Steff

QUOTE(Chisoxrd5 @ Aug 12, 2005 -> 08:04 AM) Up next for me: Coldplay on Saturday Night Sigh.. sure wish I was going to that show..

QUOTE(3 BeWareTheNewSox 5 @ Aug 12, 2005 -> 12:15 AM) EDIT: What is the point of the poll? What does that prove? There isn't one. Nothing... it's just the thread starters round about way of bashing those who are different.

Heads and I were talking about this yesterday... Brutal looking. for Mike to make a full recovery.

Wait... Griffey WAS/IS on waivers...??? So Bruce Levine WASN'T lying...?? :rolly

QUOTE(Kalapse @ Aug 11, 2005 -> 10:51 PM) I was talking about HGH, even though I didn't mention it in my post, which was stupid. Human Growth Hormone builds muscle and strengthens connective tissue, especially when taken in combination with steroids or insulin. Which leads to improved eyesight, especially at night. Is there anything I can read on this that you're aware of? Google isn't helping much. I'm really curious because I've never heard such a thing and always been told that short of surgery or wearing contacts there is nothing that can improve eye sight. I'm trying to even figure out what muscle could be strengthened in order to help.. I suppose the one that controls the lense. But that has nothing to do with the cornea which is what would need to be improved on to have better vision. Interesting.

QUOTE(Kalapse @ Aug 11, 2005 -> 01:37 PM) They do however improve your eye sight, help you recover from injuries better and make you stronger. They improve your eye sight...?? Where did you get that from? The cornea is not a muscle. It can't be improved by "working out"...

QUOTE(Dick Allen @ Aug 11, 2005 -> 02:31 PM) My cousin lives in Kildeer, and fences around your yard are not allowed. Its strange driving down the street to his house. There are several in- ground pools in people's yards with no fences. It would have to be a nightmare for people with young kids living there. Yep. They depend on those pool alarms (if the surface water moves it makes a noise - if you want to call it that). Part of the reason homeowners insurance is so high for pool owners. We have a fence around the pool (not around the yard) and the "just in case" rate is insane. It's pretty sick.

QUOTE(Chisoxrd5 @ Aug 11, 2005 -> 01:27 PM) Remind me to talk w/ you about this at a later date....I have an interesting perspective on this discussion Will do.

QUOTE(GBlum27 @ Aug 11, 2005 -> 12:19 PM) I thought if you had a fence you were fine? Nope.

Congrats Gas!!

Why do you guys bother...?? You could say the sky was blue and he'd come up with some bulls*** math equasion as to why it's not. We need the flying/falling s*** tag from WSI over here... Heads.. can you get that on loaner for us...??

QUOTE(JUGGERNAUT @ Aug 11, 2005 -> 11:20 AM) Where we disagree is that you believe most (601+) players are put on waivers from Aug 1st to Sep 1st 12AM EST & I do not. I skimmed the CBA & didn't find anything about confidentiality of waivers. Q: Aren't irrevocable waivers supposed to be confidential? A: All waivers are supposed to be confidential. Most players are put on waivers now and then for various reasons, such as to gauge interest, but most players never even know they're on waivers. As usual you're wrong. Skim again.. I found it.

Here's why waivers are NOT reported UNLESS a move is made. Q: Aren't irrevocable waivers supposed to be confidential? A: All waivers are supposed to be confidential. Most players are put on waivers now and then for various reasons, such as to gauge interest, but most players never even know they're on waivers. Q: Can a team or individual be penalized for breaking that confidentiality? A: Yes, teams can be fined if they have been found to have leaked information on waivers, but that does not happen very often.

QUOTE(YASNY @ Aug 11, 2005 -> 10:23 AM) There is such a thing as irrevocable waivers. Nope.. no such thing. http://boston.redsox.mlb.com/NASApp/mlb/bo...t=.jsp&c_id=bos How irrevocable waivers work By Jim Molony / MLB.com In a surprise move, the Boston Red Sox placed outfielder Manny Ramirez on irrevocable waivers Wednesday. But what are irrevocable waivers, and how do they work? MLB.com, with an assist from Houston assistant general manager Tim Purpura, explains the ins and outs of the process: More at link. :rolly

QUOTE(LosMediasBlancas @ Aug 11, 2005 -> 09:30 AM) It was Harold Reynolds talking to someone who said Carribean ball players don't know some of the rules of the game. It ended with him being called a racist and him hanging up the phone. Does anyone have the whole story? Please delete or add this to another thread if necessary. Thx. I heard Mike & Mike referring to it but didn't get the story either... Hopefully someone can fill in the blanks.

Welcome, guys. Just some "positive, non-complaining" things I was thinking about.

QUOTE(southsider2k5 @ Aug 10, 2005 -> 09:32 PM) Who is Steff having fired this time? LMAO...

QUOTE(3E8 @ Aug 11, 2005 -> 08:10 AM) Do you mean 2 runs or less? Because we are 26-13 in 1 run games. Yea, thanks.

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/c...ack=1&cset=true -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- We'd pile into our motorhome every year and ended up in Oregon one year, and, of course, since everyone else was doing it, my parents had to drive on the beach also. The motorhome got stuck in the sand and the tide was quickly coming in - we finally got out after two tows. Submitted by: Julie Schmitt-Larson 5:07 PM CDT, Aug 10, 2005 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Around 1980 ( before faxes or cell phones) our family was driving to a Florida vacation. My sister, who was about 6, rode in the "way back" seat and held up a sign to pasing cars saying "HELP I AM BEING KIDNAPPED". Police made us wait hour for proof to be wired proving they were her parents Submitted by: sister 5:03 PM CDT, Aug 10, 2005 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Published August 10, 2005 The annual family car trip dangles in the memory like the sagging spiral of a Shell No-Pest Strip in a gas station bathroom: It's always there. It's a little icky to look at too closely, but it's always there. Some Tribune staffers here share their memories of those trips that put the "odd" in "odyssey," those time-honored rites of summer, those sun-baked journeys typically composed of a frazzled mother, a don't-make-me-comeback- there father, a pesky brother, a prissy sister, a flatulence-prone pet and way too much luggage. Many of the staffers, moreover, are now parents themselves -- and realize they've moved into the front seat. They're now responsible for how their children will recall family car trips a few decades hence. Once you've read our road-weary reminiscences, we hope you'll share yours in our bulletin board. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Huntington, W.Va., to Tucson, Ariz., in a blue and white Volkswagen bus. My frugal father refused on principle to stop at a motel or restaurant, so we always drove straight through. Hungry? Need a bathroom? Too bad. Tough it out. Gripping the wheel with a singular ferocity, the whites of his eyes threaded with red, crew cut head angled forward like the prow of a great ship, my father would drive. And drive. And drive. My two sisters, Cathy and Lisa, and I huddled in the back, afraid to complain, exchanging frantic eye-rolls of commiseration and woe. When exhaustion finally got the better of him, my father would abruptly veer off the highway, kill the engine, fling back his head and fall instantly asleep for several hours, his rest syncopated by massive and spectacular snores. My sisters and my mother and I -- all of us, of course, irredeemably awake, our eyes big as pie plates -- would sit quietly in the dark as cars shwooshed past with a ghostly sizzle, until finally my father would shake himself awake like a bear emerging from a lake and get us back on the road again. -- Julia Keller -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lisbon, Iowa, to Florida in one week in a 1951 green Chevrolet before the Federal Highway Act was signed by President Eisenhower to create the interstate system. Time was money in our family. My dad was a self-employed, small-town barber, but the one-week car trip was sacred. Once a year my older sister, Carol, and I would pile into the back seat in Sunday morning's wee hours and off we'd go to such exotic places as St. Louis, Estes Park in Colorado, Lakeof- the-Woods in Canada, and, in our first big adventure, Jacksonville, Fla. On this trip, I distinctly recall having to pull off the highway in the Smoky Mountains, where Dad had to pour water from a stream to cool off our steam-belching, overheated radiator. We had enough time after reaching the ocean to spend a whole day and a night before turning around for home. When my kids were younger, I insisted we take a car trip to Florida one spring and took the interstates. I also insisted on leaving the super-highways in Georgia, where we took a side trip to Plains and bumped into former President Jimmy Carter and Rosalyn in a bookstore in Americus. We got a chance to chat with them for 10 minutes, they graciously signed a book, and we continued on our way to Florida. Only in America! I never fail to remind my kids that the best things often happen when you get off the beaten path. -- Mike Conklin -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Two weeks. Two parents. Three kids. No air conditioning. Destination: The American West. Our family's August 1959 car trip from St. Louis to Montana rolls right out of every novel, film or TV show you've ever seen about the Eisenhower years. Yes, we really looked like that, did those things, shared those golden family moments. I was almost 6, my brothers were 7 and 2. Roll down the windows, head for the interstate and listen to some vintage dialogue: "Bobby threw my shoe out the window." "Stop that fighting! Stop it! Don't make me stop this car and come back there!" "What do you mean you both bought the same comic book? Why couldn't you two buy different ones and share?" "Mom, does he have to sing?" "This motel has a swimming pool! We don't have to take baths!" In the restaurant: "Where's your brother (Clint the toddler)? ... He's over there in the corner. He's taking his pants off! He's ... eeewww! ... " "I want you kids to go with your mother out to the car, right now. Go!" "Kids, look, the Rocky Mountains!" "What's the matter with those kids? They won't even look up. I can't believe it. Did I drive all the way out here so they could read comic books?" "Look, kids, the bears come right up to the cars. Don't touch the windows, just look." "Doggie!" "No, those are bears. Say 'bears.' " "Doggie!" In the Yellowstone National Park souvenir shop:"Where's your brother?" From the back seat, 50 miles later: "Dad! Clint stole a stuffed animal! He stole it, Dad! Back at Yellowstone! Are the police coming after us? Should we make him get down and hide until we get away?" "Doggie!" -- Lilah Lohr -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Seattle to Vancouver in a black Honda Accord: Having a grandmother living in Vancouver meant an automatic, monthly two-hour car ride up Interstate 5. Sitting in the back seat with nothing to do, my Walkman became a godsend. But once we left that 70- mile radius outside Seattle, my Mariners' baseball broadcast on AM radio turned into Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn. I was clamoring and complaining by Hour One, and my parents were desperate to shut me up. They found their solution in the town of Burlington, Wash., about 75 miles north of Seattle. Here was a town with a claim to fame of Food-Gas-Lodging at the next exit, with a Super 8, Shell Station and Wendy's near the off-ramp. But it also had a factory outlet, a wondrous strip mall of lowcost, bottom-of-the-heap toys, books and fashion that became my destination every fourth weekend of the month. One time, I bought Domino Rally at K-B Toys Outlet, a set of plastic domino tiles that you'd spend an hour assembling and 30 seconds watching tumble. My parents would always find the latest, most innovative gadget to peel garlic or slice a hard-boiled egg. But my favorite outlet merchandise was the 1992 Guinness Book of Records -- which I purchased in 1994. For $2.99. I read the rest of the way, in silence. -- Kevin Pang -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Billings to Peerless (Montana) in a Ford mini-station wagon: Back then, I had no idea who the Joad family was. Now, the image of John Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath" family traveling in their possessionpacked jalopy perfectly conjures up the trips I took with my family and grandparents in the 1980s. Each summer, six of us piled into our grandparents' white Ford mini-station wagon for a seven-hour drive from Billings to my aunt's ranch in Peerless, near the Canadian border. My mom called the area "dirt-cloddin' country" -- remote, desolate, beautiful. However, judging from the way our grandparents packed, you'd have thought we were headed for the moon. We brought lawn chairs, two coolers, blankets, magazines, luggage, Christmas presents for December (why waste postage?), toys, tool boxes, medical kits -- even toilet paper for roadside emergencies. The little car sagged under the weight. Our supplies were stacked from floor to ceiling, thus blocking the entire back window and the rearview mirror. When we stopped suddenly, those of us in the back seat would get buried under a pile of blankets, National Enquirer magazines and Cheez-It boxes. Today, I only travel with what I can fit in the trunk. -- Robert K. Elder -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chicago to Montana in a Taurus wagon: Our 19-year-old son recalls the trip west we made when he was 5 as, simply, "The Drive." It was a forced march with breaks for museums. The boys, the aforementioned Evan and his stepbrother, Casey -- enough older that there was minimal fighting -- played with a Game Boy, hewed beef jerky and slept as the Ford Taurus wagon ate interstate across western Illinois, all of Iowa, endless Nebraska. During Nebraska, we came upon Scout's Rest, a surprisingly feminine-looking Victorian house Buffalo Bill Cody had lived in during the heyday of his Wild West Show. On a driving vacation, you take what the interstate gives. The boys eagerly agreed to stop -- anything to get out of the car -- and pretended to care about the 1890s tchotchkes and the shaky old black-and-white footage of people doing cowboy and Indian stuff. On to Colorado -- a bed (down quilts) and breakfast (wonderful lemon bread) in Colorado Springs, Wyoming's gorgeous rocks and rivers and no people for hours, a visit to a dinosaur exhibit and Casey's sister, Amy, at Montana State University, where she was majoring in skiing). And then we had had it. We had lost a lot of our allotted time on mountain roads, where the Mrs., a born-and-raised Chicago flatlander, hadn't realized that highway maps failed to account for vast changes in elevation and more switchbacks than healthy intestines. We decided to beat it home without stopping. Somewhere in the middle of the night in the middle of Minnesota (we all had agreed that passing Mt. Rushmore at some distance was good enough) when I was avoiding oncoming cars that weren't there, we broke for two hours in a motel for naps. Next stop, Chicago. Evan is in college now, Casey and Amy have kids of their own. The wagon was taken to a dealer to be traded in, but it exploded in smoke (luckily, not in flames) in the parking lot. -- Charles Leroux -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The most common road trips I took as a teenager in New Jersey were to Atlantic City and back, because that was where the casinos were, and my father, who was an accomplished (and yes, compulsive) gambler, used to sit at the blackjack table with big shots and celebrities. We would load up the family's black Cadillac (come on: did you think an Italian-American from South Philadelphia drove a Subaru?). Dad controlled the music, and it was Perry Como, Dean Martin and Sinatra, Sinatra, Sinatra all the way down U.S. Highway 30, and all the way back, eight-track tapes stacked on the front seat and littering the floor below the dash. My brother, Tony, and I would exact our revenge by singing parody lyrics out loud, turning Como's "My One and Only Heart" into "My One and Only Fart" (punctuated, of course, by raspberry noises for full effect). It's hard for me to believe now that those trips to the Jersey Shore were so boring for my brother and me. We stayed in luxury suites provided by the casinos -- one was so big that it had a full-size piano in it, reportedly put there at some superstar's request. But on the whole, I'd have rather been back home rehearsing Devo's "Whip It" with my garage band. And when I began to see more clearly just how much money my dad had to put in action to keep us staying there, I began to boycott the trips. I only wish I hadn't boycotted Perry Como so much. My mom went into a nursing home a few months ago, and if I could take one thing back, I'd request that Dad play "Dream Along With Me" -- her favorite song -- for her. Then I would have him turn up the volume until she became lost in the reverie. -- Louis R. Carlozo -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Driving aimlessly from Chicago to somewhere in northern Wisconsin. As a single parent, I often take the role of extra big kid. Plans don't mean anything and can change at the drop of a hat. My parents were the opposite. They did not believe in stopping to smell the flowers. I theorize that this is my way of expressing lingering rebellion left over from my childhood. On a recent trip to Wisconsin, as my kids and I alternately jam between Michelle Branch and Pink (my daughter's choices) to Franz Ferdinand and Sublime (mine), I suddenly spot something on the side of the road. We are a few minutes past Chicago's city limits but hey, it's a beautiful day. I get in the left lane and make a U-turn. "What are we doing?" my son asks from the back seat. "Wanna play miniature golf?" Of course they do. Spontaneity is the name of the game for us. Later, I spot a Culver's. Suddenly, I have a craving for a butter burger and lemon ice. "Who wants a lemon ice?" I ask already getting off the highway. I eat the lemon ice first, then the burger, ignoring the bad example I am setting. It's my prerogative as an adult, I think justifying it to myself. My son grumbles loudly when I spot a quirky antique shop and stop to check it out. Their father's birthday gift ends up being this huge antique chest bought at a steal. "OK guys, this thing is way too big for all of us to fit in the car. Who wants to ride in the trunk of the car?" They exchange looks. Mom's sick sense of humor again. On the way home, they take turns sharing space in the back seat with the trunk, skinny arms and legs all squished together against the window and piece of furniture. --Ana B. Cholo

Yea!!!! I told you not to worry. Zooks sends his congrats as well.

The Sox are a measley 74-39 36-22 at home and 38-17 on the road. 65 of those games were decided by less than 2 runs. And in those games the Sox are 44-21 Pretty awesome!!

QUOTE(BlackBetsy @ Aug 11, 2005 -> 07:32 AM) Well, I guess you have the need for the last word, so you can respond to this all you want and go about your merry way. I have no need to polish my resume about having "a half a brain" or an "ounce of common sense" on a Sox message board. I've never written that you complained about attendance. Other people may have. My first post responded to your desire to have a stadium that fits 55,000 people, which I think is a bad idea. And I've consistently stuck to that point, and the point about the importance of intimacy in a baseball stadium and ticket scarcity. Then you posted those silly crybaby smilies that were insulting. Which tells me, among other things, that you do not have a substantive response to my points. But to say that you've never B]said[/b] (read: SAID, not COMPLAINED) "anything about attendance anywhere" when you specifically raised the point about how great it would be to have 54,635 people at a White Sox game is flat out bizarro. Do you not mean what you write it when you write it? Because if 54,635 people aren't "attending" what the hell are they doing? So go ahead and fire away (and quote only parts of my response) talking about how you were not complaining about attendance, when that's not the point and never was. My substance is my opinion.. you don't like it, so be it, but apparently a differing opinion is somewhat of a challenge to you. And if you really want to get to the point... my issue with you was you specifically saying "Our Park was that big...then they tore it down and built a new one across the street where the closest seat in the upper deck was as far away as the furthest seat in the old park's upper deck" which I interpreted as a complaint about the seating at Comiskey. Nothing at all about attendace at all... And for the 5th time... I've NEVER complained about attendance. It's none of my business what people do with their money and I think it's ignorant to s*** on someone because of the # of games they do or do not attend. Add to that that I simply don't have the time nor energy to give a s***. I pay my $$ and attend the games. I worry about me...

QUOTE(YASNY @ Aug 11, 2005 -> 12:47 AM) What is wrong with you people? That was not a complaint by Steff about anything. You are reading into it what you choose to read into and then jumping her s***. GMAFB and STFU. Par for the course YAS. Ya know what they say about ASSumers.. As for you BlackBetsy.. you just go ahead and think whatever it is that makes your boat float. Anyone with half a brain and an ounce of common sense knows that I am last person to complain about attendance.

QUOTE(BlackBetsy @ Aug 10, 2005 -> 08:26 PM) Well, I can't help your reading comprehension skills. If you read the next paragraph in brackets, you would know that I don't think that a bigger stadium is that useful. Why have a 55,000 seat baseball stadium in the first place? So you can be 50% full when you sell 27,000 tickets instead of 70% full? Having sat in one of the"last" 15,000 seats in Yankee Stadium for Game 6 of the ALCS last year, I can say there isn't much benefit. I don't want old Comiskey back, it was kind of a dump (like Wrigley, but with more night games). But there are design flaws to US Cellular that make the park less intimate than it could otherwise be. People don't miss the facilities of the old park (I've always disliked the old parks compared to the new), they miss the intimacy - and few of the new stadiums have gotten that right. Camden Yards got it right, and so did SBC. Apparently it's you who needs a brush up on the reading skills.. Not once did I refer to attandence anywhere. Nor did I complain about Comiskey, or anything else for that matter.

QUOTE(Balta1701 @ Aug 10, 2005 -> 07:30 PM) Having been at 1 or 2 games that were sold out...let me tell ya, you put 38,000 Sox fans in the Cell for a game against the Cubs or a playoff game...and that is just as awe-inspiring as anything. Having season tickets over the years I've been to a lot of games at the cell were the crowd is huge.. the 1st game of the playoffs in '00 was amazing despite the outcome. As well the Cubs games, Yanks games, etc... It had nothing to do with attendance.. really. Quite honestly going to 50+ games a year I sometimes like the 22K crowds. With the riff raff bandwagoners a lot if times it's worse with the larger crowds. Saying that... it's still pretty damn amazing that a 55K+ crowd fills that stadium nearly every game.