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Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Diary of a Weekend in Corpus, Part I

As Scott has alluded to on many occasions, he, along with three other compatriots and I, were in Corpus Christi this past weekend to catch a couple of Hooks games. Needless to say, stories and hilarity ensued. Here's a brief recap of the weekend's shenanigans, sparsed with some biting analysis of the 'Stros AA squad...


1. Scott and I arrived at the scenic Bayfront Plaza Hotel to learn that we didn't have a room. Seems our genius associate (or hotels. com) screwed up our reservation. Undaunted, we procured a room on the fly. This isn't a website dedicated to hotel reviews, so I'll limit my observation(s) of the Bayfront Plaza to this: Don't stay there. Ever.

2. We met up with our traveling group (Original, AFKAF, and Diddy) at the hotel bar, downed a quick one, and headed outside to catch a cab. Upon exiting the hotel, we met a rather happy (read: fall down drunk and/or high on meth) young woman in white pants. Her white pants were stained with what looked to be excrement, and she was in the company of an apparently homeless man. Welcome to Corpus. Said homeless man was in a maroon t-shirt (remember that for later). As there is an apparent shortage of cabs in Texas' fair city on the bay, we waited for approximately half an hour before finally getting our ride to Whataburger Field.

3. First impression of Whataburger Field--EPIC. Just a beautiful park, with beer and concession stands aplenty. It only holds about 8,000 people, so there's a really intimate vibe once you walk in. We sat on a hill behind right centerfield; the Hooks have a bunch of these general admission spots (at only $5.00 a pop, just like the beer) available.

4. Some gems from the game: After a few beers, AFKAF and Original started telling tales about their upbringing (they're brothers). Seems they were forced to wear Wranglers at least once per week with belts that had their names on them. No real logical reason for this family rule; it was just demanded by their apparently insane father. AFKAF claims he developed an eating disorder just to outgrow his belt. As absurd as it sounds, it was probably a good idea; Original was egged (that's right, egged like a house) as punishment for wearing his embroidered belt in middle school. Based upon the tales I heard Friday night about the mean streets of Lake Jackson, I've decided the 'Stros need to send Mike Gallo there on assignment.

a. Hunter Pence can flat-out hit. Without a doubt, I'd rather have him on the major league roster than a few of the guys that are occupying spots now.

b. Chance Douglass looked very promising. He doesn't look like he's figured it all out yet, but he's obviously got talent. By the way, if there's anything more ridiculous than a bunch of drunk yuppies waxing philosophical about the allegedly lacking skills of actual athletes, I don't know what it is.

c. Tike Redman is a freaking Hook. Seems like just yesterday he was starting in the outfield for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Did Canseco name him in "Juiced" and I just didn't know about it?

d. Walter Young is a very large man. And he's slower than Steven Hawking sans chair on the basepaths. He reminds me of Cecil Fielder.

e. The Hooks beat the Missions on a throwing error in the bottom of the 9th. Not the stuff of movies, but a win is a win is a win.

f. Scott got a recommendation that we dine at Nolan Ryan's Grill in the ballpark, so we did. Absolutely AMAZING ballpark food. Far better than anything you'll find at Minute Maid. By way of illustration, Scott stated that he would actually consider taking marital vows with the bratwurst. A word of warning, however: Don't get so full of barley, hops, and smothered baked potato that you allow yourself to be talked into doing a shot of Tiger's Blood. It's not nearly as smooth as it sounds. Oh yeah, and it's actually a type of flavored syrup that you put on a sno-cone. I've made a lot of bad decisions at ballparks in my time; taking a shot of Tiger's Blood (and the subsequent rapid onset of diabetes) definitely ranks in the top five.

5. After the game, we headed out on the town. Frankly, I don't remember much of the remainder of our evening. I do know that we hit the famous Executive Surf Club, where AFKAF and Original hit on some young unwed mothers charmed (read: harassed) by Diddy while Scott reminisced about his collegiate days in a rock band playing keyboard. Seriously. Scott played the keyboard. We headed to a few other bars as well, but the names escape me. I'd had a chardonnay or two by that point.

6. The evening concluded with a delightful second dinner at the Whataburger by the Bay in the wee hours of Saturday morning. For those that don't know, that is Whataburger's flagship restaurant. Two stories, view of the pier, the whole nine yards. Scott, clearly overserved by the denizens of Corpus, could not get over the fact that hot apple pies were two for a dollar. He proceeded to eat approximately eighteen (18) of them, leading to Diddy telling Scott's wife that he and Scott were engaged in an apple pie eating contest. At one point, the phrase "cute little %*$#@" was uttered; furious debate rages to this day as to who that phrase was issued in description of. Scott swears it was in reference to his quadruple meat Whataburger. I respectfully disagree.

7. On the way back to the hotel, Scott felt the need to celebrate the evening's events by inappropriately touching a brass statue outside Whataburger. He slurred some sort of explanation for his actions, but had been rendered positively unintelligible by that point.

I'll post Part II of the weekend in the next couple of days. A teaser, you say? Fine. Someone received a backhanded slap. Someone else was told by a stranger that she hoped he would never have children. Oh, and the Hooks won another one. Stay tuned for the rest.


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