Results tagged ‘ drugs ’
Joaquin Andujar, who famously supplied fellow teammates Lonnie Smith and Keith Hernandez with copious amounts of cocaine in the 80’s died recently on September 8th, 2015 at the age of 62. In memory of Andujar I’ve decided to pleasure you with some of the best quotes concerning the yayo that Eric Clapton famously crooned about in song.
“If I have a near-beer, I’m near beer. And if I’m near beer, I’m close to tequila. And if I’m close to tequila, I’m adjacent to cocaine.” ― Craig Ferguson
“Happiness lies within one’s self, and the way to dig it out is cocaine.” ― Aleister Crowley, Diary of a Drug Fiend
“It’s not the side-effects of the cocaine – I’m thinking that it must be love. — David Bowie
“This original version of Coca-Cola contained a small amount of coca extract and therefore a trace of cocaine. (It was eliminated early in the twentieth century, though other extracts derived from coca leaves remain part of the drink to this day.) Its creation was not the accidental concoction of an amateur experimenting in his garden, but the deliberate and painstaking culmination of months of work by an experienced maker of quack remedies.” ― Tom Standage, A History of the World in 6 Glasses
“Until you’ve got your mouth full of cocaine, you don’t know what kissing is. One kiss goes on from phase to phase like one of those novels by Balzac and Zola and Romain Rolland and D. H. Lawrence and those chaps. And you never get tire. You’re on fourth speed all the time, and the engine purrs like a kitten, a big white kitten with the stars in its whiskers.” ― Aleister Crowley, Diary of a Drug Fiend
Cocaine is God’s way of saying you’re making too much money. –Robin Williams
(Cocaine) is neither moral nor immoral — it’s a chemical compound. The compound itself is not a menace to society until a human being treats it as if consumption bestowed a temporary license to act like an asshole. –Frank Zappa
If we could sniff or swallow something that would, for five or six hours each day, abolish our solitude as individuals, atone us with our fellows in a glowing exaltation of affection and make life in all its aspects seem not only worth living, but divinely beautiful and significant, and if this heavenly, world-transfiguring drug were of such a kind that we could wake up next morning with a clear head and an undamaged constitution — then, it seems to me, all our problems (and not merely the one small problem of discovering a novel pleasure) would be wholly solved and earth would become paradise. –Aldous Huxley
PALM SPRINGS, March 23rd 1985 — Reggie Jackson and Brian Downing were involved in an altercation with an unidentified man following the Angels’ 8-1 exhibition victory over the Cleveland Indians at Tucson Friday.
The incident took place in the parking lot at Hi Corbett Field as Jackson and Downing were preparing to return to the Angel training base at Mesa, Ariz.
Jackson, reached by phone Friday night, said he was merely responding to the man’s belligerence by trying to restrain him. He said no punches were thrown and that the man ultimately apologized as he and Downing left in Downing’s car.
Witnesses told the Arizona Daily Star that the man had heckled Jackson throughout the game and continued to do so in the parking lot. They said that while there were no punches, the heckler suffered a cut lip, apparently in the jostling near Downing’s car.
by Brody D-Bag (name changed to protect the “innocent.”)
My buddies and I took a trip to Palm Springs in 1985 to get away from our wives, kids, jobs and the everyday hustle and bustle. I was working in real estate at the time and had the persona of a world class douche-bag. (hey, it was the 80’s!) We had been partying voraciously all week and had all downed a few “hair of the dog” bloody marys that morning before Dave looked in the newspaper and found that the Angels were in town for Spring Training.
“I want to see that .220 hitting son of a bitch play!” Dave screamed as he buttoned his Hawaiian shirt.
I knew who he was talking about– Mr. Hot Dog himself, Reggie Jackson.
We all climbed in the car, eyes bloodshot and ready for some beers, sun and some good times. Of course, we parked ourselves in the right field bleachers and proceeded to heckle Jackson mercilessly, as only 10 year olds can. FINALLY in the 8th inning, he turned around and gave us the finger. It was a triumphant moment of immaturity.
After the game I approached Reggie in a drunken stupor in the parking lot and tried to shake his hand.
“You and your friends were the assholes in the bleachers!” he said as he grabbed my wrists and shoved me to the ground.
Jackson then jumped in fellow player Brian Downing’s car and they sped off. It was later reported that I was shoving kids and offered him cocaine…in Spanish. I am not proud of my actions and have always regretted every moment, but that statement simply wasn’t true.
I don’t even speak Spanish.
I had no idea Dock Ellis played for the Athletics. Of course, it was before my time; and I’m sure a lot of other nerds didn’t know as well since Doc only spent two forgettable months with the Oakland club in 1977, posting a 1-5 record with a 9.69 ERA. Legend has it that it was his job to jot down the pitching charts in those pre-computer, pre-Steve Jobs days. (It was probably before Jobs had even gotten laid; he was 22.) Doc didn’t think too highly of this position and subsequently burned the charts in the locker room. He was eventually traded to Texas that same season.
Unless you’ve been on the moon the past few years or so, Dock recently received minor fame for pitching a no-hitter while on LSD for the Pirates in 1970, (I wont bore you with the details) reminding me of my own experimentation as a young man. I grew up in California; land of the hippie dress, recycled bottles, veganism, the breathtaking sea view, the rich yuppie asshole and the meth epidemic. It was almost a right of passage to smoke a bowl out of your “righteous” hand-blown glass pipe and listen to the fucking Eagles, man. I had a friend who took a couple of doses one cheery night. He tried to fight my neighbors, who he had never met, and then laid down to enjoy the musical stylings of Santana for the next 8 hours….nonstop.
Do I have my doubts about Ellis’ claim? Perhaps. But then again this is definitely THE most fucked up sport; (besides cricket) the sport where players can get mind-fucked and get their tiny capitalistic self esteem shattered within mere moments. Perhaps ol’ Dock was cruising on tolerance, muscle memory and racial strife. These motherfuckers were CRUISING on “greenies” half the time anyway, and the world was “changing”. (which begs the question…did the hippies “save” physics?)
What I found is that the counterculture owes many of its ideals, and particularly its understanding of how media shapes people, to a generation earlier that really came to life during World War II. In the ’60s psychedelic counterculture boomed. People surrounded themselves with psychedelic media – videos, art, installations – thinking that it would turn them into a different kind of person, perhaps make them more personally satisfied and psychologically fulfilled. Culturally and ideologically, much of this came from the previous decades and was not a spontaneous counter-cultural emergence, but now it had a more visual representation. Isn’t this everything to a homo sapien? And does this absolutely validate Neitzsche’s “God is dead?” or was it just visual representation of “God’s” majesty? Was “She” on Ellis’ side on that fateful day of June 12, 1970, guiding his no doubt methamphetamine laced arm to victory? Who knows? Who cares? This is that point in time when you nut up….you chose a team, a wife, a house, whether or not to kill yourself, maybe a job…and your fundamental questions eventually come up with their own self satisfied conclusions. Alas, this is just some random dumb shit baseball blog. I don’t have answers. All I have are questions and a fake baseball card. Happy Memorial Day… R.I.P. Wendell James Crosby