Ramblings...

Welcome back everyone. Thanks again for your support. Let's see who fed it and who ate it this week...

I'm spending the week back home in lovely Upstate, NY. With the exception of Saratoga (which is lively as ever this time of year), this town is as fucking dead as my liver. Maybe more.

Fuck Fogg's Automotive. After having one of our cars in the shop for two days, they call me this morning and say that I need to bring it back in because the brainless dipshit working on it found a washer that he thought fell out. They told me it would only take a half-hour, tops. I bring the car there and sit in the waiting room for an hour and a half. Giving them the benefit of the doubt, they were off by an hour. If they were a hospital, and this jagoff was a surgeon, the patient would be fucking dead. The least they could have done was tell me what was going on (evidently when he put the washer on, something fucked up with the engine) so I wasn't sitting there waiting and reading shitty cartoons in the paper like "Grand Avenue" or "Stone Soup." And they didn't even have good magazines. To top it all off, this dipshit had the Service Manager apologize, rather than do it himself. What a fucking mess.

Saddam Hussein has a prostate infection, according to the Associated Press. I guess it turns out he wasn't dickless after all...

I was up at the track again this morning to pick up a couple John Velazquez bobbleheads. Again, more "Americana." And by the way...I don't care if you're 80 years old and don't give a shit anymore. That doesn't excuse you from wearing deodorant. You can't buy a stick of Right Guard, but you can afford those USA Golds you're smoking.

Dennis Miller Live needs to be released on DVD. Only one month until the Special Edition of Goodfellas.

I went out on Saturday night with some friends from home. They can't drink for shit.

In less than one month, I'll have to move back home. Seeing as how being around family makes me even more miserable, this needs to become my motivation for finding a job...

Happy 21st Birthday to Jessica Jones.

Insomniac might be one of the funniest shows on television. It's a shame that Dave Attell was never more than a writer on SNL. The Tuesday-Wednesday tandem of Nip/Tuck and Rescue Me on F/X is incredible. That, combined with Family Business might fill the void in my life until the next season of The Sopranos comes out in 2006.

The other day I was watching the new HBO show Entourage. Can Jeremy Piven play any role except for the token smarmy, sleazy dirtbag? Just look at Old School and One Crazy Summer. And yes, I understand that he was in PCU where he played a college student (who happened to look like he was in his 30s), and he was supposed to be the cool guy, but still...

Fuck the FCC...Stern rules! I'm definitely jealous of Jay and his internship with the King of All Media...

I'm convinced that Radochia, Sami Bull and I could get our own radio show on XM Satellite radio...

Ricky Williams decided to retire from the NFL. At least it didn't happen after the Fantasy Draft. You knew something was wrong when people were pulling his dreadlocks to tackle him. Hey, we all knew that Ricky didn't really "agree" with the league's whole drug policy thing anyways...

The Giants gave Eli Manning a six-year, $54 Million deal. It's the Giants, so I'm not sure which odds are better: Eli leads Giants to the Super Bowl a few years down the road, or Eli turns into the next Ryan Leaf or Todd Marinovich?

Who is the more arrogant, obnoxious NFL coach: Mike Martz or Brian Billick? Seriously, which one would you rather kick in the balls?

The other day, I had to go to the local farm/country store to pick up a pie for dessert. After deciding on the pecan, I went to the register, only to meet one of the most miserable old women ever. She looked like she was about a day before dead, or maybe she died and nobody told her. She sat there looking at me, as if I was supposed to say something. So I said, "This one looked too good to pass up." (What the hell else am I going to say? "Hey, what was it like to date Herbert Hoover?") She snaps back, "They're all good!" So once she finishes figuring out the cash register, I take the pie and say, "Have a nice day," to which she replies, "I will if it ever cools off." OK, first off, it's the dead of summer. Secondly, you work on a farm. And third, you spent the first 90 years of your life waiting for them to even invent air conditioning. Suck it up...

The Year End Video is nearly complete...

The Random Shout Out goes to Liz Smallcomb this week. Liz was up in Boston a few weeks ago to see everyone, and it was cool as always to hang out with her. Liz was on my floor Freshman year and brought up this question: "Remember back in Freshman year when you didn't drink?" Scary, scary thought...

I can't help but wonder how converting to Islam is going to fuck with Dave Chappelle's comedy. What's next? John Valby goes Mormon?

But then again, what do I know?

Aaaaaaand they're off at Saratoga!

Today began the 136th season of live racing at Saratoga Race Track, and also marked my 5th consecutive Opening Day. Booze, women, gambling and cigars...how can you lose?

I got to the track shortly after the gates opened and parked in the Preferred lot. This was my first adventure. Preferred parking used to be the blacktop lot across the street. But no...that's now the "Clubhouse VIP" lot. Preferred is the grass/dirt/mud lot next to it. It's essentially the same as the free parking, but it's closer. Still the same muck and shit to trudge through, just less of it. I will say this: the illegal alien working in the lot was very friendly.

Rather than pay the usual $3 for Grandstand admission, I opted for the $5 Clubhouse. It has always been my impression and understanding that in order to go to the Clubhouse, one needed to be dressed "nicer" than that for the Grandstand. No shorts, collared shirts, etc. Evidently I was mistaken, as it became apparent that any schmuck who could collect an extra $2 in cans could get in. Let's put it this way: a shirt and shoes are required for the Grandstand. I thought that some people in the Clubhouse would have at least put on a clean shirt if they weren't going to wear a collar. With every trip to the track, I get to see more and more pieces of what I like to call "Americana."

They call Saratoga "The Graveyard of Favorites" because of all the longshots throughout history who have won there. Upset beat Man O'War in the 1919 Sanford Stakes. Even the legendary Secretariat couldn't win at the Spa. So they say bet the longshot and avoid the chalk. Lemme tell you this: the longshot will win, unless you fucking bet it. You bet the longshot and the favorite will set a track record. It's a lose-lose situation. Understand this when you walk in.

Walk in knowing what you're going to bet. Buy The Daily Racing Form the day before and read it, study it, and handicap it. Why? Simple. Once you start drinking overpriced Bloody Marys, you won't be able to see straight enough to read the post performances and the rest of the tiny print. Not to mention you'll be even more distracted by the plethora of semi-legal coeds walking around...

Random celebrity sightings: Wellington Mara (owner, NY football Giants), and Rod Stewart. Rod Stewart was wearing a blue seersucker suit with a pink shirt and pink tie. He's probably one of three people in the world who could actually pull it off, one of the remaining two being Steve Radochia.

Random celebrity encounter: Jimmy Fallon. Spoke with him in the Clubhouse after the ninth race. Really nice guy, very goofy. He went to the College of St. Rose, the same place Nick went. After Nick passed away, Jimmy put on a show for the students there in his memory. And when it was all said and done, he refused to accept the money that was promised to him as an appearance fee. I'll always admire him for that.

I saw a young kid walking around in a "BC Superfan" t-shirt. I really felt that he needed to get his ass kicked. It's not that I wanted to do it, but I felt I owed it to him.

I walked past D. Wayne Lukas's private Clubhouse box. There was some kid, my age or slightly older, sitting there with him with a phenomenal blonde to his right. This once again proves that money talks. I found myself continually asking, "Why wasn't I born rich instead of handsome?"

Some random BU sightings: Elliot DeSanto and Kevin Hoeltschi. Saw Elliot in the Clubhouse with some family. He made the trip up from Jersey, spotted me a beer and a pick in the 5th race. Kevin was with his family walking in while I was heading to my car to drop off my umbrella. Always a good time whenever you see Guido. And on a side note, what a bullshit weather forecast that was. There were clouds...which all burned off...and it got hot as balls.

Looking back, I should've asked Jimmy Fallon if I could just walk around with him and take whoever he rejected...

Usually they always have the young, non-legal girls working the different food and beverage stands throughout the course. Purely by chance, I'm sure, the really attractive ones are all working in the Clubhouse. Looking back, it somehow makes sense. But why the hell didn't I figure this out before? I'm definitely losing it...

All in all, Opening Day was just as fun as I remember. It wasn't until the sixth race when I hit an exacta for $30 that I actually cashed a ticket, but that didn't matter. It was Opening Day. And I'd be hard pressed to think of anyplace else that I would have rather been.

Happy 22nd, Nick...

There are 3 events in my life that I will always remember where I was when they occurred: the September 11th attacks, Aaron Boone's Game 7 home run, and the death of my best friend. The third is the only one I think about every day.

Today would have been Nick's 22nd birthday, so I thought it only fitting to write a little about him here. This morning, I was talking with my friend Kathryn and we agreed that you can't sum up Nick in one favorite story or moment. He wasn't like that. He wasn't all one thing or another. It was a bunch of small jokes and stories and moments and actions that build and create his memory.

There were all the times that he would make you smile because he knew you were sad. And there were the times he made you laugh for no reason at all. The other day I was thinking about finals week during our freshman year of high school. One afternoon, I was trying to call Nick and see how his Earth Science final had gone. There was no answer at the other end. I tried a few more time, but still, no answer. When I finally got in touch with him late that night, I said, "Where the hell were you today?" He said to me, "I was here, but I was afraid to answer the phone. I thought it was Mrs. Farina telling me that I had to take Earth Science all over again."

I remember all the card shows we used to attend. I remember all those summer days spent at Saratoga, and I remember his luck. I remember our golf and tennis matches with bragging rights on the line. I remember our last semester of senior year, taking that Godawful marketing class. I remember all the times he pissed off the librarians. I remember the Senior Prom...to this day, that picture of Nick, Cliff and myself hangs over my desk. I remember all the times that he could make me laugh and smile, by burying his own pride and being the clown.

I regret not having a chance to see him during the summer of '01. I feel sad knowing that I was never really able to say "goodbye." But I feel a tremendous sense of honor and pride knowing that I was able to serve as a pallbearer and deliver his eulogy.

I've learned that it's futile to ask why Nick had to go. There is no answer to the question "Why not take me instead of him?" no matter how many times I ask. But I still do, hoping that one day it'll all make sense.

Nick, I wish you were still around so we could follow that vision you had: you and me, fat and 40 years old, bringing our own families to Yankee Stadium. I wish you were around to make the days brighter and so all of your friends could see you again. I wish you were still here to help me through the tough times as only you could, and impart that sage wisdom that I took for granted.

You were young and at the top of your game when you were taken away. I hope that you have a Happy 22nd, wherever you might be. I hope that someday your family and all of your friends will be able to find some solace. I hope that I can live a good enough life to someday see you again when it's all said and done.

I miss you, Kid. Take care of yourself up there...

Ramblings...

Good evening everybody.  Thanks for coming out tonight.  Let's take a look at what's going on...  
 
Last Wednesday, Dan, Sami and I played some wiffleball HR Derby at the BU Beach.  I had to pull out midway through the contest with a right shoulder and middle back injury.  It's sad when you reach the day that you think you've torn a rotator cuff playing wiffleball.  If I was a thoroughbred, they'd have shot me by now.
 
Speaking of horses, one week from today marks Opening Day for the Saratoga Race Track.  With all the bullshit of the DNC around Boston, I plan on being home for my 5th consecutive Opening Day.  It's bittersweet thinking this could be my last time walking in on that first Wednesday of the six-week meet, as I'm supposed to be entering the work force, probably someplace far from home, never again to hear Tom Durkin start the first race at 1:05 with an "Annnnnnnnnnnnnd they're off at Saratoga!"
 
Within 4 days, I saw both Terry Francona and Howie Day at the bar.  I didn't speak with either of them.  There's really nothing else to say about this.
 
Moving along, I read Jay Mohr's new book Gasping for Airtime about his two seasons spent on Saturday Night Live.  Although I've never really been a huge fan of his comedy, Mohr tells some really interesting stories about the shit he had to go through on SNL.  Some of it sounds like sour grapes...many of you may not even realize that he was on the show.  That's because he really wasn't too much.  But there's some great stories about the cast members:  Chris Farley shitting out Mohr's 17th floor office window...Adam Sandler's story from his days on Mr. Belvedere, when Mr. B sat down on his balls and had to be carried out on a stretcher...Rob Schneider inspecting all of his sushi...all the band rehearsals he saw...there's really some great stuff in there.  This book shows not only how he was able to get on SNL, but the inner workings and schedule of how the show writing and planning runs.  And you get to hear about Mr. Belvedere sitting on his balls (I'm sorry for the double mention, but that story had me laughing so hard I was crying).
 
Two comedians who need to go:  Bill Maher and Wanda Sykes.  Whoever said these people were funny should be fucking shot.  And no more Jamie Foxx hosting the ESPYs.  If I hear him sing about Serena fucking Williams one more time, heads are gonna roll.  Look, we all get it.  It wasn't funny the first time.  Move the fuck along.
 
I came to the conclusion a long time ago that too many Major League Baseball teams have too many fucking uniforms.  Chicago and New York have a home and an away.  That's it.  All these teams need fucking "alternate" uniforms, and then a "Sunday" uniform, and all this bullshit.  Pick a fucking color and stick with it.  The Mets have 5 unis.  5!  I understand that your catcher is a fudgepacker and all, but please, there's no need for 5 fucking uniforms.  And when the hell did all these teams find the need for black uniforms.  The other day, I saw the Mariners wearing black jerseys.  I know it makes you look tough and all, and if you have red in your team colors, you get all the money from the Bloods buying up some merch, but please!  One home and one away.  That's it!  You don't like your team colors or logo, tough shit!  Not my problem.  Nolan Ryan hated pitching for the Astros in the 80s, but that didn't stop him from pitching one of his 7 no hitters, or leading the league in strikeouts or making the All-Star team multiple times.  No more "alternate" uniforms!  It's over.  Thanks for playing.
 
For as much (or as little) as I watch the Red Sox, I still hate Kevin fucking Millar.  He needs to go.  At least most Sox fans are willing to stop in-fighting about Nomar long enough to admit that he blows.  He's a $3 Million cheerleader who needs to get Bison Dele'd real fast.  As much as I'm going to miss Boston and all my friends out here when I leave next month, if he starts the "Cowboy Up" bullshit again, it's going to make it a little easier.  Fuck off Kevin, and take your KFC with you.......ass clown.
 
On Sunday, I saw the series premiere of "The Days" on ABC.  Each episode is a 24-hr span of the family's life, as told by their cynical teenage son (you can immediately see why I was drawn to it).  The father is a lawyer at a large law firm and the mother has gone back to work for an advertising agency.  His older sister is a senior in HS, a homecoming queen and star of the soccer team.  His younger brother is a boy genius going to private school.  They really set up the series in this first episode.  The father quits his job and the mother finds out she's pregnant.  The same day, the sister finds out that she got knocked up, and the younger brother has a panic attack in the middle of his test at school.  And the narrator gets into a fight with the sister's boyfriend and is suspended for two days.  They've pretty much left themselves a lot of stories to run with here.  On a side note, "Nip/Tuck" remains as one of the greatest shows on television.  And I'm looking forward to the series premiere of "Rescue Me" with Denis Leary on FX tonight.
 
The Random Shout Out goes to Nicky Gillett in San Fran.  Even though she roots for the Giants, she still hates Barry Bonds and will admit in any baseball debate that he is a douchebag.  She's been spending her summer working 12 hrs a day, interning with a PR Agency and teaching little bastards how to swim.  That in itself is admirable.
 
Happy Birthday to Bill Gioia, Alan McNamara and Laura Hirshfield.
 
Lewis Black's latest "Back in Black" from "The Daily Show" all about the Republican and Democratic National Conventions is hysterical.  Check it out on the Comedy Central website.
 
In Steve Radochia's list of Top 5 musicians he'd sleep with, Sheryl Crow made the list over Jessica Simpson.  This is something I will never be able to comprehend.
 
The other day, Sami and I were extremely bored and played LIFE.  Sami's career was "Entertainer," which he immediately interpreted to mean "Porn Star."  A LIFE tile said that he wrote a bestseller, which Sami claimed was his autobiography called "The Loadman Cometh."  Yup, these are my roommates... 

The Great White Hype really needs to be released on DVD. 

The Year-End Video, encompassing 4 years at BU, is still in the works. 

Blazing Saddles was being shown on ABC Family the other day.  Apart from bleeping out all the obscenities and racial slurs, they also completely muted the campfire farting scene.  I'm not really sure why farts need to be bleeped?  But then again, the FCC has their foot so far up Howard Stern's ass for lesser things.  It's been 30 years since Blazing Saddles was made, and since there's no original scripts in Hollywood, I thought it'd be funny to cast that movie for a remake.  Chris Rock would be great as Bart, and maybe even Billy Bob Thornton as Jim (the Waco Kid).  But if they're bleeping farts on TV, there's no way that movie would ever be made.  The MPAA would shit a brick. 

But then again, what do I know?

All-Star Game musings...

The 2004 All-Star Game is in the books with the American League victorious. May I begin by saying that the whole "This one counts" aspect is total bullshit and a pathetic way to ensure that the game never ends in a tie. The real way to make sure that never happens is to kick Bud Selig's ass out the door in favor of a real commish.

The Crew, composed of Scott Robinson, Sami Bull, Seed and myself, took the trip down to T's Pub on Comm Ave for the action. T's is usually a good place to catch the action, but they were severely understaffed for a Tuesday night. How does one define "understaffed"? Try ONE waitress for the entire place. They do have their upsides however, by catering to the college budget. Bud drafts for $2.25 means that you can get fucked up for less money.

During the school year, they also have a deal on food. $2.50 for a cheeseburger and fries with all the fixins. Seed decided to shine on dinner in favor of the cheeseburger combo. The look on his face when the waitress informed him that they didn't have that anymore...well, it can only be likened to someone who just got kicked in the balls. Needless to say, he was surly from that point forward.

MasterCard had their promotion where some schlub who can't throw a baseball has a chance to win $1 Million. He is "coached" by Nolan Ryan to try and complete this task. What is Nolan Ryan going to tell some clown who has never thrown a ball before in his life? "Hurry up and try not to make an ass out of yourself"? It's pointless. And how do they find an American man every year who can't throw a baseball? I've never seen anyone who can actually throw in one of these contests. As it turns out, this clown actually did it. He got 5 or 6 balls through the hole in the tarp at home plate in 30 seconds. Mind you, during the entire 30 seconds, Seed is screaming that the hole did not represent a true strike zone. And this is before he had any beer...

I'll say this about the All-Star Game: I loved the ad campaign. The whole Blues Brothers theme was great. I couldn't figure out why they didn't do it last year though. After all, the All-Star Game was in Chicago last year...which is where Blues Brothers takes place.

It was nice to see Muhammed Ali out there. Even with the Parkinson's Disease, he can still rope-a-dope.

Fox continued their shameless self-fellatio, self-promotion nonsense. Was nobody else available to sing "The National Anthem" and "God Bless America" besides American Idol finalists? Fuck that! Wasn't there any native Texan who could have sang? And another thing, from now on anyone who sings "The Star Spangled Banner" is not allowed to fuck with it. No more ad-libbing or throwing scales in there or dragging it out or any of that shit. Just sing the fucking song. It's not our fault that your 15 minutes of fame are almost over. Whitney Houston understood this before she was all coked up when she sang it at Super Bowl XXV. She sang arguably the greatest rendition at any sports venue. So we're all on the same page...better talent, preferably not connected to Fox, and no more fucking with the song. No more of this Fox self-promo bullshit either. Where were Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie? I was expecting them to show up to do whatever the hell it is that they do. I was waiting for Ron Silver to come out at some point just to say, "His father is the District Attorney!" Lord knows we all heard that too much during the 2003 post-season. And while I'm at it...fuck Jeanne Zelasko and Kevin Kennedy. They suck too.

Roger Clemens gave up 6 runs in the first inning, and then is brought back out later in the game to receive an award. As Seed pointed out, it resembled a golden dildo. I'm sure he really wanted to come back out after allowing the AL to hit for the cycle in one inning.

Two people separated at birth: Gary Sheffield and BU basketball captain Matt Turner.

A new feature to the Blog is the Random Shout Out. This was started a few years ago by my HS friend Sean Smith who just felt like giving out some random props. This Random Shout Out goes out to "The Scandal" himself, Mr. Randy Brochu. We saw Randy along with Russell Rubin last night at T's, and a good time was had by all. Debating
sports and rehashing stories never gets old.

The Award for Most Drunk goes to Sami Bull.

One final note to cap this all off...Major League Baseball needs to end interleague play. It's done. Thanks for playing. It used to be that AL and NL teams only squared off during the World Series. And that was good. But baseball always finds ways to fuck up good things. AL East and Central teams only have one home-and-away series against each other this season, and that's bullshit. End the interleague play.

But then again, what do I know?

Welcome/2004 Home Run Derby

Welcome everyone to my official Blog. Lots of friends were writing these and I figured that since everyone else was doing it, why not me? And you get bonus points if you know where the main Blog title originates...

Tonight I watched the 2004 Home Run Derby along with Seed and Sami Bull...chaos ensued. I present to you my 2004 Home Run Derby Diary...

8:02 -- The show begins with native Texan Roger Clemens introducing musical act Clay Walker. Who is Clay Walker? Who gives a fuck? This trouser-stain is simply delaying the beginning of the Derby, not to mention that his music sucked for the 30 seconds I listened to.

8:05 -- Seed bets that either Hank Aaron or Willie Mays will be the most miserable member of the 500 HR Club. We needed something to distract us from the Clay Walker spectacle.

8:10 -- Sammy Sosa is introduced. Unfortunately, there's no mention of his corked bat and how he is a cheater.

8:11 -- Chris Berman creams himself introducing Barry Bonds. I'm still wait for the day that someone in the media realizes what a cheater he is. It took 2 years for Rick Reilly to become the first person to write an unfavorable, yet truthful, piece about Tiger Woods

8:12 -- Seed curses that he forgot about Eddie Murray.

8:13 -- Seed curses that he forgot about Mike Schmidt and Frank Robinson.

8:16 -- It is the general consensus that Schmidt and Mays are the most miserable members. They appear as personable as someone who just got kicked in the balls. Perhaps the biggest shock of the night was a smiling Eddie Murray.

8:24 -- The first Barry Bonds rant begins. Seed comments on how he wears his uniform pants improperly. We all agree that he's an asshole and his steroid-induced death cannot happen soon enough.

8:33 -- Barry Bonds is finished with 8 homeruns and is now talking on the broadcast. Because of all the steroids, his voice is unnaturally high and gay. He sounds like Janice the Muppet, the blonde one who used to be in the band.

8:45 -- Lance Berkman finishes his first round with 7 HRs and Sam Ryan is performing her first of several awful interviews. On top of this, it's amplified throughout the stadium. It's bad enough that the people at home suffer, but now those in attendance have to sit through shitty questions with cliche answers. To this day, I will never understand why they pipe that shit through the speakers. On a side note, a debate ensues as to whether or not they have always pitched in front of the mound

8:48 -- Sam Ryan provides another prize-winner when she is clearly unprepared to interview former President George H.W. Bush. She is clueless. A call from my Dad alerts us to the fact that one of the Century 21 contestants looks like Grady Little, and the woman next to him is a dead ringer for Harpo Marx. Mike Schmidt is still looking miserable.

8:50 -- Miguel Tejada hasn't even reached the plate yet and Seed is already cursing. We are serenaded to the sounds of "Fuck him!", "Speak English you asshole!", and "Cut his fucking microphone! Nobody wants to hear that gibberish!"

9:03 -- Jim Thome is out with only 4 HRs and a minimal number of crotch adjustments. Sam Ryan is again making a complete ass out of herself.

9:09 -- David Ortiz hits the roof with a ball...should have been called a HR but is instead an out. Manny Ramirez, looking foolish as ever, nearly chokes to death on his tobacco. It's also realized that all the Latin players are hanging together tighter than the Sharks in West Side Story.

9:12 -- It is clear that Manny Ramirez is high, and for some reason, David Ortiz is speaking in tongues.

9:14 -- Chris Berman announces that the next batter is Sammy "Say it is" Sosa. It was at this moment that I think he officially jumped the shark. At least Stuart Scott wasn't there to talk jive.

9:15 -- The following exchange occurs...
Dan(speaking about the HR Derby): God, this thing is long as Hell...
Sami: That's what she said.
Yup, these are my roommates...and this stuff never gets old.

9:17 -- Sammy Sosa whiffs on a HR Derby pitch, and turns his hat backwards. Evidently turning your hat around like an asshole is the key to hitting more homeruns. We talk about how funny it would be if Sammy got handcuffed on a pitch and broke his bat, only to find out it's corked again.

9:24 -- Sam Ryan interviews Sosa, giving him softball questions where nobody can understand a single word he says. Again, the people sitting inside Minute Maid Park are tortured in having to listen to this. You can almost make out every third word he says. The only way this could get better is if a drunken Joe Namath stumbled into the picture and tried to give out kisses.

9:30 -- Frank Robinson is on the broadcast and sounds cocked. The trio continue to talk about Barry Bonds, despite the fact that Rafael Palmeiro is on a tear. Then again, Palmeiro is arguably the most underrated player in the history of baseball.

9:39 -- The roof is beginning to open. Chris Berman has to ask fans in Houston to give Hank Aaron a round of applause...that's just pathetic. Then again, Hank Aaron did just say "ax" instead of "ask"

9:53 -- Bonds hits only 3 HRs in the 2nd round, but Joe Morgan's lovefest continues. You really get the impression that Joe Morgan is waiting to blow him after the contest. Bonds nearly hit one of the Million Dollar signs out in the stands. He said earlier that he was hoping to hit one. Joe Morgan says he called his shot. Fucking bullshit! If Bonds called his shot, he would have pointed to that fucking sign and said, "I'm hitting this next pitch there." And people wonder why I get pissed off...

9:56 -- A highlight of the evening in some respects: Sami Bull nearly chokes to death after taking a shot of Tanqueray straight from the bottle.

10:10 -- Tejada moves past Bonds, thus eliminating him from the contest. Joe Morgan is still talking about Barry Bonds.

Needless to say, it was anti-climatic from this point forward. Joe Morgan continues to verbally fellate Barry Bonds, Curt Schilling's albino son has ADD, and it gets boring enough that we temporarily switch to one of the Cinemax channels to watch part of Bikini Airways. Miguel Tejada tops Lance Berkman in the finals, and he's wrapped in a Dominican flag...something that still confuses me. Seriously, what the fuck was that about? Its not like Michael Jordan in the 1992 Olympics. It's just Home Run Derby.

Afterwards was the Celebrity Softball game, where Seed screamed things such as "Balk!", "He stepped on the plate!", and "Will Clark is a drunken pederass!" Rollie Fingers made a remarkable catch and Rick Sutcliffe was his usual moron self.

Hopefully the All-Star Game brings more excitement than the Derby did. I hope you've enjoyed reading the various ramblings of a cynic. Thanks for stopping by, and thanks for having electricity.