I mean, think about the week that was -- a 2-4 homestand entering this game that saw the Royals sink below .500. Included in those four losses were a shutout (Saturday, 3-0 vs cardinals), and an 18 run boatracing that conjured up the worst repressed memories I could recall from 2004 (Monday, 19-1 to the Indians). The Royals had taken the mound with the lead for exactly 4 out of the 57 innings played in this homestand, and for exactly 4 of the last 75 innings they'd played.
Then comes Sunday, a near-perfect day for tailgating ... that somehow sees the washer set never pulled out, and somehow sees all six people in our group entering the stadium still under their own power. That's always disappointing -- you can usually count on two givens at a tailgate I'm involved with: (a) I'm losing at washers to Dusty, usually due to some epic comeback, and (b) someone's getting hammered. I feel like we failed. Anyways, this near-perfect day for tailgating then is hijacked by some mean dark, threatening clouds, and a light drizzle begins to fall prior to first pitch. Wonderful. And, as if that isn't bad enough, then Sean O'Sullivan goes out and pitches like ... uuh, Sean O'Sullivan, getting ripped a new backside opening by giving up 7 runs in 4 perfectly God awful innings of pitching. The bottom of the fifth dawns, the Royals trail 7-1 in a game that had one of those "if they could just win this one, maybe this rights the ship" kind of feeling to it, and to this point, they have shown zero, zip, nada inclination of the fantastic rally that was to come.
(They certainly had shown the capability for the 10th inning exhibition in piss poor pitching, however.)
As the bottom of the fifth dawned, and I started in on Budweiser numero tres (to go with a few Shiner's during tailgating), the mood in that stadium was surreal. For starters, those arrogant pricks that call themselves "fans" of the visiting team yesterday had completely and totally taken over Kauffman Stadium. Everywhere you looked was red, with an occasional pocket of blue. I looked out to center field in the bottom of the first and thought "Jesus, not even Rosenblatt is this red when Nebraska is playing!" It was ... honestly, it should have sent me into an angry rage, like a lot of things out there yesterday.
(Also, if those are the "best fans in baseball", I ain't seeing it. You know who most of the cardinals fans out there reminded me of yesterday? Phillies fans. Loud, obnoxious, visibly intoxicated, generally clueless about how to play the game, but they're more than willing to tell you why you and your team suck (a multi-inch part of the male anatomy). If those "fans" out there yesterday are the best baseball has to offer, then there's an opening for some fanbase to assume the title.)
And yet, by the time this game ended nearly three hours later (God, it took an eternity to play those last six innings yesterday), and I was safely and calmly enjoying a burnt end sandwich and a Pale Ale at Gates, I couldn't help but look back on the game, as tough of a loss as it was, and think "hey, this was pretty damned fun today". Part of it was due to a great group of people I went with yesterday, part of it was due to the nice lady sitting in front of us, part of it was due to the ridiculous fans two rows in front of us (more on them in a few), but mostly, it was due to a realization that I hate to, uuh, realize, but hey -- sometimes reality bites you in the ass, and you just have to man up and get the rabies shot.
And the awful realization is this: the 2011 Royals just aren't good enough to hang in this race. But they're gonna go down with the ship. They're going down with both barrels firing, with the cannon shooting whatever the hell a cannon shoots (a cannonball? Or is that just when a spectacularly fat person jumps into a pool?), my point is -- these guys are the scrappy underdogs I so totally dug across the parking lot last fall. And you know what? I'm good with that. This Royals team right now, that sits at 22-24, that is 3-7 in its last 10 contests, that without the book-end offensive explosions (11 at fake Yankee Stadium, 8 yesterday) has scored 8 runs in the other 8 games between those outings (uuh, that ain't good fellas), this team right now is as awful as it's going to get.
And if yesterday is as bad as it's gonna get around here for the next few years, I'm surprisingly good with it. For the first time this baseball season, a recap-type, uuh, recap on the game that was! I’ve been told as recently as Saturday by total random strangers that “hey, you’re the Chiefs recap guy! I love your stuff!” Hey, if an attractive, blonde, 30ish female is my reader fanbase … good God, I’d be in heaven …
* I didn't wake up until nearly 10am Sunday morning. After quickly hopping in the shower and locating the (now) 0-3 Bo Jackson t-shirt to wear, I decided to do this tailgate up right. I was praying Katie overslept. (We were supposed to meet up at 10:30). Thank God, she did. So I had 30 minutes or so to get ready. I quickly hopped in the car, drove to Royal Liquors ... and spent the next 20 minutes trying to pick a beer to drink. (In the interest of full disclosure, I went there because I figured if ANY place in town had Sammy Summer Ale available, it would be Royal. They have everything. Well, they had 9 different Sam Adams in the fridge and on display, including the Winter Ale still (huh?) ... but no Summer Ale yet. I was visibly disappointed.) Finally, I settle on Shiner, figure I might as well make it a true old-school tailgate, and buy a box of the Macanudo cigarillos too, and after Katie picks me up, we get everything loaded ... and I forget the tickets. Un-f*cking-believable. I even made a point to throw everything in the car before I left for Royal, to make sure I wouldn’t forget anything. The lesson? (red on “that 70s show” voice) you’re a dumbass!
Thankfully I remembered early on into the drive in about the tickets, we double back and get them, and it's off for a great hour and a half of tailgating. (As I noted during tailgating about forgetting the tickets, “I’m guessing the Royals don’t refund for being an idiot”. No, no they don’t.)
* Wasn't there even a beer before DJ and Kellie and DJ's mom and her sister arrive. Usually, you add folks older than me to the tailgating mix, and it's going to drag down the quality of the tailgate. (In the interest of full disclosure, of the tailgating folks my age, I’m second oldest, behind only Will. That … that sucks ass.)
Somehow, that didn't happen on Sunday. Good times had by all. That, and I
somehow managed to avoid blasting some other organized religion, so good for me. (Apparently some folks were offended at my mocking that quack Christian pastor who claimed the rapture was imminent, and even more people were offended when, in a state of possible intoxication, I pointed out that "say what you want about kooky Christians, they haven't intentionally flown a f*cking plane into a building yet!" as someone possibly of the Islamic faith was standing not even 5 feet away on Saturday. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: it's a god d*mned miracle I don't get my ass kicked more often.)
* After avoiding saying anything too bad, it was off to the game. Sadly, no washers got tossed. DJ’s excuse? “The grass was too tall, we’d have lost a washer.” I’m telling you, the kid is quaking in his sandals at me ending the streak. He is scared sh*tless when this 1,038,568,437,648 game losing streak is mercifully ended. Or at least that is what I keep telling myself.
So no sooner did we grab the first round of beers, than the good folks from the Royals started snapping group pics of us like we were at Worlds of Fun or something. Now, I guess I have to be all good with a company trying to make a quick sleazy buck. It's the American way, after all. And certainly, after paying $9 a beer yesterday, in addition to an insane $9 / ticket "upcharge" because it was the cardinals (oh, and they jacked up the beer vendor prices too, from $7.50 to $8. Royals management is the best), I expect to be gouged in the eye when I go to a game. But this ... this is the very definition of Steve Rule ... wait, how is this not a Steve Rule? I just read the list, and it isn't in there! OK, so add one, this would be Steve Rule 53 I believe, and it is this: unchecked capitalism is the single greatest evil in the world today. And in case you doubt that statement, well, do yourself a favor: go to the Royals website (kcroyals.com), and under the Kauffman Stadium menu, choose Royals Fan Photos. Then choose yesterday's game (5/22 vs Cardinals), and choose Gallery 136, and scroll down about halfway down, and you will see three pretty neat pics of our group yesterday. Then click on one of the pics for a larger view, and you can pick any of the three you want. Because to print that bad boy off?
(wait for it ...)
Will set you back $17.95 PLUS applicable fees and taxes! In the words of an official family motto: "Sweet Jesus!" $18 plus just to PRINT a picture off the internet!?!? Are you f*cking kidding me! Now, to be fair, they slap this stupid-looking border around your picture, but again, (steve shouting in anger voice) $18 f*cking dollars! By the time you slap the fees and taxes in there (plus, of course, pay for your own photo paper to print the damned thing on), it would cost more to print a "lasting memory" of yesterday than it did to ATTEND yesterday! In the words of Brian Griffin, "what the hell?!?!"
For years, I have argued Steve Rule 36 ("Strip clubs are biggest waste of money known to mankind".) I might need to amend that rule. Seriously -- do you realize that you can get a 2-fer dance five nights a week at everyone's favorite run-down shack in a corn field in unincorporated Douglas County for LESS than it costs to print off one of these pictures?!?! I guarantee you, I'm not going to remember either event a year from now, but if I gotta choose between Bambi earning some tuition money while "Wonderwall" plays, or printing off a picture of a game the Royals lost, call me crazy, but Bambi's college fund just got $20 richer. Or Breezy, or Summer, or Diamond, or Cinnamon, or Destiny, or whatever ridiculous name said college chick is going by.
(Would I lie to you? OK, ok, on purpose? OK, ok, about the cost of a freaking picture? Exactly. This is outrageous. Oh, and above the pic on the webpage? An advertisement offering a "buy 2, get one free!" offer. No wonder they always make sure they snap three pics of you and/or your group. This is beyond outrageous. As Al Pacino said in "Scent of a Woman", "someone should take a flame-thrower to this place!" American capitalism makes me want to puke my guts out. Puke my guts out. No wonder 5/6 of the world hates us; we are beyond morally bankrupt as a nation. photo: kcroyals.com, re-appropriated thanks to Snag-It. Honestly? I can't wait for the "cease and desist" letter from One Kauffman Way for illegally acquiring this picture. Only a completely soulless, value-bankrupt American corporation would send one, let alone charge $18 freaking dollars to print a picture I could have taken with my phone for free. I fully expect it by the end of the week, guys. Trust me, it will make my month ...)
* Anyways, after enduring the pictures, it's off to our seats, which were really good yesterday (right field GA, about halfway up, on the aisle). Thankfully, Oxygen Tank Dude was in his usual spot in the front of 149. Because other than us, OTD and his crew, and the nice lady and her dad in front of me, yeah. Pretty much everybody else was in red and rooting for the cardinals.
* And they had a lot to cheer about early on. The Cards broke the lumber out early and often, making Sean O'Sullivan look like yet another failed Dayton Moore acquisition. (Which, to be fair, he pretty much is). And so, it is at this point, trailing 7-1 in the bottom of the fifth, that things begin to turn in the Boyz N Blue's favor.
* For starters, the sun came out. Call me vain, call me self-centered, call me mentally challenged, but if my team is trailing 7-1 on a day with the temperature pushing 90, at least let the sun shine so I can get a tan. I don't ask much.
* Also, if my team is trailing 7-1, and has looked lifeless (repeat: lifeless) for the better part of the last week and a half, then please, send us some comic relief to at least make the game go a little quicker. Thankfully, someone upstairs heard my requests, and granted both of them! The clouds disappeared in the top of the fifth, and by the bottom of the fifth, it was time to prop the feet up and haul out the sunscreen. My kind of day!
* And the comic relief ... oh my goodness. Hang on, I did that wrong. (verne lundquist voice) Oh my goodness! Oh! Wow! Have you ever in your life seen something like that?!?! That classic call from everyone's favorite sex addict's amazing chip at 16 at Augusta in 2005 ... perfectly described the "fans" sitting two rows in front of us. There were three Royals fans, and four or five Cardinals fans, but there's on Cards fan to focus on initially. He spends the third, fourth, and some of the fifth just mercilessly cheering his team on, and taunting everyone around him rooting for the Royals.
To say folks had just about had enough of this guy, is an understatement (more coming up!) But as the sun began to beat down on everyone (and it was freaking hot out there in the later innings yesterday. It's about damned time!), this cards fan sat down ... and slowly, yet surely, the eyes closed ... the head began to nod ... and zap, he was out. And by "out", I mean "dead to the world". The combo of beer and sun had finally worked its magic! The humor started a few minutes after he passed out, when the lady next to him returned to her seat ... and had to step over him. Comedy at its finest.
I mean, this dude was gone. His buddies were concerned enough that they asked the chick with him to confirm he wasn't dead, that's how passed out he was. So of course, what do you do every time, without exception, without fail, when one of your buddies passes out drunk? You take compromising photos of him, that's what! Sadly, nobody had any pink nail polish, although there was an idea of taking some sunscreen to write creative messages on his neck and back that would show up great with his tan he was getting.
* But as if this wasn't good enough, one of his Royals buddies sits down next to him ... and within 5 minutes, he's dead to the world as well. These two are deader than the Royals chances at this point (we trailed 7-2 going to the sixth). After some more folks have to step over both of these passed out lightweights, one of his other Royals buddies (the annoying one who kept cheering all game long, and was still there after ... whoops, getting ahead of myself), this guy comes up with the great idea of photographing the passed out cards fan with Royals gear on him. So we swap out his hat, throw a Royals jersey over him, and his buddies start snapping away. (And I guaran-damn-tee you they won't charge him $18 for a copy of those photos). Then of course, you gotta put cards gear on the passed out Royals dude (who was every bit as annoying as the Cards guy). Everyone's having a good laugh at these wanna-be drinkers expense. Even the guy in front of them at this point, who cards fan had already spilled beer on twice due to his drunken inabillity to control himself.
* Bottom of the sixth, the Royals begin to rally. Jeff Francouer crushes jamie garcia's offering into the Party Porch in right field. tony la russa has seen enough, and in typical la russa fashion, overthinks the situation and yanks his starter. The cards fan behind me (one of the few in red yesterday who wasn't a complete and total asshole) yells out "way to get to 6-0 garcia!" I instantly smile. Nobody knows how to jinx a situation like me. The cards fans are screwing their own team by calling this one with 12 outs to go! This will bite them in the ass, I'm convinced of it. So convinced, that I decide to buy another beer, figure we're gonna be here for a while. Hey, what can I say, even a broken clock is right twice a day.
* The Royals manage two more runs, after Butler doubles and Wilson Betemit crushes the ball into the fountains in right. (Which I guess is the only place the fountains are, but still, it's my recap, work with me). It's now 7-5, there's still nobody out. What was a rout fifteen minutes ago is suddenly an intriguing contest.
* This of course wakes up the sleeping duo in front of us. Immediately, Katie nudges me and points to the Royals fan that was passed out, and goes "that explains everything". There, right below his neck in the upper middle of his back, is a gigantic tattoo of the outline of the Texas Longhorns logo. I try to defend it, noting that "not everybody from Texas is a classless asshat" (because after all, I’m an adopted Texan, and I fully intend to be back there before I’m 40 at the absolute latest), but she responds with "ok, fine, but what about from the University of Texas? Defend that tat!" An important distinction that I had no comeback for.
* Of course it gets better, because Drunk Royals Dude (or DRD from this point on) is getting fried pretty quick. (You pass out with your shirt off on a 90 degree sunny day, and you don't put on sunscreen, that tends to happen. Uum, not that I've ever passed out in public with my shirt off on a hot summer afternoon. That's crazy talk. And no, there’s no visual confirmation of that on Myspace back in the day to prove it.) So he tries to put his t-shirt back on ... and finally manages to accomplish that seemingly easy task ... only, he puts it on inside out and backwards, and is too drunk to realize it. That prompts more hysterical laughing from the gallery (all of us sitting behind these two clowns were laughing all afternoon at them. Again, I can live with losing at this point, as long as it's on a 90 degree sunny day, and there's at least some side entertainment. (former president bush voice) Mission accomplished!)
* Meanwhile, his buddy is also starting to fry, and it's at this point that Katie again (and she clearly assumed the role of "The Voice of Reason" yesterday) notes "no wonder he's an ass! He has two tribal tattoos!" Yup, dude had a huge tribal tat in the middle of his back, and another one on his right bicep. Also included in the one on the right bicep, as I noted, were some Chinese characters. Which led to her best comeback of the day: "I'd love to know what that (the Chinese tat) says". So would I. I'm guessing "deuschebag", or "asshat". Both fit this guy.
* This, of course, brought back up a topic of conversation from tailgating: that I need to get a tattoo. My argument: I totally agree. But it (a) has to be unique, (b) won’t make me look like a complete and utter tool (I am 34, after all), and (c) has to be something of meaning to me. Someone suggested an Arrowhead. Too obvious. Someone suggested a Jayhawk. Again, too damned obvious. Then someone suggested getting the outline of Baby Jay in the spot it’ll wind up in (my left shoulder), and getting a Chiefs Arrowhead logo in there where the heart would be. Gotta admit … I’m giving it some thought … because let’s face it, if I don’t ink up by next summer, it ain’t gonna happen. 35 year olds who ink up, are still ok. 36? You’re an asshat.
* Move on ahead to the end of the sixth, and it's "Friends in Low Places" time. You know, there's a lot of in-between-innings promos I'm not a fan of, but I gotta give it to the Royals, they've got two of the best -- the "Friends in Low Places" sing-a-long, because really, anytime you can sing to that song while raising a beer, you have to do it. And my favorite promotion they have, "Oblivious Cam", where they train the camera on some oblivious dude and time how long it takes him to figure out he's on the videoboard looking like a deusche. If you haven't seen it, trust me -- you will be crying from laughing by the time some of them realize it. Yesterday's guy had no clue for the full 90 seconds. And yes, he was a cardinals fan.
* Oh, I skipped a third promo I love. If it's Sunday, that means one thing! Oh hell yes, LIVE HOT DOG DERBY RACE!!! Trust me when I say this -- the ONLY thing that kept Gregg and I hanging around half the games we did in 2004, was the hope, the prayer, that the hot dog race would be with live participants. Sunday, it's always a live race. I freaking LOVE the live hot dog race! (Yesterday's was really funny, three kids about ten years old, you could tell on the videoboard they all knew each other, talking sh*t at each other before the flag dropped. You're damned right if I could flash the clock back about 20-22 years, that would so be me, Gregg, and Jasson out there trash talking each other. That, and I'd be mustard. That's not up for debate). Anyways, Relish won. Relish is actually 4 for 4 in the live races I've seen this year. Just in case you feel like wagering in a couple Sundays on the hot dog race. Uum, not that I've ever done that. Let's move on.
* Bottom of the seventh, we survive "God Bless America" ** and "Take Me Out to the Ballgame", and the Royals have the top of the lineup coming up, only trailing by two. The wind has picked up, and it's blowing hard to right field. And wouldn't you know it, Alex Gordon CRUSHES the first pitch he sees into the Party Porch. 7-6. It's getting really interesting. Once again, the "genius" tony la russa overthinks the situation, and yanks his reliever after one pitch. The next two Royals are retired, and then it gets screwy. Jeff Francouer is plucked on an 0-2 pitch. He then steals second, making him the first Royals runner to not get picked off of first in the last week. (Approximate; there might have been one runner who avoided the pick). Butler then walks on four pitches. Uh oh. First and second, two out, Wilson Betemit coming up.
(** -- by “survive “God Bless America”,” that is NOT a knock on religion. There's only one person and one person only who should ever be allowed to sing this song in public, and that is Florence Henderson. Anyone who has ever been to the Indy 500 is nodding vigorously with me in agreement of that previous statement. She's that freaking awesome.)
And Betemit lines the pitch into center after fighting off a number of two strike pitches. Suddenly, those annoying fans in red aren't the ones making the noise. Francouer scores easily ... but Butler is thrown out trying for third. Still, we've caught them at 7! I turn to the dejected cards fan behind me and go "looks like garcia won't be winning his sixth today!" To his credit, he laughs and says "you know, the second I said that, I knew I'd f*cked up". As long as you learn from your mistakes. Unlike some people, like ...
* Our "good friends" two rows down, DRD and his equally drunk cards buddy. cards guy attempts to put his shirt back on while holding a beer. Bad decision. The beer goes flying into a fellow cards fan sitting in front of him. It is the third time he has spilled beer on back of the guy's shirt. Apparently the third time is the charm, as he is visibly upset, and when one of the drunk cards fans buddies tries to hold him back, he slaps the dude's arm away and goes "don't f*cking touch me! Don't you dare f*cking touch me!"
Sitting next to the dude doused with beer, was some dude Dusty knew. He sees this getting out of hand, so he goes to find security. He informs security (apparently) that the entire group of these folks are beyond drunk (which, to be fair, was entirely accurate), and down the aisle come a couple of ushers. Who inform cards fan, DRD, and the chick with them that "it's time to leave guys". Later on, we're told that they were "relocated to another part of the stadium". If by "relocated" you mean "sent packing to the parking lot", then yeah, I can buy that definition of the word "relocated".
* Top of the 9th, enter Soria. Who promptly did what Aaron Crow did in the prior inning, and get guys on base in a hurry. Crow managed to strike his way out of a 2nd and 3rd, one out debacle. Soria loads the bases with one out. And then induces an inning-ending double play that has right field (at least) fired up. We're winning this game! We've got Aviles / Hosmer / Francouer coming up, if anyone reaches Butler.
* Two outs, bottom of the 9th. Francouer smashes it to center! It is high! It is deep! It is ... the ONLY damned ball all day hit there that didn't reach the Party Porch! (sawyer voice) sonofabitch! The cards outfielder leaps and makes a spectacular play as he plows into the wall. To extra innings the game went.
* And we didn't go with it. For starters, everyone was hungry, and Dusty's mom was footing the bill at Gates'. For another, it was almost 5pm. We'd been in the sun for 3 straight hours at that point, and the beer sales were done (aka "no relief in sight"). Time to move on.
* Got to Gates just in time to see the Royals bullpen implode, giving up two runs without yielding a hit. Only to see the Royals rally, and fall one run short, losing 9-8. And after finishing half a sandwich and a pint of Pale Ale, it was off for home, where a cold shower, air conditioning, and an early night were calling my name. There's many things that freaking suck about growing old. The worst of which ... well, is going gray. Gray hair blows. That's why I shave my hair every two weeks at the most. There's no way I'm going gray before I'm 50, and yes, I really am that full of myself. But the second worst thing has to be the inability to spend a day enjoying the sun, the ball, and the beer like I could in my 20s. Oh well. I'll just have to pick my moments of enjoyment I guess.
The next one of which is Memorial Day! Royals! Angels! 3pm first pitch! Long range forecast is 83 and sunny (aka "just like this weekend"). I know where I'll be come 11ish a week from now, and I'm guessing it'll involve some beer, some sun, some friends, a washers box or two, and some music in a parking lot at Kauffman Stadium. Hope every one of you reading this can join us, it should be something (the legendary, incredible, awesome mr. hugh m. hefner voice) “really special”.
Questions, thoughts, ideas, or half-assed witty musings? Hit the comments section below, or hit me up at Facebook or Twitter at teamtito15.
No comments:
Post a Comment