… was almost a failure. Ten cents for a hotdog is only a deal if you don’t have to stand in line for hours. Already upset by the stadium relocation to yuppie land and the shortage of general admission, the Westsiders I was with were not happy about the dog situation.
By the eighth inning you could get ten dogs for a dollar in a reasonable amount of time, but why not wait just one more inning and get them for free? Our intentions were pure when we were stucking up as we exited, but when you’re sitting in the back of a truck full of hotdogs you have to throw them.
Go by the Orphanange, Kenton always sits on the porch. It was empty.
Go by the Monster House. Forget it, no one ever sits on their porch.
We get stopped by the redlight at King and High and crossing our path is none other than the infamous Monday Night Bike Ride. We unleashed every dog we had.
I’ve had everything from bottles of urine thrown at me while ridng my bike to batteries, water balloons, and even a dildo. It felt good being on the other side of things for once and throwing something harmless that wouldn’t hurt anyone. Is this a new Columbus tradition?
