The Real Reason The Pujols Deal Will Get Done (2011 Edition)

Put on your business hats, folks…I have a proposition for you. An investment opportunity if you will.

I am talking about the bluest of the blue chips. The centerpiece of your portfolio. Without it your other stocks melt into the manila folder of mediocrity. I’m talking about a nationally recognized, well-established, financially sound entity with essentially ZERO evidence of volatility…the epitome of stable and reliable returns and an undeniable history of weathering economic fluctuations with success unparalleled in any industry. I repeat, unparalleled.

Regardless of the wax and wane inherent to the marketplace, this proposed opportunity has continued to produce absurd dividends over a significant and measurable amount of time. He is…I mean it is…for all intent and purposes, a machine. A money machine.

There is no doubt a camp that would argue that, even if Pujols didn’t hit a lick for the next ten years, he means enough to the organization that a deal is mandated at all costs. Conversely, there is an innocence within even some of the most jaded sports fans that compels us to feel the signing of an extension between the Cardinals and Albert Pujols should be dictated, at least in part by factors not related to the business of the game. That the continued nurturing of the franchise’s storied legacy, and the player defining one of its most successful eras, should have as much to do with inking a deal as the absurd numbers he has tossed into the air like confetti over his first ten eleven years in the league.

As for Albert Pujols, I believe, perhaps naively, that intangible factors will impact his decision. I am not without my cynicism, but I believe Pujols has considered carefully what it means to be an icon in the way Derek Jeter is to the Yankees or the way Stan Musial is to this very Cardinal Nation.

As for the ownership group – a cast of whales with pockets deeper than the fences at San Diego’s Petco Field, many of whom having few local ties to the community beyond the cash cow that is Saint Louis baseball – I sincerely doubt it.

If I am breaking your heart, I’m sorry. But grow up. These are business men. They are wealthy and affluent for a reason. These are men who are able to separate the romance of “Cardinals vs. Cubs” from the financial discussion of “risk vs. reward” with cold, calculated ease. It is this objectivity that has allowed them to become and/or remain rich. Accumulating money is their game. They pay baseball people to worry about baseball. The men who pull the purse strings do care whether or not the team wins, just not as much as you and I, and for completely different reasons.

Both philosophies can coexist and have done so under the current regime. But the “smartest fans in baseball” need to understand that with this ownership group it is and always will be a business decision. This is the case whether we are talking about the signing of baseball’s best player, or a low-cost, obscure, left-handed relief specialist (typically on the agenda each offseason as well).

But that is exactly why, my dear Cardinal faithful, we need not fret over this particular matter. The Cardinals will reach an accord with Albert Pujols. They will because even at the $27.5 million yearly he will likely command, ownership surely recognizes the limited number of scenarios that will play out as a result. They are as follows:

1. Pujols remains the ridiculously consistent demigod that he has been for his entire career, keeping the team in contention annually, if only by his own will at times. With his tenth eleventh season in the books, he’ll already be wearing a Cards cap in a Cooperstown bust one day…all that is left to do is watch the magic unfold for another 7 to 10. Ownership wins.

2. Pujols suddenly forgets how to hit and the contract proves to be a shocking mistake, hamstringing the team at various points throughout its term. But the fan base continues to support the team, because they primarily feel that signing Pujols was “the right thing to do”. They remember that their cries were answered in 2010 2011 and any crying over unforeseeable poor production lands on the shoulders of the “empathetic” owners. Revenue continues to pour in, allowing the team to adapt and to continue to gently increase the payroll from year to year. Ownership wins.

Or, they do not do the deal, in which case option 3 likely vests. Mo and the gang come up short this offseason and fail to exhaust their resources in order to extend the greatest player to wear the birds on bat for our humble, almost embarrassingly loyal city. They allow him to be lured away by a team with deeper pockets, more aggressive owners, or an organization seemingly more hell-bent on winning.

Pujols maybe then goes on to put up another 5 to 10 years of jaw-dropping numbers, cutting Cardinal fan loyalty with every sweet swing of his bat.

Ownership loses their ass.

The Cardinals will sign Albert Pujols to a record deal. They will do so because they are too smart in business to not. For, if they didn’t, the organization would risk the solace of our confidence. They would be to us stupid baseball men and even stupider businessmen, and a lot of the money these fat cats have been raking in due to our love for a thirteenth-round blessing might leave with number 5. Never mind the unrealized revenue lost every time the slugger reaches another historical milestone.

The Cardinals will sign Albert Pujols because the cost of not doing so would be even greater. And that is the bottom line.

The (Only) Three Levels Of Fitness

Prior to implementing a fitness routine, I can honestly say I had almost no conceptualization of what it meant to follow a step-by-step process towards a significant goal. Most things had either come easily enough that I would lose interest after achieving “above-average” status, or they were difficult, in which case my energy became focused upon finding a shortcut.

Warp Zone to level eight, hidden green vine? Don’t mind if I do.

But in matters of health and fitness, there are few cheat codes. This is important to accept because, to the best of my knowledge, there is also no magic turtle shell to dance upon in order to accumulate lives.

There is, however, a degree of simplicity that applies to the process one should follow whether novice or expert in the fitness game. It can be summed up – and, in many fitness conversations and certifications, often is – in three levels of progression. Stability, Strength and Power.

Stability. Gravity is a motherfucker. And were it not for your muscles, the force of it would turn you into a bag of antlers. Therefore, job number one is stability, or, giving our pathetic bodies a fighting chance against the merciless conditions that exist on Earth.

Many ambitious souls muster the fortitude to enter a gym, or to brave cruel, concrete slabs smashing against their foot bottoms in an effort to become more healthy and fit. Many of them – minds more supple than physical tissue – find themselves injured before ever realizing the benefits of exercise.

This is why no matter who you are you must literally build a stable foundation upon which to grow. Whether you are fat or skinny, generally active or largely sedentary, accepting where you are now is the first step. The next is accepting that a realistic pace of development, with realistic objectives in mind is where everyone with a level of fitness you admire began, and where you must as well.

The good news is that this does not take as long as most people think. You can feel a difference in just a few weeks of following a decent routine.

Tip: Focus upon low-impact cardio (especially if you are overweight) and “prime mover” muscles. Prime movers are just what it sounds like…the muscles responsible for a large degree of your movements. There are different schools of thought on this, but I would sum these up in the categories of “push” muscles (chest, shoulders, triceps, and quadriceps) and “pull” muscles (all areas of the back, biceps, trapezius and hamstrings). This, combined with some abdominal work is a good place to start.

Strength. Stick-to-itiveness…also a motherfucker. Once you’ve reached a level of core stability and witnessed some progress, you will invariably reach a crossroad: you will either bask in the satisfaction of the early stages of your development, promptly fading back out of shape, or you will press on to new heights.

Should you opt for the later as opposed to yo-yoing in and out of consistency, you will be rewarded. You’ll sleep better. Your work day will go smoother. You’ll have more energy for everything from parenting to house chores to sex.

The strength phase is also the point at which tone and hypertrophy (increased muscle mass) really take form. All those physical attributes people think is “hot” about one another, that work is generally done here.

Transitions from your original routine will need to be made. Such as training more with free weights and body-resistance as opposed to the more limited guided apparatuses and machines which neglect the muscles that assist the prime movers…muscles too numerous to name, but ones that you use everyday.

As your workout gets easier, whether by number of reps/sets, additional weight/resistance, or endurance, you need to continue challenging yourself. Ideally, this will become a habit and the results will help keep your outlook fresh. Talk to trainers and others working out about their routine and preferred equipment. Nine times out of ten they will be flattered and happy to help. Adjust your routine and adapt to your improving level of fitness.

Tip: Moving from the outer fringe of stability training into full-blown strength training means you’ve come a long way, but be aware that the areas of your body possessing the most innate strength (due to lifestyle and genetics) are the very areas you will enjoy working out the most because it’s easier! Neglecting the weaker areas as you continue to grow strength in the stronger ones is a surefire path to injury, not to mention poor aesthetic results. Don’t be that 80 lb girl who refuses to do anything but run on the treadmill, or the meathead who benches 280 but can’t squat shit due to his fragile Chicken Little legs.

Power. It’s not just about athletic “rate of force production”. It’s about hoisting up your third grade child for a big hug and dead-lifting the bag of cat litter without herniating a disc. If you’re also able to outslug your peers at the company softball game, all the better.

In order to maximize performance, speed and power, stability and an appropriate level of strength must first be mastered. This ensures that your tendons and ligaments are sturdy enough to allow you to force your muscles to their summit.

How physically powerful you are or want to be is relative. It’s a personal preference. Just remember that your body is a mirror image of your daily rigors (or lack thereof). When an exception to that status quo occurs, such as moving into a new residence, changing a spare tire, etc., you are either physically prepared for it, or not. Looks are obviously a factor at this point, but your value of preparedness is the real question.

Being strong and powerful is basically an insurance policy. But if you’re hemming and hawing about the cost to join a gym, just look at the health coverage deductions on your paystubs. As Mom would say, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

Tip: As cliché as it sounds, feel the burn. Get someone knowledgeable to spot you and push your physical limits to the extreme from time to time. If you don’t have a spotter or a trainer, find a challenging resistance and push as hard and as fast as you can without sacrificing form or control. Safety first obviously, but you may be surprised at what you can do.

Certified: International Tap House

A couple of Thursdays ago, like many of you I assume, I watched in awe as the Cardinals won a historical Game 6 from a favorite bar of mine. Being the superstitious ass that I am, I refused to step away from one particular creaky spot of hardwood real estate for fear I might interfere with whatever magic was taking place. I moved only to pee and to order beers. A vicious cycle to be sure, but I remained stationary for the most part during the entire contest.

Consequently, work the following morning on 3 hours of sleep was brutal, though I obviously regretted nothing.

That shit was amazing.

The next night, myself and a group of friends posted up in the parking lot of a downtown bar just south of the stadium for an equally grandiose celebration. There was also equal overindulgence, and a similar amount of sleep that followed.

It is still unbelievable to me how our 2011 World Champion Cardinals landed that crown, and how much fun it was to be a part of it, to whatever extent we were.

By early Saturday afternoon, however, I was completely gassed. No juice whatsoever. But I had promised the girlfriend weeks before that we would meet up with some friends of ours – if only for a short while – to catch up over food and drinks that night.

What the hell. I’ll be too old for this shit one day.

We met for dinner in Soulard, where a few of their friends were dressed up, doing the Halloween thing, seemingly committed to dragging our tired asses to at least one more bar.

That bar turned out to be the International Tap House on 9^th Street (they also have a Chesterfieldlocation).

Look, I realize that I have a flair for the dramatic when it comes to writing about just about anything, and that it is probably exhausting at times. But the instantaneous warmth and pacification evoked the moment a beer lover enters their edifice (for the homosexual pun-obsessed message-boarders reading, this is different than an “orifice”…I’ve provided the definition here) is undeniable.

Itap, as it is called, feels like Mecca for sophisticated drunkards. On this night, Mecca even had some very solid acoustic guitar.

As you float towards a long, classy bar boasting 40 draft beers from hither and yon, you nearly fail to notice that the bar stools are designed for the kind of comfort needed to truly appreciate such a fine spread of lagers and ales. After what felt like three straight days on my feet, this was not lost on me.

Once settled, and having realized I had no fucking clue what to order, I flagged a bartender.

“I like Newcastle…Fat Tire…Guiness…stuff like that…whattaya got?”

After a free sample of a couple ales (not a fan of in general), the good man reached for a tap handle donning a bright red hand. He rattled off a quick synopsis of the flavor and key ingredients, and the brew’s name…Fade to Black…a gift from God and/or the Left Hand Brewing Co…one light, many lamps, I always say.

“We serve it in a snifter glass” he said. “It’s pretty potent.”

Potent, indeed…and unbelievably delicious. Perhaps just as impressive was the fact these guys needed only three tries out 40 (500-plus if you count their selection of bottles) to nail just the right beer for me at that particular moment in time.

The moment was perfect and you get the sense that it was not a fluke.

Even the fucking bathrooms were spotless.

By the end of the night, a night I was not really that interested in taking on, I had to acknowledge that I’d found a spot I was embarrassed to have not found sooner. I’d heard of the place, but…big deal…lots of beers…whatever…right?

The International Tap House is much more than that.

Rules Of Engagement: First Dates

So, I met this girl online last winter, which, especially as a writer, I do believe can be a great way to find compatible dating partners…assuming of course the individuals represent themselves truthfully and sincerely in the early goings…which, as I write this, I guess I must acknowledge is a fairly significant assumption…

I digress.

She was 22, had a good job in the medical field, was very cute and had phenomenal body. Really great tits…an ass I immediately wanted to bite (gently, of course). After what I will admit was far too limited initial correspondence, we agreed to meet at a bar close to my place for drinks and a few games of pool.

Conversation was free and easy out of the gate, with both of us verifying our respective status of “happily single”, as in, “it’s unlikely anything monogamous is going to come from this, but there is no reason we can’t have a good time getting to know one another and seeing what unfolds”.*

*While I can say that I was quite sincere in this, it has been my experience that women often are not.

The verbal exchange took a favorable turn towards our respective sexual inhibition, travelling the precarious curves of kink/freakiness with ease before finally parking us into that sweet, unabashed space reserved for “the two drunkards in the corner making out and dry-humping one another as if nobody were watching”.

It was pretty absurd. And people were definitely watching. She was straddling me on my couch long before last call.

Unfortunately, things plateaued just as quickly. She proceeded to tease away until I finally asked her to leave a few hours later.

When I awoke the next morning, I realized that all I had to show for my date was a hangover, a sizeable bar tab, a bruised elbow from falling on some ice upon my inebriated return to the homestead – which matched a bruised ego – and a pair of balls the proverbial shade of cobalt kitchen glassware.

I realized in hindsight that my hot little love interest was something of a serial dater.

We touched base a few times afterwards, but neither party really wanted to dance that two-step again. After all, I had my pride and balls to look after, and she no doubt had attention and free drinks to solicit from participants more willing to play games than I.

I also realized that, had my puny prequalification been just a bit more thorough, I would have saved myself some frustration. Figuring future dating could benefit from the experience in some way, I began to consider how a few guidelines might serve to better prepare me for one-night stands and beyond in the future.

Taking a page from elementary studies, which seems appropriate given the way grown folks behave in pursuit of one another, my analysis is represented below in the old five-question format.

WHO is this little tenderloin you desire? Most men, at least in regards to sexual encounters, are opportunistic, if not pathetic animals. All we need is a single crumb of hope and we can massage our gullible minds into delusions of plenty…she becomes to you whoever it is that you want her to be in your head. This is unfair to both of you. The reserves of time and money would be far better served by some patience and a thorough analysis of the subject in question.

Who is she, really? Have you asked enough meaningful questions to ensure that she is worth the effort? That she is worth the expense? The only delusion more damning than the aforementioned delusion of “plenty” is the delusion of “scarcity”, or, in other words, the abandoning of logic for fear that another opportunity is light years away.

It’s not. Opportunities are everywhere. Patience assures that you are clearheaded enough to recognize the right opportunities, regardless of your end objective.

WHAT is it that you seek in the realm of relationship, grasshopper? Is it love? Is it sex? Are you flying by the crotch of your pants with no agenda at all?

If she’s more than just a little committed to her Washington Avenue routine, ritualistically dressing up for her simpleminded flock of girlfriends, and, conversely, you’re more concerned with your gym routine and pitching dinner, candlelight and romantic comedies, you’re fucked.

Because, again, when the hormones of our nether regions begin to swirl and pulsate, our minds become as lithe as a slick, old alley cat. They begin lobbying for the person you’re pining for, striving to justify behavior (both yours and hers) as well as the reasons the other person is a good fit. We all do this. But, eventually, the truth will shine through and you will have no choice but to acknowledge it.

Know what you want. Don’t swindle yourself. And in regards to hoes, in the judicious words of Project Pat, might I suggest, don’t save her…she don’t wanna be saved.

WHY? What are your primary motivations in dating, really? Are you rebounding from a breakup or a nasty divorce and dismissing the need to heal and/or regroup emotionally? Are the folks busting your balls to grow up and settle down, or, similarly, are you feeling pressured by friends who are getting hitched and starting families? Or perhaps you’re just one of the many in society who would rather settle and be “spoken for” than remain single with the desolate feeling of being “alone”?

There are more in that last demographic than you would imagine. I was there once. I ended up in an awful marriage. Then I realized my illness, solved it, and wound up very happily divorced. Conquering the addictive nature of relationship was imperative for me personally in learning how to enjoy bachelordom and the magnificence of independence in general (which, ironically, has benefited my relationship endeavors both romantic and otherwise).

Perhaps you think you’re too cool to ponder such matters, but, and I say this from my own trials and errors, life happens and it happens fast. The more assured and steadfast your relationship non-negotiables are, the less likely you will be to suddenly find yourself staring at an unsavory situation with undertones of dissatisfaction and regret.

Know why and ruthlessly honor your highest objectives.

WHEN do you decide to strike a meeting? You pull the trigger at the exact moment your own personal criteria are met and you have a socially acceptable opportunity to do so.

No sooner…no later.

And if you are at all serious, have a plan before you approach her. Should you get a “yes”, and then inadvertently unveil the fact you were secretly expecting a “no”, or the fact you were basically throwing some shit against the wall to see if it would stick, the likelihood of failure immediately increases.

But most importantly, man up and make it happen. Don’t stall…don’t loiter. Remember that eye contact goes from RSVP to creepy mighty fast.

Now that you’ve deliberated and executed, WHERE do you take her? I’ve been told by females whose opinion I regard highly that creativity is essential in first date spot selection. Women are peculiar creatures who place inordinate emotional relevance upon things that seem trivial to men. The setting you select will, whether fairly or not, represent to her your opinion of her.

But creativity is a fickle animal herself. Not everyone can get away with using piss in an artistic depiction of Jesus. Your date location should represent you as much as it does any preconceived notion of who you believe her to be.*

*Unless you are certain that Applebee’s best embodies your personal brand. In which case you should stay home and masturbate. 

An ideal first date spot should be about balance. Not too loud, but not to quiet. Not too expensive, but not too cheap. Not too ordinary, but not too eccentric. Not too much you, and not too much her. And you can bet your ass she will be able to tell if you gave it too little thought, or too much, and she will respond accordingly.

In closing, when you consider how large a part of our lives relationships tend to absorb, whether you consider matters in this particular manner or in a way all your own, it is a no-brainer that you do your due diligence. Because, those romantic comedies? They’re bullshit.

For as the great Roman philosopher Seneca once alleged – who I heard ran through a lot of fine Roman bitches back in the Silver Age – luck is when preparation meets opportunity.

Ten Things Men Should Do From Time To Time

Life is hard. And there is no question we all have plenty going on upstairs. I created this list because I thought it would be an enjoyable read, but also because considering things like these is something that, once mature, a lot of us men don’t do often enough. We become the proverbial “old dogs”, and that’s unfortunate.

Anyway, I hope that you enjoy the following Ten Things Men Should Do From Time To Time and challenge one another to come up with a few of your own. 

1. Stand Your Ground. Literally. Common sense should always set the precedence, but when standing still in a public setting, baring an emergency of some sort, you have the right of way. When some aloof jackass encroaches upon your personal space, own it. Do not move. Do not give way. In some cases, I might even suggest a subtle elbow extension in the assailant’s direction, followed by an insincere apology.

Perhaps this makes me an asshole. I don’t care. Such flagrant, ignorant displays of disrespect – especially in social settings drinking is involved – are simply far too common for my taste. Making offenders of your private space aware of the offense is an honorable public service as far as I am concerned.

2. Pee Outdoors. Whether one opts for the “Sneaky Pete” maneuver (knees bent slightly, scanning the scene), or the “Zen master” (eyes closed in reverence, head tilted upwards and straight ahead), peeing outdoors is an indispensable aspect of being a man. May a cool autumn breeze waft through your pumpkin patch in the near future.

3. Write Out A List Of Personal Goals. Did this several years back…forgot about it…came across the list a few years later and was stunned at the number of items that came into fruition. Whatever your spiritual position on the mysteries of the Universe, I would argue that there has got to be something to this. Try it out. No risk…significant potential reward.

4. Call Out Another Man’s Bullshit. A while back I worked with this dude who – and I bullshit you not – was a master cellist (that would be one who has mastered the art of playing the cello), a semi-pro Frisbee golfer (a stat he would frequently boast to golfing business contacts who had no idea what the fuck he was talking about), a guy who was once “big into the Joplin street racing scene” (a suped up Escort or similar I believe it was), and who was also “certified” to do autopsies, whatever that means. In fact, “Certifications” were a big part of his social resume. He was also a former football star at Truman State and chairman of his fraternity; both astounding feats considering how fat and unathletic he was/is, and the fact no one seemed to like him.

He also was/is an extremely insecure asshole who would just as soon throw you under the boss’ Lexus as he would conjure up these embarrassingly absurd fabrications.

Nothing, I mean nothing brought me more joy than calling him out by simply asking questions, or mockingly suggesting, “you’re certified in that, aren’t you?”

Hopefully, compulsive liars like him are far and few between, but a lot of people bullshit and embellish facts believing the odds are that nobody cares to, or has the balls to challenge them. Sadly, they are often right about this. This ends with you now.

Similarly…

4. Put An Attractive Yet Bitchy Woman In Check. By most anyone’s standards, she was hot. And she’d been looking in my direction for a while that night. So when she made her way through the crowd and into my vicinity, I knew I had to say something before she passed.

I did – a simple flirtatious greeting of some sort – and was shocked when she greeted me back with an unmistakable look of disgust. I suppose my reply was as abrupt to her as it was sincere.

“You’re hot. But you’re clearly a bitch. Have a nice night.”

A lady friend of mine confirmed that my analysis lingered with her at least into the ladies room, where she bitched about my remark to her friends. This pleased me greatly.

5. Fix Something Yourself. There are three types of men in this world…those who are satisfied to have the funds to solve problems, those who take pride in solving problems themselves, and those who are capable of neither.

Obviously, avoid being that last one. And there is certainly no shame in paying for the services of a skilled professional. But tackling a project with no prior knowledge or expertise and finding success to some extent or another often produces a degree of fulfillment unmatched.

6. Go To A Crowded Bar Alone. Not as a social outcast, but as an observer of the communal landscape. Absorb and imbibe the scene. Do so with an air of conviction and you may even pique someone’s interest. But don’t do it all the time. That’s creepy.

7. Read A Book. I’m embarrassed for our society that reading an entire book is as novel a concept as it is. But it’s as good for our cognitive faculties as it is entertaining. And if your objection to reading an entire book is related to a poor attention span…well…case in point.

8. Sing Karaoke. I’m kidding. Unless you have legitimate talent, you need to cut that shit out. And don’t tell me you’re “just having a good time” either. What you’re doing is seeking a drunken escape from a life that clearly lacks a legitimate creative outlet, and you’re doing it at the expense of others who are likely actually trying to have a legitimate good time.

The same applies for those attempting to start waves at sporting events. Therefore, my actual suggestion is that you be sure to have a legitimate creative outlet in your life and that you nurture it, but also that you…

9. Boo A Shitty Karaoke Singer. And/or…

10. Boo A Wave Starter. They’ve had it coming for some time now.

Thoughts? Got a few of your own? Deeply offended and wish to retaliate? Do not hesitate.

Certified: The Tower Pub

I suppose that over the course of a man’s lifetime, there may prove a time and a place for bottle service.

There may even be some mysterious benefit to sitting upon the acme of social drinking status that is the VIP section. Perhaps being perched a few steps above the general-admission masses and clad in $150 pattern-pocketed jeans offers some glimpse of what it takes to achieve societal advancement.

Maybe $9 drinks really do taste better to those with refined palates and deeper pockets than mine.

I wouldn’t know. I wear Levis and fancy my tee shirts sans glitter effects, and my car has but four rather unimpressive cylinders. I prefer a nice lager to top-shelf Martinis, and the questionable behavior of unpretentious people open-minded enough to engage in it from time to time.

I prefer places like the Tower Pub in South City off of Morgan Ford.

Any establishment can serve a drink, but the places that last garnish their fare with an experience and an energy that leaves a stronger mark than the hangovers that often follow.

Even when you overindulge, you can’t wait to do it all over again.

You know the feeling…the instant placation…the sense that where you’re at is where you are supposed to be. And you’re surely familiar with the opposite sensation as well…when you just want to get the fuck out of there because the people, the service, the prices…they all suck.

The staff and regulars at Tower Pub will tell you that what makes them unique is the atmosphere – all that poetic fluff I just threw at you – and they are probably right. You can walk into that place alone, instantly make friends over a game of pool, darts, Golden Tee or bags on the (heated and sporting a sweet fire pit) patio and find yourself stumbling out with……never mind.

But the drink specials alone make this place worth a visit.

 

Monday: $2 Drafts and $4 Bombs

Tuesday: $2 Tall Cans and $3 Stoli Cocktails

Wednesday (Ladies Night): $1.50 Call-Its and $2 Draft Specials for Guys

 

Thursday (Trivia Night): $1 PBR and $2 Boulevard Drafts

That’s right. $2 tall cans on Tuesday. It is a glorious spectacle to behold. And the music on Friday and Saturday nights, at least as I have experienced it, is always solid. Add to that their Happy Hour (3-7 pm, $2 bottles/drafts/rails) and Cardinal game specials ($2 bottles/drafts) and you have a little something I like to call a no-brainer.

There is always a crowd, but it somehow never feels too crowded, and I’ve never once had to park more than a block away.

And what’s best is that no one gives a shit what you drove, what’s in your glass or what you are wearing. Within reason, of course. Contrary to popular belief, nursing upon a tall can at a South City bar does not automatically entitle you to wife-b wearing privileges.

The fact is, everyone’s too busy enjoying themselves and the scene that surrounds them. A diverse and welcoming scene. A scene that often includes a smoking hot, curly blonde bartender and down-to-earth owners mingling with their patrons.

Patrons. Not Patrón. This isn’t a Young Jeezy video. This is South Saint Louis. You can keep your bottle service.

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J. Adams is the creator of InsideSTL’s Man Hole section which seeks to promote the many local businesses in our fair city deserving some attention. Certified Man Hole articles are NOT paid advertisements. Is there a spot you think fits the bill? Email him atjustin@intangiball.com or hit him up on Twitter via @Intangiball and make your case

Don’t Take It Personally

On some days your walk, your hair, your outfit…it all feels right.

Witty lines spews from your face no matter how intimidating the intended recipient might be. Eye contact with the opposite sex comes so naturally that you would swear you had a soundtrack playing in the background.

You own days like these. You seize them; you harness such days and make them your bitch. It’s as if you held the handle of one of those leashes that disenchanted parents put on their awful, yet most likely rightfully disobedient children, except that instead of a small, spoiled child at the end of your leash, restrained at your will is your oft unruly life.

I actually saw one of those mother-child combos at West County Mall on Saturday, but the leash wasn’t working. The child was an absolute animal and there was no containing it. Therefore I ask you to take the analogy for what it is worth.

Life is seldom anything but challenging, but some days offer the heavenly illusion that we have a degree of control.

It was on such a day that, coincidentally, I was walking through a different mall, shoulders back and head held high, when two reasonably attractive girls helped usher me into a new gateway of personal growth.

While walking past them, one of the girls smiled at me. I politely smiled back. Once behind me, she made a comment to her friend loud enough so that I could hear her.

“He was hot.”

Her friend, equally conspicuous, replied,

“Not really.”

It has become cliché to acknowledge to others how little one cares about what others think. I would even go a step further and say that, for many people, doing so is little more than a protective countermeasure to the contrary.

By vocalizing this falsehood, one can potentially deflect future criticism and attention away from themselves, causing those who wish to criticize others (ironically, usually in an effort to deflect criticism away from themselves) toward targets more susceptible to their analysis.

Follow me?

In other words, all of us, to a greater or lesser extent, do care what others think…the exception being most sociopaths and the occasional big, lovable, black woman.

It’s graduating to the point that you realize it is ok to care about the opinions of others, so long as those wielding said opinions have earned your respect and/or credibility. This is crucial.

And also difficult.

Some realize the importance of this and still never get there. Many, for many reasons beyond my understanding of psychology, never even try. Others spend their lives seeking the acceptance of those most reluctant to give it, then, upon getting it, move on to others who are even more reluctant to give it. This seems as common as it is absurd.

For a very long time I had given an inordinate amount of credence to the thoughts and opinions of others regarding who I was and who I was not. It took these two girls lifting me up and then cutting me down for me to arrive at the realization that helped change my perspective.

To some, you’re hot…to others, not really.

Suddenly, not walking up to a girl I was interested in for fear of rejection just seemed stupid.

I mean, who was she to me at that point? Were we characters in some crappy, idealistic, romantic comedy all of a sudden? When had I decided to become Matthew fucking McConaughey?

No previously unknown female prospect I could recall had ever earned the right to bestow upon me her judgment just by being someone I wanted to sleep with or date. They were just girls. Girls I thought were hot. Girls some other guy might think, not really.

The core of my crystallizing epiphany began to come into focus. It was so simple. Until a person had earned my respect or achieved undeniable credibility, under no circumstance did it make sense for me to take their criticism or their rejection personally.

Fucking liberating, my friends.

But, again, take it for what it’s worth.

Reds Win Series, Brewers Loom

For the second straight afternoon, the Reds offense would stake an early lead, as Brandon Phillips’ lead-off single was followed by an Edgar Renteria homerun.

Jon Jay would stay hot, launching a shot just above the home bullpen in the bottom half; he continues to terrorize Cincinnati.

Entering Sunday’s game, Jay was hitting .403 against them. The only other active player hitting above .400 against the Reds (min. 50 AB) is Pablo Sandoval (.410). He would tack on a single in the 5^th.

Both Pujols and Berkman hit towering fly outs to right and Holliday singled sharply to left, but the Cardinals were unable to do additional damage.

This column suggests you keep an eye on Albert throughout the month of September. Through the first three games, he was raking at a .727 clip, having gone 8-11 with 2 home runs and 6 RBI. With 30+ homeruns already in the bag and inching closer to another 100 RBI campaign, as improbable as it projected before the All-Star break, the Mang looks poised to break the .300 mark for the 11^th straight season.

Actually, to bet against it would be foolish. He is a career .346 hitter in the month, which, when you think about it, is nearly two seasons worth of data. He lost a point on Sunday, however, going 1 for 5. 

Schumaker singled to lead off the second, then with one out Descalso did the same. Both players advanced with some heads-up base-runing, when Reds centerfielder Drew Stubbs bobbled the ball.

Edwin Jackson struck out, and Rafael Furcal, yet again hitting the ball hard, nearly lined into Reds starter Bronson Arroyo’s twig and berries. Arroyo recovered and tossed a ball that should have been a hit to Joey Votto for the out.

Pujols put one in the left-center gap for a double with one out in the third, but would be left stranded.

The Reds would come right back with a double by IF Juan Francisco, recently recalled from their Louisville affiliate, and a walk by catcher Ryan Hanigan. Arroyo laid a perfect sac bunt down to advance the runners, but with two outs and Brandon Phillips at bat, Francisco attempted to score on a pitch that got away – albeit not far enough – from Gerald Laird.

Laird got a second consecutive start at catcher, pairing him with former Detroit Tigers battery mate Jackson, due to a sore left calf muscle still hampering Yadier Molina. The Cardinals opting to error on the side of caution with their Gold Glove backstop.

Through eight innings the Cards and Reds were both sitting on 2 runs on 10 hits. Arroyo went all eight in a game that would have surely been classified a gem had his hair been corn-rowed.

Jackson would get the no-decision in a game that represented his third strong outing in succession.

“I feel pretty good. I’m just trying to go out and continuously give the team a chance to win with every start; regardless of how it looks, just try to go as deep into the game as possible and keep the game close within striking distance.”

Octavio Dotel proved heroic in shutting down a Reds rally in the eighth, and tossing a masterful 1-2-3 ninth.

With Descalso flying out to lead off the ninth, Allen Craig singled and opportunistically took second base on what was scored a wild pitch. Furcal pushed Craig over to third with a ground out.

Which brought up the scalding hot Jon Jay.

Which, in turn, brought in Reds left-handed reliever Nick Masset.

Which, naturally, meant La Russa pinch-hitting David Freese for Jay.

Freese would fly out to left.

In the post-game conference I garnered up the stones to ask Tony about the decision.

“Freese is one of our better guys against a left-handed pitcher, and, I think that’s an obvious move.”

Obvious. Yes. Of course it was.

Upon the switch, Pujols appeared to pat Jay on the back and offer encouragement.

I approached Jay, who was diplomatic in his response but – and this is based only upon my own perception – seemed frustrated.

After mumbling the modus operandi team-first, manager-knows-best, “he’s a tough lefty” rubbish, he finally acknowledged flatly,

“It is what it is.”

I think that is the thing you have to love about the guy who made centerfielder Colby Rasmus, a first round draft pick Cardinals fans fawned over long before he ever made a major league appearance, forgettable.

He clearly wants to be in there in those situations.

The Reds faced Fernando Salas in the tenth. After securing two outs of Votto and Bruce respectively, OF Yonder Alonso singled, Stubbs walked, and Francisco singled in the eventual winning run, Chris Valaika, who was pinch running for Alonso.

The Cardinals would go quietly into the night, with Pujols, Holliday and Berkman-replacement Corey Patterson, all grounding out to end the game.

Saint Louis falls to 6-9 against the scuffling Reds this season, and to an astounding 6-12 record in games decided in extra innings.

Milwaukee comes to town having rebounded from being swept by the Cardinals with a sweep of their own against Houston.

Garcia Bounces Back, Cardinals Look To Take Series

Composure. It is an enormous factor in whether a big league pitcher achieves and sustains success.

Jaime Garcia has it.

A game that started off as if it were an extension of Friday night’s match, Brandon Phillips leading off with a hit and Renteria doubling him in, was quickly checked by the left-hander, who attacked the heart of the Reds order, collecting three straight strikeouts.

After a one-out single by 3B Todd Frazier in the second, the Reds would capitalize on a fly ball to left that Matt Holliday caught and attempted to airmail to Pujols for a force out.

Honestly, I had no idea Holliday could throw the ball that far. But that son-of-a-bitch carried well above and to the left of Pujols, ricocheting into the home dugout and allowing Frazier to advance to third.

Reds starter Homer Bailey plated him with a hit to center, but Garcia swiftly got Phillips to pop a ball foul for out number three.

Down two runs, Saint Louis hitters would show some composure of their own in the bottom half against Bailey, who pitched like the guy with a career 5.18 ERA against the Redbirds.

With Berkman walking after a Holliday ground out, and Schumaker singling after a Freese strikeout, backup catcher Gerald Liard ran the count full before hitting a single to left. Berkman scored, and upon Reds leftfielder Chris Heisey misplaying the bounce, Schumaker trotted in. Laird advanced to second.

Garcia got in on the action with a single of his own, scoring Laird.

Jon Jay was all up in it in the third with his second triple of the season, and then again in the fifth with his 20th double. Both would generate runs, with Pujols and Holliday each driving him in once.

La Russa offered praise.

“He’s a good player. He knows how to set the table and he gives you a chance to drive in runs.”

Suddenly, Garcia had put up four straight zeros, given up only one earned run and struck out six over six innings, and Saint Louis was up 6-2.

Arthur Rhodes relieved Mitchell Boggs in the eighth, the journeyman and former Red tragically forgetting which team he was playing for (which happens when you are really, really old).

Jay Bruce, almost criminally, took advantage of the elderly former All-Star with his 29th homerun, estimated somewhere around 983 feet. The jack scored Renteria, who had singled to lead off the frame.

Motte, who make no mistake, is this team’s closer right now, righted the ship and then took care of Cincinnati in order to record the save.

The Cardinals will send Edwin Jackson to the hill on Sunday to try to complete the series win.

Cards Lose War But Win A Few Battles

Regardless of whether or not you subscribe to the belief that the Cardinals have played their way back into a “pennant race”, if you’re a Cardinals fan and Carpenter versus Cueto doesn’t produce a tingling sensation in your loins, then you are an asshole.

Indeed, an exciting rivalry could have quickly become diluted were it not for the improbable sweep in Milwaukee. And with Cincinnati’s funk-nasty, still-steaming remains having just been scraped off of Philadelphia’s path to a 4-game sweep of their own, the enmity between these two squads grew teeth for different reasons.

The Reds came to town hoping to turn the corner; the Cardinals came home looking to stay hot.

Prior to the game, I caught hitting coach Mark McGwire in the dugout tunnel before the contest and asked him about the hitters’ energy, meeting up with the Reds on such a strong note.

“It’s the same everyday. Guys are ready to kick butt. The thing about a hitter is you can prepare all you want, but, the guy on the mound, especially tonight, Cueto, best ERA in the league…he’s had some pretty good games against us. But we’ve given him some battles. We’re looking forward to a good weekend.”

In regards to what he expected from the effeminate – in my opinion – starter, he mused,

“Hopefully a lot of pitches over the plate.”

Both starters appeared unconcerned with the opposition’s bats in the first frame. To the crowd’s pleasure, a strikeout of Brandon Phillips looked to set the tone.

Former Cardinal defensive stalwart Edgar Renteria worked a walk, but Carp came right back at the Reds top of the order with a K of Joey Votto, and coaxed a ground out from Jay Bruce.

Cueto cruised through the first as well, though barely avoided a liner off the bat of Jon Jay that was then snagged on a hop and fired to first for the out.

It felt right though…finally seeing Cueto knocked down by a Redbird…

But for the second straight outing Carpenter would get shelled in a particular inning, giving up 5 runs on 6 hits in the second.

Phillips won round two of the flavorful beef between he and the local crowd by driving a double into left center and picking up his 74^th RBI of the year.

Contrary to Tony’s post-game analysis, where he made mention of “buzzards’s luck” being Carpenter’s primary assailant, aside from the bloop RBI single that followed off of the bat of Renteria, his second inning pitches were hit harder than a polished and well-manicured Sauget glory hole.

The game had every indication of a rout, but the Cardinals chipped away.

Through five, the teams found themselves knotted up at five, and the league’s leader in ERA found himself in the visiting dugout after having thrown just 78 pitches.

The tit-for-tat bled into the sixth with pinch hitter Todd Frazier depositing one into the seats. Carpenter promptly beaned Phillips. Whether intentional or not, this was pleasing to my still slightly tingling loins. David Freese was brushed back in the bottom half by reliever Jose Arredondo, but responded with a solo shot of his own.

Six innings…six runs a piece…loin tingling.

But a generously scored single by Bruce, followed by a bomb to right by promising Reds youngster Yonder Alonso, who can clearly hit but wields loathsome leather, put the Reds up 8-6.

The Cardinals threatened in the eighth when, after a Freese ground out, Aroldis Chapman walked Molina and Theriot. Molina advanced to third on a fielder’s choice by Allen Craig, who hit for Mitchell Boggs, and the increasingly clutch Furcal drove him home with a single to right.

With Craig on third and two outs, La Russa opted to bat Shane Robinson against the lefty, who was brought up from Memphis on Friday and adds legit, centerfield defense and a right-handed bat.

Welcome back to the big leagues, son. Now go hit 99 mile per hour cheese.

Something of a feel-good story, Robinson returns to the majors after suffering a dislocated shoulder, sitting most of 2010, and sustaining serious injuries in this outfield collision (brought to you by my friends at www.i70baseball.com) earlier this year.

Robinson would ground out to second.

Reds 3B Jose Francisco padded the lead and his stats with a 3-run blast to dead center in the top of the ninth, completing a 5 RBI night. Holliday nurtured his own numbers with a shot in the bottom half, but the Cardinals came up short.

Look, a loss is a loss. But Cueto got knocked out of the game early and nearly got his cap pealed back by a line drive. Phillips got hit by a pitch. Robinson got the call up after a hellacious series of events, and Furcal continues to look like a prime fit for short in 2012.

They also scored 8 runs.

Sometimes you have to celebrate the small victories.