Apparently monkeyball has left the building. I point you to the AN masthead at the bottom of the front page…now, with 66% less whimsy! Also, he told me.

I don't feel safe on this blog no more
I don't want to die in a meta flame war
I want an interlude with a goofy score
Made by an ape man.

But I do not care to delve into matters base and meta. I come to bury monkeyball, not to praise him.

No, wait. I do come to praise monkeyball. And to provide today’s DLD. Because AN is an honorable blog.

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There’s an axiom in political event planning: never book a room you can’t fill. Nothing looks worse on camera than a bunch of empty seats, but by contrast, a standing-room-only crowd makes your (candidate/cause/publicity stunt) look vibrant and in high demand.

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Hooray! Just returned from the A’s Box Office with a stack of tickets as thick as my phone book. Well, I’m a sophisticated urbanite RAF, so maybe not my phone book. But it’s as thick as the Greater Hickory Metro Area phone book, that’s for sure!

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That’s right…the Fremont mayor’s race and what it might mean for the A’s. What, you were thinking about some other election? No CGVinista me…I’m keeping it all baseball, all the time. At least until Late Night with Roy Williams kicks off the UNC Tarheels’ 08-09 men’s hoops campaign…in just two weeks!

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Darkness. Bats on balls.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Fade to slabs of sunwashed gray concrete. Crack. Crack. Stadium plaza: Ticket Services…Staff Entrance…Will Call…Crack. Curls of hot dog steam. Crack.

Massive concussions. Crack. Flames consume the crumbing park. Crack. Crack. Crack. Music:

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end.
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end…

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It’s late and there’s no DLD. So goes life when your team 1) had an off day yesterday; and 2) sucks. But I cannot let a certain something go unobserved by you, my A’s fan brethren and sistren.

But lo! a ray of sunshine doth pierce this veil of sorrow! His name is Gio Gonzalez, and as Susan Slusser chronicles in today’s, well, Chronicle, he’s like a cross between Gandhi and the cutest puppy dog ever.

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Apparently there hasn't been an everyday Dick in the big leagues since Dick Schofield pulled out of baseball after the 1996 season. Twelve long, hard years of Dicklessness.

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I commend you to this fine tale of one man’s refusal to accept the end of his dream, to play professional baseball, and the outlandish steps he took to sustain it. In short: lie about age, briefly join A’s organization, get cut, move to Australia, lie about name age with a newly created Aussie persona, don goofy wig, suffuse skin with anti-aging cream and thrice-daily shaves, and finally make it onto a professional ballfield at age 36…only to be undone at the last by a hidden ball trick. Worth a read. Also reminds us that some things never change:

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It’s National Doughnut Day!

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I was going to add this as a simple link in someone else’s DLD. But it’s past noon and there ain’t no such beast, so here you go: Sunday’s Tribune followed up on an earlier "attendance sagging" article with a Carl Steward column which basically consisted of angry emails from fans who aren’t going to many/any games in Oakland this year.

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