The Worst People Ever and Other Stories from #31 Retirement Day

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

The Worst People Ever and Other Stories from #31 Retirement Day

. Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Sunday's DePaul -sponsored Cubs outing ($10 tickets - F yeah) was, as I've mentioned, nearly a perfect day at Wrigley. Yet it was not all sunshine und smiles (yes, I meant und. I'm going German on your asses). I've got a few good pictures and a couple of fun stories. But first, let's get the meat of this post out of the way - The Worst People Ever (TM). Sure, they weren't loud, and they weren't necessarily obnoxious. But they doth perpetrated a great and terrible evil. Hit the jump for a daguerreotype of their fearful visages and the tale of woe that herein accompanies.

The Worst People in the World (TM)

I may be too passive-aggressive to confront you, but by all that is holy, I will talk shit about you, and blog about it later! Muahahahaha!

Look at those rogues - perhaps no more evil on appearance than most, but hiding a gaggle of jet-black souls. To put things in the parlance of our times, these motherfuckers stiffed the beer man. And it wasn't just one of those aging, bitter beer guys. This was one of the first-stringers. He visited early and often, with the entertaining McConaughey-esque call of "BEEEER MAIN ... Bier MAIN! ... BEER MAIIIIIN." It was entertaining. So this flock of bastards bought a few (how many I can't remember) and ended up with 50 cents change in the beer man's hand. After initially waving him off with his two quarter gratuity, one of them actually chased him down as he was making his way up the aisle and asked for the 50 cents back. But that middle finger to the workin' man wasn't enough either - no, apparently the nefarious change bitch was not the owner of the precious quarters, because she returned the money to her friend, who let her keep 25 of those cents for her trouble. To wit: someone near-stiffed the beer guy, then sent their friend after a guy carrying a heavy load up the stairs so that they could complete the act of actually stiffing the poor Beer Maiiiin. Worst People Ever. There were actually four of them, as opposed to the three pictured herein, but we all know vampires don't show up on film.

Actual Conversation from Section 239

Ron asks Ernie Banks and Billy Williams if they can tell he's wearing his good toupee. Awkwardness ensues.

Me: Uh oh, it looks like Z hurt himself. Crap. He seems like he wants to stay in, though. Wait ... nope. He's out. They're bringing in a pinch runner.

Girlfriend: Can you tell who it is from here?

Me: It's hard to see from here. I can't tell who it is yet, but it looks like the bat boy.

Announcer: Now running for Carlos Zambrano, Rich Harden!

Me: Ah.

It's a Me, Fergie!

Taken just seconds before a cheap-ass lightning bolt knocked both legends back into 4th and 5th place, respectively

For some reason, Cubs management decided that the best way to honor Fergie and Maddux was for them to conclude their ceremony by being driven around the field in golf carts, senior citizen style. At first, I thought it was stupid. But then I remembered the lesson I've learned from Mario Kart - when you've spent hard time putting the hurt on your competitors, you take that victory lap when it's all over. Bonus lesson: A red shell will fuck your world up.

That Sounds ... Edible

Greg Maddux: "I officially retire! Bring on the fried Twinkies, and don't stop until one side of my face stops moving."

Now that the ... ugh ... Captain Morgan Club has been getting all the press and drawing all the suburbanites, I've started going to the Sheffield Grill (under section 239) to get beers. It literally takes two seconds - no one goes in there. You can get your nachos, your dogs, even a Tecate if you're feeling festive. But one item on the menu gave me pause. Located at the very bottom of the list, and presented with no additional explanation is the name "Gluten Free Snack." Would someone please order this and report back to me on what the hell it is? Everyone's dodging the gluten boogeyman these days. It seems like white middle class people are as afraid of gluten in present day as they were of crack in the early '90s.

Another Conversation from 239

Taken during the four minutes of wind that occurred that day. Mostly, the flags were as limp as Jeff Suppan's ... fastball.

Three innings into it.

One dude: When do they inflate the beach balls and start throwing them around?

Other dude: (Stony silence)

One dude: Wait do they do that here?

I'm going to take a guess and say it was his first time at Wrigley. Welcome, friend. You are about one mention of The Wave away from getting stabbed in the neck with a screwdriver.

And Finally,

There are many schools of thought as to how one knows that they've come to the pinnacle of their field. MacArthur grants, Nobel Prizes, and Daytime Emmys are all seen by various folk as proof that they've made it. Bullshit. Sunday's game taught me the unifying theory of professional achievement. Namely, that until you've got a row of trumpeters rocking your insignia and honoring you like a damn cartoon king, then you've still got a ways to go. I know this will motivate me for years to come.


Kat said...

Stiffing the beer man is an absolute sin. That man brings you cold (ok, mostly cold) refreshment in the way of Wrigley Field greatness that is Old Style & you can't even give him ur 50 cents change? Oyyyy veyyyy. Straight to hell with you!

Beach balls...really? And he lived through the rest of the game?