Ballard Named Marlins New Hitting Coach

What a weird week for the National Hockey League.

A rash of freak injuries has overshadowed a great regular season thus far. Joe Corvo, of the Carolina Hurricanes, had his calf slashed open by an errant skate and is expected to miss 8-12 weeks (oddly enough, this is the same injury suffered by Hurricanes' number one goalie, Cam Ward).

It's surprising lacerations like that don't occur more often, considering every player in the game is skating around on two razor sharp blades. I always cringe when guys are checked ass over tea kettle into the bench and their skate blades fly towards unprotected faces like the guillotine favoured by the Jacobins during their Reign of Terror (where else on the web do you get equal doses of comedy and references to the French Revolution?).

Maple Leafs goaltender Jonas Gustavsson was removed from a game against the Montreal Canadiens on Tuesday due to concerns about his elevated heart rate. The precaution taken by the Leafs organization was understandable considering the ablation procedure Gustavsson underwent during training camp to fix his abnormal heart rate.

What I don't understand is that the concern this time was for his elevated heart rate. I mean, the guy is playing professional hockey--it's not like he's having a spot of tea and playing Internet scrabble. I would expect his heart rate to be elevated throughout the course of the game.

I was stapled to the bench for the majority of my hockey career, so my heart rate rarely got above resting levels, but I would imagine these guys are pushing the outer limits of their aerobic capacity, thus an elevated heart rate should be the norm.

The weirdest injury of the week was undoubtedly Keith Ballard's two handed baseball swing upside the head of Tomas Vokoun, his OWN goaltender. What was he thinking? Check it out here. The amazing thing is that Ballard doesn't even seem fazed that he almost decapitated his goalie. He just skates away like nothing happened.

If he did that to an opposing player, he would be suspended for the rest of the season and would probably face criminal charges. Luckily, Vokoun was not seriously injured. Should the Panthers discipline Ballard internally?

He should at least have to sit out one game for being a moron.

I'd love to hear a conversation between Elin Woods and Keith Ballard discussing proper swing mechanics. They are like the Ted Williams and Joe Dimaggio of assaults with a deadly weapon.

Ballard looks to be more of a line drive, singles type hitter with that flat, downward swing plane. Whereas I'm sure Elin has more of power hitter's uppercut capable of reaching the windshield of a Cadillac Escalade.

And, of course, Ballard is a purist who likes to hit with wood and Elin prefers the sweet ping of metal for added distance and power (not to mention rearranging the facial symmetry of a cheating husband).

The (Wandering) Eye of the Tiger

I didn't plan on writing about Tiger again today, but I don't mind for two reasons: my fantastically shrewd column title and the opportunity to post another picture of Mrs. Woods (truthfully, her prone to violence only makes me more attracted to her. She must be a spitfire in the boudoir).

Well, I was correct in two assertions I made in yesterday's column:

1. For the following passage: "This is what I really think happened with Tiger. He probably has stepped out in the past, but there were media rumours of a dalliance with a lady Down Under, so Elin rightfully lost her mind and probably beat the shit out of him."

Lo and behold, out of the woodwork comes other women claiming to have been at the business end of Tiger's flatstick.

2. That my female readers would be upset with me. Their vitriol was especially impressive. It felt like I was attending a taping of The View. Ladies, stop waving your ovaries around like 17th century weapons of mass destruction, and allow me a chance to rebut your comments.

Also, where were my male counterparts coming to my defense? For awhile there, the only guy to make a comment, Allan, wished me bodily harm. Methinks he should spend a little more time working on his weightlifting and a little less time on the internet.

Luckily, I had my boy Dwight from Scranton come to my aid with some positive feedback and regular reader He Who Hits Bombs weigh in on the estrogen fest.

Rambo brought up an interesting hypothetical. If roles were reversed, is it socially acceptable for female professional athletes to take part in the same behaviour? I will answer your question with another question. Is there such thing as a female professional athlete?

Women are attracted to money, fame and power. Men are attracted to looks (broad generalizations yes, but bear with me). I don't know any guy who wants to have sex with Hayley Wickenhesier or some 6'5" mutant from the WNBA.

Bestie, I have to agree with HWHB. When you brought up the "sanctity of marriage", I tuned out. Really? That's what your basing your argument on? Listen up Ann Coulter, leave the religious babble to the talking heads on Fox News.

K-Star pretty much summarized what everyone was trying to say and, for the record, I agree with it: "if you don't want a commitment, don't get married." It's a salient point.

As Marie Antoinette said, you can't have your cake and eat it too.

Look at George Clooney. He has been with hundreds of chicks (undoubtedly a few have overlapped) and women still love the guy. He is living the dream and apparently plans to stay a bachelor for the rest of his life.

I've never understood why so many 21 and 22 year old baseball players get married so young. That's like going to the Mandarin for dinner, seeing different food options as far as the eye can see, and deciding to stick with the sweet and sour chicken balls.

Broaden your horizons, fellas. There's plenty of time to get married and do the family thing once your career's over. Plus, this way you'll avoid getting beat up by your wife at 2:30 in the morning on Thanksgiving.

Good work everyone.

Catch a Tiger By His Tail

I planned on waiting to weigh in on the Tiger Woods situation until all the facts had been determined but, if respected national publications like the New York Times have no problem pouring gasoline on the rumour mill fires, why should I?

They have journalism ethics to worry about; I just have to remember to cover up my man area before I go outside to get the mail.

Tiger, Tiger, Tiger. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

There are two possible stories circulating around the Web but both involve one established fact. Woods was involved in a single vehicle crash in his driveway when he struck both a fire hydrant and a tree.

There are only four possible ways a person could drive so badly: drunk, medicated, injured, pissed off, or some combination of all four. That's it. No person under normal circumstances could pull off such an an accomplished feat of terrible driving (unless it was a woman driver--Ba-dum-cha!)

After the accident, one story has us believing that Tiger's wife Elin smashed the rear window of his SUV to extract Tiger from the vehicle. I'm not a paramedic or trained in emergency services, but if your goal is to extract someone from the FRONT seat, why are you smashing the back window?

The other story is that the window was smashed BEFORE the accident as a result of a domestic dustup between Tiger and his Swedish wife. I wish there was some way the Florida Highway Patrol could figure out how to use a time stamp/CSI wizardry to determine the time of the window smash. Maybe get that math nerd from Numb3rs to come up with some complex club velocity/distance travelled by broken glass logarithm.

Why was Tiger in such a hurry to leave his Orlando residence? There are rumours of possible infidelity on his part. If that's the case, then maybe his reported facial lacerations didn't result from the accident but from the tiny fists of fury of Mrs. Woods.

Now, I have a theory about professional athlete infidelity that will most likely not endear me to my female readers (in fact, I ran the idea past Mama Tewks and she very nearly went Elin Woods on my forehead).

Having extramarital 'associates' is one of the unwritten rules of being a professional athlete. You're on the road the majority of the year and you have women throwing themselves at you in every city. It's inevitable that you would sample the forbidden fruit at some point.

Look, the wives of professional athletes know what they're getting into when they marry these guys. In exchange for the money, wealth and privilege of being an athlete's wife, you are expected to look the other way in such situations. What happens on the road stays on the road.

Unfortunately for these gals, this is not a two way street. Look twice at the pool boy and expect the money train to cease making stops at your station. Is this fair? Nope, but marrying a pro athlete is like making a deal with the devil.

There is one caveat to this unwritten contract. The guy has to ensure he is being discreet about his extracurricular activity. He cannot embarrass his wife by being photographed with a groupie or have rumours of his cheating hit the airwaves.

Once you're caught by the media for an extramarital tryst, all bets are off. You're on your own pal. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. You screwed up your end of this great deal. Time to face the consequences.

This is what I think really happened with Tiger. He probably has stepped out in the past, but there were media rumours of a dalliance with a lady Down Under, so Elin rightfully lost her mind and probably beat the shit out of him.

That's why he was trying to get out of Dodge so fast.

(Tiger, one last bit of advice: tradeups only. I mean look at the pic of Elin at the top of the post. She is smoking hot. The alleged other woman looks like a dude. Come on man, get your head in the game.)

Canadian Football Really Shows Me Something

Big thanks to He Who Hits, and Hits Bombs for handing me today's talking points on a platter. He posted the following to Friday's article last night:

As much as your humble, plump little tush didn't want to watch your alma mater in the Vanier Cup, it turned out to be quite the game. Any change of heart?

And for the culminating CFL game, do we congratulate the win? I mean, winning is winning. At the end of the day, winning is what it's about, but there's also something to be said about losing a game.

Should Rider Nation demand answers? Whose fault was it they had 12 men on the field? Or should we take the high road and high five the Al's for a great comeback win, and leave it at that?

Unfortunately, my humble, little tush was busy on Saturday trying to further my entertainment career and become gainfully employed, something a miscreant like HWHaHB knows nothing about. Therefore, I did not witness the terrific comeback by Queen's University.

But the Grey Cup was basically the same game as the Montreal Alouettes did their best Queen's impression by snatching victory from the jaw of defeat with a furious second half comeback of their own (down 14 at halftime and, more amazingly, down 16 in the fourth quarter).

Before addressing the weird finish to last night's contest, I want to discuss the little things that make Canadian football so quirky.

In the interest of full disclosure, last night was probably the first time in my life I ever watched a Grey Cup game in its entirety, so I really noticed the nuances that make the CFL so uniquely Canadian.

First, how big is that field? It looks like an airport runway. On TV, it appears to be as long as it wide (that's what she said). I'm pretty sure I could throw for at least 200 yards given the opportunity.

I like three down football. It makes the game move so much faster and provides more opportunities for offensive explosions. Also, it ensures that no fourth quarter lead is safe (with last night providing a perfect example).

How do the final three minutes of the game work? Sometimes the clock would stop on a running play in bounds, but start up again before the ball was snapped? The clock appeared to stop after every down no matter what happened. Can someone please shed some light on this for me?

How great was Blue Rodeo in the halftime show? They are a terrific band and played a tremendous set last night. Give me a band like Blue Rodeo any day of the week and twice on Sundays over the formulaic pop drivel pumped out by our friends to the South.

The performance had an intimate club feel, right down to the small crowd congregating around the stage. There was a moment during 'Lost Together' that was quintessentially Canadian: a close-up of a husband and wife combo slow dancing to the song clad in full Riders regalia.

Back to the game, I say we congratulate Montreal for the win. Just so my other readers don't think you're an idiot HWHaHB, if the Riders indeed only had 12 men on the field, then we would be talking about a Saskatchewan victory right now. The Riders had THIRTEEN men on the field in the dying seconds.

I don't know who is to blame for such an egregious mistake, nor do I want to point fingers. But I love how the Riders handled that very question in the postgame interviews. Amidst a crushing defeat, it would have been easy to start throwing guys under the bus but the Riders handled the situation with great class.

They basically intimated that they made the Grey Cup as a team and they will lose as a team. Would that ever happen in the 'me-first' NFL? Not likely. I have officially adopted the Saskatchewan Roughriders as the official football team of Talkin' with Tewks. Pass the watermelon.

And, as a nation, let's pat ourselves on the back for a great weekend of football.

La Coupe Grey

I am surprised to admit it but I think I have a mild case of three down football fever. Over the past two weeks I, with increasing interest, have been following both the CFL and CIS playoffs and, for the first time ever, actually care about the outcomes of the title games this weekend.

My alma mater, Queen’s University, is vying for the Vanier Cup against the University of Calgary tomorrow afternoon. I have always had a strong distaste for Canadian university football and this stems from my time as an undergraduate student.

When I was at Queen’s, the football team was beyond awful; I mean historically bad. On the other hand, the baseball team, of which I was an integral cog, enjoyed back to back National Championship appearances, culminating in a win in 2004.

What team got more respect and notoriety from the school media and administration? The football team, which was total bullshit. We had a top notch program and struggled to get any sort of funding from the university, while the football team, which couldn’t lose by less than 25 points, got whatever their little hearts desired.

Funding should be based on team success. Queen’s football is great right now and the baseball program stinks (coincidentally since I left); therefore, the football rightfully deserves more money.

While I will be cheering for Queen’s, I won’t actually watch the game. CIS football is terrible to watch, especially compared to the US college game. I went to one game in my freshman year and was appalled to see quarterbacks not able to throw further than 30 yards and kickers who were happy to get the ball airborne. No thanks.

For you SAT fans: CIS football is to American college football like the Special Olympics are to the real Olympics.

However, I am legitimately excited for the Grey Cup on Sunday. The game is wrought with interesting storylines. Can the Montreal Alouettes, with their high octane attack and tremendous regular season success, finally win the big one? Can the underdog Saskatchewan Roughriders pull off an upset?

The Riders are supposed to have the most passionate fans in all of the CFL and why wouldn’t they? What the hell else is there to do in Saskatchewan? Organizers are expecting a decidedly partisan crowd, so will the transplanted home game for the Riders be their key to victory?

I’m leaning towards a Saskatchewan victory, only because they are led by a trio of Canadian receivers: Robb Bagg, Andy Fantuz, and Chris Getzlaf.

Getting back to the topic of political correctness from Tuesday, I saw a newspaper headline that pissed me off. It was a Grey Cup preview and it said that the Roughriders offense was led by “Slow, white, Canadians’? How is that appropriate?

What if an analogous article was written about another team pinning their success to “Fast, black, Americans? I’m pretty sure the discrimination police would have their panties in a twist.

For the record, I have no problem with the original heading. I just hate the double standard and the fact everyone has to be so damn sensitive about everything. Life is hard enough as it is, let’s all lighten up a bit.

Have a good weekend.

Who is the Worst Winter Sports Team in Toronto?

Ordinarily, I would pick the Maple Leafs hands down and not think twice.

(FYI, I am not impressed by the Leafs’ current mini streak where they’ve garnered five of a possible six points in their last three games. They are still 29th in a 30 team league. Plus, in typical fashion, the Toronto sports media can’t get back on the bandwagon quick enough, evidenced by the Toronto Stars’ ridiculous ‘The Road to Redemption?’ headline in this morning’s sports section. Thanks for proving your stupidity, guys!)

However, I watched the Toronto Raptors play the Bobcats last night and a new contender has emerged for the title of worst team in Toronto (a 35 point loss tends to put you in the running). Ok, well I didn’t so much watch the game as I checked out two minutes of highlights this morning, but I have such an attuned sports eye that I can disseminate the fortunes of a team in one highlight package.

We’ve been told all year how great the Raptor’s offence is. That’s great to hear and makes for exciting basketball to watch (I’m told), but let us not forget that there are two ends in a basketball court.

The Raptor’s defence is TERRIBLE. In 120 seconds of highlights, every defensive possession had at least four Toronto players standing around, not moving their feet, and not within an arm’s reach of an opposing player.

I’m not a basketball genius, but I believe it’s prudent to maybe put your hand in someone’s face when they’re trying to shoot or, oh I don’t know, block their path to the basket. Apparently, such defensive strategy is lost on the Raptors.

Usually, you blame defensive miscues on the coach, but Jay Triano is the only member of the organization with a little grit and sandpaper in him. Have you seen the footage of Triano snapping the dry erase board over his knee during a timeout last week? Fantastic stuff.

To play good defence in the NBA you need blue collar guys not afraid to get their hands dirty and relish opportunities for physical play. You need a certain degree of toughness that can’t be taught—it’s an innate skill burned into your DNA.

Do any of the following players sound like they possess the above: Andrea Bargnani, Marco Bellini, Hedo Turkgolu, Chris Bosh or Amir Johnson?

I don’t see one guy capable of playing with a stubbed toe, let alone a monster in the defensive zone.

The Raptors are soft. They get pushed around on a nightly basis because they have no one on their roster capable of stepping up to opposing tough guys.

The softness starts with the guy responsible for hiring all of these defensive stiffs: general manager Brian Colangelo. He is a European-styled dandy who looks like he should be one of the contestants on Project Runway rather than the GM of an NBA team.

I’ll bet Colangelo falls to pieces if his $600 Italian loafers get a smudge; how are his players supposed to project a rough, tough exterior when they have Liberace as their boss?

The Raptors should get rid of Colangelo and bring back Charles Oakley as an assistant coach. Then Bosh and the boys will get on the job training in truculence.

Not That There's anything Wrong With That

Before I begin, an excellent comment was posted on yesterday’s diatribe against technology. He Who Hits and Hits Bombs made a salient argument for technology when pointing out that my carousel of boner-inducing ladies is only made possible because of advances in technology.

A similar picture would be a pixilated disaster on the original Nintendo Entertainment System. I salute technology for giving us the ability to view sexy babes in high quality from the comfort of our living rooms. And thanks to HWHaHB for bringing this to my attention (and also for suggesting today’s babe).

The big story reverberating around the sports world this morning is the admission by the son of Toronto Maple Leafs General Manager Brian Burke: Brendan Burke is an openly gay man.

Now, I’m not going to get up on my moral high horse and declare that homosexuality is a sin because it says so in the Bible. The Bible also says that premarital sex and excessive alcohol consumption are sins, so it’s not really a piece of literature I want to associate myself with.

If you’re gay, be gay. I don’t really care. That’s your choice (especially if you’re a hot chick willing to experiment). I didn’t initially understand why this story even constitutes news until I read that Brendan Burke is a student manager for the Miami University (Ohio) hockey team. He watches and breaks down scouting video of opponents and keeps goaltender statistics.

The ESPN.com article that broke the story was a tremendously positive piece of journalism that detailed how accepting everyone was to Burke’s admission that he was gay. I think it’s fantastic that the Burke family was so accepting of their son and brother, but I find it hard to believe that the Miami hockey team was 100% supportive of this admission.

Look, I have played on dozens of different sports teams and the locker room is not a place for the faint of heart. Guys make fun of and insult each other constantly; it’s what we do. That’s why I can’t buy Miami coach Enrico Blasi’s assertion that the players “are very sensitive to language and how they talk in the locker room.”

Bullshit.

You could walk into any locker room in North America and within five minutes you would hear one guy call another ‘gay’ or a ‘fag’ for doing something stupid. It’s not meant to be derogatory; it’s just part of the sports team culture. You will get insulted for being different. We make fun of people for being stupid, short, fat, skinny, black, white or Asian. Nothing is off limits.

It’s not meant to be malicious, it’s just that making fun of each other is how guys show admiration for one another. Is it politically correct behaviour? Of course not, but we don’t give a shit.

We have to be politically correct in pretty much every facet of life; give us the locker room to do as we please. It’s really no one’s business except the guys on the team.

Would I have a problem with Brendan Burke being my team manager? Absolutely not.

Where the situation gets tricky is if Burke was a member of the team and took showers after games and practices with the guys. There would be some players uncomfortable with being naked in front of someone who could theoretically be interested in them sexually.

There’s a reason why teams with mixed gender players have to shower and change separately. There is a fear of things becoming sexual. I’m not saying I would be worried a gay player would try to come on to me while I’m soaping up, but there would be some slight trepidation.

I look at it this way: would I be uncomfortable getting naked in front a straight girl to whom I had zero physical attraction? Yes. This is the same issue. Just because I don’t want to be naked in front of the guy doesn’t mean I hate him or am repulsed by his sexual orientation.

And don’t call me homophobic; I watch Will and Grace for Christ’s sake.

I Don't Like Technology

I am really hurting for a column topic today for two reasons: nothing is piquing my interest from the sports and entertainment realm and my new laptop was shipped to me yesterday afternoon and I am currently trying to figure out how to use it.

To my chagrin, the new Windows 7 operating system very closely mimics the setup of a Mac. I have never liked Macs or their users: pretentious arts nerds who spent all of their free time sitting in Starbucks writing the next great screenplay.

Listen up losers: no one cares what you are writing about. Maybe if you spent more time constructing interesting dialogue and convincing character interplay instead of looking around to see whose watching you while you sip your mocha frappachino, you’d have written more than three pages in the last eight months.

I know Microsoft made all these changes under the guise of creating a more user-friendly computing experience, but I am more confused than ever. No, I don’t want to personalize my laptop by setting up the background theme and mood of my computer. What the hell does that mean anyway? I’m not using the Hal 5000 here.

All I want from a laptop is the ability to write on a decent version of Microsoft Word and to watch porn. That’s it. That is all I require from a computer. Now I have to deal with prompts asking me to “Discover Windows 7”, “Personalize Windows”, “Share with a Homegroup” and “Change UAC Settings.”

Look, I’m sure early adopters love all the technological advances available on this new operating system, but I consider myself to be old school. I’m a modern day Renaissance man who is resistant to change. I try to limit my subservience to technology. I don’t take my cell phone with me to the gym or the movies, I don’t watch TV with my computer on my lap and I don’t use the Internet to find love (you know who you are).

I feel the same way about video games. I haven’t been able to play video games in over 10 years because they are too hard and the controllers have too many buttons. Have you seen the Xbox 360 controller? I bet the Apollo program contained less technology and was easier to navigate than that monstrosity.

My video game expertise ended with the original Nintendo. Give me a controller with two buttons, a directional pad and a scrolling 2D experience and I am a video game wizard. I implore anyone to beat me at Blades of Steel; I assure you it cannot be done.

I don’t understand the fascination of playing games that take 10 hours to figure out and require you to converse with other losers over the Internet on microphones. Do I need to immerse myself in a virtual world for eight hours a day because my life is a pathetic mess (don’t answer that)?

I would much rather lift weights and engage in amourous embraces with willing, REAL, members of the opposite sex. That way I don’t risk overstimulation and accidentally shoot my wad on the screen because I made it to level 4 on Call of Duty 2.

The Stinker Bowl

(Quick addendum to Friday’s column: thanks to Thy Drunken Rookie for posting a comment informing me that the statute of limitation for retroactive drug tests is eight years. There’s a lesson for the rest of you: if you post a name and a helpful comment or question, I will mention you in a future column)

The NFL season culminates in February with the grand daddy of all sports event spectacles: The Super Bowl. It typically pits the best two teams in the league against one another to decide the greatest team of that particular season.

Therefore, I find it only fitting that, at close to the midpoint of the season, the National Football League gave us one of the worst regular season matchups in recent history: the woeful Detroit Lions versus the pitiful Cleveland Browns (a more fitting team nickname I cannot fathom) yesterday afternoon.

Heading into the game, both teams had identical 1-8 won-loss records and offenses that could best be described as anemic. I already made my feelings clear on Brady Quinn last week; Lion’s quarterback Matthew Stafford hasn’t fared much better. However Stafford has more of an excuse because he’s a true rookie and is forced to play behind Detroit’s porous offensive line.

So what happened when Browns and Lions collided? Naturally, a shootout took place. Both quarterbacks played extremely well. Together, they combined for nine touchdown passes and 726 passing yards. What does this tell you?

Well, it tells me that despite how bad Quinn and Stafford have played this year at the helm of terrible offenses, the Browns’ and Lions’ defences are somehow WORSE. That is a terrifying thought. What happens if either Cleveland or Detroit has to face a hot quarterback with a, you know, good offensive playbook?

We could be at the forefront of witnessing the NFL’s first team to put up 100 points in a single contest. If given the opportunity, Peyton Manning could literally throw for a mile of offense against either team. His arm would fall off by halftime and every Colts receiver would be wearing oxygen masks.

I must say, The Stinker Bowl was an extraordinarily exciting game to watch. It was a back and forth affair that had a terrific denouement: a desperation heave into the endzone by Stafford, a shaky pass interference call and a short TD toss by Stafford with no time remaining to give the Lions their third victory in two calendar years (that is not a typo).

Kudos to Stafford for bringing plenty of M-A-N to the contest—he hurt his shoulder on his Hail Mary bomb when he was bludgeoned to the turf by a Cleveland lineman but, instead of coming out of the game, he hung in there long enough to win the game for his team. It was an impressively gutty performance, which undoubtedly won him the respect of his teammates.

Brady Quinn still sucks.

With Gold Up, IOC Takes One Back

The International Olympic Committee has decided to retroactively strip two athletes of their medals from the Beijing Games and disqualify four others because of positive doping tests.

I think it’s great that the IOC is so stringent and committed to punishing drug cheats, but waiting 16 months to do so seems a little ridiculous. According to reports, the athletes tested positive for CERA, which is an advanced version of the drug EPO (it has something to do with making your blood superhuman).

Apparently these guys tested negative in Beijing, but then tested positive in April when a more accurate test for CERA became available. Here’s where I have a bit of a problem. This retroactive punishment could get wildly out of hand in the near future.

Is the IOC doping agency going to start stockpiling all athlete samples and test them in the future as new and improved doping tests become available? Is Usain Bolt going to have his medals taken away in the year 2040 because they created a new test for some scientifically advanced super drug?

There has to be a statute of limitations on such procedure. We can’t have a rash of senior citizens being stripped of medals they won fifty years earlier because of overzealous anti-doping czars.

Imagine you’re in a retirement home trying to get your freak on with Ethel, the hot, young 70 year old new resident. From your wheelchair, you brag about your Olympic glory a lifetime ago, only to have some jerkoff come into the rec room at leisure time and take your medal away. I’d be pissed. The IOC just salted your game big time and dashed, perhaps, your last chance at sex on this earth.

Also, if the positive test came out in April, why did they wait until now to release the results? What else does the IOC have to do in the meantime: take bribes of cash and sexual favours from the Rio De Janeiro Olympic Committee?

The gold medallist caught in this scandal was Rashid Ramzi, a middle distance runner from Bahrain who won the prestigious men’s 1500 metre race. To no one’s surprise, it was Bahrain’s first ever gold medal in Olympic history.

Does taking Ramzi’s medal away at this point really matter that much? Imagine the accolades and attention Ramzi has gotten in his country for his epic win. Money, fame—I’m sure he’s a national hero. He had a good run as Olympic champion. Really, the only thing the positive test will do is preclude him from future competition.

He’s already climbed his sport’s highest mountain. Why not just retire and become an oil baron like everyone else in Bahrain (or whatever it is they do there)?

The best part about this is the IOC ‘ordering’ Ramzi to give his medal back. I’d tell them to Go Fuck Themselves. He’s not going to get arrested if he keeps it. They have no legal recourse. He won’t run again anyway, so there is no incentive for him to return the medal.

The IOC is like the public library. They can make toothless threats (charge you a quarter a day for an overdue book), but if you want to keep your book, you can keep it. They are powerless to stop you. So they’ll take away your library card, big deal.

You already have the book you want.

A Tale of Two Leafs

I am writing about the Toronto Maple Leafs way too much (once is more than enough), but I feel it is my duty to be the voice of reason in the moronic world known as the Toronto sports media landscape.

When the Leafs lost their first eight games of the season, pundits blasted the team saying they were going to be the worst team in NHL history, and callers on the Fan 590 explored the possibility of the Leafs going 0-82. People couldn’t get off the bandwagon fast enough.

Then, when the Leafs won two games in a row at the start of the month, the news was all about how the Leafs had “turned a corner” and the scribes at the Toronto Star were breathlessly prepping Brain Burke for sainthood and guaranteeing a playoff appearance. The bandwagon, once again, was full.

Can we just all agree that the Leafs are a shitty team who will not make the playoffs this year? They’re not the worst team ever, but they have just as much of a chance to win the Cup this year as I do of pleasing a woman sexually.

The extreme polarity among Leaf supporters regarding the team’s chances has unfortunately carried over to their opinions of two of the team’s young stars: Phil Kessel and Luke Schenn.

Look, Phil Kessel is a very good National Hockey League Player. He has performed admirably in limited action this season and possesses one of the best releases in the game. However, to hear Leaf Nation describe him, you would think he’s Maurice Richard with one testicle.

Kessel will be a consistent 30 goal scorer in the league, but let’s hold off on planning his Hall of Fame induction speech, shall we? The reason he has looked so good in a Leafs uniform is that the players around him are terrible. I’m an awful soccer player, but if you put me on the pitch against a team of 6 year olds I’ll look like Pele out there.

I realize talking sense into Leafs fans is akin to telling a stripper to keep her clothes on, but I would appreciate if we could all temper our expectations on Mr. Kessel, at least until he’s played ten games or so.

At the other end of the spectrum is Luke Schenn. He can do nothing right in the eyes of the media right now. Everyone wants to know what’s wrong with Luke Schenn? Here’s a thought: HE’S 20 YEARS OLD!!

Do you realize how hard it is to play in the NHL as a twenty year old defenseman? He’s playing the toughest position in the game against the most skilled players in the world. Give the guy a break. When I was twenty, I spent the majority of my time skipping economics classes and trying to get freshman girls to touch me in my special area.

Schenn is going to have some growing pains, it’s inevitable. Unfortunately, last year, the media built him to be some sort of defensive saviour when, in actuality, he should be commended for playing a regular shift at this point in his career.

You can see how the media attention and questions are starting to have adverse affects on young Luke. He’s trying way too hard to make the perfect play on the ice and “redeem” himself in the eyes of Leafs Nation.

Did you see the game in Ottawa where Schenn fought Senator’s tough guy Chris Neil? The kid was terrified before they started trading punches. He has zero confidence right now. Schenn should not be counted on to fight, but he was just trying to endear himself to the Toronto press.

Leave the kid alone.

2012 Can't Come Soon Enough

I went on a heterosexual man date last night with a close friend of mine to see the newest entrant in the disaster-porn genre, 2012. Let me begin by saying that if this Roland Emmerich directed debacle is indicative of the cinematic fare Hollywood is poised to unleash to the masses, then I will welcome the Rapture with open arms.

(For those readers bemoaning a second consecutive post with nary a mention of sports, how about this: 2012 is like the Toronto Maple Leafs 2009-10 Season. I didn’t expect much going in, was hoping to be pleasantly surprised, but was ultimately left laughing at inopportune times and wondering how they could spend so much money on such a mediocre product.)

What a stinker. The movie was a complete mess from the beginning. Here is a spoiler-free rundown on my thoughts (warning: may contain spoilers):

At a robust running time of 2.5 hours, you would think there would have been more time spent on the explanation for the global catastrophe. Instead, we got two minutes of people saying “Oh my God” while looking distraughtly at computer screens and a half-baked explanation about neutrinos and solar flares.

Why is it that in every movie of this ilk the only people smart enough to figure out the doomsday scenario are Americans? This is how the US views the rest of the world. They sit there and use their brains to figure out how to save humanity while the rest of us sit there and fling our crap at each other.

The disaster scenes were incredibly cool the first couple of times, but after awhile you just get numb to all the destruction and laugh at how implausible everything is. The scenes were so obviously CGI’ed and on such a large scale that there was no emotional attachment to the thousands of people dying in these scenes. I was more attached to the fireballs and tsunamis.

The acting was atrocious. Danny Glover as the American President was the epitome of “don’t give a crap” acting. I would say his performance was wooden but that would be a disservice to trees everywhere. Woody Harrelson was the only redeemable actor in this film. He was excellent as always. Although, I’m pretty sure he didn’t know he was in a movie. He probably just thought he was on a bad acid trip.

Every formulaic emotional scene from every ‘end of the world’ movie is represented in this travesty: Stubborn old guy tries to make peace with his adult son, Divorced dad reconnects with his kids, ex-husband and wife rekindle their romance through tragedy, archetypal ‘jerk’ calls his infirm mother to say goodbye, evil Russian risks his life for his kids, etc.

It got so bad that I turned to my buddy at one point and said, “Hey, they haven’t done the dog narrowly escapes death yet.” Sure enough, ten minutes later, a dog miraculously snatches life from the jaws of death. Its owner didn’t make it. I did not see that coming.

By the end, I was openly cheering for the global cataclysm to kill everyone.

This is where this movie will find its niche. Go to an afternoon showing with a friend (so the theatre’s not too busy) and crack jokes for two hours. I had a great time. It’s a fun movie to see on the big screen with all of the effects and it’s a completely mockable farce.

One part I loved is when earthquakes rumble through the Vatican. The tremors split the Sistine Chapel in two. Where does the split occur? Right between God and Adam’s fingers in Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam. Of course. Symbolism, anyone? Emmerich doesn’t so much give the audience a lecture on the religious underpinnings of the end of the world as he does hit you over the head with it.

Unfortunately, there will be a small, but retarded group of people who will view this movie as a documentary and make our lives hell for the next two years.

I hate society.

Yummy Mummy

Last night, after watching House (a great episode by the way, much better than last week’s, which can only be described as craptastic), I was flipping through the channels searching for something to pique my interest.

I had no interest in Monday Night Football game as the Browns and Ravens engaged in an offensively-challenged contest only a mother could love. I don’t get the fascination with Brady Quinn. Sure, he’s a good looking dude and is very strong, but he completed more passes to guys on the sidelines than his actual receiving corps.

I stumbled upon Larry King Live and he was having a panel discussion on the 2008 Republican Vice-President nominee, Sarah Palin. The aim of the program was to discuss her new book and recent appearance on Oprah.

How hot is Sarah Palin? Look at the picture above. I mean she is absolutely smoking. I feel sorry for her daughters. It must suck for them to have a mother who is more desirable among males than they are. And it’s not even close. The daughter who got knocked up can’t hold a candle to the cougarific Palin.

The panel discussion revolved mostly around the possibility of Palin running for President in 2012. I’m indifferent to the idea but let me postulate something here. We all know beautiful women get whatever they want, especially from ugly men who are awkward around the fairer sex in the first place. You put Palin in the White House and she’ll be able to flirt her way into getting whatever she wants from other world leaders.

Do you think Kim Jong-il has ever talked to a woman who looks like Palin? Of course not. The guy’s a hobbit. Palin would have him abolishing his nuclear missile program and singing Give Peace a Chance from the White House front lawn after a 15 minute chat.

In the clips I saw from Palin’s interview with Oprah, she seems a lot more polished and articulate now than during the election, when she seemed to be flustered by all the media attention. Now she looks like a seasoned pro in front of the camera. She also had a pretty good sense of humour about a number of difficult topics, like her loser possible son-in-law posing for Playgirl.

If she keeps impressing me like this and keeps looking so fine, I may have to throw my considerable web influence behind the ‘Palin in 2012’ ticket.

There were a couple things about Larry King Live that made me laugh. King constantly pimped his blog and Twitter page, like he had an idea what they were. I’d be surprised if King knew how to work a touch tone phone.

Also, at the bottom of the screen, CNN kept promoting an article on its website about ‘5 Burning Questions with Oprah’s Trainer.’ Who in their right mind would take advice from this guy?

Um, yes I just have one question: why is your client still fat?

Two Great Performances, One Weekend

Sometimes, depending on the sports landscape the night before, I struggle to come up with interesting and engaging topics to discuss on this forum. I don’t think I’ll have that problem on Mondays.

A full slate of wildly entertaining NFL games (how about the Colts/Pats Sunday nighter?), a PGA Tour win by Canadian Stephen Ames, the first LPGA Tour win of Michelle Wie’s career (is she actually hot, or just athletic Asian hot?), and Captain Canada Steve Nash lighting up the Toronto Raptors.

I’m not going to touch any of the above and instead focus on two transcendent talents who created instant watercooler discussion on Saturday night and Sunday afternoon respectively: Manny Pacquiao and Adrian Peterson.

I’ve never been a huge fan of the sweet science (my favourite boxer is Rocky Balboa), and I’ve only had a cursory interest in the heavyweight division. This changed somewhat during my last vacation to Cuba. One of the benefits of a Caribbean trip (besides the free booze and women willing to make questionable decisions) is access to HBO.

While there, I watched a documentary on Pacquiao’s training camp leading up to his fight with Ricky Hatton. Pacquiao is absolutely incredible. Not only is the guy in tremendous shape but he hits insanely hard for someone so small in stature. Furthermore, the speed and velocity in which he delivers his punches is superhuman. When Pacquiao starts punching at full throttle, you literally cannot see his fists moving; everything is just a blur.

He could knock me out, revive me, and knock me out again before I had a chance to hit the floor.

Pacquiao dismantled Miguel Cotto so thoroughly Saturday night in Vegas that Cotto’s wife and young son left the arena in the 9th round as they couldn’t bear to see Cotto take any more punishment. That victory gave Pacquiao a record seventh title in seven different weight classes. He has dominated every division from 106 pounds all the way to 147 pounds.

The record in itself isn’t what impresses me most about Pacquiao; it’s the way he does it. When you watch Manny Pacquiao fight, you know you are witnessing greatness. It’s just hard to fathom that a guy his size is able to generate such punishing punching power at a breakneck pace.

The appreciation for such once-in-a-generation talent is a perfect segue to Viking’s running back Adrian Peterson. Yesterday against the Lions, AP racked up an impressive 133 yards on the ground. This gave him over 4,000 yards for his career in only 39 career games.

I’m not a math whiz but I’m pretty sure that averages out to over 100 yards a game. One hundred yard games are the benchmark of great running and all Peterson has done is AVERAGE 100 yards per start throughout his fledgling career.

Like Pacquiao, it’s not the stats that impress me; it’s how Peterson gains these yards. He reaches top speed faster and changes direction better than any other back in the game. But what sets AP apart is his unparalleled strength and power.

Twice yesterday, he looked to be tackled for no gain. Instead, he kept his legs churning and broke through a number of tackles for massive yardage. Once he even had a Lion draped around his waist and he still managed to rumble for a good gain.

The best example of Peterson’s awe-inspiring ability took place a few weeks ago against the Steelers. He caught a pass from the Viking’s quarterback (What’s his name? You never hear much about him), turned around and just lambasted Pittsburgh cornerback William Gay.

I mean completely crushed him. And he kept moving for significant yardage. Check it out here. Watching that clip gives me a testosterone-fuelled erection.

Q: What is the Best Show on TV?

A: The Office.

For the last three years, I have always kinda sorta believed that statement, but last night’s episode proved to me why it is unequivocally true. I might even go out on a limb and call it the best comedy on network television in the past twenty years (Now, before Seinfeld fans start sending me poison wedding invitations, allow me a chance to explain).

The reason why The Office is so great is that it employs, perhaps, the greatest ensemble cast in television history. Every single actor embodies their character on the show to the nth degree. A lot of time, it seems like The Office is unscripted, but that is just a testament to the tour de force performances given by the actors week in and week out.

Take last night’s episode where Dunder-Mifflin Scranton played a Southern murder mystery game to take their minds off of corporate’s impending declaration of bankruptcy. Each actor was forced to play their own character and a character in the murder mystery, while staying true to their original character (i.e. play the murder mystery game as their Dunder-Mifflin alter ego would). Confused? Imagine trying to prepare yourself for such a performance.

The physical comedy and character interplay is also a huge part of The Office magic. Last night’s episode was no exception. The opening where Dwight beats himself up was incredible. The use of southern accents by all characters with mixed results (Andy’s was great, Oscar’s hilariously terrible) and the final fake gun stand off with Michael, Andy and Dwight was terrifically absurd.

Historically, even the best shows have had weak links in their cast.

Jerry Seinfeld didn’t act on Seinfeld once in nine years. He was just playing himself. Watch old episodes in syndication: he moves through scenes with a bemused grin on his face, letting the other actors do all of the heavy lifting.

Cheers was great; Ted Danson as Sam Malone was not. Yes, he played a great character but there was no depth in the performance. He was a playboy womanizer who never faced any real adversity.

Arrested Development had a cast that rivals The Office but it lacked popular support because of its writing. AD was too smart for its own good and the majority of the television viewing population are morons. The Office skates a thin line between shrewd and lowest common denominator comedy, which is why it is so successful. There’s something for everyone.

It also does romance very well, which brings in even more viewers (i.e. women). The Office has managed to make the Jim/Pam relationship fit in seamlessly with the show’s sensibilities. The best example of this was the wedding procession from a few weeks. It was equal parts pop culture reference, ridiculousness, genuinely funny and sweet, all packaged around the requisite Jim/Pam “Ahhh” moment.

That four minute clip is The Office in a nutshell and is proof of its greatness.

Hit Me with Your Best (Head) Shot

Once again, the hockey cognoscenti is bending to the will of the public and they are promising to do due diligence in eradicating head shots from the game. The public uproar stems from the serious skull and facial injuries suffered by OHL player Ben Fanelli in a ferocious hit two weeks ago.

The entire situation is eerily similar to all of the hot air blown by NHL general managers about cracking down on fighting after a senior player died when he hit his head on the ice in a fight. I covered the topic of fighting in hockey back in March. They said all the right things but has anything really changed? Of course not. Staged fights between two lunkheads with zero hockey skill still occur on a nightly basis.

However, something needs to be done about head shots as NHL players have been dropping like flies with concussions in this fledgling season. The safety of players is paramount, along with their intelligence. Concussions have been proven to have adverse effects on mental acuity and, let’s be honest, hockey players can’t afford to be any dumber.

The hit on 16 year old Ben Fanelli by over-ager Michael Liambis was brutally vicious, but it was also clean. Liambis never left his feet, he hit Fanelli with his shoulder and he didn’t the kid from behind. Unfortunately, Fanelli turned his back as the last second to make a pass, which caused his face to rocket into the glass when he was walloped by Liambis’ bulk.

Should Liambis have been suspended for the rest of the year? Absolutely not. But, OHL commissioner David Branch had to take a strong stance to show parents he is committed to keeping their kids in Canada’s top junior league.

In my opinion, the Fanelli incident could have been avoided, but not in the way Branch thinks. Have you seen the press pictures of Liambis and Fanelli? Liambis looks like a 20 year old man; Fanelli doesn’t look like he can grow facial hair yet.

That’s the biggest safety issue in junior hockey: having boys as young as fifteen face off against men five years older. The differences in strength, power and testosterone production at those ages is astounding.

Teenage boys can’t compete physically with twenty year olds. It’s physiologically impossible. And it’s also why I beat up high school kids on weekends. It makes me feel like a big shot.

To fix the problem in the NHL, forget about making the game less violent. To quote my buddy Brian Burke, “this isn’t ringette.” I think you have to look at the equipment. Players are ensconced in heavy duty plastic from head to toe: it offers too much protection. Guys race around the ice throwing their bodies at opponents with reckless abandon. Not to mention today’s players are so big and fast – it’s a recipe for disaster.

If you soften the equipment (especially shoulder pads), players will think twice about turning themselves into human battering rams. Less vicious hits, fewer concussions, safer playing conditions, better hockey.

Voila.

MJ Reincarnated as Disgraced, Former Slugger?

(Note: I don’t really find Kristen Stewart all that attractive and I think the Twilight saga is unbelievably boring and stupid, but I needed a picture of a pale actress to fit in with today’s column motif and she’s the only one I could think of)

It didn’t take Michael Jackson long to embrace his inner Elvis and make appearances from beyond the grave in an attempt to stay socially relevant and to make the list of top earning dead celebrities.

While Elvis sticks to backwater outposts in rural Mississippi taking the form of old, random fat guys, MJ has stepped it up a notch by inhabiting the body of former Chicago Cubs home run king Sammy Sosa.

Have you seen the picture of Sosa circulating on the internet? My God, it’s absolutely terrifying. He looks like Powder. I would have included the picture here but in case anyone under the age of thirteen reads this I chose not to post it lest the photo haunt their dreams.

Apparently, he is not suffering from the same “I hate being black” disease which inflicted the King of Pop. Instead, he is undergoing an elective rejuvenating, cleansing process that is usually the bailiwick of rich, vain women.

Yeah, that’s much more normal.

I need some more information on this rejuvenation process. Do they just dip your body in paint thinner? Do they scrape layer upon layer of skin off with a cheese grater? It all sounds like some torture device devised by Jigsaw from Saw fame.

I love that Sosa is trying to downplay his freakish appearance by saying that his “whiteness” is due to the lighting in the photo. Umm, I don’t think so, Sammy.

I’ve never seen a picture of Denzel Washington taken under harsh lighting conditions that makes him look like Tom Hanks. Sosa looks like a character out of an old Dave Chapelle sketch.

This entire situation pretty much solidifies the assumption that Sosa was on extreme doses of steroids during his assault on the home run record book in the late 1990s. I’m fairly confident anyone willing to play both sides of the Paul McCartney/Stevie Wonder classic Ebony and Ivory would have no qualms about ingesting truckloads of performance enhancers.

Here’s a question: since Sosa was black when he forgot how to speak English when questioned about steroid use by Congress, does this mean he would forget how to speak Spanish when asked about this cleansing process now that he’s whiter than Wonderbread?

Unforgivable Oversight

I had originally planned on making Monday’s posts all about the NFL. Today, I wanted to discuss the respective greatness of the two remaining undefeated teams, the Indianapolis Colts and New Orleans Saints. I pictured a faux Super Bowl preview of the two juggernauts while discussing their contrasting styles: the Saints’ razzle dazzle offensive explosions compared to the cold, calculated precision of Indy’s attack.

However, that plan went out the window when I discovered that one of the most influential people of our time celebrated his 40th birthday last Wednesday and I knew nothing about it until the weekend. Who am I talking about? The one, the only: Matthew McConaughey.

How was this not a national holiday (and I mean all nations)? And how was this not a bigger story in the mainstream media? Kids should have been taken out of school, government offices should have been closed, and marijuana should have been legalized for one day.

I follow pop culture and celebrity gossip way more than any straight male should and I had no idea Wooderson turned forty. That, in itself, is an absolute tragedy. The women’s network couldn’t have strung together a romantic comedy marathon showing only McConaughey fare? How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Failure to Launch, Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, Fool’s Gold should have been playing on an endless loop for 24 hours.

Obviously, I am a huge McConaughey fan. He procured a spot on my Top 10 Mancrush list (there’s no way he should be ranked at #5; that’s my fault as he should have been the questionable number one as my mancrush has only grown in the past 18 months).

Sure, he makes some crappy movies but he is exceedingly likeable on screen. I mean, did anyone see Surfer, Dude? It was one of the worst films I have ever seen but I made it through the entire 85 minutes because McConaughey was in it and there are a lot of scenes with naked chicks (an addition I’m attributing to Matty in his role as producer).

I did a little research on his big day and found an article on the People magazine website, which has a video showing 28 shirtless photos of Matthew in fifty-three seconds. I got way too excited when the site told me I could get “Matthew McConaughey Sexy and Shirtless 28 Ways.”

My fascination with the Texan isn’t sexual (I don’t think), but I can’t help but be impressed with the man. McConaughey’s commitment to physical fitness and positive outlook on life is something to admire. Upon turning 40, McConaughey said he plans to “spend some more time with my family and friends today, grillin' steaks and sippin' beers, celebratin' more to live for.”

Who wouldn’t want to hang out with the guy?

To mark the occasion (albeit belatedly), I played half an hour of shirtless football yesterday afternoon in the glorious sunshine channelling my inner McConaughey.

(Then I hit on some high school girls to channel my inner Wooderson)

Flu Shot Kerfuffle

As an athlete, normally I am in favour of athletes receiving special treatment in a variety of circumstances. For example, at university I was able to bypass the line at some bars and not have to pay cover due to my status as a varsity athlete.

Also, some professors would be lenient on grades and due dates if they knew you played on a sports team (I also showed up to some classes shirtless, which may have helped with some of the female instructors, but that’s a story for a different day).

However, I cannot in good conscience support NHL players receiving the swine flu vaccine ahead of members of priority groups that are at high risk for severe complications from H1N1. This morning, I saw several players try to explain, with a straight face, that they possessed the same risk factor as children under five, pregnant women, and those with chronic conditions.

How pathetic is that? These are probably the same guys who don’t give up their seat on the subway for old people and can’t fathom the ‘women and children’ first evacuation plan on the Titanic.

Their reasons for being considered priority are as follows: they spend a lot of time together in close quarters and they travel a lot.

Big Fucking Deal.

I’m pretty sure schoolchildren spend just as much time in tightly knit groups as hockey players. And, being adults, hockey players should know better than to go to work sick or to share water bottles. The travel thing is equally ridiculous. Thousands of businessmen travel all the time and I don’t see Health Ministries telling CEOs they are part of a priority group.

In fact, professional athletes should be the last people receiving the swine flu vaccinations. One of the main benefits of being an athlete (and training like one) is superior physical conditioning over the general population. Not only are athletes stronger, faster, more agile, and in better cardiovascular health, they also have stronger and more efficient immune systems.

I have never gotten a flu shot in my life and, since I started doing Crossfit, I’ve never been out of commission for days at a time with the flu. At time, have I shown symptoms and been under the weather? Absolutely.

But I have a foolproof sickness prevention plan. When I start feeling less than optimal, I get my ass to the gym and lift some heavy iron. If necessary, I will then stand in front of a full length mirror and flex until I drive the germs, microbes, virus etc. out of my body.

It never fails. Even my red and white blood cells are intimidating.

What pisses me off the most about NHL players receiving their vaccines with the priority groups is the fact they’re jumping the queues as well. Even if hockey players were deemed to be at a high risk for contracting H1N1, there’s no logical reason for them to be put at the front of the line while thousands of regular people have to wait for hours to get their flu shots.

Karma is going to come back and bite the Calgary Flames in the ass; I guarantee they won’t make the playoffs this year. I’d say the same thing about the Leafs but they weren’t going to make the playoffs in the first place.
My favourite person in this scandal is Ontario Health Minister Deb Matthews (and the gal pictured above). In an interview yesterday about the queue jumping, she looked straight into the camera and barked, “I don’t care who you are, how rich you are, how famous you are. If you’re not in the priority group, get out of the line and let the people who are in the priority groups get their vaccination.”

Yes ma’am. I must admit I got a little turned on when I heard this. I’ll bet she’s an absolute dynamo in the boudoir.

Yankee Fans Born After 2000 Can Now Die in Peace

Am I happy the Yankees won their 27th World Series title last night? Yes and no. I’m happy for Alex Rodriguez; this has been a season of redemption for him and to see A-Rod finally get a chance to taste World Series victory after sixteen years in the big leagues was great to watch.

The talk today is that finally getting a ring truly cements Rodriguez’s legacy as one of the greatest players in baseball history. Um, no. He has always been one of the best to ever play the game. The acquisition of a world championship just legitimizes A-Rod’s transcendence to heroic levels in the eyes of insufferable Yankee fans who don’t fully embrace or respect players until they’ve won a ring in pinstripes.

That is complete bullshit by the way. Before last night, I implored anyone to try this exercise. Listen to a Yankee fan discuss how guys like Scott Brosius and Tino Martinez are better overall players than A-Rod because Martinez and Brosius have multiple rings. Then try not to punch them in the face for being so idiotic. It’s impossible.

This brings me to my point about not being happy New York won the World Series: it’s because of their fans (I made my feelings clear on Yankee fans and New Yorkers during my trip to NYC in the summer of 2008). Now the baseball world has to listen to these idiots preen on and on about how “all is right in the world” and the “World Series is back where it belongs.” Yeah, we’re all very impressed. You spent $200 million on a team with only three starting pitchers you can trust (one of whom is AJ “Choke Artist” Burnett). You have no chance of repeating; enjoy another 10 years of World Series futility.

When Pedro came out throwing his fastball at 85, you knew he was going to have to bite and nibble at the corners to be successful. Unfortunately, umpire Joe West was squeezing Pedro big time, which forced him to throw too many pitches over the middle of the plate and a 38 year old Pedro Martinez can’t afford to do that anymore. What happened? Godzilla jacked him up.

How does Hideki Matsui win the World Series MVP? I know he single-handedly won Game 6 with a historic performance and hit over .600 in the Series, but that number belies his true worth to the Yankees victory. He only played in three games! Matsui was stapled to the bench for Games 3-5 in Philadelphia because Girardi felt he was not one of the top nine guys on the squad offensively and defensively. How can the MVP of the Series be someone who isn’t trusted to play in 50% of the games? If you take away his Game 6 performance, he is a marginal contributor at best.

Also, as one of my astute readers pointed out to me, why does Hideki Matsui still need a translator after spending the better part of a decade living in the United States? (And did you get a look at Matsui’s translator? I’m pretty sure he was Italian). I mean, come on Hideki, let’s put in a little effort. Tom Selleck had to learn to speak Japanese in Mr. Baseball and he was only there for a few months. Absorbing your host country’s culture is a two way street.

Actually, I think Matsui can probably speak English fluently. If you watch his interview with Chris Rose, he nods along to Rose’s questions as though he understands. He probably just didn’t want to speak to Chris Rose directly and for that, I can’t blame him. Rose is just terrible — I mean cringingly bad to watch.

Mark Grace was the best interviewer on TV last night. He was calm, relaxed, asked good questions, and made some jokes. Grace was like the anti Chris Rose. Also, did you know Mark Grace coined the term ‘slumpbuster’, which is code for a ballplayer having sex with a fat girl to get out of a hitting slump?

Truthfully, I think Mark Grace just loves fat girls:

Mark Grace – Hey man, what about that one? She must be pushing 240. I want her bad; need to get out of this slump.

Teammate – Mark you’re hitting .500 the last month. You don’t need a slumpbuster.

Mark Grace – Nah, I could be hitting better. I don’t feel comfortable at the plate. I should probably sleep with her just to be safe.

Where else on the Internet can you get a World Series recap that somehow ends with a discussion of Mark Grace and his love of fat women? That’s it for baseball posts until spring training, unless the Blue Jays do something stupid and trade Roy Halladay in the meantime. Then I will be on suicide watch.

Mouthguards Belong in the Mouth

Allow me to channel my inner curmudgeon (think a drunken Andy Rooney) and discuss something in the NHL that has become more and more prevalent over the last couple of years and drives me absolutely bonkers: the inappropriate and disgusting use of mouthguards by young NHL players.

Next time you watch an NHL highlight package, watch what happens after a player scores a goal. Invariably and without fail, the first thing he will do, even before raising his arms in celebration, is spit his mouth guard out into a gloved hand.

Why do they do this? Does a mouthguard-free jaw make it more enjoyable to celebrate with your teammates? I’ve played hockey and I agree that mouthguards are kind of a pain in the ass, but I never felt the need to expel the safety device out of my head after bulging the twine (I also never scored very many goals, but that’s beside the point). It looks so stupid for a player to care that much about such a minor nuisance.

And these are professional hockey players; they can afford expensive mouthguards, which fit perfectly around the teeth and are moulded to perfection. They aren’t using the one size fits all mouthguards from Canadian Tire that you had to boil in hot water and were probably made from the same plastic used on Hot Wheels race tracks in the 1970s.

The most glaring perpetrators of this ridiculous ritual are players under the age of 25. I think I’ve figured out why guys are doing this but the logic is so pathetic and narcissistic, it makes me concerned for society as a whole (and if I think its narcissistic then it must be bad).

It’s common knowledge that a mouthguard forces your cheeks and jaw into an unusual position, so there is just something “off” about your appearance when wearing one. It’s also common knowledge that goal scorers get close-ups on the television feed after they score. Now, I think players are so cognizant and egotistical about their media images that they consciously remove the mouthguards upon scoring so they can present their “best” to the viewing public.

Sure this logic is flawed because most hockey players have no teeth and are as ugly as sin, but they are also contenders for the dumbest athletes on the planet.

Also, it dumbfounds me when players sit on the bench and chew their mouthguards. This morning I saw Vinny Lecavalier clamp down on his mouthpiece like he was Hannibal Lecter snacking on a census taker’s liver. It didn’t even look like a mouthguard dangling from his lips; it looked like he was chewing a piece of bubble wrap. How is that going to protect against concussions?

Lastly, I wanted to write about this topic because it gives me an opportunity to link to one of my favourite comedy bits of all time (and also gives my female readers a taste of what sex with Tewks is like).

I Am a Genius

Q: Tewks, how have you not been hired by a major sports network yet? I mean you have absolutely crushed your predictions thus far for the World Series and given your readers valuable insight from the perspective of a star athlete.
- Tewks

A: You’re a no talent hack who thinks his clever witticisms and sophomoric humour are on the cutting edge of comedy when, in reality, they make Dane Cook’s standup act look like the Second Coming of George Carlin. Here are three words you CAN say on the Internet: You suck, douchebag.

Wow. Sorry about that folks. Somehow AJ Burnett’s mom hacked into my blogger account and answered that question for me. It’s nice to know someone in the Burnett family has some testosterone.

Let’s rundown the major points from my last few columns to see how I’ve become the Nostradamus of independent sports blogs:

- Last Thursday, I waxed poetic about the excellence of Cliff Lee. What did he do last night? Only shut down the Yankees for seven innings without his best stuff. Sure he got roughed up a bit in the eighth, but that brings me to my next bragging point.

- On Friday, I remarked how a noticeably absent Kate Hudson was wreaking havoc on A-Rod’s game through the first two games at Yankee Stadium. Since requesting Kate show her pretty little bone structure at Citizens Bank Park, A-Rod has gone off in the last two games and been the best hitter in the Series not named Chase Utley. Plus, he hit two doubles and had three RBIs versus my new BFF Cliff Lee.

- Yesterday was my piece de resistance. Not only did I correctly predict a Phillies victory but I guaranteed an abysmal performance by Burnett and boy, did that ever come to fruition. AJ was just terrible last night. It had nothing to do with how much rest he had but everything to do with him being terrible on the road where he can’t suckle at the teat of his home fans.

There was great news from the post game press conferences, as well. After I upbraided Major League pitchers for being pussies, Cliff Lee said he would be available to pitch in Game 7 (on two days rest). Now that is what a man does. He wants the ball on the biggest stage in sports: Game 7 of the World Series. Circumstances be damned. Here’s hoping he gets that chance.

(For my non baseball readers, since there is no game tonight I promise tomorrow’s column will have nothing to do with America’s pastime)

I Pleasure Myself on Three Days Rest

(How about that Halloween costume: White Goodman from Dodgeball. The resemblance is uncanny. I had to walk around downtown Toronto dressed like that; people were concerned for my safety but, let’s be honest, who’s going to mess with biceps like that?)

The Yankees won Game 4 of the World Series last night on the strength of clutch hitting by Mr. Kate Hudson. The results of the game seemed almost secondary as the only topics people wanted to discuss this morning were the Yankees’ decision to start CC Sabathia on three days rest and Philadelphia’s decision to rest Cliff Lee for Game 5 tonight.

As a pitcher, I feel that it is my responsibility to weigh in on this matter to educate the masses as opposed to fat, middle-aged sportswriters whose athletic exploits ended in grade 9 gym class.

The media makes it seem like pitching on three days rest is the most physically demanding activity in all of sports. Pitchers who throw on short rest are lionized as gritty throwbacks to a different era when men were men.

First off, pitching on three days rest isn’t that impressive. I’ve thrown on zero days rest plenty of times in my career. Hell, I threw on thirty minutes rest twice this year (pitched both ends of a doubleheader). Now Tewks, you say, you couldn’t touch 90 miles an hour unless you were driving in a car; these guys throw mid 90s gas, which puts much more torque and strain on their bodies than your “fastball.”

Fine, I’ll concede that point. I have worse stuff than Josh Towers (seeing that typed out makes me want to quit the game forever). However, I also don’t have access to all the cutting edge advances in athletic therapy and massage. Major League pitchers get massaged everyday, and they have access to cold and hot tubs and other devices designed to help them recover after a start.

What does my recovery regimen look like? I take two Ibuprofen, ice for 10 minutes and drink beer until my arm doesn’t hurt anymore. And I still have the testicular fortitude to get back on the mound and throw gems.

Pitchers are molly-coddled too much these days. There’s a reason why pitchers are thought to be limp-wristed prima donnas with fragile egos. No one expects them to be tough, so when a guy like CC goes on short rest, poems are written about his “warrior” mentality. Look at Nolan Ryan: he pitched for over 20 years, threw well over 130 pitches per start, and regularly threw on three days rest. The human body can adapt to extraordinary stresses, but it needs to be given the chance to be tested.

In this era of pitch counts and million dollar contracts, everyone is so damn scared of hurting a young arm. Hundreds of pitchers are never given the chance to reach their true potential.

If AJ Burnett gets lit up tonight (which he will), the media will crow that it was due to his pitching on three days rest. Sorry, wrong answer. Burnett will get demolished tonight because he will not be throwing in the cozy confines of Yankee Stadium with 50,000 people supporting his every move.

Philadelphia fans are historically brutal on opposing pitchers and AJ can’t pitch in hostile environments because he is mentally weak. He shrinks from the face of adversity and, when the going gets tough, he folds like a cheap suit.

Cliff Lee will send the World Series back to New York and Pedro will get his revenge in Game 6.