After a construction worker left a David Ortiz Red Sox jersey in the foundation of the new Yankee Stadium, Steinbrenner Inc. hired a construction crew for several hours at a cost of almost $50,000 to tear up cement to find the garment. New York State prosecutors stated that criminal action could not be pressed against J. Castingnoli (probably a Jew from Utah) despite his mischievous intent.

However, on Monday, Yankees management (who are so bent out of shape that they are licking their own asshole) said they will take civil action against the blue collar construction-working Sox fan. How there could be any cause of action is beyond me… I’m guessing they will try and say there was a legitimate financial harm created by the superstitious presence of a cotton cloth buried under hundreds of pounds of concrete and they HAD to dig it up as a result. I’m no lawyer but I’m thinking that there is no way to prove a present or future loss to the Yankees as a result of a shirt living deep in the ground- unless there was a good chance a Big Pappi tree would sprout up from the ground and start producing Krispy Kremes and stikeouts. It was the Yankees own damn fault they wanted to rip things up in what I believe turned in to great publicity stunt for the new stadium.

Putting the construction worker on the line for $50,000 hardly seems fair considering that’s what ARod makes to play a fucking children’s game for thirty minutes. What may be worse is that if the attempted curse has had any effect it appears that it would be on David Ortiz, whose jersey, number 34, was used in the burial. As a result it would seem Big Pappi is batting like a sugared up retard. Lets remember that the curse was reversed on 2004 and the burden lies on the Yankees now to find a way to fix it. Burying Bernie Williams may be their next hope to winning another World Series (thanks to Onion for bit).

A red tail hawk that had been trained to kill ARod on Friday accidentally jumped the gun and attacked a 13 year-old girl who was visiting Fenway Park on a school trip. The girls name? “Alexa Rodriguez” or as her friends call her “ARod”. The attack, which occurred a week before the New York Yankees were to take the field against Boston, caused the girl to be taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital as reported by the Boston Globe. I don’t really think I can blame the hawk for mistaking a purse-carrying teeny bopper in a Jonas Brothers hoodie for the Real McCoy.

Side note: Other animals that have been trained to attack incoming players include Bevo IV of Texas, Thunderbug of Tampa Bay, and C.C. Sabathia of Cleveland.

Baseball is back (well almost). It is no exaggeration that I am 10% happier during the baseball season. Having a regular influx of statistics and sports adds some level of stability to my life and the wait for opening day is coming to an end.

It only helps the cause that from the end of NFL playoffs until MLB first pitch there are absolutely no sports worth observing. Sure there is the occasional NCAA game and watching tournament berths unfold but this is no different than getting that tasty bread at Outback, which you fucking devour in six seconds and then go on to piss and moan about where your cheese fries and steak are. And maybe you can say NBA basketball – but just about every team has a superstar starter, and almost everyone makes it to the post season- which lasts months anyway. It’s like having a kindergarten class of 30 play musical chairs only there are 25 chairs, and 2 of the kids are mentally retarded, one has a torn ACL, and the other two are from cities no one could give a shit about. Hockey? I have yet to develop the tolerance to understand the rules to even address Hockey. Arena Football is actually pretty sweet because the fans can steal the ball from players and it’s legal – but still it’s like masturbating with a cast on until your girlfriend comes back from a six-month vacation.

Baseball is regularity. It is a comfort. It is knowing that almost every day you can turn to the sports section or get on ESPN.com and drown yourself in a thick pool of statistics and game results. Then of course there is fantasy baseball, which I believe is something like scientology mixed with Ken Griffey’s SNES baseball game. It is an obsession that can ruin a lovely dinner date (e.g. “Swain’s pitcher threw 8 shutout innings… and I dropped that guy in week 3….GRAAAA! No, I don’t want any fucking crème brulee – lets go home so I can sleep in my jeans and stare at the ceiling”). Fantasy baseball is a passion that goes so well with “real life” baseball that the two now seem analogous in my mind and I care equally as much about my imaginary playoffs as the real thing. And don’t even get me started on Yahoo!’s StatTracker… I don’t understand why the Internet wasn’t invented sooner to accomplish such a magnificent achievement in sports and technology. It is the greatest advancement since the ball in sports and math in technology.

Yes… the wait is over and its time to get 110% as drunk in celebration.

It was recommended by Swain that we all participate in a Death Pool/Death List for 2008. Apparently in New Orleans this morbid game is common place and local television networks spend much of the new year discussing their lists of hopeful deaths on the evening news — perhaps in an attempt to divert the reality that a category five will be wiping out the city in a FEMA-packed sequel set for release some time in August. For those of us who are gentiles or live outside the path of Hurricane Cloverfield the point of a Death Pool is relatively easy - a group of players pick out celebrities who they think will die within the year and who ever picks the most correct at the conclusion of the year is declared the winner.

UPDATE: Here are the draft results for the 2008 Death Pool

Full list with all participants: dp081.xls

I was within reach of two people who make the very top of my “People I hate and would punch in the face list” but instead I learned that the list should be called “People I hate, but you know are pretty handsome… hmmm yea, they are okay, I guess list” In what unfolded like a Lemony Snicket’s novel, I went to the Redskins/Cowboys game yesterday. For those who don’t have the benefit of a crotchety 70 year-old man blabbering on constantly about the Skins, the Redskins needed the win against the Cowboys to make the playoffs so it was a pretty big deal in Washington even if the Cowboys weren’t going to try any harder than I would at a Bally’s Total Fitness free trial membership.

In the pouring rain I turned in to Scalpbot 2000. My one mission: to pay nothing to get in to the game. Halfway in to the first quarter and after refusing the extreme liquidation prices of a scalper (from 300 down to 25 bucks) I was happily handed a club seat stub and club section “re-entry pass” by a fan who had been forced to leave by his girlfriend (so we can assume) and I headed off to the gate. Well, as we know from reading the backside of the stub, once a ticket is torn you can not reenter a game for any reason after leaving. But I pleaded that the club section reentry pass was misleading and I thought I could get back in to the game with the pass and stub together. The ticket usher said it was a good thing he was having a good day and let me through anyway. Bad ass. I watched the second quarter in pouring rain while accessing the never ending supply of beers coming from a ripped hole in the back of my jacket.

After a not-so-elaborate scheme was planned I met my dad to attempt to join him in the press box section. I acted as if Dan Snyder was my brother and walked in confidently (underdressed) to the luxury suites where broadcasts were occurring. We watched the third quarter behind the Redskins Radio broadcasters but in the lull of the crowd and when Sonny wasn’t rambling on about the Second Boer War I could hear a piercing squelch of an obnoxious man’s voice. I could almost make out the man saying “fuck the Red Sox” and it hit me. BUCK.

Next door was the Fox Sports broadcast booth and there through the plate glass partition was one of the most hated men in broadcasting and the top of my list of complete assholes, Joe Buck. I contemplating making a fake mooning motion at the glass (something that horrified Buck so much in 2005 that he almost quit broadcasting to become a seal beater) but instead, with drink in hand, just walked next door and entered the Fox Sports booth. There was surprisingly no reaction from the man seated by the door standing just off to the side of the blue Fox Sports sheet draped behind Buck. I figured this could be my chance to make the world right for baseball and football fans all over the country. Sadly, I had no weapon other than an unopened can of Natural Light (still left over from Crabfest) in my jacket so I thought about just spearing the shadow of Buck through the sheet and tumbling with him down in to the crowds below (or on top of a moving rail car) to have a fist of cuffs set to climatic 1980’s Steven Segalish “last fight scene” music. As I stood listening to the shrill comments of Buck a man came from behind the sheet and walked right by me. I again was shocked at what I was looking at. More of the hate all in one small bathroom sized room. SEACREST.

Now I was really torn - with all this hate what was I to do? I did what everyone would have expected me to do. Nothing. In fact I walked out of the Fox booth after Seacrest and even stood in line with him to get a slice of cake and some chicken fingers. “He eats the same things we do, not the souls of infants” I thought to myself as he dolloped a healthy serving of honey mustard on to his plate. Yeah he’s alright by my book. I guess he was pretty funny on Talk Soup anyway. And what about Buck? Well he looked pretty tall so he’s okay in my book too, as long as he’s not covering the Sox/Yankees games.

All at once I felt peace on my life.

Inside sources say that Michael Vick has checked in to the very exclusive C.I. Rivers institution in Winton, N.C., a privately run facility notorious for its vigorous work out regimens and intense military style personal training stafff. One can only assume that Michael thinks he can become more of an athlete than he already is with a decision to commit himself to a two-year program such as C.I. Rivers. Sources say the quarterback hopes to become the most tone, muscular, and physically dominating player on the football field… and the world… and even bigger than whatever the fuck Cloverfield is.

Vick was the former No. 1 overall pick in the 2001 NFL draft and guided the Atlanta Falcons to the NFC Championship Game in 2004. However in 2006 the three-time Pro Bowler placed most of the blame for a lackluster 2006 season performance of his own shoulders and decided it would be best to hit the weights before returning to the field. Last season, he became the first quarterback to rush for more than 1,000 yards but with the proper motivation, time, and “free weight activity time” in the courtyard, Vick believes that statistic could be multiplied seven-thousand fold in his 2009 return to the NFL.

The facility has produced some of the strongest and aggressive athletes in the county, including Harvey “The Mailman Strangler” Thomas and Carlos Bloodtear.

When asked about his strength and conditioning goals, Vick stated he planned to get “so fucking huge that he can throw a school bus in to the sun.”

Outbound Falcons coach Bobby Petrino said he wishes the next man in line luck. “Vick? The man is already an animal and now were going to feed him raw meat and let him play with dumbbells and Soloflex machines all day? I hope the NFC South gets their defensive linemen better insurance.”

According to one source inside the exclusive training facility, Vick has already shown significant increase in muscle mass after only one month in the program. At his current pace Vick is set to gain over 480 pounds of raw muscle mass and gain over 8 feet in height. By comparison he would be the size of roughly 29 Tom Bradys, taking up more surface area than most mall Claire’s franchises and slightly smaller than Megatron. Don Shula, hall of fame coach and winningest NFL head coach ever (.665) simply stated “God help us all.”

When you google the terms “worst fans in NCAA football “ you don’t expect this guy’s shit:
Google Top Result

Personally I don’t like his tone or exaggeration in story retelling littered with fascinating but clearly untrue adaptations of factual events – well its like dictailgate - only from a crybaby dick. This guy sucks. Apparently his best argument for the fact that the Seminoles suck this year and he had a miserable loser filled twenty-first birthday is that FSU has hot women (shocker) and believes that such a claim wins every argument – which it does – but only if you are sleeping with them and not if you just happened to see a hot chick in your introduction to writing class. And I’m on to this asshole - he just interchanges larger words to sound more sophisticated, for instance instead of saying Virginia he would say Old Dominion State, or the ever unnecessary Virginia Polytechnic Institute rather than Virginia Tech. On any given Saturday, in any given stadium, you can have a miserable time - don’t whine about it, or at least provide pictures, and Brett if you are reading this don’t you dare read any of my old posts (you should be out getting wasted anyway since you seemed to forget to do that on your 21st).

I once thought that Maryland had a bunch of shit talking fans - Penn State takes it to a new and more ridiculous level. Now granted you want to support your team especially when playing BCS #1 Ohio State, but this is insane. Let me first set the stage by explaining the key players: First there was me - of course I wasn’t exactly me, but rather a Halloween Tobias Blue Man Group Member, Jens, Ryan - dressed as Bandit wearing a red cowboy shirt, and Frank - wearing OSU gear and someone I don’t think anyone would fuck with on a regular day… but this was ESPN GameDay.

Incident 1: While walking in to the tailgate parking lot there was a scatter of boo’s thrown toward Frank, not surprising. A moment later a pudgy kid came running in at Ryan telling him he wasn’t a “real cowboy”. The little shit, covered in pink stains, stopped two inches from Ryan’s face and found himself being thrown back in to his tailgate of 20 or so raging PSU fans by the now angry Bandit. In apparent response a meat-head who probably owned more than one of the same Hollister shirt came in and spit on Frank and Ryan. Think about that… if you spit on someone you have just written a check made out to “Getting In a Fucking Fight” and you better have overdraft protection. Jens came running back at the spit-kid who promptly backed in the crowd and picked up a glass handle of liquor, holding it out as if he was planning a caveman club swing. Moments later we were walking away to cat calls from the filthy women at the tailgate.

Incident 2: Granted this occured after the four of us went off “looking to start some shit” and it was actually quite tame most of the way. One clever PSU fan did muster a “Fuck You, Flatlander” to Frank. Which I did find amusing. At some point we made in to a gauntlet of PSU fans. They were jumping on trucks and screaming racial slurs for no reason. All 70 people dialed in to the bright red hoodie now walking through their tailgate. First came boos, then came showers of beer from shaking Beast Lights, then came the actual empty cans thrown in to the air, Frank continued on his way and was walking from the tailgate - afterall there was 70 of them. As we cleared the lair of undergrads a PSU fan ran up behind Frank, and pegged him - I mean pegged - him in the back of the head with a full beer. The whole tailgate went silent. Frank was forced to respond. The kid who threw the full beer was holding a ski pole and planted it in the ground (a la Braveheart) but then ran away in to the sea of white. Ryan picked up a case of beer and chucked it underhand back in to the crowd. Already PSU fans were coming up, apologizing, making sure an all out war wasn’t going to erupt. Their olive branches were snapped when a kid came running in telling Ryan he better fix the taillight his beer toss just smashed. Ryan’s response was “Fuck your mother.” Ten minutes later we were drinking with them and Ryan was force feeding beer down the broken taillight. Once again however - pegging a beer at the back of someones head for doing nothing more than wearing Red? Total assholes. Side note: The minimum grade-point required for admission as a degree student from Pennsylvania is 1.00.

Incident 3: This occurred inside the stadium. I was hammered shit, still covered in blue, and managed to score a ticket to the game for $20. I attempted to use the ticket (which was in an alumni section) to sit with the students but I stood out for some reason and was sent to my proper seat. Upon arriving to the correct seating section I asked the usher where my seat was. She pointed me up a flight of stairs and I began my accent. About 10 steps later a hand grabbed the back of my arm and demanded to see what was in my pocket. It was the usher. Confused I pulled out my ticket and she said “No, your back pocket.” With ‘oh shit’ realization I reached my back pocket and pulled a full unopened Lion’s Head from it. I apologized and told her I didn’t realize and tried to continue on my way. Perhaps it was my mustache but she didn’t want to give me a break and said “No, you are coming with me!” and I pleaded “You aren’t actually going to throw me out for bringing that in, are you?” to the response “Oh no, you aren’t getting kicked out, you’re getting arrested.” (Legal side note: Other than a charge for trespass or a drunk in public citation once removed from the premises I don’t know what the hell I could have been arrested for) I walked behind her assuming I could talk her out of her plan of action or what she believed was a plan of action. I began to wonder if she realized I was a 26 -year-old who had actually painted his entire face and chest blue. The bottom of the stairs split to the left and right. To my left, following the usher, awaited a mysterious conversation and explanation which would likely mean I miss kick-off … and to my right, a clear path. Naturally when I hit the landing I bolted to the right and began running.  I darted back and forth down ramps and flew straight in to the bathroom and wiped off my blue face (figuring that was my most identifying feature). So again -  all that for having an unopened beer in a football stadium? Assholes.

I only was able to handle about one quarter of football before leaving from being too drunk to exist in public. I gave the fans of the night some karma by Dick Tailgating on my way home. Walking through the door I dumped the remnants of my case of Coors Light, which spilled along the table with 3 Buds, 1 Red Bull, a Frisbee, and a can of Guinness. I passed out on the floor at about 9:14pm with no intent to cheer on PSU’s behalf. I think that’s a small price to repay for a school that is chock full of assholes.

We’re one game in to the World Series and sadly the biggest highlight of game one after the blowout scoring was the exchange between Coco Crisp and Royce Clayton discussing the rules of Taco Bell’s Steal-A-Base-Steal-A-Taco promotion [link]. Clayton, who has made upwards of 4.5 million dollars a year to play baseball, took issue with the Taco Bell promotion wondering why he couldn’t continuously visit the dozens of Taco Bell franchises in the Boston area and say “I haven’t gotten my free taco.” Similarly, he informed millions of fat pig shits of how to milk the area Taco Bells for all their 69 cent goodness.

Then tonight we have Virginia Tech and Boston College. Boston College has somehow crept in to the BCS #2… personally I think its an attempt by the media to get bandwagon Catholics to watch a team with Jesus on the line other than the abysmal Fighting Irish. Boston College is rolling in to Blacksburg on a Thursday night after VT has had week off, student tickets are going for 100 bucks online, the TEK barn is hosting a Halloween DJ party, Backstreets is offering 2-for-1 pizza subs… its total suicide. I can’t really predict a score, I have heard we are favored by 3 points, so I think if I HAD to predict a result I would say Virginia Tech: 129, Boston College: Injuries.

Friday is a trip to Cedar Point where there are 17 roller coasters - more than anywhere else in the world (though some look like bullshit scooby doo 1940’s crap). Roller coasters aren’t really a sport, not even an extreme one, but when you go up 450 feet and come back down in a period of 7 seconds you have done some really wacky physics defying shit and I think that should count as more of a sport than a MLS game.

Then this weekend is PSU v OSU - Holy shit holy shit holy shit - BCS Number 1 coming in to Beaver? JoePa? Big10 marquee matchup of the year (maybe decade) and on Saturday night - 8pm kickoff under the lights? I’m a student, I can join the screaming PSU faithful with my senior student ticket. This could be the greatest win in Penn State History! Yeah, I sold that shit for $160.

Sunday we will attempt to devour the World’s Largest Hamburger at Denney’s belly buster burger [link] and fail worse than the Redskins will against Tom Brady. Tom Brady has actually made a comment that he will be playing the game alone with his number borne in to his chest with a dull pocket knife and ink from a bic pen.

Kickoff is at 7:30.