Twerve Days of Baseball

Morgan:

This morning's exchange between bedmates Morgan and Biggie:
M: "How was I?"
B: "We were definitely spooning for half the night. It was impossible not to."

Overheard last night at a sidewalk ATM in Cincin-Nasti, as a particularly tight package wrapped in white pants walked by:
"Devo, get the ranch!"

Two young ladies were discussing the hit and run problems in Cincy after we had a close call in a crosswalk, and I suggested that the city slogan should be: "If They Drop, Don't Stop."

We're now on the long road to New York, with Cincy in the rearview and lots of highway in front of us. How was Cincy you ask? The Reds vs. the Devil Rays?? Are you wondering why we didn't just skip it and blog all night?? Well, we made the wise choice and attended. We made the even wiser choice to stay until the end, and the players at The Pretty Good American Ballpark treated us to a display of offensive fireworks we haven't seen (or smelled) since the HandiVan left Kansas City.


The (Not So) Great American Ballpark

Ed:

Game recap, or as Hot Knees refers to it, "the part of our blog that no one wants to read." (Funny, I always thought that the unpopular sections were when Devo delved into his profuse night-sweating bouts.) Our expectations were set pretty low last night with the Devil Rays in town, but as I said before, we are usually proven wrong... We were treated with a WIly (pronounced "Willy") Mo Pena bobblehead upon entrance (so far there had been 3 other giveaway days, but you had to be twerve or under to receive them), so we felt that good things could be on the way. And starting in the second, the fireworks began, quite literally, when Wily Mo crushed a bomb to center and the Pepsi Power Stacks erupted like Hot Knees after a particularly potent cup of chili.


Pepsi Power Stacks Pre-Eruption

Six and a half innings and 6 home runs later, we had upgraded to some nice third base line seats and the Reds were battling back, now down 9-8. A resurgent Griffey, Jr. (we've learned that the way he has stayed healthy this year is by never running -- ever -- during the game) tied it up with a seeing-eye single to right and as fate would have it, Mr. Bobblehead himself, Wily Mo came up in the bottom of the 9th with 2 outs. With 20,000 bobbleheads being waved around the stadium WMP crushed a pitch over the foul pole and onto a building beside and behind the Upper Deck (conservatively estimated at 428 ft.). The fireworks sparked for the last time, the bobbleheads bobbled, and Dr.-to-be Devon quickly dubbed Wily Mo the best player of all-time and offered me his .174 hitting second baseman to trade for WMP in our fantasy league. Nice try, Hot Knees.


Devo Cools Off His "Hot Knees"

Side Note: You can't find food in Cincinnati after 10PM. Eww.

The Artist Formerly Known as Hot Knees:

We didn't have any beers at the Great American Ballpark, since we were still recovering from Chicago, II. The beer prices were pretty standard - I think around 5.75 for 16 ounces. But the best deal by far was free 10 wings from Hooters any time the Reds score 10 or more runs. Unfortunately, the nearest Hooters is in Kentucky, across the Ohio River. By the time this girl who is a professional Irish Jigger told us where it was, we were almost back to our hotel, which was in the opposite direction. So we wandered around for awhile looking for a place to eat, and checking out all of the hot girls in tight pants headed to McFadden's for Wednesday night drink specials. We were way too bushed to join them, but if anyone is in Cincinnati and wants to see where the beautiful women of Cincy go to hang out, check out McFadden's. Actually, McFadden's in any city is pretty much a hot-spot.


Morgan has a Gance-Off with an Irish Jigger

Gross moment of the evening:
This old, drunk, homeless dude was crawling around on the sidewalk, struggling to get up. Of course, we walked right by him, but this other nice old man stopped to help him out. We saw this, felt bad and went over to help out. The drunk bastard had no chance of getting up, but we didn't realize this until we had already tried to help him up. Needless to say, the guy wreaked of his own piss and shit, and I felt like Ace Ventura after he figures out Einhorn is a man. It was pretty nasty...

I also found out that I have no ability to distinguish between 16 to 21 year olds in the Midwest and that the Midwest has more MILF's than anywhere I've ever been besides La Jolla, CA.