The Glenn Braggs Appreciation Thread

I have theories as to why I consider Glenn Braggs my baseball-playing alter-ego. I have lots of remembrances of that 1990 Reds World Series team. Larkin, Davis, Rijo, the Nasty Boys, Sabo’s goggles, Billy “Pop-Up Heard Round the World” Hatcher. But I always find my favorites in the utility players (hence my love of Miguel Cairo, Willy Mo Pena, Ryan Freel) and the forgotten intangibles that made them such a fun team to root for that summer and beyond. Glenn Braggs, for many reasons, was my favorite Red that year. He had a monstrous physique, a contagious smile, a built-in name suited for the ultimate ’88 emcee, and the propensity to break bats over his knee, or, on occasion, in mid-swing. Braggs was infinitely likeable, a power-outfielder who worked hard to keep that status despite a .257 career average. Maybe he never had the chance, the ABs to prove them wrong. For his 7 seasons in the majors he played a small role for both the Brewers, who first drafted him, and my beloved Reds (to whom he pledges his allegiance).

And just like Braggs was an integral cog in the (new) Big Red Machine, his life is full of intangibles that make him even more an intriguing personality. He went on to play for the Yokohoma BayStars until 1997, married Cindy Herron of En Vogue, and continues to work his way into the Cincinnati organization. He probably even kicks it with Charlie Sheen now and then, though as far as I can glean he’s not named in the Mitchell Report for steroid use. A true star of the Bo Jackson Shoebox era. Even his Starting Line-Up is rare.

Visiting the Hoosier's Gym

After the Columbus, Indiana post, there's little much else to post except for this nugget. Adam, the biggest fan of the film Hoosier's I know (besides my father) was sleeping after our exhausting day in the "Athens of the Prairies" in the back-seat. I surprised him by pulling up next to the gym where that movie, at least the baseketball scenes, were filmed. Thanks to our fearless guide, Merve, we learned that the Hoosier's Gym has become a staple in b-ball lore. Many a Indiana High School tournament played there, many an interview between legends (Magic, Bird, Enemy 'Bron, 'Melo), many a reunion of former cast members, has occurred in the tiny gym of Knightstown. Well worth our 20 minute detour. I once imagined putting a blindfold on my dad and driving him all the way here for a birthday. He's the inspiration.

Cairo > Being a Cubs Fan...

Originally intended for publishing, June 10th, 2011. ol' news.

....and so the Reds' season goes. Finding absolute joy in a two-game winning streak, whilst wearing the (limited edition of 3) "Cairo is greater than" shirt with general pride and hope on a normal Tuesday. And what happens? Mr. Miguel, starts at 3B (a normalcy this week) and drives a Grand Slam (only his second) to the upper deck. I'm sure in his 16 professional years in the MLB that was likely his greatest moment in a baseball uniform. He didn't hit his other GS during his only World Series appearance (though he did bat over .290 in 26 post-season ABs), so I'm imagining this was a renaissance moment at the very least. He has been hitting .290 in two years with the Redlegs as Mr. Utility.

....and so the Reds' season goes. I picked up Homer Bailey, again, as he's set to get off the DL after some Louisville love. Hope it all works out. I'm carefully optimistic. Just never seems to have the luck there


....and so the Reds' season goes. As of today, 6/30/11, the Reds are only 5 games out and well into a division battle -- even when panic set last week. We are safe. For now. Didn't the Counting Crows write a song called "Long June" or something like that? We'll see.

Wearing Miguel Cairo

another sad day in Reds country.

A Day With Peter Edward Rose Revisited

Regardless of your view of Peter Edward Rose, this hit, 4192, was immortal. Something we will never see again in our lifetime. Something I witnessed at nine years old, when my father had an extra ticket and decided to take his son. I sat with my Uncle Hero, up in the Green Seats in deep centerfield. They always talk about how long the standing ovation lasted (over ten minutes) and I remember it feeling like forever. Even though Riverfront Stadium is long gone, and Pete Rose is shunned from Major League Baseball (gambling had nothing to do with his hits) -- I still regard this as one of the defining moments in my life. It made me love baseball more than most other things. Made it a religion. Devout.

Coincidence and Conspiracy riddle the date. September 11th, 1985. Another shadow that looms over Rose. When I heard MLB was allowing Rose back on a baseball field, to celebrate 25 years later, it was a given that I'd take my father. J. Duane Elliott, for his birthday (September 10th, 2010). He brought me to the games for the last 33 years, so I owed him. I like him much more than Pete. Dad's the real hero.

The anniversary festivities were a bit underwhelming. Pete can walk around an MLB field, but can't speak on one. His taped comments were probably the best part. To hear him advise young players to come clean before the hammer comes down -- it actually humbling. Pete should'a talked way back when. When they would'a just suspended him a season or two, then embrace him back and let him become a legendary manager, with a gamblin' hiccup in his career. Too little, too late, but at least he's telling the Roger Clemens of the game to fess up quick.

Pete circled the Great American Ball Park in a golf cart, stomped on first base, met some old legends (Eric Davis, a childhood favorite), accepted a crystal trophy, and got a few "hall of fame" chants from the surprisingly small crowd (for this event anyways). He'll make it. In his lifetime I hope. In my lifetime I hope. A trip to Cooperstown is necessary. Something I hope my father and I can share -- like this game, like the first game.

Our game? Well, the Reds have been hit or miss as of late, but this night was all about the comeback heroics we've seen all year. Saw the Chapman give up the lead, but pitch a 103 MPH fastball and a 90 MPH slider (thee nasty boy/el muchacho repugnante) and then saw Joey Votto-matic launch an opposite field home run to win the game, break the tie in the bottom of the 10th. On that night, things seemed perfect.

Stalking Miguel Cairo

Thanks to our correspondent in Los Angeles -- with access to Dodger's Stadium -- Jordan Lee secured a meeting with our favorite Red, Miguel Cairo. In this picture he is wholeheartedly endorsing the tubmlr Miguel Cairo is Greater Than..., by giving us a real life "greater than." Now the site has been keeping up with Miguel's crusade to help the Reds secure an 8 game lead in the Central Division. Tonight Miguel > Todd Coffey, a very ugly human being who used to foul up the Red's bullpen, by hitting a double that scored the tying run against the Brew Crew last night. Random thought (Adam says the Brewer's players look like Brewer's players -- the Brewers are actually alright by me).

Random video of Miguel giving an interview in Spanish.

Miguel Cairo is Greater Than...

I was going to sit around all day and contemplate five things the Reds need to do to assure a playoff spot this year. Dad's convinced Joey Votto needs to move of LF, I'm convinced anyone you bring up from Louisville is going to fill their role (i.e. Zack Cozart please?), Adam convinced Dickerson deserves to be an everyday center fielder. Everyone has an opinion -- so it's not my way to sit here and tell Dusty and King Walt what they get paid to do. Since Reds Fest in December, Jocketty has been brilliant in putting an entertaining winner on the field. I haven't had this much fun during a Red's season in a long, long, time. All I think needs to happen is for the fans to make it more entertaining. These players need nicknames, we need homemade t-shirts at games, a theme song, spontaneous promotions at the ballgame, big caravans that take you down to Cincy and back, beer cans with Red's logos, etc. etc. etc. All the ephemera I remember attached to that amazing '90s team.

Doug probably feels the same. Maybe that's why he's back in the blogging world. He's convinced Miguel Cairo > LeBron James. I can't disagree with that. Miguel Cairo is a Prince. Let's hope Miguel Cairo is Greater Than continues unabated till October. My brother knows more about baseball than you.

Bo Jackson -- The Man -- Revealed

If I had to name my all-time favorite athlete, it would have to be Mr. Bo Jackson -- he of the NFL Oakland Raiders and the MLB Kansas City Royals. It was a tragedy befitting Shakespeare when the Cincinnati Bengals injured Jackson's hip beyond repair and retirement was inevitable, ending his career far short of what it was destined to become. Perhaps the first man inducted into both Hall of Fames. Just look at how the man ran a football., the only other RB I can mention in the same sentence is Barry Sanders. There were other two-sport athletes, but none as prolific as Bo. Hell, I even have some long-standing resentment towards the Bengals for this blunder. He really was everything to everybody, never seemed to juice, never seemed to ego, just went about his business as a professional. In Tecmo Bowl he was legend. In merchandising he was king. So much was his influence I was forced to buy these atrocities at one point, not living another day happy until they were upon my feet.

Why this post? And why now? Well, he did pitch the first pitch at the Home Run Derby -- a small step towards regaining the frenzy once bestowed upon him in the late '80s. And he's speaking out about that past, especially so in this interview with USA Today. Before now he's successfully stayed out of the spotlight, but I encourage him to jump back in. Think of it. There's no allegiance to any team whatsoever. No LeBron controversies (Heat vs. Cavs). No Favre flip-flopping. No hating on the Red Sox and Yankees (and Braves, and Cards, and Astros). Just Bo -- a franchise unto himself.

Plus I thought it apt to include this here since he is the namesake of the most widely read column on this site. Let's just bask in his glory for a minute. Maybe buy up a jersey, break out the NES, and over saturate yourself in the infinite number of youtubes focused on his career. He is truly missed in the world of sports.

Here Comes the Hammer...and the SledgeHammer

There's truly nothing like a night game in Great American Ballpark -- especially when the home team is coming back from the All-Star Break in first place and you're celebrating the last time the Cincinnati Reds won a MLB Championship. Has it really been 20 years? My bro and I saw some Nasty Boys, a little Sabo, and a lot of winning. I Love Winning.



Ironically enough -- the last time I saw MC Hammer, I was 13 years old, and it was in U.S. Bank Arena, right next door to GABP (with Vanilla Ice no less). On this night, after years of ridicule for excessive bankruptcy and his eventual cultural currency headed the same direction, Stanley Burrell, was destined to regain some of that glory, if only from a small stage in right field. Even if it wasn't the summer of 1990, a time when "U Can't Touch This" ruled the charts, it sure felt somewhat magical to be a few yards away from the guy. He may have aged, but it has been gracefully. Gone are the pants, the luxurious gold chains, the blast pots and elaborate stage lights. Hammer instead sported a Reds track suit/jersey combo, some blipster spectacles and a bandanna, which he needed to keep off the sweat. This man can still dance with the best of 'em -- in fact the guy should probably have his own dance competition show, but that's beside the point. With a cadre of back-up dancers in tow, Hammer proceeded to make the ever increasing crowd to go bananas for even the slightest set that he put forth.



You can't fault the man for knowing that his post-game show was going to be the highlight, so this was just a taste -- "Let's Get it Started," a bit of the Death Row mishap "Pumps n' the Bumps," "Have You Seen Her" complete with falsetto'd soul singers, and "They Put Me in the Mix." Alas, no "Turn This Mother Out," but it was a "free" performance, a taster for what was to come later in the night. Not once did he look out of breath, not once did he hawk a new song, not once did he seem too big or too jaded for his Cincinnati audience. Maybe that's why I adored him so much way back when -- he is a true showman and seemingly genuine person. For the better part of the brief set, he was out in the crowd, letting people dance around him, shaking hands, taking pictures, all the while belting out his "positive" pop-hop. Please Reds Organization -- do something like this again. This was easily the best pre-game I've ever had in the park.

(A Multitude of YouTubes of Hammer at GABP)



But the game....? How can we forget the Reds of the present? It was our first time in the Bleachers, and I must say the view and atmosphere is unlike any other in GABP. It's a bit rowdy, which I loved (especially yelling "steroids" for Rockies starter/has-been, Jason Giambi)being right behind our favorite LF Johnny "Sombrero" Gomes. It made for a celebratory game from beginning to end. I don't think I'll ever venture from that section the rest of the year. It just feels right up there. And the SledgeHammer? Well, after Bronson Arroyo pitched a magnificent 7 innings, he got into some trouble. In came Arthur Rhodes with two on and no out. He walked a batter, but then went on to pop-up, and strike out two in a row to end the inning. Talk about a hammer....it was likely the most electricity I've ever felt in this place.

I Love Winning.

Let's Join Pacer Nation?

Yesterday was an interesting day in sports. First Joey Votto's wrong was righted and he was voted in as an all-star. Then, at about 9:25 P.M. EST, LeBron James destroyed any hope for human survival in Cleveland, Ohio. I wasn't particularly convinced he'd stay a Cavalier -- but this ego-boasting "Decision" played up by ESPN and Jim "Fucking" Grey of all people, was just the absolute wrong way to go about ripping the last gasp for salvation out of the throats of Cleveland sports fans. I'm not a Cleveland sports fan. I'm not a Cleveland fan. I find very little redeemable about the "mistake on the lake." But I did follow the Cavs with a fervor only reserved for my Vikings and Reds. And now? There is literally nothing left worth of value in that city besides maybe Emeralds and that entire scene who are building something out of literally nothing but industrial waste and urban blight. I'm not being fair-weathered. I'm not following Mr. James down to Miami. I am abandoning the Cavs though, because I think this is just as much their fault as it is the King's (ugh). Can you imagine what those games will be like next season?

This morning I considered leaving the NBA for good. After all, the dominance of the Lakers/Celtics/Magic axis is wearing thin -- it's not that entertaining. But I knew deep in my sports-loving-soul this would never happen. So, once you eliminate Cleveland from the equation, the closest franchise to Columbus is Indianapolis, and their beloved Pacers. When I think back far enough, they were actually my first love. Reggie Miller, Detlef Schrempf (pictured), Rik Smits, Chuck Person (greatest NBA name ever), Wayman Tisdale -- the list goes on and.....well it kind of stops there, but you catch my drift. It's time we jump ship, start a clubhouse, buy up all the vintage Pacer gear we can. What are you going to do? Wear a Mo Williams jersey? I have no beef with you Clevelanders continuing love for the Browns and Indians, but the Cavs? Did you read what Dan Gilbert spewed out this morning? I'm all for the tirade against LeBron's "decision," but that's just unprofessional and indicative of the city of Cleveland's way of dealing with the dumps. This is the dumps. I understand. I'm heartbroken as well, though it's good to know LeBron's true character before he took us down three more years of two-round playoff runs and a poor attempt at teamwork. Believe me, I bought into it all, I "witnessed." I just think it's about time to burn it all down. Who's with me?

World Cup Fever....

I fully admit my bandwagonesque nature when it comes to my futbol fandom. I only get excited every four years or when chilling with a Brahma watching Brazil league games with the father-in-law. For me, that's the only time it gets interesting. Plus, by proxy, I get to root for the greatest team on the globe during World Cup time. I'm not exactly sure why my interest wanes once it's all said and done? Watching Columbus Crew games is like pulling teeth. I think maybe it's just the drama, the spectacle, and the overall talent on the field during one match.

This year has been no different for me. The 2010 World Cup has me enthralled, watching every match, every goal, and getting giddy with stats. As the Reds begin their June Swoon (hopefully not a freefall) and the Lebron-less finals come to a close, this is the best reality show on TV. Initial thoughts:

-- I'm not as perturbed about the vuvuzela blare as most are. It's become a nice meditative buzz that keeps the level of electricity at a constant.

-- After this morning the Argentinians have me scared -- though the hat trick was only a result of S. Korea basically giving up. Maradonna is a primadonna and a punk. Portugal and Spain shall choke.

-- Brazil's first win should be celebrated as a easing in to the finals -- after all, the cup is a marathon, not a sprint. Funny how even allowing a goal to N. Korea is considered failure for my wife.

-- I'm fully in the corner of S. America for this cup (excluding Argentina of course, but they are so damn fun to watch) -- Paraguay, Chile, and my dark horse to win it all, Uruguay (don't tell my Brazilian relatives). I think I was Uruguayan in another life.

Thanks to Steve for reminding me of all the bad music made in support of the Cup every four years.

But, there is a diamond in that rough. Namely Air Miami's wonderfully breezy "World Cup Fever." Someone please sell me back everything Mark Robinson has ever done.

Have a good Cup folks. After all, this is the "joga bonita."

Goodbye to Ken Griffey Jr.

This baseball card is wholly representative of my idyllic childhood. Nothing was hotter than a fresh Beckett and a pack of mint condition Upper Deck when I was 12. I had the pleasure of meeting “The Kid” with his dad at a card show the summer before he became a Seattle Mariner. Since that time, besides Charlie Hustle, Ken Griffey Jr. was my favorite player. And for good reason, now that he’s retired it’s time to start lining him up against the entire history of baseball. He obviously ruled the ‘90s and among HR hitters and centerfielders there is no one in the modern era --- let’s go post-Big Red Machine – that compares. But in all honesty, Junior retired a while ago. We Reds fans had the pleasure of welcoming him home for 8 ½ seasons, although with diminishing returns in that time. Still, those were 8 summers in which I got to almost always see a Junior home-run and arguably the greatest “swing” of all-time. Of course injuries, which I have always attributed to his pure approach to “the game” (i.e. no steroids), were the bane of his time in Cincinnati. That and he was never really “welcomed” by the fickle citizens of the Tri-State because he never brought home the desired championship he was “destined” to give the Reds. He did have some wonderful seasons in our uniform though (check 2000 or 2005), but after a few hamstrings keeping him hamstrung, the twilight of his career had been reached. Retreating to the White Sox and then “returning” to the womb in Seattle was just fodder for the media and maybe a bit of ego-tripping.

Regardless of all that – this is a tribute and a caps off to an instant legend, a first-time hall-o-famer, Simpson's character, commercial icon and namesake of one of the more rare chocolate candy bars known to man.

Let us not forget part-time rapper.

Who Knew MES Had a Heart?

I just started reading The Fallen, wherein a British journalist attempts to track down every past member of the Fall. Would be interesting to see this done with former Guided By Voices members. Anyways, the first quote of the book comes from the master himself, Mr. Mark E. Smith, wherein he compares his band to that of a football (soccer) team, claiming you don’t keep the same midfielders forever….So, to give MES the benefit of the doubt, we must now think of him as a weathered coach, always (not quite always) able to put his best team on the field. I can live with that. Besides, how interesting would the Fall remain over three decades if it were the same ol’ crusty Manchurians in the backline? It all makes sense now. Keep it fresh and keep yourself fitter.

MES is a huge football freak --- you can even find him reading scores on UK television (this one’s a treat). In anticipation of the FIFA World Cup (the fever is everywhere, even here in the States it seems), MES has made an official song for the British team called “England’s Heartbeat.” It’s played with a band called Shuttleworth (whom I’ve never heard before this), but the real star of the show is the curmudgeon ol’ Smith, who actually sounds like the cowardly lion here, already with a heart, and hoping for the best for his country. This might just be the most warming moment MES has ever been a part of. Can you imagine him as your grandpa?

Oh yeah, about that World Cup. If you want to watch the final – Brazil vs. ???? – on July 11th at my house, the caipirinhas and feijoada will be plentiful enough for everyone. Just saying.

A Day of Yawning at GABP

Sunday at the ballpark wasn’t much to be desired. We were psyched to see Mike Leake pitch for the first time – and he did all that was asked of him, not giving up a run in 7 innings of play. The defense showed why they possess a prowess now not seen in many seasons. Wish I had some video of Brandon Phillips masterful double play ball. Then Mike Lincoln came in to stink the whole thing up – giving up two runs in the top of the 10th, which the Reds could not overcome when it came to be their turn at the plate. There were bad vibes on this Sunday. Not getting into it. I did get the picture above though to illustrate the outright class of Cincinnati fans. Don’t leave in the 9th inning people, the game was TIED.

Who is Sam Lecure?

As the lowly Astros come to GABP this week, it looks to be an exciting weekend for Reds fans. For me the question has never been if I'm on the bandwagon or not when this team gets streaky. I'm always on that bus. In 2010 though, I feel much more emotionally invested in this team, because they are winning in ways I haven't seen in many many years. A prime example is tonight's series opener. Under "normal" circumstances Reds fans would be hesitant to get worked up about Same Lecure coming up in relief of Homer Bailey. Most seasons we would be a bit worried at such a development. Today though, my optimism that Lecure will pitch a stellar first major league game is peaking, even though it's not Aroldis Chapman or Travis Wood or Matt Maloney.

So who is Sam Lecure? I'll let the fine folks over at Redleg Nation do a proper introduction. Expect a full report of Sunday's game (I'm going) sometime Monday. Enjoy your weekend. I LIKE WINNING.

Too Soon to Catch Reds Fever?

The Reds are currently on a tear of unequaled proportions compared to the double-decade long slump I'm accustomed to. Hopefully our friend Mr. Adams (media assassin) over at the excellent Victrola Cola sportsblog, will get start becoming a bit more biased in his coverage, dedicate all his efforts to the Redlegs, and ditch any commentary on these boring NHL/NBA playoffs. Cleveland is about 40 odd days away from finally dropping into the lake. Then we can forget about that city for good.

Please. Let us enjoy this coming summer like we did 20 years ago. I Love Winning.

Pete and Bob -- Now I've Seen Everything

Goodness. Robert Pollard is in a revival of sorts. Of course I'm forever indebted to the prime GBV material, but over the last decade? I was always hoping it wasn't just a here and now, touch and go, career for Uncle Bobby. There are some gems, most definitely, but now I'm anticipating each new release with the same fervor as my youth. We All Got Out of the Army and Moses on a Snail are both required listening. Just as our interview with him, a lucid set of questions by one Rod Wadlinger, is required reading.

And now he's teaming up with one of the all time Ohio greats? Scoring the "positive" documentary on Pete Rose's life, 4,192. Can this be a dream? I think they are like peanut butter and jelly actually, both misunderstood geniuses, both never getting the credit they deserve. Both with questionable social lives at one time or another. Sure he's only really doing the theme song -- please let it be called "Charlie Hustle" (I can already hear it) -- but that's enough to own this as soon as there's physical evidence of this existing.

Full details can be found here.

Opening Day Revisited in Pictures

Spent wonderful Opening Day with Mr. Michael Rep Hummel of Harrisburg, Ohio. We got there early and saw the parade, had some beers at my favorite haunt -- O'Malley's in the Alley -- and by the sixth inning couldn't take anymore of a miserable opening day offense.


Mike wanted a free Red's crown. He got one.


Always my favorite part of Great American Ball Park.



Nothing better than finding yourself in a sea of Red's Fans.



Though we spent most of our car ride talking about the history of Harrisburg (it was my first time in his village), our favorite former Reds (it was not Ron Gant, it was Greg Vaughn), and the endless merits of the Ladbroke compilation I was packing (Cries From the Midnight Circus), the one thing we agreed on is that Johnny Bench is a complete fucking asshole. Go Reds.

Things That Make Me Happy: Aroldis Chapman

Just waiting for Aroldis in his head-to-toe Red's uniform. Spring can't come soon enough. Guess this makes up for a disappointing Bengal's season?

Redsfest and Potlucks

Notice "Box Seats" is a tag herein. I've changed my stance on seasonal highs -- it's no longer Opening Day, it's now Reds Fest. I felt maybe I was in St. Louis for a day. A place where the fans show up even in early December, even when the Cincinnati Bearcats can maneuver a National Championship bid, even when the streets of downtown Queen City are as barren as.....well, the streets of downtown Queen City is on Saturdays in early December. You've wasted your city, so let's not waste the team. Optimism seemed at an all time high. Even when getting photos and autographs with Drew Stubbs and Chris Dickerson.



While I'm a long-time supporter, I can honestly say these cardboard heroes are the closest I got to a team. All kidding aside, I have hope. Seeing Edison Volquez, broken as he may be, strutting through the promenade as the franchise, gave me hope. We missed quite a few legends (Tom Browning, GLENN BRAGGS (take that Wavves), and Joe Oliver) due to autograph hounds virtually clogging the lines (who needs an autograph these days? Adam just wanted to stare), but fortunately got within ear-shot of others.......



Like Eric "The Red" Davis, who looked as if he could still easily play CF in place of Willy Tavares. In all actuality, though I saw Brandon Phillips hamming it up in the Kid's Line, could have been named "Most Genial" Red of the entire day. Then there was George Foster -- the Redleg's HR King, who we glimpsed giving autographs through the entire Convention Center. The whole spectacle was kind of overwhelming. I can't imagine what it was like for a 10-yr old with a Beckett waiting to meet 1B Hal Morris for the first time.



The only bad karma that flooded the place was Bronson Arroyo's Stained covers (seriously, doesn't Arthur Rhodes make ghetto country, or something?) and the overwhelming buzz that Chris Sabo was total "dick" on Friday. The whole celebration was a little overwhelming, really. 'Specially when we heard the Bearcat's triumphant/lucky comeback on the "flat" drive home. At least Adam got his picture taken in front of the "biggest Reds jersey in the world."



The day was somewhat teetotal by the extremes of when the sun went down and I attended my first ever Rock Potluck. As a patron of the Columbus arts I am ashamed of my absence for those that came before this one. I've been invited to participate a few times before, but something (mostly work and/or Brazil came up) kept me from creeping. I will admit that one of those years I worked, got off early, and found a completely empty (and haunted) Milo, only to find out the "thing" was canceled. This one though? This town always finds ways to surprise me. As much of an old codger as I sound, re: the local scene, something like this is inspiring. Still, I'm intrigued more by the pieces of the scene being thrown together at a wall than the pieces real bands.

As the night wore on, and more packed, I was unable to hear the names of said assembled, off-the-cuff, day-of bands. Above though, is a pic of the monstrously towering Dusty, in the middle of his jam with Golden Nugg. The stage was flanked by guitarists who were ultimately "feeling it." Headbands, bell bottoms, and vintage gear in tow. I loved how this psychedelic love-fest started the evening off.




Besides some excellent highlights provided by David Holm (his ode to Columbus was spot-on) and a cover of "Mama Said Knock You Out" by Nick Tolford, the best memory of this year's Potluck came from Party Room -- Joe Peppercorn, Nick Shuld, Melanie Holm, Eve Searles, and one extremely talented participant who I was unfamiliar with. They started their set with a monolithic shoegaze rager complete with lyrics from the instructions from a Candyland board game -- then headed straight into a cover of Wilson Phillips "Hold On." Yes. That's true, and it was wonderful. I wish we could have Potlucks and Redsfests once a month/quarter, but then, what fun would that be?