Wednesday night I’ll be seeing my first concert on a boat (which will also be my first ever sold-out concert on a boat) as I see RANA tear things up. I can’t recommend this band highly enough to anyone who likes good old fashion hard rock (or as my friend Jesse described their sound; 70′s porn rock). And they must be seen live. This is key.
But of course, that’s not enough for yours truly. Come late Friday evening I’ll be making my way out to Uniondale, PA to catch RANA again, along with Dr. Didg and my first experience with The Disco Biscuits (among others) at the big camp-out jam band rock festival known as Camp Bisco. I was also keyed up to see Lake Trout but I’ll be missing the first night of acts because I’ll be taking a handful of my friends out to their first Yankee game. We’re going to make it in just under the strike deadline, so they’re guarenteed to see it.
And while we’re on the subject, I’d like to adress the owners and players of Major League Baseball: get your fucking heads out of your asses, stop the friggin’ pissing contest and PLAY THE FUCKING GAME!!! If you strike now, you’ll be doing irrepriable damage to the game. The way you whining bastards killed the World Series in 1994 (something that two world wars never managed to do — score one for greed) is still very fresh in the minds of many, and the only reason the game has made this much of a comeback from that is because of the phenominal individual seasons that players like Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa and Barry Bonds have been having.
Many people have been saying that if the strike goes as planned, they’re done with baseball, and even though I’m tempted to say the same thing, I’m refraining from drawing a line in the sand. Partly because I’m a forgiving individual, but mostly because I love the game — something I obviously don’t share in common with the players and the owners. With all the other bullshit in the world today (corrupt businesses, Bush pushing us twoards a war with Iraq, the whole Israeli / Palestinian debacle and so on), baseball was one of the things I could count on to escape from the grief for a few hours. Now the whole situation only ads to it.
Pray that common sense wins out in this one and wasn’t traded for cash and a player to be named later.
But how do you really feel about the strike?
Like someone is turning one knife in my eye, another in my back and a third in my stomach — all of them very slowly. Thanks for asking.