Since Possum stiffed us on last week’s guest edition of our little newsletter, I was not able to share with you all last week my wonderful experience in seeing a game in Anaheim one week earlier, between the Angels and the Mariners.  Although I was staying in a hotel in downtown Los Angeles in preparation for a deposition of a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon the following day, I was willing to make the two-hour trek to travel 20 miles on the magnificent L.A. freeway system to catch a ballgame at the Big A.  However, as I learned when I got to the ballpark, they don’t call it the Big A any longer.  They also don’t call it Edison Field any longer, because their former sponsor has apparently filed for bankruptcy, a la Enron Field in Houston, so they had to change the name of the park once again. 

Anyway, my trip to Angels Field was a total joy for a rabid baseball fan, and I have to compliment the current ownership on the level of excitement that he has been able to generate with this club.  All of the beer vendors seemed happy and cheerfully willing to accept your $7.50 for a cold brew, ditto with the brät vendors for six bucks, and ditto with the people in the souvenir shops.  I was also quite impressed with how accessible the Angels players seemed to be in terms of giving out autographs during batting practice, and by the overall good feel of the ballpark and all of the people in it. 

Now, a few random notes from Angel Field: 

Bartolo Colon has got to be the widest ballplayer of all time.  He and Norm from Cheers could wear each other’s pants with no problem. 

Alfredo Griffin coaches first base for the Angels. What is the connection there?  Once you’re in the Club, you’re in to stay, I guess. 

Not everybody looks good in a baseball cap.  Big Guy and I are living proof of that.  Darin Erstad also doesn’t look so hot in his Angels lid, because his grape is just too darned long.  The hands-down winner of the “Looks Bad in a Baseball Cap” Award has to go to Bartolo Colon.  It looks like somebody took a bad, misfitting rug and glued it to the bottom edge of his hat.  Take a closer look sometime when he’s pitching on TV.  Not pretty.  If I was his agent, I’d be pushing hard for him to shave his head or at least get someone to give him a new ’do. 

It’s surprising that Vladdy doesn’t tear ribcage cartilage every at-bat, as hard as he swings the stick.  Cheated, he doesn’t get. 

Why do people who once looked normal start looking so strange as they age?  I mean, pretty much everyone but me.  Take Bob Kerrey, for example.  He was once considered to be a handsome, very eligible bachelor, when he was in his 40s and living in the Governor’s Mansion in Lincoln.  Now, some 25 years later, he looks like a Martian prisoner-of-war.  How that skinny neck supports that enormous globe which rests atop it, I’ll never understand.  Not to pick on one of our own, but the older one of our beloved brethren in this league gets, the more I wonder if he isn’t a shirttail kin of Wolfman Jack.  Owww-oooh!

If you have to watch baseball, Angels Field isn’t the worst place in the world to be.  Unless you have something against young, tanned blonds in robust health.  Women, that is.  Just an observation, mind you.  I’m not in the market. 

On the opposite side of the ledger, I should add, is the troublesome practice of not having beer vendors patrol the stands to hawk their product.  What’s up with that?  Must be a Southern California thing. 

Everybody got on Curtis Ledbetter for botching a foul ball in the Huskers’ elimination loss to ASU, but Richie Sexson and second baseman Which-a-ma-digger Lopez of the Mariners just pulled a boner which looked even worse, colliding on an Adam Kennedy foul ball that clearly should have been caught.  It happens, even in the big leagues. 

Nothing like seeing my ex-Senator Randy Winn go deep into the right field bleachers for a home run, when he couldn’t hit squat while on my roster.  Loser. 

Man, Richie Sexson is a tall unit. 

Hal the usher has turked at least ten people in my section tonight.  U-Bob would be white-knuckled, even if he was sitting in his rightful seat. 

What would possess a portly, middle-aged Jewish gentleman to spend half of the game jockeying for an autograph from Scott Spiezio.  You got me.  Is Scott Spiezio one of the chosen ones?  I know this, he sure is much smaller than I thought he was. 

The Angels organization must be a hotbed of political correctness.  When walking toward my seat, I heard the announcement over the loudspeaker that, “When expressing your feelings for the Angels or their opponents, please be considerate of your neighbor.”  You won’t hear them say that at Yankee Stadium, will you? 

Much more to say, but the press time looms.  Thanks to Mouse for his mirthful observations, and most of all, for getting them to us in a TIMELY FASHION. 

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