A Trip To San Diego That I Didn't Take

So my buddy Tom in Montana went to San Diego because he was born under a lucky star. And he just gets to do that kind of stuff. Kind of all the time. He pretty much sucks.


Even the buses in San Diego are cooler than where you live



One day while he was there, he went to a Padres game, because everybody knows the best way to spend a beautiful sunny day in one of the most gorgeous cities in the U.S. is to go to a baseball game to see an unwatchably crappy team that’s 18 games out of first place.


“Hey, wait a second…that’s not the Chargers!”



A huge part of the sparse crowd was made up of military personnel, which makes sense because of San Diego’s naval base. Plus, to a bunch of guys on their way to Iraq, taking in a Padres game is like an orgasmic combination of the Olive Garden’s Never Ending Pasta Bowl, a TNT Weekend at Bernie’s marathon and punching Nancy Grace in the face, all rolled into one.


Part of P.O.W. Torture Endurance Training



He dropped serious coin on the good seats in the Suicide Section, conveniently located for fans despondent over yet another depressingly awful season. Ruth took the opportunity to be positive, stretching it out in case she was called on to pinch-run. You never know when the Padres might get so desperate as to start pulling random fans with floppy hats from the nosebleeds to give it a go.


Those clowns need all the help they can get



Later, there was an eel.




(To see more of Tom's very cool photography, visit his website here.)