Today is not such a good day

I first met Matt Bush when he played for the Class A Stone Crabs here in Port Charlotte in 2010. He was quiet and soft-spoken, polite and funny, and sat up in the press box a lot that summer which made me think he must not be a very good pitcher.

But then he pitched, and wow. This kid -- media guide has him at 5-11, he's 5-9, tops -- routinely threw in the mid-90s almost effortlessly, and I knew I had to talk to him after the game.

Except I couldn't, and asking why led me to learn just who Matt Bush was.

How had I never heard about this guy? Apparently, I'm either the worst sports reporter ever or I have a huge National League deficiency because as soon as I googled his name, everything popped up. That was a lot of stuff to read through and I could hardly believe the stories and video I saw were talking about the game guy I shared the pressbox with from time to time.

When my roommate sent me a text with the latest news last night, I was beyond sad. Of course for the victim and his family -- he's a fighter, by the way, and it sounds like he's going to be OK -- but for Matt and his family. It's such a tragic thing to have happen on both sides, and I hated like hell to have to be the one to write the story. I spent about six hours trying to make it more than just an accident report, and had just gotten it about where I wanted it to be when my boss called and sent me in a different direction with the story.

So this one didn't make the paper, but since I like it so much better than the one that will be published tomorrow, I didn't want it to go to waste. Hope you enjoy the story no matter the subject... it was a tough one to write.

Already Been There

PORT CHARLOTTE — Slurred speech. Unsteady walk. Bloodshot eyes. A 0.18 blood alcohol level. They were all in Rays pitcher Matt Bush’s arrest report Thursday evening. Then, a quote most damning of all:

“Already been there.”

It was a phrase uttered by Bush when the arresting officer offered some advice to the 26-year-old as he was transported to Charlotte County jail under a handful of charges including DUI hit and run in front of Port Charlotte Town Center Mall. The officer suggested after Bush admitted to having a serious alcohol problem, that the seriousness of the current incident should be an awakening.

Bush replied that it wasn’t. “Already been there,” he added.

The victim, 72-year-old Anthony Tufano, was transported to Lee County Memorial Hospital with serious injuries after being struck by Bush’s SUV and then, according to eyewitnesses, run over by the same vehicle.

Bush said he never saw Tufano, nor did he remember striking him, but did admit to hitting a pole with the same SUV in Sarasota earlier in the day, and “buying a few” alcoholic beverages. After colliding with Tufano’s green Harley Davidson, the accused fled the scene and was apprehended a short time later in North Port under several charges ranging from misdemeanors to third-degree felonies. He is currently being held without bond.

“It’s a tough moment,” Tampa Bay Rays manager Joe Maddon said. “It’s a kid that’s in the process of making a great comeback in his life and he’s got this against him right now. He’s got great stuff as a baseball player, but this is a life situation, this is about him and his life and his livelihood, so it’s a tough one right now.

“We really thought there was going to be a time where he was going to impact us this season at some point. Mid-90s fastball, really good breaking ball, very good athlete, fields his position well. Everything was going really well for him and for us, and this thing happens last night and it’s beyond unfortunate for the victim.”

After so many second chances, Bush’s baseball career is likely finished. But, as he said Thursday, Bush has already been there.

The top overall pick in 2004 with a $3.15 million bonus and bright future, Bush came out of San Diego with a high-90s fastball to be envied. The Padres were his proud parents back then, and his potential was limitless.

But almost immediately came the drinking, and with it, the troubles. Bush was suspended for an Arizona nightclub fight before he ever took the field. For nearly five years afterward he avoided trouble, but the turmoil continued to rage inside. Alcohol was seriously affecting his game: Once a shortstop who hit .450 as a high school senior, Bush’s problem reduced him to hitting .192 in 2004, and .221 the year after.

After breaking his ankle and missing half of the 2006 season, San Diego converted Bush into a pitcher. But Bush needed Tommy John surgery after throwing just seven games, and missed all of 2008.

With the layoff came more drinking, and in February 2009 the Padres released Bush after an incident that led to him pleading guilty to four counts of simple battery. He was signed by Toronto the same week but released within two months after violating the zero tolerance policy in his contract.

“It got to the point where (alcohol) was kind of running my life,” he said in January 2011. “I couldn’t really do the things on the field that I had done before when I didn’t have such bad problems. It really got to me emotionally, physically, everything.”

Two months after his stint with the Blue Jays, Bush was videotaped in an altercation with police, and charged with drunken driving, resisting arrest and vandalism. He went home to his family and sobered up long enough to impress the Rays, who offered him a second lease on life. Bush had avoided trouble since then, quietly finding a home on the 40-man roster last season and striking out 77 hitters in 50 ¹⁄₃ innings at Double-A Montgomery under pitching coach Neil Allen.

“This is a devastating incident to happen,” said Allen, who also worked with Bush at Class A Charlotte in 2010. “It’s just a stomach-turning event. What the Rays have put, the time and effort they have put into this young man to help him come along the proper line in life was outstanding. We were all so proud and happy what we saw… From where he’s been to where he’d come to is unbelieveable.

“As time went on, his sobriety and the things he was doing were fantastic. And I think he believed in us and we believed him. That’s why we’re all blindsided right now.”

Bush was excelling this spring. He pitched 4 2/3 scoreless innings, all the while showing flashes of the greatness he once possessed. But the demons that had claimed him before soon had their hold again.

Having “already been there” didn't make it any easier to control this time, either.

Something that once possessed him is back, and there is one man in a hospital bed and another in a jail cell because of it. Tufano remains in serious condition but daughter-in-law Shannon Moore said the family expects that he will survive the injuries sustained when eyewitness John Sugden Jr. said Bush, “literally… ran over the driver’s head.”

“Thanks to Willow, he was wearing a helmet,” Moore said, of her 14-year-old daughter. “About two years ago, he wasn’t wearing a helmet, and Willow said, ‘Look, if you don’t wear a helmet, I’m not talking to you.’ He was like, ‘It’s Florida, it’s really hot, I’m a really good driver, I’ve been riding motorcycles for a long time, I’m fine.’ She was like, ‘No, I want you to wear a full-face helmet or I’m not talking to you.’

“So he agreed to wear the helmet and thank goodness he was wearing it.”

The Rays have so far remained mum on the incident, releasing only this statement:

“The Tampa Bay Rays organization is deeply saddened by today’s tragic news. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the victim and his family. We will reserve further comment until we learn more about the incident that took place.”

♫♫♫ Today was a good day ♫♫♫

(That's Ice Cube, although if you didn't know that, I'm not sure we should be friends)

Over the past few days there has been a whole lot of college baseball, some Rays baseball and even one night that I actually got to go to the park and - gasp! - enjoy the game without having to work! So, you know, life's been good... Again, I get paid to watch baseball, who could argue that's not the best job out there?

So I've pretty much been left on my own work-wise this week, and able to set my own schedule so long as I get the scheduled feature stories written before their due dates. It's a pretty great schedule to have - if I want to spend 8 hours watching baseball, I can, if I have other stuff going on, I work around it. And I love feature writing (that's my most favorite of all the writingish stuff I have to do), which basically means I just hang around and talk to a bunch of random people and find something fun to write about. I love talking to strangers and I love being able to be creative with my writing (can't really do that as much as I'd like with game stories/notebooks), so if you're wondering why I've been really happy this week after a month of awful, that's why. :)

I spent a day or so on the CSP back fields stalking minor leaguers this week, which always makes me happy. Because we're pretty close to the end of spring, all the Crabbies are now down in minors camp and therefore very easy to find. It's great to catch up with the guys - who are still approachable, at this level - and find out how everyone's winter went. Moore went elk hunting, to Vegas and couch-crashed at a friend's house in San Diego, doesn't sound like too bad of a winter. Cruz was alternately worried about whether Montgomery residents like Mexicans in Montgomery, and jokingly upset that he hadn't been invited over for barbecue/pool fiestas this spring. I also met Chris Archer - the Cubs' top pitching prospect, whom the Rays got in the Garza trade - who seems like a really cool cat. He won't sniff Class A Charlotte unless it's on a rehab assignment, but he was definitely interesting and someone to keep in mind features-wise. He also joined Elliot Johnson on the list of only athletes I've ever worked with to come up and introduce themselves, a feat all its own.

Joe Cruz

Chris Archer

Matt Moore

To top it all off, we're in the middle of MARCH MADNESS, which we all know I love more than anything except baseball. The Sparties went down in flames in the first round, but really surprised me with that run in the second half. Everyody and their mom got upset (Pitt, Xavs, St. Johns, Texas A&M, Georgetown, Louisville, Vandy, and UNLV) which means everybody's bracket is garbage, which means I have the slimmest of slim hopes to win ESPN's bracket game (I'm in the 90.3 percentile right now... but still in 572,477th place. HA).  

<3 Mook <3 , Kieff, TRob, Braids and the guys won their first-round -- not that that stopped them from nearly giving me a heart attack in the first half -- and they play again tonight, against Illinois. I spent the day of the 2005 National Championship game alone and wandering around various bars in Champaign in an "I love Head" T-shirt (Luther Head, you'll remember, played for the Illini that year), drinking anything anyone would put in front of me, learning the UI fight song and, eventually, writing about the experience for SI, so I'm kind of torn in my allegiances... I've got a Head jersey and a Mook jersey... butttttt I'll probably go with the Jayhawks, just to be on the safe side.

Mook! <3 ~F.O.E.~ <3

 Grant moves back in today... or he might already have moved in - since I'm at the ballpark, I can't be sure - and he'll be here again til early September. I'm very much looking forward to having both his company and the extra money that will go toward such wonderful things as new kitchen appliances, my trainer and a trip to somewhere fabulous (camping in Key West?) for my birthday in August. If only Hova felt the same, sigh.

I just might drag my laptop to the tiki at the bowling alley, sit outside and type today. It's waaaaay too nice to be stuck indoors and while I'd normally go home and post up on the lanai, I'm sure Grant has some unpacking/settling in to accomplish today, and would probably like some space to get everything set up. Having him around really puts the kibosh on running around the house in my underwear, but hey, there's always road trips! Ha.

On other fronts, I've been offered three different **paid** coaching gigs for the fall. I know, right? The drag is that I couldn't work full-time at the paper and coach, so I'd have to find another career and then string for the Sun. The upside to this is that I've also had tentative teaching offers at two of those three schools, so I suppose now it just boils down to whether I want to make the switch or not. I love, love, love coaching kids - and just really working with them in general - but I don't know if I'm ready to trade baseball for basketball full-time just yet. I guess with everything else that's happened in my life, I'll sit back and wait for something to sway me one way or the other, and roll with it. That approach has never steered me wrong before, we'll see how it goes. :)

I guess that's about all for now, folks... til' later on!


### Sportsgal ###

P.S. - All baseball photos are courtesy of the ever wonderful Nick Martinez. :)

Here we go

♫♫♫ ... here we go again; going through the same thing...♫♫♫
(that's Portrait, if you're curious)



**I apologize ahead of time for the lack of photos in this entry: I've taken plenty, I just don't have the energy to upload them and place them in a way you'll enjoy. So close your eyes and imagine the ballpark if you want, the image is better than any picture my cell phone can reproduce, anyway**



The past few days have been nothing if not entertaining for their high untentional comedy value. I've dealt with sunburn, an exploding well, rush hour in Tampa, yipping dogs and, last but not least, baseball. Only one of those is positive by the way, but I'm not here to insult your intelligence by asking you which one you think it is. Moving right along...

Those of you who've been following the baseball blog since 2006 must well have learned two things by now: That I wait 10 1/2 months each year for this wonderful 6-week stretch, and also that every year about a week or so in I get really bitchy and whiny from lack of sleep. Don't worry, friends and family! I have not disappointed you at all; yesterday I had a complete meltdown and Saturday morning I screamed to my neighbors over the back fence that I promised to, "KILL YOUR F***ING DOGS!"



In all fairness to me, my amazing backyard associates first fired up a chainsaw from 6-7, then added a woodchipper shortly thereafter. On a Saturday morning when I hadn't slept in many days. Just when I thought I was going to be able to get back to sleep... they let their tiny, screaming canines out, who proceeded to bark their lungs out for five minutes straight. It was then and only then that I opened the lanai door long enough to scream the above threat. To their credit, I haven't heard those little furry assholes since.



This segues nicely into my next disaster, one which involved both of my well's bladder tanks to crap out shortly after I left for work. Thank God for wonderful neighbors, who not only noticed the sound and came over to shut off the water and the well pump, but called me to fill me in and then, after I bought new tanks at Home Depot, graciously helped me install them.



The entire process, from leaving work early to the final piece of pvc pipe in place, only took about 3 hours, which is good considering I didn't know what the hell I was doing. All was, ahem, well,  until I turned the water back on... and the backyard pipe (going down to the well) blew a seal, causing me to visit three hardware stores for a part that none of them had. Liquid cement, a lot of duct tape and two hours later all was "well" again... until I turned on the water and the motor in my aerator blew. I'm now bathing in the pool because I really don't know how much more bullsh!t I can take from my plumbing.



But who cares about all that, right? It's SPRING TRAINING, the most glorious of all times of the year and I shouldn't be whining just based on principle. So let's skip right over the boys basketball regional quarterfinal in Tampa that took me 3 1/2 hours to get to on Thursday evening, and get to the good stuff: Camp stories.



There's going to be a lot going down in camp this spring; mostly because seven of the eight bullpen guys from last year have peaced out. Right now though, this week was just about pitchers and catchers getting back in the groove before everyone reports tomorrow to work out as a group.



I'm really getting sick of people asking Maddon (Joe, the manager) what he thinks about the bullpen, or how they'll do without such-and-such, or how much this will hurt them this year, or who'll be the closer. He says the same thing to everyone -- mostly that he doesn't know, but that he's confident things will work themselves out -- but every time a new national guy comes around the hut, he has to repeat himself and the rest of us have to sit and listen.



I mean, do people really think you can snap your fingers and get eight guys to work together seamlessly? Most teams have a hard enough time doing that with their returning guys, let alone a whole new group. What happened last year in the Rays' pen was lightning in a bottle, and while they have about 40 guys ready to fill three spots and can pick and choose as they please, I don't think anyone should be screaming for anyone's head should this year's relief corps not perform up to the standards set by those who came (and went, clearly) in 2010.



But hey, what do I know? I'm just a baseball nut with a keyboard.



Some random ramblings:
+ The new guys are, for the most part, pretty cool and seem to be fitting in the clubhouse with everyone else famously. Yes, that includes Manny, who made a "Where's your cap?" joke to Evan by the batting cages the other day.



+ On that note, if I hear/see/read/think anyone say/write/think "Just Manny being Manny" one more time this week, I'll probably snap. This is fast going the way of the Justin Bieber franchise (every song sounds the same, hella cliche, makes me want to break watches, etc.)

+ All of the 62 guys in camp had reported by today, save the guy who just signed yesterday and someone I hadn't heard of. When I started covering the Rays in 2006, the guys showed up only when they had to. It's cool to see how far they've come.

+ I'm not sure why Eliott Johnson came up and introduced himself to me this morning (he's been with the Rays since 2002, me, since 2006), but it was nice that he was friendly about it and I'll take it. I've never actually had any athlete go out of their way and introduce themselves to me before; usually they care as much about our names as we do theirs (the flip? We're paid to care so we must). Different, but not bad.

+ Vogt gave me a hug when he saw me, that always makes you feel good. Like I said in my last post, he got invited to big-league camp this year which I'm all for; he's got one of the coolest crawl-through-a-river-of-shit-and-come-out-clean-on-the-other-side stories I've heard in a while and he and his wife are great people, and it's always good to see the good guys succeed. He's one of (I think) seven or eight Stone Crabs in the clubhouse this spring, and it's always neat to see the guys you covered in the minors step up and do well.



+ Joe Maddon has a '72 Chevelle painted "candy apple blue." It's beautiful and I want it. He entered it in the car show across the street from the park today, no word on whether he won or not.



+ Helli's hamstring is still sore so he didn't do anything outside today. Word on the street is that he'll be back outdoors tomorrow, but will probably be limited to playing catch or something non-strenuous like that.



+ The Rays motto this season is (I think) "find another way," meaning after losing everyone who could run to more money +40 percent of their payroll, they're going to have to find another way to compete in the tough AL East. This motto is along the lines of Maddon's recent "theme for a year" deal, which included "9=8," "9>8" and "WIN," and really makes reliever J.P. Howell happy. Howell, ever the comedian, quipped that he "just didn't get all that math stuff" and this year's ditty was a lot easier to handle.



+ I talked to Chirinos today. His English has gotten 500 percent better since the last time I've seen him, and my Spanish has deteriorated proportionately. He seemed to find that funny.



+ I'm almost certain I misheard that David Price was in catcher's gear for a day this week. How did I miss this? Oh yeah, I'm avoiding the sun because my skin either a) reflects light, or b) absorbs it at a rate of zero to Dawn's-a-freakin-tomato that I've never quite fully understood.



+ The baseball tab is FINALLY done, so I can stop being tempted by drowning myself in the pool now while I sit on the lanai and write in the afternoon. It's even possible I might get to bed before 3 a.m. and show up to the park at 10 feeling like a human being... but that's a big "if." We all know how I hate mornings.



+ Mom is 80 percent of the way to my humble abode, where she'll be shacking up for a week. I got two phone calls about 3 minutes apart this evening - Mom, to tell me how good the 80-degree weather feels on her Panama City balcony, and Dad, who was out in the driveway shoveling snow, but not fast enough that it hadn't covered up his snowblowing tracks by the time he got to the end of the driveway today. Poor Daddy.



+ Miguel Cabrera gets my preseason vote for most balls and worst dumbass move all in one night. Poor Miggy. :/



+ This is the first spring in a while that Shane isn't in Florida to train. Now that he's with the Giants I guess he figures he's some kind of big shot, but I'm sincerely going to miss sipping coffee at a bookstore and making fun of passersby as we talk about life. We've been friends for nearly a decade, and I've watched him grow from thinking it was cool to smash shotglasses on his back fence and shoot his friends with dart guns for fun, to husband and expectant father. The part of him I love, though - the part that will always listen to my problems and then put me in my place - hasn't changed. I bet he'll never lose his sharp tongue. 



+ My kids are learning a lot in practice and I've decided while it's a lot of work, it's also fun to be a coach. They call me "Coach D" (I would NOT let them even utter 'Coach K' around me), and are really good at listening. Practices and tournaments make life really hectic on top of spring training, softball, tennis and school, but it's so rewarding to be able to pass on my passion to a group of teenagers who - gasp - actually listen to what I say. I enjoy going to the gym and hanging with them throughout the week. Now, if only they could shoot...

+ I made the best dinner ever tonight: baked potato with honey, salad and a flank steak pinwheel with spinach and mozzarella wrapped in it. It's been so long since I've actually had the time to cook that I forgot how much better I feel when I'm eating homemade stuff, as opposed to flooding my system with Diet Dew in order to stay awake and not have my stomach eat itself. I've got chicken marinating in a bowl for tomorrow, should be just as good. :)



+ MSU FINALLY won a close game. They've been breaking my heart so much lately it's hard for me to even turn on the tv when they play. I get so mad and I think it scares Hova, who cowers in fear under my bed until the game's done, which can't be good for her I-love-mom psyche. Anyway, Kalin Lucas has been on fire the past few games and Day-Day had some nice end-of-the-game contributions against Illinois despite only playing about 1/4 of the time he usually does (he had the flu), so I'm encouraged. Not so much damn-we're-gonna-make-a-run-in-March encouraged, but let's start small: Say, hey, we might make the tournament after all. And, if I'm being greedy, say we win the first round before we get smoked by a bunch of white boys from Liberty and I cry for the rest of the month. Ah well, there's always Mook and Kansas to root for. :)



+ I finally got an iPhone, after 4-5 years of waiting for Verizon to sell it. It was well worth the wait, except that now I'm addicted to playing something called "Words with Friends," with my sister, which is pretty much electronic Scrabble, which I never liked. We're 1-1 as of now and I hate her because she comes up with these bullshit 50+-point words that she doesn't even know exist by just throwing random letters up and hitting "send" until they process. I think this is cheating, but she's adamant about telling everyone how cool she is because I'm a writer and she beat me once, so I'll let her have it. (WTF is a "zoon" ?? She sure didn't know, but it's the reason I'm trailing by 20 points right now)



+ I got called racist by a black guy shooting pool at the bar last week. I don't know how I am supposed to respond to this, although I'm not ashamed to say that all I could do is laugh in response, which didn't help the situation any. It all began over him eavesdropping on my conversation as I talked about hot sauce and how you can put it on any food and make it taste delicious, and how I learned that from living with Luck-e. Now, I'm a racist. Still trying to figure this one out, but I'm pretty sure the whole bar laughed with me when he got in my face, so at least everyone else knows the true story. I really need to learn not to let drunken, ignorant people make me sad, but I don't take that lightly.



+Gary Brown's retirement party is tomorrow night, and I think we should all wear mustard-stained shirts to honor him. 



+ I can't wait til I have the day off so I can go to a Tigers' game.



I think that's enough rambles for the night; these entries should become a little more regular now that I can actually look at my keyboard at the end of the day without wanting to frisbee it into the pool, so you snowbound Michigan friends will be free to live through me vicariously once again. For now, it's bed-time at Casa de Sportsgal.



G'nite, kiddos.



##30##

♫♫♫ Welcome Back ♫♫♫

(I just did my best impression of Ma$e right there, but you didn't hear it because, well, you're not here. Your loss!)

And if you're not here, you're clearly missing out because today marks the first official day of pitchers and catchers workouts for the Rays. It's hot here, in the mid-70s, and I'm already sunburned (not that that should be a surprise to any of you) even though a nice man from Warren (yay Michigan folks!) gave me sunscreen after he heard me whining.

Hmmmm... what else? The sun is shining, the grass is green and I think my new basketball shoes came in the mail today; I couldn't ask for more.

Lots of new faces in the clubhouse this season; some that I've covered while working on other teams, and some just new altogether. I guess the biggest pleasant surprise was seeing Chirinos in a Rays jersey. He played for the Lugnuts when I was in college and although I wasn't covering the team at that time, I was still the designated translate-for-me/drive-me-to-the-ghetto-to-get-phone-cards-so-I-can-call-my-wife-in-Venezuela white girl, so we along famously.

Didn't get a chance to talk to him; there was too much other ish going on. I think he and Pie are the only ones from that Cubs team to still be hanging around, so it was nice to see two of my old-school friends doing well.

Yes, Manny showed up to camp today - 5 days before he's required to report. He didn't work out (Maddon guessed it would be tomorrow), but the fact he showed early gives me hope that he wants to abandon the negative image many folks have of him and start over. It would be very nice; the Rays have SUCH a nice clubhouse compared to other teams, it'd be sad to see that go.

That being said, he does have three lockers in the clubhouse. Neither Pat nor I could remember the last guy that had that luxury. Maybe Tampa Bay feels he's earned it. Maybe it was a contract stipulation. Orrrrrrr maybe his feet just smell, only time will tell.

Some randomness:
+ David Price tried to charge one of the reporters "friendship dues." I wonder if he knows most of us make little enough to probably qualify for food stamps.

+ Met two neat older guys from Michigan, and we got to talk Spartans for almost the entirety of the outdoor workouts. They're both huge MSU fans and have been following the team on TV even though they're on vacation (as they've done every year for a long time now). That turned into Tigers talk, which evolved into Lions talk, which then turned to Brandon Inge, and just how awesome he is. In short: It's never a bad thing to randomly come across people from back home.

+ There are (I believe) eight Stone Crabs in major league camp this spring, which always makes me smile. Probably the most so? Stephen Vogt, who's been through just about everything and back, only to surprise the hell out of everyone and win the batting title with a .336 average. He, probably more than anyone, has earned this reward.

+ J.P. Howell has gained 30 pounds this offseason and he still doesn't weigh 200. If you didn't know him before, you'd never have guessed how much weight he gained because he looks like a normal guy now. Last spring, he looked, in his words, "Pretty freakin' frail, dude." Since he'll be leaned on heavily to show the new 'pen the "Ray Way" and also to keep things light out there, it's good to see him healthy.

+ The clubhouse was strange without Pena and CC around. Not that they'd be in camp yet anyway since position players aren't due to report til next week, but it's eerie not having to camp out outside one of their lockers. CC always had great quotes that would never be able to be printed, and Carlos just had the shiny-happy vibe that was hard not to like. I covered Pena when he was with the Tigers so he's been around a while, and Carl's first year with the big kids was mine, too, so it's different not seeing either of them. I guess we'll just have to wait and see how the team can step up without them.

+ Stu Sternberg (the owner) was on hand, as he usually is on day one, for a mini press conference out on the field. Usually he excuses himself immediately afterward but this time he hung around outside with us for the majority of workouts, schmoozed with a 90(!)-year-old fan and then even made an appearance in the clubhouse to watch ESPN and shoot the bull with us while we waited for the guys to get dressed. While he's always been friendly he's also extremely busy, so never since I've been there has he been to casually available. This spring is quickly turning into BizarroRays2011.

And now, because I"m sure you've missed these as much as I have....(drumroll)

*****Today's quote of the day is actually a tie, between pitchers David Price and J.P. Howell.*****

"Great to see you guys again... now GO AWAY." (Price, joking with the media)

"At a Miami game, when it's 95 degrees, you can sneak a nap in - but watch the cameras." (Howell, on what he'll teach the bullpen newcomers)

Later, kiddos.

-Sportsgal

You CAN go home again... even in Winter time

I haven't slept in about three days, so this entry may or may not be coherent. That being said, there were some things I'd like to reflect on while they're fresh in my mind.....


I flew home Wednesday to say goodbye to a friend. Scott was my first best friend, and because he was only a year younger than me, there's not a time in my early life where I can't remember him being around. For those who didn't have the pleasure of knowing Scott, let me take a little bit here and get you up to speed.

He was, what my uncultured, not-from-Jim-Town friends might call a hick through and through. Heck, we all are. But Scott, he took it a step further - he was an outdoorsman. If the world ever ended and we were forced to live in the woods behind my parents' house and wrestle deer for food, I would make sure that this kid was on my team. There was nothing he couldn't do when it came to the wildnerness, and was, as his best friend Dan said at the funeral Thursday, the one true "white-tail slayer." I don't remember a hunting season that Scott didn't get at least one buck... or goose... or bat... or turtle. Whatever there was to hunt, he was your man.

I was never into hunting, but I loved him because he liked to get dirty. Those of you who knew me during my formative years know I was quite the tom boy, and Scott indulged my every off-the-wall request. Flood dad's garden so we had mud to play in? Sure. Build a fort out of Mister George's cilo? Why not? Play army in the woods? Any day. Go in the barn and throw rocks at the bats? I'm game. And so there we were, two little kids running all over the fields and woods and creation, being.... well, hick-ish.

It was an amazing childhood, and I loved every minute of it. His friendship saved me from being pretty lonely back then, although I don't think I ever told him that. He had a sister to hang with, I was an only child. He probably had scads of neighborhood friends from school; I went to a private school in the city, and parents rarely wanted to drive 30 minutes to bring their kids to play. Although he probably had cooler kids to hang with, he never seemed to mind me including myself in on everything he did, if only, sometimes, to avoid sitting alone in my room and playing my favorite solitaire game - "counting red cars" that went by on the road.

Scott was a quiet, thoughtful kid, and the only reason he'd ever stick out in a crowd was because he was always 10 feet taller than anyone, and had the prettiest shock of orange-red hair you'd ever seen. I can't remember him ever yelling, probably because he never did. At least, around me. That doesn't mean he was exactly an angel, though.

I remember the time - we had to have been around 6 or 7 - that Scott and I were playing around his grandpa's barn (we were neighbors, with grandpa's farm between us). Marc was there, too - Scott's cousin, who was a year older than I. Scott played a little bit rougher when Marc was around and though I tried to keep up, I was still a scrawny little girl, and I think they enjoyed ganging up on me.

It was summer and we were exploring stuff, and Marc dared me to climb down into the bottom of the cilo. I was scared but tried to tough it out, and got most of the way down the ladder before Marc pushed me to the bottom. I was too short to reach the ladder from the bottom and panicked, while Marc and Scott laughed from above.

"You're going to have to live down there now!" Marc called down. "Your parents will have to bring you food and you'll be the cilo girl forever."

To a first-grade mind, being called "Cilo Girl" had some very serious repercussions associated with it that I hoped desperately to avoid. Plus, it smelled down there, and the ground was wet. There was no cover on the top of the cilo, what would I do when it rained? Would I ever play fetch with my dog again?

All of these things ran through my mind as I looked up at them. Had this happened last summer, I would've cussed up a storm and thrown half-rotted animal parts in their general direction until they got me out. But I was six, so instead I screamed and cried and hell, I probably peed my pants - until they got me out.

Scott's family had the best swingset in the neighborhood. Now that I look back, most of that because we were the only two houses with kids around, but I remember having fun because it was anchored in concrete so you could go really, really high on the swings and not have to worry about tipping over the whole thing (a grievous error that, if committed in my back yard, resulted in such serious punishments as being forced to spend the rest of the day indoors).

I was going to town on my swing when Scott decided he liked my swing seat better than his, and demanded I get off. I refused - I was just about to set the world record, I think, for height achieved in the 9-year-old category - and so, on my backswing, he planted his foot square in the middle of my back and I went flying off and onto the stone driveway.

It hurt - a LOT - but I wasn't about to let a boy see me cry. So I curled up in a ball and played dead until he came over to check on my well-being. I waited until he knelt down to shake me, and swung out blindly and wildly with my tiny, ineffectual fists of fury.

I dropped him on the first shot, and was pretty proud of myself until he started crying. I mentioned before that he was much, much taller than me, and so my first fist landed squarely in his crotch. I know this because he started whimpering, "You p-p-p-punched me in the p-p-p-penis!"

I wasn't sure who was going to get into more trouble - him, for saying the word 'penis' or me for cracking him there, but I didn't stick around to find out; I hightailed it home. If he ever told on me, I never knew.

Those are just two of about 6 million stories that come to mind when I think about Scott. As close as we were as kids, we started running with different crowds when I transferred to his school, and I didn't see much of him socially after that. After I moved to Florida, I ran into him a couple of times at our neighborhood bar - Hill's - and he was always at least nice enough to act happy to see me, give me a hug and ask how things were.

The last time I saw Scott was the day our best friends got married. Different weddings, different destinations, but in the middle of May last year we both ended up, dressed in our wedding best, at Hill's again. He looked great - he was the best man, and smiling ear-to-ear when the limo pulled up. Of course, his sisters were there, and together the three of us enjoyed a mini-reunion of the James Township kids all grown up. It was a lot of fun.

Since his passing, I've taken a lot of quiet time to reflect on my childhood and the various memories associated with it. Most of the good ones involve Scott in some way, and though we grew apart with age, he was a huge part of my growing up. I have him to thank for being fascinated with all things outdoors and, probably more than anything, toughening me up as a lil' me so that I didn't turn into one of those weepy, whiny types who watches Oprah and can't change a lightbulb.

I'm so sad he's gone now and that I didn't have more of a chance to get to know the adult Scott. But I'm pretty content with the Scotty I remember: The one who was terrified of Billy Bob at Chuck-E-Cheese, the one who was never happier than when he was dragging home a buck from the field and yes, the one who, once Marc was out of earshot, promised me that if I did end up having to live out my days in that cilo, he'd sneak me cookies in case my parents forgot them.

He was a great, great, great friend, and I'm comforted to know that he's in Heaven and happy now. We'll miss you, Scotty, but we all know that this is not goodbye, it's just see you later. Rest in peace, Red. :)

April 1982 ~ January 24, 2011

...................................sorry this entry is such a downer. While this may be selfish, I can't go to sleep thinking sad thoughts so, with your permission, I'd like to spend the rest of my time here making it up to both of us by rehashing the visit home that amounted to 34 hours from wheels down to wheels up.


Random Ruminations from Saginaw, Michigan:

+ It costs anywhere between $6.25-$10.50 for a vodka and Red Bull in Charlotte County. The same drink in Shields, Michigan? Three bucks.

+ I grew up in a magical place the locals call "Jim Town" that has a sense of community you really only see in "Fried Green Tomatoes" or "Now and Then" movies. It is such a wonderful feeling to walk into a place and know every single person in the room, from great-grandparents to cousins to kiddos and ex-wives... and though none of them are your family, you know they're still all a part of your family.

+ I think my dad and I are the only non-Catholic folks in the community: At Scott's funeral, we were two of maybe 10 people, out of a few hundred, that didn't take Communion.


+ I have, by my last tally, now spent at least 4 hours in six different states in five days in a stretch of less than two weeks (Florida, Georgia, Michigan, Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas). I think I'm done traveling for a while.

+ It's funny that I can be gone for almost seven years now, and my parents still know where to find me when I'm home. I told my dad I was going grocery shopping for dinner and wasn't home in an hour, so he called me. "Where are you?" "Umm....wellllll....." "Oh. You stopped at Hill's, didn't you." I'm nothing if not predictable.

+ Speaking of Hill's, we've all been going there for so long that things have come full-circle. I was 10 or 11 when I started going there with my dad (he'd drink beer, I'd have a coke). I was 16 when I started going with my friends and, because my friend's grandparents own the bar, we all got to stay and my mom was never worried because she knew someone would tell on me if I tried to sneak a drink. 18 years later, I've drank with my friends and their parents, their parents' parents and our old high school teachers, but I was NOT prepared to do a shot with someone I knew while they were still in diapers and I was in third grade.

+ It was incredibly touching and so on-point when Dan entered the church carrying Scott's ashes... and he had the bill of a camo hat tucked neatly into one back pocket, and a pair of deer antlers hanging out the other. <3

+ I Know I'm Home When: I buy the entire bar a round, tip the bartender (whose brother I dated in high school)... I get more change back from a $50 bill than what I spent.


+ There is nothing finer in the world than washing down a Tony's original Steak Sandwich with an ice-cold Faygo Redpop. Paralleled only by a coney dog from the one true Coney Island (coney sauce, mustard, onions loaded onto a hot dog).

+ No matter how excited I was about having a Coney Island right next to my gate at the Detroit Airport this morning, I should never EVER have put down three gooey Coney Dogs right before I got on the plane. This should serve as my sincere apology, however belated, to the woman who was unfortunate enough to have to sit next to me on our flight to Atlanta.

+ Everywhere I go, once people find out what I do for a living they want to talk baseball. Lately, that's been centered around Florida and, by default, the Rays. It was wonderful, then, to be able to talk Tigers for the entire night last night.

+ I love how I can walk into a business, bar, or whatever, and someone I don't know will come up to me and say, "You're Dave Klemish's daughter, aren't you." And then they'll tell me a story about my dad.

+ The priest who directed Scott's funeral was pretty clever: We're a tight-knit community, and that's because there's about four generations of each family still in town. Because of this, there are at least 4,000 Schrems folks, 2,900 Gaertners, 1,500 Boehlers... and at least 675 Kretzs, Klemishs and Roenickes. After Dan gave his speech everyone was pretty teary-eyed, and the priest lightened the mood a little by quipping, "Thank you, Dan, that was beautiful. Now normally, we don't allow antlers or stories about deer in church..." Later on, he remarked, "My friend said that if I ever had this many Schrems, Kretzes and Gaertners in one place I ought to take up a collection." I can't count how many times during my short trip that I thought, "Only in Shields..."

+ If you ever make it to Hill's and a guy named "Bull" says he'll buy you a drink, go ahead and accept, he's a great guy. Don't, however, believe the bartender when he says you have to look at how big the guys balls are before he'll make you a drink. He's not exaggerating, but it definitely cuts down your chances for anything but extremely awkward conversation with Bull afterward.

+ Normally when I first get home from the airport, if my mom's asleep for the night I'll go in and give her a kiss goodnight, and she'll murmur, "Hey, honey. Glad you're home," in a half-asleep voice and roll back over. This time, even though it was after 3 a.m., she sat straight up in a flash and wrapped me in a boob-squishing, hard-to-breathe hug. It felt really, really good.

+ After years of yelling at me not to do so when I was growing up, my dad now (sometimes) feeds Sparty (his dog) with a fork. I think he's getting soft in his old age, and it makes me smile.

+ For those folks who only know me post-high school (especially those I've met since moving to Florida): I'm NOT from Detroit, I'm NOT ghetto and no, the movie "8 Mile" is nothing like my life. I wish all of you could come home with me once - to my REAL home. I bet it would blow your mind. No sidewalks, we have the Shiawassee National Wildlife Refuge. You had streetlights, we have "mercury lights." We have never had water that didn't come from a well, sewer systems are lost on us and we see nothing wrong with leaving our keys in the ignition with the doors unlocked - overnight, every night - in the driveway. We KNOW there's a difference in taste between store-bought veggies and those we pick from our back yard gardens. We sell corn by the road in the summer and pumpkins in the fall. We know the deliciousness that is Fish Fry Fridays at the local VFW. We have hall shows, know all of our neighbors on a first-name, hug-when-you-meet basis, and love them all like we do our own family. We wear Carhartts in winter, and drive our snowmobiles to the bar when the roads get too bad. The Shields Fest is a summertime event where we drink too much and celebrate small community. We get excused absences for the opening day of hunting season...and we ALL know that day is Nov. 15. Ninety-five percent of us have some sort of antlers, or animal heads hanging on the wall in our house, or in the garage. We don't think it's odd to go to mass on Sundays, have family lunch at grandma's house and then gather out by the barn and shoot the bats that fly out of the barn at twilight. If we get pulled over, it's by our neighbor and we're more worried about him thinking we're a bad person than about getting a ticket. When we hug someone we haven't seen in forever, it's a lingering, full-frontal-to-frontal embrace that lingers. It's not polite, it's heartfelt and necessary. I may have moved 1,300 miles away, but I'll always be a Jim-Town girl at heart.

This is what a real back yard looks like. :)

Alright, like I said I'm exhausted. I went to bed at 5 a.m. Wednesday, woke up at 11 and was on a plane home by 6. I got to Michigan after 3 a.m., was up by 8:30, stayed up until 4 a.m. this morning, got up, flew all day, went straight from the airport to the soccer pitch to work and now it's 2 a.m. and if I don't sleep soon, all that will be left of my mind are run-on sentences like this one.

G'nite, kiddos.

###

Sportsgal

Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Well, after not nearly long enough in Lawrence, we're now officially on the road back to what passes for civilization (Texas).My dad made a point to let me know that it's 71 degrees back in Florida today (he lives vicariously through weather.com); it was 22 degrees when we were walking around downtown, so I really didn't appreciate his update. Ah well, soon enough. Here's what went on yesterday:

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Not sure I'm down with the white stuff.

Is it sad that every time I saw, "Lecompton" I wanted to sing an Eazy-E song?

This gave us real reason to celebrate in the car. Woot!

Happiness everywhere

Our street! Well, kind of.

Bee-yoo-tee-ful campus

Loved all the hills!

We got into town almost an hour and a half before we had planned, making our total (car) commute just more than 7 hours. I'm not sure why neither of us were tired at all after sleeping for four hours the night before (and me, three hours the night before that), but we got showered/dressed/changed and set off for Allen Fieldhouse.

Author's Note: It's COLD AS HELL here. No really: Game-time temps couldn't have been much above zero, and there was a breeze that froze my soul. Because of this, I gladly forked over the $20 so we could park right across the street from the arena. I may be a lot of things, but a popsicle in training is not one of them.

Allen Fieldhouse, home of The Phog

We walked right up to the court and snapped pics as Kansas was warming up, it was pretty neat. My sister had found tickets online that were just off the corner of the court and about 20 rows off the court, so we were in a GREAT spot to see the action. We also were, as discovered just after tip-off, sitting directly in front of Tyrel Reed's grandparents, who were very, very cute and very, very into the game.

Marcus' fake locker on the concourse

Pre-game warmups

Us! From our seats.

Gettin' close now, and we're pretty excited!

The Twins

Love the court

The Phog is full! Let's get 'em, Hawks!

Marcus' 1000th point

Barbara's favorite player can't shoot for beans, so every time he set up she'd groan and I'd laugh. The man to my left made some sort of, “God, he's awful,' comment which I only too gladly passed along to her and because she has a big mouth like I do, she spent the rest of the game screaming and being angry in the man's general direction. It definitely added a little extra to the game.

We couldn't have asked for a better game: Kansas was down to Nebraska by 10 at one point in the second half, and at a threat to lose their 68-game home court win streak. Because the Spartans were playing at the same time (and losing, for most of the game, to Northwestern), I spent most of my time watching ESPN on my phone and cheering at inappropriate times toward East Lansing, Mich. Once State had sealed the OT win, I was free to enjoy Kansas once again. (I only mention this because many of you have called me a traitor, and I just want you to know that I'd never let Marcus come between me and my love for Michigan State. :) )

Kansas ended up winning by 3 with a dramatic finish that included Barbara's player (Brady Morningstar), the shrimpy white boy, coming up with the sickest shot rejection I've ever seen. We were both bummed it didn't make SportsCenter because it was crazy. Marcus scored his 1,000^th point on his last free throw of the game, so I was happy I got to be there for that, too. The Phog is a crazy, crazy place to enjoy a basketball game and I'm glad to be able to say I got to see a game there. The atmosphere is so loud and charged it's hard to hear anything. It's a lot different than the Bres, and their student section is nothing compared to the Izzone, but still was a lot of fun.

Several people commented on how cool our T-shirts were (thanks, Dawn!), too, which made me feel that Kansas folks are pretty OK.

After the game, my sister wanted to try to get a picture taken with her player, so we set off to the other side of the court to wait outside the locker room with about 200 other people in hopes he'd come out. Let me preface the next encounter by sharing with you a brief history of Barbara and basketball players she decides to love:

Drew, her first hoopin' honey

Brady, aka "The New Guy"... P.S. - How much does he look like Doug Funnie (see below?)

She's had a crush on Drew Neitzel ever since his freshman year at MSU (2004ish?). Because she's a sports nut and reads all the message boards and stories on-line, she knows EVERYTHING about him, right down to what his favorite midnight snack is or about that time he peed his pants in 3^rd grade when the teacher dressed up as a werewolf for Halloween. Seriously. So she finally got to the Bres for an autograph session or whatever, waited an hour and a half, then tripped on the corner of the court and nearly fell on her face walking up to him. She recovered – sort of – enough to have what she calls the following “conversation” with him:

(She has a poster in one hand and a camera in the other)

HIM: Do you want me to sign this?

HER: Yes. (he signs)

HIM: (pauses) Do you want a picture?

HER: Yes. (picture)

IZZO: Are you OK?

HER: Yes.

HIM: (pauses) You look like you need a hug.

HER: Yes.

Knowing her history with athletes, I wanted to be right beside her as she melted down in front of Brady so I could record every detail and make fun of her for the rest of her life for it. I'm pretty upset that she mostly disappointed me. While we were waiting, the walk-ons filed past and signed her program, and she was getting really sassy. I ask her to pick a different word than “yes” to say repeatedly this time around because when I tell the Drew/Brady stories to people in the future I'd like to have a little variety. “How about 'good?'” I asked. She then shot back a whole list of things she planned to say to him, including but not limited to, “You need a haircut,” and “Do you need me to teach you how to shoot?”

Of course, when she saw him, it didn't go down that way at all. Still, she managed to say seven different words (“Will you take a picture with me?”) without hyperventilating or tripping on the floor again, so in that respect she definitely held her own.

I stood with her in line for a while but then my knee hurt, so I offered words of encouragement from the floor after that.

... which is there I met Danny Manning!

The love of her life, Brady Morningstar.

My sis and Tyrel Reed

We left there and headed back to the hotel to change for dinner, and ended up at Bdub's to watch the Michigan-Indiana game (have I ever mentioned how much I LOVE it when the Wolverweenies lose by a lot?) 

Afterward, we set off on our own mini bar crawl. Because one half of the sibling duo is a ginormous Kansas fan (I'm a Marcus fan and just happy to be here), she had a list of bars/pubs/places she wanted to grab a drink at, and we set off. I really, really wish I'd had a pen and paper with me to record the ridiculousness that ensued, but perhaps some things were better left unmentioned.

Some scraps from the evening:

**We visited the 23^rd Street Brewery (home of high ceilings and the $10 vodka/Red Bull), The Casbah (weird menu items like hot dogs with carrot sauce), and ended up at Yacht Club which, although we didn't know it until we left, was about 50 feet from our hotel. Good accidental planning.

** I noticed “Fear the Phog” pint glasses on the shelf at 23^rd Street Brewery that were pretty neat. I pointed them out, and then we wondered aloud for the next 10 minutes or so why Mario Little's number was on every glass, since he's not a team star or anything. Little's number? 23. The bar's name? Yeah... not so smart this time around.

** Barbara decided we needed to commemorate our crawl with a photo taken at every place we stopped at, except her idea of “photo” was to snipe me while I was doing something else, like counting change for a tip, explaining a big word, or taking a drink. This resulted in these pictures:

23rd Street Brewery... great, giant drinks. :)

Casbah?

This is my "ENOUGH!" face... and she knows it. HAHA

Not paying attention... snipe #1

#2

Finally, I caught her mid-snipe.

Ummm... no answer

Yacht Club, watching SportsCenter

Caught her again!

** The night also included an impromptu mid-crawl trip to Wal-Mart, although I'm not sure why. While there, this stuff happened:

I am Iron (wo)Man! At first, she was embarrassed... but it wasn't long before she joined in! (see below)

Sooooooo should've bought these hats!

** When got back to the room, it was below zero outside and above 100 in the room. Apparently, one of us had turned the register to “very hot” and “high” before we left so we were treated to a free sauna for a while. When I woke up in the morning, there was frost on my pillow. Why? Her answer to the heat situation the night before was to just turn off everything and go to bed, and when she woke up, it was “too cold to turn the heat on.” As I've said before, logic is not my dear sister's strongest subject.

Impromptu dance party!

On Sunday, we got up and stopped at Papa Keno's for lunch on Massachusetts St. They advertise “Slices as big as your head,” and they weren't kidding:

She's pouting because her calzone took forever to cook and then came out burned. HAHA.

Afterward we stopped into a few gift shops and then headed to the cemetery where James Naismith, Kansas' first basketball coach, is buried. There's a monument at the front of the park that we've both been to but when Barbara was here last time she couldn't find his actual grave so the point was for me to show it to her... except the snow was covering all the headstones so we didn't have much success there. 

Pretty excited about the stuffed Jawhawk at the bookstore. :)

I see this and I think, "Did I really just travel 1,700 miles to escape The Rat (Mickey Mouse), only to have him show up on a wall in downtown Lawrence?" ... Faulty, for sure.

Cold, but still stylin'.

Gassed up, hit the highway, and now we'll commence with the ever-popular on-road running blog, although neither of us has slept much this weekend so I don't know how funny we'll be:

2:06 p.m. – (We've been on the highway for about 5 miles so far, just 450 to go!)

ME: Are we there yet?

HER: No.

ME: Are we close?

HER: No.

ME: How much longer?

HER: Forever.

ME: Do we need gas yet?

HER: NO.

ME: I have to pee.

HER: You're going in the trunk.

2:28 p.m. – (I still haven't driven a single mile of this trip) You know, I can drive whenever you want me to. “Yeah, but you can't type and drive. I don't want to miss you writing down any dumb moments.”

2:32 p.m. – She demands I play “Motownphilly” for the 50^th time this road trip. This is, she explained to me yesterday, because Marcus and his brother Markieff are from Philly, and it came on right before we walked into Phog for their game, so this song is a good omen. I didn't bother telling her that she's stupid, because... well, she already knows.

These be the Twins. (Marcus is on the left)

ME: Isn't Marcus mine? Why are you thinking up theme songs for him?

HER: Well...

ME: Stick with your white boy. Get a theme song for his hometown.

HER: THEY DON'T WRITE SONGS ABOUT LAWRENCE FUCKING KANSAS.

ME: Fair 'nuff.

3:03 p.m. – This one's going to need a little bit of background: My sister, although a texting ninja, is a complete failure when it comes to her lifelong battle with the autocorrect function on her phone. This has led to such tweets as “Wonnnnn!” instead of “Winnnnn!”, “duck you” (I'll let you guess that one) and various other text gems. She's also prone to not editing prior to a send: One day in the midst of a texting war, she said something about screaming “outlouf,” and setting me on “fiew,” which I've been able to drop in many conversations since. My favorite though, is when she told me it was cold in Texas and that I should bring “a few goodies,” which is what I've demanded we call hoodies ever since.

You can only imagine, then, the way I lost my mind when the Ciara song, “My Goodies” came on the radio. The hood went up, the sunglasses went on and the in-car dance party began:

"My hoodies, my hoodies..."

ME: (Typing.)

HER: That's C-I-A-R-A.

ME: (glares)

HER: Well I DON'T KNOW! You might have tried to spell it like Sierra Mist!

3:11 p.m. –

HER: That's why you can't drive. You keep dancing.

ME: I can dance and drive! I do it all the time! You can't drive, period!

HER: 3:11...

3:19 p.m. – “I just wanna use your love toniiiight...” comes on the radio.

ME (singing): “Dawnie's on a vacation far away....”

HER (turns up radio): Shhhhh!

ME: :(

3:32 p.m. –

HER: LOOK! Horsies!

ME: Ummm.... those are cows.

HER: (quick pause) That's what I said! Look at the cows!

Me: ….............

3:45 p.m. – It's been quiet for a while. She's listening to Mariah Carey, and I want to break her Zune. So I decided to break the silence with a screechy Mariah imitation.

HER: GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR!

ME: :( (she's gotten really mean in the last 3 minutes or so and all I see are “horsies” and barren land with snow on it, so I'm going to try to keep my mouth shut, at least until we get to civilization, just in case she actually does kick me out of the car.)

Told ya she was mean to me. :(

6:11 p.m. – (Forgive the lack of funnies; I've been sleeping). We're hungry and need gas, so we filled up and decided to stop at Johnny's Rib Shack, the (self-labeled, I'm guessing) “Best Barbecue in Oklahoma.” The inside has wooden picnic tables and it smells like the inside of a smoker, which are all good indications that the food is good. I was set to see if the pulled pork and okra could even hold a candle to the stuff from Kansas City and watch the Pats-Jets game on the big screen. We were the only people in there other than the family that runs the restaurant and their cook. All was well and both my belly and my spirits were getting filled up watching Tom Brady choke and die, when “Johnny” came out and changed the channel. Right in front of us. It led to this exchange.

HER: Did he really just...

ME: Yeah, I think he did.

HER: What is he changing it to?

ME: I have no idea. Is there some other game on?

HER,ME: (sit in shocked silence as he settles in to watch “America's Funniest Home Videos.”)

ME: Did that just happen?

HER: No real man does that!

We suffered through a clip of a guy biting it on a bicycle and another of an old man catching fire as he lit off fireworks when Johnny's wife came out. Seconds later she hollered back to the kitchen, “Hey! Come out here! They're showin' clips from Oklahoma on the funnies!”

Only in Oklahoma.

The best part of our dinner was during a commercial just before the cook came out, pulled TV rank and switched it back to the game. It was one of those insurance commercials that the guy from Oz plays in. In this one, he's pretending to be a navigation system that “hasn't been updated in a while,” so he yells, “Recalculating! …. Turn right, now!” and causes an accident. Barbara and I laugh because it's funny, and Johnny's wife turns to us and yells across the restaurant:

WIFE: Did he just say, 'ejaculating?'

ME: (choking on my pork) I'm sorry?

WIFE: (louder) EJACULATING! DID HE JUST SAY, 'EJACULATING?'

ME: No, no, no (laughing). “Recalculating.”

WIFE: (just as loudly) Oh. I thought he said “ejaculating.”

BARBARA: I hope no one orders any cream pie while we're here.

And again: Only in Oklahoma.

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere's Johnny's!

6:44 p.m. – We're back in the car and attempting to get back on the highway after a short photo session in front of a giant pig on the sign. I'm a little worried now, because I'm starting to think my sister's dumb is contagious:

ME: We're not going south. We don't need to go south. We need to go north. Hey! Hey! Wait! WHY ARE YOU GOING SOUTH?

HER: Because we're in Oklahoma, fucker! We're going to Texas.

ME: (visualizing a map in my head) Oh. Right.

HER: 6:44....

7:00 p.m. – Boy, someone's getting a little punchy...

HER: (yelling, for no reason) DEUCES!

ME: Who are you flipping deuces to?

HER: Deuces! … You know if you put up two deuces, that's 2-2, and that's Mook's number?

ME: …..

HER: (giggles)

7:14 p.m. –

HER: Why isn't (your iPod) just playing random songs?

ME: Because you don't like 90 percent of what I have, so I'm trying to find things you do!

HER: I didn't complain about anything! … Except for that fucking dancing coat song!

(she apparently harbors an intense dislike for Donny Osmond)

8:04 p.m. --A sign on a billboard read, "Elvis shops at...(insert generic general store name here)." I read it aloud, which led to this exchange:

HER: Elvis lives in Nashville, idiot.
ME: Two things. Elvis is dead, and he lived in MEMPHIS.

HER: Whatever, it's the same thing as Nashville.
(My apologies to all my Memphisian friends, I couldn't resist the jab. ;) )

8:21 p.m. – She's also really, really upset by all the Spanish music on my iPod. She told me if I play any more, I have to walk so I'm trying to watch it. Except she tricked herself once...

(song comes on, it's 'On Bended Knee, by Boyz II Men)

HER: I LOVE this song!

ME: Promise?

HER: Yup.

ME: Good, 'cause this is the Spanish version.

HER: FUCKKKKKK!

8:43 p.m. – We've been in the car for seven hours now, and I'm pretty certain we've been going in the wrong direction the entire time. … About 3 hours ago we passed a sign for Lexington, and just now we went by Gainesville. Well, at least one of us is getting home tonight.

8:44 p.m. –

ME: You're not going to like this song.

HER: Why not?

ME: It's from my church band.

HER: Your church has a band​​​?

ME: Hell yeah it does!

HER: Well, it is Sunday... PRAISE THE LORD!

8:52 p.m. – We're back in Texas after all, woot. Pretty glad we didn't end up in Gainesville, even though it's only 30-some degrees here.

9:05 p.m. –

HER (reading over my shoulder): Barbara did what?

ME: Stop reading over my shoulder!! You CAN'T read and drive! You can't even DRIVE and drive!

HER: 9:05....

9:17 p.m. – The Temptations' “Aint Too Proud to Beg,” comes on, and apparently Barbara feels the need to honk the horn before every new verse.

HER: Honk! Honk! Honk-honk!

ME: (laughs)

HER: Honk honk! Like an ostrich!

ME: Huh?

HER: You know, the sound an ostrich makes. "Honk! Honk!" Like if you ask a little kid what sound an ostrich makes, they say, "Honk, honk!"

 Now, I really had no comeback for that one, but I'm thinking back through my childhood and I don't think anyone ever really messed with my head and asked me what sound an ostrich makes, because I've long since graduated from kindergarten and I still have no idea. Moving along...

This lil' guy looks about as confused as I was.

9:24 p.m. – Last song on the iPod before we're home.

HER: What song is this?

ME: I'm not telling.

HER: (listens for a second) Is this Spanish “Motownphilly?”

ME: (laughs hysterically)

HER: YOU FUCKING BITCH!

9:31 p.m. – Road trip completed! High-five. Tomorrow, the final leg of my journey back to the land where things are boring, but at least it's warm.

-------

If you actually made it through that entire ramble, congratulations! I shall now reward you with a video of me singing "Yakko's Nations of the World" in the car at 5 a.m. (yes, I'm pretty sure I picked my nose halfway through the song. Sue me.)

My singing debut...Heaven help me.