That is some seriously hack Photoshop work, but G.W. is watching from above the dugout, and the Mick is I guess batting fifth. I wonder who has had the most drinks? This is the kind of printing/proofing horror that would cause me to lose my job, much like the rumor of certain photographers giving Scarlett Johannson a sixth finger on a recent ad campaign that made me look at everything eight times.
I can't think of The Mick ever without remembering the time Sparky, Shellie and I went to Cooperstown in the dead of winter. As we were checking into our motel, the clerk asks us who we are there for and Shellie, in deadpan New York accent (although she's from Dayton), says "Fuckin' Numba Seven. The Mick." Still funny.
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