5:30 PM - It's hard not to notice all of the single-level brick houses that dominate the suburban landscape. I can only assume that the pigs here who built their homes from straw or sticks have been blown down, barbecued and served by the (two) handfuls.
5:45 PM - We find a $10 parking lot just one block away from The Stadium. In San Diego, you won't find a lot for less than $20 within a ½ mile of Petco Park. Understandable, when you compare the rich history of the Padres with the mom-and-pop shop run by the Cardinals.
5:55 PM - Our search for the ticket window takes us past a scalper who bares a frighteningly frightening resemblance to Trick Daddy. I'm pretty sure my "separated at birth" would be lost on the other two members of my party. Just a hunch.
5:56 PM - The other two walk about ten paces ahead, with their backs to both me and the, uh, "unsanctioned ticket broker". It's almost like they want the tickets, but are fearful of getting arrested or stabbed or something. They appear to be giving themselves enough of a head start to run like punks in case sh*t goes down.
6:00 PM - Negotiations with the scalper collapse. The funny thing is that negotiating is what I do for a living. While I'm able to secure multimillion dollar deals with some of the largest customers in the world, I can't close on a $20 impasse for field level seats. On an unrelated note, did you know that it's illegal to resell tickets for greater than face value in the state of Missouri? If you ever come across a scalper, don't bring it up. Apparently, "applied knowledge" is frowned upon out here.
6:10 PM - We settle for $16 bleacher seats, instead.
6:11 PM - We walk into the stadium and watch, slack-jawed, as we enter a sea of pure female fire. Black and white, short and tall, hot and hotter. Isn't this the Midwest? Where are the cows? Where are the "kankles"? We continue to assess the evidence.
6:20 PM - The only beer that can bought is Bud, Bud Select and Bud Light and there are inexplicably long lines to pay $8.50 for the privilege. Losers.
6:35 PM - I finally get my Bud Light and silently swear that I'm only buying three or four more.
6:45 PM - Can't have bad beer without ballpark food. I find something called "wing bites" at a concession stand manned by a dime whose name badge says "Kari":
Kari: Y'all have good tickets?
Me: Best we could get. I'm only here for a few days.
Kari: Where are you from?
(Quick tip to help with the bitches: If you're from out of town, always play the weather card.)
Me: San Diego. Y'all are killin' me with this humidity.
Kari: Yeah…I bet it's always 72 and sunny out there!
Me: (Thinking) "I bet it's 72 in my hotel room, too."
Me: (Actually saying) "Yeah."
6:55 PM - We finally find our seats and even in the bleachers, the quality of the women is just ridiculous. Honestly, how is this not the greatest upset in American ho history? Who knew they could do this in St. Louis? I went to m'man "Nicka" for counsel and, in his words, he called them "Marvin Harrisons":
Quietly putting up huge numbers, while being overshadowed by surrounding players.
7:00 PM - No lie…90% of the crowd sings along with "God Bless America" and "The Star Spangled Banner". C'mon…even you ultra-conservative kooks have to consider this a wee bit creepy, right?
7:20 PM - Our beer man roaming the stands (which, due to state food handling laws, we don't have in California) bares a startling resemblance to this guy (on the right), right down to his fake, fresh-off-the-boat accent. He's also an absolutely terrible pour, which leads to an avalanche of unfunny "head" double entendres from the fans shouted towards the beer man. Seriously, I love these people.
7:25 PM - My sh*tty "Chef Beer-Ar-Dee" insult is met with far more laughs than it deserved, in hindsight. Not sure if everyone around me is drunk or if they just appreciated the effort. I'm officially thinking about moving out here.
7:45 PM - I go back to Kari for nachos. Oh, stop, it just happened to be the sexiest, er, closest concession stand. She hits the chips with one metric ton of jalapeños, which is akin to attempted arson at the end of my intestine.
8:30 PM - Since I haven't talked about the St. Louis women yet, let me just say that these are the most baseball-knowledgeable broads I've ever been around. During the evening, various conversation subjects included Willie McGee, Ozzie Canseco and why Cards fans hate Cubs fans. From women! Missouri really needs to do a better job of marketing its merchandise. I'm just sayin'.
9:30 PM - Oh, right…the game. The Cards scored four in the 7th in a come-from-behind win over the Rockies. Second best stadium I've ever been to (whatever the Giants are calling their home park these days is still #1) and, far and away, the best damn fans in baseball. No one's close, kids. Loud, but not obnoxious. Smart, without being insufferable. And, I'd guess all but a few hundred stayed until the final out.
10:00 PM – 1:30 AM - Get at me on IM. Kidding, Mrs. Bootleg, kidding! (Seriously, for the rest of you, get at me…)
5:45 PM - We find a $10 parking lot just one block away from The Stadium. In San Diego, you won't find a lot for less than $20 within a ½ mile of Petco Park. Understandable, when you compare the rich history of the Padres with the mom-and-pop shop run by the Cardinals.
5:55 PM - Our search for the ticket window takes us past a scalper who bares a frighteningly frightening resemblance to Trick Daddy. I'm pretty sure my "separated at birth" would be lost on the other two members of my party. Just a hunch.
5:56 PM - The other two walk about ten paces ahead, with their backs to both me and the, uh, "unsanctioned ticket broker". It's almost like they want the tickets, but are fearful of getting arrested or stabbed or something. They appear to be giving themselves enough of a head start to run like punks in case sh*t goes down.
6:00 PM - Negotiations with the scalper collapse. The funny thing is that negotiating is what I do for a living. While I'm able to secure multimillion dollar deals with some of the largest customers in the world, I can't close on a $20 impasse for field level seats. On an unrelated note, did you know that it's illegal to resell tickets for greater than face value in the state of Missouri? If you ever come across a scalper, don't bring it up. Apparently, "applied knowledge" is frowned upon out here.
6:10 PM - We settle for $16 bleacher seats, instead.
6:11 PM - We walk into the stadium and watch, slack-jawed, as we enter a sea of pure female fire. Black and white, short and tall, hot and hotter. Isn't this the Midwest? Where are the cows? Where are the "kankles"? We continue to assess the evidence.
6:20 PM - The only beer that can bought is Bud, Bud Select and Bud Light and there are inexplicably long lines to pay $8.50 for the privilege. Losers.
6:35 PM - I finally get my Bud Light and silently swear that I'm only buying three or four more.
6:45 PM - Can't have bad beer without ballpark food. I find something called "wing bites" at a concession stand manned by a dime whose name badge says "Kari":
Kari: Y'all have good tickets?
Me: Best we could get. I'm only here for a few days.
Kari: Where are you from?
(Quick tip to help with the bitches: If you're from out of town, always play the weather card.)
Me: San Diego. Y'all are killin' me with this humidity.
Kari: Yeah…I bet it's always 72 and sunny out there!
Me: (Thinking) "I bet it's 72 in my hotel room, too."
Me: (Actually saying) "Yeah."
6:55 PM - We finally find our seats and even in the bleachers, the quality of the women is just ridiculous. Honestly, how is this not the greatest upset in American ho history? Who knew they could do this in St. Louis? I went to m'man "Nicka" for counsel and, in his words, he called them "Marvin Harrisons":
Quietly putting up huge numbers, while being overshadowed by surrounding players.
7:00 PM - No lie…90% of the crowd sings along with "God Bless America" and "The Star Spangled Banner". C'mon…even you ultra-conservative kooks have to consider this a wee bit creepy, right?
7:20 PM - Our beer man roaming the stands (which, due to state food handling laws, we don't have in California) bares a startling resemblance to this guy (on the right), right down to his fake, fresh-off-the-boat accent. He's also an absolutely terrible pour, which leads to an avalanche of unfunny "head" double entendres from the fans shouted towards the beer man. Seriously, I love these people.
7:25 PM - My sh*tty "Chef Beer-Ar-Dee" insult is met with far more laughs than it deserved, in hindsight. Not sure if everyone around me is drunk or if they just appreciated the effort. I'm officially thinking about moving out here.
7:45 PM - I go back to Kari for nachos. Oh, stop, it just happened to be the sexiest, er, closest concession stand. She hits the chips with one metric ton of jalapeños, which is akin to attempted arson at the end of my intestine.
8:30 PM - Since I haven't talked about the St. Louis women yet, let me just say that these are the most baseball-knowledgeable broads I've ever been around. During the evening, various conversation subjects included Willie McGee, Ozzie Canseco and why Cards fans hate Cubs fans. From women! Missouri really needs to do a better job of marketing its merchandise. I'm just sayin'.
9:30 PM - Oh, right…the game. The Cards scored four in the 7th in a come-from-behind win over the Rockies. Second best stadium I've ever been to (whatever the Giants are calling their home park these days is still #1) and, far and away, the best damn fans in baseball. No one's close, kids. Loud, but not obnoxious. Smart, without being insufferable. And, I'd guess all but a few hundred stayed until the final out.
10:00 PM – 1:30 AM - Get at me on IM. Kidding, Mrs. Bootleg, kidding! (Seriously, for the rest of you, get at me…)
9 comments:
All this talk about how good looking the women are, and the only picture is one of you drinking?
Jesus Christ, Cam. Are you really wearing a 2006 AL West Division Champion T-shirts??? That's the equivalent of an "honorable mention" ribbon or "everyone gets a trophy" day.
And you're drinking a light beer.
Can't knock him for light beer..I mean all that slop is coming out the same shitty tap. Even if there is a dimepiece at the end of the tap.
Cam - you're in for the drop off of your life if you ever see the collection of canadian penny pieces serving beer in the Bronx. It looks like the extras in Juvenile's HA! video.
I daresay not approach the close by Rutgers material.
As for the T shirt, be thankful it wasn't a tight Mark McGwire cartoon caricature shirt from 1989 with punch and chocolate chip cookie stains.
Fuck the beer snobs. Beer dissing got old after my freshman year in college.
And if you REALLY want to know where to find some more underrated women, you've got to Texas. Anywhere, between El Paso and Houston (but NOT in El Paso and Houston) and you're good to go.
I'll def. put them up against the slam dunks in NY and CA.
I still don't know why they tore down the last Busch Stadium. Great view from every seat, the Arch looming over right field. Nice spot. I'm assuming the after hours introduced you to East St. Louis after all, not that either of us married guys would know anything about that. I remember a nice sports bar out by the Bud plant. Let's say you went there and beat your buddies at pop a shot 4 games out of 5.
JP: Unfortunately, Mrs. Bootleg is well aware of this blog. In fact, the last 24 hours have been mostly made up of her rhetorically asking, "I thought you were on a business trip?" and then telling me all the difficulties that Jalen presented while I was gone (as if I parent when I'm *in* town.)
Anon #1: Hey, it's not JUST a division champs t-shirt. It's got everyone's name on the back! So, if I ever wanna confirm that Kirk Saarloos was a member of this squad, I can just ask someone to find his name on the back for me.
Anon #2: The cartoon caricature shirts was awesome. Easily one of the top 10 things I miss from the late '80s/early '90s.
Eric: No argument here. In another life, I'd have been crackin' Texas hoes like pistachioes. Startin' in Austin.
Greg: I would've loved to have gone to the original Busch, but the new version was really, really nice. Great sightlines and even the bleacher seats didn't feel like they were a million miles away. And, uh, yeah...nothin' but pop-a-shot until last call! (In case the wife read this far.)
If you are ever in Houston, be sure to catch an Astros game, sit in the outfield "9 Amigos Patio", suffer from even worse humidity, and admire the beauties!
http://img338.imageshack.us/img338/4604/astrogirlscp5.jpg
...and THIS is why I started this blog. Seriously, Marco, I thank you. My wife and my marriage...not so much.
my apologies to mrs. bootleg! :-)
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