Sunday, June 26, 2005

Do You, um, Wahoo?

The Id and I - More fun than a barrel of journalists!

(Arf! Arf!) Email all your conspiracy theories and sizzling summertime recipes to:

I Zigged When I Shoud Have Zagged...

I'm still reeling from the aftermath of Ziglar's Follies. Someone mentioned to me that I missed "the king of comedy" - Jerry Lewis - and his motivational message to the masses last week. But you know what, all his humanitarian work aside, I chose not to watch them wheel out Mr. Lewis - in all his Jabba the Hutt glory - like some motivational Macy's Day parade muppet. I'll choose to remember Jerry Lewis from those cherished childhood films of my youth - and his brilliant performance in the celebrity-obsession-gone-mad movie of the same name ("The King of Comedy"). Other than that, I don't want to tarnish those memories before Jerry Lewis goes off to join Dean Martin in that "big variety show in the sky." Also, I'm not French.

The Cleveland Grand Prix for Dummies (tm): Or what's da Matta with you?

On Saturday, I ventured out under the Tuscan sun, and journeyed down to the qualifying matches of The Cleveland Grand Prix. I'll be honest: I don't like auto racing -at all. But there's something about the "roar by the shore" that just grabs you when you're down there in the pits.

To be honest, I don't know "Cristiano da Matta" from "Goggles Pizano" - but there's just something about those Jelly Belly-colored cars racing by on a hot day that reminds me of my old Mattel race track magically springing to life.

Anyways, I got down there with one clear "Sideways"-mission-like-statement in mind: "I am NOT drinking any f@#king Pabst Blue Ribbon!" The Id and I is normally a "NASCAR-FREE zone" - and I know racing fans like Pabst Blue Ribbon and cheering on their favorite drivers like they were wrestlers in the WWE - but I have certain "beer standards" I have set myself since graduating from the 9th grade, and not drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon is one of them. Quite frankly, I'd rather suck on a urinal cake.

Again, I know nothing about auto racing. So when some lady in the crowd asked me who I was pulling for, I responded: "Uh, the Tide car...?" Was there even a Tide car in this race? I'm not sure but, damn it, there should be!

I stayed long enough in the haze, the malaise, and the scorching summer heat to see the first auto wreck. When the announcer - uh, announced - that: "Folks, he's got some liquid he left on the race track..." I thought, huh, that must be the Larry Brown car, shrugged my shoulders, and called it a day at the races.

"These boots are made for walking. And that's just what they'll do. One of these days, these boots are gonna walk ...all ...over ...YOU."

So on Sunday, I decided to beat the heat and watch the Indians game on television. That is, until an old "blast from my past" called: my agent, Dave Stafford.

"What are you doing?" he asked, without giving me time to reply. "I've got two tickets to the Tribe-Reds game today - and you're going! We've got some celebrating to do!"

Celebrating??? Did I get published in McSweeney's? Did the fine folks at "Cold Pizza" finally come to their senses and decide to bring my good-natured needling of the psuedo-eldery gay gentlemen who discuss sports (not that there's anything wrong with that!) on board full time to spar and banter with them? Did the Scientology Corporation finally find me a suitable hot date - hopefully Jennifer Garner! - to boost my sagging "Q rating"???

Nah, it was none of that. Dave Stafford had a "hot new client" and he wanted to brag about it. "I'll meet you at The Great Lakes Brewing Co.," he stated. "Know where it's at...?"

"No, I'm not sure," I responded. "Does the local media ever run any stories on it...?"

I'm just joshing - of couse I've heard of it - it's a Cleveland institution - like Super Host or Dennis The Phantom Kucinich Menace. I haven't been there in a while, so I was wondering in parched anticipation what new brew they had on tap for the summer: Perhaps a Les Roberts' Languished Lager?

Dave Stafford wanted to take a tour of the brewery - but, hey, that's for tourists! And the last thing I need to see is Dorothy Fuldheim - and her wig -"fermenting" in a giant vat of hops and barley to become the latest, greatest Great Lakes ale "with a Cleveland twist."

I know it seems like all I take about is The Tribe in this blog, but I'm really enjoying their season this year. My boy - Ben Broussard - has been on fire as of late and Grady Sizemore is going to be "the next big thing" on this young Indians squad - very fast and very soon. And it was worth roasting out in the sun for three hours (and looking like Dr. Zoidberg by the end of the day) to watch these guys play with passion - and bring home a 4-3 win over the Cincinnati Reds!

And all those national journalistic jugheads be damned! Mike Lupica and his "sudden praise" for The Chicago White Sox opitimizes the sychophant mentality his profession breeds - "no ones going to stop The White Sox," he babbled on ESPN that Sunday morning. This was the same guy who said Ohio State "had no chance" against Miami - the year OSU won The National Championship!

Well, I'm going to say it just to spite Lupica and his journalistic lemmings: The White Sox are going to DERAIL the second-half of the year and it will be The Cleveland Indians who sweep in and win the feeble AL Central - count on it! (And, uh, if any of the fine folks at The Indians organization would like to send me an authentic Grady Sizemore jersey to, um, "reward my efforts" - well, gosh, that would sure be swell!)

NEXT ISSUE: In "Action Blog Comics # 46," Krypto McSuperdog saves Jimmy Olsen who has fallen down the journalism well.


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