Friday, September 30, 2005

Make a Wish...

The Chicken's turning 6 today! And all he wants for his birthday is...well, you know. And he's going straight to the source:


That's it. That's all he wants. He's even given up the notion of diamond earrings a la Shawn Chacon. He simply wants the one thing that will make him feel useful again, like he's not a failed Good Luck Yankee Chicken. You know what it is, I know what it is, and I dare say the Yanks do too...

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Hey! I'm Getting all Beaster Over Someone Other Than Lupicass!

This is from Sports Guy's latest column, in which he pretty much thinks the MVP is a nothing award, but feels strongly enough to make an argument for his player. The bolded part is the only portion of this sentence that should've stayed in, if you ask me:

[A-Rod's] certainly no David Ortiz, the most dangerous clutch hitter in baseball, in addition to being the soul of Boston's clubhouse and the emotional center of the team.

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize the MVP is that of the TEAM and not the entire AMERICAN LEAGUE. Perhaps we should go back in time and take away awards from people who WEREN'T the "soul of the clubhouse." Because EVERY team has a soul of the clubhouse, but that's not what this award is about.

MVP to me means stats, plain and simple, and maybe where those stats get you. And it seems like sportswriters have been following that pattern for years now. So for every Yankee hating columnist to bring in this nonsense that you have to be a team leader or "soul of the clubhouse" now...well it just smacks of whiny-ass Yankee bitterness to me. And seriously, if being the "emotional center" of the team is what nabs you this award, Derek Jeter should've won the damn thing for 10 years running now.

A-Rod won it in 2003, in a year TEXAS FINISHED LAST IN THE DIVISION. No one seemed to care about his "lack of leadership" (which I think is total bullshit considering he does stuff like school a certain rookie second baseman for being a dick to the media, among other things) back then, but methinks it's because he, um, wasn't wearing pinstripes that no one had a problem with it.

And if it's REALLY about someone being the "emotional center of the team" (and seriously, Bill, been watching a bit too much Lifetime Television lately?) and not stats, then why the fuck has BARRY BONDS, the "clubhouse cancer" won it so many times? And surly Jeff Kent? And Frank Thomas in years the White Sox didn't come near the playoffs?

So, spare me, Sports Guy and your Sux-loving-blinders-on-to-every-other-team bad self. Seriously.

Also making me scratch my head is Ryne Sandberg's argument for Ortiz winning the AL MVP:

He leads the AL with 46 home runs and 140 RBIs. He's also in the top three in runs scored (115), total bases (348) and slugging percentage (.606). Those numbers show that he is the most feared hitter in the American League.

Um, OK Ryne. I'm going to cut you some slack and assume this was written awhile ago because the stats have changed slightly (Ortiz is now at 353 bases, for example, and A-Rod has 47 homers). But right now A-Rod LEADS in runs scored (119) and slugging percentage (.610), is second in total bases (359) and his OPS is sick: 1.031, the only player above 1.000 right now, and a .421 OBP. Ortiz is .993 and .392 on those stats respectively, which is close, but Ryne seems to be making the argument that Ortiz should win because he's high up in these stats, nevermind that there are people ahead of him, his rival for the award included.

I think Ortiz IS the most-feared hitter in the league because of his knack for the "clutch" hit, but overall, A-Rod's still got him beat statistically. Why can't people just come out and admit that? It's right there in print. If you're voting for a guy because he has a flair for the dramatic just come out and say it for crying out loud (though that would be kind of unfair since you've dealt the award out to "less dramatic" dudes in the past). But don't poo-poo A-Rod's statistics, because the only thing he's trailing Ortiz in right now is RBI, and it's not by that much. So nyah.

That's my opinion, and I'm sticking to it.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

A Kiss on the Wing May be Quite Continental...

KB: Um, Chicken, why are you staggering around with your Yankee hat over your eyes?
Chicken: Shhhh! I am trying to get in touch with my inner Shawn Chacon.
KB: Shawn Chacon walks around blindly just for the hell of it?
Chicken; No. But he does wear his hat askew. Don't you think I look like him when I wear my hat like this?
KB: Well...

The resemblence is uncanny...

Chicken: Because he's my new best friend and I am trying to emulate him. Don't you want to be like Shawn Chacon?
KB: I think I'll let Chacon be Chacon. He certainly pitches much better than I ever could. And I thought Gator and Guy the Godzilla were your best friends?
Chicken: Pshaw, when was the last time they pitched the Yankees into a pennant race? Besides, they agree with me. They're like "Chicken, you totally have to be best friends with Shawn Chacon. Maybe he'll come to your birthday party and invite us to Yankee games and we'll get really good seats!" Believe me, they know an opportunity when it presents itself.
KB: I can just see it now: The players wives sitting with...a plastic aligator, a blow-up Godzilla doll and a Chicken wearing Yankee garb.
Chicken: Would that be weird or something? Do people not think non-humans can enjoy the game of baseball? Do they not think Guy the Godzilla could have a thing for blonde trophy wives? Or that gator really enjoys a good hot dog every now and then? Or that I, the Yankee Chicken, can be best friends with the current ace of the Yankee pitching staff?
KB: Guy the Godzilla has a thing for trophy wives?
Chicken: Don't change the subject!
KB: Sorry man. Maybe I can get my mom to make you some really baggy pants for your birthday, even if you can't wear them.
Chicken: Forget baggy pants! I want those diamonds that Chacon's got goin' on in his ears! I think I need some bling in my life. And you know what they say, diamonds are a fowl's best friend.
KB: Sigh.

Good Thing I Pay Attention...

I love how both the Daily News and the Post are running headlines today that scream "Red Sox Catch Yankees" or something to that effect. Because, um, helllllloooo, the Yanks were up that 1/2 of a game for a few hours thanks to Mother Nature, not as a result of the Yanks winning and the Sux losing. The Sux win their first game and it's back to where they were would've been had they have won the night before, then lose the nightcap and it's all evened out. Whoopdee damn do. You'd think the Yanks had a full game lead the way the papers are talking, and I'm sure they're going to freak some fans out who went to bed before seeing the final Sux score. Sigh.

Forget John Sterling, sometimes the tabloids can be the overdramatic Italian grandmother in this town...

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Since I'm Not Speaking to the Yankee Bullpen at Present...

Dear CBS 880, the Yankee Organization, God, or whomever is in charge of putting together the Yankee radio broadcast team: For the love of all that is holy, please, please, please, PLEASE don't renew John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman's contracts when they come up again. I am sure they are lovely human beings, but THEY SUCK AS BROADCASTERS. When the Yanks suck so hard that I can't even watch them anymore, that I throw my remote control and decide to go walking (or stalking is more like it given my angry pace) and keep the radio with me to check on the score (because I am so all talk and no action when it comes to turning my back on this team) I need to hear someone soothingly tell me the Yanks are getting in deeper trouble. I need to hear someone be all "this is the score and that's the way it is." I need someone with a sense of calm. What I don't need is some ginormous ego getting all huffy and bratty in his play-by-play when the Yanks aren't coming through. Seriously, John Sterling is like a 13-year-old girl in a snit with her best friend when it comes to the Yanks doing poorly. Or an overdramatic Italian grandmother. Or a drunken fan on a message board. I don't need that when I'm already angry enough for every man, woman and child in the city of Hoboken. I need someone to tell me something I don't already know or feel.

And Suzyn tries and all, I feel like she's got a gun to her head to read pro-Yankee propaganda half the time. For example, during Saturday's game, the Yanks were down 4-0. A-Rod's homer cut it to 4-2. After Sterling had this crazy ass Sybil-like mood swing (from gloom and doom, bitching out the Yankee pitching staff to ebullient joy of...cutting the lead in half), Suzyn was all sarcastic-like and "Not bad for a guy who doesn't come through in the clutch." Now, y'all know I am A-Rod's biggest defender and feel like he gets a lot of shit unnecessarily, but COME ON. Had he hit a grand slam, I would've been all, "OK, awesome" and while his homer did help get the Yanks on the board, it was nowhere NEAR deserving of all the "told ya so Yankee haters" coming from these two. Especially since I'm not sure if Sterling likes or hates the Yankees himself half the time.

So in short, I'd really appreciate it if you looked into getting some knowledgeable and likeable peeps into the broadcast booth. I mean, I'd like to listen to a game and not have it be the emotional equivalent of having a red-hot poker shoved up my ass.

Thanks man!

Would Curtass Pitch Every One?

Picture 1

Yeah, as awesome as it would be to have the Sux play three games in one day and tire their asses out, I don't think it's exactly fair. But apparently Yahoo wants us to think that a triple header is indeed humanly possible...

Monday, September 26, 2005

My Kind of Town

So during yesterday's Yuppies and Puppies, Fall 2005, Tonya and I plunked down on a bench to eat some greasy food and people watch, and my friends, I have some awesome news to report: Yankee fandom is alive and well in Hoboken. I don't think I've ever seen so many people in Yankee hats and shirts in the Mile Square City...and such a lack of Sux merchandise. I mean, the B caps were there, but nowhere near as many as in years past. It's like the town finally realized "Um, yeah, we live right across the river from NYC. It's OK to show support for a local team and stuff."

And judging by how worn the merchandise looked, I can say that these probably weren't front-runners, either. So while I don't get why you've been hiding in years when the team has been more dominant, I do commend you, people of Hoboken, for not being afraid to show the Yankee love now. It's about damn time.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Seasons of Love


The first time I heard the name Bernie Williams, I thought the Yanks would be bringing in some tiny dorky dude with big glasses, someone more akin to an accountant than a centerfielder. I remember hearing Suzyn Waldman talking about him on WFAN, saying that the Yankees thought he was the goods, and sure enough, a few games later, he was brought in to play center. Well, I got the glasses part right. I remember when I first saw him, this tall cow-eyed man, soft spoken and shy and thought "He's going to be a Yankee?" This is because the Yanks were a bunch of loud mouths back then, and apparently his predecessor, Roberto Kelly, was none too happy that this young'n was coming in to take centerfield from him. He warmed up to Bernie later, but you always heard stuff about him getting picked on, and when he made base running errors, you heard that people yelled at him for it and called him a space cadet and stuff like that.

It took him a while to prove himself, but damn if he didn't work his way into my affections almost instantly. It would depress me to no end when he was mentioned in trade talks, and fans would be screaming that he should go and I'd be like "What are you stupid? Don't you see the potenital there?" But he stuck around, because someone in the organization obviously agreed with me. His poster went up on my wall, next to Mattingly, and I deemed him the Yank I related to the most. Yeah, a 15-year-old girl trying to relate to a Major League Baseball player, but there you go.

Bernie soon blossomed into what me and the Yankee execs thought he would, which is someone you can count on in the clutch. He was probably the most graceful Yankee out there, and the way he would pop up from a slide would always make me gape in wonder. Even my mom thought his play was pretty. His diving, running and sliding catches were almost ballet-like, that peaceful expression never really leaving his face. Which is why I started referring to him as Ferdinand.

I think my favorite Bernie memory was when the Yanks were so close to not re-signing him...and the Sux were about to bring him in. I cannot explain how this killed me. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and that afternoon there was a news report that the signing with the Sux was "imminent." Later that night, I was going into my parents' kitchen to get a glass of water, when I passed our basement door. My mom was watching TV down there, and I heard the word Bernie float up the stairs. Thats' when my mom called up "Hey Kar! Did you hear about Bernie?" And I was like "No?" And she was all "The news just now said he's coming back and he signed for like 8 years!"

People, you have not seen elation until you've seen me jumping for joy and mentally doing that math that Bernie would be a Yankee till I was 28, which seemed so, SO far away. Bernie was coming back -- and I think I knew right then that the Yanks would win the Series the next year because all just seemed right with the world. It was a very happy Thanksgiving, that's for sure.

When Bernie won Game 1 of the ALCS the next year, one of the backpages just had "BERNIE!" as it's headline, which was like the awesomest thing ever because that's frequently what I refered to him as. Yes, BERNIE! He'd come to bat and the Yanks would be losing like 12-0 and I'd still be like "BERNIE!" Even my dad will say it from time to time. And while I've added Bernie F'ing Williams (BFW) in recent years, BERNIE! is still my go-to name. It just works so well.

So today, to hear the Stadium crowd showering BERNIE! with love, well, it filled me up. It proved people have appreciated him the same way I have, despite the moaning and groaning about him in recent months. I mean, 15 seasons is...15 seasons. In this town, you don't stick around that long unless you're doing something right. He's been refered to as a borderline Hall of Famer, and he's up there with the big names in Yankee record history. Not bad for a guy they thought "looked lost on the basepaths" and "get rid of his ass" back in 1993.

Ya done good, Cow Eyes. You done real good.



I have a request for you, my fans in Yankeehood who are suddenly all gloom-and-doom: Stop thinking this is last year. Stop thinking this isn't 1998. Stop thinking period. I mean, reading a lot of posts and blogs out there today, you'd think the Yanks were 10 games back instead of, like, tied for first. Why? Because we're fighting Boston for a playoff spot rather than laughing at their reflection in the rearview mirror. Because the past four seasons they've made us think they're going to take it all, sometimes to the last possible second, only for them to snatch it away from us. Because we've put 154 games of faith into them only for them to be inconsistent and then nothing short of amazing and then inconsistent again. But what's really amazing to me is the turnaround from yesterday; from on top of the world to "here we go again." What, did you really think they'd end the season on a 14-game win streak? It doesn't happen that easily. And if you can't be bothered with the glorious agita and and nausea that comes with the territory of battling for a playoff spot perhaps you should step away from the baseball, because you know a spot in the post-season isn't going to come gift-wrapped.

So I'm going to ask y'all to do something novel: Relax. And enjoy the game. You say you have faith in this team? Prove it. By just taking this one game at a time and having fun with it and to hell with what the writers, reporters and fans of other teams say to try to inspire your wrath. These are your boys in pinstripes and they probably want this a hell of a lot more than we do.

And that, my friends, could make this week a sight to behold.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Front-running for the Exits in the 8th

From today's NY Times:

Nine Yankees batters and several runs later, the Yankee Stadium stands, home to some of the most experienced front-runners in sports, were full of rejoicing fans again.

What, you think I'm going to get all angry and disagree with this? Not really. Because it's the truth. The Yankee fans I call friends are of the through-thick-and-thin sort, but we all know that these jackasses exist and come to games and make us roll our eyes and curse their presence.

But I will say this -- these games have been selling out all season, when they were doing poorly, when they were climbing back into it, and now. Sure, maybe people just wanted to be able to say they saw this collection of showcase players regardless of their record, but they were coming out to the park when ESPN was proclaiming this team dead. I will give them credit for that.

And the great thing is, you can pretty much label the front-runners once the 7th inning stretch comes, and you see TONS of people filing for the exits so they can "beat the traffic". I've never really understood this because you wouldn't come to a movie or a play and only stay 3/4 of the way through, but you'll leave a tight baseball game? Then again, these jackasses are probably the ones who start/gleefully participate in the wave with two runners on and two outs in a 4-3 ballgame in the 8th...

Thursday, September 22, 2005

But Today I'm a Happy Beaster

So along with KB and Bisch, I now have a new nickname to add to my not-so extensive list: Beaster. We can thank my co-worker Jason (he of the whiskey and Coke sharing) for this, as yesterday he deemed me "very feisty." Now, he normally calls me KB or Bischer, but I guess I was being such a snarly ass yesterday that he was like "Aww, poor Beaster." So I guess you could say I assume this personality when I go off on my Lupicass/Schilling/ESPN rants as well.

Also from Copy's Greatest Hits this week -- Jason's Louis Armstrong "imitation", Rana's fascination with Phyllis Diller, the pirate ship under our boss Art's new home (not empty oil tanks like he suspects), Sloth of Goonies' fame visiting our department because of Met-fan Mona's Baby Ruth craving, Dave Coulier visiting just for the hell of it (or at least he called to tell us to Cut. It. Out. On several occasions) and Jason's question of the week: "How did it happen that not only Santa, but pirates and the Jolly Green Giant all go Ho, Ho, Ho?"

And you wonder why I like coming to work everyday...

Ut-shay up-hay, Upicass-Lay

I was going to post all angry like about Lupicass' column today, how he gets all smug and self-satisfied that he can finally use his pen to diss A-Rod again (because in his teeny tiny mind Ortiz is the MVP and fielding doesn't count for anything apparently, and even if it did, A-Rod's fielding and rifle for an arm are completely over-rated) but I'm not going to. I'm not supposed to be reading him because he has turned into a one-note whiner, his hatred for just one player zapping him of all the credibility he ever had in my eyes. Because if this had been any other writer, I'd be like "Fine, that's his opinion." But Lupicass has had it in for A-Rod since Day One, so yeah, I don't really trust any of his opinions toward the man, no matter how many "facts" he likes to think he brings up.

And I will say this: If the tables were turned and it was A-Rod who was the DH, you'd certainly see a smug line that read "The award is called the Most Valuable PLAYER, not HITTER" or something to that effect.

He just hates A-Rod. As if we didn't already know.


Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Can I Throw the Snobs Down the Hatch?

Man alive, first place. I don't really know what to do with myself, so I'm just going to allow myself a minor "eeeeee" and go on as if they are still a half game back. No time to get cocky now, but damn, it's a start.

And can I tell you how freakin' awesome it is to have the Yankee fan snobs (a.k.a., the I Can Do Joe Torre's Job Better Than He Can folks) bitching and moaning about giving Bernie the night off in favor of Matt Lawton, complete with "Why Lawton, Whys" over in the comments section at Bronx Banter...only for Lawton to be the offensive difference tonight? I know everyone's on edge about making the playoffs and shit, but seriously. Second guessing like it's your fucking job and like you have a PhD in Baseball Knowledge is not going to make you feel better in the morning, even if you're right. And almost everyone was wrong tonight, so nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah. Yeah, I'm tired of baseball snobs, can't you tell?

And speaking of snobs, the televisionwithoutpity Lost board is rife with them tonight. How these people thought tonight's episode wasn't that good is beyond me. But I am this show's bitch and probably stupid and like, it was the season premiere and it might not get better than this and the writers will let us down and...wah, wah, wah. I thought it rocked, man. If you're not watching, you're seriously depriving yourself of some good TV.

What Did I Do Before Text Messages?

I think I just lived one of the most bizarre evenings of my life, and I didn't even see the Yankee game, so no, their slugfest with the O's is only part of it.

Let's just say that even without the promised and much bally-hooed and subject for department joking, that being the Patron Tequila Fountain, my office party was freaking...I don't even know what. But let me tell you what set the tone for it. Rana and I were standing in this really awesome courtyard of an NYC hotel/restuarant, nibbling on chicken on a stick, enjoying our free drinkage and talking about whatever it is copy editors talk about, when all of a sudden, across the yard, I see this tall object with flowing hair walking by. Now, I've seen this tall object with flowing hair many times before, just not up-close, because I am slightly obsessed with his younger, angel-faced and big-voiced compatriot. And this tall object with flowing hair has also been the subject of slight, um, criticism on this blog. Yes my friends, I practically drop my drink because I'm too busy hitting Rana and hissing "IT'S CONSTANTINE!!" Yes, that Constantine.

Now, Rana actually likes "Const" so she's pretty damn excited, and I'm all texting Erica that "Const" was there, because this is probably the most hilarious and weird moment of my year, second to mine and Erica's Idol concert experience. I mean, we knew celebs were invited to our shindig, but one that I actually have blogged about? Because he freaks me the fuck out? Come on, when does this shit happen?

It's also at this point that I find out Ken snuck Tonya's name onto the guestlist and she's coming to the party, and I have a mild panic attack because there were rumors Steph was going to show up at our party, and that's like my Yankee text-messaging life line right there. I try to enlist Erica's help, but she's not home. Rick is though, and gets me the score right away. Then Erica gets home, as does Steph, and I've got three lifelines going and I will buy them all drinks for it, because that was crucial. There were no TVs at the bar and it's freaking September, people. In a tight race.

But back to the master thespian. At one point, I'm chatting with my boss (also Rana's boss) about whatever it is copy editors talk about, and I glance up to the VIP area where Const is sitting, and who waltzes right over to him but Rana, camera in hand. She plunks down next to him on the couch, and the two chat animatedly for a bit and pose for a few pictures, and I am practically peeing my pants I am laughing so hard. Tonya arrives around this point, and I'm like "Constantine is here!" and she's forced to relive the night he got kicked off Idol and not A-Fed and how I freaked the hell out like she's never seen in the middle of a losing Yankee game. She's all "I should go up to him and be like, 'Constantine, I don't know you, but you made my friend Karen's night by getting kicked off American Idol and not A-Fed.'" That would've been totally awesome.

Rana reports back to us that he's actually really cool and nice to talk to (and y'all should go pester her on her blog to get her to post about it), and I will even admit he seemed really comfortable with the people and the surroundings (some other celebs were there, but you practically had to get through Secret Service to talk to them) and I kick myself slightly because that there is a man with A-Fed's cellphone number right there in his pocket. Maybe he would've let us talk to him, and I'd be like "Hey, A-Fed! The Yankees are winning! When is your album coming out? And you know you're totally adorably hot, right?" Uhhh...OK, maybe it's a good thing I kept my distance.

At one point, Erica texts me that "A-Rod Down" which makes my heart sink to my ankles and I show my boss (a Yankee fan) and he's all "What does THAT mean?" and I actually have to sit down. Tonya and Ken were on the other side of this massive crowd of people and all I'm thinking is "WHHHHHHHHHHHHY?" I then get a text from Erica that says it was only a false alarm and she's sorry she got me all freaked, but I'm still about to have a coronary, such is my angst. So it's awesome later when she texts "U haven't had too much to drink and talked 2 Const or anything crazy like that, right?" So Tonya has me text her that "Tonya is really drunk and hooking up with Const." Erica was too smart to believe it, wondering if I was getting back at her for A-Rod, but said she'd have faith in me to pull Tonya off him if that gross event ever did take place. Tonya and I had a pretty good laugh over that.

But, you guys? I AM SO FRIGGIN' GLAD A-ROD ISN'T HURT. Like, so, so, SOOOOOOO glad.

Anyway. The party itself was one nice affair because company knows how to show its employees a dang good time. I mean, there was Cold Stone Creamery at the afterparty, where I spend reading more game texts (damn, how unmanagebly long WAS that sucker?), staring agog with Tonya and my boss at a 50-page feature on a "pirate wedding", trying not to get stepped on my the masses of people and trying to gauge juuuuuuuuuust how drunk everyone is...and GOOD LORD, Chewboken is having some loud sex or something equally frolicky in his bed right now. The damn thing is practically scraping through the floor.

Seriously, guys, most bizarre night ever.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Dividing Lines

Today's poll results in the Daily News can totally be broken down by three psychological types:

Will the Yankees make the playoffs?

Yes, as the division winner 36% (Optimists)
Yes, as wild card 29% (Realists)
No 35% (Met fans)

I love New York.

Monday, September 19, 2005

Because You Know "Bubba Thump" Will Totally be a Headline Tomorrow

"Bubba was my best good friend. And even I know that ain't something you can find just around the corner..."


And a walk-off home run from the last guy you expect is also pretty damn rare.


God, Some People.

To the NY Post' backpage that blames Jeter's 9th inning strikeout for the Yanks' loss yesterday: Spare me. I suppose the 8 other guys in the lineup who failed when they were given their chances yesterday had nothing to do with it. Or Alan Embree. Or Al Leiter, since he gave up a run. Or Jaret Wright who just plain sucked. Because the Yanks lost by one run yesterday. And had it not been for the Captain's homer earlier in the game, the game wouldn't be a one-run affair and you wouldn't be blaming his ass for striking out now, would you?

To the fans who are salivating for Joe Torre's exit: Two words for you: Lou. Pinella. One month with his pouty managerial style, and one month of the clubhouse being at war with each other as a result, and I guarantee you you will be kissing the ground Joe walks on. Yeah, he's made some head-scratching decisions in the last few months. But even if his decisions had turned out right, y'all would still be on his ass because this is New York and we have to blame SOMEONE for not being in first place and, oh my gosh, not running away with the division (becuase Boston would still be winning too. You can't blame Joe for that.). That this clubhouse hasn't erupted and created a distraction from winning games and made backpage media madness in this very uneven season? You have Joe Torre to thank for that. Don't forget it. And don't forget he's managing what he's got in this bullpen...which isn't much. But I suppose a fan could do better because they know this team WAY better than the guy who's been managing them for the last 10 years...

And for fuck's sake people, they won six in a row before losing yesterday and they actually gained ground on this roadtrip. Cut them some fucking slack.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

A New Ami for The Chicken


The Chicken wants you to meet his new friend Gustave Sautee. Gustave is a crow from Quebec, and after falling into a drunken stupor after the baseball season ended last year, he awoke to find his beloved Expos had vacated Montreal. He is now on a mission to find them and bring them back with him. The Chicken doesn't have the heart to tell him that they seem to have a found a permanent home in D.C., but he is making his new friend feel welcome in Hoboken, hoping that maybe he will stick around and not decide not to get his heart broken in Washington.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Freaky Friday

What was that? And can the Yanks promise to never let that happen again? I mean, a win is a win, but it should never be THAT close when you once had an eight-run lead.

And man, I'm REALLY interested to hear what it was that came out of Johnson's mouth that required him to get tossed from the game. Quite frankly, I've seen Moose stare longer and more condescendingly at an ump after a good pitch called a ball and not even get so much as a warning look from said umpire. Sterling, Waldman, Kay and Singleton (the only one I really trust here) all seemed to be on the same page about it, in that Johnson should've kept his mouth shut, but Culbreth shouldn't have had such a short fuse. Then again, Steinbrenner signs all their paychecks, so maybe they had to say that. Whatever the case...that pitch was a strike. Randy had a right to be a bit pissed. I hope for Culbreth's sake that RanJo said something truly deserving of being tossed in a pennant race, because that would suck for him if he just popped off because he was having a bad night or something...

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Who's Laughing Now, Lupicass?

"Waaaaah...Just not a team with a payroll $177 million smaller than theirs. Go figure. All they needed to do was beat up the Devil Rays the way they used to beat the Tampa Bay Sting Rays and they would be the ones in first place in the East.

They haven't been able to do it. So they are behind the Red Sox, against whom they are 9-7 this season. They are behind the Indians for the wild card. This is all so funny, it hurts."

"I'm funny how? I mean, funny like I'm a (sad) clown? I amuse you? I make you laugh... I'm here to fuckin' amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, you kinda swept them. Um...oh, I didn't mean you were funny Robinson. I meant that two-bit hack A-Rod who does nothing in the clutch and makes like 2 billion dollars a year and beats small children and hates God and America too."

"Hey dickwad, I had the go-ahead homer tonight. I had the game winning hit in the rally against KC two weeks ago. I had the homer off Schilling back in Boston. And I'm going to win the MVP. Put that in your teeny tiny pipe and smoke it, muthafucka."

"Waaaaaah, but you make so much money and have a crack habit and steal from orphans and..."

"Oh god, just SHUT UP, Lupicass...hey, I've always wanted to say that..."

Guido Alert!

So last night I met up with my friend Jill, our goal being to catch up since last we met and watch the Yanks hopefully shut up Lupicass for at least one more day. Well, all was fine and dandy -- she wanted to hear about my new job, I wanted to hear about how she's moving to L.A. later this fall -- when 40-year-old Guido Guy Who Just Doesn't Get It comes between us. What is this about? Why are there men who can't read signals -- like, if we're looking over at you and smiling and motioning for you to join us, come on down! But if you just jump into someone's conversation because you deem us to be fresh meat? I'm so not bothering with you. Jill handled our "How You Doin'?" friend pretty well because she's nice and friendly as all hell. She took this guy as an amusement rather than a nuisance, which when he's bragging about how he spends his summer nights hanging out in -- wait for it -- Manasquan, when I'm really invested in the game in front of me, you're going to be a TOTAL nuisance in my eyes. When he starts making some borderline racist comments about the Bronx, he's totally lost me and I stop being polite and just keep my eyes on the screen. And I start getting pissed when his friends announce they're leaving and he stays and and I hear the one guy mutter to him "You got mad skills dude, bring it home." GAG. ME. I just wanted to watch the goddamn game and catch up with my friend, is that too much to ask?

At this point, Jill's getting chatted up by a pretty nice guy sitting next to her, so I'm pretty much on my own to get rid of this dude at this point. Which I eventually do by giving him one-word answers. Thank god.

But it sucks. It's like if you want to go watch a game anywhere in the city, it has to be at a sports bar, where the dudes are just as invested in the game as you are and all sleeziness gets pushed asided for a few hours. This bar? Not one guy was watching any of the four games on the nice flat-screen TVs, the was Yanks, Mets, Sux, even soccer for those not baseball inclined. But Jill and I were the only ones taking an interest. It made me appreciate sports bars a whole lot more.

And of course, as we're almost ready to leave, this Jake Ryan clone sits down next to us and asks the bartender if the Yankee game was still on (it was at commercial at that point) and of course the bartender doesn't know because he's not a baseball fan (though he was otherwise cool) and I have to intercede that the Yanks were up 6-5 in the bottom of the 7th and Jake Ryan nods at me and offers a thank-you. Then he got a beer and got all absorbed in the game. It was hot, yo.

He wasn't driving a Porsche or carrying a birthday cake, but he was interested in the Yankee game, damn it!

Anyway, just so you fellas out there know, you don't know how good you have it. You can go hang at a bar by yourself and just watch a game and not have any sleazoids lamely hitting on you just. It must be nice. Sigh.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Time For a Cool Change

May I suggest another Little River Band song for the Rays' to play during the Yanks' batting practice tonight? Like maybe Take it Easy On Me?

OK, that's as cocky as I get over one game. But dude, I understand the Yanks have been the Rays' bitch this season, but for the LAST PLACE TEAM in the division to be playing Lonesome Loser for a team that's man-handled them in years' past? I can probably understand why the Yanks were so inspired last night after that. Or maybe they really did go to bed without dinner and think about things on the plane to Tampa like I suggested.

And by the way, having friends like Steph and Tonya rocks because you can make little jokes about Little River Band songs in your e-mails and they'll both totally get it.

When TV Makes You Think

So Gilmore Girls returned last night, and it was quite lovely to be able to watch it and only flip to the game during commercial breaks, because the Yanks were kicking ass and I didn't have to be hanging onto every pitch. And like, I could leave the Yanks for five minutes and return and not find the bullpen blowing it or anything. It was quite nice. Anyway, on GG's season finale last year, the final scene included Luke and Lorelai (who have been friends for years and fell in love last season) discussing what to do about bratty ass, whiny Rory, who had decided to drop out of college. Lorelai watched Luke rant about her daughter with such caring that she had this lightbulb moment and blurted out "Will you marry me?" to which Luke almost instantly replied "Yes" in the season opener last night. A very well-done scene and so far from the cliches other shows dish out and you understood just how in love with each other this couple is. But their friends were horrified that it was Lorelai who did the proposing, acting all weird around Luke after finding out. Now, this was just for dramatic purposes, but you know this would happen in real life too. And today I want to rant about why that pisses me off so much.

I've never understood why it's been the guy's "job" to get a girl's phone number, be the one to ask her out on a date, be the one to say I Love You first, and then ask her to marry him. And if any of those acts should be intercepted by the female, everyone is like "there's something wrong with that relationship". I'm honest to god tired of this. If I'm feeling something, I reserve the right to say it. If it scares Mr. Right off, or people deem that as unladylike or something well, fuck 'em. On GG, one of the characters' mentioned that Lorelai "stole Luke's thunder." What? Do men really wait their whole lives to pop the question and then get off on feeling manly and in charge by doing so?? I mean, as long as a woman isn't being a psycho, trying to rush a relationship and both parties are feeling mutually crazy about each other, what is so wrong with a woman asking a dude out? Or telling him she adores him? Or asking him to marry her? In the end, it should only matter how much the two love each other anyway, not the pomp and circumstance surrounding an engagement or how many social mores you followed to get to that point. Blah.

And on that note, I think there's a certain starting lineup I have to go profess my love to right now...

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

There Are Only So Many Ways You Can Say SHUT UP, LUPICASS!

Lupicass has a lovely column today expressing his delight over what the Tampa Bay Devil Rays have done to the Yanks this season. And I wouldn't have read it if it hadn't made Tonya so irate -- she's pretty levelheaded like that -- so I gave it a look. And of course, it's dripping in smugness and Lupicassian Fucko™ness. Now, I believe in columnists NOT being a team cheerleader and to point out where things are going wrong and what needs to be done about it and to get mad about it when things aren't going right. It's quite another thing to have venom dripping from your pen in everything you write -- and then to be so fucking smug about it. Why don't you just come out and admit you hate the goddamn team, Lupica? That they didn't give you a quote one day, or someone was a jackass to you (and can you blame them if they were?) or that A-Rod called you on the carpet for your behavior and now you have this major boner when he messes up? God, Daily News, just give him the Mets beat already, because he's running out of material.

Yankees, I want you to go out and beat the living shit out of every team from here on in to the rest of the season almost more than I have ever wanted something for this team. Alex Rodriguez, I want you to lead the attack, and I want Randy Johnson right there behind you, to shut everyone the hell up. In year's past, I've wanted the Yanks to win for my own personal delight. Now I want them to win just to piss everyone the fuck off; Every Yankee hater. Every A-Rod basher. Every ESPN columnist. Every bandwagon fan who jumped off earlier this season. And Lupicass. Win this sucker to SPITE THEM ALL. And it will be awesome.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Quote of the Night

"You haven't accomplished anything until you've raised a shed." -- Jesse

I'm just going to have to take his word on that...

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Memories of the Swamp

Picture 1

It always warms my heart greatly when a public school (read: a team that can't recruit its players) sits atop a statewide poll, beating out four prep schools. It also warms my heart greatly when the school sitting atop the poll is my alma mater.

I used to love high school football games. My friends and I started going when we were in the 7th grade, and I think I only missed one home game between then and the time I graduated. There was just something about being out on a fall Friday night, sitting in the packed stands, singing along with the band, hoping your crush would show up...and for the most part watching your team kick the rest of the county's ass. For whatever reason, my high school always put out a heck of a team, and believe me, I appreciated the hell out of it. I mean, I sat there one Thanksgiving in 20-30 degree weather, winds gusting into the 20 mph range, freezing until I was so numb I couldn't even move my legs, but going home before the game was over (against our cross-town rival) wasn't even an option (and it literally took me four hours to get feeling back in all my extremeties when I got home). When they won their state title my sophomore year, it was one of the awesomest celebrations I'd seen, and I remember thinking "Now if only the Yankees could do this."

It's funny, because I've been doing my teen-book reading lately (a.k.a. fun research) and the authors seem to be very bitter about their high school athletic experience, if their characters' views are to be taken as theirs. The characters are usually of the "unpopular" crowd, and don't seem to get why a school would be so into its sports teams. I mean, I was the least athletic person on the planet, and was far from popular, but damn, I loved those football games. Maybe South just did things differently, but for whatever reason, the popular brats, the dorks and everyone in between turned out for those games, and for four quarters we were all on the same page, having a kick ass time.

And to this day, I still miss that.

(and PS -- is it wrong I'm happy Agassi didn't win The Open? I mean, he's mellowed out a lot in the past few years, but I will always remember thinking he was a pompous, phony jackass when I was a teen and I've never really gotten past that.)

Getting a Handle on Things

That big gust of wind you just felt was me sighing with relief after Mo's strikeout of Olerud. I had a deja vu moment, where I was standing in front of the TV, a broom (the nearest object) clutched in my hands, strangling the handle so hard I left marks on my palms. This same thing happened at the end of game 6 of the 1998 ALCS, except it was my college apartment's mop I was squeezing the bejesus out of...yeah, I do weird things when I'm stressed out....

And may I say RanJo was the ManJo today? But the rest of the lineup, minus Giambi, needs to go to bed without dinner for their uninspired plate appearances of the past two days. Especially yesterday against that fat toad Curtass. Hope they think about that on their flight to Tampa.

Three games. Three weeks. I may suck at math, but even I know that this ain't over.

Close to Home

This is still a hard day, four years later. I'm not sure it's something I'll ever be able to get past fully, as I don't know if I'd ever lived several hours (and even days afterward) more terrifying in its uncertainty. And then you remember just how many people died, and you see their names and pictures scrolling across the screen, with their locations -- Holmdel, South Amboy, Union, Manalapan, Middletown -- and your heart breaks for these people and their famalies all over again. Hearing one guy offer a choked up "Let's Go Mets!" in honor of his deceased brother makes you start to cry, because you again realize that these were your neighbors who perished and it brings it that much closer to home. You will always be reminded of happened in your own damn backyard.

The Anne of Green Gables Approach

I'm taking a line from probably my favorite TV miniseries of all time, Anne of Green Gables, and applying it to the last game of this series: "Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it." Tomorrow is technically today now, so it's more like "13 hours from now is always fresh, with no mistakes in it." However you slice it, I hope the Yanks don't get into another one of theif funks over this and just come out like gangbusters tomorrow. I wish they would realize just how much fear they can inspire just by coming into the batters box, but for whatever reason they feel the need to swing at everything thrown at them, not working the count at all and letting the pitcher of the day off with a low pitch count because they are so jazzed they jump on the first thing they see. It is the pitcher who should fear them, not vice versa.

Unless your name is Randy Johnson, and then people should be freaking the hell out over you, not the other way around. I hope he remembers that too.

Saturday, September 10, 2005

Hide the remote. HIDE. THE. REMOTE.

Friday Night Fights

Dude, I don't know who it is that goes to a game, a big game at that, decides to get sloshed and then proceeds to get themselves in a brawl, but apparently these are the people who buy tickets to Yanks/Sux games. And I really wish they'd stop because every now and then I'd like to be watching an intense moment between these two teams and not have to deal with the people around me standing up and craning their necks to get a better look at the fight going on between the macho asswipes who've had their honor insulted at the moment. You are not a real fan for throwing things at Sux fans, and you are not a real fan for screaming "Three games back, baby!" and throwing your beer in retort. I mean, when did Yanks/Sux become the equivilent of college homecoming, minus the good natured drunkenness, instead going straight for the vicious kind? I wish these asses would just go back to the fucking playpen and leave the tickets for those who actually, you know, want to see the game. Because a real fan would be more invested in that than, say, kicking someone's ass.


I got to the game a little buzzed myself last night (thanks to my co-worker Jason's fear of flying and his over abundance of whiskey and Coke -- used to calm his nerves before embarking to Denver -- which he decided to share with the rest of us) but for whatever reason I don't feel the need to pound anyone's head into their seat. In fact, it mellowed me out, which is good because these games usually just make me want to puke from anxiety. I got to the game in the top of the first, and Steph, Erica (her first Yanks/Sux experience), Jennie and Frank subbing in for Tonya (who is out in the Pacific Northwest wilderness for a wedding and completely sealed off from any type of media and has mentioned she might have to guest blog about this trauma upon her return) and Julianna (off on a business trip that she was not happy about) are already there. So are a Yankee fan and his Sux fan friends sitting behind us, but oddly enough none of us started a fight with them. Like, what's that about?

Anyway, the Yankee fan behind us was still harboring lots of ill will toward David Wells, and kept screaming comments beginning or ending with "Fat Boy!" at him throughout the game. When Wells leaves the game later, well, let's just say I don't think I've ever heard a former player so lustily jeered. You had to go and put THAT uniform on, David. Sigh.

The game itself was pretty fantastic -- when they were down 3-1, all I could picture was the sportswriters sharpening their knives about how deflated the Yanks looked, how this team can't step up in the big game, wah, wah, wah, and all I wanted was for the Yanks to put a stop to that. And so they did. Jorge's homer was huge, and then A-Rod, he of the "never steps up when it counts" sportswriter spiel, wallops one to over the right field wall and the place was going crazy. And let me state now that every time he came to bat, the MVP chant would start around the Stadium, which, SUCK ON THAT, TROT.

Then the hit parade began -- between the rally against KC two weeks ago and last night, I'm not sure I've ever seen that many singles in my life than I had in those two games. And you just wanted them to keep piling it on because Small was good, but not great last night and you know what the bullpen is capable of. Oh, and the bullpen and Robinson Cano made things juuuuuuust a little tense for a bit there, but it all turned out OK. And we got the right version of New York, New York upon exit, so it was easier to deal with the obnoxious blowhards (both Yanks and Sux fans) staggering out of the game.

One more season ticket Friday left. Sigh.

This is What Spring Training Was For

Look how helpful A-Rod is, teaching that big lug David Ortiz the proper technique for jazz hands. What a guy!:


And good freaking lord Ortiz is ginormous....

More on tonight's game in the morning, but just know a little whiskey in your Coke beforehand makes you a lot less anxious...

Friday, September 09, 2005

He'll Never Get It

Oh my god, you guys, Jim Caple doesn't care about the Yanks and Sux anymore! Like, what are we ever to do without his wonderful caveats of wisdom?

If this means we don't have to hear his bandwagon crap anymore, I say don't let the door hit you on the way out, buddy. It's a good day for me when an writer decides not to root against my beloved team by joining up with the bandwagon-team-of-the-year anyway.

And just to note, I highly doubt anyone outside of New England and New York ever really cared about these two teams anyway. Think back to the early 90s. Think back to 1999 when they faced off in the ALCS. Think back to 2000-2002. There was barely any hype surrounding them. The hoopla didn't start up till 2003, and may I add it was the MEDIA that pushed it on everyone like crazy. I can't speak for Sux fans, but as a Yankee fan I could give two shits about what the rest of the country thinks about our teams -- and I honestly believe they weren't thinking much about "the rivalry" until it was crammed down their throats day-in, day-out, and now they're just sick of it. So no, Jim, it's not that the Sux finally won or their appearance on Queer Eye or the either teams high payroll that has turned people off -- it was probably the endless hot air writers like you spat out for the past two seasons ordering them to embrace these games (and more specifically the Sux) that did the trick. People don't like to be told how to feel or who to root for, in case you haven't noticed.

That said, it'll be nice to have these series just belong to us again, instead of having it be a national phenomenon or whatever the sportswriters want us to believe it is when it clearly has never been.

The games these two teams play meant something to me long before they all jumped on the bandwagon. And it'll still be special when they all take their highly unoriginal curse/mystique and aura columns and vacate for their latest flavor-of-the-month.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Speaking of New Sites... co-worker just sent me this link to an awesomely funny NY sports satire site called She assures me it's run by both a Yankee fand a Met fan, so we know it's equal time here...

Should I Add Him to My Blogger Buddies List?

Dudes, A-Rod's got his own site, complete with journal. While I doubt he'll have any entries as awesome as his candid notes in The Pinstriped Diaries, this just opens up a whole lot of opportunities for coolness:

I will use this site for breaking news and announcements. And we'll have a lot of announcements to make in the future. I'll also be updating this journal.

If he goes a long time without posting, I will be on his ass, don't you fret.

Also, the Ask Alex department could be way amazing. "Dear Alex, My neighbor has some tools I lent him months ago and hasn't given them back. What do I do?" "Dear Alex, I like this boy but I'm not sure if he likes me back. How do I let him know I like him?" "Dear Alex how do you manage starring on a hit Fox TV show and play third base for the Yankees?"

The Chicken is starting his letter now...

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Stop Dragging My Heart Around

I've finally decided what this Yankee season reminds me of: Every fickle guy I've ever dated. And what gets me is that if the Yankee season came in human form, I'd drop its ass so quick, its head would spin.

But who am I kidding? I'll always be this team's bitch.


Putting the Eeeeeeeeeeeee! in East Rutherford

And you really didn’t think I could get any geekier…(photo by Erica B.)

Just when you thought it was safe to read this blog again…my covert mission is exposed! Yes, Erica and I journeyed to the Meadowlands to see the American Idol Tour tonight, and no amount of y’all teasing me is going to make me feel bad about it. Because it was awesome, yo. And I got to see my beloved A-Fed! Squeeeeeeee! (Shut up. It’s not like the Yanks did anything tonight to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. And it’s not like any of the Yanks busted out a sleeveless shirt to show off his guns making me have lots of impure…OK, getting off track here…)

First off, Erica is teh shit for agreeing to come along to this thing. There aren’t many people out there willing to show their face in public after something like this, let alone go knowing that their crazy ass friend is going to blog about it. Erica also rocks the party for taking photos with a real camera, unlike my camera phone, which was, well, sucky.

We started our journey by heading to Port Authority, and end up being the only two people on the bus to the arena. This could be because we were catching a 7 p.m. bus and the show started at 7. But we get in just as Jessica’s in the middle of her first song, so all we missed was a giant Pop Tart (the tour’s sponsor) dancing around or something, which kind of disappointed me because I promised Tonya a photo of the first Pop Tart I saw. Anyway, Jessica was pretty damn good. I wasn’t a fan of hers while she was on the show, but she was very animated and has a great voice, but as Erica pointed out it’s going to be hard to label her because she’s very country-sounding, but with a rock ‘n’ roll vibe. It would be nice if she’s successful because there is a lot of talent there.

Also awesome was Nikko, who I would not be surprised to find out if he signs a really nice deal after this tour is over. No, I’m not just saying this because he’s Ozzie Smith’s son – the kid can sing and dance and he’s not a bad looking guy to boot. He didn’t do any backflips, though.

Anwar and Nadia came across exactly as they did on-camera. They gave pretty good performances, but I wouldn’t say they made me go “wow” the way Jessica and Nikko did. Scott was still scary, even three months later, though he had a really lovely duet with Jessica on Total Eclipse of the Heart.

And then there was creepified horror of that master thespian himself, Constantine. Now, you know how I feel about him, so I wasn’t going into this all a-squee like I was about A-Fed. But DAMN, he creeped me out just as much in person as he did while staring into the camera 3000 miles away. The second he took the stage, Erica and I were like “hooooooboy, here we go.” The crowd went bananas, so apparently there is a lot we don’t get, but let’s just say when he starts in with his My Funny Valentine by saying “I have all you people to thank [for being here]…all you beautiful, sexy people.” Erica and I exchanged a look that can only be translated into “Ohmygod! EW!#$@%@ Did he just call 12-year-olds SEXY?” He later segues into Bohemian Rhapsody with scary Halloween lighting and The Four Faces of Const on the screen behind him, staring off to the side like he’s about to suck your soul out. Erica’s face was in her hands at this point, and she kept saying “Oh lord!” over and over again. We are so obviously not his target audience, though, because there were women in the audience who lapped it up.

With lighting like this, you wonder why I was freaked?

But I was extremely happy when his set ended because I was either going to need a really long hot shower, or I was going to bust out laughing and not be able to stop if it continued.

After a short intermission (in which I find out the Yanks are hanging onto a 3-2 lead and does not do my heart any good), Anwar comes out again and starts playing Superstition by Stevie Wonder on a keyboard, and suddenly in the middle of the song these 10-year-old girls a few rows in front of us go batshit, squealing at each other as if they just realized where they were. Maybe they were really psyched for Vonzell to come out, because she came in while Anwar was playing, but damn, it was like the sugar hit the two of them all at once.

Vonzell has a fabulous voice, but I couldn’t really listen to her that much because I was too busy choking back laughter. You see, there was this 8 or 9-year-old boy sitting behind us, between his parents. He was a little on the chubby side with a big green polo shirt on and was quiet for most of the show. Then Vonzell starts in with I’m Every Woman and the kid decides it’s time to sing along. At the top of his lungs. In this really high-pitched voice. And he was loving every minute of it. Erica just looked at me like “Ohmygod” but she thought it was a girl the whole time – she didn’t know it was a boy till we were on the bus and I told her. I guess because he was rocking out to I’m Every Woman and later to Carrie’s Alone that threw her off.

But he obviously has really good taste because he also gets all excited for A-Fed to come out, and I’m swooning and the crowd is going crazy for him, which warmed my heart greatly. My little southpaw with the big voice starts in with Every Time You Go Away, and right away I can tell he’s sick, but he plugs on through, and he sounds pretty swell despite a stuffy nose. Even Erica said that despite his being sick, his voice is still freaking clear as hell. Because Erica’s awesome like that.

Three heads
Three, three A-Feds in one! (photo by Erica B.)

His next song choice, Can You Stop the Rain by Peabo Bryson is a bit meh, but he makes up for it hard core by singing his next song entirely in Spanish – and sounding absolutely gorgeous and completely at home with the language. He closes his set with I Got You, which was fun, but I have to admit I liked his show version better. He just seemed a bit zapped, and I hope for his sake he gets a lot of rest when the tour ends next week…and that we get some news about a record deal. Because I will be absolutely crushed for this kid if he doesn’t make it. His voice is just too beautiful to be shelved, and you can tell that performing is his bag (he was also the only person to go directly into the crowd, which was good to see) and it would suck if he doesn’t get to exercise that.< /gushing>

A-Fed 1
Eeee!!! He’s looking at us! (photo by Erica B.)

Now, this was where Bo was supposed to come in, but he’s got bigger fish to fry in recovering from the removal of his intestinal blockage. They showed a clip of him singing Vehicle earlier in the tour, and man, the show would’ve been so much more awesome with him there. He was clearly the most natural performer of the Top 10 and I’m just going to hope he cranks out some awesome albums so he can tour again. The guys all then came out to sing Sweet Home Alabama in his honor, and they solidified the notion for me that the men were WAY stronger than the women in the competition, as they freaking kicked ass on the song. And A-Fed was standing at our end of the stage nearly the whole time. Looking muscley. In a sleeveless shirt. Did I mention that yet?

A-Fed's arms
Raarrrr…I mean, we miss you, Bo. (photo by Erica B.)

Carrie rounded out the show, and god damn, that girl can sing. Say what you want about her somewhat wooden performances on the show, but she was completely relaxed and seemed to be enjoying herself greatly tonight. And she’s got the pipes to back it all up. Her Alone still blows me away, despite the fact that I had to keep myself from giggling with the kid behind me trying to hit the high notes as well as she did.

And what do we get to see after the show? THE POP TART! I sent Tonya the photo via phone, but let’s all revel in the awesomeness of the fact that I attended a concert sponsored by a breakfast food.


Tuesday, September 06, 2005

this is an audio post - click to play

Long (Weekend) Beach Island

Dudes, I totally got three nights of uninterrupted, non-stomping, rolling-chair free sleep this weekend. I mean, I was sleeping on an air mattress on a tile floor for crying out loud, and I still slept better than I had in weeks. That means a major shout-out is in order to Jesse for opening up his shore place to us this weekend. Because I am sure I'll be back to three hours of sleep again starting this week.

Some highlights from this Labor Day Weekend:
-- Eric doing his best David Hasselhoff and saving a woman from drowning by carrying her over his head through the undertow heavy, shark-infested waters...Or at the very least helping a lady to shore when she was too weak to get out of the current herself.

-- Christina making me laugh so hard, coupled with the remnants of my illness, that I nearly choke to death. Therefore, anyone who coughed all weekend after that was deemed to have "KB Disease."

-- Eric and Jesse "cleverly hitting on" Liana and Christina during their football game.

-- The return of "Jetering." And sometimes other Yankees can be involved as well.

-- Jesse coining the phrase "Sausage Boat" (a bunch of shirtless dudes posing in their boats for all the world to see) and me coming up with "Price is Right Boat" (that'd be a Pontoon boat, because seriously, they are usually in one of the two Showcases at the end of the show) while sitting on the deck area of Jesse's (and now Eric's) favorite bar, The Dutchman.

Come on dooooown!

-- My pals getting so plastered that I got to drive Jesse's baby, The Jetta, back from the bar (no drinky for me while on antibiotics). They were too busy cutting up (that'd Eric making Jesse push his seat up so far that he was practically was sitting in the glove compartment) to notice that I really enjoyed driving the car. If I could afford a car in Hoboken, I'd be all over the Jetta, but I guess I will have to settle with walking/subway for transport until I strike it rich.

-- Eric barbecuing for us, and Liana serving us with her awesome summer salad, which probably saved us a Price is Right Boatload of money right there.

-- Sunburn. It ain't just for non-Italians anymore.

-- The Atlantic Ocean Salt Volcano not doing its best to keep scores of jellyfish away.

-- Meeting up with Rick and Carolyn at The Dutchman, where Eric has another go-round with the Boogie Nights "wieners" and Carolyn and I are amused by the dude in the I Heart Back Seats T-shirt.

-- Uno. It ain't just for fifth graders anymore. (And I can be the Yankees of Uno playing)

-- The look on Hideki Matsui's face at the end of Sunday night's long-ass game in London, which succeeds in giving Liana and me the giggles.

-- Walking around Princeton and being like "Oh my god, you guys, it's John Nash!" when seeing any man over the age of 30.

-- Walking around Princeton and feeling very inadequate, but consoling ourselves with retail therapy, even though the guys were the only ones to come away with anything.

And the Winner Is...

Well, after our one round of nominations and two rounds of voting it looks as if my big-footed loud-ass neighbor's name is going to be...Chewboken! Congrats to Sarah for coming up with it -- and it looks like we're going to be getting a lot of use out of it in the coming months, so get used to it, folks!

Saturday, September 03, 2005

Greetings from LBI

Thursday, September 01, 2005

There Used to Be a Ballpark...What, it Didn't Have a Waterslide? Forget It!

Finally! I get to post about this after a day of stewing...

Glad to see that CNN/SI has jumped on the Newer-is-Better bandwagon when it comes to ballparks in the majors. Wrigley, Fenway and Yankee Stadium, the big three in terms of baseball hallowed ground do not even make the Top 10. Why? Because when you're measuring how much traffic sucks around a stadium or it's "amenities" (i.e. what fun things there are to do at a ballpark because why in the name of all that is holy would you be there to watch the game?) teams with older stadiums in three of the biggest cities in the U.S. are going to rank lower, I guess. Or the writers just love them some shiny ballparks with fountains and pools and sushi bars or something.

You'll always be a 10 in my book, good old Ballpark in the Bronx

The two rankings that matter most to me on this list are Atmosphere (where the Yanks scored an 8, which I found odd because it's got a way longer paragraph description and what seems like more overall love from its writer than that of Fenway and Wrigley's descriptions, yet it scored lower than both those parks. Huh.) and Team (where the Yanks scored a 9). Judging by the Yanks' marks for those two alone, I'd say my needs are met quite nicely by the old ballpark in the Bronx. But then again, I didn't need a survey to tell me that.

(Oh, and just to FYI, Fenway and Yankee Stadium finish with the exact same score of 40. So I don't get why they aren't marked as tied on this list. But what do I know?)

(And just to further FYI, the title of this post refers to a very depressing Sinatra song about Ebbets Field not being there anymore. Though the little dig at the early Mets is quite amusing...

A Thing of Snoopy is a Joy Forever

How much do Liana and Eric rock? They rock the house, the city, the state, the whole friggin' country for sending me this plant as a pick-me-up as I attempt to get well at work:


I have named the plant Lieric in their honor. And you thought Red Sox fans and Yankee fans couldn't get along...