Baseball is back. Devoid of roids, vacant warning tracks abound. The name Randy Johnson still makes me laugh. Last year I had great field level seats at the new Petco Park, right above the opponent's dugout. My friend and I heckeled Randy for nine beer-filled innings, chants of "Raaaaannnnndaaalllllllllllllllll"
seemed only to intensify his awkwardly disproportionate lust for victory. After nine innings of shutout pitching he relinquished the mound, pausing magestically, like an engorged giraffe after a meal of seemingly unreachable saplings, proud of the unusual name bestowed by his forebearers.
As he neared his congradulatory commrades in the duguout he lobbed the ball to an enraged Padre fan picture here. She quickly devoured the ball. Cubs fans have nothing on us.
The picture is from a best of 2004 photo gallery