Monday, May 28, 2012

Some of the Ways in Which Chester, Pennsylvania Is A Giant Shithole

We set out to have a nice weekend, and I suppose that, overall, we did, thanks in part to the wonderful city of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, which is not, as some might suppose, a giant shithole. We had some very nice food, and some very accommodating folk in a pub near our hotel were kind enough to dedicate a television to the USMNT friendly against Scotland (friend Goth: "...I kept finding Waldo."). Actually, the parenthetical deserves emphasis. Here you go:

It almost looks better on the women. Almost.
The numbers don't contrast well enough with the background to be seen, either live or on television, in addition to the disturbingly French Navy lilt to the shirt's overall...idiom. And yes, the women wear exactly the same shirt.

Which brings us to the city of Chester, Pennsylvania. Once upon a time, some Phunions fans serenaded us as we entered the Soccerplex, which is in every sense the home field of the Landru family, singing "Baltimore United." They shut the fuck up a whole lot when I yelled, "You live in Chester." They mostly shut the fuck up because they were laughing their asses off, having no other reasonable response. Because Chester is, in every single respect, a giant festering shithole.

We went to Chester earlier this evening because the U.S. Womens were playing the Chicoms at Phunions Park. And it was a lovely game, just lovely. The Womens gave up a goal pretty early, like in the 18th minute or so, and it was a pretty dumb fucking goal to give up, and it was pretty much all Amy LePeilbet's fault, except it wasn't, because Pia Sundhage, who I have previously admitted makes a shitload of money as a U.S. national team coach, while I don't, was playing LePeilbet at right back, which makes no fucking sense whatsoever, because LePeilbet is a fucking center back who suffered through an entire World Cup last year at left back, but is now apparently our best option at right back, which I find really fucking hard to believe. But like I said, Pia makes a shitload of money to know better than me, and frankly, the woman got the team to a fucking World Cup final, so I should probably just shut the fuck up a whole lot about that, except I can't, because that makes the stupid goal Amy LePeilbet's fault for getting turned inside out, and I don't find that to be a satisfactory conclusion, so I'm not getting to epistemic closure on this shit anytime soon.

After that, it was all cake and Alex Morgan, though Abby Wambach was inexplicably named WotM for a 1-goal performance, even though Morgan (best sign in the crowd: "Alex Morgan Used To Like Me") had two goals and an assist. The Chicoms are a speedy lot, and pretty well-drilled, though not so much as the hated North Koreans, but they're just plain fucking tiny, and well-fed, longshanked American womanhood just pretty much beat the little Commies down into the hole they deserved to be in.

And that's the last nice thing I have to say about the game. Phunions Park is a fucking shitmoat. It's on the Delaware River, right underneath the Commodore Barry Bridge, in Chester, Pennsylvania. It's a badly designed firetrap, with poorly placed concessions, ridiculously arranged seating sections and concourses, a fucking totalitarian staff, and scandalously inadequate parking and traffic access. And oh yeah, it's located in Chester, Pennsylvania. One phylum of the animal kingdom finds the location out-fucking-standing, and that's insects, because the place is built in a fucking swamp on the shores of the Delaware River. Everything else living? Not so much, because it's also built in a heavily industrial section of Chester, which description doesn't really do much to distinguish its level of shittiness from the shittiness that is the non-industrial sections of Chester, one of America's least appealling cities to begin with.

Which is, as I may have mentioned, a giant shithole. It literally smells like fucking Calcutta. There is nothing charming or useful about the city. There is an abundance of nothing around the park, except for a giant Pennsylvania Power and Light facility (appropos of which the stadium is officially named PP&L Park, which is okay, sort of, because my family has a long history of involvement with PP&L, including painting its electrical towers and making some money, back in the day, off of its stock--thanks, Grandpa) and some really foul-smelling industrial stuff. And a whole lot of urban blight.

We should've clued early; as we came down off of the highway, many less-than-scrupulous persons tried to flag us into unofficial "approved" parking areas formed from abandoned lots marked by ramshackle abandoned buildings. We were a little squeamish about that, because we had luggage in the car from our trip, so we made for the official lots. They refused to let us into the one closest to the Park, even though it was clearly marked as a cash lot, and they were collecting cash. They sent us another half mile down the road to a lot surrounding the aforementioned PP&L facility.

Let me describe the geography. The Park sits on a more-or-less east-west road that runs by the river. There are two north-south streets that lead up to a single east-west road (PA 291) that feeds back into the highway that leads to New Jersey or I-95. We got sent well to the west of the park. Fine. Whatever.

Here's where we get to the part about the fucking ineptitude of the PP&L Park staff, and most especially the inexcusable incompetence of the fat, stupid, mongoloid, hydroencephalic retards who populate the Police Department of the City of Chester, Pennsylvania. When we exited the far lot, we got sent west, to the westernmost access to the north-south street that leads up a few blocks to PA 291. We had to go east on PA 291 to get back to the highway. We spent 55 minutes tracking back to the highway access.

Why, you ask? Because the fucking dumb shits who constitute the Chester PD were blocking one lane of two-lane PA 291 to let out all of the traffic from the easternmost stadium lots, leading to a 55-minute backup for anyone forced to go the way that the PP&L Park staff and the Chester PD told them to go.

I suggest doing crimes in Chester, Pennsylvania, because the fucking Chester PD is too fucking stupid to solve the mystery of how traffic works.

In conclusion, I have a number of people to insult:

Fuck you, Mayor John Linder of Chester, Pennsylvania, you fucking inept, lying hack. Mayor Linder, on the city's Web site: "Chester is a regional transportation hub with direct access to major roadways..."

Not when your retarded Yankeecracker police force blocks that access, you dumb shit. Fuck you.

Fuck you, Police Commissioner John Bail, of the Chester Pennsylvania Police Department, you fucking inept, lying hack. Commissioner Bail, on the city's Web site: "We are members of an elite and highly trained profession: law enforcement."

Yeah. You're the least elite and most untrained members of the profession, but yeah, sure, technically you're members of that profession. Let me make this clear for you, Commissioner Bail:  Your officers are fat, stupid, inattentive, and poorly trained at traffic management, a pretty basic police function in an urban environment. They couldn't stick their fingers up their fat asses and pull them away smelling of shit. I got a clue as to how fucking clueless you are when I found, on your Web page on the city's site, numerous mentions of places you've travelled in becoming an anti-terrorism expert, many of which, like Mumbai, India, have absolutely no traffic control whatsoever.

But wait, there's more, you fat hack: it's great that you're actually a fucking legacy commissioner, you're fucking Flounder. And you've chosen to build your career, in fucking Chester, Pennsylvania, on antiterrorism expertise? What a fucking maroon. Terrorists aren't going to touch Chester; it's already fucking wasted.

Fuck You, Chester, Pennsylvania, and Fuck You, PP&L Park. It'll be fucking cold day in Hell when I spend money in your city, or your stadium, ever again.


purplestate said...

I've got your epistemic closure right here, cupcake.

Jim H. said...

yep, 'epistemic closure' was the best line of this fine rant. I'm, unfortunately, ballless and can't rant worth fuck. But godammit I love a good one, and this was that.

Begging forgiveness ahead of the flame war this will inevitably start but I thought AW got MotM. Weak, sexist attempts at humor aside, I love the USWNT. Thanks for that account for those of us who didn't get a chance to see it.

Now, getting back to a previous matter: Do you consider Landycakes a true 10? I know he owns the number on the USMNT. Messi, no doubt fills the bill. And hey, a hat trick plus an assist, and he didn't have Dempsey to work off of and to.

Oh, and when I was Edinburgh last summer, I was informed in no uncertain terms that the two top sports everywhere in country (except Glasgow) were rugby and golf. This is the kind of drubbing our boys are expected to dispense regularly if they are going to make any progress internationally.

Oh, and is the US v Brazil really going on in Landover on Wednesday? You better fucking be there and report back.

Sasha said...

The kits? Are execrable.

You gotta work on that repression thing you're doing.

Landru said...


Yes, Jim, Abby got WotM; I found that inexplicable. Abby had a good game; Morgan had a better one.

I'm dismayed by the number of footy fans who spurn the womens' game. I find them to be insufferable assholes.

I have reached epistemic closure on Landycakes, and it's not a nice closure. That said, I think he's most effective playing from one side or the other. Obviously, he's more comfortable on the right. I don't think he's a true 10, though he gives it a run every time he's forced into the role.

You will find your DC homies unwilling to give the Redskins money so that we can see Brazil. Sorry.

Bulletin from Clan Keith: If it ain't Glasgow, it's shite.

Y'know, Jim, you're welcome to write to the blog address so we can have conversations more completely. I haven't been able to find an address for you. If that's not your style or speed, no worries, it's just occurred to me to write you a time or two.

Gothmog said...

Alex Morgan is the shit, end of story. So is Abby Wambach. It's a good game when the argument is over which of them deserves WotM.

And a single photo of those hideous kits doesn't do justice to the horror of a pitch (or worse, a stadium) full of them.

E7 said...

I've been to Chester. I've been to Calcutta. You owe Calcutta an apology.

Ugly-ass kit...

Jim H. said...

Rectified @ WoW = langame[dot]wow@gmail[dot][you know]. Thanks for that.

Clan MacNeacail says Yuppie Glaswegians can climb a heathered hill where we'll gladly lift our proud tartans so they can kiss our Highlands arses. Lovely Keith itself is, of course, Speyside, on the whisky river.

Turns out the Brazil match is going to be streaming on the interwebs ESPN3.

So, wearing the number 10 doesn't necessarily make you a ten. But makes you a wannabe 10.

Landru said...

No idea how the forebears of ancient Robbie and Jim (not Keiths, but one of the families associated with the clan) ended up over in Glasgow, but that's where they embarked for Pennsylvania and New Jersey in 1895. In fact, I've no clue about any of the Old World branch of that side of the family, which is my paternal line. The maternals are all Germans, so of course we know every fucking thing in the world about them. Or we would, if I listened to that third cousin drone on at those family gatherings I avoid like short gingers.

It's usually easy to get me to take cheap shots at Landycakes, it really is. But I'm not sure when he last wanted to be a ten. He may still think of himself as one, I dunno. But the true ten...I guess religious icons should be rare, huh?

Landru said...

Yikes. Accidentally posted that under the gmail account that includes my real name. If you were paying attention between 7:13 and 7:16, you know my secrets.

Jim H. said...

I saw about 15 mins of promising footieball when Dempsey was out running with Donovan, pressing, shooting on-goal. Bradley shone (and not just his head). Brazil's dominance in mid-field was simply embarrassing. Their goals were sheer brilliance. Beaten badly we were.

Wifey's uncle was titular clan head. Thus, we wear the tartan. Me mum's family got run out of Scotland early and settled in Ulster 'til they got run out of there, too, and landed in Appalachia. I suspect we don't have much longer there either. Hell, my family's been run out of some of the best countries in the world.

Anonymous said...

You got your racism all wrong.

It's the blacks, not the whites, who make Chester a shithole.

It was a nice, productive town when whitefolks still lived there.

But you wouldn't know that, coz all you do is drive around expecting to be blown by the locals.