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Last Week: Straight UpCam: 3-1Tom: 1-3Joe: 0-4
Against The SpreadCam: 2-2Tom: 1-3Joe: 0-4
Over/UnderCam: 2-2Joe: 2-2Tom: 0-4Baltimore Ravens at Tennessee Titans (-3)Joe: My lack of respect for the now 12-5 Ravens has lost me many a game throughout this season. Why quit now? Pick: Tennessee 27, Baltimore 20
Aaron: Meanwhile, I believe I was the one who wrote words to the effect of "Tennessee is NOT a great team" earlier this year (check the archives!) I ignored the whole "rookie QB on the road" stuff last week with Matty Ice and got burned. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...ah, screw it. Pick: Baltimore 17, Tennessee 16 Arizona Cardinals at Carolina Panthers (-10)Joe: Ten points is a lot to lay down in a divisional round game. Particularly for the shakiest of the four home teams this week. But consider that the Cardinals have lost on the road this season by 21, 28, and 40 points and that point spread starts to look positively modest. Yes, I realize Carolina only won by 4 when they met in October. Regardless. Pick: Carolina 34, Arizona 20
Aaron: So, was I wrong about Matt Ryan and the Falcons or wrong about Kurt Warner and the Cardinals last week? I'll say this much: that Arizona crowd was LOUD. I know people in 'Zona and they aren't a loud people. They're polite, old and white. They also won't be in North Carolina to save their team this week. Kudos to Joe for citing a Cards' loss to Brett Favre as a reason why the Panthers will cover. He just can't let go, readers. Pick: Carolina 22, Arizona 20 Philadelphia Eagles at NY Giants (-4)Joe: The Giants wideouts are still a problem. But if the Eagles were real contenders, they'd have beaten Minnesota by more. That's college football logic, so you know it's sound. Pick: NY Giants 29, Philadelphia 17
Aaron: Last week, I was the only guy in America who picked the Chargers outright over Indy. I had the benefit of seeing San Diego all season and knew that their QB was pretty damn good and LDT was far from their only weapon. This week, everyone I know from NYC is spooked(!) by this Eagles team. Do you guys know something I don't about the Giants or did you not notice that Philly needed three quarters to finish off Quincy Carter Tarvaris Jackson last week? Pick: NY Giants 38, Philadelphia 17 San Diego Chargers at Pittsburgh Steelers (-6)Joe: So. 0-4 last week. Not a proud day for yours truly. My downfall, besides picking four teams who ended up losing, was that I picked the four teams I wanted to win. That freakin' NEVER works. I should have known better. This week, I'm really liking the Chargers -- I like Sproles, I like Babyface Rivers, and I like how they're the only team still alive in the AFC who don't have to rely on winning ugly defensive struggles. I think Pittsburgh is deeply flawed on offense, and their last meeting was pretty much a toss-up. And that was before the Chargers had all the momentum. I love the Chargers here. Not falling for that shit again. (Though I'll take them to cover.) Pick: Pittsburgh 22, San Diego 21
Aaron: This was gonna be my still-unsponsored lock of the week AND still-unsponsored upset of the week. Then, *everyone* got on the Chargers' bandwagon. People...that was NOT a good (or well-coached) Colts team that San Diego beat. That's not why they're going to beat Pittsburgh. Here's why: Ben Roethlisberger's concussion from two weeks ago was so quickly and ridiculously dismissed by everyone that I have to believe some sort of wishcasting reverse ju-ju is in place. Oh, and the Chargers have a better offense. But, it's mostly the ju-ju thing. Pick: San Diego 17, Pittsburgh 12
Saturday, December 27 (cont'd)
4:30 PM - While slowly lugging assorted luggage across the icy sidewalk outside of Salt Lake City's airport, our son Jalen darts away from us, weaves through the chaos of assorted strangers and gridlocked traffic, then happily bounds inside the open passenger door of the SUV driven by his grandfather – who he's seen all of twice in his life. See how easy it was to come up with the plot for The Changeling II?
4:45 PM - Mrs. Bootleg has been fiddling with the kid's car seat for the last fifteen minutes with all four car doors open as she "just can't get it in there". She's attacked it from every angle save for sliding through the moon roof. Her stepdad finally pulls away from the curb before my wife gets her seatbelt on.
(This is a GINORMOUS pet peeve for my wife, as I've had to immediately slam the brakes on repeated occasions to the harpy-shrieks of, "STOP! I'm not buckled in yet!" She doesn't say anything here out of politeness, I assume…and, it's killing her to keep quiet. This moment has made the whole trip worth it, already.)
5:00 PM - The mother-in-law surmises that we must be hungry after our long, uhh…90 minute trip. She suggests Chic-Fil-A. Good call. I've always heard about these "food courts" in "malls", but I've never had the pleasure of actually eating in one. Will they be able to seat a party of five on such short notice?
5:15 PM - We arrive at the Newgate Mall. I've never been in a car with the heater running for 30 straight minutes, so I'm actually looking forward to the now-sub 20° air. (See, kids, during "winter" in California we run our car's heater for a few minutes in the morning just to "take the chill off" and un-fog – not to be confused with actually defrosting – our windows. This is why all of our car heaters smell like slow-roasted dust whenever we turn them on.)
5:20 PM - I can see why my mother-in-law was pushing Chic-Fil-A so damn hard. It's the only restaurant in the entire food court doing any semblance of business. And, look! Ogden, Utah has douchebag, disaffected kids standing around for no apparent reason in their malls, too! We need another Vietnam to thin out their ranks a little. (Oh, right. Sorry.)
I briefly consider something other than fried chicken on a buttered bun. My choices include Sbarro's Pizza, Javier's Rapido Mex(!!!) and Jungle Juice(!!!!!) I opt for the least ethnically offensive and get Chic-Fil-A.
6:00 PM - We get to my in-law's house where we're aggressively greeted by their dog, "Scout". 6:00 PM - 6:15 PM - Jalen's running around the house in sheer terror of this dog that's twice my son's size. My mother-in-law assures Jalen that Scout is "just playing", while she openly wonders if Jalen is just tired from the long day. Yeah, that's it…it's got nothing to do with an animal he's generally unfamiliar with knocking him down, barking and trying to eat him.
6:15 PM - My father-in-law proudly displays the remote control that runs their household. They have Dish Network and my attention is turned away from extracting Jalen out of Scout's belly and towards the majesty of one million channels.
6:16 PM - AIEEEEEEEEEE! Including NFL Network!
6:17 PM - AIEEEEEEEEEE! It's a replay of Week #2's Chargers/Broncos game, which was arguably the game of the year!
(In truth, I'm probably just a slightly-more-than-casual football fan these days, but the set-up here is terrific. The dead time is completely edited out of the game, with fewer commercials, to boot and even though I know the outcome, it moves along at such a brisk pace, I couldn't turn away. Why have none of you told me about this NFL Network before? I can't wait to watch it on my Time-Warner Cable system at home!)
8:15 PM - Jalen has apparently lightsabered himself out of the Taun-Taun's stomach, so I take him upstairs for two stories and a bedtime chaser.
8:30 PM – 3:30 AM - I fall asleep next to the boy, which turns out to be a grievous mistake on my part. Here now are the next seven hours. And, for those of you in on the joke, imagine it told in voice of WWE announcer Jim Ross:
Collar and elbow tie up to begin. Jalen backs his daddy into the far corner of the ring bed. We get a clean break! That's some surprising sportsmanship on the part of Jalen. Oh, and it's Jalen with a closed fist! Damn it, Mrs. Bootleg, get in there!
Jalen's daddy back to a vertical base, dragging his son to the center of the bed. His daddy's no slouch, King. He's a former six-year marketing major from San Diego State University. On campus, he was known as "The Cerebral Aztec".
Jalen's daddy is back down, but wait! What's his son up to? Jalen's now perpendicular to his supine daddy and…uh oh, King! Jalen's tuning up the band! His daddy can't see it coming! Sweet Chin Music! He hit it! He hit it! He hit it! Jalen for the cover! One! Two! No! His daddy's up at two.
Jalen dragged back to the center of the bed. His daddy regains the advantage and lies back down. And, wait…Jalen's moving into position…oh, a headbutt right between his daddy's eyes! Jalen falls on top for the cover!
Damn it, Mrs. Bootleg get in there and help! That…that jezebel! She's pretending to be asleep! She won't help her man! One! Two! Three! Jalen! Jalen! Jalen!
Me: "You hear the A's signed Jason Giambi?"
Mrs. Bootleg: "That must've made you unhappy."
Me: "Y'know, truth be told…I never stopped loving him."
Mrs. Bootleg: "…"
It's probably a good thing I didn't have a lightly-read blog back on December 13, 2001. When Jason Giambi signed with the New York Yankees, I was – to put it politely – pissed. It had been almost a decade since I had an A's team I actually adored and I naively bought into the Bluto Blutarsky persona that Giambi self-marketed with aplomb.
See, I remembered when the A's called up this skinny third baseman in May 1995. I'd spent a few seasons following my favorite team from afar after the strike, but Giambi had done time in my hometown at Long Beach State University. And, Lord knows that '95 A's team was old (38-year-old Dave Stewart was our Opening Day starter) and awful (Craig Paquette! Brent Gates! Mike Harkey!).
Within three seasons, Giambi was the best homegrown player on the roster and by 2000 the entire organization had been rebuilt in the mold of his "take n' rake" philosophy.
Giambi said all the right things leading into his 2001 contract year. Hell, the rumor was that he and the team were this close to agreeing on a six-year, $90 million deal in Spring Training. Then, came word that Giambi wanted a full no-trade clause. An instant later, both sides decided to table negotiations until after the season.
Watching the crocodile tears at Giambi's introductory press conference in New York was nauseating at first, then Jason punctuated it with a collective punch to A's fans stomachs when he declared that he always wanted to be a Yankee.
Giambi's first game back in Oakland in 2002 was surreal. The normally 80% empty Coliseum was filled to capacity and Giambi was booed on a level that I'd only heard when Darryl Strawberry returned to Shea Stadium as a Dodger and Alex Rodriguez first visited Seattle as a Ranger. Personally, I think booing is stupid…but, on this night, it was glorious.
And, now Jason Giambi is back. Cool, whatever. It's a terrific low-risk deal for the A's with only $5.25 million guaranteed up front on a one-year commitment plus an option. He's clearly in decline, but the A's middle of the order will at least be intriguing with Giambi, Matt Holliday and Jack Cust.
Giambi's first run with the A's restored my fanaticism in the sport and for that, he'll get a pass from me in his encore.
Brewed By: New Belgium Brewing
Brewed In: Fort Collins, Colorado
Type: Extra Special/Strong Bitter (Pale Ale)
ABV: 6.6%
What They Say: "A bright, warming blast of Sterling and Liberty hops along with tawny roasted malts. By pushing our 2° Below into a final, nearly freezing state, its ample structure develops a brilliant clarity. Dry-hopping during fermentation creates a bright, hoppy palate and a cheery warm afterglow."
Website: Ummm…let's go with "uncluttered" – although I wouldn't be opposed to "amateurish". (Full disclosure: I don't know t'ish about web design.) The "Beer" link is a kick as it leads to a complete listing of New Belgium's product lines accompanied by recommended food pairings. Some of the suggestions are so hilariously pretentious ("Coca-Cola braised pork shoulder"?) that I actually wanna try 'em. As the story goes, New Belgium was "born on a bike" so there are several bike-themed events promoted here. And, you can't have a beer site without an infrequently updated blog, a mediocre souvenir page and a cooler-than-you tone throughout.
Why I Picked It: New Belgium's Fat Tire is far and away my favorite casual beer of choice, so I'm pretty much open to sampling anything they opt to bottle.
---
Presentation (4): The label on Fat Tire's bottles is easily recognizable and New Belgium wisely keeps the brand identification for 2° Below similar in style. My eye was drawn to the logo, immediately – thinking it was actually Fat Tire – before noticing the clever depiction of frost, icicles and a plunging thermostat.
Originality (1): I'm still a neophyte in the field of beer snobbery, but I'm fairly certain that seasonal winter-warmer beers are a common occurrence on store shelves this time of year. Not much of a break from the norm in the New Belgium formula, either, but kudos for the effort to expand my favorite brand.
Body (7): In an attempt to keep from typing "just like Fat Tire" all the way through this review, I'll instead say that it bears more than a passing resemblance to New Belgium's signature brand. Smooth without really being watery, what it might lack in mouthfeel, it makes up for with an ability to get down my gullet in good time.
Taste (7): Malty with a moderate level of hoppiness that loiters on the tongue. I finished off a six-pack over the course of a few days and didn't think I cared for it. I bought another six-pack a week later and better appreciated the toasted spiciness and relatively dry finish. Somewhat complex for commercialized, mass produced product.
Efficiency (8): I'm mostly hiding behind my waistline when I say that I could only drink two 12-ouncers in a single sitting. The reality is that after the first half-bottle, the mouth is familiarized with the flavor and the 6.6% ABV isn't enough to do any superficial damage over the course of an evening. Not a poundable brew in the truest sense of the made-up word, but it's right at the line.
Versatility (7): I wouldn't call it a straight-up "social beer" due to the finish and lingering bitterness. I'd recommend it most for those pretentious "grown-up parties" that are common amongst newlyweds in their late 20s who are fighting their own insecurities and guilt about their unfettered (and unprotected) youth by hosting a wine n' cheese affair in an ineffective attempt to renounce the past decade.
Grade: 34 (Good Beer)
The above format has been lifted with permission from That Beer Snob Guy.
Joe: Hey Cam, did you hear baseball as we knew it is officially over? All because the Yankees signed the third-biggest name in the free agent pool. I mean...okay, fine, they also signed the second-biggest name in the free agent pool, but still. I think I saw a giant chunk of the sky fall down outside.
Aaron: The entire Teixeira saga from the breathless real-time updates on the bottom of the ESPNews screen ("The Nationals might be willing to go 10 years. They MIGHT go 10!") to the inevitable big money signing with a deep-pocketed team was absurdly entertaining. But, the aftermath... I've heard (yes, it was on sports-talk radio, but still...) that the Yankees' offseason spending is "disrespectful to those of us struggling during these tough economic times".
Joe, your team has somehow become of the scourge of the working class! The Steinbrenners have spit in the face of that single mother who worked third shift at the Chrysler plant, then came home to fix breakfast for her kids before her opening shift at the cranberry silo.
Joe: It's not that I'm entirely upset about the Yankees gaining back their Evil Empire moniker, and with it the hysterical flailings of the fans of every other baseball team in the league. But we were JUST getting the tide to turn and have everybody recognize the insufferability of Red Sox fans, and now I worry that all that progress has been lost. I mean, there wasn't ONE writer out there making the case for the Tex signing as a good thing simply because it stymied Boston's efforts to get him. No schadenfreude-laden write-up about the Sox losing out on Teixeira, losing Varitek, and shitting their pants at the thought the Yanks might still sign Manny. No attention-seeking contrarian writer looking to stand out by making the case that the Red Sox ownership's decision to sit on their billions actually doesn't make them better than the Steinbrenners' willingness to spend.
It's troubling. So I'll make the case now: Why would I rather be a Red Sox fan, when my owners have the means to go after the highest-priced free agents but choose not to out of...what, principle? Really? It's John Henry's strong moral fiber that kept him from offering $180 million? Or is it his desire to keep some of that money in his own pockets? The Steinbrenners -- batshit crazy, mean, delusional, attention-whorey, megalomaniacal, and physically repulsive as they are -- are putting their money on the field. Or at least, considering the fate of Carl Pavano, we hope they are. Look, I think there should be a salary cap too. But until that happens, I want to see my franchise doing everything in its power to put a winning team on the ball field.Which is why they really should sign Manny too. COME ON!
Aaron: Personally, I was waiting for just one writer to acknowledge that the signing of Mark Teixeira resulted in the most challenging-to-spell Yankee surname since 1993's Rich Monteleone, Andy Stankiewicz and Scott Kamieniecki trifecta.
Look -- the Player's Association will never sign off on a salary cap, nor should they. Despite my public support for that one-man Muslim sleeper cell/acclaimed Negro socialist who America elected President last November, I'm not in favor of rewarding dumb teams that don't spend by handcuffing the smart ones that do.
As an A's fan, does it suck that our most recognizable name is our insufferable boy-genius General Manager, Billy Beane? Sure. But, when did a New York team outspending everyone else suddenly become news? Too young to remember Ed Whitson and Pascual Perez in the Bronx? How about Bobby Bonilla and Vince Coleman in Queens?
Baseball - hell, ALL sports - need one or two universally despised teams and the Yanks wear the black hat as well as anybody. Maybe the Bombers win the 2009 World Series in a cakewalk. Maybe I'll be listening to a Yankees broadcast this July during the dying days of Sirius XM, certain I can hear the wind whistling through the decomposing form of Jorge Posada as Suzyn Waldman breathlessly updates fans on AJ Burnett's latest rehab start at Single-A while CC Sabathia labors through another 5 IP/5 ER/500 LB. performance.
And if you can't give me that, God, how about an 0-2 start to the Yankees' regular season? It's just that I've been missing those daily newspaper photos of the stock brokers with their hands on their heads, mouths agape and all the color drained from their faces. Hey, I bet some of them are Yankees fans, too!
Joe: Don't sleep on Oscar Azocar or Todd Zeile in the hard-to-spell sweepstakes. Anyway, you hit on actually my main point in the middle of all this outrage: Maybe the Yankees do win the World Series this year. But maybe they DO end up with Zombie Posada and Burnett missing 2/3 of the season and Sabathia is found passed out on the floor of Magnolia Bakery around the end of June. And honestly? I could still go either way. Teixeira is no guarantee. They've got got to actually win the games. If they do, the rest of the baseball world gets to bitch righteously for the next sixth months and have a boogeyman to fight against for a new season. If they don't? The rest of the baseball world gets to whoop it up and cheer and gloat and taunt and chant "Yankees Suck." It's a system that works for everybody, really. If the Yankees stop outspending the rest of the league, the whole delicate system falls apart. And who wants that?
Aaron: Answer: The Blue Jays. And, possibly the Orioles.
Current Weight: 165.0 lbs.
Growing up, I watched with envy as many of my peers possessed awe-inspiring adolescent super-powers like flipping their eyelids inside out and gleeking at will. As the fat Black outcast (yet, still more tolerable than Outkast) my one and only mutant attribute was – and still is – an uncanny sense of recall.
To wit, I actually remember that Taco Bell introduced the Gordita to their menu in 1998.
I was working in El Cajon, California in the contracts department for a sheet metal manufacturer when a friend and I went to lunch one day. For years, I'd been fiercely loyal to Taco Bell's wondrous Double-Decker Taco, but on this occasion I opted for two Gorditas – overflowing with TB's famous faux Mexican flavor and gift-wrapped in warm flatbread by heaven-sent, uneducated hands making minimum wage.
Forgive the hyperbole, but you have to understand that the Gordita was Taco Bell's first foray away from their traditional taco/burrito/nacho food model. OK, OK…it wasn't a HUGE leap, but the (since discontinued) Santa Fe Gordita was topped with a roasted corn salsa. Roasted corn! And, it's not like I was alone in my love. Taco Bell had a huge hit on their hands.
(1998 was also the year that the Taco Bell Chihuahua exploded upon pop culture and TB entered into a cross-promotional gig with the widely-reviled Godzilla movie, which featured a bigger abomination than the monster itself. These are things I wish I could get out of my head.)
A year later, Taco Bell introduced the Chalupa, which was essentially identical to the Gordita except that its flatbread exterior is flash-fried, making it crispier, greasier and a jillion times awesomer than its not-fried friend.
Recently, TB brought the art of bacon to its Chalupa product, creating an occasional menu item that's nothing short of extraordinary. Now, they try to recapture the magic with the new Bacon Cheddar Gordita Crunch – with the tagline "bacon and cheddar make it better!"
LIARS!
The "Gordita Crunch" part is just a regular crispy taco (ground beef, lettuce, cheese) with pillowy piece of flatbread and melted cheese wrapped around it. I've had this before and it's an inoffensive, if unspectacular, piece of eatin'. The "bacon cheddar" part is where it all goes wrong.
The bacon is too chewy (almost gummy) in its consistency and its saltiness combines with the sodium in the ground beef to simulate a mountain of Morton in my mouth. The "zesty southwest cheddar sauce" was overwhelmed by the meat products and wasn't ladled out in the amount of my approval.
Honestly, if you had told me that the union of cured pork and red meat would be this disappointing, I wouldn't have believed you. A few years ago, Mrs. Bootleg made this for Christmas. I wasn't expecting the same kind of ecstasy, Taco Bell, but I was expecting better.
Oh, I can't stay mad at you.
Grade: 1 (out of 5)
Current Weight: Too Thin - Over the last few years, I wore size XXL in pretty much everything. After living through the pre-gangsta rap early '80s, I vowed never to wear tight jeans and shirts that didn't touch my butt ever again. Unfortunately, I'm about 20 pounds lighter than I was six months ago, which means my XXL Oakland A's swim trunks and boxer shorts from Mrs. Bootleg now fit well south of my ass. Naturally, the A's online store is out of all other sizes.
For the Negro Elitist who has Everything - If any of you have African-American friends and you're pressed for time or out of ideas for a last-second gift idea…try to avoid anything Obama-related. Trust me: every Black person you know received something from the Barack collection for Christmas. Enough already.
Most Underrated Gift of the Season - Mrs. Bootleg copped "Esquire The Rules: A Man's Guide to Life" for me. It's simple-minded and sophomoric, but also funny as hell. It's just a random numeric list of the "man law" concept that has served as the foundation for beer commercials and Adam Corolla/Jimmy Kimmel vehicles over the years. (Sample: "Tollbooths are not for the asking of directions" and "Nobody named 'Josh' is over the age of 35")
A New (Broken) Record! - This was one of two things that our son Jalen really, really wanted. Santa came through and Jalen seemed to enjoy the (t)race-track racing adventures of the Mickey Mouse gang. Sometime between December 25 and December 25 (a few hours later), one of the "racing launchers" had snapped off. This toy has since sat relatively untouched since we returned from Utah early last week. Honestly, I could've just handed $50 to our local food bank and felt the same sense of emptiness. (If you get a chance, scroll through the "parent reviews" of the link in this paragraph. They're all hilariously serious. Not sure what's worse: posting a "parent review" or blogging one.)
Jalen's Favorite Grandma Is… - My mother got the boy a Fisher-Price pitching machine. Mrs. Bootleg's mom got him a hand towel with his name stitched on it.
Mrs. Bootleg's New Boyfriend - With the passing of another six months, my wife made her seemingly semi-annual purchase of a new cell phone. She copped the Verizon Blackberry Storm and all she wanted from me was one of those silly "invisible" covers for it. I'm convinced the damn thing has become sentient. It buzzes, whirrs and beeps without reason. With full credit to m'man Nicka, we're two steps from the SkyNet apocalypse, people.
Favorite Christmas Cards - Confidential to all our middle-aged friends and co-workers who send out personalized Xmas cards featuring a photo of ONLY their molten-hot teenage daughters: Thank you.
Least Favorite Christmas Cards - I'm sure that 2008 was a wonderful year for your family. And, hey, congratulations on being completely immune to the economic implosion that's swallowed almost all of America. But, do you have to put it in a page-long letter meticulously detailing your new home, car, kids, etc.? If I wanted to know about these things, I'd call you more often.
