Sidney Crosby:
Goals: 39
Assists: 63
Sweet Gatorade Commercials: 1
Alexander Ovechkin:
Goals: 52
Assists: 54
Sweet Gatorade Commercials: 0
The choice is obvious.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Pet Peeve of the Day
People who offer insanely one-sided trades in fantasy leagues. I clicked on my Yahoo fantasy baseball roster this morning, to find that I'd been offered a trade by a team named "K-Dro." First bad sign right there. I'm assuming the kids a Mets fan and the "Dro" part refers to Perdo Martinez. Anyone who thinks that the first initial, combined with part of last name is somehow, relevant, witty or clever needs to be shot. Twice. In the head. What is this, 2001?
Anyway, the trade he offered was Jeff Kent, Brad Penny and Chris Reitsma to me for Vladimir Guerrero and Rich Harden. Wow. For those of you that don't know, Corky from Life Goes On wouldn't make that trade. "I'll give you two mediocre pitchers, and an over-the-hill "slugger" who just got got a concussion from being hit in the head on Sunday. You can give me arguably the best young pitcher in the AL, and Peter Gammons's pick to win the Cy Young. Oh, and you can also give me one of the top five fantasy hitters as a throw-in."
I'm sure this guy actually knows something about baseball, so more than likely he was trying to hose me out of my best players. How is that fair? You had a shitty draft, and now you're trying to compensate for it by screwing the rest of the league? Seriously, what does that accomplish. If you win the league this way, do you plan on bragging to your friends?
I've been in too many leagues where one guy makes a ton of ridiculous trades with people in the league who don't really care, then watches in mock amazement as his team shoots to the top of the league. Garbage.
Anyway, the trade he offered was Jeff Kent, Brad Penny and Chris Reitsma to me for Vladimir Guerrero and Rich Harden. Wow. For those of you that don't know, Corky from Life Goes On wouldn't make that trade. "I'll give you two mediocre pitchers, and an over-the-hill "slugger" who just got got a concussion from being hit in the head on Sunday. You can give me arguably the best young pitcher in the AL, and Peter Gammons's pick to win the Cy Young. Oh, and you can also give me one of the top five fantasy hitters as a throw-in."
I'm sure this guy actually knows something about baseball, so more than likely he was trying to hose me out of my best players. How is that fair? You had a shitty draft, and now you're trying to compensate for it by screwing the rest of the league? Seriously, what does that accomplish. If you win the league this way, do you plan on bragging to your friends?
I've been in too many leagues where one guy makes a ton of ridiculous trades with people in the league who don't really care, then watches in mock amazement as his team shoots to the top of the league. Garbage.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Notes from the Underground
Mark it down. On April 4, 2006 at 10:26 pm Brewers scrub pinch-hitter Gabe Gross hit a 420 foot home-run off of Ryan Vogelsong to put Milwaukee ahead 6-2. That is now the exact time at which I officially became jaded about the Pirates 2006 season. To clarify further, that's during the bottom of the sixth inning of the second game of the season. For those of you that aren't into baseball, it's a 162 game schedule and usually it takes longer than 36 hours into a season for you to start dreading the impending. That's not the case for Pirates fans.
You see, the Pirates have had a losing record every year since 1992. That's not a typo. I'll write it again just to clarify. 1992. I'll even put it in italics 1992. And just in case you were wondering what it feels like to root for a team on the verge of setting a record for baseball futility, here are a couple anecdotes...
Last month Zavo and I went out to a local bar. Seated at the table next to us were a man and a woman, who appeared to be on some sort of awkward date. The guy, well-groomed and in his late twenties, sat far back in his chair and avoided eye contact the entire time. Save for an occasional nod or grunt, he was totally silent. Cautiously munching chicken wings, he kept looking around the room as though he were scared someone he knew might walk in and see him. Considering his company, I could sympathize.
The woman (who I'll refer to as Alice Yinzer or A. Yinzer for short) was squat and rotund, and shaped like the windmill at a miniature golf course. She doused herself in metallic blue eye shadow chain smoke Camel cigarettes and struck me as the kind of woman that would throw Brett Michaels her panties at a Poison reunion concert. And that voice. If the rest of the bar was a 6, A. Yinzer was at an 11, screeching on and on about her "grandmum who used to compete in beauty pageants dahn in blawnox" her love of "hambarghers with spicy brahn mustard" and then, out of nowhere, her job "as vice president of communications for the Pittsburgh Pirates."
Let's just say I choked on my New Castle when I heard that one. My favorite sports team in the world employed this woman??? In a high-ranking capacity??? Holy shit this was huge. Suddenly, 14 straight losing seasons all made sense. If A. Yinzer could hold a position with a major league baseball team, well then, should at come as any surprise that the team hasn't had a winning record since 1992.
Incredulous about this revelation, Zavo and I to come up with the below list of things that have happened since the last time the Pirates finished above .500 It's pretty sad, really:
1) The Diamondbacks (who have won a World Series), Devil Rays, Rockies and Marlins (who have won 2 World Series')
2) The Clinton Administration
3) Peace in Ireland
4) Zavo's sister, who's in fifth grade
5) The Czech Republic
6) Brett Favre's first season with the Packers
7) The Atkins Diet
8) DVDs
9) Must See TV (including the entire run of Friends)
10)Grunge
11)The internet
There are more, like the birth of about half of the NHL franchises, but I think you get the idea.
In terms of actual baseball, nothing exemplifies the putrid play of the Pirates quite like their record in home openers. From age 7 in 1990 until 2001 when I graduated from high school, my dad and I loyally attended every home opener. During this time period, the Pirates went 2-10 including losing their last eight in a row. With the help of baseball-reference.com, here are the scores from these 12 years along with my personal memories of the game.
April 13, 1990. Cubs 2, Pirates 0: I have virtually no memory of this game. This was the season I became a baseball fan, but I wasn't quite there yet. However, this WAS the game where the college kids behind us were getting pelted with debris from fans in the above deck and I overheard one of them mutter "I'm getting hit with shit. Let's go up and beat the shit out of them." Clearly when you're in first grade, hearing two curse words in one sentence, is way more memorable than ANY baseball game. FINAL RECORD: 95-67, Lost in NLCS.
April 8, 1991: Expos 7, Pirates 0: There was a big celebration of last year's division title run to open the game, then the team went out and geot pulverized by the Expos. Cold and wet night, memorable only because dad and I missed the Pirates only hit of the game (a Barry Bonds single off of Dennis Martinez) as we were in the process of moving to closer seats as per my insistence. Sorry dad, I was 8. FINAL RECORD: 98-64, Lost in NLCS.
April 6, 1992: Pirates 2, Expos 0: Doug Drabek pitched a gem, and the Pirates finally scored some runs in the opener to scratch out the win. Although, maybe if Drabek hadn't gone a complete game in this one, he might have a little more juice for the ninth inning of game 7 of the NLCS. If you don't know what I'm talking about, and you like stories with no moral where the bad guy wins, go look it up. Not that I'm bitter or anything. FINAL RECORD: 96-66, Lost in NLCS.
April 6, 1993: Pirates 9, Padres 4. In the previous off-season, the Pirates let virtually every big name player on their roster walk away in free-agency. The three-time Eastern Division champions were planning to rebuild and return to glory quickly around three "stud" prospects: Kevin Young, Al Martin and Carlos Garcia. Who you ask? Exactly. Young homered in the win, teasing all fans with the promise of young power hitter. However, he ended up hitting just five more home runs that season and, as would become a running theme with Pirates top prospects, was cut by the team a few seasons later. In a fascinating turn of events, Young came back to the Pirates in 1997 as a non-roster invitee and made the team out of spring training. He then proceeded to develop into a decent hitter, averaging close to 25 HRs and 100 RBIs for the next two and a half years. To prove their economic viability, the Pirates rewarded him with a lavish 4 year $24 million contract, the richest in club history at that point. I think the day the contract was signed, Young's knees began to give out, and he instantly became a .230 10 HRs a year guy, who couldn't bend over to pick up a ball at first base. The kind of player who's big contract absolutely KILLS a small market franchise. What does this have to do with opening day you ask? Nothing really, but when a guy manages to kill the direction of a franchise twice in a decade, I think he deserves his own paragraph. FINAL RECORD: 75-87, 5th in NL East.
April 8, 1994: Rockies 7, Pirates 3: One of the saving graces of the Pirates 1993 season was that the National League added two expansion teams, the Rockies and Marlins, that helped to pad the Buccos win total. Unfortunately, the Rockies were a wealthy team that actually spent money on free agents, and by opening day 1994 had already passed the idling Pirates talent level. Looking at the rosters, that may not actually have been the case. But as an 11 year-old, that's how it felt on opening day. FINAL RECORD: 53-61, 3rd in NL Central.
April 26, 1995: Expos 6, Pirates 2: Wow. Now this one was memorable. I would venture Pirates fans were some of the most bitter people about the players strike that wiped out the end of the 1994 season and canceled the World Series. Not only did we miss out on half a season of baseball, but the work stoppage did absolutely nothing to improve the plight of small market fans. And to top it all off, our team stunk and was in danger of leaving Pittsburgh. All of these emotions came bubbling over when in the top of the fifth inning, the Pirates committed an unheard of three fielding errors on the same play. In some half-assed attempt to apologize or appease fans, ownership had given away Pirate "flags" to everyone in attendence. When the dust cleared on the fielding debacle, the entire crowd, as if possessed by a higher being, rose as one and proceeded to litter the diamond with the giveaways. It was a biblical proportions rain of Pirate flags. I think everyone's only regret was that it didn't lead to a Pirates forfeit. FINAL RECORD: 58-86, 5th in NL Central.
April 8, 1996: Phillies 6, Pirates 3: The first opener of the Kevin McClatchy ownership era. I remember my dad being overjoyed to find that they were now giving away pencils with the scorecards, as opposed to charging $1.00 for some the crappiest writing instruments known to man. Seriously, whatever Jefferson drafted the Declaration of Independence with was better than those pencils. This was also the debut of Charlie Hayes, the first in a long-line of middling, mediocre or over-the-hill free-agents the Pirates would sign over the next ten years. The pattern with these signings always goes something like this: Because it's the "small market" Pirates everyone gets super-excited and over inflates the value of said player. Said player plays OK (except for Derek ".125" Bell, although he got Cam Bonifay fired so he gets a pass in my book), but does very little to improve the team, and invariably is traded by July 31 for middling, mediocre or over-the-hill prospects. Anyway, I remember Hayes pulling and 0-for and fouling out to third to kill a late inning rally. Pretty typical ho-hum Pirates loss, somewhat notable for being Jim Leyland's last opener as Pirates manager. FINAL RECORD: 73-89, 5th in NL Central.
April 11, 1997: Dodgers 7, Pirates 1: Easily the best season during the 13 losing seasons, as a team that was a lock to lose 100 games remained in playoff contention until the final week of the season. Of course the Pirates still finished under .500 and got creamed in their home opener, perhaps moving the latter past taxes and just behind death on the list of certainties in life. FINAL RECORD: 79-83, 2nd in NL Central.
April 7, 1998: Braves 11, Pirates 3: One of the most ominous beginnings ever to a home schedule. Braves lead-off hitter Andruw Jones chopped a ball to new starting third baseman and "big-time" prospect Freddy Garcia. Garcia air mailed the throw to first and into about the second deck, for a two-base error. Rattled, the Pirates starter (Francisco Cordova?) walked the next hitter, then gave up an absolute bomb to Chipper Jones. Before the Pirates recorded an out, let alone came to bat it was 3-0 Braves. Jones hit another moonshot later in the game and Atlanta cruised to an easy win. FINAL RECORD: 69-93, 6th in NL Central.
April 5, 1999: Expos 9, Pirates 2: (I shit you not that what follows is not embellished in the slightest.) One of the most ominous beginnings ever to a home schedule. Expos lead-off hitter F.P. Santangelo (?) chopped a ball to new starting third baseman and "big-time" free-agent signee Ed Sprague. Sprague air mailed the throw to first and into about the second deck, for a two-base error. Rattled, the Pirates starter (Jason Schmidt?) walked the next hitter, then gave up an absolute bomb to Vladimir Guerrero. Before the Pirates recorded an out, let alone come to bat it was 3-0 Expos. Guerrero hit another moonshot later in the game and Montreal cruised to an easy win. FINAL RECORD: 78-83, 3rd in NL Central
April 4, 2000 Astros 5, Pirates 2: The season was scheduled to open the night before to a sell-out crowd. However, the game was rained out, and about a quarter of the people showed up the next night. The weather was so blistering cold, and the attendance so meek, at some point the Pirates decided to give away hot chocolate. I remember doing my best to maneuver the flimsy dixie cup of hot brown water, as my fingers twitched in the frigid air, sending some of the boiling liquid over the sides. Yet the frost bite and third degree burns weren't the most painful part of the evening.
Miraculously, the Pirates escaped the top of the first without giving up a run. Heading into the sixth, they were down only 1-0, and in danger of making it a game. However in that inning, starter Jason Schmidt single-handedly changed that possibility. Schmidt walked the bases loaded (a horrible thing to watch no matter what the circumstances, but absolutely interminable when the temperature's below freezing) then gave up a grand-slam to Richard Hidalgo. Seriously, the Hidalgo home-run may have been the most predictable thing to ever happen in a sporting event. Or at least since Vladimir Guererro's home run in the first inning the previous year. I'm proud to say that despite the weather we stayed until the last out. Notable because it was the last home opener at Three Rivers Stadium. FINAL RECORD: 69-93, 5th in NL Central.
April 9, 2001: Reds 8, Pirates 2: This was a game that honestly made you question whether or not there were some supernatural forces behind the Pirates futility. On the morning the team opened PNC Park, Willie Stargell, the Pirate's greatest living player, whom the team was unveiling a statue of that day, died of kidney failure. Even though reviews of the new ballpark were exceptional, the play on the field wasn't. Sean Casey picked up where Vladimir Guerrero left off and hit a two-run homer in the bottom of the first inning. The Pirates never really recovered, and made several errors late in the game helping the Reds blow it open.
Also, this was the quintessential "amateur afternoon" game as my father and I have come to dub openers. Given the number of non-baseball fans in attendance at these things, you often see some particularly ridiculous behavior. Given that this was the first game ever at PNC Park, the amateur factor was through the roof. Sure enough, midway through the game, a woman on the deck below us, leaned against the guard rail, turned AWAY from the field and began to chat with her friends seated at the table behind her. She was utterly oblivious to the fact that by STANDING during play, she completely blocked my view. Of course given the angles, it was only my view she blocked, so I couldn't even get a chorus of support for her to sit down. This was particularly frustrating given that she was either too far away, or too drunk to hear my cries for to "Sit down and watch the f---ing game." Fortunately, she eventually got bored and left the rail, but the cumulative effect of the afternoon nearly had me swearing off home openers for good. FINAL RECORD: 62-100, 6th in NL Central.
Well, I went to college in the fall of 2001, and haven't been home for a Pirates home opener since. The Bucs have actually improved their winning percentage, going 2-2 while I was away at school. This Monday, April, 10, they host the Los Angeles Dodgers in the first game of the season. And despite Ryan Vogelsong, A. Yinzer and 10 above anecdotes that lead me to believe I'm better off at home, I'll be there. Section 222, Row H, Seat 3. I figure I'm due to see a winner. Worst case, I'll have another story to add to the list.
You see, the Pirates have had a losing record every year since 1992. That's not a typo. I'll write it again just to clarify. 1992. I'll even put it in italics 1992. And just in case you were wondering what it feels like to root for a team on the verge of setting a record for baseball futility, here are a couple anecdotes...
Last month Zavo and I went out to a local bar. Seated at the table next to us were a man and a woman, who appeared to be on some sort of awkward date. The guy, well-groomed and in his late twenties, sat far back in his chair and avoided eye contact the entire time. Save for an occasional nod or grunt, he was totally silent. Cautiously munching chicken wings, he kept looking around the room as though he were scared someone he knew might walk in and see him. Considering his company, I could sympathize.
The woman (who I'll refer to as Alice Yinzer or A. Yinzer for short) was squat and rotund, and shaped like the windmill at a miniature golf course. She doused herself in metallic blue eye shadow chain smoke Camel cigarettes and struck me as the kind of woman that would throw Brett Michaels her panties at a Poison reunion concert. And that voice. If the rest of the bar was a 6, A. Yinzer was at an 11, screeching on and on about her "grandmum who used to compete in beauty pageants dahn in blawnox" her love of "hambarghers with spicy brahn mustard" and then, out of nowhere, her job "as vice president of communications for the Pittsburgh Pirates."
Let's just say I choked on my New Castle when I heard that one. My favorite sports team in the world employed this woman??? In a high-ranking capacity??? Holy shit this was huge. Suddenly, 14 straight losing seasons all made sense. If A. Yinzer could hold a position with a major league baseball team, well then, should at come as any surprise that the team hasn't had a winning record since 1992.
Incredulous about this revelation, Zavo and I to come up with the below list of things that have happened since the last time the Pirates finished above .500 It's pretty sad, really:
1) The Diamondbacks (who have won a World Series), Devil Rays, Rockies and Marlins (who have won 2 World Series')
2) The Clinton Administration
3) Peace in Ireland
4) Zavo's sister, who's in fifth grade
5) The Czech Republic
6) Brett Favre's first season with the Packers
7) The Atkins Diet
8) DVDs
9) Must See TV (including the entire run of Friends)
10)Grunge
11)The internet
There are more, like the birth of about half of the NHL franchises, but I think you get the idea.
In terms of actual baseball, nothing exemplifies the putrid play of the Pirates quite like their record in home openers. From age 7 in 1990 until 2001 when I graduated from high school, my dad and I loyally attended every home opener. During this time period, the Pirates went 2-10 including losing their last eight in a row. With the help of baseball-reference.com, here are the scores from these 12 years along with my personal memories of the game.
April 13, 1990. Cubs 2, Pirates 0: I have virtually no memory of this game. This was the season I became a baseball fan, but I wasn't quite there yet. However, this WAS the game where the college kids behind us were getting pelted with debris from fans in the above deck and I overheard one of them mutter "I'm getting hit with shit. Let's go up and beat the shit out of them." Clearly when you're in first grade, hearing two curse words in one sentence, is way more memorable than ANY baseball game. FINAL RECORD: 95-67, Lost in NLCS.
April 8, 1991: Expos 7, Pirates 0: There was a big celebration of last year's division title run to open the game, then the team went out and geot pulverized by the Expos. Cold and wet night, memorable only because dad and I missed the Pirates only hit of the game (a Barry Bonds single off of Dennis Martinez) as we were in the process of moving to closer seats as per my insistence. Sorry dad, I was 8. FINAL RECORD: 98-64, Lost in NLCS.
April 6, 1992: Pirates 2, Expos 0: Doug Drabek pitched a gem, and the Pirates finally scored some runs in the opener to scratch out the win. Although, maybe if Drabek hadn't gone a complete game in this one, he might have a little more juice for the ninth inning of game 7 of the NLCS. If you don't know what I'm talking about, and you like stories with no moral where the bad guy wins, go look it up. Not that I'm bitter or anything. FINAL RECORD: 96-66, Lost in NLCS.
April 6, 1993: Pirates 9, Padres 4. In the previous off-season, the Pirates let virtually every big name player on their roster walk away in free-agency. The three-time Eastern Division champions were planning to rebuild and return to glory quickly around three "stud" prospects: Kevin Young, Al Martin and Carlos Garcia. Who you ask? Exactly. Young homered in the win, teasing all fans with the promise of young power hitter. However, he ended up hitting just five more home runs that season and, as would become a running theme with Pirates top prospects, was cut by the team a few seasons later. In a fascinating turn of events, Young came back to the Pirates in 1997 as a non-roster invitee and made the team out of spring training. He then proceeded to develop into a decent hitter, averaging close to 25 HRs and 100 RBIs for the next two and a half years. To prove their economic viability, the Pirates rewarded him with a lavish 4 year $24 million contract, the richest in club history at that point. I think the day the contract was signed, Young's knees began to give out, and he instantly became a .230 10 HRs a year guy, who couldn't bend over to pick up a ball at first base. The kind of player who's big contract absolutely KILLS a small market franchise. What does this have to do with opening day you ask? Nothing really, but when a guy manages to kill the direction of a franchise twice in a decade, I think he deserves his own paragraph. FINAL RECORD: 75-87, 5th in NL East.
April 8, 1994: Rockies 7, Pirates 3: One of the saving graces of the Pirates 1993 season was that the National League added two expansion teams, the Rockies and Marlins, that helped to pad the Buccos win total. Unfortunately, the Rockies were a wealthy team that actually spent money on free agents, and by opening day 1994 had already passed the idling Pirates talent level. Looking at the rosters, that may not actually have been the case. But as an 11 year-old, that's how it felt on opening day. FINAL RECORD: 53-61, 3rd in NL Central.
April 26, 1995: Expos 6, Pirates 2: Wow. Now this one was memorable. I would venture Pirates fans were some of the most bitter people about the players strike that wiped out the end of the 1994 season and canceled the World Series. Not only did we miss out on half a season of baseball, but the work stoppage did absolutely nothing to improve the plight of small market fans. And to top it all off, our team stunk and was in danger of leaving Pittsburgh. All of these emotions came bubbling over when in the top of the fifth inning, the Pirates committed an unheard of three fielding errors on the same play. In some half-assed attempt to apologize or appease fans, ownership had given away Pirate "flags" to everyone in attendence. When the dust cleared on the fielding debacle, the entire crowd, as if possessed by a higher being, rose as one and proceeded to litter the diamond with the giveaways. It was a biblical proportions rain of Pirate flags. I think everyone's only regret was that it didn't lead to a Pirates forfeit. FINAL RECORD: 58-86, 5th in NL Central.
April 8, 1996: Phillies 6, Pirates 3: The first opener of the Kevin McClatchy ownership era. I remember my dad being overjoyed to find that they were now giving away pencils with the scorecards, as opposed to charging $1.00 for some the crappiest writing instruments known to man. Seriously, whatever Jefferson drafted the Declaration of Independence with was better than those pencils. This was also the debut of Charlie Hayes, the first in a long-line of middling, mediocre or over-the-hill free-agents the Pirates would sign over the next ten years. The pattern with these signings always goes something like this: Because it's the "small market" Pirates everyone gets super-excited and over inflates the value of said player. Said player plays OK (except for Derek ".125" Bell, although he got Cam Bonifay fired so he gets a pass in my book), but does very little to improve the team, and invariably is traded by July 31 for middling, mediocre or over-the-hill prospects. Anyway, I remember Hayes pulling and 0-for and fouling out to third to kill a late inning rally. Pretty typical ho-hum Pirates loss, somewhat notable for being Jim Leyland's last opener as Pirates manager. FINAL RECORD: 73-89, 5th in NL Central.
April 11, 1997: Dodgers 7, Pirates 1: Easily the best season during the 13 losing seasons, as a team that was a lock to lose 100 games remained in playoff contention until the final week of the season. Of course the Pirates still finished under .500 and got creamed in their home opener, perhaps moving the latter past taxes and just behind death on the list of certainties in life. FINAL RECORD: 79-83, 2nd in NL Central.
April 7, 1998: Braves 11, Pirates 3: One of the most ominous beginnings ever to a home schedule. Braves lead-off hitter Andruw Jones chopped a ball to new starting third baseman and "big-time" prospect Freddy Garcia. Garcia air mailed the throw to first and into about the second deck, for a two-base error. Rattled, the Pirates starter (Francisco Cordova?) walked the next hitter, then gave up an absolute bomb to Chipper Jones. Before the Pirates recorded an out, let alone came to bat it was 3-0 Braves. Jones hit another moonshot later in the game and Atlanta cruised to an easy win. FINAL RECORD: 69-93, 6th in NL Central.
April 5, 1999: Expos 9, Pirates 2: (I shit you not that what follows is not embellished in the slightest.) One of the most ominous beginnings ever to a home schedule. Expos lead-off hitter F.P. Santangelo (?) chopped a ball to new starting third baseman and "big-time" free-agent signee Ed Sprague. Sprague air mailed the throw to first and into about the second deck, for a two-base error. Rattled, the Pirates starter (Jason Schmidt?) walked the next hitter, then gave up an absolute bomb to Vladimir Guerrero. Before the Pirates recorded an out, let alone come to bat it was 3-0 Expos. Guerrero hit another moonshot later in the game and Montreal cruised to an easy win. FINAL RECORD: 78-83, 3rd in NL Central
April 4, 2000 Astros 5, Pirates 2: The season was scheduled to open the night before to a sell-out crowd. However, the game was rained out, and about a quarter of the people showed up the next night. The weather was so blistering cold, and the attendance so meek, at some point the Pirates decided to give away hot chocolate. I remember doing my best to maneuver the flimsy dixie cup of hot brown water, as my fingers twitched in the frigid air, sending some of the boiling liquid over the sides. Yet the frost bite and third degree burns weren't the most painful part of the evening.
Miraculously, the Pirates escaped the top of the first without giving up a run. Heading into the sixth, they were down only 1-0, and in danger of making it a game. However in that inning, starter Jason Schmidt single-handedly changed that possibility. Schmidt walked the bases loaded (a horrible thing to watch no matter what the circumstances, but absolutely interminable when the temperature's below freezing) then gave up a grand-slam to Richard Hidalgo. Seriously, the Hidalgo home-run may have been the most predictable thing to ever happen in a sporting event. Or at least since Vladimir Guererro's home run in the first inning the previous year. I'm proud to say that despite the weather we stayed until the last out. Notable because it was the last home opener at Three Rivers Stadium. FINAL RECORD: 69-93, 5th in NL Central.
April 9, 2001: Reds 8, Pirates 2: This was a game that honestly made you question whether or not there were some supernatural forces behind the Pirates futility. On the morning the team opened PNC Park, Willie Stargell, the Pirate's greatest living player, whom the team was unveiling a statue of that day, died of kidney failure. Even though reviews of the new ballpark were exceptional, the play on the field wasn't. Sean Casey picked up where Vladimir Guerrero left off and hit a two-run homer in the bottom of the first inning. The Pirates never really recovered, and made several errors late in the game helping the Reds blow it open.
Also, this was the quintessential "amateur afternoon" game as my father and I have come to dub openers. Given the number of non-baseball fans in attendance at these things, you often see some particularly ridiculous behavior. Given that this was the first game ever at PNC Park, the amateur factor was through the roof. Sure enough, midway through the game, a woman on the deck below us, leaned against the guard rail, turned AWAY from the field and began to chat with her friends seated at the table behind her. She was utterly oblivious to the fact that by STANDING during play, she completely blocked my view. Of course given the angles, it was only my view she blocked, so I couldn't even get a chorus of support for her to sit down. This was particularly frustrating given that she was either too far away, or too drunk to hear my cries for to "Sit down and watch the f---ing game." Fortunately, she eventually got bored and left the rail, but the cumulative effect of the afternoon nearly had me swearing off home openers for good. FINAL RECORD: 62-100, 6th in NL Central.
Well, I went to college in the fall of 2001, and haven't been home for a Pirates home opener since. The Bucs have actually improved their winning percentage, going 2-2 while I was away at school. This Monday, April, 10, they host the Los Angeles Dodgers in the first game of the season. And despite Ryan Vogelsong, A. Yinzer and 10 above anecdotes that lead me to believe I'm better off at home, I'll be there. Section 222, Row H, Seat 3. I figure I'm due to see a winner. Worst case, I'll have another story to add to the list.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
And They Call Philadelphia The City of Brotherly Love
The only man happier than Jerome Bettis that Mike Vanderjagt can't kick a field goal under pressure.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Monday, February 20, 2006
What happened...?
Guest blogging from North o'Forbes Wisconsin bureau chief (and main man) Dwight:
What happened to a government by and for the people? When did we lose sight of that ideal?As two wise and clever fellows once told me, Step 1 of the counterattack: getting people angry.
the Libby case has my whole head in a knot as to how this administration could so blatantly be abusing its power. Withholding documents on the grounds that it may hamper the ability of future presidents to get candid advice?!? WHAT HORSESHIT! What about shitting on a former government employee who was sent to gather information, and returned with his honest findings which (sad to say Bush) didn't correspond with the policies that were in the best interests of the government?
Politicians are so interested in keeping their own asses and the asses of their cronies in power that we've lost sight of what politics should be about: finding the best possible group to run the country. Yes, everyone has their own ideas about how it's run, and they can take the country in a direction that was mandated by their election to the seat of power, but TAKE US SOMEWHERE FOR FUCK'S SAKE! Don't just sit there with thumbs up asses and think up ways to garner more power for people whose stated political views allign with your own. Sweet christ.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Monday, February 13, 2006
Awesome, Baby!
Actual conversation from the media room at the Pitt/WVU basketball game Thursday night.
Co-worker: Hey, is that Dick Vitale?
Me: Damn, I think it is.
Co-worker: He looks pretty slow and frail.
Me: It's a hard job carrying Mike Krzyzewski's jock.
Co-worker: Hey, is that Dick Vitale?
Me: Damn, I think it is.
Co-worker: He looks pretty slow and frail.
Me: It's a hard job carrying Mike Krzyzewski's jock.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Win It For...
I’m not naïve enough to suggest that this Super Bowl means anywhere close to what Game 7 meant to Red Sox fans. But hey, I’m 22, I wasn’t alive for the 7 championship teams in the seventies, and ever since the Pens hoisted their second Stanley Cup, well, I’ve developed something of a complex in the last 13 and a half years.
So here it is, with apologies to the Red Sox Nation and the folks at the Sons of Sam Horn message board, my Super Bowl XL Steelers Win it For…
Win it for Dan Rooney. An owner who believes that loyalty to his coaches, players and especially his fans didn’t go out of style with the multi-million dollar television contracts and the onset of free agency. As he gets on in years, a fifth Super Bowl would be vindication for his unwavering faith in doing things his way, the right way.
Win it for Kordell Stewart, Tim McKyer and Dewayne Washington or: the Ghosts of Cowher playoffs past. We’ve been pretty damn lucky to be Steeler fans during the Bill Cowher era. The numbers don’t lie: Ten playoff appearances, eight division titles, and six conference championship games. Sure, there hasn’t been a championship yet, but at least 25 fan-bases in the NFL would trade places with us over that time-span. Because we’ve missed the big one, we tend to break out in hives at the mention of certain players who really gave us a hell of a ride. A win here would let us remember the best parts of them.
Win it for my Mom, a life-long resident of Pittsburgh, who doesn’t know the red-zone from the end-zone, but was the first person to call me after the Steelers beat Denver in the AFC Championship Game. I don’t think she ever thought she’d have a son who debated Roethlisberger v. Eli Manning as hotly as Kerry V. Bush, but she loved me just the same anyway.
Win it for Jerome Bettis. For 10 years he has been the face of a Steelers franchise that always came up a whisker short in the big game. Now, as we all know, he’s playing in his first Super Bowl, in his hometown, in what is in all likelihood his last season. The sappy pre-game stories on ABC will almost be too much to handle, but he deserves to flash that smile as he holds up the Lombardi Trophy.
Win it for Jess, a girl I dated in college, who was completely befuddled by my behavior freshman year after the 2001 loss to the Pats. Eventually she grew to accept and maybe even understand why sports gave me violent mood swings. Oddly enough, she ended up in Pittsburgh after college graduation and now even calls herself a Steelers fan. Trust me guys, she’s earned this one.
Win it for Bill Cowher. The chin. The spit. The yinzer accent. Everything about Coach Cowher is Pittsburgh through and through. Even when his most ardent defenders thought his message had gotten stale, and that he needed to leave the Steelers, Cowher stayed the course; Cowher perservered. And he prospered. These playoffs have exorcised a lot of can’t-win-the-big-one ghosts for Mr. Bill. A victory would put them to bed for good, and almost guarantee him a spot in Canton.
I know there are about 5 people who actually read this thing, but I'm encouraging everyone to post their own Win It For... lists in the comments section. And tell your friends. Seriously.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Let me first start off by saying my powers of prognostication blow. Sometime in early September, I ran around telling anyone that would listen that the Penguins were closer than the Steelers to winning a championship. Fitting isn't it, that during the same week in January, the Steelers get the biggest win since Super Bowl XI, and the Penguins (mired in like their twelfth 7 game losing streak) lose their second leading scorer to retirement. Next stop for me? Vegas, baby, Vegas.
Monday, October 10, 2005
I feel ill.
CNN (that's right, the leading cable news channel in the country) has been chattering on for fifteen minutes now on the topic of Armageddon and its apparently imminent coming.
You read that right. Wolf Blitzer, on what could be considered prime time (it's 5:30 in the evening) is holding serious discussion about the Biblical ramifications of the most recent "spate" of natural disasters. No less an intellectual giant than Jerry Falwell himself was on, telling us that the two Gulf Coast hurricanes and the earthquake in Pakistan represent but a few of the many "birth pangs" foretold in the Book of Revelation, signaling the imminent return of Jesus. The 72-year old preacher, looking more porcine than ever, happily proclaimed that he thought it probable that Jesus would return in his lifetime.
Moments prior, in the same segment, Franklin Graham (son and heir of the famous Billy) seemed to imply that it was no accident that New Orleans was destroyed by hurricanes, since the city has a long history of sinful activities like Mardi Gras and voodoo. (Never mind that the tradition of Mardi Gras is much older than New Orleans, it being an unofficial celebration among Catholics on the day before Ash Wednesday, one last hurrah before the self-imposed hardship and sacrifice of Lent.)
So New Orleans is the Sodom of our times, and its destruction was a signal from God that he doesn't like jazz, wild parades, or college students getting crunked and topless in exchange for plastic beads. But if God destroyed N'awlins as a lesson to the rest of us sinners, then why are we bothering to save anyone, or even talking about this as a tragedy? Wake up, America. GOD. IS. PISSED.
Oh, wait. Here's why: The vast majority of us aren't so completely unhinged as to believe this claptrap about divine retribution. A hurricane hit New Orleans. They form out in the Atlantic from the swirling winds of a tropical depression. This phenomenon is just a freak of the weather in that region of the world. It may be incredibly complicated, but it's just physics. These storms tend to move with the prevailing winds, and unfortunately, the 11th storm of the season, "Katrina," ended up making landfall right smack into New Orleans. For a variety of reasons (that can be summed up by "BushCo fucked up"), a whole lot of people couldn't get out in time and died when the levees broke. It was a horrific event. All natural disasters are. In fact, as human beings, we tend to want there to be some greater meaning because we can't really fathom so much death and destruction.
That's why we created religion in the first place - to supply these explanations. It doesn't make them any less inadequate. Realistically, there is no cosmic reason these disasters happened. A lot of people just happened to be living in the way of some nasty stuff Nature threw at them. But it's emotionally easier to bear for a whole lot of people, and if you feel better being a believer, go for it. Just don't go mistaking the belief for truth. More importantly, don't ever try force-feeding it to anyone else.
I'm sure that we'll soon be treated to some more excrement about the significance of the Pakistani earthquake - God's punishment for being poor, Muslim, and within 500 miles of Osama.
A few final thoughts - why the hell are these wackjobs even given airtime? Do they really represent that significant a portion of our population? If not, then when did our news media lose the balls to call these people ridiculous, and instead feel the need to have a dedicated "faith and values" correspondent? (And, I won't start because this rant is too long, faith and values are not always the same thing. In fact they seem to rarely go hand-in-hand, at least among the people who hoot the loudest about having deeply held "faith and values.") On the other hand, if a bunch of America really does agree with these bastards, then my only question is this: Can I get a few bucks from you to help pay my application fee for Canadian citizenship?
You read that right. Wolf Blitzer, on what could be considered prime time (it's 5:30 in the evening) is holding serious discussion about the Biblical ramifications of the most recent "spate" of natural disasters. No less an intellectual giant than Jerry Falwell himself was on, telling us that the two Gulf Coast hurricanes and the earthquake in Pakistan represent but a few of the many "birth pangs" foretold in the Book of Revelation, signaling the imminent return of Jesus. The 72-year old preacher, looking more porcine than ever, happily proclaimed that he thought it probable that Jesus would return in his lifetime.
Moments prior, in the same segment, Franklin Graham (son and heir of the famous Billy) seemed to imply that it was no accident that New Orleans was destroyed by hurricanes, since the city has a long history of sinful activities like Mardi Gras and voodoo. (Never mind that the tradition of Mardi Gras is much older than New Orleans, it being an unofficial celebration among Catholics on the day before Ash Wednesday, one last hurrah before the self-imposed hardship and sacrifice of Lent.)
So New Orleans is the Sodom of our times, and its destruction was a signal from God that he doesn't like jazz, wild parades, or college students getting crunked and topless in exchange for plastic beads. But if God destroyed N'awlins as a lesson to the rest of us sinners, then why are we bothering to save anyone, or even talking about this as a tragedy? Wake up, America. GOD. IS. PISSED.
Oh, wait. Here's why: The vast majority of us aren't so completely unhinged as to believe this claptrap about divine retribution. A hurricane hit New Orleans. They form out in the Atlantic from the swirling winds of a tropical depression. This phenomenon is just a freak of the weather in that region of the world. It may be incredibly complicated, but it's just physics. These storms tend to move with the prevailing winds, and unfortunately, the 11th storm of the season, "Katrina," ended up making landfall right smack into New Orleans. For a variety of reasons (that can be summed up by "BushCo fucked up"), a whole lot of people couldn't get out in time and died when the levees broke. It was a horrific event. All natural disasters are. In fact, as human beings, we tend to want there to be some greater meaning because we can't really fathom so much death and destruction.
That's why we created religion in the first place - to supply these explanations. It doesn't make them any less inadequate. Realistically, there is no cosmic reason these disasters happened. A lot of people just happened to be living in the way of some nasty stuff Nature threw at them. But it's emotionally easier to bear for a whole lot of people, and if you feel better being a believer, go for it. Just don't go mistaking the belief for truth. More importantly, don't ever try force-feeding it to anyone else.
I'm sure that we'll soon be treated to some more excrement about the significance of the Pakistani earthquake - God's punishment for being poor, Muslim, and within 500 miles of Osama.
A few final thoughts - why the hell are these wackjobs even given airtime? Do they really represent that significant a portion of our population? If not, then when did our news media lose the balls to call these people ridiculous, and instead feel the need to have a dedicated "faith and values" correspondent? (And, I won't start because this rant is too long, faith and values are not always the same thing. In fact they seem to rarely go hand-in-hand, at least among the people who hoot the loudest about having deeply held "faith and values.") On the other hand, if a bunch of America really does agree with these bastards, then my only question is this: Can I get a few bucks from you to help pay my application fee for Canadian citizenship?
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Smiling Like a Butcher's Dog
It’s Sunday morning. My eyes are red. My head hurts. What’s left of my voice is hoarse and raspy. A rough Saturday night on the town? Sort of, but probably not in the way you’re thinking of. Last night, Zavo, our buddy Karasic and I were among the 17,000 plus fans lucky enough to attend the Penguins home opener.
Walking into the arena, I was struck by the number of fans wearing Penguins jerseys. Given the events of the last few months, this was one of the hottest tickets in all of sports. Deep down, I was worried that the Penguins games were gonna go NBA, and become a social status thing. You know the deal, people in the best seats who are only at the game because their company has season tickets. Even then, they’re more interested in being seen on television than in who’s playing. Good first returns on avoiding this in the arena this season.
(The best jersey of the night, by far, was a guy wearing Lemiuex’s Laval Voisins throwback from juniors. Great stuff.)
We got to our seats in E section about 45 minutes before game time. It was at an odd angle, but we had a pretty good view of the ice. A couple years ago, we had unknowingly bought partially obstructed view seats for a game against the Senators. You could see just enough of the ice to make out what was going on, but the scoreboard and the corners at the opposite end of the ice were completely blocked. Given how late we bought our tickets for last night’s game, I was pretty sure we were looking at a similar situation. Had this happened, there’s no doubt Sidney Crosby’s first NHL goal would have come from one of these corners.
The pre-game stuff was pretty cool. I generally have low expectations for these things, but I was pleased last night. There was a nice video montage of the Penguins history, buttressed around the idea of a grandfather relating the story to his grandson. I even got a little chill when the old guy wrapped up the video with “I have a feeling that the best part of this story is yet to come.” The moment was quickly broken by Karasic doing an impersonation of Mario Lemieux.
(Every opportunity we get, Karasic and I whip out the impersonation we do of Mario Lemieux. We get a kick out of the idea of this mild-mannered French Canadian bossing people around. Over the years, he’s kind of grown into this megalomaniacal asshole, only interested in telling people what to do. A couple of years ago, the team didn’t sign any players in the off-season, but instead brought in cheerleaders and a pre-game lights show. This can’t be done justice in print but the impersonation went something like this “Hey Craig, forget about…uh…resigning Kovy. I…uh…just want to make sure…uh…we have enough money for…uh…tits and lasers, eh.” It’s juvenile but even writing about it right now it cracks me up.)
Finally, at around 7:30 they dropped the puck. It was a crazy game, and there’s no way I could do it justice with a blow-by-blow account. Still, there are plenty of moments that will stick with me. Like…
…Being scared to death in the opening two minutes. Boston’s offense was flying and the home team looked tense and stiff. Had the Bruins scored that quickly it might have shot the Penguins confidence, and likely would have taken the crowd out of the game. Sebastian Caron didn’t make many good saves, but those two in the opening minute were huge. There was some serious blow-out potential.
…The number of penalties called on both sides. I know Gary Bettman was in attendance, but 16 total calls gives me hope they may be serious about cracking down on obstruction this time. I remember wincing through so many non-calls during the height of the trap era you’d have thought I had a twitch. If anything, last night they may have called too many pen—forget it, I’m not even gonna say it.
…Palffy breaking in all alone three minutes into the game. So often during the last two or three years, the Pens would have an odd man break and you’d start to get excited about. Then slowly you’d realize, about the time the shot sailed over the goal, that Matt Hussey isn’t exactly a “game breaker.” It was nice to realize it was Palffy on the break, and to top it off he absolutely buried the shot.
… The face Karasic made after the second period. At the intermission, we’d already seen two breakaways, 10 goals, 12 power plays and about 600 defensive break downs by the Penguins. He looked like he’d just gotten off a Zero-G flight. After about two minutes of dead silence he just mutters, “I can’t believe we have to go through this for twenty more minutes.”
…Lemieux. What more can be said about Le Magnifique? Every hockey fan should see him play in person once before they die. Even someone who’s never seen a hockey game before could tell he’s the best player on the ice. He’s everywhere, making tape-to-tape passes, breaking up an odd man rush, crashing the net at just the right time. It used to be Lemieux scored most of his goals by getting a step on his man and the taking it off to the races. Now he scores a lot of goals based on vision and pure hockey sense. Both lamps last night came on plays where he snuck in behind the defense, read the puck correctly and poked it into a wide open net
…Joe Thornton missing a wide open net during a 5-on-3 power play late in the first period. I mean he absolutely whiffed on the shot. This is memorable if only because it allowed me to taunt him for the rest of the power play. Every time Boston set-up I would scream “Give the puck to Thornton!” followed by a chorus of “shank, shank, shank…” whenever his teammates threw it his way. Again it’s not as funny in print, but it amused me at the time.
…The “Blue Line Band,” local musicians, who look like parents in a John Hughes movie, hired by the team to play music in between periods. If you want Pittsburgh’s cultural scene summed up, come take a look at these guys. They rattled out off-key versions of “Peg” “Domino” and “Superstition” (all released before 1980) to booming applause from the grateful crowd.
…Sidney Crosby. Wow. Talk about a flair for The Moment. A great beginning for the phenom from Cole Harbour, who got his first (of what should be several thousand) standing ovations from the home crowd last night. It’s funny though, it’s not the ovation or the pass he made to Brooks Orpik in the second period (that prompted Orpik to say “If I don’t bury that, I need to find a new career”), that I’ll remember most fondly. It’s not even his first NHL goal, which, for the record, happened right in front of us. Rather, it was his reaction to the goal that I’ll take away. As the goal light flashed Crosby skated backwards to the boards, completely in awe of the moment for a second, before letting out a high-pitched “Yeahhhhhhh!!!!” In that moment, he wasn’t “the next Gretzky” or “the Superstar” or “the Chosen One,” no, right then he was just an 18 year-old kid who scored a big goal.
….Not feeling safe at all with a 6-4 lead and thirteen minutes to play. The Penguins fired blanks on two power play opportunities to open the third period. As time expired on the second one, I remember thinking that they may have just blown the game. I guess when your defensive rotation includes Josef Melichar, Rob Scuderi and Steve Poapst (guys more suited for March of the Penguins than the Pittsburgh Penguins) you have every right to be afraid.
I have a confession. I’ll probably remember having my fears justified, and the Penguins blowing the lead, losing 7-6 in OT. When the Bruins scored the game winning goal, I was crushed. I cursed. I kicked my seat. I wanted to bolt from the arena as quickly as possible. Another Pittsburgh sports near miss, in a decade of near misses. I was even preparing to hash out an entry where I talked about the rotten luck Pittsburgh teams have had since the last Stanley Cup win in 1992. This game was going to buttress my argument.
But a funny thing happened when I woke up this morning. The loss didn’t sting as much anymore. All the storybook things that went right rushed through my head. Two goals for Lemieux. Three points, and a first NHL goal for Crosby. Palffy burying a breakaway. The return of Mark Recchi. It was a good night, no a great night, and one that an OT loss in the third game of the season can ruin.
Walking out of Mellon Arena last night, we spotted a couple walking side-by-side. She was in a Lemieux jersey and he was decked out in a #77 Ray Bourque jersey. It was pretty ironic given how often Lemieux had made Ray Bourque look like a turnstile throughout their respective careers. As the crowd got more congested, he stepped back and let his wife or girlfriend walk in front of him. Trudging towards the escalator, she remained a few paces ahead. Inspired, I called out “hey look, there’s something new, Lemieux’s got a step on Bourque!” I couldn’t have said that a year ago. A team that loses more than forty games and finishes with the lowest point total in the league doesn’t give you the right to say things like that. But last night, it was okay again. Win or lose, the Penguins were back.
Walking into the arena, I was struck by the number of fans wearing Penguins jerseys. Given the events of the last few months, this was one of the hottest tickets in all of sports. Deep down, I was worried that the Penguins games were gonna go NBA, and become a social status thing. You know the deal, people in the best seats who are only at the game because their company has season tickets. Even then, they’re more interested in being seen on television than in who’s playing. Good first returns on avoiding this in the arena this season.
(The best jersey of the night, by far, was a guy wearing Lemiuex’s Laval Voisins throwback from juniors. Great stuff.)
We got to our seats in E section about 45 minutes before game time. It was at an odd angle, but we had a pretty good view of the ice. A couple years ago, we had unknowingly bought partially obstructed view seats for a game against the Senators. You could see just enough of the ice to make out what was going on, but the scoreboard and the corners at the opposite end of the ice were completely blocked. Given how late we bought our tickets for last night’s game, I was pretty sure we were looking at a similar situation. Had this happened, there’s no doubt Sidney Crosby’s first NHL goal would have come from one of these corners.
The pre-game stuff was pretty cool. I generally have low expectations for these things, but I was pleased last night. There was a nice video montage of the Penguins history, buttressed around the idea of a grandfather relating the story to his grandson. I even got a little chill when the old guy wrapped up the video with “I have a feeling that the best part of this story is yet to come.” The moment was quickly broken by Karasic doing an impersonation of Mario Lemieux.
(Every opportunity we get, Karasic and I whip out the impersonation we do of Mario Lemieux. We get a kick out of the idea of this mild-mannered French Canadian bossing people around. Over the years, he’s kind of grown into this megalomaniacal asshole, only interested in telling people what to do. A couple of years ago, the team didn’t sign any players in the off-season, but instead brought in cheerleaders and a pre-game lights show. This can’t be done justice in print but the impersonation went something like this “Hey Craig, forget about…uh…resigning Kovy. I…uh…just want to make sure…uh…we have enough money for…uh…tits and lasers, eh.” It’s juvenile but even writing about it right now it cracks me up.)
Finally, at around 7:30 they dropped the puck. It was a crazy game, and there’s no way I could do it justice with a blow-by-blow account. Still, there are plenty of moments that will stick with me. Like…
…Being scared to death in the opening two minutes. Boston’s offense was flying and the home team looked tense and stiff. Had the Bruins scored that quickly it might have shot the Penguins confidence, and likely would have taken the crowd out of the game. Sebastian Caron didn’t make many good saves, but those two in the opening minute were huge. There was some serious blow-out potential.
…The number of penalties called on both sides. I know Gary Bettman was in attendance, but 16 total calls gives me hope they may be serious about cracking down on obstruction this time. I remember wincing through so many non-calls during the height of the trap era you’d have thought I had a twitch. If anything, last night they may have called too many pen—forget it, I’m not even gonna say it.
…Palffy breaking in all alone three minutes into the game. So often during the last two or three years, the Pens would have an odd man break and you’d start to get excited about. Then slowly you’d realize, about the time the shot sailed over the goal, that Matt Hussey isn’t exactly a “game breaker.” It was nice to realize it was Palffy on the break, and to top it off he absolutely buried the shot.
… The face Karasic made after the second period. At the intermission, we’d already seen two breakaways, 10 goals, 12 power plays and about 600 defensive break downs by the Penguins. He looked like he’d just gotten off a Zero-G flight. After about two minutes of dead silence he just mutters, “I can’t believe we have to go through this for twenty more minutes.”
…Lemieux. What more can be said about Le Magnifique? Every hockey fan should see him play in person once before they die. Even someone who’s never seen a hockey game before could tell he’s the best player on the ice. He’s everywhere, making tape-to-tape passes, breaking up an odd man rush, crashing the net at just the right time. It used to be Lemieux scored most of his goals by getting a step on his man and the taking it off to the races. Now he scores a lot of goals based on vision and pure hockey sense. Both lamps last night came on plays where he snuck in behind the defense, read the puck correctly and poked it into a wide open net
…Joe Thornton missing a wide open net during a 5-on-3 power play late in the first period. I mean he absolutely whiffed on the shot. This is memorable if only because it allowed me to taunt him for the rest of the power play. Every time Boston set-up I would scream “Give the puck to Thornton!” followed by a chorus of “shank, shank, shank…” whenever his teammates threw it his way. Again it’s not as funny in print, but it amused me at the time.
…The “Blue Line Band,” local musicians, who look like parents in a John Hughes movie, hired by the team to play music in between periods. If you want Pittsburgh’s cultural scene summed up, come take a look at these guys. They rattled out off-key versions of “Peg” “Domino” and “Superstition” (all released before 1980) to booming applause from the grateful crowd.
…Sidney Crosby. Wow. Talk about a flair for The Moment. A great beginning for the phenom from Cole Harbour, who got his first (of what should be several thousand) standing ovations from the home crowd last night. It’s funny though, it’s not the ovation or the pass he made to Brooks Orpik in the second period (that prompted Orpik to say “If I don’t bury that, I need to find a new career”), that I’ll remember most fondly. It’s not even his first NHL goal, which, for the record, happened right in front of us. Rather, it was his reaction to the goal that I’ll take away. As the goal light flashed Crosby skated backwards to the boards, completely in awe of the moment for a second, before letting out a high-pitched “Yeahhhhhhh!!!!” In that moment, he wasn’t “the next Gretzky” or “the Superstar” or “the Chosen One,” no, right then he was just an 18 year-old kid who scored a big goal.
….Not feeling safe at all with a 6-4 lead and thirteen minutes to play. The Penguins fired blanks on two power play opportunities to open the third period. As time expired on the second one, I remember thinking that they may have just blown the game. I guess when your defensive rotation includes Josef Melichar, Rob Scuderi and Steve Poapst (guys more suited for March of the Penguins than the Pittsburgh Penguins) you have every right to be afraid.
I have a confession. I’ll probably remember having my fears justified, and the Penguins blowing the lead, losing 7-6 in OT. When the Bruins scored the game winning goal, I was crushed. I cursed. I kicked my seat. I wanted to bolt from the arena as quickly as possible. Another Pittsburgh sports near miss, in a decade of near misses. I was even preparing to hash out an entry where I talked about the rotten luck Pittsburgh teams have had since the last Stanley Cup win in 1992. This game was going to buttress my argument.
But a funny thing happened when I woke up this morning. The loss didn’t sting as much anymore. All the storybook things that went right rushed through my head. Two goals for Lemieux. Three points, and a first NHL goal for Crosby. Palffy burying a breakaway. The return of Mark Recchi. It was a good night, no a great night, and one that an OT loss in the third game of the season can ruin.
Walking out of Mellon Arena last night, we spotted a couple walking side-by-side. She was in a Lemieux jersey and he was decked out in a #77 Ray Bourque jersey. It was pretty ironic given how often Lemieux had made Ray Bourque look like a turnstile throughout their respective careers. As the crowd got more congested, he stepped back and let his wife or girlfriend walk in front of him. Trudging towards the escalator, she remained a few paces ahead. Inspired, I called out “hey look, there’s something new, Lemieux’s got a step on Bourque!” I couldn’t have said that a year ago. A team that loses more than forty games and finishes with the lowest point total in the league doesn’t give you the right to say things like that. But last night, it was okay again. Win or lose, the Penguins were back.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
10 Observations and Thoughts from a Wedding in West Pittsburgh
Tonight I attended the wedding of a family friend. It was you're pretty standard deal: about 150 people; ceremony in a church at 3:30; reception right after at a community center a few miles away. Here, without the benefit of a night's sleep are my random notes and observations from the evening.
---Instead of communion cups, the eucharist gift from the church to the newly married couple should be Target cards.
---"Wedding Crashers" seriously messed up some people's game. Before, when an older guy danced with a toddler, he was "good with kids" and "sensitive and sweet." Now he "probably hasn't been laid in a while and is trying way too hard."
---I don't know if it says more about me or my good friend from high school, that, I think the happiest profession he could have in life would be as a drummer in a wedding band.
---Speaking of which, Phil, if you ever figure out the above, please remember if it's 20 minutes after dinner and the bar is still open, playing a "Smashmouth" cover isn't the answer to getting people on the dance floor.
---When the groom's sister is older than the bride and still single, you really need to keep an eye on her. At the reception, said sister alternated between trips to the bar for another Mike's Hard Lemonade, and locking onto new targets at whom to throw herself. At one time or another she pursued: the best man, the bartender, the bride's 17 year-old younger brother, the band's lead singer, her college friend's father (who looked like he'd just won the power ball, until his wife spotted him) and the priest who performed the nuptials. I'm kidding about the last one, but I would bet anything he was next on the list. The clincher though, was when the sister found a single guy around her age with enough alcohol and lost inhibitions that he responded to her vibes. The two of them were grinding pretty hot and heavy to "Celebration" and "Loveshack." She might have actually gotten lucky had the hard lemonade's not caught up with her. There was actually a moment where you could see her trying to hold it in, knowing both booting in front of everyone or the dash to the ladies room would kill her momentum with this guy. Eventually, she gave up and made the dash, but the look on her face during that moment of decision was priceless.
---There's nothing creepier than being 22 years old, 5 or 6 drinks deep and the only guy on the dance floor with 15 women who remember when Chubby Checker's "The Twist" was actually a hit on the billboard charts.
---I love how at 3:30 a girl can is crossing herself and kneeling in church and at 10:30 is humping the dance floor to Miami Sound Machine.
---New wedding game to play. Try to pick out the couple where both members will have too much to drink and end up in a screaming match where they hash out there relationship issues in front of all the guests. Seriously all the talk of commitment and holy matrimony in the air makes couples on the edge bring their issues to the surface. The free booze brings down the inhibitions just enough that a public fight is inevitable.
---Here's a tip for the game. If the older sister of the groom is in a relationship bet on her. If she's single, bet on the girl who ends up humping the floor.
---I think I'm going to elope.
---Instead of communion cups, the eucharist gift from the church to the newly married couple should be Target cards.
---"Wedding Crashers" seriously messed up some people's game. Before, when an older guy danced with a toddler, he was "good with kids" and "sensitive and sweet." Now he "probably hasn't been laid in a while and is trying way too hard."
---I don't know if it says more about me or my good friend from high school, that, I think the happiest profession he could have in life would be as a drummer in a wedding band.
---Speaking of which, Phil, if you ever figure out the above, please remember if it's 20 minutes after dinner and the bar is still open, playing a "Smashmouth" cover isn't the answer to getting people on the dance floor.
---When the groom's sister is older than the bride and still single, you really need to keep an eye on her. At the reception, said sister alternated between trips to the bar for another Mike's Hard Lemonade, and locking onto new targets at whom to throw herself. At one time or another she pursued: the best man, the bartender, the bride's 17 year-old younger brother, the band's lead singer, her college friend's father (who looked like he'd just won the power ball, until his wife spotted him) and the priest who performed the nuptials. I'm kidding about the last one, but I would bet anything he was next on the list. The clincher though, was when the sister found a single guy around her age with enough alcohol and lost inhibitions that he responded to her vibes. The two of them were grinding pretty hot and heavy to "Celebration" and "Loveshack." She might have actually gotten lucky had the hard lemonade's not caught up with her. There was actually a moment where you could see her trying to hold it in, knowing both booting in front of everyone or the dash to the ladies room would kill her momentum with this guy. Eventually, she gave up and made the dash, but the look on her face during that moment of decision was priceless.
---There's nothing creepier than being 22 years old, 5 or 6 drinks deep and the only guy on the dance floor with 15 women who remember when Chubby Checker's "The Twist" was actually a hit on the billboard charts.
---I love how at 3:30 a girl can is crossing herself and kneeling in church and at 10:30 is humping the dance floor to Miami Sound Machine.
---New wedding game to play. Try to pick out the couple where both members will have too much to drink and end up in a screaming match where they hash out there relationship issues in front of all the guests. Seriously all the talk of commitment and holy matrimony in the air makes couples on the edge bring their issues to the surface. The free booze brings down the inhibitions just enough that a public fight is inevitable.
---Here's a tip for the game. If the older sister of the groom is in a relationship bet on her. If she's single, bet on the girl who ends up humping the floor.
---I think I'm going to elope.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
More on Mushmouth
I was at that game with Andy, and I tend to enjoy watching BP from those seats whenever I'm at PNC Park. The guy stands there waiting for balls every single day, along with his two friends:
- Balding, Ugly Man-child (who seems to do nothing useful except get his back whenever the rest of the section boos him for mauling some poor soul with a ball). This guy looks exactly like every eager 9-year-old with his Little League glove, except he's got to be at least 5 times their age. Still he stands there, bright-eyed and anxious, hoping a ball comes his way. Actually at this particular game, he legitimately caught one of Pujols' other BP bombs to our section. Good for him.
- Hairy Opposition Guy (who's always sitting in the far corner of the right-center field section, decked out in the opposing team's gear and a dizzying array of esoteric gadgets on a toolbelt) This Sasquatch lookalike seems to love antagonizing us Pirate fans. The outfit of the day was a McGwire jersey. How very current. He also seemed to know the kid in the full Yankee uniform (why would you wear Yankees schwag to a Pirates-Cardinals game?).
Friday, September 02, 2005
Lyle Odelein
The Penguins came to terms with defenseman Lyle Odelein today. During the 1999 playoffs, when Odelein was on the Devils, he was part of one of the top 10 moments in Pens history. In an attempt to psych the Odelein out, Pens winger Matthew Barnaby told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette that Odelein's face resembled Dr. Cornelius from Planet of the Apes. When asked for a response, Odelein said that Barnaby's wife was "god-awful to look at." I give Barnaby the nod on this one. Tremendous stuff, just tremendous.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
A couple years ago, Sports Illustrated ran an article about the courtdispute over Barry Bonds' 73rd home run ball. The two guys, eachsuing the other for sole ownership, both had compelling claims to theball. As Bonds' blast headed for the right centerfield bleachers Guy#1 positioned himself above the crowd and caught the ball on the fly,for a brief instant holding it firmly in his glove. Instantly though,he was overwhelmed by the anxious and rowdy by-standers, with a scrum ensuing. Eventually, Guy #2 emerged from the bottom of the pile clutching the ball close to his chest. Security arrived, escorting Guy #2 to safety.
It's not a complete shock that Guy #1 sued for rights to the ball. In 1998, Phil Ozersky sold Mark McGwire's 70th home run ball for over a million dollars, easily one of the more profitable memorabilia exchanges. The case over the Bonds ball dragged on for years, going through several levels of hearings. In 2004, a judge ruled the ball had to be put up for auction with the two men splitting the profits. Unfortunatley for them, while the case was in court, the economy collapsed, an MLB steroids scandal was exposed and the memorabilia market hit the skids. When the ball was finally sold, it profited each man around $200,000, barely enough to cover their lawyers fees.
Someone in Pittsburgh must have missed the memo. In PNC Park, my favorite seats, for the money are the right center field "outfield reserve" bleachers. For $17 you get a good view of the strike zone, and a great perspective on any fly ball hit to the outfield. Until a couple weeks ago, it was hard for me to find any draw back to the location. At the game that night, I was witness to some of the most ridiculous and stupid fan behavior that I've ever seen at a baseball game.
For the game against St. Louis, my friends and I got the the park about 90 minutes before game time. With the Cardinals collection of sluggers, batting practice figured to be a show worth seeing. As we sat down, I recognized a familiar face. There was a slightly built guy mustachioed guy, wearing a green baseball cap and glasses fastened to his head with a rubber band. He sort of looked like a nerdier version of Mushmouth from "The Cosby Gang." I'd seen him in the section before, the few times I'd sat out there this season. I had vague recollections of him dashing off after home run balls, but nothing too out of the ordinary. (As an aside: A lot of people are bothered by grown-ups chasing after balls in the stands. It's never been the thing to get my goat. I'm much more perturbed by a fan trying to start the wave with two outs in the bottom of the eight inning and the tying run on third base then I am with an adult who wears a glove to a major league game). Anyway, something must have come over Mushmouth tonight. He was a man on a mission.
Every ball that landed in our section was like Willy Wonka's golden ticket. First he took off after an Albert Pujols moonshot that landed several rows away. A couple teenagers got to the ball before Mushmouth could cut the gap, but god help them if he'd been sitting closer. He had that look in his eyes. Yes, that look. Like when someone grabs Chuck D by the collar and whispers "open buffet" in ear.
Jim Edmonds pounded one out a few minutes later, and this time a middle-aged woman caught the full brunt of Mushmouth's force. Leading a stampede to the ball, he managed to both elbow her in the stomach and trample over both of her toes. The woman glared at him with a look of disgust and muttered under her breath something about manners, but all she got back from Mushmouth was a shake of the head and a whimpering excuse for an apology.
Mushmouth went full force for the rest of batting practice, chasing out any ball that landed within a 100-yard radius. I'd love to know the exact distance he covered in that half an hour or so. I would almost be willing to bet it's farther than I can run without stopping to catch my breath. I suppose that really isn't saying much, but you get the idea.
As the section began to fill up before game time, more and more people became aware just how determined Mushmouth was to get a ball. With more and more eyes on him everytime he made one of his ridiculous sprints, he began to throw in a little hand signal to the crowd. Now matter how close he got to any ball, every falied attempt was followed by Mushmouth shaking his head, then holding up his thumb and pointer finger about a quarter inch apart. This close, man. This close.
I'd like to think that had Mushmouth caught a batting practice ball, it would have eased his nerves for the main event. He and the fans around him might have been able to watch the game in peace, without worrying whether or not he was going to leap into their laps in some vein attempt to pursue a home-run ball that landed 25 yards away. Unfortunately, Mushmouth came away from batting practice empty-handed, setting the stage for the bottom of the sixth inning.
Pirates rookie Nate McLouth (who unlike Barry Bonds isn't familiar to anyone outside of Pittsburgh. Come to think of it, I'll bet you could convince most Pittsburghers he was on the Steelers practice squad) launched a high-arching drive into the right center field bleachers, a few sections over from us, just to the left of the Clemente Wall. The ball landed in the first row of handi-capped seating, in the lap of an elderly woman in a wheel chair. "That's nice," I thought to myself. "Good for her for..." WHAM! Sure enough, there was Mushmouth pushing her out of the way, scratching and clawing his way to the now loose ball. He emerged from the section victorious, holding the ball high above his head, punching his fist in the air, and high stepping it up and down the aisle like a Soul Train dancer on a pogo stick. Seriously, the guy was pumped. I'm not sure if the dance moves were an in-your-face to the woman in the wheel chair, whose ball he took, or just a general pronouncement of joy over having caught a ball. Actually, Im not sure which one would be scarier.
Fortunately, the dance moves brought Mushmouth to the attention of security. The guards asked him if he would very kindly return the ball to the woman in the wheelchair. Much to everyone's surprise, Mushmouth obliged, though not without looking for a second like a kid who's parents forgot Christmas.
I hope Mushmouth sues the woman in the wheelchair for the ball. Now that would be a story worth reading about in Sports Illustrated.
Addendum: I went to a Pirates game a few nights later. Before the starting line-ups were announced, a season highlight video played on the scoreboard. Sure enough, halfway through the video, there was Mushmouth, celebrating with the McLouth ball. The production crew had edited out the part where he mauls the woman in the wheel chair, so it appeared like he was just celebrating a Pirates home run. It looked pretty good too. The guy was the most excited fan in the video.
It's not a complete shock that Guy #1 sued for rights to the ball. In 1998, Phil Ozersky sold Mark McGwire's 70th home run ball for over a million dollars, easily one of the more profitable memorabilia exchanges. The case over the Bonds ball dragged on for years, going through several levels of hearings. In 2004, a judge ruled the ball had to be put up for auction with the two men splitting the profits. Unfortunatley for them, while the case was in court, the economy collapsed, an MLB steroids scandal was exposed and the memorabilia market hit the skids. When the ball was finally sold, it profited each man around $200,000, barely enough to cover their lawyers fees.
Someone in Pittsburgh must have missed the memo. In PNC Park, my favorite seats, for the money are the right center field "outfield reserve" bleachers. For $17 you get a good view of the strike zone, and a great perspective on any fly ball hit to the outfield. Until a couple weeks ago, it was hard for me to find any draw back to the location. At the game that night, I was witness to some of the most ridiculous and stupid fan behavior that I've ever seen at a baseball game.
For the game against St. Louis, my friends and I got the the park about 90 minutes before game time. With the Cardinals collection of sluggers, batting practice figured to be a show worth seeing. As we sat down, I recognized a familiar face. There was a slightly built guy mustachioed guy, wearing a green baseball cap and glasses fastened to his head with a rubber band. He sort of looked like a nerdier version of Mushmouth from "The Cosby Gang." I'd seen him in the section before, the few times I'd sat out there this season. I had vague recollections of him dashing off after home run balls, but nothing too out of the ordinary. (As an aside: A lot of people are bothered by grown-ups chasing after balls in the stands. It's never been the thing to get my goat. I'm much more perturbed by a fan trying to start the wave with two outs in the bottom of the eight inning and the tying run on third base then I am with an adult who wears a glove to a major league game). Anyway, something must have come over Mushmouth tonight. He was a man on a mission.
Every ball that landed in our section was like Willy Wonka's golden ticket. First he took off after an Albert Pujols moonshot that landed several rows away. A couple teenagers got to the ball before Mushmouth could cut the gap, but god help them if he'd been sitting closer. He had that look in his eyes. Yes, that look. Like when someone grabs Chuck D by the collar and whispers "open buffet" in ear.
Jim Edmonds pounded one out a few minutes later, and this time a middle-aged woman caught the full brunt of Mushmouth's force. Leading a stampede to the ball, he managed to both elbow her in the stomach and trample over both of her toes. The woman glared at him with a look of disgust and muttered under her breath something about manners, but all she got back from Mushmouth was a shake of the head and a whimpering excuse for an apology.
Mushmouth went full force for the rest of batting practice, chasing out any ball that landed within a 100-yard radius. I'd love to know the exact distance he covered in that half an hour or so. I would almost be willing to bet it's farther than I can run without stopping to catch my breath. I suppose that really isn't saying much, but you get the idea.
As the section began to fill up before game time, more and more people became aware just how determined Mushmouth was to get a ball. With more and more eyes on him everytime he made one of his ridiculous sprints, he began to throw in a little hand signal to the crowd. Now matter how close he got to any ball, every falied attempt was followed by Mushmouth shaking his head, then holding up his thumb and pointer finger about a quarter inch apart. This close, man. This close.
I'd like to think that had Mushmouth caught a batting practice ball, it would have eased his nerves for the main event. He and the fans around him might have been able to watch the game in peace, without worrying whether or not he was going to leap into their laps in some vein attempt to pursue a home-run ball that landed 25 yards away. Unfortunately, Mushmouth came away from batting practice empty-handed, setting the stage for the bottom of the sixth inning.
Pirates rookie Nate McLouth (who unlike Barry Bonds isn't familiar to anyone outside of Pittsburgh. Come to think of it, I'll bet you could convince most Pittsburghers he was on the Steelers practice squad) launched a high-arching drive into the right center field bleachers, a few sections over from us, just to the left of the Clemente Wall. The ball landed in the first row of handi-capped seating, in the lap of an elderly woman in a wheel chair. "That's nice," I thought to myself. "Good for her for..." WHAM! Sure enough, there was Mushmouth pushing her out of the way, scratching and clawing his way to the now loose ball. He emerged from the section victorious, holding the ball high above his head, punching his fist in the air, and high stepping it up and down the aisle like a Soul Train dancer on a pogo stick. Seriously, the guy was pumped. I'm not sure if the dance moves were an in-your-face to the woman in the wheel chair, whose ball he took, or just a general pronouncement of joy over having caught a ball. Actually, Im not sure which one would be scarier.
Fortunately, the dance moves brought Mushmouth to the attention of security. The guards asked him if he would very kindly return the ball to the woman in the wheelchair. Much to everyone's surprise, Mushmouth obliged, though not without looking for a second like a kid who's parents forgot Christmas.
I hope Mushmouth sues the woman in the wheelchair for the ball. Now that would be a story worth reading about in Sports Illustrated.
Addendum: I went to a Pirates game a few nights later. Before the starting line-ups were announced, a season highlight video played on the scoreboard. Sure enough, halfway through the video, there was Mushmouth, celebrating with the McLouth ball. The production crew had edited out the part where he mauls the woman in the wheel chair, so it appeared like he was just celebrating a Pirates home run. It looked pretty good too. The guy was the most excited fan in the video.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Holy shit
Secret bombing raids 9 months before the invasion...(and well before the big run-up in administration hype for the war)
If this is true, it's huge. I tend to believe the London Times.
I wonder if this, after all, will be the one to push them over the edge. I doubt it, but I can always hope...
If this is true, it's huge. I tend to believe the London Times.
I wonder if this, after all, will be the one to push them over the edge. I doubt it, but I can always hope...
Monday, June 27, 2005
...or laugh.
Congressional Republicans start threatening Major League Baseball when they hear George Soros is interested in buying the Nationals.
Side note: Tom Davis, the rep quoted in there, used to be my rep when I lived in VA - he's one of those Repubs who swept in with Gingrich in '94 and jump-started this whole shindig. He's currently also one of the point men on the baseball steroid inquiry. I guess even moving to one of the most Democratic cities in the country doesn't get me away from these nutjobs...
Side note: Tom Davis, the rep quoted in there, used to be my rep when I lived in VA - he's one of those Repubs who swept in with Gingrich in '94 and jump-started this whole shindig. He's currently also one of the point men on the baseball steroid inquiry. I guess even moving to one of the most Democratic cities in the country doesn't get me away from these nutjobs...
I don't know whether to cry...
Gotta love our hometown boy.
Rick "Man On Dog" Santorum, on the Catholic priest sex scandal:
"When the culture is sick, every element in it becomes infected. While it is no excuse for this scandal, it is no surprise that Boston, a seat of academic, political and cultural liberalism in America, lies at the center of the storm."
Full link to his op-ed for Catholic Online.
Rick "Man On Dog" Santorum, on the Catholic priest sex scandal:
"When the culture is sick, every element in it becomes infected. While it is no excuse for this scandal, it is no surprise that Boston, a seat of academic, political and cultural liberalism in America, lies at the center of the storm."
Full link to his op-ed for Catholic Online.
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