NFL Draft Recap: Patriots Add Depth at CrazyPants

Let the "A Rolling Stone gathers Moss" puns start...... Now.

Have you ever wanted to do something once but couldn't? And then you waited a year for your next chance, and as if by magic the same situation presented itself - only this time you could in fact draft Randy Moss and get San Francisco's (likely high) first round pick in the next NFL draft? No? Well then you can go back to your boring ass life right the fuck now.

So the Pats got Moss. Normally, I am wary of Len Pasquarelli over at ESPN.com, but because he's writing what I want to hear, I agree with his article on the Pat's newest acquisition:

On Sunday morning, the NFL's master chemist, Bill Belichick of New England, decided to add perhaps the most combustible element in the league to a Patriots locker room where the chemistry is one of near-perfect balance. But lest explosive yet enigmatic wide receiver Randy Moss be misled into believing he will mess with the equilibrium created by Belichick, personnel chief Scott Pioli, owner Bob Kraft and the band of veteran leaders they have assembled, the five-time Pro Bowl player should be forewarned.

I am crazy. Like, real authentic bat-shit crazy.

Dude wants rings. And he'll shut his trap to get them. If he doesn't act right, he's got Rodney Harrison, Tedy Bruschi, Tom Brady, and a shitload of other vets who will knock him into shape very quickly. And may I take a moment to prempt those who point to the way T.O. poisoned the Eagles - it's worth noting that the only spine in the entire Philly locker room then was floating in McNabb's Chunky Soup.

As for the dude who was actually drafted, Brandon Meriweather, I am going to give him the benefit of the doubt. Granted, he stepped on a player during a brawl and has since fired a handgun in a dorm, but he's from the University of Miami - a place where grades and academics are routinely put before sports and competition. So at least he's got a good head on his shoulders, and that's what counts.

Random note: the Pats also drafted an RB named Justise (Not a misspelling, at least not mine). Add him to Tom "The American Way" Brady, and all we'd need to do is draft Paul "The Truth" Pierce for the trifecta. New England is the heart and soul of America, bitches. Captain America himself is gonna have to move to Natick if this keeps up.

Prediction: The Pats are going to win the Superbowl. Suck it.
Fantasy Prediction: Tom Brady now worth a first round draft pick. Suck it harder this time.

Body Building is a Sport

You know my definition of sports: if it's got a 'bloopers' reel and there is no Tom Bergeron or Dave Coulier narration, it's probably a sport.

Image from Full House Bloopers*

So here I give you Body Building bloopers. At first I thought the 'blooper' was the part where the weights fall on people, the kid falls through the floor, or a guy gets his nuts bitten by a cat. Then I figured the 'blooper' is that while these men spend time lifting dead weight, their wives and daughters make out with a a real man who doesn't bore them with silly talk about delts and pecs (I tell them the story of my abs instead).



But actually, a blooper is when you get a BJ on the toilet*. Which doesn't even occur in this video. So I think we can conclude that this video is terribly mislabeled.

Oh God, I do not want to see Full House Bloopers now.

Travel Day Observation

Your jetsetting editor touched down in New Orleans for what promises to be a crazy night of booze, women, mayhem, and incalculable gambling losses at Harrahs sitting in his hotel watching the Sox-Jays game on Yahoo GameChannel.

Upon my arrival here and seeking distractions from my insane cabbie and his increasingly questionable driving decisions, I noticed two things - first, the pawnshops have more business at any given time than the gas stations; and second, the the New Orleans Saints practice facility/HQ is right next to a Budweiser warehouse. Well played Saints, well played indeed.

Also the Super Dome looks like shit. They should change the name from the Super Dome to the The Super Depressing Cylinder That Even Rats Won't Shit in Anymore*. Seriously, you could mount the heads of puppies on stakes around the perimeter of the building and it would double the amount of happiness one gets from looking at it.



*Why don't I ever win building-naming contests?

Curt Schilling Crushes Robert Frost

I like reading 38 pitches. And in order to give myself a reason to read it word for word, while simultaneously mocking a yankee fan who demands Schilling's blog be unmasked for what it is (Ed Note: uhhhh awesome?), I've decided to show you the poetry within his posts. These phrases are lifted from the most recent post and beyond editing punctuation, remain in the order they were written. These 'poems' are designed to let hidden truths and profounditry* float to the surface. They are also designed to make Dan Shaughnessy's head explode like a Peep in the microwave.

Fact: Dan Shaughnessy's brain is purple, gooey, and looks extremely delicious.

Awareness for the Shade

I remember watching on different occasions.
What he did was touching.
Our opener was one of those times,
The two best splits of the day - top to bottom.
The angels have another power, a back door.

Count as early and often as possible, (down and off the outer half,
knuckling a little bit).

I have no idea when he came here.
We get more breathing room (once again he wins).
This time around I know numbers would take care of reasons.

Weather: wise. But it’s not fun to watch.

I’ll grab the next few days.

*I know it's not a word - it's called poetic license, and it's not limited just to the poem itself. It is? You sure? Well aren't you just Emily Fucking Dickinson. I'm totally gonna kill that kid who made me this fake poetic license. The picture doesn't even look like me!

People in Africa Are Bored

Today marks another chapter in the eternal struggle of man vs. beast - which at present count is totally in man's favor (how many species have animals forced into extinction? None? Pathetic symbiotic douches). In Hartebeesport, Africa (I did not make that up), a really fast guy named Brian raced a 2 and half year old Cheetah. Because they were racing side by side, they distracted the wild cat by waving a hunk of lamb in front of her. Think about that for a second. They taunted a cat of prey with meat before lining her up next to some available (if not lean) prey. That's like someone dangling a rotisserie chicken in front of Kirstie Alley before she gets behind you in the buffet line. Only with fewer shouts of Stuffanudder Beefy in Mama Mouf! Mmmm I tasty all of dem! You look like appetizer to me small man! MMMMMMM!!! while bones and jello are spit everywhere.

Cheetahs may be able to run fast, but I'm still not eating their creepy yellow snacks.

The result? Well, I thought the result would be something for Big Daddy Drew's Kill Kill Kill tag, but I was wrong. The Cheetah decided to humiliate the guy by beating him twice and then not eating him. For the record, if I was bested in anything by even a distant relative of Garfield, I'd wanna be consumed on the spot out of principle, you know? And for those of you who say Garfield isn't real, I say look at the funny pages. He's right there, isn't he? Oh how he tortures that adorable Odie!

Matt Cassell Is Gonna Be A Star

I was asked recently to rip Curt Schilling a new one about how arrogant his blog is or else I would lose 'credibility'. This was coming from the worldwide arbiter of credibility, mind you - he's got the mug in his office to prove it. It's next to his Clean Hands & Face Award, and a sticker that says "I Voted!". That's not the kind of shit they give out for free, people.

But I'm not willing to mock His Curtness. He hasn't done anything worth jeering in my opinion. Except bring an elusive championship back to a storied franchise at the expense of the hated Yankees, of course. When the time comes, I'll be the first to demand he be put in his place - a little town called Cooperstown, NY seems about right. So we'll work our way up slowly, from the bottom. Instead of mocking one of the best pitchers to ever grace the game, we'll look at a second string quarterback. Via With Leather, I present the musical gifts and groovy moves of Pats Backup QB Matt Cassell:

There's a reason that Matt Cassell also spells "Smallest Act."

Did I mention he's a good dancer? I wonder why not.

I'm guessing this is the song that he uses to get pumped up before every game. Personally, I don't need any music to get ready for anything, much less a sporting event. It's probably because I embody all that is sport and possess competitive fire*. But also it's because I can't hear anything over all the loud screaming voices that constantly follow me wherever I go. I used to think I was crazy, but it turns out it's just a wild pack of sex-crazed supermodels who follow me around 24/7 begging for me to acknowledge their romantic pleas. Yup, again.

*Is a race to burn down the most houses considered competitive fire? No? What if it's timed? Fuck.

Shady Ladies

If you've got time to kill (and if you're reading this, you do), I strongly urge you to wander over to Kissing Suzy Kolber, where you can see what happens when women are not seen, but heard. The women of Ladies... took over KSK because they won a bet (stupid NCAA) where the winner won posting privileges to the loser's site for a day.

Half of the comments are KSK readers giving them props for their witty ways, while the other half is those same guys awkwardly hitting on those theiving harlots. Just sad. I don't know what makes me immune to their siren song. Maybe it's my tantric sex awards, maybe it's my baby panda rescue service, or it could just be my volunteer work for chiseled abs anonymous. I don't know. I mean, I'm like the rest of these guys, I'm not a superhero or anything. Well at least not anymore. I gave up my powers for true love.

MLB Enforces its Blue Laws

LATE UPDATE: Go Here & Save Pesky.

Last month, the Boston Globe reported that Johnny Pesky - as much a fixture in the Red Sox home dugout as chaw-clogged cleats, a river of gatorade backwash, and saliva-drenched sunflower seeds - will no longer be allowed to remain in the dugout, thanks to MLB's decision to enforce a rule pertaining to limits on uniformed personnel in the dugout (take THAT elderly WWII veterans!). To be honest, I figured the Sox would work around this - make him a groundskeeper or something. No dice.

"We've been breaking the rule all along," Sox general manager Theo Epstein said yesterday, "and they told us they were going to strictly enforce it -- heavy fines that progressively get heavier every day he's in the dugout."

Official Logo of the Johnny Pesky Legal Defense Fund
Join the JPLDF today - F MLB in the A!!!

Like that creepy dude in my neighborhood, see if you can follow me on this one: There's approximately 72 home games left, all basically sold out, and Fenway capacity's hovers around 38,805. Would you pay an extra quarter per ticket to let Pesky sit in the dugout? I sure as hell would. While Sox tickets continue to rocket skyward, at least I would know where the money goes as I sit in my obstructed view seat. At a quarter per ticket, you would generate roughly 10K per game. For the season, that's 720K for Johnny Pesky Legal Defense Fund. Or maybe you could just add that quarter onto the price of beer, and that generate approx $43.25 (no one can afford the beer at Fenway). Finally, corporate america/Dunkin Donuts could join in and put a quarter onto its beverages for one day for the JPLDF - either in place of the aforementioned possibilities or in addition to them.

I can think of no more rewarding feeling than handing over a fine to MLB at the end of each home game. Every home stand would have a new way of proudly paying up - delivering an oversized check, a formal presentation at the first pitch, or just have fans throw rolls of quarters onto the field at the end of the game (instead of during A-Rod's at bats like usual). It would make every game feel like a win. Plus, who is Ortiz gonna hug after he jacks a homerun? If Pesky's absence causes a Papi hitting slump, paying the fine would be considered an investment.

The point is, we don't care if Pesky held the ball, we're holding onto him.

ESPWN3D, Vol II

Last week, when Shrutebag took down The Big Lead, it was cool to see the online sports community rally around one of their own. As the Big Lead says themselves:

A week ago, were just another sports blog with some bandwidth and a voice; now we’ve got lawyers pressing us to file a lawsuit and readers urging us to take this to the FCC. Wild stuff.

What's wrong with this picture? You guessed it. No Angie "The Hotness" Harmon.
Unless... she's Batman. Of Course! It all makes sense!

Much like balancing my checkbook and wearing clean underpants, I find this whole thing fascinating and at the same time incomprehensible. They link to a sports law blog (seriously) which I find even more compelling and mysterious.

One last point on framing the appropriate analogue: Much depends on how the DNS attack was carried out. Was it in fact the lawful act of many Cowherd listeners accessing the site at once? Or was it done by a small number of individuals using computer programs to constantly reload the site (apparently as often as once per second)? If the latter, it begins to look more like so-called "cyber-vandalism" and less like a large number of people lawfully accessing the site.

Check it out, it's fun to read and try and make sense of. I'll admit, I got lost at "analogue" - which is either a word they made up, or a description of poo. I don't know which, but those are the only two options.

Tom Brady is an African Champion

Tom Brady spent eight days traveling Uganda and Ghana as part of his involvement with the One Campaign - or what I like to call the Seriously? We're going to try white rubbery bracelets now? Because Bono said so? Fuck this. Campaign

At first I thought Brady might be there to publicly apologize/take credit for the population explosion in Africa, or that it was a trip for Gisele to do some diet research, but the article goes on to say that "Tom is a True Champion for Africa... [He] has been a leader in spreading awareness about the issues of African poverty and disease." which I have to admit is 100% true. Going back over the years, looking at quotes, it's harder to find a quote where he's not discussing geopolitical instability, famine relief, crushing poverty, the rampant AIDS pandemic and debt forgiveness. For example:

"My sisters like cooking at my place. It has a bit more room, and the food tastes a little bit better. A big pot of spaghetti and sauce, some warm French bread - works all the time. I think I've been eating pasta for 26 years."

"When you hang with a bunch of 300-pound linemen, you tend to find the places that are the greasiest and serve the most food."

"I don't care about three years ago, ... I don't care about two years ago. I don't care about last year. The only thing I care about is this week."

Great. Now this little boy is pregnant.

Ok. Maybe those were bad examples. Maybe he's never signaled the slightest interest in the world outside of Gilette Stadium. If a fleeting interest in Africa qualifies Tom Brady as a national leader on the issue, then I anxiously await my Presidential Medal of Honor for adult website surfing at work.

Though the One Campaign is a little less than honest about Brady's experience, Brady himself was more frank:

"This was my first trip to Africa and it was an eye-opener," said Brady. "I saw the best and brightest of the human spirit in the face of incredible poverty that most of us just can't comprehend. I've learned that we as Americans, living in the greatest country in the world, can save innocent lives ravaged by AIDS with something as small as a 25 cent pill. When you see what CAN be done, it's impossible to not be driven to do more -- the needs are still overwhelming. This won't be my last visit to Africa and I hope to pass along what I've learned here to others who will listen."

He then added, "Mostly by sperm.I will pass along what I've learned through lots and lots of sperm."

In the end, what have we learned? I like to think it's that even the most famous and wealthy people in the world have hearts and are willing to push their own envelopes to do good for others. Or maybe it's that the crises in Africa are so overwhelming and urgent that people like Tom Brady are willing to stop what they are doing and pitch it. That would be nice. But it's probably more along the lines of: when not playing football, Tom Brady hangs out with people who don't eat anything.

Support A-Rod with Soothing Techno, Not Boos.

Via Deadspin comes a new A-Rod themed site that truly ups the ante in awkward internet sports obsession. The sad premise is A-Rod needs cuddling and positive affirmation to succeed at his wildly enriching and untaxing profession. And through the power of love of the game and happiness and, positive thinking, and... I'll be honest, I couldn't really get past the first few pages because reading all this crap made my head fill with images of bear cubs frolicking with each other under sunny rainbows at the fluffy puppy birthday jamboree.

C'mon everyone! Alex is up to bat! Let's clap till we puke at how pathetic
and delicate even his most ardent and imbalanced fans know he is!

You think 38pitches is a bit over the top in its fan-appreciation of a player? Try this little nugget on for size:

Think about it. Have you ever seen a player more in need of positive support—especially from his fans at home—than A-Rod? Here is a man with otherworldly physical skills—the fastest player to 400 home runs, two-time AL MVP, ten-time All-Star, a Gold Glove, and on and on and on—and yet in four playoff series for the New York Yankees, his average has closely resembled a fading ray of the light attached to the setting sun...brilliant at first, and then quickly, sadly, nonexistent... 421... 258... 133... 071... Does anyone see a pattern here? [Ed Note: Uhhhh... elipses....?] Do you think Alex was dropped from fourth, to fifth, to sixth and then eighth in the lineup because his physical skills are diminishing—at 31—or for some other, intangible reason?

I am assuming that the intangible reason is the thunderous home crowd booing, but it might also be that people throw batteries at him. I can't be sure, because I'm not really in the mood to go look up what 'intangible' means. It's probably some cosmic new age term involving a goddess and the alignment of stars or some shit. Thanks but no thanks, Yanni.

Shockingly, Eddie Griffin Ruins Something

Not content with keeping his signature "I'll turn this to shit" touch limited to film and sitcoms, Comedian (?) Eddie Griffin crashed a rare Ferrari Enzo during a practice for an upcoming movie. The Ferrari Enzo was valued at $1.5 million, and belonged to the producer of the movie.

"Undercover Brother's good at karate and all the rest of that, but the brother can't drive," Griffin, referring to one his past films, said after the accident.

This is excellent in almost every way. First, you have have one of only 400 Ferraris crashing (awesome? check). Then you see it belongs to the douchebag producer who was using the film as a way to flaunt his exotic and expensive car collection (rich guy feeling stupid and sad? check). And finally, it involves Eddie Griffin ruining something that's not his, like what he did to UPN and every movie he's ever been in, watched, or even heard about. (completely avoidable situation? check). This accident is a metaphor for the man's entire career.

As the sole owner of the other 399 Ferrari Enzo's still out there, I plan to hire Eddie Griffin to crash one per day for the next 399 days. This will not only spare us from Eddie Griffin movies for at least a year, but it will also be a new way for me to display my own opulent lifestyle for my harem of sexy supermodels who are tired of using cold diamonds to cool their drinks and watching me swiffer my kitchen with live baby California Condors.

You can see the movie trailer below. The tagline is Fear Nothing. Risk Everything. I think they should consider my suggested tagline: Is that the Kid from Dawson's Creek? If it is, his forehead is smaller than it used to be. Was he sick or something?




UPDATE: Here's the good stuff:

But Do They Have a '97 UVM Bongwater?

Mike Vick is opening a restaurant, called The Tasting Room.

"I can't play football forever. I'm going to have to become an entrepreneur and make my money grow. This is a step in a different direction. I'm trying to do some things differently."

Judging by the name of the place and the desire to make his money grow, I think it's clear he's decided to sell weed en masse - just in a nicer place than an alley or my parent's garage. He's also making the classic moves when trying to become a drug lord. Or at least the ones I've picked up from the first 5 episodes of The Wire.

1. Advertise your shit
2. Create a front organziation
3. Keep your name off it
4. Tell Wee-Bay to shoot people.

This shit's reddish, and that other shit ain't.

I like to think that Mike Vick knows a lot about wine and amassed years of knowledge by experimenting with complex pairings - rare beaujoulais and Doritos crumbles, argentinian syrahs and tubs of cool whip, delicate pinot grigios and Subway. My palette developed like this too, when I was addicted to Boones Farm and mexican food. I remember I was selling my valuable possessions just to get a quick fix of some salsa fresca. I got to the point where I was injecting it between my toes and rubbing it in my eyes just to get high. It was a low period for me, but I try to remember it as delicious.

I'm looking forward to seeing this become an ongoing offseason adventure.

Springtime is Clutchtime

As baseball season begins in earnest soon, we'll read and hear about how clutch certain players are. But baseball clutch should be its own separate kind of clutch - just like golf clutch and hooker clutch.* These events aren't fast paced and there is an eerie stillness, which serves to intensify the experience. But to be truly clutch, you need a running clock. And nobody's got true clutch down like Larry Bird. Here's a video of Bird's buzzer beaters that is 5 minutes long. 5 minutes of buzzer beaters. Considering a buzzer beater lasts about 3 or four seconds (from the countdown to the shot), the sheer length of the montage is an accomplishment. Sure, Danny Ainge says stuff in interviews, but that doesn't count because when he talks, all I hear is circus music. I trained myself to do that. It makes the Celtics infinitely more watchable.



The other best part is the way Bird makes the same running-awkward-hop-lob shot a few times in a row. I used to do that when I was 8 and still hadn't figured out basic motor skills and hand-eye coordination. Sure, kids made fun of me - but then I punched them in the neck with a roll of quarters in my hand. As an added bonus, my hand-neck coordination got much better.

*I was going to use the word strangle, but let's be honest - you can't strangle a dead hooker. Clutch offers a bit of dignity.

Golf clutch videos below:


What the hell dude.


Look at that backswing! It's the kind that any boyfriend of Tara Reid would love to have.

UPDATE: The 8 Minutes of Clutch Kobe Bryant videos don't count either because I'm pretty sure 7 minutes of it is him sitting in a court room.

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.

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.

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.

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

Link

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 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.