If the Last Game at Yankee Stadium Had Gone According to a Yankee Hater's Plan

1:30 - Monument park opens.

1:43 - Someone spray-paints "dolemite" on Miller Huggins' plaque.

3:11 - For old time's sake, twelve women simulate fellatio on Mickey Mantle's plaque.

5:24 - As fans are allowed on the field, Jeffrey Maier walks to the spot where Tony Tarasco would've caught Derek Jeter's fly ball in Game 1 of the 1996 ALCS, had Maier not interfered. An Orioles fan recognizes Maier and promptly kicks him in the balls.

7:21 - While introducing all the former Yankee greats at their respective positions, Willie Randolph slides into second. The throw beats him by three feet.

7:38 - Bernie Williams is introduced and roundly cheered on his first visit back to the Bronx since 2006. Meanwhile, someone in the field-level seats mentions Mickey Rivers, and nobody knows who he's talking about.

8:11 - Babe Ruth's daughter, all 92 years of her, bounces the ceremonial first pitch to the plate. Everybody boos.

8:20 - Andy Pettitte delivers the first pitch. As digital camera flashes go off throughout the stadium, Brian Roberts pulls it over the wall in left for a home run.

8:31 - Jeter strikes out looking.

9:14 - Jeter flies out to the warning track in right.

9:29 - Whitey Ford and Yogi Berra join Jon Miller and Joe Morgan in the booth. The pairing of Berra and Morgan introduces a strange yin-yang dynamic: Berra, king of the unintentionally intelligent, and Morgan, king of the intentionally unintelligent.

9:54 - Jeter grounds out to short.

10:40 - Jeter strikes out looking.

10:53 - During "God Bless America," everyone in attendance gets up to go to the bathroom.

10:06 - Michael Kay joins the booth. He is eaten by locusts.

11:19 - After striking out the first two men he faces, and throwing hellacious mid-air haymakers, Joba Chamberlain hits a batter, walks two guys, and gives up a grand slam to Kevin Millar.

11:36 - In the bottom of the eighth, A-Rod hits a three-run bomb to Reggie Jackson-land in center to cut the Orioles' lead to 6-4. Upon crossing home plate, he flips off the entire crowd and their sarcastic applause.

11:41 - With one out in the ninth, Joe Girardi calls for Mo. As Mariano Rivera prepares to enter the game, the gate door gets stuck. The game is put on hold for three minutes.

11:49 - Luke Scott hits a solo blast to right off a cutter that doesn't cut. The Orioles go up 7-4.

12:05 - With two outs and the bases loaded, Jeter walks to the plate. As 54,000 people chant his name, Jeter, the captain, grounds out weakly to third. Game over.

12:11 - Addressing the crowd after the game, the microphone goes out on Jeter. With nowhere else to turn, Jeter screams into Jorge Posada's ear, using his head as a megaphone. Due to the unique shape and design of the ears, not to mention the overwhelming size, the sound carries through the stadium, shattering windows and glasses and hearing aides. At eighty-five years, the stadium's shaky structure struggles to sustain. With evacuees running for their lives, Yankee Stadium crumbles, topples, falls. The only thing left standing is Babe Ruth's monument, covered, fittingly, in beer.

Hey, Marmalard

Karma's a bitch, isn't it?

Wagons East! ... or, West! ... or, you know, to the Middle!

I never played fantasy baseball before this year. It felt too artificial to me, like mechanical cow milking pumps or an impassioned John McCain speech. I didn't want to root against my own team. What's the fun in that?

Now, it's all I've got.

The Padres have been done since tax day. I haven't checked a box score in weeks. Fucking weeks, man. For a guy with a baseball tattooed on his arm, that hurts. And now that the playoffs are upon us, I've got to take a rooting interest. I've got to pick a side. Because October is October, no matter whether you're drunkenly cheering for a conglomerate of millionaires or merely drunkenly watching a conglomerate of millionaires.

But whom to choose? Here's a league-by-league (starting with the National League, natch) breakdown of who might get my deep, hoarse, sexy rooting voice come the leaves changing.

National League

Chicago Cubs

Pro: My father's family is from western Illinois, a few hours straight west of Chicago. We used to visit my grandfather and we'd play cribbage (he'd always win because he had a crippled right hand and would always count more points than he won, but I couldn't say shit because he was my grandpa, you know?) and he'd sit in his weathered brown chair with his aforementioned hook hand around a Miller Lite and we'd watch the Cubs and he'd curse them and shout shit and we'd marvel at the eventual great throw by Shawon Dunston in the hole but then he'd go back to yelling obscenities at them and then we'd sing with Harry Caray and damn, it was good. It's been a hundred fucking years, for Chrissakes. If both Soxes can get their fix, the Cubs should, too.

Con: Inevitable disappointment and crushing despair. Thanks, Bartman.

Milwaukee Brewers

Pro: Named after beer. I don't know about you, but that's a huge plus. I've got a gut like a 46-year-old pedophile. And I've got a good buddy who's a Cleveland guy, and seeing CC get a ring would crush his soul worse than if John Elway got his sister pregnant. Which might happen.

Con: If Eric Gagne gets a meaningful out in a World Series and subsequently wins a ring, the world should turn into a giant bowl of tapioca pudding.

New York Mets

Pro: I live in Queens. I've been to Shea, and I've survived without multiple tetanus shots. I have a slight man-crush on David Wright. They're not the Yankees. These (except the latent homosexuality) are all fairly good things.

Con: Have you seen that bullpen in crunchtime? It's like A-Rod forgot to remove his tampon.

Philadelphia Phillies

Pro: I'm hoping to go down to Philly with my girlfriend and some friends on the last weekend of the year to see them finish the season against the Nationals. It would be nice to see a game that means something in a fun stadium. Also, I like the Phillies. I don't know why, I just do. I like the cut of their jib.

Con: Ryan Howard has struck out one time this year for every time a fan in the stands throws an aborted fetus at Pat Burrell because he popped up with two outs and the tying run on second.

St. Louis Cardinals

Pro: Umm ... let's see ... Albert Pujols does something good with those less fortunate, right? And Rick Ankiel did something special?

Con: The Cardinals are the bane of the Padres' existence. They could die in a bus fire and I'd still sleep well at night.

NL West

Pro: [Scene missing]

Con: [Scene missing]

American League

Tampa Bay Rays

Pro: They're the story of baseball this year, bar none. When they got out hot in May and June, everyone said they'd fold. When they lost seven in a row before the break, people nodded in unison. Then they lost half their team, exhumed Rocco Baldelli's shrunken corpse, and ripped off a monster August to assert themselves in not only the AL East, but the AL in general. They pitch, they hit, they field - and they do it all in a stadium that looks like something out of BaseWars.

Con: They're young, and probably don't have the experience to go all the way. But what good is experience? It did me no good when I tried to run for Vice President. Fuck you, Joe Biden. You're not the only one who can plagiarize speech material.

Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim of Southern California and Near-Mexico

Pro: They've got Vlad and John Lackey, who looks like a lovable retard. K-Rod will probably break Bobby Thigpen's single-season saves record, thereby permanently and justifiably removing Bobby Thigpen from the public consciousness.

Con: My buddy is an Angels fan. He's also a Sharks fan. He's from outside Toronto. That's just wrong, and punishable by circumcision with plastic second-grade safe scissors.

Boston Red Sox

Pro: I have a number of friends who are Red Sox fans; don't worry, they're not douchetrucks (I've checked, thoroughly). I have a Red Sox hat AND a t-shirt - bandwagon, ho!

Con: Again? Really? Christ, Boston. Let someone else have some fun.

Chicago White Sox

Pro: Ozzie Guillen. If you don't like Ozzie, you either A) don't have a sense of humor, B) are tepidly white and enjoy sex with wine racks, C) are Jay Mariotti, or D) all the above.

Con: A.J. Pierzynski. It's amazing Michael Barrett landed a punch on his chin, seeing as he doesn't have one.

Minnesota Twins

Pro: Great gobs of geeseshit, how do they keep doing it? Can we model our entire government around the Twins' way of doing things? Would that work?

Con: A friend of mine is a Twins fan. That would be nice for him, except for the fact that they've won two championships in his lifetime. Eat a dick, Ben.

New York Yankees

Pr-BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Verdict: In the AL, it's gotta be the Rays. They're young, they're talented, Joe Maddon is a quality dude and most importantly, they did it the right way: through the draft, with shrewd trades (Kazmir, anyone?) and via insightful free-agent signings.

In the NL, I gotta go with the Cubs. Sure, history is nice and all, but I want to see the faces of their fans if they win. It'll be like the Star Wars geek getting his first taste of poon. And that's just good entertainment.

Outside the Aviary: "Everything You Must Love You Must Love Now"

I had a column all set up for how the Yankees were shot and how the Red Sox were becoming a less polished version of those 1996-2001 teams that just won at any costs (sprinkling the pickups of Kotsay and Byrd in as evidence), but really, I don't feel like talking about all that. Perhaps it's the whimsical instrumental music I am listening to, the fact that i have cheered on championship teams a lot lately or the fact that I read way more on sports than I write about it these days, but the article bores me. It really does.

The liberation of a two-sport championship is daunting. Ask Bill Simmons, Dan Shaughnessy or the cavalcade of "Boston Bloggers" nationwide. It's not a small task to write about things when they are going well. There's little to criticize-- the Red Sox are on their way to another playoffs and took two out of three from the Yanks in September. The Celtics are taking a gamble here and there (although a non-guaranteed contract to Darius Miles is not a gamble-- more on this in a later column) after securing a championship that got more press than Lady Di's death rattles. The Redskins have made improbable playoff runs and are, at least, intersting every year. My sports life is good.

Still, the Sox letting a sweep slip through their brittle fingers, I noticed something-- the Yankee fans are comatose right now. I went to the game last night, and most of the meatheads were expectant. They expected Papi or Varitek to come through against the Veras and Ponson types. When Jeter came up, they looked ahead to the next batters and knew A-Rod had no chance against relievers. Whereas my friend and I just stared ahead and waited. We talked about insurance runs and how funny 'Tek's swing looks. We talked about how cool it was to see Yankee Stadium one last time and how we couldn't wait for it to be razed. We talked about all kinds of things, waiting for the bottom to drop out against a terrible set of pitchers.

Meanwhile, the Yankee fans got more and more hopeful. You could hear fingers crossing and heads nodding. You could hear frustration. When the Sox went up 5-2, some people left. 5-2? At 6-2, more scampered away. 6-2? This is a team that leads the world in bullshit hits-- infield choppers, dying quails, etc. There is no other team blessed like this one. Granted, the place deadened after the Pedroia grand slam, but even then, where was the swagger, the bravado? The "Well, we still got twenty-six rings" assholery?

It was lost in Goose Gossage pulling a fake lever to remind the fans that they had two weeks left to enjoy the old stadium. It was lost in a lackluster "YMCA" chant as the grounds crew came out in the seventh. It was lost in the anti-clutchness of the middle of the order. It was lost in walks, doubles, a grand slam and the overall disillusonment of their reality: they don't field good teams right now. They just don't.

There's a new Steinbrenner, a new stadium and new motto: win with what is out there. Gone is the hope of a saviour for this season, and soon the invented mystique of the ideal playing field will be gone too. For someone with a dog in the hunt like me, it's not a moment too soon. Bury that hole as soon as possible and make sure Michael Kaye is in it. But for the casual fan-- like the Californian father and son in front of us, it was a moment bereft of rivalry. Yankee Stadium, with its statue park, its die-hard/vulgar fan base and its ancient lore meant something different entirely. It meant the end of an era that was long past, not the one of recent memory.

Now, nearly every dog is in the hunt. Then, it was the Yankees and whomever challenged them. There was little to no real rivalry. Fans are better off believing that their team can win now. Fans are better off wondering if their new young rookie sensation can be the next Josh Beckett or Mariano Rivera rather than the next Cy Young. The year-to-year, station-to-station idealism is better for the mystery of the game. The casual fan has really never had it better: there is no dominant force in many major sports anymore. Rivalries exist out of biterness, sure, but moreso becuase each team has a real stake again. The Red Sox, White Sox, Rangers, Cubs (as of this year)-- invented curses or not-- have a chance. This hurts the dynasty and leaves the monumental fans pride-hurt and with new stadiums? Pride hurt and priced out.

Such is life, I suppose. I won't miss the mystique or the builing. I won't. I will miss the old fans like my Uncle George-- recalling the past-- a little, maybe. I might miss the way there is no bad seat in Yankee Stadium, just a touch. But, I won't miss how the casual fan came in with reverence and fear. Price 'em out, Yanks. The die-hards are dying with the titles. The Sox's are winning, the Rays are running away with it this year and the Stadium is done. And so, the new era is upon us.

7 Ways I Wish Brett Favre Would Die

Scenario 1: After the Packers decide they can't trade Brett Favre - or, at least, get something decent in return - they invite him back to Green Bay to training camp. Once again, fans line up outside Austin Straubel International Airport. As his private jet approaches the runway, there is a problem with the landing gear. The plane lands and skids into a refueling truck. There is a huge explosion. As everyone holds their breath, Favre emerges ... carrying his severed left arm. As he comes to his senses, he realizes that his left hand is holding the only oxygen mask that fell from the cabin. Deanna is inside, struggling to breathe. But he can't re-enter the plane due to the encircling flames. He heaves his left arm - which is holding the oxygen mask - through the door, toward his choking wife ... but it is intercepted by a pilot, the only other survivor. Deanna succumbs to smoke inhalation. Favre, overcome with grief, jumps into the still-running Jet engine.

Scenario 2: Despite all the problems, all the hassles, all the drama, Favre comes back to Green Bay. Come November 9, the Packers are 7-1 and riding high. Entering their showdown against the rival Vikings in Minnesota, Favre is once again playing at an All-Pro level. In the middle of the third quarter the Packers lead 17-13. But something is brewing outside ... a violent snowstorm the likes of which Minnesota hasn't seen in years. By the end of the game (which the Packers win 23-20 on a last-second field goal), over three feet of snow have fallen in less than two hours. No one can get into the Metrodome, and no one can get out. After several hours, the stadium's food has been consumed. The fans are getting restless. They are getting hungry. They turn their attention to #4 in white. Nobody knows how they got past the offensive line, or any of Favre's other teammates, or who bit first. But they'll forever know a different meaning for "Packer."

Scenario 3: Javon Walker is upset. He's feigned retirement, offered $11 million in guaranteed money back to Al Davis, filled both of his knees with KY jelly and rock salt, and still the media ignores him. They keep talking about him. Favre. The asshole that drove him out of Green Bay. During the third week of preseason, Walker invites Favre to Las Vegas. Thanks to the LVPD, Walker knows who mugged him over the summer. Instead of pressing charges, he hires the two men to kidnap Favre, which they do after a night of drinking and blackjack. Except there's a problem - Favre's just too charming. After several stories of life in the NFL, the hit men are too guilty to do the job. Luckily for them, a short circuit cuts out the fire alarm at the Mirage. After a concentrated blaze started by a lit cigarette, all three die in the flames.

Scenario 4: Right before Favre cashes the $20 million check the Packers have given him to go the fuck away, he has a violent heart attack brought on by years of light beer and Wisconsin cheese. Due to his advanced physical conditioning, however, Favre survives. In the hospital, an intern, a lifelong Bears fan, smothers him with a pillow, then takes his Super Bowl ring.

Scenario 5: While watching the 47th story on himself on the third-straight viewing of an early-afternoon SportsCenter, a clip is shown of Favre early in his career with the Falcons. He feels nostalgic and reminisces for the days of his youth, when everything was simple. He calls Michael Vick at Leavenworth to see how he's doing. He then goes to visit the embattled quarterback in prison. Vick tells him it would be nice if he went and talked with his family. When Favre arrives, four Presa Canarios meet him at the door, tearing at his flesh. The alpha male, Koopa, removes Favre's genitals with one swift bite. Within minutes his carcass is picked almost completely clean.

Scenario 6: The time has come. Packers coach Mike McCarthy can't handle the dissension any more. He calls a team-only meeting to clear the air. As Favre talks, Aaron Rodgers sneaks up behind him and clobbers him over the head with the Vince Lombardi trophy. McCarthy then rains blows upon him with the playbook. Woozy and bleeding profusely from the temple, Favre asks for some painkillers. Mason Crosby kicks him in the dick. For old time's sake, Najeh Davenport shows up to shit in his mouth. After a massive loss of blood and oxygen to the brain, Favre is no more.

Scenario 7: Canton, Ohio. 2014. With the scarring memories of the summer of '08 long behind him, Favre strides confidently to the microphone for his Hall of Fame induction speech. Yellow jacket resplendent, sun glistening off the slightly graying stubble, Favre thanks his family, his teammates and, most of all, the Green Bay fans. As his voice starts to quiver near the end, a loud pop is heard. Favre's bust shatters into several pieces. Before he can react, a small red dot fixes itself on his forehead, between his eyes. Another pop. A single bullet enters Favre's skull, splitting his brain, ending his life. Several hundred yards away, dressed in a Southern Mississippi t-shirt and hat, Rachel Nichols looks through a scope. She never blinked.

I'm SOOOOO Applying for This

I'm in the market for a new job, and this seemed like my cup of tea, so I'm going to fill out an application this week.

My buddy Stan and I mused for a moment what that application may have hidden.

Actual application questions:

1. Yes/No: Do you have a Bachelor's degree in journalism, communications or related field? (Related: English? IF so, than YES.)

2. Yes/No: Do you have at least 1 year experience as a sports writer or member of the sports copy desk? (Does a post on this blog once every three months count?)

3. Yes/No: Do you have at least 1 year PR or marketing experience with a professional sports team? (No.)

4. Yes/No: Do you know NBA knowledge? (Not personally, no, but I'M WILLING TO LEARN.)

5. Yes/No: Are you available to work any day or night that the Knicks play? (Definitely.)

First of all, read number four again. Related Questions not on the website:
6. Start/Stop: Snitchin'?* (For real, though)
7. Please circle the following things you are willing to do:

Give up on that pretty intern (yes)

Leave D'Antoni's draft picks alone (yes)

Liveblog a truck party* (yes)

Spell the new foreign guy's name correctly EVERY time (yes)
8. Are you willing to print what we tell you and not what actually happened (see no. 6)? (Uh, sure.)
9. Have you ever met Jamal Crawford? If not, are you willing to deal with menopausal mood swings? (My mom went through that once, I think. She didn't score many points on bad days.
10. Do you support Cablevision? (What is that?)
11. Are you willing to stop blogging (see no. 6)? (I guess so, yeah.)
12. Are you seriously willing to liveblog a truck party? (YES PLS.)
13. Are you willing to take it from Starbury in a tight area? Like the back of a Volkswagen? Or an alley? (Ummmmmmmmmmmmmm...)

I've got this, guys. It's in the bag.

*Question six and the liveblogging of a truck party were Stan's contributions.