Friday, July 31, 2009

Trading Deadline Special: Sox Get a Bat, Maintain Plethora of White First Basemen


He kind of looks like a hispanic Doug Mirabelli, no? Except, you know ...good. Yes, I'm sure you know by now: the Red Sox have acquired Victor Martinez from the Indians for Justin Masturbate (at least that's what I heard Dennis Eckersley call him...) and 2 minor leaguers. Unfortunately, one of them was stud pitching prospect Nick Hagadone, who was ranked as the #3 prospect in the Sox system by Baseball America. But hey, you gotta give some to get some. And look, a power hitter! Wooo!

As I'm sure you know, Martinez is a switch-hitting C/1B/DH with solid power. Would Adrian Gonzalez have been preferred? You bet. But the Padres were asking for Clay Buchholz, Daniel Bard, Lars Anderson, Casey Kelly, Tom Brady, Raquel's tits, 3 Celtics Championship banners, and $800 billion cash (small bills only). So Martinez allows the Sox to get one of the top available power bats WITHOUT giving up Bard or Buchholz. Now it's time for Tito to figure out where he's going to play.

Then, in another smaller deal, the Sox shipped the newly acquired Adam LaRoche to the Braves for Casey Kotchman. The white first baseman ratio remains unchanged! I figured this move was to flip someone for a pitcher. But no. So now we know who the Sox going to battle with for the rest of the season. Better power, still very white, and still question marks surrounding the pitching staff in my opinion. But hey, if this revamped offense can give the starters some more run support (like more than TWO FUCKING RUNS PER GAME, for example), they could start stringing together some wins. Let's hope so.

So the trading deadline has come and gone. Let's see what's going on in the non-Red Sox world:

* The Yankees acquired Jerry Hairston, Jr. for some minor league catcher I've never heard of.

* Jake Peavy to the White Sox...and he accepted this time!

* The Tigers landed Jarrod Washburn.

* Orlando Cabrera continues his quest to play for every Major League team: he is now a Minnesota Twin.

And finally, I leave you with this to enjoy over the weekend: an amazing hate comment on GHABB,Y~!'s NBA Summer League post. Apparently we're all completely ridiculous.

Well, duh.

This Would Totally Fix Boston's Image


“You know, Michael is an outstanding player,’’ said Belichick. “He hasn’t played in a couple years, but right now our focus is on our team and our players, trying to get the New England Patriots ready. That’s really where my attention has been, but he’s a tremendous athlete.’’

Oh great, after Spygate, Harrison, Belichick, Manny and Ortiz all Boston needs is this. Please for the love of crap say the Patriots are not thinking of signing Ookie aka Ron Mexico aka Snoopy's worst nightmare, aka Lock Up Your Dogs. I am all about giving a guy a second chance, but the way the Patriots have been a run the past few years keeping out sociopaths might be a good idea.Jesus Christ, signing Michael Vick would put Boston in upper stratosphere of sports douchiness, in our athletes alone. Hey while we are at it Plexico Burress is still unsigned, and we could always save Pacman Jones from the career suicide of the UFL, and while we are at Stephon Marbury's crazy ass is still looking for a deal (but then again his internet career is skyrocketing!).

Then again this is the trade deadline in baseball. And hopefully we will keep you posted if anything happens

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Yeah, We Probably Saw This One Coming


In a revelation that should only surprise people who have been in a coma for the past five years, the New York Times reports that David Ortiz, our beloved Big Papi, tested positive for the juice in 2003. Anyone who has seen his career stats realized that something fishy was probably in his system from 2003-2007, and it most certainly wasn't his mango salsa. A few questions remain however after this "revelation:"

- Can he somehow blame this on David Arias, his alter-ego?

-Was Paxton Crawford his hookup?

-Will this still affect his chances of banging fat white girls at bars on Landsdowne St?

-Does this return Nick Esasky to his rightful throne as the best power-hitting Sox 1B ever?

-Did he take a special steroid that renders him unable to properly use a baseball glove?

-Is this proof that steroids not only make you stronger, but a fat tub of goo as well?

-Did Kent Hrbek ever inject him in Minnesota? What about Matt LeCroy?

-How many cigarettes did Jerry Remy smoke out his trachea tube after learning this news?

-What is Carlos Quintana's reaction to all of this?

-Will Papi now strangle his wife and child before hanging himself on a weight machine?

-Does Papi own a weight machine?

-Is Bill James currently crying in his mother's basement?

-When Ortiz points up at the sky after a home run, is he pointing for his mother or as a signal to the Sox ballgirl to shoot him in the ass again with some Deca-Durabolin?

-If I drink the David Ortiz wine, will it turn me into the Ultimate Warrior?

-Lastly and most importantly, can Papi PLEASE GET BACK ON THE GODDAMNED JUICE and stop hitting .220 for fucksake?

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Congratulations James Edward Rice


It's the Sunday that Jim Rice has been waiting years for. He is finally getting inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. And although I've heard from a reliable source that Jim likes to "drink martinis and watch soap operas" at a certain country club, Rice was one of the most feared hitters in Red Sox history. As a young boy I can remember an outfield tandem of Rice and Evans, who at the time were my favorite players on the team, and that was during Rice's DOWN years. Unfortunately I missed the years when he could do everything, I was just looking at his stats, its hard to believe that he led the league in TRIPLES. Anyways congrats Jimmy, and hopefully you can enjoy a nice stiff martini in Cooperstown tonight.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Drunk Liveblog: 1988 WWF Superstars


Due to the overwhelming reaction of last week's pilled-out WWF Superstars (and by "overwhelming reaction" I mean Shaun saying "awesome" and a bunch of dudes on my wrestling message board saying "that was pretty funny, now fuck off Troll") I bring back to you another inebriated review of an old WWF Superstars episode, this one dated Octoter 22, 1988. Tonight's co-stars include the four Strongbows already digested and another four-pack beside me, a wonderful cornucopia of painkillers and muscle relaxers, and a Chicken Kabob salad from Giovanni's. Mmmm Giovanni's dressing. It truly is God's seminal fluid.

00:27: We're live from the Allen County War Memorial Coliseum in Fort Wayne Indiana, with your hosts Vince McMahon and Jesse Ventura (wearing a Jesse Ventura t-shirt - self advertising is a wonderful thing). Shocked that the War Memorial Coliseum in Fort Wayne wasn't otherwise booked. Tonight Brother Love will have Hulk Hogan, Jake Roberts (we can't get away from him, can we?), King Haku, the (wanna be Road Warriors) Powers of Pain, and not-so-black Akeem.

2:16: King Haku, accompanied by Bobby the Brain, is ready to face David Isley, one of the less-successful Isley Brothers. Heenan asks us to show respect to king Haku, but given that most of the people in Indiana couldn't pronounce "Haku" if spotted the "aku," no respect was given. Still, I miss the "King" gimmicks. It also should be noted that Haku was widely recognized as the toughest wrestler ever, which parlayed him into his current job as a...used car salesman. BUY A CAR FROM ME OR I WILL END YOU. No credit? HUGE FUCKING PROBLEM.

5:10: King Haku defeated the White Isley Brother with an offense consisting entirely of KICKING HIM IN THE FUCKING HEAD OFTEN. There's something about an angry Samoan man in a purple crown that makes me wistful. Wistful for another Strongbow that is! That's #5 on the night.

6:10: And now it's on to Brother Love. Never has a sunburn taken a man so far. Love reminds us that he "LOOOOOOVES YOUUUU." Love introduces Hulk Hogan as a man that has "no love." No love for non-injectable steroids and wives that aren't batshit crazy, not to mention wildly untalented daughters with Adam's Apples, sure.

8:27: Hogan flexes (his only real talent) and is referred to as "Brother Hulkster," something that no black man has ever called him. I should note that this is the period when Hogan temporarily ceded the title to Randy Savage, before raping Elizabeth in the puckering ruby starfruit and taking back the title. At least that's how I remember it.

9:30: Brother Love brings out his "protection" from Hogan, the Big Bossman. Sadly, the Bossman could not be protected from heart disease, as he died. Bossman's manager, Slick, could also not be protected from the perils of Soul Glow. Hulk notes that Slick could be "singing the Hulkamania prison blues." Yeah, kinda like Hulk's son 20 years later.

11:16: Bossman hits Hogan in the throat with his Billy Club, and Slick sprays him with Soul Glow. Hulk is then handcuffed to a guardrail that just magically appeared, and receives a further beating. For those of us that hated Hulk back in the day, this shit was glorious. It's currently glorious for Linda Bollea, as she collects alimony checks.

12:50: Hulk still mounts a comeback despite being handcuffed. Why? Because god forbid they make Hogan look vulnerable for a second, because such a thing would "make money." This made me drink Strongbow #6 in disgust.

13:10: And suddenly we cut to Tito Santana vs. Pork Chop Cash. Pork Chop looks like every homeless guy you've ever seen in Times Square selling knockoff Oakleys. I suspect Chico Santana will win, and then do something stereotypically Mexican.

15:03: Pork Chop has the most horrific looking scar on his back ever. It's like a back vagina. In fact, you could probably hide an actual pork chop inside of his scar. Tito beats him with the flying crossbody in roughly 4.2 seconds. At least Manny Fernandez had the gall to call his finisher the "Flying Burrito." Tito just called his "something you never saw at Wrestlemania."

16:18: Event Center with Sean Mooney. And we have an Ultimate Warrior promo! HOLY FUCKING SHIT! Let me transcribe this brilliance, because Warrior promos are even more hysterical when completely out of context (question marks pertaining to logic holes added by me):

Think what you may, think whatever you like, but this package didn't put his things in a bag (?) and walk out no front door (?).

I was sitting in a castle (?), from a place long from here, sent for one reason: To attack, and keep coming(?), not to ask, but not to give (?), not not to want, but just to sin (?).

Sin the power of the Warrior (?), down everybody's throat (?) in the WWF until they become
sick of it!(?). Well you're gonna get sick of it, because this freak of nature right here is just beginning to swell (?).

When I get big enough brother (?), there ain't gonna be room for anybody else, but me and all the Warriors, floatin' through the veins and the powahhh of the Warriahhh! * (?)
*snorts* (?).

WHAT THE FUCK? Seriously, WHAT THE FUCK? This guy was so batshit insane, and yet as a six year old, I hung on that fucker's every word. But holy shit, whatever that guy was on, I want ten of them.

20:30: Bobby Heenan introduces two new members of the Heenan Family, Tully Blanchard and Arn Anderson, the Brainbusters! These guys were AWESOME IN EVERY WAY. They should defeat two wimps with their hairy chests and the VD they shared with Ric Flair as members of the Horsemen.

21:50: Did Arn Anderson ever have a non-receding hairline? Jesse notes that Tully used to be a high school quarterback, and didn't happen to mention that both of them were FUCKING HORSEMEN and therefore part of the greatest assemblage of human being ever, including Jesus' disciples. Arn does the spinebuster, Tully does the slingshot suplex, and I do the Balki Dance of Joy in my room.

23:40: Update with Mean Gene, pimping the Survivor Series, which takes place on Thanksgiving Night. Jesus, if there were wrestling PPVs on Thanksgiving night nowadays, I'd never have to talk to my extended relatives. Instead, I have awkward moments with them while they remark "my how you've grown" when they're actually thinking "Jesus Christ, you've gotten even fatter." Also, I want Mean Gene Okerlund to oversee my wedding. In fact, HZMLS should tell his wife-to-be that they're making an abrupt change, and that Mean Gene will oversee the proceedings instead of some child molester. And Mean Gene's Burgers should be served at the reception. Make it happen HZMLS!

26:40: HEBREW HERO BARRY HOROWITZ. And he even patted himself on the back, because, well, that's what Jews apparently do. Sadly, he's slated to lose to Jake the Snake, who shakes his head violently pre-match, ostensibly to get the crack out of his brain.

27:12: Piss pause. I should note this: When sober, I can pee anywhere except the toilet. Seriously, I turn the area around the toilet into Lake GHABB,Y. My girlfriend is understandably disgusted, especially if she walks barefoot into a puddle of my urine. But after seven Strongbows? I'm a penile marksman, hitting my spots like Robin Hood with a crossbow. All the more reason to drink combatively kids.

29:20: Jake beat Horowitz with the DDT. Barry had a total of two offensive moves in the match: one punch and one elbow. I think that can be qualified as a hate crime, especially the part where Jake lays a Python all over Horowitz. You know who used to lay pythons named Damien all over Jews? The Nazis. You're a Nazi Jake Roberts. I hope you can sleep at night.

31:19: More Mean Gene, pimping the WWF Magazine. He shows a clip of Hacksaw Duggan arguing with Dino Bravo on last week's Brother Love show. Hacksaw says "Love It or Leave It" to the Canadian Bravo, inspiring a young Toby Keith. Hacksaw then gives an interview, which is missing roughly 40 chromosomes. Southerners wonder why us Northerners mock blatant Patriotism, but they honestly should point their finger at the moderately retarded Hacksaw Jim Duggan. He ruined it for us.

35:50: White Akeem dancing black! YES! Hakeem wears an African headpiece, gyrates repeatedly, and wears a dashiki with a map of Africa on the back..and oh yeah, he's a fat white guy. How did Jesse Jackson not get all over this shit? Slick notes that he turned down Sugar Ray Leonard to manage Akeem, which, after watching The Contender, may have been a wise move. Akeem does Fat Guy Moves, moonwalks horribly, and beats Some Guy.

36:10 Akeem dances to Jive Soul Bro, the greatest song ever. You disagree? Watch the video:
Jive Soul Bro. By Slick

37:15: A MR. PERFECT SKIT! This time, Mr. Perfect is golfing, and...just a guess...he's gonna golf PERFECTLY. He lines up a 40 foot putt...and it's in the hole! Then he flips the ball on his club, and makes me wildly jealous.

39:12: The Powers of Pain continue to rip off the Road Warriors by facing two wimpy guys and doing shitty strength moves. This is before they hooked up with Mr. Fuji and instead were managed by "The Baron," who dressed as the Grim Reaper. Seriously, anyone who saw the Roadies would realize what a horrific ripoff the Powers of Pain were. Fuck, they even stole their hairstyles and facepaint. Terrible. Because they couldn't wrestle for shit, this match lasted maybe a minute and a half. Warlord at least gets points for having a multi-colored reverse mohawk, which must've gone over great with the ladies.

42:55: More EVENT CENTER pimping for the Survivor Series. Andre the Giant is co-captaining a team with...Dino Bravo? Really? A fantastic Jake Roberts promo thankfully saved what otherwise would've been a horrible advertisement. Jake's team has Ken Patera, Hacksaw Duggan and Tito Santana, otherwise known as "guys who probably lost quickly." Call your local pay-per-view company for pay-per-view availability because, well, it was 1988, and only like three cable systems in the US actually had pay-per-view capability.

44;50: Next week we'll have angry black man Bad News Brown, the Honky Tonk Man, and an update on the status of Hulk Hulk Hogan. Spoiler Alert: Hulk survived.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Trade Deadline Ideas of Sheer Madness


Now that GHABBY is done making rational sense about Major League Baseball's trade deadline, I am here to throw a gigantic monkeywrench into our sites repertoire. Here is word from the mouth of HZMLS: Trade ANYONE on our team to get Roy Halladay. Seriously ANYONE. Want Jacoby Ellsbury? Take him. Clay Buccholz? He's all yours. Jon Lester? Ok, maybe there is a player I wouldn't trade, but seriously, I have a major man crush on Roy Halladay, only in a sports talent and "MY GOD YOU ARE FUCKING AWESOME" sort of way. Can you imagine, 8 innings of pure pitching awesomeness every five days. Do I think the Sox have more pressing needs, such as a player who can hit the baseball? Sure. But as you go to bed, think of this:

Game 1: Josh Beckett
Game 2: Roy Halladay
Game 3: Jon Lester

/needs a tissue.

Trade Deadline Ideas of Sheer Genius


For those of you that haven't taken the Brad Delp route of killing yourself with a pellet stove, many of you may realize that the Red Sox, who had occupied first place for the vast majority of the season, are now two fucking games behind the dreaded Yankees. Sadly, this hasn't been a case of "the Sox have been playing great, but the Yankees are just on a roll." Nay, rather the Sox have shit the bed against such star pitchers as Marc Rzepczynski, Dustin Nippert and Tommy Hunter, the latter I'm almost positive were villains in episodes of Walker: Texas Ranger.

Luckily, Great Yahweh Theo made two brilliant moves yesterday, addressing the team's weakness of having far too many lily-white players who spent 15 minutes per at bat fouling off pitches before taking a called third strike with two runners in scoring position. Yes, our White Knights have arrived in Adam LaRoche (hitting .250 this year against NL pitching) and Chris Duncan (who was demoted to AAA by the Cardinals prior to getting traded). Except, you know, the exact opposite. Fuck a tortoise.

No, these Red Sox clearly need to make a MUCH bigger splash before the impending trade deadline awaits, especially given their loaded farm system and a mediocre sixth starter (Penny) who sucker teams are apparently clamoring for. The AL this year looks easier to take than Christy Canyon's um...Canyon, especially for a team so rich in pitching as the Sox. All that the Sox need to do is find some guys who can hit the fucking baseball once in a while, knock in the occasional runner, and generally not make guys like Mark Rshzhszjxhcski look like Sandy fucking Koufax. Thankfully, the Sox also have a few positions (shortstop, third base, catcher, DH) that are open for an upgrade. That said, here is my Amazon Wish List of guys the Sox should trade the sun and moon for:

1) Victor Martinez - So he plays catcher and can move to first, hits for average and power, knocks in runs, his team can't afford him, and he's apparently a great clubhouse guy. WHY THE FUCK IS HE NOT ON THE RED SOX? Trade Buchholz, trade Lars "The Impaler" Anderson, trade Penny, trade whatever 16-year-old Dominican who's real age is closer to 39 - I don't give a fuck. Pull out any and all stops to obtain this man, lock him up to a long-term contract, and make Varitek the Tom Berenger-esque "grizzled backup catcher who never plays and fucks people's wives." This needs to happen NOW.

Oh, wait, wrong Victor Martinez. My bad.

2) Mark Teahen - Teahen's a good hitter currently stuck behind not-quite-living-up-to-his-potential prospect Alex Gordon, so the Sox could probably get him for a song. Teahen does everything well and nothing spectacular, and would allow Youk to move back to first. He may not be the sexiest pickup, but he makes a helluva lot more sense for the Sox than Chris fucking Duncan.

3) Magglio Ordonez - Yes, I know the Tigers are in first place, but they're also hemmhoraging money and are in a city where basically everyone has lost their job. Even in their current standing, they're looking to unload salary, and Ordonez, with another $8m or so due this season (with his contract up at the end of the year), would bring a Manny-esque pop back to a Sox lineup that needs it. And while I know people will point to his poor start, Ordonez-watchers know that he's a MUCH better second-half hitter, and has a 1.031 OPS since the All-Star break. Moreover, the Tigers would probably be more willing to take cash and a lower-level prospect rather than one of the Sox' big guns. I don't know if the Tigers would be willing to deal him, but it makes financial sense and he's at least worth kicking the tires on.

4) Orlando Cabrera - The A's are clearly done this year, and have the most desirable (and available) shortstop of all the shitty teams in the league. Seriously, I checked, and the other SS options on out-of-it teams are horrid or not nearly worth the price (yes Jhonny Peralta, that means you and by the way, SPELL YOUR NAME RIGHT ASSHOLE). Cabrera can at least get on base, hit a little bit, and has fantastic range for the position. Otherwise, he's everything that Julio Lugo was not. Not to mention the array of fantastic handshakes. While Billy Beane (not the gay one) will be asking for the moon on Matt Holliday, I think his price on someone like Cabrera may be a bit more reasonable. Oh, and it also doesn't hurt that the Sox are in DESPERATE need of SS. Do you trust Nick Green and a rehabbed Jed Lowrie for the rest of the season? Yeah, didn't think so.

5) Hank Blalock - Granted, he doesn't get on base a ton, but the dude can smack the ball out of the park, something the Sox are in need of this year. With Michael Young at third and Andruw Jones looking somewhat not-dead this year, Blalock is a man without a position in Texas, which, coincidentally, is in serious need of some arms. This would also allow Texas to bring up uberprospect Justin Smoak, which they've been dying to do. Would you do a Penny for Blalock (and maybe a lower-level prospect) trade? I sure would. His contract is also up at the end of the year, which could mean an additional draft pick for the Sox when he leaves.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Get To Know Adam LaRoche


Wanna know what it would look like if JD Drew and Mark Kotsay had an illegitimate love baby? Well look no further! The Red Sox have acquired Adam LaRoche from the Pittsburgh Pirates in exchange for two minor league scrubs you've never heard of. Sure, it's not the trade you've been looking for, but it is the first big trade of the season for the Sox, so let's get a little excited.

Now it's very possible that you don't know much about LaRoche, being that he plays in the the Land of the Lost Boys that is PNC Park. It's like the Jason Bay saga all over again. But fear not, Hysterics, I'll let you know as much as I know/can look up on Wikipedia.

* He's a left-handed hitting first baseman with power. Think of the left-handed Mike Lowell, but statistically better over the past 3 years, and with more pop. His defense is below average, but putting Youk at 3rd and LaRoche at first is probably a better defensive setup than Lowell at 3rd and Youk at first.

* He statistically has way better second halves of seasons as opposed to first halves.

* He suffers from ADHD.

* He was the first pitcher in MLB history to have a home run taken away by the use of instant replay.

* He is not French. In fact, he's Mexican. Don't let the LaRoche fool you. His father's REAL last name is Garcia, and he changed it at age 7. "My grandfather was 100% Mexican."

* In a related story, GHABBY~! already hates him.

* He enjoys the occasional practical joke.

* HE IS TEH AWESOME!!!111!!!

Hey Guys, I'm Not Dead


Former UFC fighter Kimo Leopoldo is an interesting dude. He nearly beat Royce Gracie at UFC 3, he defeated Bam Bam Bigelow in Bigelow's only MMA fight, and he once carried a fucking CROSS to the ring. He also had a religious tattoo that would put Kanye's bling to shame, as shown here:

Note also the badassery of having YOUR OWN NAME TATTOOED IN YOUR HEAD. Suffice to say, the dude was a pretty awesome fighter. However, Kimo had his share of demons. He was busted for steroids after losing to Ken Shamrock at UFC 48. Subsequent trouble followed with separate arrests for assault and battery and domestic violence. Rumors of a meth problem followed him. And,in his most memorable tale, was arrested this February for carrying a shitload of pot while wearing a police uniform and playing with a yo-yo. Two of those things are illegal, and one is hysterical.

So it wasn't of much surprise to this here blogger when many news outlets, including TMZ, the NY Daily News and various MMA sites, reported Kimo dead at 41 yesterday of a reported heart attack. Except for one small detail. Kimo wasn't dead.

What follows is the first "hey guys, I'm not dead" press conference that these eyes have ever seen. Enjoy:

Monday, July 20, 2009

The Golf Cart

A golf post on Mass Hysteria? Well clearly this must be about the British Open. I mean, did you SEE Tom Watson yesterday? I mean, you know... am I right? Choke job! I especially couldn't believe the part with the thing where he hit the stuff and the shot where he missed the thing, I mean COME ON!


...OK so I didn't watch the British Open. Needless to say, I spent much of yesterday nursing a crippling hangover, mainly because I spent most of Saturday evening treating Sangria like Joey Chestnut treats hot dogs. More, please. Instead, this is an early version of Tuesday Storytime, mainly because I have decided that this story is just too good to make you, the loyal reader, wait an extra day. First, some background. A good friend of mine got married on Friday in the great state of Connecticut, and I, along with many other friends, travelled West on the Massachusetts Turnpike to celebrate the occasion. That's pretty much all you need to know, and I will remind you that this story is 100% true, and only the names have been changed, in order to protect the humiliated. Enjoy:

I arrived in the Nutmeg State Thursday evening after work to begin all sorts of wedding-related debauchery. One of the plans was for some of the gentlemen to play a round of golf on Friday morning. I arrived at the course to find 6 other hacks such as myself ready to embarrass themselves and their loved ones. The seven of us split off into two groups: The first group consisted of the groom, the bride's father, commenter Balla Miguel, and another groomsman named Jeff. The second group was myself, the best man, and dubbschism (of Ejected Fan fame). Needless to say, myself, dubbschism, and the best man are all halfway-decent golfers. The aforementioned foursome that played ahead of us...not so much. We were on their tails most of the day. We arrive at a par 3 with an elevated tee and watch the foursome tee off, aiming their shots at a green far below where we were standing. After the four teed off, the father of the bride suggested that we all step up and hit our tee shots as well, in a sort of closest-to-the-pin contest. We obliged. With everyone's ball now on or around the green, we hop in our golf carts and begin the trek down the hill to our balls. Miguel and Jeff in the first cart, the groom and the father of the bride in the second, the best man in the 3rd, and myself and dubbschism in the 4th. As we round the corner to begin our descent, we start seeing signs: CAUTION, STEEP HILL, PROCEED SLOWLY, BRAKE WISELY, etc.

dubbschism turns to me and says "This is an accident waiting to happen. I'm glad we're in the back." As we round the corner, we notice the road is wet and slick with mud. The area over the path was darkened by the shadows from large trees lining both sides of the road, but as we peered down the abyss, it appeared that there was an overturned golf cart at the front of our caravan. It also appeared that there was a human being underneath the cart, which was now lying on it's side. I quickly set the brake in our vehicle and climbed out to check out the scene and survey the damage. The best man does the same. We cautiously walk down to see that there is indeed an overturned cart, with Miguel underneath it. The groom, in an outright panic, leaps from his cart without first setting the parking brake, causing it to continue rolling down the hill. Once his cart is recovered and neutralized, we all hover over the mangled body of Miguel. These are not your grandpa's little go-go scooter-type golf carts. These were the real deal. Gas powered. We assess the situation. Cart on it's side. Miguel underneath it. Seats from the cart detached and 5-10 feet away from the crash site, presumably sent airborne during the accident. Windshield of the cart twisted and misalligned. Strong stench of gasoline. Battery of the car dangling out of the side. A human being wincing in pain. We act quickly, using four men to upright the cart and free the man beneath. As we reconstruct the vehicle like it's a Lego Starship Enterprise, Miguel limps away in obvious pain. He's shaken. Blood pours from his right elbow. He favors his left leg. He shakes dirt and mud from his Red Sox cap. We quickly ask Jeff how this could have happened. He claims the cart was veering off the road, so he needed to brake and steady it, causing it to careen into a ditch, dumping Miguel's body from the cart, and then having it spill onto him, lying stunned and helpless. I survey the hill. There was only ONE way to get down it. Just go. Don't brake, don't turn, just bang down it like you're a Mexican running from the police. Also, if the cart was veering off the road as Jeff claimed, that means he is a terrible driver. Why would it veer off the road? Are you an amateur at the wheel? But I digress. We right the cart, and have it looking at least somewhat like it did when we pulled it away from the clubhouse some two hours ago. Our attention is now on Miguel, who is clearly shaken up. He hits his next shot onto the green - likely the best shot he hit all day. He then retires to the cart, and refuses to finish the hole. He is then transported to a local walk-in clinic, where his elbow is bandanged up, and his leg is x-rayed, revealing a deep bone bruise. He made his triumphant return to the festivities that evening, where he was able to limp down the aisle, as several folks, including myself, giggled loudly in a house of God.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Pilled-Out Liveblog: 1987 WWF Superstars Episode


Fun story kids: When ol' GHABB'Y was 12 years old, the X Games first graced our national landscape. GHABB,Y, not being the wise soul he currently is, decided, upon viewing said X Games, to build a bike ramp at the end of his driveway. Initial results were positive, with much flying (quite hard for a fat kid) and glee. However, GHABB,Y met his demise on a fateful Sunday afternoon, when he crashed coming down off of said bike ramp, departing from his newly-fixed bicycle into a unwielding rock, fracturing four bones in his back in the process. In the ensuing 14 years (do the math kids) yours truly has endured much in the way of back pain, spasms, and general unpleasantness.

One such bout of back agony (or back-gony) has occurred recently, rendering your beloved scribe into a veritable cripple, and causing benevolent members of the medical profession to shoot me full of novocain (it's not just for dentist's offices anymore!) and bestowing upon me many pills of the painkilling and muscle relaxing variety, which I have ingested with the quickness. Not wanting to spare you any entertainment at the expense of my misery, I am taking this opportunity to liveblog a recently downloaded episode of WWF Superstars, dated August 15, 1987:

1:38: We're here live (well nearly 20 years later) from the Dane County Expo Center in lovely Madison, Wisconsin. Today marks the debut of the much-heralded Million Dollar Man, Ted Dibiase, who is shown being driven in by his slav...uh, "manservant" Virgil. Bringing you the action in their bright red blazers are Vince McMahon, Bruno Sammartino and Jesse "Not Yet Governor" Ventura.

2:25: Also in action today will be the Macho Man Randy Savage with the lovely Elizabeth (dead), "new" Women's champion Sherri Martell (dead) and Jake "the Snake" Roberts (I have no idea how he's not dead yet). This could be a depressing show.

3:04: Quoteth McMahon, "If I were the Macho Man, I'd enjoy the view (of Elizabeth) from the front, back or side." Thanks Vince, you fucking perv. That said, Liz was responsible for many a billion dead sperm in the '80s. Seriously, that woman was STUNNING. Macho will be facing Steve Lombardi, better known to you and I as the "Brooklyn Brawler," and best known to Pat Patterson as his power bottom.

4:50: Elizabeth is the only manager apparently who doesn't want to manage the incoming "hottest property in professional wrestling," Bam Bam Bigelow. Man I used to love how the WWF would hype incoming wrestlers, only to have them lose quickly to Hogan and spend the rest of their contract buried in the midcard. That said, Liz might've been better off managing Bam Bam, as he probably wouldn'tve locked her in closets and beat her up like her husband.

6:34: Shocker, Macho Man beat Lombardi with the flying elbow. When I was a kid, the flying elbow was the craziest fucking move imaginable, and now, in the days of Jeff Hardy trying to kill himself nightly, that move would not even get a minimal reaction from crowds. Ah, youth.

9:50: UPDATE with Craig DeGeorge. He and WWF President Jack Tunney are appalled at the One Man Gang laying out dozens of wimpys with his shitty front suplex. I'm personally appalled that the One Man Gang couldn't put down a cheeseburger. One Man Gang got fined $10,000 for his misdeeds, or $10 billion 1987 dollars. Slick, the Doctor of Style and Bachelor of Racial Stereotypes) was not pleased. One Man Gang would later become Akeem, and pretend he's a black guy while dancing and wearing a map of Africa on his back.

10:45: Mike Kaplan of Epic Records is pimping "Piledriver" the Wrestling Album. Holy shit! This was my favorite album EVER, aside from "Sports" by Huey Lewis and the News.

11:20: Sherri Martell wants to be known as "Sensational Sherri." The coroner currently knows her as "drug overdose victim 47483938." She's wrestling someone in a purple leotard, so you can guess who wins. Thank god though, because I bet there was some wild 80's bush going on in this match.

13:37: We get to hear from the French commentary team on Sensational Sherri's match. I think they said something about baguettes and dijonaisse. Sherri wins with a flying body press.

15:07: Ricky Steamboat is facing the Honky Tonk a house show in Madison Square Garden sometime in August of 1987. Tickets on sale at the Garden Box Office! God Steamboat's headband was so fucking cool.

16:50: We see a live band playing the Honky Tonk Man's song "Honka Honka Burning Love" in front of a clearly planted crowd. This was Honky's second-best song, farrrr behind "Cool, Cocky, Bad." Honky says awful things about Elvis, which is shocking, because he owes his entire look to the King.

18:15: HONKY PLAYS COOL COCKY BAD LIVE ON STAGE. This is the greatest television show ever.

19:30: Jake "The Snake" against some fat dude named Dave Wagner. Today's WWE needs more wimpy guys whose sole job is to look awful in spandex and get their ass kicked. Also, there's a 97.9% chance that Roberts is high as fuck during this match, so that's fun.

20:20: Evil Referee Danny Davis says via a cut-in that "if I were still referee, Jake the Snake wouldn't have a snake." Is that a sexual reference? Where's Pat Patterson when you need him? Howard Finkel also reminds us via voiceover that the WWF will be appearing at the Red Bank Regional High School Gym, sponsored by the Jersey Shore Pop Warner Football League. Nikolai Volkoff will be there, so get your tickets now, or, uh, 20 years ago.

22:30: Ruh-roh, Jake's taking Damien out of the bag! Vince notes that "he's even bigger than I remembered." Did I forget how gay the WWF used to be?

24:23: Speaking of gay, we have a Brutus the Barber Beefcake interview. He notes that the Million Dollar Man "thinks everyone can be bought, like dirt." When I think of things I can purchase with my monetary stipends, dirt is not the first thing I think of.

25:50: Jesse informs Luscious Johnny V that he's not going to be the manager for Bam Bam Bigelow. Strangely, Luscious Johnny V is not dead, though I had to look it up. Sadly, Dino Bravo, who is in the next match, is.

27:03: Dino Bravo is wearing Canadian Flag tights, except the maple leaf is really small and located directly on his rectum. It looks like he passed a maple leaf-shaped hemmhoroid or something. Not flattering.

27:45: Of course, since we have French-Canadian Dino Bravo in the ring, we of course hear the....Spanish announcer team? They mention Tito Santana, because, well, he's Mexican I guess.?

29:09: Forgot to mention that Dino Bravo was teaming with Greg "The Hammer" Valentine. I forgot to mention it because Greg Valentine was possibly the most boring wrestler of the 1980s, and the mere sight of him puts me into full REM sleep. Bravo and Valentine beat their wimpys, if you weren't sure.

30:55: Interview with Bobby Heenan and Ravishing Rick Rude. I really couldn't pay attention, as Rude's mustache was just too distracting.

33:03: Rick Martel appears, and you know he's a good guy because he smiles and pumps his fists a lot. He's about to beat Barry Horowitz, the greatest Jewish wrestler ever. Sadly, Horowitz doesn't pat himself on the back, nor is he wearing a jacket with a handprint on the back.

34:50: Horowitz becomes the first wimpy on the entire show to go on offense. Of course, Martel cuts him off immediately and wins, because he's an anti-Semite. He's also apparently an anti-Samoaite, as the Islanders come in and beat the shit out of Martel. I'd like to point out now how frigging great all the Samoan wrestlers were. They were fat, wore floral print tights, never wore shoes, and just beat people fucking senseless.

37:38: Bruno Sammartino talked like his tongue was stung by bees. How in hell was this guy champion for so long? Also, more pimping of "Piledriver," as if it needed to be pimped.

38:35: AHAHAHAHAHAHAH. We had a segment with the British Bulldogs, who were trying to "prove" that their pet bulldog Matilda actually would give them advice during matches. The camera then cut to Matilda, while we heard a midget voiceover say "headbutt Dynamite." Words cannot explain how hysterical that was.

41:08: Ted DiBiase makes his much-awaited debut, but firsts asks black children to grovel for the $100 bills in his hands. Fun fact - DiBiase's "Million Dollar Man" character was actually written by and based on Vince McMahon, who fancied himself something of a Million Dollar Man himself. DiBiase won in less than a minute with something that was NOT the Million Dollar Dream sleeper.

43:40: Next week we'll see Kamala, Ken Patera and the Birdman Koko B. Ware. If there is a God, Koko will sing "Piledriver." And with that Vince and his red blazer sign off. But you know who doesn't sign off? My happy pills!

Wednesday, July 15, 2009



Yeah, I know it's a few days late and a few (mythical internet) dollars short, but I would be remiss to not comment on the BIGGEST UFC EVAR that took place on Saturday night. If you didn't get a chance to watch the event, frankly, I feel sorry for you. It rocked with the power of a thousand Dios.

Before I recap the fight-by-fight action, let me first talk about the sheer scope of what was almost certainly the biggest UFC event ever. Industry journalists are projecting at least 1.5 million PPV buys, which would put UFC 100 behind only De La Hoya/Mayweather and Tyson's Ear Biting in the most successful PPV events in history. That's about 50% bigger than this year's Wrestlemania or any other UFC event. Lesnar was the top story on for two days straight, something completely unheard of even a year ago. UFC 100 was the second-most searched term on Yahoo last week, ahead of some dude named Michael Jackson. The ticket sales alone did $5.1 million. 50,000 people showed up for the freaking Fan Expo, which was basically a glorified Topsfield Fair with MMA booths instead of fried dough stands and Zipper rides. Let me reiterate - this shit was HUGE.

And thankfully, the event itself didn't disappoint. On with the PPV recap:

1) Yoshihiro Takayama def. Alan Belcher via split decision - Takayama is a hero in Japan (though, so are bands like Firehouse and Anvil), parlaying his MMA success into a MODELING career and his own album of ballads. He's a beautiful Japanese man, no homo. His nickname, I shit ye not, is SEXYAMA. Belcher is your typical American MMA dude, pretty good at everything but not spectacular in anything. Belcher hit SEXYAMA with a low blow early in the fight, which our Japanese friend sold for all it was worth. Then again, if I got kicked square in the testi satchel, I'd be writhing around in pain too and take all the time I possibly could to recover. SEXYAMA recovered to land a few punches on Belcher to end the first round. From here, we were treated to the ring girl stylings of former Hef girlfriend and Royal Shakespeare Company actress Holly Madison, who took so long to walk around the ring that it actually delayed the fight. Akiyama would impose his FIGHTO SPIRITO on Belcher for the next two rounds, despite his right eye being swollen completely shut. Decision: SEXYAMA in a close fight. Though I suspect, between the nut shot and the swollen eye, his modeling and singing career might be put on a short hiatus.

2) Dan Henderson def. Michael Bisping by "Knock the Fuck Out" in the second round. Now, many of you may read "Knock the Fuck Out," and think "oh, probably just some typical knockout, whoopity tits." Thankfully, some fine internet photoshop genius has created a wonderful gif detailing the scope of this knockout:

So, um, yeah, Dan Henderson won. As did Sesame Street.

3) George St. Pierre defeated Thiago Alves via decision. GSP is the best pound-for-pound MMA fighter alive today, and his skills were on display in this fight. By one count, he took down the much-heavier Alves (Thiago weighed in at 170 but was at least 195 by the time the fight occurred) 15 times during the fight, and generally imposed his mad skillz on the Brazilian. This win was made more amazing by the fact that GSP tore his right adductor muscle in the third round and continued to dominate Alves for two more rounds. Let me repeat this, for it bears repeating - GSP tore his fucking groin muscle off of his pelvis, and continued to kick a heavier man's ass for ten minutes. GSP is a god.

4) Brock Lesnar def. Frank Mir via TKO in Round 2. Some back history here: Brock faced Mir in his first UFC fight 17 months ago, and dominated Mir for 88 seconds in ways that would make mid-80s Mike Tyson cringe. However, Mir, being the jiu-jitsu specialist that he is, caught Lesnar in a knee bar (a submission move you learn in your first month or two of training) and Brock was forced to tap out. This made Brock ANGRY, and he swore revenge on the shit-talking Mir. Mir, as he is wont to do, continued to talk more shit about Brock leading up to this fight, turning Brock into a veritable rabid bear heading into Saturday's fight. Brock refused to touch gloves with Mir prior to the fight, and then proceeded to punch Mir in the face HARD and repeatedly for nearly the entire fight. This was like a schoolyard bully beating at its finest, except the bully in question happened to be 280lbs of pure muscle throwing frying pan-sized fists into another man's face with furious anger. Mir's face looked like he'd been hit by fifteen Mack trucks before the ref stopped the fight, awarding Brock the victory. Brock then talked shit to the hamburger-faced Mir, as shown above.

Brock then proceeded to cut the greatest wrestling heel interview since Ric Flair, giving double middle fingers to the crowd, stating that he wouldn't drink Bud Light "because they don't pay me enough" (Bud Light is the major sponsor of UFC, and Brock saying this made UFC president Dana White very, very angry) and finishing the interview by saying "I'm gonna go get on top of my wife tonight." This, by the way, is his wife, better known to you and me as the WWF's Sable:

Marc Mero was found crying in his botox.

For those of you who didn't see UFC 100, run, do not walk, to your nearest cable box/torrent site and watch this in its entirety. If you love face-punching, SEXYAMA and violence (and if you don't, you probably aren't reading this post), you'll love UFC 100.

Friday, July 10, 2009

If I Looked Like Brock Lesnar...


As many of you know, UFC 100 is taking place Saturday. At the top of the card is UFC Heavyweight Champion (and former WWE wrestler) Brock Lesnar, who will maul Frank Mir on Saturday like a lion raping a bunny. There are many things about Lesnar I love - his marriage to Sable, his ability to throw 80-pound heavy bags in the air as part of his workout, the fact that he trains like Rocky in Russia - but the thing that impressed me most about Lesnar is how ABSOLUTELY JACKED the dude is. The guy has muscles on top of muscles. No homo. To celebrate his impending victory, I present to you a list of things I would do if I had the build of Brock Lesnar. Again, no homo:

*Pick up cars that are in parking spaces I want and move them into a tow zone.

*Climb to the top of the Empire State Building and fight planes while beating my chest.

*Bend cast-iron frying pans in half if the chef puts onions in my food.

*Replicate this picture:
*Obtain a blue ox and start chopping down entire forests.

*Demand a raise at work, and if my boss doesn't give it to me, pick up his desk and hold it above his head until he agrees to pay me millions of dollars.

*Run for Governor of California and win.

*Get a tattoo of a butterfly on my lower back and dare people to make fun of it.

*Fight a lion AND a bear in a handicap match and win.

*Carry around a vending machine as my beer cooler.

*Crush miniature replicas of Tokyo.

*Challenge Magnus ver Magnusson to a (full) keg throwing contest.

*Steal Kristen Bell from that douche Dax Shephard by simply picking her up and saying "she is mine now."

*Do a diving board cannonball that so huge that it causes floods in four states.

*Walk around with a posse of midgets painted blue who will make me look even more ginormous in comparison.

*Dunk on Shaq.

*Re-conquer the Ottoman Empire.

*Solve a Rubik's cube.

*Release an album of sexy tunes.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Great Beards in History: Relief Pitchers of Yore


The role of specialized relief pitcher grew in popularity in Major League Baseball during the 1970's and '80s, as managers finally realized that having their starters throw 170-pitch complete games might not exactly be the best long-term solution. Teams started seeking out pitchers who could throw electrifying stuff in the late innings. These relief pitchers needed to have a blazing fastball, a reliable second pitch, and an intimidation factor not seen since the days of Bob Gibson. The first two parts of that equation could be taught, but the third, more intangible quality, could only be brought about by one testicularly-fueled, red meat-fed, fear-striking development: an awesome beard.

Now, some relievers did not sport the full beard (Rollie Fingers being the most notable case), but still grew awesome and intimidating facial hair that screamed to batters "I know 67 ways to kill you with a coat hanger." My favorite of that mustachoied class was most certainly Al Hrabosky, "The Mad Hungarian," who not only had a nickname straight out of the WWE, but whose Fu Manchu made panties drip and men shake in fear:

However, a large number of the more successful relievers of the era sported the full beard, pronouncing to the world their manliness and lack of fear of runners in scoring position. In fact, the recent induction of Bruce Sutter to the Hall of Fame was due not because of his 300 career saves (only 21st on the alltime list), but rather to the awesomeness of his beard, depicted by an artist here:
I never knew that art could bring a man to tears...until now.

In fact, looking at the Career Saves list, you'll notice an abundance of Bearded Men of Greatness populating the top 25. Rick Aguilera. Todd Jones. Jeff Reardon (bank robbing be damned). And even those who didn't sport the full beard, such as Dennis Eckersley, Goose Gossage, Rod Beck and the aforementioned Fingers still featured great achievements in facial hair that brought both fear and manliness to the mound in the late innings. I say inningS, because these Bearded Men didn't just pick up two saves in the 9th, nay, they rode their Beardliness through two, three or even four inning saves, relying sheerly on guile and facial growth (and possibly goods robbed from a jewelry store).

Today's relievers, sadly, feature no such facial hair achievements. Trevor Hoffman may be the alltime saves leader, but if you saw Hoffman walking down the street, would you walk the other way? Same goes for Mo Rivera, who is as physically imposing as Clay Aiken. Sure, today's relievers may pile up hollow save numbers while having their arms protected like Faberge eggs, but would any of them be able to fight off a grizzly bear while pitching a four-inning save? Fuck and no. So kids, if you want to be a relief pitcher and still be a REAL MAN, I'd offer one piece of advice: eat raw meat, smoke some Chesterfield unfiltereds, and most importantly, throw away the razor. Baseball needs you, and it needs relief pitchers with beards.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Now We Know Why The AL Always Wins


With the Home Run Derby only a week away, everyone is dying to know: who are the participants? Because let's face it, no one gives two shits about the actual All-Star Game itself. We don't want a boring game with a gajillion pitching changes, we want to see guys sock a few dingers! So here's how it's shaping up: First, the NL Roster:

Ryan Howard, PHI
Price Fielder, MIL
Adrian Gonzalez, SD
Albert Pujols, StL

And the AL:

Justin Morneau, MIN
Jason Bay, BOS (YAY!!!!)
Evan Longoria, TB (RAQUEL ORGASM!!!)
Miguel Cabrera, DET (UNCONFIRMED)

OK, so stay with me now. With Cabrera unconfirmed, why not just dump him? Remove him from the equation and add Hank Blalock... or Mark Teixeira... or Matt Holliday, and now look at the AL team... Wait a minute... that shapes up to be.... oh no!

2009 Celtics Summer League: Now With More Ginger Balls


The annual NBA Summer League season is a perverse joy for basketball junkies such as myself, where players I haven't heard from in years magically end up donning practice jerseys of NBA teams that they'll never play for, while I repeatedly say "wait, he's still alive?" at my television screen. Good times are had by all. And this year's Summer League is no different, with the most star-crossed Summer League entry coming from your very own Celtics. Has-beens and never-weres dot the C's Summer League Roster, including the likes of Michael Sweetney, Coby Karl and Darius Washington. And oh yeah, this guy:

Now that you've visited your office eyewash station, I can tell you that the above pictured freakshow is one Robert Swift, formerly the apple of Danny Ainge's eye and most recently the sampler of multiple varieties of pine throughout the NBA. Swift entered the NBA with much hype, backing out of a scholarship to USC (and the corresponding Bentley that comes with it) to enter the NBA, where he was drafted by the Sonics before Danny Ainge could sweep him up. Swift had all the tools - size (a legit 7-1), an outside game, and a great deal of Chad Ford's patented "upside."

Unfortunately, that all went to shit.

It may have been the multiple knee ligament tears over the course of four years, it might have been his Popeye Jones-level ugliness, and it may have been his Josh Hamilton pre-08 propensity to cover his pasty skin in ugly tattoos, but, all parties involved can agree that Robert Swift's NBA experiment has worked out at the level of Steve-O's rap career. He played a grand total of 97 games in four seasons, averaging a blistering 4.3 points and 3.9 rebounds in each of those glorious contests. He has never played more than 47 games in one season, and has two years of less than 16 games. Those stats may not be bad for some D-League retreat, but for the 12th pick in the 2004 draft, they're dreadful. Oh, and the C's, after seeing Swift taken ahead of them in that draft, "settled" on some high school kid named Al Jefferson. So yeah, bullet motherfucking DODGED. Thank God Rafael Araujo was off the board by that time too.

However, post-heart attack Danny Ainge (who apparently contracted the retard gene in his heart surgery) has decided to give Swifty another chance at redemption, naming him to the C's 2009 Summer League squad along with the aforementioned Sweetney and Karl, as well as legitimate prospects Lester Hudson, J.R. Giddens and Bill Walker.

The C's Orlando Summer League squad debuted yesterday, and, to the shock of everyone, Swift didn't exactly play like gangbusters. His stat line: 21 minutes, four points, three rebounds and one bone-headed three-seconds call. Center of the future kids!

Thankfully, Swift's Dwight Howard-esque output was aided by bang-up performances by Hudson (11 points in 19 minutes), Walker (14 points) and Nick Fazekas (13 points, five boards). The C's took an early 34-2 lead over the "Jazz" (featuring SmartyBarrett man-crush Jimmy Baron) in both teams' initial Summer League foray, and didn't look back, coasting to a 87-56 win. You may credit Walker or Fazekas, but I know who the true hero of yesterday's win was: Ginger Balls Swift, Praying Center of the Future.