Red Army vs. Red Army?

Ok, admittedly this is way off the normal topics found in this blog, but I stumbled on this today and it actually made me giddy. I'm at work in a very quiet room filled with temps, temps that I'm allegedly supervising, and i really want to jump up, raise my hands in the air and yell, "BRILLIANT!!!"

What is this piece of wondrousness that I read today? Strangely enough, it's the synopsis of an upcoming video game release. Now, I'm not necessarily a video game guy - I haven't owned a video game console since the Super Nintendo. I am, however, a rather accomplished video game mooch, and have been known to take over friends' systems and monopolize all gaming usage. I do have a significant number of games for my computer, but since my computer is always near the bottom of the technological spectrum (and because I can't bring myself to spend more than 30 bucks on a video game), I'm limited to buying video games from a year or 2 prior to the present time.

I offer this prologue to say that, while not a huge gaming nerd, I can get into a game from time to time. I was known on a few occasions in law school to put in the 8-10 video gaming day trying (and succeeding) to complete Metal Gear Solid 2. I am currently pretty hooked on The Godfather (the GTA version of the Coppola Movie). I've ravaged most of the versions of Sim City, Civilization, Age of Empires, and many of the earlier versions of the Command & Conquer series.

But nothing prepared me for this joyous new game - Stalin vs. Martians. I'm not joking - that's the name of the game. The Red Army versus an Army from the Red Planet!!!! How fantastic is this!!?!! I guess the game takes the position that the Martians decided to invade Siberia in 1942. Setting aside the outstanding political and historical implications of this (who do we side with? Do we let the Martians destroy the Soviets with the hopes that they continue across Europe and destroy the Germans? What are the implications of 3 two-front wars simultaineously? Do the Martians head East after their obvious crushing of the Soviets and take out the Chinese and Japanese as well?), this is just a brilliant concept for a game.

I'm almost hesitant to look at this website for further information, cause it can't possibly live up to the title, but if you're interested: http://www.dreamloregames.com/stalin/.

Daniel and Steven, you may be looking at your Christmas present!

2008 NBA Regular Season Awards Part Two

I was flipping channels after the late playoff game last night and had one lingering question: is it possible to watch Basic Cable after 11pm, and not see Girls Gone Wild commercials, and who are these Ho's? This is the question that burns the mind ( and other body parts ). As if I needed another reason to keep my Fatherless streak going.

But I digress; on to Part Two of the 2008 NBA Regular Season Awards.

The Rasputin, We're Really Gonna Have To Get Our Hands Dirty To Get Rid Of This Guy Award: Isiah Thomas. He lasted the entire season. It's the equivalent of a Bakery leaving a moldy piece of bread for sale the entire year, before finally giving up and throwing it away. Meanwhile the moldy bread has giving new meaning to the word disgusting, and turned off everyone who used to love the Bakery. What a legacy for a Hall of Famer. He's lucky he's getting out now, because he's bordering on O.J. territory.

The Robert Downey Jr, Flashes of Brilliance, Unfulfilled Expectations Award: Rasheed Wallace. He's got the size, athletic ability, and skill to not only be a hall of famer, but also one of the top 50 players of all time. He averaged 12 points and seven rebounds this year. Having followed his career in college, I can pinpoint when his lack of desire began. He was the #1 player coming out of High School going to a historic college program(UNC) returning all but one of it's top ten players. The Tarheels were coming off a National Championship, but from the moment Wallace stepped on the court at the Dean Dome he was the best player on the team, which was nothing new for him. It had been that way his entire life. He spent his entire Freshman year, alon with fellow Freshmen and future NBA players Jerry Stackhouse, and Jeff McGinnis, ruining any chance UNC from repeating as Champion, by pouting and chafing at playing time. He almost seemed happy when UNC lost in the tournament that year, because now that the Senior center starting ahead of him, Eric Montross, would be graduating it was "Rasheed's time". Instead, when UNC played Wake Forest the next year Rasheed ran into Tim Duncan. The were the same age, the same year in school, and nobody had heard of Duncan yet. He thoroughly destroyed Wallace both times they played. Rasheed had never been outplayed by another center well, and instead of rising to face the challenge, he went the other way. If he couldn't be number one why bother. Rasheed turned Pro that summer and has been frustrating owners,coaches, teammates, and fans ever since. But as Rasheed has said, he only plays for the paycheck.

The Colin Powell, Why Don't People Realize He's A Douche Bag Award

Jason Kidd. Currently in the process of slitting Avery Johnson's throat. Really, the guy's the worst coach killer in my lifetime; literally every stop he's made he's assianated the guy in the tie. Kidd's also notorious for glaring at teammates who ever drop one of his "perfect" passes. At the same time, he has NEVER worked on his shooting and is the worst brick-layer of any ALL-Star guard ever. It's not even close. He goes 2-14 and is giving his teammates dirty looks? Douche bag.

The Larry Bird, Best White Guy Award: Dirk Nowitzki. We could quibble over whether he should be considered foreign or white. But if we limit this award to native born crackers, that leaves us with Mike Dunleavy Jr as the choice for this award. And nobody wants that.

The Barak Obama, Making The Jump To Superstar Award: Chris Paul. This is really his year. From overlooked last year to first team NBA, a second place finish at worst in the MVP voting, and leading his team to 2nd place in the West? He's an all-timer ladies and gentleman.

The Nikola Tesla, Under appreciated Genius Award: Gregg Popovich. Three championships in the past five years and four in his career, Pop. is also extremely pale, has bad skin, bad teeth, and a receding hairline. Thank God he can coach.

The El Duque, Wait How Old Is That Guy Award: Dikembe Mutombo. 41 years old (he says), and started 25 games. If I'm able to watch NBA games at 41, I'll be happy.

The Daniel Plainview, "I Drink Your Milkshake" Award
Goes to Mitch Kupchak, General Manager of the LA Lakers, for pulling off the Pau Gasol deal;the greatest horns-waggle of a trade since LA, coincidentally, dealt four nobodies for Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.

NBA Regular Season Awards Part One

I'm not quite as sold on this NBA season being "the best since '93" or any of the other platitudes being thrown around. There has been an abundance of great individual performers this year, and some eye catching trades. But it's a little sad when over half the teams in the league didn't tank the final forty games of the season for the first time in a decade, and the public is supposed to stand up and take notice.

The NBA boasts more poorly run franchise than any other sport in America; including Hockey and "Pro" Soccer. It's a shame because the NBA also claims at least a third if not half of all the elite athletes in America, as well as the elite over 6'4" athletes from the entire planet. Just a ridiculous failure by the owners, otherwise successful business people, to serve what is a municipal trust. Maybe that's the problem, the sport is run by Men whose recipe for success is serving themselves, and the public obligation of owning a sport franchise is incompatible with their top-hat-monocled Monopoly character capitalist core. I could delve deeper into why this is a basketball problem more than other sports leagues, but I'll save it for another column.

All in all though, It's been a season to build on. For the first time in a decade, there is a real feeling that with the age limit on players working and likely to be increased, the new no-hand-checking rules opening up the game, and the Ambivalence All-Stars of the mid to late nineties fading away and retiring ( another column unto itself )better things lie ahead for the league. So without anymore grousing the First Annual Depth Chart NBA Regular Season Awards.

The Albert Belle, Unceremonious Exit Award: Goes to Chris(Gimme a Time-Out)Webber. Hailed as the greatest big man of his generation, he ended up with a lesser career than Jack Sikma. Also an inaugural member of the Max-Contract-Hide From the Big Shot All Stars. He also famously dated Tyra Banks, possibly contributing to her dementia.

The Dan Foutes, All Offense, No Defense Award: Allen Iverson. Who else? The most telling of an abundance of stats: averages less than 2 fouls a game. How can you average less than two fouls ( 1.3 to be exact)and play any semblance of defense? You just can't.

The Gary Hart, Career Self-Saboteur Award: Stephon (Truck Party) Marbury wins, and wins big (a rarity for him). In theory, he's won this award every year of his career; although this is the first year of the award's existence. After his retirement surely this award will be named after him.

The Adlai Stevenson, Uninspiring Greatness Award: Tim Duncan. Pass.

The Barry Sanders, I-Hate-My-Teammates Award: Lebron. Chalk it up to his going straight from high school to stardom,but I've never seen a star player show his displeasure in such a childish fashion. Beyond his constant nail-biting on the bench, He's "The King" of the Marty Feldman eye-rolling.

The Jessica Alba, I'll Do Anything To Play With You Award: This award maybe unfairly favors point guards, but only recently. This years winner is Chris Paul, overtaking the likes of Steve Nash, who overtook Jason Kidd. So congrats. Dallas, you traded for J-Kidd 5 years too late! On the bright side, Texas seems to be the home base for recently divorced, on the downside of their careers athletes. So at least Jason will benifit from some southern-upskirt-hospitality. But really Chris Paul has been fabulous this year. His teammates love him, and guys are lining up to sign contracts for less money than they could get elsewhere just to suit up with the guy. Paul's nickname on the other hand sucks: CP3. Lame.


The Kofi Annan, "Come Again?" Award: Goes to Andre Iguodala. Yes, Andre Iguodala has led the 76ers to the playoffs. You heard that right: Andre Iguodala.


The Ben Grieve, On-Second-Thought-Can-We-Have-A-Do-Over-On-The-Rookie-Of-The-Year-Award Award:
And the winner is Al Horford. Al is destined for the Joe Smith career average of 11 points 6 rebounds. You have been warned.

The Isiah Thomas, The Only way I Could Alienate My Fan-Base More, Is If I Joined Al-Queda Award: No surprise here: Isiah Thomas. Worst coach ever.

PartII: coming tomorrow

Rookie Card Madness!!!

So I came acroos this baseball card site recently ( thanks mentalfloss.com )that has the images posted of their best cards. What better excuse to act like a braying jackass!



So besides the inane choice to shoot this against a mirror, just in case Bobby wanted to break into a rendition of Price's When Doves Cry, there's that "perfect" fly ball form. Bobby's rep. has always been that he's too afraid of the wall to catch fly balls over his head. Much speculation has swirled as to the cause of his mental-fly-ball-blockage. Finally we have an answer. In this photo shot as a rookie, Bobby tragically ran into the mirror sending shards everywhere, and scaring poor Abreu for life. Seriously, Abreu is actually Mr. Glass from the movie "Unbreakable". And he's got a porn-stache.



OK, Josh Beckett looks like he is only twelve in this picture, so I should go easy on him right? Wrong! That intense look in Beckett's eyes that later in life would intimidate hitters, is at this point more the hairy-palms/going-blind kind of stare. Really, he looks like he's watching Girls Gone Wild 7. Fortunately for Josh the picture cuts off what his hands are doing; namely checking the dangle.




Either I've had one too many Presbyterians heavy on the Rye Whiskey, or Jason Giambi travelled to the past and ate his nineteen year old self after this photo shoot. He looks like David Eckstein for Christmas sakes. Hostess Ding-Dongs and Horse 'roids, the breakfast of douche bags.







Bloody sock? How about bloody upper lip. I mean is that a really virulent strain of herpes on his face, or what? Curt Schilling: lap-diving into Ho's since 1989.







To be fair this doubled as Sammy's head-shot for Paradise Island. It's amazing what a good shave and mangos glazed with HGH can do for a guy.

This Week in Baseball, Week 1

So here are a few of my thoughts on this season so far:

• What's with all the crappy teams doing really well? The Orioles with a 6 game win streak? KC is tied with CHISox for First? Florida leading the NL East? Seriously, i know we're only a week and change in, but this is some freaky shit.
• What's with all the supposedly good teams doing terribly? I mean, obviously there's the Tigers, but there's also the Yankees and Red Sox at 500, the Mariners (granted, not a GREAT team, but still...), Indians under 500, Mets in last place, Rockies under 500. Either I'm awful at picking the winners, or we're in for a wickedly interesting season.
• There are some startlingly good rookie performances so far - Cueto with Cincy, McLouth in Pittsburgh, Justin Upton (not technically a rookie, but still), Fukuodome in Chicago... i'm noticing a trend... National League seems to be nice to rookies. BS has decided to remind me that Joba Chamberlain is actually a rookie, and he's doing very well (4 IP, 1 hit, 1 walk, 4 k's)
• Veterans doing badly - Alfonso Soriano, Adam Dunn, Giambi, Johjima, etc. Some seriously crappy stats.

So what does all this mean? It means that we're ONE WEEK IN! I am just as bad as all people here - 6 months w/o baseball makes us all jump all over these early results. Ups and downs, hills and valleys, people. Here's an idea - talk to me in a month, we'll see where we're at then.

Roy Williams's Cyclical Final Four Legacy

If basketball were compared to the philosophers of antiquity, Roy Williams would be the heir to Aristotle.

Whoa, whoa, you say, calm down. But, follow me here, Basketball as I've said before has a qualifiable beginning. Created by James Naismith, taught to his disciple Phog Allen, who in turn coached and mentored Dean Smith, whose most famous coaching disciple is Roy Williams ( or Larry Brown ).

Western Philosophy traces it's roots to Socrates, who taught his disciple Plato, who in turn mentored Aristotle. Aristotle's most famous student was Alexander the Great, and if we continue to follow the comparison then that would make Michael Jordan his basketball equivalent.

Hyperbole aside, the linchpin is Kansas. All of the coaches either played or coached there. Although in more recent times, UNC has sent it's share of talent there way. This more recent history starts with Dean Smith maintaining close ties to Kansas after becoming the head coach at Carolina, even considering leaving to coach Kansas at one time.

Instead Dean became their consigliere, recommending the two modern coaching success at Kansas, before Self,: Larry Brown and Roy Williams ( both UNC guys obviously ). Brown was already regarded as a talented coach when he took over at Kansas ( although in the all's fair in love and war category, Larry repaid Dean by stealing Danny Manning from UNC by hiring Manning's father as a coach. Manning changed his commitment from UNC to Kansas after this and went on to bring them their only National Title in recent memory.) Roy was an unlikely choice for such a top tier program. He got the job because of Dean. So Carolina has paid back the Smith debt a couple of times over.

More importantly this is the third time Kansas and UNC have played each other in the Semi's of the Final Four with Roy involved as a head coach. The first time was Dean's return to the Final Four after the longest absence of his career, during which time the new guard of ACC coaches:, Jimmie V., Bobby Cremins, and Coach K. had stolen Dean's thunder. It was also Roy's first trip and he ended up winning. A tough game all around made tougher by Duke and Coach K. winning their first title the next game ( although it could be mercifully, since UNC surely would have been crushed by Duke in the final, and never would have lived it down). This game of Roy over Dean seems to bear a lot of similarities to the game this weekend.

The second time they met in the Semi's UNC was making it's second title run under Dean. This was the comeback against Jimmie V., at ESPN now, Cremmins tailing off and about to disappear, and it's often forgotten Coach K; who Dean from this point on to his retirement would dominate in recruiting and on the court ( we've yet to see if Coach K. facing a similar challenge to his supremacy by Roy can come back to power). But this Semi victory seemed less painful for all the participants. It wasn't one of Kansas's great teams, and there was a feeling that this was Dean's year.

This time Dean's not involved and Roy's back with UNC. There's no real connection with Self, so the historical comparison falls away. The mutual love between Roy and Kansas has soured with their bitter divorce, so unlike the games against Smith early on in his career, Roy has no mixed feelings about taking it to his opponent. Expect Carolina to run away with the game in the second half.

THE WAGER or 2008 MLB Predictions

While in strict cloistered repose, pondering the implications of a cosmos permeated by Dark Energy accelerating the expansion the universe, I was disturbed by a loud banging upon the teak wood, iron-wrought door to my study. Setting down my snifter of 1972 Charles de Granville's XO Calvados, I rushed to see who had managed to make his way past my Cossack man-servant, Gruzinov. Hesitatingly, I cracked open the ancient door to the darkness without.



In burst a large man. He wore a pea coat like that of a Mariner, and he had the strong smell of Haddock. Brushing right past me, the man went straight to the wet bar and poured himself a large drought from my Decanted Châteauneuf-du-Pape. He drank the vino down in one long, coughing, drought where it seemed as much of the vintage was caught in his beard as his throat. Slowly he pivoted and for the first time fixed me with his firm gaze.

"I've come fer me debt", he gurgled almost as if he was underwater. Never having seen the man before, I suspected mistaken identity. I screwed up my courage to speak.

"Look here", I squeaked. "I've never seen you before, much less owe you a debt. Now explain your bussiness or be off. If you don't I shall call my security."

"You mean that stinking Ural mountain trash I met coming in? I disposed of him already." He poured himself another glass of my precious Rhone valley wine and squared me again with that almost lawyerly stare.

"I may be a stranger to you", he said. "But I sure as blazes know who you are. And your Father, and his Father before him. My family has kept a close eye on yours for generations. Your name is Bad Sunglasses. Mine is Zaaq. Your Grandfather made a wager with with my Grandfather nigh on eighty years ago. And now it's time to settle".

"Why this is preposterous", I stammered. A great storm had now crept over the land. Flashes of lightening and loud claps of thunder now added to my unease.

The man called Zaaq positioned himself over the Victorian leather high-backed, and seemed to almost collapse within it's confines. He reached under his tattered coat and pulled out a document and handed it to me. I could just make out the faded red scrawled writing by the expiring cherry embers within my marble fireplace.

"It's all there for you to read", he said. "It's a right and properly done contract; as you can see. Your Grandfather bet mine that the Giant Starfish didn't exist, and was nothing but a phantom fossil footprint of a large bottom dwelling Manticore. With the recent discovery of two mating Giant Starfish in the Antarctic waters off New Zealand, my Grandfather has won the wager! And I, as his only living relative, have come to collect."

"Wait, wait," I exclaimed. "Here in the document, at the bottom, in fine print, written backwards, in coded sanacrit, upside down, scribed in stealthy ink only visable by firelight; it clearly states a caveat!"

Zaaq grabbed the document out of my hand, and read the newly discovered condition aloud. "Upon definitive proof that the wager is won, the losing party has a one time opportunity to trump the original bet by predicting the outcome of the forthcoming Major League Baseball season more accurately than the winning party of the original bet, after which all bets will be considered completed forever, and all debts will be collected on pain of death"!

The disheveled Mariner tore about the room enraged screaming curses at this new hindrance to his fortune. Finally he calmed down enough to sit back down. Upon being seated again, Zaaq pulled out a large, whole, smoked fish from the seemingly cavernous confines of his pea coat; the source of the aforementioned dock-stench. He proceeded to make a meal of the Haddock starting with a large bite out of its scaly stomach.

"Well, now that's settled", I said. " But there's one thing I'm still unsure of: what's the prize?"


Wiping his face with his sleeve, Zaaq said: "For me and mine, a bottle of your finest whiskey. Your family has long been known as hoarders of the best vintages. And for you and yours...a bag of radishes."

"That hardly seems fair", I protested.

"Yes well, the year they made the bet was a particularly bad year for the radish, blight and all. And your Grandfather had special uses for those vegetable." Zaaq visible shuddered.

"And what uses would that be", I queried; dreading the answer.

"Well", Zaaq said, " a man's secrets are his own, but word was, rumor was, that your Grandfather used radishes during sexual rituals in the catacombs beneath this very house"!

The heat of the fire beside me and warmth of the liquor within me seemed to swell, and I swooned upon the floor. "No! It can't be! Lies! Rumors and lies!" I moaned as the room went dark and I knew no more.

************************************************************************************

I awoke hours later upon my chaisse with a wet cloth upon my head, and Gruzinov, my cossack man-servant, his head bandaged, waiting upon me. It turns out Gruzinov remembered nothing of the night before, except checking the grounds for a strange noise. He awoke later in the gardens with a nasty bump on his head. He proceeded inside to find me alone, in my study, laying unconscious upon the mahogany floor.

After some care, feeling refreshed, I sent Gruzinov to collect our breakfast. I scanned about the room looking for any clue that the events of the night before had not all been a dream. My eyes fell upon an envelope, addressed to a PO box in Brooklyn.

In the envelope was a letter consisting, of one sentence, a signature, and a postscript. The sentence read: "I expect your 2008 MLB season predictions forthwith. The signature was: Zaaq. The postscript appeared written with more haste, as almost an afterthought: " Starfish and radishes? What the hell's wrong with your family!"


fin.


To the predictions:

American League:

East
1. Red Sox
2. Yankees
3. Jays
4. Rays
5. Orioles

Central
1. Detroit
2. Cleavland
3. White Sox
4. Twins
5. Royals

West
1. Mariners
2.Angels
3. A's
4. Rangers

National League:

East
1. Braves
2. Phillies
3. Mets
4. Nationals
5. Marlins

Central
1. Cubs
2. Brewers
3. Reds
4. Cardinals
5. Astros
6. Pirates

West
1. Dodgers
2. Diamondbacks
3. Rockies
4. Padres
5. Giants


MVP's

AL: D. Ortiz, Boston-DH
NL: M. Teixeira, ATL-1B

Cy Young

AL: Eric Bedard- Seattle
NL: Brad Penny- LA

Divisional Series:
AL: Yanks over Mariners in 5 games
Detroit over Red Sox in 4 games

NL: Dodgers over Phillies in 4 games
Cubs over Braves in 3 games

Championship Series:
AL: Detroit over Yanks in 6 games
NL: Cubs over Dodgers in 7 games

World Series:

Detroit over Cubs in 5 games