Take me out to the Ball Game

by  HogWild

I love baseball. The crack of the bat. The sound a fastball makes when it hits the catcher’s mitt. The broken English of the crusty guy scalping tickets outside the park. Aaah, the American Past-time.

So I decided to go see a ballgame. Being in the Media Mecca of the Midwest, Dayton, Ohio, we have no room for a Major League club beside all our worldwide media office buildings and such. So the closest ball park is Cinergy Field in Cincinnati. About an hour’s drive. Not too bad. But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, in Ohio, everything south of Cleveland is Kentucky.

I mean, I saw more ve-hick-els with bumper stickers . . . “NRA baby on board” . . . “We didn’t Lose the War, we’re still fightin’ it!” and “Do you Smell what the Rock is Cookin’?”

Anyhoo, me and the Mrs. headed down to see the game. Now, everything I’ve ever heard about Cincinnati has always been positive. But the SMELL when we entered city limits! I thought I was in New Jersey! I’m not sure if they have manufacturing plants or what, but weeeeeeeee-ooooooh! Actually, as I later discovered, that smell was from the Reds STINKING so bad. Gosh they were awful. But first things first. To solve this problem of Rotten Eggs Syndrome or H.A.S. (HogWild Armpit Stank), I propose that Cincy plants a giant “Mint flavored Tree” like the ones you put in your car, smack in the center of town. A 30 foot tall air freshener. That’ll do it.

So we get to the Stadium amidst all this construction. I don’t know what the hell they’re doing down there, but it sure necessitated a lot of orange barrels. But I don’t care how many orange cones they have, they STILL can’t build a Football Team.

So we enter Cinergy Field and we get a free gift! Total Bonus! And not only did we get a free Reds’ Calendar complete with pictures and important dates, but coupons for Kroger too! Wow, it was my lucky day. Get to see a Reds’ game AND get a free BIG K brand 2 Liter (limit 1 per customer)!!! So of course as soon as we find our seats, Mrs. Potato-Head, my supposedly loving bim-wifey, starts going, “Him, NOT him. Him, Him, definitely NOT HIM.” So I’m like, “what’re ya up to honey? Do you need to know how to read the stat card?” She’s like, “NO, I’m picking out which guys are CUTE! Him, Him, eeeew, he’s ugly.” I’m like “Dude, that’s Pokey Reese. He’s a great hitter and he’s leading the NL in stolen bases!”

So Mrs. P is like “what kind of name is Pokey?” And she’s right. Baseball players have all sorts of stupid nicknames. And the truth was, with a face like he had, if it weren’t for baseball, he wouldn’t Pokey ANY girls. JEREMY! Stop INTERRUPTING MY STORY!!! Anyhoo, There’s been all sorts of silly names. The Babe, The Splendid Splinter, CLAUDELL. Claudell Washington was one of my favorite Yankees growing up. But think about it. How much respect could this guy have gotten in the locker room with a name like CLAUDELL! (Snobby British accent) Yes, I am CLAUDELL Washington the Thuuuuurd. Meanwhile his team mates had names like Butch and Billy. So I thought I had seen the worst of all made up monikers in my time. Until today. The Reds called up this poor nub from the Minors to play shortstop. His name: GOOKIE DAWKINS. Gookie?! So I’m all shouting: “C’mon GOOK! Go for it GOOK!” The Asian family sitting in front of us was getting mad. But I was like, “THAT’S HIS NAME!!” I think I heard the Dad mutter, “I can’t wait ‘til the Reds get a player nicknamed Kikey.”

So the Reds proceed to get pounded like Tina Turner backstage with Ike. Daaaaamn! The score was like 12-2 after 6. So my attention turned to more interesting things.

Like NACHOS, Hot Dogs, Cotton Candy!!! Oh I love that Magic Sugary Pink Puff of Tooth Decay! See that’s why all my teeth are rotten. I used to brush my teeth with cotton candy flavored toothpaste.

But I made a promise I would partake not in any stadium concessions. Now Reds tickets are cheap. But the hot dogs ain’t. It cost us like 5 units a piece to get in. But it’s like $5.75 for an adult beverage! DAAAAAMN! Drive 10 minutes south and you can get a LAP DANCE for that price.

After telling him that, it was NOT funny when Nub undid his belt. 

Oh, and that’s another thing. MAD HOTTIES up in Cincy. Hootie-Hoo! Hooters-Hooo! Wow! We’re talkin’ beautiful polite blondes with just a hint of Southern Charm, but they still have all their enamel! Come to think of it, I always notice hotties at baseball games. Maybe they flock for the studly nubs like me. Or maybe I just like the pony-tail swinging out the back of a baseball cap. Or maybe it’s the fact that most of the hotties I saw were carrying a huge tray of ice cream snacks up and down the rows of seats. I ADMIT IT! I didn’t want them, I wanted their ice cream sandwiches! Forgive me Mrs. P, for I have sinned! I lusted for their over-sized, soft, vanilla ice cream sandwiches!! Waaaaah!!!

Please, as IF, Mrs. P noticed. She WOULD have except that she was SNORING. Hello! Get up! This is a baseball game! 30,000 people are booing and you’re sleeping? Gosh. And I don’t how she did it because this BRAT was sitting behind us, SCREAMING! “You suck! You couldn’t hit the ball of a tee!” His high-pitched squeal was enough to make a dog vomit blood. This is where parents need to discipline. I swear, parents PLEASE invoke the B.H.R. When your kid is acting totally obnoxious in public, for his own good, you MUST invoke B.H.R. Now for you clueless parents, B.H.R. is what you’ve always WANTED to do, but thought was somehow “against the law” or “not good parenting.” BULLtish! Everyone would THANK you for it. B.H.R. is simply, the Back Hand Rule. Child screams in stranger’s ear at baseball game, <THWACK!> Back hand rule is implemented across the mouth. Kid is crying in a movie theater that he wants popcorn <WAAAAP!> Back Hand Rule was just enforced upside his forehead. It’ll work wonders. Please try it.

Getting calls on your cell phone is always important at a baseball game. QUICK, call your Broker! Buy Buy Buy! Buy stock in Hair Replacement Companies!

Um, Bless you?

Anyhow, it was just as I thought. What I BELIEVED to be a child sitting directly behind us, screaming in my ear at an octave high enough to break glass was nothing more than a pair of lungs attached to a bullhorn. Damn it! I hate when people bring those! It should be outlawed. I mean, the stadium outlaws bottles and cans! It should be, No Bottles, No Cans, No Lungs attached to Bullhorns.

Hey, that's not Ken Griffey, Jr.! And when I asked for his autograph, he  looked at me like I was one who was STUPID. Excuse me, but  YOU'RE the one wearing a shirt with another man's name on it!

This seems like a silly place to dry your laundry.

Towards the end of the game, everyone celebrated Passover by re-enacting the Exodus. So I wanted to move down to better seats. Mrs. Potato Head, clearly having never been to a baseball game before, sees a moral dilemma in this. “We can’t sit there. We didn’t pay for those seats.” I was like, “We also didn’t pay to see the Reds lose 783 to 2!” Anyone who goes to baseball games knows, once people leave, it is okay to go down to the lower levels and take their seats. Now, I’m talking like the 8^th inning. There ARE some gasholes who sneak past the usher and when you get up to drain your pee bag, they take your seat. THAT’S wrong. I’m only talking about when people leave to go home. C’mon it’s only fair. If I’ve suffered through the ENTIRE game, I have a right to have my heckling heard by the players.

Now, heckling is an art. Amateurs are heard across the country, “You suck! You suck lemons! You suck big, sour lemons!” That is weak. Or a simple, invective-laden intoxicated ramble is just as pathetic. “Jones, you’re a &^$*-face LOSER. Your a$$ looks like a ^&#(*& &%^$* *#^@! And you wear a small jock strap!”

No. Being from New York, I have went through SCHOOLING for this. Before you are allowed to enter any ball park in NYC, you must first take and pass the Hecklers’ Test. So after I completed my course, I got my complimentary batteries (to throw at John RocKKKer.) But true heckling requires KNOWLEDGE. A knowledge of the game. But more importantly, a knowledge of the player’s personal life.

Pete Rose was banned from Baseball for betting on the Mr. Reds Race. Actually, this stupid game shows just how desperate for entertainment the fans are!

Like when Canseco was dating Madonna. The amateur heckler merely yelled, “You suck Canseco! Go back to—uh—Mexico!” Meanwhile Canseco is from Cuba. The PRO Heckler shouts, “I don’t know what stinks worse! Your hitting, or the open legs of your SLUT girlfriend!” And being the PRO that HE is, he responds in kind be extending the middle finger and spitting in my direction. And that is how the game is played.

If you want to order my book, “How to Heckle to Professional Way” drop me an email. But overall, it was nice to go out to the game. There’s nothing else like sitting out on a nice afternoon, taking in a ballgame, and drooling over nice ice cream sandwiches.

ROOT ROOT ROOT for the Home Team,

If they don’t win then lay blame!

‘Cuz it’s 5, 6, 7 bucks or more

For a drink at the old ballgame!

And it was kinda ironic that THIS street was lined with Slot Machines and Casinos.