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.

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...

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.

Baseball, "Hotdogs" and Mustard - again...

OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Lowering the 'boomstick' on hotdogs, Texas-style
Published: Wednesday, March 28, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor

Hot dogs. I find it admirable that he STILL finds ways to break new ground.

Opening Day is just around the corner and that smell you smell is what the French Canadians — who once had a baseball team in Montreal — used to call Odeur de Hotdog.

Good lord, could he have found a more round-about way to introduce his topic?

I couldn’t find the French word for “hotdog,” but I didn’t search the Internet far and wide because, well, it’s a hotdog and I don’t really care what it’s called in other languages as long as there is mustard within arm’s reach.

Mustard! Be careful there, Borsch - don't HILARIOUSLY spill any of that on your shirt!

Besides, Montreal lost its baseball franchise to Washington, D.C., some years ago, and Nationals officials are trying a new marketing approach this season by prohibiting us Phillies fans from buying tickets to their ballpark and eating all their hotdogs. But that’s an issue for another time.

May I ask a question - how do these two facts relate to each other? (1) Montreal's baseball team went to Washington, and (2) Washington doesn't want as many Phillies fans in their stadium. The way he presents it, both are part of one central "issue."

With the start of a new baseball season, however, hotdogs will again be in the conversation.

This isn't how the word "however" works. Usually it sets up a contrast: "I usually hate sports; however, I enjoyed that hockey game." You can't write, "People speak French in Montreal. However, we can now talk about hotdogs." By the way, isn't "hot dogs" actually two words?

Dollar Dog Night has been a regular promotion at Citizens Bank Park for a while now and as has been reported in this space over the years, Phillies team officials usually want to know in advance when I’m coming to the ballpark so they can order an extra truckload of wieners for the game.

Because he's FAT! Get it? This is why he's got his own published humor column, folks.

Not to be outdone, though, are the good folks in Texas. We all know that — blah, blah, blah — everything is bigger in Texas — blah, blah, blah — for the Y’all and Ma’am Crowd and — blah, blah, blah.

I would like to know what the "blah blah blah" parts represent. Really, isn't the saying just that "everything is bigger in Texas"? Am I missing some other part of the phrase?

All we here in Philly know was that the Texas Rangers didn’t have enough gallons full of $100 bills in their 10-gallon hats to keep Cliff Lee in a Rangers uniform and he ended up back in Phillies pinstripes.

I laughed out loud when I read this sentence. It is maybe the worst collection of English words I have ever seen. Gallons full of $100 bills? I didn't know you could "fill" a gallon with something. Isn't a gallon what fills something else? The best part is, Borsch probably thought this was soooooo clever.

Still, Texas’ need to be bigger and better at everything has reached the ballpark concession stand. According to a wire service story,

Lamentably I was unable to find the exact story that Borsch copied the remaining 70% of his column from. However, every single article I spotted featured the "everything's bigger in Texas" cliche that Borsch passed off above.

the Rangers this season are offering their own culinary heart attack — a two-foot-long, one-pound, gourmet hot dog that feeds three to four people and costs $26. It’s as big as one of the mini-baseball bats one can buy at the ballpark, for less than the price of the hotdog, I might add.

Can "culinary heart attack" be a Borsch original? I doubt it.

Of course, I admire that kind of effort in the name of hotdog competition, although some of the accoutrements that accompany this story are a little iffy. For example, ballpark chef Cristobal Vasquez has created the monstrosity that includes a Coney Island-style wiener, topped with shredded cheese, chili and sautéed onions. It’s served on a bun that according to team officials is made of “exotic bread flown in from France.”

Can "accoutrements" really accompany a story?

The fact that ballparks actually have something called a “ballpark chef” on the payroll is slightly disconcerting, although that fact wouldn’t prevent me from trying to scrape together $26 (parking at Citizens Bank Park is only $15, by the way) and tackle this bad boy hotdog.

What is "disconcerting" about that? He's disturbed or upset by the fact that a chef works there? I'd be reassured, knowing that the food would be of high quality. But I'm not a "professional" writer.

No less than a hotdog authority like Rangers team president Nolan Ryan — yes, that Nolan Ryan, baseball hall-of-fame pitcher and owner of seven no-hitters during his playing days — calls it a “wild dog.”

Oh, THAT Nolan Ryan? Come on - if people know who Cliff Lee is, it's a pretty safe bet they'll know who Nolan Ryan is without the condescending dashed-off aside.

“It has to be a tremendous wiener,” Ryan said in the wire service story. “And then we’re getting some kind of exotic bread flown in from France. I don’t know what kind of condiments you put on that. But I do want to look at it.”

I'm sorry, but didn't Borsch just say that the bread "is made of 'exotic bread flown in from France'"? Is Ryan the "team official" cited above? Did he forget that he had already used that quote in his column?

I’d love to see the team’s beat writers ask Phillies General Manager Ruben Amaro Jr. to comment on the state of the hotdogs for this coming season. Given his penchant for wheeling and dealing, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least to learn that Amaro has already had preliminary discussions with the Rangers to trade for the monster hot dog.

So in the same paragraph we go from "hotdog" to "hot dog." Consistency! Also, Amaro would never be interested in this hot dog - it's too young to be on the roster here in Philly.

The only snafu for the Rangers is what to call the hotdog.

Now it's "hotdog" again. Consistency!

At this point, it’s going to depend on where the Texas fans purchase the hotdog. If they eat at the Captain Morgan Club at the ballpark — sigh, do we really need to sell naming rights to each piece of the ballpark? If so, I’d like to put in a bid to have my name on the latrines —

Poop joke! Classy.

the big weenie is called a “Champion Dog.” If fans purchase it at the concession stands throughout the ballpark, it will be known as “The Boomstick.” (That’s apparently a nod to Nelson Cruz, the Rangers’ big thumper, who when he hits a home run, fans call it “lowering the boomstick.”)

That sounds retarded: "Nelzon Cruz... who when he hits a home run, fans call it..." Terrible writing. TERRIBLE. Borsch is also uncharacteristically passing up many, many chances to make a penis joke.

When a team can’t get the name of its hotdogs straight, well, we all know that only decreases its chances of making it to the World Series.

Get out the mustard, let’s play ball already.

The Rangers went to the World Series the past two years in a row. The Phillies haven't sniffed the WS during that span. What, again, is the connection between hot dogs and the post-season?

I suspect this won't be the last baseball/hot dog/mustard story we'll get this season. Prepare yourselves, folks!

Lies, Lies, Lies

Mike Morsch ‏ @mmorsch35
Spent 2 1/2 hours pushing stories on social media and engaging audience. Wasn't that long ago bosses didn't want us online during work day.

Posted at 5:30 PM yesterday. Wow! Sounds like Borsch is jumping right into the digital age! Although I'd question exactly what "audience" (his 5 readers?) he is "engaging" (nauseating?), I'll take his word for it...

...or will I???

At 4:53 PM, he posted the following in response to some guy's tweet about Roy Halladay:

Mike Morsch ‏ @mmorsch35
@Plesac19 That's the way we felt about Doc in Philly last year before Game 5 of the NLDS. It didn't work out for us.

Engaging the audience... with baseball! At 4:30 PM he posted this:

Mike Morsch ‏ @mmorsch35
Seems to me that the obvious choice to play second base in Chase #Utley's absence is Cliff #Lee. Even when he's pitching.

Crackin' baseball jokes! Hilarious. And, apparently, engaging for his vast audience. Now get this exchange - and keep in mind, he's spent "2 1/2 hours" today "pushing stories on social media."

Jessica Quiroli ‏ @heelsonthefield
Brandon Laird and George Kontos among those sent to the minors. #Yankees

Mike Morsch ‏ @mmorsch35 (3:33 PM)
@heelsonthefield I did a story on Kontos a few years ago when he was in Trenton. Then he got traded. When did he comes back to the Yanks?

"When did he comes." Nice.

Jessica Quiroli ‏ @heelsonthefield
@mmorsch35 The Yankees also called him up in September.

Mike Morsch ‏ @mmorsch35 (3:44 PM)
@heelsonthefield I thought he went to the Pirates in the deal the Yanks made for the oft-injured rightfielder (can't remember his name).

Jessica Quiroli ‏ @heelsonthefield
@mmorsch35 In the Burnett trade?

Mike Morsch ‏ @mmorsch35 (4:04 PM)
@heelsonthefield BTW, here's my latest on "The Rotation" by Salisbury and Zolecki: http://bit.ly/GDYwRD

Mike Morsch ‏ @mmorsch35 (4:04 PM)
@heelsonthefield No, in the Xavier Nady trade from a few years back. I thought George was part of that deal.

Stories Pushed On Social Media: 1
Time Spent Bullshitting On Twitter About Baseball: 1 hour, 10 minutes

But wait! At 3:46 and 3:48 PM, he "pushed" his fascinating story about "The Rotation" (by Todd Zolecki and Jim Salisbury) to two different people! ...Too bad those two people were, in fact, authors Todd Zolecki and Jim Salisbury.

At this rate he might reach, like seven people in those 2 1/2 hours - and he might just get to the bottom of that George Kontos mystery, too!

I'm sure the bosses are pleased with that time management.

Hawaii(an) x 27

OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Flower show short on Hawaiian shirts, ‘Five-0’ music (VIDEO)
Published: Tuesday, March 13, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor

Remember the days when I thought Borsch had lost it and I could retire in peace? They seem like so long ago...

My tickets have arrived for the Beach Boys, whose 50th anniversary tour is stopping in Camden in June. And it goes without saying that I need a new Hawaiian shirt to wear to the concert.

For the love of God, STOP TALKING ABOUT THE BEACH BOYS. Hall and Oates will get jealous!

As has been detailed in this space over the years, I used to be quite a fashion plate with my collection of Hawaiian shirts. Unfortunately, The Blonde Accountant is not too keen on Hawaiian shirts. But she married me anyway, and then began a systematic Mike Makeover that resulted in all the Hawaiian shirts being purged from my closet, never to return. Or so she thinks.

Know what else has been "detailed in this space" time and time again? How he has terrible fashion sense and his wife disapproves of it. Can we hope for a Chuck Taylors reference just to sweeten the pot?

But with the Beach Boys getting back together, the time is perfect to start rebuilding my Hawaiian shirt collection. However, we should probably keep this between us, because I wouldn’t want The Blonde Accountant to find out and scuttle my plans before I even get a chance to do some advanced scouting on the Hawaiian shirts.

Just for the record, his past four sentences have started with the following words: "But," "or," "but," and "however." You think this would indicate some alteration in the "wife hates his Hawaiian shirts" scenario - and you'd be wrong. He likes said shirts - but she got rid of them. Or not! But he's buying more. However, don't tell her. Borsch continues to use the (baseball) term "advanced scouting" when I'm pretty sure it's "advance scouting."

The first opportunity for some of that advanced scouting happened last week at the 2012 Philadelphia International Flower Show. This year’s theme was “Hawaii: Islands of Aloha.”

Too bad the Phillies’ Shane Victorino — a native Hawaiian — wasn’t able to attend the flower show because of his spring training commitment in Clearwater, Fla. He surely would have been named Flower Show Grand Poohbah.

Did you know that Shane Victorino is Hawaiian? Borsch does! Did you know that the show "Hawaii Five-O" was filmed on location in Hawaii? Read on to find out how often he can mention that!

Now I’ve sleepwalked through the flower show for several years, so I know the drill. It’s always pleasant enough, and I like to look at the displays for about an hour. But then the cement floor of the Pennsylvania Convention Center starts to raise seven kinds of heck with my back and knees and I get eight kinds of cranky.

From a March 2, 2010 article: "The only problem I ever have at the flower show is that the cement floor of the convention center plays seven kinds of hooey with my knees." If he can somehow mention hot dogs and spilling things, we'll have just about every Borsch cliche in the book!

The Hawaii theme this year, though, offered me some hope. I know from dragging my sorry hind end to past shows that there is a whole section of vendors at the flower show. I figured since everything was Hawaii-themed this year, there had to be at least one Hawaiian-shirt vendor in the house.

Not only that, but I figured the theme was sure to encourage other like-minded mopes to break out the Hawaiian shirts and dust them off for the first time this spring.

"Like-minded mopes"? Does wanting to wear a Hawaiian shirt qualify you as a "mope"?

And I anticipated that the “Hawaii Five-0” theme song would be playing on a continuous loop, at least in the convention center men’s rooms.

... Since only men like "Hawaii Five-O." I guess.

Well, that was wrong. On all accounts.

The phrase is not "on all accounts," it's "on all counts." Can we get an "irregardless," maybe?

Not only wasn’t there a vendor selling Hawaiian shirts — at least not one that I found — there were only about five guys in the crowd of 8 billion flower show attendees that day (we always seem to pick the most crowded day every year to go to this thing) wearing Hawaiian shirts. And I didn’t hear one “Book ’em Dano!” all day.

Perhaps people aren't as ignorant about Hawaii as you are, you know? Maybe they appreciate the islands for their beauty and culture, not for tacky shirts and a 1970s TV show?

Apparently, I’m not the only guy in the greater Philadelphia area who has a wife who hates her husband’s Hawaiian shirts and won’t even let him wear one to a Hawaii-theme flower show that he likely didn’t want to attend in the first place. I had tried to compensate for that oversight by wearing a stylish pink and white striped shirt, despite its lack of adherence to the show’s theme.

Wouch, that "Apparently" monster was one of his worst sentences ever.

At the very least, there should have been a moratorium placed on No Hawaiian Shirts Allowed Rule that wives have obviously imposed on husbands of this area.

Shouldn't that be "a moratorium placed on THE No Hawaiian Shirts Rule"?

It’s a flower show with a Hawaiian theme for crying out loud. Hawaiian shirts should have been standard issue for all the guys.

Alright, as of this second I'm going to tally every time the word "Hawaii" or "Hawaiian" is used here. He's probably already over ten. [Editor's Note: He was already over twenty]

The closest thing I could find to anything Hawaiian that I wanted to purchase was called a Good Luck Bamboo Pot. While standing at that vendor’s booth perusing the pots and wondering if buying one would bring me better luck in finding a new Hawaiian shirt, a woman standing next to me picked up another plant and shook it in my face.

Uh-oh, get ready for a ZANY exchange! Will he use "countered" where it's not appropriate?

“Do you know what this is!” she shouted at me, like she knew at my age I was beginning to get a little hard of hearing.

Usually you use a question mark when someone is asking a question, don't you?

“No, I don’t,” I said.

“Well, don’t you work here?” she asked.

“No ma’am,” I said.

“But you have on such a nice shirt,” she said. “I thought you worked here.”

Wow, given his usual propensity to use "replied slyly" and "demanded angrily," this "asked" and "said" exchange is practically Hemingway-esque.

See, that makes no sense to me at all. Had I been appropriately attired in a Hawaiian shirt, then the woman could have conceivably assumed that I just might be working at the show.

Witnessing the whole exchange, The Blonde Accountant had a smirk that suggested, “Hey, if I would have let you wear a Hawaiian shirt to this thing, then you would have had to figure out a way to sell that woman that plant.”

What? Someone assumed he worked there WITHOUT a Hawaiian shirt. If he wore the shirt, would he be REQUIRED to work there? Is that what's implied? This really doesn't make much sense.

Ahhh, phooey.

The flower show did offer one respite for the Cro-Magnon-inclined — a Man Cave. It’s a dandy concept by the flower show brain trust to accommodate the husbands who get dragged along to the event. And although this Man Cave featured big screen TVs, cold adult beverages, craps and blackjack tables and attractive women in short skirts, I would suggest at least one change for next year: A real Man Cave wouldn’t allow wives and children inside its man-friendly confines.

I've read this paragraph several times now, and I keep asking myself the same question: is it supposed to be funny? "Du-huh, guys are cavemen who like sports and booze." Really?

And next year, if a guy comes into the Man Cave wearing a Hawaiian shirt, he drinks free for the duration of his flower show stint.

Cue the “Hawaii Five-0” theme music for heaven’s sake.

For the record, that was twenty-seven uses of "Hawaii" or "Hawaiian."

Not So Fast...

"Ugh," my brother said to me, "I logged onto the Souderton Independent page and guess whose gigantic, grinning face I saw?"

Since my retirement in the Fall, the menace known as Michael Morsch has been relatively silent. He would regurgitate concert promos every once in a while, but in general he remained the unamusing, uninspired hack he had become by late 2011.

Until I followed my brother's lead and found this:

OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Perfect banquet - Short speeches, great dessert, lots of yuks
Published: Thursday, January 26, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor

Laughter described as "yuks" in the headline? How could I resist?

As a veteran of the rubber chicken circuit, I can tell you that the three things one needs most for a successful banquet experience are short speeches, good dessert and someone at the table with whom you can yuk it up for the entire evening.

Now, I didn't go to school for journalism like Borsch did. But isn't it poor form to repeat your headline practically word-for-word in the first paragraph? Borsch goes on to describe how he got to "yuk it up" with a guy at his table named Bob.

I had never met Bob and his wife, Ellen — a perfectly lovely couple — before the banquet. I promised that if I wrote about them, I wouldn’t use their last name. Besides, everyone in the Indian Valley probably knows Bob and Ellen, which lets me off the hook because I forgot to ask them what their last name was anyway. Some reporter I am.

See, that's a problem. He's not a reporter anymore - he's the executive editor and self-aggrandizing columnist. He has (one would assume) a decent number of real reporters in his employ. Why isn't he sending these people out to interview celebrities, review concerts, etc? Especially since he's just as bad at reporting as he is at editing and writing?

But I knew right away that Bob and I were going to hit it off when I saw him dipping his napkin in his water glass, then dabbing at his shirt.

That’s right, good old Bob is a spiller, just like me.

He's returning to true form here, people. Spilling things! Hilarious!

“I spill something on myself every time I eat,” said Bob.

“Me too,” I said. “My wife carries one of those Tide sticks in her purse and I have to use it at every meal we eat out.”

Remember that episode of The Simpsons where former President Gerald Ford moves in, and he and Homer get along really well because they're both clumsy and dumb? This is sort of like that, but a lot less amusing.

Oddly enough, and what I didn’t tell Bob because I didn’t want to spoil the illusion that I was a Major League spiller, was that I rarely, if ever, spill anything on myself when we eat dinner at home.

Major League = Unnecessary Baseball Reference. He's jumped right back in the saddle.

So at banquets and restaurants, I’ve taken to just tucking my napkin up into my collar like a bib to cover my front. I am way past the point of worrying whether anyone thinks that looks goofy in favor of a more reasonable dry cleaning bill.

True to form, Borsch will now drive this "I spill things on myself" bit (which - hard to believe, I know - he HAS mentioned before) as far into the ground as possible.

Bob decided, after spilling some of the fruit cup on his shirt, that tucking his napkin up under his chin was a good strategy for the rest of the meal, so he willingly followed my lead.

“I’ll bet we’re the only two in here tonight who have our napkins tucked into our collars,” he said.

Is it any wonder this man is reviled? Here he is, attending the Indian Valley Chamber of Commerce banquet at a country club, and he's wearing a bib and blundering about with some moron next to him.

As we chit-chatted, Bob would spill something and I would drop my napkin. Then we’d hardy-har-har about it. Then I would spill something and he’d drop his napkin. And then we’d hardy-har-har some more.

Dropping napkins: an endless source of amusement. How exactly did their napkins get dropped in the first place? Shouldn't their elephantine double chins have wedged those things firmly in place?

We discovered that we both like baseball and that Bob still plays in an over-60 softball league.

Apparently it took him longer to mention baseball in conversation than it did to mention it in this column. Wonders will never cease.

I only got into trouble with Bob a few times during the course of the evening. One was when I told him that I went to school at the University of Iowa. Bob, a college wrestling fan, apparently is not a big fan of Iowa and its string of NCAA national wrestling championships in the 1980s under legendary Iowa wrestling coach Dan Gable. So we went round and round about that.

Got that? The school was "Iowa," and the coach was "Iowa wrestling coach Dan Gable." Good writing.

Har-har-hardy-har-har, guffaw-guffaw and snicker-snicker.

What is funny about this? "Hey, I attended the University of Iowa." "I don't like them, nor do I like their coach, Iowa's Dan Gable." I assume the side-splitting comedy is contained somewhere in the phrase "we went round and round about that." Too bad we, the audience, will never know what it was. Bob then asks Borsch if he fishes:

“No, I’m not a fisherman,” I said. “I don’t mind sitting in a boat with a line in the water, but I really don’t like baiting the hook.”

“Wussie,” said Bob.

Giggle-giggle, hardy-har-har (accompanied by elbow nudges and a back slap or two).

First of all, in real life, nobody does the elbow nudge thing. Second, outside of Beavis and Butthead, nobody would laugh this much just because the word "wussie" was utilized.

I certainly don’t agree with him on his Iowa approach, but since my official stance on worms has always been that they’re “yucky,” he’s probably right about the fishing thing.

Tee-hee, ho-ho-ha-ha-ha.

Hey Borsch - remember when you talked about the wrestling thing and the fishing thing in the previous paragraphs? Yeah. You don't have to repeat that in THIS paragraph. It was even less funny the second time around.

The evening was delightful — due in large part to Bob and Ellen —

Wait - what did Ellen spill on herself?

and was made even more special because the Souderton Independent was named the 2011 Cornerstone Award winner as the small business of the year by the chamber. Congratulations to my hard-working colleagues at the Souderton Independent and thanks to my friend Sharon Minninger, executive director of the chamber, and the group’s board for the honor and for putting on a superb banquet. I will be happy to spill something on myself at any of the chamber’s future events.

As long as I get to sit next to Bob.

Sharon Minninger needs to cultivate better friends. In true Borsch fashion, he does an excellent job of TELLING us that things are funny, but a horrible job of SHOWING us that they are. Imagine the following exchange:

Morsch: Hey, I went to this great banquet. The speeches were short, the food was great, and I sat next to this hilarious guy.
You: Oh yeah? What were the speeches about?
Morsch: Never mind about that.
You: How was the food?
Morsch: Good cake. But this guy Bob, he was great. We both spill things on ourselves.
You: You don't say so.
Mosrch: Yeah! We dropped our napkins and stuff. It was hilarious.
You: Oh?
Morsch: Then we went round and round about college wrestling. I thought I was gonna bust a gut.
You: Sounds... great.
Morsch: And THEN we talked about fishing! Bob called me a 'wussie.'
You: Do people even use that word anymore?
Morsch: Yeah, so did I mention we talked about wrestling and fishing?
You: You did mention that, yes.
Morsch: Oh. So anyway, it was just amazing.

Welcome back, Borsch. You're just as terrible as you always have been.

New "Outta Leftfield" Subject: Baseball

Friday, August 12, 2011
Kruk, Williams solidify 'character' personas

We may have discussed how to swing a bat, we may have discussed going to a Yankess game, and we may have discussed Hunter Pence... but I never would have guessed that Borsch would pull this topic out of his hat! BASEBALL!

Remember those two old guy muppets on “The Muppet Show” — their names are Statler and Waldorf — who heckled the rest of the cast from the balcony, then yukked it up at their own jokes?

"Yukked." We're off to a roaring start.

Well, meet the modern-day Statler and Waldorf — Mitch Williams and John Kruk, mainstays of the 1993 Philadelphia Phillies squad that lost the World Series to the Toronto Blue Jays when Williams gave up a series-ending home run to Joe Carter. (Boo-boo, hiss-hiss.)

This is an idiotic statement in several ways. First off, Statler and Waldorf watched someone else's act and mocked it. So unless Williams and Kruk are watching a game and making fun of the players, the comparison doesn't even work. Second, they're making a Muppets movie right now. I'm pretty sure Statler and Waldorf will be in it. Statler and Waldorf are the modern-day Statler and Waldorf, not two untalented talking heads.

Put microphones in front of these two, sit back and prepare to be entertained.

Well hey, they're not Dennis Miller, after all. What is it, Borsch, no remarks about how much fatter Kruk is than you would expect? Maybe you could say they weren't quite as amusing as you had hoped?

They’ve known each other for a long time. Both talk baseball for a living now — Kruk for ESPN’s “Baseball Tonight” and Williams for MLB Network — and both are real characters.

What does one sentence have to do with the other? "These guys are old friends. Here are their jobs."

Kruk in particular has that “grumpy old guy” thing down, even though he’s only 50 years old. You expect him to shout, “Hey you kids, get off my lawn!” at any moment.

Ah, that's the first time we've heard that joke! Really, Borsch, if you're going to call yourself a "humor columnist," you should really have more than one joke per subject. "Old guys? Reference 'getting off lawn' joke." Comedy gold!

During their playing careers, neither Kruk nor Williams was all that fond of answering questions from reporters. But I happened to be standing next to former Phillies pitcher Tommy Greene while Kruk and Williams answered questions from the audience during that part of the festivities.

Again, how do these two sentences relate??? "They don't like answering questions. But I stood next to some guy." Is he writing this column on morphine or something?

Here's an example of the absolutely side-splitting riffs that these two comedic geniuses go off on. Move over, Don Rickles!

“Joe Carter is one of those rare right-handed hitters who likes the ball down and in,” Williams told the crowd. “I knew that, so that pitch was supposed to be up and away.”
“Missed by just a little bit, huh?” Kruk added.

"Added" really isn't the appropriate verb, there. And I'm sure they haven't had that exact same exchange 6,578 other times during public appearances.

Har-har-hardy-har-har. These guys should add a drummer to their act just for the rim shots.

Why, because they had one "funny" exchange? I love how we're supposed to buy their modern-day Statler and Waldorf credentials based on this one quote.

Blue collar guys for a blue collar city. They should never have to buy another beer in this town for as long as they live.

Aaaaaand slam on the breaks! Post's over. He goes from saying how hilarious they are, to providing one example of said hilarity, to saying that they should get free beers for life. Mr. Borsch, as always, is earning his pay.

Dare We Call This a Triple-Header?

OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Learning the physics of extension with a swivel chair and tripod
Published: Tuesday, August 02, 2011
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor

Several new supremely uninteresting offerings from the King of Komedy, Michael Morsch. Highlights from the first one:

Any discussion of physics usually puts me to sleep. But add to that a swivel chair, a video camera tripod and a hotel room at 2:30 a.m. in Lakewood, N.J., and the physics discussion becomes immediately more entertaining … until I fall asleep.

This sounds like the plot of a bad porno film.

It’s not exactly easy to find oneself in a hotel room in the middle of New Jersey listening to someone go on about the physics of hitting a baseball. These kinds of things happen to me because, essentially, I am a big galoot who hangs around with like-minded knuckleheads.

Badabing! We've got baseball, and we've got words like "galoot" and "knuckleheads." Borsch talks about an old friend name John who sounds at least as unamusing as our favorite editor himself, and states that he is a bona fide purveyor of bull puckey. Google suggests that you spell it "bullpucky," but hey, I'm not one to nitpick.

Well, it turns out John is interested in (surprise!) baseball. Did I mention John is bald? I hope you think that's funny, because it's the only joke there is. Borsch also uses the terms "ballgame" and "ballplayers."

Monday, August 1, 2011
A Connecticut Yankee road trip

Branching out into new territory, Borsch decides to focus this effort on the game of baseball. He disguises it as a "precious moments with my daughter"-type post, but watch what Borsch rambles on about:

Our seats in Yankee Stadium ended up being a few rows behind and a few seats over from where Derek Jeter’s 3,000th hit landed in the leftfield bleachers a few weeks ago. The Yankees’ captain was the first Yankee to reach 3,000 career hits — not Ruth, not Gehrig, not DiMaggio, not Mantle. So Jeter’s accomplishment is a pretty big deal for a franchise that’s experienced a lot of pretty big deals in its existence.

Then later, when they actually get to the University of Hartford: Notable UHART graduates include the singer Dionne Warwick and Houston Astros retired first baseman Jeff Bagwell. Really?

He talks about visiting the home of Mark Twain and tries to impress us by telling us that this was merely his pen name. Gee, such arcane knowledge! Next he'll be telling us Muhammad Ali was just a stage name, too. He says he is "a writer of substantially less note" than Twain. This officially qualifies as the understatement of the millenium. I'm not the biggest Twain fan there is, but the thought of Borsch defiling that house with his presence sickens me.

Monday, August 1, 2011
Right field 'Pence-syl-mania'

Borsch's mind is always striving to expand and improve his art. Witness this column, which delves into the heretofore untouched realm of baseball! Here - not showing any discomfort at exploring such unfamiliar territory - he discusses the arrival of outfielder Hunter "The Mantis" Pence.

Let me pause a moment to say that Borsch is not only a bad writer - he's a cowardly hypocrite as well. A mere seven days ago, he had this to say on his Twitter account: I don't know this guy who the Eagles signed and could care less. And Hunter Pence just isn't that good.

But a mere 24 hours later, he directed this Twitter comment to Pence himself: Welcome to Philly. Will be there tonight in rightfield to greet you.

I hope you greet him with only the mildest applause because, you know, he's just not that good.

[Pence] reacted to the attention by waving to the faithful, tipping his cap a couple of times and turning to acknowledge the fans several times during the game.

Woah, a gracious celeb! Who would have thought? Showing that he is, as always, the consummate writer, Borsch follows that sentence with this one:

Pence wears his pants high, to show a lot of red sock. It’s a good look for him.

First: what the hell? And second: saying someone "wears his pants high" makes you think he has the waistline up around the ribcage, not that he just rolls his socks way up. And suddenly Borsch, the man whose lack fashion sense has fueled many a column, knows what a "good look" for anyone is?

Borsch Reviews a Toilet

OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Not a bidet-dream believer in the electronic toilet seat
Published: Tuesday, July 26, 2011
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor

Is it a surprise that Borsch is once again writing about a "zany" invention? No. If the topic isn't baseball or a recent local concert, this is basically the only thing left in his repertoire. Another familiar Borsch trick - using song lyrics in sentences - is on full display here.

If you women think that we men monopolize the remote control now, just wait until we all run out and buy the Intelliseat, touted as “the premiere electronic toilet seat on the market today.”

WOW, guys monopolizing the remote! Could it get any fresher than this?

Oddly enough, I wasn’t even the one who discovered the existence of this product. The Blonde Accountant and Daughter of Blonde Accountant were on an advanced scouting trip to Costco for something else recently when they stumbled upon the display for the Intelliseat.

"Advanced scouting trip" is most definitely a baseball reference, although I believe the term is "advance scouting."

This is a common modern-day Borsch offering - long on detail and boring story, short on all but the lamest attempts at humor. For instance, in the next pharagraph he uses the word "schlep" and suggests that he goes to Costco only for the free food samples.

He goes on to list the features of the product (the sheer amount of detail will have you in stitches!) before writing this:

What I found humorous was that printed right on the top of the box were the words, “This end up.” That seemed like a bit of a contradiction because the product actually requires more of a “this end down” approach.

This comic gem is pretty much the high water mark for this column. We get a little jingoism while discussing the word "bidet":

Unfortunately, my knowledge of French is limited to toast, croissants and Maurice Chevalier...

The complexity of the remote control for this device baffles him - it apparently has a baffling array of controls. He then lists nine controls and states: That’s a lot of control for one remote. Has he even seen a modern television or DVD player remote?

When I was describing the various functions on the remote to The Blonde Accountant later at home, she immediately turned into a young Joan Rivers — before all the plastic surgery, of course — and did several minutes of salty and extremely funny jokes, none of which are printable here.

Rats - they would have been the first funny jokes printed in the entire history of Outta Leftfield.

It appears that the Intelliseat, while good for a few laughs, does not appear to be in my future, though. Besides, for this product to really “have my name written all over it,” it would also have to be able to report the baseball scores to me.

Wait a minute - he is a baseball fan or something? We end on a baffling note:

So I’m going to remain hopelessly old-fashioned in this area. While conducting business in the foreseeable future, I’m sticking with paper — news and toilet.

Didn't he publish a post a while back about how Montgomery Newspapers was going to be breaking new ground in online news technology? Unless he means using his own newspaper as tiolet paper. Which would be entirely appropriate.

Leather Materials are Amusing

OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Getting coached on the intricacies of genuine water buffalo
Published: Tuesday, June 07, 2011

Dare I guess that Borsch is about to write about a topic he doesn't fully understand and about the merits of which he is rather dubious?

Here’s a sentence I never thought I’d write: I’m now carrying a water buffalo in my pocket.

Uh ... I may need a bigger pocket.

Is this supposed to be a "we're gonna need a bigger boat" Jaws reference?

There just aren’t too many daily situations or conversations where the words “water buffalo” come into play. In fact, the first and only water buffalo reference I can remember in my life was when I was a kid watching “The Flintstones.”

This is great - we aren't even on-topic yet and we're already off-topic!

Fred and Barney were members of the Loyal Order of Water Buffaloes Lodge No. 26, whose members wore really cool hats with horns and whose president was called The Grand Poobah. For you cartoon trivia buffs, the lodge’s secret password was “Ack, Ack, A-Dak.”

... This isn't funny.

But the water buffalo entered my life once again on this past Memorial Day. With no better plans in the offing — and that alone exposes a major flaw in our family’s holiday planning procedures — we found ourselves out at Limerick Outlet Mall with about a bazillion other people who obviously thought that shopping was a better option than having a picnic or going to a ballgame on a holiday weekend.

Morsch tortures the English language with his keyboard like a Medieval turnkey tortured peasants with the rack. He gets a perverse pleasure out of stretching sentences far past their normal limits.

Of course, some of the reason for the big crowd had to do with the big sales going on, which I’m told by the shopping experts in the family is not an unusual occurrence on Memorial Day.

How many things can this man not know about??? I know it's part of the "joke" that he doesn't know things, but really, sales on Memorial Day? Will he claim ignorance re: Black Friday sales next?

That the sales attracted a crowd was immediately evident upon our arrival to the outlet mall. The number of cars in the parking lot suggested the nearest open parking spot might be in King of Prussia.

So after stating that "a bazillion people" were at the Outlets, we once again have to establish that a lot of people were there (a bazillion, by the way, is also the number of years ago Babe Ruth did something in baseball, according to a recent column).

Swell. Fortunately, my exercise routine includes walking several miles a week, so I was not intimidated.

Watch out men - this guy walks with the best of them!

I dropped the shoppers off near the point in the mall where they intended to spend my money and went in search of a parking spot, which I eventually did find in the back 40 of the lot.

So after stating how scarce parking was... we once again have to state how scarce parking was.

As I was making my way in from the parking lot, a text message arrived from The Blonde Accountant: “At the Coach store, and it’s a jailbreak.”

“Jailbreak” is a term in our family that we use to mean, “It’s crazy-go-nuts with people in here.”

Uh-oh - cue the "heart" of the story, which I'm guessing will be how guys don't understand the Coach phenomenon.

Gentlemen, if you’ve never experienced a jailbreak at a Coach store having a sale, it’s a real treat. Imagine hundreds of women overdosing on the smell of leather and the potential to snag an overpriced handbag or wallet at a somewhat reasonable price.

Does he actually think he's the first to comment on these cultural trends? People were making jokes about overpriced, trendy Coach bags four or five years ago.

In what may be a surprising detail to some of you, I occasionally shop at the Coach store, despite the fact that it does not serve beer with its handbags.

Beer joke! The hits keep on comin'!

The reason I do is that the founders of the company drew inspiration from a leather baseball glove to create handbags with the same concept where the more they are used, the softer and smoother they become. Given that connection, straight from the company bio, The Blonde Accountant has yet to be convinced that we can have a catch using a couple of her Coach handbags as ball gloves.

Good Lord. This man really cannot write a column in which he doesn't employ at least half a dozen of his personal cliches. Not only does he work baseball into a discussion about purses, he even inserts a "ballpark" and a "ballglove."

By the way, look at that first sentence. It's as bloated and clumsy as Borsch himself. I'd be embarassed to turn in a college paper with a sentence like that, let alone a published column. What a hack.

So I carry both a Coach wallet and money clip, which usually is just wishful thinking on my part because after I pay for the wallet, there isn’t anything left to put in the money clip.

This presents something of a "chicken and the egg" conundrum - if his money clip is always empty because he has just paid for a wallet, how can he always carry both a wallet and a money clip?

But I was in need of both, and the big Coach sale provided me the opportunity to purchase them, but only after being knocked down seven times by the scores of women flitting about the store in their leather-induced haze.

Seven must be a funny number to Borsch (see "seven kinds of heck"). So he has a wallet, a money clip empty because he had to pay for the wallet, and a need to purchase both a wallet in money clip. This should be impossible.

It was only when we got home at the end of the shopping excursion that The Blonde Accountant pointed out a detail that I had overlooked.

“Did you know that your new wallet is made of water buffalo?” she said.

COMEDY!

“What? Water buffalo? Since when did water buffalo move to the top of the leather wallet food chain? You’re making that up,” I said.

He never said that. Totally fictional exchange.

Apparently not. In the Coach shopping bag there was a card that was slipped in by the checker that detailed how to care for a water buffalo wallet. It read: “Do not use Coach Leather Cleaner or Moisturizer on water buffalo accessories. Ink marks or grease stains should be left untreated; most will eventually blend into the darker leathers. Scratches or scuffs can generally be removed simply by rubbing them with your fingertips until the natural oils in your hand cause the marks to disappear.”

Is all that supposed to be funny? Did we really need to read the whole text of the card?

To which I responded: “There is a whole line of water buffalo accessories?” Besides, I never cared enough about a wallet to care for it anyway.

Keep in mind, we're now two paragraphs away from the end of the story, and we're just now reaching the "point" - which is that his wallet is dumb, I guess.

So now I carry a water buffalo wallet in my pocket. My sense is that now qualifies me to use the Loyal Order of Water Buffaloes Lodge secret password of “Ack, Ack, A-Dak,” which I’ve come to believe in prehistoric English means, “Show us your Coach water buffalo wallet and empty money clip.”

This money clip/wallet thing makes no sense. Another thing making no sense is the "water buffalo in my pocket" joke from the beginning. Hey, I'm wearing a cow on my feet! And a sheep on my body! Har dee har har har.

And as a bonus, I’m looking forward to wearing the Water Buffalo hat, if for no other reason than as protective headgear. It should be the perfect accessory for the next big Coach sale.

Terrible. I understand this is just a small newspaper group and all, but this is the best they can do for a "humor" column? And how desperate were they for an editor that they hired this guy?

Field of Lames

So I was sitting around the other day thinking, "Boy, it's been at least a few days since Borsch has written an article about baseball!"

OUTTA LEFTFIELD: It took 19 innings to score a treasured father-daughter memory
Published: Wednesday, June 01, 2011
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor

"Score." Because you score runs in baseball.

There’s always been a rule in our family: Never leave a ballgame early. It’s not only because something fun or unusual might happen, but because we go to the ballpark to enjoy the game, its sounds, smells and ambiance, not because we want to leave early and beat the traffic home.

First paragraph and we already have a "ballgame" and a "ballpark." I wonder if he brought his ballglove to catch a foul baseballball!

Well, the Phillies certainly tested that rule last week with their 19-inning tilt against the Cincinnati Reds.

And yep, I was there. For … the … whole … thing. All six hours and 14 minutes’ worth.

He makes it sound like this is a big chore, after a whole paragraph spent extolling the virtues of staying the whole game.

Joining me for the bonus baseball was Older Daughter, who has grown up with the family’s rules and is well aware of them.

That's a little redundant, isn't it? She grew up with them. AND is well aware of them! Also, she knows them!

I had reminded her in passing as the game entered the 10th inning that we never leave a game early. At that point, neither of us suspected we’d be there for another nine innings.

“I know the family rule,” she said matter-of-factly.

Isn't THIS a little redundant? The story so far: he established that the Morsch family stays for extra innings, and Older Daughter knows that. Then Morsch reminds Older Daughter that they stay for extra innings, and she confirms that she knows that.

As if to further demonstrate her understanding of the family rules, she turned to me after the 18th inning and said: “It would be kind of a half-assed effort on our part if we were to leave after the 18th inning, wouldn’t it?”

Woah woah woah, not even a warning that this column contains PG-13 material? He warns viewers to look away when he discusses poop, but tosses a casual "ass" out there?

Atta girl. When one’s daughter describes a six-hour, 18-inning effort at 1 a.m. as “half-assed” if we don’t see it through to the end, then that demonstrates a pretty good grasp of the We Never Leave a Ballgame Early Rule.

Nice elaborate made-up title. Also, this is the third time we've established that Older Daughter knows this rule.

Given my affinity for hotdogs mentioned in this space over the years, you might think a 19-inning ballgame would provide more than an ample opportunity to see if I could eat every hotdog in the ballpark.

Ballgame! Ballpark! Hot dogs! Is Borsch trying to do an Adam West Batman-style self-parody?

Oddly enough, I didn’t have a single dog that evening, which in hindsight is admittedly an error in judgment. I’m going to have to make a new family rule to address that: Never Go to a Ballgame Without Eating at Least a Half Dozen Hotdogs.

He might also create a The More Words I Use the Funnier I Become rule. How many little asides does he need to make a sentence amusing? "Oddly enough," "in hindsight," "admittedly"... These are the things that probably look hilarious to him while he's piling them on, but try actually reading them.

Among the unique aspects of the game was that the Phils’ winning pitcher ended up being position player Wilson Valdez, who became the first player to start a game in the field and end up getting the win on the hill since Babe Ruth did it a bazillion years ago. Raise your hand if you thought the names Babe Ruth and Wilson Valdez would ever be mentioned in the same sentence for any reason.

Was this one of the great memories he shared with Older Daughter? She seems to have vanished... Borsch is punishing us with all these extra details. Given all the clauses he jams into that first sentence is "getting the win on the hill" really necessary? Where else would you get the win?

I enjoyed having both a Seventh Inning Stretch and a 14th Inning Stretch, where we got to sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” twice in the same game. I have no doubt that if we had made it to the 21st inning, we would have sung again. (At one point on the scoreboard, it was revealed that the Phillies longest game in team history was a 21-inning contest against the Chicago Cubs in 1918.)

Too... many... unnecessary... baseball facts! Shouldn't there be an apostrophe after "Phillies"?

However, the most unusual and challenging aspect for Older Daughter and me ended up being the keeping of the scorecard.

Pathetic.

I’ve kept a scorecard at every game I’ve been to since I was a kid. And now as an adult, she has expressed an interest in that part of going to the ballgame, and I have been teaching her the intricacies of scorecard keeping the past few games we have attended together this season.

Wait - WHO as an adult? Borsch or Older Daughter? Chalk up another "ballgame."

The problem with the Phillies pre-printed scorecards is that they provide space for only 10 innings. There are additional columns for game totals that, if necessary, can be used to get one through 14 innings of scorekeeping.

Oh, horrors! Since only a tiny fraction of games ever go past the 14th inning, this is obviously a HUGE oversight on the part of the Phils!

But neither the Phillies nor the Reds cooperated by scoring any runs from the 11th through the 18th innings. So we were forced to get creative with the scorecard and write in the margins and then eventually, turn the scorecard vertically and utilize any vacant spaces that could be found.

This is just too exciting for words. Scorekeeping! Margin writing!

And we each got the whole game scored on our separate scorecards. Had it gone past 19 innings, I’m not sure what we would have done because we truly were out of space at that point. Older Daughter suggested afterward that she would have written on a napkin and stapled it to the scorecard if the game had continued. “You don’t come that far to have an incomplete scorecard,” she said.

This - THIS - is a memory worth treasuring? "Hey, remember that time we almost ran out of room on that piece of paper?" Who could possibly think this is material interesting enough for publication?

The game ended around 1:15 a.m., and the Phillies rewarded us by winning the game. Both of us did the “Yea, We Won Dance” after the winning run scored. At that time of the morning, I was not embarrassed to have anyone see me dance.

Ah, and a reference to a fictional dance just to cap things off.

I dropped Older Daughter off at her house and made it home by 2:30 a.m. We both had to go to work the next morning, and the late night made for a long day the next day.

"...the next day" is completely unnecessary. He obviously dashes these off the night before they're due and never re-reads them.

About midday, I sent her a text message: “I know it was a long night, which is making for a tough day today, but I’m happy you were with me last night.”

His texts are as poorly-written as his columns.

She responded: “Ya, I had a really good time. Thanks for a good memory.”

And that’s what it indeed became, a great memory.

Why, you can still remember it days later! And in all fairness, she said "good memory," not "great memory."

It was a unique baseball game for sure, but it turned into a unique father-daughter experience that just the two of us share, a story that maybe someday she’ll tell her children.

This is absurd! What a claim! And for being such a unique and memorable experience, we heard precious little about what he and his daughter did together (we know they attended the game and kept scorecards).

It was a special evening, but not because the Phillies and Reds played 19 innings. It was special because I got to share it with a special person in my life. And that’s why we never leave a ballgame early. Because sometimes, if one is lucky, it ends up being about something other than just baseball.

Bull. This column was 922 words long. On a purely by-paragraph basis, if you remove the sections unrelated to his activites with Older Daughter, you're left with 490 words. So really, this once-in-a-lifetime memory merited 53% of his column; the remaining 47% involved hot dogs, baseball trivia, etc.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Ballparks and recreation

For a humor columnist, this man's supply of topics seems shockingly small, doesn't it?

Big baseball weekend at our house, which isn’t too much out of the ordinary, really.

No kidding.

Leading off was a college tilt as St. Joseph’s took on Temple in a twinbill Saturday afternoon at Skip Wilson Field on the Temple Ambler campus. It was the first time I had gotten to enjoy a game at that particular field and it’s a pretty nice college ballyard.

"Ballyard"? Really? He couldn't have just said "...at that particular field, and it's a pretty nice one"?

This matchup was of particular interest because Father of Blonde Accountant and The Blonde Accountant are both St. Joe’s grads and Pop Pop pitched for the Hawks back in his day. I have no allegiance to either team, but I do enjoy watching college baseball when I get the chance. The accompanying video shows some of those sites and sounds.

Is "Pop Pop" the same person as Father of Blonde Accountant? I like his criteria for an interesting game - out of three, two people went to one of the schools, and the third person doesn't care.

St. Joe’s took both games from the Owls, although we could only stay for the first game. Son of Blonde Accountant had his regular season CYO finale back in Montgomeryville so we headed back for that. Tough day for the youngster as he took the collar and his team lost. But the rain held off until after all baseball was done for the day, so that was good.

What exactly is the theme of this paragraph? Hawks vs. Olws? Game in Montgomeryville? The weather?

On Sunday, Son of Blonde Accountant and I took in the Reading Phillies. We got to see some of the young Phillies prospects — like pitchers J.C. Ramirez and Phillippe Aumont, first baseman Matt Rizzotti and shortstop Freddy Galvis — and the rain held off long enough for the home team to secure a victory.

I must be missing all the jokes so far, by the way. Should we re-name this the "Here's What I Did Today Weblog"?

One of the many wonderful things about baseball is the terminology, of which we heard plenty over the weekend, mostly during the college game.
For example, the following phrases can usually only be heard on the ballfield:

Ah yes, the "ballfield."

— “Lotta hop!” — It means, “Stay aggressive, show a lot of enthusiasm.”
— “Right man, right now” — Refers to having the best hitter at the plate with runners in scoring position able to get a clutch hit and drive in the runs.

That was a tortured sentence.

— “Hum, baby!” — Usually what is said to a pitcher, as in “Hum that pitch in there” or “throw it hard.”
Then of course, there is the umpire bating. Umpiring at the college level in particular is challenging and one must have a thick skin. There is a lot of chirping going on from the benches. Among my favorite lines over the years tossed at umpires:

Wow. So we get three uninteresting bits of baseball jargon, and now we're being "treated" to things Borsch has heard "over the years." Now we're not even talking about the weekend anymore!

— “Hey, poke a hole in that mask!”
— “Hey ump, shake your head, your eyes are stuck!”

Boy, two whole lines, huh? And these sound like the most generic insults one can imagine.

When I played, my dad didn’t get after the umpires too much — and neither did I — because we understood that umpires don’t win or lose ballgames. But when Pop did feel the need to sound off, he was relatively nice about it.
“Wake up ump, you’re missing a good game!”

Okay, no, THAT'S the most generic insult one can imagine. And what's with all these pointless digressions? Can we please settle on a theme for this post?

One of my alternative activities over the weekend was to go shopping with The Blonde Accountant for a new kitchen faucet.

You have got to be kidding me. This is terrible. What is this supposed to be about? And how is any of it funny?

Although that still has to happen, I believe this weekend qualified as an example of another common phrase: “Can’t beat fun at the old ballpark.”

But I thought the other phrases were UNcommon, because you'd only hear them at a baseball game. We'll have to take his word that any of this was fun, though, because he did such a terrible job of describing it.

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Reading Phillies, St. Joseph's, Temple Ambler

On a side note, we've passed the 150-post mark at Inta Rightfield. The majority of these have been Borsch-related, and the most frightening thing is, he's getting worse. He's still writing about the same things, using the same jokes. His choice of topics is slowly dwindling down to four: concerts he sees, things he can't do, stories he reads on the Internet, and baseball.

More disturbing is his shameless abuse of sentiment; he's hawked his so-called "tribute" to his deceased uncles several times in search of awards. There is seemingly no depth to which he will not sink.

Borsch says "Dadgummed," makes Latin name joke... AGAIN

OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Botanical enthusiasts dying to get a whiff of rare ‘Corpse Flower’
Published: Wednesday, April 27, 2011
By Mike Morsch

Borsch warned us that this column is "R-rated." Does this mean he'll refer to poop? Use a swear word other than "dadgummed"? This will obviously turn out to be one of those "odd story I read on the Internet" columns.

The botanists among us certainly know how to have a good time when it comes to plant watching, and apparently it’s nothing like watching a NASCAR race. I wouldn’t know for sure, though, because I am neither a botanist nor a redneck, although given my Midwestern roots, the jury is still out on the latter designation.

Well, we got the obligatory reference to growing up in Illinois out of the way quickly. What the heck is with the NASCAR reference? Who would compare plant watching to auto racing?

According to various wire service reports, more than 10,000 folks flocked to the Swiss city of Basel and the Basel Botanical Gardens last weekend to watch a big, stinky flower bloom for the first time in its 17-year-life.

And there you have it, folks - the ever-popular "wire service story." The NASCAR reference now makes even less sense, since the story takes place in Switzerland.

I can only surmise that there was nothing else to do last weekend in Switzerland and that the rest of the country was taking a nap, much like the flower itself has been doing the past 17 years.

Oooh, "surmise." Someone got a word-of-the-day calendar for Easter.

The plant is called Titan Arum (Amorphophallus titanum), more commonly referred to as the “Corpse Flower” because as it blooms, it gives off a Major League pee-you that is said to be a cross between rotting cheese and rotting flesh.

Alright, "pee-you" is the last way I would choose to spell that. Google it (in the privacy of your own home). There is sure to be a Latin joke in here somewhere. I'm also counting the use of "Major League" as an unnecessary baseball reference.

The female Corpse Flowers are not very keen on this, which might explain why the plants only bloom every 17 years.

Really, who ever told this man he was funny? I know it's pointless to ask at this point... but still.

So if you’re a Swiss botanist, you have to get your ducks in a row when it comes to scheduling your flower-watching entertainment opportunities as the window is pretty small for the Corpse Flower.

Not only that, but the plant has another distinguishing quality that may attract some people — and it’s at this point in the column that the more sensitive among you may want to cover one eye as you read because it’s R-rated — in that it’s shape is, uh … familiar.

Oh boy.

The genus name “Amorphophallus” is Greek and means “shapeless phallus.” The species name “titanum” means “extremely large.”

You get the picture. See, I told you those botanists (Notasboringus asweappearis) know how to throw a plant-watching party.

There it is! Come on, Mr. Morsch - you used the exact same "hilarious Latin name" thing in your last column. I know you have to try and be funny every single week, but come up with something new, huh?

An Internet search of the weekend festivities reveals a video of the big event, which shows the plant in all its glory surrounded by a bunch of gawkers. There is even a time-lapse portion in the video of the actual blooming, which I thought was about the most interesting part of the whole kit and caboodle, although I didn’t see anybody holding their nose.

"Anybody" does not go with "their." And how would somebody holding his nose have made it more interesting? I love how Borsch's life is so boring that he resorts to random Internet stories for his material.

One of the honchos at the Botanical Institute at the University of Basel, a fellow by the name of Hans Schneider, is quoted as saying: “It [the Titan Arum] is the best thing you can have at a botanical garden. It’s the star attraction. In terms of visitor numbers, we’re at our peak. From now on, fewer and fewer people will visit.”

It just occurred to me that Borsch is mocking something that drew ten thousand - TEN THOUSAND - people, and yet he has been raving on Twitter about the upcoming (big surprise) Three Stooges convention. Let's compare the turnout for the two events, shall we?

I guess viewing the Corpse Flower in bloom is the equivalent of a one-night stand in the botanical world.

...I guess. Again, in Borsch World, flower watching = NASCAR, and the Corpse Flower = a one-night stand. Everybody got that straight?

The Titan Arum is native to the Indonesian Island of Sumatra. Because it is so difficult to cultivate, there have been only 134 worldwide recorded blooms from artificial cultivation of the plant. The last one to bloom in Switzerland did so 75 years ago. And yes, somebody must really keep track of such things to come up with an exact number of 134.

Yeah, because making this flower bloom evidently takes a massive amount of talent. You know, sir, talent? The thing you'll never, ever have?

I don’t think the Swiss, long known for their cheeses and banks, should really add big, stinky blooming plants to the list of attractions in the travel brochures if the dadgummed flowers are only going to make big, stinky appearances once every 75 years or so.

And we have our weekly "dadgummed." Time to get some new words. At this point, will there be any other "joke" in the column other than pointing out that this flower smells bad?

But tourists aren’t the main target of the plant. Although the Corpse Flower remains a bit of a mystery to botanists — at least as much of a mystery as what passes for entertainment on the weekends in Basel — the theory is that the big stinkaroo that the plant produces is what attracts the insects that the plant needs to pollinate.

Okay, so two jokes: this flower smells bad, and flowers in general are boring. How many years in a row has he attended the Stooges convention again? Glass houses, etc.

The corpse-smelling loving critters burrow into the stem that houses the flower and then become trapped by the plant’s pollen, which means they didn’t have anything better to do last weekend either. They are forced to inhale the yuckiness — or hold their breath for a few hours — until the flower dies, at which point the insect chieftains holler, “Hey, will somebody please roll down the window!” The insects then break out of the dead stem and some of them immediately head down to the corner drug store for air fresheners while the others go about their business of pollinating.

Again, exactly two jokes in this paragraph: (1) the flower smells bad, and (2) the flower is boring. Can we move on? Oh, wait, it's the end of the column.

Now the world has to wait who knows how long for the next Corpse Flower to bloom. And if you ask the botanists, I’m guessing they think that’s the thing that really stinks about this plant.

Ho ho. Very clever. I mean, it's not like you've already pointed out that the flower smells, right? It's not like that final pun was incredibly obvious and lame, right? The most frightening thing about watching Borsch for so long is that he's not even improving. He still writes as poorly and lazily as he did over a year ago. If anything, he's getting dumber and lazier as time goes on.

Abrupt Reversal

Cliff Lee only needs one, doesn't he? Two is gravy.
4:49 PM Apr 8th via web

He gave up three in his first start, and you made three Twitter posts about what a horrible pitch he made to Carlos Lee. Now suddenly his career ERA is 1.00? As good as Cliff is, this is a preposterous statement.

Cliff Lee looking kind of pedestrain tonight. He doesn't apear to be fooling anybody.
5:22 PM Apr 8th via web

Wow, what a difference 33 minutes can make! Playing the "Spot the Morsch Typos drinking game" has been known to kill college students.

The Viper

Borsch's preview for his latest blog:

Phillies stunk and I froze last night. Then Chin-lung Hu entered the game for the Mets and I perked up.

I listened to the game on the radio. Hu came up to bat and the obvious thought popped into my head: "Hu's on first." Then the radio guys noted the same thing. Leave it to Borsch to run with a stale idea like this...

Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Hu really is on first

Yep. I can't wait to see how he tries to string this out into a full post.

Jeez, I hope it wasn’t my fault. I finally got to my first Phillies game Tuesday evening. Up to that point, the home team was a perfect 3-0 to start the season. So I show up and everything goes to Hades in a handbag.

Borsch posted a 2-minute video to accompany the game; it's his classic "slow pans across random scenes" style.

Among the things that went wrong: Pitcher Cole Hamels stunk up the joint; it was cold; the Phillies didn’t hit much with runners in scoring position; it was really cold; the New York Mutts, uh . . . I mean Mets, did just about everything right, especially third baseman David Wright, who had four hits, two RBIs and two runs scored; and it was colder than a witch’s watoosie.

Ooooh, the "Mutts"! He went there, folks. He went there. Also, it's spelled "watusi," and it's a dance, not a slang term for "butt." Terrible.

When there’s nothing much to cheer about, I try to think up alternative things for which to root, root, root. Since the Phillies weren’t providing many options, I decided to cheer for:
(1) My hands to stay warm.
(2) My feet to stay warm.
(3) My hind end to stay warm.
All of which were as cold as the Phillies bats seemed to be in the frigid temperatures. Move along pal, nothing to cheer for here.

I'm going to go out on a limb here: it was a cold night, and the Phils lost?

Fortunately, the Mets provided me with a more interesting distraction. In the fifth inning, Mets manager Terry Collins replaced second baseman Brad Emaus with Chin-lung Hu, which immediately prompted me to ask myself, “What’s Hu doing on second? I thought Hu was on first.”

He's on a roll, folks! Can it count as a "joke" when you telegraph the punchline in the title?

Another of the things I do to enjoy the ballgame is keep a scorecard, which I’ve done since I was a kid. Over the years, that has kind of made me the unofficial stat guy for my section. Oftentimes I’ve been asked by those sitting near me how many strikeouts a certain pitcher has or how many hits a certain hitter has at that point in the game.

Can they see the scoreboard? Are they watching the game? Borsch obviously thinks he's slicker than greased diarrhea for doing this. Does he know how absurd this boast is? "Yeah, I'm pretty much the unofficial stat guy when I go to a game. Pretty cool."

The Mets new second baseman, who had entered the game in the fifth, batted in the sixth and singled up the middle. The Phillies fan sitting behind apparently had missed the lineup change.
“What’s the guy’s name on first?” he said after tapping me on the shoulder.
“Hu.”
“The guy on first?”
“Hu.”
“The guy who just got the base hit?”
“Hu.”

Blatantly, blatantly false. Never happened. Not in a million years. Nobody would make it past the second "Hu" and still not get it.

While I was amused by the whole exchange, I thought it best not to push it any further. Phillies fans aren’t exactly known for their patience and I didn’t want to take a chance of getting wacked upside the head by a guy who thought I was messing with him.

You could have just said "Chin-Lung Hu."

I finally had to show him my scorecard on which I had written Hu’s name.
“Oh, right,” he said.
No, he’s on third.

There was once an episode of the old GI Joe cartoon where they get threatening calls from someone known as "The Viper." In the end it's revealed that the guy had an accent and was saying "the wiper," as he was "coming to vash their vindows." This post reminds me of that - one thin, thin little pun dragged out entirely too long. Seriously, a whole post for a "who's on first" reference?

The last "joke" is bad, too. He dropped David Wright's name at the very beginning of the column, but by this point, 70% of his audience will have forgotten it.

Labels: Mets, Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield, Phillies

AMAZING! Men Don't Know Fancy Colors

Outta Leftfield: Bedtime discussion over anchorman's tie turns colorful
Published: Wednesday, April 06, 2011
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor

I'm interested to see just how fake this "bedtime conversation" with his wife will turn out to be. I'm also predicting that the talk "turns colorful" because they discuss colors.

I am more and more convinced that wives rule the world and we husbands are here just to amuse them (less so, as time goes on, I think).

Wow, here's a novel column idea - women smart, men dumb! What exactly does the "less so, as time goes on" apply to? If it implies that husbands get less amusing, he does a poor job of grammatically connecting the two thoughts.

And where they really seem to have us bamboozled is when it comes to their awareness and knowledge of colors.

... Sort of like that post where he didn't know the color of the bedroom, the couch, or the neighbor's car?

Case in point: citrine.

Show of hands, how many guys knew this was a color? And if so, what color? When I first heard it, I thought it was a 25-cent word for “latrine.”

... Sort of like that post where he is baffled by all the different kinds of candles and soaps.

From my days as a regular Crayola user — which just ended last year — I am familiar with some basic colors: black, white, red, blue, green, yellow, brown, orange. That’s about all I ever needed.

But apparently there are colors I’ve never heard of, like amethyst, fuchsia, bleu de France (a favorite of Pepe LePew and Maurice Chevalier),

Haw haw haw, foreign-sounding names are funny! He does like the Maurice Chevalier references, doesn't he?

buff (a WWE color, no doubt), caput mortuum (Grateful Dead fans will like this one), chartreuse, grullo (a Grillo pad on steroids), lapis lazuli (a backup middle infielder for the old Philadelphia Athletics, I think),

Wresting reference. Suggestion that strange name is obscure baseball player. Can we get some new "joke" material here? Please?

periwinkle (Bullwinkle’s dumber cousin), razzmatazz (the color of the Harlem Globetrotters’ basketball uniforms) and wisteria (yes, it’s a color and not a lane).

Which brings us back to citrine. The way I learned this was a color was quite by accident.

What brings us back to citrine? Wisteria? What's happening?

While I was watching the news just before retiring last Sunday evening, 6ABC anchor Rob Jennings was wearing a tie that didn’t do justice to the word “loud.” It virtually jumped off the television screen, nearly blinding me, which I don’t think was Rob’s original intent. I’m pretty sure he wants me to keep watching the newscast.

That's painful.

“Hey, check out Rob’s tie tonight,” I said innocently enough, waiting for the nightly Blonde Accountant Lotions and Potions Bathroom Tour to conclude for the evening.

“Oh, that’s citrine,” she said matter-of-factly, poking her head out of the bathroom to take a glimpse.

Another thing Borsch loves: adverbs. "I said innocently," "She said matter-of-factly"... it's like the more description he can heap on, the funnier it gets!

“Citrine? What the (bleep) is Citrine? You just made that up, didn’t you?” I said.

“No, it’s a yellow-green,” she countered.

Is that really a "counter"?

“Then why isn’t it called yellow-green?” I offered.

Is that really an "offer"? Wouldn't it make more sense to use "countered" here, since he's actually making an argument? I've said it before and I'll say it again: Michael Morsch is a really, really, really terrible writer.

It’s usually at this point in the conversation where I wish I had the Just Shut the Bleep Up Gene and that it automatically kicked in when I approached a certain level of stupidity.

As it turns out, The Blonde Accountant is very familiar with citrine, which I’m told is the hot fashion color for this season. (Personally, I’d pick Phillies red this year.)

Why? Do you like baseball or something?

I’m not sure who decides what the hot fashion color is for the season, but I do believe one of the requirements ought to be that everybody knows that citrine is not actually the secret ingredient in Listerine or some kind of disease one gets from eating too many oranges.

The more definitions we get, the more hilarious this gag becomes!

To demonstrate, The Blonde Accountant went to her closet and pulled out a sweater on a hanger.

“This is citrine,” she said, holding it up in front of her so as to assure my undivided attention.

Honestly, the sweater looked like lime green to me, which I remember from the 1970s.

Reference to a lime green outfit he used to wear incoming! I'm so sure of it.

As I have shared in this space before, I had a swell lime green leisure suit in 1977 that was the epitome of stylin’ and profilin’, such as that was in 1977. I had no idea then that I was wearing a citrine leisure suit and can only assume that had I known and shared that information with the women of that era, they would have been even more attracted to me in that suit.

Yes, you have shared it before. More times than I can count. You stink.

Of course, if a woman has a citrine sweater, she then must have citrine shoes to match, and The Blonde Accountant did indeed pull out one of the 900 or so shoeboxes in her garage/closet to reveal the citrine shoes.

Ah, you know dem women and dere huge shoe collections, eh? Eh? Ehhhh, get outta heah!

Keep in mind that this particular boudoir fashion show kicked off after the start of the 11 o’clock news. Thanks, Rob Jennings — it’s not like I wanted to go to sleep or anything before I opened my big mouth about your necktie.

I know! I'd HATE to have to talk to my wife about things.

I’d like to report that my citrine schooling concluded for the evening at the end of the impromptu fashion show, but the bedtime discussion continued with me learning that citrine goes best with Navy blue. Sure enough, Rob Jennings probably has a wife at home who knows something about colors because he did indeed have a Navy blue suit on with his citrine tie. I am soooooo glad I asked.

I like the "sure enough" just before the "did indeed." The way he says it, it's like the color of the suit was hidden from view until that very moment.

My Facebook guy friends were no help. They looked up citrine online — just like I did the next morning at work — and acted like they knew what it was, just to make me look like a horse’s patootie. As Facebook friends, they should already know that I’ve never needed any help in the department of looking like a horse’s patootie.

Everybody knows that. It's not just your Facebook friends.

From here on out, I am no longer commenting on the neckties of newscasters. I only hope that Rob Jennings doesn’t have burlywood, carnelian, ecru, gamboge or phlox ties in his collection. If he does, I’ll never get any sleep.

Wow, what a terrible thing! The conversation was literally this long:

"Look at this necktie. The color is unfamiliar to me."
"The color is called citrine."
"I do not know what that is."
"Here, let me show you some examples."

The whole exchange probably took four minutes. What an ordeal!

Mike Morsch is executive editor of Montgomery Newspapers. He can be reached by calling 215-542-0200, ext. 415, or by email at msquared35@yahoo.com.

Call this man. Tell him to stop.