Fatlanta

I boarded Delta Flight 250 this afternoon from San Francisco to Atlanta with little difficulty. Even though the flight was full, low-lifers like me using miles and flying for free didn't get bumped from the flight. Phew! And keeping with tradition, my seat was next to a hefty Atlantan. I wouldn't have it any other way.

We arrived in Atlanta a little late, so rather than stay with my old friend Brian tonight, I decided to find a hotel room. That way he didn't have to wait up for me to arrive, and he could get a good night sleep as he had to work early tomorrow.

I found the Atlanta Airport Comfort Inn and bought a six pack before settling in for the night. You see, it may have been near midnight Atlanta time, but it was only 9:00 p.m. west coast time and I knew I'd need some help getting to sleep...

De Nada

So I walked down to the Lytton Street Brewing Company this morning for a nice big cup o' joe.

When I walked in, the counter person was speaking Spanish to a couple at the counter. I served myself my coffee, then walked over to the cash register where they were still speaking Spanish.

I knew my coffee was $1.50, so I put the correct amount on the counter. The counter woman took my money without even looking up at me to acknowledge my payment and continued her conversation with the other couple.

"Gracias," I muttered on my way out.

"Oh, thank you," the counter person finally said.

Candlestick, revisited, Part II

Walking into the park with the $19 ticket I bought for $5, I felt 8-feet tall. For a second there I thought I bumped my head on the top of the ballpark's gate. A celebratory $8 beer seemed appropriate.

With my ice-cold beer, I walked down the portwalk behind the right field Arcade seats. I stopped along the wall and soaked up the first few pitches. Then I walked further down to the flagpoles, where there's a great SRO spot. Someone was already parked there, scorecard in hand. I looked up.

Yes, the upper deck, just like I used to do at Candlestick!

Before you could say "Crazy Crab," I was sitting in View Level 334, Row 9, Seat 3, sipping my beer, no shirt or shoes required. This was a beautiful day. Blue sky, maybe three clouds, probably 68 degrees, and very warm in the sun.

Noah Lowry pitched a great start and the Giants even held the lead for a while, but eventually the Pirates led the game, 4-2. Late in the 8th inning, I decided to head back down to the Arcade for the 9th. As I was walking, I heard a loud crack of the bat and Pirates fans cheering. One of the Buck's had hit another home run in the top of the 9th inning.

Looking for my favorite SRO spot by the Arcade flagpoles, I walked up to the guy I had seen there two hours before, and he was still holding his scorecard and pen. I said nothing at first, but after a batter or two I asked if Darryl Ward had hit the Pirate's last homer.

"Yeah," he said. "Because Tyler Walker is fucking shit."

I responded, "I thought he was looking pretty good for a few games there. Just like I thought Jim Brower was doing well until last night's game."

"The Giants pitching staff is fucking shit," the man declared.

The game progressed. The Giants had one on with two out. Ray Durham steps to the plate and subsequently hits into a game-ending doule play.

"See," he said. "The Giants hitters are fucking shit. Those assholes couldn't hit a vein with a needle, they all got the shakes without their steroids.

"The Giants are fucking shit."

Candlestick, revisited

Even though I am a San Francisco Giants season ticket holder, I didn't have a ticket to today's game. Seems as though I let my brother "draft" that ticket from me in our season ticket disbursement. Never fear, where there's a will, there's a way...

I pulled myself out of bed this morning by 9:00 a.m. (what is quickly becoming my now usual get up time), and got myself together. Shower, shave, stock ticker check, the usual. Then I headed down to the Lytton Street Brewing Company for a cup o' joe and then made it to the train station in time for the 10:47 a.m. ballpark special. Before you knew it, I had digested my cup of coffee and two newspapers and I arrived at the ballpark.

Back in the days at Candlestick, the Giants used to call Wednesday day games the "Businessman's Special." Back then tickets were 2-for 1, and if you bought upper deck seats, that usually meant you didn't spend more than $5 on a ticket. Therefore, I was determined to make this an "Unemployed-man's Special," and do the same.

Upon disembarking from the train, I was subjected to the usual barking from the scalpers. "Who needs tickets?" "Box seats." And "Whattaya need man?" were to be heard within seconds of me entering the 4th & King intersection. But it was only 11:50. I knew I needed to wait a few more minutes. Just to be sure I checked with one scalper who apparently saw "sucker" written on my forehead.

"How many do you need?" he said, staring me down like a like a junkie in a alley.

"Just a nickle-bag, I mean a single," I responded.

"One? How 'bout this one, Field Club?"

I could see the $45 face value on the ticket.

"I'll give you 5 bucks for that one," I said.

"No no, man," he said. "Give me $15 for this one" (shows me a bleacher ticket).

"I'll give you five bucks," I said.

"Just give me face value, I ain't trying to overcharge you, man."

I kept walking. I was determined to stay on a poor man's budget, 1985-style, if at all possible.

I passed a few other scalpers who think they've got my number, but I knew it was still too early. I stopped at the new Safeway and picked up a sandwich and a Coke, again in the name of keeping my expenses down.

Before I knew it, I was at the ballpark. I cruised Willie Mays Plaza, but people still had their hopes up. Then I headed over to the Lefty O'Doul gate. Still couldn't get what I needed. At this point it was about 12:10, 25 minutes before game time. I decided to make a lap around the ballpark to see what I could see.

Nothing too much was happening at the center field gate, so I headed over to the Java House. Limited activity. Then I made a left turn and cruised by the 2nd Street gate. Still nothing. Then I headed back up King Street to Willie Mays Plaza. Soon I saw a 60-year old man clutching a single gold Field Club ticket, carefully displaying it for sale but not letting too much of it out of his control, seemingly fearful it might get swiped. I saw him from afar and approached slowly.

"You got a single for sale," I said.

Yes," he said.

Fully aware it was a Field Club seat, offered him five bucks. He shook his head. It was now only 15 minutes before the game. "Good luck," I said as I continued to walk past him.

As I approached the statue of Willie Mays I saw another man holding a single. But this was an upper-deck seat and I could tell this guy meant business.

"You got a single for sale," I said.

"Yep, he said.

"I'll give you five bucks," I said.

He handed the ticket to me. "It's in the upper deck," he said.

I said, "That's okay," as I handed him the $5 bill.

Ahhh, it was a beautiful spring day and I had just accomplished my goal, a seat to the game for only $5.

Some people might ask why I went to all of the trouble to save five or ten bucks on a ticket. To that, I have a few answers. Take your pick:

1) Just for the sport of it.
2) Hey, I've got nothing else to do, I'm unemployed!
3) Hey, I'm on an unemployed man's budget!
4) It ain't the price that counts, it's the art of the deal.

Too bad scoring a beer in the park will be a whole other ballgame.

American Justice

I decided to get out of my cave today and see a bit of the real world. No, not the reality TV show, real life reality. So I headed over to the North Santa Clara County Courthouse in Palo Alto to see some real live criminals in court. On my way in I chatted it up with the Sheriff working security at the courthouse. He suggested I head up to Department 85 for the 1:30 arraignments of 20 suspects currently being held in incarceration for their cases, and I followed his suggestion.

I waited outside of the courtroom for it to open. Only one other person was waiting outside, a middle-aged woman. Then a few court personnel gathered outside the courtroom and finally knocked on the doors to have the deputy open the courtroom. When we entered the courtroom, the jury box was filled with inmates in shackels and chains. All but three were men, and most were pretty scary looking. However, one by one they were called in front of the judge, and when they spoke they became less imposing.

All of these folks had been incarcerated over the weekend or longer, but none of these cases were for felonies. In fact, most of these cases were pretty pathetic, even for misdemeanor cases. There wasn't even one DUI case. All but three or four of these people are probably back out free on the streets right now.

There was a couple of public intoxication cases that were resolved by simply having the suspects plead guilty or no contest and then having the judge credit their time served toward a day or two sentence. A couple of others were there on marijuana possession charges, including one man who was booked for possessing 8.6 grams of dope. His sentence? One day, and credit for time served. The madam of the court also pointed out to the judge that this particular person also had two outstanding traffic violations; one for spitting in a transit terminal and the other for not having a light on his bike. The judge suspended sentences in exchange for guilty pleas on those two counts.

A Mexican man was arrested for possessing two switchblades in his backpack and pleaded guilty. Another admitted he had missed a court date, but informed the judge he had scheduled a new date with the court, but had been picked up by the cops prior to his new date, so they detained him for missing his prior one. In the process of explaining his case, he informed the judge that he had recently gotten his girlfriend "a little bit pregnant" and need to get out of jail to go back to work.

The saddest of all of the cases was a very nice looking Latina who originally pleaded not guilty to her driving on a suspended license charge. But when the judge informed her she'd have to go back to jail until Friday, the date of her next court appearance, she decided to change her plea to no contest, a plea that would get her out of jail by Wednesday.

Random thought #3... & a little Ted Shred

If you had to kill all the meat you eat, would you eat meat?

Seriously. Think about it.

If you had to kill a cow to eat filet mignon, would you do it? If you had to wring a chicken's neck to have chicken marsala, would you? Would you kill a pig for a pork chop? A calf for veal parmesan?

I don't know about you, but I probably wouldn't.

Perhaps we humans eat more meat than we should because meat has become too easy to obtain. And who suffers? Both animals and us. We get fat. And high blood pressure. And hardening of the arteries. The animals get confined to small spaces for much of their lives, and most farm animals are slaughtered before their first birthday. Don't bother even mentioning the affects on the environment, evolution, natural selection or the food chain.

Something tells me that if there were a Cows or Pigs Local 194, these conditions wouldn't fly. But there is no cows union, and pigs are always killed before they have the right to vote.

I'm no PETA pusher, however after hearing all of the reports about mistreated farm animals, nasty feed lots and appalling slaughterhouse conditions, shouldn't we rethink the rules regulating the production of commercial meat? Doesn't quality beat quantity? Isn't less, more?

That's why I'm a Ted Nugent fan.

"Cat Scratch Fever" and "Wang Dang Sweet Puntang" don't top the charts anymore, but you've got to give this guy credit for his positive stance on hunting and using the harvest of those animals to feed his family. I'd much rather be a wild turkey on Ted Nugent's Thanksgiving table than a well-fed, farm-raised pig in that Italian sausage sold at the ballpark.

We really should give the farm animals a voice. Afterall, if farm animals could talk and knew what we were going to do to them, they'd be killing us, not the other way around.

Orange Friday

Okay, so the San Francisco Giants have lately been promoting "Orange Friday," a theme aimed to get Giants fans to wear orange to games on Friday night.

The excitement is great, but does it include the orange puke I encountered on the interior doors of the CalTrain car on the way back from tonight's game? If so, is there some way to turn off the "orange" smell?