Namein' Names and Winning Games and I have Brains and Why They Don't and Dead and Co. In Saratoga Springs, New York, and What a Stupid, Dumb Occult! Satan wins? He won't. Killing Me don't make it so.
- gradedbaseballcards
- 1 day ago
- 20 min read
J.J.,
What"s up.
Damn some fucking shithead who works at this jail just erased a 2-hour email I just typed to you in which I said please share it with Z. and with T. if you talk to those two, and please share with whomever else you want to, as many people as possible (except Stefan Erickson please, don't share it directly with Stefan, but I don't care if he gets it some other way).
I'm not frustrated, intimidated (of course not), or defeated because whomever it was at this jail deleted my two hours of work just now.
I typed it very well, and maybe this time I will also.
I'm going to say the same shit again, so here goes.
Here's what I said that was erased:
When I first got into this jail on December 3, I was downstairs, and -- just for kicks -- I was shouting quite dramatically and loudly -- "I have been crucified by the F.C.C.! I have been crucified by the F.C.C.! I've been crucified by the F.C.C.! And I'm not even Jesus!"
LOL.
It wasn't even important; it was just shouting for no real reason.
So, someone who works here is my guess, took what I was saying at face value and seriously, and they must have placed a phone call to the F.C.C. in D.C.
Maybe they asked the F.C.C. if it had been crucifying people.
I don't know.
So, the bad part is, a day or two later, every prisoner in the jail here got an email from the sergeant who runs the jail saying she was very surprised to learn that day -- that the F.C.C. was immediately disallowing the 4 free 1/2 an hour video calls prisoners get every week with their contacts.
Government busybodies at the F.C.C. with nothing better to do than take away free video calls from jail prisoners at Christmastime most likely; and only because they passively accepted a phone call from the jail and are government busybodies. Alas, and alack.
OK, continuing on.
Story #1, concerning Vietnam:
Some of my drinking buddies were in Vietnam and they were told by their superior officers or whatever that if they dropped their cigarette on the jungle floor, to blow the dust off of it, because it was harmful.
But that was before agent orange was disclosed as being poisonous. So -- the Pentagon generals obviously knew.
Alright, I said that story better the first time around.
Story 2, concerning Vietnam
Like Freshman year in high school a person who was in what Tupac Shakur would later term the "junior mafia" in some songs, was ranting and raving to me in the parking lot at the school, about some guy he knew named Sealy, the heir to the Sealy mattress fortune.
The Junior Mafia guy was going on and on about what a justice-seeking, literally righteous, badass and truly good person his man Sealy was. He made the guy named Sealy out to be like superman himself who rescued little children from lions and wolves, like Sealy could "Leap tall buildings in a single bound," and he was "Faster than a speeding bullet," and all that crap.
So, I have almost a photographic mind. So -- I remember that strange diatribe the Jr. mafia high school student went on.
Then, in sophomore or junior year of high school, a new class is scheduled. Every day in the afternoon we have to sleep through "Social Justice Class" and it is taught by a little twerp with a goatee and an asinine smirk across his thief-like face, Mr. Sealy.
He was a short little guy with hair to his shoulders who thought he was hot shit.
He would often put me on the spot in his class, but I always made him look foolish. I remember one time he was more skeptical than anyone I have ever met about anything before when I said I used to get dehydrated in Indiana.
"You, dehydrated? How would you know?" He asked, sarcasm dripping down his brow.
So anyway, he was a major screwball and a schmuck.
Now, fast forward to three years after high school, in 1996.
There was that dimly lit bar, with old carpets, near the Baskin Robbins in McLean. Do, y'all know it?
J.J., you and I used to shoulder-tap customers who frequented that bar when they went to 7-11 to get 24-packs of beer out of them. I forget the name of the bar. I rarely ever went in there, but in 1996, I went in one afternoon, and I ran into a good friend of mine who fought in Vietnam.
Shoulder Tapping with J.J. War Story Link CLICK HERE -- "War Story #8 McLean VA 'Shoulder Tapping' for Beer on a Weeknight, with J.J., Chasing Down Some Rednecks in a 1970 Orange Ford Mustang Who tried To Steal Our Beer, & Taking our Beer Back at the C.I.A."
So, we sat down and had 1 or 2 plastic pitchers of Miller Lite. And my friend and I were drinking and shooting the shit, when in walks the self-righteous, God's gift to planet Earth, and the heir to the Sealy mattress fortune himself, high school "Social Justice Class" schoolteacher, Mr Sealy.
He stands there awkwardly like some overage chaperone at a high school keg party, and he stammers, "You two don't actually know each other, do you?!"
I forget what I said to him, but the guy was no super action hero saving the planet, serving out justice, and advancing the American way of life, at all, and my buddy there who fougt in Vietnam is.
100%. And that's a true story.
Alright that was the content that got erased last night that I have rewritten now, J.J.
My court tomorrow was just cancelled due to snow coming to the D.C. area on Monday.
When I was five years old, my Dad read me a poem by the American poet, Robert Frost, and it is my favorite poem by anyone ever. Here it is. I always thought it was called "The Road Less Travelled By" but it is actually "The Road Not Taken"
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long. I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear.
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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Pretty cool right? I bet Z. likes that one.
Here's one I wrote. I love y'all.
We don't care about money
And we don't care about houses
And we don't care about nothing,
But our posse from McLean
We don't care about Teamsters
And we don't care about truckers
And we don't care about unions
You stupid motherfuckers.
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And here's one I wrote last night called "Not My Kind of Woman", (Sung to the tune of "Moonlight Drive" by the Doors). This is a really good one J.J. and oh man are the people in my family guilty of dasterdly deeds, you don't know anywhere near the half of it bro, holy shit man! But guess what. I think when you, me, T., and Z. die, we'll go to Heaven. Am I right T.?
But J.J. you don't know about it I don't think.
(Some other people know they are going to Hell when they die, they think, no matter what. That makes them extremely dangerous, and innocent people get killed, some of whom I loved, one of whom, I was in love with, just because they hate someone, me).
People who consciously sell their souls in some certain way they do that I don't know or want to know about have no love, only hate, and the ones I know are sooooo unhappy and pissed off all the time, it's amazing, They might have millions and millions of dollars, which a lot of the ones I am talking about do, but they are filled with seething rage and resentment all day long, which is the opposite of what I have. I have love. So, this is called "Not My Kind of Woman," I wrote it last night, and it can be sung to the tune of "Moonlight Drive" by The Doors:
Not My Kind of Woman By Patrick Daniel Tyrrell
My mother is an evil slut, bitch, and a hooker an unhappy sad little witch and a sucker!
Well, I'm not any of those things n' I, love my life.
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Reading that, you might think I hate my mother, but I hate no one.
I am just warning people about sheer evil. and it's not a joke.
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Lemmy Kilmister of Motörhead was diagnosed with a brain tumor and Motörhead recorded an awesome song before he died a few days after being diagniosed, it is called "One More Fucking Time." Have You Heard it J.J.? On"One More Fucking Time," Lemmy Kilmister sings--
"And if I would have been a bad man,
You would have seen the good in me,
You would have seen the other,
The good man I could be,
But since I am a good man,
And it was all the same,
Nothing I could do. . .
Nothing I could do. . ."
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Check out my website https://rocknrollconcerts.com
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Hey J.J. did you know I'm a Mulato? That's what I prefer to be called, not white, not black of course, but Mulato.
I was raised on a lake in Northern Indiana, Eagle's Creek Lake, by my grandmother, where they later built the Deer Creek stadium.
My grandparents' house was on the lake, and my mother dropped me off there from southern Indiana most every weekend. I sat on the dock all day from sunup to sundown, fishing on the lake with my grandmother, Betty Mathews, by my side, whose skin was brown.
Check this out, it's quite the bomb:
When my grandmother, whose maiden name was Jackson, moved to Indianapolis with my grandfather from where she came from, Gary Indiana, where she lived after supposedly being born in South Dakota originally, she brought with her a bank note that a bank issued in the Great Depression.
She told the stupid Indiana racist people that her father was the president of the bank, and that in the great depression, the bank issued its own money, and they put the president of the bank's picture, who was a man named Mr. Jackson, on the bank notes and she had at least one, maybe more of these bank notes with the Jackson, she told her new neighbors was her father's picture on it.
And of course, the president of the 1930s bank photographed on the 1930s independent banknote with his name, 'Jackson', also printed on the banknote was a white guy.
It's a good thing my gramma, Betty Mathews' plan worked; because Indiana was a hotbed for the Klu-Klux-Klan, and that was, like, the 1940s, I think.
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Now check this one out.
The mighty RFK stadium will now be returned to its former glory.
Bobby Kennedy was a great American who took on Jimmy Hoffa and the Unions so that's why.
I have been working on this for at least a year now. You might not believe me. But it made me sad to see that awesome stadium in dilapidated disrepair, the place where all those classic Grateful Dead concerts in the 1990s were, and where the Guns N' Roses, Metallica, & Faith No More concert happened.
That is why I am glad RFK Stadium is being restored, and The Redskins will play at the site again there.
I would drive by the abandoned RFK stadium when driving for Lyft or Uber early in the morning, at daybreak, or at sundown, sometimes in a misty rain -- and I'd see it -- like sticking up out of the earth -- dilapidated, rusty, and rundown like some metal behemoth Roman Coliseum meant to hold giant robots in prison garages that a bomb had struck and made everything haywire and jagged metal or something. . .
The parking lot was still there, empty and desolate, a few trees on grassy sections. And I'd think as I'd drive by, "This is where that parking lot and that stadium were filled with over 100,000 American teenagers, and I was one of them, at Grateful Dead concerts in the D.C. summers of 1991-1994.
I also saw Guns N' Roses/Metallica/and Faith No More play there in 1992 or 1993, and that was awesome too.
And I used to see Redskins games there in the 1980s, where great athletes like John Riggins, Joe Jacobey, Doug Williams, Dexter Manley, and Dave Butz won football games.
Yeah, I would drive by there at daybreak, or dusk in a misty rain sometimes and see it there -- like some rusty, condemned remnant behemoth of a bygone era -- and it still looked awesome.
So, it will be restored. Welcome.
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I talked to John Mayer of Dead and Company recently.
I told him, "You guys did the 'The Final Tour, 2023'. Now," I told him "It's time for. . .'The Last Big Stadium Tour, 2025'."
John Mayer liked the idea. Actually, he loved the idea.
Unfortunately, Bobby Weir is The Big Cheese I think, and Bobby might prefer wearing a fuck'n tuxedo, and playing with an orchestra instead; God knows why.
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Hey, let me tell you some stories about the awesome times I had on tour with Dead and Company in the summer of 2023, J.J. And I hope you will forward this email to T. and Z. if you can, and to anyone else you want to send it to, (besides Stefan). Could you please send it to me also? So I have it when I get out of jail? Thanks a lot bro. My email address is what123123@yahoo.com.
"The Day Groundhog's Day, Father's Day, and Halloween All Collided as One Day On the Same Day in Saratoga Springs, New York, at a Bobby Weir and Dead and Company Final Tour Concert in 2023" (c) 2025 By Patrick Tyrrell and RockNRollConcerts.com
I woke up on Father's Day, June 2023, it was 4:00 a.m. in the morning and I had no plans for the day.
I would not remember it was Father's Day until much later in the day, when I would be many hundreds of miles North, far up the East Coast, in the mountains. (I think the mountain range is called the Adirondacks).
Mickey Hart, Bobby Weir, and Dead and Company had played a concert the night before, night one of a two-night set at the SPAC venue, which is a huge amphitheater located in a forested part of Upstate New York, in the town of Saratoga Springs (where I heard on the radio the potato chip was invented J.J., but that is beside the point).
I thought tickets to night #2 in Saratoga Springs, New York would be too pricey, but I checked on my computer in my bedroom in Northern Virginia with the predawn glow outside my window. Somebody had a lawn ticket listed that was cheap, so I snapped it up, I took a ten-minute shower; and by 4:30, I was in my car heading north through D.C.
I drove past Baltimore, past Philadelphia, past New York City, and through the mountains of Upstate New York, making use once or twice of the vast New York State rest areas to fill up on coffee and gasoline.
About eight hours later, at half past noon, I rolled into the tree-filled national-park-like SPAC venue parking lot. Just as I was entering the parking lot, my cellphone rang.
"Pat, it's Dad, what are you up to?" It was then I remembered it was Father's Day, "Where are you?"
"Hey, Dad. Happy Father's Day. You know where I am? I'm just pulling into the parking lot in Saratoga Springs, New York. I am here to see a concert, what are you doing? Where are you?"
"Well, I'm on my way to the airport. My wife and I will be touching down in London in a few hours."
"OK, have fun" I told him, and I parked my car.
As I stepped out of my automobile, a huge furry beast walked out from under the car parked next to me and stood on its hind legs greeting me. It was literally at my feet. I half-expected it to stick out its paw and shake my hand.
"It's a groundhog," I thought to myself.
"Hey," I asked a girl and motioned towards the animal, "Are groundhogs like squirrils here?"
"What?, No," a Deadhead girl wearing a summer dress said, "But that is one, hey what's your name?" I think she asked the groundhog.
The DeadLot was packed with members of the Upstate New York Deadhead scenes, and people were being cool.
I stayed 100% sober as I did all summer long of 2023 at all five Dead and Company shows I went to.
After spending a few hours walking around the lot, people started heading towards the amphitheater. There was a long line to get into the entrance of the SPAC, and hunger and thirst is what I had.
Someone could have made a good profit selling grilled cheeses to the line, but there was no such luck.
When I was crossing the bridge to get to the venue, the line was still packed, and I looked down at the highway below.
Suddenly, four black SUVs pulled over on the shoulder under the bridge. Guys wearing tie-dye t-shirts and black Ray-Ban sunglasses jumped out of the four doors of the four SUVs. Turning towards a long, grassy hill, adjacent to the highway, where the bridge connects to the side closest to the SPAC venue -- they all charged up the grassy hill -- obviously as a part of a preconceived plan.
Then, in almost military formation, the little platoon of Upstate, New York Dead and Company fans organized themselves directly in front of the SPAC entrance, showed their tickets at the gate, and they disappeared inside the show.
It took me a while longer, but eventually, I got inside the show myself.
My ticket was a lawn ticket. I made my way to the front of the lawn. The New Yorkers were being cool.
In a little while, Bobby Weir, John Mayer, and Mickey Hart, and the rest of Dead and Company came out on the stage and kicked off the show with "Hell in a Bucket," directly followed up with a moving "Sugaree" with John Mayer on the vocals. The joint was jumpin'.
At one point, an individual who was one of the ones who had stormed up the grassy hill, and who was one of the non-teenagers amongst them, walked through the packed crowd near me. One of his hands was extended straight in front of the center of his sternum.
"Can I get through . . .hi, pardon me, can I get through here, can I just scoot, hello, can I squeeze . . .".
He went on until he was situated with the other members of his tie-dye clad, Ray-Ban wearing family who were a little ways in front of me, lower on the lawn.
The show was great. On a song called Sampson and Delilah, I decided to utilize my incredible voice box and vocal cords which are among the loudest I have ever heard.
"Hey-Hey, Mickey! ! ! !" I belowed , which I think scared the heck out of percussionist, Mickey Hart.
That's the impression I got -- that Mickey was scared.
After all, it's not like Mickey can carry a firearm to protect himself with while he's playing his drums.
People would have thought I was an asshole for screaming, "Hey-Hey, Mickey! ! ! !" except I smiled, and all was forgiven.
The band next went into a chilling Drums-Space, which, on the other side of, "Death Don't Have No Mercy, In This Land," emerged.
"What the f%%%%? This is not on the setlist. Do we have you to thank for this?" The dad of the SUV hill-charging family asked.
"Yup, that's right," I indicated.
Bobby Weir's performance on the song could not have been better. People should listen to it.
Next, another amazing thing happened. The band broke into "Throwing Stones" and it contained lyrics the Grateful Dead when they had Jerry Garcia with them did not sing. The lyrics go like this, and I had not heard them before:
"Money green, it's the only way . . .You can buy. . .the whole damn government today."
When I heard Bob Weir sing that, I exploded my vocal muscles into a "YEAH!" The whole SPAC venue followed my 'Q', and vibrated the SPAC building's architecture with their screams, erupting loud as hell, fuck yeah.
That is not the part of the song where the crowds used to react like that in the 1990s. It was a different part of the song then -- where they would cheer about saving the planet -- not about bribing the U.S. government.
But it is where tens of thousands of New Yorkers were letting loose now, in the summer of 2023, in Saratoga Springs, New York. = Right on.
Something else happened during "Throwing Stones."
An old hippy with a white ponytail was wearing a white and blue T-shirt popular at the show with people who looked like him. It read "Pranksters Not Gangsters'.
The man had a huge number of blankets and straw mats covering the ground that otherwise was packed with concertgoers in very close proximity to each other.
"Stop it, you're breathing on me," the old sourpuss complained.
"Stop bumping into me," he demanded.
I told him his blankets and straw mats were taking up about an acre and that people were bumping into me also and to chill out.
He was like, "My friends are coming back to sit on these mats."
"No, they're not." I told him.
There was no way they could get down there because it was too crowded.
Halfway through "Throwing Stones" the man finally capitulated. He packed up all his mats and blankets and trudged off stormily for the exits.
"Hey Look Everybody," I shouted, "There is lots of space here! And we can dance here!"
The empty space on the lawn was soon filled by old school heads who were on tour in the 1990s with the Grateful Dead and still looked young.
Sugar Magnolias was played.
And then, to make a rockin' ass 2023 Dead and Company show even more rockin' ass and unusual, the encore hit catching everyone by total surprise, by what it was.
It was not October 31st. We were not in London. This was not the Jerry Garcia Band.
But, for the only time on The Final Tour of 2023, a well-known Warren Zevon melody and hit song -- well known and beautiful -- emanated in stereo from the stacks of amps on stage and audio equipment.
The band played "Werewolves of London". It was Rock N' Roll at its finest.
And Touchdown.
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Visit rocknrollconcerts.com frequently and tell all your friends,
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The people of Saratoga Springs, New York have an unwritten rule about not playing music in the parking lot after the show, but I don't care about unwritten rules. I cranked it up.
Quite appropriately if I do say so myself, "My Gypsy Road, Can't Take Me Home," is what was loud in my car speakers as I drove my black Kia Soul car away into the tepid, cool, forested, summer night with the people in the other cars all energized by the rock concert Dead and Company had just put on.
It is true, they mess with us real bad as children, and so no mere road can take us home ever, and a house is not a home -- but someday -- The Lord Jesus Christ will lead all of us Home to Heaven.
(c) Copyright Patrick Tyrrell and RockNRollConcerts.com
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What else you want to know about?
Here is the story of another great Dead and Company concert I drove to on the Final Tour in summer 2023, Noblesville, Indiana, where my grandparents used to live.
Dead and Company, 2023, The Final Tour, The Ruoff Music Center in Noblesville, Indiana, 2023
I was born in the Indiana University town of Bloomington Indiana.
My grandparents lived almost two hours north of Bloomington, in Noblesville, Indiana, on Eagles Creek Lake.
I spent most weekends on the lake there, fishing and having a great time with my grandparents until I moved away to Northern Virginia, when I was 12.
They later built a stadium there called Deer Creek amphitheater, which has recently been renamed Ruoff Music Center, I think.
In summer 2023, Dead and Company were on their final tour.
I hadn't planned on going to any shows, but I caught one in North Carolina on May 31st with my bro, Nick Rahall, and the band sounded so good, that the Indiana one at Deer Creek near the end of June would be my 5th show of the tour.
I got in my cherry black 2022 Kia Soul LX at around midnight two days before the concert.
By 8:00 a.m. I was chatting on the phone with a friend of mine in Virginia from a Starbucks Parking Lot in Indianapolis, which is unheard of -- eight hours from D C to 'Nap Town'. And no speeding ticket.
I later checked into a hotel in Fishers Indiana, and the next day, I headed to the concert n Noblesville, Indiana.
So, it felt so good to be back in the cornfields which is what I told a lot of people I met there. there are cornfields surrounding the Deer Creek venue, now called the Ruoff Music Center.
My buddy Nick Rahall called me and asked me what I wanted to hear Dead and Company play and I told him, I hadn't heard them play Wharf Rat yet, and that would be cool.
So, the concert was great, I was dancing like a madman,and it was great they still talk about it in Noblesville to this day.
I was going to type the story of Mike Albright, the partial stadium owner who messed with me, but I've written it before on my Facebook page, and I'll probably record a video speech about it some day and put that on https://rocknrollconcerts.com when I get out.
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Alright dude, I guess I'll finish by saying there is -- I believe-- something called a tempest at work in America, and it may be really bad news. I know Courtney Love knows about it and is kind of scared of it. I hung out with Courtney at a bar called Bennigans at Tyson's Corner in May of 2000. I think she's doing alright these days. I don't know.
But you know the Lord of The Rings where that guy named Worm Tongue or someone has control of the king's mind, and the king is, like, a decrepit zombie?
Dude. I don't think all the Worm Tongues who are often women are doing it on purpose but so many people are like that zombie king.
A lot of it is from the way people are using technology and I betcha' Nick agrees with me on some of that. Nick is a smart guy in a lot of ways.
But it's really fucked up.
I am in serious trouble for example because I talk using the English language.
It's fucked up.
Like dude, if they want to complicate things just to be evil, I am not going to waste any of my time communicating on such a lying level because I am not a liar, and I decide what I will discuss with liars like who they are, or with non-liars, and about what, if anything, I will say to a liar. I am the one who doesn't give a fuck. I've done more than my share fighting their sorry asses of the deushebag haters of humanity. Somebody else can take over now. Other people, including judges can pretend liars and me have the same credibility, I don't care. And I wish, I wish, the f%#!#!@!@#%g judges were authorized to give me the Damn Electric Chair -- those fucking pussies OMG! They're destroying America. And I just don't. Yeah, I mean I speak English, the only way I get in trouble is when the liars who studied law pretend English is not a language and English is just some words that lawyers know and debate about with each other.
They Dream of owning The English Language.
So, Give Me The Damn Electric Chair. F!@$!'n idiots!
So f%%$k 'em, J.J. Let them throw me in prison, as they pretend my English sentences mean things English doesn't mean.
And the stupidist, assholes, with law degrees can inherit the Earth.
Imagine how evil and unessary it all would be.
If the goal wasn't to remove me from the chess board. It would make no sense. This should be self-evident to anyone who has read my War Stories by now,
The good news for the USA is behavior by perverted judges and whatnot might be isolated in a lot of ways to certain geographical locations, Washington DC. being one of the areas.
Dude, I hope my mother does not understand what horrible problems she created for the whole world.
I doubt if she knows or understands what damage she has done to the world, which you guys don't know about. If she does know, oh boy does she hate the human race.
I know this stuff does not make any sense to you, J.J., and it wouldn't hardly make any sense to almost anyone -- what I am writing about right now.
I hope there is a way to cancel these horrible spells which get cast somehow on a lot of people probably, but not on me.
My Dad probably
A guy at the Heritage Foundation definitely.
Joe Biden
So anyway dude, get this message to Z. and T. if you can, and they're welcome to redistribute it to anyone they want to.
We're secure in our sanity and we are not paranoid that someone might label us paranoid, right? Please?
Come on guys, it is fucked up how much authority motherfuckers are meted out based on just nonsense and robotic credentials.
It's terrible.
It's just awful how unalive most people staring at their phones or whatever else the case may be.
Its destructive, and it puts real bad guys in control.
I love y"all.
I've never really been in it for myself.
Peace y'all.
Patrick Tyrrell
(c) 2025 Patrick Tyrrell and RockNRollConcerts.com