Thursday, I left work in a complete blur to play an unprecendented triple-header for Roundhouse. Yeah, that sucked. 6:30, 7:30 and 8:30. We took the first two in grand fashion, but really had nothing left in us for the third game and dropped the 8:30. Had that game been first, we probably would've given them more of a fight, but, whatever, no room for excuses. We did all we could. I racked a first baseman on a close play at first. My knee, his nuts. His knees, the ground. After completing the 8:30 game, I went back to work at about 10:00 and worked until 12:15 on a project. Ugh.
Woke up at about 5:30 to get ready for a flight to Albuquerque for our Ice Cube event. Angry Tim, Serge and I flew out to ALB at about 8:30 and spent most of the time driving around visiting competition. Met some ultra-nice guys at a few spots. All day, we hear the radio station mentioning the Ice Cube signing and I start thinking we might have our hands full. We ended up with a request of 10 police officers, four security guards and then Ice Cube's personal guards. We were expecting about 800 people tops. Turns out, 1,500 people showed, we had 15 police officers, still about 4 security guards, 10 armed guards and about when we drove around the block, they had 5 horses ready for crowd control. It was like Gangsta Clause showed. Cube had done in-stores in Seattle, Salt Lake City, Chicago and San Diego and we beat the turnout at all of those events combined. We're lucky it didn't turn into a full-scale riot though as he only signed for an hour out of the two he agreed to. I was so starstruck that I really didn't say anything to him except, "Here," when he asked, "Where are the Sharpies?" Whaddya gon' do? Got back in town about 10:30 or so and packed for my weekend in Dallas.
Left at about 6:00 the next morning for D-Town. Saturday night, we found ourselves in attendance for the Sox and the Triple-A Texas Rangers. Turns out, Tim Wakefield's knuckle was like a softball because he was fooling no one. We lost 15-8. In what was like a social experiment though, my lovely wife and I were sitting between one dad who was drunk from about the 5th inning on (we called him "Drunk Dad") and some girl who was drunk and, turns out, was the girlfriend of a father of two, both in attendance. The girl looked the same age as the daughter (we called her "Girl Mom"). Betweent the two, we had enough soundbytes to get us through the game. Drunk Dad kept slamming beers and then hugging on his son who was visibly repulsed by his father. He also taunted nearby Sox fans (which actually surrounded him and notably outnumbered him about 40-1). What an assclown. He began taunting us in the late innings with the mocking cheer of "Let's go, Red Sox!". Just start chanting back to him, "Let's go, playoffs!" and watch the stupid Rangers fan shut up. Girl Mom, who was busy teaching her soon-to-be step daughter how to smile using her teeth and take the head off of her beer, took a break to inform Red Sox fans that when you're in Texas, you root for the Rangers. Wow, could've fooled me being that about 85% of the fans in attendance were Sox fans. I heard only 1,500 people showed for a Mariners-Rangers game a week earlier. We matched that number with Ice Cube in Albuquerque. Hell, if it weren't for Sox fans, they wouldn't be able to play night games in Texas. In the ninth inning, down 15-4, we managed to string together a bit of a rally and the Rangers manager yanked the pitcher with 2 outs and a 7-run lead. That's a team with a serious loser-complex. Hey Ranger fans, there's a Nascar race on somewhere. Go away.
The next day, my lovely wife and I hit up Six Flags. It must be my age because I get "stomachy" immediately on these damn rides. We started with the Toni Hawk ride and that went over like a turd in the punch bowl. I staggered around dizzily, wondering who kneed me the belly. We then hit up all the big rides. My lovely wife, as usual, was a champ. She can't stomach milk products and marinara sauce, but she can't get tossed upside down multiple times at about 50 miles an hour and skip away. I don't get it. Oh, people still pick their butts at Six Flags. They do it all day long. There's gotta be some mechanism or device that subliminally instructs people to use their thumb to pull their wadding panties out of their butt every twenty feet. When I see it happen, I can't help but imagine the stink of that thumb. Okay. Sorry. That was not very professional. Stop picking your butts.
Sox are on a pretty good run, although they got beat last night by those pesky Rays, 4-5. Tonight we put Beckett on the mound to bring us to a .5 game back of the Rays. Tux is ready. He told me that his favorite player is Jed Lowrie. Yes, he speaks to me. His voice sounds like George Burns. And, yes, Jed Lowrie.Sox win tonight's game 5-3. You heard it here.