I know this because my kid went to bed last night with his glove and ball. He also woke up screaming like a mortally wounded werewolf at some point, I'm pretty sure they aren't related but one can never be too sure. And for the record? That ball went with him to daycare this morning under the awesome advice of all who commented yesterday. How about a little passive aggressive what what up in here?
This picture is a direct result of my most masterful mothering skills. Give it up.
But this isn't about that little baseball loving freak. It's about another freak all together.
Jason.
Today, Jason and I scored tickets to Opening Day. Opening Day has become a grand tradition for us. Admittedly, one we can barely remember from year to year because of crazy tailgating goodness, but a tradition nonetheless. Drunken traditions are sometimes the stuff legends are made of. Or ESPN SportsCenter clips as it were.
Because I won the ticket lottery, we were able to score mad kickass seats. And by mad kickass (as if it weren't obvious) I mean 24 rows from third base, behind the Vistor's dugout.
This will be nothing but trouble. And the definition of that trouble lies solely with who will be inhabiting that dug out.
Not only is Opening Day on a Friday, giving us the weekend recoup that will be necessary after pizza burger, canned beer out of a cooler madness, but we will be playing the... Yankees.
I hang my head now in shame of my husband's impending behavior. Oh but it will be a magnificent masterpiece of awesome tacky derogatory slander, that I can promise you. The Yankees are synonymous with ass canker in my house. We hold a firm belief that Derek Jeter drinks wine coolers and that ex-Royal Johnny Damon is truly Johnny Demon... he sold his soul when he shaved his beard for Yankee dress code. How does it feel to be souless Johnny? Or do you even feel? A-Rod wears frilly, day of the week panties. You know it! 
Wow. That really just happened.
The good news is that our financial adviser has offered to pay Jason's bail if he throws his beer on A-Rod in the seventh. And that's a really good thing, because think of all the beer money that frees up for Jason to get his arm into shape.
Somehow? I know this will only reign down on me.
May the Lord have mercy on my baseball loving soul. Amen.
Let us not forget this after-game fun:
Or this:
Love you Sistah!
Here's to a hobo-humping good time!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Baseball Will Be The Death Of Me
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8 comments:
LMAO, this is the best group of pictures I've ever seen.
I wanna go!
Way back last year, the Royals came to play the Cubs for a throwback day, and they wore old school KC Monarchs jerseys, as an homage to the Negro National League team. It was kind of cool.
Hope your husband was using protection. I'm not sure the Levi's would be enough.
Is it possible that that next to last photo is responsible for the ass canker, which, btw, is a word I am going to now use until it blows up in the universe and ends up word one in the next printing of the Oxford English Dictionary.
The ass canker is clearing up nicely.
Just so none of you worry. Like I know you will.
:) bringin the ball... I'm making enemies in the midwest.
As an FYI check your email, I'm about to send you some pictures. Please don't publish them. (not kidding)
Ha ha, Derek Jeter drinks wine coolers! You know that bitch totally does.
Drunken traditions are my favorite traditions. And the only ones that truly matter in my book.
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