LOS ANGELES—Is there anything worse than having a drippy cold in sunny L.A.? Little Buzz came down with one while we were in St. Louis, so now everyone on the bus including me has Niagara Mucus Falls going. Sometimes I just hate myself.
What this means is we get to follow the Pirates-Dodgers battle from the crowded comfort of the Funkyland Express, Row 17, while parked in the lot of Tito’s Tacos. At least the game keeps us awake.
Game of the Day
Burt Hooton vs. Odell Jones. Damn. May as well be Bob Gibson vs. Dooley Womack. Except this is 1977, where anything can, most likely, and usually does happen. Steve the Garv tries to reverse that notion early, lofting a high fly into the Dodger bullpen with two aboard for a 3-0 1st inning lead. But it’s Hero/Goat Appreciation Day in the Ravine, as Steve-O kicks away a Bill Robinson squibbler to open the 2nd. Ed Ott picks out a Hooton ball and deposits it in the RF bleachers and it’s 3-2 in a flashbeat. Continue reading
By Mikey Spano
So you haven’t heard much from me lately. Kind of what happens when you fall into a ballpark fountain and drown, and the clowns who zapped you back in time in the first place do some kind of sci-fi CPR and bada bingo—you’re alive again! Don’t you hate that? Continue reading
To celebrate Lester’s 25th birthday (He arrived this day in 1985, but who says we can’t celebrate eight years early?) Seamus reprogrammed the bus coordinates to take us to all five of his teams’ ballparks. Don’t need to tell you we were on edge, because there was a chance he’d be emotionally pulled in five different directions and could absolutely lose it before the day was over. But Seamus had a special white jacket all ready, and Sheila was on hand with her special observation notebook. And wearing those hot glasses I like… Continue reading
ARLINGTON, TX—I knew he was gonna crush that ball. Top of the 1st, Carl Whateverski coming off a game-ending fly out last night that put them Yanks in first, and here’s Doyle Alexander floating in a lazy curve thinking he’s gonna keep that Boston boy’s head messed up. Sure, Doyle, tell me another one. Yazzer hit it into the right field bleachers without one sweat bead, even though it was 103 in Arlington Stadium today and old Peachy here needed two lemonades before the players even warmed up. Continue reading
No special reason, other than I’m swamped here at work and the L.A. weather is gloomy as crap for the 11th straight day.
It ain’t 1977 but the clip is in some weird language and Jay Johnstone is batting right-handed for some reason. Which is funny enough by itself.
LOS ANGELES—Me and Sheila played hooky from the Phillies-Dodgers game because we knew listening to Mikey and Sherman squawk at each other for nine innings would’ve been unbearable. Instead we hopped a real bus and got up to a part of the Sunset Strip still populated by hippie burnouts and had a late dinner at a fun little outdoor sandwich place called the Psych-o-Deli. Being on that damn Funkyland Express day and night hasn’t given us much alone time, and with the pennant races way more stressful than they were before, it’s important we get away once in a while. Continue reading
Spending over two months in a bus with the same nine people ain’t easy. I mean, I have best friends I wouldn’t want to drive three hours in a car with. On top of that we got pennant race lives at stake, everyone thinking they deserve to win, and on some days, like this one where we go nowhere because Seamus has to fix some kind of transport sensor in the engine, the whole operation starts to feel like some bean-brained sitcom… Continue reading