Take Two?

YANKS-METS playing a rare two-stadium Subway Series doubleheader today/tonight. Unfortunately for my fellow Yankees fans, Mets are crushing us 15-5. Carlos Delgado had a good season in the 1st game: driving in 9 runs and smashing 2 HRs. If I told you his second homer -- an absolute moon shot to the old Yankees bullpen -- came off Yanks reliever LaTroy Hawkins, would you be even remotely surprised? How could you be? This guy gives putrid a bad name. He had an ERA over 6 coming into the game, and now it's a case of If 6 Was 9, which it will be. This guy is not only letting in 6 of his own runs a game, but what about the inherited baserunners he lets in every outing. This is one of Brian Cashman's more boneheaded moves, and that's saying something. The guy has absolutely nothing left, and I don't even have the heart if that's the right word to look up Hawkins' salary this year; it's gotta be something obscene that Cashman threw at this guy to come ply his trade in the Bronx.

Mets shill Mike Lupica was whining about the Yankees having such an easy stretch recently: "The Yankees really are in the middle of one of the softest interleague schedules in the history of the known universe: Astros, Padres, Reds, Pirates. And, well, our kids from Shea." Lupica can't resist taking shots at the Yanks, even if he did cloak it with a knock at the Mets. What can't be denied is that nobody would have heard of him if he didn't ride the wave of New York Yankees championships back in the late 1970s (writing several books about the team in the process) while he worked for the Daily News. Now that he's on the Wilpons' dick, however, he takes a minimum of 2-3 shots in his lame Sunday "Shooting from the Lip" column.

The irony is that the Mets hosted the mighty Mariners of Seattle earlier this week, owners of the worst record in MLB coming into Shea at 26-49, and yet the Mets were lucky to salvage the last game after getting absolutely humiliated at home the first two games. In fact, the first game they were shut out by M's knuckleballer R.A. Dickey -- which come to think of it sounds like a name Bart Simpson would use on a prank call to Moe's Tavern. Dickey came into the game with a 5.77 ERA, and had lost 11 of his last 12 decisions. He got well on the Mets, though, but in fairness seeing a knuckleball for the first time in who knows how long can't be easy for the hitters.

Ex-Yankee Shawn Chacon was first suspended by the Astros for insubordination, then waived, after his run-in with GM Ed Wade. Actually, it was more of a physical attack than a run-in. After Wade informed him he was going to the bullpen, Chacon took him by the neck and pushed him to the ground, if you can picture that. This is not the first sign of disturbing behavior by Chacon, but it could be he just burned his last chance in the bigs.

Mets have a nice 12-game stretch coming up: 4 against Yanks, 4 vs. Cards, then 4 with Phils. Cards are a surprise team, 10 games over .500, while Phils have been sucking lately (10 runs scored in last 5 games) but they're due to break out offensively any day now.

The 9th inning of the Mets-Yankees game at Yankee Stadium just started and it's almost 6:00. The next game is at Shea and is set to begin at 7:30. Unless the teams are airlifted, it looks like that start will be pushed back a bit. But wait, Wilson Betemit just drove in a run, cutting it to 15-6! John Sterling senses a comeback! But no, it's over. Mets win, Thuuuuuuuuuuuhhh Mets Win!

Now it's off to Shea for 3 more games this weekend. Guess who starts for the Yankees tonight at Shea? Sidney Ponson! I'd rather have Shawn Chacon pitching the second game. Maybe Cashman is working the phones trying to pull off a big deal for pitching between games of the doubleheader. With no Hidecki Matsui available, hitting .323, Yanks are gonna need all the help they can get tonight against old friend Pedro Martinez in Game 2.

Sacrilegious Satirist Ceases

Knew it right away, before I heard it officially, because some things you just sense. Someone on my clock radio mentioned something about comedian George Carlin this morning at about 7, and somehow I knew that could only mean one thing: the man was dead.

Got to work and hit The Times website for the obit, then Wikipedia...

Growing up in NYC, Harlem, Carlin wanted to be Danny Kaye, the "rubber-faced" film star. Carlin had a plan to become real funny in radio, then the movies would surely call. Instead broke into comedy on television. Went on Carson, Sullivan, wore a suit, even had a recurring role on a sitcom (That Girl)! Played the mainstream game, but ultimately hated it. Reinvented himself in a way. Ditched the suit, wore what he wore in real life, and found his true comedic calling.

23 comedy albums. 14 HBO specials (his best work in my opinion). 3 bestselling books. Shit, even 23 episodes of his early 1990s Fox sitcom where he played a New York cab driver! Rated 2nd-best standup comic of all time, behind only Richard Pryor and just ahead of Lenny Bruce, by Comedy Central, the final authority on all matters mirthful. 1st person to host Saturday Night Live.

But of all the numbers, Carlin's legacy will undoubtedly be shaped by those 7 dirty words -- Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker and Tits -- the Heavy Seven, as he called them in the original routine that became a moral outrage before taking on new life as a landmark Supreme Court case relating to freedom of speech and obscenity -- the intersection where Carlin did his best work.

As a keen word-watcher Carlin would have been amused at some of the adjectives used today to describe his comedy; they ranged from the medical-sounding "Splenetic" to old standbys like "Irreverant" "Acerbic" and "Acid-Tongued."

Actually the craziest thing I read about Carlin all morning was on the Entertainment Tonight link I followed from Wikipedia: "ET breaks the news that comedian George Carlin has died from heart failure." Just say the guy is dead, stop with all the "breaks the news" bullshit. A little respect for a guy who hated people who for whatever reason corrupt the language for their own selfish ends. That's why in his best routines his words are like finely honed spears that he uses to demolish the hypocrisy of everyday modern life, and it's why as long as people put the words funny and guy together, the name George Carlin will come up first in a lot of places.

Just a few days ago he was named as the next recipient of the Mark Twain Award, which is one of those deals where you go to Washington and there's kind of a retrospective of your work and people roast you in a very PBS kind of way. I think it would have been cool to see how Carlin took to being honored like that. One thing's certain: Carlin reads just as funny on the page as he does from a stage, which is something else he has in common with Twain.

Some favorite Carlin:
"Think of how stupid the average person is, and realize half of them are stupider than that."

"Always do whatever's next."

"I would never want to be a member of a group whose symbol is a guy nailed to two pieces of wood."

"If God had intended us not to masturbate, he would've made our arms shorter."

"I think this species had great, great promise, with this great upper brain that we have, and I think we squandered it on God and Mammon. And I think this culture of ours has such promise, with the promise of real, true freedom, and then everyone has been shackled by ownership and acquisition and status and power."

"When you're born you get a ticket to the freak show. When you're born in America, you get a front row seat."

"I think we're already circling the drain as a species, and I'd love to see the circles get a little faster and a little shorter."

"I don't have pet peeves, I have major psychotic hatreds."

"How come when it us it's an abortion, and when it's a chicken it's an omelet."

"People who go to Las Vegas, you've got to question their fucking intellect to start with. Traveling hundreds and thousands of miles to essentially give your money away to a large corporation is kind of fucking moronic."

"I look at it this way. For centuries now, man has done everything he can to destroy, defile and interfere with nature: clear-cutting forests, strip-mining mountains, poisoning the atmosphere, over-fishing the oceans, polluting the rivers and lakes, destroying wetlands and aquifers... So when nature strikes back and smacks him on the head and kicks him in the nuts, I enjoy that. I have absolutely no sympathy for human behavior whatsoever. None. And no matter what kind of problem humans are facing, whether it's natural or man-made, I always hope it gets worse."

"If you think there's a solution, you're part of the problem."

"There is no hope because we're locked in by commerce. The whole idea of goods and possessions has completely corrupted the human experience, along with religion, which I think limits the intellect."

"There are some two-way words, like it's okay for Curt Gowdy to say, 'Roberto Clemente has two balls on him.' But he can't say, 'I think he hurt his balls on that play, Tony, don't you? He's holding them. He must have hurt them, by God.' And the other two-way word that goes with that one is prick. It's okay if it happens to your finger. Yes, you can prick your finger, but don't finger your prick. No, no."

"I don't have hobbies; hobbies cost money. Interests are quite free."

Mets Fire Randolph, Shabbily

I first heard the Willie news at around 7 on ESPN Radio's Mike & Mike Show, except there was only one Mike this morning as usual. We all knew Randolph was on the proverbial hot seat. But why would you fire a manager on the first day of a West Coast road trip? And after a win?

It got me to thinking: What's the corollary to this in the real, non-sports world? Is there one? Maybe going on a week-long business trip with your colleagues and then getting the bad news on the first night as you're settling into your hotel room and thinking about ordering room service. Perhaps.

Bill Madden came on and he had no trouble blasting the Mets, I believe the words disgraceful, undignified and cowardly were peppered liberally into the conversation.

As we "speak" Omay Mineya is now getting grilled on the Mike & The Mad Dog Show, and rightly so as he tries to defend the indefensible.

Along with Willie, pitching coach/gury Rick Peterson and 1B coach Tom Nieto were also unceremoniously sacked. Jerry Manuel takes over. Thank god they kept 3B coach Sandy Alomar. You don't wanna lose baseball talent like that.

This morning Madden dished that it's Jeff Wilpon who has it in for Willie, along with assistant GM Tony Bernazard. The former resented Willie holding out for more $$$ on his last contract; the latter reportedly was undermining Randolph's standing with the players, especially those of a Latin persuasion, which let's face it is most of them.

Willie, helped by an infusion of cash into the payroll and an influx of talent onto a roster that lost 91 games under Art Howe in 2004, led the Metsies to baseball's best record just two years later, taking them to within one game of the World Series.

What sucks about this is not only the shabby way Willie and the coaches were terminated, but the fact that Mets management was swayed in their decision-making by the fans who had turned on Randolph, voicing their displeasure with loud boos at the ballpark as well as through calls to the sports talk radio shows on the team's flagship station. What's good about it is all the negative pub over at Shea; let's see the Mets play through this kind of monumental distraction the way Yankees teams have had to since just about forever.

Madden, in his Daily News column today, said of the Randolph firing: "In the history of New York baseball, there has not been a more cowardly, indecent or ill-conceived firing of a manager." This in a town where as Madden knows Boss Steinbrenner fired Yankee legend Yogi Berra after 16 games in 1985 and where Dick Howser was fired after a 100+ win 1980 regular season but a first-round playoff ouster at the hands of the KC Royals.

Ironically Willie Randolph was at the center of that storm as well. As a player he was thrown out at home at a key moment in the series, and when Howser refused to fire 3B coach Mike Ferraro as a sacrifice to the mentally deranged Steinbrenner, he was sent packing. Howser landed on his feet as manager of those very Royals, though, and just 5 years later guided them to their only World Series title. I expect Willie to get at least one other shot, probably as soon as next year. Anyway, he's due a few million dollars from the Wilpons on the remaining year of his contract, so he doesn't have to take the first situation that comes along.

So the Mets hierarchy put their heads together and came up with firing Randolph & Co. in their Anaheim hotel rooms and then communicating the news by e-mail to Mets beat writers at 3:00 AM Nueva York time -- elevating incompetence to a new level and providing a neat little "How Not To" lesson in public relations management.

I thought Rick Peterson was a solid pitching coach. The Mets had the 4th best ERA in the National League -- how else exactly are you supposed to judge a pitching staff? He also seemed like a character, but I had no idea how much until I read his parting statement. As they say in the business, give me some of what this guy is smoking:

"Homes go through renovations, and sometimes you have to make changes when things don't to well, and I'm part of that change. I'm the hardwood floor that's getting ripped out, and they're going to bring in the Tuscany tile. It'll be great."

Great, Rick? C'mon! How about a little East Coast venom toward your old employer. But no. Instead he goes from This Old House to channeling that old Eastern League swami, the Dalai Llama. Peterson continues.

"I wear this bracelet because I'm very in tune with Eastern philosophy and universal law. The rings (on the bracelet) signify faith, compassion, equanimity and love. The Eastern language writes in symbols, and the symbol for crisis they also use for opportunity. I've been given a great opportunity here, and as I walk out that door, I seek my next stop. I walk out in peace. Hopefully the Tuscany tile will do a lot better than a hardwood floor."

I imagine a big gong being sounded, and Peterson in his trademark zippered-up windbreaker walking off into the California sunset or sunrise or whatever position the sun happens to be at. I mean, is this a pitching coach or Ricky Williams after a few bong hits? Just when I thought nobody could top Kobe Bryant's bizarre we-wet-the-bed postgame comments the other night for sheer head-scratchability, along comes Peterson and his Zen Yogi-ism.

Obviously it was all Tom Nieto's fault, just like Rick Down's before him. What's priceless is how Mike Lupica takes so many shots at the Yankees, yet it was the ownership team that he is so close to that perpetrated this disastrous PR nightmare that is sure to have a long, long shelf life, perhaps even an aisle of its own, in the New York tabloid supermarket of the mind.

Freestyle Friday

WHAT'S THIS I SEE? Why, it's that rarest of occurrences: a New York Yankees game on Free-TV. Must be Friday the 13th. Taking the mound against the Houston Astros, one Joba Chamberlain. But more on that later.

Tim Russert died this afternoon. Russert's the NBC news guy who hosted Meet the Press on Sunday mornings for a long time, wrote some books about his old man, moderated some debates, and used to appear regularly on the Imus radio show, where he came across as a regular guy. I haven't listened to Imus for more than about an hour combined since he first came back, so I couldn't tell you if they patched things up, although I think I read somewhere that they did. Russert died at 4:07 pm, so congratulations to all of you who had that time in your Celebrity Death office pools.

This is what is known on the Internets as Live Blogging, as opposed to your more traditional Taped Blogging, or Previously Recorded Blogging. And yes, this Post was filmed in front of a live studio audience, just like all your classic Odd Couple episodes.

The Willie Watch is on: Daily News reported on its Website that the Mets manager will be terminated this weekend -- well, not that he will be executed, it's just they will fire him from his job. Although for some fed-up, unhinged Mets fans the former would be infinitely more satisfying, judging from the venom and rancor they seem to work up, at least if calls to WFAN are any indication. Willie, you're better off getting out of there. At 31-34, with just under 100 games remaining in the season, it ain't getting much better any time soon over in Flushing.

The Phillies are on a major roll, and now sit perched in first, 7 1/2 games in front of the Metropolitans as we speak, or as you listen, take your pick. And while their stellar 2B Chase Utley would seem a no-brainer of an MVP pick (.313, 21 HRs, 58 RBIs), there's another 2B, in the same division, who's having an amazing season at the plate: Dan Uggla of the upstart Florida Marlins (36-30) is hitting .298, with 18 HRs and 48 RBIs, including some unbelievable recent clutch hits. I think it's a battle of the killer U's at 2B for NL MVP -- but if Met fans favorite Larry Jones (.414, 15 HRs) can remain healthy and his Braves in contention, then the nation may indeed turn its lonely eyes to Chipper and his assault on the unthinkable .400.

If Utley wins, it will make the Phillies the first team since the early-1960s Yankees to have 3 consecutive MVP winners: first Ryan Howard in 2006, then Jimmy Rollins last year. Yanks did it with Roger Maris-Mickey Mantle-Elston Howard.

In fact, Philly is leading 20-2 tonight over the Cardinals. Missed extra point, safety. Actually, Utley has a HR and 3 RBI, Howard has 2 and 5 RBI.

Speaking of unbelievable years, no Yankee fan, no baseball fan, no hairy Himalayan shaman saw this coming: Johnny Damon hitting .320, with 6 HRs, 31 RBIs, 11 steals! C'mon!

Hidecki Matsui, that's another story. Hitting .322, another solid year, and yesterday, his birthday, he had a grand slam to propel the Yankees to their 4-1 win over Oakland. Now we'll see if they can stay above .500. They've been at the .500 mark something like 25 times already this season. Maybe that's what they are: mediocre. A long way to go, so we'll find out if the pitching holds up.

I guess I owe Iron Mike Mussina an apology. I more than wrote him off earlier this year on this very blog. He's leading the AL in wins with 9, or he's right up there, pitching with guts and moxie. If he keeps this up, he gets his first 20-win season, and then people will start thinking of him as a Hall of Famer. He's already got 259 wins lifetime. Now that I'm praising him, I'm sure he will go into the tank again. This is what's known as the official WardensWorld Jinx. But seriously, if you go back into the archives, you will find me right way more often than wrong when it comes to just about everything. And I'm sure you wouldn't have it any other way.

How about those Lakers! Did you read about this, did you hear about this. They were right on the verge last night of evening the NFL Finals at 2 games apiece with one more game left on their home court. They had a 24-point lead after one quarter -- a record for those keeping score at home -- and were coasting along, but then the Celtics turned on the defensive screws. They switched Paul Pierce onto Kobe Bryant, and that totally bottled up the supremely annoying Lakers star in the second half. The Lakers as a result were held to a measly 36 total points in the half, and that ain't getting it done even in the WNBA -- you know, the basketball league that doesn't currently have a long shadow of suspicion cast over the integrity of its game officials.

No one could possibly be enjoying David Stern's misery more than me; it's just not bleedin' possible. Call it Schadenfreude if you must, I call it messin' with the kid.

Yanks up 1-0 after 3 innings. Joba threw just 19 pitches through 2, got into a slight jam in the 3rd, but this is his best start of the 3 so far.

By the way, Minute Maid Park, where the Astros play, looks like the ultimate HR hitters park. For one thing, it's 315 feet down the leftfield line. Then there's the low wall, a la the old Tigers Stadium. Now, centerfield at its deepest is a mammoth 436 feet away, plus there's the cool hill out there. Michael Kay just said that in the last 3-game series here against the Brewers there were 17 HRs flying out of the yard, 10 by Milwaukee.

Maybe some of the slumping Yank hitters can get well against this poor Astros pitching staff. Tonight it's the immortal Shawn Chacon, the ex-Yank himself. Let's face it. Derek Jeter is having a subpar season, maybe his worst as a pro: .272, 3 HRs, 27 RBI, just 4 SBs.

Robinson Cano, I don't know what happened here. My pick for the next Rod Carew is hitting in the very low .200's. Maybe they should send has butt down to the minors for a few weeks, maybe he needs a good kick in the ass. But that's just me, I'm Old School to the bone.

Yankees announcer Michael Kay just said on the air (of course it was on the air, he's not sitting here next to me, although funny story: I once sat next to him in a Manhattan restaurant called Angels on I believe 60th Street off 1st avenue, not that me and Mike were hanging, I was with my date, he was with his, but I literally heard every word he said the entire meal, including how he thinks Steinbrenner really likes him and how he used to have a severe Diet Coke addiction, at one point guzzling one can every half inning, for a total of 18 every game) that Newsday.com is reporting that Willie Randolph has this weekend to get the Mets ship turned around, otherwise it's curtains -- a slight spin on the Daily News story that claims he's in "grave danger" of getting sacked this weekend.

Of course, if "closer" Billy Wagner hadn't blown 3 straight saves over the past week, and 5 on the year, maybe we're not having this discussion, and by we I mean us.

And while we're at it, Billy Boy, maybe next time someone sticks a mike in your mug and asks why the Mets lost you won't call out your teammates for their failures; instead here's an idea: just say nothing or better yet shut the fuck up altogether. Dang fool.

Astros 1B Lance Berkman also has to get serious NL MVP consideration. He's hitting .359 with 19 HRs and 57 RBI. But Houston's 10 games behind the Cubs in their division, and that's not gonna help him any.

Last year's AL MVP, Alex Rodriguez, has a long way to go if he's gonna make another run at it. He is starting to get hot, and entering the game he was 12 for his last 25. He's hitting .318 with 10 HRs and 33 RBIs, not bad considering the time he spent on the DL.

Just saw disgraced, failed politician Rudy 'Nosferatu' Giuliani at the Yanks-Astros game, sitting first row behind directly home plate. His snarled mouth is going a mile a minute, bringing to mind a spin on a familiar old adage: How do you know he's full of absolute shit, because his name is Rudy Giuliani.

Yanks-'Stros tied at 1-1 now. The immortal Ty Wiggington just knocked in his 11th run of the season. You can't stop Ty, you can only hope to contain him.

Back to the NBA, my impression from watching parts of the first 4 games is that Kevin Garnett, as much of an impact as he has on a game rebounding and playing defense, just cannot shoot the basketball. I mean, he's not all-time bad like Ben Wallace or Dennis Rodman --- completely bereft of offensive game -- but it gets ugly around when he has the rock in his hand and starts trying to, ahem, "maneuver" around the lane for a shot attempt. Garnett has hoisted up some of the fugliest shots you're gonna see outside of a New York City playground.

After the devastating loss, Kobe was asked how he and his teammates would bounce back for Game 5. He responded with some of the more bizarre comments you're likely to hear in any sport or in any context period except perhaps for Washington politics:

"We'll whine about it tonight," Kobe began. "A lot of wine, a lot of beer, a lot of shots, maybe 20 of 'em," he continued. But the bratty Bryant was just getting started.

"We just wet the bed," Bryant told reporters. "A nice big one too. One of the ones you can't put a towel over. It was terrible."

Didn't Kobe predict this Lakers team as presently constituted was gonna win 3 or 4 titles before he retires? Better get started, or better yet get Bavetta.

Hatred of Kobe and Phil Jackson and all things Los Angeles and Laker over the years (except for the Wilt Chamberlain teams in the '70s) is the only conceivable reason I find myself rooting for the Boston Celtics, or any team from Boston for that matter. The frontrunning L.A. fans, celebrity and otherwise, are enough to turn the stomach.

Speaking of which, did you catch what my fellow blogger Curt Schilling wrote about Bryant the other day? Let's just say it wasn't very complimentary toward the pampered prick. Schilling attended Game 2 in Boston wearing a Larry Bird #33 jersey, and then the next day on his blog 38pitches, in a long post that begins with a little baseball talk, the injured Red Sock offers the following observation about Bryant:

From the first tip until about 4 minutes left in the game I saw and heard this guy bitch at his teammates. Every TO he came to the bench pissed, and a few of them he went to other guys and yelled about something they weren’t doing, or something they did wrong. No dialog about “hey let’s go, let’s get after it” or whatever. He spent the better part of 3.5 quarters pissed off and ranting at the non-execution or lack of, of his team. Then when they made what almost was a historic run in the 4th, during a TO, he got down on the floor and basically said ‘Let’s f’ing go, right now, right here” or something to that affect. I am not making this observation in a good or bad way, I have no idea how the guys in the NBA play or do things like this, but I thought it was a fascinating bit of insight for me to watch someone in another sport who is in the position of a team leader and how he interacted with his team and teammates. Watching the other 11 guys, every time out it was high fives and “Hey nice work, let’s get after it” or something to that affect. He walked off the floor, obligatory skin contact on the high five, and sat on the bench stone faced or pissed off, the whole game. Just weird to see another sport and how it all works. I would assume that’s his style and how he plays and what works for him because when I saw the leader board for scoring in the post season his name sat up top at 31+ a game, can’t argue with that. But as a fan I was watching the whole thing, Kobe, his teammates and then the after effects of conversations. He’d yell at someone, make a point, or send a message, turn and walk away, and more than once the person on the other end would roll eyes or give a ‘whatever dude’ look.

That's some good stuff right there. Imagine if famous people in history had their own blogs where they could let off steam or get off a good insult and in an instant the world would know their feelings. If only Bill Gates was born a few millennia earlier. Or was it Al Gore?

Still 1-1 bottom 6, Joba still in the game in humid Houston. Make that after 6, Chamberlain just got through the inning. Posada just threw out a base runner; I think Michael Kay said it was his first caught stealing of the year.

A few absolute must-reads if you're at all curious about that fateful Game 2 Playoff Game between the Lakers and Sacramento Kings in 2002 that is the center of controversy. Corrupt ref Tim Donaghy has pointed to that game as evidence that the league goes out of its way to favor the teams it wants to advance in the playoffs, singling out veteran ref Dick Bavetta as the leading henchman. In an article titled "On Further Review, That Game Was Badly Officiated," New York Times sports media columnist Richard Sandomir went back to the videotape to watch a replay of that game, and what he found was

"...a master class in bad calls, missed calls and miscalls that was sloppy enough to undermine the notion that it was planned ineptitude.

It didn’t require Donaghy’s accusations to divine that Dick Bavetta, Ted Bernhardt and Bob Delaney had a lousy game, and that their work might have led to the Kings losing, 106-102. Their night of underachievement caused outrage in Sacramento and prompted Michael Wilbon of The Washington Post to write, “I have never seen officiating in a game of consequence as bad as that in Game 6."

Sandomir phoned Bill Walton, who called the game on TV that night in 2002, for a comment. Despite a litany of bad calls, Walton wouldn't call it a league-orchestrated campaign that favors the teams with the superstars. Instead, the gutless Walton cops out by saying, “Referees have bad games. They’re human.” Well, as Sandomir wittily puts it:

"Their humanity was well-displayed that night in 2002, primarily in the second half." Well said.

Derek Jeter just hit his 4th HR of the season, a 390-foot shot according to Ken Singleton, also over the air, giving the Yanks a 2-1 lead. See how it works, I call a guy out, he proves me wrong. Good thing like Superman I use this power only for good. That's Jeter's 190th career homer, and he's coming up on 2,500 career hits. And Jeter's HR was the 97th allowed by Astros pitchers this season. We're full of useless facts tonight.

The Back Page, a sports blog on the New York Post website, today pointed out that back in 2002, ESPN columnist Bill Simmons wrote about the questionable officiating in the Kings-Lakers Game 6 that year, citing it as part of a pattern he called the "most disturbing subplot of the last four playoffs". Simmons then lists some of the more shady, suspicious playoff games he had seen dating to 1999. Going back to a 2000 Miami Heat-New York Knick Game 7, he writes:

Knicks advance to the conference finals ... falling out of bounds, Latrell Sprewell awarded a timeout by referee Bennett Salvatore with 2.1 seconds left even though none of the Knicks called for one ... Sprewell admits after the game that he hadn't called a timeout ... the Miami players chase the referees off the court after the game, yelling that they had been robbed ... after the game, Jamal Mashburn tells reporters, "They had three officials in their pocket" and Tim Hardaway refers to referee Dick Bavetta as "Knick Bavetta."

Then Simmons on the now-notorious Lakers-Kings Game 6 in 2002:

LA needs a win to stay alive ... from an officiating standpoint, the most one-sided game of the past decade ... at least six dubious calls against the Kings in the fourth quarter alone ... LA averaged 22 free throws a game during the first five games of the series, then attempted 27 freebies in the fourth quarter alone of Game 6.

What Simmons didn't mention, or didn't realize at the time, is a chilling fact that someone called The Sports Guy points out on The Back Page about the seven games Simmons classified as suspicious or possibly crooked: "Dick Bavetta was assigned to every one of the above games."
Anyway, chew on that for a while. Let me call it a post now.

It's still 2-1 Yanks, top of the 9th. I'm about to switch over to radio hoping for a patented Thuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh Yankees Win! call by John Sterling. He may butcher 4 or 5 HR calls a game, but he'll always have his trademark game closer. Then again, get this: the Yanks are using Kyle Farnsworth as their closer tonight, giving Mariano a rest. So it looks like I may not get to hear that Yankees Win! call after all.

Take A Bow, Bo

The word legend gets tossed around so much that it sometimes loses all meaning, such that these days you can call, say, last year's disposable reality talent series winner a legend and not be shot for it, which of course in a noble, just universe would indeed be the case. But yesterday Bo Diddley, a true pop culture legend, passed away at age 79. He left such an indelible imprint on popular music that he stands an awful good chance of never being forgotten as long as there are still electric guitars around and amplifiers to plug them into.

Because you see Bo Diddley was rock 'n' roll -- or at the very least one of a select handful who could truly be considered pioneers of a strange new sound back in the early 1950s. In songs like "Bo Diddley," "Who Do You Love," "I'm A Man" and, my favorite, "Ride On Josephine," he refined an intoxicating syncopation that quite simply never went out of rock 'n' roll fashion or lost its ability to captivate and sound fresh. Without Bo Diddley, there probably still would have been something called rock 'n' roll, but one can argue that it likely would have sounded a lot different without his hypnotic trademark rhythm.

My first impression on hearing the news was how he never got the credit he deserved for basically inventing an art form along with his much better known, more widely credited co-founding contemporaries like Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis, along with key contributions from Chicago blues legends like Muddy Waters and Willie Dixon.

According to the excellent obituary by Ben Ratliff in today's Times (and let's face it: The Times is peerless when it comes to a good in-depth obit), it always bothered Bo that he didn't get the respect the others got, to say nothing of their outsize fame and riches.
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None other than Joe Strummer of the Clash insisted on Bo Diddley as the support act for their first American tour, and sure enough in 1979 you had the unlikely sight of the 50-year-old legend entertaining punk rock fans half his age. (The Clash were known for their incongruous concert pairings; the times I saw them, their opening acts included Sam & Dave, Kurtis Blow and Grandmaster Flash.)

Years earlier, when first the Twist craze and later Surf music ousted the likes of Diddley from the pop charts, another British band was taking elements of the Bo Diddley sound and combining it with the blues to form the basis of their early recordings. So it was no surprise when those same Rolling Stones couldn't wait to share the bill in 1963 with Bo Diddley, Little Richard and the Everly Brothers, and soon Diddley was headlining his own British tour.
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The Times piece also points out another interesting fact: that the man who came to be known for such a basic, primitive rhythm had years of classical training, having studied violin from age 7 to 15. In fact,

On songs like “Who Do You Love,” his guitar style — bright chicken-scratch rhythm patterns on a few strings at a time — was an extension of his early violin playing, he said. “My technique comes from bowing the violin, that fast wrist action”... explaining that his fingers were too big to move around easily. Rather than fingering the fretboard... he tuned the guitar to an open E and moved a single finger up and down to create chords.

Before hitting it big the first time, Diddley led a hardscrabble life, working in a meat plant, as an elevator operator and in a factory, even hoping to make a living boxing professionally. Even when he made it to the Ed Sullivan Show in 1955, he played a different song than the one agreed upon, enraging the network brass and ultimately leading to a 10-year ban from television. As The Times puts it:

Mr. Diddley always believed that he and Chuck Berry had started rock ’n’ roll, and the fact that he couldn’t financially reap all that he had sowed made him a deeply suspicious man. “I tell musicians, ‘Don’t trust nobody but your mama,’ ” he said in an interview with Rolling Stone magazine in 2005. “And even then, look at her real good.”

Live Wire

Someone much wiser than me once made the case that the best thing about summer in New York City is all the free music, and none of the seemingly thousands of fans flocked around the small South Street Seaport stage to see punk legends Wire last night was likely to argue with that. Not after the reformed, reconfigured band played its first show in almost four years, before an adoring and mostly very young audience. I had seen a few other free shows at my old stomping ground the Seaport, including Luna and Son Volt, but none that even approached the size of this crowd.

"Thanks for not going to see the Eagles tonight," lead singer Colin Newman quipped a few songs into the show, to raucous applause and what used to be called guffawing in an earlier, simpler time. "When we started out in 1977, the Eagles were one thing: The Enemy!" More catcalls, general hilarity, and then from our 3rd row "seats" my friend Steve shouted out "Hotel California"! to near-universal peals of laughter, before Wire, 3 Men and a Girl now in the revamped lineup, launched into another brutally primal rhythm in remarkably tight fashion for a band that was returning after such a long layoff.

At one point the bass player mentioned that they had played CBGBs 30 years ago, and he understood it was no longer there. "It's a boutique now!" yelled Johnny Hags, obviously fueled by our short but productive pre-show stop at the Killarney Rose on Pearl Street. Oh yeah, we were on our game all night.

The band played mostly new stuff, with a few old chestnuts like a blistering-fast "1 2 x U" toward the end there. But no "Dot Dash" to our disappointment. It's always like this whenever I go see old punk bands in their new guises; I was pissed last year when the Speedies didn't play "No Substitute"; devastated when The Slits chose to ignore "Heard it Through the Grapevine" a few months ago at the Merc Lounge; and then last night, no "Dot Dash" -- an incredibly catchy raver that rightfully takes its rank among the best songs of that great 1977-79 period of British Punk. Of course the odds are against hearing all the old stuff, especially if you consider that when Wire releases its new album, appropriately titled Object 47, it will be the band's 47th record of its long career. Now, not all were full length or probably even new material, but still, it's a big back catalog from which to choose their nightly set list.

In Wire's case, me and Steve were hoping their set would be saturated with songs from their seminal first 3 albums (Pink Flag, Chairs Missing, 154) -- Dot Dash, Mr. Suit, Ex-Lion Tamer, Reuters, Lowdown, Outdoor Miner, I Am the Fly, It's So Obvious, Three Girl Rumba: incendiary bursts of offhand brilliance, punctuated throughout with great hooks, complete songs that lasted just 50 seconds, a minute, 1 minute and a half. As one of the band once famously said when asked why the early numbers were so short: The song ends when the lyrics run out.
"Dot Dash" comes with a bit of a back story. The DJs at the long-defunct punk club Hurrah's used to play the song, but we had no idea who it was; all we knew that when the song came on we would all hit the dance floor with a vengeance because it was just impossible not to, moshing about before they had a name for it, arms and limbs flailing in an orgiastic release of energy. But then later when we asked the DJ what song he had just played, all we got back was an indiscernible mumble barely audible above the din of the club. "It sounded like he said White Horse," someone would guess, while another thought he heard High Horse. This went on for a couple of months, until someone in our crowd stumbled on the great early punk compilation album The Rare Stuff, and we found out the song was called Dot Dash and it was by a group called Wire. And the rest is some kind of history.

"Who knew that Wire was a jam band!" -- Steve again -- and indeed for most of the night Wire seemed to be in some kind of trance while playing their uber-minimalist brand of industrial hardcore, like a mutant Phish crossed with Joy Division.

The opening act was called Die! Die! Die! and they too had a little Joy Division in them. The lead singer jumped into the crowd a few times--apparently that kind of stuff is big in their native New Zealand, but luckily their feedback-drenched set of punk-by-the-numbers cartunes was mercifully brief. There's a video of one of their songs from last night on YouTube (see post below) and I swear I can see myself out among the crowd, along with my buddies Steve and Johnny Hags and the rest of the assorted nouveau-hip right near the front of the stage, with their accouterments of hipsterism -- the fluffy sideburns, the tight trousers, the roll-your-own-cigarette crowd. But hey, everyone's gotta start out somewhere, and one could have done a lot worse than a free show off the river in the fresh night city air among one's fellow denizens of the demimonde.

See also:

Band On The Rise

Unforeseen Musical Directions

Frequent Mutilation

New Wave Nostalgia

Die! Die! Die! | NYC @ Seaport | May 30th, 2008

Wire | NYC @ South Street Seaport | May 30th, 2008

Free Willie!

HERE WE ARE, just a short New York Week after the Mets swept the rain-shortened Subway Series 2 to zip, yet it's the team from Flushing on the proverbial ropes, suddenly losers of 7 of 8 games, while the Bronx Bombers seem to have found their hitting shoes, winning 5 of 6 in the last week.

The Mets had to feel good as they rode the rails out of town, except for the fact that their business trip would unfortunately take them to Atlanta, where predictably the Braves took all four games. Then the Mets took their sorry show to Colorado, where they won just a single game of three against a putrid Rockies team, before finally returning home, only to drop the first game of the homestand 7-4 to the resurgent Florida Marlins.

At just 23-26, the Mets now trail the 1st Place Marlins (30-20) by 6 1/2 games.

All the negativity both on and off the field has flooded the radio waves with scores and scores of grieving Mets fans, who seem to forget that their team has sucked far more often than it has not sucked in their checkered history. Yet these Mets fans have focused all their misguided ire on one Willie Larry Randolph -- probably my favorite Yank growing up, manning 2nd base and usually batting second on those great late 1970s teams.

Now, to be fair, the Mets do have a losing record now going for more than a year, but since you can't fire all 25 players, it's easier to just fire the manager. But like their fellow crosstown underachievers the Yankees, it's the general managers who, despite basically unlimited resources, both assembled remarkably flawed teams despite the litany of talent you could cite on both teams. But it seems like all the pressure is on Willie Randolph to win games, with very little left over for Mets GM Omar Minaya.

As for the Yankees, due to some early-season injuries, backups at catcher, first base and third base have had to fill in and play far more than anyone could have expected or indeed hoped for. They are getting nothing at catcher since Jorge Posada went down, with Jose Molina, one of the 14 or 15 Molina brothers in major league baseball, not even close to hitting his weight, at .216 with no HRs and just 5 RBIs in almost 100 ABs.

When A-Rod went down, that had a ripple effect, such that no-names like Morgan Ensberg (.203 in 75 at-bats) and Chad "Impacted" Moeller (13 for his last 49) saw significant action.

And then there's the troublesome middle relief as well as late relief now that the phenomenal Joba Chamberlain is officially headed to the starting rotation. LaTroy Hawkins and Kyle Farnsworth are worse than unproven -- they've both shown a disconcerting predilection to Fuck Things Up when you count on them for anything close to an important game situation. That Bridge to Mariano just got a lot more rickety, my friends.

Throw in lack of team speed, a suspect starting rotation that, except for Chien-Ming Wang, is by turns too young or too old, an average outfield defense, and the problem of throwing out runners when Posada and his sore shoulder returns, and I don't see how this team goes on any extended winning streams like last season, or accumulates enough series wins against the mediocre teams to mount any sustained threat to the Hated, Detested Red Sox of Beantown.

The other New York team has its own set of problems and baggage, and as a Yankees fan how could I possibly be more happy watching and listening to the disaster unfold. I know it's still early in the season -- but it's not very early anymore, is it? To win the division, the Metropolitans will have to pass over and contend with three fairly good baseball teams, namely:

The Atlanta Braves; still the thorn in the Mets' thin skin, never more so than after their 4-game series sweep last week.

The Philadelphia Phillies, who put up 20 runs and 15 runs in their last two games, so they just may be swinging some hot sticks right about now.

And then the surprising Florida Marlins, now an astounding 10 games over .500 and showing no signs of cracking.

All of which point to the Mets having to fight tooth-and-nail all season long just to get into the playoffs. And given their fragile mental state, I don't see that happening. On top of an epic late season collapse last year, when they blew a seemingly insurmountable 7-game lead in the NL East, they have not been anywhere near the powerhouse club that many had predicted after acquiring perhaps the best young pitcher in the game, Johan Santana. They have played down to the level of competition so often already this year that it's hard to tell just where the Mets are. Seemingly all the pieces are in place: formidable batting lineup, solid starters, good closer. But they just don't seem to add up so far.

So it may be time to Free Willie: even though he played for the Mets late in his career, it was just never a good match. I'm sure Randolph just wanted to get his foot in the door after waiting for his chance to manage for so long, and the fact that he could stay in New York probably seemed like a positive at the time, as did the Mets' roster and payroll. But now that the Mets Nation has proven to be the world's largest outdoor insane asylum, there's no way Willie survives the All-Star Break.

It's time for a clean break. The Mets fans obviously don't appreciate one of the classiest guys not just in baseball but throughout sports. No, Mets fans, so used to all that success over the years, are demanding a winner, and heads will roll if they aren't handed their World Series trophy soon.

GM Omar Minaya has had carte blanch to acquire all the pieces of the puzzle that contenders need. He hasn't been charged with building the farm system, with just Jose Reyes and David Wright anything like homegrown talent on the roster, and both of those signings far predated Minaya's arrival. Instead, during his tenure he has brought in high-profile, big-bucks veterans like Carlos Delgado, Pedro Martinez, Paul Lo Duca, Orlando Hernandez, Billy Wagner, Carlos Beltran, Moises Alou, Tom Glavine and now Santana -- giving the Mets the illusion of championship talent without the chemistry or cohesion that championship teams always seem to have.

For me the one good thing about Randolph getting the ax is that it would make rooting against the Mets just a little bit more enjoyable. Even for a rabid anti-Met hater like myself, I would sometimes find it difficult rooting for Willie to fail. Once he is removed from the equation, rooting against the Mets will have no more restrictions. And at the end of the day, isn't that what New York sports fan dementia is all about?!

Rotten In The Apple

Sure, there's all kinds of real bad news taking place all over the world, from cyclones in Myanmar and earthquakes in China to the continuing never-ending atrocities in Africa and the Middle East, but for sheer awful recent disasters I choose to parochially focus on the just-past, disastrous Subway Series, with the New York Yankees dropping two games against hated crosstown rivals The Mets. By sheer luck I missed the entire series, shortened as it was.

Friday's game was slated to run on free TV for one of the few times this season, so naturally it poured all day, making the rain-out cancellation a foregone conclusion by gametime. Then I missed Saturday's game, having driven way upstate with some friends, whose new house contained not a single working TV. Not that the ballgame would've been on anyway, I'm just trying to paint the word picture for you.

And then Sunday, the game was an ESPN deal, start time of 8:00, and by the time I got a score on the radio it was 4-0 Mets, right after the Carlos Delgado home run that was and then wasn't, so I returned to the Office marathon on NBC, never to return to what was ultimately a horrid 11-2 loss to the Mets.

The Yanks picked right up swinging & missing versus the Mets, fresh off their feeble 26-132 effort in 4 games against the much-improved Tampa Bay Rays, a team obviously being held back by the Devil in their name all those years.

It's shaping up as the kind of season where you just hope the whole slate of games gets rained out, because guess what -- this team is not coming back this year, not this time. I know that technically last year they had a worse record before righting the ship and catching fire, almost winning the division after spotting Boston a huge lead most of the season. But that was last season. This is now. You tell me where the pitching is gonna come from. Ian Kennedy and Phil Hughes? That much-heralded duo has as many wins combined as do Ted Kennedy and Howard Hughes. And that would be none, as in zip, nada, zero.

Other teams got better, the Yankees just got older and fatter.

According to ESPN Radio, Mike Piazza just announced his retirement. Wouldn't it be a nice slap in the face to Mets fans if he goes into the Hall of Fame wearing a blue Dodgers cap instead of a blue Mets hat? Just asking...

Alas, Mets lost Game 1 of their twi-night doubleheader to Atlanta today, falling to the mighty Tom Glavine 6-1. Guess all that Mets Momentum lasted about 12 hours. How great is that.

I do think Yankees, 20-24 entering tonight's game, go on a mini-tear right about now, what with Alex Rodriguez returning, as well as just the whole law of averages saying they can't get any worse. But it still won't be enough to climb back into the division race. No, the hated Red Sox are gonna run away with this thing. Just one man's considerably informed opinion. But then you knew that...otherwise why would you be here?

But whatever run the Yankees are destined to go on, the start of that run will have to wait until tomorrow, because get this: the Yankees are already down 9-fucking-zip to the Orioles, top of the 2nd inning! That's scary. Recently resurrected Mike Mussina gave up 7 runs, although only one of them was earned. They still count, and by golly the tabloids are gonna have a field day tomorrow if this blowout remains in force. Mussina has been replaced by Ross Ohlendorf, if that makes you feel any better.

This is also not the night for the Yankees to improve on their sorry 0-22 mark in games when they trail after 7 innings. Doesn't say much when a team literally never comes back in late innings.

Just had dinner. Now it's 10-0 Orioles after a Kevin Millar long ball off Ohlendorf. Could use the forfeit rule just about now. But that's not the worst news. Between bites of my roast chicken, I hear the Birds' pitcher has plucked Derek Jeter in the left wrist with a fastball, and he has to leave the game with what very well may be a serious injury. So it's A-Rod cometh, the Captain goeth...that's the kind of year it's been, and that's the kind of year it's likely gonna remain. If you're a true Yankee hater, now is the time to tune in the radio broadcast on WCBS, where John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman are no doubt taking it very personally indeed.

I mean, drowning in last place, it's not like the Yankees can afford to tread water with Boston in the division. David Ortiz has really started to come on. After his embarrassing start, he's hitting .250 and now has 10 HRs. Kevin Youkilis is leading the AL in hitting, they also have a guy called Manny Ramirez who can hit a bit, and there are very few easy outs in the lineup on a given night. As a team the Sox are hitting close to .300 according to my Sunday paper, and I wouldn't be surprised to see them on the other side of that lofty mark in a week or two.


How's their pitching holding up, you ask. Well, last night Jon Lester tossed a no-hitter, an amazing accomplishment given where his career seemed headed when he was diagnosed with cancer a few years ago, even if it comes against the Kansas City Royals. But even after getting no-hit last night, the Royals at .259 are outhitting the Yankees at .255! You won't find a more telling stat, but if you do I'd like to know about it.

By the way, Jon Lester is only 24, and he joins Dice-K (7-0, 2.15 ERA) and Josh Beckett and Wakefield to give the Sox plenty of starting pitching. The bullpen is just as solid, with the supremely annoying but admittedly talented Jonathan Papelbon closing games. You show me any holes on this Boston team and I'll be less pessimistic than I am, but nowhere near optimistic enough to think the Yankees can take advantage of that weakness should it present itself. The Red Sox simply have all the mojo right now, while the Yanks are the cursed, snake-bitten team. The worm has indeed turned, and it's nothing but rotten in the Apple.

So with more than a quarter of the baseball season already gone, as much as it pains me to admit this, the Yankees season looks like a goner. Hey, maybe Brian Cashman can sign Roger Clemens for another $18 million, or slap some pinstripes on the other steroid clown, Barry Bonds.

Because instead of using this year and next to get younger and hungrier, we foolishly signed A-Rod, Posada and Rivera to those monster contracts, and for all the bloated payroll this team has no bench, no backups, no chemistry, and very little chance of doing anything this year if their performance so far is any indication. All that's left to make the baseball season is hopefully watching another late Mets collapse, even though it's ex-Yank Willie Randolph who will get all the blame. It's a price I'm willing to pay, especially if it means Mets fans share a little in the suffering Yankees fans are all too familiar with already.

On The Up Escalator Going Down All The Cracks

"You Are the Dummies of Another Frightened Nation, I Am a Candidate For Elevation, But When I Woke Up This Morning I'd Lost All Sensation..." Graham Parker, Empty Lives

Pouring rain all day, just got home, 6pm. End of a brutal week at work. First of all, the other proofreader's been out for the better part of 4 weeks. Not sure why. But it means I'm doing everything related to proofreading, which this week meant coming in early, staying late and bringing work home. And that translates into 40 regular hours and 10 hours of overtime. So that's gonna be a nice check come next week. Plus I did a short 2-hour freelance project on Monday night, that comes on another check. And of course there's supposed to be some sort of rebate check...on the way.

Been at AB for 17 weeks now, so getting through this week, including proofreading an entire 300-page book, another 100-page monthly, and then all the notes for 2 weekly issues, was a major step in the right direction.

I got through it, working through a major toothache the last 3 days, as well as a radically reduced sleep cycle. Got home pretty tired from the Mexico trip Sunday night, and then was up at least by 6:00 AM every day. And then because we were so behind, I took a lot of stuff home with me, 60-70 pages' worth a night, so I couldn't just hit the sack after work and catch up on the sleep I lost on vacation. I can barely keep my eyes open, and I'm not just saying that...

Last week at this time, Friday evening, I was no doubt sipping one of the following: a Corona, a Modelo, an Absolut screwgie, a glass of wine or sangria, perhaps even a Pina Colada, and it was all free, keep 'em coming, no reason to stop now, all inclusive, everything taken care of, just throw the waiter a few pesos to perpetuate good inter-country karma, because I'm like that, and that's the way it is.

Holding Pattern

6:00pm. Just got home from work. And for the first time at this job I had to bring work home with me. The other proofreader has been out for a while, and so it's been busy. My supervisor asked me to stay late, and I said I could stay till 7 or so. Then I remembered the other proofer saying he sometimes brought work home with him when he got swamped, so I suggested I could get more done taking work home with me; he went for it, and now I have about a good 4 or 5 hours' worth of stuff, with some more likely tomorrow.

I know all my loyal readers are as anxious to hear the details about my Cancun trip (which was a blast) as I am to relate them, but unfortunately my workload all but precludes it for the foreseeable near future. In addition to my regular 9-5, it looks like the rest of this week I'll be proofing at home every night and probably into and over the weekend and through to next week. Did i mention that I'm functioning on very little sleep since getting back late Sunday night, rising at 5:30 Monday morning and then 6 today? Well, now I have...

Last night it was a small document for a freelance client, a small ad firm, about 2 hours' worth of work. The next few nights it's overflow from my day job, and then I've already got another big project lined up for my Astoria library research job, and his reports are usually 110-120 pages long, so it usually takes around 7-8-9 hours to get it done, considering I not only have to edit the report but then make the changes electronically on a word doc and send it back to him.

But absolutely no complaints. I need the hours, the money, need the work itself, which they tell me builds character. Over the last month or so, it seems I've had work waiting for me on my home computer almost every night. Gotta take it when it's there, because when it's not there, well, it's hard to take it for obvious reasons. In fact, one of my main freelance clients moved their operations to the Left Coast, so it's unlikely I'll see any more work from them.

Anyway, now I must make like a tree and leave. Put an egg in my shoe and beat it. Or, as one old tomato said to the other,
We Ketchup Soon.

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.