The Diamond Conspiracies

Rickay, Don't Do Me Like Dat

2011-02-24T22:48:00.003-05:00

So, who's gonna be the opening day starter for the Jays? We shall see, but perchance could it be? The devilish twirls of Ricky Romero shall pass unto thee? But hark, do not count his praises so. It could be to an untimely end that his talents turn to woe.

For lately has a craze emerged, quite rankled and foolishly lewd. Strapping bands of rubber upon one's protruding limbs of stew. All among the merry folk they dished out dollars quick. Powerbalance had proclaimed they were kings of the public.

They sold their wares like snake oil merchants from the old wild west of yore. "Just slip me on and then you'll see," I'll elevate your bore. The honeydew mack will uncurupt all sporting feats of strength. Irie waves of concentrate will elongate your length.

That was the promise sprung upon the spending Californians. They tried so hard to believe, it made the failin' more enormian. So Ricky, when they tell you that your rubber don't have no worth. Please don't take it so hard that you pitch 'em in the dirt.

Ploesser Pleasure

2010-11-15T16:41:00.004-05:00

I've been a fan of Randy Ploesser since he popped up in Slap's One In a Million a few years back and promptly got snatched up by Birdhouse. Much like Element, Birdhouse is a bit of a coverage vortex, so him jumping ship to The High 5 is probably a good thing for those of us on the prowl for some more of the St. Louis native. Case in point, a banger web clip like this that could easily be a stand out video part.

I don't know much about The High 5, but I was tickled with nostalgia at them adopting the NBC Special Presentation animation for their intro. There's a half dozen well known spots in this clip that he managed to barge in a way I've never seen before. A gimmick-free creative eye is always refreshing and his bag of tricks isn't too shabby either. Thumbs up yer butt, Randy.

Go Ahead And Let That Door Hit Your Rump On The Way Out

2010-11-12T16:35:00.004-05:00

Edwin Encarnacion was claimed off waivers by the Oakland A's today. Although this shouldn't surprise anyone, his stay in Toronto always seemed pretty tenuous, my god am I glad to see him go. I'll miss Jerry Howarth and Alan Ashby riding him for being lazier than even Alex Rios, but that's about all I'll miss. He missed the boat on getting in on those Hustle and Heart commercials (wouldn't that have been deliciously ironic?). He brought some decent power numbers to Toronto along with a somewhat hefty salary, but that came with a wretched glove and he conveniently left his OBP back in Cincinnati. Barring a Zach Stewart breakout, that trade for Scott Rolen will still haunt me. Good riddance.

Cleansing My Sinz

2010-10-26T16:32:00.003-04:00

If you've read this blog before, you probably know I have a passion for the Lord. By Lord I mean Jesus, and by Jesus I mean Jesus Fernandez. Here's a clip from another Spanish scene video I'd never seen that's also pleasantly heavy on the Daniel Lebron action.

Like the other Jesus' sensual exploration of Mary Magdalene's naughty bits, Jesus Fernandez's fakie 5-0 to fakie nosegrinds are the only thing that bring his divinity into question. That's not a trick, that's a dutti dance.

Vaya Con Dios

2010-10-22T22:12:00.004-04:00

Farewell dear Yankerinos. How I'll miss you so. Put your sweet sweet post-season dreams to bed for another season and lay in restless slumber as your roster grows grey.

Hose me down with ginger ale as a single tear trickles down Derek Jeter's Gilette cropped cheek. Although I'd rather have such goings-ons occur through the hand of a certain bird species, much respect to the Rangers of Texas for slaying the beast that is the New York Yankees. With only one quarter of the payroll the Yankees through around this year, Texas got 'er done with the hit and run. Cliff Lee makes me pee. Vlad Guerrero deserved the sombrero. Ron Washington endorses Cock Shan.

I must admit to conflicting feelings at the prospect of a Giants/Rangers World Series dynamo showdown. You kind of win either way. Seeing either a franchise or a city getting their first championship is exciting business.

Philadelphia needs to go though. Fond memories of past Blue Jays pitchers aside, I can't root for the Yankees of the NL. Disgusting business.

In conclusion, baseball needs more of this:

Wild locks and marijuana fines baby, that's what I wanna see.

Kickers

2010-09-08T00:14:00.004-04:00

At the risk of becoming a youtube propagator insulator masturbator, I came across this little ol' Spike Jonze documentary about teenage Texan bullriders by way of Etnies' omega-delicious 90's throwback bizness. I thought it was pretty interesting. Maybe you will too? Maybe you're a turd who likes to spoon J-Wad and listen to Lenny Kravitz? That's between you and your god.

Spanish Fly Is Always On My Shopping List

2010-09-06T21:12:00.004-04:00

Peep peep. Never saw this one before. Javi and Jesus share a part in this Spanish scene vid and do it up proper. Ledges, lines, pushing. "That's what I like to see!" Javi pulls off a couple of the more tolerable looking ledge to manual tricks and Jesus somehow makes a switch noseslide kickflip out look good.

Chavs? Neds? Where The Fuck Am I?

2010-09-01T03:18:00.004-04:00

Sweet mongoloidism makes my ticker boom.

A Good Spot To Have Lunch

2010-08-30T14:49:00.004-04:00

This is SE Hinton in 1968 after she wrote the Outsiders.

This is Bryan Herman blasting over a picnic table off flat.

What do these two things have in common? I guess you could try and make some sort of connection between an author who popped out a couple books and pretty much just chilled and a skateboarder who seems to have a similarly irie work ethic. Really though, this is about Emerica's new video Stay Gold.

I'm gonna go ahead and claim Bryan Herman's first part in the video is the greatest human achievement in the last thousand years. Yes, even greater than the invention of the printing press, more earth shattering than Isaac Newton's bangers, more stupendous than the creation of the Human Centipede. So, why am I so excited about a bunch of lines on picnic tables in a baby bottom smooth california schoolyard? Didn't picnic tables fall out of fashion after Daewon OD'd on em and his setups started to resemble something out of a lego kit?

To answer that question: fuck no. If there's anything I wanna see, it's gnarlers with flavour getting down with some gimmick free ledge skating that would've blown doors in '96. I can hear you saying, "C'mon guy, Herman's just cruising some perfect tables. I'd like to see him come to Hoboken and flex on my spots covered with syringes and human feces." Well, shit, your crusty spot might look pretty thrilling if you get the lighting just so, but really you're just doing a 50-50 that my grandma could do switch.

Now, picnic tables. There are no illusions about them. Yes, those california tables are low. They are also wide. Tricks over them is no small feat. You can't deceive the viewer with a picnic table. They are like a unit of measurement. The tables Herman is skating are the same ones that Keenan switch flipped and Kareem 360 flip smith-smeared. You know what you're dealing with. Have you ever been to a famous handrail only to find out it's knee high? Did you feel cheated that the death lens made it look 10 feet tall? The tables don't lie. They are as constant as the stars. I take some small comfort in knowing that a trick over a table off flat will always be some kind of benchmark in that trick's history.

It probably speaks volumes that some lines Herman probably filmed in a few days eclipsed anything else in the video for me, but other gems abound. Brandon Westgate crushes with a Huf Barley speed barrage, Spanky cries for the children, and it's beyond me how Reynold's knees are still functional.

Yes Way Jose

2010-08-24T01:14:00.004-04:00

So, way back in May, I foolishly claimed that Jose Bautista couldn't possibly keep up his power at the unprecedented rate he was going. Of course we all know that was a bunch of baloney. That fool sped up and hasn't slowed down one bit.

Amid groundless speculation on possible steroid use, he passed the 40 home run mark today with mucho swagger and gusto. Giving Ivan "Chevy" Nova a little taste of "don't fuck with me" in his major league debut, a half assed bench clearer followed his first tater of the day, which he followed up on later.

As his knock knees continue to knock them out, George Bell's Jays season record of 47 doesn't seem too far fetched with over a month left to go. My humble apologies for doubting your prowess Mr. Bautista (I was right about Vernon though).

Cut The Cheese (Out of Your Diet)

2010-08-06T13:36:00.005-04:00

As far as aging skater post-drug comebacks go, I guess Guy Mariano set the bar pretty high. These days pools of drool are piling up in anticipation for a Gino part in the next Chocolate video. However, one dude you don't hear that much about who's back from the brink is Lavar.

Peep this recent footy:

Trife filming, zero crap filter, and some weird switch noseslide vortex aside, it's obvious his ability is still there. The serious library gap bangers at the end remind me of him shutting down hubba hideout in a single day. Over the past decade you'd see the occasional burgered-out Affiliate clip pop up every once in a while that would make you cringe a little, but this shit gives me some faith for what he can put out.

So, why hasn't he been welcomed back and celebrated the same way Guy was? Was it a personality thing? Maybe he never had the same kind of familia business Girl/Choc has going on? All I know is that I like lines. The longer the better. I wanna see fools push and skate ledges, none of this clip-clip bang-bang nonsense. Gimme some room to breathe. That's what Lavar has always done with absurd consistency, and that's why I think he deserves some breaks. One can dream of some kind of McBride brother reunion at DGK, but in the meantime I hope Turf does him right.

Filthy Fathers

2010-08-02T15:25:00.003-04:00

Raddy Daddy-ism is pervasive in the four wheeled walk of life. Whether you're being coddled by Steve Caballero's taco neck, or Old Man Olsen's rapid reality realizations of growing up fast, it's all groovy baby.

Neptune is getting dry.

Hey Heather, OMG I Double Dare You!

2010-07-26T13:56:00.002-04:00

Girl in white: "Can you see me? You can? OMG I'm gonna do it. Here I go! OOOOMMMMMGGGGGGG I totally did it! Daddy's gonna kill me."

Sergio's Shenanigans

2010-05-23T02:42:00.004-04:00

Of course the game is better known as "the Buckner Game". Game 6, 1986. However, that date in October also marked an occasion of unprecedented daring and flawless execution. Say what you will about sloppy suburbanites running onto the field at a home opener, but you have to admire the skill and dedication required to parachute into Shea Stadium in the middle of a World Series game. You can read about Mike Sergio's exploits here or peep the footy, son.

The Rich Stuff

2010-05-21T13:52:00.004-04:00

The fact that there are filmers sitting on stacks of footage from the mid-90's seems almost criminal. The unused gems from Socrates' vault in the World box set were stellar, the NY Revisited vids are orgasmic, and Brad Johnson assembled a whole vid's worth of mostly unused clips from SF's heyday. I certainly hope this sparks a trend for putting out old footage, cause 90's fetishists are frothing at the mouth to get at this shit.

What do you get in Brad Johnson's vid? Pier 7 lines up the wazoo, a full Lee Smith part that I can only guess was supposed to be used in the Menace video, Lennie Kirk droppin in on hella rails, Trilogy scraps, a young Welsh grinding a sizeable handrail, and lots of clips of all the Gs that you can't get enough of. I think Lavar got more lines in a day than most people got in a career.

Download the vid here, I really think you should:

http://www.megaupload.com/?d=AQDXNZ7H

Shakin That Milk

2010-05-19T22:12:00.002-04:00

This song is kinda dirty, yo.

That shit got some smarm to it.

Turgid Movies # 1

2010-05-18T22:26:00.009-04:00

You won't catch me riding wholesome much these days. Most of Hollywood's bloat chokes out anything good in what's pumped out of the studio colons. Ah, but once upon a time, the studio landscape was peppered with gems. I don't need to tell you that TCM is the greatest television station in North America. So, let's take a trip down dusty old memory lane and delve into yesterday.

You are a 10 year old boy. The year is 1959. You walk across the town hall courtyard of a small Midwestern burgh hurriedly on a sunny summer afternoon. You keep looking over your shoulder half terrified at the thought of seeing your mother behind you. You'd pilfered some coins out of her change purse while she was talking on the phone in the kitchen. You could tell it was gonna be one of those conversations that seemed to last forever and you took advantage of the situation. You could always tell right away you were in for a doozy because her chat would start with a high-pitched cutting "HIIIIIIII, NAAAAAAAAANNNCCYYYYYYYY!!!"

You make a beeline for the movie theater. You'd hesitated at first to go through with it, you'd never stolen from her purse before. It seemed to break some moral code you held close to your prepubescent heart, but you went through with it anyways. You are so dedicated to the eternal celluloid battle between cowboys, indians, sheriffs, and villains, that you were driven to a life of crime to satiate your constant desire for western cinematic repose.

Like a junkie that can't escape the thought, your whole world is the wild west. Any chance you get you are right there in the theater, front and center, six rows back. And that's right where you ended up on this bright afternoon, in the dark cool of dim light flickering through cigarette smoke.

The curtains rise and the picture starts. Titles fall on a rocky landscape and your complete attention is absorbed into the movie.

The story has it's share of twists, but you readily gather that Randolph Scott's harsh good guy is bringing in this Billy John character to get hanged. Scott plays Ben Brigade, the hard nosed bounty hunter that tries to play it straight despite the fact he's put his fair share of men to the rope. James Coburn and Pernell Roberts are along for the ride to get amnesty for helping bring Billy John in, and the ever lech-eyed Lee Van Cleef plays Billy John's brother who is in hot pursuit. Karen Steele provides the blonde sass when her husband is killed by Mescalero Indians and her bod is thoroughly coveted by all males in attendance.

You notice the distinct otherness of the Indians. Always looming in the distance, always waiting in the wings, they are presented as a constant threat. When you hear that drum beating in the distance you grab your women and circle the wagons. Your 10 year old mind is used to such a portrayal of Indians. The only time you ever get to see em are in cowboy pictures and on your Bob Feller baseball card. You think to yourself that it's kind of funny you never get a cowboy picture from an Indian's side of the story.

Your grade 5 education has yet to present you with situational ethics, but being a student of western pictures you're waist deep in the stuff without even realizing it. You're well aware that one of the most delicious things a good western can present, even in a half hour of Gunsmoke, is a blur in the line between right and wrong that makes you question your own value system. Contrasting models of greed and the absence of greed clash delightfully as the plight of Billy John's bounty plays out before your eyes.

You walk out of the theater into the still bright day as your eyes struggle to adjust. You have gorged your brain on cowboys and the outside world looks better because of it. It feels as if you're walking on a cloud, floating above the dull realities of the modern world when less than a hundred years ago, cowboys could have been shooting it out right where you're standing. The mere thought of the past lights up your face like a bulb ... that is ... until you remember the grim spectre of your mother. At this very moment she could be waiting to paddle your bottom as soon as you step in the door.

Alas, it is not the year 1959. I don't have a cocktail party to go to and there aren't any tailfins in my driveway. It is the future, and in the spirit of the future and the internet, here are some links for Ride Lonesome should you care to partake:

http://rapidshare.com/files/276077960/Lonesome_JBd.part1.rar

http://rapidshare.com/files/276089794/Lonesome_JBd.part2.rar

http://rapidshare.com/files/276100379/Lonesome_JBd.part3.rar

http://rapidshare.com/files/276175963/Lonesome_JBd.part4.rar

http://rapidshare.com/files/276183596/Lonesome_JBd.part5.rar

http://rapidshare.com/files/276190781/Lonesome_JBd.part6.rar

http://rapidshare.com/files/276167796/Lonesome_JBd.part7.rar

"Take that Cincinnati!"

2010-05-14T03:22:00.003-04:00

Braden's Bounty

2010-05-09T18:21:00.004-04:00

Hot on the heels of eternal classless turd chewer A-Rod's mound crossing debacle, Dallas Braden pitches an emo perfect game on mother's day. His words to his grandma (who raised him) after a lengthy embrace: "Let's go eat". Karmic baseball gods are always lurking and you've got to get boners at the fact that A-Rod questioned Braden's caliber as a player after marching across his mound. Peaches, straight peaches and cream.

Power Blasterz

2010-05-05T02:24:00.009-04:00

Alright now, I'm not going to make wild predictions. I'm not going to try and lay some heavy jive upon the palette of your frontal lobe. I'm not even going to try and convince you that the Blue Jays are the unexpected harbingers of unholy power in the American League in 2010...

Because really, both you and I know this whole shebang-ge-bang is not gonna last. Turds sag into gnarly slumps, and bummers crump the ends of those who look too much into tiny sample sizes.

BUT, with that disclaimer fully in place, lets take a look at some of the HEAVY HITTAZ of April and project what they would punch up if they kept on the same keel all the way until the end of September (not gonna happen, bud!).

Big Vern

He'd be on track for 48 home runs if he kept this tease of a blistering rate up till the end of the year. Wouldn't that be nice? Wouldn't that be wonderful? Wouldn't life be a land of milk and honey with a mattress full of cash?

A-Gon the Magnificent

This old crone would clock in at 42 dingers if he kept goin' at er like he's been. Someone told me that he resembles E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. I can't say I don't wholly agree with the comparison.

Bautista the Pirate, Plunderin' Yer Booty

This saucy fellow would be in line for 24 home runs this season. He'll give you some zow for your kermuppets, but don't expect that virile stamina inherent in so many latin lovers.

We all know these things won't happen, Vernon Wells will not hit 48 home runs this year, Jose Bautista probably won't come up with 24, this is just fantasy. However, such discombobulated numbers should give you an indication of what an enjoyable April this has been. It won't last, the Yankees haven't even been played, this is not realism ... but it is a fresh biscuit.

The Mask Starring Jim Carrey

2010-04-30T03:37:00.009-04:00

I was poking around some of the crevices of the world wide web through the technological marvel that is my America Online account and I came across some pretty frightening images. Seeing as how there is a shitty Robert Englund-less Nightmare on Elm Street remake just coming out, check out these completely related pics of Dave "The Cobra" Parker channeling the spirit of Jason Voorhees:

Towards the end of the 70's in a collision at home plate, Parker broke his jaw and needed a fix to get back in action as soon as possible.

I imagine having this fucking maniac on the basepaths would feel something like having the grim reaper breathing down your neck.

It almost looks like his face is burnt up behind that mask on some Darkman shit, but that's probably just adult acne.

Methuselah's Grandfather

2010-04-27T23:34:00.005-04:00

I'd like to take a moment to speak about the ancient wonders of old man Jamie Moyer. At the ripe young age of 47, he's somehow still being trotted out to the mound every fifth day. No matter that his heater clocks in at a thunderous 80mph, this old dude still maintains when there are latin multitudes clamoring to criddle his slot.

Who knows what brands of holy water this man of mysteries is consuming? How does he stay so fresh as his flesh fades to gray? Never mind the fact that Satchel Paige pitched until he was 59 (supposedly, who knows how old that dude really was), this is in the here and now. Blood of virgins? Alien ectoplasm cocktails? What's Moyer's secret? Randy Johnson has fallen by the wayside, how much longer can Moyer wheeze the juice?

I for one am pulling for the guy. His career has spanned the beginnings and ends of a whole generation of players and the fucker is still going. Have at em grandpappy, and make it snappy like a bum that's clappy.

Hashcake vs. the Mashman

2010-04-25T17:23:00.002-04:00

Molina Love In

2010-04-25T15:30:00.004-04:00

Sprung from the prodigious catcher producing loins of his mother and father (it was a team effort), Jose Molina be doing da good tings with the arm jelly. Although he lacks the offensive competency of his brothers Yadier and Bengie, that sweet sweet arm (4 for motherfucking 4 throwing out the Rays today) is churning that butter.

Not too sure why Cito wouldn't wanna run him out there for the whole series against the hard stealin' mohawkin' Rays. Do John Buck's marginally stronger offensive numbers warrant Molina's role as the number 2 dude behind the plate? Mehhhh, probably on the whole, but goddamn if that arm jelly showmanship doesn't get the juices flowing and make a HUGE difference against a running team. Obviously, aging catchers aren't what teams look for to build upon, but for only $400,000 this year and an option for 2011, that's a tasty meatball to help bridge until Travis D'Arnaud (THE UNFUCKWITHABLE SUREFIRE CAN'T FAIL GOLDEN FUTURE) hits town.

Here's to bright spots in a 6-0 series dropping loss.

Dutch Ovens $39.99

2010-04-18T01:34:00.004-04:00

As the Blue Jays drop another to the impressive Japanese prowess of Godzilla Matsui's new angelic home next door to Disneyland, things resume the expected path. A much briefer early season tease than last year, it's easy to get carried away with delusions of mediocrity when you haven't faced the cream of the AL East crop with the punishing regularity that the Jays will encounter. I'm not one of the "AL East big bux creates an unfair balance for everyone else" whine-holes, but an unbalanced schedule can't help but stir the fuming colonic depths of aggressive apathetic non-acceptance.

If you happened to avert your eunuch eyes elsewhere in baseball this evening, you may have stumbled upon Ubaldo Jiminez' no-hitter out Atlanta way (the first in the history of the Rockies' high altitude franchise). As much as it pained me to see Alex Rios crumble Ricky Romero's...

...meager hopes of well deservedly ascending the rungs of the pitching hierarchy (Tallet as #2 man, what the fuck?) in his no-hit bid earlier in the week, I had to have a bit of a chuckle at Rios' hate fueled performance in Toronto.

I happened to catch what I thought was going to be the end of a Mets/Cardinals game in the 9th, which turned into a 20-inning epic of epic proportions. Position players pitching always turns some special gears for me in the realm of unusual pleasures, and this biscuit had some weirdness in spades. Scoreless through 18, the thing went on like some kind of perpetual motion machine.

Adieu, mon capitan.

Old Croutons Come Home to Roost

2010-04-05T00:59:00.001-04:00

With young people around the world desperately trying to set their swagger to the on position, OGs all over scoff at their feeble attempts. "I've got more flavour in my little finger", they mumble to themselves as they stumble down the street while fluorescent children struggle to cope with the pressures of too many online friends. Large holes are beginning to form in the brain matter of high school students writing essays in text-speak. 2b or not 2b. The real question is, what happens when there's no one left alive who can remember a time before the internet? My pre-determined destiny seems to be leading me towards an early embrace of sitting on the porch to make sure whippersnappers stay off my lawn and away from my precious petunias.

Duos of Four

2010-03-16T02:40:00.004-04:00

I guess I'm late to the party, but consider presently the nugs coming out of the geographical underbelly of the elephant to our south. It's strange to think that the skateboard industry has permeated all aspects of the modern teenage brain to establish a media so pervasive that it's self-referential to the point that you can title a video exploit thusly: "Don't Inhabit Your Mind Bag While Flaring More in Texas."

Banquet eaters take note, henceforth the profundity of said prose will be reduced to garbled musings on the state of this and that. Therefore, besot to you all and commence with the breakdown of this 4 Duos video...

Deep in the Heart of Texas

Hossenfeffer, what an introduction to this here satchel of video effects cobbled together by a desperate fellow surely plugging away at a computer for hours on end. Godspeed fathers of revolution. Underwater family vacation poolboarding fantasies turn nicely into the late night tv viewings of a troll mutant twisted on bad crank. They turn the hose on the "B" and pay the price for a job well done.

Is it wrong to refer to Michael Tang as a poor man's Jerry Hsu? These videomakers make the comparison, not me. You're the one that's racialist, man. Don't foist your white ideals on me, I'm into organic patchouli spiritualism.

There's a grip of familiar spots in this vid that have been in some flicks of recent years, your Fully Flareds and what have you. I wonder how Texan locals feel about that? I never had a bunch of sacred shred homes that were to be overly coveted (aside from West Coast Video in Ottawa), so it's hard to comprehend the localism I'd imagine could warrant some resentment on their part (at least I might). How hyped would these 4 Duos fellows be to have the "scoop" on all these concrete havens? Is that what skate videos are today? Competitive spot searchers jockeying for position in the favor of the most cynical vid crid. A fresh canvas never hurt any bench sanding artist, that's for sure.

In the vein of a full video's worth of Sloppy Lou Barletta footage, this 4 Duos video pumps the good time vibe, like trying to squeeze the last hour's enjoyment out of the fading sunlight of an East Houston parking lot for all it's worth. Feel the powervader and cop the wave of the ransack of Turkish delights.

As juicy as poached Sheckler footage is, I must here call attention to the marvel that is Guru Khalsa. Truly upper echelon nu-buck status. Tasteful blend of Jersey bun deliciousness and fearless Zorlac burl generational Texan spillover.

Luke McKirdy is another one of those well over 30 gnarlers pushing his business into the outer realm of what seems possible for a progressively used skateboarder's body. Dudes like him and Bro Gumpright give me some measure of optimism for what lies ahead as the osteoporosis sets in. Indeed, a sight to behold.

Conclusions must be drawn, and they shall be drawn accordingly: Not Too Shab, Babs.

Hats off to Roy Harper, Stephen Harper, and hell, even Ben Harper.

Evergreen and Gasoline

2010-03-04T02:55:00.002-05:00

Time for spring cleaning all my bimbos and bambinos. Dust the couch lint out of your backside and prepare yourself for the return of the new energy dreadlocked park dwellers to the streets of our fine city. Disregard their spirited "jamming" on alternative rock relics that aged poorly and keep walking with your eyes averted and your nasal cavity pointed skywards. As we emerge from our dank winter basement caves to embrace the sun of another outdoor year upon this hurtling turd of a globe through the vast quiet confines of our galaxy, we are filled with a new zest for activity.

Delights of the 4 wheeled persuasion combined with the false hope of the fatman that another baseball season brings comingle and dance on the palette of the pleasure receptors to instill a general calm to quell the tempest of the cooped up mind. No longer imprisoned in the stifling dens of unsavory weather, we're free to do as we please.

Fling off your clothes and embalm your pale privates in the cancerous solar flares that bake your leather pants to a perfect crisp.

Bloomin' Onion

2010-02-26T00:08:00.004-05:00

Bumped into this clip on the re-roll. Tasted it again for the first time.

Pretty legit shit in terms of the whole "creative urban exploration" thing that so many pursue these days. Just to inflame your blue waffle vagina a little bit, I'm going to claim he could out cruise Poppalardo any day of the week.

Phatman's Lament

2010-02-21T17:26:00.005-05:00

Burger vs. Burger. Battle of the ages. Lasorda on Slimfast is like Samson cutting off his hair.

Saganic Worship

2010-02-17T23:48:00.004-05:00

Huddle round the cauldron of the village elder and gaze at the images he conjures in the puddle reflections you can't look away from.

He speaks of celestial matters in a such a soothing tone, it's liable to peel the panties from even the staunchest foe of the space program. He will fill you with a sense of eternal new-minded wonder, able to make you feel as small as a gnat and as lucky as a rabbit-footed mutant child of the next millenium.

Once he has you in his grasp, there is no telling the effect he will impose upon your will. Gaze deep into his eyes and let him seduce your body and soul.

Join Senor Sagan on an epic journey aboard his "Spaceship of the Imagination" (not as incredibly retarded as it sounds, I promise) in a 13-hour time burglar found here.

Simply Mad About the Maus

2010-01-07T02:24:00.007-05:00

If you aren't hip to the jive bub, you've been snowed. I'm talkin origins, capeesh? When your lobe don't get it and you think what they've been laying down is the real dealio, that's where you're wrong, frankenstein.

Conventional wisdom indicates that one Mickey Mouse, pictured here...

... made his debut to the world in the animated short "Steamboat Willie". The real origins of the character lie several years earlier than the Disney Corporation's proclaimed "birth" of Mickey Mouse in November 1928. Before Mickey, there was Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, Disney's main character. After his boss tried to chince him out of some loot, he was strong armed out of the rights to the Oswald character, so he took off and created Mickey. Or so the story goes.

Take a look at this Oswald clip from 1927, before Disney left his contract with Universal Studios. Note the Mickey-esque character that comes onto the scene at 3:00. Observe how much of a little fucker he once was as he gets his ass beat by Oswald:

Before he became the bright eyed everyman that stood for all that was deemed "American", Mickey Mouse was a deviant sociopath with revenge-bent aggression that would make Donald blush. In 1928 when Disney struck out on his own, he brought animator Ub Iwerks with him and commissioned him to create the Mickey design that's become burned into the rentinas of every post-war youth. Yet, before the oft-cited "debut" of Steamboat Willie and ascension to Apple of America's Eye status, a still malicious version of Mickey appeared in Disney's first post-universal short titled "Plane Crazy". Straight up tries to kiss-rape Minnie, dang.

To think what the world would have been like if the character had never changed. I couldn't see the public latching onto him the same way. Who knows what society would have become? Would Times Square still be dirty? Would Florida be considerably underdeveloped? It's tough to put any measure on the impact that Disney has had on the world, and I sure as shit ain't gonna try and quantify it. From massive media holdings to subliminal messages, you know that shit is Xtra large, sonnnnnn.

Trenches!

2010-01-04T02:25:00.002-05:00

Castlevanian Creatine?

2010-01-03T02:08:00.006-05:00

A smeared reputation, a tarnish that follows an athlete everywhere he goes. How do you react when an outcome you desire has an unfortunate moral dilemma?

It's easy to heckle a juicer. It doesn't take much to join in the chants of "STEEE-RROIIIDS" when the latest disgrace steps up to the plate. But, what would you do if a synthetic goliath showed up to play for your team? Would you turn him away at the principal or would you let him hit home runs for your pride and joy?

Enter Randy Ruiz.

He is pictured here taking a ball to the cheek from Josh Towers. In 2005, he was suspended twice in the same season for steroid use in the minors. He had his major league debut with the Twins in 2008 at the age of 30. He signed with Toronto for 2009 and turned up career numbers both in Las Vegas and in a stellar late season Blue Jay performance. When he reported to Toronto, he led the Pacific Coast League offensively and was was crowned MVP.

What do you make of a player who's prime comes at the age of 31? He only played 33 games with the Jays, which is an admittedly small sample size. But, in those games he hit .313 with a 1.019 OPS, bettering his .304 career average in the minors. How do you contend with that as management? With lots of power pieces in the system looming to take permanent positions at first and DH - i.e. Lind, Snider, and Brett Wallace - how does Ruiz fit into this puzzle?

It was plenty frustrating to see Ruiz get off days so frequently in September considering he was on such a fuckin roll. Depending on who else gets moved before the season starts - Overbay rumours are persistent - Ruiz at first or DHing on Lind's off days seems like a most reasonable prospect until Wallace is primed and ready.

So, how does all the juice-a-ma-tazz cloud your support of the dude? Do you dismiss the benefits and thrills that a power monger like that exudes? Or do you sit back and reap the rewards of the winning-at-any-cost mentality as balls fly out of the Rogers Centre like popcorn?

I'm affeared that there is a tough biscuit to condone. I'm not quite so naive as to place any kind of mantle of justice on the heads of professional sports oxen. How do you expect to cut down on that shit if the league turns a blind eye and team management condones it? Get your priorities straight. A culture of cheating threatens the legitimacy and longevity of all that jazz, so get it straight. That being said, it's a lot harder to hate on when it's doing your team some party favours.

Werk it Sister

2009-12-30T01:02:00.003-05:00

I think these dudes had a pretty good idea of how to make a music video for fifty deutschmarks. All you need is an imagination and that theatre school mentality.

City of Analgesics

2009-12-26T01:45:00.006-05:00

I'm sure a heavy back catalogue of spots in the Los Angeles area looms large in the mind of just about any skateboarder. Who's done what. Who killed. Who lagged like a cripple. It's no secret that a small vicinity of land mass has pumped out and played host to a sizable portion of raw skating over the last 20 years (perhaps on a per capita basis that even rivals New Jersey). Gonz to Girl. Menace to Marko Jazbinsek.

It's hard not to feel that LA dropped off the map a little in recent years. Post-Barcelona explosion, shit got way more spread out and international. No longer is LA the top dawg city of four wheels. Outside of Daewon Song, it's common place nowadays for dudes to have half the globe covered in a video part. It's hard to fathom the pull that California and LA specifically had on the skate world 10 years ago.

You could see the cohesive zeal of the region start to slip after the LA County video came out. I'm not trying to write off a whole generation of dudes that came after, but once Chris Franzen's time zone dipped, some of that LA spark faded. I guess kids get tired of seeing the same spots in every issue of a magazine, so the spots go unskated until they're new again. People go elsewhere, and the limelight on the city dims a bit.

Good skaters can come from anywhere, but some real LA street shit has been hard to come by the last decade. That's not to say it's not there. Take a look at Vincent Alvarez. Straight kills. More to the point, take a look at this dude I'd never heard of before, Justin Guillen:

(Disregard the embarrassingly bad intro on this one)

If that doesn't give you some faith for progressive nu-Menace bone thug rawdoggin, you may as well never touch a ledge for the rest of your life. Gone but not forgotten, the city of angels will rise again.

Fat Man Comin Down Yo Pipe

2009-12-24T00:12:00.005-05:00

Gather round one and all,

Christmas time is here again
A time to spend, with drinks to blend
A holy day to get new socks
Visa bill ungodly shock

Brandon O Brandon

2009-12-22T17:53:00.005-05:00

Look, you can trade Scott Rolen for garbage, you can get a package for Halladay that won't satisfy my immediate and unreasonable desires, but when you get rid of Brandon League, that's just too much.

Brandon League, I mourn for your loss. You can point to all the times that he came into a game and blew up, but when that young man was on, he could've miffed Satan himself. All the tangible qualities of excellence were there, just not at the same time. Never did the stew congeal into a palatable solid to rest upon your bread. Still, I feel he wasn't given the full reign he might've thrived on. Had they thrown him in there instead of Downs or Frasor in the post-BJ ambiguity of the closing curtains this year, who knows what might've flourished. Granted, too many what ifs, too many parallel universes (universi?). So, farewell delicious unpredictability. So long complete dominance offset by wild shit. Goodbye, the perfect closer that never was.

Disco Queen

2009-12-01T21:24:00.000-05:00

1977 World Series
Game 666
Dodgy Fuckers vs. Yankee Dude-les

I'm dying for a baseball fix in the off season. As exciting as the Blue Jays filling their bench with subpar infielders this past week has been (I've already pre-ordered my Alex Gonzalez jersey ... not), sometimes the visceral sensation of a game is required to recharge your baseball senses.

Much like a junkie returning to his old ways after a month away from the hard stuff, I stooped so low as to take a DVD out of the public library of an old-time sizzler Fall Classic. Finding full game downloads on the internet is not so common (if anybody has a link to the full game 6 of the '93 series, I would be ever so indebted to you), so sometimes you just gotta make do with watching the fuckin Yankees win.

Perhaps we'll draw some comparisons between the '77 Yankees and the 2009 Skankees as this rambling turd unfolds, but fear not, any analysis will be completely superficial and ill-informed, as is my want.

So, picture it, New York City in the year of our lord, nineteen hundred and seventy-seven. Richard Hell is at the peak of his creative powers, Abraham D. Beame is in the mayor's office, and the city is crumbling. It probably looked something like this (jump to 4:00):

Billy Martin's Bronx Bombers plow their way to within one win of the Series, anchored by the heavy burger bat of Reggie Jackson, showboat extraordinaire. Billy and Reggie's squabbles had come to a head earlier in the season when Martin had to be restrained from dealing some short man vengeance Reggie's way after he pulled him from a game for lack of hustle.

Tommy Lasorda helms the boys in blue and eggs them on towards a brighter tomorrow. The moustaches of Ron Cey and Davey Lopes are invariably laced with cocaine as they hunker down at VIP tables on the sunset strip.

The pantaloons are so tight, mobility becomes limited. Here, Ron Cey hoofs it home with the stanky leg as he begins to resemble a mannequin in motion.

Game 6 is of course famous for Reggie's power performance. "Hi mom!" mugging aside, what he did here is substantially gnarly. Perhaps it does take an ego the size of Manhattan to go into a pressure cooker situation like this with so much confidence at the plate. You know, him referring to himself in the third person, calling himself "the straw that stirs the drink" in the Yankee organization, and the ineptitude with which he self-promoted himself smacks real similar to what A-Rod could've been without the coaching of one million press relations lessons. But for all the "New Mr. October" accolades that A-Rod got with his "post-season renaissance" this year, I'm sure he would trade em all in a heartbeat for three dingers in the last game of a Series.

Shit gets buck when they close it out. Reggie had just called time to go switch his hat for a helmet as some scummy New Yorkers were throwing firecrackers near him in the outfield. With the last out, he's off like a shot taking fools down like The Fridge on a Sunday. Harsh barge the large Marge and you're off to poison the clubhouse.

Maybe Reggie is just the King of the Nerds. I picture him as a feeble basement dwelling poindexter concocting some kind of suave medicine to get that go-to gumption. Much like the episode of Family Matters where Urkel transforms into Stefan Urkelle, Reggie becomes a muscled freak trotting the bases, knowing that darkness will bring his reversion to his former, lesser self, which might explain why he was in such a hurry to get back to the clubhouse. His puny medecine-free body must never be viewed by the public eye.

Requiem For A Beam

2009-11-26T22:10:00.004-05:00

If you watch a few minutes into this opus, you'll witness probably one of the sweetest jobs to ever grace the land. The guy that had the cahones to lay down some of the most savage video effects ever cobbled together with decaying BBC technology.

Watch from 5:00 if your attention span is decaying rapidly.

Imma Slave 4 U, R U a Slave 4 Me?

2009-11-15T14:59:00.005-05:00

Personally, I feel that Slave would be a better name for a German company composed entirely of white rastas. That way they could truly get in touch with the oppression of their people. But, as it stands, it’s a name representing a collection of dudes I’ve been mostly unaware of occupying the third string at Black Box.

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume Jamie Thomas had little to do with the production of their new vid Radio Television. I don’t know who made the thing, but right off the bat you’re hit with a wall of stock footage that pulls you away from the clip clip bang bang Zero style that spilled over into Mystery and Fallen video productions. Slave brings their own unique brand of brand identity to the table, but I don’t know who they’re trying to appeal to specifically. California scumlords? Next generation all terrain hammer babies? Old dudes who like a little tranny with their stair jumping? Fuck, I dunno.

Complete lack of titles here. Do I know who any of these people are? Maybe, but probably not. Pat Burke breaks off the safety conscious middle aged bicycle enthusiast with proper gusto. Although it might not be sound advice to play dead when you encounter a bear, when the bear is wearing a helmet and you just kickflipped over him, playing dead might be the best option you have going for you. Burke might squeal like an excitable retard when he lands a trick, but his looseball zeal and proper frontside heels are hard not to enjoy.

A bearded goblin with freckles. What will they think of next? If Frecks is around long enough, I anticipate an eventual personal backlash against his own nickname. Kevin Long, Brian Hansen, I don’t know what Frecks’ real name is, but if I was him I’d demand people address me as Mr. Frecks.

One thing that becomes obvious real quick with this vid is that instead of the ultra fast edits typical of the traditional Black Box output, Radio Television gives you a lot more runup and a lot more rollaway. This makes it much easier for my slow gears to process. I’m only half ADD addled at this point, so a little bit of context before the images travel from my eyes to my noodle is much appreciated. Probably why this video is twice as long as say, Misled Youth, but I’m fine with that.

Matt Mumford footage is almost nostalgic at this point as I haven’t seen anything from him in ages. He’s still gnarly, his style is still pretty awful, and he still has the tendency to look like a mannequin standing on a skateboard when he sticks his arms out.

Self styled gearhead Jon Allie blows doors with a banger of a tune and a back to back flip to board rail combo just so you know he still can. “Let me tell you what melba toast is packing right here. I’ve got four-eleven positrack out back. Seven-fifty double pumper, edelbrock intake, bored over thirty. Eleven to one pop up pistons. Turbo jet, 390 horsepower. We’re talkin some fuckin muscle.”

Jon Goemann of Birdhouse fame (is there even such a thing as Birdhouse fame anymore?) closes out the video with some largeness and that’s that.

So, what do you get out of the whole thing? Despite the faux-VHS quality, Radio Television probably won’t adorn your shelf of classic vids, but with a decent bag of not so obvious tunes and a surprisingly unobstrusive cache of greatest hits newsreel clips, it’s a pretty decent watch. Would watch again. One and a half thumbs up yer bum.

Get Their Grease, While You can

2009-11-13T22:19:00.003-05:00

A tasty nug just happened to ramble my way:

The greatest achievement in the history of organized sport.

Expedition to the Center of Your Mind

2009-11-08T22:39:00.003-05:00

4 Wheel Interlude, bumbaclaat.

Thinking about Expedition. Who do voodoo. This clip is somewhat of a revelation to me:

Thinking about what their team is like at this point is somewhat mind boggling. Whoever's been makin the decisions over there has been pretty on point as of late. On one team you've got: Enrique, Richard Angelides, Welsh and his trusty sidekick Joey Pepper (are these dudes attached at the hip or what?), and a thoroughly stellar am squad in Kenny Hoyle and Spencer.

If you look back at what came out of the ashes of Tree Fort (I could be wrong about that one), there's been some heavy shit passing through the Expedition biscuit ever since they've been around. Biebel, Janoski, Alf (sort of).

Recent rumours of Ryan Gallant power moves abound as well. I've never been too crazy about hardflip 180's (Chet Thomas's ghost still haunts the skateboard industry), but snatching people off the Plan B roster shows that they're not a second string Kayo roster filler.

Really, the whole deal has been looking up since they dumped this deadweight into the toilet (or into a warehouse job, who knows):

Bee Bop A Lu Bop

2009-11-06T23:18:00.005-05:00

Turning away from the horrors of the postseason climax of destruction, let's plug our ears with some pleasant tunage and drown out the screams of our subconscious.

Lite Brite Lite Brite Turn on the Magical Shining Light

2009-11-04T20:17:00.007-05:00

Series of the World
Game 6

Hideki Matsui, a case study:

Apparently he made a cameo in this here movie, for reals. Nine consecutive year Japanese Central League all-star. Career .517 post-steezin sluggin percentage. Known to walk to the plate with this tasty nugget blasting (watch till the end if you want to have your mind blown by an interstellar drum solo):

Well, Matsui rifles a two run dinger to bring my bowels to a freeze early this evening.

Then Rollins' sac fly brings in Ruiz's doubleday to bring it within one in the third.

Teixeira made a very audible "haaaaaahhh!" as Pedro popped him in the leg to load the bases.

Grotty New Yorkers swallowing victory wines seems palpable for the swine on hand at Ol' New Yankee Stadium. Matsui brings in two more to make it 4-1, all his runs. His scaly green ass looms large.

Posada really can't catch for shit, can he? As much of a turd as A.J. Burnett is, it's understandable why he doesn't like to work with the chinless wonder.

Pedro out after four. Not really thriving on the raucous atmosphere like you think he'd might. His slight adversarial hate-thriving Bonds-esque streak is in hiding under the cover of night.

Teixeira reels one in to boost it to 5-1.

Jesus Christ, Matsui gets another two run hit, a double this time. He is single handedly turning this thing into a slobberknocker.

But, Howard awakes from his lengthy slumber with a a two run paint scraper. Dare I dream and place my hopes upon the fragile mantle of a late game gear shift into offensive overdrive? Could I be that foolish? There's a very slim window between Pettite starting to fall off and Rivera coming in to lock shit tight.

Rivera steps in during the eighth with one in the outhouse. Ibanez, who is probably a satanist, gets a doubleday but it amounts to zilch.

Victorino's prolonged valiance as the 27th out brings the fartknockers onto the field with turgid gusto and the vicious reality of a truly shitty season is complete.

There's always next year, bumbaclaat.

Hyperdermal Cigarette

2009-11-03T01:58:00.005-05:00

The World is Serious
Game Fievel Goes West

Did you think the tin man would rust unless you changed his oil? Mr. November sez: "Chase knows that what's good for Chase is good for Chase... I mean Philadelphia. Godspeed my Ferengi warlords."

Some may debate the accuracy of the above quote, but let me assure you, a little birdie told me they heard it plain as day when they were squatting in the handicap stall at Citizen's Bank Park.

Let's just get down to brass tacks and say that A.J. "Choking Hazard" Burnett was quite the marvel this evening, he does not disappoint his audience (alienated Torontonians). The realtime crumble in just under three innings speaks volumes about the power to envision a world without borders, a world beyond the thunderdome, a world where all you see becomes unto thee. I'm talkin bout goin downtown, baby. Cripple the child in their own crib. Eradicate the necessity for the Brad Lidge turd blossom and your reality becomes a sevenfold enigma encased with golden showers and a jubilant parade.

Broomhilda and the Jumblingtons Greatest Hits

2009-11-01T20:27:00.005-05:00

World Series of Poker
Game 4

Juice Ape plunked for the third time. Methinks some measure of violence could possibly follow. Are you gonna take that, Juice Ape? Be a man and stand up for Kate Hudson's honor. Yankees have already managed to squeeze out a deuce of runs in the first.

If I could divert your attention away from the game for one moment, I'd like to talk about this commercial:

Sexism is still sadly rampant in Western society. As much progress as has been made since the good old days of public bra burning and outrageously long armpit hair, the status of the female in North America is still not one of equal footing with the male. You'd think that as far as Hillary Clinton has made it, there should be some kind of equal opportunity for women in this country. The fact that they can't show a woman with a black eye in the above commercial is a damning indicator of how old fashioned the values of our culture are. Perhaps one day, we can dream together a world where women and men will fight each other on a pay per view basis.

Back to the baseball game. CreamCorn Sabathia beefcake burger thug at the plate. I love watching pitchers hit, I really do. If they actually get a hit, it's ten times better. If they don't, it looks so inept it's just as entertaining. I also love seeing position players have to pitch, so maybe I should just start following the Venezuelan softball squad for the Special Olympics.

Fuck Joe Buck. Fuck Buck. "The new Pearl Jam album is terrific." Get that shit outta here, I don't need to hear that during a ball game. Nor do I appreciate the NFL updates during the World Series, you turd.

Hoo boy, Ryan Howard ties it at two by bowling over the chinless wonder. Fully didn't touch the plate and it looks like he knows it too. Plenty of grievances to air at your local bronx watering hole.

Two more Yankee runs courtesy of Jeter and Damon ribeye singles.

Utley once again brings the fire and brimstone with a solo carpet bombing in the bottom of the seventh. CreamCorn is pulled out and tossed in the fridge. 4-3 Yankers. Pedro Feliz follows up Utley's biscuit in the eighth to tie it the same way.

Damon finagles two bases on a steal with the massive shift on. Teixeira gets the kerplunk treatment. Juice Ape up for hero status with a ribeye double. Brad Lidge is a stressed out leprechaun. Chinless Posada drives in a pair of assholes and it's 7-4.

Three up three down in the bottom of the ninth and thus concludes vigorously disappointing outcome. A substantial pit has been dug for the Phillies. Little Timmy has fallen down a well and it's gonna take more than Lassie to pull him out.

The Dawning of the Age of Aquariums

2009-11-01T17:45:00.006-05:00

I'm a new resident of the modern world. I got a cell phone about a month ago. I don't really have a problem with the technology, just the way that turds use it. You know what I'm talking about. Fartknockers yakin on a public transit type of thing.

Anyways, since I got this new number, I've got a couple calls from people looking for the guy who had the number before me. This morning, or this afternoon rather, I woke up to a bunch of missed calls and text messages. Here's what was on my phone verbatim:

#1: "Yo yo wa poppin"

#2: "Yo holla at me nigga"

#3: "Yo jemal holla at me wa wron wit u b?"

All these texts were within about 15 minutes. Then the phone rings and I answered it. To the best of my recollection, the conversation went like this:

Me: Hello?

Dude: Yo

Me: Hello?

Dude: Yo

Me: (silence)

Dude: Yo

Me: What can I do for you?

Dude: Yo jemal dere?

Me: You got the wrong number.

Dude: Where jemal at?

Me: I don't know jemal.

Dude: Aight

Me: Okay.

You'd think this kid would realize that Jemal isn't at this number anymore, but the text messages keep pouring in:

Jemal's Buddy: "Yo i dun gots da wrong num... Where jemal at bra?

JB: "If i gots 2 reach down there imma be pissed

JB: "Yo r u gonna reply back an let me kno wat good

No more texts for a while after that, so I decided to text him back:

Me: "I've had this number for about a month. I dunno any jemal, is he a hot stud?

Literally a minute later, he texted me back:

JB: "Yeah he iaght still... Wats about u wat do u looks like an wat iz yo nationality r u b"

JB: "How old r u?

Me: "87/sexual/latino"

JB: "Your 87"

Me: "My hip ain't what it used to be, but don't think I ain't still got a mean charleston."

I guess he doesn't believe me, so he asks me again:

JB: "How old r u?"

Me: "I was born in 1922. My grandkids think I'm kewl!"

I'll keep you guys posted on the hottest story since balloon boy if any more scintillating transactions transpire.

Honcho Notorious

2009-11-01T12:18:00.002-05:00

World Series Game 3

Despite Jayson "Nickelback" Werth having a dilly of a 'Back Attack, Cole Hamels' handsome visage crumbled like the oldest cheese around.

Juice Ape getting plunked twice almost made up for his 2 run camera popper, but not quite. My world series dry patch fantasy wilted terribly, how awful.

CreamCorn Sabathia is up again tonight against Joe Blanton's big swinging dick. They aren't gonna use Cliff Lee on short rest, and old man Moyer is nowhere to be seen. Get his walker out and let the silver fox throw down, dammit.

Old Man's Winter

2009-10-31T09:39:00.004-04:00

Cito Gaston is from the future. He was created by the Bell Telephone company and sent back in time to put a financial strain on Rogers Blue Jays baseball operations. Under the guise of putting nostalgists in the seats, the main purpose of the Gas-one cyborg unit is to slowly but surely alienate every player on the team and reduce them to a bunch of infighting diaper soilers. Really, who goes to a game to watch someone manage it? Even if they exhumed Sparky Anderson from the old folks home, that's not gonna put me in a seat.

So, Cito's staying on for another year. We can thank the newly anointed emperor Beeston for this one. What was it that Caesar said about refusing the crown until they have you begging to take it? Well, fuck what Caesar said, but he made good salads.

I'm not really sure how a sober mind could put Cito back in the driver's seat after this season. When the turds hit the ceiling fan at the end of the year and players were openly pointing to Cito and saying "this is the problem, this guy right here", you'd have to be somewhat retardo montelban not to do something about it.

From shitting on Barajas, feuding with Accardo when he was one of the few half-bright spots in the bullpen, the rumours that he was a big part of why Rolen split town, to his inexplicable enthusiasm for Kevin Millar's brand of washed up baseball, Cito's track record this season does not warrant an encore. Even Brad Arnsberg has flown the coop to Houston, which might indicate that the rumblings that even the coaches had a problem with him were true.

It's gonna be a hard battle for the Jays to get their shit together before the world ends in 2012.

Ultra Juicy Couture

2009-10-29T20:06:00.009-04:00

European Series Game 2

I know who my daddy is, do you Derek-san?

Nice shorts bro. Behold the majesty of A.J. Burnett's cavernously flared nostrils. Revel in their glory. The permanent sneer resembles a puckered asshole.

No way bud, those tattoos are stylin.

To the play by play.

Second inning. Matthew Staircase coming up with a prime cut to shoe in a ribeye. One-nothing Philadelphians.

Juice Ape's curve swerve gets him out looking, 5th K in the series. Let's see how long we can ride this out, eh? As much hubbub as there's been about A-Rod's supposed post-season renaissance, how tantalizing would a full world series thorough bed shitting be?

Raul Ibanez old man hero catch.

Bottom of the fourth. Teixeira gets the solo paint scraper. One to one. Heart to heart. You see how when he pops one it's a paint scraper and when Utley gets one in the same spot it's legit? You see how these things work? It's called bias. Turd bias. Weed out the turds and use em as compost, man.

Juice Ape third encounter. Now we're at 0-7, lookin good, feeling fine. Hideki Matsui, jewel of the orient, plops one over the fence. Two to One Yankees.

Runners on the corners in the bottom of the seventh with no one in the outhouse. Pedro needs a re-up of the Jheri Curl, but he gets yanked instead and smiles like a big goofball on his way out.

They're playing this at the Yankee crap shack to get the meatheads pumped:

Posada chinless wonder reels in a ribeye, outhouse is still unoccupied, 3-1. Lucky Philadelphian call on the double play, I'm not complaining.

Eigth inning. Rivera enters night and walks Rollins. The Hawaiian follows with a Clyde Singleton. All for naught.

Juice Ape with his fourth attempt at the razzle dazzle. 0-8 with another K. To quote a dude named Ronald, I'm lovin it. But, that's about all I'm lovin this evening. Yankers take it 3-1 and send it to Philadelphia with one a piece.

Yeehaw, Frosty Mug

2009-10-28T20:32:00.012-04:00

"I have rediscovered the joy of baseball."
-Alex Rodriguez

World Series Game 1

Juice Ape, first at bat. Cliff Lee whiffs him like a cur. The atmosphere is lookin pretty dismal at the ol' new Yankee Stadium. A wet den of sinful iniquity. The house that Hideki Matsui built.

Speakin of the house, old news, but I always think of how this could've been a sweet jinx. A little curse like the goatman at Wrigley Field.

Back to the play by play.

Redemption for Utley's Boner in the top of the 3rd. Pip pip, one to nothing Philadelphians old boy. Trip out brodeo drive...

Derek Jeter, or Jerek Leter as the commentator refers to him, gets on with an erect doubleday, but it goes flaccid.

Juice Ape/Cliff Lee round 2. Whiffed with gusto and sends him through the rotash. Cliff Lee spittin that hot fiyah.

Mischievous Matsui manages mischief, man.

This fucker again:

Utley drops another solo sling dropper in the 6th to push it to a deuce-zilch.

Phil Hughes bringing the bad news with back to back strolls in the 8th. Now, full loadage. Robertson the Rawbertson drops one to Ibanez and two squeak through, 4-0 in the zoo.

Cliff Lee is coming up like some kind of loose goose catching everything in his beak with the greatest of ease. He has been suave and sultry with a little swagger.

Carlos Ruiz gets the doubleday and Jimmy Rollins follows it up with a single in the 9th. Maholo Victorino gets one more through, 5-0. Rollins comes home to make it a six pack and Victorino goes Flyin Hawaiian right into where Posada's chin would be if he had one.

Bottom of the ninth, Jeter and Damon both get on. Potential double play, Rollins puts the ball in the dugout, 6-1. Juice Ape final showdown... triple k. That's kkk to you, Juice Ape. A-Rod neutered like a homeless cat. Cliff Lee takes the chinless wonder down for good measure. Two earned runs in 33 innings. Yipes.

Through the magic of the internet a lurker dude who is both grimy and retarded just sent me a pic he flicked of the Juice Ape hitting the showers after his devastating triple strikeout performance tonight.

So, Yankers in the hole by one game. Mighty fine. See you tomorrow.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

2009-10-28T00:49:00.007-04:00

The interstellar universal series of the world beckons to turds everywhere. Get off thy couch and go to thy fridge for some snackables. Then return to thy couch and sit for eons as you get a fervent rump groove worked into your seating apparatus.

As much as this series is a let down to me in terms of who's playing, at least it presents the hope of being competitive. Aside from the fact that Jeter's merry minions could get another ring out of the deal (with A-Rod, Melky, Cano, Mark Tx, and Nick Swisher's grandparents all getting their first), what bums me out is that the outcome of the season was so probable. No big upsets or dark horses with skeleton knights riding on them (maybe the Twins), just two titans slowly walking towards their inevitable collision.

Reminds me of a monster truck rally I went to as a kid. In between Grave Digger blowin your mind and the demolition derby, they had this interlude with real live Transformers. Two cars about 100 feet apart took ten minutes to unfold and then one of em shot some sparks and a hole blew out of the other and the battle was over. Mondo lameness. Then the voice of the Transformer came over the intercom and told the children in attendance not to use drugs.

So yes, this world series is a lot like that, a conclusion to a season that seems like it wouldn't have ended any other way. That doesn't mean your biscuit can't have a little sizzle, we're talking about the potential to see Steinbrenner's stoolies crumble like some kind of ancient cheese.

The pitching matchup for game one is gonna look like this:

Cliff Lee is coming in at a sterling ferocious clip. Post-season ERA of 0.74 in 24 innings pitched, 0.69 WHIP. Sure, three games isn't a huge sample size for career post-season stats, but clearly this maricone's bowels do not turn to ice when October rolls around.

I wonder if him and Jimmy Rollins ever chat about this little nugget:

Anyhow, Lee vs:

Cliff Lee's former teammate and known diddler of underage girls, CreamedCorn Sabathia. 1.2 ERA this post-season, 0.9 WHIP. Marginally less marinated in sweet basting juices than Lee, but stellar. Big guns all around.

I predict the sensitization of erogenous zones, a reduction in life productivity, and sitting through hours of painfully crapulent commercials. The Diamond Conspiracies: We Deal Excitement. Is that slogan taken?

Vicious and Pernicious

2009-10-27T00:26:00.010-04:00

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

Darren Oliver's Earplugs

2009-10-26T00:36:00.006-04:00

You vs. Me
ALCS Game 6

I can't hear you. I don't wanna hear you. I wanna shut out Rudy Giuliani's boyish glee and picture him crying instead. But, alas...

I don't know that the Angels could've come back after the 9th, even if they hadn't put on such a horrid display of infield ineptitude in the previous inning. Kazmir's feeble crippled lob to first was pure little league.

The kid on the far right? The one sitting down? Yeah, that's Scott Kazmir. I half imagined that the illusion would melt away and Kazmir and Kendrick would be left in the middle of a howling stadium, children in oversized uniforms. I know these things happen, especially when you've got legions of criddled guidos breathing down your neck, but that was one of those "what the fudge" moments (using curse words is for bad people).

A Phillies/Yankees series doesn't give me much of anything to root for, except possibly the Philly Phanatic.

Get that nut you twisted mutant.

Rained Out

2009-10-25T00:52:00.001-04:00

Kershaw's Last Stand

2009-10-21T22:24:00.008-04:00

Crips vs. Bloods
NLCS Game 5

Clayton Kershaw is perhaps the most farm boy lookin dude around. Kinda like a mix between:

and...

Anyhow, right now this ain't lookin too promising. Need some...

Cthulu Stickin it to You

2009-10-20T21:42:00.005-04:00

New Jersey Yankees vs. Orange County Angels
ALCS Game 4

Last night during the Dodgers game, I started to piece together what is really transpiring behind the closed doors of the Dodgers' clubhouse. It came to me as a revelation. An image of staggering spectacle, I saw it all. After every game, Manny Ramirez (aka Predator) runs to the clubhouse, sits back in a chair, and spreads his mighty dreadlocks out across a table.

What happens next is truly disturbing. As the other players filter in from the field after a hard day's competition, they gather sitting around the table entrenched with Predator dreads. Like moths to a flame they come, they come to feast on the succulent juices of the Predator's gnarled locks. They suck away like fiends for a fix, it was a sight to behold.

All the pharmaceuticals that Manny has taken over the years have left substantial traces of performance enhancing properties in the ancient strands of energy that hang from his head. Scientists and MLB officials might wanna look into this, because evidently the Predator's unique genetic makeup has transformed all the steroids he took into a new type of undetectable gun pumping juice that can be sucked from his hair.

Dick the Bruiser

2009-10-20T14:03:00.008-04:00

When I was 9 I didn't think there was anything wrong with this guy. I even put a 33 on the end of my bat in his honor. Maybe I just had my head in the clouds, but children don't usually have the same kind of turd radar that you develop later in life. So, let's take a brief look back at some of the many faces of Jose Canseco.

Bingenheimer's Bulbous Boner

2009-10-19T18:58:00.007-04:00

Yonkers at Hollywood
ALCS Game 3

Izturis pops his sack out to pop the halos ahead by one in the bottom of the 7th. Craving a Gatorade bucket over A-Rod the nu-amerikan playoff hero. I'll bet he'd melt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. Aybar gleaning some wizdom with a line sizzle to the righteous field.

Ah, fuckin Posada chinless wonder. Jeter brings the top of the 8th to a close with a ground out. Jeter, I use your gillette products to shave my ass.

OH!! Abreu you fuckin retard. Is your brain clogged with cholesterol? Torii Spelling be whiffing. Commentator reminds of the Punto's gaffe, truly a horrid reoccurence. We gonna see a sweep here too?

By jiminy, extra biscuit again. If I'm in for another marathon burger juicer that leaves me flat, someone's gonna have to pay. That someone is chinless Posada. Fuck that dude. Don't grab your twig berries at the pitcher, you just struck thrice.

Mathis let your buck swing wild. Thas what I like to see, Abner Doubleday with noone in the outhouse. Rivera power move to try and hold on. Mathis gets some luck of the oyrish at 3rd. All for nothin.

Howie Kendrick getting that straight horizontal one base carpet bagger.

FUCKING MATHIS!!!! Kendrick's home and that is fresh biscuit with gravy right there. 5-4 Angels in the 11th.

Balloon Boy's Father Is George McFly

2009-10-17T22:23:00.007-04:00

The 7th is getting a little cozy here. 2-2, Aybar and Figgins on, 1 in the outhouse. Phil Coke's vials are getting some condensation on em. Abreu at the throne. Slider vacated from the pot, scandal bags.

Here comes Joba:

"Furry children es me mucho!"

Torii Spelling got Jeter starcrossed when he got to da choppa.

Holy shit, Vladimir got impaled. Double impaled in both tits. 6 runners stranded, full loadage of the bases twice, and he has soiled the poop deck thoroughly.

Rivera spittin that hot fiyah.

Chone Figgins triple aggro fist pump on the big bopper ribeye double.

Mr. Kate Hudson with the new Yankee paint scratcher... madre dios. Tied again.

Awww mannnnnn, what a shitty way for that to end. Awful.

Silver Surface Surfer

2009-10-17T21:50:00.008-04:00

While I'm waiting for Alex "The Greek" Anthopoulos to make some off-season power moves (by late winter I'm gonna be yelling shit or get off the pot), let's discover our inner fashion diva and take a look back at the evolution of the once beloved Blue Jay uniform.

Here we have the OG. Basic, straight forward, good colors, groovin fonts, pretty decent in my books.

This sucker is my pick of the litter. Button up instead of pullover, subtle modifications, choice cuts brogan.

Addition of an alternate, allright, you've still got me. Looks good mister.

Here's where it starts to get wonky and not just cause the models got preety creepster here all of a sudden. Putting that maple leaf behind the ol birdbrain in the logo was some pretty tasteless shit. That's getting a little too Molson Canadian two four give away for my liking.

At this point, your bed has been thoroughly shat in. You can salvage no redemption.

Yeah. So, maybe while they are going out and dropping some payroll on a shitload of free agents and building a new stadium they can either do full time throwbacks or come up with something new that sizzles? A degenerate can dream can't he?

New Age Windows Phone

2009-10-17T20:42:00.005-04:00

Angelica Huston vs. Fran Drescher
ALCS Game 2

I missed most of the first nugget in this happy meal, but my rapture is yours, dear reader, as I dwell delusionally while sick in bed on a Saturday night. S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night.

I got a hot date with Johnny Fever.

Anyways bro, I'm cloud nined. Chone Figgins is as rough as a crocodile's asshole right now, pussy ass earflaps are for Texeira type turds, and stank call on AJ's dirtball third strike here in the 4th. Fuck your fake ass Charlie Hustle aspirations Jeter-san. You'll never have the real hustle, son.

Dude had maybe too much hustle. But as the old saying goes, it doesn't really count unless you bet against your own team.

Figgins has not been living up to his reputation of legendary fig consumption. He clearly does not have a case of the trots.

Fuckin Jeter, shut your mouth when you're on the field you cock rustler. That fuck will do anything for an edge. He'd slit a teammates tendon in the shower with a straight razor. These are some allegations right here.

Abreu takin it to the outer realm in the top of the 5th here. Hella foul balls, fowl balls, Ethan Fowler's balls:

Johnny Damon actually caught something other than a case of gonorrhea. Nah, I don't mind Damon that much. For a Yankee, I find him tolerable, don't ask me why... Maybe he just looks allright compared to the vomitous sludge sitting on the bench on either side of him.

Burnett you shit baller. You're blowing it. I'm loving it. I want a cheeseburger.

Tonight is a night for Chicken

2009-10-16T21:15:00.003-04:00

Whirlwind trip around the world in 90 seconds... Go!

San Fernando Valley:

Grimy old London town:

The Dutch Oven:

But Don't Fear the Reaper

2009-10-16T18:41:00.003-04:00

Utley's Udders have been milked in the bottom of the 8th. He's blowing the proverbial goat with the Codgers this series.

Old Man Thome lurking in the shadows, springs one into the corner with some sizzle to bring el dude to 3rd with one in the outhouse. Lookin hot, loadage of bases.

Andre Ethier of the Deadly Snakes works the fully and coaxes a surely satisfying trot to 1st. 2-1 LA Codgers. Predator shits the bed and we're on to the 9th.

Chase chasing redemption off big bottom Broxton... NO DICE.

He's gonna have to eat a couple of these puppies to toughen up.

I guess scoring on an error and a bases loaded walk might be a bit of a pyrrhic victory, but I'm sure the Dodgers could give half a shit how they win as long as they win.

It's a little weird that they play "I Love LA" at the stadium when the Dodgers win.
Just take a gander at some of Randy Newman's harsh satirical bite:

"Look at that mountain
Look at those trees
Look at that bum over there, man
He's down on his knees"

Envy the Dead

2009-10-16T16:36:00.007-04:00

Codgers vs. Philadelphia starring Tom Hanks
NLCS Game 2

Here I lie, sick at home on a Friday. But, a little sesh alleviates the horror and you're smack dab in the middle of some kind of microcosm of Ferris Buehler's Day Off.

Pedro's jerri curl is greasing up the rubber, I can see it dripping onto the mound. I think it might be throwing Padilla off a bit.

He knows how to take a pop on the chin.

But don't think he doesn't know how to dish it out too.

At least he shits on the Yankees and looks out for the little guy. Go Expos!

Balloon Boy is A-OK

2009-10-15T20:52:00.005-04:00

Trolley Dodgers vs. Phineas Philadelphia
NLCS Game 1

Predator's back son, peep the healthy glow. Complexion like roast beef, focus like a mongoloid. Pops a trifecta in the 5th to pump the biscuit to 5-4 Philadelphians. Pumping guns and juicin runs.

Old King Cole was good till then despite some early hiccups. But yes it's true, Cole Hamels' wife was a cast member on Survivor.

Not enough juice to keep the thang pumpin, Dodger fall off, Philapelphian ferocity.

The Great Outdoors

2009-10-14T11:50:00.004-04:00

So, there's a couple of dudes who are interested in building a baseball-only outdoor stadium in Toronto. I'm certainly not holding my breath by any means, I mean it says right in there they haven't even spoken to the Blue Jays about this stuff, but my member gets some tingles just thinking about it.

Really, the "Rogers Centre" has such an oppressive atmosphere, if the field wasn't green, it wouldn't feel like baseball had anything to do with that place. It is a harsh vision of the future, where you must seek shelter from the acid rain and the toxic atmosphere that came from the fallout after the great fresh water wars with the EU sometime in the 22nd century.

To me, it seems like one of the biggest cockblocks for some new digs would be what the fuck you'd do with the Skydome without the Jays. Sure, the CFL will fill your coffers (not), but it'd be a perfect setting for the Toronto contingent of the new cyborg/robot baseball league that Rupert Murdoch is set to fire up by 2015.

The future is now, repent sinners for your soul has become obtuse.

Exasperatingly Sorry

2009-10-13T16:34:00.009-04:00

I'll bet you're sorry. What this video could've been. Maybe not an omega biscuit for the ages, but at least a flavour of the season. Makes me feel like an Eastern European immigrant seeing the crapulence of North America for the first time.

In this case, we've got a Western European immigrant (Geoff Rowley) makin it big stateside. All those wild ass ads over the last few years revealed in full glory. Right away, this vid blows it like a cherry bomb. All this Shane Cross footy that people have been clamoring for like wild women of borneo, and whadda they do? Throw in a bunch of animation that is so distracting you can't even think about how bad the music is.

Rowley's part skimps on the music rights coming up shy of what could've been a doozy. Had they shelled out a bit for the original Stand by Me, that would've been taster's choice. From there the music all goes downhill into some kind of black nailpolish choker necklace lurker composing gothic anthems on a computer in his parent's basement. Yes, I hear you saying, just lay down your own tunes overtop of this, but c'mon, do you really think I have my shit that together? I'm just not that motivated, man. But yeah, this music fuckin sucks.

Damn shame too, cause Rodrigo's part is fuckin legit. I imagine this shit is what Fabian Alomar would wanna skate like in his weed dreamz. Lack of trendy tricks, ender is bonkers, and don't tell me that switch varial flip manny didn't have some Gino flavour.

Suprising amount of Boulala footage, alternate angles from the 90's and some Somalian piratism. Really, a pretty traditional Boulala part. That's that, I'm not gonna speculate on any kind of comeback or anything.

Vov Vurnquist really blew doors with this one though, lemme tell you. He was straight toilet wig splittin with this bionic criddler shit. I loled, I said omg, I might have even squeaked out a zomg, that's how modern this biscuit is. Imagine if you went back in time and showed this part to like a young Bill Dorr or something, their minds would vaporize like a dried turd in a death ray.

Switch back tail the omega rail, and not only that, but they somehow managed to hold on to the make of his grand canyon paradrop and keep it under wraps? Unless I missed it somewhere before... pretty buckland wilder.

I could do without masturbating claymation, but I'm sure there's 13 year olds out there who will be positively thrizzled at the idea.

The british am chap was pretty decent and that Willow dude has the most switch looking regular stuff I've ever seen.

What can you say about this cave troll? It looks like he's making the transition to a grubby park dwelling 60-something homeless dude pretty well. But for reals, I still like Penny footage. Even though he's not at the same level as in his TSA heyday, seein his shit is kinda like seeing an old broseph skating when you haven't skated with em in years.

The only part of the clayfighter business that really jazzed me good was how lunatic fringe they made Lance Mountain look. Like a vampire ape loose in the streets. They make it look like he filmed his whole part in one day, which is a bit of that old George Powell video magic, but I don't think they were honestly trying to fool anybody, just for that old-timey vibe, man.

I guess Appleyard really does have that fly boy element goin on and the Mexican dwarf in tight pants with a ribbon wrapped around his head as last part was a real bad choice.

So, yeppers. I'd like to see some diligent freak re-edit this thing in its entirety with a couple juicy tracks overtop. As it is, it's kinda unwatchable as a whole video. Bumrush the show. Endgame

Harshing my Mellow

2009-10-11T21:21:00.003-04:00

Twins vs. Skins
ALDS Game 3

Why is it that when Delmon Young takes a stray to the nuts, that they feel obligated to say he got it in the protective cup? Tell it like it is motherfuckers.

Punto blows his 2009 post season legacy in a pretty big way.

And another thing. I understand they don't wanna give screen time to loonies who run on the field cause it'll just encourage them, but don't you think it'd be tasty and entertaining to catch a glimpse of that action?

That's all. Yankees/Angels... meh.

Gimme a Chimmie

2009-10-10T20:31:00.007-04:00

Artful Dodgers vs. Dying Cardinals
NLDS Game 3

Going to the taco stand. Gonna get a fish taco, holmes. Best in the barrio, ese.

Don't miss the season premiere of "Men of a Certain Age". Looks positively thrizzling.

Again, I catch this biscuit in the final stages, in this case what looks to be the death throes of old Saint Lou. C'mon Fat Albert, the people want a hero. Someone to pull them from burning buildings and someone to catch their babies when they crawl off the balcony. They want a cape. RBI.

Here comes Mr. Holliday. He would kill an innocent child for some kind of redemption here. Natch. Looks like this is what you get to take home with you this year St. Louis:

I'm counting on you, Predator and co., to get shit done if it comes down to a series with Steinbrenner's evil minions.

Burning Ghosts

2009-10-09T20:55:00.007-04:00

Twins vs. Brown Bombers
ALDS Game 2

Right now I'd like to think that the Twins can come off whatever happens here with a wet biscuit of a victory back at the white domed roof with some measure of glee. The glee I would get from this would be a purely vengeful glee. I could care how well Minnesota does, may as well be the Washington Nationals for all I care, hell I'd like to see the Nationals in their place. That's how much I truly care about the Twins.

But the Yankees, for thee my scourge knows no bounds. What a whole rotten franchise. Even worse, they built on top of one hell of a rich heritage, and covered it with shit. Like those Euros that built on top of Incan ruins in Peru.

But back to the Twins, Joe Mauer is a fine specimen of olympian DNA. He's like the Reese Forbes of baseball.

Alas, Joe Nathan taken deep by A-Rod fills my trousers shamefully. Hearts sink all across the midwestern plains.

Fuck Kate Hudson
Fuck Louise Ciccone
Fuck Jose Canseco's wife

...

Also, fuck referring to yourself in the 3rd person too.

Yet, all is not lost. We go to the 10th.

Piss Break

Denard Spic and Spannnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, to no avail. Baby's bottom of the dime piece.

Posada, chinless wonder in full effect. Broken bat bumbaclaat. Pinch runner what a bummer. Brett Gardner Pherris Lardo.

C'mon Michael Phelps, do your thing with king tut's bling. Are you fucking serious TBS? Throwing computer graphics in the dirt when a dude leads off the bag? Quit trying to spice this shit to Volcano Taco status.

Brett "Grey Gardens" Gardner popping the wheelie. To third with Nathaniel's boner, he blew the big one right out of the bucket.

YEW!!!! 11th

What the fuck! That pigeon fucking ump was staring that fair ball right in the face. Yes, fuck you, Mauer gets on anyways. That should've been a double.

Kubel Khan getting tings done. I like where this is going with an empty outhouse. Y'harrr, bases be full, I can taste the salt between yer legs.

Well, slit me open and feast upon my liver. Full bags, empty outhouse, full strandage....
Yankers pop the stink factor, Texeira style, how depressing.

I'm gonna go ahead and assume fat Minnesotans are frothing right now and puking up their burgers with rage.

Realtyme interturd.

Jesus Christ Shitting Profusely on Matt Holliday

2009-10-08T21:02:00.007-04:00

I thought this had the potential to be a sizzler in the bottom of the ninth:

Goatee vs. Dreadlocks

I guess sorta like Alien vs. Predator if Alien had a goatee.

Nothing came of that, but...

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS SACRED, that was a hell of a finish. Matt Holliday will NEVER EVER 4EVAH live that one down.

That's up there with Merkle's Boner and Bill Buckner's feeble knees. That'll be on highlight reels for ages AGES I tell you.

St. Louis fans are gonna remember that bobble for a long long time.

Snakes of the Deadly Kind

2009-10-08T20:15:00.007-04:00

He fought his first battle on the Scottish Highlands in 1536. He will fight his greatest battle on the streets of New York City in 1986. His name is Connor MacLeod. He is immortal.

There can only be one.

Andre Ethier

Right fielder, RBIman, general do-gooder and upstanding member of society.

Andre Ethier

Lush, degenerate, general doer and an even more upstanding member of society.

When the two finally met on June 9, 2007, a showdown of sorts ensues. Here's what happened:

Dingleberry Stew

2009-10-08T20:02:00.007-04:00

So we got the old Saint Lou out in sunny LA...

The specimen pictured here in the foreground of this picture is the public face of one "Fat" Albert Pujols. However, examine the picture more closely. Lurking in the shadows behind his persona of charity work lies his hidden self. The dark presence that haunts his split personality.

The kind of personality that makes questionable decisions and talks to the wrong people hovering around the clubhouse. Not the one to turn down an edge, they delve deep into the satchels of chemical carrying trainer men. Beware the outcome that unfolds... do not say it was not foretold!

Shit Factory

2009-10-08T17:34:00.002-04:00

I'd like to think that the Twins just crashed out cause they didn't get a greenie re-up and they're gonna come back fierce to blow the Yankers away by harnessing the tropical current that blows balls to paint scraper status at Babe Ruth's new luxury condo stadium, but.... I think it's more likely that they take one in the Metrodome before crumbling like the crackers I put in my soup.

^This^ colossal turd broke his post season drought while Kate Hudson's panties got soiled in the stands.

Minnesota vs. A.J. Burnett's tattoo's on Friday.

Storybook Sizzler

2009-10-07T02:38:00.005-04:00

Twins take it with clumsy gusto in 12. Porcello didn't get rattled, Baker was passable, Joe Nathan looked a little bit like Michael Phelps out there, and the Cabrera of the Miguel persuasion got a little redemption for his naysayers. Miggy slapped the ball into the stands in the top of the 3rd like it was his wife.

Joe Mauer was studly, if there was a casting call for an actor to play him in a movie, a young Tom Hanks would get the role. Orlando Cabrera was crackheadin, testing some Umperial patience and getting reeled in by Gardenhire the fat man.

The Yankerinos are gonna make em come to the Bronx tomorrow, but I think the Twins might crash out like a cokehead after Nuit Blanche.

How To Get A Head In Baseball

2009-10-06T12:59:00.012-04:00

Ex-employees always have some sort of axe to grind. There's a certain joy in talking shit on people that can't fire you anymore, but few take it to the next level by writing a book about it.

If you haven't seen it, THIS article tells you about the unspeakable horrors that went down at the Alcor Life Extension Foundation cryogenic facility where the frozen head of Ted Williams lives.

The dude who wrote this book called "Frozen", which details his experiences as an exec at Alcor, claims that the severed head of Ted "Fucking" Williams was removed from the freezer with a stick and they used old tuna cans to it prop up. Apparently they couldn't get the tuna can off one time and an employee swung at Ted's head with a monkey wrench, missing the can and sending "tiny pieces of frozen head" all over the room.

Somehow, it makes me think of that part in Return to Oz with the crazed woman's hall of interchangeable heads.

Except, more budget and with tuna cans. Good lord.

Lurve the Swerve

2009-10-06T12:21:00.004-04:00

The first thing I imagined when Miguel Cabrera played Saturday night with a mysterious cut under his eye was some sort of bar altercation with a smug heckler who tried to cross the divide between fan and player. Turns out it was a wife fight, hot gossip!

Blood alcohol holdin steady at .26 early Saturday morning, apparently he came home crunked and woke up his kid, so his wife dealt some harsh cards (he did too). Now, fighting your wife is one thing, but coming up empty in a loss to the White Sox that evening when your team's shit is far from secure gets the no no.

If he went out there and tore it up, he might've been on his way to building some kind of drunken hero legacy, but that's not the way the cookie crumbled.

(The Diamond Conspiracies doesn't condone woman beating, by the way, unless we're talking about Whoopi Goldberg, Ann Coulter, or your mother).

Goin Down the Mountain

2009-10-05T21:45:00.007-04:00

Twins (86-76)

Baker (15-9), 1.19 WHIP, 4.36 ERA

VS.

Tigers (86-76)

Porcello (14-9), 1.35 WHIP, 4.04 ERA

Gaze into the 20 year old eyes of Rick Porcello. Let the harsh curve of his brim lull you into a seductive slumber of the ages. This is a rarity. 163rd game of the season, tie breaker, do or die, time to fry, on the sly, apple pie, superfly, cup of chai.

I'm of the opinion that a rookie like Porcello could very well crumble under the pressure of fat Minnesotans screaming at him like banshees with food spraying out of their mouths staining the undershirts that hold the bellies that a Twins jersey can't contain. It's enough to make a man's penis wither like a flower in the fall.

I could envision the possibility of some late inning Mauer heroics. Batting title in the bag, just on the cusp of 100 RBIs, the culminated weight of one million pounds of Minnesota fandom on his handsome shoulders. On to glory?

Winner gets the privilege of first crack at booting Yankee bottom, medium style. A dish best served piping hot like some tongue melting evil jungle prince.