Welcome To The Internets, Doris [Non-Sports]

Everyone has had a crazy neighbor. We knew she was a little strange when we first spotted the yellowed newspapers she had stuffed in the top corner of one of her (broken) windows visible from our apartment. Occasionally she would blast classical music out of her AM/FM-Radio/Tape Deck combo right on the window sill, which you could hear even if both of our windows were closed.

When my buddy Sampson and I were looking for a place down here, we wanted outside space. Non-negotiable. It is an incredibly valuable commodity in Manhattan and it allows us to grill year round, which is obviously essential. We pay through the nose for it, but it's honestly worth it, especially during the summer.

When we first moved in, it was July and the terrace was a death trap of silver tar. On the hottest days, you could leave footprints just by walking on it, and the railings oozed black tar that ruined more than a few articles of clothing.

Neither of us had a "job" at that point, so we spent about three days and three trips to the Home Depot in Secaucus transforming a worthless space into the selling point of our apartment.

We didn't go in blind. My Dad used to wake me up at 7:00AM on weekends when I was 8 years old to help him with carpentry projects around our house. Sampson and I both worked for my cousin in Lake George over summer breaks in high school building custom lake houses in Cleverdale.

Sampson came up with the design, and I took care of most of the logistics. We carried every board, nail, bucket of stain, and FastenMaster Screw up six flights of stairs and I don't regret a second of it.

The fact that we had people over somewhat frequently didn't sit well with most of our neighbors. The people who lived here before us were apparently never around, which was a stark contrast to two 22 year olds with no jobs and a propensity for late nights and generous pours of Johnny Walker Red.

Doris' terrace borders on ours, not shown to the left in that picture.

The first run-in we had with her was when she called the fire department on us and had them confiscate our propane tank. Common sense would dictate that like a mother bear and her cub, you don't come between a man and his grill. We still don't know what exactly precipitated this most despicable act, but despite our initial outrage, we never said anything to her or retaliated in any way. We just bought a charcoal grill and used the extra 15 minutes it took to sear a couple of sirloins to drink another beer.

Doris used to just assume that everything that ended up on her terrace was a direct result of us, so she would sweep it up and throw it over on our side. It could have been a dead pigeon and she probably still would have tossed it over. Newsflash: There are numerous explanations for why something ends up on your terrace. We don't just throw shit over there for fun.

She also thought it would be a good idea to create a barrier between our spaces using an upside down ceramic planter, a wicker basket and some lattice, all strung together with twine. One day, I actually saw her during the daylight, and sarcastically complimented her on her work. She went "Oh, I just work with what I have, like Caldas, down in Brazil there". Riiiiiiight.

We actually have had some decent conversations with her, but her weird side inevitably came out. One night, Sampson passed out on the terrace and woke up to her throwing bird seed on him at 4:00AM.

We eventually built some spruce boxes where her odd "artwork" used to be, and planted some Aborvitaes for noise cancellation and privacy purposes. Doris was thrilled that we did it and we even planted some flowers on her side.

We had a truce for quite some time... until this weekend.

Earlier in the Fall, we nabbed a pumpkin on a golf trip to Jersey. It sat on our picnic table until it collapsed in on itself in late December. We threw it in one of the boxes to compost and it lay decaying peacefully there, ready to fertilize our Myrtle.

On Sunday, we went out to grill some chicken skewers for the Super Bowl and the rotting pumpkin was smashed on our AstroTurf. We had some ladies over at the time, so we laughed it off, and gave them the background on how crazy she was.

That lasted for about .10 of BAC. Around midnight we went back upstairs and took the remnants of the pumpkin and threw it all back on her side.

Why? Cause fuck her, that's why. There was no reason at all for her to take OUR pumpkin from OUR box and throw that shit on OUR terrace.

Well, today, I got home from work and decided to survey the terrace situation. She returned every chunk and every seed of the pumpkin back on our side. HA. Fuuuuuck that.

I had some leftover posterboard from the "Look At It, Dave" experiment, and decided it was a good time to use it. I made the following sign and Zip Tied it to one of the haphazardly arranged Time Warner cables on her side of the terrace, above the pile of pumpkin remains I threw back on her side.

[It reads:]

HEY DORIS!
ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?

I think we already know the answer to that question... There is absolutely no reason for you to throw a composting pumpkin onto our terrace, which explains why we threw it back. You really shouldn't be touching the boxes we built or anything in them. We haven't bothered you for a long time, so...

STAY OUT OF OUR SHIT!

Cordially,
The 115 guys

Number of Days Until Spring Training: Buck Showalter (#11)

Fittingly, Buck Showalter got overshadowed today.

If the Super Bowl wasn't yesterday, this piece would have been written last night, and Buck would have had the 6:00AM slot. His career as Yankee Manager was similarly overshadowed and under appreciated.

Buck was born to be a baseball man. He has a very baseballey-sounding name. When he was growing up in Century, Florida, Little League games were the most popular summertime activity. Every night there was a game, a couple hundred residents would gather under the lights to take in the action. Buck didn't have to travel very far to catch the games, because his backyard butted up against scoreboard of the field. His father was the Principal of the local high school and coach of the baseball team, in case you were wondering where Buck got his stern demeanor.

Unfortunately, Showalter wasn't born to be a baseball player. He spent seven years in the Yankee organization and had relatively good minor league numbers, but never played a game on the big stage because he was blocked by Don Mattingly. William Nathaniel "Buck" Showalter got his nickname for the state of undress he used to walk around the locker room in.

After his playing career, Buck went on to manage in the Yankees system, starting with Oneonta, moving to Fort Lauderdale, and ending up with the Albany Colonie Yankees in 1989, who went (97-46) and won him the Baseball America's Minor League Manager of the Year. He was promoted to the Yankees major league coaching staff in 1990 and replaced Stump Merrill as Manager in 1992.

After going (76-86) in '92, Showalter guided the Yankees to a second place finish in 1993 with 88 wins. When the strike stopped the 1994 season, their winning percentage was even better (.619) and they were on pace to win over 100 games. The Yanks made the playoffs in 1995 for the first time since 1981 by earning a Wild Card berth.

His personal clashes with George Steinbrenner ultimately led to him leaving the team before the 1996 season. After losing to the Mariners in the '95 ALDS Steinbrenner wanted Buck to fire two of his coaches, and when he refused, Buck got the axe himself. After having set the table for St. Joe and the late 90's dominance, he moved on to the expansion Arizona Diamondbacks. He led them to a 100 win season in 1999 and left after 2000, just before the D-Backs unseated the Yanks in the 2001 World Series.

I was at a game earlier this year and they had Buck pull the Metlife countdown lever. There was a smattering of applause, but not real love for him. I was pretty surprised. Yankee fans pride themselves on their appreciation for the team's history, and to some extent, the indifferent reception to Buck's appearance that night makes me question that.

Selig Earned $18.5MM in 2007

According to Sam Borden (who is running the show at LoHud while Peter Abraham goes on vacation to chill with hobbits), Bud Selig made $18.5MM in the fiscal year that ended on October 31, 2007.

This includes $17.47MM in base compensation with an additional $461,540 in employee benefit contributions and $422,590 in expense accounts and additional benefits. The amount was a 22% increase over the previous year.

This begs the question: What has Selig done to deserve a 22% increase?

And are you telling me that in order to make this amount of money that all that I have to do is become a used car salesman and bitch about player salaries? Maybe law school was not the answer. Also, Jay, I'm sorry but I may have to start up my own blog at http://www.ridiculouslyoverpaidmlbexecutives.blogspot.com/

Weed Is Good For You, Just Ask Santonio Holmes!

As you may recall, Santonio Holmes was arrested in late October:

Mr. Holmes did not have his driver's license but handed over his registration and insurance paperwork. Officers said they smelled marijuana in the SUV. Officer Kusenko asked Mr. Holmes if he had been smoking marijuana in the SUV that day.

"No," Mr. Holmes told officers, according to the affidavit, "but yesterday I was."

Police said Mr. Holmes told them he had marijuana in the vehicle. He pointed out two marijuana-filled cigars, known as "blunts," in a vehicle compartment. Officers recovered a third blunt from a pack of cigars in the center console.

That, my friends, is how you get arrested with some dignity. You hand over your stash, take your lumps and move on with your life. Not that I would know anything about that...

The fact that the NFL punishes people for smoking pot is so hypocritical and backwards its not even worth getting into. These guys have a life expectancy 20 years shorter than other American males, and its not because some of them occassionally take a toke of the green.

The Governor of Cully-fawn-ee-ah used to smoke back when he was Mr. Universe. He said it helped him get to sleep, the time when muscles repair themselves and become stronger. "That is not a drug. It's a leaf," Schwarzenegger told GQ. "My drug was pumping iron, trust me." It's actually not the leaf, it's the bud, but I like where his head is at.

NFL players beat the living hell out of their bodies on a daily basis and it's kind of retarded to say that they can take Percosets, Vicodin, and other insanely powerful painkillers we have probably have never even heard of, but can't roll up a dutch with their homies.

/Steps down from soapbox

Anyway, the Weeded Wonder was other-worldly last night. This catch in the 3rd quarter was downright dexterous (and the screen grab slightly trippy):

This one just barely went through his hands.

But not this one.

Santonio, you are the man, sir. And I didn't even have to mention this.

Larry Fitzgerald Did Me Proud

I might be a little biased because Larry Fitzgerald is my fantasy ex (I'm hoping we can work it out get back together at some point), but he is out of control. I'm sorry if you are already sick of me calling him "The Human-like Machine Referred To As "Larry Fitzgerald", but it is here to stay.

This was almost David Tyreesian:

And he looked like Usain Bolt on this 64 yard TD catch and run.

[Ed. Note: That is the reflection of a lampshade in our apartment (not a mysterious apparition) which will serve as our de-facto watermark, simply because these screen grabs are a big enough pain in the ass, and I'm not going to turn it off and on for every single one.

For this reason (and for the record), any screen grabs or other orginal pictures we post will be color, and for the most part, anything borrowed will be in black and white]

Look What Happens When You Look For A Picture Of Kurt Warner's Wife

That's the sixth search result. Jimmy Claussen.

"I sold my gold hip replacement"

Since we had people over last night, we watched the commercials, being that it was the Super Bowl and everything.

The big winner: Cash4Gold.com

This is the absolute perfect situation for a Super Bowl ad. You have a marginally known company that has shady, borderline-infomercial advertisements and for $3M, you get instant credibility. The price of gold is up (well not today, they might have actually moved the market...) and people are probably looking to pawn some shit since the economy is terrible. Well played, Cash4Gold.com. To boot, it was hilarious, and obviously a seismic upgrade from this.

"Focus and finish"

[word for word, starting at 12:29AM]

Stuart Scott: "Someone once said, football is a game of the heart. Focus and Finish. The Steeler players and even the Steeler fans, focused, and finished, the entire game.

"Someone once said" is the worst way to being a sentence available in the English language. Either cite an influential, historical person, or just take the line for yourself. And obviously, the reason he didn't cite an actual person is that... NO ONE EVER FUCKING SAID THAT. Those 2 1/2 sentences are a heaping of mindless drivel. You know who that "someone" was? The geek in the truck who just wrote that line for him. And the Steelers fans? How the fuck did they "focus" or "finish" anything?

Stuart Scott: Guys, I want one word, that describes this Super game-this-Super Bowl for you...

Trent Dilfer: "Unreal"
Keyshawn Johnson: "Epic"
Cris Carter: [emphatically] "More"
Steve Levy: "I'm gonna go, Fitting"
Stuart Scott: "I'm gonna go, Deserved"

1. Hardly a word.
2. A cliche among cliches.
3. That doesn't even begin to make sense.
4. Fitting? Because the Cardinals lost in heartbreaking fashion?
5. Okay...

Hey, at least no one said "incredible".


I'll have some more screen grabs tomorrow and a more complete recap by the time everyone is sick of the whole subject (besides my buddy Greg), but that 4th quarter really was epic, deserved, unreal, fitting and more!

The Santonio Holmes catch in the corner of the endzone presents an argument against the David Tyree catch for greatest Super Bowl play of all time. It happened in the end zone with less time remaining on the clock. If you are a Steelers' fan, I know which one you are choosing.

[lil' color]

Exclusive From Tampa!

[The Hyatt Regency, Tampa. 10:30 this morning]

The Lamb of God: Guys, we've got our work cut out for us. The Steelers defense is fast and athletic, with the hardest hitting secondary in the league. Their linebackers...

'Quan: Allz I know is dat we best not be runnin no mothafuckin one wide receiver set tonight. Sheeeeiiiiiiittt.

The Lamb of God: Anquan, my son, I understand your angst. Everyone wants to make a positive contribution to their team, and...

'Quan: Jesus, I ain't think you heard me, dawg. GIVE A MOTHAFUCKA THA BALL.

Kurtis the Bag Boy: Q, we connected for over 1,000 yards and 11 touchdowns this year. We've just got to trust what our Lord and Savior says.

'Quan: I said my piece, bitches. [Exits left]

The Human-like Machine Referred To As "Larry Fitzgerald": [stares off into the distance]

The Lamb of God: Kurtis, my favorite son. I have brought you this far, now you and your titanium-hearted accomplice must finish what we started. Are you up for the task?

Kurtis the Bag Boy: I believe so, your Holiness.

The Lamb of God: I have selected some motivational music to guide you on this perilous journey.

[Scrolls through iPod. Selects song. Places iPod in sound dock.]

A-Rod: It Must Be The Name (#13)

I often admonish writers for trying to compare individual sports to team sports. Please admonish me if I fail to contrive a worthwhile comparison between Alex Rodriguez and Andy Roddick. Here it is.

Like Alex Rodriguez, Andy Roddick has all of the physical tools—including a record 155 MPH serve and a powerful forehand. Also, like Alex, he is a good looking, marketable gentleman as he currently endorses Rolex, Lexus, American Express and Lacoste. He is also known for his sense of humor and hyperactivity, and is often overheard on television trading jokes with the crowd during matches.

The Two A-Rods are perhaps best known for their inability to conquer their respective boogeymen. For the tennis player it is Roger Federer. In his career, Roddick is 2-16 against Federer; including 0-7 in Grand Slam play and 0-3 in Grand Slam Finals. For the baseball player, that monster is the Postseason. His October line is .279/.361/.483, which pales in comparison to his career line of .306/.389/.578, especially in terms of slugging percentage.

Driving their fans to AA, Alex and Andy have not done much on the big stage in about 5 years. Since Game 3 of the 2004 ALCS ( I have now re-erased the memory from my brain), A-Rod has come to the plate in the postseason with 38 runners on base and has stranded every single one of them. This is despite being the highest paid player in Major League Baseball. In this time, Roddick has not won any Grand Slam, despite being one of the highest-paid purse winners in tennis.

Their most famous (or should I say infamous?) mutual shortcoming is their failure to stabilize the greatness that preceded them. Once Rodriguez was traded to the Yankees on the supposed “Valentine’s Day Massacre” in 2004, he was expected to bring a World Series title to Bronx almost every year he was on the team. Since his arrival, the Yankees have not won a single championship. Roddick was supposed to continue the American dominance of tennis associated with Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi. However, his single Grand Slam title has failed to sustain this dominance.

Roddick and Rodriguez appear to possess many of the same negative attributes. Although they possess some of the best physical tools in their respective sports, their mental psyches have forestalled them from becoming all-time greats. Both have a great drive to win and are tremendously competitive. However, this admirable competitive drive seems to conquer their bodies at key times and their performance suffers.

Both appear to have a pre-programmed, mechanical gameplan and often fail to adjust the situation accordingly. Rodriguez is a guess hitter. Even when he is down in the count he focuses on a location over the plate instead of adjusting to the contact and making simple contact. Often with runners in scoring position he is hellbent on hitting a big HR. Roddick bases his entire game on his lightning quick serve. He relies on it to get points via aces or set up his nice forehand. However, in the event that an opponent is able to play his serve, his decision to camp out on the baseline makes it difficult to return a ball on his backhand side.

Maybe it was unfair for all of these expectations to be levied upon the two A-Rods. However, as St. Luke told us in his Gospel, “To whom much is given, much is expected.” Despite being given tremendous talent, all that Alex and Andy have provided are heartache and despair.

To succeed, I would simply recommend that they take a deep breath, relax and let the game come to them instead of trying to be the game themselves.

Number of Day Until Spring Training: Alex Rodriguez (#13)

Special guest appearance courtesy of New Stadium Insider.

• Professor Purple Lips
• Double Play-Rod
  
• Mr. 162
  
• Madonna's Prima Donna
• The Ace Of April
• The Gay Of May
• The Queen Of 13
  
• The Big Frosted Tipper
• Lightning Rod
• ICR
  
• The Turd At Third
• Stray-Rod
  
• Alice Rodriguez
• And most recently, A-Fraud

[Ed. Note: Joe, Frank & I might have made some of those up]

The man has a lot of demeaning nicknames for a 3 time MVP with the career trajectory and guaranteed contract that put him on pace to break the all-time home runs record, primarily as a shortstop and third baseman.

The best seats I ever had to a Yankee game were about six rows back from the Yanks' batter's box. The game had been rained out the night before and I was still playing online poker for a "living", so I was more than happy to rearrange my so-called schedule and scoop them up. Chien-Ming Wang threw 7 2/3IP of scoreless ball en route to a win over the Tigers (A-Rod went 0-3 and reached on a wild pitch).

In A-Rod's first time up, he grounded into a double play. When he was standing in the on-deck circle before his second at bat in the home half of the fourth, a guy in front of us got up and yelled, "ANDY RODDICK IS THE REAL A-ROD!!!". He was a Yankees fan.

Our 2007 Saturday package granted us the privilege of witnessing both his walk-off grand slam against the Orioles and his 500th career home run. Our seats were in Section 7, giving us the absolute perfect view down the left field line, and while everyone was still leaning to see if it was going to stay fair, we were already going apeshit.

I've been dreading writing this post ever since no one else claimed it a week and a half ago. There's too much to go into. The booing, the messy divorce, the Freudian implications of him dating Madonna, the Jeter friendship saga, and him playing for the Dominican Republic in the WBC despite never having lived there. Of course there were also his 2007 season, the above moments, the 2004 ALDS, and the home run he ripped off of the facing of the left field upper deck (watch).

Even during his blistering 2007 season, whenever he hit a dramatic home run, on his way to first base, he would still look into the dugout for approval.

Every Yankee fan has their own balance of love and hatred for him. I would place mine at about 70/30, respectively. It flipped to about 10/90 when he opted out of his contract during the '07 World Series. Usually what a player does off the field is not that big of a deal. It all comes down to what you do after the manager hands in the line-up card and before Kim Jones does her terrible post game interview.

But God Almighty, this fucker does his best to make you care. He is so polarizing, he polarizes people within themselves.

For better or for worse, the Yankees married A-Rod last offseason with the incentive-injected 10 year, $275M contract they extended to him. If he leaves the Yankees, it will make his divorce with Cynthia look tidy and private.

I would like to end this post by giving A-Rod the type of friendly advice that actual friendship, by nature, would preclude you from ever giving:

"Alex.

Dude.

You really need to break up with Madonna. Can you not see the writing on the wall? She is GOING TO RUIN YOUR FUCKING LIFE.

The last thing you need is to date someone with an ego that might be even bigger than yours. She's insane. The Kabbalah thing...

Bro, she fucked Dennis Rodman...

FIF-TEEN FUCK-ING YEARS A-GO."

The Maritimes [Music] [Non-Sports]

Stumbling upon the above gentleman's music was a total fluke. I found it when was downloading an album by Tash I actually purchased when I was a junior in high school and used to listen to with my boy Calvin driving around after school in Albany. My BitTorrent site has what they call "Similar Artist Maps", which are incredibly useful for finding music similar to other stuff you like.

Here is Eric Clapton's:

Pretty logical, right? It connects him to his side projects like Derek and the Dominoes, Cream and Blind Faith, people he's collaborated with such as B.B. King and Derek Trucks, and also similar guitarists like Stevie Ray Vaughan.

Now take a look at Tash's:

Tash was a member of The [sic] (should be "Tha") Alkaholiks, and DJ Revolution did some of the tracks on their later albums. The fact that he is linked with Classified is either a small sample size glitch or a very clever joke.

Rico Smith a.k.a Catastrophe (Tash) is a black dude from the West Coast of the U.S. and Classified is a white dude from the East Coast of Canada. They couldn't be further apart geographically or stylistically. But I like them both, so maybe the site is just that good.

The thing that is really awesome about Classified's music is that it's blissfully unselfconscious. He raps about being from Nova Scotia and says "oot" and "aboot" in his rhymes. If for nothing other than the unintentional comedy of a Canadian rapper who actually sounds Canadian, give the song below a listen. He's opened for Ludacris, Busta Rhymes and The Game, so he's got some real skills as well.

He forced his way up through the ranks of the underground rap scene, doing all of his own recording and producing on his own dime before signing a deal with URBNET Records in 2004.

"The Maritimes" is a genuine and aboveboard tribute to his home territory, framed by an underlying track of bagpipes.

I'm from the East Coast of Canada, home of the bag pipe,
Known for the fiddle players, beer and our keg price,
Known for Alexander Keith's and the Donair,
Home of the Mooseheads, but I don't really go there,
We pay a buck for a litre of gas (and)
Smokes cost $10 a pack (damn)
We always mix our tobacco with weed,
It's just the way, we always done it, shit is natural to me...

Respect.

Number of Days Until Spring Training: Several Individuals I'm Guessing You've Never Heard Of (#14)

To figure out who we are going to do for what number, for this countdown, we use YankeeNumbers.com. To switch it up a bit, I looked through the 88 players who donned the number 14 for the Yanks over the history of the franchise, and plucked out a few random guys with odd or old-timey sounding names and Baseball-Referenced them. The results are shown below.

• Rugger Ardizoia -One of only six Italian natives to ever play in the Major leagues, he pitched in exactly one game for two innings on April 30th, 1947. He gave up two runs in a 15-5 loss.
  


• Harry Bright - A true journeyman, Bright spent time on 14 different minor league teams in 5 different Major League organizations. He played every infield and outfield position along with catcher. As a Yankee, Harry had the honor of being struck out by Sandy Koufax in the 1963 World Series for a record 15th K in a WS game. Bright hung up his cleats in 1965 and went on to become a minor league manager and scout.
  


• Monk Dubiel - Brother Dubiel made his major league debut with the Yankees at age of 26 in 1944. He threw 232 innings at a slightly better than league average ERA and went 13-13, which was easily the best season of his career. Each proceeding year he threw fewer and fewer innings until 1952, when he threw only 2/3 of an inning for the Cubs and was out of the league.
  


• Lonny Frey - Linus Reinhard Frey, to be exact. Lonny actually spent 14 seasons in the majors and was a pretty solid offensive force for a second baseman. He was a Yankee for only 24 games at the end of 1947 and 1 game in 1948, during which he had a .410 on-base, but only a .250 slugging percentage.
  


• Bump Hadley - Spent five years in Pinstripes (1936-1940), and collected World Series rings in each of his first four. He had a winning recordas a starting pitcher in each season as a Yankee, but never pitched more than 178 innings although he averaged 252 over his four seasons prior to coming to the Bronx. Next time someone complains about innings limits and pitch counts, mention Bump Hadley. They won't have any idea who you're talking about unless they are an 80 year-old die hard baseball fan with an incredible memory, but do it anyway.
  


• Hank Johnson - Johnson made the big leagues at age 19 and was both a starter and releiver for the Yanks from 1925-1932. He defected to the Red Sox the following year and made stops in Philadelphia and Cincinatti before his career was cut short by chronic bursitis.
  


• George Pipgras - After brief stints in the Majors in 1923 & '24, Pipgras's official rookie campaign came on the legendary 1927 Yankees. The following year he threw 300 1/3 innings and led the AL in wins. He also won Game 2 of the World Series in '28, helping the Yankees sweep the St. Louis Cardinals for their second title in a row. He game up through the Red Sox organization and finished his career with them as well. After his playing career, in additon to being a Major League umpire, he spent time as a scout for the Sawx as well.
  


• Butch Wensloff - After throwing 223 1/3 innings to a 2.54 ERA in 1943 Wensloff was employed in a war-plant and served in the Army for three years. When he returned to the Majors again until 1947, he threw 51 regular season innings and tossed two scoreless frames in the World Series.

And last but not least...

• Cuddles Marshall - Wondering why a grown man would want to be referred to as "Cuddles"? Well, his real name was Clarence Westly Marshall. C-Money tied the record for the best single-season ERA by a relief pitcher in 1948. He threw one inning, gave up three walks, but did not surrender a run. His Yankee career lasted three years, and in 132 1/3 innings, his ERA was 5.17.

Aren't you happy you got through this entire post?

[silence]

No one?

[silence]

Fuck... I should have done Lou Pinella.