Blogrolling knows where the bodies are buried

MLJ with the true crime story of spreading his mother's ashes at Fenway. Kind of amazing on many levels, and certain to become a huge story, I think.

Barney Frank continues to make me happy. Harry Reid? Well, let's just say I wasn't thrilled to have to speak well of him in 2004 when I canvassed in Reno, and I'm even less thrilled about it now.

National MLB ratings on Fox down about 9% from last year, 23% from 2000.

Meanwhile, the NBA is getting some of its highest ratings ever.

Fran Tarkenton is not a Favre hag. But he does speak the obvious truth that, well, anyone with eyes who hasn't been polishing Brett's knob for quotes over the past decade knows. It's the little things in life that make you happy, really.

205 Drop: Top 10 items on my sports bucket list

Some nice morbid moments on this list, and if I'm lucky, a headline grabbing amount of interest for my refusal to get over my hate for Harold Katz. Go check it out, will you?

205 Drop:Top 10 effects of the swine flu pandemic on US sports

Today's link is ripped from last week's headlines and this week's lingering paranoia, especially from your less-savvy Internet-using relatives. It's the usual chucklefest, and will hopefully get those delightful commenters to tell me that (a) poker is not a sport, (b) soccer is popular so there, and (c) CC Sabathia doesn't consume so much pork in a week as to have his name and picture hung up somewhere in a porcine revenge cult's hall of murderers. In other words, the usual crowd of people making the tragic mistake of taking life too seriously.

As for the pandemic itself, as I turn off the Snark Light and punditize for a moment, I have to say that I was amazed at the Mexican authorities reaction to it. Imagine, if you would, baseball, football and basketball games that were played, but closed to the public. I think you'd have the lawyers involved, and heavily, on a million fronts: people suing for the right to go to the game (particularly if they had tickets already), others crying that their right of free (well, far from free, but you get the point) assembly had been violated, to the vending and parking and other temp jobs that would go bye-bye without a crowd to serve. Maybe those house seats from across the street at Wrigley go for five figures then. Etc.

I'm also certain that we'd have untold amounts of Lemur coverage as to how the home team was being made to lose an incredible advantage from the non-home game, and stat geeks and degenerate gamblers working every last kernel of information to see if there was an edge in the de facto change of venue. To wit: would a silent stadium aid or abet free throw shooting? Would the lack of tens of thousands of bodies (and their subsequent, albeit probably infinitesimal, effect on the wind, humidity and temperature) help the pitcher more, or the hitter? Would offensive teams go to a silent count for fear that the clearly held QB would tip off play calling? And so on, and so on, and so on.

Heck, at this point, I'm a little intrigued by the no-crowd game. Bring on the plague!

Oh, and the Mexicans? They just played soccer and moved on; I think they're going back to normal this week. Something to be said for that, of course, but dammit... I thought you people were supposed to be more fun than the gringos, no?

Betty Gets Around

Another nugget of Friday Video Non-Sports Goodness from VSL. I especially like the second one, where Betty The Dead Woman Kills And Kills And Kills Again, because she's just a Big 'Ol Swine Flu Slut. And seeing how she's been killing people for the 30 years since this PSA was made, it's a wonder there's anyone left alive to read this, really.

205 Drop: Top 10 songs for your funeral

Today's link is inspired by a story out of Britain, where ACDC is making more appearances at people's last gigs, and also by past entrance music discussions. My list won't match yours, of course (if nothing else, it's lacking "Enter Sandman", which I suspect will be played at way too many Yankee Fan funerals, or "Sweet Caroline" for the Sawx faithful), but it's well worth your click. I don't ask for much.

Oh, who am I kidding? You come to see me become fertilizer, you're sitting through this as an entire playlist, along with some overbearing prerecorded audio track explaining my choices. Also, a reading from my relentlessly unpopular novels. And why yes, the Upcoming Birthday *does* keep creeping into my conscious thought. Thanks for noticing.

Now, go rock this joint.

Top 10 April Fool Sports Blogger Tricks

10. The Design Change. Wow, the blog sure looks different with all of the pinks, sparkles and unicorns, doesn't it? This in no way reflects some deeper truth about myself. It's just fun!

9. The usual nose grind. How could anyone possibly notice this small moment in the calendar, when there are *so many* sports going on right now that will make us all go weak in the knees? Dammit, between the NCAAs, NBA, NHL and MLB, I can barely remember to wipe. What's wrong with all of these other bloggers to notice anything from outside of the arena?

8. Linky regret. Crap, we forgot all about this quasi-holiday, but luckily, these six other blogs didn't, so go click. Next year, we'll have our act together, and then, you shall know the force of our wackiness!

7. Life Change. The blogger is moving! Or getting a sex change. Or taking up religion, or maybe, and this is really good, *all three at once*. Is your mind blown?

6. Grumpus. A sniff-tastic piece that not only tells the reader that the blog is about Such Foolishness, but that if you like that sort of thing, you are Wrong. (Note: this entry and post is in no way like that. Really.)

5. Scoops. Despite the fact that this blog is always about analysis and breaks no news of its own, I've got the grist on an incredible new story, complete with a Photoshop-riffic image. Take it as true!

4. Guest Writer. Do you find it suspicious in any way that a new writer is on the blog today, and that he or she writes in a highly affected way, perhaps with an overstated dialect? I know I don't.

3. Sidd Finch. Sure, the SI piece ran 24 years ago and wasn't really all that funny, author George Plimpton is dead and no one really read the follow-up book. But, um, woo. How about it?

2. Dork Harder. Nothing quite says April Fool like a highly detailed, trying too hard piece that sells the benefit of a new statistic with a wacky acronym. If you are very lucky, eggheads will take it seriously and run with it. LOOGY, anyone?

1. The Death Notice. Goodbye, cruel indifferent world that doesn't give me the traffic or ad revenue that I so justly deserve. I'm out of here, and the blog is going to lay fallow and collect dust while I do not, under any circumstance, check the page every few hours so that I can eavesdrop on my eulogy.

And just to prove my point, here's a gratuitous insult to show you how I'm really burning the bridge behind me. Take that!

Hugo's Not Gonna Like That

Re-enacting the same kind of vibe as when the least Dutch looking group of athletes ever knocked off the Dominicans, it's the South Koreans taking down my pick to win, the Venezuelans. The Koreans go to the finals, and will either face the Japanese or Americans.

You'd like to wax rhapsodic about the scrappy Koreans, but really, Hugo Chavez's team lost this one when Johan Santana claimed an ouchie and went home. Carlos Silva is one of those guys that "pitches to contact", and that's right up there with "knowing the system" and "being a game manager" in the list of compliments that you want to avoid as an athlete. Someone with the name of Yoon Suk-Min gave the Koreans a quality start, Bobby Abreu continued his long slow slide into obsolescence based on awful defensive play, and over 40 thousand people paid to see this in Los Angeles. All was right in Commissioner Bud's world.

Are the Koreans really ready to be our new baseball overlords? No, of course, not, because that means the WBC actually has some consequences or isn't a complete joke. But who knows, maybe this will mean Silva a spot in a Caracas jail on some trumped up charge from the Hugonots. That's something that Seattle Fan could also really get behind...

I'll See You In October, With A Gun

Perhaps the only positive development in the past few years for newspapers in this country has been the growth of the Departing Athlete Ad, in which the ex-wearer of the laundry tells the people just how much he's appreciates the past X years.

Pat Burrell's entry into the field is below, and on some level, I'm disappointed. What an opportunity has been missed here. Where's the bitterness towards the losers who booed him, the organization that chose to replace him with a left-handed hitter who is four years older than him, or, if nothing else, one last jibe into how much he enjoyed unleashing holy hell on the choke artist Mets? If nothing else, tell us how much you're going to miss freezing your ass off in the crappy Philly weather, or how you're so happy to have finally made some real money from a team that knows how to reward a star like you.

C'mon, Pat. Show a little originality.



Boo, Pat, boooooo.... you could had been so much better. Now, when Jim Eisenreich left, *his* letter was great!

Top 10 Sports Fan Fears

What is January for, really, but the battle of hope against fear? Every day for the majority of the country for the foreseeable future, you will go out into cold and ice and snow and misery, without football, baseball, charity, hope or street-corner visible titty to keep you from your dark, dark thoughts. No wonder old people check out in January, after all of that holiday stuff. Who wants to stick around for this?

Since I'm still sitting shiva (which is hard to do for a non-Jew) over a Tampa Super Bowl trip for my cursed Eagles, let's indulge in the white-knuckle unpleasantness of sports fandom, and delve into our deepest fears. Feel free to add yours in the comments, or argue about the order...

10) Awful new uniforms. Let's say you are a hard-core Eagles fan. Ready to shell out for those "midnight green" (i.e., black) abominations? Sure you are, especially when you look at those Swedish blue and yellow nightmares. They even make the cheerleaders look bad. And someday, some well-meaning person is going to give you one, and you're going to have to pretend to like it. Enjoy!

9) Bandwagonery, leading to celebrity douche bag fans. Trust me, as an Oakland A's fan, it's more fun to be at the place where there's actually a crowd of, say, more than 6,000 people on a weeknight. And a celebrity fan or two, especially if they are still somewhat cool (see Murray, Bill for the Cubs, though Bill's really starting to age badly), is a nice distraction... especially if this gets you more Celebrity Poon in the stands. The Dodgers aren't throwing Alyssa Milano back, and the Warriors miss Jessica Alba.

But do you think that Red Sox Fan really wants Matt Damon hanging around? (Well, he might, but let's give them the benefit of the doubt.) Or that Yankee Fan under the age of 40 is really thrilled by the constant Billy Crystal intrusions? Is Padre Fan all that into Garth Brooks? The worst is when the team embraces said celeb, and you wind up taking heat for it from your non-team friends because, well, you deserve it. And eventually, of course, the celebs wind up taking all of the seats with their superior purchasing power. Let's move on.

8) Hateful stars. Really a 2-for-1 grab here, both when your home-grown guy slowly turns heel as he gets older, wealthier, and less interested in pretending to be nice... or the guy with the checkered past and the big contract that will under-motivate him comes to your town. You'll also get the benefit of the Burnable Gag Gift of his jersey when he finally moves on, and your "friends" find you a gamer in the clearance rack. (Maybe even in those lovely throw up colors, too.) Good times!

7) Cheap and/or stupid management. Ready to lose all hope? Step on up to the team suits that either fail to spend the cash that they've got, or do so on obviously ill-suited talent. Special bonus: when they let Promising Young Guy go, and he winds up leading some other team to a championship. But at least then, you get to be happy for him in that pathetic, "at least she's happy" ex-boyfriend way. This isn't so much a fear as a way of life, really.

6) Creeping inflation. This one's especially good when you combine it with #7 and are local to the team. Each year becomes a downward spiral of more money for less happiness, and it's even, um, sweeter, when you are making the commitment for season tickets. And people wonder why sports fans boo and get drunk.

5) Drug / steroid scandal. No, not the momentary recreational drug use that will get you grief from your friends, but be more or less forgotten in six months to a year... but the full-blown, your star is a tragic figure writ large, and your beloved era makes people snort with derision. For clarity on this, find someone who used to feel real good about those Bash Brother Oakland A's teams. (Sigh.)

4) Sex scandal. Not just your garden variety case of someone getting a little something-something on the road, but a full-blown kinkfest of startling originality and/or venality. It's even better when the guy is still on your roster, or succumbs to his baser urges before a big game. Falcons Fan is still feeling this one, kids. (Probably, on some level, even more than Mr. Vick going all Entry Eight on them.)

3) The Horror GM. Knicks Fan, this one is for you. When your general manager isn't just stupid, and isn't just cheap, and isn't just venal... but is some magical combination of all of these elements, to the point that when you tell people you are a fan, they just express pity... even if they are a division rival? That's low, folks. That's smell the dog crap every morning low. That's worth a Get Out Of Fandom Free card, assuming you still have enough energy to take one.

2) Not in your lifetime. Cub Fan, step on down! I feel your pain on some level, since as an Eagle Fan, I've also never experienced a championship in my lifetime. When your own odometer starts creeping up, your own impending mortality is reflected in the Years Since They Won graphics that those sado-masochists scumbags at the major networks show whenever your guys are in the playoffs. Someone needs to sue and/or firebomb some production team for those, by the way. And yes, it will probably be a guy having his mid-life crisis. At least he'll be easy to catch.

1) Relocation. This one doesn't rank this high if you are no longer local to your team -- honestly, if you move first, you're just more predisposed to be OK if they go as well -- but if you are, and they move away... well, all of your options suck. You can either continue to be the abused spouse and root for the scumbags that left you high and dry, give up the sport entirely, pick some other, more or less arbitrary team... or just wait for however long it takes until some new team moves in.

In a just and better world, none of these would ever happen; pro sports franchises are community assets, and the leagues are, for the most part, flush with cash and owned by wildly rich plutocrats who don't really need them to make a profit. But it will happen... especially as the economy continues to sputter.

So, um, sleep tight, folks...

The Natural Follow Up To The Cubs Urn

And good advice for all of us, really.

Never Escape

Proving that MLB will suck you dry in this world and the next, and continuing FTT's theme of finding the perfect holiday gift, consider the recent rise of MLB themed coffins and urns.

Sure, you're paying 20% more than the non-logo model to intern your loved one in the last and most symbolic act of never growing up. But can you really put a price on making sure that their remains spend the rest of non-biodegradable eternity in the loving embrace of Cub Fandom? If I were you, I'd go the extra mile and put a Fathead on the inside of the box or urn. That's the tasteful thing to do.

(And if you must know, yes, I'm going down in a Garment of Greatness. Why risk going nooky-less in the next world?)

Numchuk Ping Pong

Yes, that is Bruce Lee, and yes, he is still much, much cooler than you. And me, and anyone else who's alive...

"I'm sure there will be some criticism..."

Um, yeah. But not from me, dear lady. Not from me.

Oh, and kudos to the local reporter for spooling out more rope for the self-hanging with phrases like "chopping block."

Epic Drop: Top 13 worst things to vomit

Today's list comes from my past 24 hours, which have been a lot less than fun. But like the noble Indian using every part of the buffalo, I've used the experience to produce a big bowl of fun. Or, well, something.

Execution

As part of my role as the World's Oldest Sports Blogger, I need to point out the following: Bernard Hopkins is older than me. By a substantial amount.

He is, in fact, 43 years of age, and while part of that time (nearly 5 years) was spent in state custody for armed robbery -- and hence, not being spent in the meat grinder world of the ring -- that's still an absurd age to be in a boxing ring for money.

Tonight, he ensured that he can continue to pursue that profession. And then some.

Against a highly regarded fighter in his prime (Kelly Pavlik), The Executioner didn't just survive. He dominated. It went the distance, and was never in doubt.

Here's how good Hopkins is: in 54 fights, he's never been knocked out. He's only been knocked down twice. He's 49-5-1, and might be the best that's ever been at his age.

Now, I don't get too much into boxing; it's a fine thing in person when you can get deep into the live event, red meat vice of it all... but if you're looking for anything more than Human Cockfight, it's a hard sport to deal with. People who know what they are doing are relatively rare. Like basketball, the quality of the opponent is paramount; you can watch the best boxer in the world, but if he's paired up against someone useless, it's not going to be very good.

But still, think about the scope of the accomplishment here. At an age where most of us are just trying to avoid stepping up in pants size, Hopkins is beating the crap out of guys that are 16 years younger than him. In over fifteen professional hours in a ring against people trying to take his head off, he's never been stopped.

As the man himself said, after the fight but before the scores were read, "I'm tired of proving myself." Somehow, I'm thinking that won't be an issue for a while.

The Raiders Need An Intervention

I'm going to try to speak delicately here, because Lord knows there just isn't enough of that in Blogfrica, and after taking some shots at Vince Young last week, I'm still a little gunshy. (Did you know that criticizing VY meant you were a racist? I didn't either. The dear fellow will be safe from me for the rest of his life, especially as it looks like that might not be long or involve a lot of football. Anyway, moving on...)

Word out of Oakland is that despite today's physical thumping of the I-AA Chiefs, Raiders head coach Lane Kiffin might be looking for work in the morning.

Given that the team now resembles an NFL football team at times, and has a genuinely exciting rookie in running back Darren McFadden (164 yards today), you might think this, um, makes not a whit of sense.

You would also not have been paying attention to most of the last decade of Raider Football.

Al Davis runs this franchise, as he has for damn nearly its entire existence. He will also be 80 years old on July 4 of next year. Now, I can respect the desire of a man to spend his golden years trying to make everyone around him long for death's sweet embrace first; it's a perverse kind of game, but you have to respect it.

However, it might be nice if it were backed up with any kind, of, you know, plan.

The Raiders have spent most of the decade trying to win with quarterbacks that look like they are big enough to withstand any pass rush, and throw the ball through a car wash without it getting wet. (This would describe Andrew Walter and Jemarcus Russell.)

When that hasn't worked, since most of these guys have been unable to evade any kind of pass rush, they've gone for scamper types like Josh McNown or Marques Tuiasosopo... rather than have, say, a Rich Gannon type that might be able to, you know, complete the ball accurately and resemble something that another team might hire.

They've bought and overbought on speed wideouts that can't actually play. James Jett was the prototype, and he's been duplicated with Drew Carter and Javon Walker. Needless to say, no one is making anyone forget Tim Brown. Or even the later years of Jerry Rice.

Since losing the Super Bowl to prodigal son Jon Gruden, the Raiders have gone 18-62 (!). This, despite having the draft picks that the Bucs gave up to get Gruden, not to mention the high picks the Raiders earned on their own with their spectacular craptitude.

And rather than give Kiffin the keys to the car, they are going to decide to turn back the clock and try the same old thing with Al.

Now, honestly, Raider folks... we have the technology to make this all much better. Just confine Al to a few places -- you know, for his safety, since those NFL bastards are clearly trying to have him killed -- where you can manage the screens he watches. Let "The Truman Show" be your guide, and have him spend his last few years thinking the Raiders are still an NFL franchise.

Meanwhile, you can actually pick players that resemble guys who can succeed in the NFL, and the NFL can have 32 teams that operate in reality. Everybody wins!

What HD Is For: Telethon Train Wreck

Tonight as I was closing the books on the NFL previews and keeping an eye on SportsCenter out of the corner of my eye in the Man Cave, the powers that be at the Lemur went for Rednecks Turning Left. (No, NASCAR Fan, I am not your blog. Move along.)

So I pull up the menu of other high definition choices, because when I am in the Man Cave, I am a High Definition Only Snob.

And there, lo and behold, brought to me by the power of My9 HD from New York... the awe-inspiring awfulness that is the Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon.

A better and meaner blogger than me would live blog this whole thing. I am not that blogger. My capacity for self-hate stops at... 90 minutes.

Important Editorial Disclaimer: I am not pro muscular dystrophy. I am not even anti Jerry Lewis. Heck, I'm not even anti-MDA Telethon.

Oh, wait. Actually, I am. Anti-telethon, at least.

A word of background. Every year when I was a kid, I'd watch this thing; it seemed Important, Dammit. When Lewis would break down in his usual angry rant, I'd be as caught up as when a pro wrestler took a chair shot. It was, of course, as real, and as tasteful.

In later years, I'd try like hell to avoid the damn thing... and inevitably find it while flipping around channels, dreading the start of school, and finally just succumbing to the increasing horror of how, say, David Hasselhoff was going to work out his pitch.

About fifteen years ago, I finally kicked my telethon habit. Around the time that the Internet existed, really. And now, I'm watching it again for the first time in decades, and in breathtaking high def.

So what does the Telethon get you in HD?

> Full penetrating jowl coverage of Jerry -- and those jowls are 83 years old now, so dammit, you will respect them

> Maureen McGovern covering Bob Dylan's "The Times, They Are A Changing" as if it were written for a cruise ship

> Jerry working the crowd in Vegas, with lots of MD patients providing him with mugging background

> The audience sounding and looking like they have a median age of 76 -- and yes, HD makes it worse

> Gloria Gaynor, continuing to survive

> One happy looking black guy in Jerry's Vegas audience (I'm pretty sure he's getting paid)

> People who you weren't sure were still alive, yet alone still in show business (Jack Jones! Tony Orlando! Ludacris! Ed McMahon! Kid Rock!)

> Jerry getting all handsy with Nancy Grace in her role as the classy/slutty blonde that tells her heartfelt stories of loss

> Local telecast anchors rocking the same tuxedo look that Lewis has worn since he was, well, an actual entertainer, rather than a punchline

> Jerry miming various orchestra performances -- funny! on many levels!

> Some of Las Vegas's hottest 40 year old MILFs moving back and forth in what almost passed for rhythm

> Tacky timpani bounces with that 40-year-old Jerry caricature

> Jerry giving us his weight, and Tony Orlando's old weight, before a vaguely racist joke at Tony's expense

> Jerry getting political, without ever mentioning a political party, because when your house is no longer worth a damn and you can't fill your gas tank, you are still going to donate to HIS kids, dammit

I'm sure this little moment of hate will get me some comment or six from someone who has been helped by the MDA.

I'm sure they've done some good, too.

But, um, no.

Stop it.

Please.

For the children...

(Update... I had to come back in for the last 40 minutes. Kevin Meaney, who was funny for a few minutes in the late '90s, came in to do Viagra and drug jokes for the New York telecast. It redefined awkward in our time. Must. Stop. Watching...)

A Small Note On The Lemur's Coverage Of Len Bias's Death Anniversary

Dear Mice,

You might not be aware of this, but other teams, in towns other than Boston, have suffered tragedies in sports.

I will be expecting -- nay, demanding! -- similar coverage of the Jerome Brown Memorial, the Pelle Lindbergh Tragedy, the Hank Gathers Experience, the Korey Stringer Surprise, the Derrick Thomas Self Sack, the Continuing Ghostlike Presence of Sean Taylor, the 12 to 6 Knee Bending Loss of Darryl Kile, the Most Valuable Loss of Ken Caminiti, the Unfortunate Commute of Cory Lidle...

Because, if you fail to cover them with the same sloppy mouthjob that you give your only media market (that would be, in case anyone was wondering, Boston) in your approach for Len Bias... well, we will all know that the Worldwide Lemur just has a giant hand up its collective ass for its home base of operations, won't we? (Again.)

And that while this kind of thing is tolerable, one supposes, when covering actual sporting events giving the strong performance of the Boston teams, it's quite another to equate your one unfortunate experience as the Death of All Innocence.

You see, that's the funny thing about innocence. It's dying all around you, in lives that don't get examined to, well, death.

Finally, just one last time, since I know you don't really believe this. It's a message from all of the sports fans of America that don't live in New England, and/or don't root for New England teams.

WE'RE JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU...

Epic Drop: Top 16 Players for your MLB Dead Pool

The list tonight is a bad piece of business, which makes me think it's going to get a lot of traffic, comments, links and the like. Just so long as it makes some raging Red Sox Fan convinced that they need to go nuts over any hint of dark humor about Jon Lester, I'll be happy. (If I can enrage a Red Sox fan with the Celtics up 3-1 in the NBA Finals, that's a real accomplishment.)

Epic Drop: Top 12 Signs That Willie Randolph Is On Thin Ice

Your link is here, and independent of the merits or demerits of Willie getting the big pink slip, you have to love how New York runs a manager deathwatch. I'm betting on helicopters by the weekend, assuming the Mets don't go on a winning streak.