Monday, July 13, 2009

Beer for dinner.

I arrived home tonight to this little view. Two menus from Mi Famila Pizzeria on the stairway to my condo. Presumably, one for me (on the left) and one for my neighbor. Four steps from the bottom. C'mon, dude - show some initiative. At least the Chinese places have the gumption to walk up the stairs and hang the menu on my doorknob. Interestingly, the menu proclaims WE DELIVER. One assumes, from the way they deliver menus, that they take the food to a point about a quarter mile from your house and make you carry it the rest of the way.
Meanwhile, tonight is the Home Run Derby. The Home Run Derby falls under the category of "Junk Sports." Summer fluff made-for-TV events with guys competing for the title of "Best Batting Practice Hitter." I can't get worked up over it. Are they home runs if there isn't a game and you don't run the bases? It's like T-ball for grown-ups. And I really can't handle listening to Chris Berman scream for 3 hours. Or 5 minutes. Watch it and let me know how it comes out.
While wandering around the Saucon Valley course on Sunday, a couple of women behind me were having a conversation about what one of them was calling a lany-ard. She repeated it at least three times, so I know she thought they were called lany-ards. In those situations, it takes all of my willpower not to turn around and say "Lan-yard" and I didn't, which is a feather in my cap.
It's another feather that I'm not running around correcting people for saying Holiday when they're talking about Roy Halliday, the Toronto Blue Jays' pitcher currently on the trading block and the subject of talk among Phillies fans who have convinced themselves that the Phils are going after him in a trade. Hal-i-day. Repeat. Christmas is a holiday.
If I were running the team (and don't they wish I were) I'd call the Blue Jays and fax them a minor league roster and say, "Pick three." Prospects are just that - prospects. For every Cole Hamels there are a hundred Pat Combs', Ken Dowell's, Gavin Floyd's and a host of others who the team thought were future Hall of Famers who probably wound up selling cars with Jack Taschner. Trade a prospect. You'll make more. There is only one Roy Halliday.
I enjoyed that World Series run and the parade. I also enjoyed sex. 'd like to do them both again.

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