Magic Jewball

Guess what arrived yesterday! My Philly Race For the Cure shirt! It is really, really pink. Ostensibly, it is white; however, it’s filled with so much hot-pink lettering that it’s hard to tell. There’s also some Spring green, These are two colors that you will rarely see me wear and never together. But I don’t mind! I was so happy to see it that I hung it up on a hanger, which isn’t really something I tend to do with t-shirts. I may never have seen it at all because I used a fake name over there and the postal carrier decided to deliver it to one of my neighbors. I’m not sure which one because all I heard last night were footsteps and a soft thud in front of my door. By the time I got to it, said neighbor was gone. I kind of wonder how long this neighbor had it because it was postmarked 3/29 and it isn’t such a long way from Philadelphia. I know this because I’ve taken that trip 400 times in my lifespan. Eight hundred if you remember that it’s on the way from Baltimore as well.

Along with the t-shirt I also received my bib number. I’ve never been so excited to be a number! I put that in the big pile of Important Stuff on my dresser where it can keep company with Cure tickets I’ve had for a year and the $5 off Zyrtec coupon. They also sent a Phillies schedule - awesome, just what I needed. No, really, I needed it so I could have a good segue into my next story.

This week I attended my first game of the last season at Yankee Stadium. It’s hard to remember it’s the last season because my father tends to talk a lot about the previous Yankee Stadium and the way you could see the 9th Avenue El converge with several other lines that may or may not still exist because there wasn’t so much advertising. That is, you could see them because of the not-yet-created advertising, that’s not why they converged.

Anyway, I went to get me a hot dog at the Kosher stand (we have one too!) which is someplace different than last year. Behind the booth were two young guys and one immediately got me a frankfurter (as my father calls it) and the other was supposed to ring me up. Except he didn’t see the already put together dog and started to get another one set up. The following conversation ensued.

Kosher Guy1: I already got her the hot dog
Kosher Guy2: You did? But I got a big one.
KG1: So did I! They’re all big.

You don’t even have to have as dirty a mind as Becca to know what I was thinking.

Me: Ummm…
KG2: Yes?
Me: Please don’t make me say what I’m thinking.
KG1, looking baffled: Go ahead!
Me: Whoever has the biggest hot dog, I’ll take that. Thanks!
Kosher guys: Bwahahahahahaha!

Yankees win… thaaaaaa Yankees win!

Title will be understood by precisely one reader but is one of the double entendres I have known and loved in my lifetime.

Martini Ranch - Hot Dog

I don’t know what Kosher sports are but I’m intrigued. Not enough to go see the Nationals, however. This is my friend, IrishCardinal and her sister, IrishCardinal’s sister. They took this just for me in appreciation of the Hamantaschen sent with the return address of D. Jeter/A. Rodriguez. And the post-it note saying hi from Mr. Steinbrenner. Who knew those guys had time to bake Hamantaschen as well?

Anyway, this is all to say that I am beyond thrilled that baseball season has finally begun and even without Uncle Joe on the bench, I did cry on Opening Day. The second, less rainy Opening Day. Well, I cried on the first one but it was for other reasons.

Happy baseball season, everyone!

Frank Sinatra - New York, New York (Live)

So I’m off and I’m leaving the team in your hands. I have complete faith that you will do fine. They will probably fail somewhere, but you’ll do fine. I got the International roaming plan on my Blackberry just so I could check on you! And this site. I can’t expect you to watch over my site too. Or can I….

No, probably not. Well, just the team then. I’ll be back in the middle of the first play-off series. At least I don’t have to worry about you hitting Kevin Youkilis in the head. Yet.

Since it’s going to be the Jewish holiday of Sukkot (they have it in Nebraska too!), I’m going to pray for you not to play the Angels in the first round. God doesn’t like teams named after ethnic/racial groups, I’m pretty sure, plus there’s that whole winning record you have against the Indians, that could also help. Oh and world peace, I’m also going to pray for world peace. Amen.

Anyway, Joba, take care of yourself. You got through rookie hazing just fine. As a matter of fact, I think you look smashing in that outfit. Not in that weird, furry way, just in that “if I were king of the forest” way. You get me.

Well I still have some last minute things to do and you’ve probably got some gatorade to drink after being in that costume in 80 degree weather, so I’ll just sign off now.

Love,
Becca

PS, if you need me, Pious B has my itinerary!

Peter, Paul & Mary - Leaving On A Jet Plane

Well, the most wonderful time of the year comes to a close today and although I’m excited for the big final (go No-Djoc!) I’m really sad that it’s all over. But, as I return to the world of baseball (Yankees have done OK while I was away, huh?), my faith in humanity is restored by this clip. I post it partially in response to the person who found my site by using the search term “joba overkill.” As if! Who could get enough of Joba? Joba Joba Joba. Job-a. Jo-ba. Joba. Joooooooob-aaaaaah!

Anyway, the set-up for this is that Joba Chamberlain’s Dad is paralyzed on the left side due to polio but yet he found a way to play catch with little Joba in the backyard. This weekend he was able to see his son pitch in the major leagues for the very first time when he schlepped (is that a word they use in the heartland?) from Lincoln, Nebraska (one of the places on my all-time must visit list, I’m not kidding, but that’s a story for another time) to Kansas City to see the Yankees play the Royals. Joba, as we all know, has an ERA of zero, and here is his father’s reaction to seeing one of the Royals nearly get a hit off his son, possibly a home run, only to then see it caught on the warning track to end the inning. Phew.

Now I not only love Joba, I also love Joba’s Dad.

I couldn’t decide whether to write about the fantastic Crowded House show or the fun weekend in New Jersey with my cousins so I decided to write about last night’s Yankee game instead. And that was before I heard Phil Rizzuto died. Holy cow! But first, some fun moments from the other two.

The opening act for Crowded House was Pete Yorn but before that was Neil Finn’s son, Liam, who is talented but would never be that warmly received had he not been Neil’s son. Like Neil, he talked a lot to the crowd.

Woman from audience: I love you, Neil!
Liam Finn: My name is Liam.
Woman: I love you, Liam!
Liam: I love you too.

And over the weekend, my seventeen year old cousin in her long skirted religious wear has decided she’s a goth because she likes Evanescence.

Me: What are you reading?
She: It’s called “Oh My Goth.”
Me: Seriously? Ha! Are you into that? I’m going to see The Cure next month.
She: Who?

That was the point where I had to be medicated. But I digress. We had a lovely angle last night and here it is, with a view of Chien-Ming Wang, just beginning to suck in the first inning.

But that’s OK! He settled down. But then Ron Villone came out and sucked further. But that was OK too because along came Joba! Go Joba! I didn’t get any pictures of Joba, I think I was too overwhelmed by his awesomeness. Or maybe I was distracted by the altercation in my section where a guy in a Red Sox jersey called for security, I guess because he thought he was being harrassed, thus causing the entire section to turn on him. This is my question, boys and girls, why would you go to Yankee Stadium on a day the Red Sox aren’t even playing and dress yourself in Sox-gear? And he wasn’t the only one. I understand the desire to see other stadiums while you are in a town but why the masochism? Red Sox fans, do Yankee fans do that in Boston? Because it is strange and a little insane.

Of course, along with our fine seats came the fact that we were wedged in in such a way that by the time I was willing to risk going to the bathroom my kidneys had exploded. Which was fine because it precluded me from buying any $9 soda. On the subway home (the IND, as my father would say) I managed to zip in front of the Japanese fans in their matching Matsui jerseys and the nice Baltimore tourists with their O’s t-shirts tucked into their khakis and actually get a seat. Oh my goth did my kidneys appreciate it.

In conclusion, here’s a picture of the Yankees congratulating Bobby Abreu on his home run, disguised as a gratuitous shot of Derek Jeter’s ass.

Title comes from:

Crowded House - Pineapple Head (not available on Napster)