June
26,
2009
Granite
State
Getaway
The
25th
Anniversary
League
Trip
is
now
in
the
books,
and
the
junket
hereafter
known
as
the
“Granite
State
Getaway”
was
indeed
one
for
the
ages.
Undaunted
by
the
forecast
of
72
consecutive
hours
of
torrential
rainstorms,
10
league
members
descended
on
the
Big
Apple
for
the
annual
rite
of
summer
that
consists
of
baseball,
bonding,
BS’ing,
and
a
bender
(chiefly
undertaken
by a
select
few).
The
trip
was
lengthened
to
four
days
this
year,
but
there
was
nary
a
moment
to
relax
as
we
filled
the
weekend
with
enough
activities
to
ensure
that
there
was
no
chance
of
taking
a
side
trip
to
Albany
to
look
at a
gold
dome
just
to
say
we
had
been
there.
Thursday,
Day
One
Seven
of
us
brave
souls
originated
our
trip
in
Omaha
on
Thursday
morning,
hopping
a
Continental
Express
flight
with
the
faint
hope
that
our
pilot
might
make
it
into
Newark
without
croaking
in
the
cockpit.
Our
departure
was
uneventful,
but
things
started
to
get
a
bit
interesting
once
we
got
to
35,000
feet.
The
pilot
was
fine,
but
the
Possum
decided
that
staying
in
his
seat
with
his
seat
belt
fastened
and
his
tray
table
in
its
full
upright
and
locked
position
was
a
bit
boring,
so
he
made
the
decision
to
circumvent
the
directives
of
the
crew
and
to
engage
all
passengers
in
the
cabin
in a
“stream
of
consciousness”
diatribe.
Positioned
halfway
in
his
seat,
halfway
in
the
aisle,
on
his
knees
and
facing
backwards,
the
Possum
regaled
all
travelers
with
various
yarns
about
baseball,
puts
and
calls,
and
reversion
to
the
mean
while
the
flight
attendants
bristled
at
his
unwillingness
to
yield
the
aisle
to
the
beverage
cart.
“Sir
Lawrence
Oblivier”
eventually
realized
that
his
entire
audience
had
suddenly
become
sleepy
to
the
point
of a
mandatory
nap,
and
conceded
his
position
so
that
the
beverage
cart
could
make
its
way
to
Curby,
who
was
quite
firm
in
his
request
for
a
Bloody
Mary.
Even
though
it
never
occurred
to
Curby
to
offer
the
rest
of
us a
drink,
he
“broke
the
seal”
and
set
the
tone
that
would
let
the
rest
of
us
put
aside
our
worries
for
a
few
days
to
have
fun
for
just
once
in
our
life.
Even
Screech,
dealing
with
numerous
domestic
and
familial
issues,
was
able
to
let
his
mullet
down
once
we
arrived
in
New
York.
Due
to
the
precise
planning
and
significant
clout
of
Mouse
and
the
Possum,
the
limos
were
waiting
for
us
upon
our
arrival,
ready
to
whisk
us
off
to
the
new
Yankee
Stadium
after
a
quick
stop
to
drop
off
our
steamers
at
the
Millennium
Hotel
in
Times
Square.
Four
of
us
had
the
good
fortune
to
be
escorted
by
Mumbai
Roy
(Roy
is a
very
common
name
in
India,
it’s
just
like
Mike),
who
was
not
concerned
with
timing
nor
focus
in
reaching
our
destination.
He
was,
however,
concerned
with
getting
paid,
and
spent
the
better
part
of
our
trip
through
the
Lincoln
Tunnel
looking
into
the
back
seat
in
an
effort
to
identify
whose
credit
card
was
going
to
cover
his
fee.
After
his
inept
maneuvering
resulted
in
the
merger
of
orange
and
purple
paint
from
the
Fed
Ex
truck
and
my
shoulder,
Roy
was
admonished
to
“Focus!!”
and
get
our
asses
to
the
stadium
right
now.
You’ll
get
your
damn
rupees
when
you
get
us
there
safely.
Roy
complied
and
we
arrived
in
the
Bronx
at
about
1:05,
just
in
time
for
the
first
pitch.
We
walked
into
the
new
House
that
Jeter
Built
but
immediately
realized
that
we
were
once
again
hit
with
the
Joba
Jinx,
which
is
defined
in
Webster’s
dictionary
as a
mandatory
five-hour
rain
delay
whenever
there
is
an
HSL
trip
to a
stadium
where
Joba
is
slated
to
pitch.
It
happened
in
Detroit,
and
it
happened
in
New
York,
but
with
the
vendors
open
for
business
and
selling
food
and
beverages
at
bargain
basement
prices,
we
passed
the
time
munching
on
$6
funnel
cakes
and
washing
them
down
with
$9
beers.
After
the
brief
five
hour
and
twenty
minute
rain
delay,
Joba
launched
the
first
pitch
at
6:25
EDT,
and
it
was
“game
on.”
We
settled
into
our
lower
level
seats,
knowing
full
well
the
game
would
be a
slugfest,
with
this
being
an
Interleague
matchup
with
the
powerful
Washington
Nationals
lineup
coupled
with
the
jet
stream
that
flows
out
to
right
center
field.
But
instead
of
the
slugfest,
the
HSL
crew
once
again
witnessed
a
game
that
went
down
in
the
history
books.
That’s
right.
In
addition
to
attending
the
latest
finishing
game
in
the
history
of
the
American
League
in
Detroit,
we
can
now
claim
our
presence
at
the
first
game
EVER
in
New
Yankee
Stadium
in
which
no
home
runs
were
hit.
Perhaps
even
more
shocking,
this
was
the
first
ball
game
I
ever
personally
attended
where
beer
sales
were
shut
off
in
the
first
inning.
With
the
Yankees
playing
like
their
charter
jet
was
waiting
on
the
tarmac
with
the
engine
running,
the
Nats
built
a
3-0
lead
with
some
timely
hitting
and
held
on
for
the
win
due
to
the
defensive
play
of
slick
fielding
shortstop
Cristian
Guzman
(sorry
Ted).
Only
later
did
we
find
out
that
the
Yanks
had
been
playing
a
bit
short-handed,
with
A
Rod
soon
to
be
benched
for
“fatigue.”
I
guess
Joe
Girardi
is
tired
of
him
hitting
.219.
There
was
no
fatigue
in
our
traveling
party,
so
with
the
game
in
the
books
the
group
headed
down
to
Times
Square
for
a
little
revelry
and
a
few
highballs
to
finish
off
the
night.
Imagine
the
shock
and
dismay
when
we
found
out
that
our
entry
to
the
ESPN
Zone
was
denied.
Yes,
that’s
New
York,
the
city
that
never
sleeps,
unless
it
is
11:00
on a
Thursday
night
and
they
are
closed.
Go
figure
that
one.
Undeterred,
we
made
our
way
over
to
the
Hard
Rock
Café
to
re-live
the
day’s
activities.
While
Big
Guy
reconnected
with
a
high
school
buddy
to
discuss
the
relative
importance
of
biochemistry,
zoology,
and
the
human
genome
in a
lab
setting
with
a
placebo
group,
the
rest
of
us
talked
baseball
and
planned
out
our
quick
hop
over
to
Cooperstown
the
next
day.
All
in
all,
a
banner
first
day.
Friday,
Day
2,
Cooperstown
Here
we
Come
Our
transportation
of
choice
for
the
drive
to
Cooperstown
was
a 15
person
passenger
van,
nice
and
clean
at
the
start
but
soon
to
be
transformed
into
a
rolling
dumpster
by
spilled
alcohol,
flatulence,
Skoal
drippings,
day
old
French
fries,
unbathed
males,
urine
stained
cargo
shorts
and
cat
feces.
BT
opted
to
take
the
helm
of
this
beast,
and
over
the
course
of
the
next
two
days
became
quite
close
with
a
British
woman
whose
only
contribution
to
the
ongoing
dialog
consisted
of
one
word:
“Recalculating.”
As
we
set
out
on
the
five
hour
journey
to
upstate
New
York,
we
were
all
keenly
aware
of
the
sights
and
sounds
around
us,
including
a
life
lesson
in
Management/Organizational
Behavior
playing
out
right
there
on
the
streets
of
Manhattan.
Before
we
could
hop
on
the
interstate
and
get
rolling,
we
were
privileged
to
see
Sal
from
the
union
instruct
one
of
his
employees
on
the
proper
procedure
for
handling
a
shovel
and
using
it
to
move
freshly
poured
concrete
into
an
unfilled
hole.
The
young
black
male
seemed
somewhat
unreceptive
to
his
boss’
instructions,
so
Sal
opted
to
give
him
a
“hands
on”
demonstration
of
the
desired
behavior,
and
added
a
little
color
of
his
own.
While
this
clearly
showed
us
the
necessity
for
employees
to
follow
their
supervisor’s
wishes,
the
lesson
learned
was
somewhat
bittersweet
as
we
later
found
out
that
Sal
was
found
on
the
very
same
street
corner
with
two
slugs
in
his
head
and
a
red
bandanna
tied
around
his
genitals.
Sal,
don’t
gang
the
gangster.
We
arrived
later
that
day
in
Cooperstown,
hungry
for
some
Foo
Kin
Chinese
food
and
anxious
to
visit
the
hallowed
halls
of
baseball’s
greatest
shrine.
We
spent
the
better
part
of
five
hours
in
the
Hall
of
Fame,
taking
in
the
wonderful
displays
such
as
the
evolution
of
World
Series
rings,
the
no-hitters
thrown
through
the
years,
Hank
Aaron’s
battles
with
racism
on
the
way
to
the
all-time
home
run
crown,
Barry
Bonds'
asterisk
home
run
ball,
and
Sam
Crawford’s
propensity
to
hit
triples.
Nothing
though,
captivated
the
group
like
the
numbers
that
are
such
a
fabric
of
the
game
of
baseball.
Without
a
doubt,
any
true
baseball
fan
must
be
able
to
recognize
and
cite
the
numbers
that
are
indelibly
etched
into
the
history
of
the
sport:
511
wins
56
games
59
innings
$770
million
If
you
don’t
recognize
these
numbers,
you’re
no
baseball
fan.
I
know
Scooter
Krause,
and
you’re
no
Scooter
Krause.
After
our
history
lesson
in
the
Hall,
we
checked
into
our
spacious
accommodations
at
the
Baseball
Hotel,
marked
off
our
territories,
and
decided
to
venture
out
to
the
local
pubs
to
see
the
best
that
Cooperstown
has
to
offer
for
night
life.
The
“fun
meter”
got
ratcheted
up a
bit
this
evening.
While
the
bars
filled
with
nurse
oncologists
and
desperate
housewives
looking
for
a
touring
gentleman
to
provide
their
ticket
out
of
Cooperstown,
Jagerbombs
magically
appeared
on a
tray,
neatly
lined
up
in a
5 x
5
grid.
Alcohol
consumption
accelerated,
and
we
suddenly
all
became
smarter,
better
looking,
richer,
and
funnier.
While
one
member
of
the
group
was
dubbed
“Sally”
by
the
bartender
for
his
inability
to
keep
up,
the
rest
of
the
group
dutifully
consumed
the
concoctions
served
as
part
of
the
now
mandatory
HSL
ritual.
“People
watching”
was
the
order
of
the
evening,
with
the
nurse
oncologist
providing
the
most
fodder
for
our
group.
In
one
evening,
this
married
woman
was
picked
up
more
often
than
Luke
Hochevar
in
the
free
agent
draft;
three
times
to
be
exact,
including
once
by
Mumbai
Roy’s
little
brother,
Delhi
Dan.
After
several
hours
of
observing
these
“Cooperstown
Debs”
trying
to
hook
a
man,
we
got
wind
from
the
locals
that
Sherman’s
was
the
real
hot
spot
bar
in
town,
and
that
was
the
joint
where
we
should
go
to
really
get
our
drink
on.
Not
wanting
to
buck
tradition
or
get
sideways
with
local
customs,
part
of
our
group
complied
while
the
others
in
the
pack
retired
for
the
evening.
Once
in
Sherman’s,
we
ordered
a
few
drinks
and
felt
like
we
were
blending
right
in
when
we
suddenly
witnessed
the
2009
version
of
the
scene
right
out
of
“An
Officer
and
a
Gentleman,”
when
the
local
flannel
shirt-wearing,
pool-playing,
tough
guy
has
had
enough
of
the
out
of
town
visitors
trying
to
mow
his
grass
and
make
off
with
his
woman.
It
seems
that
the
Possum,
in
the
role
of
Zack
Mayo,
must
have
brushed
elbows
with
the
Town
Pump,
and
Pool
Shooting
Guy
took
exception
and
was
ready
to
throw
down
with
our
league
eccentric.
“You
Hot
Stove
Leaguers
come
in
here
like
you're
hot
stuff,
wearing
your
ice
cream
suits
and
trying
to
make
off
with
our
women.”
Luckily,
the
Possum’s
90
decibel
guffaw
scared
the
daylights
out
of
the
dude,
and
order
prevailed.
Having
had
enough
excitement
for
the
evening,
we
headed
quietly
back
to
our
rooms,
careful
not
to
upset
the
tranquil
environs
of
our
lodging
mates.
Saturday,
Day
Three,
the
morning
after
On
Saturday,
we
started
our
morning
with
a
hearty
breakfast
at
the
Triple
Play
Café.
After
consuming
some
sandpaper
flapjacks,
undercooked
eggs,
and
three
month
old
jelly,
we
left
to
deal
with
our
own
triple
play.
It
seems
the
local
constable
was
not
real
happy
with
the
parking
spot
that
was
occupied
by
the
15
passenger
van,
and
cited
the
driver
with
three
traffic
violations
of
the
local
Cooperstown
traffic
code.
BT
took
over
negotiations
with
Constable
Fife,
and
after
threatening
him
with
the
wrath
of
the
six
lawyers
present
in
the
traveling
party,
BT
succeeded
in
getting
two
of
the
violations
“comped.”
With
our
legal
troubles
now
behind
us,
we
set
out
for
the
return
to
New
York
City.
With
a
lengthy
drive
ahead
of
us
and
the
Mets/Rays
game
scheduled
to
start
at
4:10,
it
was
pedal
to
the
metal
for
most
of
the
drive.
The
trip
back
was
rather
uneventful,
save
for
the
Possum’s
roadside
antics
after
an
emergency
restroom
stop
and
his
five
hour
obsession
with
Troy
Tulowitzki.
As
we
approached
the
city,
there
was
some
debate,
led
by
Shemu,
as
to
whether
or
not
we
should
take
that
“Tarzan
Bridge”
to
avoid
traffic
or
stay
the
course
that
the
British
babe
had
laid
out
for
us.
The
debate
was
moot,
as
we
all
know
that
BT
marches
to
his
own
drummer
in
deciding
the
proper
route
to
his
desired
endpoint.
True
to
form,
we
pulled
into
the
parking
lot
at
the
new
Citi
Field
on
time
and
under
budget,
ready
to
witness
Met
ace
Johan
Santana
duel
with
the
Ray’s
James
Shields.
The
near
unanimous
opinion
of
the
group
is
that
Citi
Field
blows
away
the
new
Yankee
Stadium
as
far
as
being
a
preferred
venue
for
taking
in a
ballgame.
It
didn’t
hurt
that
Curby
had
secured
seats
located
in
the
on
deck
circle,
but
it
is
definitely
a
stadium
that
will
likely
fall
in
everyone’s
top
10.
If
it
didn’t
happen
to
be
located
in a
Hellhole
city,
it
would
likely
vault
to
number
one
for
most
of
us.
The
only
other
negative
was
that
we
were
all
flabbergasted
that
we
couldn’t
find
a
Wells
Fargo
ATM
at
Citi
Field.
Just
because
a
company
pays
$500
million
for
naming
rights
shouldn’t
give
them
exclusivity
on
ATM
deployment.
What
the
hell
are
they
thinking?
The
game
was
indeed
a
pitchers'
duel,
and
after
another
hour
and
a
half
rain
delay
in
the
seventh
inning,
the
Rays
went
on
to
close
out
the
Mets
and
pull
off
the
victory,
with
the
game
being
saved
by
the
Skipjacks
own
J.
P.
Howell.
With
a
final
evening
in
New
York
awaiting
us,
we
took
the
recommendation
of
Dan
the
Citi
Field
Security
Officer
and
opted
to
partake
in
an
Italian
dinner
in
Manhattan.
We
knew
it
would
be a
safe
bet,
as
Dan
proved
himself
to
be
an
expert
on
all
cuisines
and
all
things
in
life.
He
let
us
know
that
he
had
tried
to
live
in
various
places
outside
of
New
York,
but
was
pulled
back
to
his
roots
because
in
those
others
places,
you
just
can’t
go
get
a
piece
of
pizza
at
3:30
in
the
morning.
He
was
unwilling
to
make
the
trade-off
for
a
better
cost
of
living,
cleaner
city,
increased
educational
opportunities,
lower
crime
rate,
and
less
traffic
because
there
is
no
3:30
pizza.
Enjoy
the
Big
Apple,
Dan.
Nine
of
us
feasted
on
an
authentic
Italian
meal
while
McJester
left
the
group
to
go
have
dinner
with
Darren
“Dutch”
Daulton.
It
was
the
third
time
they
have
had
dinner
together,
so
we
are
all
anxious
to
be
updated
on
what’s
going
on
in
his
post-Phillies’
life.
With
our
stomachs
full
and
our
bones
weary
from
travel,
we
retired
back
to
the
Millennium
for
a
quick
forty
winks
before
scattering
to
various
airports
for
the
Sunday
trip
home
and
the
adulation
awaiting
us
all
for
Father’s
day.
Epilog
What
a
great
trip.
Special
thanks
go
to:
Mouse
for
all
his
hard
work
in
lining
up
the
logistics
of
the
trip.
For
any
of
you
that
have
carried
that
banner
before,
it
is
no
small
task
to
make
everything
click
for
a
traveling
party
of
10.
Magpie
for
arranging
a
professional
photographer
to
snap
a
mugshot
of
this
motley
crew
in
front
of
the
Hall
of
Fame.
This
photo
is
an
instant
keepsake,
and
one
that
I’m
sure
will
be
proudly
displayed
by
many
of
us
on
the
trip.
Also
thanks
are
due
for
the
tickets
at
Citi
Field
that
were
unanimously
proclaimed
as
the
“best
seats
ever”
on
any
HSL
trip
Scott
for
his
generosity
and
creativity
in
producing
the
25th
anniversary
T-shirts,
and
for
“focusing”
for
hours
upon
hours
of
driving
through
the
Big
Apple
and
the
winding
roads
of
upstate
New
York.
All
of
you
for
your
commitment
to
the
joys
of
this
league,
the
camaraderie,
and
the
lifelong
friendships
that
have
been
borne
out
of a
“rotisserie”
baseball
league.
This
was
an
all-time
great
trip,
and
for
those
of
you
that
couldn’t
make
it,
you
were
there
with
us
in
spirit.
If
you
ever
do
make
it
to
New
York,
make
sure
you
visit
these
two
new
stadiums
but
more
importantly,
make
sure
you
take
that
trek
to
the
top
of
the
Granite
State
Building,
that
architectural
icon
that
has
been
a
symbol
of
New
York
for
years.
Best
of
luck
to
each
of
you
in
your
race
to
the
HSL
finish
line.
Itchie
Itchie
"The
Gangstah"
Thielen
flashes
a
sign
to a
Yankee
Stadium
beer
vendor,
signaling
an
immediate
call
for
liquid
refreshment
for
him
and
his
peeps.
Don't
get
cheated,
McJester.
Different
day,
different
city,
same
routine.
"Lookee
here,
guys,
they
have
fancy
built-in
cup-holders.
Shazam!"
Nice
touch,
Mouse!
You
da
man!
The
moment
in
every
game
that
McJester
lives
for.
Dinner
at a
quaint
spot
in
Cooperstown,
as
the
boys
rest
up
for
the
big
night
ahead.
Tricko
and
the
boys
in
the
"best
seats
ever"
at
Citi
Field,
courtesy
of a
top
drawer
Wall
Street
law
firm.
Santana
vs.
Longoria:
How
it
looks
from
the
fifth
row.
Shamu
scans
the
concourse
for
a
funnel
cake
vendor,
as
Itchie
plans
to
hatch
his
next
scheme.
A
quartet
of
HSLers
pay
tribute
to
Jackie
Robinson.
The
boys
and
Citi
Field
boss
"Dan,"
the
3:30
a.m.
pizza
lover.
Skipper
congratulates
B.T.
on
another
successful
HSL
ballpark
visit.
Nothing
but
the
best
for
the
boys!
B.T.
attempts
to
hand
off
the
breakfast
tab
to
any
other
Hot
Stove
Leaguer.
Stretch
can't
get
his
hands
in
his
pockets
fast
enough.
Thought
bubble:
"Why
on
earth
is
Possum
texting
me
to
walk
across
the
street
to
another
bar?
We
have
all
the
Jagerbombs
we
need
right
here."
Sir
Laurence
Oblivier
ignores
the
activity
and
tumult
behind
him.
On
the
streets
of
Cooperstown.
Chief
Bender
snuggles
up
with
Big
Guy
and
Mouse,
just
prior
to
urging
them
to
buy
him
just
one
more
cold
ale
to
satisfy
his
Native
American
thirst.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
June
11,
2008
Fellow HSL’ers:
The
Hot
Stove
League’s
annual
“brain
drain”
began
with
eight
of
the
league
members
(Skipper,
Magpie,
Screech,
Shamu,
BT,
Possum,
Stretch,
and
yours
truly)
descending
upon
our
nation’s
capital
last
weekend
from
various
endpoints
in
helter
skelter
fashion.
The
inefficiency
with
which
this
trip’s
logistics were managed (no advance
tickets, eight separate flights, unidentified hotel accommodations, and no
advanced scouting out of watering holes) would have made lesser men
“Nervous Nellie’s”, but given the collective experience and laid back
temperament of this aging posse, there was not a fret to be heard
As
noted
in
various
posts
on
the
HSL
Message
Board,
the
beautiful
stadium,
Chamber
of
Commerce
weather,
discounted
beers,
and
hotly
contested
ballgames
between
two
of
the
league’s
premiere
teams
made
for
a
weekend
to
remember.
Well,
maybe
not.
DC Here We Come
After waiting a mere thirty five minutes for
the lone hotel clerk to process the reservations of a lobby full of
visitors waiting to check in, we were assigned room accommodations based
on arrival times and/or personality conflict avoidance. I’ll give you one
guess as to my assigned roomie. I know you all think this is the part
where I’m going to start complaining about Stretch snoring, but this year
it was different. There was something changed about Stretch’s personality.
I guess I should have recognized it based on the feather plume in his hat
and the puffy purple shirt he was wearing when I first saw him, but I just
didn’t make the connection at the time. More details on that situation
later.
After check in was complete and we took a
brief moment to unpack, the HSL’s “DC 8” met in the lobby and hatched a
well conceived plan to gulp a few cold ones and get a feel for the town
before heading to Friday night’s game. Given that there are literally no
dining or drinking establishments within five miles of the athletic venue,
we leveraged the Possum’s intimate familiarity with the Metro subway
system and Georgetown area bars to find a place to kick up our collective
heels.
The Possum circumnavigated the traditional
subway routes and led us directly to a fine watering hole where we quaffed
our beers, munched a few wings, and collectively lauded the athletic
prowess of Tom Kropp. BT was conspicuously absent for a large portion of
this pre-game meeting, but when he ultimately surfaced a short time later,
the reasons were clear. Perhaps feeling out of place and a bit socially
removed from the trend setting Georgetown crowd, and faced with the
realization that he is careening out of control toward his 50th birthday
and a middle age crisis, BT had vacated our session to frequent one of the
avant garde boutiques in the area and came back clad in new outerwear. The
size small “ochre” t-shirt he was sporting gripped his Michelin Man
physique quite snugly, letting him fit right in and be passed off as one
of the locals. The color “Ochre” is described on Wikipedia as designating
flamboyance….or did they mean flaming…either way, mission accomplished BT.
The HSL Boys in Georgetown; BT in his latest fashion look
Before the waitress could get comfortable
shouting “Big Johnny” or scare up a few Jagerbombs for the group, it was
time to head to Nationals Stadium to witness the highly anticipated series
between the hometown team and the visiting San Francisco Giants. Off we
went for our first glimpse of the jewel of the Potomac.
The HSL Super 8 visit Nats Park
You never get a second chance to make a
first impression
Let me think…..bland, unspectacular,
disappointing, Cincinnati…..these were the words that flashed around in my
head as I got my first glimpse of the stadium. But then again, how else
can you describe a corrugated steel box in a burnt out warehouse district?
Upon our grand entrance to the stadium for a Friday night game, we made
our way past the other 15 people interested in attending the game, through
the main entrance, only to walk nine feet further into a painted concrete
wall. Somebody really put some thought into the aesthetics on this one.
The stadium is isolated like Denny at a
Republican fund raiser, so there is nothing to get you pumped up like the
Flats in Cleveland, Blake St. in Denver, or Murphy’s Bleachers at Wrigley.
Just walk on in, grab yourself an $8 brew from the concession stand, and
settle in for the old ballgame. The crowd gave me the feel of a Millard
West versus Westside game on a Wednesday afternoon, but for what we were
about to witness talent wise, that would be a slap in the face to the
Wildcats and Warriors.
The Nationals, beset by injuries and a
crappy roster, started with Big Guy’s own Jason Bergmann on the bump, and
the Giants countered with BT’s flame throwing Tim Lincecum (there’s that
BT / flame connection again). The Giants struck early and often, putting
up a 7 spot in the third inning on their way to a 10-1 victory and a minus
18 for Bergmann. Interest was held throughout the game due only to the
ongoing over/under wagering on total runs, pitches per inning, and the
temperature/humidity combined total. The latter line was set at 200, and
the over prevailed easily. It felt like a combination of Death Valley heat
and Orlando humidity.
As you might suspect, the heat took its toll
on Brother Shamu, causing him to go Albert Brooks in Broadcast News and
sweat through a minimum of three shirts. Shamu’s saving grace was the ice
cream cone he purchased and subsequently attacked like a porn star. The
guess here is that Shamu will never again consume an ice cream cone in
front of his HSL brethren.
Shamu fends off a minor hypoglycemic episode
Sapped from the oppressive heat and stress
of the wagers, we were in need of a collective cocktail to replenish our
souls, so we made our way to the only available saloon, located back in
our hotel lobby. The ambiance was top notch, what with about 50 sweat
filled males trying to secure a drink in an area designed for a capacity
of 20. Not to be deterred, we arranged for several appearances by Captain
Morgan, and drank the night away. The last of the group retired about
1:45, a tame night by HSL standards.
Itchie “Chin-Chin” Thielen has fun for once
in his life
Saturday, Carpe Diem
After a restful night of slumber, several of
the league brethren gathered for breakfast and the opportunity to discuss
the day’s plans. There’s nothing like runny scrambled eggs, greasy bacon,
and biscuits and gravy to soak up the previous night’s liquids. Skipper,
Shamu, and I enjoyed a hearty breakfast, and finished up as Stretch made
his way down to the lobby. Sensing Stretch’s trepidation at dining alone,
Shamu offered to stay with him while he ingested some grub. In a grand
gesture of selflessness, Shamu even offered to go ahead and eat another
breakfast so Stretch would not have to wear the stigma of eating alone.
Three crepes, a blintz, two donuts, a syrup covered chocolate chip waffle
and some more bacon later, Shamu had demonstrated his graciousness and was
ready for the day’s activities
The wide range of social interests among
league members caused the group to splinter into three sections on
Saturday. The intellectuals (Shamu, Skipper, Stretch, and Itchie) opted to
take a tour of historical monuments; the nostalgic ones (Possum and
Magpie) opted to reunite with an old law school buddy; and the sedate ones
(BT and Screech) opted for prone position in the room.
We went our separate ways, with the
understanding that we would re-convene at the ESPN Zone in time for the
Saturday night game. The intellectuals stayed at ESPN through the running
of the Belmont, feasting on the “4 for $40” bottled beer special they were
promoting in conjunction with the race.
Once again, we headed for the ballpark ready
for Saturday night’s game two of the series. This time, we entered the
stadium from the outfield, and I will reluctantly admit that this point of
entry allows for a more positive perception of the grounds. Once they get
some restaurants, bars, and shops built up around the area, it might even
crack someone’s top 15 stadium list, just not mine. The planning of such
construction has begun, so perhaps a return here in five to ten years will
yield a different experience.
The Jonathan Sanchez-Shawn Hill matchup for
this tilt yielded nothing but goose eggs for the first seven frames. The
Giants broke the game wide open in the eighth, highlighted by John
Bowker’s grand slam, and closed out the 6-0 victory by shutting down the
Nats fearsome bats for the final two innings.
The boredom factor for this relatively
insignificant game was broken up by Screech’s unbridled enthusiasm for the
Nat’s new mascot (Screech),
That lovable Nats mascot, SCREECH
and Stretch’s bristling at having to sit
through the Presidential mascot race. Just to ensure that the race results
are properly documented in the HSL annals, Teddy Roosevelt’s three length
victory was overturned by Screech (the mascot) for using a motorized
vehicle.
Teddy Wins!
Back to Stretch for a second. It is
interesting that when you spend a little more personal time with someone,
you get to learn more about what they are all about and what drives them
in their everyday life. During the “intellectual’s” tour of the monuments
on Saturday, Stretch found the inner strength to come forward with a
confession to the group that I think he has been bottling up for years.
What we didn’t know is that while Stretch is indeed a true baseball fan
and a history buff to boot, his real passion lies in attending Renaissance Faire’s and transforming that weekday lawyer into the weekend Jester.
Stretch (from now on, Stretch McJester is his new moniker) dons that
plumed hat and puffy shirt most every weekend, loads the family in the
Town and Country van, and scours the country for a Renaissance festival
where he can ply his trade as a jouster/jester.
Stretch McJester
Now it is all starting to make sense to me.
I have heard him talking in his sleep, shouting phrases like “Mount your
steed, young knight; I have challenged you to a duel for the honor of
m’lady”. I now also know why he has been referring to his family members
as Maid Marian, Warrior King, and the Baroness. I would encourage you all
to ask him about his medieval escapades with the scalawags, pirates, and
wenches as he seeks to storm the castle. I think he will be much relieved
that he can be “who he is” without having to suppress this passion any
longer.
Sunday brought the end to this annual rite
of summer. Four brave souls once again ventured to the stadium, perhaps
motivated by the opportunity to watch the Skipjacks own Barry Zito
continue his trend of moon walking points, while the other four headed out
to wait for their delayed flights home. What those four at the game didn’t
take into account was that Zito was facing the Nationals, and thus was
spared the whipping that those 83 mph fastballs normally would bring. The
Giants prevailed 6-3, and actually went on to complete a four game sweep
of the home team on Monday. Them Nats got some work to do.
Thanks to everyone who attended for the
camaraderie, the laughs, the baseball talk, and another great trip. Next
year in New York will be fabulous with full attendance by all league
members.
Just a reminder to whoever takes ownership
of scheduling for that trip: Check dates for the jousting camps and
festivals, and work around those dates so all of us can attend.
Random other thoughts:
Bartolo Colon is a dyslexic Andre the Giant.
His bio says he weighs 240, and we all know that should be 420. Are you
kidding me? 240?
Akinori Iwamura has been picked up more
times by more league members than anyone I can ever remember.
Here are the Standings as of this morning
6/11:
|
Blues
|
5073.30
|
|
Cubs
|
4938.70
|
|
Wahoos
|
4778.90
|
|
Chiefs
|
4638.40
|
|
Monarchs
|
4527.50
|
|
Bombers
|
4509.30
|
|
Bears
|
4508.70
|
|
Highlanders
|
4405.80
|
|
Skipjacks
|
4401.60
|
|
Tigers
|
4370.30
|
|
Redbirds
|
4323.20
|
|
Tribe
|
4313.80
|
|
Senators
|
4103.90
|
Roll Jax.
Itchie
Your
perpetually
inebriated
scribe
So
who
wins
the
boiler
reduction
contest?
Shamu spots the ice cream vendor and contemplates a bull
rush
Screech is tickled pink to have made a new
friend and
fellow Yankee fan, Maurice “The Mole”
Moncraft
Stretch
frowns
at
the
thought
of
another
Presidential
mascot
race
to
endure
“Look, McJester, a damsel in distress for
you to rescue!”
The crack Nats emergency team saves the
day again.
Another “monumental” HSL moment.
“I am your next President!”
Itchie displays abject disgust at how far
and hard
former HSL Trip guest 1-Way-Tony has
fallen
Shamu prepares to change into shirt No. 7
on the sweltering Tour De Monuments
The one time that Itchie
wasn’t
slurping
down
an
alcoholic
beverage—his
tribute
to
Abe.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
