Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
I watched a few innings of the World Series over the weekend, out of a
sense of duty, and a small amount of residual panic left over from
childhood. When I was a kid post-season play was exciting, of course,
but it also meant there'd be no more baseball until spring. A horrifying
prospect, indeed. And it still makes me nervous, I find, even though my
attention to the sport can now be labeled sub-casual.
Oh, I always have a general knowledge of the standings. I know which
teams are doing well this year, and the ones that are munching the big
turd hoagie. But I don't devote nearly enough time to watching actual
games, and knowing the players and their stories anymore. I find that I
lack the required allegiances and hatreds (both equally important to
sports enjoyment) to keep me interested. So I don't watch, and that only
makes matters worse. It's one big vicious circle of lame.
I was sitting there on Saturday and Sunday completely baffled by all the
new players, mostly Spanish and Japanese it seemed, and my mind began
wandering. "What's with the team names?" I asked Toney. What
do Cardinals have to do with St. Louis, anyway? Is there a high
concentration of red birds in Missouri? Maybe, but it doesn't feel right
somehow. Tigers, I can understand a little easier. It's an aggressive,
ferocious animal. Perfect for a sports team. But Cardinals?
This touched-off a longish conversation, in which we attempted to place
baseball team names into a set of pre-defined categories. Yes, we'd had
a few adult beverages. What of it?
We started with the birds: Cardinals, Orioles, and Blue Jays. A full ten
percent of Major League Baseball, circa 2006. And they're not even scary
birds. If I were starting a professional sports team and wanted to go
the poultry route, I'd stick with scavengers and predators, like Hawks
and Falcons. An Oriole doesn't really strike fear in the hearts of men,
you know? The Baltimore Flammulated Owls would've been a better choice,
I think.
Then comes the animals: Marlins, Cubs, Diamondbacks, Devil Rays, and
Tigers. I've already approved of the Tigers, and the Devil Rays and
Diamondbacks are appropriately frightening, but the other two are fairly
lame. A cub is a baby bear. Why a baby bear? It doesn't make
sense to me. It could've been the Chicago Grizzlies, with a roaring
beast on its hind legs as a logo, but they decided to name the team
after thechildren of scary animals. It's baffling. And a
marlin?! Man, that just makes me laugh.
The Red Sox, White Sox, and Reds fall
into the hosiery category, which seems kind of bizarre until you think
about it. Back in the early days of baseball, uniforms were, well,
fairly uniform. It was difficult to tell one team from another, so they
started wearing different color socks. And thus were born the Chicago
White Sox, the Boston Red Sox, and the Cincinnati Red Stockings (or
Redlegs). The Reds were the only team to distance themselves from what
now feels like low-wattage gayness, but there's no hiding the fact that
they belong squarely in the hosiery category. But hey, at least they
weren't called the Cincinnati Sequined Vests.
Brewers, Mariners, Rangers, and Padres are regional vocations. Sorta.
And the Indians and Braves fall into the wild whooping Injun category,
always a popular choice. The Giants and Pirates are good sports team
names, straight out of the imagination of boys. However, I don't believe
there were too many pirates raping and pillaging within the city limits
of Pittsburgh back in the day. I just can't see Bluebeard rolling into
town aboard a paddlewheel steamship, his crew wearing straw hats and
playing banjoes in the background. Ya know?
After that, everything falls apart; my need to categorize and make sense
of it all becomes almost impossible. Where do you put the Angels, for
instance? I guess you could pair them up with the Padres, but that
doesn't really work for me. And what about the Royals? And the
Nationals?
The Yankees, Mets, Twins, and Rockies might be squeezed into a
loosely-defined "local reference" slot, but we're really
pushing it at this point. And if you can't have confidence in your
categories, why bother at all? I mean, seriously.
That leaves the A's, short for Athletics, which is an action (I think)
or possibly a man's support garment. I just don't know. The Astros came
into existence during the 1960's, when America was in the throes of a
space exploration frenzy. The same period brought us Tang, and some
horrible chocolate-style breakfast bar that my mother used to pack in my
lunch when I was in second grade, and the makers claimed was the
breakfast of Apollo astronauts. I can't remember what it was called, but
I can still taste it, and it's making my lower jaw retract in disgust.
Phillies is just a lame-ass play on the city's name. Why not the New
York Newies, or the Arizona Arizoies as well? Pitiful. And the Dodgers
started in Brooklyn, originally called the Trolley Dodgers. Because, you
see, there were lots of street cars in Brooklyn. Now that they're in Los
Angeles, it no longer makes any sense. The only things you dodge in L.A.
are bullets, yuppies, and Mexican gardeners. But who's counting?
So you can see, it was only a mildly satisfying exercise. Oh well. You
guys can do football and basketball if you want, I'm spent. And don't
really care anymore.
--
I watched a few innings of the World Series over the weekend, out of a
sense of duty, and a small amount of residual panic left over from
childhood. When I was a kid post-season play was exciting, of course,
but it also meant there'd be no more baseball until spring. A horrifying
prospect, indeed. And it still makes me nervous, I find, even though my
attention to the sport can now be labeled sub-casual.