Last year, my brother Chris and I were at the uninsured version of Jacobs Field, and we happened to be sitting next to a group of young women holding up signs that read, "Garko's Girls." This amused us to no end, mostly because our brother-in-law bears a startling resemblance to the Tribe's first baseman, so it allowed us to gauge the quality of groupies he would get if he played for the Indians and weren't married to our sister.
The bigger story was that there were now two groupie groups. The first, of course, was Grady's Ladies, a group dedicated to ogling heartthrob Grady Sizemore, the dimple-faced All-Star whose every move moistens women to the extent that Dick Goddard has to report vastly different humidity readings at Hopkins Airport and Jacobs Field.
But now the phenomenon was spreading to other players. Grady's Ladies...now Garko's Girls. My brother and I couldn't help but scour the stands for other potential hotties in heat, to see if they had formed a salacious sisterhood dedicated to one of the Tribe's other players.
So we started rattling off potential group names. They started out innocent enough...
* Westbrook's Women
* Blake's Blondes
* Fausto's Foxes
* Victor's Vixens
* Byrd's Chicks
And then things started getting worse...
* Hafner's Hobags
* C.C.'s Double-D's
* Dellucci's Hoochies
* Michaels' MILFs
And then things got really bad...
* JoeBo's Camel Toes
* Jhonny's Jhizzbuckets
But then I finally came up with a winner...
* Trot's Trannies
We became quite enamored with the idea of Trot's Trannies. This was shortly after Nixon had joked that they were renaming Pronkville "Nixonville", so we figured it would give Hafner the last laugh if we organized a group of guys to cross-dress and populate Nixonville with Trot's Trannies.
The idea was for my brother and his friends to sit in right field as a group of ridiculous looking cross-dressing guys along the lines of the old "Ladies Night" commercials for Bud Light. Here are some examples of the type of look we imagined...
Imagine a group like that offering, in deep voices, to give Trot some pie in the face.
Alas, despite his bold proclamations that night, my brother never did convince any of his friends to do this. As far as I know, he never even approached them with the idea. For some reason.
And now Trot is gone, meaning that a great idea has gone by the wayside, except for this wistful blog entry.