Boarded up Houses and the Big House

Flint. What to say. Flint is essentially comprised of three things: strip clubs, boarded up houses and boarded up strip clubs. With no offense intended towards the inhabitants of this once flourishing city, we can safely say that this is the worst city we’ve seen and would certainly toss its name into the conversation for worst city ever. We arrived as the sun set and soon discovered that being on the streets of this city was probably not the best idea. We stopped in at a convenience store that was seemingly the only place open in a 10-mile radius and asked where a good bar was. Thankfully, we were directed to a place that did not seem to be as bombed out as the rest of the city and we sipped some beers and watched a football game.

We made friends with our servers, gave them plenty of grief about their city (one of whom was from a suburb and was adamant that she was NOT from Flint) and ended up staying late. We bounced ideas off of them about where to stay, but didn’t make much progress. In reality we were hoping they would offer up a hunk of backyard, but the offer was not forthcoming and (surprisingly) Will wasn’t shameless enough to ask outright for some mooching (Todd was disappointed).

Ultimately, a typical course of action taken: driving around aimlessly looking for a reasonably safe place to sleep. Needless to say, such places are few and far between in a city with a 120% unemployment rate, so we headed out of town. After a few hours of driving through farmlands and unsuccessfully looking for a covert campsite, we broke the sacred law of Will… a hotel room was purchased. We’re not proud, but allow us to assure you it was necessary. We hadn’t showered in Toronto either so we were passed due. On a brighter note, Todd negotiated the room’s rate down to $50 from $90. A little Will had brushed off on him. At 5 a.m. rest was finally ours to be had… or so it seemed. As Todd enjoyed a bed for the first time in a few days, Will came to the realization that he had, once again, lost his wallet. No, this isn’t a typo; no this isn’t from a previous entry. Will had lost his wallet AGAIN. So, as Todd slept, Will drove around the farmlands outside of Flint, trying to retrace his footsteps and looked for his wallet. Todd was awoken by Will who returned to the room at about 9 a.m. having not succeeded in finding his wallet, and not getting any sleep. After an inquisition from Todd as to how in god’s name he had managed this feat yet again, we cleaned up and hit the road towards Detroit.

Billy, Todd’s cousin who we had gone to the White Sox game with, had managed to steal away for a few days and meet up with us in Detroit. An avid Notre Dame fan (no accounting for taste), Billy was joining us for the Tigers game in Detroit and the Notre Dame v. Michigan game in Ann Arbor. We know that it was extremely difficult for him to leave behind his job and family for a few days, but he did his crying before he left and put on a well-rehearsed façade of enjoying himself with us. We picked him up and headed to downtown Motown to get some lunch and kill some time before the baseball game. We weren’t adequately prepared for what we saw.

Upon arriving in what was once the industrial center of the country we immediately realized how bad things were. Abandoned buildings, boarded up windows, and a shockingly small number of people out and about. Even in the heart of the city, we could not believe how few people were out. The three of us, demonstrative of our overwhelming compassion, made several remarks about this and about our mutual intentions to move here. Good god, it really was a pitiful site. We drove around looking for a place to eat. Will asked a guy with luggage (clearly not a local) for a recommendation for some “authentic Detroit cuisine” and when he replied: “Hard Rock Café,” we could hardly hold back our laughter. We asked another guy, dressed as a pimp and his recommendation was a local casino around the corner with “great corn beef.” We opted not to eat in the building surrounded by barbed wire. Finally we came across a true local. When we asked about food, mentioning that we were visiting from out of town, the man’s response was: “What the hell are you doing in Detroit?!” We laughed, conceding that it was a just question, and explained our road trip. The man said that he “used to be from here” (whatever that means) and directed us towards a local eatery. Todd asked where a good place to kill some time was (noting that the area from which we had came was clearly not) and the man directed us towards a particular area. “Away from that, its just a bombed out warzone,” he said. He was right.

We once again relished in our Detroit interactions and headed to a bar. Around some beers, we shared laughs with Billy, updated him on our trip and geared up for a solid weekend of sports. Will even managed to get free playoff tickets to a WNBA game (they were being given away). We briefly pondered ending our trip then and there and devoting ourselves completely to following the WNBA playoffs. However, we resisted the temptation and remained devoted to the task at hand. After a beer we headed out to get some lunch. We strolled down to Greek town (recommended by the locals that were not living out of shopping carts) and to our surprise it was a rather cool area. We enjoyed some gyros, a beer and a waitress who was watching soap operas (and also gave Billy a free beer… he rubbed it in) and then headed back to make sure our car had not been towed/stolen. Granted, he/she that needs to steal the prizm probably needs it more than we do, but we are nonetheless devoted to our secret lover/automobile. All was well and we decided to hit another bar before the game. Along the way we met “Shorty” who was runnin’ a “business” in the area. We all assumed it involved a certain flammable rock, but as it turned out he was a sort of parking lot czar. Will tried to thank him for his insistence that he’d “look after” our car with the pre-mentioned WNBA tickets, but he assured us that they were in no short supply.

After bidding adieu to shorty, we headed down to a bar across from the ballpark. We had a beer and as the game approached, Will headed out to do some work. (Note: prior to leaving he decided to attempt to auction off our table at the bar, as it was rather packed. Ultimately it was unsuccessful, but indicative of the character of our beloved provider of tickets.)

Will acquired tickets (naturally) and Billy and Todd met up with him. Upon entering, we soon realized that the desolate city of Detroit makes up for its lack of prosperity with vigorously enforced ticket verification. After telling Billy so frequently about our abilities to acquire seats outside our price range, we hit a wall at the Tigers game. The ushers kicked us out of our seats three different times (the third time the usher mentioned that it was at least “the third time” we had been caught… Todd stated that it might have been the fourth and proceeded to walk by him in disgust). Billy, being of a more rational mind, noted that our disgust at this treatment was somewhat ridiculous being that we were sneaking into seats that weren’t ours and hadn’t paid for entry to begin with. He was right in principle, and yet so wrong in reality… we play by a different set of rules. Additionally, this is Detroit; they should be glad that anyone dared to enter their crumbling empire of a city and not act as though this is Yankee Stadium… disgraceful. But, again, I digress. Ultimately we settled on seats behind home plate and took in the game.

After a Detroit loss to the Blue Jays, we briefly took in the postgame fireworks and headed to our couchsurfing host (yes, we had convinced Billy, without effort, to be a part of the courchsurfing saga). We arrived at our host’s, chatted briefly and hit the hay. As the morning arose we cleaned up, listened to our host complain about her city and headed on our way to Ann Arbor for the Notre Dame v. Michigan football game.

We arrived in Ann Arbor, fought through the ridiculous traffic and found some parking. We tailgated for about an hour, chatted with our neighbors (who were from Chicago and when asking Billy where in the city he was from, they insisted he explain it by mentioning “which parish”… South Side Irish Catholicism at its finest). We got some beers in us, Billy took a few quiet minutes to pray for his Irish and we made our way towards The Big House. Just before leaving, Will bought some tickets for the two of us (Billy having already bought one for himself online, not fully understanding the nature of Business Will) for $30 a piece. Being that the tickets’ face value was $65 we figured that this was our best bet at one of the biggest college football games of the year, which was completely sold out. Todd was willing to settle for this, Will was not…

As we strolled to the stadium amidst the epic mass of yellow shirts (the game’s theme was “Maize Out:” Michigan’s colors being blue and maize yellow) Will continued to look for tickets. Billy was in awe and Todd was simply used to it. To everyone’s surprise, one of Will’s requests for “two” was answered. An elderly Wolverines fan said he had a couple for sale. Will began telling him about our story and about 30 seconds into the explanation a big grin came onto the man’s face and he handed the tickets over to Will. “Just take them,” he said. Beautiful, beautiful words. These tickets, dear readers, were no ordinary tickets, however. No, no, they were on the 50 yard line. Oh yes. Will had acquired tickets that could have reasonably been scalped for $100 a pop for nothing. But what about the other tickets? Not to worry; Will promptly sold those for face value. So yes, if you’re doing the Math, the two of us walked into the Big House for the biggest game of the season with two free tickets on the 50 and $70 in pocket. Legendary.

We walked onto the grounds of the largest stadium in the country and were in complete awe. As there was no possibility for the three of us to sneak into three seats open together, we had to split up. Billy was fine with this as he was already in the zone, hoping for an Irish victory. Our seats were incredible. 63 rows back from the field, dead center on the 50. Wow. As it turned out, the couple sitting next to us had previously sold our tickets to the guy who gave them to us for free. “How’d you get these tickets?” the man asked. “Some guy gave ‘em to us,” we replied. “Huh, these are my seats and I sold those tickets to him at face value… wonder why he gave ‘em away?” he said. “Yeah, well, never look a gift horse in the mouth,” we replied. “Good enough for me!” our neighbor said. Our luck is border-line disgusting.

The game was absolutely incredible. We both agreed that this was one of the most incredible sporting events that either of has had attended. The crowd was a capacity 110,257 large and every single one of them (including us) was screaming the entire time. Unbelievable. As the teams rolled out onto the field the stadium shook. The two giant marching bands blared their respective fight songs and the stadium (which housed enough people to comprise 1/10^th of the state of Montana’s population) pulsated; it was utterly incredible. The game was amazing. A total shoot out which came down to the wire. As Will told our new friend in the stands “It was worth every penny we spent.” Michigan marched down the field and scored a go-ahead touchdown with 11 ticks left on the clock. It was total pandemonium.

We departed the stadium amidst the still screaming fans, met up with Billy (who was, needless to say, none to pleased with the game’s outcome) and made our way to the car in a state of complete awe at what we had just witnessed. There is nothing like the passion you see at these big time college football games (even if both teams haven’t been good for 100 years, to quote our LSU devotee friend).

We hit the road back to Chicago, opting to get a little start on the long leg of travel we had before us. We had only three driving days to get from the Windy City to San Diego so a little less distance on top of that would help. We drove through the night and arrived at Billy’s at about 1 a.m. We immediately crashed.

Todd was awoken by Billy’s son Burke who told him all about his recent trip to Bozeman. Upon hearing that he had gone to the Pickle Barrel (a local eatery of note in Bozeman), Todd was filled with pride and a little jealousy. We had some coffee, briefly chatted with Billy, his wife Maggie and Burke, but eventually had to heed the call of the road. Bidding Billy adieu (and naturally mentioning that he had a job to get back too… he wasn’t too impressed with our humor) we began the long hall towards Oklahoma City. Yes, Todd was about to willingly re-enter this city… he’s not a quick learner.

We drove ALL day through the heartland, saw lots of cornfields and finally arrived in OKC after dark. Our friend Jake (whose wedding we recently attended) awaited us and we stayed up with him telling him about our trials and tribulations over some beers and cigars. Life was good. We got some much needed sleep and once again hit the road early in the morning. Our next destination was Flagstaff, AZ so we had another 12 hour day of driving ahead of us; good god.

The drive was quite interesting. The bulk of Oklahoma, Northern Texas and New Mexico was nothing to write home about. However, once we neared the boarder of Arizona the land became very beautiful. We finally arrived at our destination and were greeted by our host, Kris Hawkinson, a friend from Bozeman High and the University of Montana. The three of us strolled briefly around downtown Flagstaff, which seemed very cool and got a few drinks at a local watering hole. We told her about our trip and she told us about what she’d been up to and had a good time. We headed back and again gratefully took some rest.

The next day we were off to San Diego and headed out after getting some great Mexican food for breakfast. We once again drove for several hours through some extremely scenic country and finally arrived in Southern California. En route Will had discovered that his Uncle Guy was in San Diego for a business conference and was gracious enough to invite us to stay with him. We had no idea what was in store for us. More to come…

Todd & Will

Crab Legs and Crackerjacks, & a Born Again Christian

The unstated rule is if the hours are early, Will is behind the wheel. He gets a sick joy from waking up when others are out cold just to see what the day has in store. Todd, on the other hand, needs a few “quiet moments”, which generally means sunglasses on and a cup of coffee in hand; he is typically very volatile at these times. Thus, we departed before the sun popped over the horizon, Will had his foot on the pedal heading to the land of steel and union labor, Pittsburgh.

By the time we got there it was evident that the rain gear, which had been deep at the bottom of our respective duffel bags, was going to be a necessity. It was only a matter of time before we got a serious scare from Mother Nature, wasn’t it? Will went to work right away, meanwhile Todd rubbed elbows with the Yinzers (the local term for the inhabitants of Pittsburgh) at a bar across the street from PNC Park and managed to pull a Will Holmes Special: acquiring a free beer. Shortly before the game, the gratis tickets were found and we entered the beautiful complex. First, Todd called his girlfriend’s aunt’s husband (I guess that would make him her uncle…), Mike, and their son, Michael, who were already in the stadium and wanted to be a part of our traveling show. The pouring rain became too much and we decided to sit underneath the overhang for the majority of the ballgame. The Pirates, who got drilled by the Cubs, were horrible. But even dumpster fire organizations make history. The game officially guaranteed a losing season for the club, thei17th straight, which is a North American professional sports record. We were a part of history! When a team is this bad, you need something else to pass the time. Will thankfully brought in the ice bag full of leftover crab legs. They tasted just as good as the night before, yet Todd managed to seriously gash his finger. Evidently he intended our row, much like the field, to be covered in blood.

Note: As we write, Todd is talking live on the air with Chris “Mad Dog” Russo about the road trip. Predictably “The Dog” asked about our favorite park so far, Todd told him Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City was the most underappreciated and that the Midwest fans in places like Milwaukee are the most friendly. Russo did however give Todd some pushback on his analysis of the Dallas Cowboys yesterday. Still, it was quite the thrill, considering the program is a mainstay on our satellite radio dial for five hours each day.

After the game, we headed 20 miles or so out of town to Gibsonia for a quiet, relaxing evening at Mike and Kathy’s (the aunt). Dinner was a combination of sandwiches from a famous local deli (they had french fries inside of them… an odd but successful marriage) and chicken grilled at the house. Considering what we put in our bodies most days, this was like a gift from the heavens. After we were sufficiently comfortable, Mike suggested we play some pool against him and Thomas, their younger son. Bad decision as we got our clocks cleaned and never won. Surely, our substandard performance was the result of Prizm Elbow and not our lack of talent.

The next morning, we unfortunately had to say goodbye to our fabulous hosts and headed up to Buffalo to have lunch with May’s grandfather, Fran. He is really solid man who had us laughing from the outset. We agreed that it would be a shame to visit Buffalo without a meal of wings. Fran recommended a local favorite, Duff’s, which was delicious. Fran and Will played it pretty cautious in terms of spiciness, while Todd decided he had to try a single “death” wing. He managed one bite before it proved too much. Oh if only the camera was handy for a picture of him guzzling all the liquids at his disposal.

On our way out of town, Will insisted on doing a walk down memory lane at Wegman’s. While it was the location that fed him throughout his time at Syracuse, it was good enough. He bought a souvenir two liter bottle of cola, which he has been rationing ever since.

Next it was across the border into our North American brother to the north for a game in Toronto. Our couch surfing requests had gone unanswered so we spent a good part of the drive reliving the schemes brainstormed in Miami. Could there possibly be a concourse at the Rogers Centre (we like our spelling better) that could provide refuge? Like it or not, we were soon faced with the decision to attempt it. Though, there was a baseball game to watch there first. Same story, just different day. Will kept the streak arrived with free tickets, this time from a businessman outside the stadium who was trying to hawk his corporate seats. Will told “the story” and he elected to contribute. The game was a dud. Minnesota’s best player, Joe Mauer, had an off day and it was actually the lively chants from upper deck that proved the most entertaining (and of course sneaking down to 3rd row seating).

After the game, we had some beers in a back alley and contemplated our options. One possibility was the trash heap that contained a box spring. The light in our head’s flickered but we weren’t drunk enough to pull the trigger. Other ideas were scaling an apartment building and sleeping one of the units’ balconies, along with hoping a gate into a private courtyard. The problem with the first was our fear of heights; the problem with the second was the closed circuit camera that was starring us in the face. Finally, we crammed back in the car, searching for a quiet alley where we could grab a few hours of rest inside the Prizm. Will, who can fall asleep whenever he pleases if the vehicle is in motion, of course dozed off only to be awoken an hour later when Todd came to a dead end in posh neighborhood. Seeing a small patch of trees next to a chain link fence, we figured the spot was as good as it would get. We had just laid down our sleeping pads and began crawling into our sleeping bags when disaster struck. Just our luck, the sprinklers came on.
Our hysterical laughter and the slamming of the trunk must have woken up the residents of the neighborhood. Yet, the unforgettable scene of us loading our slightly damp possessions and gasping for air was priceless.

So now it is Will’s turn to look super sketchy driving the streets of Toronto. With a change of driver, also comes a change of method. Todd falls asleep and Will begins the drive north believing that getting away from the urban center is in our best interest. Ten minutes later, but still technically in the city, Will pulls off highway, and miraculously comes across a “conservation area”. Seeing no gate and no signs explaining otherwise, Will woke Todd for affirmation that the area is a satisfactory place to rest our heads. Todd agrees, the car is parked and we set out into what amounted to a wild lands area with our tarp, sleeping bags and pads. After trekking up a trail for five minutes and coming across what was either a duck or possibly an alligator, we found a flat spot, spread the tarp, laid out the pads and jumped in our sleeping bags. It is 5:00am and the sun will be up in a few hours. As a sign of our exhaustion and despite it being bright sunny morning with only a few tree branches providing shade, we slept until 11:00am. Still we agreed it was one of the better rests we had yet.

After unsuccessfully trying to get wireless over a cup of coffee, we set the GPS for the public library. We once again sent out a few additional couch surfing requests for Toronto and a couple others for Detroit our next stop of the journey. After a few hours spent randomly surfing the Internet, brushing our teeth in the bathroom and surfing even more Internet, no one had responded with good news about that night in Toronto but thankfully we did arrange for a spot in the Motor City. Then again, we kind of already found our “sanctuary”. And just to keep our consciences clean, we elected not to look into whether or not another stay was lawful.

After utilizing the library/washroom we got our hands on some all-you-can-eat sushi, which was terrific. We drove around the city, which is very cool, parked the car and strolled towards the stadium, as we had elected to take in another Jays game. After drinking a few beers in a courtyard within the financial district (this is Canada after all, we believe you can be ticketed for not drinking beer in public) we arrived at the park and acquired tickets, this time from a group of Bible College students. Apparently, to quote Elwood and Jake Blues, we were on a mission from God.

The game was even emptier this time around. In fact, it was the least attended game at the Rogers Centre EVER. However, that did not prevent us from utterly enjoying ourselves. As we entered the park we heard someone in right field yelling at the players. Our curiosity couldn’t be staved, so we decided to pursue the fan. We sat next to a guy who we’ve determined is the greatest sports fan ever. He yelled “Hi” to every single player on the Jays, all of the ushers and even the batboys. When we say yelled, we mean yelled. And in a park that has about 38 fans within it, all the players all heard him. What stunned us was that they responded! We soon found out that this guy, Andrew, comes to every single game and has for a number of years. He’s known to everyone on the team, and is friends with Kevin Millar. He had acquired a bat from Delmon Young (a player for the opposing team) before the game started, a bag of sunflower seeds, a hat and a ball from the Twins’ bullpen and got Joe Nathan to autograph said ball. Vernon Wells had even left Andrew tickets at the gate. Todd had officially found the only other person that could compete with Will as the best travel companion ever. Andrew talked with the bullpen the entire game and during the 5th inning when he yelled “Hi Kevin Millar” at the top of his lungs, Kevin took his hat off and waved back. Like we said, best fan ever. Andrew’s friend Neil was with him and was super cool. We’re convinced that Canadians breed a special kind of politeness up there. Neil told us that Andrew does this at every game and has a countless supply of souvenirs. Autographs from all the greats, bats, jerseys, balls, hats and even gloves. He explained that most of the opposing bullpen pitchers were just excited that someone knew their names. Andrew had even gone out to lunch with the entire Baltimore Oriels team. After another dull game (despite Halliday being on the mound for Toronto) we left the park with smiles on our faces and in complete awe of our new friends.

Our exit also meant we were off to our secret garden to the north. It was the same drill as the previous night: park, walk the trail, make our beds and laugh ourselves to sleep. The idea was to sleep once again but we evidently went to the well one too many times. At 6am, Will awoke to flip his pillow from the morning dew but noticed a sound coming closer. He nudged Todd and whispered the most memorable words of the trip so far, “We’ve been discovered.” Ok, stay calm. Nothing we could do. The following is what transpired:

Voice but can’t see who it is: “You guys sleep here? You guys sleep heeeerrreeee?”
Will: “Yeah, well not all the time. But we did last night? We are on a road trip around the U.S. and Canada and decided to camp.”
Female, about 50 years old, appears with a huge walking stick: “I made this area so I could meditate in the mornings and you guys are sleeping here.”
Will: “Well don’t mind us.”
(Todd sits up and looks around exhibiting one of those “Is this really happening?” faces)
Todd: This is a really nice place and I can see why you like coming here.
Female starts talking in a stream of conciseness for what seemed like forever: “I am Alice and you need to watch out for the snakes, the government puts them here. My friend told me a secret that they would like to get rid of a group of people. I am a Born Again Christian and he wouldn’t tell me which group but it could be short, stocky people or a half-native people like me.
Will: They tried that once and it didn’t prove too effective so I don’t think you have to worry about it.
Female, as if she wasn’t interested in conversing but just spouting her nonsense without a beat: You guys are so lucky to be doing this. I was married once and I didn’t like it because I couldn’t do anything I wanted.

(Todd at this point is clinging to hope that she was going to eventually leave. Will, on the other hand, wisely knew the game was over and begins packing. Noticing Todd is in denial, he hits him with an elbow and goes, “What the hell is taking you so long?”)

Women, aware that Will is freaked out: Don’t worry about me. I am not going to hurt you.

(This only compounds her sketchiness.)

She continues, and continues and continues. Among her requests was to sleep with us there that night. Will immediately tells her we are going to Montreal, which happens to be the complete opposite direction we are planning to go. Todd finally finishes packing and looks for exits from the verbal rape. Finally, he just interrupts and says we have to go. We speed walk down the trail in absolute silence. When we get to a switchback eye contact is made and we simultaneously exclaim, “Duuuuude.” Then we burst out laughing and ran towards the car.

But there still remained the Delta Force-like effort of leaving the area without crossing paths with anyone else. Todd grabbed the car and started doing sign language to directed where to load everything. Will ran to the spot while Todd opened the door to the backseat. Will deposited and jumped into the passenger side.

In between laughs, howls and screams of celebration about still having a pulse, it was decided that getting back our homeland was probably in our best interest. After a fruitless search over a coffee for camping in Northern Michigan, we headed for the border. Just before crossing, we took full advantage of the Duty Free Store. We are always trying to take advantage of a deal. The agents asked their usual thought provoking questions and within a couple minutes were back on familiar soil.

We immediately basked in the privilege of filling up the gas tank without the fear of it costing us a limb. Next we went to a campsite, only to be told it was going to be roughly the cost of a hotel room to camp. I’m sorry folks, when you’re from Montucky you don’t pay to camp. We ultimately decided to try our luck in Flint, MI for the night. This was a poor decision. More to come…

Todd & Will

Toll Roads, Sidewalks and Feedbags

Having successfully survived Philly, we decided to further boost the economy of the Northeast and drive the toll roads back to NYC. We attempted to bypass this legally mandated theft and asked Barbara (our GPS) to get us to NYC without going through any tolls. It took her about 20 minutes to calculate this route. It had us briefly dipping into Canada, Syracuse and Utica. It also had us arriving in NYC at about 5:30 am. We opted to pay our way.

We drove through New Jersey once more, Todd dying inside a little along the way, drove through the Lincoln Tunnel and arrived in the city. Upon arriving in Manhattan, Will’s driving added about 2 hours of travel time to our destination (the bus stop where Katie was catching her bus back to Boston). At one point we managed to get our car into Penn Station’s bus depot, the largest one in New York. Needless to say there were some white knuckles.

We managed to get Katie to the station, said goodbye and the two of us headed towards Brooklyn. We parked the car (we’d be ticketed again) and hopped on the train. Before hitting the game, Will recommended that we head to an old watering hole of his in Manhattan. We did, and liberally took advantage of the establishment’s free hot wings. We each paid $4 for a beer, and $0 for what we believe came out to about 47 hot wings; $4 has never gone further in this city.

We hopped back on the train and en route, Will explained that Citi Field was located in chop-shop central. This observation proved quite accurate. To the left of the station in Queens is an exceptionally expensive baseball field, to the right are the tennis courts that host to the U.S. Open and straight ahead are about 13 chop-shops in crumbling garages. Good stuff.

Will scored tickets, naturally, and was nearly shived by a scalper after giving away some extra tickets he had acquired to a group that the scalper hoped to sell to (yes this sentence ended with a preposition, you get what you pay for at UM). Thankfully we entered the park kidneys intact.

Citi Field was beautiful and we procured seats closer to the field than ever before. We literally were inches away from the third baseman. We took in a true battle of a game, as the Mets and Cubs slugged it out over who was more of a disappointment this season. The Amazins managed to get the W and the loyal crowd was happy for it.

We hoped on the train and headed out of Queens and back to Brooklyn. We met up with Henry and Shannon at Union Hall (after, of course, drinking some tall boys on a stoop down the street before entering… cost effectiveness is a necessity). We had a blast, played some bocce, and closed the place down at 4 a.m. On the way back to our hosts’, Will and Henry got an argument over who could best procure a discounted fare from the cabbie. By “argument” I do NOT mean a friendly exchange of jests regarding whose better at something. No, the discussion these two had sounded more like the British House of Commons, without the appeal of the accents and tweed suits. I’m not sure who one said debate, but let’s be honest, Henry was talking to a man that is to thrift what Mohammed Ali is to boxing.

At this point, Todd’s natural grace became evident. While walking down the sidewalk (always a potential hazard for him), he turned to chat with a group several paces behind him. While doing so, he managed to trip, fall and incur two scuffed knees, a legitimately deep laceration on his shin, two scuffed elbows and a scuffed palm: New York City sidewalks 1, Todd 0. Shannon nursed him back to health up in the apartment and even provided him with a Sponge Bob band-aid for his toe. This may have emasculated some, but Todd kept his manliness in tact in between bouts of sobbing. The remaining wounds were too big for a Sponge Bob band-aid, so Shannon used here field-nurse tactics and provided bandages made from gauze and duct tape. Good stuff. We closed out the night with yet another bout of drinking Jenga and finally punched our tickets at about 5:30. This city does not encourage sleep.

As morning arrived (far, far too quickly) we said our goodbyes and headed down towards Baltimore, where we would be staying with our friend from BHS and UM, Josh Mosby and his girlfriend Erica who goes to school in the city. (FYI, we have just been passed by a middle-aged couple in a Saturn who are involved in some “nefarious” activities… yes sir.) But I digress.)

Our drive behind us, we were greeted by Josh and Erica and then headed out to the National’s game in D.C. and caught up along the way. Still recovering from New York, we both fell a sleep on the subway and put a little more fuel in the tanks. The park was cool and while Will applied his trade (brown sack of peanuts en tow, which was referred to by Josh as his “feed bag”) Todd, Erica and Josh had a beer. Will, once again, exceeded expectations and acquired a $189 all-you-can-eat ticket. Unreal. The all-you-can-eat box was ridiculous. It wasn’t buffet style, rather, you were seated a table complete with white linen clothes. Will put the feed bag into play and brought everyone back some goodies.

The Nats lost, of course, to the Marlins and we headed out. We caught a train to DuPont Circle and had some unbelievably good empanadas at a joint familiar to our hosts. We hopped back on the train and headed back to Josh and Erica’s. We chatted for a bit and hit the sack, the two of us in desperate need of sleep.

The next morning we cleaned up and headed up to Baltimore for the Orioles game. We stopped at a Korean grocery store for lunch, which was absurdly good. Will, so overjoyed to get his hands on some sushi, through in a lip full of ginger to celebrate. We arrived at Camden and Will promptly acquired tickets. He also continued in his quest to offset every possible expense. He bought 4 tickets for $30, literally walked about a hundred feet away and promptly sold them to a scalper for $75. Ridiculous. The art of his salesmanship was in full display as he went back and forth with this guy over a dollar: “74 man,” “No, 75,” and so forth. Ultimately he was given $74.97. Josh stood in awe and all Todd could say was “you get used to it.”

We entered Camden in the black once again and took in the beauty of the famous park. The O’s took on the Rangers and took the win. We had great seats once again and heckled the Oriels’ closer Kam Mikilio (a native of Belgrade, MT), yelling things such as “Jackrabbit lane!” (A road in Belgrade) and “Panther pride” (the high school mascot) at him. Belgrade has an inferiority complex with Bozeman, so we felt obliged to continue to justify it. He heard, he heard.

We left the game and strolled around Baltimore’s inner harbor, which is a very cool area. We had a brew at the ESPN Zone, chatted with a couple there (who bought Will a beer) and decided that dinner was calling our name. We headed out and insisted that Josh take us through West Baltimore. Wow. The image we had of this place based upon its depiction in HBO’s The Wire proved to be very accurate. Scary, scary, scary. We decided not to dwell and gave up on the plan to do some real estate speculation. Instead, we headed back to Josh’s, picked up Erica and headed out for some Blue Crab.

The crab feast was ridiculous. We were seated and atop a large sheet of butcher’s paper were poured out a couple dozen crabs. One of the primary utensils used in the process of obtaining the meat is a large wooden mallet, so needless to say it was awesome. Will quipped that there were “no manners on crab night” as the process leaves you covered in Old Bay seasoning; sage words indeed.

We headed back to our hosts’ house and relaxed in our food coma. Will had acquired all of the leftovers and placed them into another feedbag that would be brought to the Pirates game the following day. We relaxed and watched some bull riding on TV, none of us fully aware of the rules. However, I can safely say we knew enough to root against the filthy Australians. We chatted for a while and eventually hit the sack. More to come…

Todd & Will

Beach Wresting, “Little C,” and a Philly-Chee

Okay, okay, okay. We get it. No need to further berate us with threatening phone calls. For once and for all, we’d like to issue the following statement: We are sorry to all of you poor working saps, who live vicariously through our debauchery, for our lack of diligence towards the blog. It’s inexcusable. We’d feel the same way if the rolls are ever reversed once our lives cease to be a fantasy land. We’re sorry. That being said, get a life. Drum roll please….

We left the land of oranges and geriatrics and headed up the coast. Our next game was in NYC, so a long haul was ahead of us. We picked Zack up after leaving Land Shark and hit the road for Charleston S.C. (our next destination). We drove through the night, being too cheap to pay for a hotel, and arrived in Savannah at sunrise. We took a break from driving and in a half-asleep stupor we roamed the riverside streets of the beautiful Georgian city. We stopped in for breakfast at a local joint and noticed that the prices were apparently targeted towards the Saudi royal family. As a result, Todd’s breakfast was coffee, Will had lemonade (which included one complementary refill for only $2.75!) and Zack had grits. The waitress wasn’t overly impressed… neither were we.

Shortly thereafter we headed out and arrived in Charleston. We couldn’t get a hold of Anne Marie and our sure-bet in Charleston began to look like Miami all over again. We strolled around the city to take our minds off of the fear of paying to sleep and took in some sights. We walked around the College of Charleston’s campus (naturally acquiring some free internet at the institute’s library) and checked around a famous market (the name escapes us), which originally served as the quarters for newly arrived slaves. The city was beautiful and we all agreed it’d be a great place to live.

Feeling sufficiently cultured and even more sufficiently symptomatic of heat stroke, we decided to hit the beach. Having still not heard from Anne Marie, our plan was to swim for a bit and then head to Charlotte (where a friend of Will’s resides). As we approached the beach, however, our hostess called and the grey clouds parted. Anne Marie, whose house is literally ON the beach, warmly welcomed us with hugs and all the southern hospitality you could shake a stick at. We briefly caught up, shared with her our relief to be there and cracked a beer. Anne Marie had to work, so she headed out, telling us to meet her at the bar (her place of employment) and we headed to the beach. This contrast of obligations between our hosts and us has typified our trip.

We soaked up the sun on Folly Beach, swam, tossed the football and enjoyed ourselves as thoroughly as possible. We were even fortunate enough to spy some treasure hunters with metal detectors. Will suggested we bury pennies over the next few hundred yards to throw them off, but unfortunately we lacked the necessary means to do so. We headed back to Anne Marie’s, washed up and headed down to her bar. We ate and chatted with her friends and then headed out. We sipped some drinks at another bar in lounge chairs on the beach and waited for Anne Marie to get off of work.

Anne Marie arrived shortly thereafter and the evening took a dramatic turn for the insane. We walked further down the beach, acquired some beers and sat down in the sand to waste away the evening. We discovered that beneath her sweet and polite exterior lurked within Anne Marie a frat boy during rush week (you can take the girl out of Montana, but not the Montana out of the girl). We spent our time wrestling in the sand, shot gunning beers (entirely at her insistence) and even managed to sneak in some conversation. We met up with some of her friends and headed back to the bars. We had a few for a bit and walked “home” for the night.

We took our leave in the morning and said goodbye to our gracious hostess. The entirety of the day was spent driving to Washington D.C., where Will’s cousin Harrison’s house served as our next hotel. The drive was relatively uneventful, highlighted by the 150 billboards every mile or so for “South of the Border”, a combination of amusement park and Mexican restaurant. After much discussion about the necessity of stopping there “just because”, we became concerned that Zack may follow through on his threat to take the “long dive” from the humungous sombrero high above the property as a method to ending the misery of being crammed in the back of the Prizm. Two sources of pleasure did occur though. First, a trip to Bojangles Chicken and Biscuits (Dixie baby) and then some dinner at Costco, where Zack eat 2.75 pounds of pasta salad. We arrived at Harrison’s, chatted with him (Todd taking part in a fantasy football draft… it’s football season!!!!) and hit the sack.

We headed out in the morning for NYC, paying something like $293 in tolls along the way. This particularly upset Zack; questioning why the most expensive roads in the world are also the most poorly maintained… we didn’t have an answer. Todd’s sacred oath to never enter the state of New Jersey was broken, but thankfully his teary eyes did not jeopardize our driving, as Will was behind the wheel. We entered Manhattan, got some food and Will got his haircut at his barber from back in the day. Todd got his hands on a 15-minute massage that relieved the tension in his shoulders we had affectionately dubbed as “Prizm Shoulders.” (Note: Prizm Shoulders is only one of several afflictions from which we suffer. Others include, but are not limited to: “Prizm Neck,” “Geo Knee,” and particularly severe cases of “Prizm Foot” brought on by a lack of cruise control; our car is a cruel mistress).

We headed to our hosts casa (Will’s old digs) in Brooklyn and unloaded our stuff. The place is definitely “in” Brooklyn. Firstly, you enter the main door not with a key, but by striking the lock firmly in the correct spot. Secondly, drug addicts have essentially converted the staircases into their bedrooms. Todd dubbed the place “Little Caracas,” or “Little C” as we affectionately know it, after taking in the various smells. They can only be described as those of the type of Latin food you try to avoid. We chatted with Henry and Shannon (our hosts) for a bit, parted ways with Zack and headed to the Bronx for the Yanks game (who were playing host to Todd’s pitiful White Sox). We arrived at the park and en route Will informed Todd that if we were lucky the conductor would drop a “Welcome to da Braaaahhhnx” as we arrived (something that is apparently not uncommon). Unfortunately it was meant to be, but we soldiered on.

To describe what transpired at Yankee’s Stadium is akin to describing the work of a renaissance master: Will’s art was a mix of staggering beauty and unfathomable talent. He acquired tickets at a cost (alas, Yankee’s Stadium ain’t an easy venue to enter for free), albeit a low one: $6 a piece. The park was packed and the usher’s were hawks, so there was literally no hope of sneaking down to any descent seats. Or so it seemed. Ultimately, Will sweet-talked the usher into letting us sit in $350 seats (which, by the way, were padded) right behind 1st base. We were two rows back from the legend seats ($1k a pop) and John Turturro was about 15 seats away from us. Yes folks, the legend of William Holmes is steadily reaching mythical status. Todd sat in stupor for a few minutes, unable to fully grasp what had happened, but eventually regained his composure. This was evidenced by him yelling “JESUS!!!” (The name of Turturro’s character in the greatest movie of all time) at John Turturro… he didn’t respond. The game was tight and went into extras. The Yanks took it in fine form with a walk-off in the 10th. Oh the White Sox… but that’s for a different blog

We headed back to Manhattan, ate some “street meat” (don’t ask) and had a beer at one of Will’s old watering holes. We decided that prices in Brooklyn better served our pocketbooks and we hopped back on the train. Will’s favorite bar there, Union Hall, didn’t disappoint. Descent prices, live music and bocce ball… anything else needed? We soaked in some music and observed the largest tools in the world play bocce. They mistakenly interpreted Will’s mockery to have been directed towards their opponents; Will was quick to correct them.

We departed the bar and arrived at Henry and Shannon’s in time to play some drinking jenga. Allow me to serve as a very strong ambassador for this game—I think it might surpass chess as the game of kings. After studying the finer points of this game, we hit the sack.

In the morning we headed back to Manhattan, walked by ground zero (which Todd described as the charter plot of “Hannity’s America”) and hopped on a ferry to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Both were very cool, but the highlight was our extremely effeminate tour guide who may or may not have been romantically involved with his assistant… our speculation continues. Ellis Island was extremely sobering. We both agreed that we could have never handled what these people endured and were grateful for our ancestors who braved the journey here.

We returned to Manhattan, hopped in the car (upon which a $90 parking ticket greeted us) and headed out for Boston. We arrived at Katie’s (Will’s girlfriend) late, ate some freshly baked cookies and basked in the glow of ESPN in HD (as we have been so deprived of sports of late). In the morning we headed out to Fenway, but along the way we checked out Harvard’s campus. Todd repeatedly told Katie (a partner in the Ivy League crime of Catholicism) that they were unwanted here and were likely to be snatched up at any moment. Thankfully we avoided detection, perhaps due to the concealing glow of Lord Holmes, a proud son of the C of E.

We arrived at the beating heart of Red Sox Nation and Todd popped his Fenway cherry. It was a beautiful sight. In all reality, the place is pretty run down. Most Sox fans will even concede that. But what makes Fenway Fenway are the fans who sit within her. It was awesome. The game was a dud, the Jay’s losing 7-0, but a good time was had. We sat about 20 rows behind the dish, right next to the players’ wives (a special thanks to Katie and her fam. for facilitating this). Truly one of the great mausoleums of sport.

We headed back to Katie’s after the game and had dinner with her folks. We chatted about their recent trip to Victoria (everyone save Will seemed to have disliked the rustic themes they partook in… the mountain man in Will was clear) and about our trip. Will and Todd took in some more ESPN and hit the sack.

The next day was spent entertaining Todd’s desire to check out Boston, he having never been there. The city is gorgeous and very livable for a city of its size. We walked the freedom trail, saw Paul Revere’s house, the sight of the Boston Massacre, Sam Adams’ grave and Bunker Hill, where we summated the 300 steps of the monument. ‘Twas a great, albeit quick, tour of the city.

From there our paths diverged: Todd headed back to NYC to see the sights, while Will stayed behind to go with Katie to her families house in Cape Cod. Todd had to relearn how to live without Will’s constant scheduling and hustling, while Will had to go without Todd’s handsomeness (guess who’s writing this). Todd hopped on the Fung Wah bus from Boston to China Town and felt like he was back in Northern K when he sighted a Big Dog T-shirt.

The Fung Wah is a unique to spend 4 hours. Allow me to set the scene: the bus is driven remarkably recklessly, the smell of the bathroom permeates the cabin and apparently it is not uncommon to spy passengers who have live chickens as their luggage (though, my ride didn’t include this gem).

After arriving in China Town Todd headed back to Henry and Shannon’s and took in some authentic Brooklyn recreating on a rooftop with Henry and his friends. We did it up right and headed back in for bed. Todd, however, soon realized that his night was just beginning.

At 4 am Todd awoke to Henry and Shannon’s roommate and his friends stumbling in from downtown. Annoying? Yes, but no big deal. With them was a girl who was full fathom five level drunk. They settled her on the couch and went to bed. After falling back to sleep, I heard it. The unmistakable horrific sound that is someone choking on their own vomit. Oh yes. Springing into action, Todd tilted her head and, as he likes to think, saved her life. Upon seeing the magnitude of the mess, the responsibility of keeping this train wreck alive was quickly handed off to her friends. They cleaned her up and gave her a sack for future use and headed back to bed. All over right? No. At 6 am Todd’s new best friend greeted him to yet another wake up call. This time it came in the form of her falling on top of him. Arising to the sight and smell of vomit, Todd quickly tried to assist her towards another destination. She, however, insisted that she’d “just sleep here.” This was not allowed and she was quickly shuttled to the bathroom. Wow. (Note: Todd was awakened AGAIN later when Shannon found our friend passed out on the toilette, pants down. Needless to say, Shannon, not knowing who she was, had some questions. Todd’s answer? “Dude, she fell on me… ON me). Suffice it to say Shannon had some words with her roommate).

After a thoroughly enjoyable and solid night’s sleep, Todd headed to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. Enormous collection, very cool, but a bit too much to handle. He headed down to the Lower East Side afterwards and rendezvoused with a friend of his brother’s, Chris, who had generously offered to be a tour guide. Beers were had, laughs at Kyle’s expense were aplenty and we grabbed some Mexican food that hit the spot. There, Todd tried to parlay his Mexican soccer shirt into some free tequila, but was unsuccessful. He headed back to Brooklyn and miraculously managed a quality night’s sleep.

The next morning Todd headed down to the MOMA, which was incredible. The collection is as diverse as it is large. After spending several hours there, he strolled the streets of Manhattan and took in the city. After hitting most of the highlights (Times Square, Union Square, Washington Square, NYU, SoHo, etc) Todd met up with Chris again and the two had some brews at a hip spot in the Lower East Side. He headed back to Little C and hit the sack.

The next morning Will arrived with Katie and the three of us headed to Philly for a Giants Philly’s game. We stomached yet another trudge through New Jersey and arrived in the City of Brotherly Love. We snuck in a cheese steak at Gino’s (noted for its incredible food and its refusal to serve anyone who can’t speak English… Philly, gotta love it) and headed to the game. Will naturally acquired three tickets and we headed it. The park was great and the fans were devoted. We’d heard plenty about their insanity, but we thankfully avoided any confrontations. The game was a true pitchers dual (Lincecum v. Pedro), but ultimately Will’s G-men went down. We left the park and headed outside of town to stay with Will’s buddy who lived near Villanova (Vanilla-nova as Will refers to it). We caught some football on the tube and hit the sack.

The next morning we strolled around downtown Philadelphia and saw the Liberty Bell, Ben Franklin’s grave, the Portrait Gallery, and Liberty Square. The area was beautiful and we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.

We hit the road and headed back to NYC where our next game was taking place at Citi field. More to come…

Todd & Will

Tampa and Miami

We received a phone call yesterday from a friend in dire need of a fix. You know the story: full-time job, read every story about Jon & Kate plus 8 but itching to know what has transpired in our lives since we last posted on Monday. Though flattering, it made us realize that we must fulfill our obligations more regularly…

We arrived in Clearwater, Florida in the early evening to yet another welcoming host, Vaughn Brown. Will met Vaughn in Las Vegas during New Year’s 2007, when Vaughn and Max (who joined us earlier in the trip) decided to hire Will as a glorified shuttle service from The Strip to his house. It was only fitting that Vaughn now returned the favor.

After a bit of catching up to speed, the conversation turned to our journey. We explained some of the trials, tribulations and terror that have occurred along the way. Vaughn told us about 18 straight weekends where he went to a major sporting event and showed the frame of all tickets he had kept. It was quite interesting listening to how much he remembered from the experience. With any luck, we will be able to relay our antics to many more people in the years to come.

With the sentimental nonsense out of the way, we cleaned up and headed to a friend of Vaughn’s for a few drinks. We also met up with Zach Buckley, who neither of us had seen since he moved to Florida after our sophomore year of high school. Soon after Zach arrived, all of us set out for what Vaughn characterized as “the hottest bar in Tampa:” MacDinton’s.

Ok, let’s make things perfectly clear. We had a great time, as a live band was playing and people we dancing about with the carefree spirit that is usually reserved to Will. Still, the place was uncomfortably warm. Fortunately, we were able to post up next to a fan and made sure someone always held our ground when they bellied up to the bar to buy drinks. On reflection, it was a very good business decision to make it a sweatshop in there. Your drink got warm if it was not finished quickly and you had to drink to stay cool. Suffice to say, whatever was consumed, certainly came out in perspiration soon after.

As the night wound down, the hunger bug set in and it was decided that Pita Pit was our antibiotic. While ordering, Will’s eye for opportunity was caught when he noticed that a previous pita had just been made incorrectly. He inquired as to the plan for the poorly prepared item, and, of course, ended up with a bonus pita to consume as we exited.

The next morning, we recollected the night and headed to Tropicana Field, where the Texas Rangers were taking on the Rays. Vaughn, still skeptical that he was going to be seeing two teams in playoff contention for free, instructed Will about where the highest amount of foot traffic could be found. Will headed to work; meanwhile Vaughn educated Todd and Zach about “St. Pete Trash” (he being very upset that the Rays play in St. Petersburg rather than Tampa). “SPT” is essentially a giant collection of the family members you try to avoid. You know the ones who insist that work boots, mullets and jean shorts constitute dressing up? Yeah, that is SPT.


Minutes later, Will met up with the group outside of the stadium with six tickets, four of which were leftovers from a group outing, and two came from a priest. Use your imagination on the length Will went to make the latter happen. Vaughn suggested they head to Gate 6, a designated area for reselling of tickets. Will had that wry smile on his face and contemplated taking up residency in Central Florida. Soon, with four tickets and $60, it was time to watch some baseball.

The game was not all too exciting but we have grown accustomed to seeking out entertainment among the patrons, if necessary. Fortunately, Tropicana Field made it extremely easy. Directly in front of us was our own duo of SPT. The younger guy was wearing a t-shirt about 4 sizes too big, faux diamond earrings and had very strong feelings about everything, largely because of the amount of beer he had consumed. At one point he hit a nerve with Vaughn, a die-hard Buccaneers fan, about the Raiders beating Tampa Bay this football season. The problem was that the two teams don’t play one another and Vaughn asked him to know if he was talking about video games. Thankfully, after an awkward pause, he decided to drown his embarrassment with another beer. Meanwhile, the older guy thought he was having a profound effect on the Rangers bullpen by yelling the names of various big-box retailers (e.g. Wal-Mart and Target) while they warmed up. We can’t make this up. A real classy bunch.

At the conclusion of the game, we began the trek back to the car. Along the way, we crossed paths with a drug-crazed hooker, screaming vitriolic slurs at her pimp. This was SPT at a whole new level. In the end, Will started dry heaving.

We dropped Zach off at his car and stopped in at a Cuban restaurant. As none of us spoke Spanish, we did a lot of pointing at the menu. The food was excellent though, which is all that really mattered. The evening was spent lounging and watching a baseball game on television. Getting rest is paramount, especially as we were going further south to Miami the next morning.

____________

The drive to Miami was filled with worry. We have been quite good about having places to stay several days in advance. However, when it came to the furthest point from Bozeman, we were essentially homeless. An acquaintance of Will’s from his days at UM had agreed to let us stay with him but in the days leading up to our arrival our messages went unanswered. (We still have not heard from him as of this posting.) Realizing another plan needed to be put in motion, we stopped into a La Quinta Inn and sent out a few Hail Mary inquiries using Couch Surfing. No responses there either. Admittedly, we were forced to have a painful conversation about paying for a safe place to sleep. (Will keeps up the hope of making it the whole way without spending the night in hotel/motel/hostel). In the meantime, during a conversation about our plans for arriving in New York with his former roommate, Will mentioned the predicament we found ourselves in. Shannon, the roommate, said that the person, Katie, who took over Will’s lease when he moved out, had recently located to the area and she would look into maybe putting us up there. For the next hours, with one eye on the cell phone and the other on a movie screen showing Inglorious Basterds and The Goods, we sat impatiently to find out about our fate. With each scene came a greater understanding that it wasn’t going to work. Then the phone buzzed, Will darted out of the theater and we dodged a bullet, as Katie agreed for us to stay with her as if we were not imposing at all. Seriously, we have a guardian angel looking over our shoulder these days.

As the hot Florida sun poked through the curtains the next morning, we exchanged the necessary pleasantries with Katie and her boyfriend, checked our respective emails and went to South Beach to cool off in the Atlantic Ocean. The scenery was beautiful, and not just because of its topless nature. The water, however, was not as refreshing as we would have liked. A warm bathtub is probably the most accurate description. As we were sufficiently swimmed out, we grabbed a couple of ice teas and went to the University of Humidity…err, Miami. Todd managed to talk our way into using the computers in the library without filling out the bureaucratic paperwork and we enjoyed an hour or so in an air-conditioned building. The little things, folks, the little things. While there it was decided that we ought to begin the march to New York, our next stop, after the game, rather than the next morning as we originally intended. First, we called Zach, who would be joining us for the next leg of the trip and explained the itinerary revision. Then, we called Katie, told her our change of plans, collected our bags at her apartment, and reiterated our thanks for putting us up.

En route to the Marlins game, we were blessed with a phone call from our friend from Bozmean, Anne Marie Carter, who we were going to be staying with in Charleston. We had been unable to reach her over the past few days, as she was out of town, and feared that hotel might be in our future. She assured us that her door was open and we were glad to know our plans were in order.

The game at Land Shark Stadium was noteworthy for how little fan support the Marlins receive despite being four games back in the National League Wild Card. The parking lot had far more grass than cars, the bathrooms had nobody in them and we could have easily had a row to ourselves if we desired. Sounds like a dream come true, except there is absolutely no vibe. Even with the most exciting young player in baseball (Hanley Ramirez) and the rival Mets in town (yes, we realize they are horrible), it could not even get people into the park. We would put the attendance right around 5,000 but we will never know for sure since the team was too ashamed to announce it. More to come...

Todd & Will

N.O. Geaux

(Note: apologies ahead for grammatical errors. Editing has been limited as this entry is being posted in the breakfast nook of a hotel we are NOT staying at… cheers.)

After a week in the Lone Star State, we took our leave after a hearty breakfast courtesy of Todd’s Aunt Patrice. It was tough to bid farewell to beds, home-cooking and good company, but the duty to provide vicarious exploits to our adoring blog readers is always at the forefront of our thoughts. We drove through the sprawl of Houston en route to New Orleans, our next destination, when suddenly we saw it: the Joel Osteen Church. Temptations immediately arose: should we end the trip and move here? Should we become born again? Should we be baptized? Ultimately we decided not to enter the peculiar Temple of Capitalism…, I mean Christianity, for fear that we would be convinced to donate our gas funds to Joel’s “rapture-preparedness fund.” Regrettable perhaps, but what’s done is done

We exited Texas after a week of baseball and perspiration and cruised through the bayou on our way to The Big Easy. The drive was amazing. We were seemingly on bridges more often then not throughout the entire state of Louisiana, which is apparently nothing more than a series of trees and bushes sticking out of the Gulf of Mexico. Honestly, we were unable to fathom why and how people could live here. That being said, the drive was beautiful: parasitic growth everywhere and amazing marshes. We drove through these foreign environs and finally arrived in New Orleans.

We briefly cruised through downtown and headed over to Will’s friend Dane’s house in the Garden District. We were warmly greeted and our host proved to be the greatest tour guide that the city had to offer. Dane, born and raised in N.O., couldn’t have been happier to show off the city he clearly loves. After repeatedly telling us how jealous he was of our travel plans (he being an avid sports fan with a particular love for SEC football), Dane set the stage for the rest of stay, telling us: “There are no rules here. No rules. This is a different country.” We were intrigued and excited needless to say…

We headed out with Dane to Parasol’s, an authentic Cajun joint, and took part in the religious experience known as a fried shrimp po-boy. My goodness. As we savored the “dressed” po-boy and gravy fries we noticed a familiar sticker on the bar’s beer fridge: an MSU Bobcats sticker. We excitedly explained to Dane the reason for our enthusiasm and the discussion about MSU inevitably led back to the Grizzlies, who Dane recognized as an FCS stalwart (yes Cat fans, we’re bigger than you in SEC football country). The college football topic continued to be explored and Dane gave a stirring speech on SEC football. Ultimately, he reasoned that it is the only “real” conference and that it’s ridiculous to think otherwise… we were forced to agree. At this point Will mentioned our intentions to go to the Ann Arbor in September to see Notre Dame take on Michigan. After Dane scoffed, Will reminded him that it would certainly be exciting to watch a rivalry game of this magnitude in a stadium as vaunted as the Big House. Dane, apologized and nodded in agreement. “You’re right, I’ve got respect for the history and the glory days,” he stated. “I mean, those teams were great a hundred years ago.” Ahh, the South.

After filling ourselves, we briefly toured the streets of the Garden District and looked on in awe at the splendid architecture that comprises it. This city is truly an island unto its own. We met up with some of Dane’s friends and headed out to the famous French Quarter to fulfill our touristic obligations (i.e. Bourbon Street). Dane illegally parked (after traveling the streets at an average of 55 mph) and assured us not to worry, as the police there are overwhelmed. We headed to a daiquiri bar that his friend managed and hunkered down for what would be the first of several libations. We were informed to request “the drink,” which we did without hesitation. What we received was a Styrofoam cup filled with one part juice, one part ice, and something like 38 parts everclear. Miraculously, it tasted decent enough and went down rather smoothly. We headed to the bar’s upper balcony and looked on in awe at the chaotic splendor that is Bourbon St. Will even managed to shoot a short film of a drunken homeless man popin’, lockin’, and dropin’ it in the middle of the street. America at its finest.

We finished our beverages and set out to Pat O’Brien’s (a Piano bar down the street). We ordered a round of Hurricanes (a N.O. specialty) and listened to dueling piano’s play requests. Will, in typical fashion, danced with a lovely young lady of about 50 much to the chagrin of her Texan husband. Dane and Todd cooled his Lone Star temper and Will yet again exited a seemingly problematic situation unscathed. After passionately singing along to Guns N’ Roses’ November Rain (as requested by Todd), the three of us headed back to the madness outside. We opted for a quick refill at the daiquiri joint and chatted with Dane and his friends. We joined in some bar trivia (Dane insisting that the answer to every question was President Howard Taft) and eventually were stirred to head out once more. At this point I must be honest and inform you that things get spotty. Suffice it to say that we became separated and Todd, having no cell phone, ventured back to Dane’s. Upon arrival Todd prepared for some much needed sleep, but found that Will had, in fact, not returned. Dane stated that he had turned his phone off after Will repeatedly had called, saying that he had lost his phone. Clearly, logic was no longer in the cards at this point. We called Will, found his location and went to pick him up. Why didn’t he catch a cab you ask? Because at this point Will, once again, was no longer in possession of his wallet. This time, I regret to inform, it would not be recovered. N.O.: 1, Will: 0. We picked him up, headed back and grabbed a hunk of floor at about 5 am. Good Times.

We awoke at the crack of noon the next day as Dane returned from work over his lunch break. “Will, you’re a f#@ing tourist,” were the words he greeted us with. We laughed heartily as though this was a bad thing. We cleaned up, shared some laughs, scrolled through our pictures from the night before and headed out. Will managed to use his gift of gab to obtain some money from Chase, despite having no form of identification and we went for some food. Camelia’s Grill was our destination, having been recommended by Dane as the best breakfast spot in N.O. It did not disappoint. We indulged ourselves with a couple of corned beef omelets, fries and a shake. The restaurant itself was very cool: waiters yelling and performing tricks with plates and utensils. Sleepy, one of the waiters, even regaled everyone with a song (before throwing down on a can of ensure whilst working). Will also spied the busboys smoking in the kitchen. Good times.

After breakfast we headed back to the French Quarter. The architecture in this area was absolutely stunning. We strolled around the old French Market, walked the banks of the Mississippi and saw Jackson Square, where a new Archbishop was being installed. We walked back down Bourbon Street again and took in the sounds of numerous bands that had already begun playing early in the afternoon.

As five o’clock approached we headed back to Dane’s. We decided to grab some dinner and put our faith in Dane’s experience. Along the way we took a tour of the city. Dane showed us several gorgeous houses, where famous locals lived (Brad Pitt, Drew Brees, John Goodman, etc) and swung us by his old high school. This place was ridiculous. It was an old plantation house and looked more like a social club than a high school. After seeing the lighter sides of the city, we headed down to the Ninth Ward. This, I kid you not, is the most frightening place we’ve ever seen in the country. Abject poverty and horrific living conditions typify this area. The bulk of the houses that survived the flooding still have spray paint on the outside from when they were being searched for bodies. The area near the levy was completely wiped out and has still not redeveloped. Heavy stuff. We finally arrived at the restaurant, a corner seafood joint, and were treated to a fantastic meal. We shared some fried oysters and Will had stuffed mushrooms, while Todd sprung for a seafood spread: everything was amazing.

After dinner Dane took us by “the scariest street in N.O.” and promptly told Will to get out. Needless to say this demand was not given into. Dane laughingly told us he wouldn’t get out if the car was filled with vipers. We drove around a bit more, had a cocktail at a famous ritzy bar, The Columns, in the garden district (a gin fizzy which is a N.O. specialty and boasts egg whites as a constituent) and then headed down to the French Quarter. We strolled around the area, soaked in the beautiful architecture (including the famous St. Louis Cathedral) and went to the revered Café Du Monde for some French coffee and some beignets

We headed back to Dane’s where Will promptly passed out. Todd and Dane, being sufficiently wired by the coffee, remained up. Todd was privileged to witness Dane in full SEC mode. He pulled out an enormous cd case and opened it. Inside was what is most likely the largest collection of LSU Tigers and New Orleans Saints games in the world; a true Holy Grail. Dane fired up the LSU v. Florida game from ’06 and stated: “God they scare me. I know we when this game, but they scare me.” Hilarious. Football, God, Country in these parts folks. We watched some highlights and hit the hay.

We awoke well rested, and headed out for Atlanta. The drive through Alabama was gorgeous and we pulled into Atlanta with just enough time to get dinner at The Varsity, a famous fast food joint near Georgia Tech’s campus. The service there breaks down like this: you walk up to a the counter and the cashiers yell “What’ll ya Haaaaave!!??” Good stuff. We ate some greasy food and headed to Turner Field. After parking in a lot that we both assumed would be the sight of the Prizm’s first break in, Will naturally acquired us tickets and we entered the game (he also slung an extra for a free beer… the myth continues to grow). The game was nothing to exciting until the Braves started to get the bats going late and got within striking distance of the Marlins. The gods had other plans, however, and just before the top of the 9th the heavens opened up. We were treated to a Georgia downpour and after about an hour we decided to leave. We ran to our car, got soaked and headed north of the city, where we would stay the night. Will’s girlfriend’s cousin’s in-laws (Mike and Pat) and their daughter Katie were our amazing hosts for the evening and they treated us like kings. We were welcomed in from the storm with cold beer, sandwiches, chips and a brownie alamode. It’s a tough life we lead indeed. They offered their laundry facilities to us as well, and were a treat to converse with. We, still recovering from New Orleans, hit the sack and soaked in some much needed sleep.

In the morning we were greeted by folded clothes, a delicious breakfast and some welcoming conversation with our fantastic hosts. Unfortunately, we couldn’t move in with them, so we finally set out with lunch and some extra beers in our cooler. Our destination was Tampa and we prepared ourselves for a long trek. More to come…


Todd & Will

Texas Style

Upon arriving in Austin, Todd’s cousin Daren greeted us warmly: a solid Texan handshake for Will and a warm embrace for his favorite cousin. Daren, whose empathy for the woes of the weary traveler was apparent, promptly offered us the use of his washer and dryer. It was as though he had read our minds, as we were low on clean attire (a very loose term at this point, with apologies to our mothers). After catching up, cleaning up and mentioning the unfathomable heat in this great state several times, Daren mentioned a party and we gladly agreed to go. It was a sight that brought us back to our days at the University of Montana-Missoula, where pretty much anything was acceptable. This included people with oddly placed tattoos (a power tower in San Francisco on a thigh is a blatant example), keg beer, thematic attire (“Rock ‘n Roll High School”), a metal band playing decibel-pounding music and the obligatory game of croquet (which Todd naturally won, as it is the game of kings). The highlight, without a doubt, was the conversation we enjoyed with a self-proclaimed, “self-hating” Jew named A.J. At one point he quipped, “the 80’s sucked. Everyone had an Afro and no one could tell who was Jewish. Why would anyone want to look like this?” He then explained that his next step in life, Law School, was extremely predictable. “We have two dentists, and a couple doctors in the family… and my dad is a lawyer. Those are the two rites of passage in a Jew’s life: your bris and Law School.” Priceless. This unique conversation was followed by some poor decision-making on Todd’s part. Ever the guinea pig for doing something at least once, Todd joined in with a young Texan lady for a swig of…wait for it.....pickle juice following a shot of whiskey; a vile and regrettable practice indeed… ahh, college.

As the party broke up, we grabbed some food (Will getting up-in-arms upon not receiving dressing for his salad) and headed back to Daren’s to sleep. Being sufficiently lubricated with Texas’ pride (Lone Star Beer), we managed a sufficient night sleep in spite of the ever-present heat. We went to an internet café in the morning where Todd enjoyed some Texan love in the form of a Breakfast Taco and then headed out to Barton Springs to beat the heat (fyi: en route we were fortunate enough to cross Robert E. Lee Road). The springs were amazing and we agreed that if we lived in Austin we’d frequent the spot regularly. After summoning the courage to brave the heat yet again, we headed out to Rudy’s BBQ and took part in the spiritual practice that is Texan cuisine. Allow me to be blunt: this place had the best bbq either of us has had in our lives. A half-pound of brisket was served on wax paper, with 6 slices of wonder bread on the side, and a serving of cream corn… my lord. Their famous bbq sauce was served out of a giant vat and was amazingly good. I cannot adequately describe the deliciousness of this food. Suffice it to say that a trip to Austin for this cuisine alone would be well worth it. After lunch, Daren made a priceless observation on the nature of Texans. Upon seeing a jar of bbq sauce’s label which read “Rudy’s BBQ Sause” (note the “s”), Daren stated: “I hate how Texans think its cool to deliberately misspell words like idiots.” From here on out, misspelling anything has been referred to as Spelling: Texas Style.

After lunch, we headed back to Daren’s in a sort of food-coma. Along the way we checked out the UT campus. The Longhorns’ stadium was absolutely stunning in its enormity and we began to understand the relationship this state has with football. We strolled around the campus and were treated to various sights including statues of Robert E Lee and Jefferson Davis… ah, the south. Daren was a veritable tour guide for the institute, explaining to us the stories of several homicides and suicides that have occurred on the campus over the years. We were undeniably impressed, took our leave and headed back to Daren’s where we cleaned up.

After some much needed showers, Will headed out to meet up with his step-sister Melissa, who also lives in Austin, and Todd and Daren picked up Daren’s girlfriend Meggie (apologies Daren if I’ve misspelled her name). The four of us rendezvoused at the Peter Pan Putt-Putt, a byob establishment. We sipped beer and took part in this uniquely Austin experience. It was an epic match, culminating in Todd blowing a late lead and Will coasting to victory… a true clash of Titans.

After sufficient gloating, Will and Melissa headed down to 6th street (the heart of Austin’s famed live music scene), while Todd and Daren took Meggie home (she being 20 and thereby unable partake in the bar scene). While there, Will enjoyed a flaming shot and a few puffs on the corncob. Our plans soon changed after Melissa received a call from a friend of hers. She was informed that drinks were being had with Ben Affleck, Jason Bateman and Mike Judge at another bar and that we should join them. Needless to say we all agreed to head down there. Upon arrival, we discovered the bar to be on fire. Needless to say, several jokes were made about saving Mike and Jason… and not Ben. In lieu of asphyxiating ourselves, we headed down the street (past the famous Continental Club where Elvis played) and had a few drinks at another bar. We left shortly thereafter and headed to bed. The sweltering heat disagreed with our plans to sleep and the two of us spent seven hours laying in misery.

The next day (after recovering Todd’s sunglasses which he left at Meggie’s) we headed out to Houston. (Unfortunately, when we heeded the advice of Brian Witt, our buddy near Ft. Worth, to blend in better by pronouncing it 'uston, where we greeted with corrections by the local folks that it was not so.) Daren joined us and Todd rode up with him. It was a quick trip and Todd’s Aunt Patrice warmly greeted us upon arrival. We enjoyed some home cooking and some much needed lounging and Todd also got to visit with his cousin, Melanie, whom he hadn’t seen in 8 years.

After dinner, Daren joined us and we headed out to Minute Maid Park to watch the Astros take on the Marlins. We arrived at the park and went straight to work. Will acquired three tickets and Todd picked up four. Daren and Todd headed into the game and got fantastic seats while Will turned the remaining tickets to the tune of $30 and two free beers. Oh yes.

The game started off exciting, as the Astros scored two in the 1st, but quickly slowed down. The Marlins shut them out for the remainder of the game and took the win. We left the park, headed back to Patrice’s and hit the hay. Up next? New Orleans… prepare yourselves.

More to come…

Todd & Will