Fatlock Follies: Keepin' Ya' Guessin'

As a mostly lifelong resident of the great municipality of Kansas City, and a sports zealot, Jason Whitlock has been in my mental vortex for nearly all of my adult life. If I wrote a book about my life as a sports fan (now, there's an idea!), there would be a Whitlock chapter, or at least the better part of one. And the thing would be complex to say the least. Homeslice hasn't really been on my brain much lately, but what with that newspaper thingy I subscribe to, the scary vastness of the GoreTubes, and recent events associated with both, he's definitely on the brain today.

My storied-but-unimportant history with Whitlock mostly involves being a reader of his The Kansas City Star sports page column, but also includes a short-lived segment of e-mail exchanges and AOL instant-message conversations (or attempts, anyway) with the man. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before that he ended all correspondence with the one-line e-mail message, "God bless you," which I took as, "Hey, nice talking with you, but not nice enough to ever do it again." And that's fine. I mention that only to set up this thought: I've gone from despising him/yearning to steal his job from him -- Now that I blog, I don't have to. Right, Buzz? -- to feeling like my Star subscription money was being wasted on him writing about himself in his columns (a myriad of lead 'graphs in his tenure have started with obnoxious phrases somewhat similar to: "So, I'm courtside at the Knicks game last night with anybody vaguely important around me;" or "So, I'm in the press box at the Super Bowl getting a pedicure while being served cocktails;" or "So I'm at Adam Jones' NBA All-Star Weekend pre-strip-club, invite-only party the other night;" or "I was eating some Gates barbecue the other day when"...you get the point.), to searching for an opinion on his stance on race in America, to hating his stance on race in America, to feeling like he's inflating the race issue in America, to embracing his stance, to now, which is unsure.

My theory is that he's confused, too. That is, he made a name for himself as a great sportswriter, built on that name by addressing, eloquently from time to time, core issues in America that all stem from race, and now he's a big, national name with all these tags attached to him, and he doesn't know where to go. Which is fine. We all go through stages like that. I just think he's treading dangerous waters, now; it's time for him to move on. Don't get me wrong. He can still write columns for the Star and Fox Sports News.com, or whatever, but I -- again, think I've said it before -- feel like he should take on a massive project, something that does something about some of the race issues he's devoted so many column inches to in the last decade. And that something should be public speaking. To youth. And it should start yesterday. But I've really digressed.

The point I intended to make started with yesterday's (May 2) column in the Star. The column, though I'm still not sure why it's in the sports section (Editor's Note: Feel free to hire me at any point, Star people), is a must read. He's got this article coming out in Playboy, and -- shocker -- he wrote about his article in his column. To address race. To set the cards straight before the issue hits the stands and the mailboxes. This has a bit of a different twist on it, though; he's in the right for doing it. Whitlock writes that Hugh Hefner's magazine has placed an unrelated headline on the story he has written for the issue that comes out May 9. In addition, the editors plan to "mount a significant campaign promoting its out-of-context headlines." Ultimately, he's worried that the headline will deter readers from ingesting the point -- ultra-bloated federal spending on incarceration and the contributions that jailing is making to energized gang behavior and racial tensions -- that the article tackles.

He does acknowledge that Playboy has magazines to sell, that it's somewhat of a marketing angle. If I were him, I wouldn't worry. The headlines and tags that will allegedly be associated with the piece center on Whitlock being "The Black KKK." In his column, Whitlock mentions that the article will include the subheadline, "Hip Hop is killing Black America, and it's time to do something about it." Again, he's concerned that such tags will deter concentration on what's at stake in the article itself. I disagree. Readers intelligent enough to absorb the message of the piece will see the research Whitlock claims he did for the story. Some will probably read it twice, and I predict that the majority of all of the readers will come away with the important thesis of the piece, along with a sense of curiosity that questions why a story about race, gangs and prisons gets awarded such peculiar headlines.

Hip Hop is killing Black America, and it's time to do something about it.

This, in my estimation, is exactly the venue into which Whitlock should venture. The prison business can certainly be a part of it. Perhaps it must be. The writer, nevertheless, has, as previously mentioned, marked his turf on race in America. He now has also invested some time and energy in the prison sub-category of the primary topic. Regardless of what Playboy wants to do or promote, this puts Whitlock in a great position to be a cultural leader, and add to his impressive forte of writing. But then he, in true Whitlock fashion, goes and fouls it up with this Thursday, May 1 post on Fox Sports.

The post is Whitlock's take on the "Costas Now" episode on HBO from earlier in the week, and he breaks it down fairly well. There are, however, some peculiarities about it, i.e. not capitalizing Deadspin, or any other blog name. Almost halfway through the piece, though, he slams Deadspin Editor Will Leitch for promoting his own book on his own blog. And the wheels pretty much come off after that. I've thought of/called Whitlock a lot of things over the years, but I've never really considered him to be a hypocrite. Criticizing Leitch in that fashion, however, invites the kettle, the pot, the color black, and the other necessary ingredients to a prime-time party celebrating Hippocrates. Unfortunately though, that's not the worst of it.

This is:

Some of us don't have the time, patience or inclination to help promote Leitch's book, which spends an inordinate amount of time telling prominent, successful, well-spoken African-Americans that they're not really black.

It is within that quote that Whitlock links to this NPR interview of Leitch, where Leitch's book, which is called "God Save the Fan," by the way, is the subject. The interviewer, whose name I'm too lazy to look up, calls Leitch out for his statements regarding (mostly white) people's oftentimes lack of interaction with black people. Actually, that's what Leitch is trying to say, he explains. The interviewer straight up tells Leitch he has a problem for making jokes about Indianapolis Colts Head Coach Tony Dungy not being very black. Here's where I put down my self-awarded, non-credentialed "journalistic" pen, and pick up my gnawed-on, eraserless sports fan pencil. Imagine it has a dancing Snoopy with a Royals hat on or something.

(June 3, 2008 Update: While I spent considerable time editing the content of this piece for spelling, mechanics, and accuracy, it did not occur to me that some, if not all, of the following two paragraphs were offensive. By typing the phrase "it did not occur to me," I do not wish to detach myself from blame; I merely wish to illustrate that self-editing is never as thorough as an author might think it is. The concept(s) that inspired me to write this piece stem largely from being a Kansas City resident, and subscriber to The Kansas City Star, the newspaper for which Jason Whitlock writes. For the last four to five years, Mr. Whitlock has occasionally, via his Star columns conveyed the idea that African-Americans have very few positive male role models in the public eye today. That is, the black men seen by the majority of MTV-viewing, hip-hop-listening, sports-following America do not cast the greatest of images for youths to admire in that rappers and NBA stars are somehow the majority of these figures. This is a view of Whitlock's with which I agree. I mistakenly wrote what follows assuming that our readership may be as well-read in the Whitlock department as I am, and I failed to distinguish my voice from his. To a degree, they are similar in opinion, but had I been more careful and responsible, I would've attributed thought clusters, and some paraphrasing to him, rather than allow the words to speak for the House of Georges themselves.

Dude. Seriously? Tony freaking Dungy? Here's an exercise: Put him next to Najeh Davenport, or Michael Irvin, or Dennis Rodman, or any other black athlete that, regardless of talent, has acted like a complete idiot in the past, and tell me it's impossible to view Tony Dungy as non-black, regardless of whether the basis of comparison is skin hue or behavior tendencies. I'll get serious about this in a second, but that is freaking hilarious. Anybody that fails to see the humor in that is blind.

Back to underwears and basements. There is, whether it gets the approval stamp or not, a collective pretension of what it "means" to be black in America. Check that, there are a lot more than "a"; there are many. In my estimation, this is the very core of what Whitlock has communicated to me the reader for years now. Granted, my own observations and opinions are in the mix, but that's hardly the point. What we see -- by "we" I mean average Americans that have a job, a bed to sleep in, and a television to watch -- of black America is not pretty. This is not to say that white America, or brown America, or whatever, has painted the perfect example. Nobody has. But we see what Whitlock calls hip-hop America from blacks 98 per cent of the time. We see the Allen Iversons, the Randy Mosses, the Suge Knights, the Milton Bradleys, the Snoop Doggs of the world, in the spotlight, doing stupid shit. All the time. And it is a fact that they heavily drown out the Bill Cosbys and the Barack Obamas, campaign years aside.

In the interview, Will Leitch calls Dungy "a leader of men." I agree with that. Tony Dungy, in a span of two years, accomplished more in his life than I've ever even dreamed of attempting. Honestly. That doesn't forbid me from making jokes about him. Listening to him speak, eloquently, about Christ, or whathaveyou, like it or not, leaves me with thoughts like, "Hey, that guy's really intelligent," and Leitch (I purport) with thoughts like, "Hey, that guy doesn't sound very black." Is that wrong? Does that make us racists? Contributors to a problem? Please vehemently correct me (in the comments) if I'm wrong, but I don't think so.

But back to Whitlock's post. He returns to his intelligent summarization of what went down on the television program, and discusses the bloggers-versus-journalists dichotomy, but then closes with this line:

And maybe Will Leitch can come along and tell us if we're all acting black enough.

I won't even comment on that one. Instead I'll return to his column in the Star about his forthcoming article in Playboy. Whitlock emphasizes that he took all the right steps with plenty of lead time to prevent this predicted catastrophe from taking place. And that's fine. I view it as an opportunity rather than a gotta-save-face situation. In his defense, it would appear that a lot of journalistic confidentialities could be breached with the article's publication. At least that's the take I got, and that's unfortunate. If Playboy's going to knowingly stir up some charades, they should know where to draw the line. The saddest part of the whole scenario, though, is that I don't think Whitlock knows where to draw it either.

It's time for Whitlock to put down his journalistic pen, and do so with pride, knowing that he's made a significant impact. I'm not saying he should stop writing about sports. I'm the first to admit that, on Monday mornings during football season, I read his Star column about the previous day's Chiefs game before I read Adam Teicher's or anyone else's story. I even read him before Posnanski on those days. That's saying something: he's still a great sports writer. My suggestion is that it's time for Whitlock to pick up is to-date-unsharpened cultural-leader pencil. The one with the in-tact eraser, the dead puppies, and the Michael Vicks.

(Update: Just when I think I've "scooped" something...Damn you, Big Lead!)
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My Sports Life is a Rock Song: "Don't Do Me Like That"

We're back and whiter than ever, as this feature carries into its fifth installment, and the only person of color that's been featured was James Brown. Jesus, we are white. So what do we do about it? Ding-ding. Feature somebody very, very white. Here's the thing about this week's feature: I love, like any good cracka', me some Tom Petty. Always have. He does, however, have a tendency, now and again, to write a song that, well, makes me feel like I'd rather listen to Meatloaf. Or the B-52s. Or Bon Jovi. And believe me, I will take splintered shards of golf tees through the testicles before volunteering to listen to either of those "artists." This evening's selection is one of those, but it does, nevertheless, serve a purpose. More on that in a jif.

In a few moments, young Luke Hochevar and the Royals will take the mound at Jacobs Field. The boys in blue, having fallen to last in the Central for the second time in eight days, face C.C. Sabathia tonight, who started out his post-Cy Young, 2008 campaign hurling piles of shit toward home plate. Which ballpark did he pick to break out of his slump? Yup. Kauffman Stadium. That game (featuring Royals' big-money man Gil Meche) had an awesome result.

So there it is. I'm not going to break down guitar riffs, or try to make some connection between game details and lyrics. I'm just gonna say, "Don't Do Me Like That, C.C." Not tonight. Actually, not ever. But let's start with tonight. The Royals have put some runs on the board this week. Well, yesterday's 2-1 loss to the Rangers was, as our staff slogan machine put it, an "unpossible pitcher's duel between Sir Sidney Ponson and Brian Bannister," but they produced some runs for a stretch there, suprisingly probably even themselves. My bolder-than-ever prediction for the evening's contest: The Indians don't cross the plate 15 teams; the Royals score more often than once. Second thought, scratch that last part, and play ball, Blue. You're muh boys!

(Update: Due to "inclement weather," the game has been postponed for a TBA double-header date later this summer. Know what this means? Sabathia was set to light it up, but someone else had other plans for the home team.)
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The Lesser of Two Evils

A little less than six hours from now, game five of the San Jose Sharks/Dallas Stars series will drop the puck, and I'm a bit nervous. Aside from the fact that I picked the Sharks, I've got an ounce or two of personal history riding on, well, tonight's game, and any other game for which the Sharks might like to stay alive. I'm pretty much a western teams kind of guy. Almost all of my clubs in the NHL are in the Western Conference; if I'm forced to watch some NBA playoffs, I've got my western bandwagon squads I'll pull for; in baseball I mostly follow the American League, which in some sense is like the west; and in football, if it ain't AFC West futbol, don't even bother callin'. Unless, in all cases, there're only bad guys left from said leagues. And then, much as I hate to, I must stray from the course.

It was 1994 when I first followed the Stanley Cups playoffs, a memorable year for the league as Captain Messier tasted glory one final time, this one ending a 50-year Cup drought for the New York Rangers, and I, as a 19-year old wise guy, was like, man fuck those guys. Puckheads -- the Vancouver theme running rampant that post-season -- are way cooler (Editor's Note: They're clearly one of the dorkiest niches on the planet). I, nevertheless, pulled for Vancouver, and obviously, they were unsuccessful. The following season, I reluctantly pulled for the New Jersey Devils -- it's a curious thing that I have no desire to see that franchise that started in Kansas City succeed being that I still have a soft spot for the Kansas City/Sacremento Kings -- only because they were playing the Red Wings. Being a Colorado resident still in '96, I jumped on the bandwagon formerly known as the Quebec Nordiques, which only left me wasted and highly unlaid at Coloradoponga's. I would then have to pull for the Flyers, which was cool since a buddy from Philly had moved to town, and the Capitals as the two clubs embarrassingly lost to Detroit in consecutive years.

Being a Blues fan, and an appreciator for the coaching style of Lindy Ruff, I rooted against Brett Hull and his Dallas Stars and pulled for Buffalo in '99, a championship tournament which was never rightfully settled. Back to cheering for the Devils again the following year as Dallas was again the opponent. I'm sure there were people that pulled for the Devils against Ray Borque and the Avs in 2001, but I never met any of them. The following year I became the world's biggest Hurricanes (not the Donkey-Punching variety) fan as, yup, Detroit. Again. Pulled for the Ducks against the Devils, the Flames when they lost to the Lightning, my passion renewed itself for Carolina -- my place of birth -- when they faced (and beat!) Edmonton, and of course I cheered on the Ducks last year against Ottawa.

So most of the last 15 years has been spent rooting against the Red Wings or the Stars when I had to root for an eastern team; in some of those cases rooting for the Devils because I hated the west's representative, in others rooting against them for the sake of the west. Now that Colorado has been swept by Detroit, the Sharks are my only good-guy club left. Of course, the Penguins play a good new brand of hockey, and I could pull for them on behalf of TLR, but my Philly buddy's got his Flyers to pull for, who've been in a Stanley Cup Finals in recent years, but not won one. The ultimate solution is to have the Sharks win, then I won't have to choose between Philly or Pittsburgh, and, at the same time, I won't be that bummed if they win. Ultimately, a Dallas/Detroit Western Conference Finals is about as exciting as eating lead chips.

So, please, hockey gods, don't make it happen.
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Friday Morning Fracas

It's time to examine a few recent examples of buffoonery in the sporting world. We pledge to make this a regular Friday morning feature here at the House of Georges, one that might span perhaps the entire week, instead of today's narrow-minded slant on sports that I somewhat pretend to follow. This debut, however, promises to cover cities nicknamed after engines, Asians, mullets, and more. Sounds like a heckuva deal. Join us, after the jump.

Yesterday, the hipsters over at Deadspin predicted the "unpossible" advancing of both the Detroit Red Wings in the NHL playoffs, and the Detroit Pistons in the NBA playoffs in the same night. Lo and behold, it happened. If I didn't know any better, I'd suppose those guys were credentialed sports journalists. But I do. Lucky guess from random guys on their FaceSpaces and MyBooks.

What I want to know is, did the losers in these series have side bets going on who could underperform against their respective opponents? I mean, the Colorado Avalanche, albeit outskilled and overmatched, had a chance to not get broomed by the, in all likelihood, soon-to-be Stanley Cup Champion Red Wings (Editor's Note: Shoot me now; envision a downed horse with a broken leg. I beg you.), at home, and they just got smoked. I know the Avs are old and facing lots of injuries, but who's not at this point in the season? The Pistons, on the other end of the spectrum -- that's somehow code for also on the road -- of all things Motown, made easy work of eliminating the Philadelphia 76ers in a 100-77 blowout. Feel free to visit more professional NBA sports blogger sites for a re-cap of that titillating series.

In other NHL playoff news, the New York Rangers Jaromir Jagr helped his teammates pretend for a minute that they have a chance to overcome their three-games-to-one deficit against Jagr's former club, the Pittsburgh Penguins. This just in, buddy: pack it in. You no longer have a mullet, Mario is now on the other end of your dreams, and he's got a young, quick club that will hold true to the stat that no club has ever come back from being down 3-0. Don't waste anymore of your off-season; your goosage beith cooked.

In Kansas City sports news, Chiefs Head Coach Herman Edwards plans to launch phase two 11 of Operation Let's Give Kids Like Casey Printers A Shot Under Center. Apparently, the Chiefs will bring in former Florida quarterback Chris Leak for a workout. If I ever paid attention to college football, I suppose I would've known that this kid won a championship with his alma matter, and the MVP, to boot. Trouble is, he didn't get drafted and -- hello! -- he was cut by the Bears before the start of the '07 campaign. Everyone knows that the Bears are the NFL quarterback experts. Don't waste our time, Herm.

On the other side of the Truman Sports Complex, er, uh, also known as Arlington, Texas, the Royals wasted another solid Zack Greinke start. The kid punched out nine, walked a goose egg, and only surrendered two runs on four hits. Trouble was -- surprise! -- the Royals gave Greinke offensive support in the form of one run. Kansas City pitching coaches, wizards that they are, continue (Note: Not yesterday.) to try and plug in their Ace-sians from the 'pen. With the Nomo experiment already gone aghast, talks about middle reliever Yasuhiko Yabuta are suddenly turning sour. What? Why? He's only given up 12 runs, 19 hits and nine walks over the course of 13 innings. C'mon! Let the guy hang around through, say, mid-July. He'll get it together.

Finally, Bugs and Cranks offers this pitching tidbit about other baseball wastes of time, while The Big Lead suggests that Eric Gagne's finished wasting everybody's.

That's it for now. We'll wait around for the sports professionals of the world to break more news, so that we can copy and paste it into our sinister blog windows. From our basements, of course.
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Thoughts on Bloggery, Position Changes and Buying Shots for Strange Women

I haven't addressed the whole Buzz v. Blogs controversy, and won't really start now. After all, the rest of the 'sphere has done a mighty fine job with it already, No. 7 in particular.

I will say, though, that a large part of this whole stinky cocktail of anger, jealousy and fear springs from the inescapable fact that all of these brick-and-mortar sportwriters, with their cherished ruts and ridiculously out-of-proportion salaries, are being forced into the world of new media by editors who realize that the days of T. Ringolsby lecturing to a captive audience about the importance of having a dirty uniform are over.

They may not like it, they may have trouble figuring out how to work the Google on the internet machine, they may cringe at having their public make comments on their game story, but they know the score. There's nothing they can do about it, and since most of them are professionally unfit to do anything else (reading unedited sports copy is like eating a cheeseburger with a chunk of broken windshield stuck in it) they take their lumps in the meetings, dutifully pump out a few sentences every few days to run as an in-house "blog" and then yell at those goddamn kids to get off their lawn.

* In Broncos news: evidently the team is considering turning its brand new linebacking prospect, Spencer Larsen of the University of Arizona, into a fullback. That makes perfect sense, because they drafted a fullback--Arkansas' own Peyton Hillis--a round later, and what two positions are more similar? Thanks to the (unbelievably painful to read unedited) Bill Williamson, now of ESPN, for verifying something that Shanahan mentioned days earlier but yet still somehow escaped notice because it was just so freaking bizarre.

* I was having a beer last night, waiting to meet a friend from out of town, and two women sat next to me at the bar. No surprise there--there aren't many stools, so they didn't really have a choice. They ordered two shots of whiskey, made small-but-shamefully-flirty talk with the 'tender and then said "and I hear this guy over here is gonna buy our shots."

I laughed. Nice try, I said. One of them mimicked me, and in her best 7th grade bitch voice gave me "what a gentleman."

Look. I'm a pretty decent sort. I try not to start fights with strangers, be nice to animals and show my mom the respect she deserves. But some cunt--who, it must be said, bore a surprising similarity to the girl who rubs a peanut in her cleavage in that Planter's commercial--that demands her drinks be paid for by a guy, simply because he's there? That nonsense doesn't fly in my world, friends. Doesn't. Fly.

So what did I do, you ask? What rhetorical sabre did I choose from my vast arsenal? Did I say "sorry, I only buy drinks for pretty girls"? Or "sure, but only if you show me you can fit the whole bottle up your snatch?"

Uh...no. Nothing like that. I sat there and ignored her ugly ass. The moral? Don't read past the football stuff in these posts, unless you're out of Ambien.

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KC Bar Owners Consider "The Iron Triangle" As New Name (Update: Actually They Don't)

Today's The Kansas City Star sports section had, as usual, its local doofus take from Jeffrey Flanagan, and the subject was a questioning of what might become of the Jared Allen Sports Arena & Grill -- it opened in March down on the always-hopping Southwest Boulevard -- now that Allen collects his paycheck from the Minnesota Vikings. I must admit, Mr. Flanagan, that I'd been wondering the same thing. The article claims that Chuck Tabor, Allen's partner in the deal, was pretty bummed to hear about the trade, so much so that he said, "We'd have never built a restaurant had we known a trade might happen. Never." Tabor said he's in consistent communication with Allen, and that business is doing well, yet he's curious whether or not they'll keep doing decent numbers. This, of course, is where we come in. After the jump, feast your eyes (crossed or not) on the top ten options for this new-to-Kansas City-establishment to consider.

Number Ten: Get A Better Name

My first suggestion would be "Tabor and Tamba's Taqueria." That'd be alright, 'cause, like there's no Mexican joints down on el Boulevardo. No-brainer, right? Had there never been any trade talks, I posit that that has got to be the worst establishment name choice in restauranteur history. And hey, get more Chiefs (past and present) involved. Flanagan writes that there's a Boomer (Grigsby) Burger on the menu. That's a good start. Why not add to it? I can see it now: Nigerian Nightmare Nachos, Brodie Bangs Bratwurst (marinated and boiled in Pabst Blue Ribbon, of course), LJ's Inverted Vagina Symbol Linguini, the X-Factor's Block in the (Baby) Back Ribs, the list goes on.

Number Nine: Move to the Power and Light District

Here's a notion: Location, location, location. Ever heard of that? Riiiight. I mean, the Boulevard's awesome if you're looking for a truckful of Mexicans to install a pool or put on a new roof, but it's nowhere near the hot spot that downtown is becoming. You guys ever hear of a little thing called the Sprint Center?

Number Eight: Hire Chief Girlfriends and Wives

October Gonzalez seats you, Kelli Croyle's your server, and, um, yeah -- I don't know of any others, but hey -- cheerleaders! It's a start, man. It's a start.

Number Seven: Dismiss Notion of Making It An Other-Teams-Friendly Bar

Either this is a really bad idea, or I'm clueless as to the masses of Vikings fans that live in the Kansas City area. My guess is that the former is correct. Hey, why not make it an all-AFC West joint? That'd go over real well. Cheap Chargers Happy Hour, Donkey Dinners, Al Davis Appetizers. I can see the line at the door. Except, wait -- those "customers" all have stink bombs and Malotov Cocktails in their hands.

Number Six: Employ the Invite-Only Sunday Night Downstairs Dance Club

Ever since Mi Cocina closed it's dungeon of make-out rooms, Tony G. and the boys have had to settle with Blonde. Boo. That place blows. Break out the champagne and the $300 bottles of vodka. Get some couches. Run a ladies' night special. Win, win, win.

Number Five: Keep George Brett Out of the Mix

Old No. Five's former Plaza establishment had to be one of the worst efforts at a restaurant and bar I've ever witnessed. Very pretty inside, but terrible service and horrendous food don't really win you back. Let George stick to whatever it is he sticks to that doesn't have anything to do with putting his name on a sign.

Number Four: Aggressively Advertise Former KC Athletes Not Welcome

Dedicate some wall space for a KC Sports Hall of Shame. Include photos, stats and community mishaps as well. Phrases like Angel Berroa's Wall of Blunders, Ryan Sims' 48th Ham Sandwich of the Day, Steve Bono's Table Tent of Places Not to Eat are all gimmicks that are sure to get the guests inside.

Number Three: Have a Mug Club & Offer Lots and Lots of Fried Food

Offer memberships to exclusive beer drinkers. Guys and girls can pay a premium, bring in their favorite malt-liquor vessel and belly up. All the time. And while they're drinking, you can't lose with a deep fryer. Got burritos on the menu? Make chimichangas. What goes great with beer? And water and soda? Fried crap. Free case of Twinkies come in by mistake? Dessert special!

Number Two: Get on Board with the Green Movement

Boast how environmentally friendly the place is. Minimize paper product usage and incorporate it into the menu, too. I mean, there are surely some knuckleheads in town that will order lettuce wraps just because you tell them there's some Arrowhead grass in the dish. Oh, and run everything on solar energy, too.

Number One: Let the House of Georges Take Over

Clearly the best option on the list. Each of us has more restaurant experience in our pinky fingers than, well, probably everyone on staff there right now. Cecil could sling drinks, even if he's not as hot as Miss Croyle (Editor's Note: Sorry, Cec'.), Seven can out GM any schlep you'll get from a headhunter, and I'll head up the back-of-the-house staff. We'll quickly get one of those six a.m. liquor license extensions, add outdoor dining, and hire strippers subscribe to all of the satellite sports packages. Lick your fingers, Mr. Tabor. Get ready to count them benjamins.
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Baseball In The Daytime: 5-1-08

We span the majors under the sunshine again today, with four games played on grass fields and the lightswitches set to "off." On tap are a surprising showdown for first in the AL East, a Lake Michigan grudge match in the NL Central, a Japanese rookie and an honest-to-goodness fat knight.

After the game previews, We'll also dissect the strength of Cecil's fantasy baseball team and why he's kicking the shit out of me this week. So advance past first and smoke 'em if you got 'em...

LA Dodgers @ Florida, 10:10 Mountain I watched quite a bit of the Dodgers-Marlins game last night (please don't ask me why) and I noticed that while very empty, Dolphins Stadium was not quite as barren as usual. Have these still-barely-first-place Fish captured the hearts of South Florida? Or have years of training in Vero Beach left a core of local Dodger fans? We may never know. Don't expect attendance records today, what with the early getaway start time and Burke Badenhop on the mound (Hiroki Kuroda goes for the Dodgers).

Tampa @ Baltimore, 10:35 Baseball is all abuzz with the ascendancy of the Bay Rays, and with good reason. This team has never been relevant in any fashion. The '08 version has the requisite young position player talent, including future All-Star Evan Longoria. But the big difference has been in the pitching staff--the rotation has been solid and the pen spectacular, and ace Scott Kazmir has yet to throw a pitch in anger (he'll come off the DL this weekend). Matt Garza, obtained from Minnesota in the Delmon Young trade, seeks a win today, a win that will be contested by Brian Burres of the O's.

Kansas City @ Texas, 12:05 The wheels have come off in KC, and all we're waiting for is the annual Posnanski column signaling the end of the Royals' season. On the plus side, that piece has normally already run by now--improvement! The odds are good we can wait another day for the Poz obituary, as Sir Sidney Ponson, the Rangers' obese Aruban gas can, gets the nod this afternoon. Opposing His Royal Highness is your Royal starter Zach Grienke.

Milwaukee @ Chicago Cubs, 12:20 Finally, at the Friendly Confines, we wrap up the series between the Cubs and the Brewers. While well-paid monster starter Carlos Zambrano (Big Z, in the parlance of the times) represents the North Side nine, Milwaukee turns to young Yovani Gallardo. Gallardo has pitched well this season (0.64 ERA in two outings), yet his teammates with bats tend to hang him out to dry (1 run of support in said outings).

Fantasy Update Gallardo and Greinke are also starting today for the Fort Meast Blood Badgers, the fantasy baseball team of your favorite writer and mine, Cecil. I'm somewhat less of a Cecil fan this week, as his Badgers are absolutely devouring Making Noises for Moises--my club. Cecil's boys are leading this head-to-head league with a stellar .705 winning percentage, and it's not hard to see why. It's the sticks.

Fort Meast leads the Ted Williams Frozen Head league in runs scored, homers, batting average and OPS--even after trading slugger Pat Burrell to me. Now while many of his hot starters most likely won't last (Nate McClouth, Carlos Quentin, Geovany Soto), his high picks have failed to bust (Brian Roberts, Aramis Ramirez, Carl Crawford). Cecil leads the league in free agent transactions and has effectively rounded out his roster with gems like Erick Aybar, but it was his low-round picks of Conor Jackson and Longoria that have paid off the most. Asshole.

The pitching staff is impressive, just not as dominant. The big score is Ervin Santana, who ran his record to 5-0 last night. While the bullpen has not put up huge numbers, it should improve with Joba Chamberlain, Doug Brocail and Scott Downs (holds count in this league, so middle relievers are valuable).

Cecil has never made the playoffs in the Ted, which is celebrating its fifth anniversary. He's a serious threat this time around, with a good draft and a tremendous amount of hustle and research. Is he ready to take the next step? It's a long haul, but all you can do is hit the yard everyday and Play Ball!
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