Mess With This Toy And I'll Run You Over

Before we get to today's post, just want to throw out a belated Happy Mother's Day to my loyal readers (actually, are any mothers who read this?) and a big congratulations to my little bro Mike, who'll be picking up his law degree this Sunday. On to the post...

In case you live under a rock or maybe just don't watch TV, read the newspaper, use the internet, listen to the radio, or interact with human beings, you probably know about that really good looking lady who ran down the Red Sox fan in her car.

As I have long stated, the whole Red Sox/Yankees thing is beyond my scope of comprehension. It used to be limited solely to drunken, moustache toting Bostonians of the seventies, it died out in the eighties when the Sox were dominating and the Yankees were running out line ups with guys named Wayne Tolleson and Dan Pasqua (why aren't they in Monument Park?), and then it became everyone's thing in the nineties and to the present. It's even become something for white trash to enjoy. So now, not only can white trash lay claim to six teeth, Jeff Foxworthy, and Canadien Tuxedos, they can also call the Red Sox/Yankees rivalry their own. In fact, they enjoy it so much and participate in it with such great fervor, that they can mow down someone who disagrees with their opinions of sports teams.

And so this got me to thinking. Why would I run over someone? And what would they have to do for me to run them over? I've had some experience running stuff over, like curbs, nails, and screws (I swear I need a new tire every month), but I've never run over a person. I almost ran over a squirrel as it dashed in front of my car and someone managed to come out on the other side unscathed. But are there people in my life that I may have run over someone had I had access to an automobile at that exact moment? I think there are...

Jeff- We were friends growing up, but one year, the day after Christmas, he pissed me off. Why? Because he ran out and bought the exact same pair of Reebok high tops that I myself got for Christmas. I got the Reeboks just as they were coming out and establishing themselves on the market. They were a nice alternative to Air Jordans and they were certainly classier than those low rent ZZZips. And they were going to look money with my blue paisley sweatshirt and quasi middle school mullet. Most importantly though, I was going to be the only one to have them. So, after calling Mark, Gregg, and Jeff and finding out "what they got" for Christmas, we met up and took shots on Gregg's new net. Jeff, who didn't get my sneakers, took one look at them and apparently, went out and purchased them the next day. I remember Mark telling me the next morning as we were shooting hoops and I absolutely wanted to mow down Jeff. Somehow, I squelched my desire to do this. It also helped that I didn't know how to drive and didn't have access to a car.

Adrian Lynne- In 1987, Adrian Lynne made a film called Fatal Attraction. I opened to rave reviews, was nominated for an academy award and is rumored to be the reason that extramarital affairs dropped by 30% that same year. I actually like the film and when it's on now, I definitely watch it. Mostly I watch it in an attempt to determine if Anne Archer and Michael Douglas' kid is a boy or a girl. But, back twenty years ago, I wanted to run over Adrian Lynne. Badly. He was directly responsible for the most uncomfortable moment of my life. I remember my father bringing home the movie on VHS and so we decided to sit down and watch it. My mother heard it was a good film, so she sat down and watched it too. She rarely watched movies and it was a shock when she sat down. It was an even bigger shock when - out of the blue- Glenn Close went down on Michael Douglas in the elevator. Then, Douglas starts banging Close on the kitchen sink and it all came unglued for me. Before Fatal Attraction, I used to have an uncanny knack for recognizing when the sex scene was coming and I would get up and get a drink. But Fatal Attraction caught me way off guard. And in turn, caused me the most uncomfortable moment I've ever had with my parents. Thanks Adrian Lynne for making me watch sex scenes with my parents.

Rick, Nick, and Dan- When I was on the minor Cubs, I dominated. I was Pedro of 1998. I swear that I threw harder than Danny Almonte from 45 feet. Then, we met the Yankees under the lights at Simonds Park. The Yankees had a "young" guy as their head coach and everybody thought they were awesome. All my "friends" told me the Yankees were going to beat us as we were both tied with undefeated records. I was confident that wasn't going to happen and so was my coach, Mr. Krol who saved me earlier in the week so I could pitch against the Yankees. I cruised through the first two innings and then I ran into some trouble. The Yanks hit back to back doubles and then a single. Before I knew it, I had let up a run and it was first and third. Nick Saia (will get to him in a second) dropped a pop up to load the bases. Our coach argued that it should have been the infield fly rule, but the ump said that was only used at the Babe Ruth level. I remember thinking I should have just bowled Nick over and caught it myself, but I didn't. On the very next play, Dan Kornetzky let a grounder go through his legs and another run scored. I then got a strikeout and an out at home on a grounder back to the pitcher. My boy Alan Crowell was catching and he made a great catch and even tried to turn a 1-2-3 double play. Then Rick Gillette came up. Rick was kind of a skid and he was in the grade above me. I didn't know much about him other than that. I don't remember him being very good at baseball (this was an assumption that would hurt a few pitches later) and so I remember thinking I was going to get of the inning easily. Needless to say, I didn't. In fact, I served up a grand slam. Not an inside the park one, but an over the fence one. You know, the type that happened in Little League about as often as a Tsunami. As Rick rounded the bases, I remember everyone cheering, cars were honking from the parking lot, Paul Martin's father with his ridiculous Texas accent was going nuts from the stands, and loser, young, cool Coach Burnham met Rick Gillette at home plate and gave him a big bear hug. Meanwhile, I had to choke back tears, I asked out of the game circa Clemens in '86 and my baseball career was never the same. I remember Coach Krol being really supportive and wanting me to stay in the game, but I said I "hurt" my arm (who hurts their arm in little league?!?) and got removed. Sometimes, when the demons come, I still remember shitty Nick Saia and Dan Kornetzky misplaying those gimmies. I should have pulled a Wade Boggs and gone up to the official scorer and make sure my ERA wasn't hurt, but I wasn't savy enough for that. If only I were the selfish prick I am now, then maybe I would have been less hurt. I could have blamed it all on Nick and Dan and been no worse for the wear. Boy was being young, nice, and modest stupid. So, Rick, Nick, and Dan, these Goodyears are for you.

Whomever Told Ginger I Was Calling Her That Night- Back in the spring of 1991, I was determined to go to the prom with Ginger, the hottest girl in our grade. Now, what made me- a low tier, unathletic, not tough, minger in the high school social strata- think that Ginger was going to go with me, I don't know. But I did. Of course, to go with her, I had to ask her, which no one believed I was going to do. Well I was going to do it. And to prove that I actually did it, I was going to have a "Calling Ginger Party" in the basement of my house. So, I had Brian, Marc, Dave, Mike, Dan, Al, Gregg, and Kev over (a lame party I know, but I was/am a lame kid) and we played some cards and then at 9pm (the original time was 8, but I delayed), I looked up Ginger in the local phone directory, and dialed her seven digits on our downstair rotary phone. Somebody other than she answered the phone and I said (just as my mother taught me), "Hello, may I speak with Ginger please." The person on the other line said yes and they put the phone down and I waited. And waited... And waited. The total wait was likely ten minutes. I kept telling my friends "Shes, coming, she's coming!" But she wasn't. And she never did. She just left me waiting on the phone. I wasn't sure which of my friends said, "Gerard. She's not going to pick up, so I think you should hang up." But I eventually hung up. I remember being disappointed and needless to say, I didn't go to the prom (with Ginger or otherwise) and I was scarred for a good amount of time. Word spread quickly over the next few days that I asked her and I garnered a a fair amount of respect just for ATTEMPTING to ask her. Years later (seriously, it was years. I found out from her friend who I worked with while in college) that Ginger had been tipped off that I was calling her and had a friend pick up the phone and they planned on doing that all along. Turns out that Ginger was meaner than The Plastics!!! Really, I should have been mad at her, but I wasn't. I was mad at the leak. To this day, I still think it might have been Dave who claimed to be my friend, but really never was. He was one of those guys who had so little about himself figured out that he liked to put his misery on other people. Anyways, had I known who it was, my sweet Cutlass would have mowed them down, no doubt.

Grady Little- Timlin in the eighth, Williamson in the ninth Grady. Not Pedro for his 120th pitch. Thankfully, 2004 happened and so it would have sucked to be sitting in jail right now doing life and getting ass raped Derek Vinyard style for running over a guy who now has absolutely no bearing on my life.

Mike- Yes, this would be my brother Mike. At one time or another, we've all probably wanted to run over a sibling. But this one time in particular, I definitely wanted to mow Mike down (of course, I'm now very happy I didn't, as Mike is directly responsible for introducing me to 70% of the bands I like. Further, he's a pretty good kid. I guess.). Mike used to use my G.I. Joe action figures a lot. It was never a huge problem for me, until the thumbs of figures started to break. The frustration of this sounds preposterous, but most of the fun of G.I. Joe figures was arming them with the cool guns and without thumbs, they couldn't hold guns. So basically, they were rendered useless because how was a thumbless G.I. Joe guy supposed to enter into battle sans M203 or MP-5? I mean, were they supposed to just run around and give orders? Not to mention, how were they going to answer the phone in my fictional world? What if Lady Jane called Flint for a quickie (on the kitchen sink maybe?)? He wouldn't be able to pick up the phone because he was without thumbs (maybe this is why Ginger didn't pick up)? Anyways, Mike used to break thumbs on my G.I. Joe guys. I'm not sure why he was so amazingly skilled at breaking thumbs, but breaking thumbs he did. It wasn't bad when he broke Cutter's thumb or even Gung Ho's because they were lame, but the shit HIT THE FAN when Mike broke Storm Shadow's thumbs. I remember coming home and finding a thumbless Storm Shadow and confronting him on it and of course, he gave me the teary eyed shrug as if he was unsure who broke them. But we both know who did, and because I was an angst filled kid, I went into an absolute rage. I probably slapped him or gave him an Indian Sunburn (that was hardly a racist phrase, huh?) or maybe even spit on him, but whatever I did, I'm sure I freaked. Over the years, I've repaid Mike for that by wearing his shirts and stretching them out, getting a pull on his sweater, breaking his Bose headphones, and never cleaning the blender (man, I think he should have broken MANY more thumbs for all the stuff of his I've wrecked), but at the time, I was pretty upset. And for those of you out there who used to make Storm Shadow and Snake Eyes battle it out with swords (at 34, that now sounds really, REALLY funny), you'll understand me wanting to run over my cute, lovable little brother for breaking Storm Shadow's thumbs.

The Guy Who Invented Alcohol- Very often, I want to hug it out with this guy, but looking back on my life, I probably should run him over because I would have saved myself a ton of money, fat, and bad decisions. Not to mention the fact that I would probably get far more done were it not for alcohol. I'd also probably get far more done if I didn't spend so much time entertaining myself with this stupid blog. Actually, you know what? Now that I've had time to proof read this latest post, I probably should have just run MYSELF over. It would have saved me a lot of irritation. It probably would have saved YOU a lot of aggravation as well, huh?