The other day I saw this video on Sportscenter: Shaq vs Phelps! This got me really excited because I wrote about a potential Shaq/Phelps matchup last year. After I saw this...
Read what I wrote about it here: The Black Michael Phelps
And they did it! Produced by the one and only... Steve Nash!! (do you think he read my blog??? What if he's reading... right NOW!? Hey, Steve. Uh... I have your shoes...? )
Watch the full episode of Shaq vs Phelps here! http://abc.go.com/watch/shaq-vs/230338/234595/season-finale
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
10 Things to Remember When Flying
1. Never fall asleep before you get your complimentary beverage. It’s free. And it’s cranberry apple juice. ‘Nuff said.
2. Always ask for 'no ice' in your complimentary beverage. Someone once said that 'less is more', (before today I would say that they were completely ridiculous and a raving lunatic, because less is definitely less, not more… but in this case they are absolutely right.) Less ice means more delectable cranberry apple juice. They store the drinks in a cooler anyways, so you don't even need ice.
3. Always ask for a second complimentary beverage. Especially if your flying buddy declines the opportunity to taste the nectar of the gods (cranberry apple). Cranapple squared equals heaven. Plus it’s free. So I believe the correct equation is: cranapple squared plus free equals heaven times infinity cubed. (Not ice cubed, just numerically cubed.)
4. Always take headphones. I mean, you could use the ones you just found wedged between the two seats in front of you. (I'm sure the prewaxed earbuds would slide quite comfortably into your ear canals. PS- Do you think mixing ear wax is a bad thing? What if it's like mixing blood? I guess they don't call them hearing AIDS for nothing.) But having your own pair is a much needed commodity when there are two screaming infants in the seat directly behind you.
5. Don't take screaming infants. Especially if they're teething. The only thing worse than an extremely frightened baby is an extremely frightened, teething baby on an airplane. Combine that with loud engines, turbulence, and a dark, drafty cabin and you're gonna get a baby that screams at the top of its lungs for 3 straight hours. I didn't think it was possible. I now know it is.
6. Don't sit in front of screaming infants. Especially if you don't have headphones. (Please refer to items 4 and 5.) It also helps to note that the child will continue to scream no matter how many times you look back in concern/annoyance/disgust.
(I'm still audibly laughing at my hearing AIDS comment, I hope you are too.)
7. Be the first to use the lavatory. There are a lot of reasons why… I’ll just say this: a cool seat is much nicer than a warm one.
8. Don’t talk to acquaintances. A college buddy, a former work associate, a new acquaintance… I hate to tell you this but they just might not remember you. Even though you met them yesterday… at a family gathering.
9. Don't talk to strangers. Now this could be a little harder for some of you who are little Chatty Cathys and can't go 5 minutes without saying something. But flying is the perfect time to practice being quiet. Read, pretend you can read, sleep, pretend to sleep, jam out to tunes. Just don't talk to anyone. Hopefully this example will illustrate what I mean. Upon arrival at your assigned gate, you glance around at the other passengers and try to guess which one will be your traveling partner. The nicely dressed, older man (with glasses) a few feet away does the same thing. You make eye contact, and you nod with a closed smile as a sign of acknowledgement. After responding to a few text messages and checking the scores on ESPN MVP, you once again glance up and notice him looking at you. You notice this happens a few more times and shrug it off as a sign that he thinks he recognizes you from somewhere.
You courteously say 'Hello.' as you pass him to board the plane. But once again, you feel a little odd when he ends up sitting in one of the seats across the aisle. Although you make no attempt to mimic his actions, you feel him looking at you throughout the duration of the flight. 'I'm not the one with the screaming baby,' you seem to think.
You've finally made it off the plane, through the baggage claim, and onto the shuttle which will take you to the Economy Parking Lot. The bus is packed and letting this family of three off at their stop will require careful manuvering. You shuffle a few suitcases and rearrange a few bodies. You set your bag down again and look up. Once again, you make eye contact with the man with glasses, and you smile a closed smile while you nod in acknowledgement.... and you get off the shuttle even though your car is at the other end of the lot.
10. Always, always, ALWAYS take headphones. You don’t even need an ipod or an mp3 player… just take the headphones and pretend. Trust me.
2. Always ask for 'no ice' in your complimentary beverage. Someone once said that 'less is more', (before today I would say that they were completely ridiculous and a raving lunatic, because less is definitely less, not more… but in this case they are absolutely right.) Less ice means more delectable cranberry apple juice. They store the drinks in a cooler anyways, so you don't even need ice.
3. Always ask for a second complimentary beverage. Especially if your flying buddy declines the opportunity to taste the nectar of the gods (cranberry apple). Cranapple squared equals heaven. Plus it’s free. So I believe the correct equation is: cranapple squared plus free equals heaven times infinity cubed. (Not ice cubed, just numerically cubed.)
4. Always take headphones. I mean, you could use the ones you just found wedged between the two seats in front of you. (I'm sure the prewaxed earbuds would slide quite comfortably into your ear canals. PS- Do you think mixing ear wax is a bad thing? What if it's like mixing blood? I guess they don't call them hearing AIDS for nothing.) But having your own pair is a much needed commodity when there are two screaming infants in the seat directly behind you.
5. Don't take screaming infants. Especially if they're teething. The only thing worse than an extremely frightened baby is an extremely frightened, teething baby on an airplane. Combine that with loud engines, turbulence, and a dark, drafty cabin and you're gonna get a baby that screams at the top of its lungs for 3 straight hours. I didn't think it was possible. I now know it is.
6. Don't sit in front of screaming infants. Especially if you don't have headphones. (Please refer to items 4 and 5.) It also helps to note that the child will continue to scream no matter how many times you look back in concern/annoyance/disgust.
(I'm still audibly laughing at my hearing AIDS comment, I hope you are too.)
7. Be the first to use the lavatory. There are a lot of reasons why… I’ll just say this: a cool seat is much nicer than a warm one.
8. Don’t talk to acquaintances. A college buddy, a former work associate, a new acquaintance… I hate to tell you this but they just might not remember you. Even though you met them yesterday… at a family gathering.
9. Don't talk to strangers. Now this could be a little harder for some of you who are little Chatty Cathys and can't go 5 minutes without saying something. But flying is the perfect time to practice being quiet. Read, pretend you can read, sleep, pretend to sleep, jam out to tunes. Just don't talk to anyone. Hopefully this example will illustrate what I mean. Upon arrival at your assigned gate, you glance around at the other passengers and try to guess which one will be your traveling partner. The nicely dressed, older man (with glasses) a few feet away does the same thing. You make eye contact, and you nod with a closed smile as a sign of acknowledgement. After responding to a few text messages and checking the scores on ESPN MVP, you once again glance up and notice him looking at you. You notice this happens a few more times and shrug it off as a sign that he thinks he recognizes you from somewhere.
You courteously say 'Hello.' as you pass him to board the plane. But once again, you feel a little odd when he ends up sitting in one of the seats across the aisle. Although you make no attempt to mimic his actions, you feel him looking at you throughout the duration of the flight. 'I'm not the one with the screaming baby,' you seem to think.
You've finally made it off the plane, through the baggage claim, and onto the shuttle which will take you to the Economy Parking Lot. The bus is packed and letting this family of three off at their stop will require careful manuvering. You shuffle a few suitcases and rearrange a few bodies. You set your bag down again and look up. Once again, you make eye contact with the man with glasses, and you smile a closed smile while you nod in acknowledgement.... and you get off the shuttle even though your car is at the other end of the lot.
10. Always, always, ALWAYS take headphones. You don’t even need an ipod or an mp3 player… just take the headphones and pretend. Trust me.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
The Clubhouse
In the early days of man, relationships were easy. There were no complicated dialogues of dreams/goals/ambitions, there were no matching of personalities/interests/indifferences. There were no mind games, there were no arguments, and there was no drama. Take this couple for example:
A long, long time ago, there was a man named Trog. He was a well respected and admired man. He was a caveman by blood, but his hut-making skills rapidly placed him among the more advanced of his kind. You could say he was a member of the Elite… he lived in a hut. Trog always minded his ‘Slag’s and ‘Norg’s, and always gnawed all the meat off his bone.
Also among his people lived a ‘beautiful’ young woman named Goldenhare. She always dressed in the finest, gold rabbits fur (before they became extinct, of course) and always accessorized with the latest small, rodent-bone fashions. Many say she got the name Goldenhare because of her long, flowing blonde hair. But that wasn’t the case at all. Not only did she not have blonde hair, but it didn’t flow either. In fact, she had tangled, ratty, brown hair and she was just about as average a girl as there was in the village. I’m sure someone once new why she was named Goldenhare… but I’m also sure that that person died long, long ago.
One day, Trog approached Goldenhare.
“My name Trog.”
“My name Goldenhare.”
Then Trog, because he was one of the more gentlemanly cavemen, said,
“Me want you.”
And with a swift swing of his club (because he was still a caveman, whether gentlemanly or not) he hit Goldenhare on the head, knocking her unconscious. She ‘gracefully’ fell to the ground with a ‘Thud!’. And Trog grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to his hut.
And I’m pretty sure they lived happily ever after. (I definitely didn’t hear any Trog-Goldenhare drama from the tablet-bloids or the local watering hole.)
Now, thousands of years later, getting hitched isn’t that easy. I think clubbing a girl would get me battery, assault with a deadly weapon, kidnapping, and various other charges that would result in a hefty jail sentence. Not to mention a hefty jail roommate with ‘hefty’ jail experience.
That being said, lets take a look at how it works today.
A strapling young man named Robret meets a beautiful, aspiring artist named Nicolette (both names have been changed to protect their identity). They seem to hit it off and Robret decides he likes this girl.
“Would you like to go out with me?” he asks.
“You can buy me dinner,” she replies.
After the exchanging of phone numbers, IT has officially begun.
Robret texts her just to chip off a little more of the ice. He calls… no answer. He leaves her a voicemail and sends her an e-mail, but not before posting on her Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter accounts. He texts her again…
“Lets hike- Sat @ 8.”
“Is dinner included?” she responds.
“Uh… brkfst?”
For the next several months this pattern continues: text, call, dinner, call, canoeing, dinner and a movie, call, text, text, picnic lunch, call, dancing, dinner, dinner, dinner, text, dinner, text.
The next thing he knows, he’s sitting across the table from her parents in a fancy, 6-star restaurant blabbing about his 5 stroke handicap (golf) and his 4 hour tug-o-war with 3 marlins off the Florida Keys.
Two minutes later, Robret passes the test and gains the approval of 1 typically un-approving father.
On the way home Robret decides it’s time.
"Will you marry me?" he asks.
"No," she responds without hesitation.
"What if I give you this huge, sparkling rock?" as he pulls a red felted box from his pocket.
"Maybe..."
"It's expensive."
"Ok.” Nicolette finally concedes. “But you have to take me to a fancy restaurant and buy me a shiny accessory every year until I die.”
It's amazing what jewelry will do to a girl... it’s amazing what dinner will do to a girl.
And so, as a congratulatory gesture to the recent engagement of Bret and Niki, (I mean, Robret and Nicollette) I say: Atta boy, Bret. Way to club a good one.
A long, long time ago, there was a man named Trog. He was a well respected and admired man. He was a caveman by blood, but his hut-making skills rapidly placed him among the more advanced of his kind. You could say he was a member of the Elite… he lived in a hut. Trog always minded his ‘Slag’s and ‘Norg’s, and always gnawed all the meat off his bone.
Also among his people lived a ‘beautiful’ young woman named Goldenhare. She always dressed in the finest, gold rabbits fur (before they became extinct, of course) and always accessorized with the latest small, rodent-bone fashions. Many say she got the name Goldenhare because of her long, flowing blonde hair. But that wasn’t the case at all. Not only did she not have blonde hair, but it didn’t flow either. In fact, she had tangled, ratty, brown hair and she was just about as average a girl as there was in the village. I’m sure someone once new why she was named Goldenhare… but I’m also sure that that person died long, long ago.
One day, Trog approached Goldenhare.
“My name Trog.”
“My name Goldenhare.”
Then Trog, because he was one of the more gentlemanly cavemen, said,
“Me want you.”
And with a swift swing of his club (because he was still a caveman, whether gentlemanly or not) he hit Goldenhare on the head, knocking her unconscious. She ‘gracefully’ fell to the ground with a ‘Thud!’. And Trog grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to his hut.
And I’m pretty sure they lived happily ever after. (I definitely didn’t hear any Trog-Goldenhare drama from the tablet-bloids or the local watering hole.)
Now, thousands of years later, getting hitched isn’t that easy. I think clubbing a girl would get me battery, assault with a deadly weapon, kidnapping, and various other charges that would result in a hefty jail sentence. Not to mention a hefty jail roommate with ‘hefty’ jail experience.
That being said, lets take a look at how it works today.
A strapling young man named Robret meets a beautiful, aspiring artist named Nicolette (both names have been changed to protect their identity). They seem to hit it off and Robret decides he likes this girl.
“Would you like to go out with me?” he asks.
“You can buy me dinner,” she replies.
After the exchanging of phone numbers, IT has officially begun.
Robret texts her just to chip off a little more of the ice. He calls… no answer. He leaves her a voicemail and sends her an e-mail, but not before posting on her Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter accounts. He texts her again…
“Lets hike- Sat @ 8.”
“Is dinner included?” she responds.
“Uh… brkfst?”
For the next several months this pattern continues: text, call, dinner, call, canoeing, dinner and a movie, call, text, text, picnic lunch, call, dancing, dinner, dinner, dinner, text, dinner, text.
The next thing he knows, he’s sitting across the table from her parents in a fancy, 6-star restaurant blabbing about his 5 stroke handicap (golf) and his 4 hour tug-o-war with 3 marlins off the Florida Keys.
Two minutes later, Robret passes the test and gains the approval of 1 typically un-approving father.
On the way home Robret decides it’s time.
"Will you marry me?" he asks.
"No," she responds without hesitation.
"What if I give you this huge, sparkling rock?" as he pulls a red felted box from his pocket.
"Maybe..."
"It's expensive."
"Ok.” Nicolette finally concedes. “But you have to take me to a fancy restaurant and buy me a shiny accessory every year until I die.”
It's amazing what jewelry will do to a girl... it’s amazing what dinner will do to a girl.
And so, as a congratulatory gesture to the recent engagement of Bret and Niki, (I mean, Robret and Nicollette) I say: Atta boy, Bret. Way to club a good one.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Are you sure you want to...
Thursday. THA-hurs-day. Thirsty. Yes. It is that day. Not quite the weekend, but not really a weekday. And you're stuck at work/summer school/in-laws. And you need a beverage. So you decide to check out Bart's blog. It HAS been a while, hasn't it? You're expecting another mild romp through the coursing adventure of what was formerly known as 'A Bart's Life'. Hmmm... not so. You quickly scan the pictures of Hanley Ramirez to make sure he hasn't changed any of them... Nope. The All-Star is still there, in All his glory.
Then, you hear it. The pluck of a banjo and the twang of a southern accent. You're confused. You don't quite know what you're hearing... is it from YOUR I-tunes? ... No. You check to see if you left the radio on... that's a negative as well. All of a sudden the sweet melodic voice of Taylor Swift slides through your ear canal. 'AAAAArg,' you think. 'Where is that dag-blasted music coming from?' You can't take it any more. It's time to pull a move from 'The Bartlot' and lace up your Chuck Taylors and make a run for it. You scroll frantically for the player on Bart's blog. You scroll and scroll and scroll. ... And scroll.
You're almost in panic mode now. And do you know what panic leads to? Acceptance. There's no way you'll let this upbeat, pop-like rubbish get the best of you! Is there any way out of 'The Bartrix'?! You finally make it down to the player... but right as you're about to push the 'stop' button YOU stop. You can't believe it! You're tapping your foot to the likes of Kellie Pickler! 'Noooooooooooooo!'
Yes. I know what you thought. You thought you could just shut it off. You thought you could beat the system. But you couldn't. And you didn't. And guess what? Now you're hooked to country music. Living in Wyoming will do that to you. So will not having the strength to push the stupid 'stop' button. At least I can use the first one as an excuse... what about you?
Then, you hear it. The pluck of a banjo and the twang of a southern accent. You're confused. You don't quite know what you're hearing... is it from YOUR I-tunes? ... No. You check to see if you left the radio on... that's a negative as well. All of a sudden the sweet melodic voice of Taylor Swift slides through your ear canal. 'AAAAArg,' you think. 'Where is that dag-blasted music coming from?' You can't take it any more. It's time to pull a move from 'The Bartlot' and lace up your Chuck Taylors and make a run for it. You scroll frantically for the player on Bart's blog. You scroll and scroll and scroll. ... And scroll.
You're almost in panic mode now. And do you know what panic leads to? Acceptance. There's no way you'll let this upbeat, pop-like rubbish get the best of you! Is there any way out of 'The Bartrix'?! You finally make it down to the player... but right as you're about to push the 'stop' button YOU stop. You can't believe it! You're tapping your foot to the likes of Kellie Pickler! 'Noooooooooooooo!'
Yes. I know what you thought. You thought you could just shut it off. You thought you could beat the system. But you couldn't. And you didn't. And guess what? Now you're hooked to country music. Living in Wyoming will do that to you. So will not having the strength to push the stupid 'stop' button. At least I can use the first one as an excuse... what about you?
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Numero Uno... and Dos
The other day my uncle said in passing, "Oh, I think the Fish are coming to town this weekend." Immediately, flashes of leather mitts and wooden bats crossed in front of my eyes. The smell of fresh-cut grass and May rain clouds invaded my nostrils. The salty taste of peanuts and sunflower seeds, hot dogs and pistachios caused my salivatory glands to ignite. I wiped the drool off my chin as I drifted back to reality.
Armed with my tickets and my Florida Marlins shirt, myself, Bret, Dad, and Curtis set off to Denver. We arrived just in time to watch Florida's batting practice.
We strolled down to our section and down the rows. 10, 9, 8, getting closer and closer, 7... but we were far TOO close to be in the sixth row? Maybe they misnumbered the seats... or we were in the wrong section. But there it was... two rows up from the dugout... row number six. "Is this right?" came the question amid 'Holy Cow!'s and 'Wow!'s. No one ever told us that the dugout actually consists of rows 1-4.
Later that day, I figured I'd take a gander, sneak a peek, 'window shop' (you know... just for the heck of it...) to see what kind of seats I could, might, maybe, possibly, get. After a few clicks and disinterested sighs later, I rubbed my eyes. I looked a little harder at the screen. Then I looked around to see if anyone was behind me, waiting to see my reaction then burst out laughing as if they had pulled the ultimate prank. No one was, and no one did.
I couldn't believe it! What had I just found?! I couldn't STILL hardly beleive it, and yet, there they were! Four tickets... Section 138... sixth row.
Armed with my tickets and my Florida Marlins shirt, myself, Bret, Dad, and Curtis set off to Denver. We arrived just in time to watch Florida's batting practice.
We strolled down to our section and down the rows. 10, 9, 8, getting closer and closer, 7... but we were far TOO close to be in the sixth row? Maybe they misnumbered the seats... or we were in the wrong section. But there it was... two rows up from the dugout... row number six. "Is this right?" came the question amid 'Holy Cow!'s and 'Wow!'s. No one ever told us that the dugout actually consists of rows 1-4.
"Do you want to move back?" asked the usher.
"Yeah, we're a little TOO close to enjoy anything," replied Dad.
So there we were. Row two... er, uh... six... right above the Marlins dugout. We took in batting practice and warmups. I got a thumbs up from Emilio Bonifacio, the third basemen, when I showed him my Marlins shirt. Cameron Maybin, the center fielder, came and signed autographs.
And I just took it all in.
It was almost game time and Hanley Ramirez and Jorge Cantu came out of the dugout right in front of us to get in a few final warm-up tosses.
Here's Hanley going up to bat in the 1st inning. Notice I'm wearing a white ball cap and blue jacket...
Then, all of a sudden, a loud SMACK...!
A thing of beauty!
Did you notice anything unusual? Watch it again.
What about right around the 25 or 26 second mark?
Did you notice the guy in the stands with the blue jacket and white hat? Here let me work some magic and get the guys in the booth to pause it for a second... and John Madden to draw some stuff on it... "Now here's a guy if he wasn't standing he'd be sitting."
Thats right folks. I was on TV. But you all already know that. The guys on Sportscenter can't stop talking about the 'only guy cheering for the Marlins', and after my brief appearances on Letterman and the O... who wouldn't know who I am?
The game was tied 3-3 after 3 innings... but then during the 5th inning the Marlins exploded for 5 runs. Here's Hanley with an RBI single.
Later in the game, Dan Uggla, the All-Star second baseman, was hanging around the top step of the dugout. Curtis yelled at him, "Hey, I want a ball!"
"I don't have any!" he yelled back.
"I want a ball!" said Curtis again.
"And I want to pitch," said Uggla with a grin.
"Yeah, I'd like to see that too!" I said, showing him my shirt. He gave me a thumbs up, and went back into the dugout.
The Fish won 8-3. Hanley was 4/5 with a HR and 2 RBI and a stolen base. Needless to say, I was one happy baseball fan.
Monday, May 4, 2009
It's that time of year again!
Don't be alarmed! It's only a temporary change. I know, you miss Steve already. Lets face it... him, Kobe, LeBron... they're in a different stratosphere. What's the first thing you think of when you think of MJ? Steve Nash. I know.
But I'd like to introduce you to my summer fling, my fiasco-de-Mask-o, my diamond in the rough. Hanley Ramirez. (Haha get it? Diamond in the rough? He's a baseball player... he plays baseball on a baseball diamond... ... what? not even a pity chuckle? OH... and I have no idea what the Mask thing is... so don't ask.) During the summer, some people like the blockbusters that hit the big screen, others like the new sitcoms that hit their plasma screen... but me? I like the free games that hit my computer screen. It's Americas Pastime streamed directly to my laptop. In low-quality, low definition.
Yes, it's baseball season. And it couldn't have come any sooner! As my Suns floundered around in 9th place in the West, not making the NBA Playoffs, I had no choice but to move to clearer waters in search of bigger fish. Marlins to be exact. I know what you're thinking... why Marlins? I could ask you almost the same thing but reversed: why not?
I've actually liked the Marlins since they came into the league in '93. I remember I bought the 'first season commemorative pack' that had all the players from that very first team. I also remember that I was in Dodger blue one Saturday and I struck out. The walk back to the dugout wasn't so bad because on the field next to us they were playing... and I couldn't take my eyes off those new, teal uni's.
I remember a few years later when they beat the Cleveland Indians in Game 7 of the '97 World Series. Nothing will ever compare to that first thrill of the unexpected, the miraculous. I still remember that Edgar Renteria hit the game winning RBI. This was my first taste of fandom victory. All of my bragging, taunting, and hoping had paid off. Because there is only one thing that matters at the end of the season: did you get the W? Did you win the last game of the season? If you did then there can be no disputing. There are no shoulda, woulda, couldas in victory. There's one winner, there's one trophy.
The Marlins have the lowest payroll in baseball. They find guys that want to play because they love the game, and they find ways to win. None of this Yankee brainwashing of paying outrageous amounts of money for less than stellar play. (I know Travis and Tricia are Yanks fans... and I love you guys... but seriously... the Yankees? I know they have a 'tradition' of winning... but when was their last WS title? 2001? They got close in 2003... but who'd they lose to? It's just not coming to mind... I think it starts with an 'M' and ends in 'arlins'... ?)
But this is 2009. And what a ride it's been so far. They started out the year 11-1... and are now back to a healthy 14-8. (Being too skinny is just as bad as being too fat.) But there is a lot of promise for this year. They've got power, speed, and some solid arms... watch out for these guys!
Got any fives? Uh, no. GO FISH!
But I'd like to introduce you to my summer fling, my fiasco-de-Mask-o, my diamond in the rough. Hanley Ramirez. (Haha get it? Diamond in the rough? He's a baseball player... he plays baseball on a baseball diamond... ... what? not even a pity chuckle? OH... and I have no idea what the Mask thing is... so don't ask.) During the summer, some people like the blockbusters that hit the big screen, others like the new sitcoms that hit their plasma screen... but me? I like the free games that hit my computer screen. It's Americas Pastime streamed directly to my laptop. In low-quality, low definition.
Yes, it's baseball season. And it couldn't have come any sooner! As my Suns floundered around in 9th place in the West, not making the NBA Playoffs, I had no choice but to move to clearer waters in search of bigger fish. Marlins to be exact. I know what you're thinking... why Marlins? I could ask you almost the same thing but reversed: why not?
I've actually liked the Marlins since they came into the league in '93. I remember I bought the 'first season commemorative pack' that had all the players from that very first team. I also remember that I was in Dodger blue one Saturday and I struck out. The walk back to the dugout wasn't so bad because on the field next to us they were playing... and I couldn't take my eyes off those new, teal uni's.
I remember a few years later when they beat the Cleveland Indians in Game 7 of the '97 World Series. Nothing will ever compare to that first thrill of the unexpected, the miraculous. I still remember that Edgar Renteria hit the game winning RBI. This was my first taste of fandom victory. All of my bragging, taunting, and hoping had paid off. Because there is only one thing that matters at the end of the season: did you get the W? Did you win the last game of the season? If you did then there can be no disputing. There are no shoulda, woulda, couldas in victory. There's one winner, there's one trophy.
The Marlins have the lowest payroll in baseball. They find guys that want to play because they love the game, and they find ways to win. None of this Yankee brainwashing of paying outrageous amounts of money for less than stellar play. (I know Travis and Tricia are Yanks fans... and I love you guys... but seriously... the Yankees? I know they have a 'tradition' of winning... but when was their last WS title? 2001? They got close in 2003... but who'd they lose to? It's just not coming to mind... I think it starts with an 'M' and ends in 'arlins'... ?)
But this is 2009. And what a ride it's been so far. They started out the year 11-1... and are now back to a healthy 14-8. (Being too skinny is just as bad as being too fat.) But there is a lot of promise for this year. They've got power, speed, and some solid arms... watch out for these guys!
Got any fives? Uh, no. GO FISH!
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Bart and Dan- Episode 5
So... this is the last episode I'll be posting in written format... I really don't want to spoil the rest of the season in case we decide to actually film these. But here's a taste of Episode 5... enjoy!
Episode 5- Ping Pong
(Dan’s playing ping pong. Bart comes in)
B: It’s the Dan. …. Why do you play ping pong? You’re not China knees.
D: Uh, I think you mean Chinese.
B: That’s what I said… China knees.
D: No, I’m not CHInese. But you know ping pong is world renown sport, right? Not only do the Chinese play it. But also the Korean, German, Vietnamese, Japanese…
B: … the Italian knees, the Mexico knees, the America knees...
___________________________________________
B: So if you play ping pong so much… why aren’t you good at table tennis?
D: I AM good at table tennis. Table tennis and ping pong are the same thing.
B: If they were the same thing then wouldn’t they be called the same thing?
D: Not if their sameness is represented within the thing. Argh. Do I really have to dumb this down for you? They're the same.
B: Obviously they’re not the same. In ping pong you use ping bong balls. In table tennis you use table tennis balls.
D: Do you even know what a table tennis ball is?
B: It’s a tennis ball… but smaller.... with a table in it… under the net serve, out of bounds line judge.
________________________________________
Dan decides to teach Bart how to play.
(Bart doesn’t have a paddle)
B: Why don’t I have a paddle?
D: Who told you you have to have a paddle?
B: Well… I just thought…
D: Yeah well don’t. Did Mr. Miagi give Danielson a samurai sword? No. He gave him a bucket of soapy water. Did Trainer Mickey give Rocky Balboa boxing gloves? No. He put him in a meat locker. Did Darth Vader give Luke Skywalker a lightsaber? No. He cut off his hand.
(Bart gets pelted by ping pong balls)
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Episode 5- Ping Pong
(Dan’s playing ping pong. Bart comes in)
B: It’s the Dan. …. Why do you play ping pong? You’re not China knees.
D: Uh, I think you mean Chinese.
B: That’s what I said… China knees.
D: No, I’m not CHInese. But you know ping pong is world renown sport, right? Not only do the Chinese play it. But also the Korean, German, Vietnamese, Japanese…
B: … the Italian knees, the Mexico knees, the America knees...
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B: So if you play ping pong so much… why aren’t you good at table tennis?
D: I AM good at table tennis. Table tennis and ping pong are the same thing.
B: If they were the same thing then wouldn’t they be called the same thing?
D: Not if their sameness is represented within the thing. Argh. Do I really have to dumb this down for you? They're the same.
B: Obviously they’re not the same. In ping pong you use ping bong balls. In table tennis you use table tennis balls.
D: Do you even know what a table tennis ball is?
B: It’s a tennis ball… but smaller.... with a table in it… under the net serve, out of bounds line judge.
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Dan decides to teach Bart how to play.
(Bart doesn’t have a paddle)
B: Why don’t I have a paddle?
D: Who told you you have to have a paddle?
B: Well… I just thought…
D: Yeah well don’t. Did Mr. Miagi give Danielson a samurai sword? No. He gave him a bucket of soapy water. Did Trainer Mickey give Rocky Balboa boxing gloves? No. He put him in a meat locker. Did Darth Vader give Luke Skywalker a lightsaber? No. He cut off his hand.
(Bart gets pelted by ping pong balls)
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