Papicock

I am a baseball fan. A rabid baseball fan. I love the strategy, the nuance and the history. LOVE the game. So, when I had a chance to buy season tickets to our AA team here in Portland, I jumped at the opportunity. Beautiful seats, right on the third base side.

Oh, did I mention we're affiliated with the Boston Red Sox? Yeah. What a joy. David Ortiz is rehabbing here, tonight, Tuesday and Wednesday, isn't that neat? Won't it be exciting?

Look, I'll say right now I'm a Yankees fan, have been all my life. However, the fact that we're an affiliate of the Red Sox does nothing to sway my loyalty for my home team, THE PORTLAND SEA DOGS. We used to be connected with the Marlins and I was a Sea Dogs' fan then, and when we're with the Pirates, Brewers or Rays, or whoever, I'll still be a SEA DOGS fan. That said, I do think it's great we get to see Sox prospects play so close to Boston. I also think having a team connected to the Sox is geographically logical, good for ticket sales, the local economy and the life of the team.

HOWEVER...

A lot of you are reinforcing my instinctive dislike for Boston and it's fans, by acting like the Lord Almighty is coming here to rehab. David Ortiz is a guy – A guy who happens to have a sweet swing that can dismantle even the hardest of flame throwers – but a guy, nonetheless. You'd think Bono was coming to everyone's house to cook dinner and immaculately impregnate their wives, with the way this story has been played in the news. I mean, holy crap, people... Really?

And I'll be the first to say, the Yankees' fans who crawl out of the woodwork when their affiliate, the Trenton Thunder, is in town, aren't any better. A few years ago, Hideki Matsui rehabbed a couple games here and I watched a 40 year old man in a fake New York uniform knock over two elderly fans, just to get an autograph.

I guess I don't understand the pattern of thinking, here. Sure, there are celebrities I wouldn't mind meeting. Sheryl Crow is about the only woman I'd think twice about leaving my wife for, but do I really want to meet her? What would I say that every other crazed 37 year-old she's never met hasn't already said? What's the point really? Bragging rights? Why is it that so many find it necessary to become an autograph/photograph hungry mob over someone who can swing a bat or sing a song? What does everyone think is going to happen after you crawl your way up for a forced photo and handshake? Do you think your cancer will be cured? Your debt forgiven? Your lame uncle given back his sight and the ability to walk again?

How about taking the high road, folks? How about not spending upwards of $200 for a $7 ticket on Craig's List? How about teaching kids we're all equally flawed and that handing over cash to be some one's five minute-forgotten-buddy is a bad thing.

Actually, you know what? Go. Have a good time and meet Big Papi. Lose your last ounces of dignity by pushing others to the ground for a photo... Just know this: Any one of you nut jobs, looking for a glimpse/photo/handshake, knock over me, my wife or especially my beer, I will elbow you square in the teeth. Without hesitation.

Consider yourselves warned.

Cheers!

Fakey Rocketh Star

This is why we can't have nice things

Hey. Populous. Yeah you, the group on Earth...

When the Hell did everyone stop thinking for themselves? When did we all decide that we're going to PAY people to tell us how to dress, eat and do our jobs? Could someone please clarify this for me?

I realize the American dream is still all about the money, the house and the famous friends to brag about, I do. I won't sit here and tell you that I don't strive for some form of that dream, but at least I try and do it on my own terms. No self-help books, Super-guru-money-making-Dr. Phil books or blog posts by "Professional Bloggers". And if I ever do make it to the American apple pie in the sky, you can bet your ass I ain't gonna write a damn book about how I got there and ...How you can too!

Have we seriously lost the ability to enjoy something completely on it's own merits?

Automaton 1: "Dude, The new Indiana Jones is out!"

Automaton 2: "I read on Digg it sucked."

Automaton 1: "Oh really?"

Automaton 2: "Yeah."

Automaton 1: "Good thing we didn't check it out for ourselves then."

Automaton 2: "Totally. Let's go buy a book on how to make millions in used shoes."

Jesus fuckin' Christmas in Connecticut, people! How many of you are making day-to-day decisions based on blog posts and Dr. Phil? Raise your hands if you've done this in the past week: You went to the store, you bought a vintage shirt that you thought looked cool, but when you get it home, you read on some dude's T-shirt blog that he ripped some other dude at a Starbucks for wearing the same shirt... So now you never put it on outside the house.

Really?

Well, did you know that T-shirt blogger is 468 pounds of chili con queso and he just recently purchased a storm trooper outfit for his dog?

Honestly, everyone... WTF?

We all envy those who make the money, so we buy their self-help books on how to make money, therefore giving them MORE money to write more books that we can buy! On how to make more MONEY! Do you honestly think they're selling some magical secret that you don't already have in your brain? They had to figure it out for themselves, right? I bet you could probably do that to, with just a bit of effort and avoid shelling out the dough for a quick-fix book that will tell you what you already know.

Maybe we're all lazy. Maybe we're all depressed. Maybe self-help is the wave of the future. In the year 2046, no one will have an original thought, except for "the hive" and we'll all purchase a self-help implant, specific to our chosen career path. We'll all wear the clothes the hive likes and eat food the hive likes. There won't be any flawed, but absolutely entertaining movie remakes and we'll all be rich, the clean, vanilla and lack-luster "hive" way.

Whatever the deal is, it skunks my beer and I don't like it. Don't like one bit.

Yours in Pontificational Ridicularity,

Das Faketh Rockstario