Wednesday Whatnot: bing, The Idaho Potato Museum, and Car Insurance

I've often wrestled with the role that television plays in my life. For a spell, when I was a wayward young man, I lived in several households without TV sets, and inhabited a few domains not worthy of the title of household, so I found it auspicious to let those who'd listen know that I did not, in fact, watch television. It was, I felt, a good way to put a label on my still-developing persona, and although technically true on many occasions, it was mostly a load of crap. It's not like I grew up in a home without a television, or that I've never had favorite shows, or that I've never watched a gazillion sporting events on the tube. No, I do watch TV, and probably a little too much of it, right now, but I still pass plenty of judgment on certain shows people watch.

For example, it was just yesterday that a co-worker said to me verbatim, "I mean, I don't watch TV," which she then followed up with, "however, my new favorite show is 'Mike and Molly.'"

I related to this on two levels, the first of which should be obvious. The second of which is that I had just privately lambasted an ad for this program, having seen a commercial for it, then hearing the end of the commercial with one of those the-best-new-fill-in-the-blank-program sort of lines that's supposed to get people to check out a show. I thought to myself: There wasn't an ounce of funny in that ad, and what the hell is this show anyway? A program for fat people to feel good about themselves?

Of course, when my colleague stated that, I felt like a jerk, so I'm going to try and refrain from passing judgment on what other people watch, even if my sister mainlines Real Housewives, a couple of buddies of mine flog the dolphin to Jersey Shore, and frankly, watching television has adverse effects on, well, everything else I'd like to get done, but that's the goal. Meantime, I thought I'd wax philosophical on commercials for a minute.

I'm somewhere in between really interested and thoroughly fascinated by TV advertising. That is, I don't think I've watched one single commercial in the last five or six years and not had a really strong opinion about it. That opinion either goes one way -- That was the worst piece of advertising I have ever seen in my entire life, and having endured its atrociousness, I will now make a conscious effort to never, ever give that company one penny of my money. I cannot believe that people got paid to make that pile of televised garbage -- or it becomes and instant favorite, I never get tired of seeing it, and want everyone I know to love it just as much as I do.

This is the case with the bing traffic jam commercial, which I adore:



For my wife, she loves the Geico commercials, most notably the woodchucks:



and especially the little piggie:



I have no idea how many times I've heard people say that they hate this commercial with every fiber of their soul, but I always pipe up and mention the wife's affinity for it. Personally, I like the jackwagon one, but whatever.

The point is, that I think a lot, if not most, of us have opinions on commercials. They're fascinating to analyze from a conceptual standpoint, and to try and determine how they thought their angle(s) would generate new patrons, or reaffirm the confidence in customers that already existed.

Take car insurance, for example. You have, in my estimation, three companies that have been fully engaged in this advertising competition for some time now: Geico, Progressive, and State Farm. Geico has been hitting the bricks hard with the 15-minutes-could-save-you campaign for a number of years. It started out as simple, but then they stepped it up a notch with the caveman campaign, went high-brow by adding the gecko, and have kicked it in to high gear lately with all of the Mike McGlone spots. On the other hand, you have Progressive. Everyone knows Flo from Progressive. Her spots are great, and even though she's one of those folks cursed with the two-first-name situation (Stephanie Courtney), I think most people find her benign, if not slightly tolerable bordering on enjoyable. Personally, I'm waiting for her sex tape to come out, but that's another post.

Allstate has stayed the conservative route for a long, long time, now with Dennis Haysbert as the all-too-familiar spokesperson. They've recently attempted a new direction, though, by stepping out of that secure, feel-good mode, and suggesting that going with a newer competitor with a lesser tenure could impose chaos upon your world. State Farm felt like they had to get in the mix by adding their blink-like-you're-I-Dream-of-Jeanie-and-like-a-good-neighbor-your-agent-is-there agenda. And of course, Farmer's Insurance is coming at us with the think-quick, on-your-feet propaganda. There are, of course, others, but we've given enough examples already.

My stance has been cemented for most of 10 years, though. I grew up using State Farm because that's what my mom used because a family friend was an agent. I dumped them, however, when they started acting like jackwagons, and went with Allstate because I had an uncle that was an agent. When he retired, however, things changed. I got a new car, added it to my plan, and my premiums skyrocketed. So, I did some shopping, and compared premium quotes among Progressive, Geico, State Farm, and a couple of others. Suffice to say that the rates Progressive offered were not only the best, but their customer service was far superior. And for the record, Geico was more than double all of the rates offered, but the point is not to steer you in any direction on car insurance, but to mention that I went with the company that presented the best offer, and have stuck with them ever since, and no amount of dollars and sense invested in clever ad campaigns will even get me to consider for a moment switching companies. I'm sure there are those that will ponder it, but it's an interesting concept, at least to me.

As far as bing and search engines are concerned, I'm not even interested in what they're trying to advertise. I do, however, find their commercials clever and entertaining, so I will never not consider using their product. Finally, there is the third leg to this stool and that is the advertising of the outright obnoxious company and its product/service. The only example -- and I'm certain there are plenty of others -- that immediately springs to mind is something like the current Domino's ad campaign. You know the one. It's the neverending stream of commercials where they profess that they've been making a crappy product and insist that they've improved upon said crappy product. It's not that I have a beef with the philosophy behind this campaign, and I don't have a particular problem with past experiences eating Domino's pie.

The situation is this: I typically order local pizza, and almost always prefer it over any chain pizza. But now, having endured dozens of these ads, I will, in the event that my local delivery service is on the fritz, definitely refrain from ordering Domino's pizza because their commercials are so God-damned annoying, and frankly, way overplayed.

Enough about all that, though. The point was that commericals are psychologically fascinating, and I'm going to make a point of screaming "Visit the Idaho potato museum!" anytime someone uses the word visit, Idaho, potato, or museum. Just 'cause it'll be a hoot.

And that's all I have to say about that. Read more

Oh, No He Dih-uhn't

Yesterday, rumors gained momentum in speculating that the Chiefs were preparing to name Charlie Weis their new Offensive Coordinator. One source was pressing the former Notre Dame head coach before the hiring was announced. His response:

"When I have the opportunity to tell you something concrete, I'll be more than happy given the proper forum to make sure I do that," Weis said. "There are tons of positives about Kansas City. They are numerous. If that matriculates, I'll be able to give you what they are. But we've just got to wait and let it play out. I'm sure that whatever happens will happen rather expeditiously."

Un. Real.

(quote courtesy of CBSSports; photo courtesy of Arrowhead Pride)
Read more

Tuesday Tidbits: It Has Now Officially, Gotten Stankiest Out There

It's a gloomy day in Kansas City. That is, it's raining. Either snow or rain has been falling consistently for three straight days now, and sporting news hitting the CyberStands doesn't look much better. In case you've not heard, Kansas City Chiefs wide receiver Dwayne Bowe has been suspended by the NFL for four games for violating the league's performance-enhancing substance policy. Word is that he'll not appeal the suspension, that it'll start immediately. Speculations are that, as Bowe came into training camp 30 pounds overweight, he used a diuretic to help shed some pounds, which, if correcty, translates to off-season laziness. This means no Steelers at home this weekend, no Chargers on the road in two weeks, no Broncos and no Bills for the first part of a three-game home stand. Thank God for the Chris Chambers signing, as our playoff chances were looking threatened there for a minute.

In NCAA news, Kansas Jayhawks Head Football Coach Mark Mangino is going under the scope. I don't mean surgery, and I don't mean they're going to try and place the big fella on a slide for examination. I mean that the school is investigating allegations of questionable conduct in the form of "yelling at and making contact with a player earlier this season." But that's just a few clouds on a figuratively bright day for KC sports...

...because Kansas City Royal Zack Greinke has won the American League Cy Young Award, by count of 25 of 28 votes. When the chatterings began, I had little faith that Greinke would actually win it. The case for Zack tried to make itself inevitable, though, as the regular season drew to a close, and the playoffs began. But today, a certain someone's prediction rang true.

On the evening of April the 8th, of 2009, I texted Old No. 7 that KC's number two starter had looked real sharp in a 2-0 shutout of the Chicago White Sox at U.S. Cellular Field.

His response was something to the tune of, "Part of a little Cy Young campaign I like to call Gettin' Stanky with Zack Greinke," which made me chuckle. Of course I liked the notion of it, but never did I think it would come true, some seven months later. Well played, sir, and well deserved, Mr. Greinke. Three cheers for good news. Hell, three cheers for great news.
Read more

Baseball in the Daytime: The National League Is Like Fat Chicks; It Needs Some Love, Too

Words can't describe how pleased we are that you could join us for another edition of "Baseball in the Daytime," our feature that just keeps on givin'. This is my first BitD post since the Inter-league play wrapped up for the year, and there always seems to be a lot of chatter about whether or not it's the right thing to do, whether or not it's exciting, who should do what in whose ballpark, etc. I say screw all of the critics; it's fine just how it is, and I actually enjoy it. On what other occasion am I going to get to see the Royals travel to Pittsburgh and watch the pitchers bat? How many opportunities will I have to see the Diamondbacks come to K.C. and use a designated hitter? Leave the thing the way it is. Besides, I'll bet the National League sports collective wood in that they get to come around and see some attractive teams, some beautiful parks. Now that it's all done, however, those N.L.ers are left to deal with all their fat,ugly selves (Editor's Note: Not Colorado, of course. Never). Join me in some relatively unattractive previews, after the jump.

Diamondbacks @ Reds, 11:35 Central: Today's first tilt has a lefty going for the visitors in Doug Davis, and a righty getting the nod for the home team in Aaron Harang. Both guys have lost eight contests, both guys have E.R.A.s in between three and four, and both guys play for a team not in first place. To be fair, Cincinnati is but three games back of Milwaukee in the Central, and they have a .500 record as of this morning. Arizona, on the other hand, is nearly 20 games out, and in the West cellar, which I, as a Royals fan, am qualified to say, is pretty bad. This game didn't get any sexier with beer goggles on, so DirecTV said, "Thanks, but no thanks." XM has the fat-girl love on channel 183.

Mets @ Pirates, 11:35: The Mets and the Pirates. Geez. This is the highlight of today's trio. It features the 1-3 right-hander Tim Redding (6.35 E.R.A.) on the mound for Los Mets. In the bottoms of frames, the 5-4 southpaw in Paul Maholm will be present with his 4.35. This contest features two sub-.500 clubs that are both easily still in the picture. Naturally, most anyone is with only half of the season gone, but in the Central, Pittsburgh's in last but only six games back; New York's two games behind Philly, and in third place, yet they are a 38-39. That's amazing. Anyway, call this game a gem. Call it the tight end. Or just shut up and watch it on DirecTV 724. You know XM wants it some of that, too: 184.

Astros @ Padres, 2:35: Honestly, this third and final day game might have the best pitching matchup of the three. Wandy Rodriguez gets the go for Houston while Kevin Correia fondles the bag for San Diego. It's a lefty and a righty. Both are .500; both have respectable E.R.A.s. Rodriguez managed to keep the Detroit Tigers in check last in his last outing, and went seven strong innings against the Pads the last time these two clubs grappled. Correia, on the other hand, is quietly putting together a nice little season, especially when he gets the call at home. Tune in to DirecTV 721 if you must, or XM has it on the one eight seven.

That's today's day baseball, folks. If you're employed by someone nice enough to give you tomorrow off, then have a great long weekend. If you're not, well, that's too bad.
Read more

Friday Fiction Fix: "Dear Mr. Henshaw"

Today, ladies and gentleman, we bring you a very special edition of "Friday Fiction Fix." The concept behind this feature is to somehow tie sports and fiction together in a humorous way, an effort that, much like every other ounce of energy spent inside this House of Georges, goes largely unrecognized. Today will be no exception, so bare with us. In addition to this Sunday being Easter, it's also a very important day for reasons completely unrelated to religion. It is National D.E.A.R. day, which stands for Drop Everything And Read. This day was created by the one and only Beverly Cleary, who, if you had an upbringing like mine, has a major influence on many young American readers. The concept for the day originated, if I recall, within one of her stories, and became a reality, one that is celebrated on her birthday.

So without any further ado, let's get to the bit.

Mrs. Cleary will be 93 on Sunday.



She makes her home in Carmel, California, and in her life, she has won many awards, including the Laura Ingalls Wilder Award in 1975 and the 1984 Newbery Medal for today's FFF excerption, and the National Medal of the Arts in 2003. She has an elementary school named after her, a university chair named after her, as well as a college residential hall. She has published nearly 40 novels, many of which contain famous childhood characters such as Beezus, Ramona, Ralph S. Mouse, Henry, Ribsy, Socks, and of course, Leigh Botts, the boy who writes letters to Mr. Henshaw.

There are, as in any good book, a number of themes running through Dear Mr. Henshaw, one of which is the constant thieving of items from Leigh Botts' lunch, and since we have, this week, already touched on Joe Blanton and Sidney Ponson, why not throw a few more logs on the fat-pitcher fire.

In a letter dated December 4, he writes, "When I write a book maybe I'll call it The Great Lunchbag Mystery, because I have a lot of trouble with my lunchbag...Today I was supposed to have a deviled egg. Katy buys the smallest eggs for parties so half an egg can be eaten in one bite and won't spill on people's carpets...



At lunchtime when I opened my lunchbag, my egg was gone."

As the problem persists, Leigh begins to eat his lunch on the way to school, in order to avoid the thievage. Later in the month he writes, "If I eat my lunch on the way to school, I get hungry in the afternoon. Today I didn't



so the two stuffed mushrooms Mom packed in my lunch were gone at lunch period. My sandwich was still there so I didn't starve to death, but I sure missed those mushrooms."

After the first of the year, he has another issue:



"My little cheesecake was missing at lunchtime which made me mad."

Leigh begins to toy with the idea of putting a burglar alarm on his lunchbag, but realizes the impossibility of the notion, deciding instead to load his lunchbag with Scotch tape, which turns out to be more of a hassle than it's worth, so he's again on the lookout.

"Yesterday somebody stole a piece of wedding cake from my lunchbag.



It was the kind Catering by Katy packs in little white boxes for people to take home from weddings. Mr. Fridley noticed me scowling and said, 'So the lunchbag thief strikes again!'"

In February, the problem's still around: "By lunchtime I was hungry again,



and when I found my little cheesecake missing, I was mad all over again."

Eventually he discovers a way to begin building a battery-operated alarm, and obtains a black lunchbox. The first day he takes it, he discovers that his



"little slices of salami rolled around cream cheese are gone..."

Eventually, he gets the alarm, and installs it,



managing to keep even the most usual of suspects (Editor's Note: That's a Humberto up there, yo.) away from his pail, leaving him to write Mr. Henshaw and tell him that "several kids turned up with lunchboxes with burglar alarms."

If you'd like to examine a list of books by Beverly Cleary, you can do so, and even purchase them here. And don't forget, on Sunday, to Drop Everything And Read, even if it's just the TV Guide. Happy Easter, y'all.
Read more

Friday Morning Fracas: 8-15-08

Happy Friday, dear readers. Hopefully you've got the day off. I, however, do not. I'm pretty stoked about that, too. Before returning to the grind, I've taken the liberty of compiling a few links to a few stories, few of which matter, most of which are entertaining in some form or another. At least to me. Enjoy.

There are but a few lug nuts left on the RoyalsMobile, and I sense that the series that opens today against the Yankees could be one of the ruts that make the wheels come fully off. The Yankees aren't playing terrific baseball, and the rest of the regular season schedule doesn't appear to be too tough for KC, yet that seems to matter little. Granted, I'm secretly happy that it's the middle of August and I'm feeling this way, as opposed to the middle of May. It's not a lot of fun to watch the Royals continue to struggle against the tougher teams in the bigs. It's even less fun to watch them get clobbered in a series sweep, one in which they net two total runs. Two. Could it get less fun than that? You bet. Try four consecutive homeruns in the sixth inning of the series finale. Sweet times.

But the least fun of all, is listening to a pinhead White Sox fan (a writer no less) make up some stupid shit about the Royals. Like, oh, I dunno, John over at Bugs & Cranks. His nonsense here. And by "stupid shit," I mean the lead paragraph.

All that aside, it will in fact be time to get out the bandwagon gear, and my rootage will stick to the middle part (Sorry, Cecil) of the country. Also, our womanbloggercrush Sooze thinks that CC will beat out BWizzle for the NL Cy Young.

(Steal Your BrewFace link courtesy of With Leather)

Kissing Suzy Kolber's Big Daddy Drew publishes a column called Balls Deep every Friday over channel Deadspin. It's almost always an original topic, and certainly always a great read. Yesterday's Piece, "The Hater's Guide to the Top 25" is no exception. Pretty darn good topic, great read. Only for once, I found myself at odds with BDD. I come from a Notre Dame family, thus by default I love the school, and its sports programs. Do I closely follow them every year? No. Am I aware that there is a shitton of ND haters out there? Painfully. Now, I know that the impetus here is humor, but come on:

"Oh, what I would give just to watch Touchdown Jesus burn… BURN TO THE FUCKING GROUND, and to have its dying embers be put out by gallons upon gallons of stale horse urine, and to see NBC terminate its contract with the school, and to have the school fall into a terrible downward spiral, even go bankrupt. I hate them randomly and without motive, which is what makes hating them all the more delightful. God, you fucking suck, Notre Dame. You and your big, fat, white, arrogant orca of a coach. Eat shit. Eat shit and die."

Trust me: I see some funny in there, that kind of funny that stings a teense because it's your team being made fun of. I do find it odd, however, that a guy that jokes frequently about his own fatness can only come up with fat-guy jokes for Charlie Weis and the football coach of my other favorite college:

"13. Kansas

I think we all know Mark Magino far prefers the Sugar Bowl to the Orange Bowl. I once heard that, while waiting for an appetizer, the coach consumed every pack of Sugar In The Raw at his table. Then he ate the busboy."

The Big Lead leads us to You Been Blinded, who has a story about Joe Torre asking Manny Ramirez to cut his hair. Please. Make it stop. I'm begging you.

The Kansas City Star's Joe Posnanski, a.k.a. the Human Word Machine, has been in ill. In China. Covering the Olympics. Odd, unfortunate combo says I. What rules, however, is his unfaltering ability to continue to produce and produce and produce. Like this post, for example, wherein he talks about the misconception of baseball players padding stats, Phil Collins, and the Chinese government monitoring the GoreTubes, all in one post. Amazing.

Finally, Awful Announcing has officially disturbed me by linking to this video that has officially shattered everything associated with my foundation as a human being.

That said, I must bid farewell, and set out into the world, to once more, attempt to understand it.

Read more

Baseball In The Daytime: A Rocky Chalky Final Opening Day

I doubt anyone in Kansas City is awake to read this, considering the celebration that had to have taken place out there last night. But you'd better nut up, gents, because your local nine is taking to the green grass of The Kauff for the first time in '08.

Back East, the Mets christen their final season at Shea today as well. Down in Texas, where the Jayhawks pulled off their miracle, the Rangers open their park for the season against the first-place Orioles. And out at Olde Fenway, the Red Sox celebrate their world championship at home, finally, after an odyssey that took them to three countries (including California, I mean Mexico) and across 18,000 air miles over 19 days.

So shake off that hangover, Kansas City, and get your unshaved asses out to the Harry S. Truman Sports Complex. Welcome Trey Hillman to your fair city, cheer on your promising club, and please wait until the end of a half-inning to go puke in the remodeled restrooms...

Philadelphia @ NY Mets, 11:10 Mountain Mets fans get to enjoy their last opener at Shea Stadium before moving into their palace next door in 2009. But sentimentality won't be on the minds of many in Queens today. That's because the opponent is the Phillies, the beneficiaries of the Mets' historic gag job last year. Jamie Moyer starts for the visitors against Oliver Perez.

Detroit @ Boston, 12:05 In what some saw as an ALCS preview before the season, the last two pennant-winners square off at the intersection of Yawkey Way and Brookline Ave. Instead of first-place juggernauts, though, ticketholders will witness a couple of struggling clubs trying to find their seas legs. Neither offense has clicked yet, and superstars like David Ortiz and Miguel Cabrera look lost at the plate. Daisuke Matsuzaka will try to extend the Tigers' teamwide slump, while Boston's bats hope to tee off against The Roaster, no longer the poster boy for sticky fingers.

Baltimore @ Texas, 12:05 The Orioles are one of the rare teams that loves to go on the road, because home cookin' is so awful in the Inner Harbor these days. The fans have deserted this team--everyone hates Peter Angelos, the DC-based backers are checking out the Nats, and almost every star was shipped off over the winter. They drew less than 70,000 to their four-game weekend series against the Mariners that featured their home opener and the return of Erik Bedard. Down in Arlington, Baltimore will start Brian Burress against Jason Jennings.

NY Yankees @ Kansas City, 2:10 What is it about coaching in KC that makes one mangle the English language? Around here, Hank Stram's malapropisms have been immortalized on 100 per cent cotton t-shirts, available for a small fee. Her, is, of course, herm. Now Trey Hillman is throwing down the verbal gauntlet with this gem, talking about his possibly suspended left fielder:

"Honestly, my gigabytes are not even worried about it," Hillman said. "I can't go there, I can't control it. When I need to know something, they'll let me know."

Gigabytes? Today Trey's hard drive is logged on to Brian Bannister, who hopes to crash the system of Phil Hughes. Derek Jeter sprained his cock in A-Rod's ass and may miss this game.

Play ball!

Read more

More Peter

Peter King, in between triple ice mocha caramel grande lattes, wrote about a week ago that the Colts were going to be fine, just fine, after losing Manning's blind-side protection to retirement. Bah, said Peter. Left tackle? Whatevs, bra. They've got noted line coach Howard Mudd! And rookie Tony Ugoh!



Left tackle for the league's most prolific passing attack=no big deal. But today he wrote that that same team suffered a crushing blow because they lost Anthony "Booger" McFarland.

But the defending champs' D was suspect all year, even after McFarland arrived. He was their best run stopper, true, but was he more important than Tarik Glenn?

King makes it up as he goes along. He picks favorites based on the gurglings of his lower intestine. Invariably he talks some potential 7-9 team up, tells everyone to draft their quarterback early in their fantasy leagues (coughcoughDannyWuerffelcough), and then plays innocent during the season. He also once stole a baseball from a little kid at a spring training game.

. Read more

Everyone's Favorite Storyline

A week or so ago, I dared to compare the current tulip frenzy over the Patriots' offseason maneuvering to the spending binges of the early-aught Redskins. To my surprise, the several permanent members of HoGNation rose up in indignation. Pshaw, said they; no matter what anyone thinks of Belichick or his team, their recent successes dictate that we must merely stand up and applaud no matter what they do.

Well, that's just so much horseshit. I'll admit the Redskins were maybe not the best comparison simply because those teams didn't see *any* real regular season success, but I stand by the rest of my analysis. The Pats made one great acquisition (Adalius Thomas, who simply killed my CSU Rams years ago in the 2000 Liberty Bowl), one very good one (Donte Stallworth, who will give Brady his first true deep threat) and a few mildly interesting ones (Wes Welker, Kelley Washington and Randy Moss).

I lump Randay in the "mildly interesting" category because, no matter what anyone says about the healing power of Tom Brady's schlong, he just isn't the player he used to be. Everyone's excited about him in the slot, they say. Huh. Yeah. Randy really loves going over the middle. Even when he was with the Vikes he didn't go over the middle.

So all of a sudden we're supposed to believe that, just because he moved from a hopeless situation to a winner, he's going to be Moss circa '98?

Hardly. Lest we forget, Randy played on winners. His '98 team went 15-1 and got canned by a vastly inferior Falcons squad. He went to the NFC Championship game again a few years later and showed such heart that his team, which needed a huge game from him on the road, lost 41-0.

Randy is a front-runner without any killer instinct. He's the football version of "Mr. May." (Sorry for including you in this, Mr. Winfield, I still think you were great). I can see him outjumping some Buffalo Bills for touchdowns early in the season, getting the hilariously excitable Boston media afroth...and then disappearing right when he's needed, aka the playoffs.

What brought my bile up? Today's column by--you guessed it--Peter King, which breathlessly detailed the way New England would send its bevy of wideouts flying past befuddled secondaries, all of which will, apparently, be staffed by TecMo Bowl robots playing base defenses. The site actually changed the initial headline, which was something along the lines of "Patriots will Be Impossible to Stop" to "hard to stop," perhaps realizing that they shouldn't let copy editors indulge in the same variety of man-love homerism that King claims as his specialty.

This is why real football fans despise this part of the offseason: because everyone looks like an All-Pro without pads on. Every catch is proof that someone is the perfect fit, every catch of a breath proof that someone is a bust.

I'm not saying the Pats won't be good. Clearly they will be, barring massive unforeseen setbacks (which never, ever, ever happen), but come the fuck on. Can we get some reportage on a team west of the Ohio?

Read more

Managers Gone Wild

Some people have given up on baseball entirely. Those people we like to call "communists."

Fact is, baseball only stopped being awesome for a few years in the ('20s, late '80s '90s, early '00s) when every utility second baseman was hitting 35 homers and .345. Now, utility second basemen are back to being unappreciated, sub-Mendoza scrubs and all is right in the horsehide multiverse.

Proof? Here you go: the two greatest manager tirades of the last few years--with one notable exception--happened today.

The gag isn't that the managers (Lou Piniella, whom Ol' No. 7 and I once drunkenly harassed following a three-hour rainout to no visible effect, and some portly gent from Double A) made a scene in the first place; everyone remotely familiar with the sport knows baseball managers do that for various reasons, usually to light the proverbial fire beneath an underachieving squad's collective keisters. That wasn't it at all.

It's the fact that the umps let it go on for as long as they did in each case, clearing the way for managerial pyrotechnics. They were also sending the unmistakable signal that they, too, knew what was going to happen and gave it their tacit blessing--to be followed, of course, by an ejection, but still. Even umps know that sometimes the skipper's just gotta go fucking moonbat.

Piniella's was good, no lie. Lotsa pointed dirt kicking, a face-to-face dance with Blue. It was almost like chess. And then Bruce Froemming waddled into the picture, grabbed Sweet Lou's arm, and for a second you thought it was Pine Tar George redux. Quality, friends. Quality.

But the dude in the minors, who looks kinda like a thyroidal Cal Ripken--man, that was awesome. Not only did he mound up dirt on home plate, but he took the time to cut fucking base-shaped edges in the dirt. (Very "Close Encounters of the Third Kind.") He threw a base, then crawled in from the outfield on his belly like a Navy SEAL and lobbed the rosin bag homeward with a Dutch Leonard-style knuckler. I didn't see him chuck any bats, but even so, that was legend.

You just can't get that confluence of tradition, self-absorbed petulance and showmanship in any other sport. Long live Major (and Minor) League Baseball. Read more

Jocks v. Nerds

The nation (and the Nation) breathlessly watched as Rocket mowed down the Toledo Mud Hens yesterday and proclaimed himself ready to play for his last-place employers. Good times.

After the game, the press conference turned mean and nasty when some reporter (I'm really annoyed than several seconds of research did not reveal his or her name) brought up the fact that Rocket is not universally adored. Quoth Rock:

"If you want to be negative be negative. I'm not a negative person," he said. "You be negative as much as you want. If I stink and I don't pitch well out there, I know I stink. I don't need you tell me that. I have pride in what I do. I'll pull my heart out and set it right there [pointing to the table] for you to see it. When I perform, I've done it. I got that from my mother so if you want to write and these other people want to write negative...everything has to be negative these days. There always had to be a negative. I've always been positive in my life. It won't end. I don't want to be around negative people. So I won't associate myself with those people. So if it makes you feel good to write negative stuff then go ahead but you've never been in the arena. Never been in this arena to understand what it's like. Keep that in mind. People read your column and associate things with me that are not true. I'll answer it as honestly I can so that 10-year old when he reads about won't assume things. You can tell how passionate I am about it. Ok?"

First of all, if you've seen the clip, Rocket starts to get a little misty, pounds the table and bolts. Real Leave It To Beaver stuff. I get the feeling that Rocket wishes he could go back and play in the Fifties, when ballplayers called their managers "Skip" and reporters knew their place. Of course, he'd prefer to take a tackle box full of pills from the Bay Area with him in that time machine, but that's neither here nor there.

What really gets me about this little outburst is that Rocket played the "you've never been in the arena" card. It's as old as he is, maybe older, and that's really old. Every jock who's ever lived has had this feeling. They get better and better, and they receive nothing but adulation and bullshit praise. And then one day some hack, a fat idiot who gets winded climbing the steps to the press box, criticizes them, and they lose it.

Listen, Rock. You're not some fireballing rook in need of Kevin Costner's advice. You've been around the block and you know how this works. You're making $28 million of George Steinbrenner's money for half a season's work. George has never "been in the arena" either, but you resepct what he does, right? Over your career you've earned more money than the GDP of India. And the reason you've banked so much is the fan interest you've created, interest that has been fed by the media you blasted yesterday.

Most of us that write about sports are failed athletes. If we were good athletes we'd still be playing, because that's fun. Writing is work. Even the bullshit that I spew here takes time, Rock, and talent. And a little shot of smack, just to get me through the dark times. It ain't a fuckin' walk in the park. I know you work hard, but that scribe you dissed yesterday does too. After all, he traveled to Scranton to watch you pitch in the minors. And Scranton blows mega-balls.

If you don't like it buy the newspaper--you can afford it. Then you can run whatever "positive" stories you like for all the innocent 10-year-olds out there. Until then deal with it, old man.

Read more

Last Call

The big talking point around the sports blog-o'-hood today is the lawsuit filed by Josh Hancock's dad. I'd imagine that 98 per cent of intelligent people think this lawsuit is bullshit and indicative of all that is wrong with overly litigious America.

That's a perfectly reasonable position. I was (unfortunately) listening to Colin Cowherd this morning, and he did what he often does: make a salient point that I reluctantly agree with. Cowherd called Old Man Hancock out as a man and as a dad, stating that the restaurant and the tow truck company did not force the pitcher to get loaded, speed and talk on his cell with pot in the car two days after he'd wrecked another ride.

(You see, Colin? That's called attribution. When someone else has an idea you can use it, but you need to give credit to the author. It's not that hard.)

I personally think that Old Man Hancock is missing the boat, not in his frivolous lawsuit but its target. Let the tow truck company and the restaurant alone, grumpy, and go after the real villain here: Missouri.

Those who have not traveled to the Show-Me State and sampled its wares may not know this, but Missouri's bars are open until forever. Sometimes they close at three, and sometimes seven, and sometimes never. It's very confusing, especially when you're plastered, tired from driving across Kansas, and stubbornly defending the greatness of Colorado. I tend to get really wasted and disoriented in Missouri, and it is totally not my fault. That fucking state and its mesmerizing alcohol laws will completely knock you on your ass.

Plus, most of the chicks there are fat. And there are a bunch of broken-down cars on the side of the interstate. And the humidity blows. I conclude that all of these problems are directly attributable to the mysterious last call policy.

So what I'm saying is, Josh Hancock's dad, you're barking up the wrong tree. Sue Missouri, and preferably every single citizen in a class action. It's their fault.

Read more

Baseball In The Daytime: 5-23-07

I hate to ruin your Wednesday, which is rightly dedicated to poon, but we've got a ball game today. Fear not, at some point before sundown Bankmeister will grace us with some bulbous jugs and sweet ga-dunk-a-dunk. That is, if he's not exhausted from complaining about how excruciating his vacation is.

Back here in America we have jobs, taxes, rain and Jason Giambi. But we also have an afternoon tilt between Minnesota and Texas (noon-oh-five Mountain time, XM 177 and DirecTV 734). Your pitchers are gonna be Robinson Tejeda for the Rangers and "Coach, How Dat Look Up In Da" Boof Bonser for the Twins.

I've always hated the Rangers, and I don't really know why. Sure, they're from Texas (even worse, metro Dallas), but that's not it. They've never really been good enough to despise, and although they've had some true knuckleheads grace their roster their players are generally cool. Dubya once owned them, that's not good. And from 1989 to 1994, the period of Bush's ownership, they sported most of baseball's juiciest dudes: Sosa, Palmiero, Pudge, Juan-Gone, Incaviglia, Canseco and Dean Palmer, plus ball doctorer Kenny Rogers and Julio Franco, who found some mysterious "fountain of youth" cough! HGH cough!

On the other side of that coin, I've always sorta liked the Twins. Can't really explain it. They've always had likable players, and the fans in Minnesota tend to be good honest Midwestern folk. Life's an enigma sometimes.

Read more

Ground Zero

In retrospect, the cigars were a bad choice.

It was perhaps four or five hours ago, maybe fifty feet from the coffee shop I write from now, that I dipped into my pocket for some stogies. We puffed on them, and I'm not going to lie, mirth ensued. But now the staff of the HoG (and the Lone Reader!) are headed to the Missouri-Kansas border to fucking play hockey.

On the list of all-time bad ideas, this one ranks No. 1 by about a million. I feel like a commander at the Bay of Pigs, launching the boats and saying "Well Hal, it sure is a nice day for an invasion." At first my concern was the risk of injured wedding guests and, oh, the fact that none of us know how to ice skate. But those worries have been superceded by the crippling hangover and cigar-flavored gerbil that has taken up residence in my throat.

Regardless, today's topic is the the fishwrap perched next to me. I've always really liked the Kansas City Star (and when does one italicize the just the newspaper name, not the city, and when does one do it all?). Granted, I only read it on the morning of Chiefs-Broncos games at Arrowhead, when I'm full of hope and vinegar. And then I take a massive shit that smells like smoked pork.

Back on topic: The Star is a tremendous daily from a midsized Midwestern burg. The sports page is tight, and reflective of the hardcore fan that dwells in this city. For years Jason Whitlock patrolled the sports columns, but I haven't the foggiest of what his actual job is these days--I think he still literally mails one in to the Star now and then. And of course the professor emeritus is Joe Posnanski (who I used to always confuse with Ed Podolak), arguably the best columnist in America.

You can tell a lot about a fan base by the way their sports page prioritizes various topics. If you're in the South, college football is generally page 1, above the fold, even in April--you don't see this in, say, Denver. One of the things I love about Vegas is the Review-Journal's lineup: they give the appropriate amount of respect to the NFL, of course, but tend to shun all of the sports that shun Sin City: baseball, pro basketball, and the NHL. However, the leagues that thrive in Vegas (boxing, NASCAR, motocross, college basketball, golf, etc.) are treated like royalty on the sports page.

This here, of course, is an NFL city first and foremost. The Chiefs are covered every single day whether one of their players was arrested or not. College hoops and racin' are big as well. As we're smack dab in the middle of baseball season and the Royals are, um, pacing themselves, the tone of horsehide coverage is fairly self-mocking and masochistic. The Star does not pretend that the Royals are not subpar, unlike, say, the Denver Post's ultraserious coverage of the typically woeful Rockies.

Light on the links today, I know, but I'm in a hurry to go throw up on an ice rink. I must say, to my esteemed Administrator--There's still time to bail on the wedding, dude. Kidding. Congratulations, bro, and welcome to the everlasting furnace of shit that is marriage. I sure hope we sing the National Anthem at the ceremony.

Read more

Fatlock Follies: Get a Brother a Mic (and Seven Sandwiches) Now!

As much as I'd like to spend a few moments talking about a certain someone moving into 2nd place -- in a game-winning effort no less -- on the all-time Kansas City Royals homerun list, more important topics are at hand. I'll bet most folks have an idea who he trails, by the way.

Let's back up a minute, though. We need to talk about sports in a more global sense, and by "we need to talk," I mean the world needs to listen. To Jason Whitlock.

I know. I never thought I'd say it either. But this is important. After years (and then some) of reading his mutterings of retardation in The Kansas City Star, I believe that Whitlock now brings validity to the table in the form of a main course that must'nt be ignored. That's all I'm going to say on the matter. I challenge our readership to click on both of the last two links and open a comment-based discussion. Be studious. Be rank. Be vulgar. Be clean. Just be opinionated. This is one of the biggest issues in the sports, if not the entire, world, right now. So let's have an official HoG debate.

Read more

Kung Fu Update

Daisuke Matsuzaka has had a few control issues early but is currently handling the Royals' lineup. MLB.tv is currently issuing a free trial, so you can watch that shit at work. Unlike CBS' March Madness On Demand, however, there is no "Boss Button" (which muted the broadcast and displayed a generic spreadsheet--incredibly awesome).

In Augusta, the biggest news is Phil Mickelson. And no, by biggest I mean not his prodigious man-breasts. The defending Masters champ is currently +5 through 13 holes, throwing into jeopardy the entry of one Asshole Yankee Fan. His Russelson team in the Masters Invitation is the only one featuring Big Sexy.

Among other players who've finished and are being counted on by Invitational participants: Davis Love (72), Tim Clark (71) and Vaughn Taylor (71). Not bad. My team is anchored by Geoff Ogilvy (+4 through 14), Stewart Cink (+4 through 11), Henrik Stenson (-1 through 16) and Brett Wetterich (-1 through 9). A composite six-over is not going to get this done, boys.

Read more

Golf is rad.

For the next five days this site is going to turn into something our Administrator will hate. We're going to focus on the splendid goings-on at Augusta National Golf Club. The renowned Masters Invitational pool will set up shop with scoring updates and info. If your in the Invitational and are visiting this blog for the first time, welcome. Feel free to look around, and if you wish to comment you'll need to register. Remember, club policy dictates that only men are allowed, and we tend to value some level of anonymity around here.

Read more

Other Magazines (and by magazines I mean anything but) the HoG Hates

To say enough already redefines understatement. What is not understated is how fricking sick and tired I am of seeing pukefaces like this guy (gay manshades always a must) playing flippin' cards on flippin' television. What. The fuck. Seriously. Please. Make it stop.

I enjoy "Everyone Loves Raymond" reruns about 65,000 times more than even thinking about cards on television. In fact, there are many, many things I enjoy watching on television more than professional poker. If ever there was a better lead-up to a top ten list, I've not yet found it.

Top Ten Television Programs Better Than Poker

10. Star Trek

I've never once seen an episode of this epic program. Even in the days when I inhabited the splendid canyons of the small Colorado town known as Glen Haven, and our television could pick up a fuzzy Denver news station and a Laramie, Wyoming channel that loved to air Star Trek (my roommates -- three girls, two guys, believe it or not -- would gather 'round every evening for back-to-back Trek episodes), I would hole up in my room and not smoke the non-illegal contents similar to secret compartments of a certain Atlanta Falcons quarterback's water bottle, and listen to music. I will go to my grave with pride having never seen an episode of this show and it is far better than cards on television. Even when money's involved.

9. Golf

I used to have a hard time with golf being on television, especially, when as a kid, I'd want my Pops to shoot hoops with me or take me to the batting cages and he would rather watch golf. Talk about a sedative. Since being swirled into the conglomeration of "sports" a la Every Sport Possible Network, the amount of televised golf enraged me further. And I still don't watch it. Probably never will. Even if Lefty's and Tiger's wives spread marshmallow fluff all over each other's labias, and then cleansed one another while their husbands chipped and putted, I wouldn't watch it. Okay. Maybe I would. But I would so not like it.

8. Dawson's Creek

I don't know what this show is, who was on it, when it was aired, or what it was about. But it winds up in a lot of punch lines and, therefore, is way better than cards on television.

7. Curling

This, and I use this term loosely, sport is so totally gay. But at least they move. Do poker players ever even get up to piss? I think your entry fee must include a bucket to urinate in. Maybe they should get these athletes hammered before the matches. Then maybe there'd be some fighting or debauchery or something. I'm not sure if curling is ever on television when not featured in the Olympics, but it'd be a sure-fire guarantee to be more interesting than geeks with shades exchanging chips.

6. Womens Sports

Give me one of 'em, give me all of 'em. WNBA, NCAA women's hoops, fast pitch softball, women's hockey, I don't care. I'd have to train myself to sleep with my eyes open to count it as watching, but it would rule. Sleep totally trumps cards on television.

5. Sex & the City

There're two things I know about this show: a) chicks talk about banging and get banged on it, and b) chicks get together to watch it, thus freeing up the man from familial obligation. If that ain't better than nerds playing Hold 'Em, I don't know what is.

4. Scrambled Church Programs

You know those channels that always have hard-to-hear/see religious broadcasts? Sure you do. They're in that string of channels you always blast past to get to something real. I'd much rather get my fuzzy God on than watch poker on ESPN.

3. Soap Operas

Nothing spells awful broadcasting better than an early afternoon of television. But if you're watching a soap, you at least know you're not doing what you're supposed to, i.e. work. That, by default claims precedence over broadcasting a high-tempered match of cards.

2. The NBA

The number one source for ruining sports, the ideals of today's youth, the concept of a college education, and Kevin Harlan stomps out cards in a head-to-head match.

1. Arena Football

Not only is this actually, retarded as it might be, a sport, it's far more entertaining than watching people waste their lives at a hexagonal table. And when I say entertaining, I mean specifically for the blind/hearing impaired.

What a perfect segueway to my next thing of hate.

What better to embody a great concept ruined than the AFL. What was wrong with letting the NFL have its Europe league and not watching all that great Canadian football? This league licks sweaty sac. Perennially. I'm not interested in ignoring a good idea like offsides. I couldn't care less if each team scores 50 points. And I certainly don't give a fuck if the freaking wall hurts. Shut the fuck up. Stop wasting space in my newspaper. Please. Act like the plague and die quickly and in mass numbers. Wait. What's that you say? A former Kansas City Chief owns the Brigade? Well, maybe I should not be so ignorant. Maybe I should go support his club since he used to play for the best franchise in the nation. Who is it? Oh. Right. Captain Ass Clown. Sure. I'll support him and his enemy ring-laden fingers. Just as soon as I get done scouring my retinas with a rusty stainless steel scrubber.





Surely, lone reader must be thinking, there can't be room for any more hate in you. Oh, but there is, lone reader. There is. And it's this pig of a woman:

I beg you. Please. Die. Well, not really. We wouldn't actually want anyone to die. That would be awful and inhumane. Instead of dying, how about moving far away, as in to the proverbial ends of the earth, where you will no longer taint, alter, or ruin things the rest of the world considers funny. Because you, Miss Lampanelli, are the antithesis of funny. For those of you not interested in stereotypical, generalized, offensive statements, please turn your head for the following lines. Or just skip the entire paragraph that follows.

I've been watching stand-up comedy for a little over 21 years. I watched Ellen deGeneres on stage before she could legally drink, I think. I listened to the, how shall I put this, unique voice of Judy Tenuda. I stayed tuned in to the two or three times that Rita Rudner graced a stage with her presence. I've watched the waves of the new comediennes come and go on Comedy Central. I've clicked on their links on the Internets. And I'm far from an expert on this bit, but suffice it to say that women, as comics, are not funny. Forgive me. There's no other way to say that. But it's the cold, hard truth. God, the cliches are coming out of me like PBR shits. For real, though. I gotta give it to them for continuing to try. They deserve props for that. I'm a believer that women can do anything men can. With an asterisk, that is. Perhaps I will see the day when I experience gut-busting laughs like the ones good comedians (and by good comedians, I include only those with testicles -- unless LL has male genitalia, which she might -- in which case I'll rephrase to include those that appear to be men) deliver. But I doubt it. Gravely.

But Miss Lampanelli is the newest thing. And she embodies everything not funny. In her latest CC special "Dirty Girl," she did make one funny. It was a crack about a certain ethnicity's tipping habits. After the joke, she went right back into her universe of non-funny. And I'm here to tell you that she must go. Away. Now. Having said that, lone reader, I will now close the chapter of hate. For today.

As soon as I'm done voicing one last beef. This is total and complete horseshit. I too can craftily create good places to rub one out when not within the comforts of my own home. I like free burritos. I can coach basketball. What the fuck? Just when I didn't need to hate any more, I have to add a crappy Mexican restaurant chain to the list. Christ. Forgive me. I'm done. And I must now go pay hard-earned dollars for a flippin' burrito. Maybe the beans won't be too runny, and Zach Greinke will be there. With his special-mouthed girlfriend. That could totally cleanse me of hatred.

Read more

Where Pitchers Hit & Giants Suck (Part II)

I saw the two cats above in Scottsdale last week. Minutes after this photo was taken, one choked on a peanut and one took a Ferris Bueller foul ball to the temple, and both are now on the DL. Sa-wing, batter.

I’m about to say something that may shock and amaze you. It may throw off your sense of time and space, make you nauseous, or cause you to cry. If your name is Cecil, it may increase the blood flow to your crotch, resulting in non-Kerry wood.

The Chicago Cubs are the best team in the National League.

It’s true. They won’t win the pennant, or probably even make the playoffs, because, well, they’re the Cubs. But they are stacked. Sure they have tremendous flaws, but every team in baseball and especially the NL is crippled by something. On to the Elite Eight:

8. ARIZONA D’BAGS Here is your sleeper. The ‘Bags have a batch of kids that will soon dazzle baseball. Stephen Drew, Carlos Quentin and Chris B. Young are fucking legitimate, and Conor Jackson will hit enough to keep Tony Clark on the bench. Like the Brewers, there’s no vet to keep the youngsters grounded (they should have found a way to hold on to Gonzales), but they should be all right. On the mound you’ve got your Cy Young winner, your ex-Cy Unit, a guaranteed 200-innings Livan and Doug Davis as the No. 4. That, my friends, is some pitching. Keep an eye out for Arizona.

7. HOUSTON ASTROS At Enron the fans will witness a show this season. Slotting Carlos Lee behind Lance Berkman will result in fireworks. But there are too many easy outs in the rest of the lineup and the bullpen is shaky. Insert the Rocket and the playoffs may happen in the wild, wild NL Central.

6. ATLANTA BRAVES The more I think about it, I’m feeling that 2006 was an aberration for Atlanta. Following their historic run of division titles and playoff flameouts, the Braves got it backwards last year and stayed home in October. In ’07, they’ll have a better rotation by default. The relief corps was bolstered by Rafael Soriano and Mike Gonzales, closer types who will assist B.F. Wickman in the late innings. The Braves have better pitching than the Mets and the Phillies, and if they can hit at all they may be back in their familiar position of losing in the first round of the postseason.

5. PHILADELPHIA PHILLIES For some reason folks are impressed by Philly’s pitching. Sure, Freddie Garcia could dominate NL bats. Brett Myers could pitch more and beat women less. Cole Hamels could blossom. But more likely, the Phils will continue to fight for 9-7 wins. They are contenders, for sure, but let’s not start sucking each other’s dicks just yet over this year’s Phillies.

4. ST. LOUISE CARDINALS If every potential NL pennant-winner has flaws, the Cards have more than any other embraced theirs. LaRussa’s men have collectively said “but fuck it.” Why not? They already wear rings from ’06, why couldn’t they repeat? St. Louise has the NL’s best pitcher and best hitter, and their drunk-driving skipper can pull the strings like a mad wino genius. The rest of the pieces are iffy, but don’t count out these ratty birds.

3. LOS ANGELES DODGERS LA has stocked its cupboard with quality arms, and the everyday players are a nice mix of up-and-comers and old hands with a bit of gas left in the tank. Sure, there are no superstar sluggers on board, but until Grady Little buries this team with his aw-shucks stupidity they have the edge in the NL West.

2. NEW YORK METS The Amazins field a true American League lineup that is deep, powerful and swift. Pedro Martinez is on the roster, and Billy Wagner is ably set up by quality relievers. So long as you don’t talk about the healthy starting pitchers, you’ve got a potential World Champion on your hands. That said, Tom Glavine, while still relevant, is no ace. Not for the Pirates, nor the Braves, and certainly not for a team that was one pitch away from the World Series last year. He’s joined by Orlando Hernandez, Oliver Perez, John Maine, and Mike Pelfrey. Yech. Pedro will return, and the Mets have the resources to deal for an arm or two, but to not address this rotation is a crime against humanity. Lucky for management, “humanity” does not describe most Mets fans.

1. CHICAGO CUBS The beauty of the Northsiders’ offseason is that for the first time this decade they’ve built a team based on realistic ideals. No longer are the Cubs waiting around for Prior and Wood to regain their 2003 form. If they do, they’ll have the best pitching in the NL. But pieces are in place to contend despite continued disappointment from the Terrible Two. Chicago signed Jason Marquis and Ted Lilly, neither of whom dominate but could help (and considering the FA market could be steals). Carlos Zambrano and young Rich Hill have ace stuff, and Ryan Dempster is a rarity—an underrated Cub. Every position player has a plus bat, and the bench is deep. Unlike Dusty Baker, whose slavish devotion to hacks like Neifi Perez held his club back, Lou Piniella has versatile parts like Cesar Izturis, Mark DeRosa and Ryan Theriot to plug in when necessary. Cliff Floyd can play right, pinch hit and get hurt—he’s good at two of those things. And after shelling out $300 million to add Soriano and the rest of this group, you know that ownership won’t cheap out at the deadline. The mix is there to break the fans’ hearts in new and previously unseen ways—good times.

Now let’s fucking Play Ball!

Read more

Bitchin' in the Kitchen

Real quick—all apologies for my inexcusable absence. I’ve been traveling and scouting, preparing the distended mound of awesome that is my 2007 National League Preview. While I finish that opus, I need to quickly call out a few offenders for pissing me off:

DENVER BRONCOS I can’t believe you extended the contract of Dre Bly. The beauty of that pickup was contained in Bly’s lame duck contract status. If he sucked this year, you could wash your hands of him. If he was average, you could negotiate, and if he was excellent you could franchise his ass. Now your stuck with him, at $16 million guaranteed, and I predict awful ramifications.

UNCLE CECIL Since we have apparently picked up an actual reader, it must be explained that Cecil is the most talented writer (link NSFW) here at the HoG. If you think Bly’s contract is measty you should see the compensation awarded to Mr. Superstar Spotlight Editor Guy. I’m happy to work for the league minimum, but as a teammate to this prima donna I’m getting mildly irked at his lack of output. Let’s see it, Unc.

LENDALE WHITE The Titans, after letting Travis Henry go, are expecting big things from the ex-Trojan. Concerns about his gut and character caused him to drop to the second round, and it appears that may have been generous. Lendale showed up for an offseason conditioning program weighing a svelte 260 pounds. I think we’ve solved the dilemma of that missing D-tackle the Broncos were trying to acquire from the Dolphins, Lendale ate him.

THE ONE READER Listen, dude. I’m happy that you read the blog, and I respect your hatred of Red Sox Nation. It’s true, we have a lousy and entirely well-deserved rep. I myself am not a Masshole and have never lived in New England, but I can imagine it’s overbearing and annoying. But here’s my point: KC fans are always bitching that the fans of other teams, in other cities, are mean and lame. Fine. But how do you appear to out-of-town fans that move to Kansas City? What’s that? No one willingly moves to Kansas City? I see. Apparently, your city and your teams are so fantastic that everyone leaves them, moves to actual desirable places to live and then bitches about the hometown fans. Classy.

MICHAEL RAY RICHARDSON Michael Ray is not, apparently, down with the John Amaechis and (Insert prominent Jewish basketball star)s of the world. I don’t take offense with what he said (as I’m neither Jewish nor gay) but I’m very disappointed with his lame, lame apology. Mike, that shit will get you nowhere. Have we not learned anything from Pete Rose, Tim Hardaway, Dan Issel, Janet Jackson, Kramer, etc., etc.? Notice that none of those people have jobs. The half-ass, “if I offended anyone” apology is always more offensive than whatever you said, because it means you really don’t give a shit. Own up, and say that you’re a bigot, or a degenerate gambler, or a crackhead, or a serial boob-flasher, and America will forgive you. By the way, Michael Ray was a very talented hoops star back in the day. Do you know why he is so familiar with the Tel Aviv airport? Because he had to play overseas for decades after getting banned from the NBA. For being a crackhead. Nice life.

INSOMNIA Never again will you fuck with me. I have found the cure, and it's not a pill, it's not a leafy green smokeable, it's not a distilled spirit, nor is it a good jerk into the sleeve of Mike's long-sleeve t-shirt. It's the HoG's hockey coverage. Man, that's some strong sedative. I'm getting sleepy just thinking about it. Good times.

Read more