Countdown to Reunion, Part 2 - Ejections & Dejection
Countdown to Reunion, Part 2 - Ejections & Dejection
T-minus 10 days and counting...
I used this past long weekend to prepare myself both mentally and physically for my upcoming college reunion, an event which promises to be 4 full days spent hammered beyond all recognition. Yes, of course, the initial plan will be to spend quality (sober) time catching up with friends and acquaintances, but if this weekend is any indication I’ll barely remember my old roommates' names after my second drink. Here’s the thing...spending the past few days trying to prepare for the recapturing of my youth has taught me two important lessons:
1. It’s not nearly as hard to get kicked out of Dodger Stadium as one might think.
2. I'm old. And lame.
Saturday morning I was up bright and early at 9am, ready for a magical day of baseball, beer, hot dogs and men in tight pants. Cubs games at Wrigley—-win or lose—-are one of life’s greatest treasures. And Cubs games at Dodger Stadium are...still fun. A little while before gametime our group of 15-20 people met up at the park outside the stadium and eased our way into a long day of drinking with a nice batch of mimosas. I’ve found that orange juice cuts through champagne so well you can quickly drink 3, 4...12 mimosas without even realizing it.
After an hour or so of pre-gaming we headed to the game and found our seats—-just outside the left foul pole, a couple rows from the field. Not only were we in prime homerun territory but we were also within earshot of the outfielders in left. We took advantage of this close proximity immediately. One of the guys in our group was a Dodgers fan and he and I quickly established a love-hate relationship by way of snarky attacks on the players. He clowned Soriano for his large paycheck and limited run production while I commended Soriano on his well-developed rear section. As you can see, I was right about that ass.
Later, I offered Luis Gonzalez words of encouragement when the Cubs hit back-to-back base hits right in front of him in left. I commended him for his fine attempts to run at such an advanced age and reminded him that those balls were at least 10-12 feet away from him—-a distance much too great for an 82-year-old in his condition to cover in any reasonable amount of time. All the while, I continued to clap and thank Soriano whenever he bent over. Things were going swimmingly.
There was most surprisingly little animosity between Cubs and Dodgers supporters in the stands. Everyone was enjoying the game as playful jabs were sent back and forth between fans. I kindly informed a Derrek Lee heckler that Lee is leading the league in batting percentage, at which point his friend kindly informed him that I was right, and he should close his mouth. See? Enemies working together in the pursuit of truth! I left for a half inning or so to get beer and returned to the cheers of a section of young, male Dodgers fans who said they’d gotten bored while I was gone and wanted to talk some more shit. I happily obliged. Our group even made friends with the cutest little Dodger fan ever, Frank, and his parents.
Sometime around the 6th inning the Dodger fan in our group was ejected from the game to everyone’s surprise but his own. You see he had announced, as the game commenced, that he would most likely be tossed. I still have no idea why he got the boot, as he hadn’t said much since the Cubs hit back-to-back bombs and took the lead. This incident was, in hindsight, a clear sign of what was to come. Midway through the 8th the game leveled off...the Cubs were up and it seemed they’d hang on for the win. With nothing much to cheer or boo about, I’d been quietly enjoying my beer and the gentle rays of the sun for about an inning and a half. Suddenly, early in the 9th, four or five security guards came down to our seats and said that I needed to come with them. I'll admit that I wasn’t sober at the time, but I was speaking, acting and walking perfectly fine. After a little back-and-forth like so...
–- “Why do I have to come with you?”
-- “We’ll talk up there.”
–- “I haven’t done anything, I’m not leaving my seat.”
-- “Just come with us, we’ll talk about it away from everyone else.”
-- “There's no reason for me to leave unless you tell me what I’ve done.”
...my friends said I should just go with them, talk to them, and come back. I told everyone to stay in their seats and let me handle it. Unfortunately, they didn’t want to send me off to the wolves alone, so 4 or 5 us trudged up to the concessions area with the fake baseball police. One of my friends wasn't as "cooperative" as they'd hoped, so he ended up handcuffed and taken to Dodger Stadium's secret, underground lair.
There, they decided he was officially kicked out of the park for the rest of the year, although I’m not sure how they'll do that. Will it be like the Wild West? Will they post his picture at the Dodger Stadium saloon entrances and challenge him to a duel if he dares enter? I imagine from now on he'll have to show up wearing a false mustache and sunglasses, using an alias like Lloyd Littlebutter to purchase tickets. How very exciting.
I managed to keep the baseball police talking and continued to stand my ground until the game ended. They made excellent points such as “you can’t say cuss words” and “you aren’t allowed to say penis.” I countered with logic, pointing out that the worst word I used was “ass” and that there were people all over our section saying the exact same things, if not worse. In fact, I distinctly remember several fans commenting on my..."bags." I can only assume they were talking about the bases. I was later told by a friend that I actually had said "penis." I believe I was commenting on another fan's need to overcompensate...who can recall such minor details? Regardless, last I checked “penis” is a scientific term that one should be able to use freely when discussing male genitalia. I just wish those baseball police were more mature. In the end, I left of my own free will, without the security guards.
Several Dodgers fans we didn’t know offered my friends their business cards and said they’d be willing to vouch that I hadn’t done anything to warrant being kicked out. I never got a warning, never got any complaints, never even had any good old-fashioned yelling matches with any other fans. (This game paled in comparison to the great "frosted tips" throwdown with the White Sox fans at Wrigley). Getting tossed was truly shocking and, pardon the pun, came completely out of left field. A few people mentioned this old hag whose chin was hanging on by a thread...
...as the possible snitch. She was at the game all by herself and appears just old and lonely enough to want to ruin the good times of the more youthful, attractive game-goers surrounding her. On the other hand, she may not have been the snitch, in which case it’s cute that she loves baseball so much she goes to the games all by herself. Also, sorry if that’s your grandma. In the end, not much happened in the 9th so I didn't miss much. I still think Dodger Stadium might wanna work on their security policy. If it's as easy as one complaint, next time I'm there I'm gonna tell the baseball police that the LA fan next to me told a small child to do something naughty to his Dodger Dog.
And as for me being old and lame...I spent the rest of Saturday night at the bars in Hermosa double fisting a rum & diet and...a tall glass of water. Yes, ONE half day of boozing and I was drinking like a high schooler for the rest of the night. If the bar had served wine coolers I probably would have ordered 'em. Then, I followed up that solid performance by not even going out after work Sunday night. Yes, yes, I know...my bender preparation isn't looking good at this point. I could tell you that my Memorial Day involved funneling, heavy drug use and doing blow off stripper's asses, but I'd be lying. I slowly sipped on some weak vodka and punch drinks, played a little cornhole on the beach and essentially proved to myself and all others that I am, officially, old. Something tells me I'm gonna end up in the back of the bus on the reunion wine tour shoving bagels into my mouth and trying to recover from my first half-glass of pinot all day. Ah, youth. So fleeting.
I used this past long weekend to prepare myself both mentally and physically for my upcoming college reunion, an event which promises to be 4 full days spent hammered beyond all recognition. Yes, of course, the initial plan will be to spend quality (sober) time catching up with friends and acquaintances, but if this weekend is any indication I’ll barely remember my old roommates' names after my second drink. Here’s the thing...spending the past few days trying to prepare for the recapturing of my youth has taught me two important lessons:
1. It’s not nearly as hard to get kicked out of Dodger Stadium as one might think.
2. I'm old. And lame.
Saturday morning I was up bright and early at 9am, ready for a magical day of baseball, beer, hot dogs and men in tight pants. Cubs games at Wrigley—-win or lose—-are one of life’s greatest treasures. And Cubs games at Dodger Stadium are...still fun. A little while before gametime our group of 15-20 people met up at the park outside the stadium and eased our way into a long day of drinking with a nice batch of mimosas. I’ve found that orange juice cuts through champagne so well you can quickly drink 3, 4...12 mimosas without even realizing it.
After an hour or so of pre-gaming we headed to the game and found our seats—-just outside the left foul pole, a couple rows from the field. Not only were we in prime homerun territory but we were also within earshot of the outfielders in left. We took advantage of this close proximity immediately. One of the guys in our group was a Dodgers fan and he and I quickly established a love-hate relationship by way of snarky attacks on the players. He clowned Soriano for his large paycheck and limited run production while I commended Soriano on his well-developed rear section. As you can see, I was right about that ass.
Later, I offered Luis Gonzalez words of encouragement when the Cubs hit back-to-back base hits right in front of him in left. I commended him for his fine attempts to run at such an advanced age and reminded him that those balls were at least 10-12 feet away from him—-a distance much too great for an 82-year-old in his condition to cover in any reasonable amount of time. All the while, I continued to clap and thank Soriano whenever he bent over. Things were going swimmingly.
There was most surprisingly little animosity between Cubs and Dodgers supporters in the stands. Everyone was enjoying the game as playful jabs were sent back and forth between fans. I kindly informed a Derrek Lee heckler that Lee is leading the league in batting percentage, at which point his friend kindly informed him that I was right, and he should close his mouth. See? Enemies working together in the pursuit of truth! I left for a half inning or so to get beer and returned to the cheers of a section of young, male Dodgers fans who said they’d gotten bored while I was gone and wanted to talk some more shit. I happily obliged. Our group even made friends with the cutest little Dodger fan ever, Frank, and his parents.
Sometime around the 6th inning the Dodger fan in our group was ejected from the game to everyone’s surprise but his own. You see he had announced, as the game commenced, that he would most likely be tossed. I still have no idea why he got the boot, as he hadn’t said much since the Cubs hit back-to-back bombs and took the lead. This incident was, in hindsight, a clear sign of what was to come. Midway through the 8th the game leveled off...the Cubs were up and it seemed they’d hang on for the win. With nothing much to cheer or boo about, I’d been quietly enjoying my beer and the gentle rays of the sun for about an inning and a half. Suddenly, early in the 9th, four or five security guards came down to our seats and said that I needed to come with them. I'll admit that I wasn’t sober at the time, but I was speaking, acting and walking perfectly fine. After a little back-and-forth like so...
–- “Why do I have to come with you?”
-- “We’ll talk up there.”
–- “I haven’t done anything, I’m not leaving my seat.”
-- “Just come with us, we’ll talk about it away from everyone else.”
-- “There's no reason for me to leave unless you tell me what I’ve done.”
...my friends said I should just go with them, talk to them, and come back. I told everyone to stay in their seats and let me handle it. Unfortunately, they didn’t want to send me off to the wolves alone, so 4 or 5 us trudged up to the concessions area with the fake baseball police. One of my friends wasn't as "cooperative" as they'd hoped, so he ended up handcuffed and taken to Dodger Stadium's secret, underground lair.
There, they decided he was officially kicked out of the park for the rest of the year, although I’m not sure how they'll do that. Will it be like the Wild West? Will they post his picture at the Dodger Stadium saloon entrances and challenge him to a duel if he dares enter? I imagine from now on he'll have to show up wearing a false mustache and sunglasses, using an alias like Lloyd Littlebutter to purchase tickets. How very exciting.
I managed to keep the baseball police talking and continued to stand my ground until the game ended. They made excellent points such as “you can’t say cuss words” and “you aren’t allowed to say penis.” I countered with logic, pointing out that the worst word I used was “ass” and that there were people all over our section saying the exact same things, if not worse. In fact, I distinctly remember several fans commenting on my..."bags." I can only assume they were talking about the bases. I was later told by a friend that I actually had said "penis." I believe I was commenting on another fan's need to overcompensate...who can recall such minor details? Regardless, last I checked “penis” is a scientific term that one should be able to use freely when discussing male genitalia. I just wish those baseball police were more mature. In the end, I left of my own free will, without the security guards.
Several Dodgers fans we didn’t know offered my friends their business cards and said they’d be willing to vouch that I hadn’t done anything to warrant being kicked out. I never got a warning, never got any complaints, never even had any good old-fashioned yelling matches with any other fans. (This game paled in comparison to the great "frosted tips" throwdown with the White Sox fans at Wrigley). Getting tossed was truly shocking and, pardon the pun, came completely out of left field. A few people mentioned this old hag whose chin was hanging on by a thread...
...as the possible snitch. She was at the game all by herself and appears just old and lonely enough to want to ruin the good times of the more youthful, attractive game-goers surrounding her. On the other hand, she may not have been the snitch, in which case it’s cute that she loves baseball so much she goes to the games all by herself. Also, sorry if that’s your grandma. In the end, not much happened in the 9th so I didn't miss much. I still think Dodger Stadium might wanna work on their security policy. If it's as easy as one complaint, next time I'm there I'm gonna tell the baseball police that the LA fan next to me told a small child to do something naughty to his Dodger Dog.
And as for me being old and lame...I spent the rest of Saturday night at the bars in Hermosa double fisting a rum & diet and...a tall glass of water. Yes, ONE half day of boozing and I was drinking like a high schooler for the rest of the night. If the bar had served wine coolers I probably would have ordered 'em. Then, I followed up that solid performance by not even going out after work Sunday night. Yes, yes, I know...my bender preparation isn't looking good at this point. I could tell you that my Memorial Day involved funneling, heavy drug use and doing blow off stripper's asses, but I'd be lying. I slowly sipped on some weak vodka and punch drinks, played a little cornhole on the beach and essentially proved to myself and all others that I am, officially, old. Something tells me I'm gonna end up in the back of the bus on the reunion wine tour shoving bagels into my mouth and trying to recover from my first half-glass of pinot all day. Ah, youth. So fleeting.
A follow-up to Hitchens' BS
A follow-up to Hitchens' BS
Interesting--albeit slightly meandering--blog regarding the Vanity Fair article I posted about previously.
http://scienceblogs.com/smoothpebbles/2007/02/christopher_hitchens_war_on_ir.php
The best commentary on Hitchens’ poorly-argued article on the inherent un-funniness of the fairer sex, from a female comedian:
"It occurs to me that men like him seem to write articles like this just so
that women like me can issue stern and unfunny responses, thusly proving his
thesis. I'm not particularly good at acknowledging my own attributes, but
I'll be damned if I let someone tell me I'm not funny. I know how to tell a
joke, and tell it well; I can deliver one-liners off the top of my head with
flawless timing, never regretting five minutes later having missed the
perfect rejoinder; I even do brilliant pratfalls. I know I'm funny-but I'm
simply not amused by being told by a pugnacious pigass I can't possibly be
simply because I have a cunt.
A cunt which, by the way, is herself a piquant raconteur. You wouldn't
believe the jocose tales that fall from her mischievous lips. Oh, the
stories she could tell you, Hitchens-but she won't. She only regales
sophisticates of egalitarian character with her uproarious yarns."
http://scienceblogs.com/smoothpebbles/2007/02/christopher_hitchens_war_on_ir.php
The best commentary on Hitchens’ poorly-argued article on the inherent un-funniness of the fairer sex, from a female comedian:
"It occurs to me that men like him seem to write articles like this just so
that women like me can issue stern and unfunny responses, thusly proving his
thesis. I'm not particularly good at acknowledging my own attributes, but
I'll be damned if I let someone tell me I'm not funny. I know how to tell a
joke, and tell it well; I can deliver one-liners off the top of my head with
flawless timing, never regretting five minutes later having missed the
perfect rejoinder; I even do brilliant pratfalls. I know I'm funny-but I'm
simply not amused by being told by a pugnacious pigass I can't possibly be
simply because I have a cunt.
A cunt which, by the way, is herself a piquant raconteur. You wouldn't
believe the jocose tales that fall from her mischievous lips. Oh, the
stories she could tell you, Hitchens-but she won't. She only regales
sophisticates of egalitarian character with her uproarious yarns."
D-Bags & Trolls
D-Bags & Trolls
Last night a date and I went to see The Bourne Ultimatum. It was a 10pm show on a Monday night and we arrived early to an empty theatre. We settled into seats mid-way up the theatre and--both being quite tall--stretched our legs out on the seats in front of us. A few more people trickled in, but all in all there were only about 16 people in the theatre, mostly scattered about in the rows behind us. A few moments before the lights went dim, a couple sat one row in front of us, the guy choosing one seat to our right, his date one seat to his right. To clarify, in diagram form:
-------------------------random couple---------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
random couple--------------------------d-bag | troll-------------
------------------------------me | date--------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------random couple
random couple-----------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------random couple--------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------random couple------
Less than a minute later, the girl (a loose term for such a pinched wench) asked my date to remove his foot from on top of the seat in front of him. This monstrous pair who selected--out of literally dozens of open seats in the theatre--the seats directly diagonal to ours, were now requesting that we move for them. These repellant freaks chose their seats knowing full well that my date and I had our legs perched atop the seats next to them. Now one might question why these slimy assholes would select seats so close to ours when the theatre was nearly empty. One might also wonder why these foul jackasses thought they had the right to ask us to move when we had clearly been seated long before them. Perhaps our astounding good looks and shapely legs acted as magnets, subconsciously luring these wretched schlubs towards us. Maybe these mindless imbeciles feared loud noises and hoped to take solace in the company around them during particularly violent scenes. It's possible these unsightly pedophiles were entertaining the idea of a post-film discussion.
As it turns out, however, these putrid cretins were just "those people." We all know one or two, or many. Those people who are simply unaware of the world around them. The kind of woman that yells at a waiter for forgetting her side of acorn squash. That guy who calls his daughter's kindergarten teacher and any other woman under 45 "sweetie." Of course, these aren't offenses of great consequence. Still, I'm troubled trying to understand what is going through a person's head when they act that self-absorbed and grandiose. I told the pair of squalid lepers that there were tons of open seats, including those directly to their right. I noted that while they could painlessly move over one seat, we would move instead, just to prove how easy it was. Those who know me well will note that my actions were suprisingly mature and level-headed. I'm still trying to figure out exactly why I didn't act in the usual stubborn, I-need-to-prove-my-point-to-these-jackoffs way. Perhaps I just wanted to relax and watch the movie.
Late last night, though, I was still a little troubled by the tiny incident. Not because I cared that much about moving one seat over--that's not the point. Sometimes I just can't wrap my head around the brain functions of certain people. True criminals and people with serious mental disorders aside, I like to think most humans are at least slightly similar. These two people seemed utterly average--not stereotypical "LA" types, not hoity-toity snobs, not even bratty teenagers. I just didn't understand their self-importance. I would never presume to ask someone to move after I'd encroached upon their area, especially if there were literally dozens of other places to sit. This is all just mindless venting and rambling, of course, but sometimes I truly marvel at the thought processes of others. If this happens again, I will demand that my date use the offending foot to physically relocate the gripers to a new seat. For while I'm against making inappropriate requests of strangers, I'm all for overreacting with needless violence.
-------------------------random couple---------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
random couple--------------------------d-bag | troll-------------
------------------------------me | date--------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------random couple
random couple-----------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------random couple--------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------random couple------
Less than a minute later, the girl (a loose term for such a pinched wench) asked my date to remove his foot from on top of the seat in front of him. This monstrous pair who selected--out of literally dozens of open seats in the theatre--the seats directly diagonal to ours, were now requesting that we move for them. These repellant freaks chose their seats knowing full well that my date and I had our legs perched atop the seats next to them. Now one might question why these slimy assholes would select seats so close to ours when the theatre was nearly empty. One might also wonder why these foul jackasses thought they had the right to ask us to move when we had clearly been seated long before them. Perhaps our astounding good looks and shapely legs acted as magnets, subconsciously luring these wretched schlubs towards us. Maybe these mindless imbeciles feared loud noises and hoped to take solace in the company around them during particularly violent scenes. It's possible these unsightly pedophiles were entertaining the idea of a post-film discussion.
As it turns out, however, these putrid cretins were just "those people." We all know one or two, or many. Those people who are simply unaware of the world around them. The kind of woman that yells at a waiter for forgetting her side of acorn squash. That guy who calls his daughter's kindergarten teacher and any other woman under 45 "sweetie." Of course, these aren't offenses of great consequence. Still, I'm troubled trying to understand what is going through a person's head when they act that self-absorbed and grandiose. I told the pair of squalid lepers that there were tons of open seats, including those directly to their right. I noted that while they could painlessly move over one seat, we would move instead, just to prove how easy it was. Those who know me well will note that my actions were suprisingly mature and level-headed. I'm still trying to figure out exactly why I didn't act in the usual stubborn, I-need-to-prove-my-point-to-these-jackoffs way. Perhaps I just wanted to relax and watch the movie.
Late last night, though, I was still a little troubled by the tiny incident. Not because I cared that much about moving one seat over--that's not the point. Sometimes I just can't wrap my head around the brain functions of certain people. True criminals and people with serious mental disorders aside, I like to think most humans are at least slightly similar. These two people seemed utterly average--not stereotypical "LA" types, not hoity-toity snobs, not even bratty teenagers. I just didn't understand their self-importance. I would never presume to ask someone to move after I'd encroached upon their area, especially if there were literally dozens of other places to sit. This is all just mindless venting and rambling, of course, but sometimes I truly marvel at the thought processes of others. If this happens again, I will demand that my date use the offending foot to physically relocate the gripers to a new seat. For while I'm against making inappropriate requests of strangers, I'm all for overreacting with needless violence.
Opening Day
Opening Day
http://www.sportsandpopculturebank.com/sarahspainweekone.html
Opening Day
My alarm went off at 5:30am Sunday morning, and despite the hour I woke easily. The foggy haze of a night’s sleep lifted without argument, and the promise of the day ahead pressed me into clarity. Opening Day. Two words that bring to mind images of rebirth and possibility, celebration and pageantry. All the predicting and supposing of the preceding months would be disproved or vindicated, all the hopes and expectations of the fans heightened or dashed. Opening Day. The Bears were about to start their season and try to make their way back to the Super Bowl, and I was going to be there. But first I had to get there.
The beginning of our journey turned out to be an augury of the Bears running game on Sunday. Our every move was stopped, at every turn, we met an impasse. I was to meet up with friends at 6:30 to drive to Union Station in downtown LA and catch the 7:20 train to San Diego. By the time we’d shoved 6 adults (all over 5’9”) into one small sedan and gotten on the road, it was already 6:55. The station was 25 minutes away…if we broke a couple laws we might make it on time. The route seemed simple enough, get on the 101 and exit at Alameda; turn right at the station. Unfortunately, we quickly learned that all the major East/West streets between Venice and downtown were closed off for the LA Triathlon. We sped through side streets, blowing red lights and ignoring oncoming traffic, until we finally found access to the freeway. Letting out a collective sigh of relief, we turned onto the on-ramp, only to find a large construction vehicle with a “Lane Closed” sign on it blocking the entrance. 7am on a Sunday morning seemed to them a good time for construction, and we were told to wait 10-15 minutes before the ramp would be re-opened. 10-15 minutes we did not have. More illegalities as we reversed down the ramp and sped back the way we came, our driver seemingly drawing inspiration from the climactic car chase in Blues Brothers. 8 minutes later we were finally on the freeway, flying at 90 miles an hour, knees and arms shoved into the sides of the car, sure we weren’t gonna make it. We completed at least one-third of the previously mentioned triathlon at the station sprinting from the ticket kiosk to the train, putting to good use our authentic NFL game jerseys.
Once on the train, things settled down. Southern California flew by in a blur; an empty Angel Stadium, early morning surfers dotting the waves of Oceanside. Some of us slept, some played cards, all heckled or cheered the Chargers and Bears fans accordingly as they passed through our car. I may or may not have told an infant that I would be crying too if I had to wear a Chargers onesie. It’s all hearsay, really. On the trolley from the train station to the stadium we traded bad Bill Swerski impressions and started a rousing chorus of “Bear Down, Chicago Bears.” It felt more and more as if we’d taken a tiny seed of home and re-planted it across the country. Wandering around the parking lot, it became clear that thousands of other Bears fans had done just the same. While I did walk down a few aisles of mostly Chargers fans, there were just as many areas dominated by Bears fans. One wrong turn and I was jeered and shood away or, in one case, picked up against my will and paraded about by a shirtless, tubby man carrying a Chargers flag. One aisle over and I was given beers, offered marriage proposals, or handed Bears wristbands to wear proudly.
When game time came, we entered the stadium, small and plain but beautiful underneath the spate of sunlight from above. As the national anthem was sung and jets flew overhead, I imagined that every heart in the stadium couldn’t help but feel the same surge of pride and pure, simple happiness that mine did. Our seats were in the 9th row on the 40 yard line, behind the Chargers sideline, and we could see the smiles and growls of the players as the game began. It was a war of attrition, to be sure. Both defenses held strong, and it seemed a grave mistake would be the only way a team might score. The Chargers immediately turned to their MVP, LaDanian Tomlinson, going to him on all 6 plays of their first drive. The Bears defense was ready for the challenge, though, and would prove LT’s Nike commercial a far cry from reality. Both offenses struggled early, San Diego coming up with more first downs but hurting themselves with penalties. At the end of the first quarter the Bears blocked a 33 yard field goal attempt by Nate Kaeding and Mike Brown came up with an interception on the Chargers next drive to set up a field goal. Rex Grossman ruined the Bears best scoring chance, throwing an interception on what looked like a miscommunication with Bernard Berrian in the endzone. At halftime, the Bears led 3-0, and the defenses of both teams had established their dominance.
The 3rd quarter saw much of the same. LT struggled on the ground and the Chargers lost yards on penalties. The Bears offense was even more anemic, with Berrian’s receptions providing the only bright spot. Cedric Benson was unimpressive, reaffirming his status as a north-south runner with no burst speed and no highlight reel moves. He had one run in the first half that showed some promise—a nice push through the pack, taking tacklers with him to get the first down. He better do more of that the next game, because Chicago fans will jump all over him quickly if he fumbles again or proves as ineffective as he did Sunday.
At the end of the 3rd, San Diego got just the break they were looking for when the Bears fumbled a punt return, handing the ball over at their own 29. A few plays later LT’s halfback-option pass found Antonio Gates in the endzone to put the Chargers on the board and up 4. San Diego’s next, and only other score, came off another Chicago mistake. Adrian Peterson fumbled on the run—Chicago’s 4th turnover of the day—and the Chargers took advantage of an unrested Bears D with a 7 yard Tomlinson score. At the end of the day the Chargers won 14-3 in a game that hardly met up to the marquee matchup fans expected. The Bears held LT to just 25 yards on 17 carries and Philip Rivers, with no TDs, a fumble and a pick, wasn’t much better than Grossman,(though I’m sure he’ll get a lot less crap for it than Rexy will). In the end, the Bears defense gave the team a chance to win, but the offense couldn’t get it done.
So on a gorgeous sunny day in San Diego, the Bears opened up their season with a loss. I hate to see the team in the basement of the lowly NFC, and I hate to follow up last year’s 7-0 start with a 0-1 beginning. On the other hand, Seattle was the only decent team we faced early on last year, so our undefeated record wasn’t much of an indicator of our talent. Starting off with the Chargers, a favorite to get to the Super Bowl, will only help the team develop and improve. Jumping into the fire right away will do more for us in terms of preparing for big matchups than toasting the Lions or the Vikings would. I’m less worried about the loss of the game than I am about the loss of two of the Bears best defenders, Mike Brown and Dusty Dvoracek, for the season. Grossman, Benson, and our offense better step it up and put some points on the board or it’s gonna be a long season.
Opening Day
My alarm went off at 5:30am Sunday morning, and despite the hour I woke easily. The foggy haze of a night’s sleep lifted without argument, and the promise of the day ahead pressed me into clarity. Opening Day. Two words that bring to mind images of rebirth and possibility, celebration and pageantry. All the predicting and supposing of the preceding months would be disproved or vindicated, all the hopes and expectations of the fans heightened or dashed. Opening Day. The Bears were about to start their season and try to make their way back to the Super Bowl, and I was going to be there. But first I had to get there.
The beginning of our journey turned out to be an augury of the Bears running game on Sunday. Our every move was stopped, at every turn, we met an impasse. I was to meet up with friends at 6:30 to drive to Union Station in downtown LA and catch the 7:20 train to San Diego. By the time we’d shoved 6 adults (all over 5’9”) into one small sedan and gotten on the road, it was already 6:55. The station was 25 minutes away…if we broke a couple laws we might make it on time. The route seemed simple enough, get on the 101 and exit at Alameda; turn right at the station. Unfortunately, we quickly learned that all the major East/West streets between Venice and downtown were closed off for the LA Triathlon. We sped through side streets, blowing red lights and ignoring oncoming traffic, until we finally found access to the freeway. Letting out a collective sigh of relief, we turned onto the on-ramp, only to find a large construction vehicle with a “Lane Closed” sign on it blocking the entrance. 7am on a Sunday morning seemed to them a good time for construction, and we were told to wait 10-15 minutes before the ramp would be re-opened. 10-15 minutes we did not have. More illegalities as we reversed down the ramp and sped back the way we came, our driver seemingly drawing inspiration from the climactic car chase in Blues Brothers. 8 minutes later we were finally on the freeway, flying at 90 miles an hour, knees and arms shoved into the sides of the car, sure we weren’t gonna make it. We completed at least one-third of the previously mentioned triathlon at the station sprinting from the ticket kiosk to the train, putting to good use our authentic NFL game jerseys.
Once on the train, things settled down. Southern California flew by in a blur; an empty Angel Stadium, early morning surfers dotting the waves of Oceanside. Some of us slept, some played cards, all heckled or cheered the Chargers and Bears fans accordingly as they passed through our car. I may or may not have told an infant that I would be crying too if I had to wear a Chargers onesie. It’s all hearsay, really. On the trolley from the train station to the stadium we traded bad Bill Swerski impressions and started a rousing chorus of “Bear Down, Chicago Bears.” It felt more and more as if we’d taken a tiny seed of home and re-planted it across the country. Wandering around the parking lot, it became clear that thousands of other Bears fans had done just the same. While I did walk down a few aisles of mostly Chargers fans, there were just as many areas dominated by Bears fans. One wrong turn and I was jeered and shood away or, in one case, picked up against my will and paraded about by a shirtless, tubby man carrying a Chargers flag. One aisle over and I was given beers, offered marriage proposals, or handed Bears wristbands to wear proudly.
When game time came, we entered the stadium, small and plain but beautiful underneath the spate of sunlight from above. As the national anthem was sung and jets flew overhead, I imagined that every heart in the stadium couldn’t help but feel the same surge of pride and pure, simple happiness that mine did. Our seats were in the 9th row on the 40 yard line, behind the Chargers sideline, and we could see the smiles and growls of the players as the game began. It was a war of attrition, to be sure. Both defenses held strong, and it seemed a grave mistake would be the only way a team might score. The Chargers immediately turned to their MVP, LaDanian Tomlinson, going to him on all 6 plays of their first drive. The Bears defense was ready for the challenge, though, and would prove LT’s Nike commercial a far cry from reality. Both offenses struggled early, San Diego coming up with more first downs but hurting themselves with penalties. At the end of the first quarter the Bears blocked a 33 yard field goal attempt by Nate Kaeding and Mike Brown came up with an interception on the Chargers next drive to set up a field goal. Rex Grossman ruined the Bears best scoring chance, throwing an interception on what looked like a miscommunication with Bernard Berrian in the endzone. At halftime, the Bears led 3-0, and the defenses of both teams had established their dominance.
The 3rd quarter saw much of the same. LT struggled on the ground and the Chargers lost yards on penalties. The Bears offense was even more anemic, with Berrian’s receptions providing the only bright spot. Cedric Benson was unimpressive, reaffirming his status as a north-south runner with no burst speed and no highlight reel moves. He had one run in the first half that showed some promise—a nice push through the pack, taking tacklers with him to get the first down. He better do more of that the next game, because Chicago fans will jump all over him quickly if he fumbles again or proves as ineffective as he did Sunday.
At the end of the 3rd, San Diego got just the break they were looking for when the Bears fumbled a punt return, handing the ball over at their own 29. A few plays later LT’s halfback-option pass found Antonio Gates in the endzone to put the Chargers on the board and up 4. San Diego’s next, and only other score, came off another Chicago mistake. Adrian Peterson fumbled on the run—Chicago’s 4th turnover of the day—and the Chargers took advantage of an unrested Bears D with a 7 yard Tomlinson score. At the end of the day the Chargers won 14-3 in a game that hardly met up to the marquee matchup fans expected. The Bears held LT to just 25 yards on 17 carries and Philip Rivers, with no TDs, a fumble and a pick, wasn’t much better than Grossman,(though I’m sure he’ll get a lot less crap for it than Rexy will). In the end, the Bears defense gave the team a chance to win, but the offense couldn’t get it done.
So on a gorgeous sunny day in San Diego, the Bears opened up their season with a loss. I hate to see the team in the basement of the lowly NFC, and I hate to follow up last year’s 7-0 start with a 0-1 beginning. On the other hand, Seattle was the only decent team we faced early on last year, so our undefeated record wasn’t much of an indicator of our talent. Starting off with the Chargers, a favorite to get to the Super Bowl, will only help the team develop and improve. Jumping into the fire right away will do more for us in terms of preparing for big matchups than toasting the Lions or the Vikings would. I’m less worried about the loss of the game than I am about the loss of two of the Bears best defenders, Mike Brown and Dusty Dvoracek, for the season. Grossman, Benson, and our offense better step it up and put some points on the board or it’s gonna be a long season.
Griese Like Sunday Morning
Griese Like Sunday Morning
http://www.sportsandpopculturebank.com/teamjournals/sarahspainpage.html
Griese Like Sunday Morning
A lot of people have been asking me how I feel about Lovie benching Rex "The Sex Cannon" Grossman and giving Brian "Vivaaaaa Viagra" Griese the start. I haven't seen Griese in action much beyond meaningless pre-season time against 2nd string Ds, so my thoughts will be mostly conjecture, not any sort of informed opinion. With that said, here goes...
I'm hesitantly optimistic.
The first 3 games of the season have made it hard to predict the success (or lack therof) of this year's team. Our defense and special teams have looked good, but as the injuries to key players pile up, we won't be able to depend on the D as much to win games as we have in the past. Regardless, we should still have a shot to win every game if we can get strong play from the back-up defenders who've been forced into starting jobs. Without a vast improvement to our offense, the best we can hope for would be a decent record that's more a reflection of our weak conference than it is our talent. If our offense improves, though, we could find ourselves battling the Pack and the 'Boys for the conference title.
While it isn't fair to blame ALL of our problems on Grossman's poor play, it is fair to say that he wasn't doing his job. Benching Rex is a start, but Griese isn't going to single-handedly revive our offense. Benson needs to show up more consistently and with more heart and assertiveness. He wanted the full weight of the running game on his shoulders, now he has to prove he can handle it. Berrian has been okay, but Moose has all but disappeared. I can't tell whether he's still injured and acting more as a decoy out there than a legit target, or if he's suddenly and inexplicably dropped off as a quality receiver. Olsen and Hester got a lot of hype in the pre-season for spreading the field and keeping defenders guessing but neither has been much of a factor. As a group, our offense just looks like a tired, uninspired, washed-out bunch of guys looking for a good, hard, inspiring slap on the ass. Let's hope Griese's still got enough of an arm on him to give it to 'em.
I've always been more interested in supporting the teams I love than tearing them down, so I'm gonna get behind the newly minted Griese bandwagon as heartily as I tried to tow the sputtering Grossman lemon. Bear down.
Griese Like Sunday Morning
A lot of people have been asking me how I feel about Lovie benching Rex "The Sex Cannon" Grossman and giving Brian "Vivaaaaa Viagra" Griese the start. I haven't seen Griese in action much beyond meaningless pre-season time against 2nd string Ds, so my thoughts will be mostly conjecture, not any sort of informed opinion. With that said, here goes...
I'm hesitantly optimistic.
The first 3 games of the season have made it hard to predict the success (or lack therof) of this year's team. Our defense and special teams have looked good, but as the injuries to key players pile up, we won't be able to depend on the D as much to win games as we have in the past. Regardless, we should still have a shot to win every game if we can get strong play from the back-up defenders who've been forced into starting jobs. Without a vast improvement to our offense, the best we can hope for would be a decent record that's more a reflection of our weak conference than it is our talent. If our offense improves, though, we could find ourselves battling the Pack and the 'Boys for the conference title.
While it isn't fair to blame ALL of our problems on Grossman's poor play, it is fair to say that he wasn't doing his job. Benching Rex is a start, but Griese isn't going to single-handedly revive our offense. Benson needs to show up more consistently and with more heart and assertiveness. He wanted the full weight of the running game on his shoulders, now he has to prove he can handle it. Berrian has been okay, but Moose has all but disappeared. I can't tell whether he's still injured and acting more as a decoy out there than a legit target, or if he's suddenly and inexplicably dropped off as a quality receiver. Olsen and Hester got a lot of hype in the pre-season for spreading the field and keeping defenders guessing but neither has been much of a factor. As a group, our offense just looks like a tired, uninspired, washed-out bunch of guys looking for a good, hard, inspiring slap on the ass. Let's hope Griese's still got enough of an arm on him to give it to 'em.
I've always been more interested in supporting the teams I love than tearing them down, so I'm gonna get behind the newly minted Griese bandwagon as heartily as I tried to tow the sputtering Grossman lemon. Bear down.
What A Difference A Year Makes
What A Difference A Year Makes
http://www.sportsandpopculturebank.com/teamjournals/sarahspainpage.html
WHAT A DIFFERENCE A YEAR MAKES
Sunday, October 1, 2006 –
-The Chicago Cubs beat the Colorado Rockies 8-5, but with the worst record in the National League, their season is over.
-The Chicago Bears drub the Seattle Seahawks 37-6 to move to 4-0 on the season.
A YEAR LATER…
Sunday, September 30, 2007 –
-The Chicago Cubs lose to the Cincinnati Reds 8-4, but after clinching the National League Central Division two days earlier, their season is far from over.
-The Chicago Bears lose 37-27 to the Detroit Lions after giving up an NFL record 34 points in the 4th quarter. The Bears drop to 1-3.
WHAT A DIFFERENCE A YEAR MAKES.
Last year, Chicagoans healed their baseball woes with football wins. Early October, rousing choruses of “Bear Down” were almost loud enough to drown out cries of “Wait ‘til next year.” The second coming of the Monsters of the Midway afforded even the most heartbroken of Cubs fans a happy release. This October, while the Wrigley faithful have something to cheer about, Bears fans are left wondering what happened. This October, Chicagoans are taking solace in…the Cubs?
Cubs spring training 2007. After Cubs management spends roughly 300 million dollars to completely re-vamp the team, Chicagoans are drooling over what looks like a dream line-up. The boys of summer start out slow, but after the All-Star break the team goes on a tear, catching up to hated neighbors, the Milwaukee Brewers. Come October, all that pre-season hype turns out to be more than just hype. The Cubs are the NL Central Champions, and they’ll have the pleasure of being a part of Dane Cook’s irritating “There’s Only One October” promos.
Bears Training Camp 2007. After making it to the Big Show and falling just short, the theme for this year’s team is “Unfinished Business.” Reports out of Bourbonnais speak of Rex Grossman’s improved fundamentals and greater confidence. Berrian, Muhammad, Benson and Olsen are touted as the leaders of an offense that make even our defense stand up and take notice. And speaking of the defense, the return of Tommie Harris and the signing of Archuleta and Walker mean another year of domination, right? And how about that Devin Hester…
Well…at least they got that part right.
Sunday’s loss to the Lions was a whole new low for the Bears. Brian Griese was not the savior we all hoped he’d be and the 'Monsters of the Midway' that used to keep us in games, gave this one away. To be fair, the Bears team that stepped on the field Sunday was not the same team that Grossman led to the Super Bowl last year. Griese took over an offense hurting for Thomas Jones, and was backed by a battered and patchy defense that bore little resemblance to last year’s super-crew. It was heartening to see the Bears put up almost 30 points, but that’s hardly something to cheer about considering they gave Detroit almost 40. Griese should get another chance, but next week he should remember why he got the nod: to manage the game. If we want someone to throw caution (and the long ball) to the wind, we’ve got Grossman. Griese’s job is to play it safe, something the leader of next week’s opponent has learned to do on his way to a 4-0 start. The original NFC North gunslinger, Brett Favre, is gonna laugh his way to a shutout next week if Griese doesn’t settle down and lead with patience.
As for the Bears D, ripping them for Sunday’s let-up is as hard as ripping Trevor Hoffman, baseball’s all-time saves leader, for giving away Monday night’s playoff game against the Rockies. For two straight seasons Bears fans have depended on Urlacher and company to win games, even--as was the case against the Cardinals last season--games in which the offense doesn’t score ONE SINGLE POINT. So I’m giving the Bears D a break. Trying to judge their performance when Archuleta, Briggs, Peanut, Vasher, Dusty and Mike Brown all watched from the sidelines is about as useful as reviewing a White Stripes concert that Jack White sits out with laryngitis. We need our starters back. Period. You can’t do much worse than giving up 34 points in the 4th, so things have gotta pick up from here, right? Let’s hope so.
The football season isn’t nearly as long as baseball’s. At a quarter of the way through, the Bears are already at their “All-Star break.” Now is the time to turn it around, Cubs-style. Dropping to 1-4 while letting the Pack move to 5-0 would be disastrous. This Sunday, the Bears have to make a stand against the division leaders. Until then, I’ll be at the bar, Old Style in hand, humming to myself…Go Cubs Go, Go Cubs Go, Hey Chicago, Whattya say, Cubs are gonna win today...
WHAT A DIFFERENCE A YEAR MAKES
Sunday, October 1, 2006 –
-The Chicago Cubs beat the Colorado Rockies 8-5, but with the worst record in the National League, their season is over.
-The Chicago Bears drub the Seattle Seahawks 37-6 to move to 4-0 on the season.
A YEAR LATER…
Sunday, September 30, 2007 –
-The Chicago Cubs lose to the Cincinnati Reds 8-4, but after clinching the National League Central Division two days earlier, their season is far from over.
-The Chicago Bears lose 37-27 to the Detroit Lions after giving up an NFL record 34 points in the 4th quarter. The Bears drop to 1-3.
WHAT A DIFFERENCE A YEAR MAKES.
Last year, Chicagoans healed their baseball woes with football wins. Early October, rousing choruses of “Bear Down” were almost loud enough to drown out cries of “Wait ‘til next year.” The second coming of the Monsters of the Midway afforded even the most heartbroken of Cubs fans a happy release. This October, while the Wrigley faithful have something to cheer about, Bears fans are left wondering what happened. This October, Chicagoans are taking solace in…the Cubs?
Cubs spring training 2007. After Cubs management spends roughly 300 million dollars to completely re-vamp the team, Chicagoans are drooling over what looks like a dream line-up. The boys of summer start out slow, but after the All-Star break the team goes on a tear, catching up to hated neighbors, the Milwaukee Brewers. Come October, all that pre-season hype turns out to be more than just hype. The Cubs are the NL Central Champions, and they’ll have the pleasure of being a part of Dane Cook’s irritating “There’s Only One October” promos.
Bears Training Camp 2007. After making it to the Big Show and falling just short, the theme for this year’s team is “Unfinished Business.” Reports out of Bourbonnais speak of Rex Grossman’s improved fundamentals and greater confidence. Berrian, Muhammad, Benson and Olsen are touted as the leaders of an offense that make even our defense stand up and take notice. And speaking of the defense, the return of Tommie Harris and the signing of Archuleta and Walker mean another year of domination, right? And how about that Devin Hester…
Well…at least they got that part right.
Sunday’s loss to the Lions was a whole new low for the Bears. Brian Griese was not the savior we all hoped he’d be and the 'Monsters of the Midway' that used to keep us in games, gave this one away. To be fair, the Bears team that stepped on the field Sunday was not the same team that Grossman led to the Super Bowl last year. Griese took over an offense hurting for Thomas Jones, and was backed by a battered and patchy defense that bore little resemblance to last year’s super-crew. It was heartening to see the Bears put up almost 30 points, but that’s hardly something to cheer about considering they gave Detroit almost 40. Griese should get another chance, but next week he should remember why he got the nod: to manage the game. If we want someone to throw caution (and the long ball) to the wind, we’ve got Grossman. Griese’s job is to play it safe, something the leader of next week’s opponent has learned to do on his way to a 4-0 start. The original NFC North gunslinger, Brett Favre, is gonna laugh his way to a shutout next week if Griese doesn’t settle down and lead with patience.
As for the Bears D, ripping them for Sunday’s let-up is as hard as ripping Trevor Hoffman, baseball’s all-time saves leader, for giving away Monday night’s playoff game against the Rockies. For two straight seasons Bears fans have depended on Urlacher and company to win games, even--as was the case against the Cardinals last season--games in which the offense doesn’t score ONE SINGLE POINT. So I’m giving the Bears D a break. Trying to judge their performance when Archuleta, Briggs, Peanut, Vasher, Dusty and Mike Brown all watched from the sidelines is about as useful as reviewing a White Stripes concert that Jack White sits out with laryngitis. We need our starters back. Period. You can’t do much worse than giving up 34 points in the 4th, so things have gotta pick up from here, right? Let’s hope so.
The football season isn’t nearly as long as baseball’s. At a quarter of the way through, the Bears are already at their “All-Star break.” Now is the time to turn it around, Cubs-style. Dropping to 1-4 while letting the Pack move to 5-0 would be disastrous. This Sunday, the Bears have to make a stand against the division leaders. Until then, I’ll be at the bar, Old Style in hand, humming to myself…Go Cubs Go, Go Cubs Go, Hey Chicago, Whattya say, Cubs are gonna win today...
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2 Comments:
you missed the most important aspect of the game.. the cubs actually won, and the bullpen held a lead of less than 28 runs.
and welcome to getting old - but i think you are headed in the right direction. my theory is that once you hit about 28 or 29 your body either starts to put up a fight when you try and drink more than 5 hours straight, OR it gives up and you become an alcoholic.
and yes, i just comment on random people's blogs. especially people who write about the cubs, also live in LA, and are witty.
have a nice day.
Hey Spainy, how did the reunion go?