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With no Sunday night football this past week, the sports gravitational pull led me to the World Series (on Fox!). I'll admit, after more than a decade here, I've fallen a bit into the parochial attitude of the Boston sports fan: if the locals aren't involved, I can hardly be bothered to care. Still the South Florida/Cincinnati tilt on ESPN didn't offer much respite, so pastel pant suits, the wild eyed Eric Byrnes and warped McCarver syllogisms were the de facto viewing choice. Plus the batteries were dying on my remote, so I had to commit or risk being stuck between stations on a local access channel.

Seeing how Fox seemingly enjoys insulting baseball fans and producing their telecasts like a between inning jumbotron display, the viewers were treated to many roving off field camera shots. After realizing the futility of searching for celebrities in Comerica's stands and some seriously creepy painted feline face shots, the cameras honed in on the Tiger's dugout and I found myself staring at a round, slightly chubby, Latino face. I sat up straighter. That moustache. I leaned forward and adjusted the ears on my nine inch Zenith. Could it be? I squinted back almost twenty years.

I'm already on the record as having a regrettable, seedy rebound relationship with the Pirates after Buckener and the Sox in '86. Van Slyke, Bonds, Bonilla, a pre-AARP Leyland, starchly cicular stovepipe hats and a slightly fey pirate mascot seemed like a nice tonic to the staid, gray, heartbreaking flannel of home team. Certainly a mistake and thanks to the Braves, I didn't even get a World Series t-shirt for my digression. Let's also remember, I was ten years old and really thought magic and my twelve-sided die could animate the orc I was building in the back yard to dismember Bob Stanley and Bill Buckner.

A vital, yet often overlooked cog in that Pittsburgh machine was Jose 'Chico' Lind. A single day after making his debut, charmed by his impish smile, the Pirates traded Johnny Ray and installed Lind at second. No one knew it at the time, but Lind Cuisine (it was also around this time that I found Berman's nicknames a form of supreme comedy second only to the artistic genius of Garbage Pail Kids), like plot driven soft focused porn, was a dying breed. By the time he left baseball in '95, you'd be hard pressed to find another ultra-light hitting, sub .300 OBP, slick fielding, everyday position player like Chico. A poor man's Ozzie Smith, Lind was an essential and overtly eccentric part of the powerful Pittsburgh teams of the late 80s and early 90s.

Here at the Blah, we're hardly frugal with exaggeration, but Lind hardly needs our brand of sugar and spice. While he may have been behind his time on the diamond, he was truly ahead of his time off it. Playing today, I'm sure he'd be Deadspin's wet dream and have a bouquet of offers from reality show casting directors. Usually living up to his Spanish nickname, he could normally been found smiling, smoking Winstons or leaping over his teammates, as pictured on the famous '91 Upper Deck card. He routinely bet teammates money he couldn't pluck their Benjamin from the clubhouse ceiling, a mere twelve feet up. He was never short of pocket change. He also had his dark side. Throughout his career, he kept a large coterie of Rambo knives in his locker, occasionally lunging and "fake" stabbing unsuspecting teammates. He thought the shaving cream pie in the face was for pussies. After a rough game, he was prone to smashing things, like the stereo or Stan Belinda, with his bat.

Unfortunately, and ironcially, since he won the Gold Glove that year, after a key error in the '92 NLCS (damn you Francisco Cabrera) and subsequently being traded to the Royals, the dark side, with an assist from cocaine took over and Lind alienated himself out of baseball. But not out of the news, as he violated a restraining order for his wife in '96 and was arrested in '97 for possession in Tampa. It might have been a minor news blip due to his playing career, but the novelty of the arrest made a bigger splash. Lind was pulled over, found with a gram of coke, seven empty cans of beer and no pants. Today, you're a Congressman or a one inch story in USA Today, but back then driving with no pants just wasn't yet in vogue.

Lind lost his smile, but emerged from his year stint in prison clean and sober. He found a bit of redemption as a manager in the hinterlands of the independent leagues, but since being replaced in 2004 as manager of the Bridgeport Blue Fish, he's largely kept of the public eye (at least the Google public eye). So while I know he's not sitting next to his old manager (that would be Rafeal Belliard, cousin of Ronnie) during the World Series, wherever he is now, I hope Chico is smiling again and jumping clear over any demons he might find in his path.

Here at SportsBlah, we try to update the site everyday. But sometimes, it doesn't happen. And we're not usually ones to make up excuses as to why we don't write. Until today. See, I have a very important job. What is it, you ask? Well, I shave the pubic hair of female supermodels. And lately, there's been a flurry of "overgrowth" across the industry. It has seriously become a problem. Giant, untamed mounds of hair puffing out normally flat-lying bikini bottoms. So out of the blue, it's become my unofficial busy season. Now I'm not complaining. Shaping landing strips, wooden floors, etc. each and every day is incredibly rewarding. But also very time consuming. So, as you can imagine, that sometimes leaves little time for writing. Normally, Mike D. and I trade off and write when the other doesn't. But, he's been missing for a while. Last I heard, he was in Iowa getting his Battlestar Gallagtica-themed petting zoo business off the ground. So, things are a little chaotic for the SportsBlah boys right now. But we will hopefully be back to daily posts soon.

Now, on to sports.

So, it turns out this World Series isn't so bad. Except for the fact that I could absolutely care less about either team involved. Thankfully Kenny Rogers (the Angry George Clooney) is doing his part to keep things interesting. Here's the question though, is he really that stupid? I mean, a giant brown spot on his pitching hand and he thinks no one is going to see it? Then again, no one noticed the spot on his hand in the previous game. So who knows? Maybe it really was "dirt". Or maybe it really was "pine tar". Or maybe he just sucks at "wiping his ass". Allegedly, of course. Either way, he was dumb and probably got a little overzealous. But imagine if no one noticed? How far would he push it in Game 6? He'd probably be standing out on the mound with a long orange extension cord running from the Tigers dugout all the way to a power sander in his back pocket. When asked, he'd say, "Oh this? Oh it's um, it's to charge my cell phone." Then the umps would ask him nicely to leave his "phone" in the locker room. And LaRussa would just stand around, pushing up his tinted glasses, creeping everyone out.

But forget about the stuff on his hand. What was more fascinating to me was the way Rogers was pacing around the dugout in the 9th inning of Game 2. Stomping back and forth, muttering like a homeless man at a bus station. So that brings me to this question ... In situations where a closer or reliever is struggling, why send out the pitching coach to talk to him? Wouldn't it have been much more interesting to have Jim Leyland send Kenny Rogers out to the mound to talk to Todd Jones? How incredible would it have been to see Rogers stomp out to the mound, not say a word, then give Jones an open-palmed slap across the face. Then he could just turn, walk back to the dugout and continue his crazy "I yell at seagulls"-like behavior. That certainly would make for a more compelling situation and probably motivate T-Jones a little more. It's ideas like this why I should be managing a team.

By the way, anyone know how to unjam hair clippers?

Tigers vs. Cardinals in the World Series. Great.

FOX must be beside themselves with joy. What with the ratings juggernaut they now have on their hands. If things go well, the Series could pull higher ratings than According to Jim reruns. Money well spent.

As far as the series goes, it should be interesting. And by interesting I mean the Tigers should win in 5. Absolutely no one is giving St. Louis a chance. Well, no one except for maybe Tim McCarver, Eric Dickerson and Nelly. I'm certainly not. For one, the National League was pretty bad this year. I mean, the Padres? Come on. And if Pedro didn’t go down with his cocktail of injuries, few would disagree that the Mets would be in the Series. Also ... Detroit is well rested. Although I'm sure you haven't seen that on every single website today. Absolutely no one is talking about that. I'm sure Buck and McCarver won't say anything about it for three straight innings either.

Although, if the Cardinals take an early lead in Game 1 or in the series, this "well rested" advantage will turn into predictable McCarver douchery of "Did the Tigers have too long of a layoff?" and other assorted nonsense. That's what's great. There's a script already determined for no matter what happens. Oh, LaRussa and Leyland are best friends too. I bet this is the last time you hear that over the next week.

So, heading into the playoffs, Detroit had an inexperienced, overworked pitching staff and a lack of power in the heart of their lineup. St. Louis has an awful rotation, questionable bullpen and the creepiest coach in baseball. But Detroit's "weaknesses" have been a non-issue in the playoffs. Yet LaRussa sported tinted glasses yesterday evening ... at a night game. So you tell me who you want your money on. I'm sticking with my prediction ... Tigers in 5.

By the way, in case you missed it, here's Endy Chavez's amazing catch from last night.



If the Mets go on to win the game, this catch is forever entrenched in New York Mets history. But they lost, so it's merely an afterthought. Sports are funny that way. Just ask Matt Leinart and Vince Young.

So ... ARod. Is he staying or going? That topic seems to be heating up now that the offseason has (essentially) begun. Cashman recently reiterated that ARod is definitely coming back. Which is exactly what I would expect him to say. Which means he is absolutely being traded. I mean, come on, all this "ARod is part of the solution" stuff is just nonsense. From a bargaining perspective, if the Yankees do want to get rid of him (and they do) and if other teams know that (and they do), then the Yankees won't get diddly-poo for him. I apologize for my strong language right there, but that's just how it is.

Take the White Sox recent "offer" for instance. According to Rotoworld, "White Sox GM Ken Williams reportedly approached the Yankees last week about building an Alex Rodriguez deal around Mark Buehrle, Freddy Garcia or Javier Vazquez, but GM Brian Cashman wasn't interested." Gee, you think? Hey, say the White Sox, we'll give you a steaming pile of shit for ARod. And then as an added bonus, Kenny Williams can have sex with Brian Cashman's wife. Wouldn't that be super-awesome? He can have sex with Cashman's wife, shit in his toilet then leave him with Mark Buerhle and Juan Uribe. I'm surprised this hasn't happened yet. See, that's why you tell teams you don't want to trade him and that's why you don't trade him fresh off the ol' 1-14 ALDS performance.

This is why I love the offseason. The rumors and offers will be flying all over the place. And I'm very much looking forward to them. Especially the crap ones. Like ARod for Pat Burrell. You hear that one yet? That's a great idea. I mean, that's just someone not even trying right there. It's like in fantasy baseball when you put up a message that says, "I need pitching, everyone's available, even ARod." Without fail you almost instantly get the token bullshit "Woody Williams/Joe Crede for ARod" offer along with a 500 word email as to why this deal is "totally fair, dude". Although in his defense, Burrell almost hit .259 this year.

Oh, the A's chimed in recently too with talks of sending the Yankees Mr. This-is-the-Year, Eric Chavez, and either Rich Harden or Dan Haren. Actually, it wasn't the A's per se, it was the Contra Costa Times. I guess they were making a suggestion. And in this suggestion, the Yankees would pick up most of ARod's salary. And if proposed, I'm sure the Yankees would have a suggestion for them as well. Which would probably focus mostly on them "eating shit" and "being intimate with a horse".

But as frustrated as the Yankees are with him, ARod is still one of the best players in baseball ... except maybe in April, June, part of August and all of October. Yet, if he does in fact return, it's not like they're stuck with Stan Javier. A solid comeback in the playoffs is all ARod needs. There are worse things than having him on the team. Like, maybe wrestling a shirtless John Kruk for instance. Which is probably as bad as it gets. So while the offseason hot stove begins to heat up, keep the offers coming ... even though ARod isn't going anywhere (wink, wink).

People often find their way to this site via search engines. And when that happens, we can usually see the keywords that got them here. Most of the time, they're pretty standard. You know things like, "baseball", "sports happy fun time","Greg is overwhelmingly masculine", etc. But sometimes there are a few keywords that stand out and bring me great joy. Absolute gems. And ever since the the MLB playoffs started, one particular search fits that criteria. It keeps popping up and dropping people on our doorstep. That search, my friends, is for none other than "Jeannie Zelasko's tits".

For the record, we have never posted pictures of JZ's breasts. Nor have we ever seen them. Nor have we ever used the words "Jeanne Zelasko" and "tits" in the same sentence. Until now, of course, which really won't help things. In fact, the closest thing we ever put up was this picture of Jeanne Zelasko and our boy Tim McCarver taken right before a broadcast. We're certainly not shy when it comes to talking about Zelasko and her slew of fancy pant suits. We're also never shy about discussing FOX's super-compelling broadcasts and her role in them. But we are shy when it comes to boobs. For instance, after I chop down trees with my bare hands or save a kitten from upwards of 30 alligators, I tend to get surrounded by scantily clad women wanting to revel in my awesomeness. That makes me blush. It's not that we're anti-boobs. Quite the opposite. We're pro-boobs. We vote a strong "yes" on boobs. We just don't link to any pictures of them. I mean, sure we'll talk about them, and maybe throw in a few fisting jokes. But, you know, we just try to keep it family-friendly.

So unfortunately, those looking to quench their insatiable curiosity of what our girl Jeanne looks like nude will not find the answer here. In fact, they may not find that answer anywhere (we checked). But good luck with the search. And best of luck to the person who, about a year ago, typed in "Andrew Jones balls cock sack penis shaft testicles dick" into the search engine and ended up here. I hope he/she found what they needed. I can't quite figure out what it was they were looking for. I mean, the key to success in search engines is specificity. A vague entry like that gets you nowhere.

It's just weird that these searches all end up here.

By the way, I have a hilarious donkey punch story to tell you guys one of these days.

So, big news, I finally figured out how to embed videos into SportsBlah today. Yup, I know. I'm a super genius. Welcome to the blog of the future. I mean, how many sites out there do you think embed their videos right onto the page without links? Maybe 70 ... 80 million? Well, add us to the list. Yes, as the world changes so do we, eventually. I'm sorry it took so long. It's just that I'm 298 years old. Although, I'm not exactly sure what that means. Except maybe that I have weak bowels and a tendency to urinate on things. I seriously have no idea what I'm talking about.

Anyway, videos. I can now find them on the "internet" and put them directly onto the "website". I'd explain how to do it, but it's really complicated stuff that involves copying a line of code off sites like YouTube clearly labeled "embed" and pasting it into one's blog. I won't bore you with all the complicated technical details. I will tell you that I like to use Ctrl-C to copy and Ctrl-V to paste. I know, I'm sorry, I'm probably going too fast. This is all so cutting edge. But trust me, it's as magical as it sounds.

So to celebrate the advancement of technology and the upcoming Bears game on MNF, here's a video. Watch it and get pumped up.



Now, I know this isn't the best Bob Swarski/Super Fans skit out there, but it's still great - and the only one I could find. (Thank you JakeHuff5 on YouTube, whoever you are.) Although I hear they've made big strides in VHS technology lately. The "DVD" is what they're calling it. If any of you know of such a thing with all the Super Fan skits on it, please let me know. I would very much enjoy purchasing it.

By the way, speaking of Monday's game ... remember when Matt Leinart and Nick Lachey used to hang out? That's all.

Oh boy, the Yankees did great, didn't they? As a Yankee fan, the ALDS was truly a joy to watch. The last three games felt like I was being given a prostate exam by the Hamburger Helper. Brilliant job by Arod as usual. Thumbs up champ!!! At least he admitted he sucked once the series was over. That totally made it worse better. Seriously, a bag of urine wearing a helmet and some batting gloves could have hit better than .071 in this series. Not for nothing, but maybe it's time for a little tradey-poo. I think it's best for everyone involved. You know, we tried it but it's not working out so great. It happens. And while Cashman says he's a big part of the future, I'd be willing to bet that Arod and his propensity for clutch hits will be elsewhere by the winter meetings.

As for Torre, Steinbrenner's overreaction was predictable and boring. He's disappointed (again) that he spent $200M to lose in the first round? Well, no shit. So am I. And so are the rest of the Yankee fans. It's bad enough that he's spending that much to begin with. It's almost embarassing. Especially when it's spent on such marvels of awesomeness like Randy "Not Carlos Beltran" Johnson. Who, by the way, for being one of the most dominant left-handed pitchers of our time, pretty much sucks shit right now. You want to talk about waste of money, take a look at the Mullet King and his awful 5.00 ERA. You'll never see that $15+ million again. You know what Steinbrenner should have spent that money on? The Kansas City Royals. As in, the entire team. Don't get me wrong. They wouldn't have actually made the starting lineup. They could have just come in and done odd jobs around the Yankee clubhouse. Mow the lawn, decorate the locker room, shave Jeter's balls, etc. You know, stuff like that. That alone has a Win Share value of 9. Tell me that wouldn't have been a much better investment. Granted a league without the Royals would mean Javier Vazquez would go winless each season. But whatever. Not my problem.

Anyway, Joe Torre. Well, he's coming back. Obviously. And unless you have a problem with boogers, there's no reason he shouldn't. Seriously, why would you fire him? That's like choosing to have unprotected sex with a Mexican pirate, then blaming your penis and cutting it off as punnishment. Does that analogy even make sense? Probably not. But it's amusing to think of Steinbrenner sleeping with a pirate. The two of them frolicking on the bed while a parrot flies around singing "La Bamba" and shitting on the furniture. Either way, the same pattern just repeats itself every year. George flips through his 1995 Topps baseball cards, picks out his favorite players and demands Cashman acquire them. Then, big shock, they don't work out and he wants to fire Torre. What I'm really tring to say is that Steinbrenner is a dipshit. And if he really wanted to make the team better, he'd sit back and let Cashman develop prospects and put together a decent team, Gene Michael-style. And while I, and most all Yankee fans, appreciate Geore's determination and "passion" for winning, he needs to relax because he and his stupid turtlenecks and tan blazer are the real problem. Not Torre. Because the "Dynasty Yankees", that was a team. These guys are an overpriced collection of All-Stars. There's a difference. I know it. You know it. Everyone knows it.

Well, except for the guy who signs the checks.

And that's the sad part.

With the Patriots heading into a bye week and everyone in Boston needing a break from the eight month ball peen hammer barrage of Red Sox stories, there is a slim chance that the Celtics and Bruins get some attention. In the last five years, it pretty much took Pierce getting stabbed or the mascots fogging up the zamboni's windows to get either team on the front page. This year, both teams face pivotal seasons and besides playing in the same soulless amphitheatre, they share a similar make up and challenges.

First, on the plus side, each team has a solid player to build around. Pierce is probably starting on the downside of his career, but as exhibited last year, he still has plenty left in the tank. And, okay, it's early, but I'm confident that the Bruins didn't sign another Zhamnov in Chara. The man has been impressive both on and off the ice and should be an antidote for a defense that has a miserable plus/minus last season. On the downside, after this foundation, both teams have struggled to find the veteran component parts to fill out the space between their established stars and their stockpile of young, explosive potential. The jury is still out on whether the coaching staff can get that talent to ignite or fizzle it away in ill defined roles and haphazard rotations. Bergeron and Delonte West both seem like keepers, though I wish West would stay in uniform more, but Jefferson, Perkins, Toivonen and Telfair are still up in the air.

For the Celtics, their young post players will be the key this year. Can Perkins continue his late season progress? Can Jefferson finally overcome his ankle and consistently find the flashes of brilliance from his rookie year? Will they, along with Gomes, be enough to give the C's a modicum of post threat and keep them close on the boards? The Celtics survived with a rotating point last year, so even if Telfair is moderately better it will be an improvement and with Pierce and West the two and three spot seem secure. The Bruins need to find some consistent production from their third and fourth lines and add some depth to go along with Chara on the blue line. I'm guessing they also hope that one of their two rotating goalies steps ups and establishes himself as a number one.

So what is the success criteria for two teams that have been beaten down and forgotten in this town for so long? I think the Bruins, in the first year of a true regime change, no half assing it with Harry casting a shadow, will have a longer leash and fans may be happy with moderate improvement and some real highlights in their young talent. The Celtics, supposedly farther along, probably need to make the playoffs in a weak East for Rivers to keep his job (though worse things could happen).

In the end, I'm hoping both teams are exciting to watch if only for the enigma factor of watching them develop. Early success should help reinvigorate a willing fan base, but early failures that point to more of the same from recent years will hurt and leave the fans with only the spectacle of near seven footer on skates for entertainment or the equally frightening prospect of Scalabrine (or shudder, Olowokandi) getting significant minutes.

Oh, hello NFL. Remember us? The Chicago Bears. Yeah, we're back. And we're better. Meet the Rex Factor. A walking, talking, fire-throwing whirlwind of awesomeness who bench presses dump trucks and sleeps with your mom. He's biologically engineered from light particles and superhero pubes. And his sole purpose is to destroy foes, shatter dreams and throws bombs. 780-yard bombs to men named Bernard. The kind of bombs that make crowds cheer, heavy metal play and Mexican children cry. Ask defensive backs. They know. And there's nothing they can do. Because they can't stop awesome. And that's all Rex Grossman knows. That's why the Bears are better. A lot better. And making a mockery of your stupid league.

Of course you know Lovie. Lovie Lee Smith. Man-genius in motion. You think you're smart? He's smarter. Smarter than you. Smarter than your dad. Smarter than a Chinese scientist riding an 80-foot dolphin. He's an unstoppable warehouse of neurons fueled by cotton candy and motor oil who lives to map plans. Game plans. He'll tickle you with his genius then destroy you with his mind missiles. And when you think you're going to win, you don't. He sees the future. He knows your weakness. And when he points, the Bears pummel, mercilessly.

See, the Bears are good. As in, "best team" good. If you don't believe me, try "scoring on them". I guarantee you'll cry. Ask Matt Hasselbeck. He cried. His brother cried. The whole cast of the View cried. Because when the defense hits, you lose control. Violently. In your pants. Like a zoo animal. You can't stop what you can't see. And the Bears D is fast. Invisible fast. No one can match their spectacularicity. And that's not even a word. Until you play them. Then you realize it means "destruction via hits". And there's nothing you or your silly little team can do.

Can you hear that noise, NFL? Can you? SportsBlah hears it. The city of Chicago hears it. Even Norwegian turkey farmers hear it. That's Alex Brown and his size 37 hands coming to get you. And when he grabs hold, he won't let go, even if you ask nicely. Because all he and his friends speak is the language of annihilation. And all they can do is dominate. So we hope you're ready NFL. Because your regularly scheduled embarrassment is already in progress.

A couple years ago then-Globe writer Michael Holley had a few nervous months. After taking a sabbatical to intimately follow the Patriots, he saw his book dissolving in front of him as the Patriots, surprise Super Bowl winners in 2001, followed it up by barely treading .500 and missing the playoffs in 2002. Of course time proved Holley's title choice prescient as the Pats came back to win in 2003 and 2004. I wonder if Seth Mnookin had a few nervous nights as he watched the Red Sox slip, falter and fall in 2006. He need not have worried. The Red Sox's quick playoff ouster in 2005 and, to understate the case, disappointing, 2006, makes Feeding the Monster an even more fascinating and compelling narrative.

Don't let a dislike of the Red Sox keep you from reading this book. Case in point, the greatest sports comeback in history, the Sox's 2004 defeat of the Yanks, is covered in less than eight pages. The Sox seem to only really serve as a palette for Mnookin to explore the modern sports franchise, from ownership, to operations, to personnel. The stats and baseball explanations can be annoyingly simplistic at times, but most of those are consigned to footnotes, and Mnookin gets out the way and lets the personalities drive the book.

The book has a couple distinct sections. The first is a concise history of the Red Sox, here's a part non-Sox fans could skip, but it's a brief, breezy read and corrects some common misconceptions and myths about the franchise. The second section concerns the pursuit and sale of the Red Sox to the Henry group. What sounds like a staid, dry, potentially wrist slitting section is actually less like CNBC's Squawk Box and more like Melrose Place. The Byzantine two year sales process highlights the egos, personalities, slights, histories and back room deals that are seemingly lifted from a script, right down to the Sopranos-esque late night down by the docks meeting.

The last section of the book primarily concerns the day to day baseball operations group throughout the 2004 season and if there is one lesson to be learned here, it is that you never outgrow high school. If the second section resembled Melrose Place or Barbarians at the Gate, then the last section reverts to a bizarro episode of Saved by the Bell. As an outsider, it all almost borders on absurd. Each of them has a dream job involving a child's game and the vast majority have the outsized egos and maturity levels of irate panda bears combined with the never forget memories of elephants. It's Red Sox High where every slight, gossip nugget, misconstrued smile or snarky remark is escalated like weapons of mass destruction till there are two rival, feuding camps and the GM ends up leaving and the CEO is clueless. It all makes for fascinating reading, but you get the sneaking feeling you couldn't stand to be friends with any of these people.

If the on the field performance of late didn't tell you, this book definitely reinforces that the fact that infighting certainly took it's toll on the Sox organization and is probably a major factor in the step back to mediocrity the franchise has taken since winning the Series. Sure, myriad injuries took their toll and Tek going down was like that cannonball shot in Glory, but the die was cast when half the organization was either not talking to the other or was actively undermining them.

Overall the book was well written and an easy read, though I would have liked to see a little more depth in certain sections. While he seemed to have the freedom of day to day access, a lot of the book feels superficial or avenues of inquiries half explored. This isn't a juicy expose, per se, a large part of it you've probably read before, but the act of reading it cumulatively really outlines the positive steps the Sox took to make it to the top and ultimately the injuries, hubris and frivolity that brought them back down.

Next up on the sports book shelf: Blind Side by Michael Lewis

Okay, first things, despite rumors to the contrary Greg was able to get his windpants on over his Bears erection and make it into the SportsBlah offices, even if the crowded subway was a bit awkward. Since his condition has lasted for more than four hours, he's off to see the doctor, but he has a Bears post percolating in the labs and it should be up sooner rather than later. Turns out finding rhyming couplets for 'Urlacher's golden sweat' and 'pulverizing your pancreas' is not something you rush.

In the interim I offer some obvious, yet chewy nougat, filler on this afternoon's ALDS game.

• I love afternoon, weekday baseball for the elicit thrill of sneaking out and watching the game. It's so naughty.
  
  
• Zito and Santana are pitching like they both ate from the same bad seafood buffet last night. Catch, kick and fire. They must be worried they will lose it on the mound (reminds me of the Boston marathon where Uta Pipig ran with crap literally streaming and steaming down her legs, but let's not go there). They made it thought four innings in the time it took me to run four miles on the treadmill.
  
  
• It amazes me the lengths Joe Morgan will go to not criticize a player unless he's committed a capital offense. He refuses to admit Santana hung two change ups that led to the A's first two runs.
  
  
• Just like Trot Nixon (seems like a guy Beane might sign) likes to keep his moldy hats, I'm pretty sure Zito is pitching in his little league pants. I don't need the pants tight enough to know if he shaves his legs.
  
  
• It must be a rule that as long as you can't grow facial hair you can play for the Twins. They looks like a slightly older high school team where after they finish kicking your ass you might consider checking their birth certificates.
  
  
• I'm still wondering how the A's got in the playoffs. The West must have really stunk. They have no offense other than Thomas and only two pitchers with era's below 4.50. The only thing I can figure is they've got great defense and a great bullpen. And frat house team chemistry. Oh and Billy Beane.
  
  
• Speaking of Thomas, in an era where everyone is deflating to the norm or has been banished, he really sticks out like an anachronism doesn't he? The man is just huge. He looks like he should be sepia toned and wearing those cotton cut off uniforms from Eight Men Out. When people talk about the size and power of Negro League star Josh Gibson, I sort of picture Frank Thomas.
  
  
• It's pretty hard to screw up a bland patriotic truck commercial, but I think the Chevy Silverado manages it quite nicely. Not sure what they were really going for and who suggested deviating from the Bob Seger script, but I think it misses the mark.
  
  
• Does the Metrodome grounds crew, all two of them, I guess, think they are fooling anyone with the patterns on the fake grass? Also, I'm adding the Metrodome to the lists of stadiums that do not translate well to television. It seems like they are constantly playing under twenty watt bulbs.
  
  
• Now that I think about it, Jon Miller and Joe Morgan might be the best we get today assuming Berman will make my ears bleed during the Padres game and Joe Buck and McCarver get the Yanks game. (sigh)
  

Now excuse me while I go queue up the DVR to capture Jeanne Zelasko in all her pretty pant suit glory.