High Desert Blues

Bongwater: You use that line over there? Once we cross it, our innocence is gone, and it is never coming back.

Me: That is the line of a handicapped parking space.

BW: Allow me my metaphor, Thaddeus. I listened to all your bullshit about the Mormon Rocks on the way up here. We are going to a park that has no video scoreboard. The stadium is a giant cinder block. If we are lucky, the smoke from the wildfire will block the high tension power lines. We could still go to Vegas now. Once we cross that line, there is no turning back. What is it going to be?

Me: Is this some more blood brothers to the end fantasies? They have new beer gardens. Let’s roll.

False advertising: There are no new beer gardens, just dirty tables reserved for groups that won’t be coming here today. Modelo is not being sold today, although the advertisement announced there would be a Modelo Party Porch. Maybe one hundred people are in the stadium at this time. Our main concern is finding a bathroom, but it does not seem like restroom markers are in the operating budget.

We walk to the Diamond Club, figuring there has to be bathrooms there, and maybe there are, but we immediately turn away after we open the door to the cinder block hut because the smell of death is so strong. The room is filled with old people, obviously some sort of holding area before they cross over to the other side. We calmly retrace our steps because we’ve seen so many fucked up things in the Cal League that St. Peter’s Waiting room doesn’t phase us.

The bathroom is enormous, ten times the size of the team shop, which is just a closet. It is somewhat clean – no one has shat on the floor yet today. Someone is moaning in one of the stalls though, and once again, we feel Death’s presence. However, if Death is going to take us, we are emptying out bladders first.

Things start to look up when we see a Goose Island Brewery tent, but those taps are closed today. It seems the only beer we are drinking today are 25 ounce Budweiser products, no doubt the baseball gods punishing us because Whiskey Jack is wearing a Budweiser baseball jersey because he has the fashion sense of a Philistine. We can purchase “Eat Your Opponent’s Chicken Tenders”, which don’t sound too appetizing because the JetHawks are the opponents. Mexican music is reverberating throughout the concourse in honor of Domingos Latinos’ Day, which is fine, but as of now, there are no Mexicans in the park besides the Bat Boy, just jittery white people. Bongwater shouts for some Skynard, and receives vacant stares from the other patrons.

As we find our way to our seats and see the splotchy grass in the outfield, I realize that I have seen pictures of better parks in prisons. The luxury boxes here appear to be self-parody – a few seats walled off by cinder blocks and a door. The Bat Boy’s pants are bloused above his knees and his jersey is at least four sizes to big. He looks like a Latin Eddie Gaedel. The PA dude announces, “You and Me will be singing the National Anthem, and commences singing. Along the way he goes silent so the fans can fill in the gaps. Whiskey Jack looks at me and says, “You brought us to one fucked up place.”

Outside the outfield fence, cars have arrived, and people are jumping out of them to set up umbrellas and tables. Coolers come out as the High Desert’s version of the Knothole Gang settle in for the first pitch. “We should be with those people,” Bongwater says. “I bet they have weed.”

A twelve year old vendor is walking through the empty stands because child labor laws obviously don’t apply here. As he approaches, I see he is filthy, and selling balloon figures for a dollar.

Me: How many of those do you think you are going to sell today?

Him: Maybe five. Probably three.

Me: Why do you do it? You aren’t making any money.

Him: My mom runs the face painting stand. The Mavericks let me work the stands. We don’t have much money since Dad left.

I give him a ten dollar bill, tell him I don’t want any balloons, and to have a good day. The kid is shocked, mumbles thank you, and moves on. After the kids is out of earshot, Bongwater tells me I got played.

Me: Your lack of faith in humanity is depressing.

BW: Would you have given a kid from Berdoo money like that? Hell no.

Perhaps Bongwater is correct. I don’t have time to dwell on it as people are yelling at us.

Strangers: You are not from around here!

BW: Damn straight. We have all of our teeth.

Strangers: Ooh, aren’t you special! All of your teeth!

Things start to escalate, then a towering dude with a Texas Rangers insignia on his black polo shirt makes the scene. I squint and see it is a Mavs’ shirt. Towering Dude knows how to placate the denizens. Goddamn, this is an affable chap (later we will find out his the GM), and even I am getting caught up in his spiel, then I notice his Iron Cross tattoo on his calf, and think, “This dude is going to try to eat us later.”

An unintelligible promotion between innings gets Bongwater rolling about a promotion the 66ers should do:

Bongwater: They should have White Flight Night. White people sit in certain sections named after certain San Bernardino neighborhoods: Del Rosa, Arrowhead, North Park, Marshal, Valencia, Verdemont… Then let the minorities in and have them move from section to section, and watch the white people flee. Eventually, they will get to the outfield, which will be filled with the Klan. The white people feeling will either have to turn and meet the minorities or join the Klan.

Me: What is the point?

BW: History, man. It is like those Civil War enactments.

Rock Stoner: That is the dumbest thing I have ever herd.

BW: Needs more hobos, doesn’t it?

Rock Stoner: No, those white people would just move to Highland.

Around the fifth inning we take a walk around the stadium because the score is 12-1. We go into the Team Store, which has no Mavs’ merchandise, just Rangers’ stuff. The lady running the shop says all the Mavs’ merchandise was shipped to the wrong city, which sounds like typical minor league bullshit – the team needed the gate receipts from the first weekend to pay the deposit on their merchandise. We wish her the best and move on.

When we go back to our seats, some shade seekers are now in our section. Immediately, chirping from six rows behind us starts as we sit down:

Old Men: There goes out view of home plate! You know what I call that pitch? A hat pitch! A big hat pitch because we can’t see anything else.

Whiskey Jack: Would you passive aggressive gentlemen like us to move?

Old Men (sarcastically): Not at all. You are fine right there.

Whiskey Jack: Great! I would have moved if you asked me, but not now.

Old Men: Are you dumb, Boy?

Me: How are we possibly blocking you view?

Old Men: Your aren’t. It is the principle of you sitting in front of us. This place is empty.

Me: These are our seats. You guys haven’t been there all game.

Old Men: We moved to get in the shade.

Me: Guess you should have snagged better seats, fellas. Or at least been cordial.

And then I get hit in the head with a half eaten churro, and before I can respond, Iron Cross Calf is there with his soothing voice, and the old people anger disappears. Iron Cross Calf wants to know if he can get me anything, and I tell him I want to know about the face painting family, and he says, “Oh, that is a sad story,” and I cut him off, saying that is all I need to know. A little bit later, we get up to leave because this place sets minor league ball back thirty years. On the way out, we pass the face painting table, and Bongwater gives the mom a wad of cash. No one says anything until we get to the car.

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Replay Challenges and MLB Game Time: All about The Sexy

The Toronto Blue Jays, the passion of our northern friends led the league in combined Replay Challenges with ninety seven. However, there Game Time only averaged 3 hours and one minute, which was the second fastest Game Time Average in the Majors. Obviously, this means there is no correlation between game time, so we can move on and talk about the Cubs signing Jon Lester, effectively ending his career as a Major League pitcher.

1908 — and we are coming to Mesa this spring to hunt you down.

Of course, perhaps the Blue Jays, being from Canada and all, are just some sort of outlier. Let’s tale a look at the top ten MLB teams in combined Replay Challenges and their game times (using STATS Inc.’s data, which for some reason is different than B-Ref because COUNTING IS HARD).

Team RC Game Time

TOR 97 3:01
CHC 90 3:12
LAD 88 3:14
TEX 88 3:06
TAM 81 3:19
DET 79 3:14
COL 77 3:12
KCR 77 3:02
SEA 75 2:59
PIT 74 3:09
LAA 74 3:15
SDP 73 3:01
ARI 72 3:03
SFG 72 3:05
CWS 72 3:08
MIL 70 3:07
HOU 70 3:10
BOS 70 3:17
MIN 69 3:07
ATL 65 3:04
CLE 62 3:12
CIN 61 3:03
PHI 60 3:09
BAL 60 3:07
STL 59 3:05
OAK 59 3:05
WAS 54 3:05
FLA 53 3:05
NYY 52 3:12
NYM 50 3:08

There really isn’t much of a correlation between Time of Game and Total Replay Challenges. You know what has a strong correlation with Time of Game? Extra inning games. If baseball is serious about speeding up the game, they would do something about those abominations — and, yes they are abominations because beer is not served after the seventh inning, but one is supposed to sit in a hard plastic seat and continue to watch baseball. If baseball wants to speed up the games, then allow ties, which would certainly change some managerial strategies — or at least put in the International Tie Breaker.

Now some of you might be saying, “Bads85, you’ve done lost your mine. But even if we took your raving seriously, MLB is more concerned with the time it takes to play nine innings.”
Well, the answer to that is easy — a clock. Don’t give me any romantic bullshit that baseball never had a clock — guess what, baseball never had three hour plus nine inning games before. Put a clock on the batter and the pitcher and speed things along. Fuck Mr. Batting Gloves if he gets all hurt, and the Mr. Compusure on the mound can’t get his shit together quick, he can look for a new line of work.

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Instant Replay in The Majors 2014

There certainly was a great deal of complaining about instant replay in MLB last year — ANGRY HOLLERIN’ even. Lord know I did my share — there was nothing worse than being in the middle of relating a narrative, and suddenly the natural ebb and flow of the game is gone, and suddenly no one wants to listen to your story because the umpires are holding up everything. However, according to Mr. Bill James, replay was unused in almost 80% of the games — on average, thirty-five for team. There were only 1276 challenges last year in baseball. That doesn’t seem like much, in fact as Bill James says, it seems that managers might under utilizing the challenge. Or maybe umpires are just really good.

Here is a breakdown by type of play

Tot Replay % Overturned

Tag 544 42.6
Force 508 56.5
Fence 82 30.5
HBP 48 45.8
Fair Ball 47 27.7
Trap 27 77.8
Missed Base 9 22.2
Passed Runner 1 0.0

There were ten more replays (2 overturned) for “record keeping”, which I am not sure what that is.

Overall, 604 players were overturned — 47.3%. The trap/catch play gets overturned the most, which makes sense because of umpire positioning. The fence replays are something I would like to see by park because I would bet that most of those come from outfield where there HR line is not clearly delineated. Tags are overturned less than forces, which really isn’t surprising ether. 223 replays went to review from the umps themseleves — take those out of the mix and the Overturn % jumps to 52.6.

The Cubs challenged the most (56) because when you have won a World Series since 1908, the reality in front of you is hard to swallow. There Overturn % was 44.6. The team with the worst percentage was the Blue Jays with 33.3 (16/48). The Yankees (23/28) had the best Overturned % by far — 82.1. The Marlins (19/27) were the second best. The A’s challenged the least with 26.

Tomorrow I will examines challenges per club with game time by club to see the correlation.

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Manufactured Runs

It is no secret that the American League scores more runs than the National League. After all, the National League still forces its pitchers to hit. When we think of the National League, we think of ugly people in the stands and teams trying to play little ball at the bottom of the order because what else can you do when a position in the lineup can’t hit but try to manufacture runs? Back in the day when Sir Barry Lamar Bonds was still allowed to play, Manufactured Runs was a derisive term because Billy Beane write that book. Today, with shrinking offenses (and swollen testicles), Manufactured Runs have become fashionable again because of teams like the Kansas City Royals. According to the data in the 2014 Bill James Handbook, the AL manufactured more runs than the NL this year.

AL Manufactured Runs: 2332
NL Manufactured Runs: 2184

That really isn’t a surprise because the more times you bat through the order, the more opportunities you will have to manufacture runs,

Let’s take a took at the top five teams in each league in Manufactured Runs:


KCR: 204
LAA: 192
TEX: 177
MIN: 172
DET: 167


LAD: 173
MIL: 165
ARI: 157
COL: 154
SFG: 153

The Angels were the top offense in the AL last year in terms of runs scored. The Tigers were second, and the Twins fifth. The Royals and Rangers were eighth and ninth. In the NL, the Rockies were first, the Dodgers second, the Giants fifth while the Diamondbacks were twelfth. This doesn’t mean the manufacturing runs leads to being a top offense — manufactured runs are very dependent on the ability to get a guy on base. Good offenses are going to have more opportunities to manufacture runs.

Let’s look at the bottom five teams in each league now:


BAL: 123
HOU: 133
BOS: 141
SEA: 145
NYY: 147


CHI: 126
NYM: 129
ATL: 134
STL: 135
CIN: 135

The only above average offense in terms of runs scored in that bunch was the Orioles. I know some of my more impatient readers are screaming, “C’mon Bads85, those are just counting stats. Get to the meat!” Well, I am not sure there is going to be any meat, so you might have to have a salad and like it, Faithful Reader.

Let’s take a look the percentage of Manufactured Runs/Total Runs:


KCR: 31.3%
TEX: 28.8
LAA: 24.8
TBR: 24.2
MIN: 24.0

LAVE: 23.0

The Tigers dropped out of the top five, down to ninth with Tampa moved in. Other than that, not much change.


SDP: 26.2%
ARI: 25.6
MIL: 25.4
LAD: 24.1
ATL: 23.4

LAVE: 22.8

The Padres, which were one of the worst offenses of all time, had the highest percentage of MR/TR. Arizona and Atlanta had lousy offenses also. The question is did those teams have lousy offenses because they were trying to manufacture runs, or were they manufacturing runs because they couldn’t score anyway. I don’t knwo definitively (have you salad and like it!). If I did, big shots like Colin Wyers would throw obscene amounts of money at me to come work for them. I would say it is a combination of both though.

Let’s look at the bottom five:


BAL: 17.4
OAK: 20.0
CWS: 20.3
TOR: 21.0
HOU: 21.1


COL: 20.2
CHC: 20.5
NYM: 20.5
PIT: 21.2
WAS: 21.7

Despite having the fourth most MR in the NL, the Rockies were last in MR/TR. Pittsburgh, Washington,Oakland, and Baltimore had good offenses, but appear to have elected not to attempt to manufacture runs as much as other teams, almost certainly due to roster construction.

Look, this is a fluff piece — I just threw some numbers out there. However, since baseball is returning to a DEADER ERA, things like MR are something that people are going to have studies, lest teams rush to emulate the Royals without really understanding why.

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Tough Saves 2014

Back in the day before Sean Forman killed the statistical print annuals with his shiny website, Baseball-Reference.com, the Bill James Handbook was one of the biggest THINGs of the offseason. These days, it is still published because you never know when an EMT attack will make B-Ref inaccessible. James had added some stuff over the years beyond player stat lines, and one of those things is relief pitcher categories. Tough Saves are included in that – these saves being defined as having the tying run on base when the pitcher enters the game.

Let’s take a look at how the American League teams fared in this:

Bal: 0/8
Bos: 2/11
CWS: 4/9
Cle: 4/12
Det: 1/7
Hou: 4/10
KCR: 1/9
LAA: 0/6
Min: 1/7
NYY: 3/13
Oak: 3/12
Sea: 1/5
Tam: 3/9
Tex: 0/5
Tor: 2/10

Tot: 29/114

About 25% of Tough Save Opportunities were successfully converted to Saves, which is why they are called Tough Saves. One thing of note: the Indians Cody Allen was 4/4 in Tough Save Ops, the most in the Majors. Now let’s look at the National League:

ARI: 0/8
ATL: 3/6
CHC: 0/6
CIN: 1/4
COL: 0/12
LAD: 1/2
MIA: 2/9
MIL: 1/9
NYM: 2/6
PHI: 0/8
SDP: 0/2
SFG: 0/4
STL: 5/8
WAS: 0/1

Tot: 15/88

A few of things stand out — St. Louis was absolutely outstanding compared to the rest of baseball, probably an anomaly, but still worthy of a hat tip. The NL only converted 17% of its Tough Save Opportunities (12.5% is St.Louis is out of the mix*), but what really stands out is the significantly fewer Tough Save Ops in the NL. Certain Managers in the NL seemed to loathe switching relievers with the tying run on base. Matt Williams, who once was called upon by John Hart to fill Sir Albert Belle’s shoes and failed, only put Nats’ relievers in one Tough Save Opportunity. Bud Black and Donnie Baseball only steered his Dodger relievers into two Tough Save Ops (Mattingly seemed content to let gas cans like League and Wilson to explode like White Phosphorous grenades in a Vietnam cave network). Meanwhile Walt Weiss didn’t seems to have too many qualms about bring in a reliever with the tying run on base, and that didn’t not work out at all for him in terms of protecting the lead.

So what does this tell us? Well, one year of data doesn’t tell us much, but we do have come historical context. In 2000, there were 371 Tough Save Ops in the Majors, and 119 were successfully converted — a 32% success rate. In 2014, there were only 202 Tough Save Ops with 44 being converted, a 22% success rate. Does this mean that relievers these days are being coddled? Or are managers smarter? I don’t know the answer — I would have to look at a whole bunch of different things. The one thing that has stayed constant is the Bullpen Winning Percentage — about .505 in 2000 and 2014, but might not mean anything.

One more thing of note to close — in 1989, the NL Cy Young winner Mark Davis was 22/24 in Tough Save Ops.

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A Postcard From The Past

It was a different time back then, my younger friend. On most days in the summer, you couldn’t even see the mountains because of the smog. People wax poetically about Fiscalini Field these days, and rightfully so because it was a great little park back then, even though it lacked almost all the modern amenities of today’s parks. However, it was certainly tied to the neighborhood around it in the early nineties – all of Perris Park was then. Highland Avenue was still vibrant then, all the way from the East Side to the West Side. Restaurants, bars, banks, and stores stretched across town. Now the Perris Park area is absolute nastiness, a place where even the hardiest hobo fears to tread, even if they are packing.

If one was going to a Spirit game back then, it was customary to get your drink on before the game at one of the surrounding bars. A popular bar for a pregame drink was Wackley’s on Del Rosa just off Highland. Many times people never made it to the game from Wackley’s. On the night in question, your Uncle Brian and his pal and my roommate Fred started at Wackley’s. You probably don’t remember Fred, but you might remember the story when that fucker stole my puppy and gave it to his girlfriend — a tale for another day.

You know your Uncle Brian was the sloppiest of drunks, and from Wackley’s, he and the Puppy Thief went to the Imperial Palace, the Chinese place directly across the street from Fiscalini that was notorious for burying people with still drinks, especially Scorpions. I am sure the two staggered from there to the game because that was the way things rolled back then.

Once in the game, they went directly to the Beer Gardens in let field. Fiscalini was a park from yesterday even then, but it was way ahead of its time with it shaded Beer Gardens – a nice little bar right on the field that served copious amounts of draft beer dirt cheap. Thirsty Thursday back then was $1.00 pitchers of Bud or Coors Light. It was a a rite of passage for high school kids to pass out there by the seventh inning stretch – again, a different time.

At some time during the game, your Uncle Brian and the Puppy Thief made it to behind home plate, which was a gambling den. People bet on everything and anything there – balls, strikes, outs, hits, when the manager would spit, you name it. The popular bet was whether or not the ball stayed on the mound after the catcher or ump rolled the ball to the mound after the third out.

A hat was passed around, and everyone threw in a dollar. Every pitch the hat would be passed down the line and the person holding the hat would have to add a dollar if the third out was not made. Once the third out was made, the person holding the hat had the opportunity to bet where the ball would end up – -either on the mound or on the grass. If that person guessed correctly, the pot was his. If not, the hat kept going the next inning.

On that fateful night, your Uncle Brian won the pot three times. To celebrate after the game, the two drove to the Sports Page, which was degenerate even by Berdoo standards. Eventually, they were told to go home, which for your Uncle Brian at the time was Acacia Park on the North End. Through the dark night they went on 40th Street in your Uncle Brian’s work truck.

At 40th and Electric Avenue, they ran into a severe logistics problem. Your uncle took the turn way too fast and ended up plowing through a cactus garden and smashed into the living room of the corner house. You are probably scratching your head right now, thinking. “40th and Electric? That is where that flower shop is, but the house on the right isn’t close to the street. There is no way a truck could have hit that!”

Well, the flower shop is gone these days, as are most businesses that were there. However, I assure you those two numbnuts managed to hit that house HARD. How they did it would probably still be debated today if the Puppy Thief hadn’t turned out to be such a fuckwad, but the two somehow pushed the car back to the road and limped home before the cops arrived. When the two investigated the garage the next morning, they found one very broken truck fill with cacti parts.

That night, under the cover of darkness, they managed to get the truck to the H Street Body Shop, which used to make a fortune covering up hit and run accidents – just ask your dad’s friend Ron Barthel. Early the next morning, Brian went to H Street Body and admitted the truck was his. The manager asked him what his business was supposed to do with that truck, and Brian simply said, “Fix It.” The manager replied something that broken can’t be fixed and asked just where the hell did all that cactus come from?

Brain knew if H Street Body could not fix it, he was truly screwed. He went to work with his tail between his legs and essentially traded his new truck with his boss. This all went down just about the time I met your dad, which was also when he met your Uncle Brian. You see, Brian isn’t really your uncle – that is just another bullshit thing your parents tried to pass off – like Santa Claus.

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Bacon Night


Game Notes From Thursday:

Bacon Bonanza Night at the Ballpark – the only exercise in gluttony better than Thanksgiving.

No Beer Boycott on Thirsty Thursday. All is right in the world …. for now.
Temecula Blake has made the trip up tonight. Most Excellent.
It is also Little League Western Regional Night, so that means those little Hawaiian Bastards are here. They are just waiting to loot E Street – I can feel it in my bones.
The Little League games star tomorrow, so HOPE is still alive for all.
Thunderheads above the mountains – lightning strikes imminent. First Responders are going to be busy tonight.
So the first bacon donut cheeseburger went down pretty fast. We will see if stays down.
A charming mother of three has a “Fuck Love” tattoo on her upper arm. I guess she hasn’t found Mr. Right just yet.
Shit, it appears the Washington team is our section. That is almost as bad as having to sit next to real live Canadians.
The 66ers employees are wearing their black polo shirts tonight because it is only 103 degrees. Perhaps they are wearing black because they are mourning the 66ers’ playoff chances.
Some old lady from Washington just informed me I was in her seat. I don’t think so ma’am – now move along, but could you be a dear a fetch me some maple donut bacon bars?
It appears that mullets are still a fashion statement with white youths in Utah if the Utah Little League team is any indication of the state’s style trends.
66ers brought up a pitcher from Rookie ball. Dilon Ortman is his name – he was an undrafted free agent from Auburn University, B-Ref says he is nothing special, but this is the time of the year weird moves happen.
I wonder if the Hell’s Angels use Geico for their motorcycle insurance – the video ad on the scoreboard sure makes it seem so.
Sweet Jesus, the old folks home from Washington can’t seem to find their correct seats. Hey OLD PEOPLE! Shouting isn’t going to help. What’s that? Oh, you are in the next section, not this on? Thank you for your patronage!
Season highlights on the big screen are accompanied by the Foo Fighters ‘ “All My Life”. Most of the highlights include Bernie and the Dance Squad.
No Wade Hinkle in the lineup? Where is Wade? Wade is hurt again, you say? Poor Wade.
Sound The Horn! Three dink hits = one run.
Golf Bum is not amused with the Little Leaguers. Lighten up, Golf Bum; those are tourist dollars.
Golf Bum might have a point – the Mountain Ridge team from Nevada is rather obnoxious, and their uniforms are hideous.
I think Stephen King is sitting a couple of sections over. Wait, that is just some other guy with grey hair who looks like he was also hit by a van.
Rookie concession workers can’t handle the crush of Bacon Night. To be fair, the Maple Donut Bacon Bar looks like it takes some time to prepare.
The Hags have arrived! Where have you been? What is that? You only come to games when school is in? Wait, you aren’t retired? Shit, I need to put my paperwork in now before I start looking like you people.
The stink of desperation is starting to overpower the bacon aroma. Funny how two types of charred flesh can smell so different. The bacon aroma will dissipate tonight – the smell of burning flesh and broken dreams will last all of August.
I think one of the Hags is trying to consume her Maple Donut Bacon Bar with a straw. She needs to keep her fingers free for her bacon nachos.
My son will not be getting a foul ball tonight as he is choosing to read the fifth Harry Potter book in his seat rather than shagging balls in the outfield. Sometimes a good book just trumps baseball.
There was some sort of bacon race – kids dressed in bacon racing. The moved the finish line back on the skinny kid so the fat could win. OUTRAGE!
Burt Reynolds. African American ballplayer for the High Desert Mavs, but Burt Reynolds the white actor’s picture is on the big screen when Burt is at the plate.
Living in a van down by the river still doesn’t get old. What the world needs now is a new Chris Farley, sans “Black Sheep.”
All my vitals indicate I am slipping into an insulin coma.
Whoa – the old people from Washington are loaded – Thirsty Thursday has kicked their ass.
Bernie loses the Mascot Dash because he fell down and started sizzling like a piece of bacon. The 66er Think Tanks don’t miss a beat.
The Hags have bourbon. Oh, how I have missed these ladies.
Golf Bum just heckled one of the Mountain Ridge team – “Your uniforms look like something the Cub Scouts would wear to a winter formal.” The Mountain Ridge team was throwing stuff at Bernie. Mountain Ridge dad is not happy and confronts Golf Bum. Golf Bum and Nevada Dad go off into the concourse to discuss matters. Nevada Dad returns’ Golf Bum doesn’t.
More bacon contests – this time kids in bacon costumes diving on Slip n Slides. I have no idea what is being promoted because INSULIN SHOCK has taken hold. Can one get Bacon Sweats?
Still no Golf Bum. Hey you, Nevada bastard, did you kill Golf Bum? Oops, I sort of yelled that. Nevada Dad looks confused. The Washington Old People think I am talking to them. Dirty looks are shot my way. They look like they are going to start stumbling my way. This needs to be nipped in the bud. I stand and yell:

The Washington Old People don’t quite know what to make of this. They sit down in confusion. Nevada Dad no longer thinks I was talking to him. Crises adverted.
Temecula Blake whispers, “You are one smooth idiot.”
This isn’t over, I tell Blake. I know where those kids are playing tomorrow.




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