double header day defined

There's not a lot in life that most of my close friends will agree with me about. Politics? Fuhgedaboudit. I lean hard left, most of my friends are of the conservative persuasion. Sports? Come on. Some of us root for KU, others root for KSU, others for MU, others for Nebraska. (And in the case of one tragic soul, Dook). Even on the things we agree on for the most part, there's now room for disagreement -- for example, leaving the Chiefs inspirational victory over the broncos in late September 2008, there wasn't a soul that was there, or that read my awe-inspiring foresight and hilariously enjoyable recaps, that could disagree with me that:

(a) the denver broncos are the most vile franchise in professional sports,
(b) their owner is a classless jackass who actually stood before the Denver City Council and claimed he could not contend for a championship if he had to play in Real Mile High (conveniently ignoring the fact that, you know, the broncos were the two time defending winners of the Lombardi Trophy),
(c) the donkeys cheated to win those two titles ... oh, and
(d) you have to be indwelt by Satan himself to cheer for that (insert string of obsenities here) team.

Now? (steve bashing head on desk in frustration at having to "reign in the hate" around the lovely Kellie ...)

But there's still one thing I think ... no, I know, we can all find common ground on. That we all can agree on. And it's this -- nobody, and I mean nobody, is better at sitting in the sun with a shirt off and drinking large quantities of alcoholic beverages. Nobody gets hammered in the sun better than me. It's my gift in life. It's what I was put on this earth to do. Sit in the sun and drink. Done and done.

I say all this ... because the winning "tell us a story Stevo!", uuh, story, in this week's poll, is the twin-events known as "Double Header Day". Yes, there were two of them. The first one was on June 5, 1999. The second one was on August 16, 2003. Each occurred on a Saturday. Each occurred at the Sports Complex. Each involved the Royals losing in blowout fashion. But what makes both Double Header Days so epic, is that for two magnificent, gloriously hot Saturday afternoons and evenings ... I was not the world's champion at sitting in the sun and drinking. In both cases, I wasn't even close to the day's best at that achievement.

Let's take these one at a time, starting with the original. The timeline of events from that ridiculous day as best I recall:

* DHDI actually started the afternoon before, when Jasson stopped by to pick me up to go to the ballgame that night. I was chipping golf balls in my folks back yard when he arrived, which of course led to "why even bother to try Steve, you suck!" blasts as, sure as sh*t, I'd swing and miss. Or connect and ground the ball 5 feet. Anyways, after tossing on a shirt, tossing away a couple empty beer bottles, and grabbing my wallet, we were off to pick up the third member of the game night crew, "The Voice of Reason". We arrive at the stadium, buy tickets, and head up to our seats.

And wait.

And wait.

And keep waiting.

Now, there was no logical reason for this delay, or so it seemed at first. According to the box score for June 5, 1999, it was 88 degrees at first pitch, with no precipitation. The previous night, was much the same way. So there was no earthly reason for a delay that Friday night ... only, there was. Because the cheap-ass Royals apparently forgot to pay the electrical bill, because none of the overhead lights were working. After a pretty humbling apology from the PA guy, it was off for the boats, with an agreement from all three of us that "we're going tomorrow!"

I would be lying if I said I remembered how we did at Harrah's that night ... but it must have been pretty decent. Because somehow, we afforded the next day's tab.

We arrived about 2:30, first pitch of game one was set for 3pm. We exchanged the previous night's tickets for that day's, and headed out to right field GA to enjoy a quality afternoon and evening of the Royals getting their ass kicked. And like I always do, and Jasson and "The Voice of Reason" usually do, we hit the beer vendor up for the first frosty cold one of the day. (For those keeping track, that's cups 1, 2, and 3).

The game gets underway, and between the 90 degree heat, the sun, and the sh*tty baseball the Boyz N Blue were laying down, the cups kept piling up. By the seventh inning stretch, we had 33 cups between the three of us. (Yes, we were pounding the beers that day. Pounding it. Just not in a "Jersey Shore" kind of way). During the seventh inning stretch, one of us asked the obvious question, decided to address the elephant in the room:

Who's gonna drive home?

Keep in mind, we still had 2 1/2 innings left in game one, plus intermission, plus all of game two, to drink through. Since I had drove, and I was in the company car (man I miss those days), I voluntarily cut myself off after game one ... at number 14 for me. I believe we had 44 cups entering game two.

By the fourth inning, me and Jasson were joining in with some dude we didn't know in trying to get the wave started. If you have never sat by me or "The Voice of Reason" at a sporting event, trust me -- we hate the wave with a f*cking passion. And here's me and Jasson's drunk asses joining in with some random dude in trying to get it going. (We were unsuccessful. Probably because nobody could understand a damned word any of us were saying by this point).

And then, in the top of the sixth, "the moment" arrived, when this day of drunken tomfoolery and hijinks went from memorable to epic. Jasson is so far gone that he can't even walk up the steps anymore to get a beer. "The Voice of Reason" somehow is still standing. (No offense buddy, but you were worse than a lightweight back then). So I'm running up the steps to keep "feeding" Jasson, and as we arrive at the beer cart in the top of the sixth, we hear the vendor make a statement that I've never heard before, and (hopefully) will never hear again.

"Hey, next time you guys come back, can you bring up an old cup? You've literally drank me out of all the plastic cups I had".

Yes, 82 cups in -- and oh yeah, we kept every freaking cup, brought them home, and numbered them "1 of 82, 2 of 82, etc" once we'd run them through the dishwasher (and it took a couple loads to get them all cleaned). But not only have the three of us guzzled (because really, if you slam 82 beers in 5 1/2 hours, you're guzzling), not only have we guzzled down so much beer that (for one of us) simply keeping his eyes open was an unwinnable challenge, but we literally drank the beer vendor out of his souvenir glasses. And not only that, this guy (who clearly failed epically at his job of "not serving openly intoxicated customers") simply told us to bring up a cup for a refill. (Also cool? The dude didn't charge us for the refills. Oh yeah, we gave him so much in sales and tips, that now he was paying us back. (sammy sosa voice) God bless America, it's a beautiful country!)

Finally, mercifully, the game comes to an end. Unfortunately, after going nearly three hours without a beer and sobering up somewhat, once the freebies start flowing, I was right back on the wagon. "The Voice of Reason" looks at me and attempts to ask if I'm ok to drive. Compared to who I was with, absolutely! Now the "fun part" begins.

First, we literally have to carry Jasson out of his seat. He's still awake, but he's not all there. We manage to drape an arm over each of our shoulders, and start lifting him up the steps. (There's comedy, there's high comedy, and then there "two drunk guys trying to carry their completely lit buddy out of the stadium. That's why I laughed so hard at the end of the Chiefs / Ravens playoff game. What happened with Phill's dad, played out EXACTLY like that on the first Double Header Day. Well, except we didn't steal any seat backs. But if we'd been even reasonably coherent, we would have thought about it). After managing to reach the top of the steps (we were sitting down by Oxygen Tank Dude, who was looking on with a combo of horror and pride at us for most of the afternoon. A look of "damn, you kids are seriously f*cking stupid ... but it's entertaining as hell to watch!"

OK, we reach the top of the steps, and nature calls. I have to pee like a racehorse, and there's no way I can make it to the car, let alone drive 30 minutes home, before making a pit stop. Just one problem -- what do we do with Jasson? (A rare coherent moment for one of us -- I wanted to just set him down next to the men's room, but "The Voice of Reason" pointed out that might get him arrested for public intoxication. So we walked to the next set of restrooms, sat him down in one of the seats on the top row, where (thankfully) another dude was passed out, and we hastily let the beer start flowing out). It took almost 20 minutes to reach the car, and we were parked pretty close. It's not that Jasson was heavy, it's that we were so far bombed that we couldn't walk straight. Good times!

Anyways, we finally make it to the car, and since there wasn't one of those breathalyzer lock thingies on it, it was off for home. Only, apparently the car moving woke Jasson up, and that was not a good thing. Because every few miles, I was having to pull over on the shoulder so he could puke. We finally, after one final stop exiting onto 67th Street, make it to Jasson's, and help him to the front door, where his mom greets us with a "are you f*cking kidding me?!?!" look of rage on her face. (Gotta love folks who don't drink, like his mom). Now, it's time for the drive from Jasson's to my folks. This was the part of the journey that frightened me. Even at my worst, I can make it home as long as I stick to the freeway. It's the side streets that trip me up. Somehow, we manage to roll into my folks driveway without hitting anything along the way. We head upstairs, and my dad takes one look at us, and just starts laughing. He knows we are ten sheets to the wind. He tells us to just go pass out, which we happily do.

But right before that, my mom wakes up, and walks in and after saying hi to everyone, she can tell something ain't right. My dad, God love him, blames it on "too much sun at the games today", and my mom actually buys the "the kids overheated" excuse. (That, or she didn't want to rip us a new one at midnight. I'm going with the latter, my mom's not a stupid person). At some point Sunday afternoon, we woke up, and thankfully, since Dad worked Sundays and mom was busy with church stuff, we somehow escaped unharmed.

So that's Double Header Day I: the day three college kids slammed $600 worth of beer ... and somehow made it home unharmed. (Let's never, ever, EVER do that again, ok? Man, we got lucky at times, and that day, we were definitely the luckiest of the luckiest).

But like with all good things in life, just when you think something original, epic, and unable to be duplicated has happened, well, something tends to happen that makes you rethink that. In this case, four summers later.

Double Header Day II.

DHDII wasn't nearly as drunk as the first one was. At least for the three original participants. Because for this day, the roster of participants expanded.

Saturday, August 16, 2003 was the day a lot of us sports nutz had been looking forward to all summer long. The first place Royals against the second place Twins at noon. The Chiefs first preseason game, against the Vikings, at 7pm. And nearly four hours of tailgating in between. Suh-weet! But it gets even better. August 16 was the second hottest day of the summer that year (topped only by the next day). It was 98 at first pitch for the Royals, according to the box score. Yes, 98 at high noon. To say I was in seventh heaven, is an understatement.

The morning began as most mornings back then did: Phogger impatiently hopping from bed to bed for someone to feed her, then one of us stumbling out to take care of Phogger, which instantly wakes Priest up, and he'd go climbing over me to get out of bed and eat too. (I miss those two, they were the best. Even if I never once got to sleep in past 6:30am for three straight years).

Anyways, take care of the dogs, step outside to get the paper, and you can just feel the heat. It's 7am, and our neighbor Gary is already out mowing, because it's the coolest part of the day. After getting the coolers loaded, making sure the tickets were in the car, and leaving some food and water out for the dogs (we were nice, we let them stay indoors in the air conditioning), it was off for the Sports Complex.

We arrive about 11am, and leave Jasson and "Steve Pederson"'s tickets in the fuel deal of my car, since they were running late. (And by the way, he still owes me $12 for those tickets. Now, to be fair, I did say "pay me back sometime before Jesus returns", so he's still in good standing, but still, $12 is a 12 pack. Just sayin'). Our seats were great -- we sat about the fourth row of the upper deck behind first base. (In fact, we loved the view so much, that we wound up sitting there the rest of the year for the pennant run games, and then bought full season tickets in the front row of 336 the following season. It really is a great view. Too bad the 2004 season so turned me against the sport that I now refer to it in "religious" terms to justify going on Sundays).

The baseball game itself was quite memorable ... and that is not a good thing. The Twins drop a four spot in the top of the first, and then in the bottom of the first, there's an all out brawl on the field after Royals catcher Mike DeFelice is thrown out at the plate attempting to score. DeFelice is tossed from the game after the melee plays out, only Mike didn't go quietly into that good night, no sir. He ran back to the dugout like a crazed banshee, and started tossing anything he could get his hands on, onto the field. Coolers of Gatorade, bats, helmets, possibly a rubber chicken, you name it and it was flying out of the Royals dugout. Not one of the franchise's finest moments. (Absolutely we were cheering and laughing at the display. How could you not? Here's a 30 something year old backup catcher going bat sh*t crazy in the first inning!)

The Twins just kept pouring it on. As did the sun and the heat -- it was toasty up there. So toasty, that some dude in front of us opened up an umbrella to shield himself from the sun. I was furious. Now, not only are the Royals down 10-2 entering the bottom of the fifth, this jackass is blocking my view of the game. And not just mine -- everyone three rows back couldn't see either. I could hear the grumbling, and being a few frosty cold ones in at this point, I just didn't give a sh*t. I calmly walk to the aisle, step down a couple rows, and tell the dude to "close your f*cking umbrella! None of us behind you can see!"

Now, if there's another thing that I am an undisputed champ at, it is taking on people I have no business challenging. The only fight I got in in high school, was with a kid named Bob that had 150 pounds on me. (Which is why he attacked me, I kept making fun of him. Oddly enough, after that fight, we became friends. Sh*t happens, what can I say). The guy with the umbrella? Is a solid 6 foot, 300 lbs. And he looks mean. He tells me to "go back to your damned seat. I paid to sit here, and if I want to open an umbrella, I'll open my damned umbrella". The hell you will pal. I go grab our usher, point out the situation, and our usher comes down and informs this fat ass to "close it or move". The guy begins arguing. Finally, the usher wins, and lardo moves up into the shaded part of the upper deck, giving me a death stare as he passes. The folks behind me give me a standing ovation. (And if you look at the back of your ticket nowadays at prohibited items, umbrellas are prohibited except in cases of rain. I'd like to think my drunken explosion at tubby caused that welcome policy change).

After the Royals fall behind 13-3 at the seventh inning stretch, the four of us pull the plug on the game, and decide to go tailgate. We get back to the cars (which we'd cheated with and parked in our usual spot for Chiefs games, even though the entrance to Lot N was chained and locked). It's going spectacularly well, as the gates to Lot N are open by the time we get back, and folks arriving just to tailgate and do the Chiefs game are beginning to trickle in. We save a few spots, then realize "uh oh, what if they try to charge us for Chiefs parking too?" That prompts a quick exchange with the dude next to us, who promises to save our couple spots for the Chiefs only crowd, and we duck out to walk around for awhile.

After walking around the stadium for a while, hitting up the Players Entrance, and buying a couple programs, we figure it's safe to head back. Others in our tailgating group have arrived, so it's definitely ok to head back.

Now, I should probably note, it was freaking hot out. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: when I'm not the only person at a tailgate with a shirt off, you know its warm outside. Unfortunately, it was so damned hot out, and we'd come back from the Royals game so early, that we'd plowed through the case of Boulevard Wheat Jasson had brought. Never one to panic, I quickly call my brother (who was on his way) and ask him to pick up some more, and I'll pay him when he gets there. He agrees, and says "oh yeah, by the way, Uncle Bill's riding out with me".

My uncle ... is priceless. There's no other way to put it. When I was a kid, we used to have a bottle of Jim Beam stored in the laundry room in the cabinets for when he or my grandma would stop by. (Really came in handy in high school too, at least until the 'rents figured out that Uncle Bill wasn't stopping by enough to justify buying a new handle every couple days, and grandma was in a nursing home). He has a cooler in his back seat filled with a 12 pack of Bud Light at all times, because "you never know when it might come in handy". And like most folks in my family, he has an extremely high tolerance level. It takes a lot to get to him.

Well, I'm guessing my brother and my uncle started early. Because they finally get there about 5pm. We had a spot saved for them, but they opted to park in G. Not sure why, since they were walking all the way back to Lot N, but I'm guessing alcohol impacted that decision. Anyways, my bro texts me that they're on their way, I give them directions and start looking for them.

As soon as I see them, I drop the "oh sweet Jesus" blast. And start laughing.

They're walking along, both shirtless, one hand on a huge cooler, the other hand holding multiple beers they were consuming on the walk up. This is gonna go over really well with the religious in our group, I can tell.

They finally meet up with us, set the cooler down, pleasantries are exchanged, and I open the cooler to grab a Boulevard. My uncle, figuring an open cooler is as good a time as any to enjoy an adult beverage, reaches in and grabs a handle of Jim Beam. (The lunch of champions, at least in my family). He sits down on the cooler, and opens the bottle. Keep in mind, this is a 62, 63 year old guy, no shirt on, getting ready to drink Beam straight out of the handle. It's the most unreal sight I've ever seen involving a family member and booze, and that's saying something. My uncle figures out everyone's just staring at him, half the folks with a "he's really going to drink Beam straight out of the bottle?!?!" look of disgust and horror, the other half with a "he's really gonna drink Beam straight out of the bottle!!!" look of amusement and pride. Something clicks in his head, and he realizes why everyone's staring at him.

And this is the moment that takes Double Header Day II from memorable ... to epic.

He reaches back into the cooler, and pulls out an army-issued tin cup. This thing has been through the ringer. It's gotta be at least 40, 45 years old. It's dinged everywhere. The side handle is long gone, although you can see where it was once attached. This thing is sweet! And he calmly fills the tin cup with his Beam, and begins enjoying some liquid refreshment.

Straight Beam in a tin cup. With multiple refills as the day went along. Yup, it's my family.

If the day ended right then, it would qualify as an instant classic. In just five short hours, we've (a) witnessed a brawl, (b) witnessed an epic meltdown after said brawl, (c) left a Royals game early under the 10 run rule clause (enacted in the late 1990s -- if the Royals ever trailed by 10 runs or more, we're leaving. In 2004, that rule was constantly modified, at one point being "if the other team gets a hit, we're walking out". I'm telling you, 2004 destroyed baseball for me. Destroyed it. Anyways, back to the epic moments of DHDII --), (d) managed to avoid paying the Chiefs parking prices, (e) plowed through a case of Boulevard in barely an hour, and (f) seen a man drink straight Beam out of a tin cup ... but only after planning to drink it straight out of the bottle.

But the day didn't end there. There was still a game that night to get through. After exchanging pleasantries with my seatmates, by the third quarter, it's getting pretty boring. (gregg voice) It's preseason! Exactly. Plus they cut off beer sales at halftime. It's still 100 friggin degrees outside (felt like 115 in the lower bowl, the game is an abject bore (starters all gone, and since we were playing the Vikings later that year, neither team was doing anything beyond basic stuff that everyone runs so that neither team can gain an advantage on the film), and I'm thirsty.

(Should probably note, "The Voice of Reason" wears a jersey to every home game. Without fail. Always wears a jersey, no matter how hot or cold it gets. The outer shirt will always be a jersey. For this game? He left the jersey at the car. That's how hot it was, that the most nuanced, addicted-to-a-set-ritual Chiefs fan I know, decides "screw it" to his ritual. There's hot, and then there's "hot". That day was "hot")

Russ finally drops the "beer's colder and cheaper at the bus" line, and that starts to clear the section. Before leaving though, I am invited to the pool the next day, since "tomorrow's gonna be hotter than today". I tell them I'll think about it, because I was looking forward to Sunday, almost as much as I'd looked forward to Saturday. Why, you ask?

Because the next day was the first (and so far only) "Rob and Rany Day at the K"! No way I'm missing that. Well that, and the Royals desperately needed a win -- our lead was down to 2, and the Twins had won the first two games of the series. We could NOT afford a sweep if we had any shot of October baseball.

Unfortunately, it's so freaking hot out that not even my guaranteed fallback buddy James wants to go. So, what the hell, I trot on out there by myself, meet up with the group of Rob and Rany addicts, and enjoy a 109 degree ballgame as best I can. (I had a blast). Leaving the stadium, I was like "maybe I should hit the pool" ... so I head on over to Raytown, and spend the rest of the day and evening playing some volleyball, enjoying some grilled dinner, and consuming lots of frosty cold beer from this amazing thing known as a "beer machine".

Eight years later, I still spend pretty much every Sunday doing the same routine -- hit the Royals game if they're home, and spend the rest of the time floating in the pool. Or, if the Royals are out of town, just float all day. DHDII not only was epic, it launched an awesome tradition I don't want to see end anytime soon.

So there you go. That's what "Double Header Day" means. DHDI was the most intoxicated I've ever seen two of my best friends, and it had to rank in my top five inebriated list as well. DHDII gave rise to the "tin cup", and started a Sunday tradition unlike any other. Hope it was as entertaining reading it, as it was reliving it for me.