Friday Evening Fracas

We're a half hour away from the beginning of the Royals-Giants series getting underway at Kauffman Stadium, and, well, I've got some drinking to do. So we'll try and keep this brief. Be sure to check back in this evening, though, as Old No. 7 has all but promised a doozy-laden feature to set your weekend off right. Until then, jump aboard for some developments that may or may not've coerced a few of us 'Mericans to knock off early for the weekend.

If you're a Red Sox fan, you've certainly got an affinity for bloody foot garments and world championships. The Big Lead suggests that this might be the end for a certain religious-like pitching blogger.

Of course the big quote streaming the Bottom Line of that one network looks a little like this:

“My season is over and there is a pretty decent chance I have thrown my last pitch forever.”

And you know what? I don't mind Schilling. He seems like a heckuva dude. Clearly a great pitcher with phenomenal strikeout stats through the years. Hall-worthy? Dunno about that; the win-loss ratio's a little tough to swallow. If he's done, I'll tip my hat to him for a great career, and I'll also flip that four-letter network the bird for devoting five gazillion clips, and hours of air space hashing out this rumor. This just in: Not everyone is a Red Sox or a Yankees fan. Spread the footage out. Do some digging, some investigative journalism into some other subject besides your usual Tom Brady-BRS-NYY-Brett Favre-Manning Bros circle jerk. Christ.

Moving on.

I've been called pretty handy around the kitchen a time or two, and one of my prize possessions is my spice cabinet. If you open it up, and look in between the Curry Powder and the Garam Masala, you'll find something known as Dill Weed. I'm considering scratching out the label on it and renaming it Javon Walker. Now, I don't really care -- and really it's no surprise -- that allegations are pointing to him being full of shit with this whole Vegas deal. In a twist of genuine surprise, I'm kind of finding myself sorry for the Denver Broncos in this whole ordeal. I mean, most often, that franchise and its fan base (Editor's Note: Not my colleagues and families of. We cool, baby. We cool.) can gargle the grainy roux that simmers around my sweaty summertime sac, but this is just disheartening.

Let me retract. They're (Bronco Country) in the clear for having cut the ties, but when they signed him two years ago, I was like, "Leapin' lizards!" only it was a touch more profane. I expected that guy, in the years he had left, to give Rod Smith's and Shannon Sharpe's numbers a run fo' dey money. And career afternoon after career afternoon would likely come at the expense of the greatest football franchise in history. Factor in the injury, and the Darrent Williams scenario, and the since-being-waived comments towards Denver, and, sheesh. What a massive tool. I'm actually glad for them that they got out of this mess before it was their own. But don't worry. The sinister side of me is certain that B-Marsh (Note: That is likely the gayest nickname in pro sports history.) has plenty up his sleeve for many a season to come. We should write a song. And it should start like this:

"Don't say Clarett,
Don't saaaaayyyyy Cla-rett!
Don't say Lelie,
It huuuuurrrrrrts me!
Or Tra-vis Hen-ry,
'Cause in your throooooaaat I'll pee!
Don't say Ja-von,
Don't saaaayyyy Ja-von!
'All those fools gone,
Denver haaaaassss moved on!
It's the Wal-ker show,
I like's throooow-in' snow!
I's tha' real deal,
I slips on Haaaaap-py Meal!

Foreward, with other shunned-from-the-foreground pieces of work that have not been employed by the Denver Broncos, it's Awful Announcing cluing us in to the continuing demotions of one Stephen A. Smith. How's the progression of his sign-off going these days? We all know the obnoxious sionara from his show: "Remember y'all...this my house!" At his last gig, what'd he wave goodbye with? "Remember y'all...this my porch!" And now? "Remember y'all...this my corner of the dumpster in the alley!" Here's a tip: Try not to be a pompous, obnoxious ass, and maybe the career ladder might move the other direction. Brah.

In the heart of blogs and sports journalism, there is an aorta. Maybe it's not. Could just be a ventricle. But it has some tributaries, some common ground to cover. It can get a little monotonous, but hell, there's always Fire Joe Morgan to make it interesting without all the bells and whistles.

And hey, look! Someone's live-blogging the NHL draft! Okay. Not someone. Melt Your Face Off. Either way. Just the news you were looking for.

It's Friday, and what would Friday be without a look at Kissing Suzy Kolber's Cheerleader Biography installment? Not very fun!

That's gonna do it. I could write more, but the Royals just took a 3-0 lead in the first, and I'm a homer, so I've got to check it out. How much of a homer? So much so that I'll include a free plug of Joe Posnanski's new book. Get your click on so you can get your read on. And support a fabulous writer.

Happy Weekend!