Thursday, January 31, 2008

God Bless The USA

Lee Greenwood said it best...Tha Bul Bubak is proud to be an American. In what other country can one go to the movies and witness Burmese drop like they were being hunted by Bruce Jergins one minute, and eat delish Vietnamese food the next? (With the obvious exception of Laos of course.) If there is one thing that the movie Rambo made me think about, it was obviously: Whom should I endorse for President of this fine nation?

As i see it there four legitimate choices left in this race: Clinton, Obama, McCain, and whoever is running this fine organization. Let us take a few moments to breakdown the candidacy of each so we, the DR nation can make an intelligent and informed decision.

Nambla President: For obvious reasons this man keeps his identity off of the web. I cannot find it, but I am pretty sure he looks something like this guy. While the man undeniably runs one hell of an organization, I am not sure having a president make foreign policy soley based on the looks of other countries young boys would work. For this reason he will NOT get my nod for the oval office.

Obama/Clinton: Why am I bunching these two together you ask? Essentially they are the same canidate, that's why. I have done a moderate(using the term loosely here people) amount of research and find that these two have essentially voted the same way on everything. The one time that they didn't was because Obama was not there and did not vote. Assuming I am right about that, why vote for one over the other? I know answering a question with a question is heresy, but here is the answer to why one over the other. What do Americans love more than anything? A deal. What does Hillary have that Barack doesn't? A two for one deal baby. I mean c'mon here people, why "spend" that vote on one when you could spend the very same vote on two? I guess what I am saying is, if you just have to vote democrat vote for Hillary.

McCain: There are two and only two reasons why McCain is my man...well actually three:
1) He can scare the bejesus out of anyone with his "mean face"
2) Of all the canidates, John Boy is most similar to the two greatest Americans ever (fictional or not) Rambo and Dieter Dengler.
3) Lastly, he is not a goddamn Cowboys fan like this guy.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Home Stallone

Sunday afternoon I was fortunate enough to pry the Bul Bubak from the arms of his ever-loving wife and from his stated desire to attend the Home Show at the PA Convention center in order to take a field trip to Southeast Asia. Not in the literal sense, mind you. We were going as guests of the great John Rambo.

Bubak and myself were expecting there to be much killing, but we were slightly taken aback by the Burmese tactic of throwing land mines into rice paddies and then making innocent villagers run back and forth across them until one stepped on a mine and was subsequently blown into into hundreds of large and small pieces that seemed to fly towards the viewer in a bloody panoply that wouldn't have been out of place in Doom 3. Not that we were disappointed.

In any case, the flying body parts were just the beginning of the murder and mayhem. According to the LA Times, there are a total of 236 people killed throughout the course of the film, an average of 2.59 per minute. Though as you can see, the number which Rambo kills with his shirt off is disappointingly low.

To sum up, this excellent film gets two thumbs up from the Dalembert Report. But don't take our word for it...your better off asking Sexman.

Upsets: A History


With The Super Bowl less than a week away and another blowout on the horizon, I feel it important to remind the skeptic in us all that upsets do happen, and often when they are most needed. A Giants victory over The Patriots would clearly be an upset, but not necessarily in the pantheon of all-time greats. Here now is a reminder why rooting for David is not always pointless, and why Goliath, aside from having no heart(a sling-shot? C'mon, that's weak Big G), is bound to take a fall.

Sports:

Buster Douglass knocking out Mike Tyson:

When I heard about Iron Mike's defeat I felt ill. I literally got a stomach ache and wanted to vomit. I'm not sure why I liked him so much but it probably had something to do with his unique combination of killer punching power and sweet girlie voice. The black shorts, black shoes, the aura of physical menace, all created a feeling of inevitable truth in the ring and out: he was The Champ and the universe acted accordingly. Then he went to Japan, got fat, and got his ass beat by a guy named Buster. The Champ was no longer Iron Mike but literally a mark-ass Buster. The odds were 42-1. That means it should never ever have happened. Buster stayed champ for a few minutes, got Ruben Stoddard fat, and disappeared. Mike raped a girl, went to prison, got out of prison, knocked some more people out, bit off Holyfields ear, followed that up with incessant insanity, got himself knocked out, and hopefully now has vanished into Bolivian, just as he so eloquently once said.


Jets beat Colts in Super Bowl III:

Back in the 1960's there was The NFL and the AFL. The NFL was old and insufferable, the AFL was new and brash. At the end of the season the best teams in the leagues would play in The Super Bowl. The NFL team won the first two and it was assumed that The NFL, being the more established of the two, would continue to dominate for the foreseeable future. But a funny thing happened: Jets quarterback Joe Namath, between sleeping with every woman within a ten-mile radius and making drunken advances to the rest, boldly predicted his AFL Jets would beat the mighty Colts from Baltimore. He was right, his legend was secure, and he now gets away with whatever foul behavior he can conjure. Baltimore meanwhile lost the Super Bowl, eventually lost its football team, and now solely exists as the setting for the dramatized portrayal of all that is unfixable in American cities.


Politics:

Jesse Ventura becomes Governor of Minnesota:

This one isn't as hard to comprehend now that The Governator has been running California for years, but back when this happened it was mind-blowing. Mr. Ventura, a former professional wrestler and film "star", apparently threw every voter in the entire state into a sleeper hold until they agreed to vote for him. Whether or not he did a good job I have no idea, but I don't think it's a coincidence that his tenure as Governor coincided perfectly with baseball's steroid era.

The Governator:

Okay, so among his competition was a porn star, a washed-up tv actor, and ten-thousand of The Golden State's amateur political freaks, but still, the idea that the man who channeled Conan the Barbarian so perfectly was now in charge of the 8th largest economy in the world was a troubling one. It is still hard to believe, Harry.


Box office:


Titanic:


I shit you not people, there was a time, prior to the release of this movie, when it was destined to be the biggest flop of all-time. Buzz on the movie was negative, it was over-budget, the filming went too long, the ending was no secret, and the stars were relatively unknown. Plus the movie was called Titanic, named after one of the all-time disasters. Well, then the move hit the theaters and every female between the ages of 8 and 30 went fifteen times at least. It was crazy. Millions of guys across the world now had to hear about Jack and Rose's incredible love, making this a truly upsetting upset. On the bright side there was a pleasantly surprising naked scene with Kate Winslet which showcased her unsinkable hull.

Romance:


Julia Roberts marries Lyle Lovett:

I was never a huge Julia Roberts fan, even when Pretty Woman catapulted her to super-stardom and gave young runaway prostitutes the falsest of hopes. Honestly that's not even my favorite hooker with a heart of gold story. Nevertheless she was a star among stars and the entire world bowed down to her gynormous smile and winning charm. With the entire male population on a string Julia did what any normal woman would do: she married a hideous looking man with a weird name and Sideshow Bob hair. In retrospect this was a desperate cry for help, but even so it remains proof that Goliath is often confused and in need of therapy.


Mack 10 and T-Boz tie the knot:

To simply read the above sentence would hint at a bizarre unsolved mystery or violent crime, but to know the truth is to understand how fine T-Boz was and how disappointing the news of her marriage to fat, unskilled Mack 10 remains still. She preached No Scrubs but exchanged fluids and vows with a scrubbish fattie nonetheless. If I'm not mistaken they have since divorced; he treated her like a violent rapper dude.


Fictional:

Hoosiers:

Not entirely fictional since the film was based on actual events but not exactly true either, this stands as a Top 10 sports film of all-time. It has it all: the great lead performance by Gene Hackman as a hyper-competitive genius coach escaping his past, Dennis Hopper as the embarrassing town drunk, and Maris Valainis as the indomitable Jimmy Chitwood, the silent basketball savant who speaks only in bold statements:

"Coach goes, I go. Coach stays, I play."
"I'll make it"

Those are literally his only two lines in the movie. Putting all this aside for a second, what makes this such a momentous upset is simple: in the final game they play a powerhouse team with, not-coincidentally, an all-Black roster, and somehow the Whiteboys from Hickory pull it off. My 6 year-old brain nearly exploded when I saw this in the theater. I still own the poster.

Fashion:

The Mullet:

I may been in over my head at this point. Trying to categorize the mullet as a fashion upset is far too simple and maybe even uninformed. I had to find some room for the weird and bizarre, and in my mind there is a lot of both in the mullet phenomenon; sure, it is a hairstyle, a way of telling the barber to cut your hair, and perhaps nothing more than that. But it has risen from pragmatic option to amusing conversation piece to all-out cultural touchstone. Mullets are great. Mullets are hideous. Mullets are worn by poor hillbillies. Mullets are worn by people who think poor hillbillies are toothless inbreds and by imitating the haircut they have done some impressive fashion service in the name of detachment and irony. I have nothing against mullets, whether worn honestly or for kicks, but I think they belong in this list. Like I said, I could be in over my head. I'll also include crocs, the pegged pant-leg style, skinny jeans on guys, and spandex.


Personal:

To finish the list I'll include my own experience with defying the odds. In 11th grade I got asked out by what was then maybe the hottest girl in school. I went to a Quaker school so I'll put it in Quaker terms: if all the boys in high school were ushered into meeting and forced to come to consensus on who had the most bubblelicious booty, we would reach consensus within minutes. The rest of her looked fine as well. She saw some promise in the young Asian dun and picked me up in route to a movie. My palms were sweating like a leaky faucet as Jerry Maguire dragged endlessly on the screen in front of us; needless to say I had neither the confidence, charisma, nor the necessary alcohol and drug assistance to make the evening more than a protracted display of my own lameness, but that's not the point. I went on a date with the hottest girl in school, and even got a goodnight kiss. Now if only we had gone to see Hoosiers, who knows how the night would have ended.

So you see friends, upsets do happen, and they can happen to you. Do I think the Giants can defeat New England on Sunday? Not really, but crazier things have happened.

Additional Notes:


-Yours truly and Eldiablogrande attended a very real and very selective luncheon with Ed Stefansky on Monday afternoon. The full report on what we learned about Willie Green's true role, Ron Artest's mental health, and Young Thad's amazing upside is coming this week. And I mean it, we really did have lunch with him.

-Keep in mind The DR's musical brother show, If It Ain't Broke, hosted by me, airs every Monday morning from 9-11am on gtownradio.com. Tune in and tune out of work, school, or wherever you may be. You might get to hear some of The DR staff on air.
Tune in anyway.

-The Mets traded for Johan Santana today. Don't fear Phillies fans, and always remember, we are the team to beat in National League East. JRoll said it and JRoll speaks truth.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Halfway There


As a super bowl draws near that redefines the heated debate about what exactly is torture, let us turn our minds to (slightly) more joyful topics and take stock of the first half of the Year in our beloved Nuh-Buh.

Story of the First Half, Sixers division
Considering the fact that Sammy D's every move is art and every statement poetry, now and forever, we would be remiss in bestowing upon him such a piddling honor, and so we must seek elsewhere for Sixerfied inspiration. The clear winner is, of course, the emergence of a young threesome with diverse talents, plentiful game, and nearly unlimited entertainment potential. Can anybody say remake?

Story of the First Half, NBA division
Points are way up, young superstars (Dwight Howard, Chris Paul) are popping up all over the place, Greg Oden is looking more like Greg O'Donnell...still, the biggest story has to be: With all the talk about the Celtics, how come nobody ever brings up Paul Pierce getting stabbed? You never hear Alonzo without kidney, or Nash without Canadian, so why is it that Ray Benzino, erstwhile Celtics fan, gets a pass? I hate the Celtics as much as the next guy, maybe more, and I think they have as much chance of winning a championship as Mike Huckabee does of seeing Milk opening night. Still, to get stabbed 13 times in the face, head and chest and come back 7 years later to go 34-8...impressive.

Biggest Disappointment, Sixers Division
The people of Philadelphia. Not only because they have abandoned to Wachovia Center as if it were the Titanic, but also because they have willfully turned a blind eye to cruelty and injustice in our city's midst. Cuzzes of the world, unite!!

Biggest Disappointment, NBA division
The number of Miami Heat games scheduled on national television. You'd think they still had Willie Burton or something.

What we have to look forward to, Sixers Division
A possible playoff run in an abysmal conference? A high draft pick in a loaded class? A mediocre second half that keeps us from either? Rampant speculation centered on Elton Brand's knee? Any way you slice the pie, as long as Sammy D. is on the court and our young guns are on the bench, things will be lively in Sixertown.

What we have to look forward to, NBA Division
A wide open Western conference race, LeBron actually trying really hard, and the possibility of a Thomas/Riley suicide pact.


Friday, January 25, 2008

Pic of the Day

I didn't lose my mind...Cohaagen stole it!

Omar "the track star" Bin Laden

Shalom, my avid readers. Five days removed from a most disturbing Sunday, I'm still struggling w/ the notion of a Giants-Patriots Super Bowl. Fortunately, the superbowl is more about super-pretzels & cheetos than it is about watching the actual game. Unfortunately, its hot in Arizona and we won't be able to make fun of Tom Coughlin's slowly deforming face. Could the man not locate a ski mask? In any event, the Patriots, sadly, look rather unstoppable. Combine that with my personal feeling that the Giants are a frauds, and the Patriots march to yet another championship. Looks like another parade in Boston for Tom Brady.

Far more important than any superbowl is the big news coming out of Egypt. Omar Bin Laden (27), Osama's son, is telling the world, and namely his father, that terrorism is wrong. Way to go Omar! In reading about Omar, I learned some other interesting things. For instance, Osama has fathered 19 children. At that rate, he should be playing power forward for the Seattle Supersonics. Omar tells CNN that "Most of the time [Osama] busy, so busy, all the day he's busy [with] his friends. He was working a lot." Let's not beat around the bush, Omar, your father certainly wasn't. Louie Anderson "worked" at McDowells, papa Osama wasn't exactly your minimum wage earner...I also learned that being the son of the most wanted man in the world gets you some fine company of the older variety. His new wife is 51, a grandmother and proud owner of some big titties . Apparently she's into riding horses, and no Omar, that is not a compliment to you. It would appear that Omar and Osama aren't on the best terms, but what if Osama decided to reach out to Omar? Would Omar welcome his deadbeat dad back into his life, or would their reunion look something like this?


Perhaps Uncle Phil should be sent in to resolve the crisis in the Middle East after all. Osama's new daughter-in law has been married five times, and challenges the world to prove Osama's role in 9/11. "I'd like you to show me the evidence. I don't think it's nice to make assumptions about someone when you don't know the facts." Well said, Jane, ignorance is truly bliss.

From the department of "NO WAY" this revelation has everyone questioning whether male ice skaters can actually be heterosexuals .** Well, while we at the DR don't give up our stereotypes that easily, we certainly support your fight, Scott. Adamant self-denial is a virtue, don't let anyone tell you otherwise!


Weekly honor/dishonorable roll:
Props to Sammy D for posting double doubles against Duncan, KG and Bosh, while also more than holding his own against Yao. You, sir, continue to inspire. And just when you thought Sammy was the only Philadelphia athlete w/ Canadian national team ties, I remind you otherwise. Don't recognize the man to the left? This might help

No props to Brett Favre. Way to show your age and throw a lame duck interception at the most inconvenient of times. I'm holding you personally responsible for a Patriots perfect season, the Giants in the big game, and my corresponding freefall into the depression.

Props to Temple's Dionte Christmas. College basketball isn't exactly thriving in our fine city these days, but leave it to Temple to find a crackhead skinny scoring machine from the depths of N. Philly to build a mediocre team around. A blowout victory over a ranked Xavier surely had famous musketeer alumni in tears. Do I smell the NIT?

No Props to this man. I hate you and your fat face. You couldn't even make the scene in Rocky V starring every other Daily News writer and even Big Al. You're a disgrace to the overweight.

Props to Chris Coste. Thinking anyone will buy your book is a commendable level of delusion.

No props to Herschel Walker. You've lost your mind.

Props to the Phillie Phanatic: You were recently named the top mascot in sports by Forbes magazine. Show 'em how the Galapogos do young bull.

Props to whoever spent 800 bucks to watch the Flyers w/ Sammy D.

Props to Matt Roloff. What is that you say? If Billy Joel can do it, why can't you? Kudos, my miniature friend. Never let dwarfism get in the way of drinking and driving.

Props to Wesley Snipes. No better way to fight the IRS then show up dressed convincingly like Malcolm X.

Props to Michael Chang, you were just elected into the international tennis hall of fame. We all exercise our quads, praise jesus and pump our reebok pumps in your honor..

No props to the Phillies front office. I know this is how the arbitration game is played, but let's dig deep, like Fort Knox deep and get Ryan Howard signed for years to come. I don't want to hear that we are 3 million apart. I want to hear that we expect 55 homers, 140 RBIs until I'm 40.

Props to BJ Armstrong, America's new foreign ambassador to Israel.

Sixers Predictions:

I would like to point out that pending tonight's result, I had a perfect week. 3-0 in predictions. That's how I roll.

At Charlotte on Saturday: This team is paying Matt Carroll damn near 6 million dollars. SIX MILLION to a guy whose not even the best player in his family. True, they have a grip of Tar Heels, but they also have a guy named Jomareo. Sixers prevail in my adopted home state 99-93.

Wednesday in Milwaukee: You know how I feel about the Bucks. They got a couple guys I like, a couple guys I fear, and a couple guys I've never heard of. That being said, Sammy OWNS Bogut in the paint, Young Thad rewards the coach w/ a great starting performance, and the Sixers make it three in a row. Sixers 103, Bucks 99.

Friday in Orlando. Let me be clear about a few things: I love Jameer Nelson, I hate JJ Redick, and wish we had Dwight Howard, Jesus freak and all. Sixers lose this one ugly, Magic 104, Sixers 87.

**we at the DR know that ice skaters can, indeed, be heterosexual. It's gymnasts that have us confused.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

I'm So Flippin' British


The Dalembert Report would like to welcome to its already illustrious fold of commentators the well-known internet superstar and part time English person Arnold T. Pants. Every two weeks he'll post about soccer. Or futbol. Whatever.


Back in the UK last week. Back to some tried and true methods of amusement. Friday my cousin, Chaz, and I teethed a mobile and shopped it on road. Fitting behavior for a man of my age? Absolutely not. Then again, age appropriate action is not exactly the calling card of booze Britain.

Take, for example, the football. Here, each Saturday (and the occasional Sunday) old men drink a few more pints than they should and call slightly younger men cunts. These younger men are wearing shorts, kicking a ball, and receiving a right verbal bollocking, all for an average yearly salary of just over one million quid.

Such was the scene last Saturday at Craven Cottage. My cousins hold season tickets at Fulham, and for roughly five months I had been plotting to extract one of the seats for their fixture with Arsenal. The Gunners sit at the top of the table, Fulham perilously close to relegation. Their fans carry an air of defeat, but stoically weather the storms (offensive and natural) with brilliantly comic quips and short bursts of intense anger.

“Where did we find this fucking bloke?”

A man, wearing a bowler, stood to address the surrounding supporters. He was talking about a hapless young defender, constantly terrorized by Arsenal’s young star Cesc Fabregas. I sat quietly, laughing inwardly, afraid to reveal my true colors.

To my left, and behind one goal, a sea of red swayed in the visitors end. The songs were lively and full of joy.

“We love you Arsenal, we do. We love you arsenal, we do. We love you arsenal, we do. Arsenal, we love you.”

I felt the same way, but also felt the bloke beside me looked too much of a handy bastard to turn on. So I remained quiet, letting out only a subdued fist pump when Emmanuel Adebyor headed in a clinical cross from Clichy in the 19th minute. Not too long after, the feat was repeated from the opposite side of goal, this time supplied casually by Alexander Hleb. Arsenal strode in to the dressing room with a 2-0 half time lead. I went to the toilet.

Roughly 200 people in my section and exactly two toilets to relieve a throng of bursting bladders. One man decided it was appropriate to take a shit. The man ahead of me in line was not amused. “Are you fucking serious, he’s only gone and shit!” Next, the man confided in me that Clint Dempsey “Isn’t a striker in a month of Sundays.”

The Texan has been Fulham’s lone bright spot this season, and appeared shrunken by the pressures of ranging freely as a lone threat on goal. Frequently offside, he was outclassed by everyone in Arsenal’s defense. Can’t say I was unhappy, though I did wish for him to play well (and harbor hopes that he will become captain of the US national side). He did have a chance, and characteristically ruined it with an unnecessary early move forward.

Eduardo and Arsenal were soon off to the races again. The Brazilian, who is now worryingly a Czech, dazzled and outpaced the Fulham side, whipping the ball across goal for the sliding Tomas Rosicky. 3-0, I was a grateful man.

Spilling out to the darkened streets of south west London, Fulham supporters were dejected and the Arsenal mass began to sing about more difficult opponents.

“He dives to the left,
He dives to the right,
That fucking cut Ronaldo,
He dives all night.”

Ronaldo is, most probably, the most devastating footballer in the premiership. And, he is also a cunt, and Portuguese. These are characteristics I find troubling.

The season moves forward and title hopes for Arsenal still shine.

You Know What I Hate?

Motherfuckin people! Really, anyone that even remotely knows Tha Bul Bubak knows that I hate most fuckers out there. It's a fact...people are stupid and generally ignoranus's. I am a crotchety old man at the ripe age of 27. I would be quite happy sitting in my house and only having interactions with a tight circle of 5 to 6 people. Lets be honest here folks, what kind of world do we live in when you can walk down the street and see this:



and not even bat an eye? C'mon man! Seriously taking a shit at a Porto potty dressed as Darth Vader? All together now... LO-SER!!!

Whew! Now that I got that off my chesticles on to the:

LIST OF 5 PEOPLE I THINK I MIGHT LIKE


Gene Shalit:
What's not to like about this guy? He has the trifecta of likability - the hair, the mustache, and the bow tie. He also reviews movies for a living, so you know if you were friends with him you would get to see everything before it even came out. I also hear he is Down with Jessica Biel - who coincidentally I would like to shag rotten.


Ben Baller:
Some of you may know this man as the "king of Bling" I know him as a quasi friend of my main man!(props Ahmad Rashad) Arnold T Pants. I think I think that anyone who rocks a ridiculous chain reppin their home state is great. I know that when said state is iced out in yellow and white diamonds with the Capitol marked by a HUGE diamond that this person would be a great friend. If you feel the need to get better acquainted with this man, please click here.(DISCLAIMER: Although I said most people are stupid and ignorant, and that's why I don't like them, this level of ignorance gets a pass.)


Dave Zelov:
I am a hairy man...right now a very hairy man. Although I talk a big game when it comes to my copious amounts of facial hair, I am what the French call le pussy. This man on the other hand is what we Americans call a real man. Anyone who willingly gives themselves a Hitler 'stache is in good with me for life!


This dude is relegated to eating only the softest of foods yet still is uber happy. I would like to be friends with this guy for the simple reason that he seems to know how to be happy. I own a house, have a beautiful wife to be, a job, 3 friends, and am not in need of anything. That being said I am still unhappy (I think it is the American way right?) He is also the second hit on a Google image search for "Chinese man".


Andre The Giant:
What can I say about this man that hasn't already been said. He was so mean in the ring (fake as it was) yet so nice out of it. Apparently dude was also a player. This may be the best show I have ever seen. Think of the limitless possibilities of having a friend who is 7'4'' 500lbs? you could get away with anything, do anything and anyone who had problems with it would have to answer to the big guy.

Finally, for your viewing pleasure:
http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1797891

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

One of These Things is Not Like the Others

Can anybody guess which?


Does anyone ever wonder what Billy King is up to now? Not now in a general sense, but RIGHT NOW, this very instant. Anyone? Anyone?

Well fuck you all. I do. I wonder about dumb shit like this all the time. Why, just the other day I caught myself wondering about how many rapists it would take to change a light bulb. The answer: one, so long as he had an very odd shaped penis.

But seriously folks, I can say with near certainty that of all the things Billy King may be doing right now, raping is not one of them

I would not be surprised, however, if he was spotted here. Or here.
Or even here.

Anyway, one thing I am sure of is that Billy needs a job. Come on people! Billy has a 4 year college degreee! He once paid Kevin Ollie 5 million dollars a year! Who doesn't want to hire a guy like that?

Anyway, cuz the DR is committed to helping those in need, we've decided to post Billy's resume in the hope that one of our millions of readers will take pity on him and offer the man a job.

Monday, January 21, 2008

Fotito Del Dia

Ray Rhodes!? Say it ain't so!

Another Toilet Bowl

Two weeks from now America will be blessed with yet another Super Bowl Sunday in which the best case scenario is a terrorist attack at halftime. Before any readers get the wrong idea about my patriotism let me clarify that when I say terrorist attack I'm not referring to a suicide bomber or an anthrax envelope but more of a surgically enhanced titty terrorist attack. That's right, the only positive outcome, as I can see, is if Tom Petty exposes himself while performing Yer So Bad. Which says a lot about this super bowl.

Somehow the Super Bowl has become an unofficial holiday here in America, and while I don't need an explanation for how that happened, I would appreciate at least a nod of confirmation that I'm not crazy for thinking it's ridiculous. Let's examine what we have to look forward to when The Patriots play the Giants:

1) Approximately 150 hours of television coverage before the game covering every uninteresting aspect of every boring player and coach on each team. Did you know the Giants special teams coach has a daughter who goes to college in New England and has split loyalties? You will in about a week, and no, you won't care. Have you contemplated the sheer torture of the fifteen minute segment about the Patriots offensive line you will watch sometime before February 2nd? Start contemplating now. What about the ineluctable piece on Randy Moss that follows him around Virginia and catches up with his high school friends and neighborhood drug dealers? Okay, that piece will be really good, but my point remains the same, which is this: political chicanery, corporate crime, and violent acts should all be investigated with, as they say, no stone left unturned; when it comes to Super Bowl reporting, the more stones unturned the better.

2) The slurping of Tom Brady, Bill Belichick, and Eli Manning. Acting like Tom Brady sucks is reserved for the desperate and brainless, and Belichick, though obviously the Dick Cheney of the NFL, is a genius, so both of them get grudging respect. It's the Manning hype that will wear me down most. His dad played quarterback in the NFL. His brother plays quarterback in the NFL. He plays quarterback in the NFL. In 100 years when the Eagles finally appear in another Super Bowl vs. the Beijing Sweatshops for the Lombardi Trophy there will surely be a spawn of Manning in that game as well. We get it!! The family pops out meathead football players at an amazing rate, that's great. Now move on and leave us in peace.

3) A pre-game show that will literally last 10 hours. I have no idea who watches all this pre-game flummery but if it's you, please stop reading, go to the bathroom, look into the mirror, and see for yourself what a grade-A dipshit looks like.

4) A national anthem ceremony as tasteful as the interior decorating to Tony Montana's house and as subtle as his stash of cocaine. Someday in the near future the Super Bowl will be blown up, and as one billion horrified onlookers assume it's Iran or North Korea, I'm telling you here first that it was Jim McFinckle, the NFL's Head Fireworks Guru, who measured the amount of TNT incorrectly.

5) Which reminds me, you will be constantly reminded that there are one billion people watching, which I think is made up.

6) The game starts. The Patriots win. Thirty new commercials will play during timeouts. One or two will be good. The rest will be trucks adds with choruses you will hum against your own will, beer commercials with washed up retro-celebs, and totally confusing advertisements for online services that aren't real. The money spent on all the commercials could have solved a lot of problems in the world, specifically my student loans, but that thought shrinks to nothing next to The Patriots being maybe the greatest team in football history not coached by Goldie Hawn. And the rest of the night will be spent dealing with that reality. Football. Wildcats. And yes I will watch the Super Bowl because what else the fuck would I do that day?


Additional thoughts:

-Sammy D put up another double-double on Saturday against Toronto. He's doing the bull dance, feeling the flow, working it.

-Starting tomorrow morning yours truly will be hosting a radio show on gtownradio.com. I will play good music so at least when you are depressed on Monday morning you will have my Barry White voice to accompany you. Monday mornings, 9-11am. And the name is If It Ain't Broke, which pretty much sucks so send name suggestions.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

The Good Ol' Days


In watching the NFL playoffs, i realized how painful they are when the eagles are out of it and the patriots are unstoppable. I also realized that Dan Dierdorf is incredibly annoying and should go back to his full time job as an English butler in Pittsburgh. What's more, T.O. is a crying baby, Tony Romo can't perform under pressure, and apparently its quite cold in Wisconsin this time of year. But actual football aside, Dierdorf has me thinking: What has come of the incredible late 80s, early 90s sitcom star? If Mr. Belvedere can call NFL games, certainly Tony Miceli can return to second base for the cardinals or at least coach third, no? Cousin Larry where art thou? Colonel Klink, was there ever a funnier nazi? All of this reminiscing got me nostalgic, and when I'm nostalgic, I turn to my ol buddy the world wide web in search of funny pictures/videos to help remind me why staying home from school as a kid was so damn enjoyable...

The Bul Bubak stole a bit of my thunder by presenting his own Top Five, but fuck the bul bubak, i have a top 6.

In no particular order, here are some of my favorite shows of yesteryear...

What's Happenin' /What's Happenin' Now
My father always wondered, sometimes aloud: why do you want to be black, young big firm? In retrospect, I should have simply uttered three words in response: Rog, Rerun and Da-wayne. This show was ahead of its time. Dwayne was a computer programmer (sure...and I'm an astronaut), Rerun was a used care salesman, and my personal hero Rog (pronounced Raj) was a struggling writer. Throw in fat Shirley, and sassy younger sister Dee and you have pure comical genius! But this show was about more than clever one liners, afros and funny glasses. This show asked each and every one of us: "what is happening?" and once that question became out-dated, "what is happening now?" You were happening, Haywood Nelson. In the words of Pedro Cerrano: YOU MAN! YOU!


Amen
I always thought MLK is why I wanted to be a baptist, but there's no denying this show played a role in that dream. SHINE ON ME!
A few reasons why this show stands out among the rest:
A) "Amen" took place in philadelphia - manayunk no less - where we all know there are a bounty of hilarious black people. Or maybe we don't, but still. Query: Did these honest members of the First Community Church of Philadelphia put lawn chairs and orange cones in front of their houses to reserve their "parking spots"? I think not. If only life imitated art.
B) Three words: Deacon Ernest Frye. If i were to legally change my name right this minute it would be to Deacon Ernest Frye. As if Sherman Helmsley's genius isn't already apparent, he is actually a proud Philadelphian - just like me - which makes us practically brothers. What's more, in a meeting w/ Reagan and Gorbachev (a power threesome if there ever was one), the good Deacon was quoted as saying "This Cold War guys - it's freezing out the little guy". You couldn't make this shit up. How many people do you know who can double-dutch in a full suit? Not me, not you...not anyone not filled w/ the glory.

227
You might be noticing a theme here, and it doesn't involve a bevy of white actors. This show sort of merges together w/ some of my other favorites - Gimme a Break mostly - and to be honest, I can't remember which one had Nell Carter and which one had the grandmother posted up in the window. Fact is there's no place like home, and if my home had Jackee and a young Regina King, home would be where I was...all the time.

Small Wonder
Ever been attracted to a robot? Well when I was 8, I was. Her name was Vickie and she lived in a cabinet in her brother's room. Sure, her head could twist around and her legs could be detached, but she had spunk. She fly, she fly.

Diff'rent strokes
There's a reason I don't like riding bikes, much less actually going to the bike shop. I'm pretty sure this episode alone thrust Arnold/Gary Coleman into years of therapy, and Dudley? well who knows what came of Dudley. If you have 8 minutes to set aside, and you are prepared to be uncomfortable, I urge you to click play, and do so now:



This show is perhaps best known for what became of its stars, but I have one outstanding question: if you were so rich, Mr. Drummond, why did Arnold and brother Willis share a bedroom? Separate bedrooms for the whites only, eh? and you call yourself a Canadian just like SAMMY D?!! Shame on you.

The Golden Girls
I threw this one in here b/c it mystifies me how a show about four old women could possibly keep my attention... but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't into Blanche. Oh that rose and her crazy antics. What I didn't understand then, and I don't understand now is how any of those women were young enough to have their mother living w/ them. Anyone w/ some insight? But all jokes aside, Blanche changed the way I look at older women, and for that I am grateful. Plus, Bea Arthur has huge fun bags.

And now this week's predictions. With Wednesday night's victory, FINALLY the sixers won a game that I said they would. In fact, it's the first game they have won since I took to posting. I've already addressed tonight's game at Boston (supra "See you at the Crossroads"), so I begin w/

Saturday against Toronto: The Raptors are giving us problems. It's mostly b/c they are better than us, but perhaps blame should be shouldered by the fans who refuse to show up on game night. I've thought it over many times, and recently decided that if people are unwilling to pay to see our beloved Sixers, the very least we can do is scour our subways for homeless people who would enjoy the heat and entertainment the Wachovia Center provides. It only makes sense. With an energetic crowd, Sixers prevail 104-92.

Monday against Indiana: OB returns to Philly, where no doubt not a soul will remember he once coached. Well I remember. If we were going to hire a cuz, why didn't we hire this man? Regardless, the pacers aren't all that impressive in my eyes, but that doesn't mean we can win. Pacers do exactly that: 99-94.

Wednesday against Detroit. PHILLL-EEE BASK-ET-BALL. I want to kill their PA guy. Matt Cord isn't my favorite, but their guy is intolera-bull. I do love Rasheed, which makes picking this game so damn hard. Rumor has it we are bringing in old Gratz teammate Reds Smith for this one, but the Pistons overcome our stifling inability to hit big shots. Piston 111, Sixers 103.

Friday at New York: Need I remind you what happened last time we marched into the Garden in Madison Square? Well if you don't, David Lee tried to kill our lord and savior, Lou Williams...and we shit beat those fools by thirty. I don't expect an equally as dominant performance, but I do anticipate a victory. Sixers 104, Knicks 97.

Top 5 Basketball Jerseys Ever!




Chris Jackson, LSU - Amazing college player, could shoot the lights out. Lets be honest, how could you not love a guy who has tourettes syndrome, changed his name to Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf, and went 219-229 from the line in 1993-94. Plus he doesn't stand for the national anthem.

Aaron McKie, 2000 Sixers
- Best. Beard. EVER! (full disclosure, I own this jersey) High school - Simon Gratz(Philly) College - Temple (Philly) Pro - Sixers (Philly!) This man won 6th man of the year and notched consecutive triple doubles in 2000-01, and for god sakes his beard was so so so on point. Now he has no beard, but he is a Sixers assistant coach.(and unofficial barber) He also looks like this guy.

Chris Dudley, Blazers - Dude went to Yale, is the worst free throw shooter in NBA history, and he played 886 NBA games while being a diabetic. Props to you sir!

Vernon Maxwell, any team - Nickname - Mad Max. Lethal shooter and defender who once posted 30 in a quarter. Hit teammate Carl Herrera in the head with a free weight. The coup de grace - in 1997 he was ordered to pay a woman $592,000 for knowingly infecting her with herpes.

Kermit Washington, Lakers - Rudy Tomjanovich's face, nuff said.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Off the Charts


Here at El Reporto Dalemberto, we hate to give credit to other bloggers unless they is our main man Marc Narducci or possibly those bastions of mainstream media elitism Fat Guy and Skinny Guy. However we was cruising the so-called interweb earlier today in an effort to keep our mind off some shit we saw hanging off the back of a car in Virginia, when we came upon a blogger named "depressedfan" who scored an up close and personal interview with Easy Eddie Stefanski.

Now, while we commend said dude for getting Eddie on the line, it's not the actual fact of the interview that concerns us. Indeed, it was one of the revelations from the new GM that resonated in this here corner of the interweb:

"Since I've been here, Sam Dalembert has been off-the-charts good," said Stefanski. "I mean, not just good, off-the-charts good. Sammy has done more than I expected when I came in."

Off the charts good! And this isn't some lamo newspaper piece where he bigs up Sam to drive up potential trade value. Finally, confirmation from the highest levels of Sixerdom of what we knew here years ago: that the only one who can stand between Sam Dalembert and world domination is Sam Dalembert himself.

Which, granted, he still tends to do with some frequency.

Anyway, you should read the whole interview. It's pretty informative and interesting, and envisions a Dalembert - Josh Smith - Iguodala frontcourt for next year, which is enough to make me want to do something like this.

Pic of the Day

This one is strictly for the ladies:


Picture is (courtesy) of the Bul Bubak.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

The Doldrums

Even Our Beloved’s recent stretch of Wiltian dominance can’t offset the doom and gloom of a looming double-digit losing streak, and despite the arousing thought of next year’s starting frontcourt, we here at TDR cannot deny that there is little to be excited about on the Philly sports scene today. Nor, despite what the media zombies would have us believe, do the NFL playoffs offer much solace. Let’s face the facts ladies and gents—what the conference championships offer is not a host of the most compelling storylines in sports, but rather a litany of dead horses that have been beaten so severly they're jealous of the horrible fate of officer Nordberg. Consider the following:

- Whether they win it all or not, the Pats have already secured their place in history—right next to the folks at the top of this list. Just remember, it ain’t cheatin’ if you don’t get caught. Oh wait. They did get caught. So I guess it is cheatin’.

- Much as we’d like to savagely berate and discriminate against Eli (Backfoot) Manning, the Supreme Court says we’re not allowed to.

- The Chargers might be somewhat exciting, if they hadn’t proved last week that skill players don’t mean shit in the NFL. This is, of course, just one more step towards the inevitability of fantasy becoming far more popular than actual football. While the budding Funston’s of the world may applaud this development, I for one am more than willing to put a fatwah out on anyone who chooses sides based on fantasy interests.

- I refuse to be a part of the problem, and thus I will not even address the topic of he-who-must-not-be-named.


The ugly truth is that three of the four teams are among the top five most detestable in th entire league, and the fourth is from San Diego, a city whose only redeeming qualities are proximity to Mexico and this man. So what is a fan to do in these dark days?


Fear not, loyal readers, for His Voodooness has heard your cries from the wilderness. For the 22 hours of your day when you are not delighting in his on court antics, Sam presents the loyal Dalembert Report readership with the keys to a bountiful kingdom of entertainment, in the form of:


Slammin’ Sammy’s fall/winter Movie Report


Juno – “This movie was quite confusing to me,” Sam opined after taking in an 11am show on a Sixers day off. “Not only did I have a difficult time keeping up with the hip teenage lingo and unnecessary references to shitty rock bands, but I could not figure out why Michael Bluth claimed he was afraid to be a father, especially when he has always had such a great relationship with George-Michael in the past.


No Country for Old Men –
“Wow!” exclaimed Sam as he emerged from lobby of the Ritz Five, “That ending really worked! Now I can’t wait for the sequel!”


Sweeney Todd –
In a pensive mood following a private screening in the basement of the Wachovia center, Sam had this to say about Tim Burton’s latest: “This movie reminded me of something that my old friend and fellow Haitian Olden Polynice told me when we were teammates my rookie year. ‘Sam,’ he said, ‘I know in Haiti we are used to taking the law into our own hands, but you just can’t do that sort of thing here in America.’ It’s too bad that demon barber didn’t have an Olden in his life.”


I am Legend –
“I’ll tell you one thing,” sad Sam angrily and he stormed out of the Bridge on a Friday night, “just cause you fight vampires doesn't make you Blade.”



Charlie Wilson's War/ The Kite Runner – “I am very excited that there seems to be such an interest in simplifying and exploiting the tales of heroic repressed peoples in the name of entertainment and profit,” remarked Sam upon seeing these two movies in a marathon double feature at the Plymouth Meeting Regal. “It gives me great hope that my own pet project may one day get out of development hell. It is called ‘Toussaint L’Overture Saves the Day’, and it asks the poignant question "what would the father of my country and the first man to ever lead a successful slave rebellion do if he had the ball at the three point line with the clock winding down in the 7th game of the NBA finals and his team down by one?” I’m in talks with Djimon Hounsou to play Toussaint, but if he can’t do it I may have to step in myself.”

Monday, January 14, 2008

Introducing the Photo of the Day

Here at the Dalembert Report, we never rest in pursuit of our goal of helping our readers to fend off crippling boredom, oxycontin addiction, and potential suicide by making their lives more interesting and Dalembert-friendly. Thus we are proud to announce what we hope will be a daily feature of the DR - the Photo of the Day! (cheering, fireworks).

But wait -- that's not all!

Because we love our readers so, we are giving you the chance to captionize said photo. It's kind of like that New Yorker contest, except for illiterate people. So, every day hence we will post a photo, and then choose the best caption from the comments. If all if those captions suck, we will say 'fuck you Jobu' to all of you and come up with our own.

So without further ado:

The Broad Street Bully

Here at the DR we don't tend to be so much into hockey. In fact, if you asked us to name a current Flyers player, we would probably say 'Ron Hextall' and subsequently be laughed at and then assaulted by a posse of South Philly's finest cuz material.

Our days of hockey ignorance, however, are soon to come to an end, thanks to this stupendous opportunity brought to our attention by loyal DR reader Sam Lehr:



INCREDIBLE!!

But we need your help, loyal readers. Bidding is already at $11,361 Haitian Gourdes, which anyone know puts this fabulous opportunity well out of the price range of the DR's corporate leadership. So please, send check, money order, spare change, nuggets of weed, mostly empty bags of coke and unwanted Christmas gifts to:

The Dalembert Report Corporate Headquarters
206 South 3rd Street, #3
Philadelphia, PA
19106


and let us take this fantastic opportunity to help ourselves, and Sammy D, become better Canadians. Crom thanks you for your support.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Do You Like Funny Haircuts?

ME TOO!

Now I was under the impression that NO ONE, and I mean no one, thought poop was as funny as me...apparently I was wrong. This is a sad day for me and I would imagine more so for my fiancee. Lets be real here folks is there a woman out there who doesn't want to marry a man obsessed with poop? No. If by chance you can find one though, I am sure she is a huge lezzer. That's right a gay American.

What is the biggest story in sports today? No no, not that the Sixers have a new man for the post game show, no not that this guy came out of the closet*, but rather it is the story no one seems to be mentioning. Yes it involves roger Clemens, but no it is not about whether he did roids or not. I could give a shit. I just wanna know if roids make you do this sort of thing? I've heard of roid rage(Big Firm) but this is ridiculous, he must have been REALLY angry at Andy Petite. Lets be real: we have all been angry at others before, even enraged, but have you ever been that angry? Rick James once told me "Steroids are a helluva drug" I didn't take him seriously at the time, but now I know.

Another item I enjoy, but in a less hilarious and more entertaining way than poop, is TV. I own 74" of LCD and Plasma HDTV's. I stupidly believed that I was one of the world's biggest TV enthusiasts. Up until about 15 minutes ago I would have sworn on my place atop the TV(especially HDTV) enthusiast list, then I saw this.

My last gripe of my first post of the new year is my forgetfulness. Lately my keys have eluded me and I have repeatedly forgot my bosses Christmas present at home. Now I am no scientist, but I am pretty sure Christmas was 15 days ago. Damn! I really am slippin. Well for those of you who repeatedly forget that cap at home, fret no more for I have your answer!

How come I didn't think of this?

Since the DR is meant to be, at least loosely, concerned with sports I will leave my faithful readers with this gem regarding our favorite baseball team. While still our favorite team, I think that they might be just a little gay. While I am pointing this out almost a year late, it's well worth it.



*May or may not actually be gay(He is)






Wednesday, January 9, 2008

See You At The Crossroads

Sadly, it has become clear over the last week that the sixers aren't very good. And neither am I at predicting victories. One week into my DR posting privileges and the sixers are 0-4. Amazingly I am quite good at predicting losses. Well just this evening we lost by 13 points, when I predicted they would lose by 14. But not so amazingly, when I say easy victory, they play like a pile of steaming shit. Now when I was in high school, it was cool to make this face behind people's heads, but it wasn't cool to be down on my squad, even when we were 18-64. So with that early life lesson in mind, I thought it time to put things in perspective and consider how bad things really once were.

As of January 10, 2007, our sixers have played 36 games, and we are 8 games under .500. At this point in 1996, we were a whopping 22 games under .500, coming in at 7-29. On this date 12 years ago we lost to the gheorge mursean led washington bullets, and amazingly, were led by 21 points off the bench from an accomplished domestic abuser. How we went on to lose 64 games when we put the likes of lasalle thompson, scott skiles, greg grant and rex walters on the court is beyond me, but believe it readers, i wouldn't lie. But on the bright side, we were cheered on by this man...


instead of this one. So what I guess what I'm here to say is just when things are starting to look hopeless, pop some Bone Thugs in your CD player, throw your favorite pair of cross colours around your waist, and embrace the 2007-08 version of your seventy-sixers. And Ed Stefanski, if you're listening, please replace Hip-Hop with a mascot worthy of our attention. I hate Steven Singer and so does this guy.

On that positive note I turn to this week's games.

Friday in the Windy City: When the Phillies signed Danny TartaBULL one decade ago I was incredibly excited .He was a monster in Sega RBI Baseball, and I figured a parade down Broad Street would soon follow. Well that fat deuce fouled a ball off his toe, collected his check, and bounced into oblivion. Multiply my disappointment by 1000 and thats how Bulls fans feel about their team right now. At 13-20, the bulls are actually worse than us. Fact is they have a black English bloke appropriately named "BEN," a convicted weed dealer in Jameson Curry, and a Swiss black dude named Thabo who the sixers once drafted. As I see it the "Tha's" go head to head with Thad dominating Thabo down the stretch, Iggy has a sucessful return home, and Sixers get back on the right track by scoring more points: Sixers 104, Chicago 99.

Monday in San Antonio: Ouch. We get smacked around, 109-92.

Tuesday in Houston: You say, "Big Firm, they have T-Mac and Yao." I say "BRING IT [Luther] HEAD!" First off, Sammy's recent trip to Haiti demonstrates that he is just as much of a humanitarian as Deke Mutombo, so there goes that advantage. Secondly, the Rockets suffer from a little something I call "cancer." Even Matt Bullock can't save the Rockets, we prevail: 98-91.

Friday in Beantown: First of all, I think our schedule fuckin sucks. We just finished a six game west coast roadtrip, came home for one against the bucks, got right back on the road, through the midwest, down to texas, and from there to boston? Who runs this league? Sadam Hussein? Realistically, this is a game we have little chance of winning. Honestly, being competitive might be a challenge. "That miserable city to the North filled with miserable people" 105, Sixers 87.

I welcome 1/2 of the DR staff to the friendly confines of Chapel Hill, North Carolina in a mere 36 hours. So take your shirt off, twist it round yo head, and spin the motherfucker like a helicopter god damnit.

He'll Nutter All Over Yo Face!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


All hail the best American Mayor ever! Except of course this guy.

He's Got Hands Like Glue!


Mr. Samuel Dalembert (as he's known at UNICEF) has a multitude of skills on the basketball court. Amongst them:

A leaping ability that rivals that of the famous Anthony Anderson Kangaroo.

A floor-running agility reminiscent of a gazelle navigating the East African veldt.

Rebounding and shot-blocking skills that in their timing, caginess, and cold blooded disregard for the will and general self-esteem of the oppositional player, are in nature glimpsed only in the ferocity and taste for human flesh of the blood thirsty Tatiana.

But alas, when it comes to his hands, Sammy was sadly cursed with the abilities of the Solenodon Paradoxus.


The Solenodon may look like a small rodent of relatively modest attributes, but don’t fuck with it. The second lower incisor has a groove through which it emits a venomous saliva, secreted in the submaxillary gland, which in turn renders opposition rodents into a state similar to what happened to Flintskins after his latest run in with this fantastic gadget.

Like Samuel Dalembert, the Solenodon hails from the Island of Haiti. And like our beloved Sammy D, the Solenodon is powerless when it comes to gripping a regulation NBA basketball.

This tragedy of genetics is the only thing standing in between Sammy D perennial all star status.

On a more positive note, future Dalembert Report enthusiast and real journalist Sam Donnellon appears ready to join the growing hordes of Sammy D enthusiasts. Jump on that bandwagon fella!

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Canadian Humor



Uh.....what?

It's All Connected

The Wire is back, and threatening to pull off the most improbable double-whammy since the winter of 1999. That’s right, the complex HBO drama celebrated for being both the most realistic show on television and for employing the best black actors around (though the man in the middle might take umbrage at both of those claims) is precariously close to becoming not just the best show on television, but also the most overrated.

This is not intended to be a knock on the show. The Wire is definitely the best thing on the telly today (obvious exceptions excluded) and deserves every bit of praise it gets for taking on large social issues in a unique, uncompromising, and above all entertaining way. But when the Mongolian hordes of TV critics who were busy fellating Jack Bauer while Bodie walked out of Juvie in 2002 suddenly show up to trumpet the “reality” and “social significance” of D. Simon’s Frankenstein monster, I have to draw the line.

The Wire is to reality what pornography is to sex—and I don’t just mean better. What I mean is, both take a very real, very important aspect of human life—and show us only the interesting parts. They are instructive, thought provoking, perhaps even galvanizing to the viewer. But in the media of film and television, it is the content, not the message, that is essential. The Wire is an enjoyable show because the vast majority of the content is concerned with smart people doing complex things that they are good at. Reality, unfortunately, is not.

As for the question of social significance, well, Simon & Co. are mere midgets wandering in the vast shadow cast by our beloved Sammy D.

Inconceivable!! The Rocket Commits More Blunders.

Appearing on a reputable news show and being the least likable guest is a bit of a PR problem. When the other guests are Pervez Musharraf and noted murderer John Martorano the problem effortlessly sprouts into a disaster, a good word for Roger Clemens's reputation and his long-term health outlook. Appearing on 60 Minutes to clear his name and set the story straight, a shifty-eyed Clemens instead offered more proof of the dangers of anabolic steroids; as if having your balls shrink down to the size of dried cherry pits and your back erupt into a dense zit canopy wouldn't suck enough, the scariest side-effect could be a tendency to turn into a stupid, ridiculously bad person.


I have been suspicious of Clemens for years; his career trajectory is the pitching equivalent of what Barry Bonds has done at the plate. Getting more productive and better at your job past the age of 35 makes sense if you are a doctor, a professor, or even the rare pugilist specialist, but for the majority of humans the late 30's means putting on ankle braces to take out the trash and pulling a hamstring while asleep in bed.

I'm sick of athletes lying about steroids. Stop lying!! If Pete Rose's pathetic tumble from Cooperstown to Disgraceville taught us anything, it is that sad, small men who live a life of lies don't age well. They aren't well in general. Even more stupefying is that baseball players can tell the truth and most people would understand. Here's what every steroid user should say: "Yes, I used performance enhancing drugs during my career. Everybody did. Major League Baseball in someways encouraged us to use drugs and made no effort to stop us. I felt a financial and competitive commitment to my family and teammates to cheat. I regret it. Please forgive me. I will help children". Boom! Forgiven. If that doesn't immediately get you off the hook try this: "Yes I used performance enhancing drugs during my baseball career. Jose Canseco repeatedly injected drugs in my buttocks against my will. There was no way to stop him. No way." Forgiven before the first follow-up question. But no, all these athletes continue to lie and dodge and act a fool. Which brings me back to Roger.

His square head sweaty with deceit, Roger shrugged away accusations and questions with the agility of a pyramid. He offered no reasons why his former trainer would lie about giving him steroids, and even less insight on how his best friend, training partner, and suspiciously close buddy Andy Petitte used steroids without Roger's knowledge. A truly innocent man would treat the offering of a lie detector test with more brio than Roger's transparent maybe, followed with a gee shucks "I don't know if they work". I have no idea if lie detectors "work" either, but I'm damn certain it wouldn't "work" for his ass.

Lastly, I do want to thank Roger for bringing lidocaine into the discussion. Reminds me of Iocaine powder, which reminds me of Wallace Shawn, Andre the Giant, and one of the greatest steroid movies of all-time, The Princess Bride. You think farm boy Wesley wasn't on that black market, Dred Pirate Roberts clean and the clear? You crazy. He leaves a skinny wuss-boy and 2 years later he's scaling huge rock cliffs with two hands, besting giants, thwarting master sworsdman, and ingesting mysterious and deadly white powder with no repercussions? Dude was enhanced. So at least I was reminded of that.


A few random thoughts:

1) I don't like Andre Iguodala's body language. It strikes me as middle brother body language. Frustrated and impatient with the younger brother but not totally confident and assured in front of the older brother. I just don't like the way he carries himself.

2) Young Thad deserves a blog.

3) I like The Wire. I really like The Wire. But if another wannabe critic calls it "The greatest show in the history of television" and acts like they found the Dead Sea Scrolls Imma vomit. The only thing Wire fans like more than the Wire is telling you how much they like The Wire. But it is real good. No disrepect. We miss you Avon.