Arizona Journal

I recently spent three days in the Phoenix, Arizona area with my buddy Erol "Bubba" Mustafa and made these running notes.

Steve Lavin: "He shut their water off." We assume this means that a player did a great defensive job on the other team's top scorer.

Players with unprouncable African names. "Alakazam Obouti takes it strong to the rim!"

David Wells on Bud Selig: "He's an idiot. He can kiss my ass." Wells is right -- Selig is a fishface, a former used-car dealer with no business being the commish of Major League Baseball. "I'm not aware of rampant steroid use in our sport," Selig told Congress the other day. "We're as clean as a hound's tooth."

Watching ESPN on HDTV. It's like these jabbering fools are right in the room.

We decide that Steve Lavin's head is enormous, like a watermelon.

A bird is shrieking outside on Lantana Lane. I have yet to hear any human sounds, not even a car backfiring or a mother screaming at her kids to leave the neighbor's poodle alone. I joke that this whole master-planned area is nothing more than a Potemkin village. But maybe it's quiet because it is Sunday and all the locals are in church, praying for our troops in Iraq, the Republican Party, and the Gods who control Finance.

How many miles would I have to travel to find a Liberal around here? Or someone who advocates the legalization of marijuana, assisted suicide, and an immediate pull-out of Amereican troops from Iraq? The Nation doesn't sell well in these parts -- in fact, only about 1% of the locals have even heard of it. No, these people read the AZ Republic and agree that Social Security must be reformed -- NOW!

Jesus. I just came over to see a couple of Spring Training baseball games, drink some beers with my buddy Mustafa, play ping-pong, and forget about politics for a few days.

Bubba's house is so spacious and quiet that I would lose my way here. I wonder what his monthly nut is...ten grand? What's it like to live in a suburban mansion with three bathrooms? How long does it take Annika to clean this place?

The most striking aspect of spring training is the proximity of players and fans. At the Maryvale complex where the Brewers train, you can get very near the fields and bullpen areas. The players are huge up close, big boys, and also very young. The atmosphere is festive and the players seem relaxed, just another day of work at the yard, except I suppose, for the players who are fighting for a roster spot. The established major leaguers are working on specific skills or conditioning without that pressure.

Speaking of large boys: we saw Prince Fielder up close, Cecil's boy, and he is enormous, huge shoulders and forearms. Erol says he is a top prospect in the Brewers organization and a possible replacement for Lyle Overbay at first base.

I finally saw signs of life in Bubba's hood. One of his neighbors was working in his yard, another was hosing off her truck. Real people living in this suburban Potemkin village. We played a couple of furious games of ping-pong. My boy Bubba is very competitive and likes to win, which explains in part why he's good at business.

Before dinner we watched Supersize Me, a film about McDonald's and the fast food industry by Morgan Spurlock. I hated Mickey D's before, mainly because the golden arches are a blight on our cities and towns, but also because everytime I walk into a McDonald's and whiff that familiar odor, I feel sick to my stomach. Morgan went on a strict Mickey D's diet for 30 days and gained about twenty pounds and totally fucked up his liver. With the help of a professional nutritionist, he estimated that he consumed thirty pounds of sugar during the experiment. He felt like crap most of the time, experienced headaches and mood swings and fatigue.

Glad my children don't have more than an occasional Mickey D's thing.

Today the sun is shining and we are off to see the Giants-A's. I feel like I've been away from home and family longer than two days. I miss Terry and the kids, their energy and presence. In fact, and this is weird, I miss being on top of one another in our matchbox apartment on Milpas Street. How typical. When I'm there I piss and moan about the lack of space.

Fuck! Everything I just wrote got zapped.

Heading home today. The sun is shining again. The Potemkin village is quiet. According to the Arizona Republic, Bush and Cheney will be in Tucson today to promote the destruction of Social Security as we know it. Meanwhile, the conservatives in Congress have created a law which will allow the parents of Terry Schiavo to file suit to overturn a Florida court's ruling. Conservatives are so drunk with power that they think it is their right to overturn the rule of law when it doesn't suit their ends. They are groveling before the Religious Right on the Schiavo case, though it's an odd position to take because Conservatives usually guard states' rights and get very ticked when anyone tries to violate those rights.

XBox boxing when twisted on beer...I can see the popularity of the system now, the realism, especially when one is playing on a sixty inch HDTV set. Yikes. Erol's command post is wired and he could live in here for days.

Either I have the beer shits or the meal I ate at the Rustlers Rooste last night is responsible for my turbulent stomach. Panoramic view from the hilltop where the RR is located, and inside there is sawdust on the floor and other Old West decor. The special appetizer last night was fried rattlesnake. We passed on that, probably a wise choice. Erol said his T-bone was crummy. I'm hoping I don't soil myself on the airplane. Gurgle, gurgle from down below.