Oh my.
UPDATE: Now with working video.
Last night, as I watched the end of Game 3 of the World Series between the Tampa Bay Rays and Philadelphia Phillies, I found myself further rooting for Tampa Bay, and I might have realized why.
At first, it was easy to root for them – they were playing against the dreaded Boston Red Sox for the Pennant. Now grant it, there’s always going to be a special place at the top of my shit list for the New York Yankees, but Boston sure ain’t far behind. That’s because of all Boston teams (well, the Bruins are kind of like their Lions). They came close to winning three titles in the same year (the Sox and the Celtics did it), but the New York Giants stopped Brady’s Butt Pats in their tracks. (Thanks, Eli!)
I want Detroit to be the sports capital – I want at least two of the three great teams here to win in the same year at least once (I’ve written you off Lions, ‘natch). So as I watched the game, I thought I may have found a kindred spirit in Tampa Bay. It’s a do-over for the Detroit Tigers, with the Philadelphia Phillies standing in for the St. Louis Cardinals. They both made it to the World Series the after having recent last place seasons and they each beat the Big Bad Wolf in their way there (we knocked out the Yankees in the ALDS and swept the A’s in the ALCS!)
Then the next realization hit me like a foul ball (while eating a cheese pretzel) – the color scheme’s the same! Red vs. Blue. If the MLB brass had their druthers, their dream series of Boston vs. LA carried the same palette.
This got me wondering how often this happened in baseball… this Red vs. Blue pattern. Then I digressed and remembered this gem:
…Then, I digressed beyond that and thought of two films I recently watched within a 24-hour period that followed the same pattern. Enjoy!
(If you can’t watch this entire clip below, skip to 6:20 mark.)
My girlfriend is a professional night time parking lot cleaner. What this job entails exactly, I’m not sure (other than the obvious).
I’m unemployed, so I take care of her infant son (or is it ours?) who is about, oh, twelve-inches-tall-with-his-legs-curled-up old. He wears a one piece pajama suit the color of mint chocolate chip ice cream, minus the chocolate chips. He barely knows how to use any of his limbs, so it shocks me the day he asks me telepathically:
“Can I have I bite of that burger?”
At first, I look around. There’s no way the baby said something. Besides, do you know what it took for me to get this burger from Applebee’s Carside to Go without a car?
“Yeah, it’s me. I can speak with my mind.”
I looked the baby in the eyes, and he raised his eyebrows to prove it.
“Okay, so even though you may be able to speak in thoughts,” I told him, “you don’t have any teeth. Plus, I don’t think you do a good job digesting what you get as it is.”
“Try eating what I do, and see what happens to you,” he warned. “My gums are the toughest gums you’ll ever meet. Go on and stick out your finger. I’ll bite it clean off.”
I believed him, so I cut off a piece of the burger and fed it to him. He chewed with such delight that his smile made his eyes almost disappear behind chubby cheeks.
“Now let’s go get some chili cheese curly fries,” he suggested.
I chastised him. “Don’t think with your mouth full.” Then I got up and grabbed my coat and his blankets and carriage.
INGREDIENTS: Game 1 of the World Series… and two hours of Lego Batman: The Videogame
(CAVEAT LECTOR: For the sake of keeping the dream retelling from going completely off the deep end, I omitted the part where the baby just turned into a floating head.)
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