| celebration |
[Sep. 17th, 2005|05:01 pm] |
Oh boy, so much to catch up on. First of all, anyone who watched Sportscenter last night knows that me + bases loaded = magic. Not a grand slam but two run singles will do just fine, right? I've tripled my hits total with the Phillies in the past two days. Look out Wild Card race, Michael Tucker's bat is coming alive.
Today was one of the weirdest ninth innings I've ever seen. We go in losing 2-0 and the D-Train is trying to finish a complete game. Then we score TEN runs. And you know I was right in the middle of that rally! I haven't seen a ninth inning collapse like that since... uh, I was a Giant and those kinds of things happened every other series.
Meanwhile, I do still pay attention to my old team. I called up some of my boys this afternoon to shoot the shit after they bitchslapped Jeff Weaver, thanks to some heroics from my old buddy Vizquel.
Weaver managed to lose 2-1, but it was only that close because he bitched like the bitch he is about the Sugarman taking him deep so the umps would change the call. Wah wah. Where was your crying when Jason Phillips swung, dumbass?
The Astros are winning thanks to the Brewers being useless. Other than that, life is fucking grand! |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 29th, 2005|04:29 pm] |
So last night I made my Phillies debut, pinch hit and struck out. You see, I save my big pinch hits for games that can actually be won.
It was surreal though, to be traded to another team where the pitching imploded and gave up a bunch of home runs to losers like Shawn Green. Really it was somewhat comforting, it made me feel like I hadn't been traded at all! I thought I found another disturbing similarity when Jimmy Rollins came up to me and said, "Tucker! I want your bat!" With all the innuendo flying around that fucked up SF clubhouse, I immediately thought of that comment in a different context. Turns out he just really likes the kind of bats I use. Thank God.
I brought up the idea to Kenny Lofton that the Phillies should go after Grip if they truly want a potent bench. He didn't like that idea too much. I said that having both myself and Grip in the outfield would improve our defense tremendously. He started yelling. I guess I can't joke around with Lofton the way I could with the Sugarman. |
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| traded |
[Aug. 27th, 2005|04:46 pm] |
Farewell, San Francisco. Your silly G Magazine will be sorely lacking without my restaurant reviews. Au revoir, Sugarman. I'm sorry I spent my last game with you invoking the name of Wally Pipp. I'd say the chances of Deivi Cruz actually taking your job are very slim. Goodbye, the rest of you. I'll miss... um, a couple of you, I guess.
I'm off to Philly. Maybe they'll appreciate my grand slams. |
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| advice because you people need it |
[Aug. 14th, 2005|07:11 pm] |
Welcome to the inaugural edition of Michael Tucker's Advice Column! Some of these letters seem to have come from my teammates but of course I can't reveal exactly WHO they are. In any case, I will give them the advice they need because I am a caring and giving person like that.
( On with the advice! )
If YOU are reading this and you would like advice from Michael Tucker, please feel free to leave an anonymous comment on this here post and maybe I'll help you out next time. |
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| wha? |
[Aug. 9th, 2005|08:34 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  slightly inebriated | ] |
Get this: I was up in the ninth inning with the bases loaded and I didn't hit a grand slam! I'm concerned. Have I lost my touch?
Whatever the answer to that question may be, I know that Omar Vizquel has not lost his touch for being profoundly annoying. We're all moping around in the locker room because we just got our asses kicked and Vizquel has to try to cheer everyone up. "Come on fellas! Buddies! Let's forget about this and go for margaritas! As a team!" I do not exaggerate, the man exclaims everything he says.
In any case, his little outing did not go well, as tensions are running high in Giantsland. I refuse to get into specifics in such a public forum, but suffice it to say the team chemistry crisis is far from over. We can officially file post-loss margaritas as bonding exercise under the heading REALLY BAD VIZQUEL IDEAS, right between the entries for wearing tight flared jeans and shiny yellow shirt and recording Goo Goo Dolls cover. |
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| pregame motivational entry |
[Aug. 4th, 2005|12:26 pm] |
TOGETHER WE OWNED THE ROCKIES,
BUT APART, THE ROCKIES HUMILIATE US
THESE BITCHES SHOW UP IN OUR PARK WAITING TO BE OWNED
BUT NO ONE IS WILLING TO STEP UP
YOU SHOULD ALL BE ASHAMED.
DO IT FOR GRIP. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 1st, 2005|12:09 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  worried | ] |
To: 2/3 Tripod O' Offense (Durham, Ray and Grissom, Marquis)
From: The other third (Tucker, Michael)
Re: That son of a bitch Randy Winn
Chances are that either Grip or myself are on the way out thanks to this trade, even though the obvious solution is to send Ellison back to Fresno with all of the other uppity rookies. It is unlikely it will be me since I am the only one capable of hitting game-winning grand slams and/or game-winning 3-run homers, but when do the powers that be act according to logic? In any case, I propose we vow make Randy Winn feel as unwelcome as possible for breaking up the tripod. Such a mission could be accomplished in a variety of ways, including (but not limited to):
- Stealing his clothing on a daily basis
- Calling him Randy Lose
- Forcing him listen to Vizquel's "music"
- Hooking him up with whatever fucked up juice Alex Sanchez uses
- Making him read Sanchez's literary masterpiece "Catching Routine Fly Balls for Dummies"
- Telling management he is actually in his 20s so they keep him on the bench
And finally, let us just agree right now that never under any circumstances will a member of the tripod be replaced. It's Grip-Tuck-Sugarman or it's, um... a dipod. Or just a pod. No exceptions.
Sincerely,
Michael Anthony Tucker |
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| fucking day games |
[Jul. 27th, 2005|04:20 pm] |
Fuck you, sun. How dare you embarrass Michael Tucker like that?
Fellas, I think we all need to buy the Hawk a beer or five once we get to Milwaukee. I am not sure how a human psyche can withstand that kind of abuse, and the last thing we need in the pen is another empty shell of a human being a la Matt Herges. I now understand why God decided to curse the Cubs. |
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| gasp |
[Jul. 24th, 2005|07:34 pm] |
Oh God. I just logged on to my computer and my browser's homepage had a headline reading: "Bedbugs sideline MLB player." I almost passed out, I thought I'd lost the Sugarman again. Turns out it was just Jermaine Dye. I'm taking my own luxury 2000 thread count sheets to Chicago, man.
Grip is back from the DL but moron Alou didn't start him today, and I also sat it out, so we lost. SHOCKING. Goddamn Fonzie came back from the DL so now Petey is in the OF where he doesn't belong. So my playing time is reduced, therefore our number of wins is reduced, therefore we are a fucking awful ballclub. We're going to Wrigley next so things are not likely to get any better, although Lord knows we couldn't be any worse on the road than we are at home.
When I got to the park this morning everyone in the clubhouse was celebrating because we put Alex Sanchez on the DL, since he injured his sucking muscle yesterday by overworking it a little too much. When I heard the news I broke out singing, "Ding dong the witch is dead, the wicked witch, the wicked witch! Ding dong the wicked witch is dead!" and we all sang together with Vizquel manning the bongos and Schmidt on cowbell. It was a nice bonding experience. First time we'd done that since we shitcanned Herges. |
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| Not again, Sugarman! |
[Jul. 18th, 2005|09:41 pm] |
I fear the tripod o' offense has but one leg remaining. I am a great ballplayer but it will be most difficult to do this alone. Begin the season with Three Musketeers... two fall... only one remains. Grip Ray Tuck. Why, Lord Jesus? Why? Surely I cannot be left to plot Omar Vizquel and Jason Ellison's respective demises on my own, can I? The universe would not be so cruel, would it?
If this were a movie you would currently be watching a montage of our best moments as a trio with that go-to sappy Time of Your Life Green Day song in the background... laughing at one of Grip's violent drawings, pushing Vizquel down the dugout stairs, shaving our heads side by side, hitting many home runs, watching cartoons and sharing a bowl of popcorn, riding a bicycle made for three, carrying a passed out Grip out of a seedy bar... now the camera cuts to a shot of me, gazing off into the distance thoughtfully, remembering what once was. Now I drop my head slowly and look down mournfully at the ground as the song draws to a close, as if to say, "Yes, Billie Joe Armstrong. I did have the time of my life."
If only the season had ended yesterday. Curse you, baseball gods! Pray for the Sugarman, loyal readers. A heel bruise may seem minor but keep in mind this is Ray Durham we're talking about. It could be career-threatening for him. |
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