F.S. Player: Joe

Right before we took the pic, Nicole turned her to Joe, making me look like the creepy guy sidling in on the picture.

After making it to the train station somehow after my night in New Jersey, I entered the Big Apple. The city was awash in activity, and as such Joe decided that I needed the real New York experience, and took me out of the city to the Belmont Race track. There I made one and two dollar bets on horses I had no idea about, generally betting on the heavily favored horse, and on the last bet of the day did a one two combo or something (I don't know the track Jargon) and pulled a 54 dollar win out of a 3 dollar bet. This would have paid for two beers and a hot dog in New York City, but luckily I was with Joe, who knows a deal when he sees one. The particular deal this time was one located at the bar across from the train station in Belmont. Since we had 20 minutes before our train arrived, we decided to get a beer before going to the city. 5 hours and 4 trains later we were frantically finishing our umpteenth pitcher trying to make the last train of the night back into the city. Try as we might, we simply couldn't pull ourselves out of the AARP bar and our geriatric friends we made there.





My first night with Joe marked the beginning of a new trip within my quest. Previously I had been driving hours on end almost every day, eating food in the car, sleeping in the car or camping about half the time, and entertaining myself by doing battle with the budget. New York and Joe ended that. Between the price hike of the city, the abundance of friends I didn't want to turn down meeting simply because of money reasons, the relatively minimal amount of driving left, and multiple other et ceteras forced me to wave goodbye to the budget, and hello to debauchery. And Debauchery welcomed me with open arms.

F.S. Players: Jeff and Tricia

After living down the street from Jeff and Tricia while I was growing up, they decided that the wide open spaces of Texas were no match for the unrivaled beauty of New Jersey, and left Austin for their old home. Fast forward 13 years, and I am once again spending the night at Jeff's place, staying up too late, and making a general ass of myself. Replace our home frozen Dr. Pepper popsicles with Adult Beverages, a Garth Brooks Cassette Tape with my rockin' MP3 collection, and the Sega Genesis with Jeff's large collection of children's books (for teaching children--I'm told) and it was like nothing had changed. Unfortunately, earlier that day, a veritable perfect party storm had been concocted earlier that day consisting of

A) Jeff finishing his first year of working in a school
B) Me not really having any company to get redonkulous with in three weeks.
C) Jeff thinking he had lost his summer school tuition due to a registration mess up
D) A well stocked liquor cabinet
E) Having seen each other only once in the past 3 or 4 years.

So what all did this result in? The answer is that I threw all of the sound education I learned in college out the window, and mixed beer and liquor, liquor and me, and didn't stick to one specific drink the whole night.

"But Colin, that is really stupid!" You're saying.

Hey, if mixing dark beers with Scotch with Bourbon with Vodka with Saki with Probably Something Else is stupid, then I'm an idiot.



I'm an idiot.

F.S. Player: Kris

Kris actually seemed genuinely excited for me to be showing up to take advantage of her place for three days. Having just completed my week of solitude across the Great West, I was genuinely excited to have company, a shower, and a landscape that didn’t swish past me at 77 miles per hour. These two things added up to me being a huge wuss when it came to going out and experiencing the city. We did, however, make it to the beach, where the lovely Chicagoans entertained us and the entire shoreline with their loudly voiced personal stories and incredibly over-reactive abrasive parenting styles. It was like being on a Carnival Cruise in the middle of the Mid-West. Aside from that, the Rib Fest and the Blues Festival were both going on, but because of my malaise we didn’t make either—regrettably so with the Blues Fest. Instead Kris locked me into her apartment and made me do unthinkable things. Things that no man should talk about. Things that no man should admit to. Yet things everyman has caved into at a certain point in his life. It has been a while now, and I think it would be cathartic to tell you what she reduced me to that first night. Hours in front of the T.V., watching Elf, Grey’s Anatomy, and two episodes of Army Wives. Don’t worry though, I hated every minute of it, and thought of sports the entire time (except for when Addison was on Greys, then I was as focused as a man can be). The Lesson learned from the weekend? Don’t ever put your weakened mental state in the hands of a Psychology Grad student, she can warp and twist it into whatever she wants, and you’ll never see it coming.

F.S. Player: David

David, a university of Georgia grad now living in San Fran, offered me his place to stay while I was in San Fran even though he wouldn't be there the first night. When I arrived in his business apt., I noticed the bike, health bars, and workout gear all over the studio. Which was funny since my main memories of David were of playing trivia at Wing joints in Atlanta or a hazy run in with him in bars back when we were in Athens. When he returned the next day, he told me how he had been watching a program on the Ironman while still in school, and a piece on the Hoyt family inspired him--Inspired him to not do a marathon, or a mini triathlon, but the freaking Iron Man. Mind you, David was in his drinking prime at this time, but for some reason, come three months from now in Florida, with no triathlon experience of any kind under his belt, David will be competing in his first Triathlon. I'll probably be tailgating somewhere, dipping something fried into a bucket of ranch dressing. Want some inspiration yourself? Here's the people who did it for David.

F.S. Players: Berger and D

My two part stay in Los Angeles was hosted by the incomparable Berger and D. I've not used anyone's full name simply as polite online etiquette, but for these two, there may be legitimate concerns with associating with either of them. They are the type of people who, at age 27 or so, are continuing to make stories each weekend instead of sitting around with friends retelling old stories. Granted few, if any, of these stories are retellable in mixed company or in any sort of detail on this site, but let's delve as deep as my shuddering memory will allow me.

• My first meeting of Berger is him pulling up in Redondo Beach in a brand new 2007 Tahoe, taking me into a bar and drinking and telling stories like old friends. Conversations were only briefly punctuated by both our silence when the waitress would strut by. Berger has, by all good measure, had "relations" with her by now.


• D and Berger's drink of choice is Bacardi rum. During my stay there of almost a week and half, interrupted by five days, they put down three bottles of Bacardi. Berger was gone for almost half of those days. Good Job D.


• http://www.urbancougar.com/. This wasn't advice from either of the two. This was homework for me to be able to understand half the talk in most of the stories being bandied about.


• Speaking of the stories told, I'd prefer not to go into detail about the "christening" of the couch I slept on. Or the subsequent hundreds of re-christenings D performed during his six month tenure as The Guy on the Couch before actually moving in.


• Craigslist.com's Casual Encounters. This was Berger's advice, and I'm still amazed at, well. I'm amazed. I'm also terrified.


• My lasting impression of Berger: Him getting beat at NCAA football as SC by none other than The University of Georgia Bulldogs.


• My last impression of D: Walking around buck naked cupping his manhood. He says he looks like a bigger (Jeff Francoeur, the guy from Transporter, pretty much every celebrity that showed up on T.V.) I say he looks like a hairy, white, rated R Shrek.
  

You guys asked, and you receive. For the most fun, providing Angels Tickets, and continuing to perform at the level of a minor league farm system party animal, you are jointly awarded the F.S. Most Valuable Players, until by some unimaginable feat you are usurped. I don't believe anything short of outright felony and arrest would do it though, so congratulations.

F.S. Player: Dylann

For two nights I stayed in the hostel known as Dylann's apartment. The allure of San Diego, coupled with Dylann's own popularity and general enthusiasm about anything and everything, has made her a crash pad for multitudes of her friends over the past few months. I was supposedly the last of the latest crop of moochers taking up her couch (which was incredible), and couldn't have asked for a better host. She toured me through the various parts of La Jolla, downtown San Diego, followed by an accidental nap and subsequent sunburn at her pool.

Being in a position to tour the country and have friends to offer their couches to me is what has made this trip possible, but more importantly, it is has given the trip a greater perspective for me in my deliberations on greater questions than who is the starting pitcher for the next day's game. Dylann was refreshing in that she is one of the few people who knows what she wants in life and, in her words, isn't sacrificing the present for the future. I'm jealous of her for that--she knows where she wants to be, and what she wants to be doing, and has worked to make both of them attainable without forfeiting either. Plus, she was perfectly gung ho for anything I felt like doing, even if it was doing nothing by the pool and then cooking up my road trip gruel for dinner instead of touristing it out. I'd continue heap praises upon her, my favorite city, and my favorite ballpark to date, but the last thing the girl needs is an excuse for more people to take her up on her hospitality.

The seals, not otters, of San Diego. Eating, sleeping, swimming, and living in San Diego. Think I'm jealous? You're thinking right.

F.S. Player: Britt

How can I describe Britt's Farm System performance? The man had Fat Tire beer lined up in the fridge, a designated Mass Transportation route picked out to get us to and from the game and Downtown, and even went so far as to let me shack in his apartment two nights while he was out of town. Of course he was at the Nashville Steeplechase, sporting the traditional V-Neck t-shirt traditionally worn at horse races, so don't pity him.

F.S. Player: Betsy

(an older picture of Betsy and Myself, me with more hair, her with less engagement ring)

After the Marathon to Memphis Drive, I was lucky to have a place to crash. I walked into the tail end of Betsy's Cinco De Mayo Party/Dog's Birthday party. Cinco De Mayo is to the Afternoon what Christmas is to the Morning, there really isn't a different time that you can celebrate either one of them. If they should run longer, then all the merrier, but starting Christmas at night time? Cinco de Mayo in the morning? That's just crazy talk.

As it was I pulled up at the end of the party, post-Coronas, post-Taco Bell, post-Ceremonial viewing of Nacho Libre. No matter though, for there was still playing on the main screen in the house, the one and only Guitar Hero. Guitar Hero, for those not in the know, is the Greatest Video Game since Super Mario Cart. And most any true Guitar Hero partier will steal a line from pool players and swear that they are better once they've had a few beers. Not that it matters for in everyone's mind they are that Guitar Hero digitally rocking it out onstage. It definitely earns two thumbs up from this guy right here.

As for Betsy, between the drive for me and the Cinco de Mayo party for her, our conversations were brief, and uninteresting, so I won't bore you with her praise and adulations of how awesome I am, as I'm sure y'all already know that.

F.S. Player: Brad

A good friend from High School, Brad is funny. The kind of person who could speak for three days in T.V. and movie quotes, and not have it be annoying. The kind of person who Tivo's The Wonder Years. The kind of person who had two dogs named Bob and Sam, which fits into my theory of easily scoldable dog names, but against my rule of having your dog name indiscernible from a person's name. Leads to too much confusion for those not knowing why Bob pissed the floor the night before, or Sam was licking your face. Rather than go into a ton of minutiae about the man, I'm just going to throw in a couple quotes he dropped on me this visit.

At the ballgame: "If Dippin' Dots is still claiming to be the Ice Cream of the future like it was 15 years ago when I was buying it, when is it just going to be Ice Cream?"

While watching The Wonder Years: "Kevin's dad always was the most intimidating authoritarian figure when I was growing up. I kinda think he still is."

After I explained my belief that many women have their wedding and married lives planned out like the elaborate machine from Mouse Trap, and all they need is the ring to have the cage come down and trap you: "If that's true, then I must be the guy that does the back flip into the cup."

You're either the Mouse, or the man getting flipped. Either way you're gonna lose.

F.S. Player- Kelly

The Farm System, dedicated individuals enabling my Quest across the country.

Kelly is one of those women that when she tells you she loves baseball, might be dismissed at first. Giggly little blond girls who claim to love baseball often times turn out to be deceptive strumpets trying to manipulate themselves into the circle of guys and gain acceptance. These women generally have eating disorders and are overly animated at sporting events. These women also generally suck. Not so with Kelly, a true blue baseballer who has traveled to the College World Series in Omaha, and who by all accounts doesn't suck.

Awaiting my arrival at Kelly's apartment were two welcoming gifts. I won't tell you what she does for a living, but it involves little pay, littler children, and were I to do her job, a heavy disposition towards escapist pity drinking. As such, she made lemonade out of her lemons and presented me with a Mix Cd for my trip. Now, the last Mix CD someone made for me was totally rad, and chocked full of brand new hits from the likes of Sister Hazel, Blues Traveler, and some new guy named Dave Matthews. This Cd didn't disappoint, leading off with Alabama's Cheap Seats, my first "Song of the Trip," and early nomination for Ballparkquest theme song. If you don't remember the song then it is painfully obvious you didn't grow up in the South, and here's some lyrics to remind or teach you. The second present, a bon voyage card signed by all the kids in her class, except that apparently her 4 year olds haven't figured out how to do their signatures, so it looked more like an impressionistic artwork than anything legible.

The rest of the night has been pretty well documented-- the ice cold beer before hand with her great and great looking friends, a little baseball, and a little bar action afterwards. Alll in all, a great job by Kelly, great presents, and to top it all of she made me waffles in the morning, just like Donkey did for Shrek. Turns out the Killer B's never left Houston--Beer, Boobs, Baseball, Bars and Breakfast. What more could one man's quest ask for?

F.S. Player-Deedee

The Farm System, dedicated individuals enabling my Quest around the country.

Deedee, aka Grandma, aka Speedy. She may not be speediest anymore but she’s still the fastest in the race to win my heart, and the first farm system player to provide a place for yours truly. A top prospect, I was greeted by home boiled shrimp and lemon pie. That’s what Grandmothers are for, I figure, cooking goodies for their grandkids. She did enlighten me to a side of Baseball, and sports in general, that I hadn’t considered. As I told her about my trip, she launched off into multiple tangents about the Astros pitching woes, the Rockets spectacular victory the night before, and how they compare with the Texans as far as fan support. It struck me that in a retirement homes across America are legions of sweet little old ladies who knows more about their hometown teams that the hack sportswriters who cover them. And in some of them there is probably enough Old Timer’s wisdom to create a second Bill James-esque Revolution in the game. In honor of my first Farm System Superstar, and the hundreds of retirees across America cheering on the hometeam, here is some advice for today’s players.

The First Farm System Superstar: Grandma Deedee

1) Spit that Gum out, you look like a cow chewing cud. And hug the line on the pitcher’s changeup since the left handers against him tend to shoot it near the bag.
2) When am I going to get a grand child? And a five tool leadoff man who has a glove in the infield to shore up the top of the order?
3) Stand up straight! Your swing has been uppercutting against the slider because you’ve started slouching, which gives your head too much movement.
4) I made some bacon and used the grease to mix up my famous home-made gravy! The bacon grease is Clear, and the gravy is Creamy, but it’s the only kind of Clear and Cream a nice boy like you needs to put some meat on your bones.
5) I just love catching a good game, it gives me time to finish my crocheting and CATCH THE GOD D@#M BALL.!! Ohh, heavens to Betsy, pardon my language.