Failcoeur

Omar Minaya: “This had nothing to do with not liking Ryan Church, but, one thing we like about Francoeur is the amount of games he plays.”

I hope that amount will be zero.

Image swiped from Talking Chop.

Ballgames Are Expensive?

For some reason, one of my pet peeves is news stories about how expensive MLB games are. The AP published such an article today. The author quotes a Florida woman whose two boys are fans of the Rays:

"You go to the ballpark and get a hot dog and a Coke and the tickets and maybe a little souvenir and it’s prohibitively expensive,” she said. “Taking the kids to an old-fashioned ballgame is a major vacation.”

Look, I don't know what this woman's monthly budget is and it's probably none of my business, but the author of the article is implying that it is in fact expensive to take your family to a Rays game. Why couldn't the author follow up this quote with the actual cost for a budget-conscious family to attend a game?

A quick glance at the Rays website reveals that tickets for this Sunday's game are available for $11.50, including service charge. Kids will receive a Carl Crawford bobblehead doll and will be able to run the bases after the game, which is a pretty awesome double promotion. According to the Rays website, the team allows fans to bring their own food and water. Parking for Rays games is $15, but the fee is waived if the car holds 4 or more people. So, a family of 4 can attend a Sunday afternoon Rays game for $46 plus the cost of making some bologna sandwiches at home and bringing some bottles of water. A single parent and lone child wouldn't be able to take advantage of the parking deal and would have to pay a total of $38 for tickets and parking. This whole thing took my about 15 minutes to research. Surely, the AP has some interns who could conduct similar research for the other 29 ballparks.

I should probably end there, but the article also has a truly ridiculous quote from Reds fan Clarence Eckstein: “Tickets, gas, food, it’s a few hundred dollars.” I don't know how many miles Mr. Eckstein is driving in a gas guzzler and I don't know how many hot dogs he consumes, so I guess it's possible that it actually costs him that much to attend a game. But, I can easily check how much it costs to attend a Reds game. There are $5 tickets available for next Friday's game. With service charge, they're $6.51. There will be a free fireworks show after the game. Baseball & fireworks for $6.51 sounds like a great deal to me. The Reds allow fans to bring their own food and soft drinks. Parking is $10.

Everybody Loves Parnell

According to Ken Rosenthal, the Mets balked at trading Bobby Parnell for Scott Hairston. Omar Minaya's not alone in his love for Parnell - 83% of MetsBlog readers wouldn't have made the trade, either.

I don't understand the infatuation with Parnell. OK, he throws really hard. That's nice. But, he's almost 25 years old and the results are lacking. Parnell has a 4.88 ERA this season. He has 26 Ks and 16 BBs in 31 innings. He has a GB/FB ratio of less than 1. All of these numbers are below average. His minor league track record isn't great, either. The last time he had an ERA under 4 for a whole season was for the Cyclones in 2005. I know he throws really hard, but what's the upside? Solid middle reliever. That's what we're clinging to?

Scott Hairston is not a superstar, but he's pretty useful as a cheap everyday player. He has an .894 OPS this season and is a strong defensive player. But, this isn't about Hairston. If Omar's getting a lot of inquiries about Parnell and thinks he can get someone better, that's fine with me. My fear is that the Mets are missing out on an opportunity to trade him while his value is at its highest. Once Parnell has a full year of crappy results under his belt, will the offers still be coming?

Props to Coachie for the images.

"Evidence of Participation"

Who is this mysterious Gator QB? And does he have a hot virtual girlfriend?

Props to former college QB Sam Keller for leading a class-action lawsuit against Electronic Arts and the N.C.A.A. for using the likenesses of college players in video games without compensation.

The N.Y. Times article quotes a Christine Plonsky, Women's Athletics Director at Texas with a hilarious defense of the practice, "[we]don’t view uses of their imagery as exploitative, but mere evidence of participation.”

Not quite sure what that even means, but considering that the games don't use the player's real names it doesn't strike me as much evidence. And if all the games are is just proof that these guys play college ball, then don't take money from EA Sports.

Would a college collect and publish for profit the most promising short stories from a freshman creative writing class, change the names of the authors, maybe use a thesaurus and change a few adjectives or two without compensating the students or crediting their "participation" by name?

Would a college put out a CD featuring the best songs from the students in its Theatre Department and change the names of the singers and musicians (maybe name the cellist 'Cellist # 7)?

Of course, the NCAA says the suit is without merit. No attack on the glorious NCAA ever has any merit. We can just continue pretending that these student-athletes are akin to the glorious Olympic philosopher-athletes of ancient Greece while pulling in dumb-dumb dollars from any source possible. And old men in the media can continue to defend the NCAA, saying that our young footballers and hoopsters need the education, need those formative years on a college campus while turning a blind eye to the borderline high-school graduates that make up the vast majority of the players in Major League Baseball, National League Hockey, professional Tennis and many Olympic sports.

Whatever Happened to Peace, Love and What's Happening?

Came across this unfortunateness in San Fran this past weekend. Heiro, were never into being gangsters. Who would peep a Heiro hoodie then kill a man to jack it? It's like shooting someone for a Grateful Dead tie-dye. Heiro is as close to hippie as hip-hop gets this side of De La Soul. Hard to get violent pumping this in your headphones.

Fool for the Cit-ay.

The Sticks.

The City.

Yesterday, Frownie raised a justifiable concern that competitive imbalance in baseball may lead to increased antipathy toward the sport. His concern centered only on championships, pointing out that mainly large markets (a difficult term to concretely define) have gotten that ring. Using the list "media markets," let's take a look at the history of the big markets, using only the criteria of championships.

1. New York:
The Yankees. Duh. But none this millenium! The Curse of Boonitez is upon them!
The Mets. 2 championships in 47 years, the most recent being 1986.
2. L.A.:
The Dodgers Usually competitive ever since the franchise swapped coasts in 1958. But their last title was in 1988.
The Angels. Lumped in with the greater L.A. area although the O.C. is its own beast. Usually competitive over its history. 1 title, won in 2002.
3. Chicago:
The Cubs. Ha.
The White Sox. Won in 2005 for the first time since 1917, which is basically winning it for the first time.
4. Philly:
The Phightins won it all last year, giving the phranchise a phat total of 2 in their entire phlengthy existence.
5. Dallas: 0-0.
6. San Fran/Oakland:
The Giants have never won a World Series in San Fran, with their last title coming back in 1954 when they were still raising hell up in Harlem. Dipset.
The A's have had a better go of it, having won 4 titles since moving to the Yay Area while usually fielding a competitive squadron.
(This is also probably the weirdest and most disparate metro area in the country. San Fran has 809, 000 people. Oakland has 397,000. Around them are numerous towns of various wealth and size, but separated by massive bays, mountains, ports, amazing burrito production and deserted beaches. Lumped together as a metro area, the Yay area lands in at 6, but it sure doesn't feel like a common metro area like the other areas on this list.)
7. Boston. A title in 2004 and a title in 2007. I forget when their last title before 2004 was.
8. Atlanta. 1 title in 1995, their only title in the Dungeon Family's home, having won in 1957 in Milwaukee and 1914 in Boston.
9. Washington. 1 title in 1924. Although not technically included in D.C.'s 'media market,' Baltimore has, until this decade, been a competitive team, last winning it all in 1983.
10. Houston. 0-1. Didn't put up much of a fight in their lone appearance in 2005.

So outside the Yanks and A's, and recently the BoSox, not much of a impressive showing for the 15 teams that comprise this top 10 media markets list. Of course, the Yanks skew everything in baseball history. But outside the Yanks, none of these teams can be said to be title hogs.

Moreover, Oakland and Dallas provide good examples of why it is hard to classify cities as big or small market. For example, Montreal would rank 5th in population if it was an American city, yet the 'Spos were never thought of as a big market.

Outside the many periods of Yankee dominance, baseball can be proud of its championship distribution. The 1980's saw a different team win every year save for the Dodgers winning twice. The 00's are shaping up similarly. Moreover, while no champ in the 00's can be said to be truly from a small media market, it would be hard to say dollars won the day with any of the champs this decade save for the Yanks, and perhaps the 04 BoSawx and 01 Dbacks.

All of this is not to say that there is not financial imbalance in baseball. However, market size is not the major indicator of success. And anyways, if championship are to be the be-all and end-all in the context of competitive balance, I think it's important to look at the amount of different champions each sport produces aka Which sport has had the most fans bases sip the sizurp?

Baseball players won the right to outright free agency in December, 1975. Since then baseball has had 32 World Serieses, producing 19 different winners. 7 teams have never won a World Series in their current city.(the Tampa Bay Rays, the Seattle Mariners, the Texas Rangers, the Houston Astros, the Colorodo Rockies, the San Diego Padres, and the San Francisco Giants). Of the remaining 23 teams, three are suffering from droughts longer than a current young man/fan's experience (30 years), the Cubs (1908), the Indians (1948) and the Senators (1924).

For comparison, there have been 34 Super Bowls since December 1975, producing 14 different winners. 12 of the NFL's 32 teams have never won an NFL championship (Super Bowl or Pre) in their current city. (the Seattle Seahawks, the San Diego Chargers, the Arizona Cardinals, the Houston Texans, the New Orleans Saints, the Tennessee Titans, the Atlanta Falcons, the Jacksonville Jaguars, the Carolina Panthers, the Cincy Bengals, the Minnesota Vikings, and the Buffalo Bills). Of the remaining 20 teams, 5 are suffering from droughts longer than a current young man/fan's experience, the Kansas City Chiefs (1969), the Detroit Lions (1957), the Cleveland Browns (1964), the New York Jets (1968), and the Philly Eagles (1960).

There have been 34 NBA championships since December 1975, producing 11 different winners. 17 of the NBA's 30 teams have NEVER won a NBA championship in their current city. (the Sacramento Kings, the Los Angeles Clippers, the Phoenix Suns, the Utah Jazz, the Denver Nuggets, the Dallas Mavericks, the Oklahoma City Thunder, the Minnesota Timberwolves, the Indiana Pacers, the Memphis Grizzlies, the New Orleans Hornets, the Orlando Magic, the Atlanta Hawks, the Charlotte Bobcats, the Cleveland Cavaliers, the Toronto Raptors, and the New Jersey Nets). 5 of the 14 remaining teams, the Warriors 1975), the Blazers (1977), the Knicks (1973), the Wiz (1978), and the Bucks (1971), are working on some pretty serious "Mary Tyler Moore was the hottest dime in the game" droughts.

As with steroids, baseball as a sport catches flak where other sports don't.

Who Let the Doggs Out?; or They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

Michael "Please Don't Forget the Dopeness of My Brother Marcus" Vick has served his time. He spent 19 months in prison, most of it in the infamous Leavenworth pen. He has repaid his debt to society as ordered by law.

Yet NFL Commish Roger "Make Sure Shit Sell" Goodell is currently contemplating an additional penalty as steep as a one-year suspension for the first opposing QB to tread the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field for a playoff game and trudge off a winner. As an aside, I believe Frownie correctly called that game for the Falcs.

Many believe Goodell should impose just such a harsh suspension. In January, Peta's president, Ingrid Newkirk, sniffed, "Saying sorry and getting his ball back after being caught enjoying killing dogs in hideously cruel ways for many years doesn't cut it." She went so far as to suggest to Goodell that Vick undergo brain scanning for irredeemable psychopathic tendencies!

Ms. Newkirk shrilly opines that, "With behavior as aberrant as Michael's, we worry (Such a Warren Worrier! Such a Nervous Nancy!), despite our wish that it were otherwise, there is scant reason for optimism." A real terminal case, doc.

"Despite our wish," Ohhhh, please spare us your fake concern; you can't publish a publicity-seeking, shit-slanging letter repeatedly labelling Vick an incurable maniac and at the same time express hope for the alternative.

If Vick is so irredeemable, perhaps the loss of his fortune and19 months in Leavenworth were not enough. Perhaps a lobotomy is in order. Maybe, just maybe, Ms. Newkirk, he should have been put down behind a curtain on the track, just like a race horse. Just like....Eight Belles.

Now, it's partially true, playing NFL football is a privilege, not a right (although Maurice Clarett was right), but again, Michael Vick has served the time he was given.

And while it's true that if Goodell imposes a suspension, Vick would be free to pursue a career in Canada, Austria, or face the ominous glare of Jim Fassel in the United Football League, but if Goodell truly believes in Law and Order, he would believe in redemption. He would believe in the redemptive message that being allowed to play NFL football would send.

For we either lock up our criminals for life, kill them, or believe that they can be redeemed.

What kind of message to our nation's felons does Goodell send if he suspends Vick for a year?
Fuck off, good luck finding a job, in short, you're not wanted.

Chuckles Gooodell should know a thing or two about redemption. His father was New York Senator Charles Goodell. Chuck's political career was built entirely on death. He first joined the House of Representatives via a special election to fill the seat of a deceased Congressman. Therein he served until RFK caught the Gat, whereupon he was selected to serve out the remainder of RFK's senatorial term. Democracy in America, eh? Anyhoo, Goodell's final Governmental service was to vice-chair President Ford's committee to draft amnesty rules for draft evaders. Aka redemption.

Roger Goodell's own wife, Jane Skinner, knows a thing or two about redemption, after all, she dared affront our nation's airwaves by saying the word "cock," but her career keeps humming along.

In all seriousness, cut the bullshit, Goodell, and let Vick play. 'Twould send a far more positive and enlightening message than suspending him would.

Fuck the Knicks

All Around American Hero Brandon Jennings, or a righteous impostor, told Joe Budden, of all people, "Fuck the Knicks!" for passing him up in the dridaft.



I won't venture to guess if 'Giuseppe' Jennings is the Truth or just a bowl of pasta primavera, but I'll join him in a hearty "Fuck the Knicks."

Donnie Walsh's naked plan from day one has been to move money to make room for LeBrawndo (it's what chumps crave). Plan B is Dwayne Wade. Plan C is Chris Bosh. Plan D is a carton of Kools, a beachfront condo in Boca and Peace! C Ya Later cuz Plan D sure aint building an actual basketball team.

Sure, Isiah Thomas made his fair share of mistakes, but let's not forget he stepped into the poo-poo-platter that Scott Layden whipped up for him. Layden's last draft, in 2003, produced Michael "Hittin Up Sizzler Sure Would Be" Sweetney and Maciej "I Love" Lampe. Layden's last move before being fired was signing Dikembe "Who Want To Sex" Mutombo to a 2-year contract.

"Game Recognize Game." Isiah proved this true, for he sure could spot talent in the draft. Sadly, he missed his true post-baller calling as a scout.

Perhaps the moves that best sum up his reign are drafting Trevor Ariza "From Your Grave" (forced, I know) and subsequently trading him for Stevie "I Single-Handedly Caused the Demise of the Vancouver Grizzlies By Exposing the Inability of a Smaller-Market Canadian Team to Compete because of the Currency Exchange Rate, Tax Issues and General Ignorance Regarding Vancouver's Winter Weather and thus Indirectly Fueling the Second Lakers Dynasty of the Decade Via Ariza and the Pau Gasol Trade" Francis.

So we got Donnie Walsh to replace Isiah. He's done a good job of getting rid of some of the shitty contracts on the roster, but he's been plain about his disinterest in actually rebuilding the franchise in favor of a naked grab for Lebron in 2010. Unless Al "Wrinkled Dome" Harrington, Larry "Ill Street" Hughes, and Tim "Oh? A Lazy Three? I'll Pop That" Thomas are the future. If they are, sign me up for SkyNet.

Now, the load of crap the fans of New York are told time and time again, in every sport, is that this town just don't have the patience for rebuilding. But the alternative, ten years of middling mediocrity, is so much worse. For to make the NBA Finals is divine, to make the playoffs is iiiite, to nab a top lottery pick is genuinely hopeful, but to finish around 30 wins year after year and pick between 7 and 11 is just, well, middling mediocrity.

Sure, LeG.O.D.D. could end up in N.Y., but there are plenty of good reasons why he won't, as astutely pointed out by Frownie, and if indeed he says "Wait, I'm not gonna leave $30 mil on the table plus leave Skyway Burgers and Bath, Ohio behind," then what?

You get the bad feeling we'll be seeing D-Wade, rotten knees and all, rocking the orange-and-blue-and-black, sending shudders to those of us with longer memories of the sad codas of once-sensational slashers; Mitch "Richie" Richmond on the Wiz, Dominique "I Preferred Gerald" Wilkins on the Celts, Glen "Allah-Be-Praised, You Seen His Wife??" Rice on the Knicks, Latrell after the 99 Finals run, etc.

So yeah, no offense to Jordan Hill, who could turn out to be the next John Wallace or a decent forward (positions they sorta already have filled with Wilson Chandler and David Lee if he stays), but "Fuck the Knicks," which is basically what Pete Vecsey said this past weekend with a typically brilliant column.

Gawd-Damn! Single-handedly giving meaning to Roger Daltrey's refrain "hope I die before I get old," Could this even be the same man? What happened to the granite chin? The steel gaze? I mean, that pic from UNC is borderline JFK, Jr. while the recent pic is a melting Paulie Walnuts. Fuck and fucked.

Trippin' on the Paper Clips

"That's it Eric, hold up that index finger, a lil higher, there, got it!" encouraged the cameraman as he snapped away at the Clippers' Training Center in Playa Vista.

"Umm, are we done?" mumbled an impatient Eric Gordon.

"C'moooon, E.G., just give us a smile and we can call it a day. Just a little-bitty-intsy-bitty smile."

"No."

"I have your dog right here."

"Smooches!"

"I'll shoot him right now."

"d-d-don't. I'll do whatever you want."

"Give daddy a smile."

-CLICK-

Seriously, are the L.A. Clippers awake? Did someone approve this ad before it ran in the L.A. Times? With the Lake Show celebrating their redemptive championship, and possibly bringing the entire team back for an encore in 09/10, the Clips have never looked worse.

Seriously, look at Eric Gordon's face here. He looks like a 10-year old Charles Barkley who just shit his pants after eating a gallon of ice cream.

But hey, DJ Dense is gonna be there. Admission is free. There will be free draft guides. There will be Clipper Girls. I mean, sure, MILFy and all, but they aint exactly giving Paula Abdul a run for her money.



And to think, not too long ago, the Clippers were the biggest "G" team this side of the 2000 Jail Blazers.


Tangent. Were the 2000 Blaze the biggest "G" team of all time? Possibly. Probably. Definitely.

Rashweed "Cut The Check" Wallace. Steve "Smiff" Smith. Damon "Back When I was Good" Stoudamire. Bonzi "Dude, You've Got A" Wells. Scottie "The Knicks? Same Shit...Different Address" Pippen. Arvydas "Y'all Lithuanians Already Knew This" Sabonis. Dale "Where my Brotha Antonio At?" Davis. Shawn "Father's Day" Kemp. Greg "I'll Punch You In The Fucking Face" Anthony. Stacey "Plastic Man" Augmon. Rod "G.O.D.'s Gift" Strickland. Detlef "On The Stremf, F'realz" Schrempf. Gary "Cary" Grant. Will "I'm White" Perdue. Eric "Remember when St. John's was Dope?" Barkley.

Is that Mark "Helicopter" Jackson getting yammed on?

Damn. What coulda been. Fuck Robert Horry. Motherfuck him and John Wayne.

What say you? Can you think of more "G" squads?

Fool me once...

...shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, and it's time to question my mental capacities. One Howard Johnson has presided as hitting coach all three instances -there is one start in which Piniero actually allowed more than two runs in there, but it is not indicative of the overall trend- and somehow retains his job, probably because he was a former fan favorite -woo! 30-30 in a meaningless season! woo!- and is buddy-buddy with franchise stalwart David Wright, who by the way has transformed into strikeout and lucky singles hitting machine. It doesn't matter how many backups are in a lineup, because the opposing pitcher has been knocked around his last several starts and was a scrap heap addition himself. People are laid off for much less during these times, isn't three strikes enough for Johnson?

P.S. And for all 'the hitting coach doesn't even have that big of an impact on the team!' people, doesn't someone have to assemble scouting reports, go over tape with hitters, set up approaches during team meetings before series? What does Johnson do? Groom his mustache while watching Daniel Murphy chop grounders during batting practice? Watch Wright uppercut balls?

Stay Classy

True story. Coachie, the wife, the sis-in-law and the nephew went down to dazzling Disneyland in Anaheim this past Saturday. Outside the gates was a furious man futilely being calmed by his girl. Furious because he had been denied admission into the land of endless wonder. Why was he not allowed in? Well, this chump was wearing a USC t-shirt that read on the front "BUCK THE FUCKEYES!" Chumpy got up that morning, gathered up his girl, envisioning exchanging pounds with Mickey, chowing down on churros, riding the tea cups, rocking the mouse ears, and generally indulging in the sound of childen of all ages laughing all while showing his deep disdain for Ohio State. What a clown. He'll probably file a lawsuit and win but ah well.

Unfortunately, yours truly couldn't grab a picture. Instead I offer this pic taken by the almighty Bizman at Dodger Stadium a few weeks back. Either Dodgers security flunked reading comprehension or do little to maintain a family environment. Oh, guess what? He was alone. I know. Stunning.

Starting to feel like 2003...

...time to discover new Jae Seos and Jason Philips to emerge from the ashes of an injury riddled carcass. Daniel "I am unable to naturally pull a ball" Murphy has distinguished himself as a pinch hitter/defensive replacement at first -I can't believe it either- and Fernando Martinez will get plenty of at bats, while the bullpen will become a revolving door showcasing the mediocrity Omar Minaya has assembled the last five drafts.

TONIGHT'S TALE OF THE TAPE:
Albert Pujols: 26 HR
Alex Cora + Daniel Murphy + David Wright + Fernando Tatis + Ryan Church + Omir Santos + Jeremy Reed + Luis Castillo + Tim Redding = 16 HR

Dedicated to Al K, Mza

For the greatest walk-giver of them all, long may your balls soar heaven-ward only to tumble gently towards the earth.

L.A. Haters

This here is T.J. Simers, a sports columnist for the L.A. Times. Most sports coverage in brah-burg veers into lazy homerism. There's also the opposite, lazy hating. The day after the Lakers deservedly copped the championship, T.J. Simers spat out a caustic holier-than-thou column titled "Idolatry of Lakers is Ludicrous."

Our wanna-be Fonzie begins with:

"The Lakers won. Yippee, hooray for them and all that stuff."

Yeah, like whatevs, daddy-o, who cares about anything right?

"As civic pride dictates in these things, of course, everyone is supposed to be a Lakers lover now, giddy and overcome with affection for their heroes, but excuse me if I sit this one out."

Why, oh why do you yawn Simers? Let's see:

"The Lakers were good, all right, and gritty when they had to be, Kobe brilliant as almost always, while Trevor and Lamar added spice to the championship mix."

Hmmm, where's the beef?

"But winning it all makes them no more appealing, Kobe still over the top absurd in his mood swings, Pau still carrying on like someone swiped his rattle, Phil so above it all it's surprising he doesn't demand to be carried off the court like Cleopatra.

The Lakers are champions, but they did little to cozy up to the folks of L.A. beyond being good -- Kobe and Phil, the two leaders of this outfit, just as removed as always."

C'mon Kobe, can't you do a lil soft-shoe for our man Simers? Can't you guys do more than just be good and win ballgames for the ol' man? Can't you let those pearly whites gleam? Can't you preen?

But that can't be it. No, can't just be the lack of 'pizazz' that has ol' Iceberg Simers' panties in a bunch. Give it to us str8, no chaser, Teej:

"But now there will be a parade here, so everyone can pay homage to a bunch of people blessed by God with extraordinary athletic ability, but in some cases, the social skills that would make them outcasts in many workplaces.

Wouldn't you like to see the look on Gasol's face if your boss yelled at him?

You want to have a parade and scream your lungs out for a job well done, then invite the young men and women returning from Iraq and Afghanistan to walk down Figueroa Street and be feted like heroes in the Coliseum.

How many people give it their all every day in their jobs, every year until retirement, 30, 40 and 50 years, with no chance of a parade -- as determined as Kobe, as focused as Kobe, as accomplished as Phil?"

Laziest sports journalism of the highest order. Most of us sports fans have bought the ticket, taken the ride, we consciously divide the back pages of the paper from the front. Without doing that, following sports would be impossible. In the context of all the crazy shiznit that goes in the world, investing our emotions in the athletic accomplishments of strangers is foolishness bordering on mental illness. But again, what makes it not insanity is our conscious division of real shiznit into column A and our entertainment, whether it be sports, movies, robots that transform into cars, videos of people getting hit in the groin with footballs, whatever, into Column B.

We don't need need holier-than-thou hacks like Simers to pull the "fuck these guys, they're not the real heroes" card on us. Go embed yourself in the frontlines in Fallujah if you're gonna pull this kind of armchair harrumphing. Otherwise, if you're gonna stick to the sports pages, stick to the ballgames. Same reason I don't follow Heathcliff's madcap adventures in the funny pages for insight into our crumbling economy.

Reminds me of Rick Reilly, who's so fond of churning out compare/contrast pieces between some supposedly spoiled athlete and some salt-of-the-earth coal miner. There was the time he said QB Kerry Collins had "the 'nads of a danish," and, wow, aint this a knee-slapper, saying if World War II had been up to pastry-pubes Kerry, "we would all be using umlauts now and taking Monday off for Goebbels Day."

Oddly, eight years later, Reilly dropped a Collins love letter, ending a column about him from this past season with this killer coda:

"If you look at Collins' face this week, you'll see a big cut on his nose. He was deer hunting, saw a six-pointer loping by, didn't have time to get a good rifle rest on his shoulder, fired anyway and the recoil nailed him. But he got the deer.

Figures. He never did like to pass the buck."

That's another calling-card of the sports-hack, ending their hard-hitting columns with lame faux-Hemingway-tough guy sparse prose. Let's see how cold-blooded Teej can be with his ending:

"[W]hat's the difference between a Lakers championship and one won by the Sparks?

As far as I'm concerned -- with no rooting interest in either -- nothing."

Would you believe he rolls ciggies into his white-shirt sleeve and can make a jukebox hum just by elbowing it?

Now, I love newspapers more than anybody, but why shouldn't fans today read anything but newspaper sports sections if their prime column space is wasted on the ham-fisted humbug histrionics of grumpy geezers?

Aww Baby, It's Jus' Wrasslin'

Working on a wrasslin' project. Two samples.

A Tale of Two Cities

Los Angeles Baskets. The Lakers. The Clippers. The Lakers are gunning for their 15th N.B.A. title. And the Greatest Rapper Alive just dropped a banger big-upping Kobe:




The Clippers? Running embarrassing ads in the L.A. Times encouraging us to buy ticks based on their upcoming #1 pick in the draft. OOOO Yao? LeBron? Supes? How convenient that the Clips ignore their own history with #1 picks? 1998=The Candy Man, no not creepy Tony Todd, but Michael Olowokandi. Also overlooking the fact that they've chosen in the lottery every year save 4 since the lottery system started 25 years ago! "Chris" Benoit Benjamin. Hersey "Highway" Hawkins. Danny "Knees" Manning. Loy "Twas all for" Vaught. Terry "KoKo" Dehere. Antonio "Frownie Wuz Right" McDyess. Lorenzen "If Picking You Is Wrong I Don't Wanna Be" Wright.



The Clippers actually haven't done a bad job picking within the past 10 years. Lamar Odom. Q-Rich. Tyson Chandler. Of course, those three shone the brightest after leaving the Clipper Coupon Kingdom.

The Clippers are no strangers to running embarrassing ads in the Times, however. Their owner Donald Sterling, is quite fond of running multiple ads a day for his various housing developments and fake self-awards all featuring this hunky headshot:

Krunk

There have been some memorable championship celebrations. Chase Utley yelling "World Fucking Champions." Strahan stomping the ground at City Hall. Shaq-Fu's raps during the Laker celebrations in the early '00s. Neon Deion Sanders dumping ice water on Tim McCarver's head, prompting sensitive Tim's immortal reply, "You're a real man, Deion."
But I don't think I've seen another world-class athlete look as vulnerably drunk as Lionel Messi here. Enjoy.

Props et Poundz

Rock Steady Rog knows what time it is.

It's all iiite in white, unning for #15 on the grass.

Pics courtesy of The Guardian.

Shifting Sands of Clay/Thundering Thuds of Hooves

Shittin' on 'em. The Competition

"Je veux que vous gagniez...et vous goût aimez juste le miel."
"....merci beaucoup...mon boo."

Why should we care?

Derby winner Mine That Bird and 9 other horsies will run in this afternoon's Belmont Stakes out in the nether-world Queens/Nassau border town of Elmont without Freakness winner Rachel Alexandra.

No rematch between the he/she Mine That Bird, shorn of his bawlz after all, and fab filly Rachel Alexandra?

Every year, the promise of an exciting Triple Crown season returns, struggling a little less each year to avoid becoming part of the vestigal Americana of egg creams, soda jerks, adults playing baseball, automats, newspapers, chomping cockily on cigars, heavyweight champions, suits worn with hats and a strong domestic industry. We are told tales of when horse racing was right there with baseball as our most popular sport, that past champions such as War Admiral, Secretariat and Seattle Slew mattered as much as any star slugger or singer. I suspect the sport would be long dead were it not the only sport on which gambling is allowed. A $5 million bounty still stands for owner of the next Triple Crown champion.

This year, in yet another Triple Crown-less season, horse racing still had a chance to maintain the sporting public's interest with a Freakness-rematch in the Belmont. Instead, Rachel Alexandra's owners have pulled her out of the race, citing "tiredness." If the powers-that-be in the sport don't care about the Belmont, then why should we?

We'll take Frownie's old fav, Luv Guv, at 20-1 in the state that luvs its guv the least, followed by Mine That Bird (2-1), and Dunkirk (4-1).
- - -
Speaking of unconsummated rivalries, Roger Federer will take the court in Paris tomorrow for the French Open title. Winning would not only give him a tie with Pete Sampras for the most Slam titles, it would place him amongst the rare handful of eternals to win on grass, clay and hardcourt. Unfortunately, Nadal, whom Federer has faced in a record 7 times in Slam finals, beat him to that later feat when he won the Aussie Open back in January. Nadal will not be facing Federer, which is a damn shame as their rivalry reached a new plateau as each has adapted to win on the other's dominant surface.

I suspect that Federer will not find it to be a hollow victory if he wins tomorrow, much like how the Celts must have felt in winning the title in '86 over the Rockets instead of the expected Lakers.

The bigger question is where Federer ranks amongs the all-time greats. There is no more difficult sport in which to compare eras than in tennis. None. First there is the fact that the Open Era inaugerated 1968 made comparing tournament track records impossible, much like expanded postseason play in baseball has made a mockery of all-time postseason records.

More important is the change in equipment.I grew up playing with a metal racket that has about half-the-surface area of a modern racket. To play with a wooden racket is simply inconceivable. The rackets held by Big Bill Tilden all the way through McEnroe look like ping-pong paddles compared to today's equipment. They may as well have been playing with their hands. It is nothing like, say, the shift from wooden baseball bats to aluminum ones. It would be more like replacing a baseball bat with a adamantium cricket bat. It is replacing a feather with a bazooka.

Still, judging by Federer's unique-for-the modern-game all-around skill set, he would have likely thrived in past eras. Not everyone agrees on the importance of winning on all three surfaces, but I rank the feat as the most important factor in judging champions. Only Rod Laver and Andre Agassi have won all four titles, which is a major reason why I admire Agassi's career more than Sampras'. And why I think Federer is the superior player to Sampras, regardless of career titles.

Which is good, because I don't think he will win tomorrow. Fatigue has been a major issue for Federer of late. The man had mono after all. His semifinal lasted five sets, and the expectations of the entire tennis world will weigh heavily upon his floppy-haired dome tomorrow. Unless, of course, the fix is in, as hinted by the overly-supportive quotes given by the men's field in Paris. An example, as reported by the L.A. Times, "Everybody wants Roger Federer to win, even his quarterfinal opponent Gael Monfils, who said so in their post-match handshake." We'll be there, bright and early hoping.

How about y'all out there? Share your opinion on who is the greatest player in your lifetime and in history.

Circle the Date, Part II

After gutting out an impressive 19-9 May, the Mets turned back to pumpkins in June, getting swept by the hapless Pirates -forget Turner Field, PNC Park is the real house of horrors for the Mets- with very little resistance. Omar Minaya rolled the dice assuming his AAA team sprinkled with some major leaguers could pad some wins against patsies like the Pirates and Nationals, but he didn't count on hiccups from Johan Santana -a correction period, he isn't going to pitch to a 1 ERA- and an outright disaster from Mike Pelfrey -whose AWFUL peripherals are becoming a warning sign, you can't miss this few bats and survive- culminated in a very damaging sweep that underscores how inconsistent the team is: they'll keep exchanging good and bad months until they're home again in October. Minaya could peddle some of his mediocre prospects for a first baseman -Daniel Murphy should be playing everyday in Buffalo- or corner outfielder -Fernando Martinez does not appear overwhelmed at the plate at least-, but the team also needs another starter -in the short term Nelson Figueroa is a capable replacement for Tim Redding- and reliever to replace J.J. Putz.

A word about Putz: very few questioned Minaya's 'two closer' strategy last winter, but considering how badly the Mets were burned by the damaged goods they got in the Scott Kazmir-Victor Zambrano debacle, shouldn't they have had some concerns about Putz' health in 2008? The team's mishandling of Ryan Church, Carlos Delgado and Jose Reyes and their maladies implies total incompetence from the team's medical staff.

Godspeed to Minaya, because he is well aware his job is on the line.

If Schtee Falls In The Forest........

Terry celebrates with man-love.

Dider gets down.

An incredibly blurry shot of Malouda's audacious shot.

A blurry but convincing pic of the ball crossing the goal line.

Saturday saw Chelsea lift the FA Cup at Wembley following a well-deserved 2-1 victory over Everton. Under interim coach Guus Hiddink Chelsea have performed splendidly. In particular his coaching seems to have rejuvenated the mercurial Didier Drogba. The Ivorian, whose name is quite fun to say aloud, now penetrates with flair and finishes with imperiousness.

Mercurial, an adjective rarely used outside sport, could also describe Drogba's team-mate Flourent Malouda. The flashy Frenchman was pried from Lyon amidst much hullabaloo in the summer of 2007, but has henceforth proved to be mostly invisible.

Not so Saturday. With 10 minutes remaining he took a Lampard pass and unleashed an absolute howler from 35 yards out that shuddered off the crossbar, thudded just inside the goal line and then out into the arms of embarrassed Everton keeper Tim Howard. What should have been a goal for the ages was erroneously ruled to not have crossed the line.

As I, and many others, have argued, it is inexcusable for the world's second-fastest team sport to not take advantage of video replay. Particularly so in a sport where goals are rarer than Michael Keaton sightings. The ref's ass was saved by virtue of Everton's inability to overcome their one-goal deficit. This time. The next time?

It's (still) a F'ng Disgrace

The European club championship is this afternoon, live from Rome on Espn 2, betwixt Manchester United and Barcelona. How Barcelona got here is a bit of a joke. In the first leg of the Camp Nou, Barca could not penetrate Chelsea's stout defence consisting of 10 Blues in the box. Afterwards, Barca showed that burgundy is truly their team color as they whined incessantly about Chelsea's "negative football."
In the second leg, at Stamford Bridge, Chelsea far outplayed Barca, leading 1-0 through the 91st minute thanks to a wonder-volley from their best all-around player, Michael Essien. They should have had several more goals through penalties, as these pictures imply.


After a non-handball-call in the 94 minute, the proceedings devolved into chaos ending with Didier Dogba, the recipient of two non-calls, blocking the ref's passage and yelling "It's a fucking disgrace" into the camera. (peep the excellent remix).
How can the world's second-fastest team sport continue to be refereed by only one man and a handful of final-word-less assistants? Would a better system be one where the game is controlled by a referee sitting in a luxury box above the field of play monitoring the flow via tv monitors? In this scenario the referee on the pitch would have no authority, receiving instructions from above via radio. This would drastically cut down on the sad sight of grown men grovelling with the referee. Like a red-light camera, the ominous eye-in-the-sky could prove to be more effective.

The game also exposed the pointlessness of the "away goal" rule, whereby a goal scored by the tourists counts double if the score is level after two games. Over the last 10 years there have been 56 home goals and 36 away goals scored in the semi-finals. Anyone who watches these games sees away teams usually playing most timidly, happy to get one away goal at most. Goals, especially in major tournaments, are fluky and hard-to-come-by; it seems arbitrary to make some goals worth more. Almost like counting goals from more than 30-yards away as three.
Ideally these games would be played single-elimination-style, as the final is, but then again we would just see more nil-nil draws ending in penalties.

Which brings us back to today's between the best of England and the best of Spain. As with our pal Frownie, we will continue to pick these games according to our philosophy that the game needs fixing, and until necessary changes are made we will continue to get the same undesirable results.

So, 0-0 and on to the penalty lottery from the Eternal City it shall be.

Soak It In

Oh, hello there. Sit down, won't you? Come now, how can you resist? The pursed lips, the bushy 'stache, the well-groomed hair with just a touch of devil-may-care wayward curls, the comfortable camel blazer, the enormous dog-food-bowl-sized ashtray, empty for now, but ready to be filled during a long evening in this dark corner of the bar.

Dedicated Followers of Fashion

The Mets recently sent out a fan survey looking for feedback on the team's various uniforms. For much of their history, with slight variations, they have worn home pinstripes and road grays with the blue hat. That all changed a little over 10 years ago with the introduction of black. While Mets fans remain divided between those loyal to the simple orange-and-blue and those rocking the all-black, no one can argue that the current state of five different uniforms and three different hats is overblown.

Intriguingly the survey also solicited thoughts on potential new looks for the team. Here they are.

Hmmmm. Option B creates the same sherbet effect as the Phillies' home uni. Sherbet is to sorbet like grilled cheese is to panini.
Maybe if Patrick Ewing swung bats instead of awkwardly hoisting up 12-footers these sweat-guard jerseys would be necessary. Then again, these kind of unis are common in Japan and we all know Japan exists 12 years in the future so maybe this look is as inevitable as another east village ramen noodle bar. Or is it all about katsu now? Mochi-Mochi, foodie snobs!
Even dreamy David Wright would look ugly in these. Why, even macho Mark Sanchez would look ugly in these. Well, probably not, but still, these look like the cheap knockoffs available for purchase at the Moshell's on Fulton Street. Even Modell's wouldn't stoop this low.
Option B shows the Mets' current black jersey, while Option A offers a cleaner look sans piping.
Pumped! Either option is perfect for a road jersey. These bright blue babies would make our bumbling Mets stand out and look sharp even when they miss touching thoid base. Doesn't hoit that the look hearkens back to the golden days of Doc and Daryl. Hey, remember 1986? No? Fine then, carry on sexting, playing lacrosse, rocking skinny jeans and spreading the swine flu post-spring break you emo little rascals.

And props to Wally1912 over at the sportslogos forums for the above images.

Sound Advice

Back to the Basics

Hidden in the Mets' seven game winning streak were fielding gaffes and baserunning lapses, and they finally reared their ugly heads in their series against the Braves. Between David Wright's poor throwing arm and refusal to charge balls and get played by bad hops and Jose Reyes' curious baserunning decisions -taking a massive risk going for a triple in the eighth inning of the second game, running on a ground ball to short and walking into a Larry Jones tag and the icing on the cake, cadillac-ing around the bases on a deep fly ball to left center that bounced off the top of the fence- there is a general sloppiness to the team that wasn't nearly as damaging when they could outslug opponents with Carlos Delgado in the lineup. Wright and Reyes are not the only culprits, but the highest profile ones: Luis Castillo also refuses to play ground balls and waits for them, and Daniel Murphy still plays left field on rollerskates. Manager Jerry Manuel and bench coach/infield instructor Sandy Alomar Sr. can run as many drills as they want, but perhaps new voices are needed to reach to the players, voices like Tom Emanski -winner of back-to-back-to-back AAU national championships- and Fred McGriff -"these are the instructional videos that GET RESULTS!"

More Fallen G's

Thought I'd stay with the fallen G theme this week. This here is Ralph Beard, a star 1940's hoopster for Kentucky who passed in November of 2007.

By all accounts Beard was a baller who should be remembered amongst the pioneer greats from the post-war hoops era. Unfortunately Beard was a grizzly bear who stayed on his hustle, getting caught up in the City College of New York point-shaving scandal that engulfed college hoops in the early 1950's. The Repercussions were extreme, to put it milder than Hunt's Ketchup.

Besides the many ballers like Beard who were blacklisted, powerhouse teams such as C.C.N.Y., N.Y.U. and L.I.U. gave up D-I hoops. The N.I.T. began to wane in dominance, and New York City in general lost its central status in college ball.

Beard obviously wasn't too happy with the outcome, giving this powerfully poetic quote to the Tampa Tribune in 1999, "“I loved this game. It isn’t like losing one of my kids. It isn’t like losing my wife, Bettye. It isn’t like going blind. But I’m telling you what — it will be with me until they hit me in the face with that first spade full of dirt — because basketball was my life.”

Remembering Two Fallen G's.

Two baseball G's passed recently. Dom "The Little Professor" DiMaggio and Jack "Lucky" Lohrke.

DiMaggio, besides strongly resembling "Steve" from Sex and the City, is a genuine Bosawk legend who suffered from playing in the shadow of his Yankee brother. Matter of fact, one of the records he still holds-longest hitting streak on the Red Sox-came to an end at the hands of Mr. Coffee.

He didn't sound too bitter about it tho, here's the Little Pro telling it to the NY Times:

First of all, when I hit in 34 games in a row, I was only doing my job. I played every game pretty much as I played any other game. I got my fair share of walks during the streak — I don’t think I chased bad pitches. I was a line-drive hitter. My job was to get on base and let the sluggers like Ted Williams drive me home. I wasn’t even aware of my streak until it was at 22 or 23 games, and I didn’t make a big deal of it.

On the day it ended, Aug. 9, we were playing the Yankees at Fenway Park. Our rivalry with the Yankees was great — every bit as emotional as it is now. The atmosphere was very thick whether we played at Fenway Park or Yankee Stadium. That afternoon we were in third place, six games behind the first-place Yankees, but playing great. We were just entering the pennant race. These were big games.

But when you feel pressure, you do not perform. The first thing you’ve got to do is be completely relaxed. And that’s the way I was. On that day against the Yankees, I felt good. I hit one solid shot to the third baseman that was turned into an out. I got out another couple of times. I was 0 for 4 when I got to the plate in the eighth inning against Vic Raschi, who was a darn good pitcher.

I smacked a line drive right up the middle so hard that it passed Raschi’s ear! He ducked to get out of the way of it! As soon as I hit it, I said, “O.K., that’s 35.” But that ball wouldn’t drop. The ball refused to drop. Joe is standing out there in center field, and he didn’t have to move. He said it himself later — if he hadn’t caught the ball, it would have hit him right between the eyes. So there was no effort on his part. It wasn’t a great play by him, like they’re still saying today. I just hit the ball too damn hard!

But the streak was over, and I didn’t mind that much. (After all, we’d won the game, 6-3.) And hitting streaks didn’t matter to me, even when I hit in another 27 straight in 1951. It’s just a statistic. And the only statistic that really matters to me is hitting .300. I did it four times in my 10 full seasons in the major leagues, and finished with a .298 average lifetime. My only regret is not hitting .300.

It would have meant so much. Enos Slaughter hit exactly .300 in his career — and he’s in the Hall of Fame. Why? Did he hustle any more than I did? Did he have a better arm than I did? Did he run the bases any better than I did? Did he play defense as well as I did? Who knows? All I needed was 12 more hits — only about one per season — and I would have had a .300 average.

But that’s O.K. As I said, I was a leadoff man. I think one of the finest compliments paid to me was from my own teammate, Bobby Doerr. He said to me on more than one occasion, “Dommy, if you had been batting fifth or sixth in the lineup, I am positive you would drive in 100 runs a year.” That to me was the ultimate compliment. Just like the streak, I did what my job called for.
-----

Jack "Lucky" Lohrke had a short career, mostly with the New York Giants. As for that nickname? "He didn't really like that nickname," his son said. "It reminded him of too many things."

What things? From his AP obit:

Mr. Lohrke served in the Army during World War II and fought in the D-day invasion at Normandy and later in the Battle of the Bulge. He recounted how four soldiers, two on each side of him, were killed in combat.

In 1945, Mr. Lohrke was leaving the service when he prepared to board a military transport for the trip home to California. Shortly before takeoff, he was bumped from the flight by a higher-ranking officer. The plane crashed, and all passengers were killed.

In 1946, Mr. Lohrke and his minor league teammates on the Spokane Indians boarded a bus for a ride across the state of Washington. During a lunch stop, Mr. Lohrke got word that he'd been promoted to Triple-A San Diego, took his gear, and hitchhiked home.

That night, the bus careened off a rain-slicked pass through the Cascades mountain range and plummeted into a valley, killing nine players. It remains the most deadly crash involving an American professional baseball team.

By the time he reached the majors, Mr. Lohrke was "Lucky."