monkeybard: (Mariners)
It's that annual ritual to which I am addicted: MLB OPENING DAY!  And even though the Mariners aren't opening at home until next Monday, I'm super jazzed!  I'm even prepping a "traditional" baseball dinner:  salmon burgers, spicy tuna roll sushi, and shishkaberries!  (What? These are all available at my ballpark.  What's wrong with your ballpark that they don't have them? ;-) ) I wanted to do garlic fries, but that just seemed like too much effort, whereas I could buy a nice fresh package of sushi at the grocery store.  Oh!  And we mustn't forget the BEER!  Pyramid Curve Ball.  You can't get that one at the ballpark (although you can get the Haywire Hefeweisen), but it's the seasonal baseball ale that I cannot resist.
monkeybard: (Supergirl)
I'm not saying that the Baltimore Orioles didn't play well last night, because they did.  I'm just saying that they had an extra man on their team.  He was the guy wearing black and standing behind home plate.  The guy with the Incredible Shrinking Strike Zone.  Fucking rookie ump.
monkeybard: (Default)
(Is it too, too redundant to cross-post to three separate blogs? ... It is? ... Tough shit.  This will likely get zero-to-no responses in either of the other places so I'm putting it here, too, where at least one of you might even read it.)

What do you think is the most romantic season? Is it spring when the flowers start to bloom? Or summer when so many people insist on getting married? Or autumn when the trees are in their splendor of gold and yellow and red? Or winter when we snuggle up with a special someone and a mug of cocoa in front of a roaring fire?

Well I would argue that it's none of these. The most romantic season, the season that never fails to ignite passion and tears and joy, is Baseball Season. Is it just the deliciously tight pants the boys of summer wear? That certainly doesn't hurt, but I frankly prefer the retro look with the baggy knickerbockers and high socks. Is it the slashy goodness of watching fit young men openly hugging, butt slapping, and leaping all over one another when they win, or embracing in tears when they lose the biggest games in the fall? That doesn't hurt either. But in my opinion it's the history of the sport, the excitement of the game itself, and the unmistakeable and inimitable cries of "My oh my!" and "Fly away!" and (my personal fave) "Get out the rye bread and mustard, Grandma! It's grand salami time!" from
Cooperstown-bound Dave Niehaus that make my heart flutter and my eyes well up. That's romance to me.

And, yeah, the boys in tight pants smacking each other on the ass are nice, too. ;)
monkeybard: (Herne)
It's a shame the M's are playing (or rather trying to play) in Cleveland.

Cleveland, OH
» Put Your Local Weather Here


27ºF
-3ºC

Right Now
L/SNOW

Humidity: 74%
Wind: SW, 8 mph
Barometer: 29.89 inches
Visibility: 7 miles




I'm sad for my boys of "summer".  I'm sad for the Indians.  I'm sad for the fans whose butts are probably freezing to the seats.  I'm sad for the grounds crew who are doing their damnedest to get/keep the field clear. 

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