"I wish I could quit you!"
Pass it on.
Hey, Blogger tells me that this is my 271st post since TCP was re-started after a brief absence.
What? It's a prime number. Isn't it? Yes, it is.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Monday, January 16, 2006
DY-NOT-STY
My beloved Patriots run of excellence came to an abrupt and ignominious end Saturday. I knew things were going to go badly, well, when, thanks to the unfortunate inelasticity of Carson Palmer's various left knee ligaments, the Pats became slotted to play the Denver Broncos in Denver. I've been following the Patriots in a most irrational and, frankly, childish manner for over 30 years, and the thought of a road game in Denver never fails to summon dread. We once went from 1966 to 2000 without beating the Broncos on the road. New England was forced to play in Denver three straight times in the 80's without a return visit by the Broncos, and we lost every single game. It became an almost yearly ritual; check the schedule, see when we play the Broncos in Denver, chalk up an L.
During the glorious 2003 season, it appeared the Denver curse was about to manifest itself once more on a Monday night when Bill Belichick ordered an intentional safety to give the Broncos a 26-23 lead with time running out. In a testament to the magic quality of that year, the Broncos muffed the free kick, were forced to punt, and the Pats scored the winning touchdown with seconds remaining. Finally! We've found a way to beat the Broncos - give them a free two points to get back seven for a net five. Whatever works. Then this season we were forced to play Denver in Denver yet again, and we fell behind 28-3 before the idiot Bronco fan who wears a barrel had even sat down (well, he never sits down, but you know what I mean).
So, when the Steelers finished off the Bengals, despair began to set in. I derived little pleasure from the conventional wisdom that the Pats were the champs until somebody knocked them off. To my mind, if anyone could do it, it would be the Broncos, scourge of my Pats fan youth. Finally, game day arrived, and after watching the Seahawks dispatch the Redskins, I prepared for the difficult task ahead. Then, with 15 minutes to kickoff...the cable went out! Huh? I looked outside. It was a bit windy. Ok, it was gusting pretty good, but not exactly a Category 3 or anything. I checked the channels again on the downstairs TV, then raced upstairs to check the set in the bedroom. Nothing. NO! If I have to see this thing end, I at least want to SEE this thing end! We don't have an antenna, and we're too far from Philly to get a decent over-the-air signal without one. Well, no problem. I purchased Sirius satellite radio prior to the 2004 season so I could catch all the Patriots play-by-play when they weren't on national TV. I hooked up the home receiver to my computer speakers and listened to the last few minutes of the TD Banknorth pre-game show in my home office while playing Spider Solitaire.
The game started, and the teams traded punts a couple of times in what sounded like a tough field-position battle. I figured the cable would be restored by halftime, and I could watch the second half in high-definition crispness. And then, of course...the power went out!!!! You've got to be kidding me. All my years as a Patriots fan, all my suffering, all my ranting at bad play calling, bad coaching, bad players, bad officiating, all my pounding of tables and punching of walls, all that sorrow and pain, all of which had been miraculously reversed by three joyous Super Bowl celebrations, and now the dynasty was going to end with...me sitting in my car, listening on the satellite radio? Oh, the agony.
It started out well enough, me shivering in my Subaru, parked in the community parking area a few yards from my house. By this time, the wind was now blowing 30-40 mph, and snow was falling. I got bored sitting there, so I drove around the neighborhood to see why the power was out. It looked like a tree had fallen a mile or two down the road, knocking out the juice to a relatively small section of houses of which mine was one. That figures. As for the game, Adam Vinatieri connected on a 40-yard field goal to make it 3-0. And then The Weirdness started. With about 2 minutes left in the half, Kevin Faulk fumbled after running for a first down, and Denver recovered on the Pats' 40. On the next play, Asante Samuel was flagged for what Gil Santos and Gino Cappelletti both called a terrible pass interference penalty in the end zone, and the Broncos immediately scored a 1-yard touchdown to go ahead 7-3. Ellis Hobbs then fumbled the kickoff, and the Broncos added a 50-yard Jason Elam field goal for a 10-3 halftime lead.
Since I hate halftime shows, I scanned the satellite channels for some brief diversion until the second half kickoff. In another example of eerie foreshadowing, the comedy channel had on a live version of Monty Python's "Dead Parrot Sketch". I could only imagine John Cleese saying, "This...is an Ex-Super Bowl Champion!."
The second half started well, with the Pats holding the Broncos, and then adding a 32-yard field goal to make it 10-6. We were stopping Denver's running game, and we were moving the ball well on offense, but we weren't quite able to get it in the end zone. If we could cut down on the turnovers, and punch it in once or twice, we had a decent shot to win the game. Tom Brady drove the Pats down field again late in the 3rd quarter, and after a Corey Dillon run, we had first and goal on the five. Quickly, we took an illegal procedure penalty to push us back to the 10, and then after a 5-yard pass play, it was second and 5. Brady then missed David Givens on a short pass, setting up third and goal on the five. It seemed like we'd have to settle for another field goal at worst, but we still had an opportunity to take the lead if we could find Mike Vrabel or Deion Branch alone in the end zone as we had so many times in the past. Brady dropped back, rolled to his right, and fired a pass toward Troy Brown.
Yes, John, this is an ex-Super Bowl Champion.
Champ Bailey stepped in front of the pass, grabbed it, and ran 100 yards down the sideline until tight end Ben Watson forced a fumble out-of-bounds around the goal line and possibly out of the end zone. There was a review of the play, but I never had a doubt after listening to Gino and Gil. We weren't going to get a miracle reversal. The Broncos maintained possession, and scored another touchdown on the next play to effectively end the New England season. I stayed in the car until Troy Brown fumbled away a punt at the Pats' 15 yard line, and Denver quickly converted that miscue for another 7 points. As if to further mock me, PECO restored power at 11:30 pm, and I was able to tune in just in time to see the Broncos begin their victory kneels.
If nothing else, I will always remember where I was the night the Patriots' dynasty ended: sitting in my fogged-up Subaru, outside of my darkened house, screaming at Champ Bailey. Somehow, now that I think of it, it seems fitting.
During the glorious 2003 season, it appeared the Denver curse was about to manifest itself once more on a Monday night when Bill Belichick ordered an intentional safety to give the Broncos a 26-23 lead with time running out. In a testament to the magic quality of that year, the Broncos muffed the free kick, were forced to punt, and the Pats scored the winning touchdown with seconds remaining. Finally! We've found a way to beat the Broncos - give them a free two points to get back seven for a net five. Whatever works. Then this season we were forced to play Denver in Denver yet again, and we fell behind 28-3 before the idiot Bronco fan who wears a barrel had even sat down (well, he never sits down, but you know what I mean).
So, when the Steelers finished off the Bengals, despair began to set in. I derived little pleasure from the conventional wisdom that the Pats were the champs until somebody knocked them off. To my mind, if anyone could do it, it would be the Broncos, scourge of my Pats fan youth. Finally, game day arrived, and after watching the Seahawks dispatch the Redskins, I prepared for the difficult task ahead. Then, with 15 minutes to kickoff...the cable went out! Huh? I looked outside. It was a bit windy. Ok, it was gusting pretty good, but not exactly a Category 3 or anything. I checked the channels again on the downstairs TV, then raced upstairs to check the set in the bedroom. Nothing. NO! If I have to see this thing end, I at least want to SEE this thing end! We don't have an antenna, and we're too far from Philly to get a decent over-the-air signal without one. Well, no problem. I purchased Sirius satellite radio prior to the 2004 season so I could catch all the Patriots play-by-play when they weren't on national TV. I hooked up the home receiver to my computer speakers and listened to the last few minutes of the TD Banknorth pre-game show in my home office while playing Spider Solitaire.
The game started, and the teams traded punts a couple of times in what sounded like a tough field-position battle. I figured the cable would be restored by halftime, and I could watch the second half in high-definition crispness. And then, of course...the power went out!!!! You've got to be kidding me. All my years as a Patriots fan, all my suffering, all my ranting at bad play calling, bad coaching, bad players, bad officiating, all my pounding of tables and punching of walls, all that sorrow and pain, all of which had been miraculously reversed by three joyous Super Bowl celebrations, and now the dynasty was going to end with...me sitting in my car, listening on the satellite radio? Oh, the agony.
It started out well enough, me shivering in my Subaru, parked in the community parking area a few yards from my house. By this time, the wind was now blowing 30-40 mph, and snow was falling. I got bored sitting there, so I drove around the neighborhood to see why the power was out. It looked like a tree had fallen a mile or two down the road, knocking out the juice to a relatively small section of houses of which mine was one. That figures. As for the game, Adam Vinatieri connected on a 40-yard field goal to make it 3-0. And then The Weirdness started. With about 2 minutes left in the half, Kevin Faulk fumbled after running for a first down, and Denver recovered on the Pats' 40. On the next play, Asante Samuel was flagged for what Gil Santos and Gino Cappelletti both called a terrible pass interference penalty in the end zone, and the Broncos immediately scored a 1-yard touchdown to go ahead 7-3. Ellis Hobbs then fumbled the kickoff, and the Broncos added a 50-yard Jason Elam field goal for a 10-3 halftime lead.
Since I hate halftime shows, I scanned the satellite channels for some brief diversion until the second half kickoff. In another example of eerie foreshadowing, the comedy channel had on a live version of Monty Python's "Dead Parrot Sketch". I could only imagine John Cleese saying, "This...is an Ex-Super Bowl Champion!."
The second half started well, with the Pats holding the Broncos, and then adding a 32-yard field goal to make it 10-6. We were stopping Denver's running game, and we were moving the ball well on offense, but we weren't quite able to get it in the end zone. If we could cut down on the turnovers, and punch it in once or twice, we had a decent shot to win the game. Tom Brady drove the Pats down field again late in the 3rd quarter, and after a Corey Dillon run, we had first and goal on the five. Quickly, we took an illegal procedure penalty to push us back to the 10, and then after a 5-yard pass play, it was second and 5. Brady then missed David Givens on a short pass, setting up third and goal on the five. It seemed like we'd have to settle for another field goal at worst, but we still had an opportunity to take the lead if we could find Mike Vrabel or Deion Branch alone in the end zone as we had so many times in the past. Brady dropped back, rolled to his right, and fired a pass toward Troy Brown.
Yes, John, this is an ex-Super Bowl Champion.
Champ Bailey stepped in front of the pass, grabbed it, and ran 100 yards down the sideline until tight end Ben Watson forced a fumble out-of-bounds around the goal line and possibly out of the end zone. There was a review of the play, but I never had a doubt after listening to Gino and Gil. We weren't going to get a miracle reversal. The Broncos maintained possession, and scored another touchdown on the next play to effectively end the New England season. I stayed in the car until Troy Brown fumbled away a punt at the Pats' 15 yard line, and Denver quickly converted that miscue for another 7 points. As if to further mock me, PECO restored power at 11:30 pm, and I was able to tune in just in time to see the Broncos begin their victory kneels.
If nothing else, I will always remember where I was the night the Patriots' dynasty ended: sitting in my fogged-up Subaru, outside of my darkened house, screaming at Champ Bailey. Somehow, now that I think of it, it seems fitting.
Friday, January 06, 2006
CONSTRUCTIVE DIALOGUE
George Bush met with 13 former Secretaries of Defense and State at the White House yesterday, "allowing five to 10 minutes for interchange before herding the whole group into the Oval Office for what he called a 'family picture'", according to the Sydney Herald.
Here is a rush transcript of the meeting.
BUSH: Ok, everybody, you have 5 to 10 minutes to critique me on the war. Ladies first. Mad Dog?
Madeleine Albright: Are you referring to me, Mr. President?
BUSH: Who else would it be? Heh-heh
Albright: Um, ok. Well, Mr. President, isn't the war in Iraq taking up all the energy of your foreign policy team? I feel that you've let the nuclear programs in Iran and North Korea spin out of control and allowed Latin America and China policy to suffer by neglect.
BUSH: Next! Eagle-man?
Lawrence Eagleburger: Well, sir, your father may have been correct when...
BUSH: Next! Mr. I'm-In-Charge-Here?
Alexander Haig: You're doing fantastic things in Iraq, Mr. President.
BUSH: Go on.
Haig: That's all I have prepared.
BUSH. Ok, ok. Good enough. Brownie? Whoops, I better not use that nickname. Got me in trouble. Harry-guy?
Harold Brown: Mr. President, I don't feel that your administration is doing enough to address the humanitarian crisis...
BUSH: Next! Sergeant Schultz?
George Schultz: I know nothing!
BUSH: Ha-ha! I love that bit.
George Schultz: Seriously, Mr. President, I don't really know anything.
BUSH: I can sympathize. Mack-Daddy?
Robert MacNamara: Have you seen the film "Fog of War", Mr. President?
BUSH: No, was Arnold Schwarzenegger in it?
MacNamara: No, sir, "Fog Of War" is a documentary where I lay out the 11 lessons I learned from the Vietnam War.
BUSH: If it's not on DVD, I probably missed it. The Secret Service makes a run to Blockbuster every Friday. Mostly new releases, although I like them old westerns. Man, I don't know how they cleared all that brush back in those days without chain saws.
MacNamara: In any event, sir, I recommend that you screen it some day.
BUSH: Thanks, Mack-Daddy. Will do. I have a Gabby Hayes retrospectacle coming up on the schedule next weekend. I'll see if they can slip it in to break up the monogamy. Balloonfoot?
Colin Powell: (silence)
BUSH: Ok, I get it. You never did like that nickname, didja? Ok, Colin, what ya got.
Powell: (more silence)
BUSH: Fair enough. Wasn't like I was gonna listen anyway. (Looks down at watchless wrist) Ok, folks, time's up, off to the Oval to get our family picture taken. Jeez, Colin, at least smile for the camera, will ya?
Here is a rush transcript of the meeting.
BUSH: Ok, everybody, you have 5 to 10 minutes to critique me on the war. Ladies first. Mad Dog?
Madeleine Albright: Are you referring to me, Mr. President?
BUSH: Who else would it be? Heh-heh
Albright: Um, ok. Well, Mr. President, isn't the war in Iraq taking up all the energy of your foreign policy team? I feel that you've let the nuclear programs in Iran and North Korea spin out of control and allowed Latin America and China policy to suffer by neglect.
BUSH: Next! Eagle-man?
Lawrence Eagleburger: Well, sir, your father may have been correct when...
BUSH: Next! Mr. I'm-In-Charge-Here?
Alexander Haig: You're doing fantastic things in Iraq, Mr. President.
BUSH: Go on.
Haig: That's all I have prepared.
BUSH. Ok, ok. Good enough. Brownie? Whoops, I better not use that nickname. Got me in trouble. Harry-guy?
Harold Brown: Mr. President, I don't feel that your administration is doing enough to address the humanitarian crisis...
BUSH: Next! Sergeant Schultz?
George Schultz: I know nothing!
BUSH: Ha-ha! I love that bit.
George Schultz: Seriously, Mr. President, I don't really know anything.
BUSH: I can sympathize. Mack-Daddy?
Robert MacNamara: Have you seen the film "Fog of War", Mr. President?
BUSH: No, was Arnold Schwarzenegger in it?
MacNamara: No, sir, "Fog Of War" is a documentary where I lay out the 11 lessons I learned from the Vietnam War.
BUSH: If it's not on DVD, I probably missed it. The Secret Service makes a run to Blockbuster every Friday. Mostly new releases, although I like them old westerns. Man, I don't know how they cleared all that brush back in those days without chain saws.
MacNamara: In any event, sir, I recommend that you screen it some day.
BUSH: Thanks, Mack-Daddy. Will do. I have a Gabby Hayes retrospectacle coming up on the schedule next weekend. I'll see if they can slip it in to break up the monogamy. Balloonfoot?
Colin Powell: (silence)
BUSH: Ok, I get it. You never did like that nickname, didja? Ok, Colin, what ya got.
Powell: (more silence)
BUSH: Fair enough. Wasn't like I was gonna listen anyway. (Looks down at watchless wrist) Ok, folks, time's up, off to the Oval to get our family picture taken. Jeez, Colin, at least smile for the camera, will ya?
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
THUS BEGINS THE YEAR A.T. 40
Hey, every search bot, Annika Sorenstam nude hopeful (Still hoping, after all these years! You have to admire that), and one or two actual readers, it's my birthday!
This day in my history:
2004: I forget. My short-term memory is shot.
2003: My wife makes me go to someone else's birthday party. I'm still pissed about that.
1999: Ah, the flu. It's what makes the Northeast great!
1998: My last birthday in Texas. I think we ate Mexican or something. Not a Mexican, silly, Mexican food.
1993: My last birthday as a single idiot. I distinctly remember something about Miss January.
1988: I turn 21. I celebrate by doing 21 shots of Snapple. I'm a wild man, I'm telling you.
1983: I spent the day puking my guts out after drinking cherry Kool-Aid and apparently tainted Wise Bar-B-Q potato chips. It looked like the shower scene from "Psycho" was filmed in our upstairs toilet bowl.
1979: Yet another birthday while on Christmas break. Nobody ever baked me no freakin' cupcakes!
1975: I get like three kids to my birthday party, and they're only there for the entertainment. Well, it was Foghat, so I'll give them that. Actually, I told them it was Foghat, when it was really my brother lip-synching to his 8-track player.
1973: We go over to my Grandma's apartment, where she gives me a knitted wool hat. I get her back years later by giving her a 6-outlet surge protector for Christmas.
1970: My birthday is forgotten by my arch-conservative parents in all the "Thank God the 60's are finally over" hub-bub. Well, I certainly didn't remember it, anyway.
1967: At 11:54 PM, I finally slide on out. Gotta keep them in suspense.
Anything prior to that, of course, is immaterial.
This day in my history:
2004: I forget. My short-term memory is shot.
2003: My wife makes me go to someone else's birthday party. I'm still pissed about that.
1999: Ah, the flu. It's what makes the Northeast great!
1998: My last birthday in Texas. I think we ate Mexican or something. Not a Mexican, silly, Mexican food.
1993: My last birthday as a single idiot. I distinctly remember something about Miss January.
1988: I turn 21. I celebrate by doing 21 shots of Snapple. I'm a wild man, I'm telling you.
1983: I spent the day puking my guts out after drinking cherry Kool-Aid and apparently tainted Wise Bar-B-Q potato chips. It looked like the shower scene from "Psycho" was filmed in our upstairs toilet bowl.
1979: Yet another birthday while on Christmas break. Nobody ever baked me no freakin' cupcakes!
1975: I get like three kids to my birthday party, and they're only there for the entertainment. Well, it was Foghat, so I'll give them that. Actually, I told them it was Foghat, when it was really my brother lip-synching to his 8-track player.
1973: We go over to my Grandma's apartment, where she gives me a knitted wool hat. I get her back years later by giving her a 6-outlet surge protector for Christmas.
1970: My birthday is forgotten by my arch-conservative parents in all the "Thank God the 60's are finally over" hub-bub. Well, I certainly didn't remember it, anyway.
1967: At 11:54 PM, I finally slide on out. Gotta keep them in suspense.
Anything prior to that, of course, is immaterial.
Monday, January 02, 2006
FINALLY
I found myself at the Eagles game last night at Lincoln Financial Field (don't ask), and for once, someone showed some originality in the crowd while displaying a sign. The Eagles were trying to stop the Redskins from scoring, and something very similar to this flashed on the Jumbotron:
I can't help myself, I just love it.
I can't help myself, I just love it.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
YEAR
Once again, the inimitable (or as President Bush would say, inimitibubble) Jodi has proffered yet another brilliant idea to the blogosphere (or blogotorus, as I call it. How do we know it's a sphere?). She is posting her 2005 Year in Review by quoting the first sentence posted in the Jodiverse for each month of the year. Not to be out-retarded, TCP will be quoting the first word posted each month, and then forming a sentence with those words.
Ladies, gentlemen, and searchers of nude Merlin Olsen photos, I give you the 2005 Year in Review:
I Bill Tiger hey we as quickly infuriating leapin' I I that's.
I couldn't have said it better myself.
Ladies, gentlemen, and searchers of nude Merlin Olsen photos, I give you the 2005 Year in Review:
I Bill Tiger hey we as quickly infuriating leapin' I I that's.
I couldn't have said it better myself.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
YA-HOOO-OOO!
Hey, my 30,000th page visit happened today. It was: a Yahoo! web search bot! I think search bots account for roughly 20,000 of my page visits to date.
Other than that, I've got nothing. I'm going to the second of my three holiday (I mean Christmas, sorry Bill) lunches this week. I'll bring back some leftovers just for my blog readers. Meaning I'll eat every damned morsel, or ort for you crossword puzzle fans.
I promise some spectacular blogeration during the week after Christmas when I'm on vacation, unless I decide to start following the return of Rick Springfield to General Hospital. I wouldn't expect much out of me, is what I'm saying.
Other than that, I've got nothing. I'm going to the second of my three holiday (I mean Christmas, sorry Bill) lunches this week. I'll bring back some leftovers just for my blog readers. Meaning I'll eat every damned morsel, or ort for you crossword puzzle fans.
I promise some spectacular blogeration during the week after Christmas when I'm on vacation, unless I decide to start following the return of Rick Springfield to General Hospital. I wouldn't expect much out of me, is what I'm saying.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
TCP'S THIRD ANNUAL NBA/NHL PREVIEW FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T WATCH THE NBA OR THE NHL
That's what great about blog longevity. You can keep recycling crap from the past, and it looks new!
From what I can glean from various web sites, the NBA and NHL seasons have already started, but with maybe two readers and a dozen Google searchers to support, that won't stop me.
NBA
Eastern Conference
Atlantic Division
New York Knicks - Larry Brown, in his 477th head coaching assignment, immediately leaked to the press upon signing his contract that he was unhappy. He has every right to be. These guys couldn't beat the Fat Albert gang even if Rudy was out with a torn ACL.
New Jersey Nets - Since Jason Kidd beat his wife and Jayson Williams killed a guy, the Nets will officially retire all spellings of the name "Jason" in a stirring ceremony.
Philadelphia 76ers - To garner sympathy with long-suffering Philly fans, new head coach Mo Cheeks will help a teary-eyed 9-year-old girl finish the national anthem at every single home game.
Boston Celtics - In a effort to keep former coach Red Auerbach from dying of emphysema, the Celtics have traded away all their best players so that Red will not be able to fire up a victory cigar at the end of games. Red will instead die of a deeply developed sense of bitterness toward Phil Jackson.
Toronto Raptors - Canada is funny, eh? HAHAHAHA!!!
Central Division
Cleveland Cavaliers - LeBron James will be called upon by President Bush to rebuild the levees in New Orleans.
Detroit Pistons - The Pistons will need to improve their footwork and jab/uppercut combination if they hope to prevail in their rematch with the Pacers. Darko Milicic will be promoted to sweat mopper.
Indiana Pacers - Ron Artest has spent the summer memorizing one thing: "Do not try to kill the paying customers." This will soon be forgotten when Ben Wallace disses his rap album.
Chicago Bulls - Those championship banners are sure getting ratty looking.
Milwaukee Bucks - #1 Overall Draft Pick Andrew Bogut - wait, I already don't care.
Southeast Division
Miami Heat - Shaq will attempt to start a long-running feud with Dywane Wade and Stan Van Gundy before realizing that the one guy can't even spell his first name right and the other guy is a schlub. Depression will set in.
Washington Wizards - The Wizards disastrous season will be investigated by Patrick Fitzgerald. For no apparent reason, Judith Miller will go to jail (we can hope, anyway).
Orlando Magic - The Magic will attempt to keep up with Disney's new Everest Adventure ride at Animal Kingdom by unveiling the "Climb Georghe Muhresan Halftime Spectacular", to predictable results.
Charlotte Bobcats - Shhh. This team is really a giant epsiode of "Punk'd".
Atlanta Hawks - Unofficial team motto of, "Come beat our ass, and then go visit one of our city's fine gentlemens' clubs" will be formally ratified by the team's Board of Governors.
Western Conference
Northeast Division
Minnesota Timberwolves - Luckily, Al & Alma's boat decks have very low head clearances.
Denver Nuggets - Carmelo Anthony will pout that he could have done a better job than LeBron fixing the levees, and then join a street gang.
Seattle Supersonics - Fueled by Starbucks Triple Venti Lattes, the Sonics will ...something... in the constant rain. Whatever.
Utah Jazz - As if they needed a dress code. The Salt Lake City cops once shot a guy for wearing a throwback jersey.
Portland Trail Blazers - Will play much better after their parole hearing.
Pacific Division
LA Lakers - Kobe and Phil will take their new relationship to ridiculous extremes by having a threesome with Jeannie Buss. At least it wasn't Jerry Buss.
LA Clippers - They can't be good now. What fun is that?
Phoenix Suns - Steve Nash is Canadian. HAHAHAHAHA!
Sacramento Kings - The Maloof Brothers finally go too far when they show news footage of dead people at the New Orleans Convention Center on the Jumbotron during team introductions when the Hornets come to town.
Golden State Warriors - Can't we get a real name for this team? Golden State? What's next, the Famous Potatoes Wildcats?
Southeast Division
San Antonio Spurs - The most boring world champs in any sport since the last time they won, they'll probably win again. David Stern will order one of the Spurs to commit a felony on national television to improve the NBA Finals ratings.
Dallas Mavericks - Mark Cuban, incensed by a first period traveling call against Dirk Nowitzki, will unleash global thermonuclear war.
Memphis Grizzlies - You remember what I said about the Bobcats? Shhhh.
New Orleans/Oklahoma City Hornets - The Hornets will play well until their FEMA checks come in, and they blow the money on tequila and lap dances.
Houston Rockets - Yao Ming will surprise the NBA world by coming out as a lesbian. Whoops, wrong league.
Prediction: Spurs defeat the Pistons in 7 of the lowest rated televised sporting events since the later stages of the XFL.
NHL
I was going to do a team-by-team, but I REALLY don't watch the NHL, and besides, they've been gone so long that I forgot who the teams were. Suffice it to say there will be goals. Lots of goals. So many goals that if they hired that Mexican soccer announcer guy, he would blow out his vocal cords in a week. The NHL, trying to lure back fans after they CANCELLED THE WHOLE FUCKING SEASON for christ's sake, changed all the rules to something akin to 43-man Squamish to make sure plenty of goals were scored. They even removed the red line, even though it's still there. By that I mean...oh who gives a shit? Just so long as they continue to beat the snot out of each other on a regular basis, and they grow those playoff beards, and they skate around the ice at the end of the season holding a giant chafing dish.
Prediction: Flyers over Canucks (BWAHAHAHAHA! SNORT! HAHAHAHAHA!) 4 games to 3 in the seventh extra ogre.
From what I can glean from various web sites, the NBA and NHL seasons have already started, but with maybe two readers and a dozen Google searchers to support, that won't stop me.
NBA
Eastern Conference
Atlantic Division
New York Knicks - Larry Brown, in his 477th head coaching assignment, immediately leaked to the press upon signing his contract that he was unhappy. He has every right to be. These guys couldn't beat the Fat Albert gang even if Rudy was out with a torn ACL.
New Jersey Nets - Since Jason Kidd beat his wife and Jayson Williams killed a guy, the Nets will officially retire all spellings of the name "Jason" in a stirring ceremony.
Philadelphia 76ers - To garner sympathy with long-suffering Philly fans, new head coach Mo Cheeks will help a teary-eyed 9-year-old girl finish the national anthem at every single home game.
Boston Celtics - In a effort to keep former coach Red Auerbach from dying of emphysema, the Celtics have traded away all their best players so that Red will not be able to fire up a victory cigar at the end of games. Red will instead die of a deeply developed sense of bitterness toward Phil Jackson.
Toronto Raptors - Canada is funny, eh? HAHAHAHA!!!
Central Division
Cleveland Cavaliers - LeBron James will be called upon by President Bush to rebuild the levees in New Orleans.
Detroit Pistons - The Pistons will need to improve their footwork and jab/uppercut combination if they hope to prevail in their rematch with the Pacers. Darko Milicic will be promoted to sweat mopper.
Indiana Pacers - Ron Artest has spent the summer memorizing one thing: "Do not try to kill the paying customers." This will soon be forgotten when Ben Wallace disses his rap album.
Chicago Bulls - Those championship banners are sure getting ratty looking.
Milwaukee Bucks - #1 Overall Draft Pick Andrew Bogut - wait, I already don't care.
Southeast Division
Miami Heat - Shaq will attempt to start a long-running feud with Dywane Wade and Stan Van Gundy before realizing that the one guy can't even spell his first name right and the other guy is a schlub. Depression will set in.
Washington Wizards - The Wizards disastrous season will be investigated by Patrick Fitzgerald. For no apparent reason, Judith Miller will go to jail (we can hope, anyway).
Orlando Magic - The Magic will attempt to keep up with Disney's new Everest Adventure ride at Animal Kingdom by unveiling the "Climb Georghe Muhresan Halftime Spectacular", to predictable results.
Charlotte Bobcats - Shhh. This team is really a giant epsiode of "Punk'd".
Atlanta Hawks - Unofficial team motto of, "Come beat our ass, and then go visit one of our city's fine gentlemens' clubs" will be formally ratified by the team's Board of Governors.
Western Conference
Northeast Division
Minnesota Timberwolves - Luckily, Al & Alma's boat decks have very low head clearances.
Denver Nuggets - Carmelo Anthony will pout that he could have done a better job than LeBron fixing the levees, and then join a street gang.
Seattle Supersonics - Fueled by Starbucks Triple Venti Lattes, the Sonics will ...something... in the constant rain. Whatever.
Utah Jazz - As if they needed a dress code. The Salt Lake City cops once shot a guy for wearing a throwback jersey.
Portland Trail Blazers - Will play much better after their parole hearing.
Pacific Division
LA Lakers - Kobe and Phil will take their new relationship to ridiculous extremes by having a threesome with Jeannie Buss. At least it wasn't Jerry Buss.
LA Clippers - They can't be good now. What fun is that?
Phoenix Suns - Steve Nash is Canadian. HAHAHAHAHA!
Sacramento Kings - The Maloof Brothers finally go too far when they show news footage of dead people at the New Orleans Convention Center on the Jumbotron during team introductions when the Hornets come to town.
Golden State Warriors - Can't we get a real name for this team? Golden State? What's next, the Famous Potatoes Wildcats?
Southeast Division
San Antonio Spurs - The most boring world champs in any sport since the last time they won, they'll probably win again. David Stern will order one of the Spurs to commit a felony on national television to improve the NBA Finals ratings.
Dallas Mavericks - Mark Cuban, incensed by a first period traveling call against Dirk Nowitzki, will unleash global thermonuclear war.
Memphis Grizzlies - You remember what I said about the Bobcats? Shhhh.
New Orleans/Oklahoma City Hornets - The Hornets will play well until their FEMA checks come in, and they blow the money on tequila and lap dances.
Houston Rockets - Yao Ming will surprise the NBA world by coming out as a lesbian. Whoops, wrong league.
Prediction: Spurs defeat the Pistons in 7 of the lowest rated televised sporting events since the later stages of the XFL.
NHL
I was going to do a team-by-team, but I REALLY don't watch the NHL, and besides, they've been gone so long that I forgot who the teams were. Suffice it to say there will be goals. Lots of goals. So many goals that if they hired that Mexican soccer announcer guy, he would blow out his vocal cords in a week. The NHL, trying to lure back fans after they CANCELLED THE WHOLE FUCKING SEASON for christ's sake, changed all the rules to something akin to 43-man Squamish to make sure plenty of goals were scored. They even removed the red line, even though it's still there. By that I mean...oh who gives a shit? Just so long as they continue to beat the snot out of each other on a regular basis, and they grow those playoff beards, and they skate around the ice at the end of the season holding a giant chafing dish.
Prediction: Flyers over Canucks (BWAHAHAHAHA! SNORT! HAHAHAHAHA!) 4 games to 3 in the seventh extra ogre.
Monday, November 28, 2005
BLATANT PLACEHOLDER
Ok, Google-primates, Annika Sorenstam is not only not nude, she's loaning out clothes for other people to wear.
And congratulations to the Edmonton Eskimos, winners of the 93rd Grey Cup!
And congratulations to the Edmonton Eskimos, winners of the 93rd Grey Cup!
Thursday, November 10, 2005
FOUND ITEM: A LETTER TO SANTA, BY JUDY MILLER (AGE 7)
(Yeah, I know, she's Jewish, but you have to figure she was playing both sides of the street even then)
Dear Mr. Claus,
I'm glad to hear that you love me. However, in reference to the song "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town", I believe that you have made several errors in judgment regarding the awarding of presents to children. First of all, the admonishment, "You better not cry" is clearly an unattainable condition for children in my age group. As I'm sure you are aware, I was detained in the corner of the living room for 85 minutes this past year by my mother for refusing to divulge my sources in the "Broken Window" affair, as it has become known, a decision which has brought me great personal anguish. Being denied television, snacks or Kool-Aid for those long, almost intolerable minutes in that soulless, degrading corner made it nearly impossible for a child of my delicate constitution to avoid at least tearing up for the duration of my incarceration. I won't even go into "You better not pout".
Secondly, I'm disturbed to hear about this so-called list. As you know, errors in transcription can frequently occur. You may be fully intending to put "Judy Miller" in the Good category, and accidentally write "Judy Filler". I know this sort of thing has happened to me on several occasions, and probably will again. Also, you should consider not keeping your list buried in a shopping bag under your desk, where it could easily get misplaced.
Thirdly, the lyrics "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake" are extremely unsettling. Do you have a warrant for this activity? I don't feel comfortable allowing such surveillance unless I receive both written and verbal assurances that I will get exactly what I want should I fully cooperate.
To that end, here are my gift requests:
1. Horn-rimmed sunglasses, large
2. Easy-Bake Oven with Yellow Cake mix
3. The book "Men and Power", by Henry J. Taylor
4. Plane ticket to Aspen (during the fall, preferably)
Judy
Dear Mr. Claus,
I'm glad to hear that you love me. However, in reference to the song "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town", I believe that you have made several errors in judgment regarding the awarding of presents to children. First of all, the admonishment, "You better not cry" is clearly an unattainable condition for children in my age group. As I'm sure you are aware, I was detained in the corner of the living room for 85 minutes this past year by my mother for refusing to divulge my sources in the "Broken Window" affair, as it has become known, a decision which has brought me great personal anguish. Being denied television, snacks or Kool-Aid for those long, almost intolerable minutes in that soulless, degrading corner made it nearly impossible for a child of my delicate constitution to avoid at least tearing up for the duration of my incarceration. I won't even go into "You better not pout".
Secondly, I'm disturbed to hear about this so-called list. As you know, errors in transcription can frequently occur. You may be fully intending to put "Judy Miller" in the Good category, and accidentally write "Judy Filler". I know this sort of thing has happened to me on several occasions, and probably will again. Also, you should consider not keeping your list buried in a shopping bag under your desk, where it could easily get misplaced.
Thirdly, the lyrics "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake" are extremely unsettling. Do you have a warrant for this activity? I don't feel comfortable allowing such surveillance unless I receive both written and verbal assurances that I will get exactly what I want should I fully cooperate.
To that end, here are my gift requests:
1. Horn-rimmed sunglasses, large
2. Easy-Bake Oven with Yellow Cake mix
3. The book "Men and Power", by Henry J. Taylor
4. Plane ticket to Aspen (during the fall, preferably)
Judy
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
THE PERFECT STORY
I have detested the cliche "the perfect storm" ever since I first heard it used to describe something other than the film of the same name, but for a male football fan like myself, this Sapphic NFL Cheerleader story is very hard to characterize with a phrase that doesn't involve the word "perfect".
In case you managed to miss it, two Carolina Panthers cheerleaders, known professionally as Top Cats (I said this was a perfect story), were engaged in some same-sex copulation inside a bathroom stall at Banana Joe's (what else?) bar in Tampa, FL when other female patrons became enraged at the length of time they were taking monopolizing the facilities. The Top Cats, 20-year-old Renee Thomas (of course she's drinking underage!) and 26-year-old Angela Keathley, finally emerged from the loo and then Thomas proceeded to punch out one of the complaining women. Police were summoned, and the two cheerleaders were charged with disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, and assault. To top it off, Thomas gave the police the driver's license of another Top Cat which she had somehow managed to obtain before she made the trip to Tampa, which warranted further charges for her for providing a false ID.
A couple of things:
If only Warner Wolf were around. "Let's go to the videotape!"
Also, if they are both Top Cats, how did they...? The bathroom stall certainly must have increased the degree of difficulty in any event.
The ladies were fired from the Top Cats, but the Minnesota Vikings have expressed an extremely great amount of interest in their services.
In case you managed to miss it, two Carolina Panthers cheerleaders, known professionally as Top Cats (I said this was a perfect story), were engaged in some same-sex copulation inside a bathroom stall at Banana Joe's (what else?) bar in Tampa, FL when other female patrons became enraged at the length of time they were taking monopolizing the facilities. The Top Cats, 20-year-old Renee Thomas (of course she's drinking underage!) and 26-year-old Angela Keathley, finally emerged from the loo and then Thomas proceeded to punch out one of the complaining women. Police were summoned, and the two cheerleaders were charged with disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, and assault. To top it off, Thomas gave the police the driver's license of another Top Cat which she had somehow managed to obtain before she made the trip to Tampa, which warranted further charges for her for providing a false ID.
A couple of things:
If only Warner Wolf were around. "Let's go to the videotape!"
Also, if they are both Top Cats, how did they...? The bathroom stall certainly must have increased the degree of difficulty in any event.
The ladies were fired from the Top Cats, but the Minnesota Vikings have expressed an extremely great amount of interest in their services.
Monday, October 24, 2005
POT: "KETTLE BLACK"
This from today's "ABC News: The Note":
"The President's supporters have launched a 'not-so-subtle campaign' against Patrick Fitzgerald, with one White House ally telling the paper the special prosecutor is 'a vile, detestable, moralistic person with no heart and no conscience who believes he's been tapped by God to do very important things.'"
Well, I suppose if there is anyone in the world who would know intimately about such an individual, it would have to be a "White House ally."
"The President's supporters have launched a 'not-so-subtle campaign' against Patrick Fitzgerald, with one White House ally telling the paper the special prosecutor is 'a vile, detestable, moralistic person with no heart and no conscience who believes he's been tapped by God to do very important things.'"
Well, I suppose if there is anyone in the world who would know intimately about such an individual, it would have to be a "White House ally."
Monday, October 17, 2005
TED'S LATEST ADVENTURE
Senator Edward Kennedy tried and failed to rescue some fishermen off the coast of Hyannisport yesterday. The fishermen were later rescued by firefighters.
Let the snarky jokes by right-wing bloggers about Kennedy's lack of rescuing prowess begin!
Oh, wait, here's one already.
Let the snarky jokes by right-wing bloggers about Kennedy's lack of rescuing prowess begin!
Oh, wait, here's one already.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
PRAIRIE HOME CUM-PANION
It was a wild, sexy week in Lake Minnetonka this week, my hometown... (APPLAUSE)
Old Fred Smoot, plays cornerback for them Minnesota Vikings, chartered a couple of boats from Al & Alma's Supper Club and Charter Cruises. Good folks, Al & Alma Honsevord. Alma baked a pie for Karl Ungerfeld when his mom passed. Al could always be counted on to hold the door open for a lady at the Cuppa Joe Cafe, not that he ever saw many (CHUCKLES). Al & Alma were excited that the Vikings were coming to town. All the employees helped put up purple balloons on the boats, and catered some hors d'oeuvres and drinks from Reierson's Catering.
Mrs. Cathy Hough, she's a schoolteacher down at the Junior High don'cha know, was the first to see that something wasn't quite right. One of them Vikings pulled up in a big stretch limo and started to, well, relieve himself on her lawn. "It's only water, ma'am," he said, as he emptied his bladder on her new begonias. "No, it's not," said Cathy. (LAUGHTER) Can't say as I blame her for being mad. After all, a Green Bay Packer once micturated on Old Man Hallestrom's petunia patch, and they never recovered.
Well, the Vikings all drove their Escalades and GMC Yukon Denali's and Hummer limos down to the docks, where Al & Alma welcomed them aboard their two flagships, The Norse Star and The Leif Ericsson. It wasn't more than a few minutes before Chrissy Olsen, she's the daughter of Frank Olsen, the mortician, don'cha know, and was working on The Leif Ericsson that night, popped open the galley to find three naked ladies. (GASPS) A couple of them Vikings had one of those, er, sexual aids, I guess we'll call 'em, and were doing some unspeakable things with 'em. There were some other young ladies gyrating like a terpsichorean tornado on the laps of other Vikings. One of the football players offered Chrissie herself twenty bucks to do a bump and grind on top of him. Frank is happy to report that she declined. (CHUCKLES)
Next thing you know, there's a full-out, well, there's just no other way of putting it, it was a drunken orgy. Why, Lake Minnetonka hadn't seen an orgy since the Hennepin County Summer Smorgasbord and Hootenanny of '68 got crashed by some hippies. It was quite a frightening sight, especially if you're a Lutheran (LAUGHTER). Captain Nelson of The Leif Ericsson radioed over to Captain Haarstajd on The Norse Star to see if the same thing was happening over there, and sure enough, it was. Two drunken orgies for the price of one! Of course, they turned the boats back around toward the shore. Couldn't right well have this kind of carrying-on in the shadow of St. John's Lutheran Church of Mound, Minnesota, at least not while the Vikings had a losing record and were trying to get the good folks of the Great Lakes State to pay for a new stadium (CATCALLS).
The cops got involved, and of course the press jumped all over it. Some of the Vikings were brought up on charges of public lewdness, and Zygi Wilf, the new owner, fined 'em a couple of pennies by their standards and sat a few of 'em on the bench, which didn't help their record any. Chrissie Olsen went to, well, for lack of a better term, I guess you'd call it a grief counselor, to mourn the removal of her innocence, not that it had much longer to last anyway (CHUCKLES). Al & Alma Honsevord decided that they'd never let another pro sports team charter their boats, or at least they'd invest in some plastic covering for the furniture and floors if they did. Al said he hadn't seen a mess like that since he was on the USS Hubert Humphrey in Da Nang Harbor and Raquel Welch did a USO show on board (GROANS).
That's all the news from Lake Minnetonka, where, at least this week, the women are strippers, the men are drunk and sexually aggressive, and the children are not allowed to watch SportsCenter. (WILD APPLAUSE)
Old Fred Smoot, plays cornerback for them Minnesota Vikings, chartered a couple of boats from Al & Alma's Supper Club and Charter Cruises. Good folks, Al & Alma Honsevord. Alma baked a pie for Karl Ungerfeld when his mom passed. Al could always be counted on to hold the door open for a lady at the Cuppa Joe Cafe, not that he ever saw many (CHUCKLES). Al & Alma were excited that the Vikings were coming to town. All the employees helped put up purple balloons on the boats, and catered some hors d'oeuvres and drinks from Reierson's Catering.
Mrs. Cathy Hough, she's a schoolteacher down at the Junior High don'cha know, was the first to see that something wasn't quite right. One of them Vikings pulled up in a big stretch limo and started to, well, relieve himself on her lawn. "It's only water, ma'am," he said, as he emptied his bladder on her new begonias. "No, it's not," said Cathy. (LAUGHTER) Can't say as I blame her for being mad. After all, a Green Bay Packer once micturated on Old Man Hallestrom's petunia patch, and they never recovered.
Well, the Vikings all drove their Escalades and GMC Yukon Denali's and Hummer limos down to the docks, where Al & Alma welcomed them aboard their two flagships, The Norse Star and The Leif Ericsson. It wasn't more than a few minutes before Chrissy Olsen, she's the daughter of Frank Olsen, the mortician, don'cha know, and was working on The Leif Ericsson that night, popped open the galley to find three naked ladies. (GASPS) A couple of them Vikings had one of those, er, sexual aids, I guess we'll call 'em, and were doing some unspeakable things with 'em. There were some other young ladies gyrating like a terpsichorean tornado on the laps of other Vikings. One of the football players offered Chrissie herself twenty bucks to do a bump and grind on top of him. Frank is happy to report that she declined. (CHUCKLES)
Next thing you know, there's a full-out, well, there's just no other way of putting it, it was a drunken orgy. Why, Lake Minnetonka hadn't seen an orgy since the Hennepin County Summer Smorgasbord and Hootenanny of '68 got crashed by some hippies. It was quite a frightening sight, especially if you're a Lutheran (LAUGHTER). Captain Nelson of The Leif Ericsson radioed over to Captain Haarstajd on The Norse Star to see if the same thing was happening over there, and sure enough, it was. Two drunken orgies for the price of one! Of course, they turned the boats back around toward the shore. Couldn't right well have this kind of carrying-on in the shadow of St. John's Lutheran Church of Mound, Minnesota, at least not while the Vikings had a losing record and were trying to get the good folks of the Great Lakes State to pay for a new stadium (CATCALLS).
The cops got involved, and of course the press jumped all over it. Some of the Vikings were brought up on charges of public lewdness, and Zygi Wilf, the new owner, fined 'em a couple of pennies by their standards and sat a few of 'em on the bench, which didn't help their record any. Chrissie Olsen went to, well, for lack of a better term, I guess you'd call it a grief counselor, to mourn the removal of her innocence, not that it had much longer to last anyway (CHUCKLES). Al & Alma Honsevord decided that they'd never let another pro sports team charter their boats, or at least they'd invest in some plastic covering for the furniture and floors if they did. Al said he hadn't seen a mess like that since he was on the USS Hubert Humphrey in Da Nang Harbor and Raquel Welch did a USO show on board (GROANS).
That's all the news from Lake Minnetonka, where, at least this week, the women are strippers, the men are drunk and sexually aggressive, and the children are not allowed to watch SportsCenter. (WILD APPLAUSE)
Monday, October 10, 2005
Monday, October 03, 2005
WAIT TIL...WHENEVER
I told you so.
Well, the Phils didn't actually lose to John Patterson or Esteban Freaking Loaiza, but close enough. The whole season came down to one pitch; if Billy Wagner had kept Craig Biggio in the yard, we'd be preparing to play St. Louis right now.
I was hoping by the sheer force of my will in writing this crap, the Phillies would win the World Series, just like with Stewart O'Nan and Stephen King and the Red Sox. As I now know, "hope", "Phillies", and "World Series" are not compatible terms, at least while Ed Wade pulls down a paycheck.
I won't be writing for you next year, except in your comments sections. Have a good off-season, and keep the phaith, because somebody has to.
Well, the Phils didn't actually lose to John Patterson or Esteban Freaking Loaiza, but close enough. The whole season came down to one pitch; if Billy Wagner had kept Craig Biggio in the yard, we'd be preparing to play St. Louis right now.
I was hoping by the sheer force of my will in writing this crap, the Phillies would win the World Series, just like with Stewart O'Nan and Stephen King and the Red Sox. As I now know, "hope", "Phillies", and "World Series" are not compatible terms, at least while Ed Wade pulls down a paycheck.
I won't be writing for you next year, except in your comments sections. Have a good off-season, and keep the phaith, because somebody has to.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
FINAL WEAK
After last night's ignominious defeat at the hands of the also-ran Mets, it appears the Phils will be coming up short of the postseason once again.
Last night, I helped Quest For Tech and Charity In Action load an 18-wheeler full of PC's destined for a school down in Biloxi, MS that was devastated by Hurricane Katrina (yes, I am campaigning for a pat on the back. My aching back needs all the pats it can get right now). On the way home, I was listening to the rain delay call-in show hosted by Phillies announcers (and loyal employees) Scott Graham and Tom McCarthy. Scott and Tom were defending the current regime with gusto, and berating the audience for not showing up at the park to support "this wonderful team". Somewhere on the Blue Route, I snapped.
You want to me to support this team? Well, I have been supporting this team, for eight seasons now. I got here about the same time as Ed Wade. In each of those eight seasons, the Phillies have finished behind the Braves. The Braves have won the division every year since the divisions became constituted as they currently are. I have come to the conclusion that the Braves know what they are doing. It's not that the Phillies are totally clueless. They usually field winning teams with decent talent that, especially this season, play hard. But the yardstick is the Braves, and against that measurement, the Phillies just aren't good enough. They haven't been for over a decade.
Now, I feel like a shareholder in this corporation that is the Phillies. Obviously, I don't own stock - the ownership group isn't set up that way, and the barrier to becoming part of that group is too high, and the best I could do would be to become a limited partner, which means I would have no say in the running of the team anyway - but as a fan I'm a shareholder nonetheless. I buy the merchandise, I go to games (not many, but more than none), I sit through the commercials of the TV and radio advertisers night after night, I write this largely un-read blog, and I have trouble sleeping every time they lose.
As a shareholder, then, all I want is for someone in this organization to be held accountable for the near decade of failure to surpass the Braves. The current management team is led by President and Managing General Partner Dave Montgomery and General manager Ed Wade. Montgomery is a part owner, so he isn't going anywhere, unless he wants to. That leaves one guy.
Ed Wade is a fine human being, a personable man, and is very generous with the media and the fans. But he isn't getting it done. How many years do we have to finish second or worse to the Braves before the Phillies realize that maybe Ed Wade isn't good enough at his job? I'm not demonizing the man. I'm just pointing out that his philosophy for running a baseball team is not effective enough to beat the Braves, and there is no evidence that it ever will be.
So, Scott and Tom, if you want me to show up more often at the park, how about you ask the Phillies to hire a general manager that has a plan to beat the Braves. We've tried Ed Wade's plan for eight years. As Dick Van Patten would say, eight is enough.
Last night, I helped Quest For Tech and Charity In Action load an 18-wheeler full of PC's destined for a school down in Biloxi, MS that was devastated by Hurricane Katrina (yes, I am campaigning for a pat on the back. My aching back needs all the pats it can get right now). On the way home, I was listening to the rain delay call-in show hosted by Phillies announcers (and loyal employees) Scott Graham and Tom McCarthy. Scott and Tom were defending the current regime with gusto, and berating the audience for not showing up at the park to support "this wonderful team". Somewhere on the Blue Route, I snapped.
You want to me to support this team? Well, I have been supporting this team, for eight seasons now. I got here about the same time as Ed Wade. In each of those eight seasons, the Phillies have finished behind the Braves. The Braves have won the division every year since the divisions became constituted as they currently are. I have come to the conclusion that the Braves know what they are doing. It's not that the Phillies are totally clueless. They usually field winning teams with decent talent that, especially this season, play hard. But the yardstick is the Braves, and against that measurement, the Phillies just aren't good enough. They haven't been for over a decade.
Now, I feel like a shareholder in this corporation that is the Phillies. Obviously, I don't own stock - the ownership group isn't set up that way, and the barrier to becoming part of that group is too high, and the best I could do would be to become a limited partner, which means I would have no say in the running of the team anyway - but as a fan I'm a shareholder nonetheless. I buy the merchandise, I go to games (not many, but more than none), I sit through the commercials of the TV and radio advertisers night after night, I write this largely un-read blog, and I have trouble sleeping every time they lose.
As a shareholder, then, all I want is for someone in this organization to be held accountable for the near decade of failure to surpass the Braves. The current management team is led by President and Managing General Partner Dave Montgomery and General manager Ed Wade. Montgomery is a part owner, so he isn't going anywhere, unless he wants to. That leaves one guy.
Ed Wade is a fine human being, a personable man, and is very generous with the media and the fans. But he isn't getting it done. How many years do we have to finish second or worse to the Braves before the Phillies realize that maybe Ed Wade isn't good enough at his job? I'm not demonizing the man. I'm just pointing out that his philosophy for running a baseball team is not effective enough to beat the Braves, and there is no evidence that it ever will be.
So, Scott and Tom, if you want me to show up more often at the park, how about you ask the Phillies to hire a general manager that has a plan to beat the Braves. We've tried Ed Wade's plan for eight years. As Dick Van Patten would say, eight is enough.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
GIFTED?
I said I would write when something interesting happened. Something most definitely did.
I hesitate to write about it, since the Phillies have been trying to prove some sort of Baseball Uncertainty Principle with me all season: whenever I watch them (and especially when I write about them), they become a different, always worse, team. Today was no exception. I've been suffering from a back ailment for the last week, and was in no condition to blog for several days even if I wanted to. The back has improved, but I'm still a little logy from the muscle relaxants, and I decided to take a nap after Bobby Abreu waved at Dontrelle Willis' curveball to end the top of the first. It appears I didn't miss much...until the ninth.
In the ninth, an opposing team finally gave to us what we've been giving to everybody else at crucial junctures ever since I've started rooting for the Phillies - a cornucopia of gifts.
Dontrelle was still in there to start the inning, leading 2-0 and seemingly en route to a shutout and his 22nd win. J-Roll led off with a single, J-Mike followed with a walk, and then Abreu reached on an error by Luis Castillo to score Rollins and chase Willis. Then the real Marlins generosity started. Three errors, six singles, and three hapless Florida relievers later, the Phils took a 10-2 lead to the bottom of the ninth (just as I woke up), where Billy Wagner gave up two hits but no runs to finish the game.
Does this really mean anything in the grand scheme of the NL wild card chase? Well, as I write this, Milwaukee is getting pounded by the Astros, so I doubt it. The Astros are still the favorites. They have a nine-game road trip coming up to Pittsburgh, Chicago, and St. Louis, who clinched the NL Central today. The 'Stros have been bad on the road, but the Bucs and Cubs white-flagged it long ago, and the Cards will be trotting out benchies for the rest of the year. The wild card was lost when Craig Biggio hit that Billy Wagner fastball into the fifth row. Still, 10-run ninth innings are rare enough that it makes it hard not to have hope. Until they get skunked by Josh Beckett tomorrow...
See you next time something interesting happens, or the Astros clinch, whichever comes first.
I hesitate to write about it, since the Phillies have been trying to prove some sort of Baseball Uncertainty Principle with me all season: whenever I watch them (and especially when I write about them), they become a different, always worse, team. Today was no exception. I've been suffering from a back ailment for the last week, and was in no condition to blog for several days even if I wanted to. The back has improved, but I'm still a little logy from the muscle relaxants, and I decided to take a nap after Bobby Abreu waved at Dontrelle Willis' curveball to end the top of the first. It appears I didn't miss much...until the ninth.
In the ninth, an opposing team finally gave to us what we've been giving to everybody else at crucial junctures ever since I've started rooting for the Phillies - a cornucopia of gifts.
Dontrelle was still in there to start the inning, leading 2-0 and seemingly en route to a shutout and his 22nd win. J-Roll led off with a single, J-Mike followed with a walk, and then Abreu reached on an error by Luis Castillo to score Rollins and chase Willis. Then the real Marlins generosity started. Three errors, six singles, and three hapless Florida relievers later, the Phils took a 10-2 lead to the bottom of the ninth (just as I woke up), where Billy Wagner gave up two hits but no runs to finish the game.
Does this really mean anything in the grand scheme of the NL wild card chase? Well, as I write this, Milwaukee is getting pounded by the Astros, so I doubt it. The Astros are still the favorites. They have a nine-game road trip coming up to Pittsburgh, Chicago, and St. Louis, who clinched the NL Central today. The 'Stros have been bad on the road, but the Bucs and Cubs white-flagged it long ago, and the Cards will be trotting out benchies for the rest of the year. The wild card was lost when Craig Biggio hit that Billy Wagner fastball into the fifth row. Still, 10-run ninth innings are rare enough that it makes it hard not to have hope. Until they get skunked by Josh Beckett tomorrow...
See you next time something interesting happens, or the Astros clinch, whichever comes first.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
OUTTA HERE
I just want to say, I called Biggio's homer. My wife can sort-of attest, but she was half asleep at the time. We were lying in bed, me watching the game and she desperately trying to catch some much needed shut-eye, when J-Roll failed to nab Willy Taveras at first, and I realized that Craig Biggio was up. I said, quite plainly, "Oh, this is a three-run homer." Boom, there it goes.
No team ever comes back from something like this. It just doesn't happen, ever. And it definitely won't happen with this bunch. As the Phlogosphere as almost unanimously pronounced, these guys just aren't good enough. Even if they summon up some pride and play well from here on in, they are still at the mercy of the Astros, who hold a 2.5 game lead over us and have an easy schedule against mostly weak NL Central teams. C'est finis. It's over.
I'll probably post a few more times this season, such as when the mathematical end comes or if anything interesting happens, but as for the daily game-by-game recap, I'm also done. It's been (mostly) fun. Thanks for reading, and I look forward to reading everybody else as the season's denouement (what is this, French day?) plays out. TCP will return to posting the usual non-baseball nonsense at the usual schedule, i.e. whenever I get a hair up my ass.
No team ever comes back from something like this. It just doesn't happen, ever. And it definitely won't happen with this bunch. As the Phlogosphere as almost unanimously pronounced, these guys just aren't good enough. Even if they summon up some pride and play well from here on in, they are still at the mercy of the Astros, who hold a 2.5 game lead over us and have an easy schedule against mostly weak NL Central teams. C'est finis. It's over.
I'll probably post a few more times this season, such as when the mathematical end comes or if anything interesting happens, but as for the daily game-by-game recap, I'm also done. It's been (mostly) fun. Thanks for reading, and I look forward to reading everybody else as the season's denouement (what is this, French day?) plays out. TCP will return to posting the usual non-baseball nonsense at the usual schedule, i.e. whenever I get a hair up my ass.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)