This might be too morbid, I don't know, but in the interest of the safety and security of SFTC readers - my favorite people in the world - I wanted to write a short post advising that you stay away from anything having to do with the Los Angeles Angels** this season.
It's just that they've had a bad run this week, with the death early this morning of a pitcher who had played in last night's game against the Oakland A's, and the death earlier this week of a fan who was beaten up while at the stadium. They're both tragic. But fans getting beaten to death inside stadiums seems like a big marketing problem for Major League Baseball. It's almost sure to erase some of the family-friendly appeal they like to promote.
Sadly, the news about the spectator's death is not hard to believe: As I've written before, I've seen plenty of fights and near fights at Dodger Stadium, including some that got very ugly. When I lived in Chicago, fights at Wrigley Field seemed pretty rare, but they were an occasional problem at U.S. Cellular Field, where the White Sox play.
Even if it means hiring security guards to stand in every seating section of every stadium in the country, MLB and the teams had better do something about fan violence, and quick. Let's keep the violence on the hockey rink where it belongs.
* To the extent that the dozen people who read this can be considered the "public."
** Loree: That's a Major League Baseball team.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Mad props
Things and/or people and/or dieties I'm mad at today:
The Michigan State Spartans. Not because I had money on the game, and not because I was particularly pulling for them to win the NCAA men's basketball championship last night - although, clearly, an MSU victory would have solved all of Michigan's problems - but because Sparty was so overmatched that I was bored silly watching the game. Like, fell-asleep-in-the-middle-of-the-first-half bored. That should not happen during March Madness.
(Aside: Whoever came up with all of the college basketball catchphrases - March Madness, Final Four, Elite Eight, Sweet Sixteen, Clark Kellogg - that person sure liked alliteration.)
Anyway, the game was such a disappointment that I was starved for entertainment, which meant I had to keep the TV on afterward to watch...
The ER series finale. Waiting for me on DVR from last Thursday was two hours of excellent entertainment. A perfectly fitting finale, I thought. I haven't watched ER regularly in about six years, but I thought the writers did a great job of bringing back some of the original characters in ways that actually made sense. Not to mention incorporating the enchanting Alexis Bledel as a young doctor. (One, Had she been a regular for a while? Two, Did I just write enchanting?) Nice also how the story and the action just kept going, right until the end, with little pause for sentiment and mush, a strong bookend to the series premiere.
(Aside 2: As you might remember, ER and Chicago Hope premiered the same week in September 1994. Those really were the salad days for Chicago-based medical ensemble dramas, weren't they? I was pretty sure at the time that Chicago Hope was the one that would be around longer. Oops.)
So why am I mad at ER? Because I was tired before watching ER and I really should have gone to sleep. But after two hours of unusually great TV, I was pretty geared up - I was craving more televised entertainment. Which meant staying up even later to watch me some rerun Letterman. (Which was a great move, because there were Stupid Pet Tricks, including this one, which cracked me way up.) Which means that I'm really freaking tired right now.
The baseball gods. Because on the strength of their Opening Day performances yesterday, I have hope that the Orioles (especially), Cubs and Dodgers all are on their way to the playoffs this year.
Which, because of pitching (Orioles), being the Cubs (Cubs) and pitching (Dodgers), they're probably not. So why did they have to get my hopes up?
Californians. Because now it looks like Iowans get it. And Vermonters (?) get it. And Golden Staters, who always seems to make a racket about being the people who set trends on these kinds of things, still do not get the idea that adults who want to get married should just be able to get married. Period.
That's a lot of mad so far, I know. But the day is young.
The Michigan State Spartans. Not because I had money on the game, and not because I was particularly pulling for them to win the NCAA men's basketball championship last night - although, clearly, an MSU victory would have solved all of Michigan's problems - but because Sparty was so overmatched that I was bored silly watching the game. Like, fell-asleep-in-the-middle-of-the-first-half bored. That should not happen during March Madness.
(Aside: Whoever came up with all of the college basketball catchphrases - March Madness, Final Four, Elite Eight, Sweet Sixteen, Clark Kellogg - that person sure liked alliteration.)
Anyway, the game was such a disappointment that I was starved for entertainment, which meant I had to keep the TV on afterward to watch...
The ER series finale. Waiting for me on DVR from last Thursday was two hours of excellent entertainment. A perfectly fitting finale, I thought. I haven't watched ER regularly in about six years, but I thought the writers did a great job of bringing back some of the original characters in ways that actually made sense. Not to mention incorporating the enchanting Alexis Bledel as a young doctor. (One, Had she been a regular for a while? Two, Did I just write enchanting?) Nice also how the story and the action just kept going, right until the end, with little pause for sentiment and mush, a strong bookend to the series premiere.
(Aside 2: As you might remember, ER and Chicago Hope premiered the same week in September 1994. Those really were the salad days for Chicago-based medical ensemble dramas, weren't they? I was pretty sure at the time that Chicago Hope was the one that would be around longer. Oops.)
So why am I mad at ER? Because I was tired before watching ER and I really should have gone to sleep. But after two hours of unusually great TV, I was pretty geared up - I was craving more televised entertainment. Which meant staying up even later to watch me some rerun Letterman. (Which was a great move, because there were Stupid Pet Tricks, including this one, which cracked me way up.) Which means that I'm really freaking tired right now.
The baseball gods. Because on the strength of their Opening Day performances yesterday, I have hope that the Orioles (especially), Cubs and Dodgers all are on their way to the playoffs this year.
Which, because of pitching (Orioles), being the Cubs (Cubs) and pitching (Dodgers), they're probably not. So why did they have to get my hopes up?
Californians. Because now it looks like Iowans get it. And Vermonters (?) get it. And Golden Staters, who always seems to make a racket about being the people who set trends on these kinds of things, still do not get the idea that adults who want to get married should just be able to get married. Period.
That's a lot of mad so far, I know. But the day is young.
Friday, April 3, 2009
VIP treatment
From what I can tell, most of the savvy people who read this blog couldn't care less about professional sports. But "writing to my audience" isn't one of my great strengths, so I'm still going to tell you that I am very excited that baseball opening day is this weekend.
(Caveat: No sports knowledge needed to enjoy the rest of this post, I promise.)
Actually, maybe I'm more excited about the idea of opening day than about opening day itself.* Because the one team I really root for, the Orioles, has almost no hope. And although I enjoy the occasional trip to Dodger Stadium, I spent most of my time at Dodgers games last year watching drunken assholes threaten to beat each other up (last half of this post, for example), which is sort of a waste of time.
So to celebrate the beginning of another baseball season, I was trying to come up with an inspiring baseball story for you, and the closest I could get was this fond football-related memory. It'll have to do:
In the early 1980s, my grandfather had a work-related connection that enabled him to become friendly with several New York Jets players and the Jets' head coach, Walt Michaels. Once, as a present, he got Coach Michaels to sign a green-and-white business card that proclaimed me an honorary assistant coach.
I probably still have that card somewhere - because I still have approximately everything I ever owned during the 80s - but at the time, I carried it with me everywhere. You know, just in case I needed to impress the ladies.**
This was back when the Colts were where they belonged - in Baltimore - and for a few years in a row, my grandfather would come visit us when the New York Jets were in town to treat my family to a game. One time, we were running kind of late, and we arrived at Memorial Stadium seconds before kickoff. Every parking spot within a mile of the stadium would be filled. We were facing a long walk and the prospect of missing critical Jets-Colts action.
Driving the family Buick, my grandfather ignored all of the LOT FULL signs and brazenly pulled into the stadium's VIP lot, which seemed odd because not only was it reserved for VIPs, but, as you know, it was full.
His left hand on the steering wheel, he stuck his right toward me in the back seat. "Do you still have your assistant coach card?" he asked. I reached into my wallet and pressed the card into his palm, just as we pulled up to a confused parking attendant.
"Here," my grandfather said, shoving my very unofficial credential into the guy's face. "I'm a Jets assistant coach. Need to get in right away!" My grandfather looked back at me and winked.
The attendant quickly handed the card back and pointed us to a vacant spot just yards away from the stadium entrance. We were in our seats for the opening kickoff.
I don't remember anything else about the game, but it's hard to forget that kick-ass parking spot.
SFTC Shoutout: A quick thanks to SFTC's newest "Followers" (sounds cultish, but really isn't). Thrilled to have you aboard the SFTC train this week. When we have our almost-inevitable IPO, you'll obviously cash in big time.*** If you haven't signed up yet, please do. I think you just have to click the "follow" button in the box near the top of the right column over there >>>
It's free, it's fun and it tastes great!
* I think I'm bastardizing a phrase from When Harry Met Sally here. If you can confirm, please do.
** This didn't work.
*** Technically, I don't think that really makes sense, and the IPO is probably not so much "inevitable" as it is "not even a remote possibility," but the point is that I'm glad you're among the first to show your faces (or joysticks, as the case may be) on the site.
(Caveat: No sports knowledge needed to enjoy the rest of this post, I promise.)
Actually, maybe I'm more excited about the idea of opening day than about opening day itself.* Because the one team I really root for, the Orioles, has almost no hope. And although I enjoy the occasional trip to Dodger Stadium, I spent most of my time at Dodgers games last year watching drunken assholes threaten to beat each other up (last half of this post, for example), which is sort of a waste of time.
So to celebrate the beginning of another baseball season, I was trying to come up with an inspiring baseball story for you, and the closest I could get was this fond football-related memory. It'll have to do:
In the early 1980s, my grandfather had a work-related connection that enabled him to become friendly with several New York Jets players and the Jets' head coach, Walt Michaels. Once, as a present, he got Coach Michaels to sign a green-and-white business card that proclaimed me an honorary assistant coach.
I probably still have that card somewhere - because I still have approximately everything I ever owned during the 80s - but at the time, I carried it with me everywhere. You know, just in case I needed to impress the ladies.**
This was back when the Colts were where they belonged - in Baltimore - and for a few years in a row, my grandfather would come visit us when the New York Jets were in town to treat my family to a game. One time, we were running kind of late, and we arrived at Memorial Stadium seconds before kickoff. Every parking spot within a mile of the stadium would be filled. We were facing a long walk and the prospect of missing critical Jets-Colts action.
Driving the family Buick, my grandfather ignored all of the LOT FULL signs and brazenly pulled into the stadium's VIP lot, which seemed odd because not only was it reserved for VIPs, but, as you know, it was full.
His left hand on the steering wheel, he stuck his right toward me in the back seat. "Do you still have your assistant coach card?" he asked. I reached into my wallet and pressed the card into his palm, just as we pulled up to a confused parking attendant.
"Here," my grandfather said, shoving my very unofficial credential into the guy's face. "I'm a Jets assistant coach. Need to get in right away!" My grandfather looked back at me and winked.
The attendant quickly handed the card back and pointed us to a vacant spot just yards away from the stadium entrance. We were in our seats for the opening kickoff.
I don't remember anything else about the game, but it's hard to forget that kick-ass parking spot.
SFTC Shoutout: A quick thanks to SFTC's newest "Followers" (sounds cultish, but really isn't). Thrilled to have you aboard the SFTC train this week. When we have our almost-inevitable IPO, you'll obviously cash in big time.*** If you haven't signed up yet, please do. I think you just have to click the "follow" button in the box near the top of the right column over there >>>
It's free, it's fun and it tastes great!
* I think I'm bastardizing a phrase from When Harry Met Sally here. If you can confirm, please do.
** This didn't work.
*** Technically, I don't think that really makes sense, and the IPO is probably not so much "inevitable" as it is "not even a remote possibility," but the point is that I'm glad you're among the first to show your faces (or joysticks, as the case may be) on the site.
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