Friday, May 29, 2009

Boston Sports Weekend Preview


Hey all, sorry about the lack of posts lately we swear that we are not ignoring you, our loyal awesome readers. To intice you further, there is a special surprise coming up next week here at MH I promise you, that you won't want to miss. Where have all the editors gone? Well because I work with kids, I contracted H1N1 Swine Flu, and spent the better part of two days this week wretching over a toilet and praying for death. Raquel finally decided to join a nunnary and now goes by the name of Sister Francis and spends 23 hours a day praying in front of a cross. GHABBY has created a new brand of sterk that is powderized and can be added to a sparkling cider like Magners, for all you fairies that can't drink beers because you lack a pancreas. And Smarty and APNDR? Well I don't want to disgust you with the details, but it involves three dutch Midgets, a pair of tweezers and a rented mule....But anyways back to the sports:

Boston Red Sox vs the Toronto Dead Jays

Tim Wakefield vs Not Roy Halladay #1: The Jays have sucked more scrotum then an underaged Czech porn star over the past two weeks. They have lost nine games in a row, and their complete lack of pitching has been VERY exposed. No longer at the top of the AL East, the Jays are going to need to take all three against the Sox to show the rest of us that they aren't just the Baltimore Orioles of Canada. In game 1, I see George Kotteras showing us that he was worth the trade of David Wells. If Wake does not immolate, I like the Sox's chances in this one.

Brad Penny vs Not Roy Halladay #2: Look I may have over reacted with my Clay Buchholz post the other day, I get kind of stuck in this "BRING UP THE KIDS!!!!" mode sometimes, and its hard to shake. But the facts are hard to deny, for a number 5 pitcher this year Brad Penny has been very solid, who the fuck cares if he gets so much run support he wins games that is all that matters at this point. Not Halladay #2 is some guy named Tallet, who was a LOOGY last year, and somehow ended up a starter this year due Canadian Moose Flu knocking out 8 starting pitchers. If Penny does not immolate, I like the Sox's chances in this one

Jon Lester vs Not Roy Halladay #3: Jon Lester has been the victim of some bad defense and a few bad pitches. Relax fellas, he is going to settle himself down sooner or later. Big Jon goes this weekend against some guy with the last name Romero, who isn't JC (steroids), George (zombies) and Cesar (dead). If Jon Lester does not immolate, I like the Sox's chances in this one.

Frivilous Prop Bet of the Weekend: I was going to make a joke and say that David Ortiz somehow finds his swing and hits four home runs this weekend, but that would be a cruel joke. How about 10 strikeouts?


Consider this an open thread for the weekend, feel free to comment on the games, or any other fleeting thoughts. Where will I be? ON A MUTHA FUCKIN' BOAT

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Great Beards in History: Serpico


In recent years, much has been made of the greatness of the mustache. The Mustache Revolution arguably started with the handlebar splendor of Rollie Fingers, built in momentum with Daniel Day-Lewis in There Will Be Blood, took a slight downturn with AJ Daulerio's "efforts," and reached its pinnacle with "Mustache Wednesday" on my favorite site on the interwebz, EDSBS, which celebrates the grandeur of mustaches on a weekly basis in between feeding my masturbatory fantasies about Florida Gator football.

But, it is my feeling that the mustache has become over-glorified in recent vintage (though I'm shocked that nobody has written a 10,000 word paean to Dennis Lamp and his fantastic lip-tickler), especially when a greater, more manly form of facial hair exists: the beard.

Now, while Mass Hysteria is first and foremost a sports site, I'd also like to think that we're also a site of wisdom and enlightenment, informing you, the reader, of All Things That Are Awesome and Manly. And given that APNDR is near Social Security age, HZMLS is about to trade in his penis for the shackles of a wedding ring and SmartyBarrett sings Jesse McCartney songs at karaoke, I have un-democratically appointed myself as this site's Ambassador to Manliness. And, as I see it, an essential part of manliness is the proper wearing of the manliest of all facial patterns - the beard. So, in what will be a semi-regular segment, especially in these lean days of Boston sports, I shall enhance the Sterkness of the Mass Hysteria Universe by celebrating beards in all their glory. This week, one of the patron saints of Beardliness - Al Pacino's Serpico beard.

Serpico, if you haven't seen it, may be Al Pacino's seminal work. Sure, he also kicked ass in The Godfather, Scarface and Gigli, but none of those movies exhibited Pacino at his most manly as did Serpico. He fought the NYPD (most of whom bore the standard-issue Policeman Mustache). He dressed like a homeless dude. He got shot in the face. He told the NYPD to shove their promotion up their ass and moved to Switzerland. Frank Serpico, even moreso than Michael Corleone or Tony Montana or Coach D'Amato, was a fucking man's man.

The Serpico beard had everything you'd look for in a manly beard. It was full and glorious, but not pube-y (as my beard tends to be sometimes when I grow it out for too long). Pacino complemented the beard with awesome sunglasses and unkempt hair. If you saw someone walking down the street with that beard, your first thought would be "wow, that dude probably knows fifteen ways to disembowel me with a pair of salad tongs, and would do so without giving it a second thought." It is a fine example of the greatness of facial hair, and a proper choice as our first Great Beard in History. Al Pacino (and the original Frank Serpico), we salute you.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

We Love You Brad Penny But...

It's Clay Buchholz's turn. Jesus F'n Christ this kid is tearing up the minor leagues, last night the Buch pitched a near PERFECT GAME allowing on 1 hit through 9 innings of bonerific minor league goodness. Even though Penny pitched well through five innings yesterday, even while afflicted with the Swine Flu, his time in Boston may be at hand. Look at the numbers Clay, or Gay Fuckholes has put up (the lamest/funniest Yankee fan insult I've heard): "seven earned runs in 48 1/3 innings, with 23 hits, 12 walks, and 49 strikeouts". With John Smoltz almost ready to return, and Buchholz pitching his ass off in the minors, how much longer will Penny be part of this team? Are we preparing for our annual Josh Beckett shoulder tightness or Jon Lester arm fatigue to clear up some room? Or will there be a bigger move in the future? Who the hell knows, but one thing is clear: Erica Ellyson>>>>>>>>>>>Alyssa Milano.

Friday, May 22, 2009

Wrestlers of Yore: The Honky Tonk Man


The second-greatest Elvis impersonator I ever saw was in Las Vegas. Rather than spending $50 bucks to see some gay magician or Celine Dion, we decided our evening would be best spent watching the "American Superstars" impersonator show at the Statosphere, where dopplegangers of Michael Jackson, Britney Spears and the King Himself serenaded us with their greatest hits for the low cost of 20 bucks. The show was fantastic, though it also should be noted that I was blisteringly drunk for its entirety, and later spent a portion of my evening pulling the Tracey Gold Trigger (also known as the Tri Delta Dessert) in front of my hotel room's Porcelain God. I also lost about $500 gambling and have no memory of doing so. But I digress.

However, the far and away best Elvis impersonator I have ever witnessed was a man who graced my television screen every Saturday morning throughout my childhood, as well as the occasional Sunday pay-per-view. He sang, he danced, and he hit people over the head with his balsa wood guitar. That man was Wayne Farris, better known to you and I as the Honky Tonk Man.

Vince McMahon made no bones about presenting a cartoonish version of wrestling during the 1980's, with roided-up superheroes and dastardly heels, who were often saddled with career-crippling gimmicks. Fine wrestlers such as Terry Taylor, Tito Santana and Owen Hart were given impossible gimmicks such as "The Red Rooster," "El Matador," and "The Blue Blazer," shadowing the legitimacy of their talent with such goofy personas that made it impossible for crowds to take them even remotely seriously.

But the most over-the-top creation of Vince's had to be his christening of Wayne Farris, an otherwise decent-but-not-great wrestler, as the "Honky Tonk Man," a poor excuse of an Elvis impersonator. And he wanted to portray Honky as a fucking babyface (fan favorite)! Think about that for a second - if someone told you that a wrestling Elvis was coming to your town, would you go out of your way to see them, let alone root for them? Okay, maybe I would, but that's cause I'm a complete loser. But the rest of you would probably want to spend your hard-earned money on, oh, anything else.

Farris, to his credit, took the gimmick and ran with it. Realizing quickly that a wrestling Elvis would be better as a heel (bad guy) than a babyface, the Honky Tonk Man quickly became one of the most hated wrestlers in the 1980's WWF, hip-swiveling his way into the welcoming boos of the crowd. Farris cemented his heel persona by creating his own (insanely awesome) theme song, which he'd then proceed to give encore performances of in the ring. People grew to vehemently hate the man, especially after he smashed his guitar over the back of fan favorite Jake the Snake Roberts, an incident which Roberts claimed started his path to being a total crackhead. We'll save Jake's tragic tale for another time, but for now, let's just bask in the greatness of Honky's song:

Honky would then win the Intercontinental Championship from Ricky Steamboat, and defend his title by cowardly getting himself disqualified (allowing him to keep the belt) in feuds against Billy Jack Haynes, Bruno Sammartino, and Steamboat. Honky's most egregious offenses came in a feud with Macho Man Randy Savage, where he shoved down the lovely Miss Elizabeth on Saturday Night's Main Event in what was the first man-on-woman violence my young eyes had ever seen. (This was clearly before I discovered the pivotal works of Max Hardcore) I mean that shit was fucking scandalous for its time, and made Honky arguably the most hated heel in professional wrestling.

Honky at this time was proclaiming himself "the Greatest Intercontinental Champion EVER," and with a year-plus reign, few could disagree. To this day, his reign of one year, two months and 27 days stands as the longest IC reign, despite the best efforts of Santino Marella. However, Honky seemed primed to lose his belt at Summerslam '88, where the heroic gay barber Brutus Beefcake seemed prime to dethrone Evil Elvis. Then, sadly, Beefcake legit broke his face into a million pieces in a parasailing accident, and Honky had no opponent for Summerslam '88 (which also featured Miss Elizabeth stripping to her bikini bottom, giving me my first boner).

A cool, cocky and bad Honky Tonk Man walked to the ring at Summerslam and issued an open challenge to anyone who dared face him. At that point, the music of the Ultimate Warrior hit, and Warrior Warrior (his current real name) squashed Honky in 32 seconds. I am not embarrassed to say that nothing in my childhood shocked me more than seeing the Warrior (my favorite wrestler at the time) run down to the ring and quickly end the impossibly long reign of the dastardly Honky Tony Man. I may have been only five years old at the time, but I remember absolutely LOSING MY SHIT when this happened.

From there, Honky had a few not-terribly memorable feuds with the likes of Dusty Rhodes and even a stint as the manager of "Rockabilly" Billy Gunn, who is pictured below:

Rather than putting the ol' jumpsuit away, the Honky Tonk Man continues to this day to make appearances at your local indy wrestling show, playing "Cool, Cocky, Bad" before tens of people for a few hundred bucks a pop. Even now, at the age of 56, the man makes a comfortable living wrestling in the seemingly dead-end Elvis impersonator gimmick that Vince McMahon saddled him with. More power to him, even if he did shove Miss Elizabeth.

Thursday, May 21, 2009


I appear to have inadvertently uncovered the mechanism by which the Twins made their off-season acquisition of Joe Crede in my Gmail inbox.

I suppose it's not surprising that major league sports are feeling the effects of the recession; they're just big businesses, after all. Still, I fail to see how giving away the game's only tradeable asset addresses the problem of plummeting values across the economic spectrum. Shows what I know.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009



Big Slumpi.
Big Pop Up.
39 Games later

Welcome to 2009 Big Papi.

Somewhere my dog just shuddered


A few days ago egghead John Clayton listed his four potential landing spots for Mike Vick, sitting at #4

"4. New England Patriots: This is an example of a great organization with a head coach (Bill Belichick) who is strong enough to take a gamble on talent. If Belichick is interested, he'd first have to convince his owner, Robert Kraft. That might be tough. Kraft cares about the public image of his franchise. It's also not known if Kraft could accept Vick's transgressions. But let's look at it from the football side. The Dolphins are light years ahead of the rest of the league in running the Wildcat offense. They drafted Pat White in the second round to carry the Wildcat to new levels. Because the Patriots must prepare for the Wildcat, why not bring in Vick, the ultimate Wildcat weapon? The Patriots haven't reached outside to replace Matt Cassel. If Kraft accepts him, Vick could be an interesting possibility for a few plays per game in New England."

If John Clayton wasn't completely wrong on everything he has ever said this would make me nervous. That's all the Patriots need to clean up their image, one of the games biggest blemish. Maybe while their at it they can sign Chris Henry to play WR, and replace Vince Wilfork with Tank Johnson. For a "few plays" a game I can't imagine the Patriots taking a risk like Vick, Moss stepped in as their #1 WR, but that risk was calculated with the ups far outweighing the downs. Maybe I just hate Vick because he is a douche to animals, but Hysterics would you mind seeing Vick in a Patriots jersey?

Brunch With the Hysteircs


*Grampa Losing Streak Stopper Tim Wakefield pitched a gem last night against the first place Maple Leafs Without Sticks last night, 2-1. Wakefield, the Sox' only starter with an ERA under 4.50, knuckled under (I'm so punny) and stymied the first-place Jays. Strangely enough, the Sox' sole RBIs came from Jeff "George" Bailey and George "the Sterling Silver Greek" Kottaras. Big Papi, in his triumphant return...went 0 for 3 with two strikeouts. Fuck. But hey, there was a Kevin Millar sighting! That dude is the Mike Eruzione of MLB, I swear.

*In the most exciting event involving ping-pong balls this side of the Beirut table at Smarty's apartment, the No. 1 pick in this year's draft went to...the fucking Clippers? Clearly David Stern has lost whatever evil powers that he once had over the draft lottery, because the goddamned Clippers shouldn't be given the power to operate a Huffy 10-speed, let alone successfully draft a No. 1 pick (see Olowakandi, Michael). The best part of the draft lottery was seeing surefire top pick Blake Griffin (the Tanner Tyler Hansbrough) fight back tears when he realized that his next few years would be spent fighting for shots with Zach Randolph, Baron Davis and Al Thornton. That'll be fun, as it will be when Griffin signs a long-term deal with the Sixers four years from now and promptly blows out his knee. That said, the thought of my Euro man-crush Ricky Rubio running the break for the Thunder for years to come has me fully and completely engorged. ENGORGED I say.

*Michael Vick is getting busted out of prison, and even without the need of a rock hammer or Red. I've always been mixed on Vick - obviously what he did was wrong (though cockfights are still awesome), but the dude is still insanely talented, and would be a sick fit for teams that are now running the Wildcat. If Ookie can keep his head on straight, and two years of anal rape can fix a man real quick, then he could be utterly frightening when he steps back on a field in the right system. That is, unless he smoked himself fat and slow in prison, in which case, all bets are off. Still, let me be one of the first to say "GET THIS MAN A PATRIOTS UNIFORM STAT," if only because third-and-shorts with Vick behind center would be wildly more exciting than Laurence Maroney running three steps, tearing his uterus and falling down. Besides, Bill Belichick made Randy Moss and Corey Dillon productive members of society, so he can certainly cure Ron Mexico of his little dog fighting habit. Also, it should be noted that I hate puppies, kittens and babies, so I might be a bit biased here.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Boston Sports Tonight!

I need to ask Raquel how to make this a glittery dead Bluejay

Boston Red Sox vs the 1st Place Toronto Blue Jays 7pm

Brian Tallet vs. Tim Wakefield

After the success of the Tampa Bay Satan Rays last year, it was only inevitable that the media slaps the "ARE THEY THIS YEARS RAYS??" tag to the Blue Jays. Let me just say this....they might be. The Blue Jays have always been like one player away from being really good, and have a pitching staff that even without Dustin McGowan, Jesse Litsch and Shaun Marcum is one of the best in the leagues. Roy Halladay would be my "player on another team, that I fucking love", and somehow the Jays have the best offense in the league, in the top 5 in basically everything. And where the hell did Adam Lind come from? The Red Sox on the other hand, have the worst starting pitching in the league, and a cleanup hitter who has hit like three balls into the outfield all season. Wakefield struggled in his last outting against the Angels. This could be a statement series for the Blue Jays and could answer the question, are they contenders or pretenders?

Frivilous Prop Bet- Fed up with David Ortiz's lack of power, the Red Sox pull off a stunning trade, sending Ortiz and Julio Lugo to the Reds for Jay Bruce who changes on his way to the park in the back of Raquel's car. He gets to the game in the 7th inning and promptly replaces JD Drew in the field, who tweaked a hammy rounding first base. Bruce hits a pinch hit home run in the 9th against BlowJob Ryan to win the game.

Series Prop Bet- Tim Wakefield is rocked, allowing 5 runs in 7 innings, and the Red Sox struggle to score runs all night. Ortiz's siesta continues, as he goes 0-4 with three strikeouts. (Sorry the Bostonfail stink hasn't come off my clothes from the weekend)

Defending Like Champions


My favorite non-Boston athlete ever is undoubtedly Pistol Pete Maravich (yeah, I know he played half a season in Boston, but he's not really of Boston). Granted, at the tender age of 26 (though my back, shoulder and pancreas tell me I'm closer to 86), I was far too young to witness the sheer greatness of the Pistol's prime, but through the magic of ESPN Classic, stories from my basketball-crazy uncles (and Mom, who loves basketball more than should be legally allowed) and the "Pistol Pete Homework Basketball" VHS tapes that I nearly burned holes through, the Pistol remains alive and well in my memory bank, as well as my jump shot. I've read, watched and purchased nearly everything having to do with the man, and when my girlfriend bought me a Maravich jersey and biography for my birthday, I realized then that she was, in fact, the one.

Oddly enough, my favorite Pistol Pete story wasn't scoring 50 in his first college game, or his performance at the 1970 NIT Tournament at MSG, or even any of his ahead-of-his-time NBA performances. Rather, my most treasured Pete Maravich story actually regards his death. Pete Maravich, knees shot, career over and personal demons finally overcome, passed away at the age of 40 playing pickup basketball. Now some may think his death tragic, but I've always seen it as poetic - a great man died doing the one thing he loved. Any of us should be so lucky.

This may seem an odd segue for a recap on the Celtics-Magic season and their unsuccessful defense of Banner 17, but to me, it's quite similar. This year's Celtics, beset by injury (including one to their undisputed leader), a stunning lack of depth and the bodily trauma of playing 204 games in less than 19 months, said "fuck this, we're going to go out doing what we love - play basketball." They overcame a younger, more athletic and fearless Bulls team primed to knock them off, and they then took the much talented and healthier Magic to seven games. The C's had every reason to roll over, give excuses and go quietly into that good night, but instead they fought like warriors and defended their title honorably. As a C's fan, I really could not be prouder.

Now one might argue that the C's rolled over in Games 6 and 7 against Orlando (in fact, I'm shocked that Shaughnessy hasn't written his usual contrarian bullshit to this regard), but the fact is that, by last weekend, the Celts were absolutely gassed, and playing on sheer fumes against a supremely talented team. I said before the series that anything that the team was "playing with house money" against Orlando and that I truly didn't expect them to win. So to take a team with the league's most athletic center (seriously, if Howard ever learns a post move, that dude will put up 40-20s every game) and insane three-point shooters to seven games - well that in itself was an accomplishment, and is nothing to be ashamed of. The more athletic team won. The more talented team won. Dare I say, the better team won. And I'm completely fine with that, especially because my last memory of this year's C's won't be of LeBron going 50-15-10 in a four-game sweep, but rather a hard-fought series in which we took a very good team to the brink of elimination.

What happens next year? I truly don't know. Big Baby will probably get a sweetheart offer from some free-spending bottom dweller, KG's knee might never get better, and Allen and Pierce could continue to look as road weary as they appeared in the Orlando series. But I have hope. Rajon Rondo firmly established himself this year (and especially in the playoffs) as a point guard with an insanely unique skillset and an All-Star for years to come. Perk grew by leaps and bounds, and only seems to be getting better. Leon Powe will be healthier, and Eddie House will continue to drain threes at a ridiculous rate. The youngsters (I'm looking at you Bill Walker) could step up and inject the team with some much-needed depth and athleticism.

But whatever happens next year and for the forseeable future, I have confidence in one thing: the Boston Celtics will not give up. This team has balls and heart, and those are two qualities you cannot teach. No matter what happens, these Boston Celtics at least promise to always go out on their sword, and if they fall, they'll do so doing what they love, just like Pistol Pete. And that's all we as Celtics fans can ask for.

Breakfast with the Hysterics


Welcome back to a fantastic Tuesday here at Mass Hysteria. 50% of Boston Teams finished their season last week, so we are now down to the Red Sox, injury updates at Foxboro, and talk about Dwight Howard and Lebron James. Yeah that last one, except the complete opposite. Many of you have expressed concerns over our lack of posting yesterday and let me promise you that it had nothing to do with the Celtics playing like post McDonald's shits or the Red Sox OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO STRANGLE NICK GREEN. YOU THROW LIKE ME EXCEPT IM STUCK BEHIND A DESK YOU'RE IN THE MAJORS!!!111!

This weekend Ghabby and his madam, Smarty and myself took place in a karaoke competition at a local bar that we shall call "Valhalla" for lack of a better name. Now many of you may mock such simple things like karaoke, but this activity may be my favorite thing to do when I drink. Honestly, look at your other alternatives on a Friday night of heavy drinking: getting arrested for putting your fist through a juke box, contracting syphillus, waking up in a ditch on the side of the road, and marrying a transvestite. See, karaoke doesn't look so bad now does it? Now to add the word "competition" to karaoke, and we are at a whole new level. Let's do a play by play of each contestant:

Hot Pants- James Brown. It's hard to describe the sheer awesomeness of seeing a white boy from Massachusetts pull of a song written by JB that only has two words "Hot Pants" and a series of grunts groans and screams. The only negative here was that GHABBY failed to wear a glitter suit. Though the thought of that makes me physically ill.

Smarty Barrett and HZMLS
The Real Slim Shady- Eminem. Smarty and I have done the whole "rap" thing at many a karaoke bar. We thought that we would go with a crowd pleaser here, and what better to please a crowd then watching two very white boys try and rap. Unfortunately the crowd was filled with all people who were my mothers age, and rap music makes their ears bleed with the "yo yo yos" and "hos and bitches". As they sat their drinking ice coffee (I'm not joking), I was thinking to myself, "Boy we are fucked". Plus we were both intoxicated which probably didn't help much.

Ghabby's Missus.
You Know That I'm No Good-Amy Winehouse.
Ok so this girl can sing, much better than my rapping or GHABBY's screaming...In fact her voice is far superior to the crack head train wreck that wrote this song. Out of the four of us, she probably had the blackest voice, and all those singing words that describe being a good singer like "tone" and "strength of voice".

After we all went the first time, the judges at Valhalla (who, again, all looked like my mom) had to vote for the five contestants that would proceed to the next round. We all pretty much knew that Ghabby's Missus was going to move on, but were surprised as hell when SB and myself got to go to the next round as well. Unfortunately the judges failed to see the genius of GHABBY's performance, along with our friend Jennycupcakes who did a song from Chorus Line whose name is escaping me but the chorus says "TITS AND ASS" over and over again.

The second round:

GHABBY's missus- Superstition- Stevie Wonder- FUCKING AWESOME. Mind you this girl is a singer for a group now that does funk music, so it is pretty clear that she has some sort of training in this style because she rocked the crowd.

Smarty and HZMLS- Just a Friend- Biz Markie- We have a pretty deep repetoire of hip-hop songs that we can do (Ain't Nuthin But a G Thang, In Da Club, Mrs. Officer) but with the gray hair crowd we had at Valhalla we had to make sure it was a song that wouldn't offend. Even though both of us had downed a considerable amount of alcohol we fucking rocked. Usually when I drink and rap it comes out more like "Have you ever met a gfrl tahsa tyou tried to DATE MAKE LOVE WAIT, FUCK". But this time we were on top of it, and felt pretty good with our chances.

And the winner was?

SOME CHICK THAT SANG A SONG BY ALANIS MORISSETTE YEAHH!!!!!! AND IT WASN'T ONE OF HER TWO BIG SONGS EITHER (the angry lesbian song and Ironic), it was that slow song where she is standing there naked with her long hair covering her boobies and vajayjay. I am totally fine losing this one but missus got fucking screwed because judging was based on audience participation and the crowd decided that they were only going to applaud for their friends. Come on at least be polite, we saw you all going nuts when we sang and rapped, but to not to give us daps? Go fuck yourself Valhalla.

Friday, May 15, 2009

A Eulogy for the Boston Bruins


Dearest Friends and Family we gather here today to lay to rest the 2008-2009 Boston Bruins. Though I don't know the Bruins as well as many of you among us today, my pain and the feeling of loss is real as well. Many of you have reached out to many because you feel down and sad, and lordy I FEEEELS YOUR PAIN! I have been asked by my brethren to speak to the congregation today about the loss of our friend the Bruins, because other members of this here Mass Hysteria need proper time to grieve, because loss is a difficult process. OH LOOOORDY IT IS! And as a congregation we don't want Raquel to do anything drastic like swallow an entire bottle of sleeping pills which is exactly what happened to our baseball editor BillLee'sCornFlakes back in 2003. He was such a gentle soul, but now he is in the most serene heaven with Tony C, Ted Williams' head and God.

But back to the lecture at hand, our Boston Bruins fought hard and valiantly against the Hurricanes, but in the end it was God's will that the chosen army lose to Satan's minion, and their general Scott Walker. We allllll watched as our savior Tim Thomas was crucified by a rebounder in overtime, but lissy here folks we will be back! (AMEN!) These losses are not easy, oh Lord they are not, but we will learn, and we will rise again!!! But now they are at peace, no more chasing Eric Staal, or deflecting vicious slapshots from Anton Babchuk, we are in an eternal slumber. But no worries my brothers and sisters, we will be ready to riiiiise up again in four months to crush the villainous Habs and the vile Penguins! HALLELUJAH PRAISE JEEESUS!!!! Through our despair we will become stronger, Aaron Ward will grow STROOOONGER, and Chara will grow bigger, because God loves us.

Though the times they are down, and oh they are down, have faith my brothers and sisters and remember the good book. Was Jonah down when he was trapped inside that gigantic whale?(NO!) Was Noah down when he was told to build an ark? (NO!) Therefore Bruins Nation, we will pick ourselves up off the ground, wipe ourselves off, and be triumphant next year. Have you already lost your faith in the Divine Trinity? Marc Savard, Phil Kessel and David Krecji will all be here next year to lead us to that promise land we have dreamed about for years. PRAISE JESUS! So please bow your heads, and recite the following hymn from the book of Claude Julien:

Though we lost 3-2 last night
In the Bruins there was no loss of fight
Our Axelson jersey covered in tears
And after sixteen Sam Adam beers
We are blue and inconsolable
But please remember
That come next December
The B's will be on top again
With lessons learned from this year past

Go forth my children, ready to love and serve Peter Chiarelli .
Praise be to Tim Thomas.


Breakfast with the Hysterics


On Tuesday as I was typing up my Boston Sports Tonight post, I thought back to Sunday night. Sox win. Bruins win. Celtics win. So as I'm making ridiculous predictions I said to myself "It can't happen again, can it?" It can. It did. The trifecta. Life was good. So after another clean sweep I just kept telling myself "Enjoy this while it lasts, Smarty."

We were experiencing an extreme rarity in Boston sports. The Bruins taking aim at the conference finals. The Celtics doing the same. The Red Sox are playing some damn good baseball. But you knew it wasn't going to last forever. Despite what we wanted and despite what the Boston Globe jinxes tells you, we're not going to win everything. So as I settled in late yesterday afternoon to catch the end of the Sox game before the Celtics and Bruins got underway, I had this in the back of my mind. Just enjoy it.

And then the Red Sox lost in a heart-wrenching 12-inning walk-off nightmare. Then the Celtics, who had led the entire game, blew it and handed Game 6 to the Magic. And finally, the biggest blow of all. The Bruins lose Game 7 on home ice in overtime. Curtain.

How can three amazingly exciting games suck so hard? An extra-innings game, an epic basketball struggle between two very evenly matched teams, and a Game 7 overtime? How can you not enjoy that? But somehow, I didn't. We didn't. Maybe we should. While it lasts.

Go Red Sox. Go Celtics. Go Bruins.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Your Boston Sports Open Thread


A quick little post
But no Boston Sports Tonight.
It's too late. No time.

Bad start to tonight:
Sox lose in extra innings.
So who can I blame?

Big Popup. Failure.
0-for-seven: kill yourself.
A heartbreaking loss.

Now onto more sports.
Celtics/Magic. Bruins/Canes.
Open thread: Comment.

Carolina Hur'Canes, We Gon' Cause Hard Timetthh


Dis be the 'merican Dream, Dutthy Rhodethhh, EEF YOU WEEL. Now da people at the Matthhhh Hythhteria done athhked me to talk about tonight's Bruintth vers Carolina Game 7 hockey game, and after GHABB,Y offered me a jellydonut, I couldn't refuthe tha offa. Thoo CarolinaHuricaneth, dese wordse be for youz:

Hur'Canes, you tried to cause Hard Timeth on dem Bruins. You attacked them when dey weren't lookin, you done tried to run around 'em with your hockey skathethhh, and you named yo team after a terrible natural dithathter. But Hur'Canes, you don't know what hard timeth ith. Hard Timeth is when tha auto worker getth laid off and can't suppot his fam'lee no mo. Hard Timeth is when you worked 30 years at a desk, and all dey give you is a watch and a kick in the panth, and tell you your job been replathed by a computer. And Hard Times is what dem Bruins are gonna cause on you Hur'Canes. AmericanDream Dutthty Rhodeth gon' make sure of dat daddyo.

Now you may say "Dutthty, what you know 'bout da hockey?" I amit, my belly may be big, my hiney may be big, and Dutthty don't shuk and jive the way he usethh to. But lemme tell you babeeth, Dutthty knows eef you weel. I'm da sonofa plumba, a man of da peoples. I made polka dots more hip than marywanna. I've wined and dines with kings and queens, and slept in alleys eatin' pok and beans. Dutthty knew he was gon' beat Ric Flair at Starrcade, Dutthty knew that Magnum T.A. had the right stuff, and Dutthty knew that Sapphire was the lady with allll the moveth baby.

Now the 'merican Dream has been axed to give a predickshin on tonihgthhh game, and that's just what ol' Dutthty will give. Dutthty done blessed dem Bruins with the power of the bionic eboww, the shuckin and jivin' moves of the Dream, and done tole' dem Bruins to put razorblades in their wrist tape, just like the Dream used to do. With the power of the 'merican Dream, dem Bruins will cause FIRS' BLOOD, FIRS' BLOOD, FIRS' BLOOD on dem Hur'Canes. And dey gon' win beeg, just like ol' Duttthty won 'gainst Harley Race for the NWA Champnship back in sebenny nine.

Hur'Canes, you babies better watch out. Dem Bruins gon' drop dem bionic elbows on you, and move dere way on to the Thhhtanley Cup babeeth. Den, when dere done, dem Bruins promised me one thing: to take out my fag kid onthh and for all. Dat boy itth an embaratthment to the Rhodethh famlee, and we gotth to thtop him onth and fo-awl.

Get Well Soon BC Beast

Word out of Chestnut Hill:

"This past week, I got some news nobody wants to hear. After undergoing some tests to determine the cause of some pain I had been experiencing in my leg, I learned that I have Ewing's Sarcoma.

"Obviously, I was shocked. I had been extremely focused on preparing for my senior season at Boston College and for life beyond that. Now, I must channel all that energy into facing my toughest opponent yet, and that is exactly what I will do.

"I have returned to Pennsylvania to be near my family and to undergo a series of tests that will help my doctors determine the best course of treatment. I will keep you informed about my progress, but for now, I would like to ask for privacy as my family and I make some tough decisions.

"At this point, I do not know what this means for my football future, but I am determined to rid my body of this disease so that I can put that uniform back on. Thank you in advance for your prayers and concern. Together, we will fight this and win"

From all of us at Mass Hysteria, get well soon Herzy.

/sobs hysterically

Checking In on Boston Dirt Dogs

In what will become a regular event here at Mass Hysteria we look at what's going on at Boston Dirt Dogs

May 14, 2009 09:49 AM


Looks like it's going to be Toronto in 2009
Playing for the Wild Card Already?
Youkilis on 15 Day DL, SEASON DOOMED

Maybe it's time old man Tim Bakedfield hangs up the cleats
Angels 8 Pawtucket Red Sox 4
Huge hit by Bay in the first but where was he the rest of the game?
Jonathan Van Every should be starting over JD BOOOO
Hunter Jones is no Todd Jones
Terry FranComa what the hell was that?
5 hits? So much for that vaunted Red Sox lineup.
Nick Green is much whiter better than Julio Lugo
Yet another (Hispanic Player) Stinks, (Different Hispanic Player) Also Stinks(White Player) Gets Free Pass
Matt Palmer looked more like Jim Palmer last night.

""A couple counts that I was ahead in, I gave up base hits," said Wakefield, who allowed seven runs in 4 2/3 innings. "That shouldn't happen. The offense scored four runs early, gave me a comfortable lead, and I couldn't hold it. It was one of those days, just try to grind it out and it didn't work."." -- 4.13.09, Tim "Bullpen Bound" Wakefield

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

A Shameless Plug from HZMLS

Please give me a second to pimp out one of my friend's blogs. Ashley is a friend of mine, who does a terrific job blogging about her life as a 25 year old Boston girl. Now most of what she talks about probably won't gel with the entire mission of this fair blog (usually involving boys, and nights out on the town), but last night she had a great post up about the Celtics, and frankly it was a good read. She is always looking for readers, so please go check out her post, let her know your thoughts.

Also while your at it, join the Twitter and Facebook groups.

Random Afternoon Waste of Time:

Maxim released it's top 100 Pieces of Meat List, what are your thoughts?

1. Olivia Wilde
2. Megan Fox
3. Bar Refaeli
4. Malin Akerman
5. Mila Kunis
6. Eliza Dushku
7. Adriana Lima
8. Rihanna
9. Jordana Brewster
10. Jennifer Love Hewitt


It's our site's one year anniversary!!!!

Well technically it was on May 1st, but would you expect anything less than a post two weeks later? It's amazing that we have last this long, through the opening jitters, the loss of a ShitShow, the addition of Smarty Barrett, the fall to the Devil Rays, the loss of Brady, the Celtics Championship, the resurgence of the Bruins franchise, and a whole shit load of BC news that no one cared about.
Thank you to all our readers who have been there since the beginning (Pepster, SCOC, Rocco, Boatdrinks, Shawn, and anyone else out there who reads silently) and all of our new friends that have jumped aboard next. We are truly honored that you choose to waste time at work reading our inane ramblings. Cheers to a second year that will have more Diabetus Kittah, Wrestling Stories, unhealthy crushes on Bruins players, Worthington P Foxtrotty and Towelie!

Breakfast With the Hysterics


Dear readers, I have failed you.

After possibly my busiest day of work ever combined with a boxing workout that forced me to pull the trigger just before I was about to do my 200th pushup of the evening, I sat down to watch my beloved Celtics compete in what may possibly have been their biggest game of the season. Game 5, at home, series tied 2-2, coming off a game-winner...this shit was HYOOOGE GUY. And I proceeded to sit through a wildly uninspired first half, watching the C's brick shot after shot. And then the unspeakable happened.

I fell asleep.

Now I could blame it on my super-comfy 1950s-style recliner (seriously, the thing screams "Woman, make me a Rob Roy or I'll punch you right in the kisser"), or my insanely busy day, or the chicken parm and potatoes that I had for dinner. But being a man of principle, I shall make no excuses, and simply say that I failed both as a man and as a Celtics fan last night. I am ashamed, embarrased and seeking a new therapist.

What I missed, of course, was an epic comeback by our beloved Green, sparked by Stephon Fucking Marbury's Head Tattoo of all people. Thankfully, I have the game DVR'd and plan to watch it tonight (the new Ultimate Fighter can wait), but it won't be the same. I am a failure. I hope you find it in your hearts to forgive me.

In other Boston sports news...

- The Bruins evened their series with Carolina with an inspired 4-2 win in Carolina, meaning that we'll have a Game 7 at the Garden on Thursday. From the biggest hockey hater on this site, I'll say this: these Bruins are awesome to watch. They hit, they fight, they score and they generally impose their will on the opposition when they need to. Aaron Ward recovered from a broken face to play 20 minutes, because he's the fucking MAN. Mark Recchi took his super-Geritol and scored a goal and an assist. To quote my favorite wrestling chant, Carolina, on Thursday night, you're gonna get your fucking head kicked in (clap ten times)!

-Completing the Trifecta of Awesomeness (not to be confused with the Trifecta of Shame, which my friend Chris originated in college when he pissed, shit and vomited in his bed at the same time), the Sox came back from a 3-1 deficit to beat the Angels 4-3 last night in Anaheim. If you stayed up to watch that game after the C's and Bruins wins, well, then my hat's off to you as you suck down your third Red Bull of the morning.

-To everyone's surprised, Roger Clemens continued to be a lying douche, reiterating his "I didn't take steroids, I swear!" defense on the already-insufferable Mike and Mike radio show. Roger, I have a suggestion for the next substance you pump into your body: a nice, tall glass of Shut the Fuck Up. Just admit it, go home to your wife's Adam's Apple and never bother anyone ever again. Please.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Boston Sports Tonight!


Celtics vs. Magic, NBA Playoffs Game 5, 8:00 PM, TNT: The C's are coming off a huge buzzer-beating win in Orlando to even things at 2 games apiece, and now they're at home and looking to take control of the series. Word is Scal is out tonight (OMGZ NOOOO!!!!), so Boston is going to be missing out on tons of turnovers, stupid fouls, poor defensive sequences, and general whiteness. But not to worry! Kendrick Perkins practiced in full with his sore shoulder and is expected to start.

Frivolous prediction of the night: Late in the 4th quarter with the Celtics down by 2, Perkins fouls out and the Garden grows silent in despair. A Pierce jumper falls short and Tony Battie rips down a rebound under the basket over the hapless Mikki Moore. Battie's eyes then shift, he pauses, then tears off his Magic jersey to reveal a Celtics jersey and unleashes a thunderous two-hand slam as the crowd goes wild. Then he puts Mikki Moore through a know, just because.

Serious prediction of the night: Ray Allen goes apeshit and drops 30+. Celtics by 8.

Bruins at Hurricanes, NHL Playoffs Game 6, 7:00 PM, NESN: Aaron Ward is going to play tonight and he's in the starting lineup. Unfortunately, so is Scott Walker. Ward spoke to the media today, and needless to say, he was a little pissed about the discipline (or lack thereof) that Walker received:

"It's a joke. It's honestly a joke. ... I don't remember a single word being said. I was looking at Matt Cullen. The moment I saw his right hand was when it was about a foot away from my face."

Bottom line is Ward is playing and that's all that matters. The B's are facing their second straight elimination game and they're hoping to be facing their third one on Thursday. They're going to have to win one in Carolina first - something they haven't done all series.

Frivolous prediction of the night: Midway through the second period Chara and Walker get tangled up, and 30 seconds later Walker leaves the ice...IN A CASKET.

Serious prediction of the night: I'm a touch nervous about this game tonight. Srsly. Can the B's match the speed and intensity they brought in Game 5? Will Cam Ward have another "game-of-his-life" moment? 2-1 Carolina. Rub it in my face when I'm wrong.

Red Sox at Angels, 10:00 PM, NESN+/NESN: Fresh off taking 2-3 from the Rays at home, the Sox look to keep it rolling after an off-day on Monday. They're going to have to keep doing it without key players, as Pedroia will join the injured Youkilis on the bench tonight. The means Nick Green AND Julio Lugo in the same lineup. Justin Masterson gets the ball for the Sox, matched up against the totally gnarly Jerred Weaver. Tubular!

Frivolous prediction of the night: Masterson goes 6 strong and the Sox have a comfy 4-run lead when they call on Daniel Bard. He hits 102 on the gun 4 times, with Varitek having to change his glove on the 3rd one. Because Bard burned a fucking hole in it.

Serious prediction of the night: Masterson goes 6 strong and the Sox have a comfy 4-run lead when they call on Daniel Bard. He hits 102 on the gun 4 times, with Varitek having to change his glove on the 3rd one. Because Bard burned a fucking hole in it.

Consider this an open thread for tonight's games, Hysterics. ENJOY!

Dear Sir, Eat a Bag of Dicks: Norman Chad


First off, poker sucks. It sucks a big, fat hairy dick, and watching a bunch of fat virgins play poker on television is WAY worse than waterboarding. The "poker boom" (slightly more catastrophic than the Chernobyl Disaster) has been the single worst development of this decade, slightly ahead of the reformation of Limp Bizkit. And the fact that your primary source of income stems from broadcasting fucking poker tournaments makes you a veritable scourge to mankind. You are worse than a crack dealer, because at least dealing crack isn't broadcast 15 hours per day on ESPN. When I come home from the bars drunk, I want to watch Magnus Ver Magnusson lift cars above his head or kung fu masters chop through bricks, but NO, instead I hear your smug, self-satisfied voice talking about "flopping the nut straight" without even the slightest hint of irony. Norman Chad, I hope some herpes-ridden poker douche flops his nuts straight into your vocal cords before shoving a bag of dicks down your throat, to ensure that you don't ever again pollute the airwaves with your mind-numbing analysis of douchebags playing cards. Fuck you buddy.

Proof that money won't get you laid.

But my latest reason for hating your existence has to do with your latest column on, trashing my beloved Celtics for no apparent reason. Now I wouldn't have read this column otherwise, mostly because I have no desire to catch Down's Syndrome via the osmosis of your writing. But, sadly, this piece of shit excuse for words came across my interwebz desk, and I was forced to attempt to read this horrific schlock. Seriously, you somehow found a way to make Peter King become the second-worst writer at his own website. Fucking amazing. Let's glean some of the highlights of your Hemingway-esque prose, shall we?

"If you're unfortunate enough to be as old as Couch Slouch is -- which means growing up in the 1960s, stumbling through college in the '70s, getting married and divorced in the '80s and getting married and divorced again in the '90s -- then you qualify as a First Generation Celtics Hater."

Okay, so you're not only an educational failure, but no woman can love you? Shocking. And so, rather than dealing with your Mommy issues, the fact that you voluntarily refer to yourself as a "Couch Slouch" (meaning that you probably beat your kids) and your inability to navigate your way through South East Middle Central Community college, you instead choose to project your anger at...a basketball team? When you're munching on a complimentary couch full of dicks, you may want to call a therapist.

"I don't like Kendrick Perkins; I don't know why."

I know why - it's because you hate black people.
But you love bags of dicks. And poker.

"Eddie House wears his socks too high, for my tastes. I also wouldn't mind if, just one time after hitting a three-pointer, he didn't go frolicking back down court like he just won the lottery."

Wow, more blatant racism. Sorry Grampa, next time we'll try to get off your lawn, so that you don't lynch us.

"Big Baby Davis is, well, a big baby."

You must not have an editor, do you? Because nobody in their right mind would think "oh, that's a fantastic and witty sentence, I'll be sure to post it on our national website." You are a massive fucking hack and a tool of the Craftsman variety, and it's a shock that your local townspeople don't stone you to death for bringing down their property values.

Brian Scalabrine -- didn't he used to be on "Saved By The Bell"?

LOLZ U MADE A FUNNEY. Kill yourself. Seriously. Just fucking end it all, for our sake.

In conclusion Norman, I fucking hope you die. Instead of using that mouth to tell us that Fat Virgin A is playing poker with Fat Virgin B, how 'bout you go "All In" on a bag of dicks? It's a bet that simply cannot lose, especially for those of us that have had to ever endure your inane bullshit.

Pats of the Past: Zeke Mowatt

For many of us, we have grown up Patriots fans well before they were the super power that they are now. But for others, the love of the Pats started later, and names like Hart Lee Dykes, Andre Tippett, and Steve Grogan sound foreign to them. We here at Mass Hysteria are not here to hate on our bandwagon brothers, but instead are here to educate you, and let you know more about the players before Brady, Bledsoe and Bruschi. We hope you find the following post as educational as you do entertaining. I apologize for the lack of Mowatt in Patriots pictures, Robert Kraft has burned any remaining images of Zeke.

Pats from the Past: Zeke Mowatt

There is no better way to discuss past players than with a guy named Zeke. His real name of course is Ezekiel, which is Swahili for "endowed with giant snake", Mowatt came to the Patriots after playing with the Giants and the Big Tuna for five years. Let me rewind this a bit so some of our readers aren't confused. Mowatt is a Tight End, kind of like Ben Watson, except he didn't fracture his knee everytime he was tackled. Mowatt played at Florida State University under Bobby Bowden, meaning he is functionally illiterate and spent his entire college career banging white chicks, and having tutors write all his papers for him. Mowatt was undrafted coming out of college, but had his rights held by the Tampa Bay Bandits, which showing he had some brain like substance in his head he declined to sign with.

After winning a Super Bowl on the coked-up shoulders of Lawrence Taylor (pre-Dancing With the Stars), Zeke came over to the Pats where his career really picked up. All humans are born with this little piece of brain that controls our impulses, and prevents us from going postal, or running up to Meghan Fox in the street and humping her head. In most cases, this is called a conscious, well it was at the time the Patriots acquirred Mowatt that his magically disappeared. At the time Lisa Olson was a reporter for the Boston Herald, and was doing an innocent interview with Bruce Armstrong (offensive lineman, if you don't know who he is I don't want to talk to you). Let's let the offical NFL report do the talking:

"The report said that Mowatt told Bruce Armstrong, a Patriot offensive lineman: "Look at her. She's just watching. I'm going to tell her about herself." It added that Mowatt, naked, walked in front of Olson and onto a scale and "purposely displayed himself to her in a suggestive way,"

A recreation of Olson's expression
So how did Daddy Long Dick and the Patriots respond to the allegations? By calling Olson not a reporter at all, and the only thing she did was "look" at the athletes. Of course then NFL Commish Paul Taglibue found Mowatt to be a terrible liar and fined Mowatt, Michael Timpson and Robert Perryman. In the end only only Zeke paid. Zeke finished his career with the Patriots racking in 6 receptions for 72 yards, and one shocked/astonished/impressed Boston Herald Reporter. It is unclear if Zeke ever called her back for a date, or at least an hour in the Carriage Motel in Danvers. Mowatt went back the Giants the following year, and as far as we know kept his trouser snake to himself, finally retiring at the end of the season.

After his career, Mowatt passed on the opportunity to become the next Lexington Steele or Blackzilla, and instead started his own janitorial service in New Jersey. The company has the following motto:

"Mowatt Inc. offers cleaning services throughout the Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Maryland, District of Columbia and Delaware. This includes office and building cleaning, floor polishing, and other general and detailing services. We’re a one-stop shop that offers all kinds of cleaning and janitorial services to offices and large industrial locations. Our staff is cordial, friendly, and knows how to keep their mouth shut when I inexplicably flash my wang"

Monday, May 11, 2009

Celtics-Magic Game 4: Big Baby Gon' Get Paid


Congratulations Glen Davis, with your game-winning shot last night, you cemented the near certainty of some team paying handsomely for your 290-pound, 6-7 jump-shooting self. And don't get me wrong - you fully deserve it. You've stepped up better than anyone expected in place of KG, you've turned into a legitimately feared scorer when your team needs it most, and you're probably going to be marketable as hell for whoever (Memphis/Sacto/Cleveland/Portland) shells out a shit-ton of money for you this summer. We as Celtics fans greatly appreciate what you've given us the last two years, we'll miss you, and that shot last night was fucking money. And plowing over the Nick Hogan wannabe in the first row after draining the game-winner was similarly awesome.

That said, I wholeheartly disagree with Shaughnessy's assessment (though really, it's my fault for reading him) that the C's "reminded all that they are the defending NBA Champions" last night. Really CHB? Not making a field goal for 5+ minutes in the fourth quarter, getting a combined 2 points off the bench and getting an 0-5 night behind the arc from your best shooter is the "stuff of Champions?" Notsomuch. While Davis' shot was some fantastic drama in what was an epically back-and-forth game (with 16 ties and 17 lead changes), these Celtics still have plenty to work on if they want to move on to Cleveland. Ray Allen is shooting 2-24 from three in this series. Pierce, while he's seemed to turn the corner offensively in Orlando, still is getting into foul trouble every game. Nobody has stepped up defensively down low. Rondo's still looking inconsistent as hell.

If we learned anything from the Celtics-Bulls series, it's to expect the unexpected from this Celtics team in the playoffs. So to write off this series as "done" after Big Baby's shot last night is just irresponsible and downright dumb. The Magic can shoot, are confident and possess a significant advantage underneath. These things don't expect to change over the duration of this series.

But no matter whether the Celtics win or lose, we can always point to the Spring of '09 as the time when the Celtics, without their unquestioned leader, gave us a plethora of entertaining and competitive playoff games that kept us on the edge of our seats. I expect the next two or three games of this series to be no different.

A few other observations...

- Game 3 was disgusting. I refuse to talk about it, for fear of violating my parole.

- Eddie House was averaging 17ppg in this series heading into last night's game. He's been absolutely lethal, and the Magic have shown no ability to stop him. Allen's been downright putrid from behind the arc, and nobody else on the roster has shown the ability to consistently shoot from downtown. So in response to that...Doc plays him 17 minutes and gives him a grand total of ONE shot? WTF?

-Hedo Turkoglu is not only painfully ugly, but clearly hurt. He's been hesitant as hell to shoot threes, and he's not rebounding. The C's need to attack him more and exploit that ankle injury.

-I have developed a love affair with Courtney Lee over the last two games. The dude gets his sinus fractured (holyshitOW) and still comes back early and plays balls-to-the-wall. He's only going to get better, and the guy is absolutley fearless despite being a rookie. He wins my Joakim Noah Award for "Player on the other team that I'd want going to war for me."

-Separated at birth: Anthony Johnson and Beetlejuice from the Howard Stern show. Glad that Johnson has earned 14 years of paychecks in the NBA, because he ain't picking up chicks on his looks.