So last week I was in Tampa on a work trip. Not that I didn’t have access to any news or sports or news on sports, most of Florida does – even if a lot of Florida can’t access anything but Fox News judging by the billboards in Tampa – I did. I was tired.
But Wednesday I was in the hotel lobby waiting for my work comrades when one of them came up to me and said the Astros had fired their manager and general manager. Whoa… and whoa. In my best Montreal Expos accent I said ‘pourquoi?’
Cheating. Spying. Stealing signs.
Rob Manfred is having none of it.
Now Rob is the baseball commissioner, so he has the right to do what he thinks is best for baseball. He’s drawing a hard line – there will be no cheating in baseball. What you may ask? What? Of course, there should be no cheating in baseball, right?
Continue reading “What is going on with you MLB?”
Hey Fuckers! It’s me, an angry white guy. I like to let the world know at all times what i’m mad about. I’m the reason you hate going on Facebook. My 18 Twitter followers know at all times what i’m pissed off about. The world is changing and i’m not emotionally equipped to handle it! You know what was great? 1988. It should stay 1988 forever. Man, 1988 rocked.
Continue reading “The Angry Old White Man's Guide to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 2020”
If you live a life of ignorance that can only be described as blissful, you might have missed the announcement. If you, like myself and millions of others who, like two trees growing into eachother over time cause the trees to become one, have your phone semi-permanently attached to your hand so that you can be hyper aware of the latest things happening in pop culture, have surely heard the news last week that Prince Harry and his wife Megan Markle have decided to split away from the Royal Family of England to create a life for themselves.
Continue reading “A Royal Mess”
TV has quite the broad spectrum these days. If I were an actual TV critic, imagine the amount of tax deductions I’d have subscribing to everything from Amazon Prime to Zee TV. Frankly I didn’t even know Zee TV existed and I’m pretty sure it exists primarily for me to have a complete A to Z joke.
Allow me to take you through a ‘best of’ similar to watching 3+ hours of god-awful backslapping known as the Emmys without actually having to watch the Emmys. Did you know there are nearly 100 Emmy categories? Holy crap these people love to congratulate one another. Relax. I’m only hitting the highlights I want to hit. Let’s start with a couple you won’t see given out while you’d eat your gourmet popcorn and watch:
Oklahoma is Oklahoma, so Watchmen, you’re out. I’m throwing Chernobyl a radioactive bone here because it’s got to win something, right? Can’t understand why all the Russkis had British accents, but the dreariness of a nuclear disaster was just how I imagined it would be, along with the patently dull British clothing, so it wins for Outstanding Period Costumes too (yes, that’s a category).
Continue reading “My Best TV of 2019”
Hello hockey fans! We’re now sitting – more for some teams, less for others – at the halfway point of the season as the Avalanche, my yard marker team, has just played their 41st game. They beat the pants off the Western Conference-leading St. Louis Blues, BTW. A 7-3 iceberg crasher.
I’ll try to build upon the Tirty Tree and a Tird Percentage report and see where how our playoff teams would be set up if we were to end the season right now.
OK, let’s toss a wrench in this. Before we actually look at current playoff teams, let’s cut out the ones that – unless there’s a huge ice floe having never occurred before in this league – have no chance of making the playoffs. Buh-bye any teams under 40 points for the season: Ottawa, New Jersey and the team that, if there were such a thing as being bumped into a lesser league ought to be – the Detroit Red Wings. Good Lord of the two-line pass they are awful. Normally a team stands a chance of making the playoffs if they can get to 90 points. At the 50% mark, the Dead Wings are at 23 points. Historically awful.
On to the playoff-making teams. Last time we checked in, the Eastern Conference playoff teams at the third mark stood at: Washington Capitals, Boston Bruins, New York Islanders, Philadelphia Flyers, Pittsburgh Penguins, Carolina Hurricanes, Florida Panthers and the Buffalo Sabres.
Well, hockey fans, let me tell you, at the halfway point the Easter Conference leaders are:
Continue reading “NHL at 50% Report”
Lillie’s Q is a sore. A nuisance. A poem that rhymes “cigarette” with “regret.” It’s a friend that invites you to a party you don’t know anyone but never shows up, so you spend the whole time in the corner, playing with the settings on your phone, pretending to text. Most of all, it is a restaurant in Chicago – the existence of which disparages the entire history of barbecue.
As we all know, the first mention of ribs in recorded history comes from the book of Genesis, when God removed one of Adam’s ribs to create Eve and stop Adam from posting on incel web forums. Since then, ribs have been used in everything from Marilyn Manson’s felatic self-adventures to “her pleasure” condoms, but they have most prominently marked their territory as a staple of Southern cuisine.
If ribs found their start in Eden, Lillie’s Q has burnt them over the fire and brimstone of Sodom. Continue reading “Lillie’s Q Brings Down Southern Fare Like a Confederate Monument”
That’s what I should have said.
I didn’t, though.
The French have a saying: “Pourquoi avez-vous pris la peine de traduire cela?” I have no idea what that means, but they have another saying, “Esprit de l’escalier.” which translates to “Spirit of the stairway.” It’s the feeling of finding the perfect, witty remark but only after the opportunity has passed.
For a hypothetical example, say It was around noon on a wet and chilly day in 2012. Sometime after Call Me Maybe topped the charts and sometime before the world ended. Early March, perhaps. You were trying to impress a cute girl in your speech class with a string of pithy words, but under the pressure you crack, instead firing off some dumb remark. Later, as you walked down the stairs, it hits you. You come up with the perfect combination of vowels and consonants. Alas, the moment is now gone.
That’s the spirit of the stairway.
Continue reading “My Worst Bomb: A Story of Whiskey and Old Spice”