Monday Evening Musing: Vegas Style

I did have some decent Pacific Northwest-related sports insight to offer here, but I'd be remiss if I didn't take this opportunity to congratulate one of the Wetland bloggers on his recent engagement, which I'm convinced he engineered just so he would have an excuse to spend a weekend gambling and otherwise debauching in Las Vegas. 

Here's to you, Matty Witt! You're life just ended! How does it feel to be spiritually and sexually dead, at least on the inside? Just kidding. Kind of. 

We'll talk more about that later, while drinking very strong whiskey and chain smoking cigarettes. But, for now, back to the bachelor party.  

By the way, Erika, if you're reading this, nothing crazy ever happens in Vegas despite what Bradley Cooper might have you believe. And if your boy blacks out from too many Jager bombs and blow and ends up accidentally marrying a hot but kind of smart escort working on her masters in exercise science at UNLV ($117) who just happens to love fantasy football, we'll definitely do our damnedest to get it annulled immediately. Well, okay, at least right after we eat something and drink beer in the pool to take the edge off our hangovers.   

Anyway, I'm voting for a high intensity sports weekend for the date, but not too intense that we'll get priced out of a decent hotel. My Vegas bachelor party fell on a decent weekend, almost exactly a year ago. 

It was the middle of the lop-sided but still entertaining (because Kobe got his ass handed to him) Celtics-Lakers finals, the European soccer championships were in its early, games-all-day stage, baseball was heating up and the Mariners were already mathematically eliminated from the playoffs. It was also the U.S. Open. More on that in a minute. 

Most of the weekend was a drunken blur. Here's another piece of advice: never spend more than two nights in Vegas. It's just not good for your health. By the third night, its a battle of attrition. 

There's only two ways the third night ends.  

One, guys come down with mysterious illnesses and coming up with incomprehensible excuses that sound something like "aaaaummmapuuusssy" for staying in the hotel room. 

Or two, guys go way too hard, forget to take into account the fact they haven't slept more than 4 hours combined the previous two nights and are purely running on the copious amounts of oxygen pumped into Vegas casinos, end up drinking too much too quickly, getting in a fight at the strip club because a stripper with three kids tried to charge you for a lap dance you didn't ask for and you flip out like Madonna at a Malawi adoption agent who tries to deny her a new baby and then finally vomiting outside of Fat Burger while your buddy fleeces your Fat Fries. 

Either way, it's not pretty. Two nights. That's it. No human being should ever attempt more than that. 

I'll remember a few things from last year's madness. And that's it. The rest you'll have to read in the book, which I will fictionalize so I can deny everything to my wife. Actually, let's just keep this sports related. 

1) My brother, who lives in Philly, put down $10 on the Phillies winning the series at 10-1 odds. Good call. Bad bet. 

2) The Mariners lost every game they played. Okay, I don't remember any of those M's results, I'm just assuming that was the case. 

3) On Monday, after three nights of heavy partying, my brother and I still had a whole day to kill. Luckily, one-legged Tiger had come back to tie big-assed Rocco Mediate in the Open, forcing an 18-hole playoff and giving us an entire morning of relaxing, easy to watch sports entertainment. 

Which led to this epiphany: If you've spent one too many nights partying way too hard and drinking way too much in 115-degree Vegas, golf is the absolute perfect sport for viewing consumption. I recommend it with a cold Coke and 7 Advils. 

This is why, whatever date we choose, may it fall on weekend where there's a major golf championship. And I don't even like to watch golf. Normally. 

I Blame Myself

People who know me know that I have a 5 run rule when I go to Mariner games. If the M's are leading or trailing by 5 runs after the 7th inning of the ballgame, I don't feel bad for taking off early. With the M's pathetic offense the past few years how could anyone blame me for trying to jet out early to beat traffic?

The rule has never let me down.

However, last Friday I disobeyed my own rule and it came back to bite me in the ass!!

Trailing 3-0 against the Diamondbacks in an otherwise forgettable game, I decided that I'd seen enough and coerced my friend to take off early after the M's hit in the bottom of the 7th. In fact, after being shut down 1-2-3 in the 7th I felt confident that the M's weren't going to do anything. They couldn't hit the entire game even against a crappy pitcher that was overpowering us with 89 mph fastballs. How many times have we seen this before? We were well on the way to another shutout.

To make matters worse Griffey (my favorite player) was not even playing. We had to watch Sweeney uncomfortably fidget with his batting gloves for 3 previous at bats that merited nothing in return but aggravation and discontent. Why was he playing over Griffey in the 4 hole anyway against a poopy right handed pitcher? I didn't know but it gave me even more validity to leave early. I can't remember a time when Griffey ever pinch hit and knew deep down that I wouldn't get a chance to see him bat.

I blame myself.

Talking to my friend the entire 15 minute walk back to the car I kept bitching about the M's lack of offense. How frustrated I was to watch another outstanding pitching performance go to waste...but when we got into the car and turned on the radio--it was another story all together.

There was a buzz on the radio with people cheering loudly. Apparently, Russ "The Muscle" just went deep to put the score at 3-1 and then the next batter followed with a base knock. One on nobody out. Niehaus (in top form) told us that Griffey was walking into the on deck circle. The crowd seemed ready to explode--Niehaus noting that the fans were giving Griffey a standing ovation at the time. I was ready to slap myself--my friend ready to slap me too. This was the moment we had been waiting for...a chance to see Griffey with the game on the line. A chance to recreate some of the 95 magic.

Niehaus even mentioned how the place would explode if Griffey went deep. Sure enough--he did. First pitch. "Swung on and belted..." Chills raced down my spine. Hairs on my arm began to stand up. The kid did it again. This would be a moment I could tell my kids and grandkids about someday.

Sadly, I was not there to see it. And for that reason I will never EVER disobey my rule again.

But it sure makes for one hell of a story.

I have no one to blame but myself.

Monday Morning Musing, June 22

Due to unscheduled technical difficulties (i.e. laziness), the full girth of MMM will not be available until later this evening. Here's a quick preview:

-HOW BOUT THEM MARINERS!!!!

-Intriguing Seahawk news and analysis from the past week.

-Why the NBA draft sucks now for Seattle sports fans.

-Original reporting from the Sounders game in New Jersey on Saturday.

Check back here around 7 p.m. pacific time for all the action.

Improbably Day for U.S. National Team

The U.S. Men's National Team in soccer pulled off the unthinkable today. They not only needed to beat Egypt by 3 + goals, a country that lost to a world class Brazil team by the slimmest of margins at 4-3, but the U.S. also needed Brazil to beat a very talented Italian National Team by 3 goals as well. Impossible right?

Not exactly! Charlie Davies started the scoring barrage for the U.S. in the 21st minute beating Egyptian goal keeper Essam El Hadary to a loose ball. However, with only one goal at half time beating the Egyptians by 3 was still looking bleak. It wasn't until the 63rd minute when the Americans realized they had a shot to pull it off! Landon Donovan diced through the Egyptian defense and hit Michael Bradley with a square pass that was drilled past a diving El Hadary for the second goal. That was followed 8 minutes later by a goal from Clint Dempsey to cap off the 3-0 win for the Americans.

Throughout the match, U.S. players were given updates on the Brazil game that was being played simultaneously. For most of the first half, U.S. players were told Brazil and Italy were tied 0-0. Things didn't look good for the Americans to advance. But suddenly in the 36th minute, Luis Fabiano scorched the Italian keeper for the first goal, and followed it up six minutes later with his second goal in the 42nd minute. Just like that the Americans chances were getting better. To make matters worse for the Italians, in the 44th minute they scored an own goal and Brazil was up 3-0 before the first half was over.

No one thought the U.S. had a chance to advance in the Confederations Cup after losing 3-1 to Italy and 3-0 to Brazil. Of course those outcomes were dramatically affected because of red cards in both games, leaving the Americans to play with only 10 men. To the non-soccer fan, playing 11 on 10 wouldn't seem to make much of a difference, but the advantage of a team playing a man up is almost insurmountable.

Nonetheless, the U.S. Men's Soccer Team advances to the semis in style. The celebration will be short lived though, with the hottest team in the World in Spain waiting to knock them off. Spain has rolled off 15 straight wins, a world record, and is unbeaten in their last 35 games. It'll be tough for the Americans to make the finals, but if today's unprobable win is any indication, anything is possible.