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Part I – Part II – Part III – Part IV
Saturday, March 14
11:00 AM - Despite the fact that I'm on vacation AND it's Saturday, I'm gently persuaded by my management to dial in to a teleconference with the Unnamed Defense Contractor. Unfortunately, the first three months of the year are "personal review" and "merit increase determination" season, so the decision has been made for me.
11:30 AM - Still on the cell phone as we leave for the A's spring home – Phoenix Municipal Stadium. After 30 minutes, I've offered up about a dozen cogent sentences and been on mute the rest of the time. First time I've ever taken part of a conference call in the restroom, too.
12:00 PM - After 60 minutes of administrative nonsense and with NO end in sight, my Blue Tooth dies. Or, as I will tell my colleagues on Monday, "my cell phone died". I debate with Mrs. Bootleg on whether this is a lie. She says, "yes", I say, "yes, but who gives a…". Looking back, there was merit with both our positions.
12:30 PM - Phoenix Municipal Stadium is the Spring Training equivalent of the Oakland Coliseum. It's old, outdated and compared to all the new "mallpark" ballparks, it's a sack of crap. With only baseball to occupy the boy's attention, I silently wonder how long this afternoon will actually last.
12:35 PM - The answer, apparently, is "an eternity". Jalen is asking where the kids' field is, to which I respond, "they ain't got one". He then begs and pleads to go back to the Indians' spring ballpark. And, in one of those "married people moments", I gauge Mrs. Bootleg by suggesting (and, fellas, it HAS to be in a "jokey" way) that she take the boy away, lest he ruins my our whole afternoon. Step 1: plant the seed.
12:45 PM - M'man "JPinAZ" is at the game with his young daughter. As luck would have it, he's sitting just a few rows behind That Bootleg Family. Jalen and his daughter are almost the same age. I mention to Mrs. Bootleg that JP is sitting in our vicinity. She turns, establishes eye contact and waves. I then offhandedly remark on how well the kids played together when we met for dinner two nights earlier. Step 2: water the seed. (Be careful not to over-water!)
1:00 PM - OMG! OMG! OMG! Rickey Henderson is on hand to throw out the ceremonial first pitch~! And, might I add, he looks resplendent in a pair of lime green linen slacks. His throw is high and away, as Jason Giambi can't be bothered to rise out of his ceremonial first crouch. Your indifference isn't winning over THIS fan, Giambi.
1:15 PM - Jason Giambi homers to right! I never stopped loving you, G!
1:16 PM - Landon Powell homers to right! Jesus, he's fat!
1:45 PM - Step 3: HARVEST! Mrs. Bootleg spontaneously offers to take Jalen and JP's daughter over to the stadium's miserable kid's area, thereby freeing up her seat for m'man JP. I'm doubtful that JP would trust his first born with my wife. It's just that, in this day and age, parents are hyper-paranoid and convinced that no one can protect their child like they can.
1:46 PM - Mrs. Bootleg and the kids are gone, as JP settles in next to me. His paranoia is apparently in remission.
3:30 PM - Never let it be said that I don't praise the wife in these parts. She kept the kids for close to two hours, somehow keeping them entertained within the confines of a 45-year-old facility. I don't wanna tip my hand, but me thinks someone has earned a Mother's Day feast at Applebee's this year!
3:45 PM - Game's over, A's win. JP has invited me out for beers later in the evening. It's my last night in Arizona. Now, I'm not sure how white women would react in this situation, but I do know how Mrs. Bootleg would react. Here now is a helpful five-minute video to illustrate my point. NSFW!
4:30 PM - On the way back to our hotel, we stop at Scottsdale Fashion Square Mall so that I can score points with the wife the wife can go shopping.
5:15 PM - As Jalen and I finally leave The Disney Store, we run into former Major League reliever Lee Smith! Dude looks tremendous, save for a limp that might make Heather Mills wince. I wanted to say 'hey', but he was with his family and inhaling a quart of frozen yogurt.
6:30 PM - We're back in our room. It's pretty much now or never, so I subtlety float the notion to Mrs. Bootleg of a "guy's night out" while on vacation with my family. Fortunately for me, my brazen request is muted by the amount of love she has for JP, so it's a go!
6:45 PM - I'd promised Jalen that we could go swimming. I'm not crazy about the water, as my underdeveloped musculature provides for about 10 minutes of a bad Aquaman impression before my spindly little arms and legs completely shut down.
7:15 PM - 30 minutes later, rigor mortis has set in on my saturated corpse. Mrs. Bootleg is toweling down the boy, while I'm discovering the difference in temperature between a heated pool and the nighttime air in Arizona. I literally can't f'ing move.
7:30 PM - Armed with only my singular will – and a dozen or so complementary towels from the pool area – I make it back to my room. I realize that I still haven't let JP know that we're on for later in the evening. I'll call him just as soon as I dry off.
7:32 PM - Zzzzzz…
3:15 AM - Aw, crap.
"Once in a great while, we are privileged to experience [an] event so extraordinary, it becomes part of our shared heritage. 1969 – Man walks on the moon. 1971 – Man walks on the moon…again. Then, for a long time, nothing happened."
Until April 6.
Sonic is coming to San Diego County, kids! But, let's not lose our minds here. (1) Santee is close to a 30 minute drive from where I live and work. I figure I'll only be able to eat there every other day. (2) Santee has one of the more "colorful" nicknames of any city in America. (3) There's no way that the menu could live up to my own hype.
Oh, who am I kidding? AIEEEEEEE!
Part I – Part II – Part III
Friday, March 13
12:55 PM - Indians Hall of Fame pitcher and cantankerous curmudgeon Bob Feller is signing for free on the concourse. I wasn't interested, but later I'd hear from people sitting around us how he allegedly told two kids to turn their hats around before he'd sign and another to address him as "Mr. Feller". If we go back next year and Feller's signing again, you can bet I'm baiting him for the blog. "'Sup, Bob?"
1:05 PM - At first pitch, the announced game time temperature is 80°. For the uninitiated, 80° represented the "walking around temperature". It's what you feel when you cross the street or otherwise are out and about. What's not factored in is the "ballpark index" – or BPI. It's a complex formula of weighted averages including, but not limited to, the stadium's intimate seating; the acrid stench of 6,000 people simultaneously applying sun block; an abject lack of shade and VORP. The BPI is 180°. Easily.
1:15 PM - A's starter Dana Eveland is having a little trouble finding the strike zone. Spring Training games don't usually get this arduous until the sixth or seventh inning, but Eveland appears determined to get a look at every Indians hitter by the end of the first inning. I offer to get Mrs. Bootleg a ballpark snack and, like always, she opts for nachos.
1:25 PM - I've walked the entire concourse and not ONE stand is selling nachos. Well, there is a "Super Nachos" kiosk down the right field line that offers chips, shredded cheddar cheese, choice of meat, choice of beans, lettuce, tomatoes, guacamole, sour cream and black olives – a mountain of Mexican heaven for $6.99. But, when it comes to baseball nachos, Mrs. Bootleg is a purist: chips, day-glo "cheese" goo and soggy jalapeños. Hey, she's from Utah. That's considered ethnic cuisine out there.
1:30 PM - Mrs. Bootleg settles for a hot dog, while I order something called a "Cleveland Dog".
1:35 PM - GLORIOUS~! I've just finished a quarter-pound wiener topped with honey-chipotle barbecue sauce, two strips of fatty bacon and a fistful of diced onions. If this hot dog is indeed representative of all Ohio cuisine, then I'm proud to welcome our Buckeye friends into the pantheon of states, commonwealths and provinces that I officially recognize. Current list: California, New York and British Columbia.
2:15 PM - Mrs. Bootleg places her dessert order, "Vanilla – soft serve". During my recent 10K walk back and forth along the concourse, I only noticed hand-scooped stands, but the wife swears that she saw a soft serve kiosk on our way in. Do you think she remembered where it was? Of course not.
2:25 PM - I return with a scoop of chocolate for the boy and a scoop of vanilla for the wife. Mrs. Bootleg gives me some of that patented Black woman "you KNOW I prefer soft serve" attitude, which went on for the entirety of the three licks and one great big bite it took her to finish an ice cream ball as big as my head.
3:00 PM - I'd promised Jalen that we'd return to the "kids diamond" before we left. By now, it's packed with nearly a dozen kids – pre-teen and older – who seem not to realize that (1) there's still a REAL game going on and (2) this diamond – and its plastic bats and balls – was meant for a much younger demographic. Knowing the snotty and disrespectful teenage generation of today, I explain to Jalen that he won't likely get to play.
3:30 PM - As I suspected, the older kids welcomed Jalen with open arms. No, seriously, they did. They shoehorned him into their batting order, let him chase after fly balls and taught him a convoluted high-five/fist bump celebratory gesture. Pretty sure the Jack Cust autograph just slipped into second place on the list of Jalen's favorite moments from the afternoon.
Next: A "guy's night out" while on a family vacation! Or not.
Current Weight: 168.2 lbs.
Menu
Jalen's Smokin' Hot Babysitter arrived at 6:30 PM. She and her (sad, exasperated sigh) boyfriend just celebrated six months of childless, nonbinding dating. They went wine tasting and, in her words, "Everybody there was old, like, 40". She then completed her heel turn by gently needling me about my attire for the evening: a well-worn long-sleeve SDSU T-shirt and XXL Jordan shorts.
But, instead of our infrequent n' expensive date nights, I suggested to Mrs. Bootleg that we try something that didn't involve valet parking, making reservations or cumbersome belly restrictions like belts.
M'man Smitty recommended Tioli's. He came down from L.A. and hit up this place. The restaurant is about as big as a shoebox and it's not exactly in the best neighborhood (my old (Black) barbershop is about 100 yards away!), but I was sold on the potential blog fodder of the menu.
Here now is my conversation with Mrs. Bootleg on the drive down:
Mrs. Bootleg: "Did you look at the menu online? Do you know what you're going to get?"
Me: "Yeah. I think I'm getting three different burgers."
Mrs. Bootleg: "What? Wait, are they like mini-burgers?"
Me: "No, they're full size burgers. I wanna try more than one."
Mrs. Bootleg: "How much is this going to cost?"
Me: "It'll still be cheaper than our usual night out."
Mrs. Bootleg: "Wait…is this for your blog?"
For the record, no one – and I mean no one – can nail the subtle disdain and derisiveness required to delicately crap all over this lightly-read blog like Mrs. Bootleg.
We exit the freeway and I casually point out a hooker sashaying gracefully up the street. Mrs. Bootleg cranes her neck as if she were gawking at a three-car pileup. Me thinks she's lived in the good part of town a little too long.
After we park, we walk around the corner and enter the restaurant. The line to the counter is at least eight deep and there's not a free seat in the building.
This is not a good thing. See, I don't mind the wait and I know a seat will open up soon. It's just that the wait will give my wife time to talk herself out of a traditional cheeseburger and opt for something relatively daring.
My wife doesn't DO "daring". Once in awhile she'll deviate from her usual, like a strawberry-banana smoothie, and try the peach-mango or instead of the lasagna, she'll order the seafood linguini. This usually ends with her eating/drinking whatever I ordered, while I'm stuck with her inedible leftovers. Undeterred, she ordered the #29 (Blue Crab & Surimi Burger).
I stuck to my guns, looked the counter monkey square in the eye and ordered three quarter-pound burgers for myself: #24 (Tatonka (Buffalo)), #35 (Kangaroo) and #39 (Antelope). And, a basket of fries. Man, I hate when the french fries are a la carte. At McDonald's, sure…the fries are a well-marketed, individual menu item. But, in a real restaurant? Come on.
I'm about halfway through my pint of Stone Smoked Porter (ON TAP~!) when our food comes. Hilariously, the guy bringing our burgers does three or four laps around the dining area, looking for the party of four who ordered all this grub. Let's do this thang:
#24 – Tatonka (Buffalo): Like all of Tioli's burgers, this is topped with lettuce, tomatoes, red onions and pickles on a Kaiser roll. It comes served with a smear of creamed horseradish, as well. The meat was lean and tender, remaining juicy despite the abject lack of sweet, sweet fat. The smoky aftertaste appealed to my tongue. The only real demerit was the horseradish. It was cut with so much damn cream that it killed its own kick. And, look…it's got theme music! Grade: 4 (out of 5)
#29 – Blue Crab: Mrs. Bootleg loves her some crab cakes. This "burger" was just a pair of densely textured, insanely well-seasoned crab cakes on a bun. By themselves, they would've been on the short list of best crab cakes I've ever eaten. With "all the fixins", too much of their flavor was muddled. The chili-cilantro sauce was the right accompaniment; however I can't go five stars here. Grade: 4.5
#35 – Kangaroo: For those wondering, I only ate half of my three burgers and about a quarter of Mrs. Bootleg's. Before finishing each half, I made a point of popping a piece of the meat (sans condiments) in my mouth. This one was going OK in its loaded burger form. As stated above, I wasn't digging the faux horseradish, but the rest of it was inoffensive. Then, I tried the meat by itself – WAY gamey, with an aftertaste that messed with my mouth for the rest of the night. Don't waste your time, Sylvester. Grade: 2
#35 – Antelope: Ah, the antelope…eternal animal kingdom jobber to lions everywhere. And, now I understand why. The meat was firm, but melted away like cotton candy in every bite. The smoked chili sauce provided the right compliment of spice. Now, after 800-some words, it's late and I'm tired. Jules, take us home. Grade: 4.5
I know you're out there. If you felt a bit alienated by my 30-part preview of your 2009 Oakland A's, then m'man Tom Daniels has the cure for what ails you. Find out which New York Met will be murdered, which Met Tom's got a mancrush on this week and the first "Chris Russo" reference anywhere, since Mad Dog moved to Siberia.
The Good:
As a rule, I'm generally disdainful towards child actors. It's my fervent belief that none of 'em actually act. Sure, they can take direction, but that's not "acting", it's "imitating". (For the adult version, see Jamie Foxx in Ray.) But, damn, did Sterling Beaumon ("Young Ben") nail that performance or what? His manipulative lilt to the "I think I can help you" line was vintage, well…"Ben".
Jesus, that whole sequence between Young Ben and his dad was intense and uncomfortable. Beaumon captured the abject terror of an abused child, while Jon Gries hit all the simmering notes of the loser who takes it all out, physically and emotionally, on his son. The writers have explored this avenue before, but I was really feeling sympathy for Boy Ben here.
As a proud Kate-hater, I was pleased to see that imbecilic walking-talking waffle bar, Hurley, break the news that Sawyer and Juliet are an item. That's for those cruel and hurtful things you said to John Locke earlier this season. Not so proud now, are you, Kate?
Zuleikha Robinson's proper introduction as "Ilana" was all kinds of James Bond-cheeseball, but her inherent hotness has earned her a pass this week. Oh, those boots…
"A 12-year-old Benjamin Linus brought me a chicken salad sandwich. How do you think I'm doing?"
The Bad:
"I'm gonna have to take this to the next level." Really, Horace? That's your threat? The writers didn't do your character any favors with your first name and now they've got you spouting one-dimensional bluster.
See? See? I told you people how unwatchable this Sawyer-Kate-Juliet nonsense would be. But, no…I was shouted down and mocked by my peers in the blogosphere. "Sawyer's going to tell Kate to pound sand when she comes back to the island", you said. "Juliet's too strongly written to be sucked into such a tired cliché", you said. Meanwhile, a pan full of delicious bacon burned because Juliet was worried that it was over between her and Sawyer. SEE?!
It was a little disappointing to have Sawyer established as a strong, respected leader all season, only to have him so hastily neutered in the face of a real crisis. Pacing and face-scrunching can only take you so far, James.
Isn't Sayid like some sort of professional killer? Pretty sure that particular skill set has been explored in an episode or two. So, why does Sayid NOT double-check that Young Ben is dead? I dunno…just seems like something you'd wanna be sure of. Really sure.
The Verdict: A strong episode chock full o' great pacing and a terrific finish. However, the character development has been all over the map, recently. Is Sawyer a leader or isn't he? And, how much longer are you Juliet fans going to be in denial about the dumbing down of her character? At least we get a Kate episode this week. Whew…haven't seen enough of her the last two weeks. Hope Jack gets a cameo!
Acquired: Traded from Chicago (NL) (February 2, 2009).
Contract: One year thru 2009. Eligible for arbitration after 2009 season.
Position: Middle inning anonymity.
Projected ERA: 3.98
Over/Under: In 262 career big league innings, Wuertz has struck out 270. His home run per nine innings rate is less than one and his career ERA is 3.57. Still, the Cubs farmed him out to Triple-A for extended periods in two of the last three seasons. Wuertz has had a brutal first spring with the A's (10 ER in 9 1/3 innings), but he's fanned 13 batters. No f'ing clue what to make of this guy. His sliderrific ways could bring back memories of Kiko Calero. His recent "better against righties" tendency could evoke the ghost of Jim Mecir. For A's fans, these aren't good things. OVER.
By the Numbers: 265 – Number of relief appearances Wuertz made with the Cubs, which was eighth most in franchise history. The short list includes names like Lee Smith and Bruce Sutter. I think I speak for all hardcore baseball fans, when I say "thank you, Tony LaRussa" for bringing bullpen micromanagement into sixth through ninth innings of every game. Without it, names like Wuertz and Paul Assenmacher wouldn't get to share relief pitching real estate with a pair of debatable Hall of Famers. (Yes, I know Sutter IS in.)
Surefire '09 Prediction: I will get NO credit for introducing the catchphrase, "Hey, it could be Wuertz" into the 2009 lexicon of A's fans. Y'see, we'll use it whenever one of our relievers struggles or blows a save. For example: Brad Ziegler gives up a 500-foot walk-off bomb to end a game. I'll turn to m'boy Smitty and say, "Hey, it could be Wuertz". I imagine we'll both laugh uproariously, thereby turning our post-game frowns upside down.
