Thursday, April 29, 2010
He was betrayed by:
a) An error by Craig Counsell, which should have been the first out
b) a sacrifice bunt that got no one out
c) a double play ball that only got one out
Nothing the Padres hit was smoked.
Davis should have been out of that inning only down 2-0. Not the best outing, but certainly something the Brewer bats could have overcome.
Today's story comes to you courtesy of a dance – yes, I went to once despite the fact that I'm not in high school – that I attended a few weeks ago. A friend of my girlfriend's was there, a gentleman in his late forties. Let me say first and foremost that I have no animosity towards him whatsoever. As far as I am concerned, this guy is living the dream. Schmucks like me envy him.
At some point in the evening – there were many free pitchers of beer consumed – the conversation turned to vacations, and the gentleman said that for his birthday (a relatively consequential one) that he would like to take a cruise around the world. My girlfriend chimed in immediately that she would like to go along with him. The gentleman asked me how I would feel about that.
“That's fine with me,” I said.
“That's not right,” he said.
I will leave my response to that for later in this piece. Instead, let me list the ways that I am not a man.
I don't drive. I don't hunt or fish. I am terrible with my hands: Most of the things in our apartment that require assembly have been put together by my girlfriend. (The things that were not had to be put together multiple times because I cannot follow directions/a diagram.) I am more than likely not a good lover. I have mowed a lawn only once in my life. (Sometimes if you do a job bad enough, you don't get asked to do it again.) Though I think Die Hard is a great series of movies, I don't seek out violent films for the sake of seeing a bunch of shit blow up. Along those lines, I also refuse to watch horror flicks. I have two cats that I love like the daughters I hope I never have. (Kidding, I'm not against having kids. Please back away slowly from the monitor, honey.) Lastly, I am completely comfortable on the bottom rung of the corporate ladder.
And here's the list of reasons I am a man:
I enjoy having
a several cold ones every now and then day. I like watching sports. I play video games. I buy flowers and jewelry for my girlfriend. I would defend her honor if the offender wasn't making an obvious joke. I've been in a fight, and would protect her if she were in danger. (But if a 300 pound, possible-knife-wielding, possible-gun-toting, maybe-meth-addict biker is merely talking to you in a bar, I'm not getting involved in that.) I like to rock the fuck out every now and then. I consider myself somewhat of a grillmaster. I am perfectly capable of living in my own filth for weeks at a time. I do enjoy having orgasms caused by the opposite sex.
Now to get back to the exchange above. I pondered for some time what he he meant by that. Was he saying by essentially letting my girlfriend of four plus years go on a cruise with a man that wasn't me a license to fuck someone else or an opening for someone to take her away from me? I think that is what was implicit in his statement. I should have been the man there and said “no way” as if I were her protector. Of course, this would also mean that I didn't trust her, much less him.
I chose not to mind because I took emotion (being her protector) out of the equation and went with logic. He is providing a service -- the around the world cruise -- that I could never provide for her. It is something that she would love to do, thus I let her do it. The truth of the matter is this: as much as he would hate to hear this, he is harmless. She (and her best friend, which will make an appearance later) doesn't like him because he's some loaded, sexy thang they want to get deep-dicked by. They, and I, like him because he's not a backwards-hat-wearing, frat-rock loving, douchey neanderthal that normally populates our age group. Also, I'm guessing she's not attracted to him in any way. I realize there is massive sugar daddy potential there but if she wanted a sugar daddy, she wouldn't be with me to begin with. Sorry dude, you have no game with her.
I suppose my dad would probably agree with the gentleman here, as he once got on my case about being friends with a girl when I was 15. “But back in my day, boys weren't friends with girls. They either dated or they didn't.” I italicized “friends” because it is the most important word in that statement. This is the 21st century, and men and women can be friends without a harmful amount of sexual tension coming between them. Sure, I wanted to nail that girl when I was 15, but I didn't. I was fine being friends.
* * * *
I am not Facebook friends with my girlfriend's best friend. I get a kick out of this, and the friend gives me a hard time about this whenever we see each other. She gave me a hard time at the dance.
“Did you ask her to be your friend?” he asked.
“No.” I replied.
“Well, you should. Sometimes the girl wants you to be the agressor.”
Thanks a lot.
The reason I'm not her friend on Facebook? Spite.
I don't ever recall her asking me to be friends, and as far as I'm concerned its fucking Facebook and it doesn't really matter. There is no bad blood between us. We get along just fine and joke around about stuff.
In the grand scheme of things, this does not matter. And it amuses me to no end, so I will continue not to be her friend on Facebook.
* * * *
Those two things bring me to my point, which I will put in bold type.
I will not sell out for pussy.
Let's be honest, as far as “being a man” is concerned, that's what is going on here. I realize that compromise is part of being in a relationship – hell, it's the biggest thing – but I'm not compromising my values and beliefs so that I might have consistent sex and not die alone.
Don't get me wrong: I do things for my girlfriend. I am concerned about her feelings. I think about her all the time. I snuggle her and tell her I love her before I go to bed. We are right for each other. But I will be goddamned if I'm going to act upon emotion alone or what is considered “right” because that's what a man does.
To answer my initial question, I may not be a manly man. However, I do like some man-type activities. Believe it or not I do feel and care passionately about some things. (Whether or not I can be bothered to show it on a consistent basis is another story.) I love my girlfriend with all of my heart. So if that's not good enough for the people that decide such things, I guess I'll take my theoretical vagina and go home. I hear they've got pornography on the internet there, anyways.
* * * *
You might be wondering why I've been so forward (for lack of a better word) in this post. It is because I've been dating my girlfriend for four years like I've said above. She knows what comes with the Kevin package by now. Like – I hope – most modern women she knows that women can't change men. I am who I am. I am not scared to reveal this part of me.
* * * *
Just for shits and giggles:
Approximately one-eighth of the season has been completed and the Milwaukee Brewers sit at 9-12. With a supposedly bolstered starting rotation, a strong bullpen anchored by the heretofore ageless Trevor Hoffman, and promising youngsters Alcides Escobar and Carlos Gomez setting the table for the sluggers, this is not where fans want the team to be. Can you blame them?
I am not Mr. Sunshine, but I still have hope that the Brewers can compete this season. I know it's not exactly fashionable to be positive on the internet -- and perhaps for sports fans in general -- where blog commenters more closely resemble 4chan (NSFW) than they do Cute Overload. I hate to repeat that tired old mantra "It's still early," but I will: It's still early. Get a grip.
I'll answer the last question first: No. Gagne was mostly washed up before he even got here. In hindsight, it was easily a mistake to sign him for any amount of money. On the flip side, Hoffman had a ridiculously good year last year, and there was really no reason to think he wouldn't keep it up to some extent other than the fact that he is 42 years old. Unless there was a cheaper, guaranteed* option waiting in the wings, I don't think any GM in the league would pass up on the deal.
As for being washed up or injured it's entirely possible on both accounts. He's lost his control (answer to #3) as well, which doesn't bode well. But at the same time one must remember that in his blown saves, the team won one (and could've won yesterday's), lost one on a fluke home run that, given the chance, the guy wouldn't be able to recreate 99 out of 100 times, and finally the Hoff gave up two homers to some guys named Albert Pujols and Matt Holliday. The home runs are troubling to be sure. But I don't think it merits immediate demotion to mop-up guy along with the 12 million dollar mistake Jeff Suppan. Perhaps a few days to get his head straight will do him some good, though upon returning I would keep the leash short, to one the tune of one or two more games. As for options, you've got Villanueva, Coffey, Hawkins, and maybe even Parra**. The closer role isn't a lost cause quite yet.
As for the starting staff, the conventional (in hindsight) wisdom is that if last year's staff was merely average, they would have at least contended for the Wild Card. This year's staff needs to do pretty much the same thing, and I see no reason why it can't. Of course, there is much room for improvement.
However, there is one number I am concerned with, and this is the amount of money it will take to sign Prince Fielder.
At their current payroll, I don't think it is possible to sign him. It just isn't financially feasible. The only way it could possibly work is if the Brewers' payroll expanded. If it takes $25 mil per year to get the big man, and Milwaukee's payroll is pushing $90 million as we speak, then that amount must be pushed to $115 million. Probably a hard pill to swallow for Mark Attanasio and company.
As for living up to the contract, that's all fine and good, but if he were to re-sign and the Brewers were to win the World Series, even if he got hurt and was never the same, would you really care all that much if he put the team in the hole for seven years? I wouldn't. I think the nucleus of Braun, Fielder, and Gallardo give us the best chance to win. It might take one more big move (or perhaps a small one) to put the team over the top, but I don't believe they make that leap without those three.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
Despite the fact that I'm not exactly your average human being, I spent my high school years wanting to be with a girl. I wanted to be touched, held. I wanted to get laid, for Christ's sake. About halfway through my sophomore year, I would finally find someone not completely creeped out by my dour demeanor.
It was a typical teenage relationship. We didn't go out on dates so much as we spent most of our time together making out on somebody's floor or couch. It was great for what it was, but at the same time there was really nowhere to go with it. Is there anywhere else to go when you're sixteen?
Like all good things, the relationship eventually had to come to an end.
It was late summer in my parents' basement. She said it was over and handed over her copy of OK Computer by Radiohead and started to cry. I bawled my eyes out in front of her, perhaps more vulnerable than she'd ever seen me. After regaining my composure I think she kissed me for the last time and left.
I can remember my mom asking me if I was okay – I don't remember the answer – and retreating back down to the basement and putting the CD in. After listening to “Karma Police” I switched to “No Surprises” – her favorite song – and the rest is history.
The song isn't affecting simply because it was a favorite song of my first love. Certainly that resonates with me, but there's more to it than that. With “No Surprises,” Radiohead completely nailed what it feels like to be numb.
A heart that's full up like a landfill
A job that slowly kills you
Bruises that won't heal
Those first three lines, sad but sung with such a lack of palpable emotion. Certainly I felt something; but I didn't know what I should be feeling. Sadness? Anger? Indifference? All of the above?
You see, this was my first break-up. I wasn't sure what went wrong or what I could do to make things right. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it through all right. All I could do was throw up my hands, shed some tears, and sink further into my music. I searched for answers but came up blank, much like the narrator in the song.
Common sense would indicate that I should have grieved for an appropriate amount of time, but gotten back up on that horse and find some other girl to make out with. It was high school! But I didn't. I listened to songs like “No Surprises” and slipped further down that fucking rabbit hole. I surrounded myself with walls, some of which are still up to this day.
That relationship – for better or worse – fucked me up. I opened myself up to someone for the first time and got burned. I would not be hurt like that again. Thom Yorke spoke to me at the time (and times to come): “I'll take the quiet life / A handshake of carbon monoxide / No alarms and no surprises please”
Now, in a bit of irony that only took me 10+ years to realize... “No Surprises” was an apt title to begin with. The relationship was going nowhere and had to end at some point. I think, at that point in my life and for some years to come – that the song was to me as “The Wall” was to Roger Waters. It was my way of saying to the world, “that's enough of this bullshit!”
Years later, in a happy, contented, mature relationship I don't need the song, at least not in the way I needed it then. But I would be a liar if I said there weren't days when I wouldn't mind taking that “quiet life,” to melt away in a calm, numb world where there aren't any surprises.