Wednesday, November 28, 2007
  Lather, rinse, repeat
Shampoo logic games.

On a Joe Cocker and Martin Sexton kick this week.

8-1 is a distinct possibility heading into next week.

The loss of Rosevelt Colvin greatly affects the Patriots D, especially with the domino effect to the secondary.

Speaking of which, is Eddie Jackson still earning a check signed by Mr. Kraft?

So long, Dr. Charles. Thanks for not returning MY email you shampoo. Not like it was for a good cause, unlike the one of promoting a washed-up pedo lounge singer. P.S. Randy Newman called, he wants you to "inject" his career now.

Short of Duke/Bucky, the Big 10/ACC Challenge is unwatchable. There, I said it.

Going to dive headfirst into The Miracle of St. Anthony's next week.

I do not feel like getting out of bed this a.m. (hence the post).

Ok, maybe I will.

Enjoy the day.

F logic games.

Monday, November 26, 2007
  Baio or Boeheim?
Like Jimmy Chitwood one dramatically announced in the town chamber in Hickory, Indiana: "I think it's about time for me to start playin' blog."

* Watching the Pittsburgh/Miami Monday Night game right now. Yeah, I'm one of the three. Got one word for you, Mr. Rooney. It's actually one word, but it's a compound word..."FieldTurf."

* Baio or Boeheim? If you had to choose one of the two to hang with on Dec. 8, who would it be? The gig makes the answer Boeheim, as we're playing at the Dome that Saturday night. But...a phonecall I got today makes me really want to reconsider. Got an offer from a good friend with an extra pass to a party.

At the Playboy Mansion. Not just some punch & pie party (pie...maybe that's a bad choice of words...rephrase, your honor?).

This particular party would have entailed a pre-party at a local posh hotel, then a limo to the Mansion, then a tour of the Mansion by one of the Mensa members who spends her day sunning herself, followed by an open bar gathering around the grotto (read: where they have the bikini Mensa meetings). After that, you can either hang there for a while and eat and drink (and probably be pretty shampooing merry), or retreat to your private poolside cabana, where you will be served drinks from a rotation of scantily clad Nobel laureates in physics. Later on, there's a VIP post-part at the Four Seasons, where Vegas oddsmakers put it at 3-1 that you'd see a naked Lindsay Lohan doing a crabwalk through the lobby (apologies to Family Guy for stealing that sub-reference).

Sounds like the trip of a lifetime, right? It is. But I have to pass.

Nothing sexier that Dinosaur BBQ and 40 minutes of 2-3 zone.

* These commercials around the holidays...when folks buy their significant others Lexuses or Mercedes Benzes...just stop it. The world of credit is bad enough, don't give people bad ideas.

* Just read that the Yankees are trying to get involved in a trade for Johan Santana. First thought that came to mind: Santana will be a member of the Red Sox in a week.

Why? Because of this paragraph from the wire service report:

"Asked whether the Twins had said they would consider a trade, Steinbrenner responded: "Oh yeah."

Crisp, Lester/or/Buchholz, Bowden. And they can have Hansen. Do it. Do it.

* Elle MacPherson is on some CNBC show. She's probably 45. Still got it.

* Three weeks off or whatever, and I still got it.

That's even more remarkable.

Ok, logic games and reasoning beckon. LSAT on Saturday. Please, give me 160+.

Thursday, November 22, 2007
  New Morning Song
For a while there, every morning, I woke up to the Dropkick's "I'm Shipping Up To Boston." But like all good things, they get beaten to death by marketing and promotions people. (like the folks at the Heights...seriously, mix in Black Betty or Hell's Bells or something...even Tessie...)

So teetering between Foukishima's "Tokyo," Phil Collins' "In the Air Tonight, and Joe Cocker's "She Came in Through the Bathroom Window," I think I've found the winner. And an apropos tune at this particular venture: Colin Hay's Waiting for my Life to Begin.

Lyrics posted below. Have a good Turkey Day. At some point, this place might actually get to be a blog again and not some vacant lot in cyberspace.
Any minute now, my ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
I'll stand on the bow, feel the waves come crashing
Come crashing down down down, on me

And you say, be still my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in
But don't you understand
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin

When I awoke today, suddenly nothing happened
But in my dreams, I slew the dragon
And down this beaten path, and up this cobbled lane
I'm walking in my old footsteps, once again

And you say, just be here now
Forget about the past, your mask is wearing thin
Let me throw one more dice
I know that I can win
I'm waiting for my real life to begin

Any minute now, my ship is coming in
I’ll keep checking the horizon
And I'll check my machine, there's sure to be that call
It's gonna happen soon, soon, oh so very soon
It's just that times are lean

And you say, be still my love
Open up your heart, let the light shine in
Don't you understand
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin

Hey....hey, heeeee.....hey.....hey, hey....heeee....heeee...

On a clear day
I can see
See a very long way

On a clear day
I can see
See a very long way
Sunday, November 04, 2007
  Tis Better to be Thought Weird than Perverted

(subject was an actual quote by your truly)

Whew...I just don't get around these parts much anymore. And thanks to a few text messages from TLBR enthusiasts, I've succombed to peer pressure.

So let's discuss a few topics that have piling up on my internal pasteboard.

Wow. Watching the Patriots make the comeback of all comebacks. For them to play as poorly as they did. For them to rack up as many penalty yards as they did - some deserved, some not. For Tom Brady to have his worst statistical game of the season. For all that to happen in one 60:00 game, and still orchestrate the come-from-behind win and the big plays at the biggest moments...

It's safe to say that the Pats have smooth sailing the rest of the way. And, oh yeah, they just clinched the AFC East. And probably home-field advantage. Playoffs at the Razor the whole way.

Onto the other topic that surrounded the Pats the last week or so: running-it-up-gate.

Background: the Pats were up big in the 4th, and kept going for it on 4th down, and kept scoring touchdowns.

National pundits - and idiots galore - decried Bill Belichick for being a bully. He runs up the score to prove a point. He wants to stick it to the man. And playing the role of the man in this performance is Roger Goodell, the NFL, Eric Mangini and, well, anyone not associated with the NEP.

I say horsefeathers.

Running up the score is not something that should be associated with professional sports. These folks are paid. They're professional. It's their job. If one team gets killed on the scoreboard, it's because they aren't good at their job that particular day. If it's a pattern, then it means they're not very good at their job, in general.

One of the Redskins defensive ends - Phillip Daniels - thought the act of trying to put points on the board (BTW, the central goal of all offenses in sports that keep score) was classless.

Daniels said: "You've already got a giant lead and you still want to go for it on fourth down? To me, that's running up the score, no matter how you look at it."

Ok, I'll translate: "We sucked that day. And by that point, we'd given up. That touchdown made us look bad and really made it look like we had quit."

If you don't like getting scored on, then play defense and stop it. If you think that these "unwritten rules" are sacred, then write them down.

And, by nature, you can't compare football to other sports in terms of actions/reactions in the case of blowouts.

In basketball, you can put in the second, third, or even fourth stringers. You can opt not to run razzle-dazzle plays like alley-oops. At the end of the game, you can take a shot-clock violation. You can play four corners. You can do that. But trust me, on the other side of the ball, that sort of thing pours rubbing alcohol on the series of papercuts that is a blowout loss.

In baseball, you can opt not to take extra bases on basehits, steal bases, bunt, or tag up. You can also empty the bench.

In hockey, I dunno. Who cares? It's hockey.

But in football, it's a contact sport. If you go half-speed and get hit by someone not-going-half-speed,'ll be eating soup through a straw for a few months. Football players need to get after it. And, with the limited amount of playing time for reserves in the sport, if you get your chance, you need to shine.

Case and point, Matt Cassel, Patriots backup quarterback. He was inserted into the NEP lineup in a blowout against Miami. He sucked, the Dolphins scored twice, and he got pulled. His head coach was pissed. So next time, trust me, Cassel was not going to screw up a second time. Ask Drew Bledsoe, Rohan Davey and Michael Bishop about that.

The win today that puts the New England Patriots at 9-0 ought to kick the "'72 Dolphins Watch" into full gear. The worst part about that?

The '72 Dolphins on television. F Mercury Morris, Larry Csonka, Don Shula, et al.
When the Sox won the World Series in 2004, I cried. I ran around. I called all my friends and told them I loved them. I cried again. I put a few bucks on "24" at the roulette table. I drank a few celebratory beers. I bought the World Series locker room t-shirt in New York City (not at the Yankees Store, which profanely asked me to leave...). I watched every single Sox recap show. I bought every DVD. Have every magazine in mint condition, sealed up. I got the playoff highlights emailed to me in mp3 format. I memorized the calls of the ALCS and World Series final plays, even tried to get Castig's intonation down. I still weep watching "Faith Rewarded," or the "groundball, stabbed by Foulke, he underhands it...and the Red Sox are the World Champions..." Throughout that playoff run, I tried to get my hands on every playoff ticket I could. I even mulled over flying to St. Louis, just to be there.

When the Sox won the World Series in 2007, I thought to myself "wow." I sent a few texts. And then I set my sleep timer for 15 minutes and woke up the next day really concerned about making sure I got the basketball programs printed.

It's different. It has to be.

Different isn't bad.

I never saw the field goal go through the uprights when the Pats beat the Rams for that first Super Bowl. I was a mess. I was crying, sobbing, shitfaced, and it was surreal. The next two Super Bowl wins were EPMD, baby: strictly business.

As I'm typing, I was flipping through the channels and landed on Home Shopping Network. Mike Lowell is on there. He's helping to hawk a Red Sox jersey, signed by all 25 members of the 2007 Red Sox World Series team. The price? $4299.95, plus $22.95 shipping and handling.

Are you shampooing kidding me?

Minutes after the final out - and please, please, please, one cares who has the ball from the final out...seriously, no one - there were commercials for the $130 engraved commemorative bat.

And the friggin' Dropkick Murphys.

And the parade.

And the dancing.

Stop. Act like you've been there. Because I remember when you were and I remember when you did. In fact, I'll never forget it. And 2007 is close to becoming forgettable.
I never liked the Celtics like all my friends did growing up. I thought Larry Bird was good. I like DJ. Had no opinion of the Chief, Ainge, et al.

I was a Laker fan. Loved James Worthy - even owned New Balance Worthy Express kicks. The ugliest purple and gold kicks you could ever imagine, but I loved 'em. Loved Michael Cooper - long socks, shot the three, locked up dudes on defense. Loved Magic, Kareem, Rambis. All of them.

But with the new Celtics - Ray Allen (one of my favorite college players of all time), Paul Pierce (no opinion), and Kevin Garnett. Garnett is one of my favorite players in the NBA, which quite frankly isn't a great award to win b/c I never really cared about the NBA.

Until now.

Garnett is one of "those" players that make you compelled to watch all 48 minutes. And a 22 point/20 rebound/Five assist debut makes me compelling to come back.
The History Channel just gave an hour to a show profiling 9-11 conspiracists.

I won't give it 15 more words. What the shampoo? Go back under your parents' kitchen sink, douchebags.
Sucks, to put it mildly.

It's run its course. Time to either get what Asante Samuel's tattoo says, or get gone. Dec. 1 is the first step of option 1. Jan. 2 will yield further answers. April will be final re-evaluation.

This thing of ours started off as a true labour of love. Since then, the animal has mutated. The underlying principles are not the key elements, but with the increased work load and responsibilities and the less-than-increasing compensation, it's no longer an option. Oh well. One last run.

Until then, it's stay the course.
Just a sad, terrible tragedy. My thoughts go out to his family and loved ones.

To be so young, so talented, and on the verge of really breaking through... The U.S. is experiencing a true distance running renaissance. Shay was to be a big part of that.

Too soon.
Ok, that's about it for now.

Be well.


A daily - or every-other-day - account of all there is in my head
that's dying to get out, via my fingers.
(I vow to attack this endeavor with an enthusiasm unknown to mankind.)

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