Archive for Event

When I was a younger person than I am right now — like by 10 or so years, actually — I emailed David Berman (author of Actual Air, frontman of the Silver Jews, and graduate of UMass-Amherst’s MFA program that’s way better than Iowa’s dumb MFA program that’s dumb) and asked him where, if I were in Nashville ever, I should make a priority of going. The Gold Rush, is what he responded — if for no other reason than the members of 1980’s hair-band Cinderella were regulars there.

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It is often said of the players whose teams fail to make the postseason — or have otherwise been eliminated from the playoffs — it’s often said of such players that they “are golfing now” or “are golfing in October” or something along those lines. Having said that, I will also submit that not every member of the recently eliminated Detroit Tigers necessarily fits the precise demographic profile of Big Time Golf Enthusiast. How are they supposed to pass the next couple of months?

With a view to answering that question, I present the following — a record of three upcoming Detroit-area activities that might entertain and fulfill Miguel Cabrera, Justin Verlander, and other of this year’s American League champions.

All event details courtesy Detroit arts weekly Metro Times.

Living The Sweet Life: An Evening with Terry McMillan

Authoress Terry McMillan documented, via a novel of a very similar name, how Stella got her groove back. Perhaps she can help all the Detroiters get their respective grooves back, too.

When: November 1, 6 p.m.
Venue: MGM Grand Detroit
Address: 1777 Third St.
Phone: (248) 398-3400
Price: $35

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The Road Ranger Travel Center in South Beloit, IL, is a classic example of Prairie School design.

The author is attending, with a good and old friend, is attending tonight’s Class A Midwest League game between the Beloit Snappers (a Twins affiliate) and Peoria Chiefs (Cubs) in Beloit, Wisconsin.

Here’s a provisional itinerary for the author’s trip. All times are Central.

12:15pm
Buy tickets through Snappers website. Feel moment of exhilarating and dirty pleasure that accompanies all online purchases.

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In the first round of the Home Run Derby yesterday, Mark Trumbo hit a home run. As the ball passed along its quietly majestic arc, Chris Berman was heard to remark that the ball was “on its way to Wichita”. On the surface it may have seemed that Berman uttered this insight because Wichita is quite far away from Kansas City, and that the ball that had just been hit had also traveled very far. Digging deeper, however, we see the roots of a paradox worthy of Zeno.

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So this is how it ends. Will McDonald (now ExRoyalsReview on Twitter), longtime mainstay of Royals Review, has decided to call it a day after eight years of blogging about the Royals. During that time, Royals Review grew from just some guy’s blog to a team site on the fledgling SB Nation network to perhaps the most popular Royals blog around.

With the management formerly of Royals Authority taking the helm, things should be in good hands. Still, it is hard for many of us to imagine following the Royals without the incentive of knowing the referents for Will’s next brilliantly-written combination of anger and comedy. How will we get through the season without more Royals Bibliomancy or Mitch Maier’s Letters Home From Baseball Camp, or expressions of irritation over Royals prospect Wil Myers spelling his first name incorrectly.

Will has been a huge inspiration. Don’t hold it against him, but, while I never “worked” at Royals Review, I probably would not be blogging today if it were not for reading Will’s stuff. Will’s posts garnered attention far beyond Royals fandom — I think the first “big break” his blog received was when Keith Law linked to it in one of his ESPN chats. I cannot summarize Will’s work, but that is the nature of all good art. So as a tribute to Will (or “Freneau,” a moniker he adopted in recent times in tribute to a poet from the era of the Revolutionary War) and as a public service, I will briefly go through just a few of McDonald’s best moments of the last few years.

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Have you seen this, friend?

I like the looks of it. I am going to Borchert Field. I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

Part of me — the good part — hopes that the Tripoli Arab Patrol is a patrol made up of Arabs rather than a patrol in search of Arabs to be patrolled. But I’m still going to Borchert Field. I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

The Tripoli Arab Patrol is world-famous throughout Shrinedom, so it can’t be all bad. I’m told a band will play. I enjoy a good Sousa march. I’ll hope for a Sousa march, and I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

It will all unfold harmlessly, you see. The fun will approach such levels that a circus will come to mind. Or a riot. Would you call a riot “fun”? They promise laughter. I often find myself asking, “What’s so funny?” I ask this of myself sometimes when I’m alone. But I’ll go anyway to Borchert Field. I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys. “Who even has the energy anymore?” is something else I say a lot.

Milwaukee Gas Light Company is a name I can trust. Twenty-five cents sounds reasonable. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself in a grand stand. I’m on a budget like the rest of us. Does this look like scabies to you? No, not that. I hadn’t even noticed that before.

Yes, I suppose I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

I remember lying on the roof as a boy and looking up at the stars in mute suspension and talking about what scared me. I don’t believe I ever mentioned donkeys or Shriners. So I shall go to Borchert Park. The more I think about it, though, it seems quite possible that I would’ve mentioned donkeys and Shriners. That will give me something to think about on the bus.

“Should I watch them play baseball on donkeys?” is something I’m starting to ask a lot.

“Nite” sounds more promising than “night,” doesn’t it? “Night” carries with it the threat of menace. Or at the very least the threat of not getting to bed at a decent hour. I have a routine, you see. I suppose, though, that “nite” means the same thing. Stands to reason. They probably just spelled it that way in order to save space.

I don’t think I’m going to go see them play baseball on donkeys.

What do you think happens when you die?

While those disinclined to ponder the inevitable see the 31st of December as the precipice of a new year — a date rich with the illusion of possibility — those devoted to base and ball will know it as the “Day of Crap.”

Why, you may ask, are those poo-festooned hours festooned with poo? Because 12/31/11 marks not the death in hospice of another year but rather the point at which we are equally distant from having seen baseball and seeing baseball again.

You see, the last out of the most recent World Series — God’s favorite World Series — occurred on October 28, 2011. Actual baseball won’t occur until February 29, 2012, when the Phillies renew hostilities with their august rivals Florida State. That comes to 124 days without that which helps us through the night. Advising us the diseased to find any port in a storm is useful only when there’s a port in view. Tomorrow, there shall be no port in view.

At the moment of Camus’s death by French sports car, he was likely plagued (see what I did there?) by thoughts of Algerian colonialism. Tomorrow shall be 24 hours of that moment.

Let’s face it, reading a baseball site like FanGraphs (but not NotGraphs, of course!) is pretty nerdy. If you want to double down on being a baseball nerd, the best route is fantasy baseball. But what if you want to triple your nerdity?

To the Academy!

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Brayan Pena expresses the gratitude of millions.

I don’t know what the coverage of baseball was like last night for those of you in the U.S. of A., but up here in the Great White North sports coverage needs a bit of help with priorities. They were talking about games in Florida, Maryland, and other sordid little burgs, but hardly mentioned the story they should have led with: Bruce Chen’s eight innings of shutout ball (somehow matched by Carl Pavano’s nine) in Minnesota on an emotional night that might have been Chen’s last game in a Royals uniform.

We are all reeling from the emotional night at Target Field, but those who may have happened upon one of my FanGraphs chats know that this is particularly difficult for me. While I celebrate the greatness that is Chen, it is time to bid the meme him farewell.

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Dave Cameron, everybody.

As the reader might very well know, this past weekend-plus witnessed the descent upon Long Beach, California, USA, of the membership of the Society for American Baseball Research, for their 41st convention.

Malcolm Gladwell lookalike and Citizen of the World Eno Sarris has already provided some critical details of the FanGraphs event held Thursday night in conjunction with SABR 41. In what follows, I’d like to utilize that most helpful of typographical symbols, the bullet point, to provide as breezy and superficial an account of the Convention as possible.

To wit:

• Did I witness Dark Overlord David Appelman kill a man? No. Did I witness David Appelman order a man to commit suicide in front of him (i.e. Appelman)? Hmmm… Next question, please.

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