Bulls-Celts Game Six = Pretty Much Speechless

Quite simply, the Bulls-Celtics series is the gift that keeps on giving. It has become absolute must-see TV that gets better every time if that's humanly possible.

Amazing. Ridiculous. Absurd. Crazy. Unbelievable. Fantastic. Did I say ridiculous? This is what you call lazy-ass writing, but I truly can't come up with much else to say about this series.

You don't want these games to ever stop. And, for the most part, both teams seem to be obliging. It's like those Buffalo Wild Wings commercials. We've got the collective remote control and are requesting that each of these thrillers keep going to OT after OT -- and then they do.

I can't think of an NBA game I've ever seen that was better than game six. Well, at least not since game one of this matchup...or two...or four...or five. I certainly can't recall any series in my lifetime that's been this good. As mentioned before, the somewhat deadpan delivery of Harlan and Collins seems to take down the level of drama that was and has unfolded on the court in this series. Luckily, what's transpired has been so out of control it really hasn't even mattered. There's not another thing I could even think to attempt to complain about.

Pierce still baffles me with just how much of a competitor he is on the floor. Despite all his great years, the fact that he really is that great still catches me off-guard (although that foul on Noah was idiotic, perhaps fatigue was to blame). Watching Ray Allen shoot a jump shot off a screen is one of the most beautiful sights in all of sports. Derek Rose is a man among men already. Salmons is actually kind of decent? And Noah isn't awful? Wait, Big Baby is good? Rockin' fadeaway j's? How about the fact the Bulls did it all without Gordon down the latter stretch?

I mean, there's just too much to try to compute, comprehend and absorb. Just all kinds of ridonculousness. Sign me up for Saturday. I'm ready for game 7 right now.

Doesn't "B*tch T*ts" Seem Like Poetic Justice for A-Rod?

We'll leave all the other sports blogs out there to run with this (and...they're off...), but it seems somehow fitting that A-Rod had an adorable little nickname back with the Yanks in 2005 according to recently published reports.

Several outlets are relaying the news, as part of the early leaks on Selena Robert's upcoming book A-Rod: The Many Lives of Alex Rodriguez, that his teammates once affectionately called Rodriguez "b*tch t*ts," known also by its clinical term gynecomastia.

Our early prognostication is that the Interwebs has not seen an athlete nickname take off as fast as b*tch t*ts is bound to since "Kool-Aid" Maroney blew up back in '07. Really, if you had to conjure up a scenario or turn of events more perfectly suited to the general tone, tenor and subject matter of "modern-day media" (let's put aside those implications for a second) could there be a better fit? High-profile "celebrity?" Check. Hated by many? Check. Embarrassing/funny revelation that likely won't (or can't) be confirmed by anyone? Check. Linked to drugs or illegal substances? Uh-huh. It's like a grand slam. A big, fat juicy pitch right down the heart of the plate.

In our humble opinion, this is one of those feel good stories when what goes around really does come around. We can already envision the welcoming and creative visual greetings the fine folks of Fenway will dream up for A-Rod's next trip to the stadium. Won't that be a trip. Boston better have their own sign police poised and ready.

It's Clear. The Mets Obviously Hate Johan Santana.

"Remind Me Why the Hell I am Here"

The Mets secretly hate Johan Santana. It's all I can think of to even begin to make sense it of it all. There is no other explanation. Once again, the gutless, spineless crew from Flushing took another perfectly solid start from their ace and crapped it away. No, no that's not right. Rather, they looked at it, spit on it and then literally wiped their ass with it.

Seven innings, five hits, three walks and seven Ks. Two earned runs ballooned Santana's ERA to 1.10. He left in line for the win, the Mets, and their revamped, fancy-pants bullpen did not secure it. Yes, the Mets once again held a lead and then collapsed. Just like they did the night before...and last year...and the year before. Shocker, I know. We've never heard this story before.

For his efforts this afternoon, Mr. Santana earned a cute, little no decision. One could say that's better than when he yielded zero earned runs on two hits while striking out 13 and walking one in his second start of this already painful 2009 Mets campaign. That one snagged Johan a big, fat loss. In his five starts, the Mets are 3-2 despite Johan giving up only four earned runs and striking out 44 in 31.2 innings.

This is not a new pattern. Last year, Johan ran into this a few times as well. Like, more than a few. For those who followed the not-so-amazins and tortured themselves on a consistent basis in 2008, this whole sordid scenario is like watching the same terrible movie over and over. The only problem is you can't leave the theater. I mean, you can, but you really can't. And silly me, I thought when Johan got to New York from Minnesota he'd win even more games! Add J.J. Putz and K-Rod, and we're talking Cy Young!! Riiight.

Any way you slice it, it's just all kinds of awful. I'll leave this topic for now, but I've got a terrible feeling I'll be re-visiting it quite soon. After all, these are the Mets.

Oh, Where Art Thou Mayne Street?

"They Killed Kenny? You BASTARDS!"

Remember that new-fangled Internet-only show featuring Kenny Mayne? You know, the one that ESPN hyped up on its home page. The one that was actually relatively funny at various times. Wha-ha-happened?

I won't claim to be a Mayne Street diehard, but I did enjoy occasionally heading over and treating myself to a few minutes of Mayne's dry wit, along with that cute little producer gal. Well, it seems Mayne Street's time may have come and gone. Although its home page claims the webisodes have simply gone on an "extended rest," we're skeptical.

It's a shame, too. The last episode included cameos from Paulie Walnuts, Big Pussy, Uncle Joon and Bobby Flay just to name a few. The upside on Mayne Street was promising.

Matt Slauson Frightens Me...In a Good, Steve Lattimer Kinda Way

Like most Jets fans, my initial draft attention focused mostly on that Sanchez character and my new main man, Mr. Shonn Greene. Lest we not forget football fans that the J-E-T-S had one more pick in their thin-in-the-selection-dept. 2009 NFL Draft. With the #193 pick, the New York Jets selected Steve Lattimer, defensive end, ECU...

Just kidding...the green-and-white added 6-6, 315-pound former Nebraska Cornhuskers guard Matt Slauson, who only conjures up images of the famed face-painting animal from The Program.

I don't know a whole lot about Slauson other than what the "experts" say about his potential to play multiple O-line positions and the fact he was All Big 12 for three years. Besides that, I'm pretty reliant on photos. And all I can say is that, from the looks of him, I am already a big Matt Slauson fan.

Not that painting your face makes you good or anything, but it does up the chances that you're perhaps just a wee bit...off -- which is a trait that I love in my team's offensive lineman (maybe outside of the center position). Not to abuse the cliche, but a good ole-fashioned mean streak never did hurt those dudes in the trenches. I like the way them fellas play, the Kyle Turley types who seem like decent human beings off the field but turn into somewhat maniacal road graters on it.

Sure, Slauson may turn out to be a nice college player who can't make his way onto an NFL roster, but we're rooting for him. I mean, when was the last time you tore your pectoral muscle during the bench press portion of the combine and then "gutted it out?" Are you f-in kidding me? With that to contemplate, a photographic tribute to one of the newest Jets. My personal favorite is the one where he's sprinting down the field after his back sans helmet looking ready to decapitate someone. Fanstastic.

LeBron For Pope

Hello Legend readers, I'm at the beginning of exam week for second semester of Law School and needless to say time is at a premium. But, this NBA season (LEBRON!!!) has had such a positive impact on my sports psyche (which was at its lowest point since Fart Modell burgled my innocence) that I had to get some thoughts out.

Mix the Cavs with the draft, which is always an emotional day for a Browns fan, and you get these two emails from me to Cecilio's Scribe:

E-mail #1

Subject: LeBron For Pope
To: legendofcecilioguante@gmail

CS, Exam time, numero uno is on Thursday. Unfortunately, I studied 20 hours this weekend. Would have been 24, but Cavs playoffs and NFL draft interfered. No time to write a full blog spot, but I gotta get some Clevetown sports thoughts off my mind. Thanks for the set of eyes.

Un-fricking-believable time to be in Akron and able to get 100% Cleve-town sports coverage. I got the entire damned roller coaster this year. I moved last summer and the Tribe has a great 2nd half, a quick dose of false optimism. Then, I was positive the Browns were going to be off the hook this year. Things were going to change! It was going to be awesome. Browns killed me. Almost broke my spirit. All-time low as a sports fan (besides when the assclown took our team).

I just recovered from the Browns 2008 campaign last week, right in time for the draft. LeBron has saved my sports soul. I am a Witness. I've managed to watch a ton of Cavs games season, it's my law school refuge. My Lord, becoming a Witness was never so glorious. LeBron, holy crap. Sweet sassy molassy is that guy rediculous. Not only my #1 sports hero, but #1 overall hero for ES. And, beyond Lebron this Cavs team is awesome. They hang out and make funny Youtube videos and do all sorts of other cool sh**. Like getting the best record in the league and sweeping the Pistons. West, Williams, Big Z, Booby, Joe Smith, Sideshow Bob? All those guys, tremendous.

Optimism at an all time high for this squad. I am loving the Cavs, life is good. Things have turned around. My whole prospective is realigned. I'm easily able to shake off the Tribe's horrendous start. No worries Wahoo Warriors, I'll check you in June.

I've even already bought into the first ManKak (great nickname, blogosphere) draft. Did they give up #5 for a mere second rounder, the 17, and some castoffs? Yes, but I've convinced myself the dude with the kicker's name will start at safety, the unbelieveably average sounding guy will add depth to DL, and 2nd year QB quy is better than Ken Dorsey (this part I don't doubt). You assured me that Nick Mangold is superb, so I'm convinced that Mangini's trademark "in 1st round, pick a center" strategy is money. Two recievers means that Stallworth's vehicular manslaughter case is less troublesome (there's a sentence you don't write everyday). Plus Robiski is "the most polished" receiver in the draft! I'd imagine he'll catch 60 balls, at least. Georgia WR guy, he's cool too, he says he brings a lunchbox everyday. That's my kind of player. And then Hawaii DE they're turning into an OLB, he sounds crazy! But crazy in a good for an OLB in the NFL sort of way.

Plus I like the extra late round picks. Forgotten USC linebacker guy in the 4th round? He's going to be awesome, would have led any other team in tackles. He's like a mix of Zack Thomas and Dat N'gweyn. 6th round, 2 CB's (with tons of upside), and a RB that was part of an officially nicknamed "Thunder and Lightning" backfield? Any dude that is good enough that I've heard of his nickname is a keeper. Great draft. 10-6 and playoffs. Whew. Basically I'm excited. Had to get that off my chest, thanks for listening to the vent, Cecilio. And thank you LeBron, you're going to be the best pope ever.

--Harry Doyle

E-mail #2

Subject: One More Thing....‏

To: legendofcecilioguante@gmail

C.S., I know you and your J-E-T-S bretheren are frothing at the thought of a franchise QB. I'd be excited too. I think this Dirty Sanchez guy is going to be good (but then again I thought Leinart was going to be good). Just keep 'er in prospective. Trust me, I got way to excited about the Brownies last season. The crushing blow of such a terrible season after so much hope is a torture I wish upon no man (Not even DeShawn Stevenson).

The Jets big draft splash with Sanchez and Shoan Green reminds me of when the Browns got Quinn and Thomas 2 years ago. Great moment, but the loss of picks? Badness. Don't forget that the J-E-T-S made a 5 for 1 swap. The Jets got the best player in the trade, but that came at a price of 5 guys off of the 53 man roster. I felt I owed you this warning. Over-expectations for the Browns put me in a 7 month funk.

Okay, thanks, my mind is clear and ready to jump into a little interpleader and joinder and res judacata and the such.

--E.S.

Eugene Monroe's Subtle Diamond Bracelet

Ummm...OK, these draft things just provide us with too much $$ content. Speaking of money, how 'bout the bracelet Jacksonville Jaguars first-round pick Eugene Monore was rocking this evening? Monroe, the University of Virginia tackle, went #7 overall and will likely be making more than enough cash to sport similarly subtle pieces of jewelry in the near future.

Nothing says humble and understated like four pounds of diamonds wrapped around your wrist. Who needs to work out when you have that thing strapped to you. Diamond curls, baby. Here's a closer look. Keep in mind this is a 300-plus lb. man with a wrist wider than most of our arms (at least mine). I'm not sure I've ever seen anything like it...

Sanchez is a Jet: Analysis? Gotta Have Faith...

The Jets had the #17 pick in the NFL Draft as of about fifteen minutes ago. A few minutes later they picked fifth. Mark Sanchez is now a New York Jet. My phone has already rung three times and the texts and emails are starting to come in from buddies and family who know of my love for the draft and my tendency to torture myself as a Jets fan.

Initial thoughts? I'm still trying to gather them, but I like it. I like the pick, I like the kid, I like the potential. You can tell from his first interview he's going to be just fine in New York. I don't think you can knock the rationale on this move one bit. It is crystal clear that former and current Jets coaches and management do not believe there is a first-rate NFL starter on the current roster.

Neither Ratliff, Clemens or Ainge has done enough to make any Jets fan comfortable. It's why you took a flyer on Brett Favre, and, while the scenarios are different, this pick does the same thing with possibly much greater upside. If you listen to any of the pundits, if you've got enough talent to be chosen as a quarterback at number five overall, than enough folks think you could be a top-flight NFL starter. As a Jets fan, you have to jump on that opportunity if it presents itself. It's not like we hopped a dozen-plus spots to take a defensive tackle out of Kentucky at #4 or anything. This is a quarterback out of USC.

As for the particulars of the trade, the Jets did give up a lot to move twelve spots. That said, Elam was a guy we'd already let go once. We've gone from three, young unproven quarterbacks competing for the starting job - to three again, one of whom is a #5 overall pick, which is another way of saying I'm cool with letting Brett Ratliff go. Ditto on Kenyon Coleman.

Would it be great to have another pick in what is already a thin draft in terms of total Jets selections? Sure, but we're OK with it. Our comparison: it's the equivalent of shipping two average middle relievers and a triple A prospect for a young pitcher who could be your ace for years. Is their risk? Absolutely, but in terms of risk-reward we think it's a pretty favorable equation in the Jets case.

If Sanchez starts and is nearly as good as Flacco or Ryan in their respective rookie years, I can rest comfortably in knowing our offense can be consistently OK for a few years (a feeling I haven't had in awhile). Part of the reason for the confidence in the offense is the confidence Ryan already gives me in our defense. I think the Jets are going to be nasty on D, this year and for years to come.

The Jets could use some more beasts on the defensive side of the ball and a few more explosive players on offense. But I feel better right now then I did about a month ago. Probably more on this once I get a chance to let is marinate for a bit...

I [HEART] THE NFL DRAFT

Most folks like me like the NFL Draft. I'll admit it. I love it. Pure, unadulterated love. I think I fell for the draft when I was about 12, maybe even younger. I'm not even sure if it was legal at the time. But even now, at 31, I'm still not over it.

Sure, it's somewhat juvenile and pathetic, but I don't give a rat's ass. The glorious thing about the NFL Draft is that everyone thinks they know everything, but nobody really knows nothin' - which all makes for very entertaining television, particularly when you consider it's just a dude standing in front of a mic reading names.

Calm down draft junkies, I realize there's more to it than Goodell uttering a name and some disproportionately large man throwing on a cap and jersey. I, for one, understand. I'm the guy still watching highlights in the sixth round of day two proclaiming: "Seriously, he's going to be goood." I'm the one who can't get enough of the shots of the guy on the phone with his agent as he sits alongside 35 of his closest relatives crammed into a living room. It's all fabulous.

And the intrigue lies in the very unpredictability of it all. The fabulous ridiculousness of looking at a guy from a school you may never have heard of, who played against teams and other players who might not even be any good, but whose sheer athleticism makes them so tantalizing that you can't help be curious. Oh yes, and pretending you have any idea how their skills might translate to the NFL.

The biggest fear of the teams, coaches, scouts and GMs is that those to whom they stake millions of dollars, not to mention the hopes of their fan bases and cities, will ultimately be tagged with the worst four-letter word in the English language --
B-U-S-T. Avoiding the dreaded bust is why NFL talent evaluators log thousands of miles each year traveling to colleges across the country. It's why hours upon hours are spent reviewing film, looking at everything from a player's first step to their first answer to an interview question. It's the reason the draft board, Mel Kiper, Todd McShay, upside potential, value pick, stretch, franchise quarterback and so many more ridculous people and terms now exist as part of our sporting vernacular.

Despite all the effort that will go towards a handful of picks this Saturday and Sunday, the draft is still an imperfect science, as will always be the case when anyone is trying to accurately analyze 20 and 21-year old kids coming out of college. What's almost as appealing to me about the draft is looking back on team's selections with the perspective of years removed. Like most draft diehards, I can immediately recall those players whose names were called and offered so much promise, only to fail, as well as those I scoffed or rolled my eyes at who later became foundations for a franchise.

Yet, it's the busts, potential busts, debatable and fear of the busts, that seem to offer the greatest drama. For every Peyton Manning, there's a Ryan Leaf, Akili Smith, David Klinger and Andre Ware. For every Marshal Faulk, there's a Blair Thomas and a KiJana Carter. For every Orlando Pace and Jonathan Ogden, there's a Tony Mandarich (who gets a bit too much of a bad rap) and Robert Gallery. A simple stroll through the past 20 years, reveals a plethora of high first-rounders picks whose NFL careers failed to live up to expecations, from Steve Emtman to Dan Wilkinson...Heath Shuler to Mike Mamula...Lawrence Phillips to Courtney Brown...Peter Warrick to Charles Rogers.

And that's the wonder and beauty of the NFL Draft. I, for one, will be on the edge of my seat come Saturday hoping that my beloved J-E-T-S avoid another Kyle Brady or Johnny Lam-Jones or Blair Thomas or Johnny Mitchell moment (yes, we could go on). We shall see...

Hey Giambi, Rick Ankiel Sees Your Porn 'Stache and Re-Raises

Strong to Quite Strong

For the Redbirds fanatics out there who see this team everyday, this may not be breaking news. But holy sh%!, when did Rick Ankiel start rocking such an amazingly terrible (or awesome) porn 'stache? I am watching the Cards and my Metros (Ollie Perez is again proving he has the mental fortitude and pitching savvy of a third grader, but that's besides the point) and Ankiel's look has me floored. Cardinals fans, please let us know whether this is a new development or if this substantial crumb-catcher has made previous appearances.

We haven't seen a 'stache of this stature since you-know-who garnered national media attention for his upper lip accessory.

Too close to call, right? Advantage Giambi for the slightly more manicured handlebar action? Regardless, with his average below the Mendoza level and no home runs, Ricky may want to shave that thing off and try to get his mojo back. Still, wow...

Royals Faithful Already Calling for Farnsworth "Boycott"

I always find it's enlightening, entertaining and often quite humorous, to take a stroll through the InterWebs once in awhile and hear about teams and players you may not frequently see or read about in your own home market. As much as I purport to know just enough about a lot of sports stuff to spew unsubtantiated opinion around, one can never truly know a team, player or organization better than the die-hards who follow them day in and day out. This is perhaps most evidence in the case of baseball -- which stretches out over a 162-game campaign.

This is all a long-winded way of saying we got a huge kick out of a recent post and quote via esteemed Kansas City Royals blog Royals Review. It's easy as a fan to find a single player to whom much of your frustration and venom is directed. Sometimes the burying of the player is warranted, sometimes it's not. Regardless, we could totally empathize with the casual suggestion made by this Royals loyalist in the fan posts section of Royals Review. We've included the title and our favorite excerpt below:

Can we Boycott Farnsworth?
by cmkeller on Apr 20, 2009 12:26 AM EDT 17 comments

"Is there any way, by internet and word-of-mouth, to get noticeable masses of Royals fans to exit the K whenever Kyle Farnsworth enters a game? Trey and Dayton can't possibly be stubborn enough to keep pitching the guy in the face of a full fan revolt, can they?"

Perfect. I love it. It reminds me of exactly how I felt with Armando Benitez during his time in Queens. Same with Braden Looper come to think of it. Farnsworth is another who seems to have that special combination of great physical tools, an intimidating mound presence and a consistent and powerful degree of flappability that is exactly the opposite of cool, calm and collected. This rare gift translates into a demonstrated ability to be the-opposite-of-clutch time after time causing fans from the Windy City to Motown to the Big Apple - and now KC - to cringe everytime the bullpen doors open and Mr. Farnsworth heads in the direction of the slab.

On a related note, how awesome would it be to see a player boycott? Unprecedented?

Wishing Gus Johnson Had Been on the Call for Celts-Bulls Game 2

Gus, We Needed You in Boston Tonight

Quickly...just finished watching another sterling game between Boston and Chicago. Stellar all around. Gordon, sick. Allen, coming through like a veteran. The only thing missing? Where was the love from Harlan and D. Collins? I know Doug is a pretty laid-back voice as far as commentators go, but the two of them seemed somehwhat lacking in enthusiasm down the stretch in what was a final two minutes that it was fairly difficult not to get excited about. Not the worst of calls in the closing moments, but certainly not worthy of the entertainment quotient of what was transpiring on the floor. All we know is that our man Gus Johnson may have spontaneously combusted and/or had a heart attack by the 12-second mark of tonight's contest. Rise...and FIRE!

Brian Cashman Bashed in Men's Journal: Agree or Disagree?

I'm probably not a good enough writer to claim a Men's Journal columnist's metaphors lack sophistication or that his writing is gimmicky. Nor am I arrogant or naive enough to believe, as much as we fans often like to joke, that I could take the reigns of a Major League Baseball teams as its GM and steer it to a championship -- even with the benefit of a near-limitless payroll.

With that as a backdrop, I've chose to refrain from taking any definitive stance on an article in this month's Men's Journal written by Matt Taibbi entitled "Brian Cashman: The Bad Lieutenant." I arrived home today to a free issue of the magazine (for whatever reason...I seem to get these constantly, does this happen to anyone else?) and was surprised to find a "sports column" focused on baseball no less towards the front of the publication.

And I must admit, after a few lines the piece had succeeded in soliciting a few genuine chuckles from his self-professed and unabashed Yankees hater. However, we'll leave it you LCG readers to read it and form your own opinion. I know they're some of you who frequent this blog from both sides of the fence and interested to get your take (of course, I sincerely appreciate your reading LCG no matter what your allegiances).

Regardless of your opinion, or the heated ones of those who've already commented online, the article unquestionably succeeds in what today (for better or worse) is increasingly the ultimate measure of success -- it's getting people talking. So what say you Legend faithful? Has Taibbi penned a dead-on article that articulately captures everything you've always believed about the Evil Empire. Or has he taken the lazy way out in offering up an acerbic, flip-flopping piece of sensationalist journalism written by a reporter short on baseball acumen and long on misguided venom.

Here's the teaser for those looking for a nudge to read and pontificate:

"Because objectively speaking, the job of New York Yankees general manager should be the single most failure-proof position not only in sports but in all of human society. Giving a normal, red-blooded, pattern-baldness-suffering American male access to the Steinbrenner fortune and asking him to buy 25 baseball players a year in an unregulated market is no different, in any meaningful way, from handing Sarah Jessica Parker a blank check and asking her to fill a three-bedroom apartment with shoes and dresses. And we’re not even asking her to get good deals. All we ask is that the outfits match. "

Talk amongst yourselves...

Zach Greinke Apparently Very Much for Real

Don't blame me for being skeptical. For quite some time, the "promise" of the Kansas City Royals, and so many of its young players, has been just that - promise. So forgive me for not embracing the preseason murmurs from reputable baseball minds that mentioned 24-year old Royals hurler Zach Greinke and Cy Young in the same vicinity. It's just that I'm not accustomed to modern-day Royals being tossed around along with mention of baseball's most prestigious awards. I may need to get used to it.

In a sense, talking about MLB post-season awards in mid-April is the equivalent of discussing the BCS title game in September. It's a completely asinine waste of time, yet it's often too tempting to resist. That said, for those who've missed it, Zach Greinke is making an early case that those pre-season prognosticators weren't far off. In three starts, he's 3-0 in 20 innings of work. He ranks second in the majors with 26Ks against only five walks. Oh yea, he's also yet to surrender a single run. In fact, his scoreless innning streak now stands at 34 innings dating back to the 2008 season.

The Royals meanwhile are off to a decent start at 7-5, but we've seen this before. The team is young and improving, and if they're to stay competitive for ahwile Greinke will continue to be a big reason why. If his first three starts are any indication of what's to come, the Royals may be able to ride an ace that's one of the best in baseball. Who knows? Stranger things have happened? See: Tampa Bay Rays, 2008.

Total side note...what is with baseball players and the hot model wives? I mean, it's seems like everyone of these guys...

In Honor of Roger Millions, Our All-Time Favorite On-Air Slip

Inspired by the great snafu by Roger Millions referenced earlier this morning, I decided to dig around and try to pull up my all-time favorite on-air slip-up. I vividly remember this segment, even more than a decade later. Sitting in the den of my parents house, watching SportsCenter long before the Budweiser Hot Seat or Coors Light Cold Hard Facts.

For years, this little piece slowly become almost an urban legend in my own mind. I wondered if I'd imagined it, simply made it up, and without the helpful resources of the YouTubes and less the proliferance of online video and blogs we've got today, it seemed entirely possible.

But, alas, it was not my imagination running away from me. Oh, glorious Interwebs. Here's my all-time favorite. Steve Levy reports on Maurice Hurst and the bulging d*&k in his neck on SportsCenter. Wait, what??!! I remember watching this live and thinking my ears were going at age 17.

Have patience through the two-minute segment. It's so worth it. I would pay to hear more clearly what Olbermann is mumbling in the background, comments that are clearly serving only to remind Levy of his slight error. As it progresses, the ability to keep composure rapidly disintegrates. Such a classic...

Ummm, What Sucker Was That? Blank-a-Doodle-Doo?

Top of a Friday morning to ya. Compliments of Deadspin, check out the slight tongue slippage by commentator Roger Millions during last night's Hockey Central promo teaser from outside the United Center in Chicago.

Things I immediately love about this video:

1. The obvious. A grown man said c*&%sucker on live TV.
2. That same man seemed to have little clue he had just done so.
3. The cool as a cucumber in-studio crew who had the composure to casually refer to it as a slight "blooper." PRO-fessional.

A splendid start to the morning! By the way, when someone drops a cock reference on a live broadcast it always takes me back to the classic exchange from Private Parts. Wait, you can say "cock," but not c*&%sucker on this blog? Yes, and we don't even need a reason.

Paulus Offered Michigan Scholarship, Chance to Play Shortstop for Yanks

This story gets whackier by the second. Next thing you know, the Yanks we'll be offering Paulus a shot at Jeter's spot.

So, let's review...Paulus is such the man that he's been offered a try out with the Green Bay Packers, the opportunity to give wideout a whirl for the Blue Devils gridders and grab a scholarship for a look at QB for the Wolverines, not to mention getting looks from the likes of Syracuse and (reportedly) other college and pro teams? Well-played, sir.

Adrian Gonzalez's Inexcusably Ridiculous Cap Accessory

This is the equivalent of an NFL quarterback wearing one of those handwarmers in mid-September. You just don't do it. One of those unwritten rules. Hopefully, Adrian(sorry, Edgar) Gonzalez's Padres teammates are giving him hell for this ridiculousness.

Admittedly, it's not sultry out there in Flushing quite yet, but it was about 50 degrees at first pitch tonight. Not fifteen, fif-ty. Even now, nearly an hour after the finish, it's 44. Seriously, Adrian, suck it up. Even if you're chilly, just pretend you're not. This ain't the ski slopes of Colorado. This get-up only succeeds in making you look like an oversized Mexican Elmer Fudd. Plus, it doesn't even seem to offer functionality such that it would actually keep anything warm around one's domepiece.

This vaguely reminds me of when Placido Polanco rocked that spandex-y, snow-cappy, do-raggy thing back in the 2008 World Series, but at least that was late October...and it was raining...and there was bad wind chill...OK, it was inexusable then, too, but this is even less acceptable. Honestly, just look at him...shameful. I wouldn't be surprised if Delgado is trying to stifle a laugh right there. We certainly wouldn't blame him.

Chris Cooley Reality Show. 'Nuff Said

I Just Took My Nude Wife Embrace Over-the-Fireplace Photo Down

We are about to get treated to more Chris Cooley. I, for one, am about a 10 excited. As professed before, I've got an unabashed man crush on the Washington Redskins tight end. Having now spent some time in the "sports business" in real life, the mystique of athletes has slowly eroded over time. Unlike in grade school, I now understand that athletes are normal folks - except for all the ones that aren't and think they're sh*$ don't stink. This appears not to be the case with Cooley.

Like many other sports blog fans/Interwebs perusers, I've gotten some exposure (including some I could have done without) to #47 mainly through his blog venture. His appeal is not hard to break down. Quite simply, he seems like a normal guy who'd be a ton of fun to hang out with and knock back a few beers. If I was 27 and a Pro Bowl tight end married to a smoking hot young lady, I imagine I'd be living quite a similar life.

Anyway, this is all a long-winded way of saying Cooley is launching a new Web-based reality show dedicated to tracking all his sheananigans and sharing them with us, the non-professional football playing masses. Mr. Irrelevant's had the scoop and similarly called out the impressive photo Chris and wife Christy in a tender embrace.

Here's the video...

Jets Schedule Out: Who the F Knows, Road Trip Decisions

The Jets schedule is now official. We don't know what to expect and therefore offer absolutely no meaningful thoughts or insight on said slate of games. The only sure thing is dashed hopes and unmet expectations.

The biggest decision for this J-E-T-S backer? Where to go on my (sort of) annual Jets road trek. Last year it was SF and the ugly edifice that is Candlestick, 3COM, Monster or whatever-the-hell-they-feel-like-calling-it-this-year.

For 2009, the choices are as follows...

Houston, 9/13: First game of the season. Too early, and, no offense to the natives, we're not huge fans of the city. Austin? Love it. Big D? OK. Houston? Not so much.

New Orleans, 10/4: Sounds appealing for about :30 seconds. Then, the rational side of my brain chimes in. What was once enticing is now somewhat repulsive. Plus, I hit up Nawlins on our crew's last college joint for LSU/Auburn and, frankly, my body still trembles just thinking about that weekend.

Miami, 10/12: I hate Miami. I hate Dolphins fans. I hate their stadium. Oh yes, and it's a Monday night. Nope.

Oakland, 10/25: I guess I should hit up the black hole once in my life. Not this year. We're staying on the East Coast this year. Keepin' it fresh.

New England, 11/22: We still haven't been to Gillette. It's on the list. Always gets pushed off, because it seems the easiest. One of these days I'm sure I'll hit this up on a whim without any plan.

Buffalo @ Rogers Centre, 12/3: This one has a lot of upside potential. We love the idea of watching our green-and-white in another country. Toronto is a pretty cool city from the very short time we've spent there, and it's kind of a novelty. Plus, you're in a dome so the frigid Canadian weather is a non-factor. Only issue here is it's a Thursday night game. So, if we don't make the trek at least we'll be able to not watch the game which will be carried on NFL Network. Double bonus. Bills in Toronto is still in the mix, though.

Tampa Bay, 12/13: All signs point to the Bucs and the Sunshine State being our most likely destination. Weather will be nice. The stadium looks cool (who doesn't love pirate ships and cannons, outside of shippers trolling through Somali seas). There's this quiet, little place I've been to once before that employs very attractive women. Oh, now look at that. It's located right near the stadium, too! To top it all off, TB will likely provide a venue where we will interact with fans who we completely disagree with on just about every topic including favorite team on the field. Quite simply, it has all the elements of the ideal 2009 Jets road trip.

Indy, 12/27: Been there, done that.

So, I'm leaning TB but open to suggestions...to be honest, it's just fun seeing them lose in different cities. It's more about the experience than the city or venue itself.

Opening Night at Citi Pretty Much Par for the Course

The seats are nice. The food looks gourmet. Beers aren't any more expensive than last year, which is always good. The sightlines are stellar all around. Cool atmosphere. Too bad the product on the field is just the same old Mets.

In typical fashion, the Metros managed to quell any positive energy by immediately surrendering a dinger to legendary power-hitter Jody Gerut. I apologize..."immediately" would imply the very first pitch. It was, of course, surrendered on the third toss in what is sure to be an epic history of CitiField.

The rest of the contest proceeded in standard form with general despair and apathy setting in by mid-game as a relative unknown mowed down our "vaunted" lineup with relative ease. In this case, it was a heralded 32-year old rookie with a storied career in the Mexican Leagues. This was, of course, interrupted by a brief moment of unbridled excitement and hope that was later dashed with a cold, sobering dose of reality.

Inexplicably, I'll be back on Friday to take another lump. At least the Yanks are soaring...how 'bout that new, southpaw pitcher? Swisher, I believe his name is?

Sergio Garcia is a Whiny Bitch

Someone should pull Sergio Garcia by the hair and explain what it means to be a professional. The hair-pulling would mirror the maturity level of his post-final round Masters comments after falling miserably short (again) at another major -- or he could just listen to Padraig Harrington for a good example of how to conduct yourself.

Garcia's act is getting pretty tired already. It's always something. This time it was that damn Augusta National, too tricky! That's probably why Harrington characterized it as "easy as it will ever be." Maybe it was just too tricky for you, Mr. Garcia. Just a thought.



HT to tinou's 730 steps.

Citi Field Here We Come

Sure to Be Home to Many Disappointments

Despite the Metros blowing another sterling Santana perfomance yesterday in Miami, we have to admit we're kinda fired up about tonight. For this season ticket holder, it will be the maiden voyage on the 7 train out to the new Citi Field - my new home for shattered dreams and unmet expectations.

Still, should be an enjoyable evening. On a complete side note, did any of you Mets fans see the quick Doc Gooden interview during yesterday's game? The good doctor seems to have put on a few pounds. And by a few we mean 75 or 100. Did not look good. Sad...

John Daly Rocks "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" at Augusta with Hootie & The Blowfish. Wait, what...

In some strange twisted way, this makes absolutely perfect sense.



We, of course, confirmed the performance on the always-reputable johndalybbq.com. Apparently, this is something Daly has done before. We hope JD can keep himself from knockin' on heaven's door anytime soon.


In the meantime, you can join his exclusive BBQ club for only $99/year! And guess who's got his very own salsa?! It'll be coming to gourmet food store shelves soon, otherwise you can always just paste the label onto a bottle of Pace Picante, you know, just to see how it would look.

Don't ya just love America?

Straight Cash, Homey!

It's All About Many, Many Benjamins

Chris Rock has a great bit in his most recent stand-up show where he talks about the five black people that live in Alpine, New Jersey. If we could find the clip, we would have embedded. It's hilarious. We highly recommend. It's, well, money. Well, now Mr. Rock can add a sixth. The folks at Walkoff Walk had this first, and The Sporting Blog followed. It seems C.C. Sabathia has parlayed his fat new $161M contract towards a quaint, little home in Jersey - or not.

Hey, to each their own. We're not tagging onto this story because some big-time athlete bought an ostentatious house. Instead, it's the note on the transaction of "cash" that has us shaking our heads in utter disbelief. Another world...

C.C.: "I'd like to pay in cash."

Realtor: "Sir, the house is fourteen million, nine hundred dollars."

C.C.: "And?"

Must...Watch...Karate Kid

A good Friday to y'all. Not down with any hard-core sports analysis this morning (not that we normally deliver that anyway). Instead, yesterday, the always-solid Jimmy Traina included this fine video to accompany commentary on what would be his from-the-bullpen entrance song if he was an MLB closer. Solid.



The clip got me fired up and thinking about how the fantasticness of the original Karate Kid. I remember not only loving the movie, but digging my cassette version of the soundtrack. "Best Around" was clearly a favorite, as was "Cruel Summer." But checking out the video also reminded me of the unintentional comedy level of some of the elements of this film. In particular, the fact that our boy Ralph Macchio looks like an emaciated seventh-grader against the boys from Kobra Kai who all appear to be at least sophomores in college.

Regardless, a classic no doubt. Jimmy's video led me to spend a little more time on YouTube where I stumbled on this stellar montage. Enjoy the Kid in a five-minute recap. Until later...