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.

Bryan Held Hostage:Day 5

Today is my fifth day stuck inside since my successful knee surgery. I am insane with cabin fever, so I hope this list of random thoughts, compiled over five days of recuperation, ice and elevation, makes some sense. At least as much sense as my other posts. So, I present to you- Notes from the Couch:

Daytime TV is awful; there are way too many Judge shows, cable news channels could tape 30 minutes of programming a day and loop it for the other 23 1/2 hours, and Dr. Phil is still a hump.

Lesson to other recovering patients- When ordering a sub delivery, check that the delivering restaurant doesn't charge extra for lettuce, tomato and delivery. Therefore you may not also be stuck paying OVER $15 for a cheesesteak and fries.

The itching of leg hair growing back in is doubly annoying when wearing a compression stocking that runs from toes to ass cheek.

Given all the ad time NBC has poured into it, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip had better be good.

How long have I been laying on the couch? I have a bruise on my arm where it has hung off the front of the couch in the same spot for days.

Funniest thing I saw all weekend (besides me trying to navigate the bathroom on one leg)- Will Ferrell on the inaugural episode of The Megan Mullaly Show (I told you I'm rabid with cabin fever.) He greeted his hostess wearing nothing but blue jockey briefs and tube socks carrying a bouquet of roses. Priceless.

The movie Miracle, the story of the 1980Miracle on Ice hockey team, is a pretty good flick. I should have watched it sooner. I was inspired and had goosebumps even as Al Michaels shouted the expected "Do you believe in miracles?". That will never get old.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think there is such a thing as too much football. After watching triple headers Saturday and Sunday, I'm a little burnt. I might not even watch Monday Night Football tonight.

Finally, I will make this suggestion to my surgeon when I see him for my follow-up : He should sell a DVD copy of his arthoscopic surgeries to his patients. Hell, if people will buy photos of themselves screaming on a roller coaster then surely folks would buy a copy of a camera burrowing inside their knee. At least I would. Of course, that could just be the fever talking.

It's Baaaack!

Don't laugh and don't say I didn't warn you - Dancing With The Stars returns with a new season tonight. I have previously documented how my affection for this show makes me a loser, yet I'll tune in at 8pm tonight on ABC. Jerry Springer, Tucker Carlson, Emmitt Smith(one of my all-time favorite athletes) are among this seasons competitors. What's not to love? This thing will be cheesier than a Rob O. Taco Bell belch. Throw in Tom "I may be the worst game show host ever" Bergeron, great music and some sizzling hot dance instructors and you've got yourself quite a party.

Atlantis Rides Again.

Thanks to the Wolskes for giving me a shout this morning to remind me of the impending shuttle launch. I know I have written about the shuttle and space travel before, but the shuttle launch never ceases to amaze me. I find it fascinating, yet I could never see myself rocketing into orbit. Me riding in the shuttle cockpit would probably look a whole lot like the kid in this video.

Good At Football? Then You've Got No Worries, My Friend.

This story proves what a topsy-turvy world we inhabit; people's priorities are way out of whack. The Washington Post article isn't very long if you want to read it yourself, but I'll give you the short recap:

High school football star helps rob a Smoothie King of $463. (Allegedly.)

Whitman High School sends him home for remainder of last school year. The Whitman principal ( apparently the only sane person in this story) recommended expulsion, but was denied by an arbitrator.

Montgomery County, Md school officials allow him to switch to Wheaton High School in order to play football this season.

Wheaton coaches and players welcome him with open arms, naming him team captain.

Favorite line fom the article:Lazear said his ankle monitor is light enough that he hardly notices it when he plays, and it will not encumber him.

I know he is innocent until proven guilty, but shouldn't being arrested for armed robbery be enough to lose some privileges? How about some parenting? Where are the consequences for behaving badly? And we wonder why college athletes, and kids in general, have no respect for authority.

Image Was Everything.

I am a few days late with this, but I wanted to salute Andre Agassi for his classy farewell at the US Open last week.

Agassi transformed himself from a young punk (He wouldn't play Wimbledon because he would have had to wear tennis whites.) to a hard-training adult in time to salvage his immense talent and become a legend and ambassador for American tennis. Agassi ditched the mullett and Canon Rebel persona and earned respect for his game and his philanthropy. He had fallen as low #141 in the world rankings some years ago, but used his trademark drive to regain the top spot briefly and win eight Grand Slam titles.

That same drive was on display last week at the US Open. Playing in his farewell tournament despite being hobbled by chronic back pain, the 36-year-old Agassi gave the grateful New York crowds something to cheer about. His second round match against 21-year-old Marcos Bagdhatis (sp?) was spectacular. The always exceptionally fit Agassi fought through his back pain and held on to win a five-set classic. Agassi forced the much younger Bagdhatis to run himself into cramps that hampered his play late in the match. It appeared that Agasssi was buoyed by four cortisone shots in five days and the vocal fans, but I know different. I believe his secret weapon was the Wolske-esque pink sports drink that he sipped at every changeover. Worked for Chris on the ice, why not on the hardcourt as well?

Agassi's farewell tour and sappy Hollywood run ran out of steam in the third round, however. Barely able to bend over for low shots, Andre's famous return game was short-circuited. Sometimes it is difficult to watch athletes stuggle when the end is near, but this time was different for me. I liked what Dick Enberg said during his play-by-play, "Greatness reveals itself under pressure and pain." Agassi counterpunched, playing enough defense to stay in the match. He was overwhelmed, yet almost pushed the match to a fifth set. As it was, he bowed out in four and had to settle for a warm eight-minute standing ovation. Now at 36, with millions of dollars, a hot wife, two young kids and a school he has funded from the ground up, he gets to live out the rest of his American dream. Congrats, Andre for choosing substance and greatness over style and flash.

Growler- Futuristic Fighting Machine or Overpriced Golf Cart On Steroids ?

I am not naive enough to think that the US military doesn't spend billions of dollars on research and development. I know this is necessary. I also know that R & D relies on a lot of trial and error. Therefore, I know it costs a ton just to design the equipment our troops will use, let alone produce it in mass quantities. I just wish the projects that are selected for mass production were a little better thought out than the Marines' new off-road vehicle The Growler.

The Growler is basically a reborn jeep designed to capably maneuver in many conditions. It is lighter than a Humvee and therefore can be hauled by the V-22 Osprey. The problem with the Growler, according to several articles I've read, is that it is not really built for soldier protection. It is an open truck with limited armor. From National Defense Magazine:

Jim Mills, an industry expert who helped manage the armored Humvee program, said it would be quite difficult to protect a small vehicle such as the Growler from landmine blasts. You can provide fragment protection but a mine blast would toss the vehicle in the air. You could install Kevlar in the underbody for fragment protection, panels behind the seats. Armoring the cab, he noted, would add too much weight and compromise its transportability.

It seems the Growler can be outfitted with some extra protection, but not too much because that would erase its benefits. Hmmm. Well thought out, gents. And, of course, while this vehicle would be a bargain at any price, our friends in the five-sided building are paying $127,00 apiece or, according to CBS News, $277 million for the fleet.

All this for a vehicle that will be hauled by the troubled Osprey fleet. The Osprey, the Marine tilt-rotor aircraft that flies faster than traditional helicopters, has been plagued by numerous crashes during testing. A Marine told me years ago that they call it "the widowmaker". So, to recap- overgrown, unprotective jeep with cheesy name hauled around by cool, if impractical, flyng jalopy. I'd sure love to see my tax $ spent on more productive military equipment.

Dear Ernesto...

Dear Ernesto,

How about being a pal, okay? Why not cut the Gulf region some slack? You can just make a little u-turn or dissapate completely if you like. I mean do you really need to power up and wreak havoc on land? The poor people of Florida and the Gulf Coast just aren't ready for another hit.

I saw Mayor Nagin and FEMA Director Paulison on Meet the Press this morning; despite their brave talk, they didn't look real confident. Even the engineers say it's "unclear" how the levees will react to a Category 3 hitting New Orleans. And don't forget Florida which is still recovering from four wallops in the '04 season.

Now, I know, you'll probably get a bunch of crap from those TV tools like Jim Cantore and Anderson Cooper, who make their bones off destruction and other peoples' misery, but they're not important. After all, look what happened to that bitch Katrina- she packed such a punch that they made her retire. So why don't you just scram and tell the next storm in line-Francis, Fernando, whoever- to take a breather too. We simply haven't had enough tome to erase our hurricane fatigue.