last night with the Owens’ of Ventura, howard and billie, as lovely a couple as you could imagine, who treated me and my pal matt to choice seats behind home plate.
perhaps you have read howard’s wonderful blog that not only sports some level-headed political thought, but great design, and the courage to publish ones own poetry. i admire acheivements like those since i dont have the fortitude or ability to do any of those things.
howard is also a fantasy baseball geek like myself. and as matt is slowly becoming one himself it was fun to toss around some ubergeeky thoughts about rookie pitchers, strategies on autodrafts, and whether or not you should pinch run for old men like fred mcgriff when youre down by three runs.
i felt a little bad for billie who was completely surrounded by baseball nerds, but i imagined she knew what she was getting herself into. but maybe she didnt know the ridiculous depths our sick passion for the national pasttime would sink to when we started contemplating exactly where the pitcher should bunt the ball in the top of the seventh with two runners on.
the correct answer is “in play.”
it was candlestickian cold last night at chavez ravine. but after an eighth inning hot cocoa i was completely satisfied.
thanks to the ultra slow style of hideo nomo and jake peavy, four hours later the game was finally entering the ninth inning.
i didnt care.
baseball is pretty much the only thing that could keep me outside in the cold, happilly.
i love you baseball, classiest sport there is.
after being dropped off i chatted on the internet with pretty much all of america and when they were done with me i was able to do a mini photo essay about the evening which i hope you all approve of.
today is wednesday. which means the brezney astrology for last week is almost over.
im happy it’s almost over because it said i was gonna cry this week.
i didnt cry even once.
i take that back. i nearly did when a hot chick told me she had zwan tickets for me saturday night.
on the floor.