Cee Lo Green - FUCK YOU

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Thursday, 26 August 2010


Yankee fans will go to any lengths...

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Tuesday, 13 April 2010

It was the home opener for the World Champion Yankees today, and in true pin-stripe fashion, at least one person in New York decided he would bring in the new season early... with a bang.

Outside Le Parker Meridian in Midtown, where the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim were staying, a few visiting players were standing outside signing autographs and such, when they were treated to one of the lesser tourist attractions of the Big Apple - people constantly jumping off our very tall buildings (mmm...Skyscrapers even!).

The man, apparently a former employee described as being in his 30's, wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt, was apparently clever enough to fool a very inept lifeguard working at the hotel's gorgeous luxury fucking rooftop-pool (I've been there, but that's a story for another time [never]) - that he was "waiting for his room to be readied" (warning sign, anybody?).  Maybe he was up there, I don't know, to take a quick dip in his jeans at 9AM before his complimentary continental breakfast?  Needless to say, the window of opportunity to try and stop this guy was closing pretty quick, for at the other end of the glass enclosure, another window was quickly being opened.  Just a hop, skip and a jump later, the desperate man was over the fence and on his way towards the great beyond.  And yes, I've always liked to call W56 St. "The Great Beyond".  Doesn't seem quite so silly now, huh?  

Granted, suicide is awful almost all the time, sometimes a little funny,  but I hate the Yankees.  They really do ruin lives, even if only indirectly.  This dirty ploy to attain another win for the galactic empire of the MLB actually worked:  The Yankees went on to win 7-5, despite a spectacular grand slam from former Yank Bobby Abreu.  He joins former Yankee left fielder Hideki Matsui as yet another pinstripe cast-off in Los Angeles, a city where old Yankees are put out to pasture.  LA is kind of like the Yankees' "Florida", if you know what I mean.  There ain't no coming back.

Lookee here for a more responsible look at the tragedy:



J! - E! - T! - S! ... JETS JETS JETS! [Playoff Bound]

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Wednesday, 6 January 2010

My favorite football team, the New York Jets, have made things a little bit exciting just in time for the beginning of this year's post-season. On Sunday, with their backs against the wall 'Gang Green' thoroughly trounced the Cincinnati Bengals to the tune of a 37-0 score, in an all or nothing "win-and-they're-in" showdown to make it into the playoffs.

As a hardcore Jets fan, I'm well aware of the team's prerogative to make your pants a little tight every few years.  After a night of drinking they lead you up to their room and you think to yourself "Maybe this year?" or stupidly,  "Is this gonna actually happen?".  Next thing you know, your super-bowl boner inevitably subsides as you come to your senses and realize "Of course not, they're the fucking Jets!".

And so the stage was set yet again this year...                                                    

T'was the final week of the 2009 NFL season and all through the house, the late start time Sunday night (8PM), made this (nationally broadcast) game actually the last game of the whole season.  Did I mention it also happened to be the last game ever in Giants Stadium?  Pretty exciting stuff, huh?  Many people found it difficult to believe that all of a sudden, a team that had a paltry record of just 4-6 a few weeks back could even have the chance to fight for a playoff spot.  Yet in another way, it wasn't that crazy.  This is a team who just broke up the longest regular season win streak in NFL history (23 games) by ruining the perfect  14-0 season of the Indianapolis Colts (headed by the Giants quarterback's more famous older brother, Peyton Manning).  As I eagerly watched that game at home, with my large poster board sign emblazoned in magic marker with the numbers "14-1",  I honestly didn't believe we would win this game, never mind make the postseason.

On the other hand, maybe this could be a last second burst of excitement for a starving, self-doubting team (and fan-base) who have lived for so long in the shadow of the great "Big Blue".   Big Blue, of course is the nickname given to the NY Giants, a team who just the previous week, in their much hyped "Last Giants game in Giants Stadium" treated their fans to a hometown travesty, Mets style.

Let me quickly explain:
It seems like only yesterday the New York Metropolitans played their final game at Shea Stadium (ironically a stadium shared with the Jets for a while).   Way back when long ago, [2008] they had a chance to stay relevant in a wild card race with the Milwaukee Brewers.   It seemed the recipe for victorious redemption of a team so long forsaken was simple, or so us self-hating Mets fans thought.   You see, all they had to do was win the final game at Shea, not so great of a stadium, against a not-so-great team, in front of a very emotional hometown crowd who had gathered to bid farewell to a house filled with so many memories.

You can probably guess what happens next:  Of course the Mets proceed to lose in humiliating, nearly insulting, yet entertainingly superstar fashion.  Not only that, but by the end of the game just about every disgusted fan in attendance left their seat and were in exodus to their cars, so they can beat the rush on an unbelievably long parking fiasco caused by the construction of the newly built adjacent Citi Field stadium.  Either way, most people ended up missing the awkward painful travesty that was the after-game ceremonies.  A poorly executed tribute to the team's history which I watched (while cringing) on TV.   A ceremony where the Mets paraded all the old guys they can find (who are not dead or in jail) around the field in a celebration of those glory days from yesteryear, (namely the championship years of 1969 and '86 - and only a scant 25 less World Series trophies than our baseball crosstown rivals).

Those in attendance who stuck around for this almost fitting end to Shea, all seemed to share the same facial expression.  The best way I can describe this uniquely Queens visage was that of a look of surprise, layered with anger, then topped off with a very large dose of actual, well...un-surprise.  You know, just like your seventh birthday party when your crazy aunt who "forgot her meds" leaps over the rented clown to punch you in the face just as you're about to blow out the candles (Ok, maybe that was only my 7th birthday).

Watching this as Mets fans, we weren't very surprised, so we kind of saw it coming.  At least the Giants organization had the wherewithal to have their old guy parade before the game.  The New York Giants lost bad in their last game at Giants stadium (the NFL's most used venue to date, btw),  41-9 against the Carolina Panthers and missing the playoffs for the first time since 2004.   As Jets fans, we finally had legitimate reason to walk through the streets of our quaint home city, this glorious new village of York, with some sliver of hope.  As a side note, it is hard for me to accept that these teams ingrained into my New York soul actually play their home games in New Jersey, but then again my hatred for Joisey is another story.

Unfortunately, this peculiar and uneasy air of excitement in New York among fans of that "other team" hadn't gone unnoticed by the big-wigs at the Jets organization, for they immediately banned the sale of alcohol on game night.  As if it's not bad enough that the weather forecast called for a fucking temperature of 20 degrees at kick-off (with a windchill below 0),  inside the wind-tunnel of hell Giants stadium becomes at night, but on top of that you can't have the pleasure of being drunk and loud, especially even after the Giants already being eliminated from contention.  Come on, give us something please.   A break, even.  

As usual Jets fans hoped for the best, but expected the worst.  And so it has been, here among fans of the 'team in green', that we've become accustomed to the "Same old Jets" mantra (or the acronym SOJ amongst the internet boards).  Lemme tell ya', it's tough, man.   First off, we have to contend with crazed fans of the Giants in this city.  A team  who feels the Jets are unwelcome tenants in their home within a stadium where the Jets, (the only NFL team without their own stadium) actually have to share the same locker room and where more often than not, the games the Jets play against the Giants count on their record as road games!  Yes, the NY Giants won the Super Bowl in 2007, an event I was admittedly pretty excited for, but we all know it would've been a different story if not for the most exciting moment of that fateful championship game, when David Tyree caught a ball with his helmet [not common, by the way].

The stage was set, and the drama was a buildin', if you know what I mean.  There was even a "war of tweets", and those of you who know me are well aware that nothing gets me more excited than trash talking only limited to 140 characters-or-less, over a social networking system that clearly must be a sign of the apocalypse.   It seemed that Darrelle Revis, our superstar corner, and someone who should be named defensive player of the year (see his amazing highlights here), was being targeted by one flashy Cincinnati Bengal, none other than the nefarious wide receiver Chad "Ocho-Cinco".  Yes, this retard was born with a Christian name, Chad Johnson.  He's very talented, but one day he looked at his NFL jersey number (85) and had a 9th grade Spanish-level type of epiphany that inspired him to legally change his surname to the literal Spanish to English translation, "Eight-Five".  This was also motivated by the fact he wanted to avoid further fines from the NFL commisioner, such as those he incurred when he tried to wear a novelty jersey during a game with his nickname, "Ochocinco" across the back in the previous football season.

In the days leading up to the game, he started mouthing off during a conference call with the NY media:

"Darrelle Revis couldn't cover me in a brown paper bag on a corner of a Manhattan street inside a phone booth," ...  "It's impossible."

Here in Jets town, we crown our own mascots.  There's another fan favorite for Jets nation.  It's a guy I remember during all the Jets games I went to back in junior high/high school.  A retired firefighter who leads the crowd at every home game with what I think is the best football team chant ever.  It's simple, yet drives you crazy with euphoric sports rage.  It goes something like  "J! - E!- T!-S!,   JETS! JETS! JETS!".  Even our beloved "Fireman Ed" wasn't safe from Ochocinco's barbs.  Predicting what he would do during a (hypothetical) touchdown celebration against the Jets:

"I have one that is going to be so good. Everybody listening? You know the guy in the stands with the fireman hat (Fireman Ed) that quiets the stadium? OK, I have my own fireman hat made, but it doesn't say Jets. It's a Bengals fireman hat. When I score, I'm going to sit on top of the goal post and then I'm going to quiet the stadium like he does and I want everybody in the stadium to say, well there not going to say the Bengals, but everybody will get the point of what I'm trying to do."

Always the showman, Chad Ochocinco is known for his crazy on-field antics.  Earlier this season he gained notoriety for his famed "Poncho-Cinco" incident, where after a touchdown against Detroit he ran to the sideline to don a poncho and sombrero.  A couple of games later, during a coach's challenge, he jokingly attempted to bribe a referee with a dollar bill in return for a favorable decision.  You never know what to expect from this guy, and this game would be no different.  Keep in mind the Bengals at this point have already wrapped up the AFC North title.  They weren't fighting for their playoff lives, they were already in.  They just wanted to play spoiler and ruin the hopes of all Jets fans.

We're all gluttons for punishment, us Queens folk.   The "ETS" part of both of my favorite team's names (Jets, Mets)  could very well stand for "End The Season" at any given time of the year.  All you have to do is either apply an "M" to the beginning of the word during baseball season ("Must"), or a "J" during those cold wintry football months ("Just").   Mets and Jets baby, that's how we roll.

In the end, it was in the cards for the Jets Sunday night.  They decided they weren't going to must-just end the season, at least not this season.  Unfortunately (or fortunately- who knows?), since the Jets gained the next-to-last AFC seeding in this tournament for the championship (5th), that means in the first round of the playoffs (beginning on Saturday) they are forced into a rematch with the Bengals again, just days later, but this time in their house.
Maybe this will be the ultimate other shoe that Jets fans are always waiting for to drop.  Maybe the Bengals saw all our trick plays, blitz packages, and insane coverage routes and are more than prepared to counteract them.  They are a good team after all, division leaders in the North, even.  Maybe they've seen everything in our bag of tricks and were playing possum, just so they can watch video and revamp their offense so they can kick our ass in front of their home fans.

On the other hand, maybe...

J! - E! - T! - S!   JETS! JETS! JETS!


Thank You, Minnesota

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Wednesday, 7 October 2009

I never thought I would say something like that, being you are a state harboring a criminal, horrid excuse for an NFL quarterback.   However,  as I was flipping through the channels last night, the performance by your Minnesota Twins pulled me in and never let go, leading to what (for me, at least) was perhaps the most memorable single baseball game  in recent history.


Card Carrying

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Wednesday, 16 September 2009

My deepest apologies, please excuse the very long delay in updating this epic piece of American literature, this living testament to all that is unholy and marred. What can I say, things have been hectic lately. Fear not though, for I am working with an incredible backlog of awesome stories for my throngs of loyal fans.

When we last left off, our hero was on the precipice. Contemplating his place in the great beyond, he decides to embark on a grand, life changing mission. He's a man who just wants to make the earth a better place, all the while hopefully earning a more favorable shake in the next life (who knows, maybe even a seat at the right side of our all-knowing and magical creator?- you know how me likey salvation).
Alas, his efforts to do good were dashed. All those attempts to leave a lasting mark in a world full of endless possibilities were in vain. Sunrise, sunset.
However, as this tale progresses, our hero finally comes to his senses. One dark stormy night he has an epiphany, and realizes that these ideals he strived to uphold are all bullshit. Blinded by the light of reality, where no shadow exists to hide in, it suddenly hits him. Our hero starts to think that perhaps, just maybe...he needs a new weed guy.



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