Throws Left, Bats Right

Never Forget.

2011-09-11T00:05:00.004-04:00

I have no idea.

No idea if September 11, 2001 was the worst day of my life. Or if it was September 12.

Was it the day the Towers were struck by two jumbo jets, the Pentagon attacked by another, and a fourth plane went down in a field in Shanksville, Pa.?

Or was it a day later, when internet service was restored and I found out a good friend and his girlfriend were on United 175? And heard the countless number of stories of near misses and, sadly, direct hits.

I have no idea.

No idea whether the smell of dry wall, the sound of fighter jets circling at low altitude, or loud, sudden, unpredictable thuds give me the most agita.

No idea if, twice a day, I'll catch a look at the digital clock at exactly 9:11. Or 8:46. Or 9:03.

No idea if I will spontaneously and automatically start sobbing when my iPod will play U2's "Walk On," Bob Dylan's "Forever Young," or JFK's inaugural speech when its on random shuffle on the drive to work.

I have no idea how to react, feel, deal, cope, accept, and move on from September 11, 2001.

Any previous attempts have been fruitless.
-----
No idea if I have moved on from that day.

Have I adapted? I assume so.

All this week, I have tried to block out much of the revisiting, rehashing, and replaying of that horrible day.

It is everywhere on the news right now. The utter convenience of the news cycle. But it is more than that for me. It has been everyday for me. It has been everyday with me. Every single day for the last decade.
-----
Shortly after the attacks and collapse of the Towers, Grand Central Station was an introduction into the post-terror world. Every square inch of wall space was filled with flyers, asking our fellow citizens if they have seen their loved ones.

Beloved daughters. Dear sons. Loving husbands. Mothers of three. Frat brothers. Big sisters.

Flyers with smiling faces on the photos, stats with the individual's height, weight, hair color, eye color, all posted by grieving, soon-to-be widows, soon-to-be orphaned children, sad relatives, desperate friends. They had phone numbers and email addresses. Too many to process.

And in the cruelest irony, quite often, the phones didn't ring. Verizon's wires were severed when the Towers went down. And the internet suffered as well. Information, like most everything in New York City, was at a shell-shocked standstill.
-----
Shell-shocked.

Was then. Am now.

The shots of the planes hitting the buildings. CNN had an angle. NBC had another angle. CBS had two angles. The tragedy taking on the instructions of a shampoo bottle: approach, impact, repeat.

The still images of Fr. Mychal Judge being carried from the rubble. The somber face of FDNY Commissioner Thomas Van Essen, standing behind the podium shortly afterward, knowing not what the exact body count would be, but knowing it would be unfathomable.

The seemingly endless video streams of the towers collapsing, people running, diving and screaming for their lives, the haunting pulses of the FDNY's personal beacons. It was all too much to understand, let alone constantly view or eventually accept.

The television reports of the funerals. Twenty, 30, 40 a day it seemed. Cruel stories of police pulling license plates from cars parked at commuter lots, whose drivers would never return. A seemingly incessant stream of bagpipers playing "Rising of the Moon" or "Amazing Grace." Haunting, yet, becoming all too familiar.

How the honor guard for the found fallen at the WTC site would hastily assemble. Six or seven rescue workers would carry their comrade to the surface, covered in an American flag, as all around them put down their shovel to honor as he or she passed.
-----
A few weeks after the 11th, I had to work a night football game in Jersey City, N.J. After the game, I drove to an industrial park across the Hudson from lower Manhattan. Guards were at the gate, but I asked them if I could drive to the edge of the park and just look over to the other side.

They were great. They understood. One guard rode with me, not because he didn't trust me - which at that time was quite noble and uncharacteristic - but because he wanted to go down there too.

He got out of the car, wished me well, waved, and walked away. I sat still and sobbed.

I cried inside. I cried out. I asked the single-word question that had been posed over and over that week: Why?

The first seven days or so were absolutely numbing. The next seven slightly better. The next seven somewhat functional. And so on and so forth.
-----
A month or so later, ironically enough, I visited New York City for an escape. A U2 concert. Mind you, I'd seen three of their shows in June. But this one was going to be different.

U2 had played shows throughout their career when terror struck their home in Ireland. They had spoken out through song, when senseless killings made them ask, introspectively, how long must they sing those songs?

The return to Madison Square Garden for the band that sang their own brand of Irish rebel songs was for healing purposes, like so many of their country's troubadours before them. When they came out for their encore…playing "One," it was like a prayer service.

Then they dropped ceiling-to-floor screens at MSG and scrolled through the names of those who perished during the playing of "Walk On."

And as those names scrolled through that night in New York, in stops along the way in that leg of the tour, and finally at halftime of the Patriots first Super Bowl win, the message was clear: Never Forget.
-----
And now, 10 years later, those two words may define our generation. Never Forget.

Never let your guard down. Never take your liberties for granted. Never take your loved ones for granted. Never allow for complacency. Never let this happen again.

The days will pass and we will mark the 11th anniversary of the September 11 attacks, the 15th anniversary, 20, 30, 50, and so on. It will all, I'm sure, bring all of us back to that day.

Have I accepted that September 11, 2001 was the absolute life-altering moment in my life?

Yes. Perhaps finally, I have some idea.

(postscript: Here's what my iPod gave me as the clock struck midnight. I always trust in my iPod karma...)

A Return.

2011-05-02T10:34:00.000-04:00

Ironic.

TLBR goes all Lazarus on you - rising from the dead - on the day the world learned that one of its historically most evil denizens was shot dead.

Excuse my rambling nonsense here, because over a 15 minute span this morning, I've gone from "America, Shampoo YEAH!" to sobbing over my Honey Nut Cheerios, to laughing at the Osama bin Hiding joke from the "Black Gallagher" skit from the Chappelle's Show.

No, I'm not menopausal.

Without getting all crappy metaphorical on you, yes, the world has changed quite a bit in the last decade or so. And not to get tedious and painfully trite, but when you think of 9/10/01 to yesterday's events - a guy who happened to be taking some personal downtime live-tweeted the invasion.

When I got the news this a.m. by listening to Dennis & Callahan, I went directly to Twitter and was greeted by photos of college students on campuses all across the country, storming the Quad in jubilation.

Those college kids were, maybe, nine or 10 years old on 9/11/01. They may not have been born on 2/26/93 - the date of the first attempt to bomb the World Trade Center towers.

Regardless, the news of the death of Osama bin Laden brought back horrible, horrible memories of a singular day and several numb weeks to follow.

Horrible memories, things I still can't handle. Things I'll never forget. Things that people will never know.

I love airshows - particularly the Navy's Blue Angels - but I still have trouble hearing the screech and roar of an F-16. It was the soundtrack of the skies in the NYC metro area after 9/11. It was both reassuring and disconcerting at the same time. It was the introduction of the new American Renaissance - the Life of Fear - that we were all so horribly introduced to that morning.

In the summer of 2009, my fiancee and I attended a wedding in NYC and stayed at the Millennium Hilton. Our luxury room opened up to a front-row view of the Ground Zero construction site.

I didn't want to look at first. Then I couldn't stop looking. I didn't want to cry. Then I couldn't stop the tears.

I didn't want to be sad. So I didn't stop smiling. I find strength in Ground Zero, the resiliency of the citizens of New York City, the survivors, the widows, the families and friends of the fallen. When I get the opportunity to visit NYC, I make every effort to get down to lower Manhattan and pay tribute in my own personal way.

Today's news brings back all of those sights, sounds, and smells - crippling at the time. I don't like to think back that that day. But I can't ever forget.

A lot of innocent people died that day. Too many U.S. Soldiers have died in the days to follow. One bullet in one guy's head doesn't cure any of that.

But it's a good start.

A Celebration of Life: May 10, 2005-August 5, 2010

2010-08-05T22:46:00.001-04:00

"I drank WHAT?"
-- Socrates

Famous last words.

How about famous first words?

"Call me Ishmael."

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

"This is the first post to my new blog. I'm starting this thing because it's better than doing nothing all day."

Tuesday, May 10, 2005 - the first day of Throws Left, Bats Right.

And today - Thursday, August 5 - is the last day of the entity known as TLBR.
-----
Some folks called it Tilber. In fact, Tilber even called a few folks.

TLBR was part psychiatrist, comedic outlet, forum, inside joke, late-night activity, work day distraction, ode, tribute, slice and dice, and overall a life-changing experience.

Truthfully, I started writing (literally) when I went down to Australia in April of 2005. My Mom talked me into it. Handed me a leather-bound journal and convinced me to finally use my "talents" for writing.

So I did. Took the damned thing everywhere. And if you read the Oz Blog portion of TLBR, it's evident. But I took the thing EVERYWHERE. Trust me, when you're peeing and writing (and spraying off target as a result), people look at you funny.

But since that the three-week chronicle of visiting a beautiful place and reuniting with a beautiful girl, lots of things have happened - and most of them were typed into TLBR for some sort of historical account.

That account ends with me living with the aforementioned beautiful girl in the wonderful city of Pawtucket. It took a decade of wishing and and a solid three or four years of persistence (mild stalking), but here I am. And while there is a lot more living and experiences to enjoy, unfortunately, it won't be on TLBR.
-----
A few events and trends have led me to this decision. First and foremost, time.

I said back in the beginning that the blog would be the enemy combatant of ennui. It was very successful in that venture. The blog would celebrate my muse, no matter how fleeing or flimsy. The blog would allow my inner thoughts to cruise on a seaside cabin with a balcony to the world of those who bookmarked the page and checked in every so often.

I can't thank you folks enough.

I never marketed the blog. I wanted it to be word of mouth, as it served as the mouth to many of the words and thoughts I never could possibly say. In some cases, it was the only way for me to say anything, because I was a few bottles of wine deep.

But now, I have neither the time nor the inspiration to blog on a regular basis. And if it can't be a regular thing, it can't be. It goes against the essence of what I wanted TLBR to be.
-----
One thing I hate - almost more than anything in the world - is self-importance. Which is why this obituary for TLBR is so hard to write. I also loathe overly flowery and adjective-laden metaphors when describing stuff (see also: every press junket with actors talking about their latest movies).

I hate all that, yet, I find myself dipping the proverbial quill into the ink pot to write the same sorts of words.

TLBR meant so much to me - and hopefully all of you found some enjoyment from it - that it's hard to think that it will be no more.

Yet, when I really break it down to brass tacks, it's a celebration, bitches.
-----
Not gonna lie, TLBR and the consequences surrounding it scare me.

Some dude - who works in the same field as me - got "outed" for his particular blog. Granted, he violated rule one in the TLBR Magnus von Magnussen Carta: don't shampoo where you eat.

(seriously, you're a compliance guy writing a blog about the NCAA and its rules? I found out - quickly - that you don't joke about the NCAA in a blog. They track your ass down and...well, I should probably stop right there. They're listening).

But that sort of thing, combined with the Jeffersonian moving-on-up-to-the-Associate AD-level makes me question whether or not I want to risk my deeluxe apartment in the sky for some throwaway comment on Lindsay Lohan, Rick Pitino, or how much I can't stand the Japanese pitching contingency for the Red Sox.

I finally got a piece of the pie. Don't need someone pooping on it.
-----
When you tack on technology, TLBR didn't have a chance.

Facebook? Twitter? Four-square (still don't have a bleedin' clue what the hell that is)?

Folks are all over those applications. Reading 500-750 word entries, no matter how witty and brilliantly written (two things TLBR has been proud to never have been confused with...) just doesn't happen anymore.

I was more concerned with 140 character Tweets or 160 character texts. When I really had something to say, I'd BBM it.

And hell, if I had 10 free minutes at home on the couch with a few select beverages under my belt, I'm firing up Guitar Hero 5. Stuck on the last song - Rush's "Spirit of Radio" and cannot beat it, which is the 7th ring of Hell because there's probably only one or two bands I hate more than Rush and one or two songs that I hate more than "Spirit of Radio." I feel like my Wii is mocking me and the only way to win is to smash it with a didgeridoo, but then I lose like $300 bucks.

Talk about the circle of despair.

And that's what was great about TLBR. It was a forum for me to literally let the voices - the crowd of voices in my skull - have a semi-organized shouting match.
-----
But I think I can confidently say that - maybe - I've outgrown TLBR.

I don't have nearly as much angst as I used to.

And while I'll always be bitter to my bones, it's not what fuels me anymore.

Gosh, the pressure...if this is the last post, it HAS to be the best one ever...right?

Shampoo.

The site's not going anywhere - for now. I need to do a monster cut n' paste session, as to be able to save all the typing I did over the span of five good years.
-----
I can't thank enough any and all of you who ever read TLBR and dropped a line, left a comment, or just quietly observed and chuckled at how screwed up things could get here.

I could get all Rodgers & Hammerstein on you, drop some "So Long, Farewell" but that's not my style.

No. Not showtunes. That's not how we're going out.

Or, I could leave you with one of my favorite Simon & Garfunkel tunes: "Old Friends."

Old friends, old friends,
Sat on their parkbench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
of the high shoes of the old friends

Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends

Can you imagine us years from today,
Sharing a parkbench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy

Old friends, memory brushes the same years,
Silently sharing the same fears
-----
In keeping with old TLBR tradition, I have a bottle of red and my iTunes flowing.

But enough stalling. It's time to go.

I used to sign off the blog entries in varied messages - apres moi, le deluge; one; it is what it is; whatever is whatever; your humble and obedient servant; que sera, sera.

And in true TLBR and iTunes karma, the one song I thought of prior to writing this obituary just came on.

Thank you all so much. Much love.

(le fin)

A few points for this fine Thursday

2010-07-15T10:58:00.000-04:00

After reading this, I realize that Terrell Owens and I have two things in common:

1. he's open to playing for the New England Patriots.
2. he's got no shot of ever playing for the New England Patriots.
-----
Quite a debate brewing.

Saying all mosques support terror is akin to saying all priests diddle altar boys. There's a definite pattern of occurrence, but it's a wee bit irresponsible to make a broad statement.

That being said, the smell test needs to come into play here.

Perception is reality.

To have a super mosque overlooking the sacred ground of Ground Zero seems to be a bit much. It's a big city. There are plenty of vacant buildings. Can't you move there?

A super mosque among New Yorkers, who grieve each and everyday of their live, might make turnabout fair play. The mosque would become the target.

To quote the great Bob Ryan, "what are we trying to accomplish here?"
-----
Yes!
-----
Classic. Simply classic.

Witness.

2010-07-08T10:28:00.002-04:00

My one question regarding the LeBRO-ESP-N show tonight: will he inscribe a Lindsay Lohan-esque message on his middle finger nail to the cities and teams he has left in his egomaniacal wake?
-----
Jon Wertheim of Sports Illustrated made a funny on Twitter: No matter what happens tonight, here's the biggest revelation: Greenwich has a Boys Club.

The legions of latchkey kids in Greenwich...all those sad-eyed youngsters who suffered through non-thoroughbred Polo ponies, Swedish automobiles, and a future filled with slumming it with Johhnie Walker Gold.
-----
Since I'm feeding into the ESPN-fueled cosmic worm hole that is LeBronamania, let's actually talk basketball nuts and bolts.

The best team for LeBron to go to, in TLBR's opinion: the Bulls.

LeBron, as proven by the Championship of Me through the NBA free agency season, is all about himself. Can't see that playing well in Miami with two other NBA upper crustacians like D-Wade and Chris Bosh.

Can you imagine Erik Spoelstra with his dry-erase board, tie ballgame, 4th quarter, in Boston for game 7 of the Eastern Conference finals? Who gets the ball? Which of the other two pouts about it? Too many egos, just one ball. (besides, if you think Pat Riley is leaving that team to his former driver...so add another ego to the stew).

The Clippers are my 1B choice. LeBron in L.A. - huge. The Clippers lineup with Baron Davis, Eric Gordon, Blake Griffin and Chris Kaman might be the most poised to win RIGHT AWAY for Bron-Bron.

And with ESPN's L.A. studios at night, the focus and volume of his highlights could be replayed ad nauseum throughout the day on SportsCenter and ESPNNews reruns.

But, using my East Coast bias, sometimes things on the West Coast get lost in the shuffle back here. The Clippers/Lakers - which would be quite a rivalry with Kobe and Bronnie in the City of Angels - would tip off at 10 p.m., best-case, and most NBA fans would be counting sheep at that time.

Also, let's not discount L.A. due to the China Syndrome. LeBron is huge in China. And the closer he is to the Red Giant - not to mention a sizable Chinese media contingency in L.A. - the easier that LBJ can truly go global.

But ultimately, the Bulls are where LeBron has the best chance to do it all.

Win immediately. Build a legacy, doing so in the shadows of Air Jordan. Relocate to a major city.

Chicago's roster is terrific and LeBron would compliment it very, very well. I don't think we've seen the talent-level of Derrick Rose yet. The world - and the league - is his oyster. To use ESPN parlance, D-Rose is NEXT.

The Bulls added a bull on the blocks in Carlos Boozer, plus there are serviceable players like Joakim Noah, Luol Deng, and a solid Hakim Warrick.

A few years ago when Chicago had the best player on the planet, they also had a great supporting cast from 2-12. The Bulls - right now - may mimic that right now.

Sorry Knicks, Cavs, and Nets fans. There's just not enough "there" there, no matter how many Jay-Z songs you can recite. (speaking of which, Hova, if you're paying Dwyane Wade, LeBron might be paying D-Rose.)

And besides, leave it to the Bulls to tear the heart out of Cavs fans. Again.

Enough Already

2010-07-07T12:59:00.000-04:00

News flash: One of the best players in the NBA has made a lucrative, long-term decision on a contract with his current Midwestern-based team.

Well, don'tcha just wanna know who it is?

Go to ESPN.com and see who it is.

Wait for it...wait for it...wait for it...

Nope, not LeBron. Although, the news that he'll provide news is the new sports media version of the cosmic worm hole. ESPN is legitimately reporting that ESPN has learned - through independent sources - that ESPN will broadcast the LeBron James decision.

And it's not the other sideshow in the NBA free agent goat rodeo - D-Wade and Bosh - although that gets the headline photo.

It's Kevin Durant. Second-year player out of Texas. Reigning NBA scoring leader. He inked a nice extension with the Oklahoma City Thunder and will stay there - get this, with no opt-out - through the 2015-16 season.

He'll be 27 years old at the end of this deal, probably pretty rich (80 someodd million can buy you some pretty hefty ranchland in Oklahoma...), and then he can really cash in or do what many NBA stars do at that time in their careers: chase the ring.

But you never heard word one from the Durant camp. No press conferences, no board meetings, no pleas from the citizens of OKC, nothing. His agent negotiated the deal and they announced it on his Twitter page.

This is refreshing.

All this other dreck - spare me.
-----
As for other sports figures behaving badly, spare me as well.

JaMarcus Russell got caught with purple drank? The sizz-urup? Hard to believe that a guy who sleepwalked throughout his entire NFL career (past tense) would have a problem with codeine.

Michael Vick at a party where there was a shooting? No one's "snitching?" Might be time for Ron Mexico to take a swim in the Gulf of Mexico.

And Bobby Gonzalez. Career suicide tried calling you last week, but apparently your cell phone has been disconnected.

Back on the Attack

2010-06-24T22:29:00.002-04:00

A shout-out from America's preeminent blogger and social media guru - during an event which was my unofficial beginning to the summer - has spun me back into writing form.

(It's been a month - and quite a month at that - but more on that later.)

And the summer kickoff event? Well, it was only the seminal event of the month of June...the NBA Draft.

From 1988-92, I used to literally watch the Draft on the phone with my boy Dave, and we'd compare our mock drafts. I got 19 right one year (take that, Ric Bucher...I was like 13 and kicking the draft's ass).

Back then, it was two kids on the phone. Now, I have my ESPN HD on, along with my NBA.com drafttracker, as well as a live video blog and a chat room.

And I'm blogging.

(Ohai, Big Blue Nation)
-----
The World Cup.

What to say about a sport where you can literally win by not winning?

It's simple. Call it the "kiss-and-cry" phenomenon.

Every four years, the world stops to watch little 14-18 year old girls skate around a hockey rink, then sit in the kiss-and-cry seat, awaiting their scores from the judges.

Every four years, the FIFA World Cup is held on a massive stage and 32 countries - and then some - flock to the telly to follow a bunch of guys kicking the ball around for 90 minutes (plus some in case of "injury").

So if the world stops what it's doing for a few weeks - and literally, the world's GNP falls by 30% during the World Cup - then I'll give it my attention.

Soccer - should I clarify - *good* soccer is beautiful to watch. So is Olympic hockey, as we all saw. And the US/Algeria game was one for the ages.

Was it "the Miracle on fill-in-trite-phrase?" No. Hardly. Algeria didn't score during pool play. But it was dramatic, exciting, last-minute, and certainly karmatic, considering the US should have breezed thru if not for bad offsides calls.

So go USA, beat Ghana. And if not, good run. See you in 2014 in Rio.
-----
Spent some time in Maui this month. Wow.

If you haven't been, go. Hawai'i is a special place.

I'm partial to Islands, being a(n) (Rhode) Islander - and actually living for some time on the island part of the Biggest Little.

Having oceans with mountain seascapes, fresh pineapple, Bikini Blond pale ale, and a fun concoction known as Hula Pie...mmmmm, Hula Pie.

Of course, the typical Rhode Island mentality wonders why you'd fly 12,500 miles for a beach...I say clamcake up.
-----
My thoughts on the continuous BP disaster - I'm not calling it an "oil spill"
because that makes it sound as if it's past tense. Far from it. 35-60k barrels spilling into the Gulf of Mexico DAILY.

Everyone's at fault - BP, the rig company, the U.S. Government (not that having oil men in office for 12 years would ever lend toward lax policies on offshore, deep water drilling).

But, we here at TLBR believe that it's more important - and prudent - to fix the problem first, then figure out how not to have it happen again. Blame game? No time for that, as far as I'm concerned.

Not when there's supertankers worth of oil spilling into the gulf area.

Not when Louisiana and Mississippi fishermen, who were just getting back on their feet following Katrina and Ike, are going to lose their livelihoods...again.

Not when some of the finest beaches and areas that rely on their resort and tourism money are covered in sludge.

Not when there's no answers.

Find the answer, then worry about the questions.
-----
That is all. Nice to be back. Hope to see all y'all soon.

Several Other Ionic Boston Sports Moments

2010-05-11T16:46:00.002-04:00

Bobby Doerr flying through the air.

Brady leaving Pedroia in during game seven of the 2003 ALCS.

Hannah stealing the ball.

Did I forget any others?

5 Easy Pieces

2010-05-10T20:51:00.000-04:00

So it has been a while since I blogged and I'm sure that the many readers - 1100+ click-thrus since the rebirth of TLBR (I thank you kindly) - thought that the blogging craze had died off as quickly as it came back.

Nah, just been busy. But I have a whole bunch of text files here with notes - most of which have been proved outdated.

So let's recap the crap that I originally jotted down over the last 10 days:

1. Absolutely tragic story with the UVa. lacrosse programs. I only hope that all involved - student-athletes, coaches, admins, family members, et al - can find some small solace or escape with the upcoming NCAA tournaments. Can't even fathom what that must be like.

2. Let me get this right about the Times Square bomber: Fashizzle Shasizzle - or whatever his name is - drove the car that he paid cash for on Craiglist (more on that later) into Times Square with a car filled with M80's, bottle rockets, fertilizer, and a rotary telephone...

...then he fled on Metro North back to where he bought the car, drove to JFK, made a one-way reservation to Dubai, paying with cash, while subsequently eluding FBI investigators...

...then made it through TSA security, onto the Emirates flight, and it pulled away from the gate...

ONLY THEN DID WE REALIZE HE WAS ON A SHAMPOOING NO-FLY LIST?

The locals in NYC got Times Square squared away pretty quickly. And in 53 hours, they had the Feds hot on Shasizzle's tra-zizzle.

Until, that is, the Feds took over. Yes, they caught him. But c'mon. Left hand, meet the right hand.

3. Some kid runs on the field in Philadelphia, gets tasered, begins conversation.

Too much? Unwarranted?

Just what he deserved?

Consider me in the "should place him in the town gallows" category.

This kid - yeah, I know he was 17 - but he knew it was wrong. Called his dad prior to jumping on the field to ask if it was OK. Dad said no. Kid did it anyway.

I'm sure there were plenty of "hey, shampoo-head, don't run on the field" announcements. And once he got out there and was running around like Tanner Boyle in Bad News Bears, it should have been readily apparent that he was doing something he shouldn't have...

If he stopped and let the goon squad take him down physically, so be it. But one cop was tired of him ducking, diving and juking his way around. So he tasered the kid. Pretty much stopped the whole goat rodeo.

And I'd like to say that getting tasered for being a jerk and running on the field would serve as a deterrent to anyone thinking of doing it...but it wasn't. The very next night, some other muttonhead ran on the field *hoping* to get tasered.

Philadelphia? More like FOOLadelphia. (and 4th grade called, they want that joke back).

4. This link is why the internet is so great.

5. You know what ruins a perfectly good pizza lunch? When someone who is not skinny decides to walk into the pizza place after she wrongly chose her skinny jeans to compliment her belly shirt.

The locale was a bakery, and yes, the population of rolls more than doubled upon her arrival. (pseudo-intellectual way to say "girl had more rolls than a bakery.")

That's all for today. Will try to keep it a little more current.

A Fond Farewell

2010-04-29T15:52:00.000-04:00

Back in the days of the Daily Update (circa 2004), a date which even predated TLBR, I penned a fond farewell to good friend The Village Idiot.

It was a great New York City bar. It couldn't exist anywhere else. And it couldn't be duplicated, no matter how you tried. (and that means you, Hogs n Heifers, Coyote Ugly, and McFadden's).

So when I read today that Jim Hegarty's in Milwaukee is closing tomorrow at noon, I had a similar forlorn feeling.

Hegarty's was my headquarters on Friday and Saturday, from 2 a.m. onward. (editor's note: I drank a shampoo-load during my 13 months in MKE. A SHAMPOO-load.)

It was literally next door to my apartment building. Door to door, assuming the elevator was running slow, was 30 seconds.

It had good food. Not great food, but good. That included a good burger. Not a great burger, but a good one. The beer was cold. Not the coldest, but cold. And cheap. Not the cheapest, but cheap.

You get the point. As bars went, Hegarty's was a solid B+. And in life, some things are perfectly fine with a B+ average. Bars are one of them. (Intermediate Macroeconomics is also one. But I'm living proof that you can still graduate with a D.)

I made friends with the bartenders and they were great guys. Some were unemployed law school grads - Hegarty's was a Marquette Law School hangout - and they all tried talking me out of taking the LSAT and heading to law school. They succeeded, temporarily.

The clientele did include some undergrads, but as they're generally taboo in my line of work, I never bothered with them. I had more important things to tend to.

Hegarty's never messed with anyone. Unless you messed with it. Or the Milwaukee Police Department.

My final night in the MKE, I was enjoying a farewell beverage at Hegarty's - last stop, as would be apropos - and there was a raucous group of kids in the back. All underage, all loud, but we paid it no mind.

The bartender was also paying no attention - to their ID's, their behavior, or to anything for that matter...I believe he was smitten with a bar patron.

A few of Milwaukee's finest walked into the bar, presumably to see who was illegally consuming Milwaukee's Best.

The officer glanced at the bar and we older folks nodded back. Then they headed to the back of the bar and you could head the party come to an abrupt halt, like a train collision.

The boys in blue started rounding up the young'ins, but not until one young lady decided to make a run for it, rounding the turn and heading for the door.

Mere steps from freedom, the particularly portly girl hit the doorway seconds after two officers burst through to grab her and - essentially - hog-tie her. She tried - in vain - to wrestle away, but there was no escaping. Her summons for underage drinking - a misdemeanor in MKE County - just became resisting arrest.

Without pause, the guy sitting next to me got out of his seat and walked to the jukebox. It was one of those internet jukebox things, where you could pay a buck extra and "request" a song.

(the song)

Priceless. Even the police officers couldn't keep a straight face.

And that was the beauty of Jim Hegarty's. It didn't take itself too seriously. It was what it was - and that was a great bar.

Fare thee well.
-----
A sore elbow for LeBron? Wow, shocking? He's played 90+ games over the last seven months and was one of the NBA's leading scorers. Of course his elbow is sore.

ESPN's "breaking news" had LeBron had ice and treatment on it?

Here's guessing that LeBron - and everyone else in the NBA - is being treated for something.

It's not news.
-----
Perhaps a TLBR opinion piece for a later date, but new NCAA President Mark Emmert wants to revisit the "one-and-done rule."

And this week's Sports Illustrated talked about several scenarios in which college conferences could expand (and contract).

And my general overall opinion for both topics is: good.

Some kids don't belong in college. Don't waste their time or ours.

And some schools are better off with their peers. Let the BCS football schools do their thing. They already do. Remove the boundaries and let them do what they do, and let the non-BCS schools with basketball as their flagship do what we do.

But more about that later.
-----
Great story about Bill Belichick sending Tampa Bay manager Joe Maddon a hooded sweatshirt.

While coaches in basketball and hockey are all about the haberdashery, football and baseball managers dress much less like an accountant.

NFL rules stipulate that coaches wear official NFL gear. It's genius marketing and advertising. Belichick does it in his own way, as he's known to do.

Baseball managers are viewed as on-field personnel. And within the rules of baseball - rule 1.11 (a) to be exact - "All members of the team must wear a similar uniform."
-----
I'm all about this comeback.
-----
By my count, Tiger is 119-over par.

Not quite sure what that equates to on the modified Stableford scoring system.
-----
The Indians most hated?

Well, at least the Sox are better than the Yanks in something.

That's all for today.

(thoc)

A Brief Friday Primer

2010-04-23T07:34:00.000-04:00

The Red Sox talk about defense and run prevention.

The Patriots need to improve upon their defense and run prevention.

Neither helped their cause last night.

Welcome to my new Diet.

2010-04-22T11:49:00.001-04:00

The Thursday Thing

2010-04-22T08:34:00.004-04:00

First off, sad to read that one of the most talented and influential MC's
of my generation - Guru - passed away this week. Born Keith Elam, the Boston native embraced the NYC scene and gave Brooklyn another groundbreaking hip-hop artist.

Whether it was Gang Starr (w/ DJ Premier), solo, or his first-of-a-kind Jazzmatazz series, Guru always brought it.

He died at age 43, due to complications from a stroke and cancer.
-----
Darnell McDonald? Yay! Kevin Youkilis? Yay!

(sarcasm alert; do not be alarmed)

Back to back game-winning hits by two guys who know Pawtucket well is giving Sox fans a pretty hefty bucket of fool's gold.

Not this fool.

This is a rebuilding year. No more, no less. A playoff run would be nothing short of a baseball miracle. Don't give me the pitching and defense crap, don't try to sell me on "run prevention."

In fact, don't try to sell me anything - which seems to be the only consistently successful thing the Sox ownership has done since they arrived in town.

Mike Cameron, Adrian Beltre, and Marco Scutaro are nothing more than seat-fillers. And if the Sox had managed to re-sign Jason Bay, sign Mark Teixeira, acquire Adrian Gonzalez, or find a shortstop that doesn't suck, then the Sox would not be in this position.

But it's hard to charge the most for tickets, parking, hot dogs, sushi, clam chowder, etc. without providing a product on the field that doesn't make you feel like you've been beaten and mugged.

And that's how "run prevention" was born. Well, call me a birther on this one. I'd like to see that birth certificate. World Series trophies from 2004 and 2007 sit in glass cases because of power, pop, and pitching. Sure, there were a few nifty gloves in there, but the keen combo of OBP, OPS, key basehits, and tape-measure shots made this team World Champions.

Run prevention is what you do when you're a middling NL Central team. Run prevention is a piss-poor excuse. Run prevention is an ugly, last-minute prom date. It's what you turn to when you miss out on all the pretty girls.

And to compound the problem, the Sox don't even have a "good personality."
-----
Memo to David Ortiz: you're not the leader in strikeouts. I'd give that title to Oregon, with their search for a new men's basketball coach.

In no particular order, here is who they're talked to (or tried to) and who has rebuffed $3 million per season:
Missouri's Mike Anderson, Gonzaga's Mark Few, Pittsburgh's Jamie Dixon, Butler's Brad Stevens, Florida's Billy Donovan, Texas A&M's Mark Turgeon, Michigan State's Tom Izzo and Minnesota's Tubby Smith.

I'm sorry...WHAT?

Yes, there's a bit of a problem with who, exactly, is driving the ship. No AD (yet), old AD running the search, along with an alum and former track athlete who owns a local sporting goods conglomerate.

But it's $3 million per. That's 3, comma, three zeroes, comma, three more zeroes, decimal point, two more zeroes. Break that up, take the 33% out for taxes, and divide it by 26 and that's $77,300.00 per paycheck.

TLBR's choice: John Beilein.

He's won wherever he's gone, and has never stayed at a place more than five years.

THe Pac-10 struggled this season because the powers like UCLA and Arizona were down due to draft defection. There is "buzz" at Oregon State, some great coaching at Cal, and some great recruiting going on at Arizona. All three of those programs shine in the sun on the West Coast.

So go and hire a great coach who has a *gasp* gimmick. 1-3-1 and 4-out; 1-in would win games out there. Beilein's won with under-the-radar guys who fit his system.

Manny Harris was as talented a player as Michigan's had in years. But JB couldn't deal with him and the team suffered.

If I'm whomever is captaining the search in Eugene, I reach out to him.
-----
Just read the obituary for Dr. James Masterson. The headline called him a "Narcissism expert." And reading through, he named an institute...after himself.

Apropos.
-----
You can't say "assholes" on television.

-----
This is TERRIBLY sad (sorry about the third obit of the blog post; I swear we're not feeling morbid or nihilist here at TLBR headquarters).
-----
It's a bit of an investment of time, but quite a read/ Good to see how "new media" is making the same impact as the traditional means and good to see folks of influence are altering their ways to embrace it.
-----
And speaking of the opposite end of that spectrum, here's a sad story about how a newspaper is surgically removing journalism from its stories.

Next thing you know, newspapers will hire team employees to cover teams or worse...SID's will write stories as "Special to the newspaper."

Still waiting for my byline and check.

(thoc)

The New Muse?

2010-04-16T16:51:00.000-04:00

TLBR may have found its new muse: click here.

But a million's just a million of one thing...

2010-04-15T22:49:00.000-04:00

So the Tea Party rolled into Boston yesterday (and the Capital of the Biggest Little today), complete with the rootinest, tootinest shootinest less-than-one-term and less-than-one-brain cell former Alaskan guvnah as the keynote speaker. Thankfully Ms. Palin didn't grace us with her presence.

In full disclosure, I don't have much against the Tea Party folks. Like everyone else, I'm in favor of paying less taxes and still getting awesome government stuff in return. In fact, if I could pay zero taxes and have less government, and throw in eight maids a milking, seven swans a swimming, and six geese a laying, that'd be pretty swell (you betcha.)

But in reality, what is all this accomplishing? Can you truly protest in the U.S. in the information age and make a difference anymore?

The world watched the protests (and subsequent beatings and killings) during the elections in Iran not too long ago. But how long did that last on the news cycle? It was top story until Lindsay Lohan tripped on the top stair after she consumed most of the top shelf...and then no more.

Hell, look at me. I write a blog (allegedly) that, while appreciated nationally (kinda), doesn't exactly change the world (no chance).

But the Tea Party folks...does your waving Salada tea bags by their string change anything? Did the Dow jump? Interest rates on CD's rise? Foreclosures end? Bureaucracy come to a grinding halt?

No? Then you just wasted a few hours of your life that you'll never get back. Unless you're union, then you probably could claim comp hours and have it count toward your pension. In which case, you shouldn't shampooing complain.
-----
New York Yankees booing Javier Vasquez because he's 0-2? So what. Call me when it's August.
-----
Since my previous sabbatical from TLBR in June, 2009, I've managed to stumble upon some music that has been absolutely terrific. I mean, so good that you'd consider screaming "crowded theatre!" in a fire.

Broken Bells - Gnarls Barkley's DJ Danger Mouse + James Mercer of the Shins. Pretty damned good. The song you prolly hear on the radio: "The High Road." The song that makes the CD spin round n' round: "Sailing to Nowhere."

Deer Tick - Providence's own. But NBC newsie and music blogger Brian Williams has claimed them, so the national acclaim is building. You can purchase Born on Flag Day on iTunes and "Easy" is a tune you may have heard on the radio. But "Smith Hill" is pull-your-car-over-and-listen good.

Sade - Yeah, she's been making proper baby making music for quite some time. And "Soldier of Love" doesn't disappoint. Pick a song and go with it. No preference.

Jay-Z - The Blueprint 3. Yeah, I've heard "Empire State of Mind" and "Run this Town" roughly 11,000 times in arena settings over the last six months. But g-d, this is a Hall of Fame hip-hop album.
-----
Boston's best burrito is back!

And if you can get over that nacho cheesy line, then just go to El Pelon - reborn at 2197 Commonwealth Avenue in Brighton.

Or visit elpelon.com.
-----
Finally, if you've ever sent a text message that you immediately regret...or if you drank 700 beers and THEN sent a text message that you thought was a good idea and then woke up to the morning reply and then tried to piece back the reason why your 9th grade girlfriend called you an a-hole (again, but for the first time in like 16 years)...then check out this website.

(thoc)

Grand Re-Opening

2010-04-13T20:52:00.000-04:00

The last notable post with prose on TLBR: June 3, 2009.

Lots of memorable stuff has happened since then. Let’s recap:

It got hot; I moved to Pawtucket with Sara; the leaves fell off the trees; it got cold; Tiger crashed an SUV; it snowed; The Hangover came out on DVD; it thawed out; it rained a ton; it flooded; lots of basketball coaches got fired; I started blogging again.

(and WTF - there's another "Sex and the City" movie? In Abu Dhabi? Miranda joins the shampooing Taliban? Carrie wear a burka? Can't hurt. She still looks like a foot.)

There were several events in between that I may have left out, but at least I closed strong (unlike Cinco Ocho, which was another event that missed the list).

As I’ve mentioned before, when the words were both plentiful and scarce, TLBR was born from boredom. And it has suffered due to being busy.

And beyond busy, let's be honest, I lost it. Like Chuck Knoblauch trying to throw to first, I couldn't find my way. I lost my muse.

Here I was - your muse - and I was muse-less. Not even Scarlett Johansson - TLBR's former resident muse - could save me. Not even Zooey Deschanel - the second runner-up muse - could muster a pilot light for the TLBR inferno.

All the things that fueled the first full go-around - angst, uncertainly, a wee bit of unfiltered sarcasm - it's still there. I found them again.

But thankfully, they don't drive the ship. Just the blog.
-----
Onto some topics.

1. The coaching carousel and the 96-team field

What in tarnation is going on in the college basketball world? Two Ivy League coaches get fired mid-season. DePaul was open for about seven months. Nobody wants UNC-Wilmington. And don't even get me started on the New Jersey corridor of the Big East Conference.

Head coaches are getting fired for being unsuccessful and not. Head coaches are taking assistant coach gigs. Hell, Oregon's offering $3 million a year and no one's biting.

TLBR's theory on this madness? The 96-team tournament is on the horizon.

What does that mean? Don't ask the guy who is supposed to be able to explain it, because he couldn't. Don't ask the folks at the NIT, which will go away should there be an additional 31 teams added to the Dance. Don't ask AD's with contracts for coaches based on a 65-team tournament.

Some coaches advocate for a 96-team tourney because it will help "save jobs." Doug Gottlieb argues - and I agree with him - that it will cause more upheaval because if you can't make a 96-team tourney...you should be canned.

My feeling? It's almost as archaic as basketballs with laces. The tournament as currently formatted allows for Princeton to almost beat Georgetown in 1989. It allows for Coppin State in 1997. It allows for Gonzaga to shed the pejorative mid-major term. It allows for George Mason to have the sun, the moon, the stars - and an underachieving UConn team - align for a Final Four run. And it allows for Butler to come one or two inches off the side of the rim from becoming the biggest story in Tournament history.

A 96-team tourney? Get used to the notion of chalk. It won't benefit the non-BCS schools - awwww, isn't that a cute way of saying mid-major these days? - it'll help the money schools and the money conferences, because that's what this whole thing is about.

It's not why I got into it. Cue up the David Barrett piano solo during the first two-and-a-half minutes of the original "One Shining Moment," but it's the best playoff system in all of sports.

Leave it to the folks who can't get a football championship right to make its men's basketball championship all wrong.

2. The Red Sox

Shampoo 'em. Ask me in May. Don't care right now. I've got a blog to restart.
-----
And with that, we'll end today's missive.

Thanks again for coming and drive home safely.

(thoc)

Yeah, it's true...

2010-04-12T16:23:00.000-04:00

TLBR's coming back. Stay tuned on Wednesday, April 14 for the re-launch.

You're welcome.

Funniest Thing I've Seen in Months

2009-06-19T11:01:00.000-04:00

Shocking.

2009-06-18T17:27:00.001-04:00

Is this "Kate Minus One" or "Jon Minus Nine?"

Wednesday Addams

2009-06-03T12:20:00.002-04:00

I have figured out the perfect way to combat these afflictions: don't run.

It's National Running Day and I wish I could properly celebrate it.

This time every year, for the last decade or so, I have tried to do something to kick-start the running career again. And as each year ticks on the odometer, it becomes harder and harder. I wish I could run again. Anyone want to loan me a healthy right leg?

-----

This makes TOO much sense.

Watch the Barclay's Premier League. The WNBA is not exactly printing its own money. So kudos to the Mercury for tapping into the previously untapped revenue streams.

-----

Rodney Harrison retired today.

Admittedly, I was a huge Rodney Harrison fan. I loved the way he played the game. I loved him in the defensive backfield for two of the Patriots' Super Bowl victories and look forward to his broadcasting career.

But.

Let us not overlook the fact he used performance-enhancing drugs as a professional athlete. He cheated.

His hard-hitting ways earned him respect and accolades from fans in San Diego and New England. The wideouts who took the flying hits from #37 respectfully disagreed.

Year after year, Harrison was voted as a dirty player - if not the dirtiest - by his NFL peers.

By his actions of using HgH, everyone should look at him as dirty.

-----

I'd mess this up.

-----

That is all. When's Wednesday over?

TLBR's 2 cents on David Ortiz

2009-06-01T17:07:00.005-04:00

(since I'm seemingly the only Red Sox fan/blogger/Red Sox fan with a blog that hasn't chimed in on L'Affaire du Papi, here goes...enjoy)

Here's my two cents on the David Ortiz-not-hitting-his-weight-when-he-played-for-the-Wisconsin Timber Rattlers.

The Red Sox are screwed.

Maybe Ortiz rights the ship, gets himself to a point where he's hitting .250, with 20+ homers and knocking on the door of 100 RBI, and all would be well. With him hitting a buck-eighty-nine, the Sox are still a half-game out of first in the AL East (basically because the Yanks have played a AAA schedule for the last month). But that's baseball's fool's gold.

If not - if he has truly hit the wall - then the Sox have no recourse but to ride it out or take a huge financial hit.

As it is, Ortiz plays no position in the field. And when he was the runner-up for the 2006 Most Valuable Player award, we all heard that argument when A-Rod wrongly won the trophy. (funny, when I type in "10" into position into my baseball stat program, it accepts it...moving right along...)

But without him using his first baseman's mitt but 7-8 times a year during the regular season - and hopefully 4-7 times during the World Series - when it's gametime, he hits and sits.

So if Ortiz were to be platooned at DH, it would greatly diminish the Sox' depth - which (the depth), I think, is somewhat of a fallacy. Perhaps the return of Mark Kotsay helps that, but not a whole heck of a lot. The Sox have a pretty weak bench.

But go back to the Ortiz-off-the-bench argument as a pinch hitter. In reality, there are two positions that would potentially PH for: shortstop and catcher. And it's most likely just SS.

You're not pinch hitting Ortiz for Youkilis (1B/3B), Pedroia (2B), Lowell (3B), Bay (LF), Ellsbury (CF), or Drew (RF). Francona has shown he'll PH for Drew, but with a righty (Baldelli at this point).

So if Ortiz PH's for Green or Lugo (or Jed Lowrie), then it's a three-person move: the player who comes out, the Ortiz at-bat, then the player who has to play SS next inning. If it's a game-winning inning, then all is bread and roses. But most likely not.

Ortiz is (most likely) not going to PH for Kottaras, because Varitek is going to take his spot in the field. And vice versa.

Potentially...and I mean potentially in that rare sort of instance where you need a long ball...Ortiz could PH for Ellsbury. But both are left-handed hitters, so there would not be a huge benefit in terms of a pitching matchup. And if Ortiz were to get on base, you have a very slow runner whereas Ellsbury getting on via a walk or a single has great potential to become a double.

A trade is very unlikely. What team is going to help Boston rid themselves of an $11-million dollar designated hitter that is closer to being designated (for assignment) than he is a hitter? What would it take to get - as the rumors say - Cleveland's Victor Martinez? At minimum, it would take Clay Buchholz, Manny Delcarmen, and then someone else. Aubrey Huff? No, thanks. Wily Mo Pena? I just giggled a bit. Although the Pats could use him at tight end.

Unlike the CF situation in 2007 and 2008, the Red Sox do not have a looming

replacement in the minors. There are no power hitters in the organization. There are very few available for trades. And there are even fewer in free agency. Matt Holliday (FA in 2009) comes to mind. Google his stats right now.

Additionally, the last few power hitters that did hit free agency were: Alex Rodriguez, Mark Teixeira, and Manny Ramirez. Google who their agent is.

The best the Sox can hope for is a reasonable facsimile of the early 2008 David Ortiz, with the numbers I listed at the top of the post. Methinks the 2004-2007 Big Papi is all gone-no more, save for the museum exhibits at Fenway and in Cooperstown.

The Sox have no home run hitters on their roster. They have guys that can hit home runs - Bay, Youkilis, Lowell, even Varitek so far - but none could be classified as "home run hitters." That title used to belong to Big Papi.

Any future titles are incumbent on Ortiz morphing into Stella and getting his groove back.

Cleveland YEAH!

2009-05-27T21:02:00.002-04:00

I've gotten these links sent to me numerous times and - in checking the YouTube hits - 1.5 million people have viewed them and hopefully laughed as hard as I did.

So without further ado, here are the two (hastily made) Cleveland Tourism videos.

(for the record, TLBR has been to Cleveland twice, voluntarily, and has enjoyed both trips.)

Just Some Monday Musings

2009-05-18T11:05:00.002-04:00

It'll be great when it stops shampooing raining. It's cold and rainy and I'm sick of it. Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)? Perhaps I'm suffering.

Ok, onto some stuff that's been boiling over:

* One of my favorite jokes from the movie Good Morning Vietnam was "What's the difference between the Boy Scouts and the Army? The Boy Scouts don't have heavy artillery."

Well, apparently now they do.

-----

* This might be the greatest headline ever: "Citi Field Mets streaker emerges clothed, unapologetic after night in jail."

And the story? Even better.

-----

* Here's rooting for one of TLBR's favorite TL's - Dontrelle Willis. When he was pitching well, the D-Train was fun to watch. And off the field, in my brief stint as SportsTicker baseball reporter, he was engaging and a terrific interview. Hope he gets his form back.

-----

* Great line from NBC Nightly News' Brian Williams, regarding his off-the-camera life as a fan of all music blogger:

"I have a wife and two children and a house and a two-car garage and a dog. No one should fear me becoming a tragic hipster. I may be a hipster, but never tragic. I'm not going to bars in Brooklyn and drinking PBRs."

The entire interview can be read here. And for the record, there's nothing tragic about drinking PBR. It's not only economical, but it's damned good beer.

-----

* I'm wondering when the decision was made that we care about the vice president? I suppose it's relevant, considering the hate-monger (best case), borderline Satanic (worst case) that we just had for the last eight years essentially ran the country.

And it was probably relevant this past election, when the old, bitter dude had the young, dumb chick as his running mate...one heartbeat away from the Oval Office, you betcha.

But even now that Change has come to America, can we get a big "Yes, We Can" to the STFUVP movement?

Joe Biden should never talk. Ever. Unless someone else writes his remarks for him.

I tend to be liberal with my social conscience, conservative with my fiscal and judicial responsibilites. I think we can have civil dialogue with our enemies, while also dispensing the proper amount of justice in the proper setting.

I'd rather not torture terror suspects. But if they don't get three hots and a cot, and are mildly uncomfortable, I'm fine with that. If the floors of the prisons are slippery and, whoops, they fall down (repeatedly, over and over, until something gives...), then I'm fine with it.

Just don't tell me. Don't make it public. Just make it happen. Go to a used book store and buy a copy of "The Prince." In some cases, the ends do justify the means.

Back to Biden - we do not need to know where the VP's secret bunker is. We do not need to know where the shadow cabinet and Congress get shipped to in case of global calamity.

National secrets should remain as such. Our national leaders should have enough intelligence and foresight to know that.

-----

That is all. Time to go back to being miserable.

Lunchtime videos

2009-05-12T12:34:00.002-04:00

Something to do while eating lunch...enjoy:

Filing Through

2009-05-11T17:33:00.001-04:00

From the "You Can Take the Idiot out of New Jersey, but you can't take the New Jersey out of the Idiot" file:

In the second quarter, there was a play where Rondo outrebounded Dwight Howard, to which Rondo was knocked out of bounds and into the first row of "Gucci seats."

Some guy with a blue shirt stood up and was yelling at Rondo and (potentially) the official - both of whom were within earshot. And from what I can remember, the guy had a kid next to him, wearing a white hat.

It was YOU, Ernest Provetti. (Just in case you wonder what he looks like, check out his Facebook page)

And funny, as the play was unfolding, you were closer to the court than Stan Van Gundy.

Nice double-standard, ass. If you don't want golf balls in your yard, don't move near a golf course.

If you don't want to get run over by pro basketball players, don't sit in the front row.

On an aside, his son was the only person on the floor to get a body on Big Baby down the stretch, so credit to him for that.

-----

From the "Beats the Alternative" and "Boy, that last name is ironic" files":

First of all, I have a giant problem with the notion of "celebrity priest." The Pope has that job.

Secondly, oh hell, it's better than a 10-year old altar boy. It's a 35-year old woman. It might be against the church rules, but it's perfectly normal from where I'm sitting.

And his last name - Cutié - c'mon, you can't make this shampoo up.

-----

From the "First time TLBR has ever purposely talked about NHL hockey" file:

Look, I care about the Bruins because they're winning. When they no longer win, then I no longer watch/care.

But the sucker punch from last night's Hurricanes/Bruins game by Scott Walker to the face of defenseman Aaron Ward deserved a suspension.

My dad was a hockey player. I was not. I would not have been able to stay on the ice, mostly because I couldn't skate. But also, if something like this happened to me or my teammate, I'd go apeshit.

So maybe it's a bigger punishment for Scott Walker to be on the ice as opposed to in the upper press box...

-----

That's it for today.

Another TLBR Exclusive: Manny Ramirez Opens Up

2009-05-08T10:04:00.003-04:00

On July 31, Manny Ramirez gave Throws Left, Bats Right an exclusive interview* in what was believed to be his most extensive post-trade comments after being shipped to the L.A. Dodgers.

Ramirez, recently banned by Major League Baseball for violation of its drug policy, again joined TLBR for another post-ban exclusive.**

(* - not really; ** - ibid)

-----

Manny, thanks for joining us for this exclusive interview. It's been a very interesting 24 hours, so let's jump right into the questions.

Q: First off, as you know, steroids in baseball is a big problem. And so is peer pressure. Throughout your career, did you ever feel the need to use performance-enhancing drugs by any of your teammates or friends in baseball?

-----

Q: You've been banned for 50 games for failing one of Major League Baseball's drug tests. The drug in question is human chorionic gonadotropin (HCG). It's prescribed use is for female fertility. It's abused by steroid users to kickstart testosterone levels. You say it was for a personal medical problem, reportedly sexual disfunction. Can you explain what you were using it for?

-----
Q: Did it work?

-----

Q: There are several rumored side-effects to the drug, one of which makes it difficult to rub your belly and pat your head at the same time: Is this true?

-----
Q: Is it true that using steroids gives you the ability to make objects levitate?

-----
Q: Another side effect is taking on female characteristics - A-Rod was reportedly called "bitch tits" - did you see yourself taking on any female characteristics?

(No, I said female characteristics...)
-----
Q: Have you recovered from the sexual disfunction issues?

-----

Q: What would happen if you and Don King had children?

-----

Q: Can you show me what an airplane does?

-----

Q: And how do you start the chicken dance?

-----
Q: Can you show me your best 'Lil Jon impression?

-----
Q: You're out of baseball for the next 50 games. What will you do to stay in shape?

-----
Q: Back to the peer pressure thing, who gave you the most information or best advice regarding using steroids?

-----

Q: From Clemens, to Giambi, to Pettitte, to Kevin Brown, to Jason Grimsley, to Gary Sheffield, to Bobby Estalella, to Mike Stanton, to Ron Villone, and most recently to A-Rod, how did your current manager take the news that he had another key player under his control accused of using steroids?

-----
Thanks for joining us again Manny. Enjoy your time off beteeen now and July 3.

-----

Have a good weekend everyone...

April Showers Bring May Bloggers...

2009-05-04T16:52:00.001-04:00

Off of the Isle of Elba, the self-imposed blog exile is on furlough, Willie Horton-style.

Remember Willie Horton? The furloughed criminal that committed unspeakable crimes while the dastardly liberal Michael Dukakis was governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts? Made you really reconsider who the real bad guy was then...unless you had a brain...which apparently very few of our countrymen had 21 years ago.

Well, driving in this morning (in the new vehicle...not new in the literal sense, but certainly in the possessive sense...) I heard two songs, back-to-back, that kind of summed up my previous night's television:

"Imagine" by John Lennon and "It's the End of the World As We Know It (and I feel fine)" by REM.

MSNBC, with it's all-Obama, all-hope, all-the-time programming, makes you forget that it's supposed to be objective news and not the Pax Network.

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

Swell, init? But we're still in the untenable (dare I say unwinnable) Iraq conflict, all the while Afghanistan is launching Taliban Vista (I'm a Mac), Pakistan continues to Ostrich all the problems around its borders, and old friend Yemen is looking at its Somali neighbors across the Gulf of Aden thinking, "hey, this anarchy thing isn't such a bad plan."

Then we have the Fox News, Ann Coulter/Sean Hannity/Dick Morris/Newt Gingrich cesspool crowd. Makes you want to buy a helmet. Or start a doomsday shelter in your basement. Canned peas, powdered milk, and a brand-spanking-new Sarah Palin model assault rifle. Good for killing raccoons and bunnies when the end is near, betchabygollywow.

That's great, it starts with an earthquake,
Birds and snakes and aeroplanes...

And the way things are being covered, even Lenny Bruce would be afraid of the global seventh sign that is the swine flu.

A local college here in the Biggest Little just held its commencement ceremonies...WITH NO HAND SHAKES. This due in large part to the, um, zero confirmed cases of the biggest thing to come along since, um, SARS. Which also killed zero people in Rhody. There are seven confirmed cases of people going to Mexico and getting colds.

Three other cases of people drinking too much Corona and waking up with a splitting headache have also been investigated.

I'd venture to guess that more people were afflicted with polio over the last year than will be "sick" with swine flu. This also coming from the Commissioner of Health, who said that "if you aren't feeling well and were planning on going to the doctor, you should still go."

Yes, I do believe he went to school for seven years for that grand plan. I'd revoke his pension, if it's still worth anything, after that stroke of genius.

Two songs, two messages (albeit, REM's was a wee bit sarcastic), two sentiments on how we see the world these days...good heavens...
-----
While we're on the topic of music, apologies for being a little late to the Sunday dinner table, but just bought the Kings of Leon's new one "Only By The Night."

Wow, and I do mean wow, I don't think I've bought an album since Pearl Jam's "Ten" or Ray LaMontagne's "Trouble" where I had to stop and listen to every song and was floored by each and every track.

"Sex on Fire" is about as good a power ballad, hard-charging song as there has been in decades. And who doesn't love a good song about make-up sex?

It's all straight cash, homey.
-----
Looking forward to the Sox playing their first three at ~~Howard Lamade Stadium in Williamsport, Pa.~~ the new Yankee Stadium.

But if they don't play tonight or tomorrow due to rain, I'm fine with that - won't have to worry about flipping back and forth between the Celtics and Bruins games.

(don't worry, my ankles are taped up tightly for the jumps on and off each team's respective playoff bandwagon...)
-----
More on music (not moron music...), but I can't help but love Kelly Clarkson's "My Life Would Suck Without You" song.

Sounds like since her split from Clive Davis, someone produced her latest shampoo on a Casio keyboard and a three drum set from "Rock Band" on PS2.

But I love it. What can I say?
-----
Took a little vacay down to Key West (nice spot, probably needed two more days and 100 less beers, but it was nice) and brought with me one of two books that I could almost physically not put down: "The Unforgiving Minute," by Craig Mullaney.

Even though the author went to the same high school as I did, I'm not biased. It's an unbelievable book.

And if you haven't done "The Miracle of St. Anthony" by Adrian Wojnarowski, then set aside about a week and go belly-to-belly and back-to-back.
-----
The next time Julio Lugo turns a double play, someone should buy him a shampooing ice cream cone or take him for pizza after the game.

How shampooing bad is he? Alex Gonzalez farts in your general direction, Theo Epstein.
-----
Last bit about the Sox - and on the blog post - but it's 25 games and 14.1 innings into Manny Delcarmen's season and he just gave up his first earned run yesterday.

Ramon Ramirez is about the same in terms of innings thrown, and he allowed his first inherited runner to cross the plate - also in yesterday's game.

I'm perfectly content with this.

Perfectly content?

It IS the end of the world as we know it.

(RIP JG. Too young.)

Thursday - NCAA Tournament (and NIT) Primer

2009-03-19T11:23:00.002-04:00

Follow TLBR during the NCAA (and NIT) Tournaments on T(LBR)witter.

Today is the greatest day.

So without delay, here are TLBR’s official picks. Disclaimer: these picks are for fun only and not for gambling purposes. Because if you’re gambling and using my picks, you’re an idiot.

#1 North Carolina vs. # 16 Radford – Ty Lawson’s not playing, so that might make it a close game for 3 minutes more than it would have. Carolina.

#8 LSU vs. #9 Butler – I went with Butler, although LSU is a solid defensive team and head coach Trent Johnson’s been there. Close one, as an 8/9 game should be. Butler.

#5 Illinois vs. #12 Western Kentucky – Hilltoppers’ coach Kenny McDonald is from North Providence, R.I. WKU had a magical 1st round game last year and will have another one this year. WKU.

#4 Gonzaga vs. #13 Akron – The Zags have been out of the tournament after day one the previous two seasons. The Zips lost by 29 to the current employer. I go Zags.

#7 Clemson vs. #10 Michigan – Normally, I would never, ever, ever bet against John Beilein and his poetry motion offense. But Clemson might just have a little more in the tank. I go Clemson.

#2 Oklahoma vs. #15 Morgan State – I would have liked this matchup if it were Missouri, then I could make the joke that it would be the “Show-Me State” vs. the “Show-Cause Coach.” Oklahoma wins.

#6 UCLA vs. #11 VCU – Man, did I go back and forth on this one. Three letters or four? Maynor or Collison? Grant or Howland? Four letters. UCLA.

#3 Villanova vs. #14 American – TLBR is a big fan of both programs, both coaches, and hopes for a great game. Picking Villanova to win, but quietly rooting for Jeff Jones and the Eagles.

#7 Texas vs. #10 Minnesota – Texas has solid outside shooting in AJ Abrams but has been consistently inconsistent. I look for Tubby and the Gophers in the mild upset.

#2 Duke vs. #15 (Bada) Binghamton – I’ve heard an awful lot about the Bing in the last few days, of course none of it about this game. Duke by a lot.

#1 UConn vs. #16 Chattanooga – No 16 seed has ever beaten a 1 seed in the men’s tourney. That trend continues. UConn.

#8 BYU vs. #9 Texas A&M – Admittedly, I have not seen BYU and Lee Cummard play one single minute this season. So my pick of A&M is pure speculation.

#5 Purdue vs. #12 Northern Iowa – The 12-5 upset is in play here, although I think that Robbie Hummel and the Big 10 champion Boilermakers will prevail in the end. This will be the game CBS cuts over to for a nationwide audience.

#4 Washington vs. #13 Mississippi State – Two BCS conferences meet in a 4/13 game. Not a typical situation. Look for the non-Zeke Isaiah Thomas and Lo-Ro’s Huskies to win out.

#7 California vs. #10 Maryland – Earlier in the year, Gary Williams was on a 212 degree boiling hot seat. Now he’s in the dance. Live by the guard, die by the guard, and Greivis Vazquez is a game-changer. The Terps in a mild upset.

#2 Memphis vs. #15 Cal St.-Northridge – Coach Cal’s Tigers haven’t gotten much respect all season. Methinks this is game one of a six-game stretch which will bring them to Dee-troit.

That's all for my day one picks. Be sure to check back to TLBR for updates, or to the TLBR Twitter page for snarky 160-character one-liners. Perhaps even some poetry, courtesy of Sarah McLachlan.

Either way, it's all a beautiful thing. Enjoy the hoopage.

Late February stress leads to March Madness

2009-02-23T18:04:00.002-05:00

Ahhh...it's the eve of the most wonderful time of the year. Teams on the bubble try to move to the good side; team that are locks are playing for a high seed; and teams that know it's over are playing out the string.

But sometimes the best action happens after the game. Listed below are some of my favorites.

Enjoy.

(Emeka Okafor and Caron Butler vs. Ryan Gomes)

(Get some facts and get back to me)

(And some coaches...who I can guarantee will never be head coaches...)

(You remember that, when I see you, I'm gonna kick your ass.)

Enjoy the hoops and the pre-Madness madness. And TLBR isn't dead. Yet.

WE NEED A BAILOUT...NOW!

2009-01-21T16:01:00.000-05:00

Finally.

2009-01-12T14:17:00.003-05:00

A good friend and outstanding journalist just texted me six beautiful words: Jim Ed is in the Hall.

The headline on Boston.com read similarly. And like the immortal sound clip from Joe Castiglione, about a grounder to Foulke and a subsequent underhand toss, it choked me up.
-----
I moved home in September, 2006. Not my boyhood bedroom, as my family moved from Providence to Jamestown in 1998.

There are very few mementos from 102 Nelson St. My baseball cards and Legos made the move and are in a Rubbermaid bucket in the attic.

The new room has adult-level furniture. My old bedroom set pawned off to someone, via Milwaukee's Craigslist before the move to JTN. My old twin bed was been donated to the Salvation Army in New Rochelle, N.Y. in August, 2005.

But one thing remained from my childhood: a 1978 poster of Red Sox slugger James Edward Rice. Remember when Sports Illustrated used to have an ad in its pages on a weekly basis, with a long list of professional athletes in any number of the big four leagues (remember when there were four professional sports leagues??? but I digress...). The posters had the white borders, the players' name up top in times new roman, and an action shot with a facsimile of an autograph.

That Jim Rice poster is still hanging over my bed. It's from 1978 - his MVP season in which he hit .315, with 46 homers and 139 RBI. He had the old school red batting helmet on, with a surplus of afro on all sides.

It was a prized possession - and still is. It's coming with me to my next series of domiciles. The 1975 Topps Rice rookie card still remains a keepsake. I still have my 1978 New Era Red Sox cap. Since I was 3 years old, it doesn't fit - but I still have it.

And somewhere, among the Legos and baseball cards in the attic, there is a signed photo: "To Mike, best wishes, Jim Rice" that I got one afternoon at the Star Market in Olneyville. I might need to go dig that out.

What better way to celebrate 15 years of waiting than to break out the photo that has been preserved for 30 years or so.

Jim Ed Rice is in the Hall of Fame. Go ahead. Cry.

Remember when I used to blog about travel?

2008-12-30T00:10:00.002-05:00

9:10 p.m., San Jose, California.

See the subject? Remember when I used to blog about travel and trips?

Remember the angst I used to have? Remember the snarkiness? Remember the general fear, hatred, loathing for other people? That true Sartrian hell?

Guess who's tap, tap, tapping on my cellar door?
-----
I'm here in Mineta International Airport. I'm waiting for JetBlue flight 174, with non-stop service to New York's John F. Kennedy International Airport.

And I ask not for your pity. Your sorrow. I ask not that you feel my pain. I just ask that you listen. Or in this particular medium, I just want you to read. I've got something to say (type) and I've got a while.

There is a 16, maybe 17-year old unwed teenage mother with a kid who looks like she just had Gerbers new Red Bull stewed carrots.

There is an ugly bizarro Maggie Gyllenhall (is that redundant?)

There's a 23-something, newly minted former co-ed who is telling whoever the shampoo she's talking to about all the shoe designers she likes, all while talking way too loud through an earpiece when she could just take the shampooing phone and put it to her shampooing ear and go to a less crowded shampooing place near the shampooing gate and talk about John shampooing Varvatos and Jimmy Choo and Reebok or whatever. Shampoo.

I sit in seat 3C. Crack baby is likely to be in 4C, screaming and kicking and tweeking the whole shampooing flight. Jake's fake ugly twin will likely be across the aisle. Sarah Jessica Punter will likely be in the middle. And I'll see what I can manage with $7 cocktails in the main cabin.

Oh, did I mention why I'm flying to JFK instead of BOS or PVD? Yeah, I got a game tomorrow night. 7 p.m.

So sleep will be at a premium on this 6.5 hour leg. Drinking is not an option. Awake is not an option. But guess what? I'm shampooing clear out of options.

Again, I ask not for your pity. I just want you to read.
-----
This is a 48-yard field goal near the end of a Super Bowl. Ken Walter to hold. Lonie Paxton to snap from the far hash mark. I hope Gil is screaming "it's good" when we land.

When I land at Kennedy, I'll wait for my bags. And then I'll wait for the NY Airport Service bus to the Port Authority on 42nd Street. Then I'll wait for NJ Transit bus 167 to Teaneck. Then I'll go to the airport, change, shower, and head to shootaround.

It's what I do. And unfortunately over the last decade or so, it's what I've become.

But over the last six days, who I am and what I've become has become terribly irrelevant. I've become another person. (trust me, that's a good, much welcomed, long overdue sort of thing).

So we'll chat later when I land.

Until then, qss.

It's Like My Specialty and Junk

2008-12-11T20:36:00.000-05:00

Bail This Blog Out

2008-12-06T08:35:00.002-05:00

A good friend and loyal reader asked me yesterday, "so how's work?"

In these economic times, that's a kind of taboo question. But since I'm pretty sure I'm not in the line of fire for downsizing, I answered it in that sort-of gentle, considerate way. You never know if someone just got the bop.

And with all the economics being bandied about now - and since I took a few econ classes in college, I've got all kinds of smarts about it - you have to watch the consumer price indexes, the LIBOR rate, short-term and long-term interest rates, how's the dollar matching up, etc.

Well, as usual, I done overthunk it.

It was a simple question.

He was asking if I was busy at work because "the blog hasn't been updated since the Red Sox were in the playoffs."

Has it been THAT long???

Yes. Yes it has.

-----

So let's catch up since the Sox got, channeling my inner Chris Tucker, knocked the shampoo out.

1. We got a new President. He a baller.

2. India exploded.

3. Lots of companies that ran themselves into the ground got rewarded for their ineptitude, then they took the money and said "shampoo you, I'm going to get a pedicure and pay for a hummer with your tax dollars."

4. I've worked too damn much.

5. 10 years of optimistic persistence paid off

That's pretty much it.

-----

So I've essentially driven this blog into the ground. Remember when it used to be updated up to three times a day?

Yeah, no.

Remember when it was cutting-edge stuff? Funny, even?

Ah, weren't those the halcyon days of...2005...

Well, this blog needs to get bailed out. Let me hop on the charter and go petition my case.

But first, off to the capital city in search of the only kind of W you can really embrace.

LET'S WORK.

College basketball's start delayed...

2008-10-17T00:49:00.002-04:00

Red Sox webclicks reign supreme for yet another day in the world of the Biggest Little's state newspaper. Nerds rejoice, ignorance is bliss!

-----

Hate to poop in the punchbowl, Sox enthusiasts, but the corpse of Josh Beckett (and his lukewarm heater) just isn't going to cut it. Heck of a way to close out the year, winning at the Fens, but it ends down at the concrete cowbell jungle of Vince Naimoli Memorial Tropicana Field.

It was nice to sleep and nice to have a cerebellum-splitting headache and nice to have the damned Blackberry (brought to you by the ALCS, or is it the other way around? or is it Frank TV?) buzzing with texts saying "do you believe?" or "do you believe this shit?" or "Red cast mojo."

I'm glad I missed all the crap parts of the game. It's like not watching "Titanic" until the boat starts to sink. (jesus, that sounded like Simmons).

Top 3 Joes of the last 24 hours:

3. Joe Maddon

2. Joe the Plumber

1. Joe Mama

Also receiving votes: Guy Ritchie

Best text message received so far tonight: "Sox should've traded for Manny this morning." Agreed. And clincher king D-Lowe.

Why is SportsCenter showing high school football highlights? HSGametime goes worldwide leader on me.

Joe Morgan just said that was a cutter that JD Drew hit.

Five years ago, at the same time on the clock (12:16 a.m.) that JD Drew hit his ground-rule double into right field at Fenway to beat the Rays...Aaron Boone hit the left field shot (second best text of tonight: "Score that play: HR") off the then-corpse of Tim Wakefield (I'm not dead...I feeeeeel, happppppy...I think I'll go for a walk...) in 2003.

And furthermore, that very same season, I earned my first invitation to leave a professional sporting venue...for heckling in the Giuliani seats at Yankee Stadium. One of the main culprits? Aaron Boone ("hey Aaron, I see you got the height and your brother got the talent..."). The team the Yankees were playing?

The Tampa Bay (Devil) Rays.

And Lincoln had a secretary named Kennedy and Kennedy had a secretary named Lincoln...

-----

I'm sleeping in tomorrow, so don't shampooing bother me.

(7-1, Rays, on Saturday and Rocco Baldelli does the Biggest Little proud. Dan Wheeler, too)

Because Optimism...

2008-10-14T08:45:00.002-04:00

...can only truly be rooted in logic, here's my logical stab at the game 4 batting order.

(mind you, this is the third time in as many trips to the ALCS that I turned down tickets to game 4...the previous two times came in 2004 and 2007. Superstition is the religion of feeble minds, which I guess kind of messes with my whole optimism theory. Bugger off, all of you...)

1. Crisp - CF
2. Pedroia - 2B
3. Drew - RF
4. Bay - LF
5. Youkilis - 3B
6. Papi - DH
7. Kotsay - 1B
8. Cash - C
9. Lowrie - SS

Drop Papi so that he can at least bat with runners on base. Go lefty-righty from 3-6. Let Jacoby sit for a bit, come in to pinch run when it's time to ditch Cash or bunt perhaps? Tek can come into play C, but when it's time for him to hit in a late-and-close situation, pinch hit again.

Prediction: Sox 5, Rays 3.

Re-Building a Winner

2008-10-07T09:54:00.004-04:00

You know what’s crazy? It’s a rebuilding year.

I had this conversation in July with a new employee here at the Flagship…the Red Sox are, essentially, rebuilding.

That process began when the Sox decided against trading for Johan Santana, for a package of prospects.

Those prospects included (in no particular order): the 25-year old leadoff guy who just finished the ALDS with a .400 on-base percentage, six RBI (ok, three of them came on a three-run single, Tanner Boyle-style); a 24-year old righty who threw a no-hitter last year and struggled finding his command this season; a 24-year old lefty who threw a no-no this year and is emerging as the Ace of the staff.

Not to mention the 24-year old infielder, with the patient eye, steady glove who has been branded as the jack of all trades, master of none…and found the strait of Teixeira between second and first last night, which drove in the gamewinning run. And factor in the tall, 23-year old right-hander that – to my count – has made two gaffes so far: the cross-up to Varitek last night and the Champs Sports commercial with the horrible Jimmy Tingle as a cab driver.

The Red Sox made a trade at the deadline, or so I heard on WEEI. And not to open that can of worms, safe to say the trade has been mutually beneficial. Channeling my inner John Sterling, “in life, all good things have some sort of reciprocation.” Let your mind wander on that one.

But the Sox won 95 games in the regular season due to Ellsbury, Buchholz, Lester, Lowrie, Masterson…and don’t discount the help that Brandon Moss made. Don’t laugh, he won a game in Japan… Even Craig Hansen helped (by leaving and facilitating the Manny-Bay trade).

When injuries arose, there was a steady stream of Jeff Bailey’s, Chris Carter’s, Jonathan Van Every’s, and Joe Thurston’s.

The injuries were to key cogs – starters, infielders, outfielders - yet the machine never had any prolonged stretch of having “out-of-service” tape ribboning around the mechanism thanks to the youngsters.

And as we’ve seen in the stretch run and postseason, Lowrie and Masterson assumed semi-permanent roles and may very well displace a veteran or two. Why Lugo and not Lowrie? Why Timlin and not Masterson? Those are legitimate questions now.

With the New York professional baseball clubs looking to spend more money than Tyco execs with a month full of spousal birthday parties, the Red Sox are primed to dip into idyllic New England towns like Pawtucket and Portland for their help.

There will be tire-kicking on AJ Burnett, CC Sabathia, Ben Sheets, and Mark Teixeira, I’m sure. But the prospects have shown that they might be ready for prime time and they’ve done it during a run to the ALCS. In college, it’d be cutely referred to as the freshmen becoming sophomores.

But in the modern baseball era – the rebuilding process has taken place from within and it’s worthy of taking notice.
-----
Ok, hope to have more as the playoffs continue. But who the hell knows?

On an aside - despite the inactivity/hibernation/sabbatical/laziness/knee injuries that have caused TLBR to not be updated for quite some time, the hit counter went over 300k. Wow. Still amazing. Thanks everyone.

Must've Been a Blur Fan

2008-09-09T10:42:00.003-04:00

Check it out about 1:37 into "What's the Story (Morning Glory)."

Dreamers or Redeemers - a vote for the 2008 team

2008-08-22T12:04:00.004-04:00

By: Rudy Sobelman - TLBR Milwaukee correspondent

A special thanks to TLBR for allowing me a platform to embarrass myself in trying to suggest that the 2008 "Supreme" team could actually enter the conversation of the 1992 "Greatest team ever assembled."

I am sure you will find my writing poor and my arguments weak, but that's my game.

Up until the 2004 Olympics, the United States had gone 110-1 in Olympic competition. (Okay technically, 109-2, but let's not count the 1972 Munich debacle.) And then Larry Brown and the 2004 team went 5-3 in Athens and brought home a bronze medal.

That was "shampooing" unacceptable and the U.S. decided to do something about it by hiring Jerry Colangelo to come up with a plan to win gold in China. Of course, they ignored the fact that Colangelo never won an NBA championship with the Phoenix Suns, but he needed something to do since he sold all his teams.

As a basketball junkie, I never thought I would see another team that would compare to the Dream Team, but this is the squad. Here is my breakdown of the roster:

Guards - Jason Kidd, Kobe Bryant, Dwyane Wade, Chris Paul, Deron Williams, Michael Redd.

This group of guards includes one of the greatest pure passers in NBA history (Kidd), the closest thing to MJ (Kobe), a healthy superstar who has a great all-around game (Wade), a point guard who should have been MVP last year and is putting up some of the best PG numbers ever (Paul), a solid young guard who is putting up 10+ assists a game (Williams), and a shooter in case you need him (Redd).

Forwards: - LeBron James, Carmelo Anthony, Tayshaun Prince, Chris Bosh, Carlos Boozer

You want one name? How about the bigger Oscar Robertson (LeBron), a solid scorer suited for international play (Anthony), a glue guy who just wins (Prince), the forgotten player of the greatest NBA draft ever (Bosh...and apologies to 1984), and Coach K's more seasoned Laettner (Boozer).

Centers: - Dwight Howard

This team is a little thin in the middle. Or are they? Did you watch the dunk contest last year or realize that Howard is still only 22? Scary. Very scary.

It is hard to publish stats on this team during Olympic play, as the numbers certainly won't line up against the 1992 dominance. This is a great collection of players, missing really only two players among the best in the world (Garnett and Duncan).

Without starting this little debate, point-counterpoint, I leave you with this. Excluding the USA roster, there are 30 NBA players playing in the 2008 Olympics. Spain has seven players in the NBA on their roster. The competition is much different than Dino Radja, Petrovic, Kukoc, Sabonis, and Marciulonis.

This team is dominating, beating the aforementioned team featuring seven NBA players by a final of 119-82, including a 32-0 margin on points off turnovers. I'll wait for the stat comparison when this thing is over. This is a team, not a collection of individual superstars and egos.

Bring it. I am ready for TLBR to crush me like a Barkley elbow on the helpless Angolan.

You want a thesis statement? In one game, the 2008 team would beat the 1992 team by running them off the floor.

Dreamers or Redeemers? 1992 is the winner.

2008-08-22T10:47:00.002-04:00

On Friday morning (eastern time) the 2008 U.S. men's basketball team will head into the semifinal round of the Beijing Olympics, taking on Manu Ginobili and Argentina.

This year's Olympic squad, known as the "Redeem Team," has been romping over their competition. Through five games, the U.S. is 5-0 and has an average margin of victory of 32 points. Pretty solid, considering the team "won" the bronze medal in 2004 in Athens.

But it poses the question - would the 2008 team beat the 1992 team? Would the Redeemers cream the Dreamers? Would it be the '08 Stars and Stripers or the '92 Stars and Strippers (Patrick Ewing and the Gold Club say "hello.")

Welcome to a little U.S. Basketball point/counterpoint.

The 1992 team was a giant "shampoo you" to the world. It was our way of saying: we're America, we invented the game, and here's a little ass-whuppin' to make it clear. The closest margin of victory was 32 points (Croatia) and the average win was by almost 44 points per game.

The 1992 roster was perfect. It had superstars at every level and in every role. Head coach Chuck Daly summed it up best:

"It was like Elvis and the Beatles put together. Traveling with the Dream Team was like traveling with 12 rock stars. That's all I can compare it to."

The personnel:
Guards - John Stockton; Magic Johnson; Chris Mullin; Scottie Pippen; Michael Jordan; Clyde Drexler

Stockton is arguably the best point guard in NBA history (15,806 assists). About 15,805 of those went to Karl Malone. Chris Mullin ended his career as one of the best three-point shooters in NBA history. Clyde Drexler, at that time, was one of the most prolific offensive players in the league. And then you're dealing with three "one-name guys:" Magic. Michael. Scottie.

Forwards - Charles Barkley; Larry Bird; Karl Malone (who loves beanie babies); Christian Laettner

Barkley and Malone each re-defined the modern definition of the power forward. There is a one-namer in Larry. Laettner could have been replaced by me, and it wouldn't have made a difference.

Centers - Patrick Ewing; David Robinson

Patrick was a borderline one-namer. The Admiral was just beginning his solidly spectacular career.

The Stats:
Ri-god-damned-diculous. Some of the individual stats are crazy - Barkley's 71.1% field goal percentage, Mullin's 53.8% from three-point land, Jordan's 37 steals (in eight games...).

But the team stats are what really floor me. The team shot 57.8% (369-638) while holding opponents to under 37.0%.

They only shot 40.0% from the perimeter (54-135), but if you remove Jordan (4-19) and Drexler (6-21) who still had hops and didn't need to rely on a little below-the-rim stuff, the Dream Teamers were 44-95 - good for 46.3%.

From the charity stripe, the U.S. made 146 FT. Opponents ATTEMPTED 151. The rebounding margin was +13.5. The assist percentage was 64.7%. That means, 64.7% of the time, a field goal was tallied on a direct pass from a teammate.

This was a true team effort. Nine of the 12 players earned the start at least twice. Ten players played in all eight contests. Seven players had at least 14 assists. Forty-seven of opponents' 372 misses were blocked.

Those numbers are downright silly.

The accolades:
There are four Hall of Famers: Bird, Magic, Barkley, Drexler. Jordan, Malone, Robinson, Pippen, Ewing, and Stockton will be. Mullin might be. (Laettner has a slightly better shot than I do.)

But in short, I think the 1992 Dream Team would - easily - outdistance the 2008 Redeemers.

That's the thesis statement. We'll continue with the 2008 view, and then continue to support our argument(s).

Today's Secret Word

2008-08-22T09:30:00.003-04:00

Remember Pee-Wee's Playhouse? When folks used to scream for the secret word?

If not, here's a little refresher:

All caught up? Good.

So Tiki Barber happened to use TLBR's secret word. Those of you who know us here at control know EXACTLY what that word is. It comes out at the most (in)opportune times.

One solid example of an INopportune time is when you're on live television, with your co-host and the face of American nightly news.

Yeah, Tiki c-bombed Jenna Wolfe.

Click here for the re-direct to Deadspin. And stay tuned for some actual writing later on today. We'll be introducing TLBR's first guest columnist/correspondent.

And we'll be point/counterpointing the shampoo out of the U.S. men's basketball team (which I'd be watching in my office, if it weren't raining in there...which is the perfect reason to use the aforementioned C-word...)

Ernest Borgnine's Secret of Life

2008-08-20T16:02:00.001-04:00

Greatest T-Shirt Ever

2008-08-20T15:18:00.000-04:00

TLBR Exclusive Interview with Michael Phelps*

2008-08-15T22:52:00.003-04:00

Shortly after Michael Phelps' record-tying seventh Olympic gold medal, TLBR sat down with the swimmer to discuss several hot-button topics

(* - yeah, it's fake)

-----

Q: Can you give me your best impression of the Kevin Garnett primal scream that is a mainstay in the Celtics' pre-game video?

-----

Q: Where do you think the best place to hide a pencil would be?

-----

Q: As a seven-time gold medalist at the Beijing Olympics, you've heard the National Anthem and posed for pictures seven times so far. By this point, is all the staged biting of the medal leaving a mark?

-----

Q: Remember that scene from "Top Gun," when the Navy pilots sang "You Lost That Lovin' Feeling" to Kelly McGillis? Have you and your teammates ever tried that in karaoke?

-----

Q: Did you ever try the old "oops, all I'm wearing is a towel" trick to get a girl's phone number? Because that works...

-----
Q: In 1968, two US sprinters - John Carlos and Tommie Smith - used their medal ceremony to make a political statement. Can you do your best imitation of that?

-----

Q: A lot has been made of the new Speedo LZR swimsuits and their aerodynamics. Are there any other technological advances in your equipment that you'll be using in the Water Cube in Beijing?

-----

Q: How do you properly celebrate winning seven gold medals?

-----

Congrats Michael. What you did was great. Not just in the pool, but also in the media. Mark Spitz can stop his '72 Dolphins act now.

And Spring Became the Summer...

2008-08-14T10:40:00.002-04:00

Love the cameo from the chick with the backwards ballcap. Who is she, you may ask?

I'll let Steve Carell tell you...click here.

TLBR Exclusive: Interview with Manny Ramirez*

2008-07-31T20:40:00.002-04:00

Just after the regular season trading deadline ended at 4 p.m. ET, TLBR was able to conduct an exclusive interview* with former Red Sox LF Manny Ramirez.

(* - yeah, I made it up.)

-----

Q: Hey Manny, if you're facing West, which way is L.A.?

A:
-----
Q: Manny, if a plane leaves Boston at 5 p.m. ET and is traveling at 600 mph, how long should the 3,000 mile trip take?

-----

Q: Manny, let's play a little game of "Name That Tune." The song I'm thinking of is a 70's disco tune by four demographically diverse homosexual men. The song is a favorite of Derek Jeter and Yankee groundscrew people. What is the first letter of the abbreviation in the refrain?

-----

Q: When you become a free agent this offseason, how much of a chance is there that you'll return to the Sox?

-----

Q: There were times when you played the outfield that you made embarassingly bad plays. Once such play came recently in Anaheim. Can you think of anything more embarassing than falling down, then rolling over a ball in play?

-----

Q: Your batting helmet has always been one of the more disgusting on the Red Sox, covered in stick-em and pine tar. Has that ever caused a problem for you with an at-bat?

-----

Q: Can you show me your "dead sexy" pose?

-----

Q: What can you say to your critics in Boston who thought you didn't care or didn't play a good left field? How do you plan on changing your style of play in Dodger Stadium, without the Green Monster behind you?

-----

Q: Can you think of any other Boston athlete, beloved by his fans due to his performance in the postseason, who was so quickly excoriated and run out of town?

-----

Q: You were recently almost cited for jaywalking in Seattle. Have you ever had any previous close calls trying to cross the street?

-----

Q: During the lead-up to the trading deadline, you were rumored to be going to the Florida Marlins. Hanley Ramirez is a good friend of yours; are you close with anyone else on the Marlins roster?

-----

Q: California girls have sayings which have taken to becoming trends, like "whatever," "that's hot" or "gag me with a spoon." Can you show me your best "talk to the hand?"

-----

Q: You're argubly the second or third most popular athlete in L.A. now, behind Kobe and David Beckham. Can you give me your best Becks impression?

-----

Q: In some of your final comments as a Red Sox leading up to the trading deadline, you commented that you wanted "peace." You're a Dodger. What does that mean to you?

-----

Best of luck Manny. Sorry it had to end, but it needed to be done.

Thanks for a hell of a ride.

You're a gangster.

Happy Belated Bastille Day

2008-07-17T10:53:00.003-04:00

It's amazing what happens when the income-generating work gets in the way of the mind-to-fingers-to-keyboard-to-world process of blogging.

I was bored of being bored, and thus started TLBR. But now, I've got too much going on. And that's getting old and, well, boring.

So I shall make no bold predicts on the rate of updates, but don't quit on me. Perhaps this is, again, the time I solicit the outside world to be contributing writers (coughcoughDAILYUPDATEcoughcough). But until TLBR acquires a stable of writers, expect instability.

Enough woe is me. Let's get on with some thoughts that I've accumulated over the last weeks, but never codified:

MORE OF A REMINDER why Bob Ryan is the best. As columnists all over the country either bow out to television, sell out to other entities, or whine and complain that the business would be better off with dial-up and Tandy typers, Bob Ryan continues to plate his fastball wherever he wants.

THE PACKER DEPARTURE EVERYONE CAN AGREE UPON. Billy Packer done as color man for CBS' telecast of the Final Four. See ya. Get to steppin'. Don't take any highlighters or post-it's on the way out. Maybe you can make a three-person booth with Bucky Waters on ACC telecasts. I don't care. But get out. And welcome, Clark Kellogg. Insightful, positive, and most importantly, professional.

(alert and apology in advance for a Simmons-like old sports story/reference to a long-time friend...) I remember my friend Dave and I used to laugh when Clark Kellogg was talking about teams who should be in/should be out of the NCAA Tournament. He rarely said anything bad about a team, leading to a bracket with like 320 teams. And in meeting him once, and purposely asking him about a few teams that were esoteric and probably not deserving of a spot, he said nothing but good things and - MOST IMPORTANTLY, BILLY - knew the players, the coaches, the schedule, and pretty much anything you would expect a person getting paid to talk about the game to know. So this ought to be refreshing. And thanks to the locale of the Final Four this year, I'll have plenty of chance to watch the games on my couch.

I'M SHIPPING OUT OF HUNTS POINT. Hey Papelbon, enough already. It's simple: it doesn't matter what you say, how you say it, or who you say it to if it's L'Affaire Yankee/Red Sox. We know what you said and what you meant, even though you don't always do a cracker jack job of being tactful or complete.

But it's the Bronx. It's the Yankees. It's the Red Sox.

Johnny Damon, who hit the second-most memorable home run in Red Sox playoff history behind Fisk's game sixer off the foul pole, is now one of the most reviled MLB players in the Hub. To paraphrase Coach Boeheim, without Johnny Damon, we don't win one shampooing World Series.

Nowadays, he's a villain. If Damon had signed with the Texas Rangers after 2004, there would have been a video tribute. Instead, there were bleacher folks yelling about making videos with his wife.

It sucks that Yankee fan buffoons yelled at your pregnant wife. Perhaps next time, don't bring her. That will save the chance for any potential foolishness.

Or, here's a surefire solution - shhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

A MODEST PROPOSAL. I've heard of the indie punk songs "Take the Skinheads Bowling," and "Takin' Retards to the Zoo" by Camper Van Beethoven and the Dead Milkmen, respectively.

But taking the homeless to the movies?

Talk about glossing over the problem. Good thing the Democrats are the party with heart.

WAY TO SUCK, MAXIM. We here at TLBR has been on the Sarah Jessica Parker tip for a while.

You know, the tip that asks "what the shampoo is the deal?"

We often like to quote the Peter Griffin/Family Guy line of "Sarah Jessica Parker looks like a foot."

And Maxim magazine, the pseudo-porn that has the highest readership among males, 24-30, who devote 30 seconds of their one-hour layover to Hudson News on airport layovers, called her "The Unsexiest Woman Alive."

But Matthew Broderick must have kicked some ass.

They backtracked.

F-minus, Maxim.

ARE YOU A FAN OF IRONY? If so, click here.

EVERYONE'S DOING IT. In a rip from Deadspin, via Fire Joe Morgan, I read that (Murray Ch)ASS has a blog.

Don't (Ch)ASS' blog. And by "don't read it," I mean that literally and not in the "hey
there, curious 4-year old, don't touch the red hot burner on the stove."

But I'm just not a fan of the old guard "blogs are for idiots; blogs are killing journalism; Buzz Bissinger is right" crew.

Blogs aren't killing journalism. Bad journalism is killing journalism.

NEW TWIST ON BAR GAMES? And to think, I was excited to bet on chickens at a bar in Belize.

This puts new meaning to "thinking outside the box."

(full disclosure: for candor purposes, that was the tamest one-liner I could come up with)

BEWARE OF THE MONTHLY BILL. When I first saw the headline on this article, I thought "Yeah, so what? Ever heard of Mickey Mantle?"

Speaking of Mantle, Murcer, and other dead Yankees, TLBR and friends will soon be putting together the "Yankee Dead Pool."

It will be similar to other dead pools, but since it's our first foray into the wrongness of the afterlife, any and all suggestions will be welcomed.

More details to follow...

C'est ça. Take care of you...

A Public Service Announcement

2008-07-04T07:30:00.001-04:00

How does Kevin Garnett feel about TLBR not being updated?

Ok, I hear you.

Happy 4th. More later.

I've Got 99 Problems, But a Blog Ain't One

2008-06-12T17:40:00.003-04:00

Yeah, so it's been a while.

I was informed of this by a loyal, prominent TLBR reader who asked, via the magic of text messaging, "where the shampoo has TLBR been? writer's strike?"

In keeping with HIPAA laws, as well as taking a page out of my Belichick-ian manual in dealing with delivering news to the media, all I was prepared to say was: "Leg injury. Return probable."

No, it wasn't a torn blogger's sheath in my left wrist that required a cast and immobilization for 4-6 weeks. Nor was it a quiet pledge to myself that I would post a new entry when Souljah Boy (tell 'em) released a follow-up to his smash single "the song by Souljah Boy that Bo Ryan dances to."

It was simple: I had nothing to say.

Sure, it's a rarity and in some locales, a welcome reprieve, but I just didn't have much to say. How enthralled would y'all be with the following: "Well, I started the South Beach diet because my acquired L4/L5 lumbar stenosis was acting up, so I need to lose some weight and I'm working out again, trying to strengthen my core while also tone and stretch my now 33-year old muscles. I eat a lot of protein, no carbs, and have limited my alcohol intake. I come home zonked from the workouts and the lack of muscle-replenishing carbs, so I watch the Red Sox and set the sleep timer and wake up the next morning."

Wow. How 'bout that? It's my life, I typed it, and I'm still looking for things to stick in my eyes and under my fingernails.

So I'm back. There was a good run, with 12 days of material or so, but after that? Nada. Ugotz.

Not anymore. The workouts have increased blood flow, which has brought more oxygen to the brain, and that ultimately means it's typing time. Plus, if I suck in my stomach really hard, you can kind of see the outline for a four-pack.
-----
What do rats do when they're cornered? If you're looking for a literal explanation about rodents and 90 degree angles, Google "rats AND corner."

If you're looking for a trite metaphor, then Google "Tim Donaghy."

Boy, the NBA probably isn't enjoying this one too much. For the first relevant NBA Finals since No. 23 pushed off on Bryon Russell, all that the writers and sports talk radio intelligencia can point to on a daily basis is: Is the fix in?

Never before did the trio of officials, their whistle patterns, and home/road splits matter to the common fan. The gambling population of the world has known this for a while, but now? Every generic NBA fan will be watching every previously generic whistle for the third gunman on the grassy knoll.

Donaghy may be right. He may be lying. He may be desperate. He may be selling his soul of secrets for some leniency.

But one thing is for sure. He may affect this NBA Championship series without making one single call.
-----
Speaking of the NBA Finals, it's the first Laker-Celtic matchup that I've worn the green for.

Yes, I grew up a Laker fan. I loved James Worthy - the first true modern power forward. I loved Michael Cooper locking people up on the defensive side of the floor, while keeping them honest from 25 feet away. Byron Scott, Magic, Kareem...they were my guys. And my second "favorite" team? The Celtics.

Why? Because I had SportsChannel and if you liked to watch basketball and lived in Providence, Rhode Island, you watched the Celtics.

Third "favorite?" The Sixers. I still have my Converse Dr. J posters (I bet they'd get a few bucks on eBay...), Mo Cheeks, Bobby Jones, Charles, Moses, Andrew Toney, etc...

That's like being a fan of the Yankees, Red Sox, and Toronto Blue Jays. It doesn't make any sense.

But it did. There were never any fistfights in the neighborhood if I wore my Worthy Express New Balance hightops to the park, or if I wore my purple and gold Laker shorts. Perhaps that's because the neighborhood baller - "Z" - was the world's third-biggest Laker enthusiast behind Jack Nicholson and Irwin Fletcher. Z was bald, I think, at age 14, but he was the likely inspiration for Magic Christian (6-4...6-9 with the afro).

Mind you, Rhode Island is kind of a funny place (boy, that's a pretty open-ended statement). There are a lot of Yankee fans here in God's Country. Why? Because of the large Italian population. Eye-talians like Joe DiMaggio. There are a lot of NY football Giant fans. Why? Because, prior to 2001, the Patriots blew. They've existed since 1960, but really haven't been relevant that long.

Red Sox and Yankee fans fight about it. And after the most recent Super Bowl, Patriots and Giants fans might not co-exist quite as peacefully as before.

But Laker fans? No one cared then. And no one cares now.

Take the Sox and the Yanks and their respective " 'Fill in team name' Sucks! " chants. What's the Celtic-Laker equivalent? "Beat L.A."

Wow. How vicious. Why not follow that up with "please make sure you look both ways before you cross the street after the game, because taxicab drivers in 'fill in city of the home team' tend to be bad drivers, friend."

It has all the anger and vitriol of a St. Louis Cardinal game. They're GREAT fans.

(Pujols sucks.)
-----
Due to situations beyond my control on Monday, the ceiling kind of started leaking because of a concentration of condensation (Clyde Frazier, bedamned) in my office.

The drip-drip-drip turned into a pretty consistent stream, and then a full-on Fountain of Trevi.

So there I was, throwing pennies over my left shoulder with my right hand and wishing for world peace, a new iPhone, and lo-cal fat-free, carb-free foods that begin with the world "buffalo" and don't taste like shit.

The minor dripatation situation caused me to move all electronics to the spare desk in the copy room. It's been a blessing and curse. One good thing is my office is now dark (and dripping), so when people look for me, they don't see a light or a computer, and assume I'm not here. One bad thing is that the copy room is directly above a large speaker to the weight room below, and I get a steady stream of bad guitar rock while the undergrads who are around for summer school pump iron.

But something funny happened on the way to the Great Western Forum (old habits are hard to break...) and the music shifted.

I heard a song that has probably never, ever, ever been played loudly in the world of picking up heavy things and dropping them, rhythmically: "Eleanor Rigby" by the Beatles.

Nothing makes me want to super-set and max out more than a song about a lonely old woman who lived and died sadly anonymous.

Need a spot?
-----
Since 2004, with TLBR, you've got a friend.

So if you're down and troubled and need a helping hand, TLBR will be there to brighten up your darkest nights.

So if you want a friend, "Facebook" us here at headquarters and we'll be happy to oblige.

The Facebook page link: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1314736087

-----
OK kids, gotta go.

I hope we can see each other again, real soon. And I hope it's not, like, weird or anything.

The Final Day - Belize Blog

2008-05-20T09:13:00.001-04:00

April 30

5:42 a.m. – Back to where to trip started…not just Cancun, but the airport. It’s too god-damned early, but thankfully due to my travel neuroses, I answered the bell.

The bell came from my watch and alarm clock. It did not come from the front desk, until some time after I got out of the shower. The front desk guy sounded a bit annoyed: “I’ve been trying to call.”

Yeah, 20 minutes late.

The queue at the Continental ticket counter is beginning to get pretty long. It’s completely past the tensa-barriers and snaking into the main foyer area. But I’m an elitist, so I get to skip the line.

Plenty of those folks flying steerage kind of sneered at me, but I didn’t really mind. In fact, I was a little annoyed that I had to wait a whole eight minutes.

After breezing through security – and I do mean breeze…Jesus, do they check for anything? I had liquids, gels, etc. I didn’t take my shoes off…

I walked through duty free and tried to figure out a way to unload my 350 pesos (roughly 35 bucks). There were no change counters open at quarter to 6 in the morning (go figure) and didn’t want to use the dinero to eat – remember, I’m elite and they feed us – so I wait and ponder a way to work this out.

Speaking of flip flops…I’m going to have to get used to wearing closed toe shoes again. And not having a few beers a lunch. Or watching Telemundo.

5:54 a.m. – The entire line from the Continental ticket booth is at Starbucks. You’re better off drinking the water.

6:11 a.m. – I thought I had a fool-proof way to change the pesos. Buy a bottle of agua (30 pesos), pay with 350 pesos, and ask for USD back. Great idea…on paper.

She gave me change in pesos. So now I’m down to 32 bucks of monopoly money. Shampoo.

7:12 a.m. – This morning’s breakfast selection in First Class is corn flakes or a delicious ham/egg/cheese sando. Sides include yogurt with fruit. And a bloody mary.

I really wish I was on Caye Caulker and not in seat 2F.

8:59 a.m. – Almost wheels down at George Bush Intercontinental. The in-flight movie was “Mad Money.” It was mindless drivel, but I didn’t completely hate it.

I turned the Continental in-flight entertainment to the Latin Soundscape channel – consider it methadone for the trip. What did you expect, the shampooing Spin Doctors? I hope customs is a breeze.

10:27 a.m. – I think I’m halfway home to New England. Between the walk from the plane, to passport control, then to the baggage claim, then to another customs desk, then through security (where they actually checked stuff and made me take my flops off), then to gate C-45, it was at least 400 miles.

A few observations & events along the way: the money changers in the airport are the modern day misers. I had 320 pesos. That’s roughly 32 bucks. Cashing it in, I got $21.21 back. The clerk asked if I wanted a receipt. I said no. I didn’t need documentation of me getting effed.

Also, do airports purposely find the most miserable folks to drive the courtesy carts? Seriously, what’s the job interview like: “Are you miserable? Do you hate people? Do you have road rage? Sweet, you’re hired. Welcome to the family!”

How can I be expected to wear non-flip flops tomorrow?

10:48 a.m. – I’ve got a Kathleen Turner lookalike next to me, who has seemingly dropped everything she owns on her seat, started pulling other people’s luggage out of the overhead to put hers in, and had at least four blankets and pillows laid out in the aisle.

The flight attendant was not amused. Neither was the guy in 2F.

12:33 p.m. – (switched back to Eastern time) I drank a liter-sized bottle of water in the airport and had a bloody when I arrived on the plane. Once we reached cruising altitude, I raced to the bathroom and peed for roughly three minutes.

The train wreck/V.I. Warshawski doppelganger next to me is the kind of person who doesn’t stand up when you need to get by on the airplane. So I made sure she got a face full of ass on the wiggle by.

I also hope I get gas from my elite lunch – cheeseburger, tomato basil soup, and fruit – because I’ll also share that with her.

1:58 p.m. – Just finished a book, that I’ve had for two years and never read, in two days – “Patriot Reign” by Michael Holley. Liked it, but didn’t love it. Might try his book on Francona when I get back.

On the epicurean side of things, the cheeseburger was solid. Not the best, not the worst. Certainly a better choice that the grilled chicken salad. They did have the nice shiraz I liked, so I switched to that.

Looking forward to a nice cup of Dunks when I land. Another two hours, and I’ll be in Boston. From the land of truly dirty, parasitical water to the land where Dirty Water means you’re my #1 place.

3:42 p.m. – Touchdown at Logan. I plan on drinking from the bubbler (because I can) and then right for a large, skim, one sugar at the Dunks. I’ve missed that in my time in loco perro land.

4:38 p.m. – Commencing with the train portion of the “Planes, Trains, Automobiles” trip back to Rhode Island. Made the 4:35 commuter rail to PVD by a hair, should be there in about 55 minutes.

5:02 p.m. – My feet are shampooing cold. I’m wearing a long sleeve t-shirt. I have to go to work tomorrow. The Go-Go’s “Vacation just came on the iPod.

A week without you, thought I’d forget. But two weeks without you and I still haven’t gotten over you yet…

Scoreboard Update

2008-05-19T21:40:00.003-04:00

Jon Lester 3, Cancer 0.

-----

And never happier that Johan Santana is in Flushing, N.Y.

Day 14 - Belize Blog

2008-05-19T10:03:00.003-04:00

April 29

8:46 a.m. – I’m on a crowded bus to Chetumal, Mexico from Corozal. It’s the first step toward going back home. The girl next to me smells. It’s about 400 degrees.

9:10 a.m. – Passed through the Belize border. Fare thee well.

9:24 a.m. – And now, Mexico. Seamless re-entry across the border. Just 10 kilometers to Chetumal.

10:41 a.m. – No, it didn’t take and hour-twenty to get to the bus station…I moved time zones. Back to Central time.

I’m kind of hungry and stared out the window to find a spot by the bus drop-off point (which is located by what I like to jokingly refer to as “Times Square of Chetumal.”) There was a place named “Barbaro.” Sorry, I’m not going to be trying to steak there.

11:05 a.m. – Prior to leaving Corozal, Matt helped me with some Spanish phrases which would help me along the way. So far, I’ve been able to manage my way through Mexican immigration, have hailed a cab and told the driver where I needed to go, ordered lunch (3 x pork tacos, bottle of water), and bought a first-class bus ticket to Cancun.

Tengo un gato en los pantalones.

Now comes the waiting. And the sitting.

11:30 a.m. – On the bus to Cancun…I made it, so now I can sit back, relax, for the most stressful part of the trip is behind me.

11:46 a.m. – Holy shit, what is it with me, international trips, and Tim Allen movies with him starring as Santa Claus? When I traveled to Australia, the movie station in Prosperine was “The Santa Clause I.” This time, on the bus, it was the third installation of this holiday crapfest.

I hadn’t seen “The Santa Clause II,” and shockingly – despite it being in a foreign language – I was able to follow along with numero tres.

1:46 p.m. – Not quite sure where we are, but I’m getting a little stir crazy. Good news – 2+ hours down. Bad news – 3+ hours remain.

3:41 p.m. – I just took a catnap and dreamt of the enchiladas verdes that I’m going to consume upon arrival. Yes, I’m hungry.

Seems a long way since my “first” meal of the trip – Hooters.

As much as I’ll miss this trip and my daily routine, I’m also anxious to get home and back to my routine. Two weeks ago – it seems like such a long time ago. It’s amazing what a creature of habit I am…

4:47 p.m. – We just pulled onto Cancun’s version of Rt. 1 in New Jersey. Traffic sucks, stop and go, and there are chain stores and restaurants on both sides. And even better, we’ve dropped to one lane and are being held up by a peloton and their respective aid cars. Yeah. I’m not sure if it’s a big bike race, or just some weekend warriors, but I’m starting to lose my mind. And to top it all off, the 40-year old couple in front of me are pawing at each other like two ninth graders in a mall movie theatre. “You’re right Rusty, he may pork her.”

5:08 p.m. – Benvenidos a Cancun.

5:36 p.m. – Welcome back to the El Tapatio and “tiempo de enchiladas verde.” Y una Sol. What a delicious, authentic Mexican meal to close out the trip before a cab to another nameless, faceless, soulless Courtyard by Marriott.

8 p.m. – I’m in bed early. Everything packed for the trip, laid out for the morning, and ready to roll. “Spy Game” is the movie showing on one of the few English-speaking channels. Solid flick. I put in a 4:30 a.m. wake-up call. Smart money has that call never coming, so I followed it up with the alarm clock, the wristwatch alarm, and the television alarm. A three-bagger…

Day 13 - Belize Blog

2008-05-16T12:20:00.003-04:00

April 28

(author's note: I didn’t tote the notebook anywhere on April 27, but fear not - nothing terribly out of sorts happened.)

11:40 a.m. – Cue up the traditional Irish folk song theme, but it’s not the leaving of Caye Caulker that’s grieving me, but darling when I think of thee.

The water taxi “Belizean Beauty” pulled up to the dock. Only fitting that one Belizean beauty begets another.

Noon – Pulled back into La Isla Bonita. And again, before an NBA shot-clock violation occurred, we were propositioned for necklaces and drugs. The 3 p.m. Thunderbolt can’t come quick enough.

Now, while I didn’t tote the notebook around yesterday, I did come about with some reflection, realization, and reward. Clarity. But to write that down would have caused two things to happen: me to run out of ink and you to be bored by 21st century existentialism. Or you would have been impressed. Either way, I write game notes for a living and I leave it to you to draw your own conclusions.

Grabbed a lunch of chicken, rice and beans, and some cole slaw – you know, something different – at Elvi’s Kitchen, one of the top-rated restaurants on San Pedro. Ordered up a round of ceviche, too. That’s quickly becoming Belizean culinary crack to me. Can’t have enough of it. If I were to stay here for another couple of weeks, you might see me roaming the streets, unshowered and unshaven, begging for ha-pennies to buy some ceviche (essentially salsa with lime, cilantro, and shrimp).

After that, Matt and I did some proper bar-hopping from bad, to worse, to let me get this one down as quick as possible so I don’t miss the last boat.

3:10 p.m. – Thankfully the Thunderbolt was a few minutes late. We’re a few minutes past the dock and all 750+ horsepower are cranking toward Corozal. I feel safe though, knowing the Belize Coast Guard is on the job.

I don’t board a plane for the U.S. until Wednesday, but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that the trip is over.

Tonight in Corozal, then an all-day bus trip through Mexico, then to a nameless, faceless Courtyard by Marriott by the Cancun airport. It’s sad to leave the Cayes, but the last 5.5 days have been simply amazing (and that’s to grossly underrate “amazing.”)

**stream of consciousness warning** Holy shit, why do I have Train’s “Drops of Jupiter” on my iPod? That’s almost as bad as Deniece Williams...

I feel ready for anything and everything now. Perhaps I was a lot better off than I thought previously. Perhaps I just needed to relax. Perhaps it’s going to be a difficult transition not wearing flip-flops to work.

6:00 p.m. – Another solid meal at Patty’s Bistro, all my packing done, and time to watch the Celtics hopefully win a road playoff game at Atlanta.

(author's note: I sure didn’t think I’d still have to be typing that sentence kind of 20 days later…)

Day 11 - Belize Blog

2008-05-15T11:28:00.003-04:00

April 26

9:15 a.m. – Sunny day (again). Early rise to relax and read (again). Matty, who is supposed to arrive this a.m., texted to let me know he was running late (again).

I took a seat under a palm tree, by the water taxi dock, gazing out at the Caribbean Sea. The water is breaking about 500 yards out on a coral reef. There’s a bell windchime dinging in the distance. I’ve got a hot, fresh cup of Guatemalan coffee. The breeze is blowing through my hair.

If you’re thinking that I’m composing some poetry, I’m not. It’s just simple observation and summing up the surroundings. As flowery as it may seem, it’s some insight into Caye Caulker.

Hard to believe things are wrapping up on this trip – a rather glass-half-empty view, but it’s true. Thursday, I go back to work. Overall, it’s been a successful trip, with regard to clearing my head and relaxing.

While I’m not sure what kind of “renewed focus” or inspiration I’ve gained – you can stick that mumbo-jumbo where the sun doesn’t shine. I’m too busy doing nothing in a place where the sun shines until it doesn’t – and all in perfect view at the Lizard.

Perhaps that’s the new focus I’ve gained: the end of the quixotic view of my career. It’s a job, not life, despite the relative lack of the latter in contemporary terms. It’s what I do, not what I am.

1:06 p.m. – TBS is showing the movie “Groundhog Day,” which is funny. And ironical. The last three days for me have been exactly the same, save for the “I Got You Babe” playing on the radio alarm clock every morning at 6 a.m.

5:11 p.m. – Got a little bit of sun today. Forgot that SPF 4 isn’t as strong as SPF 15. Matty got in around 2:15, just in time for us to make the short trek from the dock to Lloyd’s to see the Patriots select Jerod Mayo.

Ordered up a little American meal and could hear the rockets’ red glare and the bunches of bombs in the air when we got our wings, cheeseburgers, fries, and beers while the NFL Draft was on. America, Shampoo Yeah.

On the topic of red glare – I got some sun today. Did I already mention that? And I’m headed to the Lizard for the Sunset thing. Sorry, Groundhog Day.

9:18 p.m. – Back to Lloyd’s for a few drinks and dinner, then to the Oceanside for karaoke night and the Caye Caulker dance party. I’m starting to fade a bit, as the sun zapped me pretty good. I’ll find a second wind. I’ve…got to, mister.

Lloyd’s is your typical sports bar. Lots of sports shit on the walls, NHL (it is a Canadian place), and t-shirts from different teams, all signed by the folks who “donated” them. I must send a shirt from the current place. We need some rep down there.

The Oceanside (or is it Oceanview? I have no idea) has a sand floor, a larger wooden square in the corner for dancing, some pokeys in the other corner, and some cheesy signs behind the bar. (example – a play on Dr. Seuss with “Slammed, I am.) This place – or any other bar, for that matter – can’t hold the proverbial jock of TC’s Lounge in the Hub. But I digress.

I’m an unabashed fan of karaoke nights. I’ve even been known to perpetrate some vocal stylings from time to time. But what I love the most is the sheer, unadulterated material it provides me. The snarky, cynical, sarcastic side of me comes out in full force. So buckle up.

9:23 p.m. – Someone just sang m-f “Sweet Caroline.” Followed by…John Lennon’s “Imagine.”

I hate the 8th inning at Fenway Park, when 37k Mass-holes sing that g-d m-f song, and they turn down the volume so the folks who got to the beer vendors a half-inning earlier can slur “SO GOOD…SO GOOD…SO GOOD” loudly with the rest of the folks in the bleachers.

On the topic of “Imagine,” I remember vividly being at the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame in 2001 when they had a fantastic exhibit on John Lennon. It began with a paper bag from the hospital, tagged with Lennon’s clothes at the time of his shooting. It also had a pair of round, blood-stained, wire-rimmed glasses. Quite moving for the first part of the exhibit.

Throughout the displays, most of it donated by Yoko Ono, it was one amazing thing after one amazing thing. (example: Lennon wrote “Across the Universe” on the back of an envelope.) And throughout the time in the hall, they played classic Lennon tunes.

But when it got to “Imagine,” it was near the end. Everyone in the hall stopped what they were doing and looked around at each other. I filled up. My g-f at the time did too. Chain reaction. Niagara Falls. I think of that moment every time I hear the song.

Except for the time that the karaoke DJ in at the Oceanside/view sang it. I still wanted to cry, but for a whole bunch of different reasons.

9:37 p.m. – Cue up the “Junior Prom Night” portion of tonight’s karaoke presentation. “Wonderful Tonight,” followed a large Samoan woman (is that redundant?) singing a country music ditty called “Sad Movies Always Make Me Cry.”

One of the inexplicable Belizean traditions is their love of bad American country music.

9:41 p.m. – I had to use the restroom. And in my time in the loo, a wounded jackalope entered the bar and put Whitney Houston’s entire catalog on queue. “Saving All My Love,” followed by “Where Do Broken Hearts Go.”

After a second bullet hit the wounded jackalope, it went straight to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody.”

9:57 p.m. – Spider (my name for him), the toothless bar vagrant from Lloyd’s, went back-to-back and belly-to-belly with “New York, New York” and “After the Lovin’.” (file that under “shit you just can’t make up). He is much better at crooning than he is at flossing. About nine other Peace Corps volunteers had made a weekend trip out to Caulker, and met up with Matt and me. Good folks. Call it “shore leave” for the kids.

10:11 p.m. – Couples only for the next 20 minutes… Someone sang a rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” so bad, the bartenders turned on the television so people could watch “Real Sex” on HBO. Caye Caulker had just become Mos Eisley.

After that, a gringa sang the Lonestar wedding classic “Amazed” and did a nice job with it. I think if someone sings “In Your Eyes,” I’m going to find a fat-bottomed girl to slow dance with. They do make the rockin’ world go ‘round, you know.

10:33 p.m. – A dreadlocked local is absolutely killing on Bob Marley’s “War.” Matt says to me, “wow, he’s good.” My response, “well if this was H-O-R-S-E night, LeBron would be pretty good, too.” I’m not sure if that’s insensitive, but it sure seemed funny at the time.

10:39 p.m. – Ten Peace Corps volunteers in a bar and “We Are the World” comes on. No, there’s no punchline.

11 p.m. – What’s worse than hearing “Sweet Caroline?” Hearing it twice.

11:10 p.m. – Welcome to the Luther Vandross hour. Nothing like “Dance with My Father” to just get the bar into a frothy effing frenzy.

11:26 p.m. – The Swedish Bikini team is belting out some Abba tune. Stockholm, stand up.

12:08 a.m. – The DJ turned down my request to do a Lil’ Jon song. Said the queue was too backed up. I just don’t think he could’ve handed me doing “Get Low.”

I’m not sure I could’ve handled it. But I’d have given it the old college try…from the window, to the walls.

Day 10 - Belize Blog

2008-05-14T09:18:00.004-04:00

April 25

5:26 p.m. – Back at the Lizard after a very relaxing day. Got in a little early a.m. SportsCenter. Got in some sun on the pier. Got some hammock time and some reading in on Mara’s dock. Got some pick-up basketball (and a makeshift clinic) in. Got some napping in. And now I’m back on the horse.

Nothing terribly exciting happened today – and it’s exactly as planned.

There’s a newly married couple here taking sunset photos (awwww, sweet). There’s also some topless woman frolicking in the water (ummmm, not as sweet). Put the top back on, toots.

6:31 p.m. – Met a very nice couple from Montana – originally from the greater Milwaukee metropolitan area. Shared a few stories, most of which eminated from Water Street. Go figure.

6:50 p.m. – Bye bye sun, hello hunger. Heading to Don Corleone’s. Now, you wouldn’t seem to think that Caye Caulker = Federal Hill, but everything I’ve read leading up to this trip says that this restaurant is the bee’s knees.

As I mentioned, today was a very relaxing, care-free day. And I tried to do, for lack of a better term, American stuff. SportsCenter, relaxing, a few beers, and now, Italian food.

Went with the large insalada and the shrimp fra diavolo over linguine (the menu was even in Italian…which was fine, because if you live in Rhode Island, you can speak Italian – at least, the swear words).

As I took out the notebook in front of the owner, I think it may have scared her. Am I a food critic? A travel writer? A CIA operative? Whatever it is, I got a few refills on the cuba libre and the bread basket. I’ll continue to write my nonsense, perhaps I’ll get comped.

7:01 p.m. – Salad was delicious. The owner brought it to the table. I’m riding this travel writer/CIA spook thing as far as it takes me.

7:19 p.m. – The pasta dish did not disappoint. Fresh fra diavalo sauce, fresh shrimp, al dente pasta, and a nice, late burn with the spices. Exactly how I like it – BAM! (I also watched some Emeril during lazy American day) No complaints at all.

7:50 p.m. – It’s trivia night at Lloyd’s. It’s also half-price on local rum drinks, so Team TLBR joined the fray. Hung in there until the end, where I blew it on the bonus round and lost all my points. The choice is have another rum and diet and watch the hockey, or call it an early night. I chose the latter. There’s bound to be a movie on back at the crib.

Day Nine - Belize Blog

2008-05-13T09:29:00.004-04:00

April 24

9:32 a.m. – I’m on the water taxi to Caye Caulker. I’m leaving La Isla Bonita for La Isla, um, something. I think I just saw Whitey Bulger.

10:37 a.m. – Ok, so we’ve established that San Pedro (La Isla Bonita) was gorgeous. Welcome to Caye Caulker. The “downside,” according to some folks, is that Caulker is boring. Ok, so what’s the problem? Found a spot across from the hotel and – wow – this place is nice. It’s a small island, about four miles by less than a mile, so I’ll be doing some walking today. Got the last room at Mara’s Place, so the luck is growing by the minute.

In front of Mara’s, my man Kent is selling some of his handicrafts. Necklaces, masks, and other stuff…none of which I have much interest in. He approached me and started talking about some of his relationship problems and how he views the differences between men and women. All this while wearing a Conrad McRae jersey. Men are from Mars, Women from Venus. (RIP, McNasty…too soon…)

1 p.m. – Took a little catnap in the room, then ventured out to sit on the pier by the calm Caribbean. It’s just me, my thoughts, my trusty notebook, and a book that I’m close to finishing (finally). That is, until two little kids thought it was fine time to start a cannonball contest. Terrific. Time to regroup. Time for lunch.

(Stewed chicken, rice, beans, cole slaw, Belikin. Lather, rinse, repeat)

Since the isle is small and easy to maneuver, I decided I’d take some photos with the trusty digital camera.

1:44 p.m. – Found a sports bar on the island. And they have NESN. I scribbled a makeshift resignation letter, took an empty Belikin bottle, and sent it on its way to Kingston.

2 p.m. – Executive decision just made: there’s no point in leaving before Monday. Water taxi to San Pedro at some point, 3 p.m. boat back to Corozal. Island living in between.

2:24 p.m – The Sox are losing to the Angels. The Backstreet Boys are on the jukebox (that makes you larger than life…). Normally, either one of those two situations would set me off.

2:30 p.m. – One of the other TV’s here at Lloyd’s has ESPNU and NCAA men’s gymnastics. Who knew? Why bother? Who is watching that shit? Just met Lloyd, the proprietor of this fine establishment. He claims to have the best food on the island. Well, I’m a tough critic and have no interest in pub food. But good on you for a little self-promotion, Lloyd.

He said to come back for the hockey game(s) tonight. Sorry, but I think I’ll be washing my hair.

5:17 p.m. – A nice, refreshing shower, some SportsCenter, and then off to dinner. Not sure what’s on the menu. I suppose I should take Lloyd at his word, right?

5:41 p.m. – But first, I headed next door to the Lazy Lizard – a place that touts itself as a sunny place for shady people. It’s where the shady people also come to watch a nifty sunset every night.

There’s a boat docked out back of the Lizard, which is located right on the Split (in 1961, Hurricane Hattie split the island in two…we’re located on the South end.). The boat had a great sign on the side of it: Great People Talk About Ideas; Normal People Talk About Things. And then there’s Salt n’ Pepa. They talked about sex.

6:12 p.m. – Ok, literally, if you turned away for 5-10 seconds while the sun started setting, you missed it. Oh well, I missed it. There will be other sunsets. The sun will come out tomorrow. I’ll bet my bottom Belizean dollar. If it doesn’t, then it would suck.

6:57 p.m. – Lloyd may have oversold his claim, but it was solid. Had the jalapeno pasta – essentially penne with vodka sauce and jalapenos. However, Bill Raftery doing the Magic/Raptors game is the best thing cooking anywhere in the world.

Met a nice group of Canadians – all from Vancouver – who were there for the hockey. I stayed for the hockey, too. (I washed my hair, but didn’t use conditioner).

8:58 p.m. – Icing call. Time to head back toward Mara’s and the Lizard. This will be the tipping point – early to bed or head to karaoke night.

The Lizard has a poster hanging up called “Beerdrinking”- a play off the opening monologue by Marc Renton in the movie “Trainspotting.” What a brilliant movie that was. I think someone stole my DVD copy of it back at Iona.

9:47 p.m. – Just met Harry, the proprietor of the Lizard and the major real estate developer here on Caulker. Some very interesting real estate deals going on here; they all piqued my interest. But something tells me that it’s not good business to buy your second home before you buy your first…

Speaking of home…it’s about that time. Put SportsCenter on the sleep timer, add some rested to my mix of “tanned” and “ready,” and enjoy another day in paradise…

Day Seven & Eight - Belize Blog

2008-05-12T09:26:00.003-04:00

April 22

10:22 a.m. – Late start to the morning, for no other reason other than (finally) sleeping in. Laziness. I prefer “recuperative sleep.”

Matt, Kyle (who’d win first prize in a JD Drew lookalike contest), and myself headed out to purchase the goods for an eggs breakfast. This time, to the benefit and pleasure of my extremities, I did not go habenero. This one was simple – tomatoes and garlic.

Splurged on a gallon of Caribbean Pride orange juice. I used to live on OJ; now, I honestly can’t remember the last time I downed a glass. (I had three at this setting).

11:45 a.m. – Took the 11:45 a.m. to the Belize border. Going to check out this Corozal Free Zone. The bus was an old school bus, retro-fitted with a booming stereo system (insert any sort of ethnic stereotype here) that had some real festive trumpet music cooking. I’m ready to get up and dance…but not with the smelly folks behind me.

1:29 p.m. – The Free Zone is perhaps the world’s largest flea market for knockoffs. And bad knockoffs, at that. At least on Canal Street, you can get away with the Coach bag or Patek Phillipe watch.

One store had legit – and pretty rare – Nikes, but the prices just weren’t right. And they had no interest in haggling with the gringo. So, short of getting a few stamps in the passport, the Free Zone was a waste of time.

It’s getting a wee bit warm out, so I think the hammock, some reading, and jotting down some notes are all in order. Looking forward to heading off to the Cayes tomorrow. Need some beach and island living, bwoyee (my first attempt at speaking creole – one of the three languages spoken in Belize).

4 p.m. – Grabbed a little dinner to go from Patty’s Bistro. This little gem was highly rated on all the websites and in the trusty sidekick guide book. Went with the spaghetti & meatballs. Not a dish you’d think would be outstanding in Corozal, Belize, but it did not disappoint. Just needed a change from stewed chicken and rice & beans.

They also let you sign the walls of the restaurant, so I gave the website a plug on a blank spot up by the clock.

April 21

The April 21 entry had been previously posted. To go to that post, titled "From Chicken Heads to Betting on Chickens," click the link below:

http://tlbr.blogspot.com/2008/04/from-chicken-heads-to-betting-on.html

Taking a Break from Belize

2008-05-09T14:28:00.001-04:00

Got this link sent to me by a long-time friend and TLBR reader.

It's wild, especially if you've ever been to Georgetown University. Even if you haven't, enjoy.

Day Six - Belize Blog

2008-05-09T09:31:00.004-04:00

April 21 had been previously posted on TLBR - http://tlbr.blogspot.com/2008/04/belize-navidad.html

But here is where that post left off...

4:37 p.m. – I think my hands have returned to 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. Finally. Did a little bit of lunch: pork, rice & beans, cole slaw. For like $3. Also indulged in a few of Belize’s finest (and only) beer – Belikin. It makes Meister Brau taste like Sam Adams. Lighthouse Lager, another Belikan product, is only slightly better tasting.

Two of Matt’s Peace Corps comrades – Rebecca and Chanda – joined us for lunch. They took the day off of work and decided to join us for some beverages, as well. (Peace Corps=R.I. State Employees). All we need now is some Jimmy Cliff on the iTunes.

6:04 p.m. – Made my first official Third World beer and nacho run. Same basic premise. Belikin officially blows, but I’m still officially drinking it. But the nacho chips? They’re the truth. Very fresh. Still warm in the bag.

Matt played Doctor in the living room – someone had a splinter or something. They’ve been sharing parasite stories – their own and others. If end up with a worm out of this trip, I think I’ll name it Ralph.

6:35 p.m. – Continuing with the storytelling hour, it proved another of my theories and unknown phenomena. Anytime there are four or more Caucasians drinking beer and listening to music together, inevitably, the Shins end up playing.

7:19 p.m. – I also believe that if you want to learn a lot about someone, check through the songs on his or her iPod. Matt has Denise Williams’ “Let’s Hear it for The Boy” on his iPod. That tells me more than I need to know.

8:30 p.m. – When you’re lost in the rain in Juarez and it’s Easter time, too…or if you’re in Corozal and it’s Monday and you have a King’s Share of fresh nacho chips, rum and diet coke, and Bob Dylan…

I’ve taken over as the DJ. Welcome to Music 101, my good friends in Belize. Here’s Elvis Costello & The Attraction’s “Brilliant Mistake.

9:51 p.m. – I’m becoming a fan of rum and coke. Never liked it before.

10:47 - Another Peace Corps volunteer - Kyle - joined the party and provided me with one heck of a story, to be told here at a later time... (that's what those professional media types call a "tease.")
-----
TLBR will be taking the weekend off because it's Mother's Day weekend and I'm Union. No double-time and a half and another day off for the blogging world.

Day Five - Belize Blog

2008-05-08T06:46:00.004-04:00

April 20

8:30 a.m. – Another solid six hours of sleep and I’m back on the beach, catching the last few moments and scenes of the Mayan Riviera.

Today, we’re heading out of Mexico and into Belize, where the bulk of the trip will take place. I’ll be able to set up base at Matty’s place in Corozal, and branch out from there. Best of all, no more lugging Clifford the Big Red Bag around.

I have a whole lot of nothing planned for the next two days or so, and it looks like there will be a mid-week trip out to the Cayes (a.k.a. Keys). Matt will be at a Peace Corps conference, so I’ll have the choice of going back inland to meet him or staying on the islands.

So far, the whole trip has been compartmentalized (if that’s not a word, it is now). Different towns, different parts of town, different parts of Mexico, different expectations. Belize will be yet another different locale. But the highlight? English is the primary language. They speak the English. I speak the English. You like a the juice? The juice is good, eh?

Another major highlight: Matt has ESPN non-deportes and a hammock on his porch. I brought six books with me. Have yet to really crack into any of them.

12:09 p.m – The noon-time bus to Chetumal, Mexico (the border town to BZE) was nine minutes late and smells like piss.

This piss-smelling trip should take 2+ hours.

The movie on the trip is “Fearless,” starring Jet Li, who begins the movie as a Chinese rice farmer who turns into an ass-kicking Chinese rice farmer. Compelling and rich.

1:23 p.m. – Just took a catnap, woke up, and yep – still smells like piss.

2:16 p.m. – The piss smell has temporarily been replaced by the smell of someone eating a banana (that shit is bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s) and the equally as nauseating “Invincible,” starring Marky Mark.

3:47 p.m. – We lucked out and was able to find a Corozal express bus. Matty says it saves us some planes, trains and automobiles to get to the border (actually, it saves us waiting for a cab then waiting for another cab). I think it’s just good luck bestowed upon us due to my sunny disposition on life.

4:15 p.m. – The bus driver informed us that we will be taking a minor pitstop. He needs to eat. I could stand to eat too. And what better place than Restaurant Mike? I looked in my Zagat’s guide and, well, ok, I’m lying. But I’m quite sure it’ll be the Smith & Wollensky’s of Chetumal.

5:22 p.m. – My main man Mike did up the charcoal-grilled pork just right. Tender, spicy, and lean. We met a very nice couple from Canada on the bus and they joined us for dinner. Two nurses from Vancouver, they were fantastic folks who had just come from Havana. They showed us their photos and to say “I’m jealous” would be the understatement of the trip so far.

I need to get there.

Addendum

2008-05-07T19:49:00.001-04:00

(more from April 19...forgot to cut and paste this...)

10:41 p.m. – Trying to do some quick, Full Moon math. Which number is higher: the number of miles I’ve walked or beers I’ve consumed? It’s probably 6-2-and-even.

Trying to muster up a second wind, but after a day with about 12 beers consumed and 12 miles walked, that’s becoming awfully difficult.

11:15 p.m – I think I’m not up to five yawns in the last five minutes.

12:24 a.m. – Still at the Full Moon party and – quite frankly – I feel crippled by my lack of Spanish. Seriously, it feels like one of those silent retreats. Would that make me the Dalai Lama? (big hitter, the Lama)

Allow me to paint the picture of this place. Beachside hotel/resort/with bar. It’s a round building, with an upstairs, a deck, and a downstairs. Tons of people everywhere, techno music, and short of two dogs that got angry with each other after a full inventory of smelling each other’s dog parts, everyone is in a good mood.

Quite frankly, this could never work in the U.S. People would fighting at the bar, talking too loud, pissing in the sand, and just making all-around asses of themselves.

And the worst part about the Berlin Wall of language? There’s a hippie chick sitting with her other hippie friends and they’re all playing drums. And I’d like to ask them: why the shampoo did you bring a drum to Full Moon beach techno party? I think it is “Quando esta stupido? Taco.”

12:42 a.m. – Ok, I’m still baffled as to why you bring the drum…but at least you can play it. Why do you also bring your emaciated dog? Why do you not feed your dog? Shampoo this, time to go home. And I’m not friggin’ walking…

Days Three & Four - Belize Blog

2008-05-07T09:05:00.004-04:00

April 18

12:29 p.m. – After a relatively early wakeup after a relatively late evening, we ran out for some coffee and then checked out of the Presidente. A very nice spot, thanks to the good folks at Priceline.com.

We caught a city bus (autobus centro?) to downtown Cancun. If you’ve been there, you’ll know the difference between the Hotel Zone and the Downtown area.

Hotel zone = Florida. Downtown = Grand Concourse.

There were no chickens on the bus, but there was a elderly man playing the accordion (see left). Matty tells me the song is Senorita Linda, a famous, um, accordion song.

1:09 p.m. – At a Mexican (no shit) restaurant a few blocks from the bus station (estacion autobus). What did you expect, Panda Express? The cantina has a telenovella on – El Diablo y Los Guapos (the Devil and the Handsome). It’s really good, despite being in a language I’m not so good in. Compelling and rich.

Once again, Ron’s coming. It’s the Enchilada breakfast. We do it every day.

2:05 p.m. – We’re on the bus to Tulum. Matt looked and me and summed up exactly what I’ve been thinking since I woke up: “I’m a catastrophe.” But we’re vertical and moving.

Now, the urban legend about Mexican buses is that they’re notoriously cold. I’m in pants and a long sleeve, but it doesn’t seem bad, regardless. But we were rolling First Class. The second class buses are meat lockers.

4:06 p.m. – I think the bus just hit a guy. I was napping and then we came to an abrupt halt, sat there for close to an hour, and the police were all around.

6:03 p.m. – Arrived in Tulum and, unlike the hotel zone in Cancun – and even the Cancun centro area – Tulum is very, um, Mexico. The accommodations we procured at the Hotel Familiar Maya are quite different than the InterContinental. Hell, any place that’s about $17.50 USD (for two people) is what it is. It did have cable, though.

The plans for the night was feeding and rest. Rather than going Mexican again, we found an intriguing Italian place on Blvd. Tulum. Nero di Sole was outstanding. I’d put it on par with any Italian joint I’ve been to in the states. Homemade pasta, wood-grilled oven. Went with a thin crust pizza and a pasta dish. Plus a few Sols and it ended up just under $20 USD.

8:30 p.m. – Welcome to being officially old. It’s ESPN Deportes, reading, and snoring. In that order. Need to have rest for the Mayan Riviera.

April 19

5:45 a.m. – WTF am I doing up? I am refreshed, though, I’m not dead. I feel happy. I think I’ll go for a walk.

6:30 a.m. – I’m walking. To where, at the crack of dawn in Tulum, Mexico, I haven’t a clue. I’ll know when I get there.

7:37 a.m. – Still walking. It’s been an hour. The sun has come out and, walking next to the freshly laid asphalt on Boca Paila Road, it’s beginning to get warm. I needed to, um, make a pot…so I stopped at this gorgeous resort hotel/spa. The giant steel gates didn’t look particularly friendly, but they were open.

Since I don’t share the same, um, demographic as some of the locals, many of the hotel staffers just assumed that I was a hotel guest out for a leisurely stroll.

I was. Except, I’m a guest of the Hotel Familiar Maya – of the $17 quid a night Hotel Familiar Maya family. This place looked like it was $17 for a bottle of water.

Que es el bano? Gracias.

8:01 a.m. – I walked from the Hotel Familiar Maya to Luna Maya, our accommodations for the night. The literal translation is from Hotel to Moon (Maya). It’s a long way from our hotel to the moon. The walk was only slightly shorter.

I’m now sitting on a beach chair, with the sun blaring down on me and my cup of coffee. I feel like Thoreau, except not surrounded by trees in Central Mass. I’m on the Mayan shampooing Riviera, with a breathtaking seascape. You know those wave machines that were all the rave in the late 1990’s? They were like 200 clams at Sharper Image or Brookstone. Forget that, just sleep with your windows open out here.

8:19 a.m. – The average adult male body is made up of 60% water. Yet still, we sit here in awe of the beauty, majesty, and power of something that makes up the majority of our being. That was your TLBR moment of zen, brought to you by a bunch of realtors in Tulum.

9:58 a.m. – You know what sucks about walking for an hour-plus to get somewhere? You have to walk an hour-plus back. Plus, at this time of day, it’s just short of London Broil on the Boca Paila. I stopped at the midway bodega and got a bottle of agua. I’m not even sure my body held onto it.

11:05 a.m. – The restaurant attached to the Hotel Familiar Maya was playing Robbie Williams’ “The Ego Has Landed,” perhaps because they thought the gringos would enjoy it. This gringo did.

Matt continued to converse in Spanish with the waiter and I continued to try to follow along. I’m getting better. However, call it a miracle of convenience, I tend to order very similar dishes.

I like enchiladas verde. A lot. And I like beer. And I can order them, no problem. So welcome back to the enchilada breakfast. We do it everyday.

By the way, I walked about 6 shampooing miles today. When we get to Luna Maya, my tukkis is going to be parked in one of the seaside hammocks, with a copy of The Economist and Sports Illustrated to digest.

During my “Stop…hammock time,” it was also, coincidentally, Happy Hour. So while I’d gently be rocking to and fro, reading about everything from Mario Chalmers to the effect that bio-fuels are having on the price of wheat, I was sampling several different Mexican cervezas: Modelo, Leon, Victoria, Sol. All tasty, all 2-for-1, at about two bucks apiece.

I skipped lunch, on account of the enchilada breakfast, so enjoyed a granola bar and a nap in a hammock, and Jay-Z on the iPod. In fact, I felt like Jay-Z.

7:55 p.m. – Ok, the internal daily pedometer is up to about 10 miles. Matty and I walked down the other end of the Tulum Riviera, in search of some ruins. We didn’t get to the ruins, they were closed (it was kind of like Florida being closed, to be honest).

We did, however, find a beachfront palapa that served beer. It was open. And not a total surprise to you, I’m sure. An interesting crowd, there were us two U.S. folk, the two local bartenders, two female patrons from Montreal, and an English bloke trying waaaaaaay too hard.

The bartenders spoke Spanish, the girls followed along but chatted among themselves in French. The limey spoke the Queen’s English. We speak our kind of talk.

The girls were manning the iPod, playing their favorite tunes, and had some great choices: Manu Chou, Janis Joplin (even thought I find her terribly overrated), Bob Dylan, Aretha Franklin, and the Beatles.

Tonight, there’s a Full Moon party, on account of the Full Moon (go figure).

10:32 p.m. – Just saw the first official SFA of the trip. And in case you’re wondering, SFA= Stupid *expletive deleted* American.

He didn’t even try to speak Spanish when ordering four Corona and then gave the Spanish-speaking bartender and his female friend who tried to interpret shit for not speaking English.

Hey d-bag, remember that little thing you had to do at the airport? You know, with your passport and the guy in the uniform asking you how long you’d be in Mexico and what the purpose of your trip was? Remember that?

Well that process is called “immigration.” And when you go through said process, it means you’re in a different shampooing country. In some countries, you can go there, walk up to the bar, and order four beers – Molsons, Guinnesses (or is it Guinnii?), Boag’s, etc. Some countries, you might have to learn three or four words to get a Peroni, Sapporo, or Kronenbourg.

The Full Moon party is at a place called Ohm. Ohm is in Mexico. So guess what, idiot, they don’t speak shampooing English or even shampooing idiot English. Make the effort. (This is also the first happenstance of what has been referred to as “an international bitterness situation.”)

10:41 p.m. – Trying to do some quick, Full Moon match. Which number is higher: the number of miles I’ve walked or beers I’ve consumed? It’s probably 6-2-and-even.

Day Two - Belize Blog

2008-05-06T09:19:00.001-04:00

April 17

8 a.m. – Wake up, sun rise, and I’m nice and rested. Matty arrived around 3 a.m. and while I did wake up to say hello, I returned to my puddle of drool on the pillow. Clicked on the TV and tuned into a Mexican cartoon channel. It was a little strange seeing Daffy Duck, yet hearing a dubbed voice in Spanish (without a lisp). But, ironically enough, the role of Speedy Gonzalez was not dubbed. I believe he is a national hero.

9:38 a.m. – “Any party favors, guys?” Consider that the second offer of drugs for the day for las gringos.

9:52 a.m. – Breakfast time. Coffee…and chicken enchiladas. I am going to get used to this.

10:23 a.m. – Seriously, these are the best enchiladas verde I’ve ever eaten. And it’s phenomenal coffee. “No, Ron’s coming. It’s the enchilada breakfast. We do it every month.”

11:27 a.m. – Just saw the inspiration for Tony Montana’s house.

12:29 p.m. – Just past noontime…which means it’s prime time for a Hurricane (aka – the beginning of the end). But shampoo it. We’ve walked about 3.5-4 miles this a.m., so consider it hydration. Plus, I get to cross off another Patty O’s off the list.

On the TV screens, they were playing the live U2 Elevation tour DVD. Next door, at one of those soulless American chain restaurants – Applebee’s, Bubba Gump’s, whatever – Billy Ocean’s Caribbean Queen was audible. So far, DJ’s in Cancun get an A+ in my book.

12:55 p.m. – Lucky Star by Madonna. 4.0 GPA.

1:11 p.m. – Matt and I have just solved pretty much all of the world’s problems and answered the questions that, for most of eternity, have been enigmas. You’re welcome.

Now, I’ve been trying to think in Spanish, yet I keep reverting to my training in French. After Hurricane #2, if I start picking up Arabic, call the authorities.

Matt, by virtue of where he is and what he is doing speaks Spanish pretty well. It’s a far cry from our college days when, trying to speak with a beautiful, supermodel-esque female from Ecuador, we hit a brick wall of language. But he now makes every effort to speak the local tongue and I think it’s probably a good idea if I try to as well.

Here, since it’s touristy, they speak some English. But hell, if you’re in another country, make an effort. It’s only proper.

2 p.m. – David, the waiter, thought it would be a good idea to send the attractive hostess out to sit with us. She didn’t speak English, I don’t speak Spanish. That was fruitful.

2:07 p.m. – Matt returns from the bathroom. He speaks Spanish. She speaks Spanish. I now have a zero Q rating.

2:47 p.m. – Senor Froggs next. I needed to relieve myself, so we stopped into this bastion of tourism. And, well, we probably needed to have a drink. So we did: two small garbage cans filled with Sol. I’m going to be fluent in something by the end of these, I reckon.

2:57 p.m. – Seriously, these beers are the size of Michigan. Donde esta la piscine? O guess what, I talk Spanish good now.

3:24 p.m. – Jimmy Cliff’s “The Harder they Come” on the airwaves (prophetic?) and another great conversation with Matty. Any remaining world problems/mysteries were taken care of.

8:01 p.m. – Took a dip in the ocean, pool, and pond (pond would be good for you…). Then finished in the whirlpool. Hace frio, but nice nonetheless.

Since our desayuno was liquid, we needed a proper dinner. So we headed to the Taco Factory for…you guessed it. I took 7.6 seconds to find my poison: pastor style pork tacos. I put on a little too much of the green pepper sauce. I think it could fuel a small New Hampshire town. It was a little hot. And by a little, I mean saying the F word repeatedly.

9:45 p.m. – Senor Froggs, and we skip the line. Rolling right along, we thought it was karaoke night. It was not. The bar smelled like puke and 18 year old sin. Quick departure.

11:22 p.m. – Landed at La Ciudad. Ordered two Corona’s, got four. Cue up the inner Chris Tucker: Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?

Apparently we’re VIP. I tried to explain to them who I was, and more in the reverse fashion: no, I’m just a gringo in a gray t-shirt. I guess that qualifies. I’m more curious to see who they’re rejecting.

12:08 a.m. – Please stop playing “Bring ‘Em Out.” Forever. Please play more Kanye. Thanks.

12:44 a.m. – Sleepy time for me. Taxi, please. And just a taxi. No whores, coke, or splitting aces.

Day One - Belize Blog

2008-05-05T09:50:00.001-04:00

April 16, 2008

7:29 a.m. – It would be appropriate that the first song on the iPod (the old 20GB one, not the fancy schmancy 60 GB) in the idylling bus to Logan International Airport would be “Like a Rolling Stone” by Senor (I’m trying) Zimmerman.

9:14 a.m. – At the security checkpoint, there are three lines, one of which is “expert traveler.” I didn’t catch the other two lines. But judging by my travel experiences the last year or so, I’d name the other two categories: “woman who wears too much jewelry and continually sets off the metal detector and piece-by-piece takes off each bauble,” and “person who tries to play the ignorance card when confronted about the various types of contraband in their carry-on.”

9:47 a.m. – There’s a slight delay out of Boston. But the guy at the Continental desk assures me that we’ll arrive in Houston early. And that poses so many philosophical questions, but I’ll abstain. But a slight ATC (air traffic control for you “expert travelers”) delay and an early arrival is still leaps and bounds better than the folks headed to Cleveland, via Conty… An announcement came over the airport PA: “would the flight crew for Continental 1234 please report to gate 7, your plane is set for departure.” Um, if there’s no pilots, then I’m not sure that’s ready to depart.

10:37 a.m. – First bloody mary of the day. Hey, it’s 2:37 in London.

10:43 a.m. – The H.C. just called, seemingly with a stupid question. Whatever it is/was, it can be handled ably by someone else. First bit of irony: just washed down my malaria pill with a bloody mary.

11:14 a.m. – Free drinks, free headsets and blankets? Apres moi, le deluge! The inflight movie is “P.S., I Love You.” The manly side of me says “Argh! Love story! Argh! I need raw meat and a table dance!” My sub-Bowie reaction to this (and I just realized that I never explained the Bowie List, did I? Rats…) is “hey, I’ve had that on my list for a while. Love stories are blissful.”

It’s mealtime: the terribly clichéd cold shrimp salad, with a tomato-basil soup, and a fruit cup. Lunch in the main cabin, I believe, is melba toast and a kick to the groin. Beer, wine and cocktails are $5.

Whose legs does the guy in 2F need to hump to get another bloody? Waitress! Garcon! Stewardess! Flight Attendant!

11:35 a.m. – Wow, you get whole fancy cashews in 1e class? In coach class, they get a photo of a bag of peanuts and a snotty put-down.

11:43 a.m. – Reading the New York Times that I procured from the first class library. Former German chancellor Helmut Kohl just got re-married. He’s 78. She’s 43. He just suffered a massive head trauma and is recovering. His former wife killed herself due to an allergy to light. Wow.

Ladies and gentlemen, “P.S., I Love You.”

11:59 a.m. – Without giving up the plot, they’re playing the Pogues’ “Fairytale of New York” at an Irish wake. Another bloody please.

12:03 p.m. – Lisa Kudrow. Name a movie with a former Friends cast member that was marginally good (and despite the critical acclaim, “The Good Girl” sucked. I would argue that “The Breakup” was good, but at the time of this blog entry, I had yet to see it.)

12:07 p.m. – Switched to the house shiraz at lunchtime. Grapes. Grapes are good for you. Lots of antioxidants. Thins the blood. I’m going to drink until Hilary Swank becomes marginally attractive.

12:55 p.m. – The movie is an hour-ten in and the horse-toothed heroine is still not up to snuff. Un autre shiraz, s’il-vous plait.

1:08 p.m. – I’m beginning to think it’s about that time. I need to figure out a way to go about telling that time. As I sit here in seat 2F, staring blankly ahead, the dark shadowes above my eyes blink rhythmically. Keeping a beat, the flashing lights are a reminder that life is there, before my eyes, and the flashing is in beat with my heart. I’m still waiting for it to tell me exactly what to do.

What is this 14 day trip going to reveal – implicitly or outwardly apparent? What am I to search for? What is going to find me? What do I need to be open to? What will the realization be? Every day should be a day to learn, discover, or it is wasted (or you’re wasted, not quite sure).

It’s getting to a point where my impatience is borderline epidemic. Too long have I been ill.

It’s about that time.

1:40 p.m. – P.S., I Love You’s penultimate scene is on top of the home dugout at Yankee Stadium. P.S., that sucks.

1:53 p.m – Just 37 minutes to wheels down at George Bush (the one that only kind of sucked) Intercontinental Airport. Let me see if I can sneak in one more shiraz…

2:01 p.m. - I think it’s Central time, I dunno. I can really get used to this Elite Access thing. But I may throw a small wobbler – the Houston-to-Cancun leg has no shiraz. Some cab-merlot rubbish. Rubbish, I say!

There is some sort of in-flight entertainment. If it’s “P.S., I Love You,” then P.S., I’m gonna…

2:28 p.m. – The male flight attendant has a cylindrical belt attachment called “Surefire.” I asked if it was pepper spray. He said no, it was a flashlight. Somehow, I think he’s lying.

3:05 p.m – I just finished filling out the Mexican immigration forms. Ironic iPod karma has me listening to Gomez (See the World).

Snacktime on CO 564. Fruits and veggies and some assorted cold cuts. I prefer to drink my grapes, thanks very much. (BTW JMalls, if you’re still a loyal reader, the other flight attendant up front looks just like Margaret…)

3:20 p.m. – Not listening to the TV, but Carrie Underwood just came on. So I’m watching.

4:39 p.m. – Welcome to the very long and inefficient Mexican customs line. Guillermo, the Mexican/U.S. citizen sitting next to me, claims he knows a guy (un hombre?) who can get us to skip the line. That being said, this is the same guy who forgot his duty-free stuff on the plane. My confidence in Guillermo is low.

6:53 p.m. – All checked in the hotel – the InterContinental Presidente. I’m hungry. The Sox/Yanks are on ESPN Americano y Deportes. So, I decided to combine food and baseball and found a very authentic Mexican cantina called los Hooters. Baja wings and Corona, por favor.

When I got to the hotel, I was checked in by the concierge, Karine. She was pretty. And I’ve decided that any and all decisions over the next 48 hours should be made by Karine. She will be the official consultant to TLBR. “Where should I eat?” Ask Karine. “I just ate a burrito, when is it safe to go swimming?” Ask Karine. “I just made a pot, which hand should I wipe with?” Ask Karine.

(and as you may have heard once or twice or 3,500 times during the Big Dance, there are thousands of NCAA student-athletes and most of them are going pro in the game of life. As for me, I haven’t gone pro in shit. Regardless, enjoy the blog…)

7:15 p.m – My Hooters waitress has that lovely combination of smelling like baby powder and looking like she’s fellated every AA catcher in the Eastern League. And all six of the Molinas.

7:20 p.m. – Matty called, he just jumped on the bus from Belize and will be here early a.m. Echo & The Bunnymen’s “Lips Like Sugar” on the jukebox. I haven’t heard this song in years. ESPN is on mute – which is a fantastic way to still see Erin Andrews and not have to listen to Joe Morgan.

7:49 p.m. – My funny joke is Chien-Ming Wang means “Kevin Brown” in Taiwanese. But now that he’s on my fantasy team, I’ve relented. However, he does look like Harold (from Harold & Kumar fame) on steroids. 7-3 Yanks.

8:03 p.m. – 7-6 Sox, thanks to J.D. Drew. Honestly, why is it that I end up doing a Sox-Yanks blog everytime I travel abroad? http://tlbr.blogspot.com/2006/04/opening-day-then-and-now.html

8:20 p.m. – 9-7 good guys, thanks to Pedroia. The local hombre who wanted to bet me $5 because he is a fan of the “Djankees” is quiet.

9:05 p.m. – Three Brits walked in, dropping the cockney and, subsequently, two of the three beers they orders. If the Replacements’ “You Be Me for a While (And I’ll Be You)” wasn’t on the juke, I’d have been upset. But thanks to the 80’s shuffle, things are just peachy. The limeys kept trying to chat up Paulina, the supporter of the backstops in the South Atlantic League, but I don’t think she understood (their) English. Too many Brits for me. And not to be superficial, but they dragged along a few Ruthie Pigfaced Drapers.

9:19 p.m. – Say what you want about los Hooters, the soft-core porn waitress, or the damned obnoxious Brits, but do not fault the DJ. He just played “Don’t Change” by INXS.

9:34 p.m. – (this comment is all sorts of wrong, but it’s my blog…) I swear I’ve seen Nomar at least 34 times tonight.

9:53 p.m. – One of the more local Hooters waitresses literally and figuratively rolled up on me (she had rollerblades on). She said, in kind of broken English, “you like Boston?”

(I had my Varitek t-shirt on. So she didn’t exactly score 800 on her cognitive reasoning, but still…)

I said yes, I do like Boston. She said she liked them as well. Seriously, a Hooters girl agreeing with whatever you say. Novel.

But to her credit, she knew all the players. Stopping short of being a sabermetrician in orange spandex, the girl knew her beisbol. She hearts Manny. I heart Manny, too. She also gave me a proper spot for lunch tomorrow that was not an obscene American chain restaurant. And esta Cubana. She can stay.

10:15 p.m. – Yanks pulling away and I’m pretty beat. Time to catch a cab back to the ranch (RANCH!).

I told the cab driver: “Yo voy el InterContinental Presidente, por favor.” It might not have been great Spanish, but I’m making the effort.

His response: “Drugas?”

No. The hotel, please.

“Drugas?”

No.

“Chicas?”

No. The hotel.

“Blackjack? 21?”

NO. THE HOTEL.

We get there.

“10 dollars.”

I say no. “Setenta pesos.” After a bit of haggling, he said fine. I hand him a 20 and a 50 in pesos.

He says, “no tip?”

Yes, actually, I do have a tip. When I tell you to take me to the hotel, I mean the hotel. Not to buy drugs, not to a strip club, not to a casino. And my tip: STFU and drive.

Enjoy your night.
-----
More from the Belize Blog tomorrow…

Univision - Television for People with One Eye

2008-05-01T21:56:00.001-04:00

Busy transcribing the notebook, so apologies for the delay in putting stuff up. In the meantime, feel free to click on the above video to see what kind of television I've been watching the last few...

From Chicken Heads to Betting on Chickens

2008-04-23T22:54:00.004-04:00

(and I have no idea what theat means with the kids on the streets...)

April 23
6:41 a.m. - I'm on the dock in Corozal, waiting for the boat to San Pedro. I was told it was a "ferry." It looks like a converted drug smuggling boat. Hey, whatever gets you true. (sorry Paddy)

Yesterday was "Lazy American Tuesday." I woke up late, walked around, took a nap, and ended up watching bad television before going to bed. Perhaps the entire week's events, perhaps the night before, I dunno, but I was wiped. So myself, Matt, and his Peace Corps buddy Kyle (more about him later) watched two bad movies - the one with Robin Williams running for President, then one with Jim Carrey hunting a serial killer. Robin Williams trying to be funny=funny. Robin Williams trying to do drama=drama. Jim Carrey trying to do drama=horseshit. But overall, I'm excited to head to the cayes - it should be fun. Just saw the first mullet of the trip on board the board. Business in front, party in the back.

9:51 a.m - All settled in the Cayes. Suffice to say, it's a little more my speed. More tropical, less barrio. My hotel is right on the water, but I decided to take a stroll and found some brilliant lounge chairs by the water. Call it "beach hopping," but it's time for me to sit by the water and soak in some rays. And decompress. Or, at the very least, stay until some security guard asks me to leave. It's that nice.

It's a week - today - until I depart for America. I believe the goal of every vacation is to get to the point where you're ready to go home. I was at that point two days ago. I've pressed the pause button now. With that in mind, I've tried to decide how this trip has been.

Cancun was fun, but a tourist trap. Tulum was fun, but it was equal parts breathtaking and heartbreaking. Corozal has been a place to drop the bags, but I have yet to find a comfort zone there other than the apt. I've dropped my bags, but not my guard - that's no fun.

Outside of the resort or tourist areas, this trip has been very Third World. I knew this going in, but until you see it, experience it, and live among it, it's a very difficult transition. It takes just a second to recognize, but quite a bit longer to deal.

So, for the next 4-5 days, it's island living. No cares.

10:43 a.m. - Just under an hour at my stolen beach point. Still not tired of this. Slightly annoyed at the beggars and vendors, but overall - nope - not sick of this at all.

1:19 p.m - Still not growing tired of this. Took a nice walk and then headed back to the hotel for a refreshing shower and nap. It's almost lunchtime.

1:37 p.m. - Lunch. Beef, rice, beans, cheap, delicious.

5:07 p.m - After a second trip to the sun, took a second refreshing shower, and a second refreshing nap. It's about time to grab a happy hour drink and then find dinner. Stopped for the first one at the Crazy Canuck. I'm sorry, but a place with a name like that, its a necessity for the first round. Didn't see any outragious Ontarioians, not kooky Calgary folks, or any goofy people from Guelph. A few ex-Pats and a dude trying to sell me incense.

(seriously, I'm done with the vendors)

Having had a few Belikans on Monday night - and thinking they sucked - I ordered a drink called the Blue Hole. An invention of the Crazy Canuck himself, it consisted of coconut rum, one barrel rum, vodka, tequila, pineapple, lime, and a shot of blue curacao - in a root beer float (mmmm) sized glass. Elva was nice enough to put a little ice in it, for posterity sake. There would not be a second one of those tonight, as that would eliminate a tonight altogether.

I'm getting mocked for my lime green highlighter colored drink by the locals. And perhaps for writing in my notebook. But the fact that two women came up and ordered the same thing didn't help my cause. Hey, it could have been worse - I could have ordered a panty ripper (run, pineapple).

Now, in addition to all the usual sexually-themed drinks at a bar - the blowjob, sex on a beach, slippery nipple, etc. - Crazy Canucks has a few I've never seen before. The Creole Coochie Fire (tequila and habenero sauce). Quite frankly, after my experience with habenero, I think that's a legit BDSM drink.

Kudos to the Cunning Linguist (creme de banana, amaretto, vodka) and the Ramforest Love Rash (irish creme, melon liqueur, vodka). Elva informed me that there is an off-the-menu item - Sex with the Bartender. It requires diamonds, money, sports cars, and an apartment. I thought that was particularly drole.

Kudos also goes to XM Radio for playing INXS' New Sensation on the radio while I was there.

5:30 p.m. - This is, I think, San Pedro's "Cheers." I've made friends with Norm, Cliff et al thanks to some self-depricating humor about my lime green drink. They described Caulker - the place I'm supposed to be headed tomorrow - as "the longest week they've spent in a day." That might not be a bad thing.

5:58 p.m - The consensus from everyone there is that Wednesday night is the best time for Jamaican. In between that and late night is the "Chicken Drop," where bar patrons bet on where a chicken will shit. Welcome to the Third World.

6:52 p.m. - At the Jamaican place. Good food. Good band. BUT... Like every other Caucasian with a liberal arts degree, I own Bob Marley's "Legend." I also own several other reggae CD's, but live...I've noticed that songs last 15 minutes and don't change all that much. To paraphrase Rod Strickland: marijuana is a hell of a drug (I guess).

7 p.m - Delicious. I ate fast. Time to watch the Celtics, watch chickens shit, and drink chicken shit beer.

7:21 p.m. - I'm not sure what's better arena for competition. The folks who are betting on the chicken, or the dudes in the bar hitting on the three lesbians that just walked in. One did well - one not so well, but bought a drink - and the third failed miserably with Slim Shady's illegitimate sister.

The two women in front of me in line for the chicken shit lottery were two of the most annoying I've encountered on the trip. You know the kind - where every 3rd or 4th word(s) have to be "my husband." Look honey, I don't care if you're married. Seriously, I don't. But if you don't want to have guys ogle at you, cover up your chest with a shirt perhaps. Or don't dress like a Sunset Blvd. whore. That way, you won't have to say "my husband" over and over. Mmm'kay? Susan B. Anthony marches and got a misshaped dollar coin so you could vote and be like equal and shit. So lay off defining yourself by your husband. Besides, if you have to keep dropping his name like Bobby Gonzalez drops Pitino, Gillen, and Boeheim at an NABC keynote, he probably ain't worth shit.

7:36 p.m - Sorry Mike Bibby, us Celtics bandwagon guys - and the team - are kicking your ass. Get another tattoo.

8:10 p.m - The C's are unstoppable. I just met a couple from South Dakota. A wee bit unbalanced. The husband: "You should come to S.D. - they all look like this." The wife: "I'm your third, remember." I'll be skipping Bismarck, thanks.

8:30 p.m - The chicken hits the square. It's a Rhode Island Red. I'm confident that he'll look out for one of his homeboys.

8:40 p.m - No such luck. Chicken shat in a different square. Still the best two bucks I've spent.

Now the question is: continue the night, or my latest issue of The Economist???
-----
more later

IIWII,

Belize Navidad

2008-04-21T15:49:00.002-04:00

Finally got some time - and an air conditioned internet cafe - to blog a little bit.

Been here there and everywhere - via planes, buses, taxis - and settled into Corozal, Belize last night.

Saw Cancun (whatever), Tulum (quite nice), and will be headed to San Pedro. The same on Madonna dreamt of in "La Isla Bonita."

(and admit it, you know the words and you own a Madonna CD. Get over it.)

As promised, I'm doodling away in my trusty sidekick notebook and while the trip has been outstanding, my prose has not. I believe the industry term is "punched up." The Belize blog will need some punching up.

But, as to provide myself with some escape from the heat, I'll detail today so far:

April 21
6:45 a.m. - Got a fine taste of American television last night, flipping back and forth between Sunday Night Baseball and the Celtics. Yeah, pretty much what I'd be doing as a citizen of the U.S. if I were there, but such is. Actually, Matt has better basic cable than most folks back home. And mercifully for me, it's in English. Unlike Mexican television...or pretty much everywhere in Mexico outside of Cancun.

There's also a bootleg channel, with first-run movies. Last night, it was the Al Pacino (hoo-ahh!) movie "88 Days." Trying to plan the rest of the week, which looks like Corozal for two days then the Cayes.

For as much as this trip has been eye-opening - culturally, linguistically, informational, etc. - it's also a vacation. So emphasis on the beach time whenever possible. Probably hitting the Free Zone - a duty free area between Belize and Mexico - just to, I don't know, shop. Another thing I guess I just don't do in the U.S.

7:15 a.m. - Matt exercises. I have a philosophy on exercise: don't.

So while he went down the street for some ocean swimming, I tagged along. And read. But the former Mitch Buchanan in me kept popping up from "Moneyball" to make sure the Loch Ness Monster or a pirate didn't get my friend.

7:19 a.m. - Yeah, I don't see him. And the long I write in this book, means that...hold on, I need to check on him.

7:20 a.m. - Yeah, he's fine. Now, I';m taking the lay of the land at this little park by the dock. There's a guy sitting on a swing, with a rake in his hand. He's swinging to and fro, and the rake is dragging on the ground. Seems a bit counter-productive.

Good to see Rhode Island state employees in the BZE.

7:29 a.m. - He has to be Union. Now he's sitting under the thatched umbrella having a cup of coffee. He also has a weed wacker at his disposal. Even money it doesn't get turned on today.

9:15 a.m. - Made a quick trip into town to stop at the ATM and a, as the local call them, a "Chi-nee Shop."

Here, as in America, some of the local food and fruit stands are run by Asians. (no dry cleaners yet, but I'm sure that they're Asian-owned, too). We got some eggs for es-scrambling and Matt wanted a tomato for his brekkie.

So we stopped by a little farmer's market and got a tomato. I saw some peppers. Seeing as how I like peppers, I bought three.

Yeah, um, they were habanero peppers.

Suffice to say, after cutting and chopping them up, I touched my face. It is now on fire. I have a feeling this will be a major league "bitter omelette."

9:30 a.m. - Perhaps I'm overreacting. I have no major after effects from the peppers, except for a strong feeling of fire on my entire face, lips, both hands, and for some unknown reason, my forearms and elbows. Imagine diving head-first into a tub of Ben Gay that was boiling. Yeah, welcome to breakfast.

Amazingly, my stomach is fine.

12:30 p.m. - Took a little nap after finally finishing the book. SOlid book and I really enjoyed the afterword from Michael Lewis, from the paperback edition. Essentially, it was a giant "shampoo you" to Tracy Ringolsby and Joe Morgan (and after last night's Mets-Phils Sunday night game, I've had just about enough of that shampooing guy). On the habenero front, my face and arms have stopped burning. But my hands have gotten worse.

No joke - as I write (and even type from the book), I am concerned that stuff I touch will spontaneously combust. So, with that in mind, I have come up with the TLBR Hotness Scale, to better describe:

TLBR Hotness Scale
1. The Sun
2. Epicenter of a nuclear blast
3. Habanero peppers at a Corozal Town farmer's market
4. Molten lava
5. Scarlett Johanssen.
-----
That's it for now. It's 2 p.m. and a few of Matt's co-workers have made it into town.

Off I go. You do you, I'll do me, and we'll meet in the middle.

IIWII

Bound for Central America

2008-04-15T21:31:00.003-04:00

Heading down for the two-week jaunt around the Yucatan tomorrow.

Will have more along the way, as the Belize Blog kicks into full gear.

And yes, as promised, the Bowie Scale will be revealed.

Stay tuned. We'll be spending some time together real soon.

IIWII

Things That Got Away

2008-04-13T22:10:00.001-04:00

So, things got away from me a bit down in San Antonio...I'll get through the rest of my notes as part of the "Final Four Recap."

Friday, April 4

9:30 a.m. CT - It's amazing what 12 hours of sleep does for you. Amazingly, you wake up not feeling exhausted. It helps the mind, body, spirit and - in my case, most times - the professional reputation. No mumbling, stumbling, and bumbling through the rest of the night. I had some time to kill during the morning - and no concrete plans for the day - so I meandered around.

11 a.m. CT - Rats...I forgot...I did have something concrete today. I had to get the HC to radio row at the Hyatt. Thankfully, I wasn't too far and made it happen. In fact, I got him on five radio shows - from Atlanta to Seattle. Nothing like spreading the good word.

Tonight should be a good night - with some luck, I'll actually make it to "night"
and not to "nap."

1:30 p.m. CT - I'm credentialed at the Alamodome and am sitting on press row at the Final Four. Sometimes, it's better not to ask.

And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited. It's what I do, seemingly, everyday all day during the season. But still. It's the floor of the Final Four. Twenty years ago, it was a pipe dream to even get to a Final Four. I was one of those suckers who'd write the 162 dollar check for the "application," only to have my 160 dollars refunded year after year.

It's important not to forget that...and never take this for granted.

(For the record, I didn't take many notes the rest of the night. Not for any sordid "what happens at the Final Four, stays at the Final Four" affair. Not even close. I think it was just because the night didn't dictate taking notes. Good times, good friends, good parties - except for Nike - so, we skip ahead...)

April 5

12:20 p.m. "Bottle, draft, or aquarium?"

That's the three choices you're presented with from Richard the barkeep at Sirius - "our spot," it seems, every morning in San Antonio.

You could conceivably order an always tasty Miller Lite in a 12 oz. bottle, pint-sized draft, or a 32-ounce small bowl with a handle. It looked like an aquarium. Lots of beer.

But we all stuck with the bloodies and they didn't disappoint (kind of like Manny Ramirez vs. the Yankees). And we all shared various accounts - hazy, alleged, or whatnot - about the parties the night before. The shoe parties, networks, etc.

Apparently I was befallen with the "bitter face" at the CBS fete. I wasn't bitter, though. I just played one on TV. But that morning, I did scarf down a breakfast that would have caused a true bitter face.

It's what I called the "bitter omelette." Ham, onions, and jalapenos. I love them. Every road trip we went on this year, if they had an omelette station, I had a bitter omelette.

Sometimes with egg whites, sometimes with egg beaters...but always with jalapenos.

It's bitter because you're eating and forget they're in the mix...until you bite down...and whoop there it is. Bitter.

Richard the barkeep has regaled us with stories of his girlfriends. And his girlfriends' girlfriends. And one who used to flash him. And another who flashed him...shortly after she gave birth...and...

Yeah, it was time to call for the check after Richard's "milky tit" story.

1:30 p.m. CT- We tried finding a spot to sit, eat, and continue with the liquids somewhere on the Riverwalk. But no shot, it was absolutely packed. So we went off the beaten path once again, to a spot that hasn't let us down.

Denny's. Again.

For some reason, the question "what the shampoo am I doing with my life?" was bounced around for much of the meal.

The boys ventured into different strategies with the Denny's menus - semi-breakfast, semi-lunch, and for me - the grand slam.

For those of you not hip to the Denny's thang, a grand slam is any four of several delicious choices. I went with the english muffins and three orders of hash browns. A rather unorthodox grand slam selection, but hey...you do how you do and I'll do how I do.

2:30 p.m. CT - Nap.

4:15 p.m. CT - Triple S and the walk to the Alamodome for Memphis/UCLA. This Final Four, different than Indianapolis and Atlanta the last two years, has some real college spirit to it. Kansas had a few bands along the way, a bunch of UCLA fans (read: Asian kids) kept doing the 8-clap thing, UNC fans were desperately trying to get Kansas fans to like them. Me? I was walking with Memphis. (for a beautifully written reason why, click here.)

7 p.m. CT - One ass-kicking later, it was time to mosey. I was tired and did not care to see Kansas/UNC. Nothing against Bill Self and the Jayhawks - in fact, they were my second-favorite rooting interest - but I was sleepy and I think the game was on TV. Bee-line to Fuddruckers where I committed a class D felony on a giant, sloppy, messy bleu cheese burger. Yay me. *Burp.*

April 6 and beyond...
I didn't take any notes. But suffice to say, it was much of the same. A great time to spend with some old friends, some new friends, and some friends that I just haven't met yet.

BTW - the text count: 240.
-----
Will have a pre-Belize blog update tomorrow. It will also be the debut of a new social scale, which I'm sure is going to sweep the nation.

It's called the "Bowie Scale," and it is going to be the basis for quite a bit of the Belize happenings.

Hurricanes and Catnaps Always Get Me Down

2008-04-03T16:05:00.003-04:00

Way too early CT - My roommate woke up. WTF. It was like quarter-to-seven in the a.m. in Central time.

I asked : "did you lose a shampooing bet?"

My roommate subscribes to the Warren Zevon philosophy of "I'll sleep when I'm dead." His exact words were: "I slept in college."

This may prove costly as the weekend progresses.

8:00 a.m. CT - Intelligence report. I couldn't go back to sleep after the early wake up (I'm bitter...more on that later). I read my 30+ bookmarks. I knew what I already knew. And I was awake.

9:00 a.m. CT - One cup of coffee.

9:23 a.m. CT - One more cup of coffee - thank you much, Bob Marley

9:35 a.m. CT - Three cups of coffee down. Found the one Jewish deli in San Antonio - Schilo's - and did up a little wheat toast and coffee (four cups down). They toast the toast right, and with a wide variety of jelly - not to mention the $1.56 tab - Schilo's is now the Official Breakfast Sponsor of TLBR.

They fill up the coffee, copiously, and have the Jayhawks on the speakers (the alt-country band, not Russell Robinson Jr.). Schilo's - welcome to the TLBR family of networks.

10:00 a.m. CT - There's a CVS on the Riverwalk. Today's Neighborhood Drugstore - actually, that's an old moniker and quite admittedly I should know whatever the new slogan is but I don't so let's all move on OK? This Consumer Value Store sold wine and U.S. Border Patrol hats.

10:35 a.m. CT - I really dig the Riverwalk. It's an amazing place and has beautiful horticulture. And, quite frankly, the sidewalk in spots gets really, really close to the water. Officer Ramirez of the San Antonio Park Police have said "very few people just fall in."

"On average, maybe four people just fall in. Usually, it's people who get dared or drunk people. Even then, it's not many. It's not something I'd recommend."

I would tend to agree. I've never seen water that green.

10:45 a.m. CT - I'm watching ducklings learn to swim, and then hop onto a rock and get cleaned by Mother Duck. Ladies & Gentlemen, your TLBR Zen Moment of the Day,

10:48 a.m. CT - Sign of maturity. I just saw Jim Nantes of CBS eating breakfast. A few years back, I'd have bum rushed his omelette and asked him to record my "A tradition like no other..." voicemail message. I left him to his hash browns. Maturity or sobriety? You decide.

11:15 a.m. CT - TLBR to Pat O'Brien's barkeep: "When can you legally sell me a Hurricane?"
PO'B barkeep: "Now, actually..."
TLBR: "May I please have a Hurricane?"

It is noon Eastern...

12:32 p.m. CT - The second of what will likely prove to be many meals at Denny's - joining good friends David Scott of CSTV/Shots fame, the boys from CSTV's Road Trippin (Jacob & Cyrus), and one of my old Iona running mates TC.

Nelda the waitress was solid - if there were an award for top waitress so far this week, Nelda is the undisputed champ.

12:45 p.m. CT - First stupid phone call received of the day: a sports-radio talk show host looking for Jim Harrick's contact info.

1:25 p.m. CT - In the Alamodome, they have banners for every school that has won the national title, with the year. Kentucky has won so many that not all the years fit on one side of the banner. This particular banner only has up to 1996 listed, forgetting Tubby Smith's title in 1998. TC: "Just another case of them holding back the brothers."

2:05 p.m. CT - Took a photo with Toribio Lasoya. Might need to Google him later and find out who the shampoo he is/was.

2:25 p.m CT - At Crazy Sam's with the crew. Not only to they serve "Texas-sized drafts," but they have an extensive menu of "grub."

That's it. "Grub." And listed under said "grub" are the following: hot dogs, hot wings, fries and corn dogs.

More from TC: "I don't think I've been in a place that serves corn dogs on the menu...ever..."

Jacob uses the word "ostensibly," which is a TLBR fave. A man walks into the bar wearing a hat that says "Jerusalem." (no punchline coming...this is fact...) It even has a menorah stitched into the bill.

(period of time passes where nothing interesting happens, so, moving right along...)

6:05 p.m. CT - Just finished a large Mexican dinner - flautas and chili - and a Mexican trumpeteer approaches the table.

Mexican trumpeteer: Do you want a song?
DScott: Are you shampooing nuts?

End of Mexican trumpeteer.

8:00 p.m. CT - I retreat to the hotel for a quick nap. The early rise and Thursday hijinks, cleverely disguised as shenanigans, has made me sleepy. I just need a quick nap. I called the front desk for a 9:15 wake-up call. Just some quick shut-eye...a quick power nap to recharge...a quick...

12:35 a.m. CT, April 4 - Quick my ass.

Wake-up call my ass.

My ass is tired. I'm rolling back over and going to sleep. You should do the same.

We'll chat tomorrow...

IIWII

The Stars at Night Are Big and Bright...

2008-04-03T08:39:00.002-04:00

April 2, 4:00 p.m. ET - Welcome to the TLBR Final Four blog. I can guarantee it's going to be spotty at times - for reasons both controllable and not - but I'm going to take a stab at this. so enjoy the ride.

The crux of the next month of my life is going to involve blogging, whether for semi-work related events or not. And much of the traveling involved in the blog-rich situations will be brought to you by the good folks at Continental Airlines.

Since 1997, I've accumulated roughly a gabillion Conty miles, so this trip to San Antonio for the Final Four and the jaunt to Belize will be on one of their spacious planes. Today's delay for my flight out of Providence into Newark is not a good start. The 4:35 departure time, the nice woman at the gate tells me, will now be 5:55 p.m. Oh well, at least the Sox are playing.

There are some pissed off people trying to plead with the woman - like she really gives a cactus prick you're going to miss your connection to Kalamazoo - but I'm slated to have a 2 hr. layover at Newark Liberty International Airport (EWR for you airport code buffs), so all this delay does is cut into my time over a steaming hot plate boneless buffalo tenders at Chili's Too. (btw, if I ever go to the chair, my last meal will be boneless buffalo tenders from Chili's.)

So with the delay, I headed toward one of the nameless, faceless, soulless airport bars at T.F. Green. Alas and alack, no seats. So I headed toward flight delay refuge #2: Dunkin Donuts. Ordered a Great One. 24 ounces of Colombian blended bliss. Skim milk. Just one sugar (uno sucre, por favor...need to practice that for the trips to North Mexico and Belize...)

Joining me at the Temple of Dunks was the country's top returning three-point shooter - if you don't know who I'm talking about, then I guess I'm just not doing my job. But you will know about him (always working, Seth Davis of SI and CBS got the first pitch of the 2008-09 season in the EWR airport. Very receptive, I'd surmise).

All of a sudden, coffee talk with Paul Baldwin was broken up by an announcement that "all ticketed and confirmed passengers on Continental flight blah-blah-blah, please report to gate blah IMMEDIATELY."

Grabbed my bag, downed the Dunks, fist-bumped with "America's Top Returning Three-Point Shooter," and made an OJ Simpson-Hertz commercial dash to my gate.

In my olden days, my blazing speed and shifty moves would have been vintage OJ (without the homicide and stuff), Now, it's a little bit more like OJ Mayo. Or just too much mayo. Princeton offense. I'm winded. Call a :30.

There are a few other local coaches and colleagues in the biz - I texted them to let them know it was time to down the frosty delights and head to the gate. That's my first assist of the weekend. TLBR is well-known for it's pass-first mentality.

5:30 p.m. ET - I just started Charlie Pierce's book about Tom Brady. Flew through the first 12 pages before the ADHD took over. So I put on the trusty iPod and opened the Continental magazine.

Lo and behold, it opens right to page 69 (tee-hee, tee-hee-hee, tee-hee) and you know it has to be an ad for a new luxury condo development on Ambergris Caye. And that's located in...tell em' Don Pardo...Belize! Waterfront starting at $350k. We all know about iPod karma, could it be the first signs of intelligent life in regard to Continental karma? (for the record, pg. 71 had an ad for prostate exams and p. 73 was about sleep apnea...oh well).

7:55 p.m. ET - The next leg is supposed to leave at 8 p.m. So far, with five minutes to go on the original schedule, we've had three (3) gate changes and three (3) subsequent delays. Further inventory also lists one (1) bargain meal at the food court. Just under 5 smackos for lo mein and white rice and a bottle of water. Meanwhile, the travel buddies have paid 9 and 13 dollars, respectively, for two slices of pizza and a medium and large bottle of water.

Also add one (1) snoring, semi-drunk woman at the gate and two (2) kids playing that game where you try to slap the other person's hands in a test of reaction time. Is that a game that a third-party can enter, uninvited, like an open spot at a high stakes blackjack game with five Chinese dudes playing $500 a hand? No? Can I just start slapping the kids? No? Rats.

I've also made the decision to reset my phone and count the number of text messages I send over the next five days. I've been known to text alot. In fact, I don't really talk to people anymore. I send them texts. So many, in fact, that I went over my limit last month. By 489. That's a lot. So I ponied up and went with unlimited texts. I don't know what the Vegas line is on how many I send - or how many go out after 12 a.m., or even how many go internationally - but it'll be a lot. If you'd like to venture a guess, send it along to tlbradmin@gmail.com. Person closest without going over will win a prize.

8:30 p.m. ET - We're finally on the plane and ready to embark on the 4-hour flight. That's not necessarily a "long" flight in TLBR terms - as we've gone on a 24.5 hour trip to Australia - but it's still a bit of a trip. And despite my triple platinum soul-double elite mocha java-super duper status in OnePass, I couldn't get an upgrade (Seth Davis did). But I did manage to get seat 14F, which on this Boeing 737-300, is the exit row seat with no seat in front of it. Kareem would have more than enough legroom in this seat. I rang the call button and requested a pipe and an ottoman, but it's against FAA regulations on both.

8:50 p.m. ET - Still waiting to pull out (that's what she said...) and got to pg. 25 of the Pierce book. "Brady's is a secular charisma derived from authenticity." Now THOSE are words, courtesy of a fine Jesuit education.

9:00 p.m. ET - In that talking with a four octaves deeper than conversational tone and too close to the microphone voice they teach you in pilot school, here's the latest: "Update from the flight deck folks, we're currently #24 in line for take off..." So my rough math... at a 90 second-2:15 gap between takeoffs with jumbojets, we're looking at 45 minutes on the tarmac. Smoke if you got 'em.

9:35 p.m. ET - Patience? Waning.

10:15 p.m. ET - In the air. 30,000 feet. Beverage cart by the seat. Beaucoup Continental bucks for free drinks. Two Miller Lites. One Fiorinal. Nighty-night. Will have more in the S.A. tomorrow.

11:00 p.m. ET - Things working out just A-O-freaking-K. Just got to thinking with a couple of the songs that just popped up on random play:

(Such Great Heights, Postal Service) - it'd be cool to have a brown marker that just drew shit, akin to the UPS commercials. Or a Mortimer J. Marker, like Picture Pages.
(One Shining Moment, David Sanborn/Teddy Pendergrass) - yeah, OSM just came on the shuffle play. En route to the Final Four. Karma. (btw, TLBR predicts the winner of the National title will be the winner of the UCLA/Memphis game. Roy Williams will not give a shit about North Carolina when Kansas beats his team and Bill Self gets ludicrous money to be the next head coach at Oklahoma State...speaking of Ludacris, I saw him last year at the Atlanta Final Four. Nothing like ice cold beer, rap, and head coaches at Centennial Olympic Park.) On another aside, I'm still waiting for my One Shining Moment.

IIWII

Please ensure that your seat, tray table, and nipple rings are in their upright and locked positions...

2008-03-31T22:26:00.005-04:00

Ok, what's more amazing about this story (btw, it's the basis for the title of the post...): the woman on the right; the display model; the actions of TSA agents; or the fact Gloria Allred is involved.
-----
Looking to lower your work productivity level by about 75%? Enjoy this site.
-----
Was doing my normal Friday lunch - the Fiesta Friday - and moseyed on up to Caliente. It's a local burrito stop that serves it up hot, fresh and fast.

Those three tenets are explained as much in the Caliente "mission statement."

Wow. A burrito joint with a mission. Now that's progressive thinking, with a side of refried and rice.
-----
There's been a lot of scuttlebutt about the Lebron James cover photo on Vogue magazine (see left).

Bryan Burwell of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch decried its inherent racism on ESPN's The Sports Reporters. So have others, who liken James to "King Kong" and his covermate Gisele Bundchen as "Fay Wray." In a column at ESPN.com, Jemele Hill called the cover “memorable for all the wrong reasons.”

I'm sorry, but that's just sad. I'd like to think that we, as a society which is closing in on electing a Black man to the White House, has moved on from this sort of stereotyping and racism. The cover photo is a combination of two of the World's most desirable people. A superstar athlete and a superstar model. That's it.

Lebron was quoted about the non-issue: “Everything my name is on is going to be criticized in a good way or bad way. Who cares what anyone says?”

Precisely.

I watch Lebron play basketball on a regular basis, or I see the highlights of his talents on SportsCenter. My typical reaction is: "man, I want to be Lebron James." (but you don't want to be Lebron, you want to be BETTER.)

Furthermore, when I saw the Vogue cover, my reaction was slightly more than typical: "man, now I really want to be Lebron James."
-----
Chelsea Clinton, by my observation, is a very intelligent young woman who has successfully balanced having a "normal" upbringing, despite paying dearly for growing up in that great white house.

It's no secret - I'm not the world's biggest Hillary supporter. Throughout her push for the democratic nomination, she has utilized famous former President husband as well as her daughter stumping on her behalf on the campaign trail.

Bill Clinton was a popular President and remains as such - if not even more popular. And Chelsea, perhaps due to her lack of public persona, has a draw of her own.

Now, we all know the Clinton's, um, issues. All of their (read: Bill's) dirty laundry over the years has been aired out. And by dirty laundry, I don't just mean a spooge stain on a dress...but it's part of it.

As a public persona - and if you're campaigning on someone's behalf for the office of the President, you're public - you're open to some scrutiny.

Over the last week or so, Chelsea - on a campus barnstorming Q&A tour - has been taking questions her reaction and her family's reaction to the 500 lb. intern in the room (for the record, that was more of a play on the popular idiom and not a physical characteristic of Monica Lewinsky).

I'm torn on this. First off, if you're some college know-it-all little puke who thinks you're savvy and slick by asking someone what their reaction was when reading all about her dad getting blown in the office in your house, then you need to really check yourself. Seriously, tase him, bro.

And kudos for Chelsea for keeping it together as much as possible. I'm not sure MSNBC would be able to air my response if I were here.

But to me, the bigger issue isn't the ignorance of the college-aged kid who sees his 15 seconds of YouTube fame. It's Mom & Dad.

Or their press aide geniuses. You had to know she would be subjected to this kind of crap questioning. I mean, hell, it's politics 24-7-365...eventually, you run out of actual issues to talk about. Or at the very least, it's depressing.

But if you ask me who is at fault - the puke-and-pimple college kid or the second-place candidate - it's not even close (and no cigar...boo-hiss, I know).

It takes a village to raise a child and just one village idiot to humiliate that child. Bad call, Mom.

-----

that's all for tonight. Coming up tomorrow: TLBR's Final Four preview.

IIWII,

1:19 of your life you'll never get back.

2008-03-25T23:51:00.001-04:00

Apologies ahead of time.

(if that wasn't lovely enough for you, click here)

IIWII

Wow. What happened with that?

2008-03-25T00:06:00.005-04:00

I had a conversation tonight and the fine gentlemen on the other side of the table reminded me that I was "turning like, 40" in June (not true.)

And it's really not fair. Because it's March and Wakefield Liquors is only selling Samuel Adams Summer Ale right now (and despite it just turning into Spring, it doesn't make me a bad person to drink like 100 Sam Summers).

But since I'm shampooing "old," I thought back to when I was like in 8th grade. And 9th grade. You know, the good ole days. (yeah, you know those days...don't you?)

And I thought that music was the world. I mean, the Joshua Tree. U2 wasn't quite saving the world then, but in 1987, they sang of the seven towers and the one way out. Not that a 12-13 year old kid could quite throw his arms around the world (that was for Achtung Baby), let alone heroin addiction...

But THE band - I mean - the squad that was absolutely rocking out for me in my "formative years" was INXS. And it's crazy to think how that band, um, broke up.

For my money, the best album for the 1980's was "Kick." Shampoo "Thriller" and that shampooing pedo. Forget "What has five arms and sucks" Def Leppard. Heck, put away the Robert Palmer - even though my man might be one of the most underrated recording artists of our lifetime.

"Kick" had everything. Trust me...for a kid with chores, it was the absolute perfect cassette tape/soundtrack to vacuum the stairs of Stately TLBR Manor.

Here's a video from, arguably, the best track off the album:

Onto a bit of business before I turn in:

1. A great friend and TLBR forefather sent a text tonight that, quite frankly, meant the world to me: "Good to have you back." And in so many ways, my wise friend is right. He's like a little tiny buddha, covered in hair. Most of all, it's good to know that longtime TLBR'ers are so willing to jump back onboard after I've let them down for so long.

2. I think I've figured out the secret behind iPod karma: I only have a certain type of music these days. Perhaps I'm "old" as one lad might think. But when I ask the little 20GB gizmo to "take me home" (100 Sam Summers, remember?), the technological wiz never fails.

3. "Seth Cohen is a tool!" Ah, the OC. I remember the night that Coldplay debuted their new song, "Fix You" on the Fox super-show.

It was moving. Like hearing The Beatles White Album for the first time, albeit, sans Yoko and que Gwyneth.

But it's a terrific song.

"But if you never try, you'll never know just what you're worth..."

Good night Conanicut.

IIWII,

So What Have We Learned?

2008-03-23T21:17:00.003-04:00

Welcome to the Sweet 16. Not my "Super-Sweet 16," from MTV...or even "super sweet" from Eric Cartman.

The field of 65 is now at 16. And thanks to the good folks at Cox, I've watched every game so far. All 49 of them.

Here are 10 things I've learned:
1. Stephen Curry was under-recruited. And he can shoot. He can flat-out shampoo on you if you give him a screen and a foot or so. Kind of a novel concept, don't you think? Hey, we have a three-point shooter...let's get him open...no, wait, let's...

Sorry. Woo-sah...woo-sah...woo-sah...

2. North Carolina is pretty deep. I still haven't figured out how they're going to blow it, but they will.

3. Memphis will not win the national title, either. And if you're within eight points with 3:00 to go, start fouling.

4. When Bob Huggins gets "his recruits" to Morgantown, look out.

5. If I was an AD (and if you're looking for one, I'll be glad to forward my CV) at a "big-time school," and I had an opening and seemingly a blank check, I'd hire Jay Wright. Or, at the very least, his tailor.

6. Just finished "The Miracle of St. Anthony." Trying to figure out who was more remarkable: Bob Hurley or Adrian Wojnarowski. It's a dead heat.

7. Who looks younger, Stephen Curry or Butler coach Brad Stevens?

8. Heartbreaking loss to Stanford by the former rent provider...but a frontcourt like the Lopez twins is awfully hard to beat.

9. Ok, I'm starting to "get" the love for Kevin Love.

10. With a bounce here, a stop there, and a few solid possessions in between, Sean Miller and Xavier could be playing in San Antonio.
-----
Ok, that's it for now. Looks like some free time has opened up on the horizon, so that might just mean some good old-fashioned blogging.

Not to mention the Belize Blog, coming up from April 16-30. It's like the distant cousin of the Oz Blog - the progenator of this here website.

Stay tuned and welcome back. Sort of.

IIWII,

An Absolute Miracle

2008-03-08T07:32:00.002-05:00

Bryce Drew did it.

Of course, that happened in 1998. Three years later, in 2001, Ole Miss had another upstart mid-major with less than 3,000 students chasing them down...until a referee who shall remain nameless threw his whistle into the stands of the Kemper Arena.

We're Gonna Be a While

2008-03-07T06:43:00.003-05:00

For the record, the greatest dunk and subsequent greatest call by the greatest color man in the biz was a charge.

Wave off the basket. Quinton Burton had position.

Mopa Njila Doesn't Want to go Home

2008-03-06T08:59:00.003-05:00

I'm always a big fan of teams with a backcourt comprised of a kid from God's Country and a kid from Cameroon.

Sorry all youse Cuse fans out there. TJ's shot might be your Buckner.

(clarification: Sorrentine did not hit that from the parking lot of the DCU Center. He hit it from Rt. 290, on the way to Auburn.)

He's been double-teamed all year.

2008-03-05T16:59:00.004-05:00

In order to get properly prepared for Championship Week, the next few days I'll be posting some videos (because that's what lazy-assed bloggers like me do...just post video and pretend it's a real post...)

I think Gerry McNamara was a great college player. Some folks don't agree with that sentiment. Jim Boeheim doesn't agree with those people.

Best part of this video? The follow-up question.

The Greatest Comeback Ever

2008-02-26T11:45:00.000-05:00

Jimmy wins.

Ah, what the hell?

2008-02-25T07:00:00.000-05:00

Blogging Away to Beat the Band

2008-02-14T22:29:00.000-05:00

Ok, I'm gonna say something. If you like it, hold onto it. If not, just send it on back: I can't wait for the hoops season to be over.

I'd like an ounce of life to be back. And mind you, this is the best team I've ever had the pleasure and honor of dealing with. 12 little brothers - as little as a 6-9, 295 lb. person could be... - perhaps I meant "younger."

But jumping Jesus on a pogo stick...I have no shampooing life.

And that's adversely affecting the blogosphere. And you and I both know that can't happen.

Zero creativity. Zero time to feign creativity and pump out dreck. I got nothing.

So disappointing, because as angst and ennui birthed this here blog, those same two overlying expressions are slowly killing it.
-----
No fear - I've booked the annual postseason trip and that should be 2+ weeks of material. But should you all have to wait until mid-April for pure comedic genius? I don't think it's quite fair, but I don't get to make the rules. I just have to live by them, while living vicariously through the person who is always two steps ahead of me.

So with apologies to Peter King for paraphrasing his column title, here are two things of crap I think I think/crap:

- Clemens is lying. McNamee is lying. Lots of folks are cheating. And the difference between lying and cheating is simple: you can only lie if you're asked.

- See also, Sampson, Kelvin...

Alright, I'm sleepy. G'night y'all. I promise to try to keep trying.

am, ld.

So, What Now?

2008-02-05T10:04:00.000-05:00

So you're a Hall of Fame coach. The all-time winningest men's basketball coach in NCAA Division I history.

And you wake up one morning and realize that, after close to 41 years of doing the same shit everyday, that you're tired of it.

So you retire. Walk off, into the Sunset, and on your own terms. Quite apropos, for the man who once told a soldout Assembly Hall at Indiana that they hope he gets buried upside down, so the world can "kiss his ass." Also the same guy who hurled invectives and expletives at anyone, any place...vases of flowers at his secretaries, and cold-cocked his former SID for writing a "bad release."

You can argue Bob Knight's effect and influence on the game all day long. Was he good? Was he bad? Was he great? Was he a detriment?

I don't know. Probably all of the above.

But the one thing I can say for certain is that I hope Coach Knight gets a chance to enjoy his retirement.

Perhaps he could play some golf...or coach the sport...

am, ld

Super Bowl Live Blog

2008-02-03T18:16:00.000-05:00

Yeah, why not?

This will be a hodge-podge of texts, thoughts, ruminations and whatnot.
-----
6:15 p.m. - first Super Bowl text of the night: "Our song (Crazy Train) was way better. I feel like we have a 7 point lead already..."

6:18 p.m. - bad lip synching by Jordin whats-her-name....WHOA...what the shampoo is Bill wearing a red sweatshirt for? WTF?

6:19 p.m. - Jordin's done "singing." Eli's commencing puking.

6:21 p.m. - "Drillbit Taylor" - a movie about a guy who tries to teach nerdy kids to be cool around girls. Starring...a guy who tried to kill himself because a chick dumped him. "What happened out there, Baumer?"

6:24 p.m. - another text (from me) "TLBR live blogging..." (response) "shots live drinking."

6:30 p.m. - Joe Buck: "finally, football." No shit. Btw, your restaurant in the STL (J. Bucks) is awesome.

On an aside, the previous three Super Bowls, I made sure it was some sort of event. Drank too much, ate too much, etc.

Right now? Live blogging in between game notes. I'll probably go to bed right after. Ho-hum.

6:35 p.m. - so far, the Giants are going run-run-third down conversion pass. And two players down for the Patriots (Gay and Harrison. Shit).

6:36 p.m. - first commercial (Bud Light fire breather) sucked; second commercial (Audi take on Godfather scene) sucked. 5.4 million dollars - aka the GNP of Guatemala - wasted.

6:40 p.m. - Troy Aikman just used the word "elusiveness." Actually, it's probably more accurate to say Aikman just invented the word "elusiveness."

6:41 p.m. - text "This game so far: F."

6:44 p.m. - Rodney HgHarrison comes out of nowhere, and stops the Giants in the red zone. Jason Tyner kicks a FG, 3-0 G-men. (oh, that was Lawrence Tynes? Sorry.)

6:46 p.m. - The Pepsi Max/Night at the Roxbury commercial? Also kind of sucked. Salesgenie.com? Blows. 10.8 million dollars blown on four bad commercials.

6:48 p.m. - text (from me to several folks): "I heart Larry." Bud Light cheese block commercial? Horrendous. Under Armour? After you protect your house, fire your ad agency. Grand total of 16.2 million pissed away.

6:50 p.m. - The first Patriots play of the game is an end-around that almost ends up with a 15 yard loss. Second play is an eight-yard gain by Larry. I heart Larry.

6:54 p.m. - Playing the role of Troy Brown this Super Bowl will be Wes Welker. First down floater; Pats driving.

6:55 p.m. - Playing the role of Kevin Faulk this Super Bowl is, well, Kevin Faulk. First down Pats.

6:58 p.m. - End of first quarter, Giants 3, Patriots 0.

6:59 p.m. - Bridgestone commercial with the screaming animals? Pretty good. The Doritos singer/songwriter crap is dreck.

7:01 p.m. - Larry for 6, Steve for one, Patriots up 7-3. And they play "Elevation" for the TD. Welcome to Gillette West.

7:03 p.m. - Derek Jeter Gatorade commercial; "People like to watch games in slow mo or any kind of mo there is." In your case, that would be Ho-mo, right?

7:05 p.m. - Steve kicks it off out-of-bounds. F. Terrible.

7:06 p.m. - FedEx pigeon commercial, OK. Cars.com, OK. The Tide to Go commercial with the talking stain is the clubhouse leader so far...

7:13 p.m. - Karma. Ellis Hobbs, who got pushed off and face-masked by Amani Toomer to get the Giants into the red zone, picks off an Eli pass to notch the first turnover of the night. Wah-hoo.

7:14 p.m. - The Budweiser horse-doesn't-get-picked commercial. This is like hookers at the Super Bowl city - an annual annoyance.

7:18 p.m. - Three and out. F. Terrible. The Corolla/sleeping badgers commercial? Ah, whatever. The Clooney "Leatherheads" movie? Unwatchable. Napoleon/Garmin? Meh.

7:21 p.m. - A sack of Eli, and a forced fumble which the Pats should have recovered, and intentional unintentional grounding. Giants are probably just happy to get to Jeff Feagles.

7:23 p.m. - The CareerBuilder "I quit" commercial was kind of gross. Naomi Campbell, lizards, and a Michael Jackson song - how the shampoo do you, as an ad exec, even consider bringing that to some company's boardroom?

7:27 p.m. - Back-to-back Patriots O-Line failures, leading to two Tom Brady sacks. I fully expect to see a unicorn now. Or Atlantis. Or a smart member of the Bush family. You know, shit that I never thought ever existed.

7:29 p.m. - Carlos Mencia is the absolute worst shampooing comedian alive. So...let's spend 2.7 million on a commercial with him in it! F. Terrible.

7:32 p.m. - First glass of Tintara shiraz poured. Giants blasting through with the run game. Meh.

7:36 p.m. - A blindside sack and illegal bat forward. Defense is making the plays it needs to early. Offense needs to match that intensity. Ladies and gentlemen, that is your TLBR coachspeak for the evening.

7:37 p.m. - Writers Strike never more evident with the steaming pile of poo-poo movies coming out of Hollywood. The Planters cashew commercial? Solid. Very solid. D-Wade commercial now in line to go head-to-head with the talking stain... "You like popsicles? You been to Amsterdam?" Classic stuff.

7:41 p.m. - Justin Timberlake getting hit in the nuts - IT'S GOLD, JERRY! It's now win the mix.

7:42 p.m. response from an earlier text from me (The second place trophy is located in the ladies room) to a Giants fan (thanks for the head's up)

7:43 p.m. - I'm kind of tired of Tom getting hit. Text from Jeff: "this is the worst first half in Super Bowl history. It's like the Carolina game, without the firepower of the last 2 minutes." Can't agree more. This here football genius thinks that the first two possessions of the third quarter will put this game away. The Giants will have to adjust to the longer halftime and the good-guys have the ball first.

7:49 p.m. - How much shiraz has Bob Kraft had?

7:50 p.m. - Welcome to the Super Bowl, Randy Moss.

7:51 p.m. - They are kicking Tom Brady's ass. Flat-out kicking his ass.

7:54 p.m. - Pats 7, Giant 3 at the half. How underwhelming. Teams that lead at the half of Super Bowls are 32-7. America's Team is 15-1. Just wanted to get that in there.

7:55 p.m. - Does Petty open or close with American Girl? I say close...opens with Freefallin'... Stop Draggin' My Heart Around second.

8:02 p.m. - The NFL Network "get your story straight" commercials are always GOLD, JERRY. And perhaps this is a little Jeter, but the singers from this year's Idol are pretty good...

8:04 p.m. - Jesus shampooing Christ...is Bob Dylan the only remaining Traveling Wilbury who is still alive? Petty looks like John Henry after a week of tanning. And bad call on the American Girl...

8:07 p.m. - Ok, Petty is great American singer-songwriter, but it's not possible that everyone in the University of Phoenix Stadium knows the lyrics to his songs. It has to be up on the Jumbotron with the instructions: SING ALONG, PLEASE

8:10 p.m. - Still no halftime performance better than U2 at Patriots Bowl I. Bawled my eyes out, but it is one of those musical moments that I'll never forget. The preceding TLBR moment brought to you by OB Tampons, Oprah, and the Oxygen Network.

8:18 p.m. - Petty was solid. Text from Shots: "that shiraz is making you soft, Idol singers suk." He's probably right. Text from Jeff: "If we march down the field on the 1st possession of the 2nd half and make it 14-3, I will exhale. If they go 3 and out, there will be a lot of pacing." A 3 and out for me will necessitate another bottle of shiraz.

8:23 p.m. - Chris Myers described Bill Belichick as calm and relaxed...uh, yeah. What's the next scoop: Gisele is hot and blonde and looks really good in a thong that you could floss little pieces of corn on the cob out of your teeth with? Whoa, it is hot in here or is it just me thinking about corn on the cob?

8:25 p.m. - Wow. Two texts: "are you menstruating? PMS?" and then "Idol singers suck." My readers, they tough.

8:28 p.m. - Two big screen passes, Giants a "step too late" accd. to J.Buck. That's Patriots football.

8:29 p.m. - A sideline pass to Gaffney...my kingdom for a 20 yard sideline route to Jabar Gaffney...

8:30 p.m. - First C-word of the night uttered. So far, a solid effort by Cars.com. I love the faux Asian accent from the pandas on the Salesgenie.com ad. I hate the Shaq ad.

8:33 p.m. - This challenge flag - or at the very least, the process of which the Pats decide to make red flag tosses - are the sort of intangible moves that make or break a Super Bowl victory. If this is a first down and the Pats are able to convert for a score, then it just proves why Bill Belichick and his crew are the best ever. As for the ads, "Bottle opener suck" - decent, for a Bud Light ad. The ad with the genie for CareerBuilder.com blew goats.

8:37 p.m. - 12 men on the field. Credit Ernie Adams for that one.

8:40 p.m. - Kevin Faulk needed 13 yards. He got 14 yards. First down. Big play.

8:43 p.m. - 4th and 13 and they go for the endzone? Um. Send the Polish kid out for the three-pointer...

8:46 p.m. - Kevin Faulk potentially out? Shampoo.

8:49 p.m. - Asante Samuel's fingertips save seven... That other bottle of shiraz barking my name. Starting to get nervous. Speaking in short sentences. With very few words. Shit.

8:52 p.m. - Talking babies suck. I hate talking babies. Puking talking babies suck even more. And people being sucked into jet engines is not funny. I hate stuff now. Dammit, the Pats need another score.

9:03 p.m. - 7-3, Pats in the 4th quarter. What the shampoo? The Chester Pitts/oboe/NFL ad was terrific.

9:08 p.m. - Throughout the Patriots' run over the last few years, there has been a mantra for close situations and games. The mantra is simple: "Tom Brady is my quarterback. I have no fear." There may be need for the mantra later on.

9:12 p.m. - Second C-word. Giants 10, Patriots 7. text from Jeff: "I'm getting ready to throw up."

9:13 p.m. - I didn't get the NFL's consent to use this broadcast for any other purpose...shit. I'm gonna get shot.

9:14 p.m. - Mantra.

9:15 p.m. - What the shampoo is this piece of crap Adam Sandler movie? Zoolander meets Austin Powers? Looks like the Suck. And everytime I hear Danzig's "Mother" for the Sarah Connor Chronicles, I wait for Keith Foulke to jog in...and that's a good thing, because Keith Foulke helped the Sox win the 2004 World Series. And...well...mantra...

9:21 p.m. - Shampoo the talking baby. Seriously.

9:22 p.m. - Was just thinking that Rodney Harrison doesn't have a pick yet.

9:24 p.m. - Not a pick, but Rodney stopped Toomer a yard short... Was just thinking that the Pats haven't had a good punt/kick return yet tonight.

9:39 p.m. - Mantra. Told you. Now all we need is Rodney's pick.

9:44 p.m. - Victoria's Secret: Best. Super Bowl. Commercial. Ever.

10:00 p.m. - Shampoo. Shutting it off.

Matt Damon

2008-02-02T10:42:00.001-05:00

By far the funniest thing I've seen in a long, long time:

BYAAAAAAAH!

2008-01-25T19:15:00.000-05:00

A wha?

2008-01-17T13:19:00.000-05:00

Man, what happened to Cole Trickle? To Pete Mitchell? To Jerry Ma-shampooing-guire?

Shampooed up.

am, ld

Over to that sunny side of the road...

2008-01-17T09:17:00.000-05:00

Traveling back to the mighty Midwest - the place that helped re-ignite my love and reliance on all types of music. So, it would be apropos of me to put together a little playlist for everyone to enjoy.

And, since this thing called "marketing" is all the craze back at home base - this marketing thing has quickly replaced "jogging" (or is it "yogging? I think the "J" is silent. Apparently, you just run...) - so here goes the first-ever TLBR/Dunkin Donuts iPod playlist:

Landed (strings version) - Ben Folds
Motorcade - Beck
Big River - Johnny Cash
Don't Go Back to Rockville - REM
Dancing with Tears - Old 97's
Sleep to Dream - Fiona Apple
Foreigner Suite - Cat Stevens (it's a 17:00 song...)
Buckle - Tapes n' Tapes
Kathy's Song (live) - Simon & Garfunkel
Can't Tell Me Nothing - Kanye West
Wamp Wamp (What it do) - Clipse
Bring it on home to Me - Sam Cooke
You in My Mind When I Sleep - Richard Ashcroft
I've Been Working - Van Morrison
Think I'm In Love - Beck
Alison - Elvis Costello
Feel to Believe - Beth Orton
I Believe - Stevie Wonder
All my Friends - Amos Lee

The playlist was conceived through a painstaking process of turning on my iPod during taxi and takeoff (Go F yourself, FAA regulations) and getting the ironic Ben Folds "Landed" as the first song of the day.

From there, I basically copied down the next 19 songs in order, as they appeared on the shuffle play of the trusty sidekick iPod 60.

Being a mixtape afficiando and artiste, I tend to have a true, innate gift in placing the right songs in their right places. There's a feng shui to mixtapes (and a fung wah to take you to Foxwoods...), yet this free-form mix taping process (and as we all know, it's all part of the process) has still yielded quite a lineup.

Perhaps it's a product of the wide variety and eclectic mix of tunes on my iPod (read: no shampooing country music) from hip-hop, to jazz, to angry chick music, to melancholy new-wave Brit pop.
-----
T-minus April until TLBR goes international once again. And no, I don't mean Canada.

Or Jersey.

Preliminary negotiations are being held for a trip to Belize. It will be TLBR's first-ever trip to somewhere not European or, at the very least, predominently English-as-a-primary-language-talking-kind-of-spot.

It does, however, fit in with the current-or-former-British-commonwealth category. (put in belizean history here).

A lifelong TLBR confidant is currently "stationed" there as a member of the Peace Corps.

You know, the seven-years-of-college-down-the-drain, might-as-well-join-the-shampooing-Peace Corps sort of thing.

He is also the first person to have a "kick-ass time" in the Peace Corps. Me? If I applied? Shit, I'd be getting limbs lopped off in Darfur. But that's the gift of my buddy. He'd probably manage to make Sierra Leone an offshoot of Studio 54, so you can imagine the additional sunshine he brings to an already warm, semi-Caribbean country. (holy fruity metaphor, Batman.)

Either way, the prospects of the trip down there sure act as an escape from some of the pre-March Madness malarkey.
-----
Back to the mix tape.

But first, an aside: I've been reading more. It might be one of the main reasons I haven't been writing as much.

I'm trying to re-learn the world outside of the dimensions of a basketball court, in case life takes me to another court or another field. (wow, how about that sports metaphor? 100% crotch shampoo...)

But with the full and complete reading of The Economist, catching up on my David Halberstam, my Machiavelli and Sun Tzu, I've gotten used to seeing things with duality and multiplicity. Perhaps it's still the objective reading that the MF-LSAT got me into doing...

What are the facts/theme being presented? How are they slanted? What kinds of words are used to strengthen the point? What is the structure of the story? Is there a hook? If so, does the hook catch anything at the end?

Same goes with music. What are the words used to express the message, while still being artsy? With it blasting on the Bose Noisecancelling headphones (aka - my F-off headset), I just really focused on the lyrics to "Kathy's Song" by S&G.

Imagine being able to create such words...imagine having someone who serves as the muse and the impetus for such poetry. And then imagine having the confidence and fortitude to tell someone those things. It's true beauty.
-----
After a paragraph in which I used "poetry" and "true beauty" within 14 words of each other, how about some football talk?

The Patriots are going to hurt San Diego big-time this weekend.

Good Guys 35, Whale's Vagina 17. And it won't be that close.

The good of it will bring the Super Bowl. The bad of it will bring Super Bowl hype, and a steaming pile of Mercury Morris

I'd rather listen to Donald Rumsfeld verbally piss through a reading of the preamble of the Constitution than listen to that shampooing crack head.
-----
I'll leave you with a joke:

Bill Clinton is walking, alone, on the beach in Martha's Vineyard. He stumbles upon a lamp, which is sticking half-in and half-out of the sand, right on the tide line.

He bends over, picks it up, and rubs it. All of a sudden, a plume of smoke appears and a genie appears.

"You have awoken me from my lamp and I have one last wish to grant. It is you who may ask and it is I who will grant your one singular want.."

Clinton thinks it over for a few moments, and has his answer.

"I wish for world peace. It was something I wished to achieve as President, but never could."

The genie scowls.

"That is too difficult, too difficult. It is impossible, even for a wish-granting genie such as myself."

Clinton is disappointed. So he re-thinks it: "Could you make my wife Hillary the most beautiful woman in the world?"

The genie replies back quickly: "World peace it is!"
-----
Enjoy your day, your mid-week, and soon-to-be weekend.

am, ld

Don't Blow This For Us, Gene!

2008-01-15T12:46:00.000-05:00

Cowbell
Uploaded by danifanny28

Yeah, this is cheating, in terms of posting on the blog and it's the More Cowbell thing.

But it is what it is.

ap,ld

Unhappy Unhappy

2008-01-08T15:13:00.000-05:00

Jim Ed Rice was not elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame today. Again. For the 14the time.

And it's low-down, god-damned shampooing shame.

Pitchers paid the price when they faced Big Jim Rice back in the day, but for some reason, HoF voters don't seem to get that message.

Rice did it with a true power swing. Not with Vitamin B12 and lidocaine shots in his ass.

The fact he played hurt and perhaps a year too long hurt his career average. His power numbers don't seem as massive due to the recent woebegon steroid era.

But he's a Hall of Famer. And despite my 32.625 years of living and maturing...and in light of in my "Failure to Launch" living situation with my bachelors and masters degrees hanging framed on my wall, I still have my 1978 Sports Illustrated-style Jim Rice poster hanging over my bed.

This blows. Bottom line, plain and simple.

So I hope that Big Jim Ed takes a Ricky Vaughn approach to the HoF selection. I hope he walks into whatever committee room that the HoF folks sit in and pulls something similar to the video below.

-----
AP,LD

Happy Happy

2008-01-01T15:20:00.000-05:00

It's the first day of 2008.

The Sox are the reigning World Champions, and the Patriots just completed the first perfect 16-0 regular season, the Celtics are shooting to be just the third team in NBA history to start 27-3, and America's Team is climbing up the polls.

So what is their to bitch and moan and pity about? Good question. I'm sure I'll find something.

But until then, there's plenty of "unfinished business" to take care of. At rough count, 16 in the regular season, then three in America's Seaside Resort, then a few others in selected cities.

Then its onto figuring which fork in the road to take. There's a bevy of other rivers to cross in '08.

But it's not going to be done in the next 100 minutes, hours, or even days. It'll require patience - of which I have none - and vision. It'll require maximum effort. It'l require some major league overachieving. And some luck, too.

Because as Radiohead says, you can try the best you can; the best you can is good enough.

Here's to trying the best I can, everyday all day. See if you all can keep up, too.

AM,LD
-----
oh, just so you all don't think that the good folks at TLBR have become all Tony Robbins, here's some YouTube of Katt Williams (beware - there's dirty words in there, so if you're looking to get fired at work, turn it up).

We Drank a Toast to Innocence; We Drank a Toast to Now

2007-12-17T22:14:00.000-05:00

RIP Dan Fogelberg...

I think Denis Leary said it best in "No Cure For Cancer" (boy, that's tragically ironic):

"Explain it to me. Heavy metal bands on trial because kids commit suicide, what is that about? Judas Priest on trial because my kid bought the records, and he listened to the lyrics, and he go into Satan... ALLALALALALALLALA! Well that's great. That sets a legal precedent. Does that mean I can sue Dan Fogelberg for making me into a pussy in the mid '70s, is that possible, HUH?"

Well, regardless, here's a video tribute to one of TLBR's top five all-time narrative songs - "Same Auld Lang Syne."
-----
Karaoke video.

Subtitled.

(I bet you that you can't make it 45 seconds. Seriously. 45 seconds. Have you ever noticed how shampooing bad karaoke videos are? Or is it a sad commentary that I've done enough karaoke that I've seen my share of the terrible videos? Seriously, this video makes no sense. The brown acid is not even an excuse for how bad it is. Or mild retardation. Or severe. At one point, the whole shampooing thing is just spinning. Is that supposed to be a metaphor for the larger point that seeing an old flame sends you spinning? I remember when I drank two bottles of Mad Dog 20/20 over crushed ice my freshman year, then ordered cheese ravioli. The room was spinning that night, but it had nothing to do with Dan Fogelberg. In fact, if I recall correctly, I kept it down. I fear if someone had put on a CD with "Leader of the Shampooing Band" and how his eyes are growing old I think I'd have wretched as my life would have merely been a poor attempt to imitate the man.)

-----
But this next video's amazing. I mean, do you see how many people bought a ticket to a Dan Fogelberg concert? Are you shitting me? I now know the sound of 20,000 people golf clapping. Ernie Els putting out for a 6-over 78 on the final round of the Byron Nelson gets a louder reception.

And your man has a leather vest and a pony tail. Mr. Sensitive Pony Tail guy, drinking a six-pack in the car with his ex-girlfriend. Chivalry ain't shampooing dead, is it?

-----
Oh but wait, here's what happens when the good folks at the Hallmark Hall of Fame do their karaoke version of the song. I'm waiting for Swoozy Kurtz or Delta Burke to be the one who married her an architect who kept her warm and safe and dry.

-----
No...no...it's get better. Star power. Edward Norton and Rosario Dawson in "Same Auld Lang Syne - A Spike Lee Joint."

I especially think the tone and candor of the song is captured by the scene in which a forlorn Norton looks in his mirror and staring back at him is a broken man. And "fuck you" written in permanent marker in the lower right corner. Then it's Dawson, dancing to that really annoying "Blue Da-ba-dee, Da-ba-da" song at Webster Hall, while the aforementioned forlorn Norton walks the mean streets of the naked city.

-----
Ready for another the Same Auld Sack of Steaming Shit?

Another karaoke video.

Look folks, it's an easy song to follow. Even if you're on acid. Or mildly retarded.

Seriously, why bother taking the time to produce this dreck? I mean, it's one thing if you have something funny or serious, or something seriously funny. But after the hours (or in this case, minutes), are you proud of this work?

Do you send the link to friends? Do you put "See my Dan Fogelberg tribute video" in the subject? Do you call people right after clicking "send" and yell about flying purple paisley dogs so they think you're on acid? Do you purposely misspell a few words to make people think you're mildly retarded?

-----
She so slept with Dan Fogelberg between 1974-77.
-----
This one made no sense, but I like it best. Why? Because about 10 minutes ago, I thought to myself: two things that would just go together swimmingly would be Japanese androgynous anime and soft rock. And voila! C'est-ca.

-----
There are two conceivable explanations for the next video: Acid and mild retardation. But admit it fellas, you have two reasons why you're still watching.

-----
I can't really mock this one all that much, because I think it's an honest-to-goodness Dan Fogelberg fan who probably let "the one" slip away and he's regretted each and every day since.

To chronicle his regret, he made this video tribute to her. It's complete with old photographs and memories of the good old days - from proms to pageants. They're the sort of halcyon days which he recalls fondly. He'll put them all in a YouTube video, and perhaps email the link to his old flame.

Then he's going to visit the mall in Omaha one last time.

Ok, that's all for now. Hope that satisfies you Marko.

yh&os,

RI Born, RI Bred; When I Die, I'll be RI Dead.

2007-12-05T16:32:00.000-05:00

Lather, rinse, repeat

2007-11-28T07:16:00.000-05:00

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.

yh&os,

Baio or Boeheim?

2007-11-26T22:52:00.000-05:00

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 ESPN.com 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+.

yh&os,

New Morning Song

2007-11-22T09:17:00.001-05:00

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
-----
yh&os,

Tis Better to be Thought Weird than Perverted

2007-11-04T20:24:00.000-05:00

(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.

THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS
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, congratulations...you'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.
-----
THE BOSTON RED SOX
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, please...no 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.
-----
THE CELTICS
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.
-----
9-11 CONSPIRACISTS
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.
-----
"THIS THING OF OURS..."
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.
-----
RYAN SHAY
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.

yh&os,

There's Probably Someone Named Ramirez

2007-10-19T10:21:00.000-04:00

Keeping with the "Dane Cook sucks" theme, these SNL commercials are great. Thanks to a long-time TLBR supporter in MKE for this.

MLB hires Boston-native(ish) Dane Cook for "buzz" commercials promoting the playoffs. Who does the NHL hire? Steven Wright? (thanks to longtime supporter Shots for that reference).
-----
Also, the TLBR-GC wrote in this morning about the 7up reference. It comes from old 1980's commercials, when 7up and Sprite were rivals and not owned by the same Dutch conglomerate.

The line "never had it, never will" was in regards to 7up and caffeine. It also maculated into the punchline for jokes such as "What do Mother Teresa and 7up have in common?" Those jokes also reserve you a seat license in Hell.

Later, popular rap artist Snoop Dogg used the line in a song called "Chronic Break" on his platinum album "Doggystyle," in which he informs his listeners that he "treats a bitch like 7up - never have, never will."

We here at TLBR strenously object to the objectification of women, or the use of metaphors involving soft drinks and females.

yh&os,

I'm shipping off to find my wooden leg...

2007-10-19T07:41:00.000-04:00

A few thoughts on a rainy Friday morning that began with the iPod alarm clock waking me up to "I'm Shipping Up to Boston."

- iPod karma in full effect with that tune...Jonathan Papelbon and Josh Beckett proving their immense worth. I think everyone in baseball can now look at Beckett and agree that he is what Dane Cook keeps yelling about in those stupid commercials. And Paps is just filthy. When Beckett can go 8 and hand the ball to the closer, it's like going from Pigpen to Pigpen.

- Oh well, no one's going to Dayton now. D.C. is on the board, with Philly soon to disappear as well. I guess we'll just have to force-feed the coverage with a 23-win season or something silly like that.

- Back to Beckett. Two humorous stories this week, in regards to baseball players and their off-field dalliances. I've always joked with my buddy JJ that if I could do it all over again, I'd learn to hit a curveball. Or throw one that's just a little faster than the 60 mph that my Charlie Hooker crosses the plate at. Or maybe get a second pitch.

But last night, in a "coincedence" of sorts, the Indians were scheduled to have Taylor Hicks or some other American Idol slapdick since the National Anthem. He couldn't make it, so they had Danielle Peck sing.

(the Q-rating of Danielle Peck isn't really hitting home yet, is it? Apparently she's a country singer.)

And she used to date Josh Beckett.

(and, judging by this picture, she still sorta likes him/or the team he plays for. Maybe next time, the Injuns can get motion picture star Matt Damon or famed author Stephen King to throw out the first pitch...ass...)

So the ace's ex is belting out about the bunches of bombs in the air. Classic.

Even more classic was Beckett's reaction to a post-game question about the chick he used to Facebook (I think that's what the kids are calling it these days)

"I don't get paid to make those (shampooing) decisions."

I should make t-shirts with that slogan on the front to wear around the current paycheck provider...

- As for the other ballplayer player, Derek Jeter took some time out of his busy schedule and mourning the anemic performance in the ALDS to swing a few episodes in South Beach.

Jeter and I have a lot in common. He's bi-racial, admittedly handsome, good athlete, filthy stinking rich, and can pick up any chick on the planet. And he has vowels in each of his names.

Ok, so the vowel part is pretty much the extent of it, but you can certainly imagine it, right?

No? Ok.

Moving along here...Jeter bagged two bimbos, took them back to his crib (again, that's what the youth of America are calling it), ordered in Chinese, and played jenga.

Or they had sex. I dunno.

Bottom line: the next morning, a tad bit on the early side, the duo was seen and heard making a stink in the lobby of the hotel. Why? Because they had to pay parking.

So after a long night of jenga (which is what I'm calling it), they don't get breakfast or parking? Not even a bagel and a voucher? No crepe and a pass key? No waffles and a valet?

Attboy, Jetes. Treat 'em like 7up - never have, never will.

- That's about it. I like Schilling in game 6. It could be for the win if Gagne didn't blow.

Happy weekend, all.

yh&os,

Don't Worry, About a Thing

2007-10-16T09:15:00.000-04:00

...Cuz every little thing...is gonna be alright...

Well, at least that's what Bob Marley thinks. First song on the iPod this a.m. A much needed tune from the iPod karma, because last night didn't have me feeling too optimistic.

Don't know how it's gonna turn out, but I do not think it's time to throw Josh Beckett. The series doesn't end tonight. Even with a loss, Beckett throws game 5 for a chance to return to Fenway.

Ok, back to the grind. Book is almost done.

In the meantime, if you've been pining for more TLBR, I invite you to visit the Boston Sports Review site. There's an article on there, about the best sports bars in the Hub, and I must say...the writing bears a striking and uncanny resemblance to our style here.

Enjoy.

yh&os,