Beer Mines and Baseball

It’s going to be partly/mostly cloudy, windy, yet warmish on this Sabbath in Bagwine, Ohio.

I will be spending 11-7 working the wind tunnel of grain based beverages that is The Beer Mine.

That’s right folks…

I am back at the Beer Mine Sundays through Wednesday now. I am sure because of that, there is much joy in the Greater Bagwine Beer Drinking Community.

And just remember, if you come through the Mine…

Know what you want. Know your role…and drive away.

Jayman and I did a somewhat extemporaneous installment of I’m With Stupid yesterday on Blog Talk Radio.

We talked baseball and it was pretty fun. I have no idea who was in the chat room really, because BTR wouldn’t let both Jay and I in there at the same time.

And in order to piss Jay off, BTR at some point decided not to let Jay view the switchboard. Additionally…

We had a report from our new IWS Sports Director, Slyder Balzcock, unfortunately BTR somehow manage to turn his report into some incoherent gobbledy gook.

Oh how we love BTR. Oddly though, if you listen to the show in archives you’ll find that Slyder’s mangled report is kinda funny, and…

A lovely young woman called in and Jay and I offered her advice on how to get on the Jumbo-Tron as she was going to Cincinnati Reds game last night.

We are such givers.

If you want to listen, and you should…You can do so by utilizing this hand dandy BTR listening device, which of course, may or may not work:

Listen to internet radio with Im With Stupid on Blog Talk Radio

Have a wonderful Sunday folks, and if you’re in the Greater Bagwine area, stop by the Beer Mine and say, “Hi.”

Cheers!!

Play Ball!!

Happy Saturday folks, and boy do I have a weekend treat for you.

Jayman and I are doing a bonus I’m With Stupid show today at noon EDT.

That’s right.

We are talking baseball on I’m With Stupid on Blog Talk Radio at 12 PM EDT today, and you can catch it HERE.

Even if you’re not a baseball fan, listen in and call in because I’m sure Jay and I will pervert the American pastime as only we can.

I hope you can check in with us and help raise our batting average on Blog Talk Radio.

We will be lithe, lively, and for once, at least in my case, halfway sober when we do this daytime show.

We also have some big news for you.

Since baseball season just started, we spared no expense and hired this man…

This is our new Sports Director, Slyder Balzcock:

He will be giving an in-depth baseball report while Jay and I use that time to go take a leak.

If your weather sucks like it does here, hang around until Saturday at noon and listen to Jayman and me on I’m With Stupid.

It’ll be a home run for your soul, trust me on that.

Until Saturday at noon when I see you on the radio, as always…

Cheers!!

Can't Get Enough Stupid

It’s Friiiiiiiiiday, Bitches so let’s rip it up!!

Okay, let’s just see if I can successfully put up a post with spacing and what not.

Blogger has been giving me fits of late so if I can put this up without too much hassle, I will be a happy man.

Jayman and I talked all about sandwiches last night on I’m With Stupid and it was to say, at the least…interesting.

We had some sexy people call in and talk bread and meat with us.

An affable dude named Mark called in and he and I expressed our love for baloney. The uber lovely Desert Rat called and desperately tried to restore order to the show, and…

The buxom babe Cracker, spent the night with us on the phone and talked about how much she enjoys a good, rusty sandwich.

If you missed the show, you can relive all the hot sandwich action by utilizing this handy dandy BTR player:

Listen to internet radio with Im With Stupid on Blog Talk Radio

And now, guess what kidz!?

Jay and I are doing it all over again tomorrow. That’s right!!
By popular demand we will be doing another show tomorrow at Noon. Yep, Saturday with I’m With Stupid. Is that huge or what?

Tomorrow, get your pine tar out and stroke your bats because we will be talking baseball, in undoubtedly a perverse and sexual way.

I hope you can join us for some early Saturday fun as we round third and head for home.

I am off to hang with my kid this morning, so I shall see you all later today, and I hope to see you tomorrow on the radio.

Until then, and as always…

Cheers!!

Sunday Morning Church Disservice: Pleasant Valley Sunday

It’s going to be a bee-yoo-tee-ful Sabbath here in Bagwine, Ohio today. Sunny and 72 degrees.

I have been at the Beer Mine for two years now, and up until a couple of weeks ago, I worked every Sunday. Now, I have Sundays off.

I don’t know what it is, but I rather prefer having Sundays off as opposed to Saturdays. Sundays just feel so laid back…especially during the warm months.

I mean, what’s not to like? For instance, today…

I am going to get up no later than seven…have a couple of cups of coffee, take a shower, and be ready to go out by 8:45 or so.

I am then going to go to Schuler’s Donuts and pick up two glazed donuts for Ryno, two chocolate crème-filled for his mom, and head over to their house.

Ryno has a report due for school Monday and he has finished it, so I am going to look it over and harshly criticize it give him my opinion.

I’ll be there until about 10:30 at which point I will be off, as they will be headed to church. Ha, Suckers!!

I will then head to the grocery in search of brats that don’t cost an arm and a leg, and pick up some buns for said brats as well.

Upon returning home, I will turn on some music and boil the brats as I tip some cold ones. After a slow boil, I will then proceed to grill the brats with onions and peppers in a skillet and of course, tip a few more.

At 1 or so the Reds play the Cubs and I will listen to it on the radio. There’s something about the radio and baseball that strikes me as the perfect marriage of sport and media.

Schmoop and I will listen to the game, have a couple of beers and shoot the shit, while Corky sleeps curled up in the rocking chair or under the covers in the bed.

And, the windows will be open, so the vernal breezes will be carrying the fresh spring air into the digs.

Ahhhhhh, indeed…what’s not to like about a day like that?

If I’m lucky, the post game festivities will include a roll in the bed from hell with Schmoop. There’s nothing like three hours of brats, beer, and baseball followed by three sixty minutes of hot sex.

To me, that’s the perfect doubleheader, and after that, who cares what the rest of the day brings?

So there you have it, my idea of a pretty damn good Sunday.

Amen, and Amen.

I hope that you too enjoy your Sunday no matter what you plan on doing.

Batter up, and of course…

Cheers!!

Slide and Prejudice...

I tell this story every year around opening day of baseball season. I hope you enjoy it, in spite of its lengthiness...

The weather is really warming up here in Bagwine, Ohio. I have so many fond memories of my childhood and the fun we had when the weather got warm.

One of my fondest memories, is that of playing Little League baseball. I played LLB from the age of 9 through 12…four long seasons of loss after humiliating loss.

Our team was looked upon as a team of troublemakers…a team from the wrong side of the tracks.

Our best pitcher, Goody, would frequently hit the opposing batters.

We forgot that our parents were there and we would cuss, we never slid into a base; we would always plow into the kid who was trying to tag us out.

Even our coach (who went on to become a preacher) would routinely get ejected for arguing with the ump. But you know what?

We were playing baseball.

Most of our team couldn’t hit well, field a fly ball or grounder, or run very fast…We were underdogs, yet we were the embodiment of how baseball used to be played and how it should still be played.

Of course how we played only reinforced the perceptions of the other parents as to what we were.

See, the league in which we played was composed almost entirely of kids from well-to-do white families who all claimed to have had ancestors aboard the Mayflower.

Our team was made up of ruffians…poor and middle class white trash and yes, Blacks!! Even our coach…Black!! Oh the humanity!!

Our fathers weren’t doctors, lawyers, and/or bankers.

We were the sons and even the daughter (Brooke), of working class stiffs, who got uppity and moved to the North end of town, which at the time, could have been the inspiration for the song “Pleasant Valley Sunday”.

It was 1974 and the unspoken prejudices of an “integrated” society were being felt…race and class issues, taking the field.

With the exception of our parents and team mates, we were not referred to by our own names or our team name…We were referred to as, “them”.

It wasn’t really the players (although yeah, there were some real ass clowns) on the other teams that were jerks. It was of course, their parents.

The cashmere wearing dads sporting mid-70s state of the art LCD watches and their frigid Stepford wives who were “uncomfortable”, not to mention rude were there, but...

They would complain to the league that we were being too rough because little Johnny got run over at home plate and we were just not very well-behaved.

But you know what, even though we were young, we knew what was going on and we reveled in it. We put it right back in the faces of those uptight pretentious phonies.

Our catcher, Biscuit, who happened to be one of our black players, would mimic the South African Khoi-Khoin clicking language as the batter stood in the box waiting for the pitch.

Instead of saying “Hey Batter, Batter” the rest of us would murmur “Mama’s Boy, Got No Bat”.

Our plowing into their basemen got harder, and our amusement of those stiff parents became much more noticeable. We were the Little Rascals on Meth.

We slowly, yet steadily improved over those four years. We won three games the first year, four the next, and six the third year.

In our last year together, Goody, managed to hit fewer batters and throw more strikes. Brooke caught every fly ball near her, and ran the bases like a deer.

Biscuit’s tongue was not the only thing clacking, so was his bat, and he sent more than a couple of fastballs over the fence. And me, I batted .542 that season.

We went 13-3. We were so bad for so long and now we were league champions, and when the final out had come, our parents stood and clapped, but the best thing was so did all of the others.

That was nearly 35 years ago and I remember it like it was yesterday. We were a group of kids who overcame a lack of skills and turned unwarranted racial and class prejudices into a motivational tool.

We avoided turning any anger we felt inward and instead, put it out there in the form of playground humor and a nicely turned double play. In the end, not only did we win…Everybody won.

And that's the name of that story...and our championship.

Cheers!!

Pissed Off...But Just A Little Bit

It’s Saturday, I have to work later, but boy do I have some things on my fricking mind.

I have a thing against mommy bloggers in general, mainly because they get HUGE AUDIENCES without having any talent…however…

Some of them get HUGE audiences in spite of their ability to write, and that ticks me off.

I bust my butt in order to post everyday, and for the most part, my shit is pretty funny. Okay, not always, but at least, it is for the most part, entertaining.

AND, everyone who reads me, I find funny, and for the most part quite intelligent…More often than not, I find your comments funnier than the post.

That is why I read you…but yeah, I have some jealousy. I have a streak of vanity that once in awhile raises its cobra-like head.

As much as I am a run of the mill kinda guy, I make no bones about me wanting to make some money off of all of this, and ya know…

I just don’t get it.

I see others with sites who have nearly 1,500 followers, (which I don't do) and are “nominated” for Humor Blog of the Year and I want to throw up.

There’s one chick in particular that I happen by and I think…WTF? And yet, she’s relatively large.

I hate those kinds of things.

I would never ask you guys to be my “followers” nor would I beg you guys to vote for me for some stupid award, and yet, I hate the petty feelings of jealousy that I somtimes get, but..

I do get a bit of pissiness in me once in awhile about this. I bet some of you others do too…

Maybe you guys don’t feel the same way, but dammit, I’m pretty funny and many of you are too, and we should get credit for it. Whatever that means…

But damn, why can’t we all make people just figure out how fucking "magnificent" we are without effort?

Lastly, I need to tell you all something quite painful…

If you followed me on Wednesday, I told you that Ryno’s tiny, private school is going to field a baseball team this year. They play in a major Ohio conference.

Well, anyhow…13 players signed up. I asked Ryno the following:

"Hey Ryno? How many have played in the last 2 years or so?" He replied, “Two.”

I further pondered...“Um..Sweetie? When is your first practice?”

He answered, “Tonight Dad.”

I asked…”What are you going to be working on during your first practice?”

He replied, “Catching and Throwing.”

I thought to myself, “Well…ya gotta cover the fundamentals“…Oh Dear God, pray for Ryno and his team.

Cheers!!

Correction and Apology: This post orginally had Amid Life's Crises as one of the labels. It was supposed to be labeled "Life". Dana's site of the aforementioned title always comes up first in my label list and I inadvertantly hit that one.

This post had nothing to do with Dana or her site. I apologize for the mistake.

There's No Crying In Baseball...But There Are Lessons To Be Learned

I talked to my wonderfully sarcastic fifteen year old son Ryno yesterday, and he asked me a question that caught me off guard.

He asked…

“Dad? Can you me give me a crash course in baseball?”

I said, “Um…well sure, buddy. Why?”

“Our school is going to have a baseball team this year, and I want to play on it.”, he responded.

I reminded him that he hadn’t played baseball since he was eight or nine and many kids at the High School level have been playing all of their life and are pretty good.

He told me that he understood that, but I could work with him on the game in general and his hitting specifically.

I then said to him…

“You know pal, some pitchers in High School can bring it at 90 miles per hour.”

Ryan said to me…

“I know, but I figure you can take me to the batting cages and help me to hit in the 85 mph cage which amazingly you in your advanced years can still do.”

I said,

“Well honey if that’s what you want me to do I will, but I just want to let you know that there’s a huge learning curve and change between playing when you were eight and now playing against kids who have been playing eight to ten years longer than you have.”

Ryno replied…

“Dad, I know, but I don’t care how bad I play. You see…Our school doesn’t have enough players to field a team if I don’t play. They need me.”

After that response, I told him that I would do whatever he needed me to do. After all, he was doing whatever the school and his friends needed him to do.

Ryno playing High School baseball is just like him volunteering to be the mascot for varsity basketball games after he has played his own JV game because no one else would.

It’s the same thing as when he volunteers to work the concession stand at games. It’s much like when he signs up to visit people at the nursing home near his school.

It’s the same trait in him as when he makes certain to take a bite out of the hot dog or burger he and his mom bring me when I'm at work sometimes because he knows I find that funny.

Ryno, like all of us, has his faults and weaknesses, but not stepping in when help is needed and giving of himself in order to make great things happen or something as simple as making someone smile isn’t one of them.

And yesterday, he did that for me because I and sometimes all of us, forget the lesson he was inadvertently teaching…

That even the simplest acts of kindness that we pass on can make a great deal of difference in the lives of others.

So folks, try to make someone smile today…call up an old friend…open the door for another or simply say hi to a stranger.

Because…

Whether they know it or not, or you know it or not, someone out there needs you.

Cheers!!

A Change of Pace

A very sexy, newish reader came across the following post that I had written about a year ago.

She asked that I post it again because she really liked it, and thought those who haven't read yet, would as well.

So not being able to deny the requests of a sexy woman, here is the post about my four years playing Little League baseball, although it is really a story about much more than that.

Our team was looked upon as a team of troublemakers, punks…an affront to upper-middle class sensibilities..

Our best pitcher, Goody, would unintentionally, yet quite frequently hit the opposing batters.

When running the bases we would never slide on a close play; we would plow into the kid that was trying to tag us out.

During the game, expletives freely flew from our pre-teen mouths. Even our coach would routinely get ejected for arguing with the ump.

In addition to our less than gracious manner, the majority of our players couldn’t hit well, field the ball, or run very fast.

In spite of our lack of skills, we were playing baseball…the way it was intended to be played. Of course how we played only reinforced the perceptions of the other parents as to who we were.

The league in which we played was composed almost entirely of kids from well-to-do white families who all claimed to have had ancestors aboard the Mayflower.

Our team was made up of poor and middle class white trash and yes, Blacks!! Even our coach…Black!! Oh the humanity!!

Our fathers weren’t doctors, lawyers, and bankers. We were the sons and even the daughter (Brooke) of working class stiffs who got uppity and had moved to the “Pleasant Valley Sunday” end of town.

It was the Summer of ‘74 and the unspoken prejudices of an “integrated” society were being felt…race and class issues, taking the field along with us.

It wasn’t really the players on the other teams that were the jerks. It was, of course, their parents.

Their anal retentive dads wearing cashmere in 90 degree heat and sporting mid-70s state of the art LCD watches would view the game while their frigid wives would whine that Little Johnny wasn’t playing enough.

And of course if Little Johnny did get to play, they would complain to the league that we were being too rough because Little Johnny got run over by one of us as we tried to score.

The truth was, that those parents just didn’t like who we were, or what we were…

But, even though we were young, we knew what was going on and we reveled in it. We put it right back in the faces of those pretentious phonies.

Our catcher, Biscuit, who happened to be one of our black players, would mimic the South African Khoi-Khoin clicking language as the batter stood in the box waiting for the pitch.

Instead of saying “Hey Batter, Batter” our team would murmur “Mama’s Boy, Got No Bat”.

Our plowing into their basemen got harder, and our amusement with the “Pod Parents” became much more noticeable.

We were the Little Rascals on Meth.

We slowly, yet steadily improved over those four years. We won three games the first year, four the next, and six the third year. All the while enduring the scorn of the “pretty people”.

In our last year together, Goody, managed to hit fewer batters and throw more strikes.

Brooke caught every fly ball near her, and ran the bases like a deer. Biscuit’s tongue was not the only thing clacking, as he sent more than a couple of fastballs over the fence.

And me, I batted .542 that season, and we went 13-3.

We had been so bad for so long and now we were league champions, and when the final out had come, our parents stood and clapped, but the best thing was…so did all of the others.

That was 30 years ago and I remember it like it was yesterday.

We were a group of kids who overcame a lack of skills and turned racial and class prejudices into a motivational tool.

We avoided turning any anger we felt inward, and instead, put it out there in the form of playground humor and a nicely turned double play.

In the end, not only did we win…Everybody won.

And there you have it.

I hope you come back tomorrow for a rock n rollin’ Half Nekkid Thursday.

Cheers!!

Frozen Pizza: Sausage, Pepperoni, and Random Thoughts

I got home last night a 7:15 P.M.

I drank some beer. Yes folks, beer, not Bagwine. My liver needed a rest.

After listenin’ to Turnbaby’s BTR show, I decided to eat the frozen pizza that Schmoop had left for me in the fridge.

I recorded my thoughts during that time so they could be forever posted upon the internets…

Okay, the pizza’s in the microwave…looks Yum-Oh. I’ll go take a leak while it’s heating up.

Unlike Poppy from that episode of Seinfeld, I did wash my hands. God, I love that show. There’s the dinger.

Time to take a trip through my used up old body Mr. Pizza. Mmmmm smells good. Can Schmoop cook a frozen pizza, or what?

Maybe I should ask her to marry me…Hahahahahahahaha

First of all she would say, no. And secondly, I wouldn’t want to ruin her credit rating.

Lessee what’s on TV. Nothing…Nothing…Garbage…Okay, baseball it is. Tigers and Angels, but what the hell.

Wow that chick three rows up to the left of home plate has some huge boobs. Rowwwr. Oh, crap…

Either the sight of the chick’s hooters and the great taste of this pizza made me cum, or I put my wanker away too soon after peeing.

I have a huge wet spot on my crotch. I bet I look sexy sitting here eating pizza with a wet spot on my drawers.

Jeez, a lot of swell folks came to my site via Jay’s site the last few days.

Jay must be the second most popular guy from Arkansas. And he achieved that status without getting a blow job in the Oval Office!!

No Corky, no pizza for you girl. I noticed that the vast majority of my readers are women…seems that Jay’s are too.

I don’t know about him, but am I being sympathy blogged? Eh, doesn’t matter. Just like a sympathy fuck, it still feels good.

Wow what was I thinking when I made that promise to God in order for him to help me find my key the other day?

How in the hell will I possibly be able to only masturbate every OTHER day?

What was I thinking, indeed?

I sure have a ton o’ blog reading to catch up on Monday…and links to add…

Will I be able to get it all done before I leave at quarter til’ five Monday afternoon?

Of course I will…I’m Matt-Man, Bitch!! Man, good pizza. Time to snooze…

Have a lovely Monday, folks.

Cheers!!

The Woman Who Controls Me

See that picture on the right? Do you know what it is?

If you answered, “a TV remote control”, you are only partially correct. It is much more than that.

It is my friend, my lover, and feels incredibly wonderful in my hand.

In fact, the only things that feel better in my hands are Schmoop’s left boob, and my wanker.

It is more than a remote control, it is a device that allows me to lay on the couch and enjoy politics, the arts, comedy, and infomercials.

I call her, hANNd-Margaret, and I love her.

My sleek, ergonomic mistress can take me to see places and people I would never get a chance to see without her comforting, programmable aid.

For instance, I can bring up the Travel Channel and see the deep beauty of the Grand Canyon, or go to the Food Network and see how wide Rachel Ray’s ass has gotten.

A virtual Dee-Lish doubleheader of geologic glory and annoying culinary arts. Yum-Oh!!

hANNd-Margaret’s wiles allow me to watch re-runs of The Brady Bunch.

I can click and view the loving gaze of Mrs. Brady towards Mr. Brady, and Mr. Brady’s loving gaze down upon Peter. Nice…Comforting.

Punch in “41”, and I can watch Suzanne Somers in her formative years on Three’s Company. And then, turn to channel 2 and see her Emmy caliber performance on QVC.

She was especially profound when she was selling her Thigh Master…I wish they would re-run those ads.

Speaking of infomercials, my life wouldn’t be complete without my hero, Ron Popeil.

Inventor of the Pocket Fisherman, Hair in a Can, and today’s, Showtime Rotisserie Oven.

As for my electronic lady, if I get tired watching the Ronco Rotisserie infomercial, I can hit the sleep timer, and…set it and forget it.

She is so good to me.

It doesn’t stop there. hANNd brings the world of entertainment news to me as well.

With a push of her button, I can get caught up on Lindsay Lohan’s latest binge, Mel Gibson’s newest Jew-Jam, and Paris Hilton’s mutated STD.

I love it!! I love my hANNd!!

I can hold her and flip over to a baseball game. Nothing like watching juiced up ball players scratching their balls…

Specifically, steroid filled balls that are the size of a gnats eye, and as hard as Tungsten.

She can transport me to the “news” and bring up images of Bill O’Reilly discussing the latest Obama gaffe as he segue ways to a salacious expose on teen prostitution.
That darn Bill, always looking out for us.

Yes folks, I love hANNd-Margaret. She turns me on, and I turn her on several times a day.

Why should women have all of the fun? They have their battery operated lovers; why shouldn’t I?

hAANd-Margaret and her powerful set of AA’s supercharge my life everyday.

See ya all tomorrow for Half-Nekkid Thursday.

Cheers!!