Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Draft #79
I just finished reading Bill Simmon's article about how crying has become more acceptable in today's sports world. Having said this, I started looking back on my playing days as a child to see if I've ever displayed that much emotion during a sporting event. It was Tom Hanks who once said that there is no crying in baseball, and I can think of three specific situations where I broke that cardinal rule of the game and not one of them involved getting hit with a fastball (or leaning into the occasional curveball). Instance #1: It was my first year of organized baseball, and I was one of the greatest eight-year-old phenoms to ever break into the West Bend Minor League baseball circuit. Which in itself is a joke because if I was actually any good I would have been in the actual West Bend Little League circuit instead of being delegated to the minors. Please remember though, this was back in the day when tryouts were held outdoors, in April, in the cold, and I believe the pitching machines were cranked up as high as 70 mph (or at least it seemed that way). I was at the tail end of a generation who had to tryout in those conditions, and shortly after that, the tryouts were held in gymnasiums with pitching machine speeds set somewhere between snail and two-legged dog. Anyway, I was one of the best of the worst and I played for the West Bend Elevator sponsored Red Sox. We may not have been the best team in the league, but we were scrappy and we had a guy on our team nicknamed Twinkie. We also had a guy named Luke on our team that moved like Forrest Gump (with the braces). He was a skinny lad but ran slower than a glacier pulling a tractor that was pulling a plow. Had the "special needs" league been formed at that time, he may have been the Jose Canseco of his peers, but this was the minors, and Luke just wasn't skilled enough to cut it at our level. And by the way, I hate it that the minor league's is referred to as Triple A now. Don't want to hurt the kids feelings now do we? They should have gone the other direction and renamed it the "Step above retarded" league or the "Semi-challenged" league. A title that exudes a sense of failure to the public, you know, something catchy.
So I'm in the middle of my one and only season in the minors with the Red Sox, and we're playing an equally crappy team on a field behind a bowling alley, oblivious to the fact that one of the greatest misjustices of this or any century was about to be served cold, on my lap, and without warning. I had reached base that game ala the 8-ball walk (a rule specifically designed for minor league play that states a batter can only receive a base on balls with the bases loaded if the pitcher throws eight balls instead of the customary four) a feat I was no stranger to since I had such a discernible eye at the plate. I eventually made my way to second base and inbetween pitches I started feeling a pebble in my helmet that was causing myself some mild discomfort. So I removed my protective headgear to shake the contents loose when all of a sudden the umpire called me out. I wasn't tagged by the ball, I wasn't out of the baseline, but apparently their was a "no removing your helmet" rule that neither I or any of my coaches knew about. The parents in the stands went balistic, my coaches were absolutely dumbfounded, and I.................after a few words of disapproval, was told to return to the bench where I proceeded to cry, like a girl. None of it made sense to me.
Instance #2: I was a rookie playing for Albiero Plumbing and we were matched up against Weilands in this particular case of the weeping ballplayer (Weilands was the name of the very bowling alley I had mentioned in the previous instance). Their star player was named Jared Beistle and he was on the mound that day. This particular 12-year-old stood about 6 feet tall and could threw approximately 82 mph (at least it seemed that way). Most men quivered in absolute fear at the mere sight of this boy, let alone a fresh faced nine-year-old who swung a 28 inch Easton as if it were one of Paul Bunyan's table legs. Since I was so young (and shitty) I only played a couple of innings per game and got an at-bat or two in the process. Since Weilands was so good, I only got one at-bat that game and boy did I not make the most of it. I struck out, and I struck out swinging. I was so upset I didn't even make contact with the ball, that I started crying. When I got back to the dugout the coach asked what was wrong and I told him I hit myself pretty hard with the backswing, not sure if he bought my pathetic excuse or not, but that seemed better than just telling him I was a pussy.
Instance #3: We are now moving from 2nd and 3rd grade memories and fast forwarding all the way to 8th grade and the championship game of the West Bend Senior League (the league between Little League and high school ball). It was one of the most lopsided championship matchups in recent history, on paper at least. It was the mighty Teachers vs. the less than steller team known as Bank One, a wild collection of misfits and scalawags who didn't even deserve to breathe fresh air let alone play in a championship game with such a high caliber team as the WB Teachers. We had these guys beat before the game even started which is why we had our team party before the end of the season, a day or two before the championship game, it just made sense.
Well, the Mighty West Bend Teachers didn't win the championship that day, largely in part to an umpire who was clearly paid off by one of the over zealous Bank One player's parents. This disgrace of an umpire decided to give David Steckel (Bank One's starting pitcher) 3 to 4 inches off of either corner that day. I'm not sure why, but I'm sticking to the paid off theory. This umpire in question turned a B- pitcher at best into a freakin All-American that day. Steckel ended the game with 17 strikeouts in a 7 inning game. Absolutely a disgrace, especially since I pulled off the ever popular golden sombrero by going 0-4 with 4 strikeouts. Like I said earlier, I had a very discernible eye at the plate and 50% of the crap being called a strike was definitely a ball. The ump took the game into his own hands and I wouldn't even be surprised if he showed up to the Bank One victory party. Now that I think of it, he was probably friends with Bank One assistant manager, Drunk Tom. I bet those two were in cahoots, yeah......., that's it, looks like I found me a new theory. Oh, I went home that night and cried, myself, to sleep.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Draft #78
Is there anything worse than:
-going bowling
-going bowling and suddenly the regular bowling becomes cosmic bowling
-going bowling and suddenly the regular bowling becomes cosmic bowling and all of a sudden that mustard stain on your black shirt that you thought was barely visible by the naked eye unless specifically pointed at, becomes so crystal clear to everybody within a 5 lane radius that you become the laughing stock of the alley.
Is there anything worse than:
-lifting weights
-lifting weights in a crowded gym
-lifting weights in a crowded gym and having your low-hanging sack slip out the bottom of your shorts without knowing it and having a small group of middle-aged women stare at you during every rep of your tricep workout.
Is there anything worse than:
-feeding ducks in a pond
-feeding ducks in a pond at a park all by yourself in the rain
-feeding ducks in a pond at a park all by yourself in the rain and getting shot in the neck with a tranquilizer dart by a guy in a tree wearing a mask who takes you back to his lair to perform experiments on you that not even the government nor aliens would conduct.
Is there anything worse than:
-visiting your great aunt Mildred
-visiting your great aunt Mildred who lives in Tennessee
-visiting your great aunt Mildred who lives in Tennessee and in the middle of the 13th night of your boring two week stay you awake in fiery agony because Mildred left the stove on after making a late night grilled tomato and turnip sandwich consequently leaving you with burns so severe that you cannot urinate on any given day since the accident without a double shot of whiskey and a stick to bite on.
Is there anything worse than:
-sitting through a lecture
-sitting through a lecture given by a professor who speaks terrible english
-sitting through a lecture given by a professor who speaks terrible english and during the middle of the speech you do that thing where you start choking on your own saliva because you swallowed a batch down the wrong hatch and now you've got tears rolling down your face and you're turning red and everybody's looking at you like you're retarded even though it's a simple problem you're currently having that could happen to just about anybody and then you let a fart slip because you converted your attention to stopping your coughing/choking fit instead of holding back your gas which would ultimately lead someone near you to say to the person next to them, "Did he just?"
Is there anything worse than:
-not being able to watch TV
-not being able to watch TV during a Wonder Years marathon on Nickelodeon
-not being able to watch TV during a Wonder Years marathon on Nickelodeon because you weren't able to pay your cable bill due to the fact that you recently lost your job at K-Mart for telling a customer who was looking for "something to store his tools in" that you weren't quite sure if you had anything in stock but you did say to the customer that you wouldn't mind storing your screwdriver in the tool box of the checkout girl in aisle 7 while the manager was unknowingly standing right behind you.
Is there anything worse than:
-driving to work
-driving to work when you know you're gonna be late
-driving to work when you know you're gonna be late and you're caught behind the slowest geriatric driver on the face of the planet and then the nonstop honk of your horn and the heavy duty tailgating you're doing forces the poor old lady off the side of the road and into the ditch and your left with that momentary feeling of guilt that makes your stomach a little uneasy as you pass her on the highway. I hate that uneasy feeling.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Draft #77
America's favorite pastime is just around the corner, and I felt it was my duty to report that the end of an era is upon us. With the start of the 2006 Land O' Lakes amateur baseball season, the mighty West Bend Benders franchise will not be in the league for the first time since 1991. The Benders, previously the Lithias, have been contracted from league play because player/coach (and I use both terms very, very loosely) Bill Backhaus will not be running the team this season. Why you ask?
Well according to a newspaper clipping that was mailed to my roommate, Billy will be a bit tied up this summer. The blurb reads as follows:
Backhaus, William J., 56, West Bend, operate while intoxicated (4th), five months jail with work release, 24 months license revoked, two years ignition interlock, $1,372, bail jumping, eight months jail stayed, two years probation, court costs, counseling.
Ouch babe! Looks like the dynasty is over. A dynasty that achieved a 29-250 record in a 15 season span accounting for a .116 winning percentage. The Bender's magic season was in 1994 when they tallied a franchise high six victories which is significantly more than the four victories the Benders obtained from 2000-2005 in six full seasons. The 21st century was not very kind to the Benders and I was glad to be apart of it.
My first taste of Bender baseball was in the summer of 1998. I was fresh off a season of high school JV baseball and the summer was coming to an end. As was the norm, the Benders were hurting for bodies at the tail end of their season since most players at that point finally figured out that getting pummeled by 20 runs a night is not their idea of a "good time". So Billy got on the phone and made his usual August recruiting calls to some of the area high school players. He managed to convince myself and a few of my teammates to play for the Benders in one of their final games of the season, a move we would all soon regret.
To make a long story short, we (the JV players) all struck out every at bat, the one playing catcher got his ass run over at the plate by a grizzled vet who after the act proclaimed to a 16 year-old "Welcome to Land O' Lakes!" as the kid is on the ground gasping to catch his breath. Our right fielder (Vinny D) severely misjudged a flyball, and dropped it, only because he was 15 yards away from the ball when it landed and he almost ran into a light pole in the process. And to make things worse, a kid nicknamed Feces, who showed up late to the game and physically looked more like Zach Galifianakis than he did a ball player, smacked a single to center on his very first at bat, after we had all failed miserably. Vin and I could only look at each other in disbelief from the dugout as the bearded, beer-gutted, stumpy armed man with glasses galloped his way to first base.We were out of our league and the experience was enough to convince my high school teammates that this three ring circus known as the Benders was something to be avoided at all costs. I on the other hand, was sucked back in during the summer of 2001. A friend of mine (not one of the JV players mentioned earlier) was on the team and the Benders were short a player for a late season Sunday afternoon contest. Billy Backhaus was on league probation at that time because there were many instances where he showed up to games without enough players, so the league was keeping a close watch, one more strike and the Benders would be kicked out.
I agreed to fill in for one game to save the franchise and my decision to do so provided yet another classic Bender baseball moment. The memory involved, coincidentally, another player who showed up late to the game. His name was Pat Engeleiter, an older player who was probably pushing 40, but looked young for his age. Halfway through the game, down by a numerous amount of runs, Pat decided to volunteer his services on the mound. "Billy, the arm's feeling pretty good today" as Pat rotated his throwing arm in a circular motion while holding his throwing shoulder with his off hand. Pat had offered his services a few times before that, but Billy was hesitant to let him pitch since he showed up in the 3rd or 4th inning (I guess Billy still had a bit of a conscience left). But since the rest of the staff was getting shelled, Billy finally gave Pat the green light. And what did Pat do? He proceeded to walk the next three batters on twelve consecutive pitches, he walked off the mound towards Billy at first base rotating his throwing arm and holding his throwing shoulder in the exact same fashion as when he was trying to convince Billy his arm was feeling great and said, "Billy, the arm's not feeling so good." Pat walked off the field, into his car, and I never saw the guy again. I just stood there at third base and was like, what the fuck.
I proceeded to play fulltime for the Benders in 02 and 03 against my better judgement and no moment was greater than in o3, the night the Benders came to play. It was a cold and rainy Friday and we were getting whooped by the Cedarburg Lumberjacks through five innings of play. In the sixth and the seventh inning we started chipping away at their lead, but the umpires declared that because of the rain, the game was going to be called at the end of the eighth. Well, the eighth inning came and went and the home team Benders where only down by five runs. We begged the umpires to let us finish out the game and after five or so minutes of pleading and deliberation the umps finally threw their hands up and allowed us to play on. We held the Lumberjacks scoreless in the top of the ninth and it was now our turn to bat. The scrappy Benders tacked on a couple of early runs off an assorted variety of punch and judy slap singles, walks, and errors and even managed to load the bases for our four-hole hitter, Jason Thelen. Mind you this was the first season for wood bats in Land O' Lakes and the rain was coming down and it was a bit frigid out, but none of that mattered to Jason because against all odds, he managed to deliver a towering "girth bomb" into the night and far beyond the outer boundries of the left field ivory covered wall. You would have thought we won the World fuckin Series the way we were acting after that walk off home run. There was just a massive pile of bodies at homeplate, some of us were hugging each other, others were cocking off to the other team since we didn't know when our next chance would come (ex. You lost to the Benders, the worst team in the league! we proclaimed as we hurled as much salt as we could find in their freshly opened gaping wounds).
We were definitely the Bad News Benders and I will look back on those days and remember Billy Backhaus:
- falling to one knee after a swing and miss strikeout hack (on more than one occasion)
-not being able to get most of his routine warm up grounders to third base because his arm was so bad
-the master of the 200 plus pitch count, nobody hung a pitcher out to dry quite like Billy
-taking way too many cuts in batting practice, conserve your energy I thought, you ain't gettin any better
-eating McDonalds in the dugout during a game
-and how his belt came undone once as he was running (aka waddling) to first base and his gut popped out
-and the time he hit one off the wall in left and only got a single out of it
-hitting infield practice to us and mumbling what base we're supposed to throw to as he's about to strike the ball, we couldn't understand/hear a word he was saying. He was also good for shit when it came to hitting flyballs for the outfielders, all he could hit was grounders, and that's if he actually didn't whiff in the process.
-and the way you acted like Hank Aaron, swinging two bats at one time as you walked to the plate, tossing the extra bat aside just before you stepped in the box. I usually batted right after him, so I had to go fetch his "extra" bat, and that pissed me off to no end.
So long Benders, so long. And Billy, don't drop that soap buddy and watch out for yer corn hole.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Draft #76
Hucklebuck Remix
R.Kelly's "The World's Greatest" becomes
Hucklebuck's "The World's Gayest"
I am a homo
I am a flamer
Ohhh, I am a sicko
Taming some tagers
I am butt sliver
Down in your valley
Ohhh, I have a boyfriend
And I love Steve dearly
If anybody asks you what I am
Just stand up slouched, limp your left wrist and say
[Chorus]
I'm that meat up in that guy
I'm that ninny singing real high
I'm out the closet
I'm the world's gayest
And I'm that guy who drops the soap
To give your backside a little poke
I can feel it mmm
I'm the world's gayest
I'm into styling
I'm into doing hair
I am not lying
I toss salads without a dare
I am a marchin proud
With all the queer folks
I am able to hear out loud
All of your faggot jokes
If anybody asks you what I am
Just stand up slouched, limp your left wrist and say
[Chorus]
I'm that meat up in that guy
I'm that ninny singing real high
I'm out the closet
I'm the world's gayest
And I'm the guy who drops the soap
To give your backside a little poke
I can feel it mmm
I'm the world's gayest!
R.Kelly's "The World's Greatest" becomes
Hucklebuck's "The World's Gayest"
I am a homo
I am a flamer
Ohhh, I am a sicko
Taming some tagers
I am butt sliver
Down in your valley
Ohhh, I have a boyfriend
And I love Steve dearly
If anybody asks you what I am
Just stand up slouched, limp your left wrist and say
[Chorus]
I'm that meat up in that guy
I'm that ninny singing real high
I'm out the closet
I'm the world's gayest
And I'm that guy who drops the soap
To give your backside a little poke
I can feel it mmm
I'm the world's gayest
I'm into styling
I'm into doing hair
I am not lying
I toss salads without a dare
I am a marchin proud
With all the queer folks
I am able to hear out loud
All of your faggot jokes
If anybody asks you what I am
Just stand up slouched, limp your left wrist and say
[Chorus]
I'm that meat up in that guy
I'm that ninny singing real high
I'm out the closet
I'm the world's gayest
And I'm the guy who drops the soap
To give your backside a little poke
I can feel it mmm
I'm the world's gayest!
Monday, March 20, 2006
Draft #75
Fathers Say the Darndest Things
-If I ever catch you drinkin booze boy, I'll remove your thumbs and Fed Ex'em to Idaho.
-I knew a guy who used to smoke weed, I think he's dead now........
-If you have to do that, then do it where no one can see you, it's called being courteous.
-Last time I checked, Billy's mom didn't make the rules around here, I do! Besides, why would you want to go to a Jewish wood working camp? You're not even Jewish, and you hate furniture.
-I don't care if Moses offered you that cigarette, you're in big trouble little miss smoke stacks.
-If I ever catch you drinkin booze boy, I'll remove your thumbs and Fed Ex'em to Idaho.
-I knew a guy who used to smoke weed, I think he's dead now........
-If you have to do that, then do it where no one can see you, it's called being courteous.
-Last time I checked, Billy's mom didn't make the rules around here, I do! Besides, why would you want to go to a Jewish wood working camp? You're not even Jewish, and you hate furniture.
-I don't care if Moses offered you that cigarette, you're in big trouble little miss smoke stacks.
-You are NOT taking ballet, no son of mine is going to be a gay.
-So you like stealing things do ya? Apparently the sixth commandment doesn't apply to you? You're too good for commandments? You make me sick. Go to your room while I decide which belt to use to tan your hide into a painful shade of red.
-Damn it Bobby! That was in a movie! Anybody short of being a complete idiot knows that yer not supposed to touch the dancers. And what the hell kind of a movie were you watching boy? And how the hell did you get into a...............?
-Ahhhhh, you don't like it here? I've got a good feeling that Izahir Nokbar over in Tim Buckswana would love to be in your shoes, little man, eating snickers, drinking so-dee-pop all day, not doing his homework. But unfortunately for him, he's too busy hunting down his next meal and fighting off scurvy because his mommy doesn't pack him a bottle of Sunny-D for lunch everyday. You don't even know how good you've got it. (Now go to your room while I decide which belt.......)
-What gave you the impression that urinating on the bathroom ceiling was a good idea? Last time I checked you were enrolled at Brookshore Elementary, not a damned monkey farm. Suzie, you know better than that. I am thoroughly disappointed in you.
-Stewart, you are a paperboy, you have certain responsibilities, you can't keep giving Miss Wellington the crumbled newspaper just because she's ugly. Ugly people like a nice, crisp newspaper just like everybody else.
-That wasn't polite telling Mr. Stemkin that he had cobwebs in his nose. You see Tommy, people, as they get older, stop caring about their appearance. That's why Mr. Stemkin wears his pants up to his chest and half his lunch on his face. You're still confused? Well just remember this math analogy. As your percent chance of getting laid decreases due to old age, gravitational pull, or overall lack of charm, the odds of you maintaining your appearance to lure anyone from the opposite sex to sleep with you decreases exponentially. It's considered by many as the "Why Bother" theory. Hence, Mr. Stemkin's unusually long and unsightly nose hair.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Draft #74
Weekend Review
Friday: At work, my co-workers and I were discussing which women would make our top 5 list, and after telling them my list (Sara Evans, Tiffany Amber-Thiessen, Cobie Smulders, Scarlett Johansson, and Jessica Alba), I was told that I was shallow. They said I was shallow because everyone on my list was too gorgeous, and that I don't like any average looking girls. Now call me crazy, but isn't that the whole point of listing your top 5 favorite women? These were female co-workers that asked me to name my top 5, and I think I was being tested....aka.....trapped.
Since that time, the running joke in here is that I'm shallow. One of them made a pretty good joke the other day, and I would like to share it with you if I may. Before the burn occurred, this co-worker and I had been talking about how I probably mis-transfer a lot of calls on account of my not listening to the customers as they babble. So today she turned around and said to me, "Andy, I got another one of your mis-directed calls. The lady said she asked for department A and that the guy who transferred her sent her to department B." I asked how she knew that I was the one who transferred the call, and co-worker said to me, "She said the guy that transferred her sounded pretty shallow." And even though I was the butt of that joke, I was still impressed.
Next time you pass a student driver on a freeway, take your hands off the wheel, turn to the student or the instructor (whatever side you're on) and wave your hands at them as if to say, "Hey look, over here, NO hands!" I tried this on the way home from work on Friday and the instructor just shook his head at me and gave me a half smile. It would probably be best to do this on the instructor side of the car because most student drivers are too busy looking straight ahead to acknowledge your impressive gesture.
Saturday: I was introduced to the following phrase, "Wow, I've been to two World Fairs and a goat-fucking contest and I've never seen anything like that before!" And I have to believe I'm a better person for having heard that. Although I'm a little puzzled, as to what determines the winner of a goat fucking contest? Speed, accuracy, total units produced? But I'm thinking that this is one of those situations where the answer really is best left unanswered.
I got to sit on a deck grilling brats, hamburgers, and hot dogs with my brother, without wearing a coat, while listening to music, with the sun shining down on us. Words can't even express how happy that made me.
Sunday: I drew a picture with crayons for my dying grandmother. She said she would display it proudly next to the picture my four-year-old second cousin drew her. I don't like to brag, but my picture is way better. Grandma's birthday party was a smashing success, she told me I was handsome and I smiled and said thank you. Gotta love grandma's.
This week in basketball:
Honestly, if I have to fill you in on what's going down this week in the world of basketball, then there's really no hope for you, you are officially a lost cause and quite possibly a massive square, maybe even a spaz, with a good chance of being a nerd.
P.S. Speaking of lost causes, I will be devoting all of Thursday and Friday to March Madness. I will be away from the office those days drinking and eating heavily. I'm not sure how much time will be wasted in the next two days filling out brackets and pools, but if don't post anything else the rest of the week, you now know why I didn't. Not that anybody really cares.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Draft #73
Ollie Stenson: Leading candidate for city alderman in Chesna, North Dakota.Resume includes:
-Barn Door & More strip club manager from 1965-72
-Golden Guernsey Dairy delivery truck driver from 1972-75
-Unemployed from 1976-82
-Wrestled professionally from 1983-88. Went by the name Barry "the Boulder" Hennigan. Was a two time Intercontinental Champion.
-Bought out Lanchaster Lanes bowling alley in 1989, changed the name to Ollie's Alleys and successfully drove that business into the ground by 1993.
-Unemployed from 1993-98
-Assistant high school football coach from 1998-99
-Entrepreneur from 2000-present
Mr. Stenson is making a huge push for the chief alderman chair in this November's 2006 election. Mayor Norman Sanders insists that his friendship with Mr. Stenson had nothing to do with Ollie's decision to campaign for the position of alderman. "Ollie lives life by the seat of his pants and he has a lot of ideas that I think could benefit this town and our citizens" stated Sanders.
Well I, for one, am really interested in what kind of ideas a guy like Ollie Stenson can bring to the table. If his ideas are as bright as "Naked Trapeze" night at the Barn Door & More, we'll all be living the good life in Chesna with Ollie at the helm. As a concerned citizen, you should want nothing to do with Stenson in O6. The man has a laundry list of failures that reach from Chesna all the way to Munsker, Maine. From his milk powered delivery truck idea that was supposed to save Golden Guernsey thousands in fuel expenses, to his recent line of dummy shotgun passengers designed to fool cops into thinking you're not alone in your car when zipping through the carpool lane, Ollie has displayed incompetency every step of the way through a career that has produced nothing more than a dirty apartment and a stack of unpaid parking tickets.
During his first major unemployment stint in the late 70's and early 80's, Stenson actually tried applying as a bartender at the strip club he used to manage but was denied employment due to the five DWI's he received in the early 70's AND because of the numerous restraining orders most of the dancers at the Barn Door & More had against him. Ollie actually lived on the streets for a few years before the winter of 1982 when things finally started to make a turn for the better. It was then, that Ollie decided to audition at the open tryout being held at the Greensville Elementary gymnasium for the World Wrestling Federation. The WWF was losing some of its superstars like Gorilla Monsoon and Jesse "The Body" Ventura to retirement and they were in desperate need for some new blood. Ollie impressed the WWF talent scouts with his version of the piledriver that he perfected during his days in the streets. His version, involved holding his opponent over one of his shoulders before delivering the powerful drive to the mat. This crippling manuever was later cleverly named the Boulder Function and it brought Ollie instant notoriety as a force in the WWF.
Sadly though, Ollie's career was cut short by a knee injury he incurred while trying to body slam Andre the Giant in an exhibition bout in Canada. He never recovered and quietly retired in the spring of 1989. Ollie earned a pretty decent sized living during his years in the WWF and he was looking for another venture to sink his teeth into. It was the turn of a new decade and bowling was rapidly becoming one of the most popular forms of entertainment for males, ages 27-45 who lived in regions with winter like conditions that lasted for 5-6 months a year in predominantly Republican voting states. Ollie knew the trends and statistics and desperately wanted a piece of the action. He overpaid for a bowling alley previously owned by a German immigrant who wasn't letting go of his pride and joy without a very fair price. It took 3/4 of his savings, but the alley was now Ollie's, Ollie's Alley. He thought he could make his alley even more successful by coming up with a gimic. Miniature "duck" bowling was already a huge fad and "bumper" bowling was something relatively new being tried by some of the alleys in neighboring cities, but he wanted something original, mind blowing, and never before seen or heard of, by anyone, ever.
Unfortunately for Ollie, when it came time to dip into the old idea bank, he stuck with what he knew. And soon almost every staff member at Ollie's Alleys was female and scantily dressed in outfits only the devil himself could have designed. He instituted wet T-shirt Tuesdays, mud Westling Wednesdays, and two for one lap dance Thursdays. Ollie was attracting huge crowds of people, and it looked like his investment was really starting to payoff. Having been a former strip club manager, one would think that Ollie would be aware of the licenses required to turn his bowling alley into a nudie bar, but he managed to overlook that formality and it wasn't long before the authorities caught wind of Ollie's secret operation. In the end, it was found that Ollie violated 17 ordinances, he lost the alley, he lost his money, and he even had to serve time in the county jail.
Ollie finally got back on his feet in 1998, and was free from his inhouse service to the penitentiary but still had some community service to finish up. He was allowed to become a high school football assistant coach but quickly walked away from the game once his service time was up on account of the illegal suppliments he was providing to his players. He wanted out before people started sniffing their noses in his business again, he just couldn't handal another scandal. They say he went out on his own and started some door-to-door sales operations dealing mostly with knives and vacuum cleaners. But today, he wants more. His sites are set on the alderman's chair and I am here today to plead to you, the great citizens of Chesna, do not, I repeat, do not vote this man into office. Please think of the children. Do you want this man doping your child and forcing him or her into topless taverns whether it's as a patron or an employee? I know I don't. I encourage you to look at the path this man has taken through his life, and ask yourself why a man that cannot even manage his own life, should be able to have a hand in running yours. It doesn't make sense. The man has a problem with alcohol, he's spent almost ten years of his adult life being unemployed, he may be the most sexually immoral human being alive, he's been in prison, he's injected teenagers with harmful steroids, and if this doesn't turn your stomach then may God have mercy on your soul, he once stole a tricycle from a five-year girl wearing a flower dress and pigtails. He stole it from her in broad daylight. The man is a menace to society! A MENACE I tell you. He crumbled under the weight of Andre the Giant and he'll crumble under the weight of our fair town. I trust you'll do the right thing in November because I trust this town and all we stand for. Vote Bill Snorski this November and you'll be glad you didski.
Message paid for by Bill Snorski and the Snorski campaign team.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Draft #72
After taking in some of the Oscars on Sunday night, it became apparent to me that I really need to thank people more often. So without further ado, I would like to thank............
-Tyler Hansbrough, for allowing me to live through you vicariously. I can't even count how many times people stop me on the street to tell me how much your game mirrors mine. They tell me if I was only nine inches taller, I to could have been a major candidate for ACC rookie of the year (5 years ago). These people, they tell me Tyler has my vicious inside post game, and how much his jumper resembles my sweet, sweet perimeter touch, noting that our range is so unlimited. No, I don't mind the comparisons at all. Tyler is a good young man, and I have faith that he'll be able to live up to the hype.
-McDonalds, for trying to convince us that a McGriddle and a coffee is a great way to start our day. I'm pretty sure I'd be better off just chewing on a shredded piece of Good Year and washing it down with whatever I could suck out of a used oily rag, but hey, whatever gets your motor running.
-Burt Reynolds, for teaching us the true meaning of what it is, to be cool. We'd be lost without you.
-the UWM Panthers basketball squad in advance for dismantling Butler tonight at the Cell. Butler, thank you for trying, better luck next year.
-Mark Hemauer, for absolutely nothing. You and your photo blog can go straight to......
-the drunk girl with the megaphone who tried to recruit me for their 3rd annual Marchapalooza bar hop on Saturday at the Ale House. You didn't even know me, but that didn't stop you. You just walked right up to me and asked what I was doing for the rest of the day. I was flattered you asked. I was impressed that you were drinking straight from the pitcher. That's not the route most people take at 4pm. I hope all went well with you that day.
-to all my co-workers, who on Thursdays remind me that tomorrow is Friday. And for telling me it's Friday when it is Friday. These proclamations usually begin with a "Yea" as in "Yea, tomorrow's Friday" or "Yea, it's Friday!" Now I have nothing against people who display genuine exuberance in knowing their days of the week, just don't say to me "Yea, tomorrow's Friday!" and then look at me like I'm supposed to have a response to that statement that's anything more than a grunt. Cuz it ain't happen'n.
-to whoever wrote this book that's about to be released. The book that will expose Barry Bonds for the cheat he is. My roommate forwarded me an article SI will be releasing soon that gives all the dirt on the steroids Bonds has been taking since 1998. It's about time!
Friday, March 03, 2006
Draft #71
It was the autumn of 2002, and I was a bright-eyed sophomore (3rd year of higher education, but the credit total said otherwise) with the world at my fingertips. This was my first year as a transfer student at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and in order to attend this fine university, I would have to make the daily forty minute drive from my hometown of West Bend. I would be embarking upon a brand new world, and mother, in her concern for her eldest son, wanted a way to ensure that her boy would be OK. And if he was in dire straits (aka stranded on the road in the middle of the ghetto), she wanted to know that as well.
At this point in time, I had not yet completely bought into the whole, cellular phone technology. I was a firm believer in landlines, a telecommunication process that I thought could stand the test of time. I used to think to myself, "Cell phones? Go ahead, not for me. You guys enjoy your brain tumors and roaming charges, I'll just stick with the old reliable." But before I knew it, my brother went out behind my back and hooked my mom and I up with Nokia cell phones that cost about a penny apiece. My mother had ordered my brother to do so since he was the pioneer of our family as far as cellular technology went. For the first few months or so, I was very leery of the product. Sure, I now owned a cell phone, but it was basically for emergency purposes, I wouldn't become of THOSE people. The ones that seemed like they couldn't function without it, or the ones that used their phones in public just to let others know, "Hey, I got a phone, look at me, I'm so cool." I refused to be that person. I used my phone in that initial period of distain as if I was ashamed of it. But, as time went on, I became one with the masses (despite having a phone that was out of date even in 2002, none the less I had a phone). I hadn't seen any news reports about someone undergoing massive-cellular-phone-induced-tumor-removal surgery, so I figured the coast was clear. As the years went on, I noticed that my Zack Morris phone was rather reliable. Others may have had fancier phones with all the bells and whistles, but I never had problems with reception or anything. You could drop it from the top of a house and it may split in two pieces, but alls you had to do was slide that mother of a battery back on and it was as good as new. I got reception on that beast from a basement in Kansas City while calling back home. My phone might not have been able to do a lot things, but what it could do, it did pretty damn well. I still have my phone to this very day, and she gets the job done. Sure, the battery is good for about two fifteen minute phonecalls before it has to be charged again, but she's old, that much is to be expected from a vintage classic like old Bessy.
Bessy and I were almost permantly seperated on a couple of occasions. The first of which was during an opening day tailgate at Miller Park. I was parked on the opposite side of the stadium from where the tailgate was taking place, and that made for a long walk. It was a cold and cloudy day and right about the time the festivities were complete and it was time for me to head back to my car, it started to rain, freezing rain. It was raining knife-cicles. The parking lot pavement almost instantaneously turned into an ice rink and running became even more difficult, especially when you're being pelted in the face with frozen BB's. So me and the guy I gave a ride to the game, were about three forths of the way back to my car when I realized that my phone was missing, it must have fallen out along the way. We retraced our steps, cursing as if we were drunken longshore's men, and the phone was nowhere to be found. Luckily, a day or two later, the person who found my phone called my home number and said they left it at Miller Park's lost and found for me. My girlfriend at the time, just happened to have plans to attend a Brewer game that very week and she picked it up for me, bless her heart. So we were reunited at last, the old girl survived a vicious hail storm and we were happy to have each other once again.
The second such incident occurred at the end of a long night of drinking at River Splash. I had left my monstrosity of a phone in the car since we had some walking to do, and the repetitive pounding my knee would take from keeping the phone in my pocket was something I chose to avoid. Well to make a long story short, at the end of the night, my friend and his lady friend got into an argument, she decided to throw my phone at him, it missed him, and the next thing I know my phone is in the middle of the street in what I thought would have been a hundred pieces (considering how far it traveled), with the only thing I could find being the battery. My phone was a piece of crap, we were all pretty cranky at that point, so we decided to just screw it and go home. It was later found, that the other half of my phone was somewhere in the back of my friend's truck, he returned it to me, and again Bessy and I were reunited.
So we've had some close calls, my phone and I. This fall will be our four year anniversary, but sadly enough, I've received news that this special occasion may never come to be. My mom has recently received a letter from the good people at U.S. Cellular alerting us that if we do not upgrade our phone model within a specified amount of time, they will have to start charging us extra because that model is so far out of date. Well Bessy, I guess this is the end of the road for you and me. Your mere existence has become an inconvience to many and I've got nothing against having my mom pay the extra service fees to keep you around, but I don't think that's the route she's planning on taking. I thank you for your many years of great service and dependability and may the big garbage heap in the sky welcome you with open arms.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Draft #70
Sometimes a story comes along that just makes you scratch your head. You stand there for awhile and think to yourself, is something like this really possible? How lucky can one person be? Is this all just a dream? I'm pretty sure this is illegal, isn't it? I would imagine these questions ran through the mind of Utah Jazz forward Andrei Kirilenko as his wife proposed the following: "Honey, I know how tempting life on the road can be, so that's why I decided to allow you to have one night with a woman, one time a year." And by have one night with a woman, she's referring to giving her husband permission to romp and/or boink a lady of his choice. Mrs. AK47 feels that by forbidding something, it only makes that "something" more tempting. Andrei is married to former Russian pop star Masha Lopatova and says he doesn't plan on exercising his "allowance".
I read this article on ESPN.com today and these were my first reactions.
-Men's Magazine unanimously votes Masha Lopatova their front-running candidate for Woman of the Year.
-Mr. Kirilenko buys his wife a set of calendars that last through the year 2055 and are custom designed containing only two months per year.
-Is Andrei allowed to go on a weekend binge and use up all of his allowances through an x amount of years depending on how much damage he does on said "weekend"? This has major potential for a word problem in an Algebra class. In 2006, Andrei's wife has given him permission to sleep with 4 women per year. Andrei immediately goes out and visits 100 prostitutes without protection in one month. What year will Andrei finally be allowed to sleep with another woman that is not his wife, assuming he doesn't die from a severe case of syphilis before his next cash-in date?
-Has Masha slipped up herself and now feels guilty, so this is why Andrei gets a free pass?
-Why is Andrei not taking advantage of his wife's generous offer? Does he have his own allowance that his woman is in the dark about? I mean he is a rising NBA super star, according to the time scale, he should have about five or six illegitamite offspring at this point in his career. What's the hold up?
-And assuming Andrei went ahead with the allowance, what kind of system is in place to assure he is only sleeping with one lady per year? I'm guessing the honor system just doesn't apply to this situation. If your wife is allowing you to do this, honor flew out the window miles ago. Would the lucky freebie have to sign a permission slip that Andrei is required to send back home to have signed by his wife? Does Masha have a chance to interview/examine Andrei's selections? Is there a punchcard involved?
Or maybe this was all just a test to see how eager Andrei was to go sampling the field. And by just saying NO to pre-approved extra marital affairs, he earned a passing grade. Whatever the case may be, I'm very much confused by the whole scenario and wish never to be in that predicament.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Draft #69
The Adventures of the Dollar Menu Man:
This is a story about a man named Harold Brunard. Harold is a simple man who knows what he wants when it comes to food. He wants it fast, hot and/or fresh, and he prefers that it be under a dollar. You could say he carries a tight wallet and that he thinks anyone would be foolish to pay more than $5 for any given meal. Harold also believes in using proper diction (or at least sounding like he does) and always carrying a cane, even if you are not disabled because you just never know when you'll need a cane. Plus it gives you a very distinguished look, even if you are far from having any decore.
Harold believes that every morning should start with a nice hearty breakfast. And to feed his robust appetite, Harold has decided to visit his neighborhood McDonalds.
Cashier: Good morning, welcome to McDonalds, how may I help you?
Harold: Good morning indeed my good man. I assume all is well with you?
Cashier: I guess so.
Harold: Oustanding! Today I will be ordering from the dollar menu.
Cashier: (staring blankly at Harold, for no one has ever announced that they would be ordering from a dollar menu in his four years of working at McDonalds)
Harold: I will have your egg and bacon sandwich on an english muffin please and let's not forget the cheese. I will also have a short stack of pancakes with an extra side of syrup, two of your delicious hashbrowns and a tall order of your freshest coffee.
Cashier: Will this be for here or to go?
Harold: I have chosen to dine in at your fine establishment this morning. I've got my sights set on the booth in the corner, next to the playground entrance.
Cashier: O.......K, your total comes to $8.49.
Harold: (appauled) I believe there's been a mistake my good man, for you see, I had ordered from the dollar menu and my purchase could not have been more than five dollars.
Cashier: Yeah, I thought you were just fucking around with me. There's no dollar menu for our breakfast items.
Harold: This is an outrage! I have seen your advertisement promoting your dollar menu on television numerous times, and I find your decloration to be preposterous! I demand that you convene with your managerial staff immediately and come to some sort of resolution to this most troubling of issues. I have been a longstanding patron of the McDonald's franchise and I'm sure that headquarters would be displeased to hear of the level of service I am currently receiving. And do not be dismissed, for I am not above alerting them of our situation!
Cashier: Look man, I told you, there's no dollar menu for breakfast items. You just rambled a bunch of items off the menu and assumed that they were all a dollar a piece. What I can do, is have you take a look at some of our value meal selections and maybe that could help bring your total down to the price you're looking for.
Harold: (perplexed and stroking his chin) I am interested in this value meal you speak of. Please, tell me more.
Cashier: (sighing heavily in disgust) Are you serious?
Harold: But of course, I am most intrigued.
Cashier: Well basically we've pre-combined certain sandwiches with a hashbrown and a drink and set it at a certain price and designated it with a particular number. So let's see.... your order looked like number 5 on our value meal menu, so we'll just charge you a little more for the large coffee, the extra hashbrown, and with the pancakes your new total comes to $6.72. Will that work for you this morning?
Harold: It will certainly not! You have insulted me and everyone here with your value meals. This is the opposite of a value. This is a mockery! I have had it with your shenanigans! I used to think this restaurant actually stood for something. Have you absolutely no moral fiber!? I am simply trying to order breakfast, NOT a used automobile. It saddens me to say this, but you leave me no choice. I will be taking my business across the street to the good people at Wendy's. I'm sure they appreciate courteous customers like myself.
Cashier: Wendy's doesn't serve breakfast.
Harold: Damn you! I won't believe a word of it! After all the misleading information you've given me this day, how am I to believe that a place like Wendy's (rich in quality and professionalism), is actually depleted of all its breakfast delicacies?
Cashier: Just go please, you're holding up the line sir.
So Harold up and left, taking his business across the street to Wendy's. The cashier kept a close eye on what was happening across the street and he noticed that Harold had been talking to one of their cashiers for over twenty minutes. Harold shook his cane a few times and pointed a finger or two, but seemed to be in control of his emotions. The cashier never saw Harold again.
