J00sterJournal: Howdy Y'all Part 1: Deuce, Strike, and Fried Chicken

Labor Day, that glorious celebration of no parental leave, health insurance that vanishes with your outsourced middle management job, and Piketty's dismal r is greater than g equation, marks the official end of summer in the Big Apple. Luckily the hazy days of late summer are also marked by two of New York's biggest sporting events: the U.S. Open at Flushing Meadows and the business end of the Yankees' chase for yet another pennant.

Looks like old man Federer left his geriatric racket behind.

As the sun sets over the glittering Manhattan skyline it feels like the whole world is converging on the fabled center court of Arthur Ashe. Sampras, Agassi, Graf, Federer: legends are born under the blazing floodlights of the night session at the U.S. Open.

In case of alien attack try the Mercedes corporate box, the odds are good that Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith are already on the premise. All the other celebs are too, but do you really want to leave the world's fate in the hands of a Kardashian?

With the Djoker making quick work of his hapless opposition on his way to the 2015 U.S. Open title it's time to move from the hard courts to the pitcher's mound. Except there's an ice cream stand in the way. Not a mention a lavish seafood buffet, burger bar, and roast beef carvery. The Legends Suite at Yankee Stadium is all the proof you need that salary caps are for losers. Yankees to Cincinnati: our oyster tower is worth more than your starting lineup.

Thanks to JT for the best seats in the stadium, to get any closer to the action you'd have to be on roids.

New York loves a good redemption story. Plus, centaurs sure do know how to rock the pinstripes.

Facing the first pitch of his first at bat Arod casually strides up to the plate, casts a disdainful eye at the mere human on the pitching mound, and blasts a monster homer deep into the balmy New York evening. As Trump would say, he's a winner, and New York likes winners.

See you in the playoffs TwoPhatKiwis!

A present from Brett Gardner!

How ya'll doing? With the long weekend's sporting festivities wrapped up it's time to head down south where the chicken is fried, the folks are friendly, and the peach iced tea is waiting on a breezy porch. Welcome to Charleston, South Carolina ya'll

Eating for two never looked this good. Charleston has become something of a foodie destination, who's ready to go foraging for some grits?

The best way to see the town hasn't really changed in 300 years. Hitch up the carriage folks and remember to tip your tricorn hat to the ladies.

Main Street USA. Back in the day Charleston was the richest port per capita in the U.S. and it still shows in the immaculate colonial architecture lining the streets.

Everyone comes to Charleston to ogle the lavish southern mansions. There's a serious case of my porch is bigger than your porch going on down here.

Heads up lads, this is Southern Belle territory.

Who needs a Telsa charging station when you can open a bag of oats?

Nothing says hipster like The Ordinary, an old bank converted into one of the town's foodie hot spots. It's a win-win because after imbibing a dozen oysters and a cocktail or two here you won't have any cash left that's needing a bank vault anyway.

The best way to work off a pile of deep fried southern goodness is to stroll the mansion-lined streets of the old downtown. Carbo-loading is easy when everything comes with a biscuit and a side of grits.

Evidence that SEC football wasn't always the official religion in these parts.

Now that's some Southern Hospitality ladies!

Husk, widely considered the restaurant that launched Charleston into the foodie stratosphere, is still going strong a decade after it kicked off the town's dining revolution. Their bar next door, a moody, wood-paneled speakeasy, is the kind of place where cotton futures and secession mixed with bourbon and cigars.