brewers baseball and things

get down brother


And then it happened.  The heroes of my favorite books became real. Sounds like a hallucination, but it’s not. Sounds like some misfit who recoils into misanthropy and cheap motels, blinking red neon lights and prostitutes and TV dinners with that lonely scrape of fork to aluminum, me and my fictional hero in the Green Gables; Anne and I; a 25 cent vibrating bed paradise, but it’s not.

The book is “The In Your Face Basketball Book.”  Ain’t no penguin classic. Won’t find it taught in schools. No hipster in a cafe spewing bad poetry will be reading it,  but the book remains the greatest most influential book in my life. The wisdom and humor and poetic fast break thrusts not to mention vagabond basketball jones map tales and of course, the pictures…am I gushing? Well slam bam thank you Queen Esther and Quincy Jones!!!

I mentioned the book the other day and Glen Slater of  Tall Tales and True Stories commented that HE WAS IN THE BOOK. That shit just doesn’t happen. I don’t trust people who say coincidence and I don’t trust people who wear sandals. Too relaxed. Makes me uptight, but then this? Someone I sort of know in my favorite book? I got Pentacostal shaking thru my veins. I believe in Maimonides all over again!

The clerk at Wax Stacks records on Milwaukee’s East Side used to tell me in his cocaine nasal accent. “I don’t buy shit. I only sell it.” That’s the story of capitalism, no? All this bullshit marketing and self promotion and how many god damn kinds of toothpaste do we really need? But then Glen and The In Your Face Basketball book. Jesus Chrysler. I believe again. Pass the chulunt.

Glen didn’t remember what page, just a few clues; in North Carolina, in a pick up basketball game. I raced to my shelf and finger rifled thru the book and there it was page 160, a cool looking dude dribbling a basketball with no shirt wearing a necklace, free flowing hair. unmistakable court general aka Danny Ainge in the fierce with handles and hops and instincts to run the point. Mo Cheeks….I took a picture of the picture and posted it.

Glen revealed the under belly reality behind the photo; the clumsiness on the pick up court; the photographer turning nothing into something, but who cares. This was big.  That was Glen in the flesh, in my favorite book. That shit just doesn’t happen.

It was time. It was bloody time to face my fear of shirtless and camera shy. There are 1o dollar toothless prostitutes in my neighborhood offering blow jobs. I always decline politely, but maybe I’ll ask them to snap a photo of me. They wouldn’t judge me for being sickly skinnny like I had just escaped Auschwitz and maybe I have. I’m lucky to have a real friend in this life.

We  went to Cap Saint. Jacque yesterday. Sounds like a fancy exotic place, but it’s just a dirty beach; north west corner of Montreal Island; a green brown looking lake, Lake of 2 mountains, more than good enough; minimal algae or whatever rubbing up our legs. Seagull lifeguards atop busted trees, lots of ladies in religious scarves, kids in the water, barbecues in the bushes and way too many carpenter ants, but not in the water.

That’s the real electric water; sprawls all the way to the Great Lakes west and St. Lawrence river east to the atlantic ocean. The big water. You can feel it. Energizes you. I swam out to the rope; not too deep; did some makeshift Kung Fu splashing. Get down brother.

P30-08-14_15.50My friend had a camera on her cell phone. Snap a photo, send it to email, download and thenP30-08-14_16.03 upload to wordpress and vanquish my fears in one shot; shirtless and no longer camera shy.

Picture one…pose of triumph. Picture two….pose of Aushwitz horror.  I feel vain and stupid, but a hell of a lot freer ; kicking those Nazis off my back and outta my mind.

Easier to cope with Brewers sucking up to Jake Peavy and his stupid 2,000 k milestone. The Brewers fell for a second consecutive night to Giants…3-1

The Brewers are 73-62 and fading, but not really. Cardinals are still a game out of first and they’ll be in Milwaukee next week. Time to get naked and splash and fight and kick the Cardinals ass; once and for all. P30-08-14_18.18[1]

Brewers lose, but that was a hell of an enjoyable day yesterday. One of my favorites in recent memory, Glen inside that book. Still shaking. That shit just doesn’t happen very often.

You can see some downtown Montreal in the background in picture three. This is after the swim and the electricity. That’s an authentic 59FIFTY New Era Expos cap on my head and me posing as Eddie Van Halen. Get down brother.


Author: Steve Myers

I grew up in Milwaukee and have been a Milwaukee Brewers baseball fan for as long as I can remember.

23 thoughts on “get down brother

  1. Yer not a very hairy guy, are ya?

  2. I’ve got hair everywhere except for where I WANT it to be. I had a great thick hair of dark hair until about 1999 or so (when I was about 38 years old), and that’s when I noticed that I was balding a bit in the front. I had never thought that I’d go bald. What a disappointment. Anyway, fifteen years later, and I’m as bald as a bowling ball. Lots of grey hair, too.

    Now, about what I said to you. “Yer not a very hairy guy, are ya?” I was kind of doing a reverse on what a guy in said to me once. I was in college (never got more than about 60 credits, but that’s another story), and it was early 1984, when I was 23. These two other guys and I were shooting around the basketball in the university gym, just horsing around. Anyway, I was getting sweaty and hot, so I took off my shirt, and continued shooting baskets. One of the guys, who was an Sicilian-American guy from Long Island, with a heavy Brooklyn/Long island accent, said to me, kind of with a weird smirk, “Ay, Slayta! Yaw a hairy guy, ya know dat???” I felt all embarrassed, and I think I might have put my shirt back on; I don’t remember, to be honest with you. Anyway, I had NO hair on my chest when I was 19. I remember that, for sure. No hair at all. By the time I was 23, though (when this conversation took place at the gym), I was very hairy. Funny how fast the hair grows in the places you DON’T particularly want it to grow, but doesn’t grow AT ALL in the places where you WANT it to grow (such as on top of your head, in my case).

    This is a strange conversation, considering where I’m writing all this.


    • hey Slayta…that sicilian pronunciation gives me miles of the best kind of fun. God love ya right there slayta, ya know dat hair in your ears and my ears and everyone’s ears or at least my grandpa’s ears never stops growing and probably nose hairs too and those hairs on moles that chinese let grow for good luck or something. But you’re right about that hair on top your head. Maybe Dr. Shmagoookie could transplant some of ya chest hair from westchester and repot it like chia pet hair on toppa yer head and as for me. Well maybe we could get a two for one deal and put some of my anus hair onto my chest and see what those shiksas think of me then.

  3. I do n’t know which to do – not comment, or leave a comment to say I’m not going to comment.


  4. I looked on You Tube to see what the significance of the expression “Get down brother” was, and I was thinking that maybe it was a Van Halen song because of how you posed as Van Halen. Nope. Actually, I found TWO songs called “Get Down Brother” and one of them is an old funk 45 RPM. Sounds like it must be from around 1966 or 1967 to me.


    • screw you tube and a god damn song for every freaking thing. Get down brother is from the first roomate I ever had in Milwaukee other than my mom and dad and brother, but how could you know that unless I told you and I never did so I am now. Yeh, that roomate used ot say that to us. He was 10 years older than us and now lives in Appleton, Wisconsin on Lake Winnebago which is where Houdini grew up, but the little magician got rid of his Jewish name. His dad was a rabbi I think. Anyway, my roomate rides canoes on that lake and too bad we can’t sit around and shoot the shit for a few minutes…me, you and him…but just a few minutes because I gotta get to work right about now,

    • this is way more tolerable and kind of enjoyable. Makes me wanna rub up and down on a hula hoop; a responsible sex act if there ever was one. This one I can sincerely and respectfully say…thank you Glen.

  5. And this one, too. A blues song from a blues singer from the deep south, a guy named Washboard Sam. I’ve never heard of any of this stuff.


    • more of this god damn you tube. Shit. Ok, I’ll try and give it all a listen later on.

    • this one is a little more tolerable but like most of these blues or gospel songs. they just keep repeating the same verse over and over and over with different lyrics except for the guitar solo intermission. Gets kind of boring, but some of these are funny stories and super duper great for spontaneous kareoke where we have to fit in new lyrics like “momma cut of bubby’s foot and blood went spraying everywhere. GEvalt! We cleaned it up and threw it in the chicken soup. Baruch hashem. “

  6. And another song called “Get Down Brother”, a white gospel song by a group called The Virginia Squires (not to be confused with the ABA basketball team that Julius Erving started his professional career with). This kind of reminds me of a Ricky Skaggs song. Don’t you agree?


    • I don’t care and don’t know. I’m off to work and I’ll be whistling at work and if anyone gives me shit about whistling, I’ll tell them to take their smart phone you tube music wires and stick em up their ass. I’m whistling all day long today because it’s my friend Glen’s birthday.

    • This is just a terrific chunk of Appalachian country gospel! Love it!

      Ever noticed this phenomenon – the attitude the rest of us have to Black American Christians on the one hand, and White American Christians on the other? BAC: get dressed in their Sunday best, sing. WAC: handle snakes, hate gays, shoot abortion doctors. I exaggerate of course, but is there anything in this impression I have that we load each broad group with the cultural baggage we think they have?

      Nothing to do with baseball, just musing.

      • a couple stereotypes a day ain’t bad. Does anyone even have a stereo anymore? Probably because turntables and vinyl sort of made a comeback at least with my my mom. She recently had a turntable and then got rid of it when she moved, but she was relaxing pretty good when listening to it. I forget the names of the records but just lie the appalachian whisky, it all cure just about anything.

      • Oh this attitude you speak of professor…this “attitude the rest of us have” Oh my. Oh very very my. Mayan Pies my. Intellectual masturbation my. We’ve been clumped into an us. You’ve clumped us onto an us … a bus….I fear it might be heading to school. Maybe we can smash the windows and escape auschwitz. . I’m sorry. But I do like the British accent on Family guy…the little guy there, but other than that The British accent just kind of annoys me. I know that must sound racist and lacking any civilized diplomacy or subtlety or whatever but I’m sure there are some things you despise as well or maybe not. Anyway, Family Guy does a skit of the stupid Christian, the Red Neck and the Homo…piss in the pants funny. I can’t remember the episode but anyway, Family Guy Episodes kind of jump around stream of ideas. It is 2015 or almost. And now I respectfully shut up so Glen can continue the public radio intellectual discussion about gospel music black music and racial profits or profiling or whatever the hell that’s called.

      • You’ve made your point. I’m back in my box.

    • Glen I listened to this song just now and couldn”t make it through to the finish. It was metal finger nails down the chalkboard, I wish I could be super liberal and open minded and jesus loving or just sit back and enjoy the music or historic and cultural tour bus through these lands and maybe I could on a different day but not today… I sort of have a hang over, but I don’t think the hang over has anything to do with it. I will say this. I bet they serve corn on the cob at these jesus hoe downs and I just love me some corn on the cob. It don’t mater if it’s a work day or a Jewish Holiday. MMMMMMM (pause) MMMMMMMMMM. I just love that corn on the cob. Don’t need no buttering up or salt neither. Just like it is; straight off the land.

  7. I feel like I should contribute to this hilarious string of comments with some cleverness of my own, but I’m too busy laughing.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s