There's a warm breeze in the city tonight, soft light makes every sad sight seem alright...

So...hello. It's been a while. I mean, unless you count my examiner links. And given that you is really mostly the part of me which feels guilty about not updating this blog enough, and even guiltier about the fact that when I think about that the reason I keep coming to is that I don't remember how to write this way, I think it's safe to say that examiner links count for motherfuckall in this instance. So...what's up portion of subconscious which I use this space to converse with? How ya been?

...I mean, that was clearly a dead end, right? This is what I mean when I say I don't remember how to write this way...every thought which I consider posting here immediately finds its way to a dead end. Of course, I'm probably kidding myself if I try to think that my lack of attention to blogging isn't inherently connected with my inability to do so. And on that note, something I've been thinking about posting here a lot lately, and fuck the world if it isn't particularly interesting.

Things I've been wishing for lately which aren't at all appropriate for Wishful Wednesday:

The end of Ali Larter's joke of a fucking career already. Seriously. It's time.

For Watchmen to exceed my impossibly high expectations, just like the book did.

A decent reason not to sell my Wii next year. Seriously, Nintendo, watch how many casual gamers stick around as the economy collapses. You need real gamers right now.

A return to glory for 24 this season. I'll never quit on that show and I'm not sure I can enjoy another shitty season.

Stroke 9 to play the motherfucking city for once in my goddamn life. It's fucking ridiculous how long I've loved that band and never even been aware of an opportunity to see them anywhere near home.

A badass mother G.I. Joe.

Michael Phelps, Tony Hawk, A-Rod, and ESPECIALLY that AnalRapist Kobe (for those who don't know, Kobe's both an Analyst AND a Therapist in his spare time. He's quite the renaissance man.) to fall on their fucking faces in that ridiculously annoying and not to mention blatantly misrepresentative guitar hero commercial. Like, seriously, you could've just recreated the fucking scene with a song that's ACTUALLY IN THE MOTHERFUCKING GAME YOU DISHONEST PRICKS!

A Jonathon Blow game on Wii. Anyone who has played Braid surely knows exactly why I would say this. Anyone who hasn't missed out on my favorite game of 2008.

A way to go back in time and pick up Fallout 3 at launch so my expectations hadn't gotten so impossibly high for a game which I'm sure won't end up living up to them when I finally play it.

The rumored Weezer/Oasis spring tour to be a reality.

Anyone got any wishes to share? For that matter, is anyone reading this thing? Click me for the rest!

Wishful Wednesday: bring T.O. back to Philly

Leave it to the "lonely jew on Christmas" to go off the deep end. This week, I'm wishing for T.O. to spend 2009 in an Eagles uniform.

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Wishful Wednesday: believe it or not, more NFL assistants

This week, I wish for NFL teams to employ a "game management" coach, whose job it is to prevent miscues regarding timeouts, challenges, personnel packages, etc. Essentially, I think NFL coaches need the equivalent of MLB bench coaches.

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What to watch for in tonight's Browns-Eagles game

Preview, prediction for tonight's game.

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Wishful Wednesday: Leave the gun, take the cannoli

I go a bit outside the sports box this week to wish for something I'm always wishing for: gun control.

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Wishful Wednesday: more rivalry weeks, please!

This Wishful Wednesday, I'm wishing for rivalry week to be expanded into other sports.

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Drove the Eagles to the goal line but the goal was denied...

I would love to sit here today and bitch and moan about Andy Reid's idiocy. The goal line futility. The lack of a fullback. The decision to jettison T.O. The refusal to use Buck or Baskett or Avant or Celek. The fact that Schobel and Considine and G-Lew still have jobs. But Doc Terry and the Greystone Ramblers do a better job than I would, and they do it in song! I give you "Andy Reid Bye:"
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McNabb gets Bledsoed as Eagles lose in Baltimore

Andy Reid channeled Bill Parcells in benching Donovan McNabb today in Baltimore, much like the end of Drew Bledsoe's tenure as Dallas QB.

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You called down the thunder, well now you've got it!

Dear Mascot Formerly Known as Raymond,

You got what you fucking deserved. First of all, as the mascot for a team which has absolutely no fans and has to resort to giving out cowbells to get the few poor schmucks stuck with free Rays tickets to make a minimal amount of bullshit noise, you obviously didn't do a very good job. But much more importantly, for you, as a self-respecting member of the mascot community, to even repeat such a sentiment as that you "out-enthused" the Phillie Phanatic is grounds to be barred from ever donning an oversized feathered suit again. You're a disgrace to your former profession and you will not, by any stretch of the imagination be missed. Until, of course, the Rays start to blow again early next season and the stands are empty. But until then, good fucking riddance. Perhaps now you'll have time to watch footage of the green giant from the Galapagos Islands in action, and realize you were never in the same league.

Love,
Mgmt. Click me for the rest!

Wishful Wednesday II: Muzzle McNabb

In this week's wish, I beg for Donovan to shut his mouth, pronto.

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Does the NFL need shootouts?

The other day, I was on the fence regarding NHL overtime. Today I'm not on the fence: NFL overtime sucks footballs. Here's how to fix it.

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John Lynch is a moron

Dear John,

While I concede you had a very accomplished NFL career, full of accolades and the adoration of millions of fans nationwide, I've never liked you one fucking bit. Even before you were the worst "good" player on a great Bucs defense which shattered my optimism for all eternity, I thought were an overrated cockstain whose reputation was built on a handful of bonecrunching hits and ignored the fairly high frequency with which you attempted to knock a dude's head off and just bounced right off of him. That said, I was perfectly happy to acknowledge that you deserved to be in the hall of fame the other day. However, if you want to retire as both a Buc and a Bronco I have no choice but to view the two John Lynches as separate, distinct individuals, neither of whom warrants consideration for a bust in Canton. Enjoy your life of solitude without the Hall, sucka!

Love,
Mgmt. Click me for the rest!

Is it time to blow away the NHL shootout?

Whining after Thursday's Flyers shootout loss (making them 8 for 28 all time in shootouts) is rampant among Flyers fans. I pose the question as to whether or not shootouts should meet the firing squad. You might be surprised at my answer.

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Wishful Wednesdays: Fire Andy Reid

The first edition of a new weekly feature I'll be doing at examiner.com.

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Dear World: learn to fucking read

To everyone who has flamed my Examiner article about Baseball Prospectus, including the one whose comment I deleted today: read the fucking article before you miss the point. I never said stats aren't an accurate representation of what happened IN THE PAST or that they're useless, or even that they don't aid in making an educated guess at the future. I just pointed out that while predicting what will happen over the course of a baseball season always ends up boiling down to a crap shoot, fivethirtyeight.com made political predictions an actual science. Stop acting like I dissed your beloved Nate Silver. All I said is that if they need to be prognosticating, they should perhaps find a field they have a better chance of predicting accurately.

Love,
Mgmt. Click me for the rest!

Giants @ Eagles real time reactions

My live commentary/chat thread for tonight's huge NFC East battle.

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Plays that make me say wow

I'm doing my best not to go back to being Nega-delphian, so here's a youtube-enhanced list of my favorite jaw-dropping plays.

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Advice for Baseball Prospectus: Stick to Politics

Baseball Prospectus would have you believe they're better at predicting the future than others are. They aren't, but their own Nate Silver might be on to something.

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Ding dong, the moron's gone!

Steve Smith has been phired as Phils' third base coach! Woohoooo! Will Pat the Bat be the next one out the door?

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Some bad iPhone pictures I just took of the masses gathered in Union Square

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We passed the collective retard test!

For the first time in my adult life, tonight I am proud of my country. And no longer concerned I might need to make plans to move the fuck out of it. May the next four years do nothing to diminish the sense of awe you instill in all of us, Mr. President-elect. Click me for the rest!

And people call us crass...

Needless to say, I fucking loved this shit. Kudos to the700level for the link, and to Chase for channeling the thought every Phan has had since Wednesday night and screaming it on the biggest stage possible. Now that he's done it twice, I can officially call him Chase "Fuck"ley:
Click me for the rest!

Phinally phree: what the World Series meant to me

My examiner piece about the Phils winning it all.

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Tonight I kept my promise

Suck it, Joe Carter! I burned your head off! Click me for the rest!

Years ago, two of my best friends gave me this as a birthday present.

I called them assholes, put it in my wallet, and promised to burn it the night we finally got one. Click me for the rest!

It ain't a cliche to me. I've waited my whole life for this blog post.

Click me for the rest!

Because I'm four innings late posting the link

And I sincerely doubt anyone's been clicking them. 15 more outs, 2-1 Phils. It ends tonight.

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You think I was in a silly mood last week?

Six hours till first pitch. The best pitcher I've watched in a Phillies uniform on the mound. It ends tonight. Click me for the rest!

One more win

It's still surreal to me, which is why I'm so happy to have an indelible record of so much of this postseason run. I may well forego live-blogging tomorrow night in favor of being able to watch the game in Philly with Radnor, because it just has to be that way. But this could very well be the last night of something I've known for as long as I can remember. And as much as I tend to resist change, I'm not the slightest bit apprehensive about this one. Here's hoping the Phils aren't either. Cole takes the mound tonight looking to stake his claim to the greatest postseason a starting pitcher has ever had. Jimmy leads off tonight looking to make good on his promise to Larry Bowa to put the mark on CBP that Bowa and his Phillies left on the vet. 27 outs from a night we've all waited for for far too long. Click me for the rest!

Because game 3 was a motherfrakking epic and you wanna know how it was in the stands.

My live commentary thread for tonight's World Series game 4. Includes my reactions to game 3, which I attended.

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Because I'm gonna be live-blogging again

And I'd still love for anyone and everyone to come on by.

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I feel obligated to post about the Phils

But the truth is, there's nothing left for me to say about this team except for one thing: win or lose, the 2008 Phillies are the best team to play in Philadelphia in my life. If they can play .500 ball over six games, they'll be World Champions, but their performance on this stage, even if only for one game, trumps anything any of the other teams have done. If they don't finish the job, it will be because Tampa comes back and proves they're even better, because as of now, there is no doubting of the Phillies left to be done. They're not perfect, but they're good enough to win a World Series. That's a feeling I'm just not accustomed to feeling. Why can't us? Click me for the rest!

Because I'd really love if some peoeple kept me company online during tonight's game.

And I'll be talking to myself for all posterity even if they don't.

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Because I'm trying to be more web 2.0 so I'm posting my examiner stories via digg. Digg them!

And I've written a more realistic preview/prediction than the one posted on Monday.

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God I love the internet...

Not that it's surprising, but the Flyin Hawaiian is as pumped as I am, and it does make me truly giddy to read it. Game day is here, baby. Come on back around noon tomorrow for a link to my World Series preview at examiner. Until then, one more silly song for my silly mood:
Click me for the rest!

"They're like characters in a Springsteen song..."

This article offers up easily the funniest and most accurate description I can remember of the Phillies fan. Who'd have thought it would come from the Wall Street Journal? Kudos, as always, to the700level for finding it first. Click me for the rest!

Since the moment I woke up today, this is all I've been able to think:

Click me for the rest!

Because I like being funny more than I like being analytical

And "why can't us?" is as valid a take on the World Series as any other. Click me for the rest!

It's either gonna be an exorcism or a collective nervous breakdown of an entire city...

It's always fuckin Tampa. Click me for the rest!

It's only a fabrication, this place is all in my head

My last post, when I first conceived of it, was going to be about how, on the same night as I tasted the pure, unbridled joy of baseball fandom at its best for the first time in 15 years, I also experienced the similar joy of seeing old friends for the first time in ages. In this case, in eight years, the vast majority of which were spent with regrettably little contact at all. But then I kinda got caught up in the Phils and forgot. It was strange seeing people from Dwight, though in entirely different ways than I'd imagined. Turns out, even when around my friends from high school, I've either grown out of my awkward phase or grown to love it or a little of both, but whatever the case, I was more in my element with them than I ever remember being. Given how detached I felt from a lot of what went on in my Dwight days, it really shocked me how much it felt like going home having a beer with that crowd on the upper west side. Suffice it to say, the Phils alone would've made that a night I'd remember for a long, long time, but the hours of drunken reminiscing which followed made it truly special. As always, life reminds me that the only thing I'll ever really know is that everything I think I know is subject to change, and that's the way I love it. I <3 entropy. Click me for the rest!

I smile when I think about it...

It's been over 24 hours now since it became reality, and I cannot deny, it's still hitting me. It probably doesn't hurt that I'm listening to WIP, but even just hangin out with Michelle, watching Heroes earlier, my thoughts would drift away for a few minutes, and eventually, I'd remember, and I wouldn't be able to help but have a giant grin on my face. The Phils are in the World fucking Series. It's unbelievable, and it was worth every bit of the wait. This week is going to be unbearably slow, but it's gonna be a great week, too. I'm gonna do my best to savor the slowness, to cherish the anticipation, because that's usually the best part. Every heartbreaking loss, every embarassing loss, every devastating injury, every star player who ran himself out of town, it's all been leading us back to this, and it makes this all the sweeter. If the Rays manage to bounce back from tonight's epic, epic fail and give us one final shot at dignity before the phanbase is forced to just bend over and call the city of Tampa daddy, the tidbit I'm about to mention will probably be one of the angles played up most in this series: the last time the Phils did this, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays were still two years from being awarded as an expansion franchise. In fact, until literally this year, the most notable thing the Rays had ever done was trade Bobby Abreu to the Phillies for Kevin Stocker on expansion draft day. Click me for the rest!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES! Click me for the rest!

Because I'm buggin out a bit too much to think of a joke to insert here

And I figured once this series, I'd post a link on my blog to my live notblogging of the NLCS. Click me for the rest!

Nothing is fucked? The goddamn plane has crashed into the mountains!

Well, kiddos, the mother of all fucking catastrophes is about to strike the city of Philadelphia. With the Phils holding a commanding 3-1 lead in the NLCS, the city of brotherly love's thoughts have started to shift forward to the World Series. Lo and behold, Mayor Michael Nutter is reportedly considering making the same ridiculous mistake this city has been making for 15 years. He's thinking about putting the jersey on William Penn. I don't even know what else to say, except that this clearly cannot be allowed to happen. I need game plans, folks, how the fuck are we going to stop this from occurring?

edit: nothing is fucked. The mayor's office issued a form letter and some dude from Modell's is on WIP swearing there will be no dressing up of William Penn. Now back to regular programming. Click me for the rest!

What a long, strange trip it's been

As I do my best to make the hours between now and NLCS game 2 pass quickly, I'm finding it very hard not to think about where these Phillies have been to get in this position. I've read stories about these teams from every angle except for the one that Phillies fans have lived for the last decade. There are stories about Black Friday, and stories about 1993, and a fucking boatload of stories about Manny and Torre and their date with destiny and the Red Sox...who haven't even played ALCS game 1 yet! But I've never seen a story about the journey these Phils have gone on together. Whereas the Dodgers, replete with young talent as they may be, are the picture of building a team with cold hard cash, the Phils are as home grown a team as you'll find in baseball.

Jimmy Rollins
Chase Utley
Ryan Howard
Pat Burrell
Cole Hamels
Brett Myers
Ryan Madson
Carlos Ruiz
JA Happ
Chris Coste

That's nearly half of the Phillies' NLCS roster, and every one of them came through the Phillies' minor league system. It's also the team's 4 best position players, top 2 starting pitchers primary setup man. Shane Victorino was a rule 5 draft pick from the Dodgers, but didn't even get his 73 non-Phils Major League at bats with L.A., he got them with San Diego in 2003 when they made him a rule 5 pick. So Shane-o is essentially a career Phillie. Jayson Werth was signed off the scrap heap after a promising rookie year and two seasons lost to injury with the Dodgers. He, like Shane, came to the Phils unproven and earned his pinstripes. The team's only true major acquisitions from the outside are Jamie Moyer and Brad Lidge...Moyer, who they got after the trade deadline in 2006, having dealt away Bobby Abreu and immediately vindicating all those who said his malaise had been even more damaging than Larry Bowa's fits of rage. Is Jamie Moyer an important acquisition? No doubt about it. Watch a Cole or Brett start and count how many shots you get in the dugout of Jamie Moyer teaching. Immeasurable. And I don't even need to speak of Brad Lidge's importance to this team. But even his acquisition, having been riddled by injuries and banished to the 8th inning in Houston, came at the cost of two of the team's highest rated prospects in Michael Bourn and Mike Costanzo.

The next biggest acquisition on the roster? It's a toss up between Greg Dobbs, Pedro Feliz, and JC Romero. So it's no exaggeration to say the vast majority of this team's important players learned to win together, as a team. They came up together, struggled together, stood up for each other when they got into ridiculous media battles with departed closers (see ya in 2010, Billy.) That's the story I want to read. The one about how Pat Burrell was branded the savior when the Phils drafted him in 1998 to replace JD Drew who had been branded the savior and never signed the year before. And how he got rushed to the majors and it almost worked but then the league figured out he had never learned how to hit and started pitching around his swing. I want to read about how Jimmy Rollins had to answer questions about being a "leadoff hitter" the way Donovan McNabb had to answer questions about being a "pocket quarterback" and went on to win an MVP batting leadoff and hitting .290. Whatever. Few more wins and Joe Buck's not gonna have Hollywood to adore anymore.


...To anyone who might ask, this just felt more appropriate here than on examiner. Plus I wanted to say fuckin boatload. Click me for the rest!

Because the Phils are 3 wins away from the World Series

And I just talked all night about it to no one in particular. Click me for the rest!

Phillieeeeees fever!

Click me for the rest!

A little ditty I wrote, every word of which is 100% true

(sung to the tune of the John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt song)

The Eagles are coached by a fat fucking dick
His name is my name too
There's never any doubt
It's always three and out
The Eagles are coached by a fat fucking dick Click me for the rest!

Because if I keep predicting that what I want to happen will, eventually I'll be right...

And because there's really no convincing me the Phillies aren't a better baseball team than the Dodgers. Click me for the rest!

Because I was listening to Andy's press conference and figured writing would be more productive than screaming

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK Click me for the rest!

Because the Phillies are in the motherfrakking NLCS baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And I was dead wrong about starting Cole on short rest. My reverse jinx powers in the NLDS were unreal. Click me for the rest!

Because I think starting your worst starter and then your best starter instead of your best starter and then your second best starter is RIDICULOUS

and now I have the soapbox to try and scream about it from... Click me for the rest!

Because literally any asshole could do what the guys at ESPN do and make it look just as legit...

NFC East Week 5 Previews and Predictions Click me for the rest!

Because someone has to remind Mets fans that the Phils made the playoffs and they didn't...

Also, because I loved my punny title. So, go read. Click me for the rest!

I'm pretty sure the FCC didn't give him that nickname...

Click me for the rest!

I'm a new drug who's trafficked through far and distant lands...

So, as some of you know, examiner.com recently offered me a spot writing about the Philadelphian in New York's perspective on the Philly/New York teams and rivalries...sorta like Sleeping with the Enemy except there's no sleeping with anyone. So, that means the vast majority of my sports posts will go there, not here...but fret not, there'll be links. And i expect them clicked. And perhaps someday, we'll grow to the comments phase? I know there are a few of you reading this, you've admitted as much to me in person. Anyway, my first post went up today...it got buried on the 2nd page of Examiner's New York channel by the time it got approved, but that's why you've got me, right? Without further ado...

Why the Mets are doomed to fail again in 2009

Click, comment, but most of all keep checking back because there is sure to be more where that came from.

P.S. Expect more Forgive Durden lyrics, too. Holy awesome. Wish I had gotten to that party like 2 years earlier.

P.P.S. I went to Ben Folds last night. It was awesome. I have the set list, but there's not a ton more I have to say about it other than I adore Ben Folds and every time I see him he nails every note of every song and entertains the living hell out of the crowd. So if you want the set list...you must ask for it. Click me for the rest!

And the angels in the heavens, they are wondering...Why am I so glad?

Last night marked my first opportunity to see Weezer in over 3 years, and seize the opportunity I did, taking Michelle to her first =w= show in the process. I should preface this by saying I am pretty much as big a fan as you'll find of their newest album, and generally among the less critical members of their fanbase. Is Pinkerton the best thing they've ever made? Of course it is. But that doesn't preclude them from making other wonderful music which just doesn't happen to be quite as good as it was. As far as I can tell, it's essentially impossible for a band not to have one piece of work which just shines a little brighter than all the rest. So, with that being said, here's the setlist, with some notes:

My Name is Jonas (1st verse sung by Pat from behind drums, 2nd by Scott)
Pink Triangle
Perfect Situation (with Scott singing lead)
Say it Ain't So
SUZANNE (complete with a wonderful a capella intro, after which Brian sang lead)
Keep Fishin
King (sung, of course, by Scott)
Tom Delonge greeted by a chorus of boos from MSG crowd
Undone (with Tom ruining the first verse, but thankfully being mostly drowned out by the crowd, Scott singing 2nd verse, and Rivers drumming the outro)
Pork And Beans
Dreamin
Dope Nose (sung by Scott)
Troublemaker
Rivers (literally) says "hasta la vista baby" before Scott takes vocals and lead guitar and Atom from Angels and Airwaves drums for Automatic
Hash Pipe
El Scorcho (sung by Brian)
Morning Glory (oasis cover, sung by Pat, drummed by Rivers)
The Greatest Man That Ever Lived
----------
Hootenanny:
Island in the Sun
Beverly Hills
---------
Sliver (Nirvana cover)
Buddy Holly


All in all, I was absolutely delighted. I went into the show quite skeptical about all the non-Rivers singing that's been going on lately, and I certainly had a few moments last night during which I lamented the fact that the others were singing his songs, but for the most part, I thought they sounded great, and there is no doubt in my mind that Rivers was enjoying himself on stage more than I've ever seen. Gone were the days of the nerd hiding behind his glasses and his guitar, stuck like a deer in headlights, and in his place was a charismatic, roaming madman, prone to use of jazz hands, jumping up and down, and making the funniest stare-up-to-the-heavens-while-orgasming guitar solo face I've ever been privy to. The hootenanny was every bit as amusing as I had imagined it might be, with kick-ass renditions of the guitar solos performed on trumpet, flute, and saxophone. The setlist, on the whole, was the most satisfying one I've ever seen them play, including my first opportunity to hear Suzanne live, and the first two covers I've ever seen Weezer play. It wasn't perfect, and I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who thought it sucked. But it was all I could've asked for from my favorite band, except perhaps coming back a lot fucking sooner next time. I've missed you.
Click me for the rest!

Fuck, even I can't resist this one...

It surely comes as no surprise to anyone who has ever seen her see an animal, but my girlfriend really, really loves cuteoverload.com and other such animal porn. I've always found it to be about 2 notches less mindnumbing than watching that dumbass cloud move across that level of Braid with the star up in the corner. You know, the one you have to wait 2 hours for? Anyway, she'll probably find it rather incredible to know that I like totally just ROFLed all over the place watching the following video (the fact that my desk chair facilitated the R-ing O the F notwithstanding):



Why is it I found this so amusing? Plainly enough...my cat thinks he's a ninja too. Click me for the rest!

Further proof that our world is doomed...

So, the world's most annoying no-talent assclown is at it again. Am I the only one who remembers that the last time we devoted any attention to this dickwad, he was not only a complete and utter waste of time, he also FAILED. For christ's sake, as Chris Rock put it, this is a trickless fucking magician. And one who can't even achieve the ridiculous things he sets out to achieve. He literally wouldn't get past the first round of America's Got Talent...much as i love that show, this isn't exactly the Metropolitan Opera we're discussing. I'm not going to sit here and say I want any ill to befall him, but I beg of you world, when he fails again (i'm praying because his catheter bursts and covers his entire head and torso in urine) let this be the last time anyone is desperate enough to draw a crowd to actually grant this asshole the space or time of day necessary to suck so badly at life. Click me for the rest!

Close your eyes and then it's past, it's the story of my life...

Click me for the rest!

I know I missed this one by a few months, but...wow.

What can one possibly say to this except holy shit, a football player who knows how to write. Who cares if it's terrible writing? He can do it! Click me for the rest!

He's a real reactionary...

First things first. I guess Brewers management thinks they're even deader than I do, eh?

On another note, disappointing or not, I saw a lot of encouraging signs out of the Eagles tonight, foremost among them Desean Jackson. I didn't expect nearly the scoring I saw tonight, but I'm not surprised given the caliber of offenses the teams saw last week, but I saw an Eagles offense which was as explosive and diverse as any I've ever seen, and as accurate a Donovan as I've ever seen. If they play defense against everyone more like they did against the rams than they did tonight, this team will have only injuries or itself to blame for not making a deep postseason run. And now back to regular programming. Let's go Phils. Click me for the rest!

Fly, butterflies, fly, around my churning stomach...

As kickoff grows imminently closer, something I've noticed is that everyone, from the national media, to the philly media, and dallas media, seems to agree that this game will get decided by offensive line play, specifically pass protection, and also blocking for the vaunted multi-headed cowboys running game, without any mention of Westbrook's ability to take over a game himself on the ground. If the Eagles have anything resembling the problems they usually do against 3-4 teams protecting Donovan, I would expect a healthy dose of Westbrook, in addition to carries for Buckhalter, Booker, and Tony Hunt, who could really win people over with a solid performance tonight against a tough group of Cowgirl D-Linemen and Linebackers. I see this game the way I see most every other Eagles game. If they can limit defensive stupidity, it's Westbrook's game to win or lose. That said, I think Dallas needs this game a little more, for no bigger reason than their exceedingly high expectations. Week 2 is week 2, but when the Cowboys are favored to win, it's always an incredibly tense, turbulent atmosphere. Home losses to the Eagles never, ever sit well there. Cowboys 27, Eagles 21. Click me for the rest!

I've got a hunger, twisting my stomach into knots...

In non-Phils news (for the unaware: Phils post directly below) I'm hungry, which means I'm cranky, which usually makes for a good blog post. So I'm gonna starve myself a bit whilst recounting my ridiculously inane existence. Most recently, I became aware of my hunger only when the Apple TV -- which is currently handling music to keep my computer from heating up too much without requiring the A/C, which I don't want because the breeze is so nice -- played "The Sound of Settling..." and my stomach said "yo fucker, your ACTUAL stomach has is twisting into actual knots." while I was writing my Phils post. Truth be told, I really don't have anything else to report. Dropped by the new Fiji house for the first time over the weekend, met a bunch of new rushes who seemed legit enough to me, witnessed the usual debaucherama (which, to clarify, is debauchery and drama, not lots of debauchery...though perhaps it was really a debaucheramarama? In any event, I think I've got the only word ending in in "ock" or "ama" which the MegalObamaniacs can't co-opt), in addition to later seeing my very wise, politically-minded friend Captain Riggs for the first time in a while who regaled me with tales of the capital and conventions, and who I hope to be lucky enough to visit some time in the next year in Oxford. Other than that the rain and the arrival of rock band (a night early, because I rule!) pretty much guaranteed that Michelle and I would be glued to the tv screen for the rest of the weekend, alternating between the 42 monumentally important baseball games played in the last 48 hours and the weekend's footballing, highlighted of course by the Steelers' riveting 10-6 victory over the Browns in what was left of Ike last night. Somehow, it was actually even less entertaining than the 3-0 game they played against Miami last year. I never thought I'd say those words, but it's really true. Anyone who watched them both couldn't possibly argue with me. This game featured football every bit as poor as that one, without any of the fun of sloppin it around in the mud or seeing a punt stick out of the ground like Punxatawney Phil. It's too bad I don't have a football game to be excited about tonight. Click me for the rest!

So here I am, it's in my hands, and I'll savor every moment of this

So, I don't know if you've heard, but it was pretty damn sunny in Philadelphia yesterday, perhaps all part of a grand marketing scheme in advance of this thursday? But never did the light shine brighter than during the nightcap of yesterday's doubleheader between the Phils and the Broomed Crew, as Brett became the first pitcher since my namesake and fellow southpaw Andy Pettite to throw a complete game on 3 days rest. And he did it in 95 pitches. He was essentially one Prince Fielder home run or one Astro hit from splitting national headlines with Zambrano today, but this ain't about bein a rock star and the end result is all the same. Somehow, by the grace of the baseball gods, the Phils have reclaimed control over their playoff fate. Would it be nice to win the East? Of course. But the wild card is now theirs to lose, and there are no two ways about it.

The schedule includes but three more games against a team which can even be described as mediocre, and 9 against Atlanta and Washington. There is simply no excuse for letting the Brewers, who play 6 more games against the Cubs, finish out the schedule with a better record. Don't even get me started about the disgrace it would be if Ed Wade, Randy Wolf, Geoff Geary, Michael Bourn, no Carlos Lee and the rest of the Rastros come from 2 games back. 150 games in, this team has the opportunity to make the Great Drought of '08 a distant, forgotten memory. It has the opportunity to make the 8th inning's metamorphosis from Mr. Tom's Wild but ultimately pretty effective Ride into the DurMadson Triangle nothing more than a post script to the story of what was, ultimately, a wild ride back to the postseason. The only things standing in the way are themselves, and 12 games with teams with a 200-248 combined record and nothing to play for, but nothing to lose. I'm officially out of the prognosticating business, because it's a total no-win from here on out...plus I have no idea what to expect.
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I'm so special!

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Tell me, tell me do you feel the pressure now?

"Play every game like it's your last." -Charlie Manuel
"We need to look at every game like it's a fight." - Ryan Howard

As if on cue, the cliches started flying out of the Phils' clubhouse yesterday with almost as much fervor as the interwebs and mainstream Philly media pronounced them dead following the previous night's ugly loss to the Marlins. If they can win tonight, one game at a time lives on. If not, it's officially desperation time, because anything less than 3/4 from the brewers this weekend is tantamount to a mathematical elimination from the playoffs. With Houston now idle, the Phils know they must win to stay in 2nd place behind Milwaukee for the Wild Card. Tonight's matchup scares me a bit, despite Cole being on the mound. He's blown way past his most innings in a season now, and is of course coming off a less than stellar effort. He's also now thrown more games consecutively on normal rest than at any point this year, and the numbers aren't disgusting but they're not very good either when he does so. Beyond all of that, the Brewers are also as good of a right-handed hitting team as you'll find and saw a lefty with a featured change up all of 24 hours ago. So here's hoping the Phils are ready to throw some punches in tonight's fight, because I don't think they're gonna win with any fewer than 6 runs. Click me for the rest!

You gotta...bereave?

I'd like to have something witty to say about the topic but the truth is it really just makes me queasy. This Phillies team, to put it quite simply, is not a playoff team. And it's not for lack of pitching staff, because this pitching staff is still better than it was a year ago, despite today's 8th inning meltdown -- which, by the way, is as easily fixed as Charlie accepting the fact that Durbin NEVER strands inherited runners. He's had a great year, and while he may be tiring, the truth of his recent woes is that he's been asked to be this bullpen's fire extinguisher and he's got an arm full of kerosene. Either get Brett out of the game, or at least go to the pen before the runner is on 3rd, but Durbin just doesn't react well to being brought in with his back against the wall. -- and it's not for lack of offensive talent, because even in what has been considered a significantly "down" year for the Phillies offense, they lead the NL in homers and rank among the league leaders in runs scored. This team will fall short, and in fact really has already sealed that fate with 16 games to play, because they lack the heart which their 2007 counterparts practically OD'd on. I'm pretty sure his name was Aaron Rowand, and I know he would never have let them spend so long going through the motions the way they have lately. They put on a damn good facade for the most part this year, but the grit just isn't there. The most glaring instances of it have been in games like the one they played Tuesday against the Marlins. Take a team's best shot square on the chin, get back up, and knock them the fuck out. That was the way of the 2007 Phillies, the team we saw for a couple hours about 2 weeks ago against the Mets. But in 2008, when the other team gets up from the Phils' best shot, when things inevitably get intense and the baseball suddenly gets played at a much higher level than what leads to the sorts of slugfests in question, the Phillies fold like a house of cards. They abandon the one play at a time mentality which allows them to fight out of a 9-1 deficit and start trying to do it all at once. And inevitably, fail miserably. Not miserably for them, they've maintained an impressive malaise throughout both the highs and lows of this infinitely compelling season, but miserably for those of us who have come to know it best. I never expected to wonder about the heart of this group of guys again, but I guess that's what happens when a team loses the only champion among its ranks, it loses the mentality of a championship ballclub. My only real hope, and there's documented proof of it a few times on this here blog, is that the one hallmark of the 2008 Phils is that every time they look ready to phulphill my profesy of a phade, they beat someone better than them. Click me for the rest!

Somewhere weakness is a strength, and I'll die searching for it. I can't let myself regret such selfishness.

After whining about the show's negative consequences in my last post, I felt compelled to compile a post from the fucking fraktastic Jack's Mannequin/Paramore show in The Park last week. So the headliners' setlists (sorry Phantom Planet and Paper Route...barely got there in time to hear "California"...which sucked without Schwartzman and that guitarist.) and a few waaaaay-distant photos I took with my phone are after the link, which I feel dumb calling a jump cause I'm not in the biz...whatever biz's jargon that even is. Perhaps the blogging business? Am I in that with this little black hole at the end of the internet?



Jack's Mannequin played:
I'm Ready
Bruised
Kill the Messenger
Dark Blue
La La Lie
The Resolution (new single)
The Mixed Tape
and Made For Each Other

They sounded great, and had a ton of support from the obviously rather enormous crowd, which surprised me a little given the Z100 signs everywhere. But Paramore were much greater, even while playing a set list very, very similar to the one I saw them play while supporting Jimmy Eat World a couple months back. Maybe I'm just a tool who loves them, but I can't get over how much more energy Hayley manages to bring to live shows than the already substantial amount she brings to her albums. Rock the fuck on, young lady. Their setlist:

Born for This
That's What You Get
Here We Go Again
Fences
Crush Crush Crush (which they've rearranged quite nicely this tour, though eliminating the Flo Rida moment which made my life worth living. Long as it didn't die in vain. Also...dude's name is FloRida...how is that not hysterical?)
Let the Flames Begin
When it Rains
My Heart
Decoy
Pressure
For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic

-- (two dashes for the shortest and least announced encore departure ever)
We Are Broken
Emergency
Hallelujah(like, the one that's not a Paramore song) into Hallelujah (the one that is)
and of course Misery Business, which really fuckin made the sizable tween girl crowd squeal...but alas still makes me do the same. All in all a really awesome show, and one I'm sorry to have bitched about earlier. But seriously, my leg is a joke. If anyone asks I might even post a picture of the scab situation or even the band aid situation i got goin on right now. But of course the comments-only rule applies. Oh and to my one commenter ever, Chris, sorry I never got back to you dude, right after you commented, literally like that day, I went on vacation for a week with all my friends from UHall, and it totally slipped my mind on my return. I will be better at returning any and all future comments. Someone be listening.






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Each time you smile, it'll only last a while...Life may be scary, but it's only temporary...Everything in life is only for now.

So, it's official...I'm a derelict blogger. But with no one reading, I hardly think it's a crime. Sadly, the most notable things in my life lately have been the 904 bug bites I'm sporting on my lower right leg, thanks to the astoundingly brilliant combination of Paramore, Central Park, shorts, sandals, and, because she was incredibly annoying in addition to continually leaning back into me, forcing said right leg to get tucked back under the row of bleacher on which I sat, the rather large high school girl in front of me and her two competitively slutty friends. Fuck you all.

I've also finally really started the process of writing my Senior Project/Thesis/whatever you wanna calla 30-40 page paper on essentially anything media studies related. And by started the process of writing, I mean I attended my first meeting (of 7 total) of the seminar whose lone assignment is a semester-long research paper which eventually compiles to about 30-40 pages but must be delivered in many increments before then or else an A paper can get at best a 55 or so. I think my topic, which is due in a week and must eventually be boiled down to a single thesis question, is essentially "What Makes Media Independent?" with, hopefully, the most significant changes to be made to the wording of the question, and not the spirit of it. There's definitely enough there for me, given the amount of literature review required and the ridiculously vast amount of literature on media ownership, and, as a natural byproduct, independent media, and it's definitely a topic I can really dig into, and with any damn luck at all, maybe just have something compelling to say about it.

I felt like I got into a really nice groove writing papers last fall/spring which seemed to always come around to a decent point even when I had no fucking clue what I wanted to say while I was writing them. So hopefully, I can knock one more out of the park, boost my final official bullshit GPA a little more with an A, and finally complete a damn degree of some kind (damn you for costing me an IB diploma, Petrovic. The run of the mill one really feels illegit to me.) In other news, there are some sweet-ass brand name band aids (officially the greatest new tongue twister of the 21st century) with neosporinesque (neologism! score!) antibiotic ointment on them which are currently plastered all over my foot/ankle. Other than sometimes getting a little gooey, they're quite helpful.

Running out of transitional phrases here, those Phlailin Phils have their last best chance yet to come, with 7 games of their next 10 against the 2 teams they're chasing, the Mets and Milwaukee. I predict a 3-4 record and a phairly quiet phinal phade.

Fuck transitional phrases. I'm going to see Ben Folds con Orchestra and Beth(orchestra with ben, who beth and i will be seeing together, for clarity's sake. Not that Beth shouldn't be performing with Ben and an orchestra. Also, I should be linking her name to her blog...but I not sure how spell it.) in Philly on Saturday, which should be quite awesome.

And finally...I still have no job. But at least I'm seeing a couple old friends in the next few days. I'm still convinced that's really the most meaningful thing there is. It's now 2:32 as I wrap this up, proofread, and begin the interminable search for THE song lyric which sums up how I feel. Over/Under at 2:55 AM for clicking publish.

Okay seriously Apple, stop being so cognizant. Whilst I had music ADD and looked for a song which wasn't so sleepy for my lyric (at 2:37), iTunes, shuffling (not party shuffling, for true blind randomness) my entire library, has just given me THREE songs in a row with lullabye in the title (lullabye by Ben Folds Five, lullabye for wayne by Weezer, and lullabye by Billy Joel). It's not bedtime for me until 4. Any time earlier than that that i choose to go to bed, barring morning obligations, is my choice, and it's not yours to influence, Mr. Jobs. Your team of slaves is clearly picking my shuffle music for me somewhere in a bunker somewhere, thus creating the strangely cognizant abilities of itunes and ipods and iphones, and they wanna go to bed. Too bad. Don't make 24-hour devices if they're gonna not only spy on me but try and influence me. That's bullshit.

Oh, also, I'm clearly way too into parentheticals and I think I've essentially come to be a nihilist. But ya know, a nihilist who really loves ancillary cultural institutions like sports and movies which conveniently convey the most prominent signs of our imminent cultural demise. Nihilists can still vote Obama even if we think change is hopeless, right? I like the dude and I like voting so no one can tell me if I didn't vote I can't complain.

It's 2:49. Still no song. What all-encompassing song lyric could even sum this one up? At 2:55 AM I pressed publish. Click me for the rest!

This is why even Barack can't save us now...

There I was, just a walkin down the street, far too animatedly mouthing the lyrics to a song from Where You Want to Be when I saw without a doubt the most undeniable sign of our culture's demise I have ever seen. A pimple-faced geek of an NYU freshman (unmistakable as such with a bookstore bag in one hand and an NYUCard lanyard in the other), smoking a black and mild, wearing a t-shirt with road lines painted down the center, and the words "beatific soul jack kerouac on the road" in three rows down the center. While I'm all for the NY public library exhibit where the t-shirt came from, this child clearly has missed the point. Jack Kerouac is not a fucking t-shirt. Once upon a time, before everyone associated the word "counterculture" with a bunch of trippy hippies, it was a concept not entirely unlike dissent, or subordination. If you let Jack Kerouac become a t-shirt, you let dissent become a stylistic choice akin to being metrosexual. Take that fucking shirt off you tool. Click me for the rest!

"This word, I do not think it means what you think it means."

So, your 2007 MVP (which stands, of course, for Most Voracious Prognosticator) Jimmy Rollins thinks Phillies fans are frontrunners. He'd rather we acted like the fans in St. Louis. I wish I could've seen the look on Ryan's face as he and his hometown got pulled into Hurricane Jimmy's path of destruction (which, of course, has made most of its stops in the 1st innings of Phillies games since his return from the DL.) I can't blame you, Jim, for being a fuckin idiot, given you were already playing professional baseball by age 18, and I'm pretty sure "frontrunner" is a strictly university-level vocab word. But let me give you a quick rundown: it implies a)that the fans in question are rooting for a winning team and b)that they're new to the party. So ya know, those 3 million Phillies fans who packed the stadium last year, when Dr. Triple and the bunch stood in first place for a grand total of 3 days, they don't count for shit? All those deafening crowds which clearly got into the heads of the Mets last september, they were only there for the good times? Give me a break. I'm not gonna try to throw the one championship in 125 years thing at you, because I understand you weren't around for that. But you've been around since 2001. So I ask you, Mr. Glide, how many rings you wearin? Shut the fuck up and play baseball because there's no frontrunning team for us to be on the bandwagon of. What you surely were trying to say is you perceive Philly fans as fickle, not frontrunners, because we boo perhaps as frequently as we cheer. And lately, we especially boo you. I'm sorry if your little feelings are hurt, but trust me when I say there's nothing fickle and no frontrunning about it. Any fan who wouldn't boo a reigning MVP having statistically his worst season, getting repeatedly benched for a lack of effort and a negative attitude, and doing so all while running his usually tolerable mouth, simply doesn't care. I watched your one good game in August (which, as I worried at the time, was entirely a result of seeing Ian Snell on the mound) and more importantly, I listened to it. Mild applause each and every time you approached the plate, massive applause every time you slid into third base, as well as every time you showed off your sparkling glove and cannon arm. When you strike out on 3 pitches, or ground out feebly to second, or display your vaunted warning track power, we boo. And not, as Todd Zolecki would have you believe, because Andy Ashby was a bust...that's why we booed Andy Ashby. No, we boo you, Jimmy, because we know you're capable of better, and we know this team is capable of practically anything when you're doing it. If you wouldn't boo yourself right now, I would question your loyalty and passion as a fan. I would wonder why you even waste time watching baseball if it doesn't tear you apart inside to see your favorite team's best player acting like the last thing on earth he cares about is playing baseball. What the fuck do you want me to cheer about? Click me for the rest!

And that's why you always leave a note!

What follows is an angry letter I'll probably never send...

Dear Red Mango, Bakery Formerly Known as Beard Papa, handful of delis in my "neighborhood," and surely an army of other PinkBerry knockoffs,

Look, I understand what's going on here. PinkBerry is fucking delightful. Truly wonderful stuff. Every time I take even a little bite of it, I'm reminded of what King Gustav V of told Jim Thorpe: "you, sir, are the greatest athlete in the world." So it makes complete sense to me that you'd all feel the need to start selling frozen yogurt (which, for the uninitiated, is not Frozen Yogurt...it's normal yogurt but frozen and served from a soft serve ice cream machine) but for christ's sake, must you do literally everything exactly as PinkBerry does? The list of toppings was not brought down by Moses from Mt. Sinai. I doubt if you strayed slightly from it there'd be any kind of serious consequences, perhaps luring in customers with the promise of something not available at any of the other bullshit knockoffs: FUCKING PEACH. For God's sake what does a guy have to do? It's summer! Peaches and cream! Need I say fucking more?

Love,

Mgmt.
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I have had it with this motherfucking snake on this motherfucking plane!

I'm sorry to my reader if you get bored hearing about the Phils all the damn time, but holy shit enough is enough. The amount of agida I've had over Jimmy Rollins in 2008 makes Sundays with Donovan look like Tuesdays with Morrie. His always questionable approach at the plate has reached an all time height in its ridiculousness, to the point that he is so mechanical I can guarantee the only pitches he's taking he was taking all the way. Lately that's been a few more, but it's pretty apparent he's been getting those signs from the dugout. It doesn't take a long memory to think back to the time when Jimmy was free as a bird at the plate -- you know, like he swings -- and rarely, if ever, looked into the dugout save for in run-scoring situations. But this year, the hole he's burning in the top of the lineup has gotten to the point where Charlie clearly feels the need to micro-manage him. It's simply time for him to vacate the leadoff spot, if only temporarily, so the Phils have a chance of starting games off without the inevitable dose of 1st inning depression. I don't even need him dropped much farther than down to 2. It actually sounds kinda perfect the way Shane's getting on base and Jimmy's grounding out to 2nd. It's almost as if he's focused on trying to move Shane over before he even gets on. Regardless, I've got 5 bucks says if Jimmy leads off tomorrow, our scoreless streak extends at least one more inning. Click me for the rest!

Guess I'll just close my eyes...

...Brett Favre...a J-E-T jet jet jet? Say it ain't fuckin so. I still have no idea if I can actually root for him. Looks like Michelle (she insists I don't need to hide her name and I feel dumb doing so) might get her wish of the Steelers being my 3rd team after all. But this late night post has nothing to do with that and everything to do with my Phils, about whom I have this to say: their ONLY chance of making any kind of a meaningful go of it IN October is with at least two pitchers starting games who are not currently doing so for this team.

As spotless as his scoreline somehow remained tonight, Kendrick is an absolute abomination against lefthanded hitters, and truthfully only has one effective pitch to righties. When he's on, and facing a team which doesn't have more than a dangerous lefty or two, his sinker alone is enough to win us some games, as it did tonight. But his fastball ain't cuttin it against anyone, including righties. He needs to spend some time in Allentown IronPiggin it while he develops that fabled changeup he's abandoned the concept of throwing since the second week of June.

Which brings us to our next conundrum. Even when Gordon is healthy, the Phils' bullpen has been getting to Brad Lidge largely on smoke, mirrors, and Chad Durbin, who no one has even tried yet to pretend is an 8th inning pitcher. His dominance the last two times out aside, there's simply no greater value for Brett Myers than as an 8th inning bridge, a role which would allow him to vastly increase his postseason trade value to a team in the closer market if successful, and further ammunition for the Phils in forcing him back into the rotation if unsuccessful. I'm guessing it would go without saying to most Phils fans where I'm headed with this by now, but I'll spell it out anyway. Their spots in the rotation are then filled by a man who's already on the roster, and didn't exactly take to his first career bullpen outing very well, J.A. Happ, and recently-promoted to AAA Carlos Carrasco, the Phils' top pitching prospect.

While Happ isn't quite a strikeout pitcher, he misses his fair share of bats, has the inherent benefit of being lefthanded, and the added benefit of being new to most hitters he'd face. Carrasco is a strikeout pitcher, and continues to flash his brilliance while constantly showing signs of boredom playing for sub-.500 minor league teams filled to the brim with minor league filler at every other spot on the diamond. Perhaps a pennant race would bring out the best in him? If his first start at AAA is any indication of his performance under pressure, he'd serve us better than what we're trotting out there now. Which, don't get me wrong, I have always believed and continue to believe is the best team in the National League East and a damn good bet to repeat as its champions. But none of us want to see the Phils get booted quickly in October again, and it's just about as late as this thing can get and still ask a couple of kids to contribute anything.

All indications are this team tried to "win now" at the deadline and came up short not on effort but on tradeable prospects/the depth to trade what we got without leaving the cupboard entirely bare. Pat Gillick and his team clearly understand, then, that the future is now, and they also see JA Happ and Carlos Carrasco as valuable enough pieces of the future to have held onto them at the deadline. Neither one has anything that much left to prove in the Minors. I doubt either of them develops into a true ace, but I seem to remember a few kids named Beckett, Willis, and Penny winning a World Series five years ago. One true ace among the bunch and a couple other guys with all kinds of stuff. Hamels, Happ, Carrasco really sound so different? Throw them out there with grampa Moyer, and a bullpen which uses Lidge, Myers, Romero, Durbin, and Madson and this team could at least sniff the second week of October. I just don't think anyone can look in the mirror and tell me Kendrick, Blanton, or Myers is gonna go out there and win a playoff game. At least with the kids, we don't have a clue. Now if only SOMEONE was reading this. Click me for the rest!

Fergalicious definition make the boys go loco

So, it's been a little while since I checked in. Not a shit-ton of things going on really, but I'll bore y'all to death with my random thoughts none the less. Coming up after the jump: Brett Favre, Step Brothers, Eureka, Weeds, Baseball's playoff race, and Lollapalooza.
As most people who know me probably already know, I've never been much of a Brett Favre fan. The guy has always been completely reckless in his decision making on the football field, has one of the desert island all time top 5 egos in the history of professional sports, and over the past handful of years with regards to his retirement, he's handled himself, as Rick Reilly brilliantly pointed out, more like Cher than Jordan or Clemens or any other oft-retired superstar. I watched this unfold for weeks heaping praise on the Packers' front office constantly for finally recognizing the parasite that is Brett Favre. It's too bad they're every bit the weasels he is. Meanwhile, Aaron Rodgers has already convinced me of his poise under pressure 100-fold. Here's hoping this "open competition" (AKA this horrific mistreatment of Aaron "The Green Bay Packers organization must move on" Rodgers) spells the beginning of a massive humiliation for Brett and the Pack. It's only just.

I spent last weekend in the even-in-stifling-heat-Windier-than-New-York-City with my Mother's entire side of my family celebrating my great aunt's 95th birthday, with a notable pre-family excursion into the insanely pot-scented mass of humanity that was Radiohead's crowd at Lollapalooza. A combined result of my being dehydrated, our flights not landing till after 4, and a lack of overt desire to see anyone else playing at the end of night 1, we only witnessed Radiohead's set, but let's be honest...there wasn't shit else to witness anyway. Even from about 50,000 people deep in the crowd, with absolutely no view of the stage save for on massive (and very well-programmed) video screens to either side of it, they were every bit the crowdpleasers I had last seen 7 years prior.

Saw Step Brothers yesterday. Utterly fucking hysterical. Easily my favorite Ferrell starring vehicle since Old School. If it was music, it would be like Fergie crossed with Jesus.

By way of a PSA: If you haven't ever seen Eureka, you don't know what's good about television, about Sci-Fi (genre AND network) or about life. Usually when I make a statement like this, it's because I'm trying to do my part to save a beloved, underappreciated gem like Arrested Development or Veronica Mars, and usually, you all ignore me until it's already cancelled, at which point you watch the DVDs and proceed to walk through life with an immense sense of guilt for having blown off my advice when you know as well as I do that I know what quality entertainment looks and sounds like. This is not that situation. Eureka doesn't need your lazy asses, and neither do I. It's a massive hit for the Sci Fi network and it ain't goin anywhere. No, you need Eureka, and if you don't believe me, take the challenge and try to watch two episodes of it without getting hooked. I dare you.

I simply refuse to believe that the recent pickup of Weeds for 3 seasons beyond this one doesn't signal the show's inevitable decline. So much of that show's tension, which, despite all its laughs, is what brings the masses back week after week, comes from the idea that Nancy and her ever-shrinking wardrobe are just one false step away from taking a bullet in the head. Good luck convincing me of that when I know you've got 40 episodes left on order from Showtime. But then again, i thought they had painted themselves into a corner introducing the DEA storyline at the end of season 1, so I'm clearly a fuckin fool.

I'm still pretty convinced that the lack of activity in the NL East at the trade deadline was perhaps even more beneficial to the Phils than any individual move they could have made to bolster the club. While all three teams obviously have severe flaws, the Phils still bring more balance to the table than either the Mets or Marlins, no matter how you slice it. They're younger than the Mets, older than the Marlins, have every bit the powerhouse offense of Florida, albeit every bit as reliant on the longball as Florida, with more depth behind Cole than the Mets have behind Santana, and a massive and undeniable advantage in the bullpen. Since the deadline passed, the Marlins and Mets both lost uninspired, low-scoring series marked by mental errors and shoddy situational hitting against vastly inferior competition, while the Phils took 2/3 on the road from the playoff-contending Cardinals, despite one of Cole's worst performances of the year, and behind incredibly encouraging lights-out performances from Myers and Blanton, who seemed to feel the spectre of J.A. Happ looming over their tenuous spots in the rotation. Even at this stage of the season there's a lot of baseball yet to play and it's a humbling enough game for me to wind up lookin like a fuckin fool, but with StandPat Gillick doing his usual routine at the deadline, it's fair to assume that what we've seen all year resembles what we'll see in the next several weeks. So I'm officially ready to make this proclamation: there's simply nothing which should stop the Phillies from returning to postseason baseball except for themselves. Anything short of being swept by the obviously superior Brewers in the first round will be an out and out failure.

Finally, I've been making good on the proclamation which I made in this blog's initial post, having enacted plans to reconnect with all manner of old friend. Having seen and had a lovely time with Ms. Sharkey, similar plans are in the offing with such characters as Texas, Fishhead, and Miriam, seeing all of whom should be delightful. And with that, I bid thee adieu.

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Holy Crying Fanbase, Batman!

So...the Phils really suck lately. Have you noticed? 50 days ago, which has a nice, round feel to it, if you ask me, I wrote a rather lengthy, somewhat tongue in cheek post about the pathos of the Metsies, as Keith Hernandez nauseatingly refers to them on an inningly basis, and lo and behold the very same Be Careful What You Wish For department which brought me a cat named Sharpie and a heartbreaking night in Jacksonville has delivered the very race with the Mets I longed for. Unfortunately, it's brought a bit of a panic attack to Philsville.

At that time, the Phils were 40-28, a day away from their season's current high point at 13 games over. As it stands now, following this week's incredibly lopsided on the field, but very minimally damaging in the standings 1-2 series for the Phils at Shea, the Mets are 55-47 and the Phils stand a game behind them at 54-48. One game back with another nice, round, number of games (60) left in the season. That's 60/162. It doesn't take a degree in applied mathematics from MIT to notice a few things going on here. First of all, the Phils have been a pretty putrid 13-20 since being 13 games over .500. Take out the 6-game losing streak which almost immediately followed that mark and they're only a game under .500 over the rest of that span. Hardly setting the world on fire, but hardly enough to sink a season...just ask Mets fans, they played shittier for longer earlier this year.

Which brings me to my next point...Over the same period of time, the Mets are incredibly hot. On June 12, they were 31-34. They were an organization in such disarray, taking 2/3 from Texas at Shea that weekend still got Willie Randolph fired...by e-mail...after the first game of a West Coast road trip...which he won. Since then, the Mets are 25-14. So, I'd be a fool to say there isn't any cause for concern. Clearly, if things continue on as they have for the past 7 weeks, the Phils have absolutely no chance of making the postseason again. Of course, they also probably won't finish over .500. If they continue at their post-June 12 .4117 winning percentage, they'll win 24.7 of their final 60 games. Since we're Phils fans here, we'll be generous and call that a 25-35 home stretch. Meanwhile, if the Mets continue playing .641 ball over their final 60 they'll win 38.46. In the interest of objectivity, I'll follow standard conventions with regards to rounding decimals and call that 38 wins. So when the Phils finish 79-83 and the Mets finish 103-59, I doubt anyone will be too worried about the postseason.


Thankfully for me, the Phils and Mets still have over a third of their seasons left to play, and if the first 102 games taught us anything about these teams, it's that they're both vastly flawed but capable of being the best team in the National League over an extended period of time. The chances of either of these teams, as presently constituted, playing in the same manner as they have since June 12 are miniscule. Neither of them has ever shown anything resembling that type of consistency and baseball teams simply don't win 64% of their games. I wouldn't pretend the phils can't be as bad as a .412 team, but I'm gonna go out boldly on that limb and say that if J-Roll can manage the simple fucking task of following the two easiest rules on earth, the Phils will play better down the stretch. It's with that, that I get to the true reason for my post...my brethren in Phillies land need a hug. Badly. And perhaps after the hug, someone slapping them across the face and screaming man the fuck up, there's 60 games left to play. As always, the best-written and most heartfelt take on the subject goes to Jason Weitzel at Beerleaguer, who, in quintessentially Philadelphian fashion, has gone off the deep end. I'll end this beast with a snippet from Beerleaguer. Jason, if you ever need cheering up, remember you have readers who generate hundreds of interesting, passionate comments over the course of even the most mundane Phils game...I'm pretty sure 3 people know I'm here thus far.

"This team has problems, brother. Do they ever. Chief among them: the New York Mets, who were better than the Phillies in approximately 26 out of 27 innings this series. Perez becomes the latest pitcher to set a season high against the vaunted Phillies offense. A close second: the vaunted Phillies offense, past the point where dysfunction can be blamed on "pressing." Third, the Marlins. Or the pitching. Take your pick.

So is it inappropriate to use the word "collapse" in July? Because this one is starting to mix in all the wonderful ingredients (comfortable lead followed by controversy, dysfunction, underachieving) that sunk the Mets in '07.

Or do we skip all that and say the Phillies just aren't good enough?"

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Tweet Tweet Tweet

A combined result of my lack of thoughts substantial enough to warrant a full blog post and the increased clamoring among my few readers to keep them more up to date, I've started using twitter. As you can see, it's set to post my twitter updates here as well, but if you wanted to take a minute to go follow me on twitter and make me feel slightly cooler, I wouldn't object. Click me for the rest!

If dreams are like movies then memories are films about ghosts...

Lying awake one night in Virginia Beach, drowning a snore which I can only describe as industrial in its nature, I heard that lyric and decided it simply had to be the title of the post I'd eventually write about my trip. But there's not really a whole lot that needs to be said about my trip to warrant my usual wordiness, it was just a simple, relaxing, great time with the very sorts of old friends I discussed needing to reconnect with in this blog's initial entry. And so, in addition to the picture I posted during the drive home, I give you the definitive list of movies which define our little posse, as debated ad nauseum one Thursday night at the beach.

Office Space
Rounders
Swingers
Wedding Crashers
The Big Lebowski
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Old School
Anchorman (though I maintain we should replace it with Ferris Bueller's Day off)
Fight Club
Super Troopers Click me for the rest!

I went down Virginia seekin shelter from the storm

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I mope around like there's nothing to do, another day and I'm looking for something new...

Not a whole lot to discuss over the last few days, but I'll do my best anyway...

• I thoroughly enjoyed the Weeds premiere, most notably the introduction of Albert Brooks' character. While there certainly could have been a modicum of effort to explain how Nancy came to decide he was her best option (or, for that matter, how Andy didn't manage to come to the idea of his own father first) but for the most part I think he's going to make for a highly amusing frienemy to the Botwin clan in their new digs. I'm glad to see they haven't completely abandoned the rest of the population of Agrestic, though I fear the line about Conrad and Heylia being long gone may well be indicative of the fact that while the rest of the support cast was downgraded from series regular to recurring, the fighting Jamseses may well just be gone.
• Even more fraktacular than Weeds, in my humble opinion, was the midseason finale of Battlestar Galactica. I'm of the belief that the statute of limitations on posting spoilers is 72 hours, so I will not hesitate to discuss the goings-on of said episode of BSG. I can't say I'm terribly surprised at the discovery of a post-apocalyptic nuclEarth, as it was the resolution to the search least likely to spark riots among fans...it's hard for anyone to be too upset about the discovery of absolutely nothing. I'm curious if the Manhattan skyline whose remnants were revealed to us at episode's end were particularly meaningful or, more likely, a joint attempt to establish this as having once been an Earth which would be recognizable to the actual citizens of earth and a reference, of course, to Planet of the Apes. Regardless, I could not be any more supportive of the decision to give us Earth with an ample amount of time left in the series' run, as especially given our newly formed tentative alliance, the discovery of Earth is only as meaningful and as entertaining as what it means for the characters who form the foundation of BSG.
• The Phils are 3-6 since leaving Atlanta last week, and while I would be kidding myself if I said I wasn't the slightest bit concerned, I don't yet see any reason panic. They lost 2/3 games each in Florida and St. Louis, at least 2 of which they had within their grasp and gave away in extraordinary fashion, in addition to 2/3 at home to the best team on earth, the defending World Series champion Red Sox. Despite their less than stellar results during this, their hardest stretch of schedule this season by a longshot, they hold a 2-game over Florida in the division, with another 3.5 games of cushion between Florida and the Mets and Braves, teams which still possess losing records and more injuries than the 2006 Eagles could shake a stick at. What this week will amount to, in the long term remains to be seen, but if it teaches the Phillies a lesson in plate discipline, it would've been worth getting swept by the Sox. If it ever decided to uniformly work counts, this offense could become a hell of a lot scarier than it already is.
• My boredom should subside, to say the least, over the next 10 days or so, with a midnight Get Smart tonight and, much more excitingly, Virginia Beach with the original NYU crowd for a week beginning Saturday. It's unfathomable for me to think that we'll top the time I had as a member of the Air Jamaica Six, but I'll be damned if we're not gonna try. Until next time, someone PLEASE derelick my balls...I'm fuckin bored.

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I am the greatest fan that ever lived...

Okay, so obviously I'm not, though I do belong to the greatest fanbase that ever lived in this country -- not sure I wanna fuck with Man U fans, they seem legit -- but really this is just another post about sports and that song is totally up in my head. It all began with a game of AudioSurf, during which I played most of the Red Album. If you're unclear on either of those things...pop my blog's comment cherry, dammit. I started this mostly because I used to enjoy all of your lively comments. In accordance with that, I will ignore any queries submitted to me in any form other than blog comment. If you don't have an account, that's cool...just sign it with a first name or something which you think will make you identifiable to me. Anyway...Audiosurf got a little overstimulating, as it always does...which got me where I am now....

Seeing a SportsCenter re-run about to start, and having been jonesing to finish a round of my recently acquired PC edition of Tiger Woods 07 (which critics seemed to agree was much better than 08, and better than the 360 or Wii versions) which I abandoned when the Phils started cutting into that 5-1 lead, and had never gotten back to on account of the long-awaited return of my better half, real-life Tiger, the addictive qualities of the 5 most recent episodes of Weeds on Showtime/Apple TV, and the semi-entertaining qualities of the 4th quarter of an NBA game, because lord knows not even in the finals are the first 3 quarters remotely interesting. Anyway...SportsCenter and its Soccer and Golf highlights got me to thinking about a fairly simple but paradoxically also rather complicated question...what is it
that I love so much about sports? This question, to some extent, was a byproduct of a conversation I had recently had with ML, in which I expressed to her my disdain for the idea of working the travel-oriented, faux-glamorous, publicly scrutinized grind associated with working in the traditional sports media, a desire which is associated as closely with my character as my Philadelphianism, to coin a phrase but certainly not a concept. While both certainly have their place in my heart, I don't think either really gets to the heart of the matter. Golf and Tennis aren't Philadelphian and don't make for good television, yet I watch nearly as religiously as I do the Phils when the time comes. Ditto curling and soccer -- which won't qualify as Philadelphian to me even when the MLS team comes to Chester, and even if they win a championship. And for anyone who wonders why it wouldn't count if they win a championship, or if the Soul win the Arena Bowl for that matter, that can also be a blog comment discussion. I have a fully fleshed out rationale. Anyway...I think I owe my love of sports more to video games, and even more specifically to growing up competing with my older and much more coordinated sisters in video games, than to anything else. While it's true that I grew up playing sports, anyone in my family can tell you with some degree of certainty that I was never much of a natural athlete...which is to say, I am the worst athlete alive. But the one athletic trait which I did possess in spades was the spirit of competition derived from being in a constant struggle for everything from attention to the right to be player 2, because back in those days, you were mario, you were luigi...or you weren't at all. If you ain't first, you're last. So, I say it was sibling rivalry, and primarily manifested through video games, which fostered the competitive spirit in me, and which thus also created my insatiable appetite for competition. Well, that was rather long-winded.

In other news, I've decided to drop the whole Zoolander catchphrase already...it's pretty dumb. But every time I hear the persistence quote, I think of Derelique. And now I have no idea what note to end on. Screw it, I guess it's staying for the time being. If you don't like it, you can derelick my balls.
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Too bored to think of a title

I found this post, over on a rather misguided but still well-written Mets-centric blog, and the discussion it spawned, incredibly amusing and apropos of my most recent post. And more concise than mine, no less. And I'm bored enough to go through the trouble of posting a link here on a blog no one's reading. Enjoy. Click me for the rest!

Step Right Up and Beat the Mets...

There is perhaps nothing in the world I enjoy more than watching the Mets suffer. Live with the world's most annoying fanbase with the biggest Yankee-inferiority complex imaginable for a little while as anything other than a member of it and you'll understand why. But I think it's especially sweet for me, as a Phillies fan after living through 8 years of Phillie Phailures, and having predominantly Mets fans as friends to boot. So watching this team continue to stumble and fumble and bumble and invent ways to lose like they're still caught in that 4-game sweep at CBP last August/September over the first 60+ games of the season has been, truly, as entertaining for me as watching the Phils play some of the best baseball in the Majors. But what's transpired over the last week of Mets baseball...not even I would wish this on anyone.

This is truly beneath the dignity of a Major League Baseball team. The New York Mets have now blown a lead of 3 runs or greater in the 8th inning or later of FIVE consecutive games. They've lost six of their last seven games. They have genuinely perfected the art of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. And the truly amusing part of it is, this has been easily their best stretch of starting pitching of the season. As Gary Cohen is explaining on SNY's postgame as I type this, for the first two months of the season, the Mets' bullpen was the team's unquestioned strength and the only reliable facet of an otherwise underachieving team filled with declining offensive stars and a suicidal mixture of inexperienced and unreliable younger starting pitchers and injury prone, aging veterans. While it was lauded at the time as the move which made the Mets favorites in the East again, the deal didn't come without its own monumental risks, namely in that it left the team even more bereft of Major League-ready depth in the minors than it already was. While I won't pretend that Santana's astronomical contract will make any player unaffordable to the deep-pocketed Mets, the opportunity to significantly improve a ballclub midseason by primarily financial means is almost non-existent, and there is simply nothing for the Mets to even offer another team, were they even willing to further compromise the future in hopes of salvaging a season which shows very few signs of turning around. I won't tempt karma, or the becarefulwhatyouwishfor Gods, as I like to call them, by saying I hope the Mets turn it around, but it will be slightly bittersweet if the Phillies continue to play the upper echelon ball they've made it their business to play this season, and the Mets can't hold up their end of what was supposed to be the breakout season in baseball's next great rivalry.

That all having been said, there is one aspect of this implosion which has been completely guilt and sympathy free for me: chatty cathy himself, Billy the Child Wagner, he of the "I didn't blow a save tonight, go ask my teammates why we can't win" rant just a few weeks back, has blown saves in his last three appearances. To put that in perspective, Little William was perceived as somewhat unreliable during his times with the Phillies during 2004 and 2005, blowing 7 saves in 66 opportunities. The last time he blew three consecutive saves? 2000, as a member of the Houston Astros. He's now blown 5 saves in each of his three years as a Met, and of course, he has to keep closing until October...well, let's be honest with ourselves, for this team...probably September. I think the horse himself just put it best to the assembled New York media on SNY..."I can't say a thing about our team. I suck." Billy, you said it man. Now if only you knew it was time to shut up. If I feel like it, there'll be a post coming a little later with pictures, a setlist, and some impressions from the Spill Canvas show I attended last night.

Until next time, you can derelick my balls, Mugatu.

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He said, "son I made my life out of readin people's faces, and knowin what the cards were by the way they held their eyes..."

Denizens of the Internet, I was remiss last night in forgetting to call for a huge round of applause and offering my heartiest congratulations, to my friend and one-time poker teacher, Andrew Brown, who earlier this week took down one of the world's most respected card players, the venerable Ted Forrest, en route to winning Event #16 at this year's World Series of Poker. I give you Andrew Brown, bracelet winner.

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If you don't like it, you can shove it, but you don't like it, you love it, so I'll be up here in a rage till they pull the curtain down on this stage

So...let's see if I remember how to do this. It's been quite a while since I've had a public conversation with myself, and truth be told it doesn't quite feel like second nature as it once did. But alas, I press on, as my pseudonym's inspiration would demand. I suppose the most logical place to kick this off would be with some sort of an introduction. So welcome, I guess, to my brand new little corner of the Internet.

I'm not really convinced anyone will read this at all, but I'm quite certain no one is going to arrive here who didn't come knowing exactly who I am and what I'm all about, so I'll spare you the personal history. What I would guess is more interesting to any of you who have landed here anyway is where I've been, because, save for a few exceptions, I really haven't spoken to or seen the people who would be interested enough in my ranting and raving to be here in quite a while. Truth is, there isn't a whole lot to tell. I've returned to and theoretically graduated from NYU, though not without a couple loose ends to tie up over the course of the next few months. And my beloved girlfriend, who we'll just call ML here for privacy's sake, and I have moved in together, still in the same old DisAstor you all knew and loved (and, it bears noting, would be more than welcome to drop by any time). And that's basically it. For the most part, I'm still the same old ultra-opinionated, never-serious procrastinating addictive personality you remember, falling in and out of love and hate with whatever mediated sludge the world throws my way.

So what brought me back to the world of spewing forth my verbal diarrhea at an indeterminate number of people who simply don't care at all? I'm glad you asked. As none of the people who were once a part of my life and who are no longer need reminding, there have been an inordinate number of relationships which were once integral to my life, and to my happiness, which through no malicious intent or falling out on anybody's part, have fallen by the wayside. Personally, I blame the very communicative tools which let me have this blog. It's hard for me to accept, and surely I'm overstating the matter to some extent, but the truth is, the way we communicate now, if you aren't involved in a never-ending conversation with a person spread across a dozen different platforms, you're out of touch with them. And I'm tired of feeling out of touch with my past, and with all my friends. It's one thing to keep moving forward, but to do so without ever taking time to make sure you're bringing the worthwhile parts of the past with you is empty, and it isn't how I like to live. So this is going to be my place to dwell on shit again, with the hopes that even one of the people I've lost to laziness and the sheer speed with which everything moves now a days will stumble here and dwell in shit with me again, like the good ole days.


All that, and I need a place to post all of my random thoughts so as to maybe shut up long enough not to drive ML totally fuckin crazy.

Until next time, you can derelick my balls, Mugatu. Click me for the rest!