Radio Tirade

The past week, I've had to listen to quite a few Dodger games on the radio. And it was pure hell.

On Saturday, in traffic on the 110, I had to listen to Charlie "What's the count?" Steiner and Rick "Flagburner" Monday(I know he prevented the flag burning but I've never given a fuck,) call the otherwise incredible game against Detroit. Early in the game when I turned it on, middle of some bullshit story, I just wanted to know the fucking score. I've given up on ever knowing the count when Vin isn't on. Steiner says it's 2-1 Dodgers here, then a minute later, 2-1 Detroit, then again, 2-1 Dodgers. I almost drove my car into a fucking schoolbus. Then before I could, Casey Blake hit a solo shot, crowd goes fucking wild, 2-2 tie. So then I knew. Thanks again fuckheads.

Then, when I was hitching a ride with a truck driver up to Oakland(long story...,) dude had satellite radio which has all the ballgames but only the home broadcast. So I thought, with Vin not in Chicago, it'd be cool to hear a Cubs broadcast. They suck as a team but they're an older, respectable National League franchise from an historically and culturally important American city. I was wrong about everything. Harry Caray's corpse would have been so much better.
Thing is, I respect the dudes as people. Hughes as been around and Santo was such a famous Cub, you have to let him sit there and talk. And I think former players, despite their possible ability shouldn't be allowed in a booth because then they spend more time talking shit and not telling you the count and you end up hating them. I don't watch ESPN games because I don't want to hate Joe Morgan.
Anyhow, listening to a Cubs game on a radio was like listening to two different uncles, different sides of the family, drunk and talking baseball. A home run was hit and it was called as if it had been a Ball one, high. No offense to uncles but if you do construction and have a drinking problem, watch the game at home. These assholes get paid to do this. It was awful.

Digression all the time, apocalypse all the time, hallucination all the time. Because there will never be anyone again who will be hired to call games for the right reason. People who buy shit demographically are boring people who want safe, boring coverage of everything. There aren't enough of us to demand any different. And besides, there are much more life threatening things to worry about.

So enjoy Vin Scully and maybe a handful of others. The artistry in this trade is dying fast alongside most everything else. In other forms of art I try and ask the question before I fly over the threshold, "Are we making music or are we selling soap?" I know what Major League Baseball wants.

Wrigley Fuck

With the turnaround we've had this glorious month of may, it's a little easier to take an annoying loss but not that easy. This sans-Ethier, textbook National League trip we've been on has been a good one. The Dodgers have been carried through the wilderness by stellar starting pitching, decent games by the back-up crew and again John Fucking Ely, whose success can be attributed to Chad Billingsley's personal turnaround, Chad's "Who the fuck is this kid and why's he pitching so much better than me?" attitude has transcended introspection and displayed itself on the mound with victorious results.

The Detroit series, even though I attended the losing game, was a fun one to watch and a good time to drink insane amounts of beer with some friends. Even Saturday as I cruised around Long Beach looking for some place that isn't there anymore, it was an easy time, hearing the roar on the radio and in my chest, amen.

The come down to this high is the losing has been irritating. These games against the shitty Cubs, have really bummed me out. I hate seeing Kershaw lose without an earned run. Furcal needs to take a few extra grounders before the game if he's going to play short stop like I do. If he was smoking dope and playing softball in cut=-off khakis, it'd be one thing. But this is definitely another. And the game where Ely takes a one hitter into the 7th and we can't get one goddamn motherfucking run against Ted goddamn motherfucking Lilly? I know it's how everyone feels and that it's already in the past. But it's no less a stain on my afternoon.

Good news is that Ethier is rehabbing with the Isotopes in Memphis town. He should be back. The worry going down now has to do with this series in Colorado having to be in our favor. With the Padres still winning games somehow, The Giants occasionally not being shut out and The Rockies just a Blakebeard hair behind us, victory is an absolute necessity. We need to come back home with the comfort and confidence to keep this motherfucker rolling. And then Andre comes back. Now if we can trade Troncoso and Belisario for a ten year old who can throw strikes and a couple used VCRs, then we'll be in business.

Otherwise, I'll have to get a mile-high just to forget these assholes exist, once again.

Ascension

A bad game is bound to happen, especially after a nine game winning streak. After several weeks of bad games, bad trips and bad shit altogether, a good, long row of victories have The Dodgers clawing up, arriving tattered and hungry nearing the top of the division. While they are at home the rest of this week, while the pitching is hot, save for last night's bullshit disaster, and while it will be a couple of weeks before Andre Ethier graces the line up again, it would be a good time to keep it up. Hopefully Furcal will be back at the top again, relieving Russell Martin of lead-off duties and facilitating a bench that's deeper than the formerly great Garrett Anderson.
While The Dodgers have finally looked like they are trying to evade dreadful underachievement, last night was a grand exception. The writing is not just written on the wall, it's splattered all over the motherfucker in pigs blood. Ortiz shouldn't be starting and maybe not pitching at all. Monasterios could use a chance. What the fuck is wrong with George Sherill? Some of these relievers still have earned run averages higher than me right now post-desperation bong.
This is all very obvious and there isn't too much to say that time won't scream at us soon enough. Casey Blake's beard has returned and so had his power. This is good news.
I think I might try and catch a game this weekend against Detroit. Party in the parking lot.

Weapon X

Wrapped inside some restless times is a current wait-game that's hard to stomach. Tonight we can see if John Ely can wheel and deal again. But after seven straight victories, some room to breathe and a moment to feel good about the tattered pitching of April, it's not the performance of the rookie pitcher we're waiting to see about. We're waiting to know how bad some dude from Phoenix whom I've never met's finger is. Although The Dodgers are still only a returning Casey Blake beard hair above .500, this road sweep against division rivals should provide a mild form of angst suppression, one tiny shard of reason and rhythm, an evasion of certain death. And it certainly has.
But until tomorrow afternoon when we find out if Andre Ethier will be out, the all-encompassing echo is only that of, "What the motherfuck?!?"

It was like a jinx provided by the national media. Finally shown the love and appreciation of the Philly and New York jocking baseball world, Ethier is injured during batting practice. And not his nagging ankle injury or a hyper-extended knee. Fuck no. The first knuckle of a goddamn pinkie. All we can hope for is that it's not so bad or that he'll play with the injury and still be a triple crown threat. And with Furcal still gone and the rest of the offense showing up some of the time, we can only rely on our recent phenomenon of not pitching like assholes.

I'm very happy with the last week. Not the Ethier thing. When I yelled at the sky last weekend, "Give me a fucking break!" I hadn't meant Ethier's finger. Thanks again.

Go Ely, Go Dodgers, Go superhuman healing powers. Something exceptional must now arrive so we can keep up this winning thing. The deprivation of such things has been a real drag.

Russell Martin and John Ely shotgunning light beer, postgame, (Fuck AZ y los putos del gobierno)

Without the haunting specter of superstition staring down at me with eyes fixed to unravel and destroy us, I think I can take a deep breath this week. I don't want to jinx the fuck out of this winning streak but I probably will. Living in the present completely I can say, despite what happens tonight, that I'm happy The Dodgers were able to enter enemy territory and clean house. I wish we could all go into the capital in Phoenix with Dodgers jerseys and baseball bats and really have an eight run inning, if you know what I mean.
Anyhow, we took advantage of a spiritless franchise last night and I have to say my scathing, rhetorical question to the world a couple weeks ago was answered. That question: "WHO THE FUCK IS JOHN ELY?"

Out of bitter frustration and straight up heart attacks during an early demise I had to pose that question, with the pitching staff falling apart at the seams. Then this kid, John Ely, whoever the fuck he is, had a bad game. Then a good one. And then last night, a nearly great one. No walks. Six strikeouts. He's young and weird and I hope this all just isn't bullshit. Now that I've said it, it probably is.

But I must live for today to keep from dying. This John Ely, straight from the Southside of Chicago. Please win some more goddamn games. Be cool. Suerte, bro.
If everyone can pitch consistently well and Ely can stay in the rotation, it doesn't seem too bad. If the bullpen can resist incineration when they take the kid out and if Monasterios can be the rookie journeyman, making some starts, picking up slack, awaiting Padilla's return, then it doesn't seem completely hopeless.

What the fuck? This is baseball. It more than likely won't turn out like this. The beauty and the bitch mother. I'm not saying shit. Good game, dude. I'm glad we won in Arizona. The Fascist State. Let's hope Belisario isn't driving around. He's an illegal, you know? Those hate mongering fucks have now banished ethnic studies in Tucson. They can't stop sucking. Down with the government of Arizona! Up with Los Doyers!

I just hope I'm not cursing the Gods again when we're blowing it in San Diego. That park and those fans, it's all unnerving. Baseball's a motherfucker. My only true prediction.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In the only positive light I can even begin to conjure, we could look at a game like last night's like we look at a burning building, a sad collapse with many possible dead but onlookers in awe nonetheless. That's if they charged you fifty dollars to watch a sad display you thought was going to be some kind of escapism from the cruel world of burning buildings elsewhere. Fuck no.

I'm thinking about a mother or a father taking their kid to the game and having to reluctantly pay for tickets and parking and all the tiny tragedies that can erode the experience of taking in a ballgame before you even have a chance to do so. The pigs telling you can't have a pre-game anything in the parking lot assists in this experience. Oh well, it's the Dodgers and it's Dodger Stadium and it's a mediocre Milwaukee team underachieving this season not unlike the Dodgers. But it's a fine evening in Los Angeles. Then the fucking game.
Before said mother or father or whoever the fuck else can find their seats after the larceny of buying a beer and/or a Dodger Dog, the score is 9-0. And it gets worse. And it's our ace. And we're all raped again.
Three straight against the Pirates isn't much but I really thought we would win a few more before we bent back on the road to lose them all.

If the game wasn't such a goddamn chore, the prices, the fascism, the state of being in Los Angeles is you're among the working class, then a game like this is the greatest exclamation point after a long month of fuck yous. A whole fucking lot of them.

LAMBO: FIRST BLUNT PART TWO

This news is a few days old but I have to say something about it. Andrew Lambo, a possibly future left fielder when Manny departs, judging by the incredible season he was having in AA Chatanooga thus far, was suspended for 50 games for violating Major League Baseball's drug policy. I admit that when I heard the news I figured it was Steroids because why would players today do something cool like LSD? Or if they popped pills like in the days of yore, we'd have a Willie Stargell instead of an Alex Rodriguez. And wouldn't that be terrible?
Anyhow, a stoned friend of mine corrected my assumption by saying, mid-inhale, "Naw, bro. He was getting high on bud."

Despite the obvious bummer, the setback, the mindless backlash on his career, at least it wasn't steroids or I don't know...date rape, manslaughter, shit like that. I also learned from my fellow burnout that it wasn't his first incident with something like this. Joe Torre, Mariano Duncan and Larry Bowa have probably hit a baseball in the past, thinking it was a slow and glorious ball of strange energy that found its way from the infinite universe to enter the confines of this world only to be carried away with a Louisville slugger...

...What I mean is, while most people either understand personally or generally don't give a fuck if people smoke dope, the squares in the front office are never going to understand something like this. They're function is to make cattle out of men and force poor communities to pay for baseball stadium-shopping malls. So Lambo, you fucked up and shouldn't have. But if you make it to the Bigs, me and my friends will superficially buy your jersey. We like your style.
I just feel bad that you had to get busted with the resin of shitty Tennessee weed in your stream. You actually have time to go back to Cali, get loaded on chronic and then you'll have the rest of your suspension time to flush it out, camp out in a batting cage and await your day in the sun.

...the perilous ascension from the bowels of mediocrity...

When you get down to it, the worst part about this season thus far is not their shit play and dismal record. That's the second worst thing. The primary cause of the Dodger fan's suicidal thoughts should be that there have been so many goddamn away games. And while there is no excuse to lose all your games to shitty teams, it's even more eye gauging that we haven't been able to hear Vin call any games. Most teams in our division have had an outstanding home stand or two. We've just begun. While I banned last night due to their stellar play last week, I think I will finally be able to listen to the voice of Vin Scully. Our honorary saint. When they were at home last, I had gone to Opening Day and then was out of town for the rest of the week.
So tonight it's just me and Vin and a bluntwrap or two. It's up to Carlos Monasterios who I really want to like so, Don't fuck it up Carlos.

And as far as the offense goes...Hey assholes...remember when you bowed down to the mighty pitching of the Washington Nationals? Well, these guys are even worse. Inexcusable, bros.

Let's Get Radical

(May Day. Ruthless times. The racist assault on our country and culture has openly seeped into Major League Baseball. And for good reason since struggle and plight has always been woven and forged into the people's fabric that is sports in America.)

Take it to the streets. It's time to eradicate these culprits. We know where they are and how they feel. This isn't isolated inside the confines of that police state. Racism in general and this neo-fascist ignorance in particular thrives on the division and perpetual conquest of the working class. The truth is always deliberately suffocated. Money and might, courtesy of the U.S., are used to displace people in other countries in the name of capitalism, (rural conquest, drug war, maquilas) and the people who flee out of desperation and necessity are blamed and fucked even further. And now, it's open season for an unprecedented assault.
Since racists don't know how to think(their brains are full of naziworms and diarrhea,)I want to run a few scenarios by them...

One. A crew-cutted pig pulls somebody over for driving under the influence of brown skin, which they've always done but now can do legally,and the driver who has lived in Arizona his entire life, longer than the pig who transferred from Iowa, but is told to show paper work and then "What's that smell? Cigarettes my ass, wetback, I'm searching the car." Any reason to incarcerate and destroy.

Two. What about immigrants from Europe? Does that mean that some backwards cap, Ed Hardy motherfucker drinking Coors Light and dateraping co-eds at A.S.U. might just look like a German or an Irishman? I mean, the light complexion, the blue eyes, freckles... "We better run ask him for his paperwork, Skip."

Three. The first time a Maricopa County SS soldier pulls over an Pima or a Navajo or an Apache and accuses them of being an immigrant. Ignorant fucking scum.

It's a call to genocide for all undocumented people in this country and a blow to any American citizen who is now doomed with connotation to this behavior until we work to together to fuck their plans up good.


Now on to baseball...
While the Player's Union isn't the radical bastion I wish it could be, I'm happy they openly oppose this horrible law in Arizona. All the attention that it is getting in sports, especially concerning the Arizona D-Back boycott is necessary and will hopefully lead to an exacerbated consciousness in the otherwise mind numbing universe that front-page sports media usually is.

Call to arms. Words like bullets. Blood on the page. Let's roll suckas.

-Smoke dope, put in the clip, play ball.