Friday, October 20, 2017



* in this day and age, getting to age 30 is a miracle.

* not those beautifully-crafted 30 for 30 documentaries so rich in faded film file and ingrained insight which unfortunately are too long for me to fit in my meaningless schedule

* i know. i thought sports were useless, too. but then ESPN came along and added the entertainment aspect.

* granddaughter: 30 stadiums or bust?
Gramps: bust.

* granddaughter: so this is where you're hiding.
Gramps: apparently not well enough.
granddaughter: happy birthday.
Gramps: i don't understand, this envelope has no stamp.

* granddaughter: i was told you love the old Dodgers/Giants rivalry.
Gramps: not after that violence. it's dead to me. like i will be soon. who told you?
granddaughter: Grandma.
Gramps: i hate my ex-wife. why'd you write Gramps on the envelope? i have a name you know.
granddaughter: what is it?
Gramps: i don't know.

* granddaughter: free Wednesday?
Gramps: yes. but shouldn't you be in school?
grandddaughter: i work.
Gramps: as what?
granddaughter: cat burglar.

* granddaughter: i hope you don't mind i stole this blue Volvo from Jimmy Carter.
Gramps: i'm sure he deserved it. watch it girlie, the speed limit's 25.
granddaughter: i paid off all my speeding tickets with diamonds.

* granddaughter: how old are you, Gramps?
Gramps: too old for sex. my life now consists of oatmeal and baseball. not necessarily in that order.

* granddaughter: make sure to put on your seatbelt, Gramps.
Gramps: why? i'd rather die eating this here box of super-glazed bearclaw donuts.

* at Rolling Pin Donuts
Gramps: where are the rolling pins? you sell rolling pins, right?
Rolling Pin Donuts manager: that's just a metaphor, sir.
Gramps: i need backup when the granddaughter starts using again.

* Gramps: awwww you're so cute when you're sleeping.

* granddaughter: whom are you rooting for?
Gramps: some nondescript Red A team.
granddaughter: looks like a W.
Gramps: ashamed Nationals fan.

* granddaughter: look at me wearing my baseball cap backwards. i'm so gangsta.
Gramps: that went out with the '90s. which was the last decade anything mattered.

* Gramps: where are we?
granddaughter: the stadium. remember, Gramps?
Gramps: this isn't Van Halen? FUCK
granddaughter: ...
Gramps: For Unlawful Carnage Knowledge

* Gramps: did you pay for this popcorn with another diamond?
granddaughter: no, the diamond is in the popcorn. i'm hiding it.
Gramps: ate the whole bag in one handful scoop. haven't eaten this good in months.

* granddaughter: what does your posterboard sign say?
Gramps: 45
granddaughter: looks like a swastika.

* granddaughter: scoring at home? that box score looks like ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs.
Gramps: how'd you know about my Egyptian sidepiece?
granddaughter: she's Grandma's sister.
Gramps: this will be my last love letter.

* granddaughter: why are you crossing my name off this list? and crumpling the piece of paper up into a ball?
Gramps: *in stentorian voice* The Blacklist. on NBC.

* granddaughter: don't hug me when the stadium's empty. feels weird.

* granddaughter: Grandpa, i have a confesson to make.
Gramps: is this about when i saw you on Tinder that one time?
granddaughter: no. I am Catwoman.
Gramps: *in stentorian voice* I AM BATMAN
granddaughter laughs.
Gramps: what's so funny?
granddaughter: good joke. i knew you had it in you. Batman and Catwoman.
Gramps: oh. i was thinking like a baseball bat.

* okay, some alone time. the 1988 Dodgers were everything to my 10-year-old boy self. this was my team for life. i felt about them the way i feel about tennis now. baseball was my blood back then. i was in the middle of my Little League tenure. on '80s grass and pizza parties at newly-formed arcades. i played catch with my dad out on the front lawn of our tiny precious home. we alternated between pitcher and catcher. i played catcher cos i really played catcher in Little League, that was my position. the moms in the stands marveled at how my skinny frame was able to keep all that heavy equipment on my back without tipping me over. i always loved that catcher's mitt being different-looking from all the others. oiled it daily. the smell of tar and pine and hide. it was pure Norman Rockwell. i miss my dad. Mike Scioscia was of course my favorite. to this day i still can't spell his name correctly. or pronounce it correctly. Orel Hershiser was the man. i knew that even back then. didn't know he was The Bulldog tho. i called him Hershey's Chocolate despite the Dodgers' gleaming white uniforms. and Orel is just a cool name. he had that lean-into pitching delivery that all the kids on the block emulated. i mean this was smack dab in the maelstrom that was Fernandomania. there will never be a bespectacled, praying pitcher like Fernando ever again. anywhere! i can still see him from the stands looking up to the heavens before his pitch knowing he wouldn't trip on the mound doing this cos he had faith. and the long lines on the highway after the game. bumper-to-bumper. my half-open eyes would flash back from swirly red-and-white lights to inside loud reverberating freeway tunnels to my mini blue Dodgers flag and my inverted blue mini Dodgers helmet filled with three scoops of neapolitan ice cream i wanted to save to ruin my supper of Dodger Dogs that had long since melted into soup. we'd make it back to that sacred house in Van Nuys after midnight. the palm trees were neon green. a tired kid wearily followed his blanket to his bed and tuckered his thumb out. this was back when I still did things. collect baseball tickets and baseball cards. and the manager Lasorda. everyone's favorite Santa Claus Grandpa. he made it okay to be fat. you know, eat all the pizza and the burgers and fries and chips and pretzels and drink all the beer, it's baseball! these were my heroes. my titans who defeated the gods. the Giants would come later to me as a defacto adult. but those innocent times spoke as much about the Eighties Era as to baseball itself, the lore of the pure American pastime intact. as i grew my hard ball softened to a fuzzy yellow one, but i'll never forget those times. nostalgia is painful when the times were good. funnily enough, you know that whole Kirk Gibson thing where he rounds the bases and does that thing with his arm like he's pulling on the chain of a buzzsaw? yeah, that's the one thing i don't remember.


happy weekend, my babies. go Yankees! Madison Avenue desperately needs this Series again! i work for Madison Avenue. advertising for them. that's one step below advertising for cigarettes. edit: well at least there's something to do Saturday night.

No comments: