A Quick One While He's Away

Until further notice, your correspondent will be filing all reports down Yucatan way, from the WardensWorld Cancun bureau, to be precise. That's right, manana will find me jetting down to sunny Mejico, along with Brother Admiral, aka Jimmy The Greek -- like me, owner and proprietor of his very own highly successful Website. So for the foreseeable future, two of the leading lights on the Internets will take their leave -- creating a huge vacuum in the Tri-State Area.

But seriously, the Admiral has already warned me against revealing too much in terms of (hopefully) juicy or (potentially incriminating) details from our brief little excursion. I will pledge to hold up my end of the bargain, or at least disguise enough of the names/faces in the ensuing narrative to throw off even the most dogged of interested parties.

Ironically, I learned my lesson very recently when some purportedly offended party stumbled onto my wildly popular Web blog and raised a fit with someone else with whom I do business. The specifics are not presently important, suffice to say I spent much of last night engaged in poring over my archives for "offensive" passages and then expunging or mutating the pertinent names, places, dates, circumstances and other sundry incriminating material, no matter how innocuous I personally considered the respective posts. Company names were altered and people cryptically were reduced to initials, with the result that post after post now reads like a bad imitation of a Kafka novel.

Anyway, I learned that it's easier to be less forthcoming right at the beginning, versus having to go back and waste precious hours to rectify something that should never had to have been reducted in the first place!

And who loses in this latest development? Why, you the dear reader of course, who now, through no fault of your own, will no longer be privy to the most private parts of my life. (Although my private parts themselves are still up for bidding.) From now on, only the barest details will be offered, unless I decide to totally fabricate and exaggerate the otherwise forgettable ephemera of what is a pretty ordinary existence. Which pretty much goes a long way toward explaining why I've got the mass audience I do generate here on the worldwideweb. Dig it.

So Mrs. Jim doesn't need to worry about finding evidence of any misbehavior, on my part at least. After all, it wasn't me that got us unceremoniously tossed out of the Mudd Club circa 1981 for prolonged, excessive, unlikely-to-abate-anytime-soon vomiting, not 10 minutes after finally gaining entrance into that notoriously difficult club to get into. Nope, wasn't me. In fact, that's all I will say on the matter...for now. There's no telling what trouble I might get someone into. Adios, amigos.

Spreading The Wealth

Strange sports time of year -- only point where really all 4 major sports intersect in a major way: you've got your NBA and NHL playoffs in full swing, the baseball season has just begun in earnest, with about 20-25 games under every team's belt, and then you have the NFL draft taking place, making late April unique in that way.

The annual draft of college players into pro football is a rite of spring that allows fans of every NFL team to convince themselves that their club has really improved; as long as you have a couple of picks in the early rounds, hope does spring eternal.

For instance, as a Cowboy fan, I'm convinced that we've got a few more weapons on offense for QB Tony Romo: RBs Felix Jones (Arkansas) & Tashard Choice (Georgia Tech) and TE Martellus Bennett (Texas A&M), as well as some much-needed help at DB with 1st-round pick Mike Jenkins (South Florida). Without over-analyzing things, that's 4 solid players that should make an immediate impact to a team that went 13-3 and didn't lose all that much in the offseason, and that's not counting the huge risk/reward that Dallas is taking with the Adam Jones deal, the much-troubled but highly talented CB better known as Pacman.

Of course, other teams got better as well.

I think the Steelers got a lot of help on offense with RB Rashard Mendenhall out of Illinois and WR Limas Sweed from Texas. Add that to RB Willie Parker, WR Hines Ward, the TE Heath Miller, and Big Ben has far too many weapons for most defenses to stop.

The New York Jets had a busy offseason and yesterday added 2 1st-round picks that should start right away: LB Vernon Gholsten (Ohio State) and TE Dustin Keller (Purdue). Jets also had some quality picks in the late rounds.

Also notable was the Kansas City Chiefs' draft, which will be judged in large part by how well LSU DT Glenn Dorsey performs, but was one for the ages for a completely different reason: the Chiefs drafted three guys with basically the same first name, and it wasn't Mike or Bill or Jim either, but Brandon. KC took OG Branden Albert from Virginia in Round 1, CB Brandon Flowers from Virginia Tech in Round 2, and then CB Brandon Carr from Grand Valley State in Round 5. What are the odds of even 2 Brandons on one team, never mind in the same draft in the same year. I'm pretty sure this was prophesied in one of Nostradamus's forgotten passages.

Speaking of bad omens, that was a rotten loss by the 76ers last night to the Pistons, after leading by 10 at halftime and having a chance to go up 3-1 and shock the world. Well, some of the world anyway. But the Pistons came out and totally dominated the Sixers after the break, scoring the first 11 points and decisively outscoring Philly 34-16 in the 3rd to take a 70-62 advantage and never looked back.

I don't think it was a case of a young Sixers team being overconfident; I don't see coach Maurice Cheeks letting that happen. But there's a reason Detroit has been to 5 straight Eastern Conference finals: they're good. And they're experienced and seasoned and as battle-tested as any team outside of perhaps the San Antonio Spurs.

One key matchup has been the Sixers' best player, Andre Iguodola, against Tayshaun Prince, the Pistons' best man-on-man defender. Last night Iguodola went 4-16, his fourth straight subpar shooting game, while Prince shot an efficient 11-12 from the field. Prince has gotten the best of AI in every game, and it's amazing the 76ers have managed to win those 2 games so far given Iggy's struggles.

The numbers are downright putrid for Iguodola: 11 for 49 from the field, including 0-9 from beyond the arc. That's all due to the in-your-face defense of Prince, who has the wingspan of a small pterodactyl (about 33 feet). Meanwhile, Prince is an astounding 31-47 from the field in the series, against Iguodola, a very good defender in his own right on most nights. In most cases, one key matchup doesn't win or lose a series unless it's two great centers battling, but here the stats are so stark because one guy has really gotten the best of the other. Three games left for Iggy to make his mark, otherwise he's looking at a long offseason.

Bottom line: I'm one of the biggest 76ers fans in my census tract, and I'd be shocked if they won another game in this series. But this is one case where I would love to be proven wrong.

Some big names in baseball are struggling immensely at the plate so far this season. A lot of focus has been on Red Sox slugger David Ortiz, who through 96 ABs now is hitting an unsightly .177 with but 4 dingers, although he has a respectable 20 RBI. But his battles at the plate are not helping Boston any, losers of 5 straight entering tonight's action.

The Cubs' Alfonso Soriano is currently on the DL, but before he was injured he too was sucking windage in Windy City to the sorry tune of .175 with 11 K's in 57 at-bats. What a bargain the Cubs got at only $136 million over 8 years.

Pitching-wise, the Giants' Barry Zito continues to disappoint in alarming fashion. He's off to an 0-6 start, with a Richter-scale-like ERA of 7.53. And with just 11 K's in 28 innings, the former Oakland ace is not fooling anyone with anything he's throwing up there. In fact, it's foolish investments like the $126 million fortune the Giants sank into this baked Zito that has America teetering on the edge of economic recession.

On the Yankees, Jason Giambi is also "hitting" .177, albeit with some pop (5 HRs), and 2B Robinson Cano is "missing" to the tune of just .158, with only 1 measly HR; this is the sec0nd season in a row where the young hitter has stunk it up mightily early in the year. He's too good a hitter for these protracted slumps. In fact, no one on the Yankees is really tearing it up at the plate so far, and Jorge Posada just went on the disabled list. So it's not unexpected that as I write this they're getting no-hit tonight in chilly Cleveland through 5 innings by Aaron Laffey, a 23-year-old making his first start of the year. So it goes.

Freewheelin' Friday

Better To Start With A Pekingese & Other Useful Carnal Advice

But first let's travel back to Old Rome...

...As in the first season of the terrific HBO Series Rome. Couldn't be enjoying it more through the first 9 episodes of Season 1. It's basically Deadwood in tunics, and that's in no way a bad thing. It's got Deadwood's same uneven mix of the sacred and the profane, the lofty and the lowdown. It's humanity, warts and all. We recognize ourselves in these characters surging through ancient Rome, otherwise what's the point. A thousand years is mankind blinking an eye once or twice.

For all the well-known characters and major historical figures portrayed in the series, the real action often hinges on the lives of two professional legionnaires in the Roman Army, Titus Pullo and Lucien Vorenus. In one scene, Pullo takes a young nobleman to an upscale brothel for his first taste and informs the madam of the house, "But the girl better fuck him like Helen of Troy with her ass on fire, or I'll know the reason why." Priceless. And it rings true, like almost every note of this series.

Another great scene takes place on a doomed ship bound for Greece. Just before the ship goes down, Vorenus tells Pullo, "A very good offering was made to Triton, we're perfectly safe."
"If Triton can't keep me drier than this, he can suck my dick," comes the response, followed by more waves and finally the shipwreck.

In another episode, a character says, "It's as hot as Vulcan's cock," and given that Vulcan is the Roman god of fire, you gotta figure that's pretty fucking hot. You see, you learn a little as you go along here.

The DVD set of the first season has a cool viewing option where a box will appear telling you little historical nuggets about Rome. For instance, I didn't realize that Cleopatra and some of the other Egyptian rulers for a few hundred years had Greek blood thanks to Alexander the Great infusing the bloodlines. Also, opium was used from 1500 BC in Egypt, and Cleo herself partook generously.

Speaking of learning something new, the Yankees were 10-10 after the first 20 games, but did you know did you know did you know they were 10-0 with a lead after 6 innings, and 0-10 when trailing after 6 innings. That's either consistency or mediocrity.

Also alarming is that the lead-footed Bombers stole their first base in Game 14 of the season! That's a mark of futility that matches the 1948 team, which as I recall at least had an excuse: no brothers and such allowed. I think you get my drift. Boy, did I really go there? What happened to me...

Okay, okay, so Mike Mussina pitched a good game the other night, holding the White Sox to just 4 hits and 2 runs, both coming on home runs, which is predictable. Luckily they were solo shots, because he gives up 2 bombs a game minimum these days. Believe me, I hope he pitches well all the time as long as he's on the Yankees, but color me skeptical at least for now. His fastball tops out at 90-91 now if I'm not mistaken, and there's only so many times you're gonna fool these guys with guile unless you're a lefty or your name's Greg Maddux in his Prime.

Just in time for 3-game series with Braves, Shea favorite Chipper "Larry" Jones is destroying NL pitching, to the tune of a .442 average. Had himself a birthday bash yesterday, celebrating his 36th with 3 hits and his 7th HR already, to go along with 20 RBIs.

There was a time not too long ago where if I was going to start a team and could pick one position player, it would be Chipper. That was about 6 or 7 years ago, though. Now to me the best pure hitter in either league is Miguel Cabrera, when you factor in power and youth. But he's a subpar fielder and hasn't really found a position in the field suited to him, and that's never a good thing.

Worst team in baseball could be the Texas Rangers, fresh off 7 straight defeats, with their putrid pitching staff. Detroit just got well on them, outscoring them by a decisive 37-10 over their recent series. That's ugly. One of their relief pitchers (Fukunari) has a 20.25 ERA; another starter is 0-4 with a 7.46 ERA. Team president Nolan Ryan could not only start for them right now, he would be their ace. Only problem is he's about 60.

Yanks in midst of an 18 of 20 stretch on the road, thanks to Pope Prada's stopover in Sodom by the Sea. Daily News wrote a typically demented editorial on how this Pope is so magnificent because he doesn't criticize or question the wisdom of the Great Ship America. But not this pontiff. Where's Father Guido Sarducci when you need him?

I mean, you can make the case that this president of (y)ours had a hand in the cessation of hundreds of thousands of formerly existing persons in the form of dead Iraqis. You'd think such a world leader would be ripe for a modicum of reproach from the so-called messenger of God on this here Earth. But not according to Mortimer Zuckerman.

Speaking of rotting tabloid owners, it looks like greedy cadaverous scumbag Rupert Murdoch will be adding Newsday to his media empire. I mean, I hardly if ever buy Newsday. I used to buy it regularly back in the pre-Internet days when Jimmy Breslin was still knocking out his columns. Newday's only distinction is that it's not the Times, it's not the Post and it's not the News. In fact, the Daily News' latest goofy slogan is plastered above the fold: "THE BIGGEST TABLOID IN NEW YORK" How weak is that, and WTF does if even mean! Biggest in circulation or in actual size of the paper? Get back to us on that...

This is a tabloid war where no one deserves to win, and the people who lose are the New York City readers who want a decent, unbiased, lively newspaper, but one that doesn't talk down to them or pander (at least too much) to their base instincts. If we want craven decadence, after all, there's HBO.

Well, got an early Birthday present Sunday night when the 76ers knocked off the Pistons in Detroit in Game 1 of their playoff series. They were trailing late and then got off a good run, playing as they did when they were running off something like 25 of 32 when they made their late season playoff push. But reality hit hard on Wednesday in Game 2, when the Pistons opened up an early lead and never let up on the way to a 105-88 spanking. I don't think the game was on TV anywhere in the free world, and I didn't bother following it on the Net b/c I knew an major ass-whoopin' was in the works. But things could turn again on Friday night in Philly just as quickly. That's gonna be a rocking crowd for sure, and I hope the Sixers give 'em reason to get into the game for 4 quarters.

Still going with Spurs-Pistons in the Finals as my loyal reader(s) will already know. Wager accordingly. However, if the Sixers make it out of this round, of course they're going all the way a la the New York Football Giants. Make book on it. Or should I say Maximus Bookius, friends and citizens...

Speaking of football, of course this is the weekend of the NFL draft. We've seen a few good trades already. Vikings made a good one, although it didn't come cheap: getting Jared Allen from the Chiefs is a good move, giving them an incredible defensive front four with Allen at DE and the two Williams Boys at DT. Jets got rid of former #1 Dewayne Robertson, who has to be considered a bust given where he was drafted. And speaking of disappointments, it appears the Cowboys sent their 4th-round pick to the Tennessee Titans in this year's draft for Adam "Pacman" Jones. As a Cowboy fan, I will go on record as saying, football wise, it's a steal, but coming off a 13-win season and with two #1 picks, there's no reason for such a desperate move.

So far this offseason we signed LB Zack Thomas, as solid a citizen as there is in the NFL, and now Jones to balance out that good deed, the yin and the yang of the modern citizen-athlete. That's what sports is these days, a compromise for the fan between wanting to win at all costs and facing the consequences of that sentiment up close and personal. You can't pick your family but you can pick your sports teams, so I guess when it no longer gets to be fun, I'll stop following.

Seahawks released RB Shaun Alexander outright, and can't say I blame them. They had already picked up T.J. Duckett, a serviceable power back, and my former Boy Julius Jones, who I still think has a bright future in this league. I'd be shocked, as Chris Russo would say, if he doesn't have a career year in '08. As long Zack and the Boys kick his butt when we see them on this year's schedule.

Finally, news from the Just When You Think You've Got It Bad Department: Did you see the story about some poor schmuck named Robert Melia? Talk about your 15 minutes of infamy: Turns out the ex-cop was arrested and charged with -- there's no easy way to say this -- having oral relations with a cow. I mean, what's the proper etiquette after you've had sex with a willing bovine? Do you call her a cab and say you'll call her tomorrow? It was the first case of bestiality in the area since someone tried to have carnal cornucopia with a Rottweiler. Now, that's sick. You sure do NOT want to find yourself in coitus interruptis with a big horny Rottweiler. That could get tricky. Better to start with a Pekingese or a laid-back Greyhound. Trust me. I learned that the hard way. But hey, that's what she said.

Freestyle Friday

If it seems I haven't been blogging all that much lately, it's because I haven't -- due to an equal combination of busy-ness, lazy-ness and disinterested-ness. But we're here today rectify that sitch, and we all know how painful that can be. To Wit, of which, if you didn't already know, Brevity is the Soul: won't you join me as we take it hard to the hoop here on WardensWorld.

But first to the mound. No way the Yankees are making the playoffs with their present starting rotation. Taint gonna happen, my friends. Not with a past-his-prime Andy Pettite, a way-way-past-his prime-teetering-on-washed-up Mike Mussina (about whom more in a sec), two promising but unproven kiddies in Phil Hughes and Ian Kennedy, and only one true dependable frontline pitcher in Chin-Mieng Wang.

Mussina is probably my least favorite Yank. Didn't want him in the first place, and thought it was one of Brian Cashman's all-time worst signings -- and that's saying something -- to give the Stanford Stoic that ridiculous contract that pays him 16 mil a season. That's just throwing good money after bad, as my dad would always say. Well, not always, just when it was called for.

For reasons I can't quite put my finger on, I hate almost everything about Mussina, from that stupid back bend he does before every pitch to the his grating excuses after every game he gets shelled. Which lately is every game.
Last night Mussina got beat up again, surrendering two more homers and a double to Manny Ramirez, which makes only three HRs Mussina has served up to Ramirez in less than a week. In fact, check this out: in his last 26 ABs against Mussina, Ramirez has 13 hits, including 4 dingers, and 13 runs batted in. And careerwise, Ramirez now has the 3rd most HRs alltime of any Yankees opponent. Maybe that game plan isn't working, Mike. Just walk the fucking guy next time and save us the heartache.

And maybe that should go for the whole Yankees staff when it comes to facing Manny. I mean, Yankee Killer doesn't do justice to the way this guy tears the heart out of Yankee fans. It's more like Yankee Mass Murderer at this point. At least last night Farnsworth threw a 100 MPH heater behind his dreadlocked cabeza and shook him up a little. (Farnsworth got himself a 3-game suspension for his troubles.) Nothing else seems to work.

Usually after such a stinker, Mussina says stuff like, Well, I just couldn't get Strike 3, or The guy hit a good pitch. But last night he was more succinct and sounded more down and defeated than usual: “I missed so bad a couple times that I can’t remember what I tried to do. It was just lousy.” Got that right.

Saw a rare sight in an NBA game the other night when the Toronto Raptors played the Nets: one team had 5 white guys on the floor at once! But wait, it gets better: after a timeout, while Sam Mitchell, the Raptors' black head coach, was resting his star, Chris Bosh, the 5 players he sent in were not only all white, but I don't believe any of them were American-born; instead it was an Italian, an Argentine, a few guys from Eastern Europe, etc. Imagine a whole team of Europeans in the NBA? How would they do? You don't have to answer now, get back to me later...

This post is gonna go all over the place, so get used to it. I am in the process of emptying one of my notebooks before all the contents get too old. And I do it all for you, the reader. And when I say the reader, I mean The Reader, as in one reader. But one's enough, two would be a crowd and three a stampede.

NBA playoffs start this weekend, tomorrow in fact, and after a few seconds of research, I like the San Antonio Spurs to prevail in the finals over the Detroit Pistons. But the #1 seeds are the Celtics and Lakers, which would be David Stern's wet dream of course. And for that reason alone I hope it doesn't happen.

My 76ers as the 7 seed in the East have to take on the #2 Pistons in the first round. How can I like their chances? I can't, and hope to just extend 'em as long as possible. (That's what she said.) But seriously, just a few weeks ago the Sixers were riding high, but the last 7 or 8 games they played like crap, and when they played well they had crap luck.

The other night the 76ers eked out a 1-point win over the Cavs, and ran off the court in celebration. In fact, they reached their locker room before an official informed them that the referees were reviewing videotape to see if Sam Dalambert had fouled a Cavalier with no time remaining. Sure enough, that's just what they reviewed, and after 2 foul shots, Cleveland had the 1-point win. Talk about a tough way to lose. But at least the Sixers have a puncher's chance. Hopefully that puncher is Jerry Quarry and not Gerry Cooney.
Speaking of fighting, check out this transition, I just finished a great, terrific, brilliant, incredible book by Tom Holland called Persian Fire about the epic Greek-Persian wars of the late 5th Century BC. It just might be the single best written history book I have ever read. If takes you so much into the action that I got fucking goose bumps myself waiting to take on the Great King's endless hordes of soldiers myself. I don't know, maybe it's another life thing, when my great great great to the 10th power grandfather might have fought at Salamis or Marathon or Thermopylae.

Actually, I've been told my mother's family can be traced back to the small island of Samos, which is way off the mainland, in fact it's so far on the Eastern side of the Aegean Sea that it's right off the coast of Turkey. And unfortunately, at least according to this account, the Samians don't come off all that well in this book. When it comes time to play their part in the Ionian uprising against the King's satraps, they instead sell out their fellow Greeks to the Persians. And they did it for money, for trade, because they saw the Greek colonies as threats to their business. So it goes.

But oh those wacky Spartans! Even the Persians knew of their reputation. One great anecdote in the book tells of two Spartans who were sent off the battlefield just before a battle was to commence because of severe eye inflammations. But one of the warriors defied his instructions to remain on the sidelines and instead made his way back to the front lines and ultimately died in the heavy fighting. The other warrior, when he finally returned to his village, was now branded a "trembler." As Holland describes it:

"There, on his arrival, he had been greeted with revulsion. His fellow citizens had branded him a 'trembler': the single most shameful word in the Spartan lexicon. Harshly unfair -- but it was only to be expected, in a city where courage was reckoned the greatest virtue, that one slightest hint of cowardice in a citizen would doom him to ignominy.
The life of a trembler in Sparta was signally wretched. Patches sewn into his cloak would alert the whole city to his disgrace. Whether sitting down at his mess table or attempting to join in a ballgame, he would be icily ignored by all of his former friends. At festivals, he would have to stand up or make way for anyone who demanded it -- even the most junior.
Cruelest cut of all, his daughters, if he had any, would find it impossible to secure a husband: a typically Spartan eugeniest measure designed to prevent the taint of cowardice from being inherited by future generations."

After finishing Persian Fire and still being fired up, I had a strong desire to watch it all play out again, and so I went to the video store, in my case the library, where I had seen it before, to find 300, the recent computer-generated/assisted film that got bad reviews but did big box office. Alas, they were out of that, but instead I stumbled upon the first season of Rome, the HBO miniseries. My verdict after the first two episodes: superb. Like Cecil B. DeMille meets I Claudius, with a little Martin Scorcese thrown in. With more sex and nudity of the good kind than you can shake a dick at.

Just when my pride at being Greek was at its absolute apex, I sat down to watch the Hillary-Barack debate on ABC the other night. Moderating, badly, this faceoff was nerdy Charles Gibson and the diminutive Hellenic himself, George Stephanopoulos. According to my cousin, none other than Linda Stephanopoulos, he's actually related to her family somehow, and maybe mine by extension. (That's what she said.) But as the debate wore on, I can't tell you how many times I yelled FUCKING DOUCHEBAG! at either jerkoff Gibson or the dwarfish Greek because of their ludicrous lines of questioning the candidates.
Gibson proved himself a willing mouthpiece for the Oligarchy as he constantly badgered Clinton and Obama with questions about the sacred capital gains tax and taxes in general. With every follow-up he tried to get the candidates to swear, pledge, promise not to raise a single tax at any point no matter what the economic circumstances. Seven years into a draining, expensive war that has decimated the military, seven years into massive tax breaks for the very wealthy, while the economy falls into recession, it is taboo to talk about raising taxes on the well-to-do or at least somehow lowering the tax burden on the middle class while gas prices skyrocket and the housing crisis descends further into chaos. At least according to plutocrat Gibson, sitting there with his glasses perched absurdly low on his nose.

Stephanopoulos proved himself no less a craven fool and no more discerning a moderator than his colleague as he too fell in line with a sensationalist line of questioning no doubt preordained by his higher-ups for maximum shock, and therefore rating, effect. Gotta hold that coveted 18-22 demographic, after all. The best way to put it is the little gnome made me ashamed to be Greek, and that's saying something considering the Hellenic High I was on reading of the exploits of my lineal ancestors distinguishing themselves long ago on the plains of Marathon, such that close to Three Millenia later, it is yet noted whenever the annals of bravery and courage are chronicled.

At the close of the debate, Gibson and Stephanapoulos stood side by side with self-satisfied grins at a job well done. Except it turns out while Stephanapoulos was standing up, Gibson was seated in some sort of folding chair, and yet they were the same size. Not a good decision on little Georgie's part. He looked more like a ventriloquist's dummy than a network journalist, and I couldn't have been happier.

By the way, I thought Hillary acquitted herself quite well, taking the high road most times, and came across as very likable. And I am far from a Clinton lover, in fact quite the opposite, of which I spoke to you of which. I thought Obama was not at his sharpest, and at times I was distracted by the manner in which his head was tilted while he responded to the childish queries of the network stooges posing as moderators. Surely his head is not so heavy that he cannot square it up straight while he talks. Watch for it next time you see him. If I'm his handlers, I'm all over that.

The low point was when a dimwit representing an actual Pennsylvania voter, given the opportunity to ask the candidates a question, used her opportunity to accuse Obama of hating the country, obvious to everyone since he does not wear a flag lapel. That was the kind of night it was, the kind of country we're apparently stuck with, the kind of true mess we find ourselves at this late point in the early 21st century. Enjoy!

Loss Of A Gentle Giant

Got some real sad news today. Anthony Tortora, one of my closest high school mates and a fellow member of the football team, the McBurney Highlanders, also known as the Fighting Green Machine, just passed away on April 9th. He was living with his family and doing well up in Albany. Weird thing is just two weeks ago my high school had a reunion. Tony couldn't make it, but my friend John got in contact with him recently and I was planning on doing the same.

I mean, I know we're getting up there now, my fellow '78 alums, but 47 is still too damn young for a man to die. I read in his obituary just now that he was coaching Pop Warner football, and somehow that really made me feel good, that our former starting offensive tackle (#73 below) was passing on his experience and knowledge of the game to the little ones, as well as his crazy sense of humor and his exuberance to live life to its fullest. My heart goes out to his wife and the three young kids he leaves behind.

April Can't Fool Me

Well, it sure doesn't feel like a baseball opening day today; the calendar says April, but outside the weather feels more like mid-November: another wet, sunless, dreary drag of a day.

Yesterday the Yankees were rained out of their first game, delaying for at least one more day the beginning of what already is being hyped to death as the last opening day of the final season at old Yankee Stadium; the new, unnecessary, faux Yankee Stadium will open up for the 2009 season. (Unlike the new Citi Field replacing Shea Stadium, where the case can be made that a new facility for the Mets has long been needed.) In a City where scores of new high-rise luxury office and residential high rises increasingly mar the sky scape, it's only fitting that an irreplaceable, history-drenched sports museum of a stadium will be razed to make way for a building designed to look like it's 100 years old. Such is the heartless essence of the New York real estate market and its devastating effect on neighborhood after neighborhood, memory after memory.

Tonight's game is against the Toronto Blue Jays, who for the seventh or eighth year running is supposed to be a "much improved" team, but more of my focus will be on the NBA tonight, with the Philly Sixers looking to regain their winning ways against the New Jersey Nets.

My recent sports-viewing policy has been to almost totally ignore the first 10 games of the MLB season. I mean, the season is so darn long, and the opening few games so meaningless in terms of individual stats as well as overall team standings, that it's best to let the season establish itself before giving it anything more than a cursory glance at the box scores in the morning paper. That's my theory, and you're free to partake of it as you wish.

Maybe it's the dismal New York weather, but I just can't get into baseball right now. It seems that lately for me it's been more of a case of hating the New York Mets and despising the Boston Red Sox and their respective collections of annoying followers that drives my passion for the game. That's what it's come to; I'm just being honest. As long as any other team besides the aforementioned Mets and Red Sox win it all, I'm okay with that. Sure, it would be nice to add another World Series title as the ghosts of old Yankee Stadium witness this final season at the same ballpark where Gehrig and Ruth and Joe D. and Mantle and Berra once plied their trades. As no other than Derek Jeter put it: "Just 100 yards away? That's not too far for the ghosts to go." Okay, Derek, but why should they have to move at all?

As for the 76ers, after beating the Bulls last Wednesday 121-99 to move two games over .500 at 37-35 and further solidify their playoff chances, the Sixers have dropped a pair of games, losing at home to Phoenix 107-93 and then a close one at Cleveland, 91-88. Heading into tonight's game at the Meadowlands, it's important to not fall under .500 again, if just for the collective psyche of the club. Plus, the schedule doesn't let up from here on out with 8 games remaining. The Sixers are just a game and a half out of the 5th seed in the Eastern Conference. Following tonight's Nets game, the Sixers play a home-and-home series against Atlanta; then home games against the Pistons and Pacers; followed by games at Washington, home to the Cavs, and then on the road against Charlotte. I'll take winning 6 of those 8 games right now, which would give us a 43-39 record heading into the playoffs -- not bad for a team that almost literally crawled back from the dead (an 18-30 record in January).