Stephen Tobolowsky Previews the National League East

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

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

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

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

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

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.