Point & Counterpoint: Who Is Going To Win This Series?

Here we go again...it's "the dueling blogger" battle once again. In our continued effort of wall to wall coverage of the Pistons/Cavs series, we opted to collaborate with our fellow contributor and Cleveland diehard fan, McBain. He has been supporting the Cavs to the utmost and providing his own wall-to-wall coverage at The Flyers Fieldhouse.

In any event he opted to be the good sport and battle out the taunts with Rupert and I. And let's be honest...why would he not? The Cavs are for real and maybe us Piston fans are a little worried...well, maybe. So without further ado...

Rupert: For starters, what you have deemed "LeBron's Sneer" is actually nothing more than the Piston's getting under his skin. Sure, it's a scary face any way which way you slice it, but look for The Bron's emotions to get the better of him in game 5.

McBain: I take the LeBron sneer a completely different way. I equate it to Singletary's eyes darting across the backfield, which can only mean one thing: Somebody is about to get Owned. I feel like he's finally found his identity in this series, picking his spots to perfection. He looks to be in a nice little groove right now where he doesn't necessarily need to force, but has that sixth sense that tells him when it's time to take over.

Rupert: Perhaps, if Mike Singletary changed his name to Naomi Campbell, you might be on to something. I expect to see LeBron emotionally implode like Russell Crowe at the Mercer Hotel.

Moving on, the Pistons will bring the energy in game 5. We've seen this time and time again. The Pistons have not led 3-1 in the playoffs in their last ten series, yet they won 8 of them. Additionally, the Pistons are 18-0 in series where they win games 1 and 2, while the Cavs are 0-10 in series where they lose games 1 and 2 (thanks). Do the math. Well, I guess I just did the math, but you get the point. The Pistons are simply not going to allow clowns like Gooden, Varejao, and Gibson run wild. Flip will listen to the noise from the media and fans and give Maxiell the minutes he deserves, Chauncey will start trying again, and the Palace fans will give the Stones the extra boost.

McBain: Flip Saunders making the right move? Has this happened yet? I'm just confused by that sentence. We all can see that Maxiell should get Webber's minutes, but there's no way it happens. I expect to see C-Webb stumbling around like he has Forrest Gump's braces on his legs again tomorrow night.

Stan: The Pistons will win because somebody (possibly the Turd) will secretly go Tonya Harding on old glass knee's and Webber will be forced to watch the game and series from the sidelines. With Webber no longer a liability, Maxiell gets tons of minutes. Chauncey stops talking and starts playing. We put to defensive force field on the smirking little punk Gibson. He slowly trifles back down to reality. Flip realizes we can't stop LeBron so we let LeBron score 40, but his teammates... Well that's another story.

McBain: The thing with Chauncey is we've been waiting for two years to turn it on and emerge as Mr. Big Shot against the Cavs. Isn't two years enough to indicate that perhaps he just isn't comfortable playing against us? I mean, the Cavs are an absolute defensive nightmare. What they lack in instinct they make up for in spades with Mike Brown's scheme and unbelievable length. I just don't see Chauncey getting it going like we're used to seeing. He may get the points, but you'll also have the turnovers (or vice versa).

Stan: As for Rasheed well...we will tell him it's Duke '95 all over again and that Z is really Cherokee Parks. Enter the tea bag. El Sheedo elevates his game to another level, as he'd done so already in Games 1 and 2.

McBain: Daniel Gibson is a rookie no more. We've seen what he can do all season long when given the chance. I'm not calling for him to keep putting up 21, but with Larry Hughes (presumbaly, and thankfully) down, he can fill in ably on both ends of the floor. The most important thing? He's got that swagger. You can't teach that.

Rupert: I'll see your swagger and raise you some sass. Let me introduce you a little something we Detroit fans like to call the Automotion. Um, maybe we should just move on.

In all seriousness, Chauncey may or may not be comfortable against the Cavs - or their double teams - but he has something in the neighborhood of $12 million smackers a year riding on the rest of this series. If Billups doesn't come up with a performance in the rest of this series, the dreaded "age" topic will undoubtedly arise.

Also, call me a contrarian here, but I expect my long time hero Chris Webber (I was young, cut me some slack) to come up big at home. I think Webber wants this championship more than anyone out here and while I agree that Maxiell derserves a handful or two of his minutes, he's one of the best passers in big guy history. Prosthetics aside, Webber will rise to the occasion and make some key plays to contribute to a big win in game 5.

All: Well, regardless of the outcome of the Eastern Conference Finals, we can all agree on one thing: we have had it with the Spurs and the rest of those Western Conferrence whipper-snappers. So, whoever comes out ahead and advances to the Finals will be all of our favorites to take home the title. Cheers.

The Battle for the East: Everyone has an Opinion.

The problem with this whole series has been the media. We’re living in a Sports bubble that loves for us to jump to conclusions. If you recall, Cleveland wasn't supposed to have a chance in this series, which in and of itself was highly erroneous. Was Detroit really that much better? Absolutely not, but still many predicted a Detroit sweep.

For me personally, I felt that this Piston team was anything, but memorable and dominant like the '04 Title team. Yet, once they jumped (and they hardly jumped) out to the 2-0 lead in the series; columnists, chat rooms, bloggers and us fans alike were putting the finishing touches on the Cavs gravestone. Again, we couldn’t have rushed to a false assumption any quicker.

The shift in focus moved from Detroit winning two extremely close games to LeBron James being a mortal failure. Yes, a 22 year old with such upside and skill had failed us all on so many accounts by passing the ball instead of taking the shot and then not finishing the shot when he had the chance. Fools, how could we not realize that LeBron would never again reach these defining points in his career?

We all simply should've reminded ourselves he still is only 22 years old, but still the backlash towards LeBron just not being able to “Rise Up” to the challenge of the Pistons was shoved in our faces by anyone with a pen. Then came LeBron and his revenge in Games 3 & 4. And then we once again anointed him as the “end-all” savior.

Yet now, we are all looking for shovels, but this time it's for the Pistons. And so after two games in Detroit and two games in Cleveland we are knotted at 2 games a piece. Yet, the Pistons are the team without any hope? They are lifeless and they are old…this series now belongs to the Cavs?

Come on, where is this stuff coming from? If you don’t believe me, follow the Cleveland Blogs, the Detroit Blogs, the chat rooms, the Free Press, the Plain Dealer…it’s all there to see. The manic coverage of this series is maddening. It’s been one extreme after another and everyone is afraid to accept this series for what it is at face value.

This has been an often ugly battle between two good teams where none of the games have been blowouts and no game had been decided until late in the 4th quarter. It could’ve gone either way and has. You read Detroit fans (I’m not one of them) saying, “Oh, we just haven’t played well.” And then you have Cavs fans claiming “We should have already one the series.”

Get over it. This series is tied, because it’s been a highly contested and even series. The problem is all of us, mainly the media, hopping from one extreme to the next. Not to disrespect the Cavs, but if this was vintage Pistons/Celtics they'd be talking about what a classic series this was.

Game 5 is huge. If the Pistons win…immediately, I’m sure the Cavs will be pronounced dead…let’s all just relax and enjoy this series. It’s been labeled as boring to everybody else, but why let that bother us? And I'm talking to both Piston and Cavs fans. It's going to be fun tonight, but remember this has been back and forth...so let's not jump off the bridge, regardless of the outcome. Promise?

Well anyhow...GO PISTONS!!!

Get Over the Hump

Patience. There is no need to panic…none at all.

Did we really think this was going to be any different? How soon we forget being down 3-2 to the Nets in 2004. And of course also being tied 2-2 with the Pacers that same year and not having the benefit of home court? Or how about when we were down 3-2 against Miami with a Game 7 on the road in 2005? Has it ever been easy?

“If it ain’t rough, it ain’t right.” And yet, somehow we all seem to forget this characteristic about this team. Lord only knows why, but this team loves to pigeon hole itself. It loves to stage a war; it loves to create an “us vs. the world” attitude. It’s how they survive.

And yet after two lackluster games in Cleveland, where LeBron was simply brilliant, the bandwagon is losing steam. Weren’t we in this same spot last season? Where is the wake up call already though? Because what these Pistons wanted…they’ve gotten. It is them against the world. Everyone has become “witnesses” and are thus adopted Cavs fans for the time being.

I watched Game 3 at a bar in Santa Monica, CA and unless the Cleveland transplant ratio has tripled in volume in the Los Angeles area…it’s safe to say who the general public is siding with. And it’s no less obvious who the NBA would love to see advance to the NBA Finals. Yet, the Pistons know these things…they thrive on these things…should we expect it to be any different?

Not really, but some things certainly have to change in order for the Pistons to rightfully change the complexion of this series, as it should be. Enough excuses and enough of the typical Piston theme, “we came out sluggish” or “we didn’t have the normal sense of urgency.” That shit, ain’t gonna fly anymore, because facts are facts…these Pistons aren’t as good as they once were. They learned that lesson the hard way last year, so unless they own up…they are going to learn it again this year.

Going into Game 5 observations/changes…

Glass Knees has to meet the Bench.

Sorry C-Webb, but if these Pistons are to make it back to the Finals and possibly compete for a ring, you’re going to have to be a spectator. We simply can’t afford to have him start let alone get any minutes in this series. If you couldn’t see the trend developing against Chicago, then shame on you. Tough love, but this is the only way it’s going to work; C-Webb is going to have to be a cheerleader.

This simply means we need to split his minutes with Maxiell and McDyess (starter). They bring quickness and energy to the table, something “glass knees” lost when he sold his soul to Ed Martin.

Chauncey had better snap out of this…or screw the contract.

First off, there is no reason Daniel Gibson is becoming a household name in this series. Trust me, I watched the kid play at Texas and laughed at the notion of him leaving for the NBA. We keep waiting for the Pistons to make the adjustment to relegate him back to reality, but it’s just not happening.

Now for the funk that Chauncey is in, umm – your contract is on the line “Mr. Big Shot.” I had a glorious dream last night that Dumars suckered the Hawks into a sign-and-trade of Billups, the #15 and #27 pick for the #3 pick in the draft. Hence, we got to hand over the keys to Mike Conley Jr., but then I woke up and it was only a dream.

Here is an idea…we are getting no friggin’ assists…it’s all one-on-one. Who’s to blame for that, yup our point guard and that’s gotta change ASAP.

Drew “fucking” Gooden?

Come on…let me repeat that for you…Drew “fucking” Gooden. Put a body on him and he is null and void. He wouldn’t start on most teams in the league, so how about you end this little party before it gets out of hand. Not even David Stern really wants to see Drew Gooden…umm “rise up.” And for fuck sake, somebody shave the pubic growth on the back of his head. I don’t care if he lost a bet…its gots-ta-go.

Let LeBron beat you with his scoring and only his scoring.

Sure, LeBron has been a torch in the 4th quarter for these past two games. However, the constant help defense and collapsing around him is allowing for his teammates (see Gooden & Gibson) to get wide open looks. And wouldn’t you know it…they are draining them. So maybe, just maybe…it’s time to do what the Pistons did with Shaq for all those years.

Let LeBron go one-on-one with no help defense and man up on his teammates so he has no passing lanes and completely take his passing game away from him and refuse the James gang open looks. Sound like a good plan, huh? Well, it worked in Game 7 against the Cavs last season…why not now?

By nature, LeBron is unselfish and has to get his teammates involved. The Pistons are good enough to take each one of them out of this series…individually. I mean wasn’t the goal to let LeBron score 30 per game, but on 30 shots? So why are we trapping and double teaming him?

Right now, this entire Cavs team is like a group of drunken frat guys at a Blackjack table on their first ever visit to Vegas. They are loose, they are having a lot of fun and they are winning. They don’t realize a shift change is inevitable and their fortune could soon change. Why would they be worried? They are playing with house money.

For the Pistons sake…let’s hope they stay at the blackjack table and keep playing without realizing that “Wang” is ready to head over there and ruin their evening. Hopefully, the change (a return to the Palace) will be the shift change the Pistons need.

Time to get over the hump.

The Pistons have flirted with disaster in the first half in each game of this series. They’ve yet to really take command or put together a run that has put the Cavs on the defensive. The runs they make in the 3rd quarter are simply to get back into the game. They need a decisive run early to let it be known, they aren’t intent with this bullshit “feel each other out” for 3 quarters basketball. They need to get the Cavs on their heels.

So many times during this series they’ve been on the cusp of extending the lead and pushing the Cavs around, yet thus far it’s just been the Cavs pushing them around. It’s time for vintage ‘Sheed, vintage Prince, vintage Chauncey and vintage Rip, because without it from those four…the Pistons may be watching the Cavs parlay that blackjack house money into a mean streak at the Craps table…or better yet…the NBA Finals.

So panic, not a chance. Pressure, probably, but really we’ve been here before and honestly…we are always here. It’s never been easy with the Pistons and don’t kid yourselves otherwise. I’m sure the urgency button isn’t even going off for Game 5, because we all know they only have to win “ONE” of the next two games.

For even Cleveland knows…they have NO chance of winning a Game 7 in Detroit. Somehow, I doubt anybody would be shocked if it came down to that scenario. After all, “if it ain’t rough, it ain’t right.”

Why Isn’t This Guy More Pissed Off?

A longtime pet peeve of mine has always been the inevitable behavior of victims of a so-called frame job. While my analysis of these situations typically comes from the movies, the few real world examples I can think of follow suit. Think about the Fugitive. The main character, Richard Kimble, is framed for the murder of his own wife and when presented in court, he presents his case that a one-armed man did it. He rationally explains that while his fingerprints are present on the gun and the lamp, the one arm man did it. Nowhere in his defense did he explain the requisite, “I didn’t fucking kill my wife you cocksuckers. If you say one more word about it, I will dip two Q-Tips in gasoline, light them on fire, and jam them up your nostrils.” This is what I am talking about. How come when people are unjustly accused of committing a crime, adultery, or a bad coaching decision, they never get angry and stand up for themselves?

Another familiar example comes to mind as well, O.J. Simpson. The O.J. trial is growing awfully fuzzy in my mind at this point, but I cannot recall a single point in the trial when the Juice lost his cool and got angry for being framed for murder. Is it not human nature to get a little pissed off if your life as you know it is about to go down the toilet for a crime that somebody else committed? Sure, it might not bode well on one’s character to show that they are angry in the court room and lawyers probably advise against it, but if you are truly innocent, is it not a rational response to show that you strongly believe this is wrong.

This is why I do not understand the response of Arkansas football coach, Houston Nutt, to the utter nonsense that has ensued in Fayetteville. The guy has experienced an unjustified, public rectal exam and responded with a weird open letter to Razorback fans.

First of all, how in the hell did a fan get access to Houston Nutt’s phone record via the Freedom of Information Act? This is a bad sign for things to come if fans have somehow found a loophole that allows them to gain access to phone records of celebrities and athletes. As a fan of the blog community, I realize this sounds pretty hypocritical, but most of what we do is meant in good fun, I assure you, none of us are out to harm anyone or screw up people’s lives and families like this instance has for Houston Nutt.

Second, why after having his privacy inhumanely violated, did Nutt respond with a polite letter carefully refuting the claims that he had relations with Donna Bragg and that he um, sends lots of text messages, so do not be alarmed by the number of text messages he sent her, or something? Mr. Nutt, if you are going to send an open letter to fans after they fucked with your life, allow me to help you out. I’m pretty good at this type of thing. Here’s an excerpt from my rough draft…

Houston Nutt Open Letter to Razorback Fans

I would like you all to know, that while I am a grown man, I am not too old to shit in a bag, I am not too old to light it on fire and I am certainly not too old leave it on your doorstep. In fact, I am not even too old to take Imodium AD for 9 days, then shit in a bag, light it on fire, and leave it on your doorstep. Should you live outside of driving distance, don’t fret. I will also be happy to shit in a Pringles Can and Fed Ex it to you, overnight. Needless to say, the next person who fucks with me will end up with my shit on your premises, so stay the fuck out of my business. You hear me?

The third notable oddity of this whole thing is why Houston Nutt is considered responsible for the inappropriate emails that Teresa Prewett sent to Mitch Mustain (strong porn name) berating his abilities as a signal caller. Why is it Nutt’s problem that some woman thinks Mustain throws like a girl?

I see this overall scandal as nothing more than a well played coup by some overzealous fans and boosters to get a new coach in Fayetteville. The fact of the matter is that scandals like this are going to become more prevalent with new laws, more internet twerps like me, and fans who want to win all the time, whatever the cost. Nevertheless, in this case, I think it went a little too far, so I got your back Coach Nutt. You might even be a giant ass. I don’t know that much about you, but the fans overstepped a little on this one. So, if you need a member of the blog mafia on your side, just say the word.

Cubicle Chatter

If you haven't figured it out by now, we take our day jobs very seriously around here. Nevertheless, we like to take a little time out each day to send each other an email or two. Er, maybe it's closer to 125. Either way, we come up with some good material from time to time, so we touched up some emails and translated them into a reasonably coherent Q&A session. We hope you find 'em as fun to read as they are for us to write.

Do you feel that the NBA Draft Lottery is sensible or would you prefer the more merit-based alternative, where the worst team earns the first pick in the draft similar to the NFL draft?

I like the concept of every single team being involved in the lottery. Why not shake this thing up completely? Of course, the worse the record the better the odds, but still everyone is fair game...and that means the draft is strictly some random order. The Spurs could win the title in 2007 and end up w/ a top 5 pick...so what...I think it'd be great. Why reward losing?

Say you are Andy in the movie Goonies and you get stuck having to play the organ with everyone's lives riding on it. The only difference is that you don't really care if everyone dies. What song would you play before crashing to your impending doom?

That's easy. I would play Jump by Van Halen. That keyboard intro still gives me goose bumps. You bet your ass you'd see me standing there with my back agains the racket machine. I'd do a drop kick in mid air just like David Lee Roth in the video...and I'm thinking the power of those keys alone would save us.

As a die hard Detroit Pistons fan, how do you react when you read countless sports writers commenting on the disaster that is a San Antonio vs. Detroit NBA Finals? What's the subplot of the NBA playoffs that you have found most compelling?

To be honest...I kind of agree with them. Neither team has been very interesting to this point in the playoffs. I totally see, even as a Piston fan, why people aren't lured to this team. As for the Spurs...it's makes obvious sense...they are beyond annoying. This was the first year that it actually dawned on me...as to why everyone complains about the notion of these two teams meeting in the Finals. That said, these are the best two "teams" in the NBA...so.

In the upcoming fantasy football season, put this in order from best to worst producers: Reuben Droughns, Travis Henry, Tatum Bell, Willis McGahee, Thomas Jones, and Jamal Lewis.

That's tough, because personally I wouldn't touch Droughns, Bell or Lewis with your roster spots. I think all three will be equally, painfully useless. As an owner who has had a two-time fling w/ Tatum Bell...I know all too well, the pain he causes. Honestly, I like Thomas Jones the most out of the entire pack...w/ McGahee and Henry in a close nudge for 2nd.

One thing that we don't really see anymore are movies about the more esoteric sports like we did in the 80's. Which of the following would you like to see in a remake and who would star: American Anthem, Rad, Breakin II: Electric Bugaloo, the Karate Kid, Chariots of Fire, Hot Dog the Movie, Aspen Extreme, or Cool Runnings?

Boy, that is a tough one. A remake of Hot Dog: The Movie would be incredible. I'd assemble a star studded cast, starring Leonardo DiCaprio as Harkin Banks, the midwestern kid trying to make it big on the freestyle skiing circuit. Seems like that would be funny, wouldn't it? Sonny, the attainable, yet cute sidekick would be played by Jenna Fischer. Marissa Miller would take Shannon Tweed's saucy ski vixen role, assumming she is willing to do the nude hot tub scene. Washed up, ski bum, and omnipotent funny man, Dan O'Callahan, would played by none other than Vince Vaughn. Squirrel and his epic, "Nice run, what were you on Shrooms?" quote will be manned by snowboarder Shaun White (You know, for street cred?) And, last but not least, Rudi "Garm Shit" Garmisch will be played by the German dude from ze movie Beerfest.

By the way, somehow this movie slid under a lot of people's radars. I don't know how this is not right up there with Caddyshack in comedy classics, but if you haven't seen it yet, don't waste any more time. You don't know what you're missing.

On another note, Karate Kid simply can't be re-made or even on this list. Without Mr. Miyagi (now deceased) it's just not feasible or respectful to even attempt such a re-make.

Who would win in a fight: Magnum P.I. or Michael Knight? Keep in mind Michael wouldn't have Kit to help him and Magnum wouldn't have that guy that sort of looks like Buddy Lembeck or Higgins.

Magnum P.I in a hard fought battle...the power of the mustache always prevails. Knight would obviously use his flabby man boobs and gut as a shield, but P.I was cut back in the day. He was much better equipped for fist fights. Now, Hoff circa "Baywatch Nights"...that would be a challenge for Magnum. Still though, I see the same result...Hoff eating a burrito shirtless and sobbing after defeat, probably drunk.

Do you think you could last a round in the ring with a professional wrestler ? What would your strategy be to survive?

Are you kidding me? You really want me to answer it? That is stupid. Hmmmm. I guess I would fight the Junkyard Dog and my strategy would be to do Can Openers from atop the turnbuckle.

If you were on the island in Lost, who would you hang out with?

That's tough...Kate if I wanted a lady. Yet, if I wanted to be cool and learn all these new tactics and take my best chance of surviving...it's Sayid. I'd be his intern. Also, Alex is climbing eerily high on my list of girls I wish were old enough, but aren't quite there yet.

There has been a lot of talk as of late as to where Trent Green will end up next season given that he refused to take a paycut and reduced role in Kansas City. Can you think of any team with a really shitty quarterback named Jon Kitna who might be interested in him? If so, why do you think that team is not making a play for Green?

Right, I know might know a thing or two about that team with the quarterback called Kitna. You should probably file the follwing quote away for future blackmail; I think the Lions offense is ready for prime time in 2007. Kitna is solid veteran who had a perfectly good season in 2006 with a far worse offense than he'll have to work with this season. The offense line got a lot better via draft picks and free agents and he has a far better weapons with Calvin Johnson, Tatum Bell, TJ Duckett, and Kevin Jones (if he's healthy). Also, the Lions think very highly of Drew Stanton and see him as a legitimate franchise QB in good time. I tend to agree. Stanton is an athlete and a playmaker; I'd be thrilled to see him earn the starting job in a couple of seasons. Thus, picking up an aging expensive quarterback who is marginally better than Kitna and an injury liability makes no sense. No question, the defense still has gaping holes, but look for Detroit to be one of the highest producing offenses in the league. Seriously, I'm not even kidding.

Lost Chatter

If you haven’t seen the season finale of LOST yet, you may want to turn the page. If you have seen it, then you are probably just as fascinated and thirsty for more as us. For what seemed like and up and down (high point and low point) Season 3, ended with an ever so gratifying conclusion on Wednesday night.

And to say we were given a treat would be an understatement. I now know what it feels like to fiend for something, like Charlie did for Heroin. I’m more addicted now than ever before.

There was no disappointment on any level and although several new questions have been raised…I can’t help but think, it’s for the better. We can finally dispel the myth that this is purgatory or that the survivors are in limbo. At least we are led to believe this with a flash forward to Jack and his post island life, which begs the question what the hell happened to Jack?

Perhaps, it’s possible that only a few of them made it off the Island? Could that be why Jack is so fucked up? I mean it’s beyond obvious concern that Jack is a perfectionist and he wants to be the hero - the leader so to speak. Yet, maybe and just maybe the rescue only allowed for him and a select few others to escape the island and he had to make the difficult choice to save his own ass?

Think about it, he finally stopped caving (as he’s always done) last night. He simply refused to budge on his stance with Ben for giving up the telephone thing-a-ma-jig. He went as far as to let his friends be killed, because he knew it was the ultimate decision for rescue. Jack’s always been a stubborn character and maybe his stubbornness is driving him back to save the rest of the people off the island?

On a somewhat less theoretical note, how funny was it to see Walt “Barry White” Oden show up? My goodness, he just blasted through puberty. I mean, he looks nothing like the Walt from Season 1. Good times all around. Can someone recreate a picture of Walt dancing with that white chick just like the Greg Oden photo that has been floating around?

Easily the most gratifying moment was seeing Sayid finally be Sayid and snap that dude's neck with his hands tied behind his back and using nothing, but sheer tactics with his legs. Now, that is the Sayid...I've known to exist and wonder why it took so long for him to evolve. Maybe like any great star, it's all about the growing pains. Take LeBron James learning his lessons, as we speak. He will evolve...trust me, he will evolve. Sayid failed so many times before and lost to the others. Thank god, he snapped that dudes neck. I needed to see that to believe.

Moving on to the annoying questions that I cannot help but ask? Why didn’t Charlie just put the fucking diving gear on before entering the code? Wow, that angered me. I actually used to want Charlie to die earlier this season went he went through that whole pesky phase of butting in to everyone’s conversations and stalking/protecting Claire. After the development of his friendship with Des, I started to like him again though. Maybe the overall optimism of the finale got to me, but I was bummed to see him go. Anyway, once he botched the diving gear, why wouldn’t he just swim out the open window? It was a decent sized porthole and he easily could have fit though it. He must have known it was his destiny to die or some nonsense like that. Oh well, good luck hosting game shows hobbit-man.

So Long, You All Everybody

I’ve pretty much had enough of the coffin talk at this point. I have actually had about six conversations already and a couple text messages about this. The smart money seems to be on Ben, but Locke has an outside shot as well. Personally, I am in the Ben camp, because at this point there is no reason to believe that Locke would want to leave. I suppose Locke’s wound makes him a good candidate, but he probably would have died already if he was in for a dirt nap.

The last questionable moment is why did Jack say, “Let’s go upstairs and see who is drunker, me or my dad?” If this was in fact foreshadowing the future, Jack’s father would have been dead for months. For this reason, I am not assuming that the Losties are getting off the island just yet. There could be more to this than meets the eye. I know it is just one little quote, but I think it could be a clue of bigger significance. Maybe heaven is all about booze and painkillers. That sounds about right.

Finally, YEAH Hurley! Boom. That may have been the single greatest moment television history. I’m not kidding. When he came bursting out of the jungle in the V-Dub like Otto in his school bus, it was better than a kick return for a touchdown, better than a double encore, even better than a delicious burrito with green chile sauce. Nobody thought he could do. “Oh, you’re too fat Hurley.” “You’re not smart enough Hurley.” “Stay here Hugo; you’ll just get in the way.” Well done, Hurley. You are the man.

Sadly, it’s all over until next season. I tip my hat to the writers of this show. It’s truly remarkable work, far beyond anything we have ever seen on the small screen. I am not sensationalizing for the sake of this post. I really mean it. I can safely say that this is the best writing - by far - on any Television show in the history of the tube. Sadly, we will have to wait until the next season to pick up where we left off.

Say It Ain't So, Bazooka Joe

The Wall Street Journal reported this morning that Upper Deck has offered to buy out beloved sports card manufacturer Topps for $416 million big ones. Topps has been in play for a takeover as of late as its investors have long complained that Topps has been mismanaged, with executives treating the company as if it was a family business. A previous bid came from the private equity firm headed by Michael Eisner, the former Disney CEO who was thrown out on his duff for running the company into the ground. While the Upper Deck bid is certainly more hopeful than one froma group of seemingly profit-mongering private equity investors, it still looks to be a sad outcome for the sports card world.

Nobody can really argue that Topps has been successful in the past ten years or so. Interest in sports card collecting, the so-called core competency of the organization, has plummeted. Just take a random sampling of pharmacies, convenience stores, and bodegas to see how many have a box of wax packs at the counter. You'll more likely than not, find that zero have sports cards and maybe, a strong maybe, one or two have some dorky Pokemon cards.

Regardless, screw you investors. The mismanagement of Topps has nothing to do with whether or not they have marketed aggressively or concocted gimmicks to attract to collectors. It's because greedy idiots like you decided that the industry was slowing down so they needed to make the cards look like Tron.

Much like many die hard card collectors in the eighties and early nineties, I too lost interest as I settled in to my high school years. Nevertheless, I have particularly fond memories of card collecting. I think it would be a shame if Topps and Upper Deck do in fact merge. Essentially, it's the rubber stamp on the end of an era.

It's still early in the negotiations, so it is not clear if Upper Deck would be the sole remaining brand or if the Topps brand would remain. I assume the Topps name holds significant value in the deal, so the actual Topps cards will likely live on. Regardless, it presents a serious threat to the fun of card collecting. If there is no competition left amongst the big brands, what fun is looking forward to the new sets coming out every year when they are all created by the same company?

Maybe it's not that big a deal, but it's Topps. Topps is synonymous with baseball. It's an institution. I remember when I first moved to New York City and went to a job interview downtown. I passed the Topps building and got a far bigger kick out of seeing it than even the Empire State Building for the first time. I thought, "Holy Shit, I work down the street from Topps. I got to apply for a job there." I remember thinking, "if I got a job at Topps, my 12 year-old self would be so proud."

While Upper Deck is a respectable brand in my mind, particularly as they are the only one who stuck with the NHL as its popularity has faltered, I still do not think this is a good move for the industry as a whole. Upper Deck would essentially have a monopoly on the whole industry, which in terms of increasing their market share and revenues seems like a great idea, but these two firms should be more concerned with regaining the total market size, not their share of the depleted market. What I mean to say is that they should focus on getting card collecting, as a whole, back to where it was 20 years ago instead of making aggressive short-sighted moves to improve profitability.

What deals like this are missing is that there are masses of people, like me, who loved collecting sports cards and are approaching the age of becoming parents or perhaps have already become parents. They should think about this industry over the long haul, because in the next several years, we will all be back… with our kids.

Believe me, I bet every single person reading this post right now will be collecting cards with their kids one day and that is when the business will be more profitable. So, at that point these fat cats “can add value to the shareholder” and boost their precious stock price. In the meantime, just focus on making better cards.

Marcus Vick: The Dog Scout.

(Editors Note: Is this going over the line...maybe...oh well, here goes).

You ever been to a dogfight? Ever seen "Bumfights"? Well, dogfights are a lot like "Bumfights"...on steroids, dawg. Ya'll know me, Marcus Vick. I've had my share of ups and downs, but I've landed back on my feet. And if it wasn't for my brother giving me a second, third, fourth and a fifth chance...I might be in jail or working at a Wendy's.

Eitherway, I got a career now...and ya'll 'bout to be guests into my world.

Personally, I feel like dog fighting should be a respected sport…like horse racing. We’re doing what we can for the sport right now…just trying to get it into the mainstream. People would understand it better if they could see it, for real though. Being a professional dog scout, you always got be on your toes. Right now, I’m looking for the next Barbarro of dog fighting.

You also always gotta be ready to help train your prize fighter. I do a majority of the leg work, while Michael does the promotion. I help to scout the dogs for the team and I got some homies that help me train. Shit, my dog is gonna be able to bust through bricks by the time they enter the arena.

The first thing you gotta know about when you gettin’ your dog ready for the big show is diet. Just like a human athlete…dogs gotta eat healthy and hearty. ‘Round these parts we like to use “Nature’s Best” by Science Diet with our dogs. It’s like organic and shit, 100% natural and real food.

Training a dog to fight is a science…and so should be their food. This one time Michael and I were all blazed back and he dared me try some. And that shit don’t taste half that bad dawg. It’s gotta be good for you with all them natural flavors up in it. You know what though, that “Alpo” shit with gravy…you didn’t hear it from me, but that shit is like Thanks-mutha-fucking-giving dawg.

When scouting a dog, it’s all about the incisors and the aggressiveness. It ain’t the bark…it’s the bite. You can usually get a read on a dominant dog in the first 2-3 minutes of interaction with other dogs. You don’t want no passive dog, they’ll just lead to heartbreak in the squared circle. You always gotta have ears to the ground for tips.

This is a cut throat business. You may hear about a dog one day and before you know it; your rival dog team already has the paperwork. It ain’t show friends, it’s show business.

It’s like recruiting in college football, if you get caught slipping…somebody else gonna get that recruit or that dog from you. That’s why this week we got a warm lead on this Pitbull named Gyspy over in Memphis, TN. And you know what they say about Memphis right? Making easy money pimping ho’s in style…ha ha!

Anyhow, Gypsy has the all intangibles. She is straight up gangsta. She is quick and muscular with a mean streak. We tested out her kung fu death grip…and man when she locks the jaw, you gonna need a crowbar to separate it. This is all good; good things to report back on to the family.

Dog fighting is a lot boxing. It’s a promotional business and you always got to be looking for the talent. Gypsy is gonna make the Vick family proud. She has the ability to be the next big thing on the circuit. And I should know…I’ve got a trained scouts eye. Honestly, this job is the best thing that’s ever happened to Marcus Vick.

People thought I was done, that I’d never make it back. Yet, look at me now! I can’t wait to send Michael these pictures from my cell phone. Ya’ll just remember who gave you the inside scoop on Gypsy the Pit Bull…that’s right, Marcus Vick – Dog Scout.

Brady Quinn Gets an Image Consultant

Since some of us around here spent the offseason preparing ourselves for Brady Quinn, the Detroit Lion, we cannot help but feel a little guilty for the trauma the City of Cleveland is experiencing. Somehow as a Detroit fan, we feel somewhat responsible, since we were the ones who were supposed to make the Brady Quinn mistake. Look, enough is enough already. The guy is making a mockery of Cleveland and it's only been a few weeks since the draft. Nobody deserves this level of embarassment, so we've decided to lend a helping hand.

Surely you have seen the photos, so we will not subject him to anymore humiliation, but it's one disaster after another with this guy: the airbrushed dreamboat t-shirt, the village people costume at the wedding, and the hair at the NFL Draft. Anyway, we look at it like this: if you shit in the pool, get out of the water.

So, our altruistic side got the better of us and we've decided to hire a professional stylist for Brady Quinn. In fact, we spared no expense and hired not just any old stylist. We hired the absolute best: none other than the one and only, Cindy Mancini. We figured if she could change Ronald Miller from "totally geek to totally sheik," she can change Brady Quinn from a retarded asshole into the Man Casserole. So, enter Cindy Mancini. She's the best in the business and we gave her carte blanche. Rest easy, Cleveland, for your problems are solved.

Take it away Ms. Mancini

First and foremost, I'm an image consultant. Stylist is so '96. Anyway, let's get busy. So, we definitely gotta do something about your look, Brady. This would be absolutely fine if you were in a boy band or perhaps European, but for an NFL quarterback, this is a “no no.” You really do not want to come across as a mangina. I know what you are thinking, “Well, Tom Brady gets to look all handsome and cool and people still respect him in the league.” Well, you might be right, but he slipped through the cracks somehow. I think it was because nobody really paid any attention to him until after he won a Super Bowl.

Consider your situation a lot more like Joey Harrington’s. Harrington had the fruity poster up in Time Square and he was tattooed “Joey Heisman” right out of college. Nobody comes out of a situation like that unscathed. This is like handing a 12 year-old boy a baseball bat and lobbing a tomato at him. Do you think he’s going to swing at it? Well, you’re right. You serve it up on a platter and you are going to get splattered… with queen jokes.

So, we’re ditching this golden boy thing once and for all. First, go borrow some clothes from A.J. Hawk. God damnit, not the tight cut off jean shorts. You need something that will make you look tough. How about those Zubaz, those are good. And it’s time for you to get rid of your favorite “I’d Rather Be LOST With Sawyer” t-shirt. I know you love it, but it’s gotta go. Trust me; I know what is best for you. After all, you’re my client, so when you look good, I look good.

Actually, come to think of it. I have a cool shirt for you in my car. You can borrow it until we get you some new threads. It’s my Hunter S. Thompson shirt and it’s perfect. It would probably be good for you to just embrace Hunter S Thompson all together, the drugs and the whole nine. Yeah. In fact, let’s get you a painkiller habit. That seemed to do wonders for Favre’s career.

As for the femmy hairdo, just nix it, all of it. Shave it bald. This flowing hair thing is just not working for you. Time to clean it up, foofoo. At first I was thinking we should go for a more self-deprecating look to make you more of a people’s quarterback. You know, something along the lines of Steve Carell in the "40 Year-Old Virgin", but I changed my mind. They say the NFL is going global and we want to represent grapefruit balls and muscle cars. They say the Asian market prefers men who are in control and nothing says control like a shaved head. Here’s a #2 guard for that electric razor, I don’t hear any buzzing. That’s right, nice and easy. Off it goes... Now, was that so hard?

Next, call your agent right now and cancel Dancing with the Stars. We need to change your whole PR campaign. In fact, it might be wise to just start all over with a new agent. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, Brady, but when your brother-in-law, A.J., advised you to hire Austin from season one of Project Runway to be your agent, he was playing a joke on you. Let me find out who handles Dog the Bounty Hunter. Yeah I know it's drastic, but you really dug yourself into a hole here.

You're firing Me? Ha, I'm so sure...

Also, I think we should alter your philanthropies a little as well. The Big Brother program was clearly a bad idea. The term brotherly love is meant to be more about the emotional bond between two brothers. Trust me, brothers do not grab each other's junk. Also, I know you mean well with Brady Quinn's Butterfly Hideaway, but it's best we do something a little more conventional here. I'm not even sure how you came up with this, since butterflies aren't even endangered. Anyway, I'm thinking we go straight up Global Warming. This way you can probably meet Leo like you wanted and still maintain some street cred.

Oh Fuck. Michael "Fucking" Richards is on the phone. I gotta go. It's a great start Brady, but you better stay out of the public eye for a few days. No NBA playoff games! You hear me? I said, no NBA playoff games! Well, I am outta here. Good luck, Brady. Oh yeah, and by the way, you might want to think about throwing some touchdown passes.

If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find her, maybe you can hire...

Cindy Mancini, Image Consultant.

No, that had not occurred to us dude.

What makes a baseball team? Well, pitching always seems to come to mind. If you can’t pitch, you can’t win….right? Fair enough, but what happens if you can’t hit? Well, just ask the San Diego Padres that question.

You see, the Padres boast a pitching staff as good as any in the league. And that means, a starting rotation and bullpen, even if you include the ever declining Trevor Hoffman. I mean, say what you will, but you can't really deny the validity of the Pads pitching. That pitching has been just that good to reward this team with back-to-back NL West titles. And it's kept them and will continue to keep them in contention this season.

They may even once again make the playoffs, but they aren't going anywhere from there. No sir, not unless the organization owns up to it's needs and it's fans and snags a big bat at the deadline. And it doesn't matter if that bat is a rental for the season or if they have to open the pocket books and solidify a bat for the long term. The fans and the players deserve it. Has this ever occurred to management?

For years now the Padres organization has seemingly been content with just being competitive or just making the playoffs. In 2006 they had only 3 players on the entire roster that topped 20 home-runs (nobody topped 30) and only 2 of them had a slugging % over .500. Feeble? Yes, but it gets worse. This year only Adrian Gonzalez is on pace to crack 20 HR's. And how much longer can he expect to see pitches?

In 2005, Brian Giles led the majors in walks. Yes, Brian "effing" Giles was the most fearsome bat in a paper thin line-up, so opposing teams just opted to walk him. Shit, nobody was going to drive him in. The last time the Padres had a guy go over 100 RBI was Phil Nevin in 2004. These days, Nevin hangs out with the gang from "the mighty 1090" and is enjoying his retirement.

What's so friggin' coincidental about all this is that the Padres are still the back-to-back defending NL West Champs. Ironic isn't it? That alone seems to be enough to cover the deficiencies and even possibly blind the fans from the reality that they can't expect much of a post-season run, because their team can't hit.

Can they again rely on the Bard-Cameron-Kouzmanoff (4-5-6)? Combined they are on pace for about 150 RBI. A-Rod may drive in that many alone. I'm not saying they need to find an A-Rod, but last year they settled for Todd Walker and Russell Branyon...you tell me?

I've begun to hear some rumblings from friends of mine that are life long Padre fans. They are fed up and they realize it's time for the organization to make a move, but more importantly open the pocket books. It's hard not to appreciate the pitching staff when you think about the Padres line-up. Most teams would welt under the pressure to produce with minimal resources.

It's not just a lack of home-runs...it's a lack of capitalizing on scoring chances. Last weekend in Seattle, the Padres stranded 15 runners in a 2-1 win. That's hardly a recipe for post-season success.

Credit Kevin Towers for his savvy to construct a competitive team. However, how much longer can it last and how much longer will everyone just accept it? The excuses no longer work in claiming Petco to be a pitchers park only...this is true, but still shouldn't explain why the line-up can't produce consistent scoring. It's time for San Diego to bring in some power and make the push for maybe, just a little more this October.

Otherwise, I guess you could see if Phil Nevin would be willing to come out of retirement.

Bud Selig is a Spineless, Blubbering Vagina

Barry Bonds is going to break the most hallowed record in American sports. It's going to happen. There's nothing anyone can do about it. He can't make any of us truly consider him the Home Run King, and for me, that's enough of a victory. My kids will understand that Barry Bonds, along with quite a few other members of his baseball playing generation, had some outside help. And I'm okay with that. I will always love baseball.

Bonds is 10 home runs away from tying Hammerin' Hank, and Bud Selig still has yet to announce what it is he'll be doing or where he will be when the inevitable occurs. Um, Bud? You don't have a fucking choice! What are you going to do, pretend it didn't happen? Your sackless self stood idly by as Bonds, Sosa, McGwire, Giambi and everyone in between pumped themselves full of shit that might have saved Barbaro, and now you might be thinking of taking a stand? PUH-LEEZ. It's a little late for that.

You are the commissioner of a league that is about to have its most important moment since McGwire hit 62, and you haven't announced your plans? What exactly would your rationale be if you weren't there? "Um, I shit myself 15 years ago, and I'm just pretending it didn't happen, even though one of my turds somehow crawled out of my pants and hit 755 home runs." We all know you're going to be there, applauding like the wind up toy that you are. Sure, you won't care. And, if it happens anywhere other than San Francisco, neither will anyone else in the stands. But you don't have the right to make a stand. Not now. Not ever. You made a very nice living turning a blind eye to steroids so baseball could slug its way back into the forefront of American sports. And you know what? I don't even hate you for it. (There are a few things I DO hate you for, but that's another post for another time.)

Baseball went on strike on my 10th birthday. And it hurt. And, tainted as my memories of 1998 may be, they're still pretty fond. I enjoyed the circus you put together, even if it was a giant farce. But I can have my cake and eat it too. I can get caught up in a moment and then look back on it and say it's all bullshit. I can think of Barry Bonds as arguably the greatest hitter of all time in 2001 and then think of him as a fraud and a jerk in 2007. You know why? Because I don't cash a fucking check every week from Major League Baseball. You do Bud. So you have to go be the face of an organization that is celebrating a milestone. Pack your bags Bud. Put on your fancy suit. And don't forget to smile, Bud.

Mission Accomplished. Your aircraft carrier awaits.

NBA Playoff Apathy? There’s Always Mormon Jokes

I am starting to understand how Bill Simmons feels. You invest all of your emotion and faith into you favorite team, they finally achieve a level of success, and just like that, everyone is sick of them. In fact, before you know it, nobody even wants to watch, because they just aren’t exciting enough.

It happened to the Red Sox after they finally won the World Series and it is happening in the NBA Playoffs. Look, I understand the thought of another NBA Finals with the Pistons playing the Spurs is nausea inducing to the majority of the country, but I am trying to be Mr. Brightside here. So, I am providing everyone with a laundry list of optimism as to why the rest of the NBA Playoffs are going to be fun.

First of all, we’re down to the final four teams and Utah is still a legitimate contender. I mean, come on, how often do we get open season to make Mormon jokes? I am a full believer in the “What ever floats your boat” philosophy, so I mean no disrespect, but I also write for a blog, so I plan to take full advantage of this opportunity. Please don’t damn me, I’m just joking around here. After all, this is the land of the free and we fully embrace all religions, so let’s just back up a little here for a little history on this gem.

The Mormon faith was started by a man named Joseph Smith, a practicing necromancer (i.e. mumbo jumbo), who claimed his magic powers allowed him to discover buried treasure. While he was exiled after several members of society for raking in a paycheck while delivering no booty, he ultimately claimed that an angel named Muroni (i.e., Phoney Muroni) led him to a secret box buried beneath a tree that contained six gold plates. Legend has it that upon the gold plates read the story of what is meant to be the backbone of the Mormon faith. The catch is that nobody besides Smith was equipped to read the gold plates because Muroni donned upon him a pair of magic spectacles that allowed him to translate the plates. Shockingly, the plates have since mysteriously disappeared. Hmmmm. I mean, if we can't poke a little fun at this, you might as well retract the first ammendment, right? That is some quality ammo and we haven't even touched on the polygamy and incest yet.

The next thing we all have to look forward to is making fun of Little Bunny Drew Foo, er Drew Gooden, for his hairstyle, the poo scrubber. What is his motivation for that thing? The only thing that comes to mind is should he ever decide to reenact that gross scene from Trainspotting, he could scrub the skid marks off of his toilet while he dives in to search for his drugs. I don't know, really your guess is as good as mine. If that isn’t excitement enough, you should see some quality banter back and forth around here as Stan and I get into it with our new contributor, McBain from Flyers Fieldhouse.

If nothing else appeals, there is always gambling. If you hate the Spurs that much, bet on them. Sure they are a boring team to watch and they continue to frustrate by beating up on the teams everyone wants to see in the finals, but if you bet on them, you cannot lose. If the Spurs lose, then you get to see the Jazz in the finals and watch Deron Williams become the biggest star in sports for a few weeks. If the Spurs win, then you make a little dosh. Trust me, betting on the Jazz in this series might seem fun and all, but they have about as good a shot at winning this series as Aaron Brooks has at getting a starting job next season: highly unlikely.

Another source of joy will be witnessing the commissioner bashing escalate on David Stern. You think the changing of the game ball got people riled up; try destroying the entire country’s interest in the NBA Finals? David Stern could change his name to Voldemort going into this summer and come out of this more popular. Somehow I do not see the general public siding with the rulebook, so we are going to see some serious shitting on Stern in the next couple weeks. Before this thing plays out, Stern is going to get the emotional equivalent of the teeth crusher that Edward Norton adminstered in American History X.

Finally, it's so much better to see the random B list celebs come out from cities like Cleveland, Detroit, and Utah (Sory Longoria, we're bored of you too). The Lakers and Heat are so predictable; it's way more fun to check out who's crescent Kid Rock is fertilizing these days in Detroit. Who will show up for Utah? You might be surpised. I just compiled quite an impressive list at famousmormons.net: Jon Heder, Kelly Packard (the hot dish from California Dreams), Eliza Dushku (not practicing), Ryan Gosling, and Wilford Brimley. That's not bad, perhaps even better than Rod Carew and rest of list of Sandler's Jews. The kicker though is waiting in anticipation to see if a certain Homo Celebritas makes an appearance in Cleveland, Brady Quinn. Oh man, the possibilities.

Too Close for Comfort.

Deep Breath. The Pistons just staved off the Cavs to take a 1-0 series lead in the Eastern Conference Finals. Yawn. Long pause and another yawn. That's about as exciting as the game was. For the first time in my life, I understand why most fans outside of Detroit or Cleveland could care less about the NBA or this series. The Pistons narrowly escaped with a victory after playing a nearly disastrous game. They essentially mailed it in during the entire first half, outside of Rip...of course. Yet, what was alarming was just how passive LeBron had been, as well. He was moving the ball, getting his teammates involved and playing defense. Somehow, we were all just waiting for him to jump out of the weeds and strike his prey, the Pistons.

Call it fate, call it luck, call it fortune, but it never happened. And the Pistons can walk free tonight, but certainly they must now know...this will be a series. Sheed's near defensive lapse almost cast a different mood over the city of Detroit on this eve. Eerily similar to his switch onto Ginobli in the NBA Finals two years ago, leaving Horry open for the triple.

This time it was Donyell Marshall sitting wide open in the corner for a triple attempt that caused 30,000 gasps inside the Palace and one major heart palpitation on the couch for yours truly. The "gasps" were probably the loudest the Palace crowd was the entire evening.

What tonight showed other than the fact that the Palace crowd has become stale, fat, and happy is it showed that Cleveland isn't intimidated. They aren't going quietly into the night, because they no longer fear these Pistons. In a way, each team got a mulligan tonight. Cleveland had a chance to steal this game, even though LeBron wasn't all that dominant. And Detroit dodged a bullet after sleepwalking through nearly the entire first half.

What's to come? What's to expect? Not sure, but I'm not talking any smack or what have you. This series is going to be a series despite what the "so-called" experts would like you or I to believe. And trust me, I was believing it beforehand. Tonight, Cleveland got my attention...let's hope they caught the Pistons as well.

Why This Series Means More to Cleveland

May 22, 2003. Lottery night. The Cavs just finished out a thoroughly depressing 17-65 campaign. It's eminently clear that the Indians won't be contending this season. (They will limp to a 68-94 record, a 23-win dropoff from just two seasons prior.) Butch Davis just eeked his way into the playoffs, but has come under fire for successive first round draft picks including Gerard Warren, William Green, and Jeff Faine.

And yet, a glimmer of hope comes in the form of a ping pong ball. That second-to-last ping pong ball falls the way of Memphis, and we know He's ours (capitalization intentional). Even Gordon Gund can see what this means. Rebirth. Revitalization. Hope.

And The Shawshank Redemption was right; Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. Immediately there is belief in this also-ran franchise. We can finally feel ourselves moving on from the disappointments of the always good but never great Price/Daugherty/Nance era.

And less than four years later, hope hangs tenuously in the balance. We have seen all that LeBron James can do for the city of Cleveland (see: 2006 playoffs). We have also seen the lengths to which he can mail in a game (see: Nets series). We don't know what to believe anymore. Does LeBron James truly want to be the greatest player on the planet? Or is he more concerned with becoming a global marketing icon? Michael was able to balance the two. We haven't convinced ourselves that LeBron has the same mental toughness.

But don't doubt that we want oh so badly to believe just that. But we need a sign. Win or lose, we need to see that LBJ can carry his team for an entire series. 17- and 20-point performances won't get it done. We need to see him don that Superman cape and be the man he was in last year's series against the Wizards.

And don't believe think that the legacy of LeBron James will not be significantly altered by what he does in the coming weeks. If he plays like he did throughout the Nets series, the screaming heads on ESPN will chirp up once again, questioning LeBron's will to dominate the NBA. As we've seen so many times before, image is everything. LeBron needs this series just as much as the city.

Sure, I'd like something to help ease the sting of The Shot, The Drive, The Fumble, the 1997 World Series, and countless other square punches to the sack. Vanquishing the Detroit Pistons would help do just that. But more than anything, I want to unequivocally believe in LeBron James again. Things were just easier summer.

Please, LeBron. Make me believe again.

(And I even managed to avoid the typical Clevelander's "woe is me" mentality. But honestly, does Detroit need another championship? They've had 5 in my lifetime, and I'm only 23. Share the wealth, guys.)

(See Also: Why Detroit thinks it means everything to them).

This Only Means Everything in the World to Detroit

Resiliency: an occurrence of rebounding or springing back (See the Detroit Pistons).

This is what we do isn’t it? Battle tested; grind it out with grimy defense and tenacity that always shines through when it counts? These are our Detroit Pistons. These are who we’ve believed in for so many years.

They’ve provided us with a built in excuse for drinking on any given night during the summer. They’ve fueled our reasoning for BBQ’s, frequent trips to the bar, superstitions, thunderstix, guaran-sheed’s, chest bumping, arrogance, swagger, choice comments like “yes sir” and the catchiest phrase of them all “DEE-TROIT BASKETBALL!!!”

They’ve made us all fools and in essence made us believers. And it’s really no different this season, with yet another trip to the Eastern Conference Finals for the 5th year in a row. And waiting in the wings is an old, yet new enemy…LeBron (and the supposed future) and his Cleveland Cavs.

Is it the future vs. the present…or the future vs. the past? Either way, it’s all on the line for the Pistons – beginning tonight. And this series means everything, absolutely everything to this era of Detroit Piston basketball. Words could only diminish the relevance and importance winning this series means for the Pistons and their fans.

If you’re die hard sports fan and waiting for your team to get over the hump (see Cavs fans), I can only attempt to explain how great it is to have such a special team for a sustained period of time. Yet, I’ll do my best now to explain why this means everything in the world to Detroit…

Legacy, Legacy, Legacy

It’s been argued the Pistons have already secured their own stake at a legacy, but have they? As Sheed said after the victory over the Bulls…they still only have one ‘ship to show for their 5 years of dominance. The Original Bad Boys era concluded after 5 years in the Eastern Conference Finals, but they had back-to-back titles on the resume.

Can this team (aging) really sustain such a level of dominance over the Eastern Conference for years to come? Odds suggest the window is due to close sooner than later. I often felt the Game 6 win on the road against the Spurs in the NBA Finals, yes the “I love you guys” Larry Brown game, solidified this Pistons legacy. Now, I’m not so sure…we’ll see how things play out in the next few weeks.

And lastly who else could use some form of legacy altering…yup, Flip Saunders.

Because McDyess and C-Webb deserve this

McDyess has battled back from so much and has never once used his injuries as a crutch…he used his misfortune as motivation. He’s quietly built himself back up and accepted his diminished role with the utmost professionalism. All the guy wants to do is win, but he’s too unselfish to admit it to anyone and everyone with a pen or a microphone.

For Webber maybe he can finally earn the respect back from Drew Sharp and Mitch Albom…or maybe not. Either way, we know it’s selfish, but hasn’t Webber’s career played out tragically enough already? A ring could be the kind of happy ending Webber needs and yes, even deserves.

To erase the pain of last year, because were spoiled

Last year was supposed to be our year. 64 wins, the prohibitive favorite, vengeance from losing in Game 7 of the Finals the year before. Yet, everything disappeared into the Miami Beach air in one swoop…or collapse. And yes, we Piston fans are spoiled…we want and deserve the best.

The Red Wings probably aren't going to win the Stanley Cup

And even if they do comeback to win this series against Anaheim…they’ve become the second fiddle to the Pistons. Sad to say, but it’s true.

Because the Lions still stink

When your only optimism is the possibility of going 8-8 and that’s a good thing…well, you figure it out. And spare me Cleveland fans with your typical, “but the Browns suck…you have no idea.” Yes, actually we do have an idea. How does the saying go, “better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”

Yeah, the Browns have been to three AFC title games, loved and lost. Came close at least. Well, the Lions have one friggin’ playoff win in the past 50 years. You tell me who has suffered worse? I’d take the notion Elway ripping out my heart in “TITLE” games, rather than the usual Lions getting pounced in the 1st round.

Because the Tigers came up short last year

Why not? Detroit is starving for a title for fuck sakes.

Because the Economy and the Auto Industry need this

Surely, we should sprinkle some Colby cheese on this story to give it a little Hollywood flavor. Much like the city of Philadelphia railed around Vince Papale in the sensationalist bomb, “Invincible”, Detroit is rallying around its Pistons. This year, more so than any other year, the Pistons are symbolic in that the local and state economies are in shambles, due in large part to the Piston’s namesake industry, automobiles.

Detroit has seen more of its inhabitants expatriate than any other major metropolitan area in the past 2 years, save for Louisiana and Mississippi (for obvious reasons). According to an article in USA Today last week, the Detroit metropolitan area has lost over 1 million people in the past 5 years alone. Those who stick around deserve an NBA title. Detroiters need their Pistons to rev up the engines and drive them to the Promised Land.

And lastly, because they just don't like LeBron and the Cavs

Do you blame them? Back to the whole future vs. the present or future vs. the past; the Pistons believe they are the present. They believe they are the team to beat, yet LeBron gets all the accolades and press. It’s fine with them; it gives them that edge…that chip on their shoulder. If anything was lacking last year against the Cavs…it was that attitude.

Hopefully, it will comeback this year and that same attitude that the Original Bad Boys had for Michael Jordan will transcend through these Pistons toward the self-proclaimed King. It must in order for these Pistons to hold up their end of the bargain. After all, there really isn’t any pressure on them…just the entire city of Detroit and every Piston fan worldwide is banking on them…that’s all.

(See also: Why this means more to Cleveland).

Bill Walton would like to remind you that May is the best month of the year!

A special to TGOWF - Bill Walton, himself in his own words. (Well, maybe how we would interpret his words?)

It’s the longest and strangest of trips, as well as the most joyous of time to be a fan of the NBA. And for those of you who can’t get excited for NBA Playoff basketball, my sympathy goes out to you. For me, the month of May is synonymous with my own memories of a magical May from yesteryear – 1977 to be exact.

I would reach the pinnacle of my professional career that year with my fellow Portland teammates, as we were crowned NBA Champions. This was all taking place, while the Grateful Dead were reaching an apex, a pinnacle if you will in their musical careers. The Dead would carry out some of the most magical concerts ever recorded in May of ’77. Those old tapes, helped to serve as inspiration in my own spiritual and professional quest.

I recently happened upon one of my all time favorites from that era. Ah yes, the gem of which I speak is the ever-so coveted and endeared by many a Dead fan – The Grateful Dead live at Cornell University in Ithaca, NY.

The date was May 8, 1977. Easily my most cherished possession and it remained a staple in my vault at the San Diego house, until my son's became Teenagers and taped over the show with "rap" music. Ah, a Betty Board tape like so many of that era…refined, yet innocent like my good friend Larry Bird's hometown of French Lick, IN.

An opening “Minglewood Blues” sets the tone for what lay in store. A “Loser” and an “El Paso”…oh, the treats Garcia, Lesh and company had up their sleeves. As if saving for their best on this night, like Game 7 of an NBA Playoff series. “They Love Each Other” reminds me so much of the modern day Phoenix Suns.

Steve Nash symbolizes the Grateful Dead, unselfish almost to a fault with a unique ability to transcend time. Comparing anyone to the likes of the Grateful Dead is a compliment in the utmost of respect, I can give. With Nash, statistics mean absolutely nothing. It's all about his style, his flare, his competitive spirit, and making all of his teammates stars.

They win and are so much fun to watch with the toughness of Raja Bell, the brilliance of Shawn Marion, the ever improving Barbosa and Diaw, and let’s not forget the dominance of Amare Stoudemire. Yet, the conductor of this orchestra is none other than Steve Nash — a great, great champion. Lord, you can see that it’s true…these guys “love” each other.

A soft and delicate Jack Straw is carried so brilliantly by the soothing chorus of Bobby Weir and Donna Jean. Like the Utah Jazz, an often overlooked, yet brilliant component of a traditional Dead set. Nothing short of mastery, like their ancestors Malone and Stockton, so to are the heirs Boozer and Deron Williams. "We can share the women, we can share the wine." And do they ever share in Utah. Sharing the ball and playing the right way...as imposed by the brilliance of Jerry Sloan.

I'm pleading with Joe Dumars and the Detroit Pistons in the immortal words of Jerry Garcia..."don't you let that deal go down." And that deal would be Chauncey Billups. It's imperative the Pistons retain their navigator. Much like this epic "Deal", the Pistons are a slow building energy pacted group that functions as whole, due to the sum of it's many parts.

Like Garcia charting this encapsulating piece with his lead guitar, so too does Chauncey chart the waters for this perennial contender. A proud bunch that only get better with time, much like any version of "Deal" that saw it's impact stand until the Dead's very last show. Truly a mark of a powerful show...and aren't the Pistons the mark/bar in the Eastern Conference?

An engulfing "Lazy Lightning>Supplication" leads me into the enchanting "Brown Eyed Women", which can only help to symbolize Larry Bird. "The bottle was dusty, but the liquir was clean." And the "Mama Tried"...yes, the Chicago Bulls...they tried, but they shouldn't worry, they did NOT let anyone down.

Get down and row. Row, row LeBron row. You’re gonna get there sooner than later. And that I do know. The Cavs time may not be now, but it will come. And how's for this "Row Jimmy" that clocks in at just over the length of an NBA quarter? Ah, the intricate ways Garcia could fascinate with his improvesation. Sound like young LeBron James to you. Patience, young LeBron...you're going to get there.

Where was I? Oh yes, talking about the conclusion to Set I...right? Dancin' in the Streets, a version unlike any other, where you can feel the passion and perseverance shine through. This is the frantic epicenter of this majestic night. Garcia isn’t afraid to take chances. Or to be bold. It’s a music traditionalists nightmare, but none-so for the Grateful Dead. Much to the delight of the many a spring night, the Dead elevate Dancin’ to a much greater height.

Like the Golden State Warriors and their fear nothing and frenzied style of play. This Dancin’ sets the tone and leaves nothing else to say. Garcia is the Baron Davis of this sacred gem, a reckless abandonment to the boundaries we’ve known. Like the Warriors in Oakland, listening to the Dead here, you can feel just how much they’ve grown.

Oh so many treats...and I've only made it half way. This "Scarlet Begonias> Fire on The Mountain" is as in unision as we'd ever hear from the Dead. They were zoned into perfectionism at this very moment, something we all strive for. Much like the '86 Celtics, this backbone represents just how "perfect" something can be when it all comes together at the right time.

That was the '86 Celtics...everything morphed into the perfect unit at the ideal time. The seamless transition from Scarlet into Fire...represents the transition we took from the regular season into the Playoffs. And you can probably guess, the maestro behind it all for us was Larry Bird. I can't praise or mention Larry Bird enough...especially when talking about the Grateful Dead.

“Once in a while you can get shown the light, in the strangest of places if you look at just right.”

Larry was unquestionably the greatest leader that I ever played with. He was so good that he would tell the other team what he was going to do just before he went out, and then put it in their face. Now that's a champion.

Am I done yet...of course not. The pace and energy following this eruption into the second set can only be cultivated by an ever-easy "Estimated Prophet." It's needed to calm the crowd and the listener from an energy overdose. The Dead were always good at pulling back just a little. And who better to think of as an "Estimated Prophet" other than Tim Duncan?

For those who refuse to recognize and appreciate Timmy Duncan as the greatest power forward of this or any generation, I say puh-lease. Duncan is the quintessential perfectionist, fine-toned, mild mannered with an acute attention to execution. What else can be said about the Big Fundamental? Throw it down...Big Man!!!

The set closes with a flury, a patient and poised "Saint Stephen> Not Fade Away> Saint Stephen" carries us home like the San Antonio Spurs closing out a Championship. Thorough and to the point and a delight to all. "You know our love will not fade away!"

Oh, and who could forget the "Morning Dew" closer that serves as an inspirational and uplifting moment of clarity for anyone willing to let Garcia take them along a spiritual journey. And things just wouldn't be right if we didn't get that "One more Saturday Night" encore...now would it?

I'm giddy just talking about my two favorite subjects, the Grateful Dead and the NBA. And I can't wait to get high with my good friend the ever enlightening Jon Barry next week and listen to this show over and over. I bid a goodnight to you all.

Let's all root against the Spurs.

The Western Conference Finals started in the NBA on Sunday afternoon. And just in case you missed it, everything went pretty much according to plan...the Spurs lulled us all to sleep with another convincing win. From all indications, the Spurs would have to be the prohibitive favorite to win, yet another NBA Title this season. And to be honest, that has me really friggin' irked.

Anybody, but the Spurs...puh-lease!

It's not just because they are boring and it's certainly not an envy thing. I just can't stand the Spurs, never been able to tolerate them. And so, I'm proposing we all rally and root for Utah or root for the Cleveland/Detroit winner, but more importantly just root against the fucking Spurs. Root against them with all your heart...trust me...it's for the good. And I've even got a few reasons, follow me...

1. Tim Duncan is boring.

I know he's arguably the best power forward of this or any other generation. It's cool...I'm completely fine with that. However, they don't call him the big fundamental for nothing. He is boring. Sure he's great, but he just lacks that charisma we've come to expect from our superstars. I know this angle has been played before, but I'm playing it again. Duncan just doesn't do it for me.

And if the cards continue to fall in place as they have thus far in this post-season, he'll be winning his 4th Finals MVP trophy in a little over a month. Yet, he'll still have no personality...so there.

2. Manu Ginobli looks like Balki Bartokomousxs.

I know nobody really likes Ginobli, or at least I've never met anyone who admits to liking Ginobli. Anyhow, he's a rodent...a pest if you will. His incessant flopping is a disgrace to the league. Has he ever committed a foul? Please, spare us all Manu and give up the act.

And if that wasn't enough, aside from the balding factor, Manu could be a dead ringer for the most annoying 80's sitcom character known to man, yup Balki. I know this observation is by no means a ground breaking revelation. Yet the resemblance is uncanny and the annoyance level each creates, pretty much sums it up. Look, Cousin Larry can't stand you bro and neither can the casual NBA fan.

Here's to hoping somebody punches Ginobli square on his big goofy looking nose.

3. Bruce Bowen is a dirty player.

Bottom line, if enough people keep saying this...can it not be true? A knee to the groin here, a trip there or an undercut...Bowen is cheap. It can't be said enough, yet he continues to reap the praises from those that cover the NBA. And he's not one of those guys that you can honestly say..."I don't like him, but if he were on my team...". No, that statement won't work, Bowen is a sleaze.

4. It's hard not to be jealous of Tony Parker.

Look, he's banging Eva Longoria. Enough said. I'm jealous. Poor Tony, he has to wait a few months for Eva to re-open the gates, until after they get married. Yeah, life is rough...26 years old, 2 NBA titles and a hot piece of older ass. We should all be so unfortunate.

5. One more Championship and yes, this will be the lasting "Great" Dynasty of this era.

Long forgotten will be the Kobe and Shaq led Lakers. This will be the team everyone remembers. And why not? With the likelihood of 4 titles in a little less than a decade and potential for even more than that. Is this the team we really want to define this era? Fuck no.

I know they play the "right way" and I know they are a very, very good team. Yet, I just can't live with the notion of this being "the" team we talk about 10 years from now. And so, I'm imploring everyone to join me in rooting against the Spurs. It's in your and my best interest.

It's what's good for the NBA.

The Original Bad Boys.

Ah, yes the memories of yesteryear. Do you remember the original "Bad Boys"? Any true Piston fan will always remember the amazing intro's at the Silverdome and eventually the Palace of Auburn Hills. Yes, we love Mason and the modern era of Detroit Piston introductions, but still always get a little nostalgic when we hear the 80's classic - "The Final Countdown" by Europe. Joe Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-maaaaarZZZZZZZ!!!

Thanks to youtube, we can all relive the memories...and get pumped up for the current Pistons quest for another 'ship. More on that in the days and weeks to come. For now...just enjoy!!!

It's Pronounced Kara-tay

Here's an excellent concoction of some rad martial arts/street climbing tricks. If this doesn't get you psyched up to bang out some TPS Reports this week, I don't know what will.

Friday Night Madness 4

What Would I Do With A Record Label?

I'm not entirely sure why I just asked myself this question, because it is a tough one to answer these days. An independent record label has never been an easy business to escalate to any level of success, whether the motive is profit, spreading music you love, or even just being part of a scene. But now, with the advent of online music services, blogs, Myspace, and affordable home recording equipment, the need for a record label is dwindling.

Note: Everything I am about to write is coming from an uninformed, hypothetical mindset. I have zero experience in the music business.

Let's take a look at probably the most successful independent record label of all time, Sub Pop. Whether you know it or not, you know Sub Pop. This label is most famous for signing and helping popularize Nirvana and the Seattle grunge phenomenon, but has also sold a hell of a lot of albums with Soundgarden, the Shins, the Postal Service, and Mudhoney. Sub Pop started from very modest beginnings, gaining popularity in its early days by offering a cassette tape service that simply sent out mixes promoting new bands to its subscribers. This grassroots campaign, though successful in terms of the audience reception and exposure to the music, was a financial flop and the partners abandoned the idea because they were broke. In fact, according to the book, Label Launch, by Veronika Kalmar, even after their early success with the grunge movement, the international offices could not keep up with the mailings, so they supplemented their revenues by selling t-shirts. What did they say? “What Part Of ‘We Have No Money’ Don’t You Understand?”

Well, there are two takeaways from this story that still apply to the music business of today, tomorrow, and yesterday. The first is that in order to create a successful record label or publisher, you need to create a successful brand that embodies the music you wish to record or promote. The other example of this phenomena that is often cited in a discussion such as this is Motown. Motown was not just a label or just a publisher, but it was a sound. This is the really the key to success in this and it will seemingly always apply no matter what turns the industry takes. The second important element to learn is that of the humble beginnings of Sub Pop. People will always appreciate other people turning them on to new music, so long as the music is good. This part just got a lot easier.

So, assuming I somehow inherited a pile of cash and decided to start my own label, where do I begin? First, I would choose the niche that I genuinely love and could see myself investing a lot of time scouring the world for talent, listening to the music, recording the music, and trying to somehow make some money selling it. I think that most people immediately assume “Indie Rock” when they hear anything regarding an independent record label. I think this genre is massively over saturated and is not even really a genre at all. It’s pretty much just a vague term that is essentially going to morph into meaning bands that once were cool, but sold out. I love a lot of so called indie rock bands, but this is too fickle a crowd for me. I wouldn’t want to deal with walking the fine line of selling out versus selling some records. After all, you would want to make a living, right?

That leaves me with three genres that I like enough to deal with: bluegrass, jambands, and funk. I can pretty much rule out jambands without giving it much thought, because these bands usually allow recording at all of their shows and they aren’t particularly popular for their studio work. The studio albums are almost always comprised of songs the fans already know and have heard played a million times more creatively in the live setting. I think bluegrass could work, but I am a little hesitant here, because while I love this stuff, I think I might lose my marbles if I listened to bluegrass everyday for an extended period of time. I think I would end up drunk on moonshine starting around 9 am most days. So, that leaves the funk. I feel good about this. Funk is and always has been a wildly successful genre, but has never really been marketed as its own genre. It’s typically been thrown into the stew of either hip hop, jamband, or classic rock tags. Much like Motown, I think I label themed around funk could be successful and would be exciting to navigate.

Now, that I have my music genre, where would I find the bands. I’m assuming this would require a lot of Tuesday nights at Arlene’s Grocery hitting the multi-band showcases day in day out, but fortunately, I could probably do a lot of legwork on Myspace and more music specific sites like Musicmates. Hopefully, we would come up with some dirty funk machines, such as these guys.

So, now that we have our music, the real trick would be figuring out what to do with it. I think the online grassroots networking would be the approach. Much like the incestuous linking in the blogosphere, I would hope to find a similar network for new music and find a community of likeminded music fans, blogs, websites, message boards, etc. Ideally people would just stumble upon the bands, give it listen, and some of them would stick. Apparently, an independent record release is considered a hit if it sells 10,000 copies. I think with some internet legwork, combined with some touring, and a little luck, this is pretty attainable. It might not happen overnight, but I think it’s attainable.

So, that’s the plan, who’s got some money?

Live From the Cube

I’m coming to you live from the Cube here Friday morning with some rapid fire action. Forgive me if I go off on some tangents about bonds or something, I’m trying not to get fired here. Along those lines, I did score a solid 4 out of 5 on my performance review this year, so cheers to me for not letting this blog cost me my job yet. Just to make this fun, I’ll try to add as many dumb corporate buzzwords as I can possibly fit into a sports related post.

Enough about work, let’s move on to some sports. Cheers to you, Chicago. I’m sure it’s not much for condolences coming from a Detroit fan, but it’s good to see a great team forming in Chicago and the revitalization of the rivalry. Thanks for a great series and I’m sure you’ll get your dues in the coming years. What looked like a roll-over-and-die effort by the Bulls, nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. Moving forward, we’ll see you next season, same time, same place.

As much as I’ve given Chris Webber a hard time over the years, I love him as a Piston. When Webber first joined, I figured he would add about as much value as an interview with a human resources professional. Granted, he has about a 7 inch vertical at this point, but it’s all the better - his passes are amazing. Webber has developed such a great awareness as a passer in the post, that I actually like him better than when he was a 25 and 10 player. Strangely, my action item for the morning was to check the box score this morning to see how many assists he ended up with last night and it was one. Can that be right? I swear I remember at least 3 to McDyess in the second half alone.

Alright, so now I am not only confused, but I’m angry. The one time they put the NBA games at a decent hour is Friday night? Can someone please explain this logic? Let’s take a 30,000 foot view of this issue. The one night of the week we can actually stay up late enough to watch the west coast games is the one night that they shift them to run earlier? Did you know that people often go to work Monday through Friday? We can actually go out on Friday nights and stay up past 10:30. Is it possible that this might have something to do with the poor ratings? My friend actually commented that she goes to sleep for the Western Conference games when they start and sets an alarm to wake her up for the 4th quarter. This should spark a light bulb: move them earlier. There’s nothing more fun than an early game where you can just go to happy hour straight from work. Just ask Stan.

While we are typically not big ESPN bashers over here, I must admit, whoever writes the little taglines for Page 2 really sucks. I know what you are thinking. “The ones you guys put up are the dumbest things on the entire internet.” Yeah, we know. That’s why I take a little solace in knowing ESPN’s are so stupid. “Where we wonder Giambi feels $120 million worth of guilt?” That is lousy. And they almost always that bad. Just an FYI.

Is it bad that I have recently become a huge fan of USA Today? Most people consider USA just a notch above the New York Post on the brain damaged idiot reading scale, but I think it is a great newspaper. Don’t get me wrong, I do not expect to get hard hitting political analysis or business news, but I like the Sports page and I love the Life section. For starters, it serves a great purpose if you are a displaced sports fan, meaning you do not live in the city of your favorite teams. It gives you pretty strong national coverage and it’s reliable for late game coverage. They have a good balance of stories from the major newspapers across the country, AP stuff, and USA Today writers. Plus, the graphics are always remarkably solid. The Life section is just fascinating on a daily basis. For instance, yesterday they ran the academic high school all-Americans. I spent about an hour reading about these remarkably over-achieving high school kids all over the country. Funny stuff. I had no idea the lengths high school kids were going these days. These kids were running radio stations, founding non-profit organizations, and cloning DNA in their spare time. The television coverage is also great, highlight by periodic reviews of Lost episodes, evaluations of upcoming new series, and again leveraging the stunning graphics capabilities. If you want to talk more about this, we can take it offline.

Finally, I’m gonna throw this against the wall and hope it sticks. We all know that the Spurs against the Pistons in the NBA Finals is the worst possible outcome for everyone’s level of interest. Shit, I’m a Pistons fan and I can barely stand the thought of it. Well, if the Spurs are the best team in the West, then I am prepared to afford them have the credit. They are in the midst of a legitimate dynasty and should get the credit they deserve for being the best-in class team of the Western Conference. I’m done worrying about if the series will be boring or not. It’s not like the Pistons have anyone besides Detroit fans excited, so who am I to complain.

Where Is Hockeytown?

The Detroit Red Wings are on the verge of entering the Stanley Cup finals! Now that I have said that- where the fuck are the crowds? The Wings have been stunning the critics on the ice throughout the past month. First they downed the Flames, then they ousted the mighty Sharks, and now they are well on their way to eliminating the Anaheim Ducks. But where is the once infamous Joe Louis Arena?

The Wings have yet to sell out a playoff game this year. Detroit is known world wide as "Hockeytown" USA, and yet their own team cannot sell out a playoff game? It's not like the Wings are an upset team that has taken the State of Michigan by storm. The Wings entered the playoffs ranked #1 and have played up to their full potential throughout all the playoffs. They have been dominating the ice thanks to the brilliance shown by Datsyuk, Zetterburg, and Holmstrom.

It's not even like it has been an uneventful series. Last game Tomas Holmstrom took 13 stiches to the eye thanks to a dirty double team bash by Pronger and Neidermeyer- which did land a one game suspension on Pronger going into today's game. It will be interesting to see if Detroit can capitalize on this massive void in Anaheim's defense.

Perhaps the City of Detroit has become more focused on the Pistons? This doesn't seem right. The Pistons have been consistently in the upper echelon of the NBA for the past five years, and yet, the Joe has enjoyed sell out crowds even through the Wings early exit the past two years. Is it because suddenly the Detroit Tigers are in the limelight again? Did the self proclaimed "Hockeytown" USA fans decide to switch gears thinking that 4 hours of sitting in Detroit smog is more inviting than 2 hours of non-stop action on ice?

Whatever the case, it's bullshit. There is no excuse. The Wings are on the verge of a Stanley Cup trophy and yet they can't even accomplish what most teams did in round 1: sell out a crowd. Shame on Detroit.

If Only We Were Blogging In: 1991

In Super Bowl XXV, the Buffalo Bills kicker, Scott Norwood pulled a Ray Finkle and shanked a 47 yarder, wide right. Correction, Scott Norwood actually IS Ray Finkle. Not only did Norwood's miss in Super Bowl XXV send Norwood into a lifetime of psycotherapy, but it was later immortalized in the comedy classic, Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. You gotta feel for Scott Norwood. Honestly, nobody deserves that type of failure. Scott, we hope you found God or something - really, we do.

Tecmo Super Bowl was introduced and with it came the greatest play in the history of the game of football, the Reverse Fake Z-Post. The play begins with a toss to running back in the backfield, designed to freeze up the linebackers. Then, the RB then hands off to the wide receiver coming back on the reverse, tying up the safeties. Next, the wide out flips it back to the QB, leaving the deep post route wide open for paydirt. You could run this one time from your own one yard line, score a td, and wind up with a QB rating of something in the neighborhood of 785.

Thumbs Up, Mike Utley! The Lions rallied around the paralysis of guard, Mike Utley, who in an emotional display of character, gave a memorable thumbs up to the crowd as he was carried off the field. The rallying cry helped propel the Lions to 12-4 season. I will always remember this as my favorite season in NFL history. To cap it all off, we got our only playoff win since 1957 in a 38-6 ass whooping of the Super Bowl favorite, Dallas Cowboys. I watched the game at Damon's the Place for Ribs and drank about seven Mountain Dews.

Thanks to TNT for contributing this one in the pregame of the Golden State - Dallas Mavericaks game the other day. The Golden State Warriors won their last playoff series in 1991, 3-1 against the Spurs. This takes us back all the way back to the Run TMC era. The flavaful stew of Tim Hardaway, Mitch Richmond, and Chris Mullin was a force to be reckoned with. What ever happened to Mitch Richmond anyway? Get a load of the killer crossovers in this inspired homage.



Wouldn’t it be super to go back in time and play fantasy football with some of the greats of yesteryear? Well, Stan and I simulated the first round of a theoretical 1991 fantasy draft.

1) Barry Sanders, RB, Lions
2) Thurman Thomas, RB, Bills
3) Emmitt Smith, RB, Cowboys
4) Jerry Rice, WR, 49ers
5) Dan Marino, QB, Dolphins
6) Jim Kelly, QB, Bills
7) Christian Okoye, RB, Chiefs
8) Warren Moon, QB, Oilers
9) Rodney Hampton, RB, Giants
10) Michael Irvin, WR, Cowboys
11) Andre Rison, WR, Falcons
12) Steve Young, QB, 49ers

Sleepers:
Gary Clark, WR, Redskins
Kevin Mack, RB, Browns
Robert Delpino, RB, Broncos
Haywood Jeffires, WR, Oilers
Marv Cook, TE, Pats
Gaston Green, RB, Rams

In the world of fashion, we had "No Fear" as we showed off our "Johnson" and "B(are) A(ss)" on T-shirts. Innovation was the name of the game in 1991 as the world saw the first and only clothing that could change colors upon the touch, Hypercolors. Geeks across the world gobbled up these fascinating inventions, giving them excuses to paw and grope one another at will. What better excuse to grab a young girl's boobs than to see if they change color? If you want to learn how they work, click here. Finally, we got our first wide reaching taste of the Simpsons as Bart Simpson clothing was the must have item du jour. To this day, I have no idea what is funny about "Aye Caramba," but to many, it was a way of life.

I don't know about you guys, but I learned how to be cool from the one and only, Lorzenzo Lamas. In fact Lorenzo Lamas is really the foundation of the Ghosts Of Wayne Fontes mission statement. It goes something like this: We know we suck, but we hope to suck in a way that makes people want to keep coming back. That's exactly what happened to me every weekend. Lamas would suck me in to his Renegade ways on USA Up All Night. I didn't like the show at all, but I probably watched every single episode at least twice. I only hope we can someday have that same effect.


The year 1991 introduced a solid repertoire of films, but broght a dramatic shift from the slice of life comedies of the 80's. Instead, '91 focused more on the serious: Boyz in the Hood was the beginning of the ghetto youth film; Silence of the Lambs brought the psychological thriller into the limelight; Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey just sucked; Hook and Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves made hits out of fairy tales; and Cape Fear scared the shit out of us.

Finally, the highlight of 1991, at least for my friends and I, was the creation of the Kenny Rogers' Roasters franchise. What began as a fleeting phase of goofiness, evolved into a daily ritual of "Getting Roastered." I don't think too many people experienced the pure euphoria of eating a Roasters half chicken with mashed potatoes and four to six corn muffins, but we did on a daily basis for about two years straight. I used to return to school after lunch in a state of overstuffed bliss. Some considered Kenny Rogers Roasters just another gimmicky version of Boston Market. Not true. It was vastly superior. The little roasted corn nobules in the muffins were incredible and the chicken was succulent and delicious. I was deeply saddened when the candle burned out on this culinary masterwork.

You didn't really think I was going to end this without some Barry Sanders footage did you?

Welcome Home Buddy

“Wake up… Wake up”

The pasty bloated slothful naked body of a man shifted and then fluttered his beady eyes open.

“Wha?... What is… Yasser Arafat!!!”

Arafat, leaning over the fat piece of shit that resembled a walrus, said, “Yes, I am here to welcome you, Jerry Falwell, welcome you to Hell!””

“Hell?? But I carried out the Lord’s work. I was his servant,” said Falwell.

“Yeah,” Arafat responded, “that’s the first thing I said too when I got here after ‘Where are my 72 virgins?’” Arafat, chomping on a cigar, slapped the fat fucking Falwell on the back and said, “Come on. I’ll take you to the boss.”


Arafat and Falwell walked down a narrow corridor with doors to either side that contained square windows in them so one could see the tortuous acts being carried out. They were all there. Hitler, Genghis Kahn, Jerry Garcia, you name it.

“Why is everyone here famous?” Falwell asked as he walked by Saddam Hussein getting rocks dropped on his head.

“Well,” Arafat responded, “they put us ultra shitheads in our own area. Your run of the mill Hell residents, such as your arms dealers, investment bankers and bloggers, are on another level. I’m told they don’t have to pass a kidney stone everyday nor do they have constant rectal bleeding… Lucky bastards.’

“How about you?” a dumbfounded and idiotic Falwell asked, “You don’t seem to have it so bad. I mean, you’re not getting tortured. You’re simply escorting me.”

“You and I have very different definitions of torture,” Arafat muttered. “Anyway, here we are.”

Falwell watched Arafat walk up to a desk where a woman who looked like Katherine Hepburn was working the phones and doing some light typing. The next thing Falwell knew, he was being whisked away down another corridor. He thought he heard Arafat telling him to go fuck his mother, but he knew Arafat didn’t know Larry Flynnt

“Welcome Jerry,” Falwell heard a deep, almost soothing voice say as he stood in complete darkness.

Suddenly the lights flashed on and Falwell was in a room that was completely white standing across from a man with a slight build and dressed in a long black cloak –a man Falwell immediately recognized as Satan, because he had an uncanny resemblance to that horrible douchebag actor that was in that movie about the Civil War with that crazy bitch who used to be married to Tom Cruise and he was in that other excruciatingly long movie about Chicago gangsters with Tom Hanks.

“There must be some mistake,” the fat fuck Falwell began to embarrassingly plea. “I spent my life serving God. I was a pious man.”


“Save it you revolting horror of a human being,” the Lord of Lies bellowed. "Jerry Falwell, did you or did you not once say:”

Homosexuality is Satan's diabolical attack upon the family that will not only have a corrupting influence upon our next generation, but it will also bring down the wrath of God upon America.

“Um, well… You see, I -”

“Silence. Did you not also say:”

AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals.

“I don’t recall exact –“

“As punishment you will be gang-raped repeatedly by John Rocker and Tim Hardaway,” said Beezlebub himself.

“No, No, please, I don’t deserve this –hey wait. John Rocker and Tim Hardaway aren’t dead, and they’re not gay either.”

“I can arrange their deaths,” said the Devil, “and yes they are gay. Think about it fool. Hardaway was made so uncomfortable by John Amaechi that he’s just like you –he masks his gayness with homophobic rhetoric. And John Rocker plays baseball.

“Anyway,” the devil continued, “you also said this:

If you're not a born-again Christian, you're a failure as a human being.

As well as:

Most of these feminists are radical, frustrated lesbians, many of them, and man-haters, and failures in their relationships with men, and who have declared war on the male gender. The Biblical condemnation of feminism has to do with its radical philosophy and goals. That's the bottom line.

“As such, while you are being sodomized by the gay athletes repeatedly, you will also be forced to read Carl Sagan and Richard Dawkins, as well as listen to audiotapes of speeches by Gloria Steinem and Jane Fonda.”

“NOOOO, oh Lord in Heaven please save me.”

“You also said this:

I think the Moslem faith teaches hate.

Which may be true at times, but still I want you to fellate the 9/11 hijackers (which will double as punishment for them), also because you said this on September 13, 2001:

I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians ... the A.C.L.U., People for the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America, I point the finger in their face and say, 'You helped this happen.”

And then there’s my favorite:

I am such a strong admirer and supporter of George W. Bush that if he suggested eliminating the income tax or doubling it, I would vote yes on first blush.

Unfortunately I don’t have a punishment that fits that one, because I don’t really punish flat-out stupidity. And lastly:

I think hell's a real place where real people spend a real eternity.

"Welcome home buddy,” the devil said as John Rocker and Tim Hardaway came into the room all lubed-up.

One Timers: Them Belly Full Edition

Boxing is back...on TV a lot. If you haven't noticed, I've been paying a lot of attention to sports marketing tactics lately. I don't really know when this started or why I find it so interesting, but this is yet another pretty bad job of it. Maybe it's becasue I have some serious prowess when it comes to writing the ever important, Request for Proposal. Maybe these people just really suck. Nevertheless, I am a bit surprised this is all the boxing brass came up with to follow up to the big fight. They are simply trying to inundate us with bush league sparring. You klnow how I know it's not going to work? It can't pass the easiest test of any, the treadmill test. I pretty much try to find any sporting event I can when I force myself to go to the gym and I would rather watch drills on the NFL Network with no sound instead.

Two quick things on Brett Favre. He has every right to take a little jab at the Packer's back office. They botched the deal and if Brett Favre told them to get Randy Moss, they should have listened. Don't forget that this is the Packers we are talking about here. Brett Favre deserves pretty much anything he wants. He's a damn legend in Green Bay and if he asks for Randy Moss at pennies on the dollar, get your check book out and make it happen. Also, the fact that Favre was really excited to have Moss in his receiver corps brings up an interesting thought. When everyone talks about the troublemaker wide receivers in the league and where they would be a good fit, it's always about the coach and if they will obey. I'm referring most specifically to Terrell Owens last season and how everyone was saying Parcells would keep him in check. Well, it's probably a lot more important that these nutjobs play for a quarterback like Favre that they respect. Clearly, there is no way to tell now, but I think Moss would have been on his best behavior playing with Favre. Tom Brady might have the same pull. Aaron Rogers, not so much.

The Suns vs. Spurs series reminds me a lot of the Heat-Pistons series two in 2005, when the Pistons fought to the death and eeked it out in seven only after Dwayne Wade strained his knee and missed game 6. Why? Those were arguably the two best teams in the league and they beat the daylights out of each other to the point that there was nothing left for the rest on the playoffs. I have a sneaking suspiscion we might see the same thing happen this year. I would say that the Suns and Spurs are the two best teams remaining, but after this series, I think whoever advances will be in big trouble. This series is too big of a battle to shake off and play another two. It even happened to the Tigers in the ALCS last year. They battled to the death with the Yankees and fought with everything that they had, leaving nothing for the World Series.

Anyone got any good book recommendations? I'm sort of waivering on what to read before the big event of the summer, the last Harry Potter. I'm about three times more excited for summer than normal, because it's going to be epic.

In case you are wondering why this is called the "Them Belly Full Edition," it has nothing to do with sports. It's just because I am really tired from eating a shitload of Chinese food a second ago.

What we learned about the NBA last night.

Phoenix has balls. Phoenix was just born. Yes, the entire franchise was born in this coming of age victory of the San Antonio Spurs. Gee, forgive me for reminding everyone, but it still takes "4" wins to advance. Yet, somehow everyone is quick to point to this game as the "breakthrough" for the Suns.

Wow, I guess if the mission is not to get swept or your ass handed to you by the Spurs...then chalk that up as a breakthrough. For now, let's call it what it was...an impressive road victory to finally give us a series in this second round. It was a building block for the Suns, but nothing else. Was I impressed...you bet your ass, but they've got to win a couple more games before this means anything.

Now, for the Spurs...yes, they are a dirty team. Sad to see "Big Shot" Bob cheap shot Nash at the end of the game. We shall see how Stu Jackson reacts to this one. In any event, for years I've often thought Bowen was dirty and Ginobli was flop. I know I'm not alone in my thinking, but hopefully now it's become apparent to the rest of the casual NBA audience.

LeBron James waivers, repeat waivers, as non-clutch. His forced jump shots with under a minute and his missed free throw with 11.4 seconds left, could've cost his Cavs the game. Then again, it didn't cost them and they certainly can't say they would've been in such a situation without LeBron.

With that said, for any suspect ounce of "non-clutchness" LeBron may possess...Vince Carter trumps it tenfold. VC was simply awful. And he owes his teammates an apology for a gag job in the most critical game of their season. Turnover, missed shot, cry for foul, turnover...etc. Vince Carter is neither tough enough or ready to be the superstar, we've all envisioned him to be. He's going to have to play second fiddle if he ever wants to go anywhere in the playoffs.

And so it's on to tonight...Detroit and Utah both going for the close out. Good-bye to America's team...the Warriors.

Not a "Good" day to be a Detroit Sports Fan.

We here at TGOWF often get accused of being a little Detroit biased. And that's a fair assessment, but for the most part we like to think we have a pretty open perspective on the national sports scene as well. Say what you will, but none of us actually really live anywhere near Detroit...anymore.

Regardless, it was the type of day in Detroit sports that was supposed to be special. The Pistons had the chance to close out the Bulls with another sweep! The Red Wings had the chance to go up 2-0 on the Quacks. And if didn't it get any better, the Tigers were the 3rd Detroit team gracing national TV on Sunday Night Baseball...also with a chance to sweep their series against the Twins.

Well, you may have guessed it...nothing really went according to plan. Yet, we're totally cool with what happened today. Yeah, it's a little discouraging, but as you'll see in our assessments below, we are handling it all like good sports. We've all matured that way, you know.

Bulls 102 Pistons 87

Real simple...they didn't try. Nope. They coasted. The Pistons simply expected the sweep and figured the Bulls would just roll over and play dead. About midway through the 2nd quarter, they got a little tired. In turn, they opted to just mail it in and call it a weekend. And it had to be a long weekend...partying after the huge win on Thursday night. We all know it's a money driven league and our owner wanted one more game at the Palace.

It was Mr. Davidson's personal request. He was starting to get a little worried that he was only going to get a total of 8 home games this entire playoff season. And besides, do you really think the Pistons aren't winning Game 5 at home? C'mon...this was all for show. Today was just going through the motions. Whatever, did you see Flip Murray's dunk? Our prognosis...not worried.

Twins 16 Tigers 4

Who was this game more important to, the Tigers or the Twins? Yeah, you guessed right if you said the Twins. The Tigers are running away from the Twins in this division for god sake. And Leyland simply wanted to not tax his bullpen and burn out anymore of his arms. He needs everyone to be healthy for a possible preview of the ALCS later this week at Fenway.

Um, the Tigers basically waived the white flag and started a dude they just called up from Triple A, named Virgil Vasquez. Why not give the Twins a little confidence? Who cares, the Tigers know the Twins won't ever catch them this year. The Tigers know their only competition this year will be from the Indians in the Central. So, Vasquez got to throw BP in his first major league start. Prognosis: Big Deal, yeah right.

Quacks 4 Red Wings 3 (OT)

Fuck the Niedermayers. Gordon Bombay had the perfect game plan against the Wings tonight. "Let's cheap shot them with dirty hits to nullify their finesse players, hope for a couple cheap goals and then set up the flying V in OT for the game winner." Yawn, wake me up when I'm scared. The Wings are toying with the Quacks.

Again, we all know the need for money and revenue in a starving league like the NHL. Look, Crazy Bread and Pizza ain't carrying Mike Illitch's empire these days. He needs another game at the Joe. And he needs another month of Red Wings revenue before he focuses on the Tigers. We all saw it...the Wings could've won, but the Quacks cheated. Prognosis: Bull Shit.

The Lions

Well, we heard that Millen and the Intern are back from Cabo San Lucas...so it's time to go to work on the 2008 Playoff campaign. C'mon...you know this is a 12-4 team waiting to happen.

So there, you see...we've got things in pretty good perspective. I don't see any Detroit bias, but go ahead and feel free to bash Detroit in the comments below...haters.

Jake Peavy is Filthy.

He's back. And just in case anyone still hasn't heard of Jake Peavy, he's here to refresh your memory and remind those of us who forgot about him last season. He's no longer arguably the filthiest pitcher in the National League, now he just simply is. No more arguments please. With a vast array and arsenal of pitches, you are watching Johan west. Yes, he is the NL's answer to Johan Santana...and on a normal day, he's just as dominant and fascinating to watch.

Again, if you haven't caught Peavy's act...you are missing out.

Friday night against St.Louis was more of the same for Peavy. He was simply un-hittable. He fooled hitters with his movement and change-up. Yet always a Peavy characteristic, he showed not one ounce of fear and carried the bravado to blaze his fastball by anyone he chose. And yes, that included Albert Pujols...who twice fell victim to a Peavy "K." In total Peavy had a mild night with only 10 "K's."

Yet, a 10 "K" performance for Jake has become common place these days. Consider this, Peavy has struck out at least 10 in four straight games. His 16 "K" performance against Arizona was nothing short of brilliant, as he also scattered a mere 2 hits that same night. Sadly it was lost on a no decision, but that's another story...about the Padres. This story here is all about Jake.

His stats this season, although flawless don't paint the portrait of just how dazzling Peavy has become this season. And that's not to stay he hasn't always been this dominant...just that this year he has had that extra gear. He currently leads the NL in strikeouts, sports a 5-1 record with a 1.52 ERA. And he's tossed gem after gem this season. Friday night against St. Louis was no different than the 1 hit gem against Florida, last weekend - dominant.

It's become more than apparent that last year was an aberration...or even more important, we can now see Peavy wasn't healthy last season. He's back to his healthy form and pitching with a vengeance. The Padres continue to keep his innings around 7 per game or just over 100 pitches. You have to protect you most valuable asset.

Every start is now and should forever be an event. He is turning out performances similar to a young Clemens or Pedro. And that in and of itself should attract everyone's attention. This is something special happening in San Diego. Every outing could be a no-hitter.

And's he's all San Diego's to enjoy for now, but it won't be long until everyone who follows baseball takes notice. It can't be much longer...it can't be...can it? No way...he's too damn good.

Chillin With The Buddha

When the weekend rolls around, I like to hang out with the Buddha and just chill. Sometimes we play video games, other times we get our eat on, but no matter what, we always listen to some good music. This week, James "The Buddha" Edwards and I assembled a masterful list of some epic cover tunes. Those of you who take your music in the missionary position, be forewarned, for these are bands that have been known to cause full heads of hair fall out. Grab yourself a beer and turn it up, for you are about to embark upon some real gems. One piece of advice, most of these songs only get better as they go on, so flipping through and listening to the beginning ain't gonna cut it. Without further ado...

1)What's My Name? (Who Am I?), by Tea Leaf Green

We'll, if that didn't get you excited, I don't know what will? That's right, this fantastic group of jammers from San Francisco mercilessly funk out Snoop's epic hit. What they lack in well, blackness, they make up for in funk and musicianship. You will see what I mean. The singing is a bit painful at times, but believe me, Snoop would cream in his pants if his backup band took it home like these guys do. For the New Yorkers out there, these guys are playing a show on the Rocks Off Boat Cruise on Sunday, June 3rd. I'll be the guy screaming out, "What's my mother fucking name?" until they play this song. Not kidding.

What's My Name? (W...

2) The Way It Is, by Raq

I suppose it was only a matter of time before another nasty jamband came out of Burlington, VT and here they are. When you first hear the piano on this take on the Bruce Hornsby classic, The Way It Is, you'll probably say, "Hmmm, he can really tickle those ivories." Give it about 30 seconds though and you will change your mind. This is not tickling at all. This could only be described as an ivory spanking.

The Way It Is.mp3

3) Good Ol' Boys, by Umphrey's McGee

If ever a song could be described as dirt-squealing, skiddin out music, this is it. Umphrey's does a remarkable tribute to everyone's favorite racists, the Dukes of Hazzard (Isn't about time they got rid of that confederate flag?). When you listen to the end jam in this song, imagine what great chase music this would make for the Duke boys. You can practically hear exactly when they would switch gears and when they would liftoff in the Gerenal Lee.

Good Ol' Boys.mp3

4) Super Mario Brothers, by Ulu

This is the pinnacle that will never be surpassed in video game music. Ulu flat out perfected this song. If this is your first time hearing these guys play this, you are lucky, because it is truly a treat. The part when Mario goes down the tube to level 1-2 makes me laugh every time.

Super Mario Brothe...

5) Amazing Grace Jam, by Phish

Come on? I couldn't do a live music post without including the kings of the castle, kings of the castle. You might want to make sure you are in private for this one, because your gonna need to get out the air guitar. Trust me. They start this one out a little rocky, but the last minute and a half or so are phenomenal. This is goosebump stuff right here.

Amazing Grace Jam....

Well that's it for today. It's summer time and it's Friday, so go out and have some fun. Until next time, were out. The Ghosts & the Buddha

Barry Bonds stole my Steroids!

(Special Feature to TGOWF from Brian Bosworth).

Hey Bare-

What’s up bro– is it cool if I call you by a nickname? It’s me the “Boz”…yeah; remember your boy? It’s been a long time Bare and I haven’t heard from you at all. Not once bro…and I still ain’t quite sure why. You gotta say it’s ‘bout time we move forward and let bygones be bygones.

This is so weird; I have never actually written a formal letter as fan, but I guess it’s kinda cool. I remember in the late 80’s even in the early 90’s, I used to get fan mail with thongs and naked pictures from adoring fans all across the globe. Yeah, to say I was a megastar back in the day would be damned understatement. Those days were the shit, but you know that.

Seriously though, wanna get together pound some muscle milk, crush some weights, or maybe get some pizza, some beer? We could watch “Stone Cold” over at the new crib. Remember when I got you and the lady tickets to the premiere showing? Yeah, I still forgive you for skipping out. Fucking movie is still a classic bro. And why the studio suits couldn’t see my potential after a film like that…well, it’s their fucking loss.

Look bro, I think it’s really cool and all that you’ve risen above all the heat and kept your head on your shoulders. After Bo ran me over and the heat started to come down on me, I folded. Yup bro, folded like a fucking chair…if that makes any sense. I gave away years of my life, but you know – I’m ready to get it back.

I don’t mean to dig up the past, but let me refresh you – 1997. This is about the time you were seeking out a new trainer in the Bay Area. Remember, we went to the gym, you asked me if I could help out. Well, Bare – you can just admit it already…you stole my stash. You stole my fucking steroids. And you’ve been lying about it for years and have completely cut me out of your life, because of that.

I’m ready to bury that hatchet bro, but I need you to admit you took them. You were the only one I showed the mother load. And yet, you changed your phone # hooked up with Anderson and Conte and have been paying the “karma” tab ever since. The “Boz” don’t have NO karma tab, Bare.

I could’ve set you up for years and nobody, repeat nobody, ever would have traced or linked you with the juice, bro. You don’t think I would’ve gone to jail for you? Shit, Bare you really missed out. I wish you the best man and I’ll be rooting for you to break the record. Let me know if you need me to bust up this Schilling prick for you.

Anything man, I forgive you for the juice. I just wanna hang out with you again, dude. I included an autographed DVD of “Stone Cold” and my replica Oklahoma jersey. It’s just a bunch of extra’s from memorabilia I try and sell on Ebay, nowadays. That’s become my full-time career…and it has it’s perks.

So, if you ever wanna get together and catch up, let me know bro. I’ve got some new highly undetectable stuff that’s sure to keep you off the radar. Anytime, you wanna get together, get a burger or beer…you got my number. I got tickets for the Warriors games up in Oakland…call me. Bare, I miss you bro.

Your Pal-
BOZ

"38" Bitches: A Motion against Schilling.

(Editors Note: The views expressed in the following are NOT affiliated or associated with anyone here at TGOWF. This obviously is a group of angry folks, who needed the leverage to have their voices heard. And clearly, they were just too lazy to get their own blog and thus, chose to submit their list of gripes to our ever growing popular blog. So, we couldn’t resist the temptation…Curt Schilling has just been making way too much news as of late.)

Here’s the transcript…

We are forming the allegiance of current or former baseball players, bloggers, media reps, basically anyone against Curt Schilling; just call us 38 Bitches…err, maybe not. Anyhow, our identities remain in anonymity. First and foremost our intent is not to harm or sadden Mr. Schilling; rather it’s our goal that he simply just shut the fuck up for once.

Let’s face it, in order to get Schilling to shut up…we had no choice, but to take this action. Since he had taken his word of mouth into the blogosphere, we found it appropriate to do the same. It’s a freedom of speech world and we have the right, besides it’s not fair for him to use up all the oxygen.

As many of us know, Schill has become quite the topic of conversation thus far in the young MLB season. And we ask why? Well, he needed to get his aging act of “know-how” and “know-it-all” out in the public to mask his deteriorating and eroding pitching skills. To be fair and honest, the Anti-Schilling allegiance had a party on opening day when the Royals – yes, the fucking Royals – shelled the Schill for seven runs.

The Blog itself (38pitches.com) is what set us off. We tried to get a commenter status, but found it to be just as impossible as getting commenter approval from Deadspin. Regardless, just listening to an aging 40-something pitcher talk about his job, a job we are all very familiar with…just makes us want to vomit. Does “Joe the Janitor” need a blog to explain to us all how he had to clean shit spackle off a toilet?

Actually, that story sounds more appealing than listening to Curt the prophet gives us his daily routine. We get it Schill, you are a disciple of the game. Yet, what we don’t get is the legions of fans that flock to your blog and join in your praise, but let’s not go there. Let’s just explain our gripes with you…

The Media

Seriously Shill, you love ‘em, you hate ‘em. Make up your mind. You can’t bash all media personalities for what you perceive to be favoritism in reporting. You can’t challenge an established media outlet’s journalistic integrity, while you spout your often false and misleading opinions on Boston Sports talk radio.

Take for example this whole Barry Bonds situation. How could you possibly make anyone on this earth feel sympathetic for that guy? Yet, somehow you managed the impossible Curt…way to go. And half of your premise during the attack was falsely based. When did Bonds ever admit to any of the above? Way to go Curt.

Here’s to hoping you have the “cojones” to pitch to Bonds in June, when the Giants visit Fenway. And here’s to hoping he sends one of your lame ducks over the fence to break the HR record. Can’t wait to read your blog the day after, if something like that were to happen.

Yeah, we get the rebuttal. We saw the apology, but it’s just not good enough for us. You are in denial about your fascination and use of the media. They are your microphone, but only when you choose. Without the media Curt, you are just another 40+ pitcher in the bigs…you need that platform.

The Gary Thorne Incident

Thank you Gary Thorne. We’ve been saying for years that was fake blood on Shill’s sock. Was it not obvious? The symmetrical shape of the blood dot was stunningly perfect and placed neatly above the “ALS” sponsorship written on your shoe. Propaganda? We aren’t buying that as real blood, one iota…my friend. DNA that shit, get it out of the hall-of-fame, once and for all.

Why would Thorne ever make up such a ludicrous story? Yeah, you got us. At least he backtracked for you Schill, but not after you got a few days worth of media mileage. Tough life being under such scrutiny, but none of us would be surprised if you had Thorne stir up the story just for your own glorification. You relished in every single moment. And why not? You got to tell the world once again that you pitched with a bloody ankle…thanks bud, we almost forgot.

Why not us again t-shirts

Why not Curt? Because of you, that’s why not “us” again. Nothing, but love for the Red Sox, except for you Schill. Keep the shirts to yourself. More propaganda?

Beckett and Dice-K

Isn’t it so fitting that these guys are stealing the media attention from you? And do you know why? Because they are both better than you Curt. Again though, we do understand the down side will be you explaining to all of us, how you helped Beckett mature and learned Japanese to be the team ambassador for Dice-K. Essentially, any praise bestowed upon them, is actually flattery bestowed upon you. We know how you work Schill…self-high five, bud.

Clemens

And on that note…we get why you said what you said and meant what you meant about the Red Sox not needing Roger Clemens. Obviously, less attention for you…one less microphone or beat story about you. And you’d no longer be the popular folklore hero that rides off into the sunset if Clemens were a part of any Red Sox team that won the World Series. And so, you aren’t fooling us Curt…we read between the lines.

You see, everyone in this world has some opinion on something, but Curt Schilling, he has an opinion on everything. And that’s why we formed this coalition. We look forward to forming a membership where anyone that wants to can join. So for now, Curt…just shut the hell up already. We send along a big thanks to “TGOTW” for hosting our vent.

The Enemy Within

So I go to this breakfast meeting this morning where a bunch of power-brokers laughed about how they’ve played everyone for fools at the fools’ economic expense. My employer paid $40 for me to eat cold scrambled eggs, drink Folger’s dishwater coffee, and listen to this asshole senator talk about everything but what he was scheduled to actually talk about.

The breakfast was hosted by what I used to think was a respectable organization and sponsored by a major energy concern –let’s call them NexxonBlobile. A vice president from Mexxonfoible, in his introduction of the senator, noted how the senator was one of the good guys. He honestly didn’t even veil his words when describing this man as a shill for big business.

So Senator Shill gets up there and talks about how much he loves free trade and talks about a lot of other crap and then leaves with his two generic-looking twenty-five year old douche-bag aides telling everyone how busy the senator was. The whole talk was one long rationalization for the fat cats treating the rest of us like shit.

I’m new to the Washington scene, and what I’ve seen, I don’t like. I have never been more certain in my life that the people you vote for don’t care about you. And not only are they raping you, they are knowingly and happily doing so. I used to think business jerks were jerks. And I still do, but at least business jerks make no qualms that their goal is money. The problem with these fuckers is that they’re actually smarter than your average business jerk and they mask their greed in words of public service. And they do it all at the taxpayer’s expense.

When I was in college I got turned on to left-wing ideas and stuff that now sounds like ridiculous nonsense. Like most people I grew up and realized that the left-wing isms are just as shitty as their right-wing counterparts. But seeing American power at work, an aspect of the old leftie in me has been reawakened –extreme cynicism.


I have never been more convinced of Orwell’s idea that, yes, governments make wars, and yet the real wars they make are the ones they make on their own populations. It’s not conspiratorial to ask why we, almost alone among democratic nations, vote on a Tuesday. Is it because that essentially assures that the working-class won’t vote? It’s not looney left of us to constantly point out that those who kill and die for this country are more often than not poor and otherwise unimportant. It’s not insane of me to question why our military budget dwarfs that of every other country in the world’s combined military expenditure and then to notice a pattern of where our military pattern is concentrated.

Don’t kid yourselves, unless you can help the power-brokers, you are their enemy. They are at war with you. And they are winning.

What’s that Sound?

That sound you hear…that is the Golden State Warriors bandwagon crashing into the side of the building. And those yelps and screams are people abandoning ship and fleeing the scene like looters in a riot. Everything was there for the taking. And now, this mystical ride seems as if it’s coming to screeching halt. The team that America fell in love with and could do no wrong is now doing everything wrong.

By now, in case you are unfortunate enough to live on the East Coast and not be able to stay up for the West Coast televised games, you know only that Utah won. However, Utah didn’t win that game, they stole that game. They snatched it out of the feeble hands of Golden State. And for the first time in these playoffs, outside of Game 5 against Dallas, the Warriors looked vulnerable and scared. Perhaps, fatigued and incapable of surmounting one last gallant effort of brilliance?

The Warriors appeared to be on the cusp of shifting the momentum of this series and placing a 10 ton weight on the shoulders of the Utah Jazz heading back to Oakland. It was then that Mickael Pietrus missed two critical free throws, making one of which, could’ve sealed the game and evened the series at 1-1. Instead, the Warriors left the door open for the Jazz, who gladly capitalized on a late Memo Okur’s – near triple.

The next kink in the Warriors armor came when their “warrior” and leader Baron Davis, split another pair of free throws that could’ve at least forced Utah’s hand into having to make a triple to tie the game just to send it into overtime. Instead, the star on the rise of this series, Deron Williams sank a short jumper to tie the game. Golden State managed a measly attempt at Baron Davis special – the three point fade-away. However, fate wasn’t knocking down any doors for these Warriors on this night.

So now the series shifts back to Oaktown, home of Too $hort and the best NBA fans on the planet. Are the Warriors demoralized? Possibly, but they can recover. Those fans have the ability to lift the Warriors to even a higher place than the dank ass nuggets S-Jack scored in Utah. They can and do have the ability to carry the Warriors to at least one win at home…right?

I say, of course they do. That arena and those fans alone are enough to allow the Warriors to re-group and re-establish themselves in this series. Maybe fatigue has set in just a little, but there is no reason to believe these Warriors will mail it in…now. Perhaps, they need some fire under the belt. Maybe an S-Jack ejection or tirade would fire them up?

No, they need S-Jack to fire himself up and feed off the energy that emanates from the Oracle. Utah has only proved itself once on the road in these playoffs. And yes that was a Game 7, but that atmosphere in Houston only pales in comparison as to what is coming out in Oaktown this weekend.

Yes, the Warriors let a few heartbreakers slip away in Utah, but don’t count them out just yet. The swagger will be back this weekend. “We” as fans of the NBA need this…we need these Warriors to find themselves, once again. How is it possible to doubt them now? For all practical purposes their hearts were ripped out after Game 5 in Dallas.

And we all know how they felt about that theory when Game 6 arrived. There’s no reason NOT to expect more of the same…starting Friday night. For if they can count on their fans to elevate them once, why not twice? And if it happens twice…we’ve got a whole new series. And really isn’t that what we all want anyway?

Ryne Sandberg owes me an Autograph.

What kid didn’t have some sports figure they looked up to? For me, it was none other than Ryne Sandberg, arguably the greatest 2nd basemen to ever play the game and the last truly defining “Mr. Cub” of his era. It was always easier back then to follow a baseball star, simply because of the Sports Card market. I mean, Baseball cards were all we had; Topps, Fleer and Donruss -- pretty simple.

And I personally collected not only every Ryne Sandberg baseball card I could find, but also magazines, posters, figurines, etc. You name it, I went for it. However, the one thing I always wanted the most, I never got. And that was a freaking autograph, clearly the defining staple of any kid’s collection, a badge of honor if you will.

I built my stock in Sandberg and hence everything also infiltrated into being a Cubs fan. With routine Cubs broadcasts on WGN, with the likes of Steve Stone, Harry Caray and Dwayne Stats…I was living the childhood dream. Being able to watch my hero and enduring the endless praise Stone and Caray bestowed upon him, only shored up my belief that he was the best.

By the time little league rolled around it was only essential that I played second base and wore #23 in homage. I often went out of my way to make routine grounders look spectacular. This became commonplace and several coaches later explained I didn’t need to dive on every play. However, knowing the way Ryno played defense, there was no other option.

There wasn’t an opposing player or coach that could knock my prowess at second base…I was simply friggin' dominating. And in the final game of my machine-pitch career, I put on the exclamation point. Had there been any scouts in the stands that day…I may have signed a contract on the spot. I dominated the field and defined myself as the top second baseman in the league.

And yes, I do remember these things to a tee.

Yet, I would never quite master a baseball game as I had done on that late summer’s eve. In fact my baseball career would never sky rocket or take flight. I had reached my pinnacle and set a new standard for myself and I could never for the life of me replicate that game. I must have gone 5 for 5 with at least 6 RBI and lest we not forget the heroics in the field.

In any event, later that same summer I treated myself to a prized missing piece of my Ryne Sandberg collection. Yup, the coveted 1984 Donruss card. Now, this wasn’t Ryno’s rookie, but Beckett monthly reported this card to be rare and it held a similar value to his Topps and Fleer rookie cards. This was to be the crown jewel of my collection.

Today, that entire collection of Sandberg baseball cards, along with other various and sundry items still exists. Everything remains intact and in mint condition in a trunk with all my other sports memorabilia and is located somewhere in the basement of my parent’s house. The estimated value of the “Sports Chest” remains priceless.

However, there is one important item missing from that “Sports Chest.” Yes, that one specific item could put the icing on the cake and the sprinkles atop my Sandberg collection. No, it’s not a baseball card. It’s the ever so illusive Ryne Sandberg autograph.

The one thing that has betrayed me over the years and the sole premise of me spilling the painful memories of my failed baseball dreams past in print…is the Sandberg autograph. I spilled my heart and soul into being an avid fan of Ryno’s for well over 20 years now. I tried for years to get an autograph from him.

When I was much younger and my Dad used to take me periodically to Wrigley, I would wait during batting practice…nothing. I would beg my Dad to stick around after the game…nothing. I would send Ryno “fan” letters with baseball cards inside. Twice he sent them back with no signature, the other times he simply kept them.

In those years I was able to gather just about every famous Cub player’s signature, from Dawson to Dunston to Grace to Maddux, etc. You name the player; I probably still have the signature. In 1988, I sent Greg Maddux six baseball cards and he signed them all…thanks Greg. From 1985-1992, I must have sent Sandberg at least 20 cards. I have not one signature to show for it.

In 1989, I came the closest that I would ever come to the coveted signature. My family just happened to be in the same city as the Cubs spring training facilities. Mark Grace took the time to come and mingle with all the autograph seekers and my dad snapped a photo of me listening to Grace as if it was Jesus speaking to the apostles (I still have the picture). We met the “Hawk” Andre Dawson, saw Don Zimmer the manager and got to enjoy several Cubs games.

However, at the end of the weekend, I was still denied my one desire…Sandberg’s autograph. Several times he approached the stands, but was often too pre-occupied to sign autographs. On the final day of spring training that year (or at least the final day we would be at the park) he motioned to the on-lookers that he would sign autographs after the game.

After an hour or so of waiting…that is when what should have been fate, walked out of the locker room. Yes, standing 5 feet from me was Ryne Sandberg. I gulped and prepared for the best. An autograph was minimal at this point; a handshake or even a picture with my idol was to be expected.

Yet, none of the above would happen.

My Dad turned to Ryno and said “Mr. Sandberg, sorry to bother you, but my son here is a big fan of yours and would love to get an autograph if you have the time.” What was wrong with that statement? I thought he followed celebrity etiquette to a tee.

However, Sandberg turned to face us both and replied “Sorry guys, I’ve gotta go.”
Demoralizing, as you could probably imagine. My idol was so close and even then I couldn’t get what I sought after for so many years. I would have settled for anything. Instead, I walked away heartbroken.

Why would he not sign a damn baseball card or that program for me? I’ve all, but given up the notion of obtaining a sloppy signature from a sharpie marker. In fact it’s been years since I even thought about it. I am nearing my 30’s now…so, I should hope to move on by now.

Would it still compliment my Sandberg collection today? Probably so, but I’ve long since let go. I gave a childhood of devotion to Ryno, as did so many others. All I ever wanted in return was a lousy signature.

I guess it just wasn’t meant to be, but if seriously...the guy owes me.

From Hell

On the Discovery Times channel there is a show that has captivated me. It’s a bit creepy that I like this show, because it is all about murderers, and I mean brutal nasty fucking murderers. It's called “Most Evil” and it profiles mainly serial killers, but also others, and yet what is most striking is the incredible detail with which they describe the murders. And to make it more interesting, and by interesting I mean game-show like, they have this psychologist, Dr. Stone, who has a “scale of evil” on which he places the killers at the end of every segment. The most evil is a 22. Those ranked 22 are “psychopathic torture-murderers with torture as their primary motive.” (No one ever gets a 1)

Tonight, the topic was couple killers –lovers who team up and kill people together. They profiled the “Ken and Barbie Murderers” from Toronto who kidnapped, raped, tortured, and murdered a slew of teenage girls. They also profiled some couple from England (pictured above) and another one. They all had one pattern. The men were all between 20 and 22s on the scale of evil while the women were considerably lower. The women were so enamored by these men that they were completely controlled by them and were able to convince the birds to help them commit the most heinous of acts.

The show then interviewed a psychologist from Rutgers University, whose name I have forgotten, who studies love –finally an uplifting topic for my new favorite show. But, my happy friends, she found that when examining the brains of couples who are madly in love, their brains behave identically to those helplessly addicted to drugs. She found that the dopamine levels in the brain (and other things I can’t remember) for star-crossed lovers and for desperate addicts were the same. And, here’s the kicker, both groups were equally likely to be aggressive and commit acts of violence.

So there it is. It is as I always suspected. People who love each other are more capable of being psychopathic torture-murderers with torture as their primary motive than pathetic lonely losers such as myself.

But on a more serious note, as much as I like the show, I find the word ‘evil’ to be problematic. I think if and when we merely label individuals that commit atrocities as evil, we then just dismiss them as outside the realm of understanding. It does nothing for us. It does not encourage us to learn how to prevent people from doing such things or prevent people from becoming that way. What do we learn by calling Hitler or Stalin evil?

Fascinating Matchups in the NBA Conference Semifinals

The Conference semi-finals are underway and with them have come some fascinating matchups. At first I figured I would be beating a dead horse and that every sports writer in America would have tagged these already, but to my delight, I think this is still relatively uncharted territory (I'm sure I am going to called out here, so go ahead, give me your worst) . Without further ado, here are the matchups that have raised my eyebrows so far through the semis.

Phoenix vs. San Antonio

One of the fifty-plus reasons why I love the Phoenix-San Antonio series is the matchup between Shawn Marion and Tony Parker. When you think about defending the Spurs, the first question is always, “How on earth do we stop Tim Duncan?” Well, considering Amare Stoudamire is probably not a good enough defender to go one on one, a logical solution would be to bring Sean Marion over to double team. Nope. Phoenix stuck its best defender, Shawn Marion, on the point guard, Tony Parker. Mind you, Shawn Marion is a small forward coming in at 6’7’ and about 230 pounds, while Tony Parker is 6’2” and 180 pounds. This defensive brainchild has been fascinating to watch and has produced mixed results. In game one, Parker lit up the Suns, scoring 32 and adding 8 assists and 3 steals. In game two, however, Marion shut him down, allowing Parker only 13 points on 5-14 shooting. Duncan is obviously going to get his numbers with this scheme, but as Parker has been a thorn in the Suns’ side all season, I love this strategy and I expect it will pay dividends.

Golden State vs. Utah

I have a feeling the Baron Davis bandwagon just got pulled over with contraband in the glove compartment and the passengers are about to get some serious rubber glove research from Deron Williams. While Davis came into this series walking on air and having the nation behind him, he is headed home if he doesn’t come up with an answer to Williams in a hurry. I confess I haven’t seen a lot of Deron Williams prior to the playoffs, living on the east coast, but from what I have seen, this guy looks like a marquee superstar. His burst through the lane is remarkable and he is a great scorer and passer off the drive. I don’t suspect anyone will have trouble following this matchup, because everyone is talking about Golden State, but Deron is going to carry the Jazz to the Western Conference Finals.

Detroit vs. Chicago

Ben Wallace (hiding in maintenance closet at the Palace): “Psst. Psst. Hey Dumars, over here."
Joe Dumars: “Ben, Is that you? What on earth are you doing in there?”
Ben Wallace: “Shhhhhh. Yeah, it’s me. Hey, I made a mistake, you gotta bring me back to Detroit. These guys suck. I mean seriously, are Hinrich and Gordon really going to hang with Chauncey and Rip? This is a joke. I think I’d have a better chance of winning if I was playing for the Washington Generals.”

Well, Big Ben pretty much hit the key matchups here right on the head. Hinrich and Gordon have come up with absolutely nothing to answer Chauncey in Rip in Games 1 and 2 of the Detroit-Chicago series. The stat lines through 2 games look like this for Rip & Chauncey vs. Gordon & Hinrich (points per game, assists, steals): 78, 25, and 3 versus 37, 18, and 2. That was amazing quantitative analysis, I am aware. Billups and Chauncey are simply bigger, stronger, and in Rip’s case, faster than anyone Chicago can throw at them. Chicago looks like Vern when he uncovered Ray Brower’s body in Stand By Me; scared shitless.

New Jersey vs. Cleveland

I’m sure you have heard enough elsewhere, so don’t worry; this has nothing to do with LeBron James. Before I mention this, I should warn you that I haven’t had a chance to watch these to games nor read up on them, so this analysis is coming straight from a quick look at the box score. It’s that obvious. When Jason Kidd is the leading rebounder for the New Jersey Nets, something is going very wrong and it probably doesn’t have that much to do with LeBron James. Not that you aren’t capable of looking at a box score yourself, but let’s look at this stat to put it in perspective. In game 2, Cleveland pulled down 49 boards, 19 of which were offensive, while New Jersey grabbed just 32 and 2 offensive. What is the problem for New Jersey? Gooden and Ilgauskas are too strong in the post for Jason Collins and Mikki Moore. If these two don’t start grinding their buns for some serious boxing-out or get more help from more Richard Jefferson, this one will be over in four.

A Letter to Tom Brady: w/ Love from Bill Simmons

In case you missed it...the Ghosts delivered an original released song "Letter to Tom Brady". It was an homage to the great Tom Brady from his ever adoring and #1 fan Bill Simmons or as we all like to call him...the Sports Guy. And now we are back as we promised with the Video Re-Mix. Enjoy and share with all your friends. This should be sweeping the nation by 2010.



To be fair and honest we really have nothing against Bill Simmons. And I don't know if I can repeat this enough. However, that doesn't mean we won't take the time to also poke a little fun at him. It's all done in good taste and we sincerely respect the "Sports Guy" for all that he has done and continues to do. Yet we can't help, but claim the score to be 2-0 in favor of the Ghosts. Sorry Bill.

Gluttony and Greed for the Rocket.

The Yankees would like you to believe they snagged a gem. They'd like you to believe they are suddenly, once again major players in the American League Playoff picture or even better the favorites to win the AL EAST and possibly another World Series. More importantly, they'd like for their fans to believe all of the above. However, for the common seeing eye, it's all bullshit and none of us can really buy into what they want us to believe.

Look, I know the story has already been pounced on by every major media outlet and also been plastered around the blogosphere, but I gotta give my 2 cents.

Roger Clemens is still turning 45 years old in August. And he's still, well...just a little overweight. Yes, he still had his best stuff for the past two seasons. However, the law of averages has to catch up to him sooner or later. Unless, of course he sold his soul to the devil (quite possible) or he is using HGH (just speculation). I'm not making assumptions on either notion, but routine workouts and vitamin water ain't keeping the rocket in peak physical condition.

At some point, every person hits that wall and my guess is that happens to Roger Clemens when he comes back this season. Now, Yankee fans would love to believe quite the opposite. While the Red Sox fans are also in denial, most claiming they could care less if Clemens came back, because he's the anti-chirst.

Essentially, all the Clemens signing has done is create another stake in the nuclear war between the Sawx and Yanks. Heaven forbid, we could have a season where the Red Sox quietly capatlize on having a better team than the Yankees, who flutter into mediocrity. No sir, if one gets headlines the other has to get them too, by god.

The two organizations are staining baseball in this man's humble opinion, by raising the stakes and outbidding one another and essentially way overpaying for players (see Dice-K and Clemens). I mean, where were the Royals or the Pirates in the Clemens bidding? It was a two team battle all the way and it was the two headline hogs that nibbled at the bait Clemens dangled in front of them.

So back to Clemens. He is slated to make close to $1 million per start. Huh, not bad. Whoever, says this deal wasn't about "greed" and "ego" are living under a rock. The story goes...the Sawx offered Clemens about $18 million and then his agent called Cashman and said if you give us $28 million - he's yours - no more negotiating with Boston. So, of course for Clemens this was all about the money and greed.

Back to the whole Royals and Pirates twist...I bet Clemens would be a Royal if they put $30 million on his plate. Maybe? Ah, maybe not. Anyhow, Clemens will have to live with himself and his greed. As will the Yankees and their fans. Sure, it's all kosher right now...Roger's back. Yet, when he's taking private jets just to show up for 5 innings and once he starts struggling, will they still love him then?

My guess is the honeymoon won't last very long. Superior hitting in the American League could prove to be Clemens downfall. I sure fucking hope it's his downfall, because to be honest I could care less about the Sawx or the Yanks, but I hate arrogance. And this whole Clemens situation stinks of sheer fucking arrogance.

Best of luck, Rog...try not to spend your paycheck in one place, prick.

Hey, Anaheim...look the ^%#@ OUT!!!

The Detroit Red Wings are coming to town. And guess who probably is coming along with them? Well, not really coming along with them, but probably going to be in attendance at that place you call the "Pond." Yeah, me and some of my drunk buddies. And we are coming strong to make sure the Red Wings come out on top. I'm gonna be louder than fucking DeNiro in "The Fan." Deal with it...Anaheim.

It's been over 5 years since the Wings won the Stanley Cup. And it's 'bout time we take back what rightfully belongs to the city of Detroit. Shit, they've got me so excited, I'm dropping a fucking hockey post. Hey Brimble...take homage...this is a rarity. You see, hockey is favorite of couple of these ghosts. Shit, the Turd has gone into hiding for this Wings playoff run and Elliot...well he begs of hockey converstation.

All I can say, is that this run is not like any Wings run from the past. The Wings of the past were littered with stars and swagger. They had a certain aura about them. Yet, they also often choked in the first round. We all know when they didn't choke...it usually resulted in a Stanley Cup.

Which, if you think about it...this is really a revenge run. A collective group of stars, grinders and gritty players destined to seek revenge on three teams that ravaged past dreams for the city of Detroit. Yup, 1994 the San Jose Sharks ousted the best team in Hockey -- the Detroit Red Wings. In 2003 it was the Mighty Ducks and gettin' fucking Jiggy with it that ended the Red Wings run. And in 2004, it was the fucking Calgary Flames.

So in an ironic twist, as if you didn't gather my point in the preceeding paragraph, the Wings can eliminate three old pests on the Road to the Cup. If only the LA Kings were there in the Cup for the Wings. Oh well, back to the series at hand.

This next series means everything for Detroit. No chance, a team named the fucking Ducks knocks the Wings out again...right? I sure hope not, because the Red Wings give the perfect excuse for cold booze and warm friends to gather and enjoy hockey...once again. Plus, I'm gonna be real pissed if I drop $100 on a ticket and the Wings don't even win the series.

So there folks...your shameless hockey post. Let's GO RED WINGS!

He's black Jack, but don't play that (r)ace card

I was watching SportsCenter today at work like I so often do - because God forbid I actually do any work - when something particularly interesting became the focus of the show. The results of a recent poll were being discussed. The poll was in regards to a man of whom you may have heard - I believe his first name was Larry - and a record he is about to break. What? His name is Barry? Whatever man, they don't fucking pay me for this.

Anyway, this Barry is about to break arguably the most hallowed record in American sports - the career home run record, held by none other than Henry "Hammerin' Hank" Aaron. Many baseball fans - myself included - do not like Barry because he, like many, many other baseball players of his era, almost definitely used steroids. The poll asked both white and black fans three different questions - whether or not they want Barry to break the record, whether or not they want him to fall short, and whether or not they think Barry belongs in the Hall of Fame.

The numbers (with the responses of blacks first) are as such for each of the questions in the order in which they are mentioned above: (74%, 24%), (15%, 75%) and (84%, 19%). NOTE: These numbers are close to exact. I don't remember them perfectly and I'm not not lazy enough to look them up again. Remember, I'm not getting paid for this.

Now here is what I don't understand. Barry: black. Hammerin' Hank: ALSO FUCKING BLACK! Why the fuck would a white person feel any differently about Bonds breaking the record than a black person would? Granted, we apparently do feel differently. I can't argue the poll. However, allow me to make a blanket generalization: black people don't give nearly as much of a shit about baseball as us honkies. I'm not saying there aren't black baseball fans out there. I'm just saying the game is considerably less popular in black communities than it is in white communities, a trend reflected by the number of black players in the game.

So what does the poll mean? I think it means most baseball fans disapprove of Bonds and most people who think that the media is playing the race card - and they are - are playing the race card back because that is the natural response. White people are hating on Barry because he's black? Well then I support him! Is this the fault of the black community? Absolutely not. It's the fault of the media who wants to turn this into something it is not - a racial issue. I don't dislike Barry Bonds because he is black. I dislike Barry Bonds because he is a dick and an unapologetic cheater. I wouldn't feel any differently if he were white. And, yes, I'm sure there are some people out there who actually might feel differently about him if he were indeed fair skinned. But those people are idiot racists and can't be taken seriously anyway. So fuck 'em.

And when Barry Bonds hits his inevitable 756th home run, do you know what percentage of true baseball fans - white or black - will really, really consider him the Home Run King? Zero. And that's the way it should be.

Oops I Did It Again...

If you are a Detroit fan, this past weekend was an epic weekend for celebrations; the Red Wings were victorious, the Pistons laid a royal beat-down on the meek Bulls, and the Cubs even managed to go above .500 for the first time in a long while. Naturally, these events were all celebrated bottom up at the bar- the only place where they should be in the month of May.

Being a single guy in the city, trips to the bar inevitably bring with them an underlying sense of excitement that I may meet the woman of my dreams at the bar, almost as drunk as I am. Unfortunately, these same trips almost inevitably lead to the same phone call come 1, 2, 3- hell maybe even 4a.m. The slightly anticipated but always begrudged phone call to the 'booty call'.

I use the phrase 'begrudged' because if I am placing this call, then it is the unequivocal sign that I did not meet a female out at the bar that satisfied by relentless taste for lust. In fact, it is a badge showing that my game may not be quite on point as I would've assumed.

Well this Saturday night was no different. The only difference was that the call was placed in to me rather than the usual vis-versa. After about 16 Old Syles, I may have even taken in a moment of satisfaction knowing that I, too, am considered someone's 'booty call.' Well after Saturday night, I think I am relegated back down to "call me again and I will seek a restraining order" status.

You see, things were going swell. My lucky lady friend was over (she sober complimented my massive buzz well) and things were progressing in the bedroom smoothly and steadily. My pants were off, and my lady friend was kindly exploring parts of me that were quite excited to meet her company...again. I usually enjoy this part of the early morning because seeing as how I have consumed about 16 Old Styles, she could've probably stayed down there for at least 45-minutes before things became even mildly interesting. But this time was different.

The few dozen beverages consumed had given me a feeling of gas that was not going to be reckoned with in the bedroom- clearly not with a female- much less with her nose only a few inches away from ground-zero. At first it was easy to contain.

"Just save it for later" I thought.

But then I began thinking about how long this might actually take due to my severe buzz, and I began to get a lingering sense of unease in my stomach. Before I could analyze the situation any further, a straight up rancid-carnage smell began wafting throughout my tiny city bedroom.

"Oh shit," I thought, "how is this one going to pass?" Quite well actually. All quiet on the western front. Maybe she equated the smell of rotten hops and malted shit as coming from my garbage or something. No words were said, and things just kept humming away. I couldn't believe it! I didn't even know what to think, it was quite easily one of greatest feelings of satisfaction ever. So when I felt the second wave begin to make it's way through the bellows of my system, I didn't even think twice.

[insert the most disgusting noise you have ever heard here]

"Oh My GOD!" were the next words echoing throughout my room at 5a.m. I looked down to find a face of absolute horror meet my eyes, too stunned, shocked and appalled to even reap any attempt of physical violence upon me. Next thing I know she is doing the hokey-pokey, putting on all her clothes and running for quarantined air outside my place.

That was the last time I have seen or talked to my special lady friend. I am relatively ashamed of myself (that is relative to my otherwise down right dangerous sex habits) but for the most part, I was more concerned about word spreading around the hood. Well here is my preemptive strike! I will say I am sorry, but chances are my number has been formally blocked from her phone. I guess I'll have to wait till next Saturday to find out.

Right Now!: It's the NBA Playoff Weekend Roundup

Right Now! It's time to pick a side. Right Now! You have to hang on for the ride. Right Now! You know it's really dooooo or die. What on earth were they thinking when they came up with this song? The only thing I can think of is that top brass thought it might attract the crossover half-Japanese, half-Spanish audience. Apparently, that is a growing demographic in the NBA. Seriously, what the hell is that accent? Speaking of random playoff commercials, the David Blaine commercial with Ben Wallace is bizarre as well. Blaine claims that Ben Wallace puts magnets on the ball to attract it to the rim. Apparently, Blaine didn't do his homework, because Ben Wallace bricks everything. It might make a little more sense to go with at least a halfway decent shooter in that one guys.

As much as it might suck to see Ben Wallace playing for the Bulls right now, I am not at all supportive of the booing. I cannot fathom booing Big Ben after all we've been through with him in Detroit. I was even tempted to bust out my Ben Wallace Piston's Jersey during the game on Saturday. Granted, he is now playing for a close rival in the East, but I don't really think of Wallace screwing the Pistons in any way. He is a key part of Piston's history and I think he deserves the support from Detroit.

I think it's safe to classify game 1 of the Pistons-Bulls series as the breakout game for Jason Maxiell. Getting solid minutes in game 1 of a playoff series shows confidence in Maxiell from the coaching staff and Maxiell responded with a stellar game. I hope to see a lot more out of Maxiell throughout the playoffs. Natalie at need4sheed summed it up, "Maxiell scored six straight points on Ben Wallace in the second quarter.... The changing of the guard happened right before our eyes Pistons fans. And I think even Ben knew it."

Yao Ming played a great series for a Lego guy. It's been eating at me throughout the whole series, "God, he reminds of somebody." Well, I finally figured it out and it's such a relief. Anyway, I must admit, this was definitely the series I couldn't have cared less about going into it, but the Rockets grew on me. Yao and McGrady make for a fun tandem. Yao averaged 25.1 ppg in round one but his rebounding really tailed off as this series went on, with only 6 per game in the last two games. The whole storyline of McGrady never making it out of Round 1 was annoying. They recycle that damn story in every sport. Yes, there will always be guys that haven't won a Super Bowl, or a Masters, or a gold medal. Come up with something new. Finally, Deron Williams reminded me a lot of D-Wade in this series and looks poised to see his stock elevate.

(Gable Update):

Did you see Steve Nash's bloody nose? San Antonio may have ripped the heart out of the Phoenix Suns...and in one game nonetheless. Shameful, I don't think I can tolerate another Spurs in the Finals moment. There is bland and there is really, really, bland and then there is the San Antonio Spurs. Not saying they aren't a dynasty in their own right, but that sure doesn't mean I have to enjoy that team.

Before the series started, I had the Suns pegged to win in 7. Now, I'm leaning towards the Spurs in 6. They just have the Suns number. And let's not get started at how this should be the Conference Finals. Again, here I go with the bitching about the seedings. Anyhow, I'm just a saying.

Moving on, the other series out west features Utah vs. Golden State. You know I'm rooting for the Warriors...who isn't? I'm even thinking about ordering a throwback "S-Jack" jersey if they make it to the Western Conference Finals. Yet, I've gotta go with the Jazz as the pick in this series. Not because I like them one bit, just think Jerry Sloan will find a way to counteract "Nellie Ball."

So, if you're keeping tabs at home...I've got the Mormons over the Gangsters 4-2.

Moving over to the Eastern Conference...it's Vinstanity vs. LeBron. Could LeBron be peaking a glimpse into the fate of his own career when he looks across the court at VC? Ah, I'm not going there. The Nets have three of the best four players in this series, but the Cavs have the best player. Something tells me the Nets just play a little too inconsistent and the Cavs have the hunger to get to the East Finals.

Besides, wasn't it just meant to be...Detroit vs. Cleveland? That would allow for some heated debates with Rupert, myself and McBain. It could lead to some taunts, but nobody's feelings will get hurt...trust me. Anyhow, I'm not even looking that far in advance. Hence, there will be no discussion of the Pistons/Bulls...until it's over.

Why? Well, I've often been accussed of being "that" guy who speaks to soon. I'll leave it to Rupert, up above to do the gloating. After all, the Turd owns the domain stangablejinxedthepistons.com. So, until tonight...NBA action...you gotta love it...RIGHT NOW!!!

Lost Chatter

After watching this week’s episode of Lost, we have a couple of things to get off our proverbial chests (This is a collaborative Rupert/Stan effort here).

First, I came up with what I thought was a very interesting revelation on the recent direction of the show. Clearly, the writers know that one of the most popular theories regarding the grand theme of the island is that the island is actually purgatory. We have all heard this a million times in a million shapes and sizes. Maybe they are being tested to determine if their souls go up or down? Been there, done that. What dawned on me is that is it possible that the writers are not only teasing the purgatory plot line, but that they are actually using our (by “our” I mean the obsessive, chat room, blogger dork, viewing public) own plot theories to formulate the story at this point and never actually developed the plot themselves.

Is it possible that we are writing this show at this point? What I mean to say is that maybe the creators of this show were clever enough that at the onset of the show that they decided they would develop a storyline that is unrealistic in nature about a group of characters marooned on a desert island. They would throw in some science fiction, some faith vs. science, and a group of characters with jaded pasts. Beyond that, they wait and see what the viewers interpret and weave the most popular ideas into the storyline. They give the viewers outlets, such as the message board forums, to vet their theories and ideas. By allowing this interaction of the viewers, the writers could take the most popular ideas and maneuver them into the plot.

Hence, is it possible that we (the obsessive, chat room, blogger dork, viewing public) wrote the purgatory aspect of the show? Well, in actuality, it is doubtful, but I have a feeling that the popularity of the idea has a lot to do with the recent – and surprisingly rapid – development of this aspect of the story. Regardless of the sanctity of this hypothesis as it relates to Lost, it seems like a viable idea for a good show in the future. By the way network executives, we are available if the price is right.

The second hot topic, what’s driving me completely nuts about Lost these days is Sayid. He clearly is the savviest and most intelligent of anyone left, stranded on that beach. He’s full capable with his military background and tactics to ambush and overtake the “Others.” Yet, somebody always steps on his feet. He can see through all the lies, but of course somebody like Jack is all about giving people second chances.

He never gave Bailey this many second chances on Party of Five…WTF?

Anyhow, they’d never be in this situation if they would’ve listened to Sayid and his suspicions about Ben, Michael and now Juliet, who needs to wipe that awful smirk off her face…by the way. Anyhow, Sayid is like Kobe Bryant playing with a bunch of hacks and role players. Much like Kobe he could explode and give you one of those epic performances or in his case an ideal plan, only to see his teammates or fellow Losties sabotage the thing.

And don’t even get me started on Jack. His character has become about as stale as the peanut butter in Hurley’s back-pack. Honestly, isn’t it time for a little power struggle between the only one with remotely some semblance of a plan, Sayid and the newly mysterious Jack? I say, Sayid takes the reigns and they are off the island in no time, or they are eating Dharma burgers as the new kings of the “Other’s” village. Anyway though…

Lastly, I couldn’t resist – I just had to go back to this Juliet thing. She is like finger nails on a chalkboard to me. I couldn’t stand her in the Santa Clause (yes, I saw that movie…I was drunk, lay-off). And I certainly can’t stand her on this god forsaken island. She is a nuisance, a pest, a flea, a gnat, a tick, an itch that just won’t go away. Yet, somehow the writer’s just can’t stop scratching the itch.

Glad that made about as much sense to me as it did to you. Back to that stupid half smirk/grin thing she constantly has plastered all over her face. Now, I’m no advocate of violence, but it’d sure be nice to see Kate just punch that look right off her face. How anyone can let Jack “protect” her and allow her to live on the beach is asinine.

Why are they so afraid to stand up to Jack? From all accounts we’ve seen, the island is self-healing, why do they need a doctor anymore? Juliet’s character serves very little purpose other than to further annoy me and put the kibosh on any survival plans the “losties” have. And do you know why, because she only gives a crap about herself.

She just keeps playing Jack, over and over. And he just keeps coming back like a puppy dog, caught in her manipulative web. What side is she really on? Should she tell Kate that “something”? I don’t know and I don’t really care the answer to either of the above. Just ship her back the mainland, where she can wallow in her own misery and smirk all she wants.

That’s all we got for now. Enjoy the weekend, folks.

Madmen Gettin' They Roll On!

America loves the Golden State Warriors. And everyone is sharing in the celebration, including a couple of old buddies Stephen Jackson of the Warriors and Ron Artest, who happened to be in Oakland for Game 6 last night. The old pals carried their celebration well into the night and were recorded in some vintage conversation with the "On-Star" service, while rolling "deep" in S-Jack's Escalade.

(Disclaimer: This is obvisouly fake...I have to give the disclaimer, because I'm scared shitless of S-Jack and Ron Ron.

5 AM.

Ron Ron: Damn, you had that shot a blazing tonight dog. Making shit melt.

S-Jack: Did you see Pam Oliver? I'd tear that u---OH SHIT! Did you hear something dog?

Operator: On-Star, this is Becky speaking, how may I assist you tonight?

Ron Ron: Damn dude, you gotta voice coming from the mutha fucking dashboard and shit. Your ride got the spooks son.

Operator: HELLO! Are you hurt? I can’t hear you…are you OK?

S-Jack (to Ron Ron): Ah hell no, it’s that On-Star shit. You push this button and you can talk to mother fuckers.

S-Jack (to the Operator): What up?

Operator: Sir, I can’t hear your voice over the loud music.

S-Jack: Shit, my bad girl…I’m all fucked up right now.

Ron Ron: Jessica Alba…is that you? How’d you not get me court side with you girl?

Operator: Sir, you called On-Star. Are you in an emergency or is there something else I can assist you with?

S-Jack: NO, this ain’t no emergency. The emergency is in Dallas were we knocked them mother fuckers out the playoffs tonight. My boy Ron Ron and I are rolling around getting our swerve on, looking to get our dicks wet.

Operator: Sir, please do not use that type of language. This is not a pornography line, now if you don’t need my assistance, I can disconnect this call.

S-Jack: NO, wait…don’t hang up. We are trying to reach David Stern. Can you patch us through to him?

Operator: Sir, this is not an operator...do you need help with something.

Ron Ron: Yeah, we need some ladies...cause we just about all out of weed and liquor.

Operator: Thank you for your time tonight gentleman, have a good night. (CLICK).

S-Jack: Oh hell no, she did NOT just hang up on me...I'm straight jackin' Stephen Jackson.

Operator: On-Star, this is Becky speaking, how may I assist you tonight?

S-Jack: Yeah, did you just hang up on me? I'm a paying customer just looking for voice directions to a mutha fucking strip club. My boy and I gotta get our lap dance on.

Ron Ron: We gonna pick up the skinny Russian dude that play on the Warriors and get that man some pussy.

Operator: Did you just call here and were you being rude?

S-Jack: No, you must have me confused with somebody else.

Operator: Actually, we can track and locate your vehicle. Now, I am going to ask you again to please not waste anymore of my time with prank phone calls. You gentlemen have a nice night and please don't call back. (CLICK).

Operator: On-Star th---

S-Jack: YO, STOP HANG--- (CLICK).

Ron Ron: Damn, she hung up on you again.

S-Jack: I got an idea...here is my gun. When I press the call button and she answers, fire some warning shots out the window. If she looks as fine as her voice sounds, she'll come meet us with a friend...know what I'm saying.

Ron Ron: Not really, but I like it.

Operator: On-Sta--

(Gun Fire)

S-Jack: Yo Becky, some mutha fuckers shooting at my fucking ride. We need some mutha fucking protection.

Operator: Ok, just settle down sir. I'm locating your exact points and I will find the nearest police officer in the area.

Ron Ron: Fuck the Police!!!

S-Jack: Yeah, why can't you and one of your fine ass friends come rescue us.

Operator: I have a squad car in your area. He's only two blocks from--

S-Jack: OH SHIT (CLICK). Let's be out, yo throw that gun out the window.

Ron Ron: Were cool.

S-Jack: Fuck this man, don't press that button again. This shit got me trippin. Where was I?

Ron Ron: We about to go the strip club. Ass and Titties baby.

S-Jack: Phew, I was 'bout to lose it for minute there. What just happened...I'm drunk as all hell.

Ron Ron: Y'all whooped the shit out the Dallas Mavericks tonight.

S-Jack: Oh yeah...that's right!!!

Her Candle Burned Out Long Before the Legend Ever Did

In a tragedy of epic proportions, the celebrity married porn goat, Rose, from the Sudan passed away today. Rose's rise to fame began when local villager, Charles Tombe, was forced into wedlock with Rose after getting caught heavily inebriated performing tawdry "bump chicka bayow" acts with the goat. The village elder mandated that Tombe marry the goat and pay a dowry to the goat's owner to recompense for his infidelity.

While most followers of the story side with Rose due to the fact that beastiality is real messed up and all, but Rose has some skeletons of her own. Rose is survived by a male offsring that bears no resemblance to her husband, Charles Tombe, leading to speculations of adultery. While, there is no proof that Rose had an affair, Tombe recalls, "Many nights, I would bring her milk before bedtime and she would be missing. It's hard to say if she was out taking a number two or perhaps moonlighting with another goat. I will say this, I loved Rose with all my heart and would never do anything to hurt her."

Local officials are investigating the death for signs of foul play, but no charges have yet been filed. Rose apparently choked on a plastic bag leading some to question if Tombe may have offed the goat. Sudanese law enforcers are not ruling out anything at this point.

So what would you say you do here?

It's Derby Week! Horses, booze, and broads, oh my! It also means we're subjected to Hank Goldberg's sextuple chin. He doesn't even have a face made for radio; just hearing his ugliness offends me. But I digress.

Can anyone tell me what functional purpose Hank Goldberg serves at ESPN? Every time I see him stretching my HD, I'm reminded of his worthlessness. Let's just cut to the chase here: Hank Goldberg is nothing more than a degenerate gambling addict.

We only see him for 16 Sundays and three horse races each year. He shows up all jolly, usually flattering Chris McKendry. (I swear she's the only ESPN employee that likes him. She's always on for Hammerin' Hank.) And what does he advise us on? How to bet. Which teams won't cover. Which horses will fracture their legs. This is ALL HE DOES.

I love throwing money away as much as anyone. It's not that I disapprove of the subject matter. It's just that everyone treats him like he's a real analyst. He isn't. He's a bookie with a camera. I'm convinced Norby Williamson bet away his net worth to Hank at some point and instead traded him the rights to years of worthless on-air blathering.

If there's one thing I hate, it's people telling me how to waste my money. I do that just fine on my own. The hate is compounded when that advice is disguised as some kind of value-added service to the public. You're not a nice person, Hank. You're helping people ruin their lives. And no, your puns aren't helping.

Caveat Emptor: Let the Buyer Beware

What have we learned in the recent past about beleaguered sports leagues and the subsequent attempts to revive them? Simply put, it’s been a total mixed bag. Some ideas have been brilliant and others have been catastrophic. In baseball, we got a boatload of steroids, massively skewed payrolls, rumors of corked bats and juiced balls, and some broken records. In tennis, we got a mysterious onslaught of hot Russian women, probably some steroids, and some broken records. In hockey, we got laser beams on the ice, reduced fighting, and a painfully slow death akin to the fat guy from the movie, Seven. One thing is constant; however, the solution always includes adding flashy crap, bad music, and gimmicks. I think that somewhere in the handbook for sports marketing executives, it reads, “Marketing sports is just like making Smores; if you light the marshmallow on fire and burn it until there is virtually nothing left, slap some chocolate and graham crackers on it and it’ll still taste pretty good.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the fight of the century, the clash of the world’s greatest fighters, the sporting event you will tell your kids about, and the hyperbole heard round the world.

Oscar De La Hoya vs. Floyd Mayweather, Jr.

If you have picked up a sports page in the past couple of days, you know that this is the fight to save boxing. The sport has suffered a drastic decline of interest ever since the four heavyweight title belts got spread amongst four different boxers. Why they have four title belts in the first place is another story for another blogger. Personally, I have no idea. The heavyweight class is typically the draw that attracts the crossover boxing fan, the fan who tunes in to boxing only for monumental fights (i.e., Tyson fights). I would put myself in this crossover camp… at best. Since the heavyweights have no real star power at this time, Oscar De La Hoya and Floyd Mayweather, Jr. are meant to provide it in the Welterweight class.

Given that this fight has so much riding on it, I am a little skeptical of what to expect. Given that this fight is in Las Vegas and involves Don King, I am a lot skeptical. As evidenced by this fluff piece in Time Magazine, the fight and it’s significance to the sport are covered widely, not just via sports media. When I forewarned in the title, let the buyer beware, I meant it. If you are planning to spend $54.95 to watch this fight, be prepared to witness a lot of fluff similar to this article. I hope I am wrong, but I could see a two hour episode of “Bart’s People” before the fight. A lot of the stories are already trying to sensationalize the upbringings of the two boxers, Mayweather’s rough ghetto lifestyle. By the way, Mayweather is from Grand Rapids, MI. I grew up there and it’s not exactly Compton (Make some noise, Graps). There are some interesting storylines, however, like Mayweather’s dad training De La Hoya for 6 years and De La Hoya being a massive fruitcake. Regardless, I’m pretty wary of the nonsense that could ensue.

Understandably, the sport needed to pull out all of the stops for this one; hence, they created the reality show 24/7, which followed the two fighters around for twelve weeks leading up to the title fight and staged a multi-city marketing campaign involving both fighters. This sounds pretty gimmicky at face value, but I think this was a good idea. Boxing is at a clear disadvantage to most sports, particularly the Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC), because it’s nearly impossible to follow a boxer and develop a bond or a favorite player. In the handful of times I have watched the UFC, my friends and I always pick a fighter and throw some money into a pot, with the winner going home with some moolah. Immediately, you are invested in a particular competitor and you have fun rooting them on throughout the tournament. With boxing, fights occur sporadically that most people don’t know who to pick other than some arbitrary decision based on looks, hairdos, or location.

The reality show was presumably a step in the right direction, but the nature of the sport and the fight promoting is a bigger issue than one fight can resolve. The UFC and its tournament format are more fun and you get your money’s worth. Imagine if the De La Hoya – Mayweather fight goes three rounds? Do you think anyone is going to pay for a rematch? I doubt it. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but somehow I don't think that Fat Tony and his Vegas friends will let that happen.

There are no grandiose suggestions for how to fix the sport of boxing here. I really hope that this fight does help bring boxing back to steady ground. The best thing that could happen is just a great fight. It’s fun to get together with the homies, get drunk, and yell at the TV. Whether or not the fight is worth the fifty-five dollar price tag will not depend on lasers, human interest stories, or Jock Jams 62. It depends on the two guys in the center of the ring, for they are Bart’s People.

Why Futurama is better than the Simpsons

That above statement is going to get me into trouble. Indeed it would have gotten me into trouble with myself not long ago. For years I thought The Simpsons was the greatest thing put on any kind of screen anywhere ever. I still do in many ways. Its poignant take on the nuclear family and our dysfunctional society makes it some of the best satire ever produced.

But...

Futurama is better. It’s not more important in terms of the cannon of great television. The Simpsons is far more innovative and a shaper and molder of American pop culture. To be sure, successors like the superb South Park and the lazily put-together Family Guy simply would not exist without The Simpsons blazing the animation trail. And, of course, Futurama itself is a successor.

But Futurama is better because it is subtler. While there are a number of jokes on the surface that are funny, like much of the dialogue from the whore-mongering, grave-robbing, alcoholic robot Bender, it takes some digging and numerous viewings to get the real targets of ridicule presented in the show.

It also has a continuity that we do not see in any other animated comedy. Continuity in any type of half hour comedy show is tricky, yet the people of Futurama pulled it off with astonishing skill.

Futurama is better because it is more adult. Homer and Co. certainly tackle sophisticated themes, ranging from the political to the cultural, but Futurama explores more introspective topics like identity, mortality, spirituality, regret and loss and it is done in a way that is astute, hilarious and touching.

The only way anyone will agree with me is if they watch the show and the same episodes multiple times in the way they have watched The Simpsons.

Like most good things, Futurama went largely unappreciated and was cancelled a few years ago. Thankfully it is coming back and there will be several DVD movies, the first of which is scheduled to be released at the end of this year.

The Simpsons is the Greatest Television Show of All Time

It has come to my attention during my brief tenure with this blog that we are not limited to writing about sports. This is cool, because I'm right about a lot of other things too. One of those things is television. After spending four years in close proximity to other members of my generation, doing drugs, drinking and talking about dumb shit (read: college), I came to realize that The Simpsons is not nearly as well appreciated as it should be.

Let me make this clear from the start - I am referring to seasons 2-10, with seasons 6-8 being the absolute apex of the half hour television program as we know it. Current episodes of The Simpsons are not an accurate portrayal of what the show once was, and are certainly not the best thing on TV now, let alone ever. Ok, now that that has been taken care of, let me explain why you are wrong if you disagree with the title of this post.

There are two major things that set The Simpsons apart from all other shows - the characters and the writing. I'll start with the writing because there is less to say about it.

Simply put, it's brilliant. During the show's prime, there was never a moment in any episode where you were supposed to laugh and you didn't. To this day, with the possible exceptions of Seinfeld and South Park, no other show can make that claim. Don't even think of including Family Guy in this group. The plots were always interesting and funny, and the dialouge was flawless. It was the perfect show, thanks to its writers.

Now, if the writers were the guns, the characters are the ammo. No show in the history of television comes close to matching The Simpsons in terms of character development. And I'm not just talking about Homer, Marge, Bart, Lisa and Maggie. I'm talking about all the residents of Springfield, all the way down to Disco Stu, who, by the way, doesn't advertise. Try to name all of the secondary characters in the Simpsons - it's essentially impossible. Die hard fans will be able to name over a hundred and they'll still be missing a few. Ask 100 die hard fans who their favorite character is and you may get 100 different answers.

In fact, you can pinpoint when the show started to go downhill - early on in season 10 when The Simpsons lost two of its best secondary characters - as well as numerous one shot characters - forever. On May 28, 1998, the comedic genius known as Phil Hartman was murdered by his wife, taking with him Troy Mcclure and Lionel Hutz. The show has never been the same, and quite frankly, neither has TV.

Still, the show has gone on, and it will continue to do so until the movie, which comes out in July. And I have complete faith in it. You should too.

Now, if you wanted to present the argument that Seinfeld or South Park is a better show, I would certainly be willing to listen. Seinfeld is far and away the best non-animated TV show of all time. Arrested Development had a chance at making a run at it, but was ended far, far too prematurely. (Another rant for another time.) The only reason Seinfeld really can't hang is because it isn't animated. An amazing sitcom needs a healthy cast of well developed supporting characters - which Seinfeld had - but it just doesn't compare to the cast The Simpsons or even South Park is capable of boasting. As great as Newman was, there are 20 secondary Simpsons characters as entertaining as he. At least.

As for South Park, it has yet to lose it's fastball through it's 10th season, but the average South Park season is 14 episodes. The average Simpsons season is 25 episodes. Big difference. If South Park keeps this up for another 7 seasons or so, I would be willing to rethink this argument. Also, The Simpsons has always appealed to a wider audience. In its prime it never had to be crude to get a laugh, a claim South Park can by no means make. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against crude humor. You just have to consider everything when considering greatness.

And one more thing - for those of you out there who think Family Guy is a better show, well, you're idiots. Ok, that was mean. I'm sorry. You're not idiots. You're just terribly misled. Family Guy - which, by the way, started declining after only the 3rd season - IS better than the episodes of The Simpsons that have come out since Family Guy began. But it has nothing, NOTHING, on The Simpsons in its prime. Even Seth MacFarlane would admit that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go watch an episode of the Simpsons I've already seen about 25 times. And yes, it will still be funny. Try that with a Family Guy episode.

Everybody loves the Warriors, but Mark Cuban…not so much.

The Golden State Warriors have provided the first spark of intrigue for me in this season’s NBA Playoffs. And they’ve probably got you or somebody you know chanting the famous movie line “Oh Warriors, come out to plaaa-i-aaay!” Really, I just wanted to say that line myself; it’s got no real relevance.

Moving on though, to this point the Playoffs have been pretty lifeless, including three sweeps in the Eastern Conference alone. Not that anyone was expecting a compelling story from the so-called "JV" conference.

However, many predicted the hint of drama very well would and could arise from the golden child of the NBA, the Western Conference. Putting everyone’s bias aside, nothing could possibly be more compelling than the Golden State Warriors and the notion of them upsetting the Dallas Mavericks in the first round.

Let’s face it; the Suns and Spurs are moving on with minimal resistance and the Nets/Raptors series has been moved to the “Vs” Network. That leaves only two really interesting and competitive match-ups on the table. However, let’s get a show of hands from the many “casual” NBA fans who find this Utah/Houston series to be highly entertaining.

The two games in Utah over the weekend featured the cast of “Big Love” court side and two teams scraping the bottom of the well for offense. For shit’s sake, only four Houston players scored in the second half of Game 4. There is anemic and then there is playoff basketball between the Rockets and the Jazz.

So, let’s just all go ahead and admit that the only captivating thing the NBA has going for itself right now…is the Warriors. Yes, David Stern is rolling his eyes at the mere thought of Stephen Jackson being a part of the best plot line and feel good story of this early Playoff season. Yet, even Stern, somewhere deep down must be somewhat galvanized by this improbable and remarkable turn of events by these Warriors.

Baron Davis has morphed into the absolute best player in these playoffs. Stephen Jackson is getting compliments on his “toughness” and it’s not flattery in the form of street cred, but he enjoys it nonetheless. My boy, J-Rich, well he’s just being J-Rich…and it’s about time he got a little bit of National Exposure.

Anyhow, tonight could be the night we are all saying: “You Warriors are good. Real good.” And little do we even realize just how vital tonight’s game really is for the Warriors. It’s easy to overlook the advantages of a 3-1 series lead when two of possibly the next three games are in Dallas. Which, in essence means Golden State has two chances to win this series, tonight and Game 6 at home.

“Can you count, suckers? I say, the future is ours... if you can count!”

Should the Mavs force a Game 6, pressure shifts back to Golden State, because they aren’t going to win a Game 7 in Dallas. It’d be ideal for the NBA to have another game in Oakland. Could you not feel the electricity in that building, the crowd, and the energy? Please, I’m all ears to hear about a more exciting Playoff game this season, than Game 4 of this series.

Plus, we’d all get to see Jessica Alba sitting court side once again.

So, while it seems to me that NBA nation has rallied around the underdog Warriors, it’s for all the right reasons. Peter Waldman covered the feud between Don Nelson and Mark Cuban in today’s Wall Street Journal. I’m sure it’s not the first time light has been shed on the two men’s differences. However, it painted the portrait of Cuban, in my eyes to not be that “cool” and perfect of an owner to play for.

While, Cuban’s blog has remained silent about the Playoffs, so to have his numerous media appearances, usually common-place this time of year. Personally, I don’t mind Cuban, but am a little leery over some of the behind the scenes moments described in Waldman's piece. Of course, everything tends to be hearsay and speculation or "he said this, while he said that."

And really that is to be expected. Yet, in these eyes...it's going to be kind of gratifying if Mark Cuban is to bite the bullet tonight. We all know the angst and frustration would just eat him alive. We are all a little childish when it comes to sports, but Cuban is a kid with lots of money. And for his beloved Mavericks to lose this series tonight or at any point would be devastation to the empire he has built.

Sometimes, I find joy in other another person's failures...in a sick little way I guess. At one point, I was rooting for Cuban to purchase the Chicago Cubs and give the fans a state of the art winner. Yet, I don't know if Cuban could actually handle to failures and the faults of such a beloved franchise. Perhaps, Cuban sees the window slowly shutting on the Mavericks season and he just can't imagine speaking to anyone about the pain it's causing him.

Either way, it's a long way before we can close the book, but for now consider me on board the Warrior bandwagon. I'm sure I'm not the first, but if they win...I certainly won't be the last. So one last time...Oh Warriors...come out to plaaaaa-i-aaaaaayyy!!!!!!!!

And with that...it's tip-off time on the West Coast.

(UPDATE: The Warriors gave away a "golden" opportunity to close out the Mavs. And I'd be a little leery in resting my $$$ on the Warriors in Game 6. Not saying it can't happen, but you know...I got one foot off the bandwagon now. Dirk finally came up like a pseudo-MVP that he really is. And the Cuban pouting face, makes me feel better about everything I wrote up above. The Mavs need to lose for the sheer joy of seeing the Cuban face, again and again.)

McDouchy to Drive Pace Car at Indy 500

Out of Touch Manager: OK, so it's decided; we play Smash Mouth during the breaks between Saturday's races, and we'll play that swell new Nickelback album on a loop Sunday heading into the race. That should get those crazy kids all rambunctious.

Yes Man: Great idea, sir!

OoTM: What's next on the list?

YM: We need to decide if we'll appoint a celebrity pace car driver.

OoTM: Ooohhhh goody, my favorite annual tradition! Remember when we had Anthony Edwards? THAT was a blockbuster.

YM: Yes, sir, that sure was funny when he ended every sentence with "Stat!" You really felt like you knew the character.

OoTM: Well, we are the Indianapolis 500, so we have a veritable cornucopia of candidates that would jump at the chance. I've jotted down a list of today's leading men and I'd like you to contact them in order until you find one that will agree to pace.

YM: I'm on it, sir.

[Yes Man returns 45 minutes later, disconcerted]

YM: I don't know how to say this, sir, but nobody agreed to pace this year's Indy 500.

OoTM: Exsqueeze me, baking powder? [laughs at own well-placed Wayne's World joke] Ahem ... not one?

YM: No one.

OoTM: Let me see that. [perusing list, confused] Billy Joel said no?! But he loves us!

YM: [avoiding eye contact] Errrr, uh, yeah, I don't think he was home.

OoTM: And what about that foreign fellow from Perfect Strangers?

YM: Bronson Pinchot, sir? We couldn't locate him. His agent says he stopped returning his calls in 1996.

OoTM: And you called that Urkel kid? How great would it be to have him do his "Did I do that?" routine before sliding into the car?

YM: His manager says he can't take off the Sunday afternoon shift.

OoTM: Shit. What about that kid that was just delightful in Ladybugs with Rodney Dangerfield? You know who I'm talking about, he was in SeaQuest DSV.

YM: Jonathan Brandis?

OoTM: Shit, I don't know.

YM: He's dead, sir. And has been for over three years.

OoTM: Well, damnit! We're the Indianapolis fucking 500! These assholes should be lining up to drive that damn Taurus in circles at moderate speeds for hours on end. Well, what's popular now? What are the kids watching on the old television?

YM: Um, Grey's Anatomy is pretty big now.

OoTM: Never heard of it. Sounds a little feminine.

YM: It's a show based around a hospital. Patrick Dempsey owns a racing team, I believe. He might be free.

OoTM: Fuck it, call him. [presses play on Crowded House CD, taps toes]

My Boss is an Asshole and He’s Giving Me Generalized Anxiety Disorder

Apparently the old, “let’s go out there and have some fun” speech doesn’t get it done anymore… At least, not if you are George Steinbrenner. Instead, Steinbrenner prefers the updated version, which goes something like this, “Hey Joe, you lost 7 games in row. Lose one more and you can paint my fence, bitch.” In other words, Steinbrenner threatened to fire long time manager, Joe Torre, due to the Yankees tepid month of April. Dumbass.

Steinbrenner’s threat was entirely ridiculous on a number of levels, but mainly because it was an empty one. Was anyone actually fooled by this nonsensical claim? For starters, hasn’t anyone noticed that the Yankees actually only won one game this weekend, bringing the tally with the Red Sox to 1-5. That’s not still not very good, George. Does that one win on Friday night really get him off the hook that easily? Well, one win and two losses later, the Boss seems awfully faithful in his personnel, despite being in a worse position than they were when he threatened Joe’s job. In a statement on Monday, Steinbrenner showed us his balls were actually made of cotton. "Brian Cashman, our general manager, Joe Torre, our manager, and our players all believe that they will turn this around quickly. I believe in them."

If you are going to bluff, be prepared for someone to call you on it. We all know you invested in Torre as a Yankee for another 7 years (as a back office advisor), so anything less than an amicable departure from the dugout would be asinine and awkward. Just a reminder, George. Joe Torre has made the playoffs every single year in his ten-year tenure as manager. In those ten years, Torre finished first in the AL East 9 times and second just once. Translation: That is good.

Are Yankee fans really that fickle that they respond to this nonsense? A local paper, the Journal News reports the Yankees one win against the Red Sox was “the kind of victory that just may have saved their manager's job and changed the course of the season.” The season just started you morons, not to mention, you have maybe the greatest lineup in the history of baseball. Take a deep breath and let the season play out a little bit.

Let’s take a closer look at the Yankees’ neuroses. Everyone talks about the Yankees $189 million payroll, which do not get me wrong, is related to the problem, but in a slightly different way than everyone seems to think about. Most people look at the Yankees front office moves as a series of Band Aids, whereby they continually patch up the weak spots with new fat cats every time someone comes on the market. I see it more like an itch that they cannot stop scratching, almost an addiction.

Take right now for instance, the team got off to bad start and everyone is screaming bloody murder about the pitching staff. The minute the New York media and fans get the itch, everyone frantically runs to the Yankee pocketbook to grab the best player on the market. Right now, the fix of the day is Roger Clemens. Sure, the Rocket might have a little gas left in the tank, but what does this do toward building the team for the long haul? Roughly nothing, give or take. Sure, you might get 12 wins out him this season, in exchange for a bloated contract and more superstar issues on the team. Is it worth it? Probably not.

It is really a panic attack a week for this entire organization. Need I remind you that Mussina, Karstens, Pavano, and Wang all spent time on the DL already this season? Perhaps, that might have something to do with the pitching predicament. Granted, Karstens just broke his leg, but the rest are slated to come back in the near future. There’s really not that much to worry about, at least, not enough to worry $15 or $20 million dollars for one season.

The other laughable anxiety inducing ailment of the day is Mariano Rivera. Rivera got off to a sluggish start, blowing two saves and earning himself a pair of losses, even earning himself a standing ovation at Fenway. Joe Torre has pitched him a little harder than normal, bringing him out in the 8th against the Red Sox, garnering boatloads of criticism for both the pitcher and the skipper. Well, Rivera is arguably the most reliable anchor of this team and if Torre wants to win and puts him out in the 8th, big deal. It’s called being competitive. Perhaps it is a gamble on a weary arm, but Torre is feeling the pressure. If everyone did not go after his job over an April slump, he might not be so inclined to make World Series decisions 20 games into the season.

My message to the Yankees, have a Xanax. It’s a long season and everything is going to be just fine. Joe Torre deserves to go down in history as one of the great managers in Yankee history. If I were a Yankees fan, I would be appalled that anyone even considers firing him after everything he has done for this team… especially in April.