My friends, it cannot be denied: victory is, at long last, mine.
What tremendous changes a year and a half can bring! The glorious undertaking known as Inta Rightfield was begun as a way to protest the wretched writing, lazy journalism, slipshod editing and overall pomposity of one Michael Morsch. His output, both in print and on his Outta Leftfield weblog, was once prodigious, a tide of dreck that I battled with every ounce of my satiric strength.
As time went by, I received reports that Morsch himself (or Borsch, as I fondly called him) had chanced upon this blog and suspected that one of his disrespectful underlings was behind it. I heard from his former employees and co-workers, who uniformly verified the fact that he was - and is - a blundering, obnoxious clod. In a desperate attempt to prevent my routine ribbings, he even made his Twitter account private. Enthusiastic readers continued to tip me off about his work.
By 2012, however, it seemed as though ol' Mike had run out of steam. His weblog was virtually abandoned, and his print columns had degenerated into stale old re-hashes of his past glories. It was around the time that he self-published a book (it can now be purchased for $0.59, used, on Amazon) that I decided my work was most likely done, and turned my attention to other pursuits.
Then came the news in 2013: Montgomery Media executive editor to become Montgomery County director of voter services. Our boy had somehow wormed his way into a plush $75K political hack position. His qualifications? Meh! Who needs 'em? But it was true - my old foe was finally abandoning the profession of which he had made a mockery for so long. I'm not one to gloat, though. The knowledge that Outta Leftfield was dead was enough for me.
But then a curious thing happened. On a whim, knowing that he had just gone through his first round of real elections, I checked up on Morsch. His Twitter feed is again public, and again filled with inane baseball observations! One recent comment, to a nationally syndicated columnist, states, "The editing on this story is embarrassing." Yep! He's still, to borrow a quote from Dubya, "a Major-League asshole."
I also found a Letter to the Editor in the Ambler Gazette: Former Motgomery Media Executive Editor Michael Morsch will be missed. And at the bottom, nestled there like shining packages on Christmas morning, were two comments:
Steve - Yeah, I'm sure the Stoogeum and John Oates are also upset about him leaving. Who will be there to constantly write about them now?
Tex 2670 - Seriously--how about a little spell check???
These comments, ladies and gentleman, made my day and prompted my final post here. The power of Morsch has been broken (he routinely deleted negative comments like these). What's more, this very day, I learned that he had been dismissed from his cushy political appointment, and that the decision "wasn't his."
Of Michael "Mike" Morsch himself, what else can really be said? He was terrible. At his chosen profession - editor-cum-humor-columnist - he was not just awful, but also blissfully unaware of his own incompetence. He was a cliche, his "humor" and "knowledge" culled from Wikipedia and Animal House. He was also a martinet, using his position of authority to abuse his underlings, steal plush assignments for himself, and silence criticism. He was one of a breed of big, dumb bullies that everyone will meet in their lifetime. But as the comments above (and the recent news of his canning) revealed to me, the word was out on Morsch. Other people were watching, laughing, and shaking their heads.
Perhaps Inta Rightfield did a little good after all.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Thursday, May 17, 2012
He's Written a "Book"...
Alright, apparently I have a little catching up to do here. Borsch has been on a roll, and there's one particular topic I want to address in detail. Let's do it!
On May 10, Borsch published a "column" entitled OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Get a whiff of this incredibly stupid idea, which of course is hilarious because the subject matter has to do with a smell! Get it? Quite frankly, though, I didn't feel like torturing either myself or you with another "according to a wire service story" post (aren't they all like that these days?). So I'll give you the highlights:
He says that the idea for an intoxicating spray is from the "Department of There Seems to be No End to Stupid Ideas That Aren’t Mine," which is a title so elaborate that it HAS to be funny. The spray was invented by researchers in France, which of course results in references to: croissants, Maurice Chevalier, and Pepe Le Pew. All on the first page. Such creativity! He wraps things up by saying that there is "a lot of stupidity in this country [America]." He's living proof.
There was also a May 16 column entitled OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Gobs of talented students invade 'The Blob's' bailiwick. He leads things off with this gem: Finally, I now have a connection to “The Blob.” Other than his physical girth? I'm surprised he passed up an opportunity for such self-deprecation. This was a terrible one. Basically, he's squeezing a column out of attending his own daughter's student film festival. He raves about how great she is, and that's about it.
Now here's a bit of news that just about everyone will love: on his twitter, Borsch posted the following on May 13:
Mike Morsch @mmorsch35 @welkappeal @RyanHafey My book, "Dancing in My Underwear: The Soundrack of My Life" comes out in June. It has a chapter on the Welk show.
My first thought was one of absolute heart-stopping mind-bending horror: "He found someone willing to publish the crap he writes OTHER than his own newspaper??? The way he phrased it, with the "comes out," sounds like his book was reciving some kind of official release. In a very Borschian move, I immediately went to Google. The top two (and only) results matching the search were by an online company called EduPublisher. Yes, it's true - for just $17.95 (!!!), YOU can be the proud owner of Borsch's book.
Everyone has a soundtrack to their life. But how many people get to talk to the artists who make up their soundtrack? “Dancing in My Underwear: The Soundtrack of My Life” is just such a story. Mike Morsch grew up in the rural Midwest,
Great God in Heaven - he's just recycling the suicide-inducing stories in his columns!
where his parents introduced him to the music of the 1960s and 70s, including such bands as the Beach Boys, The Association, America, Three Dog Night, The Doobie Brothers as well as iconic singers Elton John, Barry Manilow and Olivia Newton-John.
In other words, he had the most generic musical taste possible. "Wow, you listened to Elton John and Barry Maniolow in the 1970s? SO DID I!!!"
Then the career newspaperman moved to the East Coast at midlife and some 30 to 40 years later, had the opportunity to interview the artists that he had listened to as a young child up through his teenage years. The result is a joyous, reflective and sometimes flat-out funny memoir by this longtime journalist. At the heart of it all, Mike shares some of the insights he’s gleaned from interviews with these paragons of modern music. And you’ll hear it in their own voices.
"Joyous"? "Flat-out funny"? Either the person writing this has never read a word Borsch has written... or, more likely, Borsch is writing this about himself.
So sit back, fire up the turntable or click on your iPod and let Mike take you on an unforgettable journey through the soundtrack of his life.
Yep, he's writing this himself. By this point, I'm feeling a whole lot better, because Borsch obviously has not "sold" this piece of garbage to anyone. This is an online self-publishing company (as evidenced by the extremely generic cilp-art cover design). Reading the company's website, they'll "publish" anything, and will actually sell the book if anyone orders it (you have to pay for your own copy). If you really want to go all-out, as Borsch has done, and get your very own book website, they'll do that... for $295 dollars. Hey, Borsch - good luck getting a return on that investment!
I poked around on the book website just to revel in how hard he's trying. The Blonde Accountant's real name is apparently "Judy." Here's a classic:
Meanwhile, you'll come to know a most engaging character in his own right — a man who grows before your eyes from a certified member of "The Eighth-Grade Stupid Shit Hall of Fame" to a loving father and a highly respected member of his profession.
DEFINITELY writing this himself. "Highly respected"? Not according to those I've heard from as a result of this blog. Folks, this is amazing. My question is: do I really want to desecrate the memory of Andrew Jackson and waste almost $20 on this book, just to enjoy how wretched it is?
On May 10, Borsch published a "column" entitled OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Get a whiff of this incredibly stupid idea, which of course is hilarious because the subject matter has to do with a smell! Get it? Quite frankly, though, I didn't feel like torturing either myself or you with another "according to a wire service story" post (aren't they all like that these days?). So I'll give you the highlights:
He says that the idea for an intoxicating spray is from the "Department of There Seems to be No End to Stupid Ideas That Aren’t Mine," which is a title so elaborate that it HAS to be funny. The spray was invented by researchers in France, which of course results in references to: croissants, Maurice Chevalier, and Pepe Le Pew. All on the first page. Such creativity! He wraps things up by saying that there is "a lot of stupidity in this country [America]." He's living proof.
There was also a May 16 column entitled OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Gobs of talented students invade 'The Blob's' bailiwick. He leads things off with this gem: Finally, I now have a connection to “The Blob.” Other than his physical girth? I'm surprised he passed up an opportunity for such self-deprecation. This was a terrible one. Basically, he's squeezing a column out of attending his own daughter's student film festival. He raves about how great she is, and that's about it.
Now here's a bit of news that just about everyone will love: on his twitter, Borsch posted the following on May 13:
Mike Morsch @mmorsch35 @welkappeal @RyanHafey My book, "Dancing in My Underwear: The Soundrack of My Life" comes out in June. It has a chapter on the Welk show.
My first thought was one of absolute heart-stopping mind-bending horror: "He found someone willing to publish the crap he writes OTHER than his own newspaper??? The way he phrased it, with the "comes out," sounds like his book was reciving some kind of official release. In a very Borschian move, I immediately went to Google. The top two (and only) results matching the search were by an online company called EduPublisher. Yes, it's true - for just $17.95 (!!!), YOU can be the proud owner of Borsch's book.
Everyone has a soundtrack to their life. But how many people get to talk to the artists who make up their soundtrack? “Dancing in My Underwear: The Soundtrack of My Life” is just such a story. Mike Morsch grew up in the rural Midwest,
Great God in Heaven - he's just recycling the suicide-inducing stories in his columns!
where his parents introduced him to the music of the 1960s and 70s, including such bands as the Beach Boys, The Association, America, Three Dog Night, The Doobie Brothers as well as iconic singers Elton John, Barry Manilow and Olivia Newton-John.
In other words, he had the most generic musical taste possible. "Wow, you listened to Elton John and Barry Maniolow in the 1970s? SO DID I!!!"
Then the career newspaperman moved to the East Coast at midlife and some 30 to 40 years later, had the opportunity to interview the artists that he had listened to as a young child up through his teenage years. The result is a joyous, reflective and sometimes flat-out funny memoir by this longtime journalist. At the heart of it all, Mike shares some of the insights he’s gleaned from interviews with these paragons of modern music. And you’ll hear it in their own voices.
"Joyous"? "Flat-out funny"? Either the person writing this has never read a word Borsch has written... or, more likely, Borsch is writing this about himself.
So sit back, fire up the turntable or click on your iPod and let Mike take you on an unforgettable journey through the soundtrack of his life.
Yep, he's writing this himself. By this point, I'm feeling a whole lot better, because Borsch obviously has not "sold" this piece of garbage to anyone. This is an online self-publishing company (as evidenced by the extremely generic cilp-art cover design). Reading the company's website, they'll "publish" anything, and will actually sell the book if anyone orders it (you have to pay for your own copy). If you really want to go all-out, as Borsch has done, and get your very own book website, they'll do that... for $295 dollars. Hey, Borsch - good luck getting a return on that investment!
I poked around on the book website just to revel in how hard he's trying. The Blonde Accountant's real name is apparently "Judy." Here's a classic:
Meanwhile, you'll come to know a most engaging character in his own right — a man who grows before your eyes from a certified member of "The Eighth-Grade Stupid Shit Hall of Fame" to a loving father and a highly respected member of his profession.
DEFINITELY writing this himself. "Highly respected"? Not according to those I've heard from as a result of this blog. Folks, this is amazing. My question is: do I really want to desecrate the memory of Andrew Jackson and waste almost $20 on this book, just to enjoy how wretched it is?
He Drinks Beer and Eats (and is Dumb)
OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Testing the 'men who drink beer are smarter' theory
Published: Thursday, May 03, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Gee, how many "manly" references are we going to get THIS time?
I read recently that researchers at the University of Illinois in Chicago have found that men who have had a couple of beers actually become smarter.
When we delve into the actual "results" of this "study," I think we'll find that this doesn't accurately reflect their findings.
Despite the fact that virtually every woman on the planet would likely disagree with this finding,
Duuuuh, women smart! Men dumb! Funny.
I am originally from Illinois,
NO WAY. Get outta town! He's from Illinois? I'm dumbfounded by this new data.
and I trust any and all research that has been conducted by the institutions of higher learning in my home state when it comes to beer. Institutions of higher learning employ a lot of smart people, and there has always been a lot of beer consumed by college students, so it makes sense that college researchers would study this topic.
Will we get to hear how drunk he was in college, how poor his grades were, his idea for new types of togas, etc? Please say yes!
And despite the fact that I have scores of examples within my own personal history to suggest otherwise,
Thank you, Lord.
I decided to personally test the University of Illinois/Chicago’s theory that beer-drinking men are smarter. Recently, Lee’s Hoagie House in Horsham — right across from the Willow Grove Naval Air Base at 870 Easton Road — was offering the first of three Friday nights of free beer-tasting. (The other two have also been held, but I was unable to make those.)
Which venue screams "class" more: Lee's Hoagie House or Slack's Hoagie Shack? Discuss. I like how he feels the need to specify which beer night he attended, and also to let us know that the other two already happened (because otherwise his legions of readers would be flooding to the Horsham Lee's location, I guess).
The operative words here are “free” and “beer.” The fact that I took advantage of such an opportunity suggests that I am already smart.
Unfortunately, those who read your column would suggest you are anything but.
Still, I wanted to test the theory further. To be fair, the folks at the University of Illinois/Chicago — I’ve actually been there a few times but I was unable to locate the correct building in which to fill out an application to participate in any beer studies — have qualified the research.
Qualities of a Smart Person: (1) Obtains free beer. (2) Cannot find buildings.
Scientists devised a bar game in which 40 men were given three words and asked to find a fourth word that fits the pattern. As an example, the wire service story revealed that the 40 men would be given the words “blue,” “cottage” and “Swiss” and the corresponding fourth word might be something like “cheese.” Never let it be said that cheesy bar games can’t be utilized for legitimate scientific research.
Question: does he - CAN he - really think the "cheesy" pun is amusing? It's not even funny in a groan-inducing "really bad pun" way. It's just lazy and predictable.
Half of the participants in the focus group were given two pints of beer, the other half were given squadoosh, nada, zip, zilcho. Hey, if I’m those guys and I’m asked to participate in a scientific study that includes beer, I’d like to be in the focus group that actually gets the beer.
That's it - I'm going to count the number of times the word "beer" appears in this post. I'm guessing he's hit 15 thus far, minimum. [Editor's Note: It was only 11.]
The end result was that the beer drinkers solved 40 percent more of the problems than those who weren’t allowed in the elbow-bending party. Also, the guzzlers finished their problems in 12 seconds, while the nondrinkers took 15.5 second to solve the problems.
This is hardly scientific.
Since I live quite a ways from Chicago now, Lee’s Hoagie House offered me and others the opportunity to conduct our scientific research locally. Jon Waxman owns the Horsham Lee’s — as well as others in Abington and Blue Bell. He recently installed a big old freezer in the Horsham location — a great advantage to keeping the beer cold — which in my opinion is critical to any scientific research on the beverage.
At this point I believe most of the audience understands that the "joke" of this column is that, under the pretense of science, you just want to drink beer. How much longer must it be dragged out?
I don’t know if Jon is a beer drinker or not because my research only included drinking his beer, not asking any other questions. But if the big freezer and the beer-tasting events are an indication of Jon’s level of smartness, then he’s popped a top or two in his life.
Qualities of a Smart Person: (3) Owns a freezer.
For this research, I joined my pal and fellow columnist Ted Taylor, aka “The Glenside Kid,” and his wife, Cindy, along with a few other locals. The Blonde Accountant joined us, too, because it’s a well-established fact that she and only she is the final judge on my level of smartness under any circumstance, scientific or otherwise.
Ha... ha... ha. She is smart, you are dumb. Formula for comedy = complete.
And besides, I am smart enough to know that if I am drinking, then she is driving. Ted and I sampled, oh I don’t know, maybe 100 little cups of beer. (Actually, it was probably closer to four little cups that amounted to about half a bottle of beer because Ted and I aren’t as young as we used to be.)
Huh? This is like my 5-year-old nephew's attempt at an off-the-cuff joke: "I drank 100 BEERS! I'm kidding, it was just four."
The test results yielded the following results: (1) The beer was cold = Jon is smart; (2) Ted and I drank the beer and then ordered hoagies = Jon is smart; (3) The event featured giveaways, like free Phillies tickets = Jon is smart (although the Phillies have spent the early part of this season trying to prove otherwise);
Alright, I think I get the "joke" here - everything means that Jon is smart. Three examples is enough.
(4) I bought more beer to go with my sandwich = Jon is smart; (5) The University of Illinois/Chicago folks did it all wrong, they should have included hoagies in the research = Jon is smart.
This is almost a textbook example of "running an already-unfunny joke into the ground." Seriously, FIVE repetitions of the same stupid thing?
I believe I am smarter as well. For example, if I was given two pints of brewski and three words like “free,” “cold” and “beer,” I believe I could easily come with a corresponding fourth word. And that, of course, would be “Lee’s.”
No "Blatant Promotion Alert" here? The whole column was a thinly-disguised advertisement for Jon and his restaurant. Pathetic. By the way, by my count, he used the word "beer" 22 times in this column.
Published: Thursday, May 03, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Gee, how many "manly" references are we going to get THIS time?
I read recently that researchers at the University of Illinois in Chicago have found that men who have had a couple of beers actually become smarter.
When we delve into the actual "results" of this "study," I think we'll find that this doesn't accurately reflect their findings.
Despite the fact that virtually every woman on the planet would likely disagree with this finding,
Duuuuh, women smart! Men dumb! Funny.
I am originally from Illinois,
NO WAY. Get outta town! He's from Illinois? I'm dumbfounded by this new data.
and I trust any and all research that has been conducted by the institutions of higher learning in my home state when it comes to beer. Institutions of higher learning employ a lot of smart people, and there has always been a lot of beer consumed by college students, so it makes sense that college researchers would study this topic.
Will we get to hear how drunk he was in college, how poor his grades were, his idea for new types of togas, etc? Please say yes!
And despite the fact that I have scores of examples within my own personal history to suggest otherwise,
Thank you, Lord.
I decided to personally test the University of Illinois/Chicago’s theory that beer-drinking men are smarter. Recently, Lee’s Hoagie House in Horsham — right across from the Willow Grove Naval Air Base at 870 Easton Road — was offering the first of three Friday nights of free beer-tasting. (The other two have also been held, but I was unable to make those.)
Which venue screams "class" more: Lee's Hoagie House or Slack's Hoagie Shack? Discuss. I like how he feels the need to specify which beer night he attended, and also to let us know that the other two already happened (because otherwise his legions of readers would be flooding to the Horsham Lee's location, I guess).
The operative words here are “free” and “beer.” The fact that I took advantage of such an opportunity suggests that I am already smart.
Unfortunately, those who read your column would suggest you are anything but.
Still, I wanted to test the theory further. To be fair, the folks at the University of Illinois/Chicago — I’ve actually been there a few times but I was unable to locate the correct building in which to fill out an application to participate in any beer studies — have qualified the research.
Qualities of a Smart Person: (1) Obtains free beer. (2) Cannot find buildings.
Scientists devised a bar game in which 40 men were given three words and asked to find a fourth word that fits the pattern. As an example, the wire service story revealed that the 40 men would be given the words “blue,” “cottage” and “Swiss” and the corresponding fourth word might be something like “cheese.” Never let it be said that cheesy bar games can’t be utilized for legitimate scientific research.
Question: does he - CAN he - really think the "cheesy" pun is amusing? It's not even funny in a groan-inducing "really bad pun" way. It's just lazy and predictable.
Half of the participants in the focus group were given two pints of beer, the other half were given squadoosh, nada, zip, zilcho. Hey, if I’m those guys and I’m asked to participate in a scientific study that includes beer, I’d like to be in the focus group that actually gets the beer.
That's it - I'm going to count the number of times the word "beer" appears in this post. I'm guessing he's hit 15 thus far, minimum. [Editor's Note: It was only 11.]
The end result was that the beer drinkers solved 40 percent more of the problems than those who weren’t allowed in the elbow-bending party. Also, the guzzlers finished their problems in 12 seconds, while the nondrinkers took 15.5 second to solve the problems.
This is hardly scientific.
Since I live quite a ways from Chicago now, Lee’s Hoagie House offered me and others the opportunity to conduct our scientific research locally. Jon Waxman owns the Horsham Lee’s — as well as others in Abington and Blue Bell. He recently installed a big old freezer in the Horsham location — a great advantage to keeping the beer cold — which in my opinion is critical to any scientific research on the beverage.
At this point I believe most of the audience understands that the "joke" of this column is that, under the pretense of science, you just want to drink beer. How much longer must it be dragged out?
I don’t know if Jon is a beer drinker or not because my research only included drinking his beer, not asking any other questions. But if the big freezer and the beer-tasting events are an indication of Jon’s level of smartness, then he’s popped a top or two in his life.
Qualities of a Smart Person: (3) Owns a freezer.
For this research, I joined my pal and fellow columnist Ted Taylor, aka “The Glenside Kid,” and his wife, Cindy, along with a few other locals. The Blonde Accountant joined us, too, because it’s a well-established fact that she and only she is the final judge on my level of smartness under any circumstance, scientific or otherwise.
Ha... ha... ha. She is smart, you are dumb. Formula for comedy = complete.
And besides, I am smart enough to know that if I am drinking, then she is driving. Ted and I sampled, oh I don’t know, maybe 100 little cups of beer. (Actually, it was probably closer to four little cups that amounted to about half a bottle of beer because Ted and I aren’t as young as we used to be.)
Huh? This is like my 5-year-old nephew's attempt at an off-the-cuff joke: "I drank 100 BEERS! I'm kidding, it was just four."
The test results yielded the following results: (1) The beer was cold = Jon is smart; (2) Ted and I drank the beer and then ordered hoagies = Jon is smart; (3) The event featured giveaways, like free Phillies tickets = Jon is smart (although the Phillies have spent the early part of this season trying to prove otherwise);
Alright, I think I get the "joke" here - everything means that Jon is smart. Three examples is enough.
(4) I bought more beer to go with my sandwich = Jon is smart; (5) The University of Illinois/Chicago folks did it all wrong, they should have included hoagies in the research = Jon is smart.
This is almost a textbook example of "running an already-unfunny joke into the ground." Seriously, FIVE repetitions of the same stupid thing?
I believe I am smarter as well. For example, if I was given two pints of brewski and three words like “free,” “cold” and “beer,” I believe I could easily come with a corresponding fourth word. And that, of course, would be “Lee’s.”
No "Blatant Promotion Alert" here? The whole column was a thinly-disguised advertisement for Jon and his restaurant. Pathetic. By the way, by my count, he used the word "beer" 22 times in this column.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Shockingly Watching Baseball
Tuesday, May 1, 2012 A manly man bus trip
Borsch has stopped sharing his increasingly infrequent blog posts via his Twitter. I won't take credit for this trend, but... Actually no. I WILL take credit.
I have to hand it the Men of La Salle, the dads’ group at La Salle High School: Those guys certainly know how to organize a manly man bus trip.
Always breaking fresh ground, it appears as though Borsch is going to fill this post with references to beer, farts and meat - all the "man" staples.
Dave Lagner, the chief cook, bottle washer and grand poohbah,
How does he come UP with this stuff??? He's a comic genuis!
put together a great trip to Camden Yards in Baltimore on Sunday.
...because we can't post about anything that's not baseball, I guess.
The excursion included all the things needed for a manly man father-and-son day: luxury buses complete with DVD players and bathrooms (an important aspect for guys); great seats, 12 rows from the field down the third-base line, to watch the visiting Oakland A’s take on the Baltimore Orioles; 72 degrees, blue skies and a slight breeze (not sure who Dave knows to get that pulled off but I suspect he may have dated Mother Nature in his younger days); and a post-game excursion to a manly man joint in the Inner Harbor called “Dick’s Last Resort,” a place that can only be described as “highly entertaining for cavemen,” where the fathers and sons consumed massive quantities of nachos, hot wings and ribs while being mercilessly insulted by the waiters.
Now take a deep, deeeeeeeep breath... and realize that was ALL ONE SENTENCE. In that one sentence, we had two uses of both "manly man" and "father(s) and son(s)." Should I ask why they were "mercilessly insulted by the waiters"? I don't really understand that part.
As a bonus, Game 1 of the second round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs was on the big screen during the chow down, and the Philadelphia Flyers scored in overtime to take a 4-3 win over the New Jersey Devils sending the LaSalle contingent into a frenzy of high-fives and flying spittle, otherwise known as more manly man stuff.
Things We Know Guys Do (so far): Watch baseball. Go to the bathroom. Eat a lot. Spit. This is, obviously, extremely hilarious.
By the way, that’s a picture of me with Dick — taken by my cohort for the day, Son of Blonde Accountant — outside the establishment after the meal. It appears by the looks on our faces that we both had loaded up on too many nachos.
First of all, that's not even a passable impersonation of the statue. Second... damn. He looks bad. Like, real bad. Like "he's been in the sun too long and is melting" bad.
I’ve always enjoyed Camden Yards. It’s a beautiful ballpark and it features “Boog’s BBQ” out on the right field concourse in front of the distinctive warehouse.
ATTENTION READERS: Stop here if you are not sure whether you can handle the excitement of hearing all about Boog Powell, former baseball player! You've been warned.
This is, of course, Boog Powell’s place — a former Orioles first baseman in the 1960s and 1970s who played on some pretty good Orioles teams — and as usual, Boog was perched on a stool near the barbecue pit greeting fans and signing autographs. I’ve seen Boog several times over the years, and there have been times when I thought, “Hey Boog, mix in a salad.” Boog has always been a large fellow, and in past years, it looked like he was eating more of the barbecue beef than he was selling. But this year, Boog has slimmed down considerably and he looks great. And he’s always friendly and accommodating to the fans.
Wow, what a gracious celeb! Friendly to fans, who would have thought?
I had the “Big Boog Beef” sandwich, which is double the meat and indigestion. I was so full that three guys had to carry me from the right field concourse to my seat on the other side of the stadium near third base. The Phillies should offer that amenity to the overeaters in their stadium.
So after the enormous meal described in painful, run-on-sentence detail above, he ate more???
Although many in our group were Phillies fans, most were root, root, rooting for the home team, and the Orioles delivered a walk-off win in the bottom of the ninth by scoring five runs, three of which came on a game-ending home run. It was my first Men of LaSalle father-son bus trip and Son of Blonde Accountant and I enjoyed it quite a bit.
Wow, "quite a bit." High praise indeed.
I can’t wait for next year’s trip and another day of manly man activities.
Me neither, sir. Me neither.
Borsch has stopped sharing his increasingly infrequent blog posts via his Twitter. I won't take credit for this trend, but... Actually no. I WILL take credit.
I have to hand it the Men of La Salle, the dads’ group at La Salle High School: Those guys certainly know how to organize a manly man bus trip.
Always breaking fresh ground, it appears as though Borsch is going to fill this post with references to beer, farts and meat - all the "man" staples.
Dave Lagner, the chief cook, bottle washer and grand poohbah,
How does he come UP with this stuff??? He's a comic genuis!
put together a great trip to Camden Yards in Baltimore on Sunday.
...because we can't post about anything that's not baseball, I guess.
The excursion included all the things needed for a manly man father-and-son day: luxury buses complete with DVD players and bathrooms (an important aspect for guys); great seats, 12 rows from the field down the third-base line, to watch the visiting Oakland A’s take on the Baltimore Orioles; 72 degrees, blue skies and a slight breeze (not sure who Dave knows to get that pulled off but I suspect he may have dated Mother Nature in his younger days); and a post-game excursion to a manly man joint in the Inner Harbor called “Dick’s Last Resort,” a place that can only be described as “highly entertaining for cavemen,” where the fathers and sons consumed massive quantities of nachos, hot wings and ribs while being mercilessly insulted by the waiters.
Now take a deep, deeeeeeeep breath... and realize that was ALL ONE SENTENCE. In that one sentence, we had two uses of both "manly man" and "father(s) and son(s)." Should I ask why they were "mercilessly insulted by the waiters"? I don't really understand that part.
As a bonus, Game 1 of the second round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs was on the big screen during the chow down, and the Philadelphia Flyers scored in overtime to take a 4-3 win over the New Jersey Devils sending the LaSalle contingent into a frenzy of high-fives and flying spittle, otherwise known as more manly man stuff.
Things We Know Guys Do (so far): Watch baseball. Go to the bathroom. Eat a lot. Spit. This is, obviously, extremely hilarious.
By the way, that’s a picture of me with Dick — taken by my cohort for the day, Son of Blonde Accountant — outside the establishment after the meal. It appears by the looks on our faces that we both had loaded up on too many nachos.
First of all, that's not even a passable impersonation of the statue. Second... damn. He looks bad. Like, real bad. Like "he's been in the sun too long and is melting" bad.
I’ve always enjoyed Camden Yards. It’s a beautiful ballpark and it features “Boog’s BBQ” out on the right field concourse in front of the distinctive warehouse.
ATTENTION READERS: Stop here if you are not sure whether you can handle the excitement of hearing all about Boog Powell, former baseball player! You've been warned.
This is, of course, Boog Powell’s place — a former Orioles first baseman in the 1960s and 1970s who played on some pretty good Orioles teams — and as usual, Boog was perched on a stool near the barbecue pit greeting fans and signing autographs. I’ve seen Boog several times over the years, and there have been times when I thought, “Hey Boog, mix in a salad.” Boog has always been a large fellow, and in past years, it looked like he was eating more of the barbecue beef than he was selling. But this year, Boog has slimmed down considerably and he looks great. And he’s always friendly and accommodating to the fans.
Wow, what a gracious celeb! Friendly to fans, who would have thought?
I had the “Big Boog Beef” sandwich, which is double the meat and indigestion. I was so full that three guys had to carry me from the right field concourse to my seat on the other side of the stadium near third base. The Phillies should offer that amenity to the overeaters in their stadium.
So after the enormous meal described in painful, run-on-sentence detail above, he ate more???
Although many in our group were Phillies fans, most were root, root, rooting for the home team, and the Orioles delivered a walk-off win in the bottom of the ninth by scoring five runs, three of which came on a game-ending home run. It was my first Men of LaSalle father-son bus trip and Son of Blonde Accountant and I enjoyed it quite a bit.
Wow, "quite a bit." High praise indeed.
I can’t wait for next year’s trip and another day of manly man activities.
Me neither, sir. Me neither.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Most Boring Story Ever
OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Recalling the 'Great Teenie Beanies Excursion of 1996'
Published: Wednesday, April 11, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Leave it to the French to be snooty with their fast food.
Good to know that cliched ethnocentrism is NOT a thing of the past.
According to a wire service story, McDonald’s is introducing something called the “McBaguette” in an effort to cater to the French people.
What’s next? Is Mayor McCheese going to be replaced by Mayor Pepe LePew?
At this point I'm absolutely baffled - what other stereotypes about the French can he employ? He's used up "snooty" and "Pepe LePew" in the first few paragraphs! He goes on to cite (surprise!) someone else's news story about Nawfal Trabelsi, a McDonald's VP in France, discussing this new food item.
...But Nawfal Trabelsi is a wonderfully cool name because it has both lilt and panache.
Does it? Does it really? Somebody must have gotten a "Word of the Day" calendar.
Which brings me to McDonald’s. My experience has been that once I reached a certain age, I just quit going to McDonald’s. It’s not that I don’t like the food. I believe the place is still in business today because I ate enough cheeseburgers for three decades to keep its stock price inflated to ridiculously profitable margins.
Didn't he also claim responsibility for eating 1/3 of all the Oreos sold over the past half century? This "I'm fat and therefore eat a lot" routine is an endless mine of comedic gold!
These days, I watch what I eat a little more closely...
Please reference the billion articles he has written about hot dogs, Oreos, etc in order to determine the veracity of this statement.
But McDonld’s — the American version and not the French version — has provided me with the defining moment of one of my more memorable road trips.
That's right - everything we've been through so far has been a mere prelude. I'm frightened.
Back in the mid-1990s, my baseball running buddy in Springfield, Ill., was Chris Dettro, a reporter at the newspaper where we both worked. We shared a love of baseball, given to us by our fathers, that at the time, our wives did not share.
He and his baseball running buddy shared a love of baseball? Interesting twist. The commas in the second sentence are terrible mis-placed.
They thought we were knuckleheads, a fact with which we did not entirely disagree.
Chris and I were heavily into baseball collectibles and autographs as well, so we would occasionally travel to baseball card shows and autograph signings. One such road trip took all the way from Illinois all the way to Hofstra University in Hempstead, N.Y., on Long Island.
That's right - it appears as though this story, just like his two previous stories, is going to be about baseball. What an empty, empty life he leads. Really, after saying "baseball collectibles," is the "baseball" before "card shows and autograph signings" necessary?
So we drove all the way to Long Island, secured the signatures of our boyhood heroes, and headed back to Illinois. Our first stop was at a McDonald’s somewhere in New York.
Believe it or not, I'm cutting out some stuff here. Thus far, the "comedy" of this column has been limited to French jokes and fat jokes.
It just so happened that this was right in the middle of the Beanie Babies stuffed animal craze. At the time, something called “Teenie Beanies” — a smaller version of the Beanie Babies — were being manufactured for a promotion, to be placed in McDonald’s Happy Meals.
If you thought that paragraph was bland and uninteresting, just look at this:
There were 10 Teenie Beanies in the 1996-97 series, including Patti the Platypus; Pinky the Flamingo; Chops the Lamb; Chocolate the Moose (my favorite just because of the creative naming); Goldie the Goldfish; Speedy the Turtle; Seamore the Seal; Snort the Bull; Quacks the Duck; and Lizz the Lizard.
Lists are HILARIOUS! Is "Chocolate the Moose" any more creative than "Chops the Lamb"?
Since we both had young daughters — and there wasn’t really anything at a baseball card show that would interest them — we decided to grab a Happy Meal and get the Teenie Beanies for our girls. I had to buy two since I have two daughters; Chris only had to buy one.
Apparently the number of daughters they each had is vital information. Believe it or not, THIS - not baseball, not cheeseburgers, not the French - is finally the actual topic of this column.
What we didn’t know at the time was how crazy people were going over these things. There were reports, which we didn’t find out until later, that people were actually fighting over them at some McDonald’s locations.
I believe that should be "which we didn't find out ABOUT until later."
Since there were 10 Teenie Beanies characters, we decided to try to collect all 10 before we got back to Illinois. So we started stopping at every McDonald’s we saw along the route home. By the time we hit Pittsburgh, we had added a few hours to our trip, but had secured six of the 10 Teenie Beanies and a bagful of extra cheeseburgers.
I just KNOW that all this boring detail is building up to something gut-busting, and the suspense is killing me!!!
I had taken to storing my Teenie Beanies in one of the empty Happy Meal bags and the extra cheeseburgers I couldn’t eat in another empty Happy Meal bag, both of which I had placed on the floor behind the driver’s seat of the car.
... still killing me!
When it came time to stop driving for the evening somewhere in Ohio, I suggested to Chris that we had put in a lot of effort with both our baseball collectibles and our Teenie Beanies collectibles and that we should take them inside the hotel room with us for safekeeping.
... There's never going to be anything funny, is there?
Chris grabbed a McDonald’s bag and I grabbed the autographed baseball items and we checked into the hotel.
The next morning, it was my turn to drive, so before I got in, I noticed there was still a McDonald’s bag on the floor behind the driver’s seat.
If the story is this boring and unamusing in print, just imagine (if you can) how atrocious it would be in person.
“Chris, did you bring in the Teenie Beanies last night?” I asked.
“Yes, I have them right here,” he said, holding up a McDonald’s Happy Meal bag.
I looked inside the bag in the car and sure enough, there were the Teenie Beanies, where they had sat all night in view of any criminal in search for the highly coveted collectible. But Chris had done a splendid job of making sure the bag full of cheeseburgers was safely secured inside our hotel room.
WAHOOOOOOOOOOO!!! What a delightful twist: they thought they brought something inside, but actually left it in the car. Great payoff!
It turns out that we ended up
Stop right there. This, in a nutshell, is why Borsch is possibly the worst published "writer" I have ever stumbled across. These two phrases - "it turns out" and "we ended up" - mean basically the same thing in this context. He could have used either one of them. Instead, he used both. Because his skill with words is just. That. Wretched.
Continue.
stopping at 36 McDonald’s between Long Island, N.Y., and Springfield, Ill., on “The Great Teenie Beanies Excursion of 1996.” Unfortunately, we secured only eight of the 10 Teenie Beanies for our daughters, missing the first two in the series that had been released, Patti the Platypus and Pinky the Flamingo. But it was a good effort by dads who liked cheeseburgers and were trying to make their kids happy.
Let’s see somebody in France put in that kind of effort with the McBaguette.
See, the problem here is that the two things - the McBaguette and their "memorable" road trip - are completely unrelated. That would be like me saying, "I just dominated at Wii Boxing! Let's see Benedict Arnold do THAT!" The fact that his quest ended in failure is entirely appropriate.
The fact that this is one of his "more memorable road trips" makes me wonder just how dull the other ones were...
Published: Wednesday, April 11, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Leave it to the French to be snooty with their fast food.
Good to know that cliched ethnocentrism is NOT a thing of the past.
According to a wire service story, McDonald’s is introducing something called the “McBaguette” in an effort to cater to the French people.
What’s next? Is Mayor McCheese going to be replaced by Mayor Pepe LePew?
At this point I'm absolutely baffled - what other stereotypes about the French can he employ? He's used up "snooty" and "Pepe LePew" in the first few paragraphs! He goes on to cite (surprise!) someone else's news story about Nawfal Trabelsi, a McDonald's VP in France, discussing this new food item.
...But Nawfal Trabelsi is a wonderfully cool name because it has both lilt and panache.
Does it? Does it really? Somebody must have gotten a "Word of the Day" calendar.
Which brings me to McDonald’s. My experience has been that once I reached a certain age, I just quit going to McDonald’s. It’s not that I don’t like the food. I believe the place is still in business today because I ate enough cheeseburgers for three decades to keep its stock price inflated to ridiculously profitable margins.
Didn't he also claim responsibility for eating 1/3 of all the Oreos sold over the past half century? This "I'm fat and therefore eat a lot" routine is an endless mine of comedic gold!
These days, I watch what I eat a little more closely...
Please reference the billion articles he has written about hot dogs, Oreos, etc in order to determine the veracity of this statement.
But McDonld’s — the American version and not the French version — has provided me with the defining moment of one of my more memorable road trips.
That's right - everything we've been through so far has been a mere prelude. I'm frightened.
Back in the mid-1990s, my baseball running buddy in Springfield, Ill., was Chris Dettro, a reporter at the newspaper where we both worked. We shared a love of baseball, given to us by our fathers, that at the time, our wives did not share.
He and his baseball running buddy shared a love of baseball? Interesting twist. The commas in the second sentence are terrible mis-placed.
They thought we were knuckleheads, a fact with which we did not entirely disagree.
Chris and I were heavily into baseball collectibles and autographs as well, so we would occasionally travel to baseball card shows and autograph signings. One such road trip took all the way from Illinois all the way to Hofstra University in Hempstead, N.Y., on Long Island.
That's right - it appears as though this story, just like his two previous stories, is going to be about baseball. What an empty, empty life he leads. Really, after saying "baseball collectibles," is the "baseball" before "card shows and autograph signings" necessary?
So we drove all the way to Long Island, secured the signatures of our boyhood heroes, and headed back to Illinois. Our first stop was at a McDonald’s somewhere in New York.
Believe it or not, I'm cutting out some stuff here. Thus far, the "comedy" of this column has been limited to French jokes and fat jokes.
It just so happened that this was right in the middle of the Beanie Babies stuffed animal craze. At the time, something called “Teenie Beanies” — a smaller version of the Beanie Babies — were being manufactured for a promotion, to be placed in McDonald’s Happy Meals.
If you thought that paragraph was bland and uninteresting, just look at this:
There were 10 Teenie Beanies in the 1996-97 series, including Patti the Platypus; Pinky the Flamingo; Chops the Lamb; Chocolate the Moose (my favorite just because of the creative naming); Goldie the Goldfish; Speedy the Turtle; Seamore the Seal; Snort the Bull; Quacks the Duck; and Lizz the Lizard.
Lists are HILARIOUS! Is "Chocolate the Moose" any more creative than "Chops the Lamb"?
Since we both had young daughters — and there wasn’t really anything at a baseball card show that would interest them — we decided to grab a Happy Meal and get the Teenie Beanies for our girls. I had to buy two since I have two daughters; Chris only had to buy one.
Apparently the number of daughters they each had is vital information. Believe it or not, THIS - not baseball, not cheeseburgers, not the French - is finally the actual topic of this column.
What we didn’t know at the time was how crazy people were going over these things. There were reports, which we didn’t find out until later, that people were actually fighting over them at some McDonald’s locations.
I believe that should be "which we didn't find out ABOUT until later."
Since there were 10 Teenie Beanies characters, we decided to try to collect all 10 before we got back to Illinois. So we started stopping at every McDonald’s we saw along the route home. By the time we hit Pittsburgh, we had added a few hours to our trip, but had secured six of the 10 Teenie Beanies and a bagful of extra cheeseburgers.
I just KNOW that all this boring detail is building up to something gut-busting, and the suspense is killing me!!!
I had taken to storing my Teenie Beanies in one of the empty Happy Meal bags and the extra cheeseburgers I couldn’t eat in another empty Happy Meal bag, both of which I had placed on the floor behind the driver’s seat of the car.
... still killing me!
When it came time to stop driving for the evening somewhere in Ohio, I suggested to Chris that we had put in a lot of effort with both our baseball collectibles and our Teenie Beanies collectibles and that we should take them inside the hotel room with us for safekeeping.
... There's never going to be anything funny, is there?
Chris grabbed a McDonald’s bag and I grabbed the autographed baseball items and we checked into the hotel.
The next morning, it was my turn to drive, so before I got in, I noticed there was still a McDonald’s bag on the floor behind the driver’s seat.
If the story is this boring and unamusing in print, just imagine (if you can) how atrocious it would be in person.
“Chris, did you bring in the Teenie Beanies last night?” I asked.
“Yes, I have them right here,” he said, holding up a McDonald’s Happy Meal bag.
I looked inside the bag in the car and sure enough, there were the Teenie Beanies, where they had sat all night in view of any criminal in search for the highly coveted collectible. But Chris had done a splendid job of making sure the bag full of cheeseburgers was safely secured inside our hotel room.
WAHOOOOOOOOOOO!!! What a delightful twist: they thought they brought something inside, but actually left it in the car. Great payoff!
It turns out that we ended up
Stop right there. This, in a nutshell, is why Borsch is possibly the worst published "writer" I have ever stumbled across. These two phrases - "it turns out" and "we ended up" - mean basically the same thing in this context. He could have used either one of them. Instead, he used both. Because his skill with words is just. That. Wretched.
Continue.
stopping at 36 McDonald’s between Long Island, N.Y., and Springfield, Ill., on “The Great Teenie Beanies Excursion of 1996.” Unfortunately, we secured only eight of the 10 Teenie Beanies for our daughters, missing the first two in the series that had been released, Patti the Platypus and Pinky the Flamingo. But it was a good effort by dads who liked cheeseburgers and were trying to make their kids happy.
Let’s see somebody in France put in that kind of effort with the McBaguette.
See, the problem here is that the two things - the McBaguette and their "memorable" road trip - are completely unrelated. That would be like me saying, "I just dominated at Wii Boxing! Let's see Benedict Arnold do THAT!" The fact that his quest ended in failure is entirely appropriate.
The fact that this is one of his "more memorable road trips" makes me wonder just how dull the other ones were...
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Baseball, but NOT Hot Dogs
OUTTA LEFTFIELD: From flyswatters to diapers, Phils' merch machine in high gear
Published: Tuesday, April 03, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
What better way to follow-up his baseball-centric hot dog article than with a baseball-centric baseball article? He's so FRESH!
Here is when one knows that one's favorite big league baseball team has a big league marketing department: When it starts marketing baby bottoms.
Borsch has a STRONG affinity for discussing the rear ends of children (see his previous column about wiping their "bottoms" with Armor-All). It's mildly disturbing.
That’s right, the Phillies have their familiar logo on just about every other thing, so it makes sense to put the logo on diapers.
I’d like to think there was a marketing person in some Phillies brainstorming meeting that all of a sudden stood up and shouted, "P -- diapers -- boo-yah!"
I had to think about this for a long time before I realized he was making a pee joke. At least, I think he is. It's hard to tell, really.
Since I am a long way from having babies in the house, I would not have known about the Phillies diapers had not the ballclub invited me to its annual food, fashion and merchandise soiree last week at the Citizens Bank Park. This is how good the team’s marketing department is: It knows that journalists will show up for a free meal -- like all good journalists will.
Wow, he's changing things up! A previous article (3/31/10) about this same event focused only on the food. In that article, he made (SURPRISE!) the exact same joke: "All the big club has to do is offer a free meal — in the name of good journalism of course — and there’s not a reporter in Southeastern Pennsylvania who wouldn’t show up for the feedbag."
But add in the children of staff members — a bunch of cute babies and toddlers --
Yep, that's one dash to start, but two to end, that little aside.
and well, we journalists will still take pictures and videos of babies in Phillies gear, even if we have to put down the Schmitter and crab fries for a moment to do it. (Do yourself a favor and go online to see the video of this. Babies are just so darn cute dressed in Phillies gear.)
I hope the video is as boring as a typical Borsch piece - loooooong slooooow pans, odd shakes and twitches, unnecessary zooms, complete silence, etc.
In addition to the diapers, other baby stuff available this season includes socks, headwear and outfits. And the focus just isn’t babies this year.
"This year"... so babies were the only focus last year? And who would think that the team would offer ONLY baby merchandise?
Fans can get a whole bunch of other Phillies items, including a bevy of new bobbleheads, an expanded selection of custom sunglasses, a Panini press/waffle maker, barbecue branders, cutting boards, cookie cutters, martini glasses, golf head covers, garden gnomes (as a gnome guy, I’ll probably get one or more of them for the garden this year) and flyswatters.
Prediction: Borsch will some day write a column about garden gnomes. He likes them, his wife doesn't. Comedy!
I don’t know about you, but I’ve always wanted a Phillies flyswatter. Up to this point, I thought the big foam No.1 finger might have been the most, uh, interesting novelty item in the history of baseball merchandising, but I reserve the right to change my mind once I get a good look at the flyswatter.
Wow, finding the comedy in the foam No.1 finger... how does he ever come up with this stuff??? What next, making fun of guys who hold up the "D-fence" posters?
Not that I’m being critical. I think the last thing that a fly sees -- especially those crumb-bum flies from St. Louis -- should be a flyswatter with the Phillies logo as it comes crashing down on its head. If only the Phillies hitters could have hit something beside flies in Game 5 of last year's National League Division Series.
Oh, heavens no! After all, the true mark of a satirist/humorist is to NEVER BE CRITICAL OF ANYTHING. This is classic Borsch - so afraid of offending his precious patrons that he can never say anything bad about anyone (except Sarah Palin).
Of course, a Phillies event wouldn't be a Phillies event without that loveable green goof, the Phanatic. And sure enough, the big galoot showed up and put on a show with the babies and toddlers.
Both "goof" and "galoot" in the same paragraph? He has just used up every single adjective in his vast repertoire.
I must admit, as mascots go, the Phanatic makes me laugh. I find him highly amusing. And I have a soft spot in my heart for galoots, which is why I like the Phanatic and Charlie Manuel. The great thing about being a galoot is knowing you're a galoot, and Cholly and the Phanatic know what's what in that department. It's always good to have a couple of high-profile galoots on the ballclub.
Several points: (1) Someone who "makes you laugh" is usually someone you also "find highly amusing." (2) "Galoot" was used five times in two paragraphs. (3) "Ballclub."
Cholly, already the Phillies' winningest manager, is also the most beloved manager in team history, mostly because he seems to be a genuinely nice guy. Oh, and he delivered a little thing called a world championship in 2008 to a team and city starved for a winner.
...Okay. Most beloved manager in team history? Did he do research on that, run a few surveys or anything? What was this column about again?
As for the Phanatic, well, there already is a statue of him at the ballpark, so I guess we know where he stacks up among the city's elite personalities.
Elsewhere in this paper or on our website, you can read about the new food selections at the ballpark this season. Our newest sportswriter, Nick Iuele, handled that aspect of the event. He's a good kid from North Jersey, but he’s a lifelong Yankees fan. I made sure to let the Phanatic know that so he could stick that great big green nose right in Nick's face. That kind of sums up what we think about Yankees fans around here.
I like how he feels it necessary to tell the readers of his Philadelphia-area newspaper how people from Philadelphia feel about the Yankees.
So there you have it, another baseball season is upon us, and the Phillies have made sure that we fans can dress appropriately and eat heartily while we cheer on the Fightin's to what we hope is another World Series championship.
I don't think an apostrophe belongs in "Fightin's."
Yep, ya can't beat fun at the old ballpark. Nobody knows that better than the Phillies marketing department. It’s clicking on all cylinders … running as smooth as a baby's bottom.
I, personally, would feel embarrassed to write an ending as pathetic as that. Can Michael Morsch honestly - HONESTLY - take any pride in his work? This kind of writing is on the level of a middle school newspaper. How did he get his job? How does he still have it? These are the questions that keep me up at night.
Published: Tuesday, April 03, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
What better way to follow-up his baseball-centric hot dog article than with a baseball-centric baseball article? He's so FRESH!
Here is when one knows that one's favorite big league baseball team has a big league marketing department: When it starts marketing baby bottoms.
Borsch has a STRONG affinity for discussing the rear ends of children (see his previous column about wiping their "bottoms" with Armor-All). It's mildly disturbing.
That’s right, the Phillies have their familiar logo on just about every other thing, so it makes sense to put the logo on diapers.
I’d like to think there was a marketing person in some Phillies brainstorming meeting that all of a sudden stood up and shouted, "P -- diapers -- boo-yah!"
I had to think about this for a long time before I realized he was making a pee joke. At least, I think he is. It's hard to tell, really.
Since I am a long way from having babies in the house, I would not have known about the Phillies diapers had not the ballclub invited me to its annual food, fashion and merchandise soiree last week at the Citizens Bank Park. This is how good the team’s marketing department is: It knows that journalists will show up for a free meal -- like all good journalists will.
Wow, he's changing things up! A previous article (3/31/10) about this same event focused only on the food. In that article, he made (SURPRISE!) the exact same joke: "All the big club has to do is offer a free meal — in the name of good journalism of course — and there’s not a reporter in Southeastern Pennsylvania who wouldn’t show up for the feedbag."
But add in the children of staff members — a bunch of cute babies and toddlers --
Yep, that's one dash to start, but two to end, that little aside.
and well, we journalists will still take pictures and videos of babies in Phillies gear, even if we have to put down the Schmitter and crab fries for a moment to do it. (Do yourself a favor and go online to see the video of this. Babies are just so darn cute dressed in Phillies gear.)
I hope the video is as boring as a typical Borsch piece - loooooong slooooow pans, odd shakes and twitches, unnecessary zooms, complete silence, etc.
In addition to the diapers, other baby stuff available this season includes socks, headwear and outfits. And the focus just isn’t babies this year.
"This year"... so babies were the only focus last year? And who would think that the team would offer ONLY baby merchandise?
Fans can get a whole bunch of other Phillies items, including a bevy of new bobbleheads, an expanded selection of custom sunglasses, a Panini press/waffle maker, barbecue branders, cutting boards, cookie cutters, martini glasses, golf head covers, garden gnomes (as a gnome guy, I’ll probably get one or more of them for the garden this year) and flyswatters.
Prediction: Borsch will some day write a column about garden gnomes. He likes them, his wife doesn't. Comedy!
I don’t know about you, but I’ve always wanted a Phillies flyswatter. Up to this point, I thought the big foam No.1 finger might have been the most, uh, interesting novelty item in the history of baseball merchandising, but I reserve the right to change my mind once I get a good look at the flyswatter.
Wow, finding the comedy in the foam No.1 finger... how does he ever come up with this stuff??? What next, making fun of guys who hold up the "D-fence" posters?
Not that I’m being critical. I think the last thing that a fly sees -- especially those crumb-bum flies from St. Louis -- should be a flyswatter with the Phillies logo as it comes crashing down on its head. If only the Phillies hitters could have hit something beside flies in Game 5 of last year's National League Division Series.
Oh, heavens no! After all, the true mark of a satirist/humorist is to NEVER BE CRITICAL OF ANYTHING. This is classic Borsch - so afraid of offending his precious patrons that he can never say anything bad about anyone (except Sarah Palin).
Of course, a Phillies event wouldn't be a Phillies event without that loveable green goof, the Phanatic. And sure enough, the big galoot showed up and put on a show with the babies and toddlers.
Both "goof" and "galoot" in the same paragraph? He has just used up every single adjective in his vast repertoire.
I must admit, as mascots go, the Phanatic makes me laugh. I find him highly amusing. And I have a soft spot in my heart for galoots, which is why I like the Phanatic and Charlie Manuel. The great thing about being a galoot is knowing you're a galoot, and Cholly and the Phanatic know what's what in that department. It's always good to have a couple of high-profile galoots on the ballclub.
Several points: (1) Someone who "makes you laugh" is usually someone you also "find highly amusing." (2) "Galoot" was used five times in two paragraphs. (3) "Ballclub."
Cholly, already the Phillies' winningest manager, is also the most beloved manager in team history, mostly because he seems to be a genuinely nice guy. Oh, and he delivered a little thing called a world championship in 2008 to a team and city starved for a winner.
...Okay. Most beloved manager in team history? Did he do research on that, run a few surveys or anything? What was this column about again?
As for the Phanatic, well, there already is a statue of him at the ballpark, so I guess we know where he stacks up among the city's elite personalities.
Elsewhere in this paper or on our website, you can read about the new food selections at the ballpark this season. Our newest sportswriter, Nick Iuele, handled that aspect of the event. He's a good kid from North Jersey, but he’s a lifelong Yankees fan. I made sure to let the Phanatic know that so he could stick that great big green nose right in Nick's face. That kind of sums up what we think about Yankees fans around here.
I like how he feels it necessary to tell the readers of his Philadelphia-area newspaper how people from Philadelphia feel about the Yankees.
So there you have it, another baseball season is upon us, and the Phillies have made sure that we fans can dress appropriately and eat heartily while we cheer on the Fightin's to what we hope is another World Series championship.
I don't think an apostrophe belongs in "Fightin's."
Yep, ya can't beat fun at the old ballpark. Nobody knows that better than the Phillies marketing department. It’s clicking on all cylinders … running as smooth as a baby's bottom.
I, personally, would feel embarrassed to write an ending as pathetic as that. Can Michael Morsch honestly - HONESTLY - take any pride in his work? This kind of writing is on the level of a middle school newspaper. How did he get his job? How does he still have it? These are the questions that keep me up at night.
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