Dear Will Leitch: I'm Sorry, This Is All My Fault

If you didn't read the Internets today, or missed HBO last night, then you don't know the general kerfuffle, hulabaloo, rhubarb, and I don't know what else that transpired on Bob Costas' new show. It was a sit-down discussion of all things new, exciting and scary for sports fans over the age of 40: bloggers, sports talk radio, and the end of the world as we know it. It was a panel discussion, including my close, personal friend Will Leitch from Deadspin.com and "Friday Night Lights" author Buzz Bissinger.

You can watch the video of it here. It didn't go well. Buzz Bissinger is apparently not a fan of the blogosphere, and poor Will was the whipping boy chosen to be drawn and quartered for the blood-thirsty masses to atone for the sins of bloggers everywhere. The level of anger and hatred that Bissinger has for the Blogosphere is quite astounding. The whole thing is ugly to watch.

And all I can say is: Will, I'm sorry. This was all my fault.

Why? You might remember back when your humble author was quoted in that august of publications, The New York Times, for a story about Eli Manning. Yours truly received two quotes, including the final word. And who was among the other "experts" quoted for this piece?

Buzz Bissinger. And he was only quoted once.

I must imagine that it burned pretty badly to be an apparently quote pompous and self-righteous Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, and find that the New York Times - the New York Times of all places - values the opinions of some snot-nosed brat blogger exactly twice as much as you. So you seethe. And you wait for the first opportunity to take some blogger - any blogger - down a peg, really rip them a new one and humiliate them in public, so you can prove a point and "get your revenge" over that New York Times slight.

(Of course, I may be wrong. But I'm not.)

So Will, I'm very, very sorry that all of this came crashing down on your head. The next time the New York Times calls, I'll tell them to get bent rather than run the risk of a ranting and raving Pulitzer Prize winner getting ready to snap a blogger in half. If David McCullough goes nutso upside the head of one of the Fire Joe Morgan guys, I don't want that blood on my hands.

Posted by The Duke of Everything at 8:35 PM 1 comments  

Rumors linking Dwayne Wade to Star Jones cause Charles Barkley to update his Five

NEW YORK - Charles Barkley, disgusted by rumors that his close friend Dwayne Wade was dating former "The View" host Star Jones, today immediately updated his T-Mobile MyFavs to replace Wade from his 5.

"I know this - I ain't gonna have no fools dating Star Jones getting that junk all over my 5," Barkley said. "I'll add Kevin Johnson to the list, or Dan Majerle. Hell, even Oliver Miller would be fine. At least he's just fat, and not railing Star Jones."

Author's Note: People have been asking me for days to do something on the alleged relationship between Wade and Jones. So this story was done under duress - I've basically been operating under the hope that if I ignore it, then it isn't really happening.

Posted by The Duke of Everything at 9:46 AM 4 comments  

I've got a hunch you'll love the San Diego Chicken getting blasted in the nuts...

You know why baseball is dying with kids in America? Not because of the popularity of other sports, or steroid scandals, or kids playing video games instead of going outside. No, it's because they don't have quality entertainment like "The Baseball Bunch". If you don't remember it (and if you're an adult male in my age group, how could you not?), "The Baseball Bunch" was a half-hour baseball show for kids that ran weekend mornings (usually before the Game of the Week in my market - check your local listings from the early 1980s for times and channels). It was hosted by Johnny "Krylon" Bench, and the idea was that he would teach a group of kids (The Baseball Bunch) the fundamentals of the game with the help of guest stars - i.e. baseball players like Mike Schmidt, Ozzie Smith and more. The San Diego Chicken was there to provide the comedy, while Tommy Lasorda was there as "The Dugout Wizard" to help scare the kids away from talking to creepy old men.

I watched every week when I was a kid. Usually I picked up some tip that I could use in my Little League game that week, whether it was Cal Ripken showing how to pivot to turn the double play, or Keith Hernandez teaching you...I don't know, how to grow a mustache. At any rate, it was pretty educational.

(Side note: did you know that Lou Pinella's career ended when he injured his rotator cuff while being pitched to by the San Diego Chicken on the show? It's on Wikipedia, so it must be true...)

As for the humor...well, it was on par with something like "You Can't Do That on Television" - it worked for me when I was 7, but it probably doesn't hold up quite as well today. However, don't tell Johnny Bench that, as watching the San Diego Chicken peel potatoes is apparently the funniest thing he's seen since Dave Concepcion put cayenne peppers in Joe Morgan's jock. Watch this and wait for the end, when the Chicken takes a shot in his...err...eggs:


I hope next week's episode involved The Dugout Wizard talking to the kids about the importance of wearing a cup at all times. Actually, scratch that - the thought of an old man in a bad Merlin outfit lecturing kids on proper equipment for their privates is just wrong.

Posted by The Duke of Everything at 3:14 PM 1 comments  

The Night Before

Recapping the stuff you missed because you were enthralled with Andrew Lloyd Weber night on American Idol:

• The Suns blow a second half lead, fall down 2-0 in to the Spurs. fknmclane put on mandatory 48 hour suicide watch.
• Dwight Howard has his second straight +20 point, +20 rebound game as the Magic hold on against the Raptors to take a 2-0 series lead. I think it's insane that a player on a playoff team can average 20.7 ppg and 14.2 rpg and not even be a factor in the MVP race.
• And oh yeah, there were two game 7s last night in the NHL, one of which went to sudden-death overtime. Not that anyone out there would be interested in, you know, the most dramatic moment in professional sports.

Posted by The Duke of Everything at 9:51 AM 1 comments  

Millions of horny men across US disappointed by Danica Patrick's win

MOTEGI, JAPAN - American men around the world were sent into intense mourning on Sunday with news that Danica Patrick had won her first IRL race at the Indy Japan 500. The win is seen by observers of the sport to have tragic, far-reaching consequences, as it has seemingly stopped a career progression for Patrick that was widely believed to be leading down the inevitable path of a Playboy photo shoot within two seasons.

In the last few years, Danica Patrick has managed to keep herself in the public eye despite being being winless with a series of racy phot shoots for publications such as Sports Illustrated, Maxim and FHM. But her victory on Sunday sent chills through the spines of legions of horny men across the US, who worry that the increased respect and publicity for her driving skills will put a damper on her modeling career.

"Those Sports Illustrated photos were so hot, and the FHM spread - Boner Town," said Geoff Doherty, a frequent reader of popular men's magazines. "With the lengths she was willing to go to keep herself relevant even though she wasn't winning, it wasn't going to be that long until she had to do Playboy. But no - someone comes up with a great fuel strategy, and suddenly it's hello 'I'm not just a pretty face' and goodbye 'artfully done beaver shots in Playboy'! God damn it."

Doherty noted Patrick's recent appearances in racy ads for sponsor GoDaddy.com as evidence that she had begun "scrapping the bottom of the barrel" as far as ways to maintain a place in the spotlight, and that there was really no place left to go but Playboy.

"Maybe they'll do a GoDaddy.com ad where they congratulate her for winning the race, and that other girl from the ads will be the trophy girl and her boobs will keep popping out," Doherty said. "But no, she's probably too good for that now. Fuck!"

Doherty said that he was now holding out hope that LPGA golfer Natalie Gulbis becomes mired in a terrible slump over the next two seasons.

"But not Lorena Ochoa," he added. "Dear God, not Lorena Ochoa. Let her win every week if that's what it takes..."

Posted by The Duke of Everything at 10:46 AM 3 comments  

Quick Hits

- Murray St. QB Jeff Ehrhardt was charged with pushing a campus police officer and taking his ticket book as part of a $20 bet. The worst part is that the NCAA is probably more upset about the "$20 bet" part than the "pushing down a police officer". Assualt? Meh, the NCAA won't sanction that. But gambling? Look out.
- I'm sure CBS and the Masters are thrilled about tomorrow's showdown between Trevor Immelman and Brandt Snedeker in the final pairing. With Tiger six shots out and essentially done, I'm sure the rating will rival that of motocross. Or the MLS.
- As if being a Memphis Grizzlies fan wasn't tough enough...three injured as section of stands collapse at FedExForum before game against the Minnesota Timberwolves. Investigators believe that it was the unwieldiness of the stadium's name that caused the collapse.

Posted by The Duke of Everything at 9:28 PM 0 comments  

Sporty Small Talk

When I arrived at work this morning my friendly coworker decided to make some small talk regarding the Diamondbacks' win last night over the Dodgers. Usually, this is all well and good, as I love talking sports with other knowledgeable fans.

Unfortunately, this young man knows next to nothing about sports. NOTHING. Here's an example:

"Good morning, fknmclane. Did you watch the Arizona Diamondbacks win last night? They scored a lot of points."

There are clearly a couple of issues with this question/statement. First of all, DBacks will suffice. Saying a team's full name is just, well, stupid. Secondly, there's no such thing as a point in a baseball game. The baseball gods decreed they are to be called runs and that is the way it has been for over a hundred friggin' years.

I'm not typically a miserable person but this kind of thing makes me insane. I don't pretend to have a doctorate or something in sports knowledge but I like to think I can discuss basketball, baseball and football (and boxing...and tennis) with some degree of expertise.

My coworker has no such confidence in his ability to speak intelligently on sports, which leads me to wonder why bring it up at all? I don't ask him what the latest, greatest anime movie is. I don't ask my architect friend about the new kick-ass t-square when we meet up. I don't create a discussion with my brother the CFP on the long-term prospects for the economy. It would be foolish and incredibly awkward to do so.

Maybe that's what is bugging me about this morning's dissecting of the DBacks win over the Dodgers last night. It was incredibly awkward to bring up Chris Young going 0-fer the night he signed his long-term contract and see a look of dumbfoundedness on this fellow's face. What exponentially increased the awkardness is that I LOVE talking sports. This instance turned out to be anything but.

What I realized this morning is that while the only thing better than watching sports is talking sports, there aren't many things worse than talking sports with those who know next to nothing about them.

I can get that on talk radio anytime.

Posted by McLane at 1:27 PM 2 comments  

Pro Bass Fishing + Fantasy Sports + Hulk Hogan = WTF?

What's more bizarre than professional bass fishing? Obviously, some people are better at it than others, I guess, but seriously? It's a sport for people who find bowling too physically demanding and requires being too sober. It's taking something that 99.9 percent of people do to relax and unwind and turning into a competitive sport. It's like Speed Knitting for redneck males.

The best part is the weigh-in after the fishing is over. Everyone steps up to the scales and weighs their catch. They try to make it seem as "rock show" as possible, with blaring music, pyrotechnics, etc., when really, it's about as exciting as buying 1 1/2 pounds of asparagus at the store.

So how could you take something that's already goofy as hell and make it even more...strange? What's that little push over the cliff? How do you take it to 11?

Answer: Fantasy Fishing. Yes, you can now pick your 10 favorite anglers and watch them earn points in the seven pro fishing tour events this year to get your share of the $7.3 million in prizes. Which I couldn't believe could possibly be true...until I saw who they have as their spokesperson for Fantasy Fishing:



Yes, because when I think of Fantasy Bass Fishing, I think of Hulk Hogan. The promoter running the Fantasy Fishing contest said he chose Hogan because "the most recognizable face in the world." Which may be true, if only because looking at the Hulkster's face now, I think anyone in the world can recognize an old catcher's mitt when they see it.

Although the promoter did mention that "somebody's going to become a millionaire staying home watching fishing." Which does make Hogan a fine fit to be spokesperson: anyone who is familiar with Hogan's final years in WCW and WWE knows that no one is better suited to talk about sitting at home and collecting large sums of money.

Posted by The Duke of Everything at 10:22 AM 2 comments  

...and he walked away

In case you missed it on Friday, NASCAR Sprint Cup rookie Michael McDowell had a bad crash during qualifying at Texas Motor Speedway. A bad, bad crash...



The most amazing part is at the end, when McDowell walked out of the car without a scratch on him. Maybe he's the luckiest SOB who ever lived, or maybe the Car of Tomorrow really is safer than the old car. 10 years ago, and there's almost no way McDowell walks out of the car and waves to the crowd.

Posted by The Duke of Everything at 12:27 AM 2 comments  

Hold That Elevator!

Going down, right? That's great. I need to cut this day short, gotta get home and take care of some urgent business. This morning has NOT gone as planned.

You see, I had an extra large bran muffin and a tall coffee for breakfast this morning. It seems to have pushed things into high gear, my insides are red-lining at the moment.

The bran/coffee combo doesn't typically have this affect but when coupled with the 17 Cerveza Caguama I threw down last night while alternately feasting on dozens of habanero street tacos and that hooker's crack, my guts are ready to explode.

Oh no. Oh fuck.

A man can only hold off the bubbles and pressure for so long.

I hate that it had to go down like this, here in this packed elevator. I made the terrible mistake of releasing a scout before I walked in and now we're all paying for it. Well, not so much me. I've learned to embrace my special brand of funk. But you poor bastards. You're definitely paying for it. Especially that woman curled in the fetal position in the corner. Is she breathing?

Word to the wise, folks. Don't try and hold your breath, simply breath as you normally would. If you take a deep breath and hold it, the beast will work it's way down and gutrot will then ensue. Trust me, it's pretty potent stuff. My poor wife just about died on our honeymoon.

Can this thing move any faster? World's slowest elevator combined with man helplessly emitting lethal methane while almost shitting his pants is not a good combination. They should build these things with our colons and noses in mind. Man, this is ridiculous.

Is someone's nosehair burning? I'm sorry, I can't help it any longer. Once those first couple escaped, it was all over. Seriously, is she breathing over there?

Just a few more floors to go folks. I know it's unbearable at the moment but is the uncontrollable retching necessary? Let he who has not squeezed a gaseous demon through their keyster cast the first stone!

I need something to help me relax. Sphincter muscles can't take much more. Fading fast. FUCK!

This is the worst day ever. Not only have I ruined everyone's sinuses for life, but these suit pants will never be the same. Thank goodness we've at least reached the ground floor.

Here's my card. Send me your dry-cleaning bills, I'll take care of everything. It's Peirera. Mike Peirera.

I'm sorry. I really am.

Posted by McLane at 1:01 PM 0 comments  

US to send team of coal miners to run in Beijing marathon

INDIANAPOLIS – Coming on the heels of Kenyan marathon record holder Haile Gebrselassie’s announcement that he would not compete in the Olympics because of concerns about China’s poor air quality, USA Track & Field today announced that they are sending a team of three coal miners from West Virginia to run in Beijing.

“Clearly, dealing with the air quality is going to be a huge factor in winning this race,” said USATF President Bill Roe. “We decided to go ‘outside of the box’ a bit to try and find people who are uniquely qualified to handle the unique respiratory challenges that our runners will face in Beijing. These miners have the heart, determination and the built-up resistance to toxic particles in their lungs to not just compete but to win.”

Roe said that a qualifying marathon will be held in Charlestown, West Virginia on May 16 to determine the three runners who will represent the United States in Beijing. To simulate the air quality conditions they will face in the Olympics, a fleet of 50 year-old municipal buses missing the catalytic converter will slowly drive just ahead of the runners.

However, runners in the qualifying race and in Beijing will have some relief. Roe said that all runners will be allowed to wear breathing devices that pump pure oxygen through a respiration system. Originally designed for use in cave-ins and other critical situations, Roe said the devices are the perfect fit for running in Beijing’s pollution.

“Sure, they may weigh 20 pounds, and that might slow our runners down a little bit, but at least we know they’ll finish and not pass out from an asthma attack or lack of oxygen,” Roe said. “Plus, these are tough guys who are used to working 18 hours a day in the harshest conditions known to man. Running for four hours with 20 pounds of equipment is practically a vacation for these guys.”

Roe may be right: already, hundreds of coal miners have signed up to compete in the qualifying marathon. One of them is Doug Miller, who has worked for 18 years in the coal mines outside of Thurman. Even though he has never run a marathon, or a race of any kind, Miller said he is looking forward to the opportunity.

“Today, I woke up at 4 a.m., and was lifting 100 lbs. of coal up a steep, two-mile tunnel for about 16 hours, with a half-hour break for lunch,” Miller said. “The marathon is what, four hours long? Yeah, I’m really, really worried about ‘hitting the wall’ at the 24^th mile.”

Posted by The Duke of Everything at 10:32 AM 2 comments