Quick hits, short hops and rip jobs for the clowns, shills and yahoos

Some specific thoughts on random subjects from over the weekend and the days ahead.


*** Willie n' Billy ***

Willie Randolph committed his first major boner since becoming Mets manager when he brought closer Billy Wagner into a game NY-N led 4-0 in the ninth inning Saturday.

This is a simple case of Willie; a) not knowing his player and his tendencies; and b) wanting to beat his mentor, Joe Torre, and his former squad so badly that he violated a managerial no-brainer.

Wagner had pitched the night before and the Mets had another game Sunday, with a three-game set coming up against a DIVISION RIVAL, Philadelphia, not to mention the team closest to the Mets in the standings. So instead of Randolph saving his closer for when the game was really on the line, he decided it was more important to try and shut the door on a team that's not even in the same effing league, let along division.

Duaner Sanchez breezed through the eighth inning, throwing just nine pitches. You're telling me he couldn't come out to, at least, start the ninth?

And let's say sometime between the time Sanchez got Jeter to ground out to end the eighth and the time the Mets took the field for the top of the ninth, Sanchez, say, got locked in the bathroom, or abducted by aliens, why bring in Wagner?

You should have heard me yelling at the TV. Jorge Julio and Pedro Feliciano were warming up before Wagner even threw a pitch. Why not bring in one of them to start the frame and have Wagner warm up in case there's, oh, I don't know, AN ACTUAL FUCKING SAVE SITUATION!!

Wagner has proven that he is not at his best unless the game is on the line. He doesn't focus. He gets complacent on the mound when his adrenaline isn't at full blast, leading to things like the complete inability to throw a ball anywhere near the strike zone. It was an asinine move by Randolph to bring him in, and an even more ridiculous move to leave him in there when he started falling behind every hitter and handing out walks like it was free cheese at the A&P.

Somewhere, Grady Little is smiling

Still, a satisfying series victory over the evil empire.


*** Barry, and I don't mean Dawson ***

Barry Bonds, to quote Jersey Girl, is "an assclown."

He is rude. He is arrogant. He is surly. He is a juice head.

But until someone proves he has done steroids in the last two years, he is not a cheater.

Nothing made me happier Saturday than the fact that Bonds' tying Babe Ruth at 714 homers was a mere footnote on an otherwise eventful baseball day. Between the Mets-Yankees debacle and Michael Barrett giving A.J. Pierzynski a nice crack upside the head, not to mention Barbaro's sad day at the Preakness, Bonds' homer was the fourth story at best on most sportscasts.

But until 2004, steroids and other performance-enhancing drugs were not against baseball's rules.

Are Bonds and other steroid users' numbers tainted? Absolutely. Does he and his ilk compare favorably with those who came before him and produced without chemical assistance? Not a chance.

But Bonds is still an amazing baseball player and an amazing home run hitter. It has been estimated that anywhere from 30-70 percent of Major Leaguers have used performance enhancers over the last 15-some-odd years, so in that sense the playing field was somewhat level.

I am glad its been banned and I'm glad the truth has come out about these guys, but I cannot call them cheaters.

Oh, and I also believe Pete Rose should be in the Hall of Fame.


*** Tales from first base ***

While the overall turnout at this Sunday morning's softball game was weak, it did mark the return of Local Shill after a two-week absence, as well as the season debut of Jersey Girl at the old ball field.

After no batting practice, and a terrible looking swing at the first pitch she saw -- hitting leadoff for team Sandman in a 5-on-5 half field contest at Palsy Park -- Jersey Girl went on to have quite the day. She collected, I believe, four hits, scored several runs, and played error-free ball at first base.

As for some of the regulars, Joe Pendleton was a no-show for the second-straight week, as was Todd, who complained of a sinus headache and a fractured vagina.

My day -- though thoroughly unspectacular at the plate and in the field -- was marred by the constant ringing of my cell phone and fucking up of employees all over the tri-state area, forcing my early departure from said softball contest.

That brings me to....


*** Round 'em up, ship 'em out ***


I have always somewhat straddled the fence when it came to the whole immigration debate.

Sure, I see the problem with the constant overflow of immigrants coming here, taking jobs from Americans, blah, blah, blah.

But, then again, weren't we all immigrants at one point? Unless you are of Native American Indian decent, your lineage originated elsewhere, too. So don't be a damn hypocrite.

In my current business, the fine waiter staffing business, immigrants are essential. We wouldn't be able to fill orders without them. Most of them are hard-working, they all work relatively cheap, and it allows us fat, over-privileged Americans to sit back and be served, and some of us to make a few yen on the sweat of these aliens.

Probably about 90 percent of our employees are immigrants, many illegal, from every Latin country and many from points all across Eastern Europe and the Middle East.

After Sunday's day from hell, I'm ready to put 'em all on a boat and ship 'em half way across the ocean (yes, I said halfway. Let the fuckers drown).

No-shows, cancellations, extreme lateness, fights with guests, kitchen staff and caterers. Sunday had it all. By the time I went to bed last night I was more than ready to back to the Courier News for $10 an hour.

Thank God for cannabis.


*** It's Like rai-ain, on your wedding day ***
(if you haven't seen this week's installment of The Sopranos, skip this section)


We all know how well-written The Soprano is. But writer David Chase reached the height of irony Sunday, whether by accident or intentional.

Alanis Morissette would be proud.

We all kind of figured things would end badly for Vito Spatafore, who was outed as gay earlier this season when he was spotted at an S&M club, and subsequently fled to the comfort of foliage and Johnny Cakes in New Hampshire.

Upon returning to New Jersey and holding up in a motel room, Vito was ambushed by Phil Leotardo and his goons, before being beaten to death and left with a pool cue shoved up his ass.

But did you notice where Phil was hiding when the ambush first began?

The closet.

Very interesting.



*** This Chick hates her Bush ***

Dixie Chicks lead singer Natalie Maines is at it again.

After suffering serous backlash within the music industry and beyond for telling the crows at a London concert in 2003 that she was "Embarrassed George W. Bush was from Texas," Maines, this week, took back the apology she issued at the time.

Now I am a huge fan of the Dixie Chicks and their music, in fact their new album, "Taking the Long Way" is set for release tomorrow, and should be arriving via mail from my pre-order at Amazon.com at my door any minute now. In fact, their first single off this latest offering, "Not Ready to Make Nice," addresses the controversy and the reaction

Further, I agree. Bush is an idiot, and a disgrace to Americans. (I will admit I voted for him, but that was purely for entertainment value and the guarantee of quality late-night programming).

But where Maines erred was in that, sure, we have free speech here and are not only permitted, but encouraged, to criticize our leaders when we feel they aren't getting it done. But when you do it in front of an audience that is not American and on foreign soil, it makes us all look bad.

It's like ripping your teammates to the media.

Like it or not, Bush is our president. And we need to have a united front to the rest of the world that we stand behind him. We will deal with family issues within the family. We should not be airing our dirty laundry to the rest of the world.



*** Idol Wor$hip ***


American Idol's fifth season comes to an end this week and if all goes well, it should be another nice payday for yours truly.

When the top 24 were set back in January, I put down a few shekel on the person I thought would win. Taylor Hicks is in the final and is the favorite. Should things shake out like I expect, I will have correctly picked and wagered on the winner for the third time in four years (I didn't watch any of season one or three).

Cha-ching!