The 2-1-5

Whoa Doctor!

2008-10-21T12:40:00.000-07:00

Why do newspaper columnists and ESPN/SI bloggers think I care what share of the Nielsen TV ratings the World Series gets? How could that possibly be of interest to me?

These announcers and columnists act like "storylines," as opposed to good baseball, is what people care about. The reason they are whining so much about the lack of storylines is because better storylines makes their jobs easier. They are like robots, and were probably salivating at the chance to rehash all the old 'Manny Being Manny' cliches and whatever else they had planned for a Dodgers-Red Sox World Series. Uh-oh! Now they have to actually think.

Levels of Booing

2008-08-15T06:56:00.000-07:00

Booing does not help someone perform better. Yet Philadelphians boo their teams and players constantly, at the drop of a hat. You could call it being passionate and die-hard, I call it being fickle and selfish.

I have railed against our proclivity to boo before, but I am going expand on that, because not all boos are created equal. Some are acceptable, and some are not.

Level 0: Booing opposing teams, players, and fans

Not even open for debate. Something Philadelphians excel at.

Level 1: Booing for lack of effort

This is totally acceptable, and something I am proud of Philadelphians for. We do not tolerate a lack of hustle, or even a supposed lack of hustle. This comes up most often in baseball, where players like Mike Schmidt and Bobby Abreu, both all-stars, never really fit in because of their supposed lack of hustle (in truth, the game just came naturally to them, they made it look easy).

Best example: Booing Freddy Garcia for not running to first on a groundball. After the game he said his job was to pitch, and I knew right then and there Freddy would never do his job in Philadelphia again.

Level 2: Booing for failure to do one's job

Fans take some things in sports for granted: chip-shot field goals and sacrifice bunts both come to mind. When a player is unable to do what we believe is easy, we will boo that player. If Chris Coste cannot get the runner to second because he popped up his bunt, we will boo him for that. Will it get him to bunt better next time? No. But this is a boo out of frustration, and although not very supportive, I can defend it.

Level 3: Booing a coach's decision

Sending out the punt team? Defensive replacement for Pat Burrell? Yanking the goalie? Boo. It's the coach, not the players fault. I'm sure it doesn't raise the player's spirits, but this one is still okay in my book. Sometimes a boo is used to send a message, and this can be one of those times.

Level 4: Booing a player or team's failure

When the Eagles can't convert on 4th and 1, or the Flyers give up back-to-back goals, the fans are going to boo. They are upset, angry, and second-and-third-guessing the coach all at once. The only way to express all that is going on in their hearts, heads, and guts, is to let out a deep, resonating BOOOOOOO!!!!! as the players put their heads down and shuffle off the field. Is it effective? Not in the least. Does it make the players tighten up and worry about failure more than they should? Probably. Is it our God-given right as paying sports fans who haven't won a championship in 20-odd years? I guess so. Should we continue to do it? Only if we want to continue to be paying sports fans who haven't won a championship in 30-odd years.

Level 5: Booing a tragic flaw

This, to me, is the big one. It's probably the loudest, longest-lasting boo, and the one that can make anyone - player or fan - sick to their stomach. It's the culmination of an entire season, or seasons, or lifetime, and it's the boo of the tragic flaw. Typically this boo comes out late in the season, when one of our teams is about to blow a game in the way we all knew they would.

Ex: The Phillies have no situational hitting and get shut down by quality pitching. Picture a late September game against the Mets. Our pitching staff has hung in there, giving up 1 run over 7 innings. We are facing Johan Santana, and have managed plenty of double plays and strike outs, but no actual runs. Then we get runners on first and second with no outs. Top of the order up, J-Roll, first pitch groundout, Victorino, goes down swinging, Utley, takes a strike, then pops up to second.

Wait for it.....

.....aaaaaaaaaaand here come the boos.

Now I put this as number 5 because it's probably the most damaging boo on our psyche. This is not a boo you want to take lightly. Am I guilty of it? Not yet, but I could be. This boo is in our nature, and I can't say I defend it, but I understand.

Level off the charts: Booing someone because they aren't someone else.

This occurs when fans believe somebody else should be walking up to the batter's box, or coming into a game for a save situation. Fans are basically saying 'we wish you were someone else, so regardless of how hard you work or how good you are/were/can be, we are going to boo you because of a manager/coach's decision.

Best example: Booing Donovan McNabb at the NFL Draft. We wanted Ricky Williams, we didn't get him. Possibly my least proud moment as a Philadelphia sports fan.

This one also gets to what J-Roll was saying...how can a fan possibly boo somebody on Opening Day? Let alone draft day?

I am proud of Philadelphia sports fans, most of the time. But I will never understand how one can claim to support their team one moment and then boo the hell out of them the next.

Can I Get A Do-Over?

2008-08-01T07:03:00.000-07:00

I have touched (rambled) on this subject before, (here, and here) but with the start of training camp, I think it's time to revisit that age old issue known as 'the contract situation.'

It's really starting to piss me off. Every year, some of the biggest news heading into training camp is not "how will so-and-so fit in with his new team" or "will the draft picks make a difference" or a million other questions about the state of the team. No, it is always about contract situations. And how half the players on the team are unhappy with theirs.

Gimme a freakin' break.

I understand all the quotes players rattle off. "This is a business." "I am just looking out for my family." "I have outperformed my contract."

Now, that last one is a bit of a sticky spot. In the NFL, contracts are not guaranteed, so a team can cut a player who is underperforming. But if a player overperforms, he does not get anything extra except maybe a bonus here and there. So I'll give them that.

Here's my issue, something that seems to really affect the Eagles more than any other team:

Young players signing long-term contracts extensions (I''m looking at you, Lito, Westbrook, and Shawn Andrews), and then immediately complaining about how they are not fair.

They have to understand what they are doing when they sign through 2013, right? It's called giving up maximum dollars for long-term security. Or are they hiring agents from the Hollywood Upstairs Sports Agency School?

Every year, the price to sign a star free agent goes up. Nate Clements signed a big deal last year, Asante Samuel signed a bigger one this year. If you sign an 8-year contract extension, and then a year later someone who you think you're better than signs a bigger deal, you can't just say "I want a new contract."

Either don't sign the extension, or stop complaining about it.

It wasn't like the Eagles held a gun to their head - they made smart business decisions by locking up young talent for the long-term before they can hit free agency. The Eagles do take on some risk as well - there is guaranteed money in the form of signing bonuses. If a player they think will be good ends up tearing all his ligaments or forgets how to block, they still get that signing bonus ($8.7 million in Lito's case).

I understand you want to get the most bang for your buck, but you can't have it both ways.

If you want to continually get what you are worth on the open market, sign a one-year contract (or 2 or 3, no need to be so drastic). If you want the piece of mind and stability that a long-term contract affords you, go ahead and sign on the dotted line, just don't go bitching about it two years later.

In the case of Westbrook, I don't know what he was thinking when he signed that contract. If you hear him talk, you know he has confidence in his abilities and thinks he is one of the best RBs in the league. So why sign a contract before you show that true potential? The Eagles were able to buy low on Westbrook, getting the extension done right before he burst through as a top 3 running back. Running backs have short shelf lives, and probably only get 1 or 2 really good contracts before they get sent to pasture. I'm sure his agent knew that, I'm sure he knew that, before they signed the deal. Imagine what he could have gotten if he was a free agent this year? He blew it, plain and simple (I guess that's what you get with a 'Nova education).

I remember when they announced Lito Sheppard's and Sheldon Brown's extensions. It was a big deal - locking up our secondary for years to come with two bright young promising stars. I remember chuckling and thinking how the front office (RJ) swindled these guys into extensions, knowing full well that they would be worth so much more in a couple seasons. Well why didn't they know that?

And remember our good friend T.O.? You know what kick-started his removal from the team? It wasn't his relationship with McNabb, or that we lost the Super Bowl, or that he was under so much pressure from concealing his homo-erotic tendencies, no it was his contract. A year into signing a 7 year, $49 million dollar deal with the Eagles he was unsatisfied with it! One year in!You know why? 'Cuz it was backloaded, and he realized the Eagles would cut him before he saw the big money at the end of the contact. Again, let me ask, what kind of agents are they hiring? Do they not read the fine print?

Now, I don't know if this situation can be solved. It's not really the players, front offices, or agents fault (well, it is kind of the agents). It's the whole mess that is the NFL collective bargaining agreement. Matt Ryan will probably make more money with his rookie deal than Westbrook will make in his entire career. Go figure.

So what I am going to do is give some advice to the Phillies: overpay for a quality starting pitcher (Cole Hamels would do just fine). Scout the leagues, target a guy you think will be a stud for 5,6,7 years to come. Sign him to a record contract. Guess what? Within two years, that record contract, that oh-my-god, this is the biggest deal in the history of the MLB, will be an afterthought. Because some team will come along and find the next best guy and give him an even bigger deal two years later. And there won't be anything our pitcher can do about it.

R.I.P

2008-07-15T06:09:00.000-07:00

Dear The Spectrum,

We will miss you. We will miss the sticky floors, the seats directly behind concrete pillars, the boozy tailgating before concerts, the way clouds of smoke would float above the crowd at Phish shows. We will miss minor-league hockey, indoor soccer, princesses on ice, and everything else your wonderful venue provided for us after the Comcast Center became the new home of the Sixers and Flyers.

We are going to miss you, dear Spectrum. Sure, maybe minor-league hockey, indoor soccer, and princesses on ice aren't that big of a draw these days. And sure, maybe you are parked boldly in front of progress, playing a game of chicken with the Future. And sure, maybe I personally won't miss actually being inside your venue, but I am going to miss you.

You know when I'm going to miss you? When I am eating grilled mahi mahi with mango salsa before Phillies games, shopping at Nautica and Eddie Bauer at the halftime of Birds' games, paying $8.50 for a beer because I can no longer tailgate in the parking lot, and sleeping in one of the new hotels erected on your spot because drinking and driving has become "too dangerous."

I am going to miss the way you and The Vet used to hang out together, bragging about chick stadiums you used to bang while pounding a couple warm tallboys of Busch Light. You and the Vet, spitting on opposing teams' fans, making little kids cry, refusing to wipe the cheez-whiz off your mouth, dipping Skoal and smoking cigarettes at the same time. Giving each other black eyes just for the hell of it.

You two were the shit. Now, these fancy boys are showing up. Sure the Linc is pretty intimidating, and the Bank is pretty boozy, but without you there to guide them, they are going to forget their roots. A couple of years from now, the Linc and the Bank are going to see a passed out drunk chick covered in her own vomit. They will be a little confused, thinking "Isn't there something I am supposed to be doing right now?" Then they will look in your direction for guidance, and the only thing they will see is some high-end boutiques, too-fancy "sports" bars, and a hotel with more clean linen then you, dear Spectrum, have ever laid eyes on. And instead of getting a gentle prodding from you, saying things like "Go on, take her pants off," they will instead just alert the proper authorities, and someone will come and clean her up and escort her to the game.

It's going to be a scary world without you, you king among men.

Hopefully they will give you a true and honorable send-off befitting of your majestical place in Philadelphia sports lore. I am talking, of course, about sticks of dynamite jammed into every crevice of your structure, resulting in a 6 AM implosion where you crumble to a pile of rubble and dust.

A Brand New Beginning

2008-07-13T20:24:00.000-07:00

Oh you like that title don't you. ZING! It's the truth though. With the signing of Elton Brand the Sixers have begun their next era. Simultaneously, I think I just might have shaken that 2 year hang over left by Allen Iverson's departure. Besides being the most compelling and exhilarating player this city has ever seen, Iverson made the Sixers relevant every night. Sure we didn't quite win a championship or even go deep into the playoffs every year, but we had an identity. The last two years were difficult for me as a Sixers fan having only known an Iverson led squad since middle school. I ordered the NBA league package to watch the Nuggets play--I needed my fix. I probably paid more attention and rooted harder for the Nuggets at times last year than for my hometown Sixers. I can't say I am ashamed; it was what I looked forward to most as a basketball fan. It was comfort food like mom's baked ziti or veal cutlets.

All this changed when the Sixers signed Elton Brand last week. We entered a new era and became relevant instantly. I have spent the past week reading NBA analyst after analyst praise the Sixers for their bold move and even call us "contenders in the East." You kiddin me!? I haven't heard that since 2001. There are months ahead of day dreaming about Iggy dumping the ball down to Brand in the East conference championships as he punishes a Kevin Garnett or Anderson Varejao on the low block time and time again. Maybe Elton will kick it out to LouWill for a sweet, sweet 3. Or dish it to a cutting Iggy for a monstrous jam that will send the Wachovia Center into an uproar. Maybe he will throw an 'oop over his head, off the backboard to a flying Sammy D who will certainly improve on an already stellar campaign last year (Sammy D an All-Star? Ben Wallace did it...I'm just sayin!). The possibilities are endless.

Dude looks great in that jersey...not to mention, did we get new jerseys?

We have already looked into season ticket packages on the The2-1-5 here. A friend made a Brand t-shirt jersey with only a white tee and a black Sharpie and received plenty of love at the Phils' game.

The Sixers are back baby!

(Now the Sixers probably need a two guard who can score to really put them over the top...and I know this one guy who is going to be a free agent at the end of the year...I know, I know, I know, but I'm just sayin baby I'm just sayin...)

Why I Love Local Sports Radio (Or Really Just ESPN 950)

2008-07-10T21:22:00.000-07:00

So I do a good amount of radio listening at work these days. I have speakers on my computer and jump around from listening to music, national sportsradio, local sportsradio, PTI or other podcasts, and even some NPR from time to time. I usually tune into Mike Missanelli at 3pm.

I have emailed Mikey Miss twice and have had both emails read on air. You could say I'm batting 1.000 or heating up if you will. Here is my last piece from a few weeks ago that was called "impressive" and "very well written." I was flattered and totally pumped for the rest of the day at work.

"Hey Mike, enjoy the show.

I first thought Imus and bigots like him should absolutely be fired for their disgusting comments, but by giving him a forum he becomes a talking point for people to address the bigotry he exudes. Having such a bad stigma attached to him and his comments asserts that speech like that is unacceptable and disgusting, the hope being that people will think twice before speaking like him and maybe think harder about tuning in and therefore supporting him and his beliefs.

-Ben"

He actually read my full name (and pronounced it correctly) and I have even received a few letters from my growing fan base.

Anyway I am here to officially endorse ESPN 950. This town has enough sports negativity and doesn't need that "other station" and especially that "other guy" reminding us about it everyday.

From Mike & Mike in the Morning (Or, Why I Hate National Radio)

2008-07-09T06:58:00.000-07:00

"Lots of big news today....CC gets his first win, Harden gets traded, and Elton Brand is headed to Philly. But by far, the biggest news today, Brett Favre may be coming out of retirement!"

Give me. A fucking. Break.

Musing on the Phils

2008-06-27T12:39:00.001-07:00

Remember when the Phillies made the Bobby Abreu deal at the trade deadline? Our team had gone on a real bad losing streak and Gillick essentially gave up on them, sent Abreu, Cory Lidle, and some other guys to the Yankees. Eventually we replaced David Bell and Mike Lieberthal as well.

The result of those moves was a change from a plodding, one-base-at-a-time, wait-for-the-home-run type of team to a youthful, energetic, put-the-pressure-on-them type of team.

Instead of walks, strikeouts, and home runs, we were stealing bases, bunting, sac flying, scoring from first, and doing all sorts of small-ball-esque type maneuvers.

It was pretty awesome, and it propelled us to one game of the playoffs the year of the trade, and ultimately a division crown last year.

The epitome of that whole movement might very well be Shane Victorino. He is a case of Red Bull, someone who clearly forgets to take his Ritalin. Sugar Shane, or the Flying Hawaiian, injected the team with some scrappy, speedy play, the exact opposite of what we were - 8 middle aged white guys with balky knees and low batting averages who lived or died by the home run ball.

So this year we brought in Pedro Feliz and Geoff Jenkins, Victorino missed a little time due to injury, Chase Utley endured the worst slump of his career, and now we seem to be back in that all-or-nothing funk. We scored 20 runs this year. Woo-hoo! But anybody who watches baseball would rather have a bunch of 5 and 6 runs games than one 20 run game. That's just called pouring it on.

Instead, the Phils ring up 0, 1, and 2 run games like its their job. That's not something you expect out of a "high-powered" offense.

Our team's personality seems like it is close to slipping back into that "wait for someone to get a hit" mentality, instead of the "I'm gonna make something happen" mentality.

Victorino is still doing his thing, and Jayson Werth (trying to steal third the other night...twice...was a gaudy move) is too, but I personally feel like we could use one more hitter, a guy who can hit for contact, pinch run (and be dangerous at it), and have a decent glove.

Everybody knows pitching wins championships, and I completely agree that we need another starting pitcher to take things to the next level. Everyone also seems to agree that Victorino is the trade chip to use to bring in that pitcher.

The Phils have needed a pitcher for years. Seriously, it's probably been a more consistent need than a wide receiver is for the Eagles, but what if this year is the year where we finally make a move, push our chips to the center of the table and trade Victorino for a pitcher?

We've already lost Michael Bourn. Our team has clearly moved into the "any one of these guys could end up DHing on an AL team in 3 years" mode.

What if our offense takes a serious plunge into that brand of baseball that I don't think really has a name, but you know it when you see it, where there is no stealing, lots of striking out, some home runs peppered in there, and not much else?

Maybe the only way to take things to the next level is to trade Victorino for a pitcher, but seriously, Rollins and Victorino are the lifeblood of this line-up, and if you take away Victorino, that would make Werth and Jenkins every day starters. That is not a good thing. Our line up would be full of...yep...middle-aged white guys with balky knees looking to go yard every time, because its their only chance of scoring.

That's all I have to say about that.

The always interesting mid-day gym crowd

2008-06-18T12:23:00.000-07:00

Instead of getting a "real" job this summer, I opted to pal around with semi-professional basketball players and co-ordinate their workouts related both to basketball and strength training. Having just finished my first year of law school, I think I can say with a straight face that this is the first job I have actually been over-qualified for. I make sure the guys eat right, touch the baseline during suicides, and get ankles taped before 5 on 5s. Simply put, a marginally well organized nine year old could do what I do. One conspicuous perk, however, is that I get to spend four days per week at the Bally's Total Fitness in King of Prussia. While there, I get to immerse myself in a crowd that I have found to be nothing short of groin-grabbingly hilarious: the early afternoon workout crowd.

What's great about this crowd is that I see the same knuckleheads each day. There is one gentleman who appears to be old enough to be Charles Lindburgh's brother or uncle. Hair comes out of his ears with equal speed, determination, and intensity as from his head. He only uses the rowing machine. My theory is that he is gearing up for an octogenarian tri-athalon, but he is wholly uniterested in biking, swimming, and running. Something tells me he's not only not going to win, he's going to be very confused when he shows up and there are no rowing machines in sight. There is also a look-alike to the father on that Orange County Choppers motorcycle TV show. While I have learned that I am allergic to amoxycillan and penicillin, this gentleman is apparently allergic to sleeves and sleeve accouterments, as evidenced by his extensive tank-top collection. As I see this man do reps of 25 at 225 lbs. at age 60, I can only wonder: has he ever owned a sleeved shirt? I wonder what he attends the opera in? These questions may go forever unanswered, though, because he doesn't make eye contact with me because of my adherence to a sleeved lifestyle.

Another thing that's great about this gym is the MILFs. We all aspire to have a non-working spouse who does nothing than prep herself for "the business" after we return home from work. Let me tell you, the husbands of no less than thirty women who go to this place between 1-3 everyday are living that very dream. Aside from high school seniors, these women are the cream of the crop. It gets absurdly hard for me to jog, or be in mesh shorts at all, frankly, when a gaggle of 30-something year old hardbodies are all stretching each other out before an intense yoga session. As they prance away to their Beemer 3-series while I wait for the lazy players to lolligag to the car 30 mins after we finish, I can only do what any rational man does: memorize their license plate numbers, have Bucky run them later, and eat dinner and breakfast in the bushes by their house for a few weeks and wait.

Everyday, we also get the sports anchor of the NBC 10 team, made famous of late by Bucky on this very blog. I'm not sure what his name is but I have included a photo. The thing that confuses me about his is that he never talks about sports while he's there. Does anyone else find this a little queer? When I hang out with you guys, I ask Buck about busting crime, Tall Man about going green, and Rob about fun games he invents at his desk while a bespecaled Reekie manages my Wellington account. And this guy is a sportscaster for christ sake! What could be more fun than talking Birds with meatheads at the gym? My guess is that he's only in it for the chicks (or, in this case, MILFs) and would probably get lost if any sort of real sports convo was initiated.

In short, my days are pretty boring. There is some good people watching and Q-102 listening, but, on the whole, I just fantasize about MILFs doing their cardio work on my face. If that makes me wrong, that makes you a Commie.

I propose we all go to this Cornhole event on the 28th in Conshohocken. We all love boozing, eating, and playing cornhole, and for $25 we can do all 3 for 3 hours that day.

Things I Take For Granted (No. 805)

2008-06-16T17:43:00.000-07:00

No. 805, Things I Take For Granted: The Philly Phanatic

The Philly Phanatic. That motherfucker is always up to something. He is a giant bird, very very green, hails from the Galapagos, loves smashing other teams equipment, and once burned Tommy Lasorda in effigy.

What a fucking crazy asshole.

Whenever I'm at Phillies games, I see him running around, dancing on the dugout, driving drunk through the infield on a quad, just doing totally crazy shit. One time he had a whole bag full of free t-shirts and hats and stuff...he gave the entire thing to some hard body sitting in the front row.

Plus he does this really great thrusting dance.

I'm spoiled. I get to see this guy hamming it up with the fans and hurling insults at the opposing team all the fucking time.

If you were a baseball fan from Wichita or Seattle or Pismo Beach you would only ever see this guy on SportsCenter every once in a while, when he does something truly outlandish. Not me. I get him 24 fucking 7.

Me and the Philly Phanatic.

Going Places.

Fuck Yeah.

Economy PLUS

2008-06-16T17:24:00.000-07:00

Short vacations are always the hardest. Just as you begin to settle into a nice groove of boozing from the time you get up till the early morning hours, your are rudely thrust back into the sweaty-balled work week we all love to hate. This sobering transition is not made any easier by the fact that the return trip from your vacation location usually involves a plane ride, which implies any number of head crushing, leg cramping, and/or vomit inducing side effects. Crying babies, zero legroom, smelly people (ex. Jimmy), middle seats, 5$ booze drinks, overzealous TSA officers, etc. Let me tell you, these are not easy things to take when your Sunday morning starts with Screwdrivers, beers, and Colorado KB.

It was just this situation that I found myself in yesterday, sitting in the Denver airport, waiting to board and trudge back to row 20, when I had the idea to ask if an exit row seat was available so that I could stretch out my limbs and possibly sleep for a hot minute. The guy behind the counter seemed turned off by my request at first but after I told him about my height he understood. He told me that a Economy Plus seat was available, in the 7th row, but I would have to sit middle (I already had a window). I asked him how much and he said 50$ but that he was offering it to me for free and I better take it. Before saying yes he printed the new boarding pass and tore up the old one. Just what does Economy plus get you? About 5 inches of extra leg room, a big plus, but worth giving up a window for a middle? Now just slow down there one second. But the decision had been made, "fair is fair," I guess.

As I sat down in 7E I noticed a few of the bad signs, baby across the isle, guy next to me who didn't want to put the armrest down, overhead bins that didn't want to close; it was an ominous situation at best. Except for one thing, a total hard-body sitting next to me. As it turns out, she is Tanith Belbin, a Canadian-born ice dancer who has won several international competitions and will be competing in her second winter Olympics in 2010 (she won silver in 2006, for the USA). [On a side note, this gorgeous 23 year old informed me that she will be retiring shortly after the '10 games.] Unfortunately she is dating some fellow skater named Evan, so the mile-high club was a little out of the question, but that didn't stop me from casting more than a few glances her way.

Tanith and I really hit it off, once I spoke to her for the first time, which was about 15 minutes before we got off the plane. I would give you the details of our captivating, sexually charged conversation but I don't want to blog down the blog with personal details. Lets just say that Evan better watch his girl, because, I've always had a thing for hard-bodies who enjoy being thrown into the air while traveling at high speeds on a hard surface. Doesn't everybody? I'll leave you with something Tanith recently wrote on her MySpace blog, (yes, the stalking has begun):
"Have a great summer, take a vacation, and don't forget that change can absolutely be a good thing."
Rarely has better advice been offered Tanith, just be ready to make some changes of your own...

A Lack of Foresight

2008-06-06T05:54:00.000-07:00

Dollar beer night. That was my idea for a Phillies game promotion. Charge a buck a beer, only let in people 21 and older, see what happens. It worked with hot dogs, right?

Obviously, this was something I just blurted out after paying $6.75 for a beer that I spilled half of on the way back to my seat, so I did not fully understand the implications of a dollar beer night at Citizens Bank Park.

Needless to say, it would probably be absoulute mayhem.

On Dollar Dog Night, you have people competing against each other to see how many they can eat, people rushing hot dog vendors and yelling obscene things at them, and people littering the field with their dogs. Hey, it's only a buck, right?

And that's just with a hot dog, imagine something even higher in alcohol content.

Luckily, we do not have to imagine. Thanks to the 1974 Cleveland Indians, we know exactly what would happen, as they hosted a 10 cent beer night (10 cents!) that July against the Rangers.

Very brief background: The Indians sucked. Cleveland sucked. Their fans sucked. And people love booze. Here are some quotes from an article I read about the evening.

"Even though the Indians offered copious amounts of beer at cut-rate prices, a great many attendees opted to play with a handicap, arriving at their seats drunk, stoned or both."

I love the term "playing with a handicap." Can we start using that to let people know we have been pre-gaming since last Thursday?

"Through deliberate coordination or spontaneous groupthink, hundreds of fans showed up with pockets full of firecrackers."

This is absolutely hilarious, and one of the perils I never even considered with a discount beer night. Imagine if the Phillies had this promotion, and you knew about it months in advance. I'm pretty sure fireworks would be the least dangerous thing people were bringing in.

"Anonymous explosions peppered the stands from the first pitch."

Way to not waste any time.

"...lending the game a war-zone ambiance...along with clouds of exploded gunpowder and marijuana smoke."

Holler.

"A few pitches later, a heavyset woman sitting near first base jumped the wall, ran to the Indians' on-deck circle, and bared her enormous, unhindered breasts."

You know, maybe this wouldn't be such a bad idea after all...

"The rain of beer became a hail of rocks, batteries, golf balls and anything not bolted down"

Ahh, batteries. If there is ever a hall of fame for projectiles, batteries have to be a first ballot, right? So simple, so small, so very painful. If I ever find myself routinely bringing batteries to sporting events, in the off-chance that J.D. Drew or John Rocker show up, I know I will have led a successful life.

In the ninth inning, things started to heat up. A fan jumped onto the field from the outfield seats and knocked the cap off one of the Rangers outfielders, who ended up tripping while trying to confront the fan.

The Rangers manager, Billy Martin, was understandably upset about one of his players being accosted.

""Let's go get 'em boys," he said, arming himself with a fungo bat and sprinting toward right-center field. The Rangers followed him."

Soon after, the 25 Rangers players quickly found themselves surrounded by 200 angry drunks.

From that point, things got out of control and I wish YouTube had been around. Basically, the Indians players all grabbed bats to go help the Rangers. There was literally a fight between the ballplayers and the fans. Athletes were hitting fans with bats, and vice versa. The ballplayers were eventually able to run away, and the fans then just started a giant riot, stealing everything on the field.

"Perhaps attempting to soothe the riotous beast, the organist then played 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame.'"

All in all, it seemed like a pretty successful promotion. The Phils don't need to do dollar beer night, they could bump it up to two or three dollars...even five would be nice.

Bottom line, I just want cheaper beer....and the chance to steal home plate, flash the umpires, and hit a few ballplayers with some batteries.

Air Madness: The Larry Mendte Story

2008-06-04T10:40:00.000-07:00

There is nothing better than a scandal involving public figures. We’ve had a couple of good ones recently, including the whole Elliot Spitzer/prostitution thing, and the Larry Craig bathroom stall incident. Hillary Clinton claimed she landed in Bosnia under sniper fire, then someone got a hold of a tape recording of the landing, and shes calmly striding across the runway shaking hands with a bunch of army guys, with a smile on her face and Chelsea in tow. Of course, maybe the only thing better than an awesome scandal is one that involves some hometown players.

I’m talking about this whole Larry Mendte-Alycia Lane situation that’s been playing itself out recently. Quick re-cap: back in ’03, Mendte switched from anchoring the NBC 10 news to working for CBS 3 (sideline: remember when it was NBC 3 and CBS 10? Hurricane Schwartz is the only survivor from those days), and CBS 3 at that time also brought in Lane from an affiliate in Miami as essentially a hired gun to boost ratings. Prior to 2003, CBS 3 had devolved into showing nothing but The Price is Right, Letterman, Kilborn, King of Queens, and dead air. The Lane and Mendte one-two punch was lights out for the other networks, and the pair were seemingly unstoppable.

Things began to unravel when Mendte became overshadowed by Lane, someone who he saw as just another pretty face, not a serious journalist (Mendte’s job before NBC 10? He was an ‘anchor’ on Access Hollywood- so he’s a real Edward R. Murrow type). Then it came out that she sent photos of herself in a swimsuit to Rich Eisen via email, emails which were accessed by Eisen’s wife, who totally Hextalled him by revealing the whole thing to the public. Then, over the winter, Lane and her current boyfriend and then Q102 DJ, Booker, were partying in Manhattan, when Lane decided to get into drunken fisticuffs with NYPD cops. She was arrested on the spot and promptly fired. In those long-ago and carefree days of the winter of ’07-’08, this was all a source of great entertainment to me and millions of others in the Philadelphia area.

Interestingly, Booker was also fired recently. A Q102 spokesperson told the Associated Press that Booker was fired from his position as host of ‘Booker In The Morning’ because the music station was, quote, ‘trying to reduce the number of complete douchebags on the station by exactly one.’

Degrees of separation between myself and Alycia Lane: Four. My coworker’s girlfriend had a brief but hilarious affair with Booker while said coworker and his girlfriend were ‘on a break,’ and Booker of course still dates Lane.

The latest chapter in the Lane-Mendte saga cannot top Lane slugging a cop and screaming ‘I’m a reporter, Bitch!’ Yet it is still awesome. The FBI served a search warrant on Mendte’s home in Chestnut Hill, 19118, and seized computers and related evidence. The charges? That he accessed her private email account, which is illegal, like opening someone else’s mail. Mendte’s wife is Dawn Stensland, anchor for the cheap yet effective Fox News. This came about because Mensa-society member Larry Mendte left the window open on the computer at work he was using to snoop in her account, and a Lane loyalist who continues to work at CBS 3 alerted the authorities.

Mendte is now himself on the sidelines, benched while this whole thing plays out. Here is my question…how can I get into someone else’s email accounts and read their emails? Thus far, the stalking of my ex-girlfriend can only go as far as constantly monitoring the comments on her Facebook page and driving by her house twenty times a day. Having the ability to read her emails would be a huge win for me. Furthermore, I would like to talk with Mr. Mendte about somehow accessing the text message inbox and outbox on her cell-phone. That would also be a big help.

Rob's Happy Time Adult Water Park

2008-05-30T05:23:00.000-07:00

I'm more of an "idea man" than 0ne of those crazy "men of action." Definitely more into sitting back, coming up with a kick-ass idea, and then letting all the suckers run around like mad trying to make it happen. So I will use this space to let you, the people, in on some of my plans. I'm not a jealous or greedy man either, so if you like one of my ideas, feel free to take it and run with it.

So far, this has not happened yet. I'm constantly saying things like "You know what would be cool..." or "Listen to this..." or even "I've got a great idea..." which is then usually followed up with some totally rad, awesomest invention ever - like chocolate chicken, blacklight tattoos, or guitars that are, like, double guitars. For some reason, nobody is following me around with a notepad and pencil copying everything I say word-for-word and then analyzing it all to find little nuggets of gold that I am just dropping day in and day out.

However, I believe this is all about to change with my latest idea: an adult water park.

It's pretty much a no-brainer. Whenever you add the word 'adult' to the front of something that is already good, preferably something really sweet from your childhood (playgrounds, beverages, diapers, etc..), it makes it even more rockin'.

So we are going to take the beloved water park of our youth, and adult it up a little bit.

First, so we are all on the same page, let's just reflect on regular water parks right now. If anybody is familiar with the water park on the Ocean City boardwalk, or Dorney Park's Wild Water Kingdom, that is a good jumping-off point. I have heard about a place called Wolf Lodge, or something like that, which is indoors and has a hotel attached to it (this is more along the lines of what we are talking about).

So "kiddie" water parks, as we will now call them, are kind of loud, and for some reason, I am picturing them being very sticky. When you pay money you get a bracelet, and the color on your bracelet lets you know how long you can stay (Attention: Everyone wearing an orange bracelet will need to exit the park by 1:15). We will probably adopt this tactic for our adult park, but I am not sure exactly how it will be utilized.

The big draws at any kiddie water park are the real tall loopy slides, one for tubes and one not for tubes. These require climbing up a mountain of stairs, sometimes with an inner tube being lugged behind you, to wait in a line for your chance to slide all the way to the bottom into a big pool. There is also a ride, heretofore known as "Shotgun Falls," that is just a wide, open-aired slide, one or two bumbs in it, that spits you out about 10 feet above the actual pool. It feels like you are being shot out of a cannonball...or better yet, a shotgun. Actually, even better yet, like you're the cork being popped off a bottle of champagne (an aspect we will certainly need to take advantage of for our adult park).

Now, while these are the glitzy, showy rides that get you in the door, the real lifeblood, the backbone of any water park worth its salt, is the Lazy River.

Ah yes, the lazy river is a magical place. Winding around the perimeter of the park, sometimes even cutting through the middle, the lazy river is the perfect spot to chillax after an intense morning on Shotgun Falls. There are inner tubes aplenty, bridges to go under, and sometimes even waterfalls. It is a great way to see the entire park, and catch some rays while you're at it.

The most important part about our adult water park, besides the booze, is the fact that it will be indoors. If you've ever been in one of those artificial tropical rain forests (I believe there is one at the Baltimore Aquarium), that is the feel we are going for. There will be plenty of live plants on the ground, maybe growing on the walls, and some sections where there is a cool mist.

The three or four stories will all be open, so you will be able to meander along the lazy river, look up, and see someone all the way at the top about to go down one of the tall, loopy slides.

Now let's just cover the booze here for a second. There won't be any cash exchanged when buying beers or mixed drinks, that all gets taken care of with your bracelet. There is a skybar, at the very top of the building, where you can really get down to the serious drinking. Then, when you're done, you can just jump into one of those tall, loopy slides and coast all the way to the bottom. Once you're down there, I recommend burning some energy in the tide pool, checking out (newly renamed) Champagne Falls, and swimming up to one of the swim-up bars for some frozen cocktails. After you do all that, it's time to get busy in the Lazy River.

Grab an inner tube, grab a drink, and just float around the park. There will be HD TVs scattered about, maybe a water-resistant foosball table, you get the idea. Also, there will be a section of the park for beer sports, with a floating beer pong table and maybe some mini-golf.

I haven't got all the details worked out, but that's not really my job.

So let's say it's a real hot day in the middle of August. You've done the beach, you've done the mall and the movies, and your AC is on the fritz.

Come on down to Rob's Happy Time Adult Water Park! The lifeguards are strippers and the booze is free!!

(note: booze is not actually free)

A plea for equity

2008-05-20T13:39:00.000-07:00

OK- so espn.com just reported that our old friend (and by friend, I mean outrageously casual acquaintance) Matt Ryan got $35 million guaranteed from the Falcons. This has thrown me into quite a shame spiral made only worse by my overall lack of hygiene and outlook on life. I have decided to come up with a list of achievements that I have accomplished over the course of my life which make me, and not cannon-armed Matt Ryan, over-qualified for a $35 million bonus.

7 years old: during a belching contest with my babysitter (Jamal, brother of Mrs. Jimmy Rollins) I successfully belched and broke wind simultaneously, thus victoriously eliminating Jamal

Also 7 years old: while sitting on my father's lap during a Phils game, I "sharted," thus staining his pants. Upon further inflection, I probably needed to be referred to a gastrointerologist during my 8th year of life

12 years old: upon receiving unmerited criticism that I in fact had a "rat tail" despite clear and convincing evidence to the contrary, I threw a temper tantrum which resulted in a physical stand-off with a lesbian gym teacher on a crowded school bus. While I avoided a pesky "suspension" I had to later apologize to the teacher. After doing that, I returned to my lunch table and bragged to my friends about how the apology was completely without feeling or emotion only to look into their eyes and see the classic "dear lord, she is standing right behind you and you're in the process of being too loud" look in their eyes. Shortly thereafter, a subsequent apology was quickly followed by an afternoon in the principal's office.

15 years old: During evening rehearsals of "Fiddler on the Roof" my friend and I thought it would be truly groundbreaking to craft strawberry smoothies with an extra special ingredient. After wild and flamboyant advertisements of the concoction to anyone who would listen, we hoarded it from all friends. This aroused suspicion among teacher/chaperons who were there. This resulted in a Spanish teacher drinking all of it. We're not clear how his night ended but it is reasonable to suspect that it included Snickers Ice Cream bars and French Electronica music.

19 years old: After hearing that a dear friend would be in Israel for two weeks, I planned large pool and alcohol parties on his property. Trash was left both in and near the pool, various cleaning ladies dimed me out upon witnessing the raucous soirees which occurred nightly, and, long story short, I've never been as welcome there ever since.

As you can see, I'm not entirely sure who Matt Ryan thinks he is, but let me tell you, he is not better than either you or me and, frankly, we should all be entitled to a cut of his astronomical salary. If the aforementioned character portrayals aren't persuasive, then, tell me, what is?

Jayson Werth: True American Hero

2008-05-17T19:18:00.000-07:00

Is It Too Early to Buy a DeSean Jackson Jersey?

2008-05-15T08:34:00.000-07:00

Just a simple question:

Is it too early to buy a DeSean Jackson jersey?

I know all about the Eagles success with drafting wide receivers, and I know rookies in general hardly ever make an impact on Andy Reid's teams, and I know the guy is 170 lbs. soaking wet, but does that mean it's too early to buy a DeSean Jackson jersey?

Personally, I am a little pumped right now, because I just had this revelation that the Eagles got the steal of the draft. True, I also had this revelation after reading a Dave Spadaro On The Inside column, which is pretty much like drinking Midnight Green Kool-Aid, but it was a revelation nonetheless.

Let's just take a look at the facts first. The guy was one of the best players in the country his senior year of high school at Long Beach Poly, which is a football powerhouse. He was recruited by every major program and chose to stay local and go to Cal. His senior year he earned First Team All-American honors, caught 65 balls for 6 TDs, and returned a kick and a punt. The year before he caught 9 TDs and returned 4 punts for TDs. Pretty impressive.

He was also projected to be a sure-fire first round pick, but teams passed on him due to character issues (who doesn't have character issues anymore?), and his diminuitive size. To that I say, look at Brian Westbrook, look at Allen Iverson, and look at Mark McGwire when he first came into the majors (sidenote: the NFL does not test for HGH). The guy will be playing wide receiver and returning kicks and punts. He doesn't need to be huge. It helps to be big if you're not as talented as him (Plaxico I'm looking at you), but with his skill, all the Birds need to do is find a way to get him the ball and he'll be juking and jiving all over the place. Barry Sanders was never a big guy, but the reason he never really got hurt is because it was hard to get a clean shot on him. Defenders were more worried about just bringing him to the ground than delivering vicious blows.

He has been working out with Jerry Rice (Jerry Rice!) for a while now, who is teaching him the ins and outs of the position (how to deceive a corner, how to get off the line of scrimmage, etc...), as well as how to stay healthy, how to train, and also the business side of the game. Forget about the Super Bowl rings and the MVP awards, I'm pretty sure this guy won Dancing With The Stars.

So he's got that going for him.

Which is nice.

Some other nice things about DeSean Jackson are his number (18), and his clear visor (not as intimidating as B-Dawk's all-black tint, but kind of sweet in its own right).

The Eagles are a veteran team, with a lot of good pieces in place. DeSean Jackson doesn't need to be a savior on this team, which is a role he would probably fail in. He just needs to be a piece of the puzzle. I think he is exactly the kind of player that can do that.

Maybe he'll take it to the house a couple of times on kick-offs or punts. Maybe he'll have a handful of catches for some big yardage, maybe he'll be another weapon for D-Mac to get the ball to, either way, I think it's just about the right time to buy a DeSean Jackson jersey.

It's probably already been said...

2008-05-08T05:48:00.000-07:00

Great Phils game last night. I think the Phils and D-Backs could have an interesting East-West rivalry over the next few years because they both have a surplus of talent, play hard, and are well-managed. That being said, as I watched last night, D-Back (the obvious slur/pun for their fan names is just too easy so I'll abstain) fans behind home plate nearly ruined my entire viewing experience.

It is officially time to ban the "I'm on my cell phone in the background of the shot and I'm waiving into the camera like a complete dunce and not paying attention to the game whatsoever even though these tickets cost more than feeding a homeless person for a month" "fans" from the game altogether. I genuinely can not think of a tackier, me-first move at the ballpark. This type of buffonery needs to stay with Toomey and Co. in FDR well before the first pitch is thrown.

It ruins the game for the fans watching on TV. It makes puts the violator in perpetual fan purgatory without the chance of redemptipon. Have these folks never seen themselves on TV before? Have their idiot friends who text them "DUDE, YOU'LL NEVER GUESS IT, WE CAN SEE YOUR LEFT SLEEVE ON TV WHEN UTLEY TAKES HIS WARM-UP SWINNNGGGSSSS, CALL ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW!" never had a more exciting moment in their life than this? This hand-waving crap does the opposite of Jebediah Springfield- it enlittles every man.

In conclusion, let me state that if for some reason I or anyone else on this blog ever gets seats to the game where his visage is in the periphery of a camera 4 shot during a game, please, I beg you, don't be that loser on his phone not paying attention to the game. You go to the game to see Victorino's hustle and Howard's power, not yourself. If you're more worried about yourself and your appearance on TV, do us all a favor and stay home and hang out with Howard Eskin and his horseshit crew all day.

More on Drunk Driving

2008-05-05T13:25:00.000-07:00

You know in the 40-Year-Old Virgin where that drunk girl makes Steve Carell blow into the breathalyzer thing in her car? Apparently that is called the Interlock Device, and is a very serious thing. A lot of organizations, like MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving), have been pushing to get these added to cars, not just the cars of serial drunk drivers or alcoholics, but all cars.

It looks like a very strong reality in the next 5-10 years, and in theory seems like a great idea: You get in the car, blow in it, and if you blow over a .3 or something, the car will shut down and not start. That way there won't be any drunk drivers on the road and nobody will get mowed down. Hard to be against that, right?

Well there is a website called interlockfacts.com that is actually quite against it. They have a well-publicized advertisement in USA Today showing a picture of Lindsay Lohan, with the caption A Good Idea For Her (meaning this device is good for her), and then three other pictures of what look like a wedding party and some other normal, social functions, and the caption A Bad Idea For Us. Basically the point they are making is that this interlock device really should only be used on total lunatics who are most likely alcoholics, and not the good, hard-working, hard-drinking people of everyday America.

And I totally agree.

Drunk driving is a choice. Sure, it might be illegal, but I feel like I have the right to choose to break the law. Keep your rosaries off my ovaries, and so forth.

If we let this happen, soon we will need to blow into all sorts of things just to get them to work.

Oh, and for full disclosure, it turns out this Interlock Facts website was created by the liquor industry.

On a related note, the Philadelphia Eagles currently have 3 pro-bowl caliber cornerbacks and 0 pro-bowl caliber wide receivers.

Should we trade one of our corners for a WR? Should we keep all 3 corners and be totally stacked at that position? Is Lito going to stay happy all season? Can we get the media to not totally sabotage the situation by bringing it up every day? And does Asante Samuel seem like a total mercenary to you, too? I feel like he is not the kind of guy to go up to Lito and be like "It's a unique situation we're in let's be cool about it." I see him more being like "If he dies, he dies."

Go Sixers and Eagles and Phillies!

2008-04-30T19:34:00.000-07:00

I write just moment after the Flyers won 4-2 against the Canadians to take a 3-1 series lead in the conference semis. I did not watch. I was watching the Phils game, though, when the crowd erupted between pitches of an otherwise inconsequential at-bat. At first I was thinking either a) streaker or b) college night brawl but I soon found out it occurred because the Fly-Guys scored a go-ahead goal to go up 3-2 in the third period. It was at this moment that I had an epiphany: The Flyers are going to win the Stanley Cup in about a month. There will be parades and celebrations and shirtlessness that only men like Reekie and other assorted women abusers can really cherish. And for this championship-starved fan living in the ultimate championship-starved city, I will be fucking pissed.

Hockey really stinks. I must admit that I am biased, though, because I hate cold weather and I can’t skate. I never followed it growing up nor did any of the male role models in my life (my Dad and Phillip Banks). I realize that I’m in the minority here- especially in Philly- but just hear me out.

First off, I can’t imagine a worse spectator sport than hockey. I honestly think polo would be easier to follow on TV. The puck is too small and the action is too fast. I used to love the “Fox Streak” thing that would follow the puck around, but apparently hockey purists were able to do away with it. Line changes occur mid-play and there is never enough time for cameras to zoom in on players’ faces like they can do in baseball or basketball. So, I bet you’re thinking, “What about Football? There are unlimited substitutions and you can’t see players’ faces there, either.” Let me cut you off right there. If you’re really comparing hockey to football you live in Calgary, own Molson stock, and worship Jim Carrey. Stop reading this blog and feel free to proceed to www.ilovecanadabutnotasmuchasgaysexanddavecoulier.com.

Goals in hockey are always really tough to figure out and/or get excited about. Almost all of them occur either as a scrum in front of the net where some Canuck finally bulldozes an Eastern Bloc refugee and the puck just happens to cross the line or some deflection off a slap shot that happens so quickly the viewer can’t react until the resulting face-off. (Note: I do respect the skill and hand-eye coordination of those forwards who are great deflectors of the puck, it just sucks to try to follow as a fan). In soccer, goals occur after fierce counter-attacks, winding free kicks, or individual efforts worthy of international praise. Hockey goals are the heavy-handed, awkward, and clumsy cousin to Maradonna’s and Ronaldinho’s messiah. Think: an aqua velva approach vs. officer harper’s approach.

If this blog had an editor who pared down the length of our articles, all paragraphs of this entry except this one would go. Hockey’s tradition, customs, players, and overall outlook on life are ridiculously un-American. The players come from Canada and Eastern Europe, the announcers and ESPN commentators all have that weird “ah-boot” and “eh” twang to their drawl, and the sport has almost no player base in American like AAU basketball teams, Pop Warner football teams, and American Legion baseball teams. As a result, there will be no influx of American talent or interest in the sport in the next generation. I say, let’s let lacrosse or soccer be the fourth major sport in our market.

I’d like to conclude with the recent trends in the National Hockey League which hammer home my point that hockey stinks. Fighting is all but prohibited now. This is absolutely ridiculous. If I have to sit through two and half hours of a glorified Canadian speed-skating contest, I sure as fuck better see some god damn fists-of-fury action. Forget Gretzky and Messier, I’d prefer a little more Holyfield and Hopkins. I suppose this is so the sport can become more “family friendly.” Its real consequence, however, is weeding out Broad Street Bully aficionados and rolling out the red carpet for Jort-tastic, vegetarian couples with kids from Manitoba. Next, there are now points for overtime losses. Let me say this again. You get rewarded in hockey for losing. Could there be a more perverse statistical category in the history of sports? I mean, we’ve all fooled around with out 3rd cousins at in-laws’ weddings, but we don’t a gold fucking star for doing so. Next, there are now safety nets which cover approximately a third of the area around the arena. As if the puck wasn’t hard to enough to follow in the first place, Batman and Wonder Woman’s superhuman robotic kid couldn’t even see the puck at this point. Lastly, the size of the goals has increased while the dimensions of goalies’ pads have decreased. Can you think of a more gimmicky ploy? What if Bud Selig decided, let’s push the pitcher’s mound back to 70 feet and pull the bases in to 80 feet. America would be up in arms. You know no one gives a shit about hockey when none of these BS “alterations” to the game caused any sort of reaction other than “who the fuck is Gary Bettman?” It’s simply not our national pastime or even tolerated adopted step-child of a sport. It’s more like that lingering dutch-over fart that no only ruins morning sex, it ruins your boxers, too.

Sammy D Keeps It Really Real

2008-04-30T17:04:00.000-07:00

It is tradition in sports for players to do superstitious, wacky, and sometimes just plain ridiculous things to get themselves hyped for the playoffs. Beards are pretty common (LETS GO FLYERS!!), wearing the same socks or underwear for every game or maybe wearing headbands or making up a new cool handshake--they all get the job done.

Sammy D joined the fun last night with quite a splash. Sammy has dabbled with different hair styles before, ever since high school actually. He rocked a beautiful fro back in the day, has kept it tight and fresh at other times, briefly had cornrows when Ivey was still in town, and then there is his usual variations of twists and braids that fit his Haitian roots quite well. Even with these versatile styles, no one could forecast the powerful display Sammy rocked last night.

Sammy Bear was sporting an incredible pseudo fohawk expertly crafted with tight even lines on both sides--but the party didn't stop there! In graffiti type shaving he had 'SD' on one side presumably for Samuel Dalembert, but as he later clarified it also stood for 'Strong Defense.' You Kiddin' Me!? Brilliant! On the otherside it appeared to say 'LT,' which as Zumoff reported was for a 'loved one.' Oh man! (Check out the game tape here )

It was also reported that Sammy asked his teammates if it was cool for him to do this. Has there ever been a more lovable basketball player?! (One guy does come to mind...) But even when Sammy is goal tending or crossing over and taking 18 foot fadeaways you can only laugh. And when he hits that fadeaway? Hah! You kiddin me!? Do it again Sammy, just because I love you childish passion for the game. Sammy is also an international ambassador of basketball, community service, and compassion.

Sammy and the Sixers didn't have a great game, but I like to think that had more to do with the Pistons simply not missing and a few calls going the wrong way. I can only hope we get to catch Sammy D and his masterpiece again tomorrow night and if we are lucky maybe, just maybe, the new 'do can carry us onto another round.

Let's Go Sixers!

Hanged Over

2008-04-28T09:58:00.000-07:00

I was recently watching a tv show in which a concerned mother engaged in 30 days of binge-drinking as a way to reach out to her 19-year-old, party-hearty daughter.

It may be a stretch to call it "responsible programming," but it was not without impact. Specifically, watching a mother and daughter getting hammered for an hour definitely has some high comedic value.

I personally enjoyed watching the mom, who was a fitness buff, handle the hangovers. She gave up on her morning runs, stopped making breakfast for her 9-year-old son, and switched from a diet of fruit, fish, and vegetables to pizza and fried chicken.

Watching her stumble around from room to room, sitting in chairs with her hands on her head, and complain about any noise or light in her general vicinity, was hilarious, but also, very relatable.

You see, after sleeping, working, and drinking, I probably spend the majority of my life dealing with some degree or stage of a hangover.

From the Tuesday morning, went-out-to-watch-a-ballgame-Monday-night-and-had-one-too-many-beers-now-I-am-tired-and-angry-and-at-work hangover, to the Sunday morning, dear-God-I-hate-myself-has-anyone-ever-died-from-a-hangover-I'm-never-drinking-again hangover, I have experienced them all.

Sometimes hangovers are very straightforward; you go out and get drunk and the next day you feel bad. Case closed.

Other times they are a bit sneakier. Sometimes you may only have a few beers, but for whatever reason, you cannot function the next day. Or there is the inevitable "delayed hangover" : you wake up feeling great, ready to rock and roll. Fast forward 3 hours later and you are resting your head on a La-Z-Boy with your knees on the ground, an untouched glass of water by your hand, and the TV turned on but with the sound on mute. Good times.

Unfortunately, that last example happens all too often to me. And I always get fooled. So you had 19 beers and 3 shots, went to bed at 6 and woke up at 9 and you're feeling great? Doesn't seem a little suspicious? Nope, not to me, I am ready to start making all sorts of plans for the day, especially ones involving running around in the heat and drinking beers. Then noon comes and I am lying comatose and groaning on my basement floor. Unfinished basement, I might add.

One fun thing I like to do with my hangovers is blame them on one particular action of mine, and not the sum of all my gross debaucheries.

For example, "Man, I shouldn't have done that last shot of tequila, that's why I feel so bad right now."

What I am saying here is that very last shot of tequila is the one that caused the hangover. The first four shots were totally cool, as were all the beers and rum and cokes and cigarettes and adderol and 6 am cheesesteaks. If I only refrained from that last shot though, I would be right now running a tri-marathon.

Blaming it on a particular type of alochol, as opposed to the amount consumed, also works well in this situation:

"From now on I'm drinking Miller Lite, Budweiser always gives me a hangover."

The thing about hangovers is, everybody gets them (if you're doing your job properly, that is), and yet there are so many different "cures" out there.

Personally, I like for each hangover to dictate my reaction.

Others swear by certain "treatments," such as: pounding water, sleeping all day, drinking beers, smoking weed, exercising, watching television, eating fried foods, a greasy breakfast, or an expensive sandwich, drinking tomato juice, gatorade, vitamin water, or ginger ale, taking a cold shower, going swimming, and slurpees.

As I mentioned above, dealing with hangovers is probably fourth on my list if I ever kept a journal of my daily actions. If the above "treatments" I mentioned seem all too familiar to you, chances are you're in the same boat as me.

(scratch that, if you're reading this blog you're in the same boat as me).

Cheers!

(followed closely by regrets).

They Said It

2008-04-24T20:05:00.000-07:00

Kyrylo Fesenko, Jazz center, to a writer whose media credential was dated 20008:

"Were you sent here to kill us all?"

TO Spotted at Hardcore Porn Shoot!!

2008-04-23T21:40:00.000-07:00

Well it looks like TO is spending some quality time in Miami at a porn shoot. I always thought if he was hanging with pornstars it would be more like this this crowd. The site that posted the picture, BangBros, is based in Miami where Drew Rosenhaus is also based. After some reflection I can't really hate on this move--in fact if I were in Miami and had nothing else to do hell, maybe I would go hangout with the BangBros.

Philly's Most Wanted

2008-04-21T17:54:00.000-07:00

You know when I was a boy,
folks used to say to me
"Slow down Dewey, don't walk so hard"
And I used to tell them
Life's a race, and I'm in it to win it
And I'll walk as damn hard as I please
-Dewey Cox

I don't know about you guys, but Brad Lidge nearly gave me a heart attack Sunday night; after Reyes got on base, I could almost see the proverbial broom coming down on us for the series sweep, like we just got zapped by a malfunctioning shrinking ray after a freak backyard baseball accident and our nutty inventor dad Walter Szalinski was unknowingly trying to dispose of us in the dustbin. Thanks to prolific fielding by Bruntlett and competent fielding by our first baseman, we scraped our way to a 2-4 record against the Mets, who we don't see again until July (the most patriotic of months). I guess maybe thats not too much to be excited about, but at least we avoided the sweep and we won't have to pitch to David Wright again until after the true dog days of summer are upon us.
After the loss on Friday night, Richards, Rob and I took a little trip up Broad St from Pattison to have a few beers, and after jamming out to 'Time To Pretend' by MGMT and becoming fully pumped to drink Heinekens and Jagerbombs all night (also check out 'Love always Remains'), we arrived at the new Marbar at 10th and Walnut, a place that subsequently was turned upside down by our raucous behavior and boozy natures...but while most of the 2-1-5 squad was in attendance, including but not limited to BdOd and BC, one member was conspicuously absent. In fact, no one has seen or heard from him since March 12th, when he posted the inappropriately named and unfortunate blog article "Better than the Best Sex with Oshun, the Afrocarribean Goddess of Sex."
I'm talking of course about Perfect Friend. You know, many people approached me after he posted that rambling collection of apparently nonsensical, 'stream-of-consciousness' writings, supremely concerned for his well-being. Invariably the words 'relapse' and 'rehab' were used over and over to discuss his condition, but the truth is no one knew what his situation was; by that time he had already severed all social ties and stopped showing up to work at the museum and the library. Indications are that his final blog entry was less of a 'canary in in the mineshaft' situation as it was perhaps his last stab at participating in reality, albeit completely unsuccessfully.
So where is he? I wish I knew. Some suggestions are as follows; that he and Charles Patrick are on a Crocodile Dundee-style "Walkabout" in the New Mexico badlands, subsisting purely on peyote, poisonous berries, and puddle water, all the while attempting to create abstract art and writing children's books; he's in Brazil, living a Col. Kurtz type lifestyle as warrior/poet/deity in charge of a primitive tribe of Incans deep in the rainforest; he got into law school and moved away to go to law school; him and Dr. Bonnie went into business together catering weddings, confirmations, and track banquets at Dugan's on the Blvd.
Of course, until we hear from Perfect Friend directly, its all pure speculation. Matt Steuer literally disappeared one day, and then the outgoing message on his cell-phone was this young girl's barely audible voice, and we never heard from him again. Bizarre. Of course, maybe our Perfect Friend has simply taken some time off to walk bold and hard down life's rocky road...yes, something tells me one day Perfect Friend will be back, and he will better than ever.

A Great Sports Weekend

2008-04-21T06:04:00.000-07:00

A lot of things happened this weekend. The Sixers upset the Pistons to go up 1-0 in the playoffs, the Phillies battled back against the Mets to prevent a sweep, and the circus came to town.

I could only pick one thing to write about, and if you were watching the late innings of the Phillies 5-4 win on Sunday night, you would know exactly what I am talking about. The kind of once-in-a-lifetime moment that has the ability to be greater than a playoff win, a 2-hr day by Chase Utley, and a high-wire trapeze act combined.

That's right, I'm talking about the Philadelphia debut of one T.J. Bohn.

In the game of baseball, you get used to seeing a lot of faces pass through a team during the course of a grueling 162 game season.

Some are hot-shot rookies who get called up from AA ball at the age of 19 and never go back to the minors.

Some are journeymen catchers, who battle back and forth between AAA ball and the Show, eventually earning a roster spot on the way to becoming a 33-year-old rookie.

Some make memorable first impressions - guys like Sal Fasano and Mike Zagurski. You remember the first time you saw them play, because of the extreme facial hair or the fact that a professional athlete still has his baby fat.

Others are not so memorable, but end up playing a big part in that team's future, a guy like Kyle Kendrick for example. When he first got called up, he was part of a group of young pitchers all trying to help the team during an arms shortage. I don't remember anything that stood out about Kendrick compared to some of the other guys, but fast-forward a few months later and he's a 10-game winner.

I can definitely tell you I was more excited about Zagurski than Kendrick, but right now I am definitely feeling better about Kendrick.

So these first impressions can be a lot of things - misleading, a sign of things to come, not very important at all, or maybe even life-changing.

The reason I am bringing all of this up, of course, it because last night could very well have been the most important moment in the history of the Philadelphia Baseball Phillies. The introduction of one T.J. (Thomas Joseph) Bohn. Now before you get all excited about a guy named T.J. Bohn, please keep in mind that it is not pronounced 'Bone,' but is pronounced to rhyme with 'swan.' Still, the guy has a mullet.

He took a couple good hacks and looked at a ball right down the middle of the plate to quickly get his first Phillies at-bat over and done with. I like that, no need to make a big deal of it and spend a bunch of time fouling off pitches. No, just get up there, take your cuts, and get back to that dugout, Bohn. Time to grab some sunflower seeds and relax.

So who knows what to expect of this T.J. Bohn. He's got a great name, a great mullet, and he takes great hacks. What you do know is that some guys get an opportunity and never let go (Victorino, Shane) others get multiple chances and never take advantage of them, or at least wait until they are on another team (Floyd, Gavin). Still others just end up robbing you (Garcia, Freddy).

Only time will tell.

So picture yourself on a hot day in late August. The Phils are battling back against the Mets and the pitcher is due up. When you find yourself asking, "Is T.J. Bohn available to pinch-hit," remember this day, remember me, and, above all else, remember that Bohn was sent back to the minors less than 10 days after making his debut and has not been heard from since.

Rounding third should never be this unpleasant

2008-04-16T08:50:00.000-07:00

Last night's Phillies game against the Houston Astros was as triumphant as the final class presentation of Bill S. Preston, Esq. & and "Ted" Theodore Logan which allowed Ted to stay in Cali and form the Wyld Stallyns. ("SAN DIMAS HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL RULES!") I don't think I've ever seen the boys in red play such inspired ball in the bottom of the ninth after looking all but asleep against Shawn Chacon & Co. in the previous 8.

A guy who I had never heard of, Chris Snelling, got things going with a bang. Burrell followed up his efforts with an inconceivable bomb to right to tie the score at 3. Following a pesky Gieoaeff Jenkins walk, Pedro Feliz scorched a Velvarde fastball down the left field foul-line.

Freeze this moment.

If you have closely watched the Phils over the last year and a half, you come to expect certain things. Myers is an asshole, Utley is a gamer, Howard is streaky, Victorino is squirrely, Hamels is a heart-throb, Romero is the best player of all, and Rollins does a little shuffle/bat kick/tap thing with his cleat after getting brushed back when he hits lefty. Above all of these certains, however, is the consistently poor job done by Phils third base coach Steve Smith. While attending my first game of the season, I openly disparaged his efforts to Tall Man and others within earshot. Hopefully, after last night, the Phils will go to Criagslist for a potential replacement because his judgment is as sound as one who passes gas in the middle of a set of sit-ups.

With the ball trickling up the line, heady veteran Jenkins watched its trajectory, speed, and angle, along with the actions and pursuit of the Astros left fielder. After getting halfway to third from second, he put his head down and entered endgame mode.

This is where Steve fucking Smith throws up the stop sign. Keep in mind that there is one out and a catcher is coming up next followed by the pitcher's spot. Jenkins has been chugging hard off contact. The game is already tied- if we were still down one this is the right call. If you get thrown out here, we at least go to extras where Romero could potentially pitch eight perfect innings. You gotta send him here. Luckily, heady vet Jenkins declined Smith's advice and ended up scoring on a bang-bang play to win the game.

Two things to take from this event:

1) Steve Smith is always wrong
2) Always go balls deep, especially when it means beating last year's save champ in the bottom of the ninth on Jackie Robinson Day-- for who else so emblazoned images of snatching victory of the jaws of defeat in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds?

A Day At The Links

2008-04-15T20:13:00.000-07:00

As Monday loomed on the horizon this past weekend it looked to be a bad one. I would be leaving California (after 5+ days of boozy good times in 85 degree weather) at 10:40 PM PST (Sunday) and arriving at JFK @ 7:15 AM EST (Monday), knowing that I can't sleep on planes (despite taking Ambien furnished by a friends mom), followed by rush hour traffic into NYC and a ChinaTown bus ride back into Philly, which got me home at high noon with about 1.5 hours of sleep to my name. So what was my move at such an exhausted moment? Play golf of course.

I headed over to Walnut Lane Golf Course (the challenging par 3 5th pictured to the right) knowing that their 16$ greens fees (Walking, After 2 PM, weekdays) would be just what the doctor ordered. I was not disappointed.

As I walked into the clubhouse and began to pay for my greens fee, I noticed a group of four older gentlemen (the only other people in the "newly renovated" space other than the cashier and myself) sitting at a plastic table with beers (2PM = EARLY afternoon drinking). Hearing them carry on about some 'little shits [who] probably don't even live on Martin St.' followed by some serious guffaws, I dismissed them as silly old drunks. However, at the suggestion of the cashier, I turned to see that one of the men was none other than John Chaney. As I admired his camo Phillies hat and Temple windbreaker (circa 1999) the cashier told me that the legendary coach has made Walnut Lane his 'retirement home', coming by almost every day of the week (please read the article, especially the part about what they do after golf). Although I didn't engage Mr. Chaney as much as I would have liked to, I got out "Hey Coach, how's retirement?" to which he replied "not bad," before taking another sip of his beer and getting back to his conversation with fellow old heads. I couldn't hide my smile.

After hitting my tee shot to the 228 yard par 3 4th (pictured), I chipped onto the green only to discover exactly what Chaney and Co. had been discussing. In white spray paint, some hooligans had drawn a 6 foot tall cartoon man with a matching 5ft veiny meatstick, ejaculating across the green, with the balls centered on the old hole location. They had included the message "Martin St. Vandals ft. G" and topped it off with "Fuck the 5th District," something that Chris H. will surely loathe to hear. Honestly it was quite a work of art (worthy of the penis drawings in Super Bad), it even made me chuckle, but the message was all wrong and the location unacceptable. I two putted for bogey and moved on.

I was flying around the course and playing decent golf as I finished up the 8th hole looking to finish up my front nine playing bogey golf (thats nine over par, I realize not exactly a lofty goal) when I was invited to play through the group in front of me, three guys, about 20-21 years of age, who looked liked they had come straight from class (glasses, buttondown shirts, jeans, not what real golfers wear). I teed off and as I walked by they asked "Want a beer" as they produced a lukewarm High Life tallboy, which I happily accepted and drank over the next couple holes. As I walked away I heard the familiar sound of a Bic lighter and the accompanied coughing that made me realize "Hey, these guys might not look like golfers, but they sure know how to play the game."

Along the rest of the way I shot a mediocre round, found a few balls in the rough, lost a few balls in various places, chased a gopher, saw a fox, pared a couple holes, triple bogeyed a couple holes, and finished the course in a brisk 2.5 hours. All in all, not a bad day for a Monday that could have otherwise been disastrous.

In other news the Flyers went up 2-1 in their series with the Caps following a 6-3 victory in Philadelphia highlighted by Mike Richards penalty shot through the 5 hole of Baby Huet to seal the deal in the third period. The game also saw the return of Darien Hatcher (who played well) from his broken leg and Patrick Thoresen who almost lost a testicle the other day. Scary Stuff. Yesterday the Sixers were totally siked out of a win over the Cavs by instant replay resulting in a difficult first round match up with Detroit. Think the NBA wanted to see 'Bron get homecourt?

Big News on the Eagles Front

2008-04-15T12:18:00.000-07:00

The Sixers are about to start the playoffs, the Flyers are in the midst of a playoff series, and the Phillies are in the beginnings of defending their NL East crown and improving upon their first playoff trip in 13 years.

So what's the big news today?

The Eagles, our only non-playoff team in the past year, have released their 2008 schedule.

I'm not gonna get into a detailed analysis, or even list all the games here, because I'm lazy and so much can change between now and September.

But what I will do is say these three things:

1. We have our bye in week 6 (not a bad time for a bye).

2. We play the Cowboys in our last regular-season game (can't beat that).

3. We play on Thanksgiving!

How cool is that?

A Thanksgiving game for the Birds? National audience on one of the biggest football days of the year. Awesome!

Certainly better than watching the Lions and Dolphins stink it up again.

We're playing the Cardinals too, so it sounds like a W for the good guys.

Go Birds!

Getting to Know You

2008-04-14T12:08:00.001-07:00

I'm sorry, today is probably the busiest day of the year at my office, unless tomorrow is somehow busier, so I don't really have much time to say anything of value.

Instead, I will leave you with a quick little story from the personal vault that I just remembered yesterday.

While in high school, perfect friend and I decided to start a Students Against Drunk Driving club. We needed a teacher to be a sponsor/administrator so we asked the health teacher, who was very young and extremely pretty.

She was hesitant at first, because perfect friend was in her class and very candid about his weekend exploits. Eventually she gave in, and agreed to be our advisor.

I was promptly suspended from school for drinking during a school trip, and she called us both assholes and never talked to us again.

The lesson, as always, is something about boozing beers.

PA to Factor Big in Upcoming Primary

2008-04-08T04:05:00.000-07:00

'Vote Early and Vote Often'
-William Hale Thompson

I have been hearing a lot about PA in the news lately- the upcoming primary on April 22nd in our state is the biggest prize left with its 158 delegates. As far as endorsements, PA democrats are all over the place. I quote NBC 10, "Clinton's backers in the state include Rep. John Murtha, who was an early advocate of withdrawing from Iraq, and Philadelphia Mayor Michael Nutter, who is black." Well said. Clinton is also supported by Fast Eddie, who I am a big fan of. Obama is supported by Sen. Bob Casey, but is pretty well behind in the PA polls. But, as they say, the only poll that matters is the one on election day.

So this April 22nd, show your support for your favorite candidate. For example, starting bright and early I am helping my local ward leader coordinate a number of mustachioed policemen with nightsticks and tall hats to be posted at all voting places to make sure the members of local unions vote in line with our choice for president. Additionally, we are rounding up day-laborers from area breadlines and promising each of them an Indian head nickel if they vote for our candidate. Of course, there is also the painstaking task of bribing each and every one of the vote counters to alter tallies in our favor.

I will also personally be voting on behalf of those members of our party who have died of Yellow Fever and Smallpox over the past year.

But the work doesn't just start on the 22nd. The night of the 21st, I will be siphoning petroleum from my '32 Ford and filling a bakers' dozen of whisky decanters half-full, in order to create incendiary devices with which to bomb various of the opposition's headquarters in Brickyard, The Devil's Pocket, Franklin Town, Wharton, Southwark, and Haines St. Hollow.

After a hard-night of machine-politicking, my chums and I will head down to the local tavern for a few pints of room-temperature draught beer. Election season is indeed an exciting time of the year!

An Open Letter (to all the guys busted for pot on Cops and similar shows)

2008-04-04T21:53:00.000-07:00

Dear All The Guys Busted for Pot on Cops and Similar Shows,

Let me be the first to offer my condolences. With all the unsolved murders, wife-beatings, and random acts of teen violence, it is ashame that you are getting arrested for possession of marijuana. You may not know it, but while you are handcuffed and pinned against your vehicle, I am sitting on my couch feeling for you.

To the Mexican guy who got caught with three nick bags of dirt rolled up in his sock, I am sorry it went down like that. Maybe if you had proper tags on your 1985 pick-up truck things would have gone differently, but the past is in the past. Best to just forget about it.

And to the two teenagers who got pulled over in their father's Audi, I truly felt that one. That was a really nice bong that the cops made you break on the street. You probably should not have been driving around smoking out of a brand new two foot bong but that is not the issue here. I hate to see it happen, but at least you did not get charged with anything. I guess you can take a life lesson out of this one.

The gentleman who got pulled over while out on a boat with some buddies? My heart goes out to you. It could have been a simple charge of boating under the influence but then they found your bowl and a glass container of what looked like a gram and a half of some high quality bud. Too bad. At least you have a boat.

The Afro-American lad who was chased through a few backyards got it pretty rough. Probably should not have run from the cops but these things happen. Getting caught with a zip-lock bag containing 20 or so grams of weed is never a good thing, and nobody wants to hear the words 'intent to distribute.' You were probably just trying to share some of that with some close friends.

Finally, to the older sir who got busted with a gram of marijuana, two crack rocks and a vial of cocaine, along with what looked to be a crudely fashioned crack pipe, I don't know what to say. Can't really approve of the other drugs. Hopefully you know a few guys in the local prison.

Though I may not be with you in the flesh, kind purveyors of the stickiest of the icky, I am there for you in spirit. So while you spend your time locked up behind bars, doing community service, or just thinking of an excuse to tell your parents, know that in a little patch of the country, there is a young man feeling your pain, sympathizing with your predicament, and keeping you in his prayers.

So to all those guys busted for pot on Cops and similar shows, I am sorry that it happened. But, as they say, better you than me.

Sincerely,

R. Patrick

First Day of (my) Spring

2008-04-04T12:24:00.000-07:00

As winter turns to spring, we have come to expect certain things. Days get longer, birds begin to chirp, and boobs seem to get bigger and more properly displayed. Collegiate lay-ups and full-court presses are replaced by professional fungoes and suicide squeezes. And while the weather may not have wholly cooperated on the 3rd, it truly was my first day of spring (Rita’s owners and operators be damned) because I went to my first Phils game of the 2008 season.
Make no mistake about it, this year is pregnant with possibility. With key additions like Brad Lidge and Pedro Feliz (not to mention addition by subtraction moves such as dumping Barajas and assigning Helms), Chaz’s bunch looks poised to repeat as NL East Division Champs in the face of competition from the Braves and Mets. This last sentence demonstrates the recent arrogance of the Phils and their phans, because young and hungry teams such as the ExposNationalsFarmTeamformostNLSquads step their game up when they travel to the cozy confines of The Bank, and the result can be taking two of three.
The day started off quite well. By Noon, a healthy group of a dozen or so were boozing and playing lawn games in the gem that is FDR Park. (Author’s Note: if you haven’t been pregaming for Philly sporting events at FDR, you are no friend of mine because you seem to A) enjoy paying for parking; B) not enjoy watching things like Toomey knock over a tub of approximately 1,200 cheddar goldfish and then giggle himself into a near urine-inducing stupor; and C) disregard the right, no, the duty, to piss as openly as any mountain climber would dare to dream). Wawa sandwiches were in the mix, the newly constructed washers set was making as many friends as Shuptar was alienating, and signs ostracizing the baseball and love-making skills of Pat Burrell were nearly completed if Primo hadn’t given the first “W” wayyy too much real estate on the sole 8” x 16” placard. (The piece of construction paper soon met its final demise at the hands of Petrillo. Its final resting place is a garbage can, its headstone reads only a solemn: No Household Trash. Truly, a life taken too soon).
If you can believe this, Richards and I selfishly decided to leave this Eden to actually make it to the park and watch the game. As we strolled in during the top of the first, reality quickly replaced the euphoria that hovers like a dim mist which intoxicates the nostrils and pores of all FDR pregamers. Moyer was getting shelled, the wind was whipping icy hatred into section 114, and dollar dogs were nowhere in sight. Before we knew it, it was 5-0, Nats.
Like Tim Redding before him, Jason Bergmann was mowing down Phils like Chelsea does man-egos. As we settled into the bottom of the third with nothing brewing, our own 34 y/o second-year stud Chris “the Coste with the most” Coste swaggered into the box. Before Bergmann even started his wind-up, I mentioned to the man of un-average height, “What does this guy need to do to play everyday? Every time I see him, he’s doing something great for our squad, and look at his hilarious picture on the jumbotr….” *CRACK*. And like that, it was 5-1, Nats, after a Coste moonshot. The first highfives since a “hole-in-one” which occurred during a washers match were thrown and said man of un-average height scampered into the concourse to get a round of cold ones.
It was at about this time that tragedy struck. As Richards and I joked about flexing muscles on the FanCam to impress “all of the too-bundled hardbodies up in here”, he received a call that whose effects are similar to a pet dying, receiving an unjust parking or moving violation, or finding a bare fridge at 3am when its just you and a slightly too-hot girl for you to pull otherwise. Our favorite officer had turned around on 76 and decided not to attend the game with us. We knew he’d be late, we were both sympathetic to his laborious schedule these days, but, nonetheless, a significant amount of wind came out of our collective sails. Now, stories about apprehending the slime of Germantown after a high-speed pursuit in rush hour traffic while getting blown by a councilman’s daughter resulting in receiving three merit awards at a banquet in the deep Northeast with other hirsute heroes who demanded that a shot taking contest precede an accuracy contest at an underground gun range which serves both reuben sandwiches and Thai happy endings would be replaced by humdrum predictions like “you think they bring in Saenz here?... nah, I bet Condrey…”. Boo-earns, indeed.
Things took a turn for the much better in the 6th inning when we used up all of our bleeding, seeing-eye singles for the entire first half of the season to rally from the early deficit. It was great. Things later took a turn for the much more hilarious in the 8th. Two Caucasoid gentlemen who appeared to hail from the Rawnhurst or Bustleton section of our fine city were walking up the aisle that intersects sections 114 and 113. Just as they were about 3 steps below our row, one guy, without saying a word, just turned and 180-d the other guy. They both spilled to the cement stairs and the melee was on! Tall man had a better view of the entire affair, so for real “facts”, I defer to his account. By my more entertaining account, however, I believe the rhubarb was the result of either misplaced sneeze particles or the classic “oh, I thought you were somebody else who also happened to insult my jean short/Wrangler performance fleece/Umbro bandana combo.” Either way, an unmarked guard separated them and continued his investigation in the concourse behind our seats. Beware of these Gestapo-like gentlemen. Plain-clothed fight breaker-uppers seem to be ever-looming at The Bank like Tallman around 19 y/o’s at parties who don’t seem to know anyone.
I found a few things to be very comforting yesterday. When The Vet was imploded, I thought the years of blue-collar passion (the very same passion that has cheered career-ending injuries and booed ex-hometown heroes when they return with arch-nemesis teams) forever perished along with the dust and rats to be forever replaced by the bourgeoisie clientele of The Bank, $11 sandwiches, and vomiting in bathrooms stalls as opposed to other fans’ faces. I was wrong. I saw a fight ten feet from me. I saw two old friends from high school just by chance. Tallman and I snuck down to Rolls-Royce seats after the 8th inning. Beers were, one could say, going down like beers. While it may no longer be with us in body, the spirit and the sweaty charm of The Vet lives on to this day. After pirating the previously mentioned Tera Patrick/Miko Lee/Dani Woodward/Kobe Tai-esque seats, Tallman and I had the opportunity to see the play of the game. Reigning MVP Rollins went from first to third on a bunt proving that big players make big plays, all but sealing the W.
As we went back to FDR and the car, I couldn’t help but notice the grass looked a little greener and the air smelled a little fresher, as expected when they days are just recently growing. This was but a fleeting moment, however, because the entire area surrounding Tallman’s car was soon flooded by a symphony of urine, vomit, and spilled cooler juice as we all (and I mean us two and then like 15 other dudes in a 100 foot radius) got in one more outdoor piss at FDR before the trip back up 76 to reality.

bdod

Cal Ripken Busted in Steroid Scandal (Brother Billy leaked the evidence)

2008-04-02T08:26:00.000-07:00

You know what, we need a new day for April Fool's. Every time I see a goofy headline on the first of April, I immediately get suspicious, it's like the fun is gone.

And this year, April fool's was the same day as Opening Day. I couldn't really be bothered with pulling any pranks when I'm worried about those Phightins. And I had big plans to post a blog here that would involve some trickery, maybe a little haberdashery, but I was too busy sucking down Lager Bottles.

Whattaya gonna do?

How about make April Fool's a free-for-all? So long as you pull a prank in the month of April, I say it's fair game.

Glue-ing your roommate to the floor? Check, so long as it is done in April. Telling your boyfriend you're pregnant? All's fair in love and war, and the month of April.

How 'bout this one: Mail a big box of porn to a made-up address, and put the return address of someone who is either married or still lives with their parents. Just check your calendar ahead of time.

So good talk, we'll go ahead and call this April Fool's Days, maybe April Fool's Month.

Whatever you want, so long as you're pulling pranks.

And I will leave you with this little tidbit, definitely not made up, but I wish it was:

Years ago, Jason Varitek and Derek Lowe were traded for Heathcliff Slocumb. Also, David Ortiz was traded for Dave Hollins.

Factor in Terry Francona and Curt Schilling, and it's like Philly gave Boston that championship.

Go Phils! Santana who?

When You are Thrown Into A Street Fight

2008-03-29T08:39:00.001-07:00

There are brief moments in life when we learn more about ourselves than we may learn in years of routine life. It is often these rare moments that can reveal the most inner workings of one's soul.

Now no event may be more telling than being thrown into a street fight--especially if you are brawling 16 year old punks who are hopped up on methamphetamines. Here is our tale.
It was a brisk night in late March, but a night that you could smell spring just around the corner. The sun was past the horizon and evening was setting in. Spirits were high as we walked back from our favorite saloon after enjoying delicious cheeseburgers, crabcake sandwiches and beers. The episode began when our Perfect Friend went down the block to grab some beers from his trunk and in turn was followed by three ruffians. When he reached his car the leader of the pack told Perfect Friend to 'get off MY street!' We were all a little taken back by this punks aggression considering we were older, bigger, and strangers to him. However, Perfect Friend fresh off a recent throw down in NYC was not taking any shit from these leprechauns and quickly retorted. After more heated words were exchanged and they realized they were out numbered and sized they quieted down. The beer was lifted from the car and the hoodlums were told to 'go do your homework!' by yours truly (I had been saving that gem of a line after another recent interaction with local ruffians).

After a few delicious, though slightly warm Miller lite plastic bottles, a UNC route, and a near UCLA upset it was time for us to go our separate ways. Perfect Friend left first joking that he would call for backup if the punks returned for more. Sure enough a minute later I get a call that they were back and we needed to come outside right away. We laughed to each other (I was still in my moccasin slippers and mesh) and rolled out of the house to find Perfect Friend out of his car in the middle of the street surrounded by these rowdies, loudly exchanging words. We rush up to the fracas and shove two of them off our buddy and away from his car. There was a lot of shouting and we were even repeatedly called the n-word, which was comical considering how white everyone on both sides was. It also showed how deranged these guys were. During the shoving, T.Rex was the punched (if you can call it that) in the side of the head by one of the little shits who in turn received a bloody nose from Schmo el the Maccabi, who had just tossed the littlest one under a parked car. "It felt like mush," Schmo el would say later of his fist hitting face.

Maybe the most questionable and in retrospect hilarious part of the melee ensued next when Perfect Friend grabbed a tire iron out of his car. This turned out to be a bad move as the biggest, baddest rebel rouser shouted, 'oh you got weapons!? we got weapons too!'

This is when I got a little nervous.

He ran behind a trashcan and pulled out two cement blocks. I was relieved to see cement blocks and not a knife or bat. He then lobbed one at me as he continued his mad ranting. I deftly side stepped his poor attempt as it crash into the side walk to my right. In his blinding madness he ran over and threatened to throw the other block at Bob the Pacifier. The Pacifier had grabbed the rascal the Maccabi had tossed under the car and had his face pinned under his Starbury sneaker. The weasel's death threats and squawking got the attention of his brother who ran over with his cement block held high above his head threatening to throw it. The Pacifier picked up the little brother and held him in between the rock throwing mad man and himself, calmly repeating to the crazy asshole to drop the rock and he would let his brother go.

At this point another interesting development ensued. The younger sister of the two brothers came running into the mess screaming for her brothers to stop because the cops were going to come. Now your average 16 year old doesn't have his little sister reminding him about the the cops coming with the familiarity that most young teens would attribute to emptying the dishwasher or picking up their room. These were clearly criminal minded youths we were dealing with.

After more shouting with the cement block stand-off the little brother was let go. He immediately pointed at the Maccabi screaming to his brother, 'Dats the one! Dats dah bitch who t'rew me down!' The older brother ripped a 2x4 out out of the ground with a nail conveniently sticking out of it and stormed after the Maccabi who dodged a few swipes while backing up down the street. Luckily a neighbor stepped out of his house whose familiarity with the swashbucklers ended the rumpus and sent them back to the hole they crawled out of. More neighbors then came out, asking us what the hell happened as the 3 thugs and their sister could be seen disappearing back to their part of the street.

So there is the story. In retrospect I learned a few things about myself.

All in all I realized I am not a fighter. Nope. I wouldn't call myself a pussy or a wimp because I had my boy's back right away, but I certainly am no Dalton or Kimbo Slice. I didn't run in throwing punches and stuck to grappling, trying to end the fight through strong words and common sense. In grappling the kids I found myself contemplating throwing a punch, but I quickly realized that I may never have thrown a punch in my life. I wouldn't even know how to throw a punch and it appeared to be difficult to connect the way this lunatic was jumping around. I have noticed myself replaying the scuffle in my head, imagining myself beating the crap out of these kids. Illusions of grandeur for sure. I probably should have taken this opportunity to get in some practice.

Some of us weren't afraid to hit a kid who had just cuffed our friend in the head. Others saw the situation clearly and realized beating the shit out of a 16 year old wasn't the way to go. Simple restraining and negotiating was a more appropriate road to take. And then others (who have probably watched too many John Wayne movies or MMA fights) saw this as their shining moment--a chance to kick ass and take names. We all had our approach and in many ways it reflected each of our own styles. How would you have reacted in this situation and what would it say about you?

All in all I am proud of our squad. We kept our cool and avoided any serious injury. When it comes down to it you just can't be a grown ass man beating up teenagers no matter how bad they deserve it-- and trust me, these little monsters deserved every beating that comes their way.

* * *

In talking to the neighbors later, two of these kids had just gotten out of juvie and were 'drug addicts.' From their hyper aggressive approach and violent inclinations they were certainly hopped up on something. In retrospect their lives probably suck, their parents can't control them, and they spend their days bored and looking for anything to get them excited. The other night it was starting a fight with five grown ass men, who lucky for them showed maturity, wisdom, and common sense in the midst of a heated street fight.

Thereinafter

2008-03-28T06:47:00.000-07:00

Weezer is releasing a new single that will be on the radio shortly. Rivers Cuomo would not reveal the name of the song, but he did offer us a hint: it is a single, twelve-letter word, that begins with T and ends with R. Or T _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ R

Here are my best guesses:

Turbocharger
Troublemaker
Tranquilizer
Trailbreaker

And some dark horses:

Telemarketer, transgressor, tabernacular, tenderometer

We will see.

Also, what's the deal with handkerchiefs? Are they the grossest thing in the world or am I just using them wrong.

Here is the music video for Right Hand on My Heart by The Whigs, they were in town last night opening for the Drive-by Truckers and the song is pretty rock and roll.

When Threesomes Go Bad

2008-03-25T17:09:00.000-07:00

So I'm watching a porno the other day...

Things are going great.

The girl is really hot, the lighting is good, and it has a can't miss plot (babysitter unable to pay for pizza she ordered).

All of a sudden, the front door opens and in walks the mom, or, I guess I should say, MILF.

She immediately joins the action with a line like, "the only person sucking that pizza boy's dick is gonna be me."

Actually, that's exactly what she said.

So the one-on-one action quickly turns into a threesome.

Even better, right?

Two heads are better than one, as they say, and four boobs are better than two.

It's like adding a pickle to a sandwich, or beers to a baseball game.

Except for one problem.

This "MILF" is nowhere near as hot as the babysitter.

Not only that, but she is much more aggressive and "in your face."

Basically, the babysitter gets relegated to background duty.

You can't see her, because the "MILF" is constantly in the way, and you can't hear her, because the "MILF" is screaming (unsexily) at the top of her lungs.

So I was faced with the rare situation where something that should have been an improvement turned out to be the exact opposite.

Now the reason I bring this up (other than the fact that I am now officially blogging about pornography and thus combining two great pasttimes), is that something similar is happening in the local Philadelphia sports radio scene.

For those that don't know, Sports Radio 950 is located a few notches up the dial from rival 610 WIP, and let me tell you, the air is much crisper up there.

In the mornings, when I still listened to 610, I used to be subject to Angelo Cataldi and his wackjob cronies that would call in. Now I am all for the Wing Bowl, but I don't need to hear about grown men eating three cartons of eggs and a tub of sour cream at 8 AM when I am trying to hold down some booze.

My drive home was subject to Howard Eskin, who certainly knew enough about the Eagles, but, as the saying goes, "he's not wrong, he's just an asshole."

So one day I heard about 950 and switched over.

Things were great!

I listened to Michael Bradley and Glenn Foley, or "G-Fols," in the morning. Bradley's straight up sports knowledge and Foley's outlook and insights as a former player were a nice combination, and we were having a great time.

On the drive home, I listened to Jody Mac, a legitimate sports talk host, who always had his ear to the ground about the latest buzz, specifically the Eagles.

So just when I think things can't get any better, I hear that SR 950 is now becoming 950 AM ESPN.

Alright! The worldwide leader coming to Philadelphia!

Can't miss, right?

Actually, just like adding a girl with a bad boob job and beat-up pussy to a previously great porno, it can.

Glenn Foley was fired and Bradley was taken off the air, while Jody Mac was moved to mid-day, which I will not be able to listen to.

ESPN went and plugged Mike and Mike in the morning slot. Great guys, but they are a nationally syndicated show, and there will be no local flavor.

Mike Missanelli will be taking over the drime home slot, which I personally think kind of sucks. He may hate Eskin as much as me, but he is not that much better.

So things went from great, to supposedly even better.

Except not at all.

The Philadelphia attitude is gone from the show, and they will sound like every other sports station in America.

So, to all those suits thinking "Hey, how can we make something great even better? Should we add a sixth blade to our razor? Chocolate milk to our booze? A third nipple to our porn stars?"

The answer, at least in my opinion, is sometimes its best to leave well enough alone.

Except for that third nipple idea...that's gold)

News On Mike "Big Mike" Zagurski

2008-03-25T12:59:00.000-07:00

First, an Animal House quote:

Neidermeyer: The following charges are brought: First, that the Delta house did knowingly violate the rules governing pledge recruitment by serving alcohol to freshmen during pledge week and after established drinking hours. Second, that for the fifth consecutive semester, Delta has achieved a deficient aggregate grade point average. Third, that the Delta fraternity routinely provided dangerous narcotic diet pills to its members during midterm examination week. And most recently...that a Roman toga party was held from which we have received two dozen reports of individual acts of perversion so profound and disgusting that decorum prohibits listing them here.

Otter: Ladies and gentlemen, I'll be brief. The issue here is not whether we broke a few rules, or took a few liberties with our female party guests - we did.

I got a case of March Sadness reading on the Phillies website that rookie reliever Mike Zagurski will probably have to get that Tommy John surgery, and that if he does, he’ll miss the entire 2008 season. For those of you who remember, he left the team in August last year with a hamstring injury, for which he also had surgery. He was back for Spring Training this year, competing for a pitching spot with a few other guys, but after leaving an intrasquad game favoring his elbow, what was originally thought to be a strain turned out to be nerve damage. Now, I’m no M.D., in fact, other members of the 2-1-5 may remember I barely graduated high school, but from what I understand Tommy John surgery has something to do with replacing a ligament in your elbow, which sounds fucking serious.

Zagurski started out his professional baseball career much like Ryan Dunn in Summer Catch pitching for the Batavia Muckdogs. He started out the 2007 season in single-A, and quickly graduated through double-A and triple-A, and when Brett Myers went on the DL May 25^th, Zagurski got called up to the Show. Although he was only in the bigs long enough for a cup of coffee, he recorded one win (against the NY Mets), no losses, 21 Ks in 21.1 innings pitched, and a devil-may-care, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants ERA of 5.9. On August 18, 2007, while attempting to field a ground ball off the bat of Ronny “Pauly” Paulino in Pittsburg, Zagurski tripped himself up and injured his hamstring, ending his ‘07 season.

Bottom line, I’m gonna miss him. Six-foot, 225, with an unkempt appearance, he was an unlikely hero. Which is why I mention Animal House…he was more of a Delta House member than a pro athlete, and all the members of the 2-1-5 enjoyed watching his blue-collar efforts on the mound last year. If he gets his surgery, I hope he recovers fully to play with the Fightins in 2009. Now, to end with another quote from Animal House…

Greg: What do you intend to do sir? Delta's already on probation.

Dean Wormer: They are?

Greg: Yes, sir.

Dean Wormer: Oh. Then as of this moment, they're on DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION!

Greg: Double Secret Probation, Sir?

Dean Wormer: There is a little-known codicil in the Faber College constitution which gives the dean unlimited power to preserve order in time of campus emergency. Find me a way to revoke Delta's charter…the time has come for someone to put their foot down. And that foot is me.

March Sadness

2008-03-24T20:59:00.000-07:00

It’s that time of year. 32 games in 96 hours. Bets are wagered. Cell phones are turned off. Friendships hinge on the performance of the eighth man on teams like Siena, Texas-Arlington, and Austin Peay. Yup, it’s March Madness. Or, in my case, it’s March Sadness.
Because I am not employed, or associated with folks who participate in meaningful pools, or have “friends” who “care about if I want to get in a bracket for money”, I was reduced to enter a 1 on 1 pool with my roommate with the big payout amounting to dinner up to $40 for the non-loser. As my hopes and dreams began to fade like the blowjob skills of a newly designated “girlfriend” with each Georgetown and Duke loss, I decided to put my thoughts on the first weekend of March Madness 2008 onto digital paper.
What kills me about March Sadness is the ratio of the time I invest during the season in terms of watching weird games like Washington St. (is Derrick Low the best stoner baller this side of Rod Strickland?) vs. Cal in relation to how smart I feel within hours of the first tip. Watching the Big East tourney, who would have ever guessed that ‘Nova plays on at this point while Dajuan Summers and LeVance Fields and Co. watch from their dorm rooms between bong and groupie hits? If I were the same prognosticator in life as I am in early-March, I think it’s safe to say that people would walk in on me masturbating at least twice a month.
The ‘Nova reference raises another important issue that makes Sadness such a bittersweet time of year. When else do you find yourself pulling for Paulus to drain just one more triple while rooting against an early Christmas present to the tune of 37 and 8 in an upset of the Spartans? We are slaves to our brackets. We are slaves to the rankings. We are slaves to our predictions which are inherently steeped more in TV exposure and recognizable coach and player names than educated guesses and well-researched hunches. Who else had teams like USC and Arizona advancing to the Sweet 16? The sex appeal of names like Mayo (well, Mayo, obviously, due to his ever-close relationship to sandwiches, dry-humping a not thin co-ed, and tuna salad), Budinger, and Bayless almost always pre-empt more logical conclusions like “Duke has been overrated all year and this guy Alexander on WVU can really play.” As a result, brackets can quickly turn to kindling. We turn on our home teams who we’ve cheered all faithfully season, root for teams that we have no connection to like Louisville or Norte Dame, and in the end feel and look like the cheerleaders from Cornell. And for what? Mere pride and infallible glory when espn.com presents you with the $10,000 winner’s check. Pssshh.
Don’t let me get ya down. So my bracket is already toast after just the first weekend. That’s ok, it was a great weekend. Exciting games, unpredictable outcomes (understatement), and mad face time for guys like Troy Walters. Pure exhilaration. This brings me to an ever-popular question: perhaps I should quit writing checks with my mouth that my butt can’t cash and actually start writing checks with my mouth that my butt can cash, i.e. I should gamble more! Whenever you put money on something and then either try to accomplish it yourself or watch as others try to accomplish something for you (preferable, for obvious reasons), that activity is always infinitely more intense than when money isn’t part of the equation. Think about it: how often do you find yourself saying, “maybe I shouldn’t drive, the sun is coming up and I can’t feel my drivin’ fingers” or “well I know it tastes like a leaky car battery with that strange metallic aftertaste and all, but all I have are these ultra-protection Lifestyles so I better just dip into the shallow end without my trunks before making up my mind.” Now, if you have a best buddy next to you wagering a cool two bits on the outcome of these potential performances (the second obviously being more common), that always beats just laying it all on the line for nothing with only yourself as the referee. So, before you go to sleep tonight, try this: bet on something for ten bucks. It could be something as exotic as who can find a parking spot first or as mundane as who can do the most jumping jacks after drinking a quart of sour cream. Either way- I guarantee you’ll both be winners. In fact, we’ll all be winners by basking in the periphery of your balls-to-the-wall Rowand-ness.

I’d like to conclude with several words that take on special meaning during Sadness:

Upset- really hits the nail on the head. After Georgetown inexplicably lost their game of horse to Dell Curry’s teenage son, I was visibly and emotionally upset during Easter brunch even though I received not one but two button-down striped short-sleeve shirts which are both just begging to be paired with a checkered tie.

Madness- again, pretty straight forward, with one exception. I usually equate “madness” with what happens when urban youth give officer Harper backtalk after a three-block foot pursuit while during the Tourney it simply articulates the universal state of mind among males 16-49: “everyone wants to know what I think”.

Cinderella- I associate every player on Western Kentucky’s team with riding in carriages, something about pumpkins, wearing dresses, and simply givin’ it up easy.

bdod

7 Days 'til the Fightins, But For Now...Predator Rap!

2008-03-24T20:09:00.000-07:00

But for now, check out this awesomeness...

Stay tuned for Iverson's return...

An Apology For My Actions on St. Patrick's Day

2008-03-18T09:06:00.000-07:00

First, I need to apologize to my family, for the state in which I left the kitchen, the bathroom, the TV room, and most of the backyard. A lot of the items I broke are replaceable, and I'm gonna get right on that. The items which I cannot replace will be glued together, if possible. I will do my best to clean the toilet, but I may need to replace that as well. Furthermore, I am aware that I woke up the entire family with the sound of projectile vomiting. Again, I am truly, truly sorry. The clothes I was wearing yesterday are already in the trash, so hopefully if we keep the windows open that smell will go away in a couple of days. Dad, I will re-sod the tire tracks on the lawn as soon as I am not hungover anymore.

Next, I would like to apologize to my friends. Look, we all pretty drunk...things were said, offensive things I realize, but I don't even remember significant portions of the night. Also, you guys won't have to carry me out of Finnegan's Wake ever again, I have learned my lesson the hard way. To Perfect Friend...well, lets just say I wasn't a 'perfect friend' when I urinated on the door handle of your car. To BC, keep ice on that, the swelling should go down in a few hours. Your support of "Back to the Future 2" as the best in the trilogy did not deserve a bar stool to the eyeball, I realize that now. To the girls in my contacts, I am sure you all received text messages which were inappropriate, perhaps even offensive. Look, I was drunk, OK? Diane, I don't even remember seeing you...Matt told me what I did. Damn, I'm just so sorry. Fuck.

To the employees of Lorenzo's, looking back on it, my speech may have been slurred to the point of incoherence, and may gait may been unwieldy and unpredictable. I understand fully why I was asked to leave.

To the tattoo guy at Old City...I will be back to have the other half of that Notre Dame logo completed, and also to pay you, I assure you. Your work in the medium of blacklight tattoos is impressive, I am sorry if I eluded otherwise the other night.

To the man I hit with my car, I hope you are cool, and not seriously injured or dead. If I had realized I was driving on the sidewalk, I would have definitely tried to steer back onto the road.

All in all, my actions on St. Patty's next year will be more controlled. Fewer carbombs, fewer Guinesses, and I will travel by way of taxi and public transportation.

Blacklight Tattoos

2008-03-17T17:46:00.000-07:00

File this one in the archives under: Great Idea #1,092:

Blacklight tattoos.

For all those tattoos that you wanted to get...you know, like a cheesesteak on your face...FUCK YOU written across you forehead...maybe a giant pirate ship on your rib cage - all those great ideas you had for tattoos but were too scared to get can now be had as a blacklight tattoo.

It's the perfect invention for an indecisive age.

Can't decide on the President but want to show your support? Get a profile of Barack on your back and McCain on your chest (If you change your mind you can always get a nice color image of Hilary down by your good 'n plentys).

Into weed but don't think your boss will appreciate a pot leaf on the back of your hand?

Blacklight that shit.

Bam! Problem solved (unless your boss is real into blacklights himself).

Passionate about sports but do too much bandwagoning?

Blacklight blacklight blacklight.

You could have the Eagles on one bicep and the Cowboys on the other one. Just don't go flexing both arms at once.

You could even play a drinking game with it.

Everybody writes down a bunch of crazy tattoo ideas on paper and you all pick randomly.

In fact, I have a feeling that blacklight tattoo parlors would only be open from like midnight to 8 AM.

Imagine making a couple of late night blacklight tattoo parlor visits when you are blackout drunk.

The next time you get in front of a blacklight it will be like...wow, I am gay is written on my forearm....Steve's a jerk is written across my chest....Superfly is now tattooed on the shaft of my penis.

Okay, so greatest idea ever, right?

You're probably thinking: I am going to go out tonight and open a blacklight tattoo parlor. I'll be rich! Thanks Rob.

Or you're gonna do what I just did, which is: google blacklight tattoos.

I'll save you the effort and show you a blacklight tattoo here and another one here.

Also, this is a blacklight tattoo used to enhance a regular tattoo.

So it's already been invented, eh?

No big deal.

It could still be a pretty sweet band name.

The Other Playoff Race

2008-03-16T19:02:00.000-07:00

While the Sixers are playing inspired basketball and gaining momentum going into the playoffs, the Flyers are slumping their way out of the playoffs. If the regular season ended today the Flyers would be in as the 8th seed set to play the NJ Devils, who have owned the Flyers this year and many years before. However, Buffalo sits one point behind the Flyers with Washington and Florida only two back. The next nine games for the Flyers are going to be huge, especially after they were beat 7-1 today in a laugher in Pittsburgh, a team they place twice more this season. Thrown in two games against the Devils, the Rangers, and the Islanders, and Tuesday's game against Atlanta and thats the season. The Flyers pretty much have to beat the Thrashers, sweep the Islanders, and maybe the Rangers too (they have three more points than the Flyers and could be passed in the standings) in order to have a chance. If they can pull off a win against either the Devils or Pens it would be huge. If they can win six games they have a good shot to be in the postseason, maybe five if they can force some overtime games (1 point for an OT loss).

The Flyers have gone 5-6 since their terrible 10 game losing streak but have lost their last 4, two in overtime, giving up 2 and three goal leads each time. Just as the team seemed to be getting back to health, Mike Richards returned with a goal on Satuarday and Joffery Lupul is back, they lose Darien Hatcher for the rest of the season with a broken leg and RJ Umberger is reported to be out for a week or two after spraining a knee in todays game. Randy Jones is also out and of course, Simon Gagne is out with Eric Lindros-esque concussion symptoms. The defense is really thin right now.

Its tough to pinpoint what this team is or isn't doing now that it was when they were winning and once upon a time on top of the entire Eastern conference. Marty Biron hasn't looked good lately, yet Nitty has only had a handful of starts over the past ten or so games. The powerplay isn't what it was earlier in the season but the Flyers still rank 2nd in the league. Scott Hartnell has gone silent. Hopefully Richards' return will really help the lineup. Overall, the Flyers seem to lack consistent effort throughout games, having defensive lapses and allowing teams to get back into games. Is that on John Stevens as a coach? A lack of leadership in the locker room? I'm not sure.

The next three weeks will determine everything for the Flyers. Earlier this season they seemed like Philly's best shot at a championship while now they are fighting just to get in to the playoffs. I suggest tuning in to a game, particularly one of the Rangers or Penguins games (if you want to see a fight), even if hockey isn't really your thing. The Flyers are a good Philly team and they deserve the support of the City. Hopefully they make the playoffs and surprise somebody in the first round, but I am getting ahead of myself. One thing is for sure, the Flyers newest enforcer, Riley Cote, (seen in three pics here) is a great fighter and fun to watch, he used to wear my favorite number (33), and not a bad player to go with it. By the way, the man being punished by Mike Richards is NHL points leader Alex Ovechkin, not exactly a fighter.

LETS GO FLYERS

Better than the Best Sex with Oshun, the AfroCarribean Godess of Sex

2008-03-12T19:04:00.000-07:00

Everyone is familiar with the Macho Man Randy Savage from his days in the Square Circle. Savage was know for delivering the most serious smackdown in the storied history of sports entertainment. However never content with with being a one trick pony, Savage has entered into the rap game. With powerful and delicious results.

In perhaps the freshest debut disk to drop of all time, Savage delivers cut after classic cut of raw and powerful street verse. Directly from the corners, Savage's hypnotic and boastful rhymes tell it how it is. Backed by melodic and bumping beats courtesy of DJ Kool, who delivers on his name sake, the disk is a musical journey through the concrete jungle that is not to be believed by mere mortal men. Savage urges his listeners to "put their face in it" and they can only justly conclude that "they are not ready."

In the signature and cutting edge single "Be a Man," Savage delivers a full frontal blitzkrieg on Hulk Hogan. In verse after hard hitting verse, Savage unleashes the four horsemen on Hogan, belittling his manhood and Hulkamania. Hogan has yet to respond in kind. Truly Hogan is not real in street and as Savage points out Hogan's "acting and his movies are both trash." The Macho Man has no need to even make this powerful piece of prose rhyme, it's realness can be found in its poignant truth and the fierce street cred that Savage boasts. In deed, Savages' name is known through out the rough and rugged urban heart land where his CD will no doubt be an immediate chart topper.

Savage gets gutter and spews some of the sickest and most introspective verses of all time. In "Perfect Friend," Savages' powerful baritone laments the passing of fellow Face turned Heel Mr. Perfect. Savage is backed by a soulful and, most would agree, beautiful R&B hook; which swoons back and forth and makes even the most hardened member of the street team want to remember his dunns. He does have the Perfect Friend's back, buddy system style.

The passion and pride of the CD is apparent from the first fist pumping moment when Macho's producer introduces the newest playa in the game with the skill and ability of a young DJ Clue. The CD is simply too powerful for words and hence a star rating would not even do it justice.

2008-03-11T00:55:00.000-07:00

Wawa Food Market: A Local Staple

Philadelphia...1992...a young boy is riding in the car with his dad along Roosevelt Boulevard, and as they pass the Wawa at 60 mph the boy turns to his dad and asks, "Dad, what does Wawa mean?" The dad answers, "Wawa means 'goose' in Native American. Now hold my beer, I'm driving." A universal experience for every young Philadelphian, at some point you're going to wonder about the origin of the strange name of that particular convenience store. Wawa, in addition to meaning Goose in Apache, is also the name of the Pennsylvania town where the store was founded. And if you live in the 215 area code, chances are good that you visit the store frequently. I know I do, and I thought I would take a minute explain the reasons why it has been and remains the superior food market in the region.

1) Quality sandwich selection: All sandwiches are made new right in front of you with fresh ingredients, and to your specifications. Hoagies come in all styles, Italian, turkey, tuna, roast beef, you name it. They come in four sizes, junior, shorti, classic, and 2 foot. It can be toasted, and bacon can be added to any choice of sandwich. The option to add extra cheese and meat is always available. Condiments are plentiful and varied, including but not limited to Buffalo spread, Ranch spread, and Chipotle sauce. With this variety of choice, how do the makers of such delicious sandwiches keep your orders accurate? A high-tech, touch-screen computer system that is used for all orders. What a time to be alive.
2) Wawa brand drink items: Wawa offers their own brand of milk, OJ, iced teas, chilled coffee drinks, etc., so you know that your beverage is fresh and shipped locally. One suggestion- try the peach iced tea, I grew up on it. A half-gallon sustains me for an entire day at work. Recently they switched from the box-shaped plastic container to a Turkey Hill-styled container with a handle. For me, this is a step backward. With these new iced tea containers that have handles, they no longer have 'Grasp Here' stamped to the side like they used to, which I liked.
3) New products: Wawa never rests on its laurels, they always are introducing new food items to keep you on your toes. Recently added items include the Panini sandwich, the classic Philly cheesesteak, Gatorade style Wawa brand flavored sports drink, as well as Hummus and Pita bread snack packs.
4) Priced for the working man: This is self-explanatory. Wawa offers rock-bottom prices for quality foods.
5) Everything you can get at 7-11 and more: In addition to the deli section and beverage section, you can get everything from a cup of coffee, the Inquirer and the Daily News, Easy Mac, batteries, Engine Oil, Charcoal Briquettes, hotdog and hamburger buns, and all varieties of tobacco products, including Skoal 'Bandits.' One thing you won't find at Wawa? Porno mags. C'mon, this is a family food market we're talking about here.

Wawa is open 24 hours, with the deli always operating, so after a hard night of championship-level boozing you know where quality food is available. Wawa has pretty-much proliferated itself over the city, whether you are at Rhawn and the Blvd., Bustleton and the Blvd., Ridge Ave in Roxborough, Germantown and Allens Ln, 21st and Hamilton, or 38th and Walnut, as well as Old City. No matter where you are, Wawa is easily accessible to any job site, and within walking distance to even the most stumbling of drunks. Philadelphians might be interested to know that there are now Wawas in New Jersey, Delaware, rural PA, and even as far south as Maryland and Virginia. In Maryland and other hick states, you can by beer at Wawa! Holy shit. Many Wawas outside the city also have Wawa brand gas pumps, so you can gas up and hit the road with a six pack of Miller Lite (refer to earlier post on the 2-1-5 "Drinking and Driving is Bad-Ass").

The Keith Van Horn Story (Pt. II)

2008-03-10T14:48:00.001-07:00

I didn't want to keep you in suspense, so here is my solution:

...

Actually, just a minture before I get into it. I don't want to come across as a bitter sports fan. I don't care that a guy is making a hundred billion dollars, and I don't ever say things like "$500,000! He's lucky to be getting that much!" I don't necessarily think athletes are being paid too much, I just get pissed when one athlete is getting paid too much within the confines of the salary cap (or some arbitrary number the Phillies front office comes up with).

Like with Pat Burrell. We obviously overpaid him if he is making like 15% of the Phillies salary and that prevents us from signing a top-flight free agent. So he is getting paid too much and Hamels apparently is not getting paid enough. Take a look at the New York Jets - their veterans are complaining that the team went out and improved their roster through free agency because the new guys are getting paid too much. Something is obviously wrong here.

So here is my solution:

One year contracts.

Every single sport, every single team, every single player.

One year contracts all around.

It is so simple it just might work.

Players are rewarded for having a great seaon. Owners don't get stuck with a sulking superstar for the 5 years after he has blown out both his knees. Fans don't have to worry about players only trying hard in contract years.

There will still be a salary cap, so teams won't be able to buy a championship.

The key here is making the markets totally efficient. Whatever you pay for a player, that is what he is worth.

And if you think it is going to change everything, yeah it probably will.

But maybe not as much as you think.

In the NBA, you will still have teams like the Hawks signing small forwards left and right. Maybe they are the 12 best small forwards in the NBA, but they won't win a championship.

In terms of baseball, look at the Yankees. They don't win the World Series every year in a league without a salary cap, when they can spend as much as they want.

In the NFL, you don't think the Patriots will still be good? Football players will choose whichever organization is able to consistently field good teams, teams that focus on issues like chemistry and leadership as well as just overall talent. (Don't see: Redskins, Washington)

With a salary cap, good leadership and organization will still trump accumulation of talent. A salary cap will ensure that Kobe, Lebron, and KG don't all sign on the same team unless some of them take a pay cut a la the Lakers with Gary Payton and Karl Malone (who did not win a championship). And there would certainly be another team who signed Dwight Howard, Chris Paul, and Tracy McGrady to compete with so the competition will still be there.

Maybe you can even sign One player to a multi-year contract and make him the face of your franchise, but it couldn't be for anything over 4 years.

And all that money that is being spent on guys like Matt Geiger, Keith Van Horn and Aaron McKie?

Put it into some kind of retirement fund for players who suffer from concussions and what not.

Done and done.

Imagine the possibilities.

Contractual Obligations: The Keith Van Horn Story (Pt. I)

2008-03-10T08:32:00.000-07:00

We're starting to get out of that lull on the Sports Calendar, also known as 'February,' where nothing seems to happen and reporters basically start and spread rumors just to keep their jobs.

The NHL and NBA are past their respective all-star weekends so the playoff push is starting to heat up, March Madness is just about here, spring training is under way for the upcoming MLB season, and the NFL, well the NFL is basically a year-long sport anyway, but this time of year provides us with Free Agency and getting ready (read: reporters starting and spreading rumors) for the draft.

Now here's the thing. The NBA and NHL are gearing up for the playoffs, and the NFL and MLB are in the after-season and the pre-season, respectively. Yet when I tune into Sports Radio 950 or flip to the Sports page of the Inquirrer, I am primarily looking for Eagles and Phillies news, and that is what I am primarily going to get.

With that being said, one of the main things that I am going to hear about this time of year is contracts.

Contracts, contracts, contracts.

Max deals. Signing Bonuses. No-trade clauses.

Restricted free agents. Salary Caps. Negotiations. Re-negotiations. Negotiation breakdowns. Arbitration.

It's all about contracts.

In order to be a somewhat knowledgeable fan, you have to have the training of an IRS agent.

What the hell is going on here?

The worst part is, with every single contract being signed this off-season, at some point in time, whether it is later that day or three years down the road, one of the two sides is going to regret signing the contract. If you're lucky, you might be able to follow a contract long enough to see both sides regret it at some point.

And that's the thing. Contracts kind of suck. Teams make bad decisions. Players make bad decisions. The sport as a whole makes bad decisions. And the fans have to pay. Because instead of saying something like "Chris Paul is a great point guard." You have to add "But I don't think the Hornets are going to be able to give him a max deal."

To prove my point, let's just take a look at the contract situation in baseball, basketball, and football. Stay tuned, because at the end you will get my grand solution to the entire problem.

The NBA is ridiculous. Players sign these max deals for like 7 years and $105 million dollars. They are actually motivated/healthy/happy for about 2.5 of those years, and then the team gets stuck with a $60 million dollar stiff. The only thing to do from there is trade that player using his expiring contract as trade bait. However, in order to make a trade in the NBA, you need to have the salaries match. So in order to trade said $60 Million Dollar Stiff, you will have to accept the contract of $10 Million Dollar Retired Stiff. (Go ahead and look at some of the trades that are being made. It's a vicious cycle. Bonus Points: look at how many former Sixers are a part of these trades. The number is frightening).

Baseball is not that much better. An interesting aspect of baseball's contract workings is the practice of arbitration. You may remember this with Ryan Howard. The Phils wanted to pay $7 million. He wanted $10 million. Fine, give him $8.5, right? Wrong. They couldn't agree to that so it went to arbitration, meaning an outside panel objectively picks either 7 or 10. They picked ten.
To add to the craziness of baseball's contract situation, I'm going to bring in two more players to the fold here, Cole Hamels and Adam Eaton.

Cole Hamels has the potential to be a true ace pitcher. He is young, talented, and extremely motivated to succeed. He has shown flashes of brilliance in his short time in the majors and also a steady level of consistently good pitching. A history of injuries seems like the only thing that is going to keep him from racking up a few 20 win seasons and possible a no-hitter someday.

Adam Eaton, to be concise, is none of the above.

Cole recently signed a 1 year, $500,000 contract.
Adam signed a 3 year $24 million contract.

Cole is complaining about being underpaid while Adam admits that he is probably being overpaid.

Looking at it from their points of view, yeah, they're both right. Now let's look at it from the Phillies front office: we are paying $8.5 million this year for the services of Cole Hamels and Adam Eaton.

The reason the Phils can sign Cole to such a cheap contract is because of his service time in the Bigs, a similar system to rookie contracts in the NBA. The reason Adam cost so much is because of Free Agency. There are only so many available free agent pitchers that they can command a high price on the open market, regardless of skill set.

There is really no reason to break the bank for Hamels just yet. Eventually he is going to get his pay day, just like Howard did.

It's an immutable law: some players are going to be underpaid and some are going to be overpaid.

There isn't too much "just right" in professional sports.

Looking towards football, the system is a little bit more efficient because the contracts are not guaranteed, which means a player can just be cut and he will not be owed any more money (other than the pro-rated signing bonus).

This is a great tool for the owners but not so great for the players.

There is a salary cap to contend with, so smart owners try to lock up their young talent before they get a chance to hit payday (see: Westbrook, Brian). The risk in signing a player while he is still young and slightly unproven is that maybe you get a bargain three years later, when you are paying an all-pro running back rookie money. It can come back to hurt you though, when signed players look around and see their peers getting huge signing bonuses (on account of salaries going up every year). They end up holding out, talking to the press, or just playing unmotivated football.

My solution?

Well, that's for another time.

Stay tuned for Part II.

Lets Go Sixers!!

2008-03-08T13:20:00.000-08:00

My most memorable moment as a Philly sports fan was Game 1 of the 2001 NBA finals. We went to LA with Mutombo, Iverson stepped over Tyrone Lue (skip ahead to 5:45 for the step over and post game interview, unbelievable), E. Snow and Aaron Mckie were the best teammates ever to play, and the Sixers stole Game 1 in OT from a Lakers team that was 'til then undefeated in the playoffs that year. It was phenomenal. I remember high-fiving people hanging out of cars on South street minutes after the game and embracing strangers. We screamed 'Beat LA,' 'Fuck Kobe,' and my personal favorite 'WHO WANTS TO SEX MUTOMBOOOO!?' It was quite a moment--a telling and admittedly pathetic one for us Philadelphians who haven't won anything in 24 years and counting. But it was our moment even if the feeling lasted for only a few days. It still was the closest feeling I, and many my age have had to winning a championship.

Now Iverson is gone and us die-hard Iverson fans cheer on the Nuggets as our second team. We buy $100 tickets to get as close as we can to him once a year and we curse George Karl for not being able to get his team to play anything that remotely resembles defense. There were mixed feelings when The Answer left last year, but everyone seemed to have the sentiment that this was it for awhile for Sixers basketball. Attendance immediately plummeted and most people stopped tuning in to watch every night.

Well, Philadelphia the Sixers are back already. Yes, they are in the lowly East, which I agree with Perfect Friend (cool name bro...) isn't as bad as people like to say it is, but as of today they are the 7th seed in the playoffs and headed for the 6th seed. They have gone 13-5 (13-5!?!?!) since January 26th and there is no other way to say it except this squad play can play ball.

Check out these numbers. For the season they are ranked 6th in the league in opponent's PPG. They are second in the league in rebound differential and while struggling to score early on in the season they have turned it on recently ranking 10th in scoring in their last 10 games. On the season they are 12th in the league in forcing turnovers and 1st in the league in their last 10 games. Their pressure D and rebounding fuels their fast break offense which is perfect for our young gunners as well as great to watch. They are peaking at the right time and are now only 5 back from getting to .500. Who woulda thought? (Well me, but no one was listening in October).

That is what is happening on the court. Off the court they finally fired Billy King (have to give him props for drafting Thad Young, but thats all you get Billy) and have brought in a proven and homegrown GM, Ed Stefansky. They are about to dump $26 million from CWebb and McKie's contracts and have one of the youngest and most promising squads in the league. They are coachable, controversy free, and fired-up. They are poised for free agency, I only worry they act too quickly and sign someone like Elton Brand (he will surely take the $17 mill option on his contract and play for the Clipshow again) or Gilbert Arenas this off-season. I can only hope they continue to build through the draft and wait for the right free agents to sign in the few years.

The plan used to be we would be bad for a few years and get top draft picks, but our team is already better than that and this is a good thing not a bad thing. I wrote about this last year as the Sixers finished strong last year. Well it has already paid off and the squad has continued to mature and improve by playing good basketball and winning. Nothing is guaranteed in the draft. The Celtics got the 5th pick in the draft after tanking to the worst record and if it wasn't for McHale giving them KG where would they be now? Simply put, "YOU PLAY TO WIN THE GAME!" There is nothing better for a young team than learning how to win together, nothing.

As for this season, wake up Philadelphia! These boys can play and they are entertaining as hell. They are non-stop fast breaks and wild dunks. They rebound, they pass, they don't give up and they play hard every night. Sure they aren't going to win a championship this year, but this is all part of the journey as a fan. For all the Iverson haters out there this team is what you have been asking for. And for all of you who miss AI, the highlight of your season may just be beyond March 19th when he visits Philly. PLAYOFFS!? PLAYOFFS!?

76ers Poor Playoff Position

2008-03-05T16:51:00.000-08:00

I really hate when people say "hey the eastern conference sucks, we need to revamp the play off system." To me that argument forgets that the East used to dominate, we have won two of last four finals and everything is circular. (And by "we" I mean the conference, as Philly in general has won nothing.) It is much like the idea of Chinese food acquired from stores with bulletproof glass (normally called something along the lines of "#1 Chinese Food" or "China Garden" something creative you know.) and playoff college football, are things I can respect in theory, but not in practice. (Would women have played better there?)

Anyway, my opinion changed yesterday when I was reviewing a standard issue article about how a new playoff system was needed in the NBA. The author went through the usual reasons explaining why: there are two teams over .500 not making the playoffs in the west, two to four under .500 teams in east who will be making it, superstar movement through the conferences recently has benifited the west and the fact that the west has won all but two of the chips in the post Jordon era; you know lots of good reasons. Fucking great. I don't care; I won't be convinced I told myself. That was until I noticed that one of the teams not making the playoffs in the west was the Denver Nuggets.

The bottom line is we can not accept a situation where the team we traded Iverson to, for three first round picks ends up getting a comparable lottery pick to what we got, in addition to Iverson. Think about it that will mean the trade composed of:
To Sixers:
(g) Andre Miller- been great, but was originally brought in here to be showcase trade chip for us to get talented, athletic swingmen under B. King.
3 First Round Picks- which became
13 (f) T. Young- Great, doing great. Just what B. King had in mind
20 (f) Jason Smith- Also doing ok, smart player.
30 Pick traded to Utah who became this 7 foot monster European Guy, who stayed in Europe, but will definitely resurface and be the kind of guys announcers will call a "force."

To Nuggets:
(g) Allen Iverson- I intend on crying when he returns to the Wachovia Center.
Pick 14- Which is one pick below ours if you didn't catch that.

(I know there is Joe Smith, etc also, but is that doing anything for us?)

I know it is a different draft year and I am leaving a few things out, and dont think I wont root for the sixers to make the playoffs....all I am saying is it feels we traded Iverson to move up one spot in the draft essentially, while the nuggets get better and better. My thinking has changed, I now think the entire playoff system needs to be revamped, not now but right now. I have to go; I am spilling General Tso's Chicken from Super China Restaurant all over the keyboard.

Some Quick Hits On A Monday

2008-03-03T05:59:00.001-08:00

Well, we made it to March here in the 2-1-5.

If we actually had a real winter, this is when the snow would start to melt and we would get to see grass for the first time in a while.

Instead, thanks to Al Gore, it's just another month where it's kinda nice out but still not that nice.

It's cool though, because March is a pretty solid month regardless.

We got Daylight Savings, St. Patrick's, March Madness, and Opening Day....not a bad deal.

All great opportunites to booze those beers, call in sick from work and/or play hookey.

Yeah, you heard me right. Play hookey. I don't know why that phrase isn't used more often.

My recommendations for this month include:

1. Watching any Spring Training baseball game that is on TV. Something about seeing baseball on TV really sets the whole spring/summer thing in motion...especially when these games are played in Florida or Arizona. (bonus points: watch for those sleek new Phils and their Skoal Bandits).

2. Doing something outside any chance you get. It gets you practice for when the weather finally turns, and it's important to dust off those cobwebs that come from months of sitting inside watching Law & Order while drinking Lager Bottles.

3. Taking off work for the first day in March Madness. Pretty much self-explanatory.

And finally,

4. Gin Buckets. Daylight Savings begins this Sunday. Which means longer days. Which means day drinking. Which means gin buckets. The recipe is pretty simple: A bottle of gin, a bottle of sprite, and 7 lemons and limes, all thrown together into a bucket with ice and 2 turkey basters used to get yourself a shot. Good times.

Oh, and this doesn't really count as a recommendation, because it's pretty much like spitting into the ocean, but go ahead and get drunk for St. Patty's Day, on Guinness preferably, because it's the day where everyone is Irish (except of course, the gays and the Italians).

I am going to leave you with 2 links.

One is a picture, one is a video, both kind of blew me away.

I've never seen Rachel Ray's husband, but I bet he has a name like Tariq or Terrell.

Umm...Our Philadelphia Eagles put your hands up? File this one under: Randall Cunningham is smoove.

Phils To Use Skoal 'Bandits'

2008-03-02T19:21:00.000-08:00

Clearwater, FL- Having shored up their relief pitching by acquiring Brad Lidge and moving Brett Myers back into the rotation, Charlie Manuel is supremely confident in his young squad this season. But with the Mets having upped the ante by adding Johan Santana to their roster, Manuel and the coaches are looking for that ‘X-factor’ that could put the Phightin’ Phils over the edge in the NL East.

To that end, it was announced in a press conference late yesterday afternoon that all players will be required to make the switch to Skoal Bandits by Opening Day.

Ruben Amaro Jr. told the crowd of sports reporters, “We want our players to be able to enjoy the smooth and zesty flavor of dip, while still maintaining a sleek, athletic demeanor on the field. We feel that the pre-made pouches available from Skoal brand tobacco products are just what our boys need.”

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Skoal ‘Bandits,’ it is fine-cut dip, available in a variety of delicious flavors, that are apportioned into perfectly sized paper pouches, ready to be used right out of the tin. Originally marketed to the ‘businessman on the go,’ the advantages of the pouches are now being recognized by professional athletes.

“I can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent in the dugout continually packing my old tins of loose dip, only to have to run out onto the diamond with a lip in that was less than perfect,” Second-Baseman Chase Utley told reporters. “Either I would pinch too much dip, or too little, not to mention the stray bits of tobacco that can get stuck in your teeth, or get swallowed when you dive into second base stretching a single into a double.”

When the Bandits were introduced to the public back in 2004, there was some discussion in the Phillies head office on making the switch, but the suggestion was shot down by former G.M. Ed Wade. “I’m not sure about endorsing the use of a particular tobacco brand for my players. Frankly, I would rather my players not use tobacco products at all, especially while they are on the field.”

Pat Gillick said of Wade’s comments, “Wade lacked vision and foresight, and honestly, for me, his comments raise serious questions about his sexuality. Everyone knows dip makes you a better baseball player, and these new Bandits can only enhance that edge that dip already gives you.”

A few of the players had already switched to using Bandits last season or the season before, while some of the more tenured Phillies who use Redman or Beechnut are going to have a hard time getting used to the new product. Lenny Dykstra told the Daily News he thought that had Bandits been available in the early Nineties, Philadelphia may have brought home a World Series, while Darren Daulton was unable to be reached for comment.

So when you turn on CBS to watch the Phillies home-opener against the Nats, you may notice the Phils have a new bounce in their step, and a more professional and confident appearance. Hopefully the other teams in the league don’t catch on too quickly. (-;

We Talkin' Bout Practice!?!?

2008-02-28T20:37:00.000-08:00

Shaq is still the Man of Steel, but he never did it like this.

Better go get some Vitamin Water.

Drinking and Driving is Bad...Ass

2008-02-28T09:07:00.000-08:00

At the risk of being redundant with my title, I thought I would point out some obvious things that everyone would or should know. I must agree that there are many good reasons that drinking and driving is bad, (especially the real dangers). That being said, it also makes you a sexual tyrannosaurus, much as the Body pointed out.

Conceding that facts #1-4 are not only accurate but just common sense, and working with in the time constraints outlined (however bumping up the time to leave till 6 am, as that is when real deal boozing takes place.) I must conclude that drinking and driving is, in many cases absolutely badass. Of course in the scenario mentioned there are many reasons for Billy to choose to stay but at the same time, but what if there were more to the story…Suppose that Billy has been trying to make moves on Sally all night. Now Billy knows Sally. Sally could be some girl who is just along for the night, an old classmate, or a crew regular with whom Billy would like engage in normal and healthy sexual relations. Once again, keeping in mind the drink limit laid out, suppose Billy has been drinking harder and faster than usual, either to use it as an elixir to take his game to new heights or to be able to say “hey it wasn’t me who made those inappropriate comments and groped you up! It was the booze talking.” What does Billy need in this situation: a parachute, provided from our good friend D&D. Billy will be able to say “fuck this shit, I am outta here baby.” to Sally and have all the positive experiences mentioned under fact number one. He will impress her as a real life Evil Kaneval, one who ready to please, and a force who can not be reckoned with.

Suppose also that Billy keeps his roll going at said buddy’s house, its six am and he is really hitting his stride, but everyone else can’t keep up. What if there is urine all over the floor? It’s at this point that he will be able to exercise his autonomy and be a pack leader, pulling ideas from outside of the box that may seem a bit too unorthodox and “zany” for some of his starched shirt friends. When he wakes up hung-over drunk, Billy will be able to leave his home and return to his buddy’s home for day drinking. This will allow him to believe that he has finished one mission and is embarking on a whole new quest. If he chooses to stay, Billy will never be rested and once he awakens, in the back of his mind he will be thinking “I have to get home, what kind of a sick degenerate am I?” But if Billy goes home he will be able to wake up and engage in all day booze jockeying, knowing full well that he fulfilled his duty of Friday night, and is just warming up for Saturday.

It’s tough to buttonhole a situation with as many potential twists and turns as Billy’s, you don’t want to trap someone in a box, you need to give him choice and hope and pray that he is a badass.

The Moving Day LVP

2008-02-26T13:25:00.000-08:00

Every guy has helped their buddy move to a new place at least a few times in his life. It's fuckin' great...you take a Saturday and rent a U-haul, knock back a few Yuenglings, and move some couches awkwardly down a few flights of stairs, then finish the day off by eating some pizzas and watching a Sixers game. Always a good time, the combination of drinking and lifting heavy objects creates a situation that is ripe for hilarity, and good memories.

But if you've ever gotten together a bunch of your bros to move a buddy into a new apartment, you know about that that guy. C'mon, you know about that guy...he's not really a part of the group, he's usually a friend of a friend, or somebody's girlfriend's brother. When that guy goes to the bathroom you ask the dude who you're moving out "Hey, who's that guy?" Your bro answers, "Oh, that guy? Yeah, that's Chuck, Sarah's brother. He's from Columbus, he's a good guy." Now, he doesn't have to be named Chuck- he could be named Brad, or Steve. Let me tell you about that guy. He is most definitely going to be the LVP of the day, the Least Valuable Player.

That guy often has sideburns and a fur-lined bomber jacket. He doesn't usually have much to say, because he is an outsider, but that's not what bothers me. It's his total lack of blue-collar work ethic. While your muscling a chaise lounge down the winding staircase of a rowhome, he's carrying a pillow and a couple of VHS tapes out to the U-haul. When you and one of your bros are precariously handing a mattress to a couple of your other bros through a second story window, he's sitting in the truck talking to some other toad on his cell phone. You come away at the end of the day with torn-up knuckles and a couple of new rips in your work jeans, but he's as clean as when yous started.

But thats not the only reason he gets LVP. Because while you and your dudes are working up a sweat moving shit and drinking beers, he's standing around, also drinking your beers, commenting on how you're moving the furniture. "No, no, guys, you have to angle the desk topwise." Man, what a strapper. And when its lunchtime, and you're all ordering pizza, and the dude who you're moving out asks what you all want on the pizza, that guy always wants some stupid shit like spinach and olives.

But every moving day needs an LVP. Who's the MVP? Joe. That guy can really move some shit.

Drunk Driving Is Bad

2008-02-23T19:54:00.000-08:00

I am here today to warn against the dangers of drunk driving.

Sure, this has probably been done before, but it's time to take a long hard look at one of society's ills.

First, let's set the facts straight.

Fact #1: People love to drive drunk.

It's the truth. Slamming back some lager bottles and then getting in your car, turning the radio up, and driving excessively fast is a lot of fun. It gets you where you need to go, and it also gets your car there. Win win.

Fact #2: If the sun is out, it's not drunk driving.

If we are going to be fighting something, we need to define exactly what it is. And better yet, what it is not. No need to go preaching to the choir. People that drink a lot of alcohol and then drive their car when the sun is out are responsible people. They know about the dangers of drunk driving, that's why they are getting all their driving in during the day. So we do not need to target this group.

Fact #3: Drinking and driving is not drunk driving.

Let's be honest, sometimes you get thirsty when you are out on the open road. And sometimes you want to arrive somewhere (the beach, the bar, a concert, traffic court), with some of the boozing already out of the way. I mean, most every car comes equipped with cup holders. You mean to tell me those aren't for the beers? So we can look past these people as well, they are not drunk driving, they are simply drinking and driving. Totally different.

In order to really have an impact, we need to focus our preaching on actual drunk drivers. That means people who drive their cars between the hours of 2 and 4 am with at least 12 beers and 3 shots in their system. Anything less, and it is simply buzzed driving (Fact #4 buzzed driving is not drunk driving).

I am about to get into the actual dangers of drunk driving, but I first want to set a scene. Here is an example of a situation where someone might drive drunk, followed by the ramifications.

It is a Friday night. Billy is going to meet up with some pals at a friend's house around 8 PM. They are going to drink a few beers, play some beer pong, and then head to the bar around 11PM. At the bar, they will do a few rounds of shots, and also booze beers aggressively. They will then walk back to said friend's house and drink a few more beers, play some beer pong, and slowly call it a night.

Billy is considering doing all of the above and then getting into his car and driving home around 3 AM.

The following list will be in no particular order and will detail why driving home is a bad idea for Billy.

1. Throughout the night, Billy will be subconsciously thinking about driving home later. This may cause him to turn down a round of shots, skip out on some beer pong, or just not drink his beers fast enough. End result? He will not get as drunk as if he had no intentions of driving. Not getting as drunk as possible is one of the most serious side effects of drunk driving. In fact, they should probably call this not-that-drunk driving.

2. After the bar, it's the after-party, as R. Kelly taught us. This can be one of the most magical, and boozy, times of the night. People are often fall down drunk, getting in fights about beer pong, and spilling things. In short, it is can't-miss booze time. If Billy drives, he will miss out on most of this. Either because he doesn't want to drink so soon before driving, or because he has already left. Think about all the great times you've had after the bar, and think about what you would miss if you drove home.

3. Hungover Drunk. I can't stress this one enough. One of the best parts about drinking is that, when done properly, you get to wake up the next morning and be hungover drunk. This is probably one of the best times in my day, those first few hours before the headache really sets in, when I am refreshed from some passed-out slumber. You can do anything you want hungover drunk - it combines all the effects of actually being drunk with none of the legal consequences. So if you really want to drive drunk, I suggest driving hungover drunk the next morning instead of piss drunk that night.

Also, when hungover drunk, it is best to be with friends. Nobody wants to wake up the next morning in their bed and have to call a friend to loudly discuss all the doings that transpired. It is much better to do this in person, so you can slam your fists against a table when guffawing and really get your point across. After this, you can go out to breakfast, and maybe even order a beer (No worries though, because you will be driving home in the sunlight).

4. When you do finally make it home, you can really relax and appreciate your bed. A lot of drunk drivers tell me that they just want to sleep in their own bed. While perfectly understandable, I ask these people to consider delaying that gratification. Instead, sleep curled up in a recliner, or on the bathroom floor. That way, when you drive home the next morning, you will be able to crawl into your own bed and really get down and dirty with it. And you will need to, because sleeping from 5 to 8 AM while hugging the toilet bowl is not going to be enough shut-eye.

Some side benefits of refusing to drive drunk include: less time spent at the mechanic waiting for him to fix those pesky dings and dents (which means more money in your pocket! ka-ching!), no more cleaning up dried blood from the bumper (or vomit from the floor mat), and getting to know Judge Snyder on strictly social terms (scratch golfer).

I hope you take my lessons to heart, because refusing to drive drunk could really add to your quality of life.

Take it from me, I'm a winner!

Sometimes You Just Have To Let It Go

2008-02-22T17:28:00.000-08:00

Cheating, lies, and corruption are everywhere in sports these days. All three major sports have had scandals that contest the integrity of each game. Baseball has its juicers which account for nearly every great slugger of the 90s and now the greatest pitcher of the modern era. The NBA fairs slightly better with its players staying out of the mess, but Donaghy pushing scores up above gambling lines means the games were not refereed fairly and some of these were playoff games. Lucky for Vegas gambling will probably not take a big hit because anyone crazy enough to bet on regular season bball is beyond help. Lastly, there is the NFL and Spygate.

I can't stand the Patriots. I can't stand their fans. I can't stand them winning. I can't stand them winning for a city that cares about them far, far behind their beloved Sawks and Ceatles . I can't stand their arrogance, their callousness, their lack of respect for their opponents, and yeah, their ability to make all the right moves that I only wish the Birds would do. That said I was giddy when Spygate came out. It finally made sense! Of course they cheated, they had been cheating all along I bet. I used to joke about a conspiracy theory a cab driver in Connecticut told me about how the Patriots came out of nowhere to win the SuperBowl the season after 9/11. "So the Patriots, one of the worst franchises, come out of nowhere to get the chip and you gonna tell me the President doesn't have something to do with this? Wake up people!?" He was also a Giants fan. Now while still a ludicrous theory we are a little closer to the schemes of the wise cabbie.

With the latest reports that former Patriots employee, Matt Walsh, has film he took of the St. Louis Rams walk-through practice the day before the 2002 Super Bowl, the Patriots cheating ways have come into a new light. If they were doing this back in 2002 and it worked for them one can only assume they have been doing it ever since. There has been debate as to how helpful stealing signals and videotaping walk-throughs actually will be and coaches, players, and analysts have chimed in on both sides. However, the fact remains that they wouldn't have done it if it wasn't going to help them at all.

Now Arlen Specter long time Senator from good old Pennsylvania wants answers. He wants to know why the Spygate tapes were destroyed by Commissioner Goodell and why there have not been inquiries into the tapes from the 2002 Super Bowl and any other game the Patriots played in including the Patriots win over...yes...achem...mmmphf...(sniff)..dah!...yeah, the Birds.

As much as I would feel some vindication for the Patriots to be further confirmed as cheaters and their dynasty trashed I must say we have to let this one go. I listened to the entire Clemens hearing a few weeks ago and it was a travesty. The Mitchell Report did nothing good for baseball and only reinforced the idea that the game has not been pure in two decades and it was only dirtier than we thought it was. It is apparent to me that Bud Selig and the owners are to blame for letting steroids run rampant. It is understandable, yet not excusable why they let it go. After the strike baseball needed a jolt and its saviors were Mark McGuire and Slammin Sammy Sosa. Their home run duel and a few Yankee championships rejuvenated America's interest in the sport. A decade later base ball is back. Last season baseball broke attendance records across the board. Young, good looking, lovable, inspiring, and clean stars are pushing the game into a new era. However, baseball for some reason does not want to shake loose of its past. The Mitchell Report has dominated baseball headlines this off season and Clemens testimony before Congress in the public eye was just a debacle for him, for baseball, and maybe most of all for the Congress of country at war (and I don't want to hear about justice or anti-trust crap) Everyone involved is lying or lied, and everyone is guilty.

So I ask you Senator Specter let this one go. Look at how baseball is still crawling out from its shadows years later. Focus on Senatororial stuff, the country needs you. Goodell tried to stifle this mess by getting rid of the tapes and it was the right move. The NFL and its fans do not need to feel more hosed about the game they love. And gamblers don't need to start adding a cheating factor to their weekly analysis. Commissioner Goodell, punish the Patriots if need be (your first attempt wasn't anything more than a slap on the wrist--the Patriots still have the 5th pick from the Niners this year)and setup strict rules that would deter any team from even thinking of taping signals or practices.

There is nothing like watching football on Sunday afternoon with some buddies or family. It brings people together to bond and be passionate about a common theme. It is a reason to grill and throw back some cold lager bottles. It is part of American culture. And maybe sometimes ignorance is bliss--especially when it ultimately just comes to a game. Pursuing old dirt will not change the past and it will only hurt the future.

Phillies vs Sixers (Part 1)

2008-02-21T19:49:00.000-08:00

Not too long ago Philadelphia sports fans were on the edge of their seats watching Sixers games with increasing enthusiasm as winter months came and went. It seems now, though, that much of the Philadelphia fan base is more focused on bar-b-que, beers, and summer evenings spent watching Phillies games. But what happened? How did this turn around come to be? Now that the Sixers are officially rebuilding, can they learn anything from what the Phillies have accomplished? In my opinion, they have shown that they already have.

The Phillies took clear steps in making a turn around possible. They fired Manager Larry Bowa, and went with a "player's coach" in Charlie Manuel. At the end of Charlie Manuel's first season in 2005, then General Manager Ed Wade was fired and Pat Gillick was hired as a replacement. Ed Wade hoped that Charlie's slight improvement over his first season would allow him to remain in his current position, but this did not prove to be the case. (Note: For those how don't know, Pat Gillick was the GM in Toronto when Joe Carter shattered my hopes and dreams). Pat Gillick's first goal as GM was to obtain financial flexibility. He traded away overpaid third basemen David Bell in July of 2006, and 3 days later traded the teams biggest name player in "Booby" Abreu. These changes are what essentially created the current Phillies roster. This current roster has been built by allowing young talent such as Chase Utley, Ryan Howard, Cole Hamels, and Shane Victorino get on the field and win games as a unit. The Phillies improvements have come from the changes listed above, and a blue-collar Philadelphia type attitude fostered by young talent and a team mentality.

The Sixers recently have taken seemingly similar actions in fostering a turn around of their own. At the end of the 2005 season Jim O'Brien was fired from the head coaching position, and Maurice Cheeks was hired. Mo is widely considered a "player's coach." On December 19, 2006 I cried. On this day Allen Iverson was traded from the Philadelphia 76er's. He was of course the biggest name player on the Sixers roster at the time. In addition, Chris Webber's contract was bought out in order to improve the team's financial situation down the road. These moves were made by former General Manager Billy King. Billy hoped that they would provide him with the ability to remain the team's General Manager, but he was fired on December 4, 2007. At the same time Ed Stefanski was hired as the new GM and his first goal was to increase the Sixers financial flexibility, which he did by trading Kyle Korver to create additional cap space. These changes, and the 2007 draft class, create what is now the current Sixers roster. Young players like Lou Williams, Jason Smith, Rodney Carney, and Thaddeus Young are attracting more and more playing time. With their increasing contributions and the play of other relatively young players in Andre Iguodala, and Samuel Dalembert a team attitude has been created, with the same blue-collar Philadelphia type mentality on defense.

As you can see many similarities can be drawn from actions that brought about the Phillie's turn around, and those that seem to be helping the Sixers start winning games. These similarities include changes in key positions such as GM, coach, and the release of big name players. As these changes were made young talent has been able to incorporate a team attitude, and a workman's type mentality. The Phillies were able to use such changes to their advantage as they achieved the NL East title in the 2007 season. It seems as though the Sixers are using related tactics in order to hopefully achieve similar successes of their own.

2008-02-20T16:43:00.000-08:00

With all the talk lately about elections and among us, since we are patriots, American history, I thought I would start off with a small lesson on civic responsibilities. Some of which while still existent are beginning to be somewhat out of practice, or rather the people who practice them are out of practice.

I am of course referring to drinking during civic responsibilities.

An example presented itself to me yesterday as I was exercising the powerful and interesting responsibility of jury duty. During a break, I stepped into the hall at the courts on Filbert Street, and a gentleman beside me was heard to remark " hold up, Ima' bout to step up to the Chi-Chi's next door, get drunk as shit and be back in here like ahhhh…."

To me truer words were never spoken.

This man truly had his eyes on the prize and his foot on the throat of the issue. He was a true patriot who knew he had to exercise, that's right, responsibility. Then I started wondering "how much would it take for that man to get 'drunk as shit', as he promised," before returning to the judge's chambers? I'm afraid to say it would have been very little...two or three frozen concoctions or three of any kind of alcohol with strawberry would have knocked that man out in a cocoon of horror.

Back in the day people were better equipped to handle the awesome responsibilities of democratic government. In 1758 George Washington ran for the House of Burgessess in VA. He could not attend the election or the politicking as he was still a Col. in the militia, as a result he delegated a friend of his, Lt. Charles Smith to campaign in his absence. Smith informed Washington, via mail, that he had served 28 gallons of rum, 50 gallons of rum punch, 34 gallons of wine, 46 gallons of beer, two gallons of cider (probably hard), for a total of 160 gallons of booze to the crowds. There were 397 voters. Washington won a plurality of these. Think about that, that means that these hero citizens were far more responsible during their civic duty than I could ever be. Sure I will take in a ball game,attend an alumni event or some other patriotic municipal event all while trying to be as responsible as possible. The bottom line is I will never be responsible enough. I will keep trying though. So who's with with me for exercising our responsible duties behind the wheel this Friday?

You Got Punk'd!

2008-02-18T14:44:00.000-08:00

Kyle Kendrick looks like he is about to cry in this picture.

No, he did not just find out that he tore his rotator cuff, or that his grandmother has passed away.

He appears distraught because he is looking at trade papers. Because he is being traded. To Japan.

Or so Brett Myers would have him believe, as part of an elaborate prank pulled on the young pitcher.

You should really check out the video of it right here, because it's pretty ridiculous.

When I say elaborate, I mean elaborate. Myers got Charlie Manuel and Ruben Amaro in on it, plus all his teammates and reporters.

They staged a fake news conference, and had him sign his name on official Phillies letterhead.

Basically, he bought it hook, line, and sinker, until Myers yelled out 'You got punk'd' during the news conference. My favorite part of the video? When it cuts to all the reporters laughing at him.

Here are some quotes about the prank:

"I wanted to cry." - Kyle Kendrick

"I would have loved to see him fly to Japan and get off the plane...I would have paid the fare." - Charlie Manuel

"Nobody's safe. Nobody." - Ryan Howard

That last one makes it seem like this Phillies team is going to have a few more pranks go down this season, something I am all for.

Doesn't it seem like a distant memory when this team was full of a bunch of old, tight veterans? Bobby Abreu, David Bell, and the like? They would not have pulled these pranks. They also would probably not have been able to handle the pressure last year when the season came down to the final day.

But this is a new team. We got Brett Myers pulling pranks, Jimmy Rollins making bold predictions, and Shane Victornio not taking his adderal.

Suffice it to say, I like our chances this year.

Go Phils!

Santana who?

Motivation?

2008-02-17T08:23:00.000-08:00

The Flyers are hitting their hardest slump of the season, the Sixers look like they might get into the playoffs. So is anyone ready for baseball? I know that a new washers set and cornhole set have already been completed, paving the way for many glorious afternoons spent drinking beers off Pattison Ave. Anyway, I'm not going to get into a long-winded preview, but I will direct you to the following previews, which are much better then what I would have done.
A good preview with some stats, lists, and quick looks at some new players and guys to watch in camp.
An awesome look at the link between facial hair and winning baseball games.
Other than that just check out Beerleaguer.com or the the700level.com for solid Phillies coverage.

As for the above picture and the title of this post, you have almost surely seen the picture of Pat Burrel, shirtless, lifting weights. I posted it last year on the ill fated Rope-A-Dopes blog. Anyway, someone on the Phils had the brilliant idea to put the picture on t-shirts with the question "Man or Machine" underneath. Funny? Yes. Motivational? Not sure.

If you haven't seen Anna Benson yet (wife of new Phillies pitcher Kris) Google that shit.

2008-02-16T15:42:00.000-08:00

"It's funny. I can look back on a life of achievement, on challenges met, competitors bested, obstacles overcome. I've accomplished more than most men, and without the use of my legs. What... What makes a man, Mr. Lebowski?....Is it ...is it being prepared to do the right thing? Whatever the price? Isn't that what makes a man?"
-The Big Lebowski

Rarely are great feats attempted, and even more seldom realized. And to accomplish a great feat is not the work of one man, some maverick...it takes a team. And rarely are truly great teams assembled, where that perfect storm of talent, experience, and blue-collar work ethic, coupled with reckless abandon and 'espirit-de-corps,' materializes as a cohesive group of actors. The '93 Phillies come to mind, as well as the First Continental Congress, and the Frank Rizzo administration. Now add to that short list of great teams to accomplish great feats 'The2-1-5', a group of like-minded bloggers and boozehounds to which I am both honored and humbled to be a part of.

Ya know, I've lived in this city most of my life. I've seen some ups and downs, some strikes and gutterballs. Some of the greatest peaks fall away into the lowest valleys...the 2001 NBA finals, the Eagles-Patriots superbowl, the sweep of the '07 Philles in the NLDS. But in this city, you transform inevitable disappointment into hard-nosed, working-class optimism. Did you know that revolution was forged in the taverns and alehouses of Olde Philadelphia Towne, with the drunken plotting of John Adams, Samuel Adams, Benjamin Franklin, and, to a lesser extent, George Clymer and James Smith? Fuckin 'Eh.