Good Moleman. A poem, by Hans Moleman. I think that I shall never see, my cataracts are blinding me. It’s Friday, November 23, Two Thousand and Eighteen. The weather in Chappaqua is 23°… Continue reading
Good Moleman. Combed, biscuits, chicken, yellow, mailman. You’ve already quoted this one before, Troy. Very good. It’s Friday, November 16, Two Thousand and Eighteen. The weather in Brooklyn is 42° & Pantone PMS… Continue reading
Good Moleman. Give it a try, it’s like kissing a peanut! It’s Friday, November 9th, Two Thousand and Eighteen. The weather in Brooklyn is 50˚ & pantone 406C and somewhere, somebody is watching… Continue reading
When I first saw Bull Durham, it was on a moldy couch and my room mate was probably smoking tobacco out of a bong, because college. I was not at all a baseball… Continue reading
I usually go on vacation during the All Star Break. This isn’t because of the stoppage of baseball, it’s just the week I generally pick to leave the city. It’s a good mid-way… Continue reading
Zook and I used to have a game. Actually, calling it a game would be an exaggeration. It was more of a challenge, something to exercise our dumb wit and keen eye for… Continue reading
I’ve spent a good portion of my life trying to sell things that people don’t want. Remember Chia Pods? Oatgurt? Sparkling Coconut Water? The California Angels of Los Anaheim? Probably not, because I… Continue reading
Even though dozens would argue that they aren’t fixed, there’s certain consistencies in sports that we can count on. We know that every year, the Patriots will be a contender. We also know… Continue reading
I’ve been told that the sane and healthy fan doesn’t really pay attention to April baseball. The weather is cold, the players are rusty and in a season that lasts so long, not… Continue reading
This. This picture right here. Take a good look at it. Notice the subtle blurriness, the hopeless gaze in his eyes. The jaw hung agape, as if one found out that they were… Continue reading
