Baseball! The great American pastime, I guess! Now I’m not a guy who normally goes to a lot of baseball games. I prefer my own great American pastime: sitting quietly indoors. In my apartment, see, there’s little-to-no chance a ball will fly into my face. Today, outdoors, at the game: one ball, very near my face. “Be careful!” I shrieked at anyone who would listen, including two pigeons and a baby.
History! I think baseball was invented during the Great Depression, or possibly even earlier! Back then, instead of bats, they used sticks. And instead of bases, they used the unemployed.
The game has progressed a lot since then, I’m sure. It seems like these guys I saw today were running really fast, which I imagine didn’t happen as much in olde-timey days. “Take it easy,” they’d say back then, standing on the lower back of an unemployed gentleman. “There’s a Depression on.”
But boy did these guys run! Everywhere I looked, there was another little man in his little costume, running around the field for some reason. To and fro they galloped, like little angry steeds wearing cleats and stripey pants. These steeds really had someplace to go!
When they weren’t running, they were throwing all kinds of balls and swinging bats around like maniacs! At one point, one team got a higher score because they swung the bats more accurately and threw the balls faster and galloped with more panache, I believe. This one man hit the ball right in its center! I thought that ball was a goner for sure, but then this other man caught it! “No way,” I shrieked at everyone, including three babies and six pigeons. A plump single mother turned around and asked me politely to take it easy, and that I was upsetting her baby. I politely told her to take it easy and that her baby was upsetting my pigeons and that if she wasn’t careful, there’d be some kind of pigeons-versus-babies turf war. It seemed like we were pretty much at an impasse, so I sat down and ate some garlic fries.
In conclusion, I give the day an A, for ace-ball, which is what I now call baseball.
Andy Rooney: Knock-knock.
Who’s there?
Andy Rooney: A cell phone.
“A cell phone,” who?
Andy Rooney: I, personally, have never owned a cell phone, even though I get mail every single day from companies interested in my business. Here’s a letter from Sprint. And here’s one from Verizon. And here’s one from U.S. Cellular. And here’s one from Cingular. And here’s one from Virgin Mobile. I don’t know why virgins need have their own phone company. Virgins should be thinking about other things, entirely. These envelopes are sometimes big, sometimes small, I put them next to my Post-Its, but I don’t mix them in with my Post-Its. I remember when personal calls were something you did inside the privacy of your own house, not something you paraded around, out on the streets in front of a captive audience. Why would you want to talk in front of people? And why would they want to listen to your conversation?
I get calls from a lot of people. I use this phone, here on my desk. I haven’t needed to upgrade phones in 20 years. This one works just fine. And do you really need a clock on a personal telephone? I don’t want to know what time it is that much. I’d rather have my clock over here and my phone over there. Here’s my clock. I often wonder, why don’t you combine toasters and phones? Or coffee makers and phones? Imagine your wife coming in one day and saying, “Honey, I just bought this coffee-maker-phone.” What would you say to her? You’d say, “That’s great, dear.” But you’d be thinking, “Just what I need. Another coffee maker. Don’t I already have one coffee-maker? How much coffee can one man drink?” I’ve had one cup, today, and that’ll probably be it. When I was younger, I would have two cups of coffee per day. My friend Mike Wallace would sometimes have three cups of coffee in a day, but he always had a stronger constitution than me. If Mike Wallace met a bear on the street, he could wrestle it to the ground.
My secretary, Susie, tells me that you can take photographs with your phone now, too. Considering the fact that more than 200 million Americans already own a camera, do we really need more devices that capture images? It would be interesting to know what pictures are being taken, and why. Susie also tells me that half of the world’s population owns a portable cell phone. This makes me wonder: is the other half of the world’s population missing all of their calls? Probably not. In fact, I haven’t missed a call in years. Of course, I never leave this desk. I’d like to start a campaign encouraging people not to leave their desks. Magazines are filled with ads trying to get you to buy their products, including cell phones that are getting smaller and smaller. When I was a young man, we used to pay for things that were bigger. You could get a burger for 19 cents. You could get a Buick for $275. Now, everything has to be so small. What’s next? Smaller cups of coffee? Smaller toasters? Give me regular sized toast, any day. Imagine going to a restaurant that served only small pieces of toast. What would you say to the waitress? You’d say, “Excuse me, but where’s the rest of my toast?” I often wonder what the waitress would say in response. Would she bring you more toast?
The last time I told a knock-knock joke about cell phones, some of my viewers sent me mail. One viewer, Robert Gordon, wrote that he has never owned a cell phone, either. Another viewer, Emma Goldman, wrote that I should give cell phones a try. She thinks I might “like them.” Another viewer, Tom Urwin, wrote something else, entirely, in response to a different subject. The last time I was in line at the movie theater, there was a man in front of me having a conversation on his cell phone. I remember he was talking about a concert he had attended the night before. I didn’t want to hear about this concert. If I had wanted to hear about this concert, I would’ve attended the concert. Why does everybody think you want to hear about the concerts that they went to? When I was a young man, we used to call concerts “Huckleberries.”
Every cell phone has to have a different ring. Some of the rings sound like a regular phone. Some of them sound like popular music or game show themes. If I wanted to listen to the “Jeopardy!” song, I’d tune in to “Jeopardy!” although I don’t like how the answers come before the questions. Give me questions before answers, any day. Otherwise, it just gets confusing …
Good one, Andy!
(To watch the real Andy Rooney — especially if you’ve never seen him — click here and here and here.)
Sorry I haven’t been posting here very much. Instead, I’ve been playing a lot of flash-based Internet Pac Man. Most mornings and nights, actually. Like, when I wake up in the AM, when I’m still kind of sleepy, and right before sleepy-time in the PM.
I’m pretty good, but not great. And I’ll tell you what: the first Big Stone Head reader to beat my high score of 55,000-something will get a free mini book. In it, I will write, “Well, you beat my high score, biotch. Now what? Huh? You think you’re better than me? Do you? You, do, huh? Whatever. Let’s see how you do at Frogger.”
The note will be very abrasive and will also somehow contain a link to Frogger.
This whole thing is kind of honor-system-y, but I suppose you could take a screen shot of your Pac Man “victory” and send it my “way.” The proof is in the pudding, as they say, and the pudding is in the points and the points are in the game, if you know what I mean.
But here’s the big catch: If I beat my high score of 58,000-something first (and I will let you know when that happens), I not only take back the offer, but you all owe me a mini book of my choosing.
Does that sound fair? Yes? Okay. Begin Pack-ing.
