10 20 Thoughts: The Truncated HOF Travel Diary

I really wanted to put together some sort of grand travel diary to capture last weekend's cross-country excursion to Cooperstown – I took notes and everything! Unfortunately, my current workload with the Unnamed Defense Contractor is ruining my usual lunchtime writing sessions. So, in an effort to keep from becoming one of those bloggers who sometimes goes a week between posts, we'll use this format. I'll even attempt to NOT regurgitate any of my updates from Facebook and Twitter. I make no promises.

I finally upgraded my cell phone for this trip, trading up to the Verizon enV Touch. I hate going to any cell phone retailer, though. I fall for every up-sell in the book (although the Body Glove-brand phone casing I bought is pretty bad-ass). Oh, and as the sales guy scrolled through my old phone's pictures to see if they could be transferred without a memory stick, I'm pretty sure he came across a shot of Mrs. Bootleg. My wife sent me that pic before "sexting" entered America's lexicon. Consequently – as I told my wife – her bare breasts are grandfathered in as "art".

On my Friday morning flight out of San Diego, I sat next to an older couple – the wife had the window seat, her husband was in the middle and I'm on the aisle. We were airborne for all of eight minutes when the husband fell asleep. I relied on my iPod to cancel out his wild boar snoring, I looked the other way as his drool pooled into his lap, but – for the life of me – I could not escape his hairy leg. It didn't matter that I moved as far away from him as I could in coach seating (approximately three inches to the left) this corpse's calf consistently came in contact with mine. This isn't about macho posturing. It's just gross. A female friend of mine from New York once told me that her and her friends often go weeks in the winter without shaving their legs. I threw up for two days when I heard this.

After we'd landed in Atlanta, the couple next to me asked where I was headed. I mentioned Cooperstown and the whole Hall of Fame thing to which the woman replied, "Wait, are YOU getting inducted?"

I hadn't even reached baggage claim in Albany when I passed two separate Mets fans within a few feet of each other. The first was wearing Mets Crocs(!) with black socks and a black Mets t-shirt. The second guy was an obvious XXL in a medium-size shirt, mustache and the thickest rope chain I've ever seen. It reached his stomach! On a white guy! And, neither one answered to my call of "Tom?"

My cab driver from the hotel to Bombers Burrito Bar was a guy named Frankie. I'd estimate that the ride was no more than 10 minutes and less than five miles. In that time, Frankie clued me in on Albany's inferiority complex ("[Everyone in NYC] thinks we're all 'citybillies' up here, but f*ck 'em…that's what I say."); the difference between women on the west and east coasts ("Guys like me can be fat out here cuz, when they get to their 30s, east coast women stop taking care of themselves and don't care what you look like, either."); and umm… ("I can take you to where the p***y-to-d**k ratio is like 4-to-1.")

M'man Daniels recommended Bombers' jerk burrito and, God almighty, it was glorious. It's a total two-man lift swollen with spicy shredded pork that's marinated in Red Stripe beer. I know! But, it's STILL good! It's rare that I get this excited about a single meal, but it must've shown as the server actually asked if I wanted another one.

I got back to my room just before 4:00 AM. At least, I think that's when I got back. I remember paying the fare for my cab ride and checking the time on my phone. No lie, kids…the next thing I remember is waking up completely naked in my room on the bathroom floor. Five days later, I still don't know what the hell happened.

After several days of internal debate, I'm not ready to put Albany's bar scene into my personal top three (you're safe for now: San Francisco, Austin and Washington DC), but it's close enough to make it into the class picture. Good music, great crowds without being claustrophobic, approachable patrons who initiated idle conversation with whoever was in the vicinity and my first whiskey with a pickle juice backshot! All weekend long, in every bar I went to, someone I'd never met before bought me at least one drink. Where else on planet earth does this happen?

On Saturday, Cooperstown's main drag was crawling with ballplayers. In an endless array of 1989 baseball card show scenes, most were set up at autograph tables and charging up to $200 (kiss my Black ass, Willie Mays) for a signature. For the second time this year, I crossed paths with erstwhile reliever Lee Smith. As he limped by, I blurted out, "We gotta get you in the Hall." He laughed and replied, "Keep fighting the fight, youngblood." Gosh, Mr. Smith, I sure will!

Pete Rose was signing autographs in a Cooperstown memorabilia shop, as he always is during Induction Weekend. His appearance was sponsored by a…"mature" production company that brought two scantily-clad "actresses" along to stand out front and drum up foot traffic. These women were bookended by two bodyguards who discouraged – physically discouraged – anyone who attempted to take a picture of the ladies.

What's the biggest difference between east coast/west coast sports fans? Women. I saw ladies of all ages wearing Yankees/Red Sox jerseys, t-shirts and caps. Mothers, daughters, teens, seniors…all of 'em. Here in California, you'll get a decent demographic cross-section representing at the games, but you'll NEVER see women wearing team gear of any kind away from the ballpark. Out here, the best a guy can hope for is landing a woman that'll tolerate sports.

Still feeling the events of the previous night, I grab a greasy slice from Cooperstown's Sal's Pizzeria. I enter as Sal is getting into it with two customers who can't decide if they're paying together or separately. Pfft…I'm an elitist from California and even I can hold my own in a New York pizzeria. I order a slice of spinach and a Coke. "A Coke? So, are you gonna tell what size you want?!", snaps Sal. "Is a medium OK? Is that what you want? Cuz 'a Coke' doesn't mean nuthin' to me." I didn't mean to upset you, Sal.

Late in the day, I'm sitting on the steps outside of the Hall of Fame museum and fumbling with my new cell phone. An elderly lady walks right up to me, stares for a few moments and asks, "Are you somebody important?" In hindsight, I wish I'd answered her in a million different ways other than the response I chose ("Uh, no.") She continued to look over her shoulder towards me as she walked away.

The touring group ended up at Jillian's of Albany for dinner on Saturday night. We were only there for about 90 minutes, so I sat at the bar and watched the A's/Yankees replay. The aspiring actress/bartender in booty shorts and a bustier comped me a beer and before long another half-dozen guys from the bus had waddled over. The only thing better than their bad pick-up lines ("Who's your favorite football team?!") was the intentionally loud assessment of the scene by a woman sitting next to me ("I think she's just working those guys for tips.")

While waiting for the shuttle to the induction site on Sunday, I chatted up one of the women working crowd control who just so happened to be white. "You remind me of my son", she said. "Same height, same complexion…except he's got a lot more hair." Since my mother is biracial, this whole scene shouldn't have been so jarring, but…yeah.

I came all the way out to Cooperstown to hear Rickey Henderson's induction speech in person and – inexplicably – it exceeded my expectations. The Reggie Jackson anecdote drew uproarious laughter from the crowd, the swerve at the end as Rickey sucked us all into believing we'd see an "I am the greatest…" encore was brilliantly delivered and his "my journey as a ballplayer is complete" line actually brought tears to my…wait, you know what? This deserves its own post.

Cheers: After being delayed at JFK for over an hour on Monday morning – 45 minutes of which were spent sitting on the plane as it never moved from the gate – Delta turned on their new(?) in-seat televisions for everyone. Jeers: For quite awhile, the only channel I could receive was ESPN2, which airs the unwatchable First Take program. Monday's show featured Woody Paige debating…2 Live Stews of "urban" sports-talk radio infamy.

My flight arrived in San Diego around lunchtime, but for some reason we were forced to sit a few hundred feet from our gate for an additional 15 minutes. As the captain attempted to explain the situation to the passengers, one belligerent slob with a Bronx accent loudly voiced his displeasure to anyone within earshot. He then steamrolled his way up the aisle – pushing and shoving – the moment the doors opened. I'll miss New York.

I can't wrap this up without saying a few words about Sports Travel and Tours – the outfit that hosted the Hall of Fame weekend for me. I had some fun at their expense last week, but the transportation was top-notch, the relaxed come-and-go-as-you-please itinerary was terrific and our travel coordinator was a hoot. He's a former employee of a certain Major League team and shared several behind-the-curtain tales, even naming names for the benefit of his rapt bus-ridin' audience. And, when I challenged him to name seven players from the Kansas City Royals, he replied "Johnny Damon". Just precious.

And, finally, much love to m'man Jon for showing me a great time all weekend. He's a longtime reader whom I'd never met before, but he took me around Albany's best bars on Friday night and then had me over for dinner at his sister's apartment on Sunday night. I've been doing this online writing thing for nearly seven years and I haven't been maimed or murdered by any of the readers I've met along the way. Thanks for keeping the streak alive, Jon.

Must...Finish...Travel...Diary

It's 12:15 AM. I have to be up in five hours. Check back later today, as I'm nearly finished with the Cooperstown Travel Diary. But, right now I've got to devote some time to weeding out the porn star/spam followers on my Twitter account with the legitimate ones.

Dragging My Phone into the 21st Century

Here's Friday morning's itinerary:

Depart from San Diego at 6:20 AM for Atlanta and then Atlanta to Albany.

The return flight on Monday leaves Albany at 6:20 AM for JFK and then New York to San Diego.

A weekend in Cooperstown at the Baseball Hall of Fame sandwiched between layovers in Chocolate City and the worst airport in America?

I can't make any promises, but my brand new Twitter account might come in handy this weekend, people.

AiAA: Buzzed Driving is Drunk Driving

We'll forgo the usual 700-word set-up and leave it at this: Am I the only one who is ridiculously creeped out by this whole "Buzzed Driving…" ad campaign?

TBG Travel Diary: Cooperstown, NY (The Prequel)

I'll be spending next weekend in Cooperstown watching Rickey Henderson and some other guy get inducted into baseball's Hall of Fame.

Mrs. Bootleg "surprised" me with the trip as a Christmas gift. And, by "surprised", I mean that I'd stumbled across various HOF-related (museum, travel/lodging rates in Albany, NY) website windows my wife left open in the weeks leading up to Jesus' most recent birthday. I was still able to pull of this reaction when I opened my gift on the morning of December 25:



But, my wife is just one little oft-annoying woman. For an upcoming TBG Travel Diary of this magnitude, she's joined forces with an outfit called Sports Travel and Tours. I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable with this. Mrs. Bootleg is the one who took on American Airlines AND Mother Nature to ensure I made my flight to see the A's play in old Yankee Stadium. She's been my non-work related travel agent for over a decade. I know her…I trust her.

Ooh, but Sports Travel and Tours sent me a pre-trip package last week! Mrs. Bootleg never did that for any of my long flights to the Bay Area. Let's crack this box open:

Host Profile: My "host" for the weekend will be Mr. Anthony (The Antman) Incampo. His one-page profile includes such need-to-know nuggets as his hometown ("Easthampton, MA – via Brooklyn"), his favorite player not in the Hall of Fame ("Don Mattingly/Derek Jeter") and one derogatory shot at the Red Sox. I'm setting the over/under of "number of players he can name from any team NOT in the AL or NL East" at 5.5. Place your bets.

Hotel: The enclosed information sheet tells me that my hotel is approximately seven miles from Albany International Airport with a courtesy shuttle that operates from 6:00 AM to 11:00 PM. This'll work out fine when I arrive, but my return flight to San Diego leaves Albany at 6:20 AM, so I'll have to arrange for a taxi. Since no one really uses taxis in California, I never know what to tip the driver. Three percent? Five?

Tip Envelopes: Speaking of which, there are actually a pair of "voluntary gratuity" envelopes included for both the host and the tour bus driver. I can't decide if I should treat this as NFL off-season workout "voluntary" or my job's charitable payroll deduction "voluntary".

Tour Bus: I've been assigned to Bus #2 which Sports Travel and Tours have nicknamed "Babe Ruth". Quaint. Then again, I'm the guy who named every table at his wedding reception after baseball players – with the blessing of my soon-to-be bride. The highlight of the wedding planning experience was finalizing the seating chart:

"I don't want 'Willie Mays' [Mrs. Bootleg's family's table] anywhere near us.", my fiancée complained.

"Well, I want my groomsmen right next to us at 'Dave Stewart'.", I declared.

"Fine. Just make sure we've got enough room at 'Deion Sanders' for the eight or ten of my co-workers who always get obnoxiously bombed at weddings.", Mrs. Bootleg said.

Good times.

Itinerary – Friday, July 24: I won't get into Albany until 5:00 PM, so it looks like I'll miss the "meet your tour host" reception at my hotel. Damn. On the plus side, I've got plans to meet longtime TBG reader/infrequent poster "NY Jon" at a place called Bombers Burrito Bar. I've never met Jon and, as of this writing, I only know three things about him: he's 6'6", African-American and gay. Six feet, six inches. People will be staring at him all weekend. Freak.

Itinerary – Saturday, July 25: The tour bus leaves Albany for Cooperstown at 8:00 AM and shows an "approximate arrival time" of 9:30 AM. Through my own independent verification, I've found a ringing endorsement of this exciting journey.

The rest of the day – from whenever the hell we arrive in Cooperstown until 5:45 PM – is earmarked for amusing ourselves. The National Baseball Hall of Fame & Museum is the obvious destination, but…eight hours?! I'm the biggest baseball fan any of you know, but even that is tamped down by the word "museum".

And, there's even another trip reception at Jillian's of Albany that evening. Really, I can't think of better place to be on a Saturday night than sardined into a sports bar with a busload of fanny packs, socks-n-sandals and Jim Rice jerseys.

Itinerary – Sunday, July 26: Another 8:00 AM "90 minute" bus ride to Cooperstown, but this time with only FOUR hours to kill. The formal Hall of Fame induction ceremonies start at 1:30 PM and guests are directed to head straight to their buses after their conclusion.

Hmmm…I got two pages in MS Word from this post and I haven't even left yet.

This should be fun.

TBG Eats: The Teriyaki Six-Dollar Burger from Carl's Jr.

Current Weight: 168.8 lbs.

Mrs. Bootleg and I fight about the silliest things.

For example, my wife cannot be trusted with a fast food order unless I'm there to ensure she gets it right and that the kids behind the counter don't screw it up.

A few weeks ago – at the San Diego Fair – Mrs. Bootleg went off by herself and ordered a basket of catfish and fries. She made it all the way across the fairgrounds before realizing she'd been given catfish with a side of giant fried zucchini. As I constructively explained to her: here's what French fries look like…and here's what giant fried zucchini looks like.

Mrs. Bootleg was not pleased.

Several months ago, she offered to bring some lunch by my office. She was going to Subway, so I asked for a foot-long Sweet Onion Chicken Teriyaki. For a Californian, I have a simple sandwich order: lettuce, tomato, onion and untoasted. That's it…impossible to F this up.

When Mrs. Bootleg arrived outside the Unnamed Defense Contractor, she sheepishly handed me my sandwich and explained that she hadn't been paying attention while the Subway sandwich artist was making mine. It was mistakenly slathered in mayonnaise before my wife noticed. And, even AFTER realizing the error, she didn't ask the sandwich artist to start over.

I took one bite of my teriyaki-mayo abomination before chucking 11.75 inches into the trash can my cubicle neighbor. After work, I again constructively explained to my wife that Subway makes the damn sandwiches in front of you. What else could there be inside a chain sandwich shop that distracts from the sandwich right in front of you?

Mrs. Bootleg was not pleased.

In the interest of equal aggravation, I've been mired in one of the worst work weeks of my life. On Wednesday, I brought home dinner for Mrs. Bootleg and the boy – meticulously articulating my wife's special-needs cheeseburger from memory (no tomatoes, no pickles) and correctly nailing my son's unusual assortment of hamburger condiments (none).

I actually had to go back to the office, so I opted for Carl's Jr. and their returning Teriyaki Six-Dollar Burger – topped with a sweet teriyaki glaze, grilled pineapple, two slices of Swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato, red onions and…mayonnaise?

OK…before we continue with this review, I can't forget to include the greatest juxtaposition of sex appeal and unrealistic eating ever captured in a commercial:





With that out of the way, here's an actual pic of my actual burger:





This was one of the more unusual eating experiences in the short-lived history of this lightly-read blog. Bottom line: this is a pretty good burger. But, it's almost like eating two different burgers at the same time. For a few bites, it tasted like the standard Six-Dollar Burger which, save for the pineapple and glaze, it actually is. Then, when I got bites of the pineapple and teriyaki, it was a sticky, sweet experience that went well with the atypically juicy beef and snap of the red onions.

Things got messy pretty quickly, so I was frantically reconstructing my burger in between every bite. I'm not entirely sure I ever got the full teriyaki-pineapple experience, as I continued to alternate several bites of regular burger taste and toppings with the more unusual flavors of light citrus and sweet smokiness.

Surprisingly, the mayonnaise seemed to keep its distance from the Hawaiian components and didn't impede upon my meal. I'm giving this one the benefit of the doubt, but already have plans to order it again.

Yes, I made plans. Thankfully, I've got an open evening next week.

Grade: 4 (out of 5) Calories: 840, Fat: 43g

2009 Mid-Term A'ssessment: Outfield, Catcher, Etc.

Matt Holliday - LF: .276/.373/.419

What I Said in March: "I just can't shake this feeling that most of the 'he's gonna be fine [outside of Colorado]' talk is coming from the usual lemmings who think GM/messiah Billy Beane can do no wrong."

What I Say Now: Holliday has his defenders amongst the 800 or so A's fans left, so I'll happily concede that the numbers say he's been our best player at the plate this season. Those numbers DON'T explain why he's so obviously dialed back his effort in '09. He's content to flick pitches the other way, instead of driving them. He plays LF like everyone in New York said Bobby Abreu played RF. The kamikaze who nearly killed himself on that home plate slide in the one-game playoff in 2007 would rather go at 80% and preserve himself for free agency. He's our own Roger Dorn.

Mid-Term Grade: C-...The "he's our best hitter" position is damning with faint praise on a team so embarrassingly inept at the plate. He's miserable in Oakland and his '09 performance has probably cost him millions this offseason. He is, however, my son's favorite player. Hope a little emotional currency can make up the difference in your 2010 paycheck, Holliday.

Ryan Sweeney - CF: .271/.320/.357

What I Said in March: "Sweeney's a little overrated by A's fans who fixated on his kinda-sorta empty .286 BA last year and it looks like the White Sox were right about his power game never developing."

What I Say Now: Sweeney has become VERY overrated by A's fans. Credit where it's due: he's made huge strides on defense and covers all kind of ground out there. Offensively, his .677 OPS ranks 22nd out of the 24 everyday centerfielders who qualify. Twenty-second! The long-term deal given to Toronto CF Vernon Wells is considered one of the worst in the game, yet his OPS is almost 50 points higher!

Mid-Term Grade: C+...Sweeney is what he is: a starting outfielder for a team that has no better internal options. He's proven he can't hit lefties (.221/.299/.273 in his career) and refuses to take a walk. His offensive shortcomings will really be exposed with his move to RF.

Travis Buck - RF: .226/.287/.355

What I Said in March: "[T]his'll be Buck's last season in Oakland."

What I Say Now: The exact same thing. Buck committed the ultimate, unforgivable sin when he publicly questioned the organization after he was placed on the disabled list in late May. A few weeks later, the A's acquired OF Scott Hairston and demoted Buck to Triple-A for the umpteenth time in his A's tenure.

Mid-Term Grade: D...Let's be clear: Buck has NOT hit when given the opportunity for playing time. That said, his appearances have been so sporadic that it almost appears he's being set up to fail. Way to ensure that return on investment when Buck's eventually traded, GM Beane.

Jack Cust - DH: .232/.322/.411

What I Said in March: "I like Cust more than a lot of A's fans, but I've got a feeling that there'll be more valleys than peaks for him this year."

What I Say Now: In Cust's first 10 games of the season, he was hitting .333/.488/.545. Since then – in 72 games and nearly 300 plate appearances – he's hitting .220/.297/.394. If Jack Cust isn't taking walks AND is hitting home runs with glaringly less frequency, it's time to cut bait. He's making $2.8 million this year and won't get any cheaper.

Mid-Term Grade: D+...The things that Jack Cust did to make himself a cost-effective (and just plain ol' effective) ballplayer have begun to erode. And, we haven't even touched on his glove, which turned to dust long ago. I still like Cust – he was my son's first autograph, what can I say? – but I no longer want him on my team.

Kurt Suzuki - C: .293/.336/.417

What I Said in March: "Suzuki's [2009] projection is virtually indistinguishable from his 2008 stats, but I think he takes a step forward."

What I Say Now: His slight decline in OBP has been offset by a nearly 40 point leap in SLG. Suzuki is only two doubles and two home runs off of his respective totals from all of last season. He's not quite All-Star worthy – despite the protestations from the more myopic members of the A's fanbase – but he's well on his way.

Mid-Term Grade: B+...I'm the first to say that a catcher's influence on a pitching staff is often overrated, but Suzuki's been done some fine work with the kids in our rotation. His defense is already top-notch and with another season or two under his belt, Suzuki has the chance to blossom into the best all-around catcher in the game. This assumes Joe Mauer retires at the end of this season.

And, the rest…: Reserve OF Rajai Davis (.257/.333/.354) might've assured himself a roster spot for the rest of the season by shaking off a miserable start to hit .319/.402/.472 in his last 72 at-bats. Landon Powell (.225/.291/.380) has been playing with an injured hamstring since mid-May. Thankfully, he's only had to play in 13 games since mid-May.