Tag Archives: Brandon Leftridge
Leftridge: Crap for Sale on Craigslist
Craigslist is great. Craigslist is terrifying. Like it says in Corinthians, Craigslist is all things to all men. It is a shot-to-shit 1983 Nissan Sentra with blown shocks, blood stains on the cloth interior and a cool 298K on the … Continue reading
Leftridge: The One in Which I Complain About the Olympics
I love this country. We invented Cool Ranch Doritos, the jackhammer, the skyscraper, the corn dog, the iron lung, the electric guitar, the internet, the ATM (1939!) chicken nuggets, baseball and the first commercially practical incandescent light (though not the … Continue reading
Leftridge: Drunken eBay Purchases: “Classic” Issues of Pro Wrestling Illustrated
When I was little, professional wrestling was tits. All I needed to make my life was a bag of Keebler’s Pizzaria’s Pizza Chips, my mish-mash collection of Ninja Turtles action figures, and a few fat hours of AWA Saturday morning … Continue reading
Posted in Entertainment, Sports, Uncategorized
Tagged Brandon Leftridge, Drunken eBay Purchases, Pro Wrestling, Sexy Arn Anderson
28 Comments
Leftridge: Chiefs’ Training Camp Not as Interesting as Ernest Goes to Camp, Still Intriguing
If you’ve ever been to St. Joseph, you know that there isn’t a whole hell of a lot going on. There’s the Glore Psychiatric Museum (which is really kind of neat), a bunch of chain restaurants, a downtown that had … Continue reading
Posted in Sports, Uncategorized
Tagged Brandon Leftridge, Chiefs, Fruity Pebbles, St. Joseph, Training Camp
8 Comments
Leftridge: Magnolia’s Dishes Southern Fare, Realistic Swampy Atmosphere
The internet does not lie. Everything you have ever read on the Internet is completely and infallibly true. Oprah Winfrey, Johnny Depp and Eminem all died in (separate) horrific car crashes. Deep within the recesses of Richard Gere’s anus lives … Continue reading
Posted in Food_and_Fashion
Tagged Brandon Leftridge, dripping sweat, Magnolia's, restaurant reviews, southern cooking
12 Comments
Leftridge: Politics and Chicken Make Strange Bedfellows
It started like this: “Well, guilty as charged. We are very much supportive of the family — the biblical definition of the family unit. We are a family-owned business, a family-led business, and we are married to our first wives. … Continue reading
Leftridge: Trade Deadline Approaches; Is it Curtains for Broxton, Betancourt and Francoeur?
With a little more than a week left in July and the non-waiver trade deadline fast approaching, Royals’ General Manager Dayton Moore is undoubtedly locked in his office, deep within the cavernous confines of a hidden spot well within the … Continue reading
Posted in Sports, Uncategorized
Tagged Brandon Leftridge, Broxton, Francoeur, Hudler, Man-Mountain, Trade Talk
8 Comments
Leftridge: Will Royals’ Cain be Able to Make a Difference?
On Friday night, in front of an impressive, boisterous crowd at Kaufmann Stadium, center fielder Lorenzo Cain made his re-debut with the Kansas City Royals. After missing more than three months with what was initially a groin-strain, and later, a much more serious hip-flexor tear, Cain, 26, went 3 for 6, walked once, and scored 3 runs while driving in one of his own.
Impressive.
He also looked good in the field, chasing down fly balls that a lesser athlete may not have caught. Oh sure, regular (by virtue of Cain’s absence) CF Jarrod Dyson would have made it to these balls too—and even caught them—but he would have had to rely more on his speed, looking less comfortable in doing so than Cain.
Cain, who currently has the coolest, blackest black-guy name in the Royals organization (a title he took from Clint Robinson, who is, in fact, not black), has the natural grace and agility of the Royals’ LAST good center fielder, Carlos Beltran.
Leftridge: Hold Your Laughter, It’s Time for the Royals’ Midseason Awards
Even though baseball is an insignificant, dying sport patronized by fools and those without panache (according to my esteemed editor), it’s still a thing that happens for six months of the year so I figure we might as well talk about it.
And seeing as how we’re halfway through this ridiculous grind, I figured we’d do that ubiquitous “Midpoint Awards” thing that every other hack sportswriter trots out to kill inches between the fever that accompanies Spring Training, the realization that your team probably isn’t going to be in contention and the start of NFL training camps.
When you’re covering the Royals, God love ‘em, sometimes you’ve gotta dig.
But I say that half-heartedly. To write this season off as a waste is a terrible mistake. Despite some recent slippage, they’re still within (a somewhat) respectable distance of .500, something that hasn’t happened since 2003. Most of the position players we’re seeing on a daily basis are foundational blocks for the teams that are supposed to be winning championships down the line.
If you’re into growth and development, and watching kids—yes, kids—play with energy and cock-eyed optimism, is this ever the team for you.
Leftridge: Mr. Brightside Presents a Royals June Recap
And as June marched on, its oppressive, triple-digit heat gripping Kansas City by the balls and roasting the flesh of the inhabitants therein, a curious thing began to happen to the city’s baseball team: they began to play decent baseball.
Despite pitcher Felipe Paulino’s groin strain that somehow morphed into an injury requiring season-ending Tommy John surgery, and despite the glaringly evident fact that Jonathan Sanchez is a useless pile of crap that needs to be jettisoned—and now—the Royals find themselves 6 games under .500 and only 5.5 games back in the lousy American League Central.
After April’s miserable origins, and an up and down May, the ROYALS ARE 5.5 GAMES BACK IN THE AMERICAN LEAGUE CENTRAL. It seems improbably, but I assure you, it is not.
And though Sanchez is as exciting as making out with your stepmom at the lake, and Jonathan Broxton will almost certainly begin to finally, spectacularly implode, finally losing his luck in the 9th inning heart-attacks for which he is so mystifyingly fond (a man of his stature can only wiggle for so long), there are players on this team who have made all of this winning possible. They are June’s Heroes, and they shall not go unnoticed.
Leftridge: TV Time: Louie, Louie, Louie, Louieeee (C.K.)
Who’s the best comedian working today?
If you said Katt Williams, you probably own at least one pair of purple shoes, consider hushpuppies a vegetable and pronounce cognac with a hard “g”.
If you said Dane Cook, you’re an idiot.
If you said Steven Wright, you’re incorrect, but I like the cut of your jib. (Also: what’s a jib?)
If you said “_____” (fill in the blank with whoever will be at Stanford’s over the next few weeks), then you’re Craig Glazer.
The correct answer is Louis C.K., born Louis Szekely, native of Mexico, prolific joke-writer and all-around King of Comedy.
Leftridge: Carlos Beltran; from the “Ah, What Coulda Been” Files
So this past weekend, the Kansas City Royals traveled down I-70 to play the Cardinals. We all know how this goes.
For the Cardinals and their fans, this weekend usually doesn’t mean a whole heck of a lot. St. Louis is usually playing much better ball and doing that whole thing where they perennially contend while the Royals, God love ’em, are throwing out a bunch of washed up rejects and young kids who are apt to be gone once they fall out of affordability.
One of these latter types who we lost to the highest bidder—long since gone from our humble burg, now—was Carlos Beltran.
And now that the current Cardinals outfielder is fast cementing a Hall of Fame candidacy, this is particulary depressing.
Leftridge: Let’s Do Away With Father’s Day
Father’s Day is a crock of shit.
Allow me to explain.
There are two types of dads in the world, my dad and my cousin Brian.
See, my dad is great. He made me what I am today. When I was 14 and wanted a pair of Nike Air Force Ones, he did what any good dad would do: he said, “if you want $100 sneakers, goddamnit, you’re buying them yourself.” With this understanding, I did what any normal 14 year old does—I lied about my age and got a job bussing tables at a Japanese steakhouse.
Good fathers are always teaching, always fostering. They take their role as caretaker seriously, using small things like athletic footwear to impart life lessons.
Then there’s my cousin Brian.
Leftridge: A Zimmer of Hope: Royals Draft College Pitcher
Let’s get the obvious, no-brainer statement out of the way right at the start: Drafting amateur players for professional athletics is an inexact science. Then, we’ll follow it up with another pretty evident one: Nowhere is this truer than in Major League Baseball.
Part of this stems from the fact that teams are drafting high-school kids, young men barely removed from the throes of puberty who would just as soon be playing Xbox with all of their derelict friends or trying to talk the wheelchair bound vet outside of the Gulp-N-Blow to buy them a six-pack of Mickey’s. High school kids are stupid, unpredictable antelopes living on hormones and energy drinks. And this is before you pay them several million dollars to do something that almost anyone else would kill to do: play a game for a living.
The other thing is, you just never know. High school baseball studs dominate. They bat .600 and average a homerun per game, or they strike out 20 while walking nobody. They are boys amongst men, post-apocalyptic warrior-children with aluminum swords, a sense of entitlement and just enough sagacity to not ruin their brains taking concussive hits in football.
College kids are a bit less risky. The competition is better, and their numbers (usually) less inflated by natural selection. Often, they’re a bit more mature and polished.
In true Royals fashion, the 2012 draft kicked off with a seemingly solid, low-risk pick.
Leftridge: Royals Recap, May: Holy Crap, They Won More Than They Lost
If the old adage about April showers begetting May flowers stands true, it would stand to reason that the gigantic golden shower that April took upon the early Royals campaign must have CERTAINLY led to a beautiful, vibrant rebirth over the past month, right? Well, not exactly. But there WERE some positive takeaways, I swear.
And like last month’s “April Recap,” I’m dedicated to finding them. It’s too easy to shit on a team like the Royals, but really, what good does it do to pile-on? Incessant Scribe complaints about what a failure Eric Hosmer is shaping up to be won’t make him any better. Similarly, thousands of whiny comments screaming about how “Walmart Glass” is ruining this team and should be burned alive (after being made to sell the team, of course), won’t accomplish anything.
What do we honestly think—that our wild internet complaints are going to cause a lot of introspection and soul-searching from the team’s heartless owner? That he’s going to read the astute observations from KCButtLicker6969 and say, “you know what? I AM cheap! I DO need to sign Johnny Fastball for $30,000,000 a year! What in the fuck was I thinking?! I should probably kill myself! La la la la la, I just shit my pants! OOPS!”
I mean, this COULD happen, but it seems highly unlikely.
So while we sit here, stewing in our own grotesque Kansas City baseball filth, let’s at least try to stay positive, at least for the next few paragraphs. It won’t kill us. It may even make us feel a bit better.
Leftridge: Ween Calls it Quits, Leaving Trail of Sad Stoners in Their Wake
Last year, seminal 80’s/90’s pop-rock superstars REM announced that they were splitting it up after nearly three decades of making music. Some were distraught. Others wavered between “eh, what are you gonna do? They had a good run,” and “who cares?” Most people, however, said, “they were still a band? Weird.”
On Tuesday, odd-rock duo Ween announced that THEY were splitting up after 25 years of making music, and most people said, “who?” And while calloused and slightly sad, that response felt just about right– an indelicate testament to a couple of underrated musical geniuses.
For most people, their only exposure to Ween stemmed from one of a few places:
An appearance in 1994’s moderately funny SNL-skit-turned-feature-length-abortion It’s Pat.
Beavis and Butthead’s critique of their only minor hit, “Push th’ Little Daisies,” a bitterly joyful ode to wishing death upon someone you used to love.
“Voodoo Lady” a track about, well, a voodoo lady, that was featured in the movies Road Trip and Dude, Where’s My Car?
“Ocean Man,” from 1997’s brilliant, nautically themed record The Mollusk that was featured in the Spongebob Squarepants movie and in a 2003 Honda Civic commercial.
Those minor instances—with, perhaps, a few others that I may be forgetting—regrettably sum up Ween’s lack of success.
For me, however, Ween was so much more.
Leftridge: Haus Adds to Sausagefest in Martini Corner
While living in Chicago, I was a 20-minute bus ride away from the holy Mecca of encased meats, Hot Doug’s. Perhaps you’ve seen it on the Food Network, or caught Tony Bourdain extolling the virtues of the world’s greatest sausage superstore on the Travel Channel. Maybe you’ve been there yourself and stood in line before their morning opening. The line is long—it wraps around the building and down the adjacent sidewalk—but it moves fast, OK Joe’s style, and before you know it, you’re in front of Doug himself, calmly trying to spit out your order, but stuttering with unavoidable, anticipatory glee. So many choices, so little stomach.
Do you want the Foie Gras and Sauternes Duck Sausage with Truffle Aioli, Foie Gras Mousse and Fleur de Sel? Perhaps. It’s pretty rich, though. Maybe you want the Three Cheese and Beer Chicken Sausage with Pesto Mayonnaise, Roma Tomatoes and Smoked Mozzarella Cheese? Well, yeah… that sounds good, too. Don’t forget to save room for the French fries, improbably and deliciously cooked in duck-fat on Fridays and Saturdays.
Jesus. I’m getting a food-boner just thinking about this.
So anyway, after being spoiled for so long—after cramming your gullet with so much delicious ridiculousness—you begin to experience withdrawals when taken away from your precious ground, tubular animal. Let’s call them the “sausage shakes.” What’s a Kansas Citian to do?
Well, it’s not fair to compare the freshly minted Haus at 31st and Gillham to Hot Doug’s; the former is but a newborn, and the latter is in an unparalleled, unmatchable league of its own.
So here’s what you can expect when you’re expecting (to dine on German food at Haus):
Leftridge: Tales From the Tweet: NBA Playoffs, Wright’s Grand Gesture & Canseco vs. Sheik (Finally!)
When you’re a fan of Kansas City sports, the end of May and early June is a bleak time. The Royals are typically toast, the Chiefs are just starting OTA junk and collegiate athletics—the ones worth paying attention to, anyway—are stagnant. If you’re an NBA or NHL fan (LOLZ! at that last one!!!), this is an exciting time, though. Playoffs, baby.
In case you missed it—and let’s be honest, most of you probably did—the OKC Thunder ousted the Lakers, the Spurs steamrolled the Clippers, the Heat will probably dismiss the Pacers in short order (though it’s worth noting that the Pacers have made it a close series, at least) and the Celtics and the 76ers—wait, what? Are we sure it’s THOSE 76ers? It is? Well…okay, if you say so—are heading into a Game 7 showdown this Saturday.
So just who in the hell is watching this stuff? The Lakers Executive Vice Cougar, for one.
@JeanieBuss (EVP Lakers, Phil Jackson’s GF, Unbelievably sexy lady)
“Congrats to OK City #Thunder. 1st class organization starting at the top. OKC is OK with me – good luck through rest of #NBA playoffs.”
What a thoughtful, classy tweet from someone who is transparently passing along tidings of well-wishes and… whatever. I can’t do this. I didn’t even read whatever her tweet said. I just included her so I could post her picture. Where have I been? Where has SHE been all my life? How did I have no idea that the Executive Whatever in Charge of Holy Shit was so goddamned hot?! Wow. And she’s ridiculously wealthy? AND wears sexy business suits? I’m sold. And totally in trouble with my wife, now. Let’s move on.
Leftridge: TV time: Kill These Shows, Please
Television is a strange industry. For every successful, acclaimed run of a Mad About You, viewers will be forever forced to live with the emotional scarring that occurs after a two-episode hiccup like The Paul Reiser Show. (and this is nothing compared to what it means for someone like Reiser himself, or his agent, for that matter). Some shows– underappreciated by the suits who dictate decisions—are gone too soon, the victim of poor time-slotting and/or marketing (see: Arrested Development, Freaks and Geeks). Others hang on languidly, somehow avoiding the executioner’s axe long after the head should have been firmly in the basket.
Leftridge: Mother’s Day Gift Ideas (Because Every Other Day is About You)
Look, we’ve all got mom’s, you know? (unless your mother is dead—in which case, I’m very, truly sorry for bringing it up. What happened, anyway? She was so young!) But anyway, moms… gotta love ‘em. Be they biological or a step, in-law or kidnapper, they’ve been there for you your whole life. She was there when you graduated high school and accidentally shit your pants with the compounded nervousness of being on a stage in front of thousands of people. She stuck up for you when you were learning to ride a bicycle and you accidentally crashed it into your douchebag neighbor’s Ferrari and put a scratch in it and that greasy Mexican screamed at you and called you a worthless piece of shit, berating you until you felt like ending your life at the tender age of 5.
Moms: God bless each and every one of them. But the truth is, you haven’t done enough for her. Trust me… you haven’t. But the good news is, you can start this coming Sunday. Selecting an appropriate gift is one way of beginning to build the bridge you burned when you stole $15,000 from her savings account and ran off to Thailand where you met a chick who didn’t turn out to be a chick at all (not that you knew that before you married it in a regrettable opiate haze).
Choosing a gift can be tricky, though. What kind of mom is she? Is she a nice mom, or a really nice mom? Does she like to sing, or does she like Singer sewing machines?
