Stadium Views


You too may get a nickname, but only if another cat pees on me! by gpiv
April 11, 2010, 4:56 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Sixty nine bottles of beer in the fridge.

Glad to see Moosey has joined the subscriber list.  And he regularly responds.  I like responses.  You guys remember some things that I don’t and you remember some of them different, not necessarily correctly, but differently.

Let’s talk about Moosey  today.  I met Moosey through Kris, who is going to get his own blog some day, except that will probably be a tear jerker and I have to build up to that.  He was Kris’ roommate in college. 

Kris and Moosey are big boys.  The go about six-foot three or four.  When Kris first brought him to The View about ten or twelve years ago he introduced Jeff(that’s his real name) as Hoss.  Well, when you introduce me to someone  and give me their name you might as well give me their social security number,  because I’m not going to remember either one until I like you, and frankly I wasn’t sure I liked Moosey.  After all Kris is like one of my kids and I have to approve of all my kids friends, and or treat them like shit until they don’t come around me anymore.

So since I couldn’t remember Hoss, mostly because he didn’t look anything like Hoss Cartwright,  I chose to rename him.  I choose Moosey.  Everytime I tried to remember Hoss I knew that it was an animal name so I called him Moosey after my cat.

I digress.  Moosey, the cat, and I had a good relationship until a little while after Harper was born.  Every morning I would get up early, and then go out to the living room and catch another twenty or so minutes of sleep.  Moosey would come lay on my chest and sleep with me.

Well sometime Moosey, the cat, must have seen me do the same thing with Harper laying on my chest.  Shortly thereafter he chose to mark his territory.  One morning while laying on my chest he pissed all over me and the couch.  Moosey, the cat, became an outside cat, the couch got cleaned, Stacey got the couch and still has it, and Amy got a new couch.  Everybody was happy but me who got pissed on by a cat.

So Hoss became Moosey.  It must have been some deep seated psychological thing where I felt he was pissing on me by taking Kris.  Either that or it was nothing and it was the only name my pickled brain could remember at the time.  Now I choose the later explanation.

Moosey’s an eating machine.  His appetite is extraordinary, although it might be inaccurate to describe it as an appetite.  Appetite implies there are times that one is not hungry and will not eat.  Neither of those apply to Moosey.

He eats seafood Jambalaya by the quart, where most can barely get down eight ounces of the spicy concoction.  Ribs by the platter, Orsis Pizza by the half sheet.  He was offended by my over under of six enchiladas yesterday claiming that number would only constitute breakfast.  While eating me out of house and home he will sneak in a King Kong burger or Zesto double cheeseburger.

With that appetite comes thirst.  Moosey drinks as if he is drinking O’Douls.  He single handedly upped the case total per series by at least five.  He very rarely looks drunk.  Ladies take heed, you need to put a little food in your stomach to not get so drunk.  But not a whole roaster full of it.

Moosey has never really learned a job at the store.  He shies away from the card selling side and his hands are usually too dirty from food to let him touch the t-ahirts.  So in the last few years he has evolved into a job that he handles with elan. He is my beer bitch.

His job is to constantly keep my 32 ounce cup full of ice and beer, which is sometimes a challenge.   He probably drinks two or three to the one he brings me but that’s ok.  How many of you out there can claim to having a beer bitch.  When Harper’s around, to avoid the dollar fee for cussing, I will choose to call him my personal assistant.

Moosey fancies himself quite the ladies man.  His wardrobe is almost entirely t-shirts, except when he is going out catting when a collar and a quart of cologne is added.  There are stories which I cannot repeat because of the family nature of this blog, but suffice it to say, Moosey has hid out at the store a few times to avoid last night’s girl. 

Moosey did point out one sign in the bathroom, which he frequents more than the rest us.  It reads, “I won’t get a chance to pee on your floor, so don’t pee on mine,”.

One year, after the CWS, I took the family to Portland Oregon to see Kris and Moosey, who were living there at the time.  Well Kris dodged us claiming he had to be out of town for most of our time in Portland, so Moosey became our guide.   Since I was buying all the dinners, my vacation budget was shot.

On our way to Seattle we detoured to Mount St. Helens.  It was cool and I decided to take a lot of pictures.  I must have shot a full roll of 36 so I handed the camera to Moosey to figure out where I was on the roll.  He astutely mentioned to me that there was no film in the camera when we were about fifteen miles from the site.  That’s when I decided he was smarter than I first thought.

One year Moosey brought in a girlfriend from Denver or somewhere.  I did not approve. She’s gone.  She’s an outside cat now. 

It’s time to end this blog now.

I have to go home and cook some food, to freeze for the CWS.

And then put in five or six extra cases of beer.

Mooseys coming you know.

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4 Comments so far
Leave a comment

send your cat over to South Bend and let it piss on that stadium

Comment by Buddy

Ask Moosey about the time Whoppers at Burger King were $1 a piece and his college baseball teammates bet him that he couldn’t eat 10 of them…the legend continues!

Comment by George

George – That’s one of those Pacific Legends that will live on forever!

Comment by KB

Piv, was it planned or just coincidence that I was the sublect of your blog when the 69th bottle of beer went into the fridge? Piv may call me his B.B., but I like to think of myself as the “Bouncer” of Stadium View. I try to keep the rift-raft entering to a minimum and enforce whatever Piv says. Yes, I get Piv beer and gladly do so because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my childhood, it’s that “you never slap the hand that feeds you”(or gives you free beer). There’s a good chance I’ll be in town for the entire CWS, so plan accordingly. Also, I’m 6’5” and I look damn good. C-ya in 67.

Comment by Moosey




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