December 5, 2006:

DUDE IT’S THE WINTER MEETINGS! Oh, wait – I should totally introduce myself. Name’s Trent Sullivan, but my bro’s call me Sully, and if you’re reading this, then you’re definitely a bro. Or a bro in training. Anyway, you might’ve seen my cousin Joey Joe-Joe the Joedster post here once or twice. (Or once – I heard he’s got some girlfriends sucking up his time, and his juice box. Zing!) Anyway, he hooked me up with the fine fine folks at this here burgeoning multimedia enterprise. He’s a total spaz, but he’s got my back, and he’s family, so what the eff, right?They were looking for a new intern (after the last one did, um, something), I was looking for some college credit, and here we are.

And here I am at the FREAKING WINTER MEETINGS, DUDE! I can’t believe this stuff! I’m in Florida, lounging around this kinda swank hotel, hanging out w/ the movers and shakers of Major League Freakin’ Baseball! (Yeah, I’m watching my swears, editor dude – don’t blow an O-ring.) It’s like Spring Break, but with less trim and MORE BASEBALL! The lobby could use more than a little FEmale breast representation, tho, don’t get me wrong – it’s not so much a sausage fest as it is a box of frozen Jimmy Dean’s with a broken noisemaker stuck in Slot B, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, big ups to my boys (and maybe girls?) at Yard Work for hooking me up with this SWEET gig. I get a room at the Motel 6 down the road, I get a $25 stipend for food EVERY DAY (which I’m pocketing, of course – how KIND of them to give me this money lol), and I get to count how many chins Charlie Manuel has. I was telling my bud Cornelius as we were driving through Tennessee, dude, this is SWEET. Corny’s back at the room, sleeping off the trip. Dude is a WORKHORSE – drove 16 hours straight, and I mean STRAIGHT. Can of Jolt in one hand, piss bottle in the other. Dude is a straight-up Road. Warrior. All those trips to Burning Man paid off, lemme tell you.

Oh snap – it’s Peter Gammons! You don’t know, man. I used to live for that Diamond Notes music back in the day. DA duh-duh-duh DA duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh DA! Dude’s looking pretty good for a half-dead guy, if I say so myself. I gotta go hook up w/ him – I brought my guitar for some jams, and I know my man Pete’s down with the O.A.R. That hanging-with-Pearl-Jam stuff’s just a thing he does for all those rock dorks up in Beantown wanking their puds over the new Killers record in the Phoenix. More news later, once these dudes finally leave the bar and get down to the biznass. (Note to Theo: do NOT trade Manny.)

December 6, 2006:

OK, so Corny & I are at the bar, doing Jaeger shots, when Corny says hold on a sec, bro, I think I see someone. He goes out, and comes back with (get this) HAROLD REYNOLDS. Note to ESPN: bring this guy back RIGHT NOW. You guys are spinning in the wind w/out HR holding it down. Believe me – I try watching BBTN nowadays, and it’s like Christmas w/ the ‘rents. Just blah blah blah blah, with fat Uncle Kruk farting in the corner every few minues. HR knows his stuff for a fact. And he’s a fun guy, too (and very generous with the drinky-drinky, if you sprachen my Deutschland). Best line of the night, from the man himself: “If Davey Concepcion actually belongs in the Hall of Fame, then Gabrielle Union actually belongs right on my face!” Oh yeah I hear that, dude!

So, yeah, that was cool. I have tenative plans to hook up w/ Corny & HR later, after I get some Winter Meeting shizzle in the books. Dude’s are partying like it’s 1999, for real. I won’t corroborate any stories about Jim Bowden running around Hooters wearing Mickey Mouse ears and some Joe Boxers, but I can say that he could stand to do a few push-ups and a few rounds with some backhair trimming machinery.

I just got back from that Cal Ripken press conference where he’s pimping that fake grass stuff – turf, Smurf, whatever. Dudes are way too up into his stuff about this ‘roid crap. I heard some nonsense from those morning E$PN radio dudes about Barry Bonds being a disgrace to the game. I think. I might’ve been a little tipsy. Yeah, you KNOW I was getting my drunk on, dude!

Anyway, whatever, radio bro – shut up and eat yr breakfast taco. Only thing disgracing the game is gum-flapping martards like You & You sucking off this STEROIDS IS BAD crap like it’s some world-ending Death Star type of stuff. Just shut up and let him play, man. Shut up and let him play.

Anyway, not much happening, tho I see Gleeman‘s suddenly svelte ass everywhere. I remember when the Yard gave that dude some link love back in the day. Dude barely even blinked. Like, whatever, son, you are a BLOGGER. Even if fancy folks pay you to blog, you are still BLOGGING. Remember where you came from now that you’re repping for big fancy NBC Sports, home of P!nk, Steve Carell and other sell-outs. I’m totally giving him the stinkeye right now. Dude doesn’t even see me. Sucker. Have fun combing Costas’ toupee. Shyeah.

The second part of our Winter Meeting diary will be posted as soon as Trent sends it to us.