Results tagged ‘ punk rock ’

A short story ode to Mickey Klutts.

“Baseball is a universe as large as life itself, and therefore all things in life, whether good or bad, whether tragic or comic, fall within its domain.” –Paul Auster

I am in the far-flung recesses of my mind, probably contemplating throw-away culture or how the scope of time is too vast for humans to comprehend when I stumble upon the fly strewn corpse of a baby raccoon. My eyes immediately shift too a rather large, honey sweet black woman in stained sweatpants; a mother, and she is giving her child a tongue lashing for being a malcontent. She has a beautiful smile and a confident demeanor, she transcended simple tackiness and wore it well.

“The world needs structure! Without structure there would be chaos!”

Why was this profound? Is baseball chaos, structure or both? I’ve heard arguments for both the former and latter but I can’t seem to argue the contrary– and how did this short walk turn into mental digressions and glorious abstractions? Do I need to see a pharmacologist to ease this mental psycho-babble?

I suddenly trip on the curb, my modus-operandi quickly shifting from faux-philosopher into incoherent boob. The mother chuckles.  “You need to look where you’re going kemo sabe, it’s not good to look like a klutz.” I appreciated her simple candor, and she had no idea how profoundly I connected with her simplistic berating of a young ankle-biter. I made sense of the fog for a moment–I was a “klutz.”

 

 

I’m just a gun cleanin’ fool.

jose This is a short piece of fiction inspired by a very poignant moment of reality.

 

God, I love Leila.

Sounds like she is feeding the dogs right now. Jesus, those tits are amazing.

They are talking about ebola on the radio. I’ve been feeling feverish lately. I need to get that checked out. Ebola….that sounds funny.

Leila wanted to go get a”falafel” earlier. I had no idea what she was talking about. “Middle Eastern food,” she says. I wanted a Cuban sandwich.

The dogs are barking. Neighbor is fussing around in her backyard. I wonder if she knows I’m famous?

Puma puntu…or is it Punku? I just know that it fascinates me. Wow. How’d they do that?

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Leila

“You’re  a lot to handle…sometimes I just give up. But I’m all you have. You don’t have anybody else in your life.” Leila told me this earlier. She’s probably right. I need to call my manager about that autograph session later this week.

I do not think Mr 50/50 is born or conceived yet. God, I love Leila….her ass is amazing. Yummy.

I would love to be the hitting coach of the Oakland A’s. I love Oakland; the fans made me feel wanted again at the reunion.

Leila is cooking something. God, I love her. Wow. I made my Major League debut a year before she was born.

I think I need to clean my guns. I was the first man to achieve 40/40…perhaps I can be the first man to clean 4 guns at one time…..

 

 

 

 

Sean Doolittle and the hesher.

doo2Q: “Hey, what’s up?”
A: “Oh, ya know, ripping apart, severing flesh, gouging eyes, tearing limb from limb.”

Q: “Hey, why won’t the red light change?
A: “Hmm, gods of the throne must be watching from hell.”

Hessian = West coast name for a heavy metal fan

by John Quittner

Halloween 1991 was my first Halloween in Olympia, Wa. and I didn’t have any plans, so I was spending the evening cold kickin’ it with my roomies Brent and Maia watching Star Trek.  As I went to the kitchen to fetch the wine, my confident strut was interrupted by a knock at the door. I opened up and found myself staring at two young hessians no older than 13 , who wore no costume except that of their normal hessain selves– sleeveless denim jacket with Guns and Roses headband and curled lip etc.

“Fuckin’ trick or treat.” they said.

quit

your esteemed writer.

‘We don’t have any candy or anything.”

“Got a cigarette?” one asked hopefully with a snarl.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Got any alcohol?” They were quite bold.

“Well,” I pointed to the liquor store “they’ll probably sell you some over there.”

“Aww dude, do I look 21 to you?”

“Sure.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah fuckin’ right.” They didn’t look like they were going anywhere.

I got an idea. “You guys want a Judas Priest record?”

Their eyes got all big…” Fuck yeah!” they said in unison.

“Well hang on a second, ” I started digging through my old hesh records.

“Fuck, man. Do you have PAINKILLER?”

‘Uh huh,” the last Judas Priest record I had bought was DEFENDERS OF FAITH, but then it occurred to me that budding heshers were more into speed metal, not standard early 80’s viking striking stuff.

“Who wants Anthrax FIST FULL OF METAL?”

“Me! Me!”

I handed them both over and let them fight it out.

“KILLER! Thanks man!”

They ran off into the night, and I slept easy knowing that I had pleased two young heshers on their most special night of the year. How stoked would King Diamond be!?

Matt Chapman will now buy lunch for his future teammates that will make considerably less dough.

The Athletics newest “bonus baby.”

I usually don’t pay much attention to the MLB draft. By the time most of these guys even sniff the Majors I will probably be a different person physically, financially, mentally and perhaps even mortally. But, in this day and age it’s practically impossible not to hear some sort of information, and that’s exactly what happened as I was sipping a Corona and seeping in a hot tub. The media was lauding this as Bud Selig’s last draft (his desperation to go down in history was all but sealed when he became the first commissioner to unveil his own statue; a horrifically tacky move. I can’t imagine that sour-faced racist Kenesaw Mountain Landis doing such a thing….and really, did anyone in the history of man self-aggrandize themselves more?) when the Athletics drafted a kid out of Cal State Fullerton with the 25th pick.

“Holy Shit”, I thought, “I went to high school right across the street.”

That’s right…Fullerton, California.

( as the pot smoke clears….cue dream/reminiscent music)

I was sitting in class one day when the surfer kid with long, blonde flowing hair told me about a free concert at the college. (We had many “deep” conversations about how the Keanu Reeves movie, Point Break had bastardized surfing culture, and he knew I was highly involved in the local punk scene which consisted in playing in bands, setting up shows, putting out fanzines, making out, committing petty crimes, talking shit, and hanging out.)

“Dude, it’s Firehose….you remember Mike Watt right? The fucking Minutemen!”

Yep. We got some homeless guy to buy us beer, skipped school and saw an awesome show. (all before Matt Chapman was born in 1993!)

Obligatory ‘Fro scouting report: Mr. Chapman was undrafted out of high school, but seemingly grew into himself in college. Scout.com’s National Baseball Analyst Kiley McDaniel had this to say about Chapman in a recent scouting report: “I loved his infield and batting practice for Team USA, flashing huge raw power….. along with a plus-plus arm that some call an 80 and has hit the upper 90’s on the mound, though he’s thrown just a handful of innings in the last few years. Chapman is at least an average third baseman, so the only question is the bat. His performances haven’t been terrible, but he basically hasn’t shown the ability to hit and hit for power at the same time at any point in his career.”

The Athletics, always thinking ahead, know that this guy can be converted into a pitcher if he can’t hit professional pitching. He sees himself as a hard-nosed, scrappy player and that will always be of value in the Oakland system. I am going to give this pick a B minus….and now I am going back to the hot tub. Cheers.