What does Arm Side Fun look and read like when my anxiety and depression is off the charts, and I’m feeling more introspective than usual? Let’s find out! (Spoiler: “Funny” is not the answer to that question, unless you think existential angst is hilarious. In which case, you’ve struck comedy gold.)
Today’s Playlist: Lean All the Way In
I’ve been very upfront with my mental health issues, and that will never change. I firmly believe that we’re all dealing with mental issues of some stripe and could benefit from therapy and/or medication. I’m primarily dealing with anxiety and depression, and sometimes it gets so bad that my daily dose of generic Prozac can’t even put a dent in it. What to do then? For a long time, it was drugs; a LOT of drugs. That’s not an option anymore, or so I’ve been told. (Well, not unless my kids want a brand-new daddy.) Neither is hiding in the closet under a blanket, which is often what I’d like to do. That usually leaves one viable option: I turn to music.
But even then, it’s not so simple. Sometimes I need some shit that calms me down, like audio Valium. Think Phil Collins, Elton John, Sting, and various other white British dudes. Other times, though, my anxiety and depression get so bad that the only way to get past it is to lean into it, kind of like sweating out a fever; I’ve got to listen to stuff that pushes me over the edge of the anxiety/depression cliff. When things get really bad in this guy’s brain, these are the songs that help get me back to stasis.
Mind Playing Tricks on Me (Geto Boys)-Bushwick Bill, Scarface, and Willie D’s opus about paranoia, anxiety, and hallucinations is as unnerving as it is brilliant. It’s so moody, and stressful, yet also prescient and timeless. It’s so ridiculously good, and the kind of creation that makes me super jealous of the dudes that made it. Also, and I can’t emphasize this strongly enough, do not listen to this song on the downslope of a shitty, stepped-on cocaine bender.
Chop Suey! (System Of a Down)-Such a tense and disorienting song, this banger from 2002 is both super noisy and hauntingly beautiful. Listen to it sometime and notice the ride it takes you on. It’s all over the map, but by the end of it I’m always in a better place.
Brick (Ben Folds Five)-A girlfriend of mine had an abortion when we were in college, which is essentially the plot of this song. It was a shitty experience for both of us, obviously much more so for her, and it no doubt hastened the end of our relationship. In my mind I always pictured us having a girl, and I often think about how I could easily have a daughter that would be in her mid-20s right now. Which would be cool, but then I think of me trying to be a father at 19-years old, and that would have been an unmitigated shitshow. I also know that said girl and I are both glad that we don’t have a child tethering us to each other. Ultimately, I know it was the right decision, but the “What Ifs?” are a motherfucker.
Don’t Fear the Reaper (Blue Oyster Cult)-It’s not really the song itself (which is fantastic) which makes me anxious, but more so the fact that the song was prominently featured in a computer game I used to play called “Ripper.” It was a murder mystery game based on a Jack the Ripper-like killer that came out in the mid ‘90s, and it’s the type of game that my parents almost certainly wouldn’t have let me play had they actually known what it was about. I don’t feel like I was a very skittish kid, but during 9thgrade I distinctly remember having the realization that death was something that absolutely was going to happen to me and everyone I loved, and it fucked me up. As you might imagine there was quite a bit of macabre shit in this game, and I played it primarily when I was home by myself and/or late at night, which certainly didn’t blunt any of the angst I was already feeling regarding life and death. The game itself was pretty tame compared to a lot of media I’d consume later on, but at the age of 15 this game and song caused plenty of stress/nightmares/anxiety.
Man Without Skin (Boy Hits Car)-A group you probably haven’t heard of, but one of my favorite metal/hard rock bands. To me this song is about how sometimes it’s so easy to feel/hear/absorb everything people say about you, which has always been true for me. I’ve tried to cultivate this façade of apathy when it comes to other people’s opinions about me, but it’s always been horseshit. I care, way too much, about what people think of me, often to my own detriment.
All For Love (Bryan Adams feat. Sting and Rod Stewart)-Okay, a semi-funny one. This song was huge in the mid ‘90s, and a staple at my middle school’s dances. Towards the end of 8th grade there was a dance, and a young lady and I slow-danced for several songs in a row. I was the kind of kid who would get a boner every time the wind changed directions, so experiencing a swelling sensation in my pants was nothing new for this 14-year-old lad. But, during this song, I noticed a different and very uncomfortable phenomenon that I had never experienced before. At first it was dull, then more pronounced, then sharp. Like, this shit hurt, really bad…Blue balls doesn’t fuck around.
If I Could Turn Back Time (Cher)-I love this song, but it reminds me of the first time I was confronted by someone close to me about being an addict. I hadn’t even started using daily at this point, but circa-May 2008 my then-girlfriend called me out for my obviously worsening addiction to painkillers while we were out at dinner with some friends. I was higher than shit at the time, and at first tried to diffuse the situation with humor. This song was playing, and I changed the words to ‘If I could turn back time, I’d never take those pills…’ It was obvious I wasn’t being sincere, and my remix went over like someone took a shit in the collection plate. We left dinner right after that and went home, where things predictably escalated and I acted like only a delusional addict can: I yelled, I lied, I negotiated, I cried, I dog cussed her, I made promises we both knew I wouldn’t keep, I cross-examined her about her bad habits, I threw things and, after she left to stay with a friend, I spent the hours of 1:00-3:00 AM moving all of her belongings out onto the front lawn because it was supposed to rain in the morning. Stay hot, bro.
Sunshine (Lil’ Flip)-So originally, I had a long, multi-paragraph missive about the only time I’ve had my heart broken typed out in this space. However, I quickly deleted it, as it was way too mopey and made me look like a giant cunt. Here’s the elevator pitch version: Crystal meth is by far the worst drug on the planet; you should tread carefully when dating someone way hotter than you; and don’t confuse infatuation and top-notch box with love.
Boyz-N-The-Hood (N.W.A.)-I love this song, as most fans of hip-hop around my age do, but as soon as I hear the words, “Cruisin’ down the street in my ’64,” I’m instantly transported to the morning of April 22nd, 2022 (a date so important in my life that is constitutes my one and only tattoo). I used to be a high school teacher and coach, but that ceased to be true on the date above. There were a lot of moving parts to this whole saga, but here’s the Cliff’s Notes version: one of the guys I worked with was prescribed opium tincture (essentially liquid morphine) for some stomach issues he’s had all his life. I knew this and, being an opiate addict, stole and ingested his medication as often as I was able to. This happened for several years, and eventually came to the attention of the administrators of the district I worked for. I was confronted, admitted to everything (which was actually a huge relief), resigned from the district, checked into rehab, and eventually had my teaching certificate suspended. Eazy-E and the boys’ mega-hit was the last song I listened to that morning before the shit hit the fan, which is why out of all of these, this one fucks me up the most. When I hear it, I’m instantly transported back to that day, and feel all of the shame, guilt, and embarrassment that accompanied it.
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So that was fun, right? Who doesn’t enjoy a peek into the psyche and trauma of a depressed and anxious recovering addict? I’ll try to lighten it up from here on out…
With a Power Ranking! I originally had planned to go with the Top 10 Worst Days of My Life, but you just read about a lot of them. I need to try to manufacture a win today, so I’ll focus on my favorite thing on the planet besides my kids. Here are the Top 10 Reasons Why I Unabashedly Love the Game of Baseball:
10) Rickey Henderson
On the short list of best right-handed hitters of all-time, Rickey’s numbers (3,055 hits, career OBP of over .400, two rings, most runs scored in a career, most stolen bases in a career) speak for themselves. Of course, when those numbers speak for themselves, they’re gonna do it in the 3rd person. My personal favorite Rickey story: Late in his career Rickey went to get on the team bus and a rookie was sitting in a preferred seat. Another player said, “Hey rook, get out of that seat, Rickey’s got tenure.” Rickey said, “Bullshit, Rickey’s got 20 years.”
9) Shattering Bats
As established, I’ve done many drugs. None of them, though, compare to the feeling you get being on the pitcher’s mound and absolutely carving dudes up. It’s quite literally euphoric, and the best feeling occurs when you make a guy look ridiculous. Some examples: getting a guy to swing at a 2-seamer that ultimately hits him in his dick (that really happened, and it was AWESOME); throwing a slider that starts behind a guy, seeing him bail, and watching it be called for a strike; and breaking bats. I broke a metal bat once, but that’s very anticlimactic and kind of disappointing, as it’s usually more a function of the state of the bat at the time than how dirty the pitch was you threw. Breaking a wood bat, though? Orgasmic. Ecstasy. Pure bliss, especially when it shatters into a dozen pieces and the hitter’s left holding a 3-inch shard. The acoustics of a real wooden bat exploding into sawdust is on par, in terms of majestic sounds, with hearing an angel cum. I fucking love it.
8) Oppo Doubles
Hitters hammering fastballs and one-hopping the wall for stand-up doubles make me so incredibly happy. Pure beauty. I’m sure the Mona Lisa and the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel are incredibly awe-inspiring and moving to see in person, but they ain’t got shit on Albert Pujols murdering a baseball 115 miles-per-hour into the right-center gap.
7) Bullpen Carts
Dude, why the hell do we not use bullpen carts anymore? Look at that picture at the top of this post and tell me, with a straight face, that’s not the most baller shit you’ve ever seen? The branding possibilities alone make it worthwhile for teams to consider bringing them back. The Mariners used to have one that looked like a ship they could pull out of the moth balls. The Brewers could have one that looks like a beer truck. The Diamondbacks could have a giant snake head on theirs. The Astros could fashion one out of discarded trash cans, Donald Trump’s tax returns, and the college applications of rich white kids. There’s zero downside here.
6) Submarine Pitchers
Although I dabbled in the mystic arts of the submarine delivery, I was more of a true side-armer (side-arm equals 3:00, submarine equals 5:00 or even 6:00 on a watch face). If I could go back and do it over, I’d commit full time to being a submarine pitcher, because it’s just the best. Submarine fastballs move a ton, both horizontally and vertically; sliders break not only horizontally, but from bottom-to-top; and it’s a much less stressful action on the shoulder. Plus, look at the delivery of Chad Bradford, the gentleman pictured to the right. Dude’s 6’4”, throws from damn near the ground, and has legs and elbows and assholes moving in all sorts of directions. Opposite-handed hitters would see it pretty well, of course, but it just eats up same-handed hitters.
5) Throwing Out the Trail Runner on a Double Steal
A lot of those are skewing towards pitching and defense, and there’s a great reason for that: I was quite literally the worst hitter of all-time. (Seriously, fuck hitting. It’s the worst.) But playing catch? I could always do that shit, really well. Growing up I caught quite a bit, and in situations where runners were on 1stand 2nd base, I almost always threw to 2nd base on a double steal. I also teach catchers that I coach nowadays to do that, or to at least be aware of the possibility of it, as it’s almost always the easier out. The runner at 1st base typically has to hesitate just a bit to make sure the runner at 2nd base takes off, and that gives you the window you need. You’re also benefiting from the fact that the runner at 1stisn’t necessarily expecting the catcher to throw to 2nd. It’s just a smart play that, when executed correctly, is beautiful.
4) Barry Bonds
Save your holier-than-thou steroid argument horeseshit for someone with an IQ under 50. Did he cheat? Of course he did. You don’t go from wearing a size seven hat to possessing a head you can see from space just by eating steak and taters. So yeah, he juiced. I. DO. NOT. CARE. Every swinging dick in the league at the time was juicing, or taking beans (i.e., amphetamines), or both. Why does it not matter to me? Barry absolutely SLAUGHTERED baseballs and was a no doubt Hall of Famer long before he tested positive. Also, and more importantly: there is no substance on the planet, apart from the sperm of Bobby Bonds, that can provide you with Barry’s preternatural eye, almost perfect swing, and ability to barrel the baseball. Did the Cream and the Clear help him? For sure. But without them he’s still one of the greatest offensive forces in the history of the game, and I’m so glad I got to watch most of his career.
3) A Perfectly Executed Tandem Relay to Nail a Dude at the Plate
If you know, you know. This just might be the sexiest play in all of baseball. When a ball is hit into the gap and the outfielders are tearing ass to get to it, and the middle infielders are lining themselves up, and the throws are firm and accurate…it’s just sublime. The best tandem relays are the ones that occur late in close games, when a team clips either the tying or go-ahead run at the plate; the team that gets the out in this spot almost always wins the game. If you’re trying to get me turned on, forget about porn. Just put on a video of double cuts, and watch
me get harder than a Calculus mid-term. So hot.
2) Coming Into a Game to Pitch with Runners at 2nd and 3rd and One Out
I was a relief pitcher in college and pro ball, primarily a closer, and I fucking loved it. Not only did I have a chance to pitch every day, but I was in the game at the most critical time. My favorite spot was coming into a game when we had a one-run lead, runners were at 2nd and 3rd, and there was one out. Some guys I played with or coached would talk about being nervous on the baseball field in big spots, and that’s something I just never understood. You get nervous about stuff you’re not prepared for, and I always felt I was prepared to get dudes out. Always. I lived for that shit. This spot was my favorite, because you’re usually going to have to find a way to either miss a bat or keep the ball in the infield with the first hitter you face. Then you’ve got to sack up and get the next guy, any way possible. Being brought into this spot late in a game, getting some weak ass contact a couple times to end the inning, and making a slow “Fuck You” walk back to the dugout while the other team tries to figure out how the hell they didn’t score is as close as I ever got to total enlightenment and transcendence.
1) Brotherhood
I’m a sucker for forms of entertainment where brotherhood, camaraderie, and personal sacrifice for group success are the themes. (Think movies like “300,” or “Gladiator.”) I’ll cry like a baby every time at the end of these types of movies, and I’m not ashamed of it. I’m proud of it. I’m a guy that loves being an important part of something bigger than me, and baseball was the ultimate form of this in my life. I can’t properly articulate how much I LOVED being the guy that got called on to get the last few outs of a game. Sure, there were a few times that I fucked the dog, coughed up a lead, and cost my team a win. Those hurt. BADLY. To this day I still have mental and emotional scars from some of the worst ones. But there were way more times where I did my job and helped lock up a win, and those times were some of the happiest moments of my life. Uniting for a cause with your boys and going out and finding a way to get a job done is so incredibly rewarding, and I’m glad I got to do it for as long as I did. Fucking baseball, bro. It’s the best.
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Thanks for reading through this therapy session of mine. I always feel better after writing these, especially after this one. Also feel free to send an email to armsidefun@gmail.com if you have any ideas regarding dumb shit you’d like to see me write about, discount codes for ManicMILF.com, or hot tips on teaching jobs in the greater DFW area. Have a great week, and don’t be an asshole.
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