Star-Spangled Spike

The Spike gets a taste of the rockets' red glare

On the last few notes, the mike started shaking. Or The Spike's hand started shaking, and the mike went with it. The adrenaline was coursing through The Spike's veins like liquefied dextromethorophan, but The Spike made it through without cracking.

And they must have been pleased, because (what a shock) The Spike was invited to sing at one of the games against the Seattle Mariners. The Spike can't tell you which one, so just go to all the games anyway.

Really. No one else has their metro area crawling with a huge chunk of the major league at the same time. If you're anything like The Spike, the long desert winter has left you jonesing for the crack of the bat, the sight of tobacco wadded with saliva dribbling into facial hair, and men in baseball pants.

But if Mariah appears again, feel free to chastise The Spike for selling out.

Spike us! E-mail spiked@newtimes.com or call 602-229-8451.

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