My body hurts like hell for a variety of reasons but none moreso than the fact that I sat in the outfield at McAfee Coliseum with no shirt or sunscreen on for a few hours. Oh Whazzmaster, you so crazy.
The other day I decided I wanted to organize a tailgate at a baseball game this week. I didn’t particularly care where, but when I found out that the Twins were coming to town to play the Athletics I knew I’d be able to throw a rope around Cal and drag him out of his hiding place in San Francisco. I sent out a feeler email on Wednesday to see who would answer the call, and managed to get a few responses. So GMC and I rode over in the EnviroKiller™ while Greg, Cal, Emilie, and Ronni rode over on the BART.
Maybe I went a bit overboard buying a case of High Life cans and a 12er of High Life Lite bottles, but I refuse to dwell on that. In any case, Greg somehow contracted with a Twins Tour Group company to bring an avalanche of people down on our humble tailgate. Soon we were all trying to figure out who knew who and what right they had to be reaching for my goddamned bottle of ketchup. In the end Cal threw a small fit and we hastily entered the game while more than 1/2 of the beer still chilled (at a cost of $0) in our cooler in the car. He had his little scorebook with him, too, which I hadn’t seen in a while.
I had a snow cone in the bleachers. It was good until I kicked it over, then I was sad.
After the A’s shut down the Twins in the late innings we had to hustle out of there to get GMC back to Pacifica to his work. I was so sunburned and tired that after I dropped Ronni off back in the city I just fell asleep in the back of my truck in the parking lot at Winter’s. When I emerged several hours later Ryan was closing up the bar. He thought I’d gone home; nope, just passed out in my truck, dawg.
Today GMC, Blaine, and I are heading down to San Jose to visit the Jacobs Family. I need to cut this post short to run to the store and get stuff for dinner. It’s CROCK POT EXPERIMENTATION TIME!