're fuckin' kidding me! I'll buy a whole bunch. Let me make a list and I'll be right back."
I bought three: a gray Red Sox jersey for my buddy, Chris Marconi, his last name on the back and the always clever and juvenile #69 below MARCONI; my buddy John Wielgat got a black White Sox jersey, his last name on the back and I think #99 below WIELGAT; and then my brother, Brian, got a home Cubs pinstriped jersey, #99 on the back with CHUNK right above it.
The jerseys themselves looked nice. From the front. Not a hint of authenticity in sight, though. But as soon as you turned them around and saw the third-grade art project on the back, it was all you could do to not laugh. The letters and numbers were all bumpy. Looked like a one-armed man sewed them on in the dark with his eyes closed while completely fuckin' hammered. I wouldn't have worn the jerseys to bed much less to a sports bar. But of course - all sales were final in Korea.
I've never seen John wear his jersey. Ever. That's a shame. Seriously, it is. Shortly after John and I became friends about 13 years ago, he got some people together to throw money in the pot and bought me a genuine authentic Mark Grace Cubs road jersey. It was when they featured 'Cubs' in cursive on the front, but looked more like it said 'Cuba'. Instead of overflowing with 'Thank You's' or any apparent joy, I appeared shocked, like "Why the hell is my buddy who writes for our junior college newspaper spending this kind of dough on a douchebag like me?" John later claimed that he paid for most of the jersey himself. My underappreciation of the jersey gave John a reason to not talk to me for a couple of months.
And then I showed up in Arizona a few years later, crashed on his couch, took over his closet space, got him a job wearing jean shorts and line dancing, introduced him to his currently-pregnant wife, got in a huge fight with his wife-then-fiancee to the point she threw her glass of beer at me, didn't talk for a long while, eventually made up, was invited to their wedding, took a girl who John used to date to the wedding as my date, she passed out on the way home and I put her to bed on her couch only to have her roll off the couch and onto the floor as I walked out the door so I left her there, helped John and Erin move cross-country twice, lived with them and their 4 animals in Rogers Park, and had dinner with their friends and John's mother-in-law, Nancy, this past Sunday night.
And all John got outta me is some lame fuckin' knock-off White Sox jersey their dog used to wear outside when it was cold. Some friend I am.
Chris Marconi has his jersey prominently displayed in his computer/sports memorabilia room, the back of the jersey actually facing you as you walk into the room. Doubtful he's ever worn it, either.
As for my brother's jersey, CHUNK is located in the middle of his back versus across the shoulders as it should be. It looks more like our soccer jerseys when we were 10 than a 'would-be authentic' baseball jersey. "Fat guys don't wear stripes," my insenstive-like-me brother said to me upon receiving the jersey. "And we definately don't wear stripes on clothes with our name in the middle of our back." I'm gonna get Brian a real Cubs jersey since I work at Wrigley. Maybe that will shut him up for a change.
Sorry. That was getting off on a tangent-and-a-half. Now back to last weekend in St. Louis.
"Glad you got dressed up for dinner," I said to Rob, like the asshole I am. "At least the jersey's buttoned, so I'll give you that." I bought Rob's beer and wasn't sure if I came off like an ass or not. Maybe the beer made things okay.
Rob's co-worker, Phil, took 'casual attire' to a whole new level. Rob and Phil both work contruction and since it was rather early, only 5:30, neither had time to go home and change. So they claimed. Phil's white t-shirt with grease and dirt stains scattered about the front made Rob's jersey-wearing seem almost tuxedo-like.
At Nadine's, Rob and Jenny joined us for a beer before they headed out to a concert. Christina and I stayed there. We walked in and it was already 3-0 Cards. By the time I sat down it was 4-0 and at the end of the inning it was 7-0. Michael Barret eventually hit a 3-run homer to make it 7-3. I had some hope revisit my loins.
The bar had made 10 people in it. Most of the people were outside in the beer garden. I didn't even ask if there were TV's out there and Christina never suggested we head out there. Two older men sat at the table behind us. Bellied up to the bar were patrons who seemed to know the bartender. Everyone there seemed to know one another. Not a loud, raucous crowd by any means. And the beers were cheap.
In the fifth inning, with the Cards still ahead 7-3, the Cubs David Aardsma, recently called up from Triple A Iowa, served up a 2-run homer to Jim Edmonds, an opposite field shot that landed in the Cubs bullpen. Just then a guy seated at the bar, a Cards fan who I had exchanged some friendly banter with earlier, turned to me from his stool and yelled, "Where's Derrek Lee?"
I was completely taken aback by this. Lee had suffered two broken bones in his right wrist in a collision with Dodger's shortstop Rafael Furcal on Wedneday night. It was announced the next day that Lee would spend 8-10 weeks on the DL with a broken wrist.
"What the fuck does that mean, 'Where is Derrek Lee?'" I snapped back. I had a few beers in me and was somewhat ready for some Cardinal fan bullshit. "What the fuck does Derrek Lee have to do with an Edmonds homerun to left? Where the fuck is Darryl Kile?"
The old men behind us dropped their forks against their glass plates. The bartender stopped pouring the draft beer. The waitress stopped in mid-stride. The two black men drinking beer from a pitcher turned to each other and then to me. It was silent in Nadine's.
"Holy shit, man. That guy died. What an asshole," the Derrek Lee bringer-upper said. "Fuckin' eh.
"I know. But what the fuck do you want me to say? For no reason you bring up our best player who got hurt in a freak accident on the field. So I brought up Darryl Kile. Big fuckin' deal. He's on the DL, too. The Dead List."
Back in the summer of 2002, when the Cards were playing in Chicago against the Cubs, starting pitcher Darryl Kile died in his hotel room. He was only 33 years-old. Even though I was not working there yet, I remember that fateful Wrigley Saturday afternoon. Cyndi, who was working there but was off on that day, and I were walking along Clark Street. I noticed the people leaving the ballpark. They weren't very lively, but instead very somber. The weather was nice, so I wondered what the mass exodus. I asked a few fans and they told us that Kile had died. The then Cubs catcher and eventual Cardinal catcher and current Marlins manager, Joe Girardi, announced that the game had been post-poned due to Kile's death.
The guy at the bar rose from his stool and began toward me. I stayed seated. "What? Did you fuckin' know him personally? He was a player you were a fan. So what. Sure I feel bad for his family and friends, but I simply said it as a reaction to your dumbass [in my best whiny yet manly, drunk voice] 'Where is Derrek Lee?' Lee had nothing to do with that fuckin' homerun. Sit the fuck down. I meant nothing by it."
The man began to stumble a bit. One of the older men behind us spoke up. "Just sit down, Rich. He didn't mean anything by it. We're all havin' fun here." Rich wiped his mouth against the sleeve of his shirt and stared at me, the glassy-eyed stare of a drunken Cardinal fan.
"You better watch your fuckin' mouth, my friend. That shit ain't funny." Rich sat back down on the stool and began mumbling, whispering his angst to himself. But I could hear him.
"Darryl Kile. How 'bout I got fuck your grandma?"
"What the fuck did you say, cocksucker?" I stood up and removed my wig, tossing it across the table into Christina's lap. There was a line left on my forehead from where the snug fit resided.
"What the fuck did you just say? Don't get all shy now, bitch! I heard something about you wanting to fuck my grandma!"
The old men looked at one another. Christina reached for my left arm, but to no avail. The black men at the bar moved their stools in unison away from where I was standing and where Rich was sitting, his back facing me.
"Go ahead, fuck her if you want. She's dead, just like your boy Darryl Kile. What else ya got for me?"
The bartender hurried out from behind the bar and stopped me about two feet from Rich, who remained at the bar but had turned to face me.
"I got a yiayia, asshole, but no grandma. Your dumb ass doesn't what yiayia means. Fuckin' douchebag."
Christina pulled me back to the table. Rich left, his half-full drink on its coaster at the bar. I put my wig back on, apologized to the remaining Nadine's patrons, and watched the Cubs lose 9-3.
Monday, April 24, 2006
1:41 PM
April 22. Cubs vs. Cards in St. Louis @ new Busch Stadium. Cards win 4-1.
An awesome view of the new Busch and downtown St. Louis. Note the finger - this is just the beginning.
This is how I looked Friday night watching the game at Nadine's in historic Soulard, minutes from both Busch Stadium and the Budwesier brewery. The Cubs lost 9-3, so the wig didn't stay on too long.
With Ryan from SIU Carbondale, Illinois. He's a student advisor and helped my sister begin to enroll at SIU back in 2004. She never went there, but I told Ryan about my work at Wrigley and this Website. He stopped me at Busch and asked, "Do you work at Wrigley Field?" It was nice to see him, even though he hasn't been to ShaveYourHead.com in many months. "This is Pastor John," Ryan said, introducing his friend to Christina and I. Well, that explains why he's not been back here. He's friends with a pastor. Oooops. They still may come to my show at SIU May 3rd at Mugsy's.
Scott Derenger look-alikes ran amuck in St. Louis over the weekend.
Christina bought the tickets so I had nothing to say about her hat or the team for which she cheered.
But I could salute the bird and the beer.
Look for this picture for sale on ShaveYourHead.com soon.
A Cubbie couple having a smoke before the game. I'm obviously still not good with my camera settings.
Fans gather outside of Busch around the statue of The Iron Horse, the legendary Hall of Famer and Cardinal great, Stan Musial.
The center field scoreboard and lawn look virtually the same as they did in the old Busch. Sorry that I don't have pics from last season in St. Louis.
It just won't be the same with Derrek Lee being anywhere else than at first base.
I made Christina take off that shitty hat before she even thought about this move.
These two are married. Not sure if it's ever 'happily' during a Cubs-Cards game, though.
There's really nothing Cubs fans can say to a shirt like this.
Or this one.
But you can make fun of a dead guy.
1980's rivals Darrel Porter and Ryne Sandberg made it out for the game.
A trio of Albert Pujols' supporters donning his World Baseball Classic jersey.
In the upper deck of the new Busch. The Arch in the background affords a great view. The White Sux should have done something like this with downtown Chicago. I would say our skyline is far better than seeing some fuckin' shiny horseshoe-like near a river.
I ran into my Habitat friends from New Orleans. That's Rob and his son, along with his father, Bob, and Rob's mom. Rob, Bob and I all enjoyed some coffees and walked through the French Quarter back in early February. We also built houses for a week. Rob's the one whose toolbelt I nailed to the wall because I thought he fell asleep. In realtiy, he was burning CD's for fellow volunteers in their RV.
Always can welcome a Harry Caray wanna-be.
From the right-center field walkway.
Thanking Busch one more time for being hospitable.
Fans getting along at Al Hrbowski's Bar across from Busch after the game.
"Dude, you keep drinkin' beer while she drinks water, you're getting nothing but a headache and blue balls."
It's easy to get along when being served beers from these chicks.
And from this dynamic duo.
The Heckler found its way into the Cubs-Cards after-party at Al Hrbowski's.
Doesn't this douchebag know the stigma about Cubs fans being gay on the northside of town? I'm guessing NO since he's dancing while holding a purse. Ryne Sandberg wouldn't be happy.
In addition to beer and broads at Al Hrbowski's, the window in front of the urinals is an extraordinary touch. Those are women lined-up outside of the 'window' awaiting their turn for the bathroom as men hold their weenies and wave. Most of the ladies don't know that the mirror they are looking into is really a window on the other side. Fuckin' awesome!
Hrbowski's has a tribute in the curse corner dedicated to Cubbie futility.
Who needs all Budweiser in St. Louis? Especially with the Cubs in town.
'Cuck the Fardinals' is the best we can come with? That's sad.
Dusty Baker signed my hat and then posed for a picture right after. I really didn't want the autograph, but as long as he did, why not have it on my Cubs hat. Having it on my ticket would have been okay, but I wear the hat all the time. And if they win it all this year ...
A closer look at the Cubs field general's penmanship.
"Come on Dusty, you wish you made that Mark Prior for Bobby Abreu trade now? And if you and Hendry decide to pick up that option on fuckin' Kerry Wood at the end of the year, it's your ass. Oh wait. If the Cubs don't make the playoffs you won't be back anyway. So we won't care about your toothpicks or your ass."
"Hello, ladies. Do you like it doggie style? I mean would you like an Old Style?"
Some of the Busch Stadium staff.
Some unknown 'friends' at a cajun bar near Busch. Damnit when the flash isn't on. The shirt in the middle reads 'St. Louis Sucks.' Short and to the point.
There's the flash. None of us look any better.
Perhaps her panties - if there are any under there - are blue. That would be a nice look for a Cubs fan.
