April 4, 2017 by Shannon Michael Smith & Tom Fostex
It was a sad sight to behold. We couldn’t help but laugh. The San Diego Chicken clutched his pointed head and writhed on the ground in agony at the final score: Dodgers 14, Padres 3. After a moment, a tiny ambulance was driven onto the field. Dour-faced medics emerged and threw the prostrate chicken in the back. As it drove away, “Taps” could be heard being played softly from its speakers.
Will Los Dogs sweep the opening series with the Friars like they did last year? Knocking the Padres around is a gas, don’t get us wrong, but the Dodgers won’t see real competition until they get to Chicago on Monday.
Quit yappin! What happened in the game?
Pederson (grand slam) and Grandal went back-to-back on Padre starter Chacin (who’s probably still reeling from the NINE-earned run WHOMP-UM the Dogs laid on him) in the third inning. Seager joined the party in the fifth with a three-run shot off of Bethancourt and Grandal grooved another jack in the eighth.
Kersh was Kersh and tossed seven solid innings (he coughed up a lone home run in the seventh to Schimpf, but that was it). Hatcher handled the last two frames (he surrendered a run in the eighth) and Dodger fans went home with a Tom Fostex autographed flask!
In a perfect world, our very own Tom Fostex would have his own line of mersh at Dodger Stadium. Until that glorious day arrives, you can read his incoherent ramblings about Opening Day at Chavez Ravine…take it away, Tommy!
“Sadly, our editor was right about your truly being on the “no-fly list” at Dodger Stadium. I couldn’t sniff the gates without an angry (and armed for that matter) security drone buzzing around my head.
I took a Scully Tram back to my car off of Sunset (if you think i’m going to pay those parking prices, you’ve been huffing paint again) and threw on a disguise mustache. After grabbing a bottle of Kahlua out of the trunk, I headed back inside the lot.
I tried to grab an interview with Alanna Rizzo over by the blue Dodger fire truck, but she reminded me of the court order and I was forced to step back several yards (this would have made an interview impossible, so I moved on).
I chugged some Kahlua and formed a plan to storm the castle. After the National Anthem, I heaved a stink bomb into the blue fire truck and snuck in through the Mascot’s Entrance during the melee.
For those of you who have never seen the Mascot’s Entrance, it’s behind a massive collection of fly-ridden dumpsters right next to the Farmer John Hot Dog Loading Zone.
Flies manage to work their way into the stadium through the dank entrance. They permeate the seedy, poorly lit hall one must traverse to get to the Mascot’s Dressing Room (the hallway is at least forty yards long and lit by dim, flickering bulbs).
I sprinted through the darkness and found my way into a filthy dressing room that stank of raw onions (at least I think they were onions) and Relska Vodka.
The San Diego Chicken sat in the corner, nodding his head along to a Sisters Of Mercy track in a plastered daze. An ash tray loaded with dirt weed roaches and a Astro Burger bag sat on the concrete floor.
He looked up at me and scratched his blue dome with confusion. Without delay, I hit him over the head with the ashtray (the thing was as big as an olympic-sized frisbee) which knocked him out cold. I quickly removed his costume.
Ten minutes later I had the chicken suit on. I grabbed some roaches off the floor and headed for the field entrance.
Before I could take a single step onto the grass, Rick Monday swooped by and pulled the chicken head-part off of the costume.
“There he is,” Rizzo shreiked. “He’s the freak that ran over Vassegh in Scottsdale!”
An army of security descended on me with batons. Monday shook his head and said, “It was obvious, pal. You don’t walk like the chicken, you don’t act like the chicken, and you sure as hell don’t smell like the chicken. Not enough Relska, not by a long shot, amigo.”
L.A.P.D. took over at that point. They yanked me up off the ground and steered me toward the Dodger Stadium Jail. For the second time in a month, I was headed toward a baseball prison.
I love opening day.”
I have a feeling that’s the last we’ll hear of ol’ Tom Fostex for a while!
Kenta Maeda will face Clayton Richard at 7:10 tonight in game two of the series.
The rest of the rascalsoftheravine staff is NOT on the no-fly zone at Dodger Stadium, so we’ll be there to report on all the zany action.
Until next time, mirth-seekers!