april 30th, 2024

Welcome, folks. It's the last day of April, and ArmSideFun.com is in week two of its existence; we've almost outlasted "The Chevy Chase Show!" There's a topical and hip reference that'll get the kids talking...

Let's get right to it. 

Today’s Playlist: Story Songs

Long a favorite genre of mine, today we’re celebrating songs that tell great stories. And don’t be the asshole that says, “Every song tells a story, if you listen with your heart,” or some such bullshit. I ain’t got time for that right now. You know what I mean. Songs with a very specific and defined narrative, that’s what we’re dealing with here.

Pancho and Lefty (Townes Van Zandt)-Dude, this song is so good. And tragic. And deep. The tale of Pancho being betrayed by his good friend and runnin’ buddy Lefty, leading to Pancho’s death at the hands of the federales in Mexico, is really affecting. This song has a lot of themes that interest me: brotherhood, camaraderie, loyalty, betrayal, survival by any means, regret, loneliness…it’s such a rich and deep saga. Check out this verse: 

Lefty, he can't sing the blues

All night long like he used to

The dust that Pancho bit down south

Ended up in Lefty's mouth

Goddamnit that’s good writing. In exactly 24 words we’re told everything we need to know about not only Pancho and Lefty’s relationship, but how its end is affecting Lefty all these years later. That’s fucking poetry, folks. If Shakespeare would have been born in Stephenville or Lufkin in the 1930s, that’s some shit he woulda wrote. This song is haunting, and beautiful, and messy, and complicated, just like real life, and I’m so glad it exists.

Fancy (Reba McEntire)-It’s probably best to tackle this one in question form, as I have many:

1) Did Fancy’s mom know she was essentially sentencing her daughter to a life of prostitution? All the available evidence points to yes.

2) The chorus includes the line, “Here’s your one chance, Fancy, don’t let me down.” Did Fancy’s mom think the only way Fancy could make a decent life for herself was to fuck for money? Yes, I think so. These are two women that have lived hard lives, and have seen some shit; particularly the mom. Survival sometimes requires doing shit that shouldn’t need doing.

3) How awful was the mom’s life if the best existence she can envision for her daughter is one of whoredom? Um, less than ideal, it would seem. 

4) Generational trauma is a motherfucker, yes? Without question.

5) Speaking of which, there’s mention of Fancy having a baby sibling that was taken by the state after Fancy’s mom died. How fucked up did that kid’s life turn out? I’m pretty sure that a good portion of that baby’s life was the inspiration of the plot of “Girl, Interrupted.” 

6) Ultimately, Fancy’s mom’s plan worked, right? This is a win, yes? Yes, in the sense that Fancy’s life was much better physically and financially than it would have been had she stayed in Louisiana and married a local drunk that would have almost certainly beat the shit out of her. But emotionally, spiritually, psychologically…I don’t know. Maybe? Fancy’s mom had a lot of bad options, and chose the one that gave her daughter the best chance to not have a life as difficult as the one she had. Fancy just had to go through hell to get it. 

A Boy Named Sue (Johnny Cash)-A question of fate surrounds this Johnny Cash classic: Was the shit that happened to Sue going to happen no matter what his name was, or did being saddled with that specific name directly contribute to the way he had to live his life? Does fate control you, or do you control fate? It’s fucking delicious to ponder, and I don’t know what the answer is. I do, however, err on the side of thinking Sue’s old man made the smart play by naming him what he named him. Dude knew he was gonna be an absentee father at best, and a horseshit father at worst. Hedge your bets, call the kid Sue, and hope the sumbitch doesn’t kill you on the day y’all inevitably throw hands; that’s as good a plan as any, I suppose. 

Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town (Kenny Rogers)-Imagine you’re a young man, married to what’s probably your high school sweetheart. Then you’re drafted and have to go fight in the Vietnam War. While in southeast Asia, you not only get shot, but end up paralyzed. All that would be bad enough, right? But then you’ve got to lay in bed all day, unable to move, and watch helplessly as your bride gets all dolled up for yet another night on the town. That’s what the dude in this song is dealing with. The shittiest part of this song is knowing that this scenario, or one similar to it, has likely happened before. War is hell, but it ain’t got shit on your old lady catching D after D while you lay helpless a few feet away. 

Brenda’s Got A Baby (2Pac)-Tupac Amaru Shakur isn’t the best rapper of all-time, but he’s definitely my favorite. One of the reasons is that he was such a layered and versatile artist. He was entertaining, funny, genuine, and endearing on topics from the fleeting nature of life as a young black man (“Life Goes On”), to being a practiced and prolific Lothario (“I Get Around”), to this heartbreaking tale about…shit, everything. Addiction, neglect, abuse of all stripes, the cycle of poverty, predation of young black girls, the lack of infrastructure for folks below the poverty line, prostitution as a last hope for many…this one goes deep. This has been thrown around by so many people it’s almost become trite to say, but ‘Pac was a poet. Yeah, some of his shit was misogynistic (“All About U”), or hateful (“Hit ‘Em Up”), or just kind of dumb (“What’z Ya Phone #”). But when he wanted to go deep, and really drill down into the essence of the struggle of being young and black in America, dude was unparalleled. 

Cat’s in the Cradle (Harry Chapin)-Man, these have been kind of heavy. Most really good stories have elements of tragedy, loss, and regret, so I guess that makes sense. Let’s see if we can turn it around here with…let’s see…what’s next…”Cat’s in the Cradle” by Harry Chapin. This should be fine, right? A cute cuddly kitty jumps into a baby’s bed, it’s adorable, and everyone lives happily ever after, right? Yes, let’s go with that. And be sure to hug your kids, tell them you love them, and make plenty of time for them.

Children's Story (Slick Rick)-And now I'll turn things over to a guest lecturer, my good friend Gary. 

Gary's in education at the post-secondary level, and that's all I'll say as I'm sure he'd prefer to not be associated with this endeavor, at least publicly. Two things you need to know about Gary: 1) He's the smartest dude I know, and he's often the person I'm writing for. If I think it'll make Gary laugh, it stays. Period. 2) In high school he played safety on the football team, and dude tried to MURDER ball carriers. He would get going downhill, fill a hole, use his grossly bulbous calves to propel himself through the air completely parallel to the ground, and try to put his facemask through the sternum of whomever had the football. It was awesome, and because of it the head coach nicknamed him "Screamin' Demon." Some of my favorite memories from high school are watching Gary and my other buddies (including my younger brother) play football, and I'm super stoked that he was able to find the time to write what you're about to read.

I asked Gary to contribute by giving his thoughts of Slick Rick's "Children's Story."  Take it away, Demon:

I was asked to share my thoughts on “Children’s Story” by Slick Rick the Ruler, I assume because of my affinity for 80’s and 90’s hip-hop. After taking some time for introspection, now I think I have a handle on my attack angle here…. 

 
First, got to shout out to Chris H. Who is that? It’s a guy I have literally not thought about in upwards of 20-30 years minimum, yet he had a profound impact on my personal tastes and counter-culture preference trajectory. Here we go, bear with me on this memory lane journey. 

Circa 1988 I was a 7-year-old kid in the rural DFW area, fairly nerdy, both gregarious and quick-witted, and armed with a closet bursting with JC Penny’s inventory of Bugle Boy Shirts. As you do when you were young in that era, I made friends with a kid a couple of streets over from me named Chris. I think we both rode the bus home from school together, but he was at least 3 years older than me if memory serves, maybe more. 

Anyway, when I went over to his house, it was a different world. I mean, this guy had a Nintendo Power subscription (a now defunct magazine obviously but at the time legendary), porno mags, dumbbells, a single Mom that DGAF and most notably, cassette tapes of exotic music completely outside of my periphery. I mean, I fucking worshipped this guy at the time, as he introduced me to so many things I had no idea about. Not sure why or even if he really liked me, (I suspected he was trying to weasel into getting with my older sister) but most afternoons we would just play Nintendo and listen to hip-hop tapes. Maybe crush Doritos listening to Bobby Brown while playing Zelda or something like that. 

That brings me to hearing a Children’s Story for the first time, which I have now properly framed the scene. I think he got a mixtape from an even greater figure (one of his older friends, or stepbrother or something) that was putting mixes together that we listened to, and Children’s Story was on it.  At the time, it was fun and extremely consumable; it had great rhymes, a great sample, and a clear character arc about the dangers of the streets and growing up at large. As an extremely white kid growing up in rural Texas, I was always drawn to the unfamiliar and immediately loved to listen to it.  African American culture was taboo in my household, there was not outright racism or anything but that type of music was largely considered “not for us”. But hey, I am inherently an asshole first and anything that pissed my parents off was definitely something I was into, down the rabbit hole I went. In Elementary school I went rocking some L.A. Gear sneakers and a button covered denim jacket, which was as far as my mom would finance me down that path. Regarding the song, I think I eventually got it on a Def Jam compilation tape or something a bit later, so it was on my radar as a great track to rock for a long time. 

As an adult, all it really brings me is nostalgia and back to Chris H’s house. I think for that era of hip-hop it was a standout as far as the storytelling narrative goes, expanded upon by Rakim and then many others as they began to explore and break barriers in the art form. You can’t tell the story of hip-hop without Slick Rick, and this song along with “La-di-da-di” have become his landmark contributions, at least in retrospect. For those of you who want to try out a newer, fresher track by The Ruler, give “Auditorium” by Mos Def (now Yasiin Bey) featuring Slick Rick a listen. Definitely come a long way. Peace.

Crushed it, bro. That was excellent, and it's obvious you put a lot of thought into writing it. The only downside on my end is that you reminded me Nintendo Power was a thing, and now I'm going to piss away the rest of the day reading back issues online. Alas.

Thank you, Gary. I love you, and hope to see you soon.

Okay, a couple funny ones to end on:

I’ve Got A Story to Tell (Notorious B.I.G.)-The best stories come from something true. The whole tale may not have occurred blow-by-blow as described by the author/narrator, but the best fiction is typically rooted in something that someone experienced in real time. Or at least that’s what I tell myself when I marinate on Biggie’s classic from 1997, ‘cause I really want to believe that the meat of this tale is biographical. If you’re not familiar, this song starts as a recounting of Big crushing a random dime at her house, but it quickly takes a turn: Not only does the girl have a boyfriend, but the boyfriend comes home while Biggie is still in bed with her! To top it off, he’s a well-known player for the New York Knickerbockers Basketball Club! Biggie decides to fake a home invasion/robbery in order to keep the husband from finding out his girl’s a trollop, and also steals 100K from the dude. It’s a great yarn, and I’d like to believe the idea for this song stemmed from Lil’ Cease running up in Anthony Mason’s wife, or something. There’s no way the details in this song are 100% authentic, but when it includes the line, “I’m in his ass/While he plays against the Utah Jazz,” does it really matter?

That Summer (Garth Brooks)-Most every 17-year-old boy’s wet dream scenario is the topic of this Garth hit: Getting hired by a sexy, horny, WILF* who’s just trying to pay the bills each month and is in need of a sturdy-backed youngster. You see, there’s a lot of chores and hard labor necessary at this woman’s property, and having a strong, virile gentleman around makes these tasks much easier. Tasks like fence building, and ditch digging, and barn repair, and crop harvesting, and blasting thick ropes on an older broad’s shoulder blades. Y’know, farm stuff.

*Widow In Lien on Farm; grow up, pervert

A late addition to this section: My mom played a ton of Garth Brook when she was driving my brother and I around in the ‘90s, and I was (and still am) a guy that sings along to a song if I know it. This one was easy to memorize, and 11-year-old me was oblivious to the fact that I was singing about a young man’s love affair with an older woman. What’s that have to do with shit? Well, I just found out that my mother, a woman whom I have a wonderful relationship with and love very much, is not only aware of this website, but has apparently visited it. Mom, if you read this, I’d like to apologize. Not for the content of this site; I’m proud of it, and I think in your own way you are, too. No, what I’m sorry for is loudly and regularly singing along to the song about a hot older lady servicing a young lad. It was not my intention, as a naive and innocent elementary school student, to constantly belt lyrics about a Ms. Robinson-type receiving more loads than a hotel washing machine. You have my sincerest apologies, and all of my love. You’re the best.

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Man, some of those story songs are bummers. Let’s lighten up the rest of this, yeah? How we gonna do that? WITH BASEBALL CARDS, MOFOS!!!

I love baseball cards. I have thousands, and can’t bear to part with them. I thought about a Power Ranking of the 10 most notorious cards of all-time, like the famous Honus Wagner card or the infamous Billy Ripken “Fuck Face” card, but audibled. Instead, I’m going to pull 10 random cards out of a giant box I have and see what happens. Here we go…

Out of the gate on a heater. Tom Candiotti? Shit yes. Knuckleballs are the tits, and I really wish I could throw one. Unfortunately, fingernails are very important for knucklers, and I bite mine off. Alas. (Incidentally, the best knuckler I’ve seen in person was thrown by a guy I played college ball with. His dad coached for Boston when Tim Wakefield was in the organization, and Tim showed this dude how he throws his knuck. It was pure sorcery, the way it would dance and dart.) There’s something so magical about a pitcher making a hitter look ridiculous with a pitch that never even considers getting above a speed of 75 miles per hour. I love knuckleballs, and Tom C. was one of the best to not spin one. Bonus points awarded to the Candy Man for appearing as legendary knuckster Hoyt Wilhelm in the HBO movie “*61,” about Roger Maris’s pursuit of the single season home run record. Also, how iconic was the Fleer ’91 design with the yellow background? I’ve got oceans of cards from this set, and I promise that I’ll give up one of my kidneys before I willingly part with any of these beauts.

Apart from the fact that he was once a right-handed pitcher for the Mariners and a windowless van away from completing the Good Touch/Bad Touch starter kit, I can’t tell you shit about Pete Ladd. What I can tell you about, though, is how the 1987 Topps set made me fall in love with card collecting. My parents got me the entire set for my 6th birthday that year, and it was over. I was OBSESSED with baseball cards immediately, pored over each of the 792 cards of this set at least 20 times, and can still spot the wood paneling background on an ’87 Topps from 100 paces. It's hard to overstate the importance and impact of this particular birthday gift, and I thank you, mom and dad. At this point, though, I’m guessing my dad wishes he hadn’t pulled the trigger on those first cards for me, as it eventually led to roughly 12 acres worth of dead trees being stored at his house. I’m coming to get those any day now, I swear!

Sweet Fucking Lou! I love Lou Whitaker, and his exclusion from the Hall of Fame thus far is an egregious oversight that needs correcting immediately. I know the ‘80s Tigers were a juggernaut (Alan Trammell, Kirk Gibson, Jack Morris, Sparky Anderson), but Lou was a goddamn metronome at the top of those lineups. This is a dude that you could pencil in for a .270/.380/.430 slash line and around 30 doubles for over a decade, all while playing Gold Glove caliber defense in the middle of the infield. Right this wrong, baseball scribes. Also, how clutch were Upper Deck's cards? Clean, crisp, and impeccably well-designed. 

Real ones know. Who were the three most dynamic National League outfielders of the late ‘80s? Barry Bonds, Eric Davis, and Kevin Darnell Mitchell. His 1989 MVP season was a fire-breathing dragon of a performance, as he put up an OPS of 1.023. OPS is a flawed stat (different denominators, brah), but when yours is over 1K for a season, you’re doing shit that doesn’t get done all that often. The 87 extra base hits (36 doubles, 6 triples, 47 home runs) he had that year helped, yeah? Plus, he made one of the greatest catches of all-time. Also of note here: for about three years in the ‘90s, I was dead set on naming my first-born son “Don Russ.” Still kinda pissed I didn’t. 

Jesus Christ, these are all bangers. I promise, I’m not manipulating these; if I was, Randy Bush would definitely be making an appearance. But holy shit, Mackey Sasser! Great name, great hair, and a great fella. One of those guys that real baseball dudes from back in the day absolutely remember, he’s probably most well-known for developing a case of the yips when throwing balls back to the pitcher. The yips are fucking terrifying, come out of nowhere, and stay as long as they goddamn please. I battled the yips for a few months one summer, and it was literally the most depressing two months of my entire life. It’s awful. Mackey was never able to totally slay the yips, but he did continue to contribute to the game in a positive way. A couple seasons ago, Mack wrapped up an impressive 25-year coaching career at Wallace Community College, and by all accounts is an exemplary human being. Enjoy retirement, Mackey.

Sidney Eugene Bream. I LOVED Sid Bream. Part of it was the mustache, but most of it was the absolute Lunch Pail grind that Sid was about. He never hit more than 16 home runs in a season, never had more 77 RBI, he never made an all-star team, and he never got a single MVP vote. What he did do, though, was show up to work, every single day, ready to grind out quality at-bats and play a rock solid one-bag. He also scored the series-winning run on Francisco Cabrera’s two-out, two-RBI single in Game 7 of the 1992 NLCS. One of the most famous plays in baseball history, it also eventually altered the future of baseball. How? The left fielder that couldn’t throw out Sid Bream at the plate was Barry Bonds. You think it was Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa hitting a billion home runs that convinced Barry he needed to juice? No, fuck that. He never recovered from the slowest white guy this side of Dave Kingman beating his throw to the plate in ’92, shot an ocean's worth of Deca Durabolin into his ass, and ended up with a head bigger than Morganna's left tit.

Hold up...one second...I saw this card and violently came...damnit, give me a minute...Christ, not again..."Hey Janice, do we have any paper towels in the break room?"..."No? Shit. Can you bring me some coffee filters, please?"...

Okay, I'm back. The break room is down a dozen filters and I need a new pair of Levi's, but that's what happens when icons collide. I’ve already established that the ’91 Fleer design is sublime and almost perfect; so was Tim Raines as a player. If you know ball, you know that Rock was one of the best offensive players of the back half of the 20th century. His contributions would be even more valued in today’s game, as he was one of the first to combine a preternatural ability to barrel the baseball with a discerning eye, leading to 10 seasons of an on-base percentage of .390 or higher. Once again: HE HAD 10 SEASONS OF REACHING BASE SAFELY AT LEAST 39% OF THE TIME!!! The whole point of a plate appearance is to not make an out, and Tim Raines was able to accomplish that feat at an absurdly high rate for an absurdly long time. Rock also knocked out 808 stolen bases in 954 attempts and scored over 1,500 runs, if that’s good. He finally got his Hall of Fame nod in 2017, ten years after he should have walked in. He's a legend, and he now owes me 14 pairs of jeans. 

I was going to throw this one back when I saw it was a card allowing you to enter a Topps sweepstakes in 1990 in which you could win a trip to any Spring Training of your choice. Then I looked closer and realized that my buddy Zach had filled the card out when he was eight, but never sent it in. Zach is a longtime friend of mine, and a great dude (he’s the one that paid for the ArmSideFun.com domain). Although, being a great dude didn’t stop him from fleecing me out of a couple hundred dollars over the years, selling me all manners of stuff like baseball cards, cologne, and video games. His biggest score was when he convinced me I couldn’t live without a pleather Chicago Bulls hat for the low, low price of $30. That’s $30 in 1993 money folks; today it would run me almost $65. For a goddamn hat. Sigh. Don’t be mad at Zach, though, he was just taking advantage of a money-stupid idiot. Zach, to show you there’s no hard feelings, I’m going to send this card in to Topps for you. The caveat: If you win the sweepstakes, you’ve gotta take me to Spring Training with you. I’ll even wear the Bulls’ hat. 

Tony was an 18-year big leaguer that made five all-star teams, won four gold gloves, and played in two World Series. Dude was a pro’s pro, and I’ll always remember him for his butterfly catching stance in which he’d kick his right leg out towards the left-handed batter’s box. Let’s see, if I wanted to part with this gem of a card, it looks like I could get around $2 for it, according to Beckett.com. Dude, do you remember the Beckett magazine/card price guide? Sports Illustrated was 1A on the list of magazines I had to have in the ‘90s, and Beckett Baseball Card Monthly was 1B. The anticipation of seeing who would be on that month’s cover (“Goddamnit, it’s Jeff Bagwell!”)…checking the price on my 1983 Topps Ryne Sandberg rookie card (“Up 10 cents, huge!”)…trying unsuccessfully to convince Zach that I should only be paying $4.50 for that Steve Sax card instead of $6.00 (“He’s with Oakland now!”). What an era. I miss that shit.

Whoa. Keith Hernandez. He of the legendary mustache, 11 Gold Gloves, and 426 doubles. And, more notably, a guy that participated in more foursomes in the ‘70s and ‘80s than Jack Nicklaus and Tom Watson combined. Mr. Hernandez was a legendary Cocksman, even by big league standards, and it’s an absolute honor to have pulled the card of the cat that pulled more high-quality trim than any big leaguer during the time he played. Mr. Hernandez, we at Arm Side Fun salute you. And, for some reason, my mom said to tell you hi. Weird.

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Thank you for reading. The site is almost halfway to double-digit visitors after just a week! Big doings.

If you want to write something for me to read, send it ArmSideFun@gmail.com. Ideas for playlists, power rankings, stories about Keith Hernandez plowing your mom…whatever you got, I’ll take it. I’m also on Twitter @ArmSideFun. During Mavs-Clippers Game 4 I tweeted a joke about James Harden loving to watch titty fuck porn, as well as a take about P.J. Washington’s dad's prowess at strip club fist fights. And you missed it! Or you very likely did, ‘cause I only have two followers. Let’s fix that, yes?

I’m out, I gotta go scrounge up some cash. I’m meeting up with Zach later this week, and he’s got a sweet Urkel pog in near-mint condition. 

Take care, and don’t be an asshole.