Thursday, February 22, 2007

He Lays it In! Forever.

DJ joins Johnny Most.

MLB Spring Training

I meant to post this for when spring training started on Feb 17th to inspire the players of Major League Baseball, but I failed. I didn't take it Higher & Higher. I'll never let that happen again.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Baseball is Out of Ideas

Baseball, in an awkwardly pathetic attempt to appear modern and cutting edge, decided to fuck with wool hats and make them out of whatever weird shit they make Under Armor out of or something. I don't know. Read the article. Just a reminder, Bud, that the coolest part of baseball is it's decidedly not modern in play or equipment. A ball. A bat. A glove. Christ, it doesn't even have a clock.

On opening day, the sport will doff the traditional wool cap in favor of a new polyester blend model designed to wick away sweat before it can stream down a player's face.

The change is part of commissioner Bud Selig's focus on boosting player performance, a Major League Baseball official said, and follows a general trend toward moisture-managing "performance" materials in sports apparel.

In broaching the change, New Era was well aware of the 100 percent wool cap's long-standing place in baseball history, DeWaal said. Aside from tweaks here and there -- a switch from leather sweatbands to cloth in the 1980s, for example -- this is the first major overhaul of the baseball cap since the current, six-panel model was adopted in 1954, he said"There's a lot of tradition in baseball and we couldn't completely go against that tradition so we always had that as a parameter," DeWaal said, "but we wanted to take as open-minded a look at this as possible."

"By revolutionizing the cap, we're ensuring the players headwear provides the best performance while they play," New Era Chief Executive Officer Christopher Koch said.

Next up, I got an idea for these snazzy plastic numbers. Gonna Revolutionize them.

Let's call this what it is - a cheap shot at Trot Nixon's penchant for dirty headwear - who I imagine will now be forced to take a crap directly on his hat and smear it around to get that worn-in look. Would liked to have seen that (God we're gonna miss him). It's also a nice big fuck you to the fans who will be expected to buy these awful futuristic things if they want real player apparel. I don't know what I'd do if didn't have the hook-ups for their worn apparel that I do now*. The sad thing is that athletes in general don't need to be pampered any more than they already are. Does Pac Man Jones need a super-absorbant headband on when he's beating up strippers? No. He is at peak performance because he's fueled by drugs and an inflated sense of self-importance, not his gear - because when you're in the zone, it doesn't matter what you're wearing. And that's what is really important. I think my point is clear.

*Note: By "hook-ups" I mean access to public garbage bins and "worn apparel" I mean used Band-aids. No you're gross. No YOU are.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

I Learned it From Watching You

I've always admired soccer hooligans for their passion, commitment and ability to sing team's fight songs while withstanding multiple tear-gassings by law enforcement. I've wondered where this kind of behavior comes from and where responsibility lies. Well I think we finally have the culprit: the ever-lethal mix of soccer players and karaoke:

Liverpool striker Craig Bellamy added a new twist to the problem of soccer violence last week when he attacked a teammate. The Wales forward allegedly hit John Arne Riise in the legs with a golf club while Liverpool was in Portugal at a training camp preparing for a Champions League match against defending champion FC Barcelona.

Bellamy now faces a fine of $155,000 and an uncertain future with the 18-time English league champions.

If teammates whacking each other with golf clubs after a night out isn't absurd enough, consider the reason for the fight -- they were arguing about a karaoke competition.

They were probably arguing over who was gonna do the horn part of Sweet Caroline ("Dah Dah Dah!!!") . The purist in me says leave it out completely because it's not even in the song, but then there's that other part of me that just wants to belt out every sweet note Neil Diamond ever wrote. I think that's the same part of me that says it's OK for dudes to really like Prince.

The image “” cannot be displayed, because it contains errors.
No, not me - a different Bellamy. I assault people's minds with my humor.
Wanna talk about how white people and black people are humorously different?
Why are you punching me?
You know what, keep punching, I miss the attention.

Either way, what we have here is a free swinger who's definitely in the wrong sport. Change "Portugal at a training camp" to Vegas Strip Club and "preparing for a Champions League match against defending champion FC Barcelona" to Partying with Pac Man Jones , and you can see this is NFL class assault - deranged, creative, and wildly awesome.

Note: What the fuck happened to Bill Bellamy? And how do we spread it to others? Let's take his blankets and give them out to Tara Reid, Paris, Britney, and Carrot Top in hopes they too pass into the netherworlds. Christopher Columbus would be proud.

When Lovers Grow Apart

a comic strip!


Friday, February 16, 2007

BoSox's Owner is Vulnerable, Awkward. Sky Still Blue.

With a name like John Henry you are supposed to be the meatiest and manliest of all manly men, passing through town in your overalls, swinging an ax in one hand and carrying off the prettiest wench in the other while the townsfolk are suspended in laughter in awe. The kind of man that makes Tom Brady feel inadequate. But what the Red Sox have in their owner is a man (possibly undead) who manages to look perpetually disoriented and medicated. Via State House News Service (subscription req'd) I see he stopped by the new Governor's office:

SOX OWNER HENRY DROPS IN ON PATRICK: Lacking, he said, an appointment to see the governor, Red Sox owner John Henry nonetheless visited Gov. Deval Patrick’s third-floor office today. His appearance coincided with a crush of reporters leaving a Patrick press conference, rendering the media-shy Henry vulnerable to scattered questions from unprepared reporters. Discussing new Sox pitcher Daisuke Matsuzaka, Henry said, “Is he poised or what?” Henry said he was “on my way” to Sox spring training camp in Florida. After a few awkward moments, a Patrick aide emerged from the inner suites and escorted Henry there.

The image “” cannot be displayed, because it contains errors.
The cracking and settling of my bones disgusts you, I can tell.

The best part is that he says he was "on his way" to spring training. He's basically a mix between Abe Simpson and Mr. Burns.

When I walk into the Governor's Office uninvited, I go in there like I mean business. And everyone from the State Police Guard to the other State Police Guard take notice, often with their tasers. But you know what? If you want to make sure they put the ASS back in Massachusetts, it's not gonna be easy, and you gotta start at the top.

Gambling with Dice

A prediction: At the end of the season this guy will have better overall pitching stats than this guy. The reason is very simple. Guy number one (Hideki Okajima) carries his own luggage and is driving around in what appears to be either the emasculating Pontiac Vibe, nerdy Toyota Matrix, or my parents' minivan. These are the actions of someone who is forced to earn his place and respect on the team. He has got something to prove.

The image “” cannot be displayed, because it contains errors.
This car does not prove much other than a startling lack of dignity

Guy Number two (Daisuke Matsuzaka, Dice-K*), drives an Escalade, and the team pays for a personal masseuse, physical therapist, an assistant, a translator, a fly pad for him and his wife, his transportation, and they'll foot the bill on 80-90 flights to and from Japan every year. In addition, Johnny Pesky has to feed him grapes on the bench and he won't have to buy drinks for Hazel Mae when she dances for him.

If Dice-WTF is less than perfect for even one inning, he'll hear it from the press and from the fans immediately. Picture him in his free apartment looking over the city skyline as a nubile assistant rubs oil on him while Johnny Pesky picks the seeds from grapes. Then imagine him wincing at the stinging commentary on how overpaid and over-accommodated he is after he loses his first game. Granted, he won't actually hear about it because his translator will surely change it to something like, "Would you like another happy ending from personal masseuse?" That shit gets me every time.
To be fair, Dice-WTF does carry his own bags.** And also that Nike one.

The point is, Dice-WTF cannot exceed expectations, let alone live up to them. Guy Number two can hit a guy in the face and half of Boston will high five at the improvement in his control. And that it was a Yankee.

*If this name is allowed to stand, I am gonna punch everyone.

**Two moobs references in two days? No, you're mailing it in. No YOU are.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

The Pats Had a Wide Receiver Coach. Really.

The New York Jets snared the New England Patriots Wide Receivers Coach, according to ESPN.

In a switch that could further strain the relationship between the franchises, New England Patriots wide receivers coach Brian Daboll has left the team to accept a position on the staff of New York Jets head coach Eric Mangini.

Daboll will work under Jets offensive coordinator Brian Schottenheimer, but his role has yet to be determined.

In 2002, Daboll was promoted to wide receivers coach, a position he held for the past five seasons. New York already has a wide receivers coach in Noel Mazzone, so Daboll, who drew praise from Belichick last season for his part in working with a revamped Patriots wide receiver corps, might function more as an assistant head coach.

Daboll was responsible for areas of the passing game and for coordinating many of New England's personnel packages on offense.

The move obviously reunites Daboll and Mangini, who worked on the New England staff together for six seasons.

Now some casual observers of the game might say that what the Jets got was a coach who doesn't promote himself over the team, and has a 5 year history of coaching-up receivers like David Givens, Deion Branch, Bethel Johnson, and Reche Caldwell, only to have an off-year this past season because the Pats' WR crop was the worst in 5 years. Others might wonder how he was able to get Super Bowl caliber performances out of these cast-offs. Still others might be crying silently in their cubicle at this news, calling their dads but hanging up every time he answers because you just know he'll see through your efforts to stay composed. He always does. He was hard on you - God was he hard - but he taught you more about life and about love than you'll ever know.
Get me Bra Oil and make it Bland. Also make it an assistant coach.

An outside option is that Mangini took Brian Dobell because the letters of his name can be rearranged to spell Bland Bra Oil. One look at Mangini's moobs and you know he'd try just about anything to stop the chafing.

Sayonardo - We DiNardly Knew Ya.

"From Dallas, Texas, the flash -- apparently official. The Lenny DiNardo blog died at 1 p.m. Central Standard Time -- a half hour ago." (Graham)

From my good friend Jim at the Lenny DiNardo Blog (who's post title was worthy of reproduction/outright theft), I learned than Lenny DiNardo of the Boston Red Sox has been claimed off waivers by the Oakland Athletics.

Semi-Serious Heart Felt Moment Including Flashback
2004 - In a bar in Washington DC, I sat among friends drinking pitchers of beer and watched the Red Sox open the bullpen to reveal a new face. A young guy who actually ran from the bullpen instead of doing that awkward trot/run/walk (or that slow Jabba-like slither that Wells did). And upon seeing this fresh face, a friend of mine became convinced upon hearing the name Lenny, that this kid was going to save the Red Sox. What other conclusion was possible at that moment? There is a specific feeling one gets when they decide- at random - to invest their hope and and faith in someone as random as the actual decision. It made every game infinitely more watchable (Is this the game DiNardo unleashes his fury? No? Damn. Next time), and was nice to give props to someone who didn't ask for it. And while he wasn't up to the level of Virgin-Mary-On-Toast worship, he was worthy of praise none the less. Godspeed & God Bless, Lenny.
And when there was only one set of footprints, that was me pitching for you. And you were on my back. It was hard.

And as for Jim - he did not just start the DiNardo bandwagon, he built the fucker. And he has the homemade DiNardo T shirt (and the resulting awkward high fives from others who've seen it) to prove it.
< /semi-serious moment >

In a related note, Oakland just got a really inconsistent middle-releiver.

Here's hoping Lenny shows up as a color commentator for NESN in 15 years. They could really use a lefty.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Quick Hit

This is why I am just as qualified to be a sports pundit as any of the other lummoxes they've got in Bristol, CT

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Braves Sold, TV Freed

The Atlanta Braves were sold by the Turner Broadcasting Company to another humungoid behemoth of an organization that is probably named somewhere in this article.

Editors Note: Before we move on to the article, I think this is a good time to ask how these huge companies can possibly be "entertainment" companies. A good rule of thumb is that the larger something gets (ie strippers, my Uncle Lenny), the less entertainment is involved.

Atlanta Braves president Terry McGuirk said Tuesday fans should expect a "transparent" ownership transition if the team's sale from Time Warner to Liberty Media is approved by Major League Baseball.
TBS drops baseball for more cutting edge terror-tainment.

Dude, fuck Braves fans. I want to know how this sale is going to affect all NON-Braves fans. Does this mean all of us TBS addicts no longer have to suffer through every fucking Braves game this season? TBS can finally return to what it does best (other than paying for lite brite terror )- showing reruns of Sex in the City and Clueless (The movie, not the series. That TV show was for kids!), while I pretend I want my lady to turn it off... OK fine, well after this commercial... Maybe just ten more minutes... OMG! I can't believe he's gay! This is just like Shakespeare but on a level I can understand!

Hey where'd my balls go?

Stephen Jackson Makes You Wanna Dump! Dump!

Yesterday it was reported that law-abiding Warrioirs guard Stephen Jackson had testified that he dishcarged his gun in order to stop a brawl that he started.

He said he fired a couple of shots in the air to break up the fight, and then the car hit him.
Whoa that's awesome. How did he start the brawl? Why by being Stephen Jackson of course.

Jackson testified that when he was walking from the club to his car, a man approached him shouting, "dump, dump!"

"Where I'm from, 'dump' means pull out your gun and shoot," he said.

Pacers guard Jamaal Tinsley testified that he also grabbed his gun and put it in his pocket when he heard "dump." He did not fire any shots and was not charged.

Jackson said the man, identified by prosecutors as Willford's cousin, Quentin "Fingers" Willford, had one hand in a back pocket and another in his shirt. The fight started after Jackson and those with him realized Willford had no weapon.
"It was like an all-out brawl," Jackson said. "I started seeing more and more faces I didn't know."

There's almost too much awesomeness here to process. Everyone is armed to the teeth, someone actually named "Fingers" runs down a baller, and a new slang for popping a wanksta is introduced to mainstream America.

One of these days, Jackson's time is going to run out. It always does when you're in the game. Drawing from my own experiences on the block, hustlin, just tryin' to get my ends - one day you're holdin' it down, and the next you fall and scrape your knee really bad in your street's cul de sac because the landscaper left some woodchips at the end of the driveway. True Story.

When his time does come, I hope I'm there to see Jackson tell God that the dress code in heaven is racist.

HT: onemoredyingquail

Monday, February 12, 2007

A Snake Throws in Texas?

According to John Clayton of ESPN,

The David Carr era may be coming to an end. Gary Kubiak appears to be seriously looking at trading for Jake Plummer. Where that leaves Carr is anyone's guess. The Texans are tired of losing.

But I thought they were tired of losing. No one has ever said, "The game's on the line, send in The Snake." Except of course these people. And to be honest, if your fans are myspace-based, it's more likely that they have a better working knowledge of a minor's anatomy than the game of football. I'm not saying everyone on myspace is a pervert trolling for jailbait, mind you. All I'm saying is that they're all HUGE perverts.

Word is that the Texans' front office plans to take the $16 million cap space they have and give it to Mario Williams for that... uhhh... awesome thing.... he did... that one time... when.... Nope, nuthin.
Neil Diamond once tried to kill me just to get an erection.

Friday, February 09, 2007

JD Drew Eats Like Jesus

Red Sox $70 million dollar man has found a new diet regimen:

His lifestyle change came when Drew, a born-again Christian, learned of the Maker's Diet, a dietary approach based on health precepts found in the Bible. The diet includes a product line called Living Fuel, featuring supplement drinks and energy bars that Drew relies on before each game.
I think somewhere in Matthew it says that Jesus liked the Banana From Heaven flavored energy bars the most, and found others either too tough, chalky, or sinful.

Actually, I was all prepared to poke fun at Drew's bible diet, but was informed that it’s the same principle behind keeping kosher. This brings up three things:

1. I now have a more correct understanding of ‘Keeping Kosher’

2. Based on this new definition, I will release the Kosher I have kept in my basement (though I will miss his company).

3. I finally have a title for my sitcom pilot! It’ll be like Judging Amy in the sense that the title plays off her role as a judge. In this case Keeping Kosher will be about a very religious goalie. Who fights crime of course.

Note: Read the whole article to understand just how desperate/crazy Drew is. It's like he hit Michael Jackson's yard sale. Hyperbaric Chamber? Sold!

Thursday, February 08, 2007

The Bill Belichick System Works in Love. Sort of.

Bill Belichick has made a career of turning otherwise who-dats into legitmate threats. Two years ago, David Givens and David Patten were incredible receivers for the Patriots, and now Givens is somewhere in Tennessee.. err… doing something… and I think Patten has been filming himself catching passes in front of his video camera. Regardless of where they are now, these were two players that Belichick got for cheap and made them better than they were without him.

But can Patten rock a head band like this guy?

Now it appears Belichick took the system into his love life:

The New Jersey mom who is allegedly fooling around with New England Patriots head coach Bill Belechick, has received cash and gifts from the gridiron guru totaling more than $80,000 over the past two years - a windfall she tried to hide from the court.

Under questioning by attorneys for her husband Vincent Shenocca, the blond stay-at-home soccer mom detailed the caches of cash her alleged pigskin sugardaddy provided - some $3,000 a month beginning in June 2005 and continuing to the present.

A windfall to her maybe, but that shit is couch money to the hooded sensei. What he got here is a pick from deep in the draft, determined her worth, and stayed within his salary cap (the amount it would take for his wife to notice he was paying a mistress).

Now the ice goes on my nuts.

But then the system breaks up. Too many loose strings, too many chinks in the armor:
(via Ben Maller)

Sharon Shenocca, 41, admitted she lied to the New Jersey family court in November 2005 when she claimed she got no dough from Belichick. Under questioning by attorneys for her husband Vincent Shenocca, the blond stay-at-home soccer mom detailed the caches of cash her alleged pigskin sugardaddy provided - some $3,000 a month beginning in June 2005 and continuing to the present. Additionally, Sharon testified that Belichick bought a $2.2 million home in Brooklyn where she intends to live with her two kids. The four-bedroom, two-bath brownstone was purchased in the name BR Realty Trust - a handle her husband’s attorneys contend stands for Belichick and Radigan. Radigan is Sharon Shenocca’s maiden name.

Kids?! House?! The only thing that makes this OK is if she became his Troy Brown. You know, she would play both ways and he could watch.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

I Miss Dolemite

It's a slow day. No, fuck YOU.

Monday, February 05, 2007


Superbowl Diary

1st Quarter

  • Phil Simms says it over and over - Peyton Maneen. He deserves a good teabaggeen if you know what I mean.
  • Awesome intro graphics: everyone's folding their arms and saying their names. Except Marvin Harrison. I have no idea why.
  • First quarter and we already see Rex "Fuck it, I'm Going Deep" Grossman. Gotta love that.
  • 3:05: "The rain is ABSOLUTELY haveen a little effect" Way to take a stand, phil.
  • 3:00: Benson fumbles. Puppy Bowl is less sloppy at this point. And they are actually shitting on the field.
2nd Quarter
  • Coke commercial. Does the dead hooker pile come back to life? This remains unanswered.
  • 11:22: #4 misses. I think its his moobs.
  • I will never touch a dorito or register 6 ever again.
  • Manning scrambles!
  • Apparently I'm drunk or the camera is blurry. (I'm going with drunk based on my hallucination of maneen scrambleen).
  • Colts get the TD. Manning asks the sideline: go for one? Two? One? Two? Let's be a little more judicious with the slow mo from now on, ok?
  • Commercial: a robot dreams of dying! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
  • 4:00: Nice shot of an emotionless Benson sitting on a bench in the rain - cold, hooded and alone. It's like seeing into the future. What you can't see yet is the sign asking for money and me throwing a milkshake on him.

Good Talk Shannon. See you out there.

Prince does Queen? Fitting. Nothing like a blue smurf singing about purple. This just goes to show 1.) Women love midgets. 2.) Or they love to writhe around them. 3.) Or that these women are well paid. By the way, if you like Prince, you have to like Clay Aiken. Consistency demands it.

3rd Quarter
  • ZZZZZZZZZ -- whu? wha? oh. nuthin' (scratches balls). ZZzzzz

4th Quarter
Simms says: "The key is not to panic and throw it every down"
Rex says: "I just hit Phi Simms wife. Now look how far I can huck this thing."

Tony Dungy gets hit with a sports beverage. Rex with multiple paternity suits.

Friday, February 02, 2007

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Don't Ride Them, Dipshits.

There. I just saved everyone an assload of money by reaching the eventual conclusions of the new research initiative studying Equine Health & Safety & Other Assorted Bullshit by the National Thoroughbred Racing Association.

"The outpouring of emotion and support from racing fans has been so amazing that we wanted to find a fitting way for those fans and our industry to honor Barbaro," NTRA chief executive Alex Waldrop said. "We anticipate a busy few months as we work together to assist projects that can have a great impact on the health and safety of thoroughbreds and, through our focus on laminitis, horses of other breeds as well."

You know how you could honor Barbaro? Take his owners and put a whip-happy midget on them while they run at full sprint for a mile in the dirt. At the end, give them a fucking carrot. Repeat until death.

Troy Keeps it Real

So Troy "He of Alternating Vowels" Polamalu legally changed his name from some other vowel-heavy arrangement to Polamalu - the name already on official documents like his drivers license and Social Security Card.

Polamalu has many meanings and translations. According to an interview a year ago today (spooky!):

Troy Polamalu was asked what his last name means. "I could tell you it means long-haired warrior," he said. "But that wouldn't be true."

I suspect it means, "Shrouded in Hairy Secrecy." But when I put it into the Shannon Sharpe Translator, it means, Pull My Leg

"Troy, well he Pol-a-ma-lu. Flabba"