Monday, March 23, 2009

Goodbye, Norma Jean... I mean "Red Light Curt" - A Very Non-Objective View Of A Legend's Mythical Journey

So Curt Schilling announced his retirement today. It is a very special day, indeed.

I guess he felt it was time to steal another headline. Why not? Especially with Spring Training in full swing, with the World Baseball Classic dominating the collective consciousness, with the Sweet Sixteen defining itself and with the NFL draft right around the corner...

I don't like Curt Schilling. I believe him to be a total ass; a prima donna, a diva, a Queen and many other slang terms I usually never need to express myself. He's foolishly arrogant, insolent, smug, prideful, egotistic, full of himself, haughty and utterly obsessed with being in love with himself. I will state publicly - If he was a black man most people's opinions of him would be much like that of the general public opinion of Terrell Owens or Barry Bonds.

Yet, there are so many people in the world that don't view Curtis Montague Schilling the way I do. That's fine - you've all been fooled!

Let's take a step back and let me also state: I am very impressed with his willingness to openly take on the Mighty Yankees repeatedly over the course of his career. Of course, Yankee Hater Curt didn't come into existence until AFTER Randy Johnson carried the 2001 Diamondbacks over the vaunted Yankees - and Curt saw the opportunity brewing. Fairness obliges me to say this - His "Aura and Mystique are strippers" quote was classic.

He spent FAR too much time needlessly defending himself in public view, on his blog, calling in to talk radio shows - this is a putrid act from my perception; and even by his very own (and loudly proclaimed) "professional ethics"... talk should be done on the field of play. And don't even get me started on how he interjected his political beliefs into his own personal "Aura and Mystique". Don't get me started on how many ex-teammates he never introduced himself to or took the time to be a teammate with. Don't get me started on how public image was a greater concern to him than facing up to reality. And don't get me started about what people within the game feel about the all-consuming Superstar known simply as "Red Light Curt".

He shoved his way into being some sort of knowledgable and leading figure for all professional players to resemble and follow. He squawked loudly that steroids were wrong, about what it meant to be a teammate, about how professioanls act - ALWAYS mounting his high horse for public consumption. I (and many others like me) was never fooled, Curt. We know you played on the '93 Phillies and we know you took "greenies" (amphetemines which are every bit as illegal as steroids), we know the "Bloody Sock" was bullshit and even if the blood was real (it wasn't), you could have NOT played it up to more than it was. But then you wouldn't have been Curt Schilling, would you?

I do - sadly - think he's going to get into the Hall of Fame

However, I DON'T think of him as a Hall of Famer. And I definitely don't think he belongs in. I think he reaped a tremendous pile of creedit for which he did not deserve (See a STACKED Red Sox team that got him 2 rings and a "Chosen" D-Backs team that would have won without/despite him). He never won a Cy Young (he was 3 times a bridesmade), he never was the best pitcher in his league, and he was RARELY the best pitcher even on his own team (Tommy Greene, Randy Johnson, Pedro Martinez, Josh Beckett)!!! He was a 6 time all-star and started twice (Dave Stieb was a 7 time All-Star who started twice) and he never finished better than 10th in any MVP vote. Although he twice led his league in Wins and Strikeouts he never won an ERA title.

(Curt was tattooed by MLB hitters 347 times in the regular season)

He came into the league as a power thrower from the bullpen in the late 80's. During the latter part of his career, he was a craftier pitcher and displayed very fine control numbers as expressed by his k-bb ratios (No one is beating down Tommy Bond's door to put him in the Hall for his excellent K-BB ratio; nor Doug Jones, nor Ben Sheets, Bret Saberhagen et al). He was by all statistical and/or popular definition, "Clutch" in the postseason (but so was Lonnie Smith, Dave Henderson, Gene Tenace, Billy Hatcher, Lenny Dykstra and Jack Morris). Regardless, we're still talking about a pitcher whose career is favorable similar to that of Kevin Brown, Bob Welch and Orel Hershiser - ALL three of whom had dominant postseason performances and oddly enough, roughly the same amount of career wins (all within 11 wins of each other)- except Welch and Hershiser each won a Cy Young award during their career.

Hell, Vida Blue had an MVP and Cy Young and just as many postseason heroics as Schilling and he'll never sniff Cooperstown. If you think that Schilling is a Hall of Famer, I can't wait to hear your theories on Brown, Welch, Hershiser or even a pitcher MORE deserving than the lot - Jack Morris.

Sure Curt has one of those magical* numbers to help his cause - 3000+ K's. But so does Bert Blyleven - who has 70 more wins and nearly 600 more strikeouts and ALSO played in an era where batters struck out less than during Schilling's era.

Curt slapped his name on a lot of charitable causes for a reason

Schilling finagled his way out of Philly, burned his way out of Arizona and hung around for reflected glory in Boston. He was an attention leech, a media sucker and slimeball who only worried about one thing - being "Red Light Curt". He only wanted to be "on the record" and he only wanted whatever credit could be doled out while deflecting ANY and ALL blame. He constantly was praised for charitable work he was responsible for but the root of that effort was a sham - or at least the doings of his equally loudmouthed wife Shonda. Their method was to scream loudly about their "good work" so no one could ever see through the mirage of their fakeness. Curt Schilling pursued charitable work out of guilt or personal tragedy not out of a kind, caring, giving heart as he tries so hard to have you believe.

Note: I don't bash the charities he's aided, nor do I disrespect the results of his faked efforts. I bash his motivation - personal gain for doing "good". I see his charity work as no different than Charles Manson speaking righteously about the life of Jesus.

Also Note: Curt Schilling was paid more than $114 million dollars in salary during his career. I'm not saying what level of charity is "acceptable" for any person but there's a lot of non-hundred-millionaires in the world giving more of their time and energy and not asking for ANY publicity. Just saying.

Burner of Bridges

Anyone who could be badmouthed - as Curt Schilling was - by former Arizona Diamondbacks owner/Classiest Guy in Sports Jerry Colangelo should be forever banished to the public consciousness' Stockade of Shame. Colangelo didn't just push/shove Curt to the Red Sox, he would have done dirty and disgusting deeds to make sure the deal would get done. Every player in the Diamondback's clubhouse unanimously agreed that he needed to go and even the self-righteous/diva-ish at times/supposed friend and compadre Randy Johnson publicly admitted he could not wait to see him leave! Yet Curt had us all believe that the trade was some mastermind doing of his own geniusness.

He was traded three times before becoming a Phillie (in a deal for Jason Grimsley, oddly enough). There's not much evidence that he was traded those first three times simply because he was an intolerable buffoon, but a case could be made when you analyze the trades and see he was the "throw in" and not the active prinicple until the Grimsley deal.
Let us recap: The Phillies (who also couldn't wait to dump his cancerous and devisive personality) got Travis Lee, Omar Dahl, Nelson Figeroa and Vincente Padilla in return for him... Think about it. Did the D-Backs fleece the Phillies or did the Phillies just take whatever they could get? Think about it further and you'll realize the Phillies graciuosly and willingly fleeced themsleves in the deal.

Let us recap: The D-Backs got a whopping, mind-blowing package of Casey "Hit 'Em to Where They Can't See 'em" Fossum, Brandon Lyon, Jorge De La Rosa and minor leaguer Michael Goss for the "dominant" righthander. Did the D-Backs get robbed blind or was there something else? No need to call Columbo...

Sure, the Red Sox got all they could handle with Curt. And he was a perfect fit! The Duke of Mouth didn't fluster a clubhouse with two affluently petulant superheros (Manny Ramirez and Pedro Martinez) simply because Curt didn't speak Spanish. The Red Sox - who seem to have been dysfunctional since time began due to geographical, social and logistical reasons - had a bigger battle on their hands (getting big enough to take on Big Brother; the Yankees) than to care for any damage he could do in that clubhouse. He was a largemouthed bass in a pool of ducks. He was harmless in any effort to damage the hodge podge of bogus personalities already in place.

And he still made himself bigger than Babe Ruth to the lemming-ish "Red Sox Nation".

Stay Far Away From the Microphones and Cameras, PLEASE!!!

If any person on this planet not named Rachel Ray stands a chance of singularly making my TV experiences more miserable than Mr. Tim McCarver, it is Red Light Curt... God, PLEASE do not do this to me!!! I had to deal with him when I lived in Philadelphia, when I moved to Phoenix and then watched as his "Journey" moved on to the 24/7 experience of the Northeast Bias channel.

PLEASE let the suffering end!!! (And while you're at it God, a McCarver-Ray head on automobile collison is not too much to ask, is it?)

Dear reader, don't you fail to note for even a second that Today, the day of the last great Curt Schilling tememed news wire (fat chance) it is March 23rd, 2009 but Curt Schilling will forever tout ad nauseum that his final appearance on a big league mound was "as it should be" - a World Series win... in october 2007.

So go long into that great good night and though I could never pray enough that you will be silenced and rendered impotent in the public eye, good riddance - FINALLY!

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Regretting Regretting

Regrets, I’ve had a few;
But then again, too few to mention.
- “My Way” as recorded by Frank Sinatra


Regrets; we all know them. Some are more potent than others. They poke at us when we want to forget them most. They all stick to us like burrs on a hunting dog’s fur. They make us who we are because they come from who we weren’t. Even the great ones have them.

Hunter S. Thompson, one of America’s true original artists and one of the select handpicked few journalists that could overwhelmingly succeed at making any event enthralling – whether sports related or otherwise – had a tremendous regret: The Rumble in the Jungle.

HST was sent to Zaire to cover Muhammad Ali, his fellow Kentuckian in a battle against the predominant power puncher in his time George Foreman. Thompson met with his wildly talented friend and illustrator Ralph Steadman in Zaire and the event was to be covered in that “Gonzo” styling that had descriptively blown into bits and reassembled the Hell’s Angels, the ’72 Campaign Trail, even chasing down the American Dream in a fearful and loathable Las Vegas. The fight which grew into its own epic organically was primed to be another instant journalistic classic – both cult and natural.

But Thompson never wrote the story. It was his great regret.

As we all know now, Ali outlasted the bigger stronger Foreman and shocked the world despite his vocal bravado and oral brashness. He backed it all up with his body, brains and courage. Thompson thought he knew for sure that his friend from Louisville was toast and couldn’t bear to see the carnage… let alone have to tell the tale afterwards under an imposing deadline. So he gave away his press passes (both his own and to Steadman’s dismay, his illustrator’s/boxing enthusiast’s pass as well) and went swimming in the hotel pool and sipped beers instead thinking about how he could write about experiencing everything EXCEPT the fight to justify the expenditures of his assignment.

Except… Oops! When Ali won, there was no other story. It was THE story – a story that still screams today.

Sure, Thompson missed out on other moments that he could have smashed into bits and put together again with a wisdom only he possessed. It wasn’t always as simple as letting a deadline pass, sometimes it was just the way it had to be – he couldn’t turn Gonzo on whenever he wished and he couldn’t accept anything less than his best. He was there in the fall of Saigon and never submitted a story. He never wrote about Watergate – which is amazing if you think about how much he despised Dick Nixon. No matter how much you can appreciate the moments of triumph, the soul of we, the readers is a devouring beast that wonders why there wasn’t more “magic”… why we don’t have more disgusting beauty to consume… why an American Giant of Storytelling could be so utterly human just like us.


Make the most of your regrets;
Never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it come to have a separate and integral interest.
To regret deeply is to live afresh.

- Henry David Thoreau


Sometimes I sit and think about moments I missed out on – ESPECIALLY when it comes to sports; namely playing baseball.

I think of all the pitches I wish I made instead of those I did, of errors due to mental mistakes instead of fluid physical movements that I had drilled into my utter being through endless sweaty hours of practice, of hitters I drilled in the ribs – maybe not to “do over” but just to experience it one more time. It’s been more than a dozen years since I hurled a pearl and a batter/unsuspecting victim! My mind feels like my body is still in that place - despite my current (older, creakier and appreciably fatter) condition – I can still feel the moment; the air, the ambiance, the grind of competition, the sound of the bustling crowd of dozens, the want of victory… I can still mentally “feel” my delivery, my arm slot and angle, the balance points, the release, my general lack of a follow through and the outcome.

Despite all of these feelings that I can recall so vividly, so clearly, so ‘right here now’-ish – the joy of spectacular effort providing fruition, the moments of physical triumph overcoming physical exhaustion, the sweet sip of victory’s nectar… moments of “leaving it all on the field”. I can recall them when I want. There are those regrets that remind me – I don’t have to ‘try’ to remember them. You can’t escape regerets.

Regretting… all those times I’ve spent regretting.
Remembering all those things you can never forget.

- “Regretting” as recorded by Manny Stiles


As my personal regrets pertain to sports journalism and my experience on the internet there are many regrets. I jumped in head-first into what I thought were deep waters. Perhaps it was naïveté, perhaps it was my stubborn belief that people aren’t complete fakes when they can assume a sense of anonymity (yeah, I guess it IS naïveté) but the Internet seemed to me in 2006 as a deep ocean of possibilities (creatively, socially and expression-ly) only to find myself here three years later bruised, battered and beaten down from diving into crags, rocks with firmly mounted, self-important, all-knowingly and mind-numblingly witless barnacles called “bloggers”.

I regret having to explain myself – even once – in that my “online persona” just happens to be no different than my “Extranet” being. I am a mixed bag indeed but there is nothing to explain for I am really just who I am – which gleefully, is who I WANT to be. I regret taking pride in defending “my turf” instead of remaining objective to the matter – I took being a part of ArmchairGM as a badge of pride. It was fun for me to say that I was contributing to something I felt was worthwhile – a slightly less shallow pool in the urine puddle of sports websites. I regret expecting anything near the effort I put into the site from anyone else.

I regret that it’s a possibility anyone has a reason to think I am a problem, a nuisance, a detriment to this site – but that’s what the experts call a YOU problem, not a “me” problem. I’ve given far more than I ever dared to take.


I have many regrets and I'm sure everyone does.
The stupid things you do, you regret?
If you have any sense and if you don't regret them maybe you're stupid.
- Katherine Hepburn


My Sports Regrets

I regret not trying harder to get press passes to the Super Bowl in Glendale in 2007 (by “harder” I mean “at all”)

I regret not going to any of the games (1,2,6,7) of the 2001 World Series. I was not a Diamondbacks fan but I hated the Yankees, so I should have gone anyway! Oddly enough, I also regret never seeing a game at Yankee Stadium.

I regret not attending any of games 3,4,5 of the 1993 World Series as even though I was not a Phillies fan, I was living in Philly at that time.

I regret trying out for the Cubs in 1994. I tried out for a couple other teams and was scouted throughout 1992-1994 (make no mistake, I had the physical tools but I know I didn’t have the makeup or support system to have ever been more than a AA scrub) but it was at that invite camp in Quakertown, PA that I first felt “that pain” in my shoulder and was indeed the beginning of the end for my playing career. I regret that I tried to impress a handful of scouts only two days after striking out 12 and allowing 2 hits in 8 innings – which was attended by some of the same scouts. I should have never thrown a single pitch that day – but as invincible as I was then in those days I stupidly and unimpressively pitched to 8 batters. I also regret that a fellow Temple University pitcher was signed from the same camp that day – and made it all the way to a short career as a AA scrub.

I regret not shoving Jose Canseco back when he threw a shoulder into me at a baseball card convention in 1988. Sure, I was barely 15 at the time but I was already taller than him (maybe he shoved me out of envy of my height; or more likely ‘roid rage) and what was he going to do to a kid? Kids nowadays would do it with the bravery knowing a lawsuit was a slam dunk.

I regret letting my brothers and their threats of lawsuits de-rail, taint and suck the joy out of my “Tampa Bay Rays Charity Blogger” experience. Their ignorance, closed-mindedness and social retardedness was my motivation in pursuing the experience in the first place. But when the ball started rolling and luck shined on me, they changed the tone of my effort and essentially bullied me into submission. By the time I tried to pick up the pieces again in June, the damage was done and the thrill was gone. I haven’t spoken with either of those two since and I will beat their asses the next time I see them. And I won’t regret that!

I regret not harassing the Yankees clubhouse more when I had the chance.

I regret not asking Elijah Dukes to come back to my house to share some bong hits. I felt so sorry for that guy (the day of the “You Dead, Dawg!” and calling into the Tampa radio show ‘event’, when the Rays were in Phoenix) and he clearly needed someone to get him stoned. But maybe if I did, I would have regretted messing with a Bull (-sized human being in an unstable place in his life). I don’t regret stating profusely that he is NOT a bad guy or defending him (or Delmon Young for that matter).

I regret not writing more about Matt LaPorta.

I regret not doing an in-depth interview with Arizona Fall League creator and former MLB GM/multiple Exec-of-the-year award winner Rollie Hemond. I had many conversations with him during my time at AFL but never bothered to ask him to sit down so I could pick his brain and hear the tales he lived through... duh.

I regret not thoroughly interviewing Evan Longoria at Arizona Fall League in 2007 instead of just babbling, goo-goo and gah-gaahing at him. I guess that goes for J.P. Arencibia as well in 2008.

I regret not harassing Jimmy Rollins more when I had the chance (November 2008, just a few weeks after the World Series). I ESPECIALLY regret not wearing my Rays hat that night as well.

I regret not shoving my way around the track at my (so far) only NASCAR event but – to be honest – I didn’t really know what I was doing there anyway.

I regret not forcing Sports Shaman into doing a tarot reading for the entire NCAA tournament this year.

I regret throwing away a crap load of what would have been decent articles as comments when no one reads them anyway.

I regret not having more interesting and funny things to regret.

And then there’s the one regret that I have that I can still remedy: I regret making every article idea turn into an epic. I am long for words and expansive on ideas but I have learned that this one regret is lesson in distribution, not productivity. From now on, I will aim for a mix of quality and quantity without proportion; not attempting to cram both worlds into one. Unless the concept absolutely requires it, I won’t be posting more than 1,000-1,200 words in an article any more. I’ve finally given into the game everyone else plays. And I’m wasting my time spitting, pissing and vomiting my words into the wind.

Maybe that will be my next regret…


How now, my lord, why do you keep alone,
Of sorriest fancies your companions making,
Using those thoughts which should indeed have died
With them they think on? Things without all remedy
Should be without regard: what's done, is done.

- Lady MacBeth as written (supposedly) by William Shakespeare in the play MacBeth


What are your great sports regrets?
So – the comments section is down there.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Open Mic Snobs vs. Karaoke Elitists/Queens: An Expose on Sucking at Sucking

I don't claim to be the greatest or most technically proficient musician or vocalist in the world but I can fake it well enough and I love to entertain a crowd. I attend open mic nights and karaoke events whenever I can. It's fun to me. I love music, I love making a total ass out of myself and these things usually occur at establishments with liquor licenses. It's a perfect storm for some wilings and stilings. But I am a world-class critic and easily dis-entertained by things most people wouldn't care to notice let alone by which to feel annoyed. Alas, there is heaven and hell, fire and ice, friction and lubrication with everything in life - so it goes with Open Mic nights and Karaoke bars.

Three things you can count on from Mr. Manny Stiles - as an artist - is as follows: something different, something interesting (at best or at worst) and something you wouldn't have ever considered doing. That's not only true for my "music" but any creation I undertake - as indicated by my writings in this blog, for example.

Maybe I don't have the same outlook or hard and fast rules of public behavior as most and maybe I don't follow all the accepted guidelines of the proper procedures for artistic conduct but I don't hold anyone to my mores and predetermined/prejudged methods either. I mean, I'm not shitting all over the stage and smearing it on myself and calling it "art" but from a theoretical and expressionist view - perhaps I am.

There's always going to be people in any organized realm that think they know better for everyone. People who think they are the "In crowd" unwittingly serving the purpose of "biggest suckers"/"beloved patrons". They occur in every realm. These are the same type of people who know every detail about the next soon-to-be-marketed blockbuster movie, the latest gossip about the most minor and forgettable Hollywood 'starlet' and all the essential manipulations to --- insert a science fiction/fantasy realm game/book/what-have-you here ----. They are consumers at large to the most devouring order. They take non-essential knowledge and apply a distorted value to it to greater fluff their listless egos.

These are the same people who despite all this intricate knowledge and minutia in wares of entertainment probably couldn't tell you the name of their next door neighbor, spend more time and money on television/computer leisure and anaerobic indoor recreation than their mental, physical or spiritual well being and certainly rarely get the opportunity to locate Dr. Grafenberg's spot. Their heaven on earth is a selfish environment of escapism and futilely non-social. Consuming the product is more important than poking one's head behind the veil of illusion. That's the way the game works - all behind the veil know how much it sucks and also know that they are out of business if everyone lost that magic ability to suspend their disbelief (or grow a sense of disbelief in some people's case).

Regardless, these people exist across the spectrum of life's experiences. I only use the movie/video game/techno nerd as an example because 1) we ALL know at least one of these dorks, 2) they are easy to pick on and 3) I'm definitely not one of them! Sure, I could have used fish geek aquariasts, green-thumbed amateur botanists, kitchen-scratchers (at-home tattoo artists), Internet reverends, bastardized Anthony Bourdains or wannabe gynecologists-at-large... all of which yes, I am guilty as self-imposed. For anyone like myself who has a passion, a hobby, an activity of instant bliss, an all-powerful obsession... we all are "specialists" without proper certification in our own little worlds. We are all pseudo-celebrities to our own fan base.

In the life-affirming realm of Open Mic night, these walking hat racks are called "snobs". These are usually guys in cover tune garage bands that have too narrow a musical palate, are overly dedicated to one finite (and typically out-dated) genre or seemingly only know how to play only the same 4-7 songs (if that) over and over ad nauseum. These people have an air of importance that rivals any bonafide Rock Star's. And it's not just an exercise in inward projection turned outward, it's not just masturbation of the ego and it's not just utter ignorance.

It's the lights. It's the stage. It's adrenaline. It's a disproportionate understanding of the universal order. It's the ability to say "Thank you" to a crowd when you really mean "Fuck you for not loving me MORE! Now pay me your meager alms, you pigfuckers!",

Most Open Mic snobs fail to realize that small moment where it's a rush to them, but a drag to us. That just because our ears are open it doesn't mean we wish we could cut them off. That a good majority of the crowd is there for one of two reasons 1) it's a bar or 2) they're just waiting for THEIR turn and - here's the kicker - just because we're clapping, it isn't necessarily "applause". Sometimes a clap is an expression of relief more than of support.

Karaoke Elitists/Queens are a similar breed to Open Mic Snobs except on the grand scheme of things they are FAR weaker in courage and further down the artistic ladder due to the nature of the beast. Most Open mic night "All-Stars" are typically engaged in helping to create the music where as the Open Mic Elitists/Queens are singing to pre-recorded tracks. Many people find it easier to sing than to play an instrument in front of a crowd. Think about it, there's a reason people play "air guitar" than lip-synching. There's far more people singing in the shower than playing a musical instrument in the shower. And save for "steering wheel drums" the same is true while driving about in the family automobile.

BUT, Karaoke Elitists/Queens are far and away more vile and disgusting creeps when it comes to their levels of self importance. Lead Vocalist Syndrome has killed many a successful band on this premise and devoured countless groups before the wheels of success ever touched the ground. Nothing succumbs to the power of a microphone in the hands of a person who fails to notice that the sound of their voice INSIDE their head (where the ear ACTUALLY functions) does differ from the sound outside their head (where our ears ACTUALLY function). It's a small bit of information to put in your pocket - it's the reason everyone seems to think their voice sounds "different" when they hear it recorded. No, Elitist/Queen THAT IS ACTUALLY YOUR VOICE being produced by your vocal cords and your ears receiving those sound waves when they are resonating further than 2-3 inches apart from each other in your gigantic, dense gourd you call a head!!!

To make matters worse - remember those movie/TV/computer "In Crowd" peoples I mentioned earlier? These morons are now being empowered by their outlets of consumption to join the fray as so-called participants. For every viewer of American Idol is another Karaoke Elitist just waiting to sip the nectar of the spotlight. For every Rock Band video game enthusiast is another otherwise fine 6-string gently weeping while gathering more and more dust. Unawareness breeds with itself and makes a nasty concoction of putrid filth for the rest of us - who care about the world in which we are participating - to sort through/tolerate/make fun of on our puny blogs to save money we would otherwise burn on therapy.

Oh gee, another drunk girl plowing through a Dixie Chicks song... awesome. Another hack painfully beating on an innocent guitar while anti-rhythmically fumbling through "All Along the Watchtower". Great. Where's my cyanide capsules when I need them? No, I'm not "better" than these people nor do I feel more righteous or more superior just because they can suck the life out of a room faster than ricin. I feel sorry for them. Sorry to the point that I wish I was dead instead of living in a world were these fucksticks will walk off stage - GLOWING - as if they just won the lottery, a Nobel prize and two Oscars at the same time; empowered to return next week with - oh, so predictably - the very same, exact bag of trick (Yes, such a delightful bag of trick) for our utter bemusement, once again. Huzzah!

To be fair, Snobs and Elitists/Queens are NOT to be confused with people of exceptional talent. people with true artistic talent and expression are welcomed to be the biggest assholes in the world as long as their production doesn't suffer the consequences. I've always believed that when it comes to true talent and proven expertise, there is ALWAYS room for entitlement - IN THAT REALM. There's no reason Michael Jordan should expect anything less than for me to fellate him in exchange for a game of H-O-R-S-E; but he has no right to expect the same from his doctor, accountant or even the incompetent buffoons working at PetSmart. Entitlement stays only in your realm.

Then there are the occasional, freek people like myself that are from the other end of the spectrum - no, the other end... like the back edge of the spectrum - genuinely talentless AND enthusiastically anti-caring of your preconceptions or judgments! I'm going up there for one purpose only - to defy the rules and to do my best to make you shit your pants laughing. I only have fun when everyone else has fun with me!

So next time I'm at your local open mic performing some variation of "Clit Licker in a Cocksucker's World", "I Gotta Kill My Fucking Cat" or "Shut Up and Blow Me" or at your favorite karaoke bar wailing out "I Touch Myself", "Genie in a Bottle" or "It's Raining Men", don't fret - you'll get a mind full of imagery you probably weren't expecting and didn't seek, a belly full of chuckles without hurting your eardrums and definitely your money's worth (mostly because I REFUSE to perform at any establishment that charges a cover charge for these events) - just buy me a drink and we'll loudly and obnoxiously criticize the snobs and Elitists/Queens together!

Thursday, March 05, 2009

Conglomerated Realmspace (200903A)

Life in a Northern Town by Manny Stiles

Traverse City, MI - In case you didn't know already, I have relocated from the Valley of the Sun to the Cherry Capital of the World, Traverse City, Michigan. I traded "it's a dry heat" for "you need to wear layers". Far, far away from any serious metropolis, between the pinky and the ring finger of the Lower Peninsula/"mitt", is a quaint, get-away-from-it-all town at the base of a smaller peninsula at the bottom of the two arms of Grand Traverse Bay.

It might as well be Canada.

Luckily (that's sarcasm) Mr. Stiles arrived in town in the dead of the deadest winter in most Local's memories. Colder, Snowier and Drearier (Yes, they are capital words in this sentence) than any Winter on record - and topping off the proverbial fun is a local feeling that not even the almighty President Obama can inspire hope ''here''. There are undertones of despair for the economy (unemployment is drastically high locally), there is little hope for the future (schools, public servant-ry and local government are threatened by cutbacks/closures and all scarily under-funded and under-supported) and the flavor of the local "sports" scene is - at least to this metropolitan-tinged author, in a newly invented word - beyondesolate.

But this is the price you pay to be "on the water" and far away from "the rat race", traffic and pollution; far away from the "ghettos", gangs and urban warfare; far away from likely terrorist targets, nuclear mishaps or imminent disasters that threaten life in the population hubs. It's ''nearly'' life as it should be - living for life's sake; living off the land; living at your own pace; life under the dome of sky and Sun. Yes, time moves slower here and what dominates the sports scene isn't the usual/typical fare.

Sure, it's easy to trash a local sports scene when the [[Detroit Lions]] are prominently involved, but even the Mighty [[Detroit Red Wings]] are a veritable blip in this town - and this is the town in which the Red Wings hold their Preseason Camp! I've met ONE die-hard Tigers fan and I'm not sure anyone follows the Pistons beyond whether they won or lost last night. Sports is the residual conversation when all the typical talk of the weather, hunting, fishing, fixing boats/snow machines/tractors/shotguns/tools/snowplows/snowblowers/other assorted vehicles, Michael Moore (he's a much ballyhooed and very disliked "local"), views on politics, Fudgies (the bastards from "Down State"), Youpers (the bastards from the Upper Peninsula) and all things religion has dried up.

It's a different fan base - an invisible glow of supreme not caring; it's as if Sports isn't one of the basic life needs! I know! Can you imagine? No, professional sports is a prime resident of Back Burnerville here in the great "Up North". I might be the only "Sports is my Crack"-head in the surrounding five counties!

The local TV sports coverage often starts out with ''High School'' Girls basketball!!! Maybe I really am "too urban" (grew up in Philly, spent nearly a decade in Phoenix) for Cherryville, U.S.A. but the only time I've ever seen High School girls basketball on the news is... well... NEVER! Snowmobile races, cross country skiing, even the local fishing and hunting reports get priority coverage over the pro sports teams in Detroit or even NASCAR - yes, even NASCAR is an after-afterthought. And I'm cool with it.

Sure, it's a change of pace; closer to the Earth and in tune with the surroundings more. Hell, I love fishing - really do (when the ice is melted)!. I love eating recently slaughtered game for dinner, I have a nice garden to tend to this year (I'm very excited about that) and I might even ride a snow machine eventually... it's kind of relaxing being disconnected from the "mainstream" media. My blood pressure is certifiably "normal", I don't wake up with the shakes for the latest "Top Story" (which always seem to be recycled/repackaged "Old" stories with a spiffy new shine) on the foul-ish four-letter network and what-used-to-be-necessary news is now a casual "meh" by all regards. I've got a new perspective on the Sports World and on life in general. I used to think "It is what it is" but now I realize "it is what you make it out to be".

Life in a Northern Town has been good for me so far. The days are slower, I'm learning more than I ever thought I would know about shotguns - without even trying - just by overhearing conversations, I'm enjoying time more and so what if Spring Training has started and it was a balmy -11 degrees (that's Fahrenheit) yesterday?

Pardon me as I get back to sorting my flannel shirts by color.



Crumbs in the 'Chair by Manny Stiles
NBA Division
*So the Suns (namely GM/Robert Sarver's Knobshiner Steve Kerr) fired Terry Porter then blamed the team for not playing tougher defense. Oddly enough, just a few measly weeks ago that same GM/Knobshiner TRADED AWAY THE TEAM'S two best defensive players (Raja Bell and Boris Diaw) for JASON RICHARDSON!!! Gotta love that anti-logic!


*Mavericks, Suns... Doesn't matter who gets that Number 8 seed in the West. Seriously, it doesn't matter!


*LeBron is at that stage where it's put up or prepare for the end. He's got a team around him that is suitable and capable enough. If he doesn't take them to the Championship this year - whether he leaves Cleveland or not - he will NEVER win a Championship. The field is ripe for picking.


*The Celtics are vulnerable (and old).


*The Magic are young and inexperienced.


*Don't let the Lakers fool you - they can win one game at a time and perhaps endure long enough to win the #1 seed in the West, but they are not built for a tough series with a dominant swing player like #23.


*Besides, the Spurs are the REAL team to beat in the West - Despite adding the human monkeywrench in the works, Drew Gooden.


*LeBron is teetering on "The Moment". He's as good as we all think he is, but if he's going to be as great as we think he should be - NOW - is the time! If he goes to another city, his star celebrity (and contract) will handcuff the franchise. Stars carry teams, but teams win Championships!


MLB Division
*I like what the Yankees and Red Sox have done in the offseason - tore up their blueprints and reacted to the Rays. The Rays are still going according to planned, even if they were one year ahead of schedule...


*The Yankees are going to struggle with cohesion (but could still win 120 games on paper) and the new additions will have to adjust to the toxicity of the Big Apple spotlight. Me thinks Tex and CC aren't exactly ultra-suited for the onslaught and will press too hard to make good impressions - or failing to make good impressions, will drown in over-weighted expectations.


*The Red Sox got old.... quick! The additions they made were of little consequence. I love John Smoltz, but 'John Smoltz, Red Sox pitcher' REEKS of the Pete Rose game. Nice knowing you, Smoltzie!


*What's weirder? John Smoltz, Red Sox, or Garrett Anderson, Braves? Guys playing that long with one franchise and leaving for another is never a winning combination.


*I know what's weirder: [[Randy Johnson]], San Francisco Giant. HOW did this take so long??? All players over 6'8" should automatically be assigned to the Giants. it just makes sense!


*Weirder yet.... Ken Griffey Jr., Seattle Mariners... Poor guy. I know striking out to end the ALDS against the Rays wasn't how you wanted to go out, but this REALLY won't end pretty. Nostalgia is over-rated, though I suppose it pays well.


*Why do I have the feeling that we'll hear more about [[Curt Schilling]] and [[Barry Bonds]] than any of us wants to, wishes to or deserves to? The only "happy ending" to their careers would be if they were locked in a small room together so they could inflate their egos until they both died and left us all alone!


*Maybe the Tigers will have a 2009 that was supposed to be their 2008?


*Can someone call the people at one of the leading toothpick manufacturers (I'm assuming there is more than one) and get Dusty Baker an endorsement deal before it's too late? Maybe it is already too late.


*The Cubs - HA HA HA HA HA Ha hahahahahahha!!! Yeah. (wipes tear from eye) Sorry, that had to be done.


*$100 says Frankie Rodriguez doesn't break the NL saves record.


*$100 says [[Jose Reyes]] is certain to start the season off with a bang! And then he'll get injured.


*The Phillies took a step backward. I know they didn't necessarily love Pat "the Twat" Burrell, but Raul Ibanez is far more myth than legend. Plus, now that Brad Lidge exercised his demons, isn't it time for him to become Brad Lidge again? Yeah, I think so. But don't think this is me rooting for the Mets, Braves or Marlins.


*What can Evan Longoria do to better his 2008? Anything Evan Longoria wants! Take note - NO Rays player had a career year! Longo, C.C., B.J., Kaz, Carlos Pena, Dioner Navarro... these guys ALL missed significant chunks of their respective season. A HEALTHY Rays club has no limits - hype, pressure, expectations? Throw 'em out the window if this team stays healthy in 2009. They're only getting BETTER!


*I want to like the Washington Nationals. I really do. Maybe if I start to like them, they can get good next year! Without the mad hatter, a.k.a. Jim Bowden around, it's not impossible!


*I'm glad no one made me into a Royals fan. I simply don't understand what they are pretending to do. It's not just sad, it bafflingly sad.


*Here's hoping Manny Ramirez doesn't stimulate the economy too much. I pity the Dodgers. Someone should shove a stick in them and lick their stickiness until you get to the chewy center.


*In case you missed the memo, the 1999 All-Star Reunion Tour is showing exclusively in Oakland. See? A bad economy IS good for the small-market teams! At least until May. Hope there's enough ben-gay to go around!


*The Toronto Blue Jays got better and no one will notice - except the Orioles.*The WBC is going to be a ratings screamer. If you have an ample supply of nitrous oxide and amyl nitrates on hand. I love baseball as much as anyone but I cannot force myself to get excited for this...

Special Dedication
"Goodbye, Good Friend"
It comes with sadness that I dedicate this post to my loving friend and companion who recently passed away. He was always there when I needed him and never complained (much) about me or the things I did that make me who I am. He was kind, shared his heart passionately with me and we had a special bond that I can never dream to replace or find again. As he died quietly in my arms yesterday, he took a beautiful, special piece of me with him...

He was a cherished member of my family. But after days and weeks of suffering, he finally and thankfully found his peace.

I will miss you, my family will miss you and your brother will miss you!


You were the best cat I'll ever know!

R.I.P. Ricardo Alphonso Grometti-Kombol, a.k.a. "Grommet" (2001 - 2009)




















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