Well, that's what we had hoped.
Originally, when we entertained the idea of road-tripping into enemy territory a few weeks back, Dickies poster boy, Billy Butler, was supposed to be exhibiting his detestable defensive skills at first base.
We had hatched a well-conceived plan months in advance that involved kidnapping Butler, stashing him in the heavily-advertised Meramec Caverns - billboards litter the interstate from Champaign to St. Louis touting Jesse James' former hideout - and holding him for ransom, which by the weight of his fantasy value prior to his demotion to Omaha was slightly less than the price of two Budweisers and a Fredbird doll at Busch Stadium.
Even with our plan foiled, we decided that watching the Royals sweep their geographic rival, and fall further behind our NL Central-leading heroes, was way too good to pass up.
For those of you who prefer pictures to words, here's a photo account of our June 19 trip to the house Jim Edmonds built.
Behold, the Bratzel! The Frankensteinian version of a pig-in-a-blanket, the Bratzel is a very savory Busch-exclusive treat - part bratwurst, part soft pretzel. Notice there's no sacreligious red sauce (ketchup) draped over the top of our processed meat. Our Chicago background wouldn't allow it. Frankly, we feel Barack Obama, if elected President, should make drenching tubed-meat products in ketchup a finable offense.
Our own Matt Romig recently divulged to us that at each ballpark he visits, plausible escape routes for sprinting onto the field are devised. But even he would be intimidated by the Louisville Slugger dangling from the waist of St. Louis' finest. Seriously, aren't billy-clubs exclusively reserved for containing soccer hooligans?
We were thrilled to find that one of our early-80s White Sox favorites, Russell Jay Kuntz, better known as Rusty, was KC's first base coach. Although he contributed minimally on the field in his playing days, his name is legendary among those of us with sophomoric senses of humor. On the other side of the diamond, we really hoped Stubby Clapp was still wearing Cardinals red.
We had no idea the greater St. Louis area was so friendly. Our college experiences at St. Louis University would have been much more memorable than those at Illinois/Iowa.
Brian Bannister would scoff at our shoddy camera work, but this snapshot earns the award for most oxymoronic photograph in big league history. The Smithsonian will surely request it.
Through the barrage of verbal insults hurled at Chris Duncan, we feverishly shouted Brandon Funston's home phone number to Mike Aviles. So hot and bothered by the prospects of meeting "The Gamer," Aviles was gunned out by Jason LaRue attempting to steal second moments after the shutter snapped. Maybe we should have yelled out his Y! percentage owned number (3%) to motivate him instead.
Being huge Ernie Banks fans we were optimistic the statues that dot the landscape around Busch contained at least one punctuation error. Unfortunately, the inscriptions, as seen on Stan Musial's monument, were impeccable. Our carving tools were mistakenly left in Champaign.
Quick! List as many bowlers possible that would have exhibits housed here. We quizzed ourselves only to come up with Dick Weber, Earl Anthony and Bill Murray's character from "Kingpin." However, Behrens did admit to watching women's bowling on ESPN2 while in college. Naturally, heavy imbibing was involved. This is an inappropriate forum to list the drinking game's "scoring system" but based on what was described, drunkeness for any normal-sized human being would be achieved by the seventh frame.
On a more somber note, the Bowling HOF, a downtown St. Louis icon for over 25 years, is moving to Texas at the end of the year.
Much to our chagrin, this was the closest we came to seeing Billy Butler. Thankfully, this "Big Donkey" maniac is a progressive fantasy thinker who embraces Noiseophobia. However, he did reveal that his team was firmly entrenched in last place, something we're probably responsible for. His Y! league is one of the less than 10 percent where Butler isn't sipping margaritas in the free agent pool.
On a side note, we offered to sign autographs, but, despite the fact their league was on Yahoo!, these loyal Royals had no idea who the hell we were. They were however familiar with Funston's Count Chocula looks.