Hatred prevails

You know every time there’s a tragedy somewhere in the world, or countless times throughout the coming of the election, there would be messages and/or images circulated over the internet with the message that “love will prevail?”  Usually a lot of rah-rah positive rhetoric about how humanity needs to stick with one another and together, overcome the influences of the world that are motivated by hatred, greed and other negative connotations.  The message is always delivered with the best of intentions, and I have to imagine that most people who see it probably want to believe it.

The problem is that not everyone is going to see it.  Despite the fact that the world has advanced leaps and bounds technologically throughout the decades, in spite of popular opinion, the whole world isn’t connected to the internet all the time, and not every single American has a reliable data connection, a smart phone, or even a computer.

But most every single American has a television, or access to television.  The radio.  Physical newspapers.  No matter how big or small the markets, there are mediums that have transcended the generations, in spite of how often the technologically advancing want to anoint them as dying or fading into obscurity.  And these are the mediums that statistically have the greatest chance of reaching the largest contingents of American citizens, no matter how much the Googles, Comcasts, Verizons and other telecommunication companies would prefer it that everyone plugs in and gets with the program.

What I’m getting at is that all throughout the night of the decision, I heard the phrase “secret Trump voters” repeatedly, to justify the surprising number of voter turnout that pushed the button to vote for Donald Trump.  That phrase was as arrogant as it was ignorant, because there was no secret at all to who these voters were, and anyone capable of rational thought could quickly get the point to what turned out to be a pretty competent plan for the Trump camp.

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Happy trails, Turner Field

Sandwiched in between two hectic weeks between two, two-week vacations were a lot of catching up on sleep, catching up at work, catching up on home maintenance, and my favorite, catching up on paying bills.  In spite of the fairly busy schedule with not a lot of free time, there was one thing that I felt very strongly about wanting to do: catch one more game at Turner Field.

Now I’ve made no secret of my general disdain for the Braves organization and their pursuit of cash-greener pastures in Marietta.  I’m still disappointed that the Braves failed to lose 100 games for the second straight year in spite of superior draft positioning.  And I still feel disgust every time I read anything about blatantly transparent greed and corruption involving the development of ScumTrust Park.

But this is a time to set all those loathsome feelings aside, and to take an evening to enjoy a place where I’ve spent countless nights watching baseball, at various points of my baseball fandom.

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Relevant versus thorough

My first thought when I heard that Marlins pitcher Jose Fernandez died in a boating accident was “holy shit.”

My next thought was wondering if there were any drugs or alcohol involved.

Typically, I’m the kind of guy that likes to write about my feelings about particular topics, often waxing poetic about guys like Jose Fernandez, professional athletes capable of extraordinary things like striking out everyone they face.  In that regard, I’m not really that different from most people who like baseball and enjoy writing on the side.

The thing is, far too often, I’ve seen instances where people are reported dead, and then immediately eulogized as these tragic losses of life, often under veils of innocence, external faults and no wrong doing on their own parts.  In the case of athletes, stellar statistics or professional achievements are cited, like Fernandez’s 2013 National League Rookie of the Year honors or the extraordinary number of strikeouts he’s amassed in his career.

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Player B is a greedy asshole

Baseball legalese is a funny thing.  If a player under a contract declares retirement, they immediately forfeit the remainders of owed money on the contract.  However if a player under a contract declares that they are not physically capable of playing baseball any further, but not actually using the terminology “retirement,” then technically, the team(s) responsible for the contract are still obligated to continue paying their financial obligations.

Player A declares retirement, despite having one year and $12 million dollars left on his contract.  His team is absolved of having to pay $12 million dollars, upon finalization of retirement.

Player B holds a press conference to let the world know that he is physically incapable of playing baseball any further.  His contract has 4+ years remaining on it, at an estimated annual salary of $24 million dollars, per year.  As he has not officially declared himself retired, the contract is legally obligated to continue to be paid out until it expires or retirement is declared.

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I AM THE BURRITO KING

me with THE Willy of Willy’s

On July 1, the Willy’s Road Trip promotion began.  I knocked out eight locations off the bat.  On July 2, I knocked out ten Willy’s, including the daunting Athens location.  On July 3, I visited eight more Willy’s and on July 4th, I visited the last Willy’s and didn’t hesitate when I got to my computer to submit the photos of all my receipts.

I got notification that I was the first one in on July 5, but a brief explanation that my submission would have to be verified and confirmed before I was officially anointed the first winner of the Willy’s Road Trip.  I figured, eh, no big deal, this shouldn’t take long, and that I had nothing to worry about because I followed the rules and stayed within parameters the entire way.

But then the waiting began.  I didn’t hear back throughout the remainder of the July 5.  Did something go awry?  I didn’t hear back on July 6.  Did they dislike my tactic of getting a cheapo item at most of the locations?  I didn’t hear back on July 7.  Did they not like the fact that I didn’t blow up Twitter or social media with their hashtag?

I was getting anxious.  Why was it taking Willy’s longer to verify my handful of receipts than it took me to drive nearly 300 miles in four days to visit?

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The breakdown of the Willy’s Road Trip contest

Like the overcompetitive tryhard psychopath I am when it comes to Willy’s, burritos and competition, when I heard about the Willy’s Road Trip contest, and decided that I was going to do it, naturally it turned into a situation of “ha ha, you’re crazy Danny,” to a degree of planning and execution that really probably makes the people around me crook their head a little bit before looking at me next.

So yeah, when I was giving a lot of thought about how I was going to approach this, I decided that I was going to finish it as fast as possible, and came up with a route that would optimize hitting as many Willy’s on particular days, so that I could achieve this optimal finish.

What I was banking on was the fact that among the 27 Willy’s locations, four of them were within office buildings that had limited, Monday through Friday hours, hours as swift as 2:00 p.m. in one of them.  I figure those four would trip up most other psychopaths (if there are any), because the contest started on a Friday, and those most gung-ho about it would have to be as nuts and have as little of a life as I did in order to get them tackled as soon as possible.

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This is what insanity looks like

Superstition would dictate that I would never share the details of any contest that I was interested in.  I know far too many talented people out there whose skills, acumen and tenacity render me the equivalent of like a toddler when it comes to particular contests.  Call me selfish, but sometimes I’d rather not have the super-talented people I know in my life not beating the shit out of me in any forms of contest.

But in an ironic sense that because of the server outage, nobody will actually read this until god knows when, I feel like I can talk about this contest whose hat that I’m going to throw my name into.  Without concern of jinxing it, or having anyone I know being better than me at it and winning it out from under my nose.

Thankfully this is a contest that I’m fairly certain nobody I know would, much less could, or even want – to challenge me in.  Because most people I know aren’t obsessive and insane about burritos, and typically probably have better things to do with their time and lives.

I got an email from Willy’s, the burrito chain that holds a dear spot in my gluttonous heart.  Long story short: visit all 27 Atlanta-area (plus one in fucking Athens) Willy’s locations, take a picture of the receipts, and try and be one of five nutjobs to be first to submit. 

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