Friday, May 30, 2008
If you haven't read VY's comments from the beginning of this week - the ones where he said he wanted to retire after his rookie year - then you either need to get you head out of your ass or read the transcripts below - they're official (not at all).
VINCE YOUNG TO FAT NEWS REPORTER:
VY: "Hey, I wanna quit football, I wanna retire."
FNR: "You want to retire after 2 years in the league?"
VY: "Who the fuck said that? I never said that."
FNR: "You said it on Monday."
VY: "Football wasn't fun anymore after my first season. I wanted out."
FNR: "So you did want to quit."
VY: "Who the fuck said I wanna quit? I never said that."
Thursday, May 29, 2008
- Signing Aaron Rowand made sense! Contract - 5 years, $60 million. Here's his stat line so far: 48 G, .331 BA, .445 OBP, 30 RBI, 21 R, 7 HR, 14 2B. Not too shabby so far.
- Signing Barry Zito didn't make sense! Contract - 7 years, $126 million. Here's his stat line so far: 1-8, 51.0 IP, 5.65 ERA, 64 hits, 28 walks (1.80 WHIP for you fantasy nerds - me), 27 K's. But hold on, let's look a bit deeper. In his last 4 starts, he's gone at least 5 innings or more and given up 3 ER or less. He's 1-2 in these games. Why? Cause the Giants stink. They don't score runs for him. They don't score runs for anyone, for that matter (28th out of 30 teams). Barry's ranked 118 out of 130 in run support in he majors, of pitchers with at least 40 IP. It's gotta be tough going out there every 5th day knowing your team scores 3.18 runs per game for you, especially when you have the weight of the 2nd richest contract for a pitcher on your shoulders and you also just plain stink. Not hurting his chances with the ladies, though...
Chipper Jones is hitting .418, still. He named his kid Shea cause he hits well there. Sound like a guy who sold his soul to the devil for hitting ability to you? Cause it sure does to me. Apparently, he also likes to fish.
- Howard Watch: 75 K's through 54 games. On Pace for 224 K's. Yikes.
We all loved Sean Penn as Jeff Spicoli in, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, he played a great burnout character. Plus, it was before Penn went out and became an insufferable douchebag!
To Penn's right is Khalil Greene, incumbent shortstop for the San Diego Padres. And what's up with that name anyway? Is he black? Is he Jewish? Nope, he's white! He also wins the all-time social profiling award for newspaper box scores.
Look, I need to get a few things off my chest, so either continue to read, or keep reloading the page until AK posts another article about how much smarter he is than everyone else in the world.
1. Who the fuck told women that those big stupid sunglasses look good? People that wear these look so fucking stupid, I almost pity them - almost. I saw a woman today in the Rockefeller Center Concourse that was wearing a long gold trench coat, those huge retarded sunglasses (inside of an area that is underground) and a fake tan that looked like it came out of the deck-staining section of Home Depot. And she was buying a bacon-egg-and-cheese from Dunkin Donuts! Hey ugly, YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ANYONE! Just because you vacuum some rich guy's cock on occasion, it does not make you special. Die.
2. Just a tip for everyone out there in case they run into me on the subway - if you try and get in the car before I'm out of it - man, woman, child, invalid - you will catch a hard shoulder or a lugey on the back of your shirt/blouse/skin. I don't care if you have a knife and want to kill me, the obedience of my own personal rules is more important.
3. People who walk around and play with their fucking treos at 7AM should be suffocated with a grocery bag. It's 7AM! You'll be at work in a couple of hours, so shove that fucking thing up your ace and try and walk faster than a crippled 5 year old. I can't tell you how many times my path of direction has been cut off by one of these fuckfaces, tapping away, super excited to read a stupid email from his fatso boss. Oh yeah, which reminds me, if you work with me, just for reference, I delete any email in my inbox that comes in after normal working hours out of principal. I don't care if it gets me canned, because if you're thinking about work at fucking midnight while you watch reruns of CSI with your fat stupid wife, crash your car into a telephone pole.
4. To all people who walk in the wrong direction on a subway platform, staircases, and sidewalks - MOVE TO LONDON IF YOU'RE HAVING ISSUES! Seriously, is it that fucking hard to know your right from your left? Sometimes I envision myself pushing all of these people down the dirty platform steps and watching them bounce around like a tennis ball...but I don't, I usually turn up whatever crappy Indie-Rock song I'm listening to and sigh heavily.
5. Tourists: I do not speak whatever language it is that you're babbling in. Stop asking me where shit is on some cheap map you bought off of a bum. And I don't know what you mean when you point at a fucking wall, okay?
That's all for now...but I'm sure there will be more to come.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Blame it on Willie Randolph and be done with it. That's what he wants after all, right?
It's all Willie's fault. The slumps, the bad pitching, the shitty bullpen, the egos, the public confrontations - all of it.
Well honestly, that's just bullshit.
While I do agree that Randolph should have stepped up and told Billy Wagner to shut his hick face up, the other stuff is pretty much out of his immediate control. I think there are other people involved here that need to be held accountable.
And why don't we start with Shea's public enemy #1 - The "genius" Omar Minaya?
First off, the result we see now, the one where the Mets are trailing by 6.5 games in May, this is almost all due to the fact that Minaya assembled a team of ego's and old men.
How about the contract extension he gave to Luis Castillo, supposedly because Johan Santana demanded he remain with the team in order for him to agree to a trade? That's fucking BULLSHIT - Johan would have signed regardless. You throw $140 million in someone's face - I don't care if it's the Pope - they're going to sell out whoever the fuck they need to in order to pocket that money. Fuck loyalty when there's 9 figures on the negotiating table.
So now Minaya is stuck with an old 2B who can't run and can't hit for 4 more fucking years. Sick deal.
Next, let's take into consideration the stock Minaya put in Pedro Martinez staying healthy and being his #2 in the rotation. Yes, Pedro pitched well during his comeback stint last year, but let me ask you something - did any of you really believe he'd reinvent himself and throw 150-175 innings? Really, deep down, did you really feel that way? Watching him at the end of last year, and during Spring Training this year, was kind of like watching a shit-your-pants drunk guy get behind the wheel of a car. He might do well for those first few blocks, but we all know the ultimate outcome. Not good. Pedro is finished, you can counter my statement until your blue in the face, but it's true, that's all there is to it.
There's also the curious case of Carlos Delgado, who's offensive skills have declined quicker than Tara Reid's ability to give men boners. Could it be the lack of steroids pulsing through his Puerto Rico-loving, America-hating veins? Quite possible. I hope that's the reason, because then this cocksucker will never be up for debate when the Hall of Fame comes knocking. My hatred for Delgado is a whole other article, so I'll move on.
Next up is the lack of a farm system - what happened here? The Mets were the talk of MLB when they had Reyes and Wright tearing up the minor leagues, but once they came up and made headlines, suddenly the well is dry. I've seen Fernando Martinez play, and the kid has talent, but what else is going on down there? Who's ready to come up and move one of these old timers out of the starting lineup? Where's the next generation K? Bill Pulsipher is waiting to get invited back to the stadium so fans can cane him with a bamboo rod.
Look, this isn't an attack on the Mets (lie), it's basically an attack on the media, and the front office, because they're taking zero heat on all of this. The Wilpons are up in the office pantsing each other and double-teaming the hot, new intern, completely oblivious to the carnage in the clubhouse. Yes, Willie should learn to clam up and stop playing the fucking moronic race card because it's the last one in the deck, but I don't think he should get canned this season (key word here). Who are the Mets going to bring in mid-season that's going to do a better job? Vafunculo your face, sausage and peppers eating Lee Mazilli? The back stabbing, Jesus Junkie Gary Carter? Butt-smoking, lady-loving Keith Hernandez? Please, that's not the solution. And get over this Bobby Valentine shit, he's not coming, at least not this year. Do you really think Valentine, who was ran out of NY, would drop his Japanese team right now to come crawling back? Maybe next year, but definitely not this season.
Time to start facing reality - the best the Mets are going to get is sitting in the dugout right now wearing those really cool Blue-blockers.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
So I decided to do a two-part post documenting some of the best off-field incidents that have landed athletes under that hot, unwanted spotlight. First up, the MLB, because this actually took some research...finding NFL players on the wrong side of the law is easier than winning a heterosexual contest against Jeff Garcia-and he's gay!
Note: These are not in a particular order - worst first, etc. It's random, but feel free to comment if you have a better incident that you feel needs some screen time.
People tend to forget how good Dwight Gooden was. What people don't forget is how much trouble he got himself into during his playing career. This incident is amazing because not only did it involve Gooden and his nephew Gary Sheffield, it also included some other Jeri-curled pals (assuming), and the Tampa Police Department. The duo was pulled over for a minor traffic infraction - being black, driving a nice car - and decided to start karate kicking police. Apparently, when the dust settled and the jeri-curl juice dried, it became one of the catalysts that sparked the 1987 Tampa riots. Take that Giles' brothers, you fucking posers...
Just for reference, I love this story, it makes me want to pump my fists with all the Guidos I see going towards the Meat-Packing district. The premise? Back in the fall of '02, David Wells got mouthy with a 5'7'' bartender from Yonkers in an Upper East Side diner. Wells came away from the fight with fresh stitches in his head, missing two teeth, and a newly developed hole where his pride used to sit and eat large buckets of popcorn chicken. The best part about the story is Wells was fucking tanked, and he decided to call 911 and eventually file a civil suit against the mini-enforcer. Meanwhile, this is the same guy who claims to be a "bad-ass" and loves to brag about riding his Harley and drinking until he blacks out. What a little bitch. Listen to the 911 call here.
3. Drunk Driving Fever Sweeps the Offseason of '06!
There have been dozens of current and ex-MLB players arrested for driving under the influence or driving shit-your-pants drunk over the years, but here are two of my favorites, for numerous reasons. D-Train, pioneer of the flat brim on black players who was still with the Marlins at the time, got leveled at a nightclub in Miami and was found by cops confused and stumbling around his car. Not a great physical state to drive in. LaRussa - who I assume was coming from a dirty dive bar frequented by a bunch of fat, old Floridians looking to soak up some sun before they die - fell asleep while stopped at a red light. How fucking bombed do you have to be in order to lose the ability to keep yourself awake in a running car for 30 seconds? I can just picture him sitting behind the wheel of his car, smoking a Newport that he bummed off of some groupie, sipping from an icy can of Natural Light, slowly nodding off to the soothing sound of AM radio.
In 1986, New York City was swept up in Mets fever. Everyone around wanted a piece of this lovable bunch of coke-heads, drunks, Jesus Junkies and gang-bangers...Even the Houston police department. Mets fever finally peaked in July of that year, while the Mets were in Houston for a series against Astros. The 4 players pictured above ended up brawling with a bunch of off-duty police officers outside a Houston hot-spot. What makes me scratch my head and sniff is this - this is the team that had "KO" Ray Knight, Daryl Strawberry and Kevin Mitchell on it - why were these guys the ones who started firing punches at a bunch of Texan hicks? Maybe it's a testament to the toughness of this team. Most likely it's a testament to cocaine and lite beer.
Scott Spiezio, a pinch hitter for the Cardinals who's claim-to-fame is a patch of pubic hair on his chin that he dyes pink, went a little overboard earlier this year while he was out on the town during Spring Training. Not only did Spiezio get hammered and decide to drive, he also decided to drive his car into his neighbor's house. When he was confronted by his female neighbor, he proceeded to puke on her and then punch her in the eye. Taking a step back from the story, I have to say, that right there is what you call a fucking Saturday night, my friends! And If Spiezio wasn't headed to jail, maybe the following weekend he could have body-slammed an elderly lady and then kicked her dog into a drainage pipe as an encore.
Note: Spiezio was cut one day later by the Cards.
Brett Myers is a Jack-of-All-Trades kind of guy. Last year, when the Phillies lost closer Tom Gordon to injury, they "smartly" moved their ace into the role. Showing his versatility, Myers also has punching his wife in the face on a crowded Boston street in 2006 on his resume, and calling a member of the Philadelphia media a "fucking retard", and then promptly challenging the reporter to a fist fight to boot. He can do everything folks, go ahead and sign up for the show at the door.
Maybe Brett Myers learned his spousal abuse tricks from Julio Lugo, another deadbeat loser who kicked his wife's ass. In 2003, at the beginning of his 4th season with the Astros, Lugo punched his wife in the face and then, to make sure she understood his point, slammed her head onto the hood of his car, while onlookers pretended to see nothing. Then, after he was arrested, he accused her of exaggerating the story. In short, Lugo is a real romantic.
The lunatic tales of Albert "Joey" Belle are a dime a dozen. He corked his bat, he smashed Kenny Lofton's boombox, he smashed the thermostat when someone dared change it from his favorite temperature, he threw a ball at a fan who was heckling him - but my new two favorites, I never heard of until today. On Halloween night 1995, some local kids egged Belle's house for being such a sweet guy. How did Belle react? He ran the kids down in his car. You know, typical reaction. The second story happened after he retired, and is just creepy as hell. He was arrested for stalking a high-priced escort, and was cited for attaching a GPS tracker to her car. I guess he was just trying to keep his woman in check, that's all, normal stuff.
Getting old sucks, but being a middle-reliever for the Tampa Bay Devil Rays this year (take your $1 fine and shove it up your ass) isn't a bad gig. So in order for Al Reyes to blow off some steam, ignore his approaching middle-age, and celebrate the Rays not sucking cock, he needed to go out and get shit-faced, get punched in the face, spit blood on patrons, resist arrest, get tasered once, get tasered twice, and then get thrown in jail. Well, if that's the way birthdays start happening, then I can't fucking wait until I hit my prime.
I probably saved this one for last, because at one point in college, I was somewhat acquainted with Sidney Ponson. And by acquainted, I mean Sidney would come into the bar I worked at, drink 64 beers, get to the point where his island accent was overwhelmingly incoherent, and then challenge people to fights and grab the shot girl's asses. And this was before he grew his greasy hair long and kept it shaved, so I would look up from my specific bar and see this huge, stumbling bald guy who looked like a soccer hooligan from Poland, but spoke like one of the Jamaicans stationed in the Inner Harbor, flipping dime bags of oregano to college kids from John Hopkins. Anyway, taking a step away from memory lane, Ponson went back to Aruba, was knighted (apparently Arubans can be 'knighted') and then punched out a local Judge during a beach fight on Christmas Day. Three months later he got a DUI and a few days after that he beat-up a Beltway hick in a Baltimore restaurant. Ponson is still at large with the Texas Rangers, and is probably drunk.
Kobe may be cause célèbre for many NBA fans on the west coast... But while NY Knicks fans wait to see if Mike D'Antoni can work his magic next season, and NY Baseball fans watch the under-achieving Yankees and Mets continue to flounder... This little fella I just ran into over in Grand Central just might be the best show in town at the moment!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Loyal readers, post your birthday wishes in the comments section!
There aren't many things in this gorgeous sweet world that rub me the wrong way more than a sportscaster/television personality/weatherman/hobo who thinks he (or she) is an ex-professional athlete, and for whatever moronic reason, abide by the same code that ex-athletes do. It aggravates me more than celebrities who think their political views and voice matter, even though they couldn’t name the fifty states with a map sitting on their lap, and in reality, they would rather be blowing lines of coke off of Susan Sarandons's cock...But I’m getting off topic here, so let me reiterate my above statement: I cannot stand when nobodies pretend to be ex-athletes, and then through the power of their respective media, protect someone who they think is one of their own.
And who's the biggest culprit on the face of the earth?
Now, before you assume I’m attacking Stuart Scott simply because he’s a hokey over-the-hill loser, I’ll fill you in on why I hate this douchebag oh so much. It’s not the blatant cry for attention he executes flawlessly on-air every night, like a 1st grader shitting his pants because his parents ignore him at home...and it’s not the God awful, murder inducing, unfunny jokes he rips off in succession like running farts show after show after show...No, neither of these characteristics are why I’d love to see Stuart Scott get pegged in his good eye by a knife-shaped cock.
The real reason I hate Stu is because of his deliberate blindness (no pun intended, wucka-wucka!) and ignorance when it comes to athletes who do bad things, because he feels the need to protect them. It’s that simple.
In the most recent ESPN the Magazine (reading this was my first mistake) Scott made such an idiotic remark that I wanted to drive up to Bristol and lob a cinder block at his car windshield. More importantly, this isn’t the first time he’s defended an athlete who has done something ridiculous, or retarded, or just plain insane. He does it ALL THE TIME. Mike Vick? Old Stu wanted to give him a fucking high five even after Vick admitted to killing dozens of dogs for sport. Tank Johnson? Stu thought Tank was just quirky, albeit misunderstood. I bet he even wanted to go hiking with Chris Henry, too. But the statement that drove me over the edge was one he made pertaining to Pac Man Jones.
I’ll get into the particulars in a moment, but let me fill in those who are unfamiliar with Scott’s section of “The Mag”. It’s a small sidebar layout where readers submit questions for Stu to answer.
Here’s my personal take on some of these hard-hitting write-ins:
Q - Yo Stu,
How is UNC going to do this year in the NCAA Tournament?
A- What up, Playa?
Call me butter cause I’m on a roll. Tar Heels all the way, playa! Drop it likes it’s hot. I’m representin' and I got more flavor than cocoa. Cool as the other side of my pillow. Baby blue and heels and what-what, Booya!!!
You get the picture. For the most part, Scott’s responses are about as funny as a stroke, or as invigorating as a bum puking in a mailbox. But his most recent “article” really chapped my ass. Some fat hick eating ribs in Dallas (assuming) asked Scott that if he (Scott) were in charge of an NFL franchise, would he sign or trade for Pacman Jones?
And what was this insufferable dip-shit’s response?
He created a stupid scenario where he would trade for Pacman, and then force him into a sit-down with four or five cagey vets so they could have a “talking to” with him.
Here’s the first thing I want to know - if this sort of tactic doesn’t work for five year-olds with ADHD, then how the fuck is it going to work for a grown man who thinks it’s a great idea to bring garbage bags full of money to strip clubs, throw the money around, and then shoot people for trying to pick it up? Are you fucking serious, Stu? I mean, really, ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?
*Me = shaking with anger as I type this.
Another issue I have with his words is what was implied between the lines. Scott - in so many words - is saying the Titan’s veterans weren’t influential enough to control Pacman after his wave of rapes/beatings/shootings began, but he (Scott) knows how to convince other veterans to do so. This alone is fucking moronic. Here's an idea, Stu, why don't you go down to Nashville and tell Albert Hayensworth you think his leadership skills suck so he can dent you head with his cleats?
I’m generally a forgiving person, and deep down, I could find forgiveness in my cold, black heart for the two above infractions, but what really gets me, what really makes my stomach churn is this: Why the fuck would you even want Pacman Jones on your team? What’s the benefit? He’s a fucking criminal! He’s a cancer to the team! That’s as black and white as it gets, nerds. Every single NFL team (including the Bengals) should grow a fucking sack and shun Pacman’s services. And it's not that I really care what particular crimes he committed, it’s more because I have to hear people like Scott and Berman and Jaworski beat the topic into the fucking ground every time I turn on the TV.
Lawrence Phillips was a talented guy, so was Cecil “The Diesel” Collins, but look what they’re doing now, they’re making grown men piss sitting down and calling them “Sally”. Sometimes it just makes more sense to push your chair back and say, "Thanks, but I'll pass." Some guys aren't going to change, no matter how much money you give them or how many ex-cops you hire to walk them around like their fucking King Kong.
This whole “bad seed” persona is not a new concept, whatsoever. Athletes have been fucking up for a long time. But for some reason, some people (rich, fat, white guys with zero ability to judge character) think they can change one of these “bad boys”. Who knows, maybe the repressed sense of homosexuality these jolly white men developed while in prep school deep down really likes the bad boy. But let me ask you a simple question – Out of all of the “guy trying to turn it around” stories you’ve heard in your lifetime, how many of them turned out for the better?
Exactly, but what do I know?
Apparently Scott thinks he’ll be able to do the impossible and change Pacman for the better, and this isn’t a surprise, because Scott’s an egocentric fuckface. Unfortunately, the worst part about all this is Scott will never know how much of an idiot he is because front-running dummies and fringe fans will continue to read his dribbling rambles.
Maybe one day the ESPN execs will wake up and finally can this fucking kiss-ass. Maybe one day someone will walk up to Scott and break his glasses, if only to remind him that he has never played professional sports. Or, in a perfect world, maybe one day Pacman Jones will steal Scott’s wallet and then call him “Sally”.
We all have dreams...
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
- Ryan Howard is on pace to strike out 229 times, SHATTERING the record he set just last season (199). He's currently batting .187 with a .290 OBP. Thats pathetic. Joe DiMaggio struck out 369 times in his 13 year career. Tony Gwynn struck out 434 times in his 20 year career. These guys struck out once a week, Howard strikes out almost one and a half times a game. I know Howard isn't the hitter Gwynn and DiMaggio were, no one is. But the point is, when did it become OK to strike out every time you step into the batters box?
- The Rays will fine you $1 if you call them the Devil Rays. You read that correctly, so watch your mouth. If any of you loyal WMHG? readers get that big break sometime after reading this post and become a member of the media, don't slip up or else you'll be mailing those hard earned Washingtons straight to Tampa Bay and those 2nd place Rays.
Monday, May 19, 2008
25 years and counting…
If you've ever had the "privilege” of encountering a fan of any pro sports team from the City of Brotherly Love, I’m sure you’re savoring the latest playoff loss right alongside every Pittsburgh Penguins fan.
Spending my college years surrounded by fans filled with what was often termed “Philly Pride,” the thing that struck me most was the stark contrast between defending their teams to fans of other teams, yet ridiculing those same teams amongst themselves – especially when attending the sporting events or calling into sports radio shows to spew their venomous hatred over the airwaves.
These are the fans who famously booed Santa Clause… 12-time All Star, 3-time MVP and CAREER-LONG Philly, Hall of Famer Mike Schmidt… These morons booed Donovan McNabb on draft day (yeah, I guess Ricky Williams would’ve made more sense), and even with all his success, every single NFL season you hear the same complaints out of Philadelphia about how McNabb can’t lead the Eagles, even though he’s arguably the best QB that franchise has ever seen (sorry Ronny Fat-Face!).
I guess it’s easy to understand what has Philly fans so upset… Just look at this track record among their four major sports franchises:
Team: Last Championship:
So keep your cheese steaks, your butchering of the English language (it’s “water” not wooder), and just shut up ‘till you win one. Most of the hardcore, loud-mouthed, obnoxious ones out there were still sucking teat the last time one of these pathetic teams brought home the hardware. Your city is a gutter.
…The best thing to ever come out of that rat’s nest is a fictional character that somehow has a monument. At least now even Rocky is clad in a jersey he can be proud of, from a city that knows what it means to be a champion.
LET’S GO PENS!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
When it comes to the New York Jets, negativity is in my bloodstream. Why? Well, there's never been a reason to think otherwise, that's why. Yes, The Jets have had their brushes with glory and sniffed the beautiful scent of victory, but ultimately, they've always let me me down. It's a cyclical testicle-kicking relationship, and I've never been the one delivering the blows.
Some people tell me football(and baseball for that matter)"is just a game". I whole-heartedly disagree with this statement, and then I usually smash these naysayers in the face with a stainless steel napkin dispenser. But seriously, for the most part, the people making these dumb statements are usually hippies who spend their biweekly paycheck on a new bong and still hang tapestries on their bedroom wall even though they graduated from college six years ago. Football is more than a game. It's a sport, which translates into a hobby, which translates into something that occupies a significant amount of my free time. And if that isn't a good enough rebuttal(not very good at all, actually), then go fuck yourselves. Cursing = win.
So why am I venting about this now? Well, it started with a recent article tagged on the Jets homepage and then spiraled into an out-of-control angry frenzy that sent me sifting though seventeen years of Jets draft debauchery. Yes, this is a much publicized event - the Jets fucking up during the draft - but it's never really been recounted by a real fan, or at least by me. And nobody knows the true perils of what it's really like to be fed up with almost two decades of retardedness unless they've bled green and white, and for almost a decade, highlights of black. So here's a rundown, with pictures, if only to highlight the shittiness a little more than it already is...highlighted.
Blair Thomas - Running Back of the future right? Oh wait, he went to Penn State, he sucks. Who's that guy that went later in the 1st round at #18? Emmit Smith? Eh, he'll probably be a bust anyway...
With no 1st round pick (it was used in the supplemental draft a year earlier in order to acquire Wide Receiver Rob Moore, who decided he didn't want to be good until he left the Jets...nice), the Jets take Browning Nagle to take the reigns from a now blind and deaf Ken O'Brien. He fails.
Ever hear of Johnny Mitchell? No, I'm sure you haven't. In short, he was a head-case Tight End who barely played five professional seasons - 4 for NY, 1 for Dallas, then quit altogether so he could presumably spend his days sucking at life.
LB Marvin Jones followed by Aaron Glenn - could their be an upswing in intelligent picking? We'll see...
...No, not a shot...The Jets have two 1st round picks, and they use them on Kyle Brady and Hugh Douglas. First off, the Jets just drafted a TE in the first round three years earlier, only enhancing the fucking idiocy of the Brady pick. Second, Brady was as useful as a paper bag in the rain during his tenure with the team. Third, Douglas didn't hit stardom until after he left the Jets. I want to bad mouth him here, but he sucker punched Queen T.O. in the locker room while with the Eagles a few years back, so that is a lifetime pass in my book.
The infamous Keyshawn Era. Did he live up to the hype? Eh, he was good, but not earth-shattering. He had two Pro Bowl years, helped lead the team to the AFC Championship (die Keith Byars) in 1998, but ultimately will be remembered for shitting on the "flashlight" Wayne Chrebet. There's no better way to gain fanfare than to verbally attack a beloved teammate for no reason, other than to satisfy that gaping wound where your low self-esteem resides and to hide your tendency to sit on long neck Coors Light bottles during the wee hours of training camp.
This '97 1st round pick ended his time with the Jets in similar fashion as Hugh Douglas - Farrior got really good when he left. Actually, in all honesty, he was very good his last season on the Jets, but I guess the front office couldn't see the game from the same angle as every single fucking Jet fan watching it on TV.
No pick again - traded this one to New England for Curtis Martin. I obviously do not have a beef with this.
No pick again, this one was part of the Bill Parcells deal. Now, you may be asking yourself, "Why did they trade a 1st round pick for a coach with bitch-tits who will never play a down for the team?"
My answer? They're fucking stupid, that's why.
*Interesting note - the Pats used these two picks - the one for Martin and the one for Parcells - on RB Robert Edwards and LB Andy Katzenmeyer. Edwards blew his knee out playing touch football at the Pro Bowl after his rookie season (seriously), and I can only assume Katzenmeyer has a rape charge pending on him by now. Reminds me of what life was like in New England before they sold their soul to the devil and started cheating like everyone else.
This was supposed to be the franchise changing year. The Jets had four 1st round picks...FOUR-FIRST-ROUND-PICKS! And who did we get? Chad Pennington - boring...Shaun Ellis - boring...John Abraham - on the Injured Reserve every year by November...Anthony Becht - I would love to push him over the railing adjacent to a waterfall. God do I hate this worthless piece of shit. Becht encompassed everything that sucks about 1st round busts. Can't catch, can't run, can barely block - love the scouting here.
The Jets go out on a limb and snag Santana Moss, a true game breaker. Only he doesn't start until his third season, then has a breakout year, then gets injured the following year, and then is traded to Washington for Laveranues Coles, a guy the Jets already had on the team, but were too cheap to pony up money to keep. And what does the front office do after they re-acquire Coles? They give him a HUGE contract. You CANNOT make this shit up.
The Jets pick University of Alabama-Birmingham's prodigy, DE Bryan Thomas. I guess taking two DE's two years earlier wasn't enough. Thomas does what every Jet fan with a functioning brain predicts he will do: shits the bed. Repeatedly. Then he has one big season - in 2006 - and the Jets give him a gazillion trillion dollars. Good work again, cocksuckers.
My coauthor on this blog, Roger's Mustache, likes to refer to Dwayne Robertson as, "The Fathead". He's right, Robertson's noggin is fucking enormous. But that didn't stop him from being unproductive over 5 seasons at D-Tackle.
This is a sore subject here, because for once, the Jets stood their ground and took the best player available, Jonathan Vilma. And Vilma awarded the Jets for their graciousness by running down and devouring children whole in the street, terrorizing sleepy Jersey Shore communities with his unprovoked night attacks, and winning the Defensive Rookie of the Year. So what do the Jets do? Wait until his value is at an all-time low and trade him for some Creole Cakes and Crawfish Salads so that fat-fuck Mangini can appease his infinite appetite. Fuck you Mike Tannenbaum, I hope you trip on your porch steps and break the fall with your neck.
This was the year I became convinced that ex-GM Terry Bradway had a drinking/coke/gay prostitute addiction, and was in serious debt to some hoodlum who hated the Gang Green. Not only did he deal away the Jets first round pick, he accepted Doug Jolley in return for it. Another Tight End! Another motherfucking Tight End! And an unproven backup, no less. We all know the rest of the story, Bradway takes a Kicker with the Jets 2nd round pick and I feel my soul trying to drop a toaster in the tub.
The year of the O-Line. It's hard to tell how this one will look, but at least the front office didn't try and swing a 5 team trade where the Jets ended up with a 195 lb. Long Snapper from Poland and a Wide Receiver who's about to go to trial for murder. At least they have that going for them.
This pick is too close to the present, so I can't really pass judgment on this yet. But I like what I see from Darrelle Revis, and I'm hoping he turns out to be another Aaron Glenn. But there's a part of me that thinks he might end up more like Erik McMillan.
There you have it. Almost two decades of debauchery. Take it in, everyone, take it all in, because honestly, what else can you do but laugh? I don't think there's another franchise out there that's failed as many times as the Jets. And if there is, and you're a fan of that team, than promise me you'll give that noose an extra tug for me, okay Champ?
Monday, May 12, 2008
It's not your fault you can't remember them. There was a time, however, when 50 home runs used to mean something. That was a fun 100 years. Too bad the '90s killed all that. 50 home runs doesn't matter anymore. Home runs in general, for that matter, just don't stop traffic like they used to. What transpired that made the home run so cheap you ask? Steroids, that's what.
Now, lets look at some of the old timers/guys that have never been linked* to steroids (*'never been linked' also includes being implicated solely by Jose Canseco):
Babe Ruth (cheated on wife), Jimmie Foxx, Hank Greenberg, Mickey Mantle(was he married? if so, cheated on wife), Willie Mays, Ralph Kiner, Ken Griffey, Jr., Alex Rodriguez (cheated on wife), Jim Thome, Andruw Jones (stole money from Dodgers with recent contract), David Ortiz, Ryan Howard, Prince Fielder
Yet, there's been some pretty special seasons lately that are going relatively unnoticed. Prince Fielder? YOUNGEST PLAYER EVER TO HIT 50! EVER! Does anyone even know that?! Ryan Howard? He hit 58 en route to being the FASTEST PLAYER EVER TO THE 100 HOMER MARK! These are significant accomplishments in a game with a very long history that are forgotten almost as fast as they are achieved.
I remember every summer reading in the newspaper how some new player was chasing 61. Would he do it...would he do it...would he do it... It took 37 years and a lot of steroids for that one to fall. Those damn juicers took this joy away from us. That chase may never, ever happen again. Aww hell, it will NEVER happen again. No one could hit 62 clean, they're sure as shit not gonna hit 74. They not only took this away from us, they took it away from my unborn son that I'll brainwash into loving baseball. Me so sad, me want to cry.
Breaking news! Breaking news! Eric Gagne was removed from the closer's position for the Brewers this weekend. Holy shit! Where have I been? You mean to tell me a guy who hasn't been really good in 5 years has been relegated to cleaning up dog shit in the parking lot? Why are people surprised? Why are sports writers making such a big deal about this? Is it really Associated Press deserving news?
No. It's idiocy at it's lowest.
Milwaukee's front office is about as smart as a non-hobo who eats out of the trash. Did they really expect this fat four-eyed fuck to turn it around after he basically walked out onto the rubber in Fenway last year, dropped his Maple Leaf boxer-shorts, and took a dump on the mound? You reap what you sow, friends, remember that. And since these sausage eating fatso's signed a washed up scrub who used to be good to a huge contract, they deserve to be kicked in the balls by every season ticket holder in Wisconsin.
Here's another thing that bugs me: Why do managers insist on sticking with closers who can't even close a loan on a Kia Sofia, let alone close out the ninth inning for a major league club? And don't give me the old, "they need to keep his confidence high" bullshit, because it never works. Would you continue to watch your buddy get the shit kicked out of him in a bar fight, solely because he was landing 1 punch to every 7 of his opponents? If you say yes to this then I hope the next to you come home from work you walk in on your girlfriend having consensual sex with a homeless man on the couch where you were about to watch reruns of "Everybody Loves Raymond".
Sticking to the topic at hand, over the weekend, another historically proven closer was removed from his position. Only Jason Isringhausen did it himself. At least this is a respectable move on his part. He knew he didn't have shit, so he benched himsel. Good idea, Jason, seriously. Instead of letting your brain-damaged meathead mentality rule, you make a smart decision with the greater good of the team in mind and take some time to recalculate things. I commend this, because I find players who keep themselves in the lineup even when they swing the bat like an elderly man trying to shoo away a hyper dog repulsive (same thing goes for pitchers who throw like my juice head neighbors in college who could bench press a car, but threw a baseball like the frontman for the Village People). Get over your huge ego and sit a few plays out, fuckface, you're still going to get paid either way. Stop acting like it's the end of your life and go nail some groupies, or go do some blow, or if that's not what you dig, then go pray to your Lord and Savoir, but please, stop embarrassing yourself, it's making me uncomfortable.
- I love how the same critics who ripped Billy Beane are now all hopping inline to be his personal bathroom attendant. And of course, this is exactly why I fucking hate professional journalists.
Right now, here's what most of them are printing between the lines with their fat buffalo sauce stained sausage-link fingers:
"Well I knew, deep down the A's would be good...my editor wanted me to stress how against our paper is with cheap MLB teams, even in baseball."
I would love to take a bowling pin and smash it right into their chubby fucking mouth.
- If I have to hear about the Marlins being a "feel good" team, I'm going to lay down on the FDR and stop traffic for eight hours. Since when is a cheap, dictator-esque owner who's holding his city hostage for a new stadium and refusing to pay for marquee names "feel good" (excluding Hanley Ramirez's new contract, because if Loria let him walk, every Ese in Miami would be two-oneing on his cozy doorstep)? Fuck off, there's nothing "feel good" here. They're playing well with young talent, that's it. Remember how "feel good" it was the last time Loria gutted his team and Joe Girardi almost made them a threat with nothing more than scraps and green rookies? Yeah, it was heart warming, Girardi got told to get the fuck out of town. That's what a great manager/owner relationship is all about.
So let's hear it - when is it too early to pull a closer? And just for reference, this guy below is the next one to be shamed into mop-up duty. But cool jorts, Trev, really, really, heterosexual.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
I was at Yankee Stadium on Saturday, quietly nursing a hangover by chugging a beer an inning, but mostly enjoying the serenity of the left field line. There's nothing like watching a game in relatively cool weather when it's not so cold that you get a nipple infection from the constant friction of your jersey (or in some people's cases, out-dated t-shirt jerseys with players who sucked to begin with), and it's not so hot that due to sweating, it feels like you pissed your pants. That's where I was at. And it was a good time.
Until the man pictured above struck.
No, it wasn't that exact guy, but someone similar. The unfunny heckler. I'm always astonished while in the presence of one of these dickheads, only because they are genuinely uncreative and annoying. It's a different story if the guy is hammered, because there's always the chance that he slips and smashes his head on the cement stairs while everyone laughs at him and he takes the subway back to his mom's house and bleeds steadily from his ears. But if the guy is sober, and he's yelling out corny shit, than it gets fucking aggravating.
Trust me on one thing here, I am all for heckling. The more the better. If you spend the whole game ripping on some rookie outfielder because you've never heard of him - amazing. Tell him you're going to go hunt down his girlfriend in the stands and punch her in the head, that'll throw him off. If you like to attack the super stars because their personal life is now a public issue - I want to hear more. But be funny, don't be hokey. I can't fucking stand hokey comments.
The guy sitting behind us sounded like he ripped off 2 packs of Marlboro Red's a day, and judging by his douchey goatee and short stature, he was overwhelmed with a Napoleon Complex. I was hoping for a cop to come over and brain him with a Blackjack, but it never happened. And the worse part was, he never changed his approach - it was the same shit over and over. Here's an example, word-for-word, of what he was yelling:
"Hey Ichiro, there's no Starbucks in the Bronx!"
"Hey Ichiro, go get a Latte!"
*Here's my other problem with these statements - by telling Ichiro to go get a Latte, but also telling him that there's no Starbucks in the Bronx, how is he going to accomplish the request? This added to the shittiness of this guy's awful attempt to bring attention to himself.
So you get the idea. Unfunny screaming followed by silence, followed unfunny screaming...it's the equivalent of watching two old men trade haymakers in front of a TV you're watching - nobody wins. Also, we were about 25 rows up the leftfield line, Ichiro plays centerfield, and Ichiro speaks Japanese, so I'm assuming all Ichiro thought he heard was an impaired individual choking on some Cracker Jacks.
This sporadically went on for a few innings, until some other Yankee fan the size of Thor told him to shut up, and told him that yes, there is actually a Starbucks down the block. Eventually (even though I don't know for what) they tossed the guy out, and hopefully pushed him in front of a garbage truck, not for heckling of course, but for being an unoriginal pile of shit.
Monday, May 5, 2008
What's the difference between these two mustached gentlemen? Nothing really, except one guy is hung like a Silverback gorilla and the other guy has definitely cranked one out to a film starring the former. Creeeeeeepy...
These two jokesters have more in common than you think. Both are fat, both are bald, and both get leveled while being filmed, coming across like fucking dickheads. Berman, who's famous for his unwanted "You're with me, leather" catchphrase, is slowly becoming more and more senile with each passing year. It's like watching grandpa mentally decline until he finally crashes the car through the garage door and you have to take the keys away from him once and for all. That's Berman for you. And DeVito? Can't fucking stand him. I'd like to punt that little bastard into a lake and watch him bob around like a carrot top.
Here's an obscure one, but a fucking dead ringer. On the left is Cory Snyder, a former power threat for the Cleveland Indians with the sweetest flowing blond locks this side of the Mississippi. He is probably drinking heavily nowadays and getting into bar fights with local college kids over who was better in the big leagues, him or Pete Incaviglia (answer = neither one - we are looking for neither one). That's Nick Nolte in North Dallas Forty, the best football movie you never saw. This was before he got bombed and passed out on the floor of a Hawaiian airport, looking more like an escaped axe-murderer in his mug shot than the guy who nailed Debra Winger.
One guy is a hack actor who peaked 9 years with his performance in Scream, and then followed it up with some real piles-of-shit and a disappearance into B movie hell. The other guy is a batting average starved bench player for the Yankees who spikes Japanese players in the thigh. Which one would you rather be?