Ben Sheets, Billy Beane & Teflon Economics

News Item: On Wednesday, the A's announced SP Ben Sheets will miss the remainder of the season with a torn flexor tendon in his right elbow.

For those scoring at home, this is the same injury that shelved Sheets for 18 months following the 2008 season. The 32-year-old right-hander has quite possibly thrown his last pitch in a Major League uniform.

According to most accounts, Sheets has been pitching through pain, inflammation and swelling around his elbow over his past 2-3 starts. This would explain both his decrease in velocity and our boy-genius General Manager's curious "we're not inclined to trade Sheets because he's great with our kids" public position. It's not like Billy Beane could come clean and own up to the most short-sighted, ill-conceived free agent signing of his tenure.

When my A's signed Sheets to a one-year, $10 million contract this past January, I wrote:

Every hour since this deal went down; I've found new ways to hate it even more.

Six months later and it keeps right on giving.

The predictable ending to the Ben Sheets era sparked an equally predictable response from some A's fans and beat writers who believe in Billy Beane. To them, the last few years of failure -- built around a somnambulant offense, a kiddie-corps pitching rotation and a zillion trips to the disabled list -- has nothing to do with poor amateur drafts and a questionable medical staff. They swallow our GM's repetitive pabulum about small markets, old stadiums and competitive disadvantage with an accepting shrug.

On July 24, Susan Slusser of the San Francisco Chronicle wrote:

I know there will be a lot of criticism about signing Sheets in the first place, but the A's knew the risks and even though it is a $10 million deal, the commitment is only for one year, and the upside seemed worth it. Also, they couldn't give their money away - they tried to sign Adrian Beltre, Marco Scutaro - no one was interested. They had it to spend, it's not like there's somewhere else that's suffering because they used that for Sheets. I don't get the worry about the investment. Where was it supposed to be going? It's not like ticket prices went up to sign Sheets. If there's concern about the A's bottom line...it's their budget, their risk, they're still at the bottom of the league in payroll. The Sheets money just doesn't even seem like much of an issue.

I like Slusser's work, I follow her on Twitter...really, I don't have any ax to grind. It's just that this kind of hands-off commentary is maddeningly consistent on the A's beat. Let's address a few of her points:

"The A's Knew the Risks..." -- Back in January, Sheets auditioned for several teams during a workout in his native Louisiana. Along with the A's; the Reds, Nationals, Diamondbacks, Cubs, Rangers, Cardinals, Blue Jays, Brewers, Dodgers, Mets, Giants, Pirates and Phillies were all reportedly in attendance. In 2009, the Nationals had the worst ERA in the National League, yet they passed on Sheets. The Brewers finished next-to-last in ERA last season and employed Sheets for eight years...they passed, too. Many of the teams that watched Sheets test his surgically-repaired elbow were desperate for pitching help, yet they ALL opted to look elsewhere. Those are the teams that knew the risks. In 2009, the A's finished fourth in the AL in ERA and instead paid a premium for "the risks".

"They Had Money to Spend..." -- When did Major League Baseball become Brewster's Millions? Just because a team has $10 million in its pocket -- and can't lure any offensive upgrades to Oakland -- doesn't mean it should spend for the sake of spending. I said it in January and I'll say it again: the A's didn't need Sheets. And, Slusser's contention that there's no other aspect of the team that's suffering due to the money allocated to the Sheets contract is indefensible. The A's are next-to-last in the AL with 66 home runs in 2010. They're third from the bottom in SLG and scored the fourth fewest runs. Why didn't the A's go to Spring Training with the components of the promising 2009 rotation? Then, they could use March to assess other team's offensive options while determining how much of this $10 million slush fund they could use for the 2010 salary of an upgrade at the plate.

"It's Their Budget..." -- And, these aren't the Yankees. Some teams can sign Carl Pavano to a 4-year, $39 million contract without wincing when it blows up in their collective faces. While the Ben Sheets signing -- in a vacuum -- isn't necessarily cumbersome on a single season's budget, it follows the A's recent pattern of filling prominent roles with aging or injury-prone players. It's one thing when DH Frank Thomas is signing for barely the league-minimum (and a load of incentive clauses). It's another when SS Orlando Cabrera and 1B Jason Giambi are making something south of $5 million. And, DH Mike Piazza is signed for $8.5 million. By the time we get to Sheets, "budgets" start looking like a tradition of bad deals.

"$10M is the Going Rate..." -- This wasn't in Slusser's write-up, but it's something I've heard from a few A's fans. They'll name-drop guys like the Yankees' AJ Burnett or the Red Sox's John Lackey (two recent high-profile, high-dollar free agent signings who've struggled to keep their ERAs under 4.50 this season). You'll never hear these fans mention White Sox SP Freddy Garcia. He's started just 23 games combined from 2007-2009 and he's making 1/10th of Sheets' salary this year (4.74 ERA in 18 starts).

"The A's NEEDED Sheets' Veteran-osity" -- Starting this weekend, the A's starting rotation will be: Brett Anderson, Trevor Cahill, Dallas Braden, Gio Gonzalez and Vin Mazzaro. Now, guess which five starting pitchers led the A's in games started in 2009. Hint: their names are in this blurb.

Just to recap: my Oakland A's signed an injury-prone Ben Sheets to a ridiculously large contract, despite knowing the risks and slightly more than half-way through the season, they're handing their rotation over to the five guys who they should've trusted with the keys to the car in the first place.

That about cover it, Mr. Beane?

Billy Beane's Baseball Brain is Broken

News Item: The Oakland A's signed SP Ben Sheets to a one-year, $10M contract with incentives.

Last week, Sheets – who hasn't thrown a pitch in a Major League game since August 2008 – held a workout for interested teams down in his home state of Louisiana. By all accounts, Sheets was superb. His fastball topped out in the low 90s and his signature curve looked as sharp as ever.

24 hours after Sheets' workout, reports began circulating that the erstwhile Milwaukee Brewers ace was looking for a one-year, $8M contract. I'd read that my Oakland A's were one of the teams down in the bayou taking a first-hand look at Sheets. However, when his expected price tag became public, I figured the A's would stand pat with a pitching staff that finished an impressive fourth in the league in ERA and a standing-room-only starting rotation that's at least six deep on the eve of Spring Training.

The A's apparently had money to spend after free agents Marco Scutaro, Adrian Beltre and Aroldis Chapman rejected the team's offseason overtures (in fact, the A's offered Scutaro and Beltre longer, more lucrative deals than what they accepted in Boston). And, like a child with Christmas money still in his pocket, the A's spent it all on the last broken toy in the box.

Every hour since this deal went down; I've found new ways to hate it even more.

The A's did NOT need pitching. They'd re-signed former All-Star Justin Duchscherer (who also didn't pitch in 2009) for one year, $2M plus incentives. Brett Anderson and Dallas Braden pitched exceptionally well at times last year, while Gio Gonzalez, Trevor Cahill and Vin Mazzaro took their lumps, but all showed legitimate promise in 2009.

The "you can never have enough pitching" argument doesn't apply when a team signs a guy for more than twice the combined salary of their entire rotation – especially, a guy with the injury history of Sheets.

Now, let's be generous and toss out 2009. Sheets has averaged just a tick over 150 innings pitched over his last four seasons. Former A's starter Rich Harden – who shares Sheets' bouts with brittleness – threw 148 and 141 innings in 2008-2009, respectively. With a MUCH stronger recent track record, Harden signed with the Rangers for 30% less than Sheets.

The only way this deal works is if two things happen: (1) The A's contend deep into the season and (2) Sheets throws 180+ effective innings.

In case you hadn't heard, the A's are seriously considering Ryan Sweeney (career SLG: .387) and Kurt Suzuki (career SLG: .398) for the #3 spot in the batting order. This is a terrible offensive team that won't contend as currently constructed. And, if Sheets throws 180+ innings, it'll be just the second time since 2004 that he's done so.

A's boy-genius GM Billy Beane has fallen over himself to tamp down expectations for this team's short term future:

"We have a long way to go. It's going to take some time and some commitment. I don't know in our marketplace if there's any way to speed up that process." - Beane on the A's rebuilding effort, October 2009

"The only way [the A's can eventually contend] is continued development of young players and adding more players, and acquiring young players is the most difficult thing to do. That takes time." - Beane, December 2009

From where I sit, Beane dropped $10M on a player and – in Beane's BEST case scenario – he flips Sheets, if healthy AND productive, for prospects and other rebuilding chips at the trade deadline.

My A's spent $10M on the prototypical "player to be named later"…for someone else's team.

As plans go, it fits right in with the past three years:

2007 – Brought back almost the entire team that reached the ALCS in 2006, replacing DH Frank Thomas with Mike Piazza in hopes of contending. Instead, injuries crippled the roster; the A's finished third and began the teardown process by trading SP Dan Haren and OF Nick Swisher the following offseason.

2008 – With a younger roster in place, the A's were surprising contenders through the first half of the season. They were eight games over .500 and just five games behind the Angels when they threw in the towel and traded SP Rich Harden on July 8, then SP Joe Blanton on July 17. At the time, Beane's reasoning was that he didn't believe the A's were really contenders.

2009 – Beane's commitment to full-on rebuilding lasted about five weeks into the 2008 offseason. The A's acquired OF Matt Holliday and gave up one of their prized prospects for the honor. Jason Giambi, Orlando Cabrera and Nomar Garciaparra were also brought in, as Beane completely changed course with an old, selfish roster that stunted the development of the kids who'll actually be in Oakland one or two years down the road.

2010 – Make "value" the cornerstone of your promotional campaign by signing a guaranteed DL visit to a $10M contract, then selling your remaining 800 fans on the OBProspects you'll get in return come July. You hope.

Individual regular season tickets are on sale this Saturday!

The Obligatory Hall of Fame Outraged Response

Since starting this lightly-read blog, I've gone out of my way to avoid recycling material that I'd written for my previous internet employers. But, every year around this time, I reach back to 2005, when I cobbled together an exhaustive feature that examined the Hall of Fame prospects for 100 current and retired players.

Here's what I wrote about the newest Hall of Fame inductee, Andre Dawson:

So goes the story of Andre, whose most Gigantic* seasons materialized in Montreal and away from the big-market media. An eight-time All Star and Gold Glove winner, Dawson was very good for a very long time, but seldom great. He only reached the 30 HR plateau three times, his lifetime OBP of .323 is borderline awful and the fact that he collected nearly 1,000 useless and unproductive at-bats over his final four years make his case for Cooperstown all the less compelling.

* - And, no, I can't believe I went there in 2005.

M'man Smitty and I have had a few heated debates on Dawson's candidacy – he's pro, I'm con. In the end, I'm not going to get too worked up over it. I would only ask that his supporters in the media stop with the revisionist history. Dawson's absolute offensive peak was a four year stretch from 1980-83 (.302/.350/.518). He was solid for the rest of his 11-year run in Montreal, but there wasn't any HoF buzz until much later.

And, his 1980s peak took a back seat to Dale Murphy's (.293/.383/.533) from 1982-85; Darryl Strawberry's (.272/.378/.549) from 1985-88 and even Eric Davis' (.281/.377/.537) from 1986-89.

I will, however, get worked up about Roberto Alomar. Here are my thoughts from five years ago:

Despite the numerous changes of address (seven different teams in 17 years); Alomar was unquestionably the best second baseman of his era. 12 All Star appearances, 10 Gold Gloves and five top 10 finishes in the MVP race would be enough by themselves. Throw in a career .300 average and .371 OBP and you've got one of the finest top of the order hitters of this generation. 2700+ hits and 470+ stolen bases (and counting) are just icing on the cake.

Alomar is on the short list of my all-time favorite players who never wore the Oakland A's green and gold. You know those hackneyed platitudes that sportswriters have been belching out since the 19th century? Well, Alomar's play at second base was jaw-dropping, breathtaking and awe-inspiring.

With Alomar's crazy range at second base on the early 1990s juggernaut Toronto Blue Jays squad, they could've sat light-hitting shortstop Manny Lee – let Alomar cover SS, too – hit eight players and still won the AL East by eight games. I kid, but Alomar was that good.

Now, if he'd only gotten 50% of the HoF vote, I'd have been disappointed. Alomar was great for a long time, but after a terrific 2001 season – at the age of 33 – he was done. His final three seasons included a disastrous, high-profile flop with the Mets and MAYBE Alomar's HoF omission could be explained away with the "recency effect".

Instead, Alomar missed inclusion by eight votes. And, there's not a doubt in mind that he was targeted by just enough voters who felt obligated to deliver a post-dated punishment for a singular on-field sin in 1996. It's all detailed in this absolutely terrific story.

Alomar intentionally spat on umpire John Hirschbeck during a heated dispute. Afterwards, Alomar implied that the umpire's terminally ill child was the cause for Hirschbeck's short fuse. Alomar was subsequently crucified in the media. Alomar eventually apologized and the two became close friends, working together for Hirschbeck's charity.

Recapping: the ONLY two parties involved have moved on and turned a vile, repugnant moment into something positive, productive and – quite possibly – life-saving.

Meanwhile, too many Hall of Fame voters chose to make a statement on character instead of listening to the message unfolding right in front of them.


(If you haven't done so, make sure you read Joe Posnanski's phenomenal piece on his HoF ballot. You won't agree with every selection/omission – I didn't – but, he's the rare sportswriter with an open mind and a willingness to consider all arguments.)

Not FJM: Tim Sullivan, Kevin Towers & Scary Black People

We haven't gotten all racial 'round these parts in awhile.

About a week ago, the San Diego Padres fired their General Manager Kevin Towers. For you non-baseball fans who still remember 1996, the GM is the guy who would sit down with, say, "Jerry Maguire" on behalf of a pro sports team so that they could negotiate a player's contract. There's a "wheeler n' dealer" mythology associated with a GM's job that really isn't relevant anymore.

Also, not relevant is the underlying tone in the opening paragraph of this eulogy written by The San Diego Union-Tribune's Tim Sullivan:

Kevin Towers walked into a Waffle House in Texas late one night and soon surmised that he was the only Caucasian in the restaurant.

He would admit later to some awkwardness, but feeling out of place is a temporary condition where KT is concerned. Whatever you might think of his baseball decisions, no one in the game can work a room more charismatically.

Standing there in the restaurant, Towers swiftly weighed his alternatives. Too hungry to leave, too resourceful to be intimidated and much too proud to beg, he walked over to the juke box, dumped some change into the slot and began ordering from an all-Motown menu.

Soon, the restaurant was filled with music and with mirth. Towers attacked another defenseless plate that had been “scattered, smothered and covered,” left an oversized tip and caused his grateful waitress to inquire how soon he might be back.

Where to begin?!

Well, let's start at the top. Towers "surmised" that he was the only white guy in the restaurant. Was his "white guy sense" tingling? Or was it the same way Batman would surmise the Penguin was involved with the theft of a billion-dollar bejeweled statue of a blue jay simply because it was a bird-related crime? (That's right, TWO tired comic book references!)

Towers admitted to some awkwardness? I love this! He's walking into a Waffle House, not a Bloods n' Crips alumni picnic. I've been the "only Black guy" in the room for as far back as I can remember. I was bused out to a "better" school way back in 2nd grade. All the way through to high school, there was no missing my peanut butter-colored mug in any class picture. This continued through college and into a professional career all while living in a city that'll never be confused with Atlanta or Washington DC.

Hell, Mrs. Bootleg and I were the only Black people in our own wedding party! For those scoring at home, there were white folk, a guy from Thailand, one Filipino, a woman from Mexico and one from Puerto Rico. Oh, and spanakopita was one of our appetizers.

Here's my favorite part of the excerpt:

Too hungry to leave, too resourceful to be intimidated and much too proud to beg…

Doesn't this sound just a tad dramatic? It's the type of line I'd have expected to see written about Martin Luther King entering any Birmingham diner in 1959. A well-to-do white guy didn't turn around and walk out of that Waffle House? Free at last. (Also, what would he be begging for?)

Thankfully, Towers turned on the jukebox and the eatery was "…filled with music and mirth…". The morale of our story, as always: Jigaboos love them some soul music.

We sure do.

Marlon Wayans is Ruining My Nostalgia

10 Thoughts: My Trip to Dodger Stadium

Ten years ago, I was motivated to leave for Los Angeles as early as I possibly could so that I would not get caught in the county's glacial-paced rush hour traffic. On Tuesday, my goal was to be out of the house before my son came home from preschool and bear-hugged my leg crying, "I wanna see the A's, too!" Odd that I look forward to spending the rest of my life with the boy, but the thought of a two-hour car ride with a 5-year-old is enough to make me run out of the house half-dressed – with the car's engine already running – dive through the window "Dukes of Hazard" style and peel away from the curb.

Dear, Sirius XM: I'm one of your 400 or so remaining subscribers. I'd like to thank your satellite service for providing the soundtrack during my drive up Interstate 5. Based on your current playlist, I would like to respectfully request the following songs be removed from the rotation of Backspin – your old-school hip hop channel: "King of Rock" by Run-DMC, "Walk This Way" by Run-DMC and anything else by Run-DMC. Look, I get it. They were insanely influential and – arguably – were the first rap act to bring the genre to the suburbs. They were also a product of the 1980s with a way dated sound that hasn't aged well. Why does no one remember that they were d-o-n-e just three years into their 10-year run and lived solely off their reputation before they faded away?

Los Angeles is the second largest city in America, in a state where everyone has – and needs – a car. Yet, getting to Dodger Stadium involves the absolute worst stretches of narrow freeways (three lanes, LA...?!) and surface streets imaginable. I'm fine with the city's rampant blight and crumbling infrastructure – after all, what would the west coast's five or six surviving rappers talk about without it? – but, I've got to believe that the team or the city could buy up the liquor stores, strip clubs and tenements that serve as landmarks leading into the Stadium and put in an Applebee's or something.

I went to the game with m'man Smitty and his kid brother, who actually had the ticket "connection" for the evening. Admittedly, I wasn't expecting much as many of my youthful summer days were spent at Smitty's house laughing as he made his brother cry after applying assorted WWF finishing moves. Today, however, Smitty's brother knows someone with the team who scored us seats just off home plate and a dozen or so rows back on the field level. Meanwhile, my top "connection" is the executive secretary upstairs who fills her candy dish with mini Twix bars. (And, if anyone reading this works within the walls of the Unnamed Defense Contractor, let me know. I got your hook-up!)

Dodger Stadium doesn't get mentioned in the pantheon of great baseball stadiums, for some reason. It's certainly an odd mix of old and new. The park's showing her age on the outside and in parts of the interior cement and supports. But, the concession stands and signage have been completely refurbished, while the concourse includes those season-ticket holder exclusive bars and restaurants that the Yankees have been getting killed on in the press since their new ballpark opened. I've never been to Wrigley Field or Fenway Park, but I did see a game at "historic" Yankee Stadium in 2007. While it was one of my all-time favorite baseball experiences, the place was a public toilet and couldn't compare to Dodger Stadium on its worst day.

One of the parks' too-enthusiastic ushers politely asked to check our tickets the moment we sat down. I don't know why this always p*sses me off, but it does. It's like legalized profiling – and, before you start rolling your eyes, I'm not playing "that card" as two-thirds of our party were of the Caucasian persuasion. Then, she gently chastised Smitty's brother for absent-mindedly dropping the "damn" word ("You're not allowed to say that word here."). Throughout the game, she came back to check on fans by making awkward small talk ("This guy [me, in an A's jersey] looks like trouble!"). By the end, I wanted subsidize an "usher exchange program" just to see how her act would play in a place like Philadelphia.

I bought a Dodger Dog and a large Budweiser American Ale. As always, I loaded my dog with a single line of mustard, a triple line of ketchup and one metric ton of onions. I got all the way back to my seat, before I realized that I only received $3.25 in change back from my $20 bill. Turns out the hot dog was $5.75 and beer was $11.00. Now, believe me…I never complain about the price of ballpark food. (M'man, Nicka went to new Yankee Stadium last weekend and dropped $23 for a chicken parmesan sandwich – which, according to him, came without sauce or breading – and a beer.) Still, though…damn.

Speaking of grub…if you're a fan of garlic fries, the stinky spuds at Dodger Stadium are the best I've ever had. Hot, crispy and loaded with clumps of chopped garlic cloves. Easily achieves my coveted "500 (out of 5)" score. And, the grilled Dodger Dog lived up to the hype. By the sixth inning, most of the concessionaires had sold out of them. Sold out of hot dogs at baseball game!

Dodger fans are something else. There were entire families still arriving at the ballpark, trickling into our section and trying to find their seats in the bottom of the fifth inning. Whenever ANY Dodger hit a ball to the outfield, the fans stood and cheered in anticipation of a certain home run. 250-foot cans-of-corn to centerfield and the idiots around me were losing their minds. Even their heckling was pathetic. Not ONE reference to Kirk Gibson and 1988? It was three hours of "A's suck" and "Gay Area". Stay classy, a-holes.

The A's lost in 10 innings and we left the ballpark around 10:15 PM. I didn't get home until 1:15 AM. I'd like to thank the good people at CALTRANS for closing entire sections of assorted freeways and forcing those of us on the road to detour on congested, poorly lit neighborhood streets for miles on end. How does this happen under Governor Schwarzenegger's watchful eye and visionary leadership?

Guest Post: Kelly Clarkson is a Crazy Biiatch

We have quite the colorful cast of characters around the offices of the Unnamed Defense Contractor. There's "The Intern", who works about eight hours per week yet makes more than everyone who isn't a manager. "Coach" is a middle-aged, egg-shaped ex-jock who condescendingly micromanages his "players" so he can feel better about himself. And, don't get me started on "Juggs", "End Table" or "Mud Butt".

Anyways, m'man Austin is one of my co-workers, as well. He's the last of the ambitious dreamers and helped motivate my Black ass to start pursuing real writing opportunities. Consequently, I'm up to three real rejections in my pursuit of a real writing job.

So, to say "thank you" to Austin, I'm running his guest post on that former American Idol champion…






Kelly Clarkson…what can we say? America made you number one as millions of tweens asked their parents for permission to call up and vote you in. I can almost remember that day – September 4th, 2002 – I'd been home about an hour, having inhaled a Whopper (as in Burger King, no reference to the size of Jessica Simpson's thighs intended). I made that Whopper disappear faster than Brian Dunkleman's career.

Now, we all know where Kelly and her two zip code ass came from, but what we don't know, is where she's going. If her fourth album, All I Ever Wanted, is any indication, she may well shave her head and pop out a few with an illiterate dancer before too long.

We need only look at the song titles for a glimpse of the penicillin shot that is her life.

Track #1: "My Life Would Suck Without You" – Well, we are certainly off to a good start. Kind of a John Hinckley moment there and Jodie Foster isn't even lukewarm yet.

Track #2: "I Do Not Hook Up" – I don't want you? Are you kidding me? She's already unapproachable, obsessed, talking about how life would suck without him… but she can't give up the happy town?

Track # 3: "Cry" – I'm not sure where to go from here. Life sucks – but, I don't – and now I'm crying. If you had put out, neither of our lives would suck and you wouldn't be crying (provided you kept the ice pack on it).

Track #4: "Don't Let Me Stop You" – Whoa…don't let me stop you. This is the kind of girl your mom warned you about. Get the scissors out of her hand.

Track #5: "All I Ever Wanted" – Let's recap these first five tracks: she's obsessed and doesn't want him to leave; she doesn't want to put out; there's a lot of crying and self-pity followed by a hefty portion of guilt, and now she's back to all I ever wanted.

Track #6: "Already Gone" - As in the man she thought she had. After I'd heard the first five, I would be out, too. All I can picture is what life must have been like back at home after explaining that the cigar wasn't sex.

Track #7: "If I Can't Have You" – She's come full circle. Now, she's plotting some serious revenge. "Justin 4 Eva" may be carved in to her chest at this point,

Track #8: "Save You" – Get your CDs out of her car dude, she's a stage 1 clinger.

Track #9: "Whyyouwannabringmedown" (that's how it's spelled…I kid you not): This story has taken a turn for the worse. She's hammered, locked in a closet and listening to Burt Bacharach. Dude, run.

Track # 10: "Long Shot" – Her prospects of dating or the A's chance of post season play in 2009. [TBG Note: F*** you.]

Track #11: "Impossible" – Now, she's just messing with us on the off chance we're still listening. Believe it or not, she's got 14 songs on this manifesto…

Track #12: "Ready" - Pack your bags fellas, she's up to something.

Track # 13: "I Want You" - After all we've been through on this wild and crazy ride… she became obsessed, refused to host a party in "Valley City," started crying, planned and executed your demise. It's like a 2009 version of Eraser. By the time you reach this song on the album, you're already dead if you haven't escaped, son.

Track #14: "If No One Will Listen" – I made it to the last song. This was clearly intended to be hummed to herself quietly as she hung herself with a shoelace in her cell as she awaits her sentencing for taking out the one man she loved. Yes, your life does suck without him, and mine sucks for having purchased this album.

Really, Yankee Fans?

Out and about on a Saturday morning, I tuned in to Sirius XM channel 175. Back in the salad days of satellite radio, XM aired a "Home Plate" station that featured non-stop baseball talk with live cut-ins to games around the Majors. Now, channel 175 only runs its talk shows in the morning, while airing a "game of the day" once the scheduled slate of games for the day begins.

I had another paragraph here about how ridiculous it is for XM to air a "game of the day" on channel 175, while broadcasting the exact same game, at the same time on one of their other dozen or so baseball play-by-play stations, but I'll just get to the point.

Bottom of the 3rd inning, call courtesy of John Sterling – WFAN:

"A 'Tex message' to right center! You're on the MARK, Teixeira!"

Yankees' DH Mark Teixeira just put the home team up 3-1 with a three-run home run. Sterling has been a Yankees' broadcaster for 20 years. Twenty! He's outlasted Cats, Les Misérables and A Chorus Line. How does his cornball schtick play in that city?!

The Tee-Ball Chronicles #5

Entering our penultimate game of the season, the Rays were down two players and one coach. That left 100% of the cat herding up to me for the afternoon.

Pre-Game - Y'all remember m'man Kimo, right? The Rays' best player…never smiles…only five-year-old on earth with facial hair. Well, before the game, he was going up to each child on the Dodgers and telling them, "You're my enemy. You're going down." I am not making this up. One of the other coaches heard this and tried to play the "we're all friends here" nonsense with my best player. I hustled Kimo away before any of his killer instinct was snuffed out (or before he killed that meddling coach).

Bottom of the 1st - And, do you guys remember (My NAME is) Alexander? Insufferable…selfish…completely bereft of any tee-ball talent. He was playing shortstop today, when a player from the Dodgers just plowed through him while rounding second base.

Both kids picked themselves off the ground and when Alexander tried to apologize, the baserunner started yelling and screaming at him in a transparent attempt to pick a fight. I broke up the impending preschool UFC show and Alexander buried his head in my bony hip, fighting back tears. Not one adult from the Dodgers' side attempted to intervene. Oh, it's f*cking ON. No one does that to one of my kids. (Yes, Alexander is back in the "family".)

Top of the 2nd - By pure coincidence, the douche-boy who smoked my shortstop is now playing first base, where I've stationed myself as the first base coach. His name is Jonathan and he's standing directly on the bag. I briefly think about telling him to move, before realizing that Kimo will be batting later in the inning. The possibilities…please me. Unfortunately, the second batter – my son, Jalen – reaches base and Jonathan tries to push him off.

OK, when Jonathan is a little older, he'll notice things like "the only two Black guys on a baseball diamond are probably related" and act accordingly. For now, I just grabbed the little sh*t by his arm and told him where to stand when he's playing first base.

At the end of the inning, Jonathan got popped in the mouth with a throw from second base. I actually had almost 100 more words in this space before reconsidering the tone, so I'll end it by saying the kid was alright. The little bit of blood was washed away by a torrent of tears. How did I feel about it? Like this.

Who Cares if You Can't Hit? (And, no, you DON'T look like Brad Pitt.)

Only Five More Days of This Crap!

Those of us here in California have had to suffer through an especially annoying array of commercials this election season. And, like any good little liberal-socialist elite, I'm all about sharing.

First is a "No on Proposition 4" spot that would be terrifying if I had a daughter. But, since I don't, it's just really corny:




Here's a "Yes on Proposition 2" commercial that strikes a sympathy chord. Check out how it mixes in a (socially) inedible animal with the caged, decrepit conditions of animals we can eat. I hate dogs:




Next up is the scary gay marriage initiative! They'll teach our kids that boys can marry boys and girls can marry girls! These lessons will apparently occur during gay nap time, lesbian recess and wherever else space can be found within the intense K-through-6 curriculum:




Finally, Senator Dianne Feinstein speaks out against Proposition 8. I can't help but notice that she appears to be an amalgam of all four Golden Girls at this point:

Go to Hell, Joe Reid

Bills 24, Raiders 23

Some More Sunday Words...

Memo to CBS: Your shameless, incessant plugging of the CBS Scene Restaurant & Bar – a joint venture with the ownership of the New England Patriots – is pretty despicable. From the fawning food testimonials of your on-air personalities to the repeated cut-ins of live shots from the eatery…enough.

Please let me get killed on my Week #1 picks in peace. Thanks.

The Lil' Wayne After Party feat. Suge Knight (Who's Wit' Me?)

Dear, Everyone I Know...

Thanks for sending me this ridiculous piece from..."StreetBeat". Yes, I know how lame I look and sound. On the other hand: Who's the bigger loser - the one who gives parking lot interviews to free neighborhood newspapers or the ones who read 'em? Fine, we'll call it a push.

LeBron James/Vogue Magazine: Which Side Are You On?

I suppose I should have an opinion on the latest polarizing racial dust-up.

The cover of the latest issue of Vogue magazine is the center of this week's storm. On it, LeBron James is bouncing a basketball in one hand and clutching Tom Brady's old lady, Gisele Bundchen, in the other.

Unfortunately, it's way early out here in Cali, so I'm going to have two of the usual suspects make their cases for me – pro and con. In the blue corner, it's ESPN.com's Jemele Hill. She argues that the cover was "distasteful" and likens LeBron's image here to "King Kong enveloping his very fair-skinned lady love interest". In the red corner, it's white America's most quotable Negro this side of Dr. Cosby…Jason Whitlock of FoxSports.com. His position, in a nutshell, is that this entire hubbub is much ado about nothing. Ladies first:

[LeBron] is widely considered one of the best-dressed guys in the NBA -- perhaps even in all of sports. LeBron's mentor is Jay-Z, the rapper-turned-mogul who dropped throwbacks for Armani suits years ago. – Jemele Hill

TBG Sez: Oooooooh, way too early to play the Jay-Z card, Jemele. You've almost instantly lost whatever white supporters you might've won over with that one. Y'see, to a lot of them, all rappers are "gangsta rappers" and their music (sorry, "music") is contributing to the downfall of society. Sure, society survived slavery and the Holocaust…but, Black guys cussing to the beat? F*ckin' apocalypse now, yo. -1, Jemele. Your turn, Jason.

Would someone please write a handbook? "What Will and Won't Piss Black Folk Smooth the **** Off" would be an international bestseller.

I'm black, and I'm pissed off most of the time, but I wouldn't leave home without the handbook. Not in these racist-ly confusing times. I can barely keep up with when I'm supposed to be disappointed as opposed to offended as opposed to being pissed smooth the **** off. – Jason Whitlock

TBG Sez: BAM! See what he did there? Whitlock took Fox News' critique du jour (that us spooks are a hyper-sensitive, self-pitying lot) and used it on himself! He took the "power" from the word(s)! It's like the inane n-word debate all over again! Jason Whitlock is the new n-word! +2, Jason.

[Gisele] looks like she's on her way to something fashionable and exciting. [LeBron] looks like he's on his way to a pickup game for serial killers. – JH

TBG Sez: Sorry, Jemele…as I'm sure you know, the universally acknowledged, one-size-fits-all media appellation for scary African-American athletes with tattoos is "thug". Thug. We were looking for "thug". Here's a little trick I use to help me remember: tattooed recovering drug addict, repeat f*ck-up and $4 million dollar signing bonus bandit Josh Hamilton = hero. Bron-Bron…thug. -1, Jemele.

The photographer captured [LeBron] exactly as he is. You know, when he covered his body in tatts years ago, mimicking a death-row inmate, LeBron invited people to jump to the conclusion that he's dangerous. Yeah, that's the way the image-is-everything game is played. Ink is a prison and gang thing. Don't act like you don't know the origin of the current fad.

TBG Sez: Way to negate your first round win, Ruben Studdard. May I borrow your analogy? What if your "death-row inmate" was in prison for raping and murdering a woman (let's call her, oh, I don't know…"Becky") who happened to be wearing a short skirt and low-cut top. Isn't Becky "inviting people to jump to the conclusion" that she's a slut? Wasn't she "asking for it"? Well, probably not the murder, but definitely the rape. And, tattoos are "a prison and gang thing"? That's how the fad began? It started in the NBA with this guy. Crip or Blood? It's been nearly 15 years, I can't remember. -4, Jason.

LeBron is just the third male ever to appear on Vogue's cover, but it's hard to believe Vogue would have made Brett Favre, Steve Nash or even David Beckham strike his best beast pose. And even if Vogue had, it wouldn't carry the same racial undertones as having a fear-inducing black man paired with a dainty damsel. – JH

I'm intrigued. A quick trip through Google Images produced the Brett Favre "beast pose". Personally, I can't get past the crow's feet, the dentures or the Peter King vacuum seal that the camera lens must've missed. Next up is Steve Nash. JESUS! Too bad Gisele is three feet taller than Wee Steve. It's like someone shaved a Mogwai, then fed him after midnight. +1, Jemele.

When David Stern insisted on helping these players with their image by implementing a dress code, many of the players and their media groupies screamed racism. You see, showing up to work in a white T and iced-out (heavy jewelry) was their way of showing loyalty to their boys in the 'hood, a shout-out to the corner boys and girls. – JW

TBG Sez: Wait, wait, wait…David Stern instituted that NBA dress code to serve the players? It wasn't to quell, uhh…"certain demographic concerns" that Stern's league was spooking(!) those who can actually afford to buy season tickets, luxury boxes and sponsorships? Stern works for the players' best interests, now? That will come as quite the shock to the Cream of Wheat man. -5, Jason.

In fact, the shirtless black male athlete cover is pretty much a staple, reinforcing the idea that black athletes were blessed with physical characteristics, not mental ones. – JH

TBG Sez: I thought Nike and ESPN invented Tiger Woods to shatter these myths and end racial ignorance once and for all? Of course, no one could've known that Woods would go all "I, Robot" on his creators and run from who he is, but February 2009 will be here before you know it. He'll stop by the studios for a "Black History Minute". Singular, I'm certain. Still, Jemele makes a good point. +1

Just look at how much heat the NFL takes for trying to stop Chad Johnson from bojangling. When Johnson slaps in his gold teeth, dyes and cuts his hair into a blonde Mohawk, dances a jig in the end zone and makes life absolute hell on his black coach that is fun and good for the game. - JW

TBG Sez: I will never tire of the use of "bojangle" as a verb. Never. "Jalen, quit bojangling and get in the car!" +6, Jason.

It's like Barack Obama said in his much-talked about speech on race Tuesday. We know so little about one another. Even scarier, we know even less about the fallout of racist history. – JH

TBG Sez: Barack Obama?! That Muslim?! He's who you reference at the end of your column after starting out with Jay-Z? Oh, Jemele. -1.

Would we be having this discussion if LeBron struck the same pose on the cover of Ebony while holding Selita Ebanks? Think about it. And if we wouldn't be having the discussion, what does that say about us? Are we only bothered by negative images of black men when the primary/sole consumer of the image is white people? – JW

TBG Sez: Well, Jason…I think the whole point of this controversy – and correct me if I'm wrong – had to do with LeBron's image juxtaposed with a white woman. So, I'm gonna have to say "no" to your first question. I don't have to think about it. Besides, Ebanks is dating New York Giants star defensive end, Simon Adebisi. And, to your last question…isn't that the whole concept behind your own "bojangling" example? Why do people keep hiring you? -1, Jason.

Final score: Jemele: 0, Jason: 0.

Michael Jordan Saves Black People From Themselves!

My new issue of ESPN – The Magazine arrived last week and I was jarred by the cover. Michael Jordan – the greatest athlete of our lifetime – looks old. His cheeks and jaw line are obviously softer, while the once piercing intensity of his eyes has been extinguished…replaced with the yellowing glaze of middle age mixed with nicotine.

Inside this issue, Jordan gives a first-person account on the state of the NBA. His is an odd opinion to seek out on this matter, since his last stint as an active player – with the Washington Wizards – was a fantastic disaster in no small part due to his failure to connect with younger, Hip Hop-centric teammates, opponents and fans.

Still, I'd probably have a lot less of a problem with this piece if Jordan had stayed on topic (the NBA), instead of trying to…well, you'll see. With apologies to FJM for the format theft…and, once again, Jordan is ostensibly the "author" of this article:

The NBA doesn't have an image problem.

It has young guys who have young ideas. Maturity comes later, and sometimes too late to realize you should've done this or you should've done that.

Last weekend's All-Star Game in New Orleans seems to have scared up all sorts of pro-NBA angles. And, whether it's from Michael Jordan or Bill Simmons or ESPN's other myriad of media tentacles, the obvious conflict-of-interest aspect can't be ignored. The league needs its signature brand (which could be either Jordan or ESPN on any given day) to sing the company line.

But, as long as the NBA is populated with large, tattooed Black guys in scary hairstyles, it'll always have "an image problem" with a large segment of the American population. Y'see, somewhere between Latrell Spreewell, Allen Iverson and Ron Artest is when every African-American in the league got painted with the ol' "thug" brush.

Kids shouldn't come out of school as early as they do. A year in college isn't enough. They shouldn't be allowed to come out until they are adults—21 years old.
Now, why shouldn't a black kid who isn't wealthy have a chance to provide for his family? That is an issue; I'm not walking away from that.

Check the article yourself, kids. Jordan walks away and doesn't offer up a solution. I don't pretend to have an answer, either, but I find it interesting that Major League Baseball has no qualms with sending a Spanish-speaking 17-year-old from the Dominican Republic to Rookie Ball in Idaho Falls (a city and state that I'd feel uncomfortable walking around at night).

I was a mature guy coming out of North Carolina, so when a negative thing happened—someone misinterprets what gambling means to me—it didn't stick. But I was a lot more mature when it happened. If I'd been in that position and had been asked that question at 18 or 19, I may have had a very different way of handling it.

By most accounts, the Jordan gambling stories didn't break nationally until the end of the 1992-93 season – when MJ was 30. I'm not sure what Jordan's point is here other than teenagers might not be able to deal with intense media scrutiny, but Jordan's example renders that point moot. Of course, players are more equipped to deal with similar controversies when they're older. And, one might argue, the sooner they came into the league, the sooner they could adjust to the bright lights and attention.

When I turned pro, the league was looking for a change. I had the personality and the game and a style of play, and all that came together at the same time. All the stars lined up and catapulted everything that came after—23 different shoes, Jordan Brand, everything. It's a phenomenon. How do you explain a phenomenon? You can't.

Ummm, it sure sounds like MJ did a decent enough job of explaining the "phenomenon" of himself. I'd take issue with a few points, though. Jordan really had no discernable "personality" during his playing days. He spat recycled athlete clichés in interviews and carefully used his hand-picked friends in the media to cultivate an image that he wanted us to see.

And, while it might seem unfathomable today, Jordan's "game and style of play" were openly criticized as selfish ball-hogging, before the Bulls put championship-caliber teammates around His Airness. Jordan oversimplifies how he got where he is when, in actuality, it was a meticulously crafted marketing plan by millionaires and billionaires including, but not limited to: NBA Commissioner David Stern and league ownership, Nike CEO Phil Knight, Coca-Cola, McDonald's, Jordan's longtime agent David Falk and Jordan, himself.

One thing to learn from me is that everything I've ever done has been me, not something that someone calculated me to be.

Four words, Mike: "Republicans buy sneakers, too."

It goes to my upbringing, my parents. I didn't grow up in the inner city. I grew up in a rural area, where values were magnified. You were taught how to operate in society, to be articulate, honest. Kids growing up in the city, they're more materialistic.

In summary: You Godless, amoral blue-state heathens should be more like Michael Jordan. And, if you f*ckin' spooks would pull up your pants and add "ing" to the end of your verbs, you'd be more about honesty and values than wanting to drop $200 on my new shoes…exclusively at Foot Locker!

I can wear a suit today and jeans with holes tomorrow, and yet people know they are seeing the real me in either outfit. I had cornrows when I was a kid, but it was before anyone knew who I was; would the public or corporate America accept me if I had them today? If I was willing to say, "This is who I am, I'm not trying to be so-and-so," maybe, but even then I'm not sure. When you see Michael Jordan today, you see Michael Jordan as a totally honest person, and when I say honest I mean real, genuine. I am who I am, and that's comprehensible to the masses and in many languages.

I wanted to break this up, sentence-by-sentence, but it holds up better all together. I mean, really…is there anyone on earth who knows the "real" Michael Jordan? His ex-wife obviously didn't and it's not a stretch to assume his kids didn't either. So, you'll forgive me if I don't believe that the "masses" know him any better.

And, his need to mention that he wore cornrows as a kid just kills me. "Hey, America…I was REALLY Black when I was younger. Would the public accept me if I grew up to be Allen Iverson?" I'm finna say "no", Mike.

It's a tough task for the league to create a similar image for itself. It has to find the right mix between corporate and street, believe in what it's doing and live with whatever the response may be.

The "response" is that the league has an image problem. Your entire article is a rebuttal to that opinion. The NBA has gone to great lengths to "clean up" the league in an attempt to make it safe and palatable for the middle-class white families and upper-class white sponsors who feed the league its revenue. No one – including you – is "living with whatever the response may be".

Those Who Hate Rap Music Should Listen to More Rap Music (L-O-N-G)

I've got three or four partially started posts/columns about the rapper known as Nas sitting on my hard drive. I just can't figure this guy out. He's a prolific lyricist and his 1994 debut Illmatic is considered one of the most important albums of its time. Yet, an abject lack of charisma has kept his (commercial) star from ascending to the heights of several less talented peers. Consequently, he's made a few head-scratching self-promotional decisions in the last year that have made him an easy target for those too lazy to actually listen to the guy.

An editorial page writer for the Palm Beach Post – Elisa Cramer – attempts to use one of these decisions as the foundation for an anti-rap rant that, in accordance with the usual media modus operandi, is ill-informed, unfocused and, oftentimes, outright untrue.

The old news: The rapper first known as Nasir Jones is planning to release an album titled N*gger.

The new news: Nas announced this week that instead of his planned December release, N*gger will debut during Black History Month.

Such shock value. So Imus-like.

To be fair, on this point, the esteemed Ms. Cramer and I agree. Like Nas' Hip Hop is Dead album released last year, the N*gger title is the marketing equivalent of a child's tantrum: full of flailing legs & arms, hot air and holding your breath until mommy and daddy give him an audience.

In the face of criticism from the Southern rap community, Nas softened his proclamation that Hip Hop was indeed "dead". He subsequently whored out his album title (with his full endorsement) as a punch line for a Los Angeles radio station's holiday promotion. Nas' values have always seemed to be available to the highest bidder, be it Columbia Records, former enemy Jay-Z and Def Jam…or Power 106FM ("Where Hip Hop isn't dead…it LIVES!")

The rapper's desperate plea for attention proves that the long-awaited death of gangsta rap, in all of its misogyny, materialism and violence, finally is imminent. Sales of rap albums, according to Nielsen SoundScan, are 43.6 percent lower than in 2000. Rap albums didn't even crack the Top 10 in 2006, the first time in five years. Even 50 Cent - whose second album, The Massacre, sold more than a million copies immediately upon its release - in September had his worst opening ever: 691,000 copies.

Now, one of the coolest compliments that I've received over the years was from readers who told me some variation of "I don't even like rap, but I read you, anyway". So, for any of you who are still around, let's tackle the preceding paragraph in reverse order of idiocy:

1.) The 691K units that 50 Cent moved during the first week release of Curtis still placed him in the top five of first week sales for 2007. Number one? Kanye West's Graduation. Of course, Kanye's not a "gangsta" rapper, but, as you'll read later, that won't matter to Elisa Cramer.

2.) Cramer's creamed-panty anticipation of "gangsta rap's" demise is couched in her own cherry-picked statistic. Thanks mostly to the internet, CD sales are down across the board in every genre – from country to rock to rap. And, her essential "exhibit A" is an album that went gold in seven days and is now already platinum?

3.) And, sweetheart…gangsta rap IS dead. This is not news, nor was it news 10 years ago when the industry wrote its epitaph after Death Row Records, for all intents and purposes, closed its doors in 1997. Y'know, not all rap is "gangsta" rap, despite what the media would have you believe.

Artists such as De La Soul warned: "You tried keeping it real, but you should try keeping it right." But efforts to restore hip-hop didn't prevent such rappers as Nas, whose lyrics in 1999 included: "Shoot 'em up, just shoot 'em up, what? Kill, kill, kill, murder, murder, murder."

More selective lyrical criticism. Y'see, with this approach, the writer makes it seem like ALL of Nas' material is this inane. The "shoot 'em up" lines are from the song of the same name. It's on his Nastradamus album, which most rap fans either kinda-sorta liked or hated, hated, hated.

The funny thing is that Nas devotes large chunks of this album to warning his listeners about the consequences of life on the streets, but, not surprisingly, Cramer can't be bothered to print any lyrics from "Life We Chose", "Project Windows" or "God Love Us". Nas is as much a gangsta rapper as me.

A poll released this month by the Pew Research Center found that 71 percent of blacks believe that rap is having a bad influence on society. And, no, that figure was not reflecting only those of us who rarely or never listen to rap. Nor was the rejection the typical generation gap between "art" and "noise." In fact, 63 percent of 18- to 34-year-olds agreed that rap is having a bad influence.

Most polled cited rap's offensive language, negative stereotypes of women and the promotion of violence or gangs. Much of the offensive language is about treating women violently, often through sexual abuse. So it was disappointing but not surprising that the survey found that more black women (74 percent) see a negative impact than black men (67 percent).

Wait…I'm confused. Is this one of those "Black polls" that I'm supposed to summarily dismiss like the ones that say Blacks (much more than whites) feel Barry Bonds is being mistreated? And, it never fails to amuse me how every editorial stance that criticizes Blacks or Black culture has to include supporting words (or stats) from Black people that agree with the author's position. It's the journalistic equivalent of "I'm not racist…I know LOTS of Black people!"

Of course there's not a lick of context in Cramer's discussion of these polls. How is rap negatively affecting society? Would there be no gangs without rap? Would Black women feel better about themselves without rap? For all we know, those who responded could be blaming rap for the proliferation of stupid new dances at the club. The "societal circle" of an 18-year-old is different from that of someone 25 or 35 or 55.

But I considered the results on rap promising from a survey on racial attitudes that also revealed some depressing views. The poll (is) titled "Optimism about Black Progress Declines." Among the findings:

"African-Americans see a widening gulf between the values of middle class and poor blacks, and nearly four-in-ten say that because of the diversity within their community, blacks can no longer be thought of as a single race."

Blacks are "less upbeat about the state of black progress now than at any time since 1983. Looking backward, just one-in-five blacks say things are better for blacks now than they were five years ago. Looking ahead, fewer than half of all blacks (44 percent) say they think life for blacks will get better in the future, down from the 57 percent who said so in a 1986 survey."

I fear that those views hint at a resurgence of the hopelessness and miseducation that drew too many young African-American boys to gangsta rap's hype of a fast money-sex-and-cars lifestyle.

So, that was "gangsta rap" that promised "fast money, sex and cars"? Not sports or drug dealing or numbers running or whatever else "they" do in the "ghetto". Good to know.

Help me out here: what do any of the above stats on the State of the Black Union have to do with music of any kind? If any other "conscious" Black author were to dredge up similar data, he/she would be dismissed with the right-wing's latest label for us: "self-pitying" (or is it "self-loathing" or "self-hating"? Obviously, I don't watch enough Fox News Channel.)

And, with Cramer's concern about the resurgence of hopelessness in the Black community, it's obvious that she doesn't watch enough Black people.

Why I Now Hate the Dentist

Two weeks ago, I had a temporary crown crammed into my mouf. Yesterday, it was my second major surgical procedure in fourteen days, as my permanent crown was ready – which is more than I can say for me.

Y'see, I'd been having increasingly irritating mouth pain since the fitting of the temporary. The words "root canal" had been hinted at by my dentist if the pain persisted and we didn't get off to a good start when the dental assistant and I engaged in the following exchange:

Dental Asst: "The crown looks loose. You won't need Novocain. It should pop right off."

Dental Assistant twists(!) the temporary crown.

Me: "AUUUUUUUUGHH!"

Dental Asst: "I guess I was wrong."

At this point, the temporary crown was halfway in and halfway out. I couldn't close my mouth, as Isaac Yankem went off to find a real dentist.

After three(!) injections of anesthetic – yes, three – the temporary crown comes off. Later, the dentist starts applying pressure to the top of my head and the bottom of my jaw as I "bite down" on the permanent crown.

In her words (keep in mind she's Indian – Dr. Namoo Dutta) "You have a big head." Imagine that in stereotypical Apu voice. Hey, thanks, Doc.

After I'm told the permanent crown is secure, another assistant is showing me "how easy it will be to floss around it". Now, I'm pretty sure I learned how to floss the same day I learned how to count to five, but what could possibly go wrong?

So, of course, while she's flossing me, the crown pops right off. And, in my prone position, the only place the crown can go is down my throat. "Don't swallow", she tells me, as the dental assistant goes fishing for the faux tooth top that's now around my esophagus.

I dare say – without a hint of hyperbole – that this is the most pain and suffering over anything relating to a crown since this seminal cinematic scene:



Even my son got in on the agony action. During some ill-advised pre-bedtime horseplay, the boy popped me in the side of mouth (yes, that side!) which caused my teeth to clack together and sent my entire (big) head into a tingling pins n' needles free-for-all.

And, that's why I now hate the dentist.

MFWNTAK - Beer Snobs

One of the oldest and dearest friends of The Cameron Family sent me an email asking for a favor. Y'see, he's something of a beer connoisseur, who just so happens to live out of state. His request is tied directly to the press release that follows:

ALESMITH BARREL-AGED BEER RELEASES (2005 VINTAGES) AleSmith was one of the first to present barrel-aged beers, and the tradition continues with the release of three more vintages from 2005. Barrel-aged Old Numbskull 2005, Barrel-aged Wee Heavy 2005, and Barrel-aged Decadence 2005 will be made available on Friday, September 28th from the brewery only. Each bottle is numbered and marked as vintage barrel-aged. Because of the limited number of bottles, sales will be restricted to (2) two bottles each of the Old Numbskull and Wee Heavy, and (1) one bottle of the Decadence 2005. This Barrel-aged Decadence is the English-style Old Ale brewed for our Tenth Anniversary and has been previously released. However, a partial barrel was hiding and we now are pleased to say that we have 10 more cases of the Barrel-aged Decadence 2005. The bottle sale will begin at 3:00PM on Friday, September 28th at the rear of the brewery from the 9366 suite.

AleSmith is a small San Diego brewery located almost in the center of the city, shoehorned between dozens of wholesale furniture outlets and a sprawling military base.

My friend had made similar requests over the last few years, but I was shut out on previous attempts to procure these limited-edition suds. The lines form early and the product is often sold out within an hour.

Still, I remain indebted to my friend and his family for two reasons: (1) They'd bootlegged(!) a few cases of Fat Tire Beer across the border back when San Diego didn't sell it. (2) He and his wife got us one of the few wedding gifts that we've used with some degree of frequency.

So, after several (several) previous failures…this time, I wouldn't be denied.

I got down to the brewery just before 2:30 PM. The line snaked around the building and past a parking lot. By my guess, there were about 100 people already there – some with lawn chairs – but, there were free food and beer samples, which was all it took to keep me from turning around and going home.

Now, remember when you were in high school and all the "cool" kids were drinking, while the dorks were collecting baseball cards, playing Dungeons & Dragons and/or named Aaron Cameron? Well, the dorks have double-backed and now…they're the ones drinking.

Unshaven and unkempt white men were all around me, exchanging stories with the strangers next to them about their various beer conquests from around the country.

One guy had tried a beer that was brewed with Michigan Blue Spruce Evergreen needles. Another had "invented" (his words) a "Rosemary Belgium Ale" which, again…in his words…is "great, if you love rosemary". My favorite quote came from the guy right behind me, who was pooh-poohing commercial beer by telling me he can brew five gallons for $25 and it's better than anything I can buy in the stores.

Or, maybe it was 25 gallons for $5.

The point, beer snobs, is I don't care. You're not being clever when you type "beer" in quotes to qualify alcohol you don't approve of. And, you've all got to come up with a new word to replace "swill", which has been overused by you people to the point that it's lost all of its dismissive powers of derision.

Y'all can brew your own beer and I think it's just dandy that the unsanitary conditions of your junior brew kit can produce a stool sample you can actually consume. As for me, my local grocery store had Sam Adams for $10/case. I bought two, yesterday. There was no yeast residue, no pine needles, no rosemary and not a hint of righteous sanctimony.

But, hey, I'm glad your beer helps you feel better about yourselves.

So, anyways, after almost an hour and a half, I made it to the front of the line and bought two bottles magnums, each, of the Old Numbskull and Wee Heavy, along with one of the Decadence 2005. Total price: $100. For beer!

Now, I'm not expecting my friend to pay me back with the full retail price – after all, I never paid him for the Fat Tire. But, I hope I can pay him with some words of advice: get a new hobby.

Oh, and bring your wallet.