Thursday, June 27, 2013

Sailors...gotta love 'em.

Back in the day, people used to wonder why sailors cut up so much when they got into a liberty port. Here's my explanation:

Take a bunch of America's finest young men and women with raging hormones, little if any common sense, most of whom have never been off their block much less outside of their state, who don't have a clue about which end is up, send them off to a God-forsaken base in Northern Iliinois for eight weeks. Deny them even the simplest pleasures that civilians take for granted, like a radio, or nudie magazines. Yell at them constantly, run them ragged, teach them a crash course in an entirely new language and vocabulary, and make them wear funky uniforms with a confusing litany of insignia. 

Then send them to another God-forsaken base somewhere in these United States where they will learn just enough about their job to be dangerous, stuff them on board a ship that's cramped, smelly, packed to the gills with guns, missiles, planes and other fun toys designed to blow stuff up and kill people, pay them less than minimum wage, put them out to sea and work them 12-20 hours a day for seven days a week for seven and eight months at a time. 

Tell them that despite the presence of the opposite sex being on board, they are only allowed to look, but don't touch. Repeat the whole shipboard thing about 4 or 5 times in ten years, and then expect them to act like Rebecca of frickin' Sunnybrook Farm once they finally hit the beach? Really???

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Wanting to Believe in the Buccos...

     As of today, the local professional base ball club are 17 games over .500.  People are starting to wonder whether the club are for real, can they keep up this torrid pace and finally kill the monkey that has been on their backs since 1993, which is almost old enough to get drunk on the SahSide and end up facedown in a pool of its own puke in a alley off Carson St at three AM.

     I recently have upgraded my outlook on the Pirates from 'Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop' to 'Cautiously Optimistic.'  I remember the grand collapse last season when in the space of a mere 40+ days, our Buccos went from the Belle of the Ball to the awkward socially inept nerdy chick standing next to the bean dip looking like a lost puppy, (not that there's a damn thing wrong with nerdy chicks, I tend to like women who are smarter than me, which is pretty much 90% of the female popiulation. ;-).)

    I want to believe, I really do.  But 20 years of watching this team find new and exciting ways to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory have made me cynical and hardened to accept the inevitable truth that if there is a way that the Pirates could screw up something as simple as a pub crawl on the SahSide, they can and they will, much less figure out a way to win 35 of their next 85 games.  I swore that I would never darken the threshold of PNC Park again until the Pirates had a winning season, and have largely kept that promise.

    Recently, my Legion Post was the recipient of a large number of FREE tickets to the Pirate's game on the 4th of July against the Phillies. It wasn't costing me anything, so I decided to go.  I'll be soaking up the sun (Don't know why, being black, I have an OEM tan.)  watching the Pirates playing their cross-state rivals and hoping for a win.  I'm off that day, better to be at the ballpark enjoying the National Pastime, instead off my usual off-day routine of sleeping all day and spending the rest of my time on teh Facebook. Yes, you heard me, Facebook fam, I will be out in teh public, surrounded by other people and hating every minute of it, because I want to believe.  I want to see the Pirates emerge from their 20 year long strange trip.
   
     So if you're in the vicinity of the Nor'Side at America's Greatest Ball Park on the 4th of July and see a clueless black guy with earbuds stuffed in his ears and totally cool new bi-focals, that'll be me. Come on up and say 'HI', I don't bite (normally), I have had all my shots, and I do know how to act in public despite being a hopeless recluse. I may even buy yinz a beer, but not at PNC Park, cause I'm not paying $8 for watery American suds.   I want to believe, Buccos.  I'm still 'Cautiously Optimistic', but I'll be willing to risk breaking significant body parts to jump on the Bucco Bandwagon.