As we move on with our lives now that Barry Bonds has taken over the home run record — though we really can’t move on, considering he’s gonna keep playing — we look at the guy who has consistently looked worse than everybody else, Bonds included, this entire time. We’re talking of course about Bud Selig.
It is amazing, really, how Selig so consistently makes the wrong decisions at exactly the wrong time; he couldn’t screw up worse if he were trying. First, historically, the steroid (and Bonds) monster that he could have dealt with a decade ago. But that’s original sin: Let’s deal with the last, oh, two weeks.
Selig, chronologically:
• Refused to say whether he would be there for Bonds’ record homer, acting as if he was making grand statement by not making a statement.
• Finally relented and started showing up at games, dragging his feet and saying, “I don’t think anybody can say I haven’t made a Herculean effort” in, you know, watching baseball games.
• Leaves the trail right before Bonds hits the homer.
• Meets with that increasingly ridiculous Mitchell steroid probe committee.
• When Bonds hits the record, sends out another of his namby-pamby, bitch-ass “we congratulate Bonds … but don’t forget that he’s a cheater!” passive-aggressive press releases.
Selig is the only guy we know who thinks, by taking no stance and pussy-footing around, people will see him as some sort of great leader. He’s not. He’s just a spineless car salesman who, for some reason, just won’t go away. God, has he really been commissioner for 15 years now?
And seriously: It is absolutely impossible for this guy to take a good picture.
We meant to post this yesterday but didn’t get around to it. David Beckham visited the Yankees locker room on Monday; he was one of the she-male, muscular types A-Rod usually hangs with while in Toronto. For some reason — and we can’t put our finger on why — but these pictures oddly remind us of this one. We don’t understand why, and we probably don’t want to.
Believe it or not, folks, the NFL season is much closer than you can possibly imagine. So close, in fact, that, if we’re going to fit in every NFL team preview by the start of the season, we have to go this early. So there you have it.
Last year, we asked some of our favorite writers to opine why Their Favorite Team Was Better Than Yours. Ultimately, we found this constrictive, and it also might have killed James Frey. So this time, we’ve just asked them to just run free, talk about their team, their experience as a fan, their hopes, their dreams, their desires for oral sex. All our teams are now assigned; if you sent us an email and we didn’t get back to you, we’re sorry, and we accept your scorn. But today: The Houston Texans.
Your author is Whitney Pastorek, a staff writer for Entertainment Weekly. Her words are after the jump.
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Upon the announcement that Atlanta had sent backup QB Matt Schaub to the Texans, who promptly released long-time QB and black hole of football death David Carr back into the wild, I took my No. 8 jersey and covered the crooked “CARR” on the back with a piece of duct tape reading “SCHAUB.”
I’m not going to miss Carr much, but I also bear him no particular ill will. It’s not like he arrived as a mercenary, professed allegiance, and then followed his wallet right back out of town (*cough*I am upset with Clemens and Pettitte*cough¬*). No, Carr seemed genuine in his desire to see this franchise succeed. It’s just that, well, he sucked. The ability to throw the occasional six-yard completion so long as the scary endzone isn’t looming and no one is making too much noise doth not a professional quarterback make. I look forward to the increased, focused mobility of Matt Schaub — a man who, from everything I’ve seen, understands that he needs to get away from the men who are wearing the other team’s uniform and chasing him around the field, and not just plop down with the ball because he’s scared and knows the national press is going to blame it on the offensive line, anyway. I think he’s already demonstrated that he’s a nice guy, a true leader who’s psyched to be out from under ol’ Dogbreath Mexico’s shadow. I want to like Schaub. I want him someday to warrant a jersey all his own. And maybe it’s just that $49.99 in my pocket talking (I buy kid-sized jerseys), but I am very nearly what one might call “excited” about the 2007 Houston Texans.
In fact, I’ll call it right now: We are breaking .500 this year. You heard me. I think a number of tiny Voltron pieces are finally clicking into place. Like how we only gave up 43 sacks in 2006, and I say “only” because Seattle gave up 49, and they went to the damn playoffs. Our first round draft pick, defensive tackle Amobi Okoye, may be all of 20 years old, but at least he ain’t hiding at his mom’s house, JaMarcus. On the offensive front, I’ve always sort of pictured the Texans as a bunch of really drooly three-legged golden retriever puppies who bounce around but don’t come within a mile of fetching the Frisbee; hopefully, the veteran presence of Ahman Green will settle their energy a bit, and perhaps even function as a serviceable prosthetic fourth leg until science (or ownership) figures out how to grow us a real one. And hey, DeMeco Ryans is the reigning NFL Defensive Rookie of the Year! Also, we still have that Mario Williams fellow, somewhere! Look at us go! Wheeeeee!
Now, since I’m no good at responding to sports with anything other than raw emotion and awkward run-on sentences, I’ve called for backup in the form of Matt Campbell, proprietor of the outstanding Texans blog Da Good, Da Bad, and DeMeco, who rings in with the following intelligible keys to Houston success this season:
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1. Ahman Green being at least as good as he was last year. 1059 yards in 14 games blows away anything we’ve had. If he can play 15 or 16 games, rack up 1100 yards, and get in the end zone at least 8 times, we are sitting pretty.
2. The always-present “find a #2 WR.” Granted, I think this is a little overblown–I mean, Andre Johnson has never had a real number 2 opposite him and he’s still put up great numbers–but it’s important in terms of developing the offense. I want Jacoby Jones in that role by mid-season, but I just want production from anyone early on.
3. The development of Mario Williams and Amobi Okoye. For the former, it’s time to put up: I say with zero exaggeration, anything less than 10 sacks is unacceptable. As far as Okoye goes, I don’t expect him to be a Pro Bowler, but he sure needs to be visible when he’s in the game. If he is disappearing for long stretches, Houston, we have a problem.
[Whitney: Matt, please do not use that turn of phrase. Matt: Sorry.]
4. Somewhat related to #3, we have to beat Tennessee at least once this year. If Vince Young goes off for two more wins, especially with no team around him, I don’t know that Mario will ever fully recover in the casual fan’s eyes. Well, I mean, 20 sacks this season might counter it a little, but there’ll always be the “can’t beat Vince” and “Vince just wins games” talk.
5. Figure out a long-term plan for the secondary. Dunta Robinson may or may not be as good as we think he is. Petey Faggins is nowhere near as good as people want to think he is. (Though he would be our best nickel CB… if someone would just put him there.) The safties were so underwhelming last year that we have old CBs trying a position switch this summer. Ugh. This team needs to take real stock of what it has, admit that–barring something miraculous–our first round pick has to be a DB of some form, and be willing to try Bennett/Harrison if the incumbents keep stinking up the joint.
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Thank you, Matt, for that insightful analysis and perspective. I hope everyone reading takes the time to frequent your blog over the course of the upcoming season. I’m sure that all those interested in the growth and progress of this still-young Houston team will want to check in regularly to…
Oh, wait. Does anyone out there in Deadspin land actually care about the Texans, or are you all just reading this so you can make “Wow, that had way more words than the Shaw Report” jokes in the comments? I know there’s a handful of legitimate fans around here — a couple of Houston residents, one or two displaced natives, whoever’s got Andre Johnson on their fantasy team — but is anybody else really sitting at their desk, quivering with anticipation at what the future has in store for the starry-eyed toro squad?
No. No, they are not. No one really gives much of a shit about the Texans at all. For, as I’ve outlined before, the history of football in Houston — nay, all Houston sports, if you do not count the MLS, which it’s been my experience this Web site does not — is a checkered one, and a kind of sniffly checker at that. The Oilers encapsulated futility as a franchise, and upon its inception in 2002, the Texans franchise took one look at “futility” and said, “You want us to do what???” Then the Texans franchise ran for the blankie of ineptitude,and pulled that fuzzy yellow wool right over its head. Every now and again, it peeks out just long enough to win a game. Last year, one of those wins even came against Indy. But this is a new thing they’re trying, and no one’s quite sure how it happened. Still, for all of us paying attention, it was our Super Bowl.
And that’s really the thing, I’ve decided, that makes being a Texans fan so much damn fun. For every game in which we opt to stay conservative in regulation against Tennessee, thus heading to overtime and handing Vince Young a silver platter with which to shove our non-drafting of him down our guilty, embarrassed little throats, there’s a joyous victory — our 27-7 mauling of Jacksonville, for example — that defies all logic. Those are great Sundays. And the fact that they’re few and far between — well, maybe that just makes them better. It must get really boring to be a Patriots fan, like someone telling you Christmas is going to be twice a week now and, dammit, you are going to love every minute of it or else. For without the lows, how do you recognize the highs? To be a Texans fan is to experience the full range of human emotion, to know what it means to hurt, to fail, to rage against the dying of the light. To be a Texans fan is to live. And I don’t know about you, consistently-victorious-football-team followers, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I think.
You might not be able to tell from this picture, which comes to us via the Blazers Blog and 100 Percent Injury Rate, but it’s an etching (drawing? painting?) on the hood of Darius Miles‘ car. And it’s awesome.
It appears to be … well, it Benjamin Franklin smoking a joint while receiving a lap dance. We’re assuming Franklin’s presence is due to his appearance on the 100 dollar bill, though we do like to dream, and pretend that Miles has researched Franklin’s womanizing history and is simply paying tribute to an American hero. On the other side of the hood? The complete text of Thomas Paine’s Common Sense.
What they’re saying in Blogopolis about No. 756. We apologize for the use of that word, by the way. At least we didn’t say “sphere.”
• Hank Aaron And Bondsian Irony. As much as we’ll always remember Barry for his slow home run gangster limp and towering moon shots, we’ll also never forget when a one and a half legged Sid Bream beat out his throw from left field back when he was a Pirate. Or the fact that Barry’s never won a championship. Did he make a Faustian deal where he would be the all time home run leader, living in infamy for six or seven years before being dethroned but always being denied the championship that he longed for so badly during the early stages of his career? Probably too much to hope for. [Brahsome]
• 756 .. Or 756*. So, Barry hit 756 tonight. When I heard about it, I checked it out at Yahoo! Sports, and saw (photo with asterisk). I thought to myself… Whoa.. really? Yahoo! is gonna start the whole * thing with this one? Firing shots over the bow immediately. Well, about 10 minutes later, I reload the page, and see:… (same photo, no asterisk). Hmmmm.. [Dennis Yang.com]
• Open Overnight Barry Thread. Congratulations to Barry Bonds. And because I was actually there, man, I can tell you the truth. I can give you a first-hand account of what REALLY WENT DOWN. I can tell you what those hacks at ESPN are TOO SCARED to tell you: There were more cheers than boos. [McCovey Chronicles]
• Booooo! It was an exciting moment, even if the overall event leaves me dead inside. Barry Bonds is a no-doubt great player. He’s also a cheat, and a drug abuser. He probably doesn’t deserve to be singled out, but as the best player with one of the largest contracts, that just comes with the territory. I don’t celebrate what he did. The feeling I have inside is akin to the tone that the always classy Hank Aaron spoke with. Just matter of fact. Cordial, but not warm. It is (to use the overused cliche) what it is. [Capitol Punishment]
• Come And Drink The Kool-Aid With Me. Barry Bonds is now the new home run king. And for maybe the first time in the last 5 years, ESPN actually did some real reporting by talking with one of the authors of Game of Shadows about Barry’s legacy. Although they also did their absolute best to drag Barry through the mud in what I wouldn’t exactly describe as objective journalism. But when was I ever expecting objective journalism from ESPN anyway. Of course most people out there aren’t very happy. A roided up jackass athlete without much class has taken the home run record away from a dignified, classy, and clean player. [100 Percent Injury Rate]
• 756*. So… complete drug-cheat San Francisco’s Barry Bonds now holds the MLB Home Run record. May I remind you Barry, you don’t have the pro-baseball record just yet tho’. You still have 112 to go. [With Malice]
• Our Place In The 756 Club. And the fan who caught Barry Bonds’ record-breaking home run? Our old pal Dave O’Brien just reported with a touch of astonishment that he’s wearing a Mets jersey. Who says we’re not a part of home run history? [Faith And Fear In Flushing]
• Asterisk-esque! Many Americans will take this opportunity to be hatin’* (* — when they should be congratulatin’) while failing to either acknowledge or appreciate the science which went into creating a talented-but-unlikable test-tube slugger* (* — apparently, BALCO never perfected the synthesization of proteins for “congeniality”). [Planet Haystack]
• 756*. This is everything that tears at my soul about the current state of professional sports. I love to see human beings doing superhuman things. Vlad hits a baseball off his shoelaces 400 feet. Phil Hughes makes a sphere dance like a marionette. Reyes goes from second to third in the time it takes me to stand up and cheer. But when these superhuman feats are bought, packaged, and produced in a lab, it does more than cheapen them. It robs the entire sport of its grace, its mystique. Logic dictates that I must suspect everyone; given what we know, there is no player above suspision. But I want to believe that these supermen are real, that with a little different luck or a different skill set, I could be one of them. I don’t know how to continue loving this game. I don’t want to stop loving it. [Pinstripe Alley]
As New York continued to spit vitriol at Bonds (the Daily News came up with the gimmick of actually putting him on trial), it kind of forgot that the Yankees and Mets also played on Tuesday. In fact, the Yanks won; got into a scuffle with the Blue Jays, and crept to within five games of the Red Sox in the East. Sure, it was a typical baseball altercation in which no punches were actually thrown. But Roger Clemens was ejected, so that’s something! (The Mets lost 7-3 to the Braves).
The Jays are still somewhat miffed over that infield yelling thing that Alex Rodriguez did to them a few weeks back and retaliated by plunking him during Tuesday’s game. Benches cleared … including the bullpen benches, which is always comical, because by the time the pitchers run all the way across the field to reach the action, no one can remember what the fight was about. Clemens returned the favor by hitting Alex Rios in the seventh, prompting his dismissal from the premises, along with Torre. Think they then played Battleship in the clubhouse? Jumanji? The Yankees won 9-2. Oh, and Giambi activated from the DL!
• You Mess With Tom Gorzelanny, You Get the Horns. Arizona’s 19-year-old rookie Justin Upton, making his home debut, was spledorrific; falling just a single short of hitting for the cycle. But it was all for naught, as Tom Gorzelanny struck out a career-high nine over seven innings in the Pirates’ 8-3 win. Also the Diamondbacks are a little lighter in the wallet today than they were on Monday, courtesy of Eric Byrnes.
• Padres 4, Cardinals 0 … It’s the score that appeared on the ESPN crawl at the exact moment that Bonds hit his home run on Tuesday … Padres 4, Cardinals 0 … Jake Peavy extending his scoreless streak to 19 innings, San Diego earning its major league-leading 16th shutout of the season … Padres 4, Cardinals 0 … forever frozen in time … Padres 4, Cardinals 0 …
• The Devil Rays Are In the Details. Nate Robertson left in the eighth with a four-run lead, whistling all the way to his locker where he treated himself to a Milky Way bar in honor of the victory. Oops. Detroit’s bullpen blew the whole thing. No candy for you! But the Tigers came back and won anyway, 9-6.
• Because Every Hoofed Mammal Deserves A Second Chance. Perhaps in response to Will’s call for reason and sanity on Monday, Mariner Moose will not be punished for nearly running over Boston’s Coco Crisp during Sunday’s game at Safeco Field. He must, however, attend a driver’s safety class for his record to be expunged.
By now, we’ve all pretty much made our peace with it, though there was a little part of us today that wanted to not mention Barry Bonds until about 4 p.m., and then throw up a “holy crap, did you guys see what happened last night? We just noticed” post. We felt that would be too gimmicky, though no less gimmicky that a post that merely references the notion that we were thinking about it.
Alas, Barry Bonds has finally broken the record — our sister was there, and was a little too happy about it during a 12:30 a.m. phone call — and, most notably, Hank Aaron showed up on the Jumbotron to congratulate him. We’re not sure we find Aaron’s move particularly classy; either he should shun Barry or embrace Barry, but it’s a bit late to be switching sides. Regardless: It happened, and we can all move on with our lives now. Barry Bonds has his silly fake record, and now he can go home.
When asked by ESPN’s Erin Andrews what’s next for Barry Bonds, he said, “A lot more baseball, hell yes, I’m not quitting.”
As we move on with our lives now that Barry Bonds has taken over the home run record — though we really can’t move on, considering he’s gonna keep playing — we look at the guy who has consistently looked worse than everybody else, Bonds included, this entire time. We’re talking of course about Bud Selig.
Believe it or not, folks, the 
You might not be able to tell from this picture, which comes to us via 
What they’re saying in Blogopolis about No. 756. We apologize for the use of that word, by the way. At least we didn’t say “sphere.”
As New York continued to spit vitriol at Bonds (the Daily News came up with the gimmick of 
