Norm Sucks (Even 18 Years Later)

While searching for something else online today, I came across this old Sports Illustrated article about Norm Green moving the North Stars out of Minnesota in 1993. It's funny how much something like this can open up old wounds.

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1138154/1/index.htm

My family went to quite a few games at the old Met Center per year. I'm not one of those people who claims to have been at a shit ton of games and not actually attended, I was there. Hell, one time my dad and I drove in a blizzard to watch the Stars play the Maple Leafs with about 500 other people. I also witnessed many a fight between Blackhawks and Stars fans in the parking lot. It was pretty enjoyable to watch grown men chant "Secord Sucks" drunk off their ass on Stroh's at 3 PM on a January Sunday afternoon.

Hockey was my #2 sport to watch behind baseball. After the Stars left, I really can't get into it. Sure, we have the Wild. But their style of hockey is just so goddamned boring. Plus, they somehow have the highest payroll in the league and not one discernible star. Oh, and they choke almost every time they are on national TV.

Even though Norm Green is like 75 years old now, I would probably not hesitate to verbally assault him if I saw him in public. To this day, I am shocked some crack pot, blue collar Stars fan didn't do much more than chant "Norm Sucks".

K-O-B-E I L-O-V-E You!!!

The title of this post is a fallacy. I hate Kobe Bean Bryant. I have hated him since he took Brandy and her stupid little Moesha dreads to prom. This off season, when Lebron broke my heart and decided to be a spastic 8 year old named Toddy and play with his special friends in Bullshit Little Havana Candyland, I thought I could begrudgingly like Kobe and late Lebron.

I was wrong. Wrong as all Hell.

For you see, my Kobe hate runs deep. Kobe is like some sort of emotionless perfect basketball God who plays the game like most people go to work (which makes the title of his documentary Kobe Doin Work all the more realistic). He has basketball Aspbeger's. When he tries to show emotion, we get this:



That is the same face my roommate's Boxer makes. Jordan had the intense tongue, Shaq looked at his hand in disbelief, and Kobe B. Bryant makes a doggie face.

So you can imagine my glee when Kobe and his "friends" failed yesterday. The Lakers were not at all deserving of another run. Phil Jackson can retire to Montana and boff his fine ass bosses daughter, Ron Artest can do typically awesome shit that Ron Artest does (dodgeball, laser tag), Derek Fisher can be the only Laker player I don't hate, and Kobe can continue to fulfill his lifelong goal of being the Sultan of Brunei's 34th wife:



Enjoy the off season Kobe. I am sure you will do it with absolutely no feeling, emotion, or any other sort of human characteristic.

The Start of Summer (Jake Eickholt Version)

Yesterday was one of my favorite days of the year, a day I use to mark the start of the summer (aka outdoor drinking, grilling and lawn dart season). Yesterday was the Bryn Mawr Garage Sale.

There is nothing better than scoping out the crazy crap people like to sell at Bryn Mawr. The best thing for sale this year was a 1964 Volkswagen Beetle for $4000 or best offer. My compatriots in garage sailing suggested I offer up the Focus for a straight trade, but I informed them that the Eickholt Fam had a Beetle when I was a child and it was a piece of shit. Too bad, because I am sure a vintage Beetle would be a total chick magnet.

The second best item was either a framed sketch of FDR or a huge ass framed poster of N*SYNC era Justin Timberlake. Unfortunately, neither one of them fit my manchild bedroom decor. The sketch would totally clash with my Pope John Paul II record, and the Timberlake poster just wouldn't go well with the DJ Hero case in the corner of the room.

My main focus of the sale, as usual, was recorded music. There wasn't a lot of LPs this year (save for the usual Johnny Mathis and My Fair Lady bullshit one always finds at garage sales). Fortunately, there were tons of CDs. And since the residents of Bryn Mawr are all either 30 something gay couples or sexy yoga pants hipster chicks with awesome tits, I scored some awesome finds. Behold:

Flood - They Might Be Giants
True Colours - Split Enz
The Two Tone Singles Collection
Jacksonville City Nights - Ryan Adams
Shenanigans - Green Day
Pure Rock Fury - Clutch
That Lonesome Song - Jamey Johnson
Peace and Love - The Pogues
Listen Like Thieves - INXS
God, Ween, Satan - Ween

Total cost: 11 bucks. I also grabbed three VHS tapes of Earthworm Jim and Animaniacs cartoons from a "Free-Take My Stuff" table. Oh, and I stuffed my fat face with Fast Freddie's pizza and Cheese Curds. A fantastic day, capped with a softball practice later that afternoon and an evening spent drinking Jeremiah Weed and Facebook friend requesting people I probably shouldn't have.

The Summer of 2K11 looks like it's gonna be rad.

PS - I totally forgot this INXS song existed before bumping Listen Like Thieves after the sales. INXS was a totally awesome college rock band before they got all 'Suicide Blonde' on our asses.

Goin' To Kansas City, Kansas City Here I Come

This past weekend marked the annual trip to see the Twins play outside of MPLS. The destination this season was Kansas City. I was to KC once before when I was 14 and I recall it being a steaming dump full of crumbling factories and Hyper Wal-Marts. Therefore, my main excitement for this trip was seeing the renovated Kauffman Stadium. Fortunately, the city did not disappoint. Unlike the Twins themselves.

The MPLS Wreckin' Crew rolled into KC around 3 PM and promptly found a QuikTrip from which to procure Boulevard Ale and Rollergrill food (the Popeye's Po Boy ingested for breakfast didn't quite cut it). After many Boulevards, a cab was taken to the "new" Kauffman Stadium. A few friends were also in town for the series, so the Crew decided to meet them in our half full section (they had seats in an adjoining section). This proved fruitless, as a spinsteress usher dubbed "The Twins Hunter" shooed them away from the empty seats (the same usher chastised us the following day for "possibly cursing" as a Royals fan dumped a tub of popcorn on himself while almost passing out in our section). So instead of sitting in the seats, walking around commenced posthaste. Twenty Ounce Margaritas called "Royal-Ritas" were consumed. Cheesecake Factory was eaten at 1AM. Oh, and the Twins lost because Drew Butera sucked at baseball that night.



On Saturday I ate this sex bomb. It was from a BBQ place called Oklahoma Joe's in a gas station. The Crew waited in line for the BBQ for an hour and a half. It was the most amazing sandwich ever, containing Provolone, two onion rings and brisket. It was better than any sex I've had recently, which has been none.

One similarity between Kansas City and MPLS is that they both have Half Price Books. So, a Half Price Books mini tour was undertaken. There was a LOT more Jazz records at HPB in MO/KS, and that just ain't my bag, baby. So I focused on the usual and purchased Otis Redding "Live In Europe", Queen "A Day at the Races", the George Duke album with 'Dukey Stick' for 50 cents, and Al Green "Explores Your Mind". And also an Archies album (which kicks ass). Total cost was about 15 bones.

Game two was started off with some Summer Shandy's (KC is a pretty fantastic beer town too) in the lot, followed by a whole lot of shitty baseball. Alex Gordon channeled George Brett finally, and Joe Nathan channeled me in 1999 when I could no longer throw my fastball in Babe Ruth League, and the Twins shamed themselves. On the way out, a nice young KC lass came over to chat with the Crew and all was going swimmingly until the lasses BFF puked on a bench.

Once the hotel was reached, there were no parking spots to speak of. This made the Crew angry, and dampened the plan to go clubbing. Fortunately, there were frat boys from K-State and Mizzou in the parking lot discussing how much coke they had. This (coupled with a loving Full Nelson executed on a sorority sister by one of the K-State gents) lightened the mood quite a bit. Of course, the Crew does not sniff the coke, so the hotel room was retired to where the passing out could commence.

Kansas City was not the same old dump I went to in 1997. The whole place was clean (even the ghetto paths traversed to the stadium), and the people were very friendly (save for some drunken bags at the stadium). Overall, a grand vacay to start this summer season off right.