Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Crocodile rockin' at the movies
It's been quite a while since we've had one of these "I saw a movie and liked it" posts.
Garden gnomes. Hulk Hogan. Elton John’s music.
I never thought I’d use that series of words in the same paragraph.
Seven words equals a "paragraph"? Seems kinda grandiose.
Elton John has never sung Hulk Hogan songs, Hulk Hogan has never rassled Elton John and garden gnomes, well, I think they’re kind of cool and have three of them in my front yard.
This sentence is so confusing. What's a "Hulk Hogan song"? Why must he say "rassled"? Why does the "well" seem so awkward?
When I see the tips of their red hats start to emerge from the snow, I know spring is at hand. But they really don’t have anything to do with those two pop culture icons.
We have now established the fact that these three things don't have much in common.
Until now, thanks to the movie “Gnomeo and Juliet,” currently in theaters. My affinity for gnomes and Elton John music — I’ve seen him in concert at least once in each of the last four decades — attracted me to the flick, especially because it features a fabulously updated version of Sir Elton’s “Crocodile Rock,” which he sings with Nelly Furtado
You heard right, folks - he loves Elton John so much he has attended AT LEAST four of his concerts in the last 40 years! Now there's a fan. And yes, he missed a period after "Nelly Furtado". Way to proofread.
So along with Younger Daughter, a month removed from her 17th birthday, we finally coordinated schedules and were able to see the movie Sunday evening.
So who else did they see the movie with? "Along with Younger Daughter" implies there was a third party present.
Throughout the previews and for the first several minutes of the movie, we were the only ones in the Oaks theater, which we determined would provide a great opportunity to get up and dance during “Crocodile Rock” without fear of embarrassment.
Unfortunately, four other people did enter the theater moments later, which is probably a good thing because Elton himself —executive producer of the movie — would have probably jumped through the screen to tell me to sit down and quit embarrassing myself.
But... I thought he could dance "without fear of embarrassment." It seems like an odd idea that Elton's status as executive producer somehow gives him the power to "jump through the screen."
The movie — based, of course, on Bill Shakespeare’s work —
Damn you, sir. Don't drag Shakespeare through the mud by mentioning him here. Do you think Borsch has ever read a Shakespeare play? Probably not - no baseball, hot dogs or country music material in them.
boasts the voices of some top-shelf acting talent like James McAvoy (Gnomeo), Emily Blunt (Juliet) Maggie Smith (Lady Blueberry, Gnomeo’s mom), Michael Caine (Lord Redbrick, Juliet’s dad) and of course Hulk Hogan, who plays the voice of a lawn mower called the “Terrafirminator” in all his growly rasslin’ fervor. (Those of you who refuse to put Hogan in the same category as those other actors and actresses obviously haven’t seen “Mr. Nanny.”)
I would have picked "Suburban Commando" as Mr. Hogan's true tour-de-force, but Borsch and I will just have to agree to disagree. Maggie Smith and Michael Caine, okay... but James McAvoy and Emily Blunt now qualify as "top-shelf acting talent"?
Of course, the movie is wonderfully cute and sweet and the Elton John songs are, well Elton John songs, and they’re just as good in the context of a kids’ film as they’ve ever been in any other context.
"Of course"? As though it goes without saying that the film is cute and sweet? Why? We have another awkward use of "well," this time without a comma after it so that we get the odd "well Elton John songs". And we get a truly ludicrous number of superlatives about context.
But the main takeaway was that my teenage daughter didn’t mind going to this film with her old man. Because I’m so old I remember when rock was young. And as it turned out, me and her, we had so much fun.
Really - that's the "main takeaway"? That's odd, because the entire column has been about Elton John and the film's "all-star" cast. Also, please note the classic Borsch strategy of using song lyrics in sentence form.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
Hey, here's an idea - how about labeling it with "Elton John," "Gnomeo and Juliet," or "Oaks Theater"? No? Okay then.
Showing posts with label Labels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Labels. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Surprise! Morsch Writes about The Phillies
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The class and grace of Robin Roberts
Can it be considered an "unnecessary baseball reference" when an entire column is about baseball? I think it can - we've pretty much hit the critical mass for baseball references. From here on out, any union of Outta Leftfield and baseball is unnecessary.
It was in the mid-1990s and Robin Roberts was appearing at an autograph signing event, the proceeds of which would benefit something called the Bottomley-Ruffing-Schalk Baseball Museum in the little central Illinois town of Nokomis, a spot on the map just outside the state capital of Springfield.
The only thing missing from this paragraph is the phrase "I was but a sapling then, green in youth." Are we witnessing the beginning another confusing Morsch lumber down memory lane?
Named after National Baseball Hall of Famers Jim Bottomley, Red Ruffing and Ray Schalk, the museum honors people from the central Illinois area who have contributed to baseball in some significant manner.
Useless information. Let's try again.
Roberts, the Hall of Fame Phillies pitcher, was born in nearby Springfield and would occasionally go back to his hometown area for events such as this one.
We're about a quarter of the way through your column, sir. Time to wrap up the prologue.
The weather was uncomfortably hot that day, like many summer days in central Illinois. The small museum — which lacked air conditioning — couldn’t accommodate the overflowing crowd that a hall of famer, and a local boy at that, had drawn. Fans eager for Roberts’ signature had crowded toward the table where he sat, making it even hotter and more uncomfortable than it already was.
It's laughable to see Morsch, Mr. Beer and Hot Dogs and Guys-Are-Sloppy and Baseball and Three Stooges, trying to actually write something. It's like watching a dog try to do long division.
I had met Mr. Roberts a few times before that day in the museum. At that point in my career, I had no idea I would move from central Illinois to the Philadelphia area and would have many more occasions to be in his company and interview him for stories I was writing.
We've covered this absolutely unremarkable fact before. Wow, you moved somewhere that you heard of before. I recently moved to Quakertown. Who would have thought?
Like that day in Illinois, Mr. Roberts always handled himself with grace and class, even under trying circumstances.
Even though it was a hot day, Robin Roberts still showed up at a public event. They really broke the mold when they made him.
He signed every autograph request, and it became quite a windfall for the tiny museum out in the middle of nowhere. I remember thinking at the time that the ex-player was the epitome of grace under pressure.
A kind and generous thing to do, no doubt. But really? THIS is the story you choose to highlight someone's apparently legendary class and grace?
Once I moved out here, Mr. Roberts would occasionally show up in the Ambler area, mostly in October for a golf outing at Limekiln Golf Course, owned by another Whiz Kid, Curt Simmons. Although I’m not a golfer, there were a few occasions before tee-off where I got sit in the golf course clubhouse and listen to some baseball stories.
What is he doing, just camping out in the clubhouse and hoping that a former baseball player will walk in? Roberts probably dreaded the days when his peaceful round of golf would be disrupted by some loitering oaf. Did the newspaper know how Morsch was spending his time?
I crossed paths again with Mr. Roberts at the National Constitution Center in 2008 when it hosted a traveling exhibit from the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. It was there that I got a chance to interview him for a story on the exhibit that appeared in Montgomery Newspapers.
This is a truly pathetic "chain" of "events." What's left out is that there are probably, like, ten years between these meetings. I saw a Maynard Ferguson concert when I was in 5th Grade. I crossed paths with him again at a concert when I was a junior in high school. He showed grace and class by showing up to both events. Maybe I should write my own column...
His baseball career ended in the mid-1960s and I never got a chance to see him pitch. But he was a hall of famer in every sense of the word, especially off the field. Never in the dozen or so times I was in his company did he have a cross word for anybody or refuse an autograph request.
Except after Morsch left, when Mr. Roberts would invariably remark, "Who IS that fat, stupid bastard?" And I'm still trying to figure out the "he was a hall of famer... especially off the field." As though his 286 wins and his 305 complete games have nothing to do with it. No, they let him in because he's a nice guy and they figured he'd probably sign a lot of autographs in the future.
Robin Roberts died last week in his Florida home at age 83. He was a first-class player and a first-class human being. Not only was he one of my favorite baseball players, he’s one of my favorite people of all time.
Ooh, the kicker! Robin Roberts was a nice guy, and guess what? He's DEAD. I really enjoy the superlative "he's one of my favorite people of all time" bit. Right up there with Jesus, George Washington and Thomas Edison, no doubt. It reminds me of that old Chris Farley bit on SNL when he'd interview a celebrity and say stuff like, "Tonight my guest is Jeff Daniels, one of the greatest actors... around I guess?"
Only the good die young, except for the ones who live to be really old.
Labels: " Outta Leftfield, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Robin Roberts
Not just the Baseball Hall of Fame, mind you - the National Baseball Hall of Fame. Also, please note the " before the Outta Leftfield label. Is this a typo? Whatever it is, it's screwing up his labels... two columns now appear only under "Outta Leftfield.
The class and grace of Robin Roberts
Can it be considered an "unnecessary baseball reference" when an entire column is about baseball? I think it can - we've pretty much hit the critical mass for baseball references. From here on out, any union of Outta Leftfield and baseball is unnecessary.
It was in the mid-1990s and Robin Roberts was appearing at an autograph signing event, the proceeds of which would benefit something called the Bottomley-Ruffing-Schalk Baseball Museum in the little central Illinois town of Nokomis, a spot on the map just outside the state capital of Springfield.
The only thing missing from this paragraph is the phrase "I was but a sapling then, green in youth." Are we witnessing the beginning another confusing Morsch lumber down memory lane?
Named after National Baseball Hall of Famers Jim Bottomley, Red Ruffing and Ray Schalk, the museum honors people from the central Illinois area who have contributed to baseball in some significant manner.
Useless information. Let's try again.
Roberts, the Hall of Fame Phillies pitcher, was born in nearby Springfield and would occasionally go back to his hometown area for events such as this one.
We're about a quarter of the way through your column, sir. Time to wrap up the prologue.
The weather was uncomfortably hot that day, like many summer days in central Illinois. The small museum — which lacked air conditioning — couldn’t accommodate the overflowing crowd that a hall of famer, and a local boy at that, had drawn. Fans eager for Roberts’ signature had crowded toward the table where he sat, making it even hotter and more uncomfortable than it already was.
It's laughable to see Morsch, Mr. Beer and Hot Dogs and Guys-Are-Sloppy and Baseball and Three Stooges, trying to actually write something. It's like watching a dog try to do long division.
I had met Mr. Roberts a few times before that day in the museum. At that point in my career, I had no idea I would move from central Illinois to the Philadelphia area and would have many more occasions to be in his company and interview him for stories I was writing.
We've covered this absolutely unremarkable fact before. Wow, you moved somewhere that you heard of before. I recently moved to Quakertown. Who would have thought?
Like that day in Illinois, Mr. Roberts always handled himself with grace and class, even under trying circumstances.
Even though it was a hot day, Robin Roberts still showed up at a public event. They really broke the mold when they made him.
He signed every autograph request, and it became quite a windfall for the tiny museum out in the middle of nowhere. I remember thinking at the time that the ex-player was the epitome of grace under pressure.
A kind and generous thing to do, no doubt. But really? THIS is the story you choose to highlight someone's apparently legendary class and grace?
Once I moved out here, Mr. Roberts would occasionally show up in the Ambler area, mostly in October for a golf outing at Limekiln Golf Course, owned by another Whiz Kid, Curt Simmons. Although I’m not a golfer, there were a few occasions before tee-off where I got sit in the golf course clubhouse and listen to some baseball stories.
What is he doing, just camping out in the clubhouse and hoping that a former baseball player will walk in? Roberts probably dreaded the days when his peaceful round of golf would be disrupted by some loitering oaf. Did the newspaper know how Morsch was spending his time?
I crossed paths again with Mr. Roberts at the National Constitution Center in 2008 when it hosted a traveling exhibit from the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. It was there that I got a chance to interview him for a story on the exhibit that appeared in Montgomery Newspapers.
This is a truly pathetic "chain" of "events." What's left out is that there are probably, like, ten years between these meetings. I saw a Maynard Ferguson concert when I was in 5th Grade. I crossed paths with him again at a concert when I was a junior in high school. He showed grace and class by showing up to both events. Maybe I should write my own column...
His baseball career ended in the mid-1960s and I never got a chance to see him pitch. But he was a hall of famer in every sense of the word, especially off the field. Never in the dozen or so times I was in his company did he have a cross word for anybody or refuse an autograph request.
Except after Morsch left, when Mr. Roberts would invariably remark, "Who IS that fat, stupid bastard?" And I'm still trying to figure out the "he was a hall of famer... especially off the field." As though his 286 wins and his 305 complete games have nothing to do with it. No, they let him in because he's a nice guy and they figured he'd probably sign a lot of autographs in the future.
Robin Roberts died last week in his Florida home at age 83. He was a first-class player and a first-class human being. Not only was he one of my favorite baseball players, he’s one of my favorite people of all time.
Ooh, the kicker! Robin Roberts was a nice guy, and guess what? He's DEAD. I really enjoy the superlative "he's one of my favorite people of all time" bit. Right up there with Jesus, George Washington and Thomas Edison, no doubt. It reminds me of that old Chris Farley bit on SNL when he'd interview a celebrity and say stuff like, "Tonight my guest is Jeff Daniels, one of the greatest actors... around I guess?"
Only the good die young, except for the ones who live to be really old.
Labels: " Outta Leftfield, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Robin Roberts
Not just the Baseball Hall of Fame, mind you - the National Baseball Hall of Fame. Also, please note the " before the Outta Leftfield label. Is this a typo? Whatever it is, it's screwing up his labels... two columns now appear only under "Outta Leftfield.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
The Latest Disappointment
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
National Cheese Ball Day? Really?
First off, Morsch has not right to question the validity of anything. He lost that right when he started Outta Leftfield. Second, there are much stranger things associated with April 20th that he could write about. [Editor's Note: I am absolutely shocked that the fat, cheesy Morsch overlooks the opportunity to refer to himself as a "cheeseball." He's slipping.]
National Cheese Ball Day was Saturday, April 17. I know, I missed it, too.
In fact, the only reason I knew anything about it at all was because there was some chatter about it amongst my Twitter friends. Twitter chitter-chatter, as it were.
Ha... ha... ha? I guess if you don't have any real-life friends, your Twitter friends will have to do.
Naturally, I looked it up hoping to find out how cheese balls got their own national day of recognition. I mean, there is an International Talk Like A Pirate Day (every year on Sept. 19), so why wouldn’t there be a National Cheese Ball Day?
Turns out there are cheese ball recipes out the wazoo online, but there doesn’t seem to be much information on who is responsible for this National Cheese Ball Day, even though it’s apparently been celebrated for years. I just assumed somebody in Wisconsin had come up with the idea and I liked to send that person a note of thanks because I think we could round up enough support to eventually get the day off of work for this holiday.
The phrase "I liked to send that person a note of thanks" is so wrong you'd think that the executive editor of a newspaper group didn't write it. But he did. It should be a crime to waste words like this. These two ponderous paragraphs could read: "I heard it was National Cheeseball Day on Saturday. I looked around on the Internet but couldn't find much about it."
About the only fun fact I could find was that on July 20, 1801, a guy by the name of Elisha Brown Jr. pressed a 1,235-pound cheese ball at his farm. He reportedly was so impressed with himself that he presented huge cheese ball to President Thomas Jefferson at the White House.
I looked up this "fact" myself, and the key phrase in the article I read was "as legend has it." Meaning that there is no way this could have happened.
How do you suppose the conversation went between Jefferson and the White House doorman?
I've got a bad feeling about this...
Doorman: “Mr. President, there is some farmer at the door who says he’s got a 1,235-pound cheese ball to give you. What do you want me to tell him?”
Jefferson: “Send him to Wisconsin. Tell him to see a guy named Macaroni.”
Per Wikipedia: However, it was the Arabs who definitively invented macaroni in the Middle Ages. But for the purposes of hilariousness, we'll pretend it was invented by an actual guy named Macaroni who lived in Wisconsin in 1801. Right?
But wait... that's it? That's the entire conversation? Surely he could have come up with more than this. No... that's really it.
Sometimes, I just shake my head at all the national days of tomfoolery. And then I talk like a pirate. Argh!
To paraphrase Jerry Seinfeld: I don't know how official these "national days" really are. They're for fun. Note to Morsch: it's generally not funny to make fun of things that aren't taken seriously to begin with.
Labels: Elisha Brown Jr., Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, National Cheese Ball Day, Outta Leftfield, Thomas Jefferson
Anyone wonder why Thomas Jefferson is tagged here? Anyone taking bets on whether Elisha Brown Jr. will be labeled again?
National Cheese Ball Day? Really?
First off, Morsch has not right to question the validity of anything. He lost that right when he started Outta Leftfield. Second, there are much stranger things associated with April 20th that he could write about. [Editor's Note: I am absolutely shocked that the fat, cheesy Morsch overlooks the opportunity to refer to himself as a "cheeseball." He's slipping.]
National Cheese Ball Day was Saturday, April 17. I know, I missed it, too.
In fact, the only reason I knew anything about it at all was because there was some chatter about it amongst my Twitter friends. Twitter chitter-chatter, as it were.
Ha... ha... ha? I guess if you don't have any real-life friends, your Twitter friends will have to do.
Naturally, I looked it up hoping to find out how cheese balls got their own national day of recognition. I mean, there is an International Talk Like A Pirate Day (every year on Sept. 19), so why wouldn’t there be a National Cheese Ball Day?
Turns out there are cheese ball recipes out the wazoo online, but there doesn’t seem to be much information on who is responsible for this National Cheese Ball Day, even though it’s apparently been celebrated for years. I just assumed somebody in Wisconsin had come up with the idea and I liked to send that person a note of thanks because I think we could round up enough support to eventually get the day off of work for this holiday.
The phrase "I liked to send that person a note of thanks" is so wrong you'd think that the executive editor of a newspaper group didn't write it. But he did. It should be a crime to waste words like this. These two ponderous paragraphs could read: "I heard it was National Cheeseball Day on Saturday. I looked around on the Internet but couldn't find much about it."
About the only fun fact I could find was that on July 20, 1801, a guy by the name of Elisha Brown Jr. pressed a 1,235-pound cheese ball at his farm. He reportedly was so impressed with himself that he presented huge cheese ball to President Thomas Jefferson at the White House.
I looked up this "fact" myself, and the key phrase in the article I read was "as legend has it." Meaning that there is no way this could have happened.
How do you suppose the conversation went between Jefferson and the White House doorman?
I've got a bad feeling about this...
Doorman: “Mr. President, there is some farmer at the door who says he’s got a 1,235-pound cheese ball to give you. What do you want me to tell him?”
Jefferson: “Send him to Wisconsin. Tell him to see a guy named Macaroni.”
Per Wikipedia: However, it was the Arabs who definitively invented macaroni in the Middle Ages. But for the purposes of hilariousness, we'll pretend it was invented by an actual guy named Macaroni who lived in Wisconsin in 1801. Right?
But wait... that's it? That's the entire conversation? Surely he could have come up with more than this. No... that's really it.
Sometimes, I just shake my head at all the national days of tomfoolery. And then I talk like a pirate. Argh!
To paraphrase Jerry Seinfeld: I don't know how official these "national days" really are. They're for fun. Note to Morsch: it's generally not funny to make fun of things that aren't taken seriously to begin with.
Labels: Elisha Brown Jr., Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, National Cheese Ball Day, Outta Leftfield, Thomas Jefferson
Anyone wonder why Thomas Jefferson is tagged here? Anyone taking bets on whether Elisha Brown Jr. will be labeled again?
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
It's a Long, Long Season...
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The sights and sounds of Opening Day
Unacceptable. Surely this man must think about and experience things other than baseball. Then again, maybe he doesn't - we go from a story about a charity drive that somehow morphs into a baseball story to this little gem, which makes no bones about its theme. At least he's being honest this time.
The Phillies home opener this year was what one would expect from the defending National League Champions. Lots of fun and lots of sun.
And lots of cliched rhymes! He's like Andre the Giant from The Princess Bride.
Mandy Patinkin: "Those Philles, they'll be lots of FUN..."
Morsch: "Fun... fun... and I hope that we'll have lots of... sun!"
Mandy Patinkin:"Ah, Morsch, you have a great gift for rhyme."
Morsch: (Long pause, blank stare) "Uh... I like baseball."
Among the sights, sounds and firsts of the 2010 baseball season were:
— My Opening Day lunch consisted of, what else, a cheese steak (Whiz witout) and crab fries.
For the record, I hate specialized orders like that. "Wiz witout." Wow, he's so hip! The only surprise in this paragraph is that there's no refernce to him spilling things on himself. And honestly, when he says "what else," you would really expect a hot dog reference, wouldn't you?
- The first Opening Day beer was cold enough. But depending on one’s preferred brand, it cost between $7.25 and $7.75 a bottle. At this age, I just do not like beer that much at that price. My first beer of the season will likely be my last beer of the season at the ballpark.
Where has Morsch been for the past 25 years? Like expensive ballpark food is anything new. The degree of specificity here is amazing... does he really need to point out the $0.50 swing in price? Couldn't he have just said "it cost about $7.50"? Apparently a high price is the only thing that can separare MM from his precious, precious booze.
— Adult males who wear their ballcaps backwards ought to turn them around, unless of course they are indeed catchers in real life.
Yeah, and boys shouldn't wear jewelry! And pull up those pants, they're hanging too low! And why are you wearing sunglasses indoors? And break up those interracial couples!
— The Phillie Phanatic is just a big goof. He gets a pass, though, because “being a big goof” is actually in his job description. I am trying to think of a way to get it into my job description.
Yes... yes, the Phanatic partakes in screwball antics. Unlike those other mascots who maintain a more dignified, formal air.
— Thanks to Managing Editor Craig Ostroff, I found a free parking space for the first time in 10 years of going to Phillies games. But I’m not telling you where it is because I want it to be available for me.
Hint: The parking spot was Managing Editor Craig Ostroff's driveway.
— I never get tired of hearing “Take Me Out To The Ballgame.” I was unsuccessful at getting it played at my wedding, but I have left specific instructions that it be played at my funeral, where the charge for beer will be substantially less than what it is at the ballpark.
That request should have been The Blonde Accountant's final warning to get out while the getting's good. And I have to say that his beer reference here is rather clever.
All in all, it was a great home opener for the Phillies. The good guys won and are off to a good start.
Funny that his "sights and sounds of opening day" article has had virtually no Phillies reference until now. Did he even watch the game?
And this was the fourth Opening Day I’ve spent at the ballpark without my dad. He wasn’t from around here and he wasn’t a Phillies fan, but I certainly got my love of baseball from him.
He would have enjoyed the Phanatic. My dad was always fond of big goofs.
I can see what he's doing here. The Phanatic is a goof, which Morsch cleverly insterted into the column earlier; Morsch himself is a goof; therefore, Morsch's dad was fond of him. Please see Morsch's rambling, vague column about baseball cards for more about his dad.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Phillie Phanatic, Phillies
Nice job with the lables here. Surprisingly, the "Phillie Phanatic" label actually links to another story! In it, the Phanatic is indeed referenced in passing... and Morsch describes himself as "a big goof." Coincidence? YOU be the judge.
The "Philles" label brings up four (ONLY FOUR???) stories, one of which is a story about Penn State football that mentions the Phillies once.
The sights and sounds of Opening Day
Unacceptable. Surely this man must think about and experience things other than baseball. Then again, maybe he doesn't - we go from a story about a charity drive that somehow morphs into a baseball story to this little gem, which makes no bones about its theme. At least he's being honest this time.
The Phillies home opener this year was what one would expect from the defending National League Champions. Lots of fun and lots of sun.
And lots of cliched rhymes! He's like Andre the Giant from The Princess Bride.
Mandy Patinkin: "Those Philles, they'll be lots of FUN..."
Morsch: "Fun... fun... and I hope that we'll have lots of... sun!"
Mandy Patinkin:"Ah, Morsch, you have a great gift for rhyme."
Morsch: (Long pause, blank stare) "Uh... I like baseball."
Among the sights, sounds and firsts of the 2010 baseball season were:
— My Opening Day lunch consisted of, what else, a cheese steak (Whiz witout) and crab fries.
For the record, I hate specialized orders like that. "Wiz witout." Wow, he's so hip! The only surprise in this paragraph is that there's no refernce to him spilling things on himself. And honestly, when he says "what else," you would really expect a hot dog reference, wouldn't you?
- The first Opening Day beer was cold enough. But depending on one’s preferred brand, it cost between $7.25 and $7.75 a bottle. At this age, I just do not like beer that much at that price. My first beer of the season will likely be my last beer of the season at the ballpark.
Where has Morsch been for the past 25 years? Like expensive ballpark food is anything new. The degree of specificity here is amazing... does he really need to point out the $0.50 swing in price? Couldn't he have just said "it cost about $7.50"? Apparently a high price is the only thing that can separare MM from his precious, precious booze.
— Adult males who wear their ballcaps backwards ought to turn them around, unless of course they are indeed catchers in real life.
Yeah, and boys shouldn't wear jewelry! And pull up those pants, they're hanging too low! And why are you wearing sunglasses indoors? And break up those interracial couples!
— The Phillie Phanatic is just a big goof. He gets a pass, though, because “being a big goof” is actually in his job description. I am trying to think of a way to get it into my job description.
Yes... yes, the Phanatic partakes in screwball antics. Unlike those other mascots who maintain a more dignified, formal air.
— Thanks to Managing Editor Craig Ostroff, I found a free parking space for the first time in 10 years of going to Phillies games. But I’m not telling you where it is because I want it to be available for me.
Hint: The parking spot was Managing Editor Craig Ostroff's driveway.
— I never get tired of hearing “Take Me Out To The Ballgame.” I was unsuccessful at getting it played at my wedding, but I have left specific instructions that it be played at my funeral, where the charge for beer will be substantially less than what it is at the ballpark.
That request should have been The Blonde Accountant's final warning to get out while the getting's good. And I have to say that his beer reference here is rather clever.
All in all, it was a great home opener for the Phillies. The good guys won and are off to a good start.
Funny that his "sights and sounds of opening day" article has had virtually no Phillies reference until now. Did he even watch the game?
And this was the fourth Opening Day I’ve spent at the ballpark without my dad. He wasn’t from around here and he wasn’t a Phillies fan, but I certainly got my love of baseball from him.
He would have enjoyed the Phanatic. My dad was always fond of big goofs.
I can see what he's doing here. The Phanatic is a goof, which Morsch cleverly insterted into the column earlier; Morsch himself is a goof; therefore, Morsch's dad was fond of him. Please see Morsch's rambling, vague column about baseball cards for more about his dad.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Phillie Phanatic, Phillies
Nice job with the lables here. Surprisingly, the "Phillie Phanatic" label actually links to another story! In it, the Phanatic is indeed referenced in passing... and Morsch describes himself as "a big goof." Coincidence? YOU be the judge.
The "Philles" label brings up four (ONLY FOUR???) stories, one of which is a story about Penn State football that mentions the Phillies once.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Morsch and Rachel Ray Agree on Things
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Hall & Oates belong in the 'hall'
Clever title! But since he's talking about the real-life Rock and Roll Hall of Fame… why'd he have to put quotes around 'hall' like he's making some kind of a metaphorical pun? Why didn't he just write Hall, capitalized, with no quotes?
Every year when the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame announces its newest class there is debate, not only about who gets in but about who has yet to be inducted.
This year ABBA, along with Genesis, The Hollies and The Stooges, were among those honored with induction and right away, folks are clamoring: What about Chicago? What about KISS? Moody Blues, Jethro Tull, Three Dog Night? The list of deserving musicians not in the rock hall is longer than the list of inductees.
For me, it’s, “What about Hall & Oates?” And it’s not because Daryl and John, from Pottstown and North Wales respectively, are local boys. It’s not because I have had the pleasure of interviewing each of them for stories in Montgomery Newspapers over the past few years.
Actually, I think that has a lot to do with it. Morsch love dropping the names of the so-called "celebrities" he gets to "interview" for his "newspaper."
It’s because every time I get into my car, I’ll choose a Hall & Oates album to listen to over just about any other CD that I have. It’s about the music. I virtually grew up with, and have liked a good number, of H&O songs over the years.
Okay, so here's the checklist for Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction, according to Morsch:
1.) You pick their albums over "just about" any others
2.) You grew up with the music
3.) You like "a good number" of their songs
That's a ringing endorsement.
Why, I even considered naming Older Daughter “Sarah Smile Morsch.” That’s how much I liked that song and that music.
Isn't a song, by definition, music? A bit redundant isn't it? WHAT? Shut up!
The KISS and Chicago fans — of which I consider myself one of both groups — can wait. Television personality Rachel Ray, who has been lobbying for H&O to be inducted into the rock hall, is right. Daryl and John belong.
Good lord, read that again - "of which I consider myself one of both groups." And this guy writes for a newspaper? "Daryl and John," huh? They're on a first name basis. I'm no huge Rock and Roll buff, but I would think of KISS before friggin' Hall and Oates when I think "Rock and Roll." I like how he refers to it as the "rock hall," like it's some place the Flinstones might visit.
And really, I like ABBA, but if that group can get through the doors of the Rock and Roll Hall of fame, then H&O are overdue. In fact, at the very least, John Oates’ moustache should be in the rock hall of fame.
Whose arm do I have to twist on this one? You know, as we say in Philly, “I know a guy.”
Umm… what? I’m still trying to figure out that last sentence. Usually Morsch will close his articles with a "clever" tie-in to the title or first paragraph. Here he… indicates that he is mob-affiliated? Huh? And maybe I'm just not as gangasta as Morsch, but is "I know a guy" really only a phrase they use in Philly?
Labels: Daryl Hall, John Oates, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
MM never blogs on the same thing twice, so I'm willing to bet that if you were to click on "Daryl Hall," the only thing that would come up is the story you're reading right now.
Hall & Oates belong in the 'hall'
Clever title! But since he's talking about the real-life Rock and Roll Hall of Fame… why'd he have to put quotes around 'hall' like he's making some kind of a metaphorical pun? Why didn't he just write Hall, capitalized, with no quotes?
Every year when the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame announces its newest class there is debate, not only about who gets in but about who has yet to be inducted.
This year ABBA, along with Genesis, The Hollies and The Stooges, were among those honored with induction and right away, folks are clamoring: What about Chicago? What about KISS? Moody Blues, Jethro Tull, Three Dog Night? The list of deserving musicians not in the rock hall is longer than the list of inductees.
For me, it’s, “What about Hall & Oates?” And it’s not because Daryl and John, from Pottstown and North Wales respectively, are local boys. It’s not because I have had the pleasure of interviewing each of them for stories in Montgomery Newspapers over the past few years.
Actually, I think that has a lot to do with it. Morsch love dropping the names of the so-called "celebrities" he gets to "interview" for his "newspaper."
It’s because every time I get into my car, I’ll choose a Hall & Oates album to listen to over just about any other CD that I have. It’s about the music. I virtually grew up with, and have liked a good number, of H&O songs over the years.
Okay, so here's the checklist for Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction, according to Morsch:
1.) You pick their albums over "just about" any others
2.) You grew up with the music
3.) You like "a good number" of their songs
That's a ringing endorsement.
Why, I even considered naming Older Daughter “Sarah Smile Morsch.” That’s how much I liked that song and that music.
Isn't a song, by definition, music? A bit redundant isn't it? WHAT? Shut up!
The KISS and Chicago fans — of which I consider myself one of both groups — can wait. Television personality Rachel Ray, who has been lobbying for H&O to be inducted into the rock hall, is right. Daryl and John belong.
Good lord, read that again - "of which I consider myself one of both groups." And this guy writes for a newspaper? "Daryl and John," huh? They're on a first name basis. I'm no huge Rock and Roll buff, but I would think of KISS before friggin' Hall and Oates when I think "Rock and Roll." I like how he refers to it as the "rock hall," like it's some place the Flinstones might visit.
And really, I like ABBA, but if that group can get through the doors of the Rock and Roll Hall of fame, then H&O are overdue. In fact, at the very least, John Oates’ moustache should be in the rock hall of fame.
Whose arm do I have to twist on this one? You know, as we say in Philly, “I know a guy.”
Umm… what? I’m still trying to figure out that last sentence. Usually Morsch will close his articles with a "clever" tie-in to the title or first paragraph. Here he… indicates that he is mob-affiliated? Huh? And maybe I'm just not as gangasta as Morsch, but is "I know a guy" really only a phrase they use in Philly?
Labels: Daryl Hall, John Oates, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
MM never blogs on the same thing twice, so I'm willing to bet that if you were to click on "Daryl Hall," the only thing that would come up is the story you're reading right now.
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Usual Suspect
If you check out his profile, you will note the following things about Mr. Michael "Mike" Morsch:
1.) He refers to himself in the third person.
2.) He is the executive editor of a newspaper group, leading one to assume that he possesses some degree of writing skill.
3.) He describes his brain child, Outta Leftfield, as a "humor column," leading one to assume that he possesses some sense of humor.
Let's put those facts to the test with his latest column, shall we?
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
A ballgame breaks out at the spelling bee
MM loves two things - baseball (which he finds a way to shoehorn into every one of his columns), and bad puns. For instance, he might entitle an essay on having to take a dump during a poker game "These deuces don't add up to a timely flush."
The spelling bee is a useful educational tool that promotes learning and competition, but really, it’s not a spectator sport.
He's right, but in the wrong way. It's obviously not a sport, but people love watching a good bee when it's on TV. The fact that it isn't a "sport" akin to football or hockey is so obvious it shouldn't even need to be stated - but then, we wouldn't have this undoubtedly hilarious article!
For those of you who have been to a spelling bee, this is not news. But believe it or not, I hadn’t been to one in a very long time until last weekend when Son of Blonde Accountant represented his school at the Our Lady of I Before E Except After C spelling bee in Quakertown.
I understand that bloggers assigning "code names" to friends and loved ones is a way of preserving their privacy (I guess)… but really, he can't even name his son OR the school he goes to? I'm virtually the only person reading this blog - does MM think he has stalkers?
It was what you would expect from a spelling bee of about 30 or so sixth, seventh and eighth graders. It was sponsored by the local Kiwanis Club, always and forever a noble group of community-minded folks. Our guy went out in the third round after having some difficulty on the word “difficulty.” He had added and errant “l” to make it “difficultly.”
Come on, kid. "Difficulty"? You're in middle school.
But the reality is that watching a spelling bee is about like watching the proverbial paint dry . . . with one exception this time: At intermission, a ballgame broke out at this spelling bee with the serving of . . . hotdogs!
Um… how does the serving of hotdogs qualify as "a ballgame"? As loyal reader The Jammer points out: "Why didn't a picnic break out at the spelling bee? Or a vacation? A walk on the boardwalk? An eating contest? A carnival? Or the zillion other places that people eat hotdogs." Well said, Jammer. Also, I like how he's more excited about the possibility of eating fatty pig intestine than about his son (or son-in-law) competing.
Hotdogs. H-O-T-D-O-G-S. Hotdogs. That I can spell. With M-U-S-T-A-R-D, of course.
This isn't funny.
I can’t help but think that spelling bees in general would be more entertaining if hotdogs were served at every competition. I’m going to call the Kiwanis guys and see if they can get that done.
Labels: Kiwanis, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
So basically he's bored until they serve hot dogs. He makes a flimsy connection between the spelling bee and hot dogs, and suggests that they serve them all the time. I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard to serve hot dogs at events… they're like one dollar per ton. Also, note that he labels the story with "Kiwanis" but not "hot dogs" or "spelling bee." He also labels every article with his own name, his employer, and the title of his own blog, pretty much negating the purpose of labels.
Later, MM changed every "Kiwanis" reference to "Knights of Columbus," but failed to update his label, further illustrating his absolute blogging cluelessness.
1.) He refers to himself in the third person.
2.) He is the executive editor of a newspaper group, leading one to assume that he possesses some degree of writing skill.
3.) He describes his brain child, Outta Leftfield, as a "humor column," leading one to assume that he possesses some sense of humor.
Let's put those facts to the test with his latest column, shall we?
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
A ballgame breaks out at the spelling bee
MM loves two things - baseball (which he finds a way to shoehorn into every one of his columns), and bad puns. For instance, he might entitle an essay on having to take a dump during a poker game "These deuces don't add up to a timely flush."
The spelling bee is a useful educational tool that promotes learning and competition, but really, it’s not a spectator sport.
He's right, but in the wrong way. It's obviously not a sport, but people love watching a good bee when it's on TV. The fact that it isn't a "sport" akin to football or hockey is so obvious it shouldn't even need to be stated - but then, we wouldn't have this undoubtedly hilarious article!
For those of you who have been to a spelling bee, this is not news. But believe it or not, I hadn’t been to one in a very long time until last weekend when Son of Blonde Accountant represented his school at the Our Lady of I Before E Except After C spelling bee in Quakertown.
I understand that bloggers assigning "code names" to friends and loved ones is a way of preserving their privacy (I guess)… but really, he can't even name his son OR the school he goes to? I'm virtually the only person reading this blog - does MM think he has stalkers?
It was what you would expect from a spelling bee of about 30 or so sixth, seventh and eighth graders. It was sponsored by the local Kiwanis Club, always and forever a noble group of community-minded folks. Our guy went out in the third round after having some difficulty on the word “difficulty.” He had added and errant “l” to make it “difficultly.”
Come on, kid. "Difficulty"? You're in middle school.
But the reality is that watching a spelling bee is about like watching the proverbial paint dry . . . with one exception this time: At intermission, a ballgame broke out at this spelling bee with the serving of . . . hotdogs!
Um… how does the serving of hotdogs qualify as "a ballgame"? As loyal reader The Jammer points out: "Why didn't a picnic break out at the spelling bee? Or a vacation? A walk on the boardwalk? An eating contest? A carnival? Or the zillion other places that people eat hotdogs." Well said, Jammer. Also, I like how he's more excited about the possibility of eating fatty pig intestine than about his son (or son-in-law) competing.
Hotdogs. H-O-T-D-O-G-S. Hotdogs. That I can spell. With M-U-S-T-A-R-D, of course.
This isn't funny.
I can’t help but think that spelling bees in general would be more entertaining if hotdogs were served at every competition. I’m going to call the Kiwanis guys and see if they can get that done.
Labels: Kiwanis, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
So basically he's bored until they serve hot dogs. He makes a flimsy connection between the spelling bee and hot dogs, and suggests that they serve them all the time. I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard to serve hot dogs at events… they're like one dollar per ton. Also, note that he labels the story with "Kiwanis" but not "hot dogs" or "spelling bee." He also labels every article with his own name, his employer, and the title of his own blog, pretty much negating the purpose of labels.
Later, MM changed every "Kiwanis" reference to "Knights of Columbus," but failed to update his label, further illustrating his absolute blogging cluelessness.
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