Astro Turf: UN-AMERICAN

-Welcome back! Happy Memorial Day to all of you! On Memorial Day we honor all of those who died while serving in the US military. It's also the un-official beginning of summer. I love it when people call Memorial Day the beginning of summer. That in itself is American because we don't sit back and wait for the Summer Solstice before we declare the changing of the seasons. Who cares about all of that scientific junk? If it's hot outside and there are mullet-heads running around with their shirts off, then it's summer; if the Diamond Heels are about to tear up the dirt in the NCAA tournament, then it's summer; if the Kings and Queens of the local trailer parks are saving up every last dime to get the finest, best equipped, and most up-to-date bug zapper, then it's summer by golly.

-Today's topic is Astro Turf. I'm sick and tired of people sitting back and letting Astro Turf take over where beautiful green grass once was. It's un-American. And besides, sit back for a second and think about how many peaceful Fire-Ant ecosystems have been eradicated because of Astro Turf. It's a shame. What are we suppose to light on fire with magnifying glasses now?

-Astro Turf was invented in 1965 and patented in 1967 by a company named Monsato. The Astro Turf division consolidated in 1986 and opened up its headquarters in Dalton, Georgia. The day Astro Turf became an LLC (limited liability corporation) was one of the darkest days in our history. Heck, while we were at it, we should have just taken the stars off of our flag and painted the white stripes red like the communists we were acting like on that day.
-There just aren't enough positives associated with Astro Turf to outweigh the negatives. It allows us to play outdoor sports inside…this doesn't even make since. You don't see people bowling or playing darts outside do you? No, so why do we have people playing baseball and football inside? Astro Turf allows sports and recreational organizations to save money on the cost of field care…great idea. Let's outsource some more American jobs; brilliant. There aren't really any more positives to Astro Turf. It has evolved quite a bit over the last 20 years. It's more like real grass with tiny synthetic grass blades and a rubber base to allow for softer landings, but it's still garbage.

-Let's look at the negatives shall we? Have you ever seen pictures or videos of professional Japanese baseball games? If you have, you probably noticed one constant…Astro Turf. All of their stadiums; check that; all of their domes look the same. No playing surface is unique in Japan…they're fake and their bland. Do you see what we risk by using Astro Turf? Remember how similar the fields at the Astrodome, Kingdome, and the old Busch Stadium (before they installed real grass) looked? By using Astro Turf, we stand to lose a significant portion of the individualism that makes America, America.

-Another negative of Astro Turf is all of the injuries. This is a big reason so many franchises have come to their senses and installed real grass. Athletes are much more likely to sprain an ankle, tear an ACL or MCL, and get "turf toe" on rigid surfaces like Astro Turf. What the heck is "turf toe" anyway? Besides being extremely fun to say due to its inherent alliteration, there's nothing cool about it. Here's the definition from Wikipedia: "The injury occurs when someone or something falls on the back of the calf while that leg's knee and tips of the toes are touching the ground. The toe is hyperextended and thus the joint is injured." Lame.

-If we would have our athletes play sports on the beautiful grass that God gave us, then turf toe wouldn't be a problem.

-Astro Turf ain't American. Period. There's more I could say, but the NCAA baseball selection show just came on.

Mullet Matters: My pledge to you

-By the end of this summer, I'm going to have a mullet.

-I'm not talking about a ray-finned fish found worldwide in tropical and temperate coastal waters and some freshwater streams. This is what I'm talking about:

mul·let (mŭl'ĭt) 1. pl mul-lets: A hairstyle that is formed by cutting the hair short on the top and sides and allowing it to grow longer in the back.
2. American slang: Business in the front, party in the back.

-Is this post off to a great start or what? This week we are talking about a true cultural American phenomenon. Now, you could argue that mullets are much more "Southern" than they are "American," and you would probably win that argument. But, if you haven't figured it out by now, Muffin Matters has a slightly "Southern" tilt. It's just better that way. Yankees, stand down. I'm not saying to be "Southern" is better (though that may very well be true). I'm just saying that for writing purposes, the South provides lots of fantastic material not found in other regions of the continental-48.

-Tons of websites are dedicated to mullets. Here are just a few that I found via Google:

http://www.mulletsgalore.com/
http://www.mulletjunky.com/
http://www.mullethunting.com/
http://www.mulletwigs.com/
http://www.mulletmadness.com/
http://www.ratemymullet.com/
http://www.mullet.com/
http://www.mullet.org/
http://www.ilovemullets.com/
 

-A little league coach of mine used to wear a gelled semi-mullet. It wasn't quite long enough in the back, but he had the right idea. He would give us signs from the third base coaches box with a cigarette barely hanging on to his upper lip and with his mullet just sitting there being awesome. Last year at the UNC/Virginia football game, I missed the first half of football because I was staring at a fella in his mid-20's sporting jean shorts and a blonde mullet that barely fit under his faded Carolina cap. The best part was watching nearly 20 students walk by him and give him high-fives while he remained oblivious to the fact that he was the butt of an enormous joke. I know this because he turned to his friend about three times and shrugged his shoulders while shaking his head in a state of confusion.
-Anyway, I have admired mullets from afar for long enough. It's time to man up and get one of my own. I want to be on the other side of mullet interactions for a change. I want to catch someone staring and say, "I see you over there admiring my mullet. Would you like to touch it? Would you like to take a picture of it without having to sneak up behind me? Would you like to know my IQ? Would you like to talk NASCAR?"

-My internship in Arkansas expires on September 15th. That gives me just over 4 months to perfect my true American hairdo. Once it reaches full form, I'll no longer have to frequent flea-markets and yard sales for a good giggle, I'll be able to get my laughs just by standing in front of a mirror.

-Besides, a mullet has some practical purposes as well. First of all, I won't have to apply sun tan lotion to my neck anymore because I'll have hair covering it. I'll finally have an appropriate accessory to go with my Dale Earnhardt hat. It just doesn't look right with a normal haircut. Auto-mechanics won't try anything sneaky on me, because they'll look at me and say to themselves, "this guy knows exactly what's going on under the hood of his car. He's just too lazy to fix it himself." I may also be able to get an employee discount on purchases at Wal-Mart without showing any form of identification. We'll see what happens. I'm looking forward to this experiment. I hope you are too!

A Mascot Race Gone Terribly Wrong

-Welcome back! Last week we had a debate. This week, there will be no debate. We’re going to talk about something that is undeniably un-American. It’s more un-American than the NHL playoffs.
-First let’s talk about something that is American: baseball. Whether you like the sport or not, it’s as American as Dollywood. Baseball has its traditions: hotdogs, the seventh-inning stretch, take me out to the ballgame, ice cold beers, etc. Another tradition that is especially prevalent in minor league baseball is the mascot race. Fellow North Carolinians should be very familiar with minor league baseball and mascot races. North Carolina has an astounding 10 minor league teams. If you’re not familiar with mascot races, they’re simple. The home team’s mascot races a young kid around the base-paths between one of the innings. It’s kind of like watching Wile E. Coyote chase after that pesky Road Runner…you know who’s going to win, but it’s still fun to watch!
-If you’re from the Triangle, you may be familiar with the one and only Wool E. Bull. If you’re from the Triad, you may know Wally the Warthog from Winston-Salem. If you’re from the mountains, you know and love Ted E. Tourist the Bear from Asheville. They all have something in common in that they’ve never won a mascot race except for on their birthdays when they race another mascot. That’s how it should be. The kid always wins. The kid loves it, the crowd loves it, and the players love it. We all love watching the mascot lose. Sometimes the mascot is just too tired to make it all the way around the bases; sometimes he trips over a base; sometimes he sees something shiny and gets distracted…for whatever reason he just can’t seem to get right, and we love it!
-For the record, I am living in Little Rock, Arkansas for the summer as a member of the grounds crew for the Arkansas Travelers, a double-A team in the Texas League. The mascot here is Shelly. Shelly is a cross-eyed horse with buck teeth…I wish I was making that up. Anyway, I witnessed something so un-American this past week at the ballpark that it made me think for a split-second that I was in North Korea or Canada. I will now relay to you 3 separate accounts of this disastrous event.
ACCOUNT 1: Lance, the on-field MC
Lance is responsible for pumping up the crowd. He goes onto the field between innings with a microphone and talks to the fans about the on-field promotions. On Thursday night, in the middle of the second inning, Lance was at his normal post close to the third base dugout where the finish line for the mascot race is. Although you couldn’t hear it in his voice, Lance was concerned because before he and “Shelly” took the field they had this conversation:
-Shelly: “How old is this kid?”
-Lance: “He just turned 9.”
-Shelly: “Then he’s old enough…”
-Before Lance had a chance to investigate, it was too late to ask questions. The show had to go on…
ACCOUNT 2: Phil, the radio broadcaster
Phil Elson is one of the finest radio broadcasters in the business. Woody Durham would most likely high-five Phil if he listened to a Travelers broadcast. Anyway, Phil very rarely pays attention to the on field promotions between innings because he’s busy making sure his scorebook is accurate or he’s looking through notes. But on this night, he couldn’t help but notice the catastrophe on the field. Here is a transcript of Phil’s broadcast after the commercial break following the top of the second inning: “Well, you never know what’s gonna happen between innings at Dickey-Stephens Park. I think we just had a first in the history of Travs Baseball. The Travs mascot …(silence)… Shelly… (silence)…beat the kid…He won. Shelly won the mascot race between the top and bottom of the second inning. Now I will let you know that that is not suppose to happen. I don’t knot what script Shelly is going by or what kind of performance-enhancing horse-feed Shelly is eating, but we’re going to have to suspend him for that.”
ACCOUNT 3: Your boy, the Muffin
I was sitting beyond the left-field wall in the grounds crew pit. I was on top of a tall stack of bagged infield rock. Before the race, I said the same thing to myself that I do before every mascot race I’ve ever seen. I said, “alright, beat this kid. He/she ain’t nothing. You got it mascot! Take this dude down! Just once, man up and beat this kid! NO MERCY!!!” Well, I never knew how much I didn’t really want this to happen until it happened. I sat there and watched the race take place. They started at first base. Shelly and the boy touched second at the same time. Shelly took a slight lead between 2nd and 3rd. This was typical. I fully expected a player to close-line Shelly, or for Shelly to trip, or for Shelly to get tired and bend over with his hands on his knees and give up. Shelly touched third base first and kept going. This was very odd. Shelly extended his hands and touched the finish-line banner before the young boy did. At first, I laughed hysterically for 5 seconds. Then a feeling of pure shock and horror overtook me. What in the heck had just happened? I could feel my face turn white. The fans were confused too. They usually boo when something happens that they dissaprove of, but they didn’t have time to react. This was too much. The stadium was silent. Lance, who ALWAYS has something to say didn’t know what to say: “Whoah…(extended silence)…wow…man…Shelly won. Shelly won the mascot race. How about that…I don’t think I’ve ever seen that.” I looked over to my fellow employees and asked
-“Did you see that?”
-“Yeah…did Shelly win?” they responded.
-“I think so,” I said. I got down and walked slowly up the tunnel to the bathroom and locked myself in a stall. I started crying, and I haven’t stopped yet. Why Shelly? WHY!? You communist horse! I hope you’re happy. You just ruined one of baseball’s and one of AMERICA’S most storied traditions. Way to go.
-That my friends is as un-American as it gets.