Wednesday, December 31, 2008

The Headies Live at the Khyber!

Here are your fabulous Headies at the Khyber in Philly, December 28th. This is a reprise of the Mojo 13 X-Mas cover show, in which we did not cover X-Mas numbers, but rather soul and rock and roll numbers. You can tell we're pretty tired after a hard rockin' holiday season, but, Oh that Soul! Thanks to Jamesage for the excellent video, and to Bobby, Huffer, and Co. for coming out and seeing the HEAD.

"Mr. Pitiful" by Otis Redding

"Don't Mess With Cupid" by Otis Redding

"Come On" and "I'd Much Rather Be With the Boys" by Chuck Berry and the Rolling Stones

"Out Of Time" by the Rolling Stones

"Out in the Streets" by the Shangria-Las

"I've Been Around" by the Animals

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Jimmy Claus, #11

Here's an MLB Special Report by Bonnie Clark.

PHILADELPHIA -- Phillies shortstop Jimmy Rollins sat down and answered a few questions about Christmas memories that he holds near and dear. What are you looking forward to most this Christmas?

Rollins: I am giving a PAL family -- a mother and her four kids -- Christmas this year. I heard that they weren't going to have a Christmas since the mother is out of work, so I'm going to change that and play Jimmy Claus. I'm really looking forward to seeing the kids' expressions when they get the gifts. What's your favorite Christmas tradition?

Rollins: Well, it used to be my grandma's peach cobbler, but now it's definitely my mom's apple pie a la mode. It's got to be warm, you know when the ice cream melts on top of the pie. Christmas this year just won't be the same without my mom's apple pie since I'm not going back home to have it. Do you still believe in Santa?

Rollins: Oh my goodness, yes! Wink, wink. Have you been good or bad this year?

Rollins: Oh, um, I've been on both sides of the fence this year, but mostly I've been good. Although I didn't run out a popup. What's the best gift you've ever gotten?

Rollins: There were a couple in my younger days. When I was like 8 or 9 it was my aqua-colored Cycle Pro bike. My second favorite was a remote-control car. My best adult gift was the Nikon D80 camera that Johari -- Ms. Claus -- gave me. What's your favorite holiday movie?

Rollins: Wow -- definitely "A Christmas Story." My favorite part is when his tongue gets stuck on the flag pole. I also like when his father gets the lamp. My second favorite is the original "Home Alone" movie, especially when he shaves. How many of Santa's reindeer can you name?

Rollins: Rudolf. ... Everyone knows Rudolf. ... Um, Dancer, Prancer, that's about it. You get to a certain age when you don't have to remember them anymore. What gift would you get for Charlie Manuel?

Rollins: Rosetta Stone. Ryan Howard?

Rollins: Definitely golf lessons. He's a terrible golfer. Shane Victorino?

Rollins: I'd get him his own SMU (special makeup) cleats. He always steals mine. He's definitely worthy of his own now. Do you shop early or wait til Christmas Eve?

Rollins: I always wait until the last 72 hours. In fact, I still have to get Johari a Garmin GPS.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

The Headies are Busy Working!

Upcoming Headies shows!! December 28, 2008 at the Khyber in Philly doing an Otis Redding/Rolling Stones/Animals set, alongside Kitty Rotten and others. And then New Year's Eve at the Urban Bike Project in Wilmington doing our own revolutionary dance hits!

Monday, December 22, 2008

Little Big Man

Call me a "Grinch McScrooge" if you must, but I dig the real meaning of X-Mas, and this is it! Our own "Soul Pole" Ryan Howard as a little dude (on our right, obviously!) with his twin bro. I poached this great shot off which I'm sure y'all frequent as much as me. And while yer at it is doing the hundred greatest all-time Phils along with their usual trade rumors, etc...

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Punk Rock Local 27

Since the internet rumor mill is ablaze with talk that the Riverdales may be doing a fourth album, the time is nigh to reprint this Riverdales Review that I did for the Hic-Up #3. Enjoy!



Cranked-out triple-stacked Marshalls set to death-by-buzzsaw and played solely with downstrokes of the wrist. Almost closed hi-hat keeping a FAST four-four back-beat with cymbals on important chord changes. Equally down-struck bass with no scales, just following the guitar. Melody and harmony. This is the desconstructed basis of the sound of punk rock, and thusly rock and roll. When you add shit, be careful, cause you'll most likely fuck it up. It helps when you don't have a lot to work with, cause it lets the simplicity come naturally, like when yer a kid and first learning how to bang out a tune on yer guitar, you'll most likely play something that could be rock and roll. When yer a little bit older and there's a lot of bull-shit to choose from in life and the rock and roll spirit has been co-opted and rearranged so many times that the real deal and appreciation thereof became increasingly esoteric, so much so that real rock music has taken on the role unforseen in its first splash, that is rock and roll as art. In 2007 it's worse than ever, and I believe that. Thirty plus years after punk rock emerged and made it seem like maybe that appreciation of the music that would lead to some kind of abstract freedom could return to our nation for the first time since the first wave of rock and roll was obliterated by a series of wild cooincidental misfortunes (Elvis gets drafted into the army, Buddy Holly and Richie Valens die in a plane crash, Jerry Lee Lewis married his cousin (which I am cool with and "Great Balls of Fire" is fucking awesome... "I shine like GOLD... when I play that piano!!!"), Little Richard became a preacher, and my main man Chuck Berry went to jail for molesting some girl) the trash has cycled back in. It was in that brief neo-natal state that the spark was ignited and somehow didn't go out despite, like, everyone un-hip trying to kill it. Just when things seemed their bleakest came the best band there ever was, the band that stripped it back down, played it faster, and turned it way up. The Ramones. I know this, and the Riverdales know this.

The first self-titled Riverdales album came out in 1995 on Lookout! Records. This was Ben Weasel's project following one of the breakups of Screeching Weasel with Danny Vapid and Dan Panic, all going by their real last names! No Ben Riverdale. Ben predicted that Screeching Wesel fans wouldn't dig the Riverdales and called them a "golden-oldies" type act, but the Riverdales were pure Ramonesmania. Taking expert Ramones songwriting knowledge Weasel and Vapid craft incredibly unique and new punk rock. Like the Ramones and the Dictators, building themselves a little mythos, the Riverdales songs present their personalities shockingly clearly. The original cover of the self-titled is the three guys in action, featuring Ben with his Weaselrite guitar and a new Johnny Ramone haircut and the band's name in letterman jacket script. Inside is simply the "Punk Rock Local 27" logo. This record is fucking great and came out at just the right time, as in 1995 Ramones fans were born every other day, and the record was even produced by Billie Joe Green Day with Mass Giorgini. The first track is one of the best openers ever, with a tight beat starting it off and the chant of "We're gonna have fun tonight!" The Riverdales don't mean that in a cheeky way either, like "hey let's all have a great time!" They mean "WE'RE" gonna have fun, not you. Best of all on this track is Reverend Norb (of Boris the Sprinkler and MRR columnist infamey) as yer "politically correct, W-F-U-N on-air personality" on Riverdale's rock and roll radio station. Riverdale the town, like where Archie Comics take place. Archie of course is very important to rock and roll music, cause bubblegum is good and Archie pal Jughead (our hero!) played the best lead guitar known to man in Screeching Weasel. More on Archie Comics later. On the second track Vapid gets the lead vocal and his voice is so, so good. He sang in Slugdeworth and the Methadones, but never like this. You know, very Joey Ramone-ish but all new, confident and unique, definitely sexy. They develop a pattern on the first record that they loosely abide to by alternating lead vocals, which I can only assume (liner notes are mad scarce) indicates who wrote what, and Vapid's songs definitely stand out. Perhaps they are the poppier numbers, whereas Weasel handles the hard stuff, but still. It's notable that Vapid's "Back To You" was on the "Angus" soundtrack in 1995, for which Vapid and Weasel still recieve royalty checks for whenever it plays on TBS or what-not. The album is filled with three-chord rockers about TV, girls, mental institutions and beach parties. The absolute hit of the first record is Vapid's "Outta Sight" which is probably about my girlfriend (a cheerleader/choreographer), who comments that the Riverdales are great to dance to and the urge to shake one's butt is contagious. That's because it's rock and roll!!

In 1997, The Riverdales put out there second album "Storm the Streets" on Honest Don's Records, despite Screeching Weasel reforming the year before. Vapid's even more pronounced on this one and it really, really pays off. It is an album full of hits of Michael Jackson proportions. Even thicker and louder, and ballsy in a classic America sort of way like a punch in the gut, like Detroit, hairy-forearmed, anti-priss bubblegum. It's that feeling that in every way that a band like Led Zeppelin or any of their fake-me-out ilk are horrible and depressing and wrong, this is right. Simpler than hell and clear of purpose, the record starts with Vapid telling everybody they "better make way" cause "the Riverdales are here to stay." The chorus is one-four-five with a sharp double snare hit one the first and third in the pattern and the kicks into "Teenage Lobotomy" fast hard changes. Next up Weasel answers with an absolutely kick-butt song to add to the list of odes to questionable mental health, the awesomely titled "Mental Retard." Read the column titled "Maximum Isms" in Ben Weasel's amazing "Punk is a Four-Letter Word" for his full feelings on mental illness. Next Vapid's "Don't Let Them Beat My Baby" is a sugar-sweet yet dark smack about a possibly dead girlfriend and hoping to protect her like the Beach Boys on glue with another unbelievably catchy chorus. Other standouts include Weasel's number on hockey violence "Blood on the Ice" (Instead of "Lo-bo-to-my" sing "Blood-on-the-Ice"), Vapid's "I Don't Wanna Go to the Party Tonight" with beautifully delivered great rhymes ("I know my ex-girlfriend'll be there/kissin' dudes in front of me, as if I care,") and the line "Johnny and Frank and the King'll be there," could be in reference to Dr. Frank, Joe King Queer, and... uh, Johnny Jughead?, Johnny Personality? Maybe I'm wishing for some super-cool party with all my punk rock favorites, maybe the last name is actually Donny, whatever. Also the Screeching Weasel-esque (particularly in Ben's vocals) "Boy in the Plastic Bubble" deals with, you know, isolation and what-not, because, as punks, we ARE different from the rest. The best song on the album again goes to Danny Vapid with "The Riverdale Stomp" which solidifies their place in Riverdale, geographically. Vapid sings "I knew a girl named Ronnie Lodge, she always had money on her mind," and "Betty was whacked on sedatives," giving us the real dirt on Betty and Veronica, and "Riverdale Stomp, Baby Let's Go!" times fifteen. After they released "Storm the Streets" the Riverdales broke up, citing stress between the band members on the recent tour with Green Day as the reason.

The third and seemingly final Riverdales album, entitled "Phase Three" came out on 145 Records in 2003. Weasel and Vapid reunited with drummer-whore and super star Dan Lumley (Common Rider, Squirtgun) for an amazing and unexpected next album. It starts again with Vapid's touring song "Homesick" which is sick relatable no matter what yer up to. He sings, "Sittin' here kinda queezy, eatin' macaroni and cheese..." and oh man, it's great. Also on the bridge, "This life of rock and roll/sometimes it gets me down./But when the lights come on/I know I can do no wrong," and I am a sucker but I get chills, cause i dig it. Ben comes with some terrific Ramones I stuff in "Wait It Out" and "Tick Tick Tick," but the best moments, as always, come from Danny Vapid. In "Getaway" he lays down some of the Riverdale's "Phase Three" plans, "Phone lines and all survelience down/twenty-seven is still around." Best of all is the crooniest love-number that the Riverdales will ever do, Vapid's gorgeous "I Believe In You and Me." This is tricky, interesting, catchy and beautiful, showing what the Riverdales and punk rock are capable of with just a few ingredients, not unlike "Danny Says" on "End of the Century." And thank goodness Vapid's wanna party/don't wanna party quandry is resolved in "Party at the Beach" which he is decidedly for.

The Riverdales pushed being Ramones-esque past where even the Queers would take it, but the punk rock pedigree of Weasel/Vapid, who are each absolutely genius songwriters, made it an all-new chapter in the book, they never did a bad song unlike many, many other "similar" bands with good intentions and talentless songwriters, you know who I mean. They contributed to the punk rock mythos continuing themes concerning OUR dumb issues like messed-up brains and removing a section of it, girls of various intelligences and hottnesses, crumby TV and good comic books, and just the idea that yer playing punk rock because it's the best kind of music and you know it and you love it. The Riverdales shouldn't be overlooked as a Screeching Weasel side-project or underappreciated as unoriginal, because "Punk Rock Local 27" is tatooed on MY heart as a warning to all the bland squares that they can't make life less fun when me or the Riverdales are around!

The Riverdales Live!!

Here are the incomparable Riverdales... you don't need the story, Weasel Alumn, punk rock, early on, first record songs, a sea of unimpressed boys, Ben w/ Johnny haircut, live at University.

"Fun Tonight" featuring Rev. N0rb

"Judy Go Home"

"Wanna Be Alright"

"Outta Sight"

"I Can't Pretend"

"She's Gonna Break Your Heart"

"Plan 13"

"Back to You"

"Not Over Me"

"Hampton Beach"

"Blitzkrieg Bop" by the Ramones, featuring Dr. Frank!

Dock Ellis: Punk Pitcher

There is some wild shit going on in some conceptual afterlife somewhere. Last week we lost Betty Page and the great Dock Ellis (by which I mean they died.) While I was familiar with the story of Ellis pitching the no-hitter on acid, there is a good bit more lore that needs airing! For instance I just found out that Dock was black! Weird! Anyway, check out this amazing article written by some dude named Keven McAlester way back on June 16, 2005.

"Balls Out"
How to throw a no-hitter on acid, and other lessons from the career of baseball legend Dock Ellis.

Thirty-five years ago, on June 12, 1970, Pittsburgh Pirate and future Texas Rangers pitcher Dock Ellis found himself in the Los Angeles home of a childhood friend named Al Rambo. Two days earlier, he'd flown with the Pirates to San Diego for a four-game series with the Padres. He immediately rented a car and drove to L.A. to see Rambo and his girlfriend Mitzi. The next 12 hours were a fog of conversation, screwdrivers, marijuana, and, for Ellis, amphetamines. He went to sleep in the early morning, woke up sometime after noon and immediately took a dose of Purple Haze acid. Ellis would frequently drop acid on off days and weekends; he had a room in his basement christened "The Dungeon," in which he'd lock himself and listen to Jimi Hendrix or Iron Butterfly "for days."

A bit later, how long exactly he can't recall, he came across Mitzi flipping through a newspaper. She scanned for a moment, then noticed something.

"Dock," she said. "You're supposed to pitch today."

Ellis focused his mind. No. Friday. He wasn't pitching until Friday. He was sure.

"Baby," she replied. "It is Friday. You slept through Thursday."

Ellis remained calm. The game would start late. Ample time for the acid to wear off. Then it struck him: doubleheader. The Pirates had a doubleheader. And he was pitching the first game. He had four hours to get to San Diego, warm up and pitch. If something didn't happen in the interim, Dock Philip Ellis, age 25, was about to enter a 50,000-seat stadium and throw a very small ball, very hard, for a very long time, without the benefit of being able to, you know, feel the thing.

Which, it turns out, was one of the least crazy things that happened to him on that particular day.

The high-desert town of Victorville, California, is the last stop on the long road out of Los Angeles, and the place does little to embarrass the word "shithole." It's best known as the home of five prisons, some reportedly very good crystal meth and a kick-ass Long John Silver's; its primary attraction to residents is that, unlike the small towns across the mountains in California's central valley, its air does not always smell like burning tires and cowshit. It is, in sum, about as far from major league baseball glory as one could get without a spaceship or a body bag. And it's the place that, for the past two years, Dock Ellis has called home.

On a recent Friday afternoon, Ellis, now 60, stands outside his house, waiting for movers to arrive. Ellis lives in an upscale subdivision of identical homes laid out on identical streets; this weekend he's moving to a larger house several blocks away.

Ellis is not a small man--when he drove up in his wife's tiny sports coupe, his knees looked like earrings--and here, now, watching him pace around his front yard, a few flecks of gray are the only suggestion that Ellis' "heavyball" couldn't still kill a small animal. (Well, plus the fact that he can't lift his arm over his head, having torn his rotator cuff lifting weights in 1993. There's that.) In conversation, he's intelligent, funny and what former Rangers owner Brad Corbett calls "dangerously honest."

Throughout his 12-year career as a player, he was often labeled a different kind of dangerous. Brash, gifted and impetuous, he would do almost anything to make a point he believed in. When baseball brass complained about his haircut, he wore hair curlers on the field. When a heckler called him nigger during a minor league game in Alabama, he entered the stands, sat among the hecklers and said, "What happened to all those niggers up here? All those niggers calling me nigger?" (In Ellis' version of the story, he also has a gun in his pocket.) When the Cincinnati Reds taunted the Pirates after beating them in the 1972 National League Championship Series, Ellis decided to motivate his team by hitting every single batter in the Reds' lineup. He hit the first three and walked two before he was pulled. He had, in short, that certain combination of raw talent and insanity that very rarely creates Hall of Famers but almost always creates legends.

"Dock Ellis was without question the most intimidating pitcher of his era," says former MVP and batting champ Dave Parker, who came into the majors on Ellis' 1973 Pittsburgh Pirates. "Bob Gibson is up there, too, obviously, but with Dock it wasn't just his stuff. It was his flamboyance, his perceived militancy and his fearlessness. When he came and said he was gonna hit all those Reds, I thought, 'You ain't gonna do nothing, man.' Then he did it. I gained a lot of respect for him right there. Dock was and is one of my best friends--I call him my baseball father--but after I left the Pirates, he said he was gonna hit me in the face. And every time I faced him, I was scared."

Ellis grew up 97 miles southwest of Victorville, in a section of Los Angeles known colloquially as "the Neighborhood"--a middle-class black suburb nestled between Gardena, Long Beach and Watts. His childhood was, by all accounts, remarkable mostly in its normalcy: His parents loved him, he got into trouble here and there, he excelled at sports and practical jokes.

"I met Dock on the front porch of a lady friend's house in 1962," says Al Rambo, Ellis' cohort the night before the LSD incident. "He drove up in a 1959 four-door Chevy Impala with 'The Nut' written on the rear windshield. He walked up and told me he was a singer. I asked him to sing, and he said he only did it for money.

"He's still the person you call if you want to find somebody from the old Neighborhood. Later, he liked to create this image that he was a gangbanger or something, but Dock never got into much trouble. Except with the ladies."

Ellis and Rambo soon began running around with a couple of other neighborhood athletes, calling themselves "The Sons." At 6-foot-4, Ellis originally gained notice as a basketball player; he once had 21 assists in a Gardena High game. He refused to play for the baseball team--one of the white players had called him "spearchucker"--until, during his senior year, he was caught drinking wine in the bathroom. Play baseball, he was told, or we'll suspend you.

He played in four games and was named all-league.

Ellis' true initiation to baseball took place under the tutelage of legendary pitcher Chet Brewer, a 20-year veteran of the old Negro and Mexican leagues, a man who had played alongside Satchel Paige on the Kansas City Monarchs. Brewer was a scout for the Pirates and the manager of L.A.'s Pittsburgh Pirate Rookies squad. (In the days before the draft, such scouts were heavily relied upon to recruit players for rookie teams; at one point, the talent on Brewer's team was so impressive that Ellis wasn't even their No. 1 pitcher--and future Hall of Famer Eddie Murray was the bat boy.) Almost immediately, several teams tried to sign Ellis to a proper minor league contract, but he and his friends had heard of rookie players signing with the Pirates for $60,000, so he held out. Then, a year out of high school, Ellis got arrested for stealing a car. (Long story.) After he got off with probation and a fine, Chet Brewer suggested that, at this point, he might consider signing anything with a dotted line. And so, in 1964, Ellis signed a one-year minor-league contract with the Pirates for $500 a month, plus a $2,500 signing bonus. The Nut was going to The Show.

Here's what Ellis remembers about the trip from Los Angeles to San Diego: not a goddamn thing. Apparently he got to the airport, boarded one of the San Diego shuttles that left every half-hour, flew for 22 minutes and landed. The first thing he recalls is sitting in a taxi, telling the driver to "get to the fucking stadium. I got to play." Next thing, he's sitting in the locker room. 5 p.m. By that point, Ellis had enough experience with LSD to know that it wouldn't be wearing off anytime soon; as a, uh, "precautionary measure," he took somewhere between four and eight amphetamines and drank some water. He walked to the railing at Jack Murphy Stadium where, each time he played in San Diego, a female acquaintance would bring him a handful of Benzedrine. White Crosses. He took a handful of those and went to the bullpen to warm up.

After that, it's impressions, mostly. The bullpen. Throwing. No idea how that felt, but he can remember being there. Next: the dugout. Sitting. Looking up and seeing drizzle. Not really how it looked or felt or any of that; just hoping to shit the game would be canceled. Just before 6:05 p.m., the umpire emerged, wiped off home plate and did a quick and basically ceremonial examination of the drizzle situation and signaled to the Pirates' bench. The national anthem began. "Damn. Looks like I'm gonna have to pitch." At this point, the thing in his hand felt, more or less, like a very heavy volleyball.

Much like rock music or God, baseball is forever being declared dead. This scandal or that problem has tarnished the game forever; this strike or that contract has permanently alienated the fans; this player or that legend declares the sport has seen its best days. Ellis hates that shit. "When I played the game." "When I played the game." The ball is the same, isn't it? How about the bat? Still four bases? OK then.

Looking at tape of Ellis in his prime, what's most immediately striking is how much bigger--as in taller, naturally wider, fatter--the players appear to be; by contrast, a baseball game in today's steroid era looks like a carnival of bloated red midgets. The second-most striking thing is the economy of Ellis' motion. There's no elaborate wind-up, no huge leg kick or head move. He hides the ball until the last possible moment, then nonchalantly throws a brutal breaking ball. After a few pitches, it's easy to see how, even without the best pure stuff in the league, he became one of its premier pitchers.

In 1968, after being called up from the minors in June, Ellis went 6-5 with a 2.51 ERA; as quickly as the 1971 season, he was 19-9 with a 3.06 ERA and starting for the National League in the All-Star game. He had the arm speed and leg strength, but he also relied heavily on strategy--which consisted almost entirely of intimidation.

"It's such an important aspect of the game," he says. "Like hitting batsmen. All hitters know they're gonna get hit. They just don't know when. The kicker for the truly good hitters is, you cannot hit me as many times as I'm gonna hit you. They take that hit to get six hits. But you gotta pop their ass so you can get an 0 for 4 on them one day. Don't get cocky now, motherfucker. The challenge is on. So let's get it on. Other guys might explain it differently, have different reasons, but that was mine.

"Right about the time I left, it changed. You can't throw at anyone without getting thrown out of the game. The announcers today say it ruins the game. They never talk about the fights that Cincinnati and St. Louis got into 30 years ago. Barry Bonds? I'd hit him at least once a game. 'Cause he's got all that shit on. Yeah, let's see that shit stop the ball from hurting him if I hit him on the motherfucking elbow or something. I'd hit him just to see, does it work?"

It was also that 1971 All-Star game that first gained Ellis his reputation as a militant--an image later etched in stone by the 1976 biography Dock Ellis in the Country of Baseball, which declared him "baseball's Muhammad Ali."

Before the game, Ellis let it be known that NL manager Sparky Anderson would never start him, because the announced AL starter, Vida Blue, was also black. This launched the inevitable national sportswriters' debate about how racism didn't exist in 1971, and how dare he and why would he and so on and whatnot. The flap had its intended effect: Anderson, grumblingly, started Ellis, and the pitcher soon became one of the most reviled players in the league, branded a troublemaker and miscreant. Ellis was untroubled by the affair; as with most things in which he believed, he openly declared he "didn't give a fuck what anybody thought." With possibly one exception: A few days after the All-Star game, Ellis received a letter in the mail.

"I read your comments in our paper the last few days," it read, "and wanted you to know how much I appreciate your honesty. The news media, while knowing full well you are right and honest, will use every means to get back at you. Honors that should be yours will bypass you and the pressures will be great--try not to be left alone. There will be times when you ask yourself if it's worth it all. I can only say, Dock, it is.

Jackie Robinson"

What's weird is that sometimes it felt like a balloon. Sometimes it felt like a golf ball. But he could always get it to the plate. Getting it over the plate was another matter entirely. Sometimes he couldn't see the hitter. Sometimes he couldn't see the catcher. But if he could see the hitter, he'd guess where the catcher was. And he had a great catcher back there. Jerry May. You could make mistakes with him, and he would compensate. He'd know if he called for a curveball, he could look at the follow-through of your arm and see if you were gonna hang it. So he'd get ready to slide and block. Also, he had this reflective tape on his fingers that was by far the easiest thing to see.

Ellis had no idea what the score was, and he knew he'd been wild--he ended with eight walks, one hit batsman and the bases loaded at least twice--but here it was, bottom of the seventh, and he was still in the game.

The hardest part was between innings. He was sure his teammates knew something was up. They had all been acting strange since the game began. Solution: Do not look at teammates. Do not look at scoreboard. Must not make eye contact. His spikes--that's what he concentrated on. Pick up tongue depressor, scrape the mud, repeat. Must. Clean. Spikes.

Sometime in the fifth or sixth, he sensed someone next to him. Looking. He turned. It was rookie infielder Dave Cash.

"Dock," Cash said. "You've got a no-hitter going."

Cash, apparently unaware of the (insanely well-known) superstition that a pitcher never talks about a no-hitter until it's complete for fear of jinxing it, was immediately piled upon by several outraged teammates. Ellis, meanwhile, looked at the scoreboard.



After the eighth, during which he'd watched outfielder Matty Alou snag an almost certain base hit, Ellis walked off the field and looked Cash straight in the eye.

"Still got my no-no!" Ellis declared.

Ellis' last good year as a pitcher came in 1977, his first of two with the Rangers. In the interim, his reputation as a wildman had grown exponentially. There were the hair curlers (which inspired a spread in Ebony about his hairstyles), the biography, the beaning of the Cincinnati Reds. There was a July 1976 incident, after being traded to the Yankees before that season, in which Ellis decided to retaliate against Reggie Jackson for showboating after a brutal home run in the 1971 All-Star game--and hit him in the face with a fastball. Jackson was carried off the field on a stretcher; four years later, he'd tell reporters that his face was still numb. Ellis had been maced by security guards, threatened by his own managers and declared the most unpopular Pittsburgh Pirate ever.

Rangers owner Brad Corbett didn't care about any of it.

"I absolutely loved him," says Corbett, who acquired Ellis from the A's in June 1977. "The biggest misperception about Dock is that he's this untamed, self-destructive wildman. And part of that is true; he was crazy, but in a good way. He was fun. He had a way of keeping people loose. He was a practical joker. He had character. Everybody loves to talk about that LSD no-hitter, but come on. Stuff like that was happening all the time. Everybody was doing something. One relief pitcher we traded for, I went to meet him in New York at Studio 54. And I walk in and look over and say to myself, 'Hmm. Is that sugar?'

"And of course, number one, he was a damn good pitcher and a terrific competitor. In fact, at one point, we traded him to Cleveland, and I felt so bad about losing him that I called the trade off. And by that point, he was at the end of his career, and his arm was fading. It clearly wasn't the right business decision, but I just couldn't let Dock go."

The Rangers' 1977 starting rotation of Ellis (who went 10-6 with a 2.90 ERA after he joined the team), Ferguson Jenkins, Doyle Alexander and Bert Blyleven remains the strongest starting four the club has ever had; that team's 94 wins, which placed it second behind Kansas City's 102, were the strongest whiff of the playoffs the Rangers would get until the AL West was pared down to four teams, making it easier for the Rangers to climb to the top of a very short pile.

But Corbett was right: Ellis' arm was fading, his body haunted by a problem that, like racism, he had first experienced upon arriving in the majors. One day early in his career, Ellis was lying on the dugout bench, "half-assed asleep and hungover," and found out he was supposed to pitch. An older player leaned over and handed Ellis a plastic cup.

"I said, 'What the hell is that?'" Ellis recalls. "He said, 'Juice.' I drank it, and next thing I know, I was out there on the mound like [Juan] Marechal. And I liked it."

Ellis had just had his first experience with amphetamines; by the time he arrived on the Pirates proper, Ellis was popping green Dexamyl pills before every game. Eventually, he'd need between 70 and 85 milligrams to get up for a start; that would be somewhere between five and 12 pills, depending on what type he took. And over the next 12 years, he wouldn't pitch a single major league game without them. Not one.

"Doctors aren't gonna come out and say it, but it enhances your game," Ellis says. "The thing is, you get addicted to it. You take half a pill and do great. Then you take half three weeks later and don't do good, so you say maybe I better take the other half. 'Cause I'm not feeling the same way. It got to the point where I had to take it just to be on the bench, when I'm not pitching. Just to stay awake.

"Why? Fear. Fear of success and fear of failure."

By his final year, 1979, there wasn't much cause for Ellis to fear success. He bounced from the Rangers to the Mets, compiled a 4-12 record with a 5.98 ERA and made one last request to Pittsburgh General Manager "Pete" Peterson: Trade me or let me die a Pirate. He was granted his request and made three relief appearances with the Bucs. When Corbett sold the Rangers before the 1980 season, Ellis made it official and retired. By that point, he didn't care about baseball at all. All he cared about was getting high. Speed, cocaine, even scotch. Which he hated.

"Then my son was born," Ellis says. "I was wearing a lot of jewelry at the time, and when I'd hold him, I'd grab his arms and whatnot. Then I read these stories about parents who shake their kids and kill them. I asked myself, I wonder how hard I'm grabbing him. Then I realized the truly fucked-up thing: that I had to ask myself at all. That's when I knew, something's wrong with me. I went to treatment the next day.

"I was in there sniffing pingpong balls, trying to get high. A doctor came to me and asked me to list all the substances I'd done in my life. He looked at the paper and said, 'I have to classify you as suicidal.' I said fuck you. Suicidal. He handed me back the paper and said, 'Anyone who's doing that is trying to kill themselves.' I looked at him and thought about that. After a minute, I told him nobody will ever have to worry about me getting high ever again."

This is the point of the story at which things are supposed to get ugly. There should be backsliding, stories of long sweaty nights with "friends" whose last names you don't know, possibly a homeless period or two.

None of it happened to Ellis. After he quit baseball and cleaned up, he's had basically no contact with the game--he played a couple of seasons in a senior league and was briefly hired by George Steinbrenner ("the only person in baseball who wasn't afraid I'd be the old Dock Ellis") as a minor league drug counselor--but mostly he's been eating Snickers and drinking Dr Pepper, working as a drug counselor. He seems to genuinely miss the game, especially the fans, but he doesn't seem devastated by it.

"You know, I'm just clean and sober and going on about my business," he says. "But there's gotta be a place for me in baseball. I should be with baseball. But that's partly my fault. I alienated myself. I left baseball with the wrong impression about the people who ran the game. 'Cause I had that paranoia that everybody was out to get me."

"It's almost like Dock wanted people to think he wasn't as smart as he is," Dave Parker says. "But the people he's close to, we know."

One day last month, Ellis walked into the Victor Valley penitentiary, where, for the past two years, he's worked as a drug counselor. He said he had a surprise for his class. HBO Sports was doing a piece on him, and they'd dug up an old black-and-white videotape of that June 1970 game against the Pirates. To that point, Ellis swore that no tape of the game existed, and he'd never seen himself pitch high on LSD. And this would be the first time he was watching it. As the game enters the ninth, it gets to two outs, three balls and two strikes, and then the tape cuts straight to a postgame interview.

"I remember getting that last out," Ellis says. "And turning around and saying, 'A fucking no-hitter!' It didn't really hit me until the next morning, when I was less high, and I got a live phone call from CBS or ABC or something wanting to interview me. They kept telling me to turn the TV down. Too much feedback."

The class looked at Ellis' postgame interview and dissected his mannerisms, laughing at how obvious it seemed that he was high. In a way, Ellis ending up on the straight and narrow in this small town, spending his days with criminals who are in the same boat he once was, not caring so much about baseball or his legacy--he couldn't have found a better confirmation of the faith that the Brad Corbetts and George Steinbrenners, the Al Rambos and the Dave Parkers placed in him when he was at his craziest: the belief that somewhere beneath the hair curlers and the fancy clothes and the fights and the clenched jaws was a man of true character.

The sport of baseball has, since his retirement, more or less shunned him because of who he was. The irony, of course, is that Ellis' one-time problems, which prevented him from being a truly great player, have since revealed him to be something more like a great person.

And baseball, like the rest of us, could use a few more of those.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Endless Mike Jambox @ Punk Rock Prom 2005

This is a real scorcher! The last Endless Mike Jambox show with Matty Volk on drums before he went on to bigger and worse things! The Punk Rock Prom 2005 at North Street in Newark, DE, where everything went tits up for me, but damn can I sing! I'm dressed like a weird-o casue it's the PRP, but Billy Frolic always dresses like that. Strangely I have the same haircut right now, after much variation. Paddy Robinson on bass and mc Ben on lead guitar, and most importantly, filmed and uploaded by Brendo-"Nintendo" Huffman. It looks awesome, Bren, kinda like Cloverfield! Scary. (Hit Play then Pause to let the son of a bitch buffer!) Oh, and I apologize for any rude gestures I made during the filming!

P.S. - If Matt wants to do a record I will too.

Tit Patrol Maximumrocknroll Review

Ah, yes, the Tit Patrol review from the "demo" section of the January 2009 Max Rock, because those losers turned over our mad-pro looking disc and saw it was blue underneath so it's apparently a demo. Now you don't have to buy that rag.

"I can't explain why it's totally OK when the Queers sing about the sizes of various women's breasts, but it's completely unnacceptable when a handful of teenage boys from Delaware raise the banner of repressed and mangled male patriarchal sexuality high (hopefully tongue-in-cheek) in an effort to appeal to all the ignorant punk boys of the world (who, as some of us know, are a dime a dozen anyway.) TIT PATROL. Jeez, I know it seems unfair to rip on their name so much. It's a relief there aren't any bizarre tracks about girlfriends or chicks at shows (with tits), which is exactly what I expected.

Meanwhile, back on Earth, the tracks are recorded very well. It seems they're going for that very special Queers sound and attitude, but unfortunately are ending up with a mood of dudely absurdity equal to that of the Bouncing Souls. Except for that song "One of My Moods" which actually sort of rules, and, through very nice guitaring and vocals, achieves that classic Lookout! pep and bounce. They also manage to portray a larger spectrum of emotion and experience than the hated Bouncing Souls, ranging from anal foot-fucking (on the first track "Butt Foot") to dealing with invasion of space ("You're Givin' me the Heebie Jeebies") to mental health (in the songs "Daily Lobotomy" and "One of My Moods". (Helen) (11-song CD, no lyrics)"

This moron and her logical fallacies of review... like most creeps who review the TIT, they can't wait to listen to the record before the start their review. As you can see, the whole first paragraph is what she expected out of us due to our name. For one, we are heir apparents to the Queers, and all y'all are just demo reviewers for a magazine that ruled until ten years ago. So, it is okay for us to do whatever the F we want. Then, we aren't teenagers, and we hate so-called idiot punk boys that spurned Helen Review Lady. I won't dis her too hard, but it is telling that after listening to "Butt Foot", a song about a medical condition, she made it into something dirty. Stupid Californian. Still, who ever thought our silly little pop-punk record would be accused of "raising the banner of repressed and mangled male patriarchal sexuality high." Hilarious and insightful, bitch.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Tit Patrol's First Show Ever

Check this wildness out! Tit Patrol's first show at the Punk Rock Prom 2005, pre-Danny! That is Mikey G. on bass guitar. Muchas gracias to Brendan "the Huffer" Huffman for the archival footage. I can't seem to embed the video in my post, so click on the title link and it will open as a Quicktime player. I'll keep trying to figure out how to embed it. Dig that crazy Todd! Songs included: some fakockta instrumental, "Hey Suburbia" by Screeching Weasel, and the orignal "Robot Pope".

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Bittersweet Farewell for Burrell

Just this one more, I swear. There is alot to say, and sometimes other dudes can say it better. This one is by Inquirer Sports Columnist Phil Sheridan.

There were times in the last seven years when the departure of Pat Burrell would have been greeted with a smile and a huge sigh of relief.

Now that Burrell's decade-long tenure as a Phillie appears to be over, it's hard to know quite what to feel. Sadness? Anger? Shrugged acceptance of the business of sports? Burrell has given Philadelphia fans reasons to feel all those things and more during what was, after all, one of the more complicated careers here.

There's a time and place to compare Burrell to his replacement, Raul Ibanez. This isn't that time or place. This is about observing the end of an era.

Actually, Burrell was the human bridge between two Phillies eras. He was the epitome of the bumbling Phillies, who couldn't figure out where to invest their long-term guaranteed money. And he became the elder statesman on a team that won the World Series.

It was a nearly impossible metamorphosis.

The Phillies rushed to sign Burrell to a long-term deal after their bitter experiences with Curt Schilling and Scott Rolen. There followed seasons of watching the clock, willing time to run out on Burrell's deal and the paralyzing effect it had on the Phillies' payroll.

For a while there, Burrell seemed like the kind of player Philadelphia would eat alive: former No. 1 overall draft pick, huge contract, underwhelming numbers, maybe a bit too good-looking. And, yes, the leftfielder heard his share of boos during his time here.

He'd strike out, flailing away at a low-and-away breaking ball, and the long low roar would start. But a funny thing happened during Burrell's most puzzlingly unproductive seasons. Each time he came to the plate, he'd get a cheer that sounded almost - dare we say it? - supportive.

There was something very human about Burrell's struggles, something that made a lot of fans cut him more slack than better players, in every sport, have gotten here. Burrell would walk to the plate to a cheer. If he struck out, especially if he looked clueless doing so, he'd get a boo. But next time up, he'd get another cheer.

Partly it was because Burrell spent long sessions with hitting coaches, trying to break bad habits. His work ethic explained why he had the respect of his teammates even when he wasn't producing on the field. That respect was there even when manager Charlie Manuel made the hard decision to sit Burrell for stretches of the season.

Managers don't like to keep their highest-paid player out of the lineup. It makes everyone look bad. It took backbone for Manuel to do it and grace for Burrell to accept it without public complaint.

His teammates noticed. So did the fans.

It worked, too. Burrell would gradually come around after one of these time outs, start popping home runs, then turn some of those awful pitches into walks instead of outs.

Burrell's curious relationship with the fans would be the most memorable thing about his time here if he hadn't rewritten his legacy in his final weeks.

The slumping Burrell came to Miller Field in Milwaukee for Game 4 of the first-round playoff series wondering whether he'd be in the lineup that day. He was. He responded by hitting two home runs to help clinch the Phillies' first playoff series victory in 15 seasons.

Dallas Green, manager of the 1980 champions and franchise scold, grabbed Burrell in the clubhouse and told him how proud he was of him. It was a moment that illustrated how much genuine affection there is for Burrell within the Phillies organization - even if that affection was often mixed with hair-pulling frustration.

The official Major League Baseball DVD commemorating the Phillies' title features another candid moment - one that leaps out at you because it's surprising it wasn't on the cutting-room floor.

During Game 5 of the World Series, Jimmy Rollins approaches Burrell in the area behind the Phillies dugout.

"That's what's missing: you," Rollins says, goading the teammate he'd met when both were in high school. "I don't know who this guy is. I don't know who you are. I want to see No. 5 show up."

Burrell walks away without responding. But then he came out and hit the double, just feet from clearing the fence, that led to the Series-winning run.

That was Burrell's last at-bat as a Phillie. His last public appearance as a member of the team was as honorary grand marshal of the unforgettable parade down Broad Street.

The parade will linger in the collective memory long after the most awkward strikeouts and the head-down walks back to the dugout have faded. In Philadelphia, at least, Burrell will get to do what so few athletes here have ever done - leave on top, as a champion.

Maybe it's OK to smile after all.

Grapheme and the Money Ball

What an emotional time for baseballers. The loss of Pat Burrell still sticks in my crawl. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Ibanez isn't a total dud, and apparently Amaro Junior is after those RISP and clutch numbers. But again, if the issue was giving three years and alot of money to a player who isn't defensively sound or fast at all, then why not keep the band together? Pat the Bat turned out to be a fan favorite and someone we trusted, one way or another, and the advent of a Championship does not translate to a kinder, gentler Philadelphia. Ibanez is gonna get the business from the left field stands, for sure.

Thankfully we resigned Jamie Moyer. This was very wise. With Moyer, you get a good arm and a great mind, and any young pitchers on the staff are lucky to have him. Not to mention it means retaining another piece of our beloved team. We signed Chan Ho Park, the ex-Dodger pitcher to jump in the mix for the fifth starter along with J.A. Happ, Kyle Kendrick, and Carlos Carrasco, but I've seen some hopeful bloggers with some good ideas. Namely, go crazy, trade Ibanez for a high tier starter and retain Pat the Bat. I know that is just wishful thinking, but what if?

Watching a player of franchise status get a new team and a new uni can be fascinating and exhilarating. I love when things (cows, ghosts, athletes) look the same as always but in a different color. Like when Shaq went from Laker gold and purple to Miami black and red, or when my man Allen Iverson strapped on that Detroit penny this year. Baseball is even better. I love the color match-ups in baseball, and I love getting the city scape shots and local flavor that somehow finds its way to exhibition on the diamond. Interleague is the best for this synesthetic joy. Like when the Dodgers play the Angels in the Battle for Los Angeles, and you have straight up red team vs. blue team action, fighting for the ideals of their neighborhoods. Even better is Oakland A's vs. San Francisco Giants, poor vs. rich, green and yellow vs. orange and black. The Phillies/Dodger series was great because 1) It was red team/blue team, 2) It was mean and wild vs. lazy and apathetic, 3) We won.

Still, I don't really want to see the Bat in any other uniform, but I assume he's gonna go to the AL, so I'll have a favorite Junior Circuit team soon I guess. If I had to see it, I'd hope it would be in Orioles gear, or barring that Kansas City or Oakland or Tampa Bay. And dear lord please not New York, Boston, or Atlanta. Either way the decathexis is painful and I wish it didn't have to happen.

The Queers Live!!

Here is most of a live set from the best pop-punk band in the world (which is to say the best band in the world period, cause pop-punk is the most truly vital music, along with soul and bubblegum), the motherfuckin' Queers motherfucker! It is almost in order, but not really. Live at the CPA in Italy, 2002, with a great line-up... Joe Queer on vocal and guitar, Dangerous Dave on bass, Matt Drastic of Halflings fame on drums, DANNY VAPID on second guitar, and my man Wimpy joins the boys on vocals. Watch the Queers live right here at Danthology!

"You're Trippin'"
"Live This Life"

"Monster Zero"

"I Hate Everything"

"Hi Mom, It's Me"

"No Tit"

"Rockaway Beach" by the Ramones

"The Kids Are Alright" by the Who

"Granola Head"

"Tamara is a Punk"

"Ursula Finally Has Tits"

"See Ya Later Fuckface"

"I Only Drink Bud"

"Sidewalk Surfer Girl"

"Get a Life and Live It"

"My Old Man's a Fatso" by the Angry Samoans

"Ben Weasel"

"Love Love Love"

"Another Girl"

"Like a Parasite"

"I'll Be True To You" by the Monkees

"Teenage Bonehead"

"Too Many Twinkies"

"Debra Jean"


"We'd Have a Riot Doing Heroin" & "Terminal Rut" & "Fagtown"

"Wimpy Drives Through Harlem"

"Kicked Out of the Webelos"

"Tulu is a Wimp" & "I Want Cunt"

"I Spent the Rent" & "Nothing To Do"

"Fuck You"

"I Like Young Girls"

"This Place Sucks"

"Fuck the World"

Burrell Leaves Phillies Quietly, But Disappointed

Here is a terrific article/Burrell interview with Paul Hagen of the Philadelphia Daily News. Watch out though... it's a tear-jerker.

PAT BURRELL was asked to lead the Phillies' triumphal parade down Broad Street. Then, nothing. After that the organization seemed content to allow him, like MacArthur's old soldiers, to just fade away.

Even while actively seeking his replacement, club officials never said out loud that they didn't want their longest-tenured player back. Didn't say they did, either. Just decided not to offer arbitration and went about the business of not having substantive discussions with the first overall draft pick in 1998, the leftfielder they once viewed as the face of their franchise.

It was a curiously anticlimactic end for the player who has hit more home runs for the Phillies than anybody but Mike Schmidt and Del Ennis, an end that finally came when the organization agreed to terms on a 3-year, $31.5 million contract with free agent Raul Ibanez, a deal expected to be formally announced this week.

"I kind of had a feeling there was a strong possibility, you know, that I wasn't in the cards," Burrell said during a lengthy phone conversation over the weekend. "At the same time, I hadn't heard anything from the team.

"I'm disappointed. I can't lie about that. But I can't say I'm upset about it, either, because when I think about my time there I have nothing but good things to say. The city, the fans, have been behind me from the very beginning. That's the hard part, especially with respect to what happened last year, with us winning the whole thing. It was very meaningful to me to be a part of something like that. But you have to move on.

"You know, there's a business [aspect] to this sport. And as a player you'd better learn to accept that or else it's going to be pretty frustrating for you. I was aware that, most likely, the team was going to go the other way. At the same time, I thought there was a chance I might be back."

He's still just 32 years old. He hit 33 home runs last season. Only three righthanded hitters in the National League (Milwaukee's Ryan Braun and St. Louis' Ryan Ludwick and Albert Pujols) had more. While he rarely shared himself with the media, he was immensely popular with his teammates, who respected his toughness and work ethic. And he was consistent in talking about how much he enjoyed playing in Philadelphia and that he would love to return.

On the other hand, he recognized that he was making $14 million and doesn't run as well as he used to and routinely came out of games for a defensive replacement or a pinch-runner in the late innings.

So after he doubled against the wall to lead off the bottom of the seventh against Tampa Bay in Game 5 of the World Series - the score was tied, 3-3, at the time - the realization of what it all might mean started to hit him when Eric Bruntlett trotted onto the field to run for him.

"I was coming off the field and I started looking around and thinking, 'This might be it.' At the same time, here we were possibly about to win the World Series," he said. "On a personal level, I remember hitting the ball and thinking it was way over the fence. Then getting a chance to be on second with nobody out and [Shane] Victorino up, I thought we were going to get [Bruntlett] over and we were going to get him in. That's kind of where I was at."

That's exactly what happened. Bruntlett went to third when Victorino grounded out to second and scored what proved to the winning run when Pedro Feliz singled.

During the chaos in the celebration that followed the second world championship in franchise history, Burrell remembered club president Dave Montgomery seeking him out.

"I could be wrong about this, but we won Game 5 and I think at some point during the celebration [Montgomery] asked me if I wanted to bring [his wife] Michelle and [his dog] Elvis and go on with the Clydesdales. At that point, I was in a dream," he said.

"They called the next day and confirmed it. But even at that point we didn't know where it fit in the whole scheme of things. There were so many people and it seemed like such mass confusion to start this thing off. Then we found out that we were actually in front of all the flatbed trucks with the players, then I really knew it was something pretty special."

He embraced the city in a way few professional athletes have. And the city, in return, returned the emotion. Sure, there were boos when he fell into a prolonged slump. Overall, though, the fans were often more supportive than might have been expected.

"The only way I can explain it is that if you're always on top of the world, if you're always at the top of your game and feeling great, it's hard to understand why other players who are struggling are having a good time. You understand what I'm saying?" he said.

"I've certainly been through some periods where I haven't played very well and struggled and went through all these things. And to be able to get out of that and to get back to where I am now and have the fans' support that whole time, it's a special feeling.

"These fans, I don't think they get the credit they deserve for being as passionate about the game and the players as they are. They only want one thing, and that's to win. As a player, that should be the only thing that matters, too. They came every night, and that's all you can ask. If you don't think the fans were important in us winning that World Series, you must have been watching on TV. Because every one of us on our team knew we had the [homefield] advantage. And I think their team did, too."

Asked what he would like people to know about him that they might not know, he said simply: "That winning came first."

He got a heads-up from former Phillies third baseman Dave Hollins. He was on his way up, on the verge of making the big leagues. Hollins was on his way down, playing in the minors.

"I was at Triple A [Scranton/Wilkes-Barre] and we were in the playoffs against Charlotte. I got to first base, I was having a good series, and [Hollins] was playing first. I remember him saying, 'They're going to love you up there. Just keep playing hard.' For some reason, after all these years, that sticks in my head more than anything.

"Because when you're going through these times and the fans are watching you go through it and you're struggling, as long as you're giving it everything you've got, they appreciate it. Especially for me.

"Living downtown with Michelle and having the dog, walking to the park every day, the support was incredible coming down the stretch. I can't tell you how many people came up to me and said stuff like, 'We love having you here, we hope you stay. You went through such bad times and you made it out. You came back and became a great player.' Stuff like that is important, for me anyway, to know that, hey, they're behind you and they care about you and they're pulling for you to get back on track."

There were reports earlier in the season that Burrell had turned down a 2-year, $22 million offer that would have kept him in red pinstripes. He addressed the issue reluctantly.

"This is all I'm going to say about it: Early in the season there were preliminary discussions about the possibility of an extension. And the truth of it is, it never got to be more than that. It just never did," he said. "The rest of the season went on and that was the end of the preliminary discussions. To be honest, nothing specific was ever talked about. Nothing official was offered. There were just some preliminary talks."

Then there were no talks at all. Now Burrell is starting over, wondering what the future holds.

"I wish I knew," he said. "For the last 10 1/2 years, being in this organization since 1998, I always knew where I was going. For me, that meant a lot. There was a comfort in that.

"At the same time, this is what we signed up for. You never know what's going to happen. I don't know what the future holds. We'll have to wait and see."

It's a bittersweet time. "If you had told me last spring training that this was going to be my last year and how did I want to go out, there would be no better way to go out," he said. "But having gone through everything . . . Like Cole Hamels said, 'I can't wait to do this again.' So there's a touch of that, too."

Now he knows, finally, that if he wins another World Series it will be with a different team. *

Monday, December 15, 2008

The Headies Live!!

Wilmington's best rock and roll band, the Headies live at Mojo 13 in Wilmington, Delaware, December 12, 2008. Thanks to Jamesage for the video! (Don't worry, the guitar gets turned up fast!)

"Feets Don't Fail Me Now" and "Black Bubblegum"

"Mr. Pitiful" by Otis Redding


"Do the Gremlin"

"I've Been Around" by the Animals

"Real Gone Monkey" and "Joelle (How Much You Love Yer Baby?)"

"Out in the Streets" by the Shangria-Las and "Shake It Down!"

"It's a Super-Man's World"

Tit Patrol Live!!

Oh you lucky people you, through the miracle of digital video, here is Tit Patrol in all their glory, live at the Urban Bike Project in Wilmington, Delaware, December 6, 2008. This is also Timmy "the Main Man" Toner's clip reel to send to Larry Livermore to try and be the new drummer for the Riverdales, and frankly, we're gonna miss him! How do I get a gig like that? Video by my man Jamesage Yetter, check all his work at his youtube page under "bigyetter"!

"Burger Fever" and "I Don't Wanna See Your Face"

"Two Ton Twirl"

"Danny Sez" by the Ramones

"Drive Away"

"Hot Dog Emergency"

"Enjoy the Ride"

"Monsters Go Home"

"I Don't Wanna Be a Part of It"

"Hallowe'en" by Power of IV

"Space Robots Throw Icicles"


Urban Bike Project featuring The Impatients

Here's an abbreviated photo set from the Urban Bike Project December 13, 2008. Some jerk (who is me) did not charge his camera battery and hence came up short. No Count von Crust pics (which is a shame cause Chris looks wild with those cats!) or the Apes or EPH Tradition. I did get some shots of the Impatients, a few candids of Tit Patrol, etc..., and from Reading, PA, the Gloominous Dooms! The Bike Spot is cool cause every week there is all us Delaware kids and then some other brand of weird-o, be it Brooklyn hipster or Reading metal heads. There were even some Bastards of Odin motorcyclers there, but I didn't take their pictures in case it violated their precious code of honor. Tit Patrol and the Impatients did a "versus" set back and forth style and Ally Impatient was nice enough to let me share her sweet bass!
The Impatients

The Gloominous Dooms