World Series Game 1 recap

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The idea was to do a drinking game with one of my buddies who lives in Mass.

We were going to drink every time Joe Buck commented on the Red Sox players’ beards; drink twice for every time he did it in the pejorative. Three times if he did it and then piggybacked a mention of the clean-cut’edness of his hometown Cardinals.

My buddy texted me as I was leaving work like around the top of the second and said the Sox were up and he was already ready to pass out and his wife was telling him to stop drinking because he had to get up and make lunches the next day or whatever.

So, I decided to go to the gym instead. They’d have the game up on the flatscreens and I could get a half-assed Wednesday workout (you know, the kind where you said you went to the gym, but that’s about all), but whatever.

I got there and it was a total junk show. The parking lot was Costco-Saturday full so I drove around the block a few times.

I had no clue why there were so many people at the gym on a Wednesday in the fall, usually this is the time of year people start skipping occasional workouts to prepare for skipping entirely the months of November and December.

I bounced out of the parking lot and turned my AM dial to where I thought the game would be but it was just oldies. Some chick in boots and tights and a scarf (you know, because it’s below 75 degrees outside) got into her Hyundai and her brake lights went on, so I pulled in behind her.

But she pretty much got on her phone and sat there, which is actually pretty typical of girls in this area, so I waited. Eventually, I saw one of her booted legs reappear from the driver’s side and she kind of gave me the “I’m not leaving” signal with her hand, it’s somewhere between a come-here wave and no-no. So I pulled away and tried to give her the stink eye but her hair was covering her face and her phone.

I drove around one more time and finally found a spot by where the local paper is. It’s a huge Target-sized building and I figure once upon a time it housed probably more than 30 people on the editorial staff. I parked near the back so I could hear the printing press starting up which made me sad for some reason. There was also a pile of dead newspaper vending machines. I realized I’d never read a word of this publication in three years here, which also made me sad.

The gym was nuts. Usually it’s just two girls behind the counter and one bro-y guy with product in his hair trying to look like their pimp, but there was a whole throng of people behind the counter that I’d never seen including three girls with big boobs pouring some kind of wine.

The lobby was filled with food vendors from throughout town: the Greek place, the place that comes and makes street tacos at people’s weddings and work parties, a couple pizza and wraps places …some joint giving out meatballs that I’d never heard of. There was some kind of gym anniversary thing going on and they were giving away things like scooters and tents.

There were even two local breweries pouring their beers into the kind of cups you rinse with at the dentist.

I waded through the crowd and some guy on the mic, who I assume is one of the trainers or whatever, was getting ready to raffle a barbecue set.

People were elbowing each other looking for their tickets. I always marvel at how quickly people lose half a raffle ticket, especially when attempting to balance food that makes a little grease spot on a tiny orange napkin.

I tried to make my way to the flatscreen to look at the score and got annoyed because I was betting the locker room would be safe haven from all this mess but then realized there were no TVs in the locker room. Like why am I paying $50/month to a club that can’t throw up a couple Vizios where I change?

Annoyed, I eventually swam upstream close enough to check the score. It was the top of the third and the Sox were up 5-0.

Game over.

Apparently Adam Wainwright got roughed up pretty early and the Cardinals had a chance in the fifth (I was actually in the pool by then) but that didn’t happen.

The pool area was empty except for this guy and this chick, probably early 20s and looked kind of like they met in a mall food court. They were monopolizing the hot tub like it was in their backyard and they were filming hook up selfies for him to post after they break up. He was pretty much groping her to the point where half her bottoms were almost off.

Their little public display reminded me of the part in Eurpoean Vacation where the Rusty nobody remembers (Jason Lively, thanks IMDB) was like “dad, I think he’s gonna pork her…”

They kept going at it which was weird because there were people gathering across the way on the patio pretending to eat the street tacos, but I think they were secretly looking over at this couple.

I kept laughing during my swim thinking about European Vacation. I was also distracted because I thought of the part where the German girl shows Rusty her boobs behind the pretzel stand and I think that’s the first time I saw movie boobs.

By the time I got out, the couple was gone. When I got back into the locker room, my buddy texted that it was 5-0 (old news) and that Tim McCarver was talking about how he’s retiring “for good” after this World Series.

I wrote back “I’ll drink to that…” and thought about going out and getting some mouthwash beer or a sip of big boob wine, but instead just headed out to go home and grab the last few innings.

When I got back home, I thought about texting my buddy back to say, “Wonder if they’re letting McCarver go because he never figured out Twitter” but the statute of limitations on a clever comeback had expired, so I let it go.

I watched part of Oceans 12, mostly to get to the end scene where they’re all playing poker together because I have some weird fantasy where I should be able to play poker with Brad Pitt and Bernie Mac and wear an expensive shirt. That ended and I checked my phone and it was the bottom of the 8th and 8-0 Red Sox and I’m sure everyone was all like hashtag beards, hashtag sweep, hashtag just like 2004 or whatever.

I didn’t want to be a part of all that, so instead I turned on House Hunters International where another boring couple who hates one another is moving to a foreign country (this time Australia) to end their pathetic, short marriage.

He wanted a “modern” house, she wanted a new Australian husband or a small dog or just …something different. They complained about houses that only had one bathroom a lot, which means one (or both) of them takes some evil deuces.

His name was Denis, with one ‘n’ so that’s creepy.

They picked the house he wanted, a cell-block looking thing near the beach, and she sort of grimaced; it’s never a good sign when the dude gets the house he wants, that just means he’s given up.

Cardinals got a garbage-time run in the top of the 9th and I’m sure that made Buck and McCarver happy for a minute. I couldn’t find the remote because I was sitting on it but once that problem got solved, I was late for bed.

Hashtag Joe Buck drinking game to be continued…

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