World Series Woes

I had a major problem on my hands. I had to keep tabs on game one of the series, but it was also date night for me and my girlfriend. I didn't know how it was going to be accomplished, but I did know that it had to be accomplished. I'll give you a little back story before this endevor begins...

I have been dating the same girl for a little more than a year. For those of you that know me, you know this is a Ruthian effort on her behalf. This ranks right up there with Jesus turning water into wine and Moses parting the Red Sea. Typical woman, not really into guy stuff, but cool enough that I don't have to hide the Playboys. No clue how she has put up with me to this point, especially since I cancelled on her to watch games six and seven of the LCS. No clue why she hasn't said a thing about my Starting Lineup collection that is displayed. She knows that I need to watch the Cards, Mizzou, Bears, and Blues. I knew that flowers weren't going to be enough to save my sorry ass again. I knew I had to bite the bullet. But I also knew that I needed a plan.

Date night usually consists of dinner and whatever else is happening. So it was dinner time. The best invention ever you ask? The sportsbar. You want a burger? Sportsbar. Chicken? Sportsbar. A steak? Well, I'll one up you and get all exotic, Philly style. Sportsbar. Hun, you mind if I get shithoused? Sportsbar. Enter DJ's Dugout. Don't think of the one on College Ave in Alton. This one is a lot better.

At this point, she hates driving, but we are taking her car, so I get to drive. Time for me mark my territory. No, I didn't hike my leg and go on the seat. I did take control of the radio on the way. The following conversation happens on the way to dinner...

Her: Can we listen to my new Nelly Furtado CD?
Me: Babe, I really need to pay attention to this game. This is my Sex and the City!

Yeah, I drop that bomb on her. When you compare Sex and the City to anything, women know that you aren't messing around. "This is serious business, and I don't want to be inturrupted" is what that means. This call could come back to bite me in the ass.

Get to DJ's Dugout. I ended up killing a pitcher of Bud before our food got there, and had another on the way. Food shows up. Mine is gone. Too bad she can also eat quick. Dammit!! Another pitcher please. Catch the first couple of innings. I'm good.

She lets me know that she needs to pick up a blonde wig for her Halloween costume. So it's time to go to Nobbies. On the way there, she drops a good one...

Her: Who is this Joe Morgan guy? He is terrible!

It only takes this girl less than 15 total minutes of listening to MLB on the radio to decide that Joe Morgan sucks. Too bad the powers that be in Bristol can't decide on the same fact.

Reyes is on a roll. The inning ends, and I run in with her quick, get her blonde wig, and to the checkout. I miss one out. I'm still good. At this point, I think she is fairly impressed that I have been able to pull this off, but she is still into trying to screw me out of the game. Then one rule really bites me in the ass. "Pay or Pump" is said after I notice that she needs some gas. I really didn't want to pay or pump, especially with Pujols coming up. This Uno card has been played, and I have to fork over $15 and watch her pump. Pujols crushes one, and it's the beginning of the end for the Tigers.

She also needs to go to Walmart and get shampoo. I also need some hair gel. Time for a huddle. I tell her I'll save a spot in the self-checkout lane and she can go get my gel and her shampoo since they are right there in the same aisle. Inning over. Haul ass into Wally World. I get right into the checkout lane. There in front of me was a barefoot 5-year-old in a diaper. I'm sure his dad was getting his weekend time in with junior. They had alot of items, but this guy must have had some sort of training working at some department store. I'm up without an item and no girlfriend in sight. FUCK!!! I start to stall. It was a bad night to piss these people off since the Huskers just lost a heartbreaker to Texas. These inbred rednecks start yelling at me to get to the back of the line. No chance. Then I bring it over the top; I flash the "Hook 'em Horns" sign. This was 1,000x worse than flipping the bird to these people on this day. All of a sudden, she pops up, scan and done. I get cussed at in some hick language, and I miss part of the bottom of an inning during Reyes' consecutive out streak. Not much missed.

Back to my place with a quickness. On goes the big screen and it's time to see McCarver in HD. The major drop of the night came when I got on the Cardinals website and a picture of Brad Thompson comes up.

Her: Why do the Cardinals have a player with Down's Syndrome on the team? It's sweet of them to have handicapped players, but is he any good?

I couldn't believe it. I now have a new outlook for Brad Thompson.

Cards win! Cards win! I caught most of the game without getting in the doghouse. But it was time for her to cash in. She took the words out of my mouth earlier in the night and played them to her advantage. Once the Cards game ended, she found a season of Sex and the City that she left at my place, and it looks like the rest of the night will be full of Sarah Jessica Parker going after Big. Dammit, I hope this doesn't go seven games.

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