News Bulletin: Fashion Police

I just saw a man wearing yellow pants.

Listen, guys, I know we're at a disadvantage in the fashion world. A woman's body is inherently FAR more attractive than our hairy frames could EVER be. (Although, I dated a Portuguese girl in the 8th grade and, when I rounded second, well, um.....YIKES.)

I KNOW that they have infinitely more options than we do when it comes to what to wear and how to wear it. Not only do they have more options they also have all that "Female Fashion Propaganda." I don't think it's an official organization or anything but, I know it exists, and it lays down the rules of fashion for women everywhere.

How do I know? Because everywhere I look -- magazines, the internet, E!, cable television, newspapers, etc. -- I see "EXPERT" advice for every woman on what to wear, how to wear it, when to wear it, what colors they should consider wearing for that particular season and, of course, WHERE TO BUY IT.

Just ask Stacy and Clinton.

It's really what propaganda is all about. You construct a specific message to create a desired response. In this case, the "message" is the trendy fashion and the "desired response" is to transform a "want" into a "purchase."

Consumerism at its finest!

[MENTAL APPETIZER: START]

Are men saturated with "sports propaganda" like women are buried with "fashion propaganda?"

Hmm.

I know things are changing a little bit with the birth of the metro-sexual but the simple fact remains: MOST MEN CARE ABOUT SPORT THE WAY MOST WOMEN CARE ABOUT FASHION.

I wonder if that's a product of genetic disposition or the byproduct of social influence?

[MENTAL APPETIZER: END]

Now, because men don't have the same focus on fashion that women do it allows us, as a gender, to wear questionable outfits without repercussion.

That needs to end.

Guys, I'm going to give a couple "NON-NEGOTIABLE" standards when it comes to fashion. If we expect so much of women and how they dress maybe we should hold ourselves to higher standards.

Hear me out.

I'm not coming down from the mountain top with The Ten Fashion Commandments. And I'm not trying to cripple the expression of the individual. I'm simply hoping to provide some guidelines that all men of any age group, class or culture can apply to their daily clothing habits.

I'll apologize in advance for the callous tone, fellas. Consider it a needed dose of tough love.

Here goes:

-- Unless you're some kind of villain with a handlebar mustache, you're not allowed to WEAR YELLOW PANTS. This one is important. I don't care if it's Memorial Day. I don't care if you're yachting. YOU CAN'T WEAR YELLOW PANTS. EVER.

-- Nothing makes a guy look more like an exchange student than wearing a SHORT SLEEVED DRESS SHIRT WITH A TIE. It didn't look good on Sypowitz. It's doesn't look good on you.

-- Hey, Granola Boy, DON'T WEAR SOCKS WITH SANDALS. I appreciate that you like to wear hemp, smoke pot and "float on." But spare me the socks with sandals look.

-- PLEASE DON'T WEAR JERSIES WITH OTHER MEN'S NAME ON THE BACK OF THEM. What's your last name? My guess is it's not Garnett, Brady or Jeter. How do I know? They're multi-million dollar athletes. You're a skinny white kid with a shirt on that's 5 times to big working at fucking Stop & Shop. It may look good on 50, but it looks stupid on you.

-- Under no circumstances can you wear SHANTS. Although, I appreciate the guessing game, "Are they shorts? Are they pants? Are they shorts? Are they pants?" I DON'T KNOW. Neither do you, so throw them away.

-- Why must you POP YOUR COLLAR? Unless you're an Elvis Impersonator, this is strictly a no-no. Thank you....thank you very much.

-- If Uncle Jessie can't pull off the t-shirt and suspenders look, neither can you. I mean, seriously. Do I even have to say it? C'mon. FUCKING SUSPENDERS WITH A T-SHIRT???

-- Guys, it's embarrassing. How could you ever imagine that black dress socks with shorts and white sneakers is a good casual look? You know why they're called "dress" socks, right? YES YOU DO. Don't play stupid with me. Go to your room and change.

-- Can someone please tell me how to stop the Seersucker Suit Revolution. If you're really that interested in wearing strips go do some time in a Turkish Prison.

-- Last I checked, you don't live in a little lamp. AND you don't have the ability to grant me 3 wishes. If you did, I could excuse the turban. But, under the circumstances...NO! NO. FUCKING. TURBANS. Derka, Derka, Derka.

Did I forget anything? Of COURSE I did. This list isn't comprehensive. It's simply a work in progress. And, as a work in progress, your thoughts and comments can help make it more complete, dear readers. Please include them below.

I know I don't have to sell my female readers on why they should offer suggestions. The benefits are obvious. As for my male demographic: Now is not the time to be selfish, gentlemen. If you have any suggestions please provide them at this time.

Either way, the above list is a starting point that men should attempt to follow regardless of the amount of class participation I receive.

Please try and follow it. Please? Please, Mr. Hairy Chest Wearing a V-Neck T-Shirt with Gold Chains...PLEASE!

Two's Company...

...and, in some cases, three's a crowd

On February 23rd I mentioned that I had been away for a bit dealing with a handful of little tragedies.

Which I was.

Don't believe me? Go check for yourself in my February archive! I could just post the link but I'd rather offer a musical interlude while you do the legwork.

INTERLUDE: "Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery; none but ourselves can free our minds. Have no fear for atomic energy,'cause none of them can stop the time. How long shall they kill our prophets, while we stand aside and look? Ooh! Some say it's just a part of it: we've got to fulfill da book."

Love that song. Ooh!

Ok, moving on...

If you did your homework, which I know you did, I'm sure you noticed I also mentioned it was too soon for me to discuss said tragedies at that time. Well, that time has passed, so allow me to "make good" on my promise to delve into those tragedies. I'm a man of my word.

Let's delve.

Back in February my girlfriend was pregnant. We were less than a week from finding out the sex when we got the news: blood test results were "concerning."

[SIDE NOTE: START]

I've never really subscribed to "self-fulfilling prophecies" but I had a serious pit in my stomach when I got the call about those test results. I couldn't help thinking it was my fault.

Why you ask? Valid question, dear readers. Valid indeed. The answer is simple and somewhat embarrassing: I initially didn't want to keep the baby.

That's right, I said it.

When my girlfriend called with the news that she was pregnant I initially wanted her to "take care of it." You know, go get a shmashmortion at the shashmortion clinic.

I felt the unplanned pregnancy was a practical impossibility. The girlfriend and I were separated by over 2000 miles. I had just moved back to RI from CO to find a new job and gear up to go back to school for my MBA. She was preparing for her last semester of college in CO, living alone, working and taking care of the pooch, Umi. Our plates were full and adding a baby to the mix didn't make much sense to me.

Guilty conscience personified.

After a few days of thinking about it my girlfriend decided she wanted to keep the baby. I struggled with that news, dear readers. Really struggled. I was scared. Scared shitless, actually.

I was scared I wouldn't be a good father.

But my fear was about me. And, as an expecting father, I had to understand something: my life wasn't about me anymore. It was about my future child.

The next time I'm blessed with the potential of new life into my world I will cherish it from the beginning.

Lesson learned.

[SIDE NOTE: END]

I did a shit ton of research after the call.

The medical term is Trisomy 18.

The irregularity, which occurs at conception, is when a baby has three #18 chromosomes instead of the normal two. The developmental issues caused by Trisomy 18, also called Edwards Syndrome, are associated with medical complications that are typically life-threatening in the early months and years of life.

I don't want this blog to turn into a medical text book. So let's just take a quick look at the numbers to get a feel for how serious this genetic disorder is. Because as we all know, dear readers, numbers never lie:

-- Over 95% of babies with Trisomy 18 die in utero
-- Trisomy 18 occurs in 1 out of every 3000 conceptions
-- Trisomy 18 occurs in 1 out of every 6000 live births
-- 50% of babies carried to term will be stillborn
-- 50% of live births with die within the first 2 months of life
-- Only 5% of children with Trisomy 18 reach their 1st Birthday

Basically, the baby's vital organs don't develop properly so their chance for survival is extremely low. And, of those that do survive, most will die within the first year of their life.

Fun stuff, huh?

To boot, nearly all the research concluded with a similar sentiment: "It is important to know that parents have done nothing before or during pregnancy to cause this disorder in their child."

Lies. Absolute lies.

The disorder, by definition, is caused by one of the parents having an extra chromosome in their sperm or egg. Thanks for the pep talk and all, research, but your kind words don't assuage the guilt that accompanies genetic incompatibility...

I'm losing my train of thought, dear readers. Hmm...

I answer all of your questions and I think I'm going to pose one of my own. Class participation points galore!

Is it silly that I still "talk" to the baby? Not nonsensical "Get in my belly" kind of stuff. More like...

[BABY TALK: START]

The doctors said your heart was strong and that's the reason the diagnosis came so late. I'd like to take credit for that but I can't. Your stubbornness in hiding your condition and hoping no one noticed definitely came from me. But your strong heart? It must have come from your mother. Daddy has never been strong in the "heart" department.

Bench press? Sure. Heart? Not so much.

Today was your projected arrival date. 7/2/09. Funny how a date that had no previous significance in my life is now the most important.

I'm guessing you knew that already, though. Actually, what am I saying? Of COURSE you knew that! Any child of mine is going to be know-it-all like me, right?

Duh.

Despite your omnipotence, though, remember one thing: you weren't a failure, baby. You were simply a missed opportunity. And what's the greatest thing about opportunity?

Exactly.

Listen, I have no idea how this whole thing works. I don't know if your soul is floating around waiting for a different vessel or if it was a one shot deal. I just don't know. Shit, for all I know, you were specifically meant to be my child and you're simply waiting "on deck" until the next time my boys go for a swim and one of them reaches their goal.

Anything is possible.

Regardless of your whereabouts, baby, I hope you're at peace and I hope I get the chance to meet you again. If I do get that chance please do me a favor: Stick around long enough for me to steal a hug from you, ok? And maybe, just maybe, a little kiss.

Come to think of it, I'll get both from you whether you like it or not using my mad ninja skills.

My kung fu grip comes in handy.

[BABY TALK: END]

Actually, class, you know what? You can all put your hands down. Don't worry, don't worry: I'll still award class participation points for the effort.

But I think I just answered my own question.

The Morning After: Programming Notes

I'm a very reflective person, dear readers. I always want to get better -- personally, professionally, athletically -- whatever. My goal is to be a better person today than I was yesterday. Getting old and "stuck in my ways" is something I'm acutely afraid of.

So, after reading my previous blog, I realized something: I need to do better.

I don't feel my previous effort was bad per se. I just think the strong content was overshadowed by it's length. Even I got tired of reading it which, believe me, NEVER happens.

The flaw was obvious: I wrote more than your eyes could chew.

I wrote so much, in fact, that my previous post was officially the longest of my short blogging career. And, even though my "career" is in it's infancy, I'm seasoned enough to realize that I need to make a few structural changes.

To prove my suspicion I checked the stats, or "views", on my previous post. The number was pitiful: 58. I had been averaging close to 500 views per new post but my last effort fell well short.

That said, dear readers, I wanted to share some programming notes with you today.

I'm going to promote my "Quick Thinking" segment from the bottom of "The Morning After" to the top of, well, itself.

Look who's all grows up.

To be honest, Quick Thinking is the section of my blog that I get the most feedback on anyway. I might as well give the people what they want and throw a spotlight on QT.

Watch out for the imminent influx of Paparazzi, though.

Say cheese!

---------------------
The Big Question
---------------------

This week's Big Q is pretty straightforward.

Q: What could I do to make this blog more readable?

Be honest, dear readers. Think of this as church, without the "bad touches" of course, and the Big Q is me passing around the collection baskets. But I'm not asking for money, your souls or your young children.

I'm simply asking for your opinion.

Constructive criticism is a valuable asset that will make me better and help me achieve my dream. No, not THAT dream. After all, she lives in Hollywood and I'm stuck here in Rhode Island.

The dream I'm referring to is getting Sports and Thoughts' special kind of dementia to the masses. I hope you take a few minutes to help.

Thanks in advance.

------------------
Quick Thinking
------------------

-- Sage Rosenfels sounds more like a character from a J.R.R. Tolkien book than someone who is going to compete for a starting quarterback job in the NFL this year.

-- Oh, look, its raining again today. Weird.

-- R.I.P. Blake Griffin's career after the Clippers officially draft him #1 tomorrow.

-- The "Field" didn't beat Tiger at the US Open last week. The elements did.

-- Memo to Julio Lugo: That sound you heard after Nick Green's spectacular double play last night was the final nail being hammered into your coffin.

-- There's another political infidelity scandal brewing in South Carolina. Way to be original, Governor Sanford. You big dummy.

-- If Kraft Sports Productions is to the New England Patriots as NESN is to the Boston Red Sox: Does that mean Kristina Akra is Kraft's answer to NESN's Heidi Watney?



-- Advantage: Watney.

-- Inspired by all the talk surrounding the upcoming draft, the Flashback of the Week comes from the NBA: The Cavs dominant regular season and their 39-2 record at home highlights just how special the record holding 85-86 Celtics were when they finished 40-1.

-- Question of the Week: What team gave the Celtics their one loss at home during the 85-86 season? (answer below)

-- Mos Def's new album The Ecstatic is strenghtened by the beats but weakened by all the short tracks.

-- Memo to Red Sox Nation: Congrats! Over 500 consecutive sell outs and still counting...

-- Further proof that what I've always told people during my domestic travels is true: Being a Red Sox fan is less like following your favorite team and more like being part of a religious sect.

-- Those Arab wingnuts have nothing on us.

-- WE GETTIN' ARAB MONEY, OOOHH OHHH!!

-- Your errorless streak was epic, Jacoby. Well done.

-- Memo to the Celtics: Live in the present! You mortgaged our future for a championship and its already catching up to us. With one pick in this year's draft, an aging "Big Three v2.0" and a young, uncoachable point guard who you're trying to trade the wheels are officially coming off.

-- Hang on tight, Danny.

-- Ring Dings wrapped individually in tin foil will always be superior to today's version packaged as a pair in that plastic crap.

-- "Word-A-Day" toilet paper comes in handy.

-- Surprisingly, the word "buffoon" is spelled correctly with a "u."

-- Quote of the Week comes from my boy Big Nick when he was asked, by an unnamed assailant, what he would do if he ever woke up to find a woman masturbating in a chair next to him: "I'd just tell your mom to go home."

-- A well-placed "momma joke" is timeless.

-- While I'm thinking about packaged desserts, I miss Whoopie Pies.

-- Professional athletes labeled as "disgruntled" by the media is just a TV friendly way of saying they're "assholes with too much money and free time."

-- Quote of the Week II comes from Mr. Follick while he discussed what kind of woman he finds attractive: "I've always liked skinny girls. Even when I was in the 4th Grade I liked skinny girls but, then again, everyone is skinny in the 4th grade."

-- I'm still not sure what's more impressive: that Mr. Follick is so self-aware about the kind of woman he likes or the fact that he started dating in the 4th grade.

-- After watching Ninja Cheerleaders on Showtime I'm surprised the movie went directly to cable.

-- Speaking of bad movies, if you want to see Jessica Biel bring naked back, check out Powder Blue on DVD.

-- There's no truth to the rumor Governor Sanford's affair foreplay involved grabbing his penis and yelling, "Oh! This is the big one, Elizabeth, honey. Its coming to join ya!"

-- WHOOPIE PIES!!

-- Quote of the Week III comes an individual I overheard talking behind me at bar recently: "Well, if a girl is going to ask you to choke her during sex the next logical step is to obviously just spit in her face."

-- And who says romance is dead.

-- Answer of the Week: The Portland Trailblazers.

-- If the weather keeps us indoors can someone please just hit the Fast Forward button and stop at 9/14/09?

-- What would make a former player walk into a weight room and shoot his coach 8 times?

-- Shit, my former coach once grabbed me by the throat and called me a disgrace at midcourt during a semi-final basketball game and I have nothing but respect for him.

-- In his defense, though, I had just knocked an opposing player out after he threw an elbow at my head going for a loose ball.

-- All joking aside: I'd like to extend my most sincere condolences to Ed Thomas' family during this time following his tragic death.

The Morning After: Vicious Cycles

Now that the dust has settled from a VERY busy month in sports I'm finally allowed the opportunity to discuss a few topics that received far more attention from the media than deserved in the past weeks.

I can hear you already, dear readers: "What topics?! What topics are you going to shed light on today, Daddy?! DO TELL!"

Whoa...time out. TIME OUT!

You all know I love class participation (after all, it does account for 25% of your grade.) However, I think we already discussed my specific feelings toward you calling me "Daddy." [See, Dropping Knowledge and Balls, 3/24/09]

But, despite my objection, you have just let the proverbial cat-out-of-the-bag and, as a result, we have to incorporate a safety word into our relationship. I told you I wasn't ready to take this relationship to that level but you've forced my hand and leave me no choice.

You should have heeded my previous warnings, dear readers. Punishment will come simple & swift: I'm not going to share the safety word with you (not yet, anyway.) I'll work it in towards the bottom of the blog. Until then, however, you'll have to deal with the consequences of your actions.

Bring out the Gimp.

Now, as I was saying...wait. WAIT! Can someone please grab that gag ball over there? I can't continue amidst all this screaming.

That's better. Moving on...

Ok, where was I? Oh, that's right: I want to cover a few topics today that have received far too much press lately: Brett Favre & Manny Ramirez.

Neither athlete is a stranger to headlines but both became "hot-button" topics again in the past weeks. And, as we all know, when stories get to that level the media coverage has a habit of making too much noise and too little sense -- all sound and fury with no substance.

But, lucky for me, where there's stupidity there's opportunity.

What opportunity you ask? Impressive question. Even more impressive is that fact that you had the constitution to ask it with a gag ball in your mouth while playing punch-and-tickle with with the Gimp.

Kudos to you!

As a reward, you've earned the knowledge of our safety word: Bananas. Please make note of it.

Onto answering the question.

In their haste to exhaust every angle the media managed to overlook the simple truth about each story. I'll examine what was overlooked below.

ESPN, a.k.a The Worldwide Leader, was so concerned with their "what's happening now" updates that they forget to think about if what their sportscasters were reading from the prompters was even newsworthy.

Basic diversion tactic.

[SIDE NOTE: START]

I can't blame ESPN, though.

Sport has become more about business than "the game." And, like any other media outlet that is supported by advertising revenue, ESPN is pushing sports as a business to gain one thing: ratings. Said ratings give ESPN the ammunition to calculate what advertisers will pay to run commercials on their network. How do you think they pay for all those talking heads and flashy graphics?

This isn't a new concept, y'all. News outlets have been using fear to up rating and circulation numbers since their inception. ESPN is just a sports version of that. Instead of using fear they use speculation.

Shit, even Monks who take a vow of silence use propaganda to illicit desired responses from individuals and control the masses (Double entendre anyone?) Some of them make great beer, too.

But I digress with the help of Delirium Tremens. Yummy.

It's a simple equation, really: Speculation + Highlights = Ratings.

You actually think that just because ESPN covers sports there isn't an agenda within every broadcast? Really?

You probably also think the NFL cares more about the Super Bowl game itself as opposed to the billions of dollars in revenue they make from advertisers buying air time. Good grief.

Listen, if you don't understand what I'm saying than you should probably stop reading my blog. The concept seems so simple & obvious to me that I'm not going to continue with examples.

Oh, and let me help with another topic you might be struggling with: Santa Claus isn't real.

[SIDE NOTE: END]


FAVRE

The continuation of the Brett Favre saga is about one thing: a man on a journey attempting to repair his damaged ego. Period. Favrie (not a typo) has become the slighted boyfriend who was broken up with. A younger, sexier quarterback lured the eye of the Green Bay Packers and they sent Brett packing.

"Don't let the door hit ya!"

A man's ego can't handle that kind of rejection! ESPECIALLY if that man is a professional athlete. As an athlete, Brett has been doted on and coddled his entire career. He's gotten everything he wants in life with relative ease (just like most elite athletes.) There's simply no reference point for how to handle rejection.

And, to boot, he got the worst break up line of all time: 'It's not you, it's me."

Brutal.

The Jets were a rebound girl. A place where he didn't really want to be but where he could repair his bruised ego and start feeling better about himself. Starting the season at 8-3 helped Brett do just that. Mission accomplished he hit cruise control to save himself for the REAL plan: to date the hated next door neighbor and rub it in his ex-girlfriends face.

He might as well have worn a Vikings uniform during the last 5 games of the Jets season.

Don't fool yourselves, dear readers. This continued saga isn't about the love of the game or wanting one last shot at "winning the big one" or about the health of his arm as ESPN would have you believe.

It's about one thing and one thing only: saying "Fuck You!" to the girl -- um, I mean TEAM -- that told him the relationship was over when he wasn't ready for it to be.

Typical relationship psychology: you always want what you can't have.

Just like in relationships, though, you end up looking like a fool when you do things for the wrong reasons. Stubbornness isn't attractive. When it's all said and done Brett's gonna come to the same conclusion we've all come to at one point or another -- revenge is never really worth it -- unless you're ratings increase watching it happen.

Right ESPN?

Let go, Brett. The white knuckles are tarnishing your golden legacy.


MANNY

This one's as simple as it gets: Manny Ramirez took Performance Enhancing Drugs (PEDs.)

Duh.

If you take your "sports fan" hat off and put your "rational person" hat on for a second you'll come to the safe assumption that most power hitters since the epic home run race between "Mike McGwire & Sammy Sooser" in '98 have used, or are currently using, PEDs.

There's simply too much proof floating around out there. It's obvious that PEDs make good players great and great players immortal. Don't give me that "steroids don't help you hit a 95mph fast ball" nonsense. Players wouldn't use PEDs unless they worked.

Go ask Brady Anderson what he thinks and get back to me.

Performance Enhancing Drugs are as much a part of the game as the seventh inning stretch. Why do you think the Steroid Era moniker exists? Because of 2 or 3 guys? Get your head of the sand. PED and steroid use has been linked to baseball since the mid-80's and Manny's test showed us that they're still being used today.

I've spent a lot of time wondering why baseball players would risk so much by still taking PEDs. The testing, the penalties and the media scrutiny are effective deterrents, right? Manny's suspension shows us that's obviously not the case. I believe the game of baseball has evolved to the point where players risk more by NOT doing them.

Just ask Big Papi.

Think about it. Baseball is a game to us fans but its a J-O-B to the players. If there was a substance that you could take that would improve your jobby-job skills thus giving you the opportunity to make millions of more dollars in your respective field, would you take it?

That's a rhetoricial question.

Don't bullshit me and tell me you wouldn't. More importantly, don't bullshit yourself. Of COURSE you would take that substance. Why wouldn't you?

Favor time! I need everyone to sit down and put away their morality sticks for a bit. I'm going to say something that you might not agree with. Ready: I don't blame the athletes. I don't.

Please sit down and put your stick away like I asked before I grab the gag ball and bring out the Gimp again.

Thanks in advance.

Ok, so if I don't blame the people actually taking the drugs than who do I blame? Great questions today, class! (I see an A++ for some one's class participation grade in the near future!)

I blame the media.

The same media that is busy crucifying Manny today was just as busy praising Sammy and Mark for saving baseball in '98 (And DON'T tell me the media didn't know the players were taking steroids.) The same 'long ball' that helped create ESPN's highlight sports world is now being condemned.

How can the media be on such opposite ends of the same topic only 10 years later?

I KNOW you know the answer this time, dear readers. I'll even help with another fancy equation to help you see it: Home Runs in '98 + PED Cheats in '09 = (That's right, baby) RATINGS!

ESPN's exhaustive coverage of all steroid related stories in baseball isn't about protecting the sanctity of a game being tarnished by drugs. They don't care about that. What they do care about is having something to talk about.

Steroid use in baseball has become the equivalent of that couple in your office having an affair in that everyone knows about. It's not news but makes for great water cooler gossip, doesn't it?

It has gotten to the point where PED use isn't even the story anymore. ESPN has experts telling us all we need to know about Manny's prescriptions, his apology, his doctor's name, his trainer's past and his parent's signed permission slip for little Manny to take steroids. The media would have you believe it's all about "Manny being Manny." But it's not.

It's about Manny being what he is: today's version of a professional baseball player.

And, last I checked, that's not really news worthy.

---------------------
The Big Question
---------------------

At times, as sports fans, we can be very critical of our athletes. Most people think that because they make millions of dollars athletes should always be focused on one thing: winning the game.

But they're people, too. They have personal lives. And, as we all know, sometimes personal life responsibilities supercede work responsibilities forcing us to do things we wouldn't normally do (Like seek revenge or take illegal substances.)

With that in mind, this week's question:

Q: As a professional athlete (in the sport of your choice) what would your moral barometer be?

Really think about it. Imagine everything in your life being the same. Same friends, family, significant other & kids. The one big difference: your job.

Could you really always put everything else in your life aside -- ego, family, contract worries, etc. -- and focus on just winning the game?

Speculation allowed.

-------------------
Quick Thinking
-------------------

-- Heidi Watney looks better in HD.

-- I'm glad Lowell is still wearing a Red Sox uniform.

-- Ladies, be thankful you don't get "morning wood." Having to go pee with an erection is very confusing.

-- Maybe Papi would hit better if it were a contract year.

-- Button-fly shorts exacerbate the urge to void when at a public urinal.

-- McCains desire to pardon Jack Johnson reeks of political posturing. I mean, how else can he target the voting demographic that cost him the Presidency?

-- Desire is stronger than Love...and its not even close.

-- Haven Bros. is home to one of the greatest late night snacks ever: Cheese Fries.

-- Habba-Da CHEESE FRIES! (for v2.0)

-- If pressed, though, I would have to say Velveeta is superior to their main ingredient Cheese Whiz.

-- Isiah Thomas destroyed the CBA, the Knicks and his Hall of Fame resume with arrogance and idiocy. Next in his sights: FIU.

-- I'll give you 3 guesses how its going to work out. And the first 2 don't count.

-- While known better today for his video game namesake, Madden was a tremendous NFL mind who helped reshape football in the 70's & 80's. Enjoy the time off, Coach. You've earned it.

-- I've said this before but Griffey's swing is timeless.

-- Memo to The Worldwide Leader: you really need to increase your hairstylist budget. I mean, Steve Levy's helmet? C'mon.

-- Rodney Harrison's leadership in the secondary is going to be missed more than his hard hits.

-- You know times are changing when you're at a bar and the entertainment is a shirtless man with a shaved head, save his 4 foot ponytail, painted silver beat boxing Kanye West songs.

-- True story.

-- Actually, while I'm at it, silver painted white people should never beat box 50 Cent songs either.

-- Or have 4 foot long braided ponytails.

-- Ever.

-- Dr. Dre's first verse on Eminem's track Old Time's Sake is the smoothest 20+ seconds of rap I've ever heard.

-- Ever.

-- Despite their loss to Orlando, Paul Pierce has solidified his reputation as one of the greatest Celtics ever.

-- Repetitive: Ever.

-- ESPN always touting itself as "The Worldwide Leader" reeks of insecurity. You cover all things sports and you're bigger than everyone else. WE GET IT.

-- Quote of the Week comes from me while playing a pick up game of basketball. As I posted up the wee man guarding me and turned for a shot he literally swung on my arms trying to defend me resulting in this little quip: "The monkey bars are outside, little man."

-- I made the shot.

-- Watching coverage of Tom Brady throw a football gives me butterflies.

-- I get a different kind of butterflies watching his new wife do, um, anything.

-- Like earning her red wings:



-- Van Every may not take Rocco's job this year but he will challenge Pedroia for worst hairline in baseball.

-- Papelbon has come to earth and, before its all said and done, he'll have cost us a must win game.

-- Jealousy makes you ugly.

-- It became clear to me watching the NBA Finals last night that the league and their referees have an agenda.

-- I still like Orlando in six, though.

-- Quote of the Week II comes from me as well (after all, I am Daddy.) While having a drink at a local bar during Lesbian Pride Night a woman who looked EXACTLY like Ralph Macchio walked by me prompting me to shout, "Sweep the leg, Johnny. SWEEP THE LEG!"

-- BANANAS!!!

-- Brother Ali's single Good Lord reminds me of Whitey Ford but is still worth a listen for the bass line, piano play and lyrics.

-- I used to think that people misunderstanding me was a "me" problem. I'm not so sure anymore.

-- Have you heard of Pat Venditte? He's an ambidextrous pitcher with big league "stuff."

-- Figures. The only thing I can do effectively with both hands is masturbate.

Why Cows Scare Me

Some of you already know.

This blog is for the people who don't.

Most of my blogs provide dissertations on what I see in the world around me. Today, I'm going to step away from the microscope, shake the hoof of destiny, and let you all into my mind and the dementia that resides in it.

Based on the title of this blog you might be wondering, "How could a 6'4", 225 pound guy who grew up in Central Falls, R.I. be afraid of cows? Was he 'milked' as a young boy or something?"

Valid thought.

Rest assured: I wasn't "milked" as a young boy. (Truth be told, though, I have been "milked" a few times in my adulthood and it feels pretty good. Unless the girl has cold hands. Brrrr.)

And, although I spent most of my childhood summers working on my grandfather's cow farm in Idaho, I never had a bad experience with cows.

[SIDE NOTE: START]

I did, however, have a bad experience with the chickens. I watched my mother catch one and chop off its head.

It's actually a little more complicated than that.

There was some fight in that chicken. My mother caught it, grabbed it by the legs and proceeded to bash it against a bale of hay until it stopped moving. Then, with bloody legs from being scratched by other chickens, my mother walked out of the pen and up onto Grandpa's outside deck. She grabbed the hatchet lying next to the tree stump that was used for these types of murderous acts and…

WHACK!!!!!!!

Blood squirted onto her face and arms. (insert Silence of the Lambs joke here ___________.)

Then, nonchalantly, Connie stood up and said, "Dinner's going to be ready soon."

It's SCARY shit when you're 10 and bear witness to your mother murdering a helpless little chicken. Trust me! People always made fun of me for being a "momma's boy" after that. Sure, laugh all you want, but I was scared shitless of my mother growing up. I needed to stay on her good "non-murdering-beheading-chicken" side.

[SIDE NOTE: END]

In reality, I developed quite an affinity for cows during my childhood. I eventually took one in as a pet. Her name was Winnie. Unfortunately, Winnie didn't survive her first winter as a calf. A very common loss on dairy farms. Say it with me, "AAAAWWWWWwwwwwwwwww..."

Moving along.

So why the fuck am I scared of cows? Here goes.

In the summer of '05 I was sleeping in my bed and dreaming. What was I dreaming about? Cows. But not your normal cows. And CERTAINLY not the happy, fun-loving joking cows that star in those "California Cheese" commercials.

These cows were mean. And, apparently, they were subject to about 100 million years of additional evolution because they were walking. Yup, they were bipeds. For the record, they moved pretty well considering their size, too.

In my dream, I found myself running through an empty field with a bunch of bovine on my tail. It was like having an entire football team that consisted of 700 pound lineman chasing me down. Oh, and did I mention they were swinging these enormous pole-axes at me?

Ya. No bueno.

Standing at the end of this field, with their backs toward me, were my Grandfather and my Mother representing a safety zone from my uncomfortable predicament. While running I kept screaming "COWS!!!!, COWS!!!!" in hopes of grabbing their attention to help me fend off the army of ax-wielding cows that wanted me dead. The biggest issue: it was a dream. And, as we all know, in any dream when you're running you're essentially running in place with no chance to out run whatever assailants are chasing you.

Why is that?

As I tried to motor closer to my safety zone the cows just kept gaining on me and, eventually, surrounded me. Being surrounded didn't slow my pace or soften my screams. I kept yelling and kept running...in place. After what seemed to be an eternity, my Grandfather and my Mother turned around. FINALLY! Whew. I'm saved!

Now here is where it gets weird. When Gramps and Mom turned around all the cows disappeared.

*POOF*

But they weren't gone. All the cows had transformed into Low-Fat Milk Cartons with MY PICTURE on the side as the "MISSING PERSON." As I looked around, confused, my Mom and Grandfather turned their backs to me again.

*POOF*

The army of ax-wielding cows were back and ready to swing. Just as the cows started to attack me, I violently sat up in bed and yelled, "COOOOWWWSSS!!!!" It was 3:27am. I was sweating and breathing heavy but found myself very safe in my bed.

As I lay back down my girlfriend took the opportunity to ask, "Do you know what you just screamed?" To which I replied, "Yup, COWS." Allowing her to sarcastically quip, "Mooooooo."

Ha, ha, right?

Wrong!

Dream or not, it's never fun to have angry, ax-touting bovine chasing you. And it never helps to be made fun of while in such a vulnerable place.

Never.

Dropping Knowledge...

...and Balls.

Forrest Gump introduced the phrase "stupid is as stupid does" into our popular lexicon in 1994.

[EARLY SIDE NOTE: START]

Can you believe that movie came out 15 years ago? One-Five. Think about that for a second...

What were you doing 15 years ago? I'll offer a quick musical interlude while you ponder.

INTERLUDE: "My restlessness is my nemesis: It's hard to really chill and sit still, committed to page...I write rhymes, sometimes won't finish for days..."

Unbelievable, huh?

That knock on my door is Dr. JellyFinger letting me know after another 15 years he'll be my new best friend.

And my Valentine.

[EARLY SIDE NOTE: END]

The most innovative aspect of that famous phrase is it personifies stupid. And by "personifies" I don't mean Forrest Gump saying it personifies the definition of "stupid."

What I mean is this: Just as Tom Hanks gave the character Forrest Gump a face that famous phrase gives the word stupid a face. Because of that little quip, the word is removed from the abstract world and transferred to the concrete world giving us a sense of "stupid" that we can feel. One that we can touch.

But please keep your hands to yourself.

The phrase also provides some additional insight into the world that is stupidity. It let's us know that intelligence does not preclude stupidity.

Even Mensa members can be stupid, dear readers.

I see some hands up in the back and, while I'm pretty sure I know what you're going to ask, I'll allow one question.

Q: "Why, O, why are you breaking down 'stupid' for us. What's the angle, Sports & Thoughts?"

Good question.

First, I think we're close enough for you to call me "s&t." "Mr. Sports & Thoughts" works pretty well, too. Or just "Daddy." However, if you're calling me "Daddy" we'd have to discuss safety words. And I'm not ready to take this relationship to that level.

The Gimp Mask scares me.

Second, I wanted you all to know that I understand smart people can do & say very stupid things. And in my circle of family & friends, when you say something stupid, you're held accountable for it.

Time for accountability.

March's Stupidest Thing Said Award goes to Peter King. I love listening to Peter talk football but he should have had a few more Mocha Lattes before his WEEI interview last week when he uttered this little gem while speaking about Terrell Owens landing in Buffalo: "Take away all the dropped balls and T.O. is still one of the best in the game today."

Um, what?

The idiocy of that comment is painfully obvious. Last I checked, T.O. is a wide receiver. In fact, he's a PROFESSIONAL WIDE RECEIVER in the NFL. His job description is simple: catch the ball. A receiver who drops too many balls is, by definition, a failure.

Sure, he needs to block every now and again. But no one signs a wide receiver with stone hands and extraordinary blocking skills. I'm willing to guess that Buffalo didn't sign T.O. so he could help with their running game.

Would MJ have been "one of the best" if the missed all those jumpers?

The game winner at North Carolina? The Playoff winner against Cleveland? The Finals winner against The Jazz? Michael was great because he did his job which, simply enough, was to make shots. Not only that, Micheal made shots when the pressure was at it's highest and the stage it's biggest.

That's how Micheal transcended his sport and became MJ. He earned it.

How can T.O. be "one of the best" if he drops the ball so much?

Easy answer: he can't. And, more importantly, anyone who pays attention to Terrell's performance on the field instead of the smoke-and-mirrors side show that is T.O. knows he ISN'T one of the best.

And he never will be.

If dropped balls didn't matter, the phrase wouldn't be part of our lexicon as being synonymous with failure. When you say, "Sorry boss. I dropped the ball" you don't hear back, "That's ok. You're one of the greatest anyway."

Duh.

What's that, dear readers? You think I'm being too hard on T.O. -- I'm focusing too much on dropped balls?

Ok, let's dig a little deeper and look at some numbers to support why T.O. isn't great:

-- T.O. owns the league lead in drops over the past two seasons. (The wide receiver in second place has 7 LESS drops)

-- T.O.'s lifetime playoff record is 4-7 (Of the 4 wins, 3 have come in the Wild Card round)

-- Since leaving the 49'ers, T.O. has not won a playoff game (The Eagles won 2 Playoff games in '04 with an injured T.O. on the sideline)

-- Cowboys were 0-2 in the Playoffs with T.O. on the field

-- T.O.'s combined stats in those losses: 6 receptions/75 yards

People lie, folks. Numbers don't.

It's simple: T.O. doesn't do his job well enough enough of the time. He drops too many balls. He's too selfish. He's too much T.O.

As I said in my previous blog, no one has turned a team sport into a me game more than T.O. After watching my Patriots beat his Eagles in the Super Bowl, I listened to T.O. talk about how it wasn't his fault. "No one gave me a chance" he said. "Donovan was throwing up in the huddle" he said. He actually inferred that "God" had healed him fast so he could showcase his skills on the stage that is the Super Bowl.

Greatness, indeed.

His agent can grandstand and his PR folks can use spin control but neither change the fact that Terrell doesn't measure up to the arbitrary greatest of the marketing machine creation that has become T.O.

Peter King may have fallen for it but I'm not. And neither should you.

The tragedy is Terrell had a real chance to be great. In '00 and '01, Terrell had consecutive 1,400+ yard seasons. Only 2 other receivers have accomplished that feat -- Rice and Harrison. Both are first ballot Hall of Famers. T.O. had a chance to be the third.

Too bad he dropped the ball.

The Morning After: Ralph J. Holden Tribute

A small man -- in a smaller city -- making a big impact.
Very few people outside Rhode Island are aware that Central Falls even exists. Covering one square mile, Central Falls is the smallest city in the smallest state in the Union. Affectionately referred to as "CF", it's so small that you can drive through the city down Broad St. in approximately 3 minutes! (It may take you a whopping 5 minutes if you catch a few lights.)

Being such a small city does have it's advantages. When you're small you can keep things simple. You're not clouded by infinite choices. You can focus on one thing and try and do it extremely well. For example, Central Falls is home to an iconic Rhode Island establishment: Stanley's Hamburgers.

Best. Hamburgers. Ever.

But, in a place where focus is critical to success, the opportunities that benefit from said focus are limited. And, in CF, positive opportunities are nearly non-existent. Central Falls became a prime hub for cocaine trafficking throughout the 80's and 90's which earned it the unenviable nickname "Sparkle City."

Don't believe it? Just ask Providence's notorious ex-mayor: Buddy Cianci. Buddy was so cavalier that his private car was commonly found on the streets of CF during his political career with him in the backseat.

Central Falls: the embodiment of a double-edged sword.

Growing up in Central Falls provided very few options to spend your free time if you were trying to avoid the cocaine trade. You really only had 2 choices: Academics or Athletics. Both helped you punch a ticket to "get out" and one was usually a means to get closer to the other.

I started this blog by saying "Very few people outside Rhode Island are aware that Central Falls even exists." Well, even fewer are aware of the importance that youth sports had in the city. And if you were involved in youth athletics around CF in the early 80's and 90's there was one man who you knew, respected and, in most cases, loved like a father: Ralph Holden.

Ralph was a Central Falls native stricken with Polio during the height of it's epidemic in the 1950's. While he never lost the use of his limbs, Ralph's physical development was limited resulting in a hunchback physique preventing him from ever playing organized sports.

But his love for sports could not be broken by a crooked back. Ralph wanted sports to be part of his life -- and he did all he could to ensure that they would be. He focused on school and eventually earned a degree in Physical Education. He finally worked his way to become the Athletic Director of the Central Falls Community Center.

And that is where Ralph's legacy was born.

It was called the "Club." Every teenager growing up in CF during the 80's and 90's considered the Club their home away from home. The kids were the bricks. Ralph was the mortar.

Ralph never used his physical deficiencies as an excuse. Obstacles were a daily part of Ralph's life. But overcoming each made his victories that much sweeter. For example, simple things like driving were difficult -- but not impossible.

Ralph had a mechanic fabricate longer gas and brake pedals so he could reach them. His steering wheel had a circular handle attached to it so he could turn the wheel with one hand. Ralph would sit on a few pillows so his hunch arm could lean out the window while he would turn the wheel with his good hand. It could be 15 degrees out and snowing but Ralph's midnight-blue Oldsmobile would have the driver side window open and the heat on full blast.

Ralph Holden's perseverance in life translated to his coaching. He wouldn't allow us kids to fall into self pity. He taught us that growing up poor in Central Falls was an opportunity. It would help us learn to appreciate our victories more than our opponents did.

His coaching style was brash and his temper legendary. He didn't tolerate laziness or disrespectful behavior toward another player, coach or referee. And his love for us "kids" was palpable and enduring.

Even as we all grew up and moved up and out of Central Falls, you would still find Ralph standing in the corner of whatever gymnasium one of us "kids" happened to be playing in -- scribbling in his notepad prepping for a post game "review."

Ralph Holden passed away on March 12, 1998. The "Club" was renamed the Ralph J. Holden Community Center as a tribute to the man who served as the caretaker for the building and those who spent their free time playing sports in it.

Ralph was widely referred to as "Ralphie-Baby" by the legions of youngsters who viewed him more as a surrogate father than a coach. And, as we all know, a father's job is to keep his girl off the pole and his son off the streets -- Ralph did just that.

His daily struggles served as an example that you're life is what you make of it. Where some see obstacles, others see opportunity. Ralph created a sense of family between his players that no other coach this former athlete has known could replicate. The same kids I grew up with in the 80's are still my best friends today. At full strength we're about 25 deep. Regardless of the sport, we were never a team -- we were always a family.

And we always will be.

Thanks, Ralphie-Baby.
-------------------
The Big Question
-------------------
Lots of people had their hands in creating my special kind of craziness, dear readers. So this week's Big Q is pretty straightforward:
Q: Outside of your parents/folks who raised you, who influenced your childhood the most?
Give credit where credit is due. Or, in this case, throw some blame around.

Whatever works.

-----------------
Quick Thinking
-----------------
-- Memo to my Alma Mata: You can't lose by 18 at a neutral site during your nationally televised conference tournament and expect an invite to go dancing.

-- I'm tired of people who think they know everything about Rhode Island just because they watch Family Guy.

-- While living in Colorado I was asked the following question by an acquaintance when he found out I grew up in RI, "Did you have a talking dog like on Family Guy?" I'm pretty sure he was trying to be funny.

-- Needless to say, I didn't laugh. Not even a little bit.

-- ARods "handlers" are clearly asleep at the wheel.

-- Bernie Madoff is 2009's version of Martin Chuzzlewitt. Proof positive that truth, indeed, is stranger than fiction.

-- Question of the Week: What would all the angry people in the world be doing without internet chat rooms? (answer below)

-- Memo to Mr. Cutler: You're not good enough to be a prima donna. Do us all a favor, stop reading T.O.'s How To Turn A Team Game Into A Me Sport handbook and do your job. Idiot.

-- Sage Advice of the Week: Stop using toilet paper and start using wet wipes. You wouldn't clean shit off your floor with a dry paper towel would you? Just because we're adults doesn't me we can't enjoy in the splendor that is a touchable soft bum.

-- I'm not sure how I survived all those years without my iPhone and the free internet radio application Pandora. Wish I would have paid more attention to relationship algorithms in math class.

-- It recently occurred to me that amateurs who can't dunk are more impressed with the Gimmick Dunk (a la Spud Webb) than the Theatrical Dunk (a la 'Nique.)

-- Memo to all those napoleon complex steroid heads out there: benching 325 isn't going to make you any taller.

-- The twig isn't bigger, fellas. The berries are just smaller.

-- Oh, and a booster seat in a $ 150,000 sports car is still a booster seat.

-- But let's not argue. Put the weights down, stop flexing and look on the bright side: shopping at Gap Kids saves money during these difficult economic times.

-- So does eating from the Kids Menu.

-- And legroom during air travel is easier to come by.

-- And you'll never be asked, "Hey, can you reach that for me?"

-- That gunshot you just heard? Me killing that joke. R.I.P.

-- Please bow your head for a short moment of silence.

-- BLAMMO!

-- Based on how well his movies usually do at the box office, I'm starting to think I'm the only person in the country who doesn't like Nicholas Cage.

-- Memo to Coach K: I understand you coached Team USA to a gold medal and all, but he's the Commander-in-Chief of the most powerful military force in the world. You know what they say about tugging on Superman's cape...

-- My guess is expecting an invite to the Big Dance only to get one to the NIT is a lot like thinking the girl with the sexy voice on the other end of the phone looks like:



-- Only to meet her and find out she looks like:



-- Love finding excuses to work Ms. Anniston into anything I write.

-- PC and URI played their way out of the NCAA Tournament.

-- Truth be told, neither team is talented enough for elite competition anyway. But they're both close.

-- Real close.

-- As a card carrying member of the Man Club I'm officially revoking Jay Cutler's membership.

-- There's no truth to the rumor that the tequila shots ARod admittedly had to "loosen up" before his recent Details shoot were served in a syringe.

-- If the Patriots sign Julius Peppers AND stay healthy then they're cement to win the Super Bowl. CEMENT.

-- Speaking of which, it's never too early to start contemplating your record for the 2009-2010 Patriots Pick Pool!

-- Kid CuDi's single "Day N Nite" is absolutely hypnotic.

-- The remix isn't that bad either.

-- What came first: computers or computer geeks?

-- Memo to ARod: You can't wear a sleeveless shirt and invite the world to your "gun show" if you're trying to convince us that you're NOT taking steroids anymore.



-- As a matter of fact, even if you WEREN'T trying to convince the world you're clean, you can't take pictures like that. Ever.

-- Memo to those naive folks who think ARod is now clean: you're not naive, you're stupid. Get your head checked.

-- Answer of the Week: Buy a car and drive around Rhode Island all day.

-- After much deliberation, I've decided Green Clovers are my favorite Lucky Charms marshmallows.

-- Pink diamonds are a close second.