He's Gone.

This admittedely half-assed, sheer reactionary post is brought to you in pure shock. I can't find the words...it's just, I mean, the wound, it's too fresh and raw. There will be plenty of time to regain composure later, and write from the heart, but all I can say now, is that our fearless leader, our hero, Samuel Davis "Slammin Sammy D" Dalembert is no longer a Sixer. He and his severely bloated contract have just been traded to the Kings. For two fucking white people.

More very sure to come, in the meantime, let's all take a moment, pour out some liquor, raise a lighter in the air, and watch the following.



Fuck you, Stefanski.

Africa...soccer..AND KELS?

If the Phanatic was in this video, it would have absolutely everything I love in the world.

Shut Up, Dan

DR stalker DVDubs sent the below vid to me this morning, insisting it be posted. While I wanted to spite him, I also don't want him breaking into my house to steal my dirty underpants, so here it is. As this genre of video goes, nothing will ever top Bert and Ernie doing "Ante Up", but this has Jake, so that's cool. Enjoy, and if you don't, tell that to Dan.

Awkward is as Awkward Does

I was trying to think of the most awkward moment in my life the other day, and struggling to find that one perfect instance of unbelievable discomfort. Few have had the "shit-pants-on-bridge-then-tell-future-wife-about-it" moment to reflect on, laugh about, and ultimately relish. So when a most unremarkable Sunday became, well... remarkable, it provoked some thought. Query: can someone else's most insufferable awkward moment become one's one awkward moment? Quite simply, yes. Yes it can.

Let me set the scene. Eldiablgogrande recently decided to move into a beautiful new home with his lovely wife and two dogs. To execute this task, he collected the finest and strongest, the most diligent and energetic, the best strategic thinkers LWFs can buy -- Mr. Fine Tone and Mr. Juice. And what does one do after they move? One holds a makeshift sidewalk sale to sell one's crap. Well "sell" would be a misnomer. Apparently there isn't a high demand on the streets of Northern Liberties for 5 inch bright colored pumps. Or any of Sayeh's shit.

But what is there a high demand for in what used to be the badlands of our fair city? Gays. Gays, trannies, well-groomed chest hair, super tight shorts (on dudes), and festive people feasting on water ice and enjoying a sunny, humid day in their finest overpriced shades. That's right, NoLibs was having a gay festival of sorts. And we have decided to sell things that don't appeal to anyone other than our favorite new homeowners, a shameful shortcoming to say the least. So there we sit, comfortably reclined in lawn chairs on a very small sidewalk, where winter coats are draped over doors, can openers are offered at discounted prices, pit-stained wifebeaters are practically giving themselves away.

Contemplating leaving because (a) sales are slower than a tased phillies fan, and (b) I don't want to get stuck packing this worthless crap up, I glance to my left and take inventory of the scene. Fast approaching are three gentleman, gliding through the air, chests thrust in the air, chins held high, hands interlocked (ok, maybe I made that up). One white, one black, one presumably latino, it's all a blur at this point. I look to Eldiablo, he glances back...is it? Could it be? No. Is this happening? I feel awkward, awkward for him, awkward for myself, awkward for Campy, wherever he is.

Like any mature soon-to-be thirty year old man, I hide behind a newspaper, blushing like a 7th grader walking back to the Wissahickon Skating Rink from the Chestnut Hill Academy fields, praying the discomfort passes like a fart in the wind. What does our fearless editor-in-chief do? He stares the feared enemy down, cracks a sly smile, and utters "Hey, howwwwwyaaaadoing"? To which he gets nothing. Perhaps some meat gazing, a rise out of the other man's loins, but nothing more. No hello, no "go phillies," no "i hate you, you ruined my life." Nothing.

And seeing as there are only a select few who frequent this here blogesphere, and one of them witnessed the crime itself, dare I challenge our readers: NAME THE CULPRIT IN QUESTION, he who momentarily redefined the term "awkward." Who floated by our stoop wearing a safari hat? Who you all know? The floor is yours...

Locked Down

Attempting to have a debate about Philadelphia sports with a fan of Philadelphia sports is without fail a maddening experience. While it has been well documented that these debates tend to turn violent if you are taking a stance against Philadelphia sports teams, trust me when I say that it is FAR worse and frustrating when both sides of the argument are Philly fans. As a prime personal example, for the past year or so, I have been in many frustrating arguments with Phillies fans regarding the future of Ryan Howard. There are MANY among us who already had him wearing that disgusting looking navy-pinstrip adorned uniform, some who assumed he'd be pahkin his fahkin cah nea Harhvad and playing in Fenway and many making assumptions that he would be Albert Pujols slightly cheaper replacment in Howard's hometown St. Louis. Any suggestion that he may actually stay here was met with stares of both incredulity and sheer anger, accusations of mental illness/developmental disabilities were hurled wilder than anything in Kyle Kendrick's repertoire. Yet, I carried through, staying firm in my position that unless Pujols made it very clear that he would not return to St. Louis and a spot was open for RyHow to take center stage in his hometown, it was supremely beneficial for him to remain a Phillie.


Why any of the above is relevant, is as you most likely have heard already (we're not freakin insiders, we find out when you do, many times LONG after), Ryan Howard, aka Big Brown, has agreed to a 5-year, $125 million extension that keeps him here through 2016. This is not only the third richest contract in the history of baseball, but is amazing news, and the perfect situation for the Phillies, RyHow and us fans. I understand that there are some RyHow haters out there, and some of you have some valid points - be it his tendency to slump, his long-standing inability to hit a left-handed breaking ball, impatience at the plate, large amounts of strikeouts are the most commonly used - but I will happily take some of the bad because his upside is GAME CHANGING. What he offers to the Phils with his bat (and now, shockingly also his glove) is a player that can singlehandedly win games, and his history down the stretch of the season has been nothing short of jaw dropping. For Howard, playing in the cozy confines of Citizens Bank Park in the lineup where it doesn't necessarily benefit a team having him pitched around, against National League pitching greatly increases his chances at attaching his name to some hitting records and helping pave a path to Cooperstown. Finally, for us, the fans, we get the pleasure of being part of the excitement the big guy brings every time he puts on the red and white. Also, it can't be discounted that potential free agent signees like to see a team that has locked up guys like Halladay, Howard, Utley, etc., as not only does it show them that they will be joining a team with proven winners locked in, but proves that they are considering a team that will take care of their biggest performers. Considering how our pitching is looking these days, I am happy for anything that could persuade any top notch hurlers. But that is a different column for a different day.

One final thing that needs to be addressed about this signing is that lost in the outcry over the Cliff Lee trade was that signing him to a long term deal after doing the same with Roy Halladay would have tied up the Phillies' hands and not allowed them to make a move like this. Hidden between the lines of the head-scratching move that was the Cliff Lee/Mariners deal was something big, and many of us were too shocked to see it, but as I see it today proved that even when they seem to be making business decisions while concussed, we may very well have found ourselves in an era where the Phillies are doing their best to think ahead and always have something up their sleeve. Something like this creates enough good will for me to not question the next seemingly boneheaded move of the front office, and I suggest maybe we all give them some slack for the time being.

But only if Kendrick gets sent down to the Iron Pigs. Oh, and fuck it, sign Pedro again. I'm not joking.

Another reason to love Chop

Getting His Unemployment On

The Shawn Andrews Era has finally ended and what is there to say? The dude shoulda coulda woulda. In the end I feel justified for my initial feeling when we drafted him: "Wait, we drafted a dude who had to lose 50 pounds to get down to 350?!?!" It seemed like a bad idea then, and it turned out that certain large men have delicate psyche's and bad backs. In general I think it's bad business taking on talent that weighs over 400 lbs, unless it's a talented actor, dancer, or both. So goodbye Big Kid, and good luck, and may you're convergence of twitter and god bring you a life of happiness.

Vanilla Sky Has Fallen

Two years ago The DR draft coverage spotlighted a white boy of considerable intrigue: Joe Alexander, a kid who's combination of size and athleticism was surpassed only by his memorable nickname, Vanilla Sky. Turns out, two years later, that his size was irrelevant, his athleticism underwhelming, and his overall potential vastly inferior to his epic nickname. This season brought about a new low for the Vanilla One: a demotion to the NBA's D-League, a development farm for wannabes and busts. Turns out white guys can jump. To the minors. And then I remembered something important: Vanilla Sky was an atrocious movie starring an atrocious crazyman(long, only need to watch a minute to get the gist). Poor Joe never had a shot with a nickname like that.

But as I thought more about it I became fixated on the reality that in fact white men cannot play basketball very well. I began to scour NBA rosters to find American-born white folk with skills. And what I found was, frankly, gross and pathetic. The best white players aren't very good in the macro view, and they tend to be big ugly ogres who get by on heinous looks and technically perfect box-out techniques. Men like Chris Andersen, Kevin Love, Chris Kaman, Spencer Hawes, Troy Murphy, David Lee, and Brook Lopez. Then there's a whole crop of absurdly mediocre whitebreads who play further away from the hoop, with no increase in success, dudes like Mike Miller, Kirk Hinrich, Mike Dunleavy Jr., Kyle Korver, Luke Walton, Luke Ridnour, Jason Williams, Chase Buddinger, and the Matt's, Harpring, Carrol, and Bonner. Yes I left out some people, but does it matter? You know the state of the white-man has really hit a low point when Louis Amundson might be one of the top 15 caucasoids in the league. Truly, what would you trust any of these men to do well, other than pick out a polo shirt to match their khakis?

But I don't give up hope. Someday there will another white player with serious game, a man who can combine the game of Chris Paul with the skin of Ron Paul. Until then I will yearn for the days of Tom Chambers and Jack Sikma, Rex Chapman, and even the poster boy, for being posterized, Shawn Bradley.

I want to end on a sad note, the end of AI's marriage. How the hell a women stayed with this fella since high school without being accidentally shot by his posse amazes me, but something must have finally pushed her over the edge because she filed for divorce. Seriously, I'm full of sadness for the Iversons. This year has been a string of disappointments and disasters. No attempts at humor here, just saying I think it's sad. Like Vanilla Sky's career.

Hate Hurts

Can any of us really understand Fine Tone's dilemma at a deli counter, when he has only enough scratch to get extra cheese OR extra meat? Can we really relate to the unenviable position Jayson Werth is placed in when he must decide between the asian stripper and the czech one? For all the horrible things that happen in this world, man is too often forced to pick favorites as between two things he really loves. It's a modern day tragedy of the commons, really.

Well tonight is no different. There is no hiding it, the Big Firm loves dogs. Even little shit ones who look like little shits.



Yet as much as I got love for dogs, I have as much, if not MORE love for black people.



So when this video came to my attention tonight, I felt torn. A dog...born and bred to hate black people? A canine white supremacist? A living creature that could hate a black astronaut?

Behold the horror: White Dog

Joy to the World

Could there be any more auspicious portent of spring than a photograph of Charlie Manuel blowing a bubble while cramming his hands down his pants? I didn't think so.

Sporty Thieves

It's not often that a well-known political figure starts beef with a member of the DR editorial staff. Sure, there was that time that Rick Santorum accused Bubak of bestiality, and that other occasion where Big Firm got punched in the face by Frank Rizzo Jr. for wearing his lime-green NAACP Legal Defense fund hoodie in the line at Geno's, but generally elected leaders know better than to tangle with us and our new-found appreciation for libel law.

That all changed this week though, when former Phillie hall-of-famer Jim Bunning basically shit in the eye of our man Flintskins by refusing to sign an extension of jobless benefits, thus single-handedly depriving millions of Americans (including but not exclusive to the entirety of Northern Liberties stripper population), with their means of sustenance.

Now, Bunning's turn in the news got me thinking about other athletes-turned-politicians, and these thoughts turned out to be fairly unpleasant. Sure, there are some great success stories, but for every Bill Bradley there are at least a dozen Lynn Swanns. The problem, I reasoned, is that that only the most narcissistic and self-aggrandizing athletes decide to go into politics when their playing days are done (think Curt Schilling). Most of the athletes we love would rather spend their time running a car wash or cooking up delectable pork sandwiches, which is part of why we loved them in the first place.

The current crop of Philly sports stars is notable for it's lack of pomposity. Sure, Donovan can be annoying and DeSean Jackson's cockiness could get old, but by and large this town is patrolled by a group that's self-effacing and likable - hardly the types to run for office. All that aside, if I was Karl Rove, here's who I would nominate, ranked from least electable to most:

10 - Jose Contreras: His experience growing up in a socialist dictatorship could really endear him to the Tea Party crowd. However his lack of English potentially limits his broad appeal. I see him as a city councilman representing the area around K & A, with Garrett Reid serving as his chief of staff.

9 - Andy Reid: Sky-high name recognition. Extensive executive experience. Mormon. Andy is essentially a fat, wheezy, ugly version of Mitt Romney, and Mitt will most likely be the Republican nominee for President, paving the way for Reid's appointment as Surgeon General.

8 - Allen Iverson: In the right district, AI could be an unstoppable candidate. Unfortunately it would have to be populated entirely by felons, and last time I checked Graterford was not allotted a government representative.

7 - Riley Cote: I felt obligated to include a Flyer on this list, and Riley Cote seems like kind of a badass. He could definitely garner some votes in South Philly and Fishtown.

6 - Jason Smith: Tall, white, and handsome, J Suave would be irresistible on the campaign trail, at least until his rookie fling with a porn star came to light.

5 - Greg Dobbs: Has the sartorial chops and wholesome appeal of a Senate candidate, and as a benchwarmer has plenty of time to campaign. Also would benefit from right-wingers who thought they were voting for former CNN personality Lou Dobbs.

4 - Kareem Townes: The ultimate long-shot candidate. Townes candidacy could harness the twin themes of "redemption" and "local boy makes good" after his arrest in 2002 for selling a half kilo of crack to an undercover. After all, Marion Barry got reelected after getting videotaped smoking crack with hookers in a motel room, and who in Philly hasn't had a couple ounces of crack on them at one time or another? Townes is an early release away from being mayor of this town.

3 - Carlos Ruiz: Charming. Bilingual. Experienced with running a large organization (the Phils pitching staff).

2 - Charlie Manuel: Uncle Cholly's got the down-home style that appeals to the Joe the Plumbers of the world, but beneath his folksy manner lies the mind of a Rhodes scholar and the heart of a Kenyan marathon runner. He's already the honorary mayor of Philadelphia.

1 - Aaron McKie: Could get elected to any office in the land on the strength of his beard alone.

Chopped and Screwed

With spring training underway and the Phillies juggernaut busy limbering up for another deep playoff run, I'm bothered by one thing and one thing only. No it's not Cole Hamels and his My Little Pony voice and attitude. Nor is it concern with Brad Lidge's ability to close games; as I see it he had the worst year any human being could have and we still made the World Series. I'm not even worried about Charlie Manuel dying, which was a huge concern last year before he lost 100 pounds and resembled a large, half-deflated balloon.

No no no, our problems are more serious than that. Our biggest weakness, our main susceptibility, the chink in our armor, if you will, is this: NO ASIANS!!(Note: yes that was a horrible joke. Yes I offended myself and my family by writing it. And yes I attended a roast this past weekend which made that joke and others like it seem perfectly acceptable, which they aren't. But to hell with it) Not a single Asian brother. What makes it even worse is that our superb Asian from last year, Chan Ho Park, turned down a contract to play here, watched helplessly as the market for him dried up, and ended up signing with the deviant mothership of unholiness the Yankees. This story nearly broke my heart. Sure, we replaced one old Asian with two old (and if what I've come to expect from Cuban "birth certificates" is true, presumably much much older) Cubans and that could be a fair trade, on the baseball field. But this isn't abut baseball. This is about karma, superstition, and wa. Fact is, this current team has never appeared in the playoffs, won a playoff series, World Series, nothing, without an Asian on the roster. From Tad Iguchi to So Taguchi to Chan Ho last year, this most excellent stretch of success can be traced directly to the acquisition of our friends from the far East. How will this play out? I'm not sure, but come trade-deadline time I will be willing to give away the rest of our farm system, current stars even, for any brotherman if we're still bereft of Asians by then. Ryan Howard straight-up for Kenshin Kawakami? Yes, sure, do it. Chase Utley for Shin Soo-Choo? Pull the trigger. Hell, find Hideo Nomo and offer him a spot in the rotation. He's older than Mr. Miyagi but I bet he can still get a guy out here and there. And catch a fly with chopsticks. I think you get the point.

In closing, being of Asian descent means I'm obviously exempt from accusations of racism and cultural insensitivity towards my own people. However, if any of my fellow DR colleagues or loyal readers say something out of line, you are most definitely a racist piece of shit.

Sammy's Trade Value

Another ten days and twenty inches of snow from now the NBA trade deadline will be upon us, in all its contract-shedding, draft-positioning, awful-GM's-trying-to-save-their-job glory. For Sixers fans this means watching in horror as Ed Stefansky is yet again given an opportunity to evaluate talent, tinker with salaries, and mold the roster for the future. Armed with a track record of failure in all three areas, Ed finds himself staring directly down the barrel of an Ed Snyder held shotgun, his job a few more miserable months away from early termination. Luckily for Ed he has a trump card: the non-expiring, trade-kicker enhanced contract belonging to the greatest Haitian since ever, Sammy D. In other words, Ed has Sam, and Sam has the world. By the balls. What is fair trade value for a man of such dignity, stature, and contractual heftiness? Here are the rumors, and my own opinion on each.

Sammy D and Iguodala for Amare Stoudemire
This is laughable. So we're trading our best player, Sammy D, and our most annoyingly good player, Eyegadala, for an overpriced combination of the two? I don't get it. Stoudemire is good for twenty points a game, eight blown defensive switches, five casual-to-lazy pursuits of a loose ball, and absolutely zero trips to a devastated nation to provide relief, support, and inspiration. If Phoenix included Steve Nash, Leandro Barbosa, and agreed to build a time machine so they could undo the 1993 trade of Charles Barkley for Andrew Lang, Tim Perry, and Jeff Hornacek, I'd consider it. I'd at least let them buy me lunch while I considered it.
Verdict: Of Course Not

Sammy and Iguodala for Tracy McGrady
Ten years ago this trade would have made sense: Sammy was in college and Iguodala high school, while McGrady was at the height of his talents and health. I would certainly make that trade. But time moves on people, and Sammy has gone pro, mastered the english language, and enjoyed the finer points of American barbering. Sure we'd save more money than ten nervous octogenarians at Wal-Mart, but the Beatles said it best: can't buy me love.
Verdict: Igga Please

Sammy D for Dwight Howard and Jameer Nelson
This is enticing only because it would place Sammy much closer to his native home, and he could literally commute to work from Haiti. Otherwise it's a no-go. Jameer is a local guy and believe me I respect his game, but he's injury prone and one or two more surgeries away from becoming the next assistant coach at Rider. Howard is big, strong, and big and strong. Beyond that I don't see the big deal. If I had to choose a guy to break rocks with his bare hands, I'd take Howard. If I had to choose a guy to make rocks disappear and return as loaves of bread, then it's Sammy. Is there really any choice there?
Verdict: Negatron, not even if they included Disney World and that hot girl from High School Musical.

Sammy for Pau Gasol, Andrew Bynum, and Kobe
We're getting closer.......to me vomiting. I'd just as soon trade my future wife and kids for a bowl of dirty snow with a frozen dog turd on top. I can hardly use my eyes the day after watching Gasol on TV, he's that physically atrocious. If there is anyone in the world uglier than him please send me a link. I'm a big believer in a persons worth being intractably connected to the re-arranged spelling of his last name. Bynum re-arranged spells NY Bum. Case closed. And Kobe? I want him on my team the way I want incurable cancer combined with red-hot hemorrhoids. Besides, Sammy needs fresh air to thrive and LA has none.
Verdict: No. Insulting.

Sammy for Lebron
Lebron is very good at basketball, maybe the best. He can do it all, he's a great teammate, he's fun to watch, and he's some ridiculously young age, so he has many years of basketball ahead of him. He's poised to dominate not only the league, but the world, if you buy into the global icon/corporate whore thing. Here's the thing, one of these two men will be on money one day, and it ain't Lebron. It's hard to trade a superstar and get equal value, but it's impossible to trade a guy who IS(or will be) monetary value. And that, my friends, is what we have in Sammy D.
Verdict: Gourde notes for everyone! Sammy Stays!


As for the rest of the Sixers roster, my opinion on whether we should trade this player or that is yes, yes, yes , yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. Oh and resign AI. Viva Haiti. Later suckers.

Fun With Taxes

For the employed out there, the end of this month marks the beginning of tax time. The process of doing ones taxes can be quite overwhelming to some, but luckily these gentlemen are here to help.



With each passing day, our country is one step closer to it's depiction in Idiocracy. Stay classy.