Tagged: kc royals
Wed=Wife, 2 Frees for the Price of One
As promised: an elaboration to Disco’s 1 Minute Monday mention of getting stocked up on Nike gear.
So, let me first start off by saying I love Nike clothing. As someone in the fitness profession, this kind of gear has been my entire wardrobe like Banana Republic might be for you business folks, so the opportunity to be a Nike VIP for a day was pretty awesome… especially under the top secret conditions by which we were admitted.
The deal is if you work for Nike, you get a 50% discount off Nike merchandise and have premiere access to their Employee Store (the only one of its kind) in Beaverton, Oregon. Each Nike employee is allowed five guest passes per year for family and friends, but come on, how many Nike employees do you actually know who would also be willing to share their coveted guest passes?
Well, this is where we start feeling like total VIPs. Somehow, some way, someone within the Portland Beavers knows someone who knows someone who was able to put the entire Omaha Royals team on ‘the list’ for admission to the Employee Store on Saturday, August 15th between the hours of 9:30 AM and 4:30 PM ONLY. If you’re not on ‘the list’, no matter how you swing it, you will not be admitted. In fact, my name was not on it and when Chris inquired about getting my name on, he was met with, “Sorry, ‘the list’ already went out and we can’t get anyone else on it.”
Chris says, “Okay, I’m sure they’ll just let her in right?”
“Oh heck no. They are super tight with security over there. She has to be on ‘the list’ or she won’t be allowed in.”
So, not only do I need to be on the list like everyone else, but the team was strongly advised not to wear any athletic items that didn’t say Nike. If you only had Adidas shoes, you had to borrow a pair or go barefoot. One player admit that since he was sponsored by a competitor, he had nothing to wear except his dress slacks and button down he wore on the plane, so he was strongly advised to wear that while everyone else was in jeans.
They run a tight ship over there, huh? In an effort to get me in, Chris made a call to the Beavers front office to see if they could help, but their response was, “We’re really sorry, but once the list goes out, there’s no way to put anyone else on and if she’s not on it, she can’t get in. Heck, we’re not even allowed in.”
“Well then who do I call?” Chris practically has to beg to get the number of a guy who knows a guy over at Nike, who might be able to help, but it’s now 6 PM on Friday and we’re supposed to be going at 10 AM tomorrow.
Chris leaves a message for the guy who knows a guy, pleading to get me on ‘the list’ and when he doesn’t hear back, he calls his agent who is all sorts of connected. They’ve got big leaguer after big leaguer, and a bunch of clients with Nike deals, so piece of cake, right? If the guy who knows a guy doesn’t call back, at least we’ve got a full proof way through the agent.
Well, come Saturday morning, Chris’s agent calls back shocked to admit he doesn’t know what kind of store we’re trying to get into, but he went through every contact he had and they weren’t able to get me on. If Chris had a Nike contract, I could get in with no problem, but not otherwise.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
So now we’re on the train heading to the Employee Store and I’m still not this secret list! Chris decides to try the guy who knows a guy one more time and if he couldn’t reach him we devised a method where Chris would take a picture of something he thought I’d like, email it to me standing outside the security gates and we’d make purchases that way. I was totally about to be the ugly girl eagerly waiting outside the velvet rope while all the cool kids walk right past me into the hottest nightclub in town. Sigh. But I was prepared.
We get off the train in the middle of NOWHERE, look around, and there are no signs, no arrows, nothing pointing us in the direction of the store. Luckily one of the guys knew where to go, but even he had a little bit of trouble navigating the team through tall grass, roaring streams, and barbed wire fences in order to spot a “big building with a white roof” as we were told. Okay, we didn’t have to jump a stream, but it is in the middle of nowhere and only if you know where you’re going would you be able to find it from the train. Just as we’re walking up to the entrance with a line out the door jetting into the parking lot, Chris’s phone rings and it’s the guy who knows a guy! Good news. I’m on ‘the list’! Ahem. I can now huff on my fingers and shine my nails on my shirt cause I’m now kind of a big deal, too.
After waiting in line for thirty minutes amongst all the other VIPs, we were called to a counter where our IDs were checked with ‘the list’ and given a small piece of paper with the date, which goes to the cashier when you check out. So, even if you’re able to find this place and somehow sneak past security, without the piece of paper, you’d be sh!t out of luck and shown the door.
We walk in to find a huge warehouse filled with Nike everything: clothing, shoes, golf clubs, bags. You name it they had it. And it wasn’t the stuff you’d find at the Outlet stores, either. This was the real deal, a Niketown on steroids. It was huge and I was in heaven. Chris and I split up and as we browsed separately, the store just continued to get more and more jammed with people. After our second hour there, it was hot, the aisles were packed, and luckily for me, everything was my size; unlike Chris who only found “ah” shirt. That’s it? Just one shirt?? The only downside to the store is if you weren’t an X-Small or an X-Large, you might only luck out with a single shirt like Chris did because by Saturday all the middle sizes had been picked through already.
Once you’ve battled the crowds and survived the line to check out, your last step is making it past the cashier cause as soon as you hand that little piece of paper over, that was it. No turning back so you better make sure everything fits and you like what you got, because they don’t allow exchanges; just returns.
In the end, I made out pri-tty darn well with two pairs of Nike Free 5.0s for the price of Chris’s single pair he got two weeks earlier and workout clothes for half price. Can I get a heellllls yea! And just to make sure we were getting the best of the best, we checked out a Niketown in Seattle today to find the exact same stuff, but double the price.
So, moral of the story here is if you want Nike gear for half the price, you have to be a pretty darn big deal, have a contract with them, or know a Nike employee who doesn’t mind sharing one of their passes. Otherwise, plan on paying full price because getting into the Nike Employee Store is harder to get into than a virgin’s pants Harvard Law.
Fan Mail Friday, June 26th
I have crawled into a hole after revealing to the world the story of me clogging a toilet. As a result, I have “recruited” Mrs. Disco to write this week’s Fan Mail responses so as to not disappoint my fans.
Dude, Mrs. Disco is one hot babe. Does she obey your every beck and call?
Nick D., Cinque Terre, Italy
(ok, Nick isn’t actually from Italy, but he didn’t tell me where he’s from so we’re going to pretend he lives there in order to expand our already growing audience).
First, I’d like to say, why thank you, thank you very much Nicoluccio. I’m guessing you may have wonderful taste if you’re from one of my favorite places in the world, so I’m flattered someone as cultured and foreign as you would call me “one hot babe”. I take it as the utmost complimente. Are you single? Enjoy long walks from fishing village to fishing village? If so, get in touch with me at mrsdisco@discohayes.com because I’ve got a couple cute single friends. Wink. (Oh, and you can direct all flower and jewelry deliveries to Rosenblatt Stadium, 1202 Bert Murphy Ave, Omaha, NE 68107 Attention: Mrs. Disco).
Waiiit a second. Before you send endless compliments about how smart and funny I am and how lucky Disco is to have landed me think I better tackle the second part of your email. The question part, “Does she obey your every beck and call?”
Ahem.
I’m not sure if you were trying to butter me up right before implying I was a servant of Disco or what, but today’s your lucky day because I’m not going to kick your butt. I won’t even challenge you to a “who can bend into the best yoga pose” contest, either. Today, it was demanded of me, by His Disconess, I not only respond to his Fan Mail questions, but also do it with humor, wit, and as much good looks as he. Whew, tall order, but I’ll do my best.
Merriam-Webster online defines “beck and call” as: “ready to obey one’s command immediately”. And, just so you know, I only come-a-running in response to snapping, animal calls, or “Yo Bratface!”
- Snapping usually means I need to trim raw chicken, season it, place it flatly in a zip-lock bag, and write “Hayes” and the date with a sharpie so he has food to eat at the field.
- Any variety of an animal call usually means he’s out of clean underwear and I better bust my little booty into gear to have clean, non skid-marked underwear, sans-wrinkles ready before he departs for the field that day.
- “Yo Bratface” is more often than not used when Disco is frantically yelling from a bathroom with a clogged toilet and I need to fetch the perfect poop stick. Pronto!
So I guess you can decide whether I obey his every beck and call or not, but the main reason I’m handling Fan Mail Friday today is due to Disco’s extreme embarrassment and shame in sharing his poop-a-boo stories the other day. Hopefully I’ll be able to talk him out of his humiliated state soon… or whenever he snaps for me to jump to his every need.
You have made it clear you are “Disco” because you throw in the 70s. How hard does Mrs Disco throw? One would have to assume she also throws in the 70s. And if you throw 77 or 78 that leaves the possibility she throws harder than you. If so, are you man enough to admit it?
Pieter P., Munich, Germany
Pieter, any chance you are actually Peter Piper, who picked a peck of pickled peppers, with just a weird, fancy spelling?
Wie Gehts Die? Danke Gut! Kann ich bitte pfeffer ausgewählt haben?*
Ha! I’ll bet you didn’t think I’d actually be able to respond to you in your mother language, did you? To save the several hundred thousand fans who read Disco’s blog on a daily basis the trouble of hiring a translator just to enjoy the pure genius of these answers, I’ll spare you and respond in an ancient tribal language. Click. Cclick. Cluck. Click. Cllliick. Cliccckk.
Okay, okay. I swear, I’ll behave and respond to your question, Mr. Pieper. I, Mrs. Disco, throw my fastball overhand 92 on a good day, side arm about 90, and bowling like Disco roughly 82-83. My change up overhand is actually faster than my fastball, topping out at 97. I think it’s because my middle finger is stronger than my index finger, thus thrusting the ball at a greater velocity, lighting up radar guns across the universe. I’m still working on a knuckleball and I hear spitballs are no longer legal in professional baseball, which is fine with me ’cause I’m content just hitting off a tee with our 5-year-old nephew anyway.
And one more thing…obviously Disco is NOT man enough to admit it, otherwise he’d be answering these questions himself.
*Translation: How are you? I’m fine thank you. May I have a pickled pepper, please?
How old is too old to wear your hat backwards? I’ve heard that the general consensus is 27 yrs old. But I’ve also heard that trucker hats with velcro or snaps can be alloted an age much younger than that. Likewise, flex-fits can be worn backwards past 27 but there’s just an overall confusion on the entire matter. Please clarify for the masses before the hysteria consumes us all.
Aaron D.
Kansas City, MO
Aaron, Aaron, Aaron. I’m willing to bet you’re 28 and still trying to pull off those dorky trucker hats with white mesh and random logos that sit like five feet up off your head aren’t you? Just kidding. 🙂 It’s a good thing you asked this question when I was responding because unless Disco was a fashionista (last time I checked I’m pretty sure Disco only had tapered jeans and old man sweaters hanging in his closet before he met me), I doubt he’d be able to give you any kind of sound and up-to-date fashion advice.
How old is too old to wear your hat backwards? I’m pretty sure if you’re not younger than 9 years old, you’re too old to wear it backwards (unless of course you’re a catcher) (or a ridiculously hot guy with a chiseled face and a little bit of scruff) (or my husband in the off-season when he’s allowed to have any facial hair).
Well, my hypothesis failed me. My plan was to show you pictures of the hottest of the hot guys out there who pull off backwards caps like exotic dancers pull off their clothes, but I’ve found my hypothesis to be invalid. It seems all the hotty-hot-hots are so hot they don’t ever go out with a backwards hat, let alone any kind of disguise covering their gorgeous faces. For instance, I scoured the internet and didn’t find any of these gems with a backwards cap of any kind.
So if you’re average looking without amazing hair and impeccable looks like the fellas pictured above (Utley, Hayes, Beckham, Hayes), you can wear a hat at any age. And if for some reason you’re blessed enough with a movie star face, you can wear whatever you want, whenever you want. Got that? Man, I’m getting myself all worked up over here with all these hotties, two of them being my ridiculously good looking husband, I’ve lost my thought process. Where was I?Ah. fitted hats. Yea, you know, I guess you can wear them as long as they aren’t too tight so they don’t leave a ring around your head. I actually like guys in ball caps, so disregard everything I said above and dress up your head to your hearts desire. (Random side note: A while back before I met Disco, I threw a “Dress Your Head” party… you basically had to do something fun from the neck up. We had everything from pink wigs, to chicken hats, to one guy wearing ah sock. Yea, ‘parently he didn’t get the memo.)
Back to being serious for a second. Anyone can pull off pretty much anything if they’re confident. Confidence rises above all trends of what to and what not to wear. If you’re trying to pull off a rad Hurley trucker hat as long as you carry yourself with confidence (not cockiness, which is easily discoverable) you’re going to look great. Just one cardinal rule, unrelated to hats. Whatever you do, if you’re under the age of 55, please do NOT be seen in public wearing socks with your sandals. Capeche?
the pitcher, formerly known as Disco 