No, seriously… I spent last week with the most elderly folk I had ever seen in one place. You know that stereotype about old people doing everything very slowly? It’s totally true. I was forced to walk and drive slower than ever before the entire week. These fucking snowbirds were crawling everywhere. Continue reading
Category Archives: Adventures at The Yard
Last night, Johnny Eutaw, Tom Ludlow, and I attended the home run derby Orioles – A’s game. It was a good time.
I expressed my love for Rajai Davis, as he is awesome.
Coco Crisp died, for no reason. We heard the thud from our seats. It was brutal, again, for no reason.
I also, repeatedly, expressed my agreement with Samuel that Jones should be our All-Star rep as only RBI’s, HR’s, and being good right before the actual game matters. We’re smart baseball people. The rest of you are haters.
Then Johnny went hard after the fan of the game. We really wanted those pretzels.
Alas, the cameras were uncooperative and despite some raucous supporters behind us, he got no Jumbo-time.
Here’s a Matt Wieters Fact for you: More often than not, he grounds meekly to a middle infielder. Fucker.
Someday we’ll start printing our fabulous ideas on cotton. Someday.
It should be this:
But it probably won’t be.
Thanks to our friend Bob Arctor who spotted this shirt last week when we graciously allowed the Rangers to catch up to the Red Sox. He was drunk when he saw it and I’m assuming he was still drunk when he tried to recreate it in Paint, but you get the idea.
We haven’t been so accomadating to the Rangers this week by getting our scalps taken by Boston.
…Or some stupid crap like that.
If you remember a few days ago I posted the picture I saw in Rolling Stone about how terrible our base running is. For those who haven’t, and that’s most of you judging by our site traffic numbers lately, here you go.
Well last night Brian Roberts did exactly what Ashanti did on the base path. With 1 out he sprinted to home on a lazy fly ball and was doubled up at second, effectively running us out of the inning. We won though, so it didn’t end up mattering too much but holy shit that’s ridiculous.
There was one difference between Ashanti’s base running mistake and Brian’s.
She’s a singer and he’s A PROFESSIONAL BASEBALL PLAYER!
Last night, I was embarrassed. It’s a good damn thing no one really watches the O’s anymore.
It’s been over 2 weeks now and I’m just now getting to the update about my trip to Fenway Park.
Suffice it to say that the trip could have been better.
We hopped on the train from somewhere in Boston to get to Fenway. We arrived and they have a sort of Pickles-esque set up with a few bars around the place where people can meet up and tell stories about how they became Red Sox fans. I’m going to withhold further comment because unlike a Red Sox game in any other stadium but Boston or NY, I am confident that most of them are actual fans.
We met some other O’s fans and they came to dinner with us. I told them I’d post a picture so here it is:
They were nice and they were O’s fans so that was cool too.
The place we went had amazing food. But I did find out that most Bostonians are sissies and I judge this based on the beer they drank.
Blueberry and Watermelon beer? Nancies. There wasn’t a Natty Boh to be seen for miles.
Anyway we made our way over to the stadium and it was packed. The seats were super close together and a lot of them were obstructed view seats because of the damn pillars.
I only had one run-in with fan. He happened to be a Napoleonic fellow wearing a Pedroia t-shirt. I don’t think he smiled during the game and I’m pretty sure he was about 5 seconds from an aneurysm for most of it too. The vein on his forehead was really pulsating. The fans there went ape-shit for every routine play, it was kind of pathetic. When I would clap modestly for the Orioles, the following play (when predictably that play was rendered moot), the guy would stand up, turn around and clap in my face.
First off, if you are 5’5” and 12olbs, don’t think that you are going to intimidate me. I subsequently laughed hysterically until the guy turned around. Second, you’re supposed to win.
Let me re-iterate that: You’re supposed to win. Why are you taking it so serious? Why do you clap at a routine catch by Jacoby in center? You’re supposed to beat the snot out of us. You spend more than Scrooge McDuck and we’ve not had a winning season is 10 11 seasons.
Anyway, after the game we went down to the grounds keepers dressing room (the guy we were with was a grounds keeper there for a bunch of years so he still had some friends there). Turns out their dressing room was right next to the visitors clubhouse. I saw Rich Hill talking with his family (probably about not pitching anymore). I saw Ty Wigginton walking towards the bus hotdog stand. I saw Zaun walk out and forget where he was (Alzheimer’s). And, I saw Trembley giving the Crow travel advice.
It was worth the trip to say I’d been there but I’d rather watch a game at good old OPACY any day of the week.
I imagine we will be at a few games this home stand, especially Bergy T-shirt night so we hope to see you at the yard.
As you may know, the Eutaw Street Hooligans made a trip up to Philly on Saturday to watch the O’s beat up on the World Series Champs. We took our show on the road to the ill-named City of Brotherly Love. I’m not saying that the fans up there were douches, but only because I’m not sure that is a strong enough term. We’ll get to that later.
Let’s start with Citizens Bank Park. Weak sauce. Take everything you love about OPACY and…well, they tried to replicate it. They were unsuccessful. They have their own former player Boog’s knock-off and a fake Eutaw Street they call Ashburn Alley. But, the thing that really sucked (no, not the assortment of trash strewn about the stands…I said we would talk fans later) was that from our right field seats, we couldn’t even see the whole field! We still aren’t convinced that Zaun hit that homerun because for starters it is Greg-freakin’-Zaun, but also because we couldn’t see the fence in right or center field, not to mention about 50 feet into the field of play, either. At first glance, I thought they were so cocky that they were playing with no right fielder, but it turns out Jayson Werth was just hiding from us. Beyond the field of play, it seemed like we were on a tour of Natinal’s Park, except they couldn’t fit everything. So, they decided to add more attractions to get in your way. A ball pit and sky tube funasium that would make Chuck E. jealous (weep?), carnival games, and endless eateries just blocking up the scenery. The lone bright spot? Mitch Williams Wild Thing Southpaw Salsa! We didn’t eat it, but the fact that it exists is amazing by itself. Let me get this straight, Philadelphia…you will boo Santa Claus, but Mitch Williams gets his own salsa and you are okay with that?! Mitch-fucking-Williams! Way to embrace mediocrity, which explains a lot about your stadium.
Now, let’s talk about the city. First of all, we live in Baltimore. Our chief exports are murder and STDs. But I’m pretty sure I could see in the distance one, of what I am assuming is many, factories which only exists to produce smog 24 hours a day. You could smell it, you could taste it and you could certainly feel it. The weather channel kept telling me it was raining, but I am pretty sure that the moisture we were feeling was just an ever present cloud of dense smog. It felt like we were in a sauna of death and garbage that was too gross for the landfill.
Nothing like trash and landfill as a segue to Phillies fans. I know, we’re hecklers and call ourselves hooligans and we are complaining about other team’s fans. At the risk of sounding hypocritical, these guys (and gals) are dicks. Not all of them, we did talk to a few delightful fans. One of which asked us on our way into the stadium why we would bother lowering ourselves to see a game at CBP when we have OPACY to go to at home. Wow, was he right. But anyway, we are not stupid. When we take our show on the road we tone it down a notch or 5. There wasn’t any heckling of their players there weren’t any confrontations with their fans, just good ol’ fashioned cheering for the O’s. Baltimore took a 3-0 lead and we stood and clapped, thats all, clapped and a high five, and said nothing to anyone else…next thing we know there is stuff being thrown at us. Classy.
Then Baez happened. Ryan Howard comes off his death bed to deal a death blow to our enthusiasm. Now that they had the lead, they were a little more vocal. Fast forward to the 9th inning, Zaun hits a dinger…laughter ensues because we were immediately calling for Trembley’s head for allowing him to bat and because well let’s face it Zaun hit a dinger. A grown woman sitting behind us with her mother who had to be at least 147 years old starts yelling at us, “When was your last MVP?” Probably right around the last time you had all your teeth. We tell her that her knocks are useless against us because we know that Baltimore is a sub .500 team that needs our love and support. Her reply? “Why don’t you try winning a World Series?” No problem, we could clearly beat either Texas or LSU 2 out of 3 times. Salazar singles and we start to get that feeling deep in our pants hearts.
Brian Roberts comes up to the plate and…chiton! Only we weren’t sure because of our obstructed view. The boos, however, confirmed it. Howard took the lead with a homerun, and Brian Roberts won it with one. If I remember math class correctly, this makes Brian Roberts ≥ Ryan Howard. Bring the rain Phillies fans…we are showered with what seems to be ice cubes and french fries from a few rows above us. We’ll take the fries, and another come-from-behind victory over the N.L. East. Orioles 6, Phillies 5. W
There’s no place like home…
June 17, 2009. Jones bobble heads in hand, we headed to the bleachers in center. Strangely, that didn’t last long as we were given the boot by a small group…of 53…from Oregon. Apparently, the Mets snuck out of New York the night the Yankees were dominated and let Swisher pitch. Too embarrassed to be in the same state, I suppose. More embarrassing, however, is Gabe Kapler struck out with Swisher on the mound throwing his ‘changeup.’ I digress.
Like circus folk, we moved on to right field, practically on Ryan Church, a perfect spot to unleash…the homo-heckle. I told Church he looked great in his pants and he should pray I don’t jump the rail. Hot and bothered, he moved closer. I loudly whispered he was so close I could feel his heart beat. Then, the unexpected occurred. Through the art of mime, he placed his hand in his jersey and gestured his heart beating! Well played, sir.
On a side note, Wieters hit the first homerun of his Major League career. No big deal.
No big deal?! That shit was awesome! Redding got wietersed. It gave me and the soft-skinned gentlemen alongside me goose bumps. Oh, and we won. Boing. Mets 4. Orioles 6. W