For the second consecutive year, I attended the Baseball All-Star parade. (Sorry: "Red Carpet Day.") This year, I even stuck around for the game. Witness my sad attempt at photography as we do an old school Road Trip.
Playing before the Home Run Derby on Monday was someone named David Cook, who apparently was on "American Idol," which is apparently a TV show, which is apparently popular, which is ... oh, who am I kidding, DAVID ARCHULETA WUZ TOTALLY ROBBED!!!! Most of us were actively disappointed that they didn't make Cook stay out there on stage over second base during the Derby, and just, you know, duck.
If you read yesterday's column about the Derby, you won't be surprised that I only took one picture before the coma onset. (And it was of David Cook!) Off to the parade, which exists mostly to remind us that Chevrolet still makes cars. This is what today's Camaro looks like. I hate this Camaro. That's not a Camaro. This is a Camaro. That thing looks like a Transformer.
When I did that Costas Redux thing a year ago, I sat next to Bob Gibson for the entire show. The best part was when, about 10 minutes before the show, Gibson said he needed to use the bathroom. An usher, prepping for the show's start, told him he needed to wait, and Gibson just glared at him before walking right past. (He's lucky Bob didn't piss on his shoes.) Bob Gibson is awesome, and scares the crap out of me.
Definite downside to spending your Hall of Fame career in St. Louis: Having to wear suits like this, in perpetuity. At least Ozzie put forth the effort. Hey, Sutter: You're meeting the President and Stan Musial later tonight. Consider a tie, or at least lose the hat.
I don't know why, but I kind of assumed baseball managers just wore those uniforms all the time, on the street, at church, in the shower. By the way, Charlie Manuel's
wife longtime companion was modeling the Futures Jerseys the Rockies will debut next season.
It is not the least bit surprising that Tony La Russa and Sully would ride around in the parade together. They're both famously amazing drivers.
You know, I have to confess, ever since Major League Baseball cracked down on performance enhancing drugs, the players do look a lot different.
I'm not sure any human has ever received 48 consecutive hours of standing ovations before, but Albert Pujols must have come close this week. The mayor actually sacrificed Nelly in his honor. It was a whole big ceremony.
You know you're in St. Louis when half the parade attendees were screaming for Tim Lincecum to cut his damned hippie hair. At least he didn't pass out this year.
No one enjoyed himself more than Raul Ibanez, who has been waiting a long, long time to make it to an All-Star Game. He started filming me because I was taking his picture. All that steroid use is paying off, Raul! Yeah! I said it! I'm online! I CAN'T BE STOPPED. It's just what we do here!
My Mom: "Is that his trophy wife?" My Dad: "They're all trophy wives, Sally."
Ryan Franklin's family seemed nice, but I'm not sure I could take my father seriously if he had that on his chin. (Says the guy who once snapped a picture of his father doing this.
I have no doubt that David Wright and his friends liberally quote "Entourage" to each other.
As always, Derek Jeter rode in the parade with his parents. It's pretty hard to make fun of this when you're sitting on your dad's shoulders to get a better picture of Derek Jeter in the parade with his parents.
Right after this picture was taken, Josh Hamilton's wife slapped him silly for staring at that "harlot" in the Cardinals hat. Gotta keep your men in line, ladies.
Jonathan Papelbon = Spencer Pratt. It seems odd that this isn't pointed out more often.
In New York last year, it seemed like Yankees fans made up about, oh, 35 percent of all fans. In St. Louis, it was about 85 percent, and I'm probably being conservative. It's almost like more people want to visit New York in July than St. Louis. Fools!
Meet the lone Obama protester outside Busch Stadium. He's either a terrible speller or just really trying to drum up publicity for the Obama family dog.
The old mad Hungarian Al Hrabosky has a bar — a "saloon," actually — by the stadium that might be the creepiest, shadiest sports bar I've ever been to. The tube top waitresses were alternately 14 and 53, and the whole floor of the bar was covered peanut shells floating in an inch of water. Hrabosky didn't seem to mind: He walked out to the "patio" area and just yelled, "Who wants some autographs?" Retired athletes are so depressing.
The President was coming, but security was shockingly easy: It's more onerous to gain entry to any skyscraper office building in New York than it was to make it in the game. No frisking, no wanding. I believe the guy who passed me through the gate was chewing tobacco.
Before the game, Harold Reynolds was running around the outfield with a microphone in one hand and a glove in the other. There is no one in America who loves their job more than Harold Reynolds. Good for him.
The Cardinals spared no expense in trying to find Albert Pujols' missing car keys.
The first official event of the 2009 All-Star Game festivities involved sweeping massive piles of horseshit off the warning track. Clydesdales produce a rather epic amount of manure. Replace your divots!
I can't figure out if this is offensive or awesome. Probably both.
"Strength is irrelevant. Resistance is futile. We wish to improve ourselves. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service ours."
This was my attempt to take a picture of the stealth bomber flying overhead. I am an awesome photographer.
You might not have noticed this on television, but Obama ran toward that cameraman and just beat the piss out of him. America!
For the record, I heard little-to-no boos for Obama at Busch, so it was surprising to receive a bunch of text messages from people watching at home that suggested otherwise. One thing I can confirm: A massive roar of approval when President Dubya showed up on the scoreboard. Makes sense. That guy can throw a first pitch, that's for sure.
Forgive me being five years old for a moment, but it was pretty damned cool seeing Albert Pujols hold Ichiro Suzuki close to first while Derek Jeter was at the plate.
And then Mariano Rivera shut the National League down ... and it was over, stunningly fast. Then everyone went home and, in two years, no one will remember the All-Star Game was ever here in the first place. Go St. Louis! Go baseball! Bo Obama!