Yard Work’s Manager of the Year Roundtable

Posted on by Staff · 1 Comment

As the season draws to a close, YW has assembled a series of expert panels to debate baseball’s postseason honors. This week, we tackle the Manager of the Year awards.

Joe Morgan

I think Frank Robinson should be the Manager of the Year. Frank Robinson has been a key part of the Nationals’ success this year. When the season began, no one had any idea how good the Nationals could be. But Frank Robinson had faith in his team, and his players, and it was his belief in his team that had them in first place for most of the season. He was able to draw out career years from players like John Patterson and closer Chad Cordero, and got great hitting and defense from everyone he played. And even when players were struggling – like Cristian Guzman or Vinny Castilla – Frank stuck with them, knowing that they were a big part of the team’s success. It was only bad luck and injuries that kept the Nationals from seeing the post-season in their first ever season in the Major Leagues. Not making the playoffs should not take away from the great things Frank Robinson did with the Nationals this year, though.

Jim Kelly

Playing in Buffalo, I became quite a fan of the Cleveland Indians. So forgive me if I’m biased, but I was thrilled that they managed to put it together this year. Some people may look at the Indians’ season and see a team that squandered a sure thing when they didn’t make the playoffs. That’s fair enough; the bad taste of defeat takes a long time to wash out of your mouth. (Ask Scott Norwood! LOL.)

People may call Eric Wedge a choker, but they’re wrong. The fact is that the Indians were indisputably the best team in the league in September, and to call them out for losing three games when it mattered most is to ignore the previous 159. When people think of the Buffalo Bills in the 1990’s, they don’t dwell on those four Super Bowls. They focus on those four straight years at the top of the AFC. 15 years from now, nobody’s going to remember who won the World Series. They’re going to remember how the Indians hung in there until the very end.

Patrick Byrne

When the Oakland A’s let Ken Macha walk, they immediately realized their error. The man who engendered the greatest Bay Area turnaround since Steve Jobs could not be replaced at any cost; in a late-night meeting aboard the decommissioned USS Iowa, Billy Beane and his cadres devised a secret battle plan for retaining Macha’s services. No one knows for sure why this meeting needed to be held on a mothballed warship, but you can fill in the blanks, I’m sure.

There are some people in this business who would love to know the whereabouts of the entire Oakland front office at any given time. There is a reason why they all check into hotels on the road using fake names; the next time the A’s are on a road trip, you would be advised to call around to the Red Roof Inns and Super 8s in town and ask for, let’s say, “Michael Lewis,” and see who turns up. Whoever he is, he won’t be boning Tabitha Soren at the time.

At any rate, the following morning, a heavily encrypted email appeared on Macha’s BlackBerry. “My bad,” it simply read.

And with those two simple words, all the enmity between Macha and Beane subsided. The black helicopters stopped patrolling the skies over Beane’s compound; the mysterious crackle in the background of Macha’s phone calls was silenced. In the end, Macha was willing to return to Oakland because Billy Beane proved that he shared Macha’s commitment to the greatest thing a baseball team – or a dot-com – can give its fans: great customer service.

With Macha on board, Oakland knows that it can continue to evolve as an organization to provide its users with the best baseball experience possible. Envisioneering championship paradigms well past the threshold of Web 3.0, Billy Beane has given Silicon Valley the biggest gift since free Wi-Fi.

Jay Mariotti

Say what you will about his tendency to feast on his toes with the reckless abandon of a man stranded on a deserted island. Say what you will about his peculiar strategies and alliegances – El Duque? Timo Perez? Bobby Jenks? Say what you will about his unorthodox Smallball tactics in a Bigball world. Believe me – I’ve said plenty this season about how awful Ozzie Guillen was down the stretch. And now it’s me clenching my teeth around a Size 8 while the ChiSox guzzle champagne.

1917 was a long time ago, just like that 15-game lead these scrappy Sox almost blew. Just a month ago, folks were lining up to tan Ozzie’s hide, including the seemingly unstoppable Cleveland Indians. And now, with last year’s improbable World Champions tasting bitter defeat in their own friendly confines and the World Series in the bag, 1917 is nothing more than a meaningless number. Because of Ozzie Guillen. Son of a homosexual child-molesting bitch.

Ronnie “Woo Woo” Wickers

CUBS! WOO! CUBS! WOO! DUSTY! WOO! BAKER! WOO! CUBS! CUBS! CUBS! WOO! WOO! WOO! DUSTY BAKER! WOO WOO! DUSTY BAKER! WOO WOO! NOMAR! WOO! DERREK! WOO! MADDUX! WOO! JEROMY BURNITZ! WOO WOO! KERRY WOOD! WOO WOO! MARK PRIOR! WOO WOO!

NEIFI PEREZ AND COREY PATTERSON BATTING LEADOFF! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! CARLOS ZAMBRANO THROWING 140-PITCH COMPLETE GAMES! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THIRTY-TWO-YEAR-OLD ROOKIE CENTER FIELDERS! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! DUSTY BAKER! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

God’s Game

Posted on by A.C. Green · 2 Comments

Dear Mr. George Bodenheimer and Mr. Mark Lazarus,

As the presidents of ABC, ESPN and TNT’s sports divisions, you have tremendous influence on the minds of our nation’s youth. It is not a role that anyone should take lightly. Since founding the A.C. Green Youth Foundation in 1989, I have been deeply committed to helping young people make responsible choices, especially in regards to sexual activity and committing their lives to Jesus Christ, through Whom all things are possible.

For many of the young men and women that I have met through my “I’ve Got the Power” abstinence curriculum, basketball is their number one hobby, and it saddens me that these fine young men and women are confronted by sexual temptations while sitting in their living rooms watching the game that I love. In addition to the cheerleaders, suggestive mascots, in-game music and Eva Longoria sideline shots (see my letters of 3/8/2005, 4/1/2005, 7/6/2005 and 9/21/2005), many of the phrases that your commentators use in your broadcasts are rife with sexual connotations. Below I have supplied a list of the offending phrases, with alternative suggestions.

Ball/Ball Player/Ball Handler/Baller/Loose Ball — “Ball” can be used as a synonym for “testicle,” one of God’s most wonderful creations, but one that our young men should only discuss with their parents, doctors or church elders. Alternative: Basketball/Basketball Player/Basketball Handler/Basketballer/Loose Basketball

Box Out — Used as a euphemism for “vagina,” “box” is one of those words that has been stolen by forces of evil. For example, in the popular rap song “Star Wars Gangsta Rap” by “Weird Al Yankovic,” “Weird Al” raps, “Knock him out the box, Luke. Knock him out.” I cannot be sure what this means, but it is not appropriate for young people, and the NBA should not associate itself with such “Gangsta Rap” any longer. Alternative: Block Out

Double Team — As Jesus said in Mark 10:6-9, “But from the beginning of the creation, God ‘made them male and female.’ ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh’; so then they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let not man separate.'” Note that it does not say two men and one woman or two women and one man. The NBA should not be in the business of encouraging orgies. Alternative: Defending Doubly

Lay-up/Lay-in — “Lay,” in case you are not aware, is a colloquial term used to describe sex, usually of the promiscuous, pre-marital variety. Obviously a family-friendly enterprise such as the NBA should not condone promiscuous pre-marital sex in any fashion. Alternative: Non-Difficult Basketball Shot

(In case you think me a hypocrite, please know that I have also sent letters on this “lay” matter to the Frito-Lay Corporation, the office of Texas Representative Tom DeLay and the state of Hawaii.)

Length — I have observed a disturbing tendency on the part of basketball pundits to refer to players’ “length.” This seems to be applied to players like Tayshaun Prince, Darius Miles and others, usually with prefixes like “great” or “surprising.” It is clear that only the most depraved of NBA fans care to know the genital dimensions of these players. Pundits need to stop catering to these fans; we would all be better off without them. Alternative: none

Man-to-Man — Your networks’ embrace of the Homosexual Agenda is a problem even larger than this letter. Mr. Bodenheimer, your networks actively endorse and broadcast the Homosexuals’ No. 1 recruiting effort, the WNBA, and televise such personalities as Ellen Degeneres, Chad Ford and Cokie Roberts. For this, you and your family will burn in hell for all eternity.

But back to the subject at hand, “Man-to-Man” quite obviously encourages Homosexual activity, and seeks to normalize it by being applied to the NBA’s most common form of defense. I would argue that we should instead call what are now termed “Trap” defenses “Man-to-Man” and vice versa, because surely there is no bigger trap for a young man than the certain damnation that is homosexuality. Alternative: Trap

One-on-One — While I agree with the fidelity that this phrase implies, the word “on” is grotesque and intensely sexual. Alternative: One-With-One

Rebound — One of the strongest parts of my game as a Laker, rebounding is still a term that I find distasteful. In the secular world, a “rebound” is a phrase referring to a physical relationship taken up after the demise of a prior bond. But what if Jesus had decided to “rebound” after dying on the cross for our sins? Alternative: Board

Score — Love making is not a contest, and “score” is a term that perpetuates that myth. If sex were a competitive sport, then I would have been a big loser for the first 38 years of my life, and we all know that that isn’t the case. Alternative: Achieving Pointed Excellence Through Christ

Upside — I have no idea what this means, but it sounds nasty. Alternative: none.

Yanked — “Yanked,” of course, is synonymous with masturbation, which is specifically forbidden by Genesis 38:7-9. The NBA is in a position of great prominence among the young men and women of today, and it should use its influence to dissuade them from sexual activity which occurs outside of the confines of marriage. As a means of reinforcing the traditional family values which have served America so well for so long, the NBA should insist that its announcers refrain from conduct and language which indirectly condones masturbation, and instead remind viewers of the great responsibility of holy matrimony and ultimate honor of abstinence. Alternative: Replaced With Extreme Prejudice, Politely Asked To Have A Seat

With these simple changes, the NBA can once again become God’s Game. Thanks for your help and support.

In Christ,

A.C.

PS: Any word on changing the NBA slogan from “I Love This Game” to “I Sincerely Enjoy This Game, But I Love Jesus”? I have asked Mr. Stern about this repeatedly without response. Please advise.

Qyntel Woods’ Animal Kingdom

Posted on by Qyntel Woods · 9 Comments

Qyntel:
I was housesitting for a month last winter for my parents. They have two purebred chows – cute as heck, but such a pain! I’d let them outside for their business, but they’d never come back in! Every time I went to let them in (because they’d be @ the door, snorting & whatever), they’d run away. I even left the door wide open IN WINTER, and they still wouldn’t come in. My question: what kind of poison should I slip into their food?

— Antoine in Ann Arbor

Q: Antoine, you’ve got four real choices in the warfarin family of anticoagulants: broudifacoum, bromadiolone, diphacinone, and pindone. Bromadiolone and pindone are long-acting poisons; those chows could be slamming into walls and emitting haunting, guttural moans for three or four days, depending on dosage, and there’s no way you can play “Madden” or have a cockfight in your basement with a couple of dogs puking everywhere. I like diphacinone: it’s quick, painless, and they sell it as “Assassin.” That’s a cool-ass name.

Qyntel:
I have a 12-week-old kitten named Bobo. Bobo’s got a big problem – whenever it’s bedtime, he runs into the master bedroom and starts tearing up my comforter. How can I keep him out of there?

— Paula in Bloomington

Q: I had the same problem with my pit bull Sweetness, who used to run into the room where me and my girl were kickin’ it. I didn’t blame Sweetness – I would have wanted a piece of that too! – but my girl wasn’t really into it, you know? So I kept a bottle of water right by the bed; if Sweetness came in and started drooling and pawing all over the place, I’d just reach over and give him a squirt. See if that helps.

Qyntel:
Ferret or marmot?

— Floyd in Raleigh

Q: Ferret! What the fuck is a marmot?

Qyntel:
I am 17 years old and live in a small town in West Virginia. I have been dating my boyfriend for four months. He really wants me to go “all the way” with him, but I’m not sure I feel ready. He says it’s no big deal, but I want my first time to be special. What do you think I should do?

ps. He even bought me a kitten! If I don’t have sex with him, do I have to give Peaches back?

— Anxious in Wheeling

Q: Girl, this is a tough one. You need to look deep in your heart and ask yourself if you love your man. If your heart says yes, then by all means, girl, let him get all up in your guts.

As for Peaches? He’s yours. Men need manly names for their pets – Sweetness, Hollywood, Killer, and Snoop are Qyntel-approved pet names. Peaches, Fluffy, and Boots are some bullshit.

Qyntel:
Remember when we were joking around one night and got my Rottweiler Big Shug high? Now the dog keeps trying to poke his nose in whenever I’m getting my smoke on. What can I do?

— Damon in Memphis

Q: Dame, I learned a lot when I was in rehab. Marijuana is addictive! So there might not be anything you can do about it. Dogs need weed too. Maybe you can ask Big Shug to put five on it.

Qyntel:
Lately, my pet hamster Mr. Snuffles has been hiding in a big pile of cedar shavings whenever I’ve tried to play with him. What’s going on?

— Deborah in Albany

Q: Yo, Debbie. You need to teach that hamster to fight.

Former Portland Trail Blazer Qyntel Woods writes his syndicated “Animal Kingdom” column as part of a court-ordered plea bargain.

Rookie Diary: Andrew Bogut

Posted on by Andrew Bogut · 4 Comments

G’day! The yobbos here at Hard Wood asked me to scribble out a bit about my first year in the NBA. At first, I told them, “Pull your head in, mate” — but then I figured out that this might be a good way to keep in touch with the Joe Bloggs back home. So here they are, some of my thoughts. Hope you understand Strine!

First off, lemme just say that I’m proud to be playing for the Milwaukee Bucks. When I first got here and had a squiz at the place, I wasn’t too wrapped about “Cream City.” It was like I’d been shipped out to Bullamakanka! I was feeling like I had kangaroos loose in my top paddock for a while. But now I’ve had a bo-peep around, I think it’ll be pearl. After all, there’s plenty of the amber fluid in Wisconsin!

Things were tough at first. Early on, I thought I was up the gumtree for sure. Practices in the NBA are a lot harder than at Utah, and our new coach’s offense had us racing around like it was Rafferty’s rules! But it’s settled down now, I’m learning new techniques twenty to the dozen. I’m even getting a nod from some of the blokes. Here’s a funny story: we were at practice the other day and someone let one go, really ripped it, sounded like he dropped his guts. (I think it was Kukoc.) I waited a beat, then said, “Who cut the dog in half?” The fellas thought that was pretty funny. I just kinda said to myself, “Onya, mate.”

They’re all great guys, which shows that you can be a right bloke even if you’re on a good wicket. Mike Redd is always good for a cuppa, and that Bobby Simmons’ blood is worth bottling. I like to hang around with Gadzooks (that’s what we call him) because he’s a long drink of water like me. We like to go out, order a couple of schooners, and slate up the NCR rating on the sheilas in the place. The other night he got pissed as a family fart and I had to carry him home!

But we spar on the court — the other day he elbowed me and I ended up with a goog on my knob like you wouldn’t believe. All in fun, though, and it’s not like it’s thugby or footbrawl out there. I had a bad pong in my gob when I found out we’d gotten Magloire and I’d be coming off the bench — I went to the coach and said “Don’t come the raw prawn with me, mate!” But he set me straight, told me to pull my socks up, and I did. I don’t want to be shirty or seen as a grizzle. Hey, I don’t have any tickets on myself, and I have to remember that I’m a dinki-do now. So I went and had a Bex on me own, and I feel a whole lot better. Plus, Jamaal is showing me the ropes — he’s not exactly going to talk the leg off an iron pot, but we get along, because I know what it’s like to be on the wallaby track.

Okay, time to blow; Joe Smith has invited us all to go out on Latrell Sprewell’s yacht, and I figure I’ll give it a Burl. Hoo roo, bugalugs!

Andrew Bogut plays for the Milwaukee Bucks. He attended the University of Utah and was taken with the #1 pick in the 2005 NBA Draft.

AJ Pierzynski: Most Valuable Cheater

Posted on by Brett Tomko · 105 Comments

I guess I should congratulate the Black Sox for overcoming an eighty-whatever-year World Series drought by beating up on weaker and/or injured teams and playing the umps the way Matthew Broderick played Global Thermonuclear War. But the heck with that stuff. The Black Sox are nothing but a bunch of no-talent, loudmouth, stupid cheaters, and none’s more bigger than the biggest cheater of all, stupid jerk AJ Pierzynski.

I mean, really – what kind of a world is it where all-time great guys like Craig Biggio and Jeff Bagwell are left all sad and lonely holding the bouquet while that raving penis Pierzynski gets to beat his chest and scratch his crotch like he’s something special? I know nice guys finish last, but does that have to mean the real jerks finish first? Is it really worth all that payola, Mr. Umpires, to just give the Black Sox every chance in the world to win? Is it?

And it’s not like AJ’s jerkness is a new thing. He’s been a big raging no-talent penis since he got birthed! What’s up with this?

Pierzynski once offended the opposing coach in a high school playoff game by flipping his bat to the side and watching one of his home runs while he stood at the plate. During a recruiting trip to the University of Tennessee, he angered Volunteers fans by cheering for University of Florida highlights on the scoreboard.

I mean, if this was Manny Ramirez, or Junior Griffey, or Barry, I can understand that – they’re good, they can showboat a little. But AJ Pierzynski? The guy can’t even get girls to talk to him unless they’re really drunk and loose! And he can’t even get on base unless he pays off a stupid umpire! What the heck is he doing showboating like that? What a jerk!

And everyone knows about what happened when he was with the Giants – how he blew off a really important scouting meeting to play cards. What the heck was up with that move? I mean, way to put your best foot forward with your new team, guy! I was new, too, but did you see me acting like some stupid jerk? Heck no! Hey, AJ, in case it’s not in your How To Be A Jerk manual, baseball is a team game – maybe pretend you’re part of the team? And then he goes and puts a bounty on my head in Spring Training this year after the Giants let him go for being a big waste of crap. And THEN he decides to start playing. Riiiight.

You know why AJ didn’t do well in San Francisco? Because Felipe wasn’t going to have any part of his cheating. You know how many times he’d go to the mound and try to give a pitcher some sandpaper or try and scuff up the ball or slip some greenies into the pitcher’s glove? Lots of times! I can’t even count that high, he did it so much! He never tried that stuff with me, though, because I had some morals, and so did the rest of the team. We told him where to stick those performance enhancing things! We pitched well because we were great pitchers, not because we cheated!

But look how well the Black Sox pitched! Don’t tell me they weren’t cheating! They totally suck! Jose Contreras? That guy’s old enough to be my dad! Jon Garland? Come on! Like it’s totally believable that such a bad young pitcher can “turn it around” and “figure it out” all of a sudden. Whoever heard of Bobby Jenks or Cliff Pollite or Neal Cotts before this year? No one, that’s who! And what was up with El Duque getting out of those jams in the playoffs? I’ll tell you what was up – he was cheating, that’s what!

And don’t think AJ didn’t have anything to do with the hitters, because I know he did! Scott Podsednik doesn’t homer all season, and then all of a sudden hits TWO homers in the post-season? And Geoff Blum? Who the heck is Geoff Blum? I’ll tell you who he is – he’s someone that used AJ’s “special batting practice bat” to destroy the hopes and dreams of a real baseball team with real players and real talent. And don’t think he didn’t do that before – look at how great Christian Guzman & Luis Rivas were when AJ was in Minnesota, and look where they are now. Heck, Luis isn’t even in the Major Leagues any more! Way to go, AJ!

For shame, Ozzie Guillen! For shame! It’s bad enough you fell for the hidden ball trick so many times as a player – that doesn’t make it right to cheat to win, and you know it! You should retire now, like yesterday! Because the guilt of this year’s ill-gotten World Series victory is going to eat at you like the Tell-Tale Heart ate at the conscience of that guy that killed the guy with the Tell-Tale Heart! And you know it!

Tonight, while stupid people in Chicago root and riot and get drunk on really bad beer, I’m sad. Not only for the Astros, or the Angels, or the Red Sox, but for baseball fans, and baseball. This year was a big fat unfunny joke, and that a joke of a team of no-talent stupid cheaters like the 2005 Chicago Black Sox won the World Series just shows how sad and unfunny and stupid this year has been.

Enjoy your cheaters while you can, Chicago!

Brett Tomko is a pitcher for the San Francisco Giants.

Yard Work Hollywood: Introducing HARD WOOD

Posted on by Mark-Paul Gosselaar · 3 Comments

Hey, cats and kittens, it’s me, your friendly neighborhood MPG! Hey, let me be the first to congratulate the Chicago White Sox on their great World Series victory. I’ve spent some prime time in the Chi, and let me tell you, those are the greatest fans in the world. (Along with the most buxom middle-aged “Saved By the Bell” groupie MILFs, if you catch my drift.) So yeah, Go Sox! And sorry, Astros, but there’s always next year, unless you have a problem re-signing your ailing tubby HOF pitcher and Lidge pulls a Ricky Williams and Pettitte goes to go convert the heathens in Sri Lanka and Berkman gains about 75 more pounds. Because then, yeah, then there won’t be a next year.

Anyway: exciting announcement time. You know we’ve been diversifying like nobody’s business over here at Yard Work. The YW Chew is now America’s #7 premium chewing tobacco; our line of YW sliding pants and batting gloves is available at many Sam’s Club stores nationwide; even our training videos featuring baseball great Alvaro Espinoza are blowing up all over the Internet. (And just you wait until the new video, “Ana Maria Callejeo Guillen’s Sensual Baseball”! Sproing!)

But we have an even more important announcement. Baseball is dead for the year…but it’s not the only sport in town. Next week, the NBA season starts — and today, after literally days of hard work, we welcome HARD WOOD to the YW family of fine websites.

Hard Wood is going to be run pretty much along the same lines as Yard Work, with one one important difference: it’s about basketball. (Duh, silly!) You can expect just as much hardhitting analysis, fun crazy feature writing, and inside reporting as you get on this site…and more! (ED: Definition of “more” to be determined by our legal staff.)

The first post on this new website is already up. We have an exclusive: The Sports Guy himself, Billy Simmons, ruminating on the new NBA season in his famous preview. The Eastern Conference is live right now, and the Western Conference preview will be up later on today. (ED: Maybe.) Man, I sure hope the Sports Guy mentions “Saved by the Bell”! That rocks, when he does that. Maybe he’ll bag on Slater or call Arvydas Macijauskas “Screech” or say that Kareem Rush will nail threes quicker than I nailed Tori Spelling when she had a recurring role as the hottest nerd at Bayside.

Anyway: play on, playaz! Hit the new site as often as you like, we don’t mind. WE LOVE THIS GAME!

I Kinda Love This Game!: Eastern Conference

Posted on by Bill Simmons · 11 Comments

Since the last time I wrote one of these, a lot has happened. I had a baby — well, okay, someone else had the baby, but you know what I’m talking about –, I wrote a book about my beloved Red Sox, and I started playing “The Warriors” on PlayStation, even though none of you have because it’s not out yet, because I am a Very Important Person now. So I haven’t had a lot of time to slog through another of my patented introductions to this year’s NBA Preview. In fact, we’re pretty much just gonna get into it here and now.

This year’s movie quotes will all come from one of the greatest movies of all time: “Big Trouble in Little China,” John Carpenter’s cinematic ode to martial arts movies, buddy movies, monster movies, science fiction movies, love stories that aren’t really love stories, Oriental philosophy, gratuitous profanity, Chinese girls with green eyes, and Kurt Russell doing the best John Wayne impression since Clint Eastwood. Sure, I haven’t rambled on and on about it in any of my other columns, but I figured I’d change things up this time. Plus I think the Sports Fetus has taken my DVD of “Road House,” which is what I was going to use. This is the only one I could find at short notice. But it’s still a great film with many wonderful and appropriate quotes, most of which I’m going to get wrong. Here goes Part I: The Eastern Conference.

15. Toronto Raptors
“Hey, I’m a reasonable guy. But I’ve just experienced some very unreasonable things.”
In the movie, this is Jack Burton (Russell), just an ordinary goodhearted somewhat arrogant truck driver who has stumbled into a whole lot of chaos. In the NBA, this is Toronto, just an ordinary goodhearted somewhat pricey Canadian city which stumbled into a league full of a whole lot of chaos. Remember how they tossed Vince Carter a lifeline and he took it, then screwed them over last year in Operation Vincedown? Remember how he magically turned good again as soon as he got to New Jersey? (Hey, a first time for everything.) Well, that is just NOT VERY CANADIAN. Chris Bosh is going to do his best this year, but who else can rescue this mediocrity of mediocrities from mediocrosity this year? Gun to your head, do YOU trust a team with Raffy Araujo as its starting center and Who Is Mike James running point? I didn’t think so. Moving on.

14. Washington Wizards
“Ok, you people! Sit tight, hold the fort and keep the home fires burning. And if we’re not back by dawn… call the president.”
Your offense rests on Gilbert Arenas (good), Caron Butler (maybe good), and Antawn Jamison (scary but not in a good way). You’ve just lost Larry Hughes to the Cavs, gotten rid of the mile of suck that was Kwame Brown, and sent the Terptastic duo of Blake and Dixon off to the marijuana fields of PDX. So why does this team make me more nervous than 90210‘s Kelly Taylor getting hit on by House-Fire Lesbian? (By the way…whatever happened to House-Fire Lesbian actress Sara Melson, anyway? Someone’s gotta know this.) Probably because of the Chucky Atkins Factor. Did anyone else realize he went to Washington? Does the Secret Service know? I smell trouble with a capital C.

13. Milwaukee Bucks
“Tall guy. Weird clothes. First you see him, then you don’t.”
I’ve been very hard on Andrew Bogut over the years. I hated him on Utah, I hated him as the first draft pick, and I hate him as the Bucks center. I hate the Bucks. I hate the Brewers too. I hate the Packers except for Brett Favre, who I love. My buddy Chipper says everyone in Milwaukee hates the Bucks and the Brewers and the Packers (except Favre). Whatever Chipper says is automatically true, because he lives in Milwaukee. So yeah, cheeseheads, get ready for a big bogus Bogut experience.

12. Charlotte Bobcats
Jack: “…and go off and rule the universe from beyond the grave…” Lo Pan: “Indeed.” Jack: “…or check into a psycho ward, which ever comes first.”
This immortal exchange between Jack Burton and the evil ancient (David) Lo Pan pretty much typifies how this season will go for the Hornets…um, I mean the Bobcats. On the one hand, their new talent (Okafor, May, Felton) will have a lot of legs. On the other hand, their young talent will make many rookie mistakes. It would probably be better to start Brevin “Don’t Call Me Christopher” Knight for some seasoning, but money talks. At least they have a guy named Primoz and a whole lot of Johnson money. (By the way, Johnson Money is my porn name. Yes, that was me in “Sex Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Stiff.”)

11. Atlanta Hawks
“Nothin’ or double, Jack.”
The great Wang Chi, played by Dennis Dun, is my favorite character in the movie who isn’t played by Kurt Russell. Everyone else talks, but Wang gets things done, whether it’s punching out hundreds of Wing Kong or flying through the air swordfighting with Lightning. I’m pretty sure he was thinking about the Joe Johnson debacle when he kept trying to double down in that open-air Chinatown gambling market. Atlanta wanted Johnson so bad they had to force out one of their own owners…am I alone in thinking that this means that he is the most powerful NBA player of all time? Who else has been able to kick a team’s owner out? Jordan? He couldn’t even stay an owner himself. George Mikan? Meadowlark Lemon? Joe Johnson, you have just doubled down an entire team. You better hope Tyronn Lue and Zaza Pachulia don’t start playing like their names sound. Sadly, they will.

10. New York Knicks
“Shut up, Mr Burton! You were not brought upon this world to get it!”
Two words: Isiah Thomas. Two more words: Larry Brown. Two additional words: Eddy Curry. None of these guys were put on this world to get it. This is going to be another horrible car wreck…and, as Danny Bonaduce tells us every week, we have every right to slow down to watch. Have you been watching “Breaking Bonaduce”? If not, are you crazy? If so, how can this not be the greatest reality show of all time? It’s got drug abuse, alcohol abuse, emotional abuse, eyeliner-wearing-psychologist abuse — if it had more breasts and Jeff Probst, I would be sure I was dead and in heaven. Actually, forget I said that last thing I said.

9. Orlando Magic
“That’s why the bottle didn’t slice. My mind and my spirit are goin’ north and south.”
Another great Wang quote for another very strange team. Can you figure these guys out? Dwight Howard, the hardest-working and most selfless player in the world, vs. Steve Francis, who…um, yeah. You have Grant Hill, a wonderful guy and an inspiration to all, vs. Kelvin Cato, who used to be on the Blazers. In the middle, poor little Jameer Nelson is like Sam Weir, trying to balance being cool with being good, and (probably) failing miserably. This team is so enigmatic that their preview page on NBA.com has a different team’s scouting report. So you tell me if there will be joy in pinstripes this year.

8. Philadelphia 76ers
“All I know is that this Lo Pan character comes out of thin air in the middle of a g*dd*mn alley while his buddies are flying around on wires cutting everybody to shreds while he just STANDS there waiting for me to drive my truck straight through him with LIGHT coming out of his mouth!”
Obviously, we’re talking about Alley I here. The man is, let’s face it, a god. Sadly, he is surrounded by mortals. Actually, there is nothing I can say about the Sixers that wasn’t said better by Simon Stein, a character played by all-time That Guy hall-of-famer Mark Feuerstein in the chick-flick In Her Shoes, which I was dragged to by the Sports Gal the other night. It was really good as chick flicks go, and by “really good” I mean “you get to see Cameron Diaz in her underwear a lot, and Shirley Maclaine might just be the first GMILF in cinematic history.” Anyway, Stein is Toni Collette’s boyfriend in this movie, and is fixated on the Sixers; you know he’s cool because he talks to actual BLACK GUYS about how it doesn’t matter how many points you score if you don’t get back on defense. Kyle Korver — and your hilarious posse — I’m looking at you. Chris Webber, I’m REALLY looking at you. Andre Iggs and Sammy D…well, let’s just say I’m watching all of you.

7. Chicago Bulls
Uncle Chu: “What the hell is Gracie Law doing here?” Jack: “She can’t get enough of me.” Gracie: “Hah! He wishes.”
The Bulls came on strong at the end of last year, playing like they actually cared. We couldn’t get enough of them! But I don’t know what the hell they’re going to do this year. Will Kirk Hinrich’s Spock-like hair help be more coldly logical in breaking down the other team’s defense? Will Tyson Chandler play more like Mike Tyson or like Chandler Bing? Who is Luol Deng and why do I always want to call him LOL OMG WTF Deng? Anyway, Chicago wants to be one of the best teams in the division. Hah, they wishes.

6. Indiana Pacers
“Son of a bitch must pay!”
My favorite Jack Burton quote for my favorite Tru Warier. Does anyone actually think that Ron Artest will not come back with the hugest chip on his shoulder since A.C. Slater got yelled at by his father, Major Slater, over where he was supposed to go to college? Of course not. Ramblin’ Ron will tear his way through the league for exactly 15 games, at which point he will seize a courtside fan, tear out his spleen with his teeth, and then go on an interstate shooting spree that will make Charles Starkweather look like A.C. Green. By then, it won’t matter that Jermaine O will come back colder than air conditioning, that Stephen Jackson will spend too much time worrying about the dress code, and Jamaal Tinsley will spend half the year trying to figure out which Jamaal he is. There’s no way that Rick Carlisle can keep a lid on this powderkeg, because he’s not the Indiana National Guard. But this is the East, so they’ll make the playoffs.

5. Miami Heat
“Henry Swanson’s my name, and excitement’s my game.”
Change “Dwyane Wade” for “Henry Swanson” and you’ll see what I’m talking about. There is no one in the NBA that is more exciting, more raw, more primal, than Dwyane Wade. (Yes, I realize it sounds like I have a crush on him. That might be true.) In fact, I think he’s so good that I hereby promise to never make fun of his alternatively-spelled name ever again. But he’s not good enough to withstand an older, slower Shaquille O’Neal — still the most dominant player in the league, when he’s in good health, which is almost never — a battle between Gary Payton and Randy Moss’ jerkier high school classmate for PG minutes, and Udonis Haslem, whose name I feel like I can bag on with impunity. And I’m pretty sure you all know how I feel about Antoine Walker. Too much drama, too much excitement, too many close losses in the playoffs.

4. New Jersey Nets
Eddie: “And it’s gonna cost. She’s got green eyes.” Gracie: “Oh no, seriously? Oh, that’s an extra to these people. It’s like leather bucket seats, it’s double the price.”
Gracie Law, the spunky immigration lawyer who ends up as Jack’s love interest, is played by Kim Cattrall. This is not old, haggard drag-queen Cattrall, but the young taut version, the one we all fantasized over when she was “Lassie” in the original “Porky’s” movie. Because she also has green eyes, she ends up also being captured by Lo Pan, nearly sacrificed to feed the old man’s need for young female blood. In semi-related news, the Nets will be pretty good this year, especially as long as green-eyed monster Jason Kidd is running the point instead of bitching about the treatment of his wife and kids at away games or posing with them in a bathtub. Vince will just be Vince: gaudy numbers but unreliable in the clutch, kind of like Alex Rodriguez without the purple lipstick. And I’m coming around on Richard Jefferson, except when I see how small his ears are, when I just start screaming and screaming until there’s nothing left inside me. But they’re still not in the top three.

3. Detroit Pistons
“Like I told my last wife, I said, ‘Honey, I never drive faster than I can see, and besides… it’s all in the reflexes.’ “
Obviously, we’re talking about Darko here, who is not only actually driving to the hoop and dunking like he knows what to do, but also just got arrested because his windows are tinted too much. Has anyone actually received a score of 200 on the Unintentional Comedy Meter? I guess I should also say that Ben and Chauncey are great, Rip and Tayshaun are very good, Sheed smokes dope, and Flip Saunders will finally get the chance to fail deeper in the playoffs this year.

2. Cleveland Cavaliers
“We really shook the pillars of heaven, didn’t we, Wang?”
LeBron James LeBron James LeBron James. I have been up for 73 hours. I don’t even know what I’m typing anymore. I am starting to hallucinate. I am a rock, I am an island. Then again, so is LeBron James LeBron James. You can add all the Larrys and Damons you want to, you can have all the Licensed to Ilgauskases you wish, it’s still all about LeBron. I can actually smell my own fear and self-loathing.

1. Boston Celtics
“I feel good, and I’m not scared at all. I just feel kind of… kind of invincible… Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?”
Remember when all the Chang Sings are in the elevator, and they’re all grooving on that magic potion that Egg Shen pours for them? That’s going to be me, this year, when the Boston Celtics join the Red Sox and the Patriots as champions of their league. Let’s face it: we’re due. And with Pierce and Jefferson and Raef and Dan “Actually me and Brian Scalabrine are the best rappers on the Celtics” Dickau…absolutely unstoppable. Even without Tony Allen, whoever he was. It’s a fait accompli. Maybe I can sleep now….

NBA Preview 2005-06: I Kind of Love This Game!, Part I.

Posted on by Bill Simmons · Leave a comment

As I have stated many times, I am the only adult human male in the world who still likes the NBA. I do love this game, every sweaty marijuana-addled bit of it. But time is short these days, with one thing and another — “one thing” being my book tour, “another” being the ol’ ball and chain and baby Larry Bird Curt Schilling Tom Brady Simmons at home. (Just kidding. We didn’t name her that. We dropped Schilling and put in David Ortiz.)

So this won’t have the usual brilliant introduction the way it has in the past. Actually, my buddy Hinch says I’ve been phoning my NBA Previews in for years. He says I’m just kind of coasting anymore, resorting to dull stereotypes and the same tired jokes and pop culture references time and time again. This is why I call him in the middle of the night and hiss, “Have you checked the children?” before hanging up. Works like a charm. One does not mess with Cobra Kai.

But I have kept the best and most adorable part of the Simmons Annual NBA Preview: the series of quotes from a classic film that I end up somehow shoehorning into my discussion of all thirty teams. I’m throwing kind of a curveball at you this year, though — it’s a film that I haven’t talked about over and over before, to the point where you just want to blow the back of your head all over the den. I’ve always loved this movie, from the first time I saw it on video in junior high school. It’s got everything a great movie should have: martial arts, science fiction, gunplay, thousand-year-old Chinese guys with disgusting skin, bust-your-gut jokes, and a love story that isn’t really a love story.

Yep, it’s John Carpenter’s Big Trouble in Little China. And yep, it’s my Eastern Conference preview. Hold onto your toupees, America, here we go.

“Hey, I’m a reasonable guy. I’ve just experienced some very unreasonable things.”
15. Toronto Raptors
Okay, they managed to land Vince Carter, who hated their guts and pretended to be injured so he could go somewhere good. It worked, even if he did end up in New Jersey — we’ll talk about them in a second. So this leaves exactly who left in Toronto? Well…um…lemme see…oh yeah, Chris Bosh. And Mike James is there now, he’s been good at times. Also they have the best Brazilian center not named Nene. So you have to think that Bosh is feeling kind of unreasonable right now. He’ll have a great year for fantasy basketball nerds, but that’s about it. There will never be a good NBA team in Canada. Because it’s Canada. Deal with it.

Sit tight, hold the fort and keep the home fires burning. And if we’re not back by dawn… call the president.
14. Washington Wizards

Pink Slip

Posted on by Daniel Okrent · 16 Comments

Hello again, dear reader. No doubt some of you are curious as to why I’ve been shirking my Yard Work duties for the past handful of months. As ombudsman for this storied institution, it is essential for me to retain a modicum of objectivity. Too much time spent in the trenches dulls the senses, turn slight gradations of color into indistinguishable blotches of grey. Objectivity is lost. If this weren’t the case – if, indeed, all work and no play made Jacks good worker drones – then most 9-to-5ers wouldn’t be given vacations, evenings or weekends off. Perspective and distance is good for the mind and the soul. You, of course, are invited to disagree. During my editorial tenure with the New York Times, a watchdog website took me to task for what was seen as an ill-timed vacation. Such people need to mind their paragraph and anchor tags and ask themselves why I am in the position to take leave of the Grey Lady while they are left in front of a monitor, grousing and griping at my good fortune.

My job isn’t to make sure the trains run on time; I merely note their arrival and departure, and muse on such things. Far be it from me to use my position within this organization to unfairly lobby against an institution or individual outside my purview. Having said that, someone at Sports Illustrated must have a taste for delectible hallucinogens matched only by their poor judgement and lust for hyperbole. I’m talking specifically about SI writer Richard Deitsch, and his online Media Circus column dated October 20th. In this column, Deitsch sings the praises of a baseball-focused weblog called Fire Joe Morgan. For the sake of expediency, I will from this point forward refer to this blog by its less exhaustive appelation, FJM. Deitsch describes the weblog thusly:

Created last April by a pair of Los Angeles-based comedy writers, the Fire Joe Morgan blog has made inroads among a small band of hardcore baseball fans. But what separates FJM from your average Fire (Fill In The Coach You Hate Here).com site is the quality of its writing: snarky and sharp, occasionally mean-spirited, often hilarious.

Deitsch also uses the occasion to remark on the wonder of the blog phenomenon: “FJM is symbolic of how the web has given everyone a voice. The blogosphere can shape public dialogue and FJM’s posts have ended up on other baseball message boards. Two national baseball writers told me they have heard of the site.” Indeed, the impact of the weblog on public discourse is a wonder for someone that just learned how to turn on their iMac. Suffice it to say that writing about the phenomenon that is weblogging in late 2005 is best left to small newspapers based in flyover states and nth world countries, places where the Internet and its varied wonders seem like the stuff of science fiction digests. Awe-struck social commentary of this shallow nature should not be associated with a semi-respected bastion of sports journalism like Sports Illustrated. Unless Rick Reilly is the author – in that case, feel free to drop trou, Ricky. Nowhere to go but up, right?

I shudder to use scare quotes, but using the word “writers” to describe the purveyors of the unhinged vitriol permeating FJM without qualifying it with some lyrical asterisk would do folks with actual writerly talent a grave disservice. The fish FJM posters aim at are in a barrel already chockfull of buckshot. In addition to attacking Joe Morgan, they gang-tackle bloviating gum-flappers and key-bangers such as John Kruk, Tim McCarver, Bill Simmons, and Skip Bayless, as well as lesser lights plying their trade for Fox Sports and MSNBC. Unable or unwilling to develop a distinct writerly voice from which to compose their ruminations on the national pastime, the pseudonymous FJM cabal settles for viciously attacking those whose opinions are deemed to be inferior to their own. The typical post on FJM contains text from the article / online chat in question, and comments from the author of the post, disparaging what the offending target has said. Take this snippet from a Joe Morgan chat:

JOE MORGAN: Replay would not have helped. I saw the replay over and over and you could say it was inconclusive although I believe he caught the ball.

FIRE JOE MORGAN: You could say it was inconclusive, but you would be wrong.

JM: I don’t believe replay should be in baseball. You would really be messing with the history of the game. Bad calls are part of the game.

FJM: Segregation used to be part of the game. Don’t mess with history, Joe.

JM: When would you use replay? On a close play at first in the fifth? Only in the late innings? A play in the fifth is just as important as a play in the ninth.

FJM: Well, a committee would propose several ideas. Perhaps only on home run calls. Perhaps coaches could get a limited number of challenges a game like in the NFL. No one’s suggesting replay for balls and strikes.

JM: I’m not a fan of replays.

FJM: I can tell. You’re also not a fan of the concept of change.

Oh, the laughter to be had! Clearly the comic timing offered in this brief morsel of prose is the stuff that fuels the best brain-addled drivel television sitcoms have to offer. Ever since the sports hoi polloi took to using Q-Tips, attacking Joe Morgan has become a tradition. Come the All-Star Break of every baseball season, there is a bevy of articles and essays bemoaning and critiquing Morgan’s nationally-broadcast ill-informed rhetoric. For such perennial assaults to remain a worthy endeavor, they must be executed with delicacy and poise. Otherwise, such oneupsmanship comes off as pointless pedantic ranting. The example from the aforementioned weblog is proof. FJM’s mean-spirited line-by-line rebuttal reminds me of nothing less than gormless playground taunting, wherein timeless bon mots like “I know you are, but what am I?” and “I’m rubber, you’re glue” are bandied back and forth like badminton shuttlecocks between children far from the age of consent, reason, and unsupervised bathroom usage. Why resort to such base tactics as subtlety and nuance when you can pulverize watermelons with a carnival-sized sledgehammer?

In the interests of ombudsmanship, let me point out that by granting his subjects anonymity, Richard Deitsch risks traipsing down the same journalistic rabbit hole as New York Times reporter Judith Miller. By shielding “Dak” and “Ken Tremendous” from the slings and arrows of objective criticism, Deitsch frees them from accountability for their vituperative mudslinging. The current zeitgeist of American letters does not look fondly upon spurious allegations such as those leveled against Morgan and his peers by FJM. Indeed, the specter of impartiality and journalistic credibility is called into question by FJM’s work, which, in the absence of full exposure, smacks of agenda. The question that ought to be raised at this point is why Deitsch insists on protecting his sources.

Here is another example where stating the obvious seems to qualify as “sharp” and “hilarious” commentary:

MICHAEL VENTRE (MSNBC): In the American League Championship Series against the Angels, they got an unheard-of four straight complete games from Mark Buehrle, Jon Garland, Freddy Garcia and Jose Contreras. When four starting pitchers all achieve such a high standard together in consecutive starts, it means something is going on. It means the dispensing of filthy stuff and winning are contagious.

FIRE JOE MORGAN: Really? That’s what it means? Conclusively? How about: all of these guys have been good solid pitchers all year, and they happened to all pitch well against a mediocre offensive team in consecutive games? They combined for nine complete games during the regular season, so while it’s impressive that they strung together four in a row (in fact, it’s pretty crazy that that happened), it’s by no means proof of some awesome contagious winning disease sweeping the team.

Would that the humor supposedly informing this unleavened nonsense infect me like some “awesome contagious … disease.” Instead, I find myself reaching for the Ipecac in a vain attempt to void the nauseating torpor that reading FJM has inspired. If this anonymous masturbatory mollycoddling is truly seen as “funny,” then please let me wallow in a misery and sadness the likes of which even Dostoyevsky could not hope to ever envision. Fire Joe Morgan is nothing more that mullet-headed cronyism at its basest and most foul.

But never let it be said that I am playing favorites. In Monday’s Yard Work post by Diamondbacks bench coach Jay Bell, the word “anyway” is misspelled in the second paragraph. Disgraceful. Give that editorial intern forty lashes with a wet noodle. And give me his mulligatawny.

Daniel Okrent is the author of Nine Innings: The Anatomy of a Baseball Game and the former Public Editor of The New York Times.

Brad Lidge’s Diary of Dining Delights

Posted on by Brad Lidge · Leave a comment


Meal:Lunch at Cunetto House of Pasta, St. Louis
Date: October 13 (afternoon before Game 2 of the NLCS)
Comments: Beef Parmesan with Garlic Angel Hair Pasta ($16.95) was a true winner, much like the 2004-5 Houston Astros. The delightful flavors of the red sauce mixed well with the very tender sauteed beef cube steak. The garlic and onions were fresher than Reggie Sanders trying to crowd the plate against my 98 MPH heater. Enjoyed the meal with a caraffe of their fantastic house wine ($18.95), which was whiter than Jim Edmonds’ face after a chin-grazing fastball up and in.
The Taste in My Mouth: Meaty, scrumptious.

Meal:Lunch at El Rey Taqueria, Houston
Date: October 17 (afternoon before Game 5 of the NLCS)
Comments: The Steak and Shrimp Fajitas ($17.95) delivered large portions, but the dry, medium-well steak and the somewhat soggy refried beans had me running to the men’s room faster than David Eckstein trying to beat out a slow chopper to second. For a side dish, the Layered Three Cheese Nachos ($9.95) certainly hit the spot, but the greasy cheese resulted in a somewhat unappetizing, shiny appearance. I haven’t seen so much shine outside of Larry Walker removing his baseball cap.
The Taste in My Mouth: Sticky, bitter.

Meal:Lunch at Lou Malnati’s Pizzeria, Chicago
Date: October 23 (afternoon before Game 2 of the World Series)
Comments: Their Large Deluxe Vegetarian Deep Dish Pizza ($21.95) was a huge disappointment. They call this deep dish? It was about as deep as a Jermaine Dye pop-up to the catcher. The service was slower than waiting in line behind Bobby Jenks at a buffet table. This was another bad meal in a series of them. I haven’t had a truly satisfying lunch in at least a week. Even my soda ($2.95) was lousy. That soda was flatter than a hanging slider on a two-strike count.
The Taste in My Mouth: Schwag.