Archive for April 8th, 2008
Continue Reading April 8th, 2008
Filed under: Culture, PC, Sony PlayStation 2, Sony PlayStation 3, Microsoft Xbox 360, Simulations, Sports
With the puck set to drop tomorrow night for the 2008 NHL playoffs, the prognosticators at EA Sports have once again looked into the future vicariously through the studio’s latest NHL video game offering to predict the outcome of the league’s 16-win battle of attrition. By way of simulation using NHL 08, EA Sports named the San Jose Sharks as the team to finally earn the right to lift Lord Stanley’s Cup, defeating Eastern powerhouse Montreal in seven games.
While this writer’s favorite team, the Buffalo Sabres, are out playing golf, we agree that the Sharks, behind 2005-06’s Hart Trophy winner Joe Thornton (not to mention former Sabres defenceman Brian Campbell), present a formidable force for any of the playoff race’s 16 teams. Still, there’s too much on-ice talent to write this off as gospel just yet, so we’ll sit back and probably scream at the TV tomorrow evening as we wait and see if history mirrors EA’s crystal ball.
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Continue Reading April 8th, 2008
Slate’s Robert Weintraub, like many of us, loves the old purple prose of early 1900s sportswriting, the Red Smiths, the Grantland Rices, the men who painted epic tales of warriors, grizzled combatants and lardywarks too manly to wear gloves. In an occasional series, Weintraub writes about the week’s best baseball game in the style of the vaunted sportswriters of yesteryear. This week: The Braves’ 3-1 win over Johan Santana and the Mets on Sunday.
The Bearded Icon was dented by an ailing wing, rusty from a lack of spring practice time, and Hamlet-esque over his desire to make an initial foray to the raised stage sixty and six from home plate in 2008. Tom “Benedict” Glavine stepped in, and agreed to swap dates on the bump, allowing Old Baldy to avoid prolonged exposure to the Rocky Mountain Chill. The catch? The hurling enemy on the Sabbath day — the man who inspired Bowie to pen “Changes,” The Two-Seam Savior — Johan Santana, and his new employers from New York.
John Smoltz scoffs in the face of such dangers. “I’m a big-game pitcher,” TBI intoned, and indeed, the hairy face of the franchise completed a Napoleonic Sweep of the hated Metropolitans, as the Atlantans won 3-1 in the House That Buffalo Burgers Built.
The initial innings augered Armageddon for Atlanta’s Ace, when the argus eye of home plate adjudicator Gerry Davis granted a pair of ‘Politans free passage via bases on balls. Smoltz glared at the blueshirt like he had just offered a coupon for the Hair Club For Men, then rendered Carlos “The Hammering Hippie” Delgado in bronze, earning a called third strike. From there, The Icon rolled over opposing batsmen like a Tiananmen Square tank, posting round digits on the scoreboard for five innings, enough to secure his first V of the new season. That dodgy deltoid flared up with enough knottiness to convince The Pudgy Pepperpot, skipper Bobby Cox, to end Smoltz’s day somewhat shy of his usual timecard—as the hurler put it afterward, “I’m a seven inning pitcher”—but the quintet will surely do in the City Too Busy To Hate (Except For The Mets).
Mark “Luckiest Man” Kotsay eliminated the only other threat to emanate from the Queensmen’s side of the pitch, making a fine haul of a liner off the bat of Ryan “Haman” Church in the fourth innings. The Hippie wandered a touch too far from sanctuary, and was doubled after a whipped transmission to first, scooped sensationally by Mark “Vanna” Teixeira for the dual slaying. Kotsay, no doubt inspired by his significantly better half, is already making Peach Staters have trouble recalling the previous gatekeeper in the middle of the outfield, Andruw “Velvet” Jones.
As Reverse Samson was mowing down the ‘Tans, his fellow Warriors from the Red Hills were mostly flailing in futility at Cy Youngazo’s offerings. Santana was magnifico for seven mighty innings, with a lone hiccup — a screamer off the ash of Yunel “Seaworthy” Escobar that brought Luckiest Man homeward. The new everyday shortstop in Georgia once again proved Craftier than Castro, and his double was the only scar on Santana’s record. But on this day, it was enough to brand The Acquisition with a scarlet ‘L’. Johan now looks forward to an outing in the doomed environs of Shea Stadium, a New York debut as eagerly anticipated as any Latino arrival in Fun City since Valentino strode passionately down Broadway.
Rubber Reinforcements wearing red enjoyed the sight of batsmen representing Western Long Island for the second straight game, after early season struggles with the Steel City sluggers. A quartet of Braves relievers scalped the Metropolitan millionaires’ lineup until the ultimate innings, when Haman knocked in Golden Boy Wright for the visitors’ lone tally.
Hotlanta concluder Rafael “El Hostile” Soriano was grateful for a pair of confirmations of the talents of Atlanta’s first sacker. The frame before, Vanna sent a Long Sock over the right field wall, plating Lawrence Jones in front of him to boost the home lead to a sturdier three. In the ninth, with the Metros at last showing some pluck, Teixeira showed off the finery with the leather that has earned him multiple Gold Gloves—diving to deflect a shot off the bat of Brian Schneider, and tossing to The Angry Closer in time for the winning putout.
Atlanta once again says thank you to Teixas, and Salaams in Smoltz’s direction.
Continue Reading April 8th, 2008
Today the Boston Red Sox opened up Fenway Park to begin an afternoon of self-congratulatory ring ceremonies and opening day festivities. Who would throw out the first pitch, though, was, kept secret until a couple hours before game time when the rumors started to appear online that it would be … Bill Buckner. It’s an odd moment; Buckner half-heartedly strolls out to the pitcher’s mound, pulling his hands in and out of his pockets, a little unsure of exactly how he’s supposed to react in this situation.
I guess it’s not really the appropriate time where you sprint out to the mound, but dude, honestly, he’s walking out there like he just let the ball go threw his legs again. Then again … that is the only reason he’s out there. So, in reality, he has to make that long fucking walk again (longer even) to get publicly, figuratively “forgiven” for something that wasn’t even his fault in the first place. This almost seems like a cruel joke.
And also, it’s not like this guy has been in a nuthouse for the past 22 years, stabbing a Bruce Hurst voodoo doll made out of toenails. Remember — he’s been back to Fenway since the whole Mookie Wilson boot. He even played for the Red Sox again in 1990. So, sure this was a nice gesture and all to let the once chronically embittered Sox fans give this guy a completely orchestrated hero’s welcome back, but it’s a little late, don’t you think? It wouldn’t have surprised me at all had Bill Buckner just walked right out to the pitcher’s mound, dropped his pants and deuced one right on the rosin bag.
In fact, he definitely would’ve been forgiven for that. At least, by the rest of the world.
Buckner throws out first pitch at Fenway [Boston.com]
Continue Reading April 8th, 2008
Last week, we encouraged everyone to vote for The Eagles Of Death Metal to be played at Mets games this year. We clearly backed the wrong horse; it appears Rick Astley has won the competition. Kind of.
Yes, Astley’s seminal 1988 “hit” “Never Gonna Give You Up,” thanks to millions of Web users, was the winner, but the Mets aren’t gonna take that lying down.
Rather than commit to that as the new eighth-inning tune since it probably doesn’t reflect the fan base’s wishes, the Mets will play the top six selections once apiece during the first six games of their home stand. The one that draws the largest crowd response will stick.
The other songs that made the cut, in descending order: Livin’ on a Prayer, Bon Jovi; I’m a Believer, The Monkees; Movin’ Out, Billy Joel; Sweet Caroline, Neil Diamond; and Build Me Up Buttercup, The Foundations.
We will be at tomorrow night’s Mets-Phillies game, and we will be screaming for Rick Astley, something we do every Wednesday night, no matter where we are. We encourage everyone else to do the same.
Runoff To Determine Mets’ New 8th Inning Song [New York Daily News]
Continue Reading April 8th, 2008
Being a sports reporter is, at times, an absolutely horrible job. Sure you get to watch games, travel, and interact with athletes, but there is a horrendous downside. (Which is pretty much everything else.) And this is never more disturbingly clear than when a reporter has their first (or 50th ) awful experience with a half-naked, exhausted athlete. Sometimes they’ll be openly dismissive, sometimes they’ll yell, and sometimes, well, they’ll fart in your face. Most of these stories never end up in the newspaper the next day. So now, Deadspin proudly presents “The Dark Side of the Locker Room” where current and former sports writers can share some of their most distressing interactions. If you’ve got your own story to share, please send it along to ajdau1@yahoo.com.
This week’s tale comes from former Dallas Observer reporter John Gonzalez, who shares this run-in with former Texas Rangers outfielder Carl Everett.
—–—–—–—–—–——
I’ve never been able to forget what happened to Ryan Leaf when he screamed at that poor slob in San Diego way back when. The reporter tucked-tail and backed down, forever cementing his place among other ignominious, legendary SportsCenter videos.
That’s what I was thinking about when Carl Everett squared off, put his fists up and asked if I wanted to box. And that’s what I was thinking when I puffed out my chest, squared off and told him he didn’t want any part of me. It probably wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had, but I couldn’t shake the image of the shamed Chargers reporter, forever doomed to re-watch his impotence like some horrible, ink-stained Bill Buckner. I kept thinking: If you’re going to piss yourself, wait until no one is watching.
At the time, Everett was an outfielder with the Texas Rangers, and I was a columnist for the Dallas Observer, a paper owned by Village Voice Media. This was in 2003. My job back then, as with most alt-weekly monkeys, was to merrily fling feces at my targets and maybe eat a banana if there was time. With Everett, though, I was actually trying to play it straight at first. Considering his volatile reputation, and the fact that he had about 65 pounds on me, I approached him gingerly and asked if he might have time to chat. Plus, considering we were at Spring Training in Arizona and most players were more worried about tee times than inquiring journos, I thought things would be fine.
Nope.
Almost immediately, Everett got pissed that I bothered him. In the clubhouse. During media hours.
He claimed to have never heard of my paper. Now, the Observer wasn’t the Dallas Morning News, but it wasn’t fucking Car Shopper, either. We had been covering the Rangers for years. Plus, we had hooker ads in the back of the paper, which clearly made us better than the Morning News. But Everett wouldn’t let it go and made a point of asking the clubhouse attendants if they had ever heard of the paper. Of course, they said no — possibly because, oh I dunno, they were from Arizona and not Texas.
In an attempt to smooth things over, I asked him about Roy Jones Jr. moving up to heavyweight. Everett supposedly loved boxing. That turned out to be another misstep in a day full of them. There’s no reaching out to someone that off his nut. So, with that, things went from uncomfortable and testy to flat out heated:
Carl Everett: You don’t want to talk boxing. You wanna box me? (Turns to me, squares off, puts fists up by his head.)You don’t wanna box me.
Me: (Getting pissed now.) No, you don’t wanna box me…now can we talk or not?
CE: Go ahead, man. (Rolls his eyes.)
M: OK…are you ready for the center field duties?
CE: Am I ready for the center field duties? (Long pause…clearly irritated.) Yeah, man, I’m ready for the center field duties, that’s my job.
M: Some people have talked about your weight. Is it an issue? Does that bother you?
CE: That’s just y’all. That’s the media. That’s you guys. You don’t know me.
M: Well, you don’t know me, and you were lumping me with the other media and giving me a hard time about my paper.
CE: I don’t like the media. I don’t like them. I don’t like the media.
M:OK…all right…(Searching…backpedaling.) Have you talked to [manager] Buck [Showalter] much? You know, what’s it like playing for him?
CE:We haven’t played any games for him yet.
M: (Getting more pissed.) OK, then how is he different from the other managers you’ve been around?
CE: How’s he different? (Very sarcastic.) That’s what you’re gonna ask me?
M: Yeah.
CE:: Everything’s OK.
M: OK…What about last year? Was that tough for you?
CE: Nope.
M: The losing wasn’t tough?
CE:Nope.
M:(Had enough now.) Why are you being so standoffish?
CE:I’m not.
M:You’re not?
CE:Nope. You’re just mad because I don’t kiss the media’s ass. I won’t kiss your ass.
M:That’s fine because I don’t kiss ballplayers’ asses…Now, the losing didn’t bother you?
CE:Nope…I play hard anyway…that was the first time I ever lost.
M:So then it must have been different at least, right?
CE:(Huffing again.) Man, I said I play hard anyway.
M:All right…do you think you can contend this year?
CE:Did you watch the games last year?
M:Well, I wasn’t in Texas, but, yeah, I watched some games…
CE:(Cuts me off.) No, you didn’t. You didn’t watch any games last year, ’cause if you watched some games last year, you’d know that we were a tough ticket. We didn’t lay down for anyone.
M:How can you say that? You guys were 31 games out [of first place in the division]…
CE:(Really mad now.) First you ask me some fucking ridiculous questions, and then you’re gonna ask me why I answered the way I did…
M:(Also really mad now.) Yeah, that’s what I’m supposed to do; that’s my job.
CE: (Screaming now…people watching.) If you’re gonna ask some fucking ridiculous questions, then I’m gonna give you some fucking ridiculous answers…I mean, that’s just fucking ridiculous.
M:(Also screaming now.) Why, because you don’t like the fucking question?
CE: No, because I don’t like the fucking media. That’s it. Get up on outta here. (Motions toward the door.)
M: So that’s it, huh? You’re not gonna talk to me anymore?
CE:Yeah, that’s right. That’s it. Get the hell outta here. Go on, get out.
M:Well, this was productive. So that’s it…that’s the end?
CE: That’s what I said. (Does shooing motion toward the door. Tries to get me to leave. I don’t. He walks to other end of clubhouse. I go to middle of clubhouse and lean against a table.)
CE:(Mocking me now; yelling across clubhouse.) Asking me, how do I like Buck? Asking me, can we contend? (Makes grand sweeping motion, stares at me.) That’s some stupid fucking shit. That’s some shit your editor told you to come down here and ask.
M: (I yell back across the clubhouse.) My editor didn’t tell me to ask anything. Those are my questions…you must be really mad at something.
CE: (Walks back toward me.) That’s right. I’m mad because I don’t like the fucking media. Keep it up. Go head, keep it up. Keep talking back. I’m gonna have you escorted outta here. And you better get up off that fucking table. You’re gonna learn to respect us. This is our house. You’re gonna learn. Get up off that table. (I don’t move.) I said get up off that table. (I still don’t move.) You better get up.
John Blake, Rangers PR chief: (Nods at me.) John, please get up. (I stand up, but I don’t leave.)
CE: That’s right. This is our house. You’re gonna learn.
The truly weird part was that, a few weeks later, back in Dallas, I was in the clubhouse when I walked by Everett’s locker and he started a spontaneous conversation with me. It was completely cordial. At the time, I had long, shaggy hair, and eventually Everett offered to shave my head — just like his. I wasn’t sure if that was his way of making amends, or if he didn’t remember me. I’m still not sure.
In the end, I didn’t let him cut my hair. Something about letting a guy who doesn’t believe in dinosaurs take a razor to the back of my head felt like a bad idea. That’s probably just me, though.
Continue Reading April 8th, 2008
Say what you about Cardinals fans and their blind loyalty, but you can’t deny, upon seeing this fan, that they don’t have a sense of humor about their Birds. Well, the mohawked fans, anyway.
We’re trying to imagine what the equivalent Spiezio jersey would be. A needle, perhaps?
Fan of the Week :: La Russa .093 Jersey [Joe Sports Fan]
Even Geniuses Sometimes Forget To Put The Car In Park [Deadspin]
Continue Reading April 8th, 2008
The NBA Closer is written by Matt McHale, who’s freaking excited about the end of the NBA regular season and thinks you should be too. When not being thrilled out of his ever-loving gourd by all this FAN-tastic NBA action, he can be found making playoff pinatas at Basketbawful. Enjoy!
There are only nine days left in the NBA regular season. You might be tempted to say, “Aw, screw it. I’m waiting for the playoffs.” To which I say: Uh, playoffs?! Don’t talk about…playoffs?! You kidding me?! Playoffs?! Despite what you may think, there are still several things worth watching out for during these final nine days. Missing them would be a mistake that could very well cost you your life. Scared? You should be. But don’t worry. Gather ’round and I’ll tell you why you should stay tuned for this frantic finish.
Girls, girls, girls. Science has proven that nothing heightens the pleasure of watching your team win - or, conversely, lessens the pain of watching your team lose - quite like a group of hot babes gyrating to the sounds of Whoomp! (There It Is) and I Like To Move It. Especially when they’re dressed like Jenna Jameson in Dirty Bob’s Xcellent Adventures 35 (or Where The Boys Aren’t 15, or Camera Sutra 22, or Janine Loves Jenna, or…). So if you don’t want to do it for the teams, at least do it for the girls. They didn’t spend seven years failing out of cosmetology school to be ignored.
Fun fact: The Miami Heat Dancers have won NBA.com’s Dance Team Championships for the last three years in a row. And I’m sure the fact that Miami is the plastic surgery capital of the United States has absolutely nothing to do with it. It’s more because of sweet girls like Nikki, who would like to share the following words to live by: “Don’t let anyone treat you as if you are unimportant because you’re young. Instead be an example to the believers with your words, your actions, your love, your faith, and your pure life.” Okay, yeah, it’s the plastic surgery. But hey, I’ve read the Bible. I know the only reason God created science was so that all chicks could be hot. Seriously. Look it up.
The Western Conference playoff race. This year’s battle to make the Western Conference playoffs is like an old-school WWF battle royal, only with less Hulkamania. Which sort of makes it less cool now that I think of it, but I digress. Only 8.5 games separate the first and ninth spots. There’s a three-way fight for first between the Hornets, Lakers and Spurs. There’s another three-team scuffle for the middle region between the Jazz, Rockets, and Suns. And let’s not forget the scrum for the final two seeds involving the Mavericks, Nuggets and Warriors. Nine teams are going to win 50 games, but only eight of them will get into the Thunderdome. There’s never been a conference brouhaha like this. How can you not love it?!
What’s even better is that several of these teams still have to go head-to-head in the next week and a half. Utah plays in New Orleans tonight, the Suns face the Spurs on Wednesday, Denver travels to Golden State on Thursday, it’s Suns/Rockets and Hornets/Lakers on Friday followed by Nuggets/Jazz on Saturday and then Spurs/Lakers and Rockets/Nuggets on Sunday! The final three days feature more playoff-seeding action between the Rockets and Jazz, Warriors and Suns, Jazz and Spurs, and finally the Hornets and Maverick. Every of of these games is important. Nobody’s safe! And if that doesn’t excite you, I suggest you check your pulse. You might be dead.
(Ed. Note: /Larry King)
The two-man MVP potato sack race. Apparently, the Boston Celtics are too good for Kevin Garnett to win the MVP, and the Cleveland Cavaliers are too bad for LeBron James to win it. This means that the field is down to Chris Paul and Kobe Bryant, whose teams are successful enough for them to merit consideration but also flawed enough to get them a little sympathy. The Lakers have had to deal with a variety of injuries to guys like Andrew Bynum, Pau Gasol and Trevor Ariza … a problem compounded by the fact that they may have the worst medical staff of all time. Meanwhile, the Hornets have matched a franchise record for wins and continue to lead the West despite having the second-worst bench in the league (based on point production) and relying on a seven-man rotation that features Mo Pete, Jannero Pargo and Bonzi “The Lockerroom Cancer” Wells.
By all indications, the MVP battle is going to be decided by which team finishes on top of the Western Conference dogpile. (Personally, I think it should come down to a dramatic dance-off in which both players are dressed like fruit and forced to perform in a burning building, but maybe that’s just me.) The Hornets are currently 1.5 games ahead of the Lakers, but, more importantly, they’re two games ahead in the loss column. The drama is heightened by the fact that the two teams meet in L.A. on Friday night in what’s basically shaping up to be an MVP showdown. (And if you don’t think the Lakers are going to get a heaping helping of home cooking, you’re smoking some pretty good shit and need to share.)
The lottery watch. In the NBA, 16 teams reach the postseason. But this also means that 14 teams make it into the draft lottery! So if your team has been or soon will be mathematically eliminated from the playoffs, it’s time for you to start fantanking. After all, each additional loss could earn a few extra ping-pong balls for your team, which means a better shot at Michael Beasley, Derrick Rose, Brook Lopez, O.J. Mayo, or…you know what? That’s pretty much it. Sure, there are other guys who will likely become solid and even spectacular pros, but those are the guys that might actually give you hope for the future. And I find that a little hope often goes a long way.
Not convinced? Then please refer to Tanking And You: A Fan’s Guide. It’ll teach you the finer points of the NBA meta-game and prove that you can still be entertained while actively rooting against your team.
DeShawn Stevenson and Drew Gooden’s beards. One of the great subplots of this NBA season has been the ongoing beard-fight between Stevenson and Gooden, who during the summer made a bet concerning which one of them would shave their man-fur first. The stakes? Nobody really knows. The bearded wonders made an “undisclosed wager,” which could mean just about anything. Maybe the loser only has to fork over some cash, or maybe he’ll have to grow a ducktail in the shape of the winner’s face.
At any rate, it’s hard to imagine the battle extending into next season, so enjoy it while it lasts. Personally, I hope the two men stick with it and enter the World Beard and Mustache Championships on May 23, 2009. Note that Stevenson is sporting the classic Verdi cut (so named after composer Giuseppe Verdi), whereas Gooden has the larger Garibaldi style (named after the Italian patriot Giuseppe Garibaldi).
Fun fact: Gooden’s beard already beat out Stevenson’s in Yahoo’s Bedlam Tournament.
The final days of the Isiah Thomas Administration. Now that James Dolan has hired Donnie Walsh to be the President of Basketball Operations for the New York Knicks, it looks as though Isiah’s days are numbered. In other words, the NBA’s best and longest-running joke is coming to an end. This is devastating to me. It’s almost like finding out my grandma just died, or that aliens have replaced the world’s boob supply with angry monkey heads. And I don’t need to tell you that a night of heated passion would be totally ruined when unclasping a bra only to get snapped at by a pair of savage, snarling monkey heads. Not to mention it would be a little weird.
No more bizarre trades, no more giving away first-round draft picks, no more brawls, no more stockpiling of similar assets (Stephon Marbury and Steve Francis, Eddy Curry and Zach Randolph), no more GM/coach feuds (Larry Brown versus Isiah), no more coach/player feuds (Isiah versus Starbury), no more $100+ million team salaries, no more bloated contracts for guys like Jared Jeffries and Jerome James, no more sexual harrassment trials or accusations of racism, no more more 20 to 30-win seasons, no more boo bird attacks in Madison Square Garden, and no more Isiah looking pained or smiling blithely through it all.
So enjoy it while it lasts. Because trust me: You’re going to miss Zeke. We all will.
Continue Reading April 8th, 2008
Which team has the best record in the American League? Say it with me: Boston Red S … wait, what? Baltimore Orioles? I’ll be damned. Things are so crazy at Camden Yards that they’re actually cheering Aubrey “Jackin’ It” Huff, whose solo homer in the eighth stood for the Orioles in a 5-4 comeback win over the Mariners.
So the O’s sweep the M’s to go 5-1 and take first place in the AL East. That’s their first four-game sweep since 2004, and their best start since 1999. What? The season is only two weeks old? Do not rain on the Orioles’ parade with your calendar! This is Huff’s day! Of course all Orioles’ fans recall when, in the preseason, Mr. Huff called Baltimore “a horseshit town” on Sirius Radio’s Bubba the Love Sponge show, then revealing in the same interview that, when on the road, he often wakes up hung over and “jacks off.”
In Huff’s defense, who hasn’t appeared on the Bubba the Love Sponge Show and blurted something controversial? But Orioles’ fans never seemed to forgive him, booing Huff lustily in the home opener, and even razzing him a bit on Monday when he came up in the eighth. But after his homer, all now seems forgiven. George Sherrill pitched a perfect ninth for his fourth save (third in the series) and Adam Jones scored the tying run to set the stage for Huff (and the kerosene-soaked relief stylings of Seattle’s Eric O’Flaherty). You may recall Sherrill and Jones from the big 5-for-1 deal that sent Erik Bedard to the Mariners. Bedard, by the way, has only pitched one game this season.
And now on to my big question: What’s with the attendance at Camden Yards? Only 10,744 on Monday afternoon — the second-smallest crowd in the park’s 17-year history. What gives? First-rate ballpark; first-place team; horny, hung over star player; why wouldn’t people show up?
• What About Bob? Mike Mussina has tied Bob Gibson for 44th on the career wins list. OK, Gibson won 20 or more games in a season five times, and Mussina has never done it. And Gibson could peel paint from a wall just by staring at it. But Mussina gets to pitch against Tampa Bay several times per season, so it all evens out. Mussina went six innings and Bobby Abreu homered and went went 3-for-3 as the Yankees prevailed against the Rays 6-1. Oh yeah, Derek Jeter is out indefinitely with hurt feelings gender confusion a strained quadriceps.
• Hockey Chants At Your Home Opener? Nice. Fun graph from the Chicago Tribune’s game story on the Cubs and Pirates at PNC Park: “It was so ugly early on that the sellout crowd of 37,491 was chanting “Let’s Go Pens” during the Cubs’ six-run third, a reference to the Penguins’ quest for the Stanley Cup, which begins at home Wednesday.” The Cubs went up 7-0, of course lost the lead and then came back to win 10-8 in 12 innings. Aramis Ramirez’s sacrifice fly off Evan Meek brought home Ryan Theriot with the winning run. Also: Chicago’s Kosuke Fukudome, who entered the game hitting .500 and is currently hitting .458, is still batting fifth. WTF, Lou?
• Hunter Harnesses Mysterious Monkey Powers. Torii Hunter left the Twins for a five-year, $90 million contract with the Angels in November, then started the season 0-for-10 at the Metrodome. But back in Anaheim — where keeps a stuffed Rally Monkey toy in his locker — he’s 11-for-23. That includes a walkoff grand slam and an eighth-inning solo homer in the Angels’ 6-4 win over the Indians on Monday.
• Your First-Place Florida Marlins. Dan Uggla’s solo homer in the sixth and Robert Andino’s two-run shot in the ninth led Florida to a 10-7 in over Washington, as the Marlins took sole possession of first place in the NL East. It was the fifth straight loss for the Nationals after a 3-0 start. Paid attendance for the second game at brand new Nationals Park was 20,487 (capacity is 41,888). Also, the $611 million scoreboard malfunctioned through most of the first inning.
• Big, Big Opener. Anyone going to the Royals’ home opener today? Mark Mangino is throwing out the first pitch, so I hear. Also it’s the debut of the CrownVision video board, which at 84-by-105 feet is the largest in the world!
