Monthly Archives: July 2008

It’s Ba-ack!

Not me, football. And not a moment too soon.

I’ve come out of my sports deprivation-induced coma to post because the World Champion New York Football Giants reported to training camp today, marking the official start of the NFL season. And yes sports nerds, I realize the Skins reported earlier this week, but they don’t count, even with the wildly overrated Jason Taylor. Don’t get me started on that guy. I have no respect for anyone who doesn’t want to play for Bill Parcells.

Anyway, the Giants are back following a somewhat tumultuous offseason that saw them lose starters Michael Strahan, Kawika Mitchell, Gibril Wilson and now Jeremy Shockey. Let’s address that last one, as it seems to be big news around the watercooler these days. Which is a crock of shit, because there hasn’t been an office where people actually gather around a watercooler since 1971.

I hate to break it to all the meatheads with their Shockey jerseys – and there are A LOT of you – but this is a good trade. For both teams. The Saints get an enormously talented tight end with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove, and the Giants get rid of a selfish, me-first player who would’ve wrecked their locker room. So it should be smiles and blowjobs all around in New Jersey and New Orleans. Hey Drew Brees, show us your tits!

Shockey is a good player who never lived up to the hype. He’s good for one highlight reel catch per game to go along with one killer drop per game. And that’s only when he’s healthy and on the field, which isn’t often enough. He’s a really underrated blocker, but he consistently runs horrible routes. You catch the drift? You have to take the good with the bad when it comes to Shockey, and the good isn’t good enough when he’s openly fighting with the GM, the coach and various teammates. He obviously only cares about himself and his numbers, and so I bid a not so fond farewell. Actually, I did it in person because I was there when Shockey broke his leg against Washington in Week 15 last year – what turned out to be his last game as a Giant. I can’t believe I’ll have a chance to not tell my son about that one day.

One thing I definitely WILL miss about The Shocker is his legendary wit and wisdom. I imagine the formica countertop in his double-wide trailer in Ada, Oklahoma, was something of an Algonquin Round Table of the Plains.

Who can forget Shockey’s greatest hits from his six years with the Giants? There was the time he talked to a journalist about how he wanted to have a three-way with a mother and daughter. I think he was talking about Lisa and Brittny Gastineau, the ex-wife and daughter, respectively, of former NFLer and steroid freak Mark Gastineau. At least I hope he was talking about them, because you know they’d both do anal.

There was also the time he said he’d never be comfortable having a gay teammate. It’s understandable – the temptation is just too great. Then he called Coach Coughlin an ass. Well, a spade is a spade, right? And let’s not overlook when he called Parcells a homo. That may not have been technically true, but it was still funny as fuck.

Last but not least, he brought the comedy on the field too. Remember when he thought the Giants had kicked the game-winning field goal on the last play of regulation against the Seahawks in 2005? Awesomeness.


Bezbol been berry berry bad to me

It was an asshole casserole for Hernandez’s team and mine last night in bezbol. Both against heated division rivals. Both at home. Both with our best starting pitchers on the mound.

The Mets blew a 5-2 lead by giving up 6 runs in the top of the 9th to the Blunts, and the Cardinals gave up 3 in the last few frames to lose to the Brewers, (whom we’ll come back to.) I’m pissed, but Hernandez is screaming, jumping up and down & beating his head with a Nerf bat. And really, he should be. Firebeaner Billy Wagner was nursing a twisted sister and could only helplessly watch as his bullpen teammates gave a huge lead away. It just hurts…right here.

These games, pretty damn crucial, were failures, but more. They were cosmically linked. A multi-dimensional* triangle with the 2006 NLCS Series between the Cardinals and the Mets. (*Multi-dimensional can mean ‘two-dimension’.) Jeff Suppan pitched against the Cards last night (for the Brewers) and against the Mets (for the Cards) in 2006. Jeff Suppan homered off Steve Trachsel in Game and shut the team down in Game 7 in Shea. Some sort of retribution was being doled out by an unseen force through the dull, balding spectral that is Jeff Suppan. He pitched pretty good last night.

Back in New York, they were beat yet again by Pokemon character So Taguchi (well, he actually tied it). The last time So Taguchi stung the mets? Oh, that’s right, my friend, Game 2, 2006. Homered! Against? Billy Wagner!

And do you know how I know this? Because I’m Keith Fucking Hernandez.


Back to the Brewers’, they have made a couple big moves recently, first acquiring last year’s AL Cy Young winner CC Sabathia and just yesterday picked up 2b Ray Durham from the Giants, who’s one of the better-hitting second basemen in the National League. These Brewers are serious. They’re probably losing a couple of their best players next year for salary reasons, and they want to win now. And I kinda hope it happens, because that means the Chicago Cubs blew it again. On their 100th anniversary, when everybody’s picking them. I would laugh all winter long.

And if they don’t win this year, their fans are going to be miserable. 100 years of failure. Next year, Alfonso Soriano’s song as he walks to the plate will be ‘One Hundred Years’ by the Cure, which is a mopey one. Cubs fans will be truly, truly miserable. They will have seen, held and known true failure.

And then, you know, we can ask them what it feels like. And then make fun of them.

Queen Bay Packers

If you’re a football fan, or a breathing human being, you’ve probably heard that Brett Favre is considering un-retiring and wants to come back to play another year, because he’s a media whore.

Brett Favre is an excellent quarterback, and had a great season last year. And at his Wilford Brimley-esque age, he’s still probably a better quarterback than their other option, Aaron Rodgers. I asked a friend what he thought about Favre coming back, and he wrote this:

“I think the whole situation has gotten completely out of control. both he and the Packers are playing right into the media’s hand and they are running wild with the story. i can understand the Packers being tired of his yo-yo act…am i retiring or not…but after the season that he had last year i think they should take him back. when he is there you know you have a championship caliber QB playing all 16 games. Rodgers has been injured 2x in the limited time he has played. i also don’t see Rodgers getting them to the big dance or at least to the NFC Championship game this year like Favre did last year. either way…i hope they figure it out soon. i’m tired of hearing about it all. “

And so am I. Maybe he’s an attention-loving douchebag because he was in “There’s Something About Mary” ten years ago, but just because the media gets their diapers in a bunch over you doesn’t mean football fans do.

There have also been rumors that he may go to the Vikings or Bears, who are the Packers’ hated rivals. Wow. If he pulled that noose around his neck, he’d deserve it. Very few sports fans are dedicated like the Cheeseheads. If I were a defensive lineman for the Packers, I’d take the late-hit 15-yard penalty on every single play.

Apparently other Americans feel differently. Lady and gentlemen, feast your ears upon the best Queen cover band working in our nation. They’re called The Bohemian Rhapsody Orchestra, and the lead singer is a dead ringer for the guy deep in Queens who does the art detail on your shitty van. But miraculously he sounds just like Freddie Mercury.

(Which reminds me–I just watched a Journey concert on VH1 Classic with their new lead singer. He sounds *just* like Steve Perry. It’s scary, and eventually depressing, because I now realize that Journey will keep playing ‘Open Arms’ until I turn 45.)

Anyway, it turns out that this particular Freddie Mercury grease monkey who fronts the BRO is a hu-uge Green Bay Packers fan. And he shows it off in embarrassing detail.

On their myspace page, listen to the 4th song — ‘We Will Rock You GB Packers’. I wish I were lying, but the first line is “BUDDY YOU’RE A MAN NAMED BRETT FAVRE…” There’s more, but my laughing drowned it out.

The line between utter stupidity and genius is thin, and probably curvy. The Bohemian Rhapsody Orchestra tap dance back and forth over this line like a drunk driver blowing .025. Enjoy.

Thoughts on the All-Star Game, pt 2

You’ve been warned.

So here’s where baseball got better.  They get more old-school players to show up than the Oscars ever could.  For a baseball fan, that’s huge.  They lined up a few hall-0f-famers at every position, than sent out the players from every league who got voted in.  And in a situation like that, you can pretty much tell who a fan of the game is from their facial expression meeting their heroes at their position.
My boy Ozzie Smith was one of the 5 shortstops who showed up.  Ozzie belongs there–he’s the best shortstop of my lifetime, and also played for my hometown team.  He’s also a prick.  I met him.  By telling you that he couldn’t get access to the excl-Jew-sive St. Louis Country Club after he had become the most popular St. Louisan says more about me than you.  
The introduction of the players continues.  Say what you will about the Yankees fans, but they know when to clap or boo.  Perfect example:  They introduce catcher Gary Carter, who got elected into the Hall of Fame as a Montreal Expo.  But the fuckin car-ass dealer that he is, he brings a Mets hat, and tries to pretend he’s a Mets man.  Fails.  Next catcher introduced?  Yogi Berra.  The most beloved living Yankee of all time.  If Lou Gehrig had survived, Yogi would still be the one.  If Babe Ruth were still alive, Paris Hilton would be pregnant with fatties.
National Anthem:  Sheryl Crow.  Bad choice.  The 52-year old men who watch this game deserve some masturbation fuel.  And so do I, but Jesus, I’ll admit to liking a Joni Mitchell song or two on a polygraph, but not her outfit or veiny hands.    Were you formally a nurse?  Did you give up on men because men-o-paused?  Your secret is safe with me.

Thoughts on the All-Star Game, pt 1

The 3-day All Star Game breakdown in baseball is the worst 72 hours of the year for a sports fan.  There’s nothing.  A ghost town in a menage a trois with a sad clown and roadkill.  Episodes of Sports Center directed by Ingmar Bergman.   Filling-less Twinkies.

Football fans are rabid at the mouth as they enter their 6th month of drought.  Hockey fans swelter in the heat and dream about warm fuzzy nights in the belly of a Ton-ton.  Basketball fans carjack, having nowhere to drive, and not being able to afford these gas prices.
You’d think that baseball fans would be excited that they have the only show in town.  And this year, it’s quite the show.  The All-Star game is here at Yankees Stadium in the last year of its existence.  Baseball’s on the stage!
But no.  It doesn’t work that way.  This break sucks ass because in the immortal waste of a spring and summer, baseball starts getting exciting in the third week of June.  And the momentum builds and builds and builds, and then *pop*…everything shuts down for the media.
Monday night it was the home run derby.  Josh Hamilton from Texas, an ex-heroin addict (thank you ESPN for injecting that factoid into my skull) hit 28 home runs in the qualifying round.  He ended up losing to his co-finalist Jeremy Morneau, who sounds like a French-Canadian prodigy but actually waited on you at Waffle House 8 years ago,  Morneau won 5-3.   But what in the Hall of Crapjacks is Yankee Stadium doing, selling tickets like it’s armajetergeddon.  $100 was the lowest price you could buy for the bleachers.  I read that somewhere.  
The truly telling moment is the contrast in Hamilton and Morneau’s faces while they’re vying for the final round.  They’re saving humanity, growing paddle-like appendages to scoop up babies.  They’re human soup-kitchens.
And right before the final round, they’re asked to hit a home run for some random fan who won some online entry contest.  He’s out on the field, making love with his suckitude, sucking up to Hamilton and Morneau.
As you might’ve guessed, neither guy hit the homer.  Hamilton was high at that point, I’m pretty sure.  He’s excused.  
Morneau, in his defense, really tried.  He took six pitches before swinging, as if to say “I’m gonna win this mofo a car and get my baby-saving paddles back.”  But he didn’t.  
It seems that the multi-millionaire players of today care less about the fans.  To which I say:  Fans?  stop spending $100 and up to go to a fuckin home run derby that no one cares about.  Well, except ESPN, who pisses their pants about it.  But who’s in the pants?  Who’s in the pants, All Stars?  We are.  Wet us with your All-Star urine.  That shit can’t even get us pregnant.

Why We Love Keith Hernandez, Part 3

Keith Hernandez is a bad ass. He almost came to blows with Mets shortstop Jose Reyes last week. On the team plane.

“According to one account, strongly denied by both Reyes and Hernandez, what set Reyes off during the flight was when Hernandez allegedly responded to Reyes’ concerns by saying: ‘I was just doing my job – you should do yours.'”

Supposedly, Keith quit cocaine in the 1980s. I don’t see it.

Why We Love Keith Hernandez, Pt. 2

Mets announcers Gary Cohen, Keith Hernandez and Ron Darling have a charity named garykeithandron. They talked about it during last night’s Mets/Giants game because they have some sort of fundraising event in Brooklyn over All-Star weekend, and Hernandez (the real one) can’t make it.

Here’s his explanation – verbatim – for not being able to attend his own charity’s fundraiser:

Maybe if I lived in the city I’d come, but I’m not driving 90 miles each way for THAT!

Keith Hernandez is Godlike.