We Amish do everything half again as hard as you do.

We Amish do everything half again as hard as you do.

Grover Cleveland: a sesquisexual.

Sesqui is a way underused prefix. One and a half, 3/2, one point five to one, they all suck compared to their great grandaddy sesqui. If sesqui wasn't in a goddamn wheel chair, he'd round up all of the crappy wordy expressions that cocksuckers the world over have found easier to pull out in place of him, bend them over a one room schoolhouse desk, and spank them with a ruler. And you know what? Unless your name starts with 'battle' and ends with 'hip', I'm at least sesquintoxicated as you. What are the odds that the Tigers win the American League? I'd take them at sesqui.

Whoa, hold on, something important seems to be happening:
"That one is waaay outa here. Back back back, gone!"

Golly!

Ooh, another intriguing solo act of athletic greatness just transpired.
"Waaay back, and Matt put that one on a holiday!"

Mais oui, Madamoiseur Berman. Nous sommes sesqiuerect, maintenant, apres le baseball a ete frappe!

Mi Jesus! And I thought there was nothing on tonight. I better stop refreshing the casual encounters page and lock in on this important event. Damn, that didn't look much like a pimple below that player's mouth. Please, stop kissing your child! You're going to pass on the fruit of your casual encounter to him!

"He needs to get on a little bit of a role."

Hey, did you catch the Pepsi 400 this past Saturday? Wow, Erin Andrews is fucking hot. God, it would be awesome to be locked into an LTL with her. "For the last fucking time, take out the damn garbage, you lazy asshole!" "Just a minute Erin sweetheart! You look very nice today!"

"Look at this one, this one is solid gold. To the deepest part of the park and, GONE!"

Seriously, the Pepsi 400 was awesome. Kyle Busch lost to Jamie McMurray by a sesquinch, but the excitement went far beyond the finish. The hot weather in Daytona made for terrible traction, so the cars were sliding all over the place, and because of the restrictor plates, all of the slippidy-slidey cars were running together like a swarm of drunken bees. Drunken bees flying around at 180 mph. With bright, shiny paint jobs with numbers and advertisements. Plus, it takes place on a Saturday night, so if you're able to stand up for yourself, you can watch it with your boys or by yourself, drinking can after can of light American beer while doing so. For these reasons and for the fact that I went to it last year, the Pepsi 400, formerly known as the Firecracker 400, is the most fun race for me to watch.

"That's what you call a real man right there. This is a man."

Vladamir Guerrero, to be honest, is a badass. Jose Reyes, on the other hand, while a great young player, is wearing his hat like a complete tool and needs his neck fastened tightly to a turned-on paint mixer.

I returned to the only state I've ever lived last week to hang with friends and family. I stayed in Ann Arbor a short walk from Michigan Stadium at the home of Arnie 'the beekeeper' Solomon. A lot of unbelievable things transpired, not the least of which was Arnie striking up conversations with real live girls at more than one bar,

"Hey Kenny, is that a Flak jacket you have on, because those balls will scorch over that fence."

but the most unbelievable thing for me, a Washingtonian now for three years, was to

"Ohhhhh, and Albert 'Winnie the' Puhols takes it waaaaay back, and, GONE!"

see that there was a bar in Ann Arbor that served Pabst Blue Ribbon (PBR) for $0.50, fifty cents, or sesqi dollars sans one, Sunday through Thursday, and not just during happy hour. It's nice being able to get to and from work without a car, but that is some quality of life. Also, free popcorn and free pool.

On Friday night I watched the Tigers crush the Red Sox at Comerica Park, a game featuring two memorable plays:
1) Tigers center fielder Curtis Granderson throwing out a Red Sox guy with an absolute frozen rope of Rexjelly.
2) Marcus Thames, after the Red Sox intentionally walked Sean Casey, of all players to get to him, hit a grand slam. Now, that's indaface!

Since it has been three years, I emailed my ex-girlfriend that dumped me when I was too broke to move out of her house when I was in Ann Arbor too. It went something like this:
"Hey, is that Sage Francis/Buddy Wakefield show on Friday that you were going to? If it is, I'd kind of like to go to that. I'm in town for the next few days staying with [Arnie]. Feel like hanging out?."

return email:
"I'm pretty sure that show is on the 10th."

That's the kind warm affection I remember!

There you go, my sesquicentennial post on this site. Some fun I've had.

"Ohhhhh! That's enough! So we're tiiied!"
"One more, guys!"
"You don't talk about a no-hitter in the ninth."