Wednesday, June 3, 2009


It is a sad, sad day here at Why's My Head Growing, because as of today, we are closing the doors for good. It was a good run - almost 2 years, but the times thay are a changing. And it's not you, it's us. We did this...We did this. Shh, shh, it's going to be okay...I know all 27 of you readers are upset, and we thank you from the bottom of our blackened hearts for sticking with us. But before you delete this link from your bookmarks, I want to let you know that there is a sliver of light at the end of the tunnel. Because in death, there is life. In life, there is remembrance...or some hokey fucking shit like that.

So, I'll be continuing my high-blood-pressure hate-fueled tirades over at 3:10 to Joba (Full URL:

They've been gracious enough to take me in with open arms. Or with brutal indifference, but who's counting, really? But they're good people, and And by "good people" I mean "sarcastic assholes who appreciate the fine art of insult and mock". They encouraged me to bring over some of our retread unique featured posts, so you'll be reading the same shit, just on a different site! WHO'S FUCKING PUMPED?

I predict that I will assimilate smoothly.

Here's one more video for the road before I go. I'll be listening to Bob Seger in the car if you need me.


Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Creepy Comparison #75: Cougar Mania

When Ashton Kutcher started bagging Demi Moore, I know most of you had the same reaction as me: Fuck you. Yes, that's right. Fuck him for bagging a cougar that is filled with so much artificial ingredient, she will probably look amazing until the day she keels over. And to top it off, not only did he woo Demi Moore, but he also befriended her ex in the process, Bruce Willis. Well, you gotta give respect in that regard.

Now, Justin Masterson, he's another story altogether. I fear him. Seriously. Because when Jonathan Papel-asshole's shoulder dislodges and his arm tears off and whacks some Portsmith hick's head sitting in the stands, Masterson will step in and make the seamless transition to the closer role. He has a 3/4 delivery that throws batters off, and his fastball consistently hits the mid-nineties. I'm convinced he could be a dominate starter as well, but I'd rather have to face the guy only when the Yankees are down and facing a loss.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Another One Joins the Ranks

John Maine is headed to the DL. Is there no end in sight for the growing list of injured players over in Queens?

I think the Mets can take solace in the fact that they're winning games even with half their team beat-up or down for an extended period of time. It also builds character. Like cutting the lawn. Who likes to mow the lawn? It's hot, it's fucking arid, dirt gets in your mouth, your friends drive by and yell shit at you. It sucks. But apparently it makes you a better person. So hopefully the Mets can look at these injuries, and the holes in their rotation and lineup, and pretend it's like mowing the lawn.

Friday, May 29, 2009

Friday Video: Mike Francesa is Insane

A lot of people hate Mike Francesa. More than a lot; a ton. He's brash, quick to the jump the gun, chugs Diet Coke like it's Fountain of Youth elixir, and refuses to accept anyone's opinions but his own. But you gotta hand it to the guy, at least he's consistent. And for that, I respect him. I respect him more because I saw him at a wedding last year and he was wearing a white blazer and an open collar like he was a stand in for John Cazale in, "The Godfather II", but that's beside the point.

This clip is from earlier this week. A caller suggests that Joba is the Yankees best starter. Mike does not like that. What you are about to see is a man tip-toeing the line between excited and heart attack. Awesome.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Save the Last Dance for...Randy?

What was once relatively unlikely, now seems to be almost a sure thing - barring some unforeseen ostrich poaching - Randy Johnson will win his 300th game. And what a milestone it is, because Johnson will probably be the last pitcher to EVER DO IT.

Yes, I am fully aware that every time this statement is said in relation to some sports record, the record is immediately broken, and the person who voiced it is taken away to the Gulag and bludgeoned to death with a cane. But forget that. This just ain't happening - ever again. Not ever. Especially not in such a convoluted era populated by coward managers pulling their Aces after 100 pitches. Forget that, as humans we have evolved. Forget that we have grown bigger and stronger. None of that matters any more. At one point in time, 5'2'' Sandy Koufax could take the mound every fourth day and toss 200+ pitches and the go play horseshoes for nine hours or whatever. Now? No way.

The 300 win milestone will disappear soon, and sooner than you think. Only four active players currently have more than 200 wins (Pedro with 214, is not active, so take a hike) - Randy Johnson: 299, Jaime Moyer: 249, Andy Pettitte: 219, and John Smoltz: 210. Out of these players, only Pettitte is under 40 years of age (36). And it will disappear for a better reason: it's a horrible metric in which to gauge the effectiveness of a pitcher. In the end, a pitcher's win total can only really reflect how good of an offense he has, and whether or not he can stay in games long enough to aggregate a victory. Regardless, it's still linked to the history of baseball, blah blah blah, we have to respect it, I guess.

Believe it or not, there are a boatload of fans, writers, and actual players who truly believe that some dominate active pitchers will hit that 300 win plateau, no matter what age said player is, no matter what limitations said player faces, and no matter what the real numbers suggest. Well, all you happy-go-lucky believers out there, here's some advice: don't hold your breath. Actually, on second though, do, because it will afford humanity a few less dreamers to support. But to be fair, let's take the opposite approach and digest just who is out there, and who has an outside shot (and by 'outside shot' I mean out the door, beyond the yard, next to the curb 'outside shot'). Below is a list of players who sorta/kinda/maybe have shot at 300 wins. To make things fair, I'm putting them all on the same career path: We will assume that each pitcher will be a starting pitcher until they're 42 years old.

I'm mathematically eliminating these 35-and-under guys that are in the 130-200 win range, because it's just not happening for them: Livan Hernandez - (151), Tim Hudson (146), Barry Zito (124), Kevin Millwood (146), Jeff Suppan (131), and Javier Vasquez (131).

1. Johan Santana: 30 years old - 116 Wins
Arguably the games best left-handed pitcher, Santana has consistently reeled off double-digit win seasons since moving into the Twins rotation full-time in 2003. But, in order to get to 300 wins, with 12 more years left, Santana must average at least 15 wins per season. At some point, the string-pulling change will meet up with his fastball. Just not gonna happen.

2. CC Sabathia: 28 years old - 121 Wins
Experts tend to watch CC like they watch NASCAR: It's only matter of time before something bad happens, right? Right? He's so fat! He's so big! His hat is crooked, that can't be a good sign! When is he going to lapse into a diabetic coma? Well, I don't think it will happen any time soon. Since coming into the league at 20 years old in 2001, Sabathia has yet to pitch less than 180 innings per season. He's even gone as high as 253 IP in a season, which is very rare for this day-and-age of six inning "warriors." But he still needs to average about 13+ wins per season for the next fourteen seasons. That's a lot of fat jokes.

3. Roy Halladay: 32 years old - 139 Wins
Doc has the kind of pitching style that may afford him a decent shot - he's not a power pitcher and doesn't rely on a curveball, which induces serious stress on the pitching elbow. With ten seasons remaining, he needs to average 16.1 wins per season. It's hard to underestimate the man, but it's also hard to think he'll actually pull it off.

Roy Oswalt: 31 years old - 130 Wins
Every season, experts predict the demise of Roy Oswalt. And every season, he ends up turning things around. Last year, around this time, he was just plain awful - he sported a 4-5 record and an ERA of 5.45. By September, he was chalking up his 17th victory. So don't count the guy out. No, not because he's resilient, but because he carries a f---ing gun. Seriously. Stay away from him.


1. Tim Lincecum: 25 years old - 29 Wins
It sounds minimal - 29 wins - but if he is able to keep his 5'10'' frame healthy, and keep up his mounting win totals, then pitch into his early forties without any setbacks, and play on a competitive team, he will only have to average 16 wins per season...For the next 17 seasons. See what I did there?

2. Zack Greinke: 25 years old - 42 Wins
I don't what the doctors prescribed Greinke - I assume it goes something like this - but if he has suddenly turned into the dominate pitcher he was supposed to be when the Royals drafted him, he will only need to keep his head together and win another 258 more games! I wonder how many CVS refills that equals out to?

3. Cole Hamels: 25 years old - 40 Wins
Hamels may be crawling his way back after postseason surgery, but does he have enough to sustain a long, productive career? 260 wins left - it's daunting. And keep in mind that Hamels plays in Philly, which in turn, harbors Philly fans, which is the equivalent of playing at Satan's softball field. That has to take its toll on a man, right?

4. Felix Hernandez: 22 years old - 39 Wins
He has a long way to go. But he also has Father Time on his side, and he does pitch in a pitcher's park. But still, he might as well have a team of Little Leaguers producing runs for him, because the Mariners offense is just plain awful. If only the Yankees would be able to pry him away...

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Creepy Comparison #74: Songs That Make You Naked

When I was a freshman in college, stumbling around seedy bars with a cigarette dangling from my mumbling lips, drinking floaters off tables, "Thong Song" became a hit. It would come on, and immediately I'd be returned from whatever foggy dark place I was lost in. Girls would robotically jump up onto bars and drop their pants or lift their skirts. It was like a rock star just walked in and ordered a tall glass of half-nudity. Many of the co-eds shaking their asses on the bar did not belong there. But many of them did. What a time in was.

So, the other guy is Jimmy Rollins. Although I am not a Mets fan, I do hope Rollins catches Swine Flu, because he is an asshole, a rotten, rotten asshole, who doesn't know when to shut the fuck up. Too harsh for your virgin ears? Grow up, I'm half-kidding. I actually hope he catches the bubonic plague.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Brilliance Avoided

There are, or will be, times in your life when you feel that everyone else is the person who devises that "great" idea. You feel like you just can't get a verbal handle on all those brilliant thoughts swimming through your mind, but Joe Jackoff can, and this makes you angry, or depressed, or pushes you over the edge and forces you to bring a carbine rifle into work. It happens. Let's face it.

Well, we can all rest assured for now, because at least we all know we're smarter than the VP of promotions for Major League Baseball. Red fucking hat day? Really, asshole? This was not a good idea. It was a terrible idea. It was similar to watching a little league all star game, where the league's board member were too cheap to shell out for the matching t-shirt and instead provides the poor little fuckers with a cheap, not-suited-for-even-Wal-Mart-quality fishnet hat. GAY!

This is a billion dollar business, the MLB, so who the fuck okayed this shit? It looked AWFUL. And in no way is this a tribute to our active or fallen soldiers.

I imagine dickhead-in-charge-had this to say:

"Hey guys, just so you know, every player will be wearing an MLB licensed red hat for you today! Look, look, we assimilated the American flag into each team's emblem! We hope this small yet kind gesture makes you feel full of pride while you dodge exploding roadside bombs and stray bullets fired by a 12-year-old fanatic, and for those of you who have returned home, protesters with swollen trust funds a knack for back door bigotry! Hooray for the U.S.-of-fucking-A!"

You should be de-balled. A representative from each branch of the military should be allowed to walk up to you and knee you in the cock. You're worthless at your job, and your ideas are worse than the guy who invented camouflage uniforms. Unless that was you too, and then you deserve to be quartered before Game 1 of the World Series. And here's one last piece of advice: die.

Friday, May 22, 2009

Friday Movie Matinee: The Fan

This clip from, "The Fan", begins about 30 seconds after I want it to, regardless, this movie is insane, and De Niro does a great job portraying a psychopath. It's not the greatest sports movie ever, but it is definitely one of the creepiest.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Bring Out the Chopping Block!

The end of May is upon us, several teams are out of contention already (maybe next year Washington, Cleveland, Oakland, Colorado, Arizona, Baltimore), and several players have either been staler than Brian Sabean's brain fluid, injured beyond repair, or caught taking a PED's even though they're sooo fucking 2008. Which brings me to my point: trade speculation. It's time to discuss which players will soon have to uproot his children from their closely knit community and relocate them to a different community 3,000 miles away, laying the tracks for a future of solid parental hatred and dismissal of all authority. All fun things...all fun things.

So, away we go. Here are eight players (including one that isn't going anywhere even though the New York media can't stop sniffing his crotch) that could be on the move by the time the trade deadline rolls around, or even sooner.

Cliff Lee - LHP, Indians: 2-5, 2.90 ERA, 45 K's

Last year's media darling/comeback player of the year/A.L. Cy Young Award winner is being talked about more now than he was a year ago, mostly because the Indians are worse off, and headed nowhere fast. Lee could be a valuable addition to any team searching for a lefty with the potential to dominate, especially with that heap of shit the Mets call their "rotation".

Victor Martinez - C/1B/DH, Indians: .400 BA, 7 HR, 27 RBI

The Indians have a 2010 club option on the oft-injured Martinez, but are willing to part ways with him for any sort of pitching prospect in return. He could be headed to Boston, which would make me unhappy, because Martinez always seems to rake in tough spots against the Spanks, with a career statline that looks like this: .299 BA, 7 HR, 32 RBI. Not exactly pre-steroids old Big Papi style, but not Scott Hatte-nerd either.

Nick Johnson - 1B, Nationals: .333 BA, 4 HR, 24 RBI

The always bloated Nick Johnson could be finally past his history of injury woes, but to say for sure, I cannot. You see, Johnson was a favorite of mine while he was with the Yankees. He seemed like a high average, high OBP guy who could avoid the media spotlight while also secretly ingesting vats of Dunkin Donuts sugary glaze. Unfortunately, he was dealt to Montreal in one of Brian Cashman's brilliantly brokered deals for Javier Vasquez, and the love affair ended. So, if he ends up anywhere, I'd rather it be as Carlos Delgado's replacement with the Mets and not the soon-to-be-slaughtered-in-a-dark-field-behind-Logan-Airport, Big Papi's.

Mark DeRosa - EVERYWHERE, Indians: .242 BA, 6 HR, 25 RBI

DeRosa is off to a slow start this year, but, when given the chance to start, he's been relatively consistent. He's another name that's been lurching around the Mets front office, and could put his skills to use in place of the aforementioned Delgado, among every other fucking infielder rumored to be traded. So don't take stock in what you hear, he'll probably end up in Boston. He fits Theo's type: white and...well, white.

Aubrey Huff - 1B/3B/DH, Orioles: .273 BA, 7 HR, 34 RBI

Joba Chamberlain's favorite doppelganger is once again on the block, and his stock has risen a lot higher since this time last season. Huff has pop, and a glove, and when healthy, can be a great addition to any team (note to Boston: he's super-white!). Huff is also interested in improv and clubhouse hilarity, two other aspects those cockbags from Boston love to incorporate.

Jake Peavy - RHP, Padres: 3-5, 3.82 ERA, 69 K's

Three years removed from the Padres last playoff berth and two years removed from his 2007 N.L. Cy Young season, Peavy can still deal, but has had zero help from the team's offense, aside from Adrian Gonzalez's tightly groomed mustache and bat. There will be suitors lining up for Peavy's services, just like over there were over the winter. But this time if Padres General Manager Josh Towers wants to broker a deal, he has to stop asking for the owning rights of the Beatles entire collection and a sex marathon with Bar Refaeli. Leo don't play that shit, son.

Roy Halladay - RHP, Blue Jays: 8-1, 2.78 ERA, 57 K's

Unless J.P. Riccardi wants a legion of beret wearing Canucks cramming croissants up his Pizano ass, he better leave this one alone. Halladay is the best pitcher in the American League, if not all of baseball (ohhhhhh!), so if for some brain-damaged reason Riccardi did decide to move him, he would command a King's ransom and a better piece than Phillip Humber in return.

Matt Holliday - OF, Athletics: .268 BA, 5 HR, 26 RBI

While in New York earlier this season, Holliday mentioned that he would definitely consider playing for the Yankees (knowing what kind of bounty the Steinbrenner twins pay, who their right fucking mind wouldn't?). But I'm personally not sold on this guy - his splits scream Coors Field Hero. Fuck him, why not wait and see if Jason Bay hits the market this offseason?

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Creepy Comparison #73: The Weak Chin Edition

There aren't many shows on television today worth my inestimable time, because most of them are either bullshit reality shows featuring collagen-filled women bitching about there wealthy, in-the-closet husbands, sappy dramas centered around unlikable cookie-cut characters that I would rather see beaten with a fire hose than relate to, or comedies that make "Homeboys in Space" look like fucking "All in the Family".

Then there's, "Rescue Me". If you don't watch it - watch it. It's worth 42 minutes of your life. It's got everything: comedy, drama, sex, and excessive use of profanity. On the left is actor John Scurti, who plays firehouse lieutenant Kenny "Lou" Shea. He's fat, cynical, and worldly, something every show needs. On the right is Nationals first basemen Nick Johnson, who's been injured more times than Washington's entire roster. They share a love of weak chins and mustaches. I marvel at weak chins and mustaches. You should too.

God's Gift to Mankind Returns

**Mimicking high-pitched woman's voice** Oh my God, what are we going to do, Mark Teixeira is hitting below the Mendoza line! Call a Psychologist! Call a Paranormalist! Get someone in here to fix this man!

(clears throat) Did I or did I not specifically say that the best is yet to come for Mark Teixeira? How do I get it throw that testicle-sized brain of yours? Do I need to announce it while having sex with your wife in front of your entire extended family during a Father's Day BBQ? Will that get your fucking attention? How about if I interrupt your precious lunch-time hamburger, huh? What if I pop my head in front of that delicious cheeseburger, dripping so lusciously with pickle juice, onions and ketchup, and remind you of my preseason proclamation? Maybe I'll also take that burger and cram it up your morbidly-obese-asshole just to make sure you get the fucking point.

(tears shirt off, rat-tails Mike Vaccaro in eye)

What you're going to see next - my performance from now until September - will not only shock you, but it may kill you. Seriously. Dead. Dead as Michael Kay's brain. This especially goes for you fat-boy's with the titties that poke through your white polo shirts. Which is gross, by the way. How the fuck could a man let himself get so fat that he grows titties?

(is reminded by a member of the media that A-Rod's nickname was "Bitch-Tits")

Oh that's right...I forgot about that. Well, if that guy keeps hitting home runs at the rate he's hitting them at now, I guess everyone can have tits - men, women, children. Tits for everyone!

(tears undershirt off, simultaneously impregnates women in audience)

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Delgado Done, Bring Out the Freaks

Now that Carlos Delgado's steroid abuse career has finally caught up with him, how will the Mets continue their first place success? Can they insert Fernando Tatis (hopefully he still has the contract he obtained from Satan last year for selling his soul) or Gary Sheffield into the lineup on an every day basis and still be a successful team? If you ask this guy, adding Gary Sheffield to a lineup is like adding salt to an already corroded piece of metal, or sticking your fingers down your throat after you've already vomited several times over, but what the fuck do I know?

Since AK has been on an unpaid vacation - probably living off of Uncle Walt's fruitful teet, and has yet to write a 4,000 word essay on David Murphy's pregame talcum powder application - I want to know what other Mets fans have to say. Is the team better off without Delgado, a guy who seems to hit more valleys than peaks and has the same emotional state as a 40 year-old unmarried woman? Or is the prospect of having Tatis or Sheffield out there every day just too much to handle?

Monday, May 18, 2009

Creepy Comparison #72: White Boyz

There aren't many people out there that have seen the movie, "White Boyz", mainly because it's in the top 5 for worst movies in the history of film, and it's never on TV before 1am, and the only channel that plays it is Starz Black. The movie is a stupid concept about three wiggers from Iowa, reinforced by terrible acting, namely the lead part, Danny Hoch. You may know Hoch from such other pieces of shit as, "Russell Simmons Presents: Def Poetry" or "Bamboozled". And while he did have bit parts in "Black Hawk Down" and "We Own the Night", he deserved them as much as I deserve to throw out the first pitch in this year's World Series. Hoch is a huge fucking loser. If you want to really, really hate someone after seeing them just once on screen, watch "White Boyz" it will make you want to drive screwdrivers into your eye sockets.

And since Blue Jays Scott Richmond resembles Hoch, I can no longer watch the Jays when he's on the bump. It's uncanny, thus forcing me to concentrate all my thoughts on how many different ways I would strangle him with a coat hanger.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Iron Man Wants to Know Gory Details, Dammit!

I went to college in Baltimore. At one point, after having my electricity turned off and getting evicted from my apartment, I was forced to move into a house with five full-blown, die-hard Orioles fans. And not your run of the mill fans, either. They honestly believed that Cal Ripken Jr. was one of the top 3 baseball players EVER. Ever as in, "the history of the sport we know as baseball". The Babe, Mays, then Cal. I'm as serious as Brett Myers fucking eyebrows.

Now, I understand their obsession with the man. He was good - great even - but after this mornings sports reads, I'll never understand why he decided he wants to get to the bottom of A-Rod's steroid use (link to story, here).

Why does Ripken care? Better yet, why would he want to know the details of one shady motherfuckers foray into the world of PED's? If I were acquaintances with A-Rod, and decided to have a heart-to-heart with him over some Old Bay slathered crabs, I know for sure that my interest would disintegrate the minute Alex started to describe the first time he had his cousin inject him with a syringe in some alleyway in the Dominican Republic. Gross. And creepy. Creepy gross.

My advice to Mr. Do-Gooder Ripken is leave it alone, buddy. Stay as far away as possible. Stick to building Little League fields and being cold toward your deathly loyal fanbase. And, oh yeah, watch out for that Kevin Costner, he's one sneaky bitch.

Creepy Comparison #71: Hilarity

*thanks to LB for the heads up on these two striking gentlemen

Remember the TV show "Blossom"? The show about the fat girl who wore gay hats and kept company with a whorish best friend, a deadbeat dad who plowed through all the neighborhood women, a senile grandfather, a retarded brother, and another brother who was homeless or some shit? Remember how popular the retarded brother got? See the picture on the right, Joey Lawrence. I was in middle school when this show started its path to mediocrity, and I remember all of the girls sweating that zany Joey. And it really pissed me off. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have been wearing those green Levi 560's or that Jets starter jacket, so I really have nobody to blame but myself.

Over there on the left is none other than the hilarious clubhouse prankster Nick Swisher. What makes Swisher even more funny is hearing someone like Jon Miller verbally masturbate over how Swish "loosens up the clubhouse". Say it seven more times, Jon, I don't think I heard you the first fifty, your creepy grunting and moaning was getting in the way...

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Charlie Hustle Knows What's Worse

You know who and what I hate besides tourists, religious zealots, raisins and Boston? I hate Pete Rose. Yes, I said it. I hate Charlie fucking Hustle. Fuck him and his dick haircut and prominent lower jaw. And fuck his opinions too. He take his precious opinions and ram them up his Floridian-sun-tanned ass.

How did this hatred come to pass? Well, after reading snippets from a recent interview with Rose, I wanted to puke. Then I wanted to scream. Then I wanted to thrust my head through a bay window. Because I can't stand when assholes like Pete are asked simple questions, and then have to throw their rusted two cents in to make sure everyone remembers that they're not the real fucking enemy.

Case in point, when recently asked by a reporter about A-Rod's Hall of Fame chances, Rose responded with this retardy:

"I'm willing to give a guy a second chance," said Rose, who added that he thinks steroid use is a more egregious wrongdoing than being a manager and wagering on his own team "because [steroid use] can have a direct impact on the outcome of a game," the News wrote.

First of all, douchebag, he hasn't had a first chance. He tested positive for steroids. He's still playing. He hasn't been banned from the game, unlike some other OTB-loving-dickhead I know. There's no need for a second chance/reinstatement. And you cannot decide whether a player deserves to be in the HOF until after he retires. You can speculate, you can assume, but you cannot decide. Remember this while you untuck your gigantic head from your asshole.

Second of all, the fact that you really think a manager who wagers on his own team is less harmful to the game makes you one of the stupidest human beings on the planet. You should be paraded around the country in a cage like a sideshow freak so people can witness you're lack of intelligence. And I am no condoning steroid use, because yes, steroids did hurt baseball, but betting on games that you have a direct hand in is similar to point-shaving, and is equally as bad! There's no scale here. No one's putting together a chart that decides which offense is worse. As much as you would like to justify your case, and at the same time, villainize the likes of A-Rod, Manny, Shoeless Joe and every other rule offender, it will never convince anyone that has any sort of logic pulsing through their brain.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Creepy Comparison #70 - Career Crossroads

It's rare to find two major league players who look or act alike, since they're always trying to outdue one another in in the, "I'm an indivdual, look at my lime-green pinstripe Armani suit with matching nearly-extinct rhinosaurus bone cufflinks!" department. But Scott Rolen and Jake Peavy fit the bill.

Unfortunately for one, beneficial for the other, their current teams and roles are far apart at the moment. Rolen is enjoying a career ressurgance with the Blue Jays, almost four years after his career died due to steroid injury complications. Peavy is stuck out in San Diego thousands of miles from the comfort of his duck blind in Alabama, busy porking plump college co-eds from S.D. State and wishing he could clone Adrian Gonzalez, minus the rapist mustache.

Papi's Support Group

When one on my friends or colleagues is in a slump, whether it's with work, women, whatever, I send him text messages. I make sure to send him plenty of them. Only, unlike the bleeding heart babies of major league baseball, mine usually include a few, "I bet your boss is just figuring out how to fire you", or "walk into oncoming traffic", or "God doesn't like you because you're secretly gay".

But not David Ortiz's support group. No, they're helping him through these tough times by sending him encouraging text messages, and words of wisdom. Hmm, I wonder, before Ortiz began plugging 12 inch syringes into his fat ass, do you think these guys were around, pulling for him to go from a guy who couldn't hit a righty if he tossed underhand, to one of the most feared sluggers in baseball?

I'm just saying, or speculating, or both. But grow-the-fuck-up, support groups are for drug addicts and 13-year-old fucking girls. Send him a message about his bitch-tits and go have sex with some groupies, hopefully regaining some of your lost manhood in the process.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

When in Doubt, Make Some Noise

Roger Clemens is once again under the scrutiny of the public eye, and not just for those super-gay frosted tips and douchetastic golf visor. The crack team that makes up The Daily News "sports investigation team*" is set to release yet another book - "American Icon" on how many times Brian Macnamee drank Miller Lite's stuck needles in Roger's ass.

Clemens' latest defense has to do with the fact that physically, his body could not handle the effects of PED's, because heart problems run in his family. He references that his brother had a heart attack in his 40's, and his step-father died from a heart attack. He forgot to mention that he was flooded with his step-father's blood at an early age to fuse that gap that's caused when a son rebels against his remarried mother.

But seriously, who out there actually believes, after the outings of A-Rod and Manny, that Clemens didn't do steroids? Not only is there suggestive proof, but he's thrown everyone under the bus that is even remotely connected to him, instead of admitting it and trying to save face. But no bother, because the bigger question is, does anyone really care about this shit anymore?

*I picture this "crack team" to actually be a bunch of old, overweight men in short-sleeved button-down shirts, sitting in the basement of a local YMCA, smoking Camel Lights and lobbing out bullshit retread ideas for a book concept, but actually believing that they're about to top the literary genius of, "Ulysses".

Monday, May 11, 2009

They're Back?

I laughed them off after the first week of the regular season like a drunk laughing off approaching headlights as he lounges along the double yellow line. And I'm sure all fans of other teams in the American League East did the same. But now, after as many as 34 games played, could the Toronto Blue Jays not be the mark that I was suspecting them to be?

I'm going to be honest here, the Jays make me nervous. They have the greatest right-handed pitcher in baseball. They have Scott Downs and what is probably the most underrated bullpen in baseball. They have a seemingly endless supply of pitching prospects able to provide quality start after quality start. They have longtime prospects like Adam Lind finally delivering. They are pretty much the complete opposite of the New York Yankees.

(sobs uncontrollably into blanket)

Now, I don't want the Blue Jays to succeed. For all I care, those French-Fucks can go disappear into the Canadian wilderness. But, I do get a sense of satisfaction when I go back and read through certain "writers" offseason "grades" for the Jays. Many of them assumed that by not adding any player of significant value, they were doomed. I always enjoy the shortcomings of so-called "experts" that actually know less about how a front-office works than I do about the history of Crochet. But I am a little jittery about the team's run. So to satisfy my worries, I'm quietly banking on a colossal three-man collision involving Marco Scutaro, Aaron Hill, and what's formerly known as Scott Rolen's shoulder. Hopefully that will end this charade, if it is a charade at all...

Friday, May 8, 2009

The Girardi Watch

Rock Bottom: Straw the broke the camel's back - The Great Mariano gives up back to back shots. Joltin' Joe better start packing his shit up.


Let the Healing Begin, And the Ignorance Dissipate

Now that Manny Ramirez has been formally outted from the steroids/PED's/bitch-tit-medication closet, it's safe to say that the unblemished and celebrated 2004 Red Sox team had themselves some blemishes, because if you believe he started using on the Dodgers, than you should wrap your ignorant lips around a FedEx truck's tailpipe. It was only a matter of time before the ESPN custom-built ivory tower that held the lovable and blue-collar Boston Red Sox franchise came crumbling the fuck down. I may sound satisfied by this. Well, I am, but only a little bit. Not because a player who was a major catalyst on the 2004 team has been implicated and suspended, but more so because some truth will finally surface, punching those cocky, shocked, gasping faces from Boston right in the fucking mouth, forcing them to realize that the game was tainted for over a decade, on all facets. Their team, their players, and their dream season was no exception. And you know what, I hope it makes not just Sox fans realize, but everyone realize that the game was infected, for a long time, and everyone is suspect.

When the Mitchell report came out, the amount of shit being spouted at Yankees fans by Red Sox supporters not only made me sick, but also made me question the validity of said people's baseball intelligence. Did these people honestly think that no one on the Red Sox Championship roster was juicing during their run? Really? That kind of logic baffles me. How about Trot Nixon, who hit 79 home runs from 2001-2003, but then never hit more than 15 and was out of baseball four years later at the age of 34. And how about Mark Bellhorn? He slugged 27 home runs in 2002, another 17 in 2004, and then disappeared (with his two-sided batting helmet) after the 2005 crackdown on steroids. And then there's the white whale, David Ortiz, a guy who three seasons ago hit 54 home runs, and now, at age 33, has yet to hit 1 through 100 at bats.

I don't get off on speculating. Actually, I'm usaully one to shun it. But what I'm trying to point out is, the quicker we find out who is clean and who is dirty, the easier it will be for me to win arguments while drunk in a bar with dickhead stubborn fans everyone to finally accept that the sport went through very, very harsh times. But we're in healing mode now. It's sort of like being in abusive relationship - right now, with names like Alex Rodriguez and Manny Ramirez being linked, we're finally seeing the approaching blue and red lights from police cars coming to whisk away to freedom.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

And The Wall Came Crumbling Down

The untouchable man, the man everyone said is clean, has been touched. According to the Los Angeles Times, Manny Ramirez is facing a 50 game suspension for allegedly testing positive for performance-enhancing drugs.

I was part of the army that was sure Manny was a freak, a natural, someone who didn't need an illegal advantage to succeed and dominate. Apparently, I was wrong. Now, the only question left is: Who's Next? Albert Pujols, Jim Thome, Ken Griffey, Vladimir Guerrero, Carlos Delgado, Andruw Jones, David Ortiz?

It's turned into a crapshoot. Line up a handful of superstar names from the 1990-2008 era, spin around in a dozen circles, then point a finger. It's destined to land on, or near, a name of someone who will eventually be linked to steroids or PED's. Blah, blah, blah, my childhood's ruined, this sucks...Yeah, we all hear a lot of that. But what's more important is, who gets to go to the Hall? What if 90% of baseball was doing PED's? Then do the banned now get accepted?

HowGirardi Manages the Yankees Bullpen

(strikes out the side, keeping game tied)

(lets up back to back home runs, throws 4 wild pitches)

(walks 2, lets up 2 singles, 3 doubles, hits 7 batters, throws a ball into the opposing dugout)

(throws a 96 mph down the middle, watches ball go 546 feet to center, breaks down in tears, rolls around in mound dirt, sobs uncontrollably)

(shits pants, demotes self to AAA Wilkes-Scranton)

(walks 9, continues to throw backdoor sliders on 3-0 counts)

(lets up 4 consecutive doubles, then strikes out the side with series of dominate changeups)



/thinks positively

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

*UPDATE* - Dump Joe!

More Joe Girardi bashing here.

Outta Here, Joe

Call me a cynic, call me a traitor, call me whatever the fuck you want, but I want Joe Girardi gone. Fired. 86'd. He sucks and he's a coward. And having a coward at the helm of your team is like going to war with a water pistol - a bad idea. The Red Sox have thoroughly pounded the Yankees into submission already, and it's only 5 games into their 18 game set. But they own us. Watching the game, you feel like it would be a miracle if the Yankees pulled one out. The Red Sox fans have this bubbling confidence that seems oddly familiar. Before Girardi took over, and even after the '04 collapse with Torre in charge, THAT WAS HOW US YANKEES FANS FELT!

Pulling Joba last night in the 6th after he retired 8 in a row on strikeouts because of a fucking pitch count was the last fucking straw. Premature, you say? I disagree. Why wait? What sort of managerial traits has he shown that are positive? Girardi has to go. Not only am I sick of the way he misuses the bullpen (Albababababababadajo in the 8th, really?), I'm sick of his pussy attitude toward everything. Complaining about the A-Rod book and saying, "enough is enough" was just plain gay. It will never be enough with the media, so just pass on the question. Don't get hormonal and start whining like a bitch, just ignore it, because it's never going away! Throw in Girardi's weird adulation for Brett Gardner and Cody Ransom, and it's enough to make me want to plunge several fingers down my fucking esophagus.

Now I'm the one saying enough is enough. Promote Tony Pena, or hire someone with a set, and let's fucking win some goddamn games.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

The Secret to Greinke's Success

The baseball world is enthralled by the sudden dominance of Kansas City Royals pitcher Zach Greinke. And rightfully so, Greinke is thoroughly punishing opposition each time he takes the bump. So what's the secret to Greinke's transformation from anxious, depressed sky's-the-limit prospect, to dominate Ace on the upswing?

I assume his remedy goes something like this*:

.20 mg of Prozac

.50 mg of Zoloft

.25 mg of Xanax

1/5 of Jack Daniels

1 gm of cocaine

2 huffs of model glue

Add this up and it equals: 6-0, 0.40 ERA, 54 K's, 0.84 WHIP, and 2 Complete Game Shutouts

*Yes, I am fully aware that taunting and laughing at the sick gives you a first class ticket to hell...

Monday, May 4, 2009

It Must Run in the Family

If you're older than 40, and selling Meth is your primary source of income, then you have some serious life issues to ponder. Someone needs to tell that to Joba Chamberlain's mother, who was arrested for apparently selling Crystal Meth to an undercover cop.

When you look at the whole scope of the issue, it's kind of depressing (and hilarious), especially because it wasn't a flashy drug like coke, or a cool drug like weed, or a trendy drug like Oxycodone. It's fucking meth. It makes your teeth fall out. It makes you lose weight. It gives you severe diarrhea. It makes you give handjobs to homeless men in dark alleyways and under highway offramps. In short, Meth is some bad shit.

Now, I wonder who's situation is worse, Joba's, or Dustin Pedroia's? Personally, I'm taking the rock-slinging mom over the pedophile brother, but hey, I guess it's a matter of preference.

When in Doubt, Send to the DL

Chalk this one up as a win for the good guys: Damaso Marte is headed to the DL. Who celebrates things like this? I do. Why? Because Marte is a fucking waste of gold-shavings-filled Yankees Stadium Clubhouse airspace. He was nothing short of terrible last season after arriving in the Bronx, and since he received his mind-numbingly retarded three-year contract from GM Fat Boy and Co., he has been even worse.

A few Yankee fans I know believed - prior to the injury - that the team should let Marte pitch through his woes. And by "woes", I mean, "complete and utter disgrace to pitching, his family, and Jesus fucking Christ". I thought this was a terrible idea. Sort of like asking a trust-fund child to assault a 6'5'' angry black man. Thankfully, there will be no severe beatings in the near future, that is, until Chien-Ming Wang returns from the brainwash room in "A Clockwork Orange".

Friday, May 1, 2009

Friday Movie Matinee

Although I can't find my favorite clip from, "State of Grace" - the fight on the Westside Highway with the Italians by the Intrepid, this scene gets it done. Gary Oldman was a maniac, is a maniac, and will always be a maniac. This clip - like the many from "True Romance" - helps support the claim.

Canseco Wants to Hit the Mats

Jose Canseco is sick of not failing at more things in life. He's already worked his way out of professional baseball, had sexual relations with Madonna before she popped out two kids, turned his back on each relationship he developed during his 17 pro seasons, had his home foreclosed on, lost all his money, and got his ass handed to him in his only attempt at boxing.

So, what's next?

Oh, just another foray into the world of combat sports. That's right, Canseco's going to test the MMA waters.

Now, I'm not a fan of MMA to begin with, I prefer boxing. Think it's old fashioned? Fuck you. Think I should, "get with the times"? Go choke on a dick. But I will definitely watch this hulking, orange-skinned asshole get pummeled by some college kid from Santa Monica who specializes in Kempo.

This inevitable beating is Canseco's destiny. It may even get me to appreciate the sport a bit more...Oh wait, I won't, never will, and generally don't care, but fuck it, I want to see a bloodbath!

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Swine Flu Alert in The Bronx

Guess Who's (Almost) Back?

Remember all the guys you knew in high school who did steroids? Their backs looked like a satellite shot of the moon and they often times physically attacked teachers and threatened to strangle them in front of the whole class (or was this just my school?)...Well, I do. And apparently, according to more leaked details from Selena Roberts' book, Alex Rodriguez was hitting the sauce - hard - back in high school, too.

These accusations surprise me about as much as A-Rod coming out of the closet. And I've also because become numb to the whole situation. But I am expecting Judgment Day type consequences when A-Rod returns to the lineup. It's going to be like the end of the original, "Ghostbusters", where Rick Moranis gets possessed by a dog and fucks Sigourney Weaver, and then the guys have to climb 100 flights of stairs to go and fight Zool. The pavement shreds, the sky goes dark, and the fucking Marshmallow Man destroys St. Patrick's Cathedral. At least that's how I envision it. Except minus the comedic timing of Dan Akroyd, Harold Ramis and Bill Murray. And more blond frosted tips. And more "Gay-Rod" implications.

But it's all typical New York Yankees/media bullshit. Just when it seems as though the team is putting it all together, pitching and hitting well (minus Jonathan Alababababababdajeo), you-know-who has to shuffle back into the spotlight and fuck some chemistry up. At this point, I wish there was an easy solution to the impending distraction. Why can't Alex Rodriguez take a late-night ride over the GWB, find his way to Secaucus, and disappear into the weeds? Would you be upset if he never returned? I know I wouldn't be. The Yankees would go out and trade for a replacement player - one with significantly less emotional/psychological baggage - and life would go on. But no, A-Rod has to prance his way back into the clubhouse, smiling like an asshole, mispronouncing words, and missing every 2-2 slider he meets...Goddamn this is going to suck.

Fuck it, I'm rooting for the Jersey scenario...

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Meet Mark Melancon

They call him "Joba 2", mainly because "they" are "retarded". But the team's brass, and a set of wildly ignorant fans, are hoping Mark Melancon is a stud closer in waiting. While this is a tall order to fill (Sorry all, but for every Mariano Rivera there are twenty Danys Baez's), I'm relatively certain that Melancon is going to help the Yankees bullpen - mostly because their bullpen is shittier than the toilets at the Port Authority bus station.

So, seeing that we are all unfamiliar with Melancon and his background, let's take a moment to learn more about the Yankees newest reliever.

Name: Mark D. Melancon
Born: March 28, 1985 in Wheat Ridge, CO, US
Throws/Bats: Right, Right

Fast Facts:
  • Do not look Mark Melancon in the eyes. He sees it as a threat and a challenge.
  • Do not climb a tree if chased by Mark Melancon. He can climb faster than you. And he carries a grappling hook.
  • After spending his childhood locked to a faux-pitcher's mound inside an abandoned airplane hangar in Colorado, his skin has become partially translucent. What you see on his body is a mask and body-suit designed by NASA.
  • His facial hair is finer than silk, and if ingested, more deadly than a Japanese Puffer Fish.
  • He does not enjoy comparison's to Joba Chamberlain. He prefers Jesus Christ.
  • Mark killed his first Grizzly at the age of 12. He killed his first insurgent threat at the age of 15. He killed his first Kei Igawa at the age of 24.
  • He throws 17 different pitches, include 8 unpronounceable by people speaking the English Language.
  • While at AAA Scranton, he used his index finger to correct Phil Hughes' vision.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Return of the Prodigal Son

Round 3 of the Phil Hughes experiment begins in a little over an hour. Should we expect lofty statistics? No. No we should not. I predict a stat line that reads:

5.2 IP, 7H, 4ER, 4 K's.

Flashy? No. But efficient? Yes. Because that is what a 5 starter needs to be - efficient. I'm not asking for a world-beater, I'm just asking for a guy that can keep the fucking floodgates closed for a little over half-a-game. Hopefully I am setting the bar low, to quite low. But taking into account my ability to jinx situations, it could end up being a slaughter.