
So the boys and I have been talking about the Cubs, Wrigley and basically watching baseball live. Apparently, there are a TON of things we don't like when watching a game at the house that Santo built. In no particular order:
1) Standing Up to Get Your Beers
There is no way that your pants are that tight that you can't lean on one cheek (sp?). You can access the money, whether you are still keep the goods in your back pocket or grab it out of your front pocket, without having to go vertical. You're blocking our view. Quit it.
2) Super Negative Fans
We get it. The Cubs suck. Individually and as a team. Is there any way the rest of us can enjoy the game without you repeatedly pointing out that Theriot's OBP is below .300? Just asking.
3. You With the Cell Phone
I'm on TV? No way! Really! OMG! Can you see me still? I'm standing up now. Wave? I am waving.
4. Murphy's
5. White Sox Suck v. Cardinals Take it in the Pujols T-shirts
We get it. You're Cubs fans. You both lose.
(Also receiving votes: Drunks Chicks Dig Me and Shut Up and Drink Your Beer)
6. Meet Me at the Harry Caray Statue
Good god people, there are a hundred better meeting places around the stadium. I hate to give away a secret here, but...Taco Bell.
7. Banks, Santo, Dawson, Grace, Williams, Jenkins and Ryno
Those are the jerseys you can wear. Brian McRae was great and all, but if he ain't on the field and he ain't on this list. Stop it.
7a. Stop putting your last name on a jersey.
It confuses us for two minutes, then it makes us mad when we realize that no one named Kronewitter has ever been a Cub.
8. Souvenir Guy
Move idiot. Hawk your bear claw somewhere else.
9. Moo
Yes, we are all waiting in a big line in the bathroom. Yes, we seem like cattle. No, you shouldn't make the joke.
9a. River Rat is not funny. Ever.
10. Left field sucks. Right field sucks. Lets be adults here, you all suck. Shut up and drink your beer.
Oops.
Feel free to add your own in the comments!
More tomorrow.
Go Cubs.
The Over Clapper Guy
Look, I understand, you LOVE anything Poly Tech does. It’s a given. But clapping for EVERY play is a tad excessive. Clapping should be reserved for high-flying dunks, hand-in-the-face threes, game-tying buckets and timeouts. That’s it. That’s the list. Clapping for every near steal, free throw made (or missed), good pass, 24 second violation or other random event on the court does not need your hand-related enthusiasm. So stop it.
The Someone’s a Big Fan of the Team Store Guy
Here’s the deal. In my humble opinion, you can never own enough team gear. Hats, jackets, shirts, sweaters, figurines, whatever. Problem is, you don’t get to wear it all at once. Rule of thumb. If you look in the mirror and count more than 2 items on your body that show your allegiance, that’s about two too many. A simple shirt or hat does the trick. No one is going to look at you in your team-colored Zoobaz, matching hip pack, sweatshirt, hat and button and think, “Now that guy’s a fan!” What they will think is, “Now that guy’s an embarrassment to himself and those around him.” Moderation, friends. Moderation.
The What Do You Mean the Bar Doesn’t Double As a Day Care Center?…Guy
I get it. The wife let you go out to watch the big game with one caveat, you have to take care of the kid. The problem is, he’s four and he’s kind of an asshole. That doesn’t give you the right, however, to basically make him community property. We’re all here to watch a game or three, not become surrogate parents to your kid. Simply giving him a dollar for Golden Tee is in fact, not what we call parenting. All we ask is that you try to keep him near you and relatively quiet. His constant screaming, chair-kicking and running around like a nut job may fly at home, but at the bar, he’s one wrong move from a misplaced elbow or knee. You’ve been warned.
That’s it for now. Yes, I’m bitter. But, when you spend half your life at sports bars, things start to drive you bat fucking crazy.
Feel free to leave your own “favorites” in the comments.
CUBS RELATED: DeRosa back in Mesa makes me smile. So does another Pie homer. Neal Cotts, however, needs a trip behind the woodshed. Or his papers.
Go Cubs.