Ripped from the Headlines

Punk rock gets a fair amount of play around the gheorghosphere, and it certainly did over the last few days. Hope you took a few minutes to watch tomorrow's community leaders play the role of patient boy.

I usually click on Google News sometime in the morning to make sure I haven't missed anything. That said, lately these days my scans have been fewer and more cursory. The news is too bad, too ugly, too depressing. Even the non-Trump tribulations are items like the fact that 34 years ago today, the space shuttle Challenger exploded.

I do, however, enjoy the modern technology feature of search returns and news feeds being tailored to taste.  And as such, I get punk rock news -- of which there is not a ton, mind you. This isn't Kings Road, 1977.

One of today's headlines, though, made me chuckle.  To begin with, punk band names are the best. And then there's the unintended, more literal interpretation.

Unfamiliar eyes would be rather horrified. Which is, of course the intent of it all.  God love the Circle Jerks. They were even name-checked in a Camper van Beethoven song in 1985.

Some punk and hardcore acts take it a bit far, going full-offensive, but those aren't particularly gheorghey.  Even the Dead Kennedys rile some people beyond musical consideration.  For now, we asked local DJ Les Coole to check in with his favorite punk rock band names of all time:

• X 
• Misfits
• The Clash
• Social Distortion
• Butthole Surfers
• Meat Puppets
• Circle Jerks
• Bad Religion
  
• The Slits
• The Damned
• Therapy?
• Slightly Stoopid
• The Runaways
• Suicidal Tendencies
• Dirty Rotten Imbeciles
• Buzzcocks
• Germs
• Fugazi (Fouled Up, Got Ambushed, Zipped In)
• Cock Sparrer
• Richard Hell and the Voidoids
• The Cramps
• Random Idiots
• The Stooges
  
• Scrod Rocket
• Rancid
• Pogue Mahone
• Black Flag
• 999
• Southern Culture on the Skids
• Agent Orange
• Minor Threat
• Pavement
• Ween
• The Skids
• The Ruts
• The Dead Milkmen
• Ramones
• Bad Brains
• GWAR
• [20 bands that start with Anti-...]
  
• The Boomtown Rats
• Flogging Molly
• The Sex Pistols
• Napalm Death
• Bikini Kill
• Greasetruck
• The All-American Rejects
• Agnostic Front
• Generation X
• The Hives
• Killing Joke
• Hole
• Sham 69
• The Vibrators
• Dead Kennedys
• Beastie Boys

Now more than ever, rebellion seems about right.  Anarchy in the GTB.

Today We're Gonna Party Like It's 999

Because a) I'm tired of looking at that disgusting orange and blue color scheme, which will cause me to be violently ill for at least the next week (and probably all of Saturday night) and b) we need to get this post out of the way to set up our 1000th post celebravanaganza, a little baseball news that hits close to home for G:TB's elders:

Red Sox Select Bogar to Replace Alicea on Staff

Generally speaking, this is the sort of midwinter's agate that's easily ignored. But Tim Bogar holds a special place in our hearts. We wrote about it back in July (and, yes, it's so slow and we're so groggy this morning that we're quoting ourselves):

In September 1991, the Tidewater Tides took on the Richmond Braves in the final week of the season. G:TBer Whitney, our friend Chris and I made the short trip down I-64 to meet Whit’s mother and stepfather for a leisurely afternoon at the ballyard. Normally, a late season minor league ballgame wouldn’t hold much allure, but two events made this one noteworthy. First, by the 3rd inning of the game we realized that the Tides’ Tim Bogar was switching positions every inning. He took the mound in the 9th having played everywhere on the field, and then proceeded to strike out the leadoff man before hitting the next batter in the head. At which point the entire stunt took on a decidedly less whimsical bent.

Far more amusing than Bogar’s misadventure was the action that took place in the stands.The aforementioned Chris stands roughly 6’6” with a wingspan to match. Midway through the contest, lefty Kelvin Torve lofted a lazy foul ball towards our bleacher seats midway down the third base line. Were we not there, the ball would have landed in Chris’ seat. The big fellow stood to his full height, spread his legs in a textbook block out of Whitney’s mom, and clapped his hands together while talking a full menu of shit – and he’s an accomplished shitriloquist. The ball descended gracefully, landed in his waiting (and freakishly large) mitts…and bounded 15 rows forward into the waiting hands of an 8 year-old boy. Whitney’s mom led the parade of grief givers for the rest of the game, and when we returned to campus to share our story, the local sportscasters beat us to it, showing footage of our friend’s ignominious moment at 6 and 10.