ZIP Beep #9
BOYS OF SUMMER WILL BE BOYS
by Steve Anderson

In my book, spring means baseball. Years ago we would eagerly await the coming of a new season -- fresh air, sunshine, and tailgating. To pass the time during the week or so before operning day we would conjure up dream teams. One of my favorites was the all color team featuring Lenny Green, Gates Brown, Roy White, Vida Blue, etc. Kind of corny but fun. But times have changed.

These days they put roofs on ballparks and build them without parking lots.

The ballplayers are different, too. This year we've been picking All Ripoff teams -- Steve Rogers with 1.2 million dollars last year and six wins, John Castino with 400,000 dollars and 12 hits, etc. But with the busting of Joe Pepitone and conviction of Denny McLein on drug related incidents, we have decided that the time had come to pick an All Chemical team.

At first base Daryl Sconiers of the Angels gets the nod. This youngster managed to miss the first week of spring training without telling anyone where he was, and then turned up in the hospital with a "substance" problem.

Second baseman Juan Bonilla is currently looking for a job. It seems that last year he was quoted as saying "of course he uses pot and cocaine, doesn't everyone?" Rumor has it that shortstop Andre Robertson of the Yankees was not drinking sodas or eating placebos before rolling his car at three o'clock in the morning. Andre is still trying to overcome the injuries he suffered in that accident and win a spot on the Yanks' roster.

To round out this "dream" infield I'm going to have to reach a bit and include a local boy, Paul Molitor. Molitor's name came up along with former Milwaukee teammate Len Barker in conjunction with a drug trafficking ring but nothing was ever proven. Maybe the reason third basemen are clean is the fact they get to play 90 feet away from batters like Mike Schmidt, Dave Kingman, and Eddie Murray.

The outfield contains three players who have been bona fide All Stars during their careers. Cesar Cedeno is famous for his off field antics but his performance this past winter takes the cake. After wrapping his car around a tree in the middle of the night, Cesar went after the police officer who was trying to help the staggering Cincinnati star.

Willie Wilson spent last spring training in the slammer for distributing cocaine. He was allowed to join the team after serving his time and, as a matter of fact, Willie has been offered a lifetime contract by Royals owner, Ewing Kauffman. Claudell Washington of the Atlanta Braves completes our outfield.

Last year Claudell tearfully admitted he had played the previous year and that he would never do that again. Last month he was stopped after midnight weaving down the street and lo and behold there were three grams of coke in his glove box. Since the Braves are dieing for outfielders they bought the story that Claudell had lent his car to a pal the day before and he had no knwledge of any drugs.

Picking pitchers is almost as easy as picking outfielders. Our righthanded selection is Pascual Perez of Atlanta. Pascual was busted in his home country, the Dominican Republic. He was initially charged with possession of cocaine with intent to distribute but was convicted on mere possession. After serving a month in jail he was released in time for the second month of the season and ended up leading Braves in victories. Pascual stayed in Atlanta this past winter as owner Ted Turner was taking no chances.

Our lefthander is the Dodgers' Steve Howe. Howe is responsible for Los Angeles trying to add a clause in their standard player contract allowing for spot urine testing. Howe has been in treatment three times in the past two years but he is back on the roster this year because the kid does have talent and the Dodgers, after all, did finish fourth in the N.L. West last season.

Finally Darrell Porter is our catcher. Darrell came clean about his bouts with booze and amphetamines three years ago and is still straight at this time but we did need a catcher.

Of course there are many more who could qualify for the All Chemical team, however time and space are limited for most of us.



ZIP Beep #9
HOT MICRO INTERFACEOFFS
by Gary Finseth

You've probably all see ads or even attended "hot rod tractor pulls." Now we have the electronic equivalent: "hot rod inferface blows."

A hot rod interface blow involves connecting the input/output ports of two computers back to back with something similar to ordinary automotive jumper cables, but able to carry much more current. The computers are fired up and the first interface to "blow" loses the match. Spectators are treated to some spectacular displays when "the bit hits the fan." There are three divsions: RS-232, Centronic-Type parallel and Unlimited.

The RS-232 Division is the mildest division, although the "current limiting" found in stock machines is prohibited. The real winners in this category rely not on power, but on stategically designed imcompatibilities so the standard RS-232 cable used in competition can't possibly transmit data but instead will offer the opponent the most crushing handshake possible.

The Centronics-Type Parallel Division, by contrast, is a power class. You've heard the TV ads-- "Power! Power! Power!" Huge amounts of current are used-- boards outputing 1000 amps are not uncommon. Although the voltage must not exceed 50 VDC for safety reasons, these machines still put on quite a show while each is trying to disipate a whopping 50,000 watts of current. Most systems are water-cooled and the hiss of an overheated radiator expelling steam is an early warning sign of trouble. In the Unlimited Division, anything goes and usually does. Local Area Network activity is popular, as is RGB color graphic output and even microwave links. You may want to wear reflective clothing and remain at least 1000 yards back during microwave competition.

The U.S. Hot Micro Association will be staging the second annual Hot Board Interface Blow at the Met Sports center Friday at 7:00PM. Admission is $8.50.



ZIP Beep #9
THE TREE FROM MY YARD
A friendly fauna fantasy from Timothy J. Murray


 From a lingering dream 

 Comes the tree from my yard

 Giving a wink

 For a game of cards.

 

 A friendly game of gin with a tree

 Seemed like a very different thing to me;

 But so was the doorbell on my phone...

 So I dialed the door to my home.

 

 Such a polite perennial to shake his roots

 As he entered giving my cat a cracker.

 We played the thirteen of all the suits.

 I drank liquor and he drank lacquer.

 

 We proceeded to a game of craps

 In which rolling "boxcars" 

 The tree was quite prolific.

 Of course, his family ties span the map

 On the rails of the Union Pacific.

 

 "I'm going to leave!", he said with might

 Smashing a tree-mendous hole in my ceiling!

 

 Then I raked my carpet all night...

 While the tree from my yard practiced dealing.





ZIP Beep #9
The Tag Team Match of the Century

Wrestling isn't just another sport. It's as much a manifestation of the 80's as the Stray Cats.

I remember watching Pro Wrestling from Omaha when I was a kid. Mom and I had a great time with it. The only 50's wrestler I remember now is Dr. X, who was said to have left veternary medicine for the squared circle. Then there was Joe Zwaibeck for Vern Gagne's Gerraspeed (or was it Vern Gagne for Joe Zwaibeck's Gerraspeed?). I suspect those names aren't spelled properly. No matter. Wrestling is a TV sport, not a literary one.

So what has brought pro wrestling into the open now -- and in such a big way?

Promotion. Oh, sure. The "Pro" in Pro wrestling may as well mean promotion. But it's been that way since day one. Now, there's a special type of promotion. It's a more sophisticated approach to head bashing and knee dropping. There's even a wrestling talkshow on USA Network (Tuesday Night Titans -- Rogers cable has it, I suspect the other cable organizations do, too).

Very soon, the promoters will see the need to expand even farther into the public arena. ZIP Beep, the periodical that first told you about Gerry Ferraro's pro wrestling plans, has learned of another similar project. This one promises even more gore.

Sometime late this year, we can expect to see a tag team match of astounding proportions. All of the bodyguards working for Prince, plus all bodyguards in the employ of Frank Sinatra, are slated to take on a huge group of press photographers. In a recent ZIP Beep interview, Stud Jefferson and Bugsy Carloni, bodyguards for Prince and Frank Sinatra (respectively) outlined some of their plans.

"Everybody knows what we think of those whimpy little dudes," says Jefferson. "We'll pound them to purple pulps."

"Just let one of 'em get near Ol' Blue Eyes and we'll turn them black and blue," Carloni added.

"Me and my men have seen all the flashbulbs we ever want to see," says Jefferson. "I know more ways to stuff a camera down a man's throat than you can print."

"The Paperazzi!" Carloni interjected. "Those guys make my stomach roll. And let me tell you, I've got a strong stomach! Go ahead. Hit me. Hit me really hard! Put your weight into it!"

I declined, and Jefferson picked up the conversation. "Have you ever seen a man bleed through his nostrils, Mister?" There was a pause. "Have you?" he insisted. I allowed as how I hadn't actually seen such a thing, although I do remember Mom loaning a handkerchief to my cousin Dougie when his nosebleed threatened to ruin a family outing. Somehow, I didn't think that was what Jefferson meant.

"I have, I have!" Carloni volunteered. "I've seen men bleed through both nostrils and out one ear."

Jefferson was not to be outdone. "I've MADE men bleed out both nostrils, both ears, both eyes, and every hair on their heads!"

"I've taken perfectly good human beings," Carloni interjected, "and crunched them into piles of writhing, steaming hamburger. I've taken bright, youthful, living flesh and stretched it until it snapped in two! I've jumped into the air real, real high and come down with more noise than a 747!"

I decided it was time to go and made my excuses. Neither bodyguard was happy to accept the fact that the interview had ended. Since ZIP Beep is one of the few periodicals totally unassociated with any photographic or videographic entity, there were no other reporters at the press conference.

It was a tense moment. The bodyguards seemed ready to tear into me, but I was able to avoid the confrontation when I tossed a raw sirloin to each of them and slowly backed toward the door.

No further information about the upcoming match is available now. This is one time the promoters may have overdone it.

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