So I've had some baseball games, gone to a museum, shopped, partied, cheered at a soccer game, attended a jazz festival, and worked on my thesis the past couple weeks. I needed a respite from blogging, but now I'm back, and I bet that thrills my reader.
There's a free yoga meditation class in English near Skanstull. I was a little worried it was a cult, but last week I went anyway. The "class" was more of a "prayer session in some random dude's apartment," but I half expected that. When I arrived they asked me how much meditation I had done in the past, and when I attempted to sit cross-legged they realized I was a beginner. "The essence of Yoga is that everything is of the same consciousness," was the first thing the monk said to me. "It's like ice. It is ice, but it is also water." Yeah, he said that.
The monk had loose white pants, a loose orange shirt, long blond hair tied in a pony tail, and what can only be described as a lumberjack-like beard. I'm certain a blue jay could have raised kids in there. "Matter is not constant," he continued. "Everything in the universe is one consciousness, and Yoga is about aligning yourself with that consciousness." First, we're going to chant, "Baba na, ke ba la," which means "Everything is love." When those words hit my ears, I felt like I had been transported back to the 60's. And what a chant it was.
One guy whipped out an acoustic guitar, we all stood up, and danced. The dance was: pick up right foot, touch floor with right foot behind left foot, return right foot to original position. Repeat with left foot. While we shuffled back and forth you could hold your hands in prayer position, or reach them both up into the sky which I was told "symbolized being aligned with the universe." We chanted and I chose to align my self with the universe until I got bored. We did this for 20 minutes, which is a long time when your singing a song with one line.
Next, we meditated for half an hour. I meditated on myself being love. Five minutes in, I mediated about me feet being asleep. I made it 20 minutes before my knees started bothering me and I broke my impressive cross-legged position. After meditation was a prayer or sermon or something, which preceded the best part: snacks! Apparently the monks own a bakery nearby and bring leftovers, which are quite good. While eating, I talked with a British guy who was planning to hitch-hike around the world and make money by working at orphanages and organic farms. It was an extremely cool conversation. When I left, I felt quite enlightened.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Friday, July 6, 2007
Another New Place and Steamboat Beef
I'm moved into Anton's now. He's been working a lot, so we haven't done too much together aside from play ESPN Baseball 2K5 before bed. You know you're not a teenager anymore when your ass gets handed to you in a video game. And I still can't figure out the base running! Guess I'm just showing my age. The day I moved in, I went on a steamboat tour of Stockholm's Northern Archipelago.
I was supposed to meet Anton's father, Janne, in T-Centralen at 4pm. As a somewhat time impaired individual, I was 15 minutes late. Janne led me to meet his brother, Gustav, and we hurried to the train that went to Kungsträdgården and the ship. On that train, Gustav informed me that he didn't like to be hurried because of his heart condition, and that he didn't appreciate that I was trying to kill him. I am truly super at first impressions. We made it to the boat though, AND Gustav didn't die.
I was a little hesitant to take this 5 hour tour with two men twice my age, but it was worth it. The many islands were gorgeous, and I learned quite a bit from Janne and Gus. Gus is very involved with jazz in Stockholm, doing everything from promoting to performing, and has done a lifetime of research on Louis Armstrong. Armstrong led a more fascinating life than I had realized, dining with much of Western Europe's royalty, opening his dressing room to everyone after a concert, and answering his fan mail personally. Gus told me he corresponded with Louis several times while Armstrong was alive. Janne also bought me what was basically a $75 dollar three-course meal, the main dish being traditional steamboat beef. It was all excellent, and the whole trip was very tranquil and relaxing.
I was supposed to meet Anton's father, Janne, in T-Centralen at 4pm. As a somewhat time impaired individual, I was 15 minutes late. Janne led me to meet his brother, Gustav, and we hurried to the train that went to Kungsträdgården and the ship. On that train, Gustav informed me that he didn't like to be hurried because of his heart condition, and that he didn't appreciate that I was trying to kill him. I am truly super at first impressions. We made it to the boat though, AND Gustav didn't die.
I was a little hesitant to take this 5 hour tour with two men twice my age, but it was worth it. The many islands were gorgeous, and I learned quite a bit from Janne and Gus. Gus is very involved with jazz in Stockholm, doing everything from promoting to performing, and has done a lifetime of research on Louis Armstrong. Armstrong led a more fascinating life than I had realized, dining with much of Western Europe's royalty, opening his dressing room to everyone after a concert, and answering his fan mail personally. Gus told me he corresponded with Louis several times while Armstrong was alive. Janne also bought me what was basically a $75 dollar three-course meal, the main dish being traditional steamboat beef. It was all excellent, and the whole trip was very tranquil and relaxing.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
After Work Foolery
Last Friday Johan Lantz and Anton invited out for a little "after-work" drinking. "After-work" is a monthly meeting of young telemarketers from my friends' company where they unwind at a bar. I met Johan and Anton at 6pm in Fridhemsplan. I surprised Anton a bit, because while I had my nice jeans on, I was only wearing a beater for a shirt. I'm assuming that reflects his views on American fashion, and not specifically my style. It was just too warm on the subway to wear the long-sleeve pink button-down I had in my left hand. Soon we arrived at the bar, where our group was enjoying themselves at a table outside.
I was extremely excited. There were several attractive girls there, AND it wasn't suspicious if I talked to them. When I approach an attractive girl that I've never met before on the street, or a club, or on the subway, I can tell their defences go up. And why shouldn't they. Attractive women get approached all the time by guys who say really boring things like, "Do you like American music?" or really only want to sleep with them. I have a much easier time conveying my lovable self when I have a substantial reason to speak with the girl, which could be as simple as her bumping into me a saying, "Sorry." I was going to be part of the group for a while, so it was only natural to meet everyone.
I met most of the people in the group, told a couple stories, asked some questions, and was having an excellent time. It also helped that Victor, a guy from the group, kept buying me drinks. Stockholm is expensive, so I readily accepted what was given to me and I thought Victor was a great guy. Towards the end of the "after work" session, I was engaged in conversation with two girls, while another that I thought was really cute was sitting on my lap. Unfortunately, I didn't know Victor always tries to get new people drunk. And he's good at what he does.
I wasn't really paying attention to the last few drinks he bought me. While I was drinking the last one, I found out it was a Long Island Ice Tea. I followed that up with two shots that may have been double shots, and things went way downhill from there. I had a moment of semi-clarity where I realized what I had done, and decided to wander outside. I sat down on the sidewalk outside the bar, and soon Johan, Anton, and Johan Keding decided it was in my best interest to take me home.
Thank God I have good friends. I threw up five times, twice on the Subway, and I progressively became less and less coordinated to where they basically carried me back to Anton's. Johan Lantz even went as far as to remove and soak my befouled shirt and shoes. I owe all of them a bunch. While the evening didn't end ideally, what I remember was a lot of fun and its just nice to know I have people who about me out here. And, if I didn't make too bad of a first impression, I'm excited to hang out with those girls again.
I was extremely excited. There were several attractive girls there, AND it wasn't suspicious if I talked to them. When I approach an attractive girl that I've never met before on the street, or a club, or on the subway, I can tell their defences go up. And why shouldn't they. Attractive women get approached all the time by guys who say really boring things like, "Do you like American music?" or really only want to sleep with them. I have a much easier time conveying my lovable self when I have a substantial reason to speak with the girl, which could be as simple as her bumping into me a saying, "Sorry." I was going to be part of the group for a while, so it was only natural to meet everyone.
I met most of the people in the group, told a couple stories, asked some questions, and was having an excellent time. It also helped that Victor, a guy from the group, kept buying me drinks. Stockholm is expensive, so I readily accepted what was given to me and I thought Victor was a great guy. Towards the end of the "after work" session, I was engaged in conversation with two girls, while another that I thought was really cute was sitting on my lap. Unfortunately, I didn't know Victor always tries to get new people drunk. And he's good at what he does.
I wasn't really paying attention to the last few drinks he bought me. While I was drinking the last one, I found out it was a Long Island Ice Tea. I followed that up with two shots that may have been double shots, and things went way downhill from there. I had a moment of semi-clarity where I realized what I had done, and decided to wander outside. I sat down on the sidewalk outside the bar, and soon Johan, Anton, and Johan Keding decided it was in my best interest to take me home.
Thank God I have good friends. I threw up five times, twice on the Subway, and I progressively became less and less coordinated to where they basically carried me back to Anton's. Johan Lantz even went as far as to remove and soak my befouled shirt and shoes. I owe all of them a bunch. While the evening didn't end ideally, what I remember was a lot of fun and its just nice to know I have people who about me out here. And, if I didn't make too bad of a first impression, I'm excited to hang out with those girls again.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Heeeerrrre's Tommy!
The past week hasn't been the Swedish experience I had hoped for. My consecutive-sick-day streak has reached 18 days. I'm more annoyingly sick than anything else and a simple bottle of penicillin would solve my problems, but we're talking $400 bucks or so for a guy without international health insurance. Good news is, other than one setback, I've been getting better every day.
I've still managed to do a lot though. I've located several second hand stores in Stockholm, learned about meditation and found a free class, found a place where I could go skydiving for 35 bucks, and even started working on my thesis. If there was any question, the last item proves I've been physically and mentally ill. I've also watched countless movies, my favorite of which has to be My Super X-Girlfriend. Luke Wilson has finally found his niche as a male having awkward sex. A couple of other interesting things have happened too, and those posts will be up soon.
I've still managed to do a lot though. I've located several second hand stores in Stockholm, learned about meditation and found a free class, found a place where I could go skydiving for 35 bucks, and even started working on my thesis. If there was any question, the last item proves I've been physically and mentally ill. I've also watched countless movies, my favorite of which has to be My Super X-Girlfriend. Luke Wilson has finally found his niche as a male having awkward sex. A couple of other interesting things have happened too, and those posts will be up soon.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
A Midsommar Night's Dream
Last Friday I celebrated Midsommar, the Swedish holiday occurring on the longest day of the year. I met up with Anton and we travelled to Johan Lantz's place for some beer and BBQ. The guys have been bugging me to try some Swedish "snooze," but I'm not too fond of chewing tobacco. I tried it a year ago, and let's just say one thing led to another and I ended up vomiting all over the Burger King parking lot. Good times.
In Sweden, snooze is a little different. Instead of having to pack and spit the tobacco, it comes in handy little tea-bag-like packets that fit snugly under your top lip. Anton offered me a packet of Gotham Grape, one of the weakest brands. After an what seemed like an eternity of snoozing, the taste dredged up my BK memory. "Are you serious?" Anton asked, "You had that in for like, 7 minutes." I ignored him and continued to feel dizzy and spit the remaining juice into various trash cans. Being the manly man that I am, though, I recovered before we arrived at Lantz's.
After the initial pleasantries and a couple beers, we dug into the traditional Midsommar feast. "Fresh" potatoes, sour cream, and canned raw herring. I drenched the herring in sour cream, forked it along with some potato, and took a big bite. The herring had the consistency of raw ground beef, tasted off ginger and vinegar, and was just generally not my favorite meal. You can see my reactions in my Sweden 2 facebook album. But the drink was supposed to complete the taste, and so I took a swig with the rest of my first bite half chewed. If you've ever wondered, potato, sour cream, raw herring, and Absolut vodka are not a delicious combination. Thank God I still had an open beer. Then they gave me spiced vodka, which is what Swedes really imbibed with the meal. According to my friends, it was much better than strait vodka. They lied.
Mercifully, that was just the appetizer. The entree was beer and steak. After dinner we played some video games, and we were supposed to go out. Unfortunately, Anton became a little under the weather, possibly from having a breakfast of wine and beer before coming over to have champagne, vodka and beer. I had some very attractive, some might say arousing pictures of him passed out on Lantz's bed, but he ended up erasing them from my camera. So overall, I was a little disappointed that we didn't get out, but it was still fun to hang out with the guys. Of course, the day of drinking may have had a negative effect on my diminished health, but then I would have missed the cultural opportunity of raw herring.
In Sweden, snooze is a little different. Instead of having to pack and spit the tobacco, it comes in handy little tea-bag-like packets that fit snugly under your top lip. Anton offered me a packet of Gotham Grape, one of the weakest brands. After an what seemed like an eternity of snoozing, the taste dredged up my BK memory. "Are you serious?" Anton asked, "You had that in for like, 7 minutes." I ignored him and continued to feel dizzy and spit the remaining juice into various trash cans. Being the manly man that I am, though, I recovered before we arrived at Lantz's.
After the initial pleasantries and a couple beers, we dug into the traditional Midsommar feast. "Fresh" potatoes, sour cream, and canned raw herring. I drenched the herring in sour cream, forked it along with some potato, and took a big bite. The herring had the consistency of raw ground beef, tasted off ginger and vinegar, and was just generally not my favorite meal. You can see my reactions in my Sweden 2 facebook album. But the drink was supposed to complete the taste, and so I took a swig with the rest of my first bite half chewed. If you've ever wondered, potato, sour cream, raw herring, and Absolut vodka are not a delicious combination. Thank God I still had an open beer. Then they gave me spiced vodka, which is what Swedes really imbibed with the meal. According to my friends, it was much better than strait vodka. They lied.
Mercifully, that was just the appetizer. The entree was beer and steak. After dinner we played some video games, and we were supposed to go out. Unfortunately, Anton became a little under the weather, possibly from having a breakfast of wine and beer before coming over to have champagne, vodka and beer. I had some very attractive, some might say arousing pictures of him passed out on Lantz's bed, but he ended up erasing them from my camera. So overall, I was a little disappointed that we didn't get out, but it was still fun to hang out with the guys. Of course, the day of drinking may have had a negative effect on my diminished health, but then I would have missed the cultural opportunity of raw herring.
Monday, June 18, 2007
My New Place
My time with Timor's family is up. I moved to the south side, and am currently living with the Ramstroms. This is a much better setup. I'm only 15 minutes away from Alby's field and half an hour away from my friends. I have my own room and computer, and there's an ample supply of protein. Also, the Ramstroms are pretty well off and have things like a dryer (most people used clotheslines in Sweden), a home network for their 7 computer, and a large media drive I can access in their sweet movie room. Yes, they have a room designed specifically for movie watching, with surround sound and a bi-level couch. I've been here since Saturday and I've already seen The 300, which was awesome in surround sound, and Borat, which is not so much a surround sound movie. I'm still sick, but hopefully I'm getting better so I can do some more exciting things.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
The Graduation Party
After the game I raced to Anton's, ate, showered, and prepared myself for the Stockholm nightlife. I wore Anton's black striped pants that didn't fit him anymore, my pink striped button-down, and of course, my shiny, black marching band shoes. Anton told me I looked less American, which apparently is a compliment.
We arrived at the club where the graduation party was. After dealing with the bouncers, we entered that party. There were 18 year-old blond girls everywhere. The majority were cute, but only a couple were truly hot. The venue had an outdoor and two indoor bars, and dance floors coupled with each of them. I chatted it up with my friends for a little bit and Anton bought me a beer. We soon found a lounge to hang out in where it was easier to hear each other. We also went in because there were some attractive girls.
I broke out my camera and had my friends make...interesting poses. I asked one of the more attractive girls to take a picture of all us, hoping it would lead to conversation. She complied, but didn't want to talk. Johan Keding kept pushing me to use the Swedish pick-up line he had taught me. I don't like pick-up lines, but I butcher the pronunciation enough that I figured it would be funny. So Johan and I walked up next to this cute girl and I said, "My friend says I should tell you, "Hej kikset, har stor du och smular." Apparently there's no direct English translation of what I said, but it's something like, "Hey biscuit, I'm gonna make you crumble.'' Oh Sweden.
She cracked up at my pronunciation and we ended up talking for a while in English. I had her teach me a few Swedish words, and we talked about a few other things, but after about 20 minutes I was getting bored so I asked her to play a game with me. It's called "Murder, Marry, Shag," and it's a fun way to learn about what type of person a girl is. Unfortunately, she read far to much into the title, and said, "Oh, the only person I'm going to marry is my boyfriend." Now, I've learned that this doesn't necessarily mean she has a boyfriend, more that I've just conveyed too much interest for her comfort. I explained the game to her and when we got to playing she had a great time. Her friends even came over to "save" her or whatever, and she turned them away twice. Maybe she did have a boyfriend though, because she asked me if my friends were still at the club, I said yes, and she said she had to go. Maybe I should have said no ;) We hugged, took a couple pictures, and my night ended soon after that.
Overall, this was my best day in Sweden. It was so much fun. Hopefully I'll have even better stories like the last few in the days to come.
We arrived at the club where the graduation party was. After dealing with the bouncers, we entered that party. There were 18 year-old blond girls everywhere. The majority were cute, but only a couple were truly hot. The venue had an outdoor and two indoor bars, and dance floors coupled with each of them. I chatted it up with my friends for a little bit and Anton bought me a beer. We soon found a lounge to hang out in where it was easier to hear each other. We also went in because there were some attractive girls.
I broke out my camera and had my friends make...interesting poses. I asked one of the more attractive girls to take a picture of all us, hoping it would lead to conversation. She complied, but didn't want to talk. Johan Keding kept pushing me to use the Swedish pick-up line he had taught me. I don't like pick-up lines, but I butcher the pronunciation enough that I figured it would be funny. So Johan and I walked up next to this cute girl and I said, "My friend says I should tell you, "Hej kikset, har stor du och smular." Apparently there's no direct English translation of what I said, but it's something like, "Hey biscuit, I'm gonna make you crumble.'' Oh Sweden.
She cracked up at my pronunciation and we ended up talking for a while in English. I had her teach me a few Swedish words, and we talked about a few other things, but after about 20 minutes I was getting bored so I asked her to play a game with me. It's called "Murder, Marry, Shag," and it's a fun way to learn about what type of person a girl is. Unfortunately, she read far to much into the title, and said, "Oh, the only person I'm going to marry is my boyfriend." Now, I've learned that this doesn't necessarily mean she has a boyfriend, more that I've just conveyed too much interest for her comfort. I explained the game to her and when we got to playing she had a great time. Her friends even came over to "save" her or whatever, and she turned them away twice. Maybe she did have a boyfriend though, because she asked me if my friends were still at the club, I said yes, and she said she had to go. Maybe I should have said no ;) We hugged, took a couple pictures, and my night ended soon after that.
Overall, this was my best day in Sweden. It was so much fun. Hopefully I'll have even better stories like the last few in the days to come.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
vs. Sundbyberg
I was late to the game and caked in alcohol. Since I was pitching on 3 days rest,and the only chance we had was if I went 9 innings, I decided "warming up" was overrated. I did my stretches, made about 15 throws, and marched out to the mound. My catcher was Alexis, our usual starting shortstop. He took a while to get on the field, causing the ump to limit me to four warm-up pitches. This is how I began the game against the best team in the league.
In the first inning there were 2 hard hits off me. I've given up maybe 3 hard hits in two other starts. Luckily, you could park a Buick in the strike zone, so that helped. Also, there was an error and an unearned run. The 2nd inning, the leadoff batter hit a triple and I struck out the next two guys. The next batter hit a soft ball to our third baseman who made a poor throw, before the final batter of the inning struck out. Two unearned runs. Things were uneventful in the third, but the unbelievable happened in the bottom of the fourth.
For starters, I got on base with an infield single to the hole at short. I'm pretty sure it skyrocketed my average about .100 points. Then, I stole second. Wait, it gets even more unbelievable. The batter behind me gets his own infield single and steals second. Our next guy gets out, but Joaquin whacks a triple! Holy God we're tied. Our next batter walks, and then gets in a run-down that scores Joaquin. We're ahead? Hot damn! Now it's up to a fully warmed-up me to hold the lead. Here comes our 2nd win!
I blew it pretty quick. In the top of the 5th, the first batter reached on an error and stole second. I got the next two outs which put the guy on third, but walked the next batter. He stole second as well. The following batter hit a single which lead to two more unearned runs, and a string of expletives from me while the ball was in flight. After making all the women in the stands blush (they were there for the other team), I struck out the final batter of the inning.
I didn't give up another run and pitched the complete game. I got up again with 2 outs and a man on second in the bottom of the 9th. My beloved Buick-sized strike zone came back to bite me and I struck out looking. It was a ball, but it was a strike all night. We lost 4-3. I struck out 14, walked 1, and gave up 9 hits. I was also 1-4 at the plate. Apparently there's 5 players from the Swedish National on Sundbyberg too. I haven't seen the Swedish National team play, but I'm pretty sure my Sagecocks could take them. Or at least it would be close.
In the first inning there were 2 hard hits off me. I've given up maybe 3 hard hits in two other starts. Luckily, you could park a Buick in the strike zone, so that helped. Also, there was an error and an unearned run. The 2nd inning, the leadoff batter hit a triple and I struck out the next two guys. The next batter hit a soft ball to our third baseman who made a poor throw, before the final batter of the inning struck out. Two unearned runs. Things were uneventful in the third, but the unbelievable happened in the bottom of the fourth.
For starters, I got on base with an infield single to the hole at short. I'm pretty sure it skyrocketed my average about .100 points. Then, I stole second. Wait, it gets even more unbelievable. The batter behind me gets his own infield single and steals second. Our next guy gets out, but Joaquin whacks a triple! Holy God we're tied. Our next batter walks, and then gets in a run-down that scores Joaquin. We're ahead? Hot damn! Now it's up to a fully warmed-up me to hold the lead. Here comes our 2nd win!
I blew it pretty quick. In the top of the 5th, the first batter reached on an error and stole second. I got the next two outs which put the guy on third, but walked the next batter. He stole second as well. The following batter hit a single which lead to two more unearned runs, and a string of expletives from me while the ball was in flight. After making all the women in the stands blush (they were there for the other team), I struck out the final batter of the inning.
I didn't give up another run and pitched the complete game. I got up again with 2 outs and a man on second in the bottom of the 9th. My beloved Buick-sized strike zone came back to bite me and I struck out looking. It was a ball, but it was a strike all night. We lost 4-3. I struck out 14, walked 1, and gave up 9 hits. I was also 1-4 at the plate. Apparently there's 5 players from the Swedish National on Sundbyberg too. I haven't seen the Swedish National team play, but I'm pretty sure my Sagecocks could take them. Or at least it would be close.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Graduation Swedish Style
After the ceremony at the school, all the students pile into the backs of dump trucks. There were 5 or so outside the school, decorated with banners and tree branches for some reason. The Johans, Anton, Liisa, and I changed our clothes and climbed into the back of one of the trucks with about 50 other students. Attached to the front of the ''dump'' part of the truck were two 3 foot-tall speakers, precariously secured with packing tape. On the bed of the truck, 1200 cans of beer--to be poured on each other. They hadn't yet picked up the other 500 cans for drinking.
Anton, being the kind friend that he is, immediately soaked me with beer. For the first time in my life I experienced beer in my eyes, and in other orphuses as well. Then the speakers started blaring "Call On Me," and many more of the loudest techno songs I have ever experienced. I am positive that this event has permanently altered my hearing, as certain tones have sounded strangely discordant since then. At this point people started jumping around, dancing, yelling, and continued to douse everyone around them with beer. Then the trucks started up and we drove into the city.
This was one of the most unique experiences of my life. We drove around Stockholm for 2-3 hours, everyone drenched in beer and dancing and yelling. And let me tell you, it's tuff to dance on the back of a moving vehicle. Every time we'd stop or accelerate somebody was falling over, but the truck was so full of people, there were usually people to catch you and/or crush. Being the incredibly coordinated man that I am, I did a lot of catching, but my knees were dying by the time we were done. Also, after an hour and a half, people were shivering and generally freezing cold. I tried to keep dancing and had some cider to keep myself warm, but there were a lot of people who were getting a little purple by the end.
When all this ended, my shoes were completely soaked with beer. The rest of my body wasn't soaked anymore though, it was caked. I had crusty beer everywhere! In my hair, on my legs, behind by ears, in my belly button, on my eye lids. I had a game that night too (I didn't drink that much) and didn't have time to shower, so Anton said he'd take me to a pool to rinse off. Turns out, that ''pool'' was as deep as the top of my ankle, and did very little to relieve my crustiness. Plus, the only other people using the "pool" were under the age of 2, and half were naked, so I probably just added other unwanted substances to my body. I had to get to my game though, so I got to the car, stripped down to a beater and my boxer-briefs, and drove to the field.
It was a somewhat nerve-racking drive to the field. I was late so I was speeding a bit, but I was just picturing myself getting pulled over. I would have passed any breathalyzer, but here I was driving in my underwear and reeking of booze. Luckily I made it to the field, although I still smelled like I had been drinking all day. Joaquin, the player coach of the day, greeted me and I explained what I had been doing, and that I wasn't drunk. His English is good but not great, so I don't know how much he understood. "Can you pitch?" he asked seriously. When I said, "Of course," he flashed me a big smile and replied, "Good." I feel like I could have shown up hammered with a beer in hand, and if I told him I could pitch I would have gotten the same reaction.
More on the game, and the final part of the traditional Swedish graduation soon.
Anton, being the kind friend that he is, immediately soaked me with beer. For the first time in my life I experienced beer in my eyes, and in other orphuses as well. Then the speakers started blaring "Call On Me," and many more of the loudest techno songs I have ever experienced. I am positive that this event has permanently altered my hearing, as certain tones have sounded strangely discordant since then. At this point people started jumping around, dancing, yelling, and continued to douse everyone around them with beer. Then the trucks started up and we drove into the city.
This was one of the most unique experiences of my life. We drove around Stockholm for 2-3 hours, everyone drenched in beer and dancing and yelling. And let me tell you, it's tuff to dance on the back of a moving vehicle. Every time we'd stop or accelerate somebody was falling over, but the truck was so full of people, there were usually people to catch you and/or crush. Being the incredibly coordinated man that I am, I did a lot of catching, but my knees were dying by the time we were done. Also, after an hour and a half, people were shivering and generally freezing cold. I tried to keep dancing and had some cider to keep myself warm, but there were a lot of people who were getting a little purple by the end.
When all this ended, my shoes were completely soaked with beer. The rest of my body wasn't soaked anymore though, it was caked. I had crusty beer everywhere! In my hair, on my legs, behind by ears, in my belly button, on my eye lids. I had a game that night too (I didn't drink that much) and didn't have time to shower, so Anton said he'd take me to a pool to rinse off. Turns out, that ''pool'' was as deep as the top of my ankle, and did very little to relieve my crustiness. Plus, the only other people using the "pool" were under the age of 2, and half were naked, so I probably just added other unwanted substances to my body. I had to get to my game though, so I got to the car, stripped down to a beater and my boxer-briefs, and drove to the field.
It was a somewhat nerve-racking drive to the field. I was late so I was speeding a bit, but I was just picturing myself getting pulled over. I would have passed any breathalyzer, but here I was driving in my underwear and reeking of booze. Luckily I made it to the field, although I still smelled like I had been drinking all day. Joaquin, the player coach of the day, greeted me and I explained what I had been doing, and that I wasn't drunk. His English is good but not great, so I don't know how much he understood. "Can you pitch?" he asked seriously. When I said, "Of course," he flashed me a big smile and replied, "Good." I feel like I could have shown up hammered with a beer in hand, and if I told him I could pitch I would have gotten the same reaction.
More on the game, and the final part of the traditional Swedish graduation soon.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Graduation: Breakfast and Ceremony
I have to say, yesterday was a great day. First, I want to make it clear that Anton, Johan, and Johan are all 19 or 20, and they are the best friends I've made thus far in Sweden. With that said, yesterday was Anton's and Johan Keding's high school graduation. And a Swedish graduation is a lot different than the American version.
The day starts with a champagne and strawberry breakfast, or at least, that was the plan. I live almost an hour away from Anton's school, and I horribly mismanaged the drive over. I don't know what I was thinking, but I left Timor's house at 8 am, about 20 minutes before I was supposed meet up with Anton, only to realize that Timor had left the car with less than a gallon of gas. I was on the highway when I realized this, so I took the first exit I saw. Soon, I found an express gas station--which unfortunately consists solely of gas pumps that don't accept cash. After discovering two more express gas stations, a normal gas station where I filled up, and a traffic jam, I arrived in Södermalm an hour and 20 minutes later than I had planned.
I was met by Liisa, Anton's Finnish friend I had met the day before. Liisa and Anton were exchange students at the same school in Mississippi. Liisa is a beautiful girl, with gorgeous face, and is a very nice person as well. She informed me that we had over 3 hours to kill. After the breakfast, Swedish students go to the classrooms for a couple hours and don't really do anything as part of the graduation tradition. So Liisa and I wandered around Södermalm.
We saw a bunch of the city, and eventually the time passed and the graduation ceremony commenced. The ceremony took place in a typical auditorium. Girls wore white dresses and guys wore well tailored suits. Both sexes wore their traditional graduation caps, which looked inconceivably similar to a sailor's cap. During the ceremony there was the traditional singing of American Pop songs: the ''Graduation Song'' by Vitamin C, and ''My Immortal'' by Evanescence. Actually, the girl who sang ''My Immortal'' was very good, and very hot. When she was done, her classmates cheered wildly and ended up chanting something in Swedish. One of Johan Lantz's friends turned to me, and explained, "They're chanting, 'Show your tits.'" I should mention that most of these students are relatively drunk at this point in the day, traditionally.
Soon the ceremony was over and students ran outside to greet their parents. Each family group holds up what looks like a picketing sign, but instead of holding a message of protest there is a baby picture of the beloved graduate. I liked the pictures I took of this, which will be on webshots soon. Of course, after I took some pictures of the events taking place, I couldn't find Anton and his family or Johan, so I missed my opportunity for graduation photos. But eventually they found me and we prepared ourselves for the next traditional part of graduation, which is so ridiculous it deserves its own post.
The day starts with a champagne and strawberry breakfast, or at least, that was the plan. I live almost an hour away from Anton's school, and I horribly mismanaged the drive over. I don't know what I was thinking, but I left Timor's house at 8 am, about 20 minutes before I was supposed meet up with Anton, only to realize that Timor had left the car with less than a gallon of gas. I was on the highway when I realized this, so I took the first exit I saw. Soon, I found an express gas station--which unfortunately consists solely of gas pumps that don't accept cash. After discovering two more express gas stations, a normal gas station where I filled up, and a traffic jam, I arrived in Södermalm an hour and 20 minutes later than I had planned.
I was met by Liisa, Anton's Finnish friend I had met the day before. Liisa and Anton were exchange students at the same school in Mississippi. Liisa is a beautiful girl, with gorgeous face, and is a very nice person as well. She informed me that we had over 3 hours to kill. After the breakfast, Swedish students go to the classrooms for a couple hours and don't really do anything as part of the graduation tradition. So Liisa and I wandered around Södermalm.
We saw a bunch of the city, and eventually the time passed and the graduation ceremony commenced. The ceremony took place in a typical auditorium. Girls wore white dresses and guys wore well tailored suits. Both sexes wore their traditional graduation caps, which looked inconceivably similar to a sailor's cap. During the ceremony there was the traditional singing of American Pop songs: the ''Graduation Song'' by Vitamin C, and ''My Immortal'' by Evanescence. Actually, the girl who sang ''My Immortal'' was very good, and very hot. When she was done, her classmates cheered wildly and ended up chanting something in Swedish. One of Johan Lantz's friends turned to me, and explained, "They're chanting, 'Show your tits.'" I should mention that most of these students are relatively drunk at this point in the day, traditionally.
Soon the ceremony was over and students ran outside to greet their parents. Each family group holds up what looks like a picketing sign, but instead of holding a message of protest there is a baby picture of the beloved graduate. I liked the pictures I took of this, which will be on webshots soon. Of course, after I took some pictures of the events taking place, I couldn't find Anton and his family or Johan, so I missed my opportunity for graduation photos. But eventually they found me and we prepared ourselves for the next traditional part of graduation, which is so ridiculous it deserves its own post.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
3rd Game vs. Karlskoga
We played amazing this game! Wait, not "amazing" as much as "God awful." We lost 15-1 in 7 innings. I've been sick since Saturday night, so I really didn't feel like playing Sunday, but I went anyway in case we didn't have enough guys. Eight other guys showed up. I started in left field, and just hoped that no one hit the ball out there. I didn't want to throw after pitching yesterday and being sick on top of that.
Of course, the lead off hitter hits a double down the left field line, and another guy hits a single to me where I have to make a throw home. Luckily, another Alby player showed up and I took myself out. Not before getting a big backwards K at the plate, though. The rest of the game was terrible, with error after error. It got to the point where I had to laugh, because we were such a horrid display of baseball. Apparently Alby was even worse last year!
Anyway, we have another game Wednesday, and my season stats look something like this:
Pitching: IP 14.1 W-L 1-0 ERA 1.88 K 11 BB 3 R 5 BAA .185
Batting: AVE .083 OBP .250 SLG .083 R 2 RBI 1 BB 2 K 3
Let me remind you that they put me at clean-up one game.
Of course, the lead off hitter hits a double down the left field line, and another guy hits a single to me where I have to make a throw home. Luckily, another Alby player showed up and I took myself out. Not before getting a big backwards K at the plate, though. The rest of the game was terrible, with error after error. It got to the point where I had to laugh, because we were such a horrid display of baseball. Apparently Alby was even worse last year!
Anyway, we have another game Wednesday, and my season stats look something like this:
Pitching: IP 14.1 W-L 1-0 ERA 1.88 K 11 BB 3 R 5 BAA .185
Batting: AVE .083 OBP .250 SLG .083 R 2 RBI 1 BB 2 K 3
Let me remind you that they put me at clean-up one game.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
2nd Game vs Karlskoga
The 2nd game wasn’t pretty either. The team was so impressed with my shiny new batting average (.125), that they put me at cleanup. Feel free to laugh, because when I was told I cracked up. I don’t remember exactly what I did at the plate (I’m probably repressing it), but I think it was something like 0-3 with a K and a walk.
I started out at first base, and the plan was to relieve the starter as soon as he ran into trouble. So I entered the game behind 2-0, with 2 outs in the FIRST!!! I went on to pitch 8 1/3 innings of 5 hit ball, giving up 1 earned run but 3 total runs. The first run scored in the second inning. A Karlskoga guy hit the softest ball I’ve ever seen right at the first baseman who replaced me. He somehow lost the ball in the sun, and decided to do a duck and cover drill instead of trying to catch the ball. At least he’ll be ready if Sweden ever gets nuked. He also mishandled another play that inning, leading to the run scoring.
I didn’t give up another run until the 9th, when we were down 3-2. I was exhausted at this point from playing the first game, pitching basically an entire game, and from our pre-game warm-ups—which are somehow about as exhausting as an actual game. I struck out the first guy, but the next batter ripped a single off me—the first legitimate hit off me that game. He stole second, and then the next guy hit a swinging bunt to make it first and third with one out.
Honestly, I thought, “Whatever. I’ve struck out the next kid twice already on fastballs. I’ll strike him out, get the next guy, and we’ll win this thing in the bottom half.” Of course, the man on first got in a pickle, scored the guy from third, and made it to second. I was yelling, “Home!” the entire time because the guy in the pickle was meaningless, but apparently the English word “home” is too different from the Swedish word “hem” to be understood.
In the end it didn’t matter though. The next guy got the second legitimate hit of the game, which shouldn’t have scored the guy from second since our left fielder could have knocked it down with his body and picked it up without the man from second running home. Instead, he made a sweeping lunge at the ball with his glove, missed it, and the ball rolled to the fence giving the hitter an easy trip to third. I got the next guy out, but we lost 5-2.
I’ve accepted that I have to get 4 outs per inning. There were 5 errors in the 2nd game, including 2 hits off me which should have been caught, but the fielders miscommunicated. Either way everyone congratulated me on my performance, and I wasn’t gunned but I was pumping at 82 or 83. It felt significantly faster than usual, anyway. I’m a little disappointed though, because I thought our team was better than what they showed these two games. We’ll see Sunday, when we play the third game of the series.
I started out at first base, and the plan was to relieve the starter as soon as he ran into trouble. So I entered the game behind 2-0, with 2 outs in the FIRST!!! I went on to pitch 8 1/3 innings of 5 hit ball, giving up 1 earned run but 3 total runs. The first run scored in the second inning. A Karlskoga guy hit the softest ball I’ve ever seen right at the first baseman who replaced me. He somehow lost the ball in the sun, and decided to do a duck and cover drill instead of trying to catch the ball. At least he’ll be ready if Sweden ever gets nuked. He also mishandled another play that inning, leading to the run scoring.
I didn’t give up another run until the 9th, when we were down 3-2. I was exhausted at this point from playing the first game, pitching basically an entire game, and from our pre-game warm-ups—which are somehow about as exhausting as an actual game. I struck out the first guy, but the next batter ripped a single off me—the first legitimate hit off me that game. He stole second, and then the next guy hit a swinging bunt to make it first and third with one out.
Honestly, I thought, “Whatever. I’ve struck out the next kid twice already on fastballs. I’ll strike him out, get the next guy, and we’ll win this thing in the bottom half.” Of course, the man on first got in a pickle, scored the guy from third, and made it to second. I was yelling, “Home!” the entire time because the guy in the pickle was meaningless, but apparently the English word “home” is too different from the Swedish word “hem” to be understood.
In the end it didn’t matter though. The next guy got the second legitimate hit of the game, which shouldn’t have scored the guy from second since our left fielder could have knocked it down with his body and picked it up without the man from second running home. Instead, he made a sweeping lunge at the ball with his glove, missed it, and the ball rolled to the fence giving the hitter an easy trip to third. I got the next guy out, but we lost 5-2.
I’ve accepted that I have to get 4 outs per inning. There were 5 errors in the 2nd game, including 2 hits off me which should have been caught, but the fielders miscommunicated. Either way everyone congratulated me on my performance, and I wasn’t gunned but I was pumping at 82 or 83. It felt significantly faster than usual, anyway. I’m a little disappointed though, because I thought our team was better than what they showed these two games. We’ll see Sunday, when we play the third game of the series.
1st Game vs. Karlskoga
Today was a long day. The double header was terrible. Pedro started the first game for us and got hammered, and then the next guy did too. We got 10-run ruled in 7 innings. Plus people kept making errors, and it was just depressing. So instead of talking about how bad everything was, I’ll discuss my favorite part of the game: me.
In the first game, they put me at first base and batted me in the fifth spot. Yes, the team is bad enough where the fifth spot wasn’t horribly out of line. I did pretty well in the field; I fielded a few balls, caught one, and hosed a guy at home. On the play at home, I was playing deep and made a backhanded stop, planted the back leg and got the force out at home. I was so impressive, someone from the other dugout said, “Hey, one of their guys isn’t bad.”
I will keep repeating I’ve barely swung a bat for over 2 years. In fact, after the game, the general manager said me, “You really haven’t swung for a while, have you.” I struck out swinging my first at bat. I saw one fast ball, a God knows how many different off-speed pitches. The second time up I just sat curveball the entire time. On the third pitch, I got one. I hit a grounder in between first and second. Could this be my first Swedish hit? The second baseman makes a diving stop and throws me out by 3 steps. I didn’t get up again until the 7th, when we were down by enough where I had no idea what the score was. They put in this kid who was throwing 65, maybe. I can totally hit this, I’m gonna get a hit!
Joaquim walked on four pitches. The right thing to do was take a strike, but I really wanted a hit. The first pitch was a ball, but the second was right down the cock. I swung, and ripped it into the right-center gap. The center fielder cut it off, but I had a single!
Actually, the ump called a balk when all this happened, so none of it counted. God really does hate me. Alexis, a player/coach, told me I should take a strike and try to get on base. I pretended to agree with him. I took a big fat Swedish meatball along with three other balls and walked. But this kid saw 5 batters and didn’t get one out, so he was replaced by another pitcher that sucked. And by sucked, I mean I got up again.
I took a fastball down the middle for a strike. I hate being a team player. The second pitch came in, and I took a big hack. It’s a line drive between 1st and 2nd! Holy Jesus I got a hit! The first one in over two years! As I contemplated my greatness on first base, I thought about asking for the ball. I decided against it. Turns out we lost 21-9, but at least I have a batting average!
In the first game, they put me at first base and batted me in the fifth spot. Yes, the team is bad enough where the fifth spot wasn’t horribly out of line. I did pretty well in the field; I fielded a few balls, caught one, and hosed a guy at home. On the play at home, I was playing deep and made a backhanded stop, planted the back leg and got the force out at home. I was so impressive, someone from the other dugout said, “Hey, one of their guys isn’t bad.”
I will keep repeating I’ve barely swung a bat for over 2 years. In fact, after the game, the general manager said me, “You really haven’t swung for a while, have you.” I struck out swinging my first at bat. I saw one fast ball, a God knows how many different off-speed pitches. The second time up I just sat curveball the entire time. On the third pitch, I got one. I hit a grounder in between first and second. Could this be my first Swedish hit? The second baseman makes a diving stop and throws me out by 3 steps. I didn’t get up again until the 7th, when we were down by enough where I had no idea what the score was. They put in this kid who was throwing 65, maybe. I can totally hit this, I’m gonna get a hit!
Joaquim walked on four pitches. The right thing to do was take a strike, but I really wanted a hit. The first pitch was a ball, but the second was right down the cock. I swung, and ripped it into the right-center gap. The center fielder cut it off, but I had a single!
Actually, the ump called a balk when all this happened, so none of it counted. God really does hate me. Alexis, a player/coach, told me I should take a strike and try to get on base. I pretended to agree with him. I took a big fat Swedish meatball along with three other balls and walked. But this kid saw 5 batters and didn’t get one out, so he was replaced by another pitcher that sucked. And by sucked, I mean I got up again.
I took a fastball down the middle for a strike. I hate being a team player. The second pitch came in, and I took a big hack. It’s a line drive between 1st and 2nd! Holy Jesus I got a hit! The first one in over two years! As I contemplated my greatness on first base, I thought about asking for the ball. I decided against it. Turns out we lost 21-9, but at least I have a batting average!
Saturday, June 9, 2007
More great pick-up conversation.
On the train back from Anton’s I saw another great poster ad, which you can view a picture of on Web Shots. At the time, though, I needed a translation of the poster, so I looked around the train car to see who I could ask.
There was a 50 year-old man to my right, a mother and child behind me, and a cute 17 or 18 year old girl diagonally across the aisle from me. I decided to ask her. “Do you speak English?” She removed her ipod and said yes. I sat down across from her and explained, “I don’t know much Swedish, so I was wondering if you could translate the top line of that sign over there.” She had her back to the sign, so she turned to look at it.
I should mention at this point that the poster had a female hand putting a condom on a male pointer finger, and I knew the sign had something to do with Chlamydia. I should also mention that after I started talking to this girl, I realized she was 16.
Out of surprise she started laughing, but wouldn’t look me in the eye. So I said the magic words that every Swedish girl loves to hear, “It looks like it says, ’Chlamydia occurs in Stockholm,’ at the bottom, so I need to know how to protect myself.” She laughed a little more, mixed in with some nervousness, and still without looking me in the eye told me it said something like, “It’s better without Chlamydia.”
I could tell she was uncomfortable, so I tried to explain that I thought it was funny, and I was going to share it with my friends over the Internet. She was still laughing nervously, but now she was edging back in the corner of her seat, so I thanked her and went back to my area of the train. A word of advice to all the men reading this: the best way to introduce yourself to girls is not by talking about Chlamydia.
There was a 50 year-old man to my right, a mother and child behind me, and a cute 17 or 18 year old girl diagonally across the aisle from me. I decided to ask her. “Do you speak English?” She removed her ipod and said yes. I sat down across from her and explained, “I don’t know much Swedish, so I was wondering if you could translate the top line of that sign over there.” She had her back to the sign, so she turned to look at it.
I should mention at this point that the poster had a female hand putting a condom on a male pointer finger, and I knew the sign had something to do with Chlamydia. I should also mention that after I started talking to this girl, I realized she was 16.
Out of surprise she started laughing, but wouldn’t look me in the eye. So I said the magic words that every Swedish girl loves to hear, “It looks like it says, ’Chlamydia occurs in Stockholm,’ at the bottom, so I need to know how to protect myself.” She laughed a little more, mixed in with some nervousness, and still without looking me in the eye told me it said something like, “It’s better without Chlamydia.”
I could tell she was uncomfortable, so I tried to explain that I thought it was funny, and I was going to share it with my friends over the Internet. She was still laughing nervously, but now she was edging back in the corner of her seat, so I thanked her and went back to my area of the train. A word of advice to all the men reading this: the best way to introduce yourself to girls is not by talking about Chlamydia.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Swedish National Day
Wednesday was the Swedish Independence Day. Much like in America, that means drinking instead of going to work. I woke up at the crack of 11:23 am, and a couple hours later took the train to hang out with Anton and his friends by the water. Anton and his friend, Johan met me at the end of my journey.
The three of us walked to this lake. Not just any lake mind you, but apparently one that Alfred Noble blew up and created himself. They even showed me Noble's old laboratory, which was so interesting, we looked at it from the distance. Soon we found Johan--a second Johan, whom I will refer to as Lance--who was guarding the our spot, but more importantly the beer.
I had Danish and Finnish beer, which were both good. Of course, with beer comes the inevitable breaking of the seel, and unfortunately there were no public restrooms, not that it really matters if you're drunk. So I climbed up a hiking trail, went about 30 feet into the woods, and prepared myself for relief. I didn't notice, however, that I was actually 5 feet from another trail and currently exposing myself to an old man. When I met his icy glare, I did the classy thing: I put it away and ran.
When I got back from peeing, we played some cards, ending with a game of Go Fish. We agreed that the person who came in last would have to go in the cold water. I came in last. I pounded a beer and then headed towards the lake.
In the back of my mind, I kept thinking that drunk swimming in cold water was probably a bad idea, but as a man I would never break a vow made over Go Fish. Lucky for me, there was a rope swing. You just swung down an embankment, over some rocks, and then let go over the water. Again, in the back of my mind I was thinking this would be a real shitty way to die. I'd never been on a rope swing before, so I just grabbed as high as possible, swung out and let go! Splash!
This is nothing! Gilford Beach. Not even coast-of-Maine cold, and I don't think that was because of the beer. And, being the trendsetter that I am, about 6 other guys came up and asked me about the water, to which I replied coolly, ''Do you speak English?'' They all did, and 3 or 4 went in and thought it was cold. We all left soon after and watched Sweden own Iceland 5-0 before I headed back to Timor's house.
The three of us walked to this lake. Not just any lake mind you, but apparently one that Alfred Noble blew up and created himself. They even showed me Noble's old laboratory, which was so interesting, we looked at it from the distance. Soon we found Johan--a second Johan, whom I will refer to as Lance--who was guarding the our spot, but more importantly the beer.
I had Danish and Finnish beer, which were both good. Of course, with beer comes the inevitable breaking of the seel, and unfortunately there were no public restrooms, not that it really matters if you're drunk. So I climbed up a hiking trail, went about 30 feet into the woods, and prepared myself for relief. I didn't notice, however, that I was actually 5 feet from another trail and currently exposing myself to an old man. When I met his icy glare, I did the classy thing: I put it away and ran.
When I got back from peeing, we played some cards, ending with a game of Go Fish. We agreed that the person who came in last would have to go in the cold water. I came in last. I pounded a beer and then headed towards the lake.
In the back of my mind, I kept thinking that drunk swimming in cold water was probably a bad idea, but as a man I would never break a vow made over Go Fish. Lucky for me, there was a rope swing. You just swung down an embankment, over some rocks, and then let go over the water. Again, in the back of my mind I was thinking this would be a real shitty way to die. I'd never been on a rope swing before, so I just grabbed as high as possible, swung out and let go! Splash!
This is nothing! Gilford Beach. Not even coast-of-Maine cold, and I don't think that was because of the beer. And, being the trendsetter that I am, about 6 other guys came up and asked me about the water, to which I replied coolly, ''Do you speak English?'' They all did, and 3 or 4 went in and thought it was cold. We all left soon after and watched Sweden own Iceland 5-0 before I headed back to Timor's house.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Weird Swedish Stuff
1. All the dishes are smaller than American silverware, especially the glasses.
2. Almost all the music and television is American. Seriously. TV shows aren't even dubbed in Swedish, they just have Swedish subtitles.
3. Teenage girls eyes light up if I tell them I've been in LA the past 3 years. One started singing the theme song from the OC, and actually, all the younger girls who talk to me usually ask about it. If I only I were, say, 5 years younger.
4. There's this goddam black cat in Timor's house that scares me almost every day. Whenever I leave a room, it's usually staring at me. A couple times I've opened this wardrobe to get my clothes, and all of a sudden there are these two green eyes staring back at me. I think it threatened me once too. I was seated, eating at the dinner table, and I felt something brush against my upper thigh. I look down and see the cat between my legs, with one paw on my family jewels. Of course, the cat is in heat now, so maybe it wasn't threatening me. I am from LA after all. The cat is currently meowing like a crying infant, while lying prostrate beneath my chair. At least now I can hear it coming.
2. Almost all the music and television is American. Seriously. TV shows aren't even dubbed in Swedish, they just have Swedish subtitles.
3. Teenage girls eyes light up if I tell them I've been in LA the past 3 years. One started singing the theme song from the OC, and actually, all the younger girls who talk to me usually ask about it. If I only I were, say, 5 years younger.
4. There's this goddam black cat in Timor's house that scares me almost every day. Whenever I leave a room, it's usually staring at me. A couple times I've opened this wardrobe to get my clothes, and all of a sudden there are these two green eyes staring back at me. I think it threatened me once too. I was seated, eating at the dinner table, and I felt something brush against my upper thigh. I look down and see the cat between my legs, with one paw on my family jewels. Of course, the cat is in heat now, so maybe it wasn't threatening me. I am from LA after all. The cat is currently meowing like a crying infant, while lying prostrate beneath my chair. At least now I can hear it coming.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
First Night Out
Last night was a bit of a bust. I didn't find Anton and his friends until 10:30 pm, and they were already pretty hammered by then. We went to a couple clubs, although it was still early, and I had a 56 KR Heineken (about $8.50). Needless to say, I have to figure out some sort of system if I ever want to get drunk. We met up with more of Anton's friends around 11:30pm, including one girl who was incredibly excited that I had lived in Los Angelos. Maybe Swedish girls do love Americans.
Of course, that girl became a little...under the weather, and Anton took her home. I went with another friend named Nikolas to a different club, which was a Rock and Roll bar. There was a giant American flag there, so I gained more confidence in my Americaness. We went up to the bar, and there were two gorgeous girls right in front of us. Nikolas nudged me to say something, but I got nervous and couldn't think of anything to say. I stood behind them awkwardly for about a minute, until Nikolas said, ''I'm not yoking (joking) you, but the blond one literally just said, ''I'm so fucking horny right now.'' I finally came out with, ''Do you two like American music?'' What kind of lame conversation starter is that? The blond one turned her head slightly, said yes, and then went off with her friend. Guess I'll have to be more than just American, but I'm confident I am up for the challenge.
Of course, that girl became a little...under the weather, and Anton took her home. I went with another friend named Nikolas to a different club, which was a Rock and Roll bar. There was a giant American flag there, so I gained more confidence in my Americaness. We went up to the bar, and there were two gorgeous girls right in front of us. Nikolas nudged me to say something, but I got nervous and couldn't think of anything to say. I stood behind them awkwardly for about a minute, until Nikolas said, ''I'm not yoking (joking) you, but the blond one literally just said, ''I'm so fucking horny right now.'' I finally came out with, ''Do you two like American music?'' What kind of lame conversation starter is that? The blond one turned her head slightly, said yes, and then went off with her friend. Guess I'll have to be more than just American, but I'm confident I am up for the challenge.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Swedish Girls
First off, I definately approve. There are certainly many beautiful women here. Stockholm reminds me of USC a little--there are drop dead goregeous girls, but most wear a shit-ton of makeup. With some girls I could stick my fingers in their cheeks, grab some makeup, and mold figurines. And apparently, Swedish girls love Americans.
I haven't figured out how true this is, but I do know all the young girls love me. Specifically, I mean Lolita and Victoria and their 7 year-old friends. They barely know any English and haven't talked to me until about an hour ago, so I thought they didn't like me. Today, I had to watch them for a little bit while everyone else was out. I tried to talk with them, but they just smiled shyly. Then their father came home with a friend and the friend's daughters. I was doing my laundry and they came up to me, and then ran away giggling. Then they came up and ran a way again. The third time, they counted to three and in unison said, ''Hi Tom. How are you?'' In my surprise, I responded, ''Good. How are you?'' ''Yes.'' they all said emphatically, and then ran away again. I laughed for a couple minutes.
I also visited a school to help teach 11 year-olds baseball. They all knew English, and all the girls wanted my attention. Hopefully I can carry over all this attention to the girls that are my age. I do get looks occasionally, mostly when I'm speaking. I'll find out more tonight, as I'll be going to a university party with Anton and his friends.
I haven't figured out how true this is, but I do know all the young girls love me. Specifically, I mean Lolita and Victoria and their 7 year-old friends. They barely know any English and haven't talked to me until about an hour ago, so I thought they didn't like me. Today, I had to watch them for a little bit while everyone else was out. I tried to talk with them, but they just smiled shyly. Then their father came home with a friend and the friend's daughters. I was doing my laundry and they came up to me, and then ran away giggling. Then they came up and ran a way again. The third time, they counted to three and in unison said, ''Hi Tom. How are you?'' In my surprise, I responded, ''Good. How are you?'' ''Yes.'' they all said emphatically, and then ran away again. I laughed for a couple minutes.
I also visited a school to help teach 11 year-olds baseball. They all knew English, and all the girls wanted my attention. Hopefully I can carry over all this attention to the girls that are my age. I do get looks occasionally, mostly when I'm speaking. I'll find out more tonight, as I'll be going to a university party with Anton and his friends.
2nd Game vs. Stockholm
We were in downtown Stockholm and running late. Joaquim's driving exam was taking longer than expected and I was waiting at the car with Alexis and Timor. Joaquim finally arrived and after a couple traffic jams we made it to the field...at 6:30pm, so the game was just starting. Considering the 1 through 4 hitters from the last game were sitting in that car, the rest of the team was somewhat upset.
Joaquim and Timor subbed in for the second inning, while Alexis and I waited on the bench. I was only allowed to pitch six innings in this game because of the Swedish rules regarding American players, so Sergio was pitching the first 3 innings for us. When he left the game we were losing 3-2, but it was my time to show my teammates why they brought me here.
Since I got here a week ago, all anyone's ever said to me is, ''Oh! You throw 80! That's really fast! Great heat! You'll be great!'' I assumed this meant Swedish hitters couldn't hit that speed, so I decided to throw more fastballs than usual. I throw a fastball, and the first hitter is behind it and fouls it off. I'm dreaming of 20 strikeout games. I throw another fastball, and the lefty singles between third and short! What? Must have got lucky. The next guy I start off with the fastball for a strike, then a curve ball for a strike. I'll just finish him with a fastball. Single over the second baseman's head. I can see the looks the rest of the team is giving each other. Okay, time to get serious. The next hitter gets on by a fielder's choice, but we get the runner at 2nd, one out. Then I struck the next guy out, swinging at a curve ball. That's better. The next kid is a righty with a slow bat, so I shake to an inside fastball. I jam the crap out of him, but he somehow pops it just over the 2nd baseman's head for a hit. God dammit. I get the next guy to ground out, but I'm a little pissed.
The next inning, a left-handed hitter leads off. I throw a curve ball for a strike, and then a fastball inside. HE PULLS IT!!! He pulls it down the line for a triple. WTF. Well, I hope these guys like not-fastballs, because that's what they're getting. Oh course, the next curve ball I throw bounces off our God-awful plate, scoring the guy from third. All I can say is : . For the next 15 outs, though, I gave up 2 hits and there wasn't a single ball that left the infield. So much for my heat. My team scored 1 run in the 6th, and 3 in the 8th, to win the game 6-5.
I struck out the last guy to end the game, and what ensued was both sad and funny. Everyone on the team started jumping around like we had won the league title, and everyone hugged me after the game. There were lots of hugs, actually, most in the ''We made it!'' style. I guess things get pretty bad when you don't win for a month. Everyone liked me before, but let me tell you they love me now. And that's despite going 0 for 3 on three ground outs.
Joaquim and Timor subbed in for the second inning, while Alexis and I waited on the bench. I was only allowed to pitch six innings in this game because of the Swedish rules regarding American players, so Sergio was pitching the first 3 innings for us. When he left the game we were losing 3-2, but it was my time to show my teammates why they brought me here.
Since I got here a week ago, all anyone's ever said to me is, ''Oh! You throw 80! That's really fast! Great heat! You'll be great!'' I assumed this meant Swedish hitters couldn't hit that speed, so I decided to throw more fastballs than usual. I throw a fastball, and the first hitter is behind it and fouls it off. I'm dreaming of 20 strikeout games. I throw another fastball, and the lefty singles between third and short! What? Must have got lucky. The next guy I start off with the fastball for a strike, then a curve ball for a strike. I'll just finish him with a fastball. Single over the second baseman's head. I can see the looks the rest of the team is giving each other. Okay, time to get serious. The next hitter gets on by a fielder's choice, but we get the runner at 2nd, one out. Then I struck the next guy out, swinging at a curve ball. That's better. The next kid is a righty with a slow bat, so I shake to an inside fastball. I jam the crap out of him, but he somehow pops it just over the 2nd baseman's head for a hit. God dammit. I get the next guy to ground out, but I'm a little pissed.
The next inning, a left-handed hitter leads off. I throw a curve ball for a strike, and then a fastball inside. HE PULLS IT!!! He pulls it down the line for a triple. WTF. Well, I hope these guys like not-fastballs, because that's what they're getting. Oh course, the next curve ball I throw bounces off our God-awful plate, scoring the guy from third. All I can say is : . For the next 15 outs, though, I gave up 2 hits and there wasn't a single ball that left the infield. So much for my heat. My team scored 1 run in the 6th, and 3 in the 8th, to win the game 6-5.
I struck out the last guy to end the game, and what ensued was both sad and funny. Everyone on the team started jumping around like we had won the league title, and everyone hugged me after the game. There were lots of hugs, actually, most in the ''We made it!'' style. I guess things get pretty bad when you don't win for a month. Everyone liked me before, but let me tell you they love me now. And that's despite going 0 for 3 on three ground outs.
First Game against Stockholm
First, I should mention that Timor's house is a good 45 minute drive from the field. It's an hour and a half by public transportation. So Timor and I rode the subway for about 4o minutes and then got picked up by 2 Cuban ballplayers, Alexis and Joaquim. Both are great guys. During the car ride. The two Cubans talk to each other in Spanish, talk to Timor in Swedish, and me in English. I try to talk to Joaquim and Alexis in Spanish, but unless they speak to me like I'm a retarded baby, I have a hard time understanding them. Joaquim is going to help me with my Spanish, and I'm excited about that.
So we got to the field late and didn't have time for batting practice, and we only had time to stretch for 20 minutes! Anders, our 40+ year old first baseman/pitcher/coach greets me, and tells me I'm going to DH, and hit 2nd. Poor decision, but I'm thinking, ''Maybe the pitching is really that bad.'' Anders goes on to tell me that a lot of Americans just try to hit home runs, and it'd be fine if I just got on base. Again, I should mention that I haven't hit in over 2 years, and wasn't enjoying these great expectations.
We're the home team, so our pitcher, Pedro, goes to work. I really can't describe what I saw. Pedro is left handed, and threw like a homosexual shot putter. The ball went about 50 mph. Apparently he has a change-up that's even slower. This is Swedish baseball??? Am I going to be hitting .700 and striking out everyone on fastballs? I'm thinking, at least I get to visit Sweden for an entire summer, even if the baseball is awful. Then their pitcher started warming up.
Apparently Stockholm's pitcher plays for the Swedish national team. He throws around 75 mph, and has four different pitches. Timor is the lead-off hitter, and he walks. Now it's time for my Swedish debut. The first pitch comes in: fastball, ball. The next pitch is thrown: slider, strike. I nod, like I know what I'm doing. I'm all geared up for the next pitch. It's a fastball and I swing. I foul it off, but am behind the ball as much as I could possibly be, and decide I shouldn't be using a 33-30 bombat (it's a wood bat league). The next pitch comes in: fastball, inside, that backs me off the plate. STRIKE THREE!!! At least I wasn't trying to hit a home run. I took some batting practice in the cage before my next at bat.
Great, they want me to bunt. I hope I don't get hit in the face. That's probably the worst thing to think before bunting, but whatever. I turn to bunt and it's a fastball. Fuck! It's coming right at me! I turn away and it hits me right in the left forearm and swells up immediately. I test my arm and hand, and they still work! Awesome! I didn't strike out!
For my third at bat, I decided to be more aggressive. The first pitch comes in and I take a huge hack. Unfortunately, it's a fastball at eye level, strike one. The next pitch comes in, and I take another big hack. Crack! Oh my God! I hit the ball in play! And by ''in play,'' I mean the guy jammed the shit out of me and I hit a dribbler towards third. The third baseman threw me out by three steps.
I can't tell you how excited I was to ground out weakly to third! It was a blast! And I'm really not being sarcastic. After a pitching and positional change, the DH was removed. We ended up losing 3-6, and fell to 0-6 as a team. I was very happy to have taken a baby step towards a hit, and to have an On Base Percentage. I was looking forward to the next day, when I'd get to show my actual talent: pitching.
So we got to the field late and didn't have time for batting practice, and we only had time to stretch for 20 minutes! Anders, our 40+ year old first baseman/pitcher/coach greets me, and tells me I'm going to DH, and hit 2nd. Poor decision, but I'm thinking, ''Maybe the pitching is really that bad.'' Anders goes on to tell me that a lot of Americans just try to hit home runs, and it'd be fine if I just got on base. Again, I should mention that I haven't hit in over 2 years, and wasn't enjoying these great expectations.
We're the home team, so our pitcher, Pedro, goes to work. I really can't describe what I saw. Pedro is left handed, and threw like a homosexual shot putter. The ball went about 50 mph. Apparently he has a change-up that's even slower. This is Swedish baseball??? Am I going to be hitting .700 and striking out everyone on fastballs? I'm thinking, at least I get to visit Sweden for an entire summer, even if the baseball is awful. Then their pitcher started warming up.
Apparently Stockholm's pitcher plays for the Swedish national team. He throws around 75 mph, and has four different pitches. Timor is the lead-off hitter, and he walks. Now it's time for my Swedish debut. The first pitch comes in: fastball, ball. The next pitch is thrown: slider, strike. I nod, like I know what I'm doing. I'm all geared up for the next pitch. It's a fastball and I swing. I foul it off, but am behind the ball as much as I could possibly be, and decide I shouldn't be using a 33-30 bombat (it's a wood bat league). The next pitch comes in: fastball, inside, that backs me off the plate. STRIKE THREE!!! At least I wasn't trying to hit a home run. I took some batting practice in the cage before my next at bat.
Great, they want me to bunt. I hope I don't get hit in the face. That's probably the worst thing to think before bunting, but whatever. I turn to bunt and it's a fastball. Fuck! It's coming right at me! I turn away and it hits me right in the left forearm and swells up immediately. I test my arm and hand, and they still work! Awesome! I didn't strike out!
For my third at bat, I decided to be more aggressive. The first pitch comes in and I take a huge hack. Unfortunately, it's a fastball at eye level, strike one. The next pitch comes in, and I take another big hack. Crack! Oh my God! I hit the ball in play! And by ''in play,'' I mean the guy jammed the shit out of me and I hit a dribbler towards third. The third baseman threw me out by three steps.
I can't tell you how excited I was to ground out weakly to third! It was a blast! And I'm really not being sarcastic. After a pitching and positional change, the DH was removed. We ended up losing 3-6, and fell to 0-6 as a team. I was very happy to have taken a baby step towards a hit, and to have an On Base Percentage. I was looking forward to the next day, when I'd get to show my actual talent: pitching.
Monday, May 28, 2007
First Practice
Timor and I left the the church and the subway took us to about a mile away from the field. We walked with our bags the rest of the distance, while I contemplated how bad this team might be, and how good the Gain-o-Max Recovery drink I was chugging tasted. We were late, so when we arrived to the field the team was already warming up. And by team, I mean 5 people.
As Timor and I walked into the park, I was trying to figure out if there was more grass or dandelions in the outfield. The infield looked alright and the field itself was huge, probably 380 to the polls, and 430 to dead center. There was more likely to be an inside the park homer than anything else. As I changed from from my Sunday best to my practice clothes, I was introduced to a member of the team named Jozef. Apparently everyone calls him ''Useless,'' because he never shows up. Next I met Alex, our 39 year-old Cuban shortstop. Alex has lived in Sweden for 13 years and is in extraordinary shape for his age. He's quicker than me, which isn't saying much, but he can definitely compete. Joaquin is also Cuban, the center fielder, and the player coach of the team. Sergio is Venezuelan, Nikki is from Norway, and Mattias is Swedish. Timor is originally from Kazakhstan, and still liked most of Borat. So far on my trip to Sweden, I've officially met one Swedish person.
First, we stretched. For 40 minutes. Then we took infield and I took balls at third. I took one off the thumb that bent my nail back a bit, but other than that horrific injury, after Day 1 I'm still healthy. Speaking of staying healthy, apparently American players are only allowed to pitch 9 innings a week and 6 innings a game, so those of you that were worried about me being overthrown can sleep well at night. Next we took outfield, which was so much fun. I'm not allowed to do anything on the Pomona team anymore, except pitch. Some might say it's because I'm injury prone, others would say it's because I'm so valuable to the team that it's just not worth the risk. By others, I mean me. After the defensive work, I don't know how to put this, but I was wondering how many high school teams could beat the Alby Stars.
Next we did some hitting. Batting practice consisted of throwing about 65 mph from the rubber, which is my type of velocity. Joaquin definitely had the most power, but the two players who hit the best were Alex, and then me. That's right, me, the guy who has barely touched a bat in 2 and a half years. Next fall boys, I'm claiming that outfield/DH spot! Seriously though, these aren't exactly what I was expecting. And I'd feel better if they weren't already 5 games into a 35 game season. We should win a few games though. It does seem promising for the other teams. The others should be good enough where I'll get to work on my change-up, which is the main thing I want to do.
As Timor and I walked into the park, I was trying to figure out if there was more grass or dandelions in the outfield. The infield looked alright and the field itself was huge, probably 380 to the polls, and 430 to dead center. There was more likely to be an inside the park homer than anything else. As I changed from from my Sunday best to my practice clothes, I was introduced to a member of the team named Jozef. Apparently everyone calls him ''Useless,'' because he never shows up. Next I met Alex, our 39 year-old Cuban shortstop. Alex has lived in Sweden for 13 years and is in extraordinary shape for his age. He's quicker than me, which isn't saying much, but he can definitely compete. Joaquin is also Cuban, the center fielder, and the player coach of the team. Sergio is Venezuelan, Nikki is from Norway, and Mattias is Swedish. Timor is originally from Kazakhstan, and still liked most of Borat. So far on my trip to Sweden, I've officially met one Swedish person.
First, we stretched. For 40 minutes. Then we took infield and I took balls at third. I took one off the thumb that bent my nail back a bit, but other than that horrific injury, after Day 1 I'm still healthy. Speaking of staying healthy, apparently American players are only allowed to pitch 9 innings a week and 6 innings a game, so those of you that were worried about me being overthrown can sleep well at night. Next we took outfield, which was so much fun. I'm not allowed to do anything on the Pomona team anymore, except pitch. Some might say it's because I'm injury prone, others would say it's because I'm so valuable to the team that it's just not worth the risk. By others, I mean me. After the defensive work, I don't know how to put this, but I was wondering how many high school teams could beat the Alby Stars.
Next we did some hitting. Batting practice consisted of throwing about 65 mph from the rubber, which is my type of velocity. Joaquin definitely had the most power, but the two players who hit the best were Alex, and then me. That's right, me, the guy who has barely touched a bat in 2 and a half years. Next fall boys, I'm claiming that outfield/DH spot! Seriously though, these aren't exactly what I was expecting. And I'd feel better if they weren't already 5 games into a 35 game season. We should win a few games though. It does seem promising for the other teams. The others should be good enough where I'll get to work on my change-up, which is the main thing I want to do.
Church
On Sunday, Timor and his family took me to their church. Now personally, I'm not a church-going person anymore, but this place was particularly entertaining. For starters, the building is located in downtown Stockholm, between a ice cream stand and a MacDonald's. As you enter the building, there's a small cafe where Christian's mix, mingle, and buy coffee and pastries. Now the entire service is in Swedish, and all I know how to say is ''meatball,'' but they were prepared. Timor acquired a small electronic box for me, which looked like a remote control with headphones attached to it. It had 4 different channels, each receiving a spoken translation of the service. ''Put it on channel 1, that's English,'' Timor told me. So I quickly put it on channel 3, which was Spanish.
We entered the top balcony of what I guess were the pews, but it seemed more like seating for a theatre. This may have been because we entered during opening hymn, sung by 5 singers and an entire band. There was an electric guitar, bass, drum set, keyboard, violin, trombone, and even bongos. I was kinda envious of the bongo guy, because he could go to a club, walk up to some girls, and be like, ''Hey. I'm in the church band. I play bongos.'' Guaranteed ass. Along with the band, the singers were incredibly stereotypical. One girl was obviously the leader, since sometimes instead of singing she would yell out something in Swedish, which I could only assume was, ''Clap your hands for Jesus,'' because everyone did just that.
The audience was really into it, too. One woman even brought a tambourine. I assumed she was cut from the band. My favorite guy though, was this Arab man that as at the church wearing a long-sleeve button-down with a giant star of David on the back. Obviously, this man does not want to go to hell, and is covering all his bases. Over the course of the service, there were five reverends, including one woman who gave a sermon so long, I'm pretty sure the band started playing her off.
We entered the top balcony of what I guess were the pews, but it seemed more like seating for a theatre. This may have been because we entered during opening hymn, sung by 5 singers and an entire band. There was an electric guitar, bass, drum set, keyboard, violin, trombone, and even bongos. I was kinda envious of the bongo guy, because he could go to a club, walk up to some girls, and be like, ''Hey. I'm in the church band. I play bongos.'' Guaranteed ass. Along with the band, the singers were incredibly stereotypical. One girl was obviously the leader, since sometimes instead of singing she would yell out something in Swedish, which I could only assume was, ''Clap your hands for Jesus,'' because everyone did just that.
The audience was really into it, too. One woman even brought a tambourine. I assumed she was cut from the band. My favorite guy though, was this Arab man that as at the church wearing a long-sleeve button-down with a giant star of David on the back. Obviously, this man does not want to go to hell, and is covering all his bases. Over the course of the service, there were five reverends, including one woman who gave a sermon so long, I'm pretty sure the band started playing her off.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Gone Fishin'
Timor's family took me fishing on my first night in Sweden. The first time I went fishing, I was five, and I caught the the largest trout ever. That's mostly because it's the only trout I've ever caught, and I fished for another eight years. The family of 6 and I drove down to the lake (in a 1988 compact Volvo) and that's when I saw their fishing rods. There were no reeling or casting mechanisms, so I asked if we were fly fishing. The father, Gammut, then tells me that we're going to go out on the dock and just stick lines in the water 10 feet from the shore. Guess I'm not ending my streak today. But then something amazing happened.
Timor gives me some bread dough, and instructs me to throw tiny pieces of it into the water, as the rest of the family was already doing. After 10 minutes of dough tossing, we broke out the rods, attached a little dough to the hooks, and stuck them in the water. I felt like this crazy idea would break my fishless streak, and I became extremely excited. Almost as soon as the bait hit the water, a fish was caught--by one of the 7-year-old twin girls, Lolita. My excitement grew: if an elementary school girl could catch a fish that easily, a 21 year-old Pomona College educated man could certainly break a 16 year streak of fishing suckitude. Then, Victoria, the other twin caught a fish, then the mother Marina, and then the other pre-teen daughter Deti. Suddenly, the twins were reeling them in left and right. I was half expecting Lolita to just reach into the water and grab one out. Meanwhile, I was confirming that God hated me, as fish kept nibbling the bait off my hook.
Suddenly, my line went slack, and I pulled, and out came the most glorious fish ever! I grabbed it and removed the hook proudly. ''That's cute. Throw it back, it's too small.'' Timor had crushed my achievement, so I frustratedly chucked the fish at a duck in the pond. I felt a little relieved, but these two twin girls had caught about 8 fish at this point, and I had only managed one worthy of being thrown at water fowl. I persevered though, and finally, I caught one worthy of the plastic grocery bag we were keeping the fish in. I got on a roll, and caught three more fish before we ended, and two were even big enough to keep! I'm proud to say I quadrupled my career total of fish in a single day. After that, we ate sausages with cucumber slices, and drank generic orange fanta! It was a superb way to wrap up a magnificent night.
Timor gives me some bread dough, and instructs me to throw tiny pieces of it into the water, as the rest of the family was already doing. After 10 minutes of dough tossing, we broke out the rods, attached a little dough to the hooks, and stuck them in the water. I felt like this crazy idea would break my fishless streak, and I became extremely excited. Almost as soon as the bait hit the water, a fish was caught--by one of the 7-year-old twin girls, Lolita. My excitement grew: if an elementary school girl could catch a fish that easily, a 21 year-old Pomona College educated man could certainly break a 16 year streak of fishing suckitude. Then, Victoria, the other twin caught a fish, then the mother Marina, and then the other pre-teen daughter Deti. Suddenly, the twins were reeling them in left and right. I was half expecting Lolita to just reach into the water and grab one out. Meanwhile, I was confirming that God hated me, as fish kept nibbling the bait off my hook.
Suddenly, my line went slack, and I pulled, and out came the most glorious fish ever! I grabbed it and removed the hook proudly. ''That's cute. Throw it back, it's too small.'' Timor had crushed my achievement, so I frustratedly chucked the fish at a duck in the pond. I felt a little relieved, but these two twin girls had caught about 8 fish at this point, and I had only managed one worthy of being thrown at water fowl. I persevered though, and finally, I caught one worthy of the plastic grocery bag we were keeping the fish in. I got on a roll, and caught three more fish before we ended, and two were even big enough to keep! I'm proud to say I quadrupled my career total of fish in a single day. After that, we ate sausages with cucumber slices, and drank generic orange fanta! It was a superb way to wrap up a magnificent night.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
The Catcher
Timor is a cool guy. He's Alby's 17 year-old catcher, about 5'9,'' 180, and he picked me up with his dad at the Stockholm airport. He talks a lot, which is awesome because it eliminates those awkward pauses when you first meet somone. He kept saying how good I was going to be, so I liked him and trusted him as an honest person right off the bat. Of course, then he asked me how hard I throw, and I'm thinking, ''Great, this is where I crush all his dreams about me being this superstar American pitcher.'' I told him, ''80-82, not that fast.'' ''80! There's only 2 or 3 guys on our team that can hit that!'' I'm a little worried about the league now, mostly because it definately looks like I'm going to hit. Hopefully, this whole 80 MPH-is-amazing-thing is restricted to my team, and the rest of the league has some solid hitters. All you guys from the team better pray for me, cause I'm gonna be batting and playing the field.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Welcome.
Since I was going to document my travels abroad anyway, I decided to create a blog for my time in Sweden. Yes, I'm going to be in Sweden all summer starting May 26th, and I'm going to be playing baseball for the Alby Stars. They were 0-5 when I last checked, which means I'm willing to take full responsibility for any and all changes in play after my arrival.
I'm excited. The closest I've come to visiting another country is Canada, and when you live in NH, that doesn't really count. I'll be in living with various players' families for the rest of the summer in the suburbs of Stockholm. Anyway, I've got to finish packing since I leave for my Boston-to-Iceland-to-Sweden flight in about 8 hours.
-Tom
I'm excited. The closest I've come to visiting another country is Canada, and when you live in NH, that doesn't really count. I'll be in living with various players' families for the rest of the summer in the suburbs of Stockholm. Anyway, I've got to finish packing since I leave for my Boston-to-Iceland-to-Sweden flight in about 8 hours.
-Tom
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