Yikes!

What I Want for My Birthday

This sounds very fun:

For the first time in Dodger Stadium history, fans and their family can sleep on the outfield grass. The inaugural Dodger Stadium sleepover will be on Sunday, July 9 following the game against Giants. For $300 per person ($250 for full season ticket holders) fans will get field level seats to Sunday night's game, dinner at the new Loge Terrace compliments of Outback Steakhouse, a Dodger pillow, commemorative t-shirt, late evening movie on DodgerVision and other on-field activities. Space is limited to 300 fans, so act now. For more information, visit Dodgers.com.

Maybe Daniel and I could go together...

I'm a Bad, Bad Man

"Contraband items not allowed in the stadium include: glass bottles, cans, weapons, poles, umbrellas, backpacks, 14 inch or larger purses or bags, coolers, thermoses, beachballs, inflatables, banners, signs, flags, use of laser pointers, firecrackers/fireworks, boom boxes, air horns, whistles, musical instruments and pets."

-From the Dodger Stadium A-to-Z Guide, published by the LA Dodgers (emphasis mine)I went to the Dodger game to night with Ari, Noam, and Jaimie. It was a lot of fun. We had great seats (thanks Joel and Ariella), the Dodgers won, and it was a beautiful night.

I also got a chance to do something I've wanted to do for a long time. A dream came true tonight.

In case you've never been to a Dodger game (or to any baseball stadium where beach balls are common): People bring beach balls to the baseball game. Beach balls are not allowed at the baseball game. People bring them anyway. They sneak them in. Then, they carefully (so as not to get caught by stadium staff) inflate their beach balls. Then, they hit their beach balls into the air. The beach balls bounce around. People hit the beach balls all around the stands. Eventually, an usher notices. He or she comes down the aisle where the ball is bouncing around, and stands there, waiting for the ball to fly by so they can catch it and confiscate it.

I hate beach balls. Three reasons:

1. Beach balls can be very dangerous, or at least very bothersome. If you're sitting close -- like we were tonight -- foul balls come into the stands at high speeds. You need to pay attention. Beach balls are a dangerous distraction. Even if you're sitting far away, a flying beach ball that hits someone who is not paying to the beach ball game could disrupt a well balanced coke or beer, or hit an old lady in the head, or whatever.

2. I came to watch a baseball game. I didn't come to play with your beach ball. Beach balls are not allowed at Dodger Stadium. Beach balls are allowed at the beach. I didn't pay $10 to park, $10 for a ticket, $4 for a coke, $4 for a hot dog, and $5 for a bag of peanuts so that I could be a spectator/participant in your beach ball game. I'm here to watch the baseball game. Keep your beach ball out of my way. I don't want them landing in my lap, landing on the field, or in the stadium at all. [Same goes for the wave: I didn't come here to be part of some giant coordinated movement of people. I came here to watch the ballgame. This is a baseball stadium. If baseball is too boring for you, then don't come. Now sit down and shut up.]

3. Beach balls are stupid. What the hell is the point of this beach ball game, anyway? Hit a beach ball around. Stare at it hoping that it comes near you so you can hit it. Hope that the usher doesn't catch it. If the usher does catch it, boo him for confiscating the beach ball. (It's not like its his job or anything, and it's not like it was unexpected). This seems like a very fun game, doesn't it? Well, if by "fun" you actually mean "insanely retarded," then sure. [Again, same goes for the wave. Is your life so ridiculously bland that you derive pleasure from being part of a large group of people that makes a game out of standing up in succession?]

A while ago, I vowed to myself (and my brother, who also goes to Dodger games to -- surprise -- watch the games) that if a beach ball ever landed right in my lap, I'd pop it. To repeat: I'm here to watch a baseball game. I don't want to deal with flying beach balls. Why sit there, trying to see the field over the heads of people standing up to reach the ricocheting beach ball, just to wait for the usher to catch it?

So tonight we were sitting just a few rows off the field, right behind third base. Serious foul ball territory. It was a great game. The Dodgers and Reds were see-sawing back and forth for a while. Some idiot pulls out a beach ball. Some other idiots encourage their small children to take their eyes off the game -- remember, the field is 25 feet away and hard objects are flying around at 100 mph -- so that they can watch the beach ball and hit it if it comes their way. (In my opinion, this is nothing short of child endangerment.)

Next thing I know, the beach ball is in my lap. Conveniently, I'm holding a pen. I'd rehearsed this moment in my head hundreds of times.

I raised my arm, pen poised in my hand. I brought it down hard on the beach ball. The pen punctured the soft plastic, and the ball deflated.

People booed. I ignored them. I watched the game. Ari, Noam, and Jaimie stared at me, mouths agape. I was the official bad guy of the section.

I smiled on the inside. People quickly forgot about the beach ball and went back to watching the game, talking with their friend, reading the ads pasted on every spare surface of the stadium ("Steve Garvey says 'Don't go bald! Get plugs!'"), or whatever. I was a hero to crotchety baseball-loving Dodger fans everywhere.

There was a dad sitting next to me with his three-year-old (or so) son on his lap. A minute or two after my moment of beach ball deflation glory, he was still struggling to comprehend.

"Daddy, I want to hit the beach ball," he said softly.

"I'm sorry. You can't hit the beach ball. That man popped the ball."

"Why did he pop the ball?"

"I don't know."

"But I wanted to hit the ball," he said, quietly and mournfully.

"Well, there's no ball anymore. That man popped it."

Am I evil or what?

Hottest Baseball Wife Contest

Boston blogger Chris Lynch asks, "With the Dodgers coming to town - the question has to be asked... Mrs. Jose Lima or Mrs. Nomar Garciaparra?"

(You can see pictures in his post.)

Well, in a no-holds-barred cage match, I'm pretty sure Mia would win (though Mrs. Lima could suffocate her with those... nevermind).

Anyway, I'm pretty sure Mrs. Lima's the hotter one.

Oy Vey

It seems the Dodgers are in the process of making a move that's almost as tragic as getting rid of Dodger Dogs would have been. According to TJ Simers in Sunday's Times,

You wanted more hits, and so the Dodgers have responded the best way they know how.

In the biggest blockbuster move to date under the new ownership of the Boston Parking Lot Attendant [Simers' nickname for Dodger owner Frank McCourt, who made his millions on parking lots in Boston], the team will no longer allow organist Nancy Bea Hefley to play anything other than a pregame ditty, the national anthem and "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."

In place of the traditional sounds of the organ during the game, a disc jockey will now play CD hits.

This is the kind of thing that would usually get me to write some angry and nostalgic post about how fucking stupid this is. But Les Carpenter, a columnist for the Seattle Times, did my job for me. His whole article is here. Some good pieces:

For 17 years as the organist at Dodger Stadium, Nancy Bea Hefley has lulled babies to sleep, moved fathers to sing with their sons and tempted mothers to dance in the aisles simply by tapping her fingers.

Yet on this night, as on so many nights these days, she sits ...

And does nothing.

Her kind is dying now. A game that thrived through the last century on the ballpark organ jingle has decided in the new millennium that the melody of baseball is no longer good enough. In order to properly enjoy a $32 box seat and $4 hot dog, today's fan apparently needs the stadium speakers pulsing to the steady thump of any one of about 20 songs that can be found on CDs with names like "Jock Jams" or "Rock 'n Jock."

Not that you can't tell if you're in Cleveland, Tampa or Lincoln, Neb., or at a football game, a hockey game or a soccer match. Everywhere you go it's the same 20 songs; the only thing that changes is the order in which they're played.

And the Nancy Bea Hefleys of baseball are left to their knitting.

...soon the day will probably come when no one will have an organ and there will be no more Nancy Bea Hefleys left in the game.

"People come to me and say 'I wish you would play more,' " Hefley says. "I play what I'm told to play, that's life, go with the flow. Change is not always good, but change is coming anyway."

And another piece of everything that was once good about baseball is chipped away.

I don't know her, but Carpenter's piece confirms Nancy Bea's place as one of my favorite people. I hope the Dodgers reconsider. If out-of-town writers are talking about how much they'll miss her music, then she's something special, right?

Inflation = Lakers

Over at Arrive in the Third, Leave After Seven, Kurt points out that Laker tickets are, um, very expensive:

In the 1979-1980 season... if you wanted to sit courtside at a Laker game, the cost was $15. If you want that same seat during the Minnesota series starting [tonight], you'll pay $2,400, face value. If you try to buy through a scalper, reports are you will pay $15,000 a seat or more.

I knew that inflation makes a big difference, but the pure absurdity of this just blows my mind.

From 1979 to 2004, the inflation rate in Los Angeles (in other words, inflation while figuring in cost of living) was 158%. So, in 2004 dollars, a pair of seats (courtside!) to a Lakers game cost less than eighty bucks back in 1979. In other words, a regular shmoe could afford to sit right up front at a Lakers game. A regular shmoe willing to sit a bit further back could afford season tickets without going broke.

The increase in the price of Lakers tickets -- due to surges after a pair of championship eras in the past 20 years -- have far outpaced normal inflation rates. In fact, the rate of inflation on Lakers courtside seats is 15900%. In other words (for those of us not so mathematically inclined), you would need a $16,000 gift certificate to the Lakers ticket office to buy the same seats a hundred bucks would have gotten you back in 1979.

Know why the TV networks always show all the celebrities in attendance at Lakers home games? They're the only ones who can afford the fucking seats.

My MLB All-Star Ballot

Every year, Major League Baseball allows its fans to vote on who will start in the All-Star Game. I filled out my ballot today.

American League

1B: Carlos Delgado, Toronto
2B: Alfonso Soriano, Texas
3B: Troy Glaus, Anaheim
SS: Miguel Tejada, Baltimore
C: Ivan Rodriguez, Detroit
OF: Vladimir Guerrero, Anaheim; Carlos Beltran, Kansas City; Magglio Ordonez, Chicago

Comments: Well, the thing to really notice here is... look who's not listed as my starting third baseman. It's a simple point: I believe that the starting All-Stars should be the guys having the best seasons. Glaus is having a much better season thus far than A-Rod. A-Rod's batting .266 with six homers and 12 RBI. His OPS (on-base percentage + slugging percentage) is .837. Meanwhile, Glaus is tearing the cover off the ball. He's hitting .298 with 10 homers, 26 RBI and 26 runs. His OPS is 1.106. He's the better third baseman at least this year.

Tejada was a close pick over Michael Young, Texas' phenom who's taken over for His Overpaidliness. I saw it as sort of a toss-up, and in the end, Tejada's just a better ballplayer. At least for now. Soriano's the best of a crappy set of AL second basemen, and I-Rod just narrowly got my pick over Posada... Posada's got more homers, but there's something about a .359 average and a ton of RBI while playing for the fucking Tigers.

In the outfield, there are a few more guys who are also deserving (like Rondell White in Detroit), but the one's above are my three favorite of the six or seven guys who deserve a spot.

Honorable Mention: White, Posada, Manny Ramirez, Jacque Jones, Brian Roberts, Eric Chávez, A-Rod.

National League

1B: Todd Helton, Colorado
2B: Jeff Kent, Houston
3B: Adrián Béltre, Los Angeles
SS: Jack Wilson, Pittsburgh
C: Paul Lo Duca, Los Angeles
OF: Barry Bonds, San Francisco; Adam Dunn, Cincinnati; Scott Podsednik, Milwaukee

Comments: Helton, Kent, and Bonds are all the most dominating players at their positions.

Béltre and Scott Rolen are neck-and-neck in my book, but when you look at the numbers, Béltre edges out Rolen.

Béltre: .389 avg, 1.102 OPS, 9 HR, 25 RBI, 19 R
Rolen: .342 avg, 1.017 OPS, 8 HR, 34 RBI, 19 R

Rolen only has an advantage an RBI, a stat largely dependant on your teammates' performace. Meanwhile, Béltre is having his best season ever, and deserves to start.

At shortstop, Jack Wilson is the best of a sorry bunch. He deserves credit for playing good baseball for such a shitty team. Dunn and Posednik are showing why they're the NL's future... Posednik is the best leadoff man in baseball right now. NL catchers are also a sorry bunch, and I think Piazza and Lo Duca are basically a wash. I like Lo Duca because he's a Dodger and because his batting average (.375) is 95 points higher than Piazza's.

Honorable Mention: Rolen, Charles Johnson, Piazza, Albert Pujols, Mike Lowell, Miguel Cabrerra, Aramis Ramirez, Jim Thome, Richie Sexson.

Anyway, feel free to disagree and tell me why I'm wrong.

The World's Greatest Hot Dog!

They serve ambrosia here.

Hot dogs are my favorite food. In fact, I consider myself a bit of a hot dog connoisseur. Wherever I travel, I find the best hot dogs, and I eat them. My lifelong quest to find the "World's Greatest Hot dog" is ongoing, but (encouraged by Jon's post on Dodger Thoughts) here are my current Top Ten.

10. The 331 State Street Dog, which I invented while living with Rob at 331 State St. in Ripon. It's a Louis Rich turkey dog (microwaved) on a Pick n' Save generic brand bun (toasted). To make it properly, you start with a thin line of Hellman's squeezable mayonnaise, then add three handfuls of chopped onion. Then, cover the whole thing in a shmearing of Santa Fe sauce from Taco Bell. (Santa Fe sauce is no longer available, since it only came on the Santa Fe gordita and the Santa Fe cholupa, both of which have been discontinued... I have been upset about this for almost three years now, and I still remember the perfect flavor that was Taco Bell Santa Fe sauce.) This hot dog was awesome, and was best enjoyed with a 40 of Mickey's or a cup of Kool-Aid from the dispenser that was on our counter.

9. Cupid's makes a good chili dog, but they use Hormel chili from a can, what I can only assume are frozen hot dogs, and wonder-bread buns. It's gross and definitely not as gourmet as the other places, but for some reason, these chili dogs just taste good. Yum.

8. Carney'sin Studio City and West Hollywood has better chili than Pink's, but their hot dogs aren't quite as good. The train thing is kinda cool the first time you go, but it gets old. In a blind taste-test, I'd bet they'd win the "Best Chili Dog in LA" contest.

7. Pink's, on LaBrea and Melrose in LA, makes some of the best chili-dogs around. They lose a lot of points for having a ridiculous line that just, well, sucks. And the service isn't very good, and when it's busy, the quality of the food suffers. But seriously, it's hard to beat the Bacon Burrito Dog: a big flour tortilla wrapped around two hot dogs, two slices of cheese, three strips of bacon, chili and onions, all for $4.15.

6. The Wiener Factory (on Ventura near Van Nuys) makes a damn good hot dog. They're just good, with no gimmicks.

5. Gray's Papaya is one of those places that people swear by. I really like the place (and you can't beat the price), but I can't place it any better than No. 5 on my list. Definitely a great hot dog, and definitely delicious. If it's late, you're a little drunk, and your stumbling around the streets of New York hungry, stop at Gray's Papaya.

4. Nathan's, but only the original stand on Coney Island. I can't even describe in words the pure joy that happens when you bite into a fresh, hot Nathan's dog on a summer day and hear the snap of the casing and the rush of hot dog juices into your mouth.

3. Superdawg, on Milwaukee and Devon in Chicago, serves up a classic, perfect Chi-town hot dog. I actually prefer the Whoopskidawg, which is a Polish covered in grilled onions and special sauce. They deliver it to your car, the old-fashioned way, and you eat off a tray hanging from your window. (By the way, the last paragraph on this page (click it, goddammit) explains why you'll be laughed at if you try to order ketchup on your hot dog at Superdawg).

2. The Dodger Dog, which I take with Guilden's brown mustard and those perfect Dodger Stadium onions. I salivate like pavlov's dog every time I walk into the stadium. The Dodger Dog is in fact a foot-long Farmer John pork hot dog, grilled and served on a steamed bun in a foil wrapping. USA Today calls them "the best dogs west of Chi-town," and I call them the best dogs outside of Prague.

I dream about Dodger Dogs (ask Freud about that one, eh?), and I await Opening Day every year, anxious for that first bite. They used to even better (maybe even better than my No. 1), back when Dodger Stadium served onions out of these giant metal devices that had a hand-crank on one side. When you crank them, a steady and perfect flow of onions spewed forth, covering your hot dog -- already slathered in Guilden's -- with sweet and spicy velvet.

Oh man. I want to go to a Dodger game... like, now. I am so hungry.

1. A Parky in Praha: a hot dog worth going to Europe for. The best hot dog I've ever had was in July of 1996 in Wenczeslas Square in Prague. They serve these hot dogs out of carts and windows that are so ridiculously good, I can't even tell you. I was with some friends. We were hungry, and trying to save money for beer. We see a sign that says "Hot Dog Americi" above a Dutch-door on the side of the building. The top part of the door is open, and the lady inside was selling hot dogs for 15 croners a piece (about 15 cents at the time). And you get your money's worth: two hot dogs inside a single bun, which has been excavated lengthwise (they make a cavern for the meat inside the role leaving a hole only on one end). The hot dugs are stuffed in, and a special mustard sauce is poured on top. Heavenly. People from all over talk about these hot dogs, which are called "parky" (short, I think, for párek) and are also available as "kolbaca" (like a Polish sausage).

According to a Yahoo travel site: "The ubiquitous Czech street takeaway is the hot dog or párek, a dubious-looking frankfurter (traditionally two – párek means a pair), dipped in mustard and served in a white roll (v rohlíku)."

Another guy says,

...various vendors including a tiny stall selling "parky" or hot dogs which are made uniquely in Prague. They spear the buns so as to create a cavity for the meat. They insert your choice of catsup or mustard and then the hot dog. What do you know, you don't get mustard or catsup all over you. We ought to make them this way in the states. And the price: 37 cents.

So that's my take. I know few of you can even compare to me in hot dog knowledge, but what's your favorite place to get a hot dog? Is one of the World's Greatest Hot Dogs missing from my list?

An End to the Frustration

You may have noticed that I haven't updated my blog in a while.

I pay for my blog hosting -- provided by a highly-recommended service called TypePad -- with my Visa. For a few bucks a month, I get hosting for this blog (which, by the way, can now be accessed at www.joshbarkin.com) and for all my pictures. In addition, I get this built in comments feature, lots of tools to make my blog look better and to make it easier for me to post, and an ad-free page.

My Visa was stolen last Saturday. While I was without said Visa, TypePad went to bill my credit card (which it does every month at this time). Since I'd reported my card stolen, TypePad's charges were declined, and I lost access to the blog. Now that I have a new card, the blog is back.

It was an extremely frustrating week. I had all these things to blog about, but no blog to post to. Blekh. (Well, you could see the blog, but I couldn't add to it).

Anyway, things I could have written about while I was gone:

1. I'll never watch another reality dating show again. Rachel was perfect for Adam, and he managed to make a fool for himself on national television... this goes to show that your parents always know what's right.

   In other reality show news, The Apprentice continues to kick ass, and I'm happy with the final two, though I think that at this point, the job is Bill's to lose.

2. Went to Opening Day at Dodger Stadium with my brother. Dodger Stadium is my happy place. I went back on Wednesday night with my dad and Abby. Had I had access to the blog that night, I would written more, but now I just don't have the creative energy.

3. Seders were good. Pesah is a good holiday.

Anyway, more later.

A Very Good Dodger Story

Looks like the God-of-Left-Handedness is back.

OK, Frank... You Got a GM, Now Do Me a Favor

No.	Player/Manager
1	Pee Wee Reese
2	Tommy Lasorda
4	Duke Snider
19	Jim Gilliam
20	Don Sutton
24	Walter Alston
32	Sandy Koufax
39	Roy Campanella
42	Jackie Robinson
53	Don Drysdale

LA / Brooklyn Dodgers
Retired Numbers

I know something Frank McCourt can do that would -- at least temporarily -- get Dodger fans to believe that he wants to "bring back Dodger glory": retire some uniform numbers.

Right now, the Dodgers have ten retired numbers (listed at right, assuming I got the table to work right). I think they should retire four more, as part of an elaborate celebration on Opening Day. Two of those players are alive and would most likely show up (especially since one of them has to be there anyway), and McCourt himself could extend personal invitations to the four living uniform retirees¹ to attend the ceremonies.

First, because it's just the right thing to do, Dazzy Vance should have his number, 21, retired. Clarence Arthur "Dazzy" Vance pitched 11 seasons for the Dodgers², winning in double figures all but one year. The right hander won a league-leading 28 games in 1924 and 22 games in 1925. He was the N.L. strikeout leader for seven consecutive seasons (1922-28) and was twice the ERA champion in the decade (1924 and '28). Vance didn't win his first game in the majors until after his 31st birthday, yet he went on to eight strikeout titles, 197 wins, a no-hitter, and the first National League Most Valuable Player Award.

Next, Gil Hodges should have his number, 14, retired. He was on the Dodgers from 1947 until 1961, and started at first base for 14 straight seasons. He appeared in eight All-Star games (seven straight, 1949-1955), won three straight Gold Gloves (1957-1959), and led the league in sacrifice flies twice. If it weren't for the 1961 expansion draft, which sent him to the Mets, he would have been a career Dodger. He deserves a place in the Hall-of-Fame, and the Dodgers should show their support for his cause by rightfully retiring his number.

Fernando Valenzuela deserves to have his number, 34, retired. His 1981 season is one of the best ever by a Dodger pitcher, and certainly was the best ever by a Dodger rookie. In that year, he won the Rookie-of-the-Year Award and the Cy Young, led the league in IP, shutouts, and complete games and was second in wins. He was elected to six straight All-Star games (1981-1986), won 21 games in 1986, and was a member of the Dodgers for 11 seasons.

Last, the Dodgers ought to retire No. 55 in honor of Orel Hershiser, who, in addition to his brilliant performance in 1988, put up amazing numbers for a string of six years (1984-1989, in which he racked up a 98-49 W-L record, and had ERAs below 3.0 four times). In '88, he won the NL Cy Young Award (after going 23-8 with a 2.26 ERA and winning the award unanimously) and a Golden Glove, as well as being named both the NL Championship Series MVP (1-0, 1.09 ERA in 24.7 IP with a win, a save, and a complete game shutout in Game 7) and the World Series MVP (2-0, 1.00 ERA in 18 IP with two complete games and seven hits allowed). Of course, there's the 59 consecutive scoreless innings.

Anyway, this is just a fantasy for me... but I think it's a good one, and I also think it's realistic. What would the big deal be? Three of the four numbers aren't being worn anyway, and Bubba Trammel doesn't really need Vance's 21³. Imagine how cool a ceremony it could be, with video montages (I get teary eyed just thinking about it), ceremonial first pitches (again, I get teary eyed thinking of Fernando and Orel on the mound), and unveilings of four more⁴ of those giant round placques.

---

Notes
1. Tom Lasorda, Duke Snider, Don Sutton, and Sandy Koufax are the only living uniform-retired Dodgers. (This alone should be a reason to retire some 80s Dodgers' uniforms.) Koufax cut all ties with the team last year over accusations in a FOX-affiliated New York paper that he is gay, and said he'd renew those ties when a new owner took over. Now that one has, it's unclear whether Koufax wants any relationship with the team (though we could know soon... Sandy used to make yearly trips to Dodgertown during Spring Training), and he could keep staying away since FOX still owns a pretty decent-sized stake.

2. During Vance's career with the team, they were actually known by a number of names, including the Robins, Brooklyns, Bridegrooms, Superbas and Dodgers.

3. Trammel has worn four other numbers in his Major League career, all of which are available (29, 27, 33, 44). Vance, it should be noted, only wore a number on his uniform for two seasons with the Dodgers, since the team didn't start putting numbers on uniforms until 1932. Vance wore No. 15 in that year, but wore 21 when he rejoined the Dodgers in 1935. Shawn Green wears 15, and I think everyone would rather re-assign Bubba Trammell's number. Since Dazzy died in 1961, we can't ask him what he thinks.

4. The Dodgers could actually retire a few more uniform numbers in addition to the four I mention here. A number of former Dodgers are in the Hall of Fame and do not have their numbers retired. Some barely played for the team, and are barely ever remembered as Dodgers (Gary Carter, Paul and Lloyd Waner, Hack Wilson, Juan Marichal, just to name a few) and quite a few played before there were numbers to retire (Casey Stengel, Zack Wheat, Burleigh Grimes). If the Dodgers were in the habit of retiring "honorary" numbers (like the Lakers did for Chick Hearn), there could be a lot more, but the Dodgers have enough history without having to artificially inject it. I'd argue that the only instance they should ever honor someone who doesn't wear a uniform number should be when Vin retires, and they should retire the booth and not let anyone else broadcast from it. Or something like that. Anyway, the only other number they could really retire would be Eddie Murray, who wore a Dodger uniform in four seasons (three full ones), but is really known as an Oriole. If he were spectacular with the Dodgers, I'd say retire No. 33, but he wasn't, so let Bubba or someone else wear it. I could make a sentimental argument for retiring Gibson's 23 or Scioscia's 14 (of course, I already want to retire 14 for Hodges. Scioscia did wear 12 for a couple of seasons...), but that would be uniform-retiring overkill. I say up the number to 14 and leave it there for a while.