April 23, 2008

It's getting ugly out there.

Listen, I'm as excited as anybody about the upgrades being made to Kauffman Stadium. I got to see some of the changes firsthand when I went to the Royals-Twins snoozefest a couple Saturdays ago.

I endured insanely constant gusts of wind in my face. I endured freezing rain. I endured tiny concourses. I endured Boulevard Pale Ales at $6.25 a pop. I endured two anemic offenses. I endured the Royals choosing to wear white pants with powder blue jerseys.

But I gotta say (as if the constant stream of bitching above didn't tip you off), this was not my best experience out at the K. Probably not in the top, oh, fifty. And that includes a five-hour 14-inning game a few years ago where I got so sunburned I pissed ultraviolet rays for the next two months.

No, this wasn't as good as that.

It wasn't that I didn't get a powder-blue jersey. I did. And I've even vomited while wearing it already, so there's no way it's going on ebay.

And it wasn't the aforementioned weather or lack of offense or even the bizarre uniform decisions by the Royals (seriously, the only thing worse than white pants would be if they had chosen the Chiefs' red pants).

And it wasn't even that Sluggerrr shook his head when I asked him politely for a hug. Though, I wouldn't mind if Rudyard Kipling showed up with an elephant gun and blasted his ass back to Narnia. I know I'm mixing literary references, and I don't care.

Anyway, it wasn't any of those things.

What was it, you ask?

It was those damn hills of dirt just past the outfield.



Look at that.

Why don't they do something about that?



It's fugly as hell.

It looks like James Earl Jones and a vicious junk-yard dog live back there.

It looks like where they shot Ishtar.

It looks...

It looks...

It looks like shit.

There, I said it.

It looks terrible.

And we're all just ignoring it.

Like it isn't there.

But it is.

It's right there!

So, solutions.

I'm an ideas man. I've got big ideas. Like Willie Nelson's reggae album. That one was mine. Also, the war in Iraq. I know, I know. Hindsight is 20/20. Uh, also, and hell, I know you'll never forgive me for this one; it was me who convinced Dayton Moore to sign Hideo Nomo. Honestly, I've had that "Nomo as Juno" gag ready since last summer, and the guy owed me. I'm not proud of it, and I'm just glad it's over with.

Anyway, three big ideas for the dirt piles out there:

1) Screw this Garth Brooks crap in the sixth inning. Let's embrace some real country music. I'm talking about the surviving members (member?) of Nitty Gritty Dirt Band putting on a concert every game.

They'll play all the classics!

Mr. Bojangles!

Honky Tonk Blues!

Uh...

Mr. Bojangles!!

YEAH!

2) Courtney Cox stands out there telling hackneyed jokes about Paris Hilton and Britney Spears! Hey, more people will see it than the idiots who tune into FX for anything other than It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia or reruns of King of the Hill.

and finally....

3) Six words: Ironman Ivan Stewart's Super Off Road!





Go Royals! 151-11! You're the Best!

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