You obviously saw my post about the circle jerk sandlot baseball game sponsored/organized/cliqued by Jack White and Third Man Records. I spoke to a few who attended and they had a good time which is cool and there was no negative energy which is cool and donations were taken to benefit the park, Hamtramck Stadium, which is very cool. Now comes the swerve (you knew it was coming). There is now an auction set up for a limited amount of bats (50) signed by White I immediately rolled my eyes at the starting bid of a predictable, yet still pretentious, $333.00. As of this writing on Saturday to be published Monday the 29th (Hi Robby Sr.!), the auction had zero bids and zero watches. I made a mental note that it was set up on July 24th and there were still zero bids (nor any social media promotion). In fact this post may be the first you are hearing about this which doesn't surprise me considering the quality of local scene reporting these days. Of course the first thing I noticed was that there was no contact information. Who is running this auction? Who set up the page? The verbiage on the page...oh wait, here is the actual link that has been active for days that I just saw on Saturday: Buy My Bat!
Here is a photo of members of the team holding some of the bats, but not the bats you are bidding on because those were mass produced (or bought and painted) way before the game.
Smash cut back to the verbiage saying that a "portion" of the sales will benefit the field, the obvious angle. Actually it will go to the "Friends of Historic Hamtramck Stadium", which I didn't know even existed. You know where this is going.... I would feel more comfortable giving my hard earned minimum bid of $333.00 (ugh again) knowing what "portion" of the total fee is going to the field, and yes I understand that there are costs involved but these people have the money for it. A "portion"...spare me. Where's the rest going? Ben Blackwell's Weight Watchers account? We'll never know but its another example of the local music inferiority/martyr syndrome and now we switch to fiction for a bit before switching back to facts. Fiction:
Summertime
My name is Patricia and I love my city, especially in the summertime (its my favorite season). I work two jobs, both of which don't pay the most but it helps pay the bills at least and sometimes I am able to go out and have some fun, see some bands, local art, the latest indie at Cinema Detroit or the blockbuster at the Bel Air (so I can watch people because that's what I really do). Detroit has always been a part of my life dating back to my birthday in 1985 and I have so many memories here. This is my town. I remember my first show at the Gold Dollar (I was underage but nobody cared), I remember riding the Boblo Boat for the last time in the summer of 1993 but don't remember any of the rides but I had fun just watching people (because that's what I really do). I remember bragging to friends outside of Wayne State's Old Main about my experience at the very first Metro Times Blowout and waiting for their reactions, watching them (because that's what I do), wondering if they realize it would have been impossible, and then making a decision that they were no longer my friends and one of them stopped showing up to the Economics class and I never saw her again. Nobody knows what happened to her (but what do you think?). It was summer and there were secrets and I was in the city and I think it was around 1999 and
"Summertime. And the living is easy. Fish are jumping and the cotton is high."
I'm much older now (but not really, I'm only 34) and I still love this town, especially all of the new stores and venues and restaurants and history and sometimes I like to just sit at Campus Martius sometimes on lunch break, from a job I do nothing at, watching everybody, families, happy people, the occasional bum, but they seem happy too. It makes me feel good to see everybody happy and makes me forget about attending the first ever Blowout. I'm just glad to see people happy. I've kept watch.
"Your daddy's rich, and your mamma's good looking. So hush little baby, don't you cry."
I receive a text message from Bryan Metro, a former co-worker, not exactly hot but charismatic which sometimes matters, and he jokingly sent me a link to an auction for a signed Jack White baseball bat from that circle jerk game the other week and I called somebody I knew who was involved in the play, I mean game, and they got me a baseball bat for free (I wasn't the only one) so now I have a new, unused baseball bat, and I think tonight is a great day to check out of work early and play some ball.
"One of these mornings you're going to rise up swinging. Then you'll spread your wings and you'll fly to the sky."
On Sunday, July 14th I decided to head out to people watch, maybe catch a show, eat out of an overrated food truck and I had already been to Eternal Tattoos to get my "Ms. 45 Home runs" ink on my thigh that no one will ever see and I had the Jack signed bat with me at the session and I still do and it is July and I see a young girl, probably 16 being followed by a man, probably around 32 and I am watching them.
"But till that morning, there's a'nothing that can harm you with daddy and mamma standing by."
The man eventually forced her into an alley and attempted to assault her. The demographic of the criminal doesn't matter and it would be a story that would bore you. This may turn into an attempted rape/murder and
"One of these mornings, you're going to rise up swinging. Then you'll spread your wings and fly to the sky."
It was then when I used the Jack White signed baseball bat to crack his fucking leg in two which was followed by the obvious strikes to his head. At this point the derelict, Marcus, actually started asking me for a job. I hit him again just for fun, shared a laugh with the (now empty) space where the victim was a minute ago, and then hit him again just for fun. After making sure the victim was gone I made him suck on the Jack White signed baseball bat for about two minutes longer than necessary but really, who cares and then I maced his face, not long enough to blind him but enough to make him look like he was crying (he already was by that point). I then whispered "I know where you live and its nowhere anymore," as he continued fussing. I then inserted a tire gauge up his ass for a final laugh and it didn't work and I don't know where it came from.
"But till that morning, there's a'nothing that can harm you. With daddy and mamma standing by."
It's now July 18th and I took another half day at the office not that it mattered to anyone because nobody knows when I'm there, so I'm just walking around town, Hamtramck, the usual, and the sun is already down and I'm humming Christmas carols just loud enough so people can hear me, notice, question, move on, and I see a limping man, around 32, and I circle the block to get a better look because he is so fucking slow and he has an eyepatch and I recognize him from my intervention a few days ago and now he's trying to break into a house. I immediately clipped him is his (poorly) bandaged leg (materials most likely stolen from the Jos. Campau CVS), and when he saw me he started crying for real this time (I had left the mace in the car). Of course he started babbling, whining, begging (again), probably sounding like his intended victims. He mentioned his broken leg which was a cue to hit it again hoping to rupture all the pins or splints there and then got depressed because he probably didn't have any. To cheer myself up I hit him in the head again, aiming for the eyepatch, and then made him suck on the Jack White signed baseball bat again for old times sake and way too long this time and then I hit him again with it officially sending into lucid zone, still crying, and he turned to me and said, "You know my mother is going to say that I was a good person," and then I chuckled and said, "I do know that, I've seen this story before. I'm not going to let you become a headline or a Twitter trend. I'm just going to let you drift into the purgatory of becoming a stereotype", and then I went back to the car and came back (the stupid bastard barely made an effort to move) and maced him again just because.
Summertime and the living is easy
*End of Fiction Back to Real.
Hey all, Metro back. The previous was a work of fiction. However the events described did happen. They happened this month. Received a little local coverage, but not a lot. Unfortunately a local girl at the age of 34 named Patricia, a watcher, part-time vigilante, and owner of a Jack White signed baseball bat was not there. That part didn't happen. I have to stress the previous section was fiction and did not include demographics, but these assaults happened this month, and that other month, and at that one Blowout.
Oh here are the links because this really happened:
Don't walk alone.......
And I'm the one being sued.
Just keep in mind that nobody is actively caring about these incidents because it corrupts/fractures the narrative (I saw zero posts about it on my social media feed; they had to be sent to me), nor did anybody during the Blowout abduction/assault, but oh my lord did you see the latest tweet from so and so and we should just focus on baseball, local fields that really aren't used, and just remember to blink.
It's Summertime but the Iceman Commeth,
Bryan Metro
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