7.31.2006

Mo Pena, mo problems

Just an update on Mount Pena- because I know you all love him as much as I do. Acquired this off-season as supposedly a cornerstone of the Red Sox of the future, we weren't expecting to see a whole lot of Wily Mo this season, but we were to rest assured that he would be given some developmental time to turn him into the offense beast that he is destined to be. He wasn't guaranteed a lot of playing time, but given that Rockin' Bronson, the man he was traded for, has the NL on LOCKDOWN, it was safe to assume that the Sox would hold on to Pena to make sure he reached beast-status and legitimized the trade. Just when you thought it was safe to be a Wily Mo, some trade rumors start popping up. One shady unidentified front office figure even went so far as to say that he would be very suprised if Pena weas still on the team at the end of the trading deadline. This blasphemous statement almost brought me to tears.

Amidst the swirling rumors of Pena's impending departure from the Red Sox as a result of the approaching trade deadline and the Sox desperate need for starting pitching, a blessing in disguise occured and Trot Nixon over-extended his right arm in last night's game against the Angels, looking silly on a John Lackey off-speed offering. While I'm a big fan of Trot, as one of the original Dirt Dogs, He's just not having the impact on games that you need from a corner outfielder. The power numbers just aren't there.

One thing we can be sure Wily Mo will provide, is impact. So while I hate to be happy about an injury to one of the Sox starting nine, I'm pretty confidant that if Nixon is forced to the DL and the big guy gets some mo' playing time, he WILL knock the Green Monster over with a line drive one of these days. Seriously... don't stand behind it when he's at bat, it's not safe.

{Update: Trot Nixon has since been placed on the DL. So, start stringing up the caution tape on Lansdowne Street.}

7.27.2006

The Celtics just got Pittsnogle'd

What kind of blogger or Celtics fan would I be if I didn't write about the C's recent acquisition of Mr. Kevin Pittsnogle. Basically, after dropping Raef Lafrentz and his Subway Jared pre-diet-sized contract, Ainge felt the need to replace his old, overpriced, tall, ugly, slow, white guy who can't play inside, is above-average at shooting 3's and has bad knees with a young inexpensive, tall, ugly, slow, white guy who can't play inside, is above-average at shooting 3's and has bad knees. While I can't support the need for the rest of the above criteria on ANY basketball team, I guess you can't argue with the "inexpensive".

Pittsnogle, or Snogle as I affectionately like to call him, made his living tearing apart Syracuse in my tenure as an Orangeman. To this point, it became standard to use Snogle's last name, not only as a noun, but also as a verb, adjective and pronoun - making him the ultimate Mad Libs answer. Use it at your own discretion. It can take on virtually any meaning, just as long as that meaning doesn't have positive connotations. So the next time you're walking with someone and they step in something brown and fudgey, feel free to exclaim "PITTSNOGLE'D!!!!" You'll take note immediately of how applicable it is- just give it a shot.

The unfortunate young lady in this picture's about to get Pittsnogle'd, literally.

If you're wondering why I have such a strong distaste for our new benchwarmer, look no further than this fine piece of blogging by my co-worker. He's a disgrace to the Celtics and white basketball players everywhere. He's Jason Williams, only goofy and lacking street cred... and skills. He served carney food at his wedding! He's got the ugliest conglomeration of tattoos, only to be matched by his ugly game (He's even got one doozy of an ink blotch on his calf, portraying his own ugly mug). Show me a Kevin Pittsnogle fan and I'll show you a person with less than ten teeth. Anyone that doubts me, just take a look at the official website of Mr. Snogle. Try not to laugh. I dare you.

7.25.2006

Papelblog

Hey, let's pop some Viagra and close out Major League Baseball games with raging mega-huge Papelboners! Jonathan Papelbon is by far the biggest addition to the Red Sox since we stole the league's most valuable Papi from the Minnesota Twinkies. As someone who I've recently regained a good deal of respect for- Stu Scott would say, kid's been straight nasty. Even though Papelbon went into the game last night in a non-save situation, making him temporarily unable to get his league leading 30th save, the moment he stepped up on the hill I was finally able to go to bed and stop clicking the refresh button on the ESPN.com box score to see if the sordid-of-late Red Sox had blown the 7-3 lead we had accumulated against the Oakland Athletics.

It speaks AC/DC-level volumes about the state of rookie pitching in the AL that our young Texan fireballer could possibly end up FOURTH in the AL rookie of the year balloting... behind three other pitchers! The other thing that Papelbon makes me indirectly excited for is the emergence of his teammate, Jon Lester, who beat out Papelhero AND these other three guys for Minor League pitcher of the year last year.

But let's not lose focus here- my main point is that while Jonny-boy may not be a shoe-in for the league's top rook this year in the MLB, he is a standalone leading vote-getter for my blog's Wall Of Man Rookie of the Year. I know that's more important anyways... just look at how excited he is.

It's like 10,000 spoons

So I'm heading to work this morning, enjoying a massive iced coffee and walking down 42nd street - probably one of the busiest and most obnoxious streets in the country - when off in the distance I hear the faint thud of a ghetto blaster. Times Square's a pretty noisy area, especially during rush hour traffic. So, just close your eyes for a minute if you will and try to imagine just how loud this music must have been to drown out the rest of the urban cacauphony. Every step I walked and sip I took, the music got closer and closer. I could tell it was pretty high-quality sound system because there wasn't a hint of rattling trunks or overzealous treble.

Eventually, I sauntered up next to this Papaya Dog and I could feel the bass breathing hot air down the back of my neck like a silverback gorrilla. I knew the guilty vehicle was precisely to my left so I turned my lazy head, neck still stiff from my restless slumber, and for a second or two my gaze chilled out on a guy who looked remarkably similar to Baby (at left) from Big Tymers and Cash Money Records. He was iced out and had at least 15 tattoos that I could count in the hot second that I was looking in his direction. Baby-faced-killa was riding in a Corvette that looked like Xzibit and the boys over at West Coast Customs had their way with it. I seriously wouldn't have been shocked if he pressed a button in the dash and a full basketball court popped out of the trunk.

Anyways, wood-grain and candy paint aside, I still couldn't make out exactly what song was playing on the stereo because there was a jackhammer directly behind me. All I knew was that it was shaking my chest cavity. I'm not a gambling man, but if I was, given the information I had in front of me, I would probably put money on Young Joc, or Chamillionaire... maybe even some smooth jazz stylings of Coltraine, given that it was still pretty early in the morning. Let's just say that I wasn't exactly on the edge of my seat waiting to hear what was playing on the stereo, but as the walk signal turned on and I slowly shufffled away from the jackhammer and the music playing slowly became clearer and clearer. I was shocked at what came next.

The guy was blasting "Ironic" by Alanis Morissette, at 50,000 decibels!!!! And he was bobbing his head to the beat! I didn't even know Alanis Morissette songs even had a beat... or any bass in them whatsover for that matter. I literally laughed out loud. I laughed so hard I almost dropped my precious iced coffee. This was literally THE most ironic thing that has ever happened to me. It was like the irony nexus of the universe and the most ironic song in the history of the world was playing in the background to add insult to injury! For a second, I thought it might be a rap-remix and so I waited for a DJ Clue beat to come on, or for Method Man or Eminem to rap a verse or two in the middle of the song... it didn't happen. I pictured Alanis Morisette decked out in diamonds, rockin' a Kobe jersey and some Purple and Gold Air Force Ones and I laughed even harder.

After I finished doing the truffle shuffle at the thought of Alanis in gangsta' garb, I stopped to think about the power of pre-concieved notions. This guy had every right to rock out to some 90's woman-power ballads, whether it's in the privacy of his own home, or in the middle of one of the busiest places on the planet. Whether he's dressed like Dennis Rodman, or R. Lee Ermey should I really be expecting him to listen to one specific genre of music based on his attire and vehicle!? I guess the moral of my drawn-out tale is simple: be wary of stereotypes, or else reality will catch you off-guard and you'll come dangerously close to dropping your iced coffee.

7.24.2006

Welcome to No-funsville, USA. Population: not me

I've never been to New Braunfels, TX. It may not be such a bad place. However, after recently learning that the lawmakers in this small Texas town have nothing better to do than ban beer bongs and Jell-o shots, I'm putting it on my list of "places I'd prefer not to go to". Before you ask, yes I really do have such a list. It's in my diary right next to my list of "foods I kinda like, but would never really order at a restaurant".

7.21.2006

The fearsome silverback gorillas have claimed their first victim

Gorrillas live in our bathroom at work.... and we've got a man down. I'm currently calling a search party and alerting Laura Linney, Dylan Walsh and Ernie Hudson. "Mr Hamolka, STOP EATING MY SESAME CAKE!"

7.20.2006

Cool as the other side of the pillow

http://www.wikihow.com/Sleep-Comfortably-on-a-Hot-Night

Being that it's been sweltering the past few days, and given that I'm extremely intolerant of the heat (that's me directly below), this really caught my eye. Thought you all might enjoy these tips as well, to help you revel and bask in a cooling sensation, using methods other than those employed by Rob "Mess" Murphy.
The only thing I don't agree with is the part about putting on some cold, wet socks. That sounds terrible! Having wet socks is possibly one of the worst feelings in the world. Why don't they just tell you to throw on some cold wet boxer-briefs and then then safety pin them to your bulge?

7.19.2006

Bring the Pena


Also in the news today, one of those guys that became an automatic favorite of mine AS SOON as he was traded to the Sox, Wily Mo Pena, is back on the roster. Even though the man he was traded for, Bronson Arroyo, has thus far had an All-Star caliber season and even though Pena's missed about as many games as Arroyo has K's, I still highly support the trade for this guy. Feel free to call me an apologist- my manager and fellow Red Sox fan, Michael Shafrir does pretty much on a daily basis.

From my point of view, there's very little to dislike about this kid. He's a muscle-bound mountain of a man who can obliterate baseballs, hitting Bo Jackson-like moonshots and he's only 24!! He's got the same gentle giant persona as the greatest clutch hitter in Red Sox history, he was a standout member of the original Wall of Man, and to top it all off his name's "Wily Mo". Pronounced: Willie Mo PAIN-ya.

Lastly, I just think there's something to be said for a potential lineup that's got Ortiz, Manny and Pena batting three-four-five. All three of those guys can take you deep faster than Charlie Murphy and Ashy Larry can ruin the Chappelle Show. If you think Ortiz's numbers are gaudy with Manny protecting him from the cleanup spot, just imagine everytime a pitcher stares in to face Big Papi and he sees this guy sittin' on double-deck. Let's just hope Big Wily Style drops the all-lumber diet and starts feasting on American League pitching instead.

7.18.2006

Danny Ainge couldn't be happier...

So Paul Pierce just signed a three-year extension yesterday that has him locked in with my beloved Celts until at least the 2010-11 season. I'm absolutely thrilled, being that Pierce is about about 2 game-winning shots away from earning a spot on my Wall of Man (see below). The rumor mill has the big green machine dealing away some of our young talent for some added star power like AI, KG, or any other player who's recognizeable by two initials (word on the street is Gerald Green for TI, straight up... would anyone even notice?).

While the thought of Iverson and his world record for "most contusions ever" playing alongside Paulie kinda makes me wanna cry and then build a house out of bricks and tears, the moves we've made this off-season coupled with the abundance of promising young guys on the squad leaves me feeling like the team's headed in the right direction. One of the proudest franchises in all of sports is makin' some moves. So here's a pre-emptive kudos to Danny Ainge; although looking at his face in this picture, am I the only one wondering where Pierce's left thumb is?

7.17.2006

You stay classy Bo Jackson...

So as someone who was never allowed to have Nintendo growing up, I never got to play with Bo Jackson in the famed 1987 video game "Tecmo Bowl". However, as one of Bo's biggest fans I've heard legends of his dominance. So this morning when I go to check out "Kissing Suzy Kolber," a very funny football blog, I was simply delighted to see that they had unearthed footage of a typical god-like Bo Jackson run. While this reminds me a lot of the video game recreation of the '86 World Series that was buzzing around the internet a few months ago, in that I don't really wanna know how long it took this guy to make the video, it still brings me great joy because it further cements Bo's status as a god among men.

This video clip prompted me to take some time to remind you all, or inform those of you who never initially knew, just what a superhuman Bo Jackson was. As a matter of fact, I have a theory that just as Achilles was only weak in his heels because that's where his mother, Thetis, was holding him when he was dipped into the river Styx as a baby, Bo was weak in the hip because that's where Mrs. Jackson was holding him when she dipped him in the very same river on November 30, 1962. Despite possessing the talent and athleticism to earn a spot in the single-digit crowd of individuals who have played two sports professionally, this mortal flaw eventually led to the earth-shattering hip injury that ended his career(s) and deprived us all of years and years of god-like feats.

To give those of you who don't know Bo like I know Bo, an idea of how monstrous he is- the guy was given the moniker "Bo" because he reminded people of a wild boar... as a 6 year old boy. He taught himself how to pole vault and throw a discus in one day. He famously threw out Harold Reynolds (of Baseball Tonight fame) on an absolute "Laser" to the catcher, flat footed from the warning track. He shattered bats over his knee and then cleaned his teeth with the splinters, made bare-handed one-hand catches, ran on walls like Spider-man and flattened would be tacklers with stiff-arms that would make Jerome Bettis weep.

At Syracuse, a few of my friends had a little something called the Wall of Man. It sat next to the beer pong table and it's purpose was to honor those whose blood was pure testosterone, men who discovered the wheel and built the Eiffel Tower out of metal and brawn. I'd like to continue that little tradition here and even though he's no mere mortal, I'm going to induct Bo Jackson as the first member of the Dishonest Male Perspective Proverbial Wall of Man.

Bo knows geeky video-gamers who spend time creating internet clips that perpetuate the legends of famous athletes.

7.16.2006

Jersify my thug

So, even though the Red Sox are dropping games left and right, I'm having trouble looking at the Coco Crisp shirt I have on without grimacing and thinking of a .264 batting average, and my taco salad dinner was delivered to me without a crispy tortilla shell, I'm in surprisingly good spirits. All thanks to New Jersey- went out yesterday for a pig roast/graduation party/beer pong extravaganza and ended up staying all day today to chill by a pool and soak up some of the sun's sweet sweet rays. Sometimes it's good to get out of the city.

At one point, floating on a raft in the middle of the pool, frosty beverage in hand, I turned to Kathleen and said, "Is it just me, or do you feel like you're in a Corona commercial?" She turned to me from her raft, gave me a look like I was crazy and promptly reminded me that we were in fact in the armpit of the nation. Maybe armpits aren't so bad... raise your hand if you're Sure.

7.14.2006

Trifecta

Well three posts in one day... what do you have to say about that Doug, Jim, Alex and Tad? Hmmm? I can't hear you. Oh wait, that's because you're not saying anything. OWNED! This spitefulness is getting a little old for me - it's just not in my spirit. I promise it won't last too much longer.

Anyways, my blog makes all the pretty girls want to dance, but I can't hold a candle or even a flashlight to the folks over at The Dugout. These guys are on to something really special. I'd try to describe the site to you but it wouldn't do it justice. If you like baseball, you'll like it. If you like funny, you'll love it. If you like both, then you better clean your underwear. It'll give you a brand new appreciation for Kyle Farnsworth, Dontrelle Willis and Dmitri Young. Fa real.

But you ain't got no legs Lieutenant Dan.

No folks, that handsome devil is not Robert Gordon Soffel. It's actually Gary Sinise, whom I almost steamrolled yesterday, walking through the streets of Soho with my head down, focusing on a text message. He was just chillin by himself looking very non-descript, wearing a baseball cap and a t-shirt. In fact, I never would have even known it was him if EJ hadn't pointed it out to me. He was probably on his way to film an episode of CSI: NY or something.

This brings me to my first question- wouldn't you expect Gary to have a posse of some sorts? No? I would. As a matter of fiction, I heard Entourage was based on the life and times of Mr. Sinise. Well if you're reading this Gary, you're in dire need of a posse so that people know you're a celeb and they can mob you in the streets. And not nearly steamroll you as a result of a stray text message. Also, I'll be in your posse if you buy me a Ducati.

It should be so... and it WILL be so


Live from New York it's Friday afternoon. Welcome to the inaugural post of my smear campaign on Alex Popkin, Doug Warner, Tad Moses and Jim Dudley... but mostly Alex Popkin. Their blatant disregard for the readership of their blog (which I won't even link to because I don't want to generate traffic for them) has lit a fire under my buns and led me to create this little doozy that you're currently casting your gaze upon. Also, I felt kinda left out being one of the only people at work and on the sales team without a blog.

Anyways, those four gents have been so irresponsible with their blog, which is actually really funny when they get around to posting whenever the mood strikes them and the moon turns blue, that it's made me want to stab myself in the eyes with a stick of cinnamon chewing gum. So here it is folks... the DIShonest Male perspective. You may think the title is a blatant ripoff of their site, but I prefer to think of it as a spoof. You say potato, I say po-tah-to.... you know that old children's tale from the sea.

So, as this starts out as a smear campaign against the OTHER blog... to be honest, I probably don't have the conviction or the stamina to keep it up for very long. In subsequent posts, I'll probably move along to other topics, hopefully hilarious, hopefully entertaining but always straight from the bottom of my heart- and maybe someday those four guys will be lucky enough to grace these pages with a guest posting.... but I'll need to see a writing sample first.