And Here Come The Pretzels!

Playoff Paradox

2010-10-22T10:33:00.000-04:00

The San Francisco Giants, straight from breaking my heart and beating the Padres on the final day of the season to win the NL West, have gone on a bit of a roll. They beat the Braves in 4 in the NLDS, and currently hold a 3-2 lead on the two-time NL champ Phillies in the NLCS.

All is great in the Bay Area. To wit: a story in SI.com yesterday, per Ann Killion, called "San Francisco is falling in love all over again with the Giants" (emphasis mine):

Or maybe, dude, they have other things to do instead focus on total downers. It may be that lack of obsession and self-flagellation that makes outsiders think Giants fans aren't rabid or savvy. One of the talking points of this postseason has been, "Hey, Giants fans are really into this baseball thing," as though it's somehow surprising. The Braves -- who often don't sell out postseason games -- noticed. The Phillies -- who think they have superior fans -- have noticed. The Giants fans are loud. Unlike their counterparts in Los Angeles, or the fans at the new Yankee Stadium, they stay until the end of games.

Well, sure. Sounds lovely! Giants fans rule! They- erp, what?

From the AP's game story - also found on SI.com, natch - of Game 5 of the NLCS:

Werth's solo homer in the ninth quieted the raucous sellout crowd of 43,713, and many fans began making for the exits even before the final out.

So, which is it? Are Giants fans the bestest baseball rooters on the planet, or are they so pessimistic about their team scoring two runs off probably the sketchiest closer left in the postseason that they hightail it out of a potential pennant-clinching game?

I'm so confused.

Same Old (Looney) Tunes

2010-08-31T10:56:00.006-04:00

Last Thursday, SI.com did the unthinkable: they placed the anonymous and forgotten Padres atop their power rankings, lording over the dueling AL East behemoths and, obviously, the rest of baseball.

The venerated site did this, apparently, because for the previous two and a half weeks the Friars had beaten up on 2010 lowlifes Arizona, Chicago and Pittsburgh (with a few Ws over the Giants and Brewers thrown in for good measure). Either way, at one point San Diego had won 10 of 11 and seemed like an unstoppable machine.

Whoops.

Not content to merely let their cover jinx extend to the power rankings on their website, the blurb within the power rankings alludes to the Padres' 96.7% chance to make the playoffs; according to Baseball Prospectus, best in baseball at that time. These two factors put the Padres in rarefied air - nothing but air, unfortunately.

Know how in the old Looney Tunes cartoons, a character - usually Wile E. Coyote - can run off of a cliff and continue running on air, but only until somebody - usually the Road Runner - points out the situation? Of course you do. That's where the character, succumbing to physics and a huge "Look Down!" sign, plummets comically to a dusty and deserving death. (Ok, not "death" per se, but you get my drift.)

The Padres have looked down. On Thursday, the day of SI.com posting its rankings, the Fathers lost 11-5 to the Diamondbacks, and have lost four more games since to rack up their longest losing streak of the year. They missed Roy Halladay over the weekend, at home, and still got swept by the Phillies.

That baseball-best chance to make the playoffs? Now it's the second-worst of all division leaders. Despite adding two competent bats at the deadline, the offense still struggles to score runs. During the five-game skid they've scored 5, 2, 1, 0, and 2 runs.

Are they jinxed? Who knows. This team isn't built around offense, to be sure, but the pitchers need to be bailed out every once in a while. The other shoe may have dropped, but the Padres can't look down.

They just need to keep running.

Update: Even the great Mat Latos can't save the falling Friars. Seven in a row. Yikes. NURSE! GET IN HERE, STAT! THE BLOOD, IT'S ... IT'S ... IT'S EVERYWHERE!!!

A Play, in One Act

2010-08-16T14:26:00.000-04:00

The setting: an upscale house in Kohler, Wisconsin. A little boy named Dusty enters and encounters his mom, Pag (it's an Irish name). She is unhappy.

Pag: Dusty, where have you been?

Dusty: I've been playing with some friends. It was really fun! In fact, I just came in here to get a drink, then I'm going back out to play with them again!

He moves toward the refrigerator, opens it, and gets a Gatorade. As he heads for the door, Pag stops him.

Pag: You're not going anywhere. You're grounded.

Dusty: Grounded? For what? For how long?

Pag: For two weeks. And you should know why I'm grounding you.

Dusty [lip quivering]: I ... I don't ...

Pag: Before you went out to play a few days ago, I posted a note on the garage stating where you couldn't go with your friends. One of them was a hazardous place, the dirt hills behind the bowling alley. That's where you went, and that's why you're in trouble.

Dusty: But ... but ... I didn't see any note. You didn't tell me about it. And it's not hazardous! It's just dirt! And if it's so hazardous, how come dozens of kids were playing there? And why did the Petroskeys move their weekly flea market there?

Pag: It was clearly posted.

Here they walk out to the garage. Taped to the side of it - the side facing the neighbor's fence, the side where nobody goes because there's only about 18 inches of space - is an index card with minuscule type which reads ...

Pag: "...furthermore, the dirt hills behind the bowling alley shall be off-limits, but only if the security cameras from the Conoco across 68th St. happen to place you unequivocally at the scene." Plus, your Uncle Walt knew these rules, and was out there watching over you.

Dusty: Yeah, I was going to ask about Uncle Walt. If he was out there and he knew I was breaking a rule, why didn't he tell me?

Pag: Because he can only tell you if you ask him first.

Dusty: So ... if I had known that I had to ask for help I didn't know I needed, I wouldn't be grounded?

Pag: Exactly.

Dusty walks sadly up to his room, alone.

Oh, Jesus

2010-08-09T13:30:00.000-04:00

Well, I told you - those Muslims are tough. Damn free will. Next to the platypus, it's been My biggest mistake.

I thought you didn't make mistakes, Father?

Everyone makes mistakes, Son. It's part of life. Speaking of which, remember how we were talking about how angry We get when athletes invoke Our names after wins, but never do it after losses? As if We actually cared about those games they play?

Yes, Father. I specifically remember talking about a young man named Tim Tebow.

Precisely, Son. We were fine with his outward praising of Us in college, but now that he's a pro, I've decided to show him and his Denver Broncos teammates that they should keep his deification to a minimum. Hopefully, I'll have rectified that mistake.

What did you do, Father?

Well, I ... I decimated his team.

You crashed their plane?

No, no, no. Nothing like that. I just tore their best young offensive lineman's knee apart back in April, put down their entire backfield in the span of 10 minutes on the first day of training camp, and then - this one's the kicker - took out their best defensive player just a few weeks after they signed him to a five-year extension.

Wow. That should teach them. Hey, hold on - I'm getting a picture message from a friend of mine. He's a Belgian monk, makes some great beer.

/checks phone

Oh, Me.

/shows to his Father

They should really, really think about taking the bus from now on.

Actually, Father, you know what would be worse?

What?

Turn them into Cleveland.

C'mon, Son. I'm not that mean.

It's the Thought that Counts

2010-07-30T10:39:00.000-04:00

Throughout my life, my mother has had a hard time buying me gifts. When I was little it was no problem, because if it was a toy, I played with it. No big deal.

But once I got a bit older, my mother started buying me clothes. For birthdays, for Christmas - clothes. And they were never in style at that moment, or things I liked, or they didn't fit. Basically, I can't remember one single article of clothing my mother ever got me for a gift where I was like, "Sweet! I'm gonna look awesome in this!" And then I wore it, and it totally got me chicks.

Still, I knew my mother loved me. It was the thought that counts.

I feel the same way today as a Padre fan.

Yesterday new GM Jed Hoyer traded a pitching prospect (Wynn Pelzer) for the deteriorating corpse of Miguel Tejada. Ok, that might be a tad harsh. Sure, Miggy's only OPS-ing .670 this year, with just seven homers in 401 ABs. But he's still a veritable doubles machine, and should stand to drive in some runs if the guys ahead of him can get on base.

This move means that Chase Headley probably moves to the outfield, Everth Cabrera gets sent down, and Jerry Hairston gets a lot more time at short. Hoyer has said that Tejada might see some time at short, but I don't see it. He's too old, and many of the Padres' starters induce a lot of grounders. He should either play third or maybe second, but not short. Please. Part of this team's strength is their defense, and playing a 36-year-old at SS severely hampers that. (Unless you're dreamy and can go to your left, like Jeter!)

Is Miggy the same guy who won the 2002 AL MVP? Not even close. Is he as bad as his numbers this year? I'd like to think not. Would you put up good numbers on that Orioles team? Cal Ripken rolled over in his grave so much this year he ended up in China.

This isn't a C.C. Sabathia-type move, but it's a move. It adds a little pop to the lineup and announces that the Padres are buyers. Buyers! Man, that feels good to type.

Plus, San Diego's pretty close to Mexico. They got cheap pharmacies down there, right?

LeBron James’ Decision: An Exploration in Rock and Roll songs from Chapel Hill in the 90’s-00s

2010-07-08T14:11:00.012-04:00

LeBron James’ Decision: An Exploration in Rock and Roll songs from Chapel Hill in the 90’s

Mentally, I am exhausted. I went to the woods and removed myself from civilization for a few days and came back to two jobs, overwhelming debt, an overarching sense that I am not doing anything well in my life and 14-16 hours days. Also, I came back to New York City as the go-to for a lot of my friends for “Where’s LeBron going?” talk. I’m a basketball guy. I know this. I love this. But there is only one way for me to describe to non-basketball fans how the LeBron decision affects fans in the contending cities: be as obscure as humanly possible.

So, here, non-basketball fans. This is what tonight means, as described by 90s-00s rock groups localized in the greater Chapel Hill, NC area.

LeBron spurns Cleveland:

Small (23): Steal Some Candy

Cleveland has been both a blessing and a curse for LeBron. He grew up in Ohio, has been the most beloved athlete in Cleveland (until tonight, possibly) and gave hope to a grouping of the most troubled fans ever to grace American major sports. Still, he was unable to escape his friends, focus on basketball and basketball alone, and every problem was magnified by the Cleveland populace’s rightfully-placed negativity. Thus, Small’s anthemic, driving rocker: “It’s been a couple days and I get the feeling/It’s just another sign I’ve stayed too long/ Pieces of the puzzle keep disappearing/ It’s always been a matter of what went wrong.”

LeBron stays in Cleveland:

Archers of Loaf: Underachievers March and Fight Song

Cleveland’s underdog mentality, despite not getting a championship quite yet, can finally rest a little easier. This is the time to dance and play guitars and smile at one another despite hardship. You see, if LeBron stays, Cleveland is a relevant state in the basketball-- and American sports-- union. This is their chance to hale it all. The name of this song says it all and the lyrics reflect a city with a lighthearted sigh decompressing their quickened hearts. Plus, screw the major markets. YEAH, FIGHT THE MAN. “Doomed to fall/ Smashing their evil empire up against the wall/ All for one/ One for all/ ‘Til their done with free space...” Can’t really get closer to the explanation than that.

LeBron chooses the Knicks:

Polvo: Right the Relation

Polvo wrote this song, very obviously, about their breakup when they were at the top of their collective game. “I killed my creation/ to right the relation...” This is LeBron’s thinking, if he chooses NYC. I know I left Cleveland. AI loved them, but I had to find other means; other money; other outlets. LeBron in New York makes no sense to me, but for his megalomaniacal brand-driven mindset? There’s no better course than to make the history he was destined to. Sure, Polvo’s decision was a little more ,low-key, but dramatics have little to do with an passionate choice. It’s about the moment.

LeBron spurns the Knicks:

Superchunk: Water Wings

Um, these might do:
“Was it worth the wait/ Was that the wall where you marked off the date?”
“...the wings/ Made of wax/ Made of water/ He was too dumb to accept the offer/ He was too smart”
“She pointed at the black cloud in the sky/ She said that’s what happens when you’re learning to fly/ She said with you it is no use/ Why do you try?”

LeBron chooses the Heat:

Raymond Brake: New Wave Dream

This song’s music is really what describes the mood of this move. The idea of watching Chris Bosh, LeBron and Dwayne Wade was a feverish 4 AM dream (yes, I woke up/stayed awake to see them play) in 2008’s Olympic Games. The prevailing rumor is that these gentlemen planned to play together all along. If this is true, the mathy/stop-start pacing belie the basketball fans idea of the move. On one hand, we get to see an amazing sight. On the other hand, we all know the drama surrounding each player’s decision was an underhanded and ridiculous ploy for attention. As the warbling vocals and guitar layers wash over us, the basketball fan doesn’t really know what to do with all of the new, shiny toys laying under the trees. Also at play? the fact that this band was largely ignored unless you lived in the area. Really, only Miami fans are truly excited to see this. The rest of us a cringing-- even if only just a little bit.

LeBron spurns the Heat:

Superchunk: Driveway to Driveway

This is pretty self-explanatory. The Heat already got more relevant. They got two big names, kept their superstar, and have been walking around in a haze for the last two or three days. Nice feeling, but once the hangover comes on, you realize that you spent a lot of money for a better-than-average team.

LeBron chooses the Bulls:

Squirrel Nut Zippers- Meant to Be

As an NBA fan, this is the choice I love the most. “All the time/ I’m finding ways to make things fall in line/ I know/ How tricky things can be... Listen here/ Some things are meant to be.” The Bulls have everything LeBron needs: major media outlet, money, a solid team ready to compete, a new big name, Michael Jordan’s legacy and a chance to win immediately. LeBron has everything the Bulls need (explained by the fact that he is the best player in the game right now). Unless you have a rooting interest in Cleveland, this is the move you root for if you love good basketball. This is the move you love more than you love your own teams’ chances. This is the move that makes you nod respectively and look forward to seeing a great team. those don’t always come along, and this is our chance to see one. This isn’t three big names and a slough of small contracts/filler. This is one great player, young talent and a dream of a championship. This is what we want.

LeBron spurns the Bulls:

Since Michael Jordan left, this is the general milieu. Mistakes, regret, good players floating in and out of the uniform, but nothing permanent, nothing that can compare to the high of those championships. “All of my friends have floated away/ Connect the valley to the astral plane.” Yeah, they’ll have a good team, but the (second) best player may have floated away with all their championship dreams.

So, there you have it. Each team with a real shot (The New Jersey Nets and the LA Clippers were mercifully left off this list) and the song that best describes them from a town that never really caught on. Not bad after being removed from civilization for a week. The only regret is that so many bands never made the list since the youtubes are a little more modern than their run in the 90s. Sorry, Spatula. Maybe when Carmelo Anthony makes his decision.

Oh, and for those of you bored with the whole fucking thing?

Sleepytime Trio: Not Without My (Swimmies)

No, they weren't from NC originally, but fuck it. This shit destroys.

Anatomy of Loss

2010-06-18T15:27:00.001-04:00

Once, I was taller than the sky. And now I am lower than Christ's nails. And nothing ever seems to matter until it does. And wanting to believe is more than what it is.

I digress from a point I haven't made. A month ago, I lost $2,650 in a craigslist scam. Lost everything I had and way more. Nothing good has happened since October of last year and it all culminated with my bank calling me and reporting me to a collection agency despite my pleas to live a normal life. And the Celtics were me. No, sports aren't some beautiful metaphor for life, but they are this one time. This one time, the team that played lesser basketball for most of the time won and this once the guy that just wants something good to happen-- just wants someone to believe in him and pay him for something he loves-- lost.

No, this isn't a lament for Celtics fans. We've had enough championships. No, this isn't an anti-Lakers rhetoric piece, they deserved it. Thing is, everyone deserves it. This guy I know, he works in a pizza shop and his coworker's father died and loved the Lakers. And this guy I met, he was a big Derek Fisher fan because his daughter had cancer too. And this other guy, his mother was wearing a Celtic jersey the day of her open-heart surgery. And me, I am at the end of my rope. I am bereft of feeling. I got a letter from a collection agency I didn't know in June. And instead of breaking down (see, it was a different agency that wanted money I didn't actually know I owed), I laid down on my floor and laughed. The previous night, the Celtics had blown out the Magic.

I am a man who knows bad news. I practice for it. I practiced telling my family my dad died. He was sick but recovered. I am the man who will break bad news. I am the man my family leans on and will continue to. I want to be the last man to whine about the trivialities of life. This once, though, I got selfish. Just once. Even with a -$2000 bank account, even facing homelessness, I smiled at my friends and told them I couldn't afford a beer. I was just there to support their engagement or their birthday or what have you. I saw them at their happiest and put on the brave face. I always want to do that. I just want to do that, forever.

***

I turned off my phone for the Finals. It is still off. I don't want to turn it on ever again. I can't face this news. No more bad news. Please. I am Napoleon facing his last stand, but with the news there will be more of them. I am news of bad weather for the weekend. I am the day off spent doing laundry, standing in line for the DMV, or talking to a creditor when there are better things to be doing.

I know, sports are dumb. They are pointless displays of jingoism, determinism and overall pointlessness to the societal need. I know. I am a smart man who reads books, writes poems and wants your approval. But just once, I needed something and it failed. I'm not mad or even really disappointed. To be honest, the Celtics floated above the waves, dug hard into the Earth, made lives better, while I am in flux and make my friends' lives harder by asking for couches, demand their love, make them believe in me despite my obvious flaws. I am the man that asks more than they have and the Celtics are the ones that demand more of themselves. They are better men than me because when I learned I was less than my task, I stared at my future like a gun. They gave their all and I have complained for fouls.

I should have been thrilled that the Celtics made the finals. I'm sorry I wasn't. I am sorry that I wanted more. I am sorry that I wanted more money. I am sorry I wanted to write “Zagat Reviews” (the aforementioned con was centered through them) to finally achieve my goal: to have people care that I wrote something. I am sorry that I went outside my means. Please, though, I don't want to be sorry that I cared about something trivial. It was just that, for once,. I got to talk about something people cared about. They wanted to hear me talk about basketball. For once, the 2650 reasons I had to hate humanity melted away.

I feel fantastic for Laker fans. I do. The serenity that comes to the survivors, the champions, the idea that nothing feels better than believing, the idea that the Lakers' fans finally got theirs over the Celtics-- I get it. I really do. It's just that, the idea of belief is hard to grasp when no one believes in you. And now, at my lowest point, I needed more than distraction. I needed belief. And I had it for three fleeting quarters of some basketball game. Now, I am back to where I was: languid against the face of defeat. I am the man I knew I would be when I was fifteen; the once and future failure. And so are the Celtics. At least, though, they believed. I am not sure I do. The two are not mutually exclusive, belief and failure, except maybe this once. Believe in what you want, but basketball is my one ideal. And it failed me. I am a victim, and I will continue to be one, but it is a part of loving sports. It is also a part of believing in people. For me, at least, sports has paid off once in awhile. Faith, for the most part has not. Such is life.

A Pretty Special Day

2010-05-09T12:42:00.000-04:00

Today is Sunday, May 9 and, unless you were hatched, a pretty important day. It's Mother's Day, and you should call your mother and express your disdain for her bringing into this horrible, terrible world. There's no unemployment in the womb, you know?

But today is also special for me, personally. Today, a man turns half a century. Fifty years old. This man was instrumental in making the greatest game on Earth fun for a little boy. He gave me my internet handle. And today, he makes me feel really, really old.

Most of you know Tony Gwynn as the - umm - very rotund baseball coach at San Diego State, and sometimes color analyst at TBS. Sure, he's a legend in San Diego, but to many he's a nasally voiced island of a man. That's too bad, because in actuality he was a lithe, 56-base-stealing point guard who still holds the SDSU all-time assist record. He was drafted by both the Padres and the San Diego Clippers (now in Los Angeles) on the same day.

When I met him and got his autograph at Coors Field a few days before his birthday in 1996, I wished him a happy birthday and told him I was going to bring him a card, but I forgot it. He stopped signing his name, looked up, and smiled.

Tony Gwynn didn't hit a lot of home runs. He never won a World Series. But he was my favorite baseball player, and he'll be that when he's 50, 80, or 500. He was - and is - a badass. And that's the truth.

Tebowned

2010-04-23T02:39:00.001-04:00

Faith is a word that gets bandied around all the time in sports. You put your faith in an owner. They put their faith in a general manager. They put their faith in a coach or manager. They put their faith in the players. They put their faith in the fans to cheer them on, and the fans put their faith in the players to make the right decisions. The players put their faith in the coach or manager to put them in a position to make the right decisions. The coach or manager puts their faith in the general manager to let them handle the players the right way. The general manager puts their faith in the owner to allow them to build a team they think will win. The owner puts their faith in the fans to come out and watch.

It's the circle of sports life.

Rarely have sports faith and real faith intersected so publicly and controversially as they have with Tim Tebow, the Heisman-owning, God-fearing, championship-winning, circumcision-performing QB drafted 25th overall by the Broncos Thursday night.

I choose to keep my faith strictly within the sports realm, where I see results. That's how I see the world, how it's chosen to open itself up to me. I certainly don't begrudge anybody else their right to believe what they want to, so long as they don't force those beliefs on anybody else. Did Tebow do that at Florida? Only his teammates know for sure. He may or may not have with his personal faith, but there's no doubt that he did with his sports faith. He was a winner, and that is inarguable.

Do I believe he'll be a winner in the NFL? I don't. I don't think he'll ever be a viable quarterback in a pro system where he's required to consistently and accurately throw downfield. I think he should be more concerned with Mike 39 Razor than John 3:16. My "personal" faith in him is low; I don't think he's the "Mile High Messiah." (Or as BorL put it the other night during the Nuggets' loss to the Jazz, "You're the most negative fan I know.") But this isn't about my personal faith - it's about my sports faith. It's about believing that Josh McDaniels, Brian Xanders, and Pat Bowlen have watched hundreds of hours of tape, and presumably know what they're doing because they know their team, and they know what direction it should go. It's about believing.

I believe Tim Tebow will bust his ass. I believe he'll work as hard as he possibly can, while under the employ of the Broncos, to make the orange and blue winners, in whatever capacity is asked of him. That's about all you can ask for as a fan.

To borrow from something called ChaCha, I'm going to call Tim Tebow "Tim Tivo." In ten or fifteen years, I'll either want to rewind and watch all the highlights, or I'll want to fast-forward past all the misery and the horrors. Tim Tivo needs to pause, take a breath, and play. It's sink or swim time, now, for the Jesus fish of the NFL. There is no middle ground, no gray area. There never is when it comes to a leap of faith.

Way to go, TWWL

2010-04-19T01:04:00.000-04:00

So, when ESPN isn't making grammatical gaffes, they're plain reporting the outcomes of games wrong.

True story. I was watching this game with my buddy, a Sharks fan. At the start of OT I said, "the only way this can really end is with the Avs losing on a fluke goal."

He countered, "or we just score on ourselves."

Five seconds later - BAM.

Crazy.

A Letter to the Denver Nuggets

2010-04-14T01:43:00.000-04:00

Dear Denver Nuggets,

You are all a bunch of pussies. You have no heart. You have no balls. You have no guts. You have no spine.

Instead of rallying around your coach - who's gone because he's fighting FUCKING CANCER - and deciding to do the one thing he's tried to get you to do since he got there, the one thing that would take you from a very good team to a legitimate, scary, championship contender ... instead of doing that one thing that takes effort, and sweat, and blood - you choose the easy way out. You want the spoils of winning, but you don't want to put in the work.

Pussies.

On the second night of a road back-to-back, in a game against a good offensive team, in a place you haven't won at in almost six years, in a game you need to win to assure yourself the Number 3 seed and home-court advantage for the first round of the playoffs, you do the worst possible thing: you decide not to do the one thing that would give you a shot - play defense.

I could bemoan your unwillingness to pass the ball, which any idiot with at least one working eye could tell you is increasingly to your advantage. I could bemoan Adrian Dantley's inability to do anything resembling coaching. I could bemoan the fact that none of your top three players - MVP "candidate" Carmelo Anthony, proven "winner and quarterback" Chauncey Billups, and only legitimate "big man" Nene - show any willingness, desire, or ability to lead by example.

You are all lazy. You play horrible pick-and-roll defense. Your switches and close-outs are slow and pathetic. You allow far too many and-one layups, because you have no idea how to foul hard at the rim. Your two legitimate defenders are banged to shit (Kenyon Martin) and a two-guard (Aaron Afflalo) - neither of which will help much in the Western Conference playoffs.

You all have a chance to give the sports world one of the best stories in the last decade - rallying around a sick coach and his son (which the team just signed and who also has beaten cancer) by finally getting his message he's been preaching for years - but you're going to piss it away.

You bitch and moan at the refs far too frequently (even when, unfortunately, many of the calls seem to go the other way). You take horrible shots and are way too inconsistent (looking right at you, J.R. Smith). You cannot win unless you're shooting the lights out of the building.

And, once again, you play absolutely zero fucking defense. It's no coincidence that no "D" in Denver = enver = never, as in Never Win An NBA Championship.

You're all just a bunch of fucking pussies with a giant inflated ego where your heart should be and no fucking balls and tonight I'm ashamed to be your fan.

Sincerely,

Phony Gwynn

And Now, a Simple Link to Something Fantastic

2010-04-12T19:04:00.000-04:00

The Pretzel Factory's own bearded man-child, Business or Leisure (AKA Jeff Laughlin), recently attended the final round of a riveting Masters down in Augusta, Georgia.

TheAwl.com was nice enough to let him write his thoughts and musings on what seemed to be an incredible fucking day.

Enjoy.

What an Honor

2010-04-07T17:38:00.003-04:00

Wow. Seems Drew Magary is such a fan of our work here at the pretzel factory that he volunteered to write a column for us. He needs no intro, so here it is. Thanks, man.

TITS BALLS FOOTBALLS SHUT UP FAG TITS TONY ROMO

--Drew

Truly this was an honor beyond our means. I'll totes yell something at Tiger when I am at the Masters, bro.

In all seriousness, I will be at the Masters. I'm excited. Should be a lot of fun. Ruining a tourney experience because some knuckle-dragger STILL doesn't understand how old people don't get steroids doesn't sound as fun. I'll weigh my options.

"Lost" Previews the American League East

2010-04-05T13:09:00.001-04:00

Well, here we are. It's my final season. Credit to all of you who have stuck with me over these last six years. I know it's been a bumpy run, and I've confused and frustrated a lot of you.

Look, you've just got to trust me. You've got to believe me that I'm going to end on a solid note, answer all your questions (seriously, WTF is with the statue and why did it only have four toes?!?!?) and provide a sense of closure.

I'm not going to come right out, though, and say ~~it was all in Hurley's head~~ or ~~the Island is the in-limbo afterlife~~ or it's all been an elaborate chess game played by two omnipotent goat-like beings.

Whoops. BELATED SPOILER ALERT!

5. Toronto Blue Jays - They are Sayid and Claire. Foreigners who lost something (Sayid: his soul, and Claire: her baby; the Jays: Roy Halladay) that has turned them into a zombie version of their former selves. BONUS: Marc "Scrabble" Rzepczynski and Stuart Radzinsky are cousins.

Record: 69-93

4. Baltimore Orioles - They are Charles Widmore. Tell me you don't think Widmore and Peter Angelos were separated at birth. They're both insanely rich, egomaniacal blowhards who fail more spectacularly the harder they try. BONUS: Garrett Atkins can talk to the dead like Hurley or Miles, but only when he's listening to Drive Shaft.

Record: 74-88

3. New York Yankees - They are the Man In Black (AKA Esau). For too long they have menaced and terrorized the people on their island (AKA the AL East). Soon, they will get their comeuppance. You can only afford to run the smoke monster for so long. BONUS: In an interesting flashback from 1982 to 1994, the Yankees were fucking terrible.

Record: 92-70

2. Tampa Bay Rays - They are Desmond. They didn't exist for a while, then they had a brief run of excellence only to disappear again. Now they're back, and the whole kit and kaboodle gets a helluva lot more interesting when they're around and near the top. BONUS: B.J. Upton is actually Walt.

Record: 93-69; Loss in ALCS

1. Boston Red Sox - They are Jack. They are the emotional center of the show. After an up-and-down tenure (this past off-season), they are ready to regain their rightful place at the top. BELATED SPOILER ALERT TWO. C'mon, like you didn't know. BONUS: Jack Shephard's a Red Sox fan. I mean, this shit writes itself, huh?

Record: 96-66
World Series Champions

Sandra Bullock Previews the National League West

2010-04-05T12:05:00.003-04:00

I'm ok.

No, seriously. I'm ... I'm fine.

I have a Best Actress Oscar, and a Worst Actress Razzie. How many people can say that?

CERTAINLY NOT YOU JESSE, OR YOUR INKED-UP HARLOTS AND STRIPPER SLUTS!

5. San Diego Padres - The Padres recently had to trim their payroll after former owner John Moores got divorced, citing "irreconcilable differences." You know what that means, right? PHILANDERING ASSHOLE.

Record: 9-153 (splitting the 18 games against L.A., since you can't lose them all)

4. Los Angeles Dodgers - Speaking of philandering assholes, how about Frank McCourt? I love that this happened to the owners of two of the five teams in California, and neither of them signed a pre-nup.

Wait, what? It was actually Jamie McCourt who was reportedly unfaithful? Pffffft. Whatever. I'm sure she did it to get back at him. Good for her.

Record: 9-153 (splitting the 18 games against S.D., since you can't lose them all)

3. San Francisco Giants - I hope somebody looks out for Aubrey Huff on this team. I mean, it's great that a woman has made it to the major leagues (come to think of it, why hasn't a bigger deal been made of this? Seems like a pretty monumental achievement!), but with these millionaire hot-shot professional athletes flaunting about on the road, picking up groupies and floozies left and right ... I'd just hate for poor Aubrey to be used and abused. Watch out, Aubrey. Keep your head on a swivel.

Record: 82-80

2. Arizona Diamondbacks - The Tattooed Bastard Who Shall Not Be Named was in a sex rehab clinic in Tucson.

That's totally perfect. He's a snake.

Record: 85-77

1. Colorado Rockies - Apparently, the Rockies are a God-fearing, Christian team who abhor filth and obscenities and pleasures of the flesh. That's why I'm glad they're going to win this division. This sport needs some religion.

No. Seriously? Oh, Jesus Christ. I give up.

Record: 89-73
Loss in NLDS

Jason Campbell Previews the American League Central

2010-04-05T10:54:00.002-04:00

Well, shit.

Is it just me, or is it ironic that a team with the most offensive, derogatory name in professional sports has not one but now two black players at the most important position?

Man, D.C. just be hoardin' brothas.

5. Kansas City Royals - I can really feel for my boy Zack Greinke, now. Everybody ripped him for his absence from baseball due to Social Anxiety Disorder and depression, calling him weak and all that. You know what, though? Failure ain't fun. Ain't fun at all. Just ask Alex Gordon.

Record: 64-98

4. Cleveland Indians - Speaking of failure, how about the Indians? They actually finished 2009 with the same record as the Royals. The Royals! Remember when they had a 3-1 lead on the Red Sox in the 2007 ALCS? Then they blew that lead and fell off the face of the Earth? Just like when I went 13-0 in my senior year at Auburn, but didn't get to play for a national title. Got drafted by Washington, then - BAM - off the face of the Earth. Just like Travis Hafner.

Record: 71-91

3. Chicago White Sox - Before Jake Peavy got traded from San Diego to the White Sox last year, there was talk that the Padres were considering sending him to the Dodgers. They didn't, though, because they're not freaking crazy. Or stupid. Or insane. Who trades a stud within the division? I have no clue, PHILADELPHIA.

Record: 80-82

2. Minnesota Twins - Joe Mauer is the man. There's no getting around it. He's a hometown boy, three-sport high school star, the reigning AL MVP. He's won as many batting titles - 3 - in four years as all catchers in the history of baseball combined. He is, without a doubt, an absolute monster. So, he's kinda the opposite of me. Except neither of us have championships. So I got that going for me.

Record: 84-78

1. Detroit Tigers - I still can't believe we traded for Donovan McNabb. Sorry to harp about it, but ... damn. I mean, dude did a bunch of Campbell's Chunky Soup commercials. My name's Campbell! That's just wrong, man. The Tigers have Phil Coke in their bullpen. It'd be like if they got rid of Jim Leyland, promoted Coke to manager for one game, then replaced him with Ron Washington.

Record: 86-76
Loss in ALDS

Nicholas Sparks Previews the National League Central

2010-04-02T01:41:00.001-04:00

Honestly, I don't know what I'm doing here. Is this a sports blog? Named after a Simpsons reference? There was a time, when I was growing up, when cartoons were for kids. They were there to make you laugh. Rockets, trampolines, shotguns plugged with a finger - these were the claptrap of an animated world. Not extended Citizen Kane riffs and obscure pop culture references. (I Pagliacci and Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould? Really? Get down off your high horse, pencil-drawn geek.)

I really can't explain why I'm here in the netherregions of the internet. I write wonderful, wistful, coming-of-age Love stories. Greek tragedies. Real drama.

Baseball? I'm more of a football guy.

6. Houston Astros - You know what I hate about Texas? All those damn Cormac McCarthy books. Take Blood Meridian, for instance. I'd trash it, but I've already done so on a much larger stage. I mean, what - you write long paragraphs filled with five-word sentences that describe the color of the sunset, and you don't use things like quotation marks, and that gets you a Pulitzer? Blow me. I've had Ryan Gosling and Diane Lane star in adaptations of my work. Which do you think I prefer?

Oh, the Astros? They'll suck. Like Cormac McCarthy.

Record: 71-91

5. Pittsburgh Pirates - I'm working on a pirate love story. It's about a blacksmith who crosses paths with a scurvy pirate who has just escaped execution. Together they come across a princess/fair maiden type who needs rescuing, or some such thing, because she's kidnapped by a cursed pirate captain, and the blacksmith and scurvy pirate have to save her. The blacksmith is named Duke, the scurvy pirate is named McCutchen, the cursed captain is named LaRoche, and the princess/fair maiden is named ... oh, I dunno - Ohlendorf.

Record: 72-90

4. Milwaukee Brewers - Did you know that some asshole is making fun of me on the internet? Such petty shit. It reminds me of Prince Fielder, who got plunked not once but twice this spring by the Giants after showing them up on a walkoff homer celebration last year. Maybe they weren't throwing at him, but the ball just got sucked into him due to gravity. And that guy's a vegan? Talk about fiction.

Record: 77-85

3. Cincinnati Reds - Homer Bailey is a pitcher for the Reds. Homer also wrote the classics the Illiad and the Odyssey. Modern scholars call them the classics, that is, much like scholars in a few hundred years will call my books The Notebook, A Walk to Remember, and Nights in Rodanthe the classics. Me, Homer, and Shakespeare. Sounds about right.

Record: 84-78

2. Chicago Cubs - Speaking of assholes, here's what Chicago's own Roger Ebert said about me: "Sparks recently went on record as saying he is a greater novelist than Cormac McCarthy. This is true in the same sense that I am a better novelist than William Shakespeare. Sparks also said his novels are like Greek Tragedies. This may actually be true. I can't check it out because, tragically, no really bad Greek tragedies have survived ... To be sure, I resent the sacrilege Nicholas Sparks commits by mentioning himself in the same sentence as Cormac McCarthy. I would not even allow him to say 'Hello, bookstore? This is Nicholas Sparks. Could you send over the new Cormac McCarthy novel?' He should show respect by ordering anonymously." Pffft. How come you're not making TV appearances anymore, Mr. Typedy-Type? I'd give you a knuckle sandwich if you didn't have to liquefy it first.

Oh, and the Cubs eat ass.

Record: 85-77

1. St. Louis Cardinals - Answer something for me - is Albert Pujols the me of baseball, or am I the Albert Pujols of literature? That's a tough call. Tough call.

Record: 91-71
Loss in NLDS

A Snuggie Previews the American League West

2010-04-01T00:55:00.003-04:00

You know when you're laying on your couch, watching TV, and you have your laptop on your stomach? You're updating your facebook status, or shopping for Faith No More t-shirts on ebay, or whatever. Then you flip to Comedy Central and Bachelor Party is on, and then - BAM! - random erection?

Oh, did I mention it's kind of cold in your apartment? And you're trying to cover yourself with that multicolored Mexican blanket you inherited in college when Andy left for the Peace Corps?

It won't work. No access. The laptop's sliding all over thanks to the low-level Richter-scale rumblings going on, you can't adequately keep both your legs and torso/arms warm ... it's a mess.

That's why you need me.

Snuggie, bitches.

4. Oakland A's - I've got a problem with sheets. Namely, how the fuck do you fold those things? Christ Almighty. You're supposed to pull the corners in or something, but that shit never works. You just end up folding it over and over itself, like a croissant. Awful. Why not wear a Snuggie to bed? But I've also got a problem with Ben Sheets. It's not his name, though - it's perfect. He's a ghost of his former self! I do like Jack Cust, however. He swings and misses so much a cool, cool breeze eminates from his whiffs. And what do you need when it's chilly? That's right - Snuggie!

Record: 75-87

3. Texas Rangers - Have you ever been up all night, doing rails of coke, smoking cigarette after cigarette after cigarette while forcing down a lukewarm PBR and bitching about your stubborn-ass sister who won't leave that jackass that treats her like shit, only to somehow segue into how the Lord of the Rings trilogy is great to watch in parts but not all in row, before finally trying to fix that goddamn wobbly leg on the coffee table? And then you wake up on the recliner, cold and shivering? Better get a Snuggie, motherfucker. Call me, Ron. We'll talk.

Record: 79-83

2. Anaheim Angels - Torii Hunter got into a lot of hot water recently after saying that Latin American players were "impostors" and not really African-American. I feel you, Torii. I really do. Ever heard of the Slanket? I bet you have. Those wannabe cocksuckers. More like the Skanket, amiright? Huh? In all seriousness, though, we've bought all the lighter fluid in the Tri-County area, and we're armed with more matches than a fraternity bathroom. We're coming, Slanket. Get ready.

Record: 84-78

1. Seattle Mariners - With the acquisition of lefty Cliff Lee, the Mariners have what could be the best 1-2 punch in the game at the top of their rotation. But who is the defacto #1? Felix Hernandez, AKA King Felix. And who would look more regal in a Snuggie than a fucking king? That's right - flowing robes in the team's colors, leaving the arms free to throw backdoor 0-2 breaking balls on the outside corner at the knees ... just beautiful. The only person who would be more befitting of donning a team Snuggie would be a two-time reigning Cy Young winner.

Oh? Shit.

Record: 87-75
Loss in ALDS

Stephen Tobolowsky Previews the National League East

2010-03-30T11:53:00.003-04:00

I was having lunch with Sam Trammell the other day - we're in an upcoming movie together - when I asked him what it was like to play a character who could transform into anything. He took a bite of his salmon croquette, swallowed, and looked at me and said, "You should know, Steve. You're the ultimate transformer."

Oh, that Sam. Such a devilishly handsome rogue.

5. Washington Nationals - I hear they've got their own Stephen, a young man named Strasburg who can really bring it. But they probably won't have him up in the big leagues this year. Kind of like when I played Ranger Steve Neely in Spike Jonze's Adaptation. My scenes were cut from the final film. But oh, boy - Meryl, Nic Cage, Chris Cooper. What a roster! Not like the Nationals' which, minus Adam Dunn and Ryan Zimmerman, is poopy.

Record: 68-94

4. Florida Marlins - Despite some quality talent (Hanley Ramirez, Dan Uggla, Josh Johnson) the Florida Marlins routinely play in front of thousands of empty seats. Kind of like when my movie Mr. Magoo opened. Pee-eww! That movie forever answered the question, "What would a nuclear bomb made out of celluloid look like?"

Record: 79-83

3. New York Mets - Oh, those Metropolitans. A lot of money. Some decent talent. Problems, injuries, and middling results. Reminds of a movie I was in once, have you seen it? The Glimmer Man? No, you haven't seen it. I fired my agent after it made back less than half its budget. Of course, I hired him back a few days later and he's still my agent to this day. But for about 48 hours or so there, ol' Sammy was sweating!

Record: 84-78

2. Atlanta Braves - Good lord, have you seen this Jason Heyward?!? Heavens to Betsy, what an Adonis! He's like a building with arms. His spring has been a revelation, just like Guy Pearce in Memento. Powerful, powerful stuff. Gut-wrenching. And let me tell you something - I was in that movie, and to this day I still can't follow it! Let's hope the Braves don't play their season in reverse.

Record: 89-73
Wild Card; loss in NLCS

1. Philadelphia Phillies - The Phillies let Cliff Lee go, but they picked up Roy Halladay. For about six or seven years he's been arguably the best pitcher in baseball, and that was in the American League East, the best division in the best league. Those lineups he regularly faced? Hoo boy! Brutal. Now he'll get to pitch against the Nationals, and other awful offensive teams like the Padres and Giants. That's a prescription for success! Speaking of "Doc" Halladay stealing the show, how about that Val Kilmer in Tombstone? Amazing. I wasn't in that one. I was in Deadwood, though.

Record: 93-69
3rd straight NL pennant; loss in World Series

Ouch

2010-03-09T09:45:00.000-05:00

Not only is a torn ulnar collateral ligament a very, very bad thing for a pitcher, it puts Joe Nathan on the shelf indifinitely.

Is that bad news? Difinitely.

Difinitely.

For Just Kicks

2010-03-01T18:25:00.000-05:00

I saw some Asian man in his late-20s/early 30s wearing these on St. Marks this past weekend. I had to take a picture.

I stopped him and asked if I could, and of course he didn't speak English. So when I tried to tell him that "that's my favorite team," he must've thought I was asking if I could eat his shirt.

Fuck, those are some sweet shoes.

You Must Watch This

2010-01-12T16:49:00.001-05:00

We don't really advertise things around here (except stupid people and awesome music criticism), but I do have something that's tangentially sports-related to shamelessly promote to all nine people who accidentally come across this blog.

Tonight, at 10 pm EST, Blue Mountain State premieres on Spike TV. A good friend of mine, Drew Hancock, was in Montreal all last summer writing and working on the show. Drew never played football, but I don't give a shit about that. Drew partied his little ass off and he's incredibly funny. So you should watch it, or at the very least, DVR it and watch it tomorrow. Or Sunday after football.

If you don't, I'm going to find you and karate chop you in the genitals.

The Ugly, Ill-fitting Sweater

2010-01-03T15:09:00.003-05:00

Before this manic-depressive Denver season comes to a merciful end, I thought I'd finally write something about the Broncos that referred to the team itself, and not a deceased icon in the stands.

I haven't written about the Broncos this year for a myriad of reasons, the biggest one being I haven't cared enough. As a fan that's tough to say, and almost tougher to write, but it's true. My heart just wasn't in it this season, and I think I can live with that.

It started with the tumultuous, whirlwind beginnings of the Josh McDaniels era, a coach just a few years older than myself. I mean, I'm an unemployed, waste of space at 30 - how the hell was this grinning, baby-faced geek going to do anything meaningful or ground-breaking while helming one of the classiest, most well-run organizations in football? We quickly found out as he alienated Jay Cutler, banished him to Chicago, then set about putting talented-but-petulant receiver Brandon Marshall in the doghouse for the better part of his Denver tenure.

Whoops.

So already my expectations were nil. I expected them to win five, maybe six games at best. Then the season starts with them stealing a win, and building on that momentum to start 6-0. In the last two of these games, they beat the Pats at home in OT - culminating in McDaniels's spirited fist-pumping toward his family and the crowd, a moment that gave me goosebumps - and beat the Chargers on the road on a Monday night, winning (mostly) in a way the Broncos never do: with special teams.

And then ... and then the inevitable. During the start, the defense played far over their heads, especially in the 2nd half when they played out of their fucking minds. We knew that couldn't last, and it didn't. Only it had to, because the offense was not built to make up ground, only sporadically chew it up. Losses to more physical teams came, and they came quickly and furiously. Then a loss at home to the Raiders. Then a mini-miraculous comeback on the road at Philly, only to fall a field goal short.

So here they sit, at 8-7, needing to beat the Chiefs at home - without their Pro Bowl receiver, natch - and get a little help to make the playoffs. It doesn't matter, however, because this is not a playoff team. They don't deserve to be watched, at this point, by the whole country, in a Wild Card game. Ultimately they deserve to eke out an ugly win, secure a winning record, and begrudgingly call Year One of the Post-Shanahan era a (beguilingly dismal) success. Success in the way Bart Simpson defines success: spelling it S-U-C-C-E-E-S, and then falling off a roof.

So in this way this Broncos season has been the ugly, ill-fitting sweater. Like when your parents or somebody asks you what you want for Christmas, only you're an adult so you either tell them one reasonable thing you need (a new wallet, an iPod case, a flask) - knowing full well they'll get you that one thing you want and you'll be done with it - or you say "Oh, you don't have to get me anything." Because you're an adult. Or perhaps you're spending the holidays with the family of friends or a loved one, and they don't know what to get you. So they get you a sweater, either to give you something so you feel included, or as an addendum to the one thing you actually wanted. Because everybody loves sweaters.

Only it's not something you'd ever wear, because you don't like turtlenecks. Or the color or pattern is horrific. Or it's itchy. Or it's too small.

This season was all that. It was unexpected, sure, but not in the back of your mind. Somewhere, you knew it was coming. And sure, it's a nice gesture. You appreciate that. But you're holding this thing, saying you like it even though you know you hate it. And at some point you'll have to re-gift it, or try to return it.

And, in all honesty, you wish you'd never been given it at all.

Update: And there it is. To be honest, I expected it. They beat the Raiders by 20 early in the year, then lost to them by 3 when they needed to win. So, since they won in Kansas City in December for the first time in forever (by 31, no less), it only made sense that they would lose by at least 15 at home with a win and a possible playoff berth on the line.

Thus, for the second straight year, and basically the fourth in a row since they reached the AFC Championship game in 2005, this team wallows in mediocrity. Only it's worse since they play well early, get their fans' hopes up, and collapse spectacularly and miserably toward the end. I've never played pro football, and I'm just the proverbial blogger in his parents' basement, but it seems to me that this team has no fucking heart. Maybe there's a stock ticker where that essential organ should be, but there's no fucking pride in putting on the orange and blue. There's no urgency. Just complacency.

I want this team to be relevant again. I want it to succeed. I want to have a reason to watch, to feel attached. But only Josh McDaniels can fix this. Somehow. He holds the key. Unfortunately, it's a complicated and ugly fucking lock.

RIP, Barrel Man

2009-12-07T19:57:00.000-05:00

The Broncos may have won in Kansas City in December for what seems like the first time in decades, but the team lost something bigger than a game this weekend: their Superfan.

Tim McKernan, otherwise known as Barrel Man, died last Saturday at the age of 69 from lung failure.

I've never been the face-painting, body-painting, wig-wearing, costume-donning type of fan. Never did it once, even in college. It's not my style. And those types of fans may be few and far between, but we've all seen them. They could be an airplane mechanic, like Barrel Man, or lawyers, or teachers, or plumbers. But when game time rolled around, these ultrafans would take it to the next level. You might roll your eyes at their getups, or their insane dedication to grown men playing games, but deep down, from somewhere in your sports-loving soul, you admired them, respected them. Maybe even wanted to be them, just for one day.

Part of the fun of going to Broncos games was either seeing Barrel Man in person or on the JumboTron or spotting him in the stands; it wasn't really an "official" game until then. And it didn't matter if it was a 97-degree preseason tilt in August or a snow-blown blizzard of an icebox day in December or January - Barrel Man would be in the stands, shirtless, cheering on the Broncos. He may have hung up the barrel in 2007, but there was still a presence.

Is standing around in near-freezing temperatures for hours on end, a mile above sea level, wearing nothing but a barrel, cowboy boots and a cowboy hat good for a person's body? Probably not. But that's why we loved him. And that's why he'll be missed.

All My Friends Are Funeral Singers: An NBA Experiment Vol. 2.2

2009-11-25T00:56:00.000-05:00

It's almost a month into the 2009-2010 NBA season, and it's apparent that the Nuggets are lacking two things: a big-bodied, true center; and the discipline and focus to step on the throats of clearly inferior opponents early in games.

We'll address the first issue much later on in the season, when it becomes an even more glaring problem. But now it's on to the lack of focus and so-called "killer instinct." Denver has blown out a few teams so far this year on their way to a 10-4 record, but just about all of them have been second-half runs. This could allude to the fact that the coaching staff is making necessary adjustments at halftime, but I'm of the mind to believe that most of the time the players are just deciding to play defense more than every third possession or so.

Take last night's game against New Jersey, for example. Three weeks ago, with the year in its infancy, the Nuggets beat the Nets 122-94 on the road. That 28-point cushion has stood up as the Nuggets' biggest margin of victory of the year ... however, Denver actually trailed by one at halftime; it took a 44-point explosion in the third to make it a cakewalk. And even though they led by dozen at the break last night, the Nets had a 10-0 run at one point in the second. The highlights will likely show the Nets turning it over again and again in a montage befitting an 0-14 team. Yet they barely lost the turnover battle to the Nuggets, 23-22. If you're the only winless team in the league, your miscues define you. If you're a division leader, your sloppy play gets glossed over all too easily.

This may seem like nitpicking, since the Nuggets won by 14 anyway, but here's the thing: Chauncey Billups was 1-8 from the field. He actually airballed a 3 from the right wing at one point, which I don't think I've ever seen him do. He played "only" 27 minutes, but if the Nuggets effectively put this one out of reach early, Billups can take most of, if not all, the 2nd half off. They can get Ty Lawson even more involved in the offense, and J.R. Smith has shown - albeit sporadically - that he can also play the point. Chauncey is 33 years old. Those minutes, especially at altitude, are going to take their toll. The quicker you break a shitty team's will, the quicker you can sit your starters and get them rest they'll need in April. This team's good enough to look that far ahead. And they should start.

All My Friends Are Funeral Singers: An NBA Experiment Vol. 2.1

2009-11-13T11:57:00.007-05:00

Sometimes, it's weird to think that the Celtics won't have a Marreese Speights, a Brandon Jennings, a J.J. Hickson or a Jared Dudley that will surprise me this year. Rajon Rondo is nice and all, don't get me wrong, but he's reached that all-too-important (and amazing) pinnacle of next-level for me. This is not a complaint about an 8-1 team that just destroyed the Jazz (note: 8-3 after losses to the Hawks and, uh, Pacers-- yikes) and showcased exactly why Deron Williams has trouble with elite point guards despite being a damned good one.

I happen to think the difference in elite and damned good might just be personnel. Chris Paul is the only elite point guard without good personnel. Deron and Rajon have good personnel (when Boozer shows up to play), so they look like elite points. I'm wondering what would happen to Deron without the cast he has and Jerry's ever-vigilant eye. I wonder, also, what will happen to Rajon once his cast begins to depart. So here's the math problem then: If R is a better passer/user of space than D and D is a better shooter/creator than R, which variable stabilizes as a point guard without a better cast? I'm afraid it might be D.

Back to the present though: went to see the C's play in Jersey in a particularly uninspired contest. Rajon and Ray were great, Garnett is a step slower and (my) reports of Marquis Daniels being a pointless acquisition are a bit premature. Perkins was a rebounding machine at the end-- he sealed the Nets fate in the last couple of minutes. The Nets are a bad team, only, I don't think they are 0-8 bad. Terrence Williams was a certified scorer when he got some space, B. Lopez played big and actually hit some 15-footers after struggling early and once Devin Harris comes back, they'll have a nice rotation on their hands. They aren't gonna be good by any stretch, but they aren't this bad. That said, they were inspired and worked extremely hard and scored 76 points. Yikes.

Some of that goes to how the Celts played them. When they ran a basic 2-1-2 zone the game and doubled anyone-- ANYONE-- who got below the elbow, it was nice change from the man-to-man they use. Perkins got into foul trouble trying to cheat off of his man early (in the man-to-man), so the zone saved Garnett from having to protect him. Smart move there. Once they established that Ray-Ray was on, Rondo actually sat a long time in the fourth and they went with House and Allen bringing up the ball. Strange move. Ray doesn't need to play 35+ minutes against the Nets. Bad coaching move. So, more of the same from early-season Doc: make the right moves and the wrong moves and the players pretty much sort it out. I can live with this but it makes me nervous.

Let's get to the scorecard. We're 8-1 (pre-Hawks and Pacers, I know) and playing excellent defense minus the Suns abomination. When the Suns are on point, you can only hope to outscore them and we aren't that team. The first unit has been good but not great and the second unit has been playing above their level. Somewhere in the middle is the truth (pun not intended) and all of this while being witness to a laid-back sense of the Truth (pun intended). Thus far, I'd say the team is playing right into my expectations. Thing is? Cleveland and LA have been playing above theirs (at least Cleveland has since they played Orlando). So, it may take another level-- Rondo may need to have some Chris Paul or Deron Williams rub off on him (that didn't come out right) and where Garnett raises a level he may not have any more. They may need a calmer Sheed (not gonna happen) and Pierce may need to replicate that 2008 run (uh, maybe?).

But that's in May. Right now, it's a Sheldon Williams November and I will take 8-1 all damned day. (Again, 8-3... I've been busy these last few days.)

The Payoff

2009-11-05T17:53:00.002-05:00

One day in March Stan and I were watching the Madness ensue,
When we drank some scotch and right on the spot decided a wager was due.
"My favorite team will win more than yours," I said about 2009,
He looked on in awe, let out a guffaw, and quickly said "That's fine."
So this is the start of the lengthy rhyme I write with some defiance,
Concerning the winning exploits of the San Francisco Giants.
Despite missing out on the post-season and finishing just in third,
They were 13 games ahead of the Pads, rendering this bet absurd.

We begin at a ballyard north of the park on the island of Manhattan,
Where a nickel gets you the Gothams and a chance to smuggle your cat in.
Soon the name was changed to the Giants, a powerhouse world renown,
At least until the end of '11 when their third ballpark burned down.
But at this time they were run by a legend, the fiery John McGraw,
And Christy Fucking Mathewson, the handsomest ace you ever saw.
In Aught 4 they told the Series and Boston to suck on their pole,
Then turned around the next year and won the whole damn rigmarole.
Matty ruled the mound back then, so too Iron Joe the loner,
But none of their excellent pitching could atone for Merkle's Boner.

The next few decades saw some titles but they also saw some trouble,
For all the best hitters alive, that is, getting K'd by King Carl Hubbell.
There was a sweet-swinging first-sacker, too, his skills were many and scary,
The last National League player to bat .400's name was Big Bill Terry.
A shot to center at the Polo Grounds back then was all for naught,
But a drive down the short lines was very sublime, so hello, Mr. Mel Ott.
The war years proved futile for Giants fans, but it seemingly was just a blip,
Because the Say Hey Kid was coming to town, as was Leo the Lip.

On October the 3rd, 1951, the world stopped for a moment in time,
Because a Brooklyn pitcher by the name of Ralph Branca tried to commit a crime.
Bobby Thomson hit a heater way up and in, and of it he left no remnant,
And as he joyously circled the bases thus did the Giants win the pennant.
With such a blast Thomson turned fast to a celebrity to rival the Pope,
Nevermind he may have received the sign from a 'mate holding a scope.
We move ahead to 1954, and to an Indians fan, this hurts,
Remembering the mighty blast deep to center off the bat of Vic Wertz.
Willie Mays turned to run, shot out of a gun, and it seemed like he could fly,
But like a dead dove, the ball fell in his glove, which is where triples went to die.

As the country expanded, and more and more planes landed, the NL looked to the West,
And the hilly burg of San Fran was the spot that Horace Stoneham liked best.
This killed the Golden Age of baseball to the dismay of New York codgers,
Still the Giants' exit lacked the oomph and merit of their bitter rival's, the Dodgers.
But '62 brought a chance at redemption to make their new home come alive,
Alas the Yanks won again, in this, Game Seven, on Willie McCovey's line drive.
And although Juan Marichal was superb on the bump, darker days lay ahead,
Specifically when he, in a fit of non-glee, took his bat to J. Roseboro's head.

We'll skip the 70s and first half of the 80s for it appears the Giants did too,
And move on in to the end of the decade to check on the Humm Baby crew.
There was fat Rick Reuschel, Garrelts, Dravecky, and Candy Maldonado,
Plus Jeffrey Leonard, Matt Williams, Chili Davis, and a hitting aficionado.
Will the Thrill they called this man with a smooth swing made of pure love,
And Kevin Mitchell tracking down long fly balls without the use of a glove.
The 1989 NLCS brought the dysfunctional Cubs into town,
Where the red-hot Giants in just five games performed an immortal beat-down.
But a long-lost pennant and half the bay's fans would not a championship make,
As the Giants were squashed by the crosstown A's and an untimely earthquake.

Now it's '93 and the Giants and Braves are involved in the "last" pennant race,
With a giant named Barry Bonds, who, back then, had a normal-sized face.
Needing to win on the last day of the year the team started Salomon Torres,
It's unclear how many pitches he threw, but they were surely all of 'em horrid.
After some decent teams and a new park the Giants made it back to the series,
But 2002 against the Anaheim Angels only brought up several new queries.
Was Dusty Baker the right man to lead? Did the rotation need a new face?
The questions were met like a lost 3-2 lead, with changes all over the place.

Now the Giants are without Mr. Bonds and the offense is just barely so-so,
But the rotation's so stacked the fourth-best starter can rattle off a no-no.
With Tim Lincecum and Matt Cain at the top, San Fran has quite the pair,
Of aces it seems, the stuff made from dreams, and stuff to match the flair.
And let's not forget the hot corner man whose moniker is Kung Fu Panda,
Pablo Sandoval is pretty good, y'all, and if you don't know I'll reprimand ya.
So that's the short story of this proud franchise, from one coast to the next.
No need to write any of this shit down, for I doubt there will be a test.
Hope you liked it, Stan, for I believe it encompasses all I can say,
Since I really hate the fucking Giants, but at least they're not L.A.

Just saying.

2009-11-02T22:58:00.003-05:00

The AL is apparently not used to Cliff Lee despite him playing for the Indians for most of this year. Just saying.

All My Friends Are Funeral Singers: An NBA Experiment Vol 1.4

2009-10-30T10:13:00.002-04:00

I won’t lie to you…I am tired of Kobe too. I’m tired of Stuart Scott confusing Kobe with his street patter. I’m tired of Lakers fans who use tags like BlackMambaCreatedTheWorldin7Days and refuse to countenance the suggestion that Kobe might wake up with bad breath. I’m tired of dicking around with the Kobe vs. Lebron question (Lebron), or Kobe vs. Shaq (Kobe). I’m tired of wondering whether he’s capable of a sincere human interaction that doesn’t involve anyone named Mrs. Kobe Bryant or Kobe Bryant’s Daughters. I’m even tired of hearing about Kobe’s Quest for Another Ring. Mostly, though, I’m tired of apologizing for Kobe.

Who cares, right? Why whine about it when we got the trophy last year? But when the best member of your squad is the American Civil War of the NBA (the motherfucker pits brother against brother), it grates on you. Because he plays basketball the way you wish the shooting guard on your team would play. Well, unless you are a Miami Heat fan; in that case go put on a white shirt and thank Avery Johnson every night before you go to bed. For the rest of you: let’s all agree that the media talking points suck, Kobe the person is not likable or adept in the spotlight, there’s an accusation of rape that David Stern has somehow declared Will Never Be Mentioned Again, and just for kicks his wife may be a psycho hose beast of Barbara Bush proportions. And let’s agree you would take him in your backcourt.

To keep things obvious, the Lakers NEED him in their backcourt. We have a Slovenian who supposedly improved his game this summer by cutting his hair. We have Shannon Brown, an unknown quantity of freakish speed and chaotic athleticism that may translate into more turnovers than points. We have a young point guard in his contract year who believes he should have been a starter three years ago but whose best defensive move may be hoping one of his ears clotheslines Aaron Brooks as he flies by for the -nth time of the game. Fish has been canonized at this point…in 2001 we guessed he was more Devean George than Norm Nixon, but he has proved his value with numerous integral plays over the years. So let me not seem ungrateful when I point out his legs will barely make it through another 100-game season; his shots still rainbow with that obscene arc, but now tend to go in fewer than 4 out of every 10 attempts. If it’s unclear why that’s a bad thing, I bet Daryl Morey has an ingenious algorithm to explain it.

What I’m clumsily implying is the Lakers’ chance at repeating as champions lies in its frontcourt. You’ve heard about the length, you’ve heard about the boy wonder Bynum and his injuries and large contract, you know Lamar has handled his role as sixth man without fault. There’s nothing revolutionary here, just a team built around size while most of the league went small. The Artest-for-Ariza swap? Your guess is as good as mine. Trevor was well-loved, as any young player would be if he makes the Leap on your team, especially on the way to winning a ring. Artest has been a long-time favorite in the same way I’ve enjoyed the speeches of Michelle Malkin…pure entertainment value, but please stay way the fuck over there. The only thing I can be sure of is Crazy Pills’ barber had better be sending royalty checks to Anthony Mason.

The one reason I’m not letting any of that ruin this season for me, or my hopes for another championship banner in our so-close-it-hurts attempt to outnumber those seventeen dusty green-and-white flags hanging in Boston: Pau Gasol. He yowls, he grows a beard that looks like it belongs in an underfunded Museum of Natural History, and he makes the whole damn roster click. He could pass to you across a Brooklyn-bound F-train car on a Friday afternoon. He can guard your center or your power forward, and might be able to move faster than both. He plays within any offense. He is the perfect number 2. He is the reason we were the last team standing in June, and he will be the reason if we do it again.

All My Friends Are Funeral Singers: An NBA Experiment Vol. 1.3

2009-10-29T21:03:00.013-04:00

Editor's Note: The idea of team love is something that gets a lot of support throughout sportswriting. There's ESPN Philly and Boston and Chicago and all that shit. But there is seldom a writer that gets to expose their bias as completely as they want to (mostly because fans of other teams have no interest in hearing from us for too long). This got us to thinking. And thinking hard. So, throughout the NBA season, Pretzeltown is going to be an experiment: four contending teams (Boston, Denver, LAL and Cleveland) will be represented by four different writers sharing their thoughts on the process and progress. Now some Nuggets, uh, nuggets from Mr. Phony.

What is the idea of perfection? Some may a snowflake, or a circle, or a sunrise. Others may say Akira Kurosawa's oeuvre, a Jeff Tweedy lyric, or a rocking chair handcrafted in a backyard shed over many months, reeking of sweat and passion and love. Others - namely most NBA writers - would also add the Denver Nuggets' 2008-2009 season.

There's only one problem: they didn't fucking win anything.

Sure, they won the NW (but only via tiebreaker with the younger and not-quite-as-talented Trailblazers). They made the conference finals for the first time since 1985 (but beat two banged-up teams, the Hornets and Mavericks, to get there). They played the Lakers well in said conference finals (but posted an unforgivable no-show at home in Game 6). Call me crazy, but this sequence of but-fueled events doesn't sound "perfect" to me.

The logic was this: Denver was able to get rid of one thing they didn't need (A.I., a me-first shooter who didn't really make his teammates better) and get the thing they did need (Chauncey Billups, a floor general who would preach punchless George Karl's defensive mindset whilst simultaneously knocking down clutch shots; also, he's from Denver!). That this happened without a gigantic blow to their limited cap room was seen as quite the haul. The problem with this is that they were unable to persuade former Nugget Antonio McDyess to come with Billups, thus adding another veteran frontcourt body who could alleviate the rebounding-and-low-post-defending-the-pick-and-roll burden on Nene and Kenyon Martin. But, still, perfect, right?

Speaking of K-Mart and The Brazilian Hilarious one, that was the other part of the equation: Martin's knees didn't blow up like a suicide bomber in a crowded cafe, and Nene still has one testicle (that we're aware of). Apparently these two being healthy for two years straight is an unlikely scenario, but the Spurs staying healthy and possibly winning a title, with an average age of just under 47, is not.

And that's why nobody likes the Nuggets. Whenever prognosticators talk about who's going to win the title, it's always the same five teams: Boston, Cleveland, Orlando, LAL, and San Antonio. It's the whole "lightning can't strike twice" theory. But what is lightning? An athletic, talented team playing a bit of defense for the first time in forever, gelling at the right time in a down-year for the conference? And what is striking? That they started beating the teams they were supposed to beat, and eventually lost to a team that was superior to them?

It's true that the Nuggets didn't make any MAJOR moves in the off-season; signing Aaron Afflalo and letting Linas Kleiza and Dahntay Jones walk aren't big moves by any stretch of the imagination. It's true that they failed to land what they really need: a true center, like former Nugget Marcus Camby, or maybe Chris Kaman, aka someone who could allow Nene to move to PF, where he truly belongs and would likely dominate.

But it's true that they added something they lacked: a speedster guard (Ty Lawson) who would take crucial minutes away from the abonimable Anthony Carter, while at the same time saving Chauncey's aging legs. This made up for not taking DeJuan Blair in the second round. Almost.

Are the Nuggets the best team in the Western Conference? No. Are they the second-best? Probably not. Will they finish anywhere from 3-5, and again have a chance to reach the conference finals? You bet your signed Fat Lever rookie card. Sure, certain things have to happen - they avoid big injuries, Melo plays at a near-MVP level, JR Smith continues to mature and even show those playmaking skills he awesomely broke out in the playoffs, Birdman continues to be a defensive presence off the bench, Karl doesn't majorly jack shit up - but that is every team. This is the NBA, son - a marathon, a grind, a beast of a bitch with a mind to smack your whiny ass DOWN.

Lightning does strike twice. Mother Nature fucks Father Time without protection everywhere, around the clock. And Denver has a damn good team that is playoff-bound again. If you're a Nuggets fan, that's as close to perfect as you're ever gonna get.

All My Friends Are Funeral Singers: An NBA Experiment Vol. 1.2

2009-10-27T14:08:00.006-04:00

All My Friends Are Funeral Singers: An NBA Experiment, Vol. 1.1

2009-10-27T13:44:00.008-04:00

The Great North Coast Volume1:

With the 20^th pick in the 1996 NBA draft, the Cleveland Cavaliers selected a center from Lithuania named Zydrunas Ilgauskus. A practical and talented scorer, with a wealth of size (7’3”) who had already played professionally in Europe but was a virtual unknown in America, he was part of a growing philosophy amongst General Managers and coaches. Experienced players in the European style could contribute to the American game. The selection was met with little fanfare, and when drafted in tandem with Vitaly Potapenko, Cavs fans were discouraged to consider that Michael Jordan’s ghost had exhausted the organization and the time had come to rebuild.

The rebuilding did not go well. The roster that Z joined boasted the likes of (teenager) Bobby Sura, (slightly more follicled pre-GM) Danny Ferry, (fat) Shawn Kemp, (not the novelist) Henry James and (not the quarterback) Derek Anderson. Ilgauskus spent the better part of three years disabled and going through painful foot surgeries that have basically replaced his once human Lituanian feet with some kind of early James Cameron-science-fiction-scrap metal set of feet certain to withstand the perils of nuclear holocaust but less likely to extend a career in professional American basketball.

Still, Z worked his ass off on awful teams where he was often the best offensive weapon. He became an All-Star and earned his 71-million-dollar contract by establishing a smooth 17 foot jumper that is difficult for Big Men to defend and also saves his body and METAL FEET from banging around under the basket.

In 2003, the Cavaliers were smart enough to be bad enough to draft something from Akron called a LEBRON JAMES (not a car made by Chrysler). And God was in Heaven and all was right with the World.

You would think that basking in the BENEVOLENT EVERLASTING LIGHT of BRON for the past five years would have shone a light on the big man-- who has consistently averaged 14.5 points and 8.1 rebounds (and again named an All Star)-- but he is still included in the “when is LeBron gonna get some help” and “the cavs have LeBron and a bunch of stiffs” categories.

This year, the Cavs will not have that excuse.

Again, Z will concede to a Great Charismatic Athletic Monolith in Shaquille O’Neal, (I think he was the guy who broke backboards in the 90’s) the last great artifact of the attitude of Basketball in the last generation. Pre-tweet and Pro-Kazaam. And, it may just extend his career again. With Shaq taking a lot of the blows from the first teamers, Z is going to get favorable match ups against bench players which will allow him to easily spread the floor and bring slower centers closer to the perimeter allowing Cleveland’s back court and swing men James, Mo Williams and Jamario Moon to slash and score, which me likey very much.

It has been rumored that if they win it this year, Z will retire. It is also rumored that if the Cavs need to make a move (specifically concerning the Delonte West situation) that it may again, be Z (and his tempting, firm, luscious expiring contract) who is asked to make room for yet another star to improve Cleveland’s chances of licking David Stern’s GREAT BRASS RING, and having an excuse to make a parade in Cleveland.

This season, there will be an uncomfortable amount of references to the greatness of and possible departure of LeBron James and his relationship to the City of Cleveland, the City of Akron and the City of New York. Every Cavs fan will have to confront this possibility again and again via national broadcasts (I’m looking at you, Reggie Miller). This will be the storyline.

But there is another storyline coming to a conclusion: Zydrunas. The European experiment has been a success and we will get the opportunity to see Z reinvent himself again this year as a sixth man, complimenting and improving the dynamic of Cleveland’s second team, even if it is only until the trade deadline. And while there will be much written about the Native Prodigal, let’s take this year to enjoy watching the big, strange Lithuanian who has chosen to make Cleveland his home and who has enriched our basketball experience as Cavs fans with his loyalty and consistency over the last decade.

The locker room has changed a lot since 1996 and for four years now the Cavaliers have been, and their fans have been able to enjoy, a legitimate contender. So, if this is the last year of their dominance and if this is the last year of LeBron allowing his GOLDEN GOD DUST TO SPRINKLE DELICATELY OVER THE ROOFTOPS OF CLEVELAND’S ECONOMY AND SPORTS HOPES AND FUTURES then so be it. I’m just glad I’m not rooting for Fat Shawn Kemp and fuckin’ Bobby Sura this year.

Ryan Dee

I was right! I was right! Fuck you all! I was right!

2009-10-06T19:44:00.005-04:00

When we write our baseball previews, we obviously don't take them very seriously. We write about robots, and do them in the form of letters home to mother. I mean, the Mets to win the NL East? Guffaw!

But when I did the NL West, little did I know that I would accurately - and by that, I mean PERFECTLY - predict both the record and place finish of my Padres. Did I really think they'd win 75 games? No. They were supposed to be terrible. And they were, offensively. I would've been happy had they avoided 100 losses like 2008.

Yet they had decent starting pitching, a good bullpen, a fantastic year from Heath Bell, and some timely hits here and there. They were one of the best teams for the last 3 or so months of the year. Kyle Blanks and Will Venable emerged as possible slugging stars to bookend Adrian Gonzalez, the most unheralded star in the game. Everth Cabrera and Tony Gwynn Jr. proved that speed up the middle is a good thing, especially in a park slightly smaller than Yellowstone.

So thank you, Padres, for a completely-not-terrible year. Yes, I was proud of 75 wins. Damn proud.

(But not too proud of picking the Rockies to finish dead last. You've made a powerful enemy today, Jim Tracy!)

Outside the Aviary: "Who Is He (And What Is He To You)?"

2009-09-09T00:19:00.010-04:00

Lost in the din and glamor of the beginning of football's seasons, the playoff chases in baseball and the general loss of words we have for the lack of summer in NYC this year is an amazing feat: the greatest player in basketball history paying homage to his primogenitor.

Lost in the amazing 80s-early 90s run in the NBA is the man who brought the game above the rim. A forgotten name amongst the greats of the game; a name that gets props from some of the 50 greatest names in basketball history, including Charles Barkley, but can't get his name in a headline on ESPN. David Thompson began the principles of swagger. He wasn't allowed to dunk in college-- he of the 44" vert-- so he would literally play above the rim by placing the ball over it. He was an unstoppable force that helped stop an unstoppable force when N.C. State beat UCLA in the 1974 NCAA tournament during an undefeated championship run. He was a number one pick in TWO leagues and chose against the NBA-- against it.

Lost in the 70s and early 80s, since his career didn't amount to the greatness it should have, Michael Jordan is putting David Thompson on a stage of the elite when he had hall-of-fame teammates, coaches, and an alma mater full of greatness. Jordan has made his point: this is about basketball and nothing more-- not friendship, nepotism, heroism or a belief that he owes something to anyone other than his inspiration. This is a chance to show why Michael Jordan became Michael Jordan. No lore of his high-school failure or recanting of the old days in college or even talk from an old battle partner on the greatness of the man. Nope, this is going to be basketball, pure and simple, from one man who knew what it was like to be the most explosive man on a court at any given time to another.

Lost in the surprise: Jordan lifting the curtain to reveal his respect for Thompson's game probably surprised many people. It did me at first. But doesn't it make perfect sense? After all, for all the shoe jockeying, movie making and commercialization, isn't the intention of Jordan to promote basketball first? And North Carolina basketball at that? (See: Gerald Henderson, Brandon Wright, Sean May, Raymond Felton.) Thompson was from Shelby, North Carolina and played in Raleigh. He was North Carolina basketball's first shining example during and after the ABA-NBA merger. He was one of the first real above the rim players to rep the ACC during the Dr. J years. Or, to sum it all up, there's this:

Thompson rocks his NC State credentials on his chest and Mike just awes over the legend of one of his heroes.

Found: a legend before the legend. They are the culmination of North Carolina basketball through Everett Case and Dean Smith and Coach K and the rest: the ultimate prize of presenting the greatest baller in history lies in the hands of a man whose legend goes unremembered. ESPN and NBA.com both herald Jordan's hero as an "ex-NC State star." Not a basketball hall-of-famer, not David Thompson, not even former great. Just an ex-NC baller. For Jordan, that's perfect. Here's hoping people listen to the speech and listen well. The beginnings and culmination of the modern era of basketball are to be witnessed to the land via North Carolina pride.

Alone and Drinking: A Long, Leisurely Liveblog of 2 Games You Couldn't Give a Fuck About

2009-09-06T19:18:00.015-04:00

It's the night before Labor Day and people are partying, but I've got tons of booze, a laptop, and two games on the tube: my alma mater, Colorado State, taking on the hated Buffaloes of Colorado in the EPIC Rocky Mtn. Showdown, and later the Padres take on the Dodgers in the "Best vs. Worst West-Coast Throw-In Bullshit on the Deuce" game on ESPN2.

I'm going to drink heavily and type some shit in here.

7:05 - Ralphie comes out in one of the more tired traditions in collegiate sports. It's only interesting because buffalo are likely to be extinct soon. Way to go, frontiersmen.

7:12 - CSU gets the ball to start. Our QB is named Grant Stucker. That sounds like an asshole's name. He better not play like an asshole. First play from scrimmage is a dump-off for a first down. All right, then.

7:15 - I should also mention that our running back is white and wears #7. Only at CSU. But after a long bomb (that should've been a TD if Stucker didn't underthrow it), the Great White Hope scores. Ok, then.

7:23 - A few sips into beer #2 and the Rammies force a 3-and-out. I don't want to get optimistic or anything, but this is a good start.

7:35 - Just realized former CU QB Joel Klatt is one of the guys in the booth. I'd make a joke here, but he's got a job. I don't. Advantage: Shitty Quarterback.

7:37 - On 3rd-and-15, CSU tips the pass and picks it off, and gets a facemask on the return, not to mention a horsecollar that was declined. You know what that deserves? PBR CHUG. I'm going to time it: O/U is 27 seconds.

7:39 - 25.77 seconds. I win! The prize is a bottle of White Horse scotch my friend Hannah got me for getting ceremoniously fired. Thanks, Hannah. Boo, says my liver.

7:43 - As Dion Morton goes in motion, the snap hits him, bounces right up to him, and he races to the sideline to get a first on 2nd-and-1. A good sign? I hope so. A sign of a QB not knowing what the fuck's going on? Definitely.

7:49 - Long pass over the middle, Stucker hits a diving John Mosure (honky RB) for a score. 14-0, Rams. CSU wraps the first quarter up, fittingly, with a good wrap-up on an open-field tackle. We may not have athletes, but we usually tackle well. We're the Patriots of college football, except we don't win. And our fans aren't douchemops.

7:59 - Stucker hits a long completion inside the 10, and at the tail end of the play the "Flag" graphic goes up on the screen under the score ... only the color guys don't acknowledge it and explain it, they just talk about the play. HEY ASSHOLES, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THE FLAG FOR? It appears to be taunting on CSU at the end of the play, but they don't say. Fucking amateurs.

8:03 - Speaking of amateurs, it's Joe Morgan and Steve Phillips on ESPN2 for SD-LA. Has anyone in the history of sports broadcasting been unluckier than Jon Miller? It's like instead of Costello, Abbott got stuck with Dane Cook and Carlos Mencia.

8:06 - Picture-in-picture is one of the greatest things ever. Aside from owning 2 big-ass TVs. And blowjobs. Can't forget blowjobs.

8:09 - My man Tony Gwynn Jr. went from a potential top-5 leadoff guy to hitting 8th on possibly the worst offense in the majors, in a span of about 3 months. That's not ... that's not good. Oh, and the Buffs have to punt again. Cue the Nelson laugh.

8:13 - Re: 8:06 - add "leftover shrimp lo mein" to that list. Oh, and O-dog boots little Davey Eckstein's grounder. San Diego - we score runs only if you fuck up!

8:15 - Adrian Gonzalez doubles to right-center. Two RISP, one out. Vegas odds are 10/1 the Pads don't score here. Oh, and the Rams' best receiver just dropped a perfect long bomb that hit him right on the hands.

8:17 - Well, shit. Grounder to Furcal at short, he goes home, and Lil' Ecky makes a nice slide. The Pads lead! The Pads lead!

8:26 - The Buffs convert a 4th-and-5, minutes after a bad pick by Stucker. I mean, Cody Hawkins is the coach's kid. That's lame, right? Right? The drive ends with a 55-yard FG that would've been good from at least 60. 17-3, CSU.

8:37 - With 10 seconds left in the half, the Rams line up to try a 45-yarder. All the extra points have been low, so I'm not optimistic. And ... it's absolutely drop-dead perfect. 20-3 CSU. With one second left, and with all 3 timeouts, the Buffs kneel. HAHAHAHAHAHA.

8:50 - I just got rebuked on a potential phone conversation by my boy Berg, whose argument via text is apparently "cell phones don't work in Minnesota." YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT, YOU BIG BLONDE FUCK. I hope Brett Favre fucks up the Vikings worse than McDaniels screwed the pooch with the Broncos.

8:55 - Kevin Kouzmanoff is up with the bases juiced and nobody out. And he ... singles up the middle! My man Kouz ain't the best hot corner man with the bat (although he's been a STUD with the leather), but he could be a shit-load worse. 3-0 Pads going into the bottom of the 3rd.

9:05 - Hawkins completes a deep pass over the middle inside the 10. The good feelings of the first half are gone as Colorado scores on the next play, one minute into the first drive of the 2nd half. 20-10 CSU. Uh-oh.

9:12 - CSU goes 3-and-out. Well, that was fun while it lasted. Am I inherently negative? Of course. It's got me this far.

9:17 - CU's Darrell Scott makes a one-handed grab on a floater screen and gets a first. Is that the first-half equivalent of CSU's snap-hits-the-guy-in-motion? Probably. Meanwhile, a Russell Martin single drives in Manny to cut the Dodgers' deficit to 3-1. Oh, it was a check-swing single. Good to know. I HATE THE DODGERS.

9:22 - After a review, a CU catch and helmet-to-helmet hit by the CSU safety causes a fumble that is awarded to the Rams. Do I care? Fuck no. Give us the ball. We need a break. These games are always in Folsom Field in Boulder or at Invesco, the neutral site in Denver. This shit is never at Hughes. Either way, we suddenly have no offense, and Stucker looks like a guy named Grant Stucker. Shit.

9:27 - Note to self: stop picking at your healing blister wound on your index finger with a pair of nail clippers while you're drunk. Things won't end well there, chief. Next note to self: refresh your scotch on the rocks.

9:28 - Gonzo goes yard to left. He's one of the top 3 opposite-field power hitters in baseball, bar fucking none. Goddamn that man can play the fucking game. 4-1 Padres, top 5.

9:31 - On 4th-and-1 on their own side of the field, the Buffs gets stuffed on a run to the left. If the Rams don't get at least a field goal on the ensuing drive, we will lose. I have no doubts about that. Also, a CU linebacker's name is Beatty. I wonder if he's seen Ishtar. Or Bulworth.

9:35 - On 4th-and-1, Stucker barely gets across on a QB sneak. Why not call a bootleg, or a play-action on that shit? GROW A PAIR, DAMMIT. And as soon as I type that, Stucker has not one but TWO guys WIDE FUCKING OPEN and hits the man in black between them both. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesh. Me no rikey this game now. Time to get scotch.

9:41 - There's not much better than seeing "Shawne Merriman arrested" on your ESPN scrawl. Fuck that guy. Let's hope the lights don't go out in jail, bitch.

9:45 - On the first play of the 4th quarter, Stucker holds on a late blitz and takes the sack. Luckily the Rams have great punt coverage, and the Buffs start inside their own 10. Still ... GODDAMMIT. Absolutely NO fucking offense in this second half.

9:47 - I haven't had a cigarette in 6 1/2 months, but holy shit does one sound good right now.

9:52 - After talking about how the Padres have a chance to play spoiler in the last 3 weeks, Joe Morgan says "Well the Dodgers have the best record..." and I change the channel. I imagine that sentence ending with "in the NL West," as the other two guys in the booth think of something to say that's not "You're a fucking idiot, chocolate midget." And after converting on 3rd-and-short deep in their own end, the Buffs get called for illegal motion, and fail on 3rd-and-long. Good field position, CSU. PUT IT AWAY FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK.

9:56 - Mark Sanchez is on the CU sidelines, resplendent in black CU gear. He's apparently a very good friend of the Buffs' Scotty McKnight, who got his bell rung earlier when he fumbled. Get ready, Jets fans.

10:00 - I wish I had some weed. Holy fuck.

10:03 - 3rd-and-goal, the Rams try to run and can't punch it in. HAVE SOME FAITH WITH THE ASSHOLE QB. For fuck's sake. The kicker shanks it just inside the left upright. 23-10, CSU, less than 10 minutes to go. They should've punched that shit in. I AM NOT IMPRESSED.

10:07 - Is there anything worse than peeing on yourself? I was just busting a freestyle-Rush-type solo and looked down to notice I had somehow dripped a few drops onto my green Starter basketball shorts. I mean, other than shitting yourself, pissing on yourself is the birds.

10:09 - I'm officially drunj.

10:11 - After a dead-ball foul, the Buffs convert on 3rd-and-15, CU's first third-down conversion of the night. I mean, what the shit. BRING THE THUNDER, KERR.

10:17 - The Rams get their fourth sack of the night on 3rd-and-long. For a team that had a college-worst - and, for the record, there's about 120 schools playing in FBS - a COLLEGE-WORST 9 sacks last season, that's a good thing to hear.

10:21 - The Buffs get a great punt return with about 4 minutes to play, but it's called back for an illegal block. A few minutes later the Buffs convert on 4th-and-1, and they get a sizable gain on the next play. If they get in the end zone they're going to onside kick and I don't like that.

10:25 - In one fell swoop, there's a deep pass interference on the Rams and a two-run base hit by the Dodgers, cutting the Pads' lead to 4-3. Everything is crashing down. CRASHING DOWN AND I'M DRUNJ!!!

10:29 - Sanchez bee-yotch McKnight grabs a semi-fade in the end zone. 23-17 CSU, onside kick to come. A weird onside kick ensues, but the Rams recover. They've got 1:55 left to kill and run this shit out. I am not holding my breath. And out of the blue, on the first play, Leonard Mason busts a long run down to the 2. Since the Buffs have no more timeouts, that seals it. The Rams will kneel and sew it up. FUCK AND YES. YOUR FOLSOM CURSE IS NO MORE, YOU PARTYING TRUSTAFARIAN SHITHEADS. BOW TO THE SUPERIOR GREEN AND GOLD.

10:40 - Clare just got home, and she's messing around with her new iPhone. Now, we all know people with iPhones. A good number of you have them, and if you don't, you've grabbed your friends' just to fuck around with it. So, basically, it's like a new pet. I'm super stoked to have it around, and I want it to myself. Is that creepy? Probably. But I don't care.

10:43 - I'm sorry, but "The Informant!" looks awesome.

10:46 - Re: 10:25 - I'm an idiot. Apparently the PIP isn't as cool as I thought. The Padres still lead 4-1, and the Dodgers never scored 2 to make it 4-3. It's still 4-1 Padres. Could CSU and the Padres win on the same night? GOD BLESS BOOZE.

10:50 - Gwynn Jr. races into the gap in right-center to take away a hit from Juan Pierre. If there's one thing Jr. didn't inherit from his old man, it's the ability to ingest turkeys telepathically.

10:53 - Re: 10:46 presumptually re: 10:25 - Shit. Andre Ethier strokes one into the LF corner to score 2, and NOW it's 4-3 Padres. Well, you can't get both ends of a doubleheader. At least not when you have no job, and you're drinking shitty scotch at 11 pm on a Sunday. There are rules, you know.

11:04 - Heath Bell comes in to close it out for the Padres. The ESPN guys in the booth are praising his nutsack, which means it probably won't end well. Clare is going through the ringtones on the iPhone. There are MANY good choices. God damn you, AT&T.

11:10 - Bell throws a slider on 2-0 to Jim Thome. He needs a double play ball here. He also needs to cut down on the bacon, you fat fuck. Thome hits a routine fly ball to left, 2 out. Ethier coming up, tying run on first. Ethier is the walk-off king. He's got curly hair, like a Jew. If we all know anything, it's that Jews never succeed. LET'S GO HEATH! LET'S GO HEATH! LET'S GO HEATH! You all should know I'm German.

11:15 - Ethier flies out to left, and even though the Padres don't sweep the series they take 2 of 3 of the set. And on FUCKING CUE, Joe Morgan praises the Dodgers for "showing a lot of character by winning the last 2 games in Colorado ... and let's see what happens." HOLY FUCKING BALLS. THE WORST TEAM IN THE NL WEST JUST WON 2 OF 3 IN THE HOME OF THE BEST TEAM IN NL WEST.

Ways in which Joe Morgan should die:

Sharks eat his testicles, and replace them with grenades

Michael Lewis writes his death in a Stephen King-style post-apocalyptic-ish story, and Billy Beane carries it out, with a hockey stick and a Duane Reade basket full of razor blades

Jon Miller electrocutes him in the booth via Burrito Supreme
Derek Jeter beats him over the head with a bat, and glove, and cleats, and the lifeless corpse of a 13-year-old cancer patient from Mott Haven whose only goal in life was to meet Joe Morgan and Derek Jeter
Pete Rose shows up and just says "Jesus Tap-dancing Christ you're pathetic." Then he signs his autograph on Morgan's forehead in arsenic ink, which slowly seeps into Morgan's skull and slowly convinces him that he once hosted the Ed Sullivan show, which drives him to insatiable craziness since he looks to his right and sees Steve Phillips
Steve Phillips beats the fuck out of him with a microphone and a ham sandwich

11:39 - Holy shit. Ok, CSU won 23-17 (I had a CSU T-shirt on). The Padres beat the Dodgers 4-3 (I had one of my many Padres hats on backwards). I can only assume that both of my teams that were involved in games tonight won because I was wearing their shit. And I can totally live with that. Because that's how I roll, you motherfucking monkey fuckingmothers.

This one's for Herc

2009-08-30T19:40:00.002-04:00

Thanks for the tip, Cap'n.

God I hope he breaks something tonight.

Orton Hears a Boo

2009-08-18T22:06:00.009-04:00

Oh, man. What a terrible debut. That's not really how I wanted to introduce myself to my new team, fans, and city. Wait, what's that?

Boooooooooooooooooo!

Hello? Who's that?

We're the Boos. We're Bronco fans.

Wh- where ... where are you? I can hear you, but I can't see you.

We're in your inner ear.

How'd you get in there? Bronco fans are people. They're normal size!

Not since Jay Cutler said we were a 6 compared to Chicago's 9. Because of the altitude, we shrunk even more. It had an adverse effect. That chubby, no-chin, cookie-eating bastard didn't know what he was doing. Particle physics are no place for a Vanderbilt grad.

Man. I ... I had no idea. Hey, what's that buzzing sound?

What? Oh, that? Nothing. We're just getting Chris Simms's initials tattooed on our legs.

Holy fuck I'm drunk.

This is all I got, son

2009-07-29T22:09:00.004-04:00

And: Afflalooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Ok, not quite the same cachet as SHEEEEEEEEEEED, but whatever.

Help.

2009-07-18T13:49:00.001-04:00

When does basketball season start again? I was even watching Kings v. Knicks in Summer League today. It's getting desperate already.

Also of note: SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED.

We, the Proprietors of the Pretzel Factory, Make Jokes About the NBA Draft, and People About to be Far Richer than Ourselves

2009-06-25T19:42:00.014-04:00

Hello, basketball fans and readers of words on the internet! This is a joint venture of the two world-weary - yet undeniably sexy and hilarious - blogger-type personages who sometimes write things that appear on this site. We are here to make funny about the NBA Draft, and maybe about things not involving tall men and balls. Won't you join us? Hooray!

(Note: So you can tell your friends and, in 37 years, grandchildren, which of us said what monumental thing, they will be prefaced accordingly: PG for Phony Gwynn, and BoL for Business or Leisure?. See? You learned something. Fantastic!)

PG: I am awaiting the presence of BoL, so let me say this: I am an unabashed fan of I Survived a Japanese Game Show, and ... it may have seeped into the first few graphs there. Just so nobody asks me where I got the killer peyote.

And...they're here! (Note: We have a guest speaker, Carlos, who gets a plain old "C." Simplistic? You bet! Sexy? Not really.)

BoL: David Stern could read my favorite book, or a Penthouse Forum letter, and I would [rolls head over, closes eyes, makes loud, obnoxious snoring sound.]

[Griffin is picked by the Clippers] BoL: He's kissing dudes? You're not even in L.A. yet!

By the way, we both agree that this was beyond excellent.

BoL: Ted and I decided the other night that the drunkest thing you could say, even if you're stone-cold sober, is Colorado Rockies. No matter how you say it, you sound drunk as shit. C: Rrrrryyyannnn Spppillllbbbborrrrrggghhhhssss for the Cccccolllllllorrrrrradddddo Rrrrroccckkkkiesssss.

[Mike Dunleavy is shown on screen] PG: Oh no, it's Steven Seagal's ugly, bald cousin!

[The Thunder take James Harden 3rd] BoL, PG: OH NO! NOOOOO! WHY? WHY?!?!?

[New T-Wolves GM David Kahn's credentials are shown, including working as a consultant on NBA Showtime] PG: What is that, Summer Sanders's resume?

PG: When the T-Wolves picked Ricky Rubio, all the ESPN sound guys heard an audible 'thump' and were confused. Turns out it was Mark Jackson's erection smacking the underside of the desk.

[Graphic says Jonny Flynn hasn't grown since the 8th grade] C: I'm surprised they put that. "Real small..."

[The Warriors take Stephen Curry right ahead of the Knicks] BoL: Yes! Fuck you Yankee-cap wearing mother-fuckers! (Not sure if this is what was said - the audible groaning of Knicks fans in attendance was drowning it out.)

BoL: Oops. We skipped the DeMar DeRozan pick, much like the Raptors should have.

Terrence Williams: "I learned great under Coach P, I can learn great in the NBA." C, PG: Well, apparently he didn't "learn great" in college. C: English 101 was a problem, there.

[At this point, many of the compelling points in the draft - Rubio, Curry, etc. - had subsided. So we ordered Chinese food. We shall resume shortly, presumably with the poking of fun at Tyler Hansbrough.]

Before the Pacers pick, BoL says: This is it. Who do they have? C: Troy Murphy, Travis Diener ... PG: Mike Dunleavy Jr. BoL: They could do it. C: Can we call them White Flight? PG: I like White Night. Kind of ironic.

[The Pacers pick ... Tyler Hansbrough] C, PG, BoL in unison: YES!!!!!!!!!!!!! [High-fives abound.] BoL: THE GREATEST WHITE TEAM OF ALL-TIME!

Pacers nicknames: Vanilla Thunder, The Whitewash, The Opaque Floor Generals, Clear and Present Danger, The Awkward Brigade, Definitely Your Father's Pacers, White Team's Guilt, The White Stripes (only for pinstriped away jerseys), Duke: Midwest, I See White People, New Mother Russia, The Indianapolis White-Hundred.

The T-Wolves take Ty Lawson at 18, and we are summarily ... slack-jawed. One team - ONE TEAM - has now taken three point guards with their first three picks. AMAZING. BoL: I'm befuddled. PG: Well, aren't we all.

[UPDATE: Apparently, the Nuggets have traded for Ty Lawson. A young, solid backup for Chauncey Billups? PG IS A HAPPY MAN!]

[Shaq gives the "great" Stanley Roberts a shout-out during a phone interview] BoL: He just HAD to bust on Stanley Roberts. Stanley Roberts is probably watching Cars right now. What an ass.

[Fran Fraschilla on the Kings taking Israel's Omri Casspi: "They better have some good falafel in Sacramento."] PG: Really? Headline: Fran Fraschilla Flubs Falafel Flap.

BoL: Hi. I'm James Harden. I'm the 3rd pick in the 2009 NBA Draft. The next time you'll hear about me will be in 3 years when I commit suicide.

C: With the first pick of the 2010 NBA Draft, the Indiana Pacers select ... Luke Harangody. [This was incredibly, incredibly funny to us.]

[The Bulls' Gar Forman is interviewed] PG: Gar Forman definitely sounds like a NASCAR crew chief. [BoL and C proceed to speak in Southern voices and talk about restrictor plates. Justice cannot be done in print.]

ESPN goes to commercial with the Nuggets on the clock, and BoL correctly predicts that they wouldn't even show the pick. They come back, announce a trade, announce the Pistons' pick at 35, then ... talk about the trade. FUCK YOU ESPN. DIE IN A HUNTING ACCIDENT.

The scrawl reveals the Nuggets picked (please be DeJuan Blair, please be DeJuan Blair) ... some guard named Sergio Llull from Spain. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. Denver, I have a feeling Llull regret this pick.

[UPDATE: The Nuggets trade the rights of the Llull pick to the Rockets for cash. NOT A BIG, SCORING, OFFENSIVE-REBOUNDING MACHINE. As far as I know, dollar bills can't get 5 offensive boards a game. But the Nuggets are cash-strapped, so ... whatever.]

BoL: The Detroit Pistons select ... Jeff Laughlin, from the University of ... FAT!

So, the T-Wolves are 5-for-5 in picking guards, even if Calathes won't play for them (and they're moving Lawson to the Nuggets). Either way, that's batting 1.000. Look out, Joe Mauer - the Wolves are on your ass!

And the Pacers pick ... A.J. Price. A black guy? What? NOOOOO!!!

C: Acie Law and Speedy Claxton sound like a TV cop duo.

We're late in the 2nd round, and we don't recognize any of these fucking guys, and we've had a few beers, so ... the updates are few and far between. PG: I did realize that David Kahn of the T-Wolves looks like the guy who plays Alby on HBO's Big Love.

And so the night comes to a close with a reference to a Mormon drama. The 2nd round petered out a bit, but the first round was wildly entertaining, with plenty of surprises and twists and turns. An enjoyable evening. And one that provided plenty of jokes.

No joking on this, though: RIP Jacko. You were ... strange, and bizarre, and sometimes downright creepy. But holy good lord were you talented.

Another Crazy Bowlen Movement

2009-06-17T23:23:00.006-04:00

On Thursday, June 18, the Denver Broncos became the first NFL team to trade one of their fans.

Peter King tells us how it happened.

I could go on and on about the rude woman who took up two seats on the LIRR the other day, or the fact that the new Dunkin' Donuts sandwich should be served with a circular saw and an air sickness bag. But I won't. I'd like to discuss the unprecedented move the Denver Broncos made recently.

No, I'm not talking about the trade of Jay Cutler to the Bears. And no, I'm not talking about their acquiescing to Brandon Marshall's trade demands. Pat Bowlen and his two-time Super Bowl-winning organization backed up so fast on that one you half expected to hear a "beep-beep-beep" sound.

Instead, I'd like to start with the two chats I had with Adam Sivits. Haven't heard of him? Of course you haven't. He's a pawn in this game.

"It's really frustrating," Sivits said via Gmail Gchat instant message. "I've actually worked for this franchise. I raised the north field-goal nets. I hand-painted the horse's eyes in the end zones. And what they've done lately is just ... surreal."

Sivits says that he sent a text message to new Broncos coach Josh McDaniels expressing his dissatisfaction with the way the off-season has gone. McDaniels told me in an email that he received no such text. "We take the feelings of our fans very seriously," McDaniels wrote. "If he's truly upset, I'd like to talk with him."

After a phone call between Sivits and McDaniels early yesterday morning, Sivits blogged that he told McDaniels he wanted a conference call with McDaniels and Bowlen. McDaniels then posted a message on his Twitter feed that "[t]he Broncos organization has not received any requests for a conference call from Mr. Sivits."

Which was news to, of all people, Mr. Sivits.

"The way this organization has been run since the firing of Mike Shanahan has been a deplorable and ghastly joke," Sivits wrote on his Facebook page. "As of right now, I no longer wish to be a fan of the Denver Broncos. I hope Mr. Bowlen and Mr. McDaniels can see my side of things and do what's right."

After paging new Broncos GM Brian Xanders, I received an overnight FedEx package containing a stone tablet engraved with the following: "When determining whether or not to trade Adam, we must determine his overall worth. He is a tall guy with good reach, and he has amazing commitment. He treks to the same bar near Union Square in Manhattan every weekend to watch us. Sometimes he stands for the whole game, by himself, with no other Denver fans in sight. The thing is, can we get equal value in return? Since we don't pay him, it's a very, very tough question."

A source revealed to me that Al Davis and the Raiders sent up a smoke signal, offering the Broncos a dual-speed ceiling fan and $1 million. The Broncos simply wrote back "No" in Morse code.

Some members of the team have gone out on a limb with their views.

"We need Adam Sivits on our side," new safety Brian Dawkins wrote on his Tumblr account. "The dude is a real fan. You can't give that up."

After reading that information on InDenverTimes.com, ESPN's Chris Mortensen reported "Sivits safe as Bronco fan" in a sky-writing message high above the Denver skyline.

Minutes later, I received word that Sivits had indeed been traded to the Buccaneers for John Burkhardt, a 28-year-old electrical engineer originally from Tampa now living in Brooklyn, as well as a fan to be named later. I released the carrier pigeon and boarded the Metro North, Dunkin' Donuts bag in hand.

The Sad, Sad Story of San Diego's Slugging Sisyphus

2009-06-04T16:22:00.006-04:00

We live in the Information Age. The fact that you're reading this at all is a testament to just how easy it is to find facts, quotes, stats, pictures, opinions, Thai menus, funny t-shirts, midget-on-llama porn, cheap airfare, crossword puzzles, and literally anything else your twisted little mind can imagine, all by tapping on a keyboard.

As if that's not enough, we can now do all this on our phones. Wherever there's a strong enough signal we can look up the name of that guy in that one movie, or Juan Pierre's career caught stealing numbers. In the car you can listen to some blowhard and Mike from Queens debate Joe Girardi's use of the bullpen. And if we happen to be at home, we have hundreds of channels filled with scrolling tickers, pop-up graphics, and exquisitely coifed talking heads all pumping us full of juicy, gravy-covered tidbits of knowledge.

We are swimming in a sea of data, and we are drowning.

Exhibit A: Adrian Gonzalez is 5th in the All-Star balloting for National League first basemen.

That's right ... fifth. Fif!

Aside from being a little thing called, oh, the major league's leading home-run hitter, Gonzo has gone gonzo and put up these numbers, just a tad over two months into the year:

.289 avg, 22 HR, 43 RBI, 39 R, .412 OBP, .663 SLG, 1.075 OPS.

Here are the same numbers for the 3 guys immediately ahead of him in the balloting.

Prince Fielder: .276 avg, 12 HR, 49 RBI, 30 R, .412 OBP, .530 SLG, .942 OPS.
Ryan Howard: .266 avg, 16 HR, 45 RBI, 36 R, .348 OBP, .591 SLG, .939 OPS.
Joey Votto (recently placed on the DL): .357 avg, 8 HR, 33 RBI, 23 R, .464 OBP, .627 SLG, 1.091 OPS.

Albert Pujols leads the balloting by a wide margin, and rightly so. Even if the game wasn't in his home city, Pujols is having yet another monster year and is the best all-around player in his sport, let alone his position.

But while all 3 of those guys are having very good years, they: A) all play in hitter's parks; B) all have very good hitters both in front of and behind them; and C) are not in Gonzalez's class in the field.

Already this season he's had a stretch where he's homered 6 times in 5 days and 5 times in 6 days. The poor guy has slugged 39% of the Padres' ding-dongs. Think about that: if the Padres go deep, there's a 4 out of 10 chance Gonzalez stroked it. That is fucking insane.

Every game Padres pitchers pray that Gonzo will bail them out and, more times than not, he does. He did it last year, and he's doing an even better job of it this year.

And the fact that many baseball "fans" - either via TV, the internet, sports talk radio, or the papers - don't recognize it, just because he plays for a shitty team in a small market, is a sad, sad state of affairs.

Outside the Aviary: "We Got It For Cheap"

2009-06-02T23:59:00.009-04:00

Since LA and Orlando both make me angry, I'm gonna fast forward seven games to the offseason.

The idea that '09 is a weak class of NBA free agents is a ridiculous understatement. There is more chance for failure amongst the championship-caliber teams than there is success. Think about it: the Lakers are banking on Odom and Ariza, the Cavs ditto with Anderson Varejao if he opts out (sorry kids, I don't think that highly of him other than a scrapper), and the Celtics ditto Glen Davis (how long 'til he becomes the Varejao he is destined to be?) as their high priorities speaks to how much the GMs think about this class. That said, there are some "we got it for cheap volume '09" players worth pursuing this summer. Here goes.

Raja Bell. He can still defend for a contender, can hit open (read: OPEN) threes despite his 3% tanking a bit this year in Phoenix/Charlotte. He can rock a midlevel exception, maybe not even the whole thing. He's hungry from his recent fall from grace in Phoenix and can replace the tenacity a contender may have lost since he's entered the twilight of his career. I love him in Boston, Cleveland (Mo Williams being absent would not have mattered as much in the playoffs-- Raja would have made a huge difference, I bet), Atlanta. The Knicks aren't contenders, but he would go back to D'Antoni, I'd bet.

Kyle Korver (if he opts out). If you are defense heavy, maybe you need that dude to come in and just hit shots. Or, maybe, you just need those shots. Hard to imagine him in Boston or Cleveland with those coaches. Or LA with them having wasted money on "The Machine." Or Denver, seeing as how they have to give the ball to JR Smith one out of every three touches in clutch situations (my thoughts on JR soon to come). Still, a midway contender could really use a court-spreading spot-up guy right? I love him in San Antonio, Cleveland (despite the defense first attitude), and like him in Phoenix now that they are running again (a sleeper for next year since they wasted the first half of the season on the most subjective and thoughtless coach in the NBA). If Kerr were smart, he'd try to make amends.

Birdman. Oh man, Mike Brown and Doc Rivers. They have to think they can make a run at this guy. He's got a past and is too emotional at times, yes. But you don't think LeBron or Garnett can keep him in check like Chauncey kinda did? Man oh man. Sign him, please. Either of you. Cleveland-- Anderson Varejao has held out and is now going to opt out. Of a contract. Worth money. More than enough money. 6.4 million dollars worth of money. FUCK HIM. Birdman is everything he is plus some actual offense. You sign him and a real spot-shooter (sorry, Boobie. 2006 was so long ago and you been figured out). Do it. Boston, this is your chance to have the cheap asshole that will take you to the top again. He's Mikki Moore, only the exact opposite. He's the new, white, tattooed PJ Brown. Denver needs to operate on a "right now" policy, I'd say. I'd love him in Boston, love/hate him in Cleveland and watch a lot more Denver games in Denver. Also, shouldn't Philly make a short run? He and Brand splitting some time don't sound so bad, right?

Mike Bibby. More than Jason Kidd, the emergence of Bibby after his trade last year has been surprising. Not that I thought he was cooked, I just never saw a four-seed or second round appearance coming from him. A team with a jittery young PG could use him. Or a group of shitty ones. And he might come cheaper than expected in the no money era. This will kill me to say it, but wouldn't LA be unbeatable right now with a decent-to-good point guard? Ugh. Seriously. Kidd still bears himself as too good and expensive, so go with the real option: Bibby in '09. Love him with the Lakers*.

*kills self.

Brandon Bass. He's good. Seriously, I love watching him. He's worth it. Undersized forwards are the new undersized shooting guards. I mean Chuck Hayes played center this year. Center. Chuck Hayes. Do it. You might not be disappointed, people. Miami, you like how Beasley liked to do nothing with his "size"? How about a guy who knows how to use his? Love him over Glen in Boston (not gonna happen), Denver (Phony's gonna kill me on that one) and, most of all, Miami.

Von Wafer. He's got the unsung quality you want in a swingman. He can shoot, drive and his name his alternately cool/gay. Isn't that all you need to make a small difference on a team? Plus, we gotta forgive him sometime, right?

Love him in Philly, Golden State (I know, not a contender... I just love them, OK?), Phoenix.

Ricky Davis. (Just kidding.)

Dahntay Jones. It is decision time in Denver. I love him right where he is. Leave him be. Except, well, there are so many defense-hungry contenders who just watched him play the toughest guy on the court for long stretches... uh-oh, Denver. Personally, I think he flops everywhere else. Stay, Dahntay. Stay. Love him in Denver, he'd survive in Boston or Cleveland. Neither of them can afford to give away that much offense, though.

Jamal Crawford. He's not elite, but he can come in and get hot for a struggling club. For all the players on this list, can you see any of them coming in and hitting big shots without a pick or without being the third- or fourth-best player on a court? He is that player. He still thinks he's a leader, but put him with another alpha-male and see what happens. Yeah, he's sporadic, but if he knows his role early, he can score in bunches. I like him in Denver (Phony just shit himself and vowed to kill me twice). Otherwise, he'll go to a points-hungry non-contender (i.e. stay in Golden State). He may not be as cheap as the other guys on this list, though.

Luther Head. Who? I know. But I like his game in the right system in limited time. Plus he is really cheap right now. Let's see if he can thrive during second-unit time on a good team, you know? I like him spelling the guards in Philly, Atlanta (they need bench players everywhere), Utah, Phoenix (he can run and he has to play better defense than Nash. His 3% will increase too, says I), San Antonio, and I'm cool with him in Miami more than I am Chris Quinn.

Matt Barnes. God, let him end up on a contender. He's so underrated since he's been on running teams for so long. Barnes can make a huge difference on a second squad. Throw the game plan out the window when the second unit is on the floor, you know? Run 'em. Think in Boston: new PG, House (if he re-signs), Powe, Barnes and Davis. Sometimes Pierce/Ray for leadership. Wrecking crew, three-pointers and some slashing. Now, Cleveland: LBJ sits and you got Delonte, Barnes, Varejao (if he opts out/re-signs), and some shooters. That crew can score, right? And he is fearless. Denver could use him. He seems like the perfect "asshole" in LA's schemes. Gets after every ball. Emotional to nearly a fault. Cheaper than Ariza and willing to sign short term. I like him nearly everywhere: Boston, Cleveland, LA, Orlando, San Antonio (f'reals), Philly, Atlanta, Phoenix again, Miami. I bet he'd thrive in NYC, god forbid.

Jacques Vaughan. He can shoot a little, he's quick as hell, played for a contender and gores after every play like it's his last chance to prove himself. He's tiny, quick and worth the diminutive risk. I like him, still, in San Antonio. I like him in Boston. I really do. Also, as a backup in Dallas or Philly where he has the potential to step in for longer stretches and Houston with Aaron Brooks and his situation.

Trevor Ariza. Can they sign Ariza and Lamar Odom? Odds are, yes. They will both be Lakers again. Still, defensive minded teams? Think of San Antonio with Pop's system or on the Jazz under Sloan. Think of backcourts with Ariza and Rondo, CP3 and Ariza, LeBron and Ariza. Kinda nasty. So much fear in a ballhandler's eyes. I love him in Boston, LA, San Antonio, Atlanta (though he would jack up too many threes), Phoenix, Denver... just about anywhere unless he falls apart after signing a decent-sized contract.

It's more of an interesting offseason than I thought, I guess. There's value to be had, for certain.

Can't Finish

2009-05-29T23:18:00.004-04:00

These are two words, pulled from the endless litany of the English language.

Harmless apart. Deadly together.

Can't. Finish.

Grab a hammer. Pound the headstone. The epitaph for the Nuggets' ultimately successful, but endlessly soul-crunchingly disappointing, 2008-2009 season will read: "Can't Finish."

Accurate. Succinct. True.

Literally it's correct. Nene can't finish down low, K-Mart can't finish down low, Melo can't finish down low (and certainly not on his birthday). Chauncey can't finish down low. J.R. Smith can sometimes, but not when he can't. The ball won't go in. The ball don't lie. If Kobe or Gasol flip up a wild shot, or shoot a contested turnaround, the ball wants to get to the bottom of the net, wants to penetrate the hoop in a sacred act of basketball sex. When push comes to whistled shove, however, Nuggets shots do nothing but rub against hard metal, scrape against bone. They don't seek the soft embrace of the net. They seek the touch of the opposing team. They burn for the others.

Figuratively it's correct. The Denver Nuggets can't finish. The fourth quarter is mom at home, telling them father is going to get back from work with a belt and an itch to use it. They bitch about calls, they argue with the refs, they get unnecessary technicals, they miss open shots. They get in their own way, they think before they act when they shouldn't, they don't think before they act when they should. They can't see the forest for the trees. Which is sad, seeing how their logo has a goddamn mountain in it.

The trees in the West, tough, are long. Thick. Worthy of an effort.

The Enver Nuggets had no D tonight, or in the series.

There's also no "C" in Denver Nuggets.

For Championship.

Outside the Aviary: "What Burns Never Returns."

2009-05-26T23:51:00.011-04:00

In watching the Celtics last year and the Magic (thus far) this year-- have they proven that underrated talent rises when they are put to the impossible task of beating the best player in the world? Sure, D-How was nice in the OT, but this was Rafer and Rashard like it was Posey and Pierce. No one expects Cleveland to lose, but this team keep finding ways to beat them, like the Celts last year. Is this a weakness of LeBron? Is it a team weakness? Is Orlando the latest "hot team" to take down a giant at the perfect time? Is Cleveland, as a sports city, doomed?

No.

The Cleveland Cavaliers lost three games doing exactly what they should be doing defensively: leaving Rafer Alston alone, hoping to stop the rest of the team. Alston is the sole player on the floor at any given time with a glaring weakness: he'll take any shot despite being a less-than-average shooter. The Cavs lost while relying on LeBron down the stretch. He played an amazing number of minutes and peppered mistakes with incredible shots. The Cavs lost while fouling Dwight Howard in crunch-time. You have to do that and they did. Dwight hit free throws. No one would have expected that.

The Cavs lost because their big men were insufficient, their threes weren't going down, and they made mistakes. Since the breakup of Shaq and Kobe and the deterioration of the Spurs, the NBA now has the most fallible sets of championship contenders in the league's history. Think about the list: an old Celtics team, a Magic team that lives and dies by the three, the Lakers who have a myriad of problems with role players, point guards and big men who aren't getting the chance to assert themselves against smaller lineups. The Cavaliers went into the season as the favorites for the one or two seed. Beyond that their fallibility had to be lurking somewhere, right? Just not against teams who were as disjointed as Atlanta and Detroit.

I don't think that many people were counting on the Eastern Conference Finals being a cakewalk until Kevin Garnett went down. However, Garnett going down benefited Orlando way more than Cleveland. When Dwight Howard saw Garnett go down, his eyes were transfixed on insane double-doubles. There is no pother big an capable of stopping him in the East. Conversely, the Cavs big men had no reason to celebrate the absence of Garnett. Ilgauskas is a jumpshooter, Wallace is a defender/hacker and Varejao is a scrapper. None of them are accomplished scorers which leaves the interior defense hungry to bang LeBron around and keep him from going hard to the basket. They won some and they lost some and Orlando will live with that. Possibly long enough to get to the finals.

All this while Rafer Alston plays above his own body and Mo Williams is playing with the lowest confidence level he can possibly have. He is passing up open shots, letting Delonte and Lebron run the point more than ever and missing his open looks more often that I have ever seen. Delonte is his own problem and the Pavlovic-Sczerbiak connection has done absolutely nothing thus far. The problem of production continues to rear its ugly head. If the guards stretch the defense, the Cavs have a chance. If they do not, the Cavs are doomed.

So, that leaves LeBron. LeBron has done it all imperfectly, then perfectly and again, last night, imperfectly. Like a bedbug looking for a blood meal, he searches for ways to bump into the lane and create with no space and little help. The picks aren't helping, the passes aren't getting to made shots and the plays aren't effective. Yet, they have been a shot away all three losses. Not to be lost in the din of Orlando's triumph is James' imperfect brilliance.

How did we not see this team's fallibility before? The problem doesn't lie in the players, it lies in their design. This is a team of strange pieces, and for the second year in a row, this team looks poised to falter with the greatest player in nearly any sport. Mo Williams was brought on to take the pressure off of the team-- not even off of LeBron but the team itself. He was the piece with enough smarts to control the Cavs destiny outside of LeBron. The shooting percentage, the moves and the fluidity to give them a viable second option has been neutralized.

And so too have the Cleveland Cavaliers. As LeBron forces instead of flows, the team does the same. LeBron is not the problem. Cleveland is not the problem. The defense is not the problem. Mike Brown isn't even the problem. The problem is a team that looks to a leader and expects him to deliver. He can and will, but not every time. No, at some point he has to be helped, like we all do. And this still doesn't seem to be the team to do it. Problem is, so few of saw this coming and we should have.

Split

2009-05-22T00:05:00.007-04:00

Phew.

Too much will be made of J.R. Smith's venture through the circle on the Gasol vs. Billups jump ball late in Game Two. Was it a violation? Of course. Did the Lakers get a ton of calls throughout the game (and Game One)? Ohhhhhhh, you bet your ass.

Some seem to think that David Stern and the NBA, in their not-so-subtle way, want to see Kobe vs. LeBron in The Finals. We know where Nike stands. But what about everyone else?

Leaving the Game Two recaps and analysis to other, more capable blogs, let's look (wishfully) ahead at why Nuggets-Cavs is more compelling than Lakers-Cavs (assuming, of course, Game One of the Eastern Conference Finals was an abberation).

1. Melo vs. LeBron - Why does everyone assume Kobe and LeBron would go head-to-head? Kobe is an aging superstar quickly losing his legs. Sure, he explodes to the hoop for dunks every now and then, but those are few and far between. A capable defender - Shane Battier, or a vastly improving Melo - can force him into a fairly deadly jump shooter. Kobe on LeBron is a gnat on a semi windshield. Melo has shown that he has the tenacity, temerity, quickness and strength to guard the all-around best player in the game. Or, you know, at least try.

It would also make for endless columns about which 2003 top draft pick is going to join D-Wade in the VIP Champions club behind the velvet ropes. And considering the effort the Lakers put forth in last year's Finals, a young, hungry club making their first Finals appearance against a young, hungry club making just their second would be huge.

2. Nene vs. Sideshow Bob - Ok, not quite as compelling as 1. But two big Brazilians with interesting hair going toe-to-toe? One of them with a vast array of low-post moves, the other with a vast array of low-post flops? Just the promise of any hot Brazilian chicks in the stands is good enough. But this matchup is a microcosm of...

3. The Irrestible Force vs. The Immovable Object - The Nuggets may not have had the "best" offense in the league this year, but it's fairly obvious that they have the most balanced attack, and are certainly the most explosive team left in the playoffs. The Cavs were basically one of the top two defensive teams in the league this year. They say defense wins championships. Well, wouldn't this be a fascinating and likely entertaining case study?

4. Denver vs. Cleveland (with apologies to Toby) - The Drive. The Fumble. Two things here: A) Doesn't matter if it was a different sport. B) Cleveland has NOT forgotten. Trust me on this. Never has, never will. Those two AFC Championships, in back-to-back years, were soul-crushing. You think fans in Cleveland - not to mention, oh, EVERYFUCKINGBODY WHO CAN TYPE OR SPEAK INTO A MICROPHONE - will fail to bring this up all the time? And that it wouldn't add an extra level of pizazz?

Am I biased? Of course. But I dare any neutral fan to give me any other matchups, besides the tired Kobe-LeBron hype-a-palooza, with as much flavor as the one I really, really, really hope happens.

C'est La Vie

2009-05-20T02:05:00.005-04:00

It's 2 a.m. on a Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. My knee is bleeding. My shoulder hurts. My forearm is sore. I opened a 40 at 1 a.m. I should be going to bed now, but instead I take my four-year-old laptop out and start it up, wait for the bugs and processes and crumbling sounds to subside, watch the excruciating post-game highlights, and lie back so that I can type out this sentence -

FUCK TREVOR ARIZA.

We lost 10-4 tonight. I hate losing. I'd rather swallow Chinese stars than lose. We lost 10-4 tonight. I hate losing. I'd rather move to Kansas and abstain from sex than lose. We lost 10-4 tonight. I hate losing. I hate losing. I hate losing. I hate losing. I hate losing. I hate losing.

Oh. And I broke my brand-new bat. Got one opposite-field single and a walk out of it, then splintered the shit out of it. On a foul ball.

And then I promptly grounded out.

I hate losing.

I trekked home and turned on the game. DVR. Essential. Before I could settle in and eat one half of one half of a $5 footlong, the Nuggets jumped out to a quick lead. They were defending, making the extra pass, knocking down the open shots. They looked incredible.

And yet...

The other shoe would drop. They would outplay the Lakers, outshoot the Lakers (well, maybe not from the foul line), outhustle the Lakers, outbasketball the Lakers, and somehow they would give this game away, just roll it up in a "1985 2: More Tattoos" screenplay and hand it on over with a Zippo to Jack and Donald Sutherland, in his stupid white sunglasses.

There were free throws, there were numerous pissed-away possessions, there were stupid fouls.

And yet...

There was Carmelo Anthony, finally realizing the poetic basketball Adonis he can be if he just fucking wants to. There was Nene, cutting to the hoop for those dunks that start and make you think "he can't finish that with a dunk" and then he throws down a thunderous, one-handed Braided Brazillian special and you think "Well, he is one testicle lighter" before you say "Shit, he fouled out and was ineffective in the second half." There was JR Smith, playing Lord-awful ball, then seemingly turning a switch and hitting some big second-half threes, and then you think "he won't be that bad again." There was Kenyon Martin, making the aforementioned bad fouls, but also being physical, limiting Pau Gasol and Lamar Odom to virtual afterthoughts.

Fuck Trevor Ariza.

It was one play out of many, but it was the NBA Jam-esque "nail in the coffin." A steal of an inbounds pass, late in the game, is a playoff staple. Just as Kobe's shots will always find a way to rattle and bounce in. Derek Fisher will always find a way to hit that momentum-swinging three.

It was a horrific, brutal, soul-crushing defeat. And, needless to say, the fitting end to my shit-storm of a day.

But it is not over. This series is not over. I am not an optimistic person, and in fact I happen to think things happen better for my team when I daydream and wish the worst.

And yet...

The Nuggets can play with the Lakers. They can beat them.

And they better. Because I fucking hate losing.

But I hate not finishing an open 40 even more.

2009-05-14T01:10:00.004-04:00

Seven years.

It's been seven years since one of my Sad Four played for a conference title. Those Avalanche lost 7-0 to the hated Red Wings in one of the more forgettable games I ever remember watching. By my fifth or so beer I wished it was sulfuric acid spiked with cobra venom.

But after finally disposing of the Mavericks, the Lakers loom on the horizon. The defending Western Conference champion Lakers. The Lakers led by Kobe, presumably doin' work. The Lakers run by Phil Jackson, he of the nine titles. Nine.

That's fucking absurd.

This may have come up before in these parts, but if not I'll reiterate. Growing up, I vaguely remember the Doug Moe run-gun-and-fun Nuggets that routinely put up 130, 140 a game (while also giving up nearly that many). The last time the Goldens went this far, I was six. Not exactly in my basketball prime.

By the time I got into my teens, the Nuggets became a laughingstock. My dad and I would watch the games just so we could crack jokes about Blair Rasmussen's hair or Bill Hanzlik's nose. Then 1994 came along, and they became the first #8 seed to beat a #1. Denver got wrapped up in Nugget-mania. And in the second round they met ... the neighboring Utah Jazz.

I remember trying to will the Phons, Dikembe, Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf (ne Chris Jackson), Robert Pack and the rest back from a 3-0 hole. They almost did, too, taking Utah to a seventh game.

But something funny, and painful, happened after that.

The Nuggets turned to shit.

Having finally gotten on the basketball kick, and getting to an age where I could appreciate a good drop-step or close-out as much as a ginormous dunk, I wanted to see good basketball. So I started following the Stockton-to-Malone pick-and-rolls, the fluid ball movement ending in a Jeff Hornacek three. So the Nuggets became an afterthought.

Did I ever become a Jazz fan? I don't know. I'd like to say I didn't, but I remember owning a Jazz hat. So that's a part of my past, and I can't change it.

But I know that I never stopped being a Nuggets fan, even when they turned into jogging punchlines. And they may fall in the next round - I think they can take the Lakers, to be honest - but even if they do, the Nuggets have had a fantastic season, and are the only positive thing in my sports-rooting life. The Sad Four is now the Sad Three.

They are exciting, they are explosive, and they are fun as fuck to watch. And as of right now, the Nuggets still have a chance to be champions.

I knew it! I'm surrounded by a**holes!

2009-05-07T11:58:00.009-04:00

"Sir! We're tracking something on Mr. Radar. It's moving fast. It's going right past us, and it's heading for Earth."

"What is it?"

"We don't know, sir. Radar is picking up the outlines of ... a baseball team."

"A baseball team?"

"Yes sir. It appears to be ready to crash in a desert."

"Then get down there and comb the desert. Do year hear me? COMB THE DESERT!"

[Hours later]

"Find anything yet?"

"No sir."

"How 'bout you?"

"No."

"What about you guys?"

"Man, we ain't found shit!"

[Minutes later]

"I'm getting a strong feeling ... over there."

"There's something here ... in the sand! There appears to be an ugly uniform. It was camouflaged in, sir. And there's an insignia! Look - it's an SD!"

"San Diego. Oooh, I hate San Diego! Even with the good weather!"

"What shall we do, sir?"

"Ready the ship. We're leaving. This whole place has gone from suck to blow."

"Well, they did start out 9-3, sir."

"This team once won nine out of twelve games? That's ludicrous."

Movin' On

2009-04-30T00:56:00.004-04:00

For the first time in 15 years, the Nuggets will advance to the second round of the playoffs.

Three things.

1) This was a decisive victory, but let's not start blowing smoke up each other's rectum just yet. This Hornets team was beat up, banged up, and nowhere near the "on-the-precipice-of-greatness" status they displayed last year.

2) When Carmelo decides he wants to take it to the rack, there are maybe a handful of guys on the planet who can stop him. New Orleans had one of them on their roster, but unfortunately they needed the 2003 version of James Posey. The Rockets have 2 of them, but luckily the Nuggets have a better chance of donning the old rainbow jerseys than meeting the Rockets anytime soon.

3) The Nuggets swept the Mavericks this year, and have won 7 of the last 8 against them. This series will not be a sweep. While the defense is much improved, the focus and discipline still wanes from time to time. Dirk and Kidd are savvy veterans, and the Mavericks have a bench capable of keeping up with the Nuggets' (something not seen with the depleted Bees). JR and Carmelo will probably shoot away a few games.

Prediction: Nuggets in 6.

But for now: HOLY FUCK WE'RE MOVING ON I DON'T BELIEVE YOU PINCH ME SUSAN!

Fuck you, NASCAR

2009-04-23T21:39:00.007-04:00

My blogmate, Business or Leisure?, recently had, shall we say ... an ... episode ... with his wireless provider, Sprint.

We here at the factory are not amused.

So, to counteract their nefarious business practices, shitty coverage, and overall twatfluffing existence, I say ...

FUCK YOU, SPRINT.

What do you have? Verizon has that annoying asshole with glasses, and the universally recognized best coverage (which is why their rates are the highest, natch). AT&T has the boner-inducing tech allure of the iPhone. T-Mobile has the G1 which, apparently, is pretty good. And they used to have Catherine Zeta-Jones, which is a big plus in my book.

What do you have, Sprint? What sets you apart?

Oh, right. NASCAR.

FUCK NASCAR.

Fuck you and your constant claims that you're the highest-attended sport in the country. Football would draw 250,000 a game, too, if THE FUCKING SPORT DEMANDED 12 SQUARE MILES OF PLAYING FIELD.

Speaking of fields, fuck the infields and the RVs driven in from all points ... south. I'm not going to make a Southerners joke, or an inbred joke, or a redneck joke, but ... how long has it been since a car going 190 MPH got bumped and careened like a flaming meteor into the middle of the track, taking half of a county in Alabama with it? Probably due. Probably due. Just sayin'.

Speaking of cars, fuck your decades-long resistance to foreign manufacturers getting some of that sweet, sweet sponsorship money. Actually, I see your point on this one. They're absolutely CRUSHING you in the domestic retail market; why should they be allowed to have racing, too? The big 3 were greedy, arrogant, and disrespectful, and now you're taking it right up the ass. Boo and fucking hoo for you. Until you make cars people actually WANT to buy, you deserve it.

Speaking of sponsors, fuck your absolutely Herculean effort to cover every Godforsaken square inch of your cars, drivers' suits, and TV screens with the ejaculation of capitalism. I work for a company that tracks product placement in TV shows. Can you even FATHOM what you've put me through? On Mondays I'd rather scrub my penis with sandpaper than time how long the fucking Quaker State logo was on the running order.

Speaking of drivers, fuck this old boys' network that begrudgingly accepts guys because they're from fucking California. Really? The fact that Jeff Gordon, Jimmie Johnson, et al. are whiter than copier paper isn't good enough for you? For the fuck of Lord, it's almost 2010. TWO THOUSAND TEN. This is why your sport is slowly dying. America is becoming less white, not more. And yet you stand your ground. Soon, it'll be you and golf. Well guess what? I can go out and hit a few balls, play a round or two. I can't go 200 in circles for five fucking hours. DIE.

Speaking of dying, that's what Mother Earth is doing. You know ... that green shit that was there before you put 46 metric tons of asphalt over it? Yeah, that. The small reservoirs of gas you burn up every fucking week are choking it to death. All so toothless dipshits can Ooooh and Ahhhh after a crash. Congratulations. Not only are you contributing to the dumbing-down of society, you're also slowly rendering it extinct. Actually, that's pretty clever.

Speaking of being clever ... BOYCOTT SPRINT. They make shitty commercials, shitty phones, and endorse shitty sports. Spread the word. Move to another provider. Ride a bike. Do anything, as long as it's to Sprint's detriment.

And do it quickly. Sprint, as it were.

Halfway There

2009-04-23T01:37:00.004-04:00

God, I love this man. He's from Denver. He knows how to run a team. His name is Chauncey, which, when I was young, was our safe word for Doorknob. (When you fart you have to say the safe word before somebody says 'doorknob'; if you fail, they get to punch you until you touch a doorknob. Beware the dreaded Double Doorknob - you couldn't touch the doorknob on the other side of the same door.)

Speaking of young, it was 1985 the last time the Nuggets held a 2-0 lead in a series. 1985. I was six. Nuggets were little rocks of gold, not buds of weed. Twenty-four years. Wow.

BASEBALL PREVIEWS: The Central Division of the American League

2009-04-12T22:19:00.004-04:00

It's the end of the first week of the season and we're finally done with this nonsense. And, as of right now, the Padres are atop the NL West. Sure, it's only one week, and they've played all their games at home, but for now - right now, this very second - I can say, in all honesty, with impunity and feeling ... fuck you, Stan.

1. The Oligarchy

"Although we exist as separate entities, we are but one mind. And that philosophy, simply, is this: we will throw strikes; we will make all the routine plays, and many of the difficult ones; we will reform the downtrodden educational system; we will move the runner from 2nd to 3rd by hitting to the right side; we will fix the contamination problem in Lake Dumbbell; we will find out the mysterious ailment hampering Joe Mauer; we will not overuse Francisco Liriano; and we will find a way to lower the cigarette tax. Two minds are better than one, especially if that one is Carl Pohlad."

Record: 88-74
Lose to Red Sox in divisional round after a plucky fight

Favorite song: "Blue Collar Man" by Styx
Favorite movie: Brothers of the Head

2. The Tribal Council

"Dark times are these. Long have we been without Smiling Grizzly Bear and his left-handed arrows of death. Still, Sinkers from the Devil and Southpaw From Nowhere have bolstered our front line. But troubles in the tribe are many. We wait and tell stories of the past. And if by the middle of the month of rain and sun we continue down sad, sad path, we shall ask for tickets to Quicken Loans building to watch the Chosen One in the playoffs."

Record: 86-76

Favorite song: Anything by Gnarls Barkley
Favorite movie: Dances with American Werewolves in London

3. The Democracy

"This is ... well, to be honest, this is kind of a bad time for us. In the past, we were your only choice. You had old, white socks over here, and on the other ballot ... just another pair of old, white socks. Now, all of a sudden, it's cool to have black socks. We don't want to talk about fucking black socks, ok? Got me? We just want to go back to 2005, when you had two choices: white and white. Like a big, harmless, pale Mark Buehrle, or a fat, sweaty, translucent Bobby Jenks. Can we do that? Is that cool? Do you have a time machine? We'll buy it from you, you know. We're rich as shit."

Record: 85-76

Favorite song: "Courtesy of the Red, White & Blue" by Toby Keith
Favorite movie: Frost/Nixon

4. The Dictatorship

"Listen up, you worthless pieces of canine anus. We're going to score some fucking runs. Got that? R.U.N.S. All up and down this goddamn diamond. We're going to score so much Vivid Video is going to produce our end-of-the-year DVD. And whenever we score 10 - or give up 10 - Miggy's going to cook a razorback in Magglio's hair grease and I'm going to smoke 4 packs of Marlboro Lights while fucking two 16-year-olds painting a portrait of me wearing a polar bear skin. We're the goddamn Tigers, assholes. Get fucking ready."

Record: 83-78

Favorite song: LOUD FAST AND FUCKING DISORIENTING
Favorite movie: Soy Cuba

5. The Monarchy

"Ahem. My people. You may look at the crown today, set against a robin's blue background, and not believe the fervor that once rippled through my body when that same crown shone of a gold so bright the Gods themselves shielded their eyes. You may not see the dried streaks of blood stained upon the sword, like so much pine tar stretched black and sick towards the barrel of the bat. We have fought before. We have won before. We have taken the field underrated, underprepared, and unafraid. Before, when you battled, when you pulled on your colors, you merely played for the names on the back of your jerseys. But now I humbly implore you ... I firmly beseech you ... I merely beg you on the knees of my father and my father's father that you - my brothers ... my sons ... my Royals ... I ask that when you step between those white lines that define us you spill your soul, your blood, and every ounce of yourself for us ... for your team ... for your City of Kansas!"

Record: 78-83

Favorite song: "Feel Good Hit of the Summer" by Queens of the Stone Age
Favorite movie: The Fisher King

BASEBALL PREVIEWS: The Eastern Division of the National League

2009-04-08T18:29:00.003-04:00

You know the drill by now, assbirds.

"The NY Mets are my favorite baseball squadron."

Dear Mother,
Camp is fun this year. It was the first time since I joined the older kids that no one made fun of me. I got to eat whatever I wanted and I even made the all-star team in baseball! I got to wear a new uniform and hit a homerun off of this bigger kid! Everyone was real excited and I was laughing. Man, it was FUN! Our team lost, but everyone agreed that we did the best we could. I just know that this is going to be a good year not like those last three years where everyone got mad at us.

I miss my friend Pedro. He used to teach me cool words in Spanish like "curro" which he says means "cool dog," and "bendeho" which is a nice car. I told some girls that I had a curro and they laughed. Don't worry mom, I didn't talk to them for long. PROMISE.

Anyway, the guys are going to make some water balloons, so I gotta go. I love and miss you. When you pick me up in October, I will give you a present.

Your Son,
David

Favorite Song: "Holiday" by Weezer
Favorite Movie: "Camp Candy," the TV Show

"The Atlanta Braves are my favorite folk song."

Dearest Mother,

I got down here safely & have been very well & have got almost entirely well of my cold. Chipper is well & well contented. We are still upon the preseason & expect to leave this at 2 o’clock P.M. tomorrow (saturday). I hope we will not be disappointed, as we are all very tired staying here. I was down in Florida & the folks are all well there. Did not see any of Youngs. Went to the house & they were not at home. I was only in Florida a few weeks, the boat came along about 2 hours sooner than usual, so I did not get much talk with anyone. I believe Smoltz is going along to Boston but not any further. Chipper was at McKeesport while I was in Florida. It is pretty warm here and I think we will be pretty well “broke in” by the time we get to Atlanta. The town is full of baseballers coming home, and they all look well, hardy & all very much sunburnt. And nearly every one of them likes camp life very well and are going back again. I have seen a great many fellows of my acquaintance. A good many more of them than I thought were out all together, I saw Jair Jurrens this morning he is just returning & is going out again. Looks as hardy as a pine. Knot was very much surprised to see Chipper & me. Derek Lowe is in town but I have not seen him yet. As soon as we get to camp I will write to you & give you the necessary directions to put upon a letter for me. I must quit & go to practice now good bye.

Yours Truly,

Thomas Glavine

Favorite Song: "Dixie" by Anonymous

Favorite Movie: "Glory"

"The Philadelphia Phillies are my man fiddy grand."

Yo Moms,

What's good? I won 300 gs in a poker game. I'm good like that. I'ma send you a nice diamond for ya birthday.

Holla,

Shane V.

(Thought I was going with J-Ro, eh? I'm no racist.)

Favorite Movie: "Maverick"

Favorite Song: "Got Money Like Volcanoes Got Ash" Don Ho f/ Li'l Wayne

"The Florida Marlins are my favorite new phone."

mom

can u write 2 coach and get me traded nm i gotta go up 2 bat

hanl

"The Washigton Nationals are no one's favorite."

Mother Graceful and Beautiful,

This is a poem I scribed for you on the occasion of my newest surroundings in the nation's capitol:

Baseball's Sad Lexicon

These are the saddest of possible words:
"Tinker to Evers to Chance."
Trio of bear cubs, and fleeter than birds,
Tinker and Evers and Chance.
Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble,
Making a Giant hit into a double-
Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble:
"Tinker to Evers to Chance."

I love thee,

A. Dunn

Favorite Song: None.

Favorite Movie: "Eight Men Out"

Yeah, that part was right after the failed Wall Street interviews, and before the prison-themed bar

2009-04-08T15:29:00.006-04:00

Some other movies he could've tried:

Starman
Greystroke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes
Red Dawn
The Muppets Take Manhattan
The Brother from Another Planet
The Terminator
Gremlins
All of Me
This is Spinal Tap
2010
The Adventures of Buckaroo Bonzai Across the 8th Dimension
Beverly Hills Cop
Blood Simple
Dreamscape
Splash
The Pope of Greenwich Village
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
Footloose
The Neverending Story
Johnny Dangerously
Firestarter
Ghost Busters
Moscow on the Hudson
Star Trek III: The Search for Spock
The Flamingo Kid
Once Upon a Time in America
The Ice Pirates
Broadway Danny Rose
Children of the Corn
Police Academy
Places in the Heart
Breakin'
Sixteen Candles
Nineteen-Eighty-Four
Top Secret!
The Gods Must Be Crazy
C.H.U.D.
Revenge of the Nerds
Purple Rain
Oh God, You Devil!
Amadeus
A Nightmare on Elm Street
Dune
Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo
Cocktail 2: The One About Baseball

Fuckinguntitled

2009-04-05T23:50:00.002-04:00

I love this fucking UNC team. I love them more than Bill Hicks, more than finding money in the pockets of jackets I haven't worn in a while, more than Tiger Woods 09 on the Wii, more than Akiri Kurosawa films, more than big men who can reliably hit a midrange jumper, more than blowjobs, more than a long shower after a day of traveling or moving, more than bacon cooked to perfection, more than transcendent performances like LeBron's fourth quarter in Game Five against the Pistons, more than a Songs: Ohia album on an early morning subway ride, more than new socks, more than old hats, more than the sound of one ball bouncing on the hardwood in an empty gym, more than my stepmom who is quite possibly the nicest person on the planet, more than payday, more than morning sex, more than getting an unexpected gift, more than scotch on the rocks, more than King Wilkie when my friend John-O was in the band, more than hamburgers that make you think about cutting it in half just to attack it, more than a perfectly executed pick-and-roll, more than quickly and correctly putting together a piece of IKEA furniture, more than writing, more than unselfishness on the fast break, more than sleeping in, more than the smell after it rains, more than harmlessly tossing something into the trash only to have it miraculously bounce off three things and go in, more than J.R. Smith lighting it up off the bench, more than the first day of March Madness, more than Kurt Vonnegut, more than a cigar at a wedding, more than every quotable line from Major League, more than The Wire, more than jeans that have been broken in just right, more than hearing people laugh at your joke, more than a Salvador Dali exhibit, more than Cool Ranch Doritos, more than a Gary Smith story, more than listening to Walt Frazier, more than a beer after going a few days without one, more than walking in New York on a beautiful day, more than cracking jokes and making references with friends at a game that nobody else in the stands gets, more than House of Games, more than an unplanned kiss, more than Phillip Seymour Hoffman, more than the Dustin Pedroia and Tim Lincecum video game commercials, more than Langston Hughes and Theme for English B, more than chicken quesadillas, more than hearing your name called out during sex, more than getting a seat on a crowded subway, more than a good shit, more than tax refunds, more than Carmelo's ability to score, more than Ninja Warrior, more than buybacks, more than the Onion AV Club, more than NBA playoff games that go into overtime, more than Immanuel Kant's beliefs on metaphysics, more than the day I got my braces off, more than watching stupid people fail, more than Alec Baldwin acting like Tracy Morgan's family on 30 Rock, more than foreplay, more than all the good times and great experiences I have had, will have, or have presently, more than all of it-- all.

Unfuckingtitled

2009-04-04T22:00:00.004-04:00

I hate this fucking UNC team. I hate them more than hitting my funny bone, more than Coke Zero commercials, more than when my roommate blasts TV at 4 AM right outside my door, more than philosophically wrong Pitchfork Media reviews, more than using scripture as a basis for human thought, more than war, more than hippies, more than Don Delillo's "literary" books, more than the flex offense, more than college football's bowl system, more than the college loan system, more than the fact that banks charge you thirty dollars when you have negative money already, more than failure, more than condoms, more than hangovers, more than jovial greeters at chain bookstores, more than the word "intense," more than when people use "u" instead of you on the internet or text messages, more than people who say the NCAA tourney is "boring" when good teams win against smaller seeds no matter how good the games were, more than people who constantly claim that classic rock is underrated despite the fact that it has entire radio stations, more than people who voted against gay marriage and hate being married themselves, more than slavery, more than radio rap, more than white Jesus, more than the horror film genre, more than bad pizza, more than teams that jack up threes when they get panicked, more than bad announcing, more than Van Halen, more than David Spade now that he is old, more than reality television's vast expanse of anti-knowledge, more than life itself, more than the crippling loneliness and depression that haunts me for long periods of time, more than work, more than the word "diva," more than passive-aggressiveness, more than spam emails, more than the shakes after a binge, more than my boss, more than freedom fries, more than rhyming dictionaries, more than people who say "whoa, you must be really smart" whenever someone mentions a book over the level of "Chasing Harry Winston" et al, people who get mad when bands change their sound a bit, more than the its-it's rule, more than referees allowing big guys to get calls they don't deserve way too early in games, more than the mess I clean after parties at my house, more than hemorrhoids, more than animal rights, more than the smell of hand sanitizer, more than people that bring up politics no matter the surrounding, more than assholes who walk slower than the crowd, people who say they hate poetry because they don't "get it," more than all the petty grievances I have had, will have, or have presently, more than all of it-- all.

BASEBALL PREVIEWS: The Central Division of the National League

2009-04-03T00:10:00.007-04:00

Hey, kids! Wanna know why there's 6 teams in the NL Central, more than any other division in the major leagues? It's because most of the teams are located in the midwest and parts of the Bible Belt. Those people don't believe in condoms. More offspring, more people. More people, more baseball teams. It's simple math.

1. Babies of Bears

Having already won their first 20 games of the year, the Cubs will be feeling pretty good in late April. Then Milton Bradley will rip a vicious foul line drive into the crowd in Arizona, knocking the eye out of the socket of a 12-year-old girl. With a look of pained immediacy, Bradley will rush into the stands, grab a fan's keys, and re-attach the eye. When the girl passes out, Bradley performs CPR. When she goes into shock he hugs her, calms her, takes off his jersey and engulfs her within its polyester warmth. The D-Backs are so grateful, they forfeit the game. The karma continues and the Cubs roll on, unbeatable, loved, revered. In late July the Pirates take the unprecedented step of lobbying Bud Selig to give the Cubs all their wins on the season. Since Ted Lilly recommended a top-notch cardiologist to the commish, he happily agrees.

Record: 217-13
Lose in Game 7 of the NLCS after lightning hits Alfonso Soriano in the 9th inning (clear skies)

Favorite song: "Un-break My Heart" by Toni Braxton
Favorite movie: The Saw series, Hostel

2. Babies of Drunkards

It's 3 pm on a Friday. Prince Fielder is eating right now. A taco? A burger? A knish? A bowl of rice noodles? A horse? The possibilities are endless. BUT WILL HE EVER STOP?

The answer, sadly, is no. He balloons at an unprecedented rate and soon exceeds 4,000 lbs. Pretty soon Fielder doesn't even have to swing: any pitched ball will ricochet off his flab and out over the fence. Unfortunately he cannot round the bases, and his stunt is outlawed. He soon teams up with an Asian importer to run Prince's Quinces, and within two years the tree is in almost 2 out of every 3 American homes.

But he still won't talk to his dad.

Record: 87-75

Favorite song: "Rock and Roll McDonald's" by the Wesley Willis Fiasco
Favorite movie: Good Burger

3. Babies Who Will Grow Up And Not Make Babies

ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS. ALBERT PUJOLS.

Record: 83-78

Favorite song: "I Know What Boys Like" by The Waitresses
Favorite movie: Sleepers

4. Babies of Communists

On a road trip in late May it's revealed that Homer Bailey isn't real. He's a cyborg built by home-schooled scientists in the Ozarks (hence the hair). I mean, Homer Bailey? Who names a child that? Definitely a cyborg. It all makes sense once you see this picture (scroll down). What you don't see, however, is "Homer" slicing that thing from the jaw to the jibble bits and rummaging around inside, just to see what's in there.

Also, at some point somebody has to see the similarity between Aaron Harang and Lurch. That's when the nickname Aaron "You Rang" Harang will take off. It's so perfect!

Record: 81-81

Favorite song: That one by the Flying Burrito Brothers that goes "Dah-Dah ding da da da barrrrrrump"
Favorite movie: Le Cercle Rouge 2: This Time It's in English

5. Babies of Celestial Beings

Date when the Astros are eliminated from the playoffs: June 27

Date when Roy Oswalt gives up, shoots Wandy Rodriguez with a double-ought shotgun, then borrows a hacksaw from the stadium crew, saws off the barrel, puts the freshly shorn end in his mouth and swallows a shell: August 19

Date when Lance Berman buys an actual puma: April 24

Date when Lance Berman shoots the puma: August 9

Date when Jose Valverde and Carlos Lee eat the puma: August 8

Record: 70-92

Favorite song: The theme song from "3rd Rock From the Sun"
Favorite movie: Plan 9 From Outer Space

6. Babies Who Grow Up to Steal Babies

We've already detailed what will happen to them, so ... please to enjoy.

Record: 0-162

Favorite song: Anything by Conor Oberst
Favorite movie: A live version of The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything, starring the puppets from Avenue Q and Ron Jeremy

NECKBEARD!

2009-04-02T23:01:00.005-04:00

Would I rather have this guy running the Broncos than some whiny, three-chinned, sugar-craving, cock-worshiping Hitlerbitch?

Yes. Yes I would.

Look, you can argue for either side and be technically correct. Both may have acted dishonestly, both may have acted immaturely, but the thing is: Denver has TALENT on Cutler's side of the ball. The defense would've gotten fixed, somehow. If you can't see the forest for the trees, get to high-steppin' out of the Mile High City.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

And good luck in Chi-town, Cutlerfucker. You're going to need it.

BASEBALL PREVIEWS: the Western Division of the American League

2009-03-31T21:30:00.005-04:00

There's only four teams in this division, and two of them have never even made the World Series. So why do we care? Well, why do you love your step-brother? Oh. You don't? You're a horrible person.

1. Emanations of a Divine Being Sent to do their Bidding

Sometime after the All-Star break the Angels, struggling, lethargic, and morose, will come across a unique nugget of information: star outfielder Vladimir Guerrero is not 34, as he revealed in a spring training interview - when he was thought to be 33 - but is, in fact, 395. He was born in 1614 to elderly parents in what is now the Dominican Republic. Upon releasing him to the Gods of the sea because they were too feeble to care for him, he landed in Florida where he was cared for by Seminole Indians. When he was 14, he stumbled upon the Fountain of Youth. He told no one. 383 years later he will use this knowledge to repair Ervin Santana's elbow and John Lackey's forearm. Gary Matthews Jr., however, will be told to go suck one. Side note: when he first met new closer Brian Fuentes in camp, Guerrero looked at the awkward-looking, acne-riddled lefty and said "Oye, tu tambien?" Fuentes had no idea what the fuck was going on.

Record: 93-68
Will beat the Yankees even though they have no business doing so, then get swept by the Red Sox

Favorite song: Meatloaf's cover of "Wind Beneath My Wings"
Favorite movie: Dogma

2. Calisthenics and Exercise Personified by a Giant, Slow, Fat Mammal

At some point during the year forest fires will rage in California, and Jack Cust will be prohibited from batting anywhere in the state. The power and frequency of his swings and misses only serves to empower the flames. Fans will bring signs pleading for A's manager Bob Geren to sit the slugger for the sake of the citizens. He will comply, for 1) he shows compassion and empathy, two signs of a great and wonderful man, and 2) Jack Cust sucks.

Meanwhile, new addition Matt Holliday will kick the living shit out of Justin Duchscherer in RBI Baseball in the clubhouse. Orlando Cabrera will sit and watch but never be invited to play. Eventually, he'll start watching Season 2 of "Entourage."

Record: 82-80

Favorite song: "Pimp the Ho" by Too $hort
Favorite movie: Operation Dumbo Drop

3. Badge-wearing Enforcers with Lonestar State-wide Jurisdiction

In late August, when the Rangers' playoff hopes have once again been beat into the Texas dirt, Jarrod Saltalamacchia will team with American composer Salvatore Macchia to start "Salt a la Macchia," a spice store specializing in salt shaped like musical instruments. For some reason the didgeridoo will be the most popular. Fellow catcher Taylor Teagarden will offer his services for a cafe in the back, but will be rebuked. Nobody puts salt in tea.

Record: 77-85

Favorite song: "No, Not Now" by Hot Hot Heat
Favorite movie: Blazing Saddles

4. Steerers of Ships Once in the Air, Now on the Sea, None of Which Go Anywhere

You know that one episode of Itchy & Scratchy where Itchy sawed off the Space Needle and the tip of it landed in Scratchy's eye? And he ran around with it comically sticking straight up, like a circus performer balancing something on their chin? Yeah, that'll be this year. Only more painful, and occurring more often.

Record: 69-93

Favorite song: "Nothing to Say" by Soundgarden
Favorite movie: Winless in Seattle ... and Oakland, and Chicago, and New York, and Cleveland, and Boston, and Kansas City, and ... No, Wait, We Can Win Some in Kansas City

BASEBALL PREVIEWS: the Eastern Division of the American League

2009-03-26T13:44:00.005-04:00

1) The Yankees of the ever-powerful New York City-State: Once C.C. Sabathia finds a Big and Tall store close to the stadium, he will hit his midseason stride. I mean, he's gotta be more comfortable in his academic and judicial robes, capes and moo-moos than the constraining pinstripes. Following his lead, AJ Burnett will take to Bajas-- even in the summer. Gotta stay comfy. With a new Steinbrenner in place, the world is the Yanks oyster-- Johnny Damon will wear his own beard, Mark Texeira will dress in super-cool denim suits and bring his attache case to the field with him at all times. Robinson Cano will rock Cross-Colours gear (fresh!), and upon his return, Alex Rodriguez will be super casual in his all-cotton Hanes undershirts. Look who they've got their Hanes on now! In a show of excellence, Xavier Nady isn't even going to wear a glove until he involved in a trade to the Padres for Jake Peavy somehow. All this comfort will pay off to the delight of the new class of Yankee fans-- finally comfortable in their own skin as well. What a wonderful world. The World Series, much deserved, awaits!

Favorite Song: That "Keep Truckin'" song that the Grateful Dead did.
Favorite Movie: Ordinary People

2) The Rays of the fervently humid Tampa Bay walled complex: The lord is kind to David Price, allowing him three wishes this year. Being a young upstart, however, he squanders the wishes on "winning the wild-card," "not getting a hilarious pie-in-the-face," and "winning something important this year." Too bad, young one. You will learn. On a lesser note, Scott Kazmir will finally reveal his "Mets ForFuckingEver" tattoo that he got in the minors. It remains his second-biggest regret, behind his collection of of M.A.S.K. trading cards that he finally admits will never be worth anything.

Favorite Song: "Theme from Aladdin (I Can Show You the World) by Peabo Bryson and some trick"
Favorite Movie: Aladdin

3) The Orioles of the air-conditioned Baltimore crab castle: With a new extension in tow, Nick Markakis can finally get around to his favorite, favorite activity. Finding illegal aliens and hunting them for sport. After setting a record for three in one day, he is fined by the team for being late to a meeting. Furiously, he pulls out a buck knife, runs across the stadium and slices Peter Angelos' throat while screaming, "I DIDN'T WANT THIS WAR. YOU DID." The Orioles reverse all fines levied and go on a tear to finish above .500 for the first time since Jimmy Carter ruined our country by letting all those evil banks run amok. All of my Orioles previews have Peter Angelos dying, I think.

Favorite Song: "If You Want Blood" by ACDC (or the Mark Kozelek cover can suffice)
Favorite Movie: The one where Busey tries to hunt down Van Peebles 'cause he's black or gay or homeless or whatever

4) The Blue Jays of the friendly northern Toronto sex-compound: ROBOTS.
Favorite Song: "We are the Robots" by Kraftwerk
Favorite Movie: Short Circuit 2: Shorter Circuiter

5) The Red Stockings of the ramshackle hut that is Boston: Well, it comes down to this. Theo Epstein's gambles don't pay off and when they don't he tries the kookiest, craziest idea of them all: combining all of his injured pitchers into one super-pitcher. Brad-John Pensmoltakashaizolyo. Unfortunately, he's not good with the brain combination, and this supercreature immediately runs off of the mound and begins ripping muscles out of Mike Lowell and Jason Bay. Once he feasts on Pedroia and Jed Lowrie, he finds himself still hungry-- but one man stands in his way. Youk has climbed the monster and wrestled down the Citgo sign. In a wave adrenaline, he screams, "BACK TO HELL WITH YE, YE FILTH-RIDDEN MONGREL." After crushing the monster, the credits roll and the Red Sox forfeit the season.

Favorite Song: "Monster Mash" by whoever the hell wrote it.
Favorite Movie: Now filming: Youk v. Pensmoltakashaizolyo 2: The Reckoning-birds.

Oh, and my picking Boston to finish last is trying to make up for the fact that Phony picked his team to win the NL West last year.

BASEBALL PREVIEWS: The Western Division of the National League

2009-03-24T16:19:00.012-04:00

Yes, folks, it's that time of year again. The taxes are due, the Asians are kicking everyone's ass and it's 42 degrees in New York. That can mean only one thing ... BASEBALL! Today your venerable blog starter and tall drink of water Phony Gwynn will take you on a tour of the NL West, a division so stocked with talent, so chock full of intrigue and grandeur, that everyone east of the Mississippi will forget it even exists 2 days after the season starts. Enjoy!

1. Los Angeles Dodgers

Last year some idiot predicted that the Padres would win the West. We shot him, chopped him up and fed him to Andruw Jones.

Obviously Manny Ramirez is the engine that makes this team go. This year Manny makes a full attempt to remember everyone's name but will fail miserably when he calls Hong-Chih Kuo "Dong-Tee Crow," which means "enterprising nun rapist" in Korean. Funny, I thought that was a compliment. It gets even better, though, when Manny tells Eric Stults "I loved you in Killing Zoe, bro."

Favorite song: "Mr. Brownstone" by Guns N' Roses
Favorite movie: Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure

Record: 90-71
Out in Divisional Round

2. Arizona Diamondbacks

"This heat, it's a dry heat. One-hundred-five, 110 degrees. When you sweat you can hear it ooze out of your pores, fry once it hits the surface, and evaporate. Explode. You want to wear black in this town, you better be buried underground. Ever try to fight the sun? Put on boxing gloves, stare at the void, and go toe-to-toe with a star? I don't recommend it, friend. Like dancing with a walrus - it's different and interesting at first, but in the end, you're on the bottom looking up. You can tout Brandon Webb and Dan Haren around this town all you want, but a lack of offense is seriously offensive. Plus, there's a Bill Buckner on the team. Some roads should just be closed forever."

Favorite song: "In the Dirt" by the Phunk Junkeez
Favorite movie: Raising Arizona

Record: 87-75

3. San Francisco Giants

On May 18, 2009, the San Francisco Giants make history. There will be a press conference sparsely populated by the local media, but the blogs will glow and pulse with delight. Some will not believe it; for others, the mere thought if it will cause aneurysms so fierce they will bite through their own tongues and claw through their own flesh, down to the bone and sinew.

Humanity: destroyed. The Bay Area: awash in a red sea of flames. Western civilization: crumbled.

Due to an anemic offense, the Giants will sign Barry Bonds.

Oh, not that one. His MLB2K9 counterpart.

Despite not being able to swing a bat made of tangible matter in the physical realm, he still manages to out-hit Randy Winn.

Favorite song: "Hell in a Bucket" by the Grateful Dead
Favorite movie: Bullitt

Record: 80-82

4. San Diego Padres

Here's the most ringing endorsement I could ever possibly dream up for the MLB Network: I watched the Padres' edition of 30 Clubs in 30 Days, in which they: picked apart the Jake Peavy situation like a Thanksgiving turkey; trotted out every Jupiter-sized hole in the lineup; talked about how well Walkoff Walk favorite Kyle Blanks hits, then explained why there's no room for him on the big league roster; and ended the whole thing with both Joe Magrane and John Hart picking them to finish dead last. And guess what? I still looked forward to the season. That is some black fucking magic right there.

Record: 75-87

Favorite song: "On a Rope" by Rocket from the Crypt; "I'm Not Dead" by Buck-O-Nine (incidentally, what the offense - aside from Adrian Gonzalez - is worth)
Favorite movie: Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy

5. Colorado Rockies

Once there was a team that crawled out of the expansionary muck. The amoeba slowly grew fins, gills and a tail and swam around, content in its simple life. But soon it wanted more. So, many years later, it grew appendages and crawled out of the soup, soon scraping its knuckles on the ground, hunched over, breathing heavily. Finally, one glorious day well into the future, the team stood upright and rejoiced.

Then a hunter in red socks put a bullet in its head.

Evolution's a bitch, ya know.

Record: 74-88

Favorite song: "Broken Hearted Savior" by Big Head Todd and the Monsters
Favorite movie: Jesus Camp

JOIN US

2009-03-20T14:20:00.005-04:00

Join me at 3:05 (not 2:45) on deadspin.com. I am liveblogging Pitt-E Tennessee State. Get some.

Outside the Aviary: "The Plan"

2009-03-15T19:14:00.003-04:00

Listening to the blaring anger on the behalf of St. Mary's (whom I do sympathize with a tiny bit) on ESPN, I have a slight solution to our problem, here. The teams that wont play mid-majors at their school and the mid-majors that can't get neutral site games that are good enough to get in the big dance: a mid-season tournament that resembles an all-star game for college basketball teams.

Instead of forty different Christmas tourneys in Maui and etc. that usually prove next to nothing, let's consolidate all of them to a mid-season NIT. Schools can reject the invitation just like they can an invite to the NCAA tournament and the NIT postseason. If you don't like the idea of sixteen teams getting together in mid-season, don't go. BUT, if you are available and you think you could benefit your team at an away site against other good teams, then do it.

Sixteen teams, three days, equal parts mid-majors and power conferences. It can even be put together at the beginning of the season if the scheduling is too hard. Let's say the tournament goes after borderline teams in the power conferences: Arizona, Clemson, Auburn, etc. You know who the near-good teams in these conferences. Then you take the teams that struggle to get good games (ones that don't have ACC or PAC-10 help like a Davidson, Gonzaga and the like)-- St. Mary's, Utah State, Siena. This makes the Christmas holiday tremendous on a sports level-- NBA Christmas day, football in full swing, and a college basketball tourney in-season that has major implications for teams in March.

I'm sure there's problems with this, and it is an on-the-fly idea that won't work as far as scheduling. Also, arguing about what teams should get in is always fun. It's just that if the NCAA is really going to care about student-athletes, they have to give the smaller schools a chance to improve their out-of-conference schedules. That way, when they win or lose, at least they know they got a real shot. It's not so heartbreaking to get left off the list if you are provided with the means to get there.

Predictions to come, people.

An Open Letter to Jay Cutler

2009-03-13T17:04:00.006-04:00

Dear Jay,

Shut the fuck up. Quit whining like that kid in 6th period Gym who couldn't climb the rope.* Rub some Vagisil on that rampaging rectal rotunda of yours and start leading this aimless fucking franchise.

Were the Broncos duplicitous? Surely. Could they have handled it better? Of course. Do they have the right to wave your chubby ass around like a fucking 1987 Dale Sveum Topps looking to dupe some retard into a Ken Griffey Jr. rookie? You bet your backside they do. It's a business. They pay you. They will gut you like a rainbow trout if they so choose.

Look, they're trying to fix this team. They've made some free-agent signings. Attempted to overhaul that gaping maw of a defense.

You're a legit player. You know it. They know it. Everyone knows it. Whose jersey is best represented in the stands at Invesco? Yours. I sat next to a live, walking cliche in the Meadowlands, and the moron couldn't stop screaming your name.

I bought a goddamn shirt that says "JC Saves" and has you in a prayer position.

Grow up. Get over it.

Be a man and take this team to somewhere other than a .500 record and front-row seats in January.

Make that shirt mean "games" and "seasons" rather than "tempestuous hissy fits for the offseason."

*I couldn't climb the rope, but I never bitched about it. Instead, I kicked everyone's ass at ring toss.

Ask BoL: The End is Truly the Beginning

2009-03-05T23:28:00.003-05:00

Dear BoL: Stephon Marbury is the picture of all this is godless and wrong with the earth. fuck the celtics.

Ryan D. (cavs fan)

Ryan: Technicaly, this is not a question, but off I go anyway. I took a good, hard look at myself in the philosophical mirror yesterday and asked myself, truly, what I thought of Stephon Marbury in Celtics duds. Know what I thought? Nothing. Nothing at all. It's not that I can't muster up feelings for the dude-- positive or negative-- it's just that any team that hands themselves over to the will and wont of a championship must forever stare into the face of the void and have the void stare back. The only way for Eddie House to reamin a two-guard in the second unit was to have a ballhandler that was, apparently, not Gabe Pruitt.

Philosophically, Stephon Marbury is everything my dad hates-- the skills of a brilliant madman with the tattoos and resumes of a high-school gang member hanging out near a rec center. Sure, the requisite whitebred response is immediately, "Shit, man. That guy's an asshole." I've even said it in my day. But weeks ago, i said, while sober, that I'd be happy to have Marbury on the roster. Why? Becuase, at best, he is a Steve Blake kind of problem-solver off of the bench. If Rondo is the creative master of the first unit, then Marbury is the cordial host of an after-party-- dancing with all comers without making any mistakes as to who is with whom.

At worst, he is a failed experiment that is benched in the playoffs (see Cassell, Sam in LA) and the Celtics lose a few bucks and MAYBE a night's sleep. That's it. This isn't a trade for Jason Kidd two years removed from the finals, or getting an old, expensive Shaq on the fastest team alive. This isn't MJ coming back either. It's a backup point-guard on a roster of forwards and two-guards. How can this hurt? Sure, my dad is pissed, but I'm sure that if the Celtics get to the Finals, I'll be regaled with "Marbury really shook off his demons, didn't he?"

The purest form of basketball is still played with wonton disregard to who passes to whom or what happened in the timeouts. Deliver the ball to the right people to make shots. Period. Marbury can do that, becuase the people around him won't deal with failure. Except maybe Glen Davis. Am I selling my basketball soul? I say, quite the opposite. Steph's fall from grace was well documented, and now, Celts-willing, his first gainful steps will be too. His countenance may never overshadow his legacy, but it will add to the remarkable story that many can't seem to want to stop hearing.

I'll listen, Steph. I will. And I, for one, think it will be worth it.

It's a Live Blog. For No Reason. I'll Probably Break Something Or Cry at the End

2009-03-05T22:42:00.007-05:00

It's a Thursday night, I've got a glass full of scotch, and the Nuggets are on the tube. It's Brandon Roy, a chalk outline of Greg Oden and Melo's salty tears battling for the top spot in the Northwest Division.

1Q
10:48 - K-Mart is hurt, so it's Johan Petro in the starting lineup. Why not Renaldo Balkman? I don't fucking know, either.

10:51 - Joel Godzilla swishes two free throws. Seems like that can't bode too well for the Nuggies.

10:55 - The Blazers finally miss their first shot. Former Nugget Steve Blake, who looks like a GoldenEye character, misses a three.

10:58 - J.R. Smith follows a Nene miss with a monster jam, then gets a T for taunting. Look, JR, we love you, man. Now calm the fuck down. (Roy misses the FT, proving that the ball don't lie).

Also, my girlfriend just started telling me a story about Cadbury eggs, and I ignored her, and now she's pissed at me. I just tried to apologize, and she's still mad. What goes on in a woman's head? I bet it's like a Rube Goldberg sketch: boyfriend says/does something, the boot kicks over the ball, which rolls down the ramp, turning the lever, rotating the fan blade, lighting the match next to the pool of gasoline.

11:05 - Chauncey has a three-on-one, and ends up trying a finger roll and commits a charge. I saw the dish to Melo for the ensuing dunk in my mind, and it made me pee a little.

11:14 - The Birdman throws down a dunk, gets fouled, and hits the free one to put the Nugs up 31-18. Portland has no energy, which means they'll lead by 2 at the break.

2Q
11:31 - Travis Outlaw gives Nene a sick crossover move at the top of the key and nails a jumper. Where's Bo Outlaw when you need him?

11:38 - 3 straight Denver turnovers, a Roy-Aldridge monster alley-oop, and the inevitable lapse begins ... oh, wait, Rudy Fernandez just hit a 3, 46-35 Nuggets.

11:49 - Brandon Roy loses the ball at the foul line, gathers himself, then hits the jumper. J.R. Smith comes right back and drains a 40-footer at the buzzer to put the Nugs up 53-44. A 16-pt cushion got Ginzu'd down to to 9, but it was a solid first half.

HT
12:03 - More scotch. Charles says he feels sorry for Mark Cuban, and Kenny Smith calls Cuban 'Slumdog Billionaire.' Kenny rarely makes me laugh out loud, but that was pretty fucking good.

3Q
12:12 - The Blazers come out firing, the Nuggets come out cold and bumbling, and it's a two-point game. I AM NOSTRADAMUS.

12:18 - Nene with an up-and-under and then a jumper, and the lead is back to 6. They say the NBA is a league of runs, and I ask, why not more toilet paper endorsements?

12:25 - Melo leaks out for a second straight time, and again finishes with a lay-in, this time with the foul. The Nuggets could be a solid defensive team, if they wanted to. (See: recent Lakers game; see again: yes, the Lakers were tired, on the second night of a back-to-back, bite me, etc.) They may not be big, but they're all quick and athletic and can be extremely active when they want to. Also, the guards rebound very well.

12:30 - Birdman blocks Rudy's shot right off his mug and out of bounds, then combs his hair. Man, let that dude smoke all the hillbilly crack he wants. He's fun as shit. (Update: Aldridge subsequently posterizes Andersen and lets him know he was not happy with his preening. Point taken.)

12:34 - Linas Kleiza hits a 3 and the Nugs finish 75% of the game up 81-70. Can they actually assert their dominance and step on a fucking throat? Or will they continue to take bad, quick shots, fail to rotate and close out, and let the lead dwindle? Oh, you know the damn answer. Quit being so coy. Dirty girl.

4Q
12:39 - They show a graphic of the Nuggets' fourth quarters in the last few weeks, and it's not good. More minuses than a nuclear town's pregnancy tests.

12:40 - I immediately regret writing that last sentence.

12:41 - It's time for a Greg Oden joke. Greg Oden is so old... (How old is he?) Greg Oden is so old, there are no current records for his date of birth.

12:48 - Roy steps up and takes a charge from Nene, who looked like he was horny and going to Carnaval. If you don't like Brandon Roy, you don't like basketball and I don't fucking like you. Take your fancy sweater and leave my apartment.

12:53 - Kevin Harlan is a charter member of the "Doesn't Look Like He Sounds" club. He sounds fat, doesn't he? Or at least pleasantly portly? Yes, he does. But he's not.

1:08 - Dahntay Jones misses a 10-foot baseline jumper. He's the only shooting guard in the NBA who can't shoot.

1:10 - Jason Hart just hit a midrange jumper for the Nuggets. I have no fucking clue who Jason Hart is.

1:13 - Nuggets put it away late as the Blazers succumb to tired legs and 5,280 106-90. It was a good night. I could've drank more scotch, but I didn't. I have a job. RESPONSIBILITIES.

Like drinking more scotch and looking up boobs. GO NUGGETS!

Phony Responds to BorL's Dirty, Devious Tricks Regarding a Camera Left at his Apt

2009-02-27T15:25:00.008-05:00

I'm assuming you primarily mean the Padres. And that's fine. As the immortal Loggins and Messina wrote, "Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you, honey." And while, in our time on this feeble rock, your Redskins have won 3 rings to the Broncos' 2, the Rojo Socks have won 2 trophies to the Pads' nada, and the Celtics have won 4 rings while the Nuggets have never even won a conference title, I have this, and this only: the Avalanche have won 2 cups while the Bruins have won none. Actually, I don't even know if you like hockey. Either way, fuck you in the mouth.

While we have no empirical evidence that I suck (there are no Sivitses in popular culture), allow me to point you toward Nevada. See those lights over there? Yes, that's none other than Viva Laughlin, a show so heart-stoppingly horrific that uber-handsome ultra-male Hugh Jackman himself couldn't save it. Wolverine can't help? Way to suck the life out of gambling, loser.

First off, I don't appreciate that kind of language. Secondly, Colorado has some of the best microbrews and kind bud in the entire country - not to mention sweet, sweet ski bunnies. As a state, our homosexuality is limited to people who strongly preach against that kind of behavior. North Carolina is home to Duke, which strongly exemplifies that kind of behavior.

Enough said.

You do have a vast array of effective low-post moves coupled with a pair of gorilla arms so absurdly lengthy you can A) block my shots despite me being a few inches taller, and both of us sharing gravity-accepting verticals, and B) tie your shoes without bending over. You're also impossible to move due to a torso shaped like a barrel and consisting of hardened concrete. I do, however, have a better jumper than you. So eat me.

Ok. Wow.

You know, one was bad enough, but this was just pushing it.

You're mine, shit-cow.

I'm gonna fucking own you.

The Gabe Pruitt Saga Ends Abruptly.

2009-02-27T13:22:00.005-05:00

Alas, poor Gabe, we hardly knew ye. Since when does TMZ have time for backup point guards who are about to be demoted ot the D-League?

Also, OF COURSE HE WAS DRINKING. He just lost his job to a dude that is considered to be the scum of the fucking planet. LA is lucky he didn't occupy a tower and shoot nurses.

Sadly, I like Gabe Pruitt. I want him to play more so we can move Eddie house to the two on the second rotation. However, this is going to be impossible with the addition of Starbury. My mixed emotions on that coming soon. Until then, good night sweet Gabe.

Ask BoL-- a Primer

2009-01-30T10:09:00.002-05:00

*Milton Bradley, circa 2001.

dear BoL -

i am concerned for myself. i feel so empty inside. last winter, i spent the days longingly staring out the window, hoping for the faintest glimmer of spring. maybe a robin scratching around after april showers for a worm? a little daffodil bulb peeking into the morning light? the transformation of brown depressing lawns into vibrant green up shoots? all of these are telltale signs of a baseball season on the horizon. last year i looked at schedules, thought about tickets, considered spring training. every day i scoured web sites for the latest in hot stove reports. looked at projections. but this year - i feel nothing. could it be that after all these years i have finally give the cubs all i had and realized there was no return on investment? i mean, seriously. people say "jake peavy," and i say, "meh." people say, "milton bradley," and i say, "fine." i feel like i've just woken up with a husband of 50 years and realized that i'm out of love with him. and if it's so easy to fall out of love, did i ever truly love him in the first place?

how can i spark the romance again?

Lost in Greensboro

Dearest Lost,
Consider the dust on the mantle. It's arrival at that destination took millions of years to process, incredible amounts of luck to arrive at that surface and only seconds to eliminate. The commonality of dust, of course is a given, but ponder: individual flakes of your skin-- overworked and overwrought-- escaped your body's complex system of checks and balances to gather in small clumps level with your eye. The difference between flaking off in the cold, sliding off with a glove, wiping off on a napkin after a lukewarm egg-and-cheese biscuit (enjoyed at your desk during work hours) or even being blown off by a mock kiss being blown to a friend and landing in this specific spot on said mantle is the difference between love and indifference. It takes but one solid moment-- a moment of combined luck and fatalism-- to begin a process thousands of years in the making. The dust landed there-- your dead skin-- by chance, yes, but it still landed.

In 2003 the speck of dust was Aaron Boone. In 2004, it was Dave Roberts. Two insignificant specks that forever changed the way I view baseball. They landed on the right mantle at the perfect time and clumped enough for me to see them. That's it. Whatever skill was necessary came down to some other event causing a cataclysm-- Pedro left in too long, Bill Mueller fighting off the best closer in history, etc. Baseball is the ultimate cause-and-effect scenario. You will be affected as I was, as we all shall be.

The crack of the bat may not stir you, but the manic drive of spring shall awaken you at some point. I promise.

Yours in Waiting,
BoL

Hey reader(s)-- send your letters to BoL! He'll respond, no foolin'! And it will be mock-poetic and pointless just like this one! Just write to repetitionisfailure@gmail.com for a response.

SO MANY SHAQ

2009-01-29T18:41:00.002-05:00

Credit to Burton at omgtru. He is all that is man.

Little Davey Eckstein tours Petco Park

2009-01-28T16:05:00.013-05:00

[David Eckstein arrives at Petco Park and is met by a member of the Padres' PR team]

PR: How are you, Mr. Eckstein? [extends hand] I'm Nathan. Nice to meet you.

DE: [gazes skyward, shakes hand] Nice ... to ... meet you, too. Wow, you're huge!

PR: I'm 5'9". So, you ready to do this?

DE: You betcha! I have my notebook ready and everything! So tell me, exactly what kind of topsoil is used on the infield? Is it a mix of desert sand, red clay and ground-up black granite?

PR: [confused] Well, I actually don't know that. You'd have to talk to Brian, our groundskeeper.

DE: Can do! What's his phone number, home address, email address, Facebook handle, favorite food, mother's maiden name, and one true love?

PR: [even more confused] I ... you know, I'll get you his number, or a card, or something later. [looks around for help] Hey, second base is looking good. Think you're ready to make the switch from shortstop?

DE: Oh, indubitably! I've been training non-stop for three straight months! As a matter of fact, I'm contracting my ab muscles off and on as we speak! You don't get to be 2006 World Series MVP on talent alone, I tell you what!

PR: Then do you mind if I ask what your hat means?

DE: [takes hat off, looks at it, puts it back on at adorably cute upwards-and-slightly-to-the-side angle] Oh, that just means saying NO! to settling for second-best! Always shoot for #1, that's what my pops always says! Hey, what's that?

PR: Oh, that's the Western Metal Supply Company building. It's a landmark here in downtown San Diego, and instead of demolishing it to make way for the new park, the architects decided to incorporate it into the design, and utilized the corner as the left-field foul pole. It's very unique.

DE: Wow! That's stupendous! When was it built?

PR: 1910, I believe.

DE: Neat-o! Does the brick facade have a standard structure bearing of 2,300 lbs. per sq. inch?

PR: [scratches his head, checks his watch] You know, I'll have to get back to you on that. Well, that's about it. Anything else?

DE: Actually, yes, Nathan! Would you be so kind as to distribute this for me? [pulls sheet of paper out of notebook]

PR: Sure. What is it?

DE: It's a list of all the terms or words usually attributed to players like me! It's basically just a footnote to all the marketing and research people in the organization, as well as the sportswriters, but hey - every little bit helps!

PR: [reads list] "Scrappy. Tough. Feisty. Gamer. Fundamentals. Persistent. Dirt Dog. Heart. Hustle. Plucky. Over-achiever. Blue-collar. Gutsy. Energetic. Catalyst. Old-school." Hmmm. [folds up paper, puts it in his pocket] Sure, David.

DE: Thanks! [takes a deep breath] Man-oh-man, I can't wait to hit here. Look how close those fences are!

PR: Actually, the ball doesn't travel well here at all. You've played here before, so you probably know that this is one of, if not the worst hitting parks in the majors. It's probably not going to be a boon to your .361 career slugging percentage.

DE: [bows head] Yeah, you're right. [whips head up, smiling] But look at all that room in the gaps for bloopers!

WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED

2009-01-18T18:12:00.002-05:00

THERE'S GONNA BE A BLACK PRESIDENT
I AM SOBER
THE CARDINALS OF ARIZONA ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL

WHAT HAPPENED TO AMERICA
DAS NOT KOMPUTE

One of these things is not like the others...

2009-01-08T20:06:00.006-05:00

"Hey, Chris, can you look as black as possible? Yeah, pucker those lips. Stare through us."

[Whispering, to assistant] "Still looks like Ethan Hawke with cancer, though."

How the Broncos save the survivors after dropping The Bomb

2008-12-30T17:47:00.004-05:00

Ok, so, that happened.

When the "hot seat" lists come out at the end of every year, there are always a handful of coaches who, even after mediocre years, would never be on them. Mike Holmgren. Jon Gruden. Andy Reid. And, the (previously) longest-tenured coach with one team in the NFL, Mike Shanahan, who, as coach and G.M., had the job by the throat.

Until the Donkeys choked the last two years, that is.

Is it a sad day for Broncos fans? Sure. He won a lot of games, and two Super Bowls. But the team had reached a stagnant level of putrid proportions, and any casual fan will tell you that they have played up-or-down to their level of competition for quite some time now. Only in the SB-winning years did they consistently pound teams, good or bad.

To me, this is much like the Iverson-Billups trade: part of me is sad to see such a talented person go, but at the same time, it's obviously for the good of the team.

The playoff run (um, beating the Patriots at home) in 2005 was orchestrated by a quarterback that nobody, fans or team alike, seemed to want running things. The defense has gotten more and more pathetic and predictable as the offense (seemingly) did the opposite, even though that was exposed lately due to injuries and a lack of a solid running game. Many of their top defensive draft picks failed to pan out.

However, this is a team with some positives, and here's what I think Pat Bowlen needs to do to get this team back to the perennial top of the AFC.

Go hard and heavy after Bill Cowher. Denver has many things which should entice the Chin. First, it's a football town. A guy like Cowher would appreciate that, as opposed to baseball-centric New York. Also, since the offense has many of the pieces in place, Cowher wouldn't have to worry about that as much and could focus on his passion, the defense, which is the biggest problem with this team. Speaking of the defense...
Make Romeo Crennel one of the highest-paid coordinators in the league. Crennel did such a poor job in Cleveland that it's highly unlikely he'll get another offer to coach anywhere. He ran the Patriots' defense in the early 2000s, when they won a few titles. He knows how to scheme, he knows how to find players (via trades, the draft or free agency) who fit the system, and he knows how to mold them into a unit. This would be especially prudent if the Broncos can't land Cowher, and instead go after somebody like Jason Garrett or Eric Mangini, i.e. offensive-minded guys.
No matter who you hire, do not give them total personnel control. It's just too hard to do both jobs nowadays. Would the Broncos have been maybe a bit more focused if, instead of scouring the scout teams and the waiver wire for a guy who could run the ball late in the year, the coach was preparing the team for a win it sorely needed? If the Browns are interested in the Patriots' Scott Pioli and he in them, then why wouldn't he be interested in the Broncos? Denver is always at the top of players' lists because the facilities are great and the players are treated well. That would make a top-notch personnel man like Pioli's job a whole lot easier.
Get the home-field advantage back. Teams used to hate playing in Denver. H-A-T-E. Now the weather's a bit warmer, Invesco's a lot quieter than Mile High, and it's not too annoying to hear "In-Com-Plete" only seven or eight times a game, since most visiting QBs complete about 75% of their passes against a woefully porous Denver D. I don't know how you do it, Pat - pour some extra concrete in the stands? - but it's gotta be done.
Make the right choices on #s 1 & 2. The top choice on everybody's list is Cowher, but Miami, Atlanta and Baltimore seemingly went the right way in getting a bunch of no-name coaches or coordinators. The defense needs a complete overhaul. Maybe he can poach somebody off Dick LeBeau's or Rex Ryan's staffs, or give Rex Ryan the reigns and see what he can do. Either way, the defense must be made a priority.

With lots of talent on offense, a supportive owner willing to spend and a division that is seeing its top dog (the Chargers) slide back down toward the middle, there should be no shortage of options for Pat Bowlen. The question is whether or not he picks the right ones. It's the end of an era, but hopefully the start of a new one.

Self-Fulfilling Prophecy and All That

2008-12-23T16:23:00.004-05:00

So, I was afraid I would have to wrote this all along. I am going to cheer for the Yankees to sign Manny Ramirez. I want it to happen. I want them to get Brian Fuentes too. And dump Hideki Matsui-- one of the only guys I like on the entire team, really. I want them to sign Derek Lowe, Adam Dunn as a DH and trade for Jake Peavy.

Think about it: Manny, Dunn, Jeter, Arod, Tex? And the other cast of characters?
Think about it: Lowe, Burnett, CC, Wang, Hughes and Fuentes/Joba/Rivera
Think about it: over 500 million dollars in one offseason.
Think about it: have we ever seen anything like that? Has sport become the recession-proof ideal it always looked like it was?

I want to find out. I want one city to dominate sports so crucially that we can't take our eyes off of it. I want New York City to be the destination for every word of every conversation. I want LeBron, Wade and Bosh to the Knicks. I want some hockey dudes to sign with the Rangers. I want Tom Coughlin to keep his seemingly brilliant ways. I live here, and I want it all. I really do. If these things happen, I'll switch. I'll leave Boston sports.

This is not sarcasm. This is the biggest chest-beasting city in the world, so let's see it. I want year-round championships. This is philosophical (albiet in sports) proof that there is no reason to resist, but I want more. I want it all. I want every big name player with a gleam of the bog-time in his eye to come to New York City. It's never happened before, but it could happen now. I want tampering, cheating, money-laundering, hotel break-ins, back-loaded contracts, law-breaking nasty-minded, hooker-incentive deals. Anything is nothing, everything is not enough.

It's time for the Yankees-- nay New York City-- to get its due. This is not sarcasm, it's hope for the rest of humanity to finally see the big idea.

I will become a fan while paying outrageous rent with a shit job, not being able to afford to get into the stadiums and giving up one of my last true strongholds-- the feeling of euphoria I get from seeing my original teams win championships. I'll do it. But, New York City, you gotta earn it.

Man, I gotta get outta this shithole. Happy fucking holidays.

Congratulations on picking up your KhalilBot 5000!

2008-12-04T15:53:00.006-05:00

Dear Cardinals of St. Louis,

Thank you for agreeing in principle to accept KhalilBot 5000 for two middle-of-the-road relievers. We have enjoyed our KhalilBot 5000, and we expect you will, too! We suggest you turn KhalilBot 5000's dial to "2007," when it hit 27 home runs, 44 doubles and drove in 97 runs. We strongly suggest you remove the "2008" setting, though, and use a belt sander to remove said etching from the numbers on the torso, located right below the nape of the "neck."

Again, thank you so much for this courtesy, and good luck in your future. Enclosed are the instructions we received from its wholesaler, Clemson University, in 2003.

Sincerely,

the San Diego Padres

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

GREENE INDUSTRIES
Butler, Pennsylvania

Hello, and thank you for purchasing a KhalilBot 5000! Many, many kids and laconic adults have had so many super-happy-funtastic times with their KhalilBot 5000s that we must give you these detailed instructions on how to extract the most thoroughly enjoyable experience with your new, sometimes-baseball-playing friend!

1. You do not need any tools. KhalilBot 5000 comes fully constructed! You never have to lift a finger. (Except to press the Power button, that is! Or wave "no no" when KhalilBot 5000 swings at another 0-2 breaking ball in the dirt.)

2. Have you noticed the color of your KhalilBot 5000? If you looked at the name "KhalilBot" and assumed it would be black or maybe a dark, caramel brown, you are mistaken! To avoid upsetting the retinas, our KhalilBot 5000s come in a patina of calming light-peach and stainless steel. This is a neutral tone, meant not to draw too much attention. Sometimes, if too many eyes are focused on KhalilBot 5000, its wires will got crossed and it will not perform up to specifications.

2a. In addition, do not stare at KhalilBot 5000 for more than six seconds, even though its gaze can by cryptically hypnotic.

3. Do not try to adjust KhalilBot 5000's facial expressions manually. KhalilBot 5000 only comes with one facial expression, what we call "camel watching a David Lynch movie while trying to download songs off of iTunes." We think it works in just about every situation!

4. Remember to oil KhalilBot 5000 once a day, every day. If you do this, KhalilBot 5000 will perform amicably, like a graceful Ozzie Smith making smooth plays in the infield. If you do not do this, KhalilBot 5000 will perform poorly, like an aging Rafael Belliard lunging at pitches out of the zone.

4a. Also, do not get KhalilBot 5000 wet. This may damage the structure of the hull (rust) as well as the wiring and microchip processors (shorting out, surges). We strongly recommend avoiding coastal areas like South Carolina or San Diego.

5. IMPORTANT: Each day at 11:00 A.M. local time, your KhalilBot 5000 will shut down for approximately 15 minutes. It will do this on its own, no matter what activities are taking place at the time. Our programmers have installed this cachet in order to keep your KhalilBot 5000 happy and peaceful. If you disturb or interrupt KhalilBot 5000 during this time, you can kiss your new best friend Baha'i!

6. You must NOT, under ANY circumstances, get KhalilBot 5000 near Greene Industries' Storage Box Receptacle J-4. They are not compatible, and destruction will only occur at your peril.

7. Upgrades are available for your KhalilBot 5000. These include, but are not limited to: The ability to somewhat resemble a human being; Taking pitches the opposite way, where they're thrown; Haircuts that won't get you beat up; On-base Percentages greater than .350; and many, many more. Please visit our website.

Follow these directions and you will have a long, happy relationship with your KhalilBot 5000. If you have any questions or concerns, please call our toll-free number or e-mail our staff from the home page of our website. We don't think you will, however; everyone LOVES KhalilBot 5000!*

*Transaction is final. Warranty subject to terminate at any time.

Ruminating on Watching My Team Win in a Mildly Hostile Environment, While the Real Environment is Incredibly Hostile

2008-12-04T00:23:00.006-05:00

It's been three full days now and I can still hear his voice. It was barely above freezing on the last day in November and the rain, while not completely piercing like frozen bullets, still had sting, had life. Cold, win and rain formed a palpable trio. But the voice cut through it, sharp. Swift. Raspy.

"Cutlaaaaaah. Cutlaaaaaah. It's Cutlaaaaaah, baby!"

When you go to see one of your teams play on another team's turf, alone, you hope to find solace and comfort in fellow fans. Knowledgeable fans, witty fans, fans who can take a shot and give two right back.

"Cutlaaaaaah time!"

He was not one of them.

I came in halfway through the first quarter (we parked at 3:15 and I still managed to get two-and-a-half hot dogs and five beers in) with the score tied 7-7. Walking up I heard about Thomas Jones' long TD scamper, so I asked the nearest Bronco fan -- a man wearing a bright-orange, shag carpet Cypress Hill hat -- how Denver scored the first touchdown. "The defense, baby, an ... interception return. Big play by the defense!"

He was promptly corrected by the long-time Jets season-ticket holder behind us, standing in work boots, jeans, an amazingly soggy Jets hoodie and no hat. Fumble return. Questionable call.

"It's Cutlaaaaaah!"

We traded some barbs (always fun when your team's ahead), and later we traded White Horse scotch swigs from my flask. It was a courtesy not extended to my nearest comrade-in-headgear.

Halftime came, Broncos ahead 27-14, and the stands magically emptied. Despite this, my girlfriend and I stayed in our nosebleed seats, believing that when one vantage point works, and works well, you stay there. No pictures exist of this vantage point, of course, because fingers weren't designed to operate in such deplorable conditions.

"Did Cutlaaaaaah throw a touchdown?"

"No, Peyton Hillis ran it in. But we scored."

"Yeah, but dat doesn't git me any fantasy points."

I was beginning to doubt if he was truly a Bronco fan.

With about 7 minutes remaining in the game, I got a call from my friend, who was down in the lower level, under the overhang. I assume it's a request to leave; the game was firmly in the hands of the sunrises and sunsets and the temperature was going as the sun goes in the latter, and not the former.

However we were told to head down, finish the win and dry off. Eagerly we raced down the spiral staircase, listening to the f-bombs and abuses of numerous Jets fans, wondering -- like me -- why Mangini decided to pass on three fourth-down tries. Upon reaching the lower level it was obvious that we were not the only ones treating ourselves to the cover; numerous Bronco fans took advantage, including the woman in front of me who heard ongoing cries of "Shaaaaaaaaaanon Sharrrrrrrrrrrrpe" and not once looked back, either because she didn't want to give them the satisfaction or because she didn't know who he was, despite wearing his jersey.

As the final seconds wound down I slapped strangers' hands, chanted "Here We Go, Broncos, Here We Go" and revealed my secret weapon: the JC Saves shirt. Since I got it three games ago, I've worn it each game day: they've won each game I've watched either on TV or in person (Falcons, Jets) and lost the game I didn't (Raiders). If it's adhering to my torso and my eyes are gazing at its inspiration, things are good.

It got some solid compliments. One thumbs-up.

The man who should've seen it, however, didn't. That's a privelege reserved for just a few.

"Cutlaaaaaah!"

The Super-Short, Super-Quick, Thanksgiving Giving Thanks ExtravaTonyDanza

2008-11-26T15:57:00.005-05:00

I'm going to try to be positive here. I ... really will. Ok.

[takes a deep breath]

Here we go.

[drinks a rocks glass full of rye whiskey]

I'm thankful for ...

The AFC West. Way to go, Chargers! I appreciate you playing on that shredded knee, Herr Merriman. And I like that you've disappeared completely off the face of the earth, LT. Seriously, the Broncos are going to be one of the worst division winners in the history of sports. Right up there with my 2005 San Diego Padres! Christ.

The trade that brought Chauncey Billups back home. I loved watching Iverson play, and I always will. But you have to play defense some time.

Time Warner Cable not carrying Versus on its normal digital cable package. This way I don't have to watch Super Joe Sakic finish his career in the dumps. Hey, remember when they had a chance to get Roberto Luongo, and instead went for Jose Theodore? Me neither.

The Colorado State Rabid Rams getting back to respectability. The good news: they're bowl-eligible with 6 wins! The bad news: they also lost 6. The gooder news: that's .500, baby, and in my book that spells respectability! Here we go, average, here we go! (clap clap)

The economic crisis. Maybe it was needed to show the owners that spending two weeks' salary on four tickets, parking, some hot dogs, soda and beer and a hat or two is a FUCKING CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY. You're pricing the people who love your product out of the fucking arena. Assholes.

My co-writer here at the Pretzel Factory. He is one super-neat human.

My significant other, Clare. I don't say it enough. She's awesome.

Enjoy your holidays, everyone.

A Day in the (Non-Football-Playing) Life of Jamie Winborn

2008-11-18T15:14:00.009-05:00

10:04 am: Rolls over. Farts. Reaches into nightstand drawer, grabs air horn. Honks it for thirty-five seconds.

10:22 am: Gets on treadmill for a light run. Fifteen minutes in, calls his cardiologist to tell him he has not sustained a heart attack.

10:49 am: Takes a shower. Shaves successfully without slicing carotid artery. Goes into garage, gets a pair of hedge clippers, writes "GRATEST SHAVER IN DA UNIVERZZ" on the handle in black marker, affixes hedge clippers to tire chains with copious amounts of glue, wears around neck. Slyly reflects on clever "gratest" pun, giggles.

11:36 am: Prepares late breakfast of egg white omelet, toast, orange juice and milk, and fresh fruit. Calls Denver Post, asks if they can send a photographer over to take a picture of his creation for the Food section.

12:41 pm: Pops in Madden '09 on XBox 360, puts it on Rookie mode. Picks the Cowboys as his team, selects the Lions for the computer. Home game in Arlington. Needs to convert on fourth-and-goal with :02 left to win 37-35. Calls up producers of ESPN's "Madden Nation," tells them to "let them bitch-ass youngstas know that Jamie Mothafuckin' Winborn was BORN to WIN. Get that bus on out here to Denver, we see what's what!"

2:15 pm: Heads out for a quick position meeting at team headquarters. There's a desk open toward the front, but they keep saying it's being saved for some dude named Carl Hecklebird or some shit. Sits in the back, alone. Again.

3:35 pm: Late matinee. Enjoys Zack and Miri Make a Porno, but isn't totally satisfied. E-mails writer/director Kevin Smith: "Loved the tittays, but I gotta say - I felt a real emotional detachment with the characters. In the end, I'm not sure I cared whether they succeeded and fell in love or not. And next time, more bukkake jokes."

During the movie, eats entire large tub of popcorn and a box of Whoppers. Takes a triumphant shit while raising one gloved fist.

6:27 pm: Picks up his daughter for dinner. She runs out of her mother's house and leaps off the porch, into his arms.

Drops her on her head.

6:28 pm: Successfully dials 911, starts penning an opening to his 2009 "Father of the Year" speech.

7:13 pm: Asks many nuanced, intelligent questions about neurological disorders and head trauma. Explains to hospital worker that, as a result of his profession, he has suffered quite a few concussions and near-concussions in his day. Cashier at the flower shop in the hospital lobby politely asks for $12.74.

7:36 pm: Hospital food is no good, so it's off to McDonald's. Successfully remembers order of Happy Meal with McNuggets, but got honey mustard instead of BBQ sauce. Brings back bland BBQ sauce from hospital cafeteria, asks nurse for complimentary morphine.

8:23 pm: Drops daughter back off at mother's house under a scornful eye. Wonders what it would cost to start own clothing line with his picture on the pockets of the jeans.

9:00 pm: Studies game film of the coming week's opponent to figure out habits and tendencies and ... wait. Holy shit. The quarterback's lined up as a receiver, and the running back is taking a direct snap! Fuck. You can do shit like that?

10:38 pm: A few drinks with some old friends. Okay, buddies. Okay, acquaintances. Okay, dudes at the club who realize there is a Denver Bronco drinking by himself because the bartender somehow gets paid extra to announce "Seven & Seven for the Denver Broncos' Jamie Winborn!" loud as shit every time the situation demands.

11:27 pm: Talks to a fly honey at the club, tries to get her to come home and be a tackling dummy. All the boys keep pointing toward her and laughing, so she must be funny as fuck.

12:09 am: Humping. Some good shit. Wall-shaking, earth-shattering, headboard-slamming, baby oil-spreading, neighbor's daughter-crying, stray dog-barking f-u-c-k-i-n-g.

12:12 am: She leaves, says she just remembered she has a big interview in the morning. Must be important because she forgets to leave her number. Briefly considers contacting Barack Obama to inquire about a possible Secretary of Sex position.

12:14 am: Bangs chest, King Kong-style, at bedroom window. Places hedge clipper-necklace on chair. Sleeps.