HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!!
Friday, December 30, 2005
Tonight is a joyous night for the Quick Slants blog, as Ty's efforts over on FoxSports.com have been rewarded by a spot in the Sweet Sixteen of their "Next Great Sportswriter" contest. Over the next few weeks, he'll be blogging against the finest writers the blogosphere has to offer in hopes of becoming a columnist on FoxSports.com. It'll work American Idol-style starting January 1st, as he'll be given a topic to blog about for the duration of the week and be judged by you, the viewing public.
Regardless of how he fares, it's going to be a lot of fun. Ty will need your help to make this happen!
Check out Ty blog and help support Quick Slants!
Monday, December 26, 2005
I love animals. I like cute ones... but I also love ones that just may kill you if given the chance. It is the chief engine behind my enjoyment of suburban Massachusetts- unless some wayward shark ends up in my little bay, my chances of encountering anything meaner than a snapping turtle are pretty limited.
Not that a snapping turtle can't send you to the hospital (guilty)... it just won't run you down, bay at the moon, and tear your liver out while you scream for your Mommy. For all the nature-loving you see on the Discovery Channel, they know that Predators are where their bread is buttered- which is why you don't see more specials about squirrels and ducks.
Ducks don't do things much differently than Komodo Dragons do- they eat, cruise around, rut, and sleep. It's just that when they eat, it tends to be grass or minnows. When a Komodo Dragon eats, the menu is pretty much a matter of what it feels like eating... you included.
Let it be known that this is the kind of site where, after I mix my own humor in, the "monkey getting himself off" is the SECOND thing that I decided to edit out of this entry once my buzz wore off.
Some of these may be video links, and some may be graphic. Not all of these are violent, but I did enjoy a good surf at
7 lions vs. elephant.
This bear is on some straight-up Jackie chan sh** [via]
It's OK to laugh at people who get too close to wild animals, and I especially laughed as this dude takes good beating from these chimps.
Above is a picture of a tiger cub popping it's head of the window of a Range Rover in Saudi Arabia.
In some Arizona zoo
Cow vs Dogs
'looks like the cow won. The site
A rare black squirrel ...
Friday, December 23, 2005
(Cape Cod Times)
I have a pretty good life. I live in a beach house on Cape Cod. I've made out well in teaching, counseling, and real estate. You're looking at what I do for "work." I have a healthy family, a happy dog, a bunch of fun friends and a whole sorta-dysfunctional-yet-fun online entourage that both astounds and amazes. I love being me.
Sure, bad stuff happens to me. I stopped growing at 5 feet high. I've been rat-soup broke, with no parents and a kid brother/sister to feed. I wrecked a Jeep once. I've lost jobs when I couldn't afford to lose them. I had a dog get hit by a car, and I've been hit by a car myself (not that hard, and it didn't hurt that much).
I'm also very accident prone, to the point where I have a medical history (broke the same leg twice, broke an arm, a finger and a thumb, sprained both ankles, had a concussion, went through a complicated pregnancy, went through a window, and fell off a seawall) that would shame a lot of pro wrestlers and Navy SEALs.
Thing usually work themselves out. The baby was fine, the bones healed, I got a new car, and falling off the seawall is when I met my husband for the first time. I'm fairly resilient, and I try to keep a positive attitude about most stuff.
Still, some things don't work themselves out... and you end up taking a few lumps. I've had my fill of that, but I'm a small timer compared to this girl Kathy that I used to play soccer with in high school.
Kathy didn't stop moving up at 5 feet.. she turned out just fine, as most of the male race was concerned. She was better at soccer than me, had richer parents, drove a BMW, never needed glasses or braces, and rarely threw up on guys at carnivals. While she had no fault in my concussion, she did assist on the goal that happened after everybody else was staring at me laying pole-axed on the grass.
Even though she was better at tennis than me, the coach played her at second singles- leaving me to get slaughtered by the better first singles from Massachusetts tennis factories like Scituate, Hingham, Milton, Sharon, etc... this is sort of like eating dessert before finishing your vegetables, if you were playing Duxbury High during my time there.
She ended up playing college tennis in Florida, while I went and had some Yeti-girl break my leg while playing hoop at the state college that I was lucky to be able to afford to go to. I actually like Kathy, and we still trade cards and emails to this day... she just seemed to catch every break, except when legs and arms were concerned.
As you might imagine, she married well, and was living in the same neighborhood as Alonzo Mourning when the story takes that left turn onto Sudden Change Boulevard that you probably should have seen coming if you've read this far.
Most of us- Kathy and I included- take things like walking to the store for granted. This is easily forgiven, as people really aren't kidnapped by the Southern Florida Liberation Front while doing so that often... although it does happen from time to time, and- for once- the dice had come up snake eyes for Kathy the Tennis Pro.
To make a long story short, they brainwashed her (after months of starving, electro-shock therapy, exposure to cold, amateur dental surgery, mock executions, etc...) into serving the dark purposes of the SFLF. While the deeper aims of the group escape me, their gig involved a Cuban War and the relocation of Disney World to the Pearl Of The Antilles.
During a botched Mafia-funded attempt to kill Castro with an exploding CIA cigar, Kathy was forced to leap into the unforgiving ocean off of Cuba's north shore. She lost both of her arms to sharks, and her left leg was essentially amputated by machine gun fire as she made her way to the getaway boat.
Surgery saved her life, but she was left with only one limb. She now lives at a small retreat for crippled freedom fighters that is partially funded by former Rage Against The Machine frontman Zack De La Rocha.
To earn her keep there, she puts on a flipper, dives into a muddy Alabama river, and catches catfish with her mouth. To say that she swims like a fish is both an apt and cruel metaphor.
I try to fly down every Christmas, to see that her needs are being met. We even trade emails, although Kathy has to hold a stick in her mouth to peck words out on her keyboard... this takes awhile, and I just today got her 2004 Christmas Card. I leave a little money for her, and the nurses tell me that my visits are the only time she ever smiles.
There's not much you can do for Kathy- she's pretty much effed. If you want to do some good this holiday season, check out my peeps at Toys For Tots. Even if you're just some broke kid, you shouldn't watch Christmas go by without getting some sort of treat. I won't nag anyone for donations... but if you decide to spread some holiday cheer, give T4T a look.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
We're currently welcoming comments regarding Johnny Damon's free agent shuffle off to the Big Apple. The Yankers signed away Boston's caveman-ish center fielder for an eye-popping $52 million/4 year deal.
The Yankees didn't play around. They put an ultimatum offer on the table for Damon, who would have been a fool to turn it down. He will replace NYC icon Bernie Williams (declining stats and range) in the Yank outfield.
Damon is also a case of helping yourself while hurting your rival for the Yankees. The Yankees think that they have ripped the soul out of their hated rivals. They certainly have left a lumberjack-sized hole in our outfield. The Red Sox may now be operating without their spiritual core.
Damon will be missed here in the Bean. He played a mega role in our World Series win. His defense and baserunning were solid, he had a lively bat, and he was a positive influence in the locker room. That grand salami he put up in the playoffs in 2004 is one of my favorite personal sports memories.
The Red Sox are hoping that the Yankees paid Damon too much, especially as he's 32. He's not getting any faster, and his HR total was half of what it was in the World Series year. If the Yankees insist that he shave off that mane he walks around with, it may have a Samson/Deliah effect on his potency at the plate.
As to how it works out, your guess is as good as mine. That's why they play the games.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
He's insisting that it isn't hurt, and that he will somehow incorporate it into his end zone celebration at the end of the week. If I turn on that game and see a bloody sheet over a huge lump in the end zone, I'm either going to not let my children watch or insist that they do.
Chad may have Dolittle-like powers of communicating with animals, but I have to think that he's shull of fit at the moment. Perhaps the deer fainted, and Chad was able to hogtie it. Or perhaps Chad has a box van, and he was able to lure the deer into it somehow. God only knows, and He may be trying not to pay attention.
I've spent enough time in small towns (A New Hampshire Standoff ) to know that deer aren't to be played with. A deer, when threatened, will rise up on it's hind legs and deal out repeated stiff arm shots with those cloven hooves at the end of the 400 pound body. Each one will break whatever bone it lands on.
This is only if it doesn't kill you outright, by goring you with the antlers. It's a cruel and painful way to die, as the deer- a herbivore- will leave your broken body to be killed and eaten by wolves. I'd bet Santa doesn't get jacked much.
One of the best episodes of When Good Times Go Bad involved just such an incident, and the man- who had walked right up onto a mother deer who had obviously seen Bambi- may have had every bone in his body broken. It rocked.
If this goes down, it will surge past the guy who landed the personal helicopter in the Bowe/Holyfield fight as the craziest thing I've seen happen in a sporting event.
Chad will have to bring in Idea People to top this. I'd be glad to help, if the right money is on the table. Here's what comes off the top of my brain:
- Attack a cheerleader, and perhaps even obtain penetration
- Climb into the stands and sacrifice a virgin
- Casually hand the ball to an official... then goose him
- Grab a crack pipe and teach kids how to properly light the stem
- Take an Uzi out of the goal post padding and kill 20 people in the stands
- Orchestrate a reenactment of the Carolina cheerleaders bathroom stall incident
- Sneak up on the cornerback he just toasted and pants him
- Get his hands on a microphone, and read some Sylvia Plath poetry (Dirge for a Joker) to show fans his sensitive side
- Produce a hypodermic needle and inject himself with a triple dose of androstenodine, then run around the stadium non-stop, pretending to be a plane
- Jump into the crowd and refuse to come out, then buy hot dogs for everybody in the section
- Take himself out of the game, and stand on the sidelines without pants.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Dennis Rodman makes an appearance on
soon. Here's what I'm interested in hearing about from him:
Dennis Rodman Questions:
- Who performs better in bed... Madonna or Carmen Electra?
- Did Air Jordan get mad when other guys shot the ball?
- Was it hard not to LOL when Coach Jackson started in with all that Zen nonsense?
- The argument at my house is that Pippen is either gay, or that he gets a ton of hot chicks. What's the dilly?
- When does Double Team II come out?
- Has he ever considering consolidating with Roy Tarpley and Ron Artest for an All-Insane frontcourt
- What size dress does a 6'8" guy wear?
- Did Bill Laimbeer get girls?
- Ask him if there's such a thing as a "Triangle Offense," or is that a Zen term for "let Air Jordan shoot all the time."
- Were you ever so mad after a Spurs home loss that you went out into the street and beat Mexicans?
- Did he stop listening to Coach Jackson's theories of Zen once he realized that Jackson didn't know how to do roundhouse kicks?
- What's it like being a 6'8" rainbow-haired black guy in Texas?
See if you can trick him into:
A) Outing a gay NBA player, perhaps Avid-Day Obinson-Ray
B) Saying that Larry Bird wasn't that good, and only got attention because he was white
C) Saying that he could kick Van Damme's ass
D) Revealing Madonna or Carmen Electra's favorite sexual position
E) Honoring the player with the biggest unit he ever saw in the NBA shower rooms
Thursday, December 15, 2005
1443 pound Rhode Island pumpkin
Miss Longest Hair In China, 2005
George Bush on a special version of Madden
646 pound Thai catfish
Burmese Python explodes after consuming 13" crocodile
First photo of a live 26' giant squid (Architeuthis?)
Monday, December 12, 2005
I'm all over the Internet like some kind of awful virus. Look where the Smurf is blogging these days:
They needed a sportswriter, I love exposure... and look at what happened:
My first post there drew angry comments (I managed to upset everyone in town, everyone at the Massachusetts Maritime Academy, and the Hell's Angels... in one sentence), and things only look to be going downhill quickly as I food snob all the local kitchens and do the annoying stuff that my family and friends tell me I am prone to do.
I'm sure that the good people of the Cape aren't used to writers calling their readers "a waste of sperm and egg," as I did while managing my comments section there today (what's worse... the guy I insulted was half right in what he was complaining about).
They'll also have to get used to Sports Coverage that occasionally features a recipe or an anecdote about my border collie. Many will hate it, but enough people (me) should get a kick out of it to keep me blogging.
"East Of Boston" is sort of a local expression used when describing our location to tourists, who we seem to hope will go East of Boston... into Boston Harbor. It's sort of a lesser-used "Cape Cod Tunnel." As long as they wash ashore in Quincy or Scituate, they're not Our Problem.
Even if you end up hating my work there, there aredozens of other links to visit. You'll have a good time, and you may even learn something before we're through... HEY HEY HEY!
Why I don't do photoblogs exhibit #4
Friday, December 9, 2005
White Guy NBA All Star Game:
This would be a living museum of how the sport would have looked if it weren't for the ground-breaking done by men like Fritz Pollard and Jackie Robinson. I'd work it into the Dunk Contest/3 Point Shootout part of the festivities.
The big problem for me would be whether to count Hispanic guys as white or not. Charlie Sheen would say "yes," but Mariah Carey may have a different view.
I'll leave it to my audience, and I'll just go by looks (i.e., Nene isn't white, while Manu Ginobili is).
This was more difficult than it sounds. Some solid white big man talent is sitting on the waiver wire for Bob Sura's inclusion, but we needed guards. Likewise, only some creativity on my part prevented the East from being an entire team of huge European centers.
In case you ever wondered about this, only the injury-prone status of Andrei Kirilenko prevents one from fielding a White Bread NBA fantasy team. There also seems to be a Petrovic-sized hole at White Boy shooting guard.
My Eastern and Western Squads:
C- Zydrunas Ilgauskas
F- Austin Croshere
G- Kirk Hinrich
G- Jason Williams
Zaza Pachulia, Primo Brezec, Darko Milicic, Sarunas Jasikievicus, Andrew Bogut, Nened Kristic, Hidayet Turkoglu, Kyle Korver
C- Brad Miller
F- Dirk Nowitzki
F- Andrei Kirilienko
G- Manu Ginobili
G- Steve Nash
Mehmet Okur, Bob Sura, Wally Sczerbiak, Marko Jaric, Pau Gasol, Troy Murphy, Keith Van Horn, Peja Stojakovic
Thursday, December 8, 2005
Mario Lemieux's life sounds like a Canadian sort of Faustian Bargain.
"OK, kid... you like Gretzky, huh? I'll let you be better than him, sort of the Great One with a serious checking game. You can win a few Stanley Cups. You can bang or whichever supermodel shows up at the game. Kids will grow up wanting to be you."
I'd jump at that offer, and you can make an argument that hockey is only the #7 sport in America... depending on where you count Boxing and the WWE. I caught this guy's whole career, and he had the total package- power, speed, skill, and strength. He was what Lindros was supposed to be. Mario Lemieux was Blessed.
He was also Cursed. In a sport as insane as hockey is, ML had it easy. He missed a lot of games with back and hip injuries, but those weren't gonna kill him. At the height of his power, he was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease. He made a courageous comeback from that, and all seemed well for Super Mario... until yesterday.
"Well" is a relative term for Mario. He blew out of the box like a greyhound, which is impressive after a 2 year layoff... but he was -18 (Mario was around +50 at the height of his power) in his last ten games, and he was pretty much definitely going to tell Wayne Gretzky (Team Canada's GM is on an Olympian recruiting trip while his team has a 6 day layoff) that his spot on TC would be better filled by a younger man.
That's class, and Mario deserves to go out classy. Instead, he may be going out at a sudden press conference.. or worse, brought off the ice under a sheet.
An irregular heartbeat isn't that unusual in the general population, but it sucks when one of your favorite athletes gets it. Reggie Lewis was the Boston Celtic who had taken the team over, post-Larry. He exploded into a supreme scoring guard, second in the East to only Jordan.
He was in the playoffs against the Charlotte (now New Orleans-Oklahoma) Hornets, with LJ, Alonzo Mourning, and Kendall Gill. For the first half of game one, he was absolutely abusing the Hornets. The numbers escape me... but he had around 20 in the first half, and we were already wondering how the Bulls were going to handle McHale and Parish if the breaks went our way.
Then, Reggie was coming down the court... he staggered, and he collapsed. He didn't die on the court... he was merely sitting there, looking scared. There was an irregular heartbeat diagnosis, a medical Dream Team was brought in, the ugly spectre of cocaine emerged... and he was dead by August.
I was heartbroken. Reggie was a local (Northeastern) kid who had taken the baton from Larry. Getting a staaah like Reggie at #21 in the draft seemed to take some of the sting out of the Len Bias death. Instead, my favorite player was dead, and the Celtics have pretty much had their face buried in Chocolate City ever since.
Now Pittsburgh- and the NHL in general- is losing another star... hopefully to retirement. It's a shame, and not only because the NHL can't really afford to lose a name that people still recognize.
Wednesday, December 7, 2005
'Tis the season to tailgate someone at 185 mph and smash some rookie into a fiery death on the turn.
OK... that's not the true carol... but if NASCAR was around in Israel when Jesus was born, there would definitely be some sort of mention of it in any literature from that period.
In fact, Jesus may have been tempted to slide in through the window and do one of those crazy Victory Lap donuts while red-lining the RPM needle. At worst, it would have made Mel Gibson's movie a lot less depressing.
We are rarely afforded the opportunity to change things that happened in Nazareth in 4 BC. That's probably a good thing. A better thing is checking out the link I'm providing
That's a link to Diecast Dude's book, Restrictor Plate THIS! : An Unapologetic Look At Stock Car Racing.
Sure, you could go out and get your spouse a scarf for Christmas. Scarves are handy, they keep the neck warm, they can be used again and again, and are often made in festive colors.
Or you can take the carving knife and jam it into your own frontal lobe. Both acts would have the same effect on your enjoyment of the holiday.
Why ruin a marriage with a bad gift, when you can pretty much guarantee a Christmas morning smile when they see Restrictor Plate THIS! sitting under the tree with a nice red bow.
Even a non-fan will benefit from a literary examination of a cultural phenomena that screams Americana like a hot dog at a county fair.
At worst... if you don't enjoy the book.... you have the real names of a couple of authors (foreword by Monponsett), and you can hunt us down and kill us.
Don't waste time. Get to crackin' on ordering this book. You can thank (or stalk/kill) me later.
MC Ren: "I hope you buy my album.... or don't buy it- I already got paid.... or buy it anyway... maybe I'll get paid more."