Post by $heriff Tom on Sept 15, 2006 13:36:35 GMT -5
JUNE 15, 2001
Another homestand, another lost cell phone, another broken limb, and scoreboards scattered all over my desk as I try to put all these drunken scribblings into a modicum of understanding.
So what do I take out of this homestand, with the exception of a hangover, a broken finger, a tinge of regret, and a bad name?
Of course, the usual biting remarks to those not us abounded all homestand. "Go back to the Tar Pits, you ugly bitch!' someone hollered as a girl so fat she steps on dollar bills to make change came stomping up the stairs.
One night in the bodega, watching Knoblauch getting drunker by the second while flubbing pool shots, I engaged in conversation with "Gay" Surge, albeit from a distance. "Where you been?" I asked, sipping an innocent Coors Light. "At your mothers house." Surge countered, chugging a Colt 45, of all things. "Doing what?" I shot back. "Decorating???"
I was on the caustic mark all homestand. I forgot what he was looking at, but for some reason Capone was moved to call something "the biggest thing I have ever seen." "Oh yeah?" I said. "Looked in a mirror recently?"
We engaged in many intelligent conversations, one of which was "What did Mom beat you with when you were a kid." I personally was fixated on the plastic race car track, but Grover was describing the old belt buckle, to which, coining a phrase, said left ya "one and done." I think the worst day in my Mothers life was - no, not when she had me, ha, ha, - the day she realized the wooden spoon just could not get it done with me anymore.
DUI James, in a show and tell mood one game, bought out a couple of "drunk tabs" - which the drinker puts in his mouth, if he can find it, after pounding booze to loosely check their blood-alcohol level. Basically, it was made as a baromiter to see if you were legally able to drive home on your own accord. Of course, to us, it was simply a challenging game to see who could get the drunkest.
Gang Bang took on DUI in the preliminary battle, leaving an unknown color on his tab. Kind of like a rejected M and M hue. We needed help to read this thing, and who better than Security's own Rudy. The funniest thing was when G-Bang ran down and handed him the tab to check, Rudy actually donned his grandfatherly reading glasses to get a better look-see. The verdict? "What the Hell is this supposed to be?"
Soon enough, once again enconsed in the seats of 39, G-Bang cursed, realizing he had blood on him. The oddity was that he was not cut anywhere. I began to laugh, until I realized I too was bedecked with some blood. Everyone started looking around in the "I know the host hid a beer in this fridge somewhere" veign, and about 3 of us had blood either on our clothes, our arms, and in one case, pretzel. We never did find the source of this "mystery blood" but we are all on the way for tests.
That was the night the Devils were trying to clinch the Cup - like that was going to happen - and Devils attire abounded throughout the bleachers, leading many of us to question that if these people were such Devil fans, shouldn't they be watching THAT game?
A new source of malaise is Little Fernando, an 11 year old imp with an attitude. I first stumbled upon Fernando as I ran out of the bathroom towards the ramp as a Tom Drum resounded while I was trying to sneak a shot of Yukon. We ended up engaging in the normal banter you would expect between a 32 year old drunk and an 11 year old. "Where you sitting?" I soon asked. "With you." he countered, and the makings of a gang was formed.
"Hey, you're gay." Fernando said later, pointing at Surge. Surge went to shake on it, and Fernando ran like Baloo for the buffet table. Another night Capone was deep in his cups, and he called Fernando "Little Bow Wow" for not showing him the proper respect he commanded as a slurring presence.
"You cracker." Fernando countered. "Go on a diet. You're overweight."
All this led to a funny scene on the 13th against the Expos, as I sat in between Fernando, Deputy James, my original protege Tommy, and James' young cousin. It looked like storytime at the library. We decided to go joke for joke, and I was trying to keep it clean for the kids. "Where does a cow go on a date?" I would ask to blank stares. "To the moooooo-vies." I answered myself, to grimaces.
I continued telling innocent jokes about dancing gallons of milk and talking Turkeys, and getting a low level laughter. Now I know what you guys feel like when you tell jokes. That is when the kids bought out the dirty jokes. Which I topped with filthy jokes. Well, it could be worse, I could be giving them beer.
Speaking of beer, poor Junior messed up about 5 beer orders over the one homestand alone. In the park an order to him of four Beck's 22 ounce bottles somehow becomes two Corona's, a Bud 40, and a 12 ounce Coors Lite. "Junior's been eating retard sandwiches since he was 4." someone grumbled in explanation as they were handed the wrong ale.
Despite his temerity at getting beer orders right, he did ok when I sent him on a condom run from the bodega. Too drunk to stand, I waved him over, handed him a sawbuck, and told him to make my date for the night happy. He came back with a 12 pack (with two bonus condoms!), pointing and chattering for all to see, "Look, Tom, it says for HER pleasure!"
Actually, I am for HER pleasure. I am like the crosstown bus, if they want I can take them straight to "Bed, Bath, and Beyond... "
As for Junior, he was all over during the homestand. As Security Rudy ambled up to nod approvingly as Old Man 200 looked for one of us to tell to "lick his ass" Junior hollered "Nice divorce Rudy!" This caused me to yell - for the 1000th time - "Stop closing our porno stores!!"
One of the funnier sites this month was seeing an arrogant Mo Love hoisting aloft a soda with a prize top, letting us know (like we cared) that if he "won something, say a trip" that "no one was going." So he twists the top, and is sprayed down. He was also taking heat for his Bling Bling Yankee cap, which Creatures took to calling a Mr T Starters Kit. Gang Bang did one better, writing on the scorecard that Mitlon simply bought MC Hammer's old hat on Ebay.
But most of our chicanery, tomfoolery, and bombasity has taken place way to the right of our seats, in Yancey Park. Who can forget...
"Hey, I'm going on a beer run." bellowed Pops, prompting me to ask "can you run?"
That was the night we never made it into the game, the 5th against the Blow-rioles. Bartender Jay from Jeremys Ale House was there, and put us in the drinking mood cause every other time we see him we are drunk. "I didn't know you had red hair." someone said, claiming they were always too bombed to notice. "Hell," someone countered. "I never knew he had hair!"
Pops came back from his beer run just as the National Anthem was being sang, rather loudly by us in the park. Mothers and their children were fleeing. About 15 minutes later we were basically out of beer again, and the Orioles were threatening inside. Beer run. This went on until we realized it was dark, the Yanks were down like 10 to something, and I was doing Tom dances in the park. Without the accompaniment of the drum.
Soon enough, tragedy found us. Gang Bang found a soccer ball under the bleachers while draining the vein, and soon an impromptu soccer game kicked up, featuring such luminaries as Phly Phil and 15 year old Big David. I was in goal, and I was making saves without dropping my beer, to such an expense I have been walking around with a broken finger since then. I am kind of hoping it falls off so I can get a cool hook thing to wear. Phly and Gang Bang both ripped up their knees to where they looked like glazed meat. I mean, 7 or 8 drunk guys playing soccer in the park?
Of course I am not doing my broken finger any good, running up and down the stairs during the Stadium Rocky bit, punching at any outstretched palm that comes my way. That bit is becoming more and more theatrical, with Mo Love dousing me with water, Fernando chasing me up for a round of jumping up and down, and the first calesthenics by me seen in years. Now if metssuckballs gets the rubber chicken out there for me to chase, we may have a hit on our hands.
Well, as for the soccer game which hurt more people than the Hindenburg, it was not for naught, as the bloody soccer ball is now on display at the Ale House, along with my "second" orignal Sheriff Tom badge. That happens to be pinned to the Yankee Jersey proudly draped over the infamous "Public Sex" chair. See "Tom archives" for that story. But if you really want a story, you should hear what happened to the ORIGINAL Sheriff Tom badge...
It was a bad week for me keeping badges, as a young woman I deputized would not let me leave without removing the plastic booby badge from the same string around my neck (which Bald Vinny for some reason insists on calling a "lanyard") that contains a shot glass for the man on the go.
Ah, shots! Got to thank Deputy James and his brood for setting me up with the most delicous Fruit Cocktail one can imagine. You know, the kind where you remove the fruit syrup and duly replace with moonshine of your choice. After a couple of days soaking in the fridge, you imbibe and feel like you are getting healthy with fruit when you are actually getting stupid with booze.
And what better way to appeciate the old big words we throw around all homestand. Someone said "folklore" that very night in the park. Another actually dusted off and tossed out the word "mantra" inside the Stadium one night. I even used the phrase "en garde" one time when Crapman came up waving the Big Blue Condom bat like a sword.
The homestand also featured the surreal, as always. An Expo affair featured some stupid fan who was filming himself holding a crayon in front of his camera.
As I type this, I have come to the Yank/Bosucks makeup game in my random pile of scorecards, a game which promised excitement, especially to me cause since the Yankees won I scored a shower with a lucky female fan in a bet. Inside, the early mood was jovial, as Yankee brethren waved bananas at people waving Dominican flags. Junior was rocking out in a "Shinobi" shirt, which put many in a foul mood. Capone was out before the 1st inning was over (as in before the drunks in the park were even in) - I actually passed him on the way in as security raped my bag. Imagine thier chagrin as they check for booze or porno mags, and find Sesame Street saxophones, dirty Knight hand puppets, and a book about "The Iron Chef" tv show.
Well, anyway, soon enough Vegas Dennis was joining Capone on the streets after partaking in a very cool in your face - finger pointing "Billy Martin vs. Ron Luciano" screaming pantomime, although it could have also been classified as a "Mia vs. Tom" one.
Gang Bang Steve soon joined the Booted Brigade, facing ejection as soon as he bellowed the first refrains of, well, the Gang Bang. The head count was high when Boston returned to town.
Old Man Jimmy was working the crowd with his constant waves and "hello there's", causing Milton to muse "You can't stop him - you can only hope to contain him." Soon enough a girl in the runway was calling Jimmy down, and he ran downstairs to get him some. I wish it was that easy...
And on top of all of this, I lost my cell phone - again - the night of the drunken soccer game. First off, I was playing goal with my phone on my hip, and soon enough it was gone, and I was whining as the guys pawed at the grass in the dark. Somehow, it was found, only for me to lose it again as I drunkenly meandered the NYC Transit system. It is one thing to end up on a wrong train like I did, but when you realize to get on that wrong train you need to transfer from at least 2 other wrong trains, it becomes a problem.
And now, the Mutts. Yeah, it's starting on a down note, with the ticket imbroglio in which I am apologetically a part, but we are working through that and hoping that this year at Shea we fight others rather than ourselves and we continue to build a legacy of stories we will tell for the rest of our lives.
Also, we collectively want to thank Jeremy's Ale House for donating a keg of Heinekin for our Sunday pregame barbecue, and Jeremy himself for ambling out to the park for a pregame one night to spin old yarns with myself, Uptown, 41, and a couple of people I can not remember cause we did more beer drinking than yarn spinning.
Until next weeks recap remember - the best way to get over somebody is to get under someone else.
Peace!
Sheriff Tom
The High Hard One
Another homestand, another lost cell phone, another broken limb, and scoreboards scattered all over my desk as I try to put all these drunken scribblings into a modicum of understanding.
So what do I take out of this homestand, with the exception of a hangover, a broken finger, a tinge of regret, and a bad name?
Of course, the usual biting remarks to those not us abounded all homestand. "Go back to the Tar Pits, you ugly bitch!' someone hollered as a girl so fat she steps on dollar bills to make change came stomping up the stairs.
One night in the bodega, watching Knoblauch getting drunker by the second while flubbing pool shots, I engaged in conversation with "Gay" Surge, albeit from a distance. "Where you been?" I asked, sipping an innocent Coors Light. "At your mothers house." Surge countered, chugging a Colt 45, of all things. "Doing what?" I shot back. "Decorating???"
I was on the caustic mark all homestand. I forgot what he was looking at, but for some reason Capone was moved to call something "the biggest thing I have ever seen." "Oh yeah?" I said. "Looked in a mirror recently?"
We engaged in many intelligent conversations, one of which was "What did Mom beat you with when you were a kid." I personally was fixated on the plastic race car track, but Grover was describing the old belt buckle, to which, coining a phrase, said left ya "one and done." I think the worst day in my Mothers life was - no, not when she had me, ha, ha, - the day she realized the wooden spoon just could not get it done with me anymore.
DUI James, in a show and tell mood one game, bought out a couple of "drunk tabs" - which the drinker puts in his mouth, if he can find it, after pounding booze to loosely check their blood-alcohol level. Basically, it was made as a baromiter to see if you were legally able to drive home on your own accord. Of course, to us, it was simply a challenging game to see who could get the drunkest.
Gang Bang took on DUI in the preliminary battle, leaving an unknown color on his tab. Kind of like a rejected M and M hue. We needed help to read this thing, and who better than Security's own Rudy. The funniest thing was when G-Bang ran down and handed him the tab to check, Rudy actually donned his grandfatherly reading glasses to get a better look-see. The verdict? "What the Hell is this supposed to be?"
Soon enough, once again enconsed in the seats of 39, G-Bang cursed, realizing he had blood on him. The oddity was that he was not cut anywhere. I began to laugh, until I realized I too was bedecked with some blood. Everyone started looking around in the "I know the host hid a beer in this fridge somewhere" veign, and about 3 of us had blood either on our clothes, our arms, and in one case, pretzel. We never did find the source of this "mystery blood" but we are all on the way for tests.
That was the night the Devils were trying to clinch the Cup - like that was going to happen - and Devils attire abounded throughout the bleachers, leading many of us to question that if these people were such Devil fans, shouldn't they be watching THAT game?
A new source of malaise is Little Fernando, an 11 year old imp with an attitude. I first stumbled upon Fernando as I ran out of the bathroom towards the ramp as a Tom Drum resounded while I was trying to sneak a shot of Yukon. We ended up engaging in the normal banter you would expect between a 32 year old drunk and an 11 year old. "Where you sitting?" I soon asked. "With you." he countered, and the makings of a gang was formed.
"Hey, you're gay." Fernando said later, pointing at Surge. Surge went to shake on it, and Fernando ran like Baloo for the buffet table. Another night Capone was deep in his cups, and he called Fernando "Little Bow Wow" for not showing him the proper respect he commanded as a slurring presence.
"You cracker." Fernando countered. "Go on a diet. You're overweight."
All this led to a funny scene on the 13th against the Expos, as I sat in between Fernando, Deputy James, my original protege Tommy, and James' young cousin. It looked like storytime at the library. We decided to go joke for joke, and I was trying to keep it clean for the kids. "Where does a cow go on a date?" I would ask to blank stares. "To the moooooo-vies." I answered myself, to grimaces.
I continued telling innocent jokes about dancing gallons of milk and talking Turkeys, and getting a low level laughter. Now I know what you guys feel like when you tell jokes. That is when the kids bought out the dirty jokes. Which I topped with filthy jokes. Well, it could be worse, I could be giving them beer.
Speaking of beer, poor Junior messed up about 5 beer orders over the one homestand alone. In the park an order to him of four Beck's 22 ounce bottles somehow becomes two Corona's, a Bud 40, and a 12 ounce Coors Lite. "Junior's been eating retard sandwiches since he was 4." someone grumbled in explanation as they were handed the wrong ale.
Despite his temerity at getting beer orders right, he did ok when I sent him on a condom run from the bodega. Too drunk to stand, I waved him over, handed him a sawbuck, and told him to make my date for the night happy. He came back with a 12 pack (with two bonus condoms!), pointing and chattering for all to see, "Look, Tom, it says for HER pleasure!"
Actually, I am for HER pleasure. I am like the crosstown bus, if they want I can take them straight to "Bed, Bath, and Beyond... "
As for Junior, he was all over during the homestand. As Security Rudy ambled up to nod approvingly as Old Man 200 looked for one of us to tell to "lick his ass" Junior hollered "Nice divorce Rudy!" This caused me to yell - for the 1000th time - "Stop closing our porno stores!!"
One of the funnier sites this month was seeing an arrogant Mo Love hoisting aloft a soda with a prize top, letting us know (like we cared) that if he "won something, say a trip" that "no one was going." So he twists the top, and is sprayed down. He was also taking heat for his Bling Bling Yankee cap, which Creatures took to calling a Mr T Starters Kit. Gang Bang did one better, writing on the scorecard that Mitlon simply bought MC Hammer's old hat on Ebay.
But most of our chicanery, tomfoolery, and bombasity has taken place way to the right of our seats, in Yancey Park. Who can forget...
"Hey, I'm going on a beer run." bellowed Pops, prompting me to ask "can you run?"
That was the night we never made it into the game, the 5th against the Blow-rioles. Bartender Jay from Jeremys Ale House was there, and put us in the drinking mood cause every other time we see him we are drunk. "I didn't know you had red hair." someone said, claiming they were always too bombed to notice. "Hell," someone countered. "I never knew he had hair!"
Pops came back from his beer run just as the National Anthem was being sang, rather loudly by us in the park. Mothers and their children were fleeing. About 15 minutes later we were basically out of beer again, and the Orioles were threatening inside. Beer run. This went on until we realized it was dark, the Yanks were down like 10 to something, and I was doing Tom dances in the park. Without the accompaniment of the drum.
Soon enough, tragedy found us. Gang Bang found a soccer ball under the bleachers while draining the vein, and soon an impromptu soccer game kicked up, featuring such luminaries as Phly Phil and 15 year old Big David. I was in goal, and I was making saves without dropping my beer, to such an expense I have been walking around with a broken finger since then. I am kind of hoping it falls off so I can get a cool hook thing to wear. Phly and Gang Bang both ripped up their knees to where they looked like glazed meat. I mean, 7 or 8 drunk guys playing soccer in the park?
Of course I am not doing my broken finger any good, running up and down the stairs during the Stadium Rocky bit, punching at any outstretched palm that comes my way. That bit is becoming more and more theatrical, with Mo Love dousing me with water, Fernando chasing me up for a round of jumping up and down, and the first calesthenics by me seen in years. Now if metssuckballs gets the rubber chicken out there for me to chase, we may have a hit on our hands.
Well, as for the soccer game which hurt more people than the Hindenburg, it was not for naught, as the bloody soccer ball is now on display at the Ale House, along with my "second" orignal Sheriff Tom badge. That happens to be pinned to the Yankee Jersey proudly draped over the infamous "Public Sex" chair. See "Tom archives" for that story. But if you really want a story, you should hear what happened to the ORIGINAL Sheriff Tom badge...
It was a bad week for me keeping badges, as a young woman I deputized would not let me leave without removing the plastic booby badge from the same string around my neck (which Bald Vinny for some reason insists on calling a "lanyard") that contains a shot glass for the man on the go.
Ah, shots! Got to thank Deputy James and his brood for setting me up with the most delicous Fruit Cocktail one can imagine. You know, the kind where you remove the fruit syrup and duly replace with moonshine of your choice. After a couple of days soaking in the fridge, you imbibe and feel like you are getting healthy with fruit when you are actually getting stupid with booze.
And what better way to appeciate the old big words we throw around all homestand. Someone said "folklore" that very night in the park. Another actually dusted off and tossed out the word "mantra" inside the Stadium one night. I even used the phrase "en garde" one time when Crapman came up waving the Big Blue Condom bat like a sword.
The homestand also featured the surreal, as always. An Expo affair featured some stupid fan who was filming himself holding a crayon in front of his camera.
As I type this, I have come to the Yank/Bosucks makeup game in my random pile of scorecards, a game which promised excitement, especially to me cause since the Yankees won I scored a shower with a lucky female fan in a bet. Inside, the early mood was jovial, as Yankee brethren waved bananas at people waving Dominican flags. Junior was rocking out in a "Shinobi" shirt, which put many in a foul mood. Capone was out before the 1st inning was over (as in before the drunks in the park were even in) - I actually passed him on the way in as security raped my bag. Imagine thier chagrin as they check for booze or porno mags, and find Sesame Street saxophones, dirty Knight hand puppets, and a book about "The Iron Chef" tv show.
Well, anyway, soon enough Vegas Dennis was joining Capone on the streets after partaking in a very cool in your face - finger pointing "Billy Martin vs. Ron Luciano" screaming pantomime, although it could have also been classified as a "Mia vs. Tom" one.
Gang Bang Steve soon joined the Booted Brigade, facing ejection as soon as he bellowed the first refrains of, well, the Gang Bang. The head count was high when Boston returned to town.
Old Man Jimmy was working the crowd with his constant waves and "hello there's", causing Milton to muse "You can't stop him - you can only hope to contain him." Soon enough a girl in the runway was calling Jimmy down, and he ran downstairs to get him some. I wish it was that easy...
And on top of all of this, I lost my cell phone - again - the night of the drunken soccer game. First off, I was playing goal with my phone on my hip, and soon enough it was gone, and I was whining as the guys pawed at the grass in the dark. Somehow, it was found, only for me to lose it again as I drunkenly meandered the NYC Transit system. It is one thing to end up on a wrong train like I did, but when you realize to get on that wrong train you need to transfer from at least 2 other wrong trains, it becomes a problem.
And now, the Mutts. Yeah, it's starting on a down note, with the ticket imbroglio in which I am apologetically a part, but we are working through that and hoping that this year at Shea we fight others rather than ourselves and we continue to build a legacy of stories we will tell for the rest of our lives.
Also, we collectively want to thank Jeremy's Ale House for donating a keg of Heinekin for our Sunday pregame barbecue, and Jeremy himself for ambling out to the park for a pregame one night to spin old yarns with myself, Uptown, 41, and a couple of people I can not remember cause we did more beer drinking than yarn spinning.
Until next weeks recap remember - the best way to get over somebody is to get under someone else.
Peace!
Sheriff Tom
The High Hard One
