Shelley Duncan Is My Homeboy...

Apparently Chuck Norris has a son he never knew about. Shelley Duncan, 1st Baseman and Designated Enforcer of the New York Yankees slid into second base during a spring training game between the aforementioned Yankees and the Tampa Bay Devil Rays.
Or is it just Rays now?
It doesn't matter.
There is some bad blood between the two teams since the Yankees lost a catching prospect to a broken wrist that resulted from a lovely head on collision in the ninth inning of a meaningless spring training game.
Apparently the Rays, otherwise known as the American League East Doormats for most of their existence, took exception to Duncan's response.
He sent them a memo, they must have missed it.
So the Rays are ticked off. And they are undoubtedly planning some sort of revenge worthy of a James Bond bad guy.
"Do you expect me to slide?"
"No Mister Duncan, I expect you to die..."
Ever since they hired Joe Maddon (he's really working those trendy glasses by the way...) as manager those pesky Rays have gotten more aggressive.
No, I don't mean like they try harder or run the bases faster or pitch better (although they are doing some of that).
They take out second basemen hard and bean batters after home runs, that sort of thing.
The whole brouhaha with the Bronx Bombers is not the first time the flat fish have bumped uglies with another team. Lawd knows I hate saying anything nice about them boys from Beantown, but ask the Red Sox how many times they've had to clear the benches with the boys by the bay.
Now, of course, the Tampa Bay media is playing this whole thing out like "poor, poor Rays getting picked on by the big bad Yankees... "
Sure, just like they were being picked on the last couple of years by the Red Sox.
Kiss my smurf.
Look, they may be a poor franchise but instead of raising their collective testosterone levels how about increasing the talent level? The way sport heads wax on about how "poor" they are you would think they were playing barefoot on pebble strewn dirt clumps in the middle of the Okeechobee swamp with balled up duct tape for balls and driftwood for bats.
Get over it flat fish, you guys just have a cheap owner.
At least the Marlins taste nice with some Lemon and a nice Chianti.
You guys murdered the Crocodile Hunter.
Ya happy now?
Thanks to you, children all over the world are sad 'cuz you nitwits buried your sharpie in Captain Crickey's chest.
It's official.
I no longer feel sorry for the Rays.
And I am glad that Yanks are growing a pair...
A pair of what?
I shouldn't have to explain that one.
Pick something that looks good in pairs and grows.
Use your imagination.
For years (one of the few bad marks in Joe Torre's notebook) the Yankees were "above" retaliating against other teams when their players were on the bad end of a slide or a 95 mile an hour fast ball to their head.
Hopefully that will change now with Girardi.
Personally, I would prefer it if he goes all Don Corleone on the rest of the American League.
Quiet, understated menace. That's how you do it.
Let people know in no uncertain terms that open season is over.
I want to see the Yanks get that fire in the belly.
They're the smurfing Yankees!
Come on.
Play ball.
Oh yeah... one more thing. Shelley Duncan is the new Chuck Norris.
Just throwing that out there.

Batter Up....

Well it's been a few days since I last laced up the blog shoes. Had a nice busy weekend. Don't know about you but it was flat out gorgeous down here in the Sunshine state.
Well, with the possible exception of Friday evening when we had a quasi-deluge of biblical proportions. My son's baseball game was rained out.
Yeah. I'm a coach.
I was disappointed. Mostly because my father actually made the effort to come out and watch him play. Something he never did when I was playing.
No. It doesn't bother me. I'm completely over it. Can't you tell? He was busy. Working hard to take care of things. He didn't have time to watch me play baseball. He wanted me to focus on growing up and getting a good job. Never mind the fact that scouts were interested in the skinny left handed kid with the nice swing.
Oh? He pitches too?
No. I'm not bitter.
Things didn't work out for me. Obviously. I still enjoy softball and I really try hard not to project onto the clone. I want him to play so long as he enjoys it. I don't force him to play.
Now if, let's say, someone invents a method of downloading knowledge from one mind to another...
And I could, hypothetically speaking, download all my baseball experience into his little 9 year old head...
That would be so awesome.
But, unfortunately the technique hasn't been invented yet and despite the fact that his hitting is coming along nicely (he got his first his ever last week) he still throws kind of like a squirrel on acid.
With a twitch.
And an over abundance of caffeine.
We're working on that.
I'm hoping he gets better eventually.
Until then I suggest that the folks along the first base side pay attention whenever he's playing second base...

The Greatest Of All Time...

So MegaCon is coming to town today. And I don't think I will be able to go this year.
Again.
What the smurf, I work hard, I do good and stuff.
Why can't I go and check out hard core nerdyness? Where's my autographed picture of Boba Fett?
I'm going to be too busy this weekend to go.
Did you know that the dude from Heroes was going to be there?
Have I mentioned that I watch Heroes?
No?
I do.
Bet you're surprised.
I know I am.
I was talking with a friend the other day about the best movie of all time. If I had to pick my absolute top ten what would it be?
That's a tough one.
Hard to narrow down a century of film making to ten masterpieces of cinema.
There are movies for guys - featuring explosions, supermodels, guys who know how to disable a bad guy with a plastic spork and some sort of quest and/or superpowers.
(Ugh. Had to add supermodels and spork to the dictionary... some of those programmer guys need to get out more.)
So glad it's Friday.
Then you have the classic epic, with the wide vistas and stories that feel big and momentous.
But the very best movies fit both of those categories.
I refuse to include chick flicks.
Chick flicks don't count.
Ever.
No.
The Notebook was a cruel trick used by women to subjugate their men folk.
Moulan Rouge?
Uh, I'm going to plead the fifth on the grounds that it could adversely affect my man card standing.
So that leaves me with formulatificating my top ten.
Hey, formulatificating is a word.
Just ask Dubya.
Without further ado, here are my top ten favorite flicks (in no particular order...):


Star Wars (1977)
Anyone that does not include this film on their list ought to have their cloisters shaved with a lightsaber by a Wookie that's just had a gallon of expresso.This movie changed the entire landscape in Hollywood. It invogorated an entire generation of people.
Oh yeah, by the way Han Solo shot first and I like it that way.

Raiders Of The Lost Ark (1981)
Han Solo versus Nazis!?!? Are you kidding me? This is freakin' awesome! Plus he had a whip. Submarines, exploding experimental Luftwaffe bombers, fights on top of speeding vehicles and the finger of god squishing that annoying French pastry Belloq.
Good smurfing times, yo.

Conan The Barbarian (1982)
Darth Vader without the helmet, giant snakes, the Valkyrie with the sword and the Greatest Movie Soundtrack of All Time.
Plus Arnold at his peak. What could be better, you ask?
"Crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of their women."
Oh yeah. Hand me my sword.

Enter The Dragon (1973)
Yeah. The standard by which all other Kung Fu movies are measured. Jim "Hey Mister Han man, suddenly I would like to leave your island" Kelly, the dude that turned out to be the cyborg on the Bionic Man a few years later and of course, the worlds greatest Kung Fu master.
Bruce Lee.
Bruce Lee!!!!
Bruce Freakin Lee man!
Far out!
Get my my nunchucks... STAT.

Star Trek II The Wrath Of Khan (1982)
Apparently, 1982 was the last time really cool original movies came out of Hollywood. This was the very best of Star Trek. Ricardo Montalban, Shatner and The Enterprise opening a can of smack down. Phasers, torpedoes, little creepy ear thingy's that made you do stuff you didn't want to and Kirk staring at the ceiling screaming "KHAN!!!!"
I can still here the echoes. Unfortunately, Star Trek is pretty much all down hill from here.

The Empire Strikes Back (1980)
The best of all the Star Wars Films. The first truly great lightsaber combat sequence, Taun tauns, no Ewoks or Jar Jar, Snow Speeders, Imperial Walkers and Yoda.
Dude, YODA!!!
Han Solo has the ultimate Man moment. You remember...
Leia says I love you as they are lowering him to his doom. And what is his reply?
"I know."
Greatest. Cool Guy. Moment. Ever.
Oh man. The introduction of Boba Fett, Super Star Destroyers and the back of Vader's pasty scarred dome. Not to mention the single greatest on screen shocker of all time...
"No... I am your father..."
Oh it's true. It's true alright.

Close Encounters Of The Third Kind (1977)
Spaceships, Flashing lights, kind of creepy in a wonderous way. That catchy tune we hummed to ourselves without realizing it for the better part of the next decade. And the seed planted that maybe, just maybe, we are not alone.
Nah, nah, nah, NAH, Nah...

The Godfather (1972)
The quintessential Gangster Movie. Classy and elegant in the same way that Scarface was brutal and violent. Al Pacino. The Man. Marlon Brando.
It makes you an offer you can't refuse. That haunting melody. The Mob hasn't been the same since. This is the standard bearer for all Mob flicks and only two others have come close to it, Goodfellas and Scarface. It's still the best though.

E.T. (1982)
Phone home man. Phone home. I don't think anything freaked me out as much as those Government guys in space suits crashing through the windows and doors. Still gives me the heebie jeebies. Who didn't cry when they saw E.T. dying as Elliot screamed "Don't go E.T.!!! Don't Go!!!!) And who can forget the complete and total sense of elation when they saw the flower come back to life! Yeah. You're smiling now just thinking about it.


Lord Of The Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)
This movie was so awesome that if you saw it all at once, your head would explode! That's why they only let you see parts of it over three years. They were kind to humanity in controlling the carnage of decimated heads in theaters all over the world.
Plus, the whole Star Wars v. Hobbit, East Coast Rapper v. West Coast Rapper thing was getting way out of control. Be that as it may, flaming giant evil eye plus hordes of Orcs and goblins and a wizard, elves, surly dwarves (are there any other kind?) plus the hero dude and his angelic looking GF, dude.... Booby.... What we have here is the greatest trilogy of all time.
This is the Chuck Norris of Cinema.

That's about it.
I feel spent. Lot's of movies didn't make the cut that I'm sure could be up there but these are my favorites.
You don't like them? Come up with your own list then.
Pass the popcorn.

Hang Ten Homie...

I heard that Patrick Swayze was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer.
Bad times.
Bad, bad times.
In 1989, way back when I was still living in the Ghetto, two rather strange looking men happened upon our block.
They were white and they didn't have badges and they weren't driving ambulances so it was really weird.
"What, uh, watchu guys doing here?"
Yeah. I really talked like that when I was a kid. What can I say? I was a big fan of little Arnold Drummond.
(Dude... was that a Diff'rent Strokes reference? Yeah. I think it was...)
"We're location scouts."
A dull look spread across my face. I knew what a location was and I knew what a scout was but as far as putting them together like they were chocolate and peanut butter, I was clueless.
"A whozawhatsit?"
The men smiled benignly. Poor, unfortunate ghetto kids.
"Were looking for places to shoot our movie."
My brain froze for half a beat on shoot. The word shoot had (and still does have) a very different connotation where I grew up.
But the man said movie right after that.
"What movie?"
"Ghost."
"Never heard of no movie called Ghost."
A wry smile from our Caucasian guests. "That's because we haven't filmed it yet."
Excellent point.
"Who's in it?" I asked brushing away my previous insipid question.
I don't know why the man bothered to answer but he did. And even more remarkably, he did so honestly.
"Well, let's see... Tony Goldwyn.."
"Never heard of him."
"Demi Moore."
"Ain't never heard of him either."
"Demi is a woman."
"If you say so man..." Too busy playing Wiffle Ball that summer apparently.
"Patrick Swayze."
Now THAT name sounded familiar. Johnny something or other.
"Uh, the dude from Dirty Dancing?"
Finally, the hood rat recognized a name!
"Yeah, that's him."
Crap. I just admitted I watched a movie about dancing. This could ruin what little street cred I had. I needed to think quick.
"I didn't like that movie. Who else is in this movie?"
Ah. Changing subjects works every time.
"Whoopi Goldberg."
"For real!?!"
Yeah. The big news was that we might get to meet Whoopi Goldberg. Everyone loved Whoopi. She was big in Brooklyn.
They left and we didn't hear anything the rest of the summer. Most of us forgot about it. The baseball season wound down and World Series got interrupted by the San Francisco earthquake.
Anyone else remember that?
Then, right after the Series resumed, they showed up. Right before Halloween. Lights, cameras and all action. The highlight was when Swayze and Goldwyn showed up the film the scene where Swayze discovers that his best friend forever Goldwyn just sold him out to get his wallet.
I remember the nice red mustang and the train going by as Swayze flailed his fists at where Goldwyn would later be standing.
You remember the scene right?
"Why!?! You were my friend!"
Still gives me goosebumps when I see the scene.
Of all the people we met during the filming, he was without a doubt, the most down-to-earth and personable one there. My aunt still has picture he took with her on the set. It was with a heavy heart I read the news.
I will be praying for a speedy recovery for one of the nicest guys around.
Hang in there Bohdi.
Hang in there.

Back And To The Left...

When I was a kid, I did a lot of stupid things. Yeah. You know what? I still do stupid things but that's neither here nor there. There was this one time we, the neighborhood kids, got our hands on a professional slingshot.
Yes there is such a thing.
It looked just like the one I posted.
Anyhoo...
We basically spend the day busting out the windows on abandoned tenements and cars.
Hey, if no one lives in the building they are abandoned. And if the car is missing the wheels, ditto.
Eventually we made our way to the roof on account of one of the cars we hit turned out not to have been totally abandoned.
Hey, we felt sorry. Doesn't that count for anything?
So we get up on the roof, which you could do in those days.
I had spent the afternoon plunking the Franklin Avenue Shuttle as it rattled by, brilliant arcs of electricity spilling out as the leads made hard contact with the third rail.
I can still hear that crackling sizzle.
We had all seen The Taking of Pelham One, Two, Three. Great movie. That's where I learned about the third rail.
Touching the third rail is bad. For the record.
You could see all of Manhattan in the distance, the World Trade Center easily visible to the East and the lights at Yankee Stadium to the North, past Queens, into the Bronx, cutting a shaft of blue light through the smog. The sun had nearly set and the lights of Manhattan were coming on, more easily visible than the stars. I could see those that actually had jobs in my neighborhood walking home, filing wearily down the platform of the train station to the street.
I could also see this guy walking home from the super market.
He was about a hundred yards out, one bag in each hand. No doubt walking home from a hard day's work, eagerly looking forward to the Jefferson reruns on Channel 11 WPIX.
Oh yeah. Old school TV before the advent of cable television. Back in the day when you siphoned the HBO signal off the Empire State building with a box you could buy down on Graham Avenue in Brooklyn.
Back then, there was no cable in Brooklyn. Fancy things like that belonged in the City, not out in the ghetto.
But I digress.
Seeing the white bags full of groceries in each hand and finding my self holding the slingshot I began to wonder.
"Can I hit those bags from here?"
I was twelve.
I had never heard the term Collateral Damage. That wouldn't show up in the public consciousness for few years.
It was a long shot. Literally.
In the waning afternoon light I found a small stone, not much bigger than a nickel, if that.
It felt about right. Should make the distance easily.
I loaded it into the sling and pulled back as far as my skinny little arms could go.
I could feel the tension of the rubber bands, my arms twitching under the strain as I aimed for the bag in his right hand.
Fwip.
I let go of the rock and the pouch and felt the release.
It was a good shot. I could feel it.
I couldn't see it but I knew I was going to get close.
And then it hit.
Not the bag that I was aiming for.
It hit the man.
His head jerked at the impact of the rock and he set his bags down and grabbed the back of his head.
Holy-
No way.
A part of me was completely amazed that I had hit him. I'm sure that was the part of me where the smile came from. But the rest of me felt horrible.
I wasn't trying to hit him, just the bag. It was a fluke. Never in a million years could I have hit that shot.
He looked around sharply, wonder where the attack had come from but the streets were empty. No one on the stoops, no cars moving.
Eerily quiet for a early summer night in Brooklyn.
He picked up his bags and continued on his way home.
I felt a little sick to my stomach.
And weirdly elated.
No one would believe that shot.
That would be like telling your friends you met Han Solo and Chewbacca at the White House. There are easier ways to get accused of being crackhead but I can't think of any at the moment.
"Great shot kid, that was one in a million!"
Except it wasn't the Death Star.
Just some guy going home.
If he's still out there, I'm sorry. I was a dumb kid and I have never once failed to feel bad that I missed the bag.
Still.
It was a heck of a shot.

Why Didn't Anyone Tell Me It Was Tuesday!?!

You ever wake up and immediately wish you could go back to bed? That's me most days. That was me this morning. We had a couple of folks out yesterday so I didn't get my 15 minute window to whip out something incredibly funny and insightful like I usually do.
Plus there were no good pictures on the Drudge Report to make fun of.
Slow news day I guess.
So what's new people?
Anything interesting happen while I was goofing off?
Hugo who?
Chavez? The Chavez Chavez guy from Young Guns? Didn't he play La Bamba too?
La la la la bamba... necesito la bamba.... la la la la bamba...
I forget the words...
Wait?
Venezuela? President?
You don't say.
Wow. That dude gets around.
So he's going to invade Columbia? What? He's out of Coffee or something?
Ah. Rebels. Yes. I might have known. Well I guess Colombia should have stayed out of Venezuela then. It's not nice to bomb other countries. I pisses people in those countries off.
He didn't bomb Venezuela?
So what's Hugo's problemo?
Ecua-who?
Dora? The explorer?
Oh. Ecuador.
Right. So Columbia bombed Ecuador. That's just plain rude. They attacked a rebel camp?
You sure that they weren't on Endor and not Ecuador?
There's something very familiar about all this.
So he gives $300 million dollars to Columbia's oldest rebel faction, makes nice-nice with the head Umpa Lumpa guy and gets totally cheezed when Columbia pulls a Schwarzenegger Commando raid and settles the Rebel dude's hash.
Interesting.
Now the tanks are on the border and the troops are all ready to go.
All we need are 99 red balloons.
Good times.
Someone needs to switch Hugo to decaf.