Flippin' Thru: ESPN – The Magazine, October 6, 2008

ESPN: Would you write an at-bat song for a player if he asked?

Lil' Wayne: Hell yes. I'll do it right now. Prince Fielder is one of my favorites, so I'd do "Coming up to the plate young Prince/swinging for the fence." Something like that, but better, 'cause I'd work real hard on it.

On page 38 of their latest issue, ESPN The Magazine devotes a few hundred words to the music that baseball players use on their way to the plate. It's the usual disposable, instantly forgettable sports journalism that the World Wide Leader has practically patented, but it wasn't without a good amount of unintentional comedy and outright ignorance.

-- Minneapolis rapper A&R wrote and performed "Joe Mauer's Theme Song", which is played before every at-bat by the Twins starting catcher. And, with lyrics like "Guess who stepped up to the plate/It's minus one from number eight", it's obvious the Midwest's rap dominance didn't die with the incarceration of 18 out of 24 members and affiliates of Bone Thugs N Harmony. You can listen to the entire awful track here.

-- Hey, did you know that Rangers OF Josh Hamilton is a Christian? Sure is. His at-bat song is from a Christian band called Phillips, Craig & Dean. Remember 10 years ago, when cornerback/outfielder Deion Sanders found Jesus and no one believed him because he was a jerk? Meanwhile, Hamilton gets the benefit of the doubt despite stealing millions of dollars in development costs and signing bonus from the Rays. Last time I'll mention this. Promise.

-- The article repeatedly states that the Oakland A's don't use prerecorded music before their players at-bats, but that can't be right. I know I've heard music before at-bats while watching almost all of their home games this year on TV. Of course, now I can't think of any of the songs. I do know that erstwhile closer Huston Street uses this as his "theme song", which I find pretty bad ass.

Quick n' Dirty Division Series Predictions

Boston Red Sox vs. Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim

Myth: The Angels are the best team in the American League.

Fact: Notwithstanding their 100-win season, the Angels finished 10th in the AL in runs scored, 11th in on-base percentage and 9th in slugging. Boston played in an infinitely more difficult division, finished 2nd, 1st and 3rd in runs, OBP and SLG in the AL and features a pitching staff that can match-up arm-for-arm with Los Angeles. Should we ignore the Angels' 8-1 record vs. the Red Sox this season? You bet'cha.

Prediction: Red Sox in 4.

Chicago White Sox vs. Tampa Bay Rays

Myth: Three games in three days against three different opponents have sapped the White Sox dry.

Fact: Chicago is a much more challenging match-up for the Rays than Minnesota would've been. While the Twins success was based on putting the ball in play and doing just enough to eke out 'W's, the White Sox swing for the fences (1st in AL home runs – 234) and bludgeon opponents into submission. Tampa has a couple of starters who don't miss many bats and a couple of relievers prone to the long ball. Sorry, Cinderella.

Prediction: White Sox in 5.

Milwaukee Brewers vs. Philadelphia Phillies

Myth: The Brewers have a puncher's chance with CC Sabathia potentially pitching twice in this series.

Fact: Milwaukee isn't starting one dependable arm in any other game of this series. Game one starter Yovani Gallardo has thrown 24 innings this year and just four since May 1st. Who does that leave? Jeff Suppan? David Bush? Ted Higuera? Now, dig that Phillies line-up and commence with the bed wetting, Brewers.

Prediction: Phillies in 4.

Los Angeles Dodgers vs. Chicago Cubs

Myth: THIS is "next year", Cubs fans!

Fact: The Dodgers finished near the bottom in runs scored, home runs and slugging percentage, but I think they can get to this Cubs rotation. Carlos Zambrano hasn't looked at all impressive since his September 14 no-hitter and Rich Harden is reportedly enduring the same drop-off in velocity that plagued him during a brief ineffective stretch in Oakland earlier this season. "Good pitching beats good hitting" is one of the most tired (and inaccurate) clichés in baseball, but what the hell…

Prediction: Dodgers in 4.

TBG Drinks: StoneWall Ale (Stone Brewing Company)

12.80% ABV

In June 2006, I attended a VIP event at the Stone Brewing Company in Escondido, CA. OK, truth be told, I was an invited guest of the guy who was actually invited to the shindig. The celebration was being held in advance of the brewery's new restaurant and included menu samples, beer tastings and an ultra-limited release of StoneWall Ale.

Every invitee was handed a 22 oz. bottle of the secret suds. Conversely, invited guests of the invitees received nothing. More than two years later, I thought my lasting memory of the event would be the god-awful fried Brussels sprouts and thick-as-a-brick over-battered onion rings. So, it was quite the surprise when m'man invited me over on Monday night to watch the game(s), eat his wife's cooking and drink his aged alcohol.

Mr. S poured the brownish-orange nectar into a pair of pint glasses and, admittedly, I was a little leery. If you order a bad beer in public, you can trade it out for something else. Here, I was stuck. The whole evening revolved around the epic unveiling – after 27 months! – of this heavily-hyped brew.

What if it had aged too long?

What if it hadn't aged long enough?

What if it tasted like ass?

Turns out this beer was the absolute antithesis of "ass", my friends.

Shockingly smooth, with sweet (but not too sweet) notes of caramel and toffee, it finished with a sharply contrasting climax. Each sip was the equivalent of oral sex followed by a glancing kick to the crotch at the end – you feel it the first time, but once you know it's coming, it's not so bad.

Sadly, this was a one-time brewing, but it might've been enough to convince me to join the fraternity of beer aficionados who snobbishly turn their noses up at [in British accent] convenience store beer, yet can't appreciate the irony of walking past the Bud Light to get to the tin of self-serve jerky.

Grade: 500 (out of 5)

Flipping Thru: Entertainment Weekly - 10/3/08

"I was convinced an Obama/McCain campaign would be measurably different on almost all standards. And to watch it become Bush/Kerry, Bush/Gore, has been one of the most dissatisfying experiences." - Jon Stewart

Just a terrific cover story/interview in this past week's EW with Comedy Central's Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. I don't watch either The Daily Show or The Colbert Report, but I've read some of Stewart's previous "can I be serious" screeds on politics and the mainstream media.

My disillusionment with the American political process has metastasized into an acrid disgust and Stewart and Colbert capture many of the reasons why. Colbert's comment on the "…14 voters in Boca…" proving the creation of "political science" was equally awesome.

You. Read. Now.

The Tee-Ball Chronicles – Week #1

Dateline, San Diego – Jalen Cameron, 4 ½, reported to his first tee-ball spring fall training earlier than his (middle)namesake ever did…a full 15 minutes! Here are last Saturday's highlights from South Village Neighborhood Park.

6 Teams, 3 Time Slots, 1 Depressed Dad: There were 11:00 AM, 12 noon and 1:00 PM slots available. We wanted noon, but got stuck with 1 o'clock. Kids in the early session get to be Yankees or Red Sox, at noon their options are Padres and Dodgers, while the 1:00 PM teams are the Pirates…and A's!. "Attention, everybody!. Let's all give thanks to the Leader for this glorious day!" A 50/50 chance for me my son to live his dream! And, of course, he ends up being a Pirate.

I Am NOT Making This Up: At check-in, all the (ugh) Pirates gathered around "Coach Chris" and gave their names. Right before Jalen, there was a little boy named David. David Eckstein. The coach looked at the dad and asked, "Isn't there a 'David Eckstein' in the big leagues?" The dad looked like he'd never had anyone ask him that before and sheepishly responded, "I dunno. There might be." "There MIGHT be?!" Jalen's teammate is David Eckstein and I'm only 30% sure the little tyke isn't the 30-something version. (Yes, yes, you all saw that line coming, but I still went there.) Don't get David's grit in your eyes, son.

Jalen's First Baseball Nickname: The boy is clearly reading his old man's mind, because Jalen is pretty bummed about not being on the A's. Every time the coach addressed the Pirates, Jalen responded, "I'm an Oakland A." Patiently, the coach looked at my son and said, "OK, Jalen. I'll just call you 'Oakland'." AIEEEEEEEEE! I NEVER had a cool nickname growing up – and, for those of you who've known me more than a minute, don't forget that I moderate comments 'round here. Now, on his first day of practice, my son has a handle that's a bazillion times more bad ass than "Cam".

Scouting Report – Fielding/Throwing: The coaches had set up three stations for the first day of practice. We started with fielding and throwing. Jalen rigidly took a few groundballs from me and seemed fine as long as they were right at him with minimal bounce. He moves falls down to his right and left with equal aplomb, though. His next nickname: "DH". And, since he was blessed with his dad's bony girl arms, all the technique in the world couldn't keep our game of catch from turning into even more groundball training. For both of us.

Scouting Report - Baserunning: My son would run all day if he could. I realize that I'm on borrowed time here, as Jalen will soon realize there are several other sports that promote physical movement more than tee-ball/baseball. But, for now, it came as no surprise that Jalen was the fastest kid on the team. He zipped around the basepaths with all the awkward, false hustle of Eric Byrnes, but like ol' Byrnsie, the fans will give my son a pass because he's so darn cute doing it.

Scouting Report - Hitting: Every kid got 12 swings off the tee and once the boy found out that he couldn't run after hitting the ball, his interest fell off with each increasingly lackluster hack. With all the bat speed of me, he somehow started to stroke the ball to the opposite field, then to the opposite foul territory – and not in the Tony Gwynn "meant to do that" context, either – finally, the poor hitting tee took brunt of his last three swings.

A "Pirates!" team cheer at the end wrapped up the hour and Jalen went off to the playground to roughhouse with his best friend. His first game is in two weeks and…well, we gots some work to do. It'll take commitment and focus from both of us, so…hey, ice cream man! Ice cream man!

An ice cream truck pulled up after practice (you'd have thought he was waiting for us!) and I enjoyed my first-ever Choco Taco. Seven more weeks of this? I'm in.

TBG Sees: Playhouse Disney Live on Tour

6:00 PM: After our surprisingly satisfying meal at Chick-fil-A, The Bootleg Family began the short walk across the parking lot towards our city's crumbling 1975 entertainment archetype – the San Diego Sports Arena.

6:05 PM: The east entrance appears to be closed as it's cordoned off with what appears to be canary yellow crime scene tape.

6:10 PM: The north entrance isn't open, either. They're not seriously filtering 2,000 people through one entrance are they?

6:15 PM: Sho' nuff, it seems. The line for the west entrance isn't too long, but the realization of only one way in is beginning to register with all the other lollygaggers. In seconds, this line is now snaking through the parking lot and blocking cars from coming through.

6:16 PM: There's an off-duty hooker or stripper or pro athlete's wife immediately behind us and her grotesquely enormous store-bought boobs appear to be the only things on her not ravaged by the hands of father time, the hands of her pimp smacking her or her obvious smack habit. Oh, look, she brought two of her bastard kids. Adorable.

6:20 PM: With 10 minutes until show time, the length of the line is officially "airport security". Amazingly, we're already inside, but there's no way they start this thing on time with half the audience wrapped around the outside of the arena.

6:25 PM: At last count, San Diego's population was about 1.2 million – so what are the odds that I run into a father I know standing in the same souvenir line as me with the same juxtaposed emotions of love for his child and hatred for himself after handing over $20 for a glow-in-the-dark Little Einsteins baton.

6:28 PM: We pass a concession stand and I briefly entertain the notion of a Sam Adams with my Mickey Mouse evening. I think better of it when I realize that Mrs. Bootleg could use it against me during our inevitable alimony hearing.

6:30 PM: Our seats are in the lower loge section (pronounced "lodge" by Mrs. Bootleg on more than one occasion). Not bad, actually. We're elevated one section above the floor seats and pretty much dead center with the stage. $25/each. (Sorry, but when you buy as many tickets to ballgames each year as me, you have to take pride in landing decent seats – even if it's for an indecent event.)

6:35 PM: The show still hasn't started.

6:40 PM: The show still hasn't started.

6:45 PM: The show still hasn't…ah, there we go. The arena lights are turned off and immediately half of the toddlers/preschoolers in the audience shriek in fright, which causes the infants in the crowd to cry in response. If you had told me that the adjective "bloodcurdling" would be used in this review, I doubt I'd have believed you.

Hey, it's a six foot tall Mickey Mouse! Historically, our son Jalen has been deathly afraid of lukewarm towards the costumed Disney characters, but he's giggling with unrestrained glee. I hope he remembers these moments when he's selecting my retirement home, someday.

6:50 PM: Mickey's doing a bit with our (relatively) non-costumed hostess for the evening. She's playing a mail carrier and the cardboard faux setting is the post office. The name of the non-costumed character? "The Postess". I would've gone with "Fe-mail man". ("Fe-mail carrier, Bart.")

(So, here's the plot: Mickey's having a music party and – via the magic of cross-promotional synergy and Playhouse Disney platform integration – all his "friends" from the other TV shows are invited.)

7:00 PM: The Postess is off to deliver the invitations with her first stop being the home of The Little Einsteins.

Little Einsteins is a cartoon featuring a multi-racial cast of four preschoolers – "Leo" (white); "Annie" (white); "Quincy" (brutha); "June" (ethnicity undetermined…it seems pretty clear to me she's a poorly-drawn Asian, but Mrs. Bootleg swears she's supposed to be white. These are the arguments you'll be having in your 30s, so screw you for judging me.)

The parts of the Little Einsteins are being played by their parents this evening. "Leo's" voice is actually lower than mine. Meanwhile, the "Quincy" character is reading his lines with an awful lot of "You go, girl" considering he's a 20-something man playing a 5-year-old boy.

7:05 PM: We're now off to the Hundred Acre Wood, home of Winnie the Pooh. This is probably my boy's favorite show (this week). It's the same Pooh/Tigger formula y'all remember, but with a little white girl named Darby thrown in to the mix. The three of them solve "mysteries", like the one where they couldn't figure out why duplicates of themselves were running around the forest. Turns out they were looking in a mirror.

Jalen has nearly lost his mind at this point, looking at me, then at his mom – still giggling uncontrollably – with that "this is the greatest day of my little life" look on his face.

I've just noticed that the Pooh and Tigger costumes can blink their "eyes", while their "mouths" move in reasonably close synchronicity with the overdubbed dialogue. Creepy or cool? Answer: creepy.

7:10 PM: A real, live Handy Manny is onstage now. I'm not as familiar with that show, as Jalen's only just recently started to watch, but here's the gist: Manny (voiced by Wilmer Valderrama) is a Hispanic handyman who peppers his lightly-accented English with Spanish words and phrases in a way that EVERY Hispanic since Ricky Ricardo has been portrayed on TV even though I've never known one to say, "I'm going to the biblioteca." He's helped out by a bunch of talking tools.

Hard to believe Valderrama didn't have time in his hectic schedule to play the part of Manny here. Topher Grace isn't walking through that door, Wilmer.

7:15 PM: Intermission? After 30 minutes?!

7:30 PM: We're back with the Little Einsteins, who've returned with samples of music from around the world. In what would be the most unintentionally offensive n' comedic moments of the evening, the Einsteins demonstrate several different dances.

First, an actor made up to look like Soda Popinski does an embarrassingly exaggerated version of this dance.

From there, a heavily-veiled, almost certainly non-Indian woman is out to a traditional Indian dance. We know it's an "Indian" dance because the "Leo" character is off to the side of the stage blowing a pungi and playing the role of snake charmer – complete with fake cobra rising from a basket.

I was not aware that Italy's tarantella dance had anything to do with a tarantula spider. So, to hammer the point home, a rubber spider is lowered from above on a string and jerked around by the stagehand while the characters dance under it.

Next, is a Chinese dance that's so bad and poorly choreographed that I can't help but think it was performed as an insulting retaliation for China's human rights violations and six-year-old gymnasts.

Their grand finale is an African dance. Simply put, it fell between this…and this on the ol' bojangle scale.

7:45 PM: Mickey Mouse is back out on stage and brings Minnie, Goofy and Donald Duck with him. Donald is pointing his tail feathers towards the audience when he dances, which is an immediate crowd pleaser with Jalen, who finds anything related to the butt inexplicably hilarious.

8:00 PM: The show ends with all the characters doing abbreviated versions of their respective dance numbers. Speaking of "abbreviated", I'd like to thank the Disney conglomerate for the hour of entertainment.

TBG Eats: Chick-fil-A

Current Weight: 167.0 lbs.

I don't want to say it's been a long, long time since I last ate at Chick-fil-A, but my most recent visit was at a location in a mall next to a place called The Space Station – the coolest video arcade to open in 1983.

In the 25 years since then, it seemed that Chick-fil-A and I were always playing a sort of gastrointestinal phone tag. Perhaps I'd drive past during one of my many short-lived attempts to eat better. Or, maybe Mrs. Bootleg bitchily didn't wanna spend her birthday dinner there (emphasis hers). And, if I had a nickel for all the times we ended up in the vicinity of a Chick-fil-A on a Sunday…

So, it was quite the surprise when the planets aligned this past Friday.

The Bootleg Family had tickets for (sigh) Playhouse Disney Live on Tour at the San Diego Sports Arena. We arrived about 45 minutes early for the 6:30 PM show and within the dated, aging arena complex is a Red Lobster. And, a Chick-fil-A!

It took a lot for me to break Disney's hypnotic hold on my son ("I wanna see Mickey Mouse!"), but a quick yank of his fallen, crying carcass from the parking lot asphalt and we were off n' eatin'!

Back in the early 80s, I was decades ahead of today's childhood obesity craze. Like the rest of the fat and unloved, I substituted food for hugs and seemed to remember this place's teeny chicken sandwiches rarely satisfying my enormous eight-year-old appetite.

Today's original Chick-fil-A sandwich is a decent-sized piece of white meat, breaded and seasoned…with the tears of Jesus. I cannot overstate how delicious this simple lil' sammich was, kids. The golden bird is shoved into the same ol' toasted buttered bun and topped with two pickle slices. These innocuous ingredients merge to form an awesomely edible Devastator. Our son smoked his four chicken nuggets like crispy crack rocks, too.

I wish Chick-fil-A's waffle fries could catch up with their chicken, as mine were bland, dry and, most egregiously, practically salt-free. I shan't hold this against the kids working the counter at the Sports Arena location, though. Just, make way for the bird.

Grade (Original Chicken Sandwich): 5 (out of 5)
Grade (Waffle Fries): 1