The Time Smitty Snuck In Behind Some Old Folks To Sing The National Anthem At The Phillies Game

(Please excuse the piss poor chug. Couldn’t clog the pipes before letting them loose. Or something like that.)

So here’s how the story goes: The old intern slave Stevo texts me last week asking if I want to sing the National Anthem at the Phillies game on Tuesday. IN. Didn’t ask why or how because #Content, baby, #Content. Gotta keep Portnoy Erika happy. The only thing I was told was to wear a white collared shirt, black pants, and a red tie. Done and done (even though I’m on the wrong side of 30 and somehow didn’t own a pair of black pants. I don’t like me that much, either.).

I honestly didn’t know what to expect because clearly I wasn’t thinking. I’m not the biggest singer in the world besides the occasional blacked out karaoke night (Seriously, why didn’t anyone ever tell me I have the whitest karaoke game in the known universe?). I obviously wasn’t naive enough to think I’d be singing solo or with a few people. I thought it would be like a dozen guys in The Philadelphia Boy’s Choir or something and I’d be perched in the back for a quick humorous video/story. Yeah, well, that notion was shot to shit when I come walking up in full uniform to an outright STAREDOWN from a Rotary Club and the oldest group of choral hardos this side of The Narddog in Here Comes Treble. If there was a record playing it would’ve skipped to a halt. They were all warming up getting their pitches in tune and shit. Here’s a glimpse of the crew I waltzed into:

First off, that LEGO bowtie is pimper than pimp. But other than that youngin’ leaking lady’s faucets all over the stadium, these people meant BUSINESS. Clearly this was a big moment for all of them and here I come strolling in 4 beers deep threatening to shit on their sunshine. Some of them didn’t like it one bit, and I don’t blame them. I was like Rodney Dangerfied at Bushwood. Some people just don’t belong. But what could I do? I was already dressed to the nines in my new Gap slacks and $10 Wal-Mart red tie intern slave Brosh picked up an hr before showtime. I guess the had to go on, and on it went…

CRUSHED it. Personally I’d say that was second to only Whitney Houston during the Gulf War. Especially with Neck Brace leaving it all out on the field. I wish we would’ve captured the ending, but I guess you can’t win ‘em all (or any). Especially when I tried to get a post-game report with the old coot who hated my presence there the most. Not my fault my pipes were cleaner, Gramps.

Seriously, the amount of hate steaming from him towards me the entire time was palpable. If he were 30, nay, 10 years sprier I’d be a dead man right now. Don’t fuck with the choir crowd.

PS – This will go down as my 2nd favorite memory from last night’s game. #1 goes to Pickafucku. Greatest. GIF. Ever.