Time Began On Opening Day – Last Week

I’m sure I’m late on this but am I the only one that didn’t realize that with Opening Day just 24 hours away (not that hyped up bullshit on ESPN), the true Opening Day has already come and gone?

Last Tuesday, I caught all of the news about the Red Sox trip to Japan to take on the A’s and what a magical event it was. Hell, I even caught a small portion of the game before flipping on MTV to watch that horrific yet oddly captivating America’s Best Dance Crew (Go Kaba Modern!!).

As it turns out, the entire country of Japan showed up for this spring training nonsense. Highlights included Daisuke Matsuzaka being treated like the Second Coming of Jesus and Manny Ramirez jacking a couple homers so monstrous another Godzilla was likely awakened in the Pacific. Now, I paid this news no mind because, like I said a moment ago, this was spring training nonsense.

But alas – this was actually Opening Day. The Opening Day. The only day of the spring so holy and glorious (and non-denominational even) that it deserves to be revered and celebrated at least on the same level as Thanksgiving. This a day that brought us Hank Aaron’s 714th and Bob Feller’s no-hitter. It’s a day so woven into the fabric of the national consciousness that it has become the only true symbol of rebirth – not just a sign that the despair of winter is long gone but of your team’s hopes and your ability to bump gums all year about your chances. Not only that, it brings millions together – all playing hooky from their respective life situations – in the joy and anxiety of knowing that if your team wins that day, you’re not gonna lose em all and maybe, just maybe that "next year" you’re always crowing about, has finally arrived.

But no. Leave it to the federal government to thumb its nose at a nation and celebrate President’s Day instead. Where does that get us? A day off to hit that big sale at Kohl’s and pick up a piece of cherry pie down at the senior center? Please. But leave it up to Bud Selig to take advantage and shit all over our special moment by shipping Opening Day off to Tokyo and then having the nerve to brag about it:

"Not only do you feel that you’re watching history in the making, but we’re doing what we really set out to do…. "The game has never been more popular than it is in the United States today. Our goal is to take that popularity and make it worldwide."

Hey dummy, here’s a tip – THE JAPANESE ALREADY LIKE BASEBALL! This is about like the English Premier League shipping its opener to Brazil to drum up international support and then sucking each other’s dicks over the success once a frenzied riot breaks out in the stands and the stadium catches fire.

Yet again, it’s time for someone to kick Bud Selig in the sodding face… GO YANKEES!

Women’s Hoops, the NIT or The History Channel

I’m so sodding depressed.

As has been abundantly evident on this blog, I had to check out for a while, which included more than simply not posting. In the process, I completely lost track of sports. So when I finally decided it was time to permanently emerge from the ether and plug back in to world, I couldn’t have been more excited. You see, spring is always the most exciting season in sports. What better time could there be to throw myself back into the fray?

Spring is the season that makes the world go round, as the Super Bowl leads into March Madness, which rolls right into fantasy baseball drafts and Opening Day. Soon after, the EPL and Champions League are rolling to their conclusions, Roger Federer is spiraling out of the French Open, I’m lamenting the Yankees’ early gaffes and missteps, Phil Mickelson is choking away another major and even the NBA starts getting interesting. Every day, there is something new to behold and though basketball is something like my 8th favorite sport these days, I live and breathe hoops when the tournament comes round. A self-admitted neurotic, I usually study, research and waste hours of my life on box scores, articles, team pages, stat sheets, and pictures (I don’t know why pictures, actually). And at the completion of these fruitless efforts, I fill out my brackets, run my mouth, put some money on the line, down a sixer to ease the nerves and tune into CBS and CSTV when it all begins. Not a moment is missed and I suck in basketball like crack from the pipe from Thursday at 1230 until Sunday around 10.

This year, it was a slightly different process. I’d been mentally checked out for so long that I didn’t catch much college basketball. So I filled out my picks the night before and transferred my neuroses for other exercises in futility like finding a man that will make me fluffy pancakes with crispy edges after a long night of getting down (Is that really so much to ask? It’s not like I’m high maintenance – it’s just one prerequisite, dammit. COME ON).

But after receiving an injection of what amounted to a 96-hour speedball, I’m now left with no reasonable form of entertainment. I didn’t have enough sense to DVR real sports over the weekend and came home around 8 all ready to enjoy an athletic event – something, anything. National Championship of Darts, Pinochle, whatever. It wasn’t gonna take much to feed my need. So I tuned into CBS fully expecting to see more basketball. Logically, I knew it wouldn’t be on but that didn’t stop me from watching The Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother in some "maybe the Sweet Sixteen will magically pop on!" fog. Eventually, I snapped out of it and hit ESPN, only to find the also-rans of the Not In Tournament. So I moved on to ESPN2 and caught a disappointment larger than having my bracket destroyed by Stephan Curry and Davidson: women’s basketball – the last refuge for girls that want to be athletes but aren’t agile, flexible or fast enough to hack it anywhere else.

Why doesn’t ESPN just send Dick Vitale and Jay Bilas to my house to my house to take turns slapping me around and kicking me in the ass while we watch JJ Redick highlight films. It’d hurt less. Watching the women’s tournament during the Final Four is one thing, as UConn, Tennessee, LSU and Rutgers/Duke/No Chance University might actually produce 7 – 10 athletes on the floor at one time. But not this Monday night bullshit. Not these first and second round shenanigans where a girl getting fouled on a "drive" to the hoop looks like a slo-mo video with crash test dummies.

But enough on that. What I actually want to know is what jerk is sitting in an office saying, "Scheduling? Well, how about we follow up the greatest weekend in American amateur sports with women’s basketball. That’ll keep the fires burning in the hearts of Joe and Jane Sports Fan!"

No, corporate suit! It does not keep my fire burning! It is destroying my spirit! I don’t appreciate getting all manic over 32 games of basketball only to be punched in the mouth by 3 days of the great shooter with an ugly stroke that wouldn’t know true agility if it goosed her; the tall, semi-mobile forward that uses her elbows to free up space for her 4-foot banked shots; and the girl that’s slow as molasses but has a great body for collecting ticky tack fouls and turning the ball over. 

A sport that opts for fundamentals over a base level of athleticism found in every other women’s sport is NOT okay with me. I get that the women’s game is basketball in its purest form but damn. I don’t want to spend 2+ hours seeing which team can make the most consecutive layups, fall down the least and seal it off with a 1-and-1 at the line with 8 seconds to go!

If you’re going to advertise this tournament as March Madness, then that’s what you need to give us – straight up madness where we get all basketball all the time until the last team standing needs a crane to hitch them up to cut down the nets. No more of this three week wanked schedule that is supplemented on the weekdays with a “tournament” that fields 56 teams too many. Eventually something has to give. Being driven away from sports to watch countless episodes of “Walking with the Dinosaurs” on Discovery is an absolute shame.

Hey Al, Is Keyshawn Next?

After the Raiders signed safety Gibril Wilson a few weeks ago, I had a glimmer of hope that this off-season just might go well. This was a fantastic FA get. Sure, we massively overpaid (7 years, $39M) but it’s reasonable to believe that Wilson – one of the most consistent safeties in the league – will turn out to be worth the cash. At least, he will be until he realizes he plays in the Bay and completely flakes out a la Charles Woodson.

But then we signed DT Tommy Kelly for an insane $50M dollars and then Kwame Brown – a middling OL that didn’t start a game last season – for $16M over three years. And now, Al Davis has emerged from his oxygen chamber to cock things up yet again.

I’m sure most of you saw the news last week that the Raiders signed malcontent Javon Walker and his irreparably shredded knees. Even in Walker’s diminished condition, I’ll take him because we have a wide receiving corps that consists of Ronald Curry, To Be Determined and To Be Determined. In a situation like this, it’s hard to be picky.

But in his infinite wisdom, Al Davis has somehow found a way to make this the worst move of all time. Instead of paying beaten up, broken down, waiting on a new hip Javon Walker what he’s worth, the Crypt Keeper is giving him $55M for 6 years. My first reaction was, "Well, I’m sure it’s totally backloaded, so no big deal." And while that is somewhat true, Walker still gets $16M in guaranteed money and $27M for the first three years. Hell, if he gets cut this season, he still gets $11M and if he’s cut in 2 seasons, he’s got $16M! 

What’s next, Al? Gonna pull Keyshawn Johnson out the ESPN-abyss with a guaranteed 1-year, $25M deal? I assure you that he’s a lot more functional right now than Walker, he of the 28 catches, 287 yards (200 of which came in the first 2 games), 0 touchdowns and 8 games in 2007. Former Pro Bowl, 1000 yard receiver or not, this is pure madness. The only thing I can see explaining this mentally defective contract is if the price of bribing formerly capable players to waste their careers on our shores has ballooned to an additional 85% of market value.

Speaking of ballooned, there are rumors that Stay-Puft, also known as Jamarcus Russell, is currently weighing in around 300 pounds. Now, if that’s true, what does it matter who we sign when we’ve got a heifer for a quarterback that might be tempted to eat the damn ball?!

2 thumbs down!