Depots, Hubs, and Automobiles: Our Train Trip to See Railroad Earth @ The Pageant, St. Louis, MO, 04/15/11

It was 4:07 p.m. when our Amtrak Missouri River Runner pulled out of the St. Louis station, and as I’d been reflecting all day on last night’s Railroad Earth show at The Pageant, I’ve finally decided that it’s impossible, on this particular occasion, to separate the musical performance from the entire adventure.

A mere couple of weeks after assembling this post, I discovered that the band would be in Omaha on March 28, and in St. Louis on the evening of April 15th. The wife, ever-intelligent, swiftly solved the which-show-to-see dilemma I’d made into a monster with a quick-fire question: “What night of the week do they fall on?”

Ah, I thought. How logical. St. Louis it was to be.

So it was decided, and the busy weeks between now and then caught up with us. It was suddenly Monday and we’d done little more than call the venue twice to check on ticket sales, and get a feel for what navigating the evening with a four-month old might look like.

At some point, it sort of simultaneously occurred to the both of us that it could be a perfect arrangement –- and a hoot -– to take the train. With that much decided, the wife, in rapid-fire fashion, acquired train tickets, and booked us a hotel room. I was to research, purchase the right noise-reduction protective headphones for our baby, and check in with the venue again regarding tickets, prices, etc.

So, I read up on things like what the environmental noise rate is, and what certain events register at in decibels, and I kept thinking about that display they put up on TV in certain football games where the crowd noise supposedly falls somewhere in between a jet engine and an atomic bomb. It turns out, though, that headphones are something that will deliver sound to your ear pieces. Earmuffs were what we wanted, but I never thought to call them earmuffs because earmuffs are what you wear when you’re ice fishing in Canada, right?

I narrowed my earmuffs down to two different selections –- in case you’re interested, I went for the Pelzors over the BabyBanz –- and, like many other parent-related experiences I’ve had in the last 16 weeks, products, practices, and philosophies of the child-rearing nature, are completely sexist. Yeah, I know. I was, and continue to be, surprised, too. But if you want to try a car seat out, expect the literature to say, Mom –- ours is the safest! Shopping for a crib? Brand X is safe and so easy to assemble that any mother with only a few tools in her recipe box can handle the job, while breast-feeding. Wanna wear your kid in a wrap? I’d tell you that I use and recommend one in particular, but it irritates me that the brand name is a hybrid of the word mother and baby. You doing cloth diapers? Awesome. Great stuff. Don’t expect that your local distributor will be expecting dads to participate in anything diaper-related. Whenever they’re hosting a diaper swap, or announcing a new line, or looking for a blogger, it’s mom, mom, mom, mom, mom. And don’t even get me started on birthing and breast-feeding. That stuff’s completely sexist.

But, you know what? I don’t stand watch for these people to slip up, and then over-publicize the stuff until someone’s fired. I don’t start Facebook groups suggesting that you join me in banning products x, y, and z. And I certainly don’t generate any anti-hype on Twitter. Too much negativity out there as it is.

So, I’ve got several Web pages open, and I’m juggling the office phone and the cell, calling around looking for the pink Pelzor earmuffs. And here’s the thing: Nobody carries any kind of noise-reduction earmuff in stock. Nobody.

A little panic sets in, and this is totally normal for me. Actually, what sticks in my spokes usually look like are this: Frustration, panic, apathy, discussion of frustration, panic, and apathy, and then anger over the fact that I became frustrated, panicked, and wound up apathetic. Finally, I suffer the consequences of my cycle and walk around with my martyr hat on, explaining to those kind enough to listen how I wound up in the situation I’m in. But I’m irritated that these earmuffs aren’t available locally, and I begin to try and picture all of the different humans in the shipping business I must now depend on to get me my Pelzors by the time our River Runner rolls out at 8:15 a.m. Friday morning. And that’ll be the absolute end of the line because if the earmuffs aren’t in stores in Kansas City, I doubt St. Louis is going to have them, and even if they do, we’d have to shell out cab fare to get there.

A little more about that abundant negativity, though: I have this feeling about buying music and the way that the Internet has changed everything. Many times, I discover an artist, or find myself with a chunk of time to run out and buy an album by an artist, and it’s physically not possible for me to do it. I mean, the primary problem is that I just don’t have a flush bank account, and an unlimited access to leisure spending, so if I could fix that situation, then there’d be no issue. But if that were the case, I wouldn’t have this little paragraph to offer you, and besides -– it’s just easier to get my brow and my guts wrinkled in frustration so that I then have to take a Tums to ease the panic, drink to forget the apathy, and then talk about my crisis once I’m tanked.

Obviously, if I had money, I’d just download the thing on iTunes and be on my way. But you know, I don’t always want an electronic version of it. Maybe my iPod shot craps (Editor’s Note: It’s happened. Funny story there, too.), and I don’t feel like sitting at my computer to listen to music. Maybe I happen to have been given a nice, crisp 20-spot from the wife, but told not to use the debit card. Frankly, I’m far too lazy to drive to the bank to deposit my $20 just so I can drive back home and spend it. And the reality of it is that I like going to record stores. I love the process of shopping for music. I get my rocks off taking a gamble on an unheard-of and having it be awesome.

You know where I’m going with this, though, don’t you? Maybe you don’t. Maybe your city is big enough that it can still have a variety of music stores in business. Mine is not. No, the Sam Goody’s and the Musiclands have left the malls, and frankly, the multi-story Virgin stores were never here in the first place. No, it’s mostly been smaller chains and mom-and-pop types of joints, and even the long-tenured Streetside Records closed its doors the other day. Sad, sad times. What’s left are stores like Vintage Stock, which are cool if you’re looking for a Sammy Winder bobblehead (Note: See that Broncos fans? I just threw you a bone? I could’ve gone Barry Word, but I’m trying to be positive, so appreciate it. Clowns.), or maybe you’re geeked up about Scre4m and you wanna get the movie posters for the first three movies. Could be that you just dusted off the Sega Genesis in the basement and you’re havin’ the boys over for a Mortal Kombat (Note: Dibs on Rayden.) tournament.

Vintage Stock is great for all of those things, and they have a ton more: movies, baseball cards, memorabilia, and yeah – they even have a healthy collection of CDs. You know what they don’t have, though?

Nope. They are fresh out of the CD you’re looking for. The one that’s creating that acidy feeling on the back of your tongue because you have to have it today. Here’s where you get phases two and three of the triple-whammy letdown boxed across your cheeks. They’ll go to the computer, and you know what they’re going to do, and you can already feel your brain running through the motions with them. You think, I drove all the way out to your Iowa branch. No chance I can make it to your Utah location and be home in time to get ready for the party. Zero chance. An impossibility. But Sally goes over to the computer, and her fingers start pecking the keyboard as the words, “Let me check for you and see if any of our other stores have it” fall from her lips like she’s the character in an action film that screams the slow-motion “Nooooo” just as a loved one is shot 37 times in the torso.

While I have you, think about that scene for just a second. Thirty-seven times. And the shooting victim always lasts long enough to reminisce about that one summer where they all ran away from home and formed that band and lived off of s’mores and comradery and how they wouldn’t trade that summer for anything. And then the “Nooooo” friend has his turn to return the sentiment, but instead watches his friend die before he can mutter one syllable. I do not think that this is the way that things go down. I try to picture this as a real-life scenario, and I’m capable of doing so from both perspectives.

In real life, if I were shot, things would be different. Not only am I certain of this, but I’m certain of it, regardless of whether I get shot 37 times or once, whether I get shot in the chest or in the little toe. Either way, the scene would look like this: I get shot, vomit, soil myself, weep for six seconds about the frailty of life and that which I did not accomplish, then die. And if things were the other way around, and I’d just watched a friend or love one get shot, it would look a little different: My friend gets shot, I vomit, soil myself, weep for six seconds about the frailty of life and that which I have not accomplished, then pass out.

But anyway, Sally is looking on the computer. You know you can’t make it to the other store, but you’re thinking about that secret, undiscovered route, that sequence of streets paved with glistening, golden time where no driver in front of you goes seven miles-per-hour under the speed limit, where all of the traffic lights are as green as an overripe pear, that path that has never yet felt the rays of a law enforcement radar gun wilt the blades of its hillsides. You can picture it. So distinct you even envision yourself whisking past a billboard that reads, “Plenty of time!” in bright orange letters, and you can feel the warmth of the afternoon sun on your neck, the breeze coming in through the windows, and all of it, the stability of the scenery, the record store in the near distance, your waving family members happily greeting you from the porch as you turn into the driveway, your car still plastered with the smell of molested shrink wrap, suddenly uproots, swirls, and vanishes with a gurgle, down the stool of reality as Sally begins to shake her head, also in slow motion.

She turns to face you. You know what’s next. You feel your heart rate rise, and a few beads of anxious sweat begin to form on your upper lip. The front door. You can’t spot it fast enough. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of every second you waste by continuing to stand there, and those that you already cashed in by making the trip out there. It’s too late. You know the words will pelt your ear in any instant. The weight of defeat crushes your rib cage as if Sally were British Bulldog Kid Dynamite herself and she’d just power slammed you from the top turnbuckle. You’re waving hands of submission to the ref, but he doesn’t see you. There’s no forfeiting now. You. Will lose.

“I can order it for you,” she says.

“Oh,” you start with a pause. “No. I, uh…I’ll just…Thanks.” You turn, and briskly exit as if you’d just asked her to the prom, via microphone, from the stage in the cafeteria, and before the entire school.

So here we are again with another example of how the Internet has changed everything. You can learn all of the information you want about a product, competitively shop for it, have it shipped directly to your house, and write a review once you’ve used it. But you can’t have it today.

Naturally, we’re supposed to take the good with the bad, which reminds me: I’ve been trying to omit two things from my posts of late, and those things are negativity and profanity. A few months ago, Jason Whitlock lost his mind over the Jay Cutler/NFC Championship Game, and Charlie Sheened his way through all of the media outlets to make sure his voice was heard. And he sounded like a lost sheep, trying to bleat his career-challenged self back to the herd. It was bad.

Or take your pick of the myriad female sports journalists that have had bad encounters in their field over the past year, or better yet, they’ve had them across their whole career, but maybe only the most recent one became public. I wanted to write about all of that, too. Either topic, though, would’ve resulted in a post with a negative theme, so I opted not to. I’m fairly passionate about both of those topics, though, and I’m also a pretty opinionated person, so chances are, I would’ve gotten on a good cursing bender, and not stopped until it was too late. I’m glad I didn’t do either.

But I’m sitting there, already having sighed out of frustration, paced to calm my panic, checked out of work for the day, and feeling mad about the fact that my wife is frequently unavailable to take a phone call at work. Because of some pink Pelzor earmuffs. I decide to proceed with the online order, and the cycle immediately starts again once I put the Pelzors in my cart, and peruse my shipping options at the end of the checkout stage. For seven dollars, I can choose 3-5 days. I can guarantee their arrival in 1-2, but it will cost me $27.65. Drowning in my second round of apathy, I text the wife. She responds with a phone call, goes through the same procedure I just had, but with me on the phone, and says she’ll handle it.

A little while later I get a text from her saying that she ordered them, that she went the seven-dollar route, that they will get here in time, that I need to send out some positive energy so that they will.

Suddenly it occurs to me that maybe all of the sexist peddlers of baby paraphernalia are onto something, that maybe us dads should just sit back and do as we’re told.

Naaaaaaah.

Anyway, I did manage to call the venue, find out that tickets were cheaper if you paid cash at the box office, that it didn’t look like they were in any danger of selling out. And I actually did pack (mostly) the night before we left. But when the reality settled in that an online purchase had to be the way to go if I wanted my baby wearing pink Pelzors Friday night, I had two thoughts: 1) I really want to put my fist through this monitor, and 2) Fuck.

The wife and I decided some time ago that since we were grown-ups now, i.e. we got married, don’t have bill-collections phone calls to dodge, seldom kill an entire day trying to recover from the previous night, and are also now responsible for the safety and care of another human being’s life, that we should have one goal in life that we strive to attain, and that’s not to be late for stuff when we travel.

Here’s another little nugget regarding dysfunction in my life: At some point, probably in my late 20s, it occurred to me that I had developed this habit of going out the night before I had to catch a flight. And at some point, it occurred to me that, on said nights, I would not have two beers and an order of nachos, or a few beers over the course of a game on TV. Rather, I would handle the day’s business (except packing of course), and go out for several hours, having somewhere in the neighborhood of about 10 drinks. It’s a fascinating pattern of behavior, one with what I imagine to be some significant psychological theory attached to it, like, I’m deathly afraid of flying, or I’m loathing this trip, or I’m stressed because I had a lot to get done before leaving town, and that which I did not get to will haunt me the whole time I’m gone.

Funny part is, I’ve noticed that I’ve done it on nights before road trips, on evenings prior to trips I’m really looking forward to, and after a week in which I didn’t leave any project half-done, so who knows. Either way, one of two results is certain to occur every time I travel: 1) I feel like complete garbage, and wind up forgetting to pack something really important, like, say sunscreen for my trip to Mexico, or the tickets for my trip to the away game in Denver, or, and this was a real good one, my suitcase full of clothes for my trip back home; 2) I miss my flight.

The second part isn’t worth getting into, but know that I’ve, on many, many occasions, either been nauseous upon arrival at my destination, or gotten to said destination at a time later than intended. And frankly, option two is much, much better, even if you have a bridesmaid pissed off at you for missing the rehearsal dinner, or dad had to make two trips to the airport because there is nothing worse than being hungover and going through the arduous, ice-pick-to-the-eardrum process of TSA. And those jerks just swell with power, don’t they? This is why you’ll never hear of someone going postal at a TSA checkpoint or officer.

I mean, I’ve been in some seriously slow post offices with some seemingly intentionally slow, lethargic postal workers, and I’ve wanted to scream at both them and their customers, but I maintain my composure because I’m not that insane. But I can see where some have snapped, and at the end of the day, they’ve decided that their rage outweighs the need to ship that particular letter or package at that particular moment. At the airport, though, that chartered flight on that particular air bus might not be available in a few hours. Or tomorrow. But those creeps know what’s up. They know the look on your face. That look of panic that says, If you don’t pick up the snail’s pace with which you’re using to investigate the number of teeth in my comb, that plane, right outside that window right there, will leave without me. You have the power to not let that happen, should you choose to exercise it.

I’ve not ever met anyone that deals well with the one-two combo of stress and hangover, but I don’t suppose I’ve ever really asked, either. I’ve always thought, though, that sprinting to your gate, bags in hand (Note: Who can afford to check luggage anymore?), and trying to catch your breath while taking off your shoes, belt, emptying your pocket, pulling laptops out, and sending bagged liquids and gels in tubs through a scanner, all while stressing about missing your flight might be the worst modern experience available to those of us stubborn enough to never, ever plan anything in advance.

Turns out I was wrong.

You can, adult plan implemented, stay in the previous evening and you can pack. You can wake up with sufficient time to get yourself ready and out the door, but I am here to tell you that whatever amount of time you set aside to get you, your wife, and your baby ready to get out the door -- add an hour. You won’t regret it.

Friday morning might’ve been one of the worst travel experiences I’ve ever had. By the time we got in the car to drive to the train station, we were supposed to be at the train station. And it was raining. In case you’re unaware of these two predicaments, allow me: 1) The train station wants you there a half-hour prior to departure, and earlier at busier depots; 2) When it rains in Kansas City, people drive as if they have never been on a mountain before, they’ve just been given an overwaxed set of sharp skis, no poles, and shoved off the lift on a double-black diamond run.

On the 25-minute drive to the train station, very little is said, and what is said refers, mutteringly, to which lane I should be in and whether or not I was trying to get in it. We’ve not taken a train out of Kansas City in years, so we’re unsure about where to park, what entrance to Union Station we use, and what the check-in process will look like. When we approach, we ignore our better judgment and wind up having to set through two extra sets of traffic lights to get back to the spot we were just in, and when we get there, the wife grabs the baby in her car seat, which she puts into the stroller, and sets a shoulder bag on top of that. We have a B-o-b, which is a monster, off-road sort of stroller, so they run. No problem.

I park, and get significantly wet trying to get my rain jacket on. It’s now pouring. I’m wearing flip flops and my baseball hat is packed. When she got out of the car, I was roughly aware of what my totes would consist of, but didn’t process it because my entire brain was occupied with the idea of missing the train, and the idea that we’d put ourselves in this situation. But now is when the reality sets in: I’m in charge of the suitcase with all of our clothes in it, the shoulder bag with all of the electronics in it, my armful of knick-knacky things like the morning paper, my coffee, etc., and the pack-n-play.

By the time I get everything situated, I am soaked. I have arguably the most cumbersome travel load I’ve ever carried, I am really late, and I’m in flip flops. I run, drenching my pants with every splashy step until I get to the sets of front doors. These doors are very narrow, very heavy, and very locked, except for the one on the end. I was not quick to discover that last part. I manage, with significant effort, to pull off some clumsy sequence of tackling-dummy drills to get through each door, and as I step inside, I am certain my lungs are going to pop. Beneath my sopping rain coat, I feel my phone buzz in the breast pocket of my shirt.

God, I think. I really hope that’s not the wife. Whatever she might have to say to me now that’s not good news certainly cannot wait for me to reach the train.

I empty my burning hands and arms of their load and retrieve my phone. Of course, it is her. I look around. The ceilings in Union Station are probably 65-feet high. The foyer stretches in three directions for roughly 10 football fields. Or at least it seems so this early with no one, save two men chatting in front of me, in here this early. I know precisely where entrance to the train station is, but my eyes are still swollen with panic, and I cannot locate it. I look at the two men. They’ve finished their conversation. One is walking briskly to the east, away from me, vanishing into the shadowy empty morning of the dry inside. The other walks north, at a slow pace, toward the center of the vast open room. I missed my shot at asking for help. I open the phone. I am hopeful that there, as she is want to occasionally do, is a detailed, fool-proof set of directions that will take me directly to the seats adjacent to her and the baby on the train. In this scenario, I will not have to speak with anybody, produce any tickets, identification, or money. I will just sit, and try to enjoy what’s left of my coffee, the majority of it long since sloshed on my clothes. Instead, I see her one-word message: Run.

And it was in that fleeting moment, that I longed to be hungover, cursing a TSA under my breath.

Well, not really, but what a start, (Note: Yes, the headphones did come.)

and precisely 10 seconds after I'd stepped onto the train, it began moving. It took two trips up and down the train steps to bring in my load, and once permanently inside, I was informed by the conductor that our gear was sprawled across three different cars. In that moment, I hadn't considered what I must look like, but the first seat I walked past had two ladies in it. One turned to the other and whispered, "This reminds me of that scene from Home Alone. Hearing that gave me a pretty good idea.

Some six hours later, we de-trained, and several minutes later, a taxi dropped us off at the Drury Inn. We got checked in, the wife did a little bit of strange shopping across the street, and I hung with the baby in the room, where we most certainly did not try to watch any television or YouTube videos. These things, you see, are not good for infants. Mama got back in time to allow me to grab a 15-minute nap, even though she once demanded from me the answer to, "What 30-something naps?" The answer, of course, would be the 30-something that stays up ‘til 1:30 in the morning writing about Aerosmith debates.

The nap, however, was huge, and the three of us strolled over to the MetroLink, and caught the westbound blue line to the Delmar Loop and hoofed it over to The Pageant.

We purchased two tickets, and were about to enter when questioned by the sales representative if we had a ticket for our baby. This was troubling. We’d waited to purchase tickets in person to avoid the fees and surcharges, and I had had several conversations with Pageant employees about bringing a baby into the venue, and was reassured that an infant would not need a ticket. I conveyed this to the representative who said he’d need to clear it with his manager, who was a guy sitting at a computer behind him.

This manager got up, and went somewhere, presumably to come around and speak with us. Twenty minutes later, the representative told us that they were “still checking into the matter.”

Now, I’m not an expert in the ticket-sales industry, but it seems like there should be clear-cut rules for this sort of thing, and that your employees should be aware of said rules. And for the representative himself, why would we be purchasing tickets for ourselves, in person, and already have one for the baby? Regardless, we waited, and people kept coming in and out of the tiny sales nook, many of whom were either on the guest list for Railroad Earth, or for opening act, The Greencards. At one point, two young ladies came in, announced that they only needed two of the three reserved for them, and the fox-like wife, piped up: “Oh, can we have your third for our baby?”

The young ladies were ecstatic about giving it to us. Problem solved. So we exit the nook, and enter, only to be intercepted by the vanishing manager. I’m not including this bit to bag on The Pageant. I’m really not. The venue was nice, clean, well-staffed, and had all of the appropriate amenities, but this was the kicker. The manager had two things to accomplish during our brief exchange: Inform us of the favor he was doing our family, and repeatedly adjust his waist-length pony tail. Listening was added at the end, but not prioritized. Our exchange went a little something like this:

Pony-tailed manager: “I apologize for the confusion, but I just want to let you know that I’m waiving the minor surcharge for you this evening.”

The wife: “Oh, we actually have a ticket for our 16-week-old baby now, so we don’t need you to do that.”

PTM: “I’m referring to the minor surcharge (points to the part of the ticket that says $2 minor surcharge>), and I just want to let you know that I’m waiving that for you this evening.”

Me: “What I don’t understand is this: I called down here three times before we traveled here specifically to see this show. In each phone call, discussions regarding having a baby occurred, and I was led to believe there would be no cost for an infant to enter. Now that we’re here, we’re told the infant has to have a ticket and there’s a surcharge?”

PTM: “Correct, and I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

Me: “Well, we waited to buy tickets to avoid fees and surcharges, and it might have been helpful, during multiple conversations about bringing a baby to the venue and avoiding surcharges by paying cash, that there is a surcharge for a baby.”

PTM: “I understand, but I’m waiving the surcharge for you this evening, and we’re trying to get to the bottom of this.” (begins to walk away)

Me: “All three conversations were with females, and they were all friendly and helpful. The most-recent conversation was during the Mumford & Sons pre-sale, where there were some glitches happening.”

PTM: (turns back, adjusts pony tail) “During Mumford & Sons?”

Me: “During the pre-sale.”

PTM: “I appreciate that.” (walks away)

The exchange itself was harmless, but the underlying concept was extremely annoying. Our baby was in a wrap, where she’d remain for the duration of the show, not taking up any real estate, not listening/viewing the show. The phrase “milking it” came to mind, as did the Leo/drive-thru scene (NSFW) from “Lethal Weapon III”.

We found a great spot to set up camp inside, and enjoyed a Schlafly (Note: When in Rome…) while we sat and listened to The Greencards, who were quite enjoyable, and, as an added bonus, they have a cute little Australian bass player.

What I enjoyed about them, in addition to their music, was that they were prompt with start/stop times, and they added the perfect amount of crowd conversation. The same could be said about the headliners.

Railroad Earth took the stage right on time and right after we’d switched from Schlafly to the hoptastic Ranger from New Belgium. We’ll get into the details in a moment, but I think now is an appropriate time to mention that, at the conclusion of Set I,

“Bird in a House,” “Happy Song,” “Mighty River,” “Storms,” “Seven Story Mountain,” “1759,” “Water Fountain Quicksand,” “The Jupiter & the 119,”

the wife turned to me, and said,” Wow. That was so awesome, I could leave now.”

I’ve often discussed –- on a few blogs, and on Twitter -– the notion of having expectations when entering a show, and my definition of that notion goes like this: Don’t have them. It took me a long time to get to that point, because for years, regardless of who I was seeing, I always had that hope-they-play approach to favorite songs, covers, and, (Note: I do not like this term, but I’m using it.) “bust-outs,” and the result is almost always one of disappointment. Even if it’s a stellar performance from your favorite band, entering a venue with particular-song expectations will typically let you down. So I haven’t done that for some time, and this evening was no exception.

That said, we’d just acquired Bird in the House (2002), The Good Life (2004), and Amen Corner (2008), and I played a fun little game with my wife, who happens to absolutely adore birds. Okay, she adores chickens, but she loves birds. In said game, I lined up those album titles in reverse order, and said (knowing the answer), “Which title do you like best: this one, this one, or this one?”

Naturally, when I showed her the Bird in the House title, she chuckled and selected it as her favorite. There were two things I wanted to tell her about that title, but refrained until after we’d returned home from our journey: 1) I really dig the title track to Bird in the House, but I try not to mention favorite albums and tracks so as not to sway the development of her own opinions, and 2) In addition to just plain being a great song with both literal and figurative lyrical themes, it reminded me of this story.

We have this cat. I do not like cats. I do not dislike cats. They are just cats. I prefer dogs.

Five years ago, however, a good friend of mine, Dave, decided to take his own life. The anniversary of his death was one week prior to our evening at The Pageant. He was a remarkable human being, and is still dearly missed. He owned two dogs and a cat. My long-time friend Matt volunteered to adopt Dave’s animals, which was obviously very noble of him to do. Logistically speaking, it was not a realistic gesture, as, at the time, he had a dog and two cats of his own. After a few days, my wife, who was my fiancée at the time, said –- and she loves to quote herself on this line -– “I have a cat door. I’ll take the cat,” when it became known that Dave’s cat was not getting along with Matt’s cats.

I loved this gesture. Even though she barely knew Dave, I thought it connected the three of us in some way that, if I tried to explain it, would probably result in me being called crunchy, or a tree hugger, neither of which would be original. We did not cohabitate at the time, but I loved seeing the cat because it reminded me of Dave, and I liked that his animals were in homes of his friends. We still have the cat, and the cat and I have a unique relationship. I have a short list of behaviors I would prefer he avoid, and mostly, he spends his days trying to get away with them, and I spend mine trying to catch him in the act. This practice drives the wife crazy, and for decent reason: The cat is no spring chicken.

He is a pretty good cat, though, and he likes going outside. We quickly learned, however, that we cannot leave any doors propped open, including the garage, because the cat is a great hunter, and he will bring his catches home -– bunnies, birds, chipmunks –- alive and in search of praise. In case you have not experienced this first hand, these are not easy-to-catch-and-release animals inside a two-bedroom house. On one occasion, he did in fact, bring home a bird (Note: I believe it was a crow –- Cacaw!) and release it in the living room. The bird was less than pleased with this particular predicament, and may or may not’ve flown like mad around the house, smacking into windows, defecating, and, much like the Railroad Earth song, “trying…to get out.”

When they opened the show with this number, I was tickled. And they nailed it.

“Happy Song” followed. I am not familiar with the tune, but I dug it. “Mighty River” was up next, and it was both solid, and apropos of our travels. Big fan. Up next was “Storms” from The Good Life, which was really moving, and the point in the evening where we, without speaking, decided that the band was not going to play anything shy of really good. At “Storms”’ conclusion, drummer Carey Harmon went into this percussive tirade that prompted me to say, “This sounds familiar” to the wife. And familiar was right: “Seven Story Mountain” is easily one of our favorite Railroad Earth tracks, and even though this rendition felt a little rushed, it was wonderful to hear. It is such a moving number, and I recommend everyone give it a musical/lyrical listen at least twice.

A track titled “1759” was next, and I’m unfamiliar with this one, but like “Happy Song,” it was great, and it’s possibly related to this song. “Water Fountain Quicksand,” from The Good Life, felt like the set closer, but we were blessed to have one final number: “The Jupiter & the 119,” which I could not possibly say more about than I already have. It too, felt a little rushed, but the experience of hearing it heavily outweighed.

At intermission, Mama took the wee one into the ladies room for a diaper change, and Daddy, doing his respectable daddy duties, smuggled some cash out of Mama’s purse in case Daddy was told prior to the close of second set to close the tab at the bar. Daddy may or may not’ve further taken advantage of this opportunity to knock back a Grape Bomb on said open tab. It could’ve been the Grape Bomb that afforded Daddy the opportunity to appreciate the perfectness of the Railroad Earth lineup:

Stage left is John Skehan on mandolin. To his right is Andy Goessling on the banjo. Front and center is Todd Sheaffer on acoustic guitar, vocals. Behind him is Harmon, and to Sheaffer’s left is Andrew Altman, who just might play the largest upright bass in the world. And at stage right, it’s Tim Carbone handling the fiddle duties. Several members play multiple instruments, but these are their primary bones, and they all contribute vocally as well. Intermission was also a good time for Daddy to get a sticker:

Set II began with some more Bird in the House, this time taking the form of “Saddle of the Sun,” which was a great second-set opener. From there, they reached back to their debut album and busted out “Colorado,” and I’ll say this about this song: It should be illegal to dislike it. Great tune.

“Lone Croft Farewell” from their most-recent, self-titled release (as is "Jupiter") came next, and they stuck with that album, following up with “Potter’s Field.” What came next was a fascinating decision time-wise. Tyler Andal (violin), and Carl Miner (guitar) from The Greencards joined the band on stage for a ditty entitled “Cuckoo Medley.” Kym Warner (aforementioned cute Aussie) donned the mandolin for a segment of the jam, or at least that’s what setlists.com and the earthboard said. I thought she was off-stage-right for a chunk of the jam,

stomping her foot in a boogie, then came out and rubbed her buns up against somebody while playing her bass, but that could’ve been the Jager shot –- Jager shot? Where’d you come from? –- talking.

“Old Man & the Sea” was up next. That one’s available on their double-disc live album Elko, which I don’t own. Dug the jam, dig the Hemingway reference. Back to Railroad Earth for a little "Black Elk Speaks," which is a real moving number that always makes me think of the hunt scene in “Last of the Mohicans.” Win, win. “Spring-Heeled Jack" was next. Don’t know it. Sounds pretty Dead-ish, which I like, and I enjoyed it. Second Set closed with “Head,” from The Black Bear Sessions, which doesn’t have a bad track on it. Naturally, we were graced with an encore: A track called “Acadian Driftwood,” made semi-popular by The Band, was a nice cover to wrap up the evening.

Set II

“Saddle of the Sun,” “Colorado,” “Lone Croft Farewell,” “Potter’s Field,” “Cuckoo Medley,”* “Old Man & the Sea,” “Black Elk Speaks,” “Spring-Heeled Jack,” “Head”

E: “Acadian Driftwood”

*w/ Andal, Warner, and Miner of The Greencards

In sum, the show was a really nice time. Like heading into it without expectations, I also didn’t head into it with any plan of how this review would look, which is why I’m not breaking down the tracks quite like I did for the Mike Gordon write-up. These guys are talented musicians, their songs well-crafted, and they generate a great energy live. The wife and I each made one brief trip down to the floor, where things –- as the floor is want to be –- had a much-amplified vibe about them, and had we spent the evening down there, these words would likely be different. I did leave it with a two-fold thought, though: I need to figure out a way to refrain from two other concert tendencies: comparing the studio versions of songs to the live and comparing shows in general. I need to lighten up, and just have a good time.

I did have one other thought about the performance, and that was that we got nothing from Amen Corner, which is quietly becoming a favorite album of mine, and the thought is this: Amen Corner is not only a Railroad Earth album, it is a) a British pop group from the '60s, b) a musical from the '80s, c) a novel by Rick Shefchik, d) a play by James Baldwin, e) the nickname for holes 11-13 at Augusta National Golf Club, f) a song from a Swedish progressive metal band called Opeth, g) a nickname for a stretch of Auburn University's football team schedule that either begins with Georgia and ends with Alabama, or vice-versa, and h) one-time London and New York locales. In case you were wondering.

Upon leaving the venue, we hoofed it back to the MetroLink, where we caught the eastbound Red Line back to the Union Station stop, and across the way to our room, where we all slept soundly. And by “all,” I mean Daddy. Mama got in a work-out in the morning, while baby and I had some complimentary breakfast. We packed, checked out, and stowed our luggage in the hotel-lobby closet, then asked a high-school basketball player to key us into the pool, where baby had her third meal of the day, and we took grabbed the MetroLink over to the Arch (Note: Again, when in Rome…) for a chilly walk-around and some photos.

We stopped in at the Morgan Street Brewery for some coffee. The wife enjoyed a Pilsner, even though she thought it was an I.P.A., and we split an order of pretzels that come with pureed horseradish disguised as mustard. The baby, as the baby is want to do -– got lots of compliments from the bored FOH staff.

Back to the hotel, luggage retrieved, taxi hailed, and we were at Union Station, this time, with plenty of time to spare to catch our train back to Kansas City. So you see, I couldn’t really separate the show from the trip. It was an action-packed adventure with cars, trains, and lightrails, our first travel as a family, one we won’t soon forget. One primary thought stuck with me throughout the long walk to the car: The walk wasn’t any shorter, and the pack-n-play/suitcase/shoulder-bag combo wasn’t any lighter, but this time my feet and pants stayed dry, and most importantly, this time I didn’t have to run.
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Monday Mutiny: Humberto Spotting

Fat guy. Stellar goatee. Handsome camoflauge jacket. Appropriate gang rag hanging out of back pocket. Couldn't quite get a shot of the knife. Them's some friendly confines

(courtesy of Deadspin)
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Playoff Baseball In The Daytime, And Nighttime: First Pitch '09

Today we kick off a little thing known as the Major League Baseball Playoffs. In our minds it seems as though that bubble was burst yesterday, with the Twins' extra-innings win over the Tigers. But that festival of screwup in the Metrodome was merely a regular-season tiebreaker -- today is the real deal.

We've got a tripleheader on tap, with all games broadcast on the TBS. That's right, y'all, no Buck or McCarver until the ALCS starts next week. Our first game includes a heaping helping of local color in the person of your Colorado Rockies, so join us after the jump for today's orgy of baseball...

Colorado @ Philadelphia, 12:37 Mountain Both today's and tomorrow's games in the City Of Brotherly drop at this absurd noonish hour, a direct result of the Rockies' lack of national magnetism. The Philly phaithful are pissed about this, and demand is so light that one can acquire a nosebleed seat to today's game for less than a c-note on the black market.

Ubaldo Jimenez assumes his rightful role as the Colorado ace and Game 1 starter, while midseason acquisition Cliff Lee gets the ball from Charlie Manuel. Both are capable of complete domination, but only one has experience pitching in the postseason. Jimenez was on the staff of the '07 Rocktober club, but Lee was not on the Indians' playoff roster that autumn.

The question marks in Jim Tracy's lineup are found at third base (Ian Stewart or righty-hitting Garret Atkins versus the lefty Lee?), catcher (Yorvit Torrealba played most of September, but Chris Ianetta has crouched much of the last week), and in the outfield (the normal alignment of Gonzalez-Fowler-Hawpe, or a wild card such as Seth Fucking Smith or RH Ryan Spillborghs?). Regardless of the particulars, everyone knows that the Rockies have had a harder time hitting lefties this season (.253/.335/.430 against LHP vs. .264/.346/.445 against RHP), and they will face Lee, Cole Hamels and J.A. Happ in this series. If they can get to the bullpen, however, the Rockies will see almost no southpaws (unless Happ is assigned to relief). J.C. Romero, Scott Eyre and Jamie Moyer are all hurt.

As for the Phillies, they boast a prodigious power-and-speed lineup along with rings from last year's championship. The fact that Colorado's only lefty starter (Jorge De La Rosa) will not pitch in this series to Philly's lefty sluggers (Chase Utley, Ryan Howard and Raul Ibanez) is pretty devastating to the Rockies' hopes.

The deck seems stacked against the Rockies, but Tracy is some sort of voodoo witch doctor. My guess is that he has one more potion in his bag of tricks for these Phillies. SERIES PREDICTION: ROCKIES IN FIVE.

Minnesota @ NY Yankees, 4:07 21 hours after killing off the Tigers, the Twins get a date with the 103-win Yankees at the Stadium. All you need to know about this game is that the Yankees' new park is an absolute bandbox, and the weather forecast calls for 10-40 mph winds blowing out to center. Expect copious home runs, mostly by the home team. Brian Duensing is Minnesota's sacrificial lamb, while C.C. Sabathia starts for the Bombers. SERIES PREDICTION: YANKEES IN THREE.

Cardinals @ Dodgers, 7:37 The late game features two teams that limped down the stretch, but still coasted in thanks to massive division leads. Although the Dodgers have home field here, everyone's picking St. Louis thanks to their Cy Young-y 1-2 pitching punch of Chris Carpenter/Adam Wainwright and their MVP-ish hitting combo of Albert Pujols/Matt Holliday. LA's issues start with their thoroughly pedestrian rotation (Randy Wolf starts tonight opposite Carpenter) and their punchless cleanup hitter (Manny Ramirez, who's hit just one HR since Sept. 9). Try as I might to find a way for the Dodgers to prevail, I just don't think they're very good. SERIES PREDICTION: CARDINALS IN FOUR.
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Baseball In The Daytime: 1 October 2009

Buckle your chin straps and fasten your safety belts, because this is the penultimate Baseball In The Daytime of the whole year and it's a humdinger. That was about the most nonsensical sentence imaginable, as you don't wear helmets or seatbelts while watching day baseball. Unless you're mentally retarded, in which case I apologize for my gross insensitivity to your condition.

Also, I believe that at least a few of next week's Division Series games will be played during daylight hours, so I was wrong there as well. WHO'S THE RETARD NOW?

Juvenile insults aside, we truly do have some killer games on the sked this afternoon. We've got a Cy Young race to decide, a possible playoff spot to clinch, and home field issues on the Senior Circuit to untangle. Some teams are rising, some stumbling, some playing out the string, and some trying to build a little momentum for the offseason. Let's get right into the fray, after the jump...

St. Louis @ Cincinnati, 10:35 Mountain The popular scuttlebutt holds that the NL Cy Young battle is a three-man race. Those men are Tim Lincecum of the Giants (who won in '08) and Cardinals teammates Chris Carpenter and Adam Wainwright. For my money Wainwright's the guy--he's been the most consistently unhittable from start to finish, even though Carpenter and Lincecum have slightly better stuff. It's not wrapped up, however, and a memorable start by Carpenter today could sway some of the spineless chin-strappers that inhabit the Baseball Writers of America. Carpenter's foil today is Cincinnati's Kip Wells.

Of more import than individual awards is the seeding in the NL playoffs. The Dodgers are still on top of the league with 93 wins, but they've dropped four straight to the putrid Pirates and Padres by a combined score 0f 25-7. Philadelphia sits a game behind with 92 wins, while the Rockies and Cardinals are currently at 90. All four of these teams are still in the mix for the top spot, and so every game they play over the next four days is impactful for playoff positioning.

Minnesota @ Detroit, 11:05 Over in the American League, we've got but one spot in the October tournament up for grabs. Someone has to win the Central division, and that someone will be one of the two teams wrasslin' at Comerica today. The Tigers, thanks to last night's 7-2 TKO of the Twins, hold a commanding three-game lead with four to play. A Detroit win behind lefty Nate Robertson means the race is over, good night, please hand in your keys. Should Scott Baker and Minnesota prevail, however, we keep this slugfest alive for at least one more day.

Milwaukee @ Colorado, 1:10 The brooms are out at Coors today, along with whatever symbolic trinketry you smuggle in when you're about to clinch. A boxing glove? A roll of toilet paper? An octopus? I don't know the protocol here. Aaron Cook starts for the home Rockies, who with a win lock down their second playoff berth in three seasons. Manny Parra tries to prevent any celebration on his watch, and you know what? Fuck Manny Parra and fuck the Brewers. We're taking a stand today, and it is decidedly homeriffic in the Centennial State.

With a victory, Colorado can also stay alive for a super-unlikely division crown, which would be their first. Tomorrow the Rox start a season-ending three-gamer at Chavez Ravine versus the free-falling Dodgers.

Arizona @ San Francisco, 1:45 The last of our BitD four-spot features the day's finest pitching matchup, Dan Haren against Lincecum. Haren has gone into his traditional second-half swoon, transforming from onetime Cy candidate to a guy who gives up five a game. Not that I'm bitter, not that I need Dan Haren to show up today to salvage my fading hopes in a fantasy baseball final. Let's throw a few strikes today, fellas, and Play Ball! Read more

Baseball In The Daytime: 16 September 2009

Today's BitD contains 100 per cent of your daily recommended allowance of calcium, riboflavin and fiber. Possible side effects include blurred vision and upset stomach. If your day baseball game lasts longer than four hours, please consult a physician.

With the fine print out of the way, let's check out the schedule, after the jump...

Cleveland @ Minnesota, 11:10 Mountain This is the last time Cleveland plays in the Metrodome, as the Twins open brand-new Target Field next April. It's not the last baseball game in the Hube, Detroit comes in tomorrow and the season ends with a three-game home set against the Royals. And I suppose that the Browns could still play the Vikings here, so technically it's not the last time ever a team from the city of Cleveland competes in this building. So let's not get all weepy and steal urinals on our way out the door. Aaron Laffey and Nick Blackburn are your scheduled starters.

Florida @ St. Louis, 12:15 The Marlins are still in this thing, by a thread. Colorado's three-game losing skid has left the Fish 4 1/2 out of the wild card with 17 yet to play. It's not inconceivable that they could catch the Rockies, although if they did so they'd probably then have to reel in the Giants as well. So I guess it is inconceivable, and this game is meaningless. Josh Johnson takes the hill for Florida, and if you're an NL Cy Young voter and you don't give Johnson one of your ten spots you are a punk. He's opposed by the one, the only, Joel Pineiro.

Pittsburgh @ LA Dodgers, 1:10 Even though they're still in first, and even though they have a nice lineup, no one is really taking the Dodgers seriously as World Series contenders. Their rotation is kind of a mess, riddled with question marks, and the current consensus is that LA can't matchup with St. Louis and Philly in the NL playoffs. Hiroki Kuroda, one of those question marks, takes on Kevin Hart today in (at? from?) Chavez Ravine.

Arizona @ San Diego, 1:35 Here at Baseball In The Daytime, we like to save the best for last. We like to, but we can't always deliver. I must apologize for our closing afternoon game, because it's cover-your-face awful. It "features" Doug Davis going for the D'Bags and Eduardo Mujica doing likewise for the Padres. These teams are a combined 34 games under .500 and are both on the verge of bankruptcy. Outside of Adrian Gonzalez and Justin Upton, there's not a single player on either roster I'd pay to watch play today. But hey, it's baseball, in a beautiful city, during daylight hours--that ain't bad I reckon. Marshall your courage and Play Ball!
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Baseball In The Daytime: Dressed To The Nines

It's 09/09/09, so go buy your Beatles Rockband for your Atari boxes. While you're at it, pick up a copy of Posnanski's new book. It comes out today, except it comes out next week.

If you choose not to rock out with your cock out or jam out with your clam out on plastic guitars, watch a ballgame. It's free, it's easy, and it's the law. Previews, after the jump...

Texas @ Cleveland, 10:05 Mountain If it weren't for the Rangers, the American League "pennant race" would be nonexistent. Texas is the only thing keeping the Angels from coasting to another AL West title (they're 4 1/2 back). They're the only reason the Red Sox have yet to wrap up the wild card (2 games separate the Sox and Rangers). The Cleveland Indians are not a part of any baseball race, except the one for Most Disappointing 2009 MLB Club. It's a pitched battle between them and the Mets, as the Cubs' comparatively strong recent play makes them merely frustrating. Scott Feldman and Fausto Carmona gets the starts.

Chicago @ Pittsburgh, 12:35 Speaking of the Cubbies, they're in Iron City this afternoon trying to make a little hay. Pittsburgh just clinched an ignominious honor--they're guaranteed to finish the season with a losing record for the 17th consecutive year. No other team in a major sport has ever done this, I'm told, so I guess what the Washington Generals do is not major, Major. Hate on Barry Bonds all you want, but the argument could be made that no athlete leaving a team had a greater impact than Barry moving on from the Pirates. Ex-Cub Kevin Hart tries to bring the pain to his old mates, who are represented by the Big Z.

St. Louis @ Milwaukee, 12:05 Adam Wainwright takes on Jeff Suppan in this meeting at Miller, and Wainwright's chief competition for the NL Cy Young Award dresses in his own clubhouse. Chris Carpenter probably took the lead in the Cy derby with his one-hitter against the Brewers Monday night. Can Wainwright match his teammate against the same gang of preening, douchey, underachieving blowhards? The Brewers really rub me the wrong way, especially that prick Ryan Braun. His act is tired.

San Diego @ San Francisco, 1:45 Watch the Giants, watch them fall. In the wild card standings, that is. Time is running out on these G-Men, they're now three games behind Colorado after ace Tim Lincecum (heh) tweaked some component of his back and touted prospect Madison Bumgarner (heh) was forced to make his big-league debut, a loss. At least they get to rely on currently-dependable millionaire Barry Zito and his 78-mph cheese today. Wade LeBlanc gets the nod from the Padres after being called up when Kyle Blanks hit the DL. LeBlanc is like the French version of Blanks, so expect him to give up...a few runs. Thank you, I'll be here all week. Make sure you tip your waitress, and Play Ball!
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Baseball In The Daytime: August 5 2009

When you think about it, day baseball is one of the most environmentally friendly civic movements one can imagine. By leaving the lights off, we're preventing like eleventy billion tons of smog-forming emissions from reaching the atmosphere, and our kids will breathe easier in the future. Baseball in the Daytime: hippie-approved since 1837!

So whizz your Prius down to the old ball yard or fire up your hand-cranked radio device for the game action, detailed below if you click right about here...

St. Louis @ NY Mets, 10:10 Mountain Citi Field is the venue and the Cardinals and Mets are the teams for this renewal of a classic Senior Circuit rivalry. Kyle Lohse gets the start for the road Birds, and Lohse is one of only two Native Americans on MLB rosters (the other is flaming fuckstick Joba Chamberlain). Rookie lefty Jonathan Niese dons the home whites of the Metropolitans, who really suck. Yeah, yeah, injuries, cry me a river. Isn't it fun when the team with the second highest payroll in baseball is dreadful? Yes? No? I think it's fun.

San Francisco @ Houston, 12:05 Entering last night's games, the NL Central was bunched into a cute little pattern--you had the Cubbies and the Cards tied in first, the Brewers and the Astros knotted together at 4 games back, and the free-falling Reds and perennially rebuilding Pirates locked at 11 and a half in arrears. So these clubs all played a bunch of baseball games--Albert Pujols hit his fifth grand slam of the year (five fucking grand slams?), Tom Gorzellany won his Cub debut, and everyone else lost. So the NL Central is still bunched into that cute little pattern, only with different numbers.

Joe Martinez makes his first big-league start for the Giants, so we're all pulling for old Joe. Except fans of the Rockies, who are engaged in a gladiatorial death brawl with San Fran for the wild card, they want Joe Martinez to immolate on the mound at Minute Maid Park. Brian Moehler is your Astros starter, he's been around if you know what I mean.

Atlanta @ San Diego, 1:35 There's a faux beach in right center at Petco Park, where you can get some sand in your shoes. Don't goof off in that litterbox too much or you'll miss the rampaging Atlanta Braves, who are in the midst of a violent siege of the Phillies. At press time the Braves sat six and a half back of the champs after winning four of their last ten. Wait, that's not any good. Atlanta does have a nice rotation, represented today by rookie phenom Tommy Hanson, who's kind of fat and nasty yet locates his breaking pitches nicely. Chad Gaudin starts for the Friars, and Chad Gaudin is scheduled to make $1.8 mil this season. So the drinks are on him after the game. I like pina coladas, and getting caught in Play Ball!

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Baseball in the Daytime: July Ten-ski, Oh-Niner

This is the last installment of "Baseball in the Daytime" until after the All-Star break. I know. You're crushed. In case you haven't been paying attention to Major League Baseball, and you find yourself watching some of the festivities on Monday and Tuesday, here's your update: In the American League, the Detroit Tigers lead the Central by a couple; Boston and New York are deadlocked in the East; and the Texas Rangers have a half-game lead over Los Anaheim out west. In the National League, the defending-champion Phillies are out in front by a few crums over the Florida Marlins; the Dodgers have managed to keep their distance from the Giants in the West, and for the Central, well, you'll have to hop the leap for that news. Oh, and tonight's starting pitcher for the home team at Fenway Park has a middle name: It's Child-Mole. There'll be no complete-game shutout for you this evening, you filthy criminal.

St. Louis @ Chicago, 1:20 Central: Our lone day stars today are both righties, and they were both named Rich Harden on the day of their births, but the guy that'll be wearing a St. Louis uniform today changed his to Chris Carpenter once he turned 18. I'd offer more background, but it's a tough spin seeing as how I just made that up. Anyway, Harden likes fives: 5-5, 5.35. Carpenter boasts a 6-3, 2.32. St. Louis currently has a nice two-game cushion over Meel-wah-kay in the N.L. Central, and the Cubs are but one and-a-half games behind the Brewers. So, I'd say this game's important, but these guys play each other more often than the Red Sox and Yankees meet up, so no biggie if you lose. DirecTV values this game as they're giving you the option of 307, 721, or 722. XM values it less, offering but a measly 183.

That's your loner today. Tune in to some baseball this evening as well. There's a ton of good pitching matchups, and Vegas bookies are taking odds on which team Joel Hanrahan might win a game for tonight.
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Baseball in the Daytime: Hot Diggety Dog

Apparently, there was a hot dog eating contest over the weekend, and apparently, some guy not named Kobayashi -- Joey Chestnut downed 68 for his second consecutive title and a world record -- won the thing. Now, I kind of loathe the phrase "only in America," but this is one event where I would make the exception. I find this contest absolutely disgusting, but I sure do love me some hot dogs. Had one on Sunday, even. Right after I took one for the team and took the most burnt bratwurst on the tray. Seems as though, what with Memorial Day, graduations, and Fourth of July, I've had quite a few dogs lately. In fact, my sister-in-law and I were talking about this last evening. One day last week, she had three dogs in three different settings in a 24-hour period. And apparently, she could've squeezed down another. She, uh, has this way with words, shall I say. She summed the experience by saying, "Three weiners in one day. Who'd've thunk it?" Approximately seven minutes later, over by the display of M&Ms and mixed nuts, she, downing a mouthful said, "Mmm. Chocolate nuts."

But baseball. Baseball. I've noticed a pattern. In yesterday's day baseball affair (link, cough), there were a bunch of National League day games, whereas in today's there're three American League and one N.L. tilt to wrap things up. Come with me, over the jump, and find out all about it.

Toronto @ Tampa Bay, 11:08 Central: It's Roy Halladay as the visitor in today's first contest. He faces David Price and the Bay Rays in a battle of wits and sliders. Halladay's 10-win first half, coupled with his below-three E.R.A. has been incredible. Price will have his work cut out for him as he comes in at 2-3 with a plus-five. Lucky for he and the Tampa crew, they have a four and-a-half game lead over the Jays in the A.L. East, which is surprising, considering some of the flash Toronto has, on occasion, shown this year. They lock up on DirecTV 721, XM 176.

New York @ Minnesota, 12:10: Precisely one hour and two minutes later, Alfredo Aceves will battle with Glen Perkins. Except that he won't; the Twinkie on the hill will actually be Francisco Liriano. Perkins, apparently, is ill and will go tomorrow instead. But anyway, Liriano comes with a 4-8 record, a 5.49 E.R.A., is fully loaded and available for 1.9 percent financing. Aceves, on the other hand, has strung together a quiet 5-1 record with a 2.03 E.R.A., from the 'pen. The pinstripe front office was going to give him the nod two weeks ago when CC Sabathia's chances of starting looked shaky. Today he's a definite go in place of Chien-Ming Wang, who's 2009 has looked shaky. They'll hate on one another on DirecTV 722 and 723, or over on XM 177.

Cleveland @ Chicago, 1:05: Matchup number three is a duel of southpaws as David Huff faces Clayton Richard and the White Stockings. Each hurler has one fewer loss than wins, and E.R.A.s they'd like to whittle down a bit. I keep expecting Cleveland to get their act together and get out of the A.L. Central, but when you lose eight of your last 10, that's hard to do. Chicago, conversely, has done the opposite. Watch these jerks play baseball on DirecTV 724, 725, or listen to their jerkiness on XM 178.

St. Louis @ Milwaukee, 1:05: For the league of hitting pitchers, it's right-hander Joel Pineiro against lefty Manny Parra. Though the Cardinal's record (6-9) doesn't speak volumes about his season, his 3.39 E.R.A. tells a bit more of the story. Another missing piece is that he's gotten very little run support in his appearances thus far. Parra, on the other hand, will make his first start in a month for the Brew Crew. After early-season struggles, he was sent down, where he wasn't all that much better. Either way, he takes the mound in the bottoms of the innings today at Miller Park. Don't believe me? Check DirecTV 726 or 727, or listen for his name on XM 183.

That's your slab today, folks. Enjoy some baseball, and hell, have a hot dog for lunch while you're at it.
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Historically Speaking: All St. Louis, All the Time

As a Royals fan, I am required hate the St. Louis Cardinals. Even Kansas Citians, however, can't deny the lengthy history of baseball tradition just east on I-70, and to find five notes for the same team that all happened on the same day is impressive. It's quite possible that there are many dates in which notable Boston and/or New York baseball milestones have been achieved on the same day, but there are so many mentions of Clubs Red Sock and Yankee, that they get glossed over. Anyway, five St. Louis baseball tidbits, just beyond the jump.

* We go back to 1875 to kick things off today, and we'll do so noting the first recorded shutout in Major League Baseball, a 1-0 Chicago victory over St. Louis.

* Today in 1926, Walter Johnson recorded win number 400, a victory he earned at the expense of the St. Louis Browns. Johnson played all 21 years of his big-league career in a Washington Senators uniform. Good thing he was on their roster that whole time because it would've been awkward for him to don Sens garb as a member of a different club.

* Forty years later, the St. Louis Cardinals played their first game at Busch Memorial, and commemorated the stadium's opening with a 4-3, extra-innings win over Atlanta.

* Fast forward to 1998 and discover that Mark McGwire hit a 527-foot home run on May 12, the longest ever recorded at Busch Stadium.

* I gotta believe that that jack contributed to a win, because Cardinals skipper Tony LaRussa logged his 1500th managerial victory on that day.

In the vein of keepin' it real, your Sports Illustrated quote of the day came from the mouth of...



...the late Atlanta Braves announcer Skip Caray, who, by the by, started his career at St. Louis University. But it was for a Braves contest in 1990 when the son of the legendary Harry (Editor's Note: He's actually Harry, Jr., which might make it the only acceptable time to willingly go by the name "Skip.") attempted to put a positive spin on a scarce turnout by Braves fans. "It's a partial sellout," he said.

There you go, St. Louis. Don't ever say I didn't give yas nothin'.
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Baseball in the Daytime: 9-25-08

We've got a duo of light-free baseball on the docket today, and they might be boring games, but to a couple of fan bases out there in America, these contests mean something. Interested in reading our brief dronings about them? Click, my friend. Click into the other side, the alter-world beyond the jump.

Tampa Bay @ Detroit, 12:05 (Eastern): Scott Kazmir, his 12-7 record, and his playoff-bound Rays face Armando Galarraga (12-6) and the Tigers today at Comerica Park. Yes, the Rays are in. No, they have not yet clinched the AL East. Yes, their chances of doing so against a sputtering Tigers club is nice. While the Ray-trailing Red Sox are three games behind, they could gain some ground by knocking off Cleveland and coupling that with a Tiger win. Boston has the pitching edge (Sowers vs. Lester), and home-field advantage as well. The Rays-Tigers game can be viewed on DirecTV 722 or 723, or heard on XM 179.

Arizona @ St.Louis, 1:15: No, things do not look good for the D'bags, and no the pitching match doesn't offer much hope either as 6-8 Doug Davis faces the 6-7 Joel Pineiro. Yes, the Dodgers have clinched a berth, and yes, Arizona still could, too. No, though; their chances look bleak, as they've dropped to an even .500 record, and are three and-a-half back of LA. Yes, DirecTV has this one (724 & 725), and yes, you may listen to it as well on the XMs, 185 to be exact.

Three games left in this 2008 regular season, folks, which means a mere two more possible days of Baseball in the Daytime. Tune in, for old time's sake.
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Baseball In The Daytime: 9-19-08

No matter where you sit on the Cubs bandwagon (I ride in coach, and I will jump off quickly if the going gets rough), we can all agree that St. Louis is bad news. Oh God, everybody hates St. Louis. Booooo.

Whatever, let's just start these playoffs already. We all know that the Brewers and the D'Bags and the Twins ain't making it, so let's just get this shit going today. No one really cares about MVP awards or statistical milestones--give me more playoffs. You'll find one of the teams that will participate in October (and one that will not) after the jump...

St. Louis @ Chicago, 12:20 Mountain Carlos Zambrano makes his first start following his no-hitter of the Astros, and Adam Wainwright flies the Card colors at Wrigley. Like anyone watches the players, we all just want to get some hot red-tank-top poon shots from the crowd. Remember Arne Harris, the old WGN producer from the Harry Caray days? That cat was some kind of perv. All he'd do is seek out fine young women in the bleachers and put them on the screen. Whatever Ryne Sandberg did was secondary. Have one on me, Arne, and Play Ball!
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Baseball In The Daytime: 8-7-08

It's Live Attendance Week here at the HoG, as our various staff members have decided to purchase tickets for actual baseball games. Banky took in the Royals' home tilt against the defending champs last night, where his boys got smoked and his one of his key fantasy cogs left with an injury. Cecil and I are scheduled to drop by for the Rockies' game versus San Diego on Saturday with the wives, where I'll watch Greg Maddux pitch live for the first time. And I'm sure Anachro is bunkered at the Los Anaheim Sports Complex scouting his Halos. He's the only one of us that makes the time to regularly watch his team in the flesh, although the duties of fatherhood and husbandry definitely take their toll.

Even if you live in the remote wilderness like I do, I think it's vital to take in at least one pro baseball game each summer. We went to a few spring training contests back in March, which was nice. But I'm talking real baseball, baseball that counts. Although we're discussing the Rockies, Royals and Padres. Never mind on that, let's go to Baseball In The Daytime...

San Diego @ NY Mets, 10:10 Mountain As botched as the firing of Willie Randolph was--and make no mistake, it was botched--it did give the Mets a boost in the short term. They're back to underachieveing, but today's starter is the key to their postseason hopes. If Johan Santana pitches like Johan Santana, that's the edge over the Phillies and Marlins that Los Mets need. Josh Banks is the other guy.

Florida @ Philadelphia, 11:05 Those two teams that New York is chasing in the NL East face off in Philly today, with Chris Volstad and Cole Hamels doing the honors of starting. These Marlins are basebal zombies, they will. not. die. Uggla and/or Ramirez in slumps? No problem. Awful pitching? Who cares? They have the resilience of cock-a-roaches, which Tony Montana can not kill.

LA Dodgers @ St Louis, 12:15 Another day, another closer for the Cards. After Jason Isringhausen battled injury and suckitude, the Redbirds installed Ryan Franklin, who was great. But then Izzy came back off the DL and infected Franklin with his funk, now neither can get an out. Enter Chris Perez, last night's savior. Today? Tune in to find out. Kyle Lohse tries to get a lead to Perez or whomever, while LA's Clayton Kershaw tries not to shit his pants.

Washington @ Colorado, 1:05 & 4:00 That's right, kids, let's play two! Due to last night's torrential storm that forced many residents to build arks, a doubleheader is on tap at Coors this afternoon. The return of Jeff Francis has been delayed, further proof that Mother Nature loathes Canada. Francis faces Jason Bergmann in the opener, while Odalis Perez and Ubaldo Jimenez do the deed in Game Two. Head on down to LoDo and Play Ball!
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My Sports Life is a Rock Song: "Say It Ain't So"

Time now for another installment of "My Sports Life is a Rock Song," and I'll just go ahead and say it: I don't mind Weezer at all. Sometimes I kinda dig 'em, even. I'm sure there are plenty of varying opinions on them, as is always the case with music, but the purpose of this feature is to (at least attempt to) mix the emotion associated with a track with a personal feeling regarding the sporting world. For tonight's purposes, this band and the selection fits a purpose. For reals. Jump on it.

Given the tendencies of my colleagues, I'm surprised that the recent tear of Royals wins hasn't already generated a post with sentiments similar to this one. Having defeated the St. Louis Cardinals 7-2 tonight, the current KC trend looks something like six wins in a row, 9-1 in the last 10, and a 13-3 record thus far in inter-league play this year. Of course, being 4-0 against St. Louis is pretty sweet, too. None of this, however, should be a hint, or a suggestion of any kind, that the Royals should've taken the opportunity (if it really ever existed) to switch leagues.

In many ways, I'm an old-fashioned guy. I like my baseball (with stirrups) American League-style, with the Brewers and the Royals in it, and plenty of designated hitting. Divisonal and post-season realignment don't really bother me anymore, and in fact, never did. I'm still a little unsure as to how I feel about the still-semi-new scheduling format, but it's not terrible by any means. Anyway, I've always considered the AL to be more competitive, and I don't think I'm in the minority, but I wouldn't take a KC league swap for anything, even if it meant more Royals victories. It just wouldn't hold the same meaning. I feel the same way about my sports equipment. I don't want better sneakers to improve my hoops game. I'll pass on the spendy driver to get more yardage out of the box, and I don't want a nicer stick just so I can improve my slap shot. I want to get better at all of those things with practice, and then get the fancy gadgets. The same goes for the Royals being a competitor in the AL Central.

If this club has things semi-righted, and will do as I think they might, I want them good where the competition is tough. The Central has faltered a bit this season in terms of best division in the game. Both the West and the East have three plus-.500 teams, while the Central only has two. And of course credit is due to the NL Central thus far as well. The point is that the Royals must continue to display the (of late) desirable balance of good pitching with decent bats, now that inter-league play is drawing to a close for the season. When St. Louis leaves town, KC travels to Baltimore, a club that's given them consistent troubles in recent years, then to Tampa Bay, and back home for a White Sox/Mariners home stand before the break. And it's time to translate this potentially competitive baseball playing to the league in which they play.

Ultimately, I'm grateful that they never really even considered a move, as that is not the way to improved baseball playing in my book. While entertaining the notion might be amusing or bizarre to some, I simply say it ain't so. The Royals are an American League club, that once inhabited the West, and for my money, will always inhabit the Central, barring any unforeseen future realignment. If I were a Red Sox fan, I'd probably relish in the opportunity to watch my team battle the Yankees, Jays, Os, and Rays on a consistent level, just as I enjoy matches against the Twinkies, Tribe, Sox of White, and Tigers.

I do believe that baseball is back, its wrinkles will be ironed out, its popularity continue to grow. I enjoy the game now more than any other time since childhood, and I look forward to 2010, when I plan on loading up my basement with AL Central Champs material. In the meantime, I wish for the boys in blue to keep playing hard, and of course, stay classy.
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Baseball in the Daytime: 6-20-08

Today we have one -- count 'em, one -- sunshine-sparked contest on the diamond...ah-ah-ah. And of course it involves the Cubsters of Chi-town. But wait...this single unit of day baseball is bursting with windy-city glory as, you guessed it, the visitors are Ozzie Guillen's stockings in white. You don't need me to tell you that that's good stuff, folks. We'll examine the game a smidge, along with some other news of the diamond sort, once we (Editor's Note: Please. Use your best Casey Kasem voice for these next four words.) jump, jive...an' wail.


Read Jump Jive An’ Wail lyrics


Alrighty then. Now that that's done...

Sox @ Cubs, 1:20: Really. Call the contest what you will. It's a battle of lefties, the challenge of Chicago, an Illinois scrap of first-placers. Either way, John Danks dukes it out with Ted Lilly in a dual of last names with endless joke possibilities. Danks and the visiting stockings bring a 41-31 lead (4-4/2.90 for the hurler) into Wrigley, while the Baby Bears sit at 45-28, and place Lilly's 7-5/4.76 in front of them. The leaders of both these Central divisions will be eager to gain ground on their second-place foes as each starts a new series today. The Cubs are coming off a three-game skid, but slightly relish in the fact that St. Louis just dropped three in a row as well. The White Sox, on the other hand, have won three straight, but so have the pesky Twins. Currently, St. Louis is three and-a-half games back, while Minnesota must chop one more contest out of the first-place way. Anyway, catch this gem on the WGNs, of course. The DirecTVs will also have it, if you crank that dial to the 722 mark, while 184 can plug you in to it over on W-BALZ the XMs.

In evening games of HoG noteworthiness, the Giants come to KC for a visit, and neither team has Barry Bonds on the payroll. Thank. Christ. We would never've heard the end of that one. The Red Sox travel to Busch Stadium for a rematch of the '04 World Series, and, as has been the gig throughout this inter-league run, one of these kids is doin' his own thing; Los Mets travel to Coors Field for some regular ol' NL baseball.

Elsewhere in the baseball 'spheres, Walkoff Walk has an extensive write-up on the Seattle manager firing. Speaking of firings, here's an interesting dilemna, thanks, Bugs and Cranks. In other Mets news, Cousins of Ron Mexico scared me with this post on The Big Lead. And everyone knows you can't mention New York baseball without talking about the Yankees, so Knuckle Curve reminds us that Derek Jeter is overrated. By a lot.

That's it for today, y'all. Enjoy your weekend of great baseball matchups if you're in the stands. If you're on the diamond, I beg you: Please hustle on the base paths, especially down to first on those infield grounders.
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