Ted was one of the best second basemen in the game, so when he hung up his spikes for good, his team retired his number seven.
Not just the number seven jersey. They retired it from the batting averages and RBI counts and all that crap the geeks love to obsess about, too. If they scored seven runs, it was “a lot.” Drove the statisticians insane.
Oh, and the seventh inning? That was called “the inning between the sixth and eighth.”
The front office reversed their decision when the accountants couldn’t calculate revenues, and the staff bitched about messed-up paychecks.
Tag: sports
Science Ball
Shattered bats are a common occurrence in baseball, but once, I was in a game where the ball shattered.
The pitcher was experimenting with substances to doctor the ball, and for one game he was trying liquid nitrogen.
How he managed to conceal the tank, let alone soak the ball in the misty hypercooled solution, nobody ever figured it out.
But he somehow got it cooled, threw it, and when the batter hit the ball, it shattered into tiny splinters and wispy smoke.
The umpire threw out the pitcher and called it a ground rule double.
I call it Science.
The Broken Man
The university built a stadium for a hundred thousand, and DeWayne filled it every game he started.
Brought back 2 championships, too.
He said he wanted to go pro early, and the university said they wanted one more year.
“Or do you want your tutors to talk?”
He stayed another year.
They handed him a degree in finance, but when his pro days were over, he had to declare bankruptcy.
Cars. Jewelry. Houses. Child support. A crooked advisor.
It all brought him down.
What his entourage didn’t steal, the IRS locked up.
He coaches his high school now.
And weeps.
Super Bowl Party
I bought beer, sodas, chips, dips, and wings.
Cleaned the place up. Hired a maid service to do it right.
Even bought the biggest TV in the store. Wiring up the surround system took two engineering grad students.
Went so far as to rent some portapotties. Because three bathrooms might not be enough.
And nobody came. Not a single person.
I watched the game alone.
That’s okay. The Super Bowl was a blowout. And boring.
I took all the food to a local homeless shelter. Played some cards with those folks, too.
Next year, I’ll just go to the shelter.
Big Guys
Joe Washington played football. He was one of those really big guys on the offensive line.
Too big.
As the clock ticked down to zero on the final play of the game, Joe fell to his knees and dropped to the turf.
Massive heart attack.
The players… the coaches… the fans… everybody watched as the trainers shocked him a defibrillator and did CPR, but he was gone.
Some players wish to be cremated and have their ashes scattered over their home field.
But Joe wanted to be buried there.
“Hell no,” said the ground crew. “You’ll hit an sprinkler pipe.”
Tires
For my wife’s birthday, we bought her a new truck.
She gave me her old truck to drive, but it needs new tires.
For the past two weeks, instead of helping me get new tires, she’s been watching football.
Fuck it. I’ll go myself.
And when I went out to the parking lot, her new truck was up on blocks.
Someone had stolen her wheels.
Instead of going to get new tires for my truck, she needs to get new tires AND wheels for her truck.
And while she waits for the insurance to process her claim… she’s watching football.
Sports Sunday
The Texans were in Baltimore, doing their best to let the Ravens win.
Schaub threw his obligatory pick-six early, the Ravens ran a punt back for a touchdown, and all the Texans could manage was a pack of field goals.
I spent more time looking at my laptop, watching the live update of the blowout the Astros were suffering in Cleveland.
That’s when I picked up my Steve Jobs biography and headed for the tub.
Sunday is for sports on TV, but the Texans and Astros never got the message.
Maybe when it’s cooler outside, I’ll go read out there.
Flags
Ted “Avalanche” Jones played dirty. He was the dirtiest player in football.
Dirtier than Louie “The Freight Train” Brown, Robert “Knife To The Face” Williams, and Juan “Murder” Rodriguez.
That dirty.
He collected more flags than a lawn crew at Arlington National Cemetery after Memorial Day, and his fines ended up paying off the national debt.
He was so dirty, he was called for a late hit at his Football Hall Of Fame induction ceremony.
That’s right. He did a horse-collar tackle on his own son and threw him into the press pool.
They don’t make punters like that anymore.
The Perfect Day
The terraform ships searched the galaxy for the perfect conditions:
The right amount of gravity.
A reasonable level of atmospheric pressure.
Planetary rotation that would cause just a hint of Coriolis Force.
Biological support for grass, or a reasonable hybrid or facsimile of grass.
After that, the rest was just icing on the cake: wood for bats, animals or polymer substitutes for the gloves and balls.
Some said that it just wasn’t real baseball without the hot dogs and beer, but they were welcome to stay home on the charred-out cinder of a planet.
Green… blue… grass is grass, right?
Aloe
We drove up to College Station to watch the Aggies play Rice.
The Aggies won, but I got to yell WE SCORED FIRST!
It was a hot day, like every season opener at Kyle Field, and the sunblock was just a way to feel slimy while my skin burned.
When I got home, I stripped everything off and sat in a tub full of sudsy water and aloe gel.
Ohhhhhhh how wonderful it feels.
Better than Jack Daniels, kittens, and porn.
I will soak in this tub for a week.
Until the next game, of course.
(I need more aloe.)