Peter King Probably Stinks

I don't ask for much on Mondays. Just give me my weekly lunchtime reads like Tom Daniels' East Coast Bias column (aaaaaaany time now, Tom) and Sports Illustrated's Peter King and his Monday Morning Quarterback.

Now, I'm a pretty casual football fan, which is PC-speak for "I'm a Raiders fan". So, while I wait for my team to be good again, just so I can claim that I never lost faith, here's a snippet from King's latest MMQB:

The other day, I'm in the Comfort Inn near the BWI Airport. I open the wrapped soap, use it for a morning shower and put it back on the soap dish. I'd say the soap is about half as thick as the bar you'd buy in the store. This bar could last 10 or 12 days, easily. And so the next morning, when I step into the shower, I find the bar's been taken away. This isn't exclusive to the Comfort Inn-BWI. It happens all the time.

Wait one frickin' minute, here. Peter King can make one of those hotel bars of soap last "10 or 12 days"? Does he know that you're supposed to, y'know, use it and not just stand next to it while hoping to absorb its effeminate chemical scent?

And, using his math, he can get up to 24 days of use with a regular-sized bar of soap. Combine this with what's surely the worst coffee-breath this side of your boss and it makes for a unique blend of scents.

(Am I crazy? Does everyone else get 3+ weeks from one bar of soap?)

The Oakland A's Monday #4

Overall: 12-13 (3rd Place, AL West)
Last Week: 3-4 (2-0 vs. Orioles, 0-2 vs. Mariners, 1-2 vs. Devil Rays)

Truth be told, we were spoiled by the 1980s.

As kids, we could still enjoy Saturday morning cartoons, instead of live-action badly-acted teen sitcoms starring Dick Butkus as a gruff, but cuddly curmudgeon/coach. Cereal could still use the word "sugar" in its name and video game systems were released in numbers divisible by 2600.

Back then, the mighty A's were represented by The Bash Brothers on offense, but their unquestioned leader was a pale, slightly paunchy third baseman with thinning hair and an awful '80s mustache. Carney Lansford played 10 seasons in Oakland (1983-1992) and is probably known most for four things: his wobbly batting stance, hitting second behind future Hall of Famer Rickey Henderson, being the best two strike hitter of his era (he'd basically wait for Rickey to steal 2nd base, then get into hitting mode) and the 1991 snowmobile accident that essentially ended his career and killed the A's dynasty.

Without their leader, the A's run of consecutive playoff appearances ended at three. CF Dave Henderson was forced to hit in Lansford's #2 spot, which weakened the bottom of the order (Hendu usually hit fifth or sixth). Meanwhile, Lansford's injury occurred too late in the offseason for the team to adequately replace him through free agency, so they panicked and signed washed up 3B Vance Law from the Japanese League and traded for utility IF Ernest Riles. Words can't describe how awful they were, so here are some numbers: OPS (Law, .579 and Riles, .614).

The reason for the history lesson is that the A's now have a third baseman who is the antithesis of Carney Lansford.

Eric Chavez is a spectacular fielder but seemingly indifferent towards every other aspect of the game, whether it's offensively or off-the field. Last Wednesday night, the A's and Mariners were playing, with Seattle leading 2-0 in the bottom of the 9th. Shannon Stewart was on first, one out, and Chavez strode to the plate. He hit a slow roller to the second baseman, which prompted the play-by-play guy to immediately predict the Mariners would only get one out. Instead, Seattle turned a game-ending double play (even though Chavez was obviously safe at first).

Afterwards, Chavez gestured slightly, put his hands on his head and slunk back to the dugout. The next day, I wrote to my boy that if this happened 20 years ago, someone would've had to pry Lansford's hands from around that blind umpire's neck.

And, that's my point. Chavez has been in the big leagues since 1998 and has put up some fine numbers. He's won, like, 600 Gold Gloves and seems to be universally liked by his teammates. But, this team has needed two things during his tenure: 1.) A win in a decisive playoff game. 2.) Someone in the clubhouse who'll put his foot up the collective asses of his 24 teammates.

Accounting for the fact that the Pirates are picking up a portion of Jason Kendall's horrible contract, Eric Chavez is the highest paid player on the team. Now, I'm the last person to play the salary card, but is it asking too much for the biggest drain on Oakland's miserly payroll to actually look like he gives a sh*t?

It seems like each at-bat can't end soon enough as he frequently swings at the first pitch he sees, whether it's at his eyes or below his toes. Meanwhile, his stubborn, almost comical refusal to make adjustments vs. left-handed pitchers has killed dozens of late-inning rallies.

No one is claiming that Lansford (.290/.343./.411) was a better hitter than Chavez (.271/.349/.487) over their careers. What little power Lansford did have dried up by his 30th birthday. But, he was a solid player for several years who A's fans still remember fondly.

And, all he had to do was give a damn.

This Week: at Red Sox (2), at Devil Rays (3)

Tha Dogg Pound - Dogg Chit Review

I bought this CD about a month ago with the intention of getting a review up pretty quickly. It's not that there's actually an audience for the gangsta stylings of Daz n' Kurupt, anymore. It's just that I freely acknowledge that I'm the last man alive who still buys their shit chit. And, I think I know why.

Tha Dogg Pound is the Hip Hop equivalent of McDonald's. They've been around for 50 years and everyone knows what's on the menu. The food isn't very good and there's no real reason for anyone over the age of eighteen to eat there, but when no one's looking, it can be a great guilty pleasure.

Take the opening track, Get Out My Way, for example. The bombastic production lends a breath of credibility to the duo's empty threats and intimidation. Predictably, this is a theme that's repeated on just about every track, not unlike a side order of fries.

Kurupt turns back the clock to his mid-90s lyrical flow on I'll Bury You, but that's still about five years after his apex on the mic. Meanwhile, Mo Murder is solidly haunting as an instrumental, but the thought of two men older than me planning robberies and drive-bys is…quaint. And, look…The Game has managed to pull himself away from buying up copies of his last album for a guest spot on Anybody Killa. It lifts an old N.W.A. beat, but is weakened by Game's indifferent verse.

The mood lightens up on Vibe, which features an assist from Snoop Dogg. It's not quite one of those always awful "thug in love" songs, but the beat is straight cheese and soft-ass Daz and Kurupt are often fast-fowardable. Immediately afterwards, we careen to the other end of the relationship spectrum with Can't Get Enough. It's got a guest spot from Too Short, 68, so I probably don't need to say any more about it.

(OK, here's the hook: "I can't get enough of your tongue in my p****…can't get enough of your loooooooooove.")

Yep. We finish up with clichéd, but listenable material with self-explanatory titles like Throw Ya Hood Up, Blaze It Up and Blast on 'Em. Hood, weed and guns? Check, check aaaaaaand…check.

Dogg Chit is what it is, kids. Too formulaic to be offensive, as it's the same album these guys have been mass producing since they left Death Row. The beats are tighter than you'd think (in fact, there's an instrumental version of the album available on their website) and, occasionally, Kurupt's shows off his old flow.

If I were writing this for Inside Pulse my teaser would've been "There are worse things to step in." See? That's why they fired me.

Rating: 3 out of 5

BREAKING NEWS: Republicans Hate Rap Music!

I'm really not sure why I'm even bothering with what I'm about to write.

I'm an African-American liberal who lives in a very white, very conservative community and in no place is that more greatly reflected than in the San Diego Union-Tribune newspaper.

Every Saturday, the paper turns its "Lifestyle Section" into "Religion & Ethics", which is basically a transparent excuse to run not one, but two editorial pages in one day.

Just remember, kids: It's the gays and minorities who have "an agenda" (don't forget the exaggerated quote pantomime with your fingers). Let the conservative persecution complex commence, as authored by some old broad:

My friends say I'm going to get hurt one of these days. There was, for instance, the time I was at a gas station in North Park when a young man pulled up, leaving his rap music booming with all the subtlety of a plane taking off from Lindbergh Field.

Yep…it's one of those articles. Quick translation for those who aren't locals: North Park, while not the worst part of town, is just about as "hood" as San Diego gets. Combine that with the implied threat in her first sentence and I'll bet a paycheck that the "young man" she describes wasn't part of the 70-80% of rap album buyers who are white.

I couldn't help but hear the words.

"Excuse me," I said to him. "Would you like to see your sister raped?"

His face scrunched up like an album left too long in the sun. I tried to explain. "That's what your song is saying – it's talking about raping your sister. Have you ever really listened to it?"

Even conceding that the polite thing to do would've been to turn down the "bitches-n-ho fest" while at the pump, I'm left wondering what the hell this has to do with anything. Rap foes have turned their embarrassingly narrow knowledge of the genre into their own self-serving sermon on morality. Won't somebody think of the children?

F*ck you.

I'll worry about my own son. Now, in accordance with your parents wishes, you may go out into the hall and pray for our souls. (Oh, and "an album left too long in the sun"? Yeah…dude was Black.)

He shrugged and turned his back. So much for my superhero powers of persuasion. I got to thinking about that incident after radio host Don Imus was fired for calling the Rutgers women's basketball team "nappy-headed hos." Imus argued unsuccessfully that rappers use a lot worse language and they get glorified.

And, so there's her point. The Don Imus World Tour of Martyrdom/Trail of Tears continues by way of the "everyone else does it, too" argument. I'm pretty sure I was six the last time I used that one.

Democratic presidential candidates Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton are among those who have gotten buddy-buddy with famous potty mouths.

Here's the author's checklist of points, so far: 1.) Blacks are inconsiderate of others and play their music too damn loud. 2.) Don Imus was the victim. 3.) Democrats = N-Word Lovers.

We'll keep a running total the rest of the way for your convenience.

Obama invited Ludacris to his office to discuss the rapper's AIDS campaign. This is a man who raps about killing people and flicking pennies from an overpass at rush hour. And those are his good points.

Over at Inside Pulse, a Moodspins discussion on Imus led to one reader referring to Ludacris as a "gangsta rapper". The notion is, of course, laughable to anyone with ears, but the reader went so far as to post a handful of words from a Ludacris verse to prove his/her point. This is the equivalent of calling Pulp Fiction "gay porn", because Ving Rhames gets raped.

Here's the difference: Pulp Fiction = "masterpiece"…Rap Music = "filth" (just ignore the violence and "n-words" in the former, because when you take them in context…etc.)

And, I'd argue that Luda has a few other good points: he's a decent actor, he's funny as hell and…oh yeah, he's part of a campaign against AIDS.

Clinton's rendezvous was with Timbaland, who threw a fundraiser for her at his Miami home. Timbaland's lyrics are salted with a derogatory description of women (rhymes with "witch"), the n-word and the before-mentioned "ho." And these guys are considered mainstream artists.

"Rhymes with witch…" Hilarious. And, not to wait until now to get picky, but I'd argue that Tim is a mainstream producer, as opposed to a rapper. But, why differentiate between those evil Negroes, when it's easier go after the whole group?

Earlier this week, two local organizations that represent mobile DJs – like those who go to weddings and corporate parties – announced they will stop playing music with violent or hateful lyrics.

OK…at this point even the most hardcore Hip Hop hater has to agree that she's reaching here. Show of hands: How many of you have been to a wedding or "corporate party" and heard Hit 'Em Up? Yet, the "news" that a pair of local mobile DJs have taken a stand (more like a "kneel") on a nonexistent issue in their industry is supposed to reinforce her point? Tell me when they stop playing The Chicken Dance.

Newsboys, a faith-based rock group, has a rap song out that includes these lines: "See I agree we oughtta boycott hell, but we oughtta boycott dumb lyrics as well."

I think what I hear them saying is that smut is smut – no matter how good the beat.

I think what I hear them saying is that listeners should boycott Newsboys and their dumb lyrics. And, that grammar? Sheesh!

Meanwhile, in Philadelphia, The Associated Press reports that police union leaders want a city firefighter fired over anti-police rap lyrics he wrote about turning "pigs into bacon bits."

And the hits keep coming.

Point #4: When your soapbox falls apart under your own specious reasoning, you can always rely on a weeks-old non-story to hammer your point home.

The Oakland A's Monday #3

Overall: 9-9 (T-1st Place, AL West)
Last Week: 3-2 (2-0 vs. Angels, 1-2 vs. Rangers)

For whatever reason, this recent vintage of Oakland A's seems unusually somnambulant during the first few months of the season.

Back in 2001, the A's were picked by many to win the World Series. They had added Johnny Damon to the top of the lineup and featured one of the more exciting young teams in recent memory. They put up an 8-18 April, before going 94-42 the rest of the way en route to the postseason.

The following year, they weren't quite hyped to the heavens (they HAD lost Jason Giambi that offseason, after all). But, after an indifferent, underachieving seven weeks to start the season, GM Billy Beane blew the roster up on May 22. (Heavy) drinking buddies and, more importantly, Jason Giambi Sympathizers, LF Jeremy Giambi and IF Frank Menechino were sent packing. While super-prospect 1B Carlos Peña was demoted to AAA primarily because he was writing a "rookie diary" for MLB.com and was convinced his t'ish didn't stink.

My point is that it's often hard to find excitement for the Oakland A's in the early going, which is why we are all indebted to journeyman left-handed starting pitcher, Brad Halsey.

Quick recap: The A's have a guy with an arm made from Faberge Eggs by the name of Rich Harden. He's a once-every-ten-years type of talent, but he can't stay healthy. Predictably, he broke down not even a month into the season (just like last year).

The question on the minds of A's fans everywhere was who'd start in his stead. Most of us thought that Brad Halsey, who was one of the last cuts this spring and had a serviceable, if unspectacular 2006 (mostly) out of the bullpen, would be the guy.

Halsey thought this, too. In fact, he was certain of it.

Oh, how wrong we were. With the usual apologies to our friends at Fire Joe Morgan, here's what ran in today's San Francisco Chronicle:

Brad Halsey figured when he was held out of his start at Triple-A Sacramento on Saturday that he was coming up to start for Rich Harden on Tuesday. He said he was told he was being held in readiness in case Harden couldn't go.

Nothing surprising here, if you know the cast of characters at AAA-Sacto. Let's see if it gets better.

Harden can't go, but instead of Halsey, the A's are going with left-hander Dallas Braden, and Halsey is convinced that he was bypassed because the A's found out that the left-hander is scheduled for an MRI exam later this week.

Braden is a 22-year-old screwball specialist who struck out 53 in 34 innings between rookie ball and single-A last year. Halsey, 26, has borderline average stuff to go along with 286 IPs and a 4.84 ERA over parts of three seasons in the big leagues. But, the MRI accusation intrigues me. Let's read on:

That makes Halsey furious because he said he complained of arm trouble all spring and was repeatedly told he didn't need an MRI.

"I kept going in and saying, 'My arm is bothering me, it's not right,' and they said, 'Oh, it's just biceps tendonitis, you'll be fine,' '' Halsey said by phone from Sacramento. "Then they send you down and screw you. I'm grinding it out, trying to be a team guy, and I get f -- . It's all just a business decision, because if I came up and pitched Tuesday and then had an MRI and had to go on the DL, they'd have to pay me major-league DL money. It's such a mom-and-pop organization."

Mee-YOW~!

Now, as an A's fan, I'm torn. Here's a fringe Major Leaguer bashing my favorite team and making a very serious accusation. On the other hand, he's the second A's player in less than six months to call out the team for a perceived lack of credibility on the medical staff.

SS Bobby Crosby was equally livid when he had to go outside the organization to find the correct diagnosis for the back injury that ended his 2006 season early.

But, back to the first hand…"mom-and-pop organization"? Hilarious! I mean, casual fans can surely see the low-rent, tacky green tarp that covers the third deck of the A's home ballpark (seats that rarely sell) and the succession of homegrown talent that have graduated to teams in higher tax brackets. The A's really aren't that far from selling indie CDs to supplement the monthly "Bake Sale for Payroll". And, let's hope that Esteban Loiaza's abuela makes tamales, again. Only 2 for $1 or 12 for $5!

A's general manager Billy Beane said he was not aware that Halsey was scheduled for an MRI and if Halsey was under the impression that he was set to start at Baltimore, his assumption was erroneous.

'K…Aaron loves his A's, but I'm calling bullshh… here. As outlined in Moneyball, Beane has his fingerprints on every aspect of this organization from in-game to administrative. Halsey is still on the 40-man roster, so if an MRI was in his immediate future, you can reasonably assume that Beane picked the doctor and scheduled the appointment.

At this point, I'm genuinely hoping Beane is lying, as the alternative scares me more.

This Week: at Orioles (2), vs. Mariners (2), vs. Devil Rays (3)

Redman - Red Gone Wild Review

It's been about 15 years since I could say I was a Redman fan.

His 1992 debut joint, Whut? Thee Album, was one of the genre's best releases during rap's salad days. Hell, he even parlayed it into a live performance on the season premiere of In Living Color that fall. Trust me, that meant something back then.

Then, with the release of his sophomore effort (1994's Dare Iz A Darkside) Redman became one of the game's more inconsistent superstars. On his next four albums, the quality seemed to pendulum wildly from the narrow, unfocused droning of Dare… to the inexplicably underrated Doc's Da Name.

He lost me somewhere in there. And, by the time he and Method Man were doing their Wayans Bros. 2.0 TV show, Redman officially became a Bootleg Guy punchline in perpetuity.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I picked up Red's latest CD at Best Buy.

The l-o-n-g delayed album is Redman's best work since his aforementioned first release, with a lyrical ferocity ingeniously interwoven with a collection of beats that are both an homage to Hip Hop's roots, while serving as hope for the music's future.

And, would you believe that Erick Sermon only produced three of the tracks?

Walk In Gutta sounds about as "Sermon-ish" as it gets on the boards with a minimalist beat and moderate bass, while guest stars Sermon and Keith Murray carry their weight beyond the revitalized Red's first verse. Meanwhile, Sermon's production work on Rite Now is phenomenal, with an Al Green sample serving as the foundation for more of Red's dense lyrical goodness:

Me, I'm never scared / I die on my two feet
And, you confused / Like a Jew wearing koofis

Even the obvious reaches for radio rotation work here. The 2K7 Timbaland infestation continues unabated with his production on Put It Down, but Red kicks up his flow with an excellent mix of intensity and irreverence. A few cuts later, Red is able to dial it back down on Freestyle Freestyle. It's pretty sparse for a Scott Storch beat, but that gives Red all the room he needs for his scattershot subject matter:

Witness…yeah, boy!
I get'cha dumb like white people looking for weird noise

A look at the tracklisting would seem to hint at a few unlistenable elements, but, believe it or not, that's generally not the case. So sue me…I frickin' loved Sumtn' 4 Urrbody, in spite of its Down South sound and five MCs on the mic who weren't Redman. I equally can't explain my enjoyment of Pimp Nutz, but the conversational storytelling tone and surprisingly layered beat combine to make it one of my favorite tracks on the album.

I suppose there HAS to be a negative or two, though. I gotta say I wasn't impressed with Merry Jane, which featured recycled lyrics from Nate Dogg (although, since he re-used his words from 2004's lightly-sold 213 album, would anyone other than me notice?) and one of Snoop Dogg's usual paint-by-numbers cameos.

OK, we're reaching to hate here. Red Gone Wild will be on the short lists of 2007's best albums, kids. If you were ever on board with Reggie Noble, get back on the bandwagon with this one.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

"Who Do I Look Like? Christopher Columbo?"

So, some of you know that Kid Cameron had surgery a couple of weeks ago. He's doing fine after a few days of discomfort and irritability. Anyways, Jalen had a follow up appointment today. I told Mrs. Bootleg that I'd go with them, since the follow-up was scheduled during my lunch hour, but I had mistakenly assumed that the boy would be seen at the same place he had the procedure.

Instead of a 20-minute straight shot down the freeway to Children's Hospital, I hopped in the car, fired up the XM and checked the directions only to see that I'd be driving to Encinitas. Now, I know that means nothing to most of you, so grab your car keys and you'll see what I mean:

First, drive about 15 miles south. Then, head west for another 15 miles. Remember, if you hit the Pacific Ocean, you've gone too far. Finally, head north for another 15 miles.

Now, here's the fun part: When you reach the correct freeway exit, head east and…y'know, I think I'll turn over the directional duties to Children's ENT of San Diego's webpage:

"From I-5 exit Encinitas Boulevard East. Turn left onto Saxony, which is the first light. Take a right at the flagpole and another right at the yellow fire hydrant."

Yes, those would be "landmark directions" still being used here in 2007.

The wife and I took two separate cars and, within minutes of each other, we both missed the flagpole turn. After doubling back, we both realized that our mistake was looking at the road while we drove. If we arched our eyes away from oncoming traffic and/or any pedestrians with the right-of-way, when we looked up, the flagpole was easy to see.

I've got six months before his next appointment and to think of excuses of why I can't make it. I'm leaning towards "meeting".