Off and Rollin'...

So, with the end of the summer, we are now getting prepared to start the new season of The Allen Koehler Show on August 26th at 10 pm!

But that isn't to say we all haven't been busy this summer...

...so for the next two weeks leading up to the season premier we will be passing along stories of the summer!

We will start in the ballparks of America, where I (Gavin), who was stuck on Staten Island for the whole summer, spent the summer unemployed (essentially) and visiting the baseball havens of NYC for their final seasons of regulation play.

First, show manager and host of "The Laundry list: A Music Show", Derek Blauser, and I spent all our time together, working on campus and otherwise adventuring together.

And one day, as we sat in the dining hall with long time listener/supporter Mehg, we were approached by the head of Dining Services at Wagner, and asked if we wanted to go to the Yankee game. Assuming that he meant the Staten Island Yankees, we were skeptical and inquired further. No, not Staten Island. The man was offering us the chance for a free trip to the Bronx that very night. Cover my duty, let's get on the 4 train. Turns out, the guy, through a promotion from Coca-cola, got a stack of tickets with accompanying food vouchers for the Yankees v. Rays game for that night. So, we dropped everything we were doing that night (it was easy, we had no plans), got on the ferry, got on the 5 train, realized we had to take the 4 train, got off the 5 train, got on the 4 train, and were on our way. The funny thing about Yankee stadium is that it is shrouded in history, and majesty, and pomp, and some foreign sticky substances that I could otherwise not identify, because the concession stand was OUT of beer. It was an interesting enigma, as we went for our concessions, that they were not only out of beer, but had no hot dogs ready either. I don't know if this had anything to do with the fact that we were as high up in the stadium as we could possibly be, in the furthest outfield section that the Yankees offer, but as far as I am concerned, in the sacred house that Ruth built, at an athletic performance considered to be America's pasttime, there should be copious amounts of both hot dogs and beer. For these, to me, are America.

So later that week, show manager Derek (Hereinafter known as Diez, for reasons explained later) and Myself decided to give Shea Stadium a try. Unfortunately, our seats were much closer to the field, there were plenty of hot dogs, and the stadium was nicer, and less sticky. But at least it was Southpole Free T-shirt promotion day. Thank the lord. Now, what I take pride in at Shea is the family feel the park offers. But, sitting in our section was that guy. That guy, in a Jeremy Shockey football jersey, and a Montreal Expos hat, mind you the Expos are not only a team that no longer exists, but are also a division rival of the Mets as the Washington Nationals. So, clearly this guy was on the ball. So Shockey provided a real source of entertainment throughout the game, I call him Shockey only because of the shirt he was wearing, although I can say with confidence that the real Shockey is probably not any different in terms of personality. First we got to see Shockey fight with an entire family of Asians. Then Shockey got in a verbal confrontation with a mom sitting in front of us. And only after both of these confrontations did he decide he needed beer. On his way back from the beer stand, we got to watch him get lost on his way back to his seat. And not regular lost, like "I know my section but can't find my seat in the crowd" kind of lost, this was "I can't tell whether or not I am still at Shea Stadium" lost. We watched him look directly at his seat section, see his friend, and proceed to walk in the opposite direction. At least he found another beer vendor in the meantime.

The nice memory is that the Mets and Yankees both won their respective games, and I will look back on both historic stadiums fondly, as they demonstrated to me what New York City, New York Baseball, and New York Fans all represent: Lewd behavior, poor sight lines, and beer. Because what is baseball without it?

Having gotten sick of New York, Diez and I decided to tour our love of the Great American Pasttime, visiting Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia, and Great American Ballpark in Cincinatti.

We didn't get to actually watch a game in Great American Ballpark, because the Reds were away while we were in town, but the stadium is nice. Small, new, clean, it was money. Wish we could have seen some action there.

Philly was a different story. Diez brought me home for a weekend in South Jersey (more on that later...), and as a result we got the oppurtunity to see the hometown Phillies take on Diez' favorite team, the Braves. It was great. We had great seats, it wasn't too hot out, and in the second inning Diez' Braves were on top 2-0. As Mel Brooks so faithfully put it "It could be worse, could be raining".

And that's what happened.

But this wasn't rain. This wasn't even downpour. In fact, to describe this rain as downpour would be to describe VanGogh as a painter. It was fuckin' raining.

So we attempted to find cover. Naturally. Only, at first we found no shelter. The wind howled the rain over us with tropical force. When finally a respite came, we struck out to spend the food vouchers that came with our tickets (again with that, gotta love free shit), and got under real shelter finally. Now, Diez was in a Braves Jersey and wearing a Braves hat, and it was PACKED under the awning as we started our trek to peruse the food. One man offered the slightest support, a meek "go braves", said softly, as though if he showed his solidarity at a greater volume, the mobs of Phillies fans would attack and kill him, although probably not because he was a Braves fan, but moreso because he was NOT an Eagles fan. The funny thing about these Phillies fans is that they do not actually like the Phillies, but can find nothing else to spend their Sundays in the summer doing because the Eagles are on hiatus. After the meek showing of support, an eager Phillies fan walked past Diez, booed him for a loud long time, and continued on his way. And I mean booed. Loud. And long. Then it was proclaimed by a third fan, from across the walkway, that Chipper Jones, the man whose name adorned the back of Diez' jersey, was a faggot. "CHIPPER JONES IS A FAGGOT". It was something like that. Needless to say, I was glad to be wearing a Phillies t-shirt.

But the best part of the rain delay was the Schmitter. I assume it is named for Mike Schmitt, former Phillie great, but either way, it is a formidable sandwich. It includes, but is not limited to, salami, shaved steak, tomato, grilled onion, melty cheese, and special sauce. It was a hell of a meal. Next time you make it to Citizens Bank Park, come for the rain delay, but stay for the Schmitter. Its worth it.

The result of the day was that an hour and a half into the rain delay we decided it wasn't worth it to stay, because the game would likely be called off, so we left. Play resumed within twenty minutes of that decision. I suppose that is only appropriate.

-Gavin

Stay tuned for my next post, when I discover New Jersey family barbeques, Cincinatti family barbeques, and somehow get stuck co-hosting the Allen Koehler Show on my summer vacation!