Don't get me cheesed, the wife is watching!

The title of this post has nothing to do with anything. It just felt like the right thing to say at the time. Revision? Psht. That's the democrats for ya.

Anyways, in light of the immense popularity of that movie Twilight and the TV show about vampires I figured I'd ignore the entire topic. To me, it feels like a subject that is ripe for the mocking. It has all the familiar traits of a fad that makes those who allowed themselves to become swept up in it feel rather silly once they stop acting like/dressing up as/pretending they are vampires. When the fad passes and kids go back to just being suicidal, moody and retarded like normal teenagers they're going to feel as though they've been had. They've been duped by the worst thing of all -- books. I am reminded of a great quote from the Fred Williamson classic Warriors of the Wasteland.

W of the W may be one of the worst films ever made. However, there is one quote from our antagonist named Scorpio that applies to the power of books. Scorpio is holding a bible in his hands. He grabbed the bible from a camp of evangelicals. He destroyed their camp because in a post-apocalyptic world guys with guns and golf carts (they were golf carts) kill guys with bibles. As he stares at the tomb with hate in his eyes, he suddenly rips the book in half and chucks it aside while stoically stating, "Books...that's what started this mess." His trusty servant who I can only assume is named Trusty Servant doesn't understand and says so. To which Scorpio drops the bomb of knowledge on the viewer "The world is dead. It raped itself." BOOM. See that? What made the world rape itself? Clearly the answer was books. Two lines into the movie I am already rooting for the bad guy. That is great writing. He's such a tragic figure. He just wanted an un-raped world free of all books. Is that so wrong? Later on you find out that the thing that drives him is his -- wait for it -- "love of evil" and his hatred of good. Yeah, it's that kinda movie. So, while Scorpio can teach us all a little bit bout ourselves, he also teaches us that books are bad and they incite rape. That nugget of wisdom is instrumental in understanding vampire kids and their lousy "books".

Vampire kids are no different than any other bizarre fad that young teens get into. When I was in 5th grade everybody wanted to try to skate. Lots of kid bought the huge pants and t-shirts that had stuff on em. A few kids even tried skating. Nobody was any good. I honestly don't even think the fad lasted for more than a year. But it wasn't about skating. It was about being as rebellious as rich, white kids can be until they're old enough to try coke. Kids who actually owned skateboards would get up in arms when a kid who "didn't even skate" would wear anything indicating a preference to skating. The kids who go offended had taken up the cause about a month before those they were angry with but that was irrelevant. They weren't gonna let some other kid get in on their little rebellion. And I'm sure vampire kids aren't any different.

Moreover, the idea these kids need to educate themselves with a little thing I like to call The Hammer. The Hammer, of course, is the nickname of action super-star Fred Williamson. In addition to Warriors of the Wasteland, one of his shining moments comes alongside Oscar nominated actor Gary Busey in the cinematic tour de force South Beach. If children would simply look.

Nothing says "here are two ex-pro football players who are now private detectives and just love to play golf and goof around" like this scene.

When you watch that clip, think to yourself "Gary Busey was once nominated for an Oscar."

Donovan McNabb, Andy Reid and, for some reason, Karl Malone

I figured I'd give the Donovan McNabb a day to flesh itself out and for Andy Reid to name a starter for Thursday before I address the clusterfuck that is the Philadelphia Eagles.

This team is supremely eff'd up. (I love football but don't understand it nearly as well as I do other sports so I'll leave analyzing to others) What the hell is wrong with them? Is McNabb that bad? Are better receivers really the ticket? Is it the line? Play-calling? Westbrook? Buckhalter? Why isn't this team good? They should be. They should be better. They aren't. I couldn't tell you why. What I can speak to is how bad I feel for Don and how much of a surly, douche Andy Ried has become.

For better or worse, Donovan McNabb has been the franchise ever since he took the starting job from tragic, Shakspearian figure, Doug Pederson. Dude's put up great seasons with guys like James Thrash, Todd Pinkston, Freddie Mitchell, Reggie Brown, Greg Lewis and Billy McMullen (did you know his first name is Wilbur?) catching his balls. The one year he had a real receiver he went to the Super Bowl and won an MVP. The guy's earned some dignity. Sadly, he gets ripped all the time. People think he's soft. People say he'll never win a Super Bowl. People think he gets hurt too much. The last one I especially have a problem with.

Can you really rip someone for getting seriously injured multiple times? I can understand if it was a nagging ankle thing that the guy complains about all the time but that was never the deal. McNabb sustained serious injuries and missed considerable amounts of time. People don't like that. People seem to think that's a weakness. I think it's bad luck. I think he keeps himself in pretty good shape and has taken some nasty hits. He's taken hits that guys like Manning and Brady haven't taken. And people act like that's some sort of weakness. "Dude, he tore his ACL. What a punk." "Guy, got a sports hernia. Whatever, DOUCHE!" Know who else tore their ACL? Tom Brady. Is Tom Brady soft? Is he a bitch because he tore his ACL? (Of course not, we all know he is a bitch for other reasons. ZING!)

As for Andy Reid, I think this was simple. Payback. That's right. Coach Morman weren't too thrilled with them there elections and felt the black folk were getting a little too much clout in today's increasingly less-Mormon world. He wanted to send a message. Plain and simple. Ain't no free rides, McNabb. You screw up, you get benched. Andy Reid, you see, is obviously a racist man. I know this because he's a Mormon. Mormons are known throughout the universe for being, among other things, polygamists and blatant un-checked racists. Because, honestly, how many black people live in Utah? I'm told there are seven and Karl Malone is five of them. Karl Malone would like you to know he will take care of this Andy Reid/Donovan McNabb business as soon as he saves the city of Curryville, Missouri from raging crystal meth and inexpensive, high-calorie foods. Karl Malone doesn't appreciate people who don't appreciate their health. When Malone was playing for the Jazz, Reid was coaching for the Packers. When Reid went to a Jazz game he made the comment "That Karl Malone is a great athlete." Since it was Utah and children aren't allowed to play or watch basketball, the arena was empty and Karl heard Andy. Malone assume he was referring to the stereotype that African-Americans are superior athletes than European-whiteys like Andy Reid. This was, of course, a silly misunderstanding. Karl Malone didn't think it was, however, and chased Andy Reid around the arena for close to 30 minutes. Reid's only alive because he was on a golf cart and Malone was on foot. They haven't spoken since. It's likely Karl Malone is in the process of killing Andy Reid.

You've been warned.

(In case you're stupid, the last paragraph was a joke. I don't really think Andy Reid is a racist, just a bad football coach.)

Lazy Writing: The Weekend Blurb

Exactly what the title says. I don't have too many thoughts on any of these matters. So here's a bunch of em.

Earlier this week the Phillies' best player, Chase Utley, underwent surgury for hip labium problems. I don't know much about the hips but I know when that part of the shoulder gets worked on it's bad news. I am afraid for the Phillies. Yet, I'm a little excited to see Jason Donald get a shot.

I am slightly more terrified at the decisions television networks make. By that I mean, Pushing Daisies and Eli Stone just got the axe. Meanwhile, there's plenty of new "According to Jim" episodes to make me feel better. Shoot me in the face.

Pirates are back. I don't care what these Somalians demand -- give it to 'em. I thought the days of straight up pirating on the opean seas were over but, like always, Somolia is leading the charge down the mountain of reform. Lots of technology has changed in terms of navigation and sailing but pirates are running Somolia. This isn't good. it's actually quite bad. But I have this idiot-ass idea that pirates are swashbucklers who drink rum, tell jokes and save hot women who are surprisingly good in a fight. These pirates are holding oil tankers hostage for millions of dollars and I'm just excited because i think "pirates = fun!" My perception of pirates has been ruined by that goddamn Pippi Longstocking and Johnny Depp. I could be wrong about Pippi Longstocking but I think she tangled with some pirates at some point in the dubbed Sweedish verion. Either way, fuck that. Those awful movies ruined my childhood. That broad could lift cars and stuff. Horseshit. An orphan with a pet monkey named Mr. Neilson? Please.

If i could play canasta with three people named "Lou" they would be: Baega, Gehrig and Diamond Phillips.

Boz, Howard, Pujols....sigh

I picked apart Phil Sheridan's article the other day on why Ryan Howard should have won the MVP and I was glad to be done with it. I love Howard and I don't like listing all the reasons he wasn't the best player in the NL but when I visited Joe Posnanski's blog today and saw this article by the Washington Post's Tom Boswell. Boswell chose to take Sheridan, whose overall point actually had some merit he just chose to argue it in a way that made absolutely no sense, and say to himself "I shall write something that makes you look smarter than Marilyn vos Savant...and THEN I WILL EAT A COOKIE!" Can't speak to the cookie. But he did write this.

MVPs: Howard & K-Rod, Not Pujols & Pedroia

Thirty years ago, I created the statistic Total Average.

Oh, good. You invented a stat. I just googled it and see that, while rudimentary, it was a nice attempt to better assess a player's value. I applaud you for doing this way back in the 70s. It has it's drawbacks but at least you were thinking. I can see you and I will get along fine. Surely your arguments will be grounded in important things that matter and are quantifiable. Gotta say, Boz, so far I like the cut of your jib.

Now I'm almost ashamed to have been one of the original baseball geeks. Where did we go wrong?

Oh. It's one of those. You dirty dog, Boz. I thought we were gonna shoot hoops and chase skirts together because we got along so well. But that was misdirection. You misdirected me into thinking I was going to like this article. If possible, I'd like to back out and stop reading. I feel cold. My feet won't move. My hands can do nothing but scroll down. I'm in it now. Get fucked Boz. We are no longer playing hoops.

This week, Albert Pujols won the NL MVP Award. Why? Mostly because he had a better OPS and VORP (Value Over Replacement Player) than Ryan Howard.

He also beat Howard in, like, 50 ba-jillion other stats. See Pujols. See Howard. VORP, +OPS, Runs Created, SLG, OBP, he also made far less outs etc. This is boring me, Boz. I don't think we could chase skirts together anymore. I know it's early. but who wants odds that that first sentance declaring who won the MVP is the only thing in this article that's even remotely true?

Say what?

Did I say we couldn't hang out? I meant we absolutely must hang out because when someone drops 'say whaaaat?' on me I get excited and start high-fiving strangers. It's just so exciting and sassy. You're full of sass, Boz.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, the Phils' first baseman had 48 homers and 146 RBI to Pujols' 37 homers and 116 RBI.

First of all, let's all take notice of the Boz starting off in fantasyland without even telling us. (Seriosly, brah, we are never chasing skirts.) And since we're attacking people who use things you can actually count to judge a player's performance let's use two or the three stats in which Howard led Pujols and make damn sure one of them relies heavily on his teammates.

Earth to my baseball writing buddies:

I get it now. We started off with his baseball writing buddies in outer space and he's calling them from "The Real World" (Earth). Boz, once again, you've outfoxed me. We can shoot hoops now. Only we can't talk about baseball because my brain would melt and fall out my ears.

We all love the new numbers, but lets not worship false idols. When I published my Total Average numbers, I'd always emphasize that while stats were wonderful, common sense was better.

Show me common sense. Common sense to you, I'm slowly finding, is silly to me. RBI and home runs are your reasons for picking Howard. That's not common sense to most people. That's choosing two stats over thousands of others that are more worthwhile. Why, Boz? Why?

When stats WILDLY contradict common sense, always doubts the stats.

Again, show me common sense? What does common sense look like in baseball? Tell me. Boz! Or we're totally not shooting hoops, later!

In the case of the goofy gap between Pujols' VORP of 96.8 and Howard's 35.3

61.5 is sooooo goofy. It really has a mind of it's own. One time it teabagged me when I was passed out. 61.5 is a real card.

my reaction is "Time to revisit VORP. If it can be this wrong, it's not as good as I tought it was."

So: when the stats don't back up what your preconceived notions are you just change the stats. You know what, Boz? I wish you'd been in the Pentagon back in 2003. Wait a minute...weren't you on a "patriotic sabbatical" in 2003? J'ACCUSE!

It's said that, to a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail. To a modern baseball writer, unfortunately, reality often looks like an excuse to apply statistics and then torque our opinions to fit them.

This is an incredibly dumb analogy. With apologies to Mark Twian, this makes no fucking sense. This notion comes from nowhere or, dare I say it, outer space where all those other wacky sports writers are with their stats and such. I hear they set up a sweet bordello on the dark side of Titan. Apparently, Eva Gardner will blow you if you know who led the AL in +EQA in 2004.

All of the encompassing offensive stats __and there's little difference between Total Average, Runs Created, OPS and others__ run the risk of overvaluing walks and singles while undervaluing the bases-clearly game-changing power of extra base hits.

Actually, it's pretty clear that OPS overvalues extrabase hits. A player with a crappy OBP can prop it up with a nice SLG (paging Mike Jacobs). Just because you added the devistating "bases-clearly game-changing power" Pretty sure that makes no sense.

So, sometimes, you have to underline the obvious; for example, a first baseman with 146 RBI is "more valuable," especially when he plays on a first-place team, than a first baseman (Pujols) with 116 RBI on a fourth-place team.

"""This "is" according "to" you. Just because you "say" this is obvious, commonsense "stuff" doesn't mean "that" it's true. Should "we" blame Pujols for his team "sucking and finishing in 4th place"? "He wa"s aweosme. He te"am di"dn't finish i"n 4t"h b"eca"use of him."""""

Don't analyze beyond that.

Right. Cause if we do, you end up looking like a moron, Boz. And I know you're not a moron. You're a decent writer. I hear you shoot hoops like a young Phog Allen. Quite the shotsman, you are.

True, Howard can't field (19 errors). And Pujols outhit him by .357 to .251. Howard strikes out a ton while Pujols walks constantly.

Boz, you adoreable little scamp, you've got it! Four marks, lad! All reasons going against your central point. Well played, old sport!

But none of it outweighs Howard's RBI total, built on his .320 average with runners in scoring position

Fuck you, Boz. I'm not getting my hopes up again. I've been burned by you so many times already in this article alone. We are not shooting hoops OR chasing the skirts. We're not even going for our walk from Battery Park to the Polo Grounds and buying hotdogs for a nickle and a hay penny. ARE YOU HAPPY YOU AWFUL, AWFUL MAN?!

His 146 RBI wasn't a fluke. He's Mr. Multi-Run Homer.

Previous Winners of the prostigious Mr. Multi-Run Homer Award:
1) Oyster Burns, Brooklyn Ward's Wonders
2) Jack Glasscock, Pittsburgh Burghers
3) Cap Anson Boston Beaneaters
4) Effa Manley Wilmington Quicksteps
5) Lou Diamond Phillips Cleveland Spiders

Congrats, Howard. you truely are the king of kings.

As for Pedroia, I'd pick him over his main competitors --Justin Morneau and Joe Mauer of the Twins. Pedroia and Mauer won gold gloves at valuable defensive positions __second base and catcher. Morneau is just a first baseman. Besides, Pedroia's Red Sox made the playoffs, the Twins didn't.

Tom Boswell, he was a writer DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM
He created a stupid statistic DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM
He was real good at shooting hoops and stuff DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM
Then one day he became old and bitter DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM
He used his guts and common sense DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM
He chose Howard over Pujols DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM
Then he lent pen to thought DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM
And wrote about his common sense and guts DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM
Statistics are for nerds in space DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM

However, convention also holds that, if the best reliever's season utterly dominates the best season by any player, as Dennis Eckersley's did in '92, then he's the long-shot MVP.

Gange, Rivera, Lidge none of these guys won MVPs in their best seasons. What are you saying?

I won't fuss about Pedroia over K-Rod. But Pujols over Howard is nuts.

We are so not hanging out, Boz.

Holiday Cheer: A Christmas Pageant Pt3

Aaaand here's the third and final installment of my Christmas Pageant that will be performed in some capacity by children under the age of fifteen. Enjoy.

NARRATOR
With that rousing number, the three wise-men, Frank, Al and Tim ventured off to find the King of the Jews. Little did they know they were about to run into some tough customers.

(The lights come back on as Gary, Pete and Winston are standing around with sheep surrounding them.)

PETE
I don’t like this silence.

WINSTON
I like silence.

GARY
I’m fairly indifferent towards it.

PETE
You two are the worst.

GARY
Hey, you asked the question.

PETE
Yeah, to start a conversation. Look how that turned out.

WINSTON
Look, we’ve got time. Our sheep are tired. Why don’t we sleep while the sheep sleep?

PETE
You can’t say that ten times fast, can you, Winston?

WINSTON
I’m not even gonna try because I don’t like your dumb face.

GARY
Come on, let’s just keep an eye out. Oh god, it’s three other guys.

(Enter FRANK, AL and TIM)

GARY
Hey, fellas.

AL
What ho, good shepherds?

FRANK
What ho?

WINSTON
He just said that.

FRANK
Just hammering home the point.

TIM
Shut up. We’re looking for the King of the Jews. You seen him?

GARY
King of the Jews?

PETE
Like, all of ‘em?

AL
I guess? Tim?

TIM
Yes, King of the Jews. King of all Jews.

WINSTON
That’s a good title.

FRANK
You know, it really is. I’m wise, but to be king of all Jews? A fella could get used to that sort of thing.

TIM
Have you seen him?

PETE
Well, that all depends. What’s in it for us lowly shepherds?

AL
I’ve got some gold.

GARY
Done. He’s in Nazareth. Dad’s Joseph. Mom’s Mary. He's in the yellow reading group -- bright kid.

WINSTON
Great family.

PETE
We’ve basically been touring around talking about how awesome the kid is.

TIM
Why?

GARY
No particular reason.

WINSTON
We’re shepherds. Take away the sheep and we don’t do anything.

PETE
So, we figured we’d at least do something other than shepherding while we’re walking around all over the place.

AL
That’s really true.

TIM
Alright, guys. Thanks for the help. We’ll be on our way.

(The three wise-men wander off the stage.)

WINSTON
Why did you dime them out like that?

GARY
Dude, gold.

WINSTON
Yeah.

(The lights go to black.)

NARRATOR
The shepherds Winston, Gary and Pete thought nothing of pointing the wise-men in the right direction. The wise-men followed the path to Nazareth and arrived to the home of Joseph.

(A KNOCK is heard as the lights come on and Mary is preparing a meal. Joseph is sitting at the table sipping wine and baby Jesus/Rick is playing on the ground. Before Mary can answer the door AL, FRANK and TIM enter.)

JOSEPH
Just who might you be, with all the robes?

TIM
Friends.

JOSEPH
So go and tell us your names, why not?

AL
I’m Al. That’s Frank and that’s Tim.

MARY
Welcome. Is there something you need?

FRANK
Who’s the small child?

MARY
Jesus.

JOSEPH
(at the same time)
Rick

MARY
It’s Jesus. Joe has trouble dealing with that.

JOSEPH
You’d think I could name my own son, perhaps? PEH!

AL
Is he by chance king of the-

MARY
Jews? Yes, he is. He’s quite a boy. Yellow reading group. That's the highest.

JOSEPH
I don’t even recognize this family sometimes, oy.

TIM
Well, the king is quite impressed with your boy and he has requested that young Jesus come to the court of Herod and be worshipped as a King should.

MARY
That sounds lovely.

JOSEPH
The court of Herod? I hear that’s a dangerous place, perhaps.

FRANK
Maybe for dissenters. Are you dissenters?

TIM
After that I doubt they’d tell you if they were, Frank.

FRANK
Ah, yes. Well, either way your dissenting days are over.

JOSEPH
Before I even got a chance to dissent in the first place. This is one rotten day.

MARY
We’d love to see the king and have him worship my child. That’s a mighty nice thing to do.

AL
Sure is.

TIM
Great. If you don’t mind putting us up, we’ll leave in the morning.

(The stage goes black.)

NARRATOR
But that night, something happened to the noble wise-man Tim. He was visited by an angel in his sleep. The message that angel brought was that the life of Jesus would hang in the balance if he were to be delivered to Herod.

(The lights come on and Tim is fast asleep. GABRIEL’s voice is heard.)

GABRIEL
TIM!

TIM
What?

GABRIEL
Oh, um, Tim! Tim the wise man!

TIM
I’m awake, moron. Who’s talking?

GABRIEL
It is I! The angel of the Lord!

TIM
I don’t know who that is.

GABRIEL
Ugh…come on, man! Gabriel!

TIM
Oh….oh…you…what’s-what’s goin' on, buddy?

GABRIEL
Do you know who I am?

TIM
An angel of some kind?

GABRIEL
You don’t do you?

TIM
Not really.

GABRIEL
I bring to you a message from God.

TIM
Any reason he can’t just tell me himself?

GABRIEL
Well…cause…you know what?! I am getting tired of going through this with everybody! Every time I visit somebody it’s all “Who’s Gabriel?” and “Why can’t God just tell me himself?” or “You’re just a middle-man. How do you live with yourself?” That’s bull-crap. I am God’s right-hand man!

TIM
Yeah, that or his servant.

GABRIEL
(whining) No, I’m not.

TIM
Okay. Something you need from me?

GABRIEL
Don’t take Jesus to Herod.

TIM
I know.

GABRIEL
Take hi- wait, what?

TIM
I knew that. Guy sang a song about killing him and those two ding dongs were too caught up to notice. We’re gonna take him someplace else.

GABRIEL
Egypt.

TIM
Egypt?

GABRIEL
What’s wrong with Egypt?

TIM
It’s a little random, don’t you think?

GABRIEL
Listen, if you don’t take him to Egypt then I will have wasted my time even talking to you.

TIM
Well, I certainly don’t want that to happen, Gabriel.

GABRIEL
Exactly. I am an important angel. Go to Egypt. Go there because I told you to.

TIM
God told me to.

GABRIEL
No! Me! I told you!

TIM
Fine. That it?

GABRIEL
Yes…goodbye!

(The lights go out.)

GABRIEL
Jerk.

NARRATOR
And when everybody woke up the next morning, Tim led them all to Egypt. Jesus and his family were safe and the three wise-men were off the hook. However, as time passed Herod slowly realized he would never see the King of the Jews.

(The lights come on and Herod is sitting on that throne. A WOMAN is draped over a couch next to him.)

HEROD
This isn’t right. I’ve been foiled by a couple of idiots and one reasonably wise man. I’m ruined!

WOMAN
Don’t cry. You’re still my king.

HEROD
Who cares? There’s another king out there. Ooh! I hates wisemen!

WOMAN
You needn’t worry, king. You’ll never hear from that King of the Jews again.

HEROD
You know what? You’re right.

(Herod gets up and starts to sing. Same music.)

HEROD
As so it goes, far off they went
To ignore my lone request
I’ve said it once, I’ll say it twice
King Herod always knows what’s best.

WOMAN
I’m a loyal woman can’t you see?
If I see rules, I know they’ll bend.
But if I know one thing for sure:
You’ll never see that jerk again.

HEROD
You know you’re right, my loyal wife
This is the absolutely where this story ends
That Jesus clown was just a myth
I’ll never see that jerk again.

WOMAN & HEROD
And our story ends with song
And musical accompaniment
For all of those of you who hate
Take our advice and go get bent.

Herod’s story is a happy one
He’s his father’s favorite son

It’s our position, yes, we do contend
My kingdom will never see it’s end
Jesus Christ will never be my friend
We know we’ll never see that jerk again

(The stage goes black.)

The End.....ya'll

Holiday Cheer: A Christmas Pageant Pt2

Part two of "It's Christmas, ya'll". Small kids butchering the bible and singing awful songs? That's Christmas.

NARRATOR
As the hours passed Joseph and Mary became restless. Joseph was not wild about paying taxes and Mary was not wild about birthing a child in a barn.

(The lights come back on. Mary and Joseph are at their posts in the barn.)

NARRATOR
When it came time to name this child, Mary already had one picked out. Joseph had other ideas.

JOSEPH
Rick.

MARY
What?

JOSEPH
Rick. Our son is to be called Rick. Rick of Nazareth.

MARY
Joe, he’s not an insurance salesman or an auto-mechanic.

JOSEPH
Like there’s something wrong with those professions? He is to be called Rick! Rickey to his friends!

MARY
The angel already gave us a name.

JOSEPH
Oh did he? Was this before or after the almighty boinked you with his heavenly penis?

MARY
After. But that doesn’t matter. We have to call him Jesus.

JOSEPH
What if I refuse? What if I say ‘Fine, Lord, have my wife. But I get to choose a name.”

MARY
If you name him Rick I’m just going to call him Jesus.

JOSEPH
He’ll be confused. I don’t want a confused young boy with that Caesar around.

MARY
He’s going to think his name is Rick Jesus. We could call him R.J

JOSEPH
Not on your life.

(GARY, PETE and WINSTON enter)

JOSEPH
Who are you?

WINSTON
Shepherds.

MARY
Where are your sheep?

PETE
Outside.

JOSEPH
Won’t they be stolen?

WINSTON
No, they’re trained.

JOSEPH
Does he speak? (pointing to Gary)

PETE
Usually. But Gabriel just threatened to kill out sheep so he’s been kinda quiet.

JOSEPH
You came to see the kid?

MARY
His name’s Jesus.
WINSTON
Great name.

PETE
I like it.

GARY
Jesus.

JOSEPH
Oy! Now, you’ve got them calling him Jesus. He’ll never be Rick! Not even Rickey!

MARY
Ha! Take a look fellas.

(The shepherds crowd around the child. They ooh and ahh then step back and face each other.)

GARY
Some kid.

PETE
Sure is.

WINSTON
No doubt about it.

PETE
We should go tell people.

GARY
Come and see the kid.

WINSTON
Even if they don’t see him. Just tell them how wonderful a kid he is.

PETE
That’s a good idea, Winston.

WINSTON
Thank you, Pete. That means a lot to me.

GARY
Hey. What are we standing here for? Let’s spread the good news.

PETE
It’s great news.

JOSEPH
It’s alright news. It coulda been worse.

WINSTON
Nonetheless it’s news all the same.

GARY
Ho!

(And the shepherds wander around stage spreading the good news.)

NARRATOR
The three shepherds went into the night shouting the news from the rooftops, hilltops and other high places. Each one of them was arrested for disturbing the peace. Gary, Winston and Pete all were released the following morning and continued to spread the word with their sheep in tow. However, the spreading of the news led to some problems at the highest level of government.

(The stage goes black.)
NARRATOR
At the King Herod level of government.

(The lights come back on and HEROD is sitting on a throne striking similar to the one Caesar sat on. THREE WISEMEN, AL, FRANK and TIM, are standing listening to him.)

HEROD
You’re probably asking yourself why I called you all here today.

FRANK
Sure are, King.

AL
What’s the haps?

HEROD
I’ve come to hear tell of a great king.

FRANK
Must be talking about you, king.

AL
I don’t know of another great king. How bout you, Tim?

TIM
I hate both of you.

HEROD
No, not me, men. Don’t be silly. The King of the Jews. Some shepherds went ‘round hollering about how wonderful this baby king was. Fella by the name of ‘Jesus’.

AL
Sounds like a reasonable guy.

FRANK
Probably runs a fine house.

TIM
For an infant, sure.

HEROD
For wisest wise-men in my kingdom, you are all pretty stupid. I don’t want this so-called ‘King of the Jews’ running around my kingdom. You can’t have two kings in one kingdom. If you have two kings in one kingdom do you know what that creates?

AL
A power vacuum!

FRANK
A vacancy of power!

TIM
Shut up! That’s completely wrong!

HEROD
Tim is right to demean you. The opposite is true, in fact, it creates a power struggle. And I am not one who enjoys struggling for my power. I don’t much care for fending off any ‘Johnny-come-lately’ king who thinks he rules the Jews.

FRANK
But there’s lots of Jews around, King.

AL
Frank’s right.

HEROD
I know that. So, I would simply like to meet this king and reason with him. Nay, I would like to worship him. Because if he truly is the King of the Jews then he is to be worshipped. He can rule the religion and I can rule the land. It will work out perfectly. People never have a problem sharing authority. Fifty-fifty.

AL
Why that’s a fine idea, king.

TIM
That doesn’t sound quite right.

FRANK
Bully, Tim. It’s a great idea. Worship his feet and share the throne.

HEROD
It’s settled then. Go out into my kingdom and find this king and when you do bring him to me so that I may pay my respects.

FRANK
Done and done, Herod.

AL
We’ll find him. We’re wise-men.

TIM
In a manner of speaking we are wise, yes, Al.

(The three wisemen start to leave but Herod gets up and stands in their way.)

HEROD
Now, I must make my instructions crystal clear.

FRANK
Who do you figure to do that?

(Music begins and the following is sang. Musically it’s the same as the first song.)

HEROD
I’m the king I want for nothing
So, nimrods, follow me like sheep
Except for Tim, poor Frank and Al
I could manipulate in my sleep

I simply can’t believe this jerk
I hate his guts and all his Jew-y kingness
And therefore I must ask myself:
So, what’s the deal with Jesus?

TIM
I’m not a dolt I see through lies
I know I should suspect the worst
His growing madness with his power
Not unlike mogul William Randolph Hearst

I’ve no doubt of his power
He’s the chosen one to lead us
Precocious little scamp he is
So, what’s the deal with Jesus?

FRANK & AL
We’re plain spoken, yes, it’s true
The less we say is more, says Tim
Herod wants a Jew-y king
And so we will deliver him

Without good Tim we’d probably starve
He promised not to leave us
Every single place we go we hear
So, what’s the deal with Jesus?

(They dance to a conclusion. The stage goes black.)

Phil Sheridan: Keepin it real and shit

Yesterday, the Baseball Writers Association of America voted Albert Pujols as the National League MVP. I love the shit out of Ryan Howard and he turned a god awful start into a solid season but nobody was even close to Pujols this year. Dude was a beast. Easily the best hitter in the league and played excellent defense at first. I think Pujols was a fine choice and the only choice. Phil Sheridan, on the other hand, does not. Phil disagrees. Phil feels this selection was...well...

MVP voting is out of whack

..out of whack. Yes. Phil felt this was a poor choice. An "out of whack" choice, which is a phrase I didn't think people used anymore. My bad, Phil. Lay it on me. Bring in the logic. Bring in the reason.

Ryan Howard was the most valuable player in the National League in 2008

Well, he did bring the logic. Appeal to authority. Why is Ryan Howard the most valuable player? Cause Phil says so, NERD.

That he was not voted MVP by the Baseball Writers' Association of America says more about the association than about Howard, Albert Pujols or America.

In this case, it says they are smart. Although, that's usually not the case.

Pujols was not an embarrassing selection, not with his excellent numbers, but was still the wrong selection. And that should embarrass the association enough to do what it should have done long ago: get out of the business of voting on baseball's postseason awards - as well as the Hall of Fame.

He wasn't by any means an embarrassing selection. But his selection was so embarrassing the BBWAA should stop selecting the MVP and voting for Hall of Famers. Uh...que?

Let's put this logic in a different context.

Jaywalking is not so offensive it requires a death sentence. However, jaywalking is so offensive whoever is found guilty must be put to death by firing squad.

That won't happen because the association is as incapable of being embarrassed as is Major League Baseball itself.

No, no. No. Both are very capable.

The arguments against the writers' participation in the voting are well-established and have been covered here before. It is ethically indefensible for the journalists who cover baseball to vote for official awards that have an impact on players' financial rewards.

The more logical argument here is to not allow player's contracts to be effected by these idiotic awards. But from the looks of this column, written by a man paid to know things about baseball and apply said knowledge to his writing, logic is for stupids.

Imagine Howard's 2009 arbitration hearing. It will be different because he finished second in this voting as opposed to first. That alone is reason enough for the association to recuse itself from this annual charade.

Not an argument.

If the MVP is the player with the best all-round statistical season, a computer could figure that out. And a computer might well have spit out Pujols' name this season. He was terrific.

Why is that bad? Aren't stats a way of quantifying how good a player is or their...wait for it...value?

The group-think association argument for Pujols, if I'm smart enough to get it right, is that he single-handedly kept the Cardinals in the wild-card race.

Some people like sushi. Phil doesn't like sushi. Phil likes pancakes or "flapjacks". People who like sushi are 'tards. They are also elitist because Phil doesn't understand them. Phil thinks the reason people like sushi is the same reason he likes pancakes.

Dude, seriously? Albert Pujols had a crazy good year. Dude hit .357/.462/.653 with a 190(!) +OPS and 35 winshares. That's, like, really good. Any one, or all, of those stats are good reasons for choosing Pujols.

Not reasons for choosing Pujols:
1) His team wasn't good but he was.
2) He never struck out. Strike outs are embarrassing.
3) All the other writers are going to vote for him so I don't want to be the only writer that doesn't vote for him. I am scared of the baseball writers. Last time, I left Barry Bonds off my ballot and the Detroit guy and the Anahiem guy took me out back and beat me with film reels like Boggs' boys beat Andy that one time in Shawshank. The whole time they were singing "Centerfield" and yelling "You know nothing!"

That is brilliant, except it ignores the presence of Ryan Ludwick, Rick Ankiel and Troy Glaus (so much for "single-handedly"), and the fact that the National League wild-card race was a watered-down farce.

Good Reasons for voting against Pujols:
1) Ryan Ludwick
2) Rick Ankiel
3) Troy Glaus
4) The comical "watered-down farce" that was the NL wild card race.

But, wait, here comes the kind of sarcastic, rhetorical zinger that made Sheridan famous

The Cards finished fourth in their division, 151/2 games behind the Cubs. Replace Pujols with an average NL first baseman and what happens? Do they drop all the way to fifth?

ALL THE WAY DOWN TO FIFTH?!!?!?!? AFDFJHDFHDHGI:!!!!!!!!! Burn. Sheridan: 40 Everybody else: 0

The association seamheads love to throw around stats - OPS, VORP, ASPCA - to make a case for Pujols.

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!!!! OMGOMGOMGOMGLOLOLOL!!!!! Dude. Stop. Please stop. Please, please, please, please, please, please stop. When Phil wrote that sentence he thought "What's an acronym that isn't even a stat that will make people howl in laughter but I'll put it next to other stats so people will think it's a stupid stat? ASPCA! I'm awesome" This hasn't been funny when 183725493242358594 other sportswriters wrote it and it still isn't.

That's all great. Yes, he struck out less and hit for a higher average. But Howard won actual baseball games in an honest-Abe pennant race. He had 11 more home runs than Pujols, scored five more runs than Pujols, and drove in 30 more runs than Pujols.

Pujols was awesome this year and here are some reasons why. Those reasons why are worthless because Howard won games. He won them with the runs he scored and the runs he batted in. Neither of those things had anything to do with the teammates who knocked him in or were already on base when he knocked them in. Do you hear me?! IT WAS ALL HOWARD!

Notice there are no decimal points involved there, only whole numbers that made a difference in real baseball games.

In a recent survey of things Americans fear an overwhelming 95 percent claimed to be terrified of decimals. Before the end of the year a decimal will kill somebody you know. Decimals will kill twice as many people next year as they did in 2008. The only way to combat this is with whole numbers, rounding, blowing up all calculators, living in caves and reverting to the barter system.

Also for somebody trying to use stats against "seamheads" Phil chose two of the most worthless stats in terms of determining how well a player performed (runs and RBI). He also chose one month out of a six month long season.

That takes care of the logic.

RIP: Logic

America's Ideological Struggle

In my travels around this great country, I've encountered almost every sort of American. Be they tall, short, bald, fat, skinny or Chinese -- I've probably bought a coffee from them, checked their ID or sold them things. The thing is, there is a ideological struggle among these people.

It's a struggle about our fundamental way of life and how one conducts themselves in a society. Battles at the foundations of society about what's lawful and what's not and what is deemed socially acceptable are being waged all over the place. Some are so passionate in their beliefs that they immediately dismiss others right off the bat. Some allow their passion for this matter to cloud their judgment even in love. They will refuse to date anyone who does not conform to their worldview. It's somewhat sad that after so many years of evolving we still allow our petty differences to divide us in such a way.

In this epic stuggle for right there are two sides. You all know the sides. You know which side thinks what. You know why one side holds the other in such low regard and looks down their noses at them. You know why the other side feels victimized. You know the players of this game. It's been going on for years. Sure the words have changes but they generally mean the same things. It's the classic fundamental struggle and the most visible of those in the struggle are at each end of the spectrum.

Hipsters and douchebags.

Think you've never met these people? You're wrong. But just in case you're right (even though you aren't) I'll copy and paste an excerpt from thoughts going through these people's heads.

Hipster:
"God this is lame. Why is everybody so lame? Why can't everyone be smarter? I should like, totally, vote for mccain. That'll show those asshole bandwagon obama fans. They only like him cause he's cool. I don't even like obama anymore. I wrote a poem about it. You want to hear it? No, you can't hear it. It's too vibrantly emotional. Upper-middle class? Whatever, who wants that. I'd rather be destitute than have a real job. I'd rather work at Whole Foods. At least they're not some heartless corporation. Corporations. They're so gay. Why try at stuff when the cards are so stacked against you? Yeah, I smoke. So much pain, smoking makes it less lame. Yeah, a poem...whatever. I don't need glasses but I need them because I'm such a tortured soul. That girl over there is pretty. I'd love to marry her. She'd never talk to me. She's probably stupid. What a whore. What's wrong with your jeans? Mine are so tight. I don't eat Wendy's hamburgers. Because they're square. Aren't I quirky? When I insist on caring about something so trivial doesn't that make me weird and awesome? No? Whatever. You probably shop at the mall. Faggot. I don't care what I look like. Except my hair. Hair is important. It's gotta cover half your face. My hair shrouds me in mystery. That was cool, right? Shrouds in mystery. Yeah, I write poems but whatever. Anime...yeah... Other peoples opinions don't matter. I'm an individual. That's why my friends only listen to the same two bands. I drink PBR. I'm so ironic. Get it? I'm not poor but I could be. My problems are so much different and worse than everybody elses problems. You have problems, too? Cool. We should hang out. Talk about our problems. I wrote a song about us. Want to hear it? You can't. I can't sing or play any instruments. Plus, why should I even play it for you? It's in my notebook. Yeah, I carry a notebook. It's in my bag. I carry a bag because it helps me slouch. It serves no practical purpose. Who needs a bag when you don't go to school or have a job? My bag's got patches of bands on it. You've never heard of them. Oh, you've heard of that one? That's funny, I don't even like them. If I could be as depressed as Billy Corrigan that'd be awesome. I listen to Dashboard when I fuck. God. this is lame.

Douchebag:
"I'm pretty awesome. Not gonna lie, I've been really workin the lats and bis and I am lookin SLICED tonight, kiiiid. Relationships? You know what? I'm so not into, like, 'labels' or whatever. You know? It's just so constricting. Like, if we're "boyfriend and girlfriend" then whatever, you know? Like, that just boxes us in when we could be so much more than that, babe. It's just -- when I date somebody -- I cheat on them...and it's, like, why do that to yourself? So, labels aren't my thing...oh, but did you see Love Guru? That shit was funny, brah. I think Mike Myers is the funniest dude ever. Guy's got that midget from Austin Powers with him, classic. Remember when I talked like Austin Powers from 4th through 11th grade? That was so funny. Seriously, how did I get to be this awesome? I never thought a person could reach this pantheon of anti-suck but here I am. Who thinks outside the box enough to go tanning in the winter? I mean, it's winter, dawg! Nobody gets tan in winter cause there's no sun but, brah, that's why it's so genius. I can't wait to get out of here, go to sleep and workout tomorrow. My t-shirt is the best t-shirt out of all the t-shirts here tonight. It's like, somebody was wearing it and it was just a regular shirt but then they fell off a roof and instead of blood splattering they had paint splatter and then to cover up the paint they put glitter but that didn't work so they just sold it for 100 dollars. Entourage is the greatest show ever made. I fuckin' love this shirt. It shows off my lack of arm hair. Broads don't like arm hair and neither to I. I spend four hours a day shaving and it's worth every minute. Why would I want hair anywhere on my body that's not my head or jaw-line? I text-message all the time. People gotta know, you know? My chin strap is lookin' right, son. It's, like, crazy thin but you totally know it's there. I don't smoke but in case I ever want to try there's one behind my ear. One time me and my boys Trevor, Ace, Stylez, Jay and Fucker went to a club and banged like 800 chicks. Ace and Fucker got the like twelve. I hope I didn't leave any coke on my face. Coke is awesome because chicks like coke. Chicks are stupid. They're not smart like me. This one chick thought veal was lamb and me and my boys laughed at her so hard until she cried then we took turns punching her in the face. Everybody knows veal is horsemeat."

This is what we've got going on right now. Clearly, both these people suck somethin awful. Yet, they insist their way of life is best. The moral of the story? Hipsters on the left, douchebags on the right. They're essentially the same person. A stupid person.

Holiday Cheer: A Christmas Pageant Pt1

Ho. Ho. Ho. I've decided that if ABC Family can run a '25 days till the 25 days of Christmas' then I can start my holiday a little early. A month ago, my sister asked me to write a Christmas pageant for the children in her church to perform. Now, let's keep a few things in mind: my sister doesn't just go to this chruch she kind of works there. By works there, I mean she's a priest. Yup, we're Episcopalian: we let the gay and the female among us become priests which I think is kinda nice.

Anyways, I felt the old Pageants lacked a certain something. Naturally, I stuck strictly to the bible and took few liberties. Remember, the kids performing this will be 7-14. I will do this in parts. Here is part one of..........

It’s Christmas, Ya’ll


By Aaron Castellan

(CAESAR AUGUSTUS is sitting on his throne in the middle of the stage. MRS. AUGUSTUS is laying by his side and TWO JESTERS are draped over chairs on either side of him – they’re both drunk with bottles of booze in hand.)


CAESAR
Oh, jesters, my jesters. Why do you jest no longer?

JESTER #1
We’ve tasted the sweetness, darkness and loneliness of the bottle.

JESTER #2
And we want more!

CAESAR
Fooey! I say to you, fooey, oh jesters. Forget, that. I am in the mood for other things.

MRS. AUGUSTUS
What sort of things your royal badness?

CAESAR
Sweet of you to offer, wife. But I, like many others of this time, prefer young boys. Nay, I am not in the mood for pleasures of the flesh. I am in a decreeing mood!

JESTER #2
A decree?

CAESAR
Absolutely.

JESTER #1
Of what sort?

CAESAR
The lucrative kind. I run this. All this is mine. However, times a tough. We need a bailout. We need revenue. We need taxes!

(The Jesters jump for joy and in their drunken state they try to perform for the following song and dance for the king. The music to this and all songs is ‘Very Model of a Modern Major General’.)

JESTER #1 & #2
You’d be hard pressed to find a self-respecting man
To agree that there’s no better truck than a Chevy
But when times are tough, things are rough and tensions running up
What’s better than a dedicated levy?

MRS. AUGUSTUS
My husband’s tastes for gold and food are quite exquisite
So I spend my days and nights just drinking sherry
I push my feelings down inside to keep up my appearance
But on my husband’s tomb it reads “Hail Caesar! (He’s a fairy)”

CAESAR
My mouth is dry, my eyes are red and haven’t showered in a week
Heavy weighs the crown, you know, this burden’s tough to carry
But when my wife suspects that I prefer the company of boys
What’s better than a dedicated levy?

(Everybody dances to a conclusion)

CAESAR
So, it’s settled then. A tax, I say! A tax for all!

(Everybody exits. As they exit, MARY and JOSEPH enter. They’ve been traveling for a while.)

JOSEPH
For the love of GOD, woman!

MARY
I’ve with child, ya jerk! Some would say, I am great with child.

JOSEPH
Those people haven’t seen you naked lately, oy! You could hit the gym, why not?

MARY
Joe, we’ve gotta stop. I’m tired.

JOSEPH
Never! We go to the City of David to pay our taxes!

MARY
It’s Bethlehem. Nobody calls it ‘The City of David’ anymore.

JOSEPH
PEH! It’s the city of David! Who is this Bethlehem? What is that?
MARY
Can we stop?

JOSEPH
No!

(They continue to walk. A narrator’s voice is heard but not seen.)

NARRATOR
And so they trekked on. Joseph insisting they continue until they reach their destination.

(They walk off the stage. The stage goes black.)

NARRATOR
Once in the city of David, Mary gave birth to her child in a barn. She went into labor in a barn. Her initial contractions started in a barn. The kid was born in a barn. It is important to understand that Mary birthed a child in a barn.

(The lights appear and Mary is sitting with a child wrapped in the swaddling. Joseph is Proudly smoking a cigar.)

JOSEPH
Twenty sheckles for a room? PEH! I say, we sleep in the barn.

MARY
A room would have been a little nicer of a place to have a child. Could you not smoke that? The baby is coughing.

JOSEPH
Nonsense! This will teach the boy about life. He will grow up to be a strong man! A carpenter! Just like his father!

MARY
Listen, about that father thing…

NARRATOR
Mary neglected to tell Joseph about her previous visit from the angel Gabriel.

JOSEPH
I believe you neglected to mention this, wife! How did that work? Was he bigger than me?

MARY
Come on, Joe. It’s God.

(Joseph continues stomping around and the stage goes black)

NARRATOR
As it so happened, God did not want his child to be born without fanfare. So, he rounded up some spectators. First on the list – shepherds.

(The lights come back on as as see three shepherds, GARY, WINSTON and PETE, standing around looking at their sheep.)

GARY
Winston!

WINSTON
What?

GARY
Get your damn sheep away from me. They smell funny..

PETE
You smell funny.

GARY
I wasn’t talking to you, Pete.

WINSTON
Hey! Shut up, Gary.

GABRIEL
ENOUGH!

(GABRIEL’s booming voice is heard off-stage. The shepherds all look up and cower.)

PETE
Uh…god?

GABRIEL
No!

GARY
Muhammad?

GABRIEL
Gabriel, you morons!

WINSTON
Who?

GABRIEL
The Angel Gabriel!

PETE
Oh…of course…Gabriel.

GARY
What’s up, Gabes?

GABRIEL
You still don’t know who I am, do you?

WINSTON
Sure, we do! Weren’t we in the coast guard together or something?

GABRIEL
No! Never mind. Listen, go to the city of David.

GARY
Which city is that?

PETE
I don’t know. Winston?

WINSTON
I don’t know either.

GABRIEL
Ugh, for the love of- Bethlehem!

WINSTON
Oh, why didn’t you just say that?

GABRIEL
It doesn’t matter! There’s this kid – crackerjack kid, you’re gonna love him. Go see him and bring him stuff.

GARY
Let’s say we go see this kid, where is he?

GABRIEL
Oh, that’s the best part! He’s in a barn.

PETE
A barn?

WINSTON
Which one?

GABRIEL
Well, it’s, you know, it’s that one…over by the…how many barns could there be?

GARY
Quite a few actually, Gabriel.

PETE
What about our sheep?

GABRIEL
This isn’t me telling you. This is God.

WINSTON
Why didn’t he tell us himself?

GARY
Yeah. Is talking to a couple shepherds beneath him?

GABRIEL
Yeah, he sends me to do stuff from time to time.

PETE
What happens if we don’t go?

GABRIEL
You see all these sheep?

WINSTON
What about ‘em?

GABRIEL
Yeah, I’ll kill ‘em. All of ‘em. You’ll cease to be shepherds and you’ll just be three guys walking around.

GARY
That’s really true isn’t it? I mean, take away the sheep and we kind of suck.

WINSTON
Man, that really is true.

GABRIEL
Good, you’re all scared now, yes?

PETE
I’m more confused than scared.

GABRIEL
Good enough. Now GO!

NARRATOR
The three confused shepherds decided to take the angel’s advice and travel to Bethlehem.

(The shepherds walk off the stage. The stage goes black.)

Next part is tomorrow....

The folksy shortcomings of the Campus Center Dining Hall/Quantum of Solace

In my college years I ate a wide variety of mass-produced, campus food. None of it was that great but it kept me alive as I spend most of the time killing my body in other ways. There were multiple dining halls and each one had it's own quirks. One had a great lunch and buffalo chicken wraps on Fridays, one had the Kosher Kitchen and the other one just sucked. The first two had their merits and the third one simply had a reputation for sucking. It wasn't good at anything. Anything this dining hall managed to do with any sort of competence the other dining halls did better. Yet, despite this dining hall's lack of worth I continued to go there on a regular basis. I think it was more of a comfort thing. The sun will always rise, dogs will always bark, tap dancing will always be under-appreciated and the Campus Center dining hall will always manage to leave me underwhelmed.

By the middle of my second year in school it almost made the place endearing. It just had an "Aw, shucks" quality to it that simply would not permit me to hate the place. I'd go almost an entire week without a truly awful meal and start to think "You know what? That dining hall ain't so bad." Then I'd commit the inevitable late-dinner fuck up that happens when you can't eat until the designated "dinner hours" are almost over. A late dinner means, basically, there is no food left. Sure, there are some things there you could eat: Pasta with no sauce, corn floating in cloudy water, a grilled cheese sandwich or any number of Vegan dishes. None of these things were anywhere close to satisfying or even a meal. After one of these dinners I'd just smile, shake my head and just say "Oh...YOU!" And I'd know that the world was back in order.

I didn't like this particular dining hall. Everything about it suggested that I should have actually disliked it but I could never bring myself to that point because something about those crappy, vegan hot dogs was just disarming. It was kinda nice to know that this sort of dining hall was around to keep my life interesting. If I never ate there, I would have never had to worry about food poisoning or dangerously undercooked cheeseburgers. It made my life a little more exciting and I appreciated that.

I mention this as a flimsy pretext to talk about the film Quantum of Solace. I liked the film but it had some drawbacks that gave me a similar "aw, shucks" reaction. Instead of "Oh, dining hall.", it was more "Oh, Haggis." I'll be honest -- I love a good Bond movie. Casino Royale was just the bee's knees. I had high hopes for Quantum of Solace and those expectations were, for the most part, met. However, there were a few drawbacks that kept it from achieving the things Royale did.

The first thing was the seizure-inducing opening chase sequence. I'm not someone who particularly notices or cares about visual aspects of a movie but when each shot lasts no longer than .00006434300009 seconds it demands your attention. Because I never pay attention to things like this, I'm sure this has been going on in other movies long before i noticed. But, it's lame. And it's kind of lazy.

The second thing was the corny aspect that mercifully was omitted from Casino Royale. However, corniness is what one must expect when it comes to the man who penned the movie (Paul Haggis) that painted everybody in Los Angeles County as both racist AND stupid. In Solace, there were parts of the movie where the script became obtrusive in my attempts to enjoy the movie. An example would be when Bond is holding a dying Mathis in his arms and Mathis whispers something retarded into his ear. Then Bond throws him in a dumpster. It doesn't sound as offensive becuase I can't remember exactly what it was he said but I do remember that during what was supposed to be a heartfelt moment I started laughing. That's not a great sign.

The other part that struck me as bad was when Bond was flying a plane across the desert with some broad we know very little about at his side. We know she doesn't like the bad guys and probably wants to have sex with our hero. In the plane ride, a nice conversation is interrupted by those dastardly Bolivians (?) and their shooty-gun-planes. As our hero attempts to manuver his way around dying a firey death, this broad (Camille) leaps to the back of the plane to look out the window for no real reason at all. I was confused by this until she started narrating what was going on. Shouts of "I think we lost them!", "They're still here!", "Look out, they're behind you!" and "They're coming!" reminded us all that we were still in a life-and-death struggle. It's not that her randomly throwing herself to the back of the plane to narrate the action was that offensive, it just seemed bizarre and...I dunno...stupid. Stupid because we already had a clear sense that this was a sticky situation and if we didn't see some of that double oh training then this movie would come to an abrupt end. After I left the movie I felt satisfied but I still had to shake my head, clench my fist and say "Oh...HAGGIS." The movie wasn't dripping with his brand of lame, corny emotion but there was enough of it to remind me this was the same guy who wrote Last Kiss.

The Matt Stairs Show

One of the great stories of the Phillies 2008 playoff run was the clutch home run off the bat of Matthew Wade Stairs of St. John, New Brunswick. This improbable home run that sent the Philadelphia faithful into a frenzy was amazing not only because of its significance in the series, but because it allowed us to see into the mind of a simple, Canadian boy who longed for the glory of NHL greatness. Sadly for him, however, Stairs was forced to settle for baseball greatness. Personally, I think it ended up working out for him.

The inevitable post-game interview following Game four of the NLCS was rather uneventful, quote-free and awkward. Did I say quote-free? I meant highly quotable and homoerotic.

What struck me about Stairs was that he seemed completely unchanged by all the attention he was receiving. He didn't seem to care. I suppose that comes with the territory of being a seldom-used pinch-hitter who wears his jacket the entire game. Seriously, if I didn't recognize him, I'd think he was a coach. But more than that, Stairs really seemed like a down-to-Earth man's man. Dude likes to hunt, fish and throw back a few (see: beer gut). Naturally, I thought to myself "Give this man a TV show". Not the played-out, reality show where you follow around the guy and it's named something that is kind of clever at first but sounds infinitely lamer each time it's spoken like "Stairs-way to Heaven", "The Stair-down" or "I'm not your door-Matt". Nay, a played-out, generic 80's and early 90's style SITCOM!

Here's the general idea and cast of characters:

Setting: "Matt's Bait Tackle 'n Gun Depot" in Houlton, Maine. Houlton is a small town in Maine a stone's throw from the Canadian border.

Characters:

Matt Stairs: Matt, a retired baseball player, runs a bait, tackle and gun shop named "Matt's Bait Tackle 'n Gun Depot". It's nestled just at the end of the main road in Houlton. Matt's a nice guy with a wife and fully-grown kids who we never see. His shop is two stories and him and his wife live upstairs. Matt is the moral center of his friends. He's from Canada and loves all things Canadian.

Margie Stairs: Margie has been married to Matt for almost 30 years. They met at a tryout for the old Quebec Nordiques. Matt was a defenseman and Margie was goalie. They got into a fight and when paramedics removed Margie's helmet, Matt realized he'd beaten the crap out of a beautiful woman. He swore off beating women for life and they were married two years later. She helps out at the bar across the street occasionally but mostly stays around the store. Played by Annie Potts.

Herb Conroy: Matt's best friend and confidant. Herb, born and raised in Houlton, hates all things Canadian. He forgives Matt for his Canadian nationality because Matt played Herb's favorite sport (baseball). Herb is a staunch conservative and is constantly afraid of any sort of governance, laws or oversight. Conspiracy theories are kind of his bread and butter. Believe it or not, he's still looking for love. Played by everybody's mustached hero of the 1980s -- Jack Morris.

Demetrius Jackson: Demetrius, or "Jack", as he's known around the store, is our token black guy. He was born and raised in Quebec and speaks fluent French. Jack enjoys being the only black guy in town. Women love Jack because most of the women in Houlton have never actually met a black guy before. Jack is a science-fiction writer and loves making up theories to scare the crap out of Herb. Played by Alex Desert.

Troy Howard: Troy is a foul-mouthed 11-year-old who hangs around the store because he loves to hunt and fish. He doesn't exactly work there but occasionally Matt will give him a fishing rod or a gun. Matt, Margie and Herb constantly lecture him about his language and knack for tomfoolery. Jack encourages Troy all the time and it often leads to wacky things. Played by the kid who played Texas Ranger in Talladega Nights.

Lucius Thompson: Lucius owns the bar across the street where the fellas all go to get hammered. The bar doesn't need a name because it's the only bar in Houlton. He's a widow of about 60 who still chases the skirts with the best of 'em. Played by Jerry Stiller

Tell me Matt Stairs and his folksy brand of "hammering ass" wouldn't bring the funny once a week for 22 minutes. Can't do it, can you? This has to happen.

Narrator: (bombastic voice) FOUR MONTHS LATER..../Sign Adam Dunn

Fellows and broads, my best regards to you all. After a four month hiatus (which was actually more like 7 months but...whatever) I have returned. I've been concentrating on writing other things and now that I've got a nice base of things to draw from when someone asks the question "I'd like to read a sample". The obvious comment most would make to that would be "dudebrah, that's not a question" and my response to that would be "dude...shut up".

I am, indeed, back for regular postings on this here stop on the world wide internets. Why bother? Well, when you're spending your days as an office temp/PA your tasks are mindless and one has the opportunity to ponder a great many things and are forced to keep them to yourself because you are the lowest of the low. On these here pages, I will intertwine said ponderings as I pursue my passion of writing with my other passion -- the Philadelphia Phillies. I choose these two passions not because they are the only passions I have. but because a blog about fucking isn't very interesting from a guy's point of view. (DUDE! LAST NIGHT -- I TOTALLY GOT LAID, BRAH!! SHE WAS HOT!!!! WOOOO!!! CHICKS!!! PUSH-UPS!!! LAT PRESS!!!! T-SHIRTS WITH STUFF ON 'EM!!!!!) Sorry ladies, that's just how we all talk.

I am also making an attempt to force myself to write as much as possible. While I usually manage to write everyday and I've never really experienced writer's block, I don't always think visually enough to start every idea with "INT. A BAR - NIGHT...etc" Sometimes prose makes it easier to get the brain-chola a choling (not to be confused with 'choline' a natural amine usually found in vitamin B complex. For those of you who are wondering, I only know that because I googled "choling" because I's pretty sure that wasn't a word. It twern't.)

How to begin? Well, since I've contributed dick during the greatest October of my baseball-watching life I'll leave those events in the past. Plenty has been written about the Phillies super-happy-game-fun-time-baseball-winner-champion-achievement-sports (I know nothing of the Far East). So, I'll dive into what lies ahead. The challenges of repeating, the poetry in motion that is a Matt Stairs interview and the unfortunate tale of Les Walrond. Go.

I liken the Phillies 2008 World Series Championship to an Aristotilian confluence of events (stay with me). Lots of things had to go the way of the Philadelphia horsies in order for the Phils to make it happen. They were:

1. Myers, Moyer and Blanton all needed to bring their best stuff for 3 starts in a row.
2. The Cubs needed to lose.
3. The Red Sox needed to lose.
4. Chad Billingsly needed to suck
5. The Rays starters all needed to suck.
6. Matt Stairs needed to hit a game-winning 2-run homer off one of the best young relievers in the league.
7. Ryan Madson needed to awesome.

And all of these things happened. See what I'm getting at? Getting to the playoffs involves being one of the best teams in the league. Winning the World Series involves skill, to be sure, but more than anything else it involves luck. The Phillies proved to be one of the best teams in baseball this past season and with a little luck they won the World Series. I couldn't be happier. I got misty-eyed when it happened. So, what now? Well, GM Pat Gillick retired and left Ruben Amaro Jr. in charge. Amaro will be faced with some difficult choices. What to do with Burrell (let him go), who's catching next season (Ruiz till June then bring up Lou Marson and his gooey .370 OBP) and the rotation (go year-to-year with Moyer, maybe give Happ a shot if he can keep the ball down). But these problems are small. The team should be pretty damn good again in '09 so there's not much to be dunn.

I'm sorry, what was that? I misspelled something? Let me check...oh that. No, not a misspelling. It was a little pun, my friends (!). You see, while working in an office enviornment, you encounter the lamest people ever to reach adulthood. Puns are a normal, recurring part of the day-to-day vernacular (not to mention HY-larious). I hate them like I hate hipsters. Yet, for some reason, I chose that to introduce the one thing I want the Phillies to do this off-season. Sign Adam Dunn.

I'll begin with the knocks against this lumbering left-fielder:

1) Dude's batting average is, like, sucky (.247 career BA...ewwww!)
2) Guy strikes out all the time. What a complete melvin! ( about 170 a season, GROSS!)
3) He plays a horrible left-field (he does suck)
4) He makes the Phillies even more left-handed. (A resonable objection.)
4) J.P Riccardi said he was a lazy dick ( True. He said so.)

Here's the thing: I only really care about one of these things. He's a lousy left-fielder, to be sure, but anything is better than Pat Burrell. Burrell, 32, and Dunn, 29, are strikingly similar players. The major differences are actually in Dunn's favor:

Career OBP:
Dunn .381
Burrell .367

Career SLG%:
Dunn .518
Burrell .485

Career Walks:
Dunn (in 3871 AB): 797
Burrell: (in 4535 AB) 785

What many are now thinking is: "But, Aaron you sniveling douche, Dunn makes the Phillies 3-5 hitters ALL left-handed. That sucks hard!" Well, I'll agree that it does. But, once again, I don't care that much. The fact that a left-handed reliever could come in late in a game and face Utley, Howard and Dunn doesn't bother me nearly as much as the alternatives. Also, let's keep in mind that Rollins, Victorino, Werth, Feliz and Ruiz are all better against left-handed pitching. So, while the top two (or three if you include Dunn) are weakened the rest of the lineup improves. Now, here's the idea that I hope is just a lie.

Recent reports suggest the new GM Ruben Amaro Jr. is considering a platoon of, wait for it, Geoff Jenkins (career .240/.310/.402 against LHP) and Greg Dobbs (career .250/.291/.288 against LHP) with a litle Matt Stairs (career .239/.330/.419 against LHP) sprinkled in for good measure. This is what the current World Champions of Baseball are considering running out in left-field for 2009. This is not a platoon. This is simply a horrible idea. A platoon, ideally, consists of two professional baseballers who play the same position. One of these baseballers is a superior batsman against pitchers of a certain handedness and the other baseballer compliments this by faring much better against pitchers of the opposite handedness. The idea of having two yins and no yangs as your platoon doesn't make less sense than having THREE yins and no yangs (TOO MUCH YIN! NOT ENOUGH YANG!) However, thanks to modern technologies like computers, spy satellites, x-ray guns, Lou Diamond Phillips, Oijui boards and the internets we now know what conversation led to this idea.

(Pat Gillick (current GM) is sitting at the head of a conference table full of executives. Ruben Amaero Jr. (potiental GM) and Mike Arbuckle (potiental GM) are to his right and left. A plethera of suits fill out the rest of the table.)

Gillick: I dunno, fellas. It's close. You're both qualified. I just don't know who to choose as my successor.
Suit #1: We need to shift paradigms, roll up our sleeves and find a can do attitude!
Suit #2: Absolutely.
Amaro: I've learned so much under you, Pat. I can lead this team to another championship.
Suit #3: But what about the Latino markets? Fastest growing demo in the country. Can the new GM be more Latino with a streetwise attitude?
Suit #2: We need all of those things.
Arbuckle: I drafted, developed and produced all of our homegrown players. I'm far more qualified than Ruben. The job is mine.
Suit #2: Good point!
Gillick: What about left-field next year? Burrell isn't coming back. What do we do?
Arbuckle: Kick the tires on free-agents, see where we are with homegrown guys...
(Amaro puts his hand up.)
Amaro: Platoon.
(The room goes silent and all eyes are on Amaro)
Suit #2: (whispering) Incredible.
Arbuckle: A platoon? (Amaro nods) With what? With who?
Gillick: I've gotta agree with Mike on this one, Ruben. We've got all left-handed guys.
Amaro: That's the old way of thinking, boys. We need to think outside the box and enter a new paradigm of thinking.
Suit #2: (whispering) He's a wizard.
Amaro: In left-field we put Jenkins and Dobbs.
(A awkward silence follows.)
Arbuckle: But they're both left-han-
Amaro: (interrupting) AND STAIRS!
(A brief silence is followed by a thunderous ovation from the suits.)
Suit #1: Wow!! A third platoon-mate! Why platoon two men when three is possible?!
Suit #2: That's the greatest idea I've ever heard!
Suit #3: He shall be our new god!
(The suits begin a chorus of "For he's a jolly good Fellow" and hoist Amaro on their shoulders.)
Amaro: (bombastic) We will smite those pitchers with our overwheming train of left-handed batsmen!!
(The suits shout a loud "Hooray!" as they carry Amaro out of the room. Gillick and Amaro remain seated.)
Arbucklle: So, I've got the job, right?
Gillick: I don't care. I'm retired.
(Gillick unbuttons the top two buttons on his Hawaiian shirt, puts on sunglasses and a straw hat.)
Arbuckle: I quit.
Gillick: Peace out, motherfuckers.

That's how an idiot-ass idea like a platoon of three left-handed, left-fielders gets started. Suits and Ruben Amero Jr.

In summation, I only request that General Manager Amero gives thought to the idea that Dunn is the same as Burrell only he gets on base more, hits for more power, plays a better left-field and is three years younger. I beg the current Phillies regime to give this idea some thought. Dunn makes the Phillies lineup substantially more awesome. Victorino, Rollins, Werth, Utley, Howard, Dunn? I'd buy that for a dollar! Robocop -- biting satire.