Let's see what the folks over at 'Broadsheet' have to say about this one

I've been (unsuccessfully) battling the flu all week and don't yet have the energy to post in full. Luckily, it was for such occasions that God invented YouTube. Have a nice weekend.

Sorry Loyal Fans, You’re Going to Have to Learn to Share

Today kicks off a week in which no fewer than four pieces of my writing will appear in online locations other than PatRoW. I know – you thought we were exclusive. Sorry, baby; a swinging man like me can't be tied down to one blog.

 

The first three of my pieces appear in today's edition of The "Y" – the online newsletter by and for the Young Professionals of Chicago. Tying in with the start of the 2007 Major League Baseball season, all three are centered on our National Pastime. You can see my " Top 5 Baseball Movies of All Time", an editorial about the Chicago Cubs' off-season spending splurge, and – my favorite – my interview with World Series winning manager, Bob Brenly.

 

(Thanks to everyone who suggested questions for my Brenly interview. The "Y" was edited for space, so I will publish the full interview transcript if/when I can figure out how to post the corresponding audio as a podcast. Which is to say, I may never publish the full interview).

 

My fourth, and final, non-PatRoW article will appear on Friday as part of a "guest writer" program at one of the more popular (at least compared to this one) blogs around. Stay tuned…

Brick-a-Bracket

Some organization called the National Collegiate Athletic Association begins its annual basketball tournament today, and as I always strive to be ahead of the trends, I thought I'd take a crack at predicting the winners of all 63 games. I know this may seem like an odd concept, but trust me, give this thing a few years and EVERYONE will be doing it.

 

To make things fun, I have added some thoughts about a few of the schools/teams. And to be clear – I have watched not a second of college basketball since last year's tournament.

 

Midwest Rounds 1-2: Florida over Purdue; Maryland over Old Dominion; Oregon over Notre Dame; Wisconsin over UNLV.

 

I came dangerously close to predicting a Notre Dame-UNLV (6 versus 7) matchup in the Sweet Sixteen, but pussied out. See what I did there? I effectively hedged my bets. Nice.  

 

West Rounds 1-2: Kansas over Villanova; Illinois over Southern Illinois; Pitt over VCU; UCLA over Gonzaga.

 

In my wagering bracket, I picked against both Illinois and Southern just to spite my friends. But in truth, I think both squads will advance (hedging again? Notice a theme here?). And yes, I picked Duke to lose. That's not so much of an indictment against a school that supports alleged rapists as it is an indictment against a school that promotes lacrosse.

 

East Rounds 1-2: North Carolina over Michigan State; Texas over Arkansas; George Washington over Washington State; Georgetown over Texas Tech.

 

Realistically I know that GW has no chance of defeating Washington State, and yet I have a sinking suspicion that Cinderella could be wearing a buff and blue dress this year. Good luck finding matching shoes.

 

South Rounds 1-2: Ohio State over Xavier; Virginia over Long Beach State; Texas A&M over Louisville; Nevada over Memphis.

 

Memphis won just shy of 83 games this year, but they're coached by John Calipari. He's the poor man's Rick Pitino, whose team also plays in this bracket and has proved to be somewhat less of the coaching genius that we thought he was 20 years ago. Of course, that's like saying that Britney Spears is somewhat less sexy today than she was in 1999.

 

Sweet Sixteen: Florida over Maryland; Oregon over Wisconsin; Kansas over Illinois; UCLA over Pitt; Texas over UNC; Georgetown over GW; Ohio St over Virginia; Texas A&M over Nevada.

 

I like Maryland – always have. It's too bad they don't have the talent, depth or coaching to keep up with Florida. Plus, Georgetown-GW sounds like it has great regional implications, but no one in the DC Metro area will even notice. Finally, Kansas could deliver the first every 100-point margin of victory in a Sweet Sixteen.

 

Elite Eight: Florida over Oregon; Kansas over UCLA; Georgetown over Texas; Texas A&M over OSU.

 

Anyone who uses emphasis to say THE Ohio State University should be shot dead. I could not feel more strongly about this.

 

Final Four: Kansas over Florida; Georgetown over A&M.

 

That's right. I've joined the masses predicting a Kansas-Florida de facto national championship game. It's like they say: "Millions of Americans can't be wrong…except in a presidential election."

 

Championship: Kansas over Georgetown.

 

There are few college programs I detest more than Kansas and Georgetown. Don't ask me why – I'm fickle. Anyway, Kansas will win in a championship game that no non-gambler/non-alumni will watch. The rest of America will set their TiVos to record "One Shining Moment".

 

There you have it. Now leave me alone.

 

Go Gee Dubs!

Baseball as the Big Question

Those who know me well know I am a HUGE baseball fan. I absorb everything that is our National Pastime (still Major League Baseball, by the way, despite the NFL's vastly superior ratings). And to be honest, I was as surprised as anyone that baseball's ongoing steroid controversy never really registered in my baseball consciousness.

As much as a like to rant and take credit for things completely out of my control, I was not one of the loudmouths clamoring for drug testing a few years ago, nor was I one of the self-righteous douchebags who patted myself on the back for "forcing" the players' union to capitulate to popular demand.

In the wake of baseball's latest, big drug bust (Gary Matthews Jr may have used performance enhancers last season? Boy, I sure hope no one gives him a $50 million contract. Uh oh…too late) MLB has decided that all of its employees – not just the on-field talent – will be subject to random drug testing.

I don't like the notion of random drug testing, although I haven't exactly voiced my opposition at any of my last three workplaces where the policy was on the books (for the record, I have not yet been called to pee in a cup, although I keep up with my 10 am daily routine "just in case"). MLB seems to have adopted this stance for purely defensive purposes – who can accuse them of turning a blind eye to drug abuse when they're collecting urine from the office steno pool?

Salon's King Kaufman objects to baseball's new policy on purely idealistic grounds, saying, " Forcing workers, even very rich, very privileged workers, to surrender their rights just for the chance to make a buck is not what the America I grew up learning about is supposed to be."

And maybe that's the lesson here – and the parallel we can draw between Major League Baseball's drug problems and America as a whole. It seems that idealism today is too often countered by oppression. Our country was founded on noble principles, yet every day we sacrifice our core beliefs for the so-called greater personal good, the greater corporate good and the greater national good.

I'm not suggesting that an American patriot should take a stand against any one thing, any one politician or any one policy; rather, I'm saying that a true patriot should end a lot more of his sentences with question marks than exclamation points. Before we accept, we must always question…know what I mean?

Farewell to the Chief

Last night, Chief Illiniwek danced his last dance in Champaign.

Wait – you're not from Illinois and have no idea why that's important…or what it even means? I'm sorry – let me start from the beginning.

Chief Illiniwek was the grossly stereotypical Indian caricature/mascot for the University of Illinois – the school at which a disproportionate amount of my Chicagoland friends attended. And get this: some people are offended that a white kid in face paint, feathered headdress and moccasins would prance around and make a mockery of Native American culture. Fucking prudes.

Though the Chief has been alienating Native and non-native Americans alike for decades, the school finally retired its mascot because of financial pressure from the NCAA (the school would not be able to host postseason athletic events if they chose to keep the Chief). Despite the sound fiscal reasoning, Illini alumni are pissed that the school would capitulate to the PC-police.

Normally, I'm the least politically correct liberal in town…but have you ever seen Chief Illiniwek? The Chief's supporters liked to claim that the mascot actually honored Native American culture, but in reality, the dude was a 21st century version of vaudevillian blackface. Maybe there aren't many Illini Tribe members left in central Illinois, but who wouldn't be offended by this guy's shenanigans?

The pro-Chief argument always seems to center around tradition – hey, we've been insulting an entire people since my grandpa's day, no way we're changing now! You know what was another popular American tradition? Slavery. I hear that depriving women of voting rights was a fun trend too – should we end universal suffrage?

The Chief represented a hateful mockery of an entire race. Maybe the student who portrayed him was a fair-minded fellow, and maybe the past and present students shared not a racist thought amongst them, but Chief Illiniwek was a walking, talking and dancing Confederate Flag. No matter what the intent, displaying a symbol of hate is always hateful. And (except for educational purposes) always wrong.

Adios, you disgusting racist symbol. I'm sure George Allen will welcome you into retirement.

Bear Down, Chicago Bears

Apparently the NFL staged a game yesterday to give folks watching at home a break between contestants in the Super Bowl of Advertising. Here in Chicago, that left ample time for "Go to hell, Rex!" and "Fuck you, Peyton!" chants. Damn, these people are angry…what happened to Midwestern charm?

I will say this – for all of the much-publicized Black History Month campaigns, the night's best racism conversation was inspired by Bud Light's gorilla commercial and someone making a Joe Biden joke. And yes, that "someone" was me.

According to USA Today , Budweiser's stray dog ad was viewers' #2 favorite (trailing only those cuddly, false-idol worshiping crabs). I love pathetic looking mutts as much as the next guy, but why is no one expressing outrage at Anheuser-Busch's blatant rip-off of a classic Pepé Le Pew bit? I suppose more people would have caught on if the faux-dalmation were to date rape the beauty queen, just like Warner Brothers' skunk would have.

Finally, I had a good laugh listening to Colts owner Jim Irsay accept the Vince Lombardi Trophy for his team's victory. Perhaps overwhelmed by emotion, Irsay displayed a penchant for inventive vocabulary and douche chill-inducing segues (at press time, I have been unable to find an official transcript…but here is my best "I promise this is no exaggeration" recollection):

Our thoughts and prayers are with the people of Central Florida. We don't want to forget that. And the Indianapolis Colts will work in partnershiping with the…groups…to help with tornado recovery…And the Colts are WORLD CHAMPIONS!

Uh…Jim? That was a bit awkward. Then again, the COLTS ARE WORLD CHAMPIONS! I'm sure your "partnershiping" will go a lot smoother now that you guys have Super Bowl rings.

I almost wish I were a Yankees fan...almost

I don’t know if I should thank or curse my buddy JDL for forwarding this video, which he discovered on Deadspin. To begin listing its horrors would take too long, but let’s just say that the Mets’ 1987 anthem was no “Bless You Boys”.



Finally, a Mets song that makes fans pine for “Our team, our time”.

Waveland Avenue Politics

Let's face it: I write when I'm mad, and I write what I'm mad about. The midterm elections and the subsequent Bush administration fallout have been great for our country, but devastating for PatRoW's loyal readers.


Therefore I'm forced to turn outside the political spectrum to address an issue that seems to be on everybody's mind today in Chicago – the Cubs' signing of Alfonso Soriano and how the team has become an instant playoff contender.


Sorry to editorialize, but that's a load of hooey. Also, it stinks like yesterday's shit.


Soriano signed with the Cubs for 8 years and $136 million. At an average of $17 million per year, the deal was obviously mirrored after one signed by Carlos Beltran of the New York Mets prior to the 2005 season. The biggest difference? Beltran was actually worth that money (insofar as any one person playing baseball can be worth $17 million a year), while Soriano is not. Let me break it down for you, Bill James style:


* In Soriano's six full MLB seasons, he has hit .281 with 205 homeruns, 556 RBI, 619 runs scored and stolen 208 bases.
* Over his first six full seasons, Beltran hit .284 with 146 homeruns, 562 RBI, 604 runs scored and 189 stolen bases.


Both players have fairly solid post-season stats under their belts (game-ending bases loaded strikeouts not-withstanding) and both play above average outfield defense. Soriano was thought to be something of a malcontent and Beltran something of a recluse, but both have effectively shed the stigmas.


Well, hell, if their resumes are fairly equivalent, so that means their contracts should be, right? Not so fast Jim Hendry. When looking at numbers, you can't forget age – and that's where Soriano should earn serious demerits.


* On his first day in a Cubs uniform, Soriano will be 31 years old. When his contract expires, he will be 38 (and that's if you believe his Dominican Republic birth certificate).
* On his first day in a Mets uniform, Beltran was 27 years old. When his contract expires, he will be 34.

James (and others) has used Sabermetrics to prove that the average baseball player has his best seasons between the ages of 27 and 29. He experiences a slight drop-off from 30-33, and a more sizeable drop-off from 34-36. Too few play past the age of 37 to make a statistically significant observation, but one can safely assume that few players get better (without the Bondsian assistance of performance enhancers).


Their numbers might be fairly equal, but the circumstances were not. Soriano was 25 in his first full season, two years away from a typical player's prime. Beltran was 21 at the start of his first season and still growing as both a player and a man.


Soriano's contract essentially rewards him for the exceptional prime of his career and will pay him handsomely as his abilities slowly deteriorate. In all likelihood, it is the last contract he will ever sign.


Beltran's contract rewarded him for the exceptional build-up to his career and his projected prime. In all likelihood, he will be able to sign another multi-year, multi-million dollar deal when this one expires.


I'm sure that brighter baseball minds than mine can debate Soriano's real value in the open market, but I have yet to hear anyone raise the point that Soriano is coming off a career year (when millions of dollars were at stake…what are the odds?) and is now locked up for big bucks long past when he can be reasonably expected to earn his salary.


I agree that the Cubs are significantly better today than they were on Friday; I just think they're a lot worse off for the rest of the decade.

'Brave' New World

The current edition of Newsweek features a piece by Allan Sloan that details the loopholes and tax incentives attached to the impending sale of the Atlanta Braves (truth be told, I only read the article because it had something to do with baseball. Business writers usually give me boredom seizures).

Anyway, it seems that the sale will be a financial boon for both the seller (Time Warner) and buyer (Liberty Mutual). If you're curious as to how two multi billion dollar companies could both come out ahead in the same deal, well, you haven't been paying attention to the man in the White House's agenda.

How does [President Bush's] Tax Increase Prevention and Reconciliation Act of 2005 involve the Braves? Here's the play-by-play. Time Warner would put the team (valued at about $450 million) and about $1.35 billion of cash into a subsidiary. It would then trade that subsidiary for a Liberty unit that would be holding about $1.8 billion of the Time Warner stock that Liberty already owns. By the time the fat lady sings, Liberty would own the Braves and a slug of cash, and Time Warner would have gotten about 100 million of Liberty's 171 million Time Warner shares.

That sure looks like a sale—but not to tax lawyers, because the tax-cut legislation specifically blesses cash-rich split-offs.

Confused? That's the point – keep us non-financial wizards in the dark while the rich line one another's pockets. I needed to read the next paragraph to fully grasp the sheer ass-rape we're facing:

How much money are we talking about here? A lot. Were Time Warner to sell the Braves outright for $450 million, it would owe about $175 million of federal and state income taxes, by my estimate. (Turner Broadcasting, acquired by Time Warner in 1996, paid just $10 million for the Braves in 1976.) Thus, swapping the team for $450 million of its own stock is a lot better for Time Warner than merely selling it. The deal also offers Liberty a great way to cash in most of its Time Warner stake, much of which dates back to 1987. Were Liberty to make a conventional sale of $1.8 billion of its Time Warner stock, it would owe more than $500 million of tax, by my estimate. Possibly much more.

Does that make any more sense? It is certainly hard to believe, but I think you should be now able to wrap your head around a $700 million savings for two business behemoths. The worst part of this bullshit loophole is that there is absolutely no justification for it other than to save millions of dollars for billionaires. Though he claims that his tax cuts help the middle- and working classes, Bush's plan does nothing for 99% of his constituency.

Actually, that's not quite true. It screws us over…at least those of us who care about education, health care, the environment and/or world peace. You know, the folks he couldn't care less about.

Happy Mother's Day!

Although the Mets let us down, my old friend Justin and I enjoyed our weekend in Milwaukee. The highlight was likely on Friday night, when as part of the Brewers’ “Visiting Fan of the Game” promotion, we were showcased on the scoreboard and allowed to give a personal message.

Is it safe to say I’m the best son ever?

Happy Mother’s Day, folks.

Words Fail Me

When it comes to the two-spot, plug it with a stud

You couldn't make this shit up.

Mustachioed Chauvinist Pig

ESPN's Bill Simmons has opined about an athlete reaching "I'm Keith Hernandez status", taken from the great first baseman's epic appearance on Seinfeld. Says the Sports Guy:

When an athlete reaches "I'm Keith Hernandez" status and their confidence becomes simply outrageous – that's when you know someone is in the zone. That was one of my favorite Larry Bird moments, the Dallas game in '86 when they were down two on TBS with like 10 seconds left, so he pulled up in the open court and drained a crazy running 3, with the implicit understanding being, "You know what? This is a ridiculous shot, but I'm Larry Bird and I'm on national TV, and I can do things like this."

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased to report that Keith Hernandez himself has reached "I'm Keith Hernandez" status. That's right – not only did he steal Ron Burgundy's look, but Hernandez has swiped the anchorman's attitude as well.

Broadcasting the Mets-Padres game on Saturday night, the mustachioed one noticed a woman high-fiving Mike Piazza after a homerun. "Who is the girl in the dugout, with the long hair?" Hernandez said. "What's going on here? You have got to be kidding me. Only player personnel in the dugout."

OK, that's not so bad, right? Unfortunately, Hernandez wasn't done channeling his inner Archie Bunker.

Hernandez found out later in the broadcast that Calabrese has been with the Padres training staff since 2004, but stood by his comment that she didn't belong with the team during a game.

"I won't say that women belong in the kitchen, but they don't belong in the dugout," Hernandez said.

Uh…ouch. Can you say "fired"? And on the day that Opie and Anthony announce their return to terrestrial radio, no less.

Sports Net New York producers were quick to prevent their announcer from digging himself a deeper grave. Word is that during the same broadcast, several more of Hernandez's rants were censored before they hit the air. Lucky, PatRoW has obtained a copy of the raw tape and can post some of the highlights:

· On the Mets' ace pitcher – I won't say that Pedro Martinez should stop jumping on the bed, but his wife did just put Velcro on the ceiling.

· On relationships – I can't imagine having anything to say to a woman with two black eyes…because she's already been told twice.

· On Brooklyn Dodger legend Sandy Koufax – I won't say that Jews have a lot in common with pizza. After all, pizza doesn't scream when you put it in the oven.

· On America's immigration crisis – I won't say that scientists should try to cross a Mexican with an octopus, but the result could sure pick the shit out of lettuce!

· On alternative lifestyles – I won't say that you can compare gay guys to kitchen appliances, because when you pull meat out of the freezer it doesn't fart!

Who does this guy think he is? Oh that's right…"I'm Keith Hernandez".

Fool's Errand

So I followed up on the obvious and poorly-conceived April Fool's Day joke purported by Walter E. Smithe and found a bit more information on the retailer's website.

This little tidbit was part of a press release posted on the site:

As part of the deal, Walter E. Smithe will be putting a permanent dome on top of the field. Their architects did a terrific job blending the traditional, old Wrigley Field with modern amenities. A new baseball venue is a great gift to the city of Chicago.

A rendering of the new Smithe Field dome confirms the farce.

This is so silly that I'm not angry anymore. Actually, I may even take pleasure today every time I hear a worried Cubs fan complain.

Pardon me while I kvetch

As holders of the nation's best record and longest winning streak of 2006, one would think that GW would get some respect from the selection committee. Instead, we were slotted as the best #8 seed in NCAA Tournament history and forced to play what amounted to a road game against a 25-win opponent.

(and yes, my 3 ½ semesters at GW entitles me to say "we"…even if I can't name any of the team's players…or its coach. For God's sake, they play in a building named after me!)

The Colonials' game against UNC Wilmington was one of only two games during the tournament's opening day to have a feeling of "March Madness". Tied at halftime, down by 18 with eleven minutes to play, down again by 4 with two minutes remaining in overtime, GW somehow found a way to win.

What a game! What a win! What's next?

Oh yeah, #1 seed Duke…in what amounts to another road game. Yeah, that's fair.

Maybe we should call him ‘Sniffy’ instead of ‘Doc’

Former New York Mets great Dwight Gooden appears to be headed back to the pokey after violating terms of his probation. Yesterday Doc admitted his continued cocaine use, a violation of his probation from a 2005 DUI.

In a related story...somewhere in Manhattan, a red-headed lawyer sheds another tear.

Idol Crap

I stink.

Not literally, of course – I mean, I do bathe nearly every other day. No, I stink figuratively. I stink because I espouse enlightened views and live like a rube. I stink because I can, in fact, believe it’s not butter. I stink because I have not watched one second of the 2006 Olympic Winter Games, but have watched three hours of American Idol when it aired directly opposite Olympic programming.

What is most sad is that I need look no further than my reflection to assign blame. Though not entirely by choice (the Mrs. is allowed to TiVo three shows per week), I have selected to watch crap television rather than my nation’s quest for international sporting glory…and apparently, I’m not the only one:

"American Idol" continues its scorched-earth campaign to cleanse the television landscape of programming we hold sacred. On Tuesday night it made hash out of the Winter Olympics in their first face-off – just six days after "Idol" reduced the Grammy Awards to ratings rubble.

Between 8 and 9 p.m., when the tape-delayed, mostly men's figure skating Games coverage was holding the interest of about 16 million viewers, "Idol" was amusing nearly 27 million by dashing the dreams of roomfuls of Ashlee and Usher wannabes.

Of course, NBC bears some responsibility “Slowrino” games. The incessant fluff pieces turned me off to the network’s Olympic coverage long ago, but in an age when one can’t venture outside without being inundated with information, tape-delaying events for primetime broadcast is simply unacceptable. Even if I cared about who won gold in Cross-Country Skiing: Women's 10km Classical (it was Estonia…can you believe it?!?), I would have heard the result from sixteen different sources before I turned on my TV at night.

I will say this in my defense: perhaps the media should stop trying to create drama and let the sports take care of themselves. Had I invested time in watching, for example, the men’s figure skating event (must…resist…“Brokeback Mountain”…joke…), I would have thrown my shoe at the screen when subjected to a feature on the “bad boy of figure skating, Johnny Weir (see above) who is “redefining” what America expects its male skaters to be:

A huge Christina Aguilera fan, Weir wears a silver charm with the letter "D" for "dirty" (Dirrty is his favorite Aguilera song) around his neck. His nicknames include "Tinkerbelle" and "Simba," and he has a fan club whose members call themselves "Johnny's Angels."

Dude, here’s a free tip – when you wear a swan outfit, you’re hardly a bad boy. And when your nickname is “Tinkerbelle,” don’t think you’re shattering any stereotypes.

At the Torino Games, every bad boy dresses like a swan