April 17th, 2011

Finally catching up on my news reading in the Barry Bonds trail here and the biggest question I have is "where the heck is the white Bronco"? No, not John Elway! I'm talking about the 1993 Ford getaway car that Bonds escaped in? Wait, what's this? Wrong trial? Oh, sorry, my bad. Could've fooled me though... A record-breaking Hall of Fame worthy superstar with an unchecked ego thinking he's above the law and all. Besides, Al Cowlings once played for the San Francisco 49ers, so you can certainly see why I'm confused!

Well in the biggest case of obstruction since the 10th inning of Game 3 of the 1975 World Series (where have you gone Ed Armbrister?), Barry Bonds was found guilty, well kind of, by a jury of his peers on one count of "obstruction of justice". You heard that right folks, no perjury here, just "per jury" as these so called "peers" (what, they all had heads the size of Megamind?) weren't "Clear" enough that the evidence was there and were only able to "Cream" Barry on one count of obstruction of justice. So with sentencing still to come (at least at press time here), what's obstruction gonna get him, about 15 yards or so? And if the judge is really a hard-arse he gets loss of down too? Seriously? Talk about an incompetent prosecution without a clue and here we go again with the O.J. parallels. Speaking of "Clue", one of my favorite board games growing up, how about this one: Greg Anderson in the master bedroom with the syringe? Or was that Kato and McNamee in the pool house with the B12? We've also got the clothing accessory angle too, only this time it's some haberdashery instead of the vaunted bloody gauntlets. Yeah that's right, "if the hat don't fit you must acquit!"

And that my friends, is where the prosecution and the jury at least got one thing right. Obstruction for sure, as in "hey Herbie remove the derby" because I can't see the freakin' movie screen while I'm sitting directly behind your ginormous cranium! Matter of fact, Barry Bonds brings a whole new meaning to the term Fathead. Way back in 1995 I actually put up one Barry's giant (as in "big", but well "Giant" with a captial "G" as well I suppose as Bonds was in San Fran by then) wall stickers in my office and like that Venus Fly Trap over at Mushnik's Florist on Skid Row, the thing has taken on a life of it's own and grown so large it's obstructing my doorway, my window and a couple of air vents! Fat head indeed and feed me (Seymour) some more contradictory testimony while the disembodied head hovers over the defense table and keeps laughing and smiling in a way that would make Alice's Chesire Cat jealous. Or if I may paraphrase John Mayer, "your body's a wonderland, but weren't you once a size 7 1/4 around the old noggin?"

Taking my Chesire Cat reference one step further, it appears that the "Steroid Era" has used up another one of it's nine lives (uh Manny? Yeah the Era just called and they want that 5th life back, OK?) while somewhere in Texas, another big-headed tabby, namely Mr. Clemens, is licking himself clean and continues to admire his visage Through The Looking Glass. Speaking of the Rocket Man? Hey kids, that circus comes to town on July 6th, be sure get your tickets early! Well you've got to admit, fantasy baseball isn't as much fun to watch these days unless you've been lucky enough to be in the position to grab Wille Bloomquist and Sam Fuld off the waiver wire. Fuld and Bloomquist? Is this what we've come to? Sounds like a law firm actually. Hey, maybe they have a better track record in government perjury cases?

Well, dinner's over and my compliments to Chef Beldar! The shredded swine flesh (Jim and Mark, you must try this!) and fried chicken embryos were absolutely delicious and I would love to come back and consume mass quantities again some time. French cuisine you say? From Remulak? Never heard of it. Is that anywhere near Nice or Marseilles? First I'll settle the check then could you have the maitre d' call "AC" over in valet and kindly ask him to bring the white van around to the front...

April 15th, 2011

Manny being Manny one last time, eh? Poor guy was allowed to add just one more hit in 2011 to his major league leading total for most career hits while pregnant before the powers that be finally got the results back from the testing lab. As it turns out, yep, Manny's pregnant again! Let's call it twins and since no one's fessing up to what he got caught with this time ("survey said... flaxseed!"), we'll just assume it's his second offense with that female reproductive hormone that masks more agents than a Scott Boras hosted industry wide Halloween party...

So what's next for Mr. Manuel Aristides Ramirez Onelcida? It seems like he's not "dreading" his future (stay with me, I promise it gets better from here). Well if he's not allowed to hit a baseball maybe he could do that other thing that he does so well. Entertain us! I hear there's a big opening on a hit TV sitcom that really needs a recognizable star right now... Seriously. Seamless plot transition right here, follow me. Charlie Sheen's character, what's his name again? Oh yeah, Charlie, duh! Well Charlie gets killed (or perhaps just goes missing) on a weekend jaunt by that psycho girlfriend who used to stalk him and then married the mannequin. Unable to afford the Mailbu pad on his own, Alan (Jon Cryer of "Duckie from Pretty In Pink" fame right?) starts looking for a buyer who will allow him to stay there at his current rent. Quick aside... Why can't Alan afford the place? He's a chiropractor in Malibu isn't he? Not a breast surgeon mind you, but still? Never mind, we'll suspend some disbelief here and speaking of suspensions (of the 100 game variety) and disbelief along comes Manny, who buys the house and pays for it by endorsing a few of those uncashed checks that he likes to keep in his dresser sock drawer.

Manny sits out his 100 games in the living room, watching TV with Jake (whose real name is Angus T. Jones? Ah, so that's where the guy from AC/DC went...), comparing hairstyles with the housekeeper (because you know Berta's sportin' the dreads) and telling anecdotes about going to the bathroom in the Green Monster scoreboard, cutting off relay throws from other outfielders, and letting a ball bounce off his head for a home run; no wait, that was Canseco doing a guest star spot. Much hilarity ensues and before you know it, like 8 episodes of TV-land time, the suspension's up and Manny revives his career with the Angels. What, you think the Dodgers would work better here? Talk about suspension of disbelief, but that could perhaps lead to a Charlie Sheen cameo (He's back! Winning!) where he's wooing Jamie McCourt in the owners box at Chavez Ravine. Hmmm, get me a screen writer no Line One! Meanwhile, Alan's practice begins to thrive, mostly due to frequent visits from Kendrys Morales, who for some reason still can't walk two seasons, and a summer of re-runs, after breaking his leg and next thing you know, the show's back on top, beating Dancing With The Stars in the Nielsen ratings (Surely Leslie Nielsen was involved in those ratings right? But don't call him Shirley...)

Not gonna work? Not enough dramatic tension? OK, so then we do this in the following season... Jake moves out and joins an AC/DC cover band that's constantly touring Iceland, Greenland and the Scandanavian countries (with a dip into Denmark from time to time and a gig at the Royal Wedding of course), Alan, mainly thanks to the largesse of "one" Kendrys Morales (there's a nice subplot in one episode where Alan thought there were two Kendry Morales' because of the new plural first name), moves out too and buys a house further up the beach where he shacks up with the psycho stalker mannequin marrying chick. Charlie returns (got to save the ratings!) as Manny's new roommate, and who does he bring with him to live in Alan and Jake's old quarters? None other than Dustin Pedroia himself, who was framed by Dice-K into becoming the fall guy for a 64 - 98 last place season when the Sox were supposed to win the World Series! So Manny Ramirez, Charlie Sheen, and Dustin Pedroia. Doing the math, that gets us Two and a Half Men, no? If we need some guest stars to keep up the "funny" well I hear Josh Hamilton's got some free time on his hands and he could bring his broken "humerus" to the show while he and Sheen swap stories that start with "So I woke up in the motel, only to find out that it was already the following week, luckily no one had stolen the suitcase and the girls left the film in the camera..."

April 8th, 2011

Let's start with a disclaimer. I'm writing this one up on Friday morning, before start of Yanks-Sox series in Boston on Friday afternoon. There's a chance by the time you read this things could be much better than I've portrayed them here and there will be monkeys jumping off the backs of all Bostonians and heading for the first T out of town or there might be even less joy in Mudville and Mighty Casey (or Adrian or Carl) could be "per-sah-naw non-grawhta" in the Cradle of Liberty...

Oh and Sox! Sorry, make that oh and six. Like a batch of white clothes that's been sitting on top of the washing machine too long, these Sox absolutely stink! What in the name of Sam Horn (and his Sons) is going on in Beantown? Well, actually nothing's going on in Beantown itself, as this entire season opening losing streak has been on the road, in Texas and Cleveland. In Texas I believe somebody forgot to tell the pitchers that batting practice had ended and the games had begun. Was that an season opening series I was watching or an old "Home Run Derby" reel? You, know the one's they used to show at 3AM on ESPN2, in black-and-white from the California version of Wrigley Field? Or as they probably would call it now; the Los Angeles Wrigley Field of Anaheim or something silly like that. In Cleveland, a bunch of Mistakes At The Jake (which is near The Lake) as Boston made Fausto Carmona and Josh Tomlin look like Bobs Feller and Lemon. Tonight we're gonna party like its 1948...

This team's in a Terry-ible Fran-coma right now offensively and the pitching could certainly use a wake up call as well. Youk looks spooked, Lackey's lacking, Salty's faulty and Big Papi? Well, Papi not so Big (or "Papi not so clean" if you're a Seinfeld fan!) Perhaps that suicide squeeze that ended the Cleveland game on Thursday was prophetic? "Suicide" as in Sox fans starting to jump en masse off the Tobin and Longfellow Bridges and "squeeze" as in the pressure they're going to get from the media and their "curly-haired boyfriend" (inside joke for the Sox fans I'm skewering right now, did I get that right Walt?) when they return home and have to face the Yanks in a three-game weekend series with their backs against the Green Monster.

When will the Pedroia paranoia set in? Well perhaps it already has. The Diminutive One whipped out this classic quote yesterday: "You're either two feet in now or two feet out. Let us know now because we're coming". Ohh-kayy! So maybe Dustin's right, they're about two feet OUT of first place and have both feet firmly planted IN the doodoo! Of course for reasons having to do with civility and a respect for what is actually a good, healthy attitude here by Pedroia I'll avoid making the obvious "and he's only two feet tall" joke here. Oh wait, what did I just do? Oops, shame on me...

There's no reason to panic here just yet, although if this was the Yankees and Herr George was still alive he would've certainly fired at least two managers by now! (Footnote on that one for Walt. Great line, thanks!) It's six games into a hundred and sixty-two game season (that's 3.7% for those of you keeping score at home) and it's not like any team that's started 0 - 6 hasn't made it to the World Series? What's that? No one ever has? Uh-oh! Where's that button? So it appears that the Sox would have to do something truly historical to live up to the preseason hype where everyone and their brother and their brother's roommate and his sister (and the horse they rode in on) picked Boston to win the World Series. Well it's not like they haven't done that before, right?

Now this is the part of the show where I win back a modicum of respect from the "mad at me" Red Sox fans that have read this far by gently reminding the Yankee fans (who up to this point are absolutely loving this, aren't we Kevin?), that they were the ONLY team in baseball history (get it "history = historical" here?) to blow a 3 - 0 lead in the ALCS! So you see, as they like to say in legal circles (and are ovals then "illegal circles"?) precedence has been set. It's only six games and as Carnac The Magnificent might say, envelope-to-turbaned head; "What do they call it when there's not enough urine in the cup? Small. Sample. Size." Besides, home is where the heart is right? All Sox fans please join hands and repeat after me. No we're not gonna sing Kumbaya but we are going to quote a little Wizard Of Oz (just Oz, not Ozzie Guillen, is we were quoting him, we'd be on Twitter not here):

"There's no place like home, there's no place like home" {click those cleats together a few times}. "Follow the Yawkey Brick Road, follow the Yawkey Brick Road". {note: I have no idea if Yawkey Way is actually paved with bricks, or even cobblestones for that matter, but I'm doing the "poetic license" thing here so roll with it please}. "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas City anymore, but you know what? Maybe we should be. When's Hochevar pitching next?"

April 6th, 2011

Let's begin the year of the Flinn title defense with an Irish slant shall we? Namely a wee little bugger of an injury that seems to be infecting just about everyone these days. Yes I'm talking about the little leprechaun named Strainey O'Blique... Looks like everyone and their brother (how's that leg feeling Jim?) is piqued by the oblique. Granderson (First Holy Grail reference of the season: "but I got better!"), Longoria (that's Evan with an "N", not the Wisteria One), Brian Wilson (The Bearded One, not the Beach Boy) and Jair Jurrjens (J.J. is not feeling so "dyn-o-mite" right now) are just some of the big name stars feeling the Muscle Pull of the Irish in the early goings of the season.

According to Webster, the dictionary, not Lenny the ex-Orioles backup catcher, the definition of oblique is "having no right angle". Which is kind of ironic because here I am attempting to write a blog entry on a topic that "has no right angle". A story without the right angle, sure explains the "straining" part! Well since it's my first entry of the season I guess I should be glad it's not writer's cramp, eh?

How does that expression go again? I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy? {cues up The Ramones Greatest Hits CD} Well how about having an epidemic happen to me instead of an appendectomy? Coming up fast behind the oblique as the popular injury du jour is our old somewhat extraneous friend the appendix. Warning: injuries in the rear view mirror are closer than they appear!

St. Louis Cardinal Matt Holliday gets credit for setting the new trend here as he'll be taking an eponymous vacation (See what I did there? Admittedly my wordplay is still in Spring Training mode) from baseball for a week or so after having emergency surgery last week. By the way, just like every old left handed reliever seems to be "crafty" these days, is there any kind of appendectomy that's not of an "emergency" nature? Guess not. Unless your playing Operation with your kids (was never good at that game, too much coffee I'm guessing), why would you remove your appendix if it's not really doing anything in the first place?

Joining Holliday on the "not quite disabled list" is White Sox slugger Adam Dunn who is (wait for it... Day Two of Spring Training puns) "done" for a bit after undergoing an (wait for it again... yep you guessed it) emergency appendectomy on Wednesday. And what's with this other disturbing side (no pun intended) trend of having your appendix removed and not going on the disabled list? Do these folks have any respect for the likes of us who play fantasy baseball? Especially leagues like ours where we have this draconian rule about having to keep all non-injured players on your active roster for the first half of the season. Did I just say "draconian rule" out loud? Donnie Baseball replies "Yes you did Commish. How about that Super Dump rule I keep bugging you about?" But seriously, do you know what it's like playing without your second round draft pick for three weeks in April? Well, that's a perfectly formed segue into my next item of note...

Intentional Walt certainly knows this feeling. I'mmmmm hooked on a feeling, high on believing, that cursed is my Round 2. {same deal as last year by the way, you can sing anything in italics} The Sports Illustrated Cover Jinx could learn a thing or two from Walt who's managed to create a unique (rhymes with oblique!) injury curse all his own involving his Round 2 draft pick each of the last three seasons. You see, once you're selected by Walt in the round immediately following the first (strongly resisting a Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch aside here!) you're basically doomed to suffer an injury in the season's first week. Don't believe me? Well try these names out for size. 2009, Brandon Webb. 2010, Jacoby Ellsbury. 2011, Matt Holliday. Webb, dead. Ellsbury, dead. Holliday, dead. Wait, let me go back and check the last few fantasy hockey league drafts to see if Walt's ever selected a Niedermayer brother.. Sad to say, the facts don't lie and The Curse of the Second Round Draft Pick (no that's not the name of a Hardy Boys novel and Walt's never drafted J.J. Hardy) is real. Real scary that is! Walt the signs are clear here, The Oracle has spoken, the meaning is obvious. Next year take a Yankee with your second pick!

My final thought on the injury front for today (entire league of owners feels sudden relief that this entry is almost over and is collectively wishing me a strained oblique if I continue much longer) is this matter of Yankees G.M. Brian Cashman accusing the Mets of abusing Pedro Feliciano, he of three straight seasons of 90 or more relief appearances in the orange and blue. Well OK, I'm not saying there's no merit to that claim, however, as I introduce the Pot to the Black Kettle here listen closely and you'll hear the cries of two guys named Scott Proctor and Tanyon Sturtze screaming "What about us? Ninety appearances out of the bullpen? Is that what we're complaining about here? Geez, that was a slow weekend under Torre!"... Well that's all for now folks! Remember the morals of today's story, everyone stretch before exercising, never let Walt select you in a draft of any kind (yes even pickup basketball) and please don't schedule your appendectomy ahead of time, they really don't allow that...