Vice Piece of Ass

Am home from a night out at the bars. I didn't bring anyone home, which is kind of the exception and not the rule these days. But you probably figured that out, since I am blogging at this hour. Not sure if I have the stones to blog in front of a chick... I have heard that nerds are the new jocks, will need to get back to you on that one.

Am sticking with The Plan: drink a can or two of Lo-Carb Monster and only have a couple of beers - keeps me high energy enough to engage drunk people, but sober enough to do good work. Had my A-Game tonight (per the usual), but wasted it on some C-Level girls (per the semi-usual - must re-evaluate strategy). These chicks were friends of an acquaintance, and they were lawyers, and I felt compelled to try and entertain all three of them. Sadly, these weren't the fun type of lawyers who hit the bottle hard when they're out of the office. Rather, they were the stick-in-the-mud lawyers who don't drink at all and look down on the glitter and belly-shirt set. I look down on those types of girls as well, particularly down on their D'ecolletages. Being tall has its advantages. If you have the means, I highly recommend it. Hang upside-down from a bar in your closet, Bobby Brady-Style, if you must.
You may have heard that John McCain picked his running mate. Some chick from Alaska, possibly an Eskimo chief, named Sarah Palin. Bold move, picking a chick. I guess it might help Republican chances with the estranged Hilary Democrats, and shows a hint of progressiveness from the GOP. I also understand that she is pretty much a hard-line conservative, which I suppose is intended to help garner the support of the right-wing GOP base who may feel McCain is too much of a middle-of-the-road Maverick. Personally, I don't think McCain needs to pander to the right-wing base - I suspect they'll come out and vote for McCain to prevent Obama from winning, regardless of whether they actually want to vote for McCain. I also think there will be a high Republican turnout for this election, for the simple fact that a lot of people in the flyover states will get out and vote McCain to prevent a black President from being elected. Unfortunate in this day and age, but probably accurate. I assume these same people would resist having a woman in office, but I guess McCain's analysts determined that a female Vice President is a lesser evil than a black President. I guess these same analysts have also determined its OK for McCain to choose a running mate who is significantly more attractive than the woman McCain was recently accused of having an affair with.

Now, I don't know a damn thing about politics, so feel free to disregard that last paragraph, nay, this entire blog, as nonsensical rubbish. Let's get down to brass tacks. I Googled this Sarah Palin chick. Now maybe its the beer and associated friskiness, maybe its the fact that I made the mistake of taking the trolley part of the way home to save a few bucks and to possibly run into drunk, poor chicks, or maybe its the fact that I do feel a soul-crushing loneliness from time-to-time that comes with being eternally single, but I got to thinking [CUT TO INTERIOR, BRAIN: SHOT OF HAMSTER HALF-HEARTEDLY RUNNING ON WHEEL] - is this Sarah Palin chick hot?
Don't be fooled by the official photographs that are out there. They're intentionally trying to underplay Palin's hotness - remember, they tried this with Rachael Leigh Cook in "She's All That" by putting glasses on her, pulling her hair back and dressing her in baggy, frumpy clothes. We weren't fooled then, and we won't be fooled now - this chick was runner-up in the Miss Alaska pageant in 1984, and is more than hanging in there at age 44. Maybe the country is ready for a female Vice President. Maybe it isn't. But I am pretty sure the country isn't ready for this Cougarrific female Vice President. Suppose I'm the Iraqi ambassador to the United Nations, and I'm meeting with the Vice President to discuss the security situation in Iraq. Am I going to be concentrating on what Vice President Palin is saying while I'm half-expecting one of the Secret Service bodyguards to produce a boom box while the Vice President shakes out her hair and starts gyrating to "Pour Some Sugar on Me"? Will European heads of state start paying more attention to the Dollar-to-Euro exchange rate so they'll know which denomination of Euro would be appropriate to slide into the Vice President's G-string? (Note to European heads of state: $1 = 0.68 Euro as of this writing - go with a full Eurodollar and you'll score points for being a big spender.) If the McCain-Palin ticket does win, I hope her advisors are smart enough to advise Miss Palin to dust off the F*ck Me Boots from the above photo for the really important meetings.

Cal Football Preview

Every year, the fantastic mind of Titash Bardhan breaks down the Cal football team, and it's upcoming season in tremendous detail. He blesses the world by documenting these thoughts in a Cal Football Preview, a manifest of his passion and insight. You may have heard of Mr. Bardhan, now very famous for such diverse works as "T's Cal Football Preview 2007", "T's Cal Football Preview 2006", and "2006 Cal Football Game Notes: Arizona State Game Notes."

For this year's Cal Football Preview, go to T's Cal Football Home Page and enjoy.

GO BEARS.

What Happened in Vegas

The Happiest Place on Earth may or may not be Disneyland, but it sure as shootin' ain't the Southwest Airlines terminal at McCarran airport on a Sunday afternoon. Some suggestions for the Southwest marketing department: "The Crappiest Place on Earth," "The Best Place on Earth to Find Angry Degenerates in Wife Beaters Who Just Lost Money They Couldn't Afford to Lose." Note to Southwest - go ahead and include the royalty checks for these slogans in the same envelope with my Rapid Rewards statement.

Speaking of marketing slogans, "What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas" has pretty well been beaten to death by the Vegas Chamber of Commerce and by apparently being the title of a recent RomCom. The slogan may be tired, but I think the concept still applies. Therefore, I will not be blogging about my trip to Vegas this past weekend. For the most part, that is - the following is a true Vegas story from the weekend, expressed in song:

[To the Tune of "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers]

On a warm summer's evening
in Vegas at the Westin
I sat next to the Gambler,
he was too drunk to speak.
So we took turns a-starin'
as the dealer turned up blackjacks,
but when his cocktail glass was empty,
he began to speak.

He said "Bro, I've read a book
'bout basic blackjack strategy.
I know when to double down
or split a pair of fives.
So if you don't mind me sayin'
I've been cut off by the waitress.
See that Asshole playing first base?
I'll give him some advice."

So I motioned to the waitress
and mouthed the words "Coors Cutter,"
the Gambler stared at Asshole
as he stayed on soft sixteen.
The room got deathly quiet
as the Gambler's eyes went glassy
"If you're gonna play the game, Asshole,
stop playin' like a queen."

Then I heard him say:

"You gotta know when to hit 'em,
know when to split 'em.
Stop playing like an Asshole,
you give Americans a bad name.
I just bet this guy eight dollars
that I'll fight you in the alley.
Now crush out your cigarette,
you're an Asshole and you're lame."

Then down sat a new player
from New York, and with dreadlocks.
He was pleasant company,
did not play like a fool.
But the Gambler he was drinkin'
and thinkin' he was clever,
called dreadlock guy "Warm-io"
'cause he didn't look that Cool.

Then the Gambler, he decided
I should hook up with the pit boss.
She was high-mileage, forty-eight,
and that is being kind.
The Gambler waves her over,
tells her I'm rich, in real estate.
If the pit boss had been younger,
I guess I wouldn't mind.

Then I heard him say:

"You gotta know when to hit 'em,
know when to split 'em,
take even money on a blackjack,
or double down for less.
You never order Alabama Slammers
when you're sittin' at the table -
now they'll only bring me coffee,
must've slurred the words I guess."

"You gotta know when to hit 'em,
know when to split 'em,
take even money on a blackjack,
or double down for less.
Your never order Alabama Slammers
when you're sittin' at the table -
now they'll only bring me coffee,
must've slurred the words I guess."

Michael Phelps* vs a true champion

You might have heard of this Michael Phelps guy? Yeah, he's fast. Perhaps the fastest. But is he legit? I say no.

Oh I know Bob Costas and the rest of the "media", and perhaps all of the "experts", and certainly the best "timing devices" would have you believe that ole MP is the coolest thing since Yoda, but that's just a clear superficial gloss over the bubble surrounding what is really going on.

Phelps is in the process of taking the mantle of "Best Olympic Athlete Since Hercules" from a true champion, Mark Spitz, and I think this is a travesty. All NBC can do in interview Phelps' mom, and talk about the fast conditions in the Beijing "Bird Pond", and they are all missing the real story here, the one right in front of their very noses. Am I going to try and claim that Phelps is cheating, and that his medals should all be taken away? No, that would be as absurd as a midget clown in a salmon mask.

I am just going to claim that the advantages Phelps now has over Mark Spitz are so unfair, so advantageous, that for all time his records should get the big fat asterix. Most people are only like 90% sure that Barry Bonds was on steriods, and some argue he should get the asterix. Well, I am 100% sure that Spitz had a gigantic mustache.



Have you seen that thing? It was like Spitz was swimming with a 2-pound sea anchor glued to his face. And then there's Phelps, smooth as a hairless cat, pawing his way through the wave-supressed lanes in a space age cat suit. An embarassment to the sport.

Mike has naired every hair on his body, and then there's Mark, believing that his stache was more important to him than a few hundredths of a second. Yeah, he might risk getting silver, but that man would rather be caught dead in the Olympic Lounges without him manstache.

The stache-drag alone had to have made the True Olympian 5 or 6% slower than going all Mr. Bigglesworth, like Phelps.

I know my voice is neither loud enough, nor my blog read enough, for the Olympic record keepers to take notice. But dear reader / poop 'n printer, I beg of you, do not fall for this mainstream Phelpsession that is going on now. Stash those thoughts away, you might say. Instead, honor the true hero of the sport. Honor Mark Spitz, Olympic Champion, and what obstacles he had to overcome for his seven gold medals in 1972. Appreciate that stache. It's awesome.

The Dark Nitpicker

I figure pretty much everyone has seen The Dark Knight by now. I've seen it once in the theater, a few more times on Youtube, and I intend to see it in an IMAX theater while I still can. This is a movie that gets better with multiple viewings; many of the seemingly throwaway lines at the beginning are foreshadowing for later events, and I think you need to see it a few times to understand the whole plot. Everything fits together quite well, and I haven't really noticed any glaring holes - for the most part, the movie is extremely well written. The screenplay is by Christopher Nolan and his brother Jonathan - the two also collaborated on the Memento screenplay, another very well-written film. I gave the film an 8 when I first saw it, but now I'm willing to bump that up to a 9, past the 8.5 I gave Iron Man.

I do have a few niggling issues with the film. Sometimes Alfred's attitude seems a little inappropriate for the situation, and I'd think that if the Joker is simply wearing makeup, the cops would wash it off of him when they capture him, to see what he really looks like and to help figure out who he actually is. But these are small matters I'm willing to overlook. There are three bigger issues that need to be addressed:

Issue #1. I didn't realize how attractive Katie Holmes is until I saw Maggie Gyllenhaal. That chick is beat. We can see she's beat. It's right up there on a 70- x 50-foot screen. So she's beat and at like 10 times the size of an actual person. And yet the movie insists on trying to convince us she isn't beat. Like when the Joker crashes the Harvey Dent fundraiser and Rachel Dawes-Gyllenhaal reveals herself:

Joker: Well hello, beautiful! You must be Harvey's squeeze. And you *are* beautiful.

Now, I'm not saying that I don't see why they cast Rachel Dawes-Gyllenhaal. She does look somewhat like Rachel Dawes-Holmes-Tomkat-Cruise. She's like her much older and uglier sister, but there is some resemblance. But we've got the Joker, the most compelling character in the film, trying to make us believe this beat chick is hot? I guess this is not unlike any celebrity endorsement - Michael Jordan wears these Nikes so they must be cool. Tom Brady dates Gisele Bundchen, and Leo DiCaprio used to date her, so she must be hot. I write this blog, so it must be good. Lies, all. Maybe the Comic-Con fanboys are willing to just take Joker's word for it. Actually, a lot of the guys who actually left their parents' basement to go out and see this film would probably think Rachel Dawes-Gyllenhaal is hot, since their only frame of reference would be their own mother. Luckily for me, I have a hot mother and her basement is wired for internet, so I'm not buying into Rachel Dawes-Gyllenhaal. Give me Rachel Dawes-Holmes-Tomkat-Cruise any day of the week, even with all the insane Scientology that comes with it. Of course, you are an adult and should make up your own mind:

Issue #2. The Batman Voice. Look, I understand the need for Batman to disguise his voice. Clearly he can't run around talking like Bruce Wayne as that would give away his identity. I'm even OK with the fact that he doesn't have Lucius Fox whip up some sort of technological solution to alter his voice - he just talks differently. And the voice isn't as horribly hoarse, grating and distracting in Batman Begins, or even in the first parts of The Dark Knight (with the possible exception of trying to get Lao to testify against the mob (If I get him to you, can you get him to talk?) But by the end of the film, when the Batman is saying really important things? Terrible, and it just takes you right out of the movie. I'd have preferred it if the fake voice Batman used was Christian Bale's actual whiny British voice. I assume fans will release a "fixed" version of the film, with a new voice dubbed in, at some point. Apparently some Star Wars fans greatly improved the Phantom Menace by basically deleting Jar Jar Binks in The Phantom Edit, and we can only hope for something similar here.

Issue #3. Heath Ledger is dead. I mean, shouldn't they have casted an actor who would at least survive until the movie was released? He was kind of an asshole in Venice when we saw him, but I didn't see this coming. Not that the movie needed Heath to appear on late-night talk shows to promote it, but still. Heath's death has provided me with fodder for my fantasy football team, but this also means that (a) we will never see the Joker again (at least, not until the third set of remakes of the Batman films, which are probably in production as we speak), or (b) they will try to pull another Katie Holmes / Maggie Gaggenhaal switcheroo on us. I think Heath did a great job with the role, and I can't really think of anyone who could take it over. It's an unenviable position, kind of like Aaron Rodgers finds himself in in Green Bay, or when the Wood Dog has to follow one of my blog posts. I suppose whoever plays the Joker next time would have to put their own spin on it, but there might not be a lot of room left after what Jack Nicholson and now Heath have done with the role. Granted, someone will take the role because they will be paid money to do so. Maybe I could imagine a real actor in the role, someone like Philip Seymour Hoffman. But more likely we'll just move on to other Batman villains. Please don't let it be the Penguin again.

Bond Ambition

So I haven't actually watched the most recent James Bond film, Casino Royale. It's been playing on cable pretty frequently recently, and I'll stop to watch the scenes where they are playing cards, but I haven't actually watched any other parts of the movie. I am told by my blogmate that the card scenes are actually the worst scenes of the movie, and that I'm missing out. Still, I am not really a fan of the Bond films. I've seen most of the Roger Moore Bond films, a few of the Connerys, all of the Daltons, none of the Brosnans, and I missed the Lazenby. And I haven't seen most of the Craig film.

I had occasion to further think about the Bond films recently as I was invited to a James Bond birthday party. My initial idea had been to go as Felix Leiter, the semi-disposable CIA agent who shows up every third film or so. I thought Felix was generally a Hawaiian-shirt-wearing doofus who pretty much falls out of a palm tree, helps Bond out in some inconsequential way, then gets knocked off by some villain wielding a fishing pole or a frisbee-hat-discus-thing. However, further research indicated that Felix usually wears a gray suit with a skinny black tie. He's been played by such luminaries as Jack Lord of Hawaii Five-O fame, so he's also not really as anonymous as I thought. I briefly considered attending the party as Felix from Casino Royale, which would have required me to don a tuxedo and blackface. This seemed in poor taste however, even by my standards, as my tuxedo doesn't fit me very well. A few girls suggested I go as the Daniel Craig Bond - specifically as the Craig Bond in the beach scenes where he is apparently prancing around in boy shorts. These are about the most poorly named item on the planet, as boys should never under any circumstances wear boy shorts. I wouldn't be caught dead in those things, mainly because I have a much better build than Daniel Craig and I wouldn't want to ruin his self-image. I guess an exception could be made if (and this is strictly hypothetical) a lot of money were exchanged at the Folsom Street fair and the year was 2005, but I digress. Turns out I wasn't in the Bay Area to attend the party, so I guess I missed out on some male Bonding with the other guests. Gosh darn it am I clever.

So, as I was watching Casino Royale I noticed a particular character during the card scenes. He's an old European guy with a beard, and as far as I can tell his job was to sit with a Hot Chick at the bar and explain to her (and thus, to the audience) what is going on in the card game. Because everyone knows that hot chicks and audiences are too stupid to figure these things out on their own. For instance, near as I can gather Bond seems to have figured out that the sketchy French guy with the weird eye (named LeCheap, I think) has a "tell," and he's let the old European guy (who is named Mathis - thanks IMDB!) in on the secret. So LeCheap does his tell, and thus Mathis and Bond know he's bluffing. LeCheap ends up going all-in, and Mathis tells the Hot Chick (and us) that Bond will have to go all-in to call the bluff. Really, doctor? You think so? If Bond has fewer chips than someone else at the table who has gone all-in, then Bond will have to go all-in to call? Let's all thank our lucky stars you were here to tell us that. Turns out Bond does go all-in and ends up losing, as LeCheap did his bluff tell when he wasn't bluffing. Then I think Bond gets poisoned, goes out to his car and defibrillates himself, then he borrows some money from Felix and keeps playing.

Is there a sweeter movie role than the guy who sits at the bar and explains to the dumb hot chick what is going on? I've always wanted to play twins in a movie, or a cop who doesn't play by the rules and who does all his investigating by hanging out in strip clubs, but the cheap guy at the bar who narrates the card game to a hot chick? That is the top of the mountain. I wouldn't be able to decide between playing that guy and playing the President. James Garner filled the cheap narrator role in the film Maverick during the final hand, telling Jodie Foster that the Commodore has four of a kind, Angel has a small straight flush, and that he doesn't know what Maverick has. (This is a whole other blog topic, but why was Jodie Foster ever considered hot? Because she was, and I haven't the faintest idea why.) In Rounders, and also in the short-lived ESPN series Tilt, the characters who lost the hands often explained how they lost, in the form of complaints. For example, as Teddy KGB says after the final hand in Rounders:

This son of a bitch! All night he check, check, check. He trapped me!

I find it doubtful an actual skilled poker player would explain to the rest of the room how he lost the hand. I also find it doubtful John Malkovich has ever heard a Russian accent, because his manner of speaking in Rounders is certainly an accent, but it sure ain't Russian.

Anyhow, I was watching the final hand from Casino Royale and I noticed something else - that Mathis is a moron. During the final hand, there are four players: Mr. Fukutu (spelling it phonetically), a Black Guy (IMDB is down right now), LeCheap and Bond.
(Note: please ignore the advertising that some douche has inserted into the clip.)

All the players check after the turn, and Mathis tells the Hot Chick: $24 million in the pot already. So, we've got $24 million in the pot, with only the river card left. The river card comes out, and the betting goes like this:

Mr. Fukutu: All in. $6 million.

The Black Guy pushes his chips in and holds up five fingers. Apparently the poor bastard has no name and he doesn't get any spoken dialogue either. At least the studio saved a few bucks, and they don't have to give him a SAG voucher. However, the dealer confirms: $5 million. All in.

LeCheap: Raise. The dealer confirms the amount: Raise. $12 million.

Bond: $40 million five-hundred thousand, all in.

LeCheap: Well, I think I will call you on that one.

LeCheap then pushes a bunch of chips into the pot. We're too stupid to figure out how much money is in the pot, but luckily Mathis is there to save the day.

Mathis (to Hot Chick): $115 million in the pot.

Now, LeCheap didn't go all-in - he's still got a few chips left. Hold on a second. Should we take Mathis's word for it? Are we really too stupid to figure our how much money is in the pot?

The Pot after the turn = $24,000,000
Mr. Fukutu = $6,000,000
The Black Guy = $5,000,000
Bond = $40,500,000
LeCheap = $40,500,000

Total = $116,000,000

A respectable chunk of change, to be certain. But it isn't $115 million, it's $116 million. I know, $1 million isn't a lot of money between friends, but if you're going to represent to a Hot Chick that you know about the game you're watching, wouldn't you want to get your facts straight? Granted, I'm as much for lying to Hot Chicks as the next guy, but I think they'd be more impressed by a higher number in the pot. Maybe Mathis is just smarter than we are, and playing on a different level: Hmmm... chicks dig dudes with money. If Bond wins $116 million, this Hot Chick will surely go for him. But if he only wins $115 million, that might not be enough for her, and I might still have a shot here. I mean, we are sitting here drinking champagne while I woo her with my cheap accent, and she hasn't even noticed that it's not even champagne, it's sparkling white wine. Korbel, no less. Dumb broad. I'll just tell her it's $115 million in the pot. I'm an awesome European genius, and I'm about to bang this Hot Chick! Les félicitations à moi!

Or maybe not. And maybe I am too good at math to play the cheap guy who explains to the hot chick what is happening in the card game. The dream is dead... way to piss on my own parade.

Poker Sidebar: What was Mr. Fukutu doing checking after the turn? At that point, there's an ace of hearts, and a 4-6-8 of spades on the board. Fukutu is holding K-Q of spades and he's just made his flush. Someone's got to be holding the ace of spades and another spade to have a higher flush at that point, and the best anyone else can do there is three of a kind. It doesn't make any sense for Fukutu to slow play that hand - as pointed out by Mathis the Moron, there was $24 million in the pot after the flop. Fukutu only has $6 million left at that point... why in the hell would he not try and buy a $24 million pot by going all-in after the turn? I mean, besides it being in the script?

It's OKTO Build an Empire

So, the shirts have arrived:

I know you're wondering and yes, that is me modeling the shirt. I've worked a bit on my tan since you last saw me.

What do we know so far?

We learned in the early 2000's that it's OKTO boogie. We now know that it's OKTO blog. It's OKTO make t-shirts, and apparently it's OKTO have your 1.5 year old son drink beer while posing for the logo of your blog and of said t-shirt. At least, it's OKTO do that in the state of Washington. But then again, they allow some weird sh*t in the state of Washington.

I think it is probably OKTO do a lot of things. So why not branch out? Promote our brand? It seems to work for Donald Trump. We'll build a blogging empire that will bring Coca-Cola, McDonald's, Nike and Take a Report to their respective knees. Note to the ladies: it's OKTO be on your knees.

For instance, I like beer. The Wood Dog likes beer. So why don't we create our own beer? What's stopping us? Besides our lack of startup capital, our lack of any expertise or in fact actual knowledge about manufacturing beer, or the spectacular failure of Third Rail Beer, a beverage that was before its time? Let's forget about all that, and focus on the marketing campaign. As we say in the ad game, you don't sell the steak, you sell the sizzle:

I smell a winner. (Note: "smelling a winner" is my euphemism for passing gas.) And naturally, if we're going to encourage the drinking of alcohol, we will need to stand for responsible family planning:

Come to think of it, this is an excellent opportunity for a little cross-branding:

I am starting to get the sense that the OKTO empire will be built on social vices. Will this model be successful? Well, it seems to be working pretty well for Las Vegas, and for these guys.

But what about those poor saps who go out and drink beer, but don't end up hooking up with Mrs. Right Now or performing lewd sex acts with a beer keg? That has never happened to me, but I am told that men often visit "adult establishments" after the bars close if they didn't get lucky. You may see fake boobies and real tattoos, but I see opportunity - a gold mine just sitting there, waiting to be, er, mined for gold:

People love their booze and their sex, and now we've got those covered. Or uncovered, in the case of the boobies. But I think we need one more item to round out our product mix. I think our friends from The Matrix put it best:

Tank: "OK, so what do you need? Besides a miracle?"

Neo: "Guns. We need lots of guns."

Yes, we believe it's OKTO exercise your 4th Amendment rights here at it's OKTO blog.*

* Note that this blog post does not necessarily reflect the views of the Wood Dog, or of our sponsors.**

** Note that we do not have any sponsors.

However, promoting firearms is kind of a touchy subject. So I'm thinking this ad campaign would focus on subtlety, and bring an almost wholesome quality to the product:

I'm also thinking we ought to pursue a parallel marketing campaign within our firearms division, lest we leave out any important demographics:

Booze, sex and violence. This entire post is filled with can't miss ideas. In two years our world domination will be complete, and you'll be seeing a Super Bowl ad which consists entirely of me and the Wood Dog grinning and giving a thumbs up to the camera for 30 seconds. Because we're not going to have "f*ck you" money, we're going to have "f*ck everybody" money. Better get on our good sides now, because we fully intend to forget the little people who got us there.

P.S. please buy a shirt

Awesome Olympics

Oh man, I can NOT get enough of these Olympics. Have you seen all of the events you can watch LIVE on the internet? Check out NBCOlympics.com, it's simply awesome.

As I was jumping around events last night, from Day 3 of the women's badminton tournament… yes, they do put the "bad" back in back in badminton... to Judo... to Tennis, OK nobody with the last name ending in "ova" is playing... next... and then I landed on the 10M Air Pistol event. Holy heavens to mergatroid. These guys are all wearing blue jeans, tee's, and terrible facial hair, and then I saw Jason Turner, their king.

Look at this guy! He looks like he just walked out of Walmart, worked on his beer gut for a few hours at his local, and then stopped by the range to pull a few triggers. What an athlete! I mean, this guy defines America (at least the red states)! Or maybe he's one of those total whack job militia types... awe, who cares? U-S-A!

It was also good to see Serena William at the Olympics this year, obviously our best hope at a medal in weightlifting. Or is there a "scaring me" event? Maybe that's the one.

I also just watched our girl Natalie Caughlin (can I get a "GO BEARS"?) come in first in the semi finals of the 100 M backstroke. I am sure you watched it too, but did you see the jackass reporter chick interview her after the race? She actually asked her why she can’t seem to swim straight. She has the F-ing World Record you cheap reporter hack, how dare you critique her in the backstroke? Are they trying to rattle her? She has like 10 more events to deal with and Jane Bitch is trying to get into Nat's head! And how does Nat respond? A little flustered, but pretty calmly, “I am just going to try and focus on my breaststroke tonight.” Can you just let Natalie and all of us TRY AND FOCUS ON HER BREASTSTROKE TONIGHT, JANE? Thank you.

Note to cheap reporters: the only appropriate post-race question for Natalie is "what's it like to be so awesome?". It's an easy rule. "Will you marry me?" also works.

Just following that piece of crap interview, Kristy Coventry breaks Natalie's World Record in the 100M backstroke in the other semi final heat. I hope Jane Bitch Reporter is happy, the jinx is on. But did you see Nat’s little Olympic bio video? She likes to COOK with ingredients from the ferry building farmers market in SF. She barely likes this swimming crap. It’s like a hobby. Photography, cooking, and swimming. COVENTRY is totally just a swimmer loser. Not like our Natalie. Can I get a GO BEARS!?

Never Waive Goodbye

To the extent I am a baseball fan, I guess I am a fan of the Boston Red Sox. Being a Boston fan used to mean endless years of heartbreak. However, pretty much since the start of the millennium it has been good to be a Boston fan.

So, I am sort of keeping an eye on the Red Sox, and on baseball. This probably has more to do with the fact that my fantasy baseball team is still in contention than my hopes that the Sox will make the playoffs (and I don't think they will). But today I noticed this little tidbit on ESPN: Brian Giles exercises veto of Boston deal, will remain with Padres.

This would have been a post "trading deadline" trade. In order to make a trade after the deadline, each baseball team must place any player it wants to trade on waivers. All the other teams, in order of their current record, then have a chance to claim that player off waivers. If a team does claim the player, it has 48 hours to work out a trade with the team that put the player on waivers. The team that put the player on waivers also has the option of just pulling back the player. The point is that if a player goes unclaimed, he can be traded after the trading deadline just as he could before the trading deadline. Many teams put all their players on waivers, just to see who goes through and could be used as trade bait later in the season. The team will just pull back any player it wants to keep if that player is claimed by another team.

Now, Brian Giles used to be a good player. Somewhat coincidentally, he was originally traded to the Padres for Jason Bay (along with Oliver Perez and a bag of glass), who has turned out to be a far superior player. One could argue that San Diego's Petco Park ruined Giles' career - he pretty much went from 35 home runs a year in Pittsburgh to 15 a year with San Diego. Being forced to watch Giles on my local Padres station, he has become an annoying slap hitter who pretty much just tries to foul off pitches until he walks, and rarely tries to hit the ball with any authority. In any event, Jason Bay was just traded to the Red Sox for Manny Ramirez and prospects. So, Giles and Bay could have ended up on the same team after essentially being traded for each other.

I say "could have" because Brian Giles vetoed the deal. As a veteran player, he had a list of 8 teams he could veto a trade to, and the Red Sox were one of those teams. Not that Giles would have actually played for Boston - he would have been a spare part at best. The Red Sox claimed Giles so the first place Tampa Bay Rays would not have a chance to acquire him, as Giles would immediately supplant Gabe Gross/Eric Hinske/Cliff Floyd as the starting right fielder for the Rays. He'd also provide some veteran leadership for a young team. If by veteran leadership you mean giving it to the young guys in the shower, Shawshank-style.

The ESPN story quotes Giles' agent, Joe Bick, as saying that "in the final analysis, Brian said, 'I made a commitment to the Padres three years ago that I would like to fulfill. And it's my hope that at the end of the current season, that they would elect to pick up my option for next year, and I can finish my career with the Padres.'"

WHAT?!?!?!???

"I made a commitment to the Padres three years ago that I would like to fulfill"? News Flash, Genius - you aren't exactly letting a team down when you leave the team BECAUSE IT TRADES YOU. If anything, you're letting the team down by refusing to allow it to better itself. Let's see how this might work in other contexts:

JW: So, honey, you wanted to talk?

Wife of JW (remember, this is all hypothetical): Yes... I think we should get a divorce.

JW: No, I don't think so. You see, I made a lifetime commitment to you and I'd like to fulfill it.

Wife of JW: You don't understand. I hate you. You're not the attractive, power-hitting husband you were when I married you. Your body has gone to squat after I started testing you for steroids. Now you just spend your days blogging, going for walks and ogling young chicks in San Diego. I want to end this relationship, and I've met someone else. I'm ready to marry that person, and he wants to marry me. I just need you to sign these papers.

JW: Actually, I was hoping you'd pick up the option on me, and I'd finish out my life with you. So no dice.

Wife of JW: Go to hell and die. In no particular order.

Now THAT makes for a happy relationship.

Incidentally, San Diego holds a $9 million option on Giles for 2009, with a $3 million buyout.

Don't spend that $3 million all in one place, Brian.

Over the Line?

As referenced in my prior blog, I like to use funny and/or clever fantasy team names. There's a certain purity to it, not unlike a perfectly struck golf shot, or pooping in the shower.

But I wonder if I've gone too far this time. The name I've chosen for fantasy football this season is "Heath Ledger's Pallbearers." That team's fictional owner, played by me, is named Oscar Posthumous. In poor taste? Absolutely. Funny? Open to interpretation, but I'd certainly say so. Reminds me of a fantasy team I saw on the internet in a bygone era called "Natalee Holloway's Search Team," referencing the American college student who disappeared in Aruba or Jamaica or some other Caribbean island where I wanna take ya'. I don't really remember what happened with that. I think a guy who went to college with her was charged with her murder. Or something.

Now, my grandmother died a few months ago, but I don't think I would name my team "JW's Grandmother's Pallbearers," even though this would be technically accurate as I actually was one of the pallbearers. A name like that would be disrespectful but (perhaps more importantly) it would not be funny. It lacks that certain je ne sais qua that comes with making fun of a celebrity death. I mean, there are "celebrity" Dead Pools, where people bet on which celebrity will die during the year (put me down for $5 on Kirk Douglas, with Muhammad Ali as a dark horse). But I've never been invited to a "grandparents of my friends" Dead Pool before. And I may be relatively heartless, but I doubt even I would participate in something like that.