Dark Day Musings

"Playing Solitaire till dawn,
With a deck of fifty-one.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
Now, don't tell me I've nothing to do.
--Counting Flowers on the Wall, Eric Heatherley

As I sit at my desk having done almost all I can do to get ready for tomorrow's show (a road show from a Walmart parking lot in Baltimore--I wish I could make this stuff up), I'm finally presented with the ultimate condemnation of this year's NBA Finals: I would much rather watch Dontrelle Willis pitch (in a mid-June regular-season game against the Atlanta Braves) than watch game seven of the NBA Finals. I glance to the shelf of tapes above me and long for the NBA of Michael, Magic, Hakeem and Larry. I can't get into a Finals that features the weirdest dude on the planet ('Sheed--I mean, the guy wears a wrestling belt around) and the most boring dude on the planet (TD--I'm contemplating the creation of a tape of all of Duncan's playoff press conferences, one that I can bring home and use to put me to sleep). Meanwhile, Dontrelle's thrown six innings of two-hit ball as of press time (and just beat out a bunt for a single), and is as fun to watch as any pitcher in the game. 11-2, 1.92 ERA, and he's on pace to improve both of those with tonight's shutout. Not too shabby...

Got to leave "campus" for lunch today, so I headed up to WeHo to dine with Phil, his buddy Mike (a new Dailey employee and our houseguest for the last week or so) and Garett Awad at a little pizza place just up the street from Dailey. I'm reminded again of how much fun it would be to work for Brian Morris; I just need to find a way to get him into television first. I left a note for him in the office (for the uninformed, he's a good friend and the CEO of Dailey), and placed mine right on top of a phone message, reading: "FROM: James Worthy. RE: Wanted to follow up on conversation at dinner last night." Dude, I'm the one working in sports, and he's having dinner with James Worthy? Must be nice...

I've expressed before the lament of the "when it rains, it pours" problem, and it again seems that a plurality of phone numbers have now worked their way into my rotation in a rather short amount of time, thus rapidly making up for a long period of inactivity in that area. I'm mildly encouraged by one and quite excited by another, so we'll see what happens. I know I tend to become rather wordy and unnecessarily vague when it comes to matters of the heart; perhaps that is one of the reasons why said periods of inactivity tend to vastly outnumber the current, active ilk...

Halfway through the first quarter of game seven (I just checked ESPN's scoreboard), one more hitless inning from Dontrelle, and I still care way more about the baseball game...

Speaking of baseball games, a second straight tough loss for the Pads today, this time in extra innings to the Dodgers, who are finally showing some signs of life. We're still up four in the division (pending the D-Backs' result tonight), so I'm not too worried, but we need to right the ship a little bit against the Mariners this weekend (including Saturday's Fox game). Having Adam Eaton on the DL doesn't help, but having Jake Peavy still on the staff does...

One more shutout inning from Dontrelle, and I think the Pistons and Spurs are on pace for a 12-10 first quarter. I'm making the right decision...

One thing I do want to mention about the NBA game is the big deal being made about game sevens in general. Like because Robert Horry has played in a game seven before, he needs to impart some wisdom to the rest of the squad and tell them how to do it. Or because Greg Anthony played in two game sevens (and LOST both, by the way--with the Knicks to the Rockets in the '94 Finals, and with the Blazers to the Lakers in those glorious '00 Conference Finals), they need to pick his brain about the mentality. The Pistons have faced elimination so many times, whether it's a game five, six or seven, the mentality is all the same. If you know that a loss sends you home, you're going to be playing your arse off, no matter the number. Yes, it's kinda cool to have some finality (or some last-ditch marketing ploy to actually get America to watch for a second), but I think it's a vastly overrated thing. They actually found it necessary to have John Smoltz on "Outside the Lines" last night to talk about it--he plays baseball, for crying out loud. What on earth would he have to offer us about Manu Ginobili's turnover-prone fourth quarters or the bench scoring from Antonio McDyess--you know, things that might actually influence the outcome of this game seven? These guys are professionals, and as unattractive as the basketball may be, I think they all have a pretty good sense of the whole lose-and-you're-done thing...

As the first quarter ends, putting us on pace for a 72-64 final score (Whooo! Can't believe I'm missing this!!), we're also going to the bottom of the ninth in the Marlins game. I have one more thing to finish writing for tomorrow's show, so it looks like Dontrelle's final out will be marking my departure. A brief running diary of the bottom of the ninth...
6:47 p.m. - Miguel Cabrera is highlighted, following his six-RBI performance tonight. Not bad for a 22-year-old kid.
6:48 p.m. - Our FSN Florida announcers are talking about Dontrelle's control. 23 first-pitch strikes out of the 27 batters he's faced tonight. That'll get it done.
6:49 p.m. - Rafael Furcal singles to right, improving the batting average of my fantasy team from .2234 to .2235. My team sucks.
6:50 p.m. - Kelly Johnson singles up the middle, Furcal to second. This is getting interesting.
6:51 p.m. - 1-2 count to Marcus Giles, the smaller, feistier, bigger-dip-packing version of his older brother Brian.
6:52 p.m. - Marcus flies out to Juan Encarnacion in right. I've always wondered why it's okay in baseball (encouraged, even) to say that a guy flied out, but you can't say that a guy flied to Miami
6:53 p.m. - Andruw Jones grounds into a 6-4-3 double play and Dontrelle's shutout is complete. His third shutout, his fourth complete game, and he's 12-2 with a stinkin' 1.76 ERA. Wow. I'm glad the game ended right there, because Chipper's not playing, so after Furcal, Giles and Andruw, I would have been done with Braves I've heard of (unless John Smoltz was to pinch-hit or something). How do they keep winning division titles? Their third baseman is Andy Marte. He's hitting .200. And Kelly Johnson is...? Bobby Cox definitely does not get enough credit.
6:55 p.m. - Post-game interview with Dontrelle, who is dripping with sweat and covered in dirt from when he dove headfirst into first base (on the aforementioned bunt), extending his hitting streak to six games. He's a pitcher with a six-game hitting streak...

Dontrelle is done, blogging is done, show stuff is done, and it's time to head home. I think it's Pistons 9, Spurs 7, late second quarter or something close to that. I couldn't care less...

Less Than Jake

"I’m free to do what I want any old time
I’m free to do what I want any old time
So love me, hold me, love me, hold me
I’m free any old time to get what I want"
--I'm Free, Rolling Stones

I'm refraining from such a pro-Padre post on the Rockham page, because I know it'll be met with a great deal of animosity. On my own blog, however, I'm free from all restrictions--real or implied--and I'll give Jake Peavy his due:
Wow. My jaw is still locked in agape position, having been there since about 7:10 last night, or the hour of Peavy's first strikeout of the evening. I don't think I've ever seen him better, striking out 13, walking one and only giving up two hits in eight stellar innings of work. He had everything working (Jeff Kent was the only Dodger starter who didn't strike out at least once), and went out with a bang--striking out Phillips and Grabowski to end the 8th and end his night). The offense gave him one run (fill-in catcher Robert Fick scored on a B-Giles double) and that was plenty. I won't spend too much time Dodger-bashing, because Brad Penny was almost as good, but Jake's just showing that he's the best pitcher in the league not named Pedro or Roger. There's a band that bears the same name as this post, and I'm just now realizing that they must have named themselves after every other pitcher in the majors. Great start to a big series, one which could have brought the Dodgers within half a game if they had swept, and one that could now serve to put some serious distance between my Padres and the rest of the awful NL West. Three more against the Dodgers, followed by three against the Mariners (bad, bad Adrian Beltre & Co.) and then up to L.A. for three more (I'll be there on Tuesday)...

Hey, it's Pedro Gomez on ESPN, and he's telling us that Barry Bonds isn't quite ready to come back and play this season. You know, I think I've heard that from Pedro sometime before. Oh yeah, like every single day since spring training started, that's right. Are you kidding me? Does this guy do anything else? His whole job is predicated on providing daily updates about a guy who hasn't done anything baseball-related since last September, and probably the most hated player in the entire sport. I'd rather hear Devil Rays minor league pitching updates than "Bonds played catch with Moises Alou today" and "Bonds wiped his nose this morning." Maybe it's just me. I suppose that if ESPN can send like forty people to the NBA Finals (37 of whom are essentially unnecessary--Tirico, Anthony and Walton are all they need; Tirico and Anthony for halfway-decent analysis, Walton for comedy), they can spare one to be Barry Bonds' cabana boy...

Double the basketball on Sunday, and I was much worse for wear yesterday, but it was still worth it. Did the Brentwood thing in the afternoon (lost three out of four, not a very good effort) and got a couple Galaxy tickets from Zeus for the 4th of July (not that anybody else cares, but it'll be the MLS game of the year so far: Landon and the Galaxy taking on the first place Revolution and Clint Dempsey). Had a nice nap after the forever drive home down the evil 405 and watched "Entourage" (epic cameos from Ralph Macchio and Pauly Shore), marking my second consecutive viewing of a show that is quickly approaching watch-every-week status (a level heretofore only achieved by "West Wing" and "24"). Nikki, by the way--the Iowa intern--started watching season one of "24" over the weekend, moving her up even further on the figurative charts. Our evening game was a joke, and exactly the type of game Michael and I wanted to play after such a tiring afternoon. We won by 44, and the game was never even that close. 36-11 at halftime (after we gave up a three-point play on the final play of the half) and 33-14 in the second half (don't worry, I'll do the math for you: 69-25 final score). So we're 5-0 now, rolling right along and having a darn good time. We even shot well this time out, which hasn't always been the case, despite our undefeated record. Hopefully we'll be able to take some momentum into the showdown with last season's champs, whenever that may be...

Coldplay, X&Y, not a bad disc at all. Haven't gotten all the way straight through it yet, but the bits and pieces of tracks one through eight or so have been outstanding. Not many bands at their level right now, frankly. Obviously I'm putting Jimmy Eat World up there, but is there anyone else? I'm unsure...

I am sure, however, that Jake Peavy is the best pitcher to don a Padre uniform since Kevin Brown's ridiculous '98 campaign, and I'm excited about where this team's heading...

I made a note on Rockham yesterday about the case for gay against me, and as much as I'm encouraged by the relative silence on that issue in the recent past, I do feel compelled to elaborate on it at some point. That point is not now. Nikki and I have work to do. Ha...

Not a Betting Man...

"He gambled in the White House and in the railroad yards
Wherever there was people, there was Willie and his cards
He had a reputation as the gamblin'est man around
Wives would keep their husbands home when Willie came to town"
--Rambling Gambling Willie, Bob Dylan

I'm not one to wager all that often, but in hindsight, here are a few bets I should have taken this week:

- That I would watch less than a quarter--total--of the NBA Finals. Of course, you're probably not allowed to bet on things you control (ahem, Pete Rose), but I don't think I even came close. Didn't catch a single second of last night's debacle, watched a few minutes of the fourth quarter Tuesday and nothing Sunday. Not only do these teams play unattractive basketball, but the games haven't even been competitive. Four games in a row decided by more than 15 points? That's never happened. Ric Bucher said on the radio last night that he couldn't remember a worse performance in a playoff game by one team, EVER. The Spurs, who were supposed to be one of the great teams of all time like a week ago, now can't even stay within 30 of a Pistons team that can't go more than seven deep? Just start the lockout now...

- That Evander Holyfield would be off that ridiculous Dancing Stars show within three episodes, parlayed with a guarantee that America still wouldn't have figured out that this is not good television. Evidently it's been winning its slot easily, which makes zero sense to me. Of course, I work on a show that decided to make Tom Arnold a talk show host, so who am I to question the quality of TV...

- Every NL West team to lose every single game (the teams are a combined 18-32 in their last ten games). Wow is this a bad division right now. The Pads are still in first place, but only because the Dodgers and D-Backs manage to lose all their games too. The Royals and Tigers just swept the Dodgers and Padres, respectively, this week. That should never, ever happen...

- The over on the number of times the word "bubble" would be uttered at LCHS graduation. I set it at 6 and I believe we hit 8 or 9 (and yes, this is definitely my last LCHS graduation until cousin Will commences, and then no more forever--when you work with kids for a few years, those kids all grow up and graduate, and the ones I spent the most time with are finally done. And so am I.)

- That the next female intern we'd hire would not possibly measure up to the previous four (see yesterday's). No offense to this girl (haven't gotten her name yet), but the bar was just set too high...

It's a short one today...looking forward to actually (hopefully) getting some sleep tonight (a combined seven hours the last two nights), a nice single-header of baseball tomorrow (we get to watch Dontrelle pitch against the Angels, likely the viewing highlight of the season thus far) and a double-day of hoops on Sunday (Brentwood at 1, rec league at 7)...

Addenda

"I guess it's something to do with luck
But I waited my whole life for just one
Day, after day"
--Add It Up, Violent Femmes

A few quick things I missed yesterday (and I definitely haven't been listening to enough Violent Femmes lately)...

Sports Guy has the exact same view of "24" that I do. He evidently caught onto the show a little late (much as I did, only after repeated encouragement from multiple sources), and basically ripped through all three seasons on DVD in like three weeks (I took care of season one in a weekend, season two in about a week and now I'm about halfway through season three, taking a little more time). I experience the same problem he mentions about getting into new shows, reacting stubbornly and then being bummed out when I'm so behind because I waited too long. At least I watched the second episode of "Entourage" on Sunday, and enjoyed that quite a bit. It'll take me a little bit to fully grasp the characters, but Matt Dillon's brother cracks me up (his concern in this last episode had to do with other dudes' calves, including Lamar Odom--hilarious)...

Gotta touch on Phil Jackson real briefly. Is there any reason a Laker fan should not love this decision? If there remains any frustration, any doubt about the future of this franchise, it should not center on the coaching situation, that's for sure. This year's team wasn't as bad as its record indicates (Vlade's injury, Rudy T's sudden retirement and the complete lack of attention to defense all season long--I didn't think it was possible for our point guard position to be worse defensively than it was the previous few years, but Chucky Atkins, as Paperboy would say, "Not from the ghetto, but yo, takin' it to another level"), so I'm confident in a playoff berth next season, some serious roster reconstruction at that point, and contention shortly thereafter. I'm a Laker fan for life, not just a championship team fan, so these slightly lean years will make the successful ones that much sweeter when they return...

Speaking of coaches, remember the whole Pat Summitt-Dean Smith ridiculousness that had me so fired up a few months ago? If not, a quick refresher: News stories were promoting the fact that Summitt had tied and then broken Dean Smith's career victories record, but my vehement disagreement centered on the fact that she coaches GIRLS. Dean Smith coached MEN. They're two totally different entities; don't combine them (I'm sorry, I'm getting fired up about this all over again). Anyways, the concept is rearing its ugly head once again, this time involving the Japanese leagues in baseball. Two separate things happened over the last two days that brought this into question: Ichiro collected career hit number 1000 Tuesday night, which is a great accomplishment for a guy in just his fifth season. The argument was raised about considering his Japanese numbers when he's eventually eligible for the Hall of Fame (he had like 1300 hits over there). Hideo Nomo won a game last night, and the ESPN Radio update (I think it was Bob Picozzi--did you knowsie?) mentioned that "Nomo collected his 200th career victory...[pause for effect...I think to myself, 'Does Hideo Nomo really have 200 wins? Wow, that's a lot. Good for him. I remember when he was rookie of the year, but then he sucked for a while, didn't he? Oh well, 200 wins. Cool.' End of pause]...78 of them came in Japan." Come on now. If more than a third of his wins happened in another country, why is this even being mentioned? Major League Baseball is a single entity, and all of its records--however steroid-inflated they may be--are set and broken in Major League Baseball games ONLY. Not Japanese leagues, not minor leagues, not the Fox softball league (or else my buddy Bernie would be ahead of Ty Cobb with a career batting average over .500), and not anything but Major League Baseball. Dr. J's career NBA numbers don't include his ABA marks, and that's a much closer affiliation than Japan and MLB. As far as the Hall of Fame goes, the answer to that question is in the institution's title: The National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. See that first word? "National." Not international. Just one nation. I'm sure he'll be a Japanese hall of famer, but his numbers here (Ichiro mostly; I don't think Hideo's in any danger of nearing hall of fame status) will have to be sufficient (and if he can last 'til the age of 40, they just may be good enough).

Ah, youth baseball. I think the playoffs weeded out not only the lower-quality teams, but the lower-quality writers as well (I should research the correlation between writing ability and team success, but I won't), so our vault is not quite as full for the final week of editing. Oh but don't worry, we still managed to unearth a few gems to send the LCJBSA into the summmer:
- "After blowing a 7-5 lead on too many walks and some charitable defense..."
This is a much more euphemistic way of approaching the awful game than the coach we had a week or two ago that talked about the awful defense and walks. These guys are learning (maybe somebody gave them the Nickels & Dimes link)--"charitable" is about as nice as you can put it when your little guys can't catch anything...way to go
- "While our hats are off to the A's, no team has ever won 16 games in Babe Ruth before and all the players on the Red Sox are to be congratulated on one of the finest season's in Babe Ruth history."
This was the sour grapes from the Red Sox coach whose undefeated season came to an end in the championship game. "Sure they won, but we were still better than them!" Not sure that logic works. Bob Stoops, after the Orange Bowl: "Okay, yeah, so they ran and passed all over us and didn't let us do jack squat offensively. So they blew us out and showed us that we didn't even belong in the same stadium. So Auburn should have been here instead of us. I know, I know. But we had an unedfeated regular season. Doesn't anyone care?" Wouldn't fly, Coach, trust me.
- "Ragsdale says good bye to La Canada this month, as their family moves back to Texas (we'll miss you Ragsdales). James Toomarian (playing smart at first for two outs in the game) got a hit in the 3rd..."
Two great ones here, the first of which is an incredibly unnecessary personal note to the Ragsdale clan (nice people though, for sure). You already know how I feel about these things. If you're really going to miss them, the league website isn't the best place to tell them. I'm fairly certain of this. Buy them a nice little card (there's a Hallmark store right there next to TJ Maxx that should have plenty of options for you), have your wife pick up a flower arrangement from Eiji's and maybe even a knick-knack or two from the Apple Cart (came up last night as the personification of the word "gossip"), then drop them by the Ragsdale home some random afternoon. You could even rcognize the youngster and his parents at a team gathering, if you so desire. Just keep it away from my territory, that's all I ask. The second thing is the phrase "playing smart at first for two outs." How does one do this, praytell? Catch the ball that the third baseman throws in your direction? Is that smart enough? Stand on the bag when the shortstop is getting ready to throw it to you? Maneuver under a pop-up so that when it comes down, it'll hopefully end up in your glove? I wish I'd been privy to this display of smarts at first, because I'm really having a tough time grasping it. Did he stop playing smart after two outs? I've gotta know...
- "Congradulate the Cub's for a great season and finishing in the final four. The Pirate's advance to the Final's on Saturday."
Congradulate? I suppose I can forgive that one, but this guy has no concept of pluralization, a problem which is a constant annoyance in my editing experience. What does the Cub own here? Does the Final possess something too? "The Pirate's advance?" Is he writing a book and got a bunch of money up front from Random House? I'd be interested in this, I think, if there were a real pirate living in La Canada, hanging out at youth baseball games, and writing a book about his experiences. "You know, I really had a great time sailing the seas and pillaging boats, but there's only so much of that a man can take. After the last episode with that ghost ship, I knew it was time to turn my focus elsewhere: to training America's--correct use of the apostrophe here--youth in the finer arts of the sacrifice bunt. Of course, the kids do ask about my eye patch, and I have a tough time recounting the story for them. I probably shouldn't bring the jugs of rum around the dugout, but I don't think it's a huge problem just yet. I'll admit, it is hard to show the proper grip on a bat with the hook I've got instead of my left hand. I do have to find a place for my shoulder parrot too, because the umpires think it's me yelling at them most of the time. But I'm convinced these obstacles will only make me stronger, and a better baseball coach in the end. Arrrr." I'm captivated already...
- "Thanks to all who supported the Pirate's and congradulations to the Red Sox Mustang 9 champs."
After winning his semifinal contest, the same coach showed how much he had learned with this nugget from the final game. Just for fun...

Yeah, Nikki's in today, so I'd better get to work right quick. LCHS graduation tonight, watching the kids I started hanging out with as eighth graders now exiting high school. Makes me feel pretty darn old...

Quickness

"Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feelin' groovy"
--59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy), Simon & Garfunkel

Like Earl Boykins making his way down the lane (or like any point guard in the league going around Chucky Atkins), like Ichiro getting up the first base line and like Ed Reed breaking on a ball over the middle, I'm going to be quick today. Work this week has been a bit more involved in the mornings than usual, and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. If it really does keep up like this, I might have to figure out a way to blog in the evenings or at the end of the work day, but we'll see.

In spite of the hectic mornings, there is one thing that has brought a different level of enjoyment to work these days, and I have our internship coordinator to thank for that. After a year and a half of mostly worthless male interns (with a few females sprinkled in here and there), most of whom didn't care enough about the job to actually pay attention and try to learn things about working in television, the powers that be changed strategies and decided to pretty much just hire hot girls this summer. Not a bad alteration of the plan as far as I'm concerned. Three tall blondes from USC (one of whom just so happens to be a song girl, though she doesn't ever wear the white sweater to work) and another very cute blonde girl from Iowa. The Iowan has quickly become my favorite, not only because she's probably the cutest of the four, but she's also a couple years older (not nearly as full of giggles and whatnot) and actually wants to learn. She's helped me out the last two days (and will be helping again tomorrow), and has picked up a ton already, so it's been mutually beneficial. Not only do I get to hang out with a great girl through my entire workday, but she's helping me get video, take tapes to different places, log highlights--all stuff that makes the work go much smoother and faster--and she's getting more out of her internship than most because of all the hands-on experience (no jokes here). Found out yesterday that she loves Tim McGraw (if I don't end up being able to play a Tim song for her on guitar sometime before the summer's over, I've failed), the Brewers and Packers (maybe I can work my NFL connections in the fall??) and she smiles more every day. Not sure yet about crossing the intern line, but I'm becoming less and less concerned about that as the days go by. A few other things that came up over the weekend...

"Mr. & Mrs. Smith": Saw it on the lot (mostly because, as the dude would say in one of his many imitations, "it's freh") with my friend Kristin on Saturday and thoroughly enjoyed it. Very tongue-in-cheek, requiring suspension of belief, but a lot funnier than I thought it would be, and of course Vince Vaughn is great. I'm not sure about the last movie I saw Angelina Jolie in ("Gone in Sixty Seconds" or "Pushing Tin," maybe) but I still can't figure out if she's really hot or kinda looks like a dude. Obviously she has physical features that distinguish her quite well from a dude, but there's something about her face, I don't know. That confusion notwithstanding, she's as good a female action star as there is and did a great job with this role. Brad Pitt plays his typical cool guy, pretty much the same character as he played in the Ocean's Eleven and Twelve movies, except with a lot more firepower at his disposal. A good time at the movies.

Jet-skiing is probably the most fun you're allowed to have in one place at one time. I came to this conclusion after an hour-long stint on a couple Sea-Doos with your Father, Sharon and Michael on Sunday out in Marina Del Rey. After a slow trek out past the breakwater, the wide open space of the ocean is an incredible playground. I did fall off three times, but that's gotta be a good thing, right? If I hadn't fallen off, I wouldn't have been satisfied with the amount I pushed myself and tried to do some stupid things. I'm hoping this happens again sometime, no doubt.

Youth baseball concluded last week, so my work on Monday night was more limited than usual (thank the Lord). I'll be sure to bring a couple final gems to the blog very soon.

If you didn't know, Ramon Hernandez is the best catcher in the National League. I'll just leave it at that...

Tids N' Bits

"I know - some things
Well they don't feel right and I can't sit tight
Still there's some other things they can make you smile
they can make you high..."
--Little Things, Sister Hazel

Nothing huge to mention this morning, so I'm going with a couple of tiny things...

Saw "Crash" yesterday, upon the recommendation of several friends and co-workers (thank you, Kelly, for being the first to suggest it), and though I didn't know much about the premise heading in, it was a thoroughly enjoyable film with a great cast. A lot of "that guy's in this" or "she's in that" kind of actors, but some good lead people as well: Don Cheadle, Matt Dillon, Ludacris, Sandra Bullock, Brendan Fraser (a terrible actor, but a name nonetheless), Larenz Tate (remember "Menace II Society?") and about ten other recognizable names (IMDB it if you're interested). Pulp Fiction-esque plot, where a bunch of seemingly unrelated stories converge at different points in time, and a lot of good fodder for discussions about racism. It essentially presents every stereotype out there, about almost every possible group (white, black, asian, hispanic, middle eastern), and the racist jokes abound. Had a group of people (no ethnicity stated here) not been yelling at the screen the entire time (draw your own conclusions), we might have been able to enjoy the movie even a little bit more. Bottom line: see it; it'll make you think...

If it wasn't already evident from his "crap in the closet" incident, Najeh Davenport is not the most well-educated individual on the planet. Here's Najeh on whether or not he's going to hold out now that Drew Rosenhaus is his agent: "No. Why? What have I did?" asked Davenport, Green Bay's backup running back. "I'm Najeh Davenport, second-team tailback. What would I look like holding out?"
What have I did? Good question, Najeh...

Haven't written about the Padres much this week, but they ended a four-game slide with a nice 3-2 win yesterday. Adam Eaton continues to amaze and astound, racking up his eighth straight win and matching Livan for second in the NL in victories (behind only the inimitable D-Train). We still aren't doing much offensively, but three runs is better than no runs any day of the week...

I tried--honestly I did--to be a basketball fan and watch the Finals last night, hoping that I could learn to appreciate the subtle nuances of Tim Duncan's post game, Detroit's team defense and Manu Ginobili's out-of-control-ness, but I just couldn't. I mean, the score was 55-51 at the end of the THIRD QUARTER. This isn't okay. If Phoenix and/or Miami were playing, we'd actually have some basketball being played, not Knicks vs. Heat-style, circa the mid-90's, which is what we're presented with at the moment. I might give them one more chance, but I doubt it...

Funny commercial on ESPN right now, kind of along the "literally" lines: Guy gets a breakfast burrito from Sonic's (never been there) and tells his buddy, "Man, breakfast burritos are the only things that get me up in the morning." Unwilling to let such a drastic statement go unchallenged, the buddy responds, "Come on, there must be something else that gets you up sometime, right?" (an alarm clock? your wife? the aroma of some nice colombian coffee?) "No, not really." "Come on." After some consideration, the dude responds, "Well, sometimes an afternoon burrito." Yes, it's a commercial, but I still appreciate the challenge made--don't let people get away with such ridiculousness...

A Glaring Omission

"Sorry is the fool who trades his love for hi-rise rent
Seem the more you make equals the loneliness you get
And it’s fitting. he’s barely living a day he’ll soon forget"
--Soon Forget, Pearl Jam

In my haste to get through the weekend wrap-up and get to the good stuff (youth baseball, obviously) yesterday, I forgot to mention the most meaningful experience from my two-day stint in beautiful San Diego. No, it wasn't waking up at 4 a.m. on Sunday to make sure my friends got to the marathon on time (nor was it returning to the hotel room to grab four extra hours of sleep once they departed). It was a chance encounter on 6th Ave. as I stopped at my car to change tapes in my digital video camera before heading down to the game...
Sitting on the passenger side (of his best friend's ride--sorry, TLC reference) of my car with the door open as I worked on the camera, I was approached by a homeless gentleman on a bike, a little shaggy but quite friendly. I was in no hurry at this point (11 a.m., game didn't start until 1:35 p.m.), so I stayed in my seat and engaged in some conversation. My new friend (Halbert is his name, I quickly learned) has lived a rough life, no doubt. Until a few years ago, he lived in Mississippi, and moved out to the West Coast after a divorce took his kids. He worked in telemarketing (he repeated for me the pitch he used to give, word-for-word) until one crazy night in an emergency room parking lot. He had just come from getting a cut on his thumb sewn up and was sitting in his car in the parking lot (much like I happened to be as the story was recounted for me), when a man approached him and asked for directions. After giving the requested directions to this stranger, the guy grabbed the gold chain around Halbert's neck. Halbert didn't seem to me to be a guy you wanted to mess with, and this guy quickly found that out. Hal jumped out of his car and slugged the guy, knocking him to the ground with a series of body shots, yelling at him as he beat him down: "You don't touch me! You don't take my s---!" After about thirty seconds of the beatdown, he heard a sickening sound from directly behind him. A shot rang out. BANG! And then another. The second, he said, sounded muffled, and he fell to his knees. He glanced down at blood and unidentified guts now spilling into his hands, and then...nothing. He woke up two months later in the hospital (as lucky a place as any to suffer such a horrific calamity, meaning he didn't have to be moved very far), with no family around and no money to pay the rapidly accumulating hospital bills. After recovering sufficiently to leave the hospital, his employer did nothing to help, and he was basically S.O.L. Even though they kept him alive, there was another procedure that they didn't do, something that needed a whole lot more money to take care of. It wouldn't kill him to leave it be, but wow. At this point, he lifted up his shirt (I was obviously more than a little uncomfortable with this) to reveal the strangest thing I have ever seen on a human body. I almost can't describe it with words, but I'll try. Just above his waist, surrounded by an incredible number of scars, was a Nerf-football-sized growth,. Absolutely disgusting (though I hid my disgust quite well, I hope). We got into more conversation about the problem, the impossibility of affording the necessary medical coverage to have the operation (he's looked into it, and it would actually take two separate operations, probably costing six figures), and then discussing the difficulty of even making it through each day without a place to sleep. The thing that touched me the most (not literally, thank goodness) was when a few other people walked by, not even looking in our direction. "See that?" he said. "That's worse than anything. They walk by and pretend you're not even there." I was definitely convicted by this. While I was talking with him at the moment, I knew that I do what the other people did far more often than I stop to talk, or give money, or anything else. After probably half an hour of standing and talking, I gave him a twenty and my business card, telling him (genuinely) that if he ever finds a way to get close to this medical procedure, he should get in touch with me, and I want to try to help him get it done, whatever that would entail. He seemed really touched by the latter gesture (much more than by the twenty measly dollars), and started into a little discourse on how God touches people and God puts people in other people's lives for a reason. I agreed, and we talked about God's role in his life for a little while at this point. He even said that he's thinking about becoming a preacher, because he's seen the worst and he's seen how programs that minister to the homeless fail--he's been refused admittance to numerous shelters and outreach programs because of his "condition." I probably would have stayed and talked with him all day--part of me even wished I had a third ticket to the game--but he set off in search of the next meal as I bid him farewell. Now this part almost brought a tear to my eye--almost. "God bless you, Halbert," I told him as he rode off. He stopped and replied, "He just did." Dang.

Without proper time to digest all that, I'm trying to segue into the normal tone of this blog. So take the necessary break to move from heartfelt to sarcastic, from human emotion to the insignifance of sports...proceed whenever you're ready...

There are few things as exciting in sports as a Mike Tyson fight, and we've got another one coming up on Saturday night--against the immortal Kevin McBride (his nickname is "The Clones Colossus"--what??). It's unbelievable to think that he's been fighting for 20 years (Tyson, not the Colossus), and that there hasn't been a real star in the heavyweight division since his decline. Holyfield, Bowe and Lewis were all decent, but nobody can touch Iron Mike, the train wreck that he is.

Baseball, sure. Football, okay. Even boxing. But curling? Dude got suspended from CURLING for two years after testing positive for a banned substance. I really can't come up with anything clever to say about this. It's CURLING.

Reasons I could never coach girls' basketball, No. 79: SportsCenter just aired a WNBA highlight featuring Suebiscuit (Sue Bird) and the Seattle Storm against some team (I'm ashamed enough that I know one team's name), and something hilarious happened. Bird went in for a layup (may I never again write a sentence about basketball where "Bird" does not refer to Larry), and on the ensuing runback, one of her teammates got all pissed off at her because she was open on the play. Sue proceeded to put up the hand and shake her head as they walked to the bench for a timeout, giving every impression that she was saying something to the effect of, "Oh no she didn't!" See, even when they're playing basketball, chicks are still chicks. Catty and moody and prone to blowups like this, probably having something to do with a nasty look Sue gave the unnamed teammate on the way out of practice yesterday, but Sue didn't mean anything by it, she just had something in her eye and sorry if it looked that way, but who really cares, I don't like her anyway--and all of this emotional crap plays itself out on the court. How does a guy like Bill Laimbeer handle this kind of a job (he's the coach of the Detroit Shock, by the way, and I only know this because he's been on the show as such)?

Can't wait for the worst NBA Finals in history (maybe second-worst, behind the Knicks-Spurs debacle in the strike season) to start tomorrow night. Pray for Halbert.

Weekend O' Baseball

"We all got a little bit of something
We all got more than we bargained for
Got a need for something
But you and I we made it more"
--We Made It More, Ocean Colour Scene

I knew the weekend would be full of baseball, but it became even moreso (if that was even possible), and resulted in what would no doubt have been the worst three days of Suss' life--even worse than three normal days in Spokane, if you can imagine that. Thankfully, it was I that got to experience the baseball extravaganza--not him--so it was quite enjoyable. A few notes...

Friday:
I got to watch a few games at work on a semi-lazy afternoon, the first of which was the Angels-Red Sox, including a standing o at Fenway for returning hero Orlando
Cabrera. The second was the Marlins-Nationals tilt, featuring a great pitching matchup between Josh Beckett and Livan Hernandez (he shall be a Livan, and he shall be a good man). It took extra innings to decide (both guys gave up two and didn't lose), but I wasn't around for the finish, because I departed work at 6 p.m. for Dodger Stadium and an inside look at the epic Brewers-Dodgers rivalry. It's a good thing we (Dad, Sharon and myself) arrived in time for the first inning, because the game was essentially over after four batters. Jeff Weaver has great stuff, but he's so mental, and he always gets beat up early. Dad asked me about that very thing, and then Weave proceeded to load the bases and give up a grand salami to "El Caballo," Carlos Lee. Those who haven't had the privilege of watching this guy mash need to check him out, no doubt. The Weave settled down the rest of the way, but as Vinny would say, "the damage has been done." Other thoughts from the evening:
Worst pitching change: Lefty Kelly Wunsch came in for one batter and gave up a single to Lyle Overbay...the next batter hit a three-run homer, and the Dodgers were done.
Craziest play: Jason Phillips got hit in the head by a Bill Hall throw home. He was standing in the coach's box and dropped to the ground like a ton of bricks. He started to get upset, but there's no way it was intentional--a run scored on the play, so Hall was obviously just trying to throw home.
Funniest looking dude besides Weaver: Brewers closer Derrick Turnbow, who got the save throwing some ridiculous heat (96-97 on every fastball). Turnbow, by the way, was the first guy ever to get suspended for steroids, as a member of the Angels organization last year.
Worst decision by me: Eating an entire bag of peanuts in two innings. Still feeling it.

Saturday:
Normal Fox workday, one which I hoped would end relatively early, thus allowing me to escape to San Diego for the 7:05 Cubs-Padres game. I had the Giants-Mets (great outing by Tom Glavine, Giants still really suck. Really suck.), Rangers-Royals (career win number 100 for Park Chan Ho, Jose Lima looked awful--both his bleached hair and his pitching) and Indians-White Sox. The final game started late because of a rain delay, so my hope of a 4 p.m. departure was looking bleak from the beginning. I remember nothing about the game--I was looking at the clock the entire time--but it finished at 4:30, and I jetted out. Took me a quick two hours to get to the gas lamp district, but another half hour to navigate stadium traffic, park and walk to Petco. Met my friend Bill at the gate and headed in for the bottom of the first, Darrell May vs. Greg Maddux. I won't have much to write about the two unfortunate Padre games, so let's just say that Maddux is a great pitcher. 11-5, Chicago. Oh yeah, and Derrek Lee is AMAZING. Dude looks like he should never get out. I doubt he'll win the triple crown, because that's really hard, but he'll be close all year.

Sunday:
More bad news for the Pads, this time coming in the form of a 4-0 shutout by Carlos Zambrano and the Cubs' bullpen. He's good, even if he does throw like 150 pitches in every start and won't have a right arm after the age of 26. The Padres, on the other hand, decided not to be good, at least as long as I was there. Oh well, it's still pretty amazing sitting in Petco Park, sold-out crowd in attendance (lots of Cubs fans) and a ballgame unfolding before you. And oh by the way, there are more beautiful girls per capita in San Diego than anywhere else on earth. I firmly believe this. So yes, I had a great time, no matter the sporting outcomes. The drive home, on the other hand, was far less than a great time. With the mass exodus following the San Diego Rock 'N Roll Marathon (including two of my friends, Mike and Bill), traffic was ridiculous. Stopped in San Clemente to say hello to Mike B (and to grab dinner--a burrito from Rubio's) before heading home. I think this particular Rubio's has decided to violate state employment laws, because there's no way the guy helping me was any older than nine. Seriously. He could barely see over the register. And they serve Coronas there! What if I had ordered a beer (yes, I know this is a big if, but bear with me)? Would they allow the seven-year-old clerk to serve it to me? What if he got booked for a lunchtime shift sometime? Would the playground matron allow him to leave recess a little early to get into work on time? Would his first-grade class take a field trip to see him at work? Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating. Slightly.

Monday:
And of course, what baseball weekend would be complete without the youth summary debacles? My internet wasn't working when I got home from work last night, so I thought I might have an excuse to put it off this week, but it kicked into action just before I was ready to go to bed, meaning I was up way too late doing that thing...Here you go:

- "The Angels' loss to the first place Sox resembled many of the team's losses this year: too many walks and several miscues in the field led to too many gift runs for the opposition."
I was getting used to the overly optimistic view of games, where these coaches are endlessly praising their kids, but this guy was having none of it. Be a little more blunt, Coach, especially in the newspaper. I hear that little kids really enjoy reading about their failures in print. At least he didn't name names; that would have been awful (and I definitely would have deleted it): "We really suck. We lost, like we always do. Too many walks by Timmy 'Just a Bit Outside' Johnson and several miscues in the field by Joey 'Brickhands' Smith and Johnny 'Why Are You Even Wearing a Glove if You Don't Know How to Use It' Davis led to too many gift runs for the opposition." That would be classic.

- "The Marinrs beat a tough Angel team 9 to 4. Leading the offense was Aidan Apel, Andrew Park, Richie Maloof and Daniel Swick each scored 2 runs. Chad Nahigian chiped in with another run. Richie Maloof had 3 RBI'S and Justin Higa added 2 more. Brian Park pitched another strong game."
Do I start with the spellcheck or with the grammar nightmare in the second sentence? First of all, you should probably know how to spell your own team's name. If you're not sure, just look at your shirt, although you'd have to take it off to do so--looking in the mirror might confuse you.

- "the dirt devils bowed out in an internantional tiebreaker 6-5 to the blue crush. for the dirt devils the defense featured a throw from outfielder katie robbins to cutoff kelly trueblood who relayed to catherine horner for the tag out. also caley trujillo fielded a grouder at third and threw home for a force out. on offense trueblood added two bunt singles, claie mudoe drove in two runs with a double, becca whalen addede and rbi and sarah rubin kept a late rally alive with a clutch single. good luck to the crush in the fianls."
We're not talking on AIM here, Coach, it's okay to use upper case letters, like at the beginning of sentences or even for proper nouns (that would include team names and individual people's names, if you weren't clear on the concept). I'm also wondering what on earth an "internantional" tiebreaker is. Besides the misspelling, I've really never heard of this. Do you guys go to Mexico to settle things? I'd really like to know. Coach English Teacher also came up with "grouder," "addede" and "fianls," in addition to spelling one of his/her girls' names "claie," which I believe is short for "Claire."

- "FIRST PLAYOFF GAME. Red Sox 10, Dodgers 9. A root canal might have been less stressful...Brooks Ragsdale and Ryan Bohannon both got their bats on the ball but couldn't buy an error from a well-playing Dodgers team."
I love the creativity on this one, seriously one of the funniest things I've read this entire season. However, I'm not sure I appreciate the Coach's offensive strategy. So your boys "couldn't buy an error" from the Dodgers, huh? How about actually trying to get a hit? Hasn't that proven to be a more effective method of scoring runs? What does he tell them in the on deck circle? "Let's hit it right at them, guys, and hope they make an error." "But Coach, they've got the whole right side of the field stacked--there aren't even any fielders on the left side. Shouldn't I hit it where there's nobody?" "Good thought, son, but no. We're going to make those guys commit some errors, okay? Now get out there and hit it right at 'em."

- Angels 12, Cubs 11: loss (Coach Fuelling)
I couldn't have said it better myself. Seriously, this was in the playoffs, so your season is probably over, and the most you can come up with to give these kids some credit--despite their loss--is "loss?" There are different levels of disappointment I experience in the course of these stories, most of which has to do with the coaches and their surprising lack of language education, but this is a different type of disappointment. Say something nice about somebody, because this is the last time this year that these kids will have a chance to read about themselves. Instead, they get "loss." You're better than that.

As I was going through these, thoroughly criticizing all these adults who give hours of their time to volunteer with kids and coach these games, I felt a twinge of hesitation about continuing to call them out like this. I pictured the scene in "High Fidelity" where Jack Black's character gives this random dude a hard time in the record store because he wants to buy "I Just Called To Say I Love You" for his daughter. "Do you even know your daughter, because there's no way she likes that crap! Oh, I'm sorry. Is she in a coma?" His condescending tone is hilarious, based on the premise that he truly knows music, and get a load of this guy, trying to come into a record store and be hip--it's not working. The guy obviously gets pissed: "I didn't know it was 'Pick on the Middle-Aged Square Guy Day.' My apologies." Black's character, Barry, defends himself to Rob (the store's proprietor, played by Cusack), because the guy didn't know anything about music, so they wouldn't want a customer like that. I picture myself as a writing snob (like Barry was a music snob), willing and able to come crashing down on anyone who doesn't measure up (a group that obviously includes the vast majority of youth baseball coaches). However, I will readily acknowledge that if I tried to jump into the banking or marketing or financial worlds that these guys run in their normal lives, I would be similarly lost. I acknowledge my supercilious tone in these commentaries, but I still firmly believe that bad writing should not go unpunished.

Long day ahead. Peace.

Full Disclosure

"Dare to be stupid, come on, join the crowd
Dare to be stupid, shout it out loud
Dare to be stupid, I can't hear you
Dare to be stupid, OK, I can hear you now"
--Dare to Be Stupid, Weird Al Yankovic

If I had to single out one pet peeve that clearly demonstrates itself in my life almost every day, it would have to be ineptitude. I can't stand it when people can't do their job, can't use grammar correctly, can't write about youth baseball with more than a six-year-old level of sentence fragment-type expression--you get the idea. So in the interest of full disclosure, I need to relay a story of extreme stupidity on my part, an event which actually may serve to give me a little more patience with others and their mistakes in the future. Probably not, but we'll see...
The tale begins about two months ago on a little street off Pico Boulevard in Century City, adjacent to the 24-Hour Fitness establishment of my choosing. After a typical morning workout and a stop at the Trimana Coffee House (for a turkey-egg white-avocado breakfast b), I returned to my car, only to find a little white piece of paper wedged underneath the driver's-side windshield wiper. Alas, I said to myself, is this a parking violation? But I park here every day at this hour, so how can this be? As I read through the information, I finally came to the reason for the $25 fee: no visible front plates. Quite confused, I circled around to the front of the car, and sure enough--no front plates. Evidently somebody had decided to steal my license plate while I was parked at the gym. Now, I understand that Saturns are pretty high-class vehicles, and that my license plates in particular would be quite valuable in the right hands, but why take just the front one? Why not also jack the back one, you know, the one with the updated registration and the Trans Ocean Volkswagen frame? I've tried to figure out what somebody would have done with a single license plate reading "3JUP816." It's not like I had "ASSMAN" or "3DEL794" (I would probably steal a license plate that said 3DEL-anything) or something desirable, so who knows. At any rate, I was pretty annoyed by this turn of events, and wondered what my next step would be.
Because my job essentially requires me to put real life on hold until the weekend most of the time, I held off any investigation until the following Saturday, at which time I logged onto the DMV web site and tried to find a way to order a new plate. I printed out the form, which said that in order to get new plates, I had to surrender my remaining one to DMV. I didn't like the language of this: I had something stolen from me, and now I have to surrender? Sufficiently miffed, I phoned the DMV helpline and spoke to a representative, who urged me to come into the office, rather than sending away to Sacramento for the replacements. She didn't seem to understand my repeated assertions that my job doesn't let me just leave for a couple hours, so I was going to have to send away. After one final plea from her for an on-location visit (I think she was just digging the sexy voice on this end...yeah), she relented and told me how much I needed to pay for the new plate (she told me it was just one; that I could keep the existing one), then wished me well in my efforts.
So four to six weeks later, a license-plate-sized package arrives from the DMV. It's like getting a basketball for Christmas, though, getting a package, but you already know exactly what's inside--no room for imagination. Again, I left it for the weekend, so I opened it up and much to my surprise, it's a license plate--no wait, here's the surprising part: it doesn't say "3JUP816," which my car and the form I submitted both clearly display. No no, it says "5MZF131," of course. So I've now waited for more than a month, dodging another ticket possibility every morning, and here's the solution to my problem? Geez, these DMV people really know what they're doing. Side note: I put DMV and Post Office people in the same boat: government employees that really aren't qualified to do much else, right? They must have some of the worst job satisfaction rates around (seriously, any job that lends itself to shooting up your old workplace and co-workers at some point in your life has some frustration issues), and they never seem happy to serve you.
Yeah, so now I'm sitting here with two different license plates, annoyed that the lady told me I only had to order one, annoyed that I have no time to visit the DMV (until a dark week) and annoyed that I'm probably going to get another ticket in the meantime. As this dark week approached, I was able to start looking for appointments, because I definitely didn't want to go into any DMV and wait around without an appointment. It's the equivalent of going to the Soup Nazi and not being sure what you want to order. You need to be prepared, or it's gonna get messy. Real messy. (Wow, two Seinfeld references already today. Not sure why.) I check all the local offices, but no appointments are available until the following week, when real life must again be put on hold, so the only one I could find was at the Culver City branch, fortuitous in its proximity to Fox, but annoying because I had planned to be in LC all day for my birthday. Instead, having made said appointment, I decided to put in a few hours and then head to my 10:30 a.m. date with destiny.
Dateline, Culver City: the day of truth has arrived. I've basically been waiting two months for this, though only the last three weeks or so were actually with the license plates in hand, and I'm going to finally settle the problem, clear myself of any future plate-related crimes, and hopefully not have to visit the DMZ--er, DMV--again for several years. I arrived promptly for my 10:30 appointment, complete with a snack (some almonds) and some reading material (the current issue of Men's Health--did you know that you can unleash your abs in just two weeks? Tell me more!), so I wouldn't be too bored or too hungry when the inevitable sit-and-wait period came. I walked up to the info window with my appointment printout and the envelope containing my replacement plate in hand, and proceeded to tell the woman my quandary. I said that I had my front plate stolen, so I ordered a new one, but I got a totally different one in the mail, so now I had two different plates--what was I to do? She tells me, "No, we send you replacements, so you take off the one you had, and put these on." Ma'am, I know what "replacements" are. When something is called a "replacement," it's very clear to me that it's designed to "replace" the old whatever it is. Replacement parts, replacement players, I get it. So I restated my concern. "No, I only got one plate. So now I have two different ones." She looked rather annoyed, and the woman next to her stopped to look at what we were doing, as did the entire line of people behind and to the side of me. The audience of a dozen or so had a great view of what happened next. She motioned toward the envelope and said, "No. We send them out in sets. There's two plates in there." What? A quick check of the envelope revealed the cold, hard truth. I mean, license plates are kinda thin, right? It might be okay, hypothetically, if someone received an envelope of two new license plates, pulled them out, and thought they looked like one, right? They kind of stick together and, um, well...
I definitely had both new plates all along, and had gone to all this trouble to fix a problem that didn't exist. The two women obviously laughed at me, and though she didn't really need to provide a finishing blow, she had to ask, "So will you still be needing your appointment?" Ouch. That cuts deep. I'm already well aware that I'm an idiot, thanks. Your final reminder, basically just for the viewing enjoyment of her friend and the strange Culver City DMV clientele, wasn't appreciated. Though I suppose I was well-deserving, considering my penchant for extreme sarcasm and criticism when someone else displays simiilar idiocy.
I am now the proud owner of TWO new license plates, and I've made the change, so I won't be ticketed for this again. The $25 ticket was a small price to pay, however, in comparison to the ego check that took place on Tuesday. Yeah, happy birthday, Scott.

Unfortunately for my readership, but fortunately for my sanity, it looks like the youth baseball season is nearing its conclusion. Those coaches really helped this whole institution make a quantum leap this season, moving the summaries from mildly amusing to largely unreadable. I can't wait for football season, to see whether or not the Gladiator coaches graduated from the same school of sports journalism: "We ran a lot of plays." "Tyler had a six-yard run (Way to go there, future hall of famer!)" "The Junior Midgets played a good game." Summer just won't be the same...

This weekend is going to contain as much baseball as is humanly possible, from an entire Saturday of Fox games to an evening at Petco Park for the Cubs and Padres, and then a return trip to the ballpark Sunday afternoon for what should be a showdown between two of the best young pitchers in baseball: Jake Peavy and Carlos Zambrano. Can't wait. Full report to come...