Time May be Short for the "Jimmer"

I started to look a bit farther into the Jimmer Fredette thing we’ve all been hearing about, and still can’t definitively find out what "jimmer" means as a slang word, in any American vernacular.

Jimmer above the rim

There’s a part of me that finds the word vaguely pornographic, but at my age, and in my twisted mind I find a lot of words vaguely pornographic, or will find a way to make them so. Do I need to stretch very far with this one?

"Fredette" absolutely sounds like either something a guy from France wears, or something folks at French Restaurants order from a menu, ala carte.  Maybe they ask for extra "jimmer" on their Fredette.

I also think "Jimmer" would be pronounced more like "Zeemer," and the guy saying it will be chain-smoking unfiltered cigarettes, have a 4 day growth of beard, and be emitting an aroma that seemingly melds the bouquet of a 2005 Bordeaux with the rankness of week old underwear.

Still…"Jimmer?" My son says it sounds like slang for a condom, instead of the name of a guard from BYU that is leading the NCAA is scoring this season.

Maybe we can ask Jimmer’s brother TJ Fredette? TJ is known as "The Gangsta Rapper," and looks remarkably like Ben Affleck, at first glance. Let me get this straight, a Mormon Gangsta Rapper?
 

TJ GANGSTA

 How about sister Lindsay Fredette? She was Miss Teen New York as a 16-year old, back in 1998. 16 huh?  If you told me that she was just 17, I'd know what you mean.

Mom is Catholic, and after dad converted to Mormon, the three Fredette kids were given an option of which religion they wanted to convert to when they reached 18. It would seem that when mom nicknamed her youngest son (James Taft Fredette) "Jimmer," and it just stuck. I guess James didn’t have an option there?



I LUV NEW YORK!

We have a kid with a nickname that we’d ordinarily associate with some good ole boy from the deep south, and then mix in a little Catholic or Mormon decision, and how bizarre is this bio? And how does one family from Glens Falls, New York come up with these three kids? The whole thing sound’s made up, doesn’t it? Yeah, but check it all out, and you’ll see that truth is once again stranger than fiction.  Lindsay doesn't look to be fiction, at least not in this photograph to the right?  Looks pretty real to me.

Take on all that, but it’s not as strange as the following story about a probable college basketball star come the 2012 season :

I’ve been reading about a 6’3" high school sophomore guard named DeSean "Jizz" Schtupper, who is very highly ranked by most colleges, and should get a huge amount of attention by the fall. He is the son of an American Air Force couple stationed in Turkey. His dad (Hod Schtupper) is white and Jewish, and mom (Dinah-Belle Howard) is African-American. His mom’s  father was Charlie "Jazz" (or Jazz ‘em) Howard, who was a schoolboy hoop phenom from the Winston-Salem area in the late 1940’s. Howard later became a well-known tenor sax session man on a number of jazz recordings in the early 50’s, and that’s how he acquired his nickname. Apparently Jazz ‘em inspired and coached his grandson Jizz ‘em, from a very young age.

The word is that Jizz is lighting it up playing for the Incirlik AFB High School team. Incirlik is just outside of Adana, Turkey. Schtupper’s coach, Major David Hampton has said the that Allen Iverson and Jizz Schtupper haven’t crossed paths yet, but apparently Diana Taurasi has put in a good word for UConn.

Could we someday have Jizz and Jimmer in the same NBA backcourt?

Jimmer Fredette,
say it loud and it’s a Frenchman swearing,
say it soft, and it’s what Lindsay’s not wearing.

Mormon Gangsta Rapper…I swear I am not making that up.
　

Zebra's unite, throw yellow flags, and drink beer

I was a part of the 4-man football officiating crew that drove from Tucson (AZ) to Willcox (AZ) one early evening, back around 1995 or 1996. We were on our way to a game between Willcox and Benson – a huge rivalry game between neighboring towns along Interstate 10. Almost all of the veteran officials in our branch of the Arizona Interscholastic Association preferred road trips on Friday nights, as we were always treated very well. In Tucson, it seemed like we were barely tolerated.

Dean was the referee that night, and he was driving and telling stories about years past in the business of officiating high school sports in southern Arizona. Dean was a legend in Arizona among officials, and had a deep pool of friends, state wide. When Dean brought a crew into town, they always got a great reception from the hosting school’s administration, as Dean was a wonderful guy, and an enormously respected former science and math teacher and coach, who was then an administrator at a Tucson high school.

Ladies young an old would greet him with hugs and kisses, and school athletic directors and principals would arrange after game parties, where all the officials would be fed and beered up to their hearts content, and Dean loved his after game beers as much as any of us.

Dean was a bear of a man, about 6’5" and maybe 280 pounds. He had hands the size of catcher’s mitts, and a booming voice. As we made the 80 or so mile drive down the Interstate that night, Dean told some old stories and new stories about the life of a high school sports official back in the 1960’s and 1970’s.


5 man crew.  Can you spot me?


The classic, oft-repeated story was that back in the day some officials would tell their wives and girlfriends that doing a football game at Benson was an "over-night trip," even though Benson was only about 50 miles from Tucson. The idea was to plant a seed that you may not be home that night, as it was way too far to drive. There are (or at least used to be) hundreds of vehicles in the Tucson area that had "Where the hell is Benson?" bumper stickers.

I was never sure where that all came from, but it wouldn’t surprise me if one or more old high school sports officials came up with the idea? If a guy’s lady actually believed him, it set up a way to cat around, or at least get drunk, without having to answer any questions. I know that any idiot can look at a map, but I was told a few women really believed this story.

Where the hell is Benson?

Once, however, a guy who had "sold" the over-night trip story to his wife happened to take his spouse on a long drive one day which took them past the Benson exit.

"Dear, I though you told me that Benson was a long ways away, and that’s why you needed to spend the night?" his wife quizzed as they motored past the exit.

"Oh, well, no honey, I am talking about the other Benson," and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh," his wife answered, "I see."

Dean recounted another story, of how he and another crew were driving back from a game one time years ago when everyone in the car was extremely drunk, including the driver. It was a gentler time regarding drinking and driving back then, as stupid as that may have been.

The guys got lost repeatedly on some really bad roads, and there are hundreds of them out in the Arizona boondocks, but they kept drinking, and kept on driving. The combination finally won out, and the driver slid the car hard into a big, wet ditch. No one was hurt, and it took hours for someone to eventually come by and haul the car out.

Dean sighed and wistfully said, "Those were fun times, even if we were really stupid. I’m just glad in all those trips we never had an accident."

"Uh, Dean," I broke in, "doesn’t driving a car into a ditch count as an accident?"

"Huh? Yeah, yeah…well, yeah, okay, but you need to be thinking about the game, and your mechanics as the Field Judge. What’s your most important responsibility…you and the Head Linesman?"

"Forward progress," both of us answered. We knew the drill.

I was a part of a number of crews that took road trips to places like Thatcher, Safford, Clifton and Morenci – all of them well over 100 miles away. Once, returning from a game at Eastern Arizona College where Thatcher High School played their home games, the driver wasn’t drinking, but my two other crewmates were slamming beers down like water. They’d showered, changed, and hopped into the car in record time so they could begin pounding all the icy cold beer in the coolers. It was an unwritten rule that the crew chief was required to buy enough beer to see the crew back to Tucson, but these two buddies downed a six-pack each before we got off campus.

Our 4-man crews consisted of a referee, umpire, head linesman, and field judge. The umpire that evening was a guy who was an excellent official, even though his primary sport was baseball. In 1995, he was one of the replacement umpires that worked a number of games when the MLB umpires were on strike. I can’t recall his name, so I’ll call him Ken.

As good as Ken was at football, he’d had an awful moment in our football game that night, probably the worst moment an official can have – an inadvertent whistle. He had been suckered on a fake run into the line, and hit his whistle, which immediately stopped the play. I was working a wing spot, and the actual play was coming right at me. A running back heading for the sideline, with only one man to beat to go 90 yards for a touchdown in a very tough, low scoring game.

I don’t know if the back would’ve turned the corner and gone all the way or not, but I think he would have. When the whistle sounded he just stopped and looked at me. This wasn’t a minor error, where the play was of no consequence, plus an umpire in a football game should almost never blow his whistle, so it made it about as bad a blown call as one could have.

Ken was drinking the game off his mind, and before long on the drive back, two things occurred almost simultaneously – we ran out of beer, and Ken really needed to take a leak.

By the time we got to Willcox and a convenience store, Ken couldn’t take any more – he had to go! Our driver hopped out to buy more beer, and Ken headed for the rear of the store. My other mate drunkenly popped into the driver’s seat, and drove the car towards the back of the store, head lights off.

10 yards for illegal urination

There was Ken by the dumpster, shooting a strong, sudsy, yellow stream against the rear wall of the store. Our driver rejoined us, and at a critical moment, the headlights were turned on high beams, and Ken was caught in the act. His panic overwhelmed him, and he peed all over himself as he staggered and stumbled around trying to finish what he had started, while also trying to get out of the spot light, and not get arrested for indecent exposure and/or public urination.  At the least, he deserved a penalty flag.

 As we howled with laughter, our driver Jim remarked, " Ah, I wonder what MLB would think of Ken if they had a video of this?"

We got to Willcox that evening, and as we readied for the game, I saw some familiar faces of the men that would serve as the chain crew. A few years earlier when I had first met one of them, he’d told me a story about the Willcox versus Benson rivalry from almost 20 years earlier.

For a number of years, the two towns had played twice a year. They were in the same conference back then, but they would play one another in the first game of their respective seasons in a non-conference game along with their regular league game.



Willcox Cowboys -- go figure.

The first game was always a big deal, and it inspired any number of dirty tricks along the line of Army kidnapping the Navy goat, or Navy taking the Army mule – that sort of thing.
This guy was a (Willcox) high school student at the time, and he and a few friends thought of the ultimate prank one night while drinking too much beer and tequila. They would outline a huge "W" in the middle of the Benson football field, and then soak the inside portion of the W with gasoline, and set it on fire! They’d burn a W into the Benson field.

Things went well for the five of them, though my friend told me that the field smelled bad – "Crappy" was the word that was used, but none of the guys were deterred. Someone joked about Benson players shitting their pants in fear about having to play Willcox in another 5 days, and that’s why the turf smelled like dirty underwear.

The moment was reached when the boys spread out, and all matches were all struck.



Magnificent!

 It was magnificent, and the W burned beautifully. Problem was, suddenly, the rest of the field caught on fire, and the realization that Benson had put a whole bunch of fertilizer on the entire turf cracked the 5 drunken boy’s consciousness, big time.

Their sneakers and legs (all were in shorts – it’s very warm in southern AZ in September) started to get really hot, and they howled in pain as their leg hairs began to singe and burn off by the dozens, but they got away, at least for a time.

 A day later and both towns were all aware of what had happened, and a search began for the vandals. It wasn’t hard to find them once one boy was noticed with burned off leg hairs. Willcox is a small town.

Some 18 years later, the storyteller was very proud of his and his friends inspired idiocy that night, even if the field was burned so badly, they couldn’t play the game on that big burned W.

That night’s game began, and at some point early pretty early on a kid returning a punt got hurt, and we had to stop the clock while the player was attended to.

Whenever a kid would get hurt, which was often, it reminded me of another official named Chris, who would always play a joke on an unsuspecting rookie official in one of the rookie’s first games. Chris would sidle up to the rookie (as he did to me years before) and ask him "Why did you let that kid get hurt like that?"

Invariably, the rookie would begin to feel awful, and start apologizing, and the rest of us would have a laugh.

Once in a while an official would get hurt, which could be pretty funny too, as I found out when my chain crew forgot a cardinal rule, and did not drop the chains on a play right towards us one night. As I back-pedaled out of bounds watching the play come at me, I tripped over the chain and landed hard on my butt. I was fine if a little sore, and we started to get ready for the next play.

During the entire game, I had three very lovely young ladies following along the sidelines, watching the game. They were all very pretty, and about 15 or 16 years old.

As I looked out at the field readying for the next play, one of them said "Mister Referee, are you all right, did you hurt yourself?"

Without turning around I said, "I’m fine, thanks for asking."



It's good!

The young lady responded saying, "Well, if your butt hurts, let me know if you would like me to rub it for you?" 　

Back to the Willcox game, and when play was again ready to resume, Dean chopped down with his right hand while blowing his whistle, meaning the play clock should begin. In error, he also started winding his right arm to start the game clock. The prior play was an exchange of possession, and the game clock should not have begun until the next snap of the ball. Not a big deal, but an error.

Things moved along for a while before another stoppage of play, at which point Dean came over to me and said I’d made some sort of minor error in my mechanics – nothing to do with the actual game.

Dean was talking loudly and a mile a minute, and told me "That’s two picchers you owe me after the game!"

"Two pictures?" I asked.

"Yeah, yeah, two picchers…yeah, one for criticizing my story in the car, and the second for your mechanics on that play earlier…two picchers!"

Dean was about twice my size, and was all about having fun, but I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

"Pictures of what, Dean?" I asked him.

"Huh…pictures, no, no…no no no not PICTURES…pitchers! PITCHERS of beer! That’s what you owe me for your two mistakes. After the game, tonight, after the game you owe me two pitchers of beer."

I laughed, and Dean laughed. The other two guys in our crew laughed along.

I said, "Hey Dean, since we’re talking about mistakes, I have one that you made tonight."

"Huh, no, no no whaddya mean…what mistake," and I told him his error in winding the clock after the injury.

He was silent, and thought about it, and realized that I was correct.

"Well, okay…I mean all right…but we don’t have off-setting pitchers!"



We need one more, please.

   There are dozens of other stories I have heard or had a part in, and even now, I can’t believe I really got paid for having all the fun I had while dressed in a pair of knickers, and a black and white striped shirt 'zebra shirt.' I used to tell people that officiating high school football games was the most fun I ever had as an adult male with my clothes on.

And if you’re wondering, my butt’s not sore any more either.

You say potato, I say...

My close and long time friend Carl originally sent me this story on August 16, 1998. It’s about a trip he and his father Leo took. I knew Carl’s dad (Leo) pretty well 40 years ago. He was a great guy. He passed away in 2008. A family member is putting together some video, photos, and stories about Leo, and Carl found this one to add. Then, he remembered how much we laughed, and sent it to me again. With some minor editing by both of us, here is Carl’s story:

Well, I did the camp thing yesterday. I drove my son and his buddy to Space Camp in Atwater, California, 260 miles north of Santa Clarita, just north of the raisin Capitol of the world and my birthplace, Fresno. I brought my Dad along for company on the ride back. During our drive he remembered eating the greatest potatoes in his life at a restaurant in Shafter. Apparently, he and my Mom discovered this treasure back in the late 1940’s when they were living in Fresno. Fifty-nine years later, Dad could still taste those potatoes.

Sure enough, right after Bakersfield, we drove past Shafter. We saw trucks stuffed to the top with Shafter potatoes. For the rest of the journey up to space camp, the boys and I heard every conceivable story about Shafter potatoes. It hadn’t been the first time I had heard those stories.

What an excellent gift idea!

After dropping the boys off at Space Camp in Atwater, near Merced, Dad started "hinting" about picking up some of those Shafter potatoes.

As we drove back home, Dad started getting more excited. He began rattling off all the potatoes he could buy for friends and family so they too, could experience the joy of a potato from Shafter. Hundreds of pounds of potatoes were accounted for in Dad’s thoughtful gifts as the miles decreased to Shafter.

When we finally got to the Shafter exit off the freeway, we were only ten miles away, and Dad insisted we find a place that sold potatoes. I was game. Stupid me.

We followed the trucks the into the town of Shafter. Tijuana has more Anglos. I was driving my wife’s Navigator and felt like Clint Eastwood getting ready for a showdown in one of his Spaghetti westerns.

We drove up and down the streets. There wasn’t a store sign in English. Siete-Once (7-11) was the closest. That wasn’t our only problem. There wasn’t a place to be found selling anything resembling a potato, but Dad was determined. He wanted to pull over a couple of truck drivers and see if he could negotiate for a couple hundred pounds of potatoes. Luckily I was driving.

After a great deal of searching, we finally found one store that sold produce. It was a little Mexican Mom and Pop grocery store. Everything in it was Mexican. Our Mexican grocery stores in Oxnard, Palmdale and Santa Clarita have a combination of Anglo and Mexican. Chef Boy-R-Dee is right next to the salsa. But here, there was nothing even close to Anglo.

It was already 6:00 P.M. on a Sunday, but the store was filled with old Spanish woman pushing old-fashioned hand carts.

We located the potatoes. They were from Oregon. Dad was beside himself.

Back in the car, we followed the trucks loaded with the potatoes out of town and back toward Highway 99. They approached some railroad tracks. There were about 100 train cars, just sitting there all stuffed to the top with Shafter potatoes, millions of them and more coming by the truck-load. Dad couldn’t contain himself. He was ready to jump out of the car and stuff his pockets with as many potatoes as he could snatch!

Luckily, I had been on enough missions in my younger years to know our little adventure would have a funnier ending (and probably happier) if we left without any potatoes and without any police citations. We headed down the highway with nothing but fond memories of potatoes from a different era.

When I returned home, my father-in-law was at our house visiting. He’s a produce expert, having worked in the industry his entire career. I relayed the story of our journey. He informed me all the California potatoes from the Shafter area are used for potato chips.

Smackin' Fresh! That says it all for me!

California imports most of the whole potatoes we actually eat. So the next time you nibble on a Laura Scudder’s, think of my dad.

Death Rays?

Is anyone crying for the Tampa Bay Rays?

The rumors of their death have been slightly exaggerated.  You don’t have to worry about them at all, as they are merely reloading for 2012 and beyond.

Desmond Jennings is the new Carl Crawford – 5 years younger and millions less expensive. He is s superb defensive outfielder and will be in the mix for leading the American League in stolen bases soon enough.

Dan Johnson is the new Carlos Pena, albeit with much better contact. Saying a hitter will have better contact than Carlos Pena is like saying it’s going to be cold in Vermont mid-January. Johnson’s defense wont be as good, but he’ll hit .240 and a few less homers than Pena, but not many.

I said "many," not Manny. I think Ramirez slots in to DH in the evening, and stay in his bat cave by day. Johnny Damon will get a lot of at bats, as the Rays aren’t going to pay him $5 MM plus to platoon, so he’ll DH and play a little outfield – more if Tampa trades BJ Upton.

Jason Bartlett moves to the left coast, but Reid Brignac stands by to take over at short. It may be his last shot, and if he stumbles, the former second round pick in the ’04 draft could be replaced by Ben Zobrist. I expect that anyway, as Brignac has shown little ability to hit lefties so far. That would open up more at bats for Manny and Johnny.

Matt Garza goes to the Cubs, which on the surface looks like a bad trade for Tampa, but how can that be so if they traded him to the Cubs? The Cubs never get any of these trades right, do they? Seriously, Garza has been on the cusp of super stardom, and I look for him to put up very nice numbers in the National League this year. Compared to the AL East, it’s going to have to feel like he’s pitching against AAA hitters.

The poor and bereft Rays rotation has David Price, James Shields, Wade Davis, Jeremy Hellickson, and Jeff Niemann! Arguably, a top 5 group in all of MLB, and there are stud arms waiting in the wings named Matt Moore, Jake McGee, Alex Torres, and Chris Archer, the lone righty of the group, who was one of 4 prospects acquired from the Cubs in the Garza deal.

The bullpen was definitely decimated, with 4 guys leaving through free agency. The Yanks gave Rafael Soriano, Tampa’s 2010 closer, an obscene amount of cash to back up Mariano Rivera – I’m now hearing more than $33 MM for 3-years…unbelievable, even for New York. Dan Wheeler is giving up Corona for Sam Adams and taking his thing to Boston. Billy Beane is playing a more expensive version of Moneyball these days, giving Grant Balfour some big bucks, and Joaquin Benoit, a non-roster invitee last season with the Rays, is going to Detroit for 3-years, and more than $16 MM.

All of those guys in the prior paragraph will have a shot to help out, and expect one or two to emerge. It’s also probable that Tampa will pick up a veteran arm or two to help out Kyle Farnsworth, who right now sits as the closer on their depth chart. That’s a bit scary.

For better or worse the Rays play in the AL East, and going into 2011 it’s not a good bet that they make the playoffs. If they were in any other division in baseball, I would seriously consider them as favorite, or co-favorite with the Phillies, to win. The Rays are still that good.

So, when the summer begins to roll in, and the Rays are languishing in third place 10 games behind Boston, and 5 behind NY, don’t shed any tears for Tampa Bay. In June of this year they’ll have 12 picks in the first two rounds of a ‘talent loaded’ amateur class of ball players, and all the money they’ll need to sign each one.

Flavor of the Weak

Aaron Rodgers is the greatest quarterback in history!

That’s what I have been hearing all week on TV and radio. Is there anything goofier about the NFL than how ‘experts’ change their opinions about players and teams after a game or two? How weak is that?

Last Saturday during the telecast of the Packer – Falcon game, Joe Buck and Troy Aikman anointed Rodgers as the one guy they would take with the first over all pick, if they were starting a NFL team at that moment.

Really???

It’s apparent that a huge segment of the media buys into things just as easily as the American public does. That said, I know that TV media influences people’s perceptions about football to the point where all of the Las Vegas lines on the Green Bay at Chicago game are floating around 3 to 4 points, with the Packers the favorite on the road in a conference championship game.

Vegas is also counting on the betting public to believe this game will be relatively high scoring, with the over/under number at 43.

Vegas knows that a majority of bettors will give the points and take Green Bay. Most doing that are also thinking the game will be high scoring – at least in the 50’s, for total points. The smart lads in Vegas are counting on a bulk of the money coming in on Green Bay until late, when the smart players will take the points and put up the big money.

The game will be played on Soldier Field in crappy, cold and windy weather – not inside a nice warm dome in Atlanta. Green Bay’s offensive line is average, and the Bears pass rush is very good.

I like Aaron Rodgers, and he may yet become an elite NFL QB, but right now he’s a good QB with a target on him from a Bear defense that’s spent all week hearing how fabulous he is. Maybe he throws darts in the wind tunnel, but his running will be negated on that awful playing field, and players will be slipping and sliding all over the place.

If the Bears win or tie the turnover battle, put up a few points on offense and play their usual excellent defense, their great special teams will carry the day.

I like Green Bay too, and of the 4 teams left they may just be the best, but they are on the road in a place where they had 18 penalties the last time they played there. Last week in Sports Illustrated there was a compelling article stating that officials are absolutely influenced by screaming crowds in the favor of the home team in any game. I believe it.

Give me the 4 points and I’ll take Bears, as I already like them to win straight up. I like the Under (43) in this game as well. I’ll be rooting for a slog through the muck at mid field.

As an added treat, I’ll take the Jets too, and the 3.5 points, though I like the Steelers to win the game by a point or 3. I’ll also take the Under, with the total at 38.

For the record, last week I had 3 right and 9 wrong, so you all know this is not coming from a meeting of the Algonquin Round Table of Football Expertise. I don’t think Dorothy Parker knew squat about football, but she knew a weak suck when she saw one.

Florida’s Curse on the Yankees

When Carl Pavano re-signed with the Twins a few days ago it pretty much took all top free agents off the board, so to speak. When I emailed my long-time friend Bill about this he came back with a classic rhetorical question in which he wondered if anyone had ever considered using Carl Pavano and the words "top free agent" in the same sentence…for a second time?

Any baseball fan worth snot knows that the Yankees had their fling with Pavano after he had a nice season for the Florida Marlins in 2004 in which he won 18 games. He was also a major part of the staff that beat the Yankees in the World Series in 2003. He got big dollars to sign with NY and almost immediately got hurt. He won 9 games for New York in three years, with each of those wins costing the Yankees about a million dollars in salary.

Of course, a much bigger part of why the Yanks lost the '03 Series to the Marlins was a kid named Josh Beckett.  I hear he's been spotted in New York over the years since, once while on his way to a World Series title.

Pavano also had some strange episode in which he "lost" his car down in Florida, where he was supposedly rehabbing. It was very vague, but the rumors are that the lad may have ingested a variety of adult beverages, and merely lost his way? I have written before that once New York lost out on the Cliff Lee sweepstakes, they should signed Pavano again, just for the laughs.

But no, it looks like the Yanks will go forward with A.J. Burnett as a key component to their rotation – like the #3 guy behind Sabathia and Hughes? Andy Pettitte has not given any sign of wanting to come back other than to say he wouldn’t be ready to start the season in April. That implies he’d consider a (say) late May/early June return? The other potential starting pitcher names being tossed around for consideration are Sergio Mitre and Ivan Nova.

Whoa! Our family had a 1963 Chevy Nova, which was a great car, but an Ivan Nova? Can I get some extras on that, like GPS and a DVD player?

Yankee fans must be counting their blessings that they have Sergio Mitre!  Before coming to New York in 2009, who did Mitre pitch for?

Uh, the Florida Marlins of course.  Why even ask?

So, going back to AJ Burnett, it’s my understanding that he went through some nasty times with his wife, and showed up at Yankee Stadium late last season with a black eye.

The story was under reported, and left to us surmise about what had really happened? Rumors were it was domestic situation in which perhaps his wife’s dancer pole had smashed Carl in the face, making him even more homely. Go figure that some dorky looking guy that’s making millions of dollars as a MLB pitcher would marry a beautiful stripper – and then have a problem?

That aside, baseball fans know that AJ was a Florida Marlin too, back in the day. He had some good years and signed a nice 3-year deal with Toronto, winning 18 in his final year. Maybe 18 wins is some magic number for New York? They sign AJ, and we all know the rest.

Lets move on to Javier Vazquez, who the Yanks let slink out of town after his second disastrous stint with the team. Remember NY getting him from the Expos after they’d lost the ’03 World Series to Florida? They had to do something, so they grabbed one of the best pitchers in the National League and paid him 9 MM, before sending him to Arizona for Randy Johnson, which worked out well, didn’t it?

(That reminds me…has any superstar in MLB been any uglier than the Big Unit? Seriously all you baseball historians, show me an uglier SOB than Randy -- really.)
So, continuing with Vazquez, who after one so-so year in AZ goes on to be a workhorse (if .500) pitcher for the White Sox for three seasons, then has this great season for the Braves in 2009. He re-establishes himself as a top pitcher in the National League (again), and the Yankees give him 11.5 MM, to (again) have another ugly season for them in 2010.

So where does Vazquez vamoose to?

Well, Florida, of course.  I will go on the record right now that if he’s healthy enough to make 30 starts (and he’s an innings-eater), Javier will have a very nice year for the Marlins. If he wins 18, please remember you read it here first.

So, is that it for the Florida curse?

Not quite, as we have Rafael Soriano, most recently the closer for Tampa Bay, a different team from Florida that has out performed New York in the last two seasons.

NY is giving Soriano 7.25 MM this year to caddy for Mariano Rivera. Soriano has been healthy 4 of the last 5 years, but he still has 2004-05 and 2008 on his resume. He pitched a total of 24.2 ugly innings in those three seasons.

Why do I have this sense that Soriano will under-perform in New York, or get hurt?

I am not wishing any player bad luck here, but being a confirmed Yankee hater, I feel I am obligated to make jokes and point out all the nasty and funny things about the club.

So, do you think Florida has a curse on the Yankees?

Me?  I am still hoping that someday the Yanks sign a guy that left Florida for Atlanta.

Dan Uglla.

Please…
　

NFL Awfulness

When was the last time we had a chance to see a worse football game than yesterday afternoon…I mean, aside from the game last night?

The Baltimore Ravens jump all over the Pittsburgh bumblers yesterday and at half time I said to (my wife) Susan, "You know, the Ravens seem to have a habit of taking leads in games and then slowly giving them up in the second half."

I think it was one of the few things I had right on Saturday. Another one was that I knew on that third and ten in the fourth quarter that Ben Roethlisberger was going to hit Hines Ward on a slant for a first down. That’s about all I had right.  I have to ask (how in the name of Ed Reed) does Antonio Brown beat the nickel back on that fly pattern down the sideline for 58 yards? Isn’t Baltimore supposed to be a fantastic defensive football team? Isn’t the basic rule that no one beats you deep at that point in the game? Did you really need to drop 9 guys into coverage -- 8 was not enough to stop a third and 19 huh?

Have you looked at the numbers from this game? The two teams combined for 389 yards in offense. 389 yards combined…yeah, and Aaron Rodgers had 379 yards all by himself versus that JV team from Atlanta in the late game.

Five turnovers by teams that got into the positions they were in by not turning it over. For good measure, they combined for 167 yards in penalties too.

Was the game entertaining, well yes, but don’t tell me it wasn’t awful football.

I couldn’t even bother watching the second game after Tramon Williams intercepted a horrible pass from Matt Ryan and raced 70 yards for a TD to end the first half. I mean were the Falcons really the top seed in the NFC? Four turnovers made them look like some scrub team from the NFC West, and all the props Matt Ryan has been getting for being so cool and mature, well maybe he’s not that good…yet. He was sure awful yesterday.

Good for Rodgers though, for a second enormous playoff win on the road as an underdog, and the fabulous game he had. It really did look like a video game when he had the ball in his hands, didn’t it? Brett Who?

Today we get to see the Bears chew up the Seahawks – well, we better see that, as I pretty much struck out looking with my picks yesterday. The only "bet" I had right yesterday was the Packers covering the 2.5 points spread. I took the under in that game, and you know it’s a really bad pick when one team goes over the number (45) by themselves.

I felt the best bet of the weekend was the under (37 points) in the Ravens/Steelers game, and of course that went away quickly, even if both offenses really sucked. One bomb to Brown accounted for about 15% of the total offensive yards gained in that game.

For the record, I really like Chicago to win the early game today, but I wouldn’t be able to resist taking 10 points and Seattle, and betting on the spread too. I’m taking the under for the third time, which I pegged at 40.5. I am hoping for a slog match at midfield for about 55 minutes, and a 19-12 Bear’s win. (Yes, I am predicting 8 field goals by the two teams, and a Devin Hester punt return for the one TD)

In the other game, what percentage of viewers aside from myopic and diehard Jet fans think New York is going to beat New England? I sure don’t think New York will win, and I am a Jet fan, though I would take the Jets and 8.5 points and a puncher’s chance against the line, but I’d back it with a straight bet on the Pats, even if I had to lay the bookies 4-1 odds.

I have the under (44.5) in this one too. Of course I do! Last week I won 3 of those, and if I’d only bet it the fourth time in the Packers and Eagles game, I would have swept the totals.

Last week I won 10 out of 12, but only "won" $180, because just like the rest of the sane people in this world I figured New Orleans to be a lock to win in Seattle. Yeah, sure they were, and that bet cost a lot of big rollers big time at 6-1. I am 1-5 right now and "down" $470 this week, so far.

What if I could offer you all one more bet to get even, or a chance to add to your winnings?

How about five rounds of boxing between

"Belligerent" Bill Belichick and Rex "R-rated" Ryan?

Seriously, and I mean real pugilism, with 16-ounce gloves, ‘cause we really don’t want to see either of those wonderful men bloodied -- just bruised and sucking wind. Let someone like Mike Ditka ref the thing, and of course Wes "Twinkle Toes" Welker can add commentary.

There’s Bill, jabbing and pecking away like some annoying gnat, then flitting off, while flicking his nose with the thumb of his left glove like Alfalfa in an old Our Gang comedy.

Then there’s Rex, soaking wet from sweat and his pants falling down taking wild swings at Bill, I can see Ryan huffing and puffing around the ring chasing Belichick.

Kind of like one of those old-fashioned black & white films from the early 1920’s, where everything is all speeded up? You know, the movies before sound, where they’d have someone playing that jittery piano to the action on the screen?

Doodly do,

doodly do,

doodly doodly doodly,

doodly do…

And, as an added attraction, on piano, Harry Truman!