Well, it's really only 10:28 right now. But I'm old. Here's some e-balones scraped from the steep cliff walls of the vast interconnected network of...ah, fuck it. This is some shit I found inside my computer:
At least someone believes in young Brodie.
What makes more sense than a random generator that provides a quote from Nietzsche along with a panel from The Family Circus? We all know the answer to that, friends, even if we're too scared to admit it to ourselves.
When I think of hockey, for better or for worse, I think of these guys. Who inspired these guys. Who are these guys.
In recognition of the Cubs' excellence thus far, a trip back to another era, when no one talked about curses. Or goats. Or cursing goats.
Some blogs may hate soccer, but we here at the House always add a few drops of international flavor. It's never too early to speculate about the next World Cup--so will it finally be time for maybe the most historically underachieving national side in history to win it?
And to close, just remember: it's not a compound.
Photo from thomashawk.com
Saturday, May 31, 2008
One of my favorite stories of the week centers on an employee of a certain Kansas City franchise. Why? Because it has nothing at all to do with any sport besides American tackle football.
The guy in question is Napoleon Harris, starting middle linebacker for the Kansas City Chiefs. He was considered a pretty good player even a few years ago, and the Chefs weren't bad on D last season, so the guy can obviously still play, even if just a little. Which might be why he's evidently a tad ticked off (courtesy of profootballweekly.com):
Chiefs MLB Napoleon Harris, whose starting job is in jeopardy, had an interesting exchange with the Kansas City Star. After admitting that written reports about his tenuous job status contradicted what he’d gleaned from the coaches, Harris was asked if he was a “happy” employee. “I am an employee of the Kansas City Chiefs,” he deadpanned.
Huh. Well, I once worked for IHoP. They asked me to wear the giant pancake costume, I refused, I quit. (In retrospect, that would have been better than washing dishes cleaning up puke in the bathroom.) During that extremely short period of time, if someone had actually asked me what I did for a living, I'd have said "I am an employee of the International House of Pancakes."
Or, not putting too fine a point on it, the guy is fucking hacked off and disgruntled. Could this mean Herm's rep as a player's coach takes a hit? Could he try and force a trade? Will it all blow over? Does Jason Whitlock really eat all the burnt ends on a bun every time I try and get some?
Photo from plainfolks.com/weblog/Pancakes
I like it, and I don't care for the NBA for various reasons. I mean, I usually catch a bit of the Finals, my token annual viewership investment, but I don't seek it out, or make plans to be home for it. This is good stuff, though. I mean, fuck all the noise about poor officiating, and allegations of fixes. This is, no matter what way you slice it, a nostalgic matchup. No, it ain't Bird/Johnson, McHale/Abdul-Jabbar, Green/Worthy, or whathaveyou. But it is the rivalry of our youth, and I will likely make a point to catch some of it. This time. For whom will I pull? Well, I'm Irish, Paul Pierce is a Jayhawk, and I hate Kobe almost as much as if he'd logged some time in a Denver Bronco uniform, so uh -- yeah -- Go Celtics. Fuck L.A.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Some numbers are rollin' around in my head this Friday evening. It's 5-4 Cleveland (leading the Royals) at home, in the bottom of the eighth. They were leading this ball game three innings ago, and my prediction of one year ago -- that the Royals would threaten to play .500 ball this year -- is suffering its worst valley of this season. The 11-game losing streak has been absolutely brutal -- (Update:the Tribe just turned two to end the inning) -- in the sense that a losing streak of that length is bad enough by itself, but even worse the way it's gone down. Details after the jump.
Every streak of losing -- trust me, I have a PhD in them by this point -- is rough. Last year's franchise-record 19-game stretch was ugly. Yet somehow, it doesn't seem as though that one was as rough as this one's been. Perhaps it's because I had more faith -- it hasn't yet expired, by any means -- in the club headed into the season. Perhaps because with the good pitching assembled by Dayton Moore, Trey Hillman, and company, I figured the sticks of Teahen, Gordon, Butler, and Buck, added to by the Jose Guillen acquisition, would be a nice complement to the squad of hurlers, setup men, and Soria as the closer.
This streak, though, has some numbers that are way painful to stomach. Courtesy of today's The Kansas City Star, here are some token losing-streak stats:
Kansas City has allowed 67 runs, compared to 28 scored. Starters have allowed five or more runs seven times. And the doozies include: three surrendered grand slams, two shutouts, two extra-inning defeats (one they tied in the ninth, one they allowed a ninth-inning tie when they entered it up five), and a no-hitter. Yes, that no-no by Lester of the Red Sox seems like it was an eternity ago, and it perhaps was the impetus for this trail of doom and misery. But enough about Boston and woe.
It's time to turn to O'Shea Jackson, and a track from Volume II of the War & Peace album: "You Can Do It." Cheesy, I know. But I've been beaten about the spirit and the gut for the better part of two weeks. (Update: Though I don't expect this post to affect tonight's game, it is interesting that Esteban German just plunked one off the top of the left-center wall for a stand-up double.)
"You can do it,
Put your back into it."
Amazing lyrics, right?
"It's a marathon,
F--- the cemetary that a n---a gets buried on."
(Update: And Grady Sizemore just slammed into the wall, robbing Jose Guillen of a base hit.)
"And it's sink or swim,
you got to think to win."
I say get base hits, but whatever. The Royals have outhit many an opponent during this stretch, and, no surprise, they've left many more base runners aboard, too. They need sluggers, or at least one. Now. It is a marathon, and that streak is now 12. Let's not toy with last year's toll. We'll start looking like a cemetary that a Royal gets buried on.
Posted by Blair Johnson at 9:49 PM
It's Friday. The work week's winding down -- for some -- and booze consumption rates are about to skyrocket for us in the spheres of sportsbloggery (Editor's Note: Skyrocket, in House of Georges terminology, is synonymous with the phrase "maintain normal levels."). That said, it's time for a look around the more general, less boring wide world of sports. One can do so, if one's so inclined, after the jump.
The guys at the Sports Point make some points about playoff hockey scheduling. Unfortunately for them, they're all wrong.
In NBA Western Conference Finals news, the Lakers knocked off defending-champion San Antonio, and there was some beef with the last shot. Or something.
(courtesy of Awful Announcing)
Elsewhere in hoopage, Nation of Islam doesn't like what Jason Whitlock has to say about the NBA playoffs, and suggests that he may have singled out Rasheed Wallace.
(story courtesy of The Big Lead)
In baseball news, UmpBump has a great series going entitled "What They Need." So far, they've covered the Braves.
Speaking of what they need, some fans at a Rays game needed a ball boy to step in and prevent some decapitation. In the same game, B.J. Upton makes a phenomenal catch.
(clip courtesy of Bugs and Cranks)
And in HoG-related news, Deadspin shares that the Rocky Mountain News has uncovered some crucial evidence in the Darrent Williams murder case,
and The Kansas City Star throws out some more tired tag lines suggesting that the starting-quarterback job is Brodie Croyle's to lose/the Chiefs' struggles last year were associated with Croyle's inefficiences in this story.
Yesterday, we concluded our "Stay Classy, Kansas City" series, and today, with great hope and ridiculous optimism, we want you, the readers, to vote on your favorite. This series was inspired by the periodic amount of KC pro sports slamming that, on (ahem) occasion, occurs both in posts, and in commentary on the House of Georges. Being the lone Kansas City rep, I figured something along the lines of the can't-beat-'em-join-'em mantra. Therefore, peruse the refresher links, if need be, that we've included after the jump, and cast your vote in the handy poll there in the right-hand column (Editor's Note: as opposed the the invisible left-side one). Hope you've enjoyed. Now get out there and vote!
Kansas City Scout Steve Durbano reminded us that hookers and cocaine are awesome, unless the hooker is a cop, and the cocaine is something you're trying to smuggle into Canadia.
Kansas City Chief Victor Riley suggested that bumper cars ain't just for the carnival anymore.
Kansas City Royal Hal McRae hinted that locker-room tirades, with phone tossing, beer sloshing and sailor-mouthed cursing, are something that should always be caught on tape.
Kansas City Chief Nick Lowery didn't really do much beyond break point-scoring records for a lot of bad Chiefs teams, hook up with a MILF, and tug on his totally unappreciated moustache like it was a dual-handled slot machine.
Kansas City Royal Alberto Callaspo indirectly proposed that, if the wife ain't listening, husbands should knife 'em in the face, launch babies across the room, and keep the women barefoot and uneducated in the dialing-911 department.
Kansas City Chief Larry Johnson showed us that you can assault women (twice), tell the media that you don't really like your coach, and pout your way through the first three years of your pro career, and things will be just fine.
Kansas City King Ron Behagen stomped his way into the (alleged) precursor of violence in contemporary hoops,
and Kansas City Chief Andre Rison set examples of many a "how not to..."
There were many others to choose from, but this band of eight brothers made the HoG cut, and it's now time that we select a favorite. On the right, opt for an electronic, or a bubble-sheet ballot, and don't forget your sticker!
When next we meet for BITD, the calendar will have turned to June, the third full month of the season. No longer will we able to explain away bad starts by players of teams with the dismissive refrain "It's Early." June ain't early. It's put up or shut up time, my friends.
On that note we display the sole day game on today's docket. You know who it is--it's Friday, the Cubs are home, you ain't got no job, and you ain't got shit to do but watch this game. And it's a Rockies game no less. After the jump we'll preview this sucker, and we'll get into a little pre-mortem autopsy of why one of these clubs has the NL's best record while the other sports the worst...
Colorado @ Chicago Cubs, 12:20 Mountain After a humiliating sweep at the hands of Chase Utley and the Phillies, the Rox slunk into the Second City yesterday and proceeded to fumble away yet another game. Remember the 2006 World Series, when Tiger pitchers could not throw balls within the vicinity of bases one through three? Colorado's bullpen reenacted it last night, with much historical authenticity. Today Aaron Cook will attempt to throw accurately to all those bases plus home plate, while pharmaceutical heir Ted Lilly has a prescription of his own.
Now both of these teams made the playoffs last year, and both brought back roughly the same roster. Why do the Cubs seem so much improved while Colorado has regressed spectacularly?
Chicago is first in the NL in runs scored (304, 5.6/game) OPS (.808) and batting average (.284), while Colorado is 14th in OPS (.714) and average (.256). The Rox have plated 224 runs, good for 4.1 a game (13th in the league) and less than the Cardinals, Marlins, Pirates and 50 fewer than the Diamondbacks. The same Diamondbacks that a year ago tallied almost 150 fewer runs than these Rockies.
The former Blake Street Bombers languish in homers (38, 14th in the NL) and extra base hits (159, 10th). The former can be excused in part by injuries to sluggers Matt Holliday, Garrett Atkins and Brad Hawpe, but the latter is puzzling to say the least. Even with the Coors Field humidor taking some of the jump out of baseballs, the park still has the deepest dimensions and most spacious power alleys in the game. With the young sticks and young legs that pepper the lineup, this club should never flounder in doubles and triples as it has. They can't hit.
Chicago, meanwhile, can. They're fourth in the league in home runs at 56, and second in extra-base hits (183). Although Alfonso Soriano runs like a club-footed vagrant trying to catch a bus on a cold morning, he still puts good wood on the ball. Kosuke Fukudome is nothing less than a pure hitter at the major league level and sports a .409 on-base. Aramis Ramirez drives everybody home (38 RBI) and the deep and versatile options Lou Piniella has in Theriot, DeRosa, Cedeno, Reed Johnson and even gimpy old Jim Edmonds give the lineup spark everyday.
But if you want two big answers as to why the Chicago Cubs have turned into an elite offense, look no further than Geovany Soto and Derrek Lee. Soto, the rookie catcher, is slugging .559 while playing in 50 out of 54 games. Lee is nothing less than an early MVP candidate with 13 HR--this following a lackluster 2007 season that was hampered by a power-sapping wrist injury.
On the hill, the Cubs are equally impressive. Their 3.56 ERA is second in the NL while the opponent's batting average of .243 ranks third. Even with the implosion of Rich Hill, the rotation has been sturdy, and the bullpen lights out. Carlos Marmol may be the most consistently unhittable pitcher in the game, and even Kerry Wood is holding it together from the closer's spot. That's not meant to be a jinx either, Cubs fans, I'm actually impressed.
Up in the high mountain air, the Rockies' pitching has been as atrocious as their hitting. Their 4.93 ERA is 15th out of 16 National League clubs, and they yield a .272 batting average to their foes. The starting five has been a five-alarm grease fire, with a very pre-humidor 5.46 ERA. Franklin Morales was sent down, Mark Redman was cut, and Jeff Francis and Ubaldo Jimenez have only recently begun to look like professional pitchers.
The only aspect of Colorado's performance that's not way off from last season is their fielding--measured by the archaic fielding percentage stat they're within shouting distance of 2007's record-setting mark, last night's foibles included. Gazing at these numbers, one can only conclude that the magical run the Rox took last year was a huge fluke. This is a young, impatient, undisciplined, thoroughly shitty team.
Back on the North Side, however, things look rosy as all hell. The pieces are all in place for a run of their own, and dare I say a World Series championship. OK, that one was a jinx. Sorry about that. Read more
Thursday, May 29, 2008
I'm no Christian, and the last time I prayed I think I asked Jesus to give me the Star Wars Dagobah System set--shit, that was awesome--but I'm strappin' on the feedbag of old time religion to ask the Gods of Sport (aka these fellows) to please, pretty please, pretty please with a $100 bill soaked in Philip Rivers' blood on top, to end this hockey season. Like, last week.
Before I get to the prayer, lie down on your naptime mats and follow for a sec...
Imagine, if you will, a teen boy, loosed onto the internet by his loving parents for the very first time. Oh golly, he says to himself, finally! With the power of broadband at my fingertips, I can, at long last, immerse myself in the endless wonderment of the Worldwide Web!
But! Where does he go first? To search out funny photos of camels wearing hats? Images of underweight Thai housewives having sex with multiple partners? No, friends. He hies himself straight to the House of Georges. T see if what the kids in his neighborhood have been saying is true.
And what does he fucking see? Hockey coverage. Opinions on line changes. Youtube videos of gigantic goons from the '70s. Do you think that kid wants to ally himself with the roughly 6 percent of the sporting world that digs hockey? Fuck. To the. No.
He wants manly opinions about chest hair-having sports, like baseball and soccer. He wants to read about the vagaries of NFL free agency, about the criminal pasts of the Chefs' third-string long snapper, about the various authors' childhoods, political opinions and taste in collared shirts.
And yet, we give him hockey. Shame on us. Shame on all of us.
Now, I can't expect a lifelong puckhead like Bank to stop now, and I would never ask him to. So, Sport-Lords in your old timey baseballing suits, if you exist (maybe I won't go there just right now) and don't prefer the prayers emanating from Mecca, Mumbai and Americus, GA, then I humbly beseech thee to just end it, already.
If it takes a meteor, well...you know what they say about makin' an omelette.
Welcome back one last time for the concluding segment of our "Stay Classy, Kansas City series. It's been fun and educational, but it's time we put this feature in the bag, and move on to classier topics. We haven't covered all the classy professional athletes that have donned a Kansas City uniform, but we have, however, saved the best for last: Andre Rison. It was a sad day when the Chiefs cut Rison, namely because since then, the sports section of The Kansas City Star has been pretty dull. But there were good, good times while he was here. Join us as we examine a mere few, after the jump.
The first interesting piece of trivia regarding Rison's pro career was that, the Colts, after taking him in the first round, shipped him to Atlanta in some odd-fangled deal that gave Indianapolis a guy named Jeff George. Not only had George wrecked
the buffet the Falcons, it was there that Rison would meet Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes, who would show her affection for the wide out by burning down his house in 1994. Rison would later return the favor by almost marrying her.
Rison's next stop would be Cleveland, where, as a Brown, he kind of sucked. Fans didn't appreciate his poor production, and when it was announced that Art Modell would be moving the Browns to Baltimore, Rison had some choice words with fans after being booed. Courtesy of Cleveland's The Plain Dealer reporter Mary Kay Cabot, Rison offered his insight:
After the game, Rison, who was booed several times, went off on the fans. "I got booed; we all got booed," said Rison, who mentioned offensive chants directed at Modell and himself. "They were booing after we completed a pass. Frankly, I'm ready to get the hell out of here. Because I don't deserve it nor do the other players.
"We didn't make the [expletive] move; so for all the booers, [expletive] you too. I'll be glad when we get to Baltimore, if that's the case. We don't have any home-field advantage. I've never been booed at home. Baltimore's our home. Baltimore, here we come."
Oh, and it was quite a party. Keenan McCardell and Pepper Johnson were there. So was Vinny Testaverde. Well, until Bill Belichick threw him under the bus anyway. From there Rison became a Jaguar for a year. Then a Packer for a year, where he managed to pick up a Super Bowl ring, and then he signed on in Kansas City for a few seasons, where things got really good.
Sure. He played some football, and caught a few touchdown passes, but this was the tail end of the Marty regime and the beginning of the Gunther era when, if things weren't painfully mediocre, they were bad. Most of his issues took place toward the end of his tenure in Kansas City, but they were awesome, nonetheless.
Like the time he rented some stereo equipment from a local business and didn't pay for it. Or the time he borrowed money from his elderly neighbor, and didn't pay it back. There's the bad-checks-written-to-the-jewelry store charges that caught up with him. There's the matter of back child support, which, if he would've addressed it early on, he might not have wound up in such a financial shitstorm.
And of course, there's the River Falls, Wisconsin bar fight episode, where he gave a fake name -- his alias apparently -- to the police. That one landed him in jail, a place with which he would become all too familiar.
And that was the end of the line for the Chiefs. They -- though they claimed the issues were unrelated -- released Rison after this one. But that wouldn't end his troubles. As an Oakland Raider, Rison would -- shocker -- have to play the Chiefs twice, and -- hey -- them games ain't both gonna be in Kansas City. Rison and the Raiders made arrangements for turning himself in for a warrant out for his arrest related to the stereo equipment charges, and he was out in time to play. This contest came after the game in Oakland, one in which Rison caught the flukiest touchdown pass I'd seen to date: Raiders (and former Chiefs) quarterback Rich Gannon gunned a pass from the pocket to an Oakland receiver in the end zone, only to watch it bounce off the receiver's forearms, and miraculously land in Rison's.
After his short spell with the Raiders, Rison and Lopes were to wed, a celebration about which ESPN Page 2's Jim Caple had to something to say. Strangely (or not), the wedding was called off. The next step for Rison was to face a suspension from the NFL for a repeated substance-abuse violation, which, sadly was followed up by the news of Lopes' tragic death, perhaps causing the journeyman wideout to drift off of the grid. Out of pro football, he would lay low for a while, and in 2004, he thought he'd give football Canadia-style a shot, as he inked a deal with the CFL's Toronto Argonauts. He didn't earn very much money, and he didn't play for very long. Turns out he had a previous engagement, one known as jail.
This time he was in for a month, before managing to cough up $10,000 in back child support, but his baby-daddy debts proved to be too big for the former receiver. In 2006, he was ordered to pay some more to the mothers of his kids, and just last year, he was forced into bankruptcy.
So it hasn't been easy for Rison, but he hasn't made it easy on himself, it would seem. He did, however make it easy for us to see just how simple, yet difficult it is to be a classy, classy guy. And, hey -- there's still his Web site, where I encourage each and every reader to go, and join the 100s of people that think Rison belongs in Canton.
Pittsburgh won last night, 3-2. They tried hard to give away the win late, a la the last two extra-innings Royals-Twins games, but for the Penguins, home ice worked out well. Ultimately, this win was a gift for the Wings, as they'll likely take Saturday's game, then celebrate the championship in Hockeytown next week. I don't have any more to say about the game, so don't click Read more
You know you're old when the wife leaves town for a week and all you can think about is getting to watch more sports. God I am lame. I have watched more NBA this week than all year combined, and last night I actually tuned in to the Stanley Cup Finals. It was at halftime or something. I did not return.
But mostly I watch the baseball. And on a day like today, with the Red Sox off, I poke around the bigs looking for decent pitching matchups to dial up. No luck--in fact, today's mound battles may be the worst I've ever seen. Not just for Baseball In The Daytime either--tonight's slate is equally repulsive. The best head to head may be Barry Zito versus The Unit. What time's the hockey match?
Atlanta @ Milwaukee, 11:05 Mountain This game pits two of the three cities that have hosted the Braves, and both franchises that employed Hank Aaron. What's not at stake are any Cy Young awards, as Jorge Campillo and Seth McClung shuffle toward the hill. Both these schlubs are career relievers pressed into starting service by widespread injuries in their respective rotations. I hope the outfield fences at Miller Park are built up to code, they're in for a workout this afternoon.
Toronto @ Oakland, 1:35 We'll call this one Name Your Frank Thomas. The Big Hurt has played for both clubs this year. The Canadian version: .167 batting, .333 slugging. Californiafied: .319, .516. But both places allow gay marriage. Rustle up a man-date and get your sassy asses down to the Al Davis Memorial Creepatorium, where Jesse Litsch and Dana Eveland start.
Washington @ San Diego, 1:35 Those of you that play the fantasy baseball in daily leagues may be familiar with the concept of "streaming" starting pitchers. That is, you pick up a free agent SP every day and then drop him after his start, thus building up your innings and strikeouts. The risk? Free agent pitchers typically stink. I'm paddling the "stream" this week in my battle against the hideous Old Man, and today's lucky selection is Washington National John Lannan. He replaces yesterday's arm du jour, Jake Westbrook. I know, this is all massively fascinating, but thank your lucky stars I didn't go with Lannan's opponent Wilfredo Ledezma. Because that paragraph would have been really boring. Play Ball!
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
The Month of May has all but expired, and at this rate, so have the Pittsburgh Penguins. If Mario Lemieux's franchise takes another L this evening, the NHL could very well be awarding its first non-June Stanley Cup in many years. Barring a Detroit Red Wing loss tonight at the Igloo in Pittsburgh, the Wings will have the opportunity to sweep the Pens Friday night, and the 2008 season will be in the books. If this transpires, the bright side for the youngsters of this Penguins team is that they are in fact young; they still have time in their early careers to keep their dreams of one day hoisting the Stanley Cup alive. Of the numbers of players that log professional hockey careers, few get the chance to see that dream to fruition. For many on the current Red Wing roster, that opportunity has presented itself on many occasions. For most, the possibility only comes around once. Today we'll take a look at one of the best ways to score on the ice: the one-timer. After the jump, we'll recruit the help of some fine young talent to assist us in the explanation(s).
Alessandra knows that to play the game of hockey, one must be flexible.
Miss Kiss will be the first to admit that gear is a player's best friend. From the helmet to the shorts, each piece has got to be fully functional and fitted.
Hockey uses every muscle in the body. It's good to belong to a facility where there's a warming pool for a post-workout soak.
To play this game, you've got to be fit and chiseled like a rock. And if you're a rock behind a topless Miss Beauchamp, score.
Catalina demonstrates the necessity to establish some personal space in the game, and be flexible.
Miss Smith knows that many body parts are used in the game, i.e. a deflected puck can be corralled off the chest. Let's hope there's not a show dog napping there.
Crystal suggests that, on occasion, a body has to lean. Be it against a stick or an opponent's body, it happens.
The one-timer is a scoring opportunity that happens when a player, instead of receiving the pass on the tape of his/her stick, shoots the puck on net. It happens quick, and Denise Milani knows that a participant of such a chance must be on his/her toes.
It takes a stern countenance to execute such a play successfully. You've got to stake your ground, and be ready when the often-times missile of a pass arrives. Nguyen executed properly, you're bound to catch a goalie off guard. Cha. Ching.
Cup champions typically have fabulous summers, eagerly awaiting their one day with the cup. These crowning seasons are best enjoyed when they involve Heather.
Deflected one-time attempts often hit the mesh above the glass. I'd call it successful if my shot hit Jessica above the mesh. Zzzzing!
Jia Lynn demonstrates a goalie's lock-kneed five-hole save. Man, the possibilities are limitless with that one.
When a goalie gives up a juicy rebound, he's got to be prepared to make a kick save against any second chances.
They've got to be careful, though. A kick save left can often result in a shot to the right side of the cage, necessitating a dive.
Netminders must always be alert. Scoring chances can even occur from the other end of the ice, which is never a good time to be caught leaning against the pipe.
But back to one-timer positioning. It's key to bend those knees, stick out that butt, and get low to the ice if you want to get off a good shot.
It sounds goofy, but it's true. You've got to be poised if you want to slip one by.
And getting pucks in the net early will always get a goalie off his game. Like Miss D'Marie, he'll be gnashing his teeth on the twine.
And if the one-timer gets deflected, keep your eyes on the ice. It's the only way to spot a ricocheted puck.
Maddalena's not a big advocate of the one-timer. She's more into the flashy, deke-involved breakaway-type scoring chances. In her mind, position hockey's for the birds.
Maya Anderson, however, knows that position hockey can result in rebounds and multiple scoring chances. You never know when that loose puck will be lying on the doorstep with the goalie on his back.
A player's got to work for those chances, though. They don't just happen while folks sit around.
The one-timer, while efficient, isn't easy. It requires concentration, a firm gaze, and the use of the arms and legs, in various modes of extension.
Speaking of gazes, yikes!
Scoring on a one-timer is cool and refreshing, like, uh, lakeside skinny dipping.
It's dangerous out in front of the goaltender's crease, though. Many a scrum takes place in that region, and the chippy guys will try to pull your sweater over your head so's they can pummel ya'. I prefer it when Miss Delane removes her own.
It's always a physical game. Whether you fight, or bury a one-timer, never skate with your head down. Body checks and elbows are flying around with a vengeance.
Now get out there and score, gents. Game on!
(We're thankful our goalies wear Gorilla Masks before taking the ice for the Daily Niner.)
(Update: Oops. Apparently, game four will be on Saturday. Scratch all that non-June/Friday business.)
As we're now into the semi-official, post-Memorial Day summer phase of the baseball season, the temperature is starting to rise. For Willie Randolph in Queens, it's hotter than Hades already. On tap today are a pair of games, one played outside in the heat and the bugs, one inside next to a fish tank.
So throw on a little Coppertone, knock back a few hydrating beverages and enjoy some Baseball In The Daytime...
Chicago White Sox @ Cleveland, 10:05 Mountain There's always a little controversy brewing in Ozzie Guillen's clubhouse, and this latest one is more than a little queer. That's queer as in odd, but if you want to attribute a few homo qualities to it that's your business. I don't judge.
Shortstop Orlando Cabrera, who I've been a huge, huge fan of since he helped the Red Sox win a championship in 2004, was dealt to the Pale Hose in the offseason. He's off to an awful start, although since Ozzie inserted him in the leadoff spot his numbers have improved. It's his defensive stats, however, that are currently at issue. Seems OC has taken to calling official scorekeepers and lobbying for errors to be overturned. I'm sure that goes over well with the pitchers playing in front of him, as earned runs are being added to their stats after the fact. Today that skeptical hurler will be Gavin Floyd, while Jake Westbrook comes off the DL to throw for the Tribe.
Texas @ Tampa, 10:40 Josh Hamilton has 58 RBI on the season. It is May 28 and that is not a misprint. Hamilton, who like Cabrera was obtained in exchange for pitching over the winter, has absolutely lit up the American League, which was the initial intent of the then-Devil Rays when they made him the No. 1 pick of the 1999 Draft. He then infamously developed a love affair with various white powders before discovering Jesus and a newfound ability to annihilate baseballs. Trying to slow him today will be Bay-Ray Matt Garza (yet another offseason tradee), who'll share the hill with Ranger Kason Gabbard. Play Ball!
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Call it domination. Call it a mismatch. Call it home-ice advantage. I call it getting smoked. And that's just what happened to the Pittsburgh Penguins when they fell two games to none to the Detroit Red Wings in game two of the Stanley Cup Finals. It's been more than six periods since the Penguins last scored a goal, and if the home-ice edge doesn't sway in their favor tomorrow night, that drought could very well continue. Let's hope they don't jump ship. There's still time for some quality hockey.
I fear, however, that we won't see any. The best way to analyze this series is as such:
Take this from the ground,
unless you're this guy,
in which case you'll probably find it here,
and firmly gouge it here.
It won't look like this,
That's right. Mario Lemieux, Michel Therrien, Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin, and the entire Pittsburgh Penguin crew, are finished. They may salvage a game, perhaps two, but there is no way in Hoth they climb out of this monster of an ice hole into which they have fallen. Without doing any research for accuracy, I'll just throw out the friendly reminder that the Red Wings have 23 -- 23! -- championship rings on their roster. Okay. It might be 13. It definitely has a three in it, and it's not three. The Pens are just way too overmatched. Even when they break the scoring drought -- and they will -- the Wings will not back down, and Osgood will not play any worse. Better luck next year, Pittsburgh.