Kuzul

First, with all due respect and with full acknowledgement that a personal attack in order to prove a point is an ad hominem action and pointless, I still contend Omar Minaya, the general manager of the Mets, can be clownish. First let’s take al ong look at Willie Larry Randolph http://bit.ly/a0r6Hg Copyright © 2000-2010 Sports Reference LLC. All rights reserved.

On second thought let’s just give you the facts :

• Spent 11 seasons on the coaching staff of the Yankees as third-base coach (1994-2003) and bench coach (2004)…was a part of 10 playoff teams, including four World Series championships (1996, ’98, ’99 and 2000)

Managing Career
• Managed the New York Mets from 2005-08, compiling a record of 302-253 (.544)
• Won the National League East division title in 2006 and led the Mets to the NLCS
• Ranks second among Mets managers to Davey Johnson (.588) in all-time winning percentage

http://bit.ly/diMWMW © 2001-2010 MLB Advanced Media, L.P. All rights reserved

Omar fired Willie June 16 or 17 of 2008 when some of his great acquisitions failed to produce and he needed a scapegoat to protect his job. He fired pitching coach Rick Peterson and first base coach Tom Nieto at the same time but these two are not germane to my story.

Omar was hired in 2004 for the 2005 season and subsequently hired Willie as his on-the-field general. The team did not make the playoffs that year but did improve from 71 wins in 2004 to 83 wins in 2005. Omar also brought in Pedro Martinez and Carlos Beltran that year in 2005.

In the 2006 year Willie, Omar and the Mets won 97 games and the National League East. Minaya also acquired closer Billy Wagnar and first basemen Carlos Delgado.

He unfortunately also traded away some prospects after losing the NLCS in 2006. These prospects included starting pitchers Heath Bell, Royce Ring and relievers Henry Owens and Matt Lindstrom. Later we traded Brian Bannister. 

The shame of it all, these players might have been helpful in 2007 when the Mets choked in the stretch. They finished with a record of 88-74. Oh yes, he also acquired Johan Santana in January of 2008. To reiterate, Willie was gone in mid-June 2008. Okay all theses changes led to us missing the playoffs in 2008 with a record of 89-73. We then missed the playoffs in 2009 with a record of 70-92.

Now with the homework done we can move on to the point. I realize that after going to the NLCS and with the intense scrutiny in New York, it is always necessary to show the fans that something is happening to make things better. This might just be me “spitballin,” but missing the playoffs and the team taking a precipitous swoon after a manager firing is not the way to do it. I failed to mention the Mets had been playing flat but had won on the day Omar fired Willie and the team continued to play flat to worst than that after the firing.

It seems that Willie’s tough hands on the reigns were the only thing holding this team together. I sincerely believe the Mets had turned the corner when they fired Willie and the firing led to a less than stellar performance from the team. In any case, Willie’s gone and the team is floundering. HMMM…I wonder what would have happened if the team’s owner Fred Wipon had fired Omar and kept Willie? Well to that question we will never know. So let’s look to the future. Has Omar’s clownishly quick trigger doomed the Mets to mediocrity? I say yes.   

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I woke up with a stiff neck. The problem is that it lasted more than four hours.

For a second, I thought my husband slipped me some Viagra.

Someone definitely slipped the Phillies something. They’ve taken the lead in the wild-card race and won twenty or so of their last bunch of games.

That was helpful information, wasn’t it? I would’ve looked up the facts but that interferes with worthwhile stuff like plucking chest hairs in my magnifying mirror so I can finally look at my breasts and see 36 double dees.

Or watching my dog sniff the cat’s butt for the zillionth time to ensure it’s the same pet he’s lived with for six years.

I named my dog Brett Farve—he’s never sure.

But I’m sure of one thing: the Phils looked great when we saw them in game one of the series against San Francisco.

A guy with a huge cranium and his totally bald friend who was wearing sunglasses on the back of his head took their seats between the plate and me. I felt like I was staring at Vin Diesel.

Then music started. I thought I heard a flute played by someone way too happy so I waited for the next break to confirm. Sure enough my husband turned to me and said, “It’s either merry music night or Irish Heritage Day.”

I’m Irish—I understand the connection. I’m living proof that everything in Ireland was conceived over whiskey.  I think there’s even a sheep joke in there somewhere. And someday someone will question the tradition of kissing a stone named for bullshit.

Pat Burrell was back. He whacked a two-run homer in his first at-bat to distract from the fact that “snug” is how he now likes to wear his pants.

Just another reason to question his move to the bay area.

As I scanned the fielders with my binoculars, I noticed that all the Giants’ pants seemed a little clingy, raising only more questions.

Like how that new Victoria’s Secret bra works. It claims it remembers your curves. I don’t want a bra that remembers my curves, I want one that fakes some.

You know, they asked Sarah Palin if she had breast implants. My friend Jimi said she was trying to avoid the flat tax.

Just once I wish someone would ask me if I got a boob job. My husband says I should stick with the magnifying mirror. Let me give it a try. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, can I buy boobies at the mall?”

No answer. Just like talking to my husband, I don’t know if that’s a “yes” or a “no.”

So let’s talk shop.

Phillies pitcher Ryan Madson—like the emperor—has found his groove. I just wish he’d do it without clothes.

Roy Oswalt’s dead arm has found life. I’m now guaranteed the big O every five games whether or not I have a headache.

In game two against the Giants, Jimmy Rollins was 3 for 5, slammed a three-run homer, almost hit for the cycle, stole three bases, and scored twice. Like my name on the bathroom wall, Fanavision didn’t have room to list all his accomplishments.

Charlie Manuel has used his 1,380,956th lineup this season. I’m exaggerating. That’s what people do when they catch a scrawny fish or marry a short guy.

I think Pablo Sandoval got even bigger between games one and two. Or maybe the camera adds ten pounds a game.

Jayson Werth didn’t make the cover of Sports Illustrated but he’s somewhere in the center. The problem is he’s fully dressed. It’s not even a scratch and sniff.

Citizens Bank Park celebrated its 99th consecutive sellout. That’s impressive. I have yet to make it through that many bottles of beer on the wall.

Chase Utley returned from the DL and got a standing ovation. My sister gets those—when she walks into Neiman-Marcus.

And I see pistachios are now being sold at Citizens Bank Park. They’re tasty, but the pack is small and the price is high. I can’t pay a dollar a nut. The two I’m familiar with aren’t even worth that.

If they’re trying to sell healthier snacks they might want to reconsider training their sales force. A girl walked by in the sixth inning selling “postichios.”

I almost bought a pack to see what a gay nut tastes like.

On that note, if you’re a transvestite dressed as Lady Gaga, are you really a boy or a girl?

At one point in the game, the two guys in front of us left their seats. Two cute, young, shapely, blond squatters took their place, giggling with delight at upgrading their view. (Like a center field seat is so much closer. Where were they sitting, New Jersey?)

An inning later, the guys returned; Mr. Cranium led the way. I was curious to hear what a tall, handsome season ticket holder with a tray full of food, beer bottles tucked between the fingers of one hand, and no wedding band would say to a sweet pair of co-eds hoping to share.

How ‘bout, “You’re in my seat.”

I think he’s a closet Giants fan.

Celtic music started to play and the Phanatic jumped onto the Phillies dugout accompanied by a line of performers. My son said, “Look mom, it’s Lord of the Prance.”

“That’s Lord of the Dance.”

My husband said, “When did Pat Burrell’s pants get so tight?”

Then the vendor shuffled by, “Hey, get your ‘postichios’ here!”

Welcome to Irish Heritage Day.

See you at the ballpark.

Copyright 2010 Flattish Poe all rights reserved.

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If you’re a real baseball fan, you’ve seen Major League. If you’re a real Indians fan, you own the DVD, quote it excessively, and own a pair of Rick Vaughn-esque glasses.

It’s an absolute classic full of whacky characters, great one-liners, and some of the best baseball action sequences Hollywood has ever staged. But one of the coolest things about it (and one of the reasons why it holds up so well more than 20 years later) is that life truly has imitated art.

It’s not just that Cubs closer Mitch Williams changed his number to 99 and gained the nickname “Wild Thing” midway through the 1989 season, or that the Indians had become one of the best teams in the game within five years of the film’s release.

Exaggerated and caricatured though they may be, the oddball protagonists in Major League are a lot like some of today’s players.

In this slideshow are 12 current and recent baseball players and personalities who match up well with characters in the movie. The names on this list aren’t all Indians, but some players from Cleveland won out over otherwise more deserving people from other franchises because of their team affiliations.

If you’ve never seen Major League, don’t read any further—not just because there are spoilers, but because you are missing out. Run out to Blockbuster or download it from iTunes or something—just watch it, immediately. Seriously. Now.

Begin Slideshow

Yogi vs Casey Quote War: Top That     

This week we’re making the quote face-off battle between two of the funniest baseball managers of all time – Yogi Berra and Casey Stengel. Both were Yankees, one played for the other and it should be classic. We’ll try to keep it on baseball but you never know about Yogi, he sometimes wanders. We’ll see where this takes us but we’ll start off by asking Casey about the punctuality of his players:

    CS: I got players with bad watches – they can’t tell midnight from noon.
    YB: I knew I was going to take the wrong train, so I left early.

Yogi, you played for Casey. Guys, give us an idea of the banter between you.

    CS: Sure I played, did you think I was born at the age of 70 sitting in a dugout trying to manage guys like you?
    YB: Think!? How the hell are you going to think and hit at the same time?

    CS: I was such a dangerous hitter I even got intentional walks in batting practice.
    YB: Slump? I ain’t in no slump. I just ain’t hitting.

Casey and Yogi, you were great managers but not particularly organized. Give us examples of your managerial style.

    CS: All right, everybody line up alphabetically according to your height.
    YB: If you don’t know where you’re going, you will wind up somewhere else.

    CS: If we’re going to win the pennant, we’ve got to start thinking we’re not as good as we think we are,
    YB: Baseball is 90% mental – the other half is physical.

    CS: Managing is getting paid for home runs someone else hits.
    YB: The other teams could make trouble for us if they win.

    CS: Nobody knows this yet, Kid, but one of us has been traded to Kansas City.
   YB: He can run anytime he wants. I’m giving him the red light.

    CS: The secret of managing is to keep the guys who hate you away from the guys who are undecided.
    YB: If the fans don’t come out to the ball park, you can’t stop them.

You’ve both been honored quite a bit. Tell us what you said on those occasions.

    CS: I feel honored to have a ballpark named after me, especially since I’ve been thrown out of so many.
    YB: On Yogi Berra Appreciation day I want to thank you for making this day necessary.

Players and people in general have approached you for advice. Can you share?

    CS: You have to go broke three times to learn how to make a living.
    YB: You asked me what I’d do if I found a million dollars? I’d find the fellow who lost it, and, if he was poor, I’d return it.

    CS: There comes a time in every man’s life, and I’ve had plenty of them.
    YB: If you can’t imitate him, don’t copy him.

    CS: When you are younger you get blamed for crimes you never committed and when you’re older you begin to get credit for virtues you never possessed. It evens itself out.
    YB: If you come to a fork in the road, take it.

    CS: It’s wonderful to meet so many friends that I didn’t used to like.
    YB: Someone told me I looked cool. I said ‘Thanks, you don’t look so hot yourself.’

Casey, so how’d you like having this quote battle? Yogi is tough to beat, right?

    CS: They say he (Yogi Berra) is funny. Well…
    YB: I didn’t really say everything I said.

    CS: They say he (Yogi Berra) is funny. Well…
    YB: This is like déjà vu all over again.

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I’ve heard Brian Sabean compared to a lot of people ranging from Lex Luther to “The Grinch”, but no comparison seems nearly as fitting of that of one Michael Scott, Regional Manager of Dunder Mifflin Paper Company.

When either Sabean or Michael Scott open their mouth, stupid usually comes out. Both make ridiculously idiotic decisions, yet somehow still keep their respective jobs. Since the Giants just dropped two of three to the Padres, I thought it would be a nice time to re-live some of Michael Scott’s greatest quotes and how they correspond to Sabean.

Begin Slideshow

It’s like deja-vu all over again! 

Kim Kardashian, famous for being famous for foraging after flashy football players, is once again romantically linked to another celebrity athlete—this time a jock from a different sport. And it’s not soccer super star Cristiano Rinaldo or basketballer Lebron James.

Hint…he’s a lifelong New York Yankee, but it’s not Derek Jeter. No, not even A-Rod.

This weekend TMZ caught Kim Kardsahian cuddling in a corner at Kutsher’s in the Catskills with none other than legendary NY Yankee Yogi Berra. Yup, Berra, as in the original Yogi and former Bronx Bomber All Star catcher and manager.

TMZ photographed the curious couple biting into their blintzes at the retirement resort’s 4 p.m. early bird buffet. The octogenarian has reportedly fallen fast for the flirtatious Kim, who bears a striking resemblance to ol’ No. 8’s great-granddaughter’s niece.

Though the news shocked Kim’s fans, it didn’t rock either of Kim’s gold digging sisters. Khloe commented that Kim was unfulfilled linked to future Hall of Famers and wanted the immediate gratification of having a revered sports icon at her side.

Kourtney advised Kim to hook her Hall of Famer now… even if her new beau’s bronze bust was bestowed in Cooperstown four decades ago!

ESPN reported that Berra bested another potential suitor and nuptial contender, NJ Jets Super Bowl III hero Joe Namath. Although Broadway Joe purportedly texted Kim hourly and sent dozens of flowers to her LA digs, Kim shared with confidants that the 67-year-old Joe Willie was just too young and fell far short of Kim’s “bling” pre-requisites. Joe only won one Super Bowl ring and two MVP awards during his career, while Yogi amassed three MVP trophies and a whopping 13 World Series titles.

For the guy who said, “A nickel ain’t worth a dime anymore,” let’s see how Yogi handles this socialite’s prodigious penchant for pearls, paparazzi and panache.

Kris Kardashian Jenner, Kim’s maternal role model and sports celebrity marrying mom, voiced concern over her eldest daughter’s choice for a new paramour. But Berra immediately rebutted, reinforcing his commitment to keep up with this 30 year-old Kardashian.

Echoing quotes he made famous decades ago, Yogi commented, “In spite of our 50 year age disparity…our similarities are just different.”

Berra boyishly beamed, “I’m optimistic, and this relationship ain’t over til it’s over.” 

Fans should keep a careful watch over the lovable Berra.

Because with fickle Kim Kardashian’s abbreviated relationships with high-profile sports celebrities, we might be hearing Yogi say, “it’s like deja-vu all over again.”

MIKE – thee American made voice on sports.

www.facebook.com/theemikefans

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Remember Forrest Gump?  If he wasn’t fictional, he would have a blast watching the Phillies. We are, “like a box of chocolates—you never know what you’re gonna get.” And that is the way it goes for Phillies fans.

Last night, Stay Puff Marshmallow Man, Blanton, delivered in innings two through five.  As expected he did not perform in the first or the sixth (Uncle Charlie, why did you not pull him after the fifth?) He allowed four runs on eight hits and four walk.

That was my clue to exit the room to save the game. I often write about my nerves and superstition. If I walk away—we pull it out. Even my husband, a PhD in Statistics, and totally rational, cannot explain how I do this—but it works.  I do, however, keep an ear on the game.

We were down nine to two in the eighth.  We were actually luck because after Blanton loaded the bases, Durbin got us out of the sixth. Unfortunately his seventh was not a picnic. 

We found our bats somewhere in the eighth.  Finding our bats when we have good pitching and getting the pitching to work when we have our bats seems to be a problem.  Fortunately something clicked it the Phillies’ collective brains and the Dodgers imploded at the same time.  I began to hear the cheering coming from the TV. 

What happened next is the Phillies hit their way to a 10-9 win thanks to a walk off double by Carlos Ruiz! I guess you could say I got the save, “LOL!”

This three game series was indeed a box of chocolates.  We saw the home debut of Roy Oswalt and  the first home run of Domonic Brown’s promising career.  Kyle Kendrick managed to pitch only three-and-a-third innings and proved to be a split personality pitcher.  Game one was a home run derby that we lost and game two was a shut out.  Game three was like a Hail Mary. 

We took two of three games but need to do better (waiting the return of Victorino, Howard and Utley) to win the division or the wild card.  The series with the Giants will be interesting (I miss Bobble-head Bonds and the screaming insults).  As one of my customers said yesterday, “It’s a great time to be a Phillies fan!”

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The Mets adopted an unusual strategy for dealing with reporters’ inquiries about K-Rod’s arrest for assault last night.

Normally reserved and bashful David Wright sarcastically told reporters, “I’m surprised, K-Rod is such an even-tempered guy.  The victim is lucky Frankie didn’t stab him.  I hope he stays in jail.”

Asked if K-Rod’s two-game suspension would impact the Mets’ performance, Mets manager Jerry Manuel collapsed into a fit of honesty, yelling, “we’re going to lose anyway.  What’s the difference if our closer is in jail?  We suck.  That’s right, we suck. You wanna know why we haven’t won two games in a row since May?  We suck.  You wanna know why we punch our father in-laws in the head?  We suck.  That’s right. That’s my official answer to every question from now on.  Next?”

Adam Rubin then asked Jerry Manuel why his boss, Omar Minaya, blamed him for his assistant, Tony Bernazard’s half naked assault on minor league players last year.  “I just told you, we suck.”

“How about the Wilpons, Jerry, do they suck too?” SNY reporter Kevin Burkhardt asked the unravelling manager.  “You bet they suck.  Suck starts at the top, Kev.  Even our bat boy’s a chump.”

“Jerry, what about Jason Bay, does he suck too?”

“Are you kidding me?  He sucks the most.  No, John Maine, he’s the biggest sucker I’ve ever met in my life.  I wouldn’t let that cat mow my lawn.  I’ll pay anyone in this room if they can promise me I’ll never have to see those two chumps ever again.  As a matter of fact.  I’m done.  I’m done.  I’ve made my money, I don’t have to put up with another minute of the Mets, or baseball.  I hate the sport.  I used to like it but it’s ruined.  I never wanna see another baseball again in my life.  And you know what’s the only thing that sucks more than the Mets?  It’s you.  The media.  You guys…I wish K-Rod had hit you.  He hit the wrong guy.  Quote me on that.  I’m outtee 5000, gangster style,” and with that stormed out of the press room throwing his jersey at reporters after gesturing to wipe his rear end with it.  “Have a bad season, you suckers” were his final words before he disappeared from the clubhouse.

Gary Apple and Bobby Ojeda then spent the entire postgame show laughing and drinking beer on camera while pranking the entire team on their private cell phones.  In a call to Jeff Francouer, Ojeda pretended to be a dentist inquiring about his “massive chompers.” Gary Apple called Johan Santana, pretending to be the woman accusing him of sexual assault when he vomited all over the studio desk, during the broadcast.

The postgame show ended when Mets COO “Jeffy boy” Jeff Wilpon arrived on the set to fire Ojeda and Gary Apple who proceeded to beat him up after putting on beards, “blingy” sunglasses, and Mets hats, imitating the look of the team’s jailed relief pitcher, K-Rod.

The Mets are currently nine games back behind the Atlanta Braves and staging a late season comeback, and an unexpected World Series Championship.

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A baseball game is a great place to spend an evening with family, friends, or a significant other.  Up at the major league level it’s a little pricey, but if you poke around on the Internet, you can find a good enough deal to make a trip to the ballpark more than worth your while.

Depending on when you get there and where your seats are, there’s a chance you may even walk out of the stadium with a souvenir baseball courtesy of a foul ball or a friendly ball boy.

One of the more exciting prospects of going to a ballgame is the possibility of catching a foul ball or a home run.  I’m not entirely sure why, because nearly every ball that a fan catches is worthless.  Sure, maybe you catch a record-breaking home run ball or some player’s first career jack that they’re willing to swap for an autograph or two, but for the most part, the thrill of the foul ball is in the catch itself.

The other day, a Houston fan identified only as Beau took his girlfriend out to the see the Astros take on the division-leading Braves.  He scored some pretty nice seats down the left field line, prime real estate for foul balls.  

And wouldn’t you know it, in the fourth inning a Houston player loops a line drive down the left field line and right at the happy couple.  The young man stands up in front of his girlfriend…and ducks out of the way at the last minute, letting the ball hit her squarely on the arm.

What a gentleman.

As you can see in the video, his first instinct after the young lady gets hit is to dive under the seats for the ball, which he hangs on to for dear life and doesn’t show any indication of handing it to his girl.

This guy takes a young lady to a ballgame and bails on a foul ball so that she takes the hit instead of him.  Real chivalrous, Captain Cool.  We regularly see fans at ballparks across America sacrificing their bodies, beers, and brats for a chance at a foul ball.  Beau sacrificed his girlfriend.

Maybe he was concerned that the tilt of his hat remained unchanged or that by protecting his girlfriend he would leave what appears to be a dead rat carcass on his chin unprotected.  Whatever his reasoning, at least he got a fantastic story to tell at his fraternity’s next beer pong tournament.

The young couple ended up getting interviewed by FSN’s field reporter and the girl didn’t sound all that enthusiastic about her man’s performance.  His excuse was that he lost it in the lights, but that’s a cheap cop out.  Matt Holliday found out that that excuse doesn’t always fly in last season’s NLDS against the Dodgers.  

The reporter also completed Beau’s “Loser Ensemble” by outfitting him with a pair of over-sized white sunglasses to help with the glare, which he promptly put on despite it being a night game.  I can almost smell the three cans of Axe that he used before picking up little miss sunshine before the game.

Rule No. 44 from NCIS is “First things first—hide the women and children.”  That applies as much to foul balls as it does to war and natural disasters.

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This morning I was greeted by a hair ball, a pet puke, and an offensive odor.

Speaking of offensive, I should blog. I’ll start by singing the accolades of my favorite major league catcher.

Wait, my husband says it’s too early in the day for me to sing. Actually, he says there’s never a reason for it.

I’ll stick with typing and bad poetry.

Carlos Ruiz is my half-pint hero. He may be small but he’s really six foot six inches of heart packed into two enormous thighs.

I’ve sometimes used that same excuse myself. Like I say, “Does this ass make my pants look big?”

Now, hindsight might be 20/20—and often makes experts out of liars, but I’ve posted a few blogs vying for the attention someone else deserves that prove I’ve loved Chooch from afar (only because of those new stalker laws).

Last May, I even penned some cheesy poetry on his behalf and because my blogs aren’t worth reading the first time, let alone worthy of review, I’ll copy and paste it here (for your convenience):

Ode to Carlos

The guy behind home plate

Hails from another place

Van Halen praised it in a song

Our hero’s home’s in Panama

I’m gonna have that tattooed on my behind.

Trust me, there’s plenty of room.

Honey, does this tattoo make my pants look ass?

When it comes to another player I adore, I’ve often referred to what he does best as The Placido Effect. That’s what happens to me when Polanco wears pinstripes. That guy makes me so breathless I get a side-ache.

Besides his bald head looks like a bowling ball. And I have a thing for bowlers. There’s just something about running my fingers over those smooth ceramic balls that makes me sweat.

I guess that’s why they have those little blowers.

Hold on, my son has a question: “Why does Jayson Werth grow a beard and then shave it off?”

“Because he can,” I said.

My husband looked at him and said, “It’s the same excuse your mom uses.”

Speaking of excuses, the new guy on the block makes none. Mike Sweeney aka Sweeney Mike, cut up the Mets in game one. And when he was tagged “Chevrolet Player of the Game,” he gave credit where credit was due: “Brad Lidge came in and closed the door—as always.”

My husband said, “Sweeney’s played a lot of ball—he hasn’t seen a lot of ball.”

And what’s up with Cole Hamels? It’s like he’s being punked. He had eight no decisions coming into his eighth loss and I don’t know how many of those were due to lack of run support.

I have an underwire from Victoria’s Secret that gives me more support than that.

My husband says nothing gives me that much support.

Hey, at least my boobs make other girls’ boobs look big.

So I’m not a busty woman. Like I always say, I’m Irish—I’m not even human.

In any case, the Phils can’t win ‘em all. If they did that with three guys missing from the lineup, it’d give Ruben Amaro, Jr. a complex—if he doesn’t already have one. He’s been chastised for trading away prospects to get what he could have had in the first place—three top notch pitchers, including one who compLEEtes me.

As a result, Cliff Lee now has some tough Texas company. His mound-mate, Dustin Nippert, was hit in the head by a line drive but stood up simply rubbing his owie.

I’m not saying he’s hard-headed but the ball deflected off his skull and landed in left field. It was almost caught by the outfielder. That’d been a 1-7 putout.

I’ll bet that guy never gets brainfreeze.

Is brainfreeze one word or two? I know, I’ll consult the fictionary.

They say everything’s bigger in Texas. Thank God it didn’t hit him in the crotch. The ball would have landed in the seats. That would’ve made one hell of a souvenir. I wonder if you could get that authenticated. They’d call it an HBD. That’s hit-by…

Well, you get the point.

My husband says I have to wrap this up. He’s hungry and wants to eat at this new place.

Hold on. “Honey, I don’t know if I want to eat at a place called The Eulogy. Are you trying to tell me something?”

He said, “You’re Irish. What do you have to lose?”

He’s lucky he’s a bowler.

See you at the ballpark.

Copyright 2010 Flattish Poe all rights reserved.

Catch life one-liner at a time on Twitter.

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