March 31, 2005

Who is Buffo?

Who is Buffo, "The World's Strongest Clown?"

His bio states:
"This ex-professional baseball player (Pittsburgh Pirates, Houston Astros and Chicago White Sox), ex-marathon runner and former school teacher for deaf and blind students turned power lifter, body builder and clown..."
I need answers!

March 27, 2005

Say No To Drugs

Some great shirts from Turntable Lab...
And, not so topically...

March 24, 2005

I am very sorry

(We interrupt this baseball-related blog to bring you some late-breaking hockey news.)

I have let you down and I am very sorry.

I was walking in the underground tunnel that connects the 49th St. R/W station to Rockefeller Center, on the way to get an autograph from the Fabulous Moolah (that's right, I'm name-dropping). The tunnel's probably well travelled during rush hour, but it was after 6 and pretty empty.

I turned a corner, took a couple of steps, and there he was, yakking away on his cell phone.

Gary Bettman.

Yep, the evil Commissioner of the NHL. And me. Alone. In a low-traffic pedestrian tunnel. With no witnesses.

I froze and I am very sorry.

It took me a second to place the weasely little face, and by the time I did, he was past me and probably on his way to kick a puppy or strangle a small child. Oh, the blow I could have struck for the suffering hockey fan. A sharp kick to the groin. A crisp hook to the jaw. A Purinton-like sucker punch.

And the only possible witnesses would have been those lingering in the closest office...the Office of the Canadian Consulate General. Surely, they would have looked the other way.

But I did nothing. I have failed the Angry Hockey Fan. I have failed myself.

I am very sorry.

When it was a Game - played poorly by old men

This - for those of you not as well-versed in the recent history of the game as those honorable scribes enshrined in Cooperstown - is a picture of the 2003 Leatherstocking League Champion Oneonta Cardinals. I don't have a particular reason for posting the picture, other than to remind myself - and our faithful readers - of those nights spent kicking balls around in the dirt, breaking wooden bats on dugout posts and, maybe the greatest reason of all for playing, the times we sat after games on the cement stoop of the Edmeston pizza shop and drank beer in the rain and watched Edmeston go by, real slow. These are good things to remember when you've spent the better part of a slow evening at work reading angry columns about Barry Bonds, and a local story about the nearly incomprehensible complaints of former New York and future Binghamton Met Jeff Duncan, distressed at the "new direction" being taken by the Met front office - a direction not likely to result in Jeff Duncan starting in the place of Fantasy Top-Fiver Carlos Beltran.

Notice the gray hair on three or four of the team's members. The team's 2004 batting champ was 53 years old. He works for the DEC, counting fish on the reservoirs all summer with his dog. He likes the "direction" the Mets are taking.

And so do I. In fact, that direction led to a victory for the Fake Mets today in what was the season opener of the 2005 MVP Baseball Xbox season here at the House on Wild Turkey Knob. Credit Mike Cameron with the game-winning HR in the top of the 10th as the Mets defeated the Reds at the GAB, 5-4. The winning pitcher was Mike DeJean, with a Benitezesque save from Braden Looper, 4 hits from Kaz Matsui and 6 innings of solid work - 3 ER, 1K - from Pedro. I had to take the wedding ring off in the 8th, with runners on the corners and 0 outs. Always a sign of a tense competition.

And that's all for tonight. Welcome Tim Lynch to the Hill, as well. By welcome I mean, "hey James, Tim will be posting, too."

Good night.

March 23, 2005

Gunner Sam

Far be it from me to poke fun at the name of a child, but, i'll do it anyways:
Torre is waiting until Jaret Wright returns from the birth of his first child, Gunner Sam, to set the rotation. Gunner Sam arrived Friday.
I mean, but...hey, congrats to Jaret, right?

March 22, 2005

Mission Accomplished

"You wanted me to jump off a bridge, I finally did. You finally brought me and my family down.... So now go pick a different person." (Barry Bonds, drinking from his always-full bucket of whine and discussing his potentially season-ending knee injury)

OK. Let's see. Can I pick anyone or does it have to be a baseball player? If it's baseball, I pick, um, the entire Yankees organization. And if this is open to anyone, I pick ... Jessica Simpson.

Man, if I knew it was this easy, I would've started picking people years ago.


On the urging of the Commissioner, and in what seems like a blatant move to capitalize on having a dozen-selling published author in the Old South Hill Association, I have been given access privileges to the blog here. One probably thinks I grow weary of constantly letting the people of the world suckle at my prodigious literary teat, but, in truth, I don't. I find that it is important to "keep it real," as the kids say. And so I shall share my gifts with you. You're welcome.

Unfortunately, I generally maintain interest in baseball for the eight to ten days in which the Mets show signs of being contenders. So I probably won't be posting much after, say, the first week of May. After that, I will probably emerge only to post recent photos of me and "Saved by the Bell" stars and overwhelm you with mentions of the music of Marah.

But in this time of year when it appears Barry Bonds may be out for the season, a scratch-off screwup makes reading of the two New York dailies even more exciting than usual, and hockey lockout grief has settled into a numb, benign pain, hope springs eternal.

Res Ipsa Loquitur.

March 16, 2005

Greetings from the House on Wild Turkey Hill

It seems there is some fool - either crazy and old, or from the City - feeding turkey and deer from their lawn just down the hill from our house. The deer I don't mind as much, they make sense and travel in compact family groups. See the mother, wait for the fawns. But the turkeys are another matter, hiding in the cornfields in flocks 50 strong, waiting with twitching muscles to make their frenzied dash in front of the truck when it is directly upon whatever fool they've elected Leader of the Suicide this week. And they can be mean. I was nearly forced, as a child, to fist fight a turkey that appeared from a row of corn to interrupt a pleasant morning of pond fishing on the farm. Establish the jab, work the body. Watch for the snood.
I'll give them until Spring - when the birds get Chimp Shit Crazy - to cease this stupid practice. If I see corn feed on the ground when the Robin flies, I plan to conduct my own belated living memorial to HST - on their front lawn. Implements to be chosen at a later date.

Of course, whatever rotten effect the turkeys have upon our easy passage back into civilization is mitigated by the literary benefits of being able to run this widely renowned and popular baseball league from a place called the House on Wild Turkey Hill. This place, leaning and drafty as it is, will serve as draft headquarters Sunday for the Old South Hill Association. The draft begins at 3:30 p.m. EST, and Yahoo! advises you be At the Terminal 15 minutes before go time. I'd also advise you to test your system sometime in advance of Sunday; and make damn sure your dog is tied up when the draft begins.

That's all for now. I'll be posting with some regularity as the season progresses. And, the invitation remains open for anyone who wants to post - just send me an email.

Good luck.