I hate A-Rod. You should too.

Baseball has been played for a long, long time. Certain unwritten rules have been obeyed and respected over the course of the last century. All players abide by these rules with very few exceptions. The good thing about baseball is there's a pretty good way to police these rules. You break an unwritten rule, the pitcher throws at your ear hole next time you step to the plate. This doesn't happen that often, because most baseball players have some shred of class.

Remember when ARod tried to slap the ball out of Bronson "I'm a long relief pitcher in the AL but a Cy Young favorite in the NL" Arroyo's glove? That was bad, but it was even worse when he said it was a smart play afterwards. That's bush. There should have been a honing target in his eye socket for the rest of the series, but fortunately for him, too much was at stake during this particular playoff series. This particular playoff series was of course the one where the Red Sox, down 0 games to 3 in a best of seven series came back to win the last 4. But that's not my point. Hating ARod is my point.

ARod has outdone the purse slapping bit. No, I'm not talking about bouncing around the clubs the other night with some blonde bimbo and taking her up to his hotel room in front of several photographers (couldn't they have taken separate elevators at least? Do you think his wife has figured out what one half of a ten-year, $250 million dollar contract is?). I'm talking about last night's performance in the ninth inning against the Blue Jays with the Yankees clinging to a one run lead and desperately trying to avoid a sweep to fall 15 games behind the Red Sox. That's right, 15. I use the numeral version of this number as opposed to spelling it out since it is greater than ten (I learned that in English class at some point). So ARod is at third base and the batter hits a weak pop up to the third baseman. ARod yells something along the lines of "My ball", and the third baseman backs off, thinking the shortstop was calling him off. Ball drops, Yankees rally for four runs, win the game in the cheapest, weakest way possible.

Said Yankee Johnny Damon "I wasn't sure that was allowed. If it is, maybe we'll keep doing it."

Yep, that's Yankee baseball. Yankee Pride.

Fortunately for ARod, that was the last game of the series, and the Yankees probably have several weeks before playing the Blue Jays again. I'm guessing the Blue Jays pitchers don't forget this move and several baseballs slip out of their hands, and straight into his lipstick applied, puckered little lips. I've seen this move in little league, and it inspires furious rage from my inner soul. When I'm coaching my son's little league team several years from now, if I hear some kid in the dugout or on the basepaths yell "Mine!", I am going to go into the stands, find that kid's father, and punch him in the stomach.

ARod, you deserve what's coming to you.

D-Fence

I'm not the sort of guy to hold a sign up during a game, but if I was forced at gunpoint to hold a sign at a sporting event, it's a tossup between a "John 3:16" with the name of a local fan favorite inserted in place of "John", or the fence sign, assuming your buddy to the right is holding up the "D". I don't know. The more I think about it, I'm not sure people would understand that I was being ironic if I coordinated a signage plan with a buddy. I guess it would probably be "Ortiz 3:16".

More on signs at sporting events later. Assuming my blog still exists in June.

Raisins

I dislike raisins more than I dislike nuts. Just for the record.

Nuts

Look, it's not that there's anything inherently wrong with nuts. It's just that they shouldn't be mixed with anything else. Including other nuts. Listen, go ahead and set out a bowl of nuts. If I'm feeling it, I might partake. But at least there's an inherent disclosure to a bowl of nuts. There's really no surprise when you dip your hand into a bowl of nuts and find nuts in your hand. That's cool. It's when nuts are hidden in desertstuffs that I really get pissed off. It's one thing to ruin a perfectly good fudge brownie, but it's a whole other issue when the existence of nuts aren't fully disclosed. I mean, sometimes you can tell there are nuts in the brownie if you pay close attention, but if somebody hands you a tray and asks you if you want a brownie, I just grab one and pop a brownie like a tic tac. You've got to disclose if the brownies are tainted or not. That's all I'm saying. If you have crappy brownies, you should offer people your crappy brownies by saying "would you like a brownie with nuts?" That way, the person is well informed when they tell you to go blank yourself.

Charlie O'Brien

One of the first times I got kicked out of the Oakland Coliseum was when I tried to get Charlie O'Brien's autograph. At this stage in Charlie's career, he was probably the third catcher carried on the Cleveland Indians, so he was on bullpen catcher duty. Probably the crappiest of all major league positions. He was on the visiting team, and didn't have his name on the back of his jersey. I'm not sure how I knew it was him, because honestly, I didn't even know that I knew who he was. Somewhere, however, in my subconscious, I had reserved valuable memory for Charlie O'Brien face recognition. It makes sense, of course, given his long flowing curly golden locks.

Anyways, the security guys didn't like that I was going down to the field, where my bleacher tickets didn't allow. They were definitely hella salty, but good ol' Chuck seemed genuinely excited that I was genuinely excited to have identified him. Chuck was stoked. He made the universal "get me a pen so I can sign something for you" motion. I knew the security guard's patience was wearing thin, but it's not exactly every day that Charlie O'Brien wants to spend quality time with you. So security guard be damned I walked straight down towards the bottom of the stands to chat with Charlie and find out where we were going to hang after the game. The security guard called backup and they grabbed me and escorted me out of the stadium. I'm sure Charlie would have intervened, but he was on the visiting team, so he probably didn't want to start some big thing. It's cool though. I understand. I probably would have acted the same if I were in his position.

Charlie, if you're googling your name and for some reason this page comes up, holler.

Bacon Postulate

I have this theory. Let me clarify this. It started off as a theory, but then it was quickly clear that it was a postulate, which means it's basically a self evident truth.

Bacon makes everything taste better. Think about that for a second. It's completely true, is it not? What did you eat last? Was it good? How much better would it have been had it been wrapped in bacon? There it is. The Bacon Postulate.

Despite postulates not necessarily requiring proofs, I tested the theory trying to find potential flaws, of which there were none. In the interest of full disclosure, I did come across a food group whereby bacon did not detract from the goodness of the food, but it did not necessarily embellish the taste. Desertstuffs. I put bacon bits on my ice cream. Personally, I thought it gave the vanilla ice cream some much needed bacon kick, but from an impartial vantage, I could see how some non-bacon enthusiasts might find bacon on desertstuffs somewhat distracting. I have hence ruled that bacon's effect on desertstuffs is negligibly good.

Zippers

What the hell is wrong with zippers? Why do most trendy jeans have button flys? Button flys suck. Sure, it's pretty fun to unbutton them. You just pull the sides apart and enjoy that snappy feeling of buttons being released. Sure, it's even better to unbutton a button fly then it is to unzip a zipper. But what about reseting your fly to it's secure position? Resecuring a zipper fly is as simple as the initial unzipping action. Just reverse the previous motion. The button fly? Fat chance. I consider myself to be a fairly dexterous dude, as far as dudes go, but I think it takes me about three and a half minutes on average to button a button fly back up. If possible, of course, you want to unbutton only as many buttons as is necessary to loosen the pants over your ass. That way you can minimize the re-buttoning. But seriously, who wants to be so conscientious every time he or she uses the bathroom or disrobes? And supposing you get careless with your unbuttoning and undo every last button? How do you fasten the bottom button when you have so little room to work with?

I'm sure "Anonymous" will regale me with tales about how buttoning technology is so great, but you can go ahead and shove it Anonymous. Button flys suck.

Team Names

My baseball team is the Stepdads. I think that's a pretty good name. You hate us cuz we beat you, would be the moniker.

However, if I had my druthers, and I think I someday will, I would name the team Tiny Dancers. How annoying would it be for the other team to walk dejectedly through the door after suffering defeat in our hands, only to have this exchange with their girlfriend:

"How did the game go honey?"
"Crappy."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Who did you lose to?"
"Umm. The Tiny Dancers."
"Turn around and leave."

8 Tracks

There was some classroom in my high school that had an 8-Track machine. 8-Tracks were pretty cool. I think I get the progression of music technology, with one minor exception. Phonograph to record player. Check. Record player to 8-Track. Check. 8-Track to cassette tape. EH? Cassette tape to CD. Check. CD to MP3. Check.

8-Track are way better than cassette tapes. You can skip to whatever song you want. Cassette tapes require rewinding/fastforwarding/hitting play/rewinding more/taking tape out to look at the progression of songs/hitting play again to try and identify name of song/taking tape out again just to be sure what the progression of songs were/fastforwarding/hitting play/finding the song, but realizing you fastforwarded too much/having to rewind again/hitting play and resigning yourself to the fact you have to just sack up and listen to the last minute of the song previous to the song you want to hear. How did this every happen? Of course I grew up on cassette tapes so I just figured that's all there was, other than records. Had I known I could have had much more awesome 8-Track technology, I would have demanded 8-Tracks in lieu of cassette tapes.

Subtitles

Isn't it awesome when you put in a dvd, hit play, and the english subtitles start rolling in? I think it's probably a safe assumption that if you buy a dvd, you must be deaf and need subtitles.

On a related DVD note, remember when the first DVDs were like laser discs and you had to flip it over halfway through the movie. Good thing for DVDs they figured that thing out.

Very Good Movie

The movie was quite good. Nick Cage was awesome. What I was not prepared for was Lelee Sobieski. That alone was gravy, but there's more. If you haven't seen the movie, you're not going to believe me. But I'm serious here.

Leelee Sobieski and Nick Cage fight in the movie. Jaw dropping cinema here. Leelee gets her ass kicked big time. I'll stop because my words don't do this justice. Just let that sink in.

Now go rent the film, or you can borrow it from me because I'm a proud owner.

On a similar note, why do people get all salty when Hollywood does remakes? Everyone is always like, "oh, the original was better." Well, I'm guessing that's just not true most of the time. Don't you realize that the original was probably a low budget, really old, dated movie with actors I've never heard of?

Palpable

I'm really excited right now. Straight up geeked. I really like scary movies. I really like Nick Cage. I'm about to take in what will surely be one of my top ten favorite movies of all time. Wicker Man. I think I'll watch it now and when I'm done post about how great it was.

I'm so stoked. This is going to be awesome.

Sideburns

Why do hair cutter people ask you if you want to trim your sideburns? It seems like a dumb question, because sideburns can be trimmed very easily with a razor, when you're shaving. If I wanted my sideburns trimmed, I would do it my damn self.

Blog on Life Support

So I was away for a little bit. Getting married, honeymooning, that sort of thing. I'm still not sure when I'm going to pull the plug on this thing. It was a really bad sign when I referenced a previous post with my wife, who retorted "I don't read your blog." Talk about bomb shells. My wife doesn't read this blog. She says she doesn't know the url. Worse, she after telling me she doesn't read the blog and she doesn't know the url, she never asked to be reminded of the website address.

Yikes.