(Babe of the Day - Amber Heard)
All of you better appreciate the fact I’m writing a column today. I am currently riding shotgun in a car driven by someone who has no business being behind the wheel; not only that, but I`m trying to create journalistic excellence with one hand on the holy shit handle.
Last night, I went to a performance at Casino Rama to see the Golden Boys, featuring Fabian, Lou Christi and Frankie Avalon. It was amazing. I sincerely wish I had a time machine to go back to the 1950s and live my life.
Then, after the show, I had about a half dozen Bud Lights, so if my writing is worse than usual, now you know why.
What a start to the 2010 Masters yesterday afternoon. Not only did you have the return of Tiger Woods’ after a five month layoff, but you had the PGA Tour`s very own members of the Golden Boys dominating the first page of the leaderboard.
Both Tom Watson and Freddie Couples were able to turn back the clock, for one day at least, and be the focal points of a tournament and course that hasn’t seen their best days for more than decade. Couples’ 66 and Watson’s 67 gives hope to aging Boomers everywhere that the opportunity to kick the shit out of guys half their age isn`t just a pipe dream.
Also, even more unbelievably, Watson and Freddie were able to take the spotlight away from Tiger and his return to competitive golf. How cool did Freddie look with that tan, salt and pepper hair, sneakers and no socks? He looked like he should be yachting off the coast of St. Barts rather than playing in the season`s first major.
Tiger shot 68, which is the first time he`s ever broken 70 in a first round at Augusta, and looked to not have one ounce of rust in his game. Everything looked sharp, which is a scary proposition for his fellow PGA Tour members the rest of the year.
Was it me or did Tiger look exceedingly composed and comfortable throughout the entire round? He didn`t even seem fazed by the helicopters flying overhead dragging banners talking of sex addiction and ‘bootyism’.
By the way, the person responsible for said banners is nothing short of a comedic genius.
Here’s my hypothesis on Tiger for the foreseeable future. The guy was the best golfer on the planet while leading a double life. Do you realize how much focus and mental fortitude is required to win golf tournaments, all while juggling your wife and family and a gaggle of slutty mistresses?
Any normal human being would have cracked under that unrelenting pressure and mental strain. Not Tiger. And now, he says he having fun again for the first time in a long time.
Tiger’s mind is completely clear. He can just hone his focus in on golf. I think he’s going to be a better player now than he ever was.
And it will start with a fifth green jacket being draped across his broad shoulders on Sunday night.
Tune in on Monday for a Masters Recap podcast with CSzem.
(Babe of the Day - Gabrielle Union)
The inspiration for today’s column was derived from the cover story in this week’s Sports Illustrated; a glowing expose on the greatness that is Roy Halladay. I felt somewhat melancholic as I read about how hard Roy works between starts, how committed he is to his craft, and just how great he is on the hill.
These are all things I knew already. In fact, I kind of felt like a guy from a small town who had a smoking hot girlfriend until an unfortunate breakup. Everyone in the town knew how hot she was, but she was pretty much an unknown entity outside of our municipality. We had some great years in high school, but we started growing apart in our senior year.
She wanted to spread her wings and go to a big city for college. Her hotness had outgrown the small town. She needed to find someone who was on equal footing and had something more to offer than what I could provide.
I knew she deserved to go; she had given me some great years that I’ll never forget, but she had to explore her options and have the opportunity to be with a winner. We had a mutual breakup. I hadn’t thought about her for a few months and then I hear through the grapevine that she’s now the most popular girl at her school, she’s dating the star quarterback, and everyone loves her. They can’t believe how great she is and that they’ve never heard about her before.
And I just want to puke out of sheer anguish (I also somehow managed to make my mancrush on Roy Halladay seem even gayer).
A couple of things bothered me about the article. First, Roy was lauded for his tremendous work ethic and legendary workouts that last multiple hours; which is why he shows up at the park at 5:30 in the morning for spring training.
Look, pitchers, by and large, are pussies. They exhibit diva-like tendencies and are generally pretty soft. There are some exceptions like Roy and yours truly, but, as a group, we are not known for our toughness. So, when I hear that no one on the Jays pitching staff could even complete half of Halladay’s post start leg workout, I’m not that impressed. I think that’s more of a commentary on the weakness of the Jays staff, rather than Doc’s impressive strength and endurance.
Next, why do Roy’s workouts take hours to complete? If it actually takes him that long to workout, then his intensity is nowhere near the level it should be. As a Crossfit disciple, I know that optimum results can be achieved in less than an hour of work per day, provided you are working your ass off the entire time.
For that matter, why the hell is he doing leg presses? Learn to squat. Below parallel. With 400 pounds on your back. Then, I'll be impressed.
It’s impossible to maintain such a breakneck pace for any significant time duration. I’ll bet Roy, if he ratcheted up the intensity, would cut the length of his sessions drastically with zero loss in effectiveness.
The early arrival time isn’t as impressive as it sounds, either. I’ve already established that Halladay’s workouts, while long, are unnecessarily so. Plus, he’s not working out for eight hours a day (the article states 3-4 hours max, which includes his cool down, hot and cold baths etc.). Why does he get there so early?
So, he can be known as the first guy at the ballpark.
The article said that he even bumped up his arrival time to ensure he would beat some of his new Phillies teammates to the park. The work he puts in could be done at anytime. He’s obviously an early riser, so he likes to get his work done in the pre-dawn hours, which is fine, but let’s not fawn all over the guy because he gets up early.
Working out early just looks more impressive; Halladay could do the same stuff at three o’clock in the afternoon.
I know it seems like I’m committing blasphemy by calling Halladay’s workouts into question, but as a person who truly understands working hard at the gym, and as someone who has been around the game of baseball for almost twenty years, Roy’s workouts are impressive for a baseball player. The training regimen of any NHL, NBA or NFL player would absolutely bury him.
Something about Roy’s game day regimen bothered me as well. I understand his desire to stay focused before he pitches, but he comes off as a bit of an asshole. Not saying a word to coaches, teammates or the training staff (not even a thank you to the trainer after he rubs you down?) just seems a little much.
There’s a difference between being focused and being a prick. Staring at a teammate until he moves from your pre-ordained seat? Come on, Roy. That’s just being a bully and abusing your power as the big dog in the clubhouse.
However, Roy can get away with all of this. Why? Because he’s the best pitcher in baseball.
Crash Davis said it best in Bull Durham when he admonished Nuke Laloosh for his fungus-ridden shower sandals.
"If you win 20 in the show, you can let the fungus grow back and the press'll think you're colourful. Until you win 20 in the show, however, it means you are a slob."
People will excuse all types of behaviour provided you produce when you’re on the bump. Roy can do whatever he wants because he’s a stud.
Am I being too harsh? I don’t know.
Maybe I’m just a jealous ex-boyfriend who can’t deal with the fact my smoking hot, former girlfriend is now banging some guy who is way better than me.
(In yesterday’s comments, AC asked that I begin providing the names of the 'Babe of the Day' for, what I assume are masturbatory purposes. Ask and ye shall receive. Today’s lady is Kaley Cuoco)
It’s very rare that I get an opportunity to gloat in this space, so when the time comes along that I am actually correct in predicting something sports related, it’s best to take full advantage. I’d be remiss if I didn’t.
Back in November, I wrote a very engaging piece on the H1N1 flu shot scandal. Read it here. To summarize, Canadian NHL players were given the opportunity to skip the queues and receive their flu shots before at-risk priority groups.
I was particularly vehement in my written word upbraiding of these rough, tough hockey players, but I also made, in hindsight, a very cunning prediction:
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.
What happened last night? The Calgary Flames were eliminated from playoff contention. How do you like them apples, Flames? Still wish you had gotten that flu shot before everyone else?
I think this may be the first time I have ever been right on the blog. I feel like I should be standing on an aircraft carrier, in a flight suit, with a giant ‘Mission Accomplished’ banner hanging behind me.
I feel so energized by my correct assertion that I want to parlay my luck a little bit further with my prediction for the winner of the Rocket Richard trophy for most regular season goals. Plus, since I already covered the NBA points race, it’s only fair that I talk about some white guys who score as well.
Sidney Crosby and Alexander Ovechkin faced off against each other in another clash last night and, when the dust settled, both players had 48 goals with three and two regular games remaining respectively. Honestly, Crosby should be up by one because Ovechkin’s second goal was complete horseshit.
It’s a 5-3 game with less than ten seconds left and Ovechkin was skating around like it was Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. He put the puck in with two tenths of a second remaining on the clock. I know a goal is a goal, but it was a pure garbage tally. I hope Ovechkin doesn’t end up winning by one.
Somehow Steven Stamkos is still in the mix for the title as the baby-faced assassin scored his 47th last night. It would just be weird seeing Stamkos’ name engraved on the trophy. Is he really the player you’d most remember from this season when asked to name a prolific goal scorer?
Also, not to take away anything from the kid, but I’m pretty sure every single goal he’s scored this year has come on the power play from the exact same spot on the ice: the left faceoff dot. He’s a great player, but I have a sneaking suspicion that his goal total from this year will eventually be explained away as a statistical
aberration.
I hope Crosby ends up with 50 on the year (for the first time in his career) and ultimately takes the trophy because this may be his last opportunity. Let’s face it, Ovechkin is a better pure goal scorer than Sid the Kid and Ovie’s missed quite a few games this year, so it would be nice for Sid to capture the one piece of hardware that has eluded him.
Before I delve into my thoughts on Opening Day, I wanted to address the comments on yesterday’s MLB preview podcast. I was very impressed with He Who Hits Bomb live recap. I feel honoured that you took twenty minutes out of your busy schedule of eating protein bars and touching yourself to weigh in with some legitimately funny comments.
Anytime you want to be a podcast guest, just let me know. The offer’s on the table. However, I must warn you that grunts and monosyllabic expressions of opinion will not translate well through computer speakers. You might want to look into an ESL course or something.
I really wish the person who said the podcasts suck wouldn’t have hid behind the anonymous tag. That’s just lazy, and kind of cowardly. Let my buddy Herm Edwards take over my thoughts on that comment:
Just put your name on it, that's all I say. Be a man or a woman, put your name on it, don't be afraid of it.
What a great day to be a baseball fan yesterday. The sun was shining, I didn’t have a shirt on, and the Blue Jays kicked off their 2010 campaign with an exciting game against the Rangers.
I loved having Buck Martinez in the broadcast booth. He was such an improvement over Jamie Campbell that it was like a dark cloud had been lifted over the TVs of thousands of Jays fans everywhere. Buck’s presence had a positive influence over Pat Tabler as well. Finally, Tabler has a broadcast partner to whom he can talk intelligently about baseball instead of that gingerbread Campbell asking him why Adam Lind isn’t being selective on an 0-2 count.
However, I do think Martinez and Tabler have to temper expectations a little bit. Numerous times throughout the broadcast, they mentioned how ‘hungry’ this Jays team is and that the team is taking all the pundits criticism personally and they’ll surpass early season predictions because of it. Nope, the team still sucks. Sorry, guys.
It appears that Vernon Wells may actually be good again for the first time since 2003, which is nice. I loved Overbay’s facial hair; he looks tough as nails now. Marcum threw great, but just ran into some bad luck in the seventh; that jack by Nelson Cruz was complete bullshit.
Moving around the majors, it was great to see Doc Halladay throw a gem in his debut for the Phillies. I’m happy for him. He will seriously be unstoppable in that league all summer. I really hope the Phillies win it all.
Did you see Barack Obama throw out the first pitch in Halladay’s start versus the Nationals? Jesus Christ, that was embarrassing. I understand that he’s a basketball guy, but I expect a little more from the leader of the free world.
Obama looked like he had never thrown a ball before. I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand how someone could be so uncoordinated that they can’t throw a ball sixty feet without looking like they’re having an epileptic seizure.
Say what you want about the efficacy of George W. Bush’s presidency, but at least the guy could pump the zone when called upon.
Check this out.
I hope everyone has recovered from the orgiastic chocolate feast known as Easter. I have a horrible sugar hangover right now. This weekend was the first time in 2010 that I've eaten any semblance of sweets and I am paying for it right now.
But enough about me. Today is Opening Day of the 2010 Major League Baseball season. To mark such a terrific occasion, I, along with two jerks well-known to this blog, recorded a MLB preview podcast.
There is also a surprise at the beginning of the recording that is evidence of my newfound technical prowess.
Talkin' with Tewks Live - MLB Preview
Enjoy.
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