Thursday, November 27, 2008

Happy Thanksgiving From the Hysterics!

Happy Thanksgiving from Mass Hysteria Each editor sat down and considered what we are thankful for.
I'm thankful for...

Tim Tebow, for creating the universe in six days and throwing for 350 yards with two passing TDs and three rushing TDs on the seventh…

The Strongbow, Woodchuck and Magners companies for creating highly alcoholic beverages with 1/3 of the carbohydrates of beer…

Televised violence, be it real or scripted by nature…

The fact that people record things that the Iron Sheik says…

Natural breasts between a C and D cup…

The elliptical machine, the stairmaster and the exercise bike, all of which have helped me lose 25lbs in the past two months, with the help of Iron Maiden's Rock in Rio live album…

The fact that the Celtics only have to play Carmelo Anthony twice this year…

20 Hooters wings, mild, breaded, all drums and with extra ranch and celery…

Paul Pierce and Randy Couture, the two toughest bastards since Frank A. Gotch…

The simultaneous Epic Fail seasons of Georgia, Tennessee, Florida State, Miami and LSU…

Kevin Garnett and Leon Powe being the two most intimidating black men ever…

Kristen Bell and Mary-Louise Parker, who are responsible for the death of literally billions of my future children…

Insulin, sweet sweet insulin…

Percy Harvin, Chris Rainey and Jeff Demps being faster than Justine Colby in sixth grade…

The fact that Tyler Hansbrough will be a worse pro than Brian Cardinal…

The Rocky IV training montage being on Youtube, for whenever I'm feeling unmotivated…

That part in a porn when she rides reverse cowgirl and you can see her tits bouncing up and down while her back is arched and she has that "I'm being filled out like an application" look on her face, and sometimes she'll slow the rhythm and do the squirm thing and, well, you get the gist…

Banner 17, and the fact that my liver survived it.

is thankful for...

Her brand-new Tim Thomas third jersey, which she will be wearing when her Bruins wear them for the first time at the game this Friday afternoon;

The Magic Hat sampler currently sitting in her fridge;

Glittery logos;

Soy lattes of all shapes and sizes, but particularly the seasonal varieties (e.g. pumpkin spice and gingersnap);

Boys with freckles and long curly eyelashes;

Her ability, which occasionally comes as a shock even to her, to suspend her otherwise rampant cynicism in the name of holiday cheer;

and her little brother and sister.

A Pimp Named DaveR
I'm thankful....

-- That I still have a job, and don't have to rely on MH to pay my bills. Because, you know, it don't pay nuttin.

-- That my mancrush on Jason Bay has not yet resulted in any restraining orders.

-- That if anyone had to win the World Series other than the Sox, it was the Phillies.

-- That large concrete slabs have not fallen on me while driving through Boston.

-- That I did not attend the meatfest for GHABB,Y's birthday and pick up the Intestinal Virus from Hades.

-- That the Red Sox's organizational hearts grew three sizes that day, and they decided NOT raise the highest ticket prices in the league the week the stock market was losing 45,000 points.

-- That the Tom Brady injury has shown that it's the organizational system, not any one individual player, that has led to the Pats' success.

-- For family, loved ones, fellow bloggers, and so forth. Happy holiday!

Worthington P. Foxtrotty

Felicitations of the Thanks-giving, dear friends! I bring ye the good tidings of myself and my noble employer, the Boston Daily American and Irish-Abuser! The gentlefolk at this establishment have prevailed upon me to contribute a list of blessings for which I consider myself thankful this year. I am happy to comply forthwith! In the year past, I, Worthington Praseodymium Foxtrotty, give thanks to our Lord and Saviour for:

• The Potato Famine, which hopefully will rid us of the Irish scourge within our life-times!
• The moneychanging Jew who cashes my pay-checques on the second Friday of each month with dispatch. May you thrive and prosper, Son of the Tribes of David!
• The Dread Pirate Ramirez exscaping to the Alta California, and no longer molesting the name of our fair Boston Red Stockings!
• The exploits of the Greek Hebrite Youkilis and the diminutive Portugee Pedroia, each of whom was worthy of laudation in this past season of bases-ball!
• The passing of my bout of cholera in under three weeks!
• The demonic Babbage device that the proprietors of the "Mass Hysteria" journal have provided for me to conduct "browsing" on the "inter-net"! What magicks!
• The British Empire, which has done more to civilize the savages (save the Irish) than any other force in recorded history! Carry your burden proudly, noble white man!
• The great Mr. Lincoln, for enabling gentlemen of colour like my good friend, the Free Negro Ortiz, to walk amongst us as freed-men!
• Tincture of laudanum.

May the cold of winter claim none of your children this year, dear friends!

Smarty Barrett
I'm thankful:

For epic 8-run comebacks that remind us why we fell in love with baseball in the first place.

For gluten-free pizza and gluten-free beer.

For Matt Cassel, which will surely provide us with some assorted excitements in the coming months.

For Question 2.

For FutureMrsRickAnkiel for teaching me about hockey. Next up: what is "icing"?

That some people think Jimmy Baron is better than Tyler Hansbrough.

For YouPorn. Enough said.

For newer and geekier stats!

For GHABB,Y~!'s drunk posts...because the sheer entertainment of reading them makes me want to get drunk myself.

For the Detroit Lions, who remind me that it could always be worse.

For the great state of Rhode Island, providing sports fans with Dan Wheelers and Will Blackmons and Rocco Baldellis for over 200 years.

For karaoke, which has allowed me to showcase my incredibly white but incredibly entertaining rapping abilities.

That HzMLS petitioned the other Hysterics on my behalf, and that I was able to join this fine orgy of Boston sports blogging. It is some of the most fun I've ever had.

is thankful:

* For sitting in Section B at Alumni Stadium, so even if BC is getting their ass handed to them, I have at least 10 cheerleaders to watch and salivate over

* Jarod Mayo, for becoming the meast I always thought he would be. In my dreams I envision him shattering every bone in Brett Favre's body in the playoffs. How sweet that would be.

* That gas is now 1.85 a gallon. True my entire retirement fund is completely gone, but now it only cost me 20 bucks to fill my tank!

* The Kevin Garnett post game 6 interview with Michelle Tafoya. A combination of completely incoherent and FUCKING AWESOME

* For Guitar Hero and Rockband, which allows me to simultaneously rip a solo in Enter Sandman and be a complete loser all at the same time.

* That with every roster move, Theo Epstein is solidifying the public's belief that Boston hates black people.

* Bars that are within walking distance, so I never have to be concerned how I will be getting home

* Matt Ryan > Dan Marino, Peyton Manning & Terry Bradshaw COMBINED.

* That Artie Lange is somehow still alive even after years of constant heroin, cocaine, food, and alcohol abuse and still be one of the worlds best comics. How anyone's body can withstand that much destruction is beyond me.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Celtics This Week

1998 Teenage Livejournal Blog Mood for This Week Bubbly, like when he decided to hold my hand midway through High School Musical 3.

MySpace Icons

The C's are bubbly and filled with the bliss of a five-game winning streak, three blowout wins in the last week, and a 13-2 record that leads the Eastern Conference. The C’s easily dispatched Detroit, Minnesota and Toronto this week, and with games coming up against Golden State, Philly and Charlotte, Your defending NBA Champion Boston Celtics could be 16-2 heading into next Monday’s tilt with the always-tough Magic. The Detroit win was especially uplifting, as the C’s solidified the Pistons as their veritable Bitches, even with new addition Allen Iverson. In fact, the legendary AI got owned by the maturing-faster-than-Soleil Moon Frye Rajon Rondo, who outscored the Answer 18-16 and forced AI and Facemask McRipmilton into seven combined turnovers. Good thing Detroit has its strong auto industry to fall back on…oh, wait, nevermind.

Jack Donaghy MVP of the Week – This week’s MVP may surprise you, given my previous abject hatred of this player’s game and all he stood for, but I’m swallowing my pride and naming Tony Allen as the C’s MVP of the week. TA, for the most part, has filled the James Posey Memorial Bench Jolt of Electricity role quite admirably, especially in the last three games, where he’s averaged 14 points and nearly five rebounds, all in limited minutes. TA’s Per-48 splits are equally impressive, as he’s putting up nearly 22 points per 48 minutes of play. Best yet, Ol Number 42 is shooting 51% from the field, as opposed to last year’s 43% and 1,540 instances of me shouting “Jesus Christ Tony, why the Fuck did you shoot that?” This year has brought less shouting, lower blood pressure, and stronger play from TA.

It hurts me too Paul. It hurts me too.

Pam Beesly LVP of the Week – First off, has anyone else noticed how horribly shitty The Office has been this season? Like, I know it started to go remotely downhill last season, but I literally haven’t laughed once at an episode this season, and I’m someone who can find comedy in almost anything. And, surprisingly enough, it’s been Pam, past supplier of Dwight pranks and random Michael-related witticisms that’s dragged the show down like Rob Reiner drags down any seafaring vessel. She’s been the ultimate wet-blanket girlfriend, turned the show into a fucking soap opera with the occasional bad joke, and simultaneously made the utterly-likable Jim character into a bona fide pussy. You may be hot, Jenna Fischer, but you’ve made this season of the Office horribly unenjoyable.

Anyways, this week’s LVP is Paul Pierce, which absolutely pains me to say, given my utter man-love of the Celtics Captain. But when a potential 25ppg scorer puts up 9, 12 and 11 points in three games, and the rest of the team plays ridiculously well in blowout wins, then you sort of earn the LVP award by default. I’m sorry Paul. I still love you.

Chinese Democracy Actually Being A Kind of Awesome Record Pleasant Surprise of the Week – This week’s non-Axl pleasant surprise has been Kendrick Perkins, who has been filling his role admirably this season and exerting general badassness on the court. Perk is expected to rebound and block shots, nothing more. Given those responsibilities, Perk has grabbed a career-high 7.2 boards per game and blocked 1.93 shots per game, the latter of which is second only to Dwight Howard in the Eastern Conference. Meanwhile, when he does get the occasional shot, Perk has been making his field goals at a sick 57 percent clip. Well done Perk. Well done.

Tim Hardaway Memorial Player that I Absolutely Loved This Week – While I completely understand that we had to give him up in order to get KG and win Banner 17, it doesn’t mean that I’m still a little hurt and saddened that I now don’t get the chance to see Al Jefferson turn into an absolute beast on a nightly basis. Big Al is goddamned awesome in the low post, and has evolved from Frightened High School Kid to Low Post God, even if it is for a lottery team. If he played for a team that even had a chance at the playoffs, Big Al would be an MVP candidate for the next ten years.

Oh, and while Tim Hardaway’s political views suck, the dude’s crossover was ridiculous, and Run TMC may have been my favorite team of the early ‘90s. It’s downright criminal that those Warriors teams weren’t more successful, especially after they drafted Webber. It's a damn shame I tell you, a damn shame.

Patrick Ewing Memorial Player that I Absolutely Hated This Week – I’m not a doctor, but even I know that, when you have an injury, or a number of injuries, playing basketball might not be the best idea. However, Jermaine O’Neal hasn’t learned this lesson, because he’s attempted to play the last few games with a sprained ankle, bum knee, and ovulating vulva. Besides, it’s not like O’Neal is averse to missing time due to injury – he’s missed a combined 137 games over the last four full seasons, more than four out of every ten games. This year, he’s hobbled through all 13 games for his new Raptor teammates, rewarding them with a stellar 42% shooting percentage (which is fantastic when you’re 6 foot 11) and 12.4 points per game, his lowest average since the 2000-2001 season. Luckily, he only makes $21, 372,000 per year. He's like a black John Koncack or Bryant Reeves at this point.

The Bruins at the Quarter Season: A Very Special After-School Presentation

Ladies and Gentlemen (mostly gentlemen):

Your Bruins are 14-3-4 through 21 games. They are currently tied with the New York Rangers for first place in the AFC Eastern Division Conference [yeah, I'm totally wiped out and I lost a toenail off my right foot from running too much this week. I AM LITERALLY FALLING APART. --Ed.] with 32 points on the season (8 points ahead of where we were at this time last season), and have not failed to collect points in a game since October 30th against Calgary (Dion Phaneuf = bitch, etc.). In 10 November games so far, they're 9-0-1. They're leading the Northeast division by a comfortable 6 points.

To put it briefly: the 2008 Bruins are tearing shit up.

Before I start complaining about things (as I am wont to do), let's give out our Three Stars of the First Quarter.

3. Milan Lucic. This could just as easily have gone to sophomore center David Krejci, whose dazzling blue eyes have playmaking ability has taken the Bruins' offense to a whole new level this season. However, I think it's only fair to award Looch a star in recognition of the fact that not only has he been playing at the level of a genuine star in his second season, but he's also sparked the excitement of a long-jaded fanbase that's always adored its fighters. Not only has Lucic been a consistent producer on offense (flaking Marc Savard at left wing on the first line), but he's played the kind of game that's really defined these 2008 Bruins. He's big, he's fierce, he's physical, and he's utterly unafraid to bring it when it, quite frankly, merits being broughten. His on-ice ferocity has galvanized his entire team and made him a clear fan favorite. He leads by example, despite being young, and I don't think it's an overstatement to call him the catalyst behind the Boston resurgence. Plus, Montreal is scared shitless of him, and that brings me joy. And the comparison? Well. It's almost TOO obvious.

2. Marc Savard. Twenty. Seven. Freaking. Points. Savvy's on pace to score over 120 points this season (his career high to date is 97 during the 2005-2006 season with the Thrashers). There's currently a fierce 4-way tie in the league for second place in overall scoring (Savvy, Alexander Semin, Simon Gagne, and Ryan Getzlaf, all with 27 points behind Evgeni Malkin's 31). The Bruins offense is simply unstoppable right now, and Savvy's the unquestioned leader of that fearsome attack. Hurrah for blue-eyed centers!

and, obviously:

1. Tim Thomas. This goes without question. It's inconceivable (incontheevable!) that we'd be where we currently are without the spectacular between-the-pipes stylings of everyone's favorite scruffy Michiganian. With an untouchable .944 save percentage, he's got 9 wins (including 2 shutouts) and just 2 losses in 14 starts. Moreover, with the way these Bruins have been playing offense, he's becoming more and more of a done deal each night he takes the ice: Thomas is allowing just 1.80 goals per game, while the Bruins are scoring an average of 3.15 regulation goals per game (a whopping 3.80 in the month of November so far). That's just, like, math. When you're scoring an average of 2 goals per game more than your goalie is allowing? You're going to win, and that's all there is to it.

And yet, as I've reminded you all time and time again: it would be shortsighted of us as fans not to remember that Tim Thomas essentially came out of nowhere and started putting up these stats -- this is the same goalie, after all, who was responsible for a soul-crushing 10-2 loss to the Capitals last year followed immediately by an 8-1 loss to the (goddamn) Canadiens. Still, I'm finding myself increasingly unable to talk rationally about my beloved Timmy... and here's where the fun starts! Behold, today's special guest: the irascible Raskolnikov of Melt Your Face-off, who graciously agreed to take time out from his busy brown liquor-drinking schedule to offer some fresh perspective on Tim Thomas for all of our enlightenment.

You don't need a drunken guest blogger to tell you that Tim Thomas is the frontrunner for the Vezina. He leads the league in goals-against-average, save percentage, and some other misleading metrics that aren't found on Behind the Net. Jack Edwards loves Thomas so much that he'd probably adopt the guy. In fact, many of you look at Thomas the same way: a lost puppy with sad eyes that you wish the best for. Thus, the obvious comparison to Thomas isn't Hasek, another goalie who toiled in obscurity for years; it's Li'l Brudder, the one-legged dog from Homestar Runner (My allusions are always five years behind).

I don't mean to dismiss Thomas' accomplishments, but I want him to try to succeed rather than actually succeed. First, he's listed at 5'11, 201 lbs, which means that he's actually 5'8", 175 lbs. I already feel sorry for him. Second, he looks like Martin Prince, Jr., which also elicits sympathy. Chara probably hangs Thomas by his jockstrap after every practice. Third, Thomas' overreactions after allowing a goal resemble a petulant toddler who doesn't get what he wants. Normally, I'd be pissed off at a professional athlete for acting so foolishly. However, as I already mentioned, Thomas neither fits the goalie build nor looks older than 12. He educes sympathy from me rather than disgust.

My feelings will change if Thomas does win the Vezina. He would no longer be the gritty underdog that captures the hearts of hockey fans. Imagine the superfluous love analysts have for Brodeur combined with Thomas' grittiness. My teeth are rotting just thinking about it.

It's easy to be misled into blind faith in Thomas simply because he's so, well, likable. It's important to remember, however, that he may struggle as the season progresses, and it'll be just as important (if not more so) to give him our support then. (Then again, Dustin Pedroia did win the MLB MVP. SO WHO THE FUCK KNOWS.) Also, not to be a conspiracy theorist, but... first Brodeur and now Luongo out for possibly the rest of the season? What's going on here? Has anyone heard from Henrik Lundqvist?! Someone call the authorities! NO ONE IS SAFE!


In summary: Looch + Savvy + Timmy = yay. On with the bitchery! Are there any real causes for concern with these Bruins? Oh, indeed. Most notably: the apparent disappearance from the face of the earth of the Bruins leadership. I direct you to the statistics of our 3 alternate captains currently on the roster (excluding 4th alternate Andrew Ference, who is out with a broken tibia):

PJ Axelsson 0 G, 6 A (*only 18 GP)
Patrice Bergeron 4 G, 10 A
Marco Sturm 6 G, 6 A (*only 18 GP)

in contrast with the statistics of 3 of Boston's hottest young talents, all suiting up for just their second Bruins season:

Milan Lucic 6 G, 7 A
David Krejci 5 G, 9 A
Phil Kessel 10 G, 6 A

If we imagine Sturm at right instead of left wing, we essentially have two complete lines there: one composed of alternate captains, and one composed entirely of sophomores. The first line has 10 goals and 11 assists for a total of 21 points; the second has 21 goals and 22 assists for a total of 43 points (together, averaging over 2 points per game).

Let that sink in for a moment. Sure, it's amazing to have the glut of sizzling young talent I promised would show up this season, but it's unnerving to see two career Bruins (Axelsson and Bergeron entered the season with 14 combined seasons of experience between them) and lighting-fast skater (SLASH THE GUY WE TRADED MY LOVE TO SAN JOSE FOR, WHERE THE FUCK ARE WAYNE PRIMEAU AND BRAD STUART NOW) Marco Sturm failing to produce consistently when they're on the ice. No, offensive production is not the only measure of a player's impact on the ice (Axelsson in particular is noteworthy for being a strong, defensively-minded skater who contributes in many other ways), but when the team as a whole is playing a ferocious offensive game, you expect everyone to be contributing. It's worth noting, at any rate, that there are still some inconsistencies on this team that will need to be strengthened down the line if these mighty Bruins are to make a genuine run at -- dare I say it? oh, I dare -- the Cup.

December is a long, cold month of eating too many cookies and buying wrapping paper that always runs out halfway through something. Thank goodness for the hapless Southeast Division, whom we face many times throughout. Your 2008 Bruins are amazing. I sure as hell hope you're watching. Fuck your family. Can your family smash Canadians through Plexiglass? Yeah. Didn't think so. So be sure and take time out (especially for Friday's noon game against the Islanders, where my brother and I will be gleefully screaming from the balcony) from all that holiday togetherness crap and catch your Bruins as the season continues. Wheee! Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

No-Pants Party Update: Thank you so much to those of you who've already let me know of your interest. It's going to be loads of fun, and not at all a sausage-fest at which I am the only girl*. We're currently planning to get together for a Bruins game at the end of December, when our beloved Sh!tShow will be home for the holidays from the promiscuous West Coast. Please stay tuned for email updates when I stop being drunk this weekend, and if you haven't emailed me already, what the hell are you waiting for?

*not a guarantee

Breakfast with the Hysterics


We are now one day away from the greatest excuse to over eat, drink too much, and avoid all relatives that you haven't seen since last Thanksgiving. T-Minus 24 Hours until we collectively plop our asses in front of a huge turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and enough football to keep you sane at whatever gathering you attend. But until then, many of us have either a full or half day at work (go to hell Smarty), and as we skip out of work prepared for some vacation, we all have ahead of an important question. On Thanksgiving Eve, do you stay at home and do nothing, or do you trek out to your hometown bar where you inevitably will run into hundreds of old High School friends you vowed to never speak to again.

I, like GHABBY grew up on the North Shore, and the place to be on any T.E is the Sylvan Street Grille. Now normally SSG is a solid place to grab food, watch a football game on their many HD TV's, or grab a drink (well it's classy other than the sign out front that congratulates North Shore Football Players of the week. Students who undoubtedly have a long road of becoming a weight on society ahead of them). But on one day a year, the Grille turns into the Mecca for North Shore Douchebaggery. Basically if you have ever been to the website hot girls with douchebags, that is the essence of what Sylvan Street becomes on T.E, well minus the girls being hot, and at least three people leaving in handcuffs. Well anyways, Sylvan is usually a pretty classy joint, hell check out their website, they even misspelled their own name on the webpage tab. If you want to people watch, or hear stories about how the captain of the football team spent the last two years in jail, this is the place to be. Personally, I have only ventured there once, and it was like being in high school all over again, or in other words it was the circle of hell Dante left out of Inferno. People were crammed in so tightly that you can't a) buy a drink b) move c) get to a bathroom if you have to piss d) avoid people you don't want to see. I vowed that I would never return to SSG, and would leave behind the painful memories of running into that shithead that used to tease me in high school, and still does (but still lives at home with his mom at 28, yeah fuck you).

Well this year I have a dilemma, my fiance and her friends want to go tonight, so in the spirit of being completely ball and chained I will venture out to the forbidden bar. I tried talking her out of it, I even offered to hang out with her family and make pies before if she would change her mind, but no. I wish I had a clue why my fiance wants to go to the SSG, because I am pretty sure that she has evolved far beyond the trash that inhabit the bar, but she is pretty adamant about it. It seems the urge to people watch is too intoxicating for her, or do I know her at all? On the other hand, if I really wanted to avoid it I could just stay home and do nothing for the night, but where's the fun in that? Question for the masses, big plans for Thanksgiving Eve, or just laying low?

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

This Week in Route 1 Football

Dreams often die in an inglorious, painful manner. HZMLS’ dream of bedding Matt Ryan was recently halted with a restraining order. SmartyBarrett’s dream of URI basketball being relevant died when Lamar Odom left school without having learned to read. FutureMrs’ dream of being the centerpiece of a Bruins Blue Line Bukkake Bonanza…well, she’s actually still working on that.

However, two dreams of mine died this weekend, in a painful, violent manner. My first – being able to eat dozens of pounds of meat without fear of consequence or anal retribution – nearly came to fruition on Friday night, when my loving friends took me to Midwest Grill, a Brazilian steakhouse on Route 1. And my, did we feast and drink like noblemen of yore! Pork tenderloin, kielbasa, roast beef, steak tips, sausage, chicken wrapped in bacon – all were consumed in mass quantities and with great joy, accompanied by the finest of ales lubricating our collective sense of public decorum. It was, as I may have noted, a perfect evening…or so I thought.

The first inkling that something was amiss came during my boxing sparring session Saturday morning. Figuring that I’d simply sweat out the calories and alcohol consumed the night before while simultaneously punching people in the head, my plans were going well until...OH DEAR GOD, I sprinted to the men’s room and laid waste to the commode. I was literally in there for a half hour, and came out shaking and sweating like a trauma victim, and immediately departed for home. I then spent the next 36 hours without sleep or comfort, having similar colonic explosions roughly 20-25 more times. I shit ye not. (I’m so punny) At the end, I wasn’t even crapping anything solid out, it was just water, tears and pain. With that, my dream of eating my body weight’s worth of meat without fear of consequence had been dashed in a violent, painful, explosive manner.

A similar dream died on Saturday night. My angling for a Florida/Texas Tech BCS Championship has been well publicized, and I had nearly-pornographic dreams of a 70-63 championship shootout that would resemble football on high doses of cocaine. It would, in my mind, have been the perfect football game – my Gators in a dick-measuring contest with a worthy adversary, with more points than your best-ever Skee Ball game. But Oklahoma (way to have a dumb shape for a state by the way) decided to not only end that dream, but do so in embarrassing fashion, hanging up 65 on the overmatched Red Raiders and turning the pre-pubescent looking Sam Bradford into a top-3 Heisman contender. Sure, Oklahoma-Florida or Texas-Florida or even USC-Florida (my boys ain’t losing the SEC Championship…it’s just not happening) will be good, but Florida/Texas Tech could have been great.

So what lessons did I learn from this painful weekend? Don’t dream. Ever. Don’t hope, don’t dream, don’t wish for anything, don’t believe in Santa or the Easter Bunny or Jesus. Any slight feelings of optimism about the future will only end in you dry-heaving out of your ass for the 20th time while watching Oklahoma score another touchdown. Trust me, I learned this the hard way.

Hooters Real Fucking Deal Award – Begrudgingly, I have to give this award to Oklahoma, despite them performing the football equivalent of stealing my Teddy Ruxpin doll that I got for Christmas when I was six. Oklahoma is really, really good. They can pass, they can run, they can defend, and they can make offensive juggernauts like Texas Tech look absolutely fucking silly on the field. They lead the nation in scoring, at nearly 53 points per game. Sam Bradford could be the No. 1 pick in the draft this year. They’ve beaten the snot out of Cincinnati, Kansas, TCU, Texas Tech and Nebraska, all of whom will go to a bowl this year. But is their coach obsessed with pirates? Yeah, thought not.

Weylu’s Epic Fail of the Week – Look, I know that LSU lost a bunch of top players, and kicked their starting QB off the team prior to the season, and their houses blew over in the hurricane and blah blah blah. But guess what LSU – you’re the defending national champions. You have top-five recruiting classes every year. You may have the most talented D-line in the country. And yet you get blown out by Ole Miss? And lose by a combined 44 points to GeorgiaFlorida? And have to come back from 28 points down to Troy? and Epic Fail. LSU, you bleaux. Have fun geauxing to the Gaylord City Music Bowl.

Kowloon’s Good Ol’ Fashioned Fun Award – I actually was able to watch the Oregon State/Arizona game at Kowloon’s (note: Chinese food does more harm than good when battling explosive diarrhea), and saw Oregon State keep its Rose Bowl hopes alive with a game-winning field goal with no time left. I like this Oregon State team. First off, I’m in support of anyone voluntarily named the “Beavers.” They have more uniform combinations than Malibu Barbie. Also, they’ve got a running back who may actually be a midget, but who has a little Barry Sanders in him and made USC look absolutely silly when they knocked off USC earlier this year. Sammie Strougher, when healthy, may be the most underrated wideout in the country. And if they beat Oregon this Saturday, Oregon State, and not USC, will actually be the winner of the Pac-10. Suck on that Pete Carroll.

Karl’s Sausage Kitchen Team that Doesn’t Scare Me Award – This award goes to anyone from the ACC. There is not an even halfway decent team in this conference, and yes, I’m including HZMLS’ beloved BC Eagles, who will now be starting former US gymnastics Olympian Dominique Dawes at quarterback for the rest of the year. Florida State, the current Atlantic Division leader, will probably lose by at least 30 this weekend to my Gators. Georgia Tech, the Coastal Division leader, lost to freaking Virginia. Clemson is the biggest waste of talent since Amy Winehouse decided to become a professional crackhead. They don’t have a team ranked in the top 19 of the BCS standings. The ACC, kids, sucks, and it pains me that I’ve had to endure far too many of their games this year, while I could have been watching something more exciting, like quadriplegics trying to have sex.

Closing of Russo’s Candy House Disappointment of the Week – I detailed this mostly above, but…Texas Tech…seriously? That’s the best you could do? I get that Oklahoma is talented and all, but you’ve got Michael Fucking Crabtree (actually his middle name) and you can only put up 21 points? To quote my Dad from when he caught me drunk and stoned coming home from the Danvers Fireworks when I was 15, “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”

Frank Giuffrida Memorial Exalted Human Being Award – This award clearly has to go to Big Chief Not Old Looking Enough for Firewater Sam Bradford, who passed for 304 yards and four TDs on only 19 pass attempts. That is what the Japanese call “some motherfucking efficiency,” and worthy of the Baked Stuffed Haddock, a moist haddock (which the Indians taught us to fish for!) stuffed with seafood stuffing. It is served with your choice of potato, vegetable, or soul-crushing disappointment.

Why yes the BC Eagles won last week, thanks for asking...

Each week HZMLS goes out on a limb and pretends that the readers of Mass Hysteria actually care about Boston College Football. Yet deep in his subconscious he understands that they are about as relevant as the New England Revolution or the Harvard Sailing Team. But he continues to trek onward, and in the spirit of fun he presents to you the recap of this weeks game

As you may or may not have seen BC is #20 in the National Polls this week, thanks to a come behind win against the Demon Deacons of Wake Forest. It's hard to imagine but Saturday's game was a combination of the teams best and worst game of the year. BC had control of this game and was up as many as 10 at one point, but a combination of sloppy turnovers and injuries allowed WF to get right back into the game and take the lead. It took a last minute balls to the wall drive by of all people Dominique Davis (who looks like he weighs 150 pounds soaking wet) to win the game and set up a must win game Saturday against Maryland.

The Good: There was excellent defense as Mark Herzlich continues to cement himself as one of the Nation's premier LB's and eye paint that is makes him look like Animal from the Legion of Doom. He has two interceptions (one for a TD), and made one of the illest catches I have seen when he vaulted like 8 feet in the air to catch the ball. The defense was as dominant as it gets, only allowing one offensive touchdown (which was caused by a blocked punt that was downed at the 1). I have no idea why the telecasters were blowing their collective load all over Riley Skinner because he wasn't all that impressive, he threw 3 picks, and with all the shit that Dominique Davis got, Skinner looked equally lost at times (and he's a senior!) Because I know none of you care the slightest about BC and think the ACC is a fraud conference (I'm look at you FutureMrs and GHABBY), here are some stats to chew on:
* Points allowed: 17.3 ppg (14th in the Country)
* YPG Allowed: 269 Yards (5th in the country)
* Passing Yards Allowed: 1912 Yards (12th in Country)
* Rushing Yards Allowed: 1054 Yards (7th in country)
* INT's: 23 (1st in the COUNTRY)

The Bad: Also if you watched the game you would have seen Chris Crane break his collarbone, and effectively ruin the rest of his college career (and ensure a long tenure with the 49ers). I can't believe I am going to say this but: I'm going to miss Crane. Even with the fumbles, terrible passes, complete inability to scan the field, he was finally learning the BC offense. Crane this season did just enough to keep BC in every game (minus the debacle at UNC), and allow the defense to keep the score close. Going into the final game against Maryland, I have serious questions about Dominique Davis (cousin of Desmond Clark of the Bears), he can barely throw a spiral, he looks nervous as hell, and hesitates hesitates hesitates. But he can make big plays because he is a black QB, and if there is anything Vince Young, Michael Vick, and JaMarcus Russell have taught me, it's that black QB's are winners. With the biggest game of the year on Saturday, having him command the offense makes me a little queasy.

The UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE: Before the last drive, Dominique Davis had rushed for -20 yards, and passed for 23, and had fumbled the ball TWICE. Safe to say that he was much more of a hinderance than a help. On the final drive, some sort of miracle happened, he remembered how to play football. Suddenly Davis was hitting Brandon Robinson deep down the field, lasering in passes into coverage, and the icing on the cake was the dive in from the 1 yard line. The ending of the WF game was easily the most exciting since Matt Ryan hit Andre Calendar in the end zone in Blacksburg last year. (Oh god, getting boners at work is so embarrassing)

Outlook: Biggest game of the year this week against Maryland. As GHABBY put it "Watching BC's offense is like watching two retards try to fuck". I think that is the best way too put it, but if Davis can quickly learn the Shotgun draw to Montell Harris and the fake draw QB sneak, I think we could still win. Our defense can be so fucking good, that hell we can play with no offense, jesus at the end of the WF game I was hoping our defense would be on the field because it was our only chance of scoring. Being a season ticket holder, of course I will be at the Maryland game, and if they lose you can expect a very upset, depressed HZMLS.

Breakfast with the Hysterics


No Boston sports last night, and no Boston sports tonight. Woo hoo! Once again we were forced to suffer through a bawful Monday Night Football game, complete with two sub-par teams, crappy defense, and terrible announcing. But everything was easy baby, leave it up to Brees-y baby - the Saints took care of business, waxing the Packers 51-29, as the defenses should have just stayed on the team bus. Anyone that says WHAT DA PACKAS NEED IS BRETT FAVRE deserves to choke on a wedge of gritty, gun-slinging cheese. He's a riverboat gambler, though!

Elsewhere in the sports world, the big Clippers/Knicks trade involving Zach Randolph is being held up by the health issues of former University of Rhode Island standout Cuttino Mobley. Randolph and Mardy Collins were set to go coast-to-coast from the Knicks in exchange for Mobley and fellow Clipper Tim Thomas. Apparently a heart condition is holding Cat back from being traded and it's turning into a bit of an issue. An issue in the NBA involving the Knicks? No way!

Speaking of the heart, I just picked up the new Kanye West album, 808s & Heartache. For those who haven't heard much about it, you may be surprised to hear that he does not rap at all on the album - he sings. I have given it a listen about three or so times and I like what I hear, even if it is a touch weird to hear West belting out some high notes. Critics and music experts say this album could change music forever, it's that unique and influential. I'm not ready to go that far yet, but it brings me to my question for the masses. I figure with this lull in Boston sports, we could maybe debate some music. What, in your opinion, is the most influential album of all time? Might as well just lock in my vote now, Simpsons style!

Monday, November 24, 2008

GHABBY'S Semi-Regular Macro View of the NBA: The Power Forward Caste System

This is the first of what I hope will be a series of regular columns giving my views on the NBA as a whole, if only to educate the public that there is a basketball-playing world outside of what's shown on Comcast Sports New England. As someone who may or may not be paid by and to provide analysis and coverage of the National Basketball Association, I feel that it is my obligation to inform the fine readers of Mass Hysteria of the basketball-related developments outside Route 495. We founded this site on higher principles and anti-provincial Yahdoodery, so anti-provincial Yahdoodery ye shall receive.

Also, to update a previous column - Friday's Brazilian Barbecue drunken escapades ended in a bacterial infection in my intestines and roughly 25 bouts of diarrhea in a 36-hour period. I've never wished for a quick death more than I did for the entirety of Saturday and most of Sunday. Have you ever dry-heaved out of your ass? It ain't fun.

Anyways, on with the show...

It can be said that last season was the Year of the Point Guard in the NBA. Four PGs averaged at least 10 assists per game, and eight averaged at least 15 points. Guys like Andre Miller, Deron Williams and Baron Davis had career years. Jose Calderon came off the bench to become a veritable assist machine for the Raptors, and Rajon Rondo, well, to quote Trent in Swingers, “he grownsed up and he grownsed up and he grownsed up.” Most notably, Chris Paul enjoyed an MVP-caliber season, having one of the best seasons by a point guard in decades. By the end of the year, the position was revitalized and revolutionized, with a bevy of brand-new stars.

But what position will be the Point Guard of this year? Will any spot be revolutionized like the 1 was during last year’s season?

My guess is that this year's "position du jour" will be the power forward spot. It's not just the talent at the power forward spot in this year's NBA that intrigues me, but also its diversity in play. For example, Carlos Boozer and Yi Jianlan happen to play the same position, but obviously take very different approaches. Josh Smith and Tim Duncan? Troy Murphy and Tyrus Thomas? Craig Smith and Rashard Lewis? All of these men play the same spot on the floor, but bring very different things to the table. Here are, in my opinion, the different classifications of power forward:

The Bad Motherfuckers - There's nothing pretty or graceful about these power forwards' game. They rely on brawn, muscle, and sheer intimidation to earn their points and rebounds, and many of them use the Charles Barkley model of playing well beyond their height or athletic ability. Playing against any of these bruisers will leave you with bone-deep bruises, and picking them in Pick One will guarantee you a high ratio of low-post points and rebounds, though some have to come off the bench to earn their PRA.

Among the league's Bad Motherfucker power forwards are Carlos Boozer, Leon Powe, Jason Maxiell, Craig Smith, David Lee, Jared Dudley, Troy Murphy, Antawn Jamison and Kevin Garnett.

The Athletic Freaks - These power forwards can probably all dunk on a 12-foot rim, though many of them have yet to realize their unbridled athletic potential. Shawn "the Matrix" Marion is their patron saint, as they're capable of performing literally any athletic feat on a basketball court, albeit without much consistency.

The Athletic Freaks include the aforementioned Marion, Josh Smith, Amir Johnson, Wilson Chandler, Tyrus Thomas, Brandan Wright, and rookie Darrell Arthur.

The Gunners - These players all may stand 6-9 or 6-10, but their play often resembles that of shooting guards six inches shorter. Some of them seem to have an aversion to rebounding despite their height, choosing instead to spend most of their time on the perimeter, launching threes. Aside from their leader, Dirk Nowitzki, most of these players suffer from the condition of having a gaping vagina between their legs, preventing them from playing anywhere in or near the paint area, despite being ridiculously tall.

Among the league's Gunners at the power forward spot are Rashard Lewis, Yi Jianlan, Peja Stojakovic, Dirk Nowitzki, Marvin Williams, Al Harrington and Andrea Bargnani.

The Centers in Any Other Era – If these players played in the 70’s, 80’s or even most of the 90’s, they would be plunked in the middle, left to perform veritable rape on the likes of Mark Eaton and Manute Bol. While not quite “bruisers,” they aren’t finesse types either, and rarely leave the low-post area, though a few of them have developed deadly 12-foot jumpers that keep opposing defenses honest. They tend to be highly productive, though in an old-school manner.

The league's Pseudo-Centers are Duncan, Amare Stoudemire, Pau Gasol, LaMarcus Aldridge, Rasheed Wallace, Luis Scola, Kenyon Martin, Chris Bosh and Marcus Camby.

So, fine readers, I pose you the question - what do you see as the breakout position of this season? Are there any power forward classifications that I missed? And how fucking ugly was Mark Eaton?

The World Outside of Mass Hysteria - Not Suitable for Children Under 5.


The internet is a fun place. Observe:

*The Possibilities Are Endless - A look into the email outboxes of several baseball GMs. [310 to Joba]

*Up Your Ass, Joey Porter - Amen, fellas. Amen. [Patriots Daily]

*The Coco Crisp Trade: Change We Didn't Really Need and Can't Really Believe In - So Royals fans are not happy about this trade, which is surprising to me, mainly because I didn't know the Royals have fans. [Royals Review]

*Brett Michaels banged them and so can you! - I have not seen one episode of Rock of Love, but I am now interested. I mean, look at all these sluts! [Ramblings of the Unmotivated]

*Wakefield considering retirement - Really? I believe nothing until I hear it from Worthington P. Foxtrotty. Get him on the case! [The Bottom Line]

*An Interview with John Ziegler on the Zogby "Push Poll" - OK so before you say this isn't sports, this site is written by Nate Silver, one of the awesome geniuses of Baseball Prospectus. Also, I kind of love this site. [FiveThirtyEight]


Let's play a counting game.



That's all you need to be able to count to.



Oh, and Blake Wheeler scored the winning goal in a shootout to give the Bruins the win over Montreal on Saturday. Can you count all the way to 7? Because that's how many points more than the Habs we currently have on the season.

There are many diseases I wish upon Joey Porter


Video Courtesy of Christmas Ape at KSK

Sorry Hysterics, but because of the shortened work week, most of the editors are swamped at work. So Breakfasts may be infrequent this week, but not to worry you will still get your larfs and poop jokes here. I will be supplying you with the recap of the Patriots Game, or as I like to call "510 yards to forcefully ram up Joey Porter's Ass". The Pats needed a statement game, a showing that would prove to the rest of the NFL that we are still relevant and contenders, and yesterday showed it. Just when you think you have the Patriots scheme figured out (I thought two weeks ago they would be a run heavy team), they open up the field and for most of the game they set up with an empty backfield. I should have realized by now, that its very difficult to figure out Belichick and Josh McDaniels. Even with a win, guess what? My favorite shithead finished with 1 tackle, 1 irrelevant sack, and a loss that could potentially knock the Fins out of the wildcard hunt.

Going into the game we all were treated to the "Joey Porter Show", where that loud mouthed douchebag was given every medium possible to run his fat fucking mouth, and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk. I get it, his outrageous taunts and predictions get you good ratings, but do we really need to see so much of him? Everytime I see him on TV, I want to break something, which is why I don't own nice things. Watch the video that I provided, let's go over some of Porter's talking points:
*I am awesome (this year can't deny that)
* The Patriots are cheaters (fine, it's been overdone, but you aren't the first and certainly are not the last to say that)
* The Steelers would have won those two AFC Championships if the Patriots didn't cheat. Because as Porter said, they knew all our plays before we did them. (You're a fucking retard, Keyshawn should reach over and bitch slap you for saying that. There is no way even they knew all your plays even if they did cheat, face it sourpuss your team got burned. I'm sure Troy Brown returned that Punt for a touchdown because Belichick is a filthy cheater)
* The Patriots were never good, and are full of average no name players. (Suck a dick Joey, seriously, eat a long smelly unwashed penis, preferably with herpes on it. Joey, you may fail to realize this because you are a low IQ retard, but football is a TEAM sport. TEAMS win football games, and the Patriots were a well put together TEAM. Die asshole.
* We are going to kill the Patriots this week. (Yup Joey, really hit the nail on the head this week. God when your stupid offensive gadget play loses its novelty, the coaching staff comes up with a game plan that learns from his mistakes, and an offense that is clicking, your team isn't all that good)

Well, I probably should have avoided giving him that much of my time, but after watching the camera focus on him, I had some steam I had to vent. But onto the positives from the game, which there were many. Mainly, Matt Cassel and Randy Moss. It was such a relief to see the offense continues to improve, where they are almost to the point they were last year. Cassel has never looked more comfortable, he is spreading the ball out, hitting longer passes, and really seems to understand the offense. Which is good for two reasons 1) Our defense still looks sloppy and he is going to need to put up point and 2) The Steelers defense is fucking nasty and after Matt Light went all WWF on Crowder and undoubtedly will be suspended. Cassel is going to be under pressure all game, and if he can stay relatively clean I like the Pats chances against the Steelers.

Is that really the best punches he could throw?

The Dolphins learned a valuable lesson yesterday, something you would figure most teams have learned by now. YOU HAVE TO DOUBLE TEAM RANDY MOSS. As you have seen by now Moss finished with 125 yards and 3 touchdowns, and a handful of crazy circus catches. I like Moss want to question the Dolphins coaching staff, haven't they watched the Super Bowl when two DB's can shut him down? Moss's press conference was a classic, and the video is below, he is most upset at Tony Sparano. Why the fuck would you just slap Jason Allen on him and think that is sufficient to stop him? Moss felt disrepected by the Dolphins after the game, and why not? Silly bitches, you can't harm me you know who the fuck I am? I'm the Juggernaut bitch.

Anyways the Patriots walk away with the win, and look like they are in good position to battle the Jets over the next month for the AFC East. If Tom Brady wasn't so busy nailing Gisele, I bet he would have been proud to watch our offense. I still have concerns about the defense, for three quarters they had trouble preventing Noodledick from marching up and down the field. Hopefully by the end of the week I won't tear my eyes out over the inevitable Brett Favre Bukkake that will be on every sports program I flip to. When is the Jets epic failure going to start? I want it start now!!!!!!

I'm really sorry for the massive influx of videos, I just saw so many that I wanted to incorporate into the post. I swear when I post my BC recap tomorrow you won't have so many

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Happy Birthtday to Meeee


So yesterday was my birthday and stuff but tonight my frnds too me to a Brazilian steakhouse and it was awesome and I ate more meat than ever and it was awesome exept I have a turtle head popping out of my butt. If you have a birtheday coming up, I'd suggest a Brazilian steakghouse cause they just keep bringing meat and more meat and more meat to yoiur table and if you're a pussy you say "no, i'm done" but cause i'm a MAN i said "MORE MEAT FRIENDS FROM SOUTH AMERICA" and they kept bringing me pork and steak and chicken wrapped in bacon and it RULED. Also it helped that I drank a six pack of woodcuck in 20 minutes (record holder for time: ME cause IM AWEOSME) before we went out and then had three Sam Adams (the real founder of America's Revolutino cause he provided beer for us to defeat the Britsh Red Coats and the WHites of their eyes) at the Steakhouse with my MEAT OF AWESOMENESS. I had like eighty pounds of meat because I didn't fill up at the buffet of salad and shit, cause that's how they get you, they say "hey, free buffet bar" so you fill up on veggies and beans and salad and gay shit like that and then when teghy come with swords full of meat you're like "aww, I'm full cause I fulled up on the salad bar" but I was like NO I WANT MORE MEAT CAUSE I KNOW BETTER and kept eating meat and more meat until they looked at me like "wow, this dude can put away some fucking meat, he rules." Btw, chicken wrapped in bacon is like the greatest invention ever, because it involves chicken, which rules, and bacon, which is even awesomeer. And also I had steak tips and pork tenderoin and sir loin (btw, if I ever did porn, my name would be Sir Loin and it woudl be wicked funny), and sausage and like a million other meats cause it was ALL YOU CAN EAT MEAT and I did not disappoint. Then FutureMrsGhabby made me splenda Peanut butter cake cause she's awesome and has nice boobies. And we watched Always Sunny which is the best show ever and my firend saw "Day Man" and "Night Man" and it was funny even teh 1054y4834uth time I had seen it cause it's just htat funny. Then I pooped a lion and now im going to sleep the end.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Wrestlers of Yore: Macho Man Randy Savage


Few professional wrestlers have touched our hearts to the extent that the Macho Man Randy Savage has. He taught us to snap into Slim Jims. His theme music is played at every high school graduation. He gave us three of the greatest Wrestlemania matches in history. He got married on pay-per-view. He recorded the world's greatest rap album, ever. It's no wonder that the Harvard Lampoon named him "Man of the Year" for 1998. Frankly, Randy Savage is the man of the Century, both this current one and last.

Born Randy Poffo, the soon-to-be Macho Man exuded his machoness in the world of minor league baseball, serving as a catcher in the White Sox, Reds and Cardinals minor league systems. Reportedly, Keith Hernandez was one of his minor league teammates, and the two would often exchange high fives on how awesome their facial hair was. However, Randy hurt his throwing shoulder and decided to hang up his spikes, starting a second career in the family business: professional wrestling.

Randy's father Angelo Poffo was one of the well-known wrestling promoters of the midwest during the 1970s, and had appeared on Ripley's Believe It Or Not for his ability to do situps for hours on end. Randy's brother, Lanny Poffo, was a wrestler, working under the nicknames "Leaping Lanny" or "The Genius," one of my five greatest characters of all time.

Randy soon began wrestling in his father's ICW promotion, where he met a comely young lass named Elizabeth Hulette, who he soon married. The couple soon moved to Memphis, where the newly named Macho Man Randy Savage battled Jerry Lawler for Lawler's CWA crown. Savage lost, but was soon signed up by Vince McMahon's WWF, who also brought on Elizabeth as his manager, though they didn't reveal on television that the pair were married.

Savage was immediately given a huge promotional push in the WWF, first making it to the semifinials of The Wrestling Classic (the first ever wrestling Pay-per-view), and soon winning the Intercontinental Championship from Tito Santana. The highly skilled Savage would keep his title in upcoming feuds with George "The Animal" Steele and Bruno Sammartino, leading up to a big title match at Wrestlemania 3, the biggest event in WWF history, against challenger Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat.

When wrestling fans list their favorite matches of all time, the Savage/Steamboat Wrestlemania 3 match is generally at or near the top. The two rehearsed every move for weeks at Savage's home before the match, and put on a technical masterpiece that still holds up to this day. Savage lost the match, but was made a huge star in the process.

From there, Savage was immediately thrown into contention for the World Heavyweight Championship, winning the 1987 King of the Ring tournament, and feuding with then-Intercontinental Champion the Honky Tonk Man, who scarred my childhood when he hit Miss Elizabeth over the head with his break-away guitar. Heavyweight Champion Hulk Hogan came in and saved Savage, leading to the formation of the Mega Powers of Hogan and Savage, the most powerful tag team ever.

In reality, Hogan and Savage were huge rivals, as Savage was constantly paranoid that Hogan was cheating with Elizabeth behind his back. In the ring though, the two were a force, and Hogan was the first to congratulate Savage after the Macho Man won the Heavyweight Championship at Wrestlemania IV. The two also defeated Andre the Giant and Ted DiBiase at the first ever SummerSlam, when Elizabeth removed her skirt to reveal a bikini bottom, easily the most erotic moment of my childhood. Savage, with the help of his scripted friend Hogan, would defend the belt for the next year.

At this time Savage also gained his highly publicized contract with Slim Jim, appearing in rougly 379,840 commericials where he yelled at us to "SNAP INTO A SLIM JIM." In a related story, Savage is responsible for a large percentage of the cases of diarrhea that I suffered in my childhood.

The Mega Powers of course had to separate at some point, and it came at a Saturday Night's Main Event when Elizabeth fell off the apron, and Hogan carried her to the back. A jealous Savage attacked Hogan in the dressing room, and the Mega Powers were no more. The feud culminated in the main event of Wrestlemania V, where Hogan won the belt from Savage.

After his run with Hogan, Savage took Sensational Sherri as a manager, eventually becoming the "Macho King" by winning the King of the Ring tournament. The Macho King smashed his sceptre over the head of the Ultimate Warrior at Royal Rumble 1991, causing the Warrior to lose the Heavyweight belt to Sgt. Slaughter and paving the way for Hulk Hogan to end the Gulf War with his 24-inch pythons. It also began a feud between Savage and the Warrior that ended in a Retirement Match at Wrestlemania VI, where, in probably the best match of his career, the Warrior summoned the power of the Gods to defeat Savage and send him into retirement. Savage, soundly defeated and now retired, sat in the ring dejected, until Miss Elizabeth ran out of the crowd to embrace her one-time partner. This reuniting was proven to make even the hardest of souls cry like babies.

The now-retired Macho Man returned to a non-wrestling role in the WWF, serving as a commentator for the various Saturday Morning shows. Savage still found a way to stay in the spotlight, "proposing" to Miss Elizabeth (even though they'd actually been married for seven years prior) on television and having their "wedding" take place at SummerSlam 1992. Ironically, the couple would divorce in real life only a few months later. From there, Savage soon un-retired, and would feud with Ric Flair, Jake Roberts and Crush over the next few years, until he mysteriously disappeared from the WWF in the summer of 1994.

Now, Savage's departure from the WWF and lack of return anytime since has puzzled wrestling fans, as no specific reason was given for his departure or persona non grata status in the current WWE. The prevailing rumor was that the then-divorced Savage slept with the then-14 year old Stephanie McMahon, a rumor that has not been proven or disproven. All that I know is that Savage has not ever been mentioned since on WWE television, been inducted into the watered-down Hall of Fame, or invited back for any WWE events or shows. Draw from that what you will.

From there, Savage signed with WCW, where he led a largely inconsequential career in comparison with the heights he reached in the WWF. He held a few titles, was a central figure in the nWo wars of the late '90s, and had to resort to wrestling in a shirt because he was rapidly losing his figure. Savage was even reunited with Elizabeth during his WCW reign, though by that time, the emotional scars were too deep to re-spark any friendship, and their time on screen together could only be described as "awkward." Savage would also be known for parading his current girlfriends out on television with him, including one Stephanie "Gorgeous George" Bellars, owner of some of the fakest tits I've ever seen. Broken down and bitter, Savage would eventually leave the wrestling industry when WCW folded in 2001, returning only for a forgettable one-shot deal in TNA.

Savage was also apparently quite shaken when ex-wife Miss Elizabeth was found dead of a drug overdose in fellow wrestler Lex Luger's house, whom she had been dating. This led to me naming my fantasy teams "LexLugersLadykillers" for the last three years and absolutely NO ONE getting the joke.

Savage's life in the public wasn't done at this point however, as he landed a role as Bonesaw McGraw in the wildly successful 2002 Spider-Man movie. He's also lent his unique voice to various cartoons and television programs, where he's carved out quite the niche for himself. Savage also released a rap album, entitled "Be a Man," where he called out Hogan to fight him for real. Yes, it's as awesome as it sounds.

Recently, Savage shocked the wrestling community when he recently appeared at the premiere for the Disney movie Bolt, where he lends his voice alongside that of Miley Cyrus and others. This Randy Savage, however, looked very different from the one we all have grown used to:

Clearly, Savage is preparing for yet another career: Mall Santa Claus.

Digest of the Unindentured Servants of Bases-Ball

What ho, dear friends! It is I, Worthington P. Foxtrotty, once again reporting to you on the vicissitudes and travails of the local bases-ball club, the Boston Red Stockings! With the onset of the autumnal crimson, the contestment of bases-ball has ceased until the halcyons of Spring. However, readers, now is the time whence clubs may engage the employment of new and additional ruffians, Spaniards, or recently-gaoled juvenile delinquents for the forthcoming season, the better to defend the fair name of our beautiful Hub! Also, certain members of the team are now "freed men", no longer formally indentured to the Red Stockings for bases-ball purposes. As such, my superiors at the Boston Daily American and Irish-Abuser have challenged me to summarize the doings of the bases-ball labor market for our readers, the better to follow the comings and goings of the athletic heroes of yesterday and tomorrow. Ergo, I render unto you, dear reader, the following journal-digest of significant Unindentured Free Laborers this off-season.

Messr. Jason Varitek
Position: Catcher-of-ball
Other information: Of some sort of Slavic stock (perhaps Polish), likely Papist, slower than a diseased cargo burro.
Prior Club: Red Stockings

Messr. Varitek, who has squatted nightly as the catcher-of-ball for the Red Stockings for lo these several years, is the most noteworthy of the Red Stockings' newly-freed men. As is common in the vile negotiations among the underclasses, Messr. Varitek has hired a soliciter to represent him in any employment matters. I would suggest that the more fragile and delicate of readers skip the remainder of this paragraph, for the revelation of Messr. Varitek's solicitor shall certainly cause apoplexy in the fairer sex or those of a vaporous and/or homosexual mien. For Varitek's solicitor, dear friends, is the perfidious Spaniard Boras. Woe be we who are subjected to this damned brigand's mere presence! Surely we have displeased God to warrant such a plague!

Nonetheless, the Red Stockings will likely offer employment to Messr. Varitek, given the lack of suitable replacements in the Boston area. Even amongst the filthy laborers and Irish, the position of catcher-of-ball is not a popular avocation. An investigatory expedition has been dispatched to the Te-Xas territory in search of the rumoured Italianate Saltalamacchia, but no word has been heard from them since their departure from the St. Louis outpost.

FOXTROTTY'S PREDICTION: Varitek will be employed for a package consisting of $0.75/day, a cleaner hovel, and no more than 2 square meals a day.

The Marquis de Quotsay
Position: Outfielder
Other Information: Purports to be nobility, likely non-Papist.
Prior Club: Red Stockings

This enigmatic gentleman is rumored to be returning to his native land of Belgium, where he claims to be distantly related to the royal family. Other rumors have him heading to the Confederacy to continute his barnstorming frolick as a vagabond bases-ball player.

FOXTROTTY'S PREDICTION: Embarcation on the SS Redoubtable, currently mainfested to carry 20 tons of dry goods to Bruges.

The Dread Pirate Ramirez
Position: Pirate, Outfielder
Other Information: Spaniard, Damnable Papist, associate of the perfidious B-r-s.
Prior Club: last seen fleeing to the Alta California

What more can be said about Ramirez? His plunder, achieved via an unholy alliance with the perfidious B-r-s, shall surely oustrip that of Blackbeard and Cook combined. Woe be the travelling secretary who faces the sharp steel of the Dread Ramirez!

FOXTROTTY'S PREDICTION: Remains with his despicable kind in the Alta California.

Don Marco Seignora de los Avocados Dulces de Nuestra Cienega de los Angeles del Teixeira
Position: First base, Potentate
Other information: Royalty, Hispano-Portugee, landed, dashing.
Prior Club: Los Angeles de Los Angeles del Anaheim.

Gentlemen of Boston, guard your daughters! This handsome, fiesty Latinate has expressed his willingness to bring his cultured and refined (for a Spaniard or Portugee or whatever he may be) court and coterie to an East Coast metropolis, should his extensive landholdings be increased sufficiently by a suitable patron. The Don, who purports to be a third cousin of King Phillip II himself, is but a mere strapling of 28 years, making his long-term presence all the more desirable, especially to rustic outposts like the District of Columbia, or that cesspool of Maryland Irish Catholics named after Lord Baltimore. Should he decide to grace the fair Hub with his presence, expect the Mighty Greek Youkilis to cede his position to the Don, leaving Messr. Lowell additional time to chase down and prosecute those responsible for the perfidious yet persistant rumour that he is the spawn of a Porto-Rican scullery maid.

Editor's note: As we have attempted to point out to Mr. Foxtrotty many times, the Greek Youkilis is actually a Hebrite.

But fie, it is true -- the foul stench of B-r-s has also permeated the noble Don. Will his mechanations never cease to vex? Word has it that the Highlanders, flush with cash from their accursed monpolistic trusts, also seek to woo the Don with promises of untold riches and vast estates on the Long Island. We shall see how this danse plays itself out, friends.

FOXTROTTY'S PREDICTION: The Don brings his moveable feast to Nieuw Amsterdam in exchange for the villages of Albany, Syracuse, and Utica and a 25% interest in Carnegie Steel.

Freed-Man Carsten C. Sabathia
Position: Pitcher-of-ball
Other information: Of the Coloured persuasion, giant and oafish.
Prior club: Cleveland Spiders / Mila-waul-kee Drunken Krauts

This gigantic specimen, so lofty amongst pitchers-of-ball that he warranted a "heigh-ho" from the great Denton Young himself, is the most noteworthy of the currently unindentured pitchers-of-ball seeking future employment. However, his Brobdignagian girth and lumbering mien call into question his ability to remain active in the long term, not to mention the physical safety of his team-mates. Nonetheless, it is believed that a team will have to offer this Titan employment at a wage of no less than $3.25/week -- a lofty sum that few bases-ball clubs can call upon to remit for a day-laborer such as he.

FOXTROTTY'S PREDICTION: Again, the schemes of the Highlanders and their nefarious trusts shall carry the day.

Messr. Derek Lowe
Position: Pitcher-of-ball
Other information: Irish, presumed Papist, drunkard, lout, strapping.
Prior club: Brooklyn

Followers of the Stockings surely remember Lowe the Irishman, he of the insatiable thirst for the Devil's Water and the darting sinker-ball. Many were the tales of Lowe's drunken rampages through the poorer slums of Dorchester, carousing well into the night with his fellow longshoremen and their battalions of ladies of the evening! After pitching the Stockings past the mighty Cardinals in the World's Series, Lowe was released at the behest of the more Puritanical members of the club's hierarchy, and left to seek employment with the Trolley-Dodgers to the south. Having found a modicum of success with the Brooklyns, and having achieved some functional level of sobriety in the mean-times, he is now seeking to renew ties with his old Boston haunts. Shall it be Lowe Redux in the Fens? We shall see, friends!

FOXTROTTY'S PREDICTION: Inform the constabulary! Lowe has return'd!

Mr. Allan J. Burnett
Position: Pitcher-of-ball
Other information: Strapping, Caucasian, hillbilly, haemophiliac.
Previous club: Les Bleux Jais

Mr. Burnett hails from the Confederacy, in the Ar-Kansas territories. As genteel as one may reasonably expect from such a rustic, he would make a fine addition to any club, but for his remarkable frailty. As delicate as the works of the brothers Fabrege is Mr. Burnett. When he is not becalmed in the sanitarium, or seeking new and controversial treatments from Mr. Kellogg in Battle Creek, Michigan, he is a formidable pitcher-of-ball.

FOXTROTTY'S PREDICTION: An additional year of colonic cleansing with Mr. Kellogg.

Senior Francisco Rodriguez
Position: Finishing Pitcher-of-ball
Other information: Spaniard, Papist, easily tired.
Previous club: Los Angeles de Los Angeles del Anaheim

A "compadre" (as the Spaniards would say in their guttural ur-language) of Don Teixeira, Snr. Rodriguez is known for his skills at overpowering hitters in short spells. However, he rapidly becomes fatigued in doing so, such that teams find they may only use him as a last resort in the waning sunset of a contest. However, he has proven quite effective in this role, and should achieve relative fortune from his efforts in the past season. The likelihood that he shall be seen in the Hub anon, however, is nil.

FOXTROTTY'S PREDICTION: Continued toil at his avocation and his insidious Pope-worship.

Diego Mirabelli
Position: Catcher-of-ball
Other information: Foul Italianate, Papist.
Previous club: none!

Begone with thee, disgusting Italianate swine!

FOXTROTTY'S PREDICTION: Return to the foul sewer from whence thou emitted!

This reporter shall continue to follow developments in the bases-ball world as necessary. The ill-bred but entertaining rustics at the "Mass Hysteria" journal of sports have also provided me with what they refer to as an "E Mail". I know not what technology this constitutes; however, I am told that it involves a Babbage calculation device, and some other varieties of Edisonian majicks. In any event, they have indicated that you, dear reader, may contact me at, whatever devilry that may entail.

Breakfast with the Hysterics


I was looking for a picture of Hot Chocolate the drink and this came up, I still think it works

Jesus, Mary and Joseph it's cold outside. Twas a good night in Boston sports as the Celtics won against the Decline Pistons. But instead of talking about sports this fine late fall morning, its time for a little Hazel Maes Landing Strip Theatre: (Basically the same thing as GHABBY's Tuesday Storytime, only funnier and less diabetic).
Last year Smarty Barrett and I won a Karaoke Competition at a local bar (doing renditions of Forgot About Dre and Aint Nuthin But a G Thang, will discuss this further in another storytime). Our prize for championing such an event was a private party at the bar, and two ski lift tickets to Sunday River in Maine. Well Smarty had no desire to ski, and I had been learning for most of last winter so I decided to have a weekend away with FutureMrs.HZMLS (she loves when I call her that). I reserved a cheap cabin near the mountain, and on a Friday night we drove up. Well call it naivety or just being stupid, but I had no clue that there was such thing as a "7-8 hour drive to Maine". I figured after driving that far I would be hitting Canada, but no, thats about how long of a drive it was from the North Shore to Inn at the Rostay.

How to describe the cabin? Tacky? No that would be giving the cabin's style too much credit. Gross? Nah, I think water stained wall paper and filth, and the rooms were in good shape. Horrifying? Bingo. The rooms still haunt my dreams, put it this way there was a bear motif in every facet of my room. Stuffed bear heads on the wall, bear wall paper, a bear rug, bear towels, even bear sheets. It seemed that this cabin complex had found some sort of white trash Martha Stewart, who was there to spread the Maine cheer of hunting and killing animals. Oh, forgot to mention the best part. We arrived there at 1am, and the place was closed. So the lovely manager just left a note on the office door saying the cabin was unlocked, luckily Ted Bundy never figured out this places security system or I wouldn't be here to regal you in the story. I fucking love Maine, it's the last place in the world you can leave a door open without fearing a terrorist or illegal immigrant will sneak in and murder you while you sleep.

So, after sleeping at the Inn we awoke at 6am to get a day of skiing in up at Sunday River. As we stopped to get gas, the attendant asked us, "Are you here for Parrot head weekend?" My heart stopped, I asked him to clarify. "Yeah every year Sunday River has a huge Jimmy Buffet weekend up here, and they play his music in all the cabins, and everyone dresses up. It's awesome!" Fuck, I hate Jimmy Buffet, and I especially hate Parrotheads. PH's are usually upper class older corporate types, that were too big of a pussy to get into the Grateful Dead, yet still want to "party". They usually wear Hawaiian shirts, some sort of stupid parrot paraphernalia, and most likely did four lines of blow after dropping their kid off at day care.

This was going to be an experience, I knew that much, but what was in store I couldn't have possibly predicted. I drove up to the main gate of the ski resort and the billboard had been changed to "WELCOME HOMO HEADS". Phew at least there were a few other people on the same wave length as me. But the gas attendant was right, the douchebags were EVERYWHERE. Zipping down the trails were Parrotheads with plastic margarita glasses fused to their helmets, parrot hats, and every possible Hawaiian shirt possible. They posed for pictures everywhere on the trails, and regaled with each other on the lifts about their favorite Buffet song, my favorite song is "NOTHING". After about 5 hours of skiing, and listening to "Volcano" and "Margaritaville" like 80 times in the lodge, we left the Parrothead hell hole. What is the purpose of this post? It's a warning to all of you, because these assholes are still out there. Make sure you double check websites before you visit ski resorts, because if you don't you may be sharing a chair left with an accountant wearing a purple hawaiian shirt and a fucking shark on his head. And on yeah, they will be back to Sunday River this year :
This annual festival is a weekend in paradise! All weekend celebrate with Jimmy Buffet cover bands, contests, prizes, parties, and more! Sunday, Pond Skimming kicks off the day, followed by our famous Key-lime pie eating contest. Help the Parrot Head Club of Maine spend a fantastic weekend, with skiing, parties, sun and more! And don't forget a Sunday River favorite: the Bust N Burn Moguls competition. Mark your calendar now for the party of the year!

Post Script: Feel like we need a little sports here in this post. Here is a video of Horse Dong getting absolutely destroyed last night agast the Bengals: