Sunday, March 30, 2008

Sam Adams Will Be Pleased

In the early days of the San Diego Padres franchise, fans could bring their own beverages to the games as long as they brought them in a plastic container. My pal, "The Moff", and I being world class "oilers" in those days would sometimes take gallon milk containers of what we called Yellow Fevers to our freebie radio station seats to help enhance our experience at the old ballyard. Yellow Fevers were a delightfully refreshing blend of lemonade and cheap vodka. (Easy on the lemonade.)
Padre teams of the mid to late 70's required all the experience enhancing a fan could muster. In fact, by the second inning Moff and I couldn't be counted on to tell you what city we were in let alone inform you of the score or what uniforms the Padres were wearing.

We did, however, have the men's room on our radar.


As all things must, this "bring your own medicine" policy was discontinued in San Diego sometime in 1984. The Padres went to the World Series that year; so the fans weren't too pissed-off about watching them while maintaining a degree of sobriety. Beer and wine were available at games and the cost was only mildly obscene.

Now, under the guise of needing the dough to pay the outrageous salaries commanded by today's players, owners in almost every market have jacked-up the price of beer. This trend also coincided with the new found tendency of people to frown on abusive drinking. Luckily I've retired from alcohol abuse and now simply hit myself repeatedly over the head with a bottle when I feel the need. (Which, by the way, is often.)

In a story that actually made the front page of the San Diego Union-Tribune today, I see that the bastards are at it again.

The Padres have announced that they are increasing the prices for all beers sold at Petco Park this year. The new range will be from $6.50 for domestic beer to $9.00 for premium brands. In other words it will require a fan to have the purse of Bill Gates or Paul McCartney to get tanked at a baseball game. (Not that the good taste committee would allow that.)

A bit of research into the economics of the situation reveals that a keg of Bud Light costs $76. The keg contains 1,984 ounces of suds which produces about 99 20-ounce cups . The Padres charge $8.50 for a 20-ounce Bud Light, meaning a single keg yields around $842 in sales. Not a bad margin of PURE PROFIT for the friars.

What would brewer/patriot Samuel Adams think??
I'm thinking Sam would want you to buy one of his brews. That'll be $9 please.



What will Homer Simpson think? I'm fairly sure that Homer will join me in staying home to watch the games on TV.

Who has money for ballpark beer after they've paid to park their car?
Did you hear? That's going up too!

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Some Stuff You Should Check Out...

I picked-up the new book, Leave Us Alone, yesterday and it is a great read.
Grover Norquist has put together an extremely logical thesis outlining how those of us who prefer to manage our lives without the "help" of the federal government might organize and become stronger.
The book is NOT a rant. It is a compelling and powerful argument on how we can achieve what is best for us as a nation and how we might come to control our own destiny.
Norquist presents a reasoned plan to take back America from what he calls the "Takings Coalition" which is the heart of the tax-and-spend left.



"Grover Norquist's mordant analysis of the lugubrious Left as represented by the 'Takings Coalition' is sufficient reason for the enthusiastic purchase of this book by anyone with even a libertarian atom in his or her body."
-Christopher Hitchens






On another note...

If you haven't yet seen HBO's production of John Adams, do so immediately. Not only is it faithful to the book, it is terrifically put together by an all star cast and crew.

If you don't already subscribe to HBO, this would be reason to do so. It's that good!






These three are not in HBO's John Adams, but it would have been so COOL if the producers could have worked them in.
You can't have everything.



Saturday, March 15, 2008

Rounding third and digging for home...

"He knew a great cigar; the inside of a Corvette and the bottom of a glass of Jack Daniels."

At one time I thought that might make a great epitaph. Of course I was young and arrogant. You know...around forty.
I only chew cigars these days and my Jack Daniels drinking is in the rear view mirror of the long gone Corvette.
I'm sure I'll come up with something pithy when it's time to catch the big bus to the ultimate kegger in the sky. In the meantime I'll just enjoy turning sixty.

Sixty?!
Son-of-a-bitch!!!! How can that be?

LUCK...plain and simple. And, by the way, I'll take it.

I look at sixty with a full appreciation for the very fact that I've achieved it. Some haven't.
I also observe the sixtieth anniversary of my birth with a thankfulness for all the people who have opened doors for me and for the lack of self awareness that allowed me to walk through.

At sixty, with the exception of my hitch in the Army, (ours) I have never had a real job. Radio allowed me to dwell in a state of perpetual adolescence and even PAID me for it. The broadcast biz was like high school with money. Sweet! And now it would seem that the Internet is going to afford me the chance to continue the scam!



Me on KOGO/ San Diego 1976



With six decades under my belt I want to celebrate by acknowledging some of the people I am grateful to have in my life. They are the folks who make me want to stick around for as long as possible.





























































I'm sure that I've left out some friends. (I know that at least sixteen people read this damn thing.) I probably just didn't have a picture of you. Get over it!

My only regret at the age of sixty? That's easy. I regret that my Dad isn't here so that I might thank him for being right about...EVERYTHING. Especially the part about not dropping the soap in front of bosses or politicians.

See you all in Hell! As Mark Twain so aptly put it..."Go to Heaven for the climate and Hell for the COMPANY". I prefer to be with friends.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

OLD HABITS...the stuff of dreams

A friend of mine who, like me, gave up touching the sauce several years back expressed some surprise when I told him recently that I often dream of drinking.
"I can't believe you're still having thirsty dreams after all these years", he chided.
"Most guys lose those after a year or so."

Well, what the hell? I'll have to check with Lloyd my dreamland bartender to find out what can be done. Knowing Lloyd, he'll recommend that I have another "splash" to help us rectify the situation. "Come on...just one more. You're not drivin."
In my defense I would like to note that for whatever reason I now seem to drink beer and wine while in repose. This is a marked improvement over the dreams of my early sobriety. Those somnambulistic trances often involved massive quantities of Jack Daniels and reckless behavior. Real progress appears to have been made.
Again, this is dreaming we're talking about. When awake I remain a Good Boy...at least when it comes to "touching the stuff".

All of this got me thinking about habits. Good habits and especially BAD habits die hard. Advertising doesn't help either.

When I was a boy I couldn't wait to start smoking. All of the cool guys smoked: movie stars, athletes, thugs, your dad's cool friends. Your dad smoked too and, though he was definitely NOT cool, you tended to overlook that fact and watched him to learn how to fire one up.

Most guys can remember the first cigarette they had. I was seven. My hoodlum pal, Phil Brown, had swiped a pack of his mother's KOOLs and we were set to let the good times roll. Mrs. Brown smoked 24/7 and had no clue that young Phil and I had made off with her UNFILTERED KOOLs. (Yeah, they made 'em back then.) We hightailed the cigs and a box of matches down to the creek which ran behind the Brown aboded in the little town of Leslie, Michigan and proceeded to become cool with the purloined KOOLs.

Late that same afternoon as I was puking my guts out behind the big mulberry tree next-door to my house I had pretty much decided that KOOLs would not be my butts of choice when I grew up. I decided that, like my dad, I was probably more suited to be a Camel Man. It must be genetic. That day was also the beginning of my radio career. After selling my mom the story that I "smelled like this because I had been standing too close to a bonfire" I knew I could sell anybody anything.

Kids today have it much easier. They don't have the Marlboro Man or big time celebrities pitching instant cool via tobacco. They just see a bunch of dumpy looking old cats hanging around outside buildings sucking on their nicotine "fix sticks". No glamour there.




The Marlboro Man roped himself a case of cancer







Time to wrap this up. It's getting near bedtime and I've got to give the wine a chance to breathe.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Everybody INTO the POOL!!

Trouble in River City??
Hell no!
It's right here.....
There is nothing finer than spending an afternoon in the Copper Pool Hall with some nameless, degenerate friends. (Bill, Bill and Lenny insist on anonymity.)

What was Mom thinking when she condemned time spent with a cue in your hand? Pool is a wonderful healthy pastime that will help you with your math and geometry skills, especially if money is involved.
Where was this magnificent game when I was struggling with "side angle side" and long division?!









CAUTION CHILDREN!!! Don't try this at home!

Lessons start tomorrow at 3 PM. (Bring your lunch money. No need to tell Mom.)