I'm about to go America all over somebody's ass.

Saturday, May 28, 2005



He strikes again.

Sure, our starting pitcher never should have been brought back in the 6th (with no one warming?!?), our "reliever" continued his piss poor performance, and our third and fourth hitters are in the midst of dreadful slumps with RISP.

Still, it's hard to walk away from that game with anything other than a blood boiling rage directed at third base coach Dale Sveum. The Red Sox had five hits and The Big Ugly on the ropes in what could have been a huge momentum-building inning. Enter Dale Sveum and his Parade Of Death from third to home, and instead, the inning ends with Yankee fans on their feet and the scoreboard showing one measly run.

Predictably, Francona publicly backed Sveum last night following the game, just as he did after so many embarassingly bad performances last season. It's clear that the Red Sox don't plan on firing Sveum, or even questioning his decisions, so as a public service, I volunteer to find Dale Sveum's replacement myself. The final call is yours, Tito, but I've done all the legwork. Allow me to introduce you to the Red Sox brand new third base coach.

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Thursday, May 26, 2005

We suck.

I mean, seriously. Next to McSweeney's we are all amateurs; wanna-be writers wasting our time in front of our computers. McSweeney's is Albert Einstein and we are Ron Popeil. McSweeney's is the British version of The Office and we are the American. McSweeney's is caviar and we are those goldfish from the state fair that die in 48 hours. McSweeney's is Albert Pujols and we are Eric Byrnes.

Anyway, you get the point. McSweeney's is the holy grail of entertaining literary discourse, so I often find things on their site that make me giggle uncontrollably, as well as some of the best books published in recent memory. But when I happened upon this list this morning, I was rendered useless for the rest of the day.

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BASEBALL KNOWLEDGE
WILL NOT HELP YOU
PICK UP GIRLS.
BY RICK PAULAS

Can you believe this house? Two fully stocked bars and completely free alcohol! If David Wells lived here, he'd have 10 more perfect games! What's that? David Wells? He's a pitcher. Your boyfriend hates baseball? He must hate America, too.
- - - -
I would trade Albert Pujols and Vladimir Guerrero for a date with you. Why are you laughing? That's a combined 70 home runs a year!
- - - -
This promotion does mean a lot more responsibility for you. If people get out of line, you're going to have to discipline them now. And all of the decisions have to be OK'd by you. It's going to be stressful. Do you want a back massage? There. That's better, isn't it? Don't worry, it'll be OK. Trust me, I know from experience. How? I've been commissioner of my fantasy baseball league for the past three years. You know, it's awfully tough for me to give a good massage when you squirm away like that.
- - - -
No, no. You're not getting old. Hell, you're only 27. Think of it this way: Since turning 27, Roger Clemens has won 280 games! You have your whole life ahead of you. Please stop crying.
- - - -
You're rarer than a five-tool catcher. What? That's not gay slang for anything. I'm talking about my fantasy baseball rotisserie league. No. That's not a gay slang term, either.
- - - -
That sure was quite the make-out session. I've seen windows fog up in movies, but never in real life. Goodness! We really went at it, didn't we? I forget the last time I felt so revved up. Want to head inside? You do? Splendid! Oh, wait. Now I remember the last time I felt so turned on: When I was able to snag Mark Prior with a sixth-round draft pick. Yes, I'll take you home.
- - - -
If my heart were made of bases, you'd be Scott Podsednik.
- - - -
First, I must warn you about some weird red bumps you may encounter while down there. It's not an infection or an STD or anything like that; it's just a few ingrown hairs from a poorly done shaving job. I didn't really think anyone else would be seeing it. As hard as it is to believe, I'm not a big lady's man. Honestly. Let's just say my scoreless streak was hitting Dontrelle Willis proportions before I met you tonight. Wait. Why are you putting your pants back on? Are you restarting the striptease?
__________________________________

For the record, every single one of those lines would work on me. Though I'd replace Scott Podsednik with Dave Roberts, of course.

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Wednesday, May 11, 2005



Let's get this man in a Red Sox uniform immediately, please.

(0) have done the deed

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Last year, as we watched our team battle back against the Tankees and complete a four game sweep of the St Louis Cardinals, we vowed that things would be different. We said it a thousand times. We repeated it between every pitch of games 4 and 5 of the ALCS. We made the promise again and again, and the worst part is - we really believed it.

Last year we all promised that if the Red Sox could get past the Tankees, and then go on to win the World Series, that we would spend the next few seasons just enjoying baseball. No stress, no worry, no heart palpitations, no checking the standings every fifteen minutes. No game threads, no message board addictions, no spreadsheets. Goodbye psychosis, hello social life. We promised the baseball gods that in exchange for a championship, we'd finally just chill out.

Of course, it was a lie. We should have known it at the time, because the truth of the matter is - we don't know how not to care.

Last night , on a Wednesday night in early May, the Sox won a squeaker over the hated Oakland A's on an El Bencho walk-off in the ninth. Fenway erupted. Cheers could be heard in every house from Nantucket to Newburyport. Children went to bed happy as their parents reveled in another Red Sox victory.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

At the start of the bottom of the ninth inning, everyone at Fenway rose to their feet and put their hands together. Were they begging their team to score a run or were they celebrating the run they knew would come? You see, we're still crazy, but now we're confident. Any other year, we would have been waiting for the GIDP to put us out of our misery. But that was before the Red Sox completed the greatest comeback in the history of professional sports. Now, no lead is ever safe. The bottom of the ninth will never be the same.

But confidence does not breed serenity.

It is May 11th. The season is one month old. The Maalox is back on the nightstand.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

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Friday, May 06, 2005

Things that may happen before Kevin Millar hits a homerun:

-George Steinbrenner orders Brian Cashman to affix wheels to the famous Yankee Stadium Babe Ruth plaque, which then replaces the slightly less mobile Bernie Williams in the field.

-Terrell Owens and Donovan McNabb co-release a line of NFL Friendship bracelets.

-Javon Walker and Brett Favre buy the first set.

-The Gary Bettman Fanclub is formed.

-Boston Dirt Dogs posts something important.

-This recent quote from Brian Cashman regarding the Tankees'* subpar record will stop making me giddy:

"It's not a good time to be with the Yankees right now."

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*True story. I was attempting to type Yankees, but thanks to cold hands and the 'F' I received in my 6th grade typing class, it came out more like Tankees.

How glorious.

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Wednesday, May 04, 2005



Watching the Sixers play makes me wish I could create a new vocabulary to describe the way Allen Iverson plays, because the current string of words often used by broadcasters, fans and writers don't seem to do him justice.

To be able to properly understand how good a player is, a fan must be able to watch him night in and night out. Sadly, the Sixers haven't had many winning seasons in the last 9 years, and as a result, Allen Iverson's national TV time is more limited than perhaps it should be. But to say that Iverson is the most electric player I've ever seen play basketball would not be an overstatement.

Sure, there are the flashy numbers. This season, he ranked first in the league with 30.7 points per game, second in free throw attempts with 786, fifth in assists per game with 7.9, second in steals per game with 2.4, and second in minutes played per game with 42.3.

And in the playoffs? Iverson led the league with 47.6 minutes per game, ranked second with 31.2 points per game, second with 10.8 assists per game, and fourth with 2 steals per game.

But then there are the things you notice when you watch him play; the things that don't show on on stat sheets or on SportsCenter's flashy top 5 lists. Namely, there is this: Allen Iverson never stops moving. This is, no doubt, one of the things that makes him so difficult to play with, as his constant movement can be frustrating to those who would rather rely on set plays. On the flipside, it is also what makes him so challenging to play against. As a student at Georgetown, Iverson finished first on his team in the squad's endurance tests. As the story goes, those administering the test had to ask Iverson to stop running on the treadmill after it became clear that he showed no sign of slowing down. Such endurance is a key part of Iverson's offensive game, as he's often able to circle the half-court two or three times per possession to free himself of defenders.

And then there is Iverson's tenacity, which would surely break the scales if measured in numeric values. Weighing in at a mere 165 pounds, Iverson plays every game with a blue-collar effort, as if it is his last. He continually drives to the basket, undaunted by the fact that his defenders are twice his size. What he lacks in size he most certainly makes up for in determination and resiliency. While bigger, stronger players rely on their big hands or tall legs to make plays, Iverson throws his whole body around the court every single time down the court. No steal, no basket, no assist is too small; Iverson gives 150% for each and every one of them.

Unfortunately, sometimes, it's not enough. For years, Iverson has been surrounded by bit-part players who could not give him the help he needed. An inspiring effort from your leading scorer is not enough if the players surrounding him simply don't have the talent with which to work.

Until now.

Despite the Sixers' elimination in five games at the hands of the Detroit Pistons last night, one can't help but think that the club appears to have turned a very sharp corner. Gone are the days of aging NBA role players shuffling through the Sixers' locker room, each one trying to play Ben Affleck to Iverson's Matt Damon. Finally, the Sixers appear to have a future. Samuel Dalembert, Andre Igudala, Kyle Korver. Those are the names we'll be hearing more and more in the coming years. Those are the names that will help show the world the kind of player Allen Iverson really is.

Tenacious. Determined. Ambitious. Awe-inspiring. Fierce. Competitive. Electric. Or, one of the hundred new words that watching Allen Iverson makes me wish I could create.

(0) have done the deed

Sunday, May 01, 2005

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