After the game, me an some of the boys celebrated our Independence a little too hard. I feel like Myron Noodleman alone at the prom, and I can't get freedom to stop ringing in my head. I would spend sometime talking about how I woke up in a foreign place and blah blah blah, but you know the drill, and how foreign is a bedroom anyway. I've seen lots of them, and so have you, so when one of us wakes up in one it is really just par for the course and no big deal.

However judging by my aching bones, maybe I need to stop doing this sort of thing and just settle down. I feel like Mr. Splitty hit me in the frickin' head. I've got a game soon, and I'm afraid my head can't handle Huntsville's color palette.


Uniforms can be so ugly that they're cool.

After getting our asses handed to us by W. Tenn. again, there was nothing left for us to do except sulk on the bus ride home. We finished 1-11 in Pringle's Park. I think everyone is glad to be returning home, but unless some of the staff, myself included, start pitching like Roger, we're all in for a long and lonely second half. It'd be nice to start rolling a bit before the All-Star break.

Mr Splity needs to make a stop in Montgomery, soon!

Forunately I don't have to be a the ball park for a bit, which left some time to watch TV. Or more appropriately, to watch some sports. Sharapova is already done, so I had to settle for some AVP leftovers.


So it's not all bad, now is it?

I either chuck'd some tonight or not. If I did then I got my titties lit up, and in a moment of weakness or temporary insanity screamed out "you're missing a good game blue". Who really knows?

What I do know is that after the game we went to the bar. the kind of bar that exists for minor leaguers, full of blonde southern belle's. This is the part where I blast some of my attached teammates for cheating, but that is some dirty laundry I'll have to air out later.

What I can say is that we lost again, a habit that has quickly become tiresome. Which leads me to the sport I love (as a fan) versus the sport I play.

Baseball sucks when you lose. A lot. As for the sport I love, let me give you some examples:



See? Blonde girls, running around grunting in skimpy outfits. It really is a no brainer for a virile 22 year old 2A'er, right? Uh, right.

W. Tenn.
I broke my sunglasses during our last game of a 2 game set in W. Tenn., a 2-1 loss to the Diamond Jaxx, and I didn't even play. I blame the breakage on the excessive celebation of some of my more erstwhile teammates who though that the run we scored in the sixth meant something. Even Seddy got rowdy over the run, which, I'm guessing, he thought was a shot at redemption for his particularily laborous outing. Basically, a teammate, performing the obligatory 'we got one' fist pump, accidentally pumped it into my face ad destroyed my UV blocking Ray Ban's. Since I got until 5 to be at the ballpark (Pringles Park, to be exact), I decided that I should replace my specs before our next game, against the same team who has beaten us 11 of 14 times this year. That meant a trip to the Mall, a shining southern example of what passes for retail in Tennessee. There's a store in this mall called Always a Brides Maid. This I think is more a commentary on the southern thing, so aptly exemplified in the Drive By Truckers song of the same name, than an example of a fine retail establishment, but I digress.

Eventually, today, I knew that I would have to make my way to the frickin' mall, even if the 86 degree heat feels like 91. I hate the mall, but unless I want drugstore quality shades I got to do what I gots to do. Once in the mall I make my way to the Sunglass Hut, only pausing to glance into Vic Secrets. After politely asking the Salesman to justify the price of some of the shades the Sunglass Hut pimps on to unsuspecting retail addicts for the price of a midrange TV, I settled on a pair of Ray Ban Predator 2's. They'll do just fine. After all I only wear them in the dugout, I can't have them on the mound, fucks up my swerve.
After spending a small fortune on these semi stylish shades I made my way to the food court, namely to Chao Praya, where I had some Thai noodles, and proceded to people watch. The mall, this time of year anyways, is a prime spot for people watching. Summertime tubetops and mini mini's are everywhere, and from behind my new shades I can be a rubbernecking son-of-a-bitch.
My adventure at the foodcourt began almost immediately. I settled in, spreading my things all over the table and began eating my Thai noodles and rubbernecking. Even though I knew the food court was crowded, I never expected what happened that afternoon. But, I guess, desperate times call for desperate measures! It seemed to me that there were no seats to be had, but the three empty ones at my table.

As I sat eating, I was approached time and time again by people asking me, "Are these seats taken?" I would reply, "Yes, they are for my friends," and the people would move on in search of another place to sit and eat their lunch. This happened so many times, I began to feel guilty about turning people away. There was a battle going on inside my mind. I wanted my "space" and to be left in peace while I finished my noodles, yet I couldn't help but think: What if that was me looking for a place to sit and eat? Wouldn't I want someone to share their table? Then I began wondering if this little voice was my "guilt complex" nagging at me, or if it was God trying to tell me to "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you"? Just then, I looked up and saw a woman all alone searching for a seat among the thick crowd. As I looked up she looked at me, and I nodded.

She came over and asked if she could join me. I reluctantly moved my things and offered her a seat. We had a nice conversation. She was from the area, but originally she grew up in Boston. She asked me about my life and I shared about my minor leaguing. As she left, she thanked me for the seat and said she hoped to see a game sometime. Good thing she couldn't read my thoughts before she sat down! I caught a glimpse of a little butterfly on her lower back, but that's besides the point. Hopefully she will come to the ballpark tonight, because we'll be leaving town soon. Then again, sometimes there are so many faces in the stands that they all just blur together, and I probably wouldn't see her anyways. In reality, at least with the impression I got, women like her don't like traveling ballplayers, the carnies of the 21st century.

After she left another woman was scanning the crowd. She looked almost panic-stricken. I felt that same tug in my heart and wouldn't you know it, she looked at me and our eyes met. She came scurrying over and almost begged me for a seat. I tried to be gracious and told her to please sit down. She was all alone and had come from a great distance. She didn't expect to find such a crowd at the mall. She told me she was pregnant and on the verge of having a panic attack. I was able to calm her down and reassure her that she'd be okay. After she finished eating and was calmed down, she got up to leave and told me I was a God-send. Me? A God-send? Obviously, she wasn't at the ballpark when I gave up a three run game winning homer to the boys from Mobile. I'll tell you what is a godsend though, floppy hat givaway night at the park! Bring yer younguns and yer wimmins!