Post by $heriff Tom on Sept 15, 2006 13:31:16 GMT -5
First off, due to thier propensity to hit old actors who have the audacity to cross with the light, NY Big Apple Tours had their license to drive double decker buses suspended by New York State. And what, pray tell, does this have to do with the Yankee Bleachers, besides the comic value of a doubledecker bus hitting an old man, depriving park pigeons the seed lunch he was carrying in his brown paper bag? Well, lets go back to the 1998 Yankee Victory parade...
That year I remember we got out there early, armed with M & M's, cherry lifesavers, wads of toilet paper (some used) and various luncheon meats to throw at the large multitude of non-Yankee player and personnel who weaseled thier way into the parade. We were saving the heavier stuff, the halfway filled plastic orange soda bottles and kaiser rolls for the Giant Waving Hot Dog Guy, Pretzel Man, And Soda With Giant Straw Guy. And dont forget the ANSKY guys.
This tomofoolery proceeds cause the parade to us Creatures has become inherently boring. Even only this second one in the 90's. If you really want to see a parade, just hang out in front of a VFW Hall until one comes by. Because 3 million show up for this parade, and you are bunched in a mass like a Russian buying his daily allotment of bread. If those 3 million went to but 2 games each, I don't need to tell you what we would do to attendance marks, but I digress....
Where the Big Apple Tour Buses came in is that they were reserved for those Princess Di-killing papparazzi and other suits and ties who gave a corporate bigwig a handjob and ended up on the bus. And with 2 levels of target, no matter how clumsily you lob your armaments, you have a good propensity to hit somone on one of those 2 levels.
So here comes a bus, with a bunch of people waving those slow pose type waves, you know, that welcome the Harlem Globetrotters back from Gilligans Island kind of wave. I happened to have a unique piece of artillery, it was a cracker with a piece of ham inside. Who came up with that combo I will never know, but I was throwing, not eating today. I placed careful aim on a bald head and threw it with an arc like a bimbos boob.
Ever see those scenes in slow motion, like when the cops partner gets shot on his last day on the job before retirement in every action thriller? This is what happened here. That damn cracker started coming apart in mid-air, making a loose melange of crispy cracker and spinning ham. And plop, right in the face, top deck of a Big Apple Tour Bus....SISTER MARGUERITE, JOE TORRE'S NUN SISTER.
The ham actually stayed there on her head for a second before tumbling off the target, like a dart thrown by a drunk not hard enough to stick to the board. Of course everyone saw it - ooh, you hit a nun, oh how could you, all that. And all she could do up there on that bus is look down at me and smile knowingly, that loving smile of peace.
Cause deep down I think she knew the method to our madness. I mean, the joy of hitting a guy in a hot dog costume who can not put his phony arms up to block it is a thrill every kid should experience. Every sponsor gets a float, the guys who supply the straws for the soda get a float. Hell, the drunks who run on the field during the year have a float, I hear. This is a YANKEE parade.
Man, was abuse taken to walk the street that year. Political buffoon Betsy McCaughey Ross was there with a painted on Bozo the Clown grin and just as much makeup, and heard the "show your tits" chant, which she greeted with a quick wave of disdain. 14 year old dancing high school girls had to hear "you'll be doing that on a table or a pole in 5 years!" Some kind soul stopped the parade from the front with the ANSKY guys right in front of us, and they were pelted with so much messy stuff it looked like they left with the entire alphabet on thier bare chests. The dancing grounds crew were met with as much enthusiasm as brakelights on the expressway.
So for years I have carried this around, that I pelted Sister Marguerite with a cracker sandwich containing some processed ham that probably started out as Porky the Pig Poop. But I got my diving judgement later that day, when leading a crowd at Jeremys Ale House (where beer is not just for breakfast anymore) in a kickline for New York, New York on a table I tumbled off and hurt my ass. Right on my glutimous maximous (but I managed to save my whole quart of beer)
I would have had a normal column today but someone (and I will not disclose names but his initials are 'gang bang steve' left my Wednesday scorecard in the Stadium with all the jokey fare I could accumulate, and I had that damned 6 of Michelob, so the old memory is not cranking. I was also not there Memorial Day, when I missed the unassisted triple play (figures, that calls back to last year when in a span of 2 days I missed an inside the park home run, a triple play, and a cartwheeling drunk out in LF cause I was in the runway drinking beer)
I was also not there Tuesday when there was complete and utter fisticuffs where the Tag Team of DUI James and Brooklyn Mike took on an old man that had a voice problem (his voice kept saying "Down in Front!") I heard it was the best fight out there since me and Mia. Or me and Teddy. Or me and Lucy. Or me and Jasmine. Or me and Larry. Or me and Tina. Or me and Monster Mike. Or.....oh, geez, I have problems.
God Bless....
That year I remember we got out there early, armed with M & M's, cherry lifesavers, wads of toilet paper (some used) and various luncheon meats to throw at the large multitude of non-Yankee player and personnel who weaseled thier way into the parade. We were saving the heavier stuff, the halfway filled plastic orange soda bottles and kaiser rolls for the Giant Waving Hot Dog Guy, Pretzel Man, And Soda With Giant Straw Guy. And dont forget the ANSKY guys.
This tomofoolery proceeds cause the parade to us Creatures has become inherently boring. Even only this second one in the 90's. If you really want to see a parade, just hang out in front of a VFW Hall until one comes by. Because 3 million show up for this parade, and you are bunched in a mass like a Russian buying his daily allotment of bread. If those 3 million went to but 2 games each, I don't need to tell you what we would do to attendance marks, but I digress....
Where the Big Apple Tour Buses came in is that they were reserved for those Princess Di-killing papparazzi and other suits and ties who gave a corporate bigwig a handjob and ended up on the bus. And with 2 levels of target, no matter how clumsily you lob your armaments, you have a good propensity to hit somone on one of those 2 levels.
So here comes a bus, with a bunch of people waving those slow pose type waves, you know, that welcome the Harlem Globetrotters back from Gilligans Island kind of wave. I happened to have a unique piece of artillery, it was a cracker with a piece of ham inside. Who came up with that combo I will never know, but I was throwing, not eating today. I placed careful aim on a bald head and threw it with an arc like a bimbos boob.
Ever see those scenes in slow motion, like when the cops partner gets shot on his last day on the job before retirement in every action thriller? This is what happened here. That damn cracker started coming apart in mid-air, making a loose melange of crispy cracker and spinning ham. And plop, right in the face, top deck of a Big Apple Tour Bus....SISTER MARGUERITE, JOE TORRE'S NUN SISTER.
The ham actually stayed there on her head for a second before tumbling off the target, like a dart thrown by a drunk not hard enough to stick to the board. Of course everyone saw it - ooh, you hit a nun, oh how could you, all that. And all she could do up there on that bus is look down at me and smile knowingly, that loving smile of peace.
Cause deep down I think she knew the method to our madness. I mean, the joy of hitting a guy in a hot dog costume who can not put his phony arms up to block it is a thrill every kid should experience. Every sponsor gets a float, the guys who supply the straws for the soda get a float. Hell, the drunks who run on the field during the year have a float, I hear. This is a YANKEE parade.
Man, was abuse taken to walk the street that year. Political buffoon Betsy McCaughey Ross was there with a painted on Bozo the Clown grin and just as much makeup, and heard the "show your tits" chant, which she greeted with a quick wave of disdain. 14 year old dancing high school girls had to hear "you'll be doing that on a table or a pole in 5 years!" Some kind soul stopped the parade from the front with the ANSKY guys right in front of us, and they were pelted with so much messy stuff it looked like they left with the entire alphabet on thier bare chests. The dancing grounds crew were met with as much enthusiasm as brakelights on the expressway.
So for years I have carried this around, that I pelted Sister Marguerite with a cracker sandwich containing some processed ham that probably started out as Porky the Pig Poop. But I got my diving judgement later that day, when leading a crowd at Jeremys Ale House (where beer is not just for breakfast anymore) in a kickline for New York, New York on a table I tumbled off and hurt my ass. Right on my glutimous maximous (but I managed to save my whole quart of beer)
I would have had a normal column today but someone (and I will not disclose names but his initials are 'gang bang steve' left my Wednesday scorecard in the Stadium with all the jokey fare I could accumulate, and I had that damned 6 of Michelob, so the old memory is not cranking. I was also not there Memorial Day, when I missed the unassisted triple play (figures, that calls back to last year when in a span of 2 days I missed an inside the park home run, a triple play, and a cartwheeling drunk out in LF cause I was in the runway drinking beer)
I was also not there Tuesday when there was complete and utter fisticuffs where the Tag Team of DUI James and Brooklyn Mike took on an old man that had a voice problem (his voice kept saying "Down in Front!") I heard it was the best fight out there since me and Mia. Or me and Teddy. Or me and Lucy. Or me and Jasmine. Or me and Larry. Or me and Tina. Or me and Monster Mike. Or.....oh, geez, I have problems.
God Bless....
