So, uh…anyone want to play a little hooky, and meet me at 1st & Ten, or Stan’s, or TNT Sportspage to watch these ball games tomorrow?

UPDATE: Looks like Garner is going with Not-Clemens, hoping for a win today yet having the Rocket ready for tomorrow’s Game 7 if required. Fairly sound strategy, I’d say, but I don’t know diddly about baseball.

It’s taking major freaking restraint not to blog every single pitch of the two championship series going on right now. A 14-innning nail-biter won on a broken-bat blooper up in Beantown. A walk-off bottom-of-the-9th bell-ringing dinger down in Ol’ Swampy.

Tomorrow night, Curt Schilling (!!!) tries to get the BoSox to a one-game Bronx Steel Cage Death Match on Wednesday night against the hated damned Yankees. And if he does do that, well, you get to kick off your baseball day watching (probably) Clemens try to take Houston to the World Serious for the first time ever. Oh, dear - I’m so blessed to be an American.

Football’s nice and all, but if this doesn’t fire you up to the point of complete and total distraction…check your underwear drawer and make sure it’s not full of lace.

Remember how I said I was going to try to find some live games to play in? Well, last night, one found me. Unfortunately for me, it was a night, and a game, that is best forgotten. But most likely, I’ll be replaying it over and over and over in the Bijou of my mind. Because, my friends, it was a night of Hollywood stars, Shiners, dancing girls, cards, entourages, and asinine play from Your Host.
Read the rest of this entry »

Ummm…in case you hadn’t noticed, just ignore anyting I might have to say about baseball:

That means the BoSox get to one-two the winner of the MIN-NYY series with Schilling and Pedro. That’s a tough combo. Bodes well for a BoSox World Serious appearance.

Else, why would they schedule both playoff games for 7PM CT tonight? Isn’t the idea to get MORE people watching baseball?

Kooky Krystal Ball Forecast for the debates: ah, who gives a crap? The only thing anyone who’ll be watching wants is one small slip-up from the other guy that they can go and write reams of BS or flap their jaws on the 4mm cable news shows. If you don’t know who you’re voting for by now, you’ve got a screw loose somewhere. I don’t buy all this agonized leaning 65%, on the one hand, no good choice, on the fence baloney. You just want some attention and / or someone to argue with cuz you’re a political geek. Take up the piano or something…make yourself useful. Write a blog. [oops - bad example]

And if you aren’t voting for Bush and Western Civilization and the American Way, you’ve got more than a few screws loose. Anyone that can vote for the guy who thinks 9/11 is a nuisance, like whores on Harry Hines and Mafioso running numbers rackets, is two bubbles off level. Go ask the jihadis what they think of stem cells and improved health care and improved diplomatic relations with Ye Olde Europe. Pack some heat, so you have a chance to get out alive, infidel.

Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees. Anybody but the Yankees.

Anybody but the Yankees.

May A-Rod go 0-for-ALCS, make 2 errors in every game, and be the Supreme Goat for all of NYC and their bandwagon fans*:

“Without a question, it was a huge blessing in disguise,” Rodriguez said Monday as New York prepared to face Boston in the AL championship series. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be in pinstripes.”
[...]
“It feels like it was five to 10 years ago,” Rodriguez said. “I don’t really care what Red Sox fans are thinking.”

Eff off, you money-grubbing, whiny toad. Go, Sox — make Ed happy.

* I will not begrudge you your valid fan rights if you grew up the Big Apple. That’s right and proper, no matter how sick and tired I am of your “we deserve it” nature.

P.S. Congratulations, Astros…[sigh]

P.P.S. About the one and only reason to hate the playoffs: commercials for st00p1d teevee shows that I will never, not in a million years, watch.

P.P.P.S. I am so very sorry for jinxing the Sox that are Crimson. I swear I will do my absolute best not to post another thing until the World Serious.

P.P.P.P.S. Since they are too ashamed of themselves to put it on their website, can we kill Fox’s embarassing Scooter the Animated Baseball? If there’s a single soul watching that needs to have a curveball explained to them by cartoons, they are not American and/or they don’t need to know since there is no good they can do with it.

A spooky account of Ken Caminiti’s last day alive, from Newsday:

As the two drove around Brooklyn, Caminiti’s conversation jumped to a number of issues - “love, life and everything,” as Silva put it. Caminiti talked about how his three young daughters meant the world to him, how much he loved his father, how drugs and alcohol had damaged his life and how he had disappointed so many people, Silva said.

Like so many others, I just enjoyed watching Caminiti play baseball. I enjoyed reading his interviews and quotes in the paper. It was sad to hear him admit out loud his steroid usage and his cocaine addiction a few years back. I had high hopes when he joined the Rangers in the twilight of his career, knowing what he had done. I was ever the fan-boy, hoping that he would fade out here in a Ranger uni, and be able to teach the young kids that we were gathering even then. Wasn’t to be, though. And I was shocked to high, holy hell when I read about his death on Monday. Just blew me away. There’s nothing funny or ironic or jokey about it, not at all, not with three little girls who won’t have a daddy to raise them. It’s just a crying damn shame — to be on top of the world — NL MVP 8 short years ago — and to throw it all away for the dope. Very sad.

Found it at the Rangers Blog…

Egad…the Angels got swept in the Division series. That means the BoSox get to one-two the winner of the MIN-NYY series with Schilling and Pedro. That’s a tough combo. Bodes well for a BoSox World Serious appearance. Which bodes ill for workplace productivity in New England for the next two weeks.

Oh, and thanks for doing the AL West proud, Angels…

How did those debates go? Did anybody change their mind? Did anybody make up their mind? That’s what I figured.

Anyway, three days till the end of the baseball season. Went to the final home game yesterday with the kid. It was nice — small crowd that loved their Rangers, a win by a lineup full of spare parts, ate just about everything on offer, superb field level seats from a friend, the “victory lap” by all the players after the game was over. It’s been a wacky season for the Rangers, and I’m glad I got to see parts of it. I didn’t follow as closely as I once would have — shame on me, because there were a lot of good stories here. But the big black mark of The Chair in Oakland takes a lot of shine off of it, not least because it wiped out the bullpen during the stretch run. If that hadn’t happened, I believe we’d still be in there slugging it out with the A’s and Halos, and maybe even on top of the West. Even with that, though, there’s gotta be nothing but a good feeling about 2005. The season-long trial of all these peach-fuzz-faced kids will prove out. Tex, Hank and Michael make up 3 parts of what will be a top-notch infield for years to come. There’s the question of what to do with Soriano, and how to put together the outfield (Mench, Nix, ?). The rotation is a question, but that’s an annual question. If nothing else, Buck has shown that he can ignore that to a degree, and concentrate on the bullpen — which should collectively get the Rangers MVP this year. I’d still like to see a Top Dog fireballer with a T on his cap, but I’d like it even more if he were one of our home-grown own. Ach, pitchers!

The feeling’s mutual, boys.

I guess now I should designate a team to root for in the playoffs. I reckon the Red Sox will be it, since I can’t cheer for a division rival, the Twins play inside a football dome on Astroturf, and the Yankees are the Yankees…anybody but the Yankees. I’m getting sick of the Red Sox and their whining and their arms race with the Yankees and their psycho fans, but at least they’re good fans (even if they are psycho.) The NL is a total blank for me. Cubs? The Bandwagoneers’ Favorite, so count me out. Astros? Double-meh — if the Rangers aren’t in the playoff, what’s the point of the ‘Stros being there? Atlanta will do their annual El Foldo. I reckon I should be pulling for a good middle America team like the Cardinals, so they’ll be my pick. There you go…STL v BOS in the WS.

It’ll probably be something hideous, like Twins - Atlanta, and I’ll miss hockey even more.

The Brobdingnagian Tuna and the Pokes did it again last night. Ho-hum. This is becoming routine and boring. A rivalry only works when there’s some level of competitiveness. The only thing that made me look up from the book I was reading was the wacky Richie Anderson half-back option pass to Terry Glenn.

Sorry, Bill…I just can’t abide by that bleach job of yours.

OK, the little Rangers are coming on in 10 minutes. The next SOB that wants to stand on the front porch and chat about the weather and fish is gonna get The Very Rude Fat Guy treatment. Anaheim finally comes through and whips the Athuletics, so we can move back to 2 games out. Which, of course, is still even with the damn Angels. Just curl up and die already, OK, Mariners? You’re 30 damn games out of it. Just give it up, m’kay? FWIW, Revo deconstructs the fallout, and I do mean fallout, of the chair-throwing crap in Oakland.

The kid and I are going to Thursday’s home finale — it’s her birthday present (a day with me - gak…what a letdown, huh?). After two damn weeks of waffling about having to slice up cadavers, she finally got the gumption to ask her perfesser for permission to change days, and he said yes (of course…who’s he think he’s working for anyway?) It’s a day game, against the hated Angels of California. For all my bitching and moaning about schedule makers in MLB, this year they have managed to put together some compelling end-of-the-season matchups. Me, I think they just blundered into it, but I’ll sure take it.

The TFG Heiress & I have been going to games since she was knee-high to a grasshopper, all the way back to the old aluminum-bleacher-seat, $2-beer / $1-hot dog, “go get them empty beer cups for the house” Arlington Stadium days. She’s got a signed Pudge Rodriguez rookie card. She was raised in the Great Game. But she was in Iowa during the champeenship years, so we never got to see a pennant chase. I reckon they’ll either have a chance to cinch on Thursday, or they’ll be totally out of it by then. As improbable as this season has been, I’m leaning towards the former, but I’m worried that my leaning will jinx them and tilt them toward the latter. Bottom line, though — I’m going with my kid to a game that could mean something in September, and that’s something I’ve been waiting for for a LOOOOOONG time.

TOP OF 5 UPDATE: Hometown 9 down 4-2. OK, I officially don’t care how the stRangers finish up, and I’m officially happy with what they’ve accomplished this year, and I’m officially looking forward to being a force to be reckoned with in naught-5. OK? Hear that, Baseball Gods? I DON’T CARE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Here, I’ll turn the satellite to la musica. OK? Happy? Fine, I’ll fire up some poker, too. And I’ll delete the Yahoo! Scores bookmark. Bastards.

THERE’S STILL RADIO! UPDATE: Over. Win. 2 games back. RA Dickey has sterling relief outing. Kevin Mench, a man with a head the size of a dorm-room refrigerator, sacs in the winner. One more against the dead-dog Mariners (who are not playing to form and are putting up a fight. Bastards!)

Speaking of the Golf, if you’re not watching the Ryder Cup, we’re going to revoke your fat, middle-aged white guy credentials (that means you won’t be able to go buy a $50K station-wagon with 4WD that will never see a blacktop, much less a dirt road.) The USA is getting pounded by the Rest of the World. We have to win something like every match today to climb out of the hole that the gajillionaires dug for themselves over the last two days.

I mainly feel sorry for Texas good ol’ boy Hal “Gator” Sutton. I just don’t think it’s possible to assemble a “team” for golf from the American PGA dudes. You got Tiger Woods, who’s in about as deep a funk as the World’s Greatest Golfer can get. You got Phil Mickelson a) switching clubs the week before the Cup, b) not practicing with the team, and c) just being in general a dorkus (but I’d switch places with him in a heartbeat, as long as I didn’t have to be him.) There are certainly some good guys in there, and those two are actually decent guys from what I can gather. I just don’t think they gots any fire.

Still and all, today’s the day for the singles, which is where you would think the Americans would shine. Hopefully, Halimony gave them a barn-burner speech last night (or maybe threw some drivers and wedges in the showers), and they’ll all come out with their “A” game and whip the Euros. That would be fun. Better than the Cowboy game, anyway.

Just go kick their asses, Gator.

My sincere apologies to Network Associates Coliseum — they already have the Bad News Bears bullpen:

Hey, Boilermaker! The waferboard is falling in your beer again!

Of course, looking at all the fans wearing empty-seat suits on the teevee in the middle of a dang pennant race, I can understand their cheapness. If it’s any help, I know a couple of old boys who got some experience building roofs this summer, if yall’re in need of qualified help.

Good gravy. I go out of town for a couple of days, and the damn Rangers bullpen turns into WWE. I reckon young Mr. Francisco is pretty much finished in the bigs. There’s no excuse for throwing furniture into the crowd, no matter how bad you’re getting heckled. I can’t think of more than a few things that would get you bloody enough to do something that crazy, and all of those would require wading through everybody between me and thee to make it up close and personal — in other words, not throwing a dang chair. I’m still intrigued by Doug Brocail getting all lathered up. I don’t think I’ve read 20 words from that guy all year.

On the flip side, I’ll never believe that this guy was talking nothing but “Who’s gonna take the loss?”

On another hand, can’t yall afford a real bullpen?

Being contrary, what kind of man ducks the flying folding chair so his wife can take it on the nose? I guess the kind that’s having retirement dreams from lawsuits.

And over here, you’ve got the umpires agreeing with Bucky-boy that they knew he’d asked for more security down by the bullpen last night. So, again…can’t yall afford a few sheets of plywood to make up at least a Bad News Bear bullpen, maybe with some chain-link? It’s not like Oakland has a great rep as a friendly joint to begin with. I’m sure you could divert some of that on-field box seat money to the Home Depot. I’m just sayin’, is all…

Still, no excuse…suspend him or fine him or both, or hell, even release (and see how long he lasts on the open market…Steve Howe can probably give you some idea of the untouchability of a pitcher.) Baseball needs all the help it can get, and chunking chairs just can’t be a part of the game, even if you’re a dumb rook.

P.S. I blame George Bush and the Republicans for dividing America into Haves and Have-Nots. You’ll note that the Texas Rangers, Bush’s old team, swindled the taxpayers of Arlington out of enough money to build a proper bullpen.

P.P.S. Get a load of this “journalist” — he finds a way to bitch about security at the press gate in his column. Yeesh.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPS: Damn, my eyes are NOT what they used to be. I completely missed the Sportsline Swimsuit Arena. Look! A Redheaded Cowgirl!

I’m off to my one and only Fantasy Football draft of this year — the ancient (twelfth year, it turns out) Stimey Fantasy Football League, which started back in the days of pen and paper and highlighters (eg., I was the only one with a computer, much less the interweb). As I have learned, nobody but yourself cares about your dumb fantasy team, so don’t wait up expecting any posts about my Gil Brandt-like draft brilliance, or gnashing of teeth over who to start in Week 14. Besides, I’ve glanced at one (1) cheat sheet, and that was very briefly over the fine lasagna and Italian salad lunch special at Campisi’s, so I’m pretty much drafting blind, and I don’t really care, anyway.

The only interesting thing about this league is that it’s all a bunch of lawyers, and they’re all 100% correct, all the time, about everything. And they’re all richer than Scrooge McDuck. Yet for some inexplicable reason, the poor schlub with two jobs gets to be the commissioner. Guess how tedious this gets. I should share with you all the three week long email exchange trying to get the draft date set. Ummm…no.

NB: To all the whiny babies in the league who sat and whined about my poker blogging for several hours tonight during the draft, there are two ways to stop it:
1) sponsor my blog @ $500 per month (the defense attornies)
2) get me some government contracts @ $500K per annum (the prosecutors)
Outside of that, you can all just go straight to aitch-eee-double-toothpicks and whine to Satan.