Erstwhile Raider owner Al Davis "Come to the Dark Side"
"Tito, we hardly knew ye'' Listen to my words you ''pink hatters', that is what we do here in Boston. That is what we have always done. Let me tell you a story. In 1978, I was a freshy freshman at Nokomis Regional High distracted from my studies by the baseball pennant race. In late July, the Sox had a seemingly insurmountable 14-1/2 game lead in the American League East. There was absolutely no doubt they would take the division and go to the World Series. Alas, on September 7, incredibly, their lead was down to 4 games entering a final four game series with the Jeezily New York Yankees. As you may have known or can guess, the Yanks went on a rampage in the series, scoring 42 runs on 67 hits, while the Red Flops commited a dozen errors and were uncerimoniously swept. That, children, forced a very rare one game playoff to break the tie and see who would go to the playoffs. The Sox of course lost the game, painfully and dramatically, off the bat of the Yankees diminutive shortstop, known as Russell Earl ''Bucky Fucking'' Dent. He homered, and my childhood hero Carl Yastrzemki watched it sail over the Green Monster. I saw it all unfold, right there in Mr. Lane's biology classroom. He brought in a TV and let us watch, thus scarring us for life. Thanks Mr. Lane.
In any event, 1978 was not the first year the Sox choked on such an epic scale. Review your baseball history books. In 1941, the Red Sox painfully folded against the Cards. You remember, Peskey held the ball. In 1967, same thing, same team. Cards ace bob Gibson kick the Sox asses and again the Sox fold. What is this, some kind of a curse? In 1975, the Red Sox played in what many consider the best World Series ever. They lose painfully and dramatically to the Big Red Cincinnati Machine. Later in Red Sox history, there would be even more epic fails. In 1986 there would be Bill Buckner and Mooky ''Fucking'' Wilson. In 2003, there was Aaron''Fucking'' Boone. Must be the curse.
Then there was 2004. And 2007. Great yes. Historic, yes. Life altering, you bet. But alas, Boston is still Boston. As great as the two world championships were, it is kind of comforting to be back in the drama. I t must be why people like Opera. Nothing like a good tragedy.
Anyway, whatever happened to precipitate such an enormous implosion this year, causing the Bosox' early exit, is just as elusive as the causes of 1978 or 1986 chokes. Maybe the pitching staff was out of shape, or drunk, or both. Maybe it was the pitching coaching staff. Maybe it was Papelbon. Maybe it was Francona. He always has been a ''player's manager'' and a little soft. Maybe it was the fat lazy complacent overpaid superstars who just could not be concerned enough to play hard or play together. Maybe it was wonderkind GM Theo Epstein, whose every off season and free agent deal amounted to about doodly squat. I mean, seriously, Carl Crawford has had less than a career year. And Erik Bedard? Fugetaboutit! It really doesn't matter. The iportant thing is that somebody has got to pay. Even though Francona is really not to blame, he must be ridden out of town on a rail. Who in Hell we are going to replace him with is an irrelevent consideration. Theo needs to go too. Probably he'll head to Chicago. Hell, why not take Tito with him. Win them a World Series. They're due. Papelbon? His head needs to be on a pike at the city limits. Okay, well, at least don't renew his contract. We'll have to keep Papi andWakefield-just because.
Yes, Red Sox nubes, changes are needed. Change is in the air. Sports talk in Boston will be heating up the hot stove early this year. This is what it was always like, every year, before 2004. Perhaps you hadn't heard. You'd better get used to it. At least now maybe I can get seats to a game at Fenway for under $200. It'll be just like old times.
I wonder if I still have Grady Little's number.
"Once again you have brought shame to the family. You are no son of mine. You're dead to me".For one thing, let's get this straight. The Jets did not beat the Pats Sunday. The Patriots lost. They threw up on their shoes. They peed their pants. They dropped a deuce. Sexy Rexy and his rag tag band of miscreants had not much to do with it. Yes, yes, they played some defence. Wowee!! That's part of the playoffs. But the Pats laid a big fat egg. I've been afreared of this happening all season long, the day when the wheels finally come off the cart. It just double-sucks that it had to happen against Rex Ryan and his little ''foot soldiers'' from Gotham. Now all I can hope for is for Big Ben and the Steelers to crush and humiliate the Jets and then fall on their own swords in shame. I have absolutely no rooting interest anymore as of about 7:30 PM the other night. Even in the NFC, I have about equal measures of hatred for both Chicago and Green Bay. None, I repeat, none of any remaining teams have any interest for me at all. I've explained to loyal readers of SBL#178 tha I am a true Boston homer, provincial and parochial. Me and Sully from Southie hate outsiders, especially when they beat our teams. You put one of ours in the hospital, we put one of yours in the morgue. In 1986, the Bears pasted the Patsies in the Super Bowl. Now academic is the fact that anyone who came up against the Super Bowl Shuffle Bears that year would also get pasted. But, jeez lousie 46-10!? I still shudder when I hear the names Tony Eason, Walter Payton, Jim MacMann or Refridgerator Perry. And Green Bay is no better. In Super Bowl XXXI the Cheesy bastards beat my Pats a la Brett F#^*ing Favre and Desmond F*^&@ Howard. I have since had little love for Green Bay, even though I have a soft spot for the old gunslinger Favre, being an old gunslinger myself. However, my man crush on Favre aside, I hate the Pack. They are dead to me. And the Jets??! Fugetaboutit!!!! Firstly any team from NYC has already earned my disgust. Add to it that toe nibbling knucklehead of a coach and his band of jive talking, over achieving chumps, and you have a team anyone outside of New York has to hate. I told you. Boston fans are petty, uinforgiving and mean.
So, no fans, I will not be sitting around watching the Hyperbowl this year. At least not for the football. All I can hope for this year is a wardrobe malfunction to make things interesting. Now, alas, I can get back to thinking about the important issues in life. Chiefly, ranting abut how much I hate the Yankees.
So enjoy your little moment in the sun Jets fans. If anybody is interested, I'll be up to camp ice fishing. Non illigitimi corrundum.
Now that the Pat's and the J-E-S-T, Jest, Jest, Jest's are going to meet agin for the thrid time this year, and by the way, the Pat's will win, the pedantic New England coach and the 'podiatric' New York caoch figured it might be a good time to quickly collaberate on a Haiku before the big game. Good luck Rex, and get ready for some more 'Hard Knocks'.
Now that the old River Boat gambler has probably played his last game, he has more time to pursue his muse.Including his passion for Haiku. Here is his first forey into the ancient Japanese verse form since his ass was knockeed out of the game last week. 
A Meat Suit-Now why did I not think of that?Well, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times, as my old high school chum Chas. Dickens used to say. The year 2010 has started its slow grind to an anti-climactic halt and, with a glass of Five Oaks Merlot on the table, the editorial staff of the SBL#178 prepare for you the top news stories of the past year. It's been a great year here at the SBL#178. If, by a good year you mean another incremental slip further into decreptitude. However, as they say, the news marches on. And time waits for no man. Now, I have never been accused of being politically astute. As a matter of fact, I always thought Hamas was made of Chickpeas and spread on flatbread. That being said, it doesn't take a genius to tell the difference between chicken shit and chicken salad. So, non sequitors taken care of, here are the top five news stories of the past year. Enjoy. And remember, "non illegitmi corrundum".
The McRib is BACK!
One of the most mysterious questions to vex philosophers has re-emegred its ugly head again this year. No, not the riddle of the Sphinx, that's an easy one. No, it's not that "I before E, except after C" thing, though that can be tricky. It is...the riddle of the McRib. As one of my Facebook friends recently posited, "why, if the McRib is so damned good, does it only sporatically appear at McDonald's, and for a limited time only?". An excelleny query indeed. Is it because the deliciously decadent ball of fat in a bun is so damned good that the general burger buying public cannot handle the porky goodness?("You want the Rib?! You can't handle the Rib"!!) Is it rather that its fat and cholesterol content is so dangerously high that long term exposure could pose a health risk to the general public, thus a liabiltiy for the meaty mega franchise? Could it merely be a marketing ploy, restricting the supply, thus increasing the demand for the savory, sauce covered, sanguine slab of pig meat? The world may never know. Or at least I may never know. To be honest, I've never had a McRib. I have always wanted one, really, but have never gotten around to it. I probaly never will. I, likewise have always wanted a tattoo. And to write the great American Novel. But I haven't. And at this point, I will probaly never get to do those things. Or having a McRib. Especially if I don't hurry, because, as I said, it is only for a limited time.
We Have Met the Enemy, and it is Us
For years, the faithful followers of the beloved Boston Red Sox have opined and bitterly complained about how much the New York Yankees have spent to get their twenty-whatever championships. I have done it myself, and it is true. The Yankees have far outspent any other team in history. Their luxury tax alone is even more than the entire payroll of the Pittsburg Pirates. Plus, those poor bastards have to live in Pittsburg. It is patently obscene how much the Wankees spend to get the top players they always seem to get. Teams like the Red Sox, in order to keep up, must spend likewise to even hope for a championship. However, this year, the tables have been turned on the Yanks. The Red Sox have landed two of the top free agent prospects of the Hot Stove season. Adrian Gonzales, landed. Carl Crawford, landed. All top Red Sox stars-under contract. The Red Sox have out tricked the Yanks this year fo' sho'. They have spent approximaately 150 Kazillion dollars, but have essentially locked up the American League East, the Pennant, and the World Series...on paper. Yes, on paper, anyway. The funny thing is, the Red Sox still don't even have the highest payroll in the majors. That honor still belongs to thew Yankees. By a long shot. Still, I think the days of Red Sox fans' tired complaints of the Yanks buying their champpionships have been played out. Sox fans, we have bought ourselves a championship....on paper. How does it feel? Good, I'd say. Bill Buckner drinks the sweet wine of vindication.
Dude, where's my Job?
Dude, the guy has had such a bad year, even Ron Paul has got to feel for him. Our illustrious Pesident, Barack Obama, only a short time ago annointed as the chosen one, has been so far unable to resist hanging himself with the rope the previous administration had left him. Now the Republicans, not unlike the McRib, are back. Hopefully, only for a limited time. After bitch slapping the Democrats in the mid terms, they have a solid hold on the house and the Senate. America, prepare to be dazzled. You thought the Democrats were ineffective? Child's play. Now the Democrats can't get doodly squat done witout kissing the Republicans' asses all over Washington. President Obama's populrity ratings are in the toilet, and if that's not bad enough, even his own people are turning on him. Recently, in one of His pick up basketball games He is famous for, Obama was elbowed to the chops by Rey Decerega, from the Congressional Hispanic Caucus. Decerega, the speedy Latino point guard, known among Beltway insiders for his killer crossover dribble, was evidently trying to take it to the rack, knowing full well the leader of the free world has a weak defensive move to the left. The president tried to draw the charge and take a flop. This was a failed diplomatic move, not his first this year. Rey took the contact, threw up a left handed shot, got two points, plus the free throw. Mr. Obama got called for the foul and also got 13 stitches in his lip. All in all, not too much worse of a pasting than the Republicans gave him on the tax cut vote.
Favre Death Watch 2010
After nearly 20 years at the helm of his football ship, the erstwhile Packer, erstwhile Jet and current Viking Brett Favre is about to call it a career. That's right, the ol' Gunslinger. The ol' River Boat gambler. On again, off again, retired one day, unretired the next. Brett Favre, once the envy of every red-blooded football fan, the holder of about every quarterback record that Dan Marino does not have, has presumably played his last game. After 297 games uninterrupted, the old bastard is now relegated to doing Wrangler Jean commercials. By the way, in those commercials, when he throws that pass in the back yard pick up game, he totally lays out that wide reciever, just like he has been doing for years in Green Bay. In any case, his cell phone videos of his man-junk sent to Jen Sturger will be going viral soon enough. That's something. (BTW, I just Googled Jen Sturger-Holy Smokes!) Now, don't get me wrong. Even though the old goat has been more of a Diva than Liza Minelli at a Cher concert, I have always found him compelling TV. I also, by the way, find the Weather Channel compelling TV. Anyhow, now that the streak is over, and the old gunslinger has likely ridden in his last round up, I'll have to admit I'll miss him. But, there's always next year. Ya' never know with the Old Gunslinger.
Keith Richard Still Not Dead
Despite all logic, the iconic Rock pioneer, long time Rolling Stone and erstwhile Pirate of the Carribean Keith Richard is still not dead. Despite his best efforts, this Saturday Mr. Richard will turn 67 years of age. Doctors are at a loss to explain Keith's incredible persistence in refusing to die. Researchers at the famed Helsinke Institute in Weinergaten Germany have found that, if exposed to comparible amounts of Heroin, Rebel Yell bourbon, Marlboro smokes, and live Rolling Stones music, laboratory rats were dead after only 15 minutes. "How ol' Keith doesn't die remains a mystery to us", says Professor Ivan Zweiback, of the Institute. When reached for comment, outside his Barbados mansion, Mr. Richard was quoted as saying, "Mizen'raft'n mizzleflander, maaaan". Ain't it the truth?
Okay, now that I review my notes, these are probably not the TOP news stories of 2010. If I did my resaerch, I would probaly find more important stories, that , you know, effect people's lives and stuff. However, these have been getting a lot of play around the offices of the SBL#178.
Anyhow, enjoy the new year. How bad could it be?
Non illigitemi corrundum....
I haven't had an opportunity to vent my spleen for a while, but am thinking over the end of the year, I may start up again spewing the type of loveable vitriol
