Sunday, August 29, 2010

Tebow! Tebow!

No. Really. Two Tebows.

Tebow! Tebow!! Tebows!!!

What are the odds of two dudes named Tebow (and wearing their jerseys at that) attending a Sky Sox game? We're glad they had a chance to relax before the big exhibition game against the Steelers. We hear it's going to be a long night of totin' clipboard(s) for him(s).

Twice the Tebows at the same low price! Yee! Haw!

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Just Like Ancient Rome

Clete Boyer #6 and Bob Uecker #9 in 1964.
Nice touch with the numbers gentlemen.

Paul P. #39 and Matt R. #40 in 2010.
39, 40, I don't get it.
A sports tradition, or a plague upon society? Discuss.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Tu-Lo! Stink-Eye!

Troy Tulowitzki shot me with a Stink Eye!  Why?!  What did I ever do to him?  Granted I was taking his picture, so if he comes from some primitive culture he could believe that in my photographing him I am stealing his soul, but I hear he's from California and it's weird there but not that weird.  Maybe he hates me?  Maybe he is jealous that I get to sit around taking photos while he has to run around and chase a ball?  Hell, I don't know, but what I do know is that I DON'T LIKE STINK EYES!  Knock it off or else there'll be some trouble for you!  Like a curse!  A gypsy curse on that pretty hair of yours!  How'd you like to be bald?  Or have a Skullet?  Thought so.  
 
I receive the Stink Eye from the Tu-Lo

The future beckons Troy.  The future beckons.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Real Life Mystery of the Urinal Deuce

What the? On the holiest of the holy, Dog Night at the ball yard, someone goes and drops a bomb into a urinal at the stadium (a big shout out to Marty G., who found the deuce and made the suggestion to photograph it. Urinal deuces can now officially be called Martys.). There are nothing but a bunch of savages in this town.

Hey. What's that in the urinal?
Oh my fuc*in' God!

Someone dropped a deuce in there!

First urinal as you walk in. Don't people have shame any more? Christ! If you are going to do this at least wander to the far end, out of sight of God and all his children, and plop it there. Fuc*in' bastards! I feel violated.