Hey Everyone.
I finally got enough sleep to offer my take on the First IIHIIFIIc Meet-up. Due to circumstances which almost caused me to miss The Day, I was awake for around 40 of the previous 48 hours before we met and I'm not sure my head was all there. There were times in [the bar in which we met] that I couldn't even think of relatively simple words like "the".
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| El Heroe del Día |
But screw that, what a day The Day was!
I enjoyed meeting all of you. A good bunch of guys. 13Bit outdid himself putting it together. Bravo, my friend. You have everyone's heartfelt thanks.
Our seats were terrible but somehow that seemed okay, too. Sitting in the nosebleed section added to the merriment -- and the easy-going feel of the whole Day. We were literally looking *down* at the *top* of the foul pole and the jokes were flying.
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| Click the photo to see the enlarged image. |
I agree with something 13Bit said in the comments section: The spontaneous outburst of "Thuuuuuuuuuh Yankees Win!" by all 18 attendees at the conclusion of the game was both beautiful and perfect. Next year, perhaps we'll think to record it on video.
As you can see from the photos, The Day was a crystal clear day. In addition to the perfect weather, we were blessed by the juju Gods with a tomato can of an opponent and a satisfyingly strong, Dear-Lord-there-was-never-any-doubt Yankee victory.
Even if it ever goes the other way, however, we as a group will never lose. If we go to a game some year and the Yankees lose — in a nightmarish swirl of grounding into double plays, stranding baserunners by swinging at 2-strike pitches low and away, a reliever blowing the lead, etc. — you just know with this group that:
- The jokes will be flying,
- The jokes will be incredibly funny, and
- The misery, like a fine old brandy, will be both warmly comforting and shared.
I'm glad to see in the comments section that some of the IIH luminaries are making plans to join in next time. I would say that the only thing we need to do next year is pick the specific game we're targeting a bit earlier in the season so that people can rearrange the rest of their lives around The Day. It's all about priorities, don'tcha know.
A girlfriend of mine used to say, "I can always tell when you're reading 'that blog' because I can hear you down there cackling all by yourself." The Day and this blog are both joys that I treasure.
Thanks to everyone for being part of it all.
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46 comments:
Hear, hear.
(MARTY FELDMAN: Where? Where?)
"There, there!"
It was an honor to meet you all. I did nothing. I was just channeling the energy of the Rizzuton Force Field Circum-Globular Belt.
Love you all, My Li'l Anjils! As I said previously, next year we have to go as Thuuu-uh-uh-uh-uh John Sterling Appreciation Society at IIHIIFII ... c!
Fuck all of George's and Joan's heirs not named Jennifer.
And they have a year to fix the spelling of our group on the message board lol...
Winnie,
You promised to update your avatar with the picture I took of you reaching for that foul ball. You were so grateful to Hoss for grabbing your ass to keep you from falling off the upper deck, you said you'd use it for your avatar. Sorry I didn't have it on burst, but I was so shocked when you leaned so far over the rail that you almost lost your top.
Thanks again to Hoss for preventing a horrible accident. And if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times -- no more than 6 margaritas before breakfast, and *NO* shots of tequila!
https://www.dropbox.com/s/wmsejpvs4lxgdkb/Winnie.jpg?dl=0
I would also vote to move to the front rows of the rear section. It's amazing how much more you can see from just 15 rows up. Then again, it was nice to be in the shade. And who needs to really see much? Our presence was enough. But yes, we'll plan it out in April or May, buy the tix in June, then get ready to dance in August or September.
Warblist, famous bleacher creature Bald Vinny has a shirt perfect for next year’s outing.
Hart, you definitely need one of these!
https://store.baldvinny.com/product/you-can-t-predict-baseball
I would like the following;
1. Seats in the shade
2. In Goldman Sachs section
3. Waitress service
4. Crown royal reserve
5. Hoffman hot dogs
6. A Yankee win
7. Live chat with John & Suzyn
8. Limo to city
9. Suite at Waldorf
10. Happy pills to cure temporary insanity
See you there. Stay well, brothers. We still have a long season ahead of us.
Am I looking at the photo funny or did the Jumbotron say IIFIIHIIc instead of IIH... ETC ETC. ?
No you are not.
The scoreboard...
In the words of 13Bit, we had a "typical millenial" helping us. I emailed him twice the week before asking for confirmation concerning the text that would appear but he didn't respond the first time and responded the second with "It will appear in the middle of the 5th inning". (It appeared in the middle of the 6th and misspelled as you have seen.
C'est la vie.
The guy was a good guy otherwise and, he's there next year, we'll change it up to be johnsterling.blogspot.com. You're limited to 25 characters so that string will happen to fit.
The skywriting costs too much, as does the banner pulled by the plane. BUT, if we really organize, we can maybe do the handheld thing - maybe even 13" x 19" letters, spelling out JOHN STERLING BLOG and I almost guarantee The Master will mention it on the air - if the Master is still around, that is.
Even better, if we to "JOHN STERLING BLOG" it would be Suzyn pointing it out to John and explaining what a blog is. I can almost hear John asking "do I have a blog?"
Even better, if we "DO", etc., etc., etc...
I bow to you wisdom, my li'l anjil, Rufus T.
Fuck you Hal!
I bow to your wisdom, my li'l anjil, Rufus T.
Fuck you Hal!
Has anyone noticed that we've been troll free for a few days? Curiouser and curiouser.
Fuck you Hal.
And I offer this without rancor, only love, my li'l anjils.
https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/the-gender-fluidity-of-krazy-kat
Excellent article Ms. Warblist.
However, do not say Beetlejuice (or Betelgeuse) too often, it can lead to unwanted consequences.
Troll free? Could that be another gratuitous, unprovoked attack from that tormented Trans something? I'm sure that JM and Parson Tom will be leaping to the pulpit to lecture him/her/it about blog decorum any minute now. Trust me, Warplist--you don't look remotely like a woman in that photograph. Just give up and have your penis sewn back on if you've preserved it somewhere in formaldehyde.
After seeing the photos, I am confirmed in my intuition that this blog is a refuge for superannuated old farts for whom the summit of "cool" is endless wallowing in callow frat-house "humor" and flaming and disparagement of analytics--as though that makes the assembled herd anything but surpassingly stupid and witless.
The two BFF pit bulls of the blog, Dufus T. Caliban and Warplist are so addled with free-floating malevolence that both could not resist taking shots at me amid the merriment over the meetup. I was not going to intrude, but fuck 'em. They start it up, they get what they deserve.
The only down note: I'm dismayed to see that the self-appointed Hall Monitors of the blog--the ever-pious Parson Tom and JM--uttered not one syllable of reproach about Dufus J. Caliban's and Warplist's unprovoked, compulsive spews of venom in an otherwise joyous thread. I call attention to their uncharacteristic lack of vigilance only to underscore two key points: I am NOT the initiator of most of the acrimony on this blog, and the sanctimonious blather directed to me from the usual sermonizers would be better directed to others, who not only fail to find fault with the most noxious aggressors but by their silence cheer them on.
But it's not really about concern for comity--it's about ensuring that only the approved tribe members have the right to be unhinged assholes, as long as the target is not a tribe member. That's the ethos of racists, bigots, and parochial pseudo-moralists the world over, the tenor of our Trumpian times. Isn't it reassuing to know that this blog is a proud exemplar of that diseased zeitgeist, to the extent that it's just fine to make sick jokes about a man shot at a bar and within a fraction of an inch of death just because he wore another baseball uniform.
The interlocking NY is your swastika. You gather to cheer at your Nuremberg rallies. You revel in the triumph of the strong over the weak, of the will over gentleness.
You're a bunch of hopeless mediocrities and assholes; duque and alphonso are original wits and gentelmen, but they have let their littlle mob of storm troopers run riot without restraint, withering and effectively destroying what was once a popular and lively blog. So this is may last post. You would all do well to ponder these words from William Carlos Williams, and with that I bid you a blessed farewell:
The crowd at the ball game
BY WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS
The crowd at the ball game
is moved uniformly
by a spirit of uselessness
which delights them—
all the exciting detail
of the chase
and the escape, the error
the flash of genius—
all to no end save beauty
the eternal—
So in detail they, the crowd,
are beautiful
for this
to be warned against
saluted and defied—
It is alive, venomous
it smiles grimly
its words cut—
The flashy female with her
mother, gets it—
The Jew gets it straight— it
is deadly, terrifying—
It is the Inquisition, the
Revolution
It is beauty itself
that lives
day by day in them
idly—
This is
the power of their faces
It is summer, it is the solstice
the crowd is
cheering, the crowd is laughing
in detail
permanently, seriously
without thought
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
All Stat Boy!®™ rights officially licensed through TWW Enterprises, LLC. Distributed through FYH Productions, LLC
I say next year, whenever a Yankee hits a fly ball, we have to all yell together...
IT IS HIGH, IT IS FAR, IT ISSSSSS... caught.
Yes!
Stat Boy, what are you doing with your life? You could have had friends here and helped us geezers better understand the modern game, as challenging and tedious as it is. (I believe you have had a a small impact, despite yourself.) Instead you get your rocks off by being confrontational. To what end? You are a very curious specimen, Stat Boy. Fortunately for you, the world is a big place with room for all sorts of wack jobs, including you. Your life must be hell but I hope you never change. I need all the comedy in my life that I can find and you are a rich source.
"So this is may [sic] last post..., and with that I bid you a blessed farewell"
Thanks for all the fish. Good bye.
Tehehee!
@LBJ> Thanks a million for the photos, proof that I can still hoist a few brews before 10am even if I'm an old fart. It was a BLAST meeting all of you,,,,,, tehehee indeed!
Puckered? "Comity?" And then you quote William Carlos Williams? It is so sad and pathetic that you just cannot grok what the blog is cooking. Because you do kinda have a brain and something in it. Sometimes. Let go of the anger. It's poisoning you and what could be an actual life. Would you like to take the lead on the IIHIIFIIc newly formed Youth and Diversity Recruitment Committee? Do something productive. Get out of the pizzeria/basement (pizzeria's basement?) for once. Go to a game. Have a beer. Talk to a girl/boy/person of your attraction. (No touching without mutual consent!!) I know it's scary, but you can do it!
Teheheee!
Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal! Fuck you Hal!
Let of the anger, you twisted sexually tormented hypocrite? You have initiated 90 percent of the psychotic acrimony on this blog. You need to be committed to a professional psychiatric facility where you can work out your compulsive hostility to difference and dissent, your hysterical animosity to anyone who doesn't gallop with your little herd. Go have your penis re-attached. Bett yet, go fuck yourself, you pathetic writing subhuman piece of shit. You haven't read a word of William Carlos Williams, much less pondered the meaning of the poem. You read the poem and then offer the brilliant life advice to "go to a game" and "have a beer" like a character in National Lampoon's Animal House? You're a liar and phony. You're no more a practicing physician than Marcus Welby. You have no real life. You're a fantastic construct that coheres only on this pathetic blog that inflates the self-infatuation of twelve septuagenarian Model-Ts. You're a laughable, pathetic fraud--other than that, a pretty nice guy/girl/freak.
Hey Sock Puppet Psycho Anus, with your five different nics for posting the same stream of rhetorical vomit every day. You, who post the same copied-and-pasted repetitive flame comment compulsively, psychotically, day after day, talk about whack jobs (misspelled as wack jobs, of course)? I'll tell you what I don't do with my life: I don't repost my Pizza Boy flame EVERY FUCKING DAY, TWENTY TIMES A DAY, and pretend that I'm not therefore a psychotic. I don't use the name "Stat Boy" for someone who simply occasionally makes reference to the analytical framework used by every baseball front office now and ever fan who is not a senile retard like you. That's what I do with my life. Question answered to your satisfaction? Now keep typing Pizza Boy and Stat Boy for the rest of your blighted life and then pretend that you're not someone who has completely wasted his life and seen it reduced to a vortex of petty, impotent rage. Go ahead. Pretend that.
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
I just got off of my shift at The Pizza Pit. Mommy had a sandwich waiting for me in my basement apartment and I ate it. Then I picked my zits and changed out of my cool orange and red uniform. After I attempted to sooth my onanism, I decided the world should know of the depth of my baseball knowledge. I insult everyone, but claim I’m the one being picked on. I’m Stat Boy!®™, and the world should pay for me being such a loser!
I’m Stat Boy!®™
You promised to go away. Please follow through.
All Stat Boy!®™ rights officially licensed through TWW Enterprises, LLC. Distributed through FYH Productions, LLC
"So this is may [sic] last post..., and with that I bid you a blessed farewell"
Thanks for all the fish. Good bye.
I'll have my say in this thread and then take my leave. Dufus, T. Caliban, please give us another of your famous tributes to that great baseball radiocaster Keith Jackson, who never broadcast MLB baseball on the radio, to shore up your credentials as a savvy commentator on all things baseball and reaffirm your status as blog imbecile.
And keep those typo flames coming! You and your fourth-grade friends!
Psycho-Anus--why don't you copy and paste your Pizza Boy flame eighty more times before you proceed to pronounce someone else a whack job?
Here's what we know about Warplist:
Claims to be a woman, but is a MAN.
Claims to be a doctor, but IS NOT A DOCTOR.
Claims to be sane, but CLEARLY IS INSANE.
I think I should at least get some credit for sussing this guy out as a GUY while the rest of you dupes and idiots were slavering over her as some hot chick. I guess HE is the best you can do at your age! Don't forget to change your Depends tonight, boys!
Think of the claque of miscreants to which you have reduced this blog with your endless anti-analytics fogeyism, duque. That's all on you.
I love how Warplist, whose chief daily pastime is fraudulently representing himself as a doctor while typing "Fuck you Hall" two hundred times a day gives lectures on how to live one's life. THIS BLOG IS A CESSPOOL OF PSYCHOPATHY, and you ought to wonder, duque, how it ended up that way. I'll tell you exactly how: there are young eager fans who have checked this blog out and have fled from the daily spews of anomisity, smugness, anad philistinism, the perverse snideness about and ignorance of analytics, so your little hobby horse has turned into an old age home and a refuge for dribbling antiquarians--all dozen of them. It's your fault. Recently several people from RAB stopped by here to comment that they wanted to give it a try but couldn't abide it. Ever wonder why, duque? Ever ponder the paucity of traffic here, not to mention the paucity of serious baseball commentary or real wit, aside from you and alphonso? Because anyone with a brain has been driven away by the obligatory sneering at analytics from you and your adoring little herd of geezers.
Warplist IS A GUY, dunces. I called it months ago, while you dupes were slavering after him as though he were Kim Novak (I used the name of a female Hollywood star who would be recognizable to this blog's demo). (Hey Dufus T. Caliban--don't let Warplist's big dick give you a concussion when you attempt to go down on your "girl"friend.)
OK. that's it. I wouldn't have posted at all had it not been for the gratuitous, unprovoked attacks from Warplist and Dufus. But they threw down the gauntlet, so I had my fill at the end here. These are my last typed words at this misbegotten mental hospice. I'll miss Alphonso and, sort of, duque--the only two people here with brains and talent. But that's not enough to warrant wading through all the rest of the shit. Farewell--and don't count on the Yankees making it to the World Series this year--in fact, if you live in a state that permits sports betting, bet heavily against it. Just promise me that you'll not use your winnings to purchase a death-dealing carbon-mobile. Donate the money to a worthy cause--something that will help people in need or a group that is working to rescue the planet from climate catastrophe. With that . . . good night, and good luck.
"These are my last typed words at this misbegotten mental hospice."
Good bye.
Oh be still my racing heart!
Unfortunately, I don't think John will be able to see his eponymous blogspot even on the Jumbotron.
Puckered,
Am I ever gonna see your face again?
[no you are a fucking pussy troll]
As the Angels say:
No way, get fucked, fuck off!
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