tubesox nation

Colombian "Has-Been" Propels Giants to WS Title!!!

2010-11-02T01:18:00.000-07:00

The circumstances of the Giants first WS win since Ruben Gomez inaugerated major league baseball on the Left Coast (see Ruben delivering first Giants pitch in Seals Stadium in photo above) inspired me to post the following screed on sfgate:

FIRE Cliff Lee . . . for serving up some late inning slop.
FIRE (most) KNBR hosts . . . for forgetting about anybody who isn't easily repackaged into a soundbite, a nickname or a rave party remix.
And FIRE Larry Baer . . . for picking the wrong South American to immortalize in a washable, wearable $20 stuffed animal.

Edgar f***ing Renteria goes deep, deep in the heart of Texas . . . GIANTS WIN, BOCHY WINS, SABEAN WINS . . . BASEBALL WINS!!!

Read Scott Ostler's column on E-Rent: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2010/11/01/SPBI1G5C43.DTL

Tubesox Nation Stiff-o-Meter

2009-12-30T12:01:00.000-08:00

About the stiff-o-meter: Giants management continues doing very little to improve the on-field product (clean-up hitter, anyone?) while expecting fans to pay outrageous prices for tickets, parking, food, drink, and merch. Tubesox Nation says stiff 'em. If you follow any branch of the Five-Fold Path, click here or on the pile of money in the right-hand sidebar to add your DOOSH to the stiff-o-meter and join in the Improbable March to the MLB minimum and beyond.

How to use the stiff-o-meter.

Tubesox Nation Stiffs Giants Top Brass to the Tune of Four Figures!!! (six if you count the cents)

2009-12-30T11:47:00.001-08:00

On May 25th, with the Giants limping back home to The Big Mortgage at 20-23, Tubesox Nation called for loyal fans to move the stiff-o-meter into four figures before the end of the week-long homestand. The response was. . . well, underwhelming. As Memorial Day, Juneteenth, Father's Day, and the 4th on July passed (during which time, the Gyros played 26-15 baseball), the most righteous pile of money in cyberspace remained mired below the one grand mark. But on Wednesday 7/8, a hard-cheering, fast-eating insurgency composed of Tubesox Nation veterans and irregulars visited The Big Mortgage and stiffed the bastards to the tune of 149 U.S. clams, catapulting the stiff-o-meter to the next level. Onward to five figures and the MLB minimum!!!

Blechhh . . . 2009 SF Giants PABAW* Ratio is an Unsightly 0.85

2009-12-30T11:47:00.000-08:00

One imagines fourth-generation San Franciscan Larry Baer and brainy, bow-tied William Neukom at the bygone birthday parties of their youth. Baer was the one canvassing the rumpus room as the birthday boy’s mother cut the cake, using reverse psychology to persuade the gullible kids to go for smaller pieces without much frosting. Neukom, for his part, was applying a proto-bundling strategy, quietly promising the weak and the impressionable that he’d let them jump past him in the pin-the-tail-on-the donkey queue for agreeing to take a less desirable piece.
Things have changed over the years. Baer and Neukom have ascended the ladder to become Giants top brass. Birthday cake has been replaced by obscene amounts of money. And those gullible suckers at the party, well, they’ve turned into you and me. But as the four-color pie chart capably illustrates, one thing has remained constant: wee Larry Baer and Little Billy Neukom still like to take more than their share.

PABAW* Ratio is a proprietary metric developed by Tubesox Nation to measure how freely team management spends the money that they ask loyal fans to shell out. It compares opening day payroll to yearly attendance multiplied by the cost of the minimum experience that should be within the budget of a loyal fan (bleacher seat, one beer, one hot dog).

A PABAW of 1.5 is acceptable. For example, if the Giants charged $10.50 for a bleacher ticket, $6.00 for an Anchor Steam, and $3.00 for a Giants dog, their PABAW would be approximately 1.50.

A PABAW of 1.25 indicates inflated prices accompanied by Scrooge-like parsimony. For example, if the Giants charged $14 for a bleacher ticket, $6.50 for an Anchor Steam, and $3.00 for a Giants dog, their PABAW would be approximately 1.25.

A PABAW of 1.0 is considered extortionate on the order of the 19th Century robber barons. For example, if the Giants charged $18 for a bleacher ticket, $7.50 for an Anchor Steam, and $3.75 for a Giants dog their PABAW would be approximately 1.0.

*PABAW = Payroll/ yearly Attendance x [average Bleacher ticket + Ale + Wiener]

**payroll data obtained from Cot's Baseball Contracts

Landfill-Ready MLB Merch of the Week

2009-12-30T11:46:00.003-08:00

In honor of our nation's 233rd birthday as well as America's throwaway culture, the commanders-in-chief at MLB ordered a league-wide deployment of "Star-Spangled" garb over the long holiday weekend. Besides astonishing Cubs fanatics and Dodger die-hards by outfitting their teams in red hats, the league's bold marketing approach has solidified MLB's street cred with the increasingly lucrative norteno and mara salvatrucha market segments.

Predictably, there's a merchandising tie-in, with MLB generously donating a portion of the profits to veterans. Tubesox Nation especially recommends this scarlet Giants lid. Priced at only $36.99, it's just as sure to turns heads at the corner of 2Oth and Mission as at 24 Willie Mays Plaza.

Average Giants Bleacher Seat Price Revealed!!!

2009-12-30T11:46:00.002-08:00

After an exhausive study involving a propietary methodology*, Tubesox Nation's research division has determined that the average 2009 left field bleacher ticket at The Big Mortgage costs $21.77. So, on the typical game day, a crisp, new Jackson fresh from an ATM machine is insufficient to score a seat with an unobstructed view of the left fielder's backside.

*Bleacher prices at Regular, Feature, and Premium games were weighted according to number of games, and then averaged. Average does not reflect K-Zone discount offers.

Bronx Bandbox

2009-12-30T11:46:00.000-08:00

In an effort to combat the insidious effects of stepped-up steroid policing on home run totals and lemmo attendance, the New York Yankees have downsized new Yankee Stadium, going so far as to make the famed short porch in right field even shorter than it was in the House that Ruth Built. Not that they're copping to it, even as a nearly unprecedented barrage of longballs flies into those $275 seats beyond the right field wall. The official story from Yankee top brass points the blame at a "wind tunnel" effect owing to this or that architectural particularity of their luxury crib. However, this recent AP story suggests although that the Yankees have maintained the illusion of a historically accurate playing field by carefully choosing where to paint the distances on the fences, the dimensions are indeed shorter (click here for a nice comparison sketch on the muckraking blog, Pinetar Rag). How much shorter? Plenty shorter--the AP article also refers to an AccuWeather study indicating that a full 19% of the homers hit through June 9 would have stayed in the old ball yard, meaning more doubles, triples or--the ultimate buzz kill for the lemmos--outs.

Wanted: Hosiery Models!!!

2009-12-30T11:45:00.001-08:00

A hearty thanks to Tubesox Nation fan and all-around stylie-boy Bama 'n 23rd for sending a link to a haute couture site (no clue why he was lurking there on a Saturday morning) documenting the latest fashion craze amongst A-list sex kittens . . . tube socks!!! Hmmm . . . I guess if you're that caliente, you feel the need to see if you can still turn heads while dressing as your basic middle school dweeb circa 1978.

Anyhow, if those pale hose-wrapped tibias and fibulas look great at Hollywood parties, think how fabulous they'd look in this testosterone-drenched corner of the blogosphere. And really, what aspiring babe wouldn't jump at a gig as a hosiery model on Tubesox Nation? Sleep in . . . shave from the knee up . . . pose. And honestly, sweetie, the stripes don't make your calves look fat.

Landfill-Ready MLB Merch of the Week

2009-12-30T11:44:00.001-08:00

Continuing their tireless efforts to ensure that the next generation of baseball fans can look forward to a world filled with even more crap, the marketing honchos at the MLB Corp. have introduced a line of scratch-and-sniff kids hats including this watermelon-scented Red Sox lid. Not only do these hats look good and smell better, when improperly disposed of in Asian landfills (garbage outsourcing, baby, it's the wave of the future), they make a favorite food source for honeybees, baby pandas and probably sea turtles.

Top Brass Fashion Scoop Part IV

2009-12-30T11:44:00.000-08:00

Tubesox Nation East Bay correspondent Gert Stone sends a chianti-stained Polaroid (it crossed San Francisco Bay in a Venetian gondola) of fourth-generation San Franciscan Larry Baer and brainy, bow-tied William Neukom displaying their varied interests while circumnavigating Lake Merritt in search of a Tommy Toy's after last night's series decider against the A's.

MLB's African American Problem?

2009-12-30T11:43:00.000-08:00

In his Three Dot Blog today (6/9), the SF Chron's Bruce Jenkins takes a slight detour from a right-on screed against ridiculous MLB signing bonuses (e.g., the $50 million demand from Stephen Strasburg, the #1 pick in today's draft) and wonders if large bonuses might serve a positive end by stemming the loss of "African-American kids, whose numbers are dwindling in the major leagues." Although this was admittedly a brief aside, over the years I've read/listened countless times as Jenkins and other "well-intentioned" sports commentators have attempted to solve this "crisis" and it always yanks my chain. This time, I decided to respond (read slightly edited version below):

Interesting stuff, however, I can't agree with Jenkins that MLB has a
significant "African American problem" (and certainly not one of a magnitude
that might justify the obscene contracts that Bruce rightly bemoans). Although
the percentage of blacks in the majors has certainly declined over the past few
decades, I believe that it's roughly in line with the percentage of blacks in
the general population. If anything, baseball has become more racially diverse
(and dare I say, more competitive) with the influx of Latino and Asian
ballplayers in recent times (many of these Latino players have partial or full
African heritage). So are we really supposed to convene a task force because
American-born blacks aren't OVER-represented in an American pro sports league? continue reading

First Premium Series of Season is Approaching--Let's Stiff the Bastards!

2009-12-30T11:42:00.000-08:00

Like an irresistable 28-26 object meeting an immovable 24-30 force, two Bay Area baseball juggernauts will soon collide in San Francisco. Beginning next Friday night, the San Francisco Giants and Oakland Athletics will square off in a three-game series at the Big Mortgage. In honor of this titanic struggle, Giants management is offering "Premium" ticket pricing to fans . . . meaning $34 to sit in the bleachers, $32 for view reserved, $52 for lower box, etc., etc. (Beers and hot dogs are still a reasonable $8.75 and $7, respectively.)

Tubesox Nation urges all Giants (and A's) fans to unite in marking the first Feature series of the season by paying Giants management absolutely nothing.

Stiff the bastards!

Follow all five branches of the Five-Fold Path!
Accumulate lots and lots of DOOSH!
Don't be a lemmo!

Top Brass Fashion Scoop Part III

2009-12-30T11:40:00.000-08:00

Tubesox Nation Washington D.C. correspondent Barry Marion sends a slightly blurry (he was feeling jittery) photo of fourth generation San Franciscan Larry Baer and brainy, bow-tied William Neukom displaying their varied interests while scouring K Street for a Tommy Toy's following the Big Mullet's 300th win over the Nationals.

Tubesox Nation Bay-Cott #5: The Mayor of Ingleside

2009-12-30T11:39:00.000-08:00

Match-up: Cardinals-Giants
Date: 5/31
Weather: Overcast, 59 degrees
Five-Fold Path adherence: cycle
DOOSH: $120.50

The Mayor of Ingleside was in town, so in spite of gray skies, the four of us descended on Willie Mays Plaza. South of the Slot had wildcatted, leaving his car on a street not far from where he grew up, Sutros-Sutros had jumped off the N Judah, and the Mayor of Ingleside and I had rolled down from Potrero Hill. We had traveled different paths, but each of us had done the right thing by stiffing the management.

A few minutes earlier, the Mayor of Ingleside and I had run the 3rd Street gauntlet. First, we'd approached the Peanut Man's cousin, positioned way out near UCSF to catch the exiting freeway traffic. No tickets. Next we'd tried some other ambo who wanted $60 apiece and then, when we stopped listening, $30 apiece. By the time we finally got around to negotiating with the Peanut Man, he was equal parts cocksure and scolding.

Never mind the rest of them, you come to me first.

But I had to check in with your cousin, right?

Never mind him either, I'm the reason you met him.

And then the Peanut Man headed off in search of some tickets, leaving us in charge of his snack buckets and a jacket-wearing dog named Alfalfa; by the time he reappeared with our four-pack, I'd sold four bags of sunflower seeds.

Our seats were scattered all over the park, but sure enough, we found room in the left field bleachers and watched as the Giants took the lead, lost the lead (another poor outing for Kid Sanchez), and tied things up at three in the sixth. In the seventh, the home side went ahead for good, thanks to a Rich Aurilia solo shot which, if memory served, was the first Giants homer I'd witnessed this season (memory didn't serve, back in April, Bengie had gone yard during the Dodgers game I'd attended). Five out of six on the homestand; not too shabby, considering that the number five starter was on the hill in two of those games.

Afterwards, there were sea gulls, dozens of free plastic souvie cups (the Mayor of Ingleside lives in North Carolina, where BBQ means vinegar and San Francisco means Gomorrah, but he misses no opportunity to spread the Good Word about the simpler pleasures of his home city), and an unscheduled incursion into the mini-ballpark behind the bleachers. The Mayor of Ingleside looked positively Ruthian among his six-year-old playmates. Next time, I'm betting, he'll hit one out of the park.

Big Algo Tweak of the Week

2009-12-30T11:38:00.000-08:00

With Albert Pujols and the rest of the hard-slugging, steroid-scorning Cardinals rolling into town and the spring winds blowing reliably out in left, Giants top brass is launching a smarter ticketing program. Keenly aware that the Bondroids are addicted to thunderous moon shots, they've entrusted their new Chief Algorithm Officer with inputing weather service forecasts into the team's super-secret pricing algorithm. After pulling a couple of all-nighters, our brilliant young friend succeeded in tweaking his binary code. At only two additional dollars per 5 mph of wind speed, this "dynamic" pricing package will allow the whole family to enjoy what promises to be an onslaught of jacks, big flies, and dingers at still reasonable prices.

48 Hour Notice--Time Running Out to Make Your Voice Heard!!!

2009-12-30T00:14:00.000-08:00

Two days left to vote for Garlic Fries Boycott Day and only 19 votes. Two days left before the Great NBC-11 Experiment and zero volunteer experimenters. Maybe I'm not doing a good job of inspiring what Mahatmas Gandhi and Bert Convy used to call direct audience participation. Or, perish the thought, perhaps I'm the online version of the Florida Marlins.

Introducing the Giants New CAO!!!

2009-12-29T23:29:00.000-08:00

Leveraging their proximity to Silicon Valley, the Giants ticketing office has hired MLB's first Chief Algorithm Officer. Our brilliant young friend promises to use his super-secret algorithm to help the Giants customize ticketing in ways you never thought possible!

Objective for 5/25-5/31 Homestand: Four Figures of DOOSH

2009-12-29T23:28:00.000-08:00

The Giants are playing entirely missable baseball right now (9 losses in last 11 games) and the SF weather is atrocious (on the north slope of Potrero Hill, it's currently a balmy 54 degrees in the fog). But the team is town for six games, and Tubesox Nation continues the Improbable March to the MLB minimum and beyond. However, we can't get to six figures until we get to five figures, and we can't get to five figures until we get to four figures.

To all loyalists planning on attending a game(s):
1. stiff the management by following one or more branches of the Five-Fold Path.
2. add your DOOSH to the Stiff-o-Meter.

Let's get this baby into four figures before June!

The Great NBC-11 Experiment--Volunteers Needed on 5-29!!!

2009-12-29T21:11:00.000-08:00

With the digital TV transition impending, time is running out to document an important chapter in the screwing of The Fans by fourth generation San Franciscan Larry Baer and the greedheads at Comcast.

Friday night's Giants-Cardinals game will be the final NBC-11 broadcast prior to the transition to digital. Tubesox Nation is searching for Bay Area baseball fans experiencing crappy NBC-11 reception who can take a brief break from their Friday night plans to take a photo(s) or brief video of the game as it appears on their TV screen. Documentation of associated gizmos/techniques used to improve reception will also be helpful. The data will be collected into an an easy-to-use pin map and statistically significant musical slideshow to be emailed to the aforementioned greedheads.

Click here for eligibility requirements. Eligible parties who are willing to participate in this important exercise in democracy should confirm participation by leaving a brief comment here (catchy cyber alias, SF district or other city name, diagonal inches, color or b&w).

Multimedia Pin Map of the Month: Phantoms of Mission Bay

2009-12-29T18:45:00.000-08:00

View Phantoms of Mission Bay in a larger map

A few years back, in Dave Flemming's early days in the Giants broadcast booth, he was paying homage to >The Big Mortgage and its environs when, inexplicably, he said something along the lines of: and the incredible thing is, before the ballpark, practically nothing existed in this part of town. With all due respect to Flem, something did exist in the Mission Bay area before the ballpark and >il Baer-McGowan Galleria came along. This multimedia pin map of bygone dives, diners and whatnot only represents the tip of the iceberg . . . happy clicking. (note: distance between closely spaced pins has been increased slightly to facilitate clicking . . . pin location may not be accurate at higher zoom levels)

Memorial Day in Wildcatter Nation

2009-12-17T23:49:00.000-08:00

Tubesox Nation Lunch Buffet . . . All-You-Can-Eat . . . for one low price of $8.95. Or at least that's what it felt like as I combed the weedy back streets of Mission Bay on Memorial Day, channeling my inner mom and pop [insert favorite ethnicity] restaurant pamphleteer and spamming a hundred-odd wildcatter windshields with homemade flyers (free advice: a few of you might consider checking your wipers before the October rains). And it was good times, once I got past the initial flood of middle class neuroses--I'm a university graduate, goddammit, a university graduate who's old enough to worry about October when it's still May, so why am I, of all people, doing a wannabe busboy's job?--the sun had returned to San Francisco and I was energized by the steadfast refusal of Wildcatter Nation to consider any parking spot too crappy, too tight, or too far from The Big Mortgage as long as they were stiffing the management to the tune of 25 U.S. clams. And suddenly I realized that pamphleteering wasn't beneath me. Wildcatting was a righteous cause, and I was doing heroic work recruiting wildcatters into Tubesox Nation. Yes, each time I pulled rotten rubber from shatterproof glass and inserted my manifesto, I was channeling the legacy of Martin Luther and Thomas Paine, not some pimply teenager working for sub-minimum wage. Fal-lump . . . another wiper snapped into place and another flyer flapped in the breeze. I heard a mighty roar issue from The Big Mortgage, and then another, and for a moment, all was not wrong in Giants-land.

To any wildcatter who might be reading this because you received one of the aforementioned flyers: thanks for visiting . . . pardon my spamming . . . please recycle flyer or affix to refrigerator . . . enter your DOOSH in the stiff-o-meter . . . Go Giants!

Cooder Nation

2009-12-16T22:22:00.000-08:00

Perusing the June 27, 2005 issue of The New Yorker while in the reading room recently (I get mine third-hand), I chanced across a fine story by Nick Paumgarten entitled "Stadia Mania." In it, Paumgarten touches briefly on various ongoing or stalled stadium projects in the five boroughs before discussing the birth of Dodger Stadium from the dust of a bulldozed L.A. neighborhood called Chavez Ravine: soon the Ravine’s former residents were referring to the locations of their old homes according to the geography of the ballpark: right field, third base, bullpen. Specifically, he considers "Chavez Ravine," an album by musician Ry Cooder which seeks to bring the old neighborhood to life. Paumgarten quotes Cooder:

There is no talent involved in buying big cheeseburgers and big Cokes, going to
the mall . . . You talk about heritage, man, it was there. They find a bowling
alley, chop it down. Interesting old apartment house, chop it down. Then they
give back stuff with zero content, buildings with no past, a useless present,
and no future at all. Where nobody is going to get together, where no memories
will be created or associations made, or good times. They will simply be
directing you into the act of taking your credit card out of your wallet, with
that glazed look on your face. So, you see, I’m not a fan of that.

Though I start losing Cooder when he goes on to dismiss the value of ballparks and ball games (to my mind, memories, associations and good times are a big part of ballparks and ball games), for a moment, I think, he's describing Tic-Toc, Lowdown, Baja King Street and then il Baer-McGowan Galleria and it's pure genius.

Top Brass Announce No-Zone Discount Ticket Promo

2009-12-15T00:54:00.000-08:00

Following on the heels of their altruistic K-Zone promo tying bleacher prices for a future game to strikeouts recorded by all pitchers in a particular game. ($6 bleacher seats to Tuesday's Braves game, while they lasted), Giants top brass have launched a No-Zone promo where future prices fluctuate with the number of walks issued by the Giants staff over nine innings. The first No-Zone game will be the Memorial Day game against the Braves, with all discounts applicable Field Club seats for a September 15 pennant race tilt against the Rockies. With Kid Sanchez averaging four walks over 5 1/3 innings on the season and the Giants bullpen capable of nibbling at the corners with the best of them, bargain hunters should be able to scoop up Field Club seats for the scarcely believable price of $70 or less.

Well-placed sources report that the launch of the promo followed an acrimonious dust-up between fourth generation San Franciscan Larry Baer and brainy, bow-tied William Neukom at Sea-Tac International Navigator's Club. Although Neukom, a former Microsoft exec, is no stranger to corporate generosity, he initially refused to stand for a culture that rewarded failure. But the ever-pragmatic Baer insisted that giving the fans something to cheer about besides the big screen shenanigans was paramount to the Giants mission. Baer's persistence apparently wore down the mentally agile yet older Neukom; as the men were finishing their second highball, sources witnessed them coming to a handshake agreement.

Top Brass Fashion Scoop Part II

2009-12-14T16:06:00.000-08:00

Tubesox Nation Northwest correspondent Dick Puget sends a slightly hazy (he smears Vaseline on the lens to flatter his subjects) photo of fourth generation San Franciscan Larry Baer and brainy, bow-tied William Neukom displaying their varied interests while scouring Pike Place Market for a Tommy Toy's after tonight's toughie against the Mariners.

This One Kinda, Sorta Goes to 11

2009-12-14T00:56:00.000-08:00

Fact: In November 2007, the Giants negotiated a deal with NBC-11 TV, giving the San Jose station sole on-air broadcast rights to Giants games.

Fact: In December 2007, the Giants became part owners of Fox Sports Net Bay Area, which is under majority ownership of Comcast, the major cable provider in San Francisco.

Last Friday, I was spending a quiet night at home, making a chupacabra pinata, talking on the phone with a friend, and listening to the Giants game on the wireless . . . what's that, you say? What's a wireless? Well, it's a box full of transistors, made in an Oriental sweatshop, and when you tune it just so, it sure sounds fine.

Well, anyway, I was making this chupacabra pinata and talking to my friend on the phone, when he says something about a play in the Giants game he's watching. And that surprises me since I know, like me, he's not paying what Comcast is asking, and nowadays, not paying what Comcast is asking means a virtual Giants blackout for those of us Giants fans unlucky enough to live way out here in San Francisco. See, my friend tells me, I can kind of get the Giants on Channel 11. His tone is upbeat, almost grateful.

Fast forward to tonight. The Giants are playing up in Seattle and the Big Unit is on the hill. Meanwhile, I'm staring at a computer screen and listening to the game on the wireless--in other words, all systems are normal. But suddenly something tells me to step out of my comfort zone, something tells me to push the electromagnetic envelope. So I leave the computer and the wireless behind, grab a hank of aluminum foil in the kitchen, and walk with some trepidation towards the TV room. I stick the foil on the antenna, say a short prayer to Marconi and Philo Farnsworth, and punch in "11" on the remote. . . and there, in a wigged out splash of psychedelic hues, is Aaron Rowand. And, like my friend last week, I feel almost grateful.

I have to check myself. Why am I feeling grateful for kinda, sorta being able to watch the hometown nine on TV? I mean it wasn't always this way. As far back as I can remember, the Giants broadcast 25-40 games a year on KTVU-2 out of Oakland. You could count on Channel 2, like you could count on a Maytag; the signal was clear, the late Gary Park was way too tan, and Dennis would be on afterwards, giving us the 411 about Frisco and Fruitvale and the far-off reaches of Contra Costa County. But in November 2007, the Giants inked the deal with San Jose's NBC 11. "The Giants and NBC 11 share a strong presence throughout the region," enthused fourth generation San Franciscan Larry Baer, "and our partnership will go a long way in solidifying and building our fan base for the future." But meanwhile, a significant minority of hometown supporters have been sentenced to at least three seasons of rooftop gymnastics, rabbit ear prestidigitation, and desperate measures involving aluminum foil.

addendum: My crosstown friend emails with this description of his "magic trick" for watching the games on Channel 11:
in a nutshell, the "antenna" is a (dead) coax for cable tv that comes out of the wall, attached just so to the back end of the receiving port on the tv. enhancement can be achieved sometimes (as is the case tonight) if a "secondary antenna" in the form of the cable from an old video cassette player sitting just underneath, is pulled over the top of the tv and secured by tucking it under whatever's up there (currently, an old non-digital disposable camera, perhaps from a trip to the orient years ago, also from walgreens i think).

What's good for Comcast is good for the Giants but not necessarily good for the fans . . . thanks a bunch, Larry.

Humm-baby, you gotta love these blogs

2009-12-13T11:59:00.000-08:00

Across the vast reaches of the blogosphere, you'll find a good many Giants bloggers who have been at it a lot longer than Tubesox Nation . . . here are a few of the dandies:

Over at Nuschler's News, Fireman Jim douses the flames of controversy with spot-on analysis (based on real data!), and isn't afraid to take on Giants management . . . as a matter of fact, he's up on his soapbox right now, taking a stand on the Nick Johnson Question. And here's to you, Jim, for plunging bravely into the Tubesox Nation Stiff-o-Meter and entering your DOOSH.

And although I suspected I wasn't the only person who was hip to fourth generation San Franciscan Larry Baer's master plan to fleece us fans for every last dime and use the profits to open a chain of Arctic superstores selling ice, I was unprepared for the depth of analysis at the excellent Only Baseball Matters, where a certain commenter alludes to storm troopers, KNBR stooges, and a juiced-up in-stadium radar gun for the benefit of the "quiche eaters." Best of all, there's even vague instructions for making a DIY Larry Baer bobblehead. Give that man a lifetime membership in Tubesox Nation.

Finally, a tip of the Tubesox Nation cap to one of the honchos over at Raising (Matt) Cain, who makes the effort to do a little first-hand reporting on the SJ Giants rather than just citing stats from some seam-head website. Love those San Jose Muni prices . . . at five bucks for a pint of Bud, I might just give up my contrabandista ways.

Top Brass Fashion Scoop

2009-12-12T01:13:00.000-08:00

Tubesox Nation's Tijuana-San Diego correspondent Sam Ysidro faxes a slightly grainy photo (he carries an East German-issue spy cam) of fourth-generation San Franciscan Larry Baer and brainy, bow-tied William Neukom displaying their varied interests while scouring the Gas Lamp District for a Tommy Toy's after tonight's toughie against the Padres.

Milestone Giveaway Update

2009-12-12T00:43:00.000-08:00

With $126 million man Barry Zito notching his 10th career complete game (and first since 2003) tonight at Petco Park, well-placed sources expect Giants top brass and eBay to announce a date for a commemorative four-color souvenir pin day sometime during the coming homestand.

In contrast, although middle reliever Bobby Howry achieved his 150th career "hold" in front of a rapt national television audience on Sunday night, he is still a dozen odd appearances short of the 700 appearances needed to gain membership in the exclusive 700/150 club. But with the Big Mullet and Kid Sanchez struggling and summer's heat soon to take it's toll, look for "Boch" to rely increasingly on Howry's proven ability to eat up innings at the major league level.

mailbag

2009-12-10T14:34:00.000-08:00

Original subscriber Joe Strain floats me an electronic knuckleball from the other side of the International Dateline containing a link to a recent NY Times article on the private baseball life of proto-blogger Jack Kerouac . . . seems young Jack decided to stiff Strat-o-Matic and All-Star Baseball (remember Ethan Allen's game with the spinner and player discs?) by inventing his own game . . . Pancho Villa roaming centerfield, the crack of a toothpick as a marble is launched across the backyard, and more off-kilter stuff from the ol' dharma bum:
read NY Times article

Meanwhile, up here on Potrero Hill, avid reader Mississippi Burning threw me some high, hard cheese with a link to a yesterday's NY Times story on MLB ticket prices. Turns out that the piece focuses on the Giants "smart-ticketing" system . . . hate to play the Carnak card, but it was a week ago that this blog was referring to the Giants' "super-secret algorithm" for setting ticket prices and now, lo and behold, the Giants are discussing (with a level of smugness that would do Google proud) the use of an algorithm to achieve "dynamic pricing." Russ Stanley, the Giants' veep for ticket services, goes so far as to lament not jacking up ticket prices as Barry Bonds approached various home run milestones earlier in the decade . . . those greedheads deserve every bit of DOOSH that the Nation can throw at them:
read NY Times article

muchisimas gracias, guys . . . and keep 'em coming . . . this thing depends on collaboration.

Ex-Microsoft Exec's Gaffe Spoils Top Brass Powwow

2009-12-10T01:23:00.000-08:00

During a recent Giants management offsite at Tommy Toy's, fourth-generation San Franciscan Larry Baer was visibly chastened when brainy, bow-tied William Neukom shanghaied a break-out session on the codependence of garlic fries and the Giants Fan Experience by bringing up the "undeniable synergy between Windows Vista and Explorer 7.0" yet again.

Giants to Mark Milestones with Four-Color Souvenir Pins

2009-12-08T12:48:00.000-08:00

Though Giants top brass flubbed a golden marketing opportunity when Rich Aurilia's 750th career RBI passed without fanfare during Saturday's 9-6 loss to the Mets, Tubesox Nation sources indicate that plans are underfoot to partner with eBay to commemorate the lifetime achievements of several stalwart veterans who are approaching rarefied statistical heights.

Among planned milestone promotions, the Giants and eBay will offer four-color souvenir pins to the first 20,000 fans entering The Big Mortgage following:
-Middle reliever Bobby Howry's induction into the exclusive 700/150 club (700 career appearances, 150 career holds).
-Shortstop Edgar Renteria's 400th career double (398 currently).
-126 million dollar man Barry Zito's 10th career complete game (9 currently).

With Randy Johnson sitting at 298 career victories, the Giants are furiously collaborating with veteran Bangaladeshi sweatshop empresarios to celebrate The Big Mullet's entrance into the elite 300 club, projected to occur in June 2010, with the rollout of a bobblehead sporting an anatomically correct "Livermore neck-warmer."

Tubesox Nation Bay-cott #4: Encounters with the Wildcatter

2009-12-07T01:26:00.000-08:00

Tubesox Nation Bay-cott #3: Arcadia

2009-12-05T17:37:00.000-08:00

Spicy Asian Heritage Week Rumor

2009-12-03T13:05:00.000-08:00

Attendance at The Big Mortgage continues to do a passable Benjamin Button imitation, steamrolling backwards towards zero. Monday's Indian Heritage Night crowd flirted with the high teens before settling for a new China Basin low of 23,934.
For much of the game, fourth-generation San Franciscan Larry Baer chewed thoughtfully on a cold naan while giving the serious stink-eye to a section of empty seats down the right field line. At one point, Tubesox Nation sources report, the ever-pragmatic Baer was seen leaning closer to brainy, bow-tied William Neukom and mouthing "Three words, Billy. Gandhi fucking bobbleheads."

Tubesox Nation Bay-Cott #2: Gaming the Algorithm

2009-12-02T00:10:00.000-08:00

The Not-So-Roaring Twenties 4-23

2009-12-01T13:00:00.000-08:00

Twenty-six thou and change at The Big Mortgage to watch Zito hit 89 on the radar gun and the Giants win it in 10. The first south-of-30k attendance in the history of the China Basin ballpark. And remember, this was the attendance that the bean counters announced . . . who knows how many butts were actually in the seats read more on sf gate . . .

Tubesox Nation Bay-cott #1: The Peanut Man Cometh

2009-11-29T01:00:00.000-08:00

100th Big Fly Leaves New Yankee Stadium

2009-06-21T16:21:00.000-07:00

It took until June 7th, but Nick Swisher finally hit the 100th home run at The House That's Just a Skosh Smaller Than the House That Ruth Built.

read article

Lupica Suggests "Milestone" Big Fly Promotions

2009-06-21T16:09:00.000-07:00

A tip of the Tubesox Nation cap to well-known New York Daily News columnist Mike Lupica for suggesting, tongue firmly in cheek, that the "the greedy boys in charge of the Yankees" drive additional profits by holding promotions for the 100th, 200th, etc. home runs hit in new Yankee Stadium. Lupica even debunks the "wind tunnel' myth, suggesting that it was based on COO Lon Trost and team president Randy Levine obtained their meteorological data by holding moistened index fingers up.

read article

Yankee Stadium= Publicly Funded Capitalism

2009-06-21T15:55:00.000-07:00

So says David Sirota, the author of Yankee Stadium-the house that taxpayers built, a thought-provoking article that takes shots at Mayor Bloomberg, Yankees top brass, and the American "kleptocracy" as a whole. The "comments" section isn't bad either . . . one guy even quotes Lenin.

MLB's African American Problem? (cont'd)

2009-06-09T09:56:00.000-07:00

I'd agree that the diminishing number of black major leaguers was a major problem if some emerging socioeconomic injustice were suddenly keeping them out of baseball. I don't think this is the case. No doubt, poverty plays a role, but the African American population has always struggled with poverty. Besides, poverty needs to be addressed for it's own sake, not for baseball's sake.

In my opinion, a huge part of the equation is that an increasing number of black kids (like American kids in general) simply aren't interested in playing baseball. Here's an personal example: for two years in the mid-90s, I coached baseball at an inner city SF high school where African American kids made up probably 30-40% of the student body. Both the frosh-soph and varsity teams had multiple coaches and adequately maintained playing fields for practices and games. Several black kids played on each of these teams, but the interest in baseball (from both blacks and other kids) was low enough that we had to fill out the roster with, among others, an immigrant kid who initially wasn't sure how to wear a glove or where to run after hitting the ball.

I'd love to see more black kids playing baseball, just as I'd like to see more American kids of all races playing baseball. Baseball is a great game and it just might be the remedy for serial text messaging and Play Station addiction, not to mention hanging out with the wrong crowd. But singling out a "black problem" in MLB worthy of a special "fix" smacks of social engineering run amok.

Reading Room

2009-05-26T01:22:00.000-07:00

name that ballpark . . .

Crappy NBC-11 Reception

2009-05-24T14:58:00.000-07:00

double trouble

recognize this man?

Note the attractive aluminum foil gizmo.

NBC-11 Study Background and Eligibility

2009-05-24T13:39:00.000-07:00

Background:

The Great NBC-11 Experiment will be a study of reception of the over-the-air NBC-11 broadcast signal in the nine Bay Area counties. Participants will be double-blind and random and may or may not suffer from male pattern baldness, hot flashes, and/or erectile dysfunction.

Eligibility Criteria:

1. Residency in one of the nine Bay Area counties.

2. Owner of a television set.

3. Not a cable or dish subscriber.

4. NBC-11 (KNTV) broadcast reception is measurable poorer than Channel 2 (KTVU) reception.

5. Access to a digital camera or digital video recorder.

6. Brief availability for data collection during the Giants game on the evening of May 29.

7. Willingness/ability to email data promptly to botcho@earthlink.net.

Viva la Chupacabra!!!

2009-05-22T22:43:00.000-07:00

Fourth Generation San Franciscan Larry Baer

2009-05-22T12:42:00.000-07:00

How to Use the Stiff-o-Meter

2009-05-21T23:30:00.000-07:00

Rules:
1. There are no absolute stiff-o-meter rules. The DOOSH that you enter into the stiff-o-meter will not be audited--this is a grassroots movement, not the flipping IRS.

2. Click on the pile of money in the right-hand sidebar of any Tubesox Nation page to get to the spreadsheet.

3. Enter a catchy cyber alias and date of Giants game attended in columns A and B, respectively

4. (optional) Enter dollars paid (hopefully $0) to Giants in spreadsheet columns C, E, G, I and K.

5. Enter DOOSH* in spreadsheet columns D, F, H, J and L where applicable
*DOOSH is dollars NOT paid to Giants because you used outside sources to purchase goods and services that you would have otherwise purchased from them (e.g., outside the ballpark, you buy a bottle of water from the Peanut Man for a buck . . . if you had bought a similar bottle of water inside the stadium it would have cost $4.75, so your DOOSH is $4.75).

6. The spreadsheet and the stiff-o-meter do the rest of the heavy lifting . . . all you need to do is navigate back to the Tubesox Nation homepage and enjoy a look at your contribution to the ever-growing pile of DOOSH.

Thanks for contributing . . . we'll see you back in the stiff-o-meter real soon.

Your Seats Suck! (click to enlarge)

2009-05-12T16:39:00.000-07:00

So what are you going to do about it?

Leave a comment describing how you plan to support the Bronx Bombers while stiffing the Steinbrenners, okay?

The Carlyle Incident

2009-05-11T18:04:00.000-07:00

Back in the late 1980s, I attended an afternoon Giants game with a couple of friends. We bought tickets in the left field bleachers, sitting behind a couple of 40-ish dudes from Hayward, one of whom was named Carlyle. These two had clearly had a few beers, and as the game wore on, they had a few more, becoming increasingly entertaining or obnoxious, depending on your taste in drunks.

Towards the end the game, when Carlyle and Carlyle's friend were approaching a state of perfect bliss, Mike Krukow's voice issued suddenly from the newly refurbished scoreboard. The fans in the bleachers turned in unison; after years of LED stats and yellowy Pong-style animations, the sight of genuine moving pictures playing across the Stick's scoreboard was nothing short of miraculous.
Say, Giants fans, Kruk was reading a public service announcement. The game of life lasts nine innings . . .

At the time, Kruk had yet to become a broadcast booth icon, but he was already hugely popular with rank-and-file Giants fans. In 1987, he had won 20 games as the Giants took the division, and more than that, he was a gamer who wanted the ball every fifth day, a Giants Giant who minced no words when it came to the Dodgers, the Cardinals, and whoever else happened to be part of the axis of evil du jour. When Mike Krukow spoke, people listened, even Carlyle and Carlyle's friend.

Reaching the end of the promo, Kruk left the crowd with a final thought. So, if you've had a few, Giants fans, be sure not to get behind the wheel. It was a Giant moment, a triumphant marriage between baseball, technology, and social responsibility. And around the stadium, every last driver was making a silent pledge not to touch another sip of beer before driving home, not even watery Lucky Lager. Or at least that's what I thought until Carlyle's friend thrust his middle finger at Kruk and let out a bellow at the top of his lungs: Fuck you, how do you think I got here?

Giants Ponder Belgian-American Night

2009-05-08T12:56:00.000-07:00

Tubesox Nation sources report that Giants top brass is mulling an expansion of their well-received diversity campaign to include a Low Countries Heritage Week culminating in Belgian-American Night. A midweek series during the post-trade deadline "dog days" is said to be the likeliest date. Among other things, the Belgian event will feature Flemish and Walloon sections on opposite sides of the park, a first pitch thrown out by an effeminate EU dignitary, and lax enforcement of the ballpark anti-smoking policy. The sticking point seems to the exact nature of the bobblehead giveaway. Brainy, bow-tied William Neukom favors a cool, understated Jacques Brel, while ever-pragmatic Larry Baer is standing firm on a demographically appropriate Jean-Claude Van Damme.

unofficial Mannywood road trip suggestions page

2009-05-07T17:09:00.000-07:00

Mannywood . . . the very word sends shivers down my spine. A semi-demilitarized zone in the left-field pavillion at Dodger Stadium offering unobstructed sightlines of the Hirsute One himself . . . that is, when he's not suspended for having more estrogen in his bloodstream than a hot-flashing personal trainer from Studio City (and I thought those were hair extensions).

Manny or no Manny, Tubesox Nation Road Trip #1 is bound for Mannywood and any and all local knowledge on Dodger Stadium policies and policing, cant-miss food & drink spots in Echo Park, well-connected ambos, or whatever would be greatly appreciated. Kindly use "comments" to leave info.

Not-So-Grand Unveiling for New Yankee Stadium 4-17

2009-05-07T16:18:00.000-07:00

Boos rain down, chants for Nick Swisher fill the air at newly minted Yankee stadium read more in NY Daily News.

Billy Ball

2009-05-05T15:01:00.000-07:00

Fourth-generation San Franciscan and Giants team president Larry Baer has been overheard referring to managing general partner William Neukom as "Billy." Though Tubesox Nation sources report that the nickname irks the brainy, bow-tied Neukom "to no end," the ever-pragmatic Baer thinks that it makes the former Microsoft exec seem "almost like a baseball man."

MLB-unauthorized human chorionic gonadtropin (hCG) merch

2009-05-04T20:35:00.000-07:00

. . . coming soon to this blog!

tubesox speak, a glossary

2009-04-29T01:20:00.000-07:00

ambos: short for ambulatory ticket brokers (see below).

ambulatory ticket brokers: the gentlemen selling tickets outside the ballpark, come rain, or wind, or scalding hot sun. Not to be confused with cyberscalpers (see below).

Baer-Magowan Galleria, il: The clustering of establishments that sprung up like toadstools around the Big Mortgage ca. 2000. The conversation and the au jus are to die for.

Big Algo, The: The Giants' super-secret pricing algorithm. read more

Big Mortgage, The: San Francisco's AT&T Park nee SBC Park nee Pacific Bell Park.

blackjackers: principled members of Tubesox Nation who refuse to purchase MLB merchandise through official channels, buying only black market or second-hand merch.

bootleggers: resourceful members of Tubesox Nation who bring outside food and/or non-alcoholic beverages into games rather than paying extortionate ballpark prices.

boycott: the act of applying direct economic pressure by refusing to pay for certain goods or services; widely considered an outdated practice rendered uneccesary by the triumph of the free market.

contrabandistas: independent-minded members of Tubesox Nation who consume alcohol in bars, parking lots, and on city streets rather than paying extortionate ballpark prices. (see also mules)

cyberscalpers: freebooting online middlemen who facilitate the willy-nilly jacking up of ticket prices, taking a healthy cut while never once looking the customer in the eye.

cycle, the: a trip to the ballpark involving passage down all five branches of the Five-Fold Path. (aka five-bagger)

DOOSH: Dollars Otherwise Offered to Scheming Hucksters; i.e., money spent on the ballgame that did not go to the Giants' coffers (orig. Cockney dosh, money)

Five-Fold Path, The: the Way according to Tubesox Nation. In no particular order, blackjacking, bootlegging, contrabanding, freelancing, and wildcatting.

four-bagger: a trip to the ballpark involving passage down any four branches of the Five-Fold Path (aka going yard)

freelancers: right-thinking members of Tubesox Nation who purchase tickets from ambulatory ticket brokers, rather than paying extortionate prices to management or cyberscalpers.

Improbable March, The: Tubesox Nation's glorious campaign to counter the sickening parsimony of Giants management by stiffing them to the tune of the MLB minimum (Sheffield, anyone?) and beyond.

lemmings: fans who still think nothing of shelling out $50, $100 or more to management, no matter how little the team spends on new players, because "no true fan stops supporting his team." Frequently seen caving in to peer pressure by throwing opposing teams' home run balls back on the field rather than giving them to a kid (see also lemmos).

lemmos: short for lemmings (see above).

merch: short for merchandise.

mules: slang for contrabandistas.

one-bagger: a trip to the ballpark involving passage down any single branch of the Five-Fold Path (aka playing a little bingo)

Party Line, The: the Giants' staggeringly high POFT is okey-dokey since "they need to pay off their mortgage" because they "built the ballpark without anyone's help." A tried-and-true favorite of the lemmos.

POFT: acronym for "Pricing to On-Field Talent" ratio.

pteros: old-timers who, on a good day, are capable of remembering at least three of the following: beer vendors in the stands, cigar smoking in the stands, organ music, crockpot-shaped stadiums, AstroTurf, bleacher tickets selling for south of $5. Frequently belong to Tubesox Nation, although they don't know it and wouldn't care anyhow.

"support the team, stiff the management": Tubesox Nation's all-purpose credo, rallying cry, and barstool rant.

Tubesox Nation: the righteous community of Americans dedicated to reclaiming the right of the common man (and woman) to sit in a decent seat and watch their favorite baseball team a few times a year without taking out a second subprime mortgage; regularly follow one or more disciplines of The Five-Fold Path to hit management right where it hurts.

three-bagger: a trip to the ballpark involving passage down any three branches of the Five-Fold Path (aka Sam Crawford or tweener)

two-bagger: a trip to the ballpark involving passage down any two branches of the Five-Fold Path (aka Tris Speaker or tweener)

wi-fites: spectators who spend games glued to their phone or PDA, keeping up-to-date on what's going on in the real world while pretty much missing everything that happens on the field. Frequently found patronizing eastablishments in Baer-Magowan Galleria post game, breaking down their latest twitter uploads over hibiscus cocktails.

wildcatters: intrepid members of Tubesox Nation who refuse to pay extortionate prices to park in stadium lots, instead choosing to walk, bike or take public transport to games or, if driving*, parking on city streets.

*note: Tubesox Nation wholly endorses walking, biking, or taking public transport to games.

Tubesox Nation Bay-cott #4: Encounters with the Wildcatter

2009-02-28T23:50:00.000-08:00

Match-up: Mets-Giants
Date: 5/14
Weather: Windy, 61 degrees
Five-Fold Path adherence: cycle
DOOSH: $35.50

Tubesox Nation rocketed past the Mendoza line in style tonight (see Stiff-o-Meter) while the "dollars to Giants coffers" needle remained stubbornly pegged on zero. Zero. As in zip, zilch . . . yes, Billy, it's catorce de fucking mayo and we still have no bananas.

First contact with the ambos was abrupt tonight. Biking into the north wind, I spotted the Peanut Man's cousin on a deserted patch of sidewalk and pulled over to negotiate. He was either hard-up for buyers or heading into UC-land in search of some of that good stem cell mojo. Figuring it was the former, I offered twenty. Without hesitating, he handed me a ticket that said "LB 125, $39" . . . "LB" as in lower box. I blinked once, thinking that it must be the hard evening light. It still said "LB." Suddenly, I had visions of a half-empty stadium, but it was too late back out, so I bought it. Further up the street, I came across the reassuring sight of the Peanut Man, working the crowds as they passed to the ballpark. We said our hellos and I purchased a bag of nuts more as a courtesy than anything else. It was only a dollar, but the Peanut Man threw in a complimentary pack of sunflower seeds, because that's how we do business . . . shades of what they call lagniappe in New Orleans, I thought, wondering if maybe his family came from Louisiana. Whatever the case, I was glad that I hadn't backed out of the deal with his cousin. And then I pedaled off across the Lefty O'Doul Bridge and through the shadows of il Baer-McGowan Galleria to join my friends in drinking a pre-game pint of beer and catching the dying rays of the sun at the Hotel Utah, an oasis of what used to be along the phantom shores of Mission Bay. We file in during the bottom of the first, taking our seats in the single white guy section adjacent to the Korean heritage section. The clacking of the thunder sticks was awesome.

Metropolitans 7, Giants 4. No HRs, but plenty of screaming liners off the bats of the Mets, mostly.

Cruising along a scruffy stretch of Mission Bay back street after the game, I chance upon a wildcatter who's loading his bike onto the back of his vehicle. It seems like a prime spot, free parking within a leisurely walking distance of the park, so I ask him how early he arrived to snag it.
Seven-twenty, he tells me.
But that's just because the stadium was half empty?
Every game, he says. And if there's nothing here, I park around the university. The farthest I've ever had to park was up around the bar where you get off 280.
The Connecticut Yankee?
Right.
The wildcatter lets me in on his methodology. Find free street parking and bike from the car to the ballpark. If the line for the guarded bike garage is too long, lock the bike to a street rack. Preferably across 3rd Street from the Giants Dugout store where the cops hang out. Two locks. Always two locks--one for each wheel.
We get to talking about meathead kids in the bleachers and the conversation turns inevitably to Candlestick Park. I float my theory that the Candlestick crowds were different because fans didn't show up looking for fights, they showed up to cheer for the Gyros, and sometimes in the heat of the battle fights occurred.
The wildcatter agrees with me . . . to a point. Dodger games were different, he says, recalling a Dodger game when a guy was walking around the stands swinging a golf club. In the first inning. He's rolling now, so I just step aside. I used sit in the upper deck and watch the fights ripple around the lower deck. They looked like dust storms. You know why they passed the state law banning alcohol sales in the stands? Giant-Dodgers. They were on top of the Dodgers dugout, throwing bottles. He adds one last Candlestick memory, establishing the impeccability of credentials by placing himself at the center of the defining moment of Giants fandom during the long lean years. We used to buy beer just to throw at the Crazy Crab.
It's getting late, so we say goodbye and head our separate ways through the dark Mission Bay night.

Tubesox Nation Bay-cott #3: Arcadia

2009-02-27T23:43:00.000-08:00

Match-up: Nationals-Giants
Date: 5/13
Weather: Sunny, 66 degrees
Five-Fold Path adherence: cycle
DOOSH: $15.75

An abbreviated sortie today . . . I arrived in the sixth and the ambos were long gone. After various fruitless attempts to scrounge an extra ticket from late arrivals (although one guy did offer me a lit reefer instead of a ticket), I phoned a friend inside the stadium and he said they'd scored $7 tickets at the ticket window.

Hmmm . . . decision time . . . not. A midweek tilt against the Nats is no time to lose focus and diverge from the Five-Fold Path. So, I ended up catching the final three innings from the freebie standing area under the right field arcade with a bunch of true fans.

Top six arcade highlights follow (maybe you can recognize your Tubesox Nation correspondent):
1. Nattily attired guy with walking stick suddenly pacing and screaming something about "put on your bullpen hat" and then returning to railing and falling silent again.

2. Verbose thirty-something skate-punk/union plumber in Rusty Staub-era Expos hat singing along to "Take Me Out to the Ballgame, accusing a batter of being "on Hillary Clinton's payroll," and screaming "yo, Adrian" when "Rocky" theme played in 9th.

3. Borderline ptero using "colorful" language to heckle Nats RF Austin Kearns after a Nate Schierholtz gapper eluded him.

4. Slightly less aged guy screaming "you're still playing Canadian baseball" after same Schierholtz gapper, provoking someone else to begin chanting "Eh . . . Eh . . . Eh . . . Eh!"

5. Wild-eyed woman worming her way in front of some poor schlub because she's "legally blind". . . and then sticking out a bare leg and ordering the Expos skate-punk to feel it, before saying "I need to find my boyfriend" and wandering off.

6. Yours truly attempting to nail down the exact pre-Gold Rush boundaries of Mission Bay with the ptero and the skate-punk . . . the general consensus was that it originally stretched approximately from 17th Street to Townsend Street.

Nats win 6-3 as Zeets takes a hard-luck loss, the Panda gets a ribby, and Ryan Zimmerman's 30-game hit streak ends. Post-game beer in the sun at The Ramp, Mission Bay's premier waterside joint.

Tubesox Nation Bay-Cott #2: Gaming the Algorithm

2009-02-26T14:05:00.000-08:00

Match-up: Dodgers-Giants
Date: 4/29
Weather: windy, 57 degrees
Five-Fold Path adherence: cycle
DOOSH: $54

It's a cold Wednesday night in San Francisco, a night fit for torching a couple of Duraflame logs or turning the toaster oven to broil and pretending to forget about it. But cocooning is for losers and besides, down in China Basin, the Little Mullet is taking the hill against the hated Dodgers. Giants vs. Dodgers, it's a rivalry that's spanned a century, crossed a continent and, according to the super-secret algorithm of the King Street bean counters, deserves Feature game status. Translation: the Giants are charging $25 to sit in the left field bleachers and enjoy an unobstructed view of Manny Ramirez’s dreads. Twenty-five dollars. You could fill up your Prius for that kind of money. In Tiburon. It's pure unadulterated extortion and in Tubesox Nation, the response is sudden, knee-jerk, practically reptilian.

The improbable march must continue. So, fingers trembling with righteous indignation, I mix a batch of cactus juice to precise proportions, decanting it into a plastic water bottle filled with ice cubes. Continue to the major league minimum and beyond. I leave the house with purpose, swinging by Ganim’s Market for the food and maybe some Giants news. Never mind KNBR or ESPN, Ganim's is where I get all my breaking Giants news. Back in the post-hot stove gloom of January, for example, it was Ganim's owner who broke the story about Barry Zito. You know, the story about Zeets increasing his pull-ups max from three to 16. It seemed inconsequential at the time, another morning show factoid to file alongside Zeets' surfing prowess, Zeets' guitar wizardry and Zeets' Zen-like approach to ordering room service, but in the wake of seven shutout innings on Monday night, I'm beginning to wonder if there's something to it. I pick up my chicken kabob wrap; thoughtfully, the owner has packed it a clamshell container for extra protection against the China Basin elements. I hand over the money, get on my bike and speed downhill to fight the good fight against bean counters, Cha Cha bowls and mediocre $10 margaritas.

Nearing the stadium, I begin looking for tickets. The ambos are giving me the crazy fool treatment; they might not call it a Feature game, but in their world, a $20 Dodgers ticket is an insult. After all the aggravation, the sight of the Peanut Man is comforting.
How you doing, man? The Peanut Man says, recognizing me from the last game, or at least doing a good job of faking it.
Okay, I tell him, lamenting the difficulty of scoring a ticket for twenty.
Watch my stuff, he says, hustling up the street while I wonder if I'm supposed to be selling peanuts.
A short while later, The Peanut Man returns with a stocky guy who he introduces as his cousin. Alright, the cousin says, producing a couple of dog-eared Internet printouts, two for 40. I examine one. It says Giants-Dodgers 4-29, $11. Still, I'm skeptical. Those printouts don't look like tickets, and he doesn't look anything like the Peanut Man.

I tell the cousin that I won't pay $20 for a $11 ticket for a game that isn't sold out. The cousin isn't happy. I realize I've broken some unwritten code. A moment ago, the Peanut Man was trusting me with his merch, and now I’m trying to low-ball a relative.

The evening spirals further. I check the prices at the ticket window, but nothing's available for less than $19. So, I head back to find the cousin. We cut a deal for two for $38, but just as I'm pulling the money from my wallet, the cousin's very large associate snatches a printout from me, and sells it for more money. Finally, in Willie Mays Plaza, I wangle a single from a trio of drunken meatheads with a self-appointed leader who calls me "lippy" when I refuse to pay more than face. I hand over a twenty, half expecting not to get my change. The leader bids me adieu with a "fuck off." Needless to say, I won't be sitting in my assigned seat tonight.

The Giants have a 5-0 lead by the time I reach the bleachers. With The Little Mullet on the mound, that’s looking pretty good. The kid in the seat in front of me might be 21 and then again he might not be. But he’s drinking Bud Light straight from the can, so I tap him on the shoulder and hand him a souvie cup from back in the dark days when I used to be a lemmo—this one says “Bonds 600.” The kid's a member of the Nation, not that he knows it, and the Nation needs to stick together.

The Giants’ lead grows to 7-0, and standing in left with all that hair, Manny looks more like a clown than Sampson. What’s the matter with Manny? The bleacher preachers chant. He’s-a-bum, the chorus responds. The Carlyle Incident happened last century, I'm reminded, and bleacher wits are an endangered species. And then the Bud Light kid and his friends aim a different chant, a Spanish chant, straight at Manny. Cu-le-ro . . . cu-le-ro . . . cu-le-ro. Nobody knows what we're saying, they smile. But the great Manny Ramirez, the Ted Williams of Hispaniola, knows. Cu-le-ro . . . cu-le-ro . . . cu-le-ro. They're chanting asshole, and the usher has no clue. It's about as clever as the he's a bum bit, but still, watching that kid drink his Bud Light from the souvie cup, part of me can't help feel like a proud uncle.

money paid to Giants (estimated loss to organization):

:( Parking: $0
:( Tickets: $0 ($15)
:( Food: $0 ($9)
:( Drink $0 ($30)
:( Authorized MLB Merch $0
-----------
Total: $0 ($54.00)

Local Businesses Supported:

:) $4.50 for chicken kabob to Ganim's Market, 18th and Mississippi Streets

Tubesox Nation Bay-Cott #1: The Peanut Man Cometh

2009-02-25T00:38:00.000-08:00

Match-up: Diamondbacks-Giants
Date: 4/18
Weather: sunny, 66 degrees
Five-Fold Path adherence: cycle
DOOSH: $50.25
Sunny April Saturday and the cat is photosynthesizing inside a grocery bag. She always did like paper, preferably double-bagged. The Giants are playing down in China Basin, and it's a perfect day for Tubesox Nation to begin its march, a perfect day to support the team, while stiffing the management. So after a brief pit-stop at Ganim's Market, San Francisco's Home of the Ganichenga, I'm rolling down the north side of Potrero Hill towards the ballpark. The slope gives out and I pass a sidewalk sale and fenced-off piles of rip-rap where a couple of local establishments used to stand. R.I.P. Cargo Restaurant. R.I.P. Triangle Sandwich Shop. A billboard anounces that the UCSF Children's and Women's Hospitals are coming, and who's against women and children? Still, sometimes when the wind calms and the bulldozer dust settles, you can almost smell the mayo and the liverwurst, almost hear the rattling of the ice in the shaker just before the Beefeater's is strained cold into a glass and drunk neat before noon.

Reaching the corner, I look up at the street sign. Thankfully, it still says 3rd Street. Willie Brown may have Miami-fied the Embarcadero, but he hasn't put his name on the 3rd Street Riviera yet. I pedal north into a light breeze. This all used to be water, but nowadays Mission Bay signifies biotech, stem cells, PCR, and, oh yeah, women and children. There's a chicken burrito, a couple of Bud talls, and some duct tape in my backpack--all the trappings of a great day out, Tubesox Nation style--and as soon as I hear the hopeful mantra of the ambulatory ticket brokers, I start thinking about going for the cycle.

I pull the bike onto the sidewalk, and the usual negotiations ensue . . .
Who's got tickets?
I'm looking for two.
Forty dollars apiece, these are real good ones.
I'm looking for your worst tickets, I say, pulling the old switcheroo.
The ambo produces more tickets from his pocket and adjusts his strategy. Okay, I'll give you these two for fifty.
My friend won't pay that, I say, scrambling for leverage.
What's he paying then?
He's not picking up the phone.
Watchoo paying then?
Two for twenty five.
Ah, man. The ambo is taking it personally.

A while later, an older ambo promises me he'll get me two for 25, limping off at a none too encouraging pace. The sun is hot and it becomes apparent that he's not returning, so I head a short ways up 3rd and take refuge under a billboard. Peanuts . . . sunflower seeds . . . one dollar! A peanut vendor is working a steady procession of fans who walk past from the parking lots. Caramel apples . . . two dollars! The woman selling the apples fans herself with her homemade sign. She's got her work cut out for her, selling Halloween treats in April, and being downstream from the Peanut Man doesn't make things easier. Peanuts . . . sunflower seeds . . . one dollar! The ambos circulate like sharks, pausing occasionally in the cool shade of the billboard. I keep naming my price, and they keep taking great personal affront to the suggestion, the mere thought really, of two for $25. The ball game may have begun inside The Big Mortgage, but they've got their pride and their bottom line to look after. Whatta you need, man, the Peanut Man asks finally. I tell him and he seems sympathetic. You're gonna be holding them, he scolds the ambos, they're gonna be cardboard on the wall tonight. But nobody's budging, so the Peanut Man gets down to business (click on picture below to listen).

Thirteen Ks earns Lincecum a seat on the bench to watch his bullpen buddies cough up a run in the ninth. Chalk up an "L" for the Giants. Grumbling about Sabean and Renteria on the way out. A guy in a bar afterwards, wishing on a star for Barry's iminent return. Sometime later, I happen to glance at my ticket stub: it says $10. The old 3rd Street alchemy: spinning $25 out of $20 worth of cardboard. But in the afterglow of a season-opening five-bagger, it feels like money well spent.

money paid to Giants (estimated loss to organization):

:( Parking: $0
:( Tickets: $0 ($10)
:( Food: $0 ($14)
:( Drink $0 ($26.25)
:( Authorized MLB Merch $0
-----------
Total: $0 ($50.25)

Local Businesses Supported:

:) $6 for chicken burrito to Castillito Taqueria, Church nr. Duboce

:) $3.50 for beer at local market

:) $25 to ambulatory ticket brokers for tickets

Encounters with the Wildcatter (cont'd)

2009-01-31T12:58:00.000-08:00

It seems like a prime spot, free parking within a leisurely walking distance of the park, so I ask him how early he arrived to snag it.
Seven-twenty, he tells me.
But that's just because the stadium was half empty?
Every game, he says. And if there's nothing here, I park around the university. The farthest I've ever had to park was up around the bar where you get off 280.
The Connecticut Yankee?
Right.
The wildcatter lets me in on his methodology. Find free street parking and bike from the car to the ballpark. If the line for the guarded bike garage is too long, lock the bike to a street rack. Preferably across 3rd Street from the Giants Dugout store where the cops hang out. Two locks. Always two locks--one for each wheel.
We get to talking about meathead kids in the bleachers and the conversation turns inevitably to Candlestick Park. I float my theory that the Candlestick crowds were different because fans didn't show up looking for fights, they showed up to cheer for the Gyros, and sometimes in the heat of the battle fights occurred.
The wildcatter agrees with me . . . to a point. Dodger games were different, he says, recalling a Dodger game when a guy was walking around the stands swinging a golf club. In the first inning. He's rolling now, so I just step aside. I used sit in the upper deck and watch the fights ripple around the lower deck. They looked like dust storms. You know why they passed the state law banning alcohol sales in the stands? Giant-Dodgers. They were on top of the Dodgers dugout, throwing bottles. He adds one last Candlestick memory, establishing the impeccability of credentials by placing himself at the center of the defining moment of Giants fandom during the long lean years. We used to buy beer just to throw at the Crazy Crab.
It's getting late, so we say goodbye and head our separate ways through the dark Mission Bay night.

Arcadia (cont'd)

2009-01-30T19:35:00.000-08:00

Top six arcade highlights follow (maybe you can recognize your Tubesox Nation correspondent):
1. Nattily attired guy with walking stick suddenly pacing and screaming something about "put on your bullpen hat" and then returning to railing and falling silent again.

2. Verbose thirty-something skate-punk/union plumber in Rusty Staub-era Expos hat singing along to "Take Me Out to the Ballgame, accusing a batter of being "on Hillary Clinton's payroll," and screaming "yo, Adrian" when "Rocky" theme played in 9th.

3. Borderline ptero using "colorful" language to heckle Nats RF Austin Kearns after a Nate Schierholtz gapper eluded him.

4. Slightly less aged guy screaming "you're still playing Canadian baseball" after same Schierholtz gapper, provoking someone else to begin chanting "Eh . . . Eh . . . Eh . . . Eh!"

5. Wild-eyed woman worming her way in front of some poor schlub because she's "legally blind". . . and then sticking out a bare leg and ordering the Expos skate-punk to feel it, before saying "I need to find my boyfriend" and wandering off.

6. Yours truly attempting to nail down the exact pre-Gold Rush boundaries of Mission Bay with the ptero and the skate-punk . . . the general consensus was that it originally stretched approximately from 17th Street to Townsend Street.

Nats win 6-3 as Zeets takes a hard-luck loss, the Panda gets a ribby, and Ryan Zimmerman's 30-game hit streak ends. Post-game beer in the sun at The Ramp, Mission Bay's premier waterside joint.

Gaming the Algorithm (cont'd)

2009-01-29T01:47:00.000-08:00

The improbable march must continue. So, fingers trembling with righteous indignation, I mix a batch of cactus juice to precise proportions, decanting it into a plastic water bottle filled with ice cubes. Continue to the major league minimum and beyond. I leave the house with purpose, swinging by Ganim’s Market for the food and maybe some Giants news. Never mind KNBR or ESPN, Ganim's is where I get all my breaking Giants news. Back in the post-hot stove gloom of January, for example, it was Ganim's owner who broke the story about Barry Zito. You know, the story about Zeets increasing his pull-ups max from three to 16. It seemed inconsequential at the time, another morning show factoid to file alongside Zeets' surfing prowess, Zeets' guitar wizardry and Zeets' Zen-like approach to ordering room service, but in the wake of seven shutout innings on Monday night, I'm beginning to wonder if there's something to it. I pick up my chicken kabob wrap; thoughtfully, the owner has packed it a clamshell container for extra protection against the China Basin elements. I hand over the money, get on my bike and speed downhill to fight the good fight against bean counters, Cha Cha bowls and mediocre $10 margaritas.

Nearing the stadium, I begin looking for tickets. The ambos are giving me the crazy fool treatment; they might not call it a Feature game, but in their world, a $20 Dodgers ticket is an insult. After all the aggravation, the sight of the Peanut Man is comforting.
How you doing, man? The Peanut Man says, recognizing me from the last game, or at least doing a good job of faking it.
Okay, I tell him, lamenting the difficulty of scoring a ticket for twenty.
Watch my stuff, he says, hustling up the street while I wonder if I'm supposed to be selling peanuts.
A short while later, The Peanut Man returns with a stocky guy who he introduces as his cousin. Alright, the cousin says, producing a couple of dog-eared Internet printouts, two for 40. I examine one. It says Giants-Dodgers 4-29, $11. Still, I'm skeptical. Those printouts don't look like tickets, and he doesn't look anything like the Peanut Man.

I tell the cousin that I won't pay $20 for a $11 ticket for a game that isn't sold out. The cousin isn't happy. I realize I've broken some unwritten code. A moment ago, the Peanut Man was trusting me with his merch, and now I’m trying to low-ball a relative.

The evening spirals further. I check the prices at the ticket window, but nothing's available for less than $19. So, I head back to find the cousin. We cut a deal for two for $38, but just as I'm pulling the money from my wallet, the cousin's very large associate snatches a printout from me, and sells it for more money. Finally, in Willie Mays Plaza, I wangle a single from a trio of drunken meatheads with a self-appointed leader who calls me "lippy" when I refuse to pay more than face. I hand over a twenty, half expecting not to get my change. The leader bids me adieu with a "fuck off." Needless to say, I won't be sitting in my assigned seat tonight.

The Giants have a 5-0 lead by the time I reach the bleachers. With The Little Mullet on the mound, that’s looking pretty good. The kid in the seat in front of me might be 21 and then again he might not be. But he’s drinking Bud Light straight from the can, so I tap him on the shoulder and hand him a souvie cup from back in the dark days when I used to be a lemmo—this one says “Bonds 600.” The kid's a member of the Nation, not that he knows it, and the Nation needs to stick together.

The Giants’ lead grows to 7-0, and standing in left with all that hair, Manny looks more like a clown than Sampson. What’s the matter with Manny? The bleacher preachers chant. He’s-a-bum, the chorus responds. The Carlyle Incident happened last century, I'm reminded, and bleacher wits are an endangered species. And then the Bud Light kid and his friends aim a different chant, a Spanish chant, straight at Manny. Cu-le-ro . . . cu-le-ro . . . cu-le-ro. Nobody knows what we're saying, they smile. But the great Manny Ramirez, the Ted Williams of Hispaniola, knows. Cu-le-ro . . . cu-le-ro . . . cu-le-ro. They're chanting asshole, and the usher has no clue. It's about as clever as the he's a bum bit, but still, watching that kid drink his Bud Light from the souvie cup, part of me can't help feel like a proud uncle.

money paid to Giants (estimated loss to organization):

:( Parking: $0
:( Tickets: $0 ($15)
:( Food: $0 ($9)
:( Drink $0 ($30)
:( Authorized MLB Merch $0
-----------
Total: $0 ($54.00)

Local Businesses Supported:

:) $4.50 for chicken kabob to Ganim's Market, 18th and Mississippi Streets

The Peanut Man Cometh (cont'd)

2009-01-28T00:18:00.000-08:00

Reaching the corner, I look up at the street sign. Thankfully, it still says 3rd Street. Willie Brown may have Miami-fied the Embarcadero, but he hasn't put his name on the 3rd Street Riviera yet. I pedal north into a light breeze. This all used to be water, but nowadays Mission Bay signifies biotech, stem cells, PCR, and, oh yeah, women and children. There's a chicken burrito, a couple of Bud talls, and some duct tape in my backpack--all the trappings of a great day out, Tubesox Nation style--and as soon as I hear the hopeful mantra of the ambulatory ticket brokers, I start thinking about going for the cycle.

I pull the bike onto the sidewalk, and the usual negotiations ensue . . .
Who's got tickets?
I'm looking for two.
Forty dollars apiece, these are real good ones.
I'm looking for your worst tickets, I say, pulling the old switcheroo.
The ambo produces more tickets from his pocket and adjusts his strategy. Okay, I'll give you these two for fifty.
My friend won't pay that, I say, scrambling for leverage.
What's he paying then?
He's not picking up the phone.
Watchoo paying then?
Two for twenty five.
Ah, man. The ambo is taking it personally.

A while later, an older ambo promises me he'll get me two for 25, limping off at a none too encouraging pace. The sun is hot and it becomes apparent that he's not returning, so I head a short ways up 3rd and take refuge under a billboard. Peanuts . . . sunflower seeds . . . one dollar! A peanut vendor is working a steady procession of fans who walk past from the parking lots. Caramel apples . . . two dollars! The woman selling the apples fans herself with her homemade sign. She's got her work cut out for her, selling Halloween treats in April, and being downstream from the Peanut Man doesn't make things easier. Peanuts . . . sunflower seeds . . . one dollar! The ambos circulate like sharks, pausing occasionally in the cool shade of the billboard. I keep naming my price, and they keep taking great personal affront to the suggestion, the mere thought really, of two for $25. The ball game may have begun inside The Big Mortgage, but they've got their pride and their bottom line to look after. Whatta you need, man, the Peanut Man asks finally. I tell him and he seems sympathetic. You're gonna be holding them, he scolds the ambos, they're gonna be cardboard on the wall tonight. But nobody's budging, so the Peanut Man gets down to business (click on picture below to listen).

Thirteen Ks earns Lincecum a seat on the bench to watch his bullpen buddies cough up a run in the ninth. Chalk up an "L" for the Giants. Grumbling about Sabean and Renteria on the way out. A guy in a bar afterwards, wishing on a star for Barry's iminent return. Sometime later, I happen to glance at my ticket stub: it says $10. The old 3rd Street alchemy: spinning $25 out of $20 worth of cardboard. But in the afterglow of a season-opening five-bagger, it feels like money well spent.

money paid to Giants (estimated loss to organization):

:( Parking: $0
:( Tickets: $0 ($10)
:( Food: $0 ($14)
:( Drink $0 ($26.25)
:( Authorized MLB Merch $0
-----------
Total: $0 ($50.25)

Local Businesses Supported:

:) $6 for chicken burrito to Castillito Taqueria, Church nr. Duboce

:) $3.50 for beer at a local market

:) $25 to ambulatory ticket brokers for tickets