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Ok, I'll admit it. We've been "mailing" "it" "in" here on the Blah for the past week and a half. Lots of crap posts. Not enough dick jokes. And very little Chicago Bears propoganda (by the way, they're awesome). And, well, we apologize.

Of course, while we are sorry, not much will change for the rest of the week. Both Mike D. and I are on vacation from our "real" jobs this week and we're taking a little break from the site. He's off traveling who knows where and well, I'm just a busy guy. Let's take today, for instance. I've got some gift cards to spend, some PS2 to play, and a new PSP to figure out. Then I'll work on my rap album, reorganize my bowling trophies, sew up that curious rip in the crotch of my Cobra Commander costume, eat some nachos, then follow it up with some Brazilian porn and a short nap. Then it'll be time for the "Tostitos Priscilla Presley Bowl" on FOX Sports Net between Colorado Southern and East Lansing Western. Then I'll sleepily flip to SportsCenter and think, "You know, I really like this Stuart Scott guy. He should be on all the time." I'll see a few things that would make for good fodder and think, "I should write about that on the site." But, of course, I won't. Instead, I'll knock back a few wine coolers and fall asleep during an episode of True Life (hopefully the one where the guy gets the calf implants...classic moment in television) and call it a day.

Of course, this doesn't mean that we won't post at all this week. It just means that you'll get a lot of crap like this. Which, now that I look at it, feel a lot like our posts when we actually try (guffaw, snortle). So, you know, maybe this isn't so bad after all. Then again, maybe it is. Anyway, we promise to be (if I may quote O&A) "more gooder" next week and continue to waste your time on a daily basis. Until then, you know, um, stay classy? warm? cool? Better yet, just stay away from vans.

I have a belly full of holiday malaise and can't muster the energy to do much except read what others have written:

Almost as shocking as Damon taking the green, is Reggie Sanders going to the Royals. Was there anyone else out there that had a more comfortable role than Sanders. The guy is 38. He had a nice gig as a fourth outfielder on a contender, he annually messed up his leg and took a 6-8 week vacation and he had the locker farthest from La Russa's office. What is there in KC? Mark Grudzielanek?

You have to love a quotable athlete. Where have you gone Andy Van Slyke and John Kruk. Okay, we know where Kruk went, but apparently without some chew and a few beers he is just really annoying. Anyway, Luis Gonzalez on the D-backs:"I'm like every other fan, wondering what they're going to do. I've got fans yelling at me on the street, asking me what we're going to do. I'm like, Sorry, folks, I'm not the general manager. I'm not Curt Schilling. I don't know."

Why the Internet was invented. Another case against Damon, this one slightly more rational than the latter, if that is the balm you need while waiting for Simmons to ring in. I like Simmons as much as the next guy, but is it too much to ask to write a topical column that isn't four or five days stale?

Interesting article over at Courtside Times around creating a system to determine when a player approaches Hall of Fame standards. With complete bias, I'll throw my hat in for Dennis Johnson. The man was severely overlooked and underappreciated while playing with the Big Three.

Football Outsiders has some commentary and previews on the early Holiday Bowl games if that's your bag and with BC in yet another one, it is my bag.

Anyone growing up in New England in the mid-nineties probably remembers Fall River's Chris Herren. Well, he's still playing pro ball, it just happens to be in Iran. Apparently we're still the Great Satan, but we're ballers, too.

Well, this is awkward.

I'm not really sure how I feel about this. One minute Damon is playing for the Yankees' most hated rival. The next minute, he's swapping shampoo and leave-in conditioner with their third baseman. How does that happen? I mean, sure from a baseball perspective, I guess it's good, right? Damon fills the enormous void the Yankees have in CF, he adds speed, he's a legitimate base stealer, he's a true leadoff hitter and he has a stylish CNB (Chuck Norris beard). I mean, so what if he has the throwing arm of a Care Bear and can (maybe) reach the cutoff man on three bounces. From a baseball perspective, at least for the next two seasons, this makes total sense for the Yankees. So, that's great. We Yankee fans should all be happy, right?

Well, there's more to it. I mean, come on. First of all ... Johnny Damon? That's like Megatron joining the Autobots. It just shouldn't happen. "BumbleBee, Skyfire, Prowl . . . dudes, guess who's on our side now?" Blech. It's just not right. There should be some sort of rule against this. And if you're the Yankees, how do you even react to seeing Damon in the clubhouse? "Hey ... um, what's up ... ok, cool ... yeah." The whole thing is just weird. I mean, sure, the fact that the Red Sox are without a CF has me giggling like a computer programmer at a Tron convention. But it's bittersweet. I've spent far too much time not liking Damon. Now I'm supposed to suck it up and give him a (theoretical) reach around? It might take a while. And realistically, what is this going to do to the team? The Yankees already have one purple-lipped princess on the payroll. I'm not sure they need another. They're a round of banana daiquiri's away from turning the clubhouse into Laguna Beach. Before you know it, Sheffield will have frosted tips and Matsui will spend hours blathering on about his feelings for Posada's sister as a confused Mariano Rivera nods and wriggles his ears.

Oh, and is it at all possible for the Yankees to spend over $12 million a year on someone under the age of 30? I mean, seriously, they have become the Ashton Kutcher of professional sports. I don't know, how about signing someone who went to college after the internet was invented? Might be good for the long term growth of the team. Just a hunch. Call me silly. Although, this signing means that the Yankees now have an All-Star at every position except 2B. Which means Robinson Cano will be developing a complex any day now.

And can we please stop talking about Johnny Damon having to get a haircut and shave? "Oh, how will Damon deal with having to abide to the Yankees strict grooming agenda? Will he be the same player?" Alright, enough. Hey, guess what? It's just hair. It doesn't hold supernatural powers. Do you go to SuperCuts at lunch then come back to work a retard? No. So relax. Johnny Damon will be fine. Jason Giambi didn't lose his skill because he had to shower. And Randy Johnson didn't stink something ferocious because of his trimmed moustachio and his 42-year-old-Boy-Scout hairdo.

So, considering everything, was this a good signing? Will it really make a difference? Who knows? Everyone seems to have a different answer. The Yankees paid too much, the Red Sox screwed up, the Red Sox did the right thing, Damon is a dick, Boras is a dick, the Yankees suck, ARod's lips really are baffling, the Yankees did good, the Yankees did bad, etc. I mean, who knows? All I know is the Red Sox aren't looking so hot, the Yankees starting pitching still has question marks and their bullpen is much improved. But aside from all of that, the Damon signing officially makes that Yankees lineup ferocious. Ferocious like a tiger. Rather, ferocious like a tiger with nunchucks. No, wait, ferocious like a tiger with nunchucks and a drinking problem. Yeah, I think it's gonna be a good year.

I wanted to write up a little review of going to the TD Banknorth Garden to watch the Celtics get outworked by the Bucks last Friday, but soon realized there was very little to talk about. See that's the problem with the "new" Garden. It's a perfectly competent, dual purpose arena with nothing really wrong, but nothing really worth remembering except the fat chick in a half shirt Pierce jersey. Take out that and the green court highlights and you might be watching a game in Missouri. Everyone has parquet floors now and the vaunted and once intimidating banners are so high they might as well be invisible.

Through work, we got two-for-one lower loge seats, so I can't complain about prices, at least not this time, but fleecing fans for seats is pretty de rigeur these days anyway. The only time I can remember feeling like I took the house at a pro sports venue was two years ago getting walk up tickets to the SkyDome for five bucks. Canadian. Then I remember it was Jays-Orioles in September and I wanted a refund . Anyway, besides the dizzying escalator ride (fear and respect that escalator) to your seats, I have really few legit complaints. The seats are roomy enough and have good sight lines, there are even cup holders. The place is well lit, scoreboard and video screens are clear. T-shirt cannons have adequate upper deck range. Corporate sponsorship is bright, blinking and searing. Plenty of concession stands and genetically altered cheese were available. The Lolita halftime dance number got the Cialis pumping. I could gripe about the selection (Bud or Amstel Light) and pricing ($6) of beer, but the urinals had fresh cakes so that would be nitpicking. So with all the pros why did the whole night feel like a con?

Perhaps that's just how an arena or stadium should be. You pay through the nose for tickets so maybe the venue should be like a good waiter, always there refilling water glasses, replacing bread and cursing you in French, but never intruding. Perhaps it was the rather lackluster game. Perhaps it's because the Celtics, or Bruins for that matter, haven't been especially good in the last fifteen years. Perhaps its just the memories Boston fans have of the old Garden. Anyone who grew up in Boston or New England has a story or a game or a moment that is practically baked into their brain. And I mean that literally since it always seemed to be eighty plus degrees in that old furnace.

Today, there is no sense of an event, nothing that will make your buddies jealous, nothing that you'll be talking about in ten years. The new Garden is all very polite and professional sort of like hookers in Holland. Exciting the first time, sure, but after that it's strictly a transaction. Maybe the new Garden hasn't had that defining moment yet, but then again we've been waiting ten years now, so maybe it never will. In an era where it's almost a sin to call a ballpark a stadium and where it appears teams are relying on the venue to draw fans over the talent, is it wrong for a stadium just to be a stadium?

There will be a Bears post on Tuesday ... here's a sneak preview ... they're AWESOME. Anyway, here are some links to keep you busy until then.

Have you seen all of the NBA on TNT commercials with Ali G? There are more than three. No seriously. Check it.

Here's your run-of-the-mill video clip of a happy soccer fan celebrating and falling through a roof. Fun times.

No team in the NFL stands a chance now. Stiener, come out and get your whoopin'.

Rain. Just buckets of it. Back in mid-October, the Northeast had days of vicious, torrential, Judgement Day rain. Enough so that my parents's basement, bone dry for twenty years, flooded. Lots and lots of things had to be thrown out. Amongst the soggy items that were subsequently tossed were my college textbooks and notes. Notes, mind you, so neat and adhering to the Cornell system that they had my wife questioning the wisdom and sanctity of our marital bond. Hey, don't lie, we each have one of those questionable pseudo-serial killer traits. Mine is an overly orderly note taking tick. Greg has those creepy, dress up, paper dolls of the '86 Yankees under his bed. Regardless, it wasn't that box that was the true loss. It was the box next to the useless, yet expensive, college crap. No, not my 10 Griffey rookie cards or my complete '86 Donruss set. Those are kept warm and dry in a fireproof safe. The tragic loss was my early scorebooks.

Yup, I'm one of those. My name is Mike and I keep score at baseball games. It's another of those great defining divides in our society like chocolate or vanilla, Yankees or Red Sox, Bird or Magic, Salisbury or Clayton, Ginger or Mary Ann, Jeanne Zelasko or a blank screen, Red Shoe Diaries or Emmanuelle. It's one or the other, there's no in between with some choices. Some people have a security blanket or stuffed animal. My binky was a scorebook. I took it everywhere. I could blithely toss away my collection of molding Ground Round sundae cup hats, my creased and yellowing pennants, and assorted Starting Lineup figures I could hardly identify now, but those books were a diary not just of a freakish, orderly and nerdy personality, but a testament to a fledgling baseball fan. Yes, half the notations on the first few pages make little sense or peter out after an inning or two. And yes, the glorious, tri-masted schooner on page six and the bloody stick figure battle royale on page nine probably don't quite dictate what actually happened on any baseball field. Still, those books also captured my first visit to Fenway (a John Tudor start versus KC), a family vacation to Disneyland including a California Angels game (Rod Carew poster day), a youth soccer tournament in Niagra Falls with a trip to the new SkyDome (Pete Harnisch had a no-no into the eighth) and a PawSox extra innings affair ended by a Mike Greenwell homer in the twelfth. As you flip through the pages, you can almost see my interest in the game take root. Notations begin to make more sense. Batters no longer advance on the bases in a star pattern. Less ice cream is smeared over the pages. Outs no longer are recorded in the mysterious 17-8-2 fashion. Innings are tallied. Errors are meted out. Games are completed. History is recorded. A dork is born.

I suspect my Dad first taught me how to keep score as a way not to bankrupt him on hot dogs or cotton candy. Now he'd probably just package me off to the KidZone behind right field or tell me to watch the bloopers on the JumboTron. Back in the day though, Fenway barely even had any ads to distract a young kid. It was a choice between John Kiley's organ stylings, rorschach tests of questionable seat stains or deciphering stanchion graffiti. "Dad, what's the Shocker?" That question wasn't answered till much later. But whatever the intentions, his devious ploy worked. Scoring kept me anchored to the action. It still does. Even the most ardent fans will admit baseball is not a speedy game. It may be a game of inches, but the strategy and makeup of a game unfurl slowly. Scoring in basketball is not the same and not really necessary from a fan's perspective. In football it's not even really possible, too much is going on. But for baseball, I find it an integral cog of attending. Pitch, hit, catch, record it. Scoring keeps me involved. It blocks out the increasing entertainment-first detritus of the modern "ballpark"; helps dull the migraine inducing sound of another"Yankees Suck" chant and keeps me from hitting the loud guy on the cell phone in the row behind me. For me, a mostly antiquated ritual is now a balm for the distractions of the modern game. Unless it's two-for-one beer night. That's also sweet, sweet medicine.

When your comments to our posts include Bobby Grich, Dan Gladden and Carlos Quintana references, only one thing can happen ... you get your own post. As a thanks to Felton Trigg's tireless devotion to SportsBlah and his consistently hilarious comments, we extended our unwashed hand and offered him a spot as guest writer for a day. He accepted. We're glad he did. You will be too. Trust us.

With 2006 right around the corner it is difficult to suppress my anticipation of the upcoming, inaugural World Baseball Classic to be held during the spring. For those of you who can’t wait for the official meet and greet, I’ve taken the liberty to put together a team-by-team primer for the event.

Austrailia
Star Players: None
Committed Players: 5
Most Important Question: Will the Aussie’s introduce an entirely new set of terms to describe our national pastime?

Seriously, would anyone be surprised if when searching for the nation’s best second baseman the scouts came across a group of blokes playing tag-a-long with a dingo-orb and a whally-stick? Who knows, the next Cy Young candidate could be a master of the Oli-loop with a bit of Jango-flern.

Canada
Star Players: Eric Gagne and Jason Bay
Committed Players: 20
Most Important Question: Who cares less….Canadian’s about their baseball team or American’s about their Olympic hockey team?

It’s pretty obvious that I could give a rat’s ass about the upcoming Olympic hockey tournament when I’m writing about an even more one-sided event that nobody is going to watch.

Chinese Taipei
Star Players: None
Committed Players: ? (Communist Secret)
Most Important Question: Will they trade Chien-Ming Wang?

He’s a good prospect and all, but if they could package him up with some of the other Chinese players they may be able to swing a deal with the Netherlands for Andruw Jones. All I’m saying is that they shouldn’t rule out a trade.

Dominican Republic
Star Players: A-Rod, Vlad, Pedro, Big Papi, Albert Pujols, Manny Ramirez, Miguel Tejada and Alfonso Soriano
Committed Players: 29
Most Important Question: When is final cut down day?

When I tried out for the High School JV basketball team, I knew that I was hard pressed to make the team, never mind get any playing time. That must be how Juan Brito feels at the moment. Brito, a former major league second baseman sits on the infield depth chart behind Ronnie Belliard, Adrian Beltre, Robinson Cano, Pedro Feliz, Neifi Perez, Placido Polanco, Albert Pujols, Alfonso Soriano and Miguel Tejeda. Good luck Juan!

Italy
Star Players: Mike Piazza
Committed Players: 14
Most Important Question: Is there a Mercy Rule?

So figuring that they can get 2 mediocre innings out of Matt Mantei before his elbow blows out again, who is going to pitch innings 3 through 9? Can you imagine going straight from the Greater Milan Independent Baseball League (GMIBL) to having to face a lineup of A-Rod, Tejada, Ortiz and Manny? They had better hope Frank Viola comes out of retirement soon.

Japan
Star Players: Ichiro
Committed Players: 29
Most Important Question: When will they introduce their team mascot?

Kaz, Ato and Nik were such big hits at the soccer world cup that I can’t wait to see what kind of zany creatures they design this time!

South Korea
Star Players: None (Unless you are Korean, then Hee-Seop Choi)
Committed Players: 8
Most Important Question: Who is going to be forced to do the radio play-by-play for the Korea-Netherlands match up?

I suspect it would sound something like……“2 outs, bottom of the ninth. Bases full of Dutch. Byung-Hyun Kim sets and winds…the pitch to Jan Vennegoor Van Hesselink…there’s a drive to deep left….it’s going to get over Shin-Soo Choi’s head…Jesper Hogedoorn will score easily from third with Leendert van Steensel right behind him….the ball is finally picked up by the centerfielder Sunny Choi and thrown into the cutoff man Dae-Sung Choi….Dave Van den Bergh is coming home….the throw one hops Chan Ho Choi and rolls to the backstop….here comes Vennegoor Van Hesselink….the throw from Hee-Seop choi is dropped by Bong Choi! The Dutch Win, The Dutch Win!

I would pay $100 to hear Tim McCarver and David Justice call this game.

Mexico
Star Players: None
Committed Players: 23
Most Important Question: Once eliminated will Esteban Loaiza MC the rest of the tournament dressed as Ali G?

Respek.

Netherlands
Star Players: Andruw Jones
Committed Players: 1 (That’s right, 1)
Most Important Question: When are the tryouts?

The ministry of sport and leisure better get its act together because Andruw can’t cover the field all by himself. Doesn’t this seem like the perfect situation for some celebrity American to claim some Dutch heritage to get on the team? Sounds like Team Amsterdam would be right up Garth Brooks’ alley if it wasn’t for all the gay marriage, prostitution and bong hitting.

Panama
Star Players: Carlos Lee
Committed Players: 4
Most Important Question: Why hasn’t this country groomed any closers?

Their team may hang in there until the 9th, but with no options to close the game out they will struggle. I guess Panamanians don’t have the closer mentality.

Puerto Rico
Star Players: Carlos Beltran, Carlos Delgado, I-Rod, Bernie Williams
Most Important Question: How many times will American viewers say “I thought that guy was Dominican” while watching Puerto Rico play.

Except for Mike Lowell. He looks like he’s from Michigan.

United States
Star Players: Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Roy Halladay, Derek Jeter, Mark Teixeria, and many more
Committed Players: 41
Most Important Question: Will Skipper Tommy LaSorda fall down again like he did in that All-Star game?

Because it was so funny I laughed the first 5,000 times I saw it on television. Speaking of falling, I'm really hoping Don Zimmer makes the coaching staff. Throw is LaRussa and you’ve got yourself an idiot, a nut and a guy with a ‘special’ van.

Venezuela
Star Players: Bobby Abreu and Johan Santana
Committed Players: 15
Most Important Question: Will Ozzie Guillen bat Miguel Cairo 2nd or 8th?

Perhaps he will use Santana as his 4th starter to send him a message. If not he may choose to have Henry Blanco play ‘smartball’ and attempt a stolen base every time he’s on base. I have no idea how this guy won a world series.

China Taipei, Cuba and South Africa
Star Players: ?
Committed Players: ?
Most Important Question: Why are they so secretive?

Cuba and China I can understand. They love secrets. But I think that South Africa was just confused when they signed up. “Oh yes, baseball. Like the New York City Yankees, yes? We would be honored to supply athletes for these games Mr. Selig.” Now they are like “Oh shit. Where the hell are we going to find baseball players in the next 3 months? Can Dave Matthews pitch?”

So those are the teams you will be seeing this spring competing for the much-coveted Gilded Anvil (or what ever it is the winner gets) that symbolizes global dominance, immortality, and, of course, freedom. Enjoy.

Written by Felton Trigg.

Numerous sources are reporting that the Yankees have probably, allegedly, possibly, most likely, and other assorted "-ly" words, made an offer to Nomar Garshnseapara to play first base. Everyone from Rotoworld, Ben Maller, CBS and ESPN is reporting it. Even some weird guy I bumped into at the printer, who had his shirt tucked way too far into his pants, mumbled something about it. So it must be true. See, here at SportsBlah, you get the best investigative reporting. A few lazy clicks of the mouse and an awkward conversation. Commitment to excellence. That's what we offer.

Anyway, I like this. I mean, I don't like it as much as if the Yankees offered all of their fans free life-sized, cardboard cutouts of Don Mattingly and Jesse Barfield playing ping pong or riding jet ski's. But as far as signings go, Nomar would make me happy. I mean, what's there to lose, except maybe $12 million over the next two years? And what's that for a fancy team like the Yankees? They probably burn that much money in front of homeless people during the holidays. And yes Nomar's stock has fallen over the past few years, but he's not that bad. In fact, I'm willing to say that if he can stay healthy, he can actually step in and be a quality #2 hitter for the Yankees, bumping "Lips" down to #3, where he belongs. And if the Yankees sign him, they'll have 3 of the 4 "Top Shortstops from 1998-2001", which is awesome. Of course, the only one still playing shortstop is Derek Jeter. Hey, the Yankees should probably get Miguel Tejada and make him catch. Right guys? Right? Hahahah. Wheeeeee! That's so funny. No it's not.

And you know Joe Torre would welcome Nomar with open arms. I mean, have you seen Garciaparra's nose? Oh man, Torre will be drooling for a chance to shove his fingers up that booger-filled treasure chest. They can spend hours swapping picking stories, techniques. I can see Nomar sitting by Torre on the bench, getting sage advice from the Jedi master: "Nomey, for your structure, you're gonna want to go with the Destroyer ... two knuckles deep and a 1/2 spin, almost a sweep." FOX can do an in-game analysis of that, Scooter can talk about it, Jeanne Zelasko can do a compelling pre-game report.

This could be huge.

This summer, while sitting in the stands at Fenway, my wife asked me who my favorite Red Sox player was. I opened my mouth to reply, paused, stopped, dodged a flying beer cup, thought, listened to 'Yankees suck' chant and drew a blank. Now perhaps it was the squalid effort the Sox were showing against the A's that day. If I remember correctly, Clement and a host of others were abused worse than a rental car in Camden. Or maybe it was our $60 right field grandstand seats, angled toward center and giving me scoliosis that put me a foul mood, but any name that came to find was followed by qualifications. “I like Nixon’s toughness, but he can’t hit lefties and he loves God, NASCAR and guns a bit too much.” Or “Varitek is a great leader and can really handle a pitching staff, but he’s a streaky hitter and his ass would make a black man blush.” And “Damon’s a great leadoff hitter and can really fly, but something about the way he throws the ball and feathers his hair would pose uncomfortable questions about my sexuality.”

Twenty years ago this was a no brainer. The words would have flew from my mouth unbidden. Jim Rice. I was like a twelve year old girl at a John Mayer concert, all weak knees, flushed cheeks and unrequited love. One glance at Greg’s oft worn almost translucent Yankees 23 t-shirt and I know I’m not alone. You always remember the first time. The man could do no wrong. Okay, he could do some wrong, but his errors and strikeouts only made him more human. More like me. He was a slab of granite with wrists spun from steel that could reach out and flick a ball over the Monster with a yawn and a scowl. His arm was a wrought iron, breech-loaded cannon (I really liked Risk as a child, sue me) capable of grooving new creases in teammates gloves and scaring runners to singles. He was a big, brawny, masculine man that looked damn fine in uniform and I was completely comfortable thinking that when I was seven. I would defend that man and his moustache to the death. What happened to that unerring belief?

Is having a favorite player just a phase? A necessary part of childhood; a sort of introduction to the game? Or is our present culture just making it harder to hold onto these more innocent notions? More access, more stats, more analysis, more dedicated channels, more intrusion, more websites, more satire. Perhaps the 24/7 SportsCenters with the jailhouse exposes and the not-Top Ten puncture that illusion at an earlier age. Less actual on-field highlights and more celebration of the low brow have ground down that once shiny image of professional athletes to a dull hue of sardonic one-liners and PTI topics.

Is it possible to have a favorite player anymore? With the transient world of free agency, it would certainly almost require an extra closet and an extra job to purchase new t-shirts and hats every few years. Do you just find yourself rooting for the collective hometown team? I know sports is a business and I’m not advocating sticking your head in the sand. Certainly I’ve learned that Jim Rice, while a good, if not great, player was a vain prick with a propensity to hit into double plays, an average fielder and is almost unwatchable on NESN, but there is still a part of me that just plumb don’t care and roots for him to make it to Cooperstown. Maybe that’s what having a favorite player is all about today. Choosing to raise up the player despite himself, turning a blind eye toward overexposure and forgiving his more egregious mistakes.

For the record, since that day, I’ve formally filed papers on David Ortiz as my favorite player and I have the figurine atop my computer and the T-shirt to prove it.

Is there some rule in the NFL that the only player who can be mic'd up is Ray Lewis? As exciting as it is to hear, "whassup baby, whassup ... don't bring that *beep* in here today ... not in my house ... whooo!" how about someone mic up Peyton Manning? Is that too much to ask? Isn't anyone curious as to what that lunatic is saying at the line of scrimmage? Watching him run that team is like watching a kid with A.D.D. trying to study. All the yelling, pointing and probably crying. If I have to listen to Lewis and every MLB manager talking about "our pitcher looks good today, fastball's got some zip", why can't I hear what Hurricane Manning is getting worked up about? I mean, maybe they do this already and I miss it when I occasionally flip over to the Lifetime channel. But something tells me this is an opportunity the networks are missing out on. Who wouldn't love to get up close to Peyton and hear what I imagine is him saying, "Blue 88, Blue 88 ... wait, wait, Clark, watch 55, watch 55 ... Edge, blitz from the left, blitz left ... Blue 88 ... Reggie, Reggie ... hi, do good today ok? ...... Stokey!!! Dude, remind me to tell you who I saw at Store 24 on Friday ... hut, hut ... oh shit, Marvin, MARVIN!!! look over by coach's foot, doesn't that look like a seashell? Seriously, that's awesome ... hut, hut ... "

Ok, but here's a question. What happens if the Patriots somehow beat the Colts again in the playoffs this year? I mean, everyone's going on about how the Colts are seemingly unstoppable (and I agree). But what if ... you know? What if the Pats have enough in them to kick the Colts in their dangly special spot again? Does Manning just give the cliched "tough opponent, good competitor, I'll be back next year" speech? Or does he go completely shithouse? Honestly, if the Pats beat them, Manning will never be the same. The chain of events will be:

Whiskey. Shotgun. Shooting Spree. Inaudible phone call to Boomer Esiason. Dialtone.

Then again, pure speculation.

Not much else to do but surf the Net with all this snow. Actually that's just a crutch since, let's be honest, it's what I do most days.

A wrap up of one of the busier winter meetings in recent years. And just when you thought the Jose Mesa and the Gambler's deal was the end of the craziness, someone decided to call Miguel Tejada. Can't say I blame him really. Every other team in the AL East is improving, or at least making deals and the Orioles are . . . well Hernandez is solid, but I don't think he's got the fan base all lathered up for spring training. Needless to say Tejada's impulsiveness has the Boston media all aflutter, especially with Renteria moving on.

There is probably less than zero chance of Clemens coming back to the Sox or Yanks, but sportswriters just can't resist the siren song of a column.

Greg's giant-headed binky Kevin Mench may be moving across state to Houston.

The case for Joey Belle and the Hall of Fame.

FO's week 14 rundown of the NFL slate.

Joey Harrington laughs his ass off during Lions loss.

Duke verus Texas tomorrow should be a good, if not a great, game, but will one of these teams win the championship in April? History says probably not.

Laugh all you want at Big East football, with three teams in the top five, Big East basketball is a beast. Of course when you have 37 teams in the conference, laws of probability say at least a few will be good.

Will the real Marcus Camby please stand up?

The World Cup starts today. Yes, I am one of the excited.

Don't you sleep on the Bears NFL. Oh, they may have "no offense". And their QB may be "terrible". And it may look like they've had an "easy schedule". And you may think that Seattle is so "big and grand" and it may appear as if Shaun Alexander has a "magical taint". But consider this your 2nd and final warning. DO NOT SLEEP ON THE BEARS. You know why? Do you? . . . Beacuse the Bears defense will punch your stupid face, then play volleyball with your pancreas, then fingerblast your sister.

Enjoy your destruction, Steelers.

Ok, why were the Rangers so obsessed with trading Soriano? For two years now, anytime trades were discussed you couldn't help but hear the token "Rangers might trade Soriano ... No seriously, they're gonna do it ... Did you hear me fatty? I'm not kidding. The Rangers are crayzeee ..." And maybe it's because I only recently passed the TOEFL exam, but I don't get it. I understand that Soriano is going to make $10M after arbitration, but what does that really mean? Why should the Rangers care? Isn't this the same team that, um, you know, well ... ARod. I mean for what Soriano brings to the table, $10 milly's is a bargain by today's standards. And yes, I understand, watching him field is like watching a 9 year-old trying to catch a watermelon with a mousepad. But his offensive contribution is super-fantastico and his defense isn't that bad. Well, ok, at least he's fast. More importantly, look around. Nomar will probably get $10M/year. B.J. Ryan got $9M (let that one sit for a second), Matsui got $12M and The Lasorda's just signed Furcal for $13M a year. Oh, Texas is so silly.

But ok, let's look at the flip side. You're the Rangers, you need pitching badly and you're stacked on offense. Soriano can walk next year. So, I see why trading him could be advantageous. In fact, you could really help your team out. Maybe you trade him for some Barry Zito or get a little bit of the Javier Vazquez. Who knows? Or . . . OR . . . you could really help your team by trading him for Brad Wilkerson and Termell Sledge. That would be really good. Because what the Rangers really need are two more OF to go along with the 136 they already have. Congratulations. You are officially retarded!!! Sure, the Rangers got good value. And Termell Sledge sounds like the 5th boxer you fight in Mike Tyson's Punch Out, which is awesome. But it just makes no sense. How do you not get a pitcher? "But we can now trade Kevin Mench?" Really? Smart thinking. Where's my head? Why get a #1 starter for Soriano, when you can get Jose Lima. High five!!! I don't even like the Rangers (is it obvious?), but the whole thing annoys me. I mean, I'm not throwing lawn furniture at old people or anything, but it's just aggrivating to see teams start to build and go somewhere, then drunkenly throw up on themselves.

And honestly . . . trading Soriano for Wilkerson . . . I mean, come on, did the Rangers really need to get any whiter? As it is, they're one Rod Barajas injury away from being the St. Louis Blues.

Oh, and on a side note. What ever happened to ESPN doing the little photoshop thingy when a guy gets traded? You know what I mean? They'd cleverly photoshop the new logo onto the player's hat. If they did the hat thing, you know no one is messing around. That player has most certainly been traded. So, you know, where is it? Where's the fun hat thing? Is this trade even official? I don't even know. Maybe you have to be an Insider:

"Join ESPN Insider and read all the stuff you should be reading for free . . . get a free subscription to ESPN the magazine . . . and enjoy our fun photoshopping of team logos onto your favorite players head when he gets traded. Only $39.95."

Well, sign me up.

If you have a sports fan on your holiday list this year and don't have the budget to bestow clubs seats, vintage throwback jerseys or private lap dances from Panther cheerleaders, you're probably contemplating books or DVDs. Or, perhaps, a case of Wiffleballs, which is what I got for Greg this year (sorry to ruin the surprise, buddy). Since I read a lot more than I watch, I thought I might provide a list of my favorite sports books, both the handful I read this year and my all-time favorites. I wouldn't want you to end up giving a loved one any of those Rick Reilly retread column books.

So, in no particular order and with full knowledge that there is a bit of a New England bias baked in, here is the list:


Our Red Sox, Robert Sullivan
In the glut of books after the Red Sox championship, it was hard to separate the wheat from the chaff and Sullivan's book was unfairly buried. Stephen King and Stewart O'Nan's book received more press, but if you want a book that personally details the roller coaster ride of being a Sox fan, this is the one to buy. Witty, moving and well-written with the unique perspective that Sullivan is a Sox fan living in NYC.


The Education of a Coach, David Halberstam
I'm already on the record for this one, but suffice it say, while a solid book about football and the teams and players Belichick has come across during his career, this book goes deeper and looks at the development and ultimately the type of man it takes to lead and succeed in today's NFL. I've never come across a Halberstam book I've disliked. He's just that good. A few of his other sport's books worth a look:

Summer of '49
Sure the media has blown the Yanks/Sox rivalry to near nauseating heights, but rest assured it's been around awhile and was doing just fine in '49.
October of '64
The World Series between the "white" Yankess and the "black" Cardinals was perhaps a tipping point in a turbulent decade.
The Teammates
A moving portrait of lasting friendship between Ted Williams, Dom DiMaggio, Bobby Doerr and Johnny Pesky as DiMaggio and Pesky make one last road trip to Florida to visit a dying Teddy Ballgame.


Juicing the Game, Howard Bryant
I plan to write a longer review on this one at some point. This book should have gotten more attention. What once looked like perfect publishing timing, published almost at the height of the steriod scandal, this book may have been overlooked in the wave of stories and eventual fatigue of anything steriod related. I know it took me awhile to pick it up. Perhaps burdened with a poor title, this book goes far beyond simply BALCO, greenies and the size of Bonds's head. It is a fascinating and thoroughly researched book on the late history of the game from the events leading up to the 1994 strike through the game's offensive "renaissance" and subsequent blind eye toward those causes. If perhaps Bryant bogs down in the chemical research at times, he more than makes up for it with passages on Selig, the owners, Brady Anderson, McGwire, Sosa, and a host of others. I'm convinced time will prove this out to a seminal work in the baseball canon.


Now I Can Die in Peace, Bill Simmons
Worth reading for the sidebar notes alone, Simmons pulls together his best Sox columns from his old site and his ESPN page. Personally, I liked the older columns best as remembering some of those crappy and dysfunctional mid-nineties teams was fun (Pat Rapp anyone?) as was looking at his predictions and opinions in hindsight.


Boys of Summer, Roger Khan
What if the Red Sox up and moved to Portland, OR? Roger Khan brilliantly looks back at the 1950's Dodgers, the tragedies and triumphs both for the team, the men that made up those teams and the city that loved them. A poetic, moving and ultimately bittersweet, classic. This should be required reading before you receive your Baseball Fan membership card.


Drive, Larry Bird
The one book that probably convinced me that my adolescent dreams of NBA stardom weren't going to happen. Bird's autobiography (with Bob Ryan) doesn't get too deep into #33's makeup, but it does show the obesssion, dedication and passion Bird brought to the game. A fun read filled with anecdotes and interesting stories from his playing career in the 80's.


Fever Pitch, Nick Hornby
You know how most Americans don't get soccer despite what the rest of the world says? Have them read this book. If that doesn't do it, they are a lost cause. Hornby's memoir humorously chronicles his obsession with Arsenal and does a brilliant job of showing even non-football fans what all the fuss is about.


The Natural, Bernard Malamud
The real story of Roy Hobbs. Don't get me wrong, I love the movie, but Malamud's book is a wider, more complex, and ultimately darker portrait of hubris, good, evil and redemption.


The Bill James Historical Abstract, Bill James
You know when LaRussa is making his sixth pitching change of the inning during a June snoozer with the Pirates? Have this book handy by the La-Z-boy. Flip it open to any page and dive in to James's unique views on teams, players and the game in general throughout its history. The Bill James brand has become so ubiquitous with stats, SABR, OBP and complex equations it's easy to forget that the man is a wonderfully clear and cogent writer, with a wicked sense of humor at times.


Shoeless Joe, WP Kinsella
Along with Friday Night Lights, Kinsella's novel is the one you most likely encountered during high school summer reading. If you didn't, pick it up. Left out of the movie are a few more memorable characters and a more in-depth look at relationships between fathers and sons and the generation gaps that can get in the way. Not as corny as it sounds, trust me, and reading the book makes the ending of the movie version a bit better.


Only the Ball Was White, Robert Peterson
Perhaps you know the name Josh Gibson. But do you really know how good he and his contemporaries were? You have to wonder what the history of baseball would look like if it were colorblind. Peterson introduces Gibson, Paige, Cool Papa Bell and others while looking back at the black game from the late 1800's through Jackie Robinson in 1947. A thorough and fascinating read about an era that is almost extinct.


King of the World, David Remnick
Remnick looks at the rise of a youthful Cassius Clay from Louisville to his defeat of Sonny Liston for the heavyweight championship. More than just a look at Clay, Remnick uses his life as a prism to view the bigotry, stereotypes, history, state of the fight game (Floyd Patterson and Sonny Liston are also central characters) and the nation's perception as Clay transformed himself into Muhammed Ali.


Heaven Is a Playground, Rick Telander
As much a book about basketball as it is about a time and place. Telander writes about his summer of watching (and eventually "coaching") a group of young, talented kids from Bed-Sty in 1974. Like most of the books on the list, this one goes beyond mere sports and between the lines we find boys on the verge of being men, surrounded by crime, poverty and few options. It's readily apparent that basketball is way more than just a game to them.


Last Night of the Yankees Dynasty, Buster Olney
Of course they are still the Yankees, but Olney uses the 2001 World Series loss as a turning point of sorts for the franchise. The last hurrah of a collection of men that perfectly complemented each other and rose above their singular talents. For a Sox fan, it was an interesting look at the principals involved in causing me such heartache. I still may dislike them, but perhaps I respect them a bit more. Plus, there aren't too many books out there where the Yanks end up losing in the end.


The Bad Guys Won, Jeff Pearlman
Frankly, after reading this, I'm surprised no one died during the season. Pearlman's account of the '86 Mets is almost too over the top to be believed. He chronciles the high times, rollicking roadtrips and endless debauchery of the ultimately championship team. A writer for Newsday, Pearlman's style can get a bit tiring and you may feel you need a shower after putting it down, but it is a guilty, sordid pleasure akin to peeking at the tabliod headlines in the checkout line.

That's it. As a sports fan, I'd be happy to get any of the above titles. It's certainly not a complete list of my sports library, and I'm always looking for new stuff, so if you have recommendations or ideas, throw them in the comments or drop me a line.

I wonder if the Cardinals recent elimination from the A.J. Burnett sweepstakes has anything to do with the fact that Tony LaRussa insisted on interviewing Burnett in his van? Can you just imagine that? LaRussa being his creepy self, asking questions like "where are you from?", "why are you interested in the Cardinals?" and "is Juan Pierre's penis as big as I think it is?" I can just picture LaRussa leaning in a little too close, glasses all tinted up, perspiration beading on his upper lip. All the while, A.J. is smiling nervously, being polite, pretending that the van doesn't smell like Old Spice, jolly ranchers and tears. Fun times. I say he signs with Toronto by noon.

The Dodgers are awesome. You really have to respect a team that has no regard for things like market value, player evaluation and basic economic principles. That Furcal deal . . . way to go!!! Top notch. I mean how do you pay an overrated shortstop (who the Braves were so disappointed in they almost traded away a year and a half ago) $13 million a year, when Burnett is only going to get 10 and Nomar 8? The only thing I can figure is that the Dodger's brass, sans GM, went out for mimosa's and pizza shooters. Somewhere around the 9th round of drinks Lasorda, picking his teeth with a straw, suggested, "Hey guys, you know what would be fun? Let's sign what's-his-face to play shortstop for us. The little guy, Farcho, from that other team." Without hesitation everyone let out a "WHO-rah" and drunkenly text messaged over an offer to his agent:

TXT MSG FROM DODGERS 11:58PM:

WE LUV FARCHO!!! 13 MILLIONES a year. He runs FAST. LOL!

TTYL!

Teams never learn. They sign players to large contracts and end up regretting them a few years later. In this case, I give the Dodgers until Thursday. By the weekend, the Dodgers office will have that "I can't believe I went to Haiti and didn't use condoms" vibe to it. But hey, no worries, they're about to trade Milton Bradley for Kirk Sarloos (scratching head). At least they've got that going for them.

Check swings in Wiffleball. Questionable fouls in pickup basketball. The ending to The Natural. Catching a straight on the river. Jake Plummer's 'stache. We don't like to admit it, but men can be emotional, or emotionally unstable. And nothing gets that irrational gene racing more than fantasy sports. Your significant other might understand you rooting for the hometeam, but when you start yelling Cowher-style for the Saints to throw it to the tight end, you're lucky if she stays in the same room. It's like pop up ads on a porn site or Al Roker going for the last Lean Cuisine in the freezer. Once we get rolling there's no stopping the insanity. Nothing demonstrates this temporary insanity than fantasy trades, specifically, at least in some people's eyes, unfair fantasy trades. Trades are proposed. Objections are raised. Passions are inflamed and entire days are wasted researching and debating the merits and relative value of Chris Cooley. Suddenly, trivialities take on peace accord status.

Full disclosure: I had a trade vetoed this year in a football league and it got the blood boiling a bit. On a trade, it's my opinion that the commish and the league should almost never veto a trade unless it is obvious collusion or an attempt to defraud the other teams. If both owners involved believe they are getting value from the trade, I don't think the league should stop a team from improving just because you don't agree or don't value the players the same (that's all relative) or don't like seeing a good team get better. I don't believe the league should hobble a team's ability to improve or protect the (perceived) stupidity of one of the owners. Isn't wheeling and dealing the point of fantasy leagues and keeper leagues especially? If you think you're out of it, why aren't you making deals too? What good does it do to sit on players or ask exorbinant rates in return? I realize it's natural, almost pathological, for most owners to overvalue their own players, but I'm making a playoff push, asking for LT is a waste of bytes. I'm willing to trade draft picks and quality guys, but not keeper or integral members of my team. Doesn't make sense. I'm not saying roll over, just be rational.

In an ideal world, I'd always be right and frivolous use of the trade object button would be a thing of the past like Member's Only jackets or windpants. In our league, the number of objections are displayed and I'm convinced there's a bit of a mob mentality when the number of objections grow. Hmm, four objections? Surely the guy that drafted Matt Jones in the fourth round knows what he's doing. Why not make it five. This Kool-Aid sure is tasty. Contagious groupthink. Fantasy fascism.

Also, is it just me or does skinny Al Roker freak anyone else out? Don't get me wrong I'm all for losing weight, even drastic amounts. Carnie Wilson, Missy Elliott, Oprah, Subway Jared. Fine with me. Hell, I get sucked into The Biggest Loser despite myself and Caroline Rhea's presence. But people, some heads are just made for fat bodies. I physically cannot watch him. I'm afraid he'll haunt my dreams looking for Doritos and Bon Bons.

Some other accumulated links:

For the first time in awhile, MMQB is worth reading top to bottom as PK looks at the developing playoff picture. PK is also tapped to give the reasoning behind Tom Brady being named SI's Sportsman of the Year. Not a bad choice, probably could have been given to Tim Duncan for similar reasons. Or Annika Sorenstam who absolutely dominated the LPGA this year. But it's the LPGA.

Apologies to Greg, but the '05 Bears look less like the '85 Bears than the '99 Bucs, at least according to someone called Bob Smith.

Maybe it really was Belichick's mojo the whole time. A look at Parcell's tenure sans 'the Genius.'

A completely bizarre and disconcernting Romanowski run-in recounted on Deadspin.

How weird would it be in the Met's locker room if Mrs. Benson does appear in Playboy?

Yoco Hoops on the four truths of college basketball's top teams.

A translated interview with Ichiro. Perhaps it's my East Coast bias, but I haven't seen Ichiro interviewed all that often. Worth a look if you're tired of all the gossip of the will-they-or-won't-they of the winter meetings.

New ACC member Boston College finishes third in the conference, but ends up with the Bowl slotted for the sixth place team due to attendance worries from Bowl officials.

Why is Omar Minaya suddenly spending like a rapper who's gone platinum? Delgado and Wagner are signed and Manny, Zito, and Vazquez are a possibility. And last I heard, even Cal Ripken was coming out of retirement to play for them (honk, honk). Blech. Anyway, what happened to the financial restraint that MLB teams showed last year? Obviously that's no longer of concern. And honestly, I don't care. The Mets want to spend all their money, go for it. I'm a Yankee fan. Frivolous spending on underperforming, overpriced acquisitions is all I know. And when people are like, "the Yankees payroll is $200 million" I just think "hey, wow, thanks for opening my eyes, that's really some terrific insight." What am I supposed to do, apologize and hope an evening with a bottle of zinfandel and a charming romantic comedy make it all go away? But you know, going on and on about the Yankees payroll really is such a relevant statement. Especially considering how the shopping spree has led to a very successful Yankee run over the last four years, what with all championships, parades, lipstick and purse deals, etc. And if the Mets, in typical fashion, want to copy the Yankees, so be it. You think Delgado will be worth $16 million in two years, well then thumbs up to you!!! Welcome to the club Metropolitains. They hype machine is around the corner to your left.

Speaking of playoff exits, I'm so tired of this crap cliche. Is anyone EVER happy when their team makes the playoffs but doesn't win the whole thing? I'm so tired of hearing things like, "well, to most teams, making the playoffs is a successful season, but not for the Yankees." What kind of pussy team is fired up to "just make the playoffs"? Hooray! We're just a little better than everyone else for 5 more days. Please. I can't think of any team, or their fans, firing up the Kool and the Gang and gathering for a celbratory round of karaoke after getting swept by the Twins. "Good first round loss guys. Seriously, great job. High five!!!" And why bother selling anything but World Series Champion t-shirts? Who's walking around with a 2001 Oakland Athletics Wild Card Winner t-shirt? Eric Chavez? Gil Heredia? You know Tony LaRussa is wearing one, just for the memories. Probably got the extra long to hide the candy he keeps in the pockets of his windpants. What a creep.

And I'm sure most of you have heard: Farnsworth might get a lot of money. Apparently, he's going to the Yankees. I can't decide if I like that or not. With his price now creeping up towards $20 million, I can't help but think, "Steve Karsay, Redux". Get it? Haha. No, wait, that's right, that wasn't funny. Neither is "Steve Karsay, Part Deux". But do you know what is? A monkey wearing a hat. That my friends, is comedy gold.

First, an admission. I'm a hockey fan. Ever since my Dad lucked into center ice tickets for a game five deciding playoff game between the Bruins and Canadiens in the late eighties and the fans mercilessly taunted Patrick Roy and booed the Canadian national anthem like their US citizenship depended on it, I've been hooked. Of course, it's pretty much been downhill for the Bruins ever since, a continual slide to rock bottom and the number one overall pick in '97. A pick they used on undisputed number one pick, franchise center, Joe Thornton. A savior for a once proud, now downtrodden moribund franchise. A rock to build championships around. Junior numbers to drool over. A rigid jawline and soft hands that coveted the Cup. No pressure for a seventeen year old, huh.

We, the few black and gold fans left, watched and waited. And waited. He certainly looked the part. Big, broad shouldered, chipped smile, short on the sides, long in back hair. He certainly could play. He could win draws, anchor a line. He could definitely pass. Yes, the Bruins never quite surrounded him with great players, but he was supposed to be the great player. There was plenty of talent on many of those teams and he should have elevated that talent. He should have pushed them. He should have carried them if necessary. Instead, he got along, said the right things and became a complimentary piece on poor to mediocre teams with only flashes of brilliance. Come to think of it, that's not a bad description of Paul Pierce on the Celtics right now. Hmmm.

Anyway, even before the strike, hockey had lost its luster in Boston. You know the team has slipped when the Revolution are getting equal media time. Ironically, the belief was that if the strike would help anyone, it might be the Bruins. They only had two players and the Zamboni driver under contract and the cap meant the tight fisted owner would be on almost equal footing with some of the more spendthrift ones. As it happened, the Bruins got trumped on most of the ace free agents, re-upped Thornton, signed a bunch of guys with a lot of vowels and have looked even worse than the old Bruins.

Similar to Andruw Jones, it's hard to believe Thornton's been in the league almost ten years and is still only 27. Boston has been well documented as a tough town to play in. They can elevate you to God-like status (Brady) or unrelentingly grind you down till you're nothing but a bitter shell (Nomar). To his credit, Thornton held up pretty well under the scrutiny. He never lashed out. He never cross checked anyone in the neck. Never towel whipped his teammates in the showers. Never really did anything really to raise the ire of officials, teammates or coaches. He was just a nice guy playing hockey. Maybe that was the problem.

The deal looks pretty balanced for both teams and who knows maybe it's one of those scenery trades and Thornton finally blossoms into expectations. For me, I'm tired of waiting. San Jose can take up the watch.