Hero, On And Off The Court

It is hard to believe that it was fifteen years ago today that Magic Johnson announced that he was retiring from the NBA because he had contracted HIV. Besides making me feel old, this anniversary reminds me how far we have come in terms of AIDS awareness and education. Not many people who heard Magic's news that day figured he would be alive today. As a society we were ignorant about this awful disease. Magic's tragedy brought the disease towards the mainstream. Magic was a healthy, heterosexual man who contracted HIV through unprotected sex with a woman. It didn't immediately break down barriers; I remember headlines and whispers wondering if Magic was gay. After all, he had kissed Isaiah Thomas on the cheek during the Finals, hadn't he? Fortunately, most of America has come to grips with the facts that being gay isn't the end of the world and that HIV/AIDS is indiscriminate in who it destroys. Ultimately, Johnson's story taught not only that HIV wasn't just a gay man's disease, but that it wasn't spread through casual contact. Players, some reluctantly, played alongside Magic during his brief return to basketball, acknowledging that it was safe to bump into or trade sweat with him. This may seem absurd now, but back then it was a genuine concern of those who were uneducated about the disease.

Of course, Magic's tale is not over; who knows what his future holds. He has been fortunate that he can afford the best medical attention and drugs available. Not everyone has that chance. But on that November afternoon fifteen years ago few gave Magic a chance either. Conventional wisdom said that he'd likely develop AIDS and die before the turn of the century. Hopefully, people will continue to learn from Magic Johnson's experience. Far too many Americans are still contracting the disease. The education movement that was bolstered by Johnson's admission must continue.

Earvin "Magic" Johnson was an amazing basketball player and has been a champion of the community as an entreprenuer and supporter of black businesses. However, his most important and lasting legacy was likely written when he stepped to the podium those many Novembers ago.

With Zero Precincts Reporting...

A few brief notes and questions on election day:

Has anybody else noticed that at every photo-op lately PA Sen. Rick Santorum has had that Phil Mickelson, bemused, "I may be a little medicated" smile plastered on his face? On the whole, I like Santorum ( I especially applaud his Autism research bill), but lately he has looked like a beaten man.

Am I naive to put my faith in electronic voting machines? I have read about the risks and some of the lab tests proving hacker accessibility, but most of us trust our lives to similar technology everyday. ATMs, credit card swipes and the internet all have dangers that we ignore.

Irrelevant, but neat- On the eve of Election Day, the Capitals defeated the Senators in NHL action last night.

I'd like to thank Bob and Kendall Erlich, Martin O'Malley and the host of other candidates who have jammed my voicemail box in recent weeks. Your "personal" messages have been sweet, but really, you shouldn't have. Also, your colorful signs have really added beauty to the landscape.

I suppose facing the gallows will make any man change his tune. Saddam Hussein now calls for reconciliation among Iraqi citizens-"I call on all Iraqis, Arabs and Kurds, to forgive, reconcile and shake hands," Saddam said. Why don't you do us all a favor and go shake hands with Allah, ass.

Finally, as always, If you don't vote today, don't bitch about the results tomorrow.

See This Movie.

Do yourself a favor, see the Borat movie. But wear a diaper because this movie is piss-your-pants funny. I haven't laughed that hard out loud in a movie theater since they brought out the gimp in Pulp Fiction. I'm going to have to find Da Ali G Show on DVD because I want to see what else Sacha Baron Cohen has done. In this mockumentary he doesn't just ignore political correctness, he shatters it with a hammer. It may be at the expense of all ethnic group, feminists and the eldery, but it's funny as hell.

Similar to the interviews on The Daily Show, it is sometimes difficult to tell who is in on the joke and who isn't. While it is obvious that some of the situations are completely scripted, some of the people he messes with appear to not realize they are being had. It doesn't matter if it was scripted to the letter, though, because it is funny either way. From Borat's naive cluelessness to dozens of sight gags this movie kicks ass.

As a side note, most of the interviews "Borat" has done to promote the movie have been funny also. It amazes me that Cohen is able to keep a straight face, not breaking character at all.

Glad I Stumbled Onto This.

Sometimes I'll click on Blogger's list of updated blogs to see what others are posting about. I often pick names that sound catchy or interesting only to be dissapointed when they are advertising disguised as a blog. Today, however, I hit the jackpot, though not directly. I clicked on Heaven Nose which turns out to be a blog that reviews other blogs. It is mildly entertaining because it appears that you can request them to review your page (And based on some of the disparaging reviews I read, I'll bet some requesters probably immediately regret that move.) Anyway, I'm getting off track.

In reviewing some lame blog, Heaven Nose compared it to another blog- Dooce. Dooce is a long running tale of a wife and mother who was fired from her job for blogging about work. She got the last laugh, however, because her site is now so popular that her ad revenue pays enough for her and her husband to do nothing but run her blog. This lady, Heather Armstrong, hilariously writes about all aspects of her life; I really can't do it justice here. If you enjoy funny, witty, sarcastic,"real life splayed out for everyone to see" posts, please check it out. She's got a very cool writing style. I'm going to plop it in my links and I will become a daily reader. She was recently profiled in a Salt Lake City Tribune article that you can find here. Enjoy.

Ice, Ice Baby.

Today, I went ice skating for the first time since my surgery. The doctor has cleared me to do as much physical activity as I feel comfortable. I've played some relatively pain free basketball, but I've been real anxious to return to the ice. I skated for about 45 minutes, feeling pretty good. However, the knee still lacks strength and stability, especially when it was the "under" leg on crossovers. There will definitely be no hockey in my immediate future. And this served as final confirmation that I was not secretly given a bionic knee as I had hoped. Instead of bigger, faster, stronger, I am only bigger than the last time I skated.

The good news is I survived the 45 minutes mostly unscathed. No falls, no bumps, no heart attack. The only damage is the lingering soreness that accompanies using muscles that are only used during skating and acrobatic sex. So, I've heard. Okay, I have to go now.

Tom Landry, Where Are You?

From the completely frivolous complaint file:

Let me start by saying that anybody, including NFL coaches, should have the right to wear anything they want. Having said that, Patriots coach Bill Belichick took football coach fashion to a new low Monday night. Belichik looked like he went straight from the shelter to the sideline, wearing a sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves and a ragged, frayed collar. This doesn't make him a bad coach, obviously his record proves just the opposite. I'm not opposed to a guy being comfortable and Belichick is hardly the only NFL coach who wears a sweatshirt or T-shirt on gameday. He is, however, the only one who wears a sweatshirt so damaged that if you replaced the Pats logo with "COLLEGE", you might confuse him with John Belushi's Animal House frat slob.

I miss the era where NFL coaches traded the sweats for suits on Sunday. Tom Landry, Vince Lombardi, Hank Stram, may they all rest in peace, exuded class and excellence. It might be tough for Belichick to squeeze a head set over a fedora, but he could at least wear something a little nicer than wind pants. I also find it hard to believe that a league that regulates everything from the length of a players uniform towel to the color of his shoe tape hasn't weighed in yet. I suppose maybe they are working on the licensing rights to the Bill Belichick Sideline Tank Top.

Oh, well. At least football coaches don't wear game uniforms like those goofy old baseball managers. Andy Reid or Bill Parcells in tight pants? No thank you.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

When will these dopey politicians learn?

John Kerry created a firestorm for no reason by trying to crack a stupid joke, saying at a Democratic rally on Monday: “You know education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework, and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don’t, you get stuck in Iraq.”

Obviously, today's military isn't a last resort catch-all for losers and dummies. This isn't the movie "Stripes". Today's volunteer armed forces, especially since 9/11, are loaded with college graduates and plenty of intelligent people that have other options. John Kerry knows this. The GOP knows John Kerry knows this. That's why this whole dust-up is ridiculous. The Republican attacks on John Kerry were excessive as was Kerry's retort. Let's all grow up. No intelligent voter is going to be distacted from the real issues by this story, so let's drop it. This is simply what happens when unfunny, message-programmed politicians try to be funny by going off script. Of course, in this era of sound bite journalism this often backfires. Leave the jokes to the comedians.

The Fungus Among Us.

I don't think anyone would ever accuse me of being a tree-hugger, but I like to think of myself as a friend of the animals( and not in any "I was helping the sheep over the fence kind of way, you sickos.). I thought this Washington Post article about endangered frogs living in Panama was pretty neat. It reports on the massive conservation effort to save several species from a deadly fungus. But it also raises the ethical dilemmas of whether we should use extreme means to save the species and what we do with them once we do protect them.

Thou Shalt Not Be Late For Mass.

So, I went to mass Sunday morning- Oh, I'm sorry, we're going to have to take a brief timeout until my parents regain their senses- Okay, here we go. Anyway, it felt good to attend mass. I tend to think you can be religious and have a relationship with God without walking into his building every Sunday, but this weekend I just felt it was something I wanted to do. After attending, I can't decide if I'm not ready to go back or if I need to attend three times a week. You see I know all the Christian teachings- Love thy neighbor. Turn the other cheek. Forgive them for they know not what they do. Be kind, Rewind. And I ignored all of them as I composed this mini-rant right there in my pew:

What happened to common courtesy? Is it too much to ask that people show up before mass starts? Maybe I don't want you and your kids climbing past me while I'm in a moment of prayer or quiet reflection.(Some of you are checking to see if you're at the right blog, aren't you?) Some ten to fifteen minutes into mass people were still pushing there ways into pews disturbing me and others as we tried to hear a reading. I suppose I could solve this problem by sitting in the middle of the pew when I arrive early or on time. But then the late arrivers win and I can't have that.

Of, course it's not just late arrivals. Before mass started the song leader asked that all cell phones be turned off. What a shame that we must be reminded of such. Personally, I would have preferred no announcement and then watch God smite the offender with a lightning bolt when the damn phone rang in the middle of the homily.

Perhaps I am making a mountain of a molehill. Perhaps? Still, to me, church is still one of those places where I should be able to expect quiet, courtesy, decency and a whole host of other things that are in precious short supply these days. So, this Sunday I'll give turning the other cheek a shot when mass is disturbed or when I get cutoff in the church parking lot.

Wait, did I just commit to going to mass again this week? Ah, nuts.

"They out-everything'd us."

While not grammatically successful, Cowboys coach Bill Parcells' assessment of his team's Monday night performance is accurate. The New York Giants whipped the Boys in every aspect of the game on their way to a 36-22 victory. A quick breakdown of the Cowboys many breakdowns-

The defense hadn't yielded a hundred yard rushing game all season, yet on Monday Tiki Barber was as unstoppable as Dennis Hastert at an all-you-can-eat buffett. The Giants stitched together a couple long, clock-eating drives that would make any offense envious. I've seen more defense played at an NHL All-Star game.

Terrell Owens (Yes, I know he had a touchdown.) came up short when they needed him most. On a fourth-and-2 at the Giants' 30-yd line he dropped a pass that not only would have extended a crucial drive, but probably would have also broken for a much longer gain. If fans are to put up with his "look at me" hijinks, he must make that conversion.

The matador offensive line continues to be weak. Their blocking helped Julius Jones rush 13 times for 30 yards. Pathetic. Drew Bledsoe was under seige for the entire half that he played. I know Bledsoe is nearly as immobile as a coma patient, but two of the sacks he suffered, including the safety, were by defenders who were completely untouched by a lineman.

It wasn't the sacks, however, that got Bledsoe pulled. He, and backup Tony Romo, made some of the dumbest decisions I have ever seen on a football field. Bledsoe's goal line pick at the end of the first half was atrocious. The team has a great shot at seven points, but has to at least come away with three at that point. The only way to not come away with three is to make a stupid, brain cramp turnover. Oops. Then Romo-ron comes in and gets lit up for three picks. Two of the balls should never have been thrown and the third was so poor that the defender was so open that he went 96 yards the other way for a touchdown. Someone should remind Romo that those numbers don't count in his offensive statistics.

Finally, I have a big beef with the Big Tuna. The "legendary" Parcells felt deperate enough to insert Romo for Bledsoe at the start of the second half. Maybe he was trying to spark his team, maybe Romo is his guy for the rest of the year. Either way, whatever momentum he was searching for was destroyed when Romo threw that disastrous pick on his first play from scrimmage. As John Madden has said, if you have two quarterbacks, you really don't have any. Parcells may have lost this team for good. They now stand 3-3 with three straight road games next including games at talented Carolina and rival Washington. They return home from the roadie for a date with the currently undefeated Colts.

This team has plenty of time to turn the season into a success, I'm just not sure time is all they need.

"Oh, what a night, late October, 1995..."

I was cracking myself up this morning reliving some old memories on this, the 11th anniversary of one of the best and worst nights of my life. For those that were there-you're welcome for what are likely life-long memories. For those that weren't- I won't give you the gruesome details, but I will share a few life lessons learned that night.

#1- Nickel Draft Night + 21st Birthday = Bad News (In the form of Gastrointestinal Disaster)

#2- If you do choose to combine Nickel Draft Night and your 21st Birthday, don't eat the nachos.

#3- Ten people smoking cheap cigars just to piss off the patrons of a crowded bar, that's funny. (Although, this is probably now illegal in the state of Maryland. Bummer.)

#4- If you can no longer feel your fingers and toes, stop drinking. Unless another stranger buys you yet another birthday shot.

#5-It is perfectly acceptable, if after puking in public, to have your friends shove you out the bar's back door and into a waiting car Secret Service-style.

"Killer I think I need to go to the ba- bleech..."

Tigers In Series? I Can Do That.

A funny thing happened on the way to this October's Subway Series. The Detroit Tigers bounced the Yankees and A's and now await a World Series opponent. The Tigers, who lost an absurd 119 games three seasons ago and lost 91 last season, have nearly reached the pinnacle of their sport. I know they haven't won it all yet, but who thinks their roll is over? They won seven games in ten days, powered by timely hitting, 100+ mph fastballs and knee-buckling curve balls. My one true World Series wish is that at least one octopus flies from the bleachers to the field at Comerica Park. But I digress; this post isn't really about baseball. It's about me. You see, I wanna be the Detroit Tigers.

Stay with me here. I want to steal the formula that the Tigers used to leap from worst to first. For too long, I have been a moribund franchise. For ten long years I have grown fat and sloppy, stagnant and lazy, physically, mentally and spiritually. I sleepwalk through life while the vampire that is my career ( or lack thereof ) slowly drains my soul. Therefore, I resolve to make changes and I'm going to do it The Tiger Way:

Like Detroit, I already have a loyal fan base. Amanda, family and friends serve as all the support network a guy could need.

The Tigers built a winner by patiently nurturing their young talent, allowing it to percolate and improve over the last few years. I'd like to think I have a little talent for this writing thing (at least teachers , professors and writing instuctors have told me so). So, now it is time to cultivate it. It's time to put pen to paper and punch out articles and stories in the name of growth and development. There is no excuse for me not entering the numerous short story contests that exist.

Break out the cliches- I must "put my nose to the grindstone"(I hope it's a big grindstone), "nothing worth anything comes easy", "you make your own luck", etc. These are cheesy examples, but the truth is there is no substitute for hard work. To paraphrase Tiger manager Jim Leyland talking about centerfielder Curtis Granderson-" He may not be a superstar, he might someday, but he maximizes every bit of talent that he has." It's time for me to work hard and maximize whatever abilties I possess.

Finally, I need to find the confidence. The Tigers confidence is instilled by Leyland, a smart manager who makes all the correct moves, and their veteran leadership. My confidence must come from within. I need to to just say "F*** it" and cut loose.

So, with that I challenge myself to be better in all aspects of my life. Just as all baseball clubs preach in February-Hope springs eternal. Today is my day that pitchers and catchers report. Today I begin anew my journey towards success and contentment. You are all welcome to come along for the ride.

"Where's the Funny?" and Other Lingering Questions.

A few tidbits that I've been pondering over the past couple of postless weeks:

Will Saturday Night Live ever be funny again? Two weeks in and I've barely mustered a chuckle. The pared down cast was supposed to weed out the waste (Although I do miss Rachel Dratch, the other three outcasts-Finesse Mitchell, Horatio Sanz and Chris Parnell are not missed at all.), but it has been incredibly unfunny. The sketches have simply been boring. Speaking of boring, Studio 60 has been a complete bust in my mind. I have laughed a bit, however, the show lacks the heart that Aaron Sorkin's other projects, SportsNight and The West Wing possessed. Smarmy people pretending to be funny is not funny. It would also help if the comedy sketches in the fictional comedy show-within-the-show were funny. Anyway, I'm not ready to give up on it, but it needs to kick into gear soon. Tina Fey's show-within-a-show, debuting this week, may be our last shot at some skecth comedy comedy this season.


Don't the people in the Philadelphia Eagles organization who are ripping Terrell Owens for ruining their team realize that they did that to themselves? Despite seeing what a bad teammate and person he was in San Francisco, the Eagles fell all over themselves to get this guy. It is revisionist history to say they were surprised by how his tenure ended. Shame on the Dallas Cowboys for falling into the same trap this season. No matter his on-field talents, his off-field turbulence is a cancer that can destroy any team.

Attended the Caps home opener Saturday. High times as the Caps punished the defending Stanley Cup champ Hurricanes behind outstanding performances from the two Alexanders. My only minor beef? Can't we come up with a catchier season slogan than - Caps Hockey. See it. Feel it. ? Owner Ted Leonsis is supposedly a marketing genius. I think a 5th grade class could come up with something less generic. Over the course of the game and a few beers, Killer, Wolske and I came up with a few marketing slogans (most of which had to do with the unfortunate last name of right wing and budding superstar Alexander Semin). The best, hands down, from the brain of Mr. Wolske: "Ovechkin-Russian for Fuckin-a."


Think those baseball Hall of Fame voters who left Negro League legend Buck O'neill one vote short of election in June don't feel ashamed right now? It's been announced that he'll be enshrined post-humously. What an indignity for one of the great caretakers of the game.


Finally, I danced a jig this weekend with my fellow Yankee haters. Good riddance! Nice work, A-Rod! Fire Torre! Wait, fire Torre? The man has made the playoffs in all eleven seasons he's coached the Yanks. He restored them to prominence after Big Stein nearly detroyed them. He won four rings in eleven seasons, which is about as good as it gets unless your name is John Wooden or Red Auerbach. And I think this season may have been Torre's finest season yet. He dealt with the loss of Matsui and Sheffield and a sub-par year from A-Rod. If Torre could pitch they'd have been just fine. Now that he hasn't won a World Series in a whole six years, Torre is on the hot seat. O's fans would kill to have such problems. Of course, as I'm writing this I hear that today is the tenth anniversary of the Jeffrey Maier/Rich Garcia debacle. If not for those two asses the last decade of the O's-Yanks rivalry might look a whole lot different. Excuse me while I go stick another needle in my Derek Jeter voodoo doll.

Back For Your Dining And Dancing Pleasure.

I know I haven't posted in a while, but I've been distracted by real life which can be a terrible intrusion sometimes. I've lacked imagination and inspiration as I've sleepwalked through the last couple of weeks; when I have had ideas I've had neither the energy, nor desire to peck away at the keyboard. However, I've got the brain juices flowing again, so if you enjoy meaningless fluff and sports gibberish this is still your place to find it. Stay tuned.

Is It RED October Yet?

More From Dirtbag Domi.

Don't get me wrong, Ulf Samuelsson is a punk too, but this cheap shot stuff is for the birds. (Unless we're talking Dale Hunter's after-the-whistle hit from behind on an unsuspecting Pierre Turgeon which, hypocritically, is okay. Just kidding.)

Now He Has Time To Fight All The Fans.

Two things to look and listen for in the video:Can't get enough of seeing Darcy Tucker laid out on the ice and listen to the homer Leaf annoncers trash the Philly fan. Hilarious.

Nostalgic For Some Orioles' Magic.

Rob recently posted about his wistful memories of the 70's and 80's and today, by complete chance, I embarked on my own little one-legged hobble down memory lane. Flipping channels on my lunch break, I stumbled upon the Mid Atlantic Sports Network ( a recent fine addition to the Comcast Lineup). Apparently they fill dead afternoon air with rebroadcasts of old Orioles games packaged as "Orioles Classics". I was hooked the second I saw that cartoon bird on the helmet. This particular game was played on August 8th, 1986. You see, even though the O's were pretty pathetic in the late 80's, these were the years that cemented my fandom. It simply didn't get any better than spending a summer evening watching the Birds on TV or, even better, falling asleep to the games on the radio.

I was fortunate enough to catch the great inning of this game; the Orioles erased a 6-0 Rangers lead by scoring nine times in one inning which included two grand slams. 33rd St was rockin and for a half-hour I was ten again. Some brief snippets that stuck out from my short visit to Memorial Stadium:

*The announcer was talking about the "rookie phenom, one of the new heroes of Birdland, Jim Traber". Boy, was that short-lived.

*The O's were only 2 1/2 games out first place. In August. My, how times have changed.

*The announcer kept plugging "Three Buck Night". Now you can't even get a hot dog for $3.

*The grand slams were hit by the utterly forgettable(except to true fans) Larry Sheets and Jim Dwyer.

There were only two things missing. Chants of "Eddie-Eddie-Eddie" and the sweet baritone of the late, great Chuck Thompson.

Good Times. Thanks MASN.

Now He'll Have Time To Fight All The Fans.

Tie Domi officially retired yesterday ending one of the dirtiest yet entertaining careers in NHL history. From slugging it out with a Flyers fan to his cheap shot on fellow dirt bag Ulf Sammuelson to his legendary bouts with Bob Probert, Domi has compiled quite a highlight reel. I tried unsuccessfully to post a few from youtube ;if you get a chance you should go there and watch them. He was a player who you loved to hate. So as incongruous as this sounds, "Good Riddance Mr. Domi, you will be missed."

Home Run Fun.

Even in today's sports climate of overpaid millionaires and juice injecting cheats, athletes can sometimes provide a moment or moments that defy logic and remind me of the magic that draws me to sports in the first place. The ending to last night's Dodgers-Padres game was so unrealistic that if a Hollywood script writer penned it he would have been laughed out of the pitch meeting. The Dodgers, trailing 9-5 heading into the bottom of the ninth inning, tied the game by hitting four straight solo home runs. Kent, Drew, Martin and Anderson. Back-to-back-to-back-to-back. Impossible, except that it really happened. Then after surrendering a run in the top of the tenth, the Dodgers were blessed by the baseballs gods again when Nomar Garciaparra won the game by smashing a two-run homer. This improbable victory propelled L.A. past the Padres and into first place. Of course, the best part of the victory for me was being able to hear the great Vin Scully's voice on the ubiquitous highlights played all day today. Very cool.