Speaking Of . . .

On this date in Yankees history: Roger Maris earns 1961 AL MVP | Bronx Pinstripes | BronxPinstripes.com

Since Aaron Judge is taking his sweet time in his quest to become the Bronx Boss of Bash, it threw off my weekend Rundown plan. Which is plenty fine since I haven’t penned one of these speakeasies in a lukewarm minute. So even when the big fella doesn’t get it done? He still gets it done!

Speaking Of . . . getting it done, the aforementioned Judge crushed it this year, and I’m not even talking about the diamond business in this instance. Nah, what 99 did for Derek Rodriguez ain’t gonna show up in any box score, and that’s because it’s much more important than any baseball game.

Rodriguez was the nine-year old Yankees fan who missed out on a Judge homer the last time the Yankees were in Toronto. Until he didn’t, thanks to Blue Jays fan Mike Lanzillotta, who caught the ball and then handed it to the kid. After which both of them got to meet Judge. How can you not love that?

You could say Judge had 99 reasons and a pitch wasn’t one.

Adam Levine & Tom Brady: Lakers Bros! | Adam Levine, Tom Brady | Just Jared

Speaking Of . . . pitches, I have one for any of the eleven million streaming services out there who love petty faces. I’m pairing up the newly separated Tom Brady and the newly found out (as if we didn’t know) creep Adam Levine in a NYC brownstone for bastard bachelors. The show will have a twenty-eight minute running time, twenty-four minutes of which will be filled with preening memes. The other four minutes will possess vacuous verbiage that will no doubt set civilization back at least a hundred minutes. The working title is Unlikeable You

Nancy Pelosi booed during surprise appearance at NYC music festival, videos appear to show | Fox Business

Speaking Of . . . Unlikeable, Nancy Pelosi made a surprise appearance at the Global Citizen Festival in Central Park over the weekend. A lot less surprising was her getting booed off the stage. My daughter was in attendance and she called it the most interesting part of a lackluster event.

I'm not convinced we've wasted enough time on this | Work humor, Workplace humor, Work memes

Speaking Of . . . Lackluster events, the Super Bowl halftime show was supposed to feature Taylor Swift. And I for one wasn’t about to bother with that mess. Welp, those plans fell through and now Rihanna will star in the two-hour motion picture. And okay, I’m still not gonna bother, but I’m glad it’s not Taylor Swift just the same.

FDA Warns Against Making Viral NyQuil Chicken Recipe

Speaking Of . . . bad medicine, the FDA issued a warning recently against basting your chicken in Nyquil. This was in response to a five year old stunt found on the internets in which some kids were achieving maximum dosages in their hot meals. And I swear to Jesus, if Albert Einstein and Darwin were still kicking, Al would be getting busy on a bomb that would end this madness and Charlie would be rooting him on.

Dolphins coach Mike McDaniel's leadership style, Dolphins beat Bills - Sports Illustrated

Speaking Of . . . rooting, you didn’t think I was going to go through an entire post without mentioning the first place and(!) undefeated Miami Dolphins, did you? They overcame a literal ass kicking punt and total domination by Buffalo on the stat sheet and they paid the Bills! Now they’re sitting in the football penthouse as they mark a Super Bowl date with the Philadelphia Eagles. And the only thing that could stop this from happening would be an asteroid crashing into earth.

What time will NASA's DART spacecraft hit an asteroid on Sept. 26? | Space

Speaking Of . . . asteroids crashing into earth, NASA conducted a test last night by actually t-boning one of these fuckers. NASA crashed its DART spacecraft (Double Asteroid Redirection Test) into a hurtling hunk of space burning love called Dimorphos at speeds in excess of 14,000 mph. Which sounds like your average Tuesday on a Florida highway.

NASA insists their Hollywood stunt was simply a test and I believe them, because I always believe what government agencies tell me. And hey, I know it sounds ridiculous to believe that the Eagles and Dolphins meeting for all the chips on the table might portend such a cataclysmic event. And I don’t actually believe it  . . . because that’s just . . . silly.

Right?

From the Archives: Top 5 Heroes Of The Week

Imma dish up a brand spanking new Rundown this weekend, but I thought it would be kitschy fun to dig into the old treasure chest today. I found one of the very first of the Heroes/Rundown series. I hope you enjoy this blast from the past.

Remember the old Rolling Stone double issues that used to take a week to read? And longer than that if it was summer and you were perpetually high? Welp, that’s this week’s Heroes installment. You’ll notice I’ve tucked some news squibs in between the Big Five. It’s just me, tinkering.

Now let’s get on with it.

Romaine-tic Comedy- Country music singer Miranda Lambert (Should I stop there? Is that enough of a punchline? No . . you sure? Okay, I’ll continue . . ) is bringing a whole new meaning to her salad days. And believe me, I ain’t dressing this up.

Lambert made headlines (again) for all the wrong reasons (again) when she dumped her salad on a woman who was provoking her. The lap dance tantrum happened at a Nashville steakhouse where Lambert was dining with friends and family. And it just makes me sad.

Once upon a time, country music’s preferred method of payment when it came to altercations were baseball bats and whiskey bottles. Now . . it’s lettuce and cherry tomatoes with julienne carrots in a balsamic vinaigrette (speculative editorializing). The legends of country music didn’t even know what the fuck a salad was! The current generation of stars has weaponized it.

Ted Cruz wants to use El Chapo fortune to fund border wall. Because our government has never, ever used blood money before . . .

Ice Cold Stove- Two of the biggest stars in the game- Bryce Harper and Manny Machado- remain unsigned. Pitchers and catchers time has arrived, and these two big ticket items of the hot stove league remain on the shelf. Which says everything about the blah quality of the league. Call it collusion by the owners or call it a deluded MLBPA but the bottom line is the game is suffering from an alarming lack of sizzle lately.

Cancel out collusion, because offers have been made and stupid contracts (See the Nationals signing of Corbin) have been inked. As for the player’s union, they’ve got to pipe down on any claims of owner conspiracy, what with the average MLB salary sitting at a cool 4 mil a year. They need to get their shit straight for sure but worrying about their players getting paid would be the wrong pony to ride. Listen, owners see players like JD Martinez of the Red Sox kicking ass at a fraction of what Harper/Machado were asking for. They want bang over bloat, and I don’t blame them.

But the MLB has got to do something about this hot stove of theirs, which has gotten its ass kicked by the NFL and NBA trading deadlines and signing periods over the last calendar season. Baseball used to own its off-season but that is no longer the case. Where have you gone Reggie Jackson? . . .

Grammys

The Grammys- Who. Fucking. Cares.

I ain’t got much to say about an awards show I haven’t watched in forever, but what I do have to say isn’t pleasant. And yet . . it’s a hell of a lot more pleasant than what these peeps are dealing. Reading up on the postscripts to the show is akin to checking up on the first grade choir. It’s a bunch of musical talent wrapped in elementary school clothes. They snipe, they curse and they hate on each other with Styrofoam vitriol; which means to say, it’s marshmallow four lettered banter delivered up by musical brats who couldn’t hold Prince’s luggage.

And this isn’t some old dude pissing on the music of the day, because there’s plenty of new stuff I dig on. And I also happen to believe we should leave Cardi B alone when it comes to that Tom Petty gaffe. Truth be told, there are times when I have to think about which Beatles are left . . and I am guilty of not knowing whether Steven Tyler was dead or alive (He’s alive). Nah, Cardi B is a kid who ain’t down with yesterday’s music, and that’s no crime. But the way her peers trashed her after she won for best rap album is just sad. And proof that I ain’t missing anything by skipping this show.

Kylie Jenner is into condom artTo paraphrase the great Andy Warhol, in the future everyone will be famous for three and a half minutes . . . 

Sarah Sanders Stars in ‘God Squad’-White House press secretary Sarah Sanders says that God wanted Donald Trump to win in 2016. And a quarter of Fox News poll respondents agree with her. In another Heroes first, I’ve linked to a Fox News poll for shits and giggles. If you insist on sending me hate mail, please forward it here. Rather than doing a post-oped, Imma dish up a semi-fictional rendering of how this might have gone down.

Somewhere in Malibu . . . 

The phone rings. 

“Challo?”

“God, hey . . it’s Lucifer,”

“Hey Lu . . what’s going down?” God chuckles.

“You remember anything about last night?” Lucifer asks.

“Well . . I remember we were playing poker. Moses was bragging about his Red Sea vacation . . Noah was telling fish tales . . and then Lot brought the Patron and we all started doing shots and . . .”

“You went all in when I said you had to elect Trump if you lost your pot,” Lucifer informs him.

“Prove it,” God demands.

His phone chimes to life with a text message containing a video link of him losing the bet with his arch-nemesis.

“Jesus!”

“Yeah Pop?” Jesus says as he moves into the living room to grab his sandals.

“No, not you. Umm, where you going?” God asks.

“Me and Jerry Garcia are gonna work on the van,” Jesus says excitedly.

“What about that job interview you have at Lowes?” God asks.

“That’s manana, and don’t worry . . I’ll pass the drug test this time. Gotta go old man, peace out . ..”

“Lu . . you still there?”

“That kid can’t hold down a job to save his life,” Lucifer says.

“Preaching to the choir, Lu. But hey . . you can’t hold me to this Trump thing,” God says.

“You bet your cloud surfing ass I’m gonna hold you to it,”

“I gotta say, this is low . . even for you,”

“Tuesday, November 8th, Boss. Mark the date,” Lucifer says before hanging up.

If you insist on sending me hate mail for this sacrilegious skit, please forward it here.

Bob Ross Flash Mob- Seriously, that sentence is enough to put a smile on my face. But it gets better. Thanks to middle school art teacher Brady Sloane of Abilene, Texas . . it gets a lot better. Textbook smarts get you in the door, but outside the box thinking opens the doors you never knew existed. And Sloane, supplied. She noticed how her students were stressing over their work load in advanced placement classes and so she organized a cool little activity in which they would all don Bob Ross costumes as they painted.

Sloane used monies from a fundraiser to buy the paints and then her students helped her make the costumes. And this story is just so damned peach on top of my Heroes cake, that Imma stamp it in place of my usual musical spill.

Zen is what real winning looks like.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bill Gates slams AOC’s 70 percent tax plan? No. Shit. 

Do You Believe In Miracles?! Well, Not Really . . But Humor Me

Dolphins vs. Ravens: Twitter reactions from Miami's Week 2 win

Sometimes, it’s better not to ask questions.

I asked myself if maybe it was time to put my annual “State of the Dolphins” post on ice, so as to spare myself the disappointment of yet another campaign full of empty promises. But why should I deny my loyal readers the chance to join me for the undertow party? So I said to myself . . . Self? Just write the damn thing. 

It was deep into the third quarter of the Dolphins game in Baltimore on Sunday when I realized just how much I suck as a sports fan. My beloved Fins were getting clobbered 35-14 and the Ravens were killing more grass than an unemployed pothead. Two games in and I was throwing in the towel; the one Rocky should have thrown in Rocky III. Down by three touchdowns, it was time to call in FEMA and start making excuses for next week’s loss . . I mean game (I mean loss) against the Bills. And then the thought ran through my head . . .

Waddle is tearing it up! 

Wide receiver Jaylen Waddle is so good, it doesn’t seem possible that he’s ours. He wasn’t our first choice, which makes the fact he’s ours that much sweeter. Anyways, that’s not why I was so excited about the game Waddle was having in Baltimore. Nope. I was pumped because he’s on my fantasy league team. I knew it wasn’t right to feel so good about a loss, but hey! It’s the kid’s fault!

That groan you just heard is Vince Lombardi crapping in his dead pants.

Tua Tagovailoa, Miami Dolphins: How to fix your NFL quarterback.

Heading to the fourth quarter, Miami found itself trailing by twenty-one points with Tua Tagovailoa at the helm. Now don’t get me wrong, this Tua fellow is an outstanding individual by all accounts. But here’s the thing. I don’t want my quarterback to be an exemplary individual with scruples for miles. I want my quarterback to be an asshole. Which is why I was coo when we tried to bandito Tom Brady. You put that dude in a phone booth at winning time and go pend your patent.

Heading into Year Three of Tua, the Dolphins have been just fine. Sort of the way a Buick or a hand-knit sweater vest or Nilla Wafers are just fine. It doesn’t help when Justin Herbert- the guy we passed on in the draft- is the best QB not named Mahomes or Kelly . . . even with fractured ribs. Miami’s Coulda Closet of QB’s includes everyone from Herbert to Brady to Watson. Even Baker Fucking Mayfield snuck into our rumor pile for a minute, and he’s more Mickey Spillane character than franchise quarterback.

As for the game, it was the fates complying as Miami ran their dime store offense down the field for a less than giddy yup to make it Baltimore 35 Miami 21 with enough time left for Lamar Jackson and the Ravens to hang a Fifty Burger on the board. I was okay with my team having thrown a punch, I was more okay with Waddle leading my make believe team to the promised land.

And then . . . Baltimore 35 Miami 28.

A career best four touchdown passes for Tua and now my (real) team was counter punching the hell out of a lost afternoon. And then they had the ball back yet again, and im had decided to amscray from the possible. But no . . . of course not . . because there was plenty of time left for us to fuck it up in some Hitchcockian horror story . . . hold on . . what?

Baltimore 35 Miami 35.

When Justin Tucker hit a bomb to give the Ravens a three point lead, I breathed a sigh of relief because I hadn’t actually lost consciousness after all. But I wasn’t expecting what came next to, yanno . . come next. In fact, if I had to make a top five list of shit that I thought was going to happen in Baltimore on Sunday afternoon, it would have gone like this.

1) Giselle purchases the Dolphins and announces that Tom Brady will never get to visit.
2) Lamar Jackson scores on a 101 yard run. Which isn’t even possible.
3) Miami HC Mike McDaniel is arrested for stealing actor Jamie Kennedy’s identity.
4) Jimmy Hoffa’s remains are found in the end zone. By Geraldo.
5) Anything other than . . . .

Miami 42 Baltimore 35 . . with Waddle cradling the go ahead score for my real team and my make believe team.

Both!

From the ashes to the top of the heap in fifteen minutes and somewhere, Warhol was smiling. When it went final, I was left to wonder how they’re going to break my heart before the dealing’s done. Maybe the wake up call is next week when they take on a Bills team that is playing as if they stole Superman’s identity.

And I don’t care, because I will be Sebastian to their Mia(mi) if they’re going to be this damned interesting.

Mike McDaniel's path to Dolphins started with a lost hat

The new football boss Mike McDaniel wasn’t our first choice either. And the Boy Genius circa Yale University and the NFC Champion 49ers would say fuck it if you asked him how much that matters right now. No, seriously. That was the play he called with the Dolphins down seven late in the game. The “Fuck It” play was actually in the playbook, and it called for all offensive personnel to line up on one side so’s Tyreek Hill could win his matchup on the other.

Who knows? Maybe Miami hot-wired a road trip from Miami proper to January. Because none of these dudes was at the top of our wish list and yet, they dollar billed a penny opera ending into the kind of comeback dub that just might have playoff games calling on the back nine.

Jesus, this feels like a heist film penned by Zack Syder: Tua as the afterthought point man and Waddle as the chip on his shoulder weapons expert. McDaniel is the wanna be white rapper whose side hustle as a safecracker allows him the chance to strike it rich. And they’ll have to go through the mafia in Buffalo, the syndicate in Kansas City and maybe even that hot shot gunslinger on the left coast if they want to get to the desert. You can’t tell me Hollywood wouldn’t dig that script.

I’m liking it my damn self.

The “Catch ’22” NFL Season Preview (See what I did there?)

The Funniest & Most Awkward NFL Photos Ever Taken

Another NFL season is going longhand, so Imma provide some expert analysis on what to expect. And before you give me shit for calling myself an NFL expert, have you watched a football talk show recently? It’s like watching kindergartners recite Macbeth, only much less adorable.

When thinking up ideas for this post, I tossed with sharing my fantasy football experience. But you guys don’t want any part of that and neither do I. And I figure it makes little sense to prognosticate on the pigskin when my football knowledge can fit into Bethany Frankel’s bikini. Instead, I’ll stream the consciousness out of this fucker and hope for the best.

Let’s hit it! . . .

The Rams Super Bowl win in Los Angeles was the second time in as many years that a team hoisted the Lombardi trophy in its own stadium, with Tom Brady and the Bucs having turned the trick the season prior. In the first fifty-four years of the big game, not a single home team won it in their crib. So thank God for the Cardinals, who will return us to the old normal since they ain’t getting close to Glendale in February without tickets. If you have a beef with my expert opinion, please lodge your complaint here.

The Creme de la Creme of the league this year? Imma give you the top five:

Buffalo Bills: In a couple months, the temps in Orchard Park will be colder than Melania Trump’s diary, so for the love of all things Scott Norwood, let these people dream!

Tampa Bay Buccaneers: For exactly nineteen seconds, I was actually feeling sorry for Tom Brady, what with all that unhappy wife goss that’s been harshing his football mellow? But then I realized that feeling sorry for Tom Brady is a bigger sin than watching a Netflix reality show on Sunday.

Green Bay Packers: Aaron Rodgers is the smartest guy in the room. According to Aaron Rodgers. But he’s a great player and he’s the QB on my fantasy league team so I’m rooting for the dude.

Kansas City Chiefs: We’re looking at a solid decade’s worth of the Chiefs being in the title conversation with Mahomes under center. You’ll know their window has closed when he starts going bald. Which will be a depressing day in Kansas City, and for men everywhere.

Los Angeles Rams: Outside of Cincinnati, I’m hard pressed to find someone who hates these guys. If they win it again, that’ll change.

So now that I’ve got the top five Vegas favorites accounted for, I think you would probably sleep like a baby if you were to place a wager on the sixth highest ranked club. Because the Los Angeles Chargers are my choice to win it all in the desert next February. I utilized the Porpoiserean Theorem in order to reach this conclusion.

It goes like this . . .

a

The Miami Dolphins passed on Justin Herbert in the 2020 NFL Draft, allowing the Chargers to grab him one pick later. In his first two seasons, Herbert has thrown for more yards and more touchdowns than any quarterback in NFL history. Of fucking course.

b

The Miami Dolphins have also swiped left on Tom Brady, Aaron Rodgers, Drew Brees and Joe Flacco since the turn of the millennium. Those guys have combined to win ten rings while the Dolphins were busy scheduling tee-times.

c

Being passed over by the Dolphins is the football gods way of saying “You’re welcome!”.

NFL Memes (@NFL_Memes) / Twitter

In the AFC, I expect the following to happen . . .

The Cincinnati Bengals were an offensive line away from winning it all last year thanks to Joe Burrow, but Super Bowl hangovers for the runners up is a thing and I know this to be true because I read the science. And they have a mosh pit of talented rivals to contend with in the Ravens, Jaguars, Raiders, Dolphins, Broncos and Colts. You know what happens in a mosh pit? Nothing good.

  • Did you know? . . .Drug lord Pablo Escobar built his own prison? Which sounds super impressive until you consider that the Cleveland Browns do that every season.
  • Did you also know? . . . The league produces “Super Bowl Champions” merch for both teams before the game is even played? Then they ship the losing team’s duds overseas. Which means that in some remote village on the other side of the world, they tell stories about the greatest football team of all the time . . the Buffalo Bills.
  • Oh, and here’s one more . . . Brett Favre’s first NFL completion was to himself.

Meanwhile, in the NFC . . .

Everyone is chatting up the Los Angeles Rams, San Francisco 49ers and Green Bay Packers. Which means some other team is going to be representing the conference. The ‘some other team’ list is less inspiring than a QVC flash sale. We have the Eagles, Cardinals, Panthers, Saints, Vikings and Cowboys and If I’m being honest, I don’t see any of them making it to February.

The Cowboys bill themselves as ‘America’s Team’ which makes them the football equivalent of that MAGA hat. The Lions are like the EV people who insist that everyone has to be on board with them even though it makes little sense. The Falcons are too liberal and the Seahawks are too conservative . . . and I just won a bet that I could tuck politics into this post and get away with it. Woohoo!

Of course, no NFC representative means that Fox Sports will have to use a holographic roster for the Super Bowl. This could work out really well if they can get Rob Lowe to take a break from brushing his hair so he can play QB. Jamie Foxx as diva receiver feels totally right. Jeff Bridges as the ornery old coach trying to score that elusive ring before the lights go out?

Sold!

 

 

 

The Sorryless Interview: Marjorie Taylor Greene

On the Campaign Trail With Marjorie Taylor Greene | Time

Marjorie Taylor Greene’s first two years as the representative out of Georgia’s 14th Congressional District have introduced a fresh new hell to American politics. Greene didn’t take long to unleash conspiracy theories that resulted in a boom for the tin foil hat industry and a crash of our collective common sense. Her political positions scored a zero on Rotten Tomatoes and yet, she is a rock star in some circles- surprisingly none of which were written by Dante Alighieri.

Before my interview with MTG, I spend forty-five minutes talking to her publicist about topics that will be off limits. I’m warned countless times not to utter a single word about masks, vaccines, her rhetoric that involved killing political opponents, the border wall, sanctuary cities, Area 51, Motel 6, Hilary Clinton, Barack Obama, Ayn Rand, Hitler, the Gestapo and Gazpacho, Taco Bell, QAnon . . or anything that begins with the letter Q, gun control, Jews, the harmonica or Chef Boyardee.

Once I’ve been cleared, I agree to meet Greene outside BLT Steak- a popular D.C. eatery for what she is referring to as a ‘road trip’. I notify my next of kin in the event I go missing just as a jet black stretch Hummer pulls to the curb. The tinted window rolls down and a driver dressed in Ray Bans and a bad tan asks me for the password.

“Let’s Go Brandon?”

“Good enough, get in,”

I climb into the passenger side seat and turn to find Greene in an orange dress, sipping a “Pimped up Pineapple Passionfruit Babay!”. I pray to God she keeps her legs crossed for the entirety of the trip as the driver pulls away from the curb.

Sorryless: I would like to start by thanking you for taking time out of your busy schedule to sit with us this morning. I was told you had some important meetings you had to push back in order to accommodate us . . .

Greene: No problem at all. Let’s face it, I’m getting paid whether I’m sitting in on those meetings or not, yanno?

Sorryless: You’re a true patriot, doing the people’s work.

Greene: I’m glad you think so. And umm, what do you mean by the people’s work? What does that mean?

Sorryless: Your constituency?

Greene: Is that one of those French words? Not a fan. The only French I like are fries, kissing and toast! Heck . . . I wouldn’t even watch the show Friends because it sounded too much like French!

Greene lets loose with a cackle out of Stephen King’s worst nightmare while eyeing me suspiciously. I have to change the subject quickly or risk her ditching the interview. I’m ashamed of myself for not choosing the latter but hey . . journalism! 

Sorryless: What are your thoughts on the Titanic?

Greene: Well, I’m not saying it didn’t happen but, where’s the video footage? All those survivors and they even made a freaking movie about the boat but not a single piece of footage? Something’s not adding up.

Mission accomplished. 

Sorryless:  A lot of things ain’t adding up, Ms. Greene. But let’s assume for a moment that the hundreds of thousands of verified reports are in fact true and the ship really did sink. Do you have any theories?

Greene: Well I have to be very careful about what I say because I know my detractors on the left are gonna be like There she goes again! and then the socialist late night talk show hosts are gonna use me in a bunch of skits and make me look really stupid . . .

Sorryless: You say that like it’s a bad thing.

Greene: I’m sorry, what was your question again?

Sorryless: The Hindenburg. Who killed the Hindenburg?

Greene: The French, probably.

Sorryless: Let’s change things up. Did Donald Trump win the election?

Greene: Fucking A right he won the election!

Sorryless: According to  . . . .?

Greene: Anyone who watched the early results where he was ahead by like a bazillion points and they kept on counting even though it was over, clearly.

Sorryless: You do understand this wasn’t a boxing match, right?

Greene: I would bet taxpayer money with you right now that Donald Trump is still President.

Sorryless: So who’s to blame for the economy? And gas prices?

Greene: The president.

Sorryless: In your words, then, Donald Trump is to blame.

Greene: No of course not.

Sorryless: But you just said Trump is president, and then you said the president is to blame.

Greene: I meant neither. And both. And the first one.

Sorryless: Alright, let’s try it this way. Will Trump run in 2024?

Greene: Yes, and this time he’ll win by more than he did in 2020.

Sorryless: So he’ll regain the office that you claim he already possesses?

Greene: Correct. And absolutely not.

I want the interview to be over because I’m running out of patience. And Xanax. Both. Greene chugs the rest of her vodka marinated passionfruit drink and then retrieves a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon from a cooler. 

Sorryless: What compelled you to enter the political arena?

Greene: Jesus came to me one night and we had a long conversation about it. I was depressed because I had always wanted to be an astronaut but an astronaut’s license is really expensive so I wasn’t sure what my future had in store for me. And then Jesus decided that he wanted me to be a messenger for all of the disenfranchised people who do not have a voice and I guess you could say, I answered the call.

Sorryless: Boy, that really resonates with me because I know that as a white man living in this country, it has been one hell of a struggle!

Greene: I hear you brother.

Sorryless: Wait . . a minute. Were you trying to impersonate Mary J. Blige just now?

Greene: Who’s she?

Sorryless: Sorry, she’s the other Mary. Anyway I gotta ask. Is there a special prayer you have to say to get an audience with Jesus? Some kind of religious equivalent to a cheat code that allows you to bypass all the regrettable shit you did before that life altering moment?

Greene: Well, you don’t actually see his face when you’re talking to him.

Sorryless: Oh, like Mickey Rourke . . .

Greene: It’s more like, you feel his spirit inside you and you’re consuming him but he’s also consuming you. As time passes, you are overcome with this feeling of euphoria and then you are powerless to light and music. It goes on for hours like that.

Sorryless: You just described the time I got wasted on Jack Daniels before going to see that Pink Floyd movie . . . to a tee.

Greene: Are you with CNN?

Sorryless: If I say yes, will that end the interview?

Greene: Get out!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of Kings and Queens and Kitchen Sinks

History of cats in Egypt

I like the idea of a spirit world.

Ancient Egyptians took the shit very seriously because to their way of thinking, a person’s life wasn’t finished when their expiration date came calling. They believed that the newly departed had an appointment with Osiris- the god of the deceased- and his 42 judges in a place called The Hall of Truth. If it was judged that the person on trial had lived a good life, they were permitted to enter Club Afterlife. Conversely, if the person was judged to have been a dick, they were tossed into the abyss and devoured by a monster. Not for nothing, but the Hall of Truth sounds way more fair minded than our Supreme Court. But that’s another thought for another post.

Anyways, the Egyptians believed that if you were greenlighted for the penthouse, it was all Gucci from there. Residents whose slippers were woven from clouds didn’t have to sweat any return trips to earth. They were gifted their favorite places and things for the rest of eternity without ever having to load up the car and fill the tank. There was however . . a however. Because let’s face it, there’s always a however. If an individual was called into the existential equivalent of jury duty, it meant their business on earth wasn’t quite finished or their peeps had dissed them in some way.

My daughter is convinced that we have a ghost and his name is Mr. Speaker. It makes sense, seeing as how the former furry ruler of House Lancaster loved the view from his perch and made sure that any visitors knew they had best leave their swords at the gate upon entering. It was his kingdom, they were just visiting. It would be sooooo Mr. Speaker to hold it against us for having replaced his precious crown with not one, but two members of royalty. And in the same calendar year to boot.

I elected Jack the 2nd and Wednesday the Only to the throne in the summer of 2020, whilst we were still writing songs about our dearly departed King Speaker. Truth is, I was in a very dark place after having lost Speaker months earlier and so when my sister sent me a video of a couple kittens she was fostering, I replied with “Sold!” And the rest has become a splendid history of two incredibly majestic rulers whose reign is akin to Carly Simon and James Taylor spilling musical gold onto a piece of vinyl.

Evidently, Mr. Speaker disagrees with this assessment.

“I think Speaker is inhabiting the kitchen,” My daughter informed me.

“What makes you say that?”

“You ever notice how Jack and Wednesday accompany each other into the kitchen? Or if it’s just one of them going in, they’ll usually wait for us?”

“You think Speaker’s haunting their asses?” I laughed.

“It’s something he would do,” She replied.

I conducted a thorough investigation of the area, making sure to cancel out insects, rodents and phroggers before reaching my conclusion that Mr. Speaker is in fact, haunting our kitchen.

Now here’s the thing. I could hold a séance in which I confess to the guy that he was such a hard act to follow, I had to double down! And not for nothing, but I honored his memory by naming one of them Jack (Since his full name was Mr. Jack Speaker)  He was a trusted confidante and loyal friend to my daughter. He was an expert wingman for yours truly. And as far as gangster chronicles go, the dude was legendary.

Eh . . . what’s the use? I know he would turn his nose up at such a gesture even if it happens to be completely true. He wouldn’t cease and desist even if I asked him nicely. What Mr. Speaker wants, he always gets. Even now. And it’s not as if the current regime is cutting back on food and water as a result. They’re just a tad bit more discretionary as to how they budget their time in the kitchen. And I think I need to follow their example if I’m being completely honest.

Besides . . .as far as I’m concerned, the spirit world just got a whole lot cooler.

The Midsummer Classic Hits LA! Or, A Rob Lowe Drinking Game Is Born!

These Vintage Photos of Baseball Teams Will Make You Want to Play Ball | Reader's Digest

In honor of the MLB All-Star Game in Los Angeles, Imma hold an awards ceremony with some serious -ish. Personally, I think hosting a bunch of stars in LA is incredibly redundant, but whatevs. All that really matters is that the Rob Lowe Drinking Game is gonna be a thing. Every time FOX cameras fix themselves on his lovely mug . . . Shot! The over/under in Vegas is currently sitting at 42, so yanno, plan accordingly.

Let’s Coo Coo Ca Choo, shall we?

Shohei Ohtani Is on the 2021 TIME100 List | TIME

The player I would name my stadium after . . .

Admittedly, I’m utilizing a Ruthian interpretation in an age of sponsored sports venues, but love is love, yanno? There are so many great young players in the MLB and I could have devoted this entire post just to them. But Rob Manfred ain’t gonna pay me for it so there’s that.

So I thought about how Mike Trout is the valedictorian just about every season, with his A plus game and looks straight out of central casting. Juan Soto’s sweet swing and inimitable skill set is most likely going to fetch him half a billion dollars in some town. Fernando Tatis would be on every other electronic billboard if he played in a big market. And Aaron Judge is a larger than life presence who has delivered more objects into orbit than NASA.

All these dudes are the right answer. To someone. But the fella I’m giving the keys to the joint to is Shohei Ohtani. Because he is a double threat the likes of which a sport that is nearly one-hundred and fifty years old has never seen before. He hits homers at an MVP clip whilst shutting down the opposition with an arm that turns out more lights than a bartender. He’s not simply sharing the rarified air of a guy named Ruth, he’s . . . . baseball gods forgive me . . .  exceeding it.

The St. Louis Cardinals Unveil Fauxback Jerseys, Drop Navy Road Cap - Viva El Birdos

Every fan’s crazy for a sharp dressed team . . .

When considering which MLB team sports the coolest duds, there’s a long list to choose from. The standard bearers keep it simple and clean. Clubs like the Royals, Dodgers and Giants sport the fresh, classic look in their home jams. Teams like the  A’s and Orioles remain modern day throwbacks. And really, more than half the league keeps it cooler than cool with their (non-alternate) uniforms.

Above all others, it’s the St. Louis Cardinals home whites that do it for me. It’s joined at the hip with the town it calls home.

Wander Franco stats: 20-year-old is making history with Rays

Winners and losers come and go, but baseball names are forever . . .

The MLB has always had a funky thing going when it comes to its tenants. From Buttercup Dickerson, Phenomenal Smith and Dizzy Dean to Sugar Cain, Razor Shines and Coco Crisp. Yeah, I could do a couple of posts on baseball names and not even come close to the finish line.

Today’s MLB is no different when it comes to cool names. You got Buck Farmer and Scooter Gennett. Then there’s Mookie Betts and Jurickson Profar. And I can’t forget about Chance Sisco and Ozzie Albies. But for my money, the winning name in today’s game goes to Tampa Bay’s Wander Franco. It’s science fiction meeting Kinsella in a novella.

PNC Park Top 5 Traits - Bucs Dugout

Baseball stadiums separate the sport from all other professional leagues. And on this count at least, it’s not even close.

Unlike the other sports, baseball possesses no uniformity from one home to the next. Each team’s stadium is uniquely its own in some kind of way. From the Green Monster of Fenway to McCovey Cove in San Francisco to the fountains of Kansas City. And that’s not even to mention how cool so many of the game’s cribs truly are.

But for my money, PNC Park in Pittsburgh is the end all. Some day, the Pirates are going to field a team deserving of the stadium they play in. Hopefully that day comes before they raze the thing and replace it with a multi-use arena that houses six Starbucks stores and an IKEA. Until such time, Imma appreciate this gem on the Allegheny.

Aaron Judge ties Roger Maris' franchise record ahead of All-Star break as Yankees thump Red Sox | Fox News

Of course I couldn’t go through an entire baseball awards-ish post without mentioning the team with the best record in baseball: My beloved New York Yankees.

There is no boast to my toast. Just a hopeful nod to the fall, where the wins are much harder to come by. See, Rob Manfred and his conniving cronies can’t steal the essence of the game from those of us who are old enough to know what stirrups and pepper games are.

October plays for keeps. Maybe the Yankees finish what they started, but it’s no fate accomplished. Not with the Astros standing in the way. Or maybe it’ll be the Sawx again, or the Jays for the first time in a while. And there’s a better than even chance it could be the Mets or Dodgers, Padres or Cards. And hell if I’m not leaving out the current hottest team in baseball: The Seattle Mariners. They haven’t been to October since 2001. Back then, the Yankees played spoiler by knocking off a Seattle squad that had toted the best regular season record into that series. And maybe there’s a Mariners fan or two who remembers all that and would love nothing more than for their team to return the favor. The only sure thing is that there ain’t one.

Only Longfellow knows for certain.

Joe Pesci Movie Review: Final Score

Best Buy: Final Score [DVD] [2018]

It’s been a long time since I did one of these movie reviews for Marco, seeing as how I was holding out for more money. Lemme clarify that statement for ya . . . I was holding out for any fucking money whatsoever! The cheap fuck doesn’t pay me for these gems, and if not for the fact he has so much dirt on me, I’d already have moved him into some cheap digs out in the desert.

So this week I’m reviewing Final Score. It’s an action movie even though it involves a soccer game, go figga! Dave Bautista and Pierce Brosnan are the only actors I recognized because the cast of this thing is more British than General William Howe’s army. And no, I ain’t a history buff, but I banged a chick who was a Revolutionary War reenactor back when I was chasing acting jobs. Or at least I think she was a reenactor. . . .

Anyway, Bautista plays this schmuck named Michael Knox. The reason I call him a schmuck is because he adopts his Army pal’s family after da guy croaks. Knox blames himself and I understand what it’s like when one of your soldiers hits the snooze, permanently speaking. But if I played Uncle to the families of every soldato I lost to a business meeting, I woulda gone broke, yanno? Knox clearly didn’t get the memo because the stronzo visits them all the time. And get this . . . they live in the UK! So he hops a plane, from the states, just to drop in on ’em whenever the fuck he has a free minute.

Knox convinces his Army pal’s wife to let him take his make believe niece to a soccer game. Mom runs a bar and deals with a lot of pains in the asses, but they’re a piece of cake compared to her daughter so she agrees to let Uncle Mike take her. That’s where the soccer game comes in, and not for nothing but the guy who wrote this is fucking brilliant because he figured out a way to make the sport inneresting: Terrorists!

Stop me if you’ve heard this one. The terrorists are Russians and their entire plot hinges on a couple nut-bags reuniting so’s they can start a revolution. It reminded me of the time I almost married a Russian girl but the fuckhead handling the online transaction maxed out my credit card and ran off with her. So . . yanno, Russians ain’t my favorite people. But these guys are even worse than that! They lock down the stadium during a game and the fans have no idea that they’re hostages, because the only thing dumber than an American sports fan is . . . well okay, there ain’t anything dumber than an American sports fan.

After the terrorists lock down the joint, we find out they have it wired with explosives and nobody’s leaving. I remember the time my late business associate Sal pulled a stunt like that with one of the bosses. Let’s just say there’s a reason Sal is my late business associate.

As much of a schmuck as Knox is, he also happens to be a real badass. So he takes care of most of the terrorists and then he finds Dimitri Belav, played by Pierce Brosnan. Dimitri doesn’t wanna be reunited with his nut-bag brother because he’s traded revolutions for soccer tickets. Whatever. And of fucking course, Knox’s pain in the ass niece is running around inside the stadium with a little douchebag for half the movie and then he has to save her on top of killing the terrorists and making sure thirty five thousand fans don’t get turned into bread pudding. He accomplishes all this with the help of a Middle Eastern kid working security at the game. I shit you not. Everything works out, in the event there’s a sequel.

Oh yeah, Marco wanted me to let ya know there may be spoilers in this review.

Mashup Theatre Presents: The (Non)Annoyances Post!

The Day - MacKinnon shines in clinching win, helps Avs win Stanley Cup - News from southeastern Connecticut

I decided to make good on my threat to ching a mashup of annoying things with stuff that supplies disco to my senses. To borrow from those classic Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup commercials, I got some harsh in my mellow and I got some mellow in my harsh. It’s about time the twain should meet, so let’s dance!

Mellow Playoff hockey. The coolest game in the world achieves Jules Winnfield status when the weather gets toasty, and this season was no different. The Colorado Avalanche knocked off the two-time defending champion Tampa Bay Lightning, denying the SEC another title. In the process, The Avs served notice that Joe Sakic is the new John Elway and his club ain’t done courting Lord Stanley just yet. 

Harsh– People who subject everyone to their phone conversations. You hear them in the grocery store checkout line and you even hear them at the movies. These ass-hatted humperdincks think they’re sooooo scary interesting when the truth is, we’d rather eavesdrop on a Mormon marshmallow roast.

Mellow– Furry friends in pet strollers. It’s the cutest Godamn thing this side of Emilia Clarke wearing a baseball cap. Over the last couple weeks, I’ve made the acquaintance of a calico cat named Pancake and a Westie named Mr. Wigglesworth. I am all about that. 

Shop-Along Seating for Shopping CartsHarshThose infernal two-seater shopping carts. If only these consumption conveyances were used as God intended. But nope, they’re usually occupied by elementary school students who attend the Regan McNeil School of Performing Arts or college kids majoring in drinking games that were obviously created by Eli Roth.

Mellow– The New York Yankees in 2022. It’s been a Kinsella novella for my pinstripes to this point in the season. And while it would be easy to forecast cloudy skies ahead based on how the Astros outplayed them this weekend, Imma stick with the glass being half full. If the boys can somehow make it rain champagne in October, I’ll write ’em a love letter.

Harsh– The New York Yankees Announcers. Mel Allen must be crapping in his dead pants every time he listens to this bunch. John Sterling doesn’t call a game, he massacres it. And new addition Carlos Beltran fits right in when he offers up stuff like “Anthony Rizzo doesn’t like to strike out,”. How can a historic franchise suffer this kind of bush league broadcasting?

coffee orders - Imgflip

HarshStarbucks People. There’s nothing sophisticated or hip or irreverent about ordering a double caramel macchiato with 1/3 whole milk, 1/3 almond milk, 1/3 soy milk and a 1/3 hemp milk, a double pump of Madagascar vanilla syrup, a dead eye triple shot and a sprinkle of angel dust. You’re just projecting your neurosis onto a barista who doesn’t make nearly enough to deal with your shit.

Mellow– An ice cold beer when the temps get contentious. It’s Tchaikovsky for my taste buds. And sure, that ice cold beer isn’t going to change the weather. But it’s going to help me forget all about it, and isn’t that what counts most of all?

Harsh– Driving has gone Grand Theft Auto. I don’t know if it’s the post Covid Effect where peeps jolly their rogers by burning Stuntman Mike in effigy, but I ain’t down with it. If you wanna burst your bubble by playing bumper cars? Move to Florida.

Mellow– Horror flicks. Because they offer me a reason for living that the daily news cycle just ain’t supplying. 

I would like to thank Jesus for providing me with the inspiration for this jaunt. That dude is the best straight cash homie mechanic/drug dealer ever. And as for a sequel to this nice meeting vice business goes?

Seguramente.

 

 

 

The Rundown

We’re gonna dress this episode up a little differently. Rather than an organized panel of stories Imma provide some ramble on my amble instead. I’ll make like the hot brands and just sizzle my stream of consciousness until it’s done to your liking. I mean my liking. Maybe both. I blame this change-up on the fact I’m currently re-reading Milton’s Paradise Lost, which is as close to an acid trip as I’m ever gonna get.

The Rundown will be taking next Friday off, and nope, Delta had nothing to do with this particular cancellation. I just wanted to clear the runway for Frank “Beach Walks” Angle’s ode to July. I think I speak for Cincy when I ask, where has the fucking time gone? Okay, I was speaking for myself.

Let’s get to it . . . .

Florida Governor Ron DeSantis announced this week that he won’t be ordering the kiddie vaccine for his state. And I get how there are parents who ain’t gonna dosey dosage with their toddlers. But some will, and shouldn’t the Gov give his people the right to make up their own minds? Rights ain’t pick and choose. Rights are rights. Right? In some alternate reality, DeSantis is lead man for a heavy metal garage band but in this one he’s the front runner for the GOP in 2024. Unless chaos truly is our future and the Seinfeld administration we endured last term achieves re-run status.

With Joe Biden running up the kind of tab that would make a gold club gangsta rapper blush, the seams of our republic are begging for a leader to take the helm. What we’re getting instead speaks to the inflationary cost of hubris, where short change heroes dominate the landscape. And John Wayne isn’t walking through that door, because he was only saving the days when they were make believe.

It seems we’ve lost sight of compromise. We don’t value consensus when winning is the only thing that matters. Even comedy has gone tragic. Like, Dave Chappelle saying thanks but no thanks to having the Duke Ellington School of Theater renamed after him was understandable. The dude and his alma mater had gone fifteen rounds over his comments about the LGBTQ community on a Netflix special, after which he got torched for it. Chappelle says his material ain’t personal but the attacks on him were, so he wants to avoid any further distractions by exiting stage left. They’re going to rename the school the Theater for Artistic Freedom and Expression and I have to ask. Why not stick with Duke Ellington’s name? Or is that old guy logic?

When smart people say dumb things: Gun rights advocates whine about how pols and celebs have armed bodyguards and so their calls for gun control are hypocritical. Did I miss where these bodyguards were responsible for our mass shooting epidemic?

The danger of our times is that grass roots efforts have been replaced with gluttony. Rights are no longer a collective dynamic, they’re a retrofitted designation. We don’t debate, we square off in the octagon. Our ethos is bought and sold inside a slimmed down power structure that favors the wrong kind of American dream, and the price we’re going to pay for not getting along is coming fast.

Gas pump memes as ludicrous as the skyrocketing prices - al.com

Which is why I thank the goodness of the world every chance I get. And I’m a fool for the stoics who cultivate hope in the now. People like Russian journalist Dmitry Muratov, who put his medal where the money was when he auctioned off his Nobel Peace Prize on Monday. He scored $103,5 million croutons in the doing, which is like twenty-five times more than an auction had ever raised for such a venture. The monies are going to Ukrainian child refugees.

Nobody asked me but . . . Ansel Engort is a home run in the HBO crime drama Tokyo Vice, and he reminds me of Michael Douglas in the ’70’s cop show The Streets of San Francisco. Which is my way of heaping high praise on the young man’s performance.

So there is plenty of good to dig on, and Cincy is helping to provide our walk-off story for this week. It’s about a young man named Miles Copeland whose achievement on the hardwood outshines anything the big leagues have to offer. Copeland is a firefighter for the Toledo Fire Department who also happens to play semi-pro basketball. When referee John Sculli collapsed during a game recently, Copeland showed off the kind of skill set that won’t ever get cut or traded. He spent half an hour bringing a man back to life, because it’s not just something he was trained to do, it was something he was born to do.

Even in the darkest of times, humanity’s got game.