I am Y.P.R.'s Boring Logo
The Journal of Literary Satire | Hastilly Written & Sloppilly Edited

RSD | RSS I | RSS II | Atøm | Spanish

Support Submit
From the Y.P.aRchives Fun, Fickle Fiction (for Free!) Fact, Opinion, Essay, & Review Spectacular Features, Calendrical Happenings, Media Gadflies Poetry & Lyric Advice, How To, & Self-Help Listicles Semi-Frequent Columns Letter from the Editors Disquieting Modern Trends Interviews Interviews with Interviewers One-Question Interviews The Book Club Media Gadflies Calendrical Happenings Roasts Correspondence (Letters To and Letters From) Letters from Y.P.R. Letters to Y.P.R. Birthday Cards to Celebrities Pop Stars in Hotel Rooms Shreek of the Week of the Day Polish Facts: An Antidote to the Polish Joke The Y.P.aRt Gallery Illustrious Illustration Photography Photomontage Graphic Design Logo Gallery What's Up with That? Fuit Salad Nick's Guff Vermont Girl The M_methicist Daily Garfield Digest New & Noteworthy Contributors' Notes Et Cetera, Et Cetera, Et Cetera The Y.P.aRchives
Commons License
This journal is licensed under a Creative Commons License and powered by Movable Typo 4.01.
Y.P.R. & Co.

Tuesday, April 4, 2006

The Diary of One of the Baseball Cartoons on the PlayStation PSP Commercial for EA Sports' MLB ’06 After Attending Opening Day at Yankee Stadium

I was having a pretty good day today. Since the commercial came out, I got a bunch of offers to work some triple-A games in Omaha and Columbus. I’m sitting on the idea of moving out to the Midwest for a while, but a steady job is pretty appealing. They said I could have a couple of days to think about it, which is nice. It’s a pretty big decision. I was just sitting down to breakfast when the phone rings.

It’s Bobby, and he says, “What are you doing today?” I say nothing. He says, “How’d ya like to go to the Stadium and catch opening day?” I ask him if he’s bullshitting me and he says no. He just got a gig there and they laid a couple of tickets on him. Field level, first row beauties. I tell him I’ll take one of them off his hands, no sweat. He gives me the info of where to go to get the ticket, and I’m off.

I get to the stadium. They give me a little trouble on the way in. It’s bad enough they do all this equipment profiling, but just because I’m part-Arabian leather doesn’t me they gotta give me a problem every time I try to go anywhere. I found my seat pretty quickly and man, was it a good one. On the first-base side, right down next to the Yankee dugout. I swear, I could see Sheffield’s nose hair.

Meanwhile, they’re getting $8 for a beer there now. I got a little coin in my pocket these days, so it wasn’t a problem today, but damn if I’m spending $8 a beer every time I come here. From now on, I’ll unzip a couple of my stitches and stick a flash in there. Get myself a Coke and pour some Jack in there. They can’t still be selling RC Cola here, can they? I gotta make a note to check that next time. RC Cola is crap.

Also, there was this really pretty honey that Yogi Berra used to throw out the ceremonial first pitch. Boy, you shoulda seen the stitching on her. Tight, smooth. I never seen one like her. After a couple of minutes, I’m getting set to watch the Bombers start, and Berra ends up sitting next to me. He’s holding her right in his hand. So, I puff up my chest say, “Hey, my name’s Joe. What’s yours?”


So, I go, “Hey honey, I’m talking to you. What’s a ball gotta do to get your attention?”

She won’t even give me the time of day.

Finally, I go, “Look, you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I’m here to watch the game anyway. But at least to could acknowledge my presence.”

She still didn’t say anything! What a bitch.

Anyway, the rest of the game was fine. The Unit was awesome! He struck out like 8 guys. I feel great for the guy who got that job today. Unit was throwing heat. The bats barely even touched the ball. Man, do I hate A-Rod’s bat. What an arrogant jerk. He thinks just because he’s the guy that hits .300 every year and a bunch of homers, we’re supposed to fall at his knob. I just don’t buy it. He ain’t tough.

The train ride home was a little bit of a mess, too. The 4 train was running behind, so it took me an hour to get home, instead of 20 minutes, which is what it should be. After I rolled off there, I stopped at Joe’s to get a quick slice, and then I headed home to catch the re-air of The Sopranos, on account of I had to miss it yesterday because I had to go visit my mom.

At least, it was a good episode.

Geoff Wolinetz cannot be found on IMDb because the Hollywood community refuses to acknowledge the production of his seminal masterpiece Come What May, a gritty psychothriller starring a guy who kind of looks like Billy Baldwin and Erin Gray (formerly of "Silver Spoons"). If he were to be found on IMDb, his name would fall between "Geoff Witcher" and "Geoff Wood." In addition to his imaginary film career, Geoff also maintains an imaginary career as a baron of industry, is lead singer of the imaginary band Kick Ass, Falco, holds an imaginary Olympic gold medal and is an imaginary Pulitzer laureate in the field of journalism for his investigative piece on the albinos of Alaska.