The 76ers Are Comedy Gold

Actual email header title from the team:

Where Will You Watch The Sixers Draft Their Future? Draft Day Party 2007

You know what that means, my children. List Time!

1. Under a bridge with Mike Gminski

2. Hanging out with Mr. Katz at the Methadone Clinic

3. In a one-star motel, while doing something that reminds us of the Iverson trade

4. At a Chuck E. Cheese with 5-year-olds, who are the only people we can find who are enthused about the team right now. Or maybe that's cake.

5. Who are the Sixers again?

Greetings, Wall Street Journal Readers

Today, FTT continued its long ascent to Ruling Antarctica by getting linked and mentioned in the Wall Street Journal. (No, seriously.)

We'd like to welcome our WSJ visitors by pointing out some features that Readers Like You tend to enjoy.

> The Journal piece that you were reading encouraged going to different baseball stadiums. Enjoy our ongoing series of visits to places that you can't go to anymore, Crap Holes We Have Known. It's filled with juicy travel tidbits that you just can't find anywhere else!

> Seeing how the WSJ demographic tends toward NYC readers, you might also enjoy our series of Yankees posts almost as much as we've enjoyed the 2007 season. Dig in!

> Finally, since we have first-hand knowledge of what white-color types like you really want, and will spend up to $20 for in a restroom, there's this. Read it until you go blind!

Now, who wants to give us some venture capital?

Pipe Dream

Mark Cuban announced on his blog Blog Maverick that he and a few other “smart people” are investigating the idea of creating another professional football league, the UFL. He points out his feeling that demand outweighs supply for this product and there is room for another professional football league. My first reaction was he’s probably right. Until I kept reading to discover that he wants to compete against the NFL.

Here’s a quick recap of how he sees it:

1. The NFL needs competition so regulators don’t look at them as a monopoly. Nice try Mark. I’m sure the NFL will agree that they want/need competition and not try to crush your league. Just ask the World Football League, the USFL and the XFL.

2. Wants to fill the league with players picked in lower rounds and older players who have been cut for salary cap reasons. Wow – sounds like some pretty good talent to go watch. I guess he wants the UFL to be the Wal-Mart of sports leagues – “Everyday low prices at the UFL!”

3. There are large markets in the U.S. that currently do not have NFL teams that would love a professional team. There are also a lot of people who would love to date Jessica Alba. But setting them up with her sister is nice, but it’s still not Jessica Alba. And looking at the top 25 cities that currently don’t have football teams you get – LA, San Antonio, Columbus, Austin, Memphis and El Paso. So those would be your top 6 markets to start the UFL. And where would these teams play? Sun Bowl Stadium? The Citrus Bowl? A bunch of old, crappy stadiums because an owner of a team isn’t going to build a new stadium for the UFL.

4. Play games in the fall on Friday nights. Reading this makes me wonder if he’s been sitting around with Ricky Williams brainstorming ideas on how the UFL will work. Big problem here on many levels:

• You’re going to try to compete directly with the NFL during their season. You don’t have the marketing dollars to do this.


• Friday night in the fall for 75% of the country revolves around high school football. It’s big. Probably too big, but it’s big. Have you not heard of this? You live in Texas for God’s sake. There is a book and TV show with the same name, “Friday Night Lights” about high school football on Friday nights. Get a clue Cuban.


• Guys would rather hook on with an NFL team, even if it’s the practice squad with the hope of working their way into the lineup, then go play for the Memphis Federal Express or the Old El Paso Zesty Fiestas. You move this to the spring and you have a better chance.

The craziest part of this is Cuban wanting to create a league to compete with/rival the NFL. That just isn’t going to happen. Creating a minor league (and really that is what the UFL is) that doesn't try and go head to head with the NFL gives you a much stronger chance. Create a partnership with the NFL where you work together instead of against them is a clearer path.

But in the meantime Mark, continue the brainstorming with Ricky. Pass the Dutchie on the left hand side...

Game Five, The Spurs Coronation

A few quick thoughts on the NBA's B Story, behind As The Kobe Turns...

> 30-11 start. Nice of the Spurs to let everyone on the East Coast turn in early.

> Wow, no one saw the Spurs winning tonight by 25. Oh, wait, actually, everyone outside of Salt Lake City did. And frankly, most of them, too.

> Any minute now, Mehmet Okur is going to start playing. And when he does, STEPHEN A. SMITH WILL LET YOU KNOW.

> There is no truth to the rumor that Bob Horry hard fouled Derek Fisher's daughter, causing him to miss the first half. But still, you can see how this kind of rumor gets started.

> Tony Parker's getting married to Eva Longoria? Why hasn't the media told us this before? Dammit, we want details!

> The Jazz have the fifth youngest roster in the NBA. And yet, I still can't help but think this will be their high-water mark. They are a nice story, but they're not the Spurs, they are not the Suns, and they have to have serious doubts about Kirilenko and Okur after this series. (Oh, and also this: they really, really need a 2 with size that can take over a game. They're not going to get one anytime soon.)

> People talk about the Spurs being old, but it's not the parts that really matter -- Duncan, Parker, Ginobili. Their team player bigs (Oberto and Elson) have few miles on the odometer. So long as Duncan is healthy, they have to be the favorite.

> Tonight's game set new records for Most Garbage Time Ever in a playoff game. To give you an idea, Rafael Arajuo played 12 minutes tonight. His entire playoff before that: 13 minutes. (FTT is proud to be the only sports blog in 2007 to mention Rafe. Print this page out for your scrapbook, Big Man!)

> A sincere congratulations to Michael Finley for finally making it to the Finals. So nice that someone on Mark Cuban's payroll will finally get a ring.

> And finally, this final note... Kobe has the most seasons with the same team of any team in the league, with 12. Duncan and KG are second, with 11.

Third? Adonal Foyle, with 10. Seriously. Adonal Foyle. We should all find opportunities so abundant.

We're Just Disgusted By This

From today's Wall Street Journal...

The changes to Bud.TV will include a variety of new features, such as a social-networking component and shorter videos -- about one minute each -- rather than the longer programs (usually about six minutes) that now dominate the site. Even the much-hyped "The Joe Buck Show," which shows the sports commentator interviewing celebrities in New York City cabs, will likely come to an end soon.

For all of us still holding out a candle in the window for the safe return of QUITE FRANKLY STEPHEN A. SMITH MAY HAVE A HEARING PROBLEM, this would be too much to bear.

Reconsider, Corporate Beer Barons -- or Randy Moss is going to drop trou. PATRIOT TROU.

Duly Noted

On this morning, no team in Major League Baseball is farther out of first place than the New York Yankees.

Chauncey Billups Is Losing Money, And Nine Other Cavs-Pistons Points

What we think we know after tonight’s surprising Game Four, in which Cleveland pulled away from Detroit late to tie the series at 2-2…

1. Chauncey Billups entered this series with an impeccable pedigree as Detroit’s MC, a point guard who kept control of the ball early, scored big buckets late, and killed you at the line. He was also going into possible free agency.

In this series, he’s been stymied by the ghost of Larry Hughes, a second round rookie (Daniel Gibson), and even the remains of Eric Snow. What should have been Detroit’s clear advantage has been anything but, and his clutch time turnovers, fouls, and forced missed threes took the Pistons out of any chance to steal this game.

Regardless of what happens in Games 5 and 6, The Chaunce has been exposed as not quite as quick as he used to be, and not infallible when it comes to decision making.

2. What on earth does Larry Hughes have to do to not play in a game?

He’s hurt. He’s terrible. His replacement is a revelation. When he’s on the floor, the Cavs do badly. He’s about 30 seconds away from pulling off his uni to reveal a secret Pistons gamer on underneath, followed by dastardly chair shots to Cav role players.

And yet Mike “Special Needs” Brown, the coach of the Cavs, decided to start his problematic third quarter with a very special episode of Hello, Larry. Three misses later as the other Cavs decided to run away from the ball and make Hughes shoot so that they could get him off the floor faster, a 10-point lead was gone. Luckily for the Cavs, Gibson came in and scored enough points to keep the third quarter from being fatal.

3. Rasheed Wallace says he plays better after getting a technical.

Rasheed Wallace is full of crap.

After Sheed’s fifth tech of the playoffs – two more until suspension! – he airballed a forced three immediately afterward, and didn’t score again for the rest of the game. Later on, as he was walking back in the tunnel, he whipped off his jersey and wound up throwing it in the face of some poor random schmuck. TNT only ran this 300 times. Admirable restraint, really.

Oh, Sheed. The world will never understand your genius.

4. If Gibson and Gooden show up in Game 5, Cleveland wins in 6… but I still like Detroit, because most young players don’t show up on the road.

Realistically, the Cavs were closer in the road losses than the Pistons have been, and LeBron is starting to make those Unfair Shots that says he might be ready to carry them to a road win.

Chuck Barkley on TNT tonight, in his role as Outrageous Guy, said the Cavs could have swept this series. That is, of course, nonsense, because finishing a team late is not something that should be assumed from a young team on the road… but there is a kernel of truth in that bucket of bombast.

5. Cavs Coach Mike Brown makes Isiah Thomas look like Red Auerbach.

It’s the last minute of the game, so make sure to bring in a guy (Eric Snow) who hasn’t played all night for Defensive Purposes. Because this *always* works.

Look, I love Eric Snow. He was the PG for the AI 2000 Sixers, and he’s done more in the league than a guy with absolutely no jump shot should ever have been able to do. But to roll him out on the floor at a point in his life that he should probably just be coaching, and put two of the biggest free throws in the game on his shoulders…

Well, Brown got away with it tonight. But I think if I were a Cavs fan, I’d have taken out a contract on him by now.

6. Antonio McDyess looks dominant… when Donyell Marshall is defending him. What a coincidence!

7. Doug Collins actually said something to this effect: “If toughness counts for anything, Eric Snow’s going to make these free throws.” Clang on the first, make on the second. So it you are scoring at home, or even if you’re alone, you now know just how much toughness counts for. A 1-for-2 from the line in crunch time.

8. When LeBron James is on, no one in the league can stop him – because no one who is as fast, big and tall as he is can be guarded while he’s making step-back fallaway 3s from 25+ feet away. He Is, Simply, Ridiculous.

9. Does anyone else look at Lindsay Hunter and think his in-game dialogue while pressuring the ball consists of “Nassstttyyyy hobbit! It has stolen the Precioussss! We wants it back, we wants it back!”

10. If Dwight Gooden fouls Tay Prince the way he fouled Sheed Wallace, it’s a flagrant. And if he had hit Steve Nash like that, a national tragedy in two countries.

BONUS! Everyone knows that Anderson Varaejo looks like Sideshow Bob. But has anyone else noticed Zydrunas Ilgauskas’s resemblance to Homer Simpson, or how Dwight Gooden has Krusty The Klown’s hair spike in on the top of his neck? This series is made for caricaturists, or any other form of art where the models can’t move very much...

And an update... here's the Sheed Facial. A great moment for TNT.

Nice Personality

For the benefit of any visiting athlete who might have stumbled across this blog during their daily Google search for HOT YOUNG CHEERLEADERS, FTT would like to issue the following public service.

If you, or any member of your posse, Mensa enclave or marketing team find yourself described with the following adjectives, DO NOT TAKE IT AS A COMPLIMENT.

> “He knows the System” (especially in regards to Quarterbacks)
> Bulldog (see Pitcher)
> “A good guy in the clubhouse”
> “A coach on the floor”
> Team leader
> Active in his community
> Heisman Trophy Winner
> Bosworth (or Mamula)-esque
> Physical specimen (as in, a turd)
> A workout demon
> A student of the game
> Just a naturally gifted athlete
> Colorful
> “His teammates just love him”

And, finally, inevitably...

> A Five Tool Player

Good luck, and we hope you find those WET SEXY TEENS you were looking for.

To Section 425 At Monday’s Phils’ Game

My brothers and sisters,

I know he was asking for it.

You don’t wear Mets gear, in Philadelphia, to a game with 40K Phillies Only fans at it.

You save that kind of stupidity, if you must, for a Mets game where you’ve got some backup. (The Arizona Diamondbacks, with Doug Davis as the starting pitcher, is just not packing in a big crowd.)

I know that $1 hot dogs and the end of a holiday weekend can make people forget themselves. I’ve seen it happen many times.

I also know that the home team was coming off a Snowing in May weekend sweep in Atlanta, bringing them all the way over .500, despite a putrid April start.

So you were more, shall we say enthused, than usual.

You were also correct in your observation that he was fat.

You were also keen in your observations that he probably could have refrained from having the large ice cream cone. Positively trenchant. Something the Algonquin Round Table would have been proud of.

Giving him and his entire group a geographical precise suggestion can be seen as right neighborly.

He might, after all, have been lost.

Offering to send him to the lower levels the fast way may sound like a juvenile violent threat, but I know that you were kidding.

Or that you just wanted them to have a better view.

When he called for security, who clearly had no greater threat than pointing in your general direction – well, I’m going to agree with you again.

That’s a pussy move. You wear the hat, you take the ride.

Finally, I share in your distaste for his wife, girlfriend or relative that decided to stand, turn, and give you the look of condescension.

As if you were naughty schoolchildren that would be cowed by her look of disapproval. The nerve.

However, having said all of that – having given you every possible consideration… and knowing that if I were also liquored up and in my early ‘20s, perhaps, just maybe, I’d also say and do things that I’d regret later…

I’m still pretty sure that I wouldn’t have chanted

ASS HOLE... ASS HOLE... ASS HOLE...

In front of a guy with his seven-year-old daughter.

And another guy with his five-year-old daughter.

Made us all want to become Phillies fans, it did.

From Far, Far Away.

The final, most telling thing I can say about the matter…

This never happened to us in… Oakland.

Moving on.

Baseball Players Say The Darndest Things

From the Associated Press:

The day after RHP Kirk Saarloos failed to retire any of the seven batters he faced in Cincinnati's 14-10 loss to Pittsburgh, the Reds optioned him to Triple-A Louisville and recalled LHP Bobby Livingston. "I don't feel like I'm the problem," said Saarloos, 0-4 with a 7.04 ERA.

From the right perspective -- i.e., the hitter -- a 7-run ERA really isn't a problem.

And Managers, too!

AP: Boston Red Sox 1B Kevin Youkilis hit a stand-up, inside-the-park home run Monday, May 28, against the Cleveland Indians. "He runs right out of the batter's box every time," Red Sox manager Terry Francona said. "Sometimes you get rewarded for that, not with a triple but with a home run."

Gosh, what if *everyone* did that? I think I just blew my mind.

Our Gift To Patriot Haters

That, folks, is Tom Brady. And no, he's not auditioning for the part of Spaulding, the Judge's son, in the new remake of "Caddyshack." (Hat tip: Jezebel.com, via Deadspin.)

Crap Holes We Have Known: Pittsburgh, Three Rivers Stadium, and Cincinnati, Riverfront Stadium

Ed. Note: Part of a continuing series where FTT throws dirt on the graves of dead stadiums to show that yes, we are freaking old. Enjoy!

Every generation goes through waves of nostalgia, and as the speed of media increases, the cycle gets faster.

In the late 1970s of my childhood, the country yearned for the more innocent ‘50s of the Fonz and “Grease.” In the 80s, there were Doors revivals and hippie moments until AIDS made everyone stop having casual sex for, like, ever. (At least, that is what the women kept telling me.) In the 90s, we so wanted a new ‘70s Watergate so much, we had one when the President lied about blow jobs.

In the Aughts, we’ve paid actual U.S. money to see movies about TV shows from the ‘80s, and insisted on getting and watching new “Star Wars” movies, no matter how bad they were. Keep an eye out for the coming Grunge Revival, especially if it means that Frances Bean Cobain is finally ready to take her rightful place as the world’s angriest rock and roll bandleader. (Just to make you feel really old, Wikipedia says she’s 14 now. Though if she really wanted to get back at both of them, she’d become an actuary.)

Nostalgia like this also has its place in the construction of baseball stadiums… with the notable exception of the ‘60s/’70s era of multi-purpose places.

Let me, then, be the only person in the history of North America to express longing for the simple civic virtue of one place that covers the needs of 89 (81 baseball, 8 football) regular season games a year, plus pre-season and playoffs. The idea that football teams need their own yard for 8 out of 365 days a year is just kind of baffling – along with the idea that people will pay 2x to 3x more to see the same game in a newer and/or ritzier yard, especially because it has nicer facilities for corporate types.

So long as I’m not in that group, screw those people.

When I was a kid, the only thing I wanted more than a local championship team was the ability to have my own seat for *all* of the games that happened in that most magical of places, those hallowed grounds of triumph and pain – Philadelphia’s Veterans Stadium and Spectrum. In these state of the art facilities, there was a 5 to 10-year run of constant title contention for all four teams (yes, I even cared about hockey then). Only the Phillies and Sixers broke through, but no team was without its giddy joys. Eventually, a local cable channel (“Prism”) took root, giving suburban kids like me a pipeline into everything that happened in those buildings. Oh, if only the walls could talk.

They were, I am sure, crap holes. But they were *my* crapholes. Yours sucked much worse.

So it was that on a low rent baseball road trip in the late ‘80s, I found myself, on back to back nights, in Pittsburgh’s Three Rivers Stadium and Cincinnati’s Riverfront Stadium – the carbon-copy cutouts, along with Busch Stadium in St. Louis and the Coliseum in Oakland, from the time of civic virtues and shared resources.

Pittsburgh was a spooky ghost town that was a logistical nightmare. First, there is the simple and painful ride through Pennsylvania – so small on the map, so long in the car. It takes about seven hours to make it from Philadelphia, with big rigs and pickups taking turns in shaking you down, on a state turnpike that’s lump-riffic.

Once you do get to Pittsburgh, you go through something like six bridges and tunnels, have your ears pop from sudden elevation changes, and then answer three riddles from a troll (it’s OK – all of the answers are ‘The Steelers’). Once you’ve become convinced that there is no way there’s a stadium here, and you might actually be in West Virginia, you’d find your final destination… a large concrete ashtray.

A hot, sticky ashtray where the only people showing any kind of enthusiasm were hawking credit cards with the Pirates logo on it. (I’ve always wondered if those would work at high-end establishments. A Yankees card, that probably gets accepted anywhere, but a Pirates card… you might also want to bring cash, as a backup.)

The game wasn’t competitive, the crowd didn’t care or notice, and it was a lot like Montreal, only with a view of the sky. We hurried on to our next destination and felt a great sense of accomplishment at no longer being in Pennsylvania.

Cincinnati, the next night, was better... but only because the mid-‘80s Reds teams had exciting players like Eric Davis, Kal Daniels and Barry Larkin, along with some hard throwers in the pen. The actual park seemed worse – filled with a hog-rendering stench, and in an area that seemed like it was all highways and pedestrian death.

Here’s a fun fact about the Queen City – it was known, back in the day, as Porkopolis. The fact that you are within spitting distance, and yes, there will be spitting, of Kentucky, which is where the natives go for fun… well, it did achieve a feeling of difference from the previous stadium. We’ll give it that.

But if you shut off the crowd noise and looked about, it was clearly the exact same park, just decked out in different colors. Good sight lines, tons of room for foul ground, same concrete metal pipe fencing that always managed to be in the way for something you wanted to see.

All things run in cycles. We are sure that, in our lifetime, there will be a contracting of interest in sports, a backlash against the bubble economies that fuel stadium construction and pricing, a drop in attendance, an end to the civic insecurities and next town bargaining power that creates the modern pleasure palace. It’s all going to UFC, and a dystopian leathers-and-feathers MadMax world where fantasy league nerds congregate in secret safe rooms to hunch over Excel spreadsheets and diecast figurines. Don’t say you weren’t warned.

But when that day of austerity comes, we doubt anyone’s going to go all the way back to Astroturf, front row seats that are 100 feet from the game, and the creepy sense of déjà vu that can only come from being in a place that could easily be some other place.

As always on Crap Holes We Have Known, if you’ve got a different view, we’re eager to hear it, so that we can get what people in pro wrestling call Cheap Heat. Post your impassioned defense, or pile on the corpse, in the comments below.

Coming Up Next Time on Crap Holes We Have Known: Milwaukee!

Hancock Family Sues the Entire City of St. Louis

At least that’s what it feels like. This is the only fitting end to a tragic story – make it worse.

Josh Hancock’s family has sued Mike Shannon and his daughter who own/run the restaurant where Hancock was drinking before he died. Stating it was their fault that their son was drunk. They are also suing the tow truck driver (which Hancock ran into), the tow truck owner and the driver of the wrecked car the tow truck was assisting.

Bryan Burwell of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch wrote a great article on how embarrassing and frivolous this lawsuit is for the Hancock family.

Let’s blame everyone other than Hancock who:
1) Made the decision to have that many drinks;
2) Was not wearing his seat belt;
3) Was speeding;
4) Was talking on his cell phone;
5) Also had marijuana in the car with him; and
6) Didn’t even brake before hitting the truck.

How about this idea Hancock family – Josh got really drunk and made a tragic mistake. But if you must continue with this ridiculous lawsuit don’t forget to include the following person’s in the suit:

1) Ford - the manufacturer of the car Josh was driving for not making it indestructible to 85 mph collisions.
2) The rental agency where Hancock rented the Ford Explorer.
3) Tony LaRussa’s late inning pitching substitutions that would drive anyone to drink.
4) Bud Selig and MLB’s schedule makers. If the Cardinals would have been on the road that day, Josh would not have been driving.
5) Jacque Jones – he knocked in a run against Hancock in the game before his death.
6) Verizon – they did distract him by allowing him to have cell phone coverage.

Get the point? Ridiculous.

My Gambling Problem: I Keep Losing

This week's baseball picks...

Cleveland over BOSTON with a 10.5 run OVER. Yes, it's the return of the parlay bet that never works, but with both teams swinging the bats well and Boston escaping the ninth tonight (translation: less Papelbon tomorrow), I like the chances for the Tribe to win in a slugfest. Sowers v. Beckett, and the latter has a bad track record vs. Cleveland. 2,500 to win 2,600 on a 10.5 run over, and 2,000 to win 3,300 on Cleveland.

Braves over BREWERS. Smoltz vs. Sheets in an ace matchup, and Smoltz is going for that big win #201. I think he'll celebrate by going "Woo Hoo." 2,500 to win 2,675 on Atlanta.

Wednesday

In the words of my mother, well, that was unfortunate. Nothing to do but blow the rest of the week's hopes on a couple of road dogs.

Giants over METS. Zito vs. Glavine as the Giants try to avoid the sweep. Zito's numbers are bad for the year, but it's mostly come in a few starts, and I think he'll shine under the NYC spotlight. He'll also be motivated to avoid giving the game to Armando Blownitez. 2,500 to win 3,475.

Mariners over ANGELS. Seattle's been playing well and has King Felix going. Last time out, he got hammered against this team; today, he'll deal. Jered Weaver goes for the Halos, and has been a little shaky recently. 2,500 to win 2,875.

Thursday

An even day with a slight bump for the money. Down big, running out of days, have to bet it all on road dogs. Do not try this at home.

Giants over METS. Once more into the Shea, with Matt Cain facing Orlando Hernandez. The moneyline is too good for a pitcher of Cain's standing, and El Duque has been battling health issues since the Truman Administration. 3,475 to win 4,240.

White Sox over JAYS. Buerhle vs. Halladay gives the moneyline big to the home team, but Halladay's coming off an injury, Buerhle has a history of success against the Jays, and the ChiSox usually respond to Ozzie going off his meds. 3,500 to win 4,970.

Friday - No mas! 1-6 so far this week. We're going to go on a three-day binge of drinking Scotch and try to move on. Late.

30 to 14, Or How The NBA Can't Take Off The Tin Foil Hats

From Urban Dictionary.com...

Tin Foil Hat, also tinfoil hat, or tfh, a general term for a piece of headgear made from one or more sheets of tin foil, aluminium foil, or other similar material. Some people wear the hats in the belief that they act to shield the brain from such influences as electromagnetic fields, or against mind control and/or mind reading. The concept has become a popular stereotype and term of derision; in Internet culture, the phrase serves as a byword for paranoia.

Now what, you may ask, does this have to do with Game 4 of the Western Conference Playoffs, which FTT so perfectly called with the Wile Coyote image below?

Simple. Here's the free throw numbers for Game 4, in Utah.

San Antonio: 30 for 41, 73.2%
Utah: 14 for 20, 70%.

And here are the technical fouls...

Utah 3, San Antonio 0.

And the ejections...

Utah 3 (Okur, Fisher, Sloan), San Antonio 0

And Utah coach Jerry Sloan's post-game quote.

"I don't want to talk about those because all that does is give me more trouble."

Prior to Sunsgate, you could wash this one away as sour grapes from a team watching its hopes go down the drain, and what happens when a playoff tested team that relies on penetration faces a team of jump shooters.

After Sunsgate, you can wonder, especially since noted thug Derek Fisher (?) became the latest guy to be driven to Unsound Play in the presence of Manu Ginobili. It's amazing, just how many people that happens to. Quite a coincidence.

From my vantage point, the Spurs just executed in the fourth while the Jazz unraveled. No crime was committed, no referee's wallet had a Texas-sized bulge, and Deron Williams wasn't being poisoned during the game by sunglass-wearing NBA agents.

But clearly, THAT'S WHAT THEY WANT US TO THINK.

And for Spurs Fans (and we know it's just you now, because even ESPN, who televised this, bumped your game in their coverage for something called "hockey", and if Duke Lacrosse team had won, you'd be on Page Four with Eli Manning coverage) who think we hate their team... no, not really. You're going to the Finals, you've got the best player in the game, and you've made Mehmet Okur soil himself in this series so much that even STEPHEN A. SMITH MIGHT STOP YELLING ABOUT IT.

But just admit one thing: if these guys weren't wearing your laundry, you'd pretty much hate them too, right?

There. Was that so hard?

Leave Town

As part of the Sports Atheism post, the commenter Tracer Bullet posted this:

...I didn't realize how insufferable my fellow Eagles fans are until I moved to Philadelphia

(I'm going to leave aside the relative insufferability of the Eagles fanbase -- because, truth be told, I'm pretty sure that everyone's fan base is insufferable. We'll save the rankings for another day.)

I'm from Philadelphia originally, and moved around after getting old enough to fear death. In the moving around, I ventured far and wide from my Eagles... and started enjoying them more. How is that?

Simple. Being far away from Philadelphia means being far away from Howard Eskin, whose image befouls this post.

If you haven't had the pleasure of listening to this cyst before, this will give you the gist. Though, frankly, it's far too kind.

Now, I don't want to go into too much detail on Howie, because he's just not worth the typing. Like ESPN's Bill Simmons, he's a bad tooth, but unlike Simmons, he has no good moments or past redeeming value, so I find it pretty easy to ignore him. Friends of mine in the area, not so much. (Frankly, I'm just not enough of a sado-masochist to go there too often.)

If your favorite team has any kind of a fan base, I bet you've got someone just like Howie in your area -- or will eventually. Why? Because being a rotting tooth is a ratings grabber. Because there's always going to be people dumb enough to pay five bucks for three balls to throw at the loudmouth in the dunk tank. Because some people find this kind of thing to be entertaining, or because it's easier to parrot some douchebag's opinion than think of your own.

(For the record, parroting opinions from FTT is Nothing Like That, No Sir, because we're Tools, not Douchebags. Says so right in the header.)

It's also why being far away from your team, especially in the age of the Internet and satellite television, is such a winning play.

Many of my brethren in Eagles fandom will never, I suspect, be able to get over the team losing the Super Bowl to the Patriots. I share that pain, but probably not to the same degree... because at the time, I was halfway around the world on vacation. It was a lovely Monday afternoon, and there was no chance to wallow. My wife and daughter were sad for me, they left me alone for a while, and after an hour or so, I had gone through all five stages of grieving and went about my day. I still have the bad memories, but at least I didn't drag my family down with me. (It's also much harder to pout about your team losing in front of a small kid, at least if you are making any kind of effort as a parent.)

But a chanchre like Eskin? Without the five stages, they'd have no show. Without the questionable decision of others to poke the bad tooth, to keep on feeling bad about something that will stay the same regardless of your emotions about it, without the profitable business of selling salt for wounds, or hair-trigger and brained judgments on which individual was most responsible for the loss, and how his immediate dismissal was the only logical response to the solution...

Well, hell, they'd have to get out of town.

Somehow, we think that the town -- any town -- would be better off.

Game Four

Whoopee! The Cavs and the Jazz both got off the deck in their series. Tonight, the Cavs got a near triple double and 30 points from King LeBron, while Billups and Hamilton gave the Pistons nothing until the fourth. The Cavs also got solid production out of Ilgauskas and Gooden, along with some big shots and tough defense from rookie Daniel Gibson, who also let Larry Hughes find his most effective role in the series. He and Donyell Marshall both provide quality chest bumps during timeouts.

Add it all up and you get... a close win at home, only clinched in the last 30 seconds. We're thinking gravity lessons may come in handy soon.

As for the Jazz, at least they had the good courtesy to take their bounce-back game with a touch of blowout, but with Deron Williams fighting through some stomach illness now (I thought that sort of thing was only supposed to happen to Kobe Bryant in Sacramento), the stage is set for the Spurs to take Game Four.

By the way, this makes for an exceptional subplot to the raging Spurs Paranoia that would be surging through the public, provided anyone was still paying attention to the playoffs.

First they got the NBA to suspend every Suns starter -- and I heard they also had Raja Bell's wife and kids held hostage. Now, the NBA is POISONING THE JAZZ. It's true. David Stern has black helicopters. I can say no more, as they know my location, but with this brand-new rocket I ordered online from Acme, I'm sure I can get away safely...

Number One In Our Draft, Number Two In Our Numbers

Dear Albert,

Congrats on raising your season average over .300 with today's 3 for 4 against the Nationals. The ten game hitting streak has brought you up from .239, and my fantasy team up from cutting ourselves like attention-starved 12-year-old girls.

But before we start quoting the Wolf in Pulp Fiction...

8 home runs is fine... if you are Dan Uggla. Actually, he's got nine.

24 RBIs is lovely... if you are Michael Barrett. Since he doesn't, you know, PLAY EVERY DAY. OR HIT THIRD.

Going 1-7 in your matchup at first base? I could have got that out of Nick Swisher. Who was drafted 89th.

Go back on the good roids already. Pretty please?

Love,

Your Owners at FTT

A Few Questions for the Orlando Magic

Just what were you expecting to happen in the playoffs, and how many more times are you planning to fire Brian Hill? (For those keeping track at home, this makes two, though we can't imagine anyone really is keeping track of this.)

Let's see, our go-to guy (Dwight Howard) is an interior player with no real offensive game, we're highly dependent on people like Hedo Turkoglu, who was so tough in the playoffs that *Sacramento* let him go, and we're still holding out hope that Grant Hill will be healthy some day.

Shocking, utterly shocking, that the dominant playoff team of our era treated us like children in the playoffs.

Quick, fire the only coach in our history who has ever had success -- especially since we have no clear alternative to replace him with. That'll fix everything!

Crap Holes We Have Known: Old Tiger Stadium, Detroit

Ed. Note: Part of a continuing series where FTT throws dirt on the graves of dead stadiums to show that yes, we are freaking old. Enjoy!

Old baseball stadiums. Ah, the memories. The history. The knowledge that, why, in this very field, on that very spot right over there, Ty Cobb once attacked a guy in a wheelchair for calling him a racial slur, and his teammates were behind him. Or to be able to look up and say, my Lord, Reggie Jackson sure hit the ball a long way.

Of course, it’s easier to say these things when you can actually see the field. Many times in Ye Olde Tiger Stadium, that wasn’t going to happen for you.

Your enemy in that place was The Pillar, silent bane to baseball fans for untold decades, just waiting to ensnare out of town fans who come to your yard just to knock another field off the list of Ones We’ve Been To. Tiger Stadium had, basically, one for every three fans, at least in our experience, which left us picking innings for who got to see what.

Who won? Who lost? Who remembers? All I can see when I close my eyes and think of Tiger Stadium is a giant steel phallus, laughing at me. Admittedly, this occurs most nights, especially since The Incident, but that’s a whole ‘nother meeting.

Why didn’t, you may ask, we get up and go somewhere else? Because, well, we were more or less Afraid For Our Lives. While the quality of our asses may not be rock hard, they certainly aren’t completely confectionary, either – we’ve lived in some bad neighborhoods and gotten through some rough nights. But in the mid-80s, with the natives having a rough year and the Stadium being located in America’s third-finger answer to Beirut, we were not, how shall we say, looking to annoy a native. Or stay late.

Old stadiums are wonderful. We love Fenway, despite our Simmons-fueled hate for the Sox. Wrigley is almost 20% as nice as Cubs Fans claim it is. Yankee Stadium is one of our favorite places to see a game, once again, despite the general antipathy towards the home team.

But not all old stadiums are wonderful, and you don’t hear too many Tiger Fans pining for the good old days in the old yard. Rest in an obstructed view plot, you hole.

As always on Crap Holes We Have Known, if you’ve got a different view, we’re eager to hear it, so that we can get what people in pro wrestling call Cheap Heat. Post your impassioned defense, or pile on the corpse, in the comments below.

Coming Up Next Time on Crap Holes We Have Known: Pittsburgh! Or Cincinnati! See if you can tell the difference!

Kwick Kav Kvetch

Regardless of whether or not LeBron was fouled on his final shot in Game 2, what is Larry Hughes's excuse for missing a wide-open 8-footer on the offensive rebound?

(Oh, and Larry? Heckuva fourth quarter. Vegas just upped the over/under on the number of teams you're going to play for in your career to eight. Soon, you'll be more than halfway there!)

Or Mike Brown's excuse for not ordering a shot earlier in the clock, so that you can extend the game in the event of a miss?

We're not Pistons fans, but jeez... win the game yourselves. Don't expect the refs to hand it to you. Because, well, it ain't going to happen. Accept your fate...

The Rules Have Changed

Dear Young Athletes,

We’re going to make this short and to the point, because we know that you can’t read anything that’s too long.

Your MySpace page? Delete it.

Your sex video? Burn it.

Your friends with cameras cell phones who drink with you?

Destroy their phones.

And in the future, drink only in an unlit cave.

Unfair? Sure.

Paranoid? Yes indeedy.

A stinging rebuke to the freedoms and dreams that you have spent most of your waking life hoping to achieve? Who writes your inner monologues, anyway?

From now on, just do what any number of scared straight fundie kids have done – commit yourself to the belief that A VENGEFUL GOD IS WATCHING YOU EVERY WAKING MINUTE OF THE DAY, AND IS JUST LOOKING FOR AN EXCUSE TO SEND YOUR SORRY ASS STRAIGHT TO HELL.

AND HE’S GOT A CELL PHONE CAMERA.

Then, and only then, will you have the chance – just the chance – of getting through your public years with a trace amount of dignity.

Failing that, you could always wear a mask. Sunglasses. And a big hat.

Love,

Your Friends at FTT

Sports Theism vs. Sports Atheism

In the back and forth in the comments over the McNabb post, something came up that sparked a thought.

Here’s the pertinent point for non-clickers:

... only to see the championship window now fully shut... The time to win a title is over, so IMO it's time to begin looking towards the future.

Note the introduction of a narrative – McNabb and the Eagles have had their window of opportunity shut, so the team has to make changes and move on. If they don’t, they’ll lose.

I wonder how a Colts fan, reading that, might feel. Because Peyton Manning’s window of opportunity has looked like it has been closing for years now.

Or how a Broncos fan that recalls all the years that Elway couldn’t win a ring, and had to constantly hear Marino comparisons, would think about that.

Or a Steelers fan that watched Cowher fail to seal the deal through multiple championship games at home, and a quarterback carousel that included the names Stewart, O’Donnell and Maddox.

Which is not to say that the writer is wrong, that every stay the course move works out, or that McNabb and Reid are the same as Manning, Elway and Cowher.

They might be Jim Kelly, or Dan Marino, or Marty Schottenheimer.

As Kent Brockman says, only time will tell.

But the opinion shows a certain faith in a narrative, that the games are not just random events of probability, but stories with an arc. (This, despite an era in which NFL champions have mostly appeared out of the blue, but that’s OK – any title creates its own backstory, and with speed. If the story is bad, we just don’t tell it very often, or for very long, which is why you don’t hear so much about the genius of Jon Gruden or Brian Billick any more.)

There is no logical reason to believe in a Window of Opportunity – and yet, nearly everyone does, and will argue more about whether it’s open or shut, rather than if it exists.

It is the same kind of magical thinking that would lead you to believe that certain uniforms have power – a belief that no one would admit to in public, but still, look at those Bengals uniforms.



Super Bowl winners can't look like that, can they?

That the roar of the crowd can turn a season around. That the players can feel and benefit from the fan’s excitement.

That there is a Madden Curse, or an SI Cover Jinx.

That the personal character of highly flawed individual corporate entities (i.e., the modern player, with his posse/executive staff, his PR needs, and his trash talk / branding mission statements) is as important as talent when it comes to determine winners and losers.

Extend this to the stands, and it gets frightening or silly to people who do not believe what you believe. We’re all wearing the modern-day ghost shirts , many of us are dressing up like it’s Halloween or Mardi Gras, and an astonishing number of people will pay more for the rainments if they’ve been worn in a game, or autographed. (Speaking of magic...)

You may not be fit to touch the hem of an athlete's garment, but you can buy your own replica garment in the gift shop.

But if you go completely against this kind of thing, into the realm of sports atheism, you strip the contest down to bare and ugly meat and bone. You see it, with too much clarity, as a purely commercial event, determined by mostly random chance, that has no meaning, and no good reason to care about.

Timewaste. Vice. Bread and circuses. For kids. Soap opera with a live crowd.

Everyone, whether or not they are sports fans, lives with some stories, illusions, and narrative. Even if you’re aware of doing it. (And if you think fantasy sports erode this traditional faith, not so -- it is more a transfer or a competing faith, rather than a true embrace of sports atheism. In a related matter, I know that I am going to be in my baseball league’s playoffs this year, despite the fact that my team hits less than a senior citizen in a casino. I have Faith.)

This may also be why sports seems so much more invasive and prominent now – the world is becoming more secular and fragmented, so in our need to congregate and find community, we go to the One True Church of Ball. I remember, back in my childhood, hearing priests rail against the false church of sports as being a vice (and yes, it still is).

Now, the Vatican thinks about having its own soccer team. If you can’t beat ‘em, have a God and Country Night.

FTT, for the record, espouses a kind of middle of the road / progressive sports agnosticism – we are not sure quite what to believe, but we are pretty sure that there is all some greater meaning that will become clear later. However, with that being said, we do welcome sports theists into the congregation. Testify to your Window of Opportunity.

Especially when the collection plate is passed around. (And as soon as we can find a sponsor for that collection plate, you will all bear witness to its glory.)

Now, can I get an amen?

Crap Holes We Have Known: Stade Olympique

Ed. Note: Part of a continuing series where FTT throws dirt on the graves of dead stadiums to show that yes, we are freaking old. Enjoy!

Here’s a fun fact. Montreal lead the National League in attendance in 1980. Over 2.5 million came through the turnstiles. You can, as Yogi Berra says, look it up, before I rip your nosehairs out with my bare hands, because I’m not as lovable as people think I am.

Ok, the Mets were terrible that year, and it was a down year for the Dodgers and Reds, the usual attendance powerhouses. The Phillies had exhausted their fan base with playoff failures in ’76, ’77 and ’78, and then crapped the bed entirely in the Pirate’s "We Are Family" year.

But there it is, in black and white, the fact that baseball did work in Quebec, for a good long while. It might not have been the most prosperous market, but it worked well enough until the strike and Expos owner/despot Jeffrey Loria poisoned the well.

After that, Loria put barbed wire around the well, and land mines around the barbed wire, and then released wild dogs that were also carrying land mines, just to be sure. For this, Bud Selig gave him the Commissioner’s Medal of Freedom award, the Florida Marlins, and the 2003 World Series Championship over the Cubs and Yankees, further cementing my belief in the Beavis God.

So by the spring of 1999, that hard 1980 ticket was not, really, much of a problem for a younger DMtShooter (ah, we were all so much younger then) and the patient and kind Mrs. Shooter. We were on our honeymoon in Montreal, also known as The Much More Reasonable And Easier To Get To Quasi-Europe. I highly recommend it.

For seven strong and true days, we wandered the streets loose and unencumbered. We ate succulent meals of aged beef and chateaubriand, filled our goblets (oh, yes, we had goblets) with port and icewine, and engaged in pre-kid honeymoon rutting. We ordered Vietnamese food in French, took to the subways like natives, hit the Napoleon Museum and the ancient cathedrals, rode horse-drawn carriages and tandem bicycles while singing (well, OK, just me), and were, in short, people you’d really want to smack.

We had no cares. It was bliss.

And then a baseball game broke out.

It was a fine Tuesday, about halfway through our trip. We were walking through Montreal’s Botanical Gardens, sampling the full spring fury of late May blooms, as the sun started to set. Slowly, we headed back towards the subway, and a trip back to the hotel area, where dinner at a restaurant to be determined awaited.

That’s when I noticed the Big O. It turned out to be our subway stop. And hey, there’s a baseball game starting. Hey, hon, wanna go? Mrs. Shooter, who was probably drunk on icewine, said sure. I walked up to the counter – wow, no line! -- and asked for their best. After all, what the hell, we're on our honeymoon!

We wound up in the front row for $40 Canadian, or about $8 US at the time. The game turned out to be the Phillies vs. the Expos, the town team that I no longer cared about, against the team that no one cared about. The crowd, counting players, ushers, umpires, clubhouse attendants, broadcast personnel and us, might have been about 2,000 people, though the box score claimed 4,400. The box score is full of crap. I’ve been on planes with more people.

It was spooky and unpleasant. Despite the choice seats, we were still a considerable distance from the field, and the utter lack of crowd noise or outside light made it seem like a baseball snuff film.

Seeing as we were High Rollers, we had the more or less constant attention of a comely waitperson who was clearly just dying for something to do. If this was a Penthouse Forum blog, we’d have given her something to do. But since it’s not, we just kept asking her to bring us Smoked Meat sandwiches (hey now).

The game was notable for the plaintive honking of bored children in the upper decks sounding their plastic Expo horns. Everything was broadcast in both French and English. Sounds echoed for minutes. Even the home plate umpire sounded depressed in his ball and strike calls.

My only strong memory of the actual game was reacting to a blown call at first by starting to yell at the umpire. With decades of training of yelling at tiny specks that were hundreds of feet away in a loud stadium, I started with the time-honored observation about his weight. Mr. Umpire then stared me down, and started heading my way. Mrs. Shooter thoughtfully used the international hand motions of "Hey, it was him, not me," and I hid under the seats until the mean man went away.

What can I tell you – heckling is a whole different ball game in a vacuum. Also, I'm a wuss.

For the record, the Expos won 7-4, as part of their magical 68-94 campaign (the Phils would finish 77-85). I can say that I’ve watched the Phillies lose in two countries and three languages (South Philadelphia Italian is something I love, but it is not English).

We walked out into the perfect Montreal night, never to return.

As always on Crap Holes We Have Known, if you’ve got a different view, we’re eager to hear it, so that we can get what people in pro wrestling call Cheap Heat. Post your impassioned defense, or pile on the corpse, in the comments below.

Coming Up Next Time on Crap Holes We Have Known: Detroit!

FTT Can Not Stop Touching The Rotting Tooth That Is Bill Simmons

Shorter Simmons, just now:

Everyone feel sorry for me and my team, because we didn't win the lottery, and we're really, really, really unlucky.

* * * * *

Actual Simmons (and after this, I'm taking this car straight to Rant Country):

Everyone believes Celtics fans get a free pass with this stuff because we won 16 titles in 30 years. Actually, it's the opposite. Long-suffering fans of perennial losers don't know what they're missing. After all, how would they know? You can't miss steak if you've never eaten steak, right?

This, in a nutshell, is why the *WORLD* hates the Red Sox even more than the Yankees right now (and for that matter, the Patriots more than the Colts) -- you won your World Series, and you are *still* crying for Lovable Underdog Status.

It's also why no one -- NO ONE -- feels bad that the Celtics are Clippers East now.

You know who would trade their Sports Misery with Boston's in a freaking heartbeat? Just about every town in America. You get a great old baseball park. You get the most successful franchise in NBA history. You get a championship - MULTIPLE - in this century, in two sports. You get a fan base that fills the seats and cares all the time, and if you move away from there, you can always find a bar filled with them.

You want a miserable sports fan experience? Settle back with some Kansas City Royal action, six months in a funeral home. Grab a paper bag and join the suicide watch in Detroit Lion Land. Suck on the poisoned crack pipe that has a Philadelphia 76er logo on it. My team has traded the best players in franchise history away so much, Julius Erving checks the newspaper every day, just to make sure it still isn't going to happen to him, too.

Believe it or not, We Poor Peons Who Rarely Eat Steak like it, too. The Royals fans remember 1985 like it's a child lost in a war. Lions fans close their eyes and think of Barry Sanders. In Philadelphia, we can still see Doc rising over Michael Cooper.

It's the way sports is for everyone. Or, at least, everyone but you, you spoiled child, you insufferable douche bag, you puling twerp. (Boy, it's hard to keep this under the Disney filter.)

Your tears are like sweet wine. Please cry some more for us. Please. Or, failing that, GROW THE HELL UP.

And if you don't believe me, spin around the sports blogosphere and check out the reactions of everyone but you and your boyfriends. It's a freaking national holiday out here.

Crap Holes We Have Known: Cleveland Municipal

Ed. Note: This is the first in a continuing series of episodes in which FTT throws dirt on the graves of old ballparks, and shows the world just how freaking old we are.

Cleveland Municipal

It might have been OK for football, because frankly, you can endure a lot for football. Eight games a year, four hours a game, you are just not there that much.

For baseball? Oh dear God.

The old Mistake By The Lake was a giant round toilet, built in 1948, for two expressed purposes:

1) Match and mirror the dimensions of the dominant franchise (New York Yankees), of the age, because clearly, it was these dimensions that made them great, not the players in the uniforms, and

2) Make sure that the home team could take advantage of their strong, year-in and year-out winning ways by fitting up to 60,000 people in the park.

Then the American League stepped in and told them that the dimensions were not going to be that way. At which point the team decided to throw a 50-year hissy fit and have 80 to 100 feet of dead space in the outfield, between the fences and the bleachers. They parked cars there. No, seriously.

Next, the team stopped winning, following the monumentally bad ‘50s trade of Colavito for Kuenn. It was the kind of deal you would expect from a team that made stadium dimensions without checking to see if the league would allow them first. Or from people who would turn their best outfield seat locations into parking spaces.

Next, the people in the outfield decided that they had better things to do then watch a terrible franchise from very far away, while being eaten alive by the tens of thousands of insects that liked living next to a big damn lake. (There was a game that was called there due to insects once. We shit you not.) This was soon followed suit by the people who were watching the team from closer in.

In July 1990 the Tribe faced the dominant Bash Brothers Oakland A’s. A group of friends and I went across the country for a two week baseball road trip. Our pitching matchup was NBX’s own Dave Stewart vs. Al Nipper, a 103-win A’s team vs. a 85-loss collection of aimless Tribesmen, and about as much of a lead-pipe lock of a contest as you can get outside of a homecoming game in college football.

Nipper, for those of you who did not have the pleasure of first hand experience, was a “bulldog” kind of pitcher, which meant that he was ugly, drooled, and smelled of urine. He’d mix, match, and get mauled whenever he fell behind in a count to a good hitter. Originally with the Red Sox, he had bounced to the Cubs and Tribe. By 1990, he was completely spent, and the night we saw him, he was in his last week in the majors. (The Tribe, in their finite wisdom, gave him *five* starts.

Here’s the box score, if you have no life.

The A’s went up early. Stewart treated the Tribe like disobedient children. The 30,000 people in attendance, in a stadium that fit 60,000, still made it feel empty, except when they decided to make Jose Canseco, then the best player in baseball, mad with Super Roiding Power.

The Tribe yanked Nipper and brought in Tom Candiotti. Jose responded with an absolute moon shot to left that almost made it to the seats, clearing the parked cars and open spaces that had been lying fallow since 1948. The ball went about 480 feet, and took about 10 seconds to land. It was if someone shut off the gravity.

The crowd shut up. The A’s won in a game that should have been stopped on cuts. We ate at a Subway after the game, because there was not anything better near the park, and got out of town as fast as we could.

I’m certain that someone reading this blog has something good to say about that place, in that this is the Internet, and you can find someone with something good to say about furries and toad lickers.

If you are that person, please post in the comments.

And also, get some help.

Next up: Montreal!

Carlos Boozer Makes Us Tripucka

The Spurs beat the Jazz last night for the 5,127th straight time in San Antonio last night, taking a 2-0 lead in their Best Of What’s Left To Watch series. Coverage of the game consisted of conversations about the draft (well, OK, not really, but why not?).

The Spurs won despite big nights from Carlos Boozer and Deron Williams, and the happy story, if you are a Jazz fan, is that the home team only won because they were lights-out from the three point line, and your team has been money at home in the post-season.

(If you are a Jazz fan, I’m also contractually obligated to ask you about your four wives as I drink forbidden nectar that has caffeine in it. Later on this weekend, we’re hoping to ask you about praying to convert your dead ex-players, make some Brokeback Mountain censorship jokes, and mock your freakish devotion to the underwear. Please take it personally and post hate-filled replies that assume I’m a Spurs fan, so that you and other Spurs Fans can get into a big flame war in the Comments section. We’re not asking for much, really.)

To this observer, Boozer’s points were Tripucka-esque, and since I just dropped a 25-year old NBA reference because I Am Freaking Old, we got some ‘splaining to do. Why don’t you sit a spell, and put your feet up on a wife, while I whittle up some knowledge?

Kelly Tripucka was a 6’-6” small forward in the Kiki Vandeweghe / Peja Stojakovic / Adam Morrison mold, with a 10-year career from 1981 to 1991. He was a mildly athletic scoring white guy with a good stroke, who could carry you during his hot stretches, and shoot you out of the game when he wasn’t on. He was also notable for playing little defense, whining to the refs in an era when it wasn’t expected, looking like the prehistoric Will Ferrell, and for having a last name that gives frat boys the giggles even today (Tre-PUKE-ah).

Now that the world is filled with armchair GMs and fantasy sports players who value the numbers produced by all-around players, Empty Calories guys like Tripucka aren’t highly valued. But back in the day, Stopping Tripucka, and his 20 points a night, was a major point of discussion on how to beat the Pistons.

The Pistons rival in the Tripucka Era was Don Nelson’s Milwaukee Bucks, who had the best defensive off guard in the game in Sidney Moncrief. Moncrief was, basically, 90% of the defensive player that Kobe or MJ was, but maybe a quarter of the offensive player, so everybody knew he was a defensive hammer. He’d get mongoose-quick steals on the ball, rather than from gambling. Had he been on teams where he wasn’t also the offensive go-to guy, would have probably got himself a ring or two.

You’d think that Nelson would just throw Moncrief at Tripucka and move on to other matters, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, he gave Tripucka his lead, and would watch as he’s pour in 20 to 25 points in the first three quarters. Moncrief would give him some attention, but it wasn’t constant, and the Bucks would rotate various people at him, and keep things in single coverage.

Then the fourth quarter would start, and with the Pistons fat and happy in the trap, Nelson would deploy Moncrief, and Moncrief would shut the door. No one else on the Pistons, having spent three quarters relying on Tripucka for offense, would be ready to step up. The Bucks would win, and the game coverage would be how the Bucks overcame a great game from Tripucka.

It was an incredibly simple trap, but one that the Pistons seemed to fall for consistently, especially in games that mattered.

Now, how does that relate to Jazz-Spurs? Simple. Carlos Boozer is the Jazz Tripucka.

If he scores 30, the story is that he’s having a great game against today’s big man Moncrief, aka Tim Duncan. If only the rest of the Jazz could hold up their part of the bargain, this would be a series...

But the Spurs are winning *because* Boozer is scoring this much. He doesn’t open up the floor for other players. If he’s your early option on offense, the other guys on the team aren’t getting their looks – and NBA players rarely play well on defense when they are not getting some points on the offensive end. He also isn’t going to deliver when they need it against Duncan.

And the player that they really need to score, Mehmet Okur, is getting outplayed by Francisco Oberto. (No, seriously. Francisco Oberto. And you wondered how Nazr Muhammad got paid.)

If I’m Jerry Sloan, I’m doing everything I can to get Mehmet into the series in Game 3. I’m running double and triple screens in the first quarter to get him a clean look from distance. I’m running guards at Oberto and Duncan and having them pop blood capsules for the full Nash Effect.

Because the only way – failing Deron Williams turning into 2000-era Allen Iverson, and even 2000 AI got stopped by superior big men – that the Jazz are going to win this series is if Okur is such a force that he can draw the Spurs big men away from the basket -- and give the Jazz a shot at a fourth quarter where Duncan doesn't do his Moncrief routine on Boozer.

If and when that happens, we might have a series. Williams is making people forget Chris Paul, any team can go cold from the arc, the Jazz do have a solid home court, and Jerry Sloan can walk and chew gum at the same time. I don’t think he’s got the cards to win this hand, but he shouldn’t get swept, and his teams don’t quit.

But if you see Boozer as the leading scorer on the Jazz in the third quarter in a more or less even Game Three, it’s probably safe to shut off the game and go clean your gutters.

They’ve probably got a lot of Tripucka in them.

Take A Dive. You Get Five.

And that’s how it ended up for the Boston Flopping Celtics. As I wrote yesterday, they tanked their way to the second worst record in the NBA in hopes of securing the first or second pick in the draft. The worst pick they could end up with was the 5th pick. And that is exactly what they got.

Bill Simmons blogged today about his definition of karma, the Celtics “bad luck” and why they were due. How does a team who purposely tries to lose games have this sense of entitlement of deserving the top pick? And I’ll save you some time reading his next blog about how unbearable it is, how even his buddy Hench couldn’t cheer him up and why the number 5 pick isn’t that bad. (You can look forward to 6 weeks of why Yi Jianlian is more polished than Greg Oden or how Mike Conley is the best PG coming out of the draft since AI)

Reading the Celtics message boards, their fans share this same sentiment. A lot of “It’s not fair, we had the second worst record. We deserve at least the second pick.” I think the Celtics got exactly what they deserved – you don’t play hard and try to win, get in the back of the line.

The next shoe to drop is the inevitable “Stern rigged this lottery to punish the Celtics.” I’m actually going to encourage the spreading of this conspiracy theory. I like the idea of Stern dropping the hammer on a team that doesn’t have the moral integrity to play hard. Why should an organization that has made terrible moves be rewarded for trying to take the easy way out to rebuild?

Danny Ainge is currently on step 1 of the 5 steps of grieving – DENIAL. "We've been saying all along that we think this is a good draft, and it's more than a two-player draft," Ainge said just moments after the results were revealed on ESPN. "I still believe that we're going to get a player who has a chance to be an All-Star caliber player." Step 2 is anger. I’m sure that came as soon as the reporters had left the room.

This is an organization in disarray. From the GM to the coach to even the marketing department. Need proof? Check out the photo at the top of this post. This came directly from the homepage of the Boston Celtics. It shows the worst possible outcome of tonight’s draft for them – the 5th pick. And right below the picture of the number 5 ball is a button to get season tickets. Now you tell me the Celtics didn’t get exactly what they deserved.

Thank you NBA for an outstanding evening.

We Read Bill Simmons, So You Don't Have To

I feel bad for ESPN's Sports Guy. It's sad that, after his new contract, they can't afford to get him an editor anymore. So in that light, here's three points (I could have gone for more, but my hands keep wanting to put salt in my eyes) from today's, um, exercise, that could have used another look.

After the Celtics failed to get Duncan, I dumped the blonde a few weeks later, mostly because I never forgave myself for watching the lottery with her. (Don't worry, we wouldn't have lasted -- sorta-girlfriends never do.) -- ESPN Bill Simmons, today

Thanks for telling us, Bill. I'm not sure I'd have gotten to sleep tonight over that one.

Name me a team that suffered more trauma since the mid-'80s: Lenny Bias and Reggie Lewis, the demolition of the Boston Garden, the M.L. Carr era, the Duncan lottery, the Pitino era, the Paul Pierce stabbing, the Vin Baker trade, Red Auerbach's death, Doc Rivers' second life. ... After 16 titles in 30 years, it's been a preposterously brutal stretch of bad luck.

Not since Alanis Morrisette (see, Bill, a pop music reference! You can keep reading!) sang the song "Ironic" has a public figure missed the point of a word before.

Bill, the Garden, Carr, Duncan, Pitino, Baker, and Rivers were not bad luck. They were bad decisions. Bad luck is what losers cry when they can't handle the scoreboard. Auerbach was what happens when people get old. Read up on it.

And even if we did believe in luck, some among us might think you've *just* started to pay for the 16 titles in 30 years. Please go to dictionary.com and read up on the word "insufferable."

Please tell me we're due. For the love of God, TELL ME WE'RE DUE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wasn't going to for three exclamation points, but since you went to 18, I guess you're due.

Oh, and Bill? You're not on the team. Change your freaking pronouns.

Update and Editor's Note: Thank you, God and David Stern, for giving the Celtics the fifth and worst possible pick in the draft. Now, we too can die in peace.

The President *Is* From Texas

Normally, I don’t respond to comments in posts, and I try to keep the Not Sports tag count low. But then you have moments like this one.

STOP SAYING THE PRESIDENT IS FROM TEXAS!!! Yes he WAS governor of Texas but he is NOT from Texas. he was born in New Haven, Connecticut; lived a while in Midland,TX(football powerhouse) but went to private school in Massachusetts(Andover). Besides that he was educated at Harvard AND Yale. The only reason he had interest in Texas is cause he had ownership in the Texas Rangers baseball team and his father had oil investments in Texas. Ya'll wanna blame someone for Bush blame Vermont and Harvard/Yale! - Anonymous

With all due respect, commenter who felt so strongly about this that they could not leave a name, stop repeating a lie that makes you feel better about life. It’s still a lie.

The ex-governor of a state, who owned a baseball team in that state, who ran companies in that state, who owns a (bullshit ranch) house in that state, whose family has lived in that state for longer than most of the people who are reading this have been alive… is not from that state. Some other state has to talk the fall for it.

Look, I *enjoy* Texas – or, at least, the Not Dallas Or Houston parts of it. (I’m an Eagles fan – you expect me to like Dallas? And as for Houston, there’s that whole Enron/DeLay/Bush thing going on there. I’m sorry, you folks have much to atone for.)

Austin is one of the five best places on the planet. I’ve got friends from Lubbock. I’ve driven through the whole shooting match (and yes, shooting is the word – I’ve seen what you people do to speed limit signs) from end to end on multiple occasions. West Texas is stark and beautiful. It’s the only place to really eat BBQ. Drive-through margaritas fill my heart with blood. You got Joe Bob Briggs, Kinky Friedman and Molly Ivins. There are many, many worse states.

But for y’all (note the appropriate usage) to claim Bush isn’t from Texas is like New Yorkers claiming that Hillary Clinton isn’t from there.

They picked her. So she is.

Or like me claiming Bush isn’t from America, because I’m from there, and, um, ick.

(Frankly, I feel the same way about people on reality shows also being mammals. Maybe it’s time to research my options there.)

We all get to own this.

You, double.

Moving on.

Marshall, Marshall, Marshall

So let’s get this straight... LeBron James and the Cavs are a three-pointer away from having the chance to steal Game One on the road in Detroit. LeBron drives the lane, draws two defenders, and kicks to (arguably) the team’s best three-point shooter, Donyell Marshall. Marshall clangs it, the Pistons run down the rebound, Billups makes the free throws (of course), and the story is...

James criticized for passing to a wide-open teammate.

Excuse me for a minute here. Who missed the freaking shot? Whose entire offensive game more or less consists of "Hitting Open Threes"? Who would be getting the Robert Horry Hand Job if the Cavs had won?

Yeah. The same guy who isn’t answering any questions today.

Does anyone in the NBA realize just how badly this makes the game look to the casual fan, who is just catching the highlights before their daily twenty minute update on the condition of Joe Torre? (Joe had some bran yesterday and the Yankees won, so things are looking up. Check back again tomorrow.) A star player is criticized for trusting his teammate to do the job he is paid to do – and it’s not like the Cavs employ Marshall for his defense, or his winning personality.

Jordan passed to John Paxson and Craig Hodges. They hit, the Bulls win, Jordan’s a winner, best teammate ever, yada yada yada.

James passes to Marshall, Marshall whiffs, James doesn’t have the killer instinct. He’s not Carmelo Anthony in a close game. (And we all see how Melo’s clutch ability has helped the Nuggets to extraordinary playoff glory. Oh, wait.)

Here’s what should happen in Game Two. James will come out more assertive on offense. The refs, stung by the transparently ridiculous fact that LeBron didn’t shoot a single free throw in 45 minutes of court time in the first game, will send him on the line a dozen times.

(Oh, and a special shout-out – HEY! -- to Zombie Coach Mike Brown, who draws a paycheck from the Cavs despite the palpable stench of rotting flesh… you really should study Phil Jackson’s videotapes of gaming the refs for your star player more. No one could catch the sarcasm in your voice when you said, "I guess LeBron needs to drive to the basket harder" in that press conference. If, in the real chance that you don’t know who Phil Jackson is, just rent a David Spade movie. It’s the same thing.)

Ziggy Ilgauskas, who had 20+ points in Game One from James setting up his teammates, will be notable by his absence. Detroit’s big men will provide more help on defense, because they won’t have to contend with Ziggy down low. The Pistons will win, because they are the (much) better team. Drew Gooden, Donyell Marshall, Larry Hughes and the rest of the Cavaliers who do not have JAMES stitched on the back of their uniform will shower, dress, and get on the plane in relative isolation and comfort. And James will get to answer questions about what he is going to do differently in Game Three.

Answer: Hope like hell that his teammates show up for a home game. Dream of what life would be like with one of the six remaining point guards left in the world.

And start thinking about where he’s not going to watch the Finals.

In Praise Of Number Five

The recent drafting of quarterback Kevin Kolb could mean that Donovan McNabb will be traded before the 2007 season. A few observers have opined that McNabb will be moved after the coming season. But here's a scenario that has him moving before September. The Bears are ready to win the Super Bowl. This scenario obviously depends on two things. One, that McNabb is physically ready to play on Week 1 of the 2007 season. Two, that Chicago is convinced McNabb is their best available QB option.
-- Philadelphia Inquirer, 5/20/07

For the moment, do not consider the relative logical merits of moving a 30-year-old injury-prone quarterback with a high salary cap number, and a fair amount of trade value, who used to be mobile but probably won’t be much anymore, who has always struggled with accuracy in the short passing game.

Instead, consider this: which franchise, in the midst of the best run in their history, would make this move?

For the smattering of Eagle fans out there who would argue that the mid ‘40s teams of Steve Van Buren or the 1960 team of Norm Van Brocklin were a better era because the team held a trophy at the end of the season, WE WILL NOW INCREASE THE FONT SIZE SO THAT YOU DO NOT HAVE TO SQUINT. HOW ARE YOU DOING TODAY? ARE YOU GETTING ENOUGH PILLS?

Possibly the San Francisco 49ers of Bill Walsh, who maneuvered Young for Montana and prolonged the dynasty.

Maybe a grind-it-out defensive team like Baltimore or Tampa Bay, where the quarterback’s biggest job is to not shit the bed.

That’s about it.

Here is what every Eagles fan that has any idea of what they are talking about when they are watching pro football should think, or say, to Don McNabb – thank you.

Thank you for the Tecmo Bowl MNF throw against the Cowboys.

Thank you for 4th-and-forever to FredEx to take out the Packers.

Thank you for making the Washington Redskins suffer through the worst years of their lives – an era so bad, their owner went out and disgraced the memory of Joe Gibbs, too.

Thank you for never doing anything more personally destructive than a Chunky soup ad, or a chunky vomit experience. (Ask the would-be fans of Yachtsman Culpepper, Dog Lover Vick and Evel Rothlisberger how that compares.).

Thank you for making this the most entertaining, most satisfying, most fun era to be an Eagles fan ever.

Let us review, shall we, some of the gods among men that have manned Don’s position here recently.

Bobby Hoying
Rodney Peete
Doug Pederson
Koy Detmer
Ty Detmer
Pat Ryan
Jeff Goebel
Mike McMahon
AJ Feeley
Jeff Garcia

I know I’m missing some others, too. Now, tell me who you’d rather have. (Yes, I know Garcia did a great job, but half a season does not a viable choice make.)

You want to tell me Don has not won The Big One? Fine. Guilty. He also did a terrible job of tackling Corey Dillon in that Super Bowl, too. Amazing how, in so many big games, Don forgot to line up on defense and stop the run. But so be it.

But you also have to give him this -- he’s won a ton of Little Ones. And a lot of Medium Ones, and Bigger Ones that led to the Big One. Honestly, that counts for something.

Ask a Redskins fan, or a Giants fan, or a Cowboys fan, how much they have enjoyed the McNabb Era.

See who much they would smile if you took Randall Cunningham, or Ron Jaworski, as your QB instead in an all-time game of Madden. (There's been, um, a lot of weak years at QB here.)

Ask a Bears fan how fast they would do that deal. (They’d answer, but they are too busy pressing the ACCEPT button. Oh, and they’d be happy to send the Rex Cannon back this way, too.)

See how much fun the Feeley/Holcomb half of the season would be, followed up by the vanilla-riffic rookie year for Kolb, with the season in the crapper and the region calling for Andy Reid to spend more quality time with his kids.

Finally, see Don lead the conference’s best team in Chicago, as half of Philadelphia roots for a shadenfraude knee injury and the other half wonders why good things never happen to us. (And if you think he can’t win a Super Bowl there, assuming he’s healthy, you’ve got a strange idea of what a Super Bowl winning QB on a dominant defensive team looks like. Dilfer-esque.)

All the while forgetting that the last few years have been really, really good.

For the record, I think the rumor is bullshit. I don’t think Reid would dare to make the best team in the conference much better, even if it does mean he’d finally get a quality LB. I think Reid is allergic to quality LBs.

I also cannot imagine that he really wants to run the ball that much, which is what he would do with the quarterback spot in transition. That’s not his idea of fun.

Lastly, I do not think the Eagles would move McNabb off an injury. I think they would much rather roll the dice and see if they could get a full and healthy year out of him, and take their time with Kolb. A transition would happen in one to three years, depending on health and performance. Don is 30, after all, and increasingly fragile.

But I do know this: for the rest of his time in Eagle green, McNabb has to know that the clock is ticking loudly.

I just hope that when his time comes, we show some class, and say thanks. The Eagles will be very fortunate if their next quarterback is anywhere near as good.

Best Wishes, Danny

I don’t usually get excited about the NBA Draft Lottery. But I have to admit, I’ll be watching tomorrow. And not to see who gets Oden or Durant. Although, they are two of the best prospects the draft has seen in years.

Instead I’ll be tuning in to root against Danny Ainge and the Celtics getting one of the first two picks. Not only would it be sweet justice for a team who tanked their way through the season, the look on the Celtics’ representative at the draft (and please, please, please let it be Ainge) would be priceless. I picture a scene similar to the old Simpsons’ episode where Lisa tells Ralph she doesn’t like him on TV during a Krusty anniversary show. Ralph’s face instantly turns to horror - and like Bart, I will rewind and replay in slow motion over and over again if the Celtics get anything but the first two picks in the draft.



Look, I don’t have anything against the Celtics or their fans (well I am tired of Bill Simons whining about how they “have to get one of the first two picks” and that damn book he’s been peddling on his site for 2+ years). In fact I feel badly for their fans that they’ve had to endure poor decisions by Ainge and a pretty lousy product for years now. What I do have a problem with is rewarding a team for bad decisions and worse, in the case of the 2006-07 season, throwing games. Of course, Doc Rivers didn’t tell his players to let the other team score or miss shots on purpose. No, the Celtics decided to keep their best players on the bench during key parts (usually the second half) of games and not even play their key guys due to “injury.”

The most egregious part of this is that the Boston fans have paid good money to come to the games only to see their team try to lose. And for this, the NBA awards them with one of the best chances at getting Oden and Durant. It’s a welfare system for pro-sports. So let me make sure I get this right – your organization has made bad trades and poor free agent signings…. Last year you drafted and traded a prospect with a bright future for Sebastian Telfair and a firearm to be named later…. You screwed your fan base by making them pay full price for tickets to see games you had no intention of winning… Yes, yes, for that we (the NBA) will give you the second best chance in the league for this year’s top pick. Nice job, you’ve earned it.

That work ethic and poor results wouldn’t even fly in France (that goes out to our one French reader). I’ve read many different alternatives the NBA could adopt for their draft: Throw all the teams in and have a truly random drawing, split the season into halves and have some type of ratio that you are awarded more points for wins in the second half of the year to prevent tanking, adopting an English Premier League system of sending the bottom teams each year to the minor leagues (in this case the NBDL). But I propose one that could make teams try to win and prevent tanking – the bottom line.

Here’s how it could work. Lottery teams are chosen by attendance levels. Or I should say lack of attendance. Teams averaging the lowest attendance (it would have to be a ratio of their total seating capacity) would be placed into a lottery drawing. Owners would have to really pay if they wanted to tank because a bad product on the floor would lead to lower attendance levels. And maybe it’s a ratio that is compared to last year’s attendance. I don’t know. What I do know is this – you tie a financial figure to all of this and you’ll see owners less likely to let incompetent GMs screw the team and the fans, but more importantly to them, lose out on more money in their pocket, in order to get a better chance at a top prospect.

So tomorrow, please join me in wishing Danny Ainge and the Celtics the worst of luck. Danny, here’s to the number 13, black cats, broken mirrors, and walking under ladders.

And in case you were curious about the odds for the Celtics tomorrow, here they are with the percentage chance of receiving their spot in the top 5:

1st pick: 19.9%
2nd pick: 18.8%
3rd pick: 17.1%
4th pick: 31.9%
5th pick: 12.4%

More Balls of Smoke, Please

In other words, this week's MLB picks, in our ongoing effort to secure the Dave Stewart interview and juicy NBX ad goodness.

Monday -- A's vs. White Sox, UNDER. The line seemed to assume Jon Danks was starting for the Pale Hose, when it's actually the hot Jose Contreras. He's opposed by Joe Blanton, who is also on a roll, and neither team is an offensive juggernaut. 2,500 to win 2,252 on an 8.5 run under.

Red Sox over YANKEES. Can Boston put more dirt on the coffin? Tonight is Wakefield vs. Wang, and if it goes to the bullpens, the advantage is hard with the Sox. A nice moneyline tilt gives me 2,500 to win 3,425 on Boston.

Tuesday - In the words of Mrs. Lincoln, that didn't end well. We're throwing everything into it today, in the hope that 0-3 can earn me five days off from picking games. You've been warned...

Toronto over BALTIMORE. AJ Burnett was lights out last time around, and the Orioles have scored 13 runs in their last five games. The home town team starts Daniel Cabrera, and he's due for a walkfest. 2,500 to win 2,500.

Indians over ROYALS. Fausto Carmona has been spectacular, and Odalis Perez is, well, Odalis Perez. 2,500 to win 1,613.

Twins over RANGERS. It's nearly time for Johan Santana to remind us all who he is. Kameron Loe, too. 2,000 to win 1,212.

Wednesday -- We whiffed. You didn't check either. Dave Stewart thinks we're both pussies.

Thursday -- Now down $17K to people who are actually playing, we're going to have to throw big dollars around.

PADRES over Cubs -- I don't care if his numbers are good so far this, Jason Marquis still blows. We like Chris Young to go deep and the Cubs to get swept. 2,500 to win 1,838.

BRAVES over Mets - Glavine struggles on the road and against his ex team, while John Smoltz tends to get run support against New York. 3,000 to win 2,222.

OVER in Mariners vs. D-Rays. The ERAs for the starting pitchers (Horacio Ramirez, Jae Seo) totals up to over 16. Even with these two offenses, that spells more than 10.5 runs. 3,500 to win 3,043.

Friday - A 2-1 day gets me closer to even, but a long way behind the leaders.

RANGERS over Red Sox - Brandon McCarthy tends to get run support, and he's had some success against the Bostonians. Dice K has never been to Texas before, and the moneyline is tempting me into thinking he won't like it much. 4,000 to win 6,880.

Cubs over DODGERS - As nice of a moneyline as you could hope for Ted Lilly, who has been lights out, in his first start in 3 years against the Dodgers. Derek Lowe can give up some, too. 4,000 to win 4,480.

Mariners over ROYALS. As with Lilly, now with King Felix. Gil Meche overthrows in his first home start against his old team. 5,000 to win 4,348.

Saturday - 1-2 after Lilly spits the bit in LA. As I'm down big for the week and the drywall is calling, just one bet today for big money.

Astros over DBACKS. Chris Sampson has kept things in control this year, and he's opposed by Brandon Webb, who I think is due for a clunker against Houston. This is the biggest moneyline on the board that looks like it has any doubt. 10,000 to win 14,900 on Houston.

What We Think We Know About MLB

> The Yankees are a seriously flawed, 85-win club that will need an awful lot of help (read: AL Central teams playing each other to .500) to be in the wild-card hunt. It’s not just the pitching – it’s also the relievers, and Cano, and Abreu, and Giambi – and no one wants to say this, but they miss Sheffield’s edge, too. (Yankee fans, this is your cue to tell us all that they need guys like Paulie O’Neill, Bernie Williams and Scott Brosius back in the comments, because it’s all about *heart*. That never gets old.)

> The Brewers are not for real, but no one else in the NL Central is, either. (We’d call it Comedy Central, but no one in the division, not even the sleepwalking Cardinals, deserves to be associated with “Mind of Mencia”.)

> The Mets are the best team in the NL – and Oliver Perez and John Maine are the biggest reasons why. But they aren’t untouchable, because Perez can lose it again at any time, and Carlos Delgado suddenly looks older than Julio Franco.

> If Raffy Furcal has the same year he did last year – terrible early, one of the best lead-off men in the league later – the Dodgers will be fine. But someone needs to check Vin Scully’s meds, because that call of Adam Wainwright being Adam Wainwrong last week… well, Carlos Mencia just threw that joke back as being too small.

> Ozzie Guillen needs – nay, demands – his own camera crew trailing him at all times. Why he hasn’t joined AJ Pierzynski in putting on the wrestling tights (we’re seeing Oz as the cigar-chomping Castro-esque heel manager), we’ll never know.

> When Barry Bonds breaks Aaron’s record, there will be three spontaneously occurring sports stories that push it off the front pages, all of which are currently on file with the media. Contenders include a current NBA or NFL player coming out of the closet, the announcement of a franchise move to Las Vegas, and video of Michael Vick feeding kittens to pit bulls. (Also, both Vick and the dog will be smoking blunts.)

> Mike Piazza is not enjoying the Wally Pipp jokes, and was faking it when he laughed the first time.

> If you are ever going to manage to trade for Johan Santana in your fantasy league, now is the time. I’ll give you Ted Lilly and Chone Figgins for him.

> Joe Torre turned off his cell phone two weeks ago, and "lost" that back-up Blackberry, too.

> We are only six weeks away from the All Star Home Run Derby. Chris Berman is already reviewing tapes of previous years, to see how he can fit in more “Back Back Back” calls. (Hint: Start during the pitching coach’s wind-up.)

NBA Releases More Reasons To Hate The Spurs

(NBA HQ, Secaucus, NJ) -- Has your week-long Suns Suspension chewing gum of hate lost its flavor? Refresh your chew with these sparkling new, league-approved reasons to hate Duncan and Company.

1. The Spurs are the only team in the NBA to protest foul calls, and it is against our rules to give them technical fouls.

2. If not for the strike year championship, Phil Jackson would have passed Red Auerbach’s championship record while Red was still alive, which would have caused Red to throw his cigar to the ground and curse like Yosemite Sam.

3. San Antonio is close to Mexico, and MEXICO IS KILLING THIS COUNTRY WITH ILLEGAL ALIENS. (The NBA would like to thank Lou Dobbs for his support.)

4. Isiah Thomas doesn’t like Gregg Popovich, and when has Isiah ever been wrong?

5. San Antonio is also in Texas, which is responsible for the current president, and by extension, the war in Iraq, Hurricane Katrina, and global warming.

6. The Spurs have several foreign players. See reason #3 for more clarification.

7. No prominent member of the Spurs has been connected to drug use, controversial rap albums, or spousal abuse. The Spurs do *not* keep it real.

8. The Spurs are the only reason why Eva Longoria gets so much television time. And Eva Longoria is worse than Joumana “Eva Braun” Kidd.

9. You have always hated the Spurs. And Eurasia.

10. Hate isn’t the opposite of love – indifference is. You hate this game!

Paul Shirley’s Top 10 Rejected Spurs Metaphors

Ed. Note: ESPN blogger and former Suns’ player Paul Shirley made waves in the sports blogosphere this weekend by saying that “rooting for the Spurs is like rooting for cancer.”

In an FTT exclusive, here are the metaphors that did not make the cut.

10. Rooting for Gregg Popovich is like rooting for Larry Brown

9. Rooting for Tony Parker is like rooting for Runny Cheese That Is Made By The French

8. Rooting for San Antonio is like rooting for Santa Ana at the Alamo

7. Rooting against the Suns is like rooting against Puppies and Sunshine

6. Rooting for Manu Ginobili is like rooting for Spiral Meningitis

5. Rooting for Bruce Bowen is like rooting for Raja Bell

4. Rooting for Robert Horry is like rooting for The Heartbreak of Psoriasis

3. Rooting for David Stern is like rooting for Hitler

2. Rooting for NBA executive vice president Stu Jackson is like rooting for Stalin

1. Rooting for NBA spokesman Tim Frank is like rooting for Pol Pot

Apropos Of Nothing

Hat tip, Atrios.

This is part of a transparent campaign to make The Truth post more (he's an Elvis fan).

Damn You, Dontrelle Willis

Dear D-Train,

We love you and all, but don't you realize that by beating the D-Rays today, you prevented the Yankees from falling into -- hold on for a second, I might be getting the vapors -- LAST PLACE in their division?

In the future, please have more of an appreciation towards history, and the needs of the entire country, rather than the 47 people that still root for the Marlins.

Love, FTT

Exposing Myself

As this blog grows in readership (y’all don’t comment so much, but thousands of you show up every week)...

And our enemies list of sports blogs grows (yes, I’m looking at you, With Leather, and you, Deadspin– and you both know what you did)...

Well, it is going to get harder and harder to keep certain unsavory, Greg Lemond-like aspects of our childhood, well, secret.

Some things are bound to come up.

And if we have learned anything from the news (and no, we have not, and neither have you), it is this…

It is not the crime that gets you killed. It is the cover up.

So, in the interest of outing myself before someone like The Truth does, here is the first of many shameful sports secrets about myself:

I was a Junior Putter of America.

Also, following a cash payment of $10 for my membership card, a Professional Putter of America, which meant that I could play in adult tournaments that were, I shit you not, televised in the early days of ESPN.

What in the hell, you might ask, is a Junior Putter? Basically, it was (is?) Little League for miniature golf players, though we would become highly offended and agitated if you called it that.

(Why did I go for this instead of, you know, Little League? One year of failing to catch the ball, mostly because I do not have binocular vision or much in the way of depth perception, was more than enough. It also did not help that I was cowardly, slow, weak, and puny. Moving on.)

You see, we did not play miniature golf, with its clown face animals, unreliable chute holes, and revolving fan blades.

Such things were garish.

Uncouth.

Beneath us.

No, we were Sport Putters.

Sport Putting means stroking the ball just so, with back and front spins, or aiming for arcane sight lines or marks, so that you could get just the right kind of bank shot. So you are more or less playing pool, but with a putter.

You also had to "read" the green, which is to say, know when the concrete under the felt or Astroturf (but mostly felt) sagged, buckled, or tilted. The YouTube clip at the top of this entry gives you the gist, complete with intimidating towel snaps.

If you are very good at this, you get holes in one routinely, so that your score is at least in the low ‘30s, and maybe even down to the rare but possible 18. (My low: 25 in practice, 27 in competition.)

Yes, there were teams, and jerseys, and I was a team captain in 4-on-4 match plays where 20 to 30 people would follow two tweener boys around as if we were Palmer and Nicklaus, only, you know, really, really not.

It also meant winning trophies where the figure on the trophy is putting, which is to say, looking like he is grabbing his junk and squeezing it for all he is worth.

I got good enough at this to make All Star teams.

Win tournaments.

Go, on three separate occasions, to the National Championships in Memphis, TN and Richmond, VA.

In my final year, I placed in the top 20 in the nation of all 15-year-olds in stroke play.

It even got me to second base as a 15-year-old, with a real live girl, who was somehow struck by my Tiger-esque death stare of concentration and sport putting honed ass.

Anyway, now that this is out of the bag, we can all go back to the business of this blog, secure in the knowledge that those bastards over at Arrowhead Addict can not wreak any more havoc on me and my family with their blackmail schemes.

Oh, and if you doubt my skills, we will settle this in the only way it can really be settled – for the early ‘80s high stakes wager of a buck a stroke at Philadelphia #1, Course #2.

You just name the time, and I’ll bring my steel centered special putting balls, golden PPA embossed blade (I called him "Excalibur"), 25 year old trick shot memories, extraordinarily dated smack talk, and a great deal of pain – almost all of it self-inflicted.

Bring it.

Wallow In This Top 10 Spurs-Pistons Finals List

We have about two weeks, Gentle Readers who are probably here on a mistaken Google search for the word “porn” or “titties”, before the worst sequel experience since, well, the image to left. Sorry to have to do that to everyone.

(Camera change, dramatic zoom in, arched eyebrow) Or is it?

FTT’s crack team of crack smokers has cranked up the list for all of us who are holding out hope for an NBA playoff final that keeps us from working on the drywall. You know, for the comparative visual excitement.

10. It is inevitable. Might as well, as Bobby Knight says, lie back and enjoy it.

9. By Game Four, after every other possible story of remote human interest is covered, we’ll learn what Nazr Muhammad is up to.

8. There’s always the chance that Bruce Bowen and Robert Horry will embrace their new status as the Worst Basketball Bad Guys Since Hitler, and show up for press conferences in wrestling tights with bad French accents they learned from Tony Parker.

Come on, Bruce and Bob. Do it for the kids.

7. The finals could, especially in the wake of the Stoudamire-Diaw-Horry suspension fiasco, put the rare species NBA Apologistia on the endangered list.

Since we are frequently in that species, we will then be able to get a big fat check from the government to get free access to NBA League Pass, and maybe some full-time conservation staff to protect us from our natural predator (drywall).

And if you doubt it will happen, consider this chilling fact – Democrats control Congress. With the extra money they are going to pay me, I’m going to buy flags to burn at gay weddings. It’s always so festive.

6. Spurs-Pistons could get Mike Brown fired.

Unfair for a team that has made the third round? No. If the Cavs stagger past the Nets, they will just continue the least convincing playoff “run” in NBA history. Beating the Washington Wiz without Agent Zero is only marginally more difficult than beating the Washington Generals. The Nets’ best big man is, seriously, Mikki Moore. The judges are not giving them much for the degree of difficulty here.

A Pistons-Cavs series could be nearly as unwatchable as Cavs-Nets, leading to an intervention moment for LeBron James and his cohorts. For anyone that misses Young LeBron, the one that passed the ball and gave a crap, this is six months too late, but better late than never.

5. Spurs-Jazz could make Carlos Boozer lovable.

Well, no, of course not, but the Spurs have that whole Hitler thing going for them.

So does that make the man who destroyed Cleveland more Stalin or Mussolini?

(Camera switch, zoom close up, arched eyebrow) Only time will tell.

4. More national media coverage to piss off Detroit.

You might remember that in previous years where the Pistons have made the Finals, ABC windbag Jimmy Kimmel was able to get people to write about his show by pointing out that the city might burn to the ground in the event of a Pistons win. Kimmel remains employed, so clearly the gambit worked for him.

We’re ready for the onslaught of ratings-starved talk show hosts – ok, not Oprah, but maybe The View, especially if they’re hurting for bombast in a post O-Donnell era – to weigh in with their views on whether Sheed or Duncan is better at making an incredulous face following a foul call, or what game Bowen removes Prince’s gall bladder by accident.

Note to media types: Someone, really, needs to play the other side and Mess With Texas. Yes, we have all heard the warnings, but there is free press to be had. Richard Oliver is just itching to take this bait.

Plus, they’re all worse than Hitler. Don’t forget that.

3. Tony Parker, in a rap battle on Eight Mile, against Detroit’s finest.

This alone could revitalize Eminem’s career, but only if he leaves the D12 guys in the limo.

2. Jerome Bettis needs the TV time. Did you know he is from Detroit?

1. The Pistons in the Finals keeps attention away from the Lions and Matt Millen, who only needs five more years to complete his impossible dream of a team that is entirely composed of wide receivers.

From a purely mad scientist perspective, Millen’s research MUST CONTINUE. Stopping it now would BE DISASTROUS!

In Which The Pistons Are The Snakes, And The Bulls Are Lunch

This is what 19 for 19 at the line from Chauncey Billups and Rip Hamilton looks like, especially in the fourth quarter when you're behind.

Some days, it looks like the Pistons are just playing for drama. Up 3-0, it was all going too easy. So punt a few games, look slow on defense, get lit up at home when everyone expects you to close. Are they too old? Do they want it enough? Is Rasheed Wallace going to explode? Will people keep adding "ess" to the end of Tayshaun Prince's name?

The answers tonight were no, yes, kind of but not really, and ye gads, maybe Prince really is better than Carmelo Anthony or Chris Bosh. (Well, no, not really. But when he's playing the fourth quarter like he did tonight, it's easy to miss that.)

The Pistons advance to another series that they should win fitfully, conserving their energies to whenever it amuses them, but the clock is ticking -- this team could easily fall apart without Billups, who has the option to be a free agent this summer.

As for the Bulls, they may be the future of the Eastern Conference, in that they are the only team in the East that's good and relatively young. Their front office appears to not take a short yellow bus to work, putting them significantly ahead of much of the rest of the conference.

But before we start sucking each other's Pulp Fiction references, let's look at these facts...

1) They have no low post game, and that's been true since Eddy Curry was in town. Now, I understand how Curry could put you off having a low post game, but it's been two years, gents. Turn the page.

2) With Wallace's back hurting, they could not control the glass when they had to tonight. 33 year old backs usually don't get better, especially for a guy with a lot of court time on his body.

3) The Knicks pick might be pretty ordinary, really. (But if they get Durant somehow... good gracious.)

4) Their best player, Luol Deng, is nice and all, but not exactly someone that causes sleepless nights for opponents.

5) Scott Skiles got outcoached in this series... and for a guy that was busting nuts over headbands earlier this year, it's telling that he's soft-pedaling his players showing up late for the game. Check out this (hat tip to the AP):

Chicago's Ben Wallace showed up at the arena about 1 hour, 15 minutes before tipoff -- just as he did before Game 3 -- and Chris Duhon and Gordon were a few minutes late. Players are supposed to be there 90 minutes before the game. Coach Scott Skiles shrugged it off, saying, "It took (general manager John Paxson) well over an hour to get down here."

Sure, Scott, sure. So, do the players have your balls 24/7, or do they give them back to you on off days?

NBA Playoffs To Be Euthanized

(Roiders) In a decision that seems sure to spark a national controversy, ESPN and TNT have announced a joint plan to euthanize the NBA Playoffs.

The patient was, up until a week ago, a vibrant and attractive member of the playoff sports community. “She just had this spark, you know?” said ESPN columnist Bill Simmons, fighting to hold back tears. “The way she moved, the funny things she said, the memories she made … I’ll never forget her. I guess I’m still in shock that it all ended so quickly. I have not been this depressed since a half dozen friends that I’m contractually obligated to mention every fifteen seconds and I realized the New England Patriots were not going to win the Super Bowl last year.”

Many observers feel that the Playoffs were fatally compromised by the league’s decision to suspend two Phoenix Suns players, Amare Stoudemire and Boris Diaw, for a minor rules infraction before last night’s pivotal Game Five in Phoenix. The Spurs won despite the absence of their own suspended player, Robert Horry, after not having the lead for most of the game, but the outcome of the game will always bear the stigma of the league’s decision.

“You see how the NBA decided to suspend three black men, even though a white man, Steve Nash, was at the center of the controversy?” said religious leader Al Sharpton, who was passing by the press conference at the time and attracted by the bright lights. “I’m not saying the NBA is racist, or that you can lose fifteen pounds in ten days with my new diet book, ‘Al Sharpton Drops The Truth And Weight.’ But I am saying that my morning drive-time radio show is a great way to start your day, and can be heard five days a week on many fine radio stations all over the country. Check your local listings.”

Others, however, feel that the cause of death lies deeper than the marquee series. “The New Jersey Nets won a road playoff game last night where they scored six points in the fourth quarter,” said assisting TNT physician Charles Barkley. “That puts a team that is just at .500 for the year just two wins away from reaching the conference finals. We felt that, in the best interests of the quality of life and simple human dignity, that it was just time to turn the page.”

The decision to terminate life is strongly opposed by many of the league’s eight surviving local fan bases. “We have a culture of playoff life in this country,” said Spurs coach Gregg Popovich, a leading basketball fundamentalist. “Even if that means a terminal case of Spurs-Pistons, accompanied by the grueling day-in, day-out challenges that are always present when watching your league’s finals brings on late stage Alzheimer’s, we feel that only God and David Stern has the right to terminate life. We will appeal to a higher court.”

Could This Be The Yankees’ Year?

Every Yankee Hater dreams of it – the magical year when it all comes crashing down, with back stabbing and finger pointing and widespread firings and tabloid explosions and the final, glorious moment in September when mathematical elimination comes, and it becomes apparent to all that there will be No Yankees in the playoffs. You know, like the Don Mattingly Era. Simpler times.

Yankee playoff losses, while always appreciated, really do not deliver much to gloat about. There just really is no time to savor the failure, the playoffs are a crapshoot, and just making them is a significant accomplishment, no matter how large your payroll is.

Besides, when the Yankees lose in the playoffs, they frequently do so to a team that does not inspire a lot of joy for the accomplishment. Watching the Red Sox celebrate, or Jeff “Fire Sale” Loria and the Florida Marlins hoist a trophy, or see the suffered-barely-at-all Arizona Diamondback fans go nuts... well, it lessens what should be a national holiday. I want my Yankees Lose Day to be pure, with nary a Rally Monkey in sight.

No, for those of us who long for the mid-‘80s Yankee teams where the owner was paying slimeballs to dig up dirt on the star outfielder... or for complete disaster free agent signings like Ed Whitson and Hideki Irabu… in short, for personal destruction and lots of it, a first, second or third round playoff loss simply will not do.

We require – nay, demand -- the day-in, day-out knowledge and satisfaction that only an 80 to 85 win Yankee team can deliver, and this year’s model just might do the trick. Consider:

> Last year’s team caught fire only when Bobby Abreu was care-packaged in by the Phillies, adding another huge OBA to the middle of the lineup. This year, Abreu has a .312 OBA, with one home run and five steals, in 148 at bats. More than any other Yankee hitter, he needs to turn it around to make the offense go… and at age 32, it just might not happen.

> Everyone knows about the 10 starting pitchers in their first 30 games, but no one is talking – at least, not above the tone of a very worried whisper – about Mariano Rivera. Here are the numbers: 7.11 ERA, 1.50 WHIP. Twelve innings is not much of a sample size, but no one is living in fear of him any more.

> Scott Proctor and Kyle Farnsworth are supposed to be the kind of power arms that can get big strikeouts and strand inherited runners in late innings. So far this year, the two of them have combined for 18 Ks in 34 innings. And unlike Abreu and Rivera, neither man has the star pedigree, or history of success on the big stage, that you would expect from a pinstripe in a crucial role.

At 17-19, the Bombers are five games out of the wild card and eight behind the Red Sox in the AL East. They are going to be better, especially if Clemens can give them a lift, and the SPs stop dropping like flies. The rest of the division is looking weak enough to fatten up on during intra-division play, and Yankee Haters have been burned by slow starts before.

But there’s always the potential... the dream... the hope... for magic.

(And as I post this, two final logs for the bonfire… the team’s leader in wins is Kei Igawa with two, and they’re losing to the ChiSox in the first game of a doubleheader, despite having Mussina on the mound.)

Warrior Eulogy

Start with the name – Golden State. Not Oakland, or Bay Area, or San Francisco or San Jose (and yes, I know they don’t play there, but that doesn’t stop the East Rutherford Giants or Jets or the Not Detroit Pistons or the Arlington Rangers and I’ll just stop it and move on).

It is, in the top three of North American sports leagues, the only marketing moment involved in the name of the team. You don’t hear about the Orange State Heat, the Keystone State Steelers, or the Peach State Braves. Only the Warriors are so, well, mysterious.

As a child learning about the NBA for the first time, with the usual childhood fascination with maps and places, the name intrigued me. What made the team Golden? Did the team have a Golden player? Was the floor gold? Where the hell is the Golden State, anyway? My map had no Golden listed on it.

Then, I finally saw them play against the mid-‘70s Sixers of Julius Erving, Bobby Jones and Henry Bibby, the first team of my NBA consciousness. Their uniforms were weird, they only had one player that anyone would ever remember (Purvis Short, a scoring small forward who shot jumpers with such a pronounced arc, it was like he was trying to hit the ceiling), and the Sixers crushed them like bugs. Next. Portland is where? What’s a Port?

Time passed, and my basketball consciousness formed in the range war that was Sixers-Celtics. The Warriors were of no real concern. Then, suddenly, Run TMC. A frantically paced, wildly entertaining team, especially if you haven’t seen it all before in Don Nelson’s previous incarnation as the ringleader of the Milwaukee Bucks (though, to be fair, Tim Hardaway was always more fun to watch than Sidney Moncrief). They did what Nellie’s teams always do – entertain, intrigue, inspire a fan base, scare the hell out of teams in playoff matchups, then fail due to their lack of quality big man. Same as it ever was.

It all ended spectacularly badly, as life usually does. You can blame Chris Webber, Nelson, PJ Carlessimo, Latrell Sprewell, or Chris Cohan, the Warriors’ secretive and mostly useless owner. None of it really matters, because the simple fact of the matter is that Nelson wasn’t going to win in Golden State, even if everyone involved ate the happy pills and loved each other. Those Warriors weren’t the Magic Lakers, or even the Hakeem Rockets. No championships were harmed in the destruction of the franchise. Chris Webber is going to end his career without a ring. (Yes, I like the West in the finals. Big surprise.)

Time went on. I discovered, up close and personal, what the destruction of a franchise looked like, as a Sixers season ticket holder. (It looked like Doug Moe and Harold Katz – which is to say, it looks a lot like the down market version of Nelson and Cohan.) Then I moved to the Bay Area for work, and got to know the Warriors and their fans, and discovered what an underdog attitude (Oakland is to San Francisco as Newark is to Manhattan) looked like when it was tempered with a fantastic and ludicrously expensive place to live – nice, but with an edge. I started watching Warriors games.

Believe it or not, they always had talent. Gilbert Arenas was a joy. Antawn Jamison was flawed as all get out and far from a plus on defense, but you always got the feeling that he was a coach away from being an asset, since he could score without being the focus. Larry Hughes can do some things; the Warriors, in a classic bad organization move, forced him to play point, exposing everything he couldn’t do. Erick Dampier was, like many NBA big men, a heart away from wreaking havoc.

In other words, they were just intriguing enough to keep an eye on. And that’s what over 15,000 people did, on average, for years. They didn’t even really grumble all that much about it. They just came, sat on their hands for a club that was beneath them. After about 50 games every season, the debilitating “injuries” would start piling up, the team would roll off a 3-30 type finish, and the coach would get ran out of town. The next season, the team would make some mildly intriguing high draft pick (J-Rich... hmm... and Troy Murphy looks like he cares about winning... maybe), and 15K+ people would show up all over again.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

I’d point out the crowds to out-of-towners, and we’d all wonder how they were doing it. It must be the marketing – the multi-game packages, the strong numbers of people in the Bay Area who aren’t originally from there coming to watch their team, the Sacramento sellouts of RVing Kings fans, the strong Laker numbers, etc. But it really wasn’t that. It was, simply, this – the Bay Area likes basketball. It gets basketball, more than baseball or even football. Cal and Stanford draw, too. And finally, this year, they got some.

Some people have talked about how the Oaktown crowd that took out the Mavericks benefited from an organization that Gets It – that there is less artificial noise and nonsense then in many NBA arenas, and that this is the way that things used to be, dammit, when the world was young and better. Well, perhaps – I haven’t been in so many arenas as to know – but the Whiff Of Bullshit is strong here.

Others have congratulated the Warriors for having the courage to roll the dice with hardened playoff performer and well-known lunatic Stephen Jackson. Well, OK – it’s not like the team gave up much for him. (If nothing else, getting Mike Dunleavy Jr. off your roster alone should be worth five more wins a year.) But that trade wasn’t canny or brave. That trade was about two teams dumping their problems on each other, and the Warriors making out better in the short run. In the long run, none of the four players involved inspires a ton of confidence. And besides, this is a team that paid Adonal Foyle – Adonal Foyle! – to seven years and $41 million, mostly on the strength of his media interviews.

Nelson, to his credit, took a good hard look at Adonal and pretty much put him in the NBDL. He did similar surgery with Patrick O'Bryant and Ike Diogu, then gave earned minutes to Andris Biedrins, Monta Ellis and Mikael Pietrus. Baron Davis decided not to be injured this year, and voila – an actual team, lightning in a bottle, the rebirth of basketball in an area that had been crying out for it for 15 years.

But – and this is a huge but – the current cast of characters won’t do it. Harrington has no defensive position. Davis can’t stay healthy. Richardson isn’t really a franchise player. Biedrins is going to get a contract and stop developing (and the reason why I’m down on him is simple – there is no way that an NBA player should still be shooting free throws like that 100+ games into his career). Jackson is, well, Stephen Jackson. Say this for them – at least they go down fighting.

After 1-2 more years of the same level, Nelson will move on, and Mullin will keep trying to recapture this false spring – with big men that aren’t quite good enough, with remarkable athletes that don’t know / won’t learn how to play the kind of eat your vegetables defense that inevitably wins in the NBA.

And the crowd will go fallow once more, the lushest field in the Association, just waiting for another Golden Spring.

Brett Favre Party Tips

Are you ready to step up your partying game to first-ballot Hall of Fame status? Then take a few tips from Packers legend and beacon of pure light and goodness, Brett Favre.

In an FTT exclusive, Brett took a few minutes away from his busy day of Not Retiring Or Asking For A Trade to give us his tips for rocking the house.

FTT: Brett, thanks for taking the time today. Is that a Broncos jersey you are wearing?

BF: What, this? Oh, it's just a gift from Coach Shanahan, or as I like to call him, Mikey Mike. He and I go way back. It’s such a shame they haven’t had a serious QB since Elway. I feel bad for them.

Can I get you anything? I just got these fine-cut crystal flutes from the good people over at Niner headquarters. See how the logo is cut into the stem, and how it reflects the light? That's class.

FTT: Neat. Um, sure, I guess I'll have some water.

BF: Here's some artisan water from the Buffalo Bills. The team has it bottled from a pristine lake in upstate New York, just below the Canadian border. It's the little things that tell you a team is committed to winning.

FTT: Very refreshing, and thank you. Now, on to serious party business. A big entrance sets the tone for the whole event, doesn't it?

BF: I have to disagree with you there. What you want to do is slip in quietly, unnoticed, and badly dressed, or maybe with a set of dorky glasses. Next, make a bunch of innocent but relatively crippling social mistakes. You know, like hit on someone's wife because you didn't know she was married, or break something by accident. That way, people start to form an opinion about you as A Gunslinger. That's absolutely critical. It will give you leeway to really branch out later.

FTT: Interesting. So what you are saying is that you've got to have time to find your partying stride. I like your collection of NFL bobbleheads, by the way.

BF: Aren't they awesome? I had those privately commissioned, and I've got me in all 32 teams. I love the way I look wearing the Cowboys’ stars.

Anyway, as I was saying, you've got to build your way up. Now, about an hour into the party, you want to start playing your power cards. If there's music, now is a good time to show your moves. I've spent years in training for all kinds of dance - ballroom, tap, ballet, falling down for Michael Strahan - to give me the edge.

This is also a great time to peel off those bad clothes and dork glasses, especially if you've been working on your abs. At this point, if you've played your cards right, that wife you hit on earlier is starting to chew her lip and daydream.

FTT: I had no idea this was so complicated. Hey, a quick side question -- why does your big screen TV have a "Compliments of the Miami Dolphins" sash on it?

BF: That? Oh, no reason. You meet so many great people in football -- Wayne Huizenga's such a kidder. Anyway, when it's time to take a break from the dancing, I like to "forget" that I brought really good wine for the party hosts, and it's in the car.

Now, here's the thing about the wine -- it's got to be excellent. You can't go too big on the wine. I realize it's a big commitment, but this is your party reputation you are talking about.

Also, it really helps if it's spiked with ecstasy.

FTT (spit-take): Isn't that illegal? Jeez, I'm sorry about that.

BF: No worries -- I'll just wipe it up with one of my fine chamois drop cloths that Coach Gruden -- Johnny, I call him -- from the Tampa Bay Buccaneers is always sending me. He knows that ol' Brett is partial to the high thread count.

FTT: Isn't ecstasy illegal, not to mention something of a criminal act to give to people without their knowledge?

BF: Not when you're a Gunslinger, baby! Besides, you've set the stage now to really do some damage. Dance for all you're worth. Get the girls all hot and bothered, then whisper in their ear that the guys that aren't dancing are really into them -- and that you want to see what they'd do with you on the guy over there first.

See if you can get a couple of them grinding each other, too -- no reason to be jealous, sweet child. There's plenty Gunslinger to go around.

In no time, you'll be leading the hottest party ever, with people swearing that you are the best party animal that has ever been. It helps a lot if you have other people saying this, so don't be afraid to pay a few people to do that. Just make sure they seem really, really sincere, and tell them to keep saying that. For years.

FTT: I think I'm going to be sick.

BF: Let me know if you are. I’ve got some bags from the Oakland Raiders that will help.

Now, a little while later, things will start to wind down. Some people will crash from the ecstasy, others will get tired, et cetera. Here's the critical thing -- do not, under any circumstances, leave.

FTT: But... but what if you have the two girls all ready to, you know, go somewhere more private?

BF: Lead them on by *talking* about leaving, but just don't leave. You've got to stay committed to the party. I think of this as a little side game to play -- see how long you can stretch it out. I once did this for an entire week on a skiing vacation. Remember, you're the party legend, the one that everyone else is looking to for drama in their lives. You've got records to set. A reputation to uphold. Personal honor.

Besides, as the hour gets later, that's when you can really start breaking stuff. Remember that "accidental" breakage earlier? Go nuts with that. I like to start there, then build up to the urination, vomiting, and arson.

FTT: Did you say arson?

BF: Sure. Remember, you're going for legend status here. You can't be afraid to throw deep.

Speaking of which, you know who can’t throw deep? Matt Leinart of the Arizona Cardinals. I think the Cardinals could really be dangerous if they had a QB who could get the ball down the field.

FTT: But if someone invited you into their home for a party, and paid for your drinks and food, does that really mean they deserve to have their house burned down?

BF: Look, when you're a Gunslinger, you've got sling some guns.

I'm not saying this plan is right for everyone, but Brett Favre only knows one way to party.

And if you're committed to true party greatness, you know what I'm talking about.

FTT (wiping away tears): That was beautiful.

BF (also crying): I know. I know.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take this call from the Kansas City Chiefs. I have no idea what it is about. Don’t these people realize that I’m going to retire as a Green Bay Packer, and that it's going to happen this Sunday?

FTT: Wait! Holy crap! Are you retiring? What a scoop this would be for the blog, Brett. We’d have the story first. Are you really retiring?

BF: I’m sorry, but this interview is over. Happy partying!

This Week's Picks

Oh, Smoke. You didn't think we'd find this? Boom boom boom boom boom, indeed. Even money it was Rickey.

Monday

Braves over NATIONALS. This may be the cheapest moneyline you see on the Nats for a while, really. Smoltz over Bergmann, 2500 to win 1,553.

PHILLIES over Brewers. The Brew Crew got bloodied up in New York, and they've never seen the slower than slow slop of Jamie Moyer. 2,500 to win 2,155.

Tuesday - after a 1-1 day, it's time for two slight road dogs.

Tigers over RED SOX. Tim Wakefield has been unconscious this year, and Justin Verlander has been rounding into shape. I like the visitors tonight. 2,500 to win 3,000.

Angels over MARINERS. Felix Hernandez in his first start back from the DL will overthrow, and Kelvim Escobar has been lights out. With Matthews on fire and even Chone Figgins starting to show signs of a pulse, I like the Angels. 2,500 to win 2,925.

Wednesday - another 1-1 day. I was write about Felix, but Escobar was Escoblah. Back to even money.

WHITE SOX over Yankees. Contreras is at home, has a great lifetime record against his old team, and is on a role. He's also on the team with the better record. The Yanks are starting Wang, who hasn't really been himself yet. And the Yanks are favored? 2,500 to win 3,075 on Chicago.

PHILLIES over Brewers. This Brewers team is starting to show its flaws (Derrick Turnbow), and Jeff Suppan's career record against the Phillies will make it worse. Add that to the developing situation that is Cole Hamels, and I like the home town team. 2,500 to win 1,908 on the Phils.

Angels over MARINERS. John Lackey doesn't have a good history with the Mariners, but Cha Seung Baek's run support has to end sometime. 2,500 to win 1,894 on the Angels.

Thursday

A 2-1 day puts us up about a grand.

INDIANS over Minnesota. Fausto Carmona's been good to me, and the Twins are in a world of hurt right now -- even with Johan on the mound. 2,500 to win 3,100.

PHILLIES over Brewers. Not sure why the money line is against the home team on this one -- the Brewers are having a bad road trip, and they haven't seen Freddy Garcia in years. Ben Sheets is good, but he's not infallible, especially in Philly. 2,500 to win 2,950.

Friday

A 1-1 day adds a few dollars to the till. I'm down $5,200, and in fourth. Time for interleague nonsense.

OVER for Rays-Marlins. Edwin Jackson and BK Kim, with a 10.5 line, for two teams that average over 11 already. 2,500 to win 2,049.

A'S over Giants. Barry Zito comes back to Oakland and overthrows against teammates that will lay off the hook. Chad Gaudain with the bounce-back start. 2,500 to win 2,358.

Saturday

Two wins gets us to second, but $7,500 back from the lead. Time to step up the bids with some road teams.

Giants over A'S. These teams always play to .500, and Danny Haren is prone to the long ball. After 15 runs last night, the A's bats go dry against Matt Cain. 3,000 to win 3,930 on the Giants.

Royals over ROCKIES. Do I really trust Gil Meche in Colorado? More than I do Taylor Buchholz, and the Royals have 4 out of their last 5, while the Rocks have lost the same. That's enough to go for the Royals when the moneyline is more or less even. 3,000 to win 2,830.

Padres over MARINERS. The Mariners have only seen Greg Maddux once, and in that game, he struck out 11 in a 2-1 loss. Horacio Ramirez won't hold the Pods down. 3,000 to win 2,727 on San Diego.

Sunday

Oof. A bad Saturday has me rolling for a big dog today, but it's a good one.

Cardinals over TIGERS. Justin Verlander is commanding a big moneyline against Mark Thompson, but his past record against the Cards is spotty, and with the Cards offense showing signs of life for the past two days, I like the chances for an upset. 10,000 to win 18,400 on St. Louis.

Twins over BREWERS. The reeling Brew Crew tries to avoid the sweep with Claudio Vargas against Ramon Ortiz. That looks like a pick'em game to me, but the moneyline is big with Milwaukee. 2,464 to win 3,499.

(Late throw for fun - Padres over MARINERS. That one worked out for 1,500.)

Final... Oh well. If the Cards had won, we'd have had it, but they are, well, worthless. The 1-2 day put us in 9th for the week, but we'd rather swing for Smoke's balls than be an also-ran.

Crying Bullshit

In which FTT puts to rest the following bits of Accepted Sports Wisdom.

Ex-Athletes Have A Unique And Superior Perspective On The Game.

This is kind of like shooting astronauts into space and expecting them to write great and moving works of poetry about their experience. Rather than, saying, going after their romantic rivals in deranged murder plots while wearing diapers.

If athletes had such an unbeatable life experience, there would only be ex-athlete Owners and General Managers, and guys like Joe Dumars and Larry Bird would never have drafted Darko and suffered through Ron Artest. Joe Morgan would not be insufferable. Joe Theismann would not be someone you would pay good money to punch in the face (Joe, email us me -- $50 is the opening bid). And so on.

What ex-athletes have is brand recognition, goodwill from past exploits (hello, Smoke!), and if they were sociable during their playing days, a good network of contacts. These are all formidable points in their favor, and in most industries, they would be more than enough to get you a corner office and a steady paycheck. But if you are looking for a unique perspective, you would be better off talking to the peanut vendor.

Booing never helps the home team win.

My first hometown, Philadelphia, is notorious for this one, where the responsibility for the 25 year drought of any kind of meaningful championship is frequently dumped on the fans. Clearly, we are the people that did not clap for Tinkerbell, and now she’s dead from blunt force trauma to the head, probably from something one of us threw, or maybe a flare gun. It’s no more than what Us Animals deserve.

(You know what? Screw Tinkerbell. She’s a murderously jealous little bitch who can’t accept that Peter will never be hers, and wants him to spend the rest of his existence as an infantile man-child, cuckolded to her bullshit wings. Plus, she’s probably two-timing him with Jiminy Cricket or maybe the dragon from Mulan – let’s face it, Eddie Murphy is everywhere -- and she was definitely faking that whole near-death experience. Total hatefuck. Anyway...)

Booing is, at is purest level, the ability to express an opinion that does not conform with The Authorities – nothing more, nothing less. That opinion may be wrong, ill considered, badly timed, unfair. It also might not. Philadelphia fans have booed Mike Schmidt, Allen Iverson, Donovan McNabb and just about every other superstar of note. We have also booed David Bell, Shawn Bradley, and Bobby Hoying. In those latter cases, we helped grease the skids for their exit. Tell me how that did not help the home team win.

These Teams Hate Each Other.

Sure, and you can really see why. After all, they are entirely composed of players from the region of their team, people with a firm sense of pride in the place that they live. They also have the majority of their salaries determined by who wins and who loses, and they never fraternize together off the field, or have the same agents.

Oh, wait. Crap. Yeah, so much for the hate.

There are players who truly, truly hate the other team. They are able to do this through a short-term force of will that helps them focus more on the contest. When the final whistle blows, they toss that hate aside like a used jersey, only to bring back when they need it. And if they do not, they are borderline psychopaths who you should steer a very wide berth from, especially when they are driving.

But as for true hate? That’s just for fans. And why do we hate? Maybe, just maybe, because it is what the media wants us to do to drive up the ratings, since a game without hate is also a game without compelling drama. In Philadelphia, we have always been at war with Oceania, the Dallas Cowboys, the Boston Celtics, and the New York Mets. (Especially since Terrell Owens defected to Oceania.)

Top 10 Things The Chicago Bulls Are Better Than

“I don’t care who it is, we are better than being swept in four games.” – Bulls center Ben Wallace, after Game Four, in which the Bulls avoided elimination

10. Sleeping with a guy on the first date, just because they really, really, *really* like him

9. The Miami Heat (and, for that matter, the Washington Generals)

8. Taking the bottom bunk – actually, sorry, no, they are probably not better than that

7. Admitting that winning the 0-3 home game in a best of seven series is right up there with getting a “Participant” trophy in the great list of Life Accomplishments

6. Many, many past eras of Bulls basketball (Artis Gilmore! Orlando Woolridge! Jalen Rose! Don’t make us go on!)

5. Ordering from the 99-cent fast food menu, because you just know that shit is really bad for you

4. Realizing that Wallace is a much older and more expensive version of Tyson Chandler before signing him, or that he’s never going to be any better than he is right now (enjoy the remaining 3 years and $45 million of that contract, fans -- Ben is 33 in September)

3. Headbands, headbands, headbands!

2. Putting up with the me-first attitude of team cancers like Elton Brand

1. At least one of the teams that qualified for the playoffs in the Western Conference (but only because T-Mac *never* gets out of the first round)

I've Got Dave Stewart's Balls

The A's were down two with two outs in the ninth, nobody on, and an 0-2 count on Eric Chavez. But the third baseman and Smoke Stewart client (yes, our man is also an agent) would not go gently into that good night, and he got on against Tribe closer Joe Borowski with a base hit. Milton Bradley followed with a longball act of vengeance against his old team. Then, Dan Johnson and Bobby Crosby get knocks to chase the closer. Finally, minor league legend Jack Cust went yard against Fernando Cabrera for his sixth home run in the last seven games. Ball game, Oaktown.

It gave the A's a series win, and made them 15-6 against the Tribe in their last 21 games in Oakland. But more importantly, it gave FTT its second win of the year in the Smoke Stewart NBX.com picks contest.

This means that we're going to get a second autographed baseball from the man himself. Having just gotten the first one in the mail yesterday, we're clearly besides ourselves with glee at the idea of completing the set.

(Smoke, however, just saw the headline, clicked on the clip below, and spit his coffee across the room, then fired off an email to the head people at NBX.com to make sure he really does have to go through with an interview with us when we win the season-long contest. Don't worry, Smoke. We're big fans. And we would not have the balls of Roger Clemens in our house, not that he's got any in the first place.)

Now, everybody sing!

Future Hacktacular Headlines

Sports writers and editors on deadline can stumble over creating the perfect headline to bring to the situation. As a public service, FTT is giving away these gems for free.

Vick On A Short Leash

Clemens Retires Rumors

Barbaro Writers Beating A Dead Story

Quinn, Browns Not Mighty

Schiling Adds To Red Sox Flow

Warriors' Jackson in Shootout

Davis Beards Jazz, Kirilenko

Williams' Return Up In Smoke

Sosa Pulls Cork On 600

A-Rod Shown The Money

Today In More Than True MLB History

1901 - Earl Smith of the Cleveland Indians throws the very first palmball, and gets lit up in a 12-2 loss to the Tigers. Seriously, was there ever a pitcher that got people out throwing that crap? Someone find Earl Smith's descendants and mock them.

1919 – Boston pitcher Carl Mays, who will later this year kill Cleveland shortstop with a beanball in MLB’s only on-field fatality that did not involve Albert Belle, is found working in his basement with rope, formaldehyde, and garden tools. Neighborhood children are hastily taken from his presence.

1927 - Babe Ruth beds four women, two dogs and a sheep in an all night session of debauchery, then hits a 2-run double in the Yankees 7-3 win over the Browns while eating, and still legally drunk.

Afterward, smoking a cigar while getting the "Happy Ending" massage from a clubhouse attendant, Ruth says to the press, "Who wants ice cream? I do, I do!"

1937 - Ernie Lombardi did something or other, but the only thing anyone will remember was that he had a large nose. Lombardi utters his trademark phrase after the game, "No bother."

1960 - Tony Gwynn is born, naked, soiled, and screaming. In future years, he will study the 8mm film of the birth relentlessly to motivate himself against certain pitchers.

1973 - Johnny Bench takes Steve Carlton deep three times in a 9-7 Reds win over the Phillies, as part of Carlton's whole disaster year following the 1972 Cy Young award. In the locker room after the game, Carlton is handed a pamphlet from a mysterious reporter, which lists Bench as a member of the Illuminati. Carlton nods knowingly as sinister background music is played.

1978 - Aaron Harang is born. No, seriously. You remember the Carter Administration, or the Iran hostage crisis? Aaron Harang doesn't. Punk. Goddamn it, I'm old.

1979 - Brandon Webb is born, and suckles at his mother low, preventing fly balls.

1981 - Charlie Lea of the Montreal Expos becomes the first French-born player to throw a no-hitter in a 4-0 win over the Giants. In the darkly lit Expos clubhouse after the game, Lea says while smoking a cigarette, "It zis nothing, you see? I am French, no?", then makes that pop noise with his mouth. The Quebec media replies with "Ah-hunh-hunh-hunh" noises of appreciative laughter.

We have exclusive footage of The Truth's reaction to that last entry. Roll the clip.



1984 - After playing 17 innings the night before, the White Sox and Brewers play for another eight innings, then their regularly scheduled game. String theory posits that there is a parallel universe where this game is still going on. In that universe, Harold Baines can not stop screaming.

1987 - Baltimore's Eddie Murray becomes the first major league to pleasure himself from both sides of the plate in consecutive games. Said Murray after the game, though only to himself and under his breath, "Awww, yeah."

1993 – The “Blue Snow” Phillies team of Kruk, Dykstra, Incaviglia, Schilling, Williams, Hollins, Eisenreich and Kim Batiste has their 500th media story of the year that cites them for their wackiness and quotability. In response, Curt Schilling puts a towel on his head.

1999 - Some bush leaguer that never did anything in the majors (Marshall McDougall) hits six consecutive home runs and drives in 16 in Florida State's 26-2 win over Maryland. Why no one threw at him or walked him, we will never know.

In other news, Bob Gibson just beat his dog.

2001 - Jeromy Burnitz hits three homers in an 11-1 Brewer win over the Cubs. Burnitz winds up making over $46 million dollars in just his MLB career, which is probably at least 20 times more money than you will ever make in your life, and that's even if those stock options of yours ever pan out, which you know they won't.

And his parents can’t even spell his name right! I hate Jeromy Burnitz!

Now, go back to your work like a good little cube slave, and get those TPS reports done. Yeahhhhh, that’ll be greaaaattttt.



2006 - Devil Rays prospect Delmon Young throws a bat at a replacement umpire, and is suspended for 50 games. The media ignores the story, in deference to to Young's age and a lack of good footage.

Second FTT

Tool Master: so like i heard that the five tool tool sports blog is going to open up in sl

Mookielicious: no way

Mistress: whey

CutiePie: can't wait

Mistress: gotta have it

Mookielicious: lol

CutiePie: can you get land there?

Tool Master: hell yeah -- they're giving it away

Mookielicious: omg

Mistress: 4free?

CutiePie: awesome

Fredo: they're also going to be giving away avatars

CutiePie: awesome

Mookielicious: what will they look like

Tool Master: you ever see Carl from Aqua Teen? like him. but cuter. with wings.

Mistress: OMG I LOVE THAT SHOW!

CutiePie: hottie

Truthie: wtf is a sports blog doing with avatars? this is stupid

Mookielicious: harsh

Mistress: hat8r

Tool Master: hey are any of you girls guys?

Mail Bag Day

Fill up our word hole (heh heh) in the comments. You can also write to us at shoot out at mail city dot com. (And yes, I'm spelling it out just to frustrate spambots.)

Dear FTT,

Saw your cheap shot at the Yankees for signing the Rocket. Why don't you just admit that you are just jealous that your team doesn't care enough to really try to win?

- Wade from Staten Island

"The poor don't want a revolution. They just want more money." -- the graphic novel "From Hell"

Look, the issue isn't so much that the Yankees can take on (another) ridiculous contract as part of their Champion of Each Other / Coke v. Pepsi war with the Red Sox.

(Side note: People should start laying off Carl Pavano already. With the Kei Igawa Experience this year, he's not the biggest bust in Yankee history -- he's not even the biggest bust of the year. All the pressure is off now!)

Rather, the issue is that we're going back in time -- back to the early 20th century era where teams simply bought players from lower leagues, and competitive balance suffered.

Competitive balance is a tricky thing -- too much, you get the recent NFL seasons of malaise mediocrity, which only the league's unstoppable PR cheerleading covers up. Too little, you get the MLB years of today, where a dozen teams start the year with the very strong suspicion that they have no chance.

So what's the solution? Not, believe it or not, greater revenue sharing. We're also not going to pool all local and stadium revenues and create a hard cap for all. Beyond the fact that it will never happen, you'd also be creating a nakedly socialist play -- you know, just like the NFL and NBA -- and socialism never works. Just ask our liberal media. (Yes, yes, that's a cheap shot digression. Moving on.)

Rather, I want to see the Bill James "Revolution" option -- outlaw working relationships between the major and minor leagues, then treat MLB like it was the English Premier League. There, the worst teams get moved down to a lower division, and the best teams move up.

Since there would be no farm teams, there would also be no real need for a player draft that's larger than the NBA equivalent. Right away, you create a good moment for the MLB, who has never had any real public interest in its draft.

The top teams get to toss revenue sharing out the window and push themselves to oblivion. The middle teams get their own championships. The lower teams get to develop their local talent and fan bases and create actual, honest pennant races and competition. MLB becomes more like college basketball -- complete with a big tourney at the end of the year, if that floats your boat -- with people all over the country caring not just about their fantasy players, but their real, live, local teams.

And the rest of us get to stop paying attention to the GMs, and start paying attention to the games. The games are better.

Just how many of these letters are real, anyway? - Eric Blair, London

Ignorance is Wisdom, my friend.

Why don't you cover the Stanley Cup Playoffs?
- Brian Poppel, Charlotte

Short mean answer: Because then we'd also have to cover curling. (SWEEP!)

Medium and somewhat true answer: We tried to bring on a new writer to cover the event, but he was too busy waxing his cat.

Longer anecdotal answer: A few months ago, I met up with some guys from my high school days. I played street hockey with them back in the day, went to NHL games, and even started an NHL fantasy league. Not to be an ass about this, but none of them had moved since high school, or seemed very excited about their work or lives or families. They had also all put on a lot of weight, and they no longer really seemed to care about any sport but hockey.

Let's just say that it didn't make me want to go and scout up for next year's draft, or start figuring out which relentlessly white mullet-headed announcer made the most sense. (You want to know the real problem with the NHL? It's Canadian. There, I just threw a whole country under the bus. Let's get it on, Habs!)

As for the NHL, they are in a cycle where the choir will grow while the congregation will shrink (if you catch my meaning).

So watch for longer mullets. And not a whole lot more words.

Why don't you cover NASCAR?
- Mike Kennedy, Tallahasse

See above, and change very little.

What the hell am I reading? (Babel Fish translation)
- Miguel Sanchez, Guatemala

Judging from the site traffic logs that we now think about far too much, you are relentlessly looking for porn. Have some. We'll even make it old school for you.

(Just in case you wondered why sports blogs always go for cheerleader shots, despite the fact that, since we're all in Media 0.1, we're all gay. And liberal.)

Top 5 Slow Day Sports Radio Conversation Starters

1. Pete Rose. It's been at least three months since anyone has really talked about him.

Is that too long?

2. An athlete is making a political stand against/for the Iraq War.

Don't these people know that only the media gets to have opinions in public?

3. I don't care if I get heat for this. I'm going to say it anyway. My producer is trying to talk me out of this, but I think you people deserve to hear my real opinion.

I think that Barry Bonds is an asshole.

And that he's black.

I think Barry Bonds is a black asshole!

Your increasingly tense phone calls are next!

4. There's a pay-per-view fight coming up. My interview with one of the fighters will finally answer the question, once and for all -- do they hate each other, really hate each other, really really hate each other, or -- and you almost never see this -- really, really, really hate each other?

The answer may surprise you.

5. I watched a movie, drama, or reality show last night.

Let's talk about it like it were sports!

Bunt Into The Light

http://www.trentonthunder.com/release/zRelease.asp?pYYYYMMDD=20070507#20070507

For non-clickers -- the Trenton Thunder, the Yankees AA team, are hosting a “Connection Beyond ™ Gallery Event” -- which is to say, a chance for people to come to the ballpark and communicate with the dead. It's only $48.50 a pop!

And to think, the parent team sent Kei Igawa to Tampa...

Darryl Strawberry's Drugs

(Another in a series of Bad Sports Fan Experiences.)

In my formative sports years, I knew a guy who was a top-shelf heckler. He rarely resorted to profanity, but would say or do things that made normal people pale, owing to a nearly pathological lack of shame. (We'll call him, for the sake of this story, Bob.)

You'd laugh at his stuff and admire his courage, but he wasn't exactly a guy you could relax around, for fear that someone would want to beat the crap out of him.

Bob could heckle on the fly, but his best material came from preparation and research. In the late '80s, as the dominant Mets came to Philly with 20K fans in tow to mop the floor with the hometown heroes, this meant props.

Props in zip lock baggies.

Specifically, realistic amounts of flour and/or baking soda, in such a fashion as to catch you the serious attention of security personnel, not that anyone really checked in those more innocent times.

The game was one of the first back for Darryl Strawberry, who was in the early stages of pissing away his talent on cocaine. He had just completed an arduous 3-day rehab, as was the custom in the go-go '80s, and the Phillies fans were expected (required?) to shower him with abuse. It was, after all, one of the only sources of amusement in that era.

Unlike most nights, the place was packed, and like all Mets-Phillies games, it was an open fist fight between the invaders from the north and the downtrodden hometown rabble.

Bob, brandishing his baggies, went to work on Straw. Early and often, but not profane, and with fights breaking out all over the stadium, it's not like anyone was going to call security for this.

"Hey, Strawberry! I got your drugs right here!"

"Darryl! Free drugs, Darryl! Come and get 'em! That's a good drug user!"

"Hey, Darryl, what's the matter? My drugs aren't good enough for you?"

"Hey, Darryl, I just took some of these drugs and oh, man, you've just got to try them! They're awesome!"

"Darryl, are you turning down my FREE DRUGS because you're already high? You scamp!"

Et cetera. Mets fans are looking daggers at him, while Phillies fans are giving him knowing nods of encouragement, as if they're sampling a fine vintage.

The game gets out of hand early, with Kevin McReynolds doing a lot of damage. It also pours down rain, so with the outcome well in hand, we leave with the majority of the crowd, in the eighth inning.

The old Vet Stadium had long ramps for the upper levels, that eventually ended in a bottleneck where the lower levels also exit. All the way down the ramp, Bob is flogging his baggies for all they're worth.

"Get your Mets drugs! Get your Mets drugs! Special collectible Mets drugs! Who wants to buy Darryl Strawberry's drugs? Don't miss this once-in-a-lifetime chance to buy Darryl Strawberry's drugs!"

We're almost at the exit when I see Them - the very worst people in the world to catch Bob's act right now. It's a Mets Dad (probably an attorney, given the '80s slick hair, suit, tie and briefcase) and his no-more-than-ten Mets Son (head-to-toe authentic jersey, hat, and glove). They've clearly heard Bob's sales pitch, and the Son is giving us the "Say it ain't so" eyes.

Bob, in a perfectly choreographed moment of brutality, tosses a baggie to the boy. "Here, kid, catch."

Yes, it felt like this. But horribly, horribly wrong.



Time froze. The baggie arced through the air, falling short of its victim, landing in a puddle in front of them. And I'm running for my life, convinced that Bob is going to get the shit beaten out of him, and pretty sure that I don't want to intervene. Which Bob uses as his exit cue.

"Hey, (DMtShooter's Real Name)! Come back, (DmtShooter's Real Name)! Hey, everybody, I'm here at the game with (DMtShooter's Real Name)!"

I'd like to find out what happened to that kid. But only so long as things stay anonymous. I'm pretty sure you could bring a lawsuit for that today.

Can The Warriors Save The NBA?

The first round of NBA playoff telecasts on broadcast and cable have produced mixed ratings results. Cable coverage is faring better than broadcast, so far. What's interesting, though, is that overall, more older viewers are defecting than younger ones.

Combined, broadcast and cable viewership is down 7 percent to 2.6 million viewers from 2.8 million last season.

John Consoli, MediaWeek

In other news, there is no truth to the rumor that David Stern is going to force the Knicks and Warriors to trade personnel next year...

Pissing Off Mrs. Milt Thompson

(Another in a series of Bad Sports Fan Experiences. Milt Thompson was an outfielder for 7 teams in a 13-year career from 1984 to 1996.)

A college roommate was the kid of an ex-MLB manager, which meant that he got unused player's wife tickets. In the summer of 1988, he invited me to take in a Phillies game in late July, with the team mostly out of the pennant race. It was my first experience, ever, in very good seats.

The Phillies had (have?) a moronic fan that we'll refer to here as Mr. Hoo Hoo! Mr. Hoo Hoo! is so named because of an odd habit he has, where he shouts out some odd statistical note of encouragement to a Phillies player, then punctuates it with a high-pitched "Hoo Hoo!" that echoes throughout the mostly quiet stadium. During slow points in games, you could clearly hear him on telecasts.

(Note: the Phillies had, at this point, not made the playoffs for 5 years, and not really been in a race for that long, either. It was the era of Steve Jeltz, Jeff Stone and Rich Schu, which is to say, very much like a lot of eras in Phillies history.)

So we're settling in for the bottom of the first. Milt Thompson had gotten the start for the Phils that night, mostly out of a lack of any more interesting ideas. Hitting second against a lefthander, he was a mostly power-free outfielder hitting from the wrong side of the plate.

He also had, at that point, one home run for the year (and would finish with 2). Milt hit 47 home runs for his entire career. (Which makes him the perfect current candidate to coach Ryan Howard. Anyway, I digress.)

In short, Milt was no threat to go deep. At all.

As I soon discover, Mr. Hoo Hoo! is sitting no less than 20 feet away. Which, while annoying at the time, warms my black heart now -- the idea that the fat cats in the good seats had to suffer with this clown, game after game. He opens up.

"COME ON, MILTIE, HIT NUMBER TWO! HOO HOO!"

Turning to my friend, I said, "Yeah, maybe in his life against a left-hander."

Not loud, not drunk, not even all that derisive. It was the first inning. All was calm.

At which point Mrs. Milt Thompson (presumably), who was sitting right behind us, proceeded to loudly suck all of the air out of the stadium in a classically understated display of Spurned Woman Fury.

Mrs. Thompson also, probably, outweighed me by a good 50 pounds, and is surrounded by similarly enhanced people, all of them performing variations of the "Oh no, he didn't" face.

Milt might have been the pro athlete, but he wasn't the power hitter in the family.

The following YouTube clip more or less expresses the next 90 minutes of my life.



Thompson hits a pop up and is retired. The Phillies lose quietly. My friend and I do much the same. Mrs. Thompson's glare gives the back of my neck a third-degree burn. I would have had a better time in the bleachers.

On the off chance that Milt reads this... by all means, say hello to the missus for me.

Assuming she's still, you know, on the streets.

This Week's MLB Picks

Monday

GIANTS over Mets, UNDER (9 runs). The Mets haven't seen Barry Zito before, but Ollie Perez has been downright encouraging. Look for the Giants to win a close, low-scoring game. 2,000 to win 1,980 on the Giants, with 2,000 to win 1,802 on the under.

Tuesday

After last night's de facto push (nice defense, Mets), I'm going after a few big underdogs with light money, and a favorite with heavy.

Nats over BREWERS. The best record in the NL has to end sometime, and Dave Bush has been terrible. Jason Simontacchi has a couple of good starts in his history against the Brew Crew. 1,000 to win 1,990.

JAYS over Red Sox. Call it a hunch, but I think Josh Beckett is due for a rough time. Victor Zambrano has some talent. 1,000 to win 1,760 on the home dog.

TWINS over White Sox. Boof Bonser is starting to come aroud, and Javy Vazquez can be rough in the Dome. 2,000 to win 1,802 on the slight home favorite.

Wednesday

OK, I give, I give, the Nats will never win again. Let's just move on. 2-3 for the week, but the bigger bet winner has me trolling around even money.

Phillies over DBACKS. Don't look now, but Randy Johnson is aging faster than a high-school girl working as a pole dancer. Plus, the D-Backs have never faced Jamie Moyer before. 2,500 to win 2,273 on the Phils.

A's over ROYALS. Could Gil Meche really be a good signing for the Royals? No. Besides, Dan Haren is getting close to dominant, and the A's just own this team. 2,500 to win 2,101 on Oakland.

Thursday

Treading water and losing slowly. 3-4 for the week, so let's go deeper.

Rangers over YANKEES. I'm not ready to throw in the towel on Brandon McCarthy yet, and Chien-Ming Wang is rarely dominant. 1,000 to win 2,600 on the road dog.

BRAVES over Padres, OVER. Hudson vs. Wells won't do you no favors on the money line, but sometimes you go there anyway. I like the Braves to win big here, and the Padres to score runs late. 1,500 to win 773 on the win, 1,500 to win 1,282 on an 8-run over.

White Sox over TWINS. By the numbers, Jose Contreras is worse than Carlos Silva this year, but the numbers lie; most of Jose's bad stuff comes from a disastrous opening day. Besides, no Joe Mauer takes a lot of teeth out of the Twins lineup. 2,000 to win 2,260 on the light road dogs from Chicago.

Friday

A 3-0-1 day brings me up to plus $5,200 for the week, and within shouting distance of the top spot. Let the good times roll.

Cards over PADRES. Kip Wells against Jake Peavy is making this a big moneyline for the hometown team, but Peavy's career record against the Cards is not good, and Wells has gone deep into the game 4 out of the last 5 starts against San Diego. 2,000 to win 3,700.

Angels over RANGERS. Hot off a salvaging stomp of the Yankees in New York, the Rangers fly home to face John Lackey. I think they'll leave their bats on the plane, but Vincente Padilla won't be so lucky. 2,000 to win 1,600.

Tigers over TWINS. I've made some good coin this year going against Johan Santana at home, and with the Twinkies really struggling to score runs these days, I'm willing to pull the trigger with Mike Maroth one more time. 2,000 to win 3,660.

Saturday

Another 2-1 day pushes it higher, but then NBX takes forever to put up tickets, locking me out of the early games -- and while I'm up for the week, it's not enough to be in the top spot. 4 road warrior picks for the late games...

Reds over DODGERS. Penny has been great this year, but Kyle Lohse has been solid as well, and this Dodger team just isn't scoring runs yet. 2,500 to win 4,100.

Giants over ROCKIES. From watching Barry Zito for years in Oakland, I've seen him win without the good curveball. Jeff Francis just never inspires confidence. 2,000 to win 1,739.

Cards over PADRES. Looper's been very solid, and the money line is appealing. 2,500 to win 3,225 on the Cards.

Yanks over MARINERS. I like what I've read about Yankee farmhand Matt DiSalvo, and the Mariners are starting the truly horrible Miguel Batista. 2,000 to win 1,493 on the Bombers.

Sunday

Gah. Had this all written up, and then Blogger ate my post. A 2-2 day leaves us in sriking distance, but wer'e going to have to go big. So, going quick with it...

Cubs over PHILLIES (Lilly v. Lieber - home town team hasn't seen Lilly yet). Giants over ROCKIES (Matt Cain v. Taylor Bucholz, the former is due.) Angels over RANGERS - (Evin Santana is due, and Mike Wood is a long reliever), and OAKLAND over Cleveland (Chad Gaudain over Cliff Lee).

Because Matt Barnes Is A Weapon

We have friends who are Warrior fans, and any rap single that (a) hypes Matt Barnes and (b) riffs off one of our favorite B-movies...

well, it gets a link, and a spin. (Warning: Sound, plays right from link.)

http://www.myspace.com/thetrackrunners

Props for even giving Al Harrington some love, but where's the verse for Adonal Foyle?

Yankees Increase Gate Share To Losing Teams

(Roiders News Service) In a controversial move that has been highly applauded by their fans, the New York Yankees today announced that they were going to start offering a double share of the gate to opposing teams in the event of a loss at Yankee Stadium.

"Let's face it -- this is a very, very tough place for an opponent to play," said team president Randy Lopez. "It's also very expensive. After a long hard day of fighting the New York Dynasty, our guests deserve to have a nice night on the town. That's all."

"I appreciate the Yankees being so hospitable," said Seattle left-handed Jarrod Washburn, the losing pitcher in Sunday's game. "All of us can't be Yankees, but we all can benefit from them being in the league. Very classy."

Red Sox management had no immediate comment, but sources inside the organization report that the club is considering going to a triple share.

Top 10 Things On Mark Cuban's Weekend Agenda

10. Eating six pints of Haagen Dazs while watching "Terms of Endearment"

9. Screaming at the lawn service

8. Mumbling

7. Listening to Lionel Richie's "Hello" while looking at a signed photo of Don Nelson; eventually, tears up photo

6. Having Nelson's kid come over to "you know, just talk about things"

5. Writing Avery Johnson's will

4. Blogging, Blogging, Blogging

3. Crank-calling David Stern at 3am, drunk on schnapps

2. Buying the Cubs, so that Cub Fans will never have to suffer with an overpaid team that's filled with guys who can't perform under pressure

1. Killing himself, so that everyone who ever said mean things about him will feel really, really sorry, like forever

Laughing At, Not With

Kobe Bryant, on playing with Shaq, in this month’s issue of Hoop Magazine:

Do I miss playing with him? I wouldn't say I miss playing with him, but I think that sometimes I get a little nostalgic… A lot of the things that veterans do go unnoticed… I think I just assumed that everybody played the game the same way.

Kobe Bryant, after losing to the Suns in five games, last night:

Do something, and do it now.

Suggestions include selling Lamar Odom for 40 cents on the dollar, trading Andrew Bynum for a vet with not much left in the tank, putting Smush Parker on a NBDL-bound bus, or just beating the crap out of Vlad Radmanovic.

Oh, and it might help to not have an overrated and sated coach that is just hanging out for the paycheck and to have sex with the owner’s daughter.

Enjoy the rest of your ring-free career, Mamba. It could not happen to a nicer (alleged) rapist.

> ESPN.com gives over 4,400 words to Barbaro worshippers. Seriously.

Now, we are not going to make the point that these people are out of their minds, or that they have done some nice things as a quasi-political force, or that they are basically harmless, or that the Web means that niche groups everywhere have their own choruses to encourage them, or any of the other things you might have read somewhere else.

No, we are going to focus on one thing. Go look at the pictures with this article, and then come back. We will wait here for you.

(whistles, taps foot, checks watch)

Back yet? Great.

Now, did you notice any single person in all of those pictures that was not whiter than white – and in some causes, nearly transparent?

Just, um, saying.

> Actual quote from New York Giants DE Michael Strahan last week (hat tip: The Hater Nation, channeling the New York Post)…

"You want to be an NFL star? You want to stand in my shoes? Let's say one day I came to you and offered you a million dollars to let me take a huge hunting knife and wear down the blade until it was rusty and really dull. Then, when it's really dull and nasty, I would stick it into a pit of burning coals until the blade was white-hot. Finally, I would pull that sucker out of the flames and stab you over and over and over again. Take that blade and stab you in the ankles, your feet and your wrists. Not just stick it in but turn. Every single year I have somebody sink this awful, dreadful blade into a few parts of my body."

Point one: I’m pretty sure that, for a million bucks, Mike would get some takers. Go on Craig’s List, maybe for less. (A lot less.)

Point two: Poor, poor Michael. Condemned to work for millions of dollars in an occupation that he can never escape.

And the worst part of it all is, it never used to be this way at all! All those years in high school, college and the pros, there was never any indication that football might hurt!

Maybe we could hold a telethon for him.

Seriously, any Giants fans reading this – between Strahan, Burress, Eli, Coughlin, Shockey… how do you root for these guys without vomiting? As an Eagles fan, I felt dirty from time to time in the TO Era, but at least we got a SB run from the sale of our soul.

> Dwyane Wade collaborated with Seattle's Hornall Anderson Design Works on the design of T-Mobile's new D-Wade Sidekick 3.

Early reviews are that while the new Sidekick

1) only works for about a year before breaking

2) really doesn’t work that well without big server support

3) is prone to complete systems failure when things start to go bad, and

4) has to be constantly bailed out by tech workers

> The Cubs won twice yesterday, sparked by Alfonso Soriano’s 6-for-10, 2 home run day. The wins moved the team to 12-14, 5.5 games out, and third in the division. Meanwhile, the St. Louis Cardinals are 10-16, 7.5 games out.

This one goes out to The Truth, FTT’s resident Cards Fan, Cub Basher, and person who is a Nets win away from putting me in a big hole in our NBA playoff bet.

Wave up to the Cubs in the standings, Truth! Blow them kisses!

Hard To Believe, Harry: Quickie Round-Up

> 219 - Jamie Moyer's career win total... 185 after age 30. (Hat tip to the World Wide Lemur's John Caple.)

> "We're going to redevelop the culture here. I'm looking forward to getting back to those days... We need the players to buy into an all-of-the-time, everyday routine." - Miami Heat coach Pat Riley

So, you're cutting Shaq? And resigning, since you also took a good chunk of the season off, too?

> The Southeast Division (Magic, Heat, Wiz) went 0-12 in the playoffs.

And you thought the Atlantic was the terrible division. They are .500, baby!

> The New York Rangers are practicing for a parade. Seriously.

I was walking to Penn Station, which is in the same building as Madison Square Garden, around 5:20 last night. Coming up 8th Avenue was three double-decker buses filled with either New York Rangers, Rangers fans, or just a bunch of drunks in Ranger jerseys.

They chanted, sang songs, and generally whooped it up... as the rest of the world looked on in confusion or apathy. I think they'd have gotten more of a rise from the crowd if they were dressed as furries. (Warning: Link not safe for your brain.)

> Actual Reuters headline: Yogi Berra teaches life's lessons

There are no words.

> Denver coach George Karl on former starting guard J.R. Smith. "He's done... (On taking a 26-footer with 27 seconds left and Denver down 4) I have no idea what planet that came from... And then of course the one with 8 seconds to go from 50 feet. I just love that. I love the dignity of the game being insulted."

FTT applauds men like Furious George, who care so much about the dignity of the game that they throw their non-star players under the bus. But in a Dignified way.

How about just saying that the Spurs are really good, and that Smith has some things to learn?

George, we have a follow-up... if he's such a head case, you relentless pile of ego, why did you have him on the floor / team at all?

Enjoy the golf course, you clown.

Why You Probably Aren't Watching Mavs-Warriors

In doing the usual spin through the sports blogosphere today, it is striking to see the number of entries and storylines on the Mavs-Warriors series. It's not surprising, given that:

> Dirk Nowitzki might have saved his career from KG-level irrelevance with his fourth-quarter explosion last night

> Stephen Jackson has eyes that are so crazy, The Runaway Bride gets the willies

> Don Nelson was born to steal this series (and, of course, get stomped in the next one)

> Mark Cuban's temper tantrum, if the Mavs lose, could be sold for $49.99 on PPV

> Between Cuban and Dirk, the Mavs somehow make a team with Stephen Jackson the good guys

> Oakland has the best home court in the NBA -- these people make Detroit look calm

> Baron Davis remembered who he was

Etc., etc. There are a dozen more just like this. But then there's this.

Fox’s Saturday, April 21 window of two regional telecasts—Yankees vs. Boston Red Sox, and St. Louis Cardinals vs. Chicago Cubs—drew a combined 3.2 household rating and 4.7 million viewers. Those numbers topped both NBA playoff telecasts on ABC on April 21 and 22.

- MediaWeek

I don't normally care about ratings; it's not the game. But imagine an NFL or MLB series with this many sub-plots flying under the radar like this. (And don't tell me it's because it's a first-round series. Once you are in elimination mode, the round doesn't matter that much.)

But with the NBA, the combination of the late starting times, the niche appeal of the league, and the regionalization is going to make this one a treasured memory for relatively few people.

As a Sixers fan, I've never been more emotionally involved in a playoff run than the AI 2000 season, when the team scraped every knuckle through back-to-back 7-game exhaust-a-thons against the Raptors and Bucks. (And Vince? Thanks again for getting the diploma. And missing at the end of Game 7. You're aces in our book.)

Despite being on the West Coast, which meant some games happened during actual work hours, I could have had an open gunshot wound during those games and still watched. (Thankfully, my manager was a sports fan and indulged my need for flex time.)

Whereas these Mavs-Warriors games... no. (And vice versa, for any Mavs or Warriors fans reading this.)

They're completely great, you watch and get sucked in, but I'm not a fan of either team. I'm not living and dying with them.

If something important turns up, I'm missing Game 6. Maybe even Game 7. Now, compare that to the NFL.

Simply put, there's no way in hell you are missing the next Super Bowl.

Or maybe even the next 10 Super Bowls.

It could be the Bengals vs. the Cardinals in the first ever 6 seed vs. 6 seed game, where the winner will be the first team ever with a losing regular season record.

The day after the NFC and AFC conference games, both teams could have lost a half-dozen starters to rioting.

Your announcers could be Rush Limbaugh, Dennis Miller and Joe Thiesmann.

It wouldn't matter. We'd watch. Maybe on mute, but we’d watch. (Not sure? Did you watch the Giants-Ravens Super Bowl? Yes, you did. I'm still trying to wash the memory of that snore-fest out of my brain.)

MLB and NBA? Not so much.

And that's why, in a nutshell, there's really only one major league right now, then two also-rans.

Whether we want to admit it or not.

The WNBA Story

(One of a continuing series of Mostly True Stories of Bad Sports Fan Moments. The image choice is the best thing I can relate to the Sacramento Monarchs. Honestly.)

Several years ago, I lived in the San Francisco Bay Area and went to a gym. To give Mrs. Shooter (why, yes, there is a Mrs. Shooter – and no, you will not be reading her views on Z-list celebs and reality TV, because she is too smart to give a crap) a break, I’d take #1 Daughter with me, and drop her in the kids’ area while I worked out. At the time, Daughter #1 was four, and prone to asking leading questions.

So one night as I am getting her out of there, she looks over at the basketball courts. “Daddy, why are those mommies playing basketball?”

Slowly, it dawns on me… the girl has never seen women athletes before. I had taken her to dozens of baseball games, have her hang out with me while I have watched any number of football or basketball games… and nope, there’s never been women having a more profound role than cheerleader or sideline reporter. There was, of course, only one solution. One bone-chilling solution.

The WNBA.

With good seats available in Sacramento, it was not even all that far away.

* * * * *

We chose a Saturday night game with the Monarchs vs. LA. I was hoping for just a touch of that Kings-Lakers NoCal-SoCal hate, but no such luck – booing, it would appear, is primarily a male trait. Mostly, the crowd cheered when Sacto scored and groaned when LA did, or just seemed happy to be in air conditioning for a few hours.

The building was about a third full, but Arco is a nice enough place that it did not seem too bad. The game was forgettable; lots of short jump shots and turnovers, with LA’s Lisa Leslie pretty much having her way. No one seemed to care that much, least of all my 4-year-old, who watched for a few minutes, got the gist that girls could do this too, and then did what she always does at games – pine for junk food.

There was, however, one striking moment of wonderfulness. With about 15 minutes left in the game and LA starting to pull away, the home team played its big hole card to get the crowd back into it. With a big drum roll, the announcer welcomed our special guest of the evening… NCAA Champion and Sacramento King Mateen Cleaves! (Wiki page for Cleaves on the click. Wow, the 2000 draft was a stone stinker.)

Now, on the off chance that you’ve forgotten Mateen… he’s a 12^th-man kind of point guard, notable only for his off-the-charts bench celebrations in Kings-Lakers games of the era. Mateen could make a six-month-old golden retriever look calm and reserved. And here he was, the crowd rising from a refreshing nap to clap for him… and he’s shielding himself from the camera, like he has just been forced to do a perp walk in front of the media.

Ever hear the sound of 3,000 people who all stop clapping in a fit of embarrassment? I have. Now, back that up with the PR announcer going deeper for it. “Come on folks! Give it up for him! Sacramento King – Mateen – CLEAVES!” By the time it was done, Mateen looked like he was trying to figure out a way to crawl through the floorboards.

I’m sure that the NBA had a rough time in the early days. I admire, as a father of daughters, the fact that David Stern keeps trying to make women’s basketball a viable pro sport, even though I’m sure my kids will never go near that career path. People who get their jollies out of making WNBA jokes make me uncomfortable. It’s just too easy of a target, and it hints at an overall bad attitude towards women.

But I’m pretty sure that when being at your event makes Mateen Cleaves hide, you are decades away from being a real league.

In other news, I’m pretty sure Mateen cut my grass last week.

It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Read This Blog

Dear Readers (yes, we’re certain – PLURAL),

Thanks to some kind links from other blogs, questionable reader choices, and an upgrade in tech, we have become aware that FTT is now actually read by – gulp! -- thousands of people. (Yes, we are serious, and we are as surprised as you. Blame Deadspin.)

So, while we adjust to our Brave New World of wanting to write all nice and professional and shit (crap! can we still curse?), here are a few tips to the newbies among you.

1) There are now 120 posts on file, going back to January 2007 (we were so much younger there). You are more than welcome to scroll through all of it, but the search box (top left) is probably a better idea.

2) If you want stuff that is not so much actual sports – search for, or click on, terms like “the world wide lemur,” “not sports,” or “wanking.”

3) Telling your friends and commenting only encourages us.

4) People actually get site updates via e-mail and RSS feeds. Check the right-side boxes for details.

5) Link exchanges can happen, but are not automatic. If we don’t link to your site, it’s because we hate you and want you to die a horrible death.

6) FTT currently has two writers – myself and The Truth. We are open to adding more permanent contributors, because we are old and tired and want to exploit people. E-mail me at shootout@mailcity.com , and/or post a bunch of solid comments.

Finally, we’re well aware that We Suck. But we’re still going to Rule Antarctica.

One On One Picks Update

To review... the rules: FTT Rivals DMtShooter and The Truth pick all playoff series. We get 10 points for getting the winning team right, 10 more for calling the right number of games, 5 for being one game off.

The picks...

Shooter Picks / Truth Picks

Toronto in 6 / New Jersey in 6
Detroit in 5 / Detroit in 5
Miami in 6 / Chicago in 6
Houston in 6 / Houston in 6
Cleveland in 4 / Cleveland in 5
Phoenix in 4 / Phoenix in 6
San Antonio in 5 / San Antonio in 6
Dallas in 5 / Dallas in 6

The Score:

Truth: 10 for the Bulls, 15 for the Cavs, 15 for the Pistons, 15 for Suns, 15 for Spurs, 20 for the Nets, for 90.

Shooter: 20 for the Cavs, 15 for the Pistons, 20 for Spurs, 15 for Suns, for 70.

Our picks are the same for Jazz-Rockets, so the first round lead will be Truth +20.

2nd round picks (for the series that start this weekend)...

Shooter / Truth

Suns in 7 / Suns in 6
Pistons in 6 / Pistons in 7
Cavs in 5 / Nets in 6
Warriors in 6 / Warriors in 6

Update: With tonight's closeout in Chicago, I pull in 40 points to the Truth's 30, cutting the lead to 10. Neither of us were smart enough to pull the string on the Jazz. It's 100-90, Truth.

Further update... The Cavs finally end the Nets, giving me a huge 30 point bump to the Truth's zero. Neither of us had the Spurs, so the second round is closed at 120-100, Shooter.

Third round picks, where the points double once more, soon...

Round 3

Shooter / Truth

Spurs in 6 / Spurs 6
Pistons in 6 / Pistons in 5

Ed. Note: We both win 60 for the Spurs winning in 5. Shooter 180, Truth 160.

Finals - The Truth goes for the underdog in a last-ditch attempt to close the gap.

Shooter / Truth

Spurs in 5 / Cavs in 6