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Check out the new link to The Outhouse Oracle.  Not to slight any of the rest of you, who are all great authors in your own right and in your own way, but I think we can all agree that Underbelly seems to find a way to put on paper some of the funniest damned stuff that we have ever read.  So that all of you will have easy access to it, we will collect and post the best of the Best of Bob (from his marvelous “Bellyflop” guest articles) here.  I thought that the heading The Outhouse Oracle was especially appropriate for this section, since U-Bob must spend a lot of time on the family commode thinking up all his hilarious musings, but also because his team quite frequently is in the league outhouse.   In any event, enjoy Bob’s best. 

Now that I am finally able to admit some of the deficiencies of my public school education, I am trying to make up some lost ground by reading some of the literary classics, such as Catcher in the Rye and Don Quixote.  Having just finished the former while I continue to muddle through the latter, you will please forgive me if I seem to be caught up in J.D. Salinger’s unique writing style.  Since finishing this book, I even seem to find myself thinking in line with his meter and method of writing.  I really do. 

I hate it when phony intellectuals try to advertise their intelligence by name-dropping their latest high-brow read.  I mean it.  It drives me crazy.  I’m telling you the truth.  It makes me want to vomit. 

I must confess, I actually once thought that Catcher in the Rye was about a baseball backstop who spent too much time consuming hard liquor.  I did.  I was a little bit disappointed to learn that it is instead about a young lunatic named Holden Caufield, whose ambition in life is to catch young kids running out of a rye field before they fly off of a cliff to their death.  I really was.  I hate it when kookie writers like Salinger write nutty books about crazy loons like Holden who dream about catching kids running out of fields of rye to keep them from plunging off of cliffs.  I mean it. 

I wish I could stop thinking and writing like this.  I’m telling you the truth.  I really hate it when reading a book like Catcher in the Rye makes me think and write in the same style as the author.  I’m not kidding. 

For those of you who have never read Don Quixote, I heartily recommend it to you, although the unabridged version that I am reading is a discouraging 900+ pages.  For those of you whose eyes glaze over before you get to the second paragraph of a piece of Possum’s blither-blather, I do not recommend DQ to you.  The book is as funny as a side-splitter from The Bellyflop, but longer than one of Stretch’s most prolific, door-opening snores.  It really is. 

I just got back from a deposition trip to Oakland, during which I made my second visit to the Oakland Coliseum, now known as the McAfee Coliseum.  In fact, the name change is so fresh that my Hertz map still refers to it as Network Associates Coliseum, which was last season’s name du jour (Possum isn’t the only cultured HSL guy who can toss around phony French phrases with impunity), and I hate that.  I really do.  Anyway, while I was tickled green and gold to be able to walk right up to the box office and buy a ticket in Section 118 (Row 20, behind home plate), I was less than pleased to watch Senator draft boo-boo Barry Zito implode in the 7th inning to take the loss.  Locked in a beautiful pitcher’s duel with Jon Garland of the Palehose, Zito managed to hold the ChiSox to 2 hits and no runs through the first six innings with his killer hook and other tantalizing (66 mph, on one pitch) off-speed stuff.  It took future Hall-of-Famer (not) Chris Widger’s (didn’t even know he was still in the Majors) first home run in five years (I really mean it) all of about six nanoseconds to leave the Yard, giving the Sox a 2-0 lead and taking any remaining starch right out of Zito.  Did I mention that my third round pick is now 0-and-4 on the season?  That kills me.  It really does. 

It didn’t help my mood that newly-acquired Skipjack Jon Garland twirled a shutout for the ShyTown Sox against Zito.  And by the way, on Sunday night I put in for Victor Santos instead of Garland since I knew that U-Bob -- in 12th place, with the top pick of the Free Agent Draft -- would take the best and only obvious choice, Garland.  EXCEPT THAT HE DIDN’T!!  So I get a guy named Victor and J.T. has Garland plop into his lap.  I hate it when guys like Bob don’t draft the guys I think they should and it messes up my draft strategy and forces me to outsmart myself.  I mean it. 

I don’t give a dang what they call it, the Oakland Coliseum is a good place to see a baseball game.  It goes against all conventional logic, it being an old football/dual purpose facility and all, but it’s as green a cathedral inside the park as I have ever been to, and it just feels downright intimate and nice.  At least in Section 118, it does. 

I should mention that if you are the thrifty sort, you won’t want to go see a game at the Coliseum.  It costs 14 bucks to park your car, and a 12-ounce beer runs $7.50.  The polish dog that I had was one of the best ever, but at $6.50 a copy, it should have been. 

How many of you knew that ex-guv Jerry Brown is the current mayor of Oakland?  Don’t lie to yourself.  Sorry to report that there were no Brown-Linda Ronstadt sightings at the Coliseum. 

Three A’s have had their numbers retired:  Rollie Fingers (34); Reggie Jackson (9); and Catfish Hunter (27).  Damn, I bet the Coliseum was an exciting place to be during the A’s three-year World Series run from 1971 to 1973, when Charlie Finley owned the city of Oakland. 

The Athletics have won a total of nine World Series, tied with the Cardinals for the second most, behind the Yankees with 26.  In addition to their ’71-’73 skein and the 1989 Earthquake Series victory over San Francisco, the Athletics won it all five different times in Philadelphia:  1910, 1911, 1913, 1929 and 1930.  A very proud and storied franchise.