Here is a short list of talking heads that I trust:
From the Coming Out marches on Sunday, courtesy Andrew Sullivan:
Brilliant. In fact, I think it’s time to enact a basic rule: if you’ve ever been divorced, then you are not allowed to say anything negative about gay marriage, and how it’s a “threat” to family values. Same goes if you’ve conceived a child out of wedlock or committed adultery. I’m not saying I should be allowed to judge someone if they’ve done any of those things; while I’ve never done them myself, I’m certainly no saint. I’m just saying that if you broke up a family, I’m not putting up with your hypocrisy.
From the “What in the hamfisted hellion” department, we have 30 Ridiculous Pictures Of The Backstreet Boys.
That’s well past ridiculous.
I love Ryan Howard. Not as much as I love, say, Chase Utley, but I love him nonetheless. A quote from Cliff Lee, the Phils starting pitcher for yesterday’s game:
That hit by Howard was the biggest and most impressive hit I’ve seen in my career. The only thing that might have made it better was if it woulda went out of the yard. He came down to the end of the bench and said, ‘Get me to the plate, boys.’
Of course, the 9th inning led to defibrillators being warmed up throughout the Delaware Valley. Uncle Cholly sent Greg “Lou” Dobbs up to bat for Ben Francisco, who had replaced Raul Ibanez in left field and taken the pitcher’s spot in the order (reason 3,273 why the National League is the only real major league: the double switch); Dobbs struck out. Jimmy Rollins hit a hard grounder past the mound, and while Barmes was able to snag it, he couldn’t get the ball to first in time to beat the speedy switch-hitter. Victorino then hit a weak grounder straight to Barmes, but was too fast for the double play; Rollins out at second on the fielder’s choice.
Victorino wasn’t being held on, so he quickly swiped 2nd base while Utley, with the best eye in professional baseball, worked a 2-out walk, bringing Ryan Howard, The Big Piece, to the plate. He worked the count, and finally got a ball he could clobber for a long double to the wall, scoring both Utley and Victorino (who was stupidly looking into the outfield and was almost overrun by Utley; head in the game, Shane). Finally Jayson “For What It’s” Werth singled, driving in a hard-running Howard, who had to sit down and have some oxygen afterwards.
Miguel Cairo, who I keep forgetting is on the roster, grounded out to 2nd.
Brad Lidge, whose sole purpose in life at this point is to force me to drink scotch, came in and got a quick ground-out from Eric Young Jr. Then Carlos Gonzalez got a single, and everyone’s sphincters tightened a bit. Dexter Fowler lined out to short and I peed my pants a little. Todd Helton singled, and I poured a big glass of whisky; the only thing that kept Gonzalez at second was that slipped on his way to third. Finally, Tulo couldn’t check his swing and struck out on a DELICIOUS slider from Lidge, and I was glad I’d invested in adult diapers.
The National League Championship Series opens at Dodger Stadium on Thursday at 8pm. “Get me to the plate, boys,” indeed.
My son Charles is very large for his age, and shows every sign of becoming a rather sizeable fellow. I suspect that football coaches will notice this. And I will do everything in my power to discourage him from playing. Why? Read Malcolm Gladwell on the subject.
[L]ate last month the University of Michigan’s Institute for Social Research released the findings of an N.F.L.-funded phone survey of just over a thousand randomly selected retired N.F.L. players—all of whom had played in the league for at least three seasons. Self-reported studies are notoriously unreliable instruments, but, even so, the results were alarming. Of those players who were older than fifty, 6.1 per cent reported that they had received a diagnosis of “dementia, Alzheimer’s disease, or other memory-related disease.” That’s five times higher than the national average for that age group. For players between the ages of thirty and forty-nine, the reported rate was nineteen times the national average.
Ever wonder what the story of the tearing down of the Berlin Wall would be like if it were told using 10-story marionettes? Well, here’s your answer. Warning: nobody does creepy like Germans.
The Phillies continue to figure in the decline of my health. Last night’s game started shortly after 10pm and didn’t complete until 2 the frick 14 in the morning. Surprisingly, I managed to stay up for the entire thing, fueled by coffee and scotch. As a result, of course, I want to go back to bed, and cannot, because of kajl;x;lvj
Sorry, faceplanted into the keyboard.
It was quite a game, particularly because of the cold weather. The 35F temperature at Coors Field at the start meant the game was the coldest post-season game in history. (There apprently was some freaky 28 degree game once, but it was in April, during the regular season.) Chase Utley led of the scoring with a 2-out 1st inning bomb to right center, but then Happ gave away the lead in the bottom half. Eventually the Rockies got the score up to 3-1, until the Phils big 4th inning put them up 4-3, and of course in the bottom half of that inning a Carlos Gonzalez home run tied it again. In the top of the sixth, the Phils knocked in another, and were matched in the bottom of the 7th. Finally in the top of the ninth, Ryan Howard hit a deep fly ball with runners at the corners to take the lead, and Brad Lidge, despite giving the entire Delaware Valley a collective heart attack, earned the save.
At 2 fricking 14, ante meridiem.
So this morning’s a little brutal; I’m very tired, a little hungover, and still fighting a bit of a chest cold that has me hawking up lungers the size of salt water scallops. I guess what I’m saying is that being a Phillies fan means that sometimes you feel like you have tuberculosis.
They play again at 6pm, with Cliff Lee, coming off a complete game 1 gem, facing up against Ubaldo Jimenez, who sucks.
I’m amused that #mileycomeback is the top trending topic on Twitter today. Makes me think of this:
I know it’s been lame around here; we just bought a house, so stuff is CUH-RAZAY. To make up for it, I give you this:
This is crazy:
What really interests me is that it doesn’t even appear that boat traffic stopped, or even slowed down, even as MASSIVE storm cells passed directly over the city. Are Hong Kong folks just used to getting pounded by typhoons?
