Thursday, May 31, 2007


Wow. Lebron just beat the Pistons all by himself. Literally. He scored the last 20 something points for them, all in a variety of layups, pull-up jumpers, behind the back dribble into 20 footers, and of course the off-balance just in front of the three-point line fall back to the ground shot.

This was the type of game everyone has been, praying for Lebron to show he could pull off. It wasn't that he scored 48 points. It wasn't that he was the only Cav that was able to do anything in the 4th and the 2 overtimes. It was that every time he took a shot, you were surprised it didn't go in. As cliched as it sounds, it was so close to a Jordan performance that it gave me the chills.

For all the bullshit coming from deadspin and the rest of the blogosphere about how the NBA playoffs have sucked (You want to see a sports league's playoffs that suck? Have a 500 team sweep the World Series. That is the definition of boring.), this game illustrates why basketball is the most dynamic of all professional sports. Only in basketball can one player completely take over a game, and change the outcome. Pujos can hit five home runs, but he can't control the pitching. LT can run for 200 yards, but the defensive can give up six touchdowns, or the quarterback can throw five interceptions and lose the game. Tonight, Lebron refused to let the Cavs lose. It didn't matter what any other player did on the floor.

Suddenly, the NBA playoffs don't look so dull.

Embrace the Darkness

It's about time this happened. Alex Rodriguez could only exist in this artificial bubble of his only so long before one of two things would happen: he would become a saint or he would become a villain. And I for one, am glad that he chose villainy.

Don't get it twisted: the cheating on the wife? Not nice, but not something that other people don't do, certainly not something that Paul LoDuca could razz him about. But bringing your ho to five different cities around the country? And so completely not giving a fuck in Toronto that you blatantly walk through a hotel lobby with her? That ain't stupidity, that's a giant middle finger to you yours and mine.

Immediately following it up with a bush league play that even your teammates can't back you up on? Yowie zowie, that is straight villainous.

The man approves

I'm not sitting here celebrating what I think is going to be some kind of pile on on A-Rod, because that would be boring. In fact, most of his Yankee career has been pretty boring to me. Mike and The Mad Dog were still ranting about his Central Park photoshoot tonight, as if it was some kind of sin. And that's probably the worst thing he's done as a Yankee. Yes, let's all condemn a man who happened to be tanning in Central Park. What? You for real for real?

No, A-Rod did everything he could to be Mr. Likable, and what did he get for it? Boos and shit talk, everywhere he went. Man couldn't even catch a break at The House that Ruth Built, despite the probability that he was a much nicer guy than the alcoholic fat ass who ended a World Series with a caught stealing. But where was I?

Ah yes, the boos. The no-clutch. Keep in mind this was a man who hit over .400 in his first Yankee playoff series and plated the first two runs in Game 4 of that year's ALCS. He went a little cold, but so did everyone else in that fakakta line-up, even Captain Clutch. Then, he went and only hit 48 home runs and won the MVP in 2005. Still faced boos. And yeah, that '05 post-season was ugly stuff. But the worst moment had to come when A-Rod, Mr. Clean, got called out by Jason Giambi of all people, in a humiliating Sports Illustrated article.

Through it all, A-Rod tried to be nice. And that shit ended this year. We all misread his Jeter sleepover quotes, not realizing that this was Alex starting to unfurl that middle finger. Content with stepping in to a new skin, A-Rod was reborn and has been raking ever since.

And good for him, I say. A-Rod never seemed comfortable in New York as a good guy. He didn't have the magnetic charisma of David Ortiz, the puppy energy of Jose Reyes or even the stoner friendly otherworldness of Manny Ramirez. He was Blank-Rod, the stone faced mercenary with the cross of talent on his back and the crown of dollars on his head.

Think about why the Star Wars prequels didn't work. One of the reasons was the complete inability of anyone to get involved with the story of young Anakin Skywalker. Here was the most evil motherfucker in the galaxy, and it turns out he was just an irritating ten year old and a sniveling teenager. Things only get interesting when he becomes the most ruthless insecure teenager in the galaxy, letting loose a holocaust of destruction across the universe.

And that's what we should start seeing from A-Rod. I want to see him fuck his mistress on the Yankee Stadium mound in the middle a tour. I want to see him sit as his locker and spit sunflower seeds at reporters who ask him questions, then answer them with complete contempt. Re-tear Aaron Boone's ACL while he's sleeping, steal the mustache off of W.B. Mason's face and then reveal to the world that George Steinbrenner has been dead for years. Alex, I beg you, start wearing a rainbow fur coat everywhere you go and openly negotiate with other teams regarding your opt-out clause. You tried being nice and you tried being plain. It's about time you tried being evil.

Tough Luck, Buck Up

Tough luck Gil, real tough luck. In every man's career there will be losses of this sort. You go up against the other team's ace and your offense fails you. No shame in losing to Erik Bedard, the man is Canada's answer to Noah Lowry, and we have to give Canada a little bit here and a little bit there if we're to keep the peace with them.

No Gil, I'm not as nervous as I once was. You pitched into the 8th inning, something that a pitcher just doesn't do in these days of specialized bullpens and pitch counts. But the walks Gil, the walks! I noticed the only run you gave up came from a walk. Bad news dude. We all have weaknesses and bad habits we fall in and out of. Mine involves children and a series of razors. Yours is walks. You can't be walkin' people Gil, it's the only thing holding you back from winning that Cy Young you were born to win. Come on buddy, I know it's in you!

Or, you could keep losing and let me return to being a smarmy asshole. Or maybe I'd do that anyway if I wasn't getting drunk before posting. Fuck you Meche, you broke my heart.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007


Fuck you all. Seriously, you're all a bunch of assholes, and this is coming from one of the most judgmental people on the planet. I had myself all lathered up in self righteous internet rage last night, ready to lower the boom on unsuspecting With Leather ass kissers and various high school lusters. But then a bunch of things happened.

First of all, I realized that the Washington Post article was complete shit. As opposed to doing 10 fucking minutes of web surfing and finding that a bunch of much creepier Stokke photos were circulating Bar Stool Sports and Sports By Brooks, WaPo reporter Lazy Assbrain decided to just blame everything on Matt Ufford and call it a night.

This of course made him a martyr, which is the last thing he is. All his commenters (and Deadspin commenters for that matter) all got to play the victims and talk about how Stokke didn't know how good she hadit to be this kind of shallow internet celebrity, and told her to embrace it like Jenn Sterger. Nevermind that everyone hates Jenn Sterger because she took advantage of her situation to get a column.

I thought that's where it ended, but then apparently the Stokkes went on Fox News today to continue complaining about their newfound fame. Which is, admittedly, a stupid thing to do. Kinda harmless and naive maybe if these aren't media savvy people, which I'd be willing to believe if Al Stokke didn't turn out to be the lawyer of one David Parks. Officer David Parks. So it turns out the wounded father is a dickhead.

To recap: Everyone involved in this situation did something stupid, lazy or just plain wrong. And somehow I got suckered in to caring about it, for however briefly. Ggggghhh, you people make me sick.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

We Came for Lincecum's Lunch Money, We Left with Benitez's Pride

So, with the win safely in hand, let me give my compliments to the incredible Tim Lincecum. He's gonna start getting those "teeny tiny man play good baseball" stories that these guys just love. But unlike David Eckstein, Lincecum looks like he's about to earn all that press. That being said, he's terrifying and I never wanna see him in Shea Stadium again unless he's wearing a Met uniform.

I had the option of listening to this game or watching it on the radio, and the pitching matchup won me over. Who could possibly miss the match up of the flame throwing lefty with the nasty slider against the flame throwing righty with the wacky delivery? And the pitching did not disappoint in the least. Lincecum wins in game score I suppose (64-63), but really, the winner was us, the fans. Oliver Perez if he hasn't already, is quickly becoming The Pitcher To See at Shea. If not for his performances, then just for the pitchers he's matched and/or vanquished: Chris Capuano, Andy Pettite and Tim Lincecum were his last three opponents at home.

The other noteworthy occasion didn't come along until the bottom of the 12th, where Armando Benitez came in to get bitch slapped for his 2004 pwnage of the Mets. Now, when one is a relief pitcher, the saying goes, "Never walk the lead off man." Of course, usually it isn't supposed to lead to two balks and a walk off homer. But I guess when Armando Benitez is pitching, just about any crazy thing can happen. Now Ush, if you want to say either of those balks are bullshit, I will not begrudge you that. Because I didn't really get it either. But on a night when Aaron freakin Hill steals home plate, I guess weird shit is bound to happen.

Oh, and a just plan mean post-script: Matt Yaaloff, during the post-game highlights said of Russ Ortiz, "Look at how this guy has fallen, exiled to the Giants bullpen." Yikes. Is it really that bad in there Ush?

Monday, May 28, 2007

Site News!

We have site news?

We have site news.

If you have eyes in your head and an elementary school reading level, you would notice that we've beefed up the links a wee bit. Now, the blogosphere is a big circle jerk and I don't see why we shouldn't get a little bit of pleasure in it. Er...

Anyway, most of the links I'm sure will be found to be satisfactory. Kissing Suzy Kolber is of course the premier place for sensible and totally true football related information. The Dugout as always, brings teh funny. Sometimes, when they don't update The Dugout early in the morning, I'll check the site ten times a day. I'm sure the internet guy at my job wonders what the fuck The Dugout is, if he hasn't checked already.

I put Deadspin and Can't Stop The Bleeding next to each other because Will Leitch and whoever it is that runs CTSB are obviously the very best of friends. There's also Tex's new gig at Ringside Report. Normally I'm the type of petty individual who would begrudge our colleague his chance at an actual audience on an actual website. But maybe it'll make good things happen for me. Also of significant note is In Dayton We Trust, a previousy mentioned friend of the site, who I believe is the only person to comment on the blog that we don't personally. So now I guess they can look forward to, ummmm....not much a traffic increase. I'm sure I've missed things here and there, and if anyone we don't know feels begrudged and wants a link, you can have it. You just need to leave a comment. And give me five dollars. Just kidding. Not really. Yes really.

End transmission.


Gee whiz, how is it that I start a mini-vacation right when The Meche makes an appearance against Seattle? Well, have no fear Mechites, I am returned and I'm just as depressed as you are over the failure of Our Patron Saint to stick it to the dastardly Seattle Mariners.

Why Gil? I thought the injury problems were behind you! I thought the start against Colorado was just a bump in the road, something we would laugh about down the line when we thought you'd be returning to Earth to be the mediocre pitcher we all thought you were! But a four and a third inning, 11 hit, 7 run performance makes me nervous Gil. I don't mean to be this forward with you, but you need to pick it up.

I need the strength from your pitching arm to carry me through the instances where I go home and continuously have my heart broken. Every time I go back something else has been knocked down, and that included this past weekend. I woke up Saturday morning and learned of your failure just before riding out into the day and finding houses I had passed my whole life to be knocked down into a pile of rubble.

You aren't gonna be turned into a pile of rubble, are you Gil? Please tell me you won't be. I was so depressed I almost couldn't enjoy myself this weekend. But then some tequila fixed that. Please everyone, welcome our new sponsor, Cuervo Black. It gives you some ideas.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

Best way to wake up

Opening scene in "Coming to America". I want an orchestra to wake me up every morning.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

I Will Destroy You Jayson Stark!

(pictured: Morbo. Not pictured: Morbo destroying Jayson Stark)

Contrary to what this post's title implies, I actually like Jayson Stark. He's an entertaining writer, and I dig the whole Useless Information department. But it seems like Jayson now wants to enter the kind of IAMTHETRUTH sports douchery that sells now.

Have you seen his new book? The Stark Truth: The Most Overrated and Underrated Players in Baseball History. Except he keeps mentioning in the promo material that this is all subjective. Which would in fact mean the title should be The Stark Opinion. Hey, can we maybe ban sportswriters from using the word "truth" until they quit acting like bellicose teenagers or even worse, Skip Bayless? The punishment will be death by catapault, just like Rex Banner would have liked it.

But anyway, back to Jayson. I guess to get some publicity going for the book, he presents his top 10 overrated players in the game today. Not all of it moves me to anger, some of it (Barry Zito, Alfonso Soriano) makes sense to me. But two picks stick out like a white man in Harlem (hey, that's me!).

First, Richie Sexson, of whom Stark says:
"Sexson and Adam Dunn fit into a category of overratedness I figured I'd better get to in this column someplace: Guys We Love Because They Can Pulverize A Baseball About 900 Feet."
Damn it Jayson, Adam Dunn and Richie Sexson shouldn't even be in the same sentence together. Unless perhaps you were to say "Adam Dunn beat Jayson Stark senseless with a bat for saying his skill level is comparable to Richie Sexson." To the untrained eye, I guess you could make the case that Dunn and Sexson are comparable. You know what, strike that. Change untrained to idiotic. If your eyes are stupid, maybe you agree with Stark.

Richie Sexson is 32 and has 278 career home runs, a career .348 OBP and has never walked 100 times in a season. He also appears to be on a precipitous decline.

Adam Dunn is 27 and has 209 career home runs, a career .379 OBP, has walked over 100 times in a season 4 times (including the past three). He is on pace to have his 4th straight 40 home run season.

Both of these players strike out a ton. Dunn is absolutely ridiculous with his strikeout rate. But unlike a Dave Kingman or a Richie Sexson, Dunn complements his absurd number of strikeouts with a terrific eye. If Scott Hatteberg is the poor man's Jason Giambi, as was argued in Moneyball, consider Adam Dunn a middle class Jason Giambi. Who coincidentally is mobile enough to play the outfield. Left field anyway. Adam Dunn is by no means a perfect player, but let's act like reasonable people and not lump him in with Richie Sexson. Or I'll hit you in the face with a pie.

Somehow though, Jayson wants to sink lower into the vat of stupidity he's cooking up. Number 5 on his overrated list is none other than Venezuela's own Bobby Abreu, of whom he says:
When people battle me on this guy, I always sum it up this way: As great as Bobby Abreu can be, he lacks that all-important Derek Jeter gene. There is no voice in his head, screaming: "This ball has to be caught." Or: "That runner on third has to be driven in."
AGGGGGGHHHHHHHH! Deep breaths...deep breaths...OK, think I'm ready again.

First of all, Bobby Abreu was walking before it was cool to walk. He was also hitting home runs while he walked before that was cool. I once heard Mike and the Mad Dog say that Bobby Abreu was better than Carlos Beltran. And before 2006, that was true. I wanted the Mets to trade for him, which obviously looks silly now because something is wrong with him. But his numbers prior to 2006 were astounding. I'm not listing them here because if you don't know Bobby Abreu was awesome already, you probably don't know much about baseball.

On to more irritating manners.

Derek Jeter is an excellent baseball player. One day, he'll be in the Hall of Fame. But Derek Jeter does not define hustle or grit or intangibles or any of the other bullshit. And come on, the Derek Jeter gene? If someone ever said that Jose Reyes lacked (or even had) the Derek Jeter gene, I would punch them in their smug face. You can call home run hitters Ruthian or lefty's with nasty stuff Kofax-esque, you can call compare great fielders to Ozzie Smith. But you can't proclaim that a player trying hard and winning is "like" another player. All of those guys on the field want to win. And anyway, if we're going to make up this Derek Jeter gene because he's a winner, shouldn't it be Yogi Berra? He's the only man in baseball history with 10 World Series rings.

There is only one person on this planet with the Derek Jeter gene. And that person's name is Derek Jeter. His parents have pieces of the Derek Jeter gene, but not the whole thing. There are also some other people who have had the Derek Jeter gene in/on them: Jessica Alba, Scarlett Johnason, Jessica Biel, that Ms. Universe chick and I guess Jayson Stark has swallowed some at some point in his life. So please Jayson, when telling us that you're tearing down myths and all that other bullshit, don't quantify it by dragging a tired old one out.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007


Ollie Perez...
Ollie Perez...
Ollie Perez, FUCK YEAH!
Coming again, to save the mother fucking day yeah,
Ollie Perez, FUCK YEAH!
Pitching is the only way yeah,
Atlanta Brave your game is through cause now you have to answer too,
Ollie Perez, FUCK YEAH!
So lick my butt, and suck on my balls,
Ollie Perez, FUCK YEAH!
What you going to do when we come for you now,
it’s the dream that we all share; it’s the hope for tomorrow


Fastballs, FUCK YEAH!
Sliders, FUCK YEAH!
Curveballs, FUCK YEAH!
Baseball, FUCK YEAH!
Change ups, FUCK, YEAH!
Pickoffs, FUCK YEAH!
Mexican, FUCK YEAH!


Innings pitched, FUCK YEAH!
Pitches thrown, FUCK YEAH!
Strikeouts, FUCK YEAH!
Batting average, FUCK YEAH!
Big game, (Fuck yeah, Fuck yeah)

Twenty five, FUCK YEAH!
Staff ace, FUCK YEAH!
Foul line jumps, FUCK YEAH!
Republicans (republicans)
(fuck yeah, fuck yeah)

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

You Dropped the Gun? Gangstalicious, That Is Not Gangsta!

Seriously guys, what the fuck? When I come home from a forum on the horrible new immigration bill, where I get to eat lots of fruit and shrimp and meatballs, I wanna come home and be greeted with a handjob. don't really have an impact on that. But you know, a win would be nice. Instead I get greeted with this.

What is your major malfunction Metropolitans.?I'm not worried or anything. I'm just annoyed. I mean, beat the Braves assholes. Is that so much to ask? Especially you Delgado. I see you grounded into another double play today. You get out of this slump or I staple Larry the Cable Guy to your back and make you listen to his jokes all 24/7. Or maybe I'll cut all the seatbelts out of your car and then you'll keep getting tickets from the cops. Click It or Ticket Carlos. Click It or Ticket. Christ you people irritate me. In fact, I've just about had it with all of you. Fuck ya'll.

OK, ok, I'm calm. So like I said guys, just beat the Braves, cause I like that. Now, here's a gameplan I made up for you:

Offense - Wait until the ball is in the strike zone. Hit the ball with the bat as hard as you can. If the ball goes over the fence, jog slowly until you reach the spot you were previously awaiting the pitch. Blow kisses to the crowd if you wish. If the ball does not go over the fence, proceed to the nearest base until a fielder in your proximity has possession of the ball.

Defense - Catch ball when it is hit to you. Throw ball to first base if the ball rolls on the ground towards you. Do not drop the ball.

Pitcher - Throw the ball as hard as you can into the strike zone. Make sure you throw it past the bat of the current batter. Sometimes throw a pitch which curves, slides, dives or appears to move fast but actually moves slow. This will deceive the batter.

Now then, should you use this plan, I believe you will allow me to come home to a handjob win.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Long Time, No See

Howdy folks!

It's been a good long bit since I've posted on here because of new business. Between the tests and classes I have to take for my new career and searching for other jobs to tide me over, it's hard to get some time in to type.

I wanted to give notice to the few readers we may have and my fellow writers that I just signed on with and I even have an article up there now as my debut. It's a statistical analysis of Floyd Mayweather vs. Manny Pacquiao for the Pound for Pound Championship of the world.

Thanks for all the reading (all that there was). I'll be back here now and then, but not for a while.


Now What?

So first thing first- I watched the Miranda/Pevlik fight (I didn’t stick around to see Taylor/Spinks fight.) Pevlik has a nice future ahead of him, assuming boxing politics doesn’t screw him. I could see Taylor moving up in weight to fight Calzaghe, leaving Pevlik without the big fight he deserves. We’ll see. But it was nice to see a middleweight fight that didn’t involve slow defensive battles, or the Spinks method of running away.

So my Warriors lost to the Jazz. All the haters can now rejoice. Those big bad Warriors are gone! Only in the NBA can Bruce Bowen be considered for the defensive player of the year, but the Warriors are dismissed as a bunch of dirty crybabies. Now, in the land of Warrior world (which is a scary place, I plead with everyone not to go there), either you are still in love with the team, and don’t want to do anything to change the chemistry, or you think that they should be blown up, and quick. You have to understand that this “winning in the playoffs” thing is still brand new to Warrior fans. We have a tendency to over-react to everything. I find myself in the middle of the debate. They Warriors need a big man. They don’t need to blow everything up to get one. The following are on my wish list:

Josh Smith- The perfect Nellie player. Can swing between the 3-4, and already is tailor-made for the rest of the NBA to call him a thug. He can rebound, play defensive, is made for Nelson’s offensive, and is only 21. Why would Atlanta give him up? Well, they already have Joe Johnson, Josh Childress, and Marvin Williams, and they don’t have a point guard. So Monte Ellis could be pretty enticing. While it would be sad to lose Monte, Smith would solve a lot of the Warriors problems (outside of guarding Duncan and/or Boozer, but getting someone like Drew Gooden wouldn’t help much with that anyway).

Anderson Varejao (image from A restricted free-agent, this long haired hyper-active big man could come off the bench, and add valuable rebounding skills, as well as a guy who can bang with the bigs in the west. He’s not the savor, but the Warriors don’t necessary need a savor. Since he’s a restricted free agent, the Warriors could trade Sarunas Jasikevicius to the Cavs in a sign and trade (the Cavs have been interested in Sarunas for a while, and they need a point guard).

KG- The dream. The savor. The one who can make everything feel warm and toasty at night. This isn’t likely. But if Garnett demands a trade, the Warriors are an attractive trade partner for the Wolves. A trade of J-Rich, Al Harrington, Monte Ellis, and our first round pick should be pretty decent package of players and contracts for Minnesota. (It works under the salary cap) You would get a borderline all-star, a talented 3-4 who can hit three’s, and the most improved player of the year in Monte Ellis, who is only 21. The Warriors would get Garnett, one of the few players who can push the Warriors from the playoff fringes to legitimate title contenders.

Will any of this happen? I don’t know now, but it sure beats speculating about another lottery pick.

Pulp's Prophecy Rings True

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Live at TGME: Mets vs Skanks

Well, the liveblog came and the liveblog went. And now the liveblog's back. Bushido Brown. Pulp. How will we rock your world tonight? I dunno, maybe it'll involve hand grenades. I come to this liveblog with a heavy heart. It turns out that not only did The Meche get spanked by the Rockies last night, he also doesn't read our blog (hat tip to In Dayton We Trust, friends of the site). Plus, I went drinking while hungover last night and that awful feeling has followed me around all day. If the Mets lose to this god damn rookie, I'm drinking hemlock.

8:01 - A ridiculous dramatic opening narrated by Jon Miller that tells us in New York you're either a Met fan or a Yankee fan. This is somehow both "an unwritten rule" and a "law." We're one minute in folks. This is gonna be a long night...

8:03 - Arod, batting about .045 in May is back to normal, not struggling, according to Mr. Morgan. I'm mixing up the hemlock as we speak.

8:10 - First pitch ball. We're doomed.

8:11 - Pop out. Mets win.

8:13 - Hideki Matsui hasn't shown any power in the States according to Joe. Then he strokes an opposite field double. Thanks for making him angry Joe. God, I hate you all.

8:15 - The Fantastic Four parachute into Shea.

8:16 - OK, not true. But either is A-Rod's contention that the pitch he just watched wasn't a strike. What's astounding is that I didn't know what I was going to do with that Fantastic Four joke, but then A-Rod saved me. Thanks A-Rod!

8:19 - Yokel TripleAer starts Reyes off with two strikes. Then he strikes him out. Fuck that guy.

8:21 - I just got a decent look at Cletus. He has huge ears. Like, Shawn Green huge ears.

8:22 - Yokel's got a nasty curve.

8:24 - I hate this freakin curve ball.

8:24 - Beltran just misses a hanger as my roomate begins screaming at her boyfriend again. John Mellencamp passes us on to Bushido Brown.
8:27 - And we're back to the live blog that nobody will ever read...nice first inning for Clippard (or whatever his name is, i'm not going to bother looking it up), and I'm sure Morgan and Miller gave him a good hummer in the clubhouse...

8:29 - Two Yanks aboard as Abreu somehow manages a base up to bat, Mr. Error...

8:32 - It's times like these that I wish I had some sort of amusing anecdotes...that would make this a lot easier...meanwhile, Cano nearly smacks a homer while i'm looking away from the TV...

8:35 - Doug M____ strikes up to bat, Tyler Clippard's acne...

8:36 - Seriously though, the guy cant afford a tube of face soap...its disgusting...

8:37 - I can say what I will abotu the kids skin problems (HD brings these things to light), but he can sling the curveball...

8:41 - I cant really complain, because it has been working both ways, but this ump has quite the large strike zone on the sides of the plate...

8:42 - ...well, nobody is booing David Wright anymore, thats for damn sure...

8:43 - "And now let us begin the paddling of the swollen ass...with paddles"

8:47 - One more time; Jim Duquette traded away both Scott Kazmir and John Maine for average veteran pitchers...let it be known that being a good evaluator of talent is not a prerequisite for a job in major league baseball...

8:50 - Clippard escapes with the bases loaded...back to you, Pulp...
8:54 - Ooh, dashes.

8:56 - Thank God Damion Easley can hit, cause this guy's got stone hands.

8:56 - Uh oh, here comes a sermon maybe. The Gaimbino's comments have been flashed on screen.

8:57 - Brian Cashman lawyerspeaks his way out of knowledge of Giambi's steroid use. Seriously looks like he could use some sleep.

8:58 - This is all distracting from an excellent at bat. Fuck you Giambino. Now we drag Peter Gammons into this.

8:59 - Jeter doubles and saves us from more of this stupid fucking conversation.

9:00 - Oh my freaking God. We're still talking about Giambi.

9:01 - Joe keeps talking about it, giving management a pass on the steroids thing.


9:04 - The powerless Hideki Matsui doubles. Again. Shitballs. I blame the steroids conversation.

9:06 - John Maine! Fuck yeah!

9:07 - Maine dances out of trouble somehow again. Life ees good.

9:08 - I won't say much about the commercials tonight, I hope. But that Chevy one where they remix "American Pie" is just disgraceful. Would someone draw a line somewhere?

9:13 - Cano gets lackadaisical again. Not that Beltran would necessarily have been doubled up there. But I still didn't like that throw. Slammer, what's with your boy?

9:15 - Yokel's changeup isn't that good.

9:16 - Strange DP as Delgado continues to struggle. How I wish he would stop. Now back to the Bushido Brown show.
9:24 - Woah, forgot I was doing this for a second, as Soul Sister Brown showed up and filled the volcano...

9:25 - Tough play for Shawn Green, as with 2 outs there was no way he was gonna stop the two runs from scoring anyway...still, if he hadn't dived, perhaps Damon wouldn't be in scoring position...lets see if it bites the Mets in the ass...

9:29 - ...and it doesnt...4-1 Yankees...

9:35 - Clippard keeps rolling as he strikes out Wright...and he's only at 65 pitches as Green grounds out...

9:41 - Sorry i was horribly broing this last half inning...i'll try and pick it up next time around...Pulp...
9:42 - You and the god damn Volcano. I forgot I was doing this too. The last two games of this series reeks of ennui and I have no idea why. Maybe I'm just depressed.

9:44 - I just get a good look at Yokel's face, and Bushido is right, it's horrifying. Put a mask on that kid.

9:44 - My insolence is rewarded with a bazillion foot home run by Jorge "I Have a Bangin Wife" Posada.

9:46 - Bobby Abreu hits an extremely hard ball for an out. John Maine is crashing back to Earth.

9:48 - Reyes gets robbed of a web gem, oh well.

9:49 - Way to run your way out of the inning Robbie Cano. Ya putz.

9:52 - Jewhan Jewhan comes to pinch hit as a fan clearly screams in the background "Just be patient at the plate! WOOO!"

9:53 - Newhan rudely ignores this advice, grounding out in 4 pitches.

9:56 - Robinson Cano gets three ground balls and doesn't make an error. What a dick. And now we return to the Bushido Brown Funtime Clown Academy.

Postscript: We both get bored and high. Congratulations to Tyler Clippard. I guarantee at least one headline or back page screams "YANKEE CLIPPER" tomorrow.

Me and my Yankee Fan Friends Leaving Shea Stadium Yesterday

Saturday, May 19, 2007

Crap, Rainy Baseball

See that there? I flipped the script on ya'll suckas. That's what you can do when you publish three straight baseball updates three days in a row. This is an accomplishment after our recent string of laziness, so three cheers for us.

So uhhh, this game. Yeah, about this game. As time dragged on, my interest in this game tailed off. For starters, I definitely did not get enough sleep last night. You stumble home drunk at 6 AM and you find your enthusiasm for afternoon baseball a little drained. Not to say I didn't want to watch the game. After my shower, I decided I would relax, finish up a joint and play close attention to the proceedings at hand. How could I have guessed it would have been a sloppily fielded, 17 run, three and a half hour affair?

It was fun at first. The Mets snatched the lead away from the Yankees only three batters into their frame and knocked out the starting pitcher after nine pitches to two batters. Tough break for Darell Rasner, unbelievable continuance of a clusterfuck for the Yankees. But the thing about the proceeding innings is that they started dragging out. The Mets weren't just scoring, they were being relentless in their at bats. Mike Myers had to throw 54 pitches to get out of two innings.

There was no sun to be found to flood in and rouse me anymore from my hangover then I could be roused under the harsh artificial light of my bedroom. So when I noticed that it had taken an hour and a half to finish 4 innings and the Mets had a 6 run lead, my withdrawal addled brain started finding other avenues to distract me. I read a shitload of Ultimate Spiderman while keeping half an eye on the game. Solid comic, if a little teenage angsty. Though I guess being a teenager in the 60s and a teenager in the double aughts provides one with more room to be angsty.

Even when the Yankees started making it interesting I didn't worry. Not to say my patience isn't wearing thin with Scott Schooenweis, but I guess I have no choice by to put up with him. And it was nice to see Aaron Heilman come through, because I feel like I haven't seen him pitch in ages. Which would have been unthinkable last year, but whatever. I've never been a huge fan of his anyway. By the by, does Arod's homer and attempted start at a rally late in the game fall into the category of "blow out stat padding" or "attempted clutchness"? Does "attempted clutchness" even exist, or am I just an overly literate 22 year old who's still reading Spiderman? Maybe it can be both!

Whatever, reading Spiderman had the added affect of letting me not pay attention to Joe Buck and Tim McCarver. Not to say they still didn't manage to be idiots. After McCarver went on an anti-jewelery harangue, Buck claimed Endy Chavez doesn't wear any jewelery. Which is a flat out lie. In fact, you could see the chain he was wearing tucked in under his jersey. Anyone who's watched the Mets the last two years could tell you Endy wears a chain. In fact, I meant to mention yesterday that part of charm is the way he looks ridiculous running full speed around the field with his gold chain swinging everywhere. It's a good look for him. But what do you expect from a national baseball announcer who casually mentions he hadn't looked at the league leaders until he broadcasted this game. Eat one Joe Buck. Seriously, prepare for your god damn job you generic sounding reactionary douchebag.

I was gonna end it with that, but I really shouldn't. Joe Buck hardly deserves to be the end, because he's not important. What is important is the win. 295 for Glavine, 28 for the Mets. Braves lost too, putting us 2.5 games up with about a billion left to play. Tomorrow night the it's the harsh glare of the WWL and it's Sinister Slander of Sabermetrics, Joe Morgan. Maybe Joe knows who leads the league in batting.

Friday, May 18, 2007

Crisp, Solid Baseball

Say what you will about the evils and the boredom of interleague play. Until the regular season Subway Series becomes completely noncompetitive, I'll always welcome a game against the Yanks. what really amps people up about the Subway Series? Crisp pitching, timely hitting and some motherfucking intensity.

I probably wouldn't be celebrating the joys of interleague if the Mets blew this lead. But as is their custom of late, they didn't. Instead I get to go over a number of much more joyful topics. Like uhh...

  • Endy Chavez is a special player. Not great. Not infallible. Not even a starter. But how many bench players can hit .350 and outperform the starting, Gold Glove winning centerfielders on their teams? I was finishing up shaving, listening to the game on my radio when it started. I ran to the TV to watch the replay of him throwing out Johnny Damon. Endy Chavez is fun to watch even if you already knew what he did.
  • Three cheers for Oliver Perez. Ollie continues to bulldoze a path into the hearts of Met fans. Our amazing, foul line jumping super-dupersticious (new word, score) pitcher got another notch in his belt of Mets accompishments. A clutch Game 7 NLCS? Check. Win in his first Subway Series Start? Check. Just like Dave Mlicki. Sort of. But nevermind the fact that he pitched solidly again. The bigger anomaly is his excellent hitting. With his single tonight, Ollie is batting .368. 368! See, repeating it makes it even more shocking. Someone get this kid in the cage and teach him a power swing.
  • Billy Wagner appears to have acclimated himself to New York. Now, anytime someone has a 2.24 ERA and 40 saves when they aren't acclimated is fine by me. But Wagner has been completely unhittable this year. 10 saves, no blown saves, no home runs, and just 4 walks. He has 15 base runners in 18 innings. 1 earned run. The list goes on and on. Bonus points for his performance in the post-game interview. When asked about Joe Smith, Wagner cracked up the press with, "If I get one more question about Joe Smith I will fucking die. He came in and faced one damn batter." Laughter in the locker room gaggle around our closer? Good times are here at Shea.
  • And props to you, 56,337 fans at Shea. I know some of you were Yankee scum, but when it comes down to it, it's nice to remind the rest of America that New York rules when it comes to baseball.
Now, I won't sit here and say things like, "This game is more important for Yankees than it is the Mets." Because I don't know about the Yankee perspective. I leave that to the long absent Slammer or the YankeesChick. But I know as a Met fan I like this win because it emphasized all the things that have made the Mets a good team, a fun team. They hit they fielded they pitched they won. And in the midst of an early season pennant race no less. Yes, good times are here at Shea.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Today Was (Supposed to Be) A Bad Day

I woke up late today. After I woke up late, one of my roommates informed me that we had no hot water. "Fine," I thought. "A cold shower first thing in the morning will wake me right up." Or not. I washed whatever I could stand to keep in the water and stumbled out of the shower feeling somehow less clean. The off to work. And it was colder outside than yesterday.

Now, my job is two subway stops away from me. It's an 8 minute ride. Somehow, between stop one and stop two, I zoned out completely. Didn't notice that the station was Yankee Stadium. Didn't hear the conductor say it. I snapped back to reality just in time to realize there was nothing I could do but get off at 167th Street and walk. Then I got out of the subway and walked two blocks in the wrong direction.

So I got to work even later than usual. But then I found Met tickets on my chair. "Hmm, normally when I come to work, there are no Met tickets. What could this be?" Turns out my boss had the tickets as some sort of group that was going to the game, and they didn't want to sit out last night's rain delay. So, he gave me the tickets to redeem, because he knew I was a big Met fan. Hooray for me.

I guess it was that kind of day for the Mets too. They may have been playing their "A-minus" lineup, but it just didn't seem like they were interested in winning the game. Julio Franco at third base? Shawn Green hitting third? Ruben Gotay and David Newhan the Jewhan as our double play combo? Well, I guess after last night's rain delay madness, it was fine.

The Jason Vargas era got off to an inauspicious debut, after looking like it be put in the books as a solid debut. But, two two-run homers in the 6th inning will do that. So it looked like a rerun of the John Maine start. Ambiorix Burgos even came in to make a cameo! I figured I'd turn the game off once he gave up a home run. But he uhhh, pitched well. So, going in to the ninth, I figured that a 4 run lead was pretty comebackable. David Newhan proceeded to almost decapitate Ryan Dempster with a single up the middle, and my interest was piqued. Then came what I regard the most important play of the inning.

Ramon Castro absolutely smoked one to rightfield on a hit and run. But he hit it to Matt Murton, seemingly stranding Newhan between 1st and 2nd base. It was gonna be one of those tough luck double plays that make a hit and run look especially stupid, and the Mets would be down to their last out with no one on base. But Murton's throw wasn't quite true enough, and Newhan hustled his way back to first to keep the kind-of threat alive.

Seeing that even the first out was incredibly hard hit, I was encouraged. No one wanted to be that guy who couldn't hit Dempster. Carlos Gomez continued to make Lastings Milledge sweat by singling, followed by Carlos Beltran drawing a walk. People didn't mention what a great eye he had before he came over, but god damn, the boy can draw a walk. Things went so well for the Mets that even when I thought Willie should have pinch hit Reyes for Gotay, I was proven wrong with an RBI single.

Today was supposed to be a bad day for both myself and the Metropolitans. But it turns out that sometimes, even when you don't give much of an effort, it can still turn out to be a good day.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

He Was a Big Fat Asshole

Someday, that statement may come back to haunt me. Oh well. If Cristopher Hitchens is allowed to talk shit about Mother Theresa after she died, I can call Jerry Falwell a big fat asshole. If it was true when he was alive, it's true now that he's dead.

I'm not here to gloat over Jerry Falwell's death. One day I will die and you will die and really everything will die because the Sun will burn out. The wonder of the screaming void that is the internet is that I have a place to say that contrary to what many people in the coming time will say, Jerry Falwell was not a good man. At least in public.

The Post and The Sun had glowing write ups about Falwell, as one would expect. They both made sure to pay lip service to the fact that it was wrong and bad for him to be a bigot. The Post called his post 9/11 comment about the pagans and ACLU and so forth "unfortunate". The Sun topped that by far, lumping Falwell in with a number of religious men far more worthy of admiration:
"Our history is filled with giants, from such clergymen as Rev. Samuel Cooper, who supported the American Revolution, to abolitionist Henry Ward Beecher, who helped build support for the end of slavery, to ministers such as Reverend Martin Luther King Jr., who fought for desegregation and civil rights."
Martin Luther King deserves a comparison to Jerry Falwell like Jon Lester deserves more cancer. It just shouldn't happen.

Jerry Falwell was a fat rich white man who had the ear of senators and presidents. He could have used his religion to push mankind in a brotherly direction. But instead, while his government sponsored mass death and our children fought in a miserable desert against other children, he had nothing to say.

He had plenty to say about the evils of homosexuality. He had plenty to say about the Jewish features of the anti-Christ. Jerry Falwell had plenty of time to lob grenades at atheists and feminists and Muslims. But he never had any reason it seems, to speak for the poor who were truly being left behind. He didn't speak for his dying planet. He spoke for free enterprise. He spoke for hate. Jerry Falwell's God was American to the core. He voted Republican and he also forgave very quickly, provided you were a bigot.

As we continue to drop bombs on Iraq, Jerry Falwell will have a funeral attended by Important People who will say Important Things and then will go back to living their Important Lives. Two more Important People will probably die, thus extending the Rule of Three and further blowing my mind.

My epitaph for Jerry Falwell then reads thusly

He Spoke for Christ

He Worked for Christ

He Shamed Christ

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Meche Train Keeps On Rollin

We have been remiss in bringing you faithful readers your deserved Gil Meche updates. I will take all the blame. I was the asshole who just had to be clever and make fun of the guy. And he's responded by kicking my virtual teeth in.

The Meche works in mysterious ways. What else can this snarky internet writer do but throw up his hands and pretend that he meant the whole thing as a wacky tribute of sorts. The Meche matched up with my favorite young hurler, Dan Haren and came away with another fantastic line: 7 innings, 7 hits, 2 walks, 5 strikeouts, 0 runs. He didn't get the win because Haren was just as good that night.

Consider this: The Meche has 3 of the Royals' 13 wins. And He's pitched well enough to win in all of his starts but one. I'm going to choose to be lazy and not look it up, but I would wager that only 5 or 6 pitchers have pitched as well as Our Patron Saint.

When this blog started, it seemed like it was going to be easy pickings all season. Just another botched move by a small market club that would make another mediocre pitcher rich beyond his wildest dreams. Gil Meche was not going to change his ways, he would keep walking batters, getting injured and giving up home runs. But now I think The Meche is showing us that we can all change our ways, defy expectations, be fabulously rewarded (by the Kansas City Royals), and kick our internet detractors in the teeth. Yes, I'm starting to become a believer.

Hail Meche!

Monday, May 14, 2007

Martha Stewart Will Fucking Rule You

Just keep smiling Lindsay. It's all you can do. You think Martha Stewart is afraid of your punk ass? Hell no. You just keep stirring and giggling. Martha Stewart's been to prison. Federal pound me in the ass prison. I saw that CBS TV movie*.

That's really just an incredible moment of live television. I feel like if George Bush was put in that situation Stewart would have said things like, "Is there anyone in the world who can tell you, 'George, don't start a war tonight'?" and "Hey, I start wars too. Not like you, but..." What are you gonna do, yell at Martha Stewart? Who cares she went to prison? She's America's cold, WASPy voice of domestic bliss. You fuck with that, you fuck with the flag, the eagle, the apple pie, the baseball and so on ad nauseum.

After watching her carve up Lohan, I feel Martha Stewart could head up the Department of Evil. Not because she's bad, mind you. But because she would pull off the evil with the kind of calm, efficient evil that would keep costs down and terror up, up, up.


Saturday, May 12, 2007

Friday, May 11, 2007

Game 3

So everyone has given up on the Warriors. My favorite has to be Bill Simmons. On his first podcast this past week, he breathed loving words towards the Warriors for their trade with Indiana, saying they were the only team in the NBA that had any guts. So I'm sure you would him expect that he was positive about it when it happened. I mean, Simmons never contradicts himself, right? Well, after the NBA trading deadline, Simmons went on a huge rant about how no one in the NBA had any balls, and weren't willing to try something different. So the Warriors, based on his comments on the podcast, must have gotten a good grade from him, right? Of course you're wrong! Ah, the D- grade. There's no way that Simmons just jumped on the Warriors bandwagon, and is now jumping off as soon as it looks a little rocky, right?

Well, fuck him, and fuck everyone else. Following Stephen Jackson's example, the Warriors make love to pressure. This is a team that went 16-5 to finish off the season while dealing with the toughest schedule in the NBA over that period. This is a team who had a nine point lead with 3 minutes to go in Dallas in game five, lost, and came back the next game to blow out Dallas and win the series only a week ago.

I don't know if the Warriors will win this series. Game two was theirs for the taking, and they blew it. If Jazz win tonight, the series would be effectively over. However, I don't see that happening. The Warriors had the lead late in each of the games in Utah. They are knocking on the door. If they win out at home, all they need to do is win one in Utah. We'll see. But tonight, I'm putting on Baron's jersey, going to Oakland, and screaming with the rest of the crazies. I like our chances.

Wednesday, May 9, 2007

Hot and Dreary Houston

The weather has turned on full blast heat and burned the living shit out of my teams this week. The Astros, apparently, stink. Oddly, they are 6-1 against the Reds and 9-16 against everyone else they have played this year. That means that the recent uptick that placed them near the .500 mark and back in contention is nothing to get too excited about yet (even if it is nice to see the 45 milliondollar bats starting to swing right).

Roger Clemens left and now everyone's yammering about how he sold us out. Typical. I wonder where we've seen this one before.

The Rockets are sitting at home for a large variety of reasons and the fans are arguing over what they are. Some people are saying Van Gundy should have gotten his younger guys some action during the season so they could provide a lift when the playoffs came around and also to extend the bench. Some are saying the defense wasn't there, some are saying the offense wasn't there. Some point the finer at Yao for the turnovers. Some point the finger at Tracy; he is himself included in that group, taking the blame like a champ (sort of).

They need another point guard with speed, a large and effective power forward and a backup center with more athleticism than sturdy old Dikembe. They also need a new outlook and support from their younger players, the most promising of which is uncertain about his return.

The big and most immediate question is what to do about the coach. Van Gundy's abilities as a coach sit in a range that almost as uncomfortable as the general expression on his face.
He has a proven system that he believes in and uses it to effectively batter teams over a long stretch of games. He turns D-league runners into uber-effective defenders. He forces the intensity in hard situations and does have it in him to win a ring, somewhere, somehow.

The problem is that he is trying to play this type of gnashing basketball without a good connection between his veteran presence and his younger energy players. The situation makes me think back a few seasons when Mike James became the Rockets Sixth Man and number three option off the bench and did a damn good job of increasing the tempo at points late in the game. It was a confusing style that sometimes sparked a sleeping Rockets offense into scoring in bunches.

Van Gundy keeps the running down. Van Gundy won't play the rookies. Van Gundy called plays for T-Mac with his back to the basket. Worst of all, Van Gundy's voice is no longer reaching the lockerroom ears.

It's time to hold a press conference and announce that the team is looking for a new coach. You can let Jeff tell the public that he wants to move on instead of humiliating him but the players just aren't listening. The worst thing that can happen to a coach did and there is only one way to fix it.


Monday, May 7, 2007

Dr. Roxo Not Available for Comment

So it seems as if the energy drink Cocaine can generate some publicity for it's scumbag distributors. Most of the story is the same old corporate double speak though I admit, "We think it is most likely legal in the United States to ship our product" should be a phrase that I see more in the news.

But then CNN went and decided to consult the internet to see what the kids thought about it. And they couldn't print a god damn word of it.
"Fans responded to the announcement that Redux would stop marketing Cocaine by leaving dozens of messages, many of them profanity-laced, on a page created for the product on the social networking site"
Now this is something I had to see. And I'm happy report that the MySpace page is even dumber than you thought it was. Someday, the decadent superpower that is America will fall. And damn it, all I want is for historians to find is this. Because this is actually where it all starts to fall apart. Paris Hilton, you ain't got nothing on the shitstorm of assholery that is the Cocaine MySpace page. Let's take a horrible tour through the internet, shall we?

First up, let's meet the probably not accurately named "captain"

I'm sorry for your loss captain. I mean, I know that's only what they say at funerals (and sometimes at pet funerals), but I guess I'll say it since your favorite energy drink is changing it's name. What else do your friends have to say?

Oooh! A self-promoter! Who uh, can't spell taboo. Seriously, it's not that hard. However, I am shocked to learn that cocaine was just recently added to the list of things I can't use. Here I was not blowing lines, completely unaware that cocaine was in fact legal until now. C'est la vie. Also, it's pretty easy to dismiss this as a "controversial brand name" when you don't live in the ghetto. Where they sell this. Where real cocaine is sold on the streets.

A double dose of uhh...hate, from HATEBOMB. You know he's serious for three reasons: He has a badass Confederate flag icon, he posted a picture on the internet of some guys burning a flag and he uses all caps. Honestly, NewsCoprp paid how much for MySpace? Jenna Jameson's box is a better hole to throw all that money down.

Nothing going on here officer, just your run of the mill idiocy. Do these people have high school diplomas? Can they breathe without a ventilator? Are these young voters? (No, not sure, thank god no)

Fuck the rainforest, save Cocaine.

What's that? The ugliest girl on the internet drinks Cocaine? Then surely I will do it! (Yes, I will shame a 16 year old on the internet) Is there anyone who can bring some sanity to these proceedings?

Thank you B Taylor. You may drink Cocaine, but apparently you can read at a 5th grade level. See kids, this is why stereotyping is wrong. Hey wait a minute, you spelled "weeks" obviously wrong. I guess I'll allow it because you made everyone realize it might not be such a...

...big deal. This dude was kicked in the head by a horse, right? That's the only thing that I think can explain the last nine lines of that rant. Well, that or fetal alcohol syndrome.

So there you have it folks. Just keep in mind that the CEO of the company that distributes Cocaine feels that his customer base is not on drugs. And I'll be willing to take him at his word, so long as he also mentions that obviously their parents were.


So maybe it wasn't as exciting as my headline implies; sometimes the result of giving a league title to the team with the most points at the end of the campaign is that the title is won when the victors aren't even near the pitch. Nevertheless, the reality still stands; Chel$ki's 2 year reign of terror atop the Premiership are over following a 1-1 tie with Arsenal at Emirates Stadium and, in a way, balance has been restored now that the trophy is back at Old Trafford. As an Arsenal fan, it is difficult to feel truly satisfied this morning, as the fact is that Manchester United, our hated foes for years, are champions who have a very real shot at completing the Treble (Premiership, FA Cup, and Champions League winners), while Arsenal will have to settle for, at best, third place in the league and the dreams of a season with Henry and Van Persie full healthy and (GASP!) scoring some goals.

However, today is not a day to dwell on Arsenal's problems, of which there are many. Happy as I am with a tie in yesterday's match, it could have easily been won, and as a result of the squads continuing failure to actually score and put teams away it was almost lost. Today is a day for, as David Hirshey put it, "Dancing on Chelsea's Grave." Watching their title dreams collapse on the pitch before my very eyes as Boulahrouz was sent off and Gilberto scored on the ensuing penalty was a thing of beauty, dashed only by Michael Essien's equalizer which made the final 20 minutes or so of the match far less satisfying than the first 70. And as the game ended, the sight of Mourinho, Terry, Lampard, and the rest of Chel$ki crying nearly brought me to tears of joy. A week from now, all that will matter is that Manchester United are, yet again, Premiership champions, but today, we should all be satisfied with the results of the 2006-2007 campaign.

Well, all of us except for Chelsea, of course.

Sunday, May 6, 2007

The Fight Worked

My brother's reaction to Floyd Maweather, Sr. last night: "That guy looks like the predator."

Two dramatic incidents took place simultaneously for me last night. On the TV to my left, I saw the most pathetic moment in the last decade for my hometown basketball team. To my right, I watched a competitive fight between two of the best fighters in boxing. I choose to speak of the positive notes and hope that Carlos Boozer winds up on the bottom of J-Rich's shoe. Go get 'em Warriors. They killed my brothers.

The undercard featured three good fights last night, including Rocky Juarez's return to the national spotlight. He did a good job picking Carlos Hernandez apart, moving inside his jab to spot where he could hit him from close range with hard shots. I would like to see more activity from Juarez. A fighter does not throw as many punches in a fight as he should because he lacks faith in his defense, conditoning or ability to match up in game theory. I don't know which is the problem for the young Houstonian but his lack of movement is the largest road block in his career. It lost him the first fight against Barerra and even hurt him a little bit last night. Still, I can't wait to see his next fight.

The main event unalmost as I expected but the first few rounds made it look differently. DelaHoya's plan to come forward happened immediately. He bullrushed Mayweather with his patented and versatile arsenal and was even able to track him into the corner a few times and land fairly hard shots. I thought he won at least two of the first three rounds of the fight. After that, Mayweather settled into a rhythm and began to stick and move often and early in each round. Around the middle of the fight, Prettyboy started landing combinations of right hooks and left hands with relative ease and seemed to have Goldenboy frustrated.

The theme of the fight was Mayweather controlling most of each round while Oscar picked little ten seconds spots to bullrush him with eight or ten wild punches, all of them picked off with hardly a breath. The strategy worked early, before the telegraphing began. The flat fact is that Oscar Delahoya needed two or three different style to win the fight last night and he doesn't have the dimensions for that at this point in his career (or failed to do so). The fans can boo all they want and the Compubox will continue to laugh at them for it.

As for boxing, I watched the fight with a crowd of nine or ten last night and six of those people don't normally watch boxing pay per views. I heard positive responses to the quality of the fight and the personalities presented (the announcers, coaches, and fighters).

Mayweather said he will retire and that he feels he is the best fighter of all time. To have any legitimacy in either of those claims he has to let the other go. The best fighter of all-time has to have fought the at least all of the best men of his own time and to have beaten them almost every time. That's how Robinson, Ali Leonard and Marciano did it. Mayweather is well on his way to becoming one of those fighters. Standing next to him in his own weight range is Sugar Shane Mosley, Winky Wright, Antonio Margarito, Paul Williams, Paul Spadafora, Miguel Cotto, Ricky Hatton, Cory Spinks and other prospects that are sure to emerge in coming years. He must fight at least the majority of these men and he must do it successfully to have any credibility as the best boxer ever to exist.

He renegged on that statement early after the fight and began hedging his retirement statements. It's obvious that the biggest fight in boxing is the rematch to what was, for the last five years, the biggest fight in boxing.

Sadly, I would rather see Floyd take on any of the men listed two paragraphs ago and wish that Oscar saw the writing on the wall instead of destroying the progress that the bout made for the sport by taking the fans through another match.

So goes the business.

Keep your eye out on May 19th for Taylor-Spinks and Miranda-Pavlik. The undercard is incredible.


Friday, May 4, 2007

Ah, paradise

So I was at game six at the Oracle Arena yesterday. Soon I will post a long, rambling statement on how amazing the last month as been as a Warrior fan. For now, I will say just a few things.

First, that the crowd yesterday was totally out of control. During the second quarter, the crowd was close to rushing the floor and pummelling the refs. Great sporting event I've ever attended.

Second, this Warrior team is completely filled of players who have been overlooked and unwanted their entire career. Now Orleans traded Baron for Speedy Claxton and a bag of Doritos, because they saw him as a talented malcontent who loved shooting three's over passing to his teammates. Stephen Jackson, we all know his story. J-Rich should have made the all-star team last year, and was looked at as just a dunker. Matt Barnes as been run out of four previous teams, and thought about trying out for the NFL if he didn't make it with the Warriors. Monte Ellis was drafted in the second round because teams thought he wouldn't be able to make it out of High School. Andris Biendris didn't play last year, and was thought of a first round bust. Pretty amazing to see this collection of players dominate the Mavs.

Dear Girl Who I Just Saw in the Courthouse

Somehow I think the professional look of the button down shirt and the tie is completely done away with when I can see right through it to your bra. Yellow is a nice color though.

With love,

Thursday, May 3, 2007

The Great Fight Hype

I am in my early twenties. Most early twenty-somethings are currently interested in some fight league known as the UFC that claims to be a no holds bar division. The UFC is monopolize in principle and organization in a way that is not quite an economic trust but as close as the law allows it to be. The Socialists may sneer but it's undeniable that the UFC's solid market model, unified championship, postively capitalist relationship with pride fighting groups and willingness to hold trainers and promoters accountable has led to it's uprising success.

On the other side of the economic-political/age spectrum stands the fight sport for greyhairs, one known as "boxing". The boxing community gets older every year while a few young punks with whiskers under the chin stick around drinking beer and checking out every match ESPN has to offer on their actionpacked schedule. For those few that still remain, the time has come (fellas, brothers), to make our decision.

Am I blowing this out of proportion? No. For a while Boxing may have died and no one outside of our clique knew the name Floyd Mayweather three months ago. That said, it's the biggest fight (though not the best) we have and it's time to man up.

Here's my call, aided by six rounds a night of fundamental training and learning the ring and ropes as well as tape and "expert" analysis.

Mayweather by decision.

I know, it's conservative as hell. This is still a prediction and it's my job to get it right. All signs point to a long fight- Mayweather's tendency to go twelve (six of the last ten fights), his need to protect his hands, ODH's likely inability to hit the speedy Prettyboy and the necessary caution taken.

The real shame in this weekend is that this is far from the best fight boxing or even the best in the DIVISION! I would include Mayweather in my ultimate fight but the flat fact is that he has not been in the ring with someone that matched him in both size and speed since Diego Corrales. Castillo did a decent job tracking him and Zab Judah was almost as athletic but has some problems upstairs (in his head, not his uppercuts).

The best fight near welterweight is Floyd, the most talented fighter on Earth, against somone who can take him down. That someone is currently playing sparring partner to the man Floyd is currently fighting.

Someone might be quick to point out that Vernon Forrest took out Sugar Shane Mosley. To this I would respond that Forrest landed some lucky shots and that styles make fights, not neccesaarily fighters. If lineage was the pure legitimate way to rank fighters, then it wouldn't make any sense that Mayorga could beat Forrest who beat Sugar Shane who beat Delahoya who beat the shit out of Mayorga, now would it?

Mosley's style is to come forward. Winky Wright was able to utilize his size and bully him around by morphing a few of his defensive moves into offensive fire power. Particularly he began to use the shoveoff in a faster more efficient manner, pushing Mosley back several feet and drilling him with class 1-2 shots to the chops. Wright blocked the shots that came his way.

Mayweather tends to keep his hands down and roll his shoulder. Hand speed would be more effective in the ring with Mayweather that it was against Wright because you can' hit a man in the face if he provides no gaps. Mosley could match speed with speed and potentially catch Floyd in a match. He is good at cutting off the ring and even still has equal or better pop than the pound for pound champ.

It's starting to look like a good match, eh? Alas, the reasonable thing is different from the reality of the fight game. In the meantime, find yourself a venue with some beer and a big screen and enjoy two of the most athletic men on Earth beating the crap out of each other with barely any ability to tap out like they do in the so-called no holds bar UFC.


More Brilliant Ideas

If the Bush White House spent more time thinking of how to run the country and not trying to make themselves look good, the government might be half functional right now (yes half, it's not like these are good policies to begin with).

So, would you wear a cancer bracelet for Tony Snow? The story said reporters were "divided" about the issue, but really the only division should be between those who say "No" and those who say "Hell fucking no". I understand that getting cancer is a scary experience, and no one should have to face that alone. Except for maybe Roger Clemens. But Tony Snow is hardly alone. He has his family and friends, he's not gonna be running out of money anytime soon and he works for the freaking President of the United States. So to change the Livestrong bracelets to say "Tony Snow" isn't just narcissistic of the White House staff, it's downright retarded. Tony Snow didn't survive cancer to become the greatest Tour de France champion of all time, like some people who read this blog. He survived cancer and became a half truth spewing ghoul for a lame duck administration. Let's try to keep some perspective here folks.

Roy is ROY!

hahaha! it's very nice!

Wednesday, May 2, 2007

Best Story of the Week...

...and it's only Wednesday. May as well just kill ourselves now. Anyway, the Yankees have fired their conditioning coach. Considering this incredible spate of simple, avoidable injuries they've had, this makes a ton of sense. Me and Ush were joking that the Yankees spend 200 million and can't buy pitching. Now it turns out it doesn't buy coaching either. Thank God it buys offense or the Yankees would have five wins.

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

The Legend of Baby Bull

Howdy folks!

This past weekend, Juan Diaz unified the titles in brutal and beautiful fashion. Diaz is a Houston fighter, described by Max Kellerman as the equivalent of a guy who doesn't hit hard but rather hits often. I have heard the comparison plenty of times from plenty of places; I'd like to ask Acelino Freitas what he thinks of that. Popo quit on his stool after the eighth round because Baby Bull was hitting him with constant pressure.

This fight was a benchmark between two fighters in the top five of the division. Diaz
is one of two champs to hold two belts (the other being Jermain Taylor). He is undefeated with a decent knockout ratio. Diaz was on the mat early in his career against a man named Ubaldo Hernandez. Diaz had a large cut over his eye and was only seventeen at the time but managed to secure a split decision.

Baby Bull's moves are unique, fascinating and emphaticlly effective. He can easily fight inside and gnaw at an opponent coming forward, trapping them against the ropes or in the corner of the ring. His body work is sharp and excellent and he can hook upstairs just as easily. He uppercuts, has spectacular fundamental hand defense and circular movement on his slip and fires a deceptive jab at tremendous volume. Diaz didn't even look tired talking to Max Kellerman about his future plans after the fight.

"'I'm going after all the champions in the lightweight division,' he said. 'Give me a champion and I'll fight him.'"

Seems rational. Juan wants a third and fourth belt in order to be the indisputed champion of the world. Dan Rafael doesn't agree. Apparently his next blog post (which is not linked to ESPN but is described ont he boxing home page) says the Diaz has to fight Joel Casamayor if he wants to be the REAL champ.

Dan Rafael is one of the snootiest sports columnists on ESPN and is entirely misdirected in even beggining to type that post. First, Rafael must have missed the second half of Diaz's quotation:

"'Bring Casamayor on. In the people's eyes, when you have all the belts, you're a true champion.'"

Juan Diaz said right there that he is not scared of Casamayor and would agree to fight him in immediate principle. Secondly, Diaz is suggesting something that is old school, legitimate and a cornerstone of modern boxing. The alphabet soup organizations in boxing have no credibility as sanctioning parties because they are like tiny little corrupt governments stomping on fighters, coaches and fans worldwide. However, if Diaz held all the titles then he would hold all the cards. The organizations would have to all protect him at the same time so that he did not have to give up his title.

Third, Rafael is acting like fellow titleholders David Diaz(32-1-1) and Julio Diaz (34-3) (whole lotta Diaz going on here) are chopped liver when they are actually competitive matchups and deserving of more than the paper title they hold in their hands.

Finally, there is a matter of math and making the biggest fights at the end of the boxing tunnel. How's this for a setup: Casamayor fights David Diaz, Julio and Juan fight and we have a unifier between the winners. The last man standing is the champ. That man's last name will be Diaz or Casamayor and I would kill to see him move up for a Pacman showdown.

Realistic? Probably not. The best fight plan? Absolutely.

Let the fists fly. Rumble, young bull, rumble.



With your mercury mouth in the missionary times,
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes,
And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes,
Oh, who among them do they think could bury you?
With your pockets well protected at last,
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass,
And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass,
Who among them do they think could carry you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace,
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace,
And your basement clothes and your hollow face,
Who among them can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims,
And your match-book songs and your gypsy hymns,
Who among them would try to impress you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

The kings of Tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss,
And you wouldn't know it would happen like this,
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood flames on your midnight rug,
And your Spanish manners and your mother's drugs,
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs,
Who among them do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms,
How could they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row,
And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go,
And your gentleness now, which you just can't help but show,
Who among them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, you're on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul,
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy you
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Everything is fine

Ignore the "shadowy Iraq office" that has been set up by Maliki and is being used to help Shite militias throughout Iraq. Look away from the fact that the US military "doesn't know" what is happening in "the Office", but "rather than sit back and criticize, we can partner with them." Think of how great it is that the US is able to work with "the Office", even though we don't know what they do, and who they fund. Pay no attention to the horrible disaster behind the curtain.

How To Kill Oneself With Words

Sometimes (often) I wonder if politicians really do live in a separate world from our own. Maybe they take a space shuttle down every morning to provide something insane and ill thought out to the press, then they take the space shuttle back up to their home planet of Mkertunhus.

Case in point, Joe Bruno, the head of the New York State Senate. Bruno, a man already under federal investigation for corruption, has decided that after the voters of New York overwhelmingly elected a man who's obsessive about reform to the point that it's scary, that it would be a great time for a pay raise. Because our poor New York state senators don't make nearly enough money (79 grand a year for a part time job).

So now that Senate Dems have wised up and backed out of the raise, Bruno is pissed. So pissed, that apparently he's willing to say the craziest god damn thing he could think of:

"You have a right to change your mind. ... But I don't believe you have a right to walk away from people who send you here and cave in to this governor every time he intimidates you."

Walk away from the people who send you here? Joe, have you taken a look around lately? The state legislature is known as a place where nothing gets done. New York State's government is such a mess that it's amazing the state can even function anymore. Upstate has no economy. And not only do you want a raise, but you think the voters sent you to the Senate to get it?

Life must be freaking awesome on Mkertunhus.