There's Your Karma, Ripe As Peaches

The Foolish Hubris Files: Eric Mangini & Me

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 10:14:37 -0500

As I'm sure you've ascertained, I was appropriately pwned for betting on Radiohead in the Breeders' Cup Juvenile on Saturday. I know it was dumb but I couldn't fight the compulsion. Sadness abounds. In any case, Radiohead never contended for the win and finished a middling 7th in the 13 horse field. On the bright side, this not so mighty emo steed surely hasn't the skills to qualify for a Triple Crown race, so I don't have to worry about foolishly screwing myself out of money in a few month's time.

---

In other news, Eric Mangini, head "coach" of the Cleveland Browns took stupidity and hubris to a new level today when he refused to announce whether Derek Anderson or Brady Quinn will be the one whose life comes to a sad, unfulfilled end at the hands of Ray Lewis next Monday night. According to reports, Mangini knows who he's going to choose but plans to make his QBs and, laughably, the Baltimore Ravens defense, sweat it out a little.

Ray Lewis should slap this bitch around just for having the nerve.

When you're the conductor of the biggest on-field trainwreck in the NFL, you have no right to be secretive or clever or coy. In fact, as a dead man walking, you have no rights. The only things on your mind should be:

Finding ways to improve the team
Making the final three months as painless as possible
Showing NFL owners that you're a competent head coach in a bad situation

Mangini has struck out looking on all of the the above, but even worse is that he's arrogant (or delusional?) enough to think the Ravens will buy into his bullshit. What, like they'll develop two game plans? The Browns could start G-d and still lose by 30. Even G-d would tell ya that. What He'd also tell you and what the Ravens already know is that Brady Quinn will be under center on Monday night. Not because this QB selection process was like choosing between agony and despair and despair tasted a little better, but because throwing Quinn back in the mix at week 9 allows the Browns to boost his trade value without triggering $10.5M in performance incentives in his contract.

If I can figure that out, so can the rest of the league, Eric. It's not rocket science. I just wish I could go back in time and un-do that Radiohead bet, so I could throw 5 grand down on the Frowns to be torn limb from limb, set aflame in a funeral pyre and then sent out to sea.

I would have been the winner on that one.

Gambling, Radiohead and Trusting the Signs

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 12:07:19 -0500

My gambling problems started at 13 years old. I was selected for a gymnastics team competing in an invitational in Spain; one of those trips where parents don't come - just coaches. As the youngest person on the squad by about four years, I was stupid enough to do anything my teammates suggested. So when they started playing a card game called Between the Sheets (explanation), I dove in.

At first, it was just a pound here and there, but then I got on a roll and landed what had to be the Holy Grail of the game - a high ace and a low ace. "Bet the pot, kid! Bet the pot!" Back then, I was an albino outcast with mad athletic ability but no social skills. You have no idea how good it felt to be palling around with 17 and 18 year olds who were living and dying with your every move. So I did exactly what they told me to do, and, perhaps justly, went down in flames when another ace landed in-between.

As devastating as it was to lose, I'd never felt such a rush. From then on, when I wasn't competing, I was gambling. The last of my £100 pounds spending money was lost to a 17 year old boy on the plane back home. We bet on the flight attendant's hair color. Turns out she wasn't a natural blonde after all.

These days, I'm backed by a self-replenishing gambling fund that keeps me from turning into Antoine Walker. Though I still betting on everything from horse races to sporting events to whether I can beat you in a footrace (you don't want to take that bet), I like to think that I go about things with more smarts. But every once in a while, gambling nirvana sends down signs that force me to remove any amount of good sense from the equation. Case in point:

Radiohead to get crack at Breeders' Cup

Radiohead, the impressive winner of the Norfolk Stakes at Royal Ascot during the summer, has been sold to the New York-based owners of 2008 Kentucky Derby hero Big Brown for a crack at next month's Breeders' Cup Juvenile.

IEAH Stables have purchased a controlling interest in Radiohead for an undisclosed fee, with current connections Carmen Burrell and Jonathan Harvey retaining a 10 per cent stake.

Radiohead will remain in trainer Brian Meehan's care until Santa Anita but the colt's future beyond then has still to be determined.

The deal represents a calculated gamble on behalf of IEAH, as Radiohead has yet to race beyond 1200 metres or on an artificial surface.

In addition to doubts about his stamina to see out the 1600-metre trip of the Juvenile, his new owners will also need to fork out the bulk of an entry fee because Radiohead was not Breeders' Cup registered as a foal.

However, on the upside, his sire, Johannesburg, successfully bridged the distance gap from the Norfolk to the Juvenile during his unbeaten two-year-old campaign in 2001.

"IEAH have been keeping a close eye on Radiohead ever since Ascot, specifically with the Breeders' Cup in mind," said Bloodstock agent Andy Smith, who helped broker the sale.

"He reminds me of Wilko, the horse Jeremy Noseda won the Juvenile with five years ago - a feisty, well-built sort who should do well out in America."

First, WTF on the Wilko bit? How random. Second, long time readers of this site know about my Radiohead fanaticism. The band captured my heart a good year before gambling did, so even though this mighty steed "has yet to race beyond 1200 metres or on an artificial surface," this whole thing just seems like destiny.

The Breeder's Cup Juvenile race is today at Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California. Since I can't beam myself to California from London, I'll do the next best thing -- get liquored up and hit Ladbrokes. Right now, Radiohead is a 20/1 but I've never been more sure of a bet in my life.

(Picture courtesy of Pitchfork)

My Man Has Got This

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 14:51:08 -0500

It's no secret that Andy Pettitte has been my favourite Yankee and ~~stalking victim~~ imaginary boyfriend since I was 12 years old. I adore him. I love everything about him.

Whenever this is revealed, I catch the usual flak -- "Why not Rivera?" "Come on! Pettitte over Donny Baseball?" "Are you kidding? You ever heard of Derek Jeter?"

All things considered, their confusion makes sense. Unlike Jeter, Andy isn't a superstar loaded with G-moments. He's not flashy or outgoing or blessed with movie-star good looks. He doesn't even have Cooperstown-worthy regular season numbers. But what he does have is the uncanny ability to raise the level of his pitching in baseball's most pressurized situations.

Time and time again, Andy Pettitte has delivered without ego or excess, and while he's had his stumbles (2001, anyone?), there is no one I want on the mound more when a season is on the line. I know he's 37 years old and I know he's pitching on three days rest, but tonight, I'm not fazed. Andy Pettitte's career has been defined by games like this, and no one will stop him from delivering a 27th world championship to the New York Yankees. Not Pedro Martinez. Not Chase Utley. And not even Joe Girardi's atrocious attempts at management. My man has got this.

Irony Awards: Ron Artest Raps for Abused Women

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 21:40:25 -0500

When the Taliban was temporarily stifled in 2001, a more egalitarian notion of women's rights took hold in Afghanistan. Women could walk around without burqas; they could vote; they could even escape abusive marriages by seeking refuge in women's shelters. But having rights didn't protect them from abuse. According to non-governmental agencies, nearly 90% of Afghan women have experienced domestic abuse. Since Afghanistan is a patriarchal society trapped in the stone age, these stats are really no surprise.

What is surprising, however, is that Ron Artest has come to their defense. Yes, that Ron Artest. The mercurial basketball player with the emotional stability of a bag of rats in a burning meth lab. Over the last few years, he's become known for strong defense and:

ripping a phone out of press row
smashing a $100,000 camera in a fit of rage
drawing 8 suspensions between 2002 - 2004.
starting a near riot in the Palace at Auburn Hills
neglecting his animals
abusing and confining his wife
running up on Kobe Bryant in Lakers' locker room shower
being generally violent and insane

Now, he has written and performed a song called "Afghan Girl," which calls attention to the plight of many Afghan women.

Warning: Video contains uncomfortable and graphic images.

Too many of our athletes and celebrities sit idly on the sidelines even though they have platforms to affect change, so Artest deserves a lot of credit for what he's trying to do here. The problem, however, is his execution is a hot ass mess loaded to the gills with irony and awkward moments.

Problem 1 - rapping about the horrors of domestic abuse while wearing a wife beater
Problem 2 - rapping about the horrors of domestic abuse when he is, in fact, a convicted domestic abuser
Problem 3 - using horribly misdirected lyrics, which give the impression that he wants to salve the wounds of abuse with his penis. NOT GOOD.

"I wish I was there so you could feel me/run my fingers through your hair through your hair/caress your face to show you that I care"
"Cupid open up the door. And if you do so, she will want more. If you want it, you know she got it stocked in store."

Problem 4 - juxtaposing disturbing images of abused women with shots of him rapping serenely in a park
Problem 5 - rapping with a flow that is as brutal as the subject matter

I know that for Ron Artest, (in)sanity is a rapidly fluctuating continuum, so people might be afraid to speak up when he's making woeful choices. But sometimes you need to protect a man from himself by putting on your bullet proof vest, helmet and other protective gear and saying, "Hey Ron, I appreciate what you've got going on here but let's find another way. Try speaking to the media, visiting Afghanistan or raising money for awareness. Do anything but rap because bro, you've got less than zero skills and listening to you try gives me a massive case of the sads."

Game 1: Yankees Pwned & Humiliated

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 11:47:30 -0500

Last night, Cliff Lee did the equivalent of dropping a smoke bomb in the Yankees dugout and then punching players in the face one by one as they blindly ran out. The biggest workout he got all night was when he had to adjust his legs to make sure Tim McCarver and Joe Buck had enough room to blow him at once instead of taking turns.

Absolute sadness.

When someone is humiliating you without breaking a sweat, all you can say is "too good. Get 'em next time." But as great as Lee was (and he was just frightfully nasty), the Yankees hitters were equally listless and uninspired. This was game 1 of the World Series and I saw no passion; no fire. By the 4th inning, this group couldn't even be bothered. Taking cues from the indifferent, corporate non-fans who pay $2,500 for Legends seats and then fail to show, perhaps? Or maybe the flawed outcomes of the ALDS and ALCS lulled them into a false sense of security. Who needs to hit when a braindead, undisciplined opponent will cock things up for you?

I'm not saying Lee was hittable, but we didn't make it hard on him either. Jeter aside, our players were defeated before they even reached the batter's box. With that in mind, it's not out of line to wonder if they'll come to play tonight. The Phils are coming at us with Pedro Martinez and a patient lineup that can hit from top to bottom. The Yankees? Well, we've got the skittish A.J. Burnett, Joe Girardi's management, middle relief that is cracking like a desert of burning shame and a lineup that can't string together big run innings. Someone gets on base, only to be followed by a guy in a woeful slump, or, even worse, Nick Swisher, who is a case study in the failure of positivism to translate to post-season reliability. Then suddenly, it's rally over, inning over, game over.

With the Phils, you know what you're getting, but with our guys? One can never truly say and that's what stresses me out. Tonight, we're either going to blow Martinez back to the mango tree in the first inning or not bother showing up until the 8th. If it's the latter, this will be a quick series indeed.

Were You Trying to Seduce Me, Mr. Pettitte?

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 06:37:30 -0500

I stayed up until 4:30 am watching the New York Yankees win their 40th AL Pennant, and now I'm too wired to sleep. In light of that, I have a few random thoughts.

Last night, Andy Pettitte worked the strike zone like an attentive lover. I wish I could trade places with it. I'd tell him myself but he's yet to respond to the last letter I sent with locks of my hair in it.
If Robinson Cano was a genre of music, he'd be jazz -- one of those smooth Charlie Parker joints with cool, easy getout phrases and soft, sweet, fairytale solos. Though Cano's defensive play ranges in quality, the way he turns double plays is absolutely sublime.
Vladimir Guerrero is dumber than hair

In related news, the bulk of the Angels roster is shockingly dumb as well. The words fundamentals and smart should never be used in the same sentence as "Angels" ever again.

I mean, wow.

The Yankees were .187 (how appropriate) with RISP in the ALDS, but unlike the Angels, the Phillies are aware that they play in the major leagues. This means they won't play like asshats in the World Series. it also means they will pound us into submission if we dare leave 52 men on base. You hear that, Posada, Swisher and Teixeira?
After watching the New York Jets violate Jamarcus Russell and the Oakland Raiders, I've come to the conclusion that the Silver & Black should change their logo to the Gordian Knot. It is the only image that can truly define this sad organisation.
In related news, I got a call from my 9 year old nephew, Alejandro, who was distraught about the Raiders' spectacular ineptitude.
A: Aunt (Flash), I'm confused.
F: And I'm here to help.
A: Well, we are Warners.
F: Sure are.
A: And Papa says that makes us winners. (We have a lot of family pride. If we were chavs, at least one of us would have our surname tattooed in Old English across his or her shoulders)
F: Don't ever forget it, hombrito. Papa speaks the truth.
A: Then why are we cheering for the Raiders? They are not winners.
-- I had no answers for him. Sadness abounds.
When will the Indianapolis Colts and the New England Patriots stop running up scores like they're in the SEC? You don't need style points to impress BCS voters, assholes. You're going to the playoffs, not the Sugar Bowl.
ESPN fired Steve Phillips, the former Mets GM who had an affair with a 22 year old production assistant. If ESPN cared as much about the quality and competency of their on-air talent as they do about scandal being brought upon them, they wouldn't be doing to sports what MTV has already done to music.
Like all public figures who get into trouble, Phillips has decided to enter "a treatment facility to address his personal issues." I assume this means sex addiction rehab, but the reality is that Steve Phillips doesn't have a sex addiction problem. He has a Settling for Ugly Bitches problem. If you're going to cat around and ruin your career, do it with a woman who is worth a damn. Not some hideously fugly broad who looks like Snoopy and spreads like peanut butter because she's insecure. I wish I had more hands to give this man more thumbs down.
The man in my life is a very fit fellow of Middle Eastern descent. As a result, people keep suggesting that we attend Halloween fancy dress parties this weekend as Aladdin and Princess Jasmine. I don't know whether to be offended or amused.

A-Rod 2.0™ Is Hitting Like the Natural

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 05:33:01 -0500

A-Rod 2.0™ (that's right, I trademarked that!) is a man possessed. He's playing baseball like he needs to put food on the table, which is something I never could have imagined. But what's more important than 2.0 playing out of his mind (or maybe he's finally IN his mind?) is that our bats came alive, and Joe Girardi kept his non-managing behind on the bench.

For once, we didn't eke one out and sheepishly tip our hats to brain dead plays from the opposition. With CC Sabathia and 2.0 leading the charge, we completely dismantled the Angels, and there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. But watching 2.0 play like Roy Hobbs at Wrigley Field raises an important question about his past: Is Cynthia Rodriguez 2.0's Memo Paris?

Hang in with me here! In his post-season career, 2.0 has managed the following numbers:

Before Cynthia ('95 - '00)
18/53, .339 BA, .375 OBP, .566 SLG (World Series MVP in the making?)
Cynthia ('04 - '07)
23/94, .244 BA, .372 OBP, .436 SLG (Pinch hitter in the making?)
After Cynthia ('09)
11/27, .407 BA, .469 OBP, 1.000 SLG (Oh my bloody G-d)

As you can see, that ravenous bitch sucked out 2.0's life force and stored all his power in her biceps, so this theory is totally valid. But this revelation begs another important question - if Cynthia is Memo Paris, who is Iris Lemon? I'd say it is Kate Hudson, who is not only cute and friendly but also seems to be the first woman in 2.0's life who can't bench press him with her vagina's labia majora. Then again...

... who's to say who serves as Alex's muse? All I know is that this person needs to be wary. A-Rod 2.0™ is in beta until the end of the 2009 season, and the last thing the Yankees need is some random glitch jacking up the final stages of installation.

Yankees Must Win In Spite of Girardi

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 10:43:42 -0500

Someone needs to tell Joe Girardi that the Yankees are in the ALCS, not the finals of the Bergen County Little League Championship where every pitcher on the team gets to have a shot on the mound.

After a decent 6.1 innings from Andy Pettitte (who should have pitched around Guerrero to get a matchup with Rivera), the game was tied at 3. So Girardi did what any sensible manager would do - he threw in Joba Chamberlain, who hasn't been consistently fearsome since the midges sucked out his life force in 2007. Since then, the Joba Rules have left him a skittish mess. Far too much of a mess, in fact, to be relied upon in a tie ball game with time running out. So when Joba was inevitably rocked by Howie Kendrick and Erick Aybar, Girardi started up his Carousel of Foolish Gambles & Mismanagement:

Damaso Marte (LOOGY) flew out Figgins and was replaced by Phil Coke (LOOGY), who pitched Abreu - another lefty.

Now, I don't think Marte is reliable enough to sit in the bullpen, let alone see the actual mound, but when the manager puts him on the roster and then doesn't trust him to get more than one out, that manager is a fool.

We can thank Angels stupidity for keeping this move from burning us into the ground.
Phil Hughes held down the fort and was replaced by Mariano Rivera, who nearly screwed the pooch. In a game where we had four runs off four knocks and a cavalcade of blown scoring opportunities, maybe it would've been a good idea to save the closer for when we actually got a lead. Then we could, you know, HOLD IT. You don't throw your greatest pitching asset on the mound and then cross your fingers in hopes that Nick Swisher and Melky Cabrera can bring it on home. Clown.
Rivera was replaced by David Robertson, who was great. But then with two outs and no one on, Robertson got sacked for Alfredo Aceves after a 3 second examination of the scouting report and a failure to acknowledge Aceves' line from game two:

Apparently, Kendrick (a righty) is 1/2 against Robertson (a righty) and has no history with Aceves (another righty), which means he won't be able to bat against Aceves? Is this logic for real? It's like replacing Matt Hasselbeck with Seneca Wallace with three seconds left because Wallace had no history with the Ravens and Hasselbeck went 1/2 in his last series against them. This goes beyond being cute or overthinking. This is absolute madness.

Where is Girardi's feel for the game? Robertson shut down two hitters on 11 pitches and he was yanked because the Book of Statistical Secrets told Girardi that his time was up? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
Using Aceves left ONE man in the pen - Chad Gaudin. What's going to happen tonight with CC pitching on short rest?

A manager's primary job is to get the most out of his players. 75% of the time, the level of talent on our roster means the hitting and fielding will take care of themselves, and we don't have to worry about Girardi's erratic, nonsensical gambles. But our bats have been largely silent of late and our runners aren't coming home. If those factors don't change, Girardi will mismanage us right out of the post-season by doing other crazy things like:

Replacing Matsui with Gardner but replacing Gardner before he could hit with Hairston, who then replaced Damon in left field. This eliminated the DH and slid Mo Rivera into the 2 hole, who was then replaced by Cervelli, meaning Derek Jeter was backed up by one of the weakest bats on the team.
Running for Matsui every time he gets a hit, thus putting Brett Gardner or Freddy Guzman in the 5 hole behind A-Rod 2.0
Replacing Damon's bat in the 2 hole while allowing Swisher to continue doing nothing at 8 but having a great attitude while striking out and hitting into DPs with runners in scoring position
Failing to realize that Damon may throw like Mary but an offense sporting Nick Swisher, Jerry Hairston Jr and Gardner/Guzman does not make opposing pitches quiver in their wake when the game is on the line

Now, I keep hearing that I'm overreacting; that I need to keep the faith and let it play out. Perhaps they're right but I'm unsettled by what I've seen. CC's pitching and a few clutch hits aside, have we really risen above mediocrity this post-season? Have we shown ourselves to be a truly superior team? Most of our jaw-dropping defensive plays have come on bonehead base running errors. Even our final game winning run on Saturday can be directly attributed to Maicer Izturis temporarily losing his mind.

The Angels have been playing like the Texas Rangers and we are barely up 2-1. How long do you think that good fortune is going to last?

CNN Continues to Aid in Our Decline (& No One Cares)

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 02:55:31 -0500

I swung by CNN today because someone told me about an article on Sarah Palin uploading her resume to LinkedIn. I assumed it was created by her enemies because really? Once you become the most polarizing Vice Presidential candidate in the history of your country, there's no reason to post your CV on the internet. What, like she's gonna apply for a job? Will she provide references upon request? Pfft.

In any case, the sidebar of the post features a Twitter section that shows the most recent tweets from CNN and its personalities. At 2:00 AM BST, here are the top 3:

@KuhnCNN: RT @CNN: A MUST READ: We watch the Sunday shows so you don't have to. John King's Crib Sheet for October 18. http://bit.ly/2KNOGC
Updated: Sun, 18 Oct 2009 12:53:40 -0700

@cnnsotu: We watch the Sunday shows so you don't have to. Read @JohnKingCNN's Crib Sheet here: http://bit.ly/2KNOGC
Updated: Sun, 18 Oct 2009 12:52:00 -0700

@CNNPolitics: A MUST READ: We watch the Sunday shows so you don't have to. John King's Crib Sheet for October 18. http://bit.ly/2KNOGC
Updated: Sun, 18 Oct 2009 12:23:37 -0700

A must read crib sheet that covers "the Sunday shows so you don't have to." What CNN and most of America fail to appreciate is that they not only should have to but they also need to. You can't grasp the depth and breadth of what's happening in DC and the international arena by reading John King's two paragraphs on "the clear message from the White House" and bulleted quotes in the "Highlights of the Sound of Sunday" and "A Few Parting Notes and Sounds" sections. You'll have an idea but you'll never understand.

"But I don't have time!"

Sure you do. We spend all day wrapped up in sports and entertainment news - reading articles, watching press conferences and interviews, taking polls, checking injury reports. We waste hours on message boards complaining that Charlie Weis can't coach his way out of a paper bag (a fact that is not up for debate) and even more checking in on those douchebags on TLC with 8 kids. But we can't find time to catch programs like Meet the Press or Face the Nation, which provide information straight from the nation's leaders, while doing their best to peel away the spin and prefabricated bull.

Now, these shows don't always accomplish the latter. In fact, they sometimes become podiums for the guest's agenda, but at least viewers can develop informed opinions based on what they've actually heard instead of ignorant ones based on prepackaged soundbites delivered out of context. But I guess doing that would require actual effort and participation - a tall order for people who often seek to get by doing as little as possible.

"I want to lose weight but I don't want to eat right or exercise." "I want to be a better athlete but I don't want to train." "I want to get rich but I don't want to save." "I want to keep up with world affairs but I'd rather watch Berman, TJ and Keyshawn jaw on NFL Countdown."

The United States has become a CliffsNotes nation that thrives on the half-ass shortcut. People don't form opinions until someone does the legwork for them. What's astonishing is that they then have the nerve to react and get all up in arms as if they have half a clue.

I started out this post planning to rail on CNN for exacerbating this problem for profit, but we're the ones at fault because no one cares enough to do anything about it. But who knows, maybe CNN can create a slick method for caring on our behalf.

A MUST READ. We care so you don't have to.

A-Rod 2.0™ - Now with 100% More Clutch!

Sat, 10 Oct 2009 08:21:15 -0500

This morning, Mark Teixeira woke up in a city that never sleeps, and found he's king of the hill, top of the heap. But you know what's crazy about that? He wouldn't have been in the position to be the hero with a screaming walk-off homer without the double clutch efforts of Alex Rodriguez. Yeah, that Alex Rodriguez. He of the .159 batting average and 1 RBI in October since game 4 of the 2004 ALCS.

In the bottom of the sixth, the Yankees were down 1-0 with Derek Jeter on second. Any other October would have seen A-Rod pop out after an impatient at-bat that went something like this: *swing* dammit. *swing* dammit. *swing* almost! *swing* almost! *swing* FUCK! Why am I so awful? I gotta tighten up. No loosen up. No ti-- hmm. I wonder if the guys like me. They like Jetes. Why don't they look me in the eye? Deep breath. Don't let them know you're sad, Alex.

Instead, he ripped a single up the 3rd baseline to score Jeter and even the game. And then when we went down 3-1 after Phil Hughes and Mariano Rivera were inexplicably clowned by a handful of backups, A-Rod came to the plate for a face-off with Twins reliever Joe Nathan. With a man on base, the stage was set for another classic post-season failure. But then Joe Nathan morphed into Brad Lidge, while A-Rod was chilin out, maxin and relaxin all cool at the plate. At 3-1, A-Rod came unhinged and blasted Nathan's 94 mph fastball into the Yankees bullpen.

If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it.

It's as if the Yankees are in Bizarro World. White is black, up is down and Alex Rodriguez is showing up to do more than chew bubblegum and look frantic in October. Since returning from the DL in May, Rodriguez has partnered with Mark Teixeira to power the most feared hitting machine in the game. We went 51-17 after his return, and about half of his RBIs either tied games or allowed us to take the lead. All the same, I wasn't about to lead myself on with false hopes about our post-season prospects.

For the last eight years, the Yankees have jerked us around - first with has-been mercenaries and then with the most spectacular headcase the game has ever seen. So what if we have the most complete team since the 1990s dynasty? In the post-season, the lads go as A-Rod goes. How we could possibly survive the ALDS and then topple those pesky Angels and all of their damned fundamentals to reach the World Series was beyond me.

But after Friday night, consider me officially lead on. The Yankees are in it to win it, and for the first time, so is Alex Rodriguez. Crazy, isn't it?

Cheeky Cognitive Dissonance, FTW!

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 10:47:54 -0500

G-d bless the internets; I just found one helluva deal!

Whether you're an Obama supporter who dabbles in white sheets and/or good old fashioned Southern pride, or an ironic, attention-seeking, hipster doofus who hopes to upset those around you, this 3' x 5' vinyl beauty can be yours (wrinkles included) for just $12.95 (USD). Talk about a bargain! I mean, you're getting a handsome set of Stars & Bars, AND an undeserving Nobel Peace Prize winner who didn't have the minerals to decline even though he's fighting two wars, is about to bomb the moon and excels in little more than oratory seduction and good intentions.

50% off the retail price is so cheap it's almost offensive.

Now, I don't know where you display this or even how you talk about it to others without putting yourself in danger. But I have a feeling that the only time and place you could get away with it would be in SEC country during Rivalry Week. When your neighbors question you, and they will, just shrug your shoulders and say, "Hey, we're just a house divided." They'll understand. It's the South - a land where seemingly illogical and nonsensical juxtapositions require little to no explanation because people have grown accustomed to having neighbors like this:

Gruden (v): To Perform Shameless Verbal Fellatio on NFL Player

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 23:25:07 -0500

You know, a lot of people have been talking mess about Jon Gruden for adding absolutely nothing but energetic inanities to the weekly Monday Night Football broadcasts.

Now maybe some people don't like him because he reminds them of that evil high school boy who they secretly hoped would get the emotional shit kicked out of him by life after graduation. Or maybe its because he spews rubbish like this:

"When the Dolphins run the 'Wildcat,' they want positive yardage. They don't want negative plays"
"Great players have to step up and make big plays in big games"
"Jake Delhomme leads the league in grit"
"Mike McCarthy is one of the best challenge coachers in the league"
"This guy will blast you and like it"
"We used to call this the VICTORY play"

All are completely valid reasons to hate on the man (guess which one is mine), but I think it's time we stop criticizing and give this championship coach the credit he's due. You see, Jon Gruden just successfully called a 3.5 hour football game with Brett Favre's cock lodged balls deep in his throat.

What, like you could do the same? Please.

But you know what? I bet tonight was a pretty cool experience for the old chap. Even though it goes without saying that Gruden always had a mouth like a Hoover, I bet he never imagined he'd reach the highest heights as the Champ Kind to Brett Favre's Ron Burgundy when he was the Packers receiving coach in 1992 (did you know he had that job?). So let's give a hip, hooray and huzzah to Jon Gruden. It's time we tip our hats to him for a job well done.

UNSEXY UPDATE:

After giving Gruden the Maypole dance of a lifetime, Favre got the rest of ESPN drunk, made sweet love to them under the Minnesota stars and then cooked pancakes and sausages for them this morning.

What really scares me now is the possibility that the Vikings could somehow end up in the Super Bowl. Normally, I'd take solace in the fact that after week 12, Favre starts shitting the bed, but now he has Adrian Peterson and the Jared Allen defense. Who's going to stop them? And more importantly, who is going to stop the media from shoving it down our throats? ESPN has monopolized sports broadcasting and the rest of the media takes its cues from the Worldwide Leader's example.

We're in serious trouble.

Oh No They Didn't!

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 16:01:28 -0500

Today, the IOC did the unthinkable by telling Oprah, Team Obama and the USOC to go eff themselves right out of the gate. Even Tokyo got to pass "Go" and collect $200, while Chicago and its sad 18 votes had to pack up and go home.

Perhaps members believed they were voting for the country that they DIDN'T want to host the games. Or maybe it's all a conspiracy to get the previously discussed O-lympics off the ground and the IOC members are in on it.

In any case, after putting their collective foot in America's ass, the IOC did something even more insane. They granted the 2016 Summer Olympic Games to a city renowned for being a debauched, delicious cocktail of samba, sun and sex*.

What the hell were they thinking? :-P

*Rio is famous for murders too but murders aren't sexy. Besides, throwing that in there jacked with the alliteration, and I know those subtle touches are why you read this blog.

The Power of O: Chicago Will Score the Olympics

Thu, 01 Oct 2009 11:01:48 -0500

So the Obamas are in Copenhagen trying to convince the IOC to award the 2016 Summer Olympics to Chicago. It's logical to think that Chicago is a lock because what member of the international community can resist Barak Obama's charms? Over here, he's like the Second Coming with a splash of Bono, so the mere thought of being massaged by his seductive baritone should make even the most mercurial characters of the IOC weak in the knees.

But like men who blurt out "I love you" during sex and don't mean it, the IOC will declare their love for Chicago when Obama delivers a moving speech about the spark, energy and verve of that toddlin' town only to reverse course once they come out of that post-Oh haze. By dinner time, Chicago will be back where it started - scrambling against the intoxicating flora and fauna of Rio, the sentimental favorite in Madrid and the awesomeness of their bribes.

See, IOC members base their votes not on the quality of the host location but on the quality of its corruption, and even though no town does corruption like Chicago, Rio and Madrid have been leaning on the IOC since the late 1990s. So even though Chicago will generate more revenue and guarantee more profitable television contracts, the Second City is far from having this in the bag. That's why the delegation brought along its ace in the hole - not Barak Obama or even Michael Jordan, who would just sabotage the effort by talking about how the IOC wronged him, but Oprah Winfrey.

If my twenty-odd years on this earth have taught me anything, it is this: you don't fuck with The O. Should the IOC rule against Chicago, Oprah will direct her self-actualized, co-dependent army to boycott the 2012 London games. They won't attend and they won't watch. Christ, some may not even participate. NBC, Coca-Cola and McDonalds won't have the minerals to fight her stand, and by the time the 2016 Games roll around (assuming O hasn't already bought it and shut it down), it will be banished to the Versus Network, where it will compete for airtime against Slam Ball, IndyCar and the World Combat League.

In its place will be the O-lympics, a new brand of games put on by Harpo Productions. It'll be just like the old games but Oprah-fied to be bigger, better, faster, more. Mary Carillo will do features on athletes who live their best lives, while Gayle King takes over Bob Costas' chair at the update desk. Baseball and softball will return, and women who don't know what to watch when gymnastics, swimming and track aren't on will be aided by The O List - a ranking of useless, bullshit pursuits like the biathlon, dressage and power walking that she deems worth the watch.

What, you doubt Oprah's ability to pull this off? Anyone who dares go up against her fails with spectacularly disastrous results. Just ask the Texas cattle industry or Hermes or even Chris Brown.

Oprah is a post-modern priestess who controls the hearts and minds of 89% of the world's women between the ages of 18 - 75. Her show is seen in 140 countries, and through that medium, she legislates what they eat, drink, read and wear. In Saudi Arabia, she's revered as some sort of mystical goddess, and if she could wrangle the affections of the non-sensitive male, I'd swear she was the Antichrist.

Her poor choices in literature ensure that even the most undeserving authors can land on the New York Times Bestseller's List. Her recommendation can turn a barely-getting-by niche operation into a multi-million dollar global behemoth. She got a man elected President* and had the power to shut down Michigan Avenue, one of the busiest streets in the world, so the horrifyingly awful Black Eyed Peas could perform in front of a flash mob.

Her mere mention of free gifts causes women to spontaneously combust, screaming and crying and praising Jesus. They find out they're getting a Josh Groban cd and a pair of cashmere mittens and react like they just found out their vaginas are made out of diamonds.

I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Oprah was responsible for Jesus Christ's crucifixion. When Pontius Pilate asked, "Which one do you want me to release to you: Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?" Oprah whipped up the crowd for Barabbas and fled the scene, cleverly disguised as a Hebrew mother of twelve.

In short, when Oprah says jump, you don't ask how high. You fucking jump and sweat the details when you come back down. What Americans know and members of the IOC had better understand is that this is Oprah's world. The rest of us are just squirrels trying to get a nut, and if the IOC knows what's best for them, Chicago will be awarded the 2016 Summer Olympic Games.

* Oh so vital edit
Rabid Crazies picture courtesy: The Huffington Post

Warren G: Citigroup's Ass is a Busta!

Sat, 26 Sep 2009 08:49:08 -0500

So the man most likely to take over Warren Buffet's title as Smartest Investor in the Universe is John Paulson, a hedge fund titan who made about $6B shorting mortgage backed securities in 2007 and banks in 2008. Paulson is now betting on financial recovery and has reversed his stance on banks, most notably snapping up a 2% stake in the much-maligned Citigroup.

Now, Citi's shares have more than quadrupled since March, so it stands to reason that Mr. Paulson might be on to something. But it's possible that Warren G, last seen in 1994 regulating bustas with Nate Dogg and laying dames at the eastside motel, knows a little more.

His newest album, The G Files, drops on Tuesday and features a track called "Swagger Rich." Since I live in the world, I know that swagger is all about attitude; confidence. It's having a certain air about oneself that causes people to turn their heads and marvel. But some grade A cockhat at Vanity Fair was so vexed by the meaning of the title that he rang up Warren for an interview. You see, we're in a recession, and if Warren is talking about swaggering rich, then he "has yet to realize that his bank account is empty or he’s a financial wizard the likes of which hip-hop has never seen before."

From Madoff to AIG, it doesn’t seem like there’s anybody we can trust. In this financial climate, does it make more sense to invest in Citigroup or the Crips?

Oh, hell no! Invest in the Crips? That’s crazy, man!

So you think the Bloods are a better investment?

Neither one of them! You don’t wanna get involved in any of that!
(Ed. note: this interview must be over the phone. Surely, Warren would have slapped this clown by now.)

You’re not seriously suggesting buying Citigroup stock, are you?

None of that shit, man. I think this recession was all caused by these humongous corporations. Those motherfuckers got money. Even with the recession, those motherfuckers got money. But everybody use the recession as an excuse. Everybody in the music industry, they be like, “We can’t pay you. It’s the recession, it’s the recession.” Recession my ass, motherfuckers. People got to get paid for what they’re worth. You know what I’m saying? You making a hundred thousand on a show and you only be giving me some crumbs. That shit gonna run out.

Where is the Wall Street Journal to snap him up for a column? What was that, Peggy Noonan? Warren doesn't have the expertise to speak for the Journal? Step aside, honey. Your shit is played and tired. We're ready for a man who will punch us in the mouth with real knowledge and opinion. See Peggy, Warren is no geek from the street. He's from the G-Funk era, which, as you may or may not recall, was funked out with a gangsta twist. Financial bustas came at him with gats drawn. They took his rings; they took his Rolex. They did what they could to take Warren's wealth. But when Nate Dogg rolled up with 16 in the clip and one in the hole, he and Warren G made those bodies turn cold. And that type of funk is just what the Journal needs. In fact, it's what the United States of America needs!

It's time for President Obama to nominate Warren G as the Czar of Financial Regulators. We could even bring in Nate Dogg to sing Cliff's Notes of his speeches.

REGULATORS! Mount up!