Sunday, March 30, 2008
Say what you want about hockey: it's boring, you don't understand the rules, you hate Canadians, you like teeth, the NHL over-expanded, you wonder why Florida has two professional teams, you hate white people...but one thing you can't say is that hockey players aren't tough. I was watching a game today where one of the Pittsburgh Penguins young stars, Evgeni Malkin had his face stepped on and suffered a facial laceration. Malkin calmly skated to the bench, went to the locker room, had his faced stitched up with 10 stitches, and then returned to the game (note: Malkin is Russian so he probably had some vodka before returning, but he was back on the ice nonetheless). Not only was this a manly display to return to the game, but apparently it isn't a penalty to step on someone's face in hockey. The official was standing in perfect position to see the incident and did not feel it warranted a penalty.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Since last night is preventing me from being anything close to productive this afternoon, I decided to fulfill our Title IX obligation and
waste spend my afternoon telling you about my thoughts on an NCAA women's tournament game. Seeing as I have never watched a women's basketball game on TV, I'm expecting this live blog will consist mainly of immature jokes, commentary on what the announcers say, and sexist comments.
Today's Star Watch: Andrea Riley (OSU) and Sylvia Fowles (LSU)
20:00- LSU wins the opening tip, and Fowles shoots the ball from the block, hitting only the backboard. OSU hits a three-pointer and Fowles then tries to pass to a member of the press in the front row (who apparently isn't on her team). OSU: 3, LSU: 0
17:46- Fowles makes a nice catch in the post and then throws it to a girl on the OSU bench...getting closer, at least this girl has a uniform on.
16:04- Fowles travels. I'm beginning to wonder what the Guy Announcer meant when he said she was one of, if not the best center in the country. I guess LSU made a free throw at some point, because they just scored a layup and the game is now tied at 3. OSU: 3, LSU: 3
14:21- ESPN just showed a graphic with the field goals for each team: OSU: 1-11, LSU: 1-9. I thought the women's game was supposed to consist of a bunch of fundamental play and jumpshots (like a MN high school game)
11:46- Riley hits a three from about 4 feet behind the line, her second of the game. If I were the OSU coach, I would not let anyone else shoot the ball. In support of my theory, a cowgirl throws up on of the ugliest runners I've ever seen, then on the next possession another female airballs a shot from the baseline. LSU has scored on 2 of their last 3 possessions, this is getting wild! OSU: 6, LSU: 9
11:11- Riley dribbles around and hits another deep three (barely in bounds). On the next possession, she passes it up to a teammate who misses a layup. Guy Announcer is starting to think like me, asking whether Riley can win this game by herself. OSU: 9, LSU: 9
9:39- LSU hits a couple and shots, then Hernedez becomes the first non-Riley cowgirl to score by hitting a couple of free throws. I personally like my cowgirls riled up. OSU: 11, LSU: 13
6:37- LSU grabs four offensive rebounds on one possession (one of which a girl actually jumped to get!) and finally puts the ball in the hole (hehe). OSU:12, LSU: 15
3:48- Riley shoots a couple more deep threes, and even though this has been OSU's offense today, LSU allows her to take one uncontested. However, she misses both ESPN shows the FG percentages for the half: OSU-11%, LSU-23%. Riley gets two steal and makes both layups. Lady Announcer says "Riley used her body her like a running back to shield off the defender." I have absolutely no idea what she means by this and missed some of the "action" trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about. OSU:16, LSU:18
2:09- An OSU post player makes a nice headfake, but as she goes to complete the up and under move, knocks the ball off her knee...just a great show of athleticism.
1:39- Fowles hits a couple free throws, then LSU hits a couple threes. Timeout OSU. Fowles scores again and Lady Announcer says LSU needs to keep getting the ball to the big girl. Guy Announcer adds that LSU coach allows tells the team to get the ball to the "biggin." Now I don't know a lot about women, but most females I know wouldn't appreciate being called a "biggin," especially to their face. OSU:16, LSU:26
Halftime- OSU:16, LSU:29. As the halftime shows goes to commercial, an advertisement points out that this program is "brought to you by Round-up Pump-and-Go Sprayer. I realize how much a retard I am as I'm giggling thinking, "I always pump and go, that way you avoid the awkward morning after."
16:42- LSU scores a couple lay-ups and Guy Announcer says: "LSU is doubling their pleasure" (I believe in reference to the score) and I again laugh hysterically. OSU:16, LSU:33
15:38- Coming back from commercial, ESPN shows that a clip where it caught Riley giving an open-handed shove to the back of the head of one the the LSU girls while going for a rebound. I must say, I'm impressed with the cheap-shot. OSU:16, LSU:33
15:18- There is about a four minute break in the action as the two female officals met at the scorer's table and discuss God knows what. As the cameraman, sorry-camera person pans the floor, the third official looks bored out of his mind. Coming out of the break, Fowles blocks a jumpshot to pick up her 5th block of the game.
14:28- OSU SCORES for the first time this half on a Riley layup after a steal!!! OSU: 18, LSU: 33
14:01- OSU SCORES AGAIN!!! And it was someone other than Riley...oh, what an exciting game we got here. LSU calls a timeout, and as we go to commercial, I'm pretty sure I just heard someone in the stands cough because the crowd is that
13:28- LSU scores out of the timeout and Riley answers with a 3. On the next possession, Riley's three point "attempt" goes hard off the backboard and barely grazes the rim. OSU:23, LSU:36
9:59- Riley hits a couple of free throws and Guy Announcer points out that at one point she had a streak of 40 straight free-throws. I don't care who you are, that's pretty damn impressive. LSU comes back and hits a three, OSU answer with a nice entry to a post who actually makes the layup. On the next possession some cowgirl hits a three. Suddenly they don't look completely inept. OSU:30, LSU:39
7:24- The "action" is starting to pick up as each team trades a few baskets. Guy Announcer jinxes OSU when he says "both teams can't miss right now" and OSU misses two shots pretty badly. OSU:37, LSU:49
6:34- Guy Announcers points out that LSU has made it to the Final Four the last three years, but lost in the national semifinal each year. He says "its always been Final Four, then bust." Any time I hear the word bust, I can't help but think of our friend T-Good: "just busted." OSU:39, LSU:51
4:41- OSU makes one of two free throws, and then LSU scores on a few straight possessions, pretty much putting the game away. OSU calls timeout. OSU:40, LSU:56
3:27- LSU's offense is functioning, and they put in a few more baskets. At the TV timeout, all I can think about is how dumb of an idea this was and how I can't wait for it to be over. I'm just hoping to see some girls cry when the game ends because I'm a terrible person. Out of the timeout, a Tiger-woman hits one of two free throws. OSU:43, LSU:62
2:22- Riley fouls out of the game with 26 points (on 28 shots). Tiger-chick hits both free throws. OSU:47, LSU:64
1:30- LSU's coach empties the bench and Lady Announcer says "now everyone is getting some action."
49.9- OSU makes a shot and immediately calls a timeout. This couldn't piss me off any more. The guys do it to, but whenever it happens, I always want to punch the coach in the face and ask "really??? You're down 17 fucking points and you're calling a timeout like you're still in the game???" OSU:49, LSU:66
1.2- OSU fouls with a second left...just a fantastic move. Unfortunately, OSU misses the 20-point shot that they needed to win the game.
FINAL- I'm now going to go repeatedly hit myself in the nuts to see if I can find an experience that is as painful as the one I just had. OSU: 52, LSU:67
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Cameron Maybin is a pimp. If given the option, I would absolutely allow him to impregnate my sister. However, the Marlins made the correct move in sending Maybin, the prize of the Miguel Cabrera deal, back to AA. Unlike some teams, the Marlins recognize they aren’t winning in 2008. Instead they're building the team to compete when the new stadium opens in 2011. While the Marlins are unafraid to recall players who have proven they deserve it they won’t call up someone unnecessarily. Maybin just isn’t ready yet, and it’s better that he learns to hit a breaking ball in AA than in the majors. Sending Maybin down now also allows the Marlins to control his rights for another year; some might believe this is the primary motivation for keeping him in the minors, but as Hanley and Dontrelle have showed the Fish aren’t afraid to bring a guy up if he’s proven to be MLB-ready. Maybin should be back in the majors sometime this summer.
Shoulda been you, Kirby Freeman.
The Bills will pick Michigan St. WR Devin Thomas at #11, and I will require at least 16 draft day beers to reconcile the decision. Now, I like Thomas a lot – he’s big (6'2, 216), fast (4.4 40), runs well after the catch, catches the ball at its highest point, and should at least be able to immediately contribute on returns. I’d rather have him over Malcolm Kelly and it’s really a toss-up between Thomas and Limas Sweed for the top WR. That being said, taking Thomas at 11 is dumb. He is nowhere near the 11th best player in the draft; if the Bills want to select Thomas they should trade down and then take him. If they stay at 11, the Bills should take a player who is closer to the value of the 11th overall pick but still fills a need. Examples include Derrick Harvey, Leodis McKelvin, and DRC.
Fuck you, Chipotle. About 4 times per week I eat chips and a steak fajita burrito (or barbacoa and pinto bean when my classmates are unusually irritating and I feel like punishing them with two hours of ass-gas rockets). I have no problem with you raising prices; I realize this is an occasionally necessary requirement in order for a business to stay operational. However, there’s no reason for a fajita burrito and chips/salsa to cost $8.03. The $8 is fine, but the .03 is fucking annoying. If I don’t carry around loose change I end up with $.97, which is completely fucking worthless. I’d rather the cost just be $9. Drop the $.03, shitdicks.
Last Friday evening GldnKnight, AJR, and myself had a brief conversation about my theory of the difference between a girl who is “aged” and one who is “weathered.” At some point I will fully present this theory to the Icy-Hot Sensations audience. I only bring this up now because if I knew how to operate the camera on my phone, and was an even bigger dick than I am, I would walk up to one girl sitting directly in front of me, take her picture, and post it here under “weathered” and then walk up about 4 rows, take another girl’s picture, and post it under “aged.” This would save me an astounding amount of explanation time. Alas, I suck at technology.
My NCAA tournament thoughts are largely irrelevant. As I’ve previously stated, I don’t know a whole lot about NCAA basketball, as I haven’t seen nearly enough this year. If you still want a nutshell recap: I was happy with Miami’s performance and believe that with 8 returners they can be a top 20 team next season; Western Kentucky was awesome but, according to GldnKnight, one of the worst coached tournament teams he’s ever seen; I’m not a big Duke hater but it was cool to see them lose; Davidson rules, but Stephen Curry is one dimensional; I still like Wisconsin out of their bracket; Tennessee sucks; Michigan State is going beat Memphis and Texas on their way to the Final Four; my pick of UCLA to win the title is going to be incorrect.
The NHL playoffs begin shortly. This makes dmk happy. I don’t care at all about the NHL regular season, but the playoffs fucking rule. As always, I jump on bandwagons in this order: 1. Florida Panthers. 2. Buffalo Sabres. 3. Any Canadian Team. Looks like this year it’s OMGCALGARYANDMONTREAL!!!!11.
If you are male, and you take your shirt off at a party, you are a giant fucking toolshed. I hope your family dog gets heartworm.
I have seen some awesome bar promotions in my time. When Colonel Cool, GldnKnight, and myself lived in South Florida last year, we frequented a dive bar that, from 9-12 every Friday and Saturday night, had no cover and free well drinks of vodka/rum/gin/whiskey. You did read that correctly – for three hours every Friday and Saturday night, you could literally walk into the bar with zero money and get completely fucking shithoused. At one point drinking in the bar was an actual homeless man that had asked me for money a few weeks earlier. It was awesome. There was also no dress code (April was headband month for Colonel Cool and dmk), decent music aside from the cover band that would play until 10 (I still hope their guitar rapes them), and slutty wannabee strippers with vodka shots “dancing” on the bar. We even befriended a bartender and would usually have our tab equal about ¼ of what we drank; once I distinctly remember ordering, at a non-promotion time, 4 beers, 4 whiskey/cokes, and 4 jagerbombs (I’m a douchebag) and getting a credit card tab back for $13. This place is still one of the only things I miss about South Florida. Anyway, the point of this is that I heard about another promotion at a bar down the road from this dive bar. This new bar has, aside from an actual bar with legitimate drinks, vending machines selling $1.50 cans of Busch Light and Natty Light. If that isn’t asking me to shotgun a beer in your establishment, then I don’t know what is.
Also annoying: when you go to a bar and see a bunch of cumguzzlers you graduated high school with and hoped had died. One reason why the luster of the free drinks bar has worn off, besides them increasing their prices to $1 drinks from 9-12 (fucking commies) is that half my high school class has begun showing up at that bar whenever they are home for the holidays. This is not the half I wish to interact with. I would not mind if the bartenders made the ice out of Tommy Morrison’s blood. The conversation usually goes something like this:
High School Dipshit: Hey what’s up man? How’ve you been? What are you up to?
dmk: Oh hey. I’m fine. I operate a bow-hunting ranch in rural Idaho, and on the side I run guided hunting and bird-watching tours. Also, I do a lot of meth. It’s homemade. If you know anyone who wants any, let me know. I’ll give them a good price. How about you?
HSD: Uh, cool. I’m good. I am a banker/broker/venture capitalist/campaign worker in New York/Boston/San Francisco/Washington D.C. Life is good, man, life is good. It was good talking to you – I hope you do well. Say hi to your Mom and Brother.
dmk: Sure thing. Say hi to your family for me too. Just one question though.
dmk: When you say goodbye to your hookers, do you do so with an open palm or closed fist?
Coffee tastes like dirt-covered parrot shit. However, this does not stop me from drinking 40-60 ounces daily. Granted, I use a shoefull of cinnamon and a D-cup’s worth of milk in each cup, but I still chug it down. Today, the snack bar whore even comped my coffee. Air five to me. I didn’t even have to use my AK – I gotta say it was a good day.
If you lack weekend plans, don’t forget about the National Street League’s Grey Goose Party 2008.
Joey Gathright can jump over a Dodger pitcher and a Mitsubishi. Not simultaneously, but still… Sports By Brooks
Which Major League player are you? I'm Russell Martin, although I’m not Canadian or of African descent. Liquid Generation
Davidson’s Board of Trustees is paying for every Davidson student to travel to Detroit to watch this weekend’s game(s). Awesome. Lion in Oil.
It’s long (“That’s what she said!”) but this 2004 story about Tyler Hansbrough and his family is something else. River Front Times via SI.com.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
"The surgery involves sewing the outer layer of the testicle to the scrotum wall. The Cubs said it was a minor procedure, and if the problem was not corrected soon, Pie would risk losing the testicle."
Ouch! Sewing a testicle to the scrotum does not sound like a "minor procedure" to me. There have better been a lot of Jack Daniels involved. Let me tell you why this story hit a little close to home for me.
I’ve played organized baseball for 18, going on 19, years of my life and, with the possible exception, every time I took the field I was wearing a jock strap and a protective cup. Even after all these years, I am still amazed at the amount of players I know who don’t wear nut cups. Especially those players who play the “hot corner” or any infield position for that matter. Some of my very good friends refused to wear them because the hard plastic was uncomfortable and awkward. I even had some friends tell me they didn’t wear them because they felt they were good enough to get their glove between that particular area and the ball no matter how bad the bounce was.
I’d like to share with you two very true, and very disturbing, stories that formed my strong belief in nut cups.
Now, as any of my family and friends know, I have a horrible memory. In fact, I’m not sure I remember what I ate for breakfast this morning. Perhaps it’s from too many concussions or perhaps I was just born half-stupid. Regardless, the simple fact that I can remember both of these stories like they were yesterday ought to give you a pretty good idea of the impression they made on me.
Life altering experience #1:
I was a senior in high school and I was catching both games of a double header for our varsity baseball team on a Saturday afternoon in May. I remember it being a particularly warm and sunny day, the kind that made it tough to catch 14 innings in one day. Especially when you played for a team as bad as we were. Defensive half-innings that lasted 30 minutes were not out of the question.
One of the kids I had to catch that day was a sophomore who could throw hard but had little to no control over his pitches. At some point early in the first game, with a runner on first, the opposing hitter, a speedy outfielder, squared around to lay down a sacrifice bunt. Now, as most pitchers are taught, our guy threw a high fastball towards the inside corner in hopes of forcing a popped-up bunt attempt. Well this particular pitch wasn’t necessarily as high as we would have liked. It was more belt level or even a bit lower. Nor was it aimed at the inside corner, rather it was further off the plate and was headed directly for the right-handed hitter.
Most intelligent, and quick-thinking, baseball players know in this situation to immediately turn their backside towards the mound and protect their vitals from the incoming cowhide. Plus the added meat on your butt will help to cushion the impact and lessen the potential pain. This young ballplayer seemed neither intelligent nor quick-thinking. At least on this day. He kept his bat in front of him and while jumping back in the batter’s box attempted to lay down the bunt he originally intended. This act of skill is damn near impossible and sure enough the pitch glanced ever so slightly off of the handle of his bat, right between his hands and caught him square in the place no guy wants to be caught square.
The accompanying sound was one I had never heard before or since. I’ve heard plenty of baseballs ricocheting off of protective cups, including my own. But the combination of a mid-80’s fastball catching a hard plastic nut cup perfectly square, resulted in a loud and echoing combination of “THWUNK!” and “CRACK!”. Naturally, he hit the dirt immediately upon impact and I remember hearing the umpire standing right behind me go “Fuck! Jesus, that’s gotta hurt!”
The kid ended up okay I guess. He spent the rest of the day on the bench, in too much pain and swelling to go anywhere without his new best friend: the ice pack! I talked with him between games to see how he was doing and he proudly showed off his cup that had been split into two pieces, and that he had never felt such pain. He and I agreed that he was lucky he was wearing a cup. If that pitch split a cup into two pieces can you imagine what that might have done to him had he not been wearing one?
Life altering experience #2:
Some four years earlier when I was an eighth grader, my dad and I went to watch the local high school baseball team play against our archrival. I knew a couple of the players on the team by name only and other than that my connection to them was rooted in our hatred for the rival Spartans. The starting pitcher for my hometown team was a senior who was enjoying a terrific season and had always been one of the best players in the conference.
Anyways, about midway through a very close, and low scoring game, one of the opposing hitters rapped a sharp one hopper right back into the midsection, or so it seemed, of our senior pitcher. He threw his glove and pitching hand towards his lower abdomen just as the ball arrived in the same area. Immediately, he doubled over at the waist and collapsed at the base of the mound. With his back facing home plate, we couldn’t see where he had been hit, and he certainly was not popping back to his feet to make a play to first. Soon enough, the trainer and coach came to his side and after a few minutes of deliberation, again all we could see was his back, the trainer asked a couple guys to come off the bench, presumably to help the pitcher off the field. As this is happening, the coach wanders over to the boy’s father, who’s now standing at the fence right by the dugout. All I could hear from their conversation was the coach telling the father that he should probably call an ambulance to come pick up his son.
With his teammates now at his aide, the senior pitcher started to move ever so slowly from his prone position. With some assistance, he was able to get to his feet and stand on his own. Again this entire time, all we can see is his backside. As he put his arms around his teammates’ shoulders, they all slowly turned toward the dugout, and where my dad and I were sitting, for the first time we were about to see what all the fuss was about.
My eyes were immediately drawn to it and rightfully so. Against the backdrop of his bleached white baseball pants was the unmistakable deep red color of blood. Located on his inner right thigh at groin level was a blood stain the size of a baseball glove. And yes, what happened was the batted ball had pinched his testicle up against his thigh and he had ruptured his right nut.
We found out later that he eventually had to have that testicle, or what was left of it, removed. All because even though he’s often less than 60 feet from home plate, he refused to wear a cup.
Moral of stories kids: Wear a cup, no matter what position you play. No matter how good you think you are. If you enjoy your testicles and the ability to reproduce, please wear one any time you step between those foul lines.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Slap hands for stupid contracts!!!
Based on reader comments on LaVelle Neal III’s post yesterday that announced the extension had become official, “Joe Twins Fan” sure was excited to have Nathan secured and immediately there were suggestions that the Twins might actually compete in 2008.
There may or may not be a post on this particular site that will praise the Twins for signing Nathan through 2011. This is not that post.
There are so many reasons why the Twins should have refused to sign him to any extension, regardless of its costs, that I’m not quite sure where to begin. But I’ll try and start with the obvious: the Twins are in a rebuilding phase and, while they will never publically admit it, they are aiming to contend again in 2010 when the new ballpark opens. For this reason alone, it makes zero sense to sign a 33 year-old closer to a contract that will eat up about 15% of your payroll each of the next four seasons. Simply put, for a pitcher who will throw no more than 5% of your innings this is a ridiculous amount of money to spend, especially for a team with a tight budget. Compare that to the notorious overspending (but wildly successful) New York Yankees who are committed to $15 million for the services of Mariano Rivera. So for 7% of their $200 million payroll the Yankees locked up the greatest closer of all-time.
Even the Yankees know that a closer is of no good to a ballclub UNLESS you are in the lead come the 8th and/or 9th inning. This is not a situation the Twins should expect to be in all that often over the next two seasons. I’ll go on record now and estimate that Nathan doesn’t even get 40 save opportunities in 2008 and will be hard pressed to throw 65 innings, even though Gardy loves to use Nathan in non-save situations, especially the visitor half of an extra inning(s) at the Dome. That’s a lot of money for very little work that likely won’t even help to catapult the Twins into the playoffs.
A lot of folks are pleased to see that Nathan does not have a complete no-trade clause, in that he can only narrow the Twins list to 26 potential suitors. Regardless of how good that sounds, didn’t we just experience this dilemma with the Santana situation? Say the Twins wanted to trade Nathan midway through 2008; they will be limited in their return because of the money owed to Nathan over the next 3 and-a-half seasons. And you can bet your ass the Twins won’t pay for Nathan to pitch somewhere else. As was in the Santana deal, potential suitors aren’t going to sell the farm to get a player they will soon owe $150 million (or $45 million in Nathan’s case). By signing him to an extension, the Twins have drastically reduced the potential return on a mid-2008 (or 2009 and 2010) trade to a contender and thus have further delayed their rebuilding process.
Finding a reliable closer in today’s game is not overly difficult, and perhaps even more frustrating is that the Twins should know this more than anyone else after having Eddie Guardado and Joe Nathan become All-Star closers without a big reputations, or big contracts. Common wisdom says that Pat Neshek is the closer-in-waiting for the Twins but, if he is healthy, I really like Jesse Crain to be that guy. Regardless, having two obviously serviceable replacements waiting in the wings this deal makes even less sense to me. Allowing Neshek or Crain to work into the closer role over the second half of 2008 and all of 2009 in preparation for a run at the World Series in 2010 makes perfect sense to me. Crain and Neshek are both arbitration eligible in 2010 with Crain eligible for free agency in 2011 and Neshek not until 2013. Having two younger and cheaper options available, it makes even less sense to sign Nathan to this extension.
And even without these debatable points, it’s not in the Twins (or any intelligent baseball teams) best interest to sign a 33 year-old pitcher to a long and lucrative extension. Although the risk of injury to a closer seems less likely, and Nathan has only been pitching for 10 seasons (he was a shortstop in high school and college) there is still no reason to sign a player (other than Bonds or A-Rod) to a deal that will last into the player’s upper-30’s. The risk of injury is too great and any small market team can ill-afford to be stuck with $11.25 million on an injured player.
I hope I'm wrong, I really do. But the only way for Nathan to earn his paycheck, in my opinion, is to save Game 7 of the 2010 World Series in the Twins' new ballpark.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Oh hi there, I didn't hear you come in. Why don't you sit here on the couch and I'll get us a couple glasses of wine
with a rooffie for you and we can just relax and talk for a bit.
As the preceding rant suggests, I will have very little relevant information to contribute to this blog and instead will attempt to provide meaningless insight that makes you wonder why someone has not down the world a favor and taken me out to the pasture already. However, as I was invited to
Atta boy Bill.
Some tid-bits you might have missed while watching Stephen Curry shoot himself blind:
Zubaz pants are back baby! Minneapolis Star Tribune
Who would have thought that 18 year-old Wisconsin kids could be so creative?! Green Bay Press Gazette
This is great news and all, but it doesn't explain why Julia picked Lyle Lovett over yours truly. Daily Mail
Embarrassingly enough, I was watching this game and immediately wanted to punch a cheerleader in the ovary. Get the fuck out of the way you unathletic attention grubbing whores! Tennessean
Friday, March 21, 2008
(I was planning on live-blogging the UM-St. Mary's game, but my contracts professor gave us a "maybe" quiz, meaning I could not skip class. He just informed us there will be no quiz. Balls. I would wish some kind of debilitating disease on him, but the guy is like 90 and actually was hospitalized with post-surgery complications last month...so that might be in poor taste. Instead, I hope his car fails to start.)
Easter is a sorely underappreciated holiday. It never gets the publicity of Thanksgiving, with its let’s-eat-until-we-can’t-see approach, or Christmas, with its let’s-give-each-other-trivial-gifts-and-pretend-we-like-each-other mantra. However, Easter provides opportunities for candy, lazy sports viewing, excessive drinking, calling your pregnant, unwed cousin a deadbeat whore within hearing distance of your Aunt, and a fine centerpiece of meat. With Easter, you don’t have nearly as many
The primary meat of Easter dinner is not nearly as critical as Thanksgiving or Christmas. Plus, there are no meat-related expectations with Easter. You can pretty much serve whatever you want and nobody can justify complaining (note: except me, but more on that below).
At Thanksgiving, if the turkey isn’t good everything goes straight to shit. Everybody hates you for fucking up the most crucial part of the day. Without a tasty turkey, Thanksgiving is just another family get together. Also, little known fact: if your Christmas dinner isn’t perfect, Santa comes back Christmas night, repossesses whatever shitty gifts you received this year, and lights every sock in your house on fire. He also has Blitzen violate your pet. It’s true. I’ve seen it. The old bastard isn’t nearly as jolly as he’s portrayed. And Blitzen is a real prick.
Easter dinner affords flexibility, which is phenomenal. Flexibility is never a burden. People always have a better time when expectations are low. And, if you’re like me, you don’t have to impress anyone, so you can cook whatever you want. Fuck you, gelantanous cranberry formation.
Since I won’t be going home this year, I will be preparing dinner. Last time I didn’t go home for Easter I went out to dinner. The choice was Applebee’s. My college town was not a utopia of fine dining. I ordered chicken parmesan, which was, for Applebee’s, a fancy dish. When they brought out everyone else’s meals, I was informed were out of chicken parmesan. Instead they served me chicken strips with tomato sauce on the side to dip the chicken strips in. They told me I could have some shredded cheese sprinkled over the chicken if I would like. Get fucked, Applebee’s.
None of that bullshit will happen this year. My Easter meal will kick ass, but not take names. It can’t write yet. We’re getting it tested for autism next week.
What follows is your 2008 Easter meat rankings. They are in descending order, from awful to awesome.
I fucking hate baked ham. (Weird note: I will eat ham if it is on a sandwich with other meats – for example, in some kind of Italian combo. I will not eat a ham and cheese sandwich, because in that situation ham tastes like sliced afterbirth.) Unfortunately my family serves ham at both Christmas and Easter. Every year I ask for something else. Anything else, really. All other family members eat other meats too, but our family is for some godforsaken reason governed by the “tradition” that Christmas and Easter belong to ham. Tradition is gay. I try to get it changed on a yearly basis. The conversation usually goes something like this:
dmk: Are we really having ham again this year?
Mother: Of course.
dmk: Ham blows. There’s no chance for anything else? Pork? Red meat? Baby seal?
Mother: Everyone likes ham. Besides, it’s tradition.
dmk: Goddammit. Tradition is bullshit. By the way, would you mind moving back dinner to 7? I have to go down to Little Havana, pick up some dark-skinned gentlemen, and chain them up in the backyard. That was a tradition once, after all. Wouldn’t want to let it die now.
Mother: We’re having ham.
I will not prepare ham this year.
Tofu tastes like prison rape – the Oz kind, not the Cinemax kind. Pass.
I am no fan of seafood, and fish is another one of God’s practical jokes. Fish lacks any taste value unless you douse it in butter, and you always have to pick through a bunch of little bones. Plus, people who serve fish at Easter usually do it for “health” reasons, which is retarded considering that morning everyone in the house probably ate enough chocolate to cost 3 Colombian children the use of their hands.
Turkey is the missionary position of dinner meats. Simple. Effective. Good for beginners. Rarely results in an argument or someone screaming “hey, that hurts!” Satisfying, yet at the same time underwhelming. Aferwards all you do is glance over, shrug your shoulders, aimlessly lie around, and eventually fall into a passionless sleep. You’re usually left thinking “Well, that was alright, but it could have been better if we tried something different, such as goose (or bareback reverse cowgirl).” Then you’re wondering what if the next day. I’d suggest going in another direction. Spice things up. It’ll make the evening more memorable, especially if you don’t plan to see your guests/sexual conquest again.
No, you sick fuck.
Like turkey, but a little different. Bland and boring, but nobody will complain. Again, pass.
(Note: If you fry chicken, it is a completely different story. Fried chicken is tits. Then again, if you serve fried chicken for Easter dinner you probably live in a Confederate state and/or are on food stamps)
Meh. With cinnamon it’s ok, but, again, lame. Pork is only fun if you have a Muslim couple over for dinner and tell them you are serving chicken or turkey.
I’ve never seen venison served for Easter dinner, but I imagine that if I spend much more time in the Midwest I will. I have no opinion on venison, so it’s here. Whatever. Unless you serve a 7 legged hermaphrodite deer, I’d stay away.
If you happen to eat at a house with an abundance of animal heads on the wall, I’d guess you’re going to have deer. You should probably wear a flannel shirt. Good luck.
I didn’t even know what a pheasant looked like until I googled it a few minutes ago. I will not be having pheasant for Easter.
This is fun if you have little kids and tell them they're eating the Easter bunny, but rabbit pretty much tastes like chicken.
A quick side story: I visited my family in Germany when I was about 10. It was the only time I have left the country. While visiting, my Uncle told me a story (in half German, which I used to speak somewhat well, and half English, which I still speak kinda well when sober) that one of my cousins, who I did not meet, once served their daughter (who I also did not meet) her pet rabbit for dinner upon her return home from camp. Apparently they told her the rabbit got sick and died while she was away. She believed it until a few weeks later, when she found out and understandably cried a lot. She’s probably in some kind of gonzo porn now. For all I know, she could be tubgirl. I have not been back to Europe since, but if I do go I want to meet this cousin and (1) shake his hand and (2) never talk to him again. Even I think that’s fucking awful.
Now we get to the fun stuff. I’d pass on steak, because you can have steak pretty much anytime. A $4 per pound steak is a great way to say “I care enough to give the illusion I’m willing to spend money on you.” But with the approaching spring and summer you’ll probably be barbecuing more, and steak is perfect for BBQ. Don’t serve steak at Easter unless you want to prematurely blow your wad, which is no fun unless that special someone is around.
Lamb is spectacular, but takes 7 fortnights to cook. No.
Veal presents a moral quandary. On the one hand, veal tastes delicious, especially if it’s breaded or buttered. On the other hand, you’re eating a baby calf that was possibly chained up for its entire life in order to keep the meat tender. From a moral standpoint, that’s probably not good. You always run the risk at least one guest will get all pissy about eating veal.
Since debating morality at holiday dinners is for self-important dickwads, I’ll stay away from veal unless I have some PETA asshat over for dinner, in which case I’ll serve veal with a side of manatee on plates made from genuine African Elephant tusk.
Here is my one seafood exception (besides shrimp, but I don’t count that. Fuck off). I would love to have me some lobster for Easter, but there’s really only one way you can pull it off. You need to live somewhere warm where you have dinner outside. An outdoor Easter dinner with a lobster centerpiece and some white wine, preferably on the beach and with the sunset in the background, would be phenomenal.
Wow. That was probably the gayest sentence I have ever written.
I haven’t had goose in forever, but from what I remember it was good. It’s probably a lot of work though. Plus some people serve goose for Christmas dinner, in which case you can’t double up and serve the same thing for Easter (unless you are part of the dmk family tradition). But Goose is an appealing option if time is not an issue.
This would be the perfect meat to serve in Florida. Sure, alligator tastes like chicken, but while you’re eating it you can feel like royalty. Look through the rest of the list – unless you’re Scandanavian, none of those animals can kill you. But an alligator can fuck you up something fierce. Eating alligator reaffirms your place at the top of the food chain. The entire time you can think “That’s right, motherfucker. I just devoured your cousin. That girl you used to fuck sophomore year? Ate her two weeks ago. You were right - she was loose. Watch your back, bitch. You might be next.” It’s a nice bonus to eating a good meal. Unless stores around you sell bear, this is your best option for feeling like the Earth’s superior species.
The only downside to alligator is that you can’t put the entire thing in the oven. I derive great pleasure out of putting an entire animal carcass in the oven, such as with turkey, chicken, or goose, and dominating every little part. With alligator (or bear), you can’t do that. ‘Tis the price to pay for feasting upon a badass animal.
(Note: Shark doesn’t count. If you serve shark at Easter, get a life outside of computer programming.)
Classy? Check. Goes well with booze? Check. Tastes fucking tremendous? Check. Allows you to get animal blood all over yourself while dining? Check. If you serve me prime rib at Easter dinner, I will deflower your daughter. Even if she’s husky.
Yes, it's a bit of an upset, but duck is terrific. Duck has plenty of fat, so it always has flavor. The meat is more tender than chicken, turkey, or pork. If you cook duck correctly, the outside is crispy and, if perfect, a little crunchy. Duck also comes with an orange sauce to baste it with. I could bathe myself in that orange sauce and sip it out of a Brandy sifter afterwards. Plus, if you own a shotgun you can even kill duck yourself. Guests always show appreciation if you inform them that you personally ended the life of the evening’s dinner. If there’s still some buckshot left in the duck, more power to you.
I will be cooking duck this Easter. You should too.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
After taking a one year hiatus from documenting my NCAA tournament expertise (or lack there of), my-not-so-annual March Madness preview is back.
Following an average set of bracket predictions last season, I decided to perform some elementary analysis of the last 18 NCAA Final Fours. That ingenious work, when factored in with other random statistics from the 2007-08 season, is how I came up with my rules for predicting a bracket in 2008:
- Don’t be a douche bag. For most of you, this might be tough.
- Don’t select a Final Four with seeds that combine to have a total of 12 or more. Only four times since 1990 has this happened. Basically, a fluke occurs twice every decade and the 00’s has met its quota.
- Pick a #1 or #2 seed to win the title. Only three of the last 18 champions have not been one of the top eight teams to start the tournament.
- Only four #6 Seeds or lower have made the Final Four since 1990. Probably not a good selection, Simmons.
- Don’t bet on guys you wouldn’t trust coaching your dynasty on PS3 because coaches matter in college.
- A team that lives and dies by the three can be dangerous. (See WVU 2005 & 2006).
- Defense wins championships.
- Twice every ten years, you can be sure that two shitty teams will make the Final Four and Bill Raftery will pop a chubby (Refer to rule #2). Those two events, however, are sadly unrelated.
Using these eight insights, here is AJR26’s preview to La Locura de Marzo.
Easily the weakest of the four regions. The West’s 2-5 seeds are Duke, Xavier, UConn and Drake. You call this balanced, NCAA committee? Seriously? The Bulldogs and their 3-point shooting could propel them into the Sweet Sixteen if they lock up in a second round matchup with the Huskies. Look for one or possibly two of the lower seeds (6 through 11) to reach the Sweet Sixteen and possibly the Elite Eight. Never the less, Pac-10 champion UCLA should have little trouble getting to their third consecutive Final Four.
#6 Purdue over #3 Xavier – No real solid reason, I just like the Boilers’ defense and the fact they gave
#7 WVU over #2 Duke – Traditionally, not all the second seeds make it to the second weekend.
Champion: #1 UCLA
Ben Howland takes the Bruins to another Final Four, beating the likes of Purdue and Drake. All is right with the world, or is it?
Arguably the toughest region of them all. Every team from top seeded
#10 Saint Mary’s (CA) over #7
The Tigers’ scenario is way too similar to that of Coach Calipari’s 1996 UMass team. A team with a couple of potential NBA players, the experienced Minutemen advanced to the Final Four despite not hailing from a power conference. I expect
Traditional March underachievers (
#13 Siena over #4 Vanderbilt – One non-call (traveling on Georgetown's Jeff Green) away from an appearance in the Elite 8 a season ago, the Commodores will exit stage left in Round one.
#10 Davidson over #7 Gonzaga – Davidson is so 2008, Gonzaga is so 1998.
#11 K-State over #6 USC – The Wildcats’ defense prevails in the most over hyped game of the tournament.
None---But watch out for “home” team Davidson against
Even though Bill Self has never taken his talented
Charlotte Regional (East)
The East regional is the other candidate for the tournament’s toughest region, with three very solid title contenders. The lower seeds in the bracket, except for
Our first semifinal pits
The other semifinal matches two number one seeds in
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
The South Florida sports hierarchy goes something like this:
1. Miami Dolphins
2. Bitching about the Dolphins on sports talk radio
3. Miami Heat (rapidly dropping)
4. Miami Hurricanes football (Hey, we might be able to complete a few passes this year!)
5. Shooting at illegal immigrants that float up on private beaches
When your own city and student body don’t know you’re alive, it’s unlikely you’ll receive much national attention. That being said, I am one of the few who actually cares about Miami basketball. Remember the glory days of Tim James, Johnny Hemsley, John Salmons and Vernon Jennings? You don’t, but I do. This year’s squad isn’t nearly as good, but they are still pretty entertaining. Here is your 2008 Miami Hurricanes tournament preview.
4th year coach Frank Haith has done a nice job rebuilding the Miami program after Perry Clark raped and pillaged it during his South Florida stint. While at Texas, Haith was one of the premier recruiters in the country; Haith has brought that ability, along with fairly solid game-day aptitude, to Miami. Because of his success Haith is rumored to be up for other jobs, but that is another story for another time.
Miami finished 22-10 (8-8 ACC) this season, with key wins over Duke, Clemson,…uh, VCU...and, …yeah, that’s about it. After defeating N.C. State, Haith’s boys bowed out of the ACC tournament in the second round but still garnered a 7 seed from the committee. A tough first round matchup with St. Mary’s awaits, but if Miami manages to squeak by they'll get an intruiging second round matchup with Haith’s former employer.
Key players for the ‘Canes:
McClinton is the 'Canes key to the tournament. If Miami is to advance McClinton must score. McClinton averages 17 ppg and shoots 42% from the field and behind the arc, but he is streaky. When he's on, Miami can play with anybody. If McClinton struggles, Miami is most likely fucked.
McClinton is a transfer from Siena, where he averaged 13 ppg as a freshman. There were doubts about whether he could adjust from the MAAC to the OMGACC!!!!11!, but he has fisted anyone and everyone who question his ability thusfar. He has a shot to put his name on the national map beginning Friday; if he is successful, Miami could be a Sweet 16 team.
The other half of Miami’s backcourt, along with Lance Hurdle, Dews started 30 games and was Miami’s second leading scorer with 10 ppg. Dews does not shoot as well as McClinton (42% from the field, 37% from three) and Miami can’t expect Dews to step up if McClinton sucks. One notable statistic: both McClinton and Dews shoot 90% from the free throw line, with Brian Asbury and Hurdle also well above 80%. If a game comes down to free throws, Miami is not in bad shape.
A 6-7, 215 pound junior swingman, Asbury has been somewhat disappointing this season. His points, rebounds, and minutes are all down from his sophomore campaign. He does shoot 45% from the field and 38% from behind the arc. A big effort out of Asbury would go a long way towards helping Miami advance.
The entire fucking frontcourt
Anthony King, Dwayne Collins, Jimmy Graham, Raymond Hicks, and even Asbury need to get their shit straight. Drastically outrebounded in the ACC tournament loss to Virginia Tech, Miami’s frontcourt needs to assert itself on the glass. Also, if Miami will need some frontcourt scoring to beat Texas in the second round, and it is not out of the question for one of these guys to explode for some out-of-nowhere points. Dwayne Collins put up 26 against Duke; a similar effort out of Collins or Asbury is necessary if Miami hopes to take down Texas.
Miami does roll deep, with 10 guys getting over 14 minutes per game. They are reasonably balanced but at the same time somewhat dependent on McClinton to provide scoring. As previously covered, if McClinton doesn’t shoot well, Miami will have a short stay.
Depending on my work and hangover status and CBS’ broadcast schedule, you might get a liveblog of this almost definite St. Mary’s victory. Otherwise I am hoping to do one Sunday, when I will be cooking a delicious Easter dinner primarily composed of rabbit.
(I considered doing a piece on “How to Fill Out Your Bracket”, but I haven’t seen nearly enough college basketball this year. Also, I blow at bracket games. If you want to know, my Final Four is UNC, UCLA, Wisconsin, and Texas. If these four teams appear in San Antonio I’ll buy every commenter a roofie colada.)
What's that dear? Sure, you can vault onto my pole.
Some tid-bits you may have missed recently:End Zone Buzz
Now that Spring Training is in full-force, I thought it’d be fun to revisit perhaps the greatest Spring Training moment of all time. Unless of course, you were that bird. You Tube
At least this guy's got underpants on, something that Detroit Lions coach couldn’t even figure out. Daily Mail
Monday, March 17, 2008
About every three months I become so annoyed with my hair that I decide to cut it. My hair isn’t hippie length or anything, but it is on the longer side. If you want a visual, think of a redheaded EMO douchebag haircut. It’s accurate enough, I suppose. Down to the top of the ears, above the collar in the back, around the eyebrows in the front. All in a strawberry blonde. Curls a little bit, but not a whole lot. Essentially, I resemble a retarded 17 year old.
The main reason I have longer hair is because of how much I fucking abhor dealing with the people who cut my hair. Well, that and how I look with short hair. I used to shave my head until realizing I resembled a ginger neo-Nazi. Not appealing. It also doesn’t help that my head is shaped like a disfigured cantaloupe. So, the need for long hair emerged.
Now I am not what many people would call a “social” person. I rarely go out of my way to talk with people I don’t know. I don’t feel a need to make new friends. I’ve got enough already. In fact, every time I make a new friend, an old one has to go. There’s only so much dmk to go around. If I speak with you and/or invite you to my house, congratulations. I consider you a friend. Feel honored.
That being said, if I could have a raccoon swarm dismember the vocal chords of any segment of professionals, it would be people who cut hair. Call them cosmetologists, barbers, whatever. 99% of them can fucking die. When I get my haircut, I expect one thing: cut my hair. I do not expect you to tell me about your life. I don’t care that your second husband just left you for the Super America manager. I don’t expect you to ask about my life. Trust me, it is not interesting. You do not have to feign cordiality to pass the time. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. In short, do not act like my friend.
Sometimes I even get so annoyed with people I don't know acting like they care about my life that while waiting for the haircut I conjure up alternative life scenarios. My top three:
- I am a 25 year old from Oklahoma City. I haven’t spoken with my parents or sister in six years. Back in Oklahoma I have two kids and an ex-wife. The breakup was not amicable. I haven’t seen my kids in nine months. One was born with fetal alcohol syndrome. I moved north to be with my new girlfriend, the cousin of my ex-wife. She recently announced she was pregnant and the child was not mine. Right now, I am staying in a friend’s basement. I work at an abortion clinic where I deal with medical waste. On the weekends I am employed as a bouncer downtown. Every night I go home and drink at least a fifth of whiskey with my individual pizza. I am allergic to peanuts and lactose intolerant. I can no longer taste salt. Within 6 years I expect to be dead.
- I am a 23 year old from Orono, Minnesota. I drive a black Jaguar. It’s out in the lot. Take a look. I own a 3 bedroom apartment in downtown Minneapolis. I have a 75 foot yacht I take out for weekly cruises on Lake Minnetonka. As far as I am aware, the boat is only responsible for three conceptions. None are mine. I tan 3 times a week and work out at least 4 hours per day. On the weekends I do photo shoots for Structure. I have 7 tattoos, all of which represent a family member, close friend, or Chinese symbol. Both my nipples are pierced. My favorite musicians are Fall Out Boy, Dashboard Confessional, Linkin Park and Ludacris. I play the guitar and dabble with drums. My grandfather invented the vending machine. Nobody in my family has worked since. I have an 11 inch cock that is the width of your wrist. If you’d like to see it, my backseat is open.
- I am a politically active 21 year old from Portland, Oregon. I came to Minnesota for college and have yet to regret my decision. I attend a small school in a rural town but like to come up to the cities a few times a month for coffee, grooming, and political protest. My entire life revolves around local politics. Both of my parents were elected officials in Oregon until tragically dying when, while on the way to the airport, their limousine was struck by a drunk driver and they became trapped under a gas truck. Ever since I have been campaigning to outlaw alcohol and fossil fuels. My older sister is currently working for Mike Huckabee’s political campaign. My younger sister died in the accident. One day I hope to be elected Governor. I do not have many friends. I don’t drink or smoke and look down upon people who do. I never went to a high school dance. My last physical contact with a female was over 4 years ago. I own two cats. My favorite color is white. In my free time, I enjoy flying kites and raising turtles.
All of these situations are guaranteed to ensure my service person never talks to me again. Unfortunately I am a gaping vagina and have yet to use them. As a result, my haircuts usually involve me listening to someone who took three attempts to get their GED present their opinion on personal issues or the world’s problems. It’s always fun to hear what a cosmetologist who doesn’t understand proper verb tenses thinks about the Bear Sterns buyout. Nobody who has cut my hair will be appearing on Jeopardy soon.
If anyone knows of an establishment where people cut your hair in an acceptable manner but don’t speak with you, please inform me. Failing that, an intelligent barber will suffice. Either one will drastically reduce the likelihood I murder somebody before my 25th birthday.
Friday, March 14, 2008
(Look, I know this has been done much better elsewhere about other cities and fans far more deserving of seething hatred. I cannot compete with that, but until Drew goes off on Minnesota my version will have to suffice.)
Despite annually being named one of the best places to live by numerous yuppie dipshit publications, Minnesota does not see a large influx of new residents per year. Shocking. However, if you happen to be one of the few and proud immigrating to the Gopher State you might have some questions about fitting in as a Minnesota sports fan. Being a Minnesota resident but not a fan of these shithead organizations, I am here to help. Following the steps below will help you become as ignorant, irritating, and out-of-touch as your new neighbors and friends.
1. Begin watching hockey. Immediately. You should probably even do some cursory research before moving. Watch Mighty Ducks. Talk about how you grew up on the pond. If you need a conversation starter at a party, claim the ability to hockey stop or skate backwards even though you haven’t skated in 10 years. Buy a hockey stick. Tape it up, incorrectly. Using three layers on the blade works fine. Use black tape. It will make you seem like a badass. Woo local bar trash with your performance at a pond hockey tournament “a few weeks ago.”
2. Play softball during the summer. Begin constructing lineups in January. Wear batting gloves. Go for eye black if you feel particularly hardcore. State that you “don’t take it that seriously. It’s really just for fun.” Subsequently cite your .312 average and 2 doubles in last weekend’s tournament. It’ll get you inside a slumpbuster’s fly catcher.
3. Watch hockey over basketball, baseball, or any other more interesting and relevant sports even though you don’t know the difference between a forecheck and foreskin. Claim to be the “state of hockey” as if that is some kind of honor above being the “state of kid fuckers." Ignore that you supported a professional hockey team so well they relocated. Of course, this doesn’t count because you were too busy with your family and youth hockey to notice the professional sports team. Plus, ticket prices are so high nowadays. Believe this situation was unique to your fanbase.
4. Follow all college hockey. Obsessively. Especially Gopher hockey. Act as if other people care. You’re a college hockey fan? The only difference between you and a college lacrosse fan is that you probably haven’t date raped anyone. Difference between you and a women’s basketball fan? There are more of them. A crew fan? Your sister isn’t a lesbian, and you probably don’t pop your collar or have hair down past your shoulders. A college softball fan? Her tongue has been caught in more bear traps than yours. A college volleyball fan? Half the crowd around you isn’t registered sex offenders.
5. Claim Twins fans are the league's best despite evidence to the contrary. When people dispute this notion, either reply with your team’s awful marketing gimmick in an attempt to dodge the point or cite excuses such as a “bad stadium” or “small market” as if these problems are unique to the Twins.
6. Bitch about big market teams operating within the league rules. Claim this does not give your team a fair chance to win, because no small market team has ever succeeded. You may also complain that your owner does not take money out of his own pocket to fund the team. After all, he is the only owner in the league acting this way. Your owner is not obligated to maximize his profit. He owes Minnesota. Claim that professional sports are not a business and that owners and players owe something to the fans, especially when it comes to taking a “hometown discount.” You may ignore this notion when considering a new job offer from a competing construction site.
7. Whine whenever an NHL franchise south of Chicago wins the Stanley Cup. Claim their fans “won’t know how to properly appreciate it.”
8. Pridefully assert Mighty Ducks was filmed in Minnesota.
9. Repeatedly declare the Twins are “right around the corner” or that “this is their year.” Do this annually, regardless of their offseason moves. If they can only catch a break or two, they will be right there with the Tigers, Indians and White Sox. For added effect, profess they will be a powerhouse when the new stadium opens. Assert you have one of the best front offices and managers in the game. Claim that if Pohlad would quit being cheap the front office could put out a champion.
10. Cheer for white people and especially Minnesota natives over other similarly talented players. Did you know Mauer went to Cretin-Durham hall? And that he took less money to play here? Matt Birk is a native too. And he went to Harvard. Fuckin’ right doggy. Also, if a white player or Minnesota native has one good year in Minnesota he is entitled to receive a pass for subsequent subpar years. However, other players are not permitted the same grace.
11. Proclaim the superiority of the Big 10 at everything. Embrace the victories as if they are a positive trend instead of momentary aberrations. Ignore any and all losses when discussing the Big 10’s merits. Criticize other schools for cheating, especially if they are in the SEC, filled with black players, or full of guys who wear wristbands, visors, or other pieces of flair. Those schools only win because they cheat. Maintain the Big 10 “does it right” with regard to both athletics and academics. Compare the Big 10’s cheating record to the SEC’s. Cite Jim Tressel’s sweater vest as a positive attribute even though you are not an Ohio State fan. If you are an Ohio State fan, walk your fat ass into oncoming traffic.
12. Profess this is the year the Gophers turn the corner in football or basketball. Tubby Smith take us to the promised land! Tim Brewster is the answer! We got the QB from Eden Prairie! If it is midway through the season, console yourself they also “do it right.” If desperate, cite the superior academics of Minnesota in comparison to those dumbass SEC sister slammers.
13. Claim any good player on your roster is underappreciated because he plays in Minnesota. This works best when the conversation turns to meaningless awards like All-Star games or MVPs. In desperation, player of the week works fine. Joe Nathan is the best closer in baseball! You won't find a better CF than Torii Hunter! If more people knew about Joe Mauer he would start the All-Star game EVERY YEAR. Morneau for MVP! Jeter sucks! With a small number of exceptions, this claim will almost always be wildly inaccurate.
14. Fill out at least ten All-Star ballots every time you attend a Twins game. Only vote for Twins players. When they do not make the team, cite the unfairness of the All-Star selection process, but only after you grumble about them being overlooked because they play in Minnesota.
15. Weigh a minimum of 250 pounds if are you male and 200 pounds if you are female. Wear an XXXL Twins jersey that hangs over your fupa. Pound 4 dome dogs at every Twins game. Wash them down with Diet Coke because you are “watching your weight.” Head out for wings and beer after the game because it is Thirsty Thursday. Brag about how hung over you will be the next day at work, which consists of picking up your check at the unemployment office.
16. Wear jerseys in non-ironic or self-degrading fashion, especially to sports bars. Own the jersey of at least one obscure player. Vikings linemen work well. Claim this makes you a better fan than those other bandwagoners sporting Adrian Peterson jerseys.
17. Proclaim the superiority of any and all Minnesota high school sports. In football, state that outside of Florida, Texas, and California, you are “right up there” with anyone. In basketball, cite every Minnesota native in the NBA. Ignore that other states are far more successful on a per-capita basis. Attend the state hockey tournament. Tailgate before the games. Tell tales about your high school sports days as if people care. Wear your jersey to your high school reunion at Brothers. Talk about how you were thisclose to plowing a cheerleader. Forget she was the token fat one at the bottom of the pyramid.
18. Be overly critical of Tarvaris Jackson (Note: I think he blows too, but I am not a Vikings fan. I think he sucks for reasons different from your average purple-clad toolbox's). Blame T-Jack for all the Vikings problems. Ignore that your pass defense sucks, and that your WRs are a collective abortion, and that your coach has the intelligence of a juice box. When citing Jackson's strengths, speak about his athleticism. When citing his weaknesses, wonder if he is smart enough to learn an NFL offense.
19. Continue to read Sid Hartman. Mention him in any argument you have with an opposing fan. Fail to realize he is a dumbfuck, and so are you.
20. Claim to be a diehard fan of every team in Minnesota. Ignore that you only watch three games a year. Oh, the Timberwolves are in the playoffs? Well, I’ve been a fan since I was 6! I can name three players! How about the Wild? Best fans in the league! What a story! Own at least two articles of clothing from every local team. Wear them with pride when your team is performing. Put them in the bottom of your drawer when your team inevitably sucks. Twins gear is an exception. Rock it at all times. Consider adding a Twins bumper sticker or flag to your car. If you are in college, put a Twins Territory pin on your backpack.
21. Verbally fellate Bert Blyleven.
Follow that? Good. Congratulations on becoming a Minnesota sports fan. I hope you contract cock cancer.