Gus Simpsky?

Watching "For Love of the Game" last night, the baseball movie with Kevin Costner as Billy Chapel, the baseball player who must choose between the woman he loves and the game he lives for, and it's also got John C. Reilly as his longtime catcher and friend. Great supporting role, but nothing of note... until, that is, you see the name on the back of his jersey. Gus the catcher's last name is Sinski.

You may not know "Mike Semsky," but he goes by many names: Simpsky, Semisky, Oopsky, Drinksky, etc. It would not surprise me at all to hear that at one time someone called him Sinski.

If you don't know Simpsky, you should make a point of it. I've known him for approximately 23 years, and those years were immensely better than the first 5. Seriously, I'm a fan. As I recently said to him in an inebriated state on the deck of his beach house in Rhode Island, I consider myself fortunate to be in his universe.

The similarities between Sinski and Simpsky go beyond the sounds of their names. For instance, when Sinski comes into Billy Chapel's hotel room and there a bunch of empty mini-fridge bottles of alcohol and Chapel's obviously hung over, he observes, "You know, a lot of little bottles makes a big bottle, Chapy," which is totally something that Simpsky would say, and he'd be right. Simpsky's right most of the time.

Later in the movie, Chapel's throwing a perfect game but he's old and tired and tells Sinski he doesn't know if he has anything left for the last couple innings. And Sinski tells him, "You just throw whatever you got, whatever's left. The boys are all here for you. We're gonna be awesome for you right now!" Ah... Supportsky.

Feel free to use the comment section to further compare and contrast Sinski (or catchers in general) and Simpsky.

(One thing about the movie that irked me, though: the premise is that it's the end of the season, the owner has sold the team and the new corporate owners want to trade Billy Chapel to the Giants, so he has to decide whether he wants to be traded out of Detroit, where he's pitched for the last 19 years, or simply retire as a Tiger. The problem, though, is that if he'd pitched his whole career for the Tigers he'd qualify as a "10 and 5" guy, with 10 years of MLB service who's been with the same club for the last five years, which means that he would have to approve any trade to another team. I know it's a baseball-nerdy thing to point out, but, well... I'm a baseball nerd. I even looked it up to see if it was a recent phenomenon, but the 10-and-5 rule was collectively bargained in 1973, so it should have applied in a current-day movie that was made in 1999.)

Open your heart to me... and I will mock you mercilessly

I have a friend with whom I used to work when I was at CBS, let's just call him Joey Joe Joe. During the years that I got to know him, he became more and more infatuated with Jay-See, and during the years that he got to know me, I became more and more infatuated with baseball. And we would, as fellas are wont to do, give each other sh*t about our respective passions. He really got under my skin at times, but I never seemed to get him as riled. I guess it's all that inner peace that comes with the knowledge you're not going to aitch-ee-double-hockey-stix like me. But he also makes me laugh, like when I was at his wedding and he was walking back down the aisle with his bride and he leaned across her to whisper "Go Yankees!" to me.

It's been a few months since we talked. In fact, I can tell you exactly what date and approximately what time we talked: it was January 15th, sometime around 5:30 or 6:00, as the Bears were losing to the Panthers in the NFL playoffs. He called me during the game, I screamed at him and told him not to call me again because he was jinxing the Bears (which he was), and he did the unthinkable and called me again.

Yesterday, out of the blue, I got a text message from Joey, almost exactly five months later:
"I apologize for being an ass during the bears game."

Time heals all wounds, they say. This is a deeeep wound, but I guess "they" say that for a reason, and I had a good chuckle. I replied in kind with a text message:
"WWJD? He'd forgive."

A conciliatory response to a conciliatory message, right? But then I followed up with another message:
"I ain't Jesus."

I don't wanna toot my own horn, but that's some funny stuff. And I got a kick out of his response:
"Thank God you're not."

And we still haven't actually talked...

(You can file this as reason #127 that I'm glad I'm not a chick. When Joey and I do talk again, and hang out, it'll be as if no time has passed.)

"Andy, there's something interesting at the front of the boat!"

"Pipe down and quit trying to distract me from my beer."

Lesson Learned

The crazy thing about that sailing adventure, which took place the morning my friends Sean and Jessie got married, was what I learned about how crazy sensitive my skin has gotten to the sun. It wasn't just completely overcast, it was actually raining for half the time we were out there, and yet I still got color in my face. What?!? The things that used to be my sanctuary (the shade, the indoors, rainy weather) no longer offer safe haven. I was at a Yankees game a couple weeks ago sitting in the shade for the whole game and I still managed to get a little red.

So it's time to take the offensive against my skin. I got some sage advice from my friend Jen and bought some stuff that might help. The problem is my aversion to walking around with goop on my face all day, which I think is totally rational and I can't imagine how so many women do it. We'll see how it goes. If it's too goopy we'll move on to Plan B (Plan B to be determined).

Why Jason Grimsley and I will never be best friends

Aside from the fact that he's been regularly using steroids and human growth hormone, he just doesn't seem to have the kind of character and loyalty I'm looking for in a best friend.

Apparently when the Feds busted him he cracked like a little bitch right away and gave them the names of several major league players who he knew and/or suspected have used steroids, HGH and amphetamines.

That's fine. Go ahead. Sell out Mitch Williams, Terry Mulholland, Chuck Nagy, and Jose Mesa-- all former teammates of his (of whose drug practices I have no knowledge). What? You thought I'd list Lenny Dykstra, Albert Belle, Jose Canseco, and Glenallen Hill? The popular misconception is that it's only the sluggers taking these performance-enhancing drugs, but it's not. This is a journeyman relief pitcher we're talking about in Grimsley, and he's been using his whole career. This is one of the top reasons why I hate on a lot of the Bonds-haters, but that's a subject for another post.

The reason Grimsley and I will never be best friends is because of what he did after he gave the feds the names of several players:

"Grimsley also identified [redacted], a former Major League Baseball player, as one of his better friends in baseball. Grimsley stated that he knows [redacted] used human growth hormone and knows that [redacted] obtained the human growth hormone from the same source that Grimsley obtained his from."

Now that is one cold-hearted SOB. Don't you think the Feds would've been pleased as punch to get all those names he'd already given them? He didn't have to give up his buddy, did he?

It's all here in the affidavit that was filed with the courts before they searched his house. The good stuff starts on page 10.

In the beginning, there was... Bobo the Clown

I decided on a whim (a caprice, if you will) to start a blog, and one of the first questions they ask you is what you want to call it. Because I hadn't properly thought this through, I went with "Uncle Nutzy's Clubhouse."

It's the phrase that inevitably leaves my lips when someone asks me, "Where do you want to go?" (Answer: "To Uncle Nutzy's Clubhouse!") The problem is that it's such a random esoteric movie reference that no one gets it, and even if they did... it's not particularly funny. Nor is it funny when people tell me, "I'm hungry," and I respond, "Hey hungry, I'm Andy." It's not funny, but I do it. Often. Good Lord, that's GOT to be annoying. I'm glad I don't have to live with me or hang out with me.

Uncle Nutzy's Clubhouse comes from UHF, the cult-classic Weird Al Yankovic vehicle. (Can a C-list celebrity really have a "vehicle" movie?) Some of us were on board before it became a cult classic, and I like to think I was the driving the bandwagon before everyone else hopped on. The basic premise is that Weird Al gets his hands on a tiny UHF station and gets to direct all the programming. Hilarity ensues.

BUT, because Al Yankovic knows his narrative form, there has to be an anti-climax before the station takes off and conquers the evil network affiliate down the street. His first attempt at a children's show is called "Uncle Nutzy's Clubhouse" and is a complete ratings failure. Al's character, George, starts every show by asking the kids in the studio audience (usually not more than 3 or 4), "Where do you wanna go?!?" To which they respond, with a level of excitement bordering on narcolepsy, "To Uncle Nutzy's Clubhouse."

Luckily for us (or me, I guess), George's ineptitude is wildly entertaining, like when he entices his buddy, playing the role of Bobo the Clown, into playing a game.

George: Hey Bobo, wanna play a game?
[Bobo honks his horn and nods his head]
George: Okay! Look up!
[Bobo looks up]
George: Look down!
[Bobo looks down]
George: Now look at Mr. Frying Pan!
[Bobo looks at the camera with a puzzled look, and Al proceeds to smack him in the face with a frying pan]

(Side Note: I am so ridiculous. I've seen that a hundred times. I know what I'm going to write. But as I type the words I can not help myself from chuckling. What's wrong with me?)

To make a long story short (too late), Uncle Nutzy's Clubhouse gets taken over by Stanley Spadowski (played by a pre-Kramer Michael Richards), who boosts the ratings to ridiculous levels. One of the classic scenes from the movie is from Stanley Spadowski's Clubhouse, when a little kid wins a contest by finding the marble in the sandbox full of oatmeal, and his prize is that he gets to drink from the fire hose.


Everyone remembers Stanley Spadowski's Clubhouse, that before Kramer was Kramer he was Stanley, the lovable janitor-turned-TV-star. What they all seem to forget is that, in the beginning, there was Bobo the Clown.

I haven't the foggiest idea what kind of content I'm going to be posting on this blog (I'll try to limit the baseball stuff), but I thought I might as well explain the name.