A Stale Taste of the San Diego Sports Scene.

(Editors Note: For the record this is just one man's opinion. I'm not saying I'm right or wrong. Honestly, this isn't meant to bash San Diego sports. I'd love to see the San Diego Sports scene thrive. I just feel as though too often for whatever reasons, the scene is way too laid back. Blame it on transplants like myself, but I got no intent to tear anything down. Sometimes, a Sports Town needs a critical voice to spark some controversy and reason. Regardless, enjoy and be sure to read along into the "comments" section...a lot of great insight and feedback. Thanks to all who took the time to express their opinions).

San Diego owns the moniker, America's Finest City and it's earned such merit. Having spent the last era of my life living in San Diego, I couldn't agree more. What's not to like; the weather is here, wish you were beautiful. We suffer with 50 degree weather, overcast marine layers and act as if we've got it worse than your typical midwest city in mid-January.

However, the one thing that has always bothered me is the inconsistent sports scene in San Diego. More importantly speaking, the San Diego Padres. How could anyone complain about the Chargers? Yet, the Padres are the one organization that so many seem to gravitate towards and also make excuses for in San Diego.

Look, I know part of the trouble with the San Diego sports scene is transplants like myself, who could really care less about the local teams. However, that's not so true...I want to care, but in order to be a fan, it's got to be in an engaging affair. It's got to be push and it's got be shove, I've got to own that team in my own little way...let me explain.

The local AM Sports Radio hosts are all very good at what they do...no discredit to them at all. However, they often put up blinders for the local fan. Meaning, they are there simply to support the local teams and rarely will you ever hear critical analysis. Could you imagine if the media in Boston or say Chicago was just simply like "rah-rah...GO RED SOX or GO CUBS"?

Picture it where a team could do no wrong and players were never blamed for underachieving or being a cancer to a clubhouse. Well, that place is San Diego. Where once again the Padres have put together a team totally incapable of competing much beyond the regular season.

Anyhow, enough about the media, the management and the team. I'm here to talk a little more about the vibe, or lack thereof at "Petco Park." Petco has the makings a fine ballpark and on most occasions it’s a great place to enjoy a ballgame. If you’ve been, you know there aren’t many bad seats in the house. Heck, even from the nosebleeds you can see an unobstructed view of the field and the Coronado Bridge over your shoulder.

I've sat all over the park. And to be honest...please let me know once you find a bad seat.

Yet, what it boils down to with Petco...is the fans and the vibe. Whether you get scolded for talking too loud or for locating your seat during the “boat races” on the jumbo-tron, it’s always another fan that plays the law. The security guards and ushers are wheeled in from nursing homes or are too stoned to bother.

For me, a baseball game means warm friends and cold booze to accompany the outing and hence you expect the absolute best. Yet, that rarely happens at Petco Park.

Granted, I understand that visible intoxication, profanity laced tirades, and so on are simply not accepted anymore at today’s parks. However, there’s got to be some form of an in-between, right? Nobody wants to waltz into a ballpark and order just a soda and sip it in peace and quiet? Or do they?

I can’t quite figure out the deal with the San Diego crowd. Let me first explain, that on a few rare occasions, I've been "that" guy at the ball park. Generally though, I'm just that guy that wants to have a few beers, a lipper and watch some baseball, as well. And, let’s also not lose sight of the fact that when you’re at a ballgame it’s a 30,000 person bar. If you can’t deal with it, you’re in the wrong place.

As much as the modern ballpark has “attempted” to convert to the “family” environment, there’s a point that it’s gone a little too far. You’d think that specific areas are understandably more suited for children…I can agree on that. Yet, there must still be those sections devoted to the baseball appreciators who come out to spend $8 per beer.

When I was kid I used to go to Tiger Stadium and Wrigley Field and take homage in hearing the hecklers. In time I harnessed an appreciation and admiration for those drunkards who sat in the bleachers and opposed their will on the entire section with rousing chants and belittlement's.

One of my proudest and fondest moments was watching an unnamed friend’s dad heckle the shit out of Jorge Bell behind home plate at Tiger Stadium in the early 1990’s at the height of Bell’s “successful” career. I felt as proud as can be at the moment to be with such contrived, crafted and powerful heckling prowess. Needless to say Mr. Bell wasn’t too happy with us at all.

That unnamed friend clearly learned from the best (his Dad) and he would later heckle Jim Edmonds for an entire game in straight away center field at Wrigley during the ’98 Season. Anything and everything was fair game from “Juice up Jim” to “you suck” being the most polite.

Shit, even “Woo Woo Wickers” was scared to come over to our section. At one point Edmonds glared up into our section trying to put a face with the heckler. He zeroed in on us and my unnamed friend poured it on even thicker. Edmonds line for the day was 0-4 (two strikeouts) with an error and the Cubs won.

Who says fans don’t make a difference?

So that brings me back to the lore that is Petco Park. Look I’m not asking for a license to get drunk and start a riot. Rather, I’m just looking for a little leeway. People are going to swear, spit tobacco and talk during the baseball game…you've got to realize it.

That’s the main complaint I have about Padres fans and Petco Park. They just don’t appear to be that interested and take offense when the 50-60% of the crowd rooting for the opposing team turns things up a notch. It’s not like I’m asking Padres fans to get drunk and fall out of their seats.

I want Padres fans to welcome rowdiness, it’s Friday night in the Gas Lamp. A little more “umph” to the night would make the night a little bit better. I’m not asking for families to start two fisting it just before the bottom of the seventh, rather just a little less complacency.

You don’t have to get as loud mouthed and ignorantly drunk as my friends and I used to do at games, but just show us the visitors, the transplants just a little bit more. And by that I don’t mean trying to argue with us when were rooting for the other team or arguing loudly in profanity over who has to get the next round.

Look, nobody ever said a baseball game is like a porno flick, but I’ve always remembered it to be rated “R.” For all practical purposes Petco Park is priding itself on being the new gold standard in “PG” entertainment. Let’s not confuse things here; I’m looking for the middle ground…maybe a “PG-13” rating, at the very least.

I guess that’s just the sad state of affairs at Petco Park. Don’t hassle the locals they are enjoying the game. And yes, I know the typical defense is to say...damn transplants limit the real Padre fans from going to games. Let's not argue about it, Petco is beautiful, but the vibe there isn't like it should be at a ballpark...bottom line.

Shaq on Patrol: Part II

This is the ongoing tale of a day in the life of Miami Beach police officer, Shaquille O’Neal, set during Super Bowl Week. Tune in regularly to follow Shaq’s adventures as an officer of the law.

If you want to read Part 1, you can click here, but you definitely don't need to read it to follow along.

Meanwhile, back at the station…

Dispatcher: “Miami-Dade Police Department, this is Luanne speaking, how may I assist you?”

Caller: “Hi, this is Sean Salisbury calling from the Clevelander Hotel. I am having a little get together and I need to report a grievance regarding one of my guests. Well, he’s not really a guest at all; you see I am a former NFL quarterback, so I have all of these fans following me around everywhere I go. To make a long story short, this strange dude with a mustache seems to have snuck into my little soiree and now he keeps following one of my friends, Stuart Scott, around with a Whisper 2000. I fear he is one of these so-called “bloggers” and we are all going to be exposed on the internet.”

The dispatcher holds the phone away from her mouth and signals to the rest of the office to come and listen in, putting the call on speaker…

Dispatcher: “Don’t worry Mr. Salisbury. This is not uncommon on Super Bowl weekend. Typically, it’s geeks like James Blunt who call and report that the paparazzi is giving them a hard time, so I must admit, I’m a little surprised to hear from an NFL quarterback, but we’ll send someone over right away.”

Salisbury: “Thank you officer. I really appreciate your assistance. It’s so daunting being a famous former NFL quarterback. Everyone wants a piece of me. Hey, did you know I got NFL Player of the Week in 1992? I also won the Grey Cup with the Winnipeg Blue Bombers. It’s like the Super Bowl, only Canadian. The league is really on the up and up. Joey Harrington might even play there next year. ‘I took it very seriously. I can still say I won a team championship and that is what is most important. I have a big ring and great memories.’”

Random officer (blurting into the speaker phone): “Hey Salisbury, you suck. I’m gonna tape your buns together like Emilio Estevez did to that guy, Larry, in the Breakfast Club.”

Salisbury: “Officer, was that you? Who said that?”

Dispatcher: “Sorry sir, we’re getting some noisy pixen humbars over here. The patrol car should be there momentarily.”

Dispatcher: “O’Neal, we have a situation at the Clevelander. Some asshole named Steve Salazar is throwing a party and it’s getting out of hand. They are upstairs in the VIP room and the complaint is specifically about a guy with a mustache. We need someone to head over there ASAP. Over n’ out”

Shaq is riding in the patrol car with Sergeant Dolens and Officer Bensinger on the way over to the Eden Roc to investigate the whereabouts of the leader of the Miami Beach child porn ring, Marco Esquandolez, when the call comes in from Dispatch.

Sgt. Dolens: “Alright Shaq. Think you can take care of this one on your own with no funny business? I’ll drop you back at the station and you head to the Clevelander. Bensinger and I will check out the Eden Roc for clues on Esquandolez.”

The patrol car rolls to a stop outside the Miami Beach police station and Shaq hops out. He jogs over to his horse Mutombo, who is still tied to the bike rack outside, and he does a flying spread eagle mount from behind.

Shaq: “Mutombo, away.”

Shaq and his horse, Mutombo, race in and out of traffic throughout the streets of Miami Beach and arrive at the Clevelander Hotel and House of Cheese.

Shaq: “Alright folks, cops are here. Party’s over. Everybody out.”

Stuart Scott puts down the pillow that he was dry humping in the corner and scoots over to engage Shaq.

Stuart Scott: “Yo dogg, you really finna break this bitch up? We just trying to represent this hotey Super Bowl style, you know? This is fo rizza the shizza, my brizza. It’s cool as the other side…”

Shaq: “DO NOT SAY IT! I give. I won’t break up your weak ass party. Just do not say the thing about the other side of the pillow. I beg of you.”

Scott meanders back over to thre other side of the room, affording Shaq the opportunity to survey his environment. Upon first glance, Shaq scrathes his bald head and wonders what all the fuss was about. Salisbury’s party looks like about 35 people behaving fairly well. None other than James Blunt is playing on the stereo and Sean Salisbury is surrounded by a harem of ladies that range in appearance from the Stifler’s mom look to the Scary Sherry look. Everything appears in order until he notices a house plant quietly following Stuart Scott around the room.

Shaq: “Alright, step out from behind the plant! No more funny business.”

The mustachioed gentleman steps out from behind the plant with his hands raised above his head. The mystery man is none other than A.J. from Deadspin.

Shaq: “You have got to be kidding me. A.J., what the hell are you doing here?”

A.J.: “Shit, sorry Shaq…err officer. I’m down here with Lt. Winslow covering the super bowl week for D-spin. I was trying to get some good dirt on Stu Scott, but they have been giving us a hard time. We decided to take matters into our own hands.”

Shaq: “You are two crazy white boys. I think I can help you out, but only if you help me out first. The blog community is a relatively perverted bunch, right? Do you guys know anything about a pornography ring running out of Miami Beach or a dude who goes by the name, Marco Esquandolez?”

A.J.: “I never heard of him, you Lt. Winslow?”

Lt. Winslow: “No, me either. I’ll tell you what. We’ll send out an APB to all of friends and see what we can come up with. In the meantime, can you get Stuart Scott to let me take his photo with A.J.?”

Shaq: “Done deal. Yo, Scott. Get over here before I shut this party down for good.”

Stuart Scott:” What’s up, Shaq? What do you need my man?”

Shaq: “My boys here want a photo with you really quick.”

Stuart Scott (whining): “But Shaq. These guys might be bloggers. Oh fine, you win. These better not end up on the Internet though. You hear that guys, no Internet!”

Planet Earth: HD

Have you ever seen Planet Earth in HD? Have you ever seen Planet Earth HD on weed? These are two questions that should be answered in the affirmative before going forward with this article. Planet Earth is the Discovery Channel's new series aimed at exploring the depths of this planet from the mountaintops of the Himalayas to the volcanoes of the deep sea. It is an amazing experience that may just move even the biggest cynic toward the philosophical underpins of all life formed together under the sun.

Unfortunately, the folks over at Discovery Channel decided to choose Sigorne Weaver as the commentator for this 11-part epic journey. Now I clearly understand that Sigorne is a silly twat. However, if you are able to get past her voice reminding you of Ghoul and the gatekeeper, you will be well on your way to appreciating the truly dynamic relationships that dictate homeostasis here on Earth as we know it.

Part One sets out on the journey to explore all the vast desert space that dominates much of the space on land. Humans may find this terrain as unsuitable for a proper mate (unless you like to club em' the old fashion way) however, certain species have come to develop specialized traits that allow them to thrive in this endless sea of sand and snow. Planet Earth goes beyond exploring the species though, they actually describe the climate and explain how and why it came to be, and how and why it remains an important organ for the rest of the Earth on a macro level. For example, dust storms whip up nutrients from far away seas and bring them to otherwise untouchable crevasses of the desert. The staff at Discovery Channel is able to capture all this intriguing beauty through the effective use of super HD time-elapse video that might actually stir either paranoia or wonder depending on the quality of your product.

The next episodes explore the deep sea and the polar arctics. These adventures make it easy for one to see how we are all interrelated in the web of life. You must eat to live, and if you don't, you provide food for others struggling to make it. On an ancillary point, If anyone was ever feeling bad about having some serious animal sex, well watching these episodes will make you feel like a Saint. Talk about vicious animal sex; wow.

The weed element to the show may just blow your mind though. I recently sat down to watch the 'Jungles' episode and came to a part explaining the massive ant populations located at the jungle's floor. They then cut to this ant who looks like he is going out of his mind, while Segorne is stating how the ant has ingested some crazy mushroom spores and actually is tripping out of its mind. Next thing you know his fellow ants are carrying him away from the rest of the colony because "they don't want the others to see what is going to happen next." Then, using some crazy time elapse, they show an actual mushroom blossoming out of this ant's skull- no joke, an actual mushroom growing from his head. That brought me back to some of my crazier days involving some significant amounts of contraband.

In short, I would highly recommend this series for anyone looking to kick back and maybe get a little philosophical on life. The DVD's will be out soon, and they are a great way to remedy a bad day when you are feeling insignificant and burdened by the doldrums of your monotonous workday. It is a great escape and may just change your whole outlook on things...

There's No Crying in CIA... Or So You'd think.

Now, let me just say at the outset that you would be hard-pressed to find someone who hates the Bush administration more than I do. Domestic policy has been a disaster. We are deeper in debt than any country has ever been in the history of the world. Katrina showed just how incredibly incompetent the people at the highest levels of government are. The gap between the rich and poor recalls that of the Robber Baron days of Rockefeller, Carnegie, and children chimneysweeps. Our foreign policy has set the world on fire. I can say without hyperbole that George W. Bush is the worst president in the history of this republic.

Even so, I find former CIA Director George Tenet’s new book that tries to absolve him of blame to be pretty cowardly. At the Center of the Storm apparently tells us the familiar story that war with Iraq was a forgone conclusion as soon as Bush took the oath of office in January 2001, that Rumsfeld urged we do it on September 12, that Cheney set up an intelligence agency within the Agency to cook the books about WMD. Tenet even says his now famous comment that the evidence that Saddam had said WMD was a “slam dunk” was taken out of context. And then he says that the administration set the Agency up to be the fall guy when it turned out there were no weapons.

Well, this all may be true, but you know what Mr. Tenet? If you were such a victim why didn’t you resign before the war? If they were pressuring you so hard to go along with their war rationale, why didn’t you stand up for yourself and for your organization and for your fucking country Mr. Public Servant? Why is it now that four years after the war began you write a tell-all that says you didn’t want to do it but the older boys made you? Something tells me that if this war had not been the biggest fuck-up in US history and that it had gone well, you’d be writing a book taking credit for it.

Mr. Tenet and all these insiders who have written retrospectives about how inept the Bush White House is are pussies. They didn’t stand up when it mattered. If they had courage and integrity perhaps they could have stopped this bloodbath. This makes them in some ways worse than Bush because they stood by silently and let what they knew to be a disaster unfold. At the Center of the Storm will no doubt be a bestseller and I’m sure Mr. Tenet got a hefty paycheck to write it. But his shirking of responsibility does not mean he is not actually culpable.

One-Timers: Weekend Round-Up

Since there is actually infinity interesting things going on in sports this weekend, there is no chance I can focus on one right now. Seems like a logical time to bust out the always-witty “One Timers.”

Apparently, fourth round draft picks moved ahead of gold bullion on the list of valuable substances this weekend, as both Randy Moss and Darrell Jackson were traded for just that this weekend. Is this for real? Sure, both of these guys have their problems, Moss with his bizarre apathy (i.e., crack) and Jackson with his history of injuries (i.e., pussy), but fourth round picks? They are still undeniably incredible wide outs. This is actually infuriating as the Patriots just got a whole lot better. The Patriots are really just an amazingly well-run team and this move just moved them right back into the forefront of favorites this season.

Along that same vein, I cannot deny that I am thrilled about the Calvin Johnson first round pick. This is going to be fun and I can at least Millen thinking outside the box a little bit by finding a way to make sense out of adding another first round wide receiver. By trading Mike Williams for a fourth round pick in a Josh McCown deal, which included Williams really as just a deal sweetener. The Raiders were apparently really just interested in McCown. The Lions at least consolidated their mish-mash in the skill positions. You might notice I didn’t include Williams in the above thought. Why? He sucks. I can at least appreciate that Millen owned up to his horrible decisions on McCown and Mike Williams and cut his losses. Sure, the trade was pennies on the dollar for both of these guys, but it’s admitting a disaster and moving forward.

With the first week NBA playoffs behind us, all signal are go that this should be one of the most exciting playoffs to unravel in years. There are several teams that I would love to see make a long run and a lot to talk about from the last week. Here’s a few one-liners on just a little of the goings-on:

· The Pistons are back with their trademark Louis Pasteur chemistry and look poised to contend. Orlando looked about as threatening as Paul Pfeiffer in this easy sweep.
· Cleveland and LeBron are coming off a slow close to the season, but came out like the Ultimate Warrior in round one. Riots are imminent as McBain and the rest of Cleveland are ready to combust in excitement.
· Phoenix is arguably the most exciting team since the good old days of MJ, the Bad Boys, Larry Legend, Hakeem, Barkley, and essentially the whole arsenal of Fleer ’86 rookie cards.
· Two superstars for the Nuggets where random baby blue arm bands that make them look like a cross between an 80’s prime Michael Jackson and Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.
· Toronto brings the Canadians back in to the mix for the first time in five years. It’s always good to have the safety of the mounted police in case things get out of hand.
· Dirk and Dallas are having a hell of a time with the Warriors and I’m sure somewhere Mark Cuban is blogging about it with sentences that nobody can comprehend (see 4/25 post). Dallas has a great team, Personally, I really hope they lose. As I mentioned, I’d so much rather see the Suns, Nuggets, or Warriors make it to the finals. I think the team that comes out of the West will determine if the finals are any fun this year.

I am all in rooting for the Nuggets in the series against the Spurs. I know what you are thinking; he’s just s stoner who likes them ‘cause they are called “Nuggets.” That is only partially true. The main reason is I love the Pistons and really do not want to face the Spurs again. Further, even if the Pistons get knocked out, I can’t handle another Spurs final. Call me a bastard, but I want a more exciting team out of the Western Conference this year. I know they are not the favorite or anything, but to write them off is ludicrous. The Spurs are still a dynasty team, maybe towards the end of their run, but the same dynasty nonetheless. I only like dynasty teams if they are based in the land of failing auto companies.
Thus, the Nuggets are my team in the West until further notice. I’m not a fan of Iverson or Melo in particular, but I am a fan of them together. It seems like they have a good chemistry going and unlike a certain pair of mega-stars who used to play together for the Lakers, they seem excited to play with each other. These two superstars are a formidable dynamic-duo, a supple-couple, a love affair pair. Sorry, I was pretending to be Dick Vitale in that last sentence.

Finally, the ESPN is actually marketing the MLS… on ESPNEWS. Still, they are going to have a regularly scheduled slot on Thursday nights, a great time to watch sports, since you can usually round up some rascals for drinking on Thursday. Assuming there’s nothing better to watch, I’m willing to give a shot. What the hell? I have never seen an MLS game televised on a major network, so I’m flush with anticipation of the selection of laser beams and robots doing warm-ups for a futbol game (we’re officially going with futbol now).

Wow. Ben Wallace just hit seven free throws in a row and the Miami Heat are done. What a weekend.

Millen and The Intern in New York: The Confernce Call.

(Editors Note: This is a "fictional" storyline. This is Part II of the series. For Part I of the odd couple check here.

Well, it's one day until the NFL draft and Matt Millen, along with his Intern have landed safely at New York's LaGuardia Airport. It's no rest for the weary as the hectic schedule just won't let the odd couple relax for one moment. As per usual, Millen has the Intern out about in the City running errands on this Friday morning. There is a buzz in the air about the City and the Intern wants to take it all in, as best he can. However, his boss will have no means of "Tom Foolery", reminding him this is a business trip.

And so this is where we pick up the ongoing saga...

The intern is casually roaming the streets of New York. He's never been to the big city and he wonders if he will bump into world re-nowned sports blogger, Rupert Entwistle. He glances down at his to do list, as he nears a street crossing. He suddenly feels a slight vibration from the company cell phone. It's the hotel room, must be Millen.

Millen: TGIF. I need you to wrap up whatever it is you are doing and get your ass back to the hotel. Time is money and money is time, don't waste either of mine. You want to be my protege, this very well could be a vital learning experience for you. We have a conference call with Gaines Adams' agent in t-minus 45 minutes...so I want you to listen in and see how a G.M makes things happen.

Oh yeah, be sure to pick me up one of those "Jamba Juice" things...I just love those fucking things and we don't get them in Detroit. Make it an "orange-a-peel" with an immunity and an energy boost. Shit, get yourself one, my treat...you're going to need your energy today, son.

Intern: Got it.

Shortly thereafter the intern arrives back at the hotel and enters the famous G.M's suite. The suite is scattered with empty "Jamba Juice" cups and "Wendy's" ketchup packets. There is a stack of papers, a laptop and a "Johnson #1" Lions Jersey draped over the couch. The intern peers around the room looking for Millen, where upon he is startled and greeted by his boss, completely nude.

Intern: Um, boss...why are you naked?

Millen: Ah, breathe it in son. I'm on vacation. They say that we as humans are at our most relaxed state when we are either 1) Nude or 2) taking a shit. This allows me to clear my mind and focus on the tension and pressure at hand.

Intern: Could you at least put on some pants?

He looks oddly at the intern and then walks over to the blinds and draws them to the light of day behind the giant bay window. At this point, he presses his bare ass cheeks against the window.

Millen: Fuck You ESPN, Fuck You Sports Bloggers, Fuck You Mitch Albom, Fuck You Drew Sharp, Fuck You Deadspin, Fuck You Fire Millen, Fuck all of you!!! You said I wouldn't make it, you said I wouldn't ever be back at a another draft...well look at me, I'm naked in a high rise suite. And you can all kiss my bare ass.

Intern: Here is your Jamba Juice.

Just then the speaker phone in the suite begins to ring and Millen looks startled.

Millen: Don't answer that!

Intern: But I thou--

Millen: Just shut the fuck up.

The voicemail service picks up and over the speaker we hear the voice of Lions Coach Rod Marinelli.

Marinelli: Um, Matt it's me Rod. Say, I know you've been busy, but we really should talk about this draft "thingy-a-ma-bob." I mean, if you want me to coach this team -- then you at least need to let me know what direction you are going. I guess you took off to New York without me, which is fine. I'll be flying in on "Jetblue" tonight. Hopefully, we can meet up and discuss our options. Please call me.

The intern looks confused, while Millen looks bewildered.

Intern: Well, are you going to call him back?

Millen (looking a bit disheveled): I liked you better when you were just a fucking mute. Of course I'll call him back...after the draft tomorrow.

Just then the phone rings again. Millen looks as if a wave of panic has set over him. Again, they let the phone ring and the voicemail service attend to the caller. The voice on the speaker is none other than Tampa Bay coach, Jon Gruden.

Gruden: Matt, yeah it's me Jon. I guess I tracked you down. What the fuck man? I thought we had a god damn deal. Look, how many times I got to tell you, you don't need another WR. Chris Simms is a good kid. He'll provide stability for you at the QB position and he has a squeaky clean reputation and image ta boot. I hope you aren't trying to back out of this deal. We had a verbal agreement. I'll go to John Clayton with this one if you fuck me over. Can't we go get some "Wendy's" and talk this over? Call me.

The famed G.M looks as if he's just seen a ghost. Still naked he paces back and forth, before opting to put on a pair of pants and a shirt. However, the phone rings once again.

Millen: God damn, they are after me. Don't just stand there and look at me you god damn intern. Smash the fucking phone. These people are like gypsies, they won't go away. We need to come up with a cover from now until the end of this fucking draft.

Intern: Um, um---

Millen: You fucking moron, what do I pay you for? I need your creativity to shine through. When I interviewed you, I asked you to give me three fucking adjectives to describe yourself and you said; calm, creative and confident. I ain't seeing any of the above right now.

Intern: I'm not going to smash the pho---

{BEEP}

Voice on the Speaker: Matty, it's Mike. Look, I know you are probably being hunted down like a Deer in Michigan in November. Well, just remember our talk. We are on the same page here. The only way this team gets any better is if we keep building the offense. You saw what I did for Kurt Warner and Marc Bulger? I can do that same thing for Brady Quinn. You have to trust me, he's our guy. I'm not coming to New York, but I believe Rod is. Management wouldn't expense the trip for him, so he is staying at the Holiday Inn Express in Jersey. Avoid him at all costs. He is going to manipulate you into taking Adams. Please call me Matt, I don't think you're dumb.

As the phone hangs up, Millen breaks down into tears near the couch as he caresses the Calvin Johnson jersey.

Millen: Everybody's talking all this stuff about me, why don't they just let me live? I don't need permissions, make my own decisions, it's my prerogative.

The intern has just seen a side of his boss, he never imagined possible. He decides to comfort his boss and his friend in this dire hour.

Intern: It's Ok, boss...you do---

Millen: Get your fucking hands off me. You did not see that. You hear me, scratch that from your memory bank. That's enough of me being a puss chops. I haven't gotten this far by listening to the critics. It's time to step it up.

Tell you what, cancel the conference call with Adam's agent. I don't want to fucking talk to him. You go ahead and explain to him that his client is a fucking "pothead" and the Detroit Lions organization holds players to a higher standard. And you can also let him know, that his client fucking sucks for safety measures.

Unplug that phone, turn on the out-of-office on the laptop and turn your cell phone off. No contacts for the next 24 hours. We are going into hiding, but first I want you to find the nearest "P.F Cheng's" let's go get some lunch. I can't think straight on any empty stomach. Nobody will ever suspect to find me there.

You got all this? Good, now let's fucking roll!!!

Stay Tuned for the Post-Draft Saga.

The Cleveland Browns: Shittier than you might believe

There are few things more gratifying in this life than a good dump. As I walked back down the hall today to my cube fresh off another kill in the handicapped stall, I got a little proud of myself. It's been a good week. If there were more aspects of my life that would deliver half that much satisfaction, I'd be a much cheerier fellow.

Conversely, the Browns are one of the least satisfying mainstays of my being. Going in, I know I'll be let down. Whether it be draft day, training camp, or game day, it all typically starts in spectacular fashion with drinks and brats, but slowly devolves into a whirlwind of ACL tears, field goals, and Gerard fucking Warren. Time and time again, they've disappointed me in ways that I never thought imaginable.

In a way, the Browns are like a bad experience on the crapper. You go in with high expectations, but sometimes things just don't go as planned. Let's handicap the Browns since returning to the NFL in terms of poo.

THE CHRIS PALMER YEARS
The Chris Palmer era was your typical chili dump. It was quick, it was messy, and we all came out worse than we went in. It was ugly. Despite the purge at the end of the 2000 season, none of us felt great walking out of there.

THE BUTCH DAVIS YEARS
Nothing is more frustrating than the phantom dump. You put everything you have into that effort, yet you look back and there's nothing to show for it. The worst part is you really believe you had something there. It's always the dump that you felt was rock solid at the time, yet there's nothing you can go forward being proud of. This is the epitome of the Butch Davis years. We made the playoffs, sure, but where are the pieces going forward? Only a few relics of the Butch years remain, almost as if he was never here at all. He left the bowl with nothing but a shallow pool of dingy brown water.

THE ROMEO CRENNEL YEARS
None of us feel great about Romeo. We feel better than we did two years ago, but it's nothing that we're puffing our chests about. There are core pieces scattered about, but the foundation still feels a little shaky. This makes the current team a prime candidate for the corny/nutty dump. Kam Wimbley, Sean Jones, Brodney Pool, Leigh Bodden: all corn. Kellen Winslow, Braylon Edwards, Eric Steinbach: peanutty goodness. Unfortunately, there's too many holes for anyone to get real comfortable.

In essence, all we want is to graduate to that consistent, rock hard fiber dump. We want to be able count on it day in and day out like clockwork. Whatever you do on Saturday, Phil Savage, ask yourself one thing: Is he whole wheat or is he Taco Bell? Therein will lie your answer.

Red Wings Looking Good

I can breathe now; the Red Wings made it out of the 1st round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. Thank god. It seems that every time they have a decent chance of winning the cup, they catch some enigma of a goalie who just happens to stand on his head the whole series. The most promising sign this year though is that arguably this scenario already happened. Kiprusoff actually played out of his mind for a team that wouldn't have even been in the playoffs without the serious run they went on in the last two weeks- hell he had about 50 saves alone in their double overtime loss last Monday. (Kudos Flames, you kept the Avalanche out of the playoffs for the first time in franchise history!!)

There is something more about this team that I haven't seen the past few years though; depth. Every member seems on point, skating hard, and most importantly, producing points beyond the usual studs. Let's take a look at Wings honor roll:

1) Todd Bertuzzi: NHL thugs, meet Red Wings goon- you may know him, he is known for retiring Colorado Avalanche players. Just about every player, writer, announcer, and fan jumped on this man's back for his seemingly endless plague of injuries and lack of productivity. NHL extremist even said this pick up was one of the worst management decisions in franchise history. Silence! Todd is a force. He can be seen finishing checks, stealing pucks, and oh wait, producing some serious stats. He has found his perfect fit on the Wings' second line, and get ready for this guy to send some people home in a body-bag- preferably Shark's Big Gay Joe.

2) Johan Franzen: Gooooaaal! Granted the Flames absolutely suck on the road, but no way did I want to see a game 7 against the meek Flames, and this man took care of that in double overtime. He also has netted 5 points despite only playing a mere 16 minutes per game. I like Johan for his skating capabilities. This is just one of the players the Wings will be looking to hold on to for an extended period of time along with Zetterberg, Datsyuk and Filppula.

3) Daniel Cleary: Dion what are you doing on the ice buddy? Oh that's right, you just got massively concussed by Cleary! Hitting & Red Wings have not been synonymous in the past few playoff showings. In fact, the Wings have been getting walloped in recent years because of their emphasis on finesse and skill. Those days are over. Cleary is back to fill the void left after McCarty was traded to the Flames (McCarty's commercials on Vs. featuring his goal against the Blues brings a tear to my eye). Cleary is bringing the heart to the new "Grind Line" that is absolutely punishing people out on the ice.

4) Nicklas Lidstrom: The staple. Lidstrom is playing in his first playoffs wearing the coveted 'C' formerly donned by "The Captain" for 17 years. I'm not going to lie, it's kind of scary. Yes Lidstrom is leading the wings in points; yes he will probably win the Norris trophy; and yes he is the best defenseman in the league, but this man has also made some serious errors. I am anticipating Lidstrom to be more on point defensively speaking against the Sharks. His turnovers must stop here. But I will forgive him for his 8 points and 30 minute average time on ice.

5) Valtteri Filppula: You may not know this man now, but according to Stevie-Y, this kid has a big future ahead of him in the NHL. He is agile and a scoring threat from anywhere on the ice. He is only averaging 11 minutes a game right now but he is leading the Wings in shooting percentage at 25 percent. Look for this guy to get some more ice time in the next series. On a side note, I am also going to forgive him for his horrid hair cut. It seems that moving to D-town brings out the highlights in everyone, remember Darko?

6) Pavel Datsyuk: Where are his critics now? This man has been chastised over the years for his lack of playoff points. Those talks are over. Pavel is leading the Wings in goals this year, and he is skating circles around goons. When this guy leads the line through the zone, it's amazing to watch him find a narrow lane through 2 defenders. He is a fun guy to watch on the ice, and look for him to continue on his scoring crusade against the Sharks.

7) Chris Chelios: Get this guy a walker. Chelly recently confessed to wanting to play in the NHL until he is 50. The 45 year old skater is showing no signs of slowing down out there and I really like Babcock's decision to play Chelly as much as possible. He is even consistently on the Wings' power-killing unit. It seems whenever there is some talk going down Chelly is right there to back it up, and he may be the smartest player on the ice save Lidstrom. Chelly always seems to be the guy to rebel against the playoff beard. But when your the oldest vet in the league, I guess you can do that.

8) Kris Draper: Always a force on the ice. Kris brings a hustle and grind to the Wings that seems to disrupt the ebb and flow of the game. He is always good to win the crucial faceoff in the enemy zone, and he has already tallied 2 goals this playoff season. Kris seems to be Vs. go-to guy for the microphone. Very insightful segment that featured Kris yelling "Yeaaahhhhhh!" everytime a goal was scored.

9) Tomas Holmstrom: I am told he is not playing tonight, which sucks. Holmstrom is the best guy to have screening the goalie and deflecting shots down low. He is also a brute who is willing to throw down at the drop of a hat. He hasn't quite become a huge game deciding factor that he clearly has the potential to be, but I think he will blossom this series into a puck deflecting machine.

10) Mathieu Schneider: The guy behind the guy. Schneider can thread passes like no other on the team. He is really fun to watch on defense because he can dismantle a scoring threat with a well placed poke-check at any moment. He also has 4 points thus far and is averaging 25 minutes a game. He is leading the Wings with 34 shots on goal, get ready for him to score some more with these stats.

Other developments....Hockey in HD is simply unparalleled to HD in any other sport. The fast moving pace of the game is a perfect fit for my new LCDHD tv which makes binge-drinking Budweiser on my couch almost as good as being at the Joe binge-drinking Molson- almost. I am very excited now that the Wings are not playing a Canadian team because I can finally get them in HD coverage on Vs. as opposed to CBC- who has amazing commentary, but let's face it, there cable coverage is straight out of the Cold War.


I also would like to both commend and slap the Vs. network. My buddy pointed out how cool of a name it was, and thinking about it, it actually is a lot better than NBC/EPSN/FOX etc. However, I would also like to slap them for bringing me Women's golf coverage in HD during the previous Red Wings series- though the LPGA has some serious potential. Where did they find these girls? I will be looking forward to Playboy- LGPA edition.

Mock Draft: Topic- Jerks of Film/Television from the 80's & 90's

We here at the Ghosts decided to rip out a page from just about every other blog in the business today and do our own little mock draft thingy-a-ma-jiggy. The problem is, most of us here at the Ghosts, drink...and drink a little too much. Basic fucking instructions seem to get thrown out the window and we struggle to comprehend anything after the initial idea hits the surface.

I'm not saying anything, nor am I blaming anyone, rather just stating the facts. So, we aren't quite as polished as our forefathers, "KSK," but that's fine with us. We have never claimed to be. In any event, this was our attempt at our very own mock draft...original or not...it's still our very own. And can't nobody ever take that away from us.

The rules/objective was to compile a three round draft of the top 80's TV/Movie "JERKS" of all-time. As you will see, the rules got bent just a little after a few vodker tonics and we expanded the parameters to 80's/90's "Jerks/Villians/Anti-Hero/Antagonist." Essentially, we left the door open for most anything, including possibly fucking Beowulf.

***(Gable Update):
We tried our very best to make this through three rounds. Yet, due to the discombobulation -- it just wasn't happening. Oh well...picture this round robin, like a Fantasty draft. So enough with the foreplay, follow me if you will...

1st Round

1. Biff Tannen – "Back to the Future" I-III (McBAIN)

I had to go for characters with absolutely zero redeeming qualities. Some jerks come around in the movie’s final scene and you think “That ______ ain’t so bad after all.” Biff not only managed to be a total cockbag, but he managed to do it for 60 years. He changed the course of history through betting on sports, keeping Nixon in office and thus the United States in Vietnam until 1983. The shrapnel in my Dad’s thigh says thanks.

2. Roy Stalin. – “Better Off Dead” (Gable)

There are pricks and then there pricks, Roy Stalin my friends was a one of kind. Captain of the Greendale High Ski Team and the only man known county wide, actually able to ski the K-12. He was the prototypical 80’s alpha dog, when he spoke everyone listened. He carried himself with that manipulative handsome charm, enabling him to be the envy of every girls dream. Why just ask Layne Meyer, from he stole “the” Beth. “I see we share the same common interest…and that interest to be a part of the well oiled machine that is the Greendale High Ski Team!”

3. Cobra Commander – "G.I Joe" (Brimble)

And you thought today’s world was troubled? Welcome to the world where corruption, mass anarchy, violent chaos and mutiny are king. A mogul of film, television and print media, Cobra Commander furiously disrupted millions of lives through his seemingly endless reigns of terror all throughout the globe. This is no madman, he is a well trained Warrior with his eyes on the prize of Total World Domination. For any of you out there who think this guy is gone, take a look at yourself in the mirror after a few dozen shots of Jack and tell me that Cobra isn’t King.
4. Troy – "The Goonies" (Entwistle)

Not only did this bastard nearly kill Bran, but also he trashed some poor little girl’s new bike. She never even learned to ride on two wheels. Troy is pure ice. He’s so cold that his bucket symbolizes all that is bad in corporate America, giving up on your friends, and throwing away your dreams. Not to mention, Troy’s Bucket is the self-proclaimed best fantasy team name of all time, but that is whole other story. He may have a hot car and a country club membership, but he’s just a “One-eyed Willy” in my book. (Update: thanks to the anonymous donor for the picture).


5. Ivan Drago - "Rocky IV" (McClure)

This man transcends jerk. I mean, he killed Apollo. Apollo. And then, he had the nerve to say, “If he dies, he dies.” Didn’t he hear Duke? “It’s a God Damn exhibition!” But no. Drago killed. And cheated. He was on ‘roids. (Total jerk move.) Plus, he made Bridget Neilson act, which is totally uncool. Worst. Accent. Ever. The entire movie was a ridiculous propaganda film that centered around an uber jerk like Drago trying to fuck with Rocky. But Rocky set him straight, even if it led to brain damage in Rocky V. Also, anything that directly led to the making of Rocky V is worthy of jerk status, and Ivan Drago falls into that category.
6. Ren McCormack - "Footloose" (The Turd)

Well, since the "Turd" was busy trying to save the NHL and the Red Wings season by drinking heavily we had to skip his pick in the draft. Via conference call, probably half intoxicated he uttered the words...put me down for any "Bacon" character in the database, I hate that cock flasher. And hence, we opted to go after what many would describe as a hero, but to the Ghosts...he's a fucking jerk.
7. Johnny Lawrence – "The Karate Kid" (Mellonbottom)

I know it’s sort of an obvious choice, but he really has it all. This Blonde WASPy, classist Californian dished out the hurting on the ethnic-looking New Yorker Daniel LaRusso. Brilliantly portrayed by the mega-superstar William Zabka, who also played the Jerk in Just One of the Guys (over-looked by the Academy) and Back to School, Johnny is my first round pick for trying to put Daniel in a body bag.

2nd Round
8. Lt. Tom Kazansky - "Top Gun" (Mellonbottom)

Again, I am reluctant to draft him because there is a humane quality about this man. After Goose dies and he becomes Top Gun we see a side of Iceman that we didn’t know existed. And indeed at the end of the film Maverick saves Ice and they engage in a masculine embrace on the flight deck whilst the soaring electric guitar anthem blares in what is surely a top ten feel good moment of the ‘80s. Even so, jerkiness in film is rarely matched when Ice says that Cougar was a good man to Mav, and Mav responds, “Still is a good man,”
9. Valentine McKee - "Tremors" (The Turd)

We just had to hook the Turd up for his draft no-show. And why not another fucking character played by "the" Kevin Bacon? Maybe if he would've flashed his cock in the beginning of this film it would have kept all those weird fucking creatures underground. Yet, somehow they managed to make another 3 or 4 of these fucking movies. Aye Carumba.
10. Coach Harris – "Revenge of the Nerds" (Entwistle)

When most people think of Revenge of the Nerds, they automatically attribute the persecution and injustice against the nerds to our very own, Stan Gable. This is entirely misdirected. Placing the full blame on Gable, Ogre, and Danny Burke is like blaming a drunk for urinating in public. Obviously, it is the alcohol’s fault. Likewise, the real general in the revolution against “anyone who has ever been laughed at and made feel inferior” is Coach Harris. Harris is an evil man, hell bent on popularicide, while Gable and crew are merely his minions. Fortunately, someone laid down a sweet bass solo and summoned the Lambda’s, who put a swift end to Harris’s reign of terror. (No photo needed).

11. Judge Smails - "Caddyshack" (Brimble)

An ardent advocate of racial inequality, social-class segregation and gender subrogation, Judge Smails uniquely redefined the term ‘jerk’ in Caddyshack. Throughout the movie Judge Smails can be seen hating on neighboring development, cracking racist jokes, cheating rampantly on the golf course, and defending the traditional bigotry at the Bushwood Golf Club in Nebraska. However his true legacy in this draft is his blood-spawn nephew Spaulding- also an epic jerk. “The world needs ditch diggers too,” and no doubt, Judge Smails will be there to add to your misery. 12. Rachel Phelps -"Major League" (McClure)

What a bitch. Make the Indians terrible so you can move them out of Cleveland? As if that city doesn't have it bad enough already. The last thing they need is more time to think about the Browns. Any time an owner wants his or her team to lose, it's a travesty. And this bitch was the queen of sports movie bitches. Plus, she had a little dog, and women with little dogs always, ALWAYS end up being bitches. There is no excuse for little dogs. If you want something small and furry to sit in your lap, get a cat or a Mexican. You don't have to clean up after either one and both are available at everyday low prices at Walmart.
13. Mick McCallister –"Teen Wolf" (Gable)

The man lost his girlfriend (temporarily to a fucking Wolf). The actor who played Mick, was named none other than Mike Piazza. His lasting screen image perfected the art of being the 80’s anti-hero. As Scott Howard, not the Wolf, sank the two game winning free throws, Mick sat directly under the basket with a stare of death at Howard. The larger question remains though, how the fuck did they just let him sit under the basket?
14. Rand McPherson - "PCU" (McBain)

Everybody knew gunners in school. The douche nozzle that was the first to raise his hand, contradicted everything said by anyone else, and drank wine coolers. Rand McPherson is the prototype for today's overly conservative gunner. I think we all went to college imagining our experience would be some combination of Delta Tau Chi from Animal House and The Pit from PCU. I never imagined that Rand McPhersons actually existed. Unfortunately, they do, and meeting real-life disciples makes him all the more jerkier

Alex Rodriguez is a Cheater

So is David Ortiz. And Travis Hafner. And Barry Bonds. Well, maybe we knew that last one already, but I can assure you, this has nothing to do with steroids. What I'm talking about is none other than the elbow guards that can be found on the arms of some of baseball's most elite sluggers. See below.

Wondering why A-Rod is off to such a ridiculously hot start? Because he's trying to spite me for drafting Soriano ahead of him in one of my fantasy leagues this year? I doubt it. Because all the pressure is off because he can walk out of NY after this season? Maybe, but I doubt that too. Because last year was just a fluke (by the way, 35, 121, .290 is a fluke?) and this guy was well on his way to becoming the best shortstop of all time before Jeter's ego got in the way? Entirely possible. Allow me, however, to present another theory. Before this season, A-Rod did not wear one of those elbow pads made popular by Ed Bighead himself.

Now he's wearing one. And boy is he fucking shit up. 14 dingers and 34 RBIs through 19 games? WOW. Look, A-Rod had tremendous years before he started wearing that elbow guard. Just look at his career stats. They are really, really good. But he never started this well. No one has ever started this well.

So what does it all mean? Why does the elbow guard matter? Couldn't it be a coincidence? Yeah, it could be. But I'm betting it isn't. Those guards give a distinct advantage to the hitter. Why? Because it takes away the pitcher's ability to come high and tight without overtly head hunting. If the hitter doesn't have to worry about getting plunked in the elbow - which is very painful - he can sit on the inside pitch with impunity. What's the worst that can happen? It rides up a little and hits him? It won't hurt! He just wait for the one that doesn't ride up a little (read: a middle-in pitch) and pound the yarn right out of it. Bonds has been doing this (and steroids) for years.

Also, he can crowd the plate and get the barrel of the bat on the pitches he otherwise would have hit poorly or taken altogether. His number of hittable pitches increases while he doesn't lose any because he can still get to an inside pitch over the plate.

The thing is, it takes away a pitchers biggest asset - intimidation. You take fear away from a guy who was already as naturally talented as Rodriguez, or Ortiz, or Hafner, or even Bonds (regardless of what he may have used that was intended for the likes of Secretariat and Seattle Slew, his natural talent is not disputable) and you make them essentially invincible. Can you imagine what might happen if Pujols got his hands on such technology? Thank god Missurah does not have access to such futuristic weaponry. They just starting using leather for gloves for fucks sake. (They were using dead beavers as recently as 2002.)

Now, should the guys using these things be punished? No. Just ban the damn things from here on in and call it day. Recently injured your elbow? Too fucking bad. Don't get hit there. Make the move Bud Selig. And while you're at it, put Pete Rose in the Hall of Fame. He has 4,256 career hits. And not a single one of them came with a guard on his elbow.

The Odd Couple: Millen and the Intern (The Series).

(Editors Note: Last week we were able to uncover some top secret "draft" notes from Matt Millen, GM of the Detroit Lions. Today, it is with proud honor we bring to you a new series, featuring Matt Millen himself and his newly hired intern. Keep your eyes open, as this could be a reality TV show headed your way).

Here's where it all starts...

From: Millen, Matt (G.M)
Sent: Tuesday, April 24, 2007 9:01 AM
To: intern3@detroitlions.com
Subject: RE: Draft Week Agenda.

Ok, let's get right down to business, we or should I say you, have quite the busy week ahead, my friend. I’ll bet you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. What you think you're some kind of big shot, because you graduated with a degree in Business Admin from Michigan? Tell you what; I will crush your balls with my thumbs. Good, glad we’ve got that squared away, I'm the fucking boss.

First off, are you really an intern or are you a spy that the Ford's hired to follow me during draft week? Don't answer that question; we've got too much work to do.

Let’s get started, shall we? First order of the day, I need you to send my Game 7 (Pistons vs. Magic) playoff tickets to Steve Mariucci. You’ll find his contact information in outlook. Send him the tickets care of Matt Millen (G.M). I know there will probably not be a Game 7, but it’s the thought that counts. Besides, I’m not giving up the chance to make an appearance by handing over my Game 5 tickets. I’d rather sell them on Ebay.

Moving on. By now, you should know I am drafting Calvin Johnson, but you are not to tell another soul or it’s your ass. I’ll need you to piece together some positive spin on this Calvin Johnson marijuana story. Use some of that fine tuned college education or pull something out of your ass, anything…just make it work. I’ve got a meeting w/ the Ford’s at 2 PM today, make me look good.

In my outlook contacts, you’ll find info for a man named “Schrutebag.” Get in touch with him; I’ve been trying to launch a DNS attack on “Fire Millen.com” for years. Explain to him it’s just a sports blog that tears down the integrity and institution that is the G.M of the Detroit Lions. If he can get his listeners to shut down the “The Big Lead”…it’s worth a shot.

Oops, I almost forget. Absolutely NO incoming calls to my office at all this week, period. I am a busy man and in extremely high demand. Make sure to set my voicemail and email to “out-of-office.” I don’t care if it’s the President of the United States, too bad.

More importantly, no phone calls from any GM’s or agents, especially Brady Quinn’s agent and tell him to stop sending me shirtless “jpeg’s” of his client. Again, use your creativity…tell them I’m on vacation in Maui or something, our goal is to lure them into thinking I’m relaxed and at peace with our draft position. You never show a poker face.

And speaking of vacation plans, this job entails you absolutely no PTO…deal with it. I, on the other hand need you to pick up my dry cleaning before noon. And you will also find an itinerary attached to an earlier email I sent you this morning. I need you to make sure Mrs. “GM” Millen gets a copy of this and packs my orange Speedos.

You had better believe I’m getting the hell out of dodge immediately after the draft. It’s the perfect remedy for stress; rest and relaxation in an island setting. You should try it sometime, oh wait, you’re a fucking intern. Too bad the Ford’s foiled my travel plans before the draft, but that’s the life of a G.M in the National Football league.

Lunch. There are only two options for me, “Wendy’s or Cheesecake Factory.” I’ll let you know which way I’m leaning as the day wears on. Right now, I’m thinking Biggie Fries, Biggie Drink and a Frosty to go with my Bacon Swiss Double Melt. Yum, does that not make your mouth water? Do what tastes right.

Lastly, you will notice an empty “Pringles” can that I placed underneath the desk in your cubicle this morning. I would like for you to take that can into the bathroom, shit in it, sprinkle some pubes on top and seal the thing. You will then place it in a FED EX package from the mailroom and address it to “JOHNNIE MORTON.” His contact info can also be found in the “outlook contacts” list.

And that just about gets us up and running. Don’t hesitate to seek outside advice on any questions you may have, because I sure as hell am not going to answer anything for you. This is a cut throat business son. It ain’t show friends, it’s show business.

Yeah, life is good being the G.M. Now, get me a cup of coffee…chop, chop and get Calvin Johnson’s agent on the phone, we need to start a marketing assault on the city of Detroit to ensure they buy this fucking thing. I want your marketing proposal by 3:30 today…and I take my coffee black, prick.

Stay Tuned for the next episode...

Barry Bonds And His Karma Boomerang

I never thought it would come to this, but I cannot control myself. I’m actually writing about Barry Bonds. Truth be told, I always hated Barry Bonds. So, when the ‘roid scandal escalated to Watergate proportions, I was neither surprised nor interested. In the last few days; however, it has been really getting to me. There is a feeling of complete helplessness involved in watching Hank Aaron’s home run record dwindle away.

I have been racking my brain trying to determine if there is anything I can do to stage my own personal protest against him. I’m always a big fan of grass roots guerilla campaigns like this, so I’ll tell you what I came up with and see if you can do better. I’m willing to bet you probably can, because this one is silly, but unless anyone has a better idea, I think I will see this one through.

The plan is pretty simple. Basically, anytime I see a related story in the newspaper or in a magazine, I am going to wipe a booger directly on Barry Bonds name. I think the best way to approach this is to take the story with me to the throne every morning, so my identity will be safe from harm. I don’t really want to be known as the guy on the train who wipes boogies on his newspaper and then leaves it there for the next reader. If I do it in the throne, people will have their suspicions and all, but they will never know for sure who is responsible. You see, it is imperative that these newspapers get left behind to ensure the effectiveness of the plan.

The next person to use the throne will inevitably read the sports page, get to the Barry Bonds article of interest, and see my gross booger waiting patiently on the page. Perhaps they might even accidentally touch said booger. In time, the people who use my stall on a regular basis will become conditioned to carefully avoid any literature with a mention of Barry Bonds for fear that a slimer will be waiting. Hopefully, they to will become conditioned and inspired to wipe their own boogers on Barry Bonds name any time they see an unsoiled article. Pretty soon, ubiquitous perverse sports fans will be wiping boogers on Barry Bonds name in stalls across America.

I wish I could come up with a solution that would actually accomplish something, but at least this one will make me feel like I am doing my part to help preserve the sanctity of baseball. Barry Bonds is an arrogant mutant and he is a liar to boot. It gives me some bizarre joy to see Hank Aaron outwardly snub Bonds as he approaches this time-honored home run record. Since there is no way Barry Bonds does the noble thing and bows out of this thing, he better get used to the name Barry Boogs. From now on, anytime you see the name Barry Bonds, beware, for there could be a juicy booger lurking in the shadows.

Editors Note: I stole the title Karma Boomerang off the tip jar at my new favorite sandwich place in NYC, Greydog Coffee. Awesome food guys. Go Blue!

The Washington Red Rockets

So I’ve just recently relocated to the District of Columbia and since I cannot bear the thought of being a fan of Mr. Fontes’s former team, I wonder if I should get into the Redskins. I think it’s not a bad choice. They have a decent history. I know a bit about them. And they have been known to win.

So I’ve been doing a little research on the team. And although I knew that the name ‘Redskins’ was controversial, I didn’t realize that a name change was imminent. The owner and the community seem to agree that there will be a change, but they haven’t agreed on what it will be. According to Sunday’s Washington Post, there are a few names that have been floating around and they are as follows:

The Washington G-Men
This is named after the FBI, and while it is a reference to Washingtonian culture, it seems, to me at least, utterly absurd for a sporting team name.

The Washington Hogs
I guess this would be named after an offensive line they once had. Whatever. Sounds terrible.

The Washington Red Storm
St. John’s University changed their name from Red Men to this name, so if the Skins did this they not only would be copying some shitty college they would also pick the most generic, laziest and lamest name imaginable. My guess is this is the one they’ll go with. If that is the case, I will not be a fan of theirs.

The Washington Rockfish
Named after an indigenous animal. Terrible. Not a football name.

The Washington Bison
This is intended to honor one of America’s first African American universities, the District’s Howard University, who are also the Bison. Even so, it still sucks.

The Washington Rattlers
The best of the bunch, as far as I’m concerned. This plays off the ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ theme in American history and sounds cool without being too NASCAR trashy.

I thought we could make our own suggestions and send them to the Post.

I'll start.

The Washington Pigfuckers
This is suitable because of the love of pork our elected officials have. It also has a great ring to it. "And at the end of the third quarter we have a real nail biter: The Cowboys 17, the Pigfuckers 14. We'll be right back."

The Washington Americans
The baseball team chose an equally generic and psuedo-patriotic name, I figure the football team should keep with this stupid trend. The Washingtin Flagwavers or the Washington September America would also work.

The Washington House Oversight Committee on Athletics and Recreation
Well, the Bulls and Bears are named after the commodities market in Chicago, this one makes sense.

How about you? Any ideas? No matter how good our suggestions are, we can be assured they will pick the worst. I mean, remember, they changed the name of the Bullets to the Wizards. The fucking Wizards.

J.J Redick: The Inaugural Playoff Blog.

(Editors note: Several months ago, allegedly and un-officially, NBA.com gave J.J Redick his very own blog to give us the fans, the lowdown on life as a rookie in the NBA. Of course, it was short lived due to the nature of Redick's anger, language and hostility in general. (You may have read it here first). Yet, NBA.com has opted to give our man one more chance for the playoffs. Here is the first "un-official" entry from Game 1).

I’m live from the palace of Auburn Hills on site for the 2nd run of the inaugural “Redick Blog.” If guys like Gilbert Arenas and Paul Shirley can make it in the blogosphere, why can’t the sexiest fucking piece of man casserole known to man make it? Plus, I have certifiable poetry skills that neither could come close to scratching the surface upon. I’m talking deep shit, deep as the fucking abyss.

Its playoff time in the NBA and you all should know what that means. It means E-L-E-V-A-T-I-O-N…of my game. If shit for brains (Coach Hill) doesn’t realize you need a “dagger” specialist like me on the court, I am going to Dick DeVos and demanding a trade this off-season. I could cure cancer for shits sake with my barrage of arsenal and weapons. You don’t get that do you…well just don’t ask, just listen.

I felt good in the shoot around and connected on at least 25 straight triples. I fully expect nothing less than 25 minutes per game in this series. My mom didn’t make the trip to the Palace, she is here in Detroit, but was scared of the crowd. Me, shit, I’m definitely not scared. If that fat piece of shit with the teal Lindsey Hunter jersey keeps heckling me, they won’t think Stephen Jackson or Ron Artest are really that crazy at all.

Real quick, I want to comment on the tragedy at Virginia Tech this week. There hasn’t been that much gunfire on that campus since I dropped “25” on the Hokies back in ’05. No seriously though, not to make light of matters; I lived in the dorms all 4 years on the Duke Campus and I couldn’t ever imagine something like that. It’s truly sad.

Back to the game though; can somebody please get Grant Hill out of this game? Look pal, we understand this is a homecoming of sorts for you, but you were a pussy back then and you still are now. Not even a giant maxi-pad could stop the bleeding that is and was your career.

I called “K” on Friday night to get some positive encouragement to guide me through the playoffs. We shared quite a few laughs about Grant Hill and just how comical it is that he is logging more minutes than me. He told me not to fret son, “they will see your passion, your drive, your soul and they will have no choice, but to put you in the game.”

He told me the reason Duke struggled this year was due to me not being there. It always makes me feel warm and fuzzy to talk to Coach. He assured me as well that my penis was much bigger than Jon Scheyer’s or any of the disgraces to ever wear the Duke uniform. As if I didn’t already know that. Can you believe McRoberts is going pro? Yeah, we got a laugh about that as well. Ask me again, how can anyone not love “K”?

Shit, nice white dot on the back of your head Wallace. For god sake’s take care of that shit. Typical Carolina thug. My god, can somebody put a body on him already? Yo, coach Hill...the supposed best team in the conference let's a fucking 6'11" 30% 3 point shooter jack shots at will...and it works. Um, you have a fucking 70% shooter sitting on the bench...just saying.

Dwight Howard can't make a free throw to save his life. Yet, again I'll mention to Coach Hill that he has a certifiable 110% free throw shooter sitting on the bench. I could go on all fucking day about the inconsitencies in treatement on this team, but I'm a bigger man that.

Another fucking game and I gotta watch Keyon Dooling, Trevor Ariza and Carlos Arroyo steal my fucking minutes. I'm smelling sweep, unless they let me touch that court and molest that net like every shot I launch does. Darko…what an utter puss chops? What he gets PT, because of potential? He's a siberian gangster...fuck that.

I like watching Rip Hamilton. He reminds me a lot of myself, except I don't whine and bitch. He moves well around screens, but not nearly as good as I do. Again, Coach Hill...you very well could have a Rip of your own, but I'm on the fucking bench.

Off topic, but I know all my fans are wondering what’s on my iPod right now? Fergie…the Glamorous, the Glamorous…I just love that song. I wasn't listening to it in pre-game warm-ups and was infeugo from behind the arc. Apparently, nobody was watching. I listen to that song as inspiration for everytime I put on an NBA uniform. That and the advice from "K" carry me through the ups and downs.

We are making a little run here and I'd get up and cheer with my team, but I don't want to put my notebook down. I wonder if Curt Schilling carries his notebook in the dugout for his blog? Yup, the bench is motioning for me to get up, but fuck them...pricks.

On cue, we lost. What the fuck did they expect. The best free throw shooter, 3 point shooter, scorer and hottest mother fucker in the building was on the bench. Time to shut it down for tonight. I'm going to head back to my hotel room and email "K", have dinner with mom and probably rent "Borat" on PPV. I brought my slingbox with me so I can watch Tivo'd episodes of "Grey's Anatomy" that I've missed in the past few weeks.

Until Monday night...it's the same old, same old for the best fucking shooter in the stratosphere.

J-Redz...OUT.

Filler Piece - Comedy Is All Around

I was made aware this weekend that other countries have television sets. In fact, they even make their own shows. This one's pretty good actually. It's called Chaser's War on Everything.

French Remake of American Pie


Terrorism Response Time Study

Evangelical TV Reviews

Americans Are Dumb Bastards

Game Show TV Reviews

Every Mike and Mike segment you've ever heard

(party rap song playing as we come back from commerical)

Greenberg: (sings along for a second) I like that song, I do.

Golic: (grumble grumble)

Greenberg: Welcome back to the Mike & Mike Show brought to by AT&T. I'm Mike Greenberg, he is Mike Golic. Now we've been talking about [prescient sports topic of the day].

Golic: Yes we have.

Greenberg: I believe that [argument that seems logical from only an outsider's point of view].

Golic: And I say you're completely wrong. How can you even call yourself a fan? I'm disgusted with you right now. (volume rising)

Greenberg: As a fan, you want what's best for the future of the franchise. You may have to sacrifice the present, but as long as it increases the prospects for future success, I think you have to do it. You absolutely have to do it.

Golic: And I think you're nuts. Absolutely nuts!

Greenberg: (condescending and whiny) Why?

Golic: Because it's just like Herm Edwards said: "You PLAY ... to WIN ... THE GAME!" That's all it comes down to. Nothing else matters but the W column.

Greenberg: (condescension rising exponentially) Well I think you're completely wrong. Either way, let's bring in our ESPN Insider [Tim Kurkjian/Steve Phillips/Chris Mortensen/Chris Broussard/Tim Legler] who joins us every week here on the OnStar Hotline. Welcome, [ESPN douche].

ESPN Douche: Thanks, [takes playful jab at Greeny].

Greenberg: (not even listening) Give me your opinion. Who do side with on [prescient sports issue].

ESPN Douche: Well, I absolutely side with Golic here. Greeny, you have to understand the competitive fire these athletes have. Only former athletes can truly comprehend the will these guys have, and the pride they carry themselves with. Only someone who hasn't played professional sports can feel the same way you do, Greeny.

Golic: THANK YOU. (volume peaking)

Greenberg: Well, I think you're both wrong, and I honestly don't see any two ways about it.

ESPN Douche: [calls Greeny a wuss]

Greenberg & Golic: (laughing, Greeny resists urge to call people meatheads)

Greenberg: Well, thank you for checking in, [ESPN douche], we will talk to you next week. (cuts off call before the guy can say bye)

Golic: See? SEE?!!

Greenberg: No, I'm (not) sorry, I don't see. I think you're both wrong, you fat tub of goo. You make me sick. When was the last time you wore a shirt that didn't have a logo on it? ANYWAY, I have an interesting take on [other prescient issue] that I think you might find interesting, and I'll give you that take after the break. This is Mike & Mike...

Golic: ESPN Radio.

(Rinse. Repeat until migraine.)

Me Smoke de Bombbudd, Woeyo, Woeyo

From: makeitrain32@gmail.com
Sent: Friday, April 20, 2007 9:35 AM
To: Goodell, Roger
Subject: Holla!

‘Sup Commish? Man, this email shit is a trip. I gotta thank you though dog for showing me how to use this shit. Tecnhnology keeps blowing my fucking mind and shit. I’m full on HIGH as a mother fucker. I got up this morning smoked a blunt and got into some deep intersection…I mean introspection. That word’s tight and I’m feelin’ it right now. Anyway, after I made me a full on king sized feast for breakfast complete with biscuits and gravy, two bottles of red hot for the eggs and potatoes, mimosa’s with "Cristal"…I got to thinking.

“As I flip the strip with a joint on my lip…and a cute honey dip with a grip on my dick. Got me singin’ like a singer, swingin’ like a swinger…this is the DGF style so put up your middle finger.” Ah, ha-ha-ha…that’s some Total Devastation for that ass, old school shit.

For real though, you got me thinking long and hard about that talk we had this week. And fuck that shit man, I wanna get high dog. I wanna get so damned high my breath smells like a mother fucking German Sheppard from the cotton mouth. “Yo, I say me smoke the Bombudd like it's going out of style. Give me the Bombudd me give you big Kool-Aid smile.”

Today's 4/20 and first we gonna go to the bowling alley. Shit, you ever been to a bowling alley when you high? Ghetto nachos, they come with all that gooey melted cheese and shit, jalapeno peppers sprinkled on top. Cheese fries with globs of coagulated cheese. Deep fried onion rings, poppers, chicken wings, tenders…the whole nine. It’s making my dick hard just thinking about it.

Then we gonna roll up to Best Buy. Who doesn’t like Best Buy and can’t nobody get in no trouble there? It’s like stimulation overload for me. The Video Games, the CD’s, the Speakers, the Flat Screens…I want all that shit. We gonna school some young cats in Madden on the X-Box. Shit, I shoulda been on the next cover, not Vince Young. I am Madden Nation, son.

After that we hit Chipotle. I can't get enough off that shit, dog. I always ask if they'll mix some of the beef with the chicken and then I get all the fixins. I bring that shit home sprinkle some cheese on that bitch, put it in the micro and then break out two Taco Bell fire sauce packets. Chipotle's salsa and got shit on the "fire" sauce, dog.

While we at the crib we bust out some more rounds of Madden. Shit gets intense. Pass that blunt, pass that controller. All firearms down when you up in MY Video game room, dog. And ‘yo man…that’s it I swear. That’s how my day is gonna roll. You can probably see…there’s no chance of me getting in trouble. I’m gonna make good on our pact, our promise.

Ain't that shit funny commish about Amobi Okoye, Calvin Johnson and Gaines Adams? I tried to tell you everybody smoke weed. You just can't take that away from us, dog. I'll change man, I'll reform, but I can't not get my "smoke" on.

No more rain, no more strippers and no more "gangsta" shit. I'm gonna watch the company I keep...just like you said. I’ll hit you up in the next few days with an update on my situation. And trust me commish...I'm staying clear from trouble.

"Nosotros LOS gonna conseguimos alto esta noche!" (that's Spanish for we gonna high tonight!)

Pacman OUT.

F*ck It, Let's Go Get Those Aerosmith Tickets : Part II

This is a running story of the road trip with Joey Harrington, Bill Walton, Stan Gable and me on our way to Chicago. If you missed part I, click here.

Harrington: “Thanks a lot for picking me up Bill. This is going to be a long, strange trip, right?”

Walton: “You are such a poser, Harrington. You already said that like four times and I just picked you up like 8 blocks ago. That’s the only line you know from a Grateful Dead song, isn’t it?”

Harrington: “Yeah, I’m pretty new at this whole thing. I tried to memorize a bunch of stuff before you got here, but I kept getting the bands mixed up and stuff. I do know one thing that you guys will be happy about though!”

Stan: “What’s that Joey? What’s the big deal?”

Joey busts out a big bag of brown weed.

Harrington: “Happy 4/20 boys. It’s time to get loose.”

Walton hits the stereo, the intro to “Slow Ride” comes on, and a slow motion clambake montage ensues.

Walton: “Whoa. Did anyone just see that Nissan Maxima drive by? I’m pretty sure there were two gnomes dressed in Raiders gear. You know, all G’ed out? They were raising the roof making pretending to fire off gun shots. Um, does anyone else want to drive?”

Me: “Yeah, is he ok? Maybe someone else should drive?”

Stan: “No, it’s true. I saw it too. I think we are being chased by the gnome mafia. I’m freaking out. Let’s get off here and try to get some food. I could use a nice big sandwich.”

Walton: “Speaking of sandwich, I was thinking to myself… The Dallas Mavericks kind of remind me of a ham and brie sandwich. You know, you have a solid enough sandwich in the traditional ham and cheese, similar to Dampier, Howard, Terry, etc. But then you kick it up a notch with a little Euro flava, a la Nowitzki as the brie, and you really have something special.”

Harrington: “Brie is such a gay cheese.”

Me: “I guess that would make the Spurs a Buffalo Chicken sandwich then? You know, you have the Bleu Cheese for fruit boy, the spicy southern flavor for the South American, and Mr. Fundamental is the chicken.”

Walton: “Not bad, Stan whad’ya got for me.”

Stan: “Ooh this is tough. How about, the Raptors are like a Philly Cheesesteak. You have a bunch of crap ingredients in Ford, Garbage, Nesterovic, Parker, and Dixon, similar to the ghetto steak, processed American cheese, and soggy onions and peppers, but on some really good bread that holds it all together, Chris Bosh. What’s the result? It all comes together in the chemistry, thereby creating the explosion."

Harrington: “Oooh, I got one. The Suns are the NBA version of the gyro. They run all day and all night. You know what I mean, diarrhea?”

Stan: “That’s gross Joey. Let’s hit that Taco Bell.”

Walton: “Alright, drive thru though. We got a long way to Chicago.”

Pistons Prognosis: Playoffs and the Future.

The Detroit Pistons have finished yet another season atop the Eastern Conference Standings. By today’s NBA standards, this seems to be no badge of honor. As many a pessimist would be willing to point out, the Pistons may not have even finished in the Top 6 if they were in the Western Conference.

I say no big deal to that. The Pistons are where they are because they are good team that knows how to win. Now, whether or not they are a great team…well that will be determined in the next two months.

I for one, think for this particular Piston team, it’s NBA Finals or bust. Anything less would symbolize the ultimate end of a mini-dynasty. I mean let’s not kid ourselves; the average life span for a legitimate NBA contender is about 5 years. Something always gives, whether it’s contracts, roster turnover, free agency, the coaching carousel, etc.

It’s hard to sustain a Championship level team without tweaking or even overhauling the roster to some extent. The Spurs seem to be the best in the league at figuring out how to stretch and tweak their roster just enough to sustain an extended period of longevity in the contenders circle. Yet, they also do have Tim Duncan, arguably the greatest power forward of all-time when all is said and done.

The Pistons have thrived in their current stature without any premier superstar. They’ve made minor tweaks, but nothing major (outside of the Ben Wallace purge). Wallace departing was a sign, a sign of the near end for this era of Piston basketball. It’s quite possible Chauncey Billups could be following him right at that door at season’s end.

Not a lot of people, outside of Piston fans can really stand this team much anymore. Yeah, I know it’s a cold slap of reality, but I’m coming to grips with it. I am Piston fan tried and true, but I too just can’t find the same affection for this team that I once had. This is not the 2004 or even 2005 teams that were so beloved by so many.

Nobody in their right mind wants to believe this run is reaching an end, but can we as Piston fans not really read the writing on the wall? They’ve been to 4 straight Conference finals and have been the staple, the team to beat in the Eastern Conference for several years now. Not much has changed this year.

However, something in my gut tells me this team is tired. They’ve worn their run thin; it’s on its last leg. It saddens me to admit the obvious, but this very well could and should be the last time we see this collection of players take a stab at going deep into the playoffs.

The optimist in me would like to believe they can at least win the East. However, the pessimist in me just can’t see them beating Miami in the 2nd round. Regardless, what you find below is a state of the Pistons…the good…the bad…and in my opinion. It’s the usual deal, dissecting the prognosis on the Pistons in the playoffs and their future.

Chauncey Billups – (See Here)

Rip Hamilton – No matter what he just won’t ever stop complaining to the refs. He has gone from likeable pest (because he’s on our team) to annoying whiner. Please Rip, just stop complaining and play ball.

Chris Webber – He will eventually reveal he is really playing on a wooden leg. His numbers are deceiving and his lack of mobility will catch up. Plus, Mitch Albom will never stop demanding that he apologize for the umpteenth time for the whole Ed Martin scandal. He will retire.

Rasheed – Let’s face it he is just too fucking high dog. He is in Flip’s dog house for making too many stops for Mexican Pizza’s at Taco Bell when he has the fucking munchies. Regardless, he’s still my favorite Piston.

Tayshaun – He’s the man, but he’s still just too fucking brittle. The “block” was over 3 years ago and it was on an aging Reggie Miller. What has T.P done for us lately? Just kidding, but he needs to develop a more consistent jumper.

Lindsey Hunter – Steroids. Steroids. I knew he was cheating the whole fucking time. He will never be able to play the amp’d up defense his given the Pistons in the past few playoff runs without the aid of HGH. Two words for Lindsey: Masking Agent.

Antonio McDyess – It’s hard not to root for McDyess. He plays hard and leaves it all on the floor. Nobody wants to see another lasting image from last years Cavs series of him sitting alone on the bench in complete shock.

Carlos Delfino – He was supposed to be the next Manu Ginobli. What a fucking rip-off?

Nazr Mohammed – Can’t complain he’s 6 fouls to throw at Shaq. And he’s also on the hook for $5 million for the next 4 years…oh shit.

Flip Murray – He wants out...or a huge contract…he could bust his ass in the playoffs or he could be just as abysmal as he was for the Cavs last season.

Dale Davis - Can’t complain he’s 6 more fouls to throw at Shaq.

Jason Maxiell – Needs more minutes.

Amir Johnson – The future.

Ronald Dupree – Who?

Will Blalock – I thought he was in the development league? Oh well.

Flip Saunders – Who does he alienate in the playoffs? The odds are off the board that it’s Rasheed Wallace. Who is going to be surprised if Rasheed isn’t playing down the stretch and only getting about 15 minutes per game? Saunders has to get to the NBA Finals to live down his legacy of a great regular season coach vs. a poor post-season coach.

Joe Dumars (G.M) – Memo Okur? I bet he’d like to have that one back. And when we will ever let up for Darko? Yes, Dumars has pulled off some savvy deals and pieced together this nice little run. However, he hasn’t been perfect, but nobody really wants to call him on that. We’ll see what he does with the two first round picks this year.

Either way, the Playoffs start this Saturday and it's time to believe again. DEE-TROIT BASKETBALL!!!

Adventures in Strategy: Lions Draft Sheet 2007

A copy of the Detroit Lions Draft Sheet....stolen from Matt Millen's office.

Can I really pick Calvin Johnson? How can I possibly not? He's the best player on the board. I've got the scouting report right here. Shit, shit, shit...why do I get myself in these predicaments?

Character issues=zero. Speed=shit load. Fuck me upside down, Charles Rogers and Mike Williams. Is Williams still on our fucking roster? What about Herman Moore? Oh lord, they are going to murder me if I take Johnson, but I can't resist.

Brady Quinn=gay. Joe Thomas=fat. Calvin Johnson=sexy.

We are talking about basic pros and cons. Relax Matt, breathe deep you are going to give yourself a panic attack. Does that even really fucking work? Shit, am I out of xanax? I'm so lonely and hungry...I've been living out of my office, eating nothing, but Wendy's ketchup packets.

I was listening to Jon Clayton tonight and he said we were fucked. Just take a deep breath Matt, you've got one week to figure this bullshit out. Ok, stop cursing Matt...you never curse. Well, only in training camp. Stop IT!!!

Ok, if I trade the pick and try to move down, I could take Thomas or maybe even Gaines. Yeah, sure...then Johnson becomes an all-pro next season. Can he really be any worse than Charles Rogers? Why did I ignore our scouts when they told me about the bag of brick weed they found on Charles Rogers? Why didn't I listen when the scouts told me Mike Williams demanded to go through the Taco Bell drive thru to get a Mexican Pizza before he would work out?

Oh, you should see my secretary today. She looks so fucking hot, I can hear the porno music every time she walks by my office. Yeah, I'm going to invite her into the office to "romance the bone" if she keeps tempting me. Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, the draft.

Well, I don't fucking care. I'm Matt "FUCKING" Millen...GM of the Detroit Lions. And I am going to draft Calvin Johnson. That's the bottom line. I'm done bluffing. That's my pick. Check. Be sure to put resume on Monster.com tonight. And be sure to book vacation for next Saturday. I'm sending the intern to the draft room. Fuck that, I'm going to be in Cabo during for the draft.

Fuck it.

From Lawschool-to-Porno

World, meet Adriana Dominguez. She pictures herself as brilliant. Sporting Ivy Leave credentials, and currently pursuing her law degree at Brooklyn Law School, she is well on her way to do great things in this world in the courtroom, and perhaps the courtroom table. You see, Adriana likes porno.

Adriana has managed to plow her way through 3 years of law school and do a little porno, you know, on the side. Adriana, graduating this May, recently posed for the cheeky porn 'Rock Star and the Lawyer.' (pssst...she wasn't the rock star.) In the video, Adriana happily shows her best attributes spanked, bare boobied, sportin' lil' fur, and clearly exicted to be displaying her best trial tactics on the Playboy TV series.

Adriana, living in New York, desided to respond to a Craig's List Post offering money for the Playboy TV series, "Naked Happy Girls." It was from this response that a seed was planted. Adriana quickly grew a massive cult following that right now we are all a part of, but yet, she found the time to sit down with me for a quick Q&A. The following are the highlights from the conversation.

Me: "WHoaaaahhhaa..Wait. C'mon now. Let's be professional, seriously now! Okay I am turning on the microphone. Stop! well that kinda..No! Stop it! Okay... seriously, so.... Adriana, can you give us a little insight into the decision behind lawschool?"

Adriana: "I wanted to do something a little crazy before I graduate and do become a lawyer ... do something kind of out of character," said Adriana naked, while posing for more pictures.

Me: "Raaaarrrrrrzz! You are a tiger. Wew! Really, no so seriously, I know that you have a career in porn and all, but lawschool?"

Adriana: "Lawyers can be boring."

Me: "Totally. I'm with you a hundred percent. So your thinking more porno right? I mean clearly if you can generate this many hits in blogosphere you can pretty much do anything in the world right? I mean save the world tomorrow, but save my saturday night now! Haha... I'm with you though, I dig it.....Basically, I mean, you know, realistically the whole law school thing is really boosting your status. I mean, I don't want to insult you, but there are a lot of pretty girls in porn out there, but the fact that you are definitely smarter than me? Woah. Crazy shit. How did this even happen?"

Adriana: "I didn't expect it to become so widespread."

Me: "I know crazy, that whole internet thing, I mean: click! there you are. Kinda weird how word can spread these days eh?"

Adriana: "I do not know how it was leaked."

Me: "Ahhh...Adriana, seriously. I already said that you were smarter than me, what more do you want? Wait. What? Oh wow. Okay, really? you don't get it? Ahh... Adriana you got naked and spanked for Playboy TV. That's not a leak. That's called at-will employment. You know that one right? Contracts? The Whole you are mine and I owe you nothing thing? Workin for the man, really can suck."

Adriana: "I'm not that shy, so it wouldn't bother me if, say, the opposing counsel has seen these pictures of me. I wouldn't care."

Me: "Adriana, by the time this is over, every lawyer, judge, clerk, sherriff, baliff, client, reporter, prosecutor, bondsman, and defendant, in every judicial jurisdiction of this county will have pictures of you. It's cool though. I would hire you. No joke. How much for 10 minutes? Naaa, I'm not talking about your legal fee!"

CLICK HERE FOR THE VIDEO (NSFW)

CT: All Skill...No "HGH" needed son!

So by now many of you realize what I fully came to grips with last night; and that being C.T is no longer in the running on MTV's famed series "RW/RR Challenge." You may know the series better as a handful of mid 20-something adults without jobs that pose as psuedo celebs (a.k.a - Reality TV stars). However, I'm not here to poke any fun at these people, because as I near the twighlight of my 20's, I'm not ashamed to admit that I am jealous.

Either way, you've heard the mockeries or seen these people ridiculed by various bloggers and Page 2 journalists in great extent. And you probably saw C.T booted off the show last week. In my glory days, I'd never miss a first run episode. However, as I mature in wisdom and in age, I tend to be a little behind the casual viewer.

Don't fret, I still catch up...how could I not, I mean does MTV ever not show re-runs? Anyhow, I'm here to defend C.T. What did he really do wrong? I mean, he gets a little drunk and into a wrestling match and then randomly punches some dude in the face. Hardly a fault if you ask me...or if you ask C.T.

"Get over it Davis it's a little boo-boo." And he's right. He defends the notion that he picked on Davis, because he was gay. And I believe him, give the man a break. Davis had that coming, he had to of provoked C.T. And then he goes on and says he fears for his life. Puh-lease.

C.T. has come under more suspicion than Barry Bonds for HGH. Why, I've even read that there should be HGH testing on these challenges. Understandable. However, C.T was simply acting on his frustration for getting a bloody nose in a friendly wrestling match. If we should suspect anyone it's that prick Kenny for provoking the whole situation...he gave C.T the bloody nose.

You may remember C.T getting shafted out of the last challenge. "You're done kid, you're done." He had Brad and he had him fucking beat. "Put the ring on lay-away son." Yet, TJ Lavin (the gracious host) had to give C.T the boot back then as well.

When is he finally going to win one of these things?

Imagine any other sport eliminating one of it's top performers based on a minor technicality? Shit, Tim Duncan gets ejected from a game and that official in turn gets suspended. Why not the same for Lavin? In his own words C.T will never shy away from boasting that he is the best. "You know I'm the best competitor...you know IT!"

And he just may be right. However, another season and another DQ for the man, the myth, C.T. As he said during his departure, the only way they are ever going to stop him is to kick him off the show. Otherwise, the moola is all his.

His only other comptetion could arguably be Alton, who may or may not be on performance enhancing drugs, but has also been refered to as the Michael Jordan of MTV Challenges. Anyhow, at least C.T's departure last time brought about a new found love. "I got something a lot more valuable than the $150k...DIEM."

Yeah, sorry bud, no Diem this time around. Regardless, C.T is an MTV legend...even if it's for all the wrong reasons. He proves that anybody can spend a good five minutes talking about him. Or a good five minutes blogging about him. "You're done KID...YOU'RE DONE!!!!"

And yes, I did just write about C.T from the Real World...you aren't mistaken.

Trey's Bender: "And the Light Shines On, You know we all Ride On."

Back on December 15th of this past year, former Phish frontman Trey Anastasio was arrested on suspicion of driving under the influence of alcohol and other narcotics. He was also in possession of herion, percocet, vicodin and xanax of which was prescribed to someone other than himself. This was especially troubling to a few us here at the Ghosts who happen to rather enjoy the Phish.

However, on the bright side of things, Trey took a plea bargain this past Friday to avoid any jail time. It stands that he must remain sober and attend a court ordered drug program, as well as Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.

Now, the optimists at this very site believe this could be the catapult he needed to get the band back together. Yup, cancel the summer vacation…we're going to Deer Creek, Alpine Valley and every Verizon Wireless amphitheatre on the fucking planet. Our hero Ernest J. Anastasio is back and we are going on tour. Ok, maybe I’m getting a head of myself.

Initially, the Smoking Gun broke the news of Anastasio's "mishaps" with the law. However, they'd like you to believe they were the first to get the scoop and by scoop I mean the whole scoop. Conveniently enough, the Ghosts were able to obtain a highly “un-official” police report from the very night in question. So put that in you're pipe and smoke it.

This report, we got our greasy hands on, goes into explicit detail and gets down to the nitty gritty…it gets the show on the road. Is it from a legit source? Probably not, but we just had to share it with you. In the following "un-official" police interview many in the Phish community will perhaps see this as Trey's cry for help. Do with it what you will…

Officer: I am now going to ask you some questions. With these rights in mind, you may answer some of, all of or none of the following questions as you like. Now, first I am going to need your license and registration.

Trey: “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…I’m breathing hard…open the door.”

Officer: Sir, just relax for a moment. Were you operating a motor vehicle at the time I pulled you over?

Trey: “The tires are the things on your car that make contact with the road. The car is the thing on the road that takes you back to your abode.”

Officer: Ok, where were you going?

Trey: “See the city, see the zoo; traffic light won't let me through.”

Officer: What street or Highway were you on?

Trey: “I take a wrong turn and I'm on the wrong path and the people all watching enjoy a good laugh.”

Officer: What direction/location were you coming from?

Trey: “I come from the land where the oceans freeze, spent three long months on the open seas. Paddled 'til it seemed I could take no more when my ship hit ground on Prussia's shores.”

Officer: What county and city are you in now?

Trey: “I’d been drifting for years at sea, but now you've come along to rescue me.”

Officer: What is today’s date?

Trey: “It's hidden far away, but someday I may tell. The tale of metal tangle when into your world I fell.”

Officer: When did you last eat?

Trey: “I feed from the bottom, you feed from the top. I live upon morsels you happen to drop.”

Officer: What have you been doing for the last three hours?

Trey: “Trying to stop these demons that keep…dancing in my HEAD.”

Officer: Have you been drinking?

Trey: “Mama sing-sing when she Gotta Jibboo. Papa sing Gotta Jibboo.”

Officer: Ok, with whom were you drinking?

Trey: “The woman was a dream I had, though rather hard to keep for when my eyes were watching hers they closed, and I was still asleep. For when my hand was holding hers, she whispered words and I awoke…and faintly bouncing around the room.”

Officer: And how much have you had to drink?

Trey: “Just one drink and I fall down drunk.”

Officer: Can you feel the effects of the alcohol?

Trey: “I'm bouncing like a newborn elf, I can't remain inside myself.”

Officer: How did you consume your last two drinks?

Trey: “If you can heal the symptoms, but not affect the cause…you can’t heal the symptoms.”

Officer: Are you under the influence?

Trey: “Would you please, make clear to me, I'm peering out through your opacity. Though you rehearse, tomorrow's verse, forgive me if I don't sing in your key.”

Officer: Have you taken any drugs or smoked marijuana today?

Trey: “Woke up in the morning…Keef, Kynd, Heady Nugs…Goo-Balls.”

Officer: Are you taking prescription medication?

Trey: “Bag it. Tag it. Sell it to the butcher in the store-oh.”

Officer: What drugs are you on RIGHT NOW?

Trey: “Here comes the joker, we all must laugh, ‘cause we're all in this together and we love to take a bath.”

Officer: I’m losing my patience and you are making this difficult…are you on heroin? PCP?

Trey: “Your hands and feet are mangos; you're gonna be a genius anyway.”

Officer: We have reason to believe you are under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol.

Trey: “Set the gear shift to high gear of your soul...you've got to run like an antelope...out of control.”

Officer: Yup...Sir, I am now going to have administer the field sobriety test.

Trey: “Me and Harpua…we couldn’t care fewer, this happens all the time.”

Officer: Do you have anything else you wish to say?

Trey: “I feel I’ve never told you the story of the ghost.”

Officer: Sir, you will have one phone call. Do you have any family members in the area?

Trey: “I want to kiss my Mexican cousin once again.”

Raise Your Glass & Tip Your Hat, Cause We Want Our %$#$Π% Point Guard Back!

Do you remember the scene from the movie, Big, when Josh Baskin is spending his first night in Manhattan as a grown man? He rents a room at a dingy hotel and his best friend, Billy, comes to the city from the suburbs to hang out with him for the day. Ultimately, night sets in and Billy has to leave Josh all alone and afraid in the big city. Josh pleads with him to stay, but when all is said and done, he gets left behind. Well, this is exactly how Pistons fans are feeling right now: afraid to get left behind.

Unless you have been living under a rock this season, you have probably heard that Chauncey Billups has the option to become a free agent at season’s end. With the limited number of quality point guards available in the NBA, rumors are bouncing around like Ben Wallace free throws about where Chauncey will end up after this season.

Purportedly, there are a number of teams interested in making a monumental offer for Billups in the off-season, most notably the Bucks, Grizzlies, and Magic with whispers from the Clippers and Nuggets looming as well. Other speculators suspect that Billups will get the marquee, monster contract from the Pistons only to be used as trade bait next season. Alternatively, the Pistons could take a gamble, let him go, and look for a quality point guard in the draft. None of these outcomes are good solutions. Chauncey is a Piston and we want it to stay that way.

The scariest part of the whole situation is that Chauncey Billups seems quite open to the possibility of leaving Detroit. His agent has mentioned publicly that Billups is open to consider offers from other teams. Fortunately, Joe Dumars sounds earnest, as he has expressed his commitment to re-sign Billups. The question mark that looms, is Joe D. prepared to fight for him? He wanted to keep Wallace last year as well, but look what happened there.

Well Chauncey, this is our rallying cry. You are the driver of this bus and we do not want to lose you. This is still a “sum of its parts” team and we cannot let this allegorical automobile fall apart.

Without further ado, the Detroit blog mafia has united to pay tribute and ask Mr. Big Shot to come back, further illustrating one of the key factors of this decision: Detroit fans rule.

Need 4 Sheed: “Chauncey is the conductor of the orchestra that Joe D. built. With Chauncey at the helm the Pistons are a symphony without they are just another song.”

Motoring: “I first saw Chauncey Billups play in January of 1997, then a sophomore for the Colorado Buffaloes. I remember that game fondly because it was a 4:00 pm tip, and I was getting ready to go to church at 6:00 pm. Competing against Roy Williams’ top-ranked, undefeated squad (19-0), Billups rose to the occasion in front of a national television audience that day. Playing a Jayhawks squad that included future NBA stars Paul Pierce, Raef LaFrentz, Jacque Vaughn, and Scot Pollard, Chauncey scored 23 points, nailing six triples in the process, almost single-handedly bringing the Buffs to an upset win in Boulder. In a barnburner that was close all afternoon, Kansas’ depth overwhelmed the Colorado effort at games’ end, and the Jayhawks escaped with a 77-68 win.

The commentators on the broadcast indicated that Billups would likely enter the NBA draft after his sophomore season. The thing that impressed me the most about Chauncey’s game was the ability to create his own shot off the dribble. He did that all afternoon against Kansas, and I told myself right then and there that his game would translate beautifully in the pros. While it took him a while to find the right situation, the all-star point guard has made the most of his opportunity by taking Motown by storm. The hope here is that he remembers that his time in Detroit has been career-changing, and that he would be sorely missed by fans and teammates alike if he exits stage left.”

The Hardcourt: “As we all know, this year could be Chauncey Billups’s last post-season run as a Piston. Let’s take a look back at all the NBA Playoffs in the past years with Billups on the team. If only we had a memoir song to play in the background.

In 2003, the Pistons went back to the NBA Playoffs, and made it all the way to the Eastern Conference Finals. Along the way they beat Orlando in seven games and Philadelphia in six games. However, the New Jersey Nets swept them in the conference finals.

The following year, in 2004, the Pistons would go all the way. Detroit had picked up forward Rasheed Wallace from Portland, and was having a great year. In the NBA Finals, the Pistons beat the Los Angeles Lakers, four games to one. Chauncey Billups was named Finals MVP.

2005 would be another great year for Billups and the Pistons. Detroit finished the regular season with a 64-18 record. Again, the Pistons made it to the NBA Finals, and played against the San Antonio Spurs. However, the Spurs defeated the Pistons in seven games.

Last season, the Pistons had another good year. However, their year was ended by the Miami Heat in the Eastern Conference Finals. The Heat would go on to win the NBA Championship.

Over these past five years, Chauncey Billups has done his part to turn the city of Detroit into a basketball town, not just a hockey town. He has made many more people love to watch the Pistons play than when the Pistons were an NBA laughing stock. But more important that any of that, Chauncey Billups brought the first NBA title to Detroit since the days of Isiah Thomas and Joe Dumars did it with the Bad Boys.

Hopefully Billups chooses to stay in Detroit. I think that the experiences he’s had so far will keep him with the Pistons for years to come.”

The Wayne Fontes Experience: "The Pistons have to re-up with Billups, a near max deal be damned. Without Billups, they may just as well start the rebuilding process. Billups is that important to the Pistons. Keep him, and they are still contenders. Let him walk, and the Pistons become a huge question mark. I hope this coming playoff run is not the last for Chauncey Billups as a Piston."

Stan Gable: "Personally, I fear the Cavs will make a serious overture aimed in Chauncey's direction. And even worse I fear he might listen. If we thought Ben Wallace signing with the Bulls was the first sign of our mini-dynasty crumbling, then the thought of Chauncey signing with the Cavs would be the Apocalypse.

Chauncey, we know that the money might be better elsewhere, but this can be a win-win situation. You stay with Detroit and you do something for the game and sports in general; show everyone that players do still love their teams and feel united with their communities of fans. For your part of the deal, get me your agent. Here’s the plan. You stay put in Detroit and then we drum up a big PR campaign about how you responded to all of the fans by remaining in Detroit, while passing up colossal salary offers. In turn, we’ll line you up with some big ad campaigns. “Hi, this is Chauncey Billups, and just like me, Elmer’s Glue holds things together when you need it. Elmer’s Glue, it sticks around!"

Whatever happens, we sure hope to see #1 back in Detroit next season and for many more to come. There are so many fond memories of Chauncey's heroics in the playoffs. The most vivid image that comes to mind was the epic Game 5 against the Nets in 2004, where Chauncey drained a near half court shot to send the game into double overtime. The Pistons would lose that game, but not that series. And we all know how that season ended.

Mr. Big Shot is a part of Detroit. He helped to build the vision Joe Dumars had when he was constructing this team. How could we possibly live without hearing that classic Mason intro..."Chauncey Ba-Ba-Ba-Billups" every night? He belongs in Detroit. And now that we cleared that up, let’s go win another NBA title.

Mr. April and the $136 Million Dollar Man.

Whether they want to be linked together or not, Alfonso Soriano and Alex Rodriguez are going to be just that, for the near future. After all, it was Soriano who was shipped out of New York to Texas as part of the Rodriguez deal a few years back. Soriano made an immediate impact and blossomed into a league-wide star, while A-Rod put up his usual stats, but floundered against the relentless pressure and New York media assault.

As it stands today, the depths of A-Rod’s media backlash have reached comical proportions. The man is judged, fairly or not, on a pedestal unlike any other player in the history of baseball, or so it seems. He is booed one minute and triumphantly curtain-called at Yankee stadium for a meaningless April homerun against the Devil Rays, the next.

Ah yes, Mr. April himself, Alex Rodriguez continues to razzle and dazzle our hearts. He can even periodically captivate the gloom-and-doom Yankee fans. A-Rod has come out like a man possessed this April. And it’s important to note, it’s April, as the trademark staple of a Rodriguez surge. Can he sustain this pace over the entire season?

What happens when he goes through his first slump? Because, everyone goes into a slump at some point in the season…right? Currently, A-Rod’s numbers .372 BA, 7 homers, 18 RBI, .977 SLG and an absurd 1.43 OPS are simply ridiculous. Now, if I cared much at all about Fantasy baseball…I’d be kicking myself for not drafting A-Rod first overall.

However, unless A-Rod delivers something in October, fantasy baseball aside, his numbers will once again be rendered useless. Again, whether it’s fair or not, people just love to see A-Rod fail. And NO it’s not because they are jealous. It’s because A-Rod just isn’t a likeable a dude.

My prediction is that his ultimate demise will come when his torrid pace seizes up in the middle of the summer or near the fall. As we all know his slumps get put under a microscope and who should think, despite his early output that anything will be different later this season? So for now, he can enjoy the role of being Mr. April all he wants. It’s all going to return to normal once he struggles in the least bit.

Yet, if I am a Yankee fan I’ve got no complaints. You know why, because that guy they traded for Alex Rodriguez, Alfonso Soriano…well he is nothing special right now for the Chicago Cubs. Maybe everyone settled in on his ascension to the elite level a bit prematurely.

His first two years in Texas he was not much shy of brilliant offensively. However, he proved very little in the field. And then his off-season trade to Washington sparked arguably his best offensive season to date and a move to left field. Suddenly, Soriano was the hottest commodity on the market since…well, since A-Rod.

The Cubs gobbled him up with no real position in mind other than maybe centerfield, a position he’d never played before. Yeah, this had all the workings of a seamless transition. What seemed like a no-brainer in the off-season, now despite only being two weeks old, is still a bit troubling.

Soriano inked himself a $136 million dollar deal. Whether he likes it or not…he’s got be criticized. It took him 10 games to muster up his first RBI and his first multi-hit game. Were Cubs fans, like myself, blinded by the light when Jim Hendry signed him to this deal?

Here are Soriano’s numbers thus far: .234 BA, 0 HR, 1 RBI, .280 OBP and 1 SB. Ok, maybe there is reason to panic in Chicago. Yes, Soriano is a streaky hitter. However, could it also be possible that last season was his contract year? Are the Cubs going to get their worth out of 8 seasons with Soriano on the books?

Sadly, Carlos Zambrano has more RBI than Soriano does to date. Does he take off and finally deliver for the Cubs as the season progresses? Probably so, but another blinder we missed is the fact that he’s only hit .300 once in his career. He’s never going to be a solid lead-off man with a .279 career average.

It’s year 4 of the post A-Rod/Soriano deal that changed baseball. Soriano is hardly scrutinized by the media. And we could even stretch it out that Soriano was a darling last season for switching to left field without a hitch. However, he’s been on three teams since the trade. A-Rod, for all of his supposed flaws has been doing nothing, but putting up numbers for the Yankees.

Do A-Rod’s numbers translate into post-season success? Not yet, but at least he’s gotten to the post-season. Unless, the roles reverse again and A-Rod begins to flounder and Soriano starts to dominate…it looks like more of the same. Soriano will be sitting home with the Cubs, while A-Rod could be choking in October.

All Cubs fans can do is hope Soriano snaps out of this, but who really cares what happens with A-Rod anyway? He’ll always have that walk-off grand slam in April against the Orioles. Now that was fucking clutch.

Soriano should be warned though; he too will be showered with boos if he continues to be non-existent in the Cubs offense. We’ll see; he’s got his chance to shine this week against the Padres. Hopefully, as the weather warms up in Chicago…so too will Soriano’s swing. If not, he deserves the A-Rod treatment.

(UPDATE: Soriano strained his hamstring tonight against the Padres and is probably headed to the DL...you're welcome for the jinx...shit, shit, shit!!!)

Pardon while I rant

By now, you've certainly heard about the horrific events of this morning on the Virginia Tech campus. Depending on the media outlet, the death count is oscillating somewhere between 29 and 32 at the moment. The number may not be concrete, but the fear resulting from that number is very real. I know because I've been mercilessly subjected to this type of fear before as well.

Immediately after the Columbine massacre in April 1999, a story quickly spread through the city I grew up in. It was rumored that analytics had been performed to find towns that closely resembled Littleton, Colorado, because naturally demographics were the cause of this, right? Nobody knew where the story came from, but apparently my hometown of Strongsville, Ohio was pegged as the city most like Littleton (read: white and affluent). Or maybe it was second. Or fourth. Nobody really knew but, being stupid teenagers, it didn't matter. Rumors as inconsequential as Sarah blowing Ryan spread like wildfire; imagine the hysteria surrounding an imminent school shooting.

And I was right there. Being 15, I was terrified. Is that weird goth clique in the corner of the lunchroom plotting something? Does that quiet arsty kid with the painted fingernails have a gun? I didn't know. Nobody did, which only served heighten the paranoia. Uncertainty is almost always the catalyst for fear.

Well, nothing happened. Of course it didn't. Looking back you feel so naive following the flock of sheep into that mess. But can you really blame anyone?

Well, yeah, I think I can. It was the doing of the media. Again.

The media thrives in the sale of fear, which is exactly how they exploited the aftermath of Columbine. We heard countless tales of the clothes the kids wore, the music they listened to, the movies they watched, et al. We were told that if we were cruel to another student, we might be next. Nowhere was safe. This could happen in a backwoods town just as easily as it could an affluent suburb or a inner city playground.

You know what's almost as sad as the fates that these poor men and women have suffered? The fact that the lives they lived will be ignored in lieu of lionizing the killer. More focus will be paid to the songs on the shooter's iPod than anything accomplished by anyone that died today. In the end, this one-sided portrayal of the events completely justifies the killer's actions, as a crime committed in a public forum like a major college campus is only a plea for attention. Congratulations, kid. Your desperate attempt for recognition worked.

And worse, this type of media bukkake only serves to cement the motives of those troubled kids that are also desperately seeking attention from a world that has ignored them for too long.

I, for one, will be boycotting any coverage trying to attribute these killings to music, movies, video games, etc. Through systematic profiling of the "problem children" (black clothes, heavy metal, violent movies, et al), these kids are put at a social disadvantage from the get-go. Let's step back and give the fallen their proper respect rather than vindicate the killers' twisted objective.

We're all Hokies today.

EA Saves the Day

Last week, I took a stab at suggesting an opinion on popularizing soccer in the United States. Well, that went over with mixed reviews. Some thought it was an insightful idea, while others were outraged. One reader actually went on a Premier League message board to apologize on behalf of all Americans. I’m not really sure why he needed to apologize for people in Brazil and Mexico, but whatever makes you feel good I guess. Anyway, I enjoyed getting the juices of debate flowing, so this week I’ll take a shot at NHL Hockey.

Unfortunately, the proposed solution to reinvigorate the NHL – and get the games on television for fuck’s sake – is not so controversial. The solution lies with EA Sports and it is obvious. They need to put out another NHL Hockey game that can draw in the younger generation of potential fans, like NHL ’93 and ’94 did for our generation.

During the years of the Sega Genesis, I went from being a kid who liked to play a little pond hockey and watch the Stanley Cup to knowing probably 300 players in the NHL and garnering up genuine interest in the sport. I could name every 100-power slap shot and easily every 100-speed player. I knew that Theo Fleury, though weighing in at about 175 lbs, was lighting fast and the best checker in the whole league. I knew that Don Sweeney was a third line defenseman for the Bruins, but he was fast and a good compliment to Ray Bourque’s snail-like skating, but sniper rifle slapshot. In fact, I even bought a goal for my driveway and practiced my slapshot every day with hopes of being a late bloomer and joining the high school team. This interest definitely started with EA Sports.

The question you are probably asking right now is, “How do you propose EA suddenly popularize the NHL series, since they never stopped making it?” Isn’t it obvious? The next one that comes out, you package the new game with an original version of NHL ’94, playable on the PS3, Xbox 360, PSP, or Wii. I would buy this in a second. The thought of setting up user records with my friends again on the new system with the original game and then on a true-to-the-original updated version.

The NHL really should not be struggling as much as it is. Granted the league has become more boring due to the Defense-first mentality that was popularized by the New Jersey Devils, but I do not see this as the primary reason that interested has waned for pro hockey. I am not suggesting that a video game is going to fix the deeper problems in the league such as the fact that all but the very worst teams make the playoffs. Doesn’t it make sense to reward teams who won all year with a trip to the playoffs? It isn’t even remotely challenging to make the playoffs. I mean, is it weird that the Rangers, Islander, and Devils are all in the playoffs? Talk about cannibalism. Congruently, the league has ballooned for no good reason. Every asshole city in the U.S. has hockey team. Expanding to 30 teams, with a bevy of teams in the tropics where hockey has never been very popular, is risky and dilutes the quality of play.

So, clearly there are larger issues than my gimmicky solution implies, but it is a place to start. Get the kids back, first. Then focus on the larger realignment issues and marketability with the media. Everyone wants to like hockey again. EA I’m looking to you to give us the reason.

Roger Goodell, 2, West Virginia Mountaineers, -24

Adam Jones is not pleased. He thinks the commish, Roger Goodell, is being too harsh on him. A whole season? I mean, he hasn't even been convicted of anything! Yeah, the police have questioned him 10 times since he was drafted. But that was like, two whole seasons ago! And he's only been arrested 5 times. And remember, no convictions. Not yet anyway.

So really Roger, don't you think 12 months is a little harsh? Think of all the strippers - excuse me, dancers - who won't get the chance to have $80,000 worth of $1 bills showered upon them. Those girls have earned that right Roger. I know, I know, there's always Tank Johnson. What? He's locked up in county? Fuck. Think of the girls and all of the illegitimate children your employees have helped them produce. Without guys like Pacman, these girls might have to get real jobs. Do you want to be responsible for a decline in strippers Roger? Do you? Your fan base won't like that.

And also Roger, what about us, the fans? You are depriving us not only of Pacman for a whole season, but also of Chris(tina?) Henry, the former Mountaineer teammate of Mr. Wakka himself, who will miss 8 games. Henry - who might be a fraternal twin of Lisa Leslie - was considerably less entertaining than Jones in terms of offenses - weed? Boooorrrriiinnnggggg - but the Bengals have a reputation to maintain and they don't need their delinquent MVP missing for half the season.

There is, however, a silver lining: with this much time on their hands, just imagine what kind of shenanigans the '07 Bonnie and Clyde - by the way, Henry is so Bonnie - could conjure up. Armed robbery? Easily. Statutory rape? I'm surprised it has yet to happen. Running a stable of foxy fillies throughout the midwest? Hey, the boys have to eat. I just hope the media gives it the full coverage it deserves.

God forbid they cover real news.

You Are Being Lied To

By Leopold Q. Mellonbottom

In early November 2006 I felt pretty smug. Finally America realized what I had known since 1999 –George W. Bush is a monumental failure of a human being. Of course, even I didn’t know that he would end up being the biggest fuck-up in American history, but that’s another story. After the Democrats took both chambers of Congress in the elections of 2006 I thought that they could not possibly be even a tenth as absurd, short-sighted, petty, and foolish as the president.

It seems I was wrong. These cretins, while admittedly not as vile as those who would lie about social issues that do not affect them in order to get votes, are almost as bad as those thieving Republican fuckheads who raped these United States from 1995 and certainly from 2001 on.

The new Democrats told us they were going to be more ethical than the swine that preceded them. And yet while they pat themselves on the back over this new war funds bill that the president will veto, they still tacked on tens of billions in pork.

This country is a wreck. So long as those assholes on the Hill manufacture conflicts, so long as they try to get you angry over non-issues, we will continue to slip in educational rankings, we will continue to hemorrhage jobs, and the rich will get richer, the poor will get poorer and we’ll all sit around pretending class has nothing to do with anything.

I voted for Ralph Nader in 2000 because I thought there was almost no difference between Gore and Bush. Shortly after that, I deeply regretted that vote. Now I feel vindicated. None of these people care about you or me. They’re all the same. Fuck ‘em.

20 Years On

It’s hard to believe that our generation’s Physical Graffiti is twenty years old. I revisited Appetite for Destruction this evening and it stands with any other drug and booze-fueled balls-out rockin’ album –certainly as good as anything produced in rock’s heyday of Zep and The Who.

But I wonder if because of all the drama that has unfolded that this album will be judged by history as a Rollingstones rip-off. Yeah Axl is a prick. Yeah, they were all egomaniacal prima-donnas. No, they do not deserve the adulation that they seek and feel entitled to. But twenty years on, this album still fucking rocks. And I don’t know of any other album from the period that holds up this well.

We Question Your Motivation: Don Imus

In this, the second edition of our occasional bit, We Question Your Motivation, we are going dig a little deeper into the Imus scandal. If you want to read one of my dumbest posts to date, click here to see the initial edition. Anyway, I believe there is more to this little outburst than meets the eye: calling the Rutgers women’s basketball team, “Nappy Headed Hoes.” Upon careful analysis and deep mental inquiry, I’ve tested three hypotheses that could potentially explain this asinine behavior. After all, we just witnessed Michael Richards chopping his own neck off in the career guillotine. If I am not mistaken, he actually fled the country since his racial faux pas. Clearly, Imus would have taken the racial card out of his sleeve after having seen the disastrous fallout from Richard’s outburst. There is no way he just slipped up. There is something more going on here.

The first hypothesis is that Imus just made his first black friend, who taught him some bad words and pulled a goof on him. This is a really old joke, actually. It’s like my buddy at work from India. He taught me two words in his native language, Hindi: howlay and chuthia (I have absolutely no idea how to actually spell these words). I know that both of these words lie somewhere between fool and cunt on the swear spectrum, but I have no idea the extent of the damage they could do. So, it’s possible his new friend just wanted to get him to test out his new material and did not warn him of the consequences. Fortunately, I’m not dumb enough to address group of Indian folks with these foul words, even though I have no idea what they really mean. The offense was inexcusable, but that is one possibility why he could have been so horrifyingly stupid.

Numero Dos, this was a Rutgers sponsored publicity stunt in their quest to conquer the world. For those of you who do not live in the New York City vicinity - and actually get to watch real college sports - you might not have noticed that Rutgers is on the fast track to become the King of the Jungle around here. I tip my hat to the athletic director, coaches, recruiters, hookers, BMW dealerships, and bookies that have exhibited such a high degree of dedication to bring the Rutgers sports program into the inner circle of elite college sports programs. You aren’t there yet, but you’re getting there. Anyway, I think that they might have staged this whole thing to continue the media blitz in New Brunswick, NJ. After successful men’s and women’s hoops teams as well as a good and a great football team in the past few years, they really needed one last frenzy to really boost the University into the spotlight. This is shaping up to be the finest ascent of a collegiate sports program in the last 25 years, so stay tuned. I still remember conversations on the playground in about third grade along the lines of this one.

“I’m gonna play for Michigan when I grow up.”

“Yeah right, you suck. You’re going to Rutgers.”

Well, look who’s laughing now.

The final possible explanation for this tirade is that Imus just really wanted to meet Al Sharpton. Following suit of the Michael Richards outburst, it has now become customary to call Al Sharpton and interview on Sharpton’s show to apologize upon performing a racial molestation with the mouth. Personally, I don’t really see where Al Sharpton should be involved in these so-called solutions. Isn’t this just adding to the racism? I think they need to update this chapter in the PR handbook that states, “Upon assaulting the whole black population, seek out token black guy, AL Sharpton and apologize. Should token black guy, Al Sharpton, be unavailable, Jesse Jackson, Samuel L. Jackson, and Reggie Jackson will suffice. Basically, anyone named Jackson will do.”

If held at gunpoint, I think I would put my money on hypothesis number one, but I can’t say for sure. Rutgers has not ceased to amaze me as of late, so I really cannot say for sure. What I can say is that I always hated this creep, Imus. He is one of those guys that you can tell is evil just by looking at him. He is the kind of guy that makes me feel doubt that the world runs on merit-based success. His personality is akin to hell-fire, reoccurring, acidic diarrhea: stingy. I hope they throw the book at him and get him off the air for good. Kiss my ass, Imus.

BTW, I also like the coverage all week at the Pacifist Viking on this nonsense.

One Night in Vegas with Gable and the Turd - Part Deux: The Conclusion

One night in Vegas and the world's your oyster…the bars are temples but the pearls ain't free (da da…da…da…da da!!!)

-As told by The Turd and Stan Gable...

(Editors Note: In case you missed part uno, I highly suggest you piece it together with this post to better understand what the fuck is going on here.)

The 3 AM – Conversation.

Turd (answering): Hey, I’m headed back to the Greek Isle.

Stan (w/ M.C in the background): What the fuck…we are already here…let’s go get some food.

Turd: I’ll be there in just a second.

As fate would have it, we decided to go back upstairs to the room. BIG MISTAKE. At the time it seemed like the normal thing to do. You know just check out the scene maybe grab some more cash for a late night blackjack battle (of which the Greek Isle had no tables). We could’ve cared less if we were going to be interrupting anything.

Yet for some reason, the key didn’t work for the door, which was a little disturbing. We began to pound profusely like a select group of crack heads comparable to Leo in “Basketball Diaries” begging for his mother to let him back inside. Of course, we were minus the foam leaking from our mouths, or so I like to believe. We just knew A.W had to be in there. Who cared if he was in the act of coitus? We needed to get in that fucking room.

We then took the first course of action. All three of us took separated and isolated turns peeing in the hallway or in the custodial closet (yes, this was the Greek Isle). What is a little urine on a rug at a cheap hotel in Vegas? Far worse has certainly been done. This led to our next course of action…demanding new keys from the front desk.

The Confrontation.

Turd (to the front desk clerk): This is bull shit, I pay top dollar to stay at your hotel and now it’s almost four in the morning and my room key doesn’t work.

Front Desk Clerk: Uh, oh…let me see I’m sorry about that.

You see part of the problem we were now faced with was being heavily intoxicated and not much leverage, because none of our names were listed as a guest of the room. The first option the clerk gave us was to call Mr. A.W’s room. No answer.

Front Desk Clerk: I’m sorry, but I will have to have some form of Photo ID in order to issue a new room key.

Stan: Here is my ID, but I want you to know how disgraceful this is…do you know who I am? I was in the movie “Armageddon!”

Although it probably sounded a little more like this: “Jewyou know ooh I ham? Twas ind moving Armagettingit!”

Front Desk Clerk: Hmm…can’t say I saw that one, but that sure is nice.

After the Photo ID exchange, the clerk made a photo copy of the ID and sent us on our way with a new room key. We were headed back towards the room with a full head of steam. The notion of grabbing a late night meal had become obsolete.

Upon arriving back on the 10th floor and starring at the entrance to our room once again, we made our final attempt. SON OF A BITCH!!! The key didn’t work again. Another session of pounding on the door like Marky Mark in “Fear” didn’t resolve anything either.

That’s when things really were equipped to go further south. You see anytime you mix in a little too much booze and that Vegas like “I’m as untouchable as Nino Brown” adrenaline…bad things happen.

This is where the details get really fuzzy. Now, for some reason one of us (not sure who) had wheeled the vacuum out of the unlocked maids closet down near the door of our room. There was a stack of pillows and blankets also placed near the door (for obvious reasons…in case we had to sleep on the floor).

Then came the fire extinguisher and yes it got pulled and yes it got sprayed. And with that came more feelings of being impervious to any consequences of our actions. The Vodka and Red Bulls didn’t hurt that confidence either.

However, then came the fire alarms and the evacuation of the entire 10th floor. Then the security guards rolled around looking for the culprits. We of course ran, figuring if we laid low for a few hours…things would be fine.

After digesting a nice little meal at a quiet diner located off the strip near the infamous Greek Isle, we opted to head back to the scene of the crime. We had to go back; we had nowhere else to go.

The Confrontation pt. II.

Turd (storming into the lobby): What the fuck, we are valued customers at this hotel…now we are demanding that we are granted access to our room. This is fucking bullshit!!!

Front Desk Clerk (startled): Well now…hey…oh, hold on just a minute. I’ll square this away.

Just then an assemblage of security guards that looked eerily reminiscent to Barney Fife and Gomer Pile rounded the corner and began to badger us with questions. However, the questioning didn’t last long and shortly we were escorted to a private security room just off the floor of the “amazing” Greek Isle Casino.

Immediately we were put on the spot and given minimal interrogation. Next came the handcuffs. These “security” officers held little in the area of intimidation, yet they kept uttering the words, “we have witnesses.” All three of us were just about boiled over with anger and rage at this injustice. The buzz from the alcohol had worn thin…we were in for a long night.

Apparently, the LVPD wasn’t in a rush to arrive on the scene of a couple hotel vandals that had pulled a fire extinguisher. Instead, we can assume they were tending to the crack heads and hookers on the street…either way we weren’t a priority.

At first when Barney Fife informed us the Police were on the way, we all thought it was a joke.

Barney: “We have a witness!!!”

They wouldn’t let that threat go away and weren’t backing down…it was all they had. We denied nothing and even offered some cash in the form of retribution. There was no running from what we had done; we were open to the blame and/or punishment. However, was there really a need for the Police to come down to the Greek Isle on this night?

We all agreed no, but the Police arrived a good two hours later anyhow. The intensity of the situation heightened as they splitt all three of us up and began their own rounds of interrogation. It almost became comical to discuss the separate interrogations amongst ourselves after the fact.

Word for word…no bullshit…this is how it went for all three of us.

Officer: Who started it?

Us: Who started what?

Officer: We have witnesses.

Us: Witnesses to what?

Officer: Why was the Vacuum out?

Us: Vacuum?

Officer: This is Las Vegas. You come over here from California and think there are no rules.

Us: What?

Officer: The type of society we live in today, this could have been deemed an act of terrorism.

Officer: Excuse me, I am going to go talk to the witnesses and look at the tape.

No bullshit at all…all three of us underwent the exact same conversation above. It was tough to decipher whether we all wanted to laugh or to cry. What we should have been was embarrassed. As the Cop went into the private security room, they moved all three of us (fully handcuffed) into the hallway of the Casino.

We were in plain enough sight for any of the early risers at the Greek Isle to sneak a peak at three bon-a-fide losers. Although, we managed to smirk at one another…we also wondered how to explain this one and whether we would ever be able to explain it.

Suddenly, after nearly 15 minutes of deliberation with Barney Fife and the Police Officer, the door slammed open. The Officer looked pretty pissed off and with our fate weighing in his balance, we all took a deep breath.

We were quickly escorted back into the security room, where one could only wonder if they were going to beat us to death for fucking with their hole in the wall hotel. Instead, we were all three released from our handcuffs and given a stern lecture from the Police Officer.

It’s safe to say we all felt like 10 year olds that had just been caught toilet papering and egging the neighbor’s house. His whole speech was a blur, but the very last bit. Yup, the last bit where he said he was called to the Greek Isle because a group of suspected terrorists had attempted to start a fire on the 10th floor.

What saved us? Did the eye witness back out? What fire? This was absurd.

Apparently, after viewing the film footage of us peeing in the hallway, removing the vacuum from the custodial closet, banging on the door and yes (almost forgot)…placing the hallway furniture in the elevator, he realized he acted on a bad hunch.

His case was closed. Crime solved, we all got a slap on the wrist for being stupid public drunkards. He then handed the case back over to Barney to make his ultimate ruling.

Barney: Gentleman, I will now take you upstairs to your room where you will gather your belongings and get the fuck out of my hotel. You have now all been officially “86’d” from the Greek Isle.

Yes, he did use the word “86” and he did take all three of our pictures. And he did escort us up to the room, where A.W was snuggling with his lady friend. He was a little startled and confused, but we gave him a wave and assured him we had a great time.

Outside the door, Barney was waiting to escort us to the parking lot and all the way to our car. It felt eerily similar to the end of “Deliverance” when they are getting ready to leave and the Sheriff pulls up the vehicle and says “We know what you did…don’t ever come back round here.” As we packed in the car and began to drive off, Barney was still watching in the distance.

After nearly six hours of being detained we were now free and on the road back to San Diego. A.W was later called by the front desk and asked to remove himself from the premises as well, even though he had no relation to what happened the night before.

We made in it back to San Diego before noon on Sunday, which completed the first ever less than 24 hour (there and back) trip to Vegas any of us had ever known. Nobody bothered to even speak on the car ride home and we all swore to never share this story.

Yet, after a while…it just became too funny to hold back.

To this day, anytime the three of us are in Vegas we always swear to go back to the Greek Isle for a drink. Somehow it never happens. We try to pretend that we aren’t fazed or intimidated by the threat of being “86’d.”

Yet, like that Sheriff whom left his lasting impression on John Voight and Ned Beatty, so too does that lasting impression in the rearview mirror of Barney Fife strike fear in us all.

Never have we attempted to go back, never will we attempt to go back.

Hooky Anyone?

This is an ode to all people- young and old- who have ever taken a "personal day" at the expense of "The Man" or education. Sick days are the best excuse for completing that unfinished project, catching a quick baseball game, or even going on an epic Monday-bender.

I effectively employed the latter tactic this past Monday to get trashed at 'Sluggers' to watch, yet again, the Cubs falter in the final two innings. Typical. Ironically, I am pretty sure that 15 mega-sized Old Styles combined with about 10 jello shots actually caused me to get sick. Quite the paradox; willing to go into work sick-as-a-dog and pollute my coworkers with germs, but unwilling to go in when I feel like getting smashed.

Baseball, sunny days, and boozefests are all great excuses to play hooky. However my most noteworthy hooky stunt involves something far more important; passing school. Yes, that's right. In my hey as a Spartan, I was once faced with the most precarious situation; how to pass a class I already failed. You see the class was 'ISS' which is science for idiots who don't know science. The only periodic table I knew was the one on my wall listing the various concoctions you could mix with alcohol- most of which were probably consumed the previous evening.

Well exam day rolled around and unfortunately I had completely mistaken the day of the exam. Typical. I vividly recall being awaken that morning by my buddy saying, "Dude, where were you during the exam?"

"Huh? It's not till Wednesday."

"Oh man, we just took it an hour ago! There's always summer school bro!"

My stomach sank and my mind raced. First, this exam was 70 percent of my final grade so without it I was clearly going to fail. Second, my professor had a strict rule about retakes for morons like myself. I was truly up a shit-creek as they say.

However I am not one to bow to the pressures of adversity. I quickly devised a sick and twisted plan to escape the consequences of failing. I threw on my pants and shirt and sprinted down to the great Olin Health Center. I remembered the cardinal principles laid out by Ferris Bueller; pick an illness that won't end up with a trip to the ER. I decided that I would tell them that on my way to the exam I had forgotten to eat breakfast and passed out in a hallway with low blood sugar. Hindsight, not the best thing. Talk about your all time backfires.

The nurse freaked! Next think you know I am getting a pint of blood withdrawn naked in a nurse gown, while hooked up to an EKG with cords spewing out of my chest. I looked like Neo being hatched. I actually remember thinking that it was time to throw in the towel, but at that point, I was simply in too deep to turn back. I mean I had compromised my drinking capabilities for at least a few hours.

After four hours in Olin, and no clear diagnosis (go figure), I was given the coveted "pink slip" memorializing my time at the clinic. I then put in an email to my professor who seemed to be sincerely worried about my health status and even granted me an extra week of studying time- to which I hit the bar. Outcome=A. No joke. Call me sick, call me sinister, call me a fraud, but I got the job done. I invite all of you to share with the Ghosts your best story of playing hooky. Cheers!

Google Goes Political

Management at Google has steered the multi-billion dollar corporation into uncharted territory by beginning to address broader social problems in the world. Bravo!

The company recently reported that its new version of Google Earth would include ground-breaking features mapping some of the tyrannical atrocities committed in the world. It's about time a successful corporation sought to throw its muscle behind innovative tools to help drive our political leaders toward change. Most corporations have tried to stay out of political turmoil by turning a blind eye towards issues that prove to be beyond the financial interests of the company. This seems to be the same story of politicians these days who wish to shy away from political agendas that appear to be contrary to their comparatively naive political re-election interests. So if we can't rely on our elected leaders, or our multi-billion dollar corporate machines, who can we turn to to educate and address the gross atrocities committed by political tyrants? After all, prevention is the key to combat injustice, and education is the only way to ensure prevention.

I applaud Google for its admittedly ambitious goal of trying to raise objective awareness of atrocities such as Darfur, Rwanda, Iraq, and the German Holocaust- just to name a few. These are issues that are problematic for public schools to address because of the material's sensitive content, not to mention the heated political climate surrounding subjective accounts. However, Google, as a publicly traded organization, is able to address the substance and impact of these atrocities because they are beyond the purview of these political agendas and are also in a position to use their resources to stimulate change.

Raising awareness is the most prudent step for this world if we seek to prevent future atrocities and possible world wars. I think Google should serve as a model for all global corporations who seek to channel resources into programs that not only maximize shareholder value, but also provide a service that can help shape the way we evaluate social justice.

From Big House to Big House

Hail to the University of Michigan Wolverines! You have to hand it to these guys, they have managed to make more bad decisions in the past decade than Pacman jones in Vegas. Their latest move was to hire a coach who is a proven "champion" in the NIT. The only records this squad will be compiling is record number of NIT berths in years to come.

But I would like to focus on the recent news of the Mr. Robert "Tractor" Traylor verdict. I can already see Wolverine fans' eyes rolling backward- we all know where this is going. Just how many more can we expect? Well, for starters, the massively obese Tractor should be upgraded to bulldozer status. Tractor is faced with 8-14 months in federal "pound me in the ass if dare" prison. He has been convicted of laundering more than 4 million dollars of dope money for his cousin who is supposedly the biggest dope dealer in all of Michigan. Way to go buddy.

This was all discovered in 2004 by a crack addict who ran into the city clerks office screaming "He's dead! He's dead!" This lead police to a local hotel room where they found a pound of marijuana and over 1.4 million in cash. Cash that was destined for Tractor's ingenious money laundering scheme. Hell Tractor was so smart, he decided not to even consult an attorney, rather, he decided to listen to his drug buddies giving him tax-sheltering advise on how to launder their money. Nice. Can I get a CPA with that blunt bro?

Now he's facing 8-14 in the real "Big House." His lawyer insists the former basketball standout is "broke."

"For those who think that all NBA players are wealthy, Robert Traylor is an example of one who is not," his laywer stated. Yeah, well if you can't manage to save the 400k you illegally received in college, on top of any of your 11 million earned breaking chairs with your enormous stagnent dead-weight in the NBA, I really can't feel to sorry for you. Curiously, Tractor was traded straight up by Milwaukee for Dirk Nowitzki....ooops!

I see Michigan fans cringing to think back on how Tractor originally caused the University it's biggest headache in the school's history. I probably don't even need to rehash that one. Well I am going to. Tractor was Michigan's first possible stand out star since the Fab Five era. He was said to be the big man who was going to bring Michigan a national championship. But then he broke his arm. He was out late with a group of Michigan basketball players at a posh Flint hotel- no pun intended. Future national championship leader Ma-teen Cleaves was even in attendance so you know this was a crazy night. Strippers, booze, and a few rails. Sounds like any typical college scouting night right?

Well, unfortunately the van they were in was involved in an accident which resulted in Traylor's broken arm. I would pay to see the players responses to the university rep's questions the next morning. Where did the van come from? Where did you get the money? Who were the strippers? What are your bank account numbers? Who rented the room? Who's name is the van registered under? Where is this ghost dealership?

Eventually, years down the road, the buck stopped with Ed Martin and Steve Fischer. Good bye- NCAA, hello NIT. Get ready for a few more years with your new coach.

I tried to reach Tractor for a rebuttle to this story but I found out he is in Spain playing basketball in Division III Spanish ball. He probably has to ride a Spanish horse just to get his lard ass down the court.

What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

Hi, I'm Lionel McClure. You might remember me from such other internet blogs as Roughing the Reader and... who am I kidding? You don't remember me from there. Three people read that and two of them are my dad. (He's really, really fat.) So anyway, while perusing the blogosphere as I so often do, I stumbled across this blog, which happened to be soliciting supple young boys to fulfil all kinds of sinister fantasies. Two emails, three glasses of wine and one back rub from a large but gentle man named Wanda later, here I am.

Why am I here? It's entirely self serving, I can assure you of that. My goal in life is to make money while not wearing pants. Is there any better way to do that than writing about sports? On the internet? I didn't think so. And if I can help get all of these guys - none of whom I have ever met - famous while I'm at it, rock on.

Also, I'm here to entertain and mock. To entertain you, dear reader, by mocking athletes and celebrities everywhere. Why? Because they fucking deserve it, that's why. If I had millions and millions of dollars you would never see me again. These people? They make it rain indoors in Vegas and then get suspended from incredibly fun, incredibly well paying jobs for at least a year. That, my friends, deserves ridicule.

But I digress. I'm still not sure what I'm doing here. I mean, the last two posts are about hockey for fuck's sake. Hockey. Look, hockey is a cool fucking sport and I respect those who play it, but it's been dead to me since 2001. (I was a Flyers fan.) I had no idea the NHL playoffs had started. Hell, I didn't even know who Wayne Fontes was 12 minutes ago until I Googled him. (I'm writing for a blog named after the winningest AND losingest coach in the history of the DETROIT FUCKING LIONS?!) Wow. At least he gets credit for drafting Barry Sanders. That was smart. He was pretty good at football.

So anyway, consider me in. Every sports blog needs a Philadelphian to make them realize how bad they could have it. I would be more than happy to fill that role. Just don't expect me to put on pants.

NHL Playoffs….Its Hockey Town time

Having grown-up in the artic tundra that is Michigan I, as many young lads who lived around me, were drawn to Hockey. My neighbors would make a full ice rink once the weather was right. As a young child I could only watch and dream of the day when I was no longer sitting on the sideline. It was a right of passage to get on the ice and see some real playing time. Every summer we would setup the nets in the street and play with a tennis ball trying to get our game up to speed. I had the opportunity and privilege to play against future NHL’r and Stanley Cup winner Mike Knuble. Eventually I got my shot on the ice….and then I realized golf was the sport for me. I can’t skate. It’s that simple. I fucking suck at skating. I had a good shot while on the street with no skates on, but put me on the ice and I am fucked. That being said I realized what my role in Michigan hockey would be. I am a super fan (no not like those piece of shit Chicago super fans). I am a Detroit Red Wings super fan. I soon found out that I and I alone had the ability to will the Wings to victory through the television. Now I know what some of you are thinking “bullshit”. It’s true. Oh yes its true and this year I intend on proving it.

Side note – I also take full credit/blame for bringing back Disco in the early 90’s, but that is a whole other story (I have proof).

So this year I am going to give all of you gambling people a little insider info into the Wings run through the playoffs.

First – They will win the Cup. I have taken PTO for the key games during this years playoffs. They will win.

Second – First round victory will be in 5. I cant watch the second game. That’s just a little insider info.

Third – If I am wrong I will Nair all of the hair off of my body. I will take a bath of Nair.

Stay tuned for updates. GO WINGS!!!!!!!!!!

I'm the new kid

How do I get myself into these situations? Whatever the reason, I continue to find myself amongst those that hate me. They don't hate me, per se, but they hate what I believe in. It's an ideological thing.

As a Michigan fan who grew up in Ohio, my innocent childhood affinity for the winged helmet blossomed into outright pariahdom. I am virtually alone each Saturday from September through November, as 90% of Ohio is inhabited by sheep, involuntarily O-H and I-Oing each other in a weekly circle jerk. They don't even want to try to understand how anyone within the state's borders could believe in anything else. What else IS there?

And now I find myself here with the Ghosts, a Cleveland fan amongst Detroit fans. My Cavs versus their Pistons. My Indians versus their Tigers. My impoverished Midwest city versus their ... I guess we're pretty even in that respect.

So is it me? Am I just a contrarian? I do like to argue. A lot. No matter how inconsequential the detail or how thoroughly the dead horse has been flogged. In the past 24 hours, I've broken off emails championing the finer points of NHL 93 on Sega, ProStars, and LC. Always LC ... never Kristin.

I don't think that's the case here, though. Basically, I saw the opportunity to blog with these fine gents and felt like I wanted to be a part of it. As Ghosts continues to take over the world, one Deadspin link at a time, I can tell my grandchildren I was there, riding their coattails and cashing AdSense checks and just livin' the dream. I come here with no agenda other than hopefully bringing the hurt at a level on par with the other guys.

But don't think I'm letting you slide with all your "objective observation", Stan. Blindly worshipping at the altar of TheBron is one of my favorite pasttimes, and I'll be damned if anybody's going to tear it down with cold, hard reality.

(Softly weeping)

You Might Remember Him From Such Blogs As Flyers Fieldhouse

Ladies and Gentlemen. OK fine, Gentlemen. I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce the newest member of the Ghosts posse, McBain from the Flyers Fieldhouse! In addition to his duties as a hilarious wordsmith with the Flyers, definitely one of our favorite blogs, McBain is joining us for some celebrity posting. We are thrilled to have him onboard and are especially excited for some good banter as Detroit bashes his Cleveland teams in not just one, but two sports in the coming months.

I think this quote from the classic film, Shakes the Clown, sums up the excitement over here at the Ghosts of Wayne Fontes, "We're just six happy party clowns, sitting down to a plate of beef. White- powdery- beef."

Join us in giving McBain a warm welcome.

LeBron James: I’m going to pass on that Kool-Aid.

I don’t really like LeBron James all that much.

And I know with that comment alone, I am opening the door for a mild to severe verbal assault from any and all LeBron backers. It’d be impossible to hide from LeBron nation. They have his back, they’ve got his cover and they protect and serve the entity that is LeBron James.

However, before you get ahead of yourself and seek retribution in the form of launching the crusade against my meager opinion, please read the fine print. I don’t like LeBron, but that doesn’t mean LeBron is a not phenomenon in not only Basketball, but also in terms of culture relevance, nor does it imply he sucks at Basketball.

In fact, LeBron James is quite good at basketball. It’d be a disservice to you, the loyal readers of this fine blog, for me to preach otherwise. Also, I’d look like a complete an utter jackass with absolute zero credibility. Moving forward though, that certainly doesn’t mean I have to like LeBron.

To me LeBron is a product. To which he cares more for, his marketed image or his actual NBA career has been left a little unclear these days. Take a deep breath; I’m not questioning LeBron’s passion for basketball. However, I’m just curiously opening the thread…does LeBron care more about the business corporation that is LeBron James or does he care more about winning an NBA title?

Finding balance between both spectrums is what separates superstars from great players. Shaq and Jordan are and were the best at finding that special balance. And I only call into question LeBron’s intentions, based on what many a casual observer has seen this year. LeBron coasted through most of the regular season and attempted to put on the jets full steam a little over a month ago.

However, there was everything right in front of the “self-proclaimed” or “chosen one” this past weekend. LeBron wilted under the pressure against both Miami and Detroit. His typical fade-away three point attempt that misfired and led to an eventual overtime loss against Miami wasn’t his entire fault. He’d carried the Cavs to that point and Mike Brown really had no semblance of a play developed for the final shot (more on that in just second).

Yet, LeBron made a crucial mistake on a pass late in overtime and once again his refusal to attack the basket and shoot fade-away jumpers cost his team. Fast forward to Sunday in Detroit, and LeBron appeared a little disinterested to say the least. The Pistons frustrated him with their defensive looks (yeah, really a staple of the Flip Saunders era), but I saw the haunting fade-away jumper all over the place…again.

LeBron still could’ve extended the game; trailing by 4 points (under 30 seconds) with two free throw attempts, but they both clanked out. Could we get plastered with the headlines of “another round of LeBron being non-clutch?” Of course not, because seldom do people openly criticize LeBron for these situations.

It’s not like it’s an everyday plague, we all know LeBron was about as clutch as clutch can be in the playoffs last year against the Wizards. Yet, there are more instances than just this past weekend where Cavs fans have probably wondered to themselves “fuck, when will LeBron finally just take over and be clutch?”

LeBron wants to be mentioned in the same breath as Michael Jordan and/or Kobe Bryant. In fact, LeBron wants to obliterate both of them off the fucking map in terms of relevance. He also probably wouldn’t mind blasting past his buddy Dwayne Wade. That’s just how I view LeBron in terms of arrogance. Anybody building themselves a castle in rural Ohio deserves such suspicion.

He can’t defend or shoot like Kobe or Michael. He doesn’t exemplify the will that Dwayne Wade has, enough at all. Let’s face it, the guy is a specimen and when he wants he can dominate. Yet, something seemingly holds him back from dominating or maybe there is the old saying “either you have it or you don’t.” I’m not necessarily saying that, but --- moving on.

What nobody feels safe admitting; is that maybe LeBron is simply just a great player/superstar level, but not the “god” we’ve all anointed him to be. Perhaps, he really doesn’t have that passion or fire that Jordan, Kobe and Wade all seem to possess. I can hear the gasps from LeBron Nation, but relax I’m not saying he is no more than a glorified Vince Carter.

I have nothing, but respect for LeBron’s actual game. My whole point is that LeBron has become such an entity that it is hard for me to respect him as a person. He is force fed to the consumer as this perfectly polished product. In essence I feel as though he has bought into his own celebrity. In simpler terms, I think he is a prick.

He wants to be known as a “Global Icon.” He got into a petty argument with Stephon Marbury about shoes. And can you believe it, but he made Marbury, yes Stephon “freaking” Marbuy, look like the good guy in the whole situation. He essentially knocked “Starbury” shoes as a cheap inferior product to his $130 Nikes.

Sound like a superiority complex to you? How many times this season have you seen that look to his teammates like “seriously you fucking suck”? He’s not afraid to kick a chair in a timeout after his teammate misses a critical bucket. He claims all he cares about are the W’s, but I am just not buying it.

A good argument that always seems to surface in regards to his current situation is that his team and his coach generally suck. And I couldn’t agree more. They aren’t exactly doing LeBron any great service, but does he need to show them up? Michael Jordan never showed his teammates up. And Michael Jordan never, ever walked off the court on his team even if the game was out of reach.

Sure, the Cavs are fucking him over a little. There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to explain how Mike Brown is a moron, Eric Snow shouldn’t be in anybody’s top 7 rotation players and how they still don’t have a legit point guard. Yet, debates like that are better suited for actual Cavs fans…not me.

I’m not saying this is LeBron James, cut and dry…take it or leave it. I am simply giving you my opinion on the man we call a King. I envision LeBron to be someone who has read too much into his own press clippings and prophecy. I’m not trying to attack or tear down LeBron, but I can no longer stand to watch his ego swell.

Before you begin the backlash, just think about who LeBron has become this year. I’m not saying I’m right or wrong, but just think about it. Granted, he is only 22 years old so for him to change would be no less drastic then a young prick named Kobe Bryant years ago. Either way, I’m just not buying into this whole LeBron-mania.

And I am certainly not drinking the media sponsored LBJ Kool-aid.

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One Night in Vegas with Gable and the Turd - Part Uno

One night in Vegas and the world's your oyster…the bars are temples but the pearls ain't free (da da…da…da…da da!!!)

-As told by The Turd and Stan Gable...

Back when we started out working on this blog a few short months ago, we swore one thing; we would never do a “been-there-done-that” story about Vegas. Shit, for all practical purposes everyone has a Vegas story and everyone’s Vegas story is unique and distinct to themselves. In fact sometimes writing a Vegas story just doesn’t do justice to what really happened, as the words become blurry and tend to diminish the value of the experience.

We made a pact never to write one of those cliché riddled tales like “yeah man me and my buddies went to Vegas got drunk, went to clubs, played blackjack and craps all night, won a bundle of cash, went the strip club – yada yada yada.” Spare me please. And we’d never end a Vegas story by saying “whatever happens in…” ah, that is so fucking lame.

That being said, we just couldn’t resist re-hashing and re-living, what to us, was not just your typical night in Vegas. It’s no tale of orgies, slot machines, double downs, crap outs, hookers, booze, cigarettes and more gambling. No sir, this is a one of a kind night that lasted exactly 24 hours. It’s a night in Vegas with Marcohz and the Turd.

All original names have been deleted for obvious reasons. Most significantly, we’d like to look ourselves in the mirror again and we’d also never want anyone closely associated with us to ever actually know this really happened. It’s embarrassing enough just having to live with it. So, if you will, follow me and I’ll take you back to that night.

It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon in San Diego about 5 years ago. The drag of monotony and a few afternoon adult sodas caused us to make one of those rash decisions to abandon the confines of Southern California for the weekend. In this frame of mind the most logical and reasonable choice is always what? Yup, Las “fucking” Vegas.

The Ruling.

Stan: A.W is going to be in Vegas.

Turd: Dude is a fucking psycho.

Stan: He is getting some award for work and has a Suite at Mandalay Bay. VIP for “Rain” and “Ghostbar”…the whole sha-bang…’ya know!

Turd: I'm In. You’re opening as the favorite to get arrested.

Stan: Probably. Turd: Who's going?

Stan: I don’t know…me, you and M.C, I guess.

Turd: Do you think he is ready to meet A.W?

Stan: No, I don't think anyone is.

So, with that we shuffled into the car just after 12:30 PM. With the sun before our eyes we headed for the I-15 and embarked on the journey. The journey through the desert in the early stages of summer is somewhat tolerable, late summer it’s unbearable. We on the lucky hand managed to depart on a significantly less than normally hot day. Good Omen…or so we thought.

The 5 hour Car Ride.

Stan (to M.C): Just want to let you know, that my buddy A.W is fucking insane. I’m talking really unstable with an all out twisted sense of humor, but you WILL laugh. I could try and prepare you, but there really is no preparation that works. He will make you feel uncomfortable at least twice in the span of the first hour. That’s protocol for an A.W sponsored event. He thrives on the awkward…it’s kind of sick.

Turd: Yup…this is so true.

M.C (obviously nervous): That’s cool…sounds like fun.

Now, our understanding was that we would be meeting A.W at his luxury suite located inside the Mandalay Bay. However, that good omen we had took its first hit of confidence when over the phone A.W burst the news that his room was really at the Greek Isle, just off the strip. Apparently, he went on the cheap…fucking jerk.

Introductions...Room 1052.

A.W: I need to find a Hooker ASAP, preferably one that is down with the ATM action. You know Ass-to-mouth…her ass to my mouth or vice versa.

Turd: Thought you had a Suite at Mandalay?

A.W: Not until Monday.

Turd: That’s some bullshit, but fuck it.

Stan: Fuck it.

Turd: I need a drink.

M.C (to A.W): Hi, I’m M.C.

A.W (to M.C): I’m A.W.

*Yes, it sounds as gay as it reads.

ALL: Let’s go get a drink!!!

The Cab Ride to the Palms.

A.W (to Cab Driver): I’m looking for a good wholesome Hooker, ideally one with 20 inch pubes?

Cabbie (attempts to speak, but it just comes out as broken English).

A.W (continuing to pry): Seriously, it’s more than a fetish. How would I go about asking for something like that? It’s required they have 20 inch pubes.

Cabbie (still not exactly clear): What??? You are a sick fucker!!!
(note: sounds better if you say it in a middle eastern accent).

A.W: So you can’t help me?

After such an introduction for M.C we all agreed, the only thing to do to erase the shock of meeting A.W was to drink and drink heavily. Truthfully, the rest of the night does ring up as somewhat of a blur.

We were at “Club Rain”, we were at the “Ghost Bar”…we tried to pawn ourselves off as actors from the movie “Armageddon.” Why? Who knows…it was the first movie that came to mind. We played cards, we drank, we played more cards and we drank more. We ate a classy meal at “9” inside the Palms. Essentially, we covered the bases of Vegas.

We also saw A.W depart with a lady that turned out to be one of Stan’s oldest sister’s friends from college. He even had to answer to his sister, if he knew somebody named A.W who tried to pass himself off as a 35 year old business man from Chicago.

Somehow, at the point of A.W’s departure…we knew the night was going to take a strange twist.

To Be Continued...

Gator Bait in the NBA?

The fabulous Florida foursome has decided not to go for the “3-Peat” (thank god). Instead, they’ve opted to take their games to the next level…the NBA. They’ve packed up their luxury suite, boxed the bong and said goodbye to the weekly NBA Jam Tournaments at the dorms. Will they succeed or will they fail?

Well this is just one man’s opinion. However, many of these scenarios have been or seemingly will be re-hashed more and more…the closer we get to the draft. Anyhow, this is what I got.

Taurean Green

Green is the least likely of the bunch to be a superstar in the league. I am just not sold on the concept of him being a strong point guard in the NBA. It’s no knock on Green, but he comes off as more of a scorer than your prototypical point. He averaged 13 points-per-game against only 3.7 assists. That’s a “2” guard trapped in a point guard size – 6’0” to be exact.

Best case scenario- He’s the next Carlos Arroyo/Mike James type. I know it’s not really all that flattering, but really can you argue? How do you really think he ranks amongst the few “true” young point guards in the league right now? Compare his game to Chris Paul, Deron Williams or maybe Raymond Felton…you see what I mean?

Worst case scenario – We very well could be talking about the next Chucky Atkins, which is still no shame. Even worse -- possibly a Mateen Cleaves? I doubt the Cleaves comparison; Green is too good of a shooter and plays better defense. However, the Atkins comparison for me seems to be the most ideal.

Likely scenario – If he bulked up a little and grew a few inches we could be looking at the next Chauncey Billups, right? Green is notorious for sticking daggers and running a team just efficiently enough. Take a sigh of relief, Green is by no means the next Chauncey Billups. I am thinking more like the next Lindsey Hunter.

Corey Brewer

He’s 6’9’’ with an incredible wingspan and great length. He has “tremendous upside potential.” That’s exactly what we are going to have to hear for the next 3 months or so from everyone that covers the NBA draft. We get it; his stock has risen immensely since the NCAA tournament. How could it not? He showed superior athleticism, played lock down defense and averaged nearly 14 points-per-game.

Best case scenario – The instant nod on Corey Brewer is that he is the next Josh Howard or Tayshaun Prince. This is the most likely scenario you will hear for at least his first two years in the league. I personally think the Prince comparison is bit off, but that’s still to be determined. And I don’t know if I’m sold on the Howard bit…just yet.

Worst case scenario – Darius Miles. This would be the apex of rock bottom for Corey Brewer…it could get no worse. I’d even rank a scenario of being the next Latrell Sprewell a notch above being the next Miles. Yet, we all know Brewer is a winner so neither option seems likely.

Likely scenario – He’s got the potential to arguably be the best out of this foursome. I’d say only Hortford can rival Brewer’s upside. Let’s just say though that Brewer was to add some weight and get his nose flattened out. He very well then could be the next Scottie Pippen right? Similar slashing attributes, similar defensive characteristics with Brewer being the better shooter of the two. It could happen…maybe?

Al Hortford

In all likelihood, Hortford will be the first Gator off the board. And probably deservedly so, he is the most logical instant impact player. His game translates into a regular double-double guy in the league.

Best case scenario – Elton Brand part 2. Hortford should be a quiet, yet solid 15-18 and 10 guy in the league. It’s easy to anoint the next great power forward as Karl Malone, but really that’s just not happening again. Elton Brand is a nice barometer to measure success in terms of the current power forward. Duncan is in a league of his own…so to warrant Duncan in the discussion we’d be saying Hortford will be one of the Top Power Forwards of all-time.

Worst case scenario – Juwan Howard. That isn’t really all that bad if you stop and think about it right? It’s tough to lump Hortford in those standards, but let’s face it not every 6’11” guy that comes into the league dominates right off the bat…just ask Juwan Howard.

Likely scenario – Yup, Elton Brand part 2. Just a solid player, bottom line. I don’t see him becoming a journey man, but I’m also not seeing Dwight Howard part 2.

Joakim Noah

He is listed at 6’10”, but can he really play center in the NBA? He has little if any low post moves and his shooting touch is “god awful.” He had no choice, but to be the ultimate team player and Johnny hustle. Should this be a problem for him since he’s been that way his whole college career? I say of course not.

Best case scenario – The rich man’s Anderson Varejao. This is another comparison that will be beaten like a dead horse and pretty much already has. Similar looks, similar annoyances…the whole nine. Honestly, it’s hard to gage Noah because his barometer for success or failure is high on both ends of the spectrum...we just don’t know. Bill Walton argued the opposite on Friday night’s Cavs game…stating that Noah was and will be much better the Varejao.

Worst case scenario – Mikki Moore or a poor man’s Anderson Varejao. It all depends on how you look at it. For Noah the most important indication of his success will be the team he is on. If he ends up on an elite team that competes deep into the playoffs every year, he will be a commodity. However, if ends up on a team full of half-assers, he is going to spend a long career riding the pine and may very well venture to Europe.

Likely scenario – Bottom Line, Noah is a winner. He has a solid head on his shoulders and will succeed in the NBA. Will he be the next superstar? Probably not. However, one thing is for certain he will hustle and play his ass off and if he lands in the right situation he will play for an NBA Champion. Love him or hate him, you can’t fault his unselfish attitude and energy he brings to the table.

Scoring on Your Own Goal

Before I get to the crux of this post - an idea on how to popularize the beautiful game in the U.S. - I want to ask for some opinions. I cannot decide what to call soccer anymore. I’m not a huge fan of using “soccer”, when it is clearly somewhat offensive to the rest of the world. I can’t deny that we stole the name “football” and tagged it on our own sport instead. I can understand the irritable sentiment, since American football has relatively little to do with the feet and is just a fraction as old; however, I am certainly not about to disrespect our football on account of diplomatic relations. What are the other options? I like “footy,” but I feel like a bit of a poser, since I haven’t really been to any “matches” yet and haven’t closely followed my “side” for too long. So, until further notice, I am sticking with “the beautiful game,” since it seems random enough, but I think we need a better name for us Yanks.

Well, now that I cleared that up, what is this so-called solution that I propose to popularize the beautiful game? For starters, I’ll tell what is not going to work. Trying to muscle into the premiership by buying an established club is a bad idea, i.e., Liverpool, Aston Villa, or Manchester United. How would you like it if Katsuaki Watanabe, the CEO of Toyota, decided to storm in and buy the Boston Red Sox? Would Japanese people all over the world race out to buy tickets and hats? Just because baseball is a potential profit center due to increasing popularity in Japan, does not mean that Japanese fans are interested in having teams owned by their corporate leaders. On the contrary, Japanese baseball fans are interested in the game as they have grown to know it and particularly because their favorite players have assimilated. There’s no need to meddle in an established institution. I do not mean to say that some of these newfound U.S. owners are not capable owners or genuine fans, but I really don’t see this approach boosting popularity of the game in the states.

Alternatively, handpicking a few post-prime stars and plopping them into the broke-ass MLS is a really bad idea. Do you think strapping some skates on Gordie Howe and signing him with a team in St. Petersburg would entice Russian rising stars to forego playing with the world’s top talent, with peak salaries, lucrative advertising clout, and rabid fans in the NHL to play hockey with local Russian teams. I didn’t think so.


The approach that I am suggesting is relatively far-fetched, but feasible as a long shot. I propose that the Premiership allows the U.S. one team to join the league. Now, this does not mean that we are allowed to show up with the U.S. national team, the playing field would have to be fair and compete for talent on the worldwide market. Realistically, this would be a good time for the Premiership to institute a salary cap, because the league seems to need one. Since the formation of the league in 1992, only four teams have won the title and Manchester United has won 8 of 14, since the Premier League became an entity in 1992. If that was not the case, the perceived threat of the U.S. coming in and buying itself an immediate dominating force is not as pertinent as it might seem. Many premier league clubs have the funds to bid for top talent, but the talent market is very competitive no matter how much cash is on hand. It takes time to build a top team.

The tricky part is the actual execution of this ridiculous brainchild. Well, there are two possibilities here. The ideal method would be to simply add the team, expansion style. We could even agree to wear the requisite expansion team green, if need be. If the league were against adding the additional team, there are some heavily debt-burdened smaller clubs, struggling to overcome their financial woes, which could be interested. This would be particularly interesting, as it would likely mean adopting a team in one of the lower 4 leagues below the Premier League and competing our way into the big time. Assuming we could entice a club into this idea, this approach would surely be significantly more complicated. No fans or city are going to give away their club, so perhaps some home matches could be played there and some here. Not an insurmountable hurdle, I don’t think.

Where would we base the club? New York and Miami seem to be the most logical locations as they are very manageable flights to London and they are both popular locations for British travelers. I hardly see the Brits complaining for their annual trip to see their favorite club play in Miami. Likewise, New York is a convenient location with cheap flights and fun nightlife. Plus, everyone has friends they like to visit in New York. In addition, the team could potentially play matches at other stadiums across the country on a periodic basis. Tell me this would not be a blast, when your boys play at Soldier Field once a year.

In order to get this thing to catch on here, we do not need the dumbed down version complete with Jock Jams on the loudspeaker with cheerleaders prancing about. We need to experience the real thing. We want the world famous legends, crazy fans, and of course, singing. Would you pay to see players like Rooney, Henri, and Ronaldo in their prime, in your backyard, and against a team you actually want to win? I would… I think.

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Good Ole Boys

A good rock n' roll band needs a good name. This is a sampling of some great bands I've been listening to lately, which exhibit particularly solid names. I'm talking about the kind of names that embody the sound of the bands. For instance, if you hear the name Pink Floyd, you don't think highway tunes or finger picking. Well, these are some bands that when you hear the name, you have a pretty good idea how they sound. That's how a band name should be chosen. Each one has an accompanying video with one of my favorite of their songs, so check em out. I have a feeling you will like what you hear.

1) Drive By Truckers - This is one of my new favorites. As you might expect, these guys have a pretty gritty southern rock sound, but they are far more versatile than their Skynyrd-eque name predicts. This is a song called, Space City, off of their album, A Blessing and a Curse, which is a true classic. The album meanders from slow somber ballads, rollicking sourthern rock, and hard driving skillful pop songs. As I checked the band's website to write this post, I notice that one of the members, guitar player Jason Isbell, is parting with DBT to pursue a solo career. This is too bad, but the band is staying together. Good luck, Jason.

Apparently, Steve Nash is singing lead in this video. Also, check out the dude with the beard. He looks like he is having a darn good time.


2)Cold War Kids - I think that the Cold War Kids is a perfect name for an indie rock band. This one, Stan has been hyping up for some time and it's definintely well-founded hype. This is a full-scale production video for their big hit single, Hang Me Up to Dry. In fact, the video has almost a million views already, so I'm guessing these guys will be hard pressed to avoid the mainstream in the very near future.


3) Old Crow Medicine Show - I know I have been beating them to death to a degree, but I really like this band. I just can't seem to get enough of theirold-timey, free-spririted bluegrassish sound. I love roaming around the city by myself listening to their O.C.M.S. album. I'm not as big of a fan of their newer release, Big Iron World, but it's definitely still a quality pick up. Old CrowMedicine Show is a perfect name for these guys, because they really personify the old carnival feeling. This is one of my favorite tunes called Wagon Wheel, off O.C.M.S.


Hope you enjoyed the bands. We should have some good sports content coming this week.

Girls Are So Gay

The other day, I was sitting around watching the tube with my girlfriend, when out of leftfield, she exclaims, “Girls are so gay!”

“Say what?”

So, it turns out that she was reading a forwarded email from one of her friends about how much they mean to one another and all that sappy jive. I love how girls all still send the forwarded email chains, but now they just preface it every time like this, “I never send these email forwards anymore, but I just thought this one was really cute.” Well, I read the email and got a funny idea, one of my more ambitious blog adventures to date. I decided to try to convert the girls’ said sappy jive into the male translation. Make no mistake, I would not recommend anyone run out and send this to your buddies – that would end badly, I presume – but it’s a noble effort of a love letter to our friends.

Without further ado, here it is. The standard font is the girls’ original and the italics are the translation.

THIS SAYS IT ALL:

Time passes.
Life happens.
Distance separates.
Children grow up.
Jobs come and go.
Love waxes and wanes.
Men don't do what they're supposed to do.
Hearts break.
Parents die.
Colleagues forget favors.
Careers end.

BUT…

Trans Ams go in and out of style.
Women cut your balls off.
Natural Lights become Pinot Noirs.
Baseball Cards get stashed in the crawl space.
Cubicles suck out your soul and package it in an aerosol can for cleaning keyboards.
Parents Die. Um, why did she say that? Pretty awkward.
Slutbags will cheat on you.
Colleagues get the Swingline and eat all the cake.
We will get fired for blogging at work

BUT…

Sisters are there, no matter how much time and how many miles are between you. A girl friend is never farther away than needing her can reach.

Our homies move 200 miles away and we call each other about every 3 years.

When you have to walk that lonesome valley and you have to walk it by yourself, the women in your life will be on the valley's rim, cheering you on, praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the valley's end.

If you’re friends are out of town and you find yourself drinking alone, attempting to talk hoops with the alcoholic guy next to you, you can send me a text message. I’ll always reply in a timely manner.

Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk beside you...Or come in and carry you out.

Periodically, we might have to travel to another town for work and we’ll go on a bender. We’ll make sure our friends wake up in time for work if they stay over at our place though.

Girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters, daughters-in-law, sisters, sisters-in-law, Mothers, Grandmothers, aunts, nieces, cousins, and extended family, all bless our life

We’ll probably miss one out of every three important sporting events for untimely obligations with the in-laws and never stop bitching about it.

The world wouldn't be the same without women, and neither would I. When we began this adventure called womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we would need each other.

Man, we are old. I can’t believe everyone is getting married now and talking about kids and shit. It’s going to be fun to see if our kids are friends though. Yours are going to throw like girls I bet.

Every day, we need each other still. Pass this on to all the women who help make your life meaningful. I just did. Short and very sweet.

Well, we’re certainly not as lame as our female counterparts or require the constant attention, but our boys are always our boys, no matter how little we keep in touch. It’s been one hell of a run.

One Timers - April 6th, 2007

Wait a second, Kevin Arnold wasn’t cool? Growing up, I always put Kevin Arnold on the same plane as Chris Chambers, kid brother to Eyeball Chambers, super cool. I even got my first pair of Chuck Taylors because of Kevin Arnold. Well, I experienced this terrible realization last night that I was way off. The ION network, whatever that is, picked up the Wonder Years and I was treated to a classic episode last night. It was the one where Kevin and Paul have the campout with the bad kid and they drink tallboys and smoke cigarettes. Before long, Pfeiffer gets buzzed up and suggests they go do something, so they go out to explore the storm drain. Needless to say, Kevin and pall piss themselves and bolt home to Kevin’s parents. So, I started thinking about it and recognized that the whole point of the show was that Kevin was struggling with a dweeby adolescence. How did I miss that? Let’s look at the signs…Complete with bullet points.

· Kevin’s dad called him out to his hot teacher, Miss White, that he played Winnie the Pooh and his costume split open and his junk was exposed to the entire audience.
· Winnie was really not that cute, but rather more of a nerd, especially after she lost her contact lens and was forced to wear the goofy pink glasses. When Winnie does blossom into her full hotness, she ditches Kevin for the ultra cool upperclassman, Kirk.
· Kevin’s best friend is Paul, not exactly the king of cool. To make matters worse, Paul royally sucks at basketball, but pulls out victories against Kevin.
· Kevin gets dusted for another guy when he asks Lisa to the dance.
· He craps the pool at the make out party with Winnie.
· Desperate to up his coolness quotient, Kevin turns against his better judgment and begins bashing on his friends in the school yearbook club to impress the popular kids. Oink, Oink.

On another note, the Wonder Years was one of few shows or movies that made quality use of hippies. I always felt, Karen Arnold was a pretty good portrayal of a hippie by the media. The best usage ever was clearly Dazed and Confused, while Fast Times at Ridgemont High obviously gets an honorable mention. Another grossly underrated rated source of quality hippies was the short-lived television show, Freaks and Geeks. This is an underused source of endless comedy and amusement. Far to often, movies and television shows utilize the caricature of the hippie, like Travis Birkenstock in Clueless. This is so annoying, give us legit hippies who drop acid and smoke good weed. I hate when they try to do the whole “Whoa Dude” thing. Drives me nuts.

Watching 24, I noticed that I am annoyed with the show based on the annoyingness level of the characters. Then it dawned on me, while I genuinely hate these evil bastards, I should really be appreciating them for achieving such an impressive level of annoyingness. So, is it better to just hate or like them for their hateability? (Note to self: best hateable characters ever, good topic)

Also, I love that Rick Schroeder joined CTU. It gives me endless joy to continually crack jokes like, “Chloe, get Alphonso on the line. Alphonso, we need to set up a Tac team and get to the hideout in the Mohave Desert. Let’s go, we’ll take my train.”

I am hereby renouncing my hater status on Joakim Noah. He was a classic case of too much publicity getting the best of me. Having watched his efforts throughout the tourney, I realize this guy is exactly what I want on the Pistons, and just in the NBA for that matter. He brings such an amazing level of energy to the game; the NBA is not going to know what hit it. He’s constantly hustling, boxing out, sneaking in for rebounds, racing back on D, and just playing real basketball. I just do not see him down shifting three gears to NBA speed and I think it will be a great thing for the league. He plays like a guys who sucks and just wants to stay on the court so badly that they will do every little extra thing they can to make up for their broke ass game. I apologize for my inaccurate hating.

Finally, I totally agree with the assessments, by the Flyers Fieldhouse and Lt. Winslow, that Candace Parker is kinda hot. Check it out.

Well, enjoy the weekend yalls. Hopefully, you have a long one like me. No pun intended.

Man Crush: Corey Brewer

Corey Brewer is my new favorite player. To simply state he is the man, is not even giving the man his props. He will guard you and take the fucking ball away from you. He will make you guard him and shoot a three pointer right in your fucking eye. He will slash and attack the basket like a mother fucking predator.

Ron Lewis couldn’t stop him, Daquan Cook couldn’t stop him, Ivan Harris couldn’t stop him, a “zone” sure as hell couldn’t stop him and you sure as shit couldn’t stop him either. He put the clamps on Mike Conley Jr. when it was needed most. He also buried UCLA on Saturday with numerous 3-point daggers and put the clamps on Aaron Afflalo, as well as got him into foul trouble.

And he picked up right where he left off on Monday night in route to 11 first half points in the National Championship game. Aside from just the barrage from beyond the arc he displayed during the Final Four, he showcased his freakish athleticism, lock down defense and dazzled us with far too many “wow” or “did you just fucking see that” moments.

Along the way I couldn’t help, but develop a man crush on Corey Brewer. As much as I remain neutral or impartial to Florida as a team, I can’t remain neutral on Brewer. He was nothing short of dominating. And I couldn’t help, but gravitate towards him becoming a new found favorite of mine.

And yes, I did predict he would be the Most Outstanding Player of this tournament, but who is keeping track? At least I'm not alone in my Corey Brewer infatuation. Just listen to the flattery from Reece, Jay, Dick and Digger.

Reece: The Gators were able to hold off Ohio State for back-2-back Championships and our “Gameday” crew is here to breakdown the Champs and the MOP Corey Brewer.

Bilas: Corey Brewer has tremendous wingspan. He gets after the ball like a hawk and can really frustrate an opponent with his exponential length.

Vitale: I’ll tell ‘ya when you are talking about Mr. Brewer and what he does on the floor, the kid can flat out play.

Phelps: He really comes at you from every angle.

Bilas: He really gets after you and just I love his length.

Phelps: Corey Brewer knows when to attack and how to get in the seam of a defense.

Vitale: I'll tell you what...Mr. Brewer came to Atlanta on a mission. M-I-S-S-I-O-N; with a capital “M.” And folks he accomplished that mission tonight. When you’re talking about performances that won’t be denied, you have to tip your hat to Mr. Oden, but in the end it was Corey Brewer and the Florida Gators cutting down the nets.

Bilas: I felt he played tremendous defense in the UCLA game against Aaron Afflalo and gave Mike Conley Jr. fits with his ball pressure and length at times tonight.

Phelps: His ability to shoot the open jumper and attack his man off the dribble was the difference for Florida in this tournament.

Vitale: The kid can flat out shoot the rock.

Bilas: Ooh, his ball pressure and length.

Phelps: Corey Brewer just wouldn’t be denied.

Vitale: He was sensational.

Bilas: That length is what separates him.

Vitale: Scintillating.

Phelps: Too much Brewer.

Bilas: Ball pressure and length.

Vitale: Super-Duper.

Bilas: Ball Pressure.

Phelps: Oh, those arms.

Bilas: 6’8” with a 7’2” wingspan. Tremendous upside potential.

Vitale: The three D’s: Determination. Dedication. Desire.

Phelps: Attacking.

Bilas: Extraordinary length and upside.

Vitale: Experience, experience, experience.

Reece: OK, shut the fuck up already…enough with the god damn adjectives. I can’t take anymore of you guys. Jay, why don’t you take that ball pressure…to your fucking mouth. Dick, I don’t have enough time to even begin with you…get a fucking thesaurus. And Digger, nice fucking highlighter…A+ for matching a fucking highlighter with a god damn tie!!! I quit…send me back to Women’s Basketball.

(PRODUCERS CUT)

Cubs Opening Day: There is “NO” God.

Remember the scene in Caddyshack where Bishop Bickering is playing the round of his life in the middle of a pouring rainstorm? I shouldn’t under any circumstances have to rehash this scene for anyone. Anyhow, the Bishop’s day ended on a sour note with him missing a putt that would’ve secured his best round of golf ever and then by his own misfortune he was zapped by a bolt of lightning.

He was never quite the same after that day and it wasn’t because of the lightning impact. No, it was because he missed that fucking putt and saw his window of opportunity slam shut. And there was no longer a feeling of hope.

For many a Cubs fan that seems to be what it’s been like since the 2003 NLCS. The stars were aligned and we were so fucking close, but unfortunately we missed the fucking putt and for the past 3 seasons it seems as though we’ve been wandering around just as shell-shocked. Yup, kind of like Bishop Bickering. “There is NO God!”

You’ve probably heard Cubs fans talk about “hope” or use the cliché “this could be the year.” The aspirations are pretty fucking basic every spring; World Series or bust. And with the off-season moves and budding optimism, this spring is no different.

There is a notion that most Cubs fans are either hopeless perpetual optimists or dire perpetual pessimists by nature. Some of us just “believe” way too much, while others come out of the gates in April with “the glass is half empty” mentality.

We should all just relax for it is only April. And generally this is the best time of the year to be a Cubs fan. The dream is still alive and there is always a dash of hope, belief and optimism in the cupboard. These feelings tend to not evaporate until at least mid-July or August.

Today was opening day and the Cubs gave little reason for us to believe this year is going to be any different. Granted nobody is ready to jump off the bridge after losing 5-1 to the Reds, but we sure aren't that enthusiastic about Ted Lilly's start tomorrow.

On the mound today was Carlos; Carlos Zambrano. It works better if you sing it to the tune of “Copa Copacabana.” Try it out loud for yourself. Carlos, Carlos Zambrano…Carlos, Carlos Zambrano. Nope, you’re not feeling it? Ok, let’s move on.

Anyhow, Big "Z" is our ace, yet he hardly looked the part today. He struggled with his command and managed to churn out close to 100 pitches in 5 innings, while giving up 5 earned runs (including two Adam Dunn Homers). Perhaps, we should fear that Big “Z” will get fat and happy with his impending new contract (both figuratively and literally).

I know it’s only 1 game and it’s only the first game, but I personally am a little scared. The line-up once again appears as though it is going to have to rely heavily on the occasional 2 or 3-Run "jacks." I fear that they lack the hit and run capabilities to manufacture runs, a negative trademark from the past 3 years.

Right, let's not get carried away with simply one game...self-reminder: it's only fucking April.

This season is sure to be filled with peaks of optimism, as well as bowels of pessimism. Yet, that is the manic life of being a Cubs fan. Personally, I am have a little trouble convincing myself that this is anything other than the first $300 million dollar 4th place team. And I worry about another summer with a case of the “woulda-coulda-shoulda’s.”

Ah yes, the epitome and agony of mediocrity. Either way, I’m going to be a bit delusional all season. I’m still feeling the after effects of missing that damn putt and of course the bolt of lightning. Until the Cubs have that putt lined up again…I am going to be skeptical.

And today’s opening day showing really gave no persuasion for me to think otherwise. Until further notice, “there is NO god.” Yet, I still can't wait for tomorrow's game.

The Yanks Opening Day with Someone Who Doesn’t Care

, Every now and again luck deals you a hand that is just too good to be true. I got dealt one of those hands today. I had jury duty today and have to leave for Beantown tomorrow, so I couldn’t perform my duty, because you have to attend at least 2 consecutive days. So basically, I had to take the day off from work only to go to the courthouse and postpone it. In other words, I’m sitting on my couch watching baseball, while I am supposedly “working from home.”

Much to my dismay, the Tigers are playing a day game at Comerica today, but it’s not televised in New York. Instead, I’ll offer up an unbiased opinion on one of this years’ leading contenders to win the series, the dumb Yankees. I feel a little guilty, since in an email before the Yankees-Tigers ALCS series, I actually taunted my friends, saying, “I hope the Yankees’ plane crashes.” Of course, you know what happened next. Sorry.

Well, the big stories around New York this preseason are pretty contrived. It’s basically the same old song and dance. Can ____ handle the pressure of being the go to guy in New York? In case you haven’t heard, New York fans are among the most ruthless fans in sports, along with Red Sox fans. The A-Rod thing has been beaten to death. Carl Pavano is getting the start for opening day, having not pitched since mid-2005. We get it; he has to prove himself. I even read a story about Mariano Rivera changing lockers. Who gives a shit?

Well, here we go. It’s not a nice day, about 60 degrees, but gray and gloomy as can be. I’m watching the game on YES and it didn’t take long for a zinger from the booth. “The great thing about strikeouts is that runners do not advance.”

Yes! A-Rod just got his first error. He flubbed a pop-up foul off third base and looked like a total clown. It looked like he lost it in the sun, but there is no sun. Gasp, there’s so much fucking pressure.

The offense is off to a good start. Damon got on with a lead off single to right followed by Abreu singling to left-center. Look who it is, A-Rod. Yes! Strike out. Bring on the booing. Both runners stole on A-Rod’s K and Giambi just followed up with a single. The Devil Rays are already falling apart. Supposedly, Kazmir has the Yankees’ number, but you wouldn’t know it today. He just threw 35 pitches in the first inning. If he’s still in in the fourth I would be surprised. This is bringing back anxiety from the ALCS already. I forgot how lethal the Yankees lineup is from top to bottom. There are really no holes, which is just annoying to watch if you are rooting against them.

Wow. Jeter just scooped an easy grounder and essentially rolled it to first and committed an error. This defense is off to an embarrassing start. Also, we now know that the YES network is the only network with super-slow-mo, which is meant to differentiate them from the competition. Correction, make that HD super-slow-mo.

Carl Pavano’s face cracks me up when he’s checking the signs from Posada. I think he’s just squinting, but it looks like he’s saying, “Jorge what the fuck are you talking about?” Speaking of Posada, he just opened up the bottom of the third with a blast into the right field seats. 3-1 Yanks.

Well, call me clairvoyant, but we just saw Kazmir get a chat at the mound. Will the prediction hold or will he make it out of the fourth? Does he use Led Zeppelin's Kashmir for his warm up music? Well, he got out of the inning, so I'll stop my gloating. He is screwed though with 84 pitches through four innings.

Back on the other side, the Devil Rays came out swinging in the fifth. Elijah Dukes knocked his first major league home run with a leadoff dinger. B.J. upton followed with a single and a theft. Carl Crawford singles to right, and Phelps grabs the cutoff throw and whips it into center field for another error. It looks like the story developing here is that the Yankees are blowing this game on defense. The offense looks fine, but costly errors are killing them. Pavano gets yanked and finishes with 3 earned runs. All in all a satisfactory return, but not enough to silence critics yet, so expect to hear this story beaten to death for a few more weeks.

Alright, things are heating up in the bottom of the sixth. Kazmir finally got yanked after what turned out to be six solid innings. A couple singles and a really well laid bunt by Mientkiewicz and the bases are loaded for Jeter. Here we go, the count is 3-1 with the bases loaded.... Basehit up the middle. Tied at five.

It has gotten interesting. The Yankees ran away with another one in the sixth and added one in the seventh and two in the eighth. Giambi looked great, with a nice clutch slap through the infield to knock in an RBI, his third on the day. A-Rod did something right too. He singled and stole a base and later homered. Overall, the Yankees had nine hitters on the day.

Rivera's effort in the ninth was magic. Mariano is one MLB player who undertands the importance of the bullpen song. He has been coming in to Metallica's Enter Sandman for 10+ years and it is one of the most intimidating bullpen songs in sports. Personally, I would change it up a little. As you may know, I like to talk about the untapped potential that music can play in these situations. For Rivera, I would come out for opening day with the first 2 minutes of Zeppelin's the Song Remains the Same. It's all instruental, but speaks volumes. Basically, he'd be saying, "Look, I've been doing this for years and I'm still goiong to come out and blank you guys." Anyway, Rivera walked in, struck out the side in the top of the ninth and that was all she wrote. Not only did he strike out the side, but I don't think he even cracked a single facial expression.

My thoughts on the Yankees are that they look as solid, but not as intimidating as in recent years. The pitching is obviously the question, but they put up nine seemingly effortless runs, so the support won't be a problem. As for chemistry, didn't see it. The fans seemed a little complacent for opening day and there wasn't a lot of emotion in the dugout, or at least that I saw. This will be something to watch throughout the course of the season.

As for the Devil Rays, I like the looks of Elijah Dukes for the Devil Rays. He looks like an athletic center fielder and it was exciting to see him hit his first homer at Yankee Stadium. I'll keep him in mind for fantasy ball. The TB pitching looks really bad. I think they will lose most games where their starters can't go deep into the game.

Well, that concludes our broadcast day. Until next time...

The Last Bullets: One Shining Moment

“The ball is tipped
and there you are
you're running for your life
you're a shooting star
And all the years
no one knows
just how hard you worked
but now it shows...
IN ONE SHINING MOMENT,
IT'S ALL ON THE LINE
ONE SHINING MOMENT,
THERE FROZEN IN TIME”

Ah yes, those beautiful lyrics written by David Barret in 1986 that have since become synonymous with CBS’s presentation of March Madness. It means so much to so many; so honest and so pure in nature since being adapted and harmonized by many of the great soul and R&B singers of our time, like Pebro Bryson and Teddy Pendegrass.

The brilliance and recreation of that very song is equally as captivating as it is emotional. The images depicted are indicative of the tribulation and perseverance that each team has gone through, with their hopes of achieving the ultimate goal, the National Championship. There is simply no better montage in all of sports.

And on the eve of this annual “Springs” night tradition I must offer a warm thank you to the folks over at “The Morning After” for tracking down the lasting images of “One Shining Moments” past. If you haven’t seen this act of brilliance through the splendor of youtube, I beckon you to do so now. Kudos on your work TMASTC.

It has helped to conjure up the many fond memories from back in 2000. That was the same year my beloved Michigan State Spartans marched to the title on an unforgettable night in April. I still hear the echoes of Mateen Cleaves saying: “It feel GOOOOOOOD!!!!” This of course was in response to Jim Nantz asking Mateen how the sprained ankle felt. Teddy Dupay…you are still a fucking punk.

Anyhow, I’ll never forget…it never gets old. I forgot a lot of things from that night, like so many other proud Spartans that stumbled the streets and campus in a drunken slumber. However, I will never forget watching the “One Shining Moment” montage. And watching that old clip just brought me back.

Yet, for many of us not blessed with the athletic ability to complete on such a stage, we are forced to live vicariously through our favorite team’s quest. However, once in a great while we are dealt a great hand to do even more. To share in our own “One Shining Moment”, to be a part of something more, to enjoy the comrade of our own team, to persevere through our own Championship quest.

Yes, I’m talking about recreational Sports leagues.

These are the leagues that make it easy for grown men to compete and create their own glory. Who’s to say it’s fair to cut somebody’s dreams off just after high school or college has passed them by? I agree; the foundation of competition that thrives in the hearts of many a man can’t be turned off like a light switch. That craving will never go away and really is that a bad thing?

Isn’t it funny sometimes how time just seems to pass us by, while we are standing still? I know; I know…a big show of hand claps for another profound cliché of mine, you’re welcome. Anyhow, for me and a group of buddies the memories and the pain still linger from our own fateful night back in 2002. It seems like only yesterday, but it was back then that we were so close to our very own…One Shining Moment.

Let me take you through it if you will…

We had just given up what we felt was an insurmountable lead of 15 points with a little over 5 minutes left in the game. We were suddenly no longer in the driver’s seat to win the North Clairemount Recreational League Title. Those visions and plans I had of actually cutting down the nets had become obsolete. I was no longer hearing the chorus to “One Shining Moment” ringing in my head. All joy in this moment had evaporated.

Trailing by 2 points with 4 seconds on the clock we retreated to take our final timeout. Instead of having a formal game plan or idea, we all just agreed to take a shot if we touched the ball. We all must have looked as if we had seen a ghost, but were ready to make one last attempt at glory. The inbound pass came to me immediately and for a split second I saw an open lane that I could have drove to possibly tie the game and send it to overtime.

However, I used my conscience and pulled back to the three point line. I gave a small pump fake and was greeted by two defenders who clearly hacked the shit out of me, but still managed to get off a clean look at the rim. The ball scraped over the back end of the rim and the clock hit zero. I pleaded for a foul call, but realized there wasn’t going to be any offered. Probably a good thing, I may have missed the free throws anyhow.

Our chance; our moment was gone. Time had passed us by. One by one we left the gym and went our separate ways. That was the last time the original members of that particular team ever played a game together. I tried several more times with different players and in different leagues, but nothing was quite similar to that remarkable run. Nothing was redeeming enough for recovery after that collapse.

I still don’t know why, but the 2nd place Trophy remains on display in my garage. We have all pretty much moved on and forgotten about that league. However, from time to time we still talk about that game over adult sodas, but it doesn’t mean as much as it once did. Nonetheless, that Trophy still haunts me everyday I see it, as I reminder of how we let our “One Shining Moment” slip through the cracks.

And so tonight, who will have their moment? Will somebody watch their dreams slip away as my buddies and I did back in 2002? Am I insane for comparing a recreational basketball league in terms of magnitude to the NCAA Championship game? Yes, of course I am.

This will be either Florida or Ohio State's moment in time tonight. The winner will become a mainstay in youtube history, as their “One Shining Moment” will be depicted in lasting images. Five, maybe ten years from now, perhaps Joakim Noah or Greg Oden will feel as if time is just passing them by.

Oden probably feels that way everyday he looks in the mirror, but anyway.

Regardless, they can always turn to this moment in time and relive it all through the art of the Internet. As most Champions always say: “They can never take this away from us, they can never take this away from us.” So cliché, but yes absolutely true…we will never be able to take the 2007 National Championship away from the Florida Gators.

Too much of a good thing for the Gators. Too much of an uncertainty at times for Ohio State. Although, I love Conley...he is brilliant. However, in the end just too much Corey Brewer - MOP(who is going to match up with him?), too much Noah and Horford down low and of course too much Richard off the bench.

Florida 78
Ohio State 68

And for the record fuck both schools for making it to the National Championship in both Football and Basketball. I'm sure this angle will get beaten to death by the tip of this game, but again fuck them both.

Now go ahead and sing it to yourselves ...

“Feel the beat of your heart
feel the wind in your face
it's more than a contest it's more than a race...
And when it's done win or lose
you always did your best cuz inside you knew...
(that) ONE SHINING MOMENT,
YOU REACHED FOR THE SKY
ONE SHINING MOMENT,
YOU KNEW ONE SHINING MOMENT,
YOU WERE WILLING TO TRY ONE SHINING MOMENT....”

The Legend of Frank-Tom-Car

With opening day looming, I started daydreaming a lot this weekend about the prime of my baseball fan hood. For me, this occurred in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, which were the years between 4th and 8th grade. Only one thing in life mattered during this period and relative to other things I’ve gone haywire over the years, I don’t know if anything has ever mattered this much. It wasn’t about girls. It wasn’t parties. And it certainly wasn’t school. Still guessing? It was baseball cards. Perhaps my memory is a bit jaded, but I remember my friends and I, not as kids who collected cards to get our hands on our favorite players from our favorite team or liked the chewing gum, but rather more akin to ruthless stock traders in the pit, wheeling and dealing like Gordon Gecko. This was serious stuff.

The year was 1990 and we were experiencing the transformation of the sports card world, as the tides were shifting away from the big three, Topps, Donruss, and Fleer in favor of the premium brand. In retrospect, this was the beginning of the end for the whole thing, but at the time we were ready to make the switch from Popov to Grey Goose. We wanted the good stuff. We got our first taste with the inaugural season of Upper Deck in 1989, particularly when my closest comrade in the card game got a box of unopened packs for his birthday and came out with 6 Griffeys. That was when the Leaf series came out in 1990. This was serious. Who was going to be the kingpin who could land the coveted Frank Thomas rookie card?

If my memory serves me correctly, packs of the first season of Leaf cards did not really penetrate our card stores early on in the season, but once the Becketts started valuing the Frank Thomas and Sammy Sosa rookies in the stratosphere, they started showing up. The problem was, they were selling for around $12 to $15 a pack. Are your serious? I remember thinking I was going to be all over those things as soon as I found them, but realizing jaw-dropping shock when I saw the price of the packs. It was devastating. We never really got to try our hand at getting the Big Hurt in a pack, because we were too late.

Well, that season came and went, but when the ‘91 Leaf packs came out, we were ready. We found a random alterations shop owned by a Korean family called Soo Sun’s where strangely, the father was a card fanatic. He sold packs of the best stuff around on a little counter by the window. Unfortunately for Mr. Sun, he should not have been playing in our league. He didn’t even know that you could feel the ridges of a gold Leaf rookie through the pack or that you could see through packs of the first season of NBA Hoops packs. He used to watch us massage the Leaf packs thinking we were crazy and I truly did find a David Robinson rookie through a pack. I still have it today. Well, we got to know the proprietor of this shop over time and he invited us to come to his other place of business. He operated a flea market in a relatively dodgy part of town. This is where his real operation went down. Every Wednesday, he would hold a live sports card auction, where the who’s who of card collectors came to meet. My brother and I nagged my dad for weeks to take us to this auction and like all good parents, he got sick of us annoying him and took us to the big show.

We arrived at the auction and were shocked and awed by the nonsense. The place was packed and full-grown men haggled over older cards that meant more to them for nostalgic reasons. Don’t get me wrong, I loved collecting older cards as well, but we were more interested in the new stuff at the time. We did notice that in his case was a box of the 1990 Leaf wax packs. My dad must have seen us coveting them in a way that he hadn’t seen before, because without us asking, he bought my brother and I a pack for $15 bucks. I could not believe it. This is the same guy who still skis a pair of K2s from the seventies, because he claims they don’t make them as well anymore.

We decided we wanted to open the pack in the car on the way home, so we hopped in the mini van. It dawned on me right then that there is a pretty good chance we got scammed. I mean a fifteen-dollar wax pack at a random flea market? As my paranoia built, I noticed the back looked like it had a lot of glue, an uncharacteristic amount of glue. Damnit, we got conned. Regardless, we both grabbed a flap and peeled it open carefully. It was almost like the Charlie and the Buckets opening Charlie’s Wonka Bar on his birthday reeling with anticipation. As we flipped through the cards, morale was lower than low. Common. Common. Common. Common. Fuck. Common. Common. You must be kidding. Common. BOOM! Oh my God, Holy Shit. We got it. I think all of the weight in my body disappeared when I saw it. I absolutely could not believe my eyes. We got the Frank Thomas that we had wanted for so long.

My brother and I were bouncing of the ceiling of the minivan screaming and cheering. You’ll have to excuse us for being little bastards, but we went bananas, screaming in our best Korean accents, “We got the Frank Tom Car, Oh, we got the Frank Tom Car!” What a day. Thanks Mr. Sun for a great memory.