Talkin' With Tewks: A Trip to the Big Apple

Since this is the last year the House that Ruth Built will play host to Major League Baseball, Papa Tewks and I decided to venture to New York City to take in a game on baseball’s grandest stage. We scheduled a midweek trip since I don’t have a real job and pretty much every day for me is a weekend.

We left on Tuesday afternoon and I do have one thing good to say about the United States: the price of beer. We spent the night in an Econo Lodge in Poughkeepsie, New York getting drunk off a 12 cans of Bud purchased for $4.95.

We had to catch a 9am train Wednesday morning to NYC, but the trip was almost derailed before it began. Papa Tewks, while attempting to pay for parking, forgot his wallet on top of the automated machine. He didn’t realize it was missing until 5 minutes later when trying to buy train tickets (Me not paying for anything was a common theme on this trip).

Luckily I was there to save the day. I was Crossfitted my way through throngs of people, down three flights of stairs and a 200m straightaway in less than 20 seconds. The wallet was being held by a dopey looking maintenance worker who handed the wallet over without incident. No money was missing which was good news for him as I was thisclose to crane kicking his heart clean through his body.

Random Observations about the Big Apple

The city (well Manhattan anyway) is incredibly clean. I expected used syringes and condoms to litter the sidewalks but the streets were in pristine condition.

Approximately 90% of the Wall Street movers and shakers are all under 5’9”. You can tell by how these little twerps walk that they all have Napoleon complexes. Being rich and powerful is how they try to make up for a lifetime of inferiority (i.e. having a small penis and being unattractive to the opposite sex).

Yankee fans take baseball way too seriously. I’ve never seen so many grown men wear baseball jerseys. Come on fellas, it’s time to grow up. Good luck finding a girlfriend wearing a Double XL Yankees road jersey. Also, it’s one thing to wear a replica game jersey but some of these douchebags are wearing jerseys with Mantle and Gehrig on the back. Newsflash A-holes: Yankee jerseys don’t have names on the back.

The atmosphere around Yankee Stadium before a game is electric; there were people everywhere and this was a random Wednesday afternoon in July. The bars lining the outside of the stadium were packed tighter than Scarlett Johansson’s ta-tas in a barely there cocktail dress. Here is a picture of me and Papa Tewks taken by a couple of our many female admirers (looking at this pic, can you blame them?)

We started off in the upper tier section of the right field bleachers; close to where Josh Hamilton hit his cocaine-fuelled moonshots during the All Star Game Home Run Derby. From that position I was able to take this picture of Derek Jeter. Little known fact, his vagina is actually visible through his baseball pants.

We left the game after 7 innings to avoid the horrendous, cramped subway cars leading back uptown. From there, we traversed Central Park which is quite a sight to behold. The peace and tranquility of the natural setting would have brought tears to my eyes if I was capable of human emotion.

Once the fancy boy nature stuff was out of the way, it was time to get drunk. On our way to the third (or was it the fourth?) bar of the evening we had our one and only celebrity sighting: George Wendt from Cheers!! Normie looked terrible; like he was about to keel over any minute. Of course Papa Tewks yells out, “Hey, is that Norm?” Good one Dad, I don’t think he’s ever heard that one before.

The last speakeasy we frequented was the Town Tavern in Greenwich Village. This may have been the greatest bar in the history of mankind. For a seven dollar cover, you could purchase 25 cent pitchers till 11pm. Let me say that again. 25 CENT PITCHERS!!! My God. I think that’s what Heaven is like. I’d tell you more about the night but I’m fairly certain I blacked out around 9:30.

Pilgrimage to Cooperstown

No baseball roadtrip could be complete without a visit to the sport’s Mecca: the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. Cooperstown is in an idyllic setting in upstate New York. In the event that I ever have a serious relationship, I would like to take that special young lady to Cooperstown and stay in a Bed and Breakfast.

The highlight of the visit was looking at the plaques of all the game’s biggest legends. The first one I wanted to see was Mickey Mantle. I explained my adoration for the Mick in my mancrush column and Mantle’s magic is still strong. His plaque smelled of testosterone and sawdust and just touching it gave me unparalleled sexual charisma. Walking the streets afterwards was like an Axe body spray commercial. Women began throwing their panties and bras like rose petals at my feet as I walked by.

The experience with Lou Gehrig’s plaque was quite different. I saw one guy touch the Iron Horse’s plaque and he lost all function in the right side of his body. He had to be carted out of there in a wheelchair. I bet that day, he didn’t consider himself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.

All in all, the trip was a great experience. It’s mini vacations like this that make me question the point of full time employment.

Tewks is a frequent contributor to Gretzpo’s Sports Blog.

Everything Wrong With Society in One Ad Campaign

As a marketing ploy, Burger King took the Whopper out of one of their locations to see people's reactions ... of course, what we get instead is a microcosm of what happens when a big, juicy, fat sample of society is deprived one of their gluttonous pleasures:

Victim #1: Malnourished Post-Pubescent Teen

Some runty 90 pound, 18 year old punk in a t-shirt several sizes too small exclaims he's "pretty heated right now" when he can't get a Whopper. From the looks of his hair, clothes, and general disposition, he's also "pretty heated" about growing up in suburbia with wealthy parents and a college fund.

Tangent: Clearly the suburbs are the only place BK could get away with pulling a stunt like this ... can you imagine if they tried to pull this off in da 'hood on some 400lb guy nicknamed "Tiny" that was packing heat? The resulting slaughter would be a public relations nightmare.

Victim #2 and #3: Old Reminiscent Couple

"I used to drive down from Connecticut ... past state lines ... just so I could get a Whopper".

I mean... really... it's a fucking hamburger. The only time I ever drive any more than 15 minutes out of my way to sink my teeth into something is if she's going to sink her teeth in back.

Victim #4: Spoiled Soccer Mom in SUV

"I want to see your manager when I get up to the window"

What's a matter sweetheart: not getting enough of the special sauce at home?

Victim #5: Fat, Mulleted Redneck Republican

What happens when an uneducated, fat guy asks for a Whopper and instead gets a burger from Wendy's? A series of grunts, intimidating glances and finger points ... since this is the way fat people communicate when they're hungry.

Victim #6 and #7: Beavis and Butthead Stoners

"Why even call it Burger King now? They should call it Burger Queen!"
"hehehehehheheheheheh"

So there you have it: degenerate teenagers, out of touch geriatrics, desperate housewives, the obese and the tripped out. These are 5 of the 6 segments of society ... the 6th is those who Crossfit. It would be highly unlikely Crossfitters would eat at a Burger King any more than once a year ... but rest assured they would act in one of two ways:

1) Politely change their order ... knowing that to scream at someone making $5.75 an hour is not an honorable thing to do.

2) Do a plyometric jump over the counter, take out the staff with a series of crane kicks and make the Whopper themselves.

Tewks has recently commented on my lack of posts: I've actually been writing paralelling columns for about two weeks now: one of them is entitled "The Jays Season is Over" ... the other "The Jays Still Have a Chance at the Playoffs".

Who are we kidding? The Jays season is over.

I Don't Care Much For Vernon Wells

Recently Derek Jeter was ranked as the most over rated player in a poll amongst MLB players.

Sounds about right. When you play a lot of your games in front of a national audience and are remembered for cutting off a throw to home and for diving into the stands and breaking your face, aren't you bound to be immortalized by the New York Media Hype Machine?

But in The Big Smoke of Toronto, we have our own overhyped superstar: Vernon Wells, who recently went on the DL for the second time this season. Coincidentally, when Wells was on the DL for the first time in May, the Jays had one of their hottest months in recent memory.

Wells' career numbers as a 162 game average tells the story of how overhyped he is: .282 average, 26 HR, 98 RBIs. Another high paid MLB outfielder, Houston Astros' Carlos Lee, makes on average $3 million a season less than Wells, but averages out to a .289 average, 30 HR and 108 RBIs. Moreover, since he signed his contract extension, Lee's output has actually improved, posting .303/33/119 #s last year, and is on pace for .300/35/130 this year.

True, Wells is a Gold Glover, but who pays for defense these days? I'm sure we could find an adequate defensive center fielder for much cheaper who could hit .275/20/80. Maybe then we could finally field a lineup who could hit more than 125HR in a season.

Also ... have you ever gone to a Jays game and heard that elderly gentleman scream out: ICE! COOOOLLLLD ... BEER.

Yeah... he was fired. But JP manages to retain his job season after season.

Talkin' With Tewks: An Open Letter to A-Rod

My Dearest Alex,

God knows I have always been one of your biggest supporters. My first column compared you and that overrated boob Derek Jeter and the conclusion was obvious: you are by far the superior baseball player and one of the preeminent talents the game has ever seen.

Unfortunately, your off field antics are really beginning to test my patience as a fan; it’s getting harder and harder (that’s what she said) to defend you against people who call you a socially inept jackass (basically you’re MLB’s version of Kobe Bryant sans the world championships and allegations of rape).

You’ve always been something of an oddball; however, I always attributed your weirdness to your greatness as a ball player. All geniuses have unusual quirks: Mozart used to dress up in his mother’s clothes and turn tricks down by the docks (it’s true, check Wikipedia).

Instead of embracing your idiosyncrasies like Manny Ramirez, (who I’m confident has some form of Asperger’s Syndrome), you’ve tried to hide it behind a sickening “Eddie Haskell” like media persona that reeks of insincerity.

In your attempt to be more media accessible and honest, you’ve made numerous bone-headed decisions that just spit in the face of common sense. Let’s take a look at a few:

February 20 2007 – In discussing your fractured relationship with Jeter, you made the following comment: “You go from sleeping over at somebody's house five days a week, and now you don't sleep over." Let’s ignore the fact that two grown men were having sleepovers past the age of seven and also ignore the homosexual undertones (although I’m sure you and Derek gave new meaning to the phrase “he went deep into the hole and made the play”).

Why are you TELLING people about this? Do you think there is any possible way that comment makes you sound good? No one gives a shit and, if they do, it’s only so they have something else to make fun of you for because they are jealous of your prodigious talent.

May 30 2007 – You were photographed with a buxom blond entering a strip club in Toronto. Now I’m not going to get on my moral high horse (mainly because I don’t have one) and deride you for marital infidelity. You’re a professional athlete; not only is cheating on your spouse allowed, it’s encouraged.

Having a different female associate in every city is one of the perks of being a ballplayer, but be DISCREET about it. Have her meet you at the hotel or go to her place. Don’t spend time with her in public when there’s a chance you can be photographed. I mean this is basic stuff.

July 1 2008 – The Home Run Derby is being held in Yankee Stadium, your home park, the most famous stadium in North America, for the last time ever and you decide to forgo the festivities because you fear it will ruin your swing for the rest of the season. Again, WHY say this?

Make some bullshit injury excuse like you pulled a hammy or something. I know the derby can be detrimental to your hitting mechanics but the general populace has no idea what it takes to swing a bat at a high level. You are going to be the home run king for chrissakes; if you don’t want to lie, just make a token appearance, don’t change your swing and lose in the first round. You should be in the contest purely based on principal.

July 1 2008 (cont'd) - Now it comes out that you’re banging Madonna. Really? This is the best high profile hookup you could get to represent the dissolution of your marriage? I’d be mildly impressed if it was 1988, but at this point, having sex with Madonna would be like trying to penetrate a parachute.

What about the hot chick from Transformers? Or Carrie Underwood? Hell, I’d take one of the members of Girlicious before I would sleep with Madge.

Now you’re going to have a very messy, public divorce and the Yankees are probably going to miss the playoffs for the first time this century. The worst part of this is knowing that your soon to be ex-wife Cynthia is making sweet, sweet love to Lenny Kravitz. She’s going to get a strain of gonorrhea not yet seen by the medical community.

Here’s my advice: go see Hancock this weekend, find out how to resurrect your image (a tip: just shut your mouth and play ball) and please stay away from Madonna before she converts you to Kabbalah or whatever pseudo religion she studies this week.

Love,
Tewks

Tewks is a frequent contributor to Gretzpo’s Sports Blog.

Talkin’ with Tewks: Reborn Like a Phoenix Rising from Arizona

Allow me to put on my big boy serious journalist man-pants for a moment, as I explain my two month absence from this blog.

Gretzpo did not accurately capture the pain and suffering I put my body through playing beach volleyball in the Dominican (through no fault of his own, he’s just not a very good writer).

The first two days of the trip I was a beach volleyball dynamo; diving all over the court, doing whatever it took to ensure my team emerged victorious. It was, without resorting to hyperbole, a virtuoso performance.

My team’s dreams of resort dominance were dashed when I jumped up for one of my patented super blocks, came down and snapped a bone in my right foot.

The smart move (scratch that: pussy move) would have been to stop playing immediately and seek medical attention. That’s what any regular, non Crossfit man would have done. Not Tewks.

I rubbed some dirt on my foot, saw how far my foot is from my heart and continued to play for another two hours. I literally willed my team to victory on, for all intents and purposes, one leg. Earl Woods was wrong: Tiger is only the most mentally tough person he’ll ever meet until he and I are introduced.

(Quick aside: Tiger’s performance in the US Open was awe-inspiring; undoubtedly the best golf tournament I’ve ever seen. What does it say about the rest of the PGA Tour when Tiger can kick their ass with a torn ACL and two stress fractures? From watching NBC’s coverage of the tournament, Tiger’s left knee is now the second most popular player on the tour. Also, I think Johnny Miller is drifting into senility; I actually saw him use his telestrator to circle Tiger’s knee and say, verbatim, “That’s Tiger’s left knee right there.” Thanks Johnny, what would we do without you?)

After spending three days in a hard cast doing nothing more than drinking pina coladas and rubbing sunscreen on my sinewy muscles, Gretzpo and I were challenged to a game of beach volleyball by two girls we met on the trip.

Sometimes it’s more important to be a man than be smart; keeping this is mind, I heroically took my cast off, swallowed a handful of Dominican horse tranquilizers to dull the pain and proceeded to wipe those girls off the court with my unstoppable Blitzkrieg serve attack.

Upon returning to Canada, the pain in my foot was so excruciating that I slid into a downward spiral of Percocets washed down with Canadian Club. I couldn’t bring myself to put underwear on in the morning let alone write blog articles.

After a month of hard living that would make Amy Winehouse blush, I received word that I was nominated as one of Canada’s 12 Hottest Bachelors. This was the wakeup call I needed; it would be a disservice to the free world to continue on my path of destruction and rob society of the chance to gaze at my perfectly symmetrical facial features and chiseled body.

I reconfirmed my commitment to Crossfit and began to embark on a journey to break into television as a Z-list Canadian celebrity. Currently, I am doing the colour commentary for the Intercounty Baseball League on a community television station. How did I get such a great opportunity? I did my best Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman impersonation. Take from that what you will.

Also, I will be taking over the lion’s share of the writing on Gretzpo’s Sports Blog from this point forward. Gretzpo says he’s too busy from his full time job to commit to writing more than 300 words every couple of months. Luckily, I don’t have that problem, so I will be hammering out smaller columns weekly on topics that are near and dear to my heart: sports and popular culture.

Tewks is a frequent contributor to Gretzpo’s Sports Blog

Monthly Column

Yes... I thought I'd be able to do this weekly... and yes... I realize now that I'm teetering on barely being able to get it done once a month.

I'm actually talking about how often I have sex... but I agree that the blog should be updated more often.

Readers are in for a special treat though, as today's column is a special double shot of epic spewing proportions:

Blog Objective #1: Trip Review

So me and Tewks went to the Bahia Principe in San Juan, Dominican Republic in order to drink, meet ladies and recreate the beach volleyball scene from "Top Gun". We did all three and -much to our delight - kept our penises.

The trip wasn't without adversity though - in a display of grittiness unparalelled on a 7 day drinking binge Tewks broke his foot playing beach volleyball.... and finished the game. After a frightening trip to a Puerto Plata Hospital and a Spanglish conversation about the perils of the Dominican society with our cab driver, Tewks sported a hard cast for the next three days.

"I can literally feel Crossfit healing my body."

Then, on the day before we left, after being goaded into a game of beach volleyball, Tewks ditched the cast and put on an athletic display worthy of a cheesy 80's montage.

In the end, the cripple and the un-coordinated ogre trounced the pair of 5'5 girls 25-13, and made a statement that males are still the superior gender.

Objective #2: The Unveiling of Tewks - "Mike"

Tewks needs your help ... he lives a life of sloth mixed with hardcore training. To keep up this lifestyle, he needs to get a job in show business.

He's got his foot in the door: he's been nominated as one of Canada's top 12 bachelors as chosen by Cosmo Canada. The prize on the line is a modelling contract that will allow him to not have to work, and will allow me to join his entourage and quit my job... so for both his sake and mine, vote for "Mike".

That's him at the top of the column... and here's the link so you can vote for him... he's the top picture on the left:

http://cosmotv.ca/hotguys/default.aspx

If you check out his profile, I can't answer why he's playing baseball with a shirt off, I just guess that's the path he's chosen.

Talkin' with Tewks: We're Better Than You And We Know It!

The stresses of living at home, not working and producing journalistic artistry every 28 days (much like a menstrual cycle) have begun to take a toll on my health and wellness. This is why Gretzpo and I have decided to take a heterosexual vacation for two to the Caribbean.

For those of you who are interested, and I’m sure no one really is, we are going to Cuba. In preparation for our excursion to the Communist paradise, we have spent the last 4 months ensuring that our bodies are sufficiently beach ready. Firstly, for Gretzpo, that involves taking a weed whacker to his chest and back, and for me it involves applying liberal amounts of bronzer to my pasty skin.

Second, our preparations led us to search for an exercise and training regime that would turn our lumpy physiques into rippling cords of sinewy muscle.

We have both dabbled in typical bodybuilding workouts over the years; the ones where you just do bicep curls and bench press, spend hours at the gym socializing and never actually break a sweat. Not surprisingly, these so-called mainstream workouts never produced results and led to a general apathy towards physical fitness.

All this changed in January when we stumbled upon a revolutionary fitness program: Crossfit.

What is Crossfit? I’m not a good enough writer to accurately capture the program’s exercise philosophy; therefore, I egregiously plagiarized the following from http://www.crossfit.com/:

How to Achieve World Class Fitness

Eat meat and vegetables, nuts and seeds, some fruit, little starch and NO sugar. Keep intake to levels that will support exercise but not body fat.

Practice and train major lifts: deadlift, clean, squat, presses, Clean & Jerk, and snatch. Similarly, master the basics of gymnastics: pull-ups, dips, rope climb, push-ups, sit-ups, presses to handstands, pirouettes, flips, splits, and holds. Bike, run, swim, row, etc, hard and fast.

Five or six days per week mix these elements in as many combinations and patterns as creativity will allow. ROUTINE IS THE ENEMY. Keep workouts short and intense.

Regularly learn and play new sports!

Crossfit is more than a workout program; it’s a lifestyle. The first thing one learns when attempting a Crossfit Workout of the Day (WOD) is just how fucking hard the program is. The intensity required to complete the majority of the WODs is unparalleled. At the end of each workout, I find myself in a sweat-soaked incoherent daze; it takes 20 minutes to remember where I parked my parent’s car.

Crossfit is the preferred training program of law enforcement and the US military; if it’s good enough to prepare a Navy Seal for life-threatening combat, it’s good enough to prepare me for a week of sand, surf and coitus interruptus.

A quick perusal of the website can answer all of your fitness related questions and concerns. There is information on proper nutrition, exercise demos and video clips of some of the most popular workouts.

Another unique aspect of Crossfit is the sense of community fostered among the adherents to the program. Every day hundreds of people flock to the message boards to post their workout times and weights lifted, and give advice on fitness and general health and wellness.

Crossfit has been accused of adopting an elitist, ultra conservative ideology. Actually, both of those accusations are true. The website is exceedingly pro-military and right-leaning in tone. Immigrants and poor people need not apply.

Our lifting numbers in exercises such as the squat, deadlift and press have increased exponentially; now we are almost as strong as a moderately athletic woman. If any socialist ninnies try to mess with us on this trip we will . . . well we still can’t fight, but we can challenge them to a good old-fashioned man-lift.

This will be the last column posted until our vacation is over. If you readers play your cards right, a trip summary may be in your near future, unless neither of us get laid. In that case, I’m handing in my badge and my penis; I won’t need them anymore.

Tewks writes one column a month for Gretzpo’s Sports Blog

"It's $9 Beer Night"

So as I'm watching the Oakland A's play our beloved Toronto Blue Jays tonight I'm noticing several shots of children on the Sportsnet telecast, seemingly trying to convince families that it's safe to go to the ball game after several incidents of hooliganism over the past week.

I attended last Friday's home opener at the Rogers Centre, and it was awesome: great baseball, great spit-free Robbie Alomar tribute, and yes... there were some alcohol fueled fights, and alcohol fueled streaking, and some merciless and vulgar taunting of Red Sox fans.

But you know what? Red Sox fans SHOULD be afraid to come and support their team, for the same reason I'd be afraid to be decked out in Blue Jays garb at Fenway. This is how rivalries are born: not by the media, but at the grass root/fan level, and I guarantee you obscenities hurled at Jays fans in Boston wouldn't make the sports pages in the Globe, Herald, Gazette, or whatever the fuck it is they read down there.

As for the Jays so far: I have no idea how to gauge this team. They come within a few outs (and a few breaks) of sweeping the Yanks, whoop the BoSox in a weekend series, and are now getting their asses handed to them by Oakland: failing to do the things essential to long term success - hitting well with RISP, and pitching well in the late innings.

You know what else? If there are first and second with none out, and you're down by one run late in the game... I don't care who's at the plate... bunt the fucking runners over.

I'm also still in the market for a new favorite Jays player, as Gregg Zaun's ability to hit has yet to match his ability to grow a tremendous beard. Frank Thomas is making an early case, but I still don't really see him as a Blue Jay.

I'm going to wait for Scott Rolen to come off the DL ... then it's his job to win. If you caught "The Season - Jays '08" preview, Scott Rolen stole the show:

"Am I a 'ra-ra' guy in the dressing room? No ... but I get into my car, shut the door, and I go to work every day."

That's exactly what I do as well, Scott Rolen... that's exactly what I do as well.

Talkin' With Tewks: MLB 2008 Season Preview

I know what you’re thinking: Tewks, why are you taking time out of your busy schedule of playing Guitar Hero and self-gratifying yourself to write a column so soon after your last masterpiece?

Well dear reader, I only have your best interests at heart. After being subjected to Dwight from Scranton’s flowery, overwrought prose, I figured I could bang out a shallow, poorly researched MLB season preview for your enjoyment.

First off, there are a few caveats. This is an American League only preview; I don’t consider the NL to be a part of Major League Baseball. The only thing you need to know about the National League this year is that Johan Santana is going to go 32-3 with 437 strikeouts and 0.13 ERA.

Second, I am not a fantasy baseball nerd. I don’t know and I don’t care about Moneyball statistics like OPS and VORP. Leave that analysis to the virgins who play in seven fantasy leagues a year and get a hard on for players who walk 100 times a season.

These predictions are based purely on gut instincts and fuelled by three fingers of Glenlivets while my lips caress a long, slender Cuban. Then I might have a cigar (Ba-dum-cha!).

American League East

Boston Red Sox
The Red Sox roster is virtually unchanged from the 2007 championship team. Their biggest loss was Doug Mirabelli who is best known as the fat plug who tried to catch Tim Wakefield’s knuckleballs and hit .197 in a good year.

The most important thing to remember in the Red Sox title defense is that Manny Ramirez is in a contract year. Yes, this is the final year of his mammoth $160 million contract; therefore you can guarantee that Manny being Manny will be good for a .380 average with 200 RBIs.

Prediction: 100-62

Toronto Blue Jays
After more than a decade of mediocrity, it is time for the Blue Jays to return to their early 1990s prominence; or at least a reasonable facsimile. The Jays haven’t won 90 games since 1993. The closest they came was in 1998 under the guise of Tim Johnson who inspired his players with phony tales of courage from Vietnam. I suppose there is a correlation between risking your life for your country and risking a cuticle throwing a curveball (I’m looking in your direction AJ “I’m the Vince Carter of the Toronto Blue Jays” Burnett).

I’m expecting big things from the Jays’ young pitching staff; each of the starters will win at least 12 games and will be the class of the division. This should be the defining year of JP Ricciardi’s management reign. Only a playoff appearance will ensure his legacy as a successful GM and not as the owner of the largest nose in the free world.

Prediction: 93-69

New York Yankees
I made my feelings about Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez well known in my first column, so let’s talk about their young, unproven pitching staff instead. The Yankees are entrusting their rotation’s success to Jabba the Hut Chamberlain, Ian Kennedy and Phil Hughes.

Unfortunately, the intense New York spotlight and the pressure of playing in front of 50,000 of the biggest assholes in the world will eat the trio alive.

And with Hank “Forrest Gump” Steinbrenner at the helm, there is no telling how dysfunctional this summer will be in the Big Apple. They’ll make the clubhouse of the 1977 Bronx Zoo Yankees look like a PTA meeting.

Prediction: 88-74

Tampa Bay Rays
They changed their name from Devil Rays to Rays and once drafted Joey Gathright after seeing a YouTube video of him jumping over a car. They run a real tight ship over in Tampa.

Prediction: 75-87

Baltimore Orioles
The Orioles traded away Erik Bernard, their best pitcher, and Miguel Tejada, their best hitter. The team hasn’t had a winning season since making the playoffs in 1997 and that trend will continue for the foreseeable future.

This just in, hot off the presses: Owner Peter Angelos is still a prick. Maybe someone in the greater Baltimore area can hire Omar from The Wire to bust the proverbial cap in his ass.

Prediction: 61-101

American League Central

Detroit Tigers
The Tigers made the biggest free agent splash of the offseason acquiring both Miguel Cabrera and Dontrelle Willis from the Florida Marlins. Look at the first four hitters in the Tigers lineup: Curtis Granderson, Cabrera, Gary Sheffield and Magglio Ordonez. They might have the most fearsome batting order since Lou Gehrig’s central nervous system functioned properly.

Prediction: 98-64

Cleveland Indians
I admit that the Indians have a great team but they are so bland and boring I can’t think of anything interesting to say about them.

I preferred the Indian teams of the early 90s: I’m talking about guys like Jake Taylor, Willy Mays Hayes, Rick Vaughn and the incomparable Roger Dorn.

Prediction: 95-67

Minnesota Twins
The Twins are in the same position as the Orioles, losing their best players in Santana and Torii Hunter. The winning seasons the team experienced earlier this decade will be a distant memory as the Central Division will be a two horse race.

It’s an awful time to be a Minnesota sports fan. The Twins, Timberwolves and Vikings all suck balls. However, the Vikings did incorporate the phrase “Sex Boat” into our daily lexicon. So Minnesotans have that going for them.

Prediction: 77-85

Chicago White Sox
I love watching White Sox highlights, only for the joy of seeing Ozzie Guillen fly off the handle in a profanity-laced, politically incorrect rant. He’s like a Latino Don Cherry crossed with Barack Obama’s preacher.

Prediction: 75-87

Kansas City Royals
The only good things to come out of Kansas City are barbecued spare ribs and George Brett’s pine tar induced tirade at Yankee Stadium.

Prediction: 70-92

American League West

Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim
All the jokes about the Angels ridiculous team name have been exhausted but I have to hand it to their owner Arte Moreno; he may be the best owner in sports as he drastically cut the price of beer in Angels Stadium. The good karma alone will catapult the Angels into first place.

I suppose I should include some baseball related comments about the Angels. Let me think. Well it’s great to see that Mike Scioscia overcame the radiation poisoning he contracted at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant to become a successful Major League manager.

Prediction: 95-67

Seattle Mariners
The Mariners are led by someone named John McLaren who I have to assume is a more calming influence in the clubhouse than Sweet Lou Piniella.

Seattle’s offence is catalyzed by Ichiro Suzuki, the greatest contact hitter of the millennium. Ichiro is a modern day Ty Cobb only without the asshole personality and virulent racism.

Prediction: 90-72

Oakland Athletics
Billy Beane’s magic touch seems to have finally run its course as the Athletics are in the middle of a rebuilding phase. I think it’s safe to say that Beane’s theories have made him the most polarizing front office executive in the game since Marge Schott said Hitler had a good idea but went a little too far.

Prediction: 77-85

Texas Rangers
The Rangers will follow the same modus operandi they’ve adhered to since the A-Rod years. Their lineup, led by Michael Young, will rip tits and be involved in more 12-10 games than any other team in the league. This means that their pitching will, once again, be shit.

Someone should give the Texas front office the memo that pitching and defense win ball games. The Rangers are analogous to any bimbo with a great body. Sure they get lots of attention from guys in the form of cheap, casual sex (a great offense) but they have nothing to offer in the brains or personality department (great pitching) to foster a meaningful relationship (a playoff appearance).

However, as a red-blooded male, I certainly relish the opportunity to, after a few drinks, watch the odd Rangers game in 37 second spurts.

Prediction: 73-89

Tewks writes a monthly column for Gretzpo's Sports Blog

Special Guest Column

“The Last Out”

Spring Training - 2010

The crack of a bat is heard reverberating throughout the cement walled enclosure. A ball sails into the warm blue spring sky towards a razor wired topped wall but lands 30 feet short: a slim middle age black man at the plate of a makeshift ball diamond kicks the dirt at his feet and yells at a middle aged white man of similar stature.

“Shit man. Three years ago I would have cleared that wall no problem.”

The pitcher glares in from the mound and replies: “Three years ago you wouldn’t have gotten around on that pitch.”

The pitcher and batter continue to berate each other for a minute and then continue throwing and hitting under the watchful eyes of observers in towers at each corner of the cement walls.

Suddenly a door bursts open from a building adjacent to the field and out runs a number of men in ball uniforms followed by a much older gentleman well dressed and superbly coiffed. He gazes at the two men on the field and yells “Hey, Rocket and Barry! Hustle over here. I want to go over this afternoon’s game against The Tampa Bay Correctional Facility.”

The pitcher turns and replies “Sure thing Warden Hazen: we’ll be right there”

On the way over to the others Barry asks Roger if he has heard anything about the “Hall.” Roger replies “Barry they can’t hold us back. We need to get in; for Granny, for Nate, for Caretaker.”

Dwight from Scranton

Talkin' With Tewks: Never Back Down

After having our hopes of pre-marital coitus demoralized by an assortment of women on Saturday night, Gretzpo and I decided to cheer ourselves up by catching a Sunday afternoon matinee of the movie Never Back Down. There is nothing more uncomfortable than asking for two tickets to a 1pm showing of a 2008 version of Karate Kid. I’m 90% certain the ticket taker thought we were either gay or deranged sociopaths.

Needless to say, we had the entire theatre to ourselves and commenced making infantile jokes for the next two hours. The following is a compilation of our incoherent ramblings from our private viewing. I, for one, am never backing down from this review. Now let’s go get some.

Never Back Down is the story of Jake Tyler (a cross between Daniel Larusso and a circa 1986 Tom Cruise): a tough kid who leads with his fists, and often, with his heart (by the way, that sentence is copied verbatim from the movie’s tagline; I can’t make this stuff up).

The movie opens with Jake kicking ass on the football field as some type of Dick Butkus inspired middle linebacker. Things are all fine and dandy until an opposing player makes the mistake of taunting Jake by mentioning his father’s penchant for the bottle and dying in alcohol-fuelled car crashes. Jake, in a formidable display of rage, proceeds to one punch the agitator into oblivion.
Jake returns home to find his younger brother and white trash mother eating takeout for dinner. I know your husband is dead Mrs. Tyler, but you can’t heat up some rice and throw a couple of chicken breasts on the George Foreman? (I’m convinced the actress who was supposed to play the mother never showed up on the first day and the producers just hired the woman who sets up craft services).

Mama Tyler yells at Jake for fighting and we find out they are moving to Orlando because junior Tyler is a tennis champion. Yes this plot device is just as stupid as it sounds.

On Jake’s first day at his new school we met Baja (a homeless man’s Elisabeth Shue), the token hot chick/love interest (I’m not looking up the actress’ name because after this performance, the only time we will see her again is on Skinemax).

Her acting range consists of squeezing her breasts together with her arms, smiling suggestively and biting her upper lip (I suggest the DVD come with an option where all of Baja’s lines are muted and the audience just sees a close up of her perfectly sculpted orbs).

This is where the movie threatens to unravel. The scenes between Jake and Baja are so poorly acted; it is just excruciating to watch. They had some lame conversation about Achilles’ Shield and then she bit her lip and invited our boy Jake to a party.

At the party we meet Ryan McCarthy, played by Volchok from the OC, who can best be described as a metrosexual Johnny Lawrence.

Now I’m not that far out of high school but what scenario seems more fun from a male perspective: drinking and partying with bikini clad hotties who have predilections to make out with each other OR hang out on a beach with a bunch of dudes and get your face punched in?

The fruitcakes in this movie choose the latter.

Volchok goads our protagonist into a fight by bringing up Papa Tyler’s untimely death. Cheap, but effective as Jake agrees to fight and proceeds to get his ass handed to him.

Jake’s nerdy friend Max Cooperman (the best actor under 30 in the entire movie) convinces Jake that he needs more than boxing skills, so Max takes him to the 365 Combat Club, run by Mr. Miyag---, I mean Jean Roqua. Roqua, played by the black guy from Gladiator, is what holds this movie together. I always thought he was a good actor but this cast makes him look like Sidney Poitier (for those of you under 40, Google him).

Roqua takes Jake under his wing and trains him in mixed martial arts. The training montages are a hybrid of the Karate Kid and all the Rocky movies. That is the highest compliment I can give. I absolutely loved the training montages; there was even a scene of Jake drinking raw eggs!

Sheer genius.

So now that Jake has learned to control his temper and fight UFC style, we are ready for the inevitable payback bout with Volchok.

Apparently, in the mean streets of Orlando (the Epcot Centre is literally visible from Jake’s apartment building) the social event of the year is something called “The Beatdown.” This is where all of the toughest hombres in the area congregate for a single elimination March Madness type tournament.

This part confused me: imagine you’re at a bar, wooing a special young lady and all of a sudden you hear, “Ok it’s midnight, everyone clear the dance floor, the lights are coming on, it’s time for the Beatdown.” What the Hell? Thanks for salting my game underground fight club.

Secondly, all of these kids are supposed to be in high school. How are they getting into the bar to begin with?

“Do you have ID?”
“No sorry, I’m underage.”
“You can’t come in then.”
“But I’m here to fight in the Beatdown.”
“Oh, well why didn’t you say so. Right this way.”

I don’t want to spoil the ending but if you’ve seen Karate Kid or have an IQ over 48, you know how this baby finishes.

One note from the big finale: Volchok’s kicks are so violent that they cause Jake’s shaven chest to turn from flesh into an X-ray of his ribs. That is one thing I’ve never seen on an episode of House.

Summary
Acting – Atrocious
Eye Candy – Fantastic
Story – Brutal
Fight Scenes – Amazing
Training Montages – The next day, I signed up for Muy Thai lessons
Rewatchability – I want the last 30 minutes running on my computer in a continuous loop

Verdict: 3 Karate Kid Crane Kicks out of 5

Tewks writes one column a month for Gretzpo’s Sports Blog.

A Weekend at a PGA Tour Event

Look for a special column this week from "Dwight from Scranton": our most loyal reader and fan here at Gretzpo's Sports Blog.

However, right now I'm going to divulge my experiences this past weekend going to the PGA PODS championship at the Innisbruck golf club in Tampa, Florida.

Now you're probably thinking: "why would Gretzpo, a man who enjoys physical sports and nude women, possibly want to engage in watching golf?"

Two words: "Hooters Nest". Essentially, Hooters sponsors the 17th hole, puts bleachers around the green, and distributes as much beer as you can drink until about two hours before the end of the round - probably to give people time to sober up.

But, of course, we stockpiled, and by the time Stewart Cink was putting out on 17, at least a half dozen golfers we're treated to raucous chants of "THROW YOUR BALL! THROW YOUR BALL!" as they were stepping off of the green - some ignoring our request, some adhering to it. Mr. Cink did one better, and pointed, then threw the ball right to me ... but showing my athletic prowess, I dropped the ball. I've agonized over that miscatch at least a dozen times... my excuse is that I was handcuffed by the throw - and I have the hands of a grizzly bear.

Me: STEWART! THROW IT AGAIN!!
Stewart Cink: (shrugs shoulders as if to say: "you couldn't catch the first one"... and walks off the green)

And then he blew a 4 stroke lead over the final 9 holes on Sunday ... that's what you get for trying to be nice to fans.

Weekly Wrap-Up

So, from the sports blog that brought you a list of man crushes before a list of its female crushes - ironically, "Crush" from "American Gladiators", the beautiful Gina Carano, would occupy spots #1-#10 - here's a wrap-up of things that piqued my interest this week in the world of sports:

Gregg Zaun may not have used performance enhancing drugs

The "I didn't put Jason Grimsley's name on the cheque and he immediately used it to buy steroids" gambling story just doesn't seem credible. However, unlike Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds, Gregg Zaun doesn't seem like a complete prick. The guy even volunteered to donate $2500 to charity for every runner he threw out during the 2007 season (I think this amounted to a grand total of zero dollars donated).

So here's where I stand with my Zauner fandom: the ball is completely in his court. I will start the 2008 season with a "tabula rasa" of sorts for Gregg Zaun ... his play will dictate whether he draws my ire, or my cheers.

Now you're probably thinking: Gretzpo, do you really believe that Gregg Zaun cares about losing a fan?

Yes... I do... I make up 25% of his fan base.

Dwight Howard Wins Slam Dunk Contest

Although the athleticism and skill of these athletes cannot be denied, one has to admit that the slam dunk contest has become a sideshow of sorts, with superman capes, birthday candles and mini hoops overshadowing the contest.

I mean... what's next? Putting a naked young woman on the rim and have her perform random sex acts on the athletes while they're up there?

I think I just came up with a reward challenge for "Roman's Empire"...

Ryan Newman wins Daytona 500

Despite being an avid Seinfeld fan, the amount of "Hello, Newman!" headlines I've heard on TV and read on the internet in the 2 hours since the race's conclusion proves to me that there's not a shred of originality left in the media. How about this:

"What's New - Man Wins Daytona 500" (swish)

Clearly my talents are being wasted as a business analyst for a mid level Canadian retailer.

Gretzpo

Talkin' with Tewks: A Dissertation on the Man Crush

Last week, while watching Top Gun and Cocktail on cable for the 348th and 167th times respectively, it was mentioned that I have an unhealthy infatuation with one Thomas Cruise; the worst part is I couldn’t even feign indignation at the comment.

It’s true, I love Tom Cruise. There it is.

This brings me to the main crux of today’s sermon: the phenomenon known as the "Mancrush", where seemingly straight men have schoolgirl crushes on male celebrities, athletes and pop culture icons.

To attain Mancrush status a person must possess a number of the following criteria: excessive handsomeness, a sexual organ of the penile variety (this is why David Beckham and his vagina don’t make the cut), charisma, transcendent talent or athletic ability, "coolness", fame, fortune, toughness and have laid more pipe than a second generation plumbing business.

Now for all you strapping heterosexual men out there thinking, "What is Tewks talking about? I don’t have Mancrushes; I eat red meat and watch the UFC." First of all, the UFC is a sport which includes the term "ground and pound" and has half naked guys mounting each other; it’s a rainbow flag away from being Friday night at the San Francisco YMCA.

Second, ask yourselves this: if you’ve ever watched a celebrity and thought "What a cool guy. I want to go out with him and grab a beer," then you have a Mancrush. Congratulations, welcome to a life of inferiority and questioning your sexuality.

For your reading enjoyment, I present the following: a list of my Top 10 Mancrushes.

Number 10 – Sidney Crosby

At twenty years old, Sidney Crosby is a multimillionaire, the best hockey player in the world, looked up to by thousands of kids across North America and has undoubtedly slept with more puck bunnies than the entire population of Nova Scotia.

At twenty-two years old, I have $58 in my checking account, got cut from the same hockey team eight years in a row, was asked to leave the Big Brother program and I spend Saturday nights watching soft core porn on Telemundo with Gretzpo.

The only detriment to Crosby’s Mancrush case is his youth and his subpar facial features; he looks like a Komodo dragon. With a few more years of seasoning and some high profile hookups (Is Hannah Montana 18 yet?), Sid the Kid will fly up this list.

Number 9 – Tom Brady

Many of you are probably surprised that Mr. Brady is not ranked higher on this list. I mean the guy is rich and famous, sleeps with supermodels, has a jaw you could crack walnuts on, is loved by women of all ages and plays the premier position in sports better than anyone else.

However, there is a little je ne sais quoi missing from his Mancrush resume. I’ve never really seen him produce a discernable personality; he gives vanilla responses in media interviews and he just doesn’t seem like much fun. He’d be the guy at a bachelor party in Vegas playing the penny slots with the octogenarians and drinking Bacardi Breezers, while his buddies are drinking tequila shots and getting full contact lap dances.

Number 8 – Brad Pitt

The more I think about it, Bradley is pretty much the Hollywood equivalent of Tom Brady. He possesses many of the same characteristics and also contains one minor flaw (the fact he still rings in at #8 despite this flaw speaks volumes of his greatness).

The flaw is the disturbing reality that Angelina Jolie keeps his testicles in a pickle jar in their pantry next to a jug of Billy Bob Thornton’s blood and a Jennifer Aniston voodoo doll.

Number 7 – Tiger Woods

Let us run down Mr. Woods’ case: Talent? Greatest to ever hold a golf club. Check. Wealth? Well on his way to becoming sports first $1 billion man. Check.

Women? Married to a Swedish bombshell. Check.

Fame? Has more worldwide recognition than His Airness. Check.

Tiger regularly makes the members of the CBS golf crew weak at the knees with the way he wields a flatstick. Hell, I’d give my life savings to play a round of mini golf with him.

Unfortunately, his real name is Eldrick. Therefore he can never be higher than #7 on this list.

Number 6 – Mickey Mantle

The only blemish on The Mick’s Mancrush resume is that he’s dead. When Mantle died in 1995 of liver cancer, grown men bawled like babies upon hearing that their boyhood idol was gone. Any man who can produce that type of reaction among middle-aged baby boomers is definitely in the Mancrush Hall Of Fame.

After reading his biography and watching the movie 61*, there is no denying that Mick was a legendary man and truly larger than life. The best party story of your life would be trumped by The Mick and his crew on a random Wednesday night in January. Mantle would drink two bottles of scotch, have a threesome with Marilyn Monroe and Rita Hayworth, sleep for an hour and then go out and sock a couple of dingers. Now that is the definition of a professional athlete.

Bottoms up Mick; you are the man to whom all Mancrush candidates will forever be compared.

Number 5 – Matthew McConaughey

Based on this picture, it’s pretty self-explanatory as to why this native Texan kicks off the Top 5. He pretty much defines the excessive handsomeness criterion discussed earlier (That came off much gayer than I intended).

McConaughey just seems like a cool guy. Anyone who plays the bongo drum naked is okay in my books.

Imagine hitting any club in North America as his wingman? Gorgeous women would flock like bees to honey.

You’d do more drilling than a Saudi Prince trying to strike oil.


Number 4 – George Clooney

I could leave this section blank and no one would question Clooney’s inclusion on my Mancrush list. He is, without a doubt, the epitome of cool. He is basically a modern day Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra rolled into one (minus the ability to sing and the rumours of domestic violence).

Little known fact, Clooney’s Danny Ocean (one of the most charismatic characters in movie history) from the Ocean’s Eleven franchise wasn’t an act. He thought all the cameras were filming a documentary for an A&E Biography; Clooney was just partying with Brad Pitt in Vegas one last time before Angelina Jolie had him neutered.

Unfortunately Clooney is just a little too revered by both men and women to warrant a higher ranking. I don’t know if I’d want to hang out with him for too long; within a month all your friends would like him more than you and he will have slept with every female to ever come in contact with you. The worst part is you couldn’t even be mad at the guy because he’s so damn likable.



Number 3 – Tom Cruise

A small selection of Mr. Cruise’s filmography from 1983-1992: Losin’ It, Risky Business, All the Right Moves, Cocktail, Top Gun, Days of Thunder and A Few Good Men. It is an absolute Murderer’s Row of cinematic greatness.

The best part is that he played the same character in every single film: an arrogant, cocksure playboy who seduced any woman in sight all the while having a shit-eating grin stapled to his face for two hours. Needless to say, I’m a big fan.

Who wouldn’t want to hang out with Joel Goodsen, Lt. Pete Mitchell or Brian Flanagan? The best compliment I’ve ever received was from a woman (she was drunk but hear me out) who told me that I looked like a young Tom Cruise.

However, Tommy only comes away with the bronze for three reasons: 1. He’s 5’3", 2. For that sickening display on Oprah’s couch, 3. For Scientology (I don’t like things I don’t understand).

Many people don’t like Tom Cruise because they think he’s insane. I don’t blame the guy; imagine being constantly told how great you are and never being told no your entire adult life? There’s no way you can remain normal after that. If I had that level of fame, I’d have my own E! True Hollywood Story within six weeks.


Number 2 – Sylvester Stallone

Sly personifies toughness and rugged manliness. Sure, he may be 61 years old but there is a 100% chance he could kick your ass in one of two ways: either with a strategically placed Rambo arrow through the skull or a well-timed Rocky roundhouse punch to the kidneys. Here is a sample of Stallone quotes from the Rocky and Rambo franchises to prove that he is the toughest son of a bitch alive:

"You knock him down, how about tryin’ knockin’ me down"

"Hey Tommy, I didn’t hear no bell"

"My ring’s outside"

"To beat me, he’s going to have to be willing to die and I
don’t think he’s ready to do that"

"Live for nothing or die for something"

"You know what you are, what you’re made of. War is in your blood. When you’re pushed, killing’s as easy as breathing"

Why isn’t Sly #1? Well, I agonized over this decision for days, but I couldn’t bring myself to put Stallone at #1 when he’s walking around passing that Halloween mask off as his face. What’s going on there? He looks like he’s melting.

That only leaves . . .

Number 1 – Kevin Costner

Costner, or K-Cost as his close friends call him, is unequivocally the franchise player in Tewk’s Mancrush lineup. Let’s revisit the criteria for attaining Mancrush status and see how K-Cost holds up under intense analysis.

Excessive Handsomeness – Exhibit A above.

Charisma – He literally sweats charisma. Calvin Klein is rumoured to be turning it into a cologne.

Transcendent Talent or Athletic Ability – Costner won two Oscars for Dances with Wolves and is the greatest actor athlete of all time. For proof, check out his swing from Bull Durham, his pitching mechanics in For Love of the Game, his golf game in Tin Cup and even his swimming ability in The Guardian.

"Coolness" – His "cool" quotient was once measured at 7 Kelvins.

Fame – If he’s making an appearance on this blog he’s famous.

Fortune – He has his own jet.

Toughness – He was Wyatt Earp for Chrissakes!

Pipe Laying – I think it goes without saying that Costner is no stranger to the female form. It was even rumoured that he had an affair with Cal Ripken’s wife while the Ironman was putting the finishing touches on his consecutive games streak. A story like that has to be true.

As you can see, there are no weaknesses in Costner’s Mancrush resume. So if anyone out there knows K-Cost, can you show him this article and let him know that I’d be more than willing to help him move or drive him to the airport.

Do you agree with this list? Did I leave anyone out? Post your thoughts to the Comments section.

Tewks is a frequent contributor to Gretzpo’s Sports Blog.

Why I'm Betting $23 on the New York Giants

Every time I'd screw up in a sport, whether it be hockey, baseball, soccer, tennis, golf, bowling, tug of war, ring toss, egg race, and any other picnic related event I'd tell myself "that's okay, nobody's perfect."

"Nobody's Perfect".

So why is it everyone is picking the Patriots to win the Super Bowl? The way I see it, they're due for a loss.

Take a look at this somewhat factual analysis I just made up:

Quarterback:
Tom Brady threw 50 TD passes this season: an NFL record.

Eli Manning is taking care of the ball extremely well thus far in the playoffs: committing no turnovers. Moreover, he is a huge Seinfeld fan. However, he lists one of his favorite hobbies as "antiquing in the offseason with his mother and fiancee."

The Edge: Draw

Running Back:
One of the knocks on Laurence Maroney is that he doesn't hit the hole hard, leaving him very unpopular amongst female fans.

Brandon Jacobs is a freak of nature: at 6'4, 265lbs he possesses 4.54 speed (which, from what I hear, is pretty fast).

The Edge: Giants

Wide Receiver:
Randy Moss' 2007 playoff stats: 2 Receptions, 32 yards

Plaxico Burress' playoff stats: 16 Receptions, 194 yards, 1 rescinded arrest warrant

The Edge: Giants

Defense:
With Junior Seau in their linebacking corps, the average age of the Patriots Defense jumps up to an astonishing 57 years old.

Osi Umenyiora, Justin Tuck, and Michael Strahan combined for 32 sacks on the season.

The Edge: Giants

Coaching:
Bill Belichick: Tapes play calling to gain a competitive advantage.

Tom Coughlin: Doesn't cover up his face in sub zero temperatures.

The Edge: Patriots

Intangibles:
"Nobody's Perfect"

The Edge: Giants

Winner, and your next Super Bowl Champs, the New York Giants.

Rambo: I'll have the testosterone with a side of carnage

Firstly, during the trailers for Rambo we saw a preview for a movie called "Midnight Meat Train" - about a man who murders women on the subway, then covers it up by hiding them in a butcher's shop. Although there was laughter at this pseudo-sexual name, the howls were loudest amongst me and my friends (Tewks included). I mean... who greenlighted this title?

John Rambo is an incredible movie: anyone who says anything different has no testicles. Allow me to give you a brief, spoiler free run down (may contain spoilers):

We join Rambo in Burma where he catches snakes for a living. A group of do-good Christians proposition him to do some guide work further North, as they're trying to bring medical supplies, and, of course, bibles, to victims of a violent civil war.

Rambo's so badass he won't help anyone: "fuck the world", he says. However, since bringing him into contact with the Burmese army is essential to him eventually killing them all, he reluctantly agrees to the job.

After a brief (and bloody) encounter with some badass Burmese pirates, the group arrives at their destination. Of course, they're captured within minutes, setting up the violent, "one man against one hundred to rescue these white people" climax we're all expecting.

But wait: Rambo is joined by a stereotype-ridden United Nations of mercenaries: since, you know, Rambo's getting old, and can't do it by himself any more.

At this point, one wonders how the "Christ Church of Colorado" was able to hire out a half dozen mercenaries. Where would this go on the church ledger?

Church Repairs $ 500
New Organ $ 1,000
Sunday School Supplies $ 50
Asian Mercenaries $ 10,000,000

Nevertheless, the rag-tag group sets out on its journey. Here are the highlights:

Ripping out a guy's throat
Sharpshooting heads off
Lethal Archery
Christians killing the Burmese with rocks
Killing Burmese by the second with a huge, turret man-gun
Outrunning a small atomic blast
Gutting a Burmese general like a fish

So, yeah... although it was reported there were 100 Burmese in the camp, I think that many were killed in the first minute of the assault. Wave after wave of Burmese coming up over the hill, and wave after wave being gunned down by Rambo's man gun.

At the end of the movie, Rambo looks to further reconnect with his past. I missed this part though, since I was distracted with Tewks getting up to leave the theatre: presumably to catch the next flight to Burma.

American Gladiators: Man Journal

In these times of rehashing everything that was once popular, it’s refreshing that one of my favorite programs growing up, American Gladiators, has finally been revamped and updated. Of course, nothing says modernization like using a washed up 80’s wrestling star to host - give me an old pro like Mike Adamle - but nevertheless, it’ll be good to see ‘roided up juice monkeys beat down on regular joes after a 15 year hiatus.

Although other popular sports blogs have popularized the term "running diary", I’ve been told by society that only chicks keep diaries: real men record their daily thoughts in journals. So, this man journal contains the conversation myself and Tewks had during the 2 Hour Premiere of American Gladiators:

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:00 - Ok, here we go. I don't know about you Gretzpo, but I am positively rigid with anticipation.

Gretzpo says:
9:00 - I too am rigid ... wow... looks like they scoured the 4 corners of the earth for an ethnically diverse / stereotype ridden group of gladiators

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:01 - What's the over/under on the number of lesbian female gladiators?

Gretzpo says:
9:02 - I'll tell you once I know how many there are ... remember on the old show? The deaf femlae gladiator? She proved that even those with handicaps can still roid up and beat the hell out of average people

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:03 - I think that was Marlee Matlin's cousin. I miss Mike Adamle and Larry Csonka right now. That intro was brutal.

Gretzpo says:
9:03 - Titan looks gay... Justice looks like he just got out of prison... Hellga ... that's a lot of woman. We'll wait until we see them writhing and sweaty... but some of these female gladiators look pretty hot

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:05 - I'd like to deposit my ball into some of these girls pods.

Gretzpo says:
9:05 - Wow... I was typing that as well... Hulk Hogan can't interview anyone... where's Mean Gene Okurland when you need him?

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9: 06 - AA I believe. I like Powerball. Venom; nothing wrong with that.

Gretzpo says:
9:07 - We have our first casualty... it goes to show what kind of shape America's in when they can't last 2 minutes in a game of powerball without getting injured. Although, the real highlight for me in that segment was when the announcer said "Justice Gave Him a Facial": sounded like a John Grisham novel.

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:08 - Out in the first event? Way to make your children proud Jessi.

Gretzpo says:
9:09 - First commercial break... one female contender I've already forgotten the name of leads the maimed female contender

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:09 - We could just call them white and black? Is that racist?

Gretzpo says:
9:09 - Is that an aside? Or did you want our faithful readers to see that?

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:10 - I don't think he'll care.

Gretzpo says:
9:10 - If you take the names of the Gladiator events and put "Sex" / "Sexual" in front of it... you get yourself a humurous situation ... until you get to "Sexual Assault"

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:11 - Chad "The Skater" looks like he wants to ball someone.

Gretzpo says:
9:11 - I don't care much for the skater culture... I hope he tears an ACL

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:13 - I think Wolf is first up for "Sexual Assault."

Gretzpo says:
9:14 - The female version of Gladiators is so far inferior. Why do they even have women compte?

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:15 - For the opportunity to see some boobs? Who is this narrator? He makes Ron Mclean's puns look hilarious.

Gretzpo says:
9:16 - "Sexual Joust" ... sounds like a gay movie

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:17 - Oh god. Ok Venus, we get it. You're an immigrant; found the American dream, blah blah blah

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:18 - Dear God Crush is gorgeous.

Gretzpo says:
9:17 - I'll joust with Crush... wow... I'd like to put my pugil stick into her hot spot

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:18 - Easy big fella.

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:23 - The women are boring. I would have liked to see some appearances by some of the greats of the show: Nitro, Laser, Wesley "Two Scoops" Barry....

Gretzpo says:
9:23 - Agreed... not enough of an homage to old school... I don't like all the respect the contenders give to the gladiators

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:25 - I like the addition of a pool. Better than those crash pads.

Gretzpo says:
9:25 - Chad... nice little jab at Wolf... uh-oh... "Gotta Move!"... I like this addition of Gladiators pandering to the crowd though... makes me hate them even more

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:26 - I think Chad wants Wolf to do more than just "lay on him."

Gretzpo says:
9:27 - "Sexual Earthquake"

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:27 - I like these mythological nicknames. Although 90% of the audience doesn't get it.

Gretzpo says:
9:28 - I like the addition of lean, fit female gladiators... rather than women that could bench press 400 pounds

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:29 - We haven't seen Hellga yet. I think her event is the "Buffet."

Gretzpo says:
9:32 - "Sexual Hit and Run"

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:33 - With a special appearance by Gladiator Rob Ramage.

Gretzpo says:
9:33 - Wow... bravo. What do you think of these new events?

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:34 - This one is too easy. Just stay low and you can't get hit.

Gretzpo says:
9: 35 - I'm hoping they've kept breakthrough and conquer

Gretzpo says:
9:35 - You know... let's just rip off football and wrestling in the same event

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:36 - I hope its still here too. Just use some good old fashioned man muscle.

Gretzpo says:
9:37 - "Sexual Pyramid" ... I actually lost some savings in a sexual pyramid scheme once

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:38 - A hooker in Reno who stole your wallet doesn't constitute a sexual pyramid scheme.

Gretzpo says:
9:38 - "Venom" and "Crush" are the Gladiators... I gotta say... good ratio of hot Gladiators so far

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:39 - I think I just saw a muff dive.

Gretzpo says:
9:45 - We're back... the firefighter beat the tattooed skateboarder in this event... this truly is a microcosm of American society: the hero and the malcontent

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:47 - Ok we need to get rid of the banter between events; I'm losing my semi.

Gretzpo says:
9:49 - This Eliminator is good... new course... swimming under fire... not bad

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:49 - To borrow a line from Dodgeball watching these women work through the Eliminator is like watching a couple of retards trying to hump a doorknob.

Gretzpo says:
9:50 - Okay... wow... that was strangely compelling tv... have someone with a 45 second lead blow it because she couldn't run up a treadmill... she didn't even touch the incline button during her home training

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:51 - Is the black girl still clinging to the treadmill? Can someone help her?

Gretzpo says:
9:52 - I love how everyone brags about "finishing"... I would've just given up

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:53 - As my many ladies can attest, Tewks always finishes what he starts.

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:56 - Laila Ali. Penis or no penis? I think it's a wash.

Gretzpo says:
9:56 - 16 second head start? I'd be finished by then... so to speak... you know... with the obstacle course

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:57 - Of course. I would never impugn your sexual stamina. I'm 90% sure the referee is the same guy from Dodgeball.

Gretzpo says:
9:59 - I researched... he was a former AL umpire

Gretzpo says:
9:59 - Maybe he retired because Robbie Alomar spit on him

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
9:59 - A 100 grand for 12 minutes of work? Not too shabby.

Gretzpo says:
10:00 - It's a competition, not a brothel... that's only for the grand champion ...

Tewks - American Gladiators. says:
10:00 - Final thoughts: I'm sticking with this, just for the opportunity to see Venom and Crush dyke it out. I hate Wolf; where's a silver bullet when you need one.

Gretzpo says:
10:00 - As am I... a quality show... Gretzpo's Sports Blog endorses American Gladiators

Talkin’ with Tewks: Mailbag Edition

As another Christmas season winds to a close, it’s important to sit back and reflect on what’s important and what you are thankful for this year (Notice that I said Christmas season and not holiday season; political correctness can kiss my white conservative ass).

What is Tewks thankful for you ask? Thongs, lower back tattoos, romantic comedies, Hero Burger, hot tubs, coitus interruptus and my perfectly symmetrical facial features.

This is my first attempt at a mailbag: the reader response was tremendous as the blog’s hit meter blew up and an astounding total of 12 questions were posted. This is how it’s going to work: the question will be posted in bold and my answer will follow in normal type.

Q: Tewks really like your stuff; since you are living at home I suppose your parents must be pretty hip people as they can put up with such an outrageous character as yourself; keep up the columns I think Reilly is retiring from sports Illustrated.
- Anonymous


A: This comment proves that my readership extends beyond the typical 18 to 34 age demographic. I mean there’s no way anyone under the age of 50 would ever use the word "hip."

To answer your question, my parents have no knowledge of my escapades, sexual or otherwise. This is because I live in the basement which is separated from the rest of the house. It’s very similar to the underground lair that Buffalo Bill had in Silence of the Lambs. I actually have a girl trapped in my well as we speak; I need a new skin tuxedo for New Year’s Eve.

I appreciate the kind words but I don’t think I would work out at SI. I would spend too much time trying to be the official bikini line shaver of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit shoot.

Q: Since you are "Survivor's #1 Fan", I have a question along those lines. If they were to do a MLB Survivor show involving many different athletic challenges and other survival based activities, who would be victorious, Pitchers or Position Players? The only reason I ask, is that I once played on a team where pitchers thought it was outrageous that the position players could out play them in a game of baseball. It was clear who was boss when the pitchers were sodomized in a 2 inning mercy (>10 runs). Tewks, my question is, would the pitchers remain the real 'catchers' (not that there's anything wrong with being a faggot) in an all encompassing 'survivor' challenge? If you believe the Pitchers would be able to outlast, outplay, and ultimately top the Position Players, please explain how, in detail.
- 2006 Ontario Batting Champion

A: Unfortunately I do know the identity of this miscreant who identifies himself as the 2006 Ontario Batting Champion (which is akin to being the best-smelling turd in a shit pile). I will just say this about him: if he had any real baseball talent, he would have warranted an entire chapter to himself in the Mitchell Report.

The views expressed by Mr. Batting Champion in regards to sodomy, ‘catchers’ and faggots are not those of Tewks or Gretzpo’s Sports Blog. Mr. BC seems to be a little too hung up on deriding homosexuals in his rant; methinks the lady doth protest too much.

An MLB Survivor Challenge? I am intrigued by the concept. First off, any challenge that involves puzzles or requires any intelligence whatsoever would be won handily by pitchers. Position players are little more than mouth-breathing Neanderthals who swing clubs for a living. Pitchers are, in my opinion, the most cerebral athletes in sports.

What players make up these respective teams? If the pitchers’ tribe is made up of dregs like Josh Towers or Tanyon Sturtze, the players would win easily. If you put stars versus stars like Greg Maddux, Roy Halladay and Curt Schilling against Albert Pujols, Andruw Jones and David Wright then it would be no contest. The pitchers would use their superior gray matters to outwit, their athletic prowess to outplay and their stamina and conditioning to outlast.

Q: Tewks, great of you to lend a helping hand. I have been in need of some council for a little while now. I have been suffering from CWAD (Chubby Woman Attractive Disorder). Since the middle of October, I've found myself in bed with two real heifers, and it's disturbing. People think I'm an asshole for hating fat people. But that's just not the truth. I value self-respect higher than other people. I'm extremely turned on when I see someone who visibly respects themself. And it's easy to see who does, and who doesn't. Those who chose to be fat clearly do so willingly, and therefore don't have any self-respect. What I ask of other people, is how can you respect a fat person, when they're choosing consciously to present themselves in such fashion? I know I'm not actually attracted to them, that's just preposterous. What should I do about my current trend? And what, as society, should we do to make sure these heifers become locked up, safely quarantined from us 'real' people?
- 6PACK4LIFE

A: Wow. I am legitimately terrified to answer this question for fear of reprisal from the ‘heifers’ that 6PACKFORLIFE apparently slept with. I don’t think you actually hate fat people; you slept with two of them. One transgression is a mistake; two is consciously acting upon your latent desires. Face it 6PACK, you love big women.

The idea of self-respect is another issue. I have no problem with fat people; if they choose to live their lives as unfit and unhealthy that’s their prerogative. My problem is with fat people who ‘"say" they want to lose weight and then complain that they’ve tried all kinds of diets and nothing works. Listen to your man Tewks: losing weight is not rocket science. Each day, burn off more calories than you shove down your throat and weight will come off. It’s that simple.
Lastly, I have to admit that I LOL’d at the thought that fat people are contagious and should be quarantined.

Q: Tewks, finally something worth reading graces the World Wide Web. Although I enjoy your insight on the National Football League, I find your support for the Dallas cowboys despicable. Myself being a die hard eagles fan, I have disregarded all of your Super Bowl picks as a direct boycott toward "America’s Team". But I digress; I wanted to know your take on the currently released Mitchell Report. Do you think this list will effect hall of fame voting for players like Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds, Gary Sheffield etc.?
Oz

Q: Tewks on a serious note - with the George Mitchell inquiry identifying a number of superstars as being on the juice (including the self proclaimed pitching deity "the rocket") how will baseball handle potential hall of fame inductees - will all be ignored or will the deity still make it?
Dwight from Scranton

A: There were a number of people wanting to discuss the Mitchell Report, so with a heavy heart (I too was a Gregg Zaun supporter) I will address the steroids issue now.

I do think that the Mitchell Report and the entire steroids era will impact Hall of Fame voting. Players known just for their prodigious home run power (McGwire, Sosa and power hitters of that ilk) will fall well below the requisite number of votes to reach the Hall.

Clemens and Bonds have nothing to worry about. They were surefire Hall of Famers before their alleged steroid use.

A player like Gary Sheffield is different. I’d argue that, if clean, he has compiled a career worthy of eventual HOF induction. However, I think his use of performance-enhancing drugs will deter most baseball writers from voting him in (and rightly so).

Oz, I appreciate the kind words but if you don’t like my "disrespect" of your Philadelphia Eagles, than perhaps you should support a team whose quarterback eats something other than Chunky Soup (and doesn’t dry heave in the huddle during the Super Bowl).

Q: I was wondering if you caught the Tyra Banks show today. Tyra interviewed Alyssa Milano. (I figured there's a good chance that you watch since you're unemployed and live at home with the parentals.) Alyssa unveiled her new line of baseball apparel for women. She complained of companies marketing sports-fan clothing for women in hideous, non-figure flattering designs. Oh and everything in pink. Her new line offers female baseball fans the choice of cute dresses, stylish baseball influenced blouses and close fitting hoodies. Was wondering what you think of this clothing line and if you think it will be successful in allowing women to simultaneously channel their inner sports fan and fashionista. (as everyone knows that any self respecting woman does not want to dress like the fat slob beside her at the baseball game who is 'pounding brews' with the fellas and looking like a big hot mess). Furthermore, if women can look hot while taking in a game, do you think that this will make women more likely to want to waste a few solid hours watching a painfully boring sport such as baseball?
Anonymous

A: I think it’s safe to say this is my first question from a reader with two X chromosomes. Not only can women vote, but they can have their questions answered in a second-rate sports blog.

I do not watch the Tyra Banks show; she scares me. She looks like one of those mythical Amazon lesbian warriors. I prefer to watch Maury Povich baby daddy paternity tests.

I’m surprised that Alyssa Milano found time in her busy schedule of nailing every member of the National League to design clothes (Carl Pavano, Barry Zito and Brad Penney to name three). If you took a black light to Ms. Milano’s fluid-stained bed sheets, it would look like a goddamn Jackson Pollock painting. That being said, I like the idea of baseball apparel for women as long as the team colours are involved. Pink jerseys, hats, shirts etc. look like the remnants of a Pepto Bismol projectile vomit. I’m not going to dignify your last comment with a response.

Q: I've tried everything to meet women... up to and including being on a Canadian Game Show. Now when I try and use that as a line I'm told that I am "The Weakest Link" ... "goodbye." Any tips?
Anonymous

A: Now this is just pathetic. Gretzpo, under the guise of one of my fans, has implored me to help him pick up women. Unfortunately, this is impossible. To borrow a phrase from Seinfeld (the greatest show ever), me teaching someone to seduce women is akin to asking Picasso how to paint like him.

Q: Longtime reader, first time poster. Tewks, since you seem to be an aficionado in comparative "literature" why don't you parallel another match-up: Randy Moss and Terrell Owens? Okay, okay in keeping with the silver platter of your fan posts, I'll now move on to baseball. Do you think that the Mitchell Report (not the one about the Middle East) will impact the attendance rates this year? Why was Bonds targeted for steroid-use over someone like Roger Clemens? Is there another non-racial explanation? Happy blog trails.
Mrs. Crash Davis

A: Exactly what am I supposed to parallel? Who would I rather have on my team? To quote Lieutenant Sam Weinberg, I’d take Moss everyday and twice on Sunday. While both players have transcendent talent and are prone to lapses in "effort" from time to time, I think Moss has a bigger heart.

If this was the movie Rudy, Moss would be Daniel E. "Rudy" Reuttiger and TO would be his brother Frank, who could have made All Conference if he wasn’t such a pussy (Coach Gillespie’s words, not mine). Therefore, with a game on the line, I’d want to be throwing to Randy Moss.
The Mitchell Report will have no deleterious effects on MLB attendance rates this year. The explanation for Bonds being targeted for steroids and not Clemens has nothing to do with race.

It has to do with the fact that Bonds is a colossal prick.

Q: Tewks, knowing that you enjoy the company of a woman late at night, here's a ladies question. At what point is a girl too drunk to take home? Does it depend on how hot the girl is/how drunk you are?
Creep

A: Wow. This question is like the beginning of a sexual assault instructional video. I’m sure Roman Polanski is awaiting my response with bated breath.

However, don’t think for a minute I will not answer this question. If the lady is coherent and can walk under her own power, then you’re ok. Anything less would be uncivilized.

Q: Just one question: Boxers or briefs?
Sexy Sadie

A: The only people privy to that information are the ladies that I frequent with. If you play your cards right, maybe you’ll be able to answer that question for yourself.

Q: The other night ESPN aired a one hour special, Capital One Presents: NFL Legends. The show was narrated by (the man) Tom Selleck and highlighted the careers of NFL QBs Manning, Brady and Favre (all of whom you have addressed in your previous columns). Selleck constantly (and not surprisingly) compared the three to Joe Montana. In your opinion, with Montana as the standing example, who best embodies an "NFL Legend"?Also, who would you do?
Sexy Sadie

A: You may wonder why I decided to answer two questions from Sadie. Well, she promised me a spirited bout of fellatio if I posted both of her comments. So now all of you know how to get more than question posted in a future mailbag.

Right now I’ll have to give the title of NFL Legend to Tom Brady because of his three Super Bowl victories (soon to be four).

Who would I do? Come on, that’s a no brainer. Tom Selleck, hands down. And I wouldn’t just lay there.

Tewks is a frequent contributor to Gretzpo’s Sports Blog.

Mitchell Report: Lost Files

As our readership grows, so does our commitment to provide you with the sort of fictional cutting edge news stories you won't find on other free blogging sites with a weekly readership of 15.

So, as we head into the new year, it's only right that we tarnish more reputations with "The Mitchell Report: The Lost Files". The following four names appeared in this special edition previously unreleased to the public:

#1. 1980 U.S. Men's Hockey Team (Olympic Gold Medal Winners)

Do you believe in miracles!?! No... not really.

#2. Clubber Lang (Former Heavyweight Champion)

He lives alone, he trains alone, he juices alone. Two instances of unmitigated aggression point to Clubber's use of performance enhancing drugs: his infamous "Hey Woman" diatribe at Rocky's statue unveiling, and his slaughtering of an endangered bald eagle to fashion himself a pair of designer ear rings.



#3. Al Bundy (Polk High's all-time leading rusher, recorded 4 TD in one game)

Remember how this show was lewd for it's time, and was a groundbreaker for smut in prime time television in the 90's? It was amazing how anything could be related back to sex:

Al: And I would've scored 5 TD in one game had I not been 6 inches short that day.

Peg: It's ironic... now you're 6 inches too short in the bedroom every night!

Laugh Track: (Howls)

Sitcom Writing 101 by Ferguson Gretzposito: in stores now.

#4. Jimmy Chitwood (Hickory Huskers leading scorer, malcontent)

The 'roids gave Chitwood the confidence to make his famous "I'll Make It" guarantee against South Bend Central High School in the 1951 Indiana State High School Basketball Championships. On a professional level, this is the same sort of confidence Roger Clemens gained to have him actually pitch well in a game that mattered.

Gretzpo

The Funniest Trailer in the History of the World

Merry Christmas from all of us here at Gretzpo's sports blog.

A couple of my jerkass friends made a movie, and here's the trailer for it. Of course, their success makes me spiteful and bitter ... but I have to admit that it looks pretty good.



All the best in the new year,

Gretzpo

Gregg Zaun: A Retraction

Gregg Zaun is the epitome of all that is wrong in sports. If that scowl had a caption, it would read: "I just roided up and am looking to strike someone."

My favorite Gregg Zaun moments: every time he was humiliated trying to throw a runner out at second, and every weak pop fly he hit with runners in scoring position. I once met Laura MacDonald, John MacDonald's wife, during a food drive: one of the first things I asked her was, "where's Gregg Zaun's wife?" Apparently she was hosting the steroid drive down the street.

Zaun's got one of those great names that's pretty much a nickname built in: "Zauner". Unfortunately, I'll be referring to him as "Jerk", "Cheater", or "Douchebag" from now on.

Things were not always this way... my fandom for Cheater was once unparalelled:

http://gretzposito.blogspot.com/2007/09/tribute-to-gregg-zaun.html