Talkin' With Tewks: Random Musings

This week, in lieu of writing a fully developed, high concept column I’ve decided to spread my journalistic seed around to a variety of ovulating topics in the hopes of creating an embryonic blog entry miracle.

(I apologize; my parents gave me “The Talk” last night, so I’m afraid I have intercourse on the brain. I learned a lot. For instance, what in the hell is a clitoris? It sounds like the name of one of Jupiter’s moons. However, my unfamiliarity with the term could be the reason why my bedroom performance is so unsatisfactory. I always thought it was because I have—uh, moving on.)

The Canadian film and television industry is a beguiling mistress. I absolutely rocked my last two auditions and yet was unsuccessful. It may be time to make an appearance on the casting couch. For example, at my last audition the director described my character to me thusly: “You think you’re the smartest person in the room. You think you’re God’s gift to women and are irresistible to the opposite sex.” I’m not entirely sure where the “acting” part was supposed to come into play there.

The conspiracy theorist in me believes Lance Armstrong is embellishing the severity of his collarbone injury. Methinks he’s either not prepared to race in the Tour de France and does not want to risk embarrassment or he messed up his PED cycles and is afraid of tarnishing his legacy with a positive test. I hope I’m wrong; any friend of Matthew McConaughey is a friend of mine.

Tampa Bay is my pick to win the World Series. Any team that puts a talent like ALCS hero David Price in the minors to start the season because they have a plethora of arms is a good bet to play October baseball.

The anticipation of the rumoured Arrested Development movie has given me an erection lasting longer than four hours. I will consult a physician.

Speaking of movies, my early pick for Best Picture 2011 is The Expendables. What’s it about you ask? A group of mercenaries go to South America to overthrow a dictator. Who’s in it? Stallone, Jet Li, Jason Statham, Arnold, Mickey Rourke, Randy Couture, Dolph Lundgren. Boom. Oscar.

American Idol is fast becoming a two horse race. Adam (my new favourite gay guy, eclipsing Tom Brady) and Allison will battle in the finals for the season eight crown.

It’s getting harder and harder (that’s what she said) to admit I’m friends with Gretzpo. His latest column is almost beyond belief. First, he posts a sleeveless picture of himself (he might as well be wearing a sign saying “I don’t want to get laid again ever”).

This sentence confuses me “Let's just say that Gretzpo met a lovely young co-ed down there ... and a part of him still swims in that pool.” So, he got turned down by yet another woman and then self-gratified himself in the hotel pool?

He denigrates Hooters girls which I equate with blasphemy. Plus he’s a hypocrite. I know for a fact he’s paid $10 for a handie in a No Frills parking lot.

Given the chance, he would shiv (or is it shank?) me in the back for the chance to press up against a human female. Let’s be honest, the guy needs every advantage he can get against me.

I am really good at volleyball. Gretzpo and I are making a return to the Caribbean to defend our beach volleyball championship and I’ve been playing weekly for the last six months to prepare myself accordingly. My blocking and setting, coupled with my grit and hustle, are unparalleled. The only time I’m not at my best is when this sexpot prances around on the adjoining court in these barely there booty shorts. I lose control of my fine motor skills whenever she passes my field of vision. Now I know what Muhammad Ali feels like.

News that Paris Hilton is planning on procreating with her latest jerk boyfriend has me concerned for mankind as a whole. The fact Ms. Hilton has been stuffed more than a Thanksgiving turkey will mean this devil spawn won’t travel a down birth canal so much as it will travel down a birth bay.

A-Rod’s photo spread in Details magazine has finally killed what little admiration I had left for the man’s talent. He was kissing himself in a mirror for Chrissakes!! What the FUCK is wrong with this guy? I mean I kiss myself in reflective surfaces all the time, but I sure as hell don’t let someone take my picture while I do it.

Any self-respecting sports and pop culture fan should make Bill Simmons’ Sports Guy website mandatory reading (I only mention this because I’m hoping the link will boost the blog’s readership. Yes, I’m trying to sell out as soon as humanly possible).

I had a dream that I had a threesome with Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus. I wish Terrence Mann and Ray Kinsella could take me to a place where dreams come true.

On a related note, four years ago I made a $20 bet with Gretzpo that I would sleep with a celebrity by December 31st 2010. D-day is rapidly approaching and the only thing I have to show for myself is a sloppy makeout session with an “actress” (probably on Skinemax) at the club Privilege in Hollywood. The criterion for me to win the bet is that she must have appeared on a show like ET, Access Hollywood etc. or in a magazine like US Weekly, People, Hello!. My best shot will be some reality show reject.

Gretzpo and I will be staying in residence at Wilfrid Laurier University this weekend to recapture our youth. Based on my actions last time I was there, I may have a problem with Campus Police. There’s a 90% chance I will have to wear one of those Hannibal Lecter masks while on the premises. We plan on being clean shaven so that we can skew younger, in the hopes that it will lead us to screw younger (Hey-O!!!!!!)

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

Extrava-manza

Seeking a refuge from the monotony of my daily life, I have just returned from an 11 day road trip travelling from London, Ontario to Tampa, Florida, with a brief stopover in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Here are my observations:

1) Twenty Two hours (each way) is a long time to spend in a car - stopping only for gas, chex mix and energy drinks

I'm positive that during a stretch of highway in West Virginia at 3am my buddy Ron (driving) and I (navigating) both fell asleep at our posts: but we managed to avoid catastrophe because we'd fall asleep in alternating 5 second intervals:

Ron (as he's falling asleep): ... am I asleep?

(I wake up)

"No. You're fine. You're fine, right?"

(Ron wakes up)

Ron: Yeah. I'm good.

This happened for at least 10 minutes. But the resulting nap enabled us to drive for another three hours accident free. So only a fool would say we were endangering our lives and the lives of other motorists.

2) Golf is fun to watch live

Sure: I was drunk while I was watching it, which makes everything more enjoyable - except for sex, as many of my unsatisfied partners will tell you - but golf is a great sport to watch live.

3) There is no such thing as free beer

For an extra $25 at the PGA Tournament we were at you could sit in what is called the "Hooters Owls Nest": which includes about a half dozen wings, a Hooters visor and all you can drink beer. Yes... it's just as amazing as it sounds. But these Hooters girls walk around raking in tips hand over fist - a lot of guys would tip anywhere from $2 to $5 for each of their FREE beers. I probably drank 35 beers over two days while in the Hooters Nest: and I tipped $5 for both of the days. It's amazing how bright and bubbly they are the first couple times you come around: then when they realize you're cheap and Canadian the service isn't exactly so friendly. Oh yeah sweetheart? You're going to be begging me for that $5 when your looks have faded and you're giving out handies in a Wal-Mart parking lot.

4) Americans get a bad rep

We went through an obscene number of states during our travels - I'd estimate at least 15. Even though there were certainly some "American" moments - such as the cashier at Arby's thinking that Canada and the US had a unified currency - everyone was extremely polite and friendly: much more friendly than those you'd find on the streets of Toronto. Granted, the majority of the time we were in Florida where the weather was 85 degrees without a cloud in the sky - so really, what could anyone be grouchy about? But I still wanted to make the point that Americans are courteous, friendly people.

Oh ... there was also the nice chap in Savannah, Georgia with the dew rag and low jeans giving the gas station cashier intricate details about how he was going to "pop a cap in the ass" of one of his fellow colleagues. I'm sure he meant to say how he was going to pop a cap on his head featuring the logo of one of Atlanta's popular sports teams. Either way, since I wasn't looking too intimidating in my "Meatloaf: Bat Out of Hell" commemorative concert t-shirt, I didn't stick around to witness the outcome.

5) The quotient of (attractive American girls/attractive American guys) is very numerator heavy

Countless times during my travels I would notice an extremely attractive woman with an ordinary looking guy. But this is not a slight of my American brethren: treat this observation as praise. Clearly you have all banded together and decided that you will not be in competition for women: instead, you're just letting them work around your habits and routines. It's ironic that the great American Capitalism attitude does not apply to wooing the fairer sex: whereas in Canada I would knife Tewks in the back for even the remotest chance of cupping a woman's breast.

6) I'm getting old

Life was sweet when I was a 19 year old at the bar who looked 25 - girls probably thought that I was some sort of mature student who had to delay his education by a few years in order to support his starving family. Now I'm a 25 year old who looks 31 and the situation is reversed - girls probably think that I'm a divorced father of two who funds his partying by welching on the child support he owes ... to his starving family.

Talkin' With Tewks: LG Fashion Week

Originally I had planned on writing a scathing demonization of Chipper Jones for his ignorant comments on the social activities (or lack thereof) available in the city of Toronto. Surprisingly, The Toronto Star did an excellent job of responding to this slight by ripping Jones and exposing him as the stupid, redneck, country bumpkin, jackass hick he is.

Instead I will provide a recap of my first foray into the world of high fashion care of the LG Fashion Week which I attended last night. Now you’re probably wondering what business I have attending a fashion event? The answer is none. Do I have style? No. Do people comment on the way I dress? Not positively. Do I own more than two pairs of jeans or wear T-shirts not bought at 80stees.com? No. I consider it a good fashion day if my socks are the same colour and I’m wearing underwear without holes.

So, what was I doing at Fashion Week? It was work related. My company provides sponsorship help to the Fashion Week organizers and they, in turn, give our employees VIP access. I only went because there was an open bar. Free tip: If you want me to attend an event, have an open bar. I would have joined the Manson Family if they had an open bar.

Also, I was somewhat intrigued at the spectacle I knew Fashion Week would provide; I was expecting a scene straight out of Zoolander and I was not disappointed.

The characters at the show I was at were almost indescribable: feathered hair, gallons of makeup, exorbitant jewelry, dishcloths passed off as shirts; and that was just the guys.

My favourite was this dude with his head completely shaved except for tufts of hair up top. He was wearing sunglasses (obviously) but the piece de resistance was the following: a dark blazer with . . . .NO SHIRT UNDERNEATH!!! He was just wearing a blazer; it was awe-inspiring. He looked like a business casual member of the Chippendales.

I just felt bad for the female models. First, none of the ladies were remotely hot; girls that are 5’11” and 85lbs just don’t do it for me. I would feel uncomfortable sleeping with one; I’d be scared their bones would snap in half like Samuel L. Jackson in Unbreakable.

Also, they just looked pissed off the entire time. Probably because they were hungry; I wanted to get them all a pastrami on rye. I was toying with the idea of telling a couple of them they looked fat (you know, because I’m a dick).

Cosmo TV was there interviewing people for an upcoming segment; needless to say, they obviously recognized their second hottest bachelor and procured me for a quick interview. I have no idea what I said because I was three beers deep at that point (which means I was hammered).

I think the interview created some solid buzz among the other VIPs as I soon found myself chatting up a drop dead gorgeous client. We seemed to mesh very well and I put in a solid hour of superhuman flirting. She was smiling a lot and touched my arm so I thought I was golden.

Then she dropped the married bomb. FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ladies, please do a favour for your pal Tewks. If a guy who you’ve never met is talking to you for more than five consecutive minutes, he is interested in you sexually. If you’re in a relationship, drop that into the conversation very early. Otherwise, it feels like getting kicked in the groin.

And now I have blue balls.

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

Talkin' With Tewks: Ya Wanna Go?

The topic of fighting in hockey has been discussed ad nauseum over the past couple weeks and I’ve decided to join the party fashionably late.

But Tewks, you ask, since when do you write about serious subjects? Sure, my normal journalistic fare revolves around which male celebrities I have crushes on and my feeble attempts to get laid by anything with two X chromosomes, but it’s time to tackle a topic with depth.

However, I will still base my argument on poorly developed thoughts with little regard for insignificant details like statistics, evidence, research and coherence.

Where do I stand on the issue? While fighting does have a place in the game, I am firmly entrenched in the camp that believes the number and types of fights should be decreased.

Full disclosure: I played some puck in my day to varying degrees of success. While I did get cut from the same team 8 years in a row, when I finally made that team I was a solid second line player who could be counted on to score 20 goals a year; 18 of which would be scored in the first month of the season (I always liked to establish my presence with authority and then coast until playoffs).

Also, I was never a fighter. With superior facial features like mine, it would have been a huge gamble to risk serious disfigurement to my chiseled visage. And let’s be honest, if you take away my looks, I really don’t have much going for me. Intelligence? Questionable. Personality? Meh. Wealth? Nope. Sexual Prowess? Dozens of unsatisfied women can’t be wrong.

So you can see why I was somewhat reticent to chuck knuckles.

I have no problem with fights that are catalyzed by passionate play on the ice. Hockey is a very physical game and the odd donnybrook can ratchet up the intensity in a sluggish regular season game in January and provide a jolt to the teams of both combatants.

I DO have a problem with staged fights between two 6’5 240lb Mouth breathers who possess no discernible skills other than being able to bash their knuckle-dragging fists into human skulls in exchange for 37 seconds of nightly ice time. These fights serve no purpose other than to glorify these talentless Neanderthals who, instead of playing in the NHL, should be working as bouncers at some dive bar in Bobcaygeon.

It’s this proliferation of one-dimensional “enforcers” that is the real problem with fighting. These guys are so big and strong, and spend all of their time working on their pugilistic skills rather than, you know, things like stickhandling and skating backwards.

So, not only are these guys basically training to be fighters, they are throwing heavyweight caliber punches with their bare hands. At this rate, the incidence of skull fractures and serious concussions will soon become a monthly occurrence.

Old school pundits like Don Cherry like to wax poetic about the olden days and how “no one ever gets hurt in fights.” Well Donny, 40 years ago guys like Gordie Howe and Bobby Orr would fight their own battles; punches thrown by 5’10” 170lb guys with no formal fight training are a little bit different than those thrown by today’s behemoths.

And don’t get me started on the exultations of His Royal Donness either. When I was younger, it was easy to watch Cherry on Coach’s Corner with a look of bemusement; it was like listening to the harmless musings of a bigoted grandfather. It was entertaining and no one really took his xenophobic rants seriously.

I’m afraid Don is rapidly spiraling into senility as his weekly sermons are becoming increasingly unintelligible.

Here’s a sample transcript of one of his rants:

Don: “Let me tell you somethin’ right now ok? . . . All you kids out there . . . Are we gonna roll the thing? . . . This guy, great Canadian boy from Moose Jaw . . . Look at that, what a beauty!!

Ron: What do we--?

Don: Don’t interrupt me . . . Now you kids pay attention . . . I used to tell my guys the same thing . . . no hotdogging . . . It’s not the Canadian way!!!! . . . This guy here, he’s a Russian . . . What’s his name? Ho-varch-keen.

Ron: Ovechkin.

Don: That’s what I said . . . Ho-varch-keen . . . Anyways, this guy scores a goal here . . . waving his arms around . . . Did I mention he’s not Canadian? . . . Kids, DON’T DO THAT!!! . . . That’s enough about that . . .Ok let’s go

Ron: Next we have----

Don: Oh that’s right . . . watch this guy . . . .great guy . . . Bawango . . . Two Canadian boys going at it . . . No one got hurt, no one got hurt . . . Look at that . . . couple beauties right there . . . Last thing I want to say is Bobby Orr Bobby Orr Bobby Orr Bobby Orr Bobby Orr Kingston Kingston Kingston Kingston Kingston Doug Gilmour Doug Gilmour Doug Gilmour Doug Gilmour Doug Gilmour I coached the Bruins I coached the Bruins I coached the Bruins Kingston Bobby Orr.

In sum:

1. One-game suspensions for premeditated fights where the guys dance around for 30 seconds juking and jiving
2. Instigator penalty for any player who jumps an opponent for making a clean hit on his teammate

There you go. NHL general managers need months of discussion and special advisory committees to solve the fighting issue; your man Tewks did it in less than 1000 words.

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

Talkin' with Tewks: Idol WBC Chatter

(Do you see what I did with that title? Consider yourself punned. I am what the literary community refers to as a cunning linguist; not to be confused with someone who is proficient at—well, nevermind.)

The goal of this article is two-fold:

1. To handicap the eighth season of American Idol. The remaining four members of the top 13 (TWIST!!!!!) were chosen in a wildcard episode Thursday night. Here’s how a typical viewing of AI takes place in the Tewks household: Papa Tewks, likening himself as a manlier version of Simon Cowell (complete with plunging neckline), makes scathing criticisms of each contestant; I enjoy calling inanimate objects in the living room “Dog” and practicing my Ebonics; Mama Tewks, glassy-eyed from her nightly martini, drops in periodically to provide fashion commentary and make fun of the blind kid (I’m just kidding; she drinks wine).

B. To handicap (a double dose of retardation!!) the second annual World Baseball Classic. Because this website is allegedly a sports blog, I figured I should provide my fortuitous insight into the most famous sporting event to ever take place during the month of March.
In order to separate myself from other sports blogs, I wanted to preview each country in iambic pentameter. Then I realized that I don’t know what iambic pentameter is, so 50 words or less on each pool should suffice.

Pool A – Tokyo

How can both China and Chinese Taipei have a team? Why does China get two teams, but one with a funny name? That’s like having a Team Canada and Team Canada Beaver Tail (provided Taipei is Chinese for delicious pastry topped with cinnamon).

Pool B – Mexico City

South Africa? I don’t know how good these guys will be with Ernie Els and Retief Goosen as their 3-4 hitters. Obviously, Cuba will run away with this pool, but it’s more fun to picture how many Cuban players will defect once they reach the second round in San Diego.

Pool C - Toronto

We kicked your soft, lily-white, multimillionaire pansy asses three years in Arizona and we will do it again. Italy? Please. This isn’t the World Cup. Venezuela? They might have a chance if they stopped kidnapping player’s families and holding them for ransom.

Pool D – San Juan

Much like Cuba, the Dominican Republic will dominate this pool, so let’s meet the pretenders. The Kingdom of Netherlands? Well la-dee-da, you’re still going 0-2. Panama: they can build a canal but can they hit with runners in scoring position? Puerto Rico: The US doesn’t care and neither do I.

“Idol” Thoughts (I did it again!!)

I write this American Idol breakdown with a heavy heart. Usually, I develop an unhealthy infatuation on a token hot female contestant (see McPhee, Katharine and Underwood, Carrie); this year I had pinned my hopes on Casey Carlson and/or Kendall Beard cracking the top 13.

Unfortunately, due to the fact that they both suck, neither hottie is moving on in the quest to become America’s next pop “star” (also, neither Casey nor Kendall accepted my Facebook friend request. Sluts).

Therefore, I cannot in good conscience give two shits about the rest of the season. The rest of this article will consist of my brief (maximum of six words) thoughts about the remaining 13 contestants.

Danny Gokey – Wife is dead. Yeah, we know.

Alexis Grace – Teenage Pregnancy. Use condom next time.

Michael Sarver – Blue collar Joe. Has ugly wife.

Adam Lambert – You are gay. Vote Prop 8.

Kris Allen – I don’t know who you are.

Allison Iraheta – Sang Heart’s Alone. Gave me boner.

Jorge Nunez – Cut my grass if you lose?

Scott MacIntyre – Blind; not distracted by Kendall’s hotness.

Lil Rounds – Has talent, but dumbest name ever.

Anoop Desai – Nerdy looking, but Slumdog can sing.

Matt Giraud – Piano man has cool half beard.

Jasmine Murray – Only 17, but my Cocoa Princess.

Megan Joy Corkrey – Great tats. That’s not a typo.

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

25 Years: A Retrospective

I have no explanation for my hiatus from contributing to this blog: before I would write on this blog when I was either dating a girl or when I was having semi-regular sex. But I don't see that happening until at least the next Olympics... the next summer Olympics.

On a happier note, Gretzpo is celebrating a birthday this weekend. So what have been some of the highlights thus far?

After my best friend was killed in a tragic smelting accident I decided to follow my dream and try out for the Notre Dame Fighting Irish football team. I learned life lessons and got my education, but after not being able to crack the roster for four years I quit the team. However, at the insistence of my black mentor, I rejoined the team for the final day of practice, and after a tear jerking display of sacrifice by my teammates, got to run out of the tunnel and play in a game.

After college I logged two jobs: by day I was a collector for a loan shark and by night I was a boxer. Then, to celebrate the American bicentennial I was given the opportunity of a lifetime: a chance to fight the heavyweight championship of the world, Apollo Creed. On the eve of the fight I walked around all night and came to the conclusion that I couldn't win. All I could do was go the distance - no one had ever gone the distance with Creed. In the end, although I didn't win the title, I found true love and self-respect. It was okay though... because I would later win the title.

After my reign as heavyweight champion I retired to Iowa and started farming corn. One day while in the fields I heard a voice tell me, "if you build it, they will come." Because of our rocky relationship growing up, I interpreted this as my opportunity to build a baseball field for one last opportunity to play catch with my father. Which is exactly what happened. In hindsight, I should have built some sort of brothel, as I was married to an extremely unattractive redhead at the time ... with a dick brother who nearly killed my daughter... but I digress...

Having healed all familial wounds and mastered sports at both the collegiate and professional levels, I finally had a chance to do what I always wanted: retreat into the Burmese jungle and become a snake catcher. My reclusion was short lived, though, as I was forced into helping a group of travelling missionaries through the use of extreme and graphic violence. I killed over 300 men by myself and ripped out a guy's throat: it was quite the afternoon.

By now even our most slow-witted readers have determined that I am attempting to pass off several plot lines from classic movies as my life... here are three observations that, sadly, pertain to my life after 25 years:

1) I think I may be getting worse at sex. When I was younger and finished early I thought it was just my inexperience ... I was quick: like Michael Johnson running the 4oo metres. So how is it my sexual stamina now is better compared to Usain Bolt? Isn't that the opposite supposed to happen? Shouldn't I be like a Kenyan marathon runner by now?

2) I'm getting better and better looking with each passing year. I owe it all to Crossfit and Starting Strength.

3) Good friends are hard to come by. I was once in a situation where I had the chance to take a girl back to my room while I was on vacation. However, the buddy I was vacationing with also had the opportunity to take back a woman to the room. A good friend would have let his undersexed buddy have the room. Instead, we put the room to a game of chance in which I was defeated. I'm still angry about it to this day.

I think it may be time to revoke Tewks' writing privileges.

Talkin' with Tewks: Tiger's Back and There's Gonna Be Trouble

(Note: Tim Clark ruined the context of this column. Go back to Capetown, you apartheid-lovin’ midget. Nevertheless, it’s still funny)

This article may be a tad brief, much like my sexual stamina, but my quest to make (very small) waves in the Canadian film and television industry is taking the majority of my focus this week.

I have the lead role in a screenplay reading taking place at the National Film Board of Canada. My character, Tim, is described as “every inch the GQ man”, but “self-conscious about his intelligence.” Check and Mate.

Also, I have an audition for the lead in an independent production of a romantic comedy/drama called “Waiting for Summer”. My character, Zach, is described thusly: “a charming and flirtatious single Caucasian male . . . [who has] been floating around in life, but is looking for a new start.”

I think I’m being typecast.

What I really wanted to talk about is the return of golf’s prodigal son, Tiger Woods. My fawning appreciation for Mr. Woods was expressed eloquently in my Mancrush Dissertation. I’m what you would call a casual golf fan; I tune in to watch about 5 or 6 tournaments a year and play approximately the same number of rounds myself (in an interesting twist, golf is the only sport in which Gretzpo can beat me; this fact brings me great shame).

But when Tiger’s involved, I become some kind of golf Rain Man. I can recite the most inane Tiger statistics and I have no problem stapling myself to a couch for six hours in mid-July to watch him anally rape a 7,500 yard golf course (that’s a sodomy references in back to back columns; paging Dr. Freud).

Over the past eight months, my interest in the PGA Tour has waned drastically as Tiger rehabbed from his ACL reconstruction surgery last summer. The news that Woods would be returning this week at the Accenture Match Play Championship caused immense joy in my loins and lessened the crippling depression associated with my Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Now that The Man is back, I’m following his progress so intently online that I have a Single White Female infatuation going on right now. I find myself refreshing Jason Sobel’s live blog on ESPN.com every 12 seconds (I’m hoping that by mentioning Sobel’s name, I will cause the traffic to this site to undergo a geometric expansion).

Watching the highlights from Tiger’s first round victory, it’s obvious that the golf world has missed his presence as much as I have. I mean, the guy’s an absolute rock star. He’s the only player on the PGA Tour who has the body and/or athleticism to a play a sport other than golf or darts.

Two things make my brain hurt thinking about where Tiger could end up in terms of career victories and Major wins.

One is that this is the first time in his career that his body is functioning as a sound unit (his knee has been bothering him for years and he’s already had a couple of arthroscopic surgeries). Woods does not have to worry about a wonky knee affecting the rotational forces of his swing. He can now play with complete peace of mind without having to worry about the physical ramifications to his body.

Two is that Tiger, with his unparalleled physical fitness and mental fortitude, can realistically play at a high level for another 20 years. Where is his eventual career ceiling? 120 victories? 30 Major titles?

Figuring this out is more mentally taxing than trying to fathom how Keanu Reeves keeps getting acting roles.

The dream matchup that everyone is pining for is, of course, a Tiger-Phil smackdown on Saturday in the semifinals (Fuck you, Tim Clark). While it would be fantastic to see the sport’s most popular golfers duke it out over eighteen holes, I have a different proposal I would like to put forth.

Have Woods and Mickelson play the front nine on Saturday, but replace the back nine with a tickle fight between Elin Woods and Amy Mickelson on the 18th green. What red-blooded male wouldn’t want to see these two Sirens strip down to bra and panties and go at it (20 bucks says Hal Sutton has a raging hard-on in this picture)?

(Oh well, there’s always next year)

Enjoy your weekend.

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

Talkin' with Tewks: Looking for Love

Every Valentine’s Day, the mainstream media beats thoughts of romance and everlasting love into our collective psyche worse than Chris Brown trying to teach Rihanna about text message privacy.

(Disclaimer: that joke in no way condones what Chris Brown did; beating up a woman is the epitome of cowardice and CB should be forced to “squeal like a pig” in a state prison).

The oversaturation and commercialization of Valentine’s Day is completely ridiculous; not only is it a farcical “holiday”, but it’s geared solely towards women. Why are men expected to buy all these gifts and tokens of appreciation and receive nothing in return?

Where is our holiday when women can show their men just how much they love them? This is why the guy behind Steak and Blowjob Day is nothing short of a genius. Steak and Blowjob Day is exactly what it sounds like: on March 14th, all men want is a big steak and a spirited bout of mouth to penis resuscitation. No presents, cards, flowers, candies, chocolates, sonnets, cuddling, talking, listening or acknowledging each other’s presence; just cook some cow, induce a fellatio-related orgasm and then leave so we can watch Sportscentre in complete peace and quiet.

Trust me ladies, if you do this, your man will spend every Saturday for the next year following you around to every craft fair, antique roadshow and Bed, Bath and Beyond in a 50 mile radius.

Full disclosure: how did I spend my Valentine’s Day? Watching Serendipity and The Notebook with Gretzpo. Unfortunately, I am not making this up. Usually, I tell people that I only watch The Notebook because Rachel McAdams is my ultimate celebrity crush (which is true, she’s gorgeous), but the truth is, I think the movie is fantastic. I hope that one day I am lucky enough to find a love that creates miracles.

(One second, I have to mop up the pool of tears flooding my keyboard)

Like clockwork, as another Valentine’s Day passes whilst I’m single, there is a 96 hour window where I’m a quivering emotional mess longing for meaningful female companionship.

This year, instead of keeping these feelings bottled up and showing no outward emotion like a real man should, I’m going to give you insight into my search for true love. Normally this would involve a 40 of rye, a dimly lit nightclub and a buxom blonde with the IQ of a cucumber.

However, all of this changed when I saw the commercials for the greatest online dating service since To Catch a Predator: E-Harmony.

Have you seen these commercials? They feature incredibly photogenic couples who met online and eventually married because of how perfectly matched they were by E-Harmony’s compatibility system:

Lee and Anne Marie (Click to see clip; I'm not smart enough to embed footage)

Sure this couple is happy now with all of their waxy prose about how they balance each other out and Lee is the ying to Anne Marie’s yang. However, I can’t help but wonder that, with all the talk of Lee’s “Type A” personality and his propensity to be “an intense guy, with a full plate” and a “need to relax”, these two are headed for a major domestic disturbance in the next five years.

My crystal ball predicts that in 2013, Lee will return home from an 80 hour week at the office and find Anne Marie embracing her free spirit watching a Sex and the City marathon with cheetos residue on her chest while the carpets remains un-vacuumed and dishes pile up in the sink.

The resulting blowout will make Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston look like June and Ward Cleaver.

My favourite part of this clip happens at 0:07 when Lee bowls that strike. The arrogance and cockiness in that premature arm raise is nothing short of magnificent; I plan on incorporating the “Lee” into my everyday life:

“Tewks, it’s almost as if you don’t have any sales training at all”

(Lee)

"Aren’t you one of Cosmo TV’s hottest bachelors?”

(Lee)

“That sex was alarmingly brief and disappointingly inadequate”

(Lee)

Joshua and Tanyalee

I hate this couple with every fibre of my being; they are too perfect. You talked on the phone for over six hours? And you did this more than once? I don’t think I’ve spent six hours on the phone in the last two years.

I would love to make fun of Tanyalee’s description of their “instant connection . . . snap”, but I cannot. She is way too pretty (beautiful, really) and I get lost in her eyes every time I watch the video.

And Joshua? Come on, that guy? Oh sure, he’s a geeky chemist with a cool little half beard but my dear Tanyalee deserves someone with a little more testosterone.

“Everything we do together is fun”. Really? Tackling a six foot canvas and dancing around at five in the morning, covered in drywall dust, mud and splatter paint is not what springs to mind when I think of “fun”.

Who am I kidding? If Tanyalee showed up to my house in that skirt/boot combo at 0:36 and told me she doesn’t want kids, I’d give myself a vasectomy under the pretense that it’s “fun.”

I really hope they get divorced.

And that ends today’s lecture; I look forward to seeing some of you on E-Harmony in the very near future (or Ashley Madison; whatever gets me laid the fastest).

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

Talkin' With Tewks: Lost Mailbag

Note: Without my knowledge and due to clerical error (i.e. Gretzpo is an idiot), my original mailbag post was deleted from the website. Luckily, I have been able to correct this egregious error so you, dear reader, are privy to all of my journalistic greatness.

Here is the Lost Mailbag:

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, the homosexual relationship between Gretzpo and the nefarious C-Szem, 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 I am 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 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.

Talkin’ with Tewks: An Explanation Served With a Side of Revisionism

Before I dive into today’s topic and deal with some general housekeeping, I owe you, my faithful readers, an explanation for my prolonged absence from this blog.

I’m sure most of you figured that I slept with one of Gretzpo’s acquaintances and his retaliation was to banish me from the blog. In the interest of full disclosure, I have never touched a girl that Gretzpo’s frequented with. YET. The primary reason for this being that his standards are just unfathomably low: if I’m regularly feasting on prime rib than Gretzpo’s filling up on Listeria ridden Maple Leaf deli meat.

However, this may all change with Gretzpo’s newest paramour. I will most definitely take a run at her provided she, how do I put this nicely, decreases in mass. But Tewks, how do you know this young lady would agree to sleep with you? I don’t foresee a problem there, guy.

The real reason for my eight week sabbatical is that I have acquiesced to full time employment as a sales executive for a top media and entertainment company. How did I get such a position? I have no idea. I pretty much watch TV in my office all day. The only difference between my life now and when I was unemployed is that I have to wear pants during the day.

Also, I have been hard at work trying to break into the entertainment industry in an on-camera capacity. I host my own sports segment on local TV and successfully auditioned for the lead role in a local theatre production. I also have another project I’m working on that is shrouded in secrecy. Sorry, but all of the above is a lot more fun than writing for this blog.

I decided to write a column now after reading Gretzpo’s latest effort. I read his piece six times and still didn’t understand what the hell he was talking about. My economics degree notwithstanding, my knowledge of the financial markets is limited to knowing that I don’t have a lot of money and I need more.

Onto today’s column:

Back in March I wrote a MLB (AL only) season preview that reverberated around the blogosphere; I thought it would be a good idea to revisit my predictions.

American League East

1. Tampa Bay Rays – Prediction: 75-87 Actual: 97-65

Wow, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. To be fair, no one saw this coming. The Rays are the feel good story of Major League Baseball. They followed an interesting path to their first American League East crown: be nothing more than a glorified AAA team and play terrible baseball in front of 500 geriatrics every night for 10 years, stockpile high draft picks then change your team name and play .600 ball in one transcendent six month stretch.

2. Boston Red Sox – Prediction: 100-62 Actual: 95-67

I’m patting myself on the back for this one. Let’s have John Madden break this prediction down: “Boom! That’s just a great call by Tewks right here. (Pause) What? Brett Favre threw for six touchdowns on Sunday. Boom! I have an erection a cat couldn’t scratch, right here."

3. New York Yankees – Prediction: 88-74 Actual: 89-73

My impressive prognosticating abilities are readily apparent here, so I have nothing to add other than: Derek Jeter sucks and I hope he gets VD during the first October vacation of his career.

4. Toronto Blue Jays – Prediction: 93-69 Actual: 86-76

Well I really took it on the chin predicting a playoff appearance for the Jays. I will chalk up this glaring miss to the fact I was blinded my Canadian-ness. Also, thanks to AJ Burnett for actually living up to his potential but only in a year when he can opt out of his contract. Asshole. Please come back next year.

5. Baltimore Orioles – Prediction: 61-101 Actual: 68-93

Boring. Baltimore sucks for the umpteenth year in a row and I still don’t know how to please a woman. Tell me something I don’t know.

American League Central

1. Minnesota Twins – Prediction: 77-85 Actual: 88-74

If the Twins and Rays meet in the ALCS, baseball purists around North America will throw simultaneous conniption fits over the fact the series will be waged at the Metrodome and the Trop. Fenway Park and Yankee Stadium they are not.

2. Chicago White Sox – Prediction: 75-87 Actual: 88-74

I’m assuming the White Sox will lose to the Twins in tonight’s one game playoff. My reasoning is plain and simple. Ozzie Guillen is Chicago’s manager and I hate Latinos. Just kidding, I once dated a girl who was Spanish, or Norwegian . . . something weird.

3. Cleveland Indians – Prediction: 95-67 Actual: 81-81

As a left-handed pitcher, I have no problem saying that if I was forced to engage in a Deliverance type activity with a ballplayer I would pick Cliff Lee hands down. Only for the opportunity to discuss pitching mechanics post sodomy.

4. Kansas City Royals – Prediction: 70-92 Actual: 75-87

I love barbecued spare ribs.

5. Detroit Tigers – Prediction: 98-64 Actual: 74-88

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Tigers for making me look like a jackass on this one. Here are my predictions for Detroit’s offseason: Jim Leyland’s lungs will resemble charred chicken breasts at his annual physical, Miguel Cabrera will visit an All You Can eat Buffet and Gary Sheffield will complain that he’s disrespected because he’s black. Take these to the bank.

American League West

1. Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim – Prediction: 95-67 Actual: 100-62

Francisco Rodriguez eclipsed Bobby Thigpen’s MLB record of 57 saves in one season with 62. K-Rod has thankfully put an end to one of baseball’s most existential questions: Who the fuck is Bobby Thigpen?

2. Texas Rangers – Prediction: 73-89 Actual: 79-83

I’m not comfortable making comments in this section because I don’t want to make a cheap “Josh Hamilton snorts coke off hookers’ stomachs before games” joke.

3. Oakland Athletics – Prediction: 77-85 Actual: 75-86

The Athletics have just Moneyball’ed themselves to a record below .500 for the second year in a row and your man Tewks called it.

4. Seattle Mariners – Prediction: 90-72 Actual: 61-101

The Mariners have become the first team in baseball history to lose 100 games with a $100 million payroll (Thanks to the Elias Sports Bureau for that golden nugget). In my preview, I compared Ichiro to Ty Cobb, only without the asshole personality. I may have been wrong there as news leaked out of the Mariner’s clubhouse that more than a few players wanted “to knock Ichiro out” for his less than sunny disposition. I don’t think that’s a good idea; I’m always wary of quiet, unassuming Asians. You just know that a full-fledged karate master is waiting to be unleashed.

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

US Treasury to Bail Out my Sex Life

The US Treasury has just cut me a cheque for $7,000 in order to bail out my sex life.

To take a look at where my sex life went wrong, one must trace back to when I became an elitist jackass after working my way into spectacular physical shape. Assuming I'd eventually see strong sexual returns on my high risk exercise investment, I neglected to balance my portfolio with the foundations of female attraction: listening and communication skills. This gap in my sexual attraction pallet - the "coitus crunch" - has had a detrimental effect on me for the past year.

The so called "Sexual Stimulus" package, despite its bipartisan roots, has drawn both praise and ire from conservative and liberal groups.

Conservatives have lauded the financial bailout, claiming that if my sex life had not have been bailed out soon, the long term effects would have been devastating: with my sexual prime being wasted and legions of women being left unsatisfied.

Commented one Republican Pundit: "If this young man's sex life had not have been bailed out, the long term effects would have reverberated through the sexual system for years to come."

Liberals have fired back, stating that even with this infusion and me having more sex, there's a good chance that the legions of women would still remain unsatisfied: as my track record in this department is less than stellar.

"It is unfair that young men who mismanage their sex lives in the first place expect to be bailed out on the backs of the American taxpayer: plus this particular individual is Canadian - which makes the legislation all the more confusing," countered a Liberal watchdog.

Get Out of my Gym

Any loyal follower to this blog - if there are any - will know that myself and Tewks are loyal Crossfitters: this inevitably means a woman on each arm and frequent visits to the gym. I've been going to the gym for about 6 months now, and the characters I find never cease to amaze me ... most of them legitmately there to improve their lives and fitness level: but some there to take up space and treat the gym as a hang out ... I've managed to subset those that annoy me into the following categories:

#1: Runway Fitness

Do we honestly live in a society where sweating, grunting, and wearing a simple pair of shorts and t-shirt to the gym isn't perceived as the right way to do things?

There's a guy at my gym who wears a polar fleece over his long sleeve Under Armor T Shirt which is tucked into his Nike trackpants ... of course, with a cell phone clipped to his waist. He's fat and barely exercises ... I've contemplated throwing a dumbell at his head just to get him moving.

#2: Cell Phone Usage

Usually the same people decked out in hundreds of dollars worth of gym garb in #1. We all see how cool you are ... how you have so many friends and you couldn't possibly take 45 minutes out of your busy day to work out hard at the risk of a communication breakdown. From the looks of the riff raff doing the texting, I'm sure the messages read something like this:

^$$^BiGBoi^$$^: Yo babe! @ gym pumpin'. Hang out at mall l8r? Lata fine thang!

**BayBPhat**: Hey sxy! C U thurr! XOXOX

#3: Non Crossfitters

Working out should be a journey in increasing your overall physical preparedness ... if you or a friend were ever really in trouble you could rely on your training to see you through it. For example ... if Tewks and I were going on a man run in the forest and a 335 LB log fell on him (couldn't be any heavier than that though) I could lift it off of him. There would never be a situation where you had to execute a tricep extension to save someone's life: never.

#4: Urban Music

Gangster beats don't lend themselves well to pumping iron ... the only time they've ever helped me is when I grind up behind some drunk girl at the bar ... but at the gym? Give me a heavy guitar riff over UNTS-UNTS-UNTS-UNTS...

#5: Socializing

Oh... I'm sorry... you're using that chin up bar? It's hard to tell when you're talking to your fat friend... who's also not using the chin up bar.

#6: Out of Shape Personal Trainers

Honestly... there's one of these at my gym... the typical out of shape guy who you only see working out his chest and his arms... and this is the guy who you're paying $60/hour to get you into shape? The guy can't even run 400M ... but yeah... look at that bench press total... very impressive.

#7: People That Don't Squat Correctly

A full squat is getting your ass below parallel to your knees. Yeah... I could squat 300lbs too if by "squat" you mean lower my hips 3 inches.

#8: Incompetent Receptionists

We get it ... you hate your job: and you probably should - after all, you're going to be stuck in $10/hour hell for the rest of your life. But all I want is for you to take my gym card and give it back to me after I'm done working out... I've had my membership card lost twice because the complex alphabetizing filing system is just too complicated for the tart who failed Grade Nine.

Random Thoughts

The biggest stories of the Olympics have been:

1) Michael Phelps' domination in the pool

2) Canada having less medals than Togo (until recently)

3) Communist/Dictatorship China hosting a competition of freedom and goodwill

Luckily, I will focus on none of these in this post.

You know what's frustrating about these Olympics? I was initially happy because they had raised the minimum age for gymnasts to 16 ... meaning I felt a little less creepy while ogling the females. But then China had to spoil things by fielding a team with 14 year olds... thanks China... you ruined it for everyone.

Okay... now we're down that path... we might as well keep going...

You know what I find the hottest sport to be in the Olympics? Women's Volleyball. Not the beach kind... the indoor kind... there's something about those shorts and the comraderie and celebration after every point: they get so excited over any sort of minor accomplishment - that's definitely the kind of woman I need in the boudoir.

Jerry Seinfeld does a great bit on the Olympics ... how biathlon was odd because it combined cross country skiing and shooting... "What's next? Swimming and strangling a guy?"

It's true though: there's just too many sports at the Olympics that no one cares about ... they need to update these games. My first suggestion: take out Equestrian events in favour of Foxy Boxing.

The Jays continue to ruin my life. Every time they get on a hot streak I start to believe they can make a mini run at the playoffs... then they do something stupid like drop 3 straight to the frickin' Cleveland Indians. You know what? I'm not falling for it this time ... the Jays still have no hope for the playoffs... even if Adam Lind continues to be the hottest player in baseball... he's absolutely killing the ball... that's what I meant by that...

... I'm not gay.

Go see Pineapple Express ... Seth Rogen has the ability to be the next Jim Carey/Adam Sandler... provided he doesn't try and move into "serious roles" ... or make a shitty movie with "Zohan" in the title.

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