Sunday afternoon hardball

Questionable baseball leads to questionable posting:

Mets - Yikes, walking corpse Robin Ventura hit Grand Slam (I prefer the Moons Over My Hammy) #17? Whitney cannot be happy about this. Or perhaps he has stopped watching baseball all together.

Orioles - They ended a 12 game losing streak, mainly thanks to Eric Young graduating from the Roger Cedeno school of baserunning (with honors).

Astros - Wait, did Whitney see Dan Wheeler's debut against the Cubs yesterday? As per baseball tradition, Mr. Wheeler plunked Derek Lee in the 9th after Carlos Beltran got kneecapped and Lance Berkman decapitated in the 8th. Right now, Whitney is sending 44 magazine subscriptions to the Wheeler household. Speaking of the Cubs, what the hell is up with that bullpen?

And last but not least, how excited do you think Rob Russell is right now?

The Dream (Team) is over

We lost by 8. Perhaps we capture Bronze, perhaps we don't. I will now let Stephen A. Smith tell me how I feel.

Going Manu a Manu with Argentina

I can't get enough of Team USA - it's like Mike Swint with the McRib. We're down 2 with 3 minutes left in the first half. Suck it up boys. A special shout-out (hyphen or no hyphen?) to Ford Fairlane for the above title.

Just so you're not surprised, your 2005 CFL MVP (does it have some goofy other name?) - Mike Williams.

I just wanna wish you good luck, we're all counting on you

Well will you look at that - Marbury had 31 today (he was 6 of 9 from three point land) in Team USA's defeat of Spain. Apparently the reverse jinx employed by the MLC crew has reared it's ugly head here too. I like it. Now if I can only get Tony Kornheiser's dumbass boyfriend Larry Brown to play LeBron 25 minutes a game we can get somewhere. Oh yeah, and if it worked on Steph, let me try something - Richard Jefferson, you're terrible, and Luke Walton doesn't want to be your friend anymore.

Get me Hamm on five, hold the Mayo

Apparently the FIG (the ass-backwards acronym for International Gymnastics Federation) wants to award a co-gold medal to a South Korean gymnast who was somehow screwed out of one tenth of a point or some shit. US gymnast Paul Hamm won the gold, and says his beef is not with the South Korean, but with FAG, er I mean FIG. How about this fellas - who gives a shit! It's gymnastics. Oooh, I hope I don't offend all the housewives reading this blog who are glued to the set watching gymnastics as if a naked Antonio Sabato Jr. were dancing in their living room. I'm gonna have to agree with Wilbon on this one - it ain't a real sport if it has judges determining the outcome. Especially if those judges can review and change scoring (and thus results) days after the event occurred. Move on people. [Editor's note: This whole meaningless post was an excuse to use that classic line from Airplane as my title. Mission accomplished.]

An original thought for once

The USA hoops team has been analyzed and overanalyzed more times in the last month than the upcoming election. Kerry/Bush? Who cares when we can publicly vilify Starbury and Co. (actually, I enjoy killing that guy, but that's not the point). Professional writers, unlike this hack, have seemingly attacked the story from every conceivable angle. In my humble opinion I believe they've missed one. Now forgive me if someone has written this, but despite popular belief, I do not read every sports article ever posted on the internet. I think we have this team all wrong. I contend that when this US team wins the gold medal in a week, we will have seen the 2nd best Olympic hoops team ever, second only to the original Dream Team. Readers of this blog (still a question mark) are sure to ask if I'm smoking Ricky's stash, but bear with me for a second. All we hear about is how awful our team is and how improved every other country's team is (save poor Angola - the Barkley hangover still seems to be in effect). Well, if that's really the case, than this team will be beating the best competition the rest of the world can provide. The 2004 incarnation of the Dream Team will be beating the world's best teams ever (and if you're thinking he seems to be forgetting those Russian superteams of years gone by, you're right, I am, deal with it). For that we should stand up and cheer them (except Starbury of course), not scream obscenities at them like Skip Bayless in his free time. Now let's just hope Larry Brown and my new favorite hoops team read this and get fired up. Otherwise, I'll just have to delete this post Friday (just kidding, kinda). I wonder where Ricky keeps his chips, I'm starving all of a sudden...

One last building note

My office phone apparently has 25 different ring tones. Why am I telling you this? Because one of those ring tones sounds exactly like the ominous background music from the 1981 cult classic Escape from New York. I fully expect Snake Plissken and The Duke of New York to appear in my doorway at anytime. Do you realize Adrienne Barbeau AND Ernest Borgnine were in that movie? Blows my mind.

Which is tougher to read - a Joe Morgan column or a Rob Dibble column?

Do gymnasts dream of being jockeys, or is it the other way around?

If you can't take the heat...

...than get the hell out of my office, because we're at 87 and climbing folks. The elderly have already been advised to stay inside and watch more Matlock reruns. Another fun building note - nothing is more disconcerting than watching 3 guys in front of your office leaning over blueprints and looking more clueless than Mikey, Mouth, and Chunk ciphering One Eyed Willy's treasure map.

If you build it, they will come

So, whether this is what you (and by you I mean the 1 or 2 people who actually read this nonsense) want to read or not, this is what you're getting for right now. We've moved offices, just down the street from the old digs, and it's a brand new building, damn nice, and I will be getting a new computer and perhaps even a new flat screen monitor, but I can't help mention a few lovely quirks of our new abode. We are the first office to move into this building, and let me tell you, the 31st and 32nd floors of the Nakatomi Towers might have been more finished. To get into the building, I need to push two chain links fences apart and squeeze through like the chubby friend you sent into the old man's backyard to get your only baseball back when you were 10. I've found one elevator that works, usually completely loaded with office furniture and movers who look like they're one parole violation away from returning to Sing Sing. Yes, I know what you're thinking - take the stairs you lazy shit. Ah, no chance people, but thanks for the advice. Walking through the staircases fills your lungs with more fumes than Ricky Williams watching the cartoon network (I know, couldn't I have come up with a better Ricky weed reference - No, I'm lazy). My office looks like a 5 star Homeless Hilton (there's a Nicky or Paris joke there somewhere), boxes just piled everywhere, mainly because our bookshelves never found their way 150 feet down the street from the old office. I do want to thank the new building for helping me lose weight though - yesterday, about noon, the heat came on. Think about that one for a sec. August in DC, cluttered office, and the heat comes on. The heat, people. By 2pm I felt like Marlon Brando at your local Golden Corral (insert any buffet you would like). Overall, love the new digs, but it's past noon and my thermostat is again rising faster than Chris Berman's cholesterol level (I think all posts now require a shot at ESPN - thanks to Whitney for joining the fight).

These Guys Could Screw Up a Peanut Butter Sandwich

Like my more frequently contributing friend Mr. Simspon, I am targeting ESPN a bit too much these days, but I'd like to register another gripe. Last night while flipping around for an alternative to Cubs/Brewers and A's/O's, I saw that ESPN was airing the 25 best sports commercials over the past 25 years. Sounded intriguing. The intro showed bits of a slew of great ones from the Mean Joe Coke ad to Miller Lite spots of the late 70's to the in-house SportsCenter commercial where Charley Steiner hollers "Follow me to freedom!" How could they possibly mess this up?

They did. 25 30-second spots means 13.5 minutes of re-running the ads plus half an hour of commentary and 20 minutes of their own sponsors, right? Yeah, except for the re-running the ads. Instead of showing the series of TV spots in their original form, they hacked them up montage-style and aired bits and pieces interspersed with comments from athletes, sports personalities, and comedians. None of them appeared in its original form. Some of them did not appear at all, presumably due to licensing issues. A few of the cuts eradicated the best part. Example: I'm not the hugest fan of the Bud ad where the Clydesdales play football, but it was interesting enough. The funny part was the end -- the two cowboys watching, one of whom asks if they always do that and the other says that no, they usually go for two. Not shown.

They further mangled the show with a bit of MTV flair, introducing each entry with a guy in a tux shouting out what year the ad was released with a banner to match, and having a breathy, faceless young lady call out the number, followed by a graphic of a famous jersey with that number. The quick cuts and time-wasting fluff fall right in line with the metamorphosis of this network, more in a long line of "if you'd just show the content straight through, we might actually enjoy it."

I don't know if they weren't permitted to show the ads in their entirety, maybe not. I know for the ones they didn't air at all, maybe they should have just dropped them from the list. Bo Jackson talking about Terry Tate, office linebacker, is no substitute for actually seeing the piece. And if they weren't licensed to air the hacked-up ones in their original length, then this was a futile effort that should have been nuked in the drawing room. If they chose to muddle it up on their own, however, I don't even know what to say.

Fenway Park Madness

I've been away for a few days (what, you haven't missed me?) at a buddy's wedding in Westport, MA, and slipping back into work mode (especially when the office you left on Wednesday is no longer the office, or building for that matter, you came to on Monday) has proved rather difficult (as has the urge to reduce my use of parentheses). The weekend began with one of the better baseball games I've seen live, a 1:05 first pitch at sunny Fenway. Pedro was absolutely dominant, and the buzz/energy in the stands was fantastic. Comedy relief was provided by third base coach Dale "Don't Call Me Wendell" Sveum, who on consecutive plays had baserunners thrown out by miles at the plate. Didn't matter to Pedro though (sidebar - what the hell was Pedro doing the other night dry humping that red bat?) - Senor Martinez continued to treat the Devil Rays like an extra on Oz. The standing ovation throughout the entire 9th inning was an excellent start to the weekend. The brutal traffic outside Fenway was not.

California dreaming on such a winter's day

I know I said I was done talking about Old School SportsCenter, but did you see Gayle Gardner last night? I mean, it looks like she ate Mama Cass AND Kirstie Alley. Wooooooooooooooow.

Follow Me...Follow Me to Freedom

OK, it's been two nights, and I've had enough of SportsCenter Old School. It was good to see Kilby again (for about 30 minutes), and the Charley Steiner highlights are indeed hilarious (though Bob Ley is about as fun to watch as a Sleepers marathon), but I'm all set Mark Shapiro. No more please. Oh what's that, we still have the killer Gayle Gardner/Greg Gumbel super-alliteration anchor team to come. Sweet, can't wait. I'd rather watch re-runs of Stump the Schwab. In fact, I think that is what I watched last night. Yikes.

Rick Fox is apparently going to divorce Vanessa Williams. He must've caught Eraser for the hundredth time on TNT last night.

Thank god the football season (college and pro) is starting soon, because if I have to hear one more argument about Edgar Martinez's Hall of Fame credentials I am gonna kill myself (no cheering from the peanut gallery please). Harold Reynolds (career batting average: .258) almost had a stroke last night on Baseball Tonight.

Speaking of Harold, it's Little League World Series time again - When does the statute of limitations run out on Danny Almonte jokes? Oh, it has...NASA jokes? Amy Fischer jokes? Damn it, I had some good Joey Buttafuocco stuff.

I'm really enjoying the Whit/SportsGuy feud (though it currently seems to be one-sided). I can't wait to pick a fight with Ric Bucher.

Oh this is classic - Steinbrenner is apparently pissed at Torre for playing Lofton (aka King CrackBaby) in rightfield last night. Luckily, George has Danny Tartabull, Jesse Barfield, and Kenneth Senior on speed dial.

All we are is dust in the wind...

So the week ends sadly with the news of music legend Rick James' death. Of natural causes. Think about that one for a second. Rick James and natural causes. You think the coroner had a good time with that one? Goodbye Mr. James, you will be sorely missed (especially by Dave Chappelle).

"She's a super freak, super freak, she's super freaky, yeow..."

Looks like I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue

Ricky Williams "pot"shot? Quincy Carter joke? Lamar Odom's "other" drug? Nope - You remember Sanford Mr. Sketch Scented Markers? I was cleaning my office and stumbled upon one of these things. Instant flashback to 4th grade - the Red, aka Wild Cherry, markers were like crack to us, in fact my class had it's own Pookie - Justin Kross. This kid decides to sniff the hell out of one of these things, goes bonkers, kicks over my desk, and all hell breaks loose. Why do you care? You don't, but let me tell you, I was a very pissed off 4th grader when I discovered my Garbage Pail Kids were bent. You don't just find a Corroded Carl everyday. And yes, I am currently sniffing a Mr. Sketch Blue/Blueberry marker.

Point of parliamentary procedure...Other jobs Isiah Thomas seems perfectly qualified for: Captain of the Titanic, Judge at the OJ trial, NBA coach (oh wait). I wouldn't let Zeke valet park my car (haha, right, I know, I don't have a car - rub it in people).

On a completely unrelated note, apparently E! named it's "Ultimate Hollywood Blonde" last night, and Pamela Anderson was the winner by a synthetic boob. I only know this because my Better Half was quite upset Reese Witherspoon wasn't the selection. If I was an exec at E!, I would check my mail very carefully for the next few weeks. The BH doesn't like when her shows throw her for a loop (I hide in a bomb shelter during Bachelor rose ceremonies).

Anyone else getting a Serge/Axel Foley vibe from Jeff Garcia and Kellen Winslow Jr.? I'm picturing Garcia in the locker room offering Winslow an espresso with a lemon twist.

I'm not making this up - at 8:24 this morning, as I was throwing on my Batman Underoos, Comedy Central was showing L.A. Story. The damn signpost was talking to Steve Martin. I immediately took a shot of Draino.

Channeling Larry King (again)

"Hello Dallas, you're on"...Gee, I am absolutely shocked and dismayed that a Dallas Cowboy was cut for drug-related reasons. I don't even have a joke here. The real joke is Vinny Testaverde starting for Dallas at age 40. Trust me people, the last time Vinny started, in 1999, he blew his Achilles out faster than I left the theater during L.A. Story (yeah, talking billboards along an L.A. freeway are a great plot vehicle). Get ready for the Tony Romo "Cop" era in Big D (forgive me, I have Chris Berman on the brain, as he completely ruined a fantastic baseball game for me last night - I haven't settled down enough to discuss this).

"Bristol, what do you have"...So ESPN is going to do Classic SportsCenter starting this week. What kills me is I want to like this idea. I really do. Craig Kilborn was an absolute fav of mine, and chumps like John Anderson and Steve Berthiaume (yes, I actually looked up his name so I had the spelling right) should be sending significant portions of their paycheck to him for stealing his schtick. Kilborn was Vince Vaughn in Swingers - always own, always dominating the screen, always making you want more. These days, all Mike Hall makes me want to do is kick myself in the balls.

"From across the pond, Cologne, Germany"...This may seem like I'm jumping on the bandwagon, but I took some shots at Team USA before a certain espn.com columnist wrote a much better article expressing much of what the international basketball community knows - this team is awful. Beating Team Dirk yesterday on a ridiculous 30 footer by AI does nothing to change that. I haven't seen a team this ready to fold since the pre-Hansons Charleston Chiefs.

And finally, I'm sure the question on all readers' minds (yes, there are no readers I know, I write this and than my "reader" Tyler Durden tells me it was fantastic) is why so many parentheses (sp?)? Hell, I don't know, would you prefer dashes and semicolons? Or Bartolo Colons? (Ouch, that was awful, I know, sorry)

Practice? We talkin' about practice, man

Ah yes, the immortal wisdom of one Mr. Allen Iverson. I don't want to say he's a bad choice as co-captain of the US Olympic hoops team, but...

...the US men just lost by 17 to the Italians. Yeah, it was an exhibition, but I mean, fellas, it was the Italian hoop team. If we had lost in a "Sweaty men uncomfortably stare and grope women" contest, then I would understand. (Please send all hate mail to growingupgotti@aol.com)

This is what I write about

With such a profound and asinine statement, you might expect in-depth political analysis, stock tips (oh how little you know me), or at the very least some insight into baseball's trading deadline deals. Alas, I can offer nothing in that regard. All I've got is this: Hell has frozen over - Last night produced an absurd Pauly Shore double feature (thank you Showtime and WGN), Son in Law and Bio-Dome (the Bladwin's must be so proud). Look at Pauly's historic resume, and tell me he doesn't have multiple photos of Hollywood higher-ups. Whitney and Rob can give you good grammar, full sentences, and a coherent read - I can give you the real star of Encino Man. There's a reason why the New York Times isn't knocking at my door.