On Saturday, a group of five gathered at a local intern's parents' house. Nothing was really going on, and we had just grilled elsewhere, so, hey, why not?

The house itself was pretty standard issue. Older. Unimpressive from the outside. Sidewalk-less neighborhood. From the inside? Not much. Living room a bit cramped. Small, small entryway, hardly big enough to fit five pairs of shoes. The backyard? Stunning. Incredible. People shouldn't live like that. (But they do. Of the 25 or so houses on the lake, only two are summer-only houses, it was estimated.)

Elevated house on a lake. Dock and pontoon boats out back. (I think every house on the lake had a boat and a pier.) Covered outdoor hot tub. (Underneath the living room, that is.) Bar. An actual beach for a backyard. Unbelievable.

Of the five of us, three were local or semi-local. Myself and DOT aren't. We were amazed. "This is how my family would vacation," he said. We agreed that, "even if this baseball thing doesn't happen," it's probably worth being up here. The ring fingernail rules.

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However, rednecks do exist here, and lots of them. In my "epic" post from last month, I made reference to the redneck karaoke bar on the outskirts. It's also by the ballpark. It's officially a postgame hangout. Sadly, Saturday's company wasn't impressed enough with the idea of drinking High Lifes by the lake - after all, they aren't impressed by the lake - and we wound up at the redneck bar.

We'll call my favorite redneck Legs. Legs is a dude. He's not tall, but his jeans were hiked up to the navel. The belt buckle was gigantic, silver, gaudy. He wore a NASCAR cap. Gap-toothed. I'm pretty sure that he had "stylishly" ripped his jeans. Big tear on the back left pocket, and on the front right knee. The ensemble was completed by a gray, long-sleeved t-shirt, emblazoned with the slogan, "DRINK 'TIL YOU WANT ME," which isn't a bad slogan, when it comes down to it.

Legs performed two karaoke songs. Puddle of Mudd's "She Hates Me," and, even more redneck-y, that post-911, Toby Keith "boot in the ass" song.

After a poor, quiet, mumbled rendition of the "boot in the ass" song, it was my turn, and I brought the house down. Second time in three weeks. (First time, maybe ten days ago, it was the Black Crowes' "Hard to Handle." A crowd-pleaser, to be sure.) Saturday, it was GN'R's "Patience." Later on, I decided to push the audience's collective buttons. I did "Come Together." Predictably, nobody in the place had ever heard the song. I only got a positive response when I broke, during an instrumental break, into the "Patience"-closing "I been walking the streee-eeets at night" coda. Win some, lose some.

(The goal is to really push the redneck audience's collective buttons later this summer. "She Don't Use Jelly" is on the list, as is "The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite" and "Everybody Hurts" and Franz Ferdinand's "Take Me Out" and "Do You Want To?" Every Friday and Saturday. I'd think that my parents'll do "Achy Breaky Heart" as well. Know your audience.)

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I just saw this awful Budweiser commercial featuring Joe Buck and a Father's Day message. "If you could have a beer with anybody, Joe, who would it be?" the bartender asks. And he gets all sappy, talking about "the man who took me to my first ballgame" and "a person who could command a room from 100 miles away," all while images of Jack Buck and son Joe flash slideshow-style across the screen. Then he says something like, "Yeah, I'd like to have a beer with my dad," and "Here's to Father's Day" flashes on the screen, and it's supposed to be sweet.

But here's the thing: Joe is so arrogant, so sarcastic, so smarmy, that it feels like there's a punchline coming. (It feels like the Best Man speech, when you mention that you'd like to talk about "the reason we're here," and "a man of class and taste," and "someone who brightens the lives of anyone lucky enough to have met him," then say either a) "But enough about the bartender" or b) "But enough about me." J-Suk [pronounce how you will] did a) to great effect about 10 months ago.) Just wanted to say that I thought it was an awful commercial. And, contrarian that I am, I'm a Miller guy.

(Also, I don't enjoy watching games in which Len Kaspar is broadcasting. I do enjoy watching the Tigers' Mario Impemba. He's a pro.)

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I really, really like productive Sunday mornings. I was out of the house by 7:20 this particular Sunday, laundry done by 8:58, home in time to watch the French Open final while flipping to The Netherlands-Serbia & Montenegro game. I saw the goal in the game.

Federer is really fun to watch, even when he loses. I wish I were more committed to watching tennis, or the Grand Slam events, anyway. They're fun. This was the first time I've really seen much of Nadal. He never stops moving. Never. He's also fun. He is odd-looking, however. I wish Federer had won, however. I really enjoy it when Federer wins a Grand Slam event, then cries. He cries pretty wussily. Is there a non-wussy way to cry? I've never seen one.

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Anyone who doesn't like World Cup soccer shouldn't properly call him or herself a sports fan. The passion, and the intensity, not to mention the skill level, make it my favorite sporting event by a long shot. Mexican by way of Brazil winger Zinha scored a beautiful goal this afternoon, then had a more beautiful reaction.

I should be able to watch all three USA games in the first round. Monday, I'll sneak away to the press box, which has a TV, and do some work. Game's at noon, team's on the road, and I'll eat my lunch during that time as well. Can't miss it. The Italy game is on Saturday afternoon, so I'll make sure I'm home. The final game, against Ghana, is a morning game on the day of a home game. Again, I'll just sneak away and work from the press box. This stuff is important.

I have no idea how the US will do. Saw a bit of their game against Japan back in March, and that's about it. I love that defender with the initials OO, and I'm happy that Reyna is healthy. Outside of that, I know nothing, but I'm sure hoping that I'll be able to see them play more than three times.


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The moment you've been waiting for...
WIDiRVoFOW [yes, it's curiously named, but that's its name, dude.]

This Week's Reason: He's a serial interruptor. And it's awful.

This Week's Vignette: On Friday, he amazingly turned a good mood into a bad mood in a period of 11 seconds.

You see, I've got a few stats-related responsibilities that I handle every day the team plays, home or road. Friday morning, due to other things going on, I sent the R/DS email notice [better to avoid conversation, of course] that I had a variety of responsibilities and that I may or may not be able to fulfill my duties. If he wanted to do the "Trends" sheet (it's awful, and more work than it's worth), he could. If he wanted to do the "Day by Day" sheets, he could do those, too, or else I'd just get to them on Saturday or, if time existed, later on Friday. No guarantees that I'd be able to find the time on Friday, however.

I sent the email at about 9:04. Then I went to discuss my first responsibility of the day (yes, two hours dressed as the mascot) with the person organizing the appearance. Turns out, I had an extra hour. So, I wanted to call the R/DS to let him know that I could actually get some stats work done, and that I'd do whichever one he'd prefer me to do.

So, being that this was a time-sensitive situation, I decided to suck it up and call. Say hello, ask my either/or question, get either/or answer, get the hell off the phone.

"Hey R/DS." [1 second]
"Hey. What's going on?" [3 seconds]
"Hey. I've got an extra hour here. Would you like me to get started on the ----" [9 seconds]
[Loudly] "WHATEVER YOU WANT TO WORK ON" [11 seconds] "THAT YOU THINK IS BEST FOR THE TEAM. I KNOW YOU'VE GOT A LOT GOING ON, SO JUST GET DONE WHATEVER YOU THINK IS BEST."
"R/DS - No, I've got time right now. Just an hour, and I'm going to do either 'Trends or 'Day by' ----"
"WHATEVER YOU THINK IS BEST. I KNOW THERE'S A LOT GOING ON, SO JUST GET TO WHATEVER YOU THINK WILL HELP OUT MOST OVER THERE."
"Just tell me what you'd prefer. 'Trends,' or 'Day by Days.' "
"IF IT'S GOING TO BE JUST ONE, THEN I'D PREFER 'TRENDS,' BUT, AGAIN, IF YOU THINK THAT THERE ARE---"
[hang up]

Crap like that sets me off. Let me finish, dude.

(I fear this reads all petty-like. But it's not. He's a serial interruptor, and, when he's interrupting, he always needs to speak louder than the person he interrupts. Awful. Awful. Awful. Also, he talks way too fast when he's on air, and that's just annoying.)