You can know anything. It's all there. You just have to find it.

-Neil Gaiman


Tuesday, June 17, 2008


I asked Matt who won the Sausage Race at the games. "Polish, the first night," he told me. "Then on Saturday, the Italian won."

If you have no idea what that means you've never been to a Brewers game. Or you live under a rock.

The Sausage race is the highlight of the seventh inning, and almost as cool as the Running of the Bulls. Pamplona wins by a slim margin in the fact that it's the only race where you need no athletic ability to participate, are encourage to imbibe alcohol, and face a distinct chance that you will be gored and/or trampled to death by a 1,500 pound hulk of livid, snorting beef.

Although incidents have happened at the Sausage Race, like this one. I hope they punished the player by force feeding him Klement's hot dogs and Miller High Life until he was sick, and then made him run the bases while angry fans pelted him with cheese curds and baseball-sized chunks of sauerkraut.

But they probably only fined him. There is no justice.

No comments: