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."

The Amazin Mess Casting Call II

Via the Almighty Bizman, here are former KC Chiefs' WR Johnnie Morton as Johan Santana and late 1980's funnyman Mario Joyner as Carlos Delgado.

Casting Call

What if Hollywood, already inspired by the upcoming Moneyball adaptation to film, gets an itch for another baseball drama? What was more tumultuous than the 2008 Mets season that featured backstabbings, power struggles, midnight firings and a second straight choke job? Casting from the top:

Gregory Itzin as Fred Wilpon

Out-of-touch patriarch of the franchise already handing the reins to his son...

Steve Carell as Jeff Wilpon

and always behind Jeff's back, whispering into his ear...

Carlos Gomez (the actor) as Tony Bernazard

Robert Townsend as Willie Randolph

Billy Dee Williams as Jerry Manuel

Temuera Morrison as Carlos Beltran

Chris Pine (r) as David Wright

and on the other line with Joe Benigno and Evan Roberts on WFAN...

Zac Efron as Cole Hamels

Obviously, Omar Minaya is a glaring hole, as are the roles of Johan Santana, Carlos Delgado, Jose Reyes, but that's what the experts are for, right? Get cracking on that screenplay!

Don't have the time or money to attend a Mets game?

Get pumped up by the techno beat of 'Sandstorm' before a Met hits into a double play.



Simulate the slow walk out of the ballpark after another excruciating loss with the End Credits to Jurassic Park playing in the background.

I Luv You Like A Fat Kid Love Cake

Powerful. Magnetic. Intriguing. Omnivorous. These are the words that come to mind as I peer into Officer Rick Ross' (Boss) mug. Watch all the way through, you will be rewarded.

Deeper than Rap? Deep-Fried in Fat?

Byrd Calling

Get on the phone, Omar!

Still Sheaing Hey

Full props & pounds to No Mas and Uni Watch for their campaign to call the new Mets Stadium "Shea."

After all, Citigroup didn't pay any of us fans to call the stadium what they want. Us fans are free to call the park whatever we'd like, and nothing makes more sense than calling it what us fans have always called it, "Shea."

As any Mets fan knows, William Shea willed the team into being. At the time, as Jimmy Breslin reported in his 1963 classic "Can't Anybody Here Play This Game?" Major League owners were content to let the Yanks enjoy a monopoly over big league ball in the big apple. William Shea ensured this would once again become a National League town.

The Mets should never have taken Citi's money. No doubt it's hard to turn down $20 mil a year, but the Yanks surely turned down more dough than that for their new bandbox. New Shea was the Mets big chance to get on level footing with the Yanks in at least the stadium department. The Yanks turning the money down makes the Mets look even tackier than the billboards for Geico and Caesar's Palace that adorn the facade facing Northern Boulevard.

William Shea's name could have at least been preserved at the #7 station, but the MTA oddly chose to go with "Mets-Willets Point." "Shea Station" is a more proper, and his name is worth preserving more than the obscure Charles Willet, who was an early 19th century landowner.

Of course, to many this is just semantics. A bigger issue is the lack of fannies in New Shea's seats.
I'm sure the Wilpons/Coupons had a good laugh in figuring that if the Mets averaged around 5o,000 in old Shea's last years, then if they dropped New Shea's capacity they could ensure sellouts every night. Well, they dridopped New Shea's capacity to around 41,000 seats, yet are only averaging 36,907 a game so far through 6 games in decent April weather.

Here's a comparison of the attendance figures for the first six games last year and this year.

Game 1 2008: 56,350
Game 1 2009: 41,007

Game 2 2008: 47,127
Game 2 2009: 35,581

Game 3 2008: 49,045
Game 3 2009: 35,985

Game 4 2008: 46,214
Game 4 2009: 36,436

Game 5 2008: 54,701
Game 5 2009: 36,312

Game 6 2008: 52,794
Game 6 2009: 36,124

I don't care how many Excelsior boxes they sell and how many Shake Shake burgers they push, losing 15,000 fans a game has to mean less cake for the Coups.

Circle the Date

When writers and fans are preparing postmortems for the 2009 season and ask 'why did this team win 83 games?' this is the date to point to as the boilerplate for the rest of the season and the team as a whole the last two seasons. Hideous situational pitching and hitting against an inferior team at home. And people wonder why there's a such an aura of negativity surrounding the team.

EXTRA: The Mets are already 1-4 in one run games, and while some may say it's due to even out, it could just be a harbinger of things to come.

The Franchise That Just Can't Stand Prosperity.

From Jody Gerut's leadoff homer to former Met fatty Heath Bell's 1-2-3 ninth, the Mets showed the whole world how little has changed for the franchise despite its new home. They were outhomered by a hideous Padres lineup, and predictably hit two warning track shots -they always seem to come up short more often than their visitors. As soon as David Wright collected his first big hit since a walkoff homer against the same Padres team last season, Ryan Church completely misplayed a fly ball and as just as it seemed Pedro Feliciano would work out of the jam, he balks in the eventual winning run. The team has been a colossal tease for several years, but always comes miserably short. Cleveland may have it's Wahoo, but many New York baseball fans have to deal with a nameless, shapeless ghost that haunts their team. Maybe the ghost has a name and wide figure in the form of Mike Scioscia. Or Yadier Molina. Either way, this franchise will continue to find ways not to win. Some will say to be thankful for what limited success they achieve, but they do not root for teams that are massively overshadowed by a crosstown neighbor.

Words Is Bonds 2

A great moment in literary booze from Raymond Chandler's "The Lady in the Lake."
- - -
He looked at me with steady blue eyes and I looked at him. In spite of his weathered appearance he looked like a drinker. He had the thickened and glossy skin, the too noticeable veins, the bright glitter in the eyes.
- - -

Happy to post more great moments like this if you got them.

Excuse Me?

Still A G

Edgardo Alfonzo still swangin for the Yomiuri Giants in Tokyo. For a cool $380,000.

A forgotten Met, which is a shame considering that he was the bedrock for the last Mets' spell of success in the late 90's. 

PNC Park + Busch Stadium III + Citizens Bank Park =...

...you know where I'm going.

As cynical as I was during CitiField's construction process, I couldn't help but be a little excited attending the ballpark's soft opening featuring the baseball squads from St. John's -as the visiting team- and Georgetown last Sunday. On the ride there, if I wasn't certain which major league team called the ballpark home, I was painfully reminded by the same miserable cold and wet weather that closed out Shea Stadium. That was a shame, because it killed any chance of a festive atmosphere -outside of one St. John's cheering section in the 'Promenade:' I'll get to the stupid section names later.

Upon arrival at the Mets/Willets Point station, -good for the MTA for attempting to get something out of the Mets and Citi- you're spit out into the entrance plaza with some token tree and flower patches sprinkled in to try to differentiate it from the adjacent parking lots. The grand entrance, the Jackie Robinson Rotunda, is a hulking mass of fake brick arches and massive steel trusses that along with the cheap looking escalators evokes a subway station much moreso than Ebbets Field. Would it have killed anyone to put some skylights over the space and not make it seem like an entrance cavern? Like what the Yankees did in their entrance plaza? Anyway, the rotunda has some nice posters of Jackie Robinson, though there were still a few open slots left to be filled. While this is a great gesture to one of the most important athletes in American history, where's the love for Branch Rickey? I'll get to the very, very, very uneven 'tribute' to New York National League baseball later as well.

Moving on, the concourses are wide and lined with plenty of concession stands and restrooms, but the exposed metal decking of the floor above is more appropriate for a warehouse, not a ballpark -wasn't this supposed to be a departure from austere and minimalist designs of the 60s? How about a hung ceiling at least? Or get creative and make it vaulted. The only highlight of my time there was seeing Jeff Coup-, er Wilpon strolling around with an associate, probably trying to overhear conversations or go over punchlists. The centerfield food court offers a great selection of food, including tacos/burritos, Danny Meyer's Shake Shack and Blue Smoke as well as a grocery -very generic, shoulda used local context and model it after a Corona bodega- that sells packaged salads, sushi and most importantly Mamma's of Corona's heroes. Thankfully, the skyline that graced the top of Shea's Gambler's Scoreboard™ has a new home on top of the Shake Shack and Blue Smoke -the original apple unfortunately is in a dark corner under the bullpen bridge: cave troll treatment. Speaking of the Gambler's Scoreboard™, it's successor pales in comparison. It's an obstructive little row of scores over the left field upper level seats that considering how much empty ad space the park has around the jumbotron and outfield wall, they may as well have put a newer, bigger one, like what's done in the parks Pacific Northwest cousin, Safeco Field. The ads that are there consist of an embarrassing array from the likes of Bob's Discount Furniture, Alliance Building Services (???) and an equipment rental company whose name I can't even remember. All that's missing are ads for pawnshops and Denny's.

A word of advice when navigating the ballpark, unless you want access to the Mets' offices -with gorgeous chop shop views- do not take the staircase on the promenade level behind center field and next to the mechanical equipment. It takes you straight down to the exit at street level, or if you're adventurous you can attempt re-entry by walking through the inner ring that connects to the clubhouses and press room -which by the way looks great, Jerry Manuel is gonna love talkin gangsta with the press after games- and eventually the elevators that can send you back up to your choice of the Metropolitan, Empire, Sterling (nice Wilpon schill) or Promenade Levels. I would've loved to have seen Coup's Stoop, Bernie's Bench or something a little more creative, but that's just me. That's probably one way the Mets differentiated the park from its peers in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh and St. Louis, because if you didn't know any better, you wouldn't be able to tell where you are if you were sitting in the middle of the park.

I suppose the one instance of 'creativity' evident in the park are the 'homages' to the New York Giants in the form of black and orange garbage receptacles and outfield wall. Yeah, so deep, I can see Willie Mays snagging flies in center field and throwing his gum away in a trash can... The Phillies, who had no need to even reference their much more successful cross town rival, the Athletics, put up a nice exhibit chronicling the history of Philadelphia baseball: if HOK and the Mets are gonna use templates from every other new park, where was this one? The Giants were the class of New York National League baseball, but you wouldn't know it, at least according to ol' Fred. We've to thank Fred 0as well as co-conspirators Mayor Giuliani and George Steinbrenner- for these new parks, because if he and George didn't leave their parks in such disarray, there wouldn't have been enough clamor for replacements. Dodger Stadium is as old as Shea and even older than Yankee Stadium II and is in great shape. Where have you gone, Nelson Doubleday?

There's so much more I can vent about, but I don't want this to become a dissertation. As the old saying goes, I root for the laundry, so I don't care where the Mets play, as long as I can go to games every once in a while. At least I can stuff my face to avoid thinking about CitiField's shortcomings. Oh well.

LET'S GO METS!!!!

Words is Bond

I was strolling the aisles of the 'brar yesterday and came across "Ernie," everlasting Ernest Borgnine's autobiography. Look at that mirthful mug! So I picked it up but then had second thoughts. Sure, he's been in some greats, but could I get through his entire boo? I decided to flip to a random page, if it was good, I would take it out.

Well, this is the first sentence I read:

"The last thing Sam Peckinpah had said to me was that I should go fuck myself.
So did I want to work with him again? You bet your life!"

SOLD!

Amongst the many classic tales he tells is of the time he was a struggling actor in New York. Walking despondently along 10th Avenue in midwinter, he comes across a roasted chestnut cart with a sign that read:

"I don't want to set the world on fire, I just want to keep my nuts warm."

Borgnine took the creed to heart, working on almost any project that came his way, always reaching for the stars with feet planted firmly on the ground.

So, next time you're in your local 'brar, check it out! Get it? Check....out...ahh forget it.

Inspirational

Times may be tuff, but here's O.J. to remind us to always grab life by the throat.

U C Me? Hi Hater!

I made this of image Oscar hating on y'all inspired by the brilliant t-shirts that line the stalls of discerning Senegalese t-shirt/kicks/chains/beeper vendors along the hallowed thoroughfares of Delancey Street, Canal Street and BK's Fulton Street.

Mondays

Yeah, no matter where you are in the world (Cameroon), school sucks. Keep your head up, lil dude.

A Stab at New Yorker Cartoon Humour

Things Weren't Better Back in the Day (Except Back in Our Day)

Create Your Own Caption Contest.

Winner receives Props, Pounds and a litre of Gary Pettis' Jheri Curl Run-Off.

2nd place gets to run their hands, softly, through Fred Lynn's hair for precisely two minutes.

3rd place gets to fill Don Baylor's size 9 cap with soft-serve ice cream.

Loser must lay prone on the ground as Reggie focuses the Sun's rays through his glasses onto your face.

Kinda-Sorta # 5

Presenting Jackie Earle Haley aka Kelly Leak aka Rorschach in The Watchmen and two-time NBA MVP, the dime-dishin Steve Nash.
Eh? Kinda? Sorta?

And if you've seen the movie (ugh) doesn't he do a better Christian Bale than Christian Bale? Take heed kids, keep puffing those Kools and guzzling that Old Crow and you too can hoarsely mutter lines like "Wait till they get a load of me," or "I'm not locked in here with you....you're locked in here with me!"

For Whom The Bell Tolls

By many accounts the NBA is doing better financially. Ratings are up and the league can count on at least 5 powerhouse teams that dominate while still playing entertaining ball.

At the same time, the League continues to carry dead weight. We know the usual suspects, the games you skip watching when your team is on the road visiting them cuz it's too depressing to peep.

The Memphis "Sloe Gin" Grizz, playing in front of 4,000 fans; 3,500 of which are U.Memphis fans too confused from inhaling biscuits slathered in gravy to tell the diff-diff. The other 500 are 3-6 Mafia members.

The L.A. "Sailin Takes Me Away" Clippers, thrilling their bizarre celebrity row of Penny Marshall, Billy Crystal, Malcolm in the Middle and the Sports Guy. That foursome would make for the grossest foursome orgy outside Japan.

Then you have the New Jersey "If Only John Starks Hadn't Broken Kenny Anderson's Wrist" Nets. Is there a better indication of the health of the franchise than peeping the above prices on Stubhub.com? ZERO DOLLARS FOR A TICKET. Sure, the team currently sits 10th in the East, but they have a young, exciting team of emerging stars such as Brook Lopez and Devin Harris. Plus, Vince Carter sometimes pauses from launching jumpers to drop a nasty yam on an unsuspecting fool.

ZERO DOLLARS FOR AN NBA GAME.

The worst part is the Nets had a chance to instantly leap from the League's most moribund to Str8 Baller status by moving to Bucktown, U.S.A. Brooklyn loves its ball. A borough that would be the fourth-largest city in the country were it independent. A location near NINE subway lines, right above the Long Island Rail Road, near the BQE, near three bridges, within walking distance of downtown Brooklyn's offices and within walking distance of several upper-middle class neighborhoods.

But now, the Brooklyn deal is all but dead. Whispers abound that owner Bruce Ratner is bankrupt. Meanwhile, there are three new stadiums in the New York area that are almost done, the new Yankee Stadium, the new Mets stadium, and the new Giants Stadium. None of the three were really necessary. All those teams draw huge crowds and clock more cheese than Chuck e. The one that was necessary, in Brooklyn, is the one not getting done.

As an alternative, the Nets could go to Newark. But the Jersey market has never supported the Nets. For example, we are approaching the 20th anniversary of the McDonald's Family Pack, a package that failed to entice despite offering 4 Nets tickets, 4 McD's extra value meals and a disposable camera for $40. Still, it sure beats staying in the swamp. Driving out there in after-work traffic is more depressing than Drazen. The bus from Port Authority wasn't a bad deal, but that's gone, replaced by a two-train dance that requires a transfer in a place that sounds like a public access Sesame Street knockoff - "Secaucus Junction."

If there's one thing we've learned about the success of sports franchises, (football excluded because football is in its own class), is that teams do better located in the heart of cities rather than in the 'burbs. Same reason why bars and restaurants do better in cities. In the burbs people just want to survive the traffic and get to their nice homes to relax. In cities, at night, people will use any excuse, including attending regular season hoops, to escape the hovels they call their apartments.

ZERO DOLLARS!

Opening the Schtee Vault # 1

Only in New York could a story about ballplayers giving each other haircuts in the clubhouse ignite a firestorm worse than, well, Super-Friend Firestorm.

So, like Cam'ron, come with me back to the Mets of 2003, languishing in last place, rudderless under the leadership of the walking dead Art Howe. It was early May of that year when news broke that Harmando Boonitez, whose steely, confident gaze graces the banner of this very blog above, gave shortstop Rey Sanchez a haircut during a game.

OH MY!

Reaction was swift. Unquestioned clubhouse leader, Mo Vaughn, plumbed the depths of his dome to offer, "Rey knows the rights and wrongs, but we're not going to make a big issue of that as a team. We've got too many other things to worry about."

Like the lack of butterscotch syrup in the clubhouse to douse his post-game sundae with! HI-YO!

Potential Hall-of Fame GM Steve Phillips, in perhaps the best summation of his ruinous reign, offered, "I don't get embarrassed about anything anymore.

In hindsight, that was likely the truest thing Phillips ever said. After all, those fake ESPN press conferences were he impersonated various baseball GMs still awaited him in the future.

- - -

Peep for more classic NY Post offerings in the future as I take full advantage of developments in scanner technology.

Recession Blues

It is sometimes said that art only truly soars when mankind suffers. Has Jim Jones, P.O.M.E., borne this out? With our country sliding towards depression, Dip-Set's erstwhile consigliere has let loose a nation's frustration with his Recessionary Blues infused remix of Kid Cudi's "Day N Nite."

Preach.

Dip-Set.

Byrd Gang.

Balls in your court, Killa.

Wait, What About.....THIS????

"Hey....hey, you ever have a meatball sandwich?"
"Ummm, yeah?"
"Well, shoot, you ever have a meatball sandwich while getting your ol' hangdown tugged by the Philly Phanatic?"
"uhh..............."

THERE IS YOUR DAGGER!!!

Watch your back Marv...

Tha G Code

Is it bothersome that the New York Giants and Jets play in East Rutherford, New Jersey. A tad. Despite only a river running through us, there is a psychological barrier that makes Jersey seem impossibly far away. As way of example, I'd rather make the hour+ trek to Coney Island for the Cyclones than go out to the Meadowlands.

Does it make the Giants' "ny" logo any less awesome? No. But, for shits and giggles, here's G-Men helmet for all the Goddz of the Earf.

My Canyon of Heroes

Consume or Die

inspired by a Grrrrrrrreat game, america leaped out of bed this morning, tossed back a diet pepsi max,, took a look ahround, put on its elastic-lined pleated j.c. penny jeans one leg at a time, and skedaddled off in that guldarned-leased-Explorer to Denny's for a Grand Slamer. Abso-friggin-lutely necessary. Big fuel. For a Big Day. IHOP is for babies.

The lights of our nation's Wal-Marts flicker to life, illuminating miles of ailes of bahgans. KFC's deep fryers hum with anticipation, ready to melt those 11 secret herbs and spices into the crust enveloping that juicy all-white (alllll-right) breast meat. Millions of dull-eyed office drones in 2007's striped shirts boot up their 2006 Dells, determined to use this first fantasy-football free day to hunker-bunker down, yessir, no distractions, no procrastinating. Real work to be done, dump that data into Excel, revel in the number-crunch, eye-drop those bleary eyeballs, ergonomically adjust our wrists, Seamless Web our din-din.

Determined, like Santonio Holmes to brush all ten toes upon turf, to roll up our sleeves and lick this darned recession of ours. Why, shoot, if our F-150's can have an 1800-3050 pound maximum payload, we can sure as sam-heck change the oil and rotate the tires on the economy!

And as we settle into our beds tonite, from the lighthouses of Maine to the raging surf of San Diego to the Eurotrashed shores of South Beach, to the asshole banker yuppies 2.0 of FiDi to the churning waters of Pugent Sound to the Massive Massives of the Midway to the panty-droppin varsity blues of windswept West Texas, to the Testaverde-Pining Paisans waddling through the stripped malls betwixt the Sound and the Atlantic, bellies full of Hot Pockets and Sierra Mist Lite, let us be lullabied to sleep with the soothing words written by some who-cares from, like, a long time ago, but so lovingly hip-hopped by our generation's defining poet/troubadour, Will.i.Am;

May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you.
May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

Amen. And Spend.

From the Mississippi to the Hudson...

Kinda Sorta Returns

It's Bungles Boss Marvin Lewis and Mutts Maestro Omar Minaya.

So the Joker calls WFAN....

"I had a vision, of a world without the Brooklyn Nets. The Izod Center ground out a little debt and the league tried to shut them down, one good player at a time. And it was so... boring. I've had a change of heart. I don't want Mr. Reese, er Frank spoiling everything, but why should I have all the fun? Let's give someone else a chance. If Coleman Re-Lawrence Frank, isn't fired in sixty minutes then I blow up Derrick Coleman's Escalade."

Lawrence Frank, Head Coach, New Jersey Nets

Joshua Harto as Coleman Reese / wormy lawyer, The Dark Knight

The Transformation is Complete

Ebbets Field facsimile? Check.
Collection of no-heart bums? Check.
Wait till next year refrain from the fans? Check.

Congratulations, Fred Wilpon, you've done it. You have fully absorbed all the great traditions from the Brooklyn Dodgers and merged them with the New York Mets. Who needs the winning legacy of the New York Giants when we have dem bums all over again? If I were Willie Mays, I wouldn't have shown up yesterday knowing what lengths Mr. Wilpon has gone through to completely ignore a franchise that was New York baseball in the early 20th century.

Adding insult to injury was Mr. Met revealing the Domino's Pizza, er, CitiField logo on the Shea countdown board. Enjoy your new Disneyland digs, bums.

Midnight Massac-Miracle

After weeks of non-stop coverage and obsessing over the old gunslinger, the long national nightmare is over, Brett Favre finally compromised his original position of Packers, Vikings or bust. He will take the first snap behind Nick Mangold at steamy Shea Stadium South, er Dolphin Stadium on September 7th, and begin the most highly anticipated season since 1999 -also led by big thrower well into in his 30s. His acquisition caps off the offseason binge that included retooling the offensive and defensive lines of the team, the most vital positions in football -ask the Giants- that were the weakest links last year. With what should be very adequate protection and a very capable running game -Thomas Jones doesn't scare anyone, but knows how to get the job done, the Jet offense can now keep opposing defenses, especially safeties crowding the box, honest. Will Favre throw foolish shuttle passes and throw deep into triple coverage? You bet. But you can also be assured you will not see cornerbacks guess right and intercept at least one Chad Pennington 15-yard sideline pass a game or Kellen Clemens stumble as he works on his improving his accuracy and decision making.

The transition for Favre will not be easy. The media spotlight will be an obvious challenge. More importantly, the quarterback and coaching staff -head coach Eric Mangini and offensive coordinator Brian Schottenheimer, both younger than Favre- will have to reconcile differences in offensive systems, though I imagine adapting Favre's West Coast expertise to the Jets odd mix of a conservative run-first approach mixed with some elements of precision passing and trick plays will not be impossible. Laveranues Coles is perfectly suited for the short, over the middle plays dictated by the WCO, and Jerricho Cotchery is also becoming an increasingly reliable receiver. Neither are particularly nimble after the catch as desired by the system, though newly drafted tight end Dustin Keller could provide some good YAC -it feels good to use football acronyms after dealing with the lousy VORPs, WHIP, OPS+, etc with the mediocre Mets. That said, Favre made his name going deep, and a home run hitting speed burner would be nice to have to open up room for the Jets running back committee.

All this being said, these are still the Jets, and it's entirely possible Favre's starting streak could get broken on a flukey blindside hit by a scrub Dolphin linebacker, but it gives the team some juice -despite the best efforts of Bill Belichick killjoy disciple Mangini- entering the season, and makes ten wins and a wild card berth very possible. The Jets will have a fighting chance against the Patriots in the home opener -so much for warming up with a cupcake- but will not challenge their stranglehold on the AFC East. That said, the recent wild card runs of the Steelers and Giants makes anything possible, right?

"That's why they play the games."

That's all Folks!

An 11-16 record against the Nationals, Giants, Astros, Padres and Mariners so far. That is why the Mets will not make the postseason this year. A complete organizational mentality -from managers, coaches, scouts and players- that bad teams will lay down and die against the Mets has existed for a calendar year now. That homestand against the Giants and Rockies looks to hurt this argument, but those teams aren't even as bad the Mariners, Padres and Nationals. Time for football! Woo!

And what better way to kick off the season with Broadway Brett! Steve Serby can hardly contain himself.