In honor of the recent Yankees championship, and the magnificent postseason turned in by Alex Rodriguez that was such an integral part of that success, I can't help but be reminded that it didn't always seem so certain that these Yankees would ever win a World Series...at least not with A-Rod on the team.
Am I right about that? Were there those who doubted him, at least slightly? Yes, yes I think there were:
Oh well. It did make for some great tv!
I can actually sort of remember the first time I was looking at a facebook page and saw photos of the owner of the page in a bikini. It was a college “friend,” and I use the term friend extremely loosely, for the most part it was a girl I always wanted to see in a bikini or without one for that matter. One of those girls you stared at in class and wondered if you would ever stumble upon the perfect mixture of alcohol and dark, fraternity basement that would allow you to go home with her. Suddenly, here was a picture of her perfect form, seemingly just for me and totally free of charge. No more hiding in the bushes with that digital camera.
The vast majority of women on my facebook page are girls I either have slept/hooked up with, or really wanted to. It’s a kind of a yellow pages of my various loves and lustings. If you received that request and thought you barely remembered me, I’m the guy you blew that one time after the “golf pros and tennis ho’s” party who you never saw again, and I’m hoping your page can serve as a little keepsake of that evening, a memento if you will. But almost all of these ladies pages feature at least one picture of them in a bathing suit. I even feel a little dirty about it when I spend hours painstakingly searching for them stumble upon them, like, “Is this ok? Is anyone going to find out about this?”
I’ve gotten to the point where I’m increasingly frustrated by girls who don’t have them. “Um, excuse me, I’ve been checking your page regularly for the better part of a month now, and still nothing. Don’t you go to the beach? Well, take a fucking picture when you’re there, ok. What’s the deal? I don’t have time for this.”
At other times, maybe the pictures are there, but I’m starting to get a little spoiled. Maybe this one’s too grainy, that one doesn’t have enough cleavage, and for God sakes could I get an ass shot for once? Is that too much to ask? I’m here every God damn day.
I’m not sure how much women understand this. I really have no idea. I’ve never been one of those guys who thinks, “Oh, I’m telling you dude, they like that shit, they want us to look.” My guess has always been they’d probably be really creeped out. It’s a fact either way, so I’m not sure if I can offer them much help if they feel that way, but I just wanted you to know that I do think about it, which I think demonstrates my sensitivity and tact.
This facebook as soft pornography situation has had me thinking about a possible business venture. There are some fairly successful blogs (egotistic and hollywoodtuna come to mind) that do little else but search for sexy pictures of your favorite real and pseudo celebrities. They track down the nipple slips, upskirts, and bikini pictures that serve as the engine to the American way of life. But I’m thinking it might be time to stop relegating this sort of thing to just the famous. Why just them?
Why not a site called “yourfriendsarehot.com” where one scours a group of friends’ facebook pages and posts them on a site? Could that be where this is headed? It seems like the next logical step. Imagine every day you could have “New Rebecca Simpson bikini pictures” or “Jessica Anderson wedding upskirts!!!” and all the guys who went to school with her would be thrilled. I’m not sure I should even broadcast this idea because it will probably exist within a week.
Now none of this is to say that I am masturbating to facebook. That would be sophomoric and immature – some might use the word pathetic. Instead, I use it as more of a jumping off point, a nice place to start in my journey to the eventual destination of a midget, a tranny, two lesbians, a cougar and Ron Jeremy. It’s a hell of a ride.
Which is all to say, that man, this technology business is quite a thing. To think there was a time when we jerked off to dirty magazines, a cold, cold world indeed. So consider this an ode to Al Gore and his “internets,” improving masturbation since 1990.
God bless.
Jay Mariotti's departure from the Chicago Sun Times was met by his colleagues with a mixture of regret, grief and sadness. Oh no wait, that's not right, they threw a fucking parade, or if not a full parade, there was definitely confetti. Rival sports columnist Rick Telander - there really is nothing like a good sportswriter rivalry (See: Simmons v Reilly) - openly exclaimed his satisfaction in a radio interview, and even film critic Roger Ebert got in the act with this letter to Mariotti featured on Deadspin and even the paper had some fun with it.
All of which seemed to change the dynamic on ESPN's "Around the Horn" where Mariotti serves as one of the principle participants in this screaming sports crapapalooza:
I got to say, as much as I hate this show, I do like that Tony Reali.
So will the move from the newsroom to his garage serve to humble the loudmouth scribe. Has all the enthusiasm for his departure forced him to reevaluate himself in any way, maybe take a step back and look at how he's conducted himself. Perhaps, he doesn't know as much as he thinks he does, which basically means everything.
Yeah, didn't think so.
As we get ready for another football season, I’d like to take some time to deliver a little wisdom to many football fans out there. It is said that the most popular man in any town is the back-up quarterback. At the first sight of trouble, we go looking for help from good old number two. “Bring in the deuce,” we’ll say, “he’ll turn this around.” Well, I’m here to tell you that’s exactly what he is, deuce, or in other words: He’s shit.
That’s right, your back-up quarterback sucks.
Nonetheless, the allure of the back-up persists. I recall just a season ago hearing numerous Giants fans who otherwise seemed like reasonable enough folks, insist that at 9-4 it was time to “give Lorenzen a look.” That’s Jared Lorenzen – who was the third string QB by the way – the "Hefty Lefty" out of Kentucky, who would have added the bonus of not only performing terribly, but with the added distinction of making the Giants the only team in the league with a starting quarterback who was clinically obese. You also might have noticed that we went on to win the Super Bowl. Somehow, I don’t see Lorenzen shaking out of trouble during the “Catch 42," er the “Flea to Tyree,” um, I mean, the “Immaculate Connection,” fuck, nothing really ever stuck there, did it?
Obviously, these men holding clipboards are all supremely talented, they are in the NFL. If you were to have a catch with any of them, you’d likely leave with at least 4-7 broken fingers, and I would guess that even a man as oddly shaped as Lorenzen would leave you shocked at his relative quickness. That being said, in the context of an NFL game, they stink. They’re terrible. Awful. Not good. Bad.
You are never the back-up away from turning the season around, in fact, you are the back-up away from spending Sundays with your girlfriend at West Elm looking for a duvet cover that goes better with the curtains. Sure, there’s the occasional diamond in the rough, the Drew Bledsoe/Tom Brady miraculous discovery, a Derek Anderson here, a Jeff Garcia there, but usually even if you are lucky enough to have Todd Collins scrape out a few victories, eventually the bloom on that rose is likely to fade and you wake up and Danny Kanell is still your starting quarterback...for years.
A quick roll call of the back-up signal callers across the NFL should put this in its proper perspective:
The Mets lost a brutal come from behind game to the second place Phillies, sending them a half game behind their rivals in the National League East. It was as tough a loss as they come, with Pedro Martinez and their beleaguered bullpen combining to waste a 7-0 lead, ultimately falling 8-7 in extra innings. But was this just one game in a 162 game season? Are they merely a half game back with another game to go in Philadelphia and 30 more on the schedule? Or was this something more? Did we learn something bigger about these so-called New York Mets.
Oh yes, it was much, much more.
See? It was a collapse. They're collapsing. It was a "meltdown of epic proportions." Remember when they fell apart last year? Me too, well, now we have the definitive proof that they are going to do it this year. They're going to blow it again. They are going to tease their fans until the brink of success waiting until the last possible moment before finally crushing their spirits with bitter failure. They are chokers, they don't have what it takes, they crumble under the pressure, and they always will.
You can hear the wounded psyches from their pitiful clubhouse with all the wailing and gnashing of teeth, "Oh no, what do we do now? We're dead." "Here we go again, we're going to blow it like we always do." "End the season, we're nothing but a bunch of losers." "Tengo un partido bueno ahora."
Oh. Or they're back in first one day later. How about that.
You may have heard, but during his time with the New York Yankees, third baseman Alex Rodriguez has had some difficulty delivering in clutch situations. It's been discussed to some degree. But we in New York understand how hard these games are to play, especially in such a pressurized environment, and so we try our best to be understanding, and to nurture. We're nothing if not nurturing. But if, as fans, that's not possible, if the frustration boils over and grows too great, we can count on the local media to keep the proper perspective, and to give us some sober analysis and insight:
Too much? Maybe? He is just a baseball player, right? Or did I miss some act of genocide he committed? Wait, has he been taking batting practice with white babies again? I thought he finally stopped that, lest we forget the time he urinated on Joe Torre's granddaughter.
Now, I do think it's absolutely fair to question whether A-Rod will ever be able to come through in big situations, and to argue that the attention he brings may cause more detriment than good, but no matter what your feeling of Alex Rodriguez and his performance, I'd have to say this comes across as a touch harsh. Just a touch.
Of course, that was before I heard what he had to say. An absolute disgrace...
Just disgusting.
Well, Alex, it might be time have Lupe, the housekeepr, fix up another bubble bath of freshly minted hundred dollar bills. I'm sure that probably helps.
This is a busy and wonderful time in sports. Football season is approaching, the Olympics were a success, the baseball season is finally starting to get interesting even for the casual observers, and even the U.S. Open kicks off. There’s certainly plenty to talk about, plenty to show and plenty of great sports action to get to. With no time to spare, let’s get to the big stories of the day:
What?!! I'm outraged! I'm disgusted! Somewhere in America, in one small town, one nine year old wasn’t allowed to play in his Little League. Did you hear what I said? Do you know what this means? Holy shit! The very fabric of society – hell, our democracy – is breaking down, dogs and cats living together, the whole nine, little Joey won’t learn the valuable lesson of getting plunked in the ass by his bigger, stronger friend Billy. It’s a disgrace, it’s an outrage…it’s the biggest story of the day? Really?
Well, yes:
At least no one's going overboard about the whole thing.
I mean, I get it, it’s just that kind of stupid story that the media’s bound to latch onto, but it also is just that: stupid. Sure, they probably should let the kid keep playing, but I also don’t really give a shit if they don’t. He’ll live, we’ll all live, we’ll all survive this.
Okay, at least it’s behind us, and we can get on with more relevant topics. I’m sure we’ve wasted plenty of time on this already. What do you say we get back to business? Ok, great…
Let it go Hannah, let it go. It's time to just let it go.
Matt Leinart is headed to the bench. His career is in jeopardy. Now in his third year, he has continued to struggle and Head Coach Ken Wisenhunt has decided to rely on the crafty veteran Kurt Warner to carry the team and its hopes of the playoffs. The move was a bit of a surprise, as many believed this could be the year Leinart made a major leap forward into fulfilling much of the promise he showed as a collegian for USC. So what's next for Matt Leinart? Is he through in Arizona?
Oh, that's weird. Why did I think Kurt Warner was named the starter? I guess, as they said, there were these reports that that was the case. I wonder where they came from? Hmmm...
Ahhh, that's right. Same place. Well, that makes sense.
See, she likes football, so what's your problem?.
-------
You know, ever since I moved in with my girlfriend, I’m starting to think she doesn’t like sports as much as I do.
I know, right? It’s weird.
For example, she seems genuinely put off by the fact that the Mets play everyday. She’ll walk in from her day at work, find me plopped on the couch enjoying another well pitched game by Johan Santana and say, “Jesus, the Mets again, didn’t they just play yesterday?”
“They play every day,” I’ll say confused, “That’s why it’s so awesome.”
Whenever I say this, she rolls her eyes and leaves the room in a bit of a huff, which is puzzling to me. Doesn’t she want to see if Ollie Perez can limit the damage in the fifth inning? Who doesn’t want to see that? Brian Schneider just asked for a curve ball when it certainly seemed like a fastball count; it was fascinating.
The other day I was enjoying the second Giants preseason game. “Yay, football’s back! Let us all rejoice!” Right? Isn’t that how we all feel? Well, she seemed oddly displeased. As soon as she saw those glorious Giants uniforms she cried out, “Oh fuck! Is it football season already?”
“Already? I don’t understand. Don’t you want football season to come back? We’ll now get to watch NFL football for 8 hours straight, every Sunday for the next five months. It’s incredible. We get to do that.” What’s the problem here?
“The starters aren’t even in the game anymore, can’t we watch something else?”
“Well, I just really want to see how David Carr looks with the third team offense and how Terrell Thomas is developing as the third string nickelback and how he looks covering the opposing team’s backup slot receiver.”
She looked at me like I was joking. Honestly, I don’t know what’s the matter with her.
But it’s not just the games either. She never seems interested in watching Sportscenter, always trying to grab the remote to watch reruns of 90210 or Jon and Kate Plus 8, which aren’t nearly as entertaining. She’ll ask strange questions like, “Didn’t you already watch this Sportscenter?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, then why are we watching it again?”
“I don’t think I understand the question.”
Worse, she seemed alarmingly bored during the NFL Draft this year. I didn’t get any sense that she was even remotely enthused when the Giants got such a steal in Kenny Phillips with the last pick in the first round, no matter how many times I said, “I think that was a great pick. Don’t you think that was a great pick?” I swear, nothing, no response.
When Mel Kiper Jr. was breaking down why Boise State lineman Ryan Clady’s unique combination of size, lateral quickness and excellent hand placement made him such an intriguing left tackle prospect for the Denver Broncos, she seemed totally uninterested. The only thing she thought to say was that Boise State had ugly uniforms, which I suppose was a valid point, but it seemed kind of off the subject. “What do you think of his benchpress reps? That seemed a little low to me for a left tackle. They are the anchor of any good offensive line.” She just shrugged, totally apathetic to the discussion.
Then she insisted that we not watch day two. “We just watched this yesterday for Christ sake!”
“Honey, I don’t understand. Day two is the real meat of the draft. Everyone knows that. One of these unheralded players could be the next Tom Brady! It’s exciting!” She didn’t seem to get it.
I find this all very confusing. She had no interest in spring training baseball, I couldn’t get her into Thursday coverage of the PGA Championship and she just looked at me with a disturbed face when I complained that they don’t broadcast enough Summer League basketball. I just don’t understand it, try as I might, “So wait, you mean you really don’t want to order the Antonio Margarito/Miguel Cotto fight? But it’s for the Welterweight Title?”
All of which brings me to the same conclusion, and it’s a terrifying thought. Maybe she doesn’t like sports as much as I do. Maybe she’s not kidding when she asks if we can watch “No Reservations” instead, or if I can just check to see if “Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood” is on. Is it possible these are serious requests? Until now, I’ve always just laughed them off and continued watching the game, relatively assured that we were both enjoying it the same. I mean, who doesn’t enjoy regular season baseball. It’s thrilling.
But I’m probably just overreacting. I have no doubts my sweet little lady is looking forward to this weekend’s Cardinals/Brewers matchup – a key series in the NL Wild Card chase – just as much as I am, and is eagerly awaiting to see that week 1 Detroit at Atlanta game at the local sports bar to make sure that my selection of Calvin Johnson in my recent fantasy draft was as wise a pick as I believe it might be. I can’t remember who she took, but I’m sure we’ll get around to talking about it sooner or later.
Yeah, I’m sure she likes sports. In fact, I’m positive of it. I’m not going to worry about it for one more second.
“What’s that dear…we need to talk?”
Immediately following Osi Umenyiora's season-ending injury speculation began to swirl about the possibility of the Giants luring Michael Strahan out of retirement. After all, it was just a season ago that Strahan missed the majority of training camp, yet still returned to be a key contributor in a Super Bowl winning team. But Strahan's decision recalls one of the oldest debates in the history of mankind. It goes to the very heart of men. It has tormented, yet inspired, kings, scholars, philosophers and poets, all aching with their very being to solve this ultimate mystery. What is more important? What is the key to ultimate happiness? What is the purpose of man?
Is it money, or booze?
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