History Lesson

For the record these are some things that should happen to Marc Ecko

1) Feed him to Rhinos

2) Bake two giants cakes for him. One topped with the Letter "K". The other topped with the letter "H". Then throw him a learn how to spell your name party

3) Make the cakes out of old hot dogs and stale beer

4) Introduce him to Commissioner Ford Frick

There is a great monologue in Take Me Out where a character describes the similarities between Democracy and Baseball. The similar checks and balances (blah blah blah this blog isn't about politics it is about baseball, which, le blow me, means more to me)

"I bought this baseball to democratize the debate over what to do with it"

Yes, I am glad you have 750,000 under the couch cushions to spend on a ball.
Yes, I am glad you believe in Democracy

Fantastic, you have nothing better to spend 750,000 dollars on.
Fantastic, like me, you think Darfur is a type of lamp at Ikea

Players are voted into the Hall of Fame by a group of old stodgy sports writers. Sometimes, these paragons of sporting value and know decide not to vote someone in on the first ballot Why? Because. . .that's it, just, because. Last year a guy voted for Dante Bichette! So just like politics baseball has its own funk way of electing people.

BUT! The ball is not a person. It is the event. The ball does not represent what's wrong with sports, or even what's right with sports. It represent the 756th home run. That's all. We didn't spray paint "racist" on Ty Cobb's jersey. We don't list the amount of coke Ricky Henderson was on. Troy Glaus won a World Series MVP and he was on HGH. What? Who? When? If it was up to the public to trash history I would have peed on everything Kirby Puckett did years ago. But I didn't because I can't. Besides the fact- he was a wife beater and the grounds crew cheated (look it up) and he looked like the black Michelin Man- someone, somewhere should be able to view what he did without having the glare of an asterisk or the smell of my urine messing with their Cooperstown experience.

the ball belongs in the hall. Do not make me come to your house and play baseball ninja.

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More or less this is how I look. Now-a-days I look a little less like K.D. Lang, but you get the picture because there is a picture.

After the show on Sunday a lady told me I had a wonderful face. Old lady thinks I am pretty is a common theme of my work day so it is cool. However, then she elaborated that my face was wonderful because I could contort it like some sort of wet wash rag of wrinkles. I told her my father was actually a giant piece of silly putty and was on my way.

I almost broke my toe kicking a chair across a patio/room. inanimate objects beware when I am near.