We were talking to resident Deadspin Phillyologist AJ Daulerio a couple of years ago how we feared the new stadiums in Philadelphia, with their shiny whirlgigs and fancy doohickies, would wring some of the life and vigor our of the Philly faithful. Would it make them soft and complacent, too happy in the new gigs, afraid to take the tarp off the brand new sofa? Well, this no longer appears to be a problem.
Last night, during the Mets-Phillies game at Citizens Bank Park — the Phillies are going for the four-game series sweep today — there was a good ole fan fight in section 302. Bugs And Cranks has video, though it’s not quite as inspiring as that picture might make it look:
Still, it’s good to see some Philly bloodlust back, not that it ever went away. And soon … Eagles! Can’t wait.
We haven’t been watching the Kansas City Chiefs on “Hard Knocks,” mostly because, honestly, we watch enough sports as is and really don’t need a reality show on it. We’re sure it’s good, but still: A little Herman Edwards goes a long way. (Because Edwards is the coach on the show, we always imagine the show running out of time just when it’s about to end.)
Anyway, First And 10 Inches brings us this clip from the show, featuring various Chiefs players displaying just how butch and alpha male an NFL locker room really is. Somebody should hire one of these guys for a fantasy football draft.
Roger Clemens — you may remember him — is back in the news, having been arrested in a Minnesota restroom for soliciting sex from an undercover … whoa, sorry. Let’s back up. I’ve made a painful error; let’s start over. Larry Craig threw six innings of two-hit ball against the Red Sox on Wednesday, the Yankees prevailing 4-3 in a win important to their playoff chances.
Does that make the dumptruck-load of silver ingots that the Yankees paid for Clemens worth it? Probably not. But New York is now a percentage point or two behind Seattle in the AL wild card race, and six games behind the Sox in the East. Of course it’s my opinion that they’re still not going anywhere, but I’ve been wrong before, especially about these jeans. Here’s a Clemens quote: “I was trying to be as stingy as possible. It’s going to be a grind for me. I’m asking my body to be 25 right now.” I’ve made that request myself, but let’s not get into the exact circumstances. Alex Rodriguez hit his major league-leading 44th home run and Johnny Damon also homered as New York evened their season series with Boston at 7-all; hard to believe. Josh Beckett was tagged for 13 hits. Clemens (6-5) gave up an upper-deck homer to David Ortiz in the sixth. Oh, and Kyle Farnsworth may have broken a blogger’s wife’s big toe.
• Florida Hates The Yankees. Meanwhile, speaking of the Yankees, we have this. When will the blind hatred end. WHEN?
• The Extra G Is For Goodness. I know that this is occurring on the west coast, but try not to let your eyes glaze over. It’s the best race in baseball, and the winner is most likely gonna be in the World Series. Greg Maddux led the Padres oer the Diamondbacks 3-1, San Diego creeping past Arizona by a percentage point for first in the NL West. Brian Giles scored the go-ahead run on Mike Cameron’s double in the eighth.
• It Is Alive! Ben Sheets is off of the disabled list! Ben and outdueled Carlos Zambrano, the Brewers taking a 6-1 win over the Cubs to move within 1 1/2 games of first-place Chicago in the NL Central. The Cardinals lost to the Astros 7-0, slipping to third, two games out.
• Angels 8, Mariners 2. When Jared Weaver is winning the fourth out of his past five decisions, don’t you get the feeling that the Angels are just destined to do well this season?
We do not speak the language of Red Sox Nation. We do not dislike the Red Sox, or their fans, and we do not think the city of Boston is racist. We love Boston! We just don’t understand the Red Sox Nation thing; it just scares us. That said, many of our best friends are Red Sox fans, and they’re at least slightly intelligent.
So we felt we had to ask them to explain this whole President Of Red Sox Nation thing, in which 25 nominees (none of whom are Bill Simmons) are vying for the position. We have no idea what the position is, or whether they have the power to launch a nuclear strike, but we were fascinated by some of the names, which included disgraced journalist Mike Barnicle, Peter Gammons, Doris Kearns Goodwin, Rich Garces and a dog.
We have no idea what’s going on. So we called on some of those Red Sox fan friends.
• Lockhart Steele, Publisher, Curbed. “As painful as was the creation of “Red Sox Nation” as some sort of club that you actually pay money for to procure a card to carry in your wallet, this presidency thing is so much worse. It’s gotten to the point where I actually hope for the out-of-town feed of Sox games on Extra Innings so I don’t have to hear Remy talk about it any more. That said, I think Mike Barnicle would be an inspired choice.”
• Jim Cooke, Art Maestro. “It’s embarrassing. Sox fans get enough flak already, I can’t believe whoever thought this up never stopped for a second to think maybe this is just another thing to make us look like jackasses.”
• Jen Hubley, JennieSmash.com. “Obviously, Big Pupi should win. The Nation’s been full of dirty dogs for years. Failing that, I think people should put me down as a write-in candidate. I’ve been a good representative behind enemy lines for years now, and even wear my Sox hat when it doesn’t go with my outfit.”
• Eric Gillin, Esquire.com. “When I was a child, the Boston Red Sox didn’t have a nation. We had a crusty old white bitch running the team, good seats still available and a raging inferiority complex when compared to the 16-time World Champion Boston Celtics. Now, the white bitch and good seats are gone, and everyone who likes the team is a citizen of the Red Sox Nation. Initially, I’ll admit, I thought the Nation was a cute little counterpoint to the Yankees’ Evil Empire. But I never thought anyone would be insane enough to take this Nation thing literally by electing a president. What’s next? Application for recognition by the United Nations? In any event, I seriously hope the fucking dog wins, because if we end up with an egomaniac like Mike Barnicle, the Nation will probably secede from the Union and trigger a Sunni-Shiite style conflict as Sox fans coast-to-coast start to arm themselves every time the Yankees pull within six games.”
It might be time to start pouring some funds into your Paypal account, because Matt Murphy’s auctioning off of Barry Bonds’ 756th home run ball has begun. It’s rather pricey.
Actually, there are two auctions. The first is for the 755th homer; that one’s listed at $60,000, with bids at $6,000 increments. (No bids yet.) The second is for the big dog, and it’s starting at $100,000. No bids yet for that one either, but hey, they’ve still got 17 days in the initial bidding process.
We still think he should have thrown it back. God, that would have been amazing.
Editor’s Note: Given our longstanding love of Andy Rooney — we remind you that we own every book Andy Rooney has ever written — we’ve been trying to avoid any discussion of his recent and now infamous baseball column all week. Alas, inertia has overtaken us. To save our broken heart, we decided to have Rick handle it.)
I’m not sure exactly when Andy Rooney’s meter clicked over from whimsical to senile, but clearly it has, and it’s time for someone to get him down to The Scooter Store to finally pick out his retirement gift.
Here’s his latest “column,” culled from The Stamford Times by Fire Joe Morgan, who seems just as baffled by it as I do. Rooney attempts to write about baseball in that familiar homespun, isn’t-it-obvious-now-that-I’ve-pointed-it-out prose that would make even John Madden uncomfortable. But unlike Madden, whose schtick is clearly planned, Rooney just seems to be picking through the rubble of dementia. Some excerpts:
• “I know all about Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, but today’s baseball stars are all guys named Rodriguez to me.”
• “I also think baseball needs some rules changes, too. For example, the player who starts the game as pitcher should have to play all nine innings without a substitution.”
• “I never got taller than 5-foot-9 and didn’t make the basketball team in school. I ended up as the backstroker on the swimming team. I was a good swimmer but hated doing laps for practice. The water was always cold and after half an hour in the chlorinated pool my eyes were red and my skin wrinkled. It took the fun out of swimming.”
And the glorious closing paragraph:
• “The greatest sports loss of my life was a high school football game. We were undefeated and the game was the last of the season. It ended in a scoreless tie and we were crushed by what seemed like the worst defeat of our lives.”
More baffling than The DaVinci Code, I tell you; I half expected an albino assassin to leap from the bushes as I read it. Back in the day, Rooney was a great reporter; he was one of the first journalists to enter Nazi concentration camps toward the end of World War II, for instance, and wrote about it eloquently. Friend to Cronkite and Murrow, he was around when journalism was blazing trails and dared to make a difference. But by allowing himself to be sold significantly past his expiration date, Rooney has made sure that all he will be remembered for, to many, is out-of-control eyebrow growth and a curious wish to see Roger Clemens play shortstop.
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: New York Jets.
Your author is David Goodwillie, the author of the acclaimed memoir Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, for which he was named one of the “Best New Writers of 2006″ by members of the Pen American Center.. His words are after the jump.
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The fucking Jets. Seriously. Two years ago, they were supposed to challenge the Patriots for AFC supremacy, and they finished 4-12. Last season, rebuilding, they made the playoffs. Shockingly bad, surprisingly good, but never ever great. Not in my lifetime. Not yet.
I was one of the many who picked them to go nowhere last year. Injured quarterback. Retiring running back. New head coach and GM. Sure, most Jets fans were happy to see the backside of the Herm Edwards sideshow, but Eric Mangini seemed ill-suited for the job — a Belichick clone kicked off the muscular mothership for being out of shape. But a funny thing happened when Mangini arrived in New York. The Jets fell neatly into place. One by one, troublemakers like Ty Law and Justin McCareins were either shipped out of town or benched until they behaved. Those who remained began playing to their potential. And leaders emerged. Chad Pennington. Jonathan Vilma. Laveranues Coles. Mangini, it seemed, had inherited all of Belichick’s stronger qualities (preparation, intelligence, an even temperment) and none of his weaker ones (the scary intensity, the door-knob personality, the stashed-away girlfriends). When Mangini appeared midseason on “Sesame Street” (a lovely counterpoint to the self-promoting Herm Edwards hour currently running on HBO), I knew the Jets had found their man.
But who are we kidding? The Patriots have won three Super Bowls under Belichick, and this year they look stronger than ever. And the Jets? In truth, no one has a clue. So far this preseason, the offensive has been fraught with controversy. Pennington has looked lackluster, and is clearly being challenged (though no one will admit as much) by the strong-armed Kellen Clemens. In the backfield, a similar competition is brewing between the already injured Thomas Jones, acquired in the off-season from Chicago (btw, how did the Bears win the NFC with Grossman and Jones?), and the flashy young speedster Leon Washington. But, as can only happen with the offbeat Jets, it’s the offensive line that has stolen the headlines.
What the hell happened to Pete Kendall? The Jets’ most reliable lineman signs a four-year contract last season, then suddenly holds out for an extra million. The last person to try that was Terrell Owens, and a few days ago Kendall met T.O.’s fate. Trading problem players is all well and good, but Kendall’s sudden absence means that D’Brickashaw Ferguson and Nick Mangold need to come into their own right now. Like, next week. Otherwise, Pennington will be out for the season by October.
If the Jets make noise this year, it’ll be the defense and special teams doing the shouting. They need some big games from the defensive line. They need Vilma and Eric Barton to have career years. They need first-round draft pick Darelle Revis (who remained unsigned for most of camp) to become a dominating cornerback as a rookie. And they need their Aussie punter Ben Graham and newly bulked-up kicker Mike Nugent to have Pro-Bowl seasons.
All of this might happen. And then again it might not. And that’s the thing the Jets. They may be good. They may be bad. But over the years I’ve learned to be patient, so, like Pete Kendall, I’m holding out for something more. Greatness. Which means they’ll probably trade me to Washington.
Remember when Rafer Alston was a feel good story, the streetball player nicknamed “Skip To My Lou” who transitioned his game to the NBA? Well, maybe not “feel good” — the guy did plead no contest in 1997 for assaulting his girlfriend — but certainly, it wasn’t this bad, was it?
The latest incident occurred when a member of Alston’s entourage got into an argument with 41-year-old Wilbert Ashman at a trendy nightclub called Stereo, according to the New York Post and Daily News. The argument turned into a brawl, and according to Ashman, he was slashed on the right side of his neck. Alston was arrested, and Ashman later picked him out of a police lineup.
“I’m really upset about it,” Ashman’s wife told the Daily News. “I can’t believe it. I was like, ‘Oh, my God. Your throat.’ “
You see, if you can’t get your entourage to slash haters in the throat for you, christ, what’s the freaking point of having an entourage? We really shouldn’t have to explain everything; this should be self-evident.
Roger Clemens — you may remember him — is back in the news, having been arrested in a Minnesota restroom for soliciting sex from an undercover … whoa, sorry. Let’s back up. I’ve made a painful error; let’s start over. Larry Craig threw six innings of two-hit ball against the Red Sox on Wednesday, the Yankees prevailing 4-3 in a win important to their playoff chances.
We do not speak the language of Red Sox Nation. We do not dislike the Red Sox, or their fans, and we do not think the city of Boston is racist. We love Boston! We just don’t understand the Red Sox Nation thing; it just scares us. That said, many of our best friends are Red Sox fans, and they’re at least slightly intelligent.
It might be time to start pouring some funds into your Paypal account, because Matt Murphy’s auctioning off of Barry Bonds’ 756th home run ball has begun. It’s rather pricey.
Editor’s Note: Given our longstanding love of Andy Rooney — we remind you that we own every book Andy Rooney has ever written — we’ve been trying to avoid any discussion of his recent and now infamous baseball column all week. Alas, inertia has overtaken us. To save our broken heart, we decided to have Rick handle it.)
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. 
Remember when Rafer Alston was a feel good story, the streetball player nicknamed “Skip To My Lou” who transitioned his game to the NBA? Well, maybe not “feel good” — the guy did plead no contest in 1997 for assaulting his girlfriend — but certainly, it wasn’t this bad, was it?