Friday, October 08, 2004
I want to address some things I've been reading today, but first off I want to say that if my Angels can't beat a white guy with blonde cornrows, I don't want to go to the ALCS.
From an espn.com article about the Dodgers' Milton Bradley resolving his feud with LA Times reporter Jason Reid after the two had a heated altercation in the visitor's clubhouse in St. Louis:
"A Fox Sports Net Midwest television crew recorded the confrontation but erased it at the insistence of Dodgers spokesman John Olguin, FSN reporter Brent Stover said."
I wasn't aware that the Dodgers presided over Fox Sports Net Midwest. It must be some sort of jurisdictional loophole that states "broadcast content shall be controlled by the visiting team's representatives." If all the Dodgers have to do is "insist" that their embarrassing moments not be televised, why didn't they edit out the water toss that started this whole mess? I wish the Angels had such power because there have been a few mishaps this week I'd like stricken from the record. Seriously though, I tip my hat to the people at FSNMW for heeding the Dodgers request (or was it an order?). In this Age of Information we're living in, it's refreshing to see a media entity show some integrity and choose to not broadcast something.
From another espn.com article about the $87,400 fine imposed on Sammy Sosa for arriving late to the Cubs' final game and leaving early while the game was still being played:
"Sosa's agent, Adam Katz, called the fine too steep."
Too steep? He missed one game of work and was fined one game's worth of pay! Any argument about something being too steep should be focused on the fact that a .253 hitter is making more than 87K for a single game. The fine is so cut-and-dry appropriate, how can this agent argue it and keep a straight face? Does he represent actors as well who might have helped him pull off such a feat? Does he think Sammy's fine should be pro-rated for the 85 minutes he did spend in the clubhouse? I work in accounting so let me run the numbers on this...If Sammy was present for 85 minutes of an estimated 300 required minutes (2 hours pre-game, 3 hours game), that works out to just over 28%. By that estimation, he missed 72% of his expected service which comes out to $62,928. Ya know what Sammy and Agent Katz, screw it, we're tacking on the rest in punitive damages for a team that needed its superstar to stand up next to it in the face of unachieved expectations. You took the easy way out and you should have to pay for it.
From Cal Berkley's "Daily Californian" newspaper, matching the Bears up with this week's opponent of USC:
(On Coaches)
"After their two meetings, Tedford appears to have Carroll's number, first nearly upsetting the Trojans in 2002, then pulling out the win in 2003."
Let me get this straight, in two meetings the record is 1-1 and that means Tedford has Pete Carroll's number? Sure the 2002 game was close, but everybody knows the only two arenas in which "close" counts. Last time I checked, the NCAA didn't recognize a game as a victory unless your team had more points on the board when the final whistle blew. To say that Tedford has his number by almost beating Carroll in 2002, you're essentially admitting that SC's coach is better and that Tedford deserves credit for coming close. I use the same reasoning when I play my buddy Adam in basketball and only lose by 6 points. Edge: USC, you friggin' idiot.
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From an espn.com article about the Dodgers' Milton Bradley resolving his feud with LA Times reporter Jason Reid after the two had a heated altercation in the visitor's clubhouse in St. Louis:
"A Fox Sports Net Midwest television crew recorded the confrontation but erased it at the insistence of Dodgers spokesman John Olguin, FSN reporter Brent Stover said."
I wasn't aware that the Dodgers presided over Fox Sports Net Midwest. It must be some sort of jurisdictional loophole that states "broadcast content shall be controlled by the visiting team's representatives." If all the Dodgers have to do is "insist" that their embarrassing moments not be televised, why didn't they edit out the water toss that started this whole mess? I wish the Angels had such power because there have been a few mishaps this week I'd like stricken from the record. Seriously though, I tip my hat to the people at FSNMW for heeding the Dodgers request (or was it an order?). In this Age of Information we're living in, it's refreshing to see a media entity show some integrity and choose to not broadcast something.
From another espn.com article about the $87,400 fine imposed on Sammy Sosa for arriving late to the Cubs' final game and leaving early while the game was still being played:
"Sosa's agent, Adam Katz, called the fine too steep."
Too steep? He missed one game of work and was fined one game's worth of pay! Any argument about something being too steep should be focused on the fact that a .253 hitter is making more than 87K for a single game. The fine is so cut-and-dry appropriate, how can this agent argue it and keep a straight face? Does he represent actors as well who might have helped him pull off such a feat? Does he think Sammy's fine should be pro-rated for the 85 minutes he did spend in the clubhouse? I work in accounting so let me run the numbers on this...If Sammy was present for 85 minutes of an estimated 300 required minutes (2 hours pre-game, 3 hours game), that works out to just over 28%. By that estimation, he missed 72% of his expected service which comes out to $62,928. Ya know what Sammy and Agent Katz, screw it, we're tacking on the rest in punitive damages for a team that needed its superstar to stand up next to it in the face of unachieved expectations. You took the easy way out and you should have to pay for it.
From Cal Berkley's "Daily Californian" newspaper, matching the Bears up with this week's opponent of USC:
(On Coaches)
"After their two meetings, Tedford appears to have Carroll's number, first nearly upsetting the Trojans in 2002, then pulling out the win in 2003."
Let me get this straight, in two meetings the record is 1-1 and that means Tedford has Pete Carroll's number? Sure the 2002 game was close, but everybody knows the only two arenas in which "close" counts. Last time I checked, the NCAA didn't recognize a game as a victory unless your team had more points on the board when the final whistle blew. To say that Tedford has his number by almost beating Carroll in 2002, you're essentially admitting that SC's coach is better and that Tedford deserves credit for coming close. I use the same reasoning when I play my buddy Adam in basketball and only lose by 6 points. Edge: USC, you friggin' idiot.
# posted by j.h.k. @ 12:30 PM 
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
A Nation of Shame
Hate--it's not a word I like to throw around unless I really mean it. When it comes to Boston Red Sox fans, the only question is the degree to which I hate them. Right now, it's a pretty advanced degree.
Bill Simmons, aka The Sports Guy, is one of my favorite writers. I've mentioned him before and you'll find his placed prominently at the top of my list of links. However, Simmons is unfortunately, a devout and typical Red Sox fan. He made the following statement in his column today after attending Game 1 of the ALDS in Anaheim Tuesday.
"Where else can you walk into an opposing stadium during a playoff game, start chants for the other teams and basically have the run of the place? We did everything but make out with their girlfriends yesterday. Actually, that's on the docket for Game 2."
That quote sums up everything I hate about Red Sox fans. I hail The Sports Guy as a writer for so aptly representing an entire base of obnoxious people in two short sentences. I thank him for that. After today, I won't need to explain my boiling disdain for Red Sox Nation; I'll just have to point to that quote.
Red Sox fans walk into Angel Stadium thinking they own the place. With the exception of the occasional middle-aged father, Sox fans are a horde of loquacious, cocky, and often drunken Neanderthals. They cheer loudly and proudly for the Red Sox, but before you can correctly pronounce "Mientkiewicz," these fans seem as if their prime objective is to obtrusively annoy the home fans. They take their focus off of the game being played on the field and initiate one of a more childish variety in the stands. Before long, "Let's Go Red Sox" becomes "C'mon Angel fans, stand up. Don't you believe?" After the game in which their team has won, they can't just head to their cars happily and respectfully. No, they chant all the way and make asinine comments about the 1986 ALCS. What is the point, I ask you? The team can't hear them, they've already proven they as fans are unified so what's the point other than to antagonize fans of the losing team? That's exactly their mission which is why I can say without a shred of remorse that these Boston fans are a shining example of what it means to have no dignity and poor sportsmanship.
In the summer of 2002, I went to a Red Sox-Angels game in Anaheim and sat on the field level in left field. In the lodge level above were a group of young Red Sox thugs arguing back and forth all night with an Angels contingent seated directly behind me. All night these two went back and forth. The Red Sox won that day and at the end of the game, the Sox fans poured beer and actually spit on their rivals below. Sounds like a real classy Nation, doesn't it?
They show absolutely no respect for any other team in baseball nor for any other fans in baseball. Look at their relationship with the Yankees. This is a rivalry in which one team never wins and gets soundly defeated time and time again, yet the calling card for Red Sox Nation is to chant "Yankees Suck." The sad part is they're not intentionally being ironic. If these people can't even respect their "daddies," they are light years from being humble and courteous to any other teams.
This is why, from this day forth, my two favorite teams will be the Angels and whoever is playing the Red Sox. Not because I hold any ill will towards the organization or its players, but because their fans don't deserve to win. I hope every living member of Red Sox Nation relinquishes their last breath without ever seeing the Red Sox win a World Series.
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Bill Simmons, aka The Sports Guy, is one of my favorite writers. I've mentioned him before and you'll find his placed prominently at the top of my list of links. However, Simmons is unfortunately, a devout and typical Red Sox fan. He made the following statement in his column today after attending Game 1 of the ALDS in Anaheim Tuesday.
"Where else can you walk into an opposing stadium during a playoff game, start chants for the other teams and basically have the run of the place? We did everything but make out with their girlfriends yesterday. Actually, that's on the docket for Game 2."
That quote sums up everything I hate about Red Sox fans. I hail The Sports Guy as a writer for so aptly representing an entire base of obnoxious people in two short sentences. I thank him for that. After today, I won't need to explain my boiling disdain for Red Sox Nation; I'll just have to point to that quote.
Red Sox fans walk into Angel Stadium thinking they own the place. With the exception of the occasional middle-aged father, Sox fans are a horde of loquacious, cocky, and often drunken Neanderthals. They cheer loudly and proudly for the Red Sox, but before you can correctly pronounce "Mientkiewicz," these fans seem as if their prime objective is to obtrusively annoy the home fans. They take their focus off of the game being played on the field and initiate one of a more childish variety in the stands. Before long, "Let's Go Red Sox" becomes "C'mon Angel fans, stand up. Don't you believe?" After the game in which their team has won, they can't just head to their cars happily and respectfully. No, they chant all the way and make asinine comments about the 1986 ALCS. What is the point, I ask you? The team can't hear them, they've already proven they as fans are unified so what's the point other than to antagonize fans of the losing team? That's exactly their mission which is why I can say without a shred of remorse that these Boston fans are a shining example of what it means to have no dignity and poor sportsmanship.
In the summer of 2002, I went to a Red Sox-Angels game in Anaheim and sat on the field level in left field. In the lodge level above were a group of young Red Sox thugs arguing back and forth all night with an Angels contingent seated directly behind me. All night these two went back and forth. The Red Sox won that day and at the end of the game, the Sox fans poured beer and actually spit on their rivals below. Sounds like a real classy Nation, doesn't it?
They show absolutely no respect for any other team in baseball nor for any other fans in baseball. Look at their relationship with the Yankees. This is a rivalry in which one team never wins and gets soundly defeated time and time again, yet the calling card for Red Sox Nation is to chant "Yankees Suck." The sad part is they're not intentionally being ironic. If these people can't even respect their "daddies," they are light years from being humble and courteous to any other teams.
This is why, from this day forth, my two favorite teams will be the Angels and whoever is playing the Red Sox. Not because I hold any ill will towards the organization or its players, but because their fans don't deserve to win. I hope every living member of Red Sox Nation relinquishes their last breath without ever seeing the Red Sox win a World Series.
# posted by j.h.k. @ 5:48 PM
Monday, October 04, 2004
Calling on Angels (and Trojans)
It's a good thing I'm in good health because we are entering a period of time in sports liable to give a man a heart attack. I'm so pumped, I've gone to red font!
After announcing their playoff presence with authority over the weekend, the Angels now draw the venomous Boston Red Sox in the American League Division Series, starting today at 1 p.m. in Anaheim. That's right, one o'clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday! I don't think the schedulers over at Major League Baseball read my little blog, but the timing would have me to believe otherwise. Remember on Friday when I was moaning about not being able to work with the pennant-clinching series on that night? Well, they've apparently seen my complaint and raised me six hours. I am feeling ill already. I don't know if I'm subconsciously inducing sickness so that I can go home sick in good conscience or if the playoff pressure is just manifesting physically, but my stomach feels like I just ate a 3-course meal courtesy of "Fear Factor." Honestly, what is MLB thinking? After 2,430 games of regular season buildup, they make the playoffs, the most exciting aspect of baseball, only available to the gainfully unemployed. That's just brilliant. Is this a vast, East Coast conspiracy to keep the thunderstick-slamming fans of Anaheim out of the stadium in Game 1? I doubt it, but it's fun to think so. I call on my fellow fans to take a stand and call in sick--hell, even quit your jobs if you have to, but get to Angel Stadium and bring the fury of Angel Nation with you. With Curt Schilling on the mound and Manny and Ortiz on either side of the plate, the team need will need every decibel of energy the fans can bring. Judging by my experiences at past Angels-Red Sox games, I have no doubt a large contingent of Red Sox fans will be there in droves, intent more on annoying the masses than cheering their team. I have confidence that the Angel playoff crowd will sufficiently drown them out. That's what Thundersticks are for and that's probably why Boston fans hate them so much.
Before the first pitch is even thrown, however, one thing is for certain, Vladimir Guerrero is the American League Most Valuable Player. Whether he wins the award or not, he just is. Not too long ago, Joe and I were discussing the MVP race and I had docked Vladdy a nudge of credit because I didn't believe at the time that he had come up with the clutch hits and RBIs the way the other candidates had. These last couple weeks, he took any lingering doubt and, with that Flinstonian bat he uses, clubbed it over the outfield wall of certainty. He's been the bedrock of the Angels offense since Opening Day and personally kept his team in the playoff chase throughout numerous injuries and turmoil. Not to mention his stats are superior to Gary Sheffield's who is believed to be his closest competitor. From whatever angle you look at it, the name on the trophy should be that of The Impaler.
This series is about more than simply moving on to the ALCS; it's also about a personal bet between two best friends now facing off as mortal enemies. Before each baseball season, Joe and I make a bet on something involving baseball with the loser buying the winner a steak dinner at season's end. Two years ago, Adam Dunn and Tony Clark netted me a delicious t-bone at Duke's when they failed to combine for 80 homeruns. Last year, Joe partook a porterhouse not long after the All-Star break when his Red Sox were clearly going to have a better record than my B-team, the Mets. As for this year's bet, the winner is yet to be decided. My Angels versus his Red Sox, whoever goes further for all the beef. As fate would have it, it all comes down to a head-to-head five-game series. It's not just the American League Division Series; it's The Steak Dinner Series! One week and three to five heart attacks from now, one of us will be gnawing on a New York style. I hope to Gene Autry it's me because I could sure use the protein.
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As if the Angels weren't putting enough strain on me, my mighty USC Trojans are now only five short days away from the one game that has stood out on the schedule perhaps even more so than the UCLA and Notre Dame, The Cal Game.
This Saturday's game, or Revenge Bowl I as I'm calling it, is about more than avenging the only blemish on last year's co-National Championship resume. It's about knocking little brother down a peg. Yeah, so he's been hitting the gym and practicing his fundamentals, and, okay, so he's made some dramatic improvement...But we're still bigger, we're still better, and our existence still paved the way and made his life a whole lot easier. It's time for the little rugrat to recognize. By some freak astrological anomaly, Little Bro actually beat us last year. Perhaps Saturn, the moon, and the dogstar were aligned to form a perfect isosceles triangle and Lil' Bro had a pregame seance to tap into its power, but however he did it, he beat us in front of all his little friends. Now we've got him on our field in front of our buddies threatening to beat him senseless should he pull anything funny again. It's time to remind him that no matter how hard he works and no matter how much he may improve, we're always gonna be Big Brother and we're always going to be better.
Get ready to ride the pain train, Cal. Your fluffy little fur's gonna be rolling on the Coliseum floor like tumbleweeds. After Saturday's game, Matt Leinart is gonna be wearing a bear-claw necklace for the rest of the season. Your moment of reckoning is nearly upon you.
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After announcing their playoff presence with authority over the weekend, the Angels now draw the venomous Boston Red Sox in the American League Division Series, starting today at 1 p.m. in Anaheim. That's right, one o'clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday! I don't think the schedulers over at Major League Baseball read my little blog, but the timing would have me to believe otherwise. Remember on Friday when I was moaning about not being able to work with the pennant-clinching series on that night? Well, they've apparently seen my complaint and raised me six hours. I am feeling ill already. I don't know if I'm subconsciously inducing sickness so that I can go home sick in good conscience or if the playoff pressure is just manifesting physically, but my stomach feels like I just ate a 3-course meal courtesy of "Fear Factor." Honestly, what is MLB thinking? After 2,430 games of regular season buildup, they make the playoffs, the most exciting aspect of baseball, only available to the gainfully unemployed. That's just brilliant. Is this a vast, East Coast conspiracy to keep the thunderstick-slamming fans of Anaheim out of the stadium in Game 1? I doubt it, but it's fun to think so. I call on my fellow fans to take a stand and call in sick--hell, even quit your jobs if you have to, but get to Angel Stadium and bring the fury of Angel Nation with you. With Curt Schilling on the mound and Manny and Ortiz on either side of the plate, the team need will need every decibel of energy the fans can bring. Judging by my experiences at past Angels-Red Sox games, I have no doubt a large contingent of Red Sox fans will be there in droves, intent more on annoying the masses than cheering their team. I have confidence that the Angel playoff crowd will sufficiently drown them out. That's what Thundersticks are for and that's probably why Boston fans hate them so much.
Before the first pitch is even thrown, however, one thing is for certain, Vladimir Guerrero is the American League Most Valuable Player. Whether he wins the award or not, he just is. Not too long ago, Joe and I were discussing the MVP race and I had docked Vladdy a nudge of credit because I didn't believe at the time that he had come up with the clutch hits and RBIs the way the other candidates had. These last couple weeks, he took any lingering doubt and, with that Flinstonian bat he uses, clubbed it over the outfield wall of certainty. He's been the bedrock of the Angels offense since Opening Day and personally kept his team in the playoff chase throughout numerous injuries and turmoil. Not to mention his stats are superior to Gary Sheffield's who is believed to be his closest competitor. From whatever angle you look at it, the name on the trophy should be that of The Impaler.
This series is about more than simply moving on to the ALCS; it's also about a personal bet between two best friends now facing off as mortal enemies. Before each baseball season, Joe and I make a bet on something involving baseball with the loser buying the winner a steak dinner at season's end. Two years ago, Adam Dunn and Tony Clark netted me a delicious t-bone at Duke's when they failed to combine for 80 homeruns. Last year, Joe partook a porterhouse not long after the All-Star break when his Red Sox were clearly going to have a better record than my B-team, the Mets. As for this year's bet, the winner is yet to be decided. My Angels versus his Red Sox, whoever goes further for all the beef. As fate would have it, it all comes down to a head-to-head five-game series. It's not just the American League Division Series; it's The Steak Dinner Series! One week and three to five heart attacks from now, one of us will be gnawing on a New York style. I hope to Gene Autry it's me because I could sure use the protein.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As if the Angels weren't putting enough strain on me, my mighty USC Trojans are now only five short days away from the one game that has stood out on the schedule perhaps even more so than the UCLA and Notre Dame, The Cal Game.
This Saturday's game, or Revenge Bowl I as I'm calling it, is about more than avenging the only blemish on last year's co-National Championship resume. It's about knocking little brother down a peg. Yeah, so he's been hitting the gym and practicing his fundamentals, and, okay, so he's made some dramatic improvement...But we're still bigger, we're still better, and our existence still paved the way and made his life a whole lot easier. It's time for the little rugrat to recognize. By some freak astrological anomaly, Little Bro actually beat us last year. Perhaps Saturn, the moon, and the dogstar were aligned to form a perfect isosceles triangle and Lil' Bro had a pregame seance to tap into its power, but however he did it, he beat us in front of all his little friends. Now we've got him on our field in front of our buddies threatening to beat him senseless should he pull anything funny again. It's time to remind him that no matter how hard he works and no matter how much he may improve, we're always gonna be Big Brother and we're always going to be better.
Get ready to ride the pain train, Cal. Your fluffy little fur's gonna be rolling on the Coliseum floor like tumbleweeds. After Saturday's game, Matt Leinart is gonna be wearing a bear-claw necklace for the rest of the season. Your moment of reckoning is nearly upon you.
# posted by j.h.k. @ 8:53 AM
