How goes it, Natstown hooligans? I am finally back at the NQ Hunting Lodge after the Thanksgiving holiday and I am strapping in for perhaps what is the most bizarre time of the year. This is the time of the year where some absolutely weird dog named Eire the Wire wins the National Dog Show, then we have Black Friday which is just an annual American ritual of embarrassment and we follow it up with an equally shameful display that we call “The Winter Meetings.”
Yes, get yourself ready: we are a week away from the Winter Meetings where MLB owners, General Managers, players, baseball nerds, “Iwannabeinbaseball” wannabes, bloggers, all grades of degenerates and agents converge on some poor town or city to raise hell, empty bar inventories and tire out the escort services. Along the way, sometimes, they also pick up a deal, trade or player or two. This year they are in Dallas, Texas so you know there will be no survivors.
Pitching and center fielding are the big Nats concerns and it will be the second year in a row GM Mike Rizzo goes into the meetings with the same shopping list. I expect he will be desperate to shop and pick something up to prove he ain’t no sucka and he will, but I am not expecting a deal that will rock the foundations of the MLB– unless he somehow miraculously gets Albert Pujols, but it is going to take a lot of luck and gin to have Rizzo pull that off. Having 29 other baseball teams sucked into a black hole might help as well.
Nothing has been going on. Really, the only thing is Michael Morse is engaged and has engagement photos, some really nice ones too. I particularly like the one where they are about to make out on a set of baseball bleachers. Kind of reminds me of the times I had behind and under similar bleachers– like when I fell off them. Those steel bastards were always tricky to maneuver around and get comfortable.
Of course we could talk about how, apparently, the Nationals had a covert operation to seriously pursue first baseman Prince Fielder, but negotiations hit the fence with a “snag” and the Nats are seeking other options. Or we could talk on how the Pirates might be dumb enough to part with Andrew McCutchen and how Mike Rizzo needs to “jump all over dat ass” if true– but that would be cheating because this sort of news should really be saved for the monstrously, devilish drama that will play out in Dallas next week. It is like department stores playing Christmas music two weeks before Thanksgiving.
Instead here is what I did last night:
So in complete boredom of the season, Dr. W and myself went to the Mastodon show at the 9:30 Club on Sunday night. Above is a Brent Hinds from Mastodon photo taken by Dr. W. Freaking amazing. The opening band, Red Fang, was awesome. The Dillinger Escape Plan was there and sucked, but Mastodon came out for a 20 song set and just blew the roof off the place.
On top of it, we were front row and some girl had her tits pressed against my back for half the show because the crowd was trying to kill me and crush me against the stage barricade. That particular experience has finally convinced me that maybe pink bats and cleats in baseball aren’t such a bad thing after all.