The Curious Case of Mark Teixeira

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.

TBG Eats: Taco Bell's NEW Bacon Cheddar Gordita Crunch

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)

The Cam Fam's 2008 Xmas Recap Show

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.

The TBoGden Travel Diary – Part I

Saturday, December 27

10:00 AM - First order of business: Take our 18-year-old cat down the street for a lovely four-day, three-night stay at the neighborhood pet boarding facility. It's also home to his veterinarian, where we spent enough money in 2008 to qualify for a Christmas card from their office! Our cat's got a thyroid condition and arthritis. Pretty sure the next card we receive from them won't be so jovial.

10:45 AM - Mrs. Bootleg – the original Negro Elitist – opts for a driver and a Town Car to take us to the airport, instead of a shuttle or driving our damn selves. Our son Jalen is blown away to learn that the job of "airport driver" exists. He declares that this is the job he wants when he gets older. I wanted to be a public bus driver when I was four, because I thought they got to keep the fares. The moral: kids say such stupid things.

10:55 AM - The driver is having issues installing Jalen's car seat which earns him Mrs. Bootleg's silent contempt. He then compounds the problem by declaring the car seat is "in there good enough" when he finishes. My wife audibly exhales, all but shoves the driver aside and begins her 200-point/2 minute re-install and inspection. The boy is almost five years old and my wife has never let me put a car seat in.

11:00 AM - We're on the road and it appears we've landed us a "talky" driver. Here are a few things he covered on the 30 minute ride: gas prices, Christmas Day traffic, his noisy neighbors, why Mexicans can't drive(!) and tricked-out street racers. He also asked me, in all sincerity, if the Chargers were playing this (last) weekend. Mrs. Bootleg quietly reminds me that she included his tip when she pre-paid for the service. And, obviously, he knew this.

11:30 AM - We check three bags plus Jalen's car seat. Each checked bag is free, while the car seat is an additional…$50. Then, I tip the curbside attendant another $20 to ensure that our luggage actually gets to Utah. Unpatriotic Americans such as me have brought the U.S. automobile industry to its knees. How soon can we band together and eviscerate the airline industry?

11:45 AM - Oh, this is nice. I get lectured by three different security agents within the span of 30 seconds because I forgot to remove my laptop from of my carry-on bag prior to running it through the x-ray machine. Each one talks to me with one and two-syllable words in the same slow, deliberate method you would use to ask directions in a foreign country. "Where…is…the…mu-se-um?" "Next…time…take…it…out…of…the…bag!"

12:30 PM - It's the obligatory last bathroom break for the boy before we board. Sometime in his 4-plus years, my son's poops have morphed from "precious" to "noxious". This kid's sh*tting at a sixth grade level. I still have to accompany him to make sure no one tries to kidnap him, but I'm counting the days before he can defend himself from creepy predators.

1:00 PM - We take off from San Diego. I quietly pull out my PSP in anticipation of Jalen's two-hour nap. Current game: MLB – The Show. My create-a-player is due to test free agency for the first time at the end of the season and I'm killing the ball for the division-leading A's after being inexplicably sent down to Triple-A Sacramento after Spring Training. What?

1:10 PM - The boy's drifting…drifting…drif… He wants to watch a DVD? Damn it. I can't play while he's awake and distracting me in my virtual "contract year".

1:20 PM - In-cabin service includes complementary cinnamon cookies which would've scored a "500" on my "TBG Eats" scale. Sweet (but, not TOO sweet) and crisp, my licked and discarded wrapper claimed that the cookies are available for purchase online. Looks like Mrs. Bootleg will be trading up from her usual Valentine's Day box of See's!

1:30 PM - Jalen declares that he wants to go to sleep. Mrs. Bootleg thinks I'm crazy when I tell her that most airlines don't dole out pillows anymore. ("That's crazy. How can they NOT have pillows?") She is then told by the flight attendant that they don't dole out pillows anymore. She then looks at me knowing I will be reminding her of this exchange on every flight we take together for the rest of our lives.

1:45 PM - The boy remains in the realm of R.E.M. limbo. I'm reading him a story and Jalen sees a character with freckles. Incoherently, he wonders aloud why he doesn't have freckles which is followed by my clumsy ill-informed explanation. Without missing a beat, Jalen responds that he wished he were yellow so he could have freckles. White folk…I can't properly explain how funny this was. Black folk, Nick, Joe(NSFW!)…you know.

2:15 PM - I'm beginning to think he's not going to sleep.

2:30 PM - What the…? We've begun our initial descent into Salt Lake City? Now, Mrs. Bootleg and I have to keep Jalen awake so that a two-hour nap in the late afternoon doesn't screw up his sleeping pattern for the next four days. Parenting is a lot like pitching – assert yourself, change speeds and finish what you start. Hopefully, my wife has a reliever in mind when I eventually take myself out of the game in the late innings.

4:00 PM (Utah time) - Current temperature in Salt Lake City = 22 degrees. I'd briefly entertained the notion of wearing my throwback Rickey jersey with matching goofy A's elephant knit hat. Then, I see a true New England douche in the exact same ensemble repping the Red Sox. He's even got his own name on the back over the number 8. This confirms two points: (1) Black people just wear these things better and (2) I concede that I'm fast approaching the age when I can't even get away with wearing jerseys at games, anymore.

4:20 PM - Good thing I opted for "California cold weather casual", instead. We've got our bags and walk outside to meet my in-laws. Instantly, the rest of my body realizes it's 22 degrees. 22 degrees! My threadbare six-year-old jeans and long-sleeve SDSU shirt are doing NOTHING against these elements! Jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt aren't enough?! That's all the cold-weather clothes I packed! That's all the cold-weather clothes I own!

Next: Dinner with the in-laws and the "Dread in the Bed" grudge match with my son!

I Know it's only January…

…but, this may be the greatest thing any of us will see all year. And, if you saw it last year I'd like to know why none of you told me about it. I'd write more, but I've got garage full of six-year-old unopened wedding gifts (A crème brulee torch? Really, Mrs. Bootleg?) to put into big-ass storage.

And, yes, I "get" it. That doesn't make it any less awesome.

Playoff Pickery - Wildcard Weekend

Last Week:
Aaron: 10-6 (0-1 vs. the spread)
Joe: 10-6 (1-0 vs. the spread)
Tom: 10-6 (0-1 vs. the spread)

Final Standings, Weekly Pickin':
Aaron: 165-90-1
Joe: 162-93-1
Tom: 148-107-1

Final Standings, Sure-Thing Suicide Spread:
Joe: 10-7
Tom: 8-8-1
Aaron: 6-11


I guess I should drop a few obnoxious taunts towards Joe and Tom, but it's hard to celebrate a third straight prognostication championship when either of my opponents could simply send me any Oakland Raiders-related link to shut me up. Also, against the spread - where the REAL money lies - I was "case-study in the evils of gambling" bad.

So, let's just agree it was a fun year for Tom's NY Giants; a fun September/first week of October for Joe's beloved Bills and that I had something to distract myself from hoping against hope that THIS is rock-bottom for my Raiders. Please?

It's playoff time, kids. We go all point spreads for here on out with a random guess at the score thrown in. Tom has incorporated our guesses alongside his own over/under predictions at his blog, which means at least 1 1/2 times the fun! (And, I'm taking the over on THAT!)

Atlanta Falcons (-1) at Arizona Cardinals

Joe: The big story this weekend is that all four road teams seem to be favored over the four home teams. It's not all going to pan out like we think it does, but I really don't think the momentum-free Cards have it in them, Matt Ryan's rookie QB jitters or not. Atlanta 31, Arizona 21

Aaron: Seeing how I finished with such an infinitesimal success percentage in our season-long single-game picks against the spread, I'll understand if you doubt my words here. That said, this is the most ridiculous free-money line of the playoffs. Bet early, bet often and thank my Black ass on Sunday. Atlanta 30, Arizona 10

Indianapolis Colts (-1) at San Diego Chargers

Joe: So, LaDanian Tomlinson looks like he's finally back in fighting shape, right? And don't sell me the line about Broncos' crappy defense -- LT played plenty of crappy Ds this season (including the Chiefs twice) and never looked half as good as he did Sunday night. Unfortunately, the Chargers' defense is for shit, and the Colts have got all cylinders firing. Indianapolis 41, San Diego 27

Aaron: Seems like we had this same scenario last year as the Colts were nine point favorites at home vs. the Chargers in last year's Divisional round, mostly off of Peyton Manning's reputation of awesome. I called the upset there and I'm calling it here. SD played Indy tough when they met in late November and I'm smelling big games from some Chargers players none of you have ever heard of. San Diego 33, Indianapolis 27

Baltimore Ravens (-3) at Miami Dolphins

Joe: So in the epic Flacco vs. Pennington battle, will Chad Pennington actually hold a competitive advantage because he's a veteran? God help me, I think he might. Miami 16, Baltimore 10

Aaron: The Ravens won by two touchdowns when these teams played earlier in the season. Even spotting Miami a flattened learning curve AND home field advantage, Flacco could completely crap the bed and still win a field goal fest if the Ravens defense just shows up. Baltimore 12, Miami 10

Philadelphia Eagles (-3) at Minnesota Vikings

Joe: Did you see that 44-6 pasting of hated divisional rival Dallas last week? With Andy Reid whooping it up on the sidelines and Eagles fans getting improbable visions back-to-back major sports titles dancing in their heads? Yeah, put that in the dictionary next to the term "blowing your wad." (It's a filthy dictionary, all right?) Minnesota 28, Philadelphia 23

Aaron: What's the word for people who take Tarvaris Jackson in a playoff game? Philadelphia 19, Minnesota 6

TBG (Finally) Sees: Iron Man

Worth the Wait? (Y/N): A very qualified "Y".

Three Things I Liked: (1) Robert Downey Jr's performance managed to live up to the hype and I'd still consider it a bit underrated. Dude nails the Tony Stark character that I read and remembered from the 1980s comic book run. (2) It's big n' loud and never takes itself too seriously – a flaw that resulted in me being the only man alive who didn't dig the X-Men trilogy. (3) The final scene at the press conference ("I am Iron Man!") was pitch-perfect.

Three Things I Didn't Like: (1) The entire supporting cast is terrible. Jeff Bridges' bald, squinty turn as Tony Stark's mentor (with a twist that's telegraphed from his first scene) is lazy and transparent. Gwyneth Paltrow sleepwalks through her lines as Stark's personal assistant – except when she's s-l-o-w-l-y running away from danger in her three-inch heels. And, Terrence Howard is ridiculously miscast as a military man/Stark confidant. (2) The climactic battle between Iron Man and, oy…"Iron Monger" is a laughable visual of "Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots". (3) The pandering nods to the comic book fanboys ("Next time, baby!") annoyed the hell out of me.