It's been a while, but I don't think there's much of anything to report, to be honest.

The Chicago Bulls just opened the season with a huge win over the defending champion Miami Heat and, for about the fourth straight year, I'm really excited about their prospects for the season.

Of course, this season, their prospects are actually legitimately good. John Paxson took the team with the best field goal percentage defense in the NBA, and added the Defensive Player of the Year. He also added rugged PJ Brown to the middle, certainly an upgrade over starting Malik Allen or, I'm sad to admit, Tyson Chandler. Further, today he locked up Kirk Hinrich, a guy that had no business being a top ten draft pick, for five more years. Of course, Kirk Hinrich has turned into a fantastic NBA player, one of the top point guards in the league, and he figures to only get better. Paxson and Scott Skiles have built a true rarity - a no-star team with 12 (15?) guys who, without exception, seem to play hard all the time. The no-star system can be problematic - Who gets the ball in crunch time? Who gets the star treatment from the refs? Has a team ever won a title without one of the league's top ten players on its roster? - but I prefer to be excited about a team who has four potential players (Hinrich, Gordon, Nocioni, and Deng) capable of exploding for 30 on a given night.

Tyrus Thomas certainly isn't ready to be a star, but his effort is awesome. He was crashing the offensive boards within ten seconds of ripping off the warmups.

Judging not on this game tonight, but on the offseason as a whole and the performance against Miami in the postseason last year, I think anything less than a trip to the Eastern Conference Finals this season is a disappointment. That said, I'm pretty sure they'll be fun to watch regardless of how they finish.

Moments before the end of the game, former Willie the Wildcat Craig Sager reported on the NBA Cares efforts to celebrate Hispanic Heritage Month. It was Antoine Walker playing dominoes with a bunch of old Cubans. It was kind of cool, though not particularly charitable. I bet Walker got some smokes out of it, too.

- - - - -

A few unimportant but at least a little important moments on the "New Guy at Work" (a month in, still the new guy, certainly) front:

- Last Friday marked the first time I've gone out with coworkers since coming on staff. A coworkers birthday, a post-work beers-then-dinner-then-more-beers kind of thing, eventually winding up at a coworkers house to watch the bitter conclusion of the World Series. Raucous at times, and fun most of the time, I was happy to be a part of it. I also got acquainted with a coworker's guest bedroom, thankfully.

- Highlight of the night, carrying over from Friday through Monday. I was lamenting my "New Guy" status to a coworker, and I did so thusly: "I mean, end of my second week with the company, and I come in with absolutely ridiculous sideburns. And nobody - nobody - has made fun of me once for them." That was Friday. Monday, I had a nice point during break time volleyball - maybe a block, maybe a dig, and certainly a point-ending kill. "Hey. Nice play, Chops," my boss yelled from the back row. I chose to believe that she hadn't been tipped off to my lamentation.

- I'm no longer the New Guy. A new staff member joined our department last Monday, and another tech dude came on today. Psychologically, I think that means a change of some sort - I'm obligated to be more friendly and, consequently, more silly, with the others, I guess. Maybe? I don't know.

- Today, new department member asked if I was familiar with Ween. That's an odd question, anyway. Odder, of course, because I had been, thanks to Jenny, singing "Push the little daisies and make 'em come up," earlier in the day. Cosmic really. Anyway, when I think of "Push the Little Daisies," I think of the Beavis and Butt-head Sex Education episode, when Beavis sings along. I asked her - a recent MSU grad, from the rich part of The Ring Fingernail - if she had seen much in the way of Beavis and Butt-head. Her response: "I own four DVDs. Three are Beavis and Butt-head." I find this inconceivable, but, again, I'll choose to believe her.

- I'm a full staff member and everything. Clients that I'm responsible for. A new one coming on Friday. This ups the stress level, I guess, but also makes the work day go far quicker.

- Of the thirty or so employees, I believe six came in full costume today. That's worth something.

- - - - - - - - - -

The Tigers sure sucked in the Series. Disappointing, or annoying, that they played so well for 10 days, then completely tanked. But it'll happen. When I was at the grocery store Sunday morning, I wore my Tigers hat. "I'm pretty upset about them, too," the greeter said, without prompting. "Yeah, me too, but I have a feeling we'll be celebrating a Series in about 363 days." He agreed.

I didn't tell him that I had been a Tigers fan for less than four months, so I wasn't really broken up about the whole thing. Certainly, though, Chris Duncan, Ronnie Belliard, and Juan Encarnacion are among the worst regulars ever for a Series team. And Adam Wainwright will never be a closer again. And Anthony Reyes won't be good for two years. So, yeah, they're the worst Series champ ever, but them's the breaks.

- - - - - - -

I should comment that Jenny's E2V1 mix arrived in the mail last Thursday or Wednesday or Friday. I'm quite impressed with the thought she put into it. It's all bumpin' at the beginning, then it's foreign language bumpin', then there's Fatboy Slim for no real reason, then a few bumpin' pop tracks, then Califone fits its way in there with a typically beautiful Tim Rutili song ("The Orchids" - God, I forget how awesome Califone is sometimes), then we get bitches yelling with Yeah Yeah Yeahs "Goldlion" and the Sonic Youth classic "Bull in the Heather," and then we close with Smokey and Miko (Milo?), who I don't know, and Joanna Newsom, who'd always been on my "to hear" list, and Regina Spektor, who's delightful. "And on the radio, they were playing 'November Rain.'"

There's a craftsmanship to E2V1, though I was a bit put off by the early bumpin'ness. Put off is the wrong term. Just surprised, I guess. I expected a bit of indie pop.

I'm not going to go so far as to say I'm excited about E2V2, but I'm kind of excited. Strong seeds have been planted, and now it's a matter of getting that crap in the mail.

- - - - - - - - - -

The Hold Steady have taken over my brain. I think that, barring a late run from Dan Bejar plus the guy from Wolf Parade project Swan Lake, or if the Modest Mouse album comes out, Boys and Girls In America is my album of the year for 2006. I'm pretty sure that, upon review, The Hold Steady's Separation Sunday is my favorite of 2005.

Point is, The Boy got to see The Hold Steady at Metro on Thursday night. He called me and held up the cell phone prior to opener "Stuck Between Stations," though it was a false start and I hung up before the song started.

Anyway, he sent a concise but strong show report immediately upon his return home on Thursday night, and I was eminently grateful. A pretty complete setlist, a description of the band's attitude and the singers charisma ("They seemed like the happiest band in the world. Craig Finn uses a lot more vocal inflection on stage. He also makes many hand gestures and dances or claps every time there's a little solo. He also routinely repeats lyrics away from the mic when there's a little break
in the song." He didn't use any run-on sentences here), and a crowd summary.

Also, from a normally subdued kid, the most enthusiastic sentence he's ever typed, I'm pretty sure: "I'm up writing this email because, after that show, I'm not in the mood to go to sleep."

I know the feeling. I once tried to jump in Lake Michigan at four in the morning, despite being already completely shirtless. Ahh, the good old days.

He confirmed that it was the greatest show he's ever seen.

I didn't go see The Hold Steady in Detroit on Friday. I hope they tour this record again.

- - - - - - - - -

For the record, this was my second straight travel-free weekend. I watched some football, hung out, did some tidying up, and generally had a perfect time. That's the plan again this weekend, though maybe I'll be restless. I've got a good feeling about the Iowa game, though I have a good feeling about every NU football game.

- - - - - - - -

Last week, I wrote about the stress that has come from a fringe-long commute, the desire to run on a daily basis, and the desire to cook a real dinner on a nightly basis. Well, last Monday I was introduced to a slightly-quicker route, cutting my trip from 30-35 minutes to 25-30 minutes, which is nice. I've still run after work on a daily basis. But I made soup for dinner twice last week, and I'm doing it twice again this week. I think it's a pretty good plan - a pot of soup is good for two meals, at least, and probably three. That makes dinner prep significantly easier.

Last week, it was chili on Sunday and taco soup on Wednesday. This week, it was a potato/garlic/red pepper soup on Sunday, and a black bean and Canadian bacon concoction on Thursday. I'm pretty excited.

I've also cooked tilapia twice in the past two weeks. From what I can tell, fish is pretty easy because all you have to do is fill the pan with olive oil, crank the heat, drown the thing in lemon juice and oregano, and fry for about three minutes. It's cooked, and you've wasted less than ten minutes. And it's yummy.

- - - - - -

For breakfast recently, I've been eating lots of raisins. In cereal or in oatmeal, raisins are awesome.

- - - - - - - - - -

I had quite a music haul at the library last Wednesday, bringing home the maximum ten CDs:

Leonard Cohen - I'm Your Man (fantastic)
Comets on Fire - Two CDs I haven't listened to yet
Constantines - Constantines
Constantines - Shine a Light
Cornershop - When I Was Born for the Seventh Time
Elvis Costello - This Year's Model
Lifter Puller (Craig Finn's previous band) - Fiestas + Fiascos
Liars - They Threw Us In A Trench And Stuck A Monument On Top
Liars - Fins Make Us More Fish-Like

I didn't realize how awesome Elvis Costello was. My first and only previous exposure to Leonard Cohen was WNUR's 50th anniversary weekend, when some trying-to-relive-her-youth guest DJ played his "First We'll Take Manhattan." As far as all-time great album openers go, it's certainly in the team photo.

- - - - - - - -

Rambling. Done.

Well, Michigan State just beat Northwestern, 41-38, as Northwestern blew a 38-3 lead in the game's final 25 minutes. 35 points is the biggest blown lead for a loss in NCAA history. If you're going to lose, lose in record-breaking fashion, I've always said.

On the bright side, Eastern Michigan won "The Thrilla in Ypsilla(-nti)," as it's already been dubbed, by defeating the Toledo Rockets 17-13. The game's key play was a two-point conversion attempt returned for a safety. It was awesome, though I wasn't watching.

Awesomer, Notre Dame snuck past UCLA. I think Jeff Samardzija is the best receiver in the nation. With a nose job, he'd also be a pretty attractive woman, I think. (During an ESPN halftime show, Linda Cohn just said, "Notre Dame's like Steven Taylor [sic] of Aerosmith: They like 'Living. On. The. Edge.'" That's the uncoolest thing ever said by Linda Cohn, I think.)

But back to the Cats: If anyone can have a good time watching his favorite program set an NCAA record for awfulness, I had that.

Because my roommate is a Badgers fan and is comfortable flipping channels when his favorite team is on (I'm not), I headed to a local bar to watch every play. (I did miss the first drive, a MSU field goal.)

Anyway, after watching NU's first drive at the nearly-empty bar, I headed over to a table near some older women who were watching MSU and the Cats. Three older women in a sports bar is not a frequently-occuring thing, and this trio was fantastic. Completely decked out in Spartan gear. But friendly, too. And ultra-knowledgable. Turns out, one of them was a family friend of Drew Stanton's, to the point where she makes him brownies on a weekly basis and sent him a congratulatory text message after the game. She was also wearing MSU Converse All Star-high heels. They were MSU alums from, say, 1968, and they were together for their annual "Sisters Weekend." They were fun to watch with.

"Another goddamn dropped ball."
"Bullshit!"
"How many penalties do we have? Look at that - seven damn penalties."

Some of their quotes.

Plus, they did a "touchdown dance" after every State score. It was pretty funny.

The loss was excruciating, obviously, but not that extruciating.

Why:
1) My rivals were pleasant.
2) John L. Smith jokes flowed regularly.
3) Fitzgerald looked confused every time he wass shown on camera.
4) After the first three conference games, there was no legitimate hope for a bowl game.
5) Once the blocked punt happened, you could feel it coming. Maybe sooner, in fact.
6) NU actually played the quarterback that knows how to throw.
7) He threw well.
8) After it, I'm 90 percent sure I won't waste my time or money on a trip to Ann Arbor to watch the loss to Michigan next week. The only thing that could change this is the decision to see The Hold Steady on Friday in Detroit. But I don't think that the two potentialities are worth the trip. (A third potentiality - the Tigers clinching the World Seris that night - might.)

Unfortunately, four wins is probably not possible this year. That's disappointing. Also, we'll finish no better than tied for last in the conference. That's even more disappointing.

I guess I've got no further comment on that one. Wow.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Awful news on Tuesday night, when I learned that my phone number was not indeed portable, as I had been told. I planned to be into the Alltel dealership and out within an hour but, instead, I was directed to Sam's Club, where they had a Motorola Razr rebate promotion going. Once there, the only kiosk attendant was occupied for a half-hour. Then, she couldn't read my address, delaying the process. By a lot. Then, she couldn't get the number switched to the new phone. Then, she spent a half-hour on the phone with her supervisor, finding out why not. Then, I spent 20 minutes on the phone with the Verizon guy, with him explaining why I couldn't switch it in. Then I chose from a list of crappy prefixes - I couldn't choose from full phone numbers, just prefixes.

And I was left with: BE 1 - LEG - 0 EH 0. Not much you can do with two zeros and a one. Considering the situation, I guess it's somewhat memorable, but will never be used to draw laughs.

Joe Did Gary, you served nobly. I, and several others, will miss you. Crap.

Also, I left the house at 6:05 on Tuesday night, and returned at 8:40. It sucked. The best part of the night was that I got a huge tuna sandwich from Subway.

- - - - - - - -

The cell phone thing was a total, and unnecessary, source of stress for me on Tuesday night. Gurs was nice enough to talk me down after work on Wednesday.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I'll state it before first pitch: Jim Leyland ("The Wizard of Woodward," as my MSU-loving friends called him) made the absolute right choice by starting Justin Verlander in game one. He's their best guy.

Rogers in Detroit is the right decision. The only one I'd hesitate about is Bonderman behind Robertson.

Prediction: Tigers in ... 6, though I think that a Tigers sweep is a possibility, and I think a Cards win is a possibility.

- - - - - - - - -

So, I think work is taking a lot out of me. This is the first time I've had a commute of more than ten minutes, and then had to do things like cook for myself. This is also the first time my workday has started at eight. In the 'Port, it was a four-minute commute and a nine (ten during the season) start. This winter, in the exciting world of non-profit HR, it was a 35-minute, a 9 a.m. start, and my mom cooked. That was sweet.

So, my day now starts at about 6:30 or so, when I wake up, and I get home in the vicinity of 5:45. Then I run, because I'm an idiot. I'm doing about an hour a day now, whether outdoors or on the apartment complex treadmill.

Anyway, I'm finding myself not eating dinner until 8:30 or 9, and not getting to bed until after midnight. Phone calls, or reading, or baseball, or whatever. I fell asleep in the ninth inning of the seventh game of the NLCS, missing both Molina's home run and the Mets bottom-of-the-ninth threat. That kind of sucks. (It also sucks that games start at 8:20 here. Sucks royally, dude.)

One small solution I came up with on Wednesday night: Counting my post-run shower as my morning shower. Is this unsanitary? Not completely. I only sit around at night, after all. And now I'm waking up at 6:40 and, rather than hurrying through a shower and breakfast, I'm watching Today, doing some reading, and eating a leisurely breakfast. It's making things a bit less stressful in the morning.

I've also adjusted my breakfast a bit. Sometimes, shredded wheat and Splenda and a sliced banana. But, sometimes, oatmeal and cinammon and applesauce and raisins, all in the same bowl. I really, really like raisins.

Anyway, after work on Friday, I had a pretty severe headache, and I was extremely tired on the way home. I called my roommate to cancel our plans to watch The Ring Fingernail's annual high school football hate match (he and another former coworker went, and said that it was a pretty awesome atmosphere - the place was filling up as I drove by 90 minutes before kickoff), returned home, ate some raisins, and settled down for a nap. My nap started at 5:55. I turned off the alarm at 7:36. I ignored a phone call from Dirtbag at 9:12. I woke up at 11:23. That's 5:28 in naptime, and it was awesome.

After six more hours of sleep (about 4:30 until about 10:30), I was totally refreshed for my run this morning. The autumn colors were out in force, and the weather was sufficiently crisp. A great refresher. (I did not see any fans at the houses that, bafflingly, continue to fly Michigan State flags, so I did not get the chance to gesture to my NU shirt and yell "Go Cats!," as I had planned. Note: A few weeks ago, after Michigan beat Sparty, several of those MSU-flag-flying houses were flying their flags upside-down, presumably the result of another lost bet. It was awesome.)

(Slighly related to the above: I hadn't seen ESPN.com since at least Monday night. I tried to catch up on the columnists I like - David Fleming, Tuesday Morning Quarterback, The Sports Guy - plus the NU message boards and a bit of Deadspin - after waking up after my nap. When The Sports Guy writes three columns in a week, and you read all three in one night, the night becomes a long one. But it's worth it, generally.)

- - - - - - -

When I returned home from the bar after the Cats game, my roommate was on a total cleaning kick. So I helped out. Some vacuuming, some floor scrubbing, a pretty good go-over, really. He was blasting music.

Learned: Jack Johnson really, really sucks. Blink 182's Enema of the State: Pretty catchy, really.

- - - - - - - -

I've gotten dial-up at home. Don't look now, though, but a neighbor has just installed unencrypted wireless. This could be a huge victory.

I guess I'm not the only one, but I totally woke up and had to scrape off my windshield this morning. It was a shock, to say the least.

I realized that I don't have a particularly heavy winter jacket and that, more importantly, I don't currently have gloves. The windshield-scraping certainly was a struggle - I came out of it with a slightly sliced index finger and a more-than-slightly bent windshield wiper - the result of over-vigorous stroking. The ice had numbed the finger, so I didn't notice the blood until I got back in the car and was already on the road. My right ring finger was also dealt a scraping-related cut, as my class ring (Who wears a class ring? Dorks, that's who.), probably too big when I received it in 2002, is now way too big. It must have been sliding around and - whack - a centimeter-long slice at the base of the finger.

I also don't have boots, but this is less of a problem.

I also don't have a car with doors that properly open in the winter. They'll unlock just fine (and, as my old boss claims to have never locked his car, I'll move that way for the winter just in case they start giving me problems), but they're not particularly good at not-freezing shut. I was late for work two or three days for this reason last winter, but it didn't really matter because, well, there wasn't much to do in the middle of the winter.

Is there a cure for doors that freeze shut? I'm not sure.

Perhaps I'll pay the 12 bucks a month for the carport. Probably a good investment, I think.

- - - - - - - - -

I spoke to a broadcaster friend - one of my favorites - on Monday. I went to see him during our all-star break in July, and had stayed in touch as he worked his way to a new job opportunity during the end of the summer. He had called while I was in line at CoPa on Saturday afternoon, certainly assuming that I was still in the baseball world.

So he told me his story of moving and starting anew and trying to make a positive impact in his new market, and it was really pretty exciting. A hardworking guy, and I think he'll be a fantastic success.

So, of course, then I told him my story. About the shitcanning. (I love using the term "shitcanning.") About the regroup trip. About the fact that I had sent out a resume previously. About finding the job. About volleyball breaks. About the atmosphere. About the new roommate. About things. Updates, you know. (RHH's readership is a select group.)

So, the conversation's coming to an end, and he nails it: "Dude, you sound really happy."

I think he was right. Obviously, some nerves, but not until next April or May, when the season's going and I'm not, but he totally nailed it.

- - - - - - - - -

Work is generally good. It's busy, and I'm learning a lot, and I'm getting to know my coworkers a bit more. To be honest, I wish I knew them better, but perhaps there'll be opportunities soon. I've got a lot of married coworkers, and a few that are older, and I don't sense that there's much staff going-out. Not many people live in my corner of the Ring Fingernail - a 30-minute hike from the office - but I'm getting the sense that it's a generally good group.

I did get to make fun of someone who came in for an interview on Thursday, so that was cool. I was walking by a cluster of desks as the HR person was going over the interview with one person who was in there, and one who wasn't. "He was so arrogant," one was saying, "and the popped collar," the other said. And I jumped in, mentioning that I noticed him when he entered the office, and I was impressed by the garish choice of polo shirt (bright, bright pink) and the winning smile, but did a double take when I noticed the unbuttoned, flipped collar. We all shared a good laugh, so that was nice.

I think most people know my name at this point, and I can at least make bad jokes to them. That's worth something.

As I wrote here a few weeks ago, I really enjoyed my interview. It got me excited about the company. It was silly, and that made it good.

Well, since the interview, I'd exchanged about 14 words outside of "Hey" with the owner/boss/CEO/whatever. Utterances, rather, as all were volleyball-related grunts. She emphasizes the open-door policy, and her door was open this afternoon, so I walked in.

"Hey, you got 90 seconds for a story?"
"Sure. ? . "

So I told her about talking to my broadcasting pal, and how we hadn't been in real contact for about three months, and how he closed the conversation with, "Dude, you sound happy." And I told her I thought he was right, and that I was happy that I've wound up there. She said she was happy too, and mentioned that my DS was ecstatic. So that's worth something.

It was a nice conversation to have, though weird, but good, too.

- - - - - - - -

Great email received, courtesy of the boss, on Monday.

To: All Staff
Subject: Friday the 13th
Content:

In celebration of nothing in particular, we’re going to have an office outing this Friday – the 13th (ooowwweeeeeeoooo). [Ed: I don't think "ooowwweeeeeeoooo" rhymes with "Magglio," though I hope it does.]

At 1:30, we’ll convoy [to a local bowling alley], knock down a few pins and relieve a little stress – some more than others.

So, bring your Fred Flintstone twinkle toes, your rock balls and be prepared to make fun of each other.

That's bowling. Instead of working. And that's awesome.

Also, I've confirmed that beer consumption is acceptable. That's awesomer.

Reminds me of the last time I went bowling, about six months ago, again with new coworkers. I was totally awesome, and totally did a turkey dance. Owing to the turkey, of course.

Perhaps you'll get a full recap.

[Also, read that full post. I had just started running. I think it was 1.1 miles. Last week, I did eight. And I'm doing six on the treadmill now that it's snowing. Treadmills hurt my legs. Maybe I need new shoes.]

- - - - - - - - -

I feel no need to justify my "baseball bigamy," as Flax referred to it. However, I will. The Tiges are my closest big league team, and they're awesome to watch. They're the team that gets local coverage. They're the team that was on TV every single night of the summer. They're the team that has two eminently likable TV guys (and two awful radio guys). They're the team with some of the best young talent in baseball, and a crusty, old school manager. They're the team with one guy who played in the 'Port, and one major contributor who I spent a season watching lead the Midwest League in strikeouts. There's a lot to like about them, and I've proudly jumped on the bandwagon.

(For the record, the annoying guy next to me on Saturday - I hope he had a happy 30th birthday tonight - asked me how long I'd been a Tigers fan. "About three months," I proudly said. But I can see myself adopting them permanently.)

Do I feel the tie to them like I do to the Cubs? Of course not. But will I support them as far as they can go? Of course I will.

Are they my favorite American League team? Yup. (My second-favorite: the Twins. My third-favorite: the White Sox. Figure that out. The Tribe might even be number four, though that might be going too far.)

- - - - - - - -

For the first time ever at Comerica Park, I'll be the youngest person in my group on Saturday. Maybe I'll get a free souvenir foam finger out of it, or something.

If it gets to game five ("If." I love this team), the stars will be out. Not just Robertson, but also R-Josh, Nemo, and Carrie. I can feel the energy.

- - - - -

What's your favorite Cory Lidle memory? Mine is a recent one. Last Saturday, he was pulled by Joe Torre, and nobody stood up to slap his ass or give him a fist pound or a high five when he returned to the dugout. I'm not sure he was particularly well-liked.

I'm sure that ESPN overcovered his death. Or, at least, they covered his death at the expense of the question of "Why the hell was a plane able to, you know, fly straight into a high-rise? Aren't there air space restrictions?" There was reporting to be done, and they failed.

But instead we got a string of "It's a tragedy when the game loses one of its own" and "Our thoughts and prayers are with his family" and "It's a shocking, shocking day" quotes. What a waste of obligatory quotes.

- - - - - -

I've watched Today every day this week. 15 minutes, anyway. The first segment is really pretty good. I learn a bit.

- - - -

Check out Skipper's October 8th post. I'm "bro," and she was in withdrawal. That's flattering.

I understand every word she writes, and six percent of her sentences. Which is probably about the same as she understands of mine. Neither of us makes much sense.

XTC's "I'd Like That." A pretty good song to dance at 68 percent speed to, I think. If it weren't such a hokey song, I think she'd like to do something to The Rapture's "Love Is All."

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

I indeed got the Bob Pollard album on Tuesday. It kind of sucks. Or at least the boring-to-awesome ratio is pretty bad. He's on autopilot, but he's got no main project during which he tries anymore.

I guess "Supernatural Car Lover" is the highlight.

- - - - - -

Is there any reason for optimism in the Cats-Boilers game? Probably not, but I'm optimistic-ish. Go Cats.

Sometimes you wonder why you care about something as trivial and stupid as sports. After all, they’re trivial and stupid and meaningless and just simple exercises in triviality and stupidity.

But scenes like this weekend in Detroit prove that sports are so, so totally worth it.

There’s nothing – nothing – that can unify a population like a successful sports team (and, in particular, I think, a successful baseball team). The scene, both at Comerica and in the streets afterward, was unlike anything I’ve been involved with. Hugging people I’ve never met, screaming non-sensicalities to complete strangers (and, more importantly, having people respond with similar non-sensicalities), and simply jumping up and down and pumping my fists and waving my rally towels – and knowing (and seeing) that thousands upon thousands were joining in, and that millions upon millions only wish that they could be there as well.

There are a lot of things that could potentially unify a country or a city, I guess, but none of them do. War doesn’t. There’s no centralized religion. But nobody in a city (except for out-of-towners, I guess), can legitimately dislike their local sports teams. They can be indifferent, or they can be willfully ignorant, but I don’t think there’s a way to dislike them. (There probably is, of course. Especially for the people whose office jobs will be affected by the end-of-season rally.)

Yeah, so it was pretty amazing. I was fortunate to be there. Breathtaking, really.

Saturday night’s postgame scene was absolutely remarkable. After about ten minutes of postgame celebrating in the clubhouse, the players came streaming back out from the dugout. A pack headed down the leftfield line and started spraying champagne. They continued throughout the outfield, and then it was just on.

Zoom-zoom Zumaya did a solo walk over towards the first base dugout, let out a scream, and took a gigantic swig. Kenny Rogers wound up on top of the home dugout, dousing a state trooper. And Jason Grilli ran back and forth over the visiting dugout, probably completing about seven 50-yard-dashes.

Fist-pumping and towel-waving and hugging people we didn’t know, and it was absolutely unforgettable.

Nemo friend Nick had created a fantastic, and creatively spelled, sign: “Yankees Win? Fuhgeddaboutit,” and it became the rally cry for, well, about a solid two hours after the game.

I guess I can’t really properly describe it, but the celebration certainly was boisterous in the four-block walk to Josh’s, and it certainly included me sprinting a half a block waving both of my rally towels and receiving similarly-boisterous return honks from stopped traffic.

In bullet point-by-bullet point fashion, some of the highlights (I doubt I’ll espouse more on the topic later, so I guess this is my second straight post heavy on the bullet point-by-bullet points):

- Friday, a long drive from the Ring Fingernail to an exit north of Motown to sell our four extras. Four 55-dollar tickets (40-dollar face value plus Ticketmaster charges) for 400 dollars, which was pretty good. Sketchy-seeming dude, over the phone anyway, and I was totally nervous that he was about to bail on me. He didn’t answer a call about five minutes before our scheduled rendezvous. But he called back a minute later, I said I was driving a yellow car, he said he was taking a right turn in my field of vision and, boom, the exchange was made. Legitimate dude, with glossy business cards and everything. I’d do business with him again. (Though R-Josh did the dirty work. I just collected the bills. But, then again, it’s all about the Benjamins.)

- I felt like I should stop to talk with the scalper. But I really, really, really had to use the lobby bathroom at the Marriott. I came storming in, ignored the call of “Housekeeping,” and went right on with my business. For the record, it was highly satisfying.

- (I was late to our rendezvous, I should note. He wasn’t. I hit some bad traffic at an on-ramp, stopped for ten solid minutes. Stopped, like, not moving at all. At all. So I used my handy map-reading skills, took an alternate route, and got on two miles south of the jam. Two miles south of the jam, northbound cars were already backed up. Odd to see it happen in Nowheresville, certainly. So, anyway, I hit as fast as 95 miles an hour for the next 60 miles or so. I was ten minutes late, and I think our buyer made it to the ballpark on time.)

- After the rendezvous, Josh got a call. “Did you get the D embroidered on your shirt?” [Blowing my cover, immediately] “Embroider the shirt? Only an idiot would do that.” “You got it done, didn’t you?” [Not helping my cause] “Hee-hee-hee. Of course not.” “We’ll see you in 20 minutes.” “Okay, dude.” For the record, I didn’t really think he’d remember, though I figured Nemo would. Yeah, I got it done, and it looked freakin’ awesome. (So awesome, in fact, that Nemo’s old Bears stocking cap will become a reversible Tigers stocking cap when the embroidery is completed. Best six bucks I’ve spent.)

- On Friday night (and, we would learn, on Saturday night), every fan at Comerica got a rally towel. Nice looking towels. Blue on Friday, orange on Saturday. At 8:00 p.m. local time, the P.A. Announcer said, “All right Tigers fans. The ESPN broadcast is about to start, so show the country what kind of fans Detroit has! Wave those rally towels and make some noise!” He did not add, “Also, act natural.” Everything’s made-for-TV, I guess.

- We waved our towels vigorously. We would have jumped out of the upper deck for that P.A. guy.

- Before we heard the P.A. guy make his fantastic demands, I learned that Detroit is, on one hand, slightly better than Chicago. In 2003, at the NLCS, regular scorecards were not available for purchase. The only option was the ten-dollar program official NLCS program. This weekend, the ALDS scorecard (a regular season scorecard printed with the postseason rosters for both teams and otherwise unlike the ones I’ve previously purchased) was priced up to two dollars (from one dollar), and the pencil remained free. Pretty awesome, and I’d assume they’ll keep it intact for the ALCS. We’ll find out, though.

- Kenny Rogers was masterful, and you didn’t realize it until about the fifth inning.

- Our Friday night crowd was significantly lubed. This meant that, unlike previous efforts, “Oooo-eeee-oooo… MAGGG-LEE-O!,” definitely caught on.

- Our custom Brandon Inge (“Ondelay, ondelay, Mama, B.I., B.I., Oh-ohh) and Placido Polanco (“Let’s. Go. P. P.”) cheers did not.

- Nemo friend Andy was totally offensive at some points, I think.

- The Tigers’ ad campaign, for several years, apparently, has been “Who’s Your Tiger?” This leads to fans with signs declaring Curtis Granderson or Placido Polanco (seriously!) or Justin Verlander as their Tiger. Behind us on Friday, “Bud Light” was a fan’s Tiger. Appropriate, I guess, because Labatt isn’t really a first name.

- Granderson’s bomb is still going. (So is Mags’ from Saturday.)

- My favorite part, maybe in all of sports, is the wave of the cap from a triumphant starting pitcher. Kenny Rogers and Jeremy Bonderman each nailed their chance.

- The stadium-wide “Ken-ny! Ken-ny!” chants were electric. The stadium-wide “Bon-do! Bon-do!” chants were less so, but certainly cool.

- We sat with a great group on Saturday night. I sat next to the most annoying dude in the history of the world, but it was still a great, great section. I can count at least 14 people that I didn’t know with whom I exchanged high fives. And to the annoying dude’s credit, he did nickname a young kid a few rows in front of us “Little Magglio,” owing to his floppy hair, and the kid totally ran with it and became our second-row yelling ace.

- I don’t like the wave. Nemo’s got the bicep bruise to prove it. I did join a few times, guiltily. I enjoyed the wave a bit more when then three floozies in front of us tried to start it. You need more than three to make it happen, floozies.

- The company was great. Nemo and Josh both nights. Andy on Friday. Nick and Mr. Nemo on Saturday.

- Loosely-quoted Mr. Nemo-ism of the night: “They talk about how successful teams bring so much money into the local economy. And here we are, grilling hot dogs on the freakin’ asphalt.” I secretly think he enjoyed the tailgate.

- At the tailgate on Saturday (we park on the street, and claim somebody else’s car as “our own”), security was nice enough to inform us that, “That guy is about to come down and get his car, so you might want to use the one next to it.” It was pretty nice. And here we though we were engaging in unauthorized behavior.

- Mr. Nemo-ism hearsay of the night: “You know, this atmosphere is enough to make a Tiger fan out of somebody.”

So, yeah, the trip was amazing. I left by one o’clock on Friday afternoon, and was back by 12:15 on Sunday afternoon. Loose math indicates that I spent about eight hours at Comerica Park, and 12 in the car, and it was totally worth it.

Also amazing was the fact that, during Friday’s headed-into-Detroit traffic jam, I was behind an electric blue Chevy (Chevy?) Equinox LT. Only rider was the mid-30’s female drive. Glasses and a ponytail. Homely, really. Why is this notable? License plate: “MILLEN1” Fire Millen, dude, fire Millen.

Baseball-related: Joe Torre does not deserve to be fired. He’s got nothing. That pitching staff is pathetic. Good pitching beats good hitting every time, and his options were Kyle Farnsworth and Ron Villone and Brian Bruney and other assorted humans with a pulse and not much more. An embarrassment that they can’t get more. Brian Cashman and his scouting department deserve to take the fall.

We’ll have our seventh World Series champion in seven years. Major League Baseball is the league with real parity, friends.

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An individual who receives great customer service will tell, on average, one person, I’ve heard. Bad customer service? Ten people.

Well, I’d like to tell you about Nancy at Verizon Wireless. Nancy was phenomenally helpful two hours ago. She told me when my contract was up (this Friday), how long I’d have service on it (until the end of the month, or until I cancelled it), and how I’d be able to keep my phone number (just let my new carrier know, and they need to make one call, and it’ll happen in a matter of moments. It’s referred to as “Porting In,” if you’re in the business).

So, sometime between Friday and Halloween, I’ll have a new cell phone. But, for at least the next two years, Joe will continue to do Gary. And that, friends, is great news.

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The Bears are unreal. Fantastic. Unstoppable. Northwestern is stoppable. I’ve not seen two Cats games this season, and I didn’t even pay attention to Saturday’s game. I was otherwise obligated. Though I hear I didn’t miss much, I wish I hadn’t missed it. They’ll be okay, just not this year. Four wins is still possible (and, for the record, I would be disappointed with anything less.)

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I think The Hold Steady album is worthy of the praise it’s receiving. It’s fantastic.

Had I been cooler (or more rebellious…check that, cooler) in high school, lines like those in “Massive Nights” (“The dancefloor was crowded, the bathroom was worse / We kissed in the car and we drank from your purse”) would resonate more. But it’s just awesome.

Maybe they’re an acquired taste, because Craig Finn’s bark is a bit abrasive, but, God, they’re catchy. Fantastic, and a great discovery. (For the record, an impulse Christmas-for-The-Boy purchase late last December, and I couldn’t imagine it working out better.)

Dave Pirner (of Soul Asylum…Soul Asylum!) guests on “Chillout Tent,” and “Chips Ahoy!” is about a girl whose great at picking horses. The horse is named “Chips Ahoy!” I think it’s Mr. Nemo’s favorite Hold Steady song. (“He came in six lengths ahead / We spent the whole next week getting high.” Awesome. But Mr. Nemo likes it for the horses, not for the drug usage.)

I have no idea what my record of the year is. The Killers album is nice, The Decemberists album is good, Grandaddy’s was fantastic, Destroyer is awesome, Sunset Rubdown rocks my world, Band of Horses is anthemic, Belle & Sebastian kills, Lupe Fiasco is bumpin’, The Mountain Goats is tremendous. I’ve blown a whole lot of money on music this year. Probably my most ever.

I feel pretty guilty that Bob Pollard has a solo album coming out on Tuesday, and I’m not even that excited. Like, I was more excited to get Lupe Fiasco’s record, and that’s some sort of problem. I’m probably more excited to get The Mountain Goats’ The Coroner’s Gambit, which is about six years old, and which I’ve special ordered.

But the potential’s always there, and maybe he’ll nail it this time. I hope so.

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Work’s going well. I’m happy I’m employed with the company that I’m currently employed with. I’ve gotten better at volleyball in the last few weeks, and I’ve become more aggressive at the net.

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I’ll go to at least one (Saturday, game four) and maybe three (games three and five) of the ALCS games. Some people think it’ll be okay for me to leave early on my second straight Friday in my third week of employment. I think it might not be okay. And I expect the Tiges to complete the sweep on Saturday night, so I doubt I’ll see a game on Sunday.

I’ll stop there, I think. I’m hoping to get another post in, probably on Thurdsay. (A non-Tigers night.)

New World Series pick: Tigers over the Mets. Eat ‘em up, Tigers.

Sunday was an absolutely unforgettable day – somewhat fantastic, somewhat terrible, and pretty freakin’ memorable.

It started at 7:28, when I picked up a former intern at the 7-11, progressed down the beautiful state highways of Michigan, into downtown Detroit, back towards Mount Pleasant, Michigan (with a 55-minute detour to Godknowswhere), and back to the Ring Fingernail at 11:30.

The tally:

Length: 16 hours (ten in the car, five in Comerica Park, and one in the vicinity)
Hot Dogs consumed: 2
Bud Lights consumed: 1
Labatt Big Blues (25.9 oz) consumed: 1
Boxes of Voortman’s chocolate wafers consumed: 1, mostly by me
[Side note: Where “Sugar” is listed in the Voortman’s chocolate wafers ingredients list: First]
Super Sized McDonald’s Value Meals consumed: 1, entirely by me
Time since I had previously eaten a Super Sized Value Meals: Probably eight years
Fantastic individuals with whom I watched the game: 5, including the dude in front of us with a legitimate bowl haircut
Innings inexplicably pitched by Todd Jones: 2.2 (where “.2” means “two-thirds”)
Times I booed: None, though there could have been several
Mounted police officers who did not need to bring out the riot gear: at least two
Homeless dudes singing “Cum On Feel the Noize” in an incredible falsetto: 1

So, the good:
The company (Nemo, Carrie, R-Josh, Intern Chris) was fantastic. The day (70-degree game time temp) was beautiful and sunny. The grilled Ballpark Franks and Wonder Bread buns were pretty darn good. I got my first look at a Detroit grocery store (it was surrounded by a cage, so as to prevent cart theft, and I was offered bootleg DVDs on the way in). And I got to watch two members of the 2004 Burlington Bees (Mitch Maier and Angel Sanchez). Also, the McDonald’s was fantastic. And the Bears were better (I caught most of the game on the radio).

And the bad:
Jeremy Bonderman. Fernando Rodney. Brandon Inge. The kids next to me who didn’t accept my offer of rally gum. My slight sunburn. But mostly the hour-long detour, owing, apparently, to sparkling conversation. Or sheer stupidity. (Just outside Gladston (?), Michigan, however, I got my first raccoon. [“Got”=”Ran Over”] So that was cool, in a way.)

So, I dropped off intern Chris at his apartment in Mount Pleasant (basically on the way) at about 9:40, at which point the Bears were scoring for the second straight time following a Ricky Manning interception. My radio reception was spotty at this point, so I called Nemo shortly after TJones plunged into the end zone to find out what had happened. After a quick “Greatest – team – ever,” he gave a brief recap. Then I gave a brief recap. (Missed turnoff, dead raccoon, hour detour.) Then he said, “I’m sorry this was such an awful day.”

And what was interesting was that I hadn’t considered it awful at all. I gave some stupid, overly-sunny response, like, “No. It’s just an adventure. What’s life without a few detours?” And then I said I had to order my McDonald’s. (More on my McDonald’s in a moment.)

So, then I got to thinking about why I hadn’t previously been thinking about the day in “awful” terms. (By the time I returned to the Ring Fingernail, after two more hours driving the beautiful unlit, two-lane highways of Michigan, “awful” was closer to the description, though still not there.)

(For those of you who don’t know, the Tigers were excruciating on Sunday afternoon in their season finale. They blew a 6-0 lead before losing to the league-worst Kansas City Royals, who completed a sweep of the series. The Tigers blew a bases-loaded, one-out situation in extra frames. With the Tigers loss and the Twins win on Sunday afternoon, the Tigers also failed in their bid to win the division. So, from a best-of-five series with home field advantage against the Frank Thomas-led A’s, to a best-of-five as the road team against the several-Hall-of-Famers-led Yankees. A pretty excruciating way to lose, and a pretty frustrating, optimism-sapping road ahead.)

And I thought about the 2003 Cubs, and how absorbed I was in that team. How I spent all day thinking about that night’s playoff game, and how I adjusted my eating habits based on good luck, and how I obsessed over whether or not to wear my Kerry Wood “throwback” jersey due to its influence on that night’s results, and how my life pretty much revolved around the Cubs for two beautiful weeks.

Sadly, though I love this Tiges team, that’s not the case this year. I want them to win, and badly, but I haven’t earned the need for them to win. I needed the Cubbies to win in 2003. This year, I’m just hopeful, and enjoying the ride.

Ahh, the kind-of-boringness of bandwagoneerism. (Especially in light of the fact that I like the Twins a lot, too.)

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About 20 minutes outside of Mount Pleasant on Sunday night, I said to Intern Chris, “Is there a McDonald’s in Mount Pleasant?” He answered in the affirmative (I’d’ve been pretty disappointed if he didn’t), and it was decided: Super Size me.

What I ordered: The BLT Ranch Crispy Chicken Sandwich, with a Super Sized order of fries, and a Super Sized Diet Coke.

What I was charged: $6.04

Was it worth it? Absolutely.

Will I get it again? Never. Tore up the digestive tract.

The fries were, as anticipated, wonderful. Saltier than usual, and didn’t need a bit of ketchup. And I could just taste the succulent beef oil. Yum.

And the sandwich… oh, the sandwich! Oval in shape, with a fluffy, white bun. I debated between “crispy” and “grilled” chicken, but the former was definitely the way to go. A kick of pepper, I think, and clearly deep fried in the same beef oil as the fries. Came to the car piping hot, too, but not mouth-burning hot.

The ranch dressing was certainly not fat-free. It was almost gelatinous, and wonderful. The bacon was smoky, the lettuce was crisp, and the one tomato slice (I twice requested “No Tomatoes,” and “W/O TOMATO” appeared both on my receipt and on the order board) was chilled and had a distinct bacon-y flavor. (As I think about it, the board said “W/O TOMATO,” not “W/O TOMATOES,” which explains why I got only one of the prescribed two slices. Though I wanted none.)

So, I guess the best part of the day was the fact that I got McDonald’s, and it was fantastic. I’d highly recommend the Ranch BLT Crispy Chicken sandwich. They’ve branded it “Premium,” and they’re certainly right

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On Saturday morning, I did my first shopping for long-sleeved shirts (and, perhaps, for casual pants), since at least 2003. That is, since I’ve lot some was.

Thankfully, my 34 minutes in Kohl’s (I made it in at 12:15, and out by 12:49, thereby securing “Early Bird Sale” status) revealed what I’ve always known about my fashion sense: Give me seven buttons down the middle, three more near each cuff, and two more around the collar, then add a plaid pattern comprised of mismatched colors, and I’m happy.

So, a mustard yellow shirt with some cream-and-different-shade-of-yellow accents, and a white shirt with orange and navy stripes. (Orange and navy. Not the Bears. The Tigers. It’s playoff time, baby. If things go right, we might add an Old English Tigers “D” on the chest pocket. Ohh, that’d be great.) Also, a pair of brown corduroys, and a pair of Sonoma jeans, the same color as every other pair of jeans I own. Plus, a hoodie. Green. I need to exchange it, though.

Damage: 95 bucks (or about three per minute), which I think is pretty good.

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Work is pretty good. Busy, but pretty good. I like my coworkers, I think, and it’s a nice atmosphere. We don’t keep score in volleyball but I sense that, if we did, people would be stunned by my winning percentage. (I don’t know what it is, and I’ve never done anything resembling keeping score.) But I’ve been a pretty good setter, I like to think, only jumping when my team absolutely needs a kill. Happy to give others the glory. (But we’re only a week in, of course. By Friday, I’ll be breaking noses.)

So, there’s XM radio in the building, and it’s always on a music station. Often a cheesy 90’s rotation (two Gin Blossoms songs in one day!), but never anything terrible.

When we’re lucky, it’s XMU, the “alternative” or “college” or whatever frequency. (Channel, not frequency, I guess.) It was XMU on my first day, last Monday, and we got TV on the Radio, and Beirut, and Beulah, and several other things from my record collection. All day long, and it was awesome.

It was briefly XMU this morning. I was bouncing up and down early in the day, because Stereolab was really hitting me in the right way. And then, like that, it was gone.

Why? Because, of all “songs,” Tom Waits’ “What’s He Building?” came on. I immediately giggled. And someone slightly-less-immediately changed the station. Like, less than 15 seconds in.

(Please, just find “What’s He Building?” and enjoy it. Creepy spoken word from Tom Waits’ Mule Variations record.

Selected lyrics, in no order: “What’s he building in there? What the hell is he building in there?” … “We have a right to know.” … “I swear, I heard something, moaning. Low.” … “He’s not building a playground for the kiddies, I can tell you that.”… “He’s got enough formaldehyde to choke a horse.” … “He doesn’t have any friends, but he gets a lot of mail. I bet he’s spent some time in jail.” … “He’s got a wife in Indoneeeeeesia.”

Pretty much, it tormented the entire fourth floor of 1835 Hinman Avenue in 1999. Or, at least, one or two or three people. Maybe more. And now, seven years later, it strikes again. Awesome.)

We were flipped back to Adult Alternative or something the rest of the way. “Bang and Blame.” Joseph Arthur. The Old 97s “Nineteen.” So it was pretty good, but not XMU good. (And not as good as my iPod, either, but still pretty good.)

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I’ve tried to increase my internet usage efficiency. I’ve been heading to the coffee shop with a list of things to accomplish. For instance, “Checkbook,” or “Directions to CoPa,” or “Wedding Gift.” Important stuff. And “Fantasy Football,” and “Fantasy Baseball,” and “Check Email.” And a list of websites I want to read, so I don’t forget.

One very efficient thing that I’ve started doing is a simple copy-and-paste. I find an article I want to read (Bill Simmons, or whatever’s on Salon, or the NY Times Magazine cover, or Jason Mulgrew), and I copy what strikes my eye, and I paste it in Word, and I save and read when I get home. Last Tuesday, I fell asleep with my laptop on my lap, an update on my usual “fall asleep drooling on a magazine” pattern.

Also, I’m writing this at home, and will drive to the coffee shop to post it when it’s done. The coffee shop leaves its connection open at night, so I just steal it from the outside. Efficiency, friends, efficiency.

(Also, in this case, I’m going to continue to the grocery store to buy some Ovaltine and some more coffee. I’m almost out of coffee, and I’ve decided that I really want some Ovaltine. What’s the harm?)

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Do you realize that Derek Lowe vs. El Duque Hernandez is a Game One pitching matchup? Derek Lowe and El Duque! Garsh.

Playoff predictions, with no justifications:

NLDS
Dodgers over METS, 3-2
PADRES over Cardinals, 3-0 – Revenge!

ALDS
Tigers over YANKEES, 3-2
TWINS over Athletics, 3-1

NLCS (I don’t know whose the division champ, to be honest)
DODGERS (?) over Padres, 4-2. Can’t fight Marlon Anderson, you know.
TWINS over Tigers, 4-2.

World Series
TWINS over Dodgers, 4-2.

(I made fun of the Dodgers three minutes ago, and now I’m picking them to go to the Series. Hey, it’s baseball.)

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For the record, the MLB Extra Innings is the greatest thing in the history of the world. Last Thursday, I watched Pujols blast a three-run homer in the bottom of the eighth to snap the Cards losing streak, and I watched Houston blow the lead at Pittsburgh and succumb in 14, and I watched the Dodgers dispose of the Rockies thanks to a three-run sixth, and I watched the Phillies blow the late lead – twice – against the non-contending Nationals.

I also got a chance to watch a bit of Vin Scully last Sunday.

“There’s a spider web of shadows on the left side of the infield… but it;s nothing compared to the wide shadows cast by wins by the Padres and the Astros.”

And that’s why he’s the best, and why I’m a marketing nerd.