My Two Cents

Told ya!

2009-01-31T02:02:00.002-05:00

See, I told ya I wasn't going to blog more in 2009.

But while I'm here, if I may, let me chime in one one quick thing:

Joe Torre might be my new hero.

Granted, I have always liked the guy, and I think writing that book totally taints his legacy for telling tales out of school, but he blew up the Yankees! How can I hold that against a man?

Just 14 days until pitchers and catchers!

Oh Man-NY (N)

2009-01-08T13:09:00.003-05:00

(I swear, I have not resolved to blog more in 2009!!!!)

If you haven't seen Bill Price's "The Bitter Bill" blog on the New York Daily News Web site, it's really good, you should check it out.

Lately, Bill, who's a huge Mets fan and is not only a regular contributor to this blog as his Blogger alter-ego, but produces a high-quality personal blog of his own that many of you are fond of, has been blogging on The Bitter Bill about how the Mets need to sign Manny Ramirez.

Bill and I normally agree on most things -- at least those pertaining to the orange and blue -- but I think he's way off on the Manny issue, on several counts.

(note: I posted a version of this blog on the comments page on the Bitter Bill site under his post from Jan. 8, so if you come across it, no, you're not suffereing from extreme deja vu)

The talent and ability of Manny Ramirez is unquestioned. He is among the top 5 hitters in baseball over the past decade and change, and a force to be reckoned with in any lineup -- at least when he feels like it.

He is also a perfect fit for the Mets the way they're currently constituted: A right-handed hitting corner outfielder who hits for average and power. Plus, as a Latino, he would fit right into the culture Omar has built with this team.

But Manny's baggage and personality would be disastrous. He's proven it time and time again. The ONLY reason he performed so well for the Dodgers last season was that he wanted to both stick it to the Red Sox for them unceremoniously shipping his ass out of town, as well as trying to earn a big contract (we see how well that's worked out).

I for one have never booed a Mets player, unless I felt they weren't trying. I think it's counter-productive. Unfortunately, the majority of my fellow Mets fans don't agree.

You know what would happen in Flushing when Manny hits his first mini-slump and starts hearing the boos: He's going to shut down.

You think the reactions of Manny's fellow proud Latinos senors Delgado y senor Beltran were bad when they were booed? Wait till you see how baseball's biggest prima donna deals with New York's quick-triggered boo-birds.

And another thing, do you really want Manny's attitude affecting Jose Reyes? That kids already proven to be immature and impressionable. Remember how nervous everyone got when those rumors of Reyes' off-the-field activities were impacted so dramatically by the arrival of Luis Castillo and the departure of Jose Valentine?

Manny's a way more impressive role-model for a young man.

As for this need Mets fans seem to have of signing Manny just to compete with the Yankees' big signings this offseason, well, that's just insanity.

Nobody hates the Fourth Reich more than I do, but that is as a baseball fan, not as a Mets fan. The Yankees fortunes have zero effect on the Mets, save for a pair of three-game head-to-head series each summer.

Signing Manny just to get some of the attention back from their signing Sabathia, Burnett and Teixeira is simply ludicrous. Eff them. Let them sign every other free agent out there. They've already ruined baseball. Why stop now?

The bottom line is that the only way I would be comfortable with the Mets inking Manny is if they were to give him only one year guaranteed. This way, perhaps he'll remain motivated for an entire season, and if not, they can cut his whiney butt with minimal financial loss.

And you know there's no way he or his d-bag of an agent is going to go for that.

As for this comment on the Bitter Bill:

"Remember what happened to the Mets in the late 80s’? Kevin Mitchell - not exactly a solid citizen, but a future league MVP - was shipped out. Backman and Dykstra followed. Guys like Kevin McReynolds and Gregg Jefferies were brought it. It took the Mets almost 10 years to recover from moves like that."

Let's remember, the Mets won 100 games in 1988 with Jefferies and McReynolds, losing a 7-game series to the Dodgers in the NLCS, a team we beat 11-of-12 times during the regular season, and would have beaten again had David Cone not run his mouth in that newspaper column after Game 6. The Mets also were contenders in 1989 and 1990, missing out on playoff berths in the final week of each of those seasons.

Kevin Mitchel might have been a hood, a criminal and a cat murderer, but his attitude was never a problem, and his chemistry in the clubhouse was top-notch. Dykstra and Backman, sure, they were misanthropes who led lives of questionable morality. But they were not cancers in the clubhouse. They were team players who always played hard and always wanted to win.

The demise of the would-be dynasty wasn't really complete until '91-92 when the likes of Vince Coleman, Bobby Bonilla and Brett Saberhagen were brought in. All player with immense talent and crappy attitudes.

Just like Manny.

When it rains it pours

2009-01-07T18:25:00.002-05:00

I swear, I have not resolved to blog more often in 2009. The fact this is my second post in three days after a four-month layoff is purely coincidental, but this is one I had to share.

Apparently, the Palestinians have extended their Jihad to included not only the state of Israel, but all citric beverages.

As if OJ Simpson didn't have enough to worry about!

Back with a whimper

2009-01-05T13:55:00.003-05:00

If one of my new year's resolutions for 2008 was not to blog for the better part of the final four months of the year, then for the first time in my life I might have actually stuck to a new year's resolution.

In fact, it would also mean it's the first time in my life I've ever MADE a new year's resolution.

But no, I cannot blame vows for my lack of blogging, anymore than a Catholic priest can blame vows for diddling 12-year-olds (Sorry, I haven't blogged in four months, I have a lot of pent-up offensive things to say).

The truth is, most of the truly blog-worthy things that have come up over the past four months have been too depressing for me to take the time to actually write about them. (Plus, I was the one person who hadn't blogged since the last time Joe Pendleton blogged, and I didn't want him to feel bad -- y'know, cause I'm such a sweetheart and I always concern myself with not hurting people's feelings).

Let's review.

When I last chimed in here, the Mets had yet to execute a second straight September collapse, and the Jets had not played over their heads and then come crashing back to Earth in a manner of ugliness only the Jets can do,

Sports-related heartbreak aside, there were some noteworthy things I COULD have blogged about had I not been so busy/lazy/worried about Joe P's feelings.

- Metallica's first good studio album in 18 years (kicks ass, but not in the way the old school stuff kicked ass)

- Guns n' Roses' first studio album of any kind in 17 years (I'm not in love with the record, nor am I willing to accept it as an actual Gn'R album, considering it's just Axl and a bunch of dumbasses)

- The presidential election (best damn thing to happen to this country in a long, long time).

- The end of Shea Stadium (That was a difficult day)

- The 60-something-year-old Russian limo driver named Igor Yakubov who rear-ended me two block from my hut -- while I was at a complete stop -- and the ensuing insurance-related and rental-car related nightmare that's ensued.

- Plexico Burress (WOW!)

- Sarah Palin (Wow, for many of the same reasons)

Those were all things I COULD have blogged about over the past four months. Things I SHOULD have blogged about over the past four months. But what's done is done, you can't change the past, and you can't live in regret.

In any case, this is not a vow to blog more often in 2009. Consider it an acknowledgment of slackitude (If that isn't a word, it is now).

So in 2009, I will do my best to chime in on both the important and unimportant, the noteworthy and the not-so-noteworthy.

For now, I leave you with this bit of advice:

If you're stopped at a railroad crossing and a black Cadillac with New York livery plates comes speeding up behind you, floor it. At least if you get hit by a train your car will be totaled and won't reek of paint thinner for two months when you get it back from the body shop.

Momma never told me there'd be days like these

2008-09-07T13:04:00.002-04:00

It's days like these I really need about four TVs and three computer monitors in the same room.

I got Jets-Dolphins and Rams-Eagles (heavy fantasy league implications) both on network TV at 1PM. We got another 4pm game on Network TV, plus the Sunday night game.

I got a Mets-Phillies doubelheader, plus I have the MLB package, so I need to check in on all the other games throughout the day.

I have fantasy baseball league playoffs in one league and stretch runs in two others. Of course, I have to monitor my two fantasy football teams, too, as well as all the wagers I've made on various game today.

I FUCKING LOVE THIS TIME OF YEAR!!!

What's up, Doc's

2008-08-16T17:50:00.001-04:00

There have been countless times over the past few years that I have gone somewhere with The Joker, had a few drinks, and, at some point, told him he would be driving home.

Until Friday night, he never actually had to do it.

It had been years since I went out drinking in NYC -- other than a few trips to The Culture Club (which is still awesome). Back in the day, I would go out to one bar another in the city at least once a week. But since my friend, Sam, moved out, and since most of my friends have gotten married, become parents, and gotten lame, there really hasn't been much occasions for getting a crew together and heading across the Hudson.

Sure, I still go out. But it's usually in Jersey and, more often than not, it's to everyone's favorite South Bound Brook establishment for some raucous shtick and scintillating karaoke.

It was nice to recapture my fading youth, even for one night, and the place that had the honor is my new favorite East Village bar, Doc Holliday's.

A few weeks ago, while on my most recent AC jaunt, I befriended a nice young lady in the Borgata's poker room (who is also a hell of a poker player -- well, for a GURRRL -- ...I keed! I keed!). It turns out, she is the manager at Doc's, and one of the bartenders on Friday nights.

Over the past couple of weeks, she's told me repeatedly how much fun the place is and that I should come out, so I blew off band practice Friday night and The Joker and I headed in.

This place was right up my ally.

It's small, quaint, and definitely can be classified as a "dive bar," which is my favorite kind.

The jukebox is completely stocked with country music, which I dig, the clientele -- at least that night -- was bereft of the elitists yahoo yuppy toolboxes that often populate city bars, and both bartenders (Joanna and Alyssa) were half in the bag by the time we rolled in a little after 10 bells.

Less than an hour later, as I downed my third or fourth Captain and Diet (which were about 80 percent Captain and 20 percent Diet) and my second or so shot of Patron, I tossed The Joker my keys, told him he was driving home, and, as it turned out, meant it.

I kept drinking and enjoying the atmosphere, enjoyed some spirited shtick with the bartenders, bouncers, and some of the other patrons, and, we even raised a toast to the late, great George Carlin.

I am happy to report, enjoyed one of my all-time Top 10 benders that evening. I don't know how I continued to function. It was my first hardcore, all the way, drunken stupor since opening day 2006 at the Jets tailgate, where I consumed the large majority of a bottle of Captain Morgan on my own. Some of you witnessed that bit of fun.

We had a blast. Even The Joker, who was forced to remain relatively dry for the evening, reported he had a good time. I thoroughly recommend Doc Holliday's on your next trip into NYC. I might have to add it to my St. Patrick Day route -- well, assuming I can get back on that route this year after a two-year absence due to work conflicts (don't worry, Brooke, we'll still be starting the day at McSorley's).

For those of you who might be wondering, the answer is no. I did not pass out, I have not puked, and other than some minor queasiness and a general haze, I am none the worse for wear today.

Yes. I am hardcore (man taking a bow)

Stray dog

2008-08-15T14:08:00.001-04:00

Before I get into the actual story here -- Chris Russo leaving WFAN -- a couple of comments about NYC's holy trinity of tabloid newspapers:

I grew up in New York, specifically Brooklyn, and while Newsday has always been a distant third to the Post and Daily News in most regards, my father always had Newsday delivered to the house because of its better coverage of the outer boroughs, plus he always liked their Mets-friendly coverage, especially in the 80s.

That said, while I think the above headline is phenomenal and actually had me laughing out loud, Newsday is the only one of the three papers that felt the Mike and the Mad Dog breakup was worthy of a back-page headline.

I don't know that I agree with that.

In any case, here's my take on the Mike and the Mad Dog split:

Chris Russo, by himself, sucks. His poor command of the English language and inability to pronounce certain everyday words rivals only a certain Texan that currently resides at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. It's not as charming. Russo's knowledge of sports is also sub-par for someone in his position and some of his theories and beliefs are off the charts retarded.

Mike Francesa, by himself, sucks. He is a pompous egomaniac, who, though his knowledge of sports is top-notch, finds himself at the edge of implosion if a caller dares to question something he said. He is boring, he drones on, he name drops to the point of nausea, and, frankly, is probably a dick in real life.

But Chris Russo and Mike Francesa together are great. They balance each other well, their banter is very entertaining, and, frankly, I always enjoy listening to them when they're together -- but never when they're alone.

But what frustrates me most about this split isn't so much that I'm going to miss listening to these clowns on the way home from work, but after all these years of listening to countless yahoos call in for the Superbowl trivia contest, I finally compiled a database with answers to all the types of questions they usually ask and I was gonna take a shot at a Superbowl trip this year. Damn it!

The bottom line is that with ESPN Radio gaining prominence in the NY area, if WFAN thinks they're not going to see a steep decline in their drivetime ratings with Russo's departure -- just as they would have had Francesa bolted and Mad Dog stayed -- they've got another thing coming.

If they do plan on bringing in a co-host for Francesa, it better be someone good. I think the station will be hard-pressed to find someone who complimented Francesa as well as Russo did -- the yin to his yang, if you will -- and I don't see this one ending well for our friends in Astoria.

I don't know the inside details on why one was kept and the other allowed to move on, but WFAN is about to learn the hard way that Mike without the Mad Dog is about as entertaining as Richard Neer on 20mg of Valium.

I know there are plenty of you out there who hated them together or apart, but I, for one, will miss the show immensely. I've been a regular listener to WFAN since Day 1, and as someone who spent a lot of time at home in the early days after being expelled from high school after high school, it was Mike and the Mad Dog that was my soundtrack to all the big sports stories of the time, and the same can be said about the years since.

Love 'em or hate 'em, Mike and the Mad Dog are part of the New York sports scene and have been for 19 years. And as someone who has never dealt well with change, this one is going to be hard to get used to.

Say something funny, Mike.

More shtick from Rotoworld

2008-07-01T22:25:00.002-04:00

I have mentioned the wisdom of Rotoworld.com before, specifically some of the fine shtick that regularly appears on the site.

Perhaps you recall the gem about Kaz Matsui I blogged about a few months back.

Today's gem is bought to you by Arizona Diamondbacks catcher Chris Snyder:

Diamondbacks placed catcher Chris Snyder on the disabled list with a left testicular fracture.
That's gotta be even worse than an anal fissure. Snyder was injured when he was hit by a foul tip last night. Miguel Montero will start and be backed up by Robby Hammock while Snyder is out. He's worth adding in NL-only leagues.

Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits

2008-06-23T11:46:00.007-04:00

..............................George Carlin 1937-2008

The thing that sucks most about lower back injuries is that the littlest, most routine day-to-day activity hurts like a bitch.

When I was about 18, I hurt my lower back when I decided it would be a good idea to make long throws with a baseball without warming up.

And while I was in agony for the next couple of weeks, I will always remember that period of excruciating pain as when I first discovered the genius of George Carlin.

I guess I was "aware" of Carlin before that, after all, I was always the smart-mouth, no boundaries, push the envelope, cross the line kinda cat you all know and love. But one Friday night, paralyzed with pain and hopped up on God knows what, I was sitting in the basement of my father's house watching TV when I happened upon a George Carlin special on HBO.

I, literally, couldn't watch it.

I was laughing so hard that I thought I was going to drop dead of pain. No matter how hard I tried not to laugh, I couldn't, no matter what he said. And after about five minutes I had to turn the TV off or I was gonna pass out from the pain in my back.

George Carlin died of heart failure Sunday night at the age of 71.

His bits were intelligent, poignant and right on the money. It wasn't the dick and fart jokes so-called "shock comedians" are doing today. Carlin was genius. And his routines -- though often crude and littered with scatological language -- were right on the money.

Anti-establishment, anti-organized religion, anti-closed-minded stupid people -- pretty much how I live my life.

He later appeared in a couple of Kevin Smith movies, including a major supporting role in my favorite of them all, Dogma, as well as roles in several other flicks that are near and dear to my heart.

I consider myself fortunate that I got to see Carlin live, in Las Vegas in 1998, and I'm so glad I at least got that chance.

I'm not a guy who has a lot of heroes. I can count them on one hand: Mike Piazza, Kevin Smith, Neil Peart, George Carlin.

My world is a little emptier today.

Hangin' 'em up

2008-05-20T19:45:00.004-04:00

Thursday will mark exactly 10 years since the greatest day of my life.

It was May 22, 1998, when my pager went off while I was working at a pharmacy on a Friday afternoon in Warren, NJ, and it was my best friend, Sam.

I called him back and he told me that Mike Piazza had been traded from the Florida Marlins to the New York Mets, less than a week after he had been acquired from the Dodgers in a blockbuster deal.

After I made Sam swear on his life, as well as the life of his mother, father and all three of his sisters that he wasn’t bullshitting me, my knees went weak – literally.

I had fantasized about that moment for the better part of five years, since Piazza’s rookie season with the Dodgers, when I first fell in love.

He was awesome. Calm, cool, and boy could he hit the shit out of a baseball.

As time went on and Piazza’s career flourished more each season, I began to learn more about him. In addition to his prowess in the game I loved, he was a massive metal head, and even played the drums, things, like baseball, that were also near and dear to my heart.

He was my favorite player, more than anyone that even played for my favorite team, the Mets, and when he became a member of the orange and blue, well, I’m sure you can imagine how awesome that was for me.

I watched him play for NY-N for the better part of eight seasons and he delivered big hit after big hit, perhaps none grander than the first game at Shea after 9/11. Sure, he had his ups and downs, but no matter how bad of a slump he might have fallen into, I still enjoyed every at-bat.

When the Mets and Piazza parted ways after the 2005 season, I was fine with it. I knew it was coming and agreed that he needed to move on, both for himself, as well as for the good of the Mets organization.

After a year in San Diego and a year in Oakland, Mike Piazza officially announced his retirement today, two days shy of the 10h anniversary of that life-changing Friday afternoon.

And while his retirement has been a while coming – especially when he didn’t sign with anyone in the preseason – it still bought a tear to my eye.

Believe me, if I could make hotel reservations for Cooperstown for July of 2013, I would.

Hopefully Roger Clemens will be watching Piazza get inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame from his prison cell.

It's begining to look a lot like Christmas...

2008-04-28T02:03:00.000-04:00

There is a God. And boy does he love me!

Us Jews don't normally get to celebrate what Christians do on Dec. 25. So what are the odds that Christmas would come twice in less than five months for this Hebe!?!?

First there was the whole Roger Clemens injecting HGH into his arse. After all, what's better than seeing the man I loath more than any other on this Earth have his entire career tarnished and reduced to a pathetic joke.

But now there's this

Don't forget to note the part that says she was 15 when this little romp began.

Man, if this shit continues, I might actually have to start going to synagogue again!

TMI*

2008-03-11T23:24:00.005-04:00

*That's "Too Much Information" for the, um, abbreviatorily challenged.

For those of you who are into fantasy sports, you're probably familiar with rotoworld.com, which is the undisputed champion for fantasy sports news.

Now what's great about Rotoworld isn't just its being on top of breaking news, its brilliant analysis, and excellent site functionality, but every now and then they sprinkle in some brilliant shtick into its reports.

Still, as in-depth and thorough as Rotoworld is, nothing could have prepared me for the report I came across this evening while perusing the day's news:

Kaz Matsui will miss four to five days with an anal fissure.
That's an unnatural tear or crack in the anus skin, for those of you not in the know. Matsui is expected to be out until at least Friday. Anal fissures can become chronic problems, but the Astros hope using a different medication will sooth Matsui's issue.

I'll tell you the two most surprising things about this whole affair:

1. I didn't know The Joker was into Japanese men.

2. Who knew he was a top!

Happy Holiday!

2008-02-14T11:28:00.002-05:00

Oh what a glorious day!

It's Feb. 14 and love is in the air.

The air smells sweeter, food tastes better, the sun is brighter and every ray touches my heart.

:-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

PITCHERS AND CATCHERS REPORT TODAY!!!!!!

Long Live the Queen

2008-02-08T02:34:00.000-05:00

Tonight, I watched another man live out one of my fantasies.

No, I didn't get to see a Jessica Alba sex tape, and no, neither Mike Piazza nor Kevin Smith had anything to do with this. I watched another man -- a fan -- come out on stage and sing with my favorite band.

The Sandman Winter Concert Series continued Thursday night as I headed back to the Starland Ballroom in Sayreville for the second time in a month, only this time, instead of a cover band, I saw the real thing. The band that ranks No. 1 on my list of favorite musical artists of all-time: Queensryche.

After a quick bite, my brother and I headed down to Sayreville poised for a fantastic show, and, as usual, the band did not disappoint. But before Seattle's finest hit the stage, and before the opening act -- a very large Don Dokken -- came and did an all-acoustic set that was simply fantastic -- even if he didn't play "Dream Warriors," from the movie "A Nightmare on Elm Street IV," he did play "Along Again Without You," which is a fantastic power ballad -- a couple of members of Queensryche's crew came out to run some contest they'd been holding on the current tour.

Apparently, through some process I didn't quite catch, three fans from around the country are selected to come out before each show and sing a karaoke selection from Queensryche's latest album, "Take Cover," which is a collection of cover tunes from artists including U2, Steven Stills, The Police and Peter Gabriel.

The first guy came on and did Black Sabbath's "Neon Knights," and he fucking rocked it. Nailed every note. And this wasn't from Black Sabbath with Ozzy, where you can throw back a bottle of Jack, pop some downers and go out and sing. This was Black Sabbath with Ronnie James Dio, a man whose pipes are among the best in the business. I was very impressed.

The next contestant did Queensryche's version of Pink Floyd's "Welcome to the Machine," and also did a fantastic job, albeit on a much easier song to sing. The third guy also did "Neon Knights," and he sucked. He was actually booed to the point they had to cut him short.

Needless to say, contestant No. 1, some cat from Buffalo, was the winner and his prize was getting to come out on stage during Queensryche's set and sing "Neon Knights" with them. That point in the show rolled around at the first song of the encore and after technical problems forced Queensryche lead singer Geoff Tate to sing the first verse, the fan was good to go by the chorus and he rocked it even harder to the point where Tate just stood off to the side grinning and nodding as the guy wailed with the band behind him.

Most of you know, I like to sing, and some have even had the unfortunate experience of listening to me bang out karaoke tunes, but to be on stage with my favorite band and sing with them, or even just play drums or guitar or something with them, well, that would be fucking incredible.

Anyhoo, after Dokken rocked, Queensryche came out and blew me away, as usual.

While they played -- surprisingly -- just one song off "Operation Mindcrime," a record I consider the greatest album ever made, they played plenty of my favorites from among their obscure stuff to make it a memorable evening, like "The Killing Words," "I Want to Get Close to You," and "Real World," off the "Last Action Hero" soundtrack -- hey, the movie may have been shit, but the soundtrack kicked ass!

Of course, other than virtually ignoring 'Mindcrime,' they played plenty of other favorites, like "Jet City Woman," "Another Rainy Night Without You," "Empire," and "Eyes of a Stranger," which was the only tune they played off 'Mindcrime.'

NOTE: Queensryche just completed a tour where they played the "Operation Mindcrime" and "Operation Mindcrime 2" records in their entirety, so I guess they were giving that material a rest.

Anyway, the show was fantastic as usual. The place was packed, the crowd was into it, and we had a good vantage point in the general admission venues, complete with a little ledge to half-sit on.

The concert series continues in three weeks when my brother and I will venture back into the world of Christian rock as we take in the Casting Crowns show at The Rock in Newark. We've got 10th-row seats for that show, so that should be phenomenal.

Also planned is a trip to see a Q&A with Kevin Smith at the Bergen PAC with Jersey Girl and The Joker, as well as a summer Rush concert at the Arts Center for the second straight year.

Pitchers and catchers report in less than two weeks, mothafuckas! Get fired up!

I'm actually considering going out and knocking up some unsuspecting dame just so I have a child I can name "Johan."

Parenting 101

2008-01-17T21:20:00.000-05:00

Personally, I fail to see what the problem is.

PORTAGE, Wis. (Jan. 16) - Upset that his 7-year-old son wouldn't wear a Green Bay Packers jersey during the team's playoff victory Saturday, a man restrained the boy for an hour with tape and taped the jersey onto him.

Mathew Kowald was cited for disorderly conduct in connection with the incident with his son at their home in Pardeeville, Lt. Wayne Smith of the Columbia County Sheriff's Department said.

Pardeeville is about 30 miles north of Madison.The 36-year-old Kowald was arrested Monday after his wife told authorities about the incident. Kowald was taken to the county jail and held until Wednesday, when he pleaded no contest, paid a fine of $186 and was released.

Kowald's wife filed a restraining order Wednesday, so Kowald will not be able to have contact with his family, Smith said. Smith said other domestic issues have surfaced, though he wouldn't elaborate.

The boy refused to wear the jersey Saturday, when the Packers beat the Seattle Seahawks in a playoff game, Smith said. Smith said the incident sounded strange when reported at first, but the mother took pictures with her cell phone and that type of evidence is difficult to dispute.

Kowald, contacted later Wednesday by the Portage Daily Register, said the incident started as a joke. His son challenged him by saying he wouldn't root for the Packers. When he tied the boy up, the youngster was laughing while his wife took pictures, he said.

"Then he couldn't get out and he got upset and that's it. It lasted a minute," he said. "I didn't mean no harm, and he knows that, but I haven't been able to tell him that."

District Attorney Jane Kohlwey said there wasn't enough evidence to support felony charges.

"I wouldn't agree with what he did, but legally a parent can restrain a child," she said. "I have no proof of emotional damage. ... I have to follow the law.

Copyright 2007 The Associated Press.

Happy New Year

2008-01-01T18:21:00.000-05:00

and shit

Some holiday shtick for the people

2007-12-27T17:02:00.000-05:00

If I believed in heaven, the afterlife, or sending out holiday cards, this is totally something that i would do:

ASHLAND, Ore. (AP) -- Even in death, Chet Fitch is a card. Fitch, known for his sense of humor, died in October at age 88 but gave his friends and family a start recently: Christmas cards, 34 of them, began arriving - written in his hand with a return address of "Heaven."
The greeting read: "I asked Big Guy if I could sneak back and send some cards. At first he said no; but at my insistence he finally said, 'Oh well, what the heaven, go ahead but don't (tarry) there.' Wish I could tell you about things here but words cannot explain.
"Better get back as Big Guy said he stretched a point to let me in the first time, so I had better not press my luck. I'll probably be seeing you (some sooner than you think). Wishing you a very Merry Christmas. Chet Fitch"
A friend for nearly 25 years, Debbie Hansen Bernard said, "All I could think was, 'You little stinker.'"
"It was amazing," she said. "Just so Chet, always wanting to get the last laugh."
The mailing was a joke Fitch worked on for two decades with his barber, Patty Dean, 57. She told the Ashland Daily Tidings this week that he kept updating the mailing list and giving her extra money when postal rates went up. This fall, she said, Fitch looked up to her from the chair.
"You must be getting tired of waiting to mail those cards," he told her. "I think you'll probably be able to mail them this year."
He died a week later.

Rocket Fuel

2007-12-16T12:26:00.000-05:00

I hate Roger Clemens.

But that's not news.

I think I've hated Roger Clemens since he was a Red Sox hurler in 1986, grinning, laughing and high-fiving in the Boston dugout in the waning moments of Game 6 of the World Series. Y'know, right before Stanley to Mookie to Buckner to pandamonium at the House of the Holy in Flushing.

But when Clemens, the head-hunting, lying, cheating, 'roid-shooting, redneck, beaned Mike Piazza in 2000, and then followed it up with the bat-throwing incident in the World Series that season, well, my hatred was taken to a whole new level, beyond even my hatred for Larry "Chipper" Jones.

Frankly, I wished Clemens would just die. And not quickly. Like in a farming accident.

And while, for me, Clemens' name on the Mitchell Report was a wet dream cum true in its own right, Friday morning's headline in The Trentonian made me as giddy as a school girl.

Sure, The Trentonian is a rag -- they of the Page 6 Girls and the "Roasted Nuts" headline after a fire at a mental institution -- but, to me, the destruction of my enemies -- not to mention the height of shtick -- has always trumped my desire for responsible journalism.

God bless the First Amendment.

Welcome to the Machine

2007-12-10T14:54:00.000-05:00

My own personal winter concert series continued Saturday night as I headed to the Starland Ballroom in Sayreville with Jersey Girl, her cousin, Kevin, and his roommate, to take in a performance by The Machine, the world-renowned ultimate Pink Floyd tribute band.

Now being that it was Jersey Girl who purchased the tickets, and she was in Ireland all week, I realized some point early Saturday afternoon that we hadn't set any specific plan, and that once said plan was in place, the evening could be touchy -- y'know, jet lag.

That was never an issue. Once again, Jersey Girl proved how hardcore she is, and though she did show some minor signs of being sluggish, she never crashed. Amazing, considering she returned from Dublin mere hours before the show, and other than a five-hour nap on the plane, would have been a wake for more than 24 hours by the time all was said and done. Excellent work. Especially since she was headed for the Jets-Browns game the following day, and we all know how that goes. Unfortunately I had to sell my tickets to attend a family Chanukah gathering. Considering how THAT tilt turned out, it was probably best. Stadium security can consider my non-presence their own Chanukah miracle. But I digress.

So Jersey Girl and troupe arrived at the Westgate Manor at around 6:30 p.m. and we set out on our way with me at the wheel. After stopping at Chili's and enjoying a pregame meal, we headed south. After a few detours caused by, well, my inability to pay full attention to where I was going, since my focus was on, well, um, certain pre-concert traditions designed to get me in the right state of mind, we got to the Starland Ballroom at around 8:15 pm for a show advertised to start at 7:30.

I figured this would be perfect timing. They only advertised one opening act, so I figured we would catch the very end of that set -- or, if we were truly lucky, arrive as they were leaving the stage -- and be set to go when The Machine hit the stage.

Insert generic phrase about best laid plans of mice and men here.

We get inside and find a nice cozy spot up against the back wall behind the sound board. There were people behind us up in a room with a bar, they had seats and were perched in what were the best seats in the house (and possibly the only seats in the house, after all, Starland is a general admission venue), viewing the stage through glassless windows.

We'll get back to those yahoos in a bit.

Like I said, there was no seating in this place, so it would be a standing-all-night kinda evening, which I was prepared for. Unfortunately, as the house lights dimmed and the screen rolled up in front of the stage, the opening band took the stage.

Apparently, in Sayreville, 7:30 means 8:20.

While this wasn't ideal, we figured we'd deal, especially when the band -- Matt Koziel -- turned out to be pretty good. They were young, but did a great job with some blues-based rock tunes and some fantastic two-part harmonies between Matt and a cat that looked like the black kid in "Can't Hardly Wait" that went around trying to reminisce with everyone.

Granted, while the rest of the band looked totally average and casually dressed, the bass player looked very out of place with his vest, shit, tie, sunglasses and Mohawk, bouncing all over the place like he had angel dust of dinner. In fact, as Jersey Girl accurately quipped, the guy looked like he had escaped from No Doubt.

Still, the band was quality, and our appreciation of their work was only enhanced by the fact that they played for only 30 minutes.

Sweet. Time for The Machine.

Yeah, um, no.

The lights dimmed again and the screen rolled back up and a SECOND opening act took the stage.

Very not cool.

Apparently, in Sayreville, "The Machine, with special guest Matt Koziol" means "The Machine with special guest Matt Koziol plus a random shitty band of 19-year-old posers."

I knew we were in trouble when the one guy said he forgot the power chord for his keyboard and would just be singing, while the actual lead singer opened the show by saying he would like to dedicate the entire show to John Lennon, who, "was shot 20 years ago today."

Cheer up, Lennon was shot Dec. 8.... 1980!

But hey, what's 7 years between friends?

Needless to say, these guys weren't very good. And they fucking played longer than the advertised opening act.

Now a couple of things did manage to distract us from the shittiness of having to stand through two bands we didn't want to see.

First, it seemed like every freak in Jersey was out. Not to mention scores of very unattractive people in various getups. Dreadlocks, long and unwashed hair, beards, she-males. The list goes on. Of course, nobody complained when the two girls who couldn't have been older than 18 or 19 put on a little lesbian softcore show right in front of us, but still, wacky collection of cats at this joint.

Another thing we noticed is that there were a shit load of young kids -- high school age -- in the crowd. I guess they were there for the opening acts, but some seemed to be into The Machine when they finally came on, so kudos to the for recognizing quality tunege.

Unfortunately, the cats sitting behind us felt the need to bang away on the tables during The Machine's sets, which was quite annoying, not mention out of rhythm. At least I had the common courtesy to play air drums!

When all was said and done, and with my knees and Jersey Girl's back starting to act up, The Machine finally took the stage just after 10pm

It was worth the wait!

I swear, if I closed my eyes, I would have thought it was actually Pink Floyd on the stage. And they had a Floyd-esque stage set up, too (the accompanying photo is from a show they did somewhere in Europe a few years ago. There was no The Wall motif Saturday night, though they did have a nice psychedelic light show).

They played a nice sampling of most of Pink Floyd's albums, though they totally ignored Momentary Lapse of Reason and played just one song of The Division Bell and two off Dark Side of the Moon. But they played a bunch of tunes off The Wall, which is my favorite Floyd album, so it was all good.

With all the music in my collection it's hard to listen to all of it, and this band did an awesome job reminding me how much I truly love Pink Floyd.

A good time was had by all.

If at first you don't succeed....

2007-11-05T01:17:00.000-05:00

So I went to see Bon Jovi again Sunday night -- their seventh of 10 shows at the Prudential Center in Newark (The Rock) -- and, overall, this was a much better show than opening night.

The trip in, which I made alone and then met up with some friends I grew up with at the arena, was smooth just like the first night, and I parked in the same parking deck right next to The Rock, albeit one level above where I parked last time.

Here's a quick breakdown:

WHAT WAS BETTER:

1. The seats:
After sitting, pretty much, in the fucking rafters on opening night, tonight I sat in Section 106, across the arena from the stage and slightly to the right, second row in what is, essentially, the mezzanine level.

2. The acoustics:
MUCH better sound this time. We could actually hear what was being said on stage and got more of a full effect from the music.

3. The people around us:
While Jersey Girl and I were the only people in our section, it seemed, on opening night that were actual Bon Jovi fans, tonight everyone around me was into it, up and singing. The first night, as we sat in a comp section, the seats around us were half full and pretty much everyone stayed seated throughout the show.

4. The opening act:
As opposed to My Chemical Romance and a setlist that was totally foreign to me, I very much enjoyed Daughtry and knew most of the tunes he played, as he has several songs that have been played on the radio.

5. My state of mind:
Unlike opening night when I was stone cold sober, we actually pounded a few beers tonight, so I had a nice buzz going.

6. The Setlist:
A couple of nice surprises, like Richie singing one of his solo tunes, "Stranger in This Town," as well as some tunes they didn't play the night I was there last week, but had at shows since, like "Runaway," "Lay Your Hands on Me" and Radio Saved My Life Tonight."
Also, they not only played a tour-high 24 songs tonight, but they only played five new tunes, as opposed to the eight they played last Thursday.

WHAT WAS WORSE:

1. Arrival:
Unlike the first night when we sauntered right in upon arriving, we did have to wait online for about 10 minutes to get into the building.

2. Unlike the first night when we got right out of the parking deck, tonight it took me a good 45 minutes from the time I got into my car until I was out on the street. Still, while last time the traffic pattern took us in a circular route back toward our way home, this time, once I got out of the parking deck, I was able to get right back onto Broad St heading South and was home in no time.

3. Absent from the setlist:
While the overall setlist was much better than the first night, they did not play "Blood on Blood" on Sunday night, which is my favorite Bon Jovi tune. They did play it opening night. Also, they did not play "Keep the Faith" the first time I was there, another song I love, but did play at a bunch of other shows, They did not play it Sunday night.

***

I am toying with the idea of going back for one of the three remaining shows this week, but that's probably a longshot.

SUNDAY NIGHT'S SETLIST
* = song from new album
INTRO
LOST HIGHWAY*
YOU GIVE LOVE A BAD NAME
RAISE YOUR HANDS
RUNAWAY
STORY OF MY LIFE
I LOVE THIS TOWN*
WHOLE LOT OF LEAVIN'*
MAKE A MEMORY*
BORN TO BE MY BABY
RADIO SAVED MY LIFE
WE GOT IT GOIN' ON*
IT'S MY LIFE
COMPLICATED
BAD MEDICINE W/ SHOUT
STRANGER IN THIS TOWN (Richie Sambora solo song)
RIGHT SIDE OF WRONG
LAST MAN STANDING
LAY YOUR HANDS ON ME
HAVE A NICE DAY
WHO SAYS YOU CAN'T GO HOME?
LIVIN ON A PRAYER

ENCORE:
BELLS OF FREEDOM
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
I'LL SLEEP WHEN I'M DEAD

Shlock at The Rock

2007-10-28T20:21:00.000-04:00

All the hype, the anticipation, the planning and scrambling failed to deliver the payoff as Bon Jovi opened the Prudential Center in Newark on Thursday night – The Rock, if you will -- the first of 10 shows they’ll be playing over the next week and a half.

A couple of months ago, I got a call from Jersey Girl, who was on a business trip in San Francisco, and she stated the obvious – something I still don’t know why I didn’t think of first: Bon Jovi was playing the first ever event at the new arena in Newark and we HAD to be there for the opener.

Of course, I agreed, and eventually was able to secure a pair of tickets for opening night, two of the last available for a show that would soon sell out.

A classic New Jersey evening, of course, requires a classic New Jersey dining experience, so after we met up at the A&P parking lot in Kenilworth, where Jersey Girl stashed her vehicle, we headed to the Tropicana Diner on the Elizabeth/Union/Hillside border, right down the street from Phil Rizzuto Park.

And while neither of us were about to order the same type of meal we would have ordered as teenagers – I had a nice chef salad, while Jersey Girl enjoyed a grilled chicken sandwich with a side of rice substituted for French fries – anything consumed at a real Jersey diner was well worth it.

Fed, we headed for Newark.

Now, the original plan was to drive to Hillside, park at my mom’s hut and, in an effort to avoid what promised to be a parking cluster-fuck, have my brother drop us off at the arena and then take a cab back to Hillside post-show. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out, as my brother had some last minute shit to take care of in Brooklyn that night and wouldn’t be around to take us. After tossing around a couple of alternate ideas, we decided that I would just drive to the arena and risk whatever parking issues would arise.

Amazingly, the parking situation was, probably, the highlight of the evening.

We arrived at the arena and parked in the garage right next door, even with the $25 price tag. As we made the short walk to the arena’s south entrance, I got a call from my boy, Matt – he of the plan to fly up from Florida to join me for Bon Jovi twice over the past couple of years and then not show up. He and I are always trying to get a jump on setlists, trying to figure what they’ll open with, what rarities they’ll play, etc., and Matt said he had been reading tales online and that Bon Jovi had rehearsed a couple of deep cuts from back in the diz-uh, including “Wild is the Wind.” He also said he’d read that Bon Jovi had planned a lot of surprises for opening night and wouldn’t be playing a lot off the new album, “Lost Highway” until later in the tour.

This, of course, fired me up to no end and I began feeling that giddy anticipation I usually get before a show as we prepared to enter.

Now, we kind of got an inclination that the arena was not quite ready for opening night. First, we had both heard from The Professor that there were things that were still not done when he visited last week. We also passed windows looking in at the Devils’ practice rink as we walked toward the entrance, and there were still things that needed tiding, wires hanging out, shit like that.

But as we approached the entrance of the arena, it looked great. Shiny, new -- almost as if we weren’t in Newark. We even found out later that there was, apparently, a red carpet with some celebrities arriving, but, thankfully, we never happened upon any of that.

We headed in, and the employees were all very nice, wishing everyone a cheerful “Welcome to The Rock” as they waved the electric wands over our persons and checked our belongings.

Other than a faint smell of fresh paint, it is a beautiful arena and it had all the promise of a great evening.

That’s when we realized we weren’t alone in being fired up.

As we headed up the first escalator to the 100-level, there were balconies off to the right for smokers. About a block from the arena on a rooftop parking deck – in plain sight for all to see – we all got a nice treat in the form of a car fire.

Let me just say this: While the story I’ve linked to claims the fire was “put out very quickly,” let me assure you – and Jersey Girl will attest to this – that is complete bullshit. We watched that fucker burn for a good five minutes or so before we lost interest and moved on, and by then the firefighters still hadn’t arrived.

Anyway, after that bit of excitement and quick trip to the very impressive bathrooms, we headed to our seats in Section 233 – that’s when the evening took a turn in a southerly direction.

I don’t know if the power that be just wanted to cram as many seats into the arena as possible, or if someone fucked up in their haste to have the building finished on time, but the seats in Section 233 were simply too fucking small – and I’m not just saying that as a man of considerably size. There were several people in our section – men and women alike, all smaller than me – that were also having trouble with their seats.

Even Jersey Girl, who is of average girth, was having trouble getting comfortable.

Thankfully, one of the cats who was having trouble with his seat complained to an usher, who contacted her supervisor, and the gentlemen was kind enough to relocate us, as well as the others, to Section 214, which not only had bigger seats, but was just to the right of the stage – our original vantage point had us in the far left corner of the arena, as far from the action as you can be.

Crisis averted. Seats upgraded. My master plan of all those late-night trips to through the drive thru and meals made of fried food, chocolate and cheese was finally paying off!

As we settled into our new seats amid the “Let’s Go Devils” and “Rangers Suck” chants that, for some strange reason, people felt the need to share at a rock concert, we got ready for My Chemical Romance, which was to be the opening band. I was looking around for some Devils fan to slap, but there was none in my immediate vicinity, and, frankly, I didn’t feel like getting up.

The people who had been transplanted from out original section began arriving in our new home, including a couple that had to be in their 70s. Nice people, but I think the lady actually through she was breaking news when she informed us that Jon Bon Jovi was from Sayreville. Of course, we chatted about how much of an improvement these seats were, and she let us know about the awful flight they had taken that morning on Lufthansa Airlines from Frankfort to Newark, and how cramped the seats were on the plane.

Good tip. Avoid Germany. My rabbi thanks you.

Anyway, MCR came on at about 7:35 p.m – five minutes late – and while I’m sure they’re very nice boys and the kids really dig ‘em, we didn’t know one friggin’ song. I mean, we had both heard of this band, but I was surprised that none of their tunes rang a bell. I thought I recognized the final tune of their 45-minute set from playing MLB The Show on Playstation 3 with my brother, but I could be wrong. The band was fine, I guess, though the lead singer looked like a Robert Smith knockoff, rolling his eyes in his own private orgasm.

After MCR’s delightful serenading, it was time for a walk. I needed a cigarette, and Jersey Girl was kind enough to accompany me on my trek to find the smoking area.

We met some wonderful people on our quest. The arena staff who had good intentions, but, for the most part, had no idea what was what and where was where in the building, as well as a nice tattooed gentleman in one of the stairwells, who was also looking for a place to pollute his lungs. He shared his belief that it was only a matter of time before the nice new, clean arena was overrun with graffiti and other eye, nose and throat sores, being that it was in Newark, and, to be honest, we couldn’t whole-heartedly disagree.

Nice guy.

After circling the arena, we finally found a suitable place for me to smoke, and as I enjoyed my stogie with some other fine folks, we admired the run down surroundings of The Rock.

It seemed to me that someone would have realized that property value in the surrounding area would be going up and purchased and renovated the abandoned and boarded up buildings next to the arena, but alas, no.

Where Tony Soprano when you need him?

We headed back to our seats and it was time for Bon Jovi.

The house lights went down and the stage lights came on, and the background scenery, which was set up to look like a bar or restaurant of some sort, came to life.

One at a time, the members of the band came onto the stage, some carrying cases of beer, some acting like patrons, and they started playing some country tune.

Something told me they weren’t about to launch into “Let It Rock.”

As Jon arrived on stage, the band kicked into “Lost Highway,” the title track from the new album, which was predictable, although not, as I had hoped, a deep cut or a classic.

So be it.

Unfortunately, things didn’t improve.

After the opening tune, they played “You Give Love a Bad Name,” and proceeded to complete the first nine songs of the set, much to my chagrin, five of them were from the new album.

Not a good way to start, sirs.

Additionally, we just weren’t feeling it. We weren’t vibing the normal energy of a Bon Jovi show.

Several factors could explain this unfortunate situation:

We were very high up, the top-most section of the arena and couldn’t even make out much of what Jon was saying to the crowd between songs. The full sound simply wasn’t reaching us, which was made obvious by the fact that we could hear each other speak without yelling into one another’s ear.
Our section wasn’t close to full, and many of the people there might not have been hardcore Bon Jovi fans, being this was a comp section. Most of the people in 214 remained seated throughout the show.
We were both stone cold sober.

Still, we did the best we could to enjoy the show. The band sounded as best as could be expected, considering it was the first show of the tour and the acoustics in the building – or at least where we were – sucked.

I was not enjoying this as I should have been, to the point where all my negativity prompted Jersey Girl to tell me something along the lines of “shut the fuck up until you have something positive to say.”

Finally, at song #12 of the set, I had a reason to say something nice, as the band played “These Days,” a tune I had not heard them play live since the tour by the same name in 1996. And while I was fired up as all hell, my enthusiasm was somewhat dampened by the fact that Richie Sambora and not JBJ sang lead on the song.

Unfortunately, they ruined it two songs later by playing “Blaze of Glory.” Not that I don’t like to song, but the fuckers went and played the version off that bastardly album “This Left Feels Right,” which they released a few years ago containing new, shitty versions of some of their classics, and I was not very happy about that.

Of course, the fact that they played my favorite of their tunes “Blood on Blood” during the encore somewhat salvaged the evening – they play the song regularly, but not at every show – so by the time they finished off with “Livin on a Prayer” and “Wanted Dead or Alive,” the evening wasn’t a total disaster.

Neither was the trip out of the arena and out of Newark.

Thanks to some nice work by Jersey Girl finding the staircase that would take us from our section right out to the parking garage, we were at the car and on our way within minutes of the house lights coming on.

We hit a little bit of traffic looping around and down to McCarter Highway, but once we hit Route 21 we were home free.

We hit a McDonalds drive thru on the way so I could quench an awful thirst with a large Diet Coke, while Jersey Girl indulged in a chocolate sundae.

To sum it up, the location and potential parking issues were not a problem, that all went smoothly, despite my worst fears. The arena is beautiful, and will probably be even better once everything has its finishing touches, they replace certain seats, and the staff learns where everything is. The band was good, not great, but they really need to stop playing so many damn new songs – they played 8 of the 12 tunes from the new album.

I am returning for the Nov. 4 show, when my seats will be better and I do not plan on arriving sober. That, in and of itself, should make for a better concert experience.

THURSDAY NIGHT’S SETLIST
* = from new album

1. Lost Highway*
2. You Give Love a Bad Name
3. Summertime*
4. Born to be My Baby
5. Older
6. Whole Lot of Leavin’*
7. Make a Memory*
8. It's my Life
9. We Got it Goin' On*
10. Have a Nice Day
11. In These Arms
12. These Days (Richie on lead vocal)
13. Seat Next to You*
14. Blaze of Glory (This Left Feels Right version)
15. I Love This Town*
16. I'll Sleep When I'm Dead
17. Raise Your Hands
18. Bad Medicine/Shout
19. Who Says You Can't Go Home?

ENCORE
20. Any Other Day*
21. Blood on Blood
22. Livin' on a Prayer

23. Wanted Dead or Alive

Oh boy

2007-10-25T00:40:00.000-04:00

I have heard some stupid fucking things in my lifetime, but this just made me want to bang my head against the wall.

I would like to thank the good people at rotoworld.com for this nugget about Miami Dolphins linebacker Channing Crowder.

Just in case anyone mistakes the University of Florida for an Ivy League school, I bring you the following lesson in sociological geography:

With the Dolphins traveling to London, England, this weekend for a regular-season tilt with the New York Giants, Crowder said Wednesday he didn't know until Tuesday that people in London speak English.

"I couldn’t find London on a map if they didn’t have the names of the countries," he said. "I swear to God. I don’t know what nothing is. I know Italy looks like a boot. I know London Fletcher. We did a football camp together. So I know him. That’s the closest thing I know to London. He’s black, so I’m sure he’s not from London. I’m sure that’s a coincidental name."

Somebody. Please. Kill me.

Insult to injury

2007-10-01T22:52:00.000-04:00

You just can't make this shit up.

SICK

2007-09-27T18:18:00.000-04:00

I'm going to puke.

Wally's World

2007-08-07T17:41:00.000-04:00

As much as it pains me to return to the blogosphere after nearly two months of neglecting ye faithful readers of My Two Cents with less-than-happy news, I felt it my responsibility as a connoisseur of the Orange and Blue to share some news that came across the AP wire this evening.

ALBANY, Ga. (AP) … Wally Backman joined the independent South Coast League
hoping to show he deserved another chance to manage in the big leagues. He
didn't even make it through the season.
Backman resigned Tuesday as manager of the Albany-based South Georgia
Peanuts after numerous run-ins with umpires, an argument with a radio announcer
and even a forfeited game when his team refused to return to the field after a
brawl with rival Macon.
Backman stepped down even though he led the Peanuts to the first-half title
and had them in first place through the first 23 games of the second half.
The brief, stormy tenure is sure to hurt Backman's chances of hooking up
with a major league organization. He was hired by the Arizona Diamondbacks
shortly after the 2004 season, only to get fired less than a week later after
reports surfaced that he had been arrested twice and struggled with financial
problems.
Backman was out of the game for the past two seasons and admitted that no
one wanted to hire him. He finally took a job with the first-year South Coast
League, eager to get another chance in the majors.
The former second baseman helped the New York Mets win the 1986 World
Series.

Normally, when someone is shunned and blackballed for the type of alleged behavior that has kept Sir Wallace from getting a real managing job, I would shrug it off with a simple “fuck ‘em.”

But this is Wally Backman, one half of the Wild Boys, who was just as responsible for the Mets’ success in the mid-80’s and the 1986 world title as anyone else on that squad, including Keith Hernandez, Gary Carter, Doc Gooden, et al.

Backman remains one of my favorite baseball players of all time, and it’s a pity that his fiery personality and scrappy approach to baseball has gotten his in such hot water off the field.

I, for one, hope Wally can get his shit together and does get a Major League managerial job someday.

I would even welcome him to Flushing.

A Midnight Train Going Anywhere

2007-06-10T22:47:00.000-04:00

WARNING: IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE SOPRANOS FINALE, DO NOT READ THIS BLOG!!!
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.
.
.
.

All week, I've heard countless theories on how The Sopranos was going to end.

Everybody and their pet schnauzer had an idea, and, frankly, I got fucking tired of hearing about it.

That said, the ending couldn't have been more perfect.

I didn't know whether Tony would live or die, and frankly I didn't have a preference. I just didn't want the ending to be lame or predictable.

This was neither.

NOBODY saw this coming.

The build up was awesome. Carlo flips -- is Tony going to get indicted? Will the New York underboss go back on his word? Would some past character return for revenge? Will someone in his blood-family get clipped?

Then, perfectly, in the company of his family -- the underlying theme of the entire series -- the climax begins to build as Steve Perry starts to croon my favorite Journey song.

(Just a small town girl, livin' in a LONE-ly world.....)

The strange guy at the counter. What's he gonna do? He goes into the bathroom -- the Godfather-ending scenario being setup?

(A singer in a smokey room.......)

Meadow arrives. She has trouble parking the car. She's delayed. The Bronx Tale ending being setup. Sonny!!! NOOOOOOO!!!!

Camera cuts from shot to shot. The blood pressure shooting toward the sky.

(STRANGERS, WAITING, UP AND DOWN THE BOULIVARD....)

Meadow enters... Your heart's bearing a mile a minute

(DON'T STOP BELIEVIN... HOLD ON TO THAT FEEEEEEEE-LIN)

The door chime sounds..... you stopped to breathe.

Here's the payoff.......

FADE TO MOTHERFUCKING BLACK!!!!

BRILLIANT!

Ask the Joker. I let out a jubilant cry as if David Wright took Mariano Rivera yard.

Well done, Mr. Chase!

I am still shaking from the adrenaline.

David Chase is a genius.

For the first time in my life, I am loving a case of blue balls.

Whether there is ever a Sopranos movie or not, this was the perfect ending to one of the greatest television programs ever made.

Salu'te!

Happy Anniversary

2007-05-13T01:23:00.000-04:00

I just noticed, it's been one year since I began My Two Cents, not to mention one month since I posted anything here.

I suck.

What can I say, I've been devoting all my blogging time to my Courier News softball blog. I promise to get back to regular shitck here after the softball season ends at the beginning of June.

For now, to quote Vigo the Carpathian in Ghostbusters 2, "Death is but a door. Time is but a window. I'll be back."

Hell's frozen over

2007-04-11T18:18:00.000-04:00

It was bound to happen. The Courier News has finally made me blog. Like I keep this damn thing updated; they actually think I'm going to blog regularly about high school softball?!?!

There is a link on this page along with the other CN blog links.

There will be little to no shtick.

Also, Carino, Frezza and I recorded out first baseball-softball podcast, "Bats and Balls." It should be up by Thursday. It can be found by going to the Courier News Web site

Mets on pace to go 160-2.

Take Me Out To The Ball Game

2007-03-31T20:56:00.000-04:00

There is something in the air. The same vibe we feel every year at this time. No matter where we are or what we are doing we can sense it.

Whether it is 70 degrees and sunny, raining and cold, or even in some cases there is snow on the ground, it is all around us.

Every year, the first week of April, the buzz is everywhere. It is opening day of the Major League Baseball season.

On this magical day no matter who we are -- a casual fan or a hardcore baseball junkie -- we can feel the excitement in our bones. Even non-baseball fans realize that it is opening day.

Among the unexplainable phenomena that occur on the first Monday of April is the mysterious ailment that strikes many people. The disease causes mass absences, depleting attendance at schools and temporarily crippling the American workforce. For some reason the illness is only treatable by going to the stadium or watching the game on television.

Opening day is magical for many reasons. After six long weeks of watching 19-year old hopefuls, 40-something has-beens and career minor leaguers in Florida and Arizona, opening day is usually the first look we get at the lineup our team is going to go to war with for most of the season.

It is also a day when everyone is even and no team is better than yours. Everyone is 0-0 and has a shot at an undefeated season.

There are 30 teams we swear are going to win it all.

We are so sure that our favorite player is going to win the Most Valuable Player award, our team's ace will win the Cy Young, and our arch-rivals will finish dead last.

Opening day is also a day when we can look back at the past and hope for the future. This year we wonder if the Mets can return to the postseason and perhaps even take the next step. We wonder if Alex Rodriguez will be able to keep his dick out of Derek Jeter’s ass long enough to get a clutch hit. And whether the Detroit Tigers can repeat their unexpected success of a season ago.

Who will throw a perfect game this season? Who will emerge as baseball's next superstar? It is a day full of possibilities and promise that can not even be tainted by Gary Matthews Jr. or Barry Bonds.

On opening day we witness grand ceremonies at stadiums across the country. We hear superstars singing the National Anthem and see celebrities, world leaders and past baseball greats throwing out the first pitch.

It is also a day when we see both teams throw their aces at each other, and we get to see the new acquisitions for the first time when it counts. We get our first looks at some of the new stadiums, and see the changes some teams have made to their old haunts.

Teams that are lucky to draw 5,000 a game during the season suddenly have packed houses on opening day. Everybody wants to be a part of it.

After a long cold winter, there is nothing like walking through the tunnel out to your seats at the stadium and seeing the green grass glistening in the sunlight, as the players in their crisp clean uniforms warm up on the field.

From the red, white and blue celebratory bunting hanging from the stands, to the pre-game introductions, it is all part of the magic.

Around town, every bar and restaurant has the game up on the big screen. The patrons explode in glee with every hit their team gets and every defensive gem their player turns in.

There are people on the streets listening to the game on their portable radios. The old men in the park playing checkers, or those sitting on their porches, hang onto every pitch as the announcer's voice blares out. Memories of Joe D, The Mick, and the Splendid Splinter dance about in their heads.

No other sport is capable of causing this mass hysteria. No other game captures our hearts and imaginations like baseball. Opening day is the christening of a new season that will bring us joy, sadness and a whole new set of memories for us to forever replay in our minds.

As we settle into our seat at the ballpark, or get comfortable in our favorite easy chair in our living rooms or den, remember how the day makes us feel. Remember the feeling as the life is breathed back into our bodies when the man in blue points to the pitcher and barks the words we have been waiting to hear since

October. “Play ball!'”

Two Jews walked into a church...

2007-02-19T13:56:00.000-05:00

Two ticket to Christian rock concert, $88.10.

Parking, $12.

Seeing 7,000 people giving the Hitler salute, priceless!

Who knew I would actually PAY to attend a church service for the first time?

I didn’t know quite what to expect when my brother and I arrived at the Continental Airlines Arena on Sunday night for a Christian music concert starring Chris Tomlin, Mark Redman and Louie Giglio.

We arrived at around 6:30 for a 7:30 p.m. show, and parked right up front in a handicapped spot – and you people think I’M shady? My brother’s the one with the decal.

We went in to pick up our tickets at Will Call and the first thing that struck us was the massive number of Asians in attendance. Aren’t these people supposed to be Buddhists or something?

Anyway, we got our tickets and went back to the car to hang out, listen to some tunes, smoke a little herb and get ready for what we both knew would be a very interesting evening.

We finally made our way inside and over to our seats in Section 124. As we settled in and looked around it became increasingly clear that this wasn’t going to be a normal rock show, something that should have struck me immediately when they let me keep the cap to the bottle of water I purchased, as well as the fact the security guard that frisked me upon my entering the arena simply gave me a quick pat down and never grabbed my crotch, something I look forward to when I normally enter a venue.

It was a pretty young crowd. There were a lot of teenagers, young teenagers even, and lots of families. When the father, mother, son and daughter sat in the row in front of us, and the little girl, who couldn’t have been more than 7 or 8 years old had her doll in tow, well, somehow I knew I wouldn’t be yelling out “show us your tits!” toward the first decent-looking chick I saw once the lights went down.

Once the show began, if only for a couple of moments, it all seemed like a normal concert. Everyone got on their feet as the band hit the stage, the music sounded great, the band was really rocking. Soon we realized the headliner, Chris Tomlin, was on stage and we thought it was a bit odd that the opening acts didn’t go on first. Then, as he started singing, the lyrics to the song appeared on the screen behind him, which also wasn’t something we were used to

My brother and I looked at each other and shrugged, and went back to enjoying the festivities, singing along with the rest of crowd.

Slowly, many of the people around us starting lifting their arms toward the stage in a Hitler salute, something, that soon dawned on me, I had seen in those infomercials. I guess this is how Christians worship.

Alright. Cool. We hadn’t wandered into a Nazi Youth meeting.

Everything was going great. While it didn’t inspire me to accept Jesus Christ into my life, nor did it make me want to re-embrace religion of any kind, I was definitely able to see how people are moved by the experience. Hell, I got into it and was singing along, too. Passionate music is passionate music, even if they are singing about something I don’t believe in.

We were having a great time. We knew a lot of the songs and were able to sing along, even when Mark Redman, the “opening act,” took over for Chris Tomlin and played his tunes with the same band, it was all good.

But we still hadn’t heard from Louie Giglio. That was soon remedied.

As Tomlin, who had come back, finished up a tune (Redman sang lead for about one-third of the evening) a gray-haired man without a guitar arrived on stage holding a book.

Yes, as it turned out, it was THAT book, and somehow I knew the evening was about to take a non-musical turn.

As it turns out, Louie Giglio wasn't another singer, but some sort of preacher. He proceeded to preach for the next half hour or so, giving forth what was, for my purposes, a free science lesson, covering astronomy, biology and even molecular biology. (Hey, did you know, Laminin, the molecule that holds our cells together, is shaped like a cross, as is the center of the Whirlpool Galaxy, if you look through the Hubble Telescope? Oh, and apparently, Earth is a golf ball).

After the sermon, complete with inspirational background music and a Power Point presentation, there was an intermission – this was two hours into the show.

As Mini-Me and I headed out for a cigarette we noticed a few very strange things:

* There was no beer on sale, or alcoholic beverages of any kind. So much for replenishing our buzz.

* There was about 7,000 people in attendance and two gates open for smoking breaks (the arena was set up theater style, with half the building curtained off). During intermission, a total of 19 people joined us in lighting up outside Gate D. Does that mean, if you combine the two gates, only 38 out of 7,000 people were cigarette smokers? A total of .005% of the crowd. No wonder Christianity has endured; no lung cancer!

* There were no dames in slutty clothes wandering around. Just wholesome people, Christians, and nobody was getting loud, getting into fights and there was no cursing, at all. I even found myself watching my language!

* Even out on the concession lines, as the band started back up before we had a chance to return to our seats, people were singing along.

* Nobody bared their breasts during “How Great is Our God.”

As we got back in for, what would prove to be, the final hour of the show, the intensity had picked itself up a notch. The preacher was gone and the band was sounding better than ever. I even found myself throwing up a Hitler salute or two when they played a couple of the songs I really liked, including a kickass version of Amazing Grace.

Even the 50-something-year-old yahoo sitting in front of us, who my brother was sure was an a convicted sex offender, was getting more fired up. I’m telling you, this cat had to be from Manville. He even had a friend with him, who might have been his muscle, a large man who never said a word or moved very much throughout the show. He kinda reminded me of Frezza’s friend, Homes.

This guy was great. When Chris Tomlin was telling the crowd how he wrote this and this song at this and this place, this yahoo in front of us would bust out with something like “It’s God’s song! He put it in you!” Or, if Jesus’ name was mentioned, he would cry out, “Amen! Hallowed be is name!” this guy had a comment for everything, and it was awesome. He even got my brother to throw out a patronizing “Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!” a few times, which I wasn’t too thrilled about.

In all seriousness, while I might be one step from being a full-blown atheist, I do respect religion. Not the people who run it, but the people who truly benefit from it, even if I might believe it’s a load of hooey. Some people need that kind of structure in their lives and I applaud their faith and discipline, and I am happy for them that they’ve found something that gets them through their days and gives their lives meaning.

One thing, however, that was disappointing is that I didn’t see anyone “speaking in tongues,” something I was told to be on the lookout for by my friend, Mike, who is a devote Christian, even if he does enjoy MILF porn.

Apparently, some people get so fired up by the religious experience, that they slip into a sort of trance and start speaking some kind of gibberish as they “feel the love of the lord take over their body.”

I had my video phone on ready waiting for that shit, but alas, there was none of it.

Stench.

All in all I really had a great time. The music was great, the people were disturbingly polite, and it was a very interesting experience.

One other regret, though. This shindig lasted for three hours and we never ran into Jesus. I was kind of hoping to meet a fellow Jew at a Christian Worship show.

But I did run into one Bob Makin, the Courier News’ fine music editor, so it wasn’t a total loss.

My brother and I have already begun looking into the next show in the area, maybe we’ll see someone speaking in tongues there, or maybe, if we’re truly blessed, we’ll meet Jesus.

Fingers crossed!

God bless you all.

Spy in the house of the Lord

2007-02-15T23:46:00.000-05:00

A while back, I blogged about how I've come to really enjoy Christian music, despite being a Jew.

I've always found those late-night infommercials fascinating. You know the ones, where they're hawking CDs by various Christian artists while showing these clips from concerts where everyone in the audience is all devoted, crying and praising toward the heavens.

The music is great, but I've always wondered if those people are truly THAT into God and Jesus and THAT moved by the music that they respond that way, or if it simply staged for the camera.

Sunday evening I will have my answer.

Partially to answer the above question, partially to enjoy some good tunes, but mostly for shits and giggles, my brother and I decided today that we will be heading to the Continental Airlines Arena for a Christian rock show.

Interestingly, the radio station that is "presenting" this show is Star 99.1 FM. An all-Christian music station I sometimes listen to. Today, while perusing their Web site for more info on the show, I found out something quite interesting. The station that broadcasts Star99.1 FM, locally, is in Zarapeth, NJ: Home of Bob Sanislo and Somerset Christain Academy (formerly Alma Prep), one of the schools in Courier News' coverage area.

I found that amusing.

Anyway, expect a full report on the show.

An open letter to Joe Pendleton

2007-02-10T19:51:00.000-05:00

The following is a response to the blog posted by on Feb. 9 by Joe Pendleton entitled "Overrated, overrated" at fishingnotcatching.blogspot.com.

As I starting writing my response to his post, I realized I had a lot more to say then blog-etiquette, not to mention normalcy, permits as a blog comment.

That said, I present what follows:

Dear Joe,

Like your naming Pink Floyd the most overrated band of all time, I, too, thought long and hard about whether or not to respond to the rankings with the following.

It is a little harsh and it is written out of anger, but I still think you are a great man.

First, let me say, though I disagree with a lot of this, a fine job putting it together. Now that I’ve dispatched with the pleasantries, it’s time to get mean. Despite the numerous disclaimers that accompanied your post, I can't help but get fired up by some of these choices.

Let's take this pick by pick:

First, I totally agree with you on the Sex Pistols, John Mellencamp, Kiss (I dig them, but, yeah they're totally overrated), and the Dave Matthews Band… I never liked The Dead very much – I used to go to Dead shows and just hang out in the parking lot instead of going inside – I certainly am not about to go dive into to some cheap knockoff.

Well done.

As for Phil Collins, he's released a few listenable tunes over the years, both as a solo artist and with Genesis, but I have no strong feelings about him one way or another. I mean, I don't think he's overrated simply because I don't think he's that highly rated to begin with.

This brings me to the choices that have drawn my ire. I can't speak for Don Henley's solo career -- though it did produce a couple of songs I love, like Boys of Summer -- but to list the Eagles here is a joke. Sure, Hotel California is drawn out and maybe even overplayed, but it's an epic. A masterpiece. Try sitting back and actually experiencing the song sometime, and try truly understanding the lyrics.

As for the rest of their catalog, the Eagles have produced some stench, sure, but most of it is great. The ninth-most overrated band of all time??? C'mon!

I'm not going to go crazy over Fleetwood Mac. I love them, many other people love them, but I can see how some people would think they're overrated. Some people are more focused on the gossip and the circus that's surrounded them and not the fact that they're a great band. Perhaps you should be working at the Post, instead.

As for Billy Joel, well, we've been though the wars already over this cat. I've said my piece. You've said yours. Like you said, agree to disagree. Let's move on.

Which brings us to Rush and Pink Floyd. I am fucking dumbfounded.

I think I've noticed a pattern. Are you one of those people who just listen to music as background noise to whatever else it is you're doing? I'm surprised. I've always given you more credit as a music fan.

Pardon me for sounding like a pompous ass (someone pointed out to me recently when it comes to my opinions on certain matters, specifically music, I tend to take on a holier-than-thou attitude, sorry. I call it being passionate), but I am one of those people lucky enough to be able to experience music, to feel it, to understand the lyrics for more than they are. Some people, unfortunately, can only just listen. Floyd and Rush don't just write and play music accompanied by random words, they craft it. Their compositions are works of art.

Poll 100 people whose musical knowledge you respect. Poll 100 musicians. Poll 100 people in the music industry. Ask them to name the Top 5 greatest bands of all time, purely from a talent and technical perspective. I guarantee you 95-99 percent of those people you talk to will name Rush. Say what you want about their songs, you cannot dispute their skillz.

I guess that’s why you would say something as ignorant and just plain inaccurate like “when a band relies on its drummer to carry it, you’ve got some problems,” well, this is how I know you’ve got some studying up to do. Yes, Neil Peart is, in my opinion and in the opinion of many, the greatest drummer in the history of this planet, but he does not “lead” Rush. The band had two albums before Peart even joined the group, including Fly By Night, which is some of their best work. Rush is actually led, for the most part, by Geddy Lee’s bass line, if you want to get technical. They build most of their tunes and compositions around a strong bass line – replaced by a strong keyboard presence in the 80’s – and back to bass. Until recently, the guitar was merely spice.

And let’s not forget all the other misinformation you posted. First, it’s “Distant Early Warning,” not “Early Distant Warning.” Second, I don’t know how you went from “Distant Early Warning,” which is on the 1984 album “Grace Under Pressure,” to “Roll the Bones” which is an album they released in 1991. I’m not quite sure where you were going with that. They are very different sounds.

That’s the beauty of Rush, and perhaps one of the reasons they “didn’t know when to go away,” is that they’ve evolved with the times, gaining new generations of fans as they went.. Their music has evolved enough to stay fresh, but not too much where they lose their identity – see Metallica. I didn't get into Rush until well into their career -- their first album was released the year I was born.

I can go on for hours about these guys, their accomplishments, their genius, etc. etc. But I'm fucking riled up enough right now and I don't want to have to drive to South Plainfield and set your cat on fire (you don't have a cat, do you?)

As for Pink Floyd, well, like I said, you either feel it or you don't. You either enjoy what they do and recognize their glory or you take a nap. You've already established your preference. Perhaps you should try being under the influence of something other than alcohol, or Mrs. P, just once or twice. I can think of one substance in particular that might help heighten your senses and you might actually truly appreciate certain types of more cerebral music.

Now that I've said my piece, at least I can take solace in one thing; if I did a list of my top overrated bands, The Rolling Stones would be the undisputed No. 1.

Chew on that!

Hugs n kisses,
The Sandman

A picture's worth a thousand words

2007-02-08T16:29:00.001-05:00

And we wonder why people don't trust the media.

I came across THIS story today, about a New York City cab driver who found a suitcase full of diamond rings in his cab, which had been forgotten by a passenger.

Despite the passanger having tipped him just 30 cents, the cabbie still went out of his way to return the jewelry.

In the story, it mentions that the woman didn't want her name publicized, obviously out of embarrassment for both losing the rings, as well as her meager tipping.

The AP complied, and didn't mention her name in the tale. But check out the picture that ran with the story:

The woman's name -- Lisa Burk Rosenthal -- is clearly visible in the photo.

Clowns!

One smokin Granny!

2007-01-28T15:43:00.000-05:00

Been a while. Good to back. Happy New Year. Blah, blah blah.

Anyway, I never had one of those grandmothers who would send me a check for, like, $12 on my birthday. Both my grandmas knew how to do it up right, and I still get $50 on my birthday and Chanukah from my surviving grandmother -- she's 85 and getting married in March.

But you know what, I think a pound or two of weed as a gift from granny, well, that would be one hell of a way to celebrate!

In other news, Todd A and I took in the new flick, "Catch and Release" last night. It's one of those romantic comedies, a total chick flick. But Kevin Smith has a major supporting role in the movie, and though we knew going in this movie would be garbage, we were willing to suck it up -- so to speak -- and watch the flick just for Kevin Smith's performance.

Let me just say, this movie is a bigger piece of shit than I expected. Even Jennifer Garner didn't look her best.

They'll let anyone make a movie these days.

Still, Kevin Smith's performance was great. So much so that it was worth sitting through nearly two hours of crap just for the scenes he was in.

The things I do for love.

It's getting cold in hell

2006-12-18T22:39:00.000-05:00

Granted, we'll probably see Axl Rose elected to Congress before this, but stranger things have happened!

On the Banks

2006-12-03T00:24:00.000-05:00

I have never been much of a college football fan.

Sure, I've glanced casually at big games over the years, National Championship tilts and whatnot, but I've always found college football too sloppy, lacking in any real excitement without a playoff system, and too many damn teams to follow.

And It's not like I have an alma mater to root for. I went to Kean and even covered the Cougars football team for six years. And let me tell you; I found taking a shit more exciting than Kean football.

I mean, who wants to watch a Division III team? Especially one that has always sucked.

This has changed for me the last couple of months.

What Rutgers has done this season has been amazing.

Last season's bowl appearance did nothing for me. As far as I was concerned, Rutgers football was still the punchline to a joke. And even as this season started, and Rutgers started winning every week, I was still a skeptic, needling those of friends who were Rutgers fans and mocking the Scarlet Knights ascent up the Top 25.

But I was forced to pay attention. How could I not? I have a lot of friends, including a roommate in Todd A, that are Rutgers fans, and working at the Courier News and living 10 minutes from the RU campus, Scarlet Fever was everywhere (I'm sure that term's been used before, but if not, consider this a copyright).

When RU beat Pitt, I began to think differently. Was Schiano's squad legit? Does Rutgers actually belong in the Top 25?

Then Rutgers began winning me money, like when I bet them to win over Louisville. I was starting to actually enjoy watching college football (including Ohio State, thanks to Jersey Girl).

I thoroughly enjoyed tonight's game with West Virginia. I was genuinely into it, rooting for RU and I didn't even have money on the game!

I felt the triple overtime loss, almost like I was watching the Jets, as I felt that familiar sickening feeling in my stomach as that pass bounced away from Ray Rice in the end zone.

Now, I'm big on Jersey pride, as those of you who have moved out of state and been forced to absorb my constant ripping know. I now feel a sense of pride in one of its sports teams, as well (I am not a Devils fan, and though I consider myself a Nets fan, I can't stand the NBA).

So here's to Greg Schiano and the Scarlet Knights. Here's to Ray Rice and Brian Leonard. Here's to Jeremy "The Judge" Ito and all the RU players, especially those who played high school ball in NJ. Here's to Devraun Thompson, who I had a few chances to cover when he played for Piscataway HS, and had a huge interception tonight.

College Football is still too sloppy and in desperate need of a playoff system. But now that I feel some kinship with the team up the road, I kind of see what all the fuss is about.

Rah, Rah, Rutgers, Rah!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go smoke a doob and watch a Kevin Smith movie.

Need more Ozzy

2006-11-09T13:23:00.000-05:00

I've been asked, from time to time, who my favorite actor and actress are. And while I've never really been able to answer that question definitively, one thespian that has always been near the top of my list is Christopher Walken.

I have always been able to say with confidence, however, that Ozzy Osbourne is a living God. So I think it's apparent why the following bit of news tickled my fancy.

Christopher Walken has agreed to play the ultimate bad-boy rocker -- Ozzy Osbourne. Motley Crue lead singer Vince Neil told ABC News Radio in an exclusive interview that the 63-year-old Oscar-winning actor will make a cameo appearance as Osbourne in "The Dirt", a movie based on the band's controversial 2001 autobiography. "How funny is that going to be," Neil told ABC's Al Mancini at the opening of Vince Neil Ink, the singer's new tattoo parlor in Las Vegas. Walken's press representatives did not immediately return a call to ABCNews.com for comment.
(abcnews.com)

And no, the character Walken played in the famous SNL "more cowbell" skit, Bruce Dickinson, was not the Iron Maiden lead singer of the same name.

OH DOOGIE, SAY IT AIN'T SO!!

2006-11-04T09:22:00.000-05:00

Sure, I've been known to make the occasional gay joke -- hell, I'll joke about anything -- but truth be told, I'm one of the least homophobic straight men you will ever meet.

I applaud gay rights, I support gay marriage, hell, I even love Broadway shows and musicals, and "Rent" is even my favorite of them all.

My philosophy has always been that people should be able to do whatever they want to whoever they want (assuming they're a consenting adult) in whatever hole they want, as long as they don't get any on me.

But when Neil Patrick Harris came out of the closet this week, well, that threw me for a loop.

Doogie Howser, MD likes the cock?!?! Are you kidding me?!?!

How does Wanda feel about this? Does Vinny know?! No wonder Doogie never hooked up with Nurse Spaulding!

These days, NPH plays a womanizing bachelor on the hit sitcom "How I Met Your Mother." I've never seen the show -- I don't really watch much TV outside of sports, The Daily Show and the wonderful offerings of HBO -- but it looks like something I would enjoy.

This cat is obviously a hell of an actor because he might have been the last guy I would have though took it up the pooper. Hell, he made his comeback by playing an Ex'd out cooze-hunting parody of himself on one of my favorite movies of the last 10 years, "Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle."

When asked by Kumar if he ever hooked up with Wanda off the set, NPH replied, "Dude, I humped every piece of ass on that show."

Here's another great exchange from the film:

NPH: "Forget White Castle. Let's go get some pussy."
KUMAR: "Huh?"NPH: "It's a fuckin' sausage-fest in here. Let's get us some poontang. Then we'll go to White Castle."KUMAR: "No, Neil, you don't understand. We've been craving these burgers all night."NPH: "Yeah, I've been craving burgers, too... fur burgers. Come on, dudes, let's pick upsome trim at a strip club. The Doogie line always works on strippers."
Great shit.

AND SO BEGINS THE WINTER OF MY DISCONTENT

2006-10-26T19:30:00.000-04:00

It's been a week since the New York Mets died, and now that the required period for sitting Shiva has passed, I can share my feelings on the 2006 Mets.

First, I’d like to thank those of you who sent me sincere condolences in this difficult time. I appreciated it, even if I may not have responded to your messages.

This is going to be a very difficult winter. Not because of the sting of a disappointing end to the postseason, but because of the long wait until next year.

Before the 2005 season began, as Willie Randolph started his first season as manager, I stated that I would be happy with a .500 campaign. I got that, as the Mets went 83-79, a stark improvement on their 71-91 of the year before.

As this season began, and Willie had a year under his belt, I looked at the team with the acquisitions of Carlos Delgado, Billy Wagner and Paul LoDuca, and I said I would be happy if the Mets made the playoffs -- even as the wild card.

What I got was a thrilling, dominating campaign, as the Mets won a Major-League best 97 games and won the National League Eastern Division title by a landslide. It was their first division title in 18 years, as they matched their best won-loss record since 1999.

Of course, at this point, my expectations changed, and I expected at least a pennant.

That's when the shit hit the fan.

First the news that Pedro would miss the playoffs with a calf injury, which was later joined by a torn rotator cuff. Then Orlando Hernandez went down with a calf injury of his own while jogging in the outfield before Game 1 of the LDS. And, of course, Cliff Floyd re-injured his Achilles to go along with the other nagging injuries the Mets were suffering through, including ailments to Delgado, Carlos Beltran and Loduca.

It was arse, wrapped in stench, with a side of phew.

Could a team led by a staff of 40-year-old Tom Glavine, second-year righty John Maine, the unimpressive Steve Trachsel and an inconsistent Oliver Perez really make a run?

After the Mets swept the Dodgers in the Division Series, the confidence was back.

The Mets played a great series against St. Louis in the NLCS. Game 2 was disappointing, and it gave the Cardinals all the confidence and momentum they needed. When Steve Trachsel went out in Game 3 and proved he had no balls, the series was, for all intents and purposes, over.

Still, the Mets fought back to force a Game 7, but Jeff Suppan stepped up once again, and Adam Wainwright's curveball was as knee buckling as ever, and it was over.

Despite the Mets having surpassed my expectations for the season, it still hurt.

Yeah, they should have won Game 7, especially after it looked like the Mets had all the momentum back in their dugout following "The Catch" by Endy Chavez. But the inability to get a run in with the bases loaded and one out, as Jose Valentin struck out, was the turning point there. I can't blame Floyd and Beltran for striking out looking in the ninth inning, as Wainwright's curve was that good. Nor do I blame Willie for not bunting the runners over. Down by two runs, you cannot give up an out in that spot, even if it is for the purposes of getting the tying run into scoring position.

Fact is, the difference in this series wasn't anything the Mets did wrong, it was what St. Louis did right.

When a pair of journeyman right-handers in Suppan and Jeff Weaver pitch way above their pay grades, and a bullpen stocked with players with three years or less of Major League service pitch like season vets, you have to simply tip your hats to the Cardinals and root for them to dismantle the Tigers in the World Series.

Was it a disappointing finish to a great season? Sure. Should the Mets have gone further, despite the injury woes? Probably. Was the season a success? Absolutely.

I mean, hey, It’s not like we lost in the first round in four games to a team with a fraction of our payroll that had lost a league-record 119 games just two years earlier!.

But cheer up, pitchers and catchers report in 17 weeks

THE TEAM, THE TIME, THE POSTSEASON REPORT CARD

The Starting Staff

Tom Glavine -- Still an ace at 40. Here's hoping he gets the 10 wins he needs to reach 300 for his career in a Mets uniform next season. GRADE: A+

John Maine -- Showed his performance down the stretch of the regular season was no fluke, and he definitely has the intestinal fortitude, if not the stuff, to continue to blossom into a solid Major League pitcher. GRADE: B+

Oliver Perez -- The man who was Pittsburgh's opening-day pitcher the last two years only to post an ERA near 7.00 this season, Perez proved once again that he has the stuff to be dominant on this level, as long as he keeps his mechanics sound and his wild-streak in check. GRADE: B+

Steve Trachsel -- Has no balls. After getting knocked around in his LDS start, the Mets' most-tenured player was bailed out by the offense, as he has been all year. But when he got lit up in Game 3 of the LCS, Trachsely curled up into a ball and dropped his nutsack, begging out of the game after getting hit in the thigh with a batted ball. Poor baby. I mean, after giving up a home run to Jeff fucking Suppan, the pitcher, whose only other Major League homer, ironically, also came off Trachsel, you would think he might want to stick around and redeem himself. Any other pitcher would have continued. Instead, as usual, he jumped at the chance to blame anything else for his shitty performance except for himself. Another of his delightful characteristics. This motherfucker better not be wearing orange and blue next year. GRADE: F

The Bullpen
Billy Wagner -- As overpowering as Wagner can be at times, he has also shown lapses in concentration in non-save situations, and always makes things interesting even in spots where he can pick up the save. Still, I have not lost confidence in him. He may not be that light-out, slam-the-door, breakout the post-game spread kind of closer – though he is at times – but he is still Mets best option in the ninth inning since the Jesse Orosco/Roger McDowell days. I cannot fault him for the Tagucci homer. Wagner threw a 99-MPH fastball to a slap hitter who had two home runs all season, and Tagucci closed his eyes and swung. Shit happens. GRADE: B-

Aaron Heilman – The Game 7 home run to Yadier Molina not withstanding – it came in his second inning of work on a good pitch the Molina just turned on -- Heilman continued to be an important eighth-inning bridge to Wagner. Outside of Molina’s homer, Heilman allowed just one other meaningless run in 7 1/3 innings in the playoffs, in Game 3 vs. the Dodgers. GRADE: B+

Guillermo Mota – This cat is hard to figure out. He can be dominant at times, as he finished the playoffs with seven strikeouts in 8 1/3 innings, but he also seems to lose focus on the mound – see Game 2 of the LCS. Still, Mota proved valuable out of the pen, though I will always hate his guts for his battles with Mike Piazza. GRADE: B-

Chad Bradford –A master at inducing double plays in big spots, Bradford did not allow a run in 5 2/3 postseason-innings. He entered Game 6 vs. the Cardinals in relief of Maine with a runner on and one out, and got Scott Rolen to ground into an inning-ending twin-killing. See, here’s a man with balls. GRADE: A

Pedro Feliciano – Proving to be more than just a lefty specialist, Feliciano tossed 4 2/3 innings in six postseason appearances, allowing just one run. GRADE: A-

Darren Oliver – His gutsy six innings of three-hit scoreless relief of Trachsel in Game 3 is precisely the kind of performance for which Oliver was bought to New York. Even though the Mets lost the game, it was clutch in saving the bullpen for the rest of the series. His giving up three runs in relief of Trachsel in Game 3 against the Dodgers is forgiven. GRADE: A-

Roberto Hernandez – Appeared in just three games during the postseason, allowing no runs on no hit and two walks in 2 1/3 innings, though Willie did not use Hernandez in any big spots. GRADE: B

Royce Ring – On the roster for the LDS, but did not pitch. GRADE: Inc.

The Bats
Jose Reyes – While he hit just .250 during the postseason and scored just seven runs in 10 games, when Reyes did hit, as usual, the offense flowed. GRADE: B

Paul LoDuca – You’ve gotta give LoDuca a ton of credit for the way he handled the pitching staff during the playoffs, especially Maine. Mr. My Space his .275 during the postseason and delivered a huge hit in Game 6. This guy may be a prick, but he’s our prick. GRADE A-

Carlos Beltran – As usual, Beltran was mortal at Shea Stadium, but tore shit upon the road. He hit three homers, but he drove in just five runs, and failed to deliver in several key spots. GRADE: B-

Carlos Delgado – The Mets first baseman made the most of his first career postseason berth, hitting a team-high .351 with four homers and 11 RBIs. GRADE: A+

David Wright – The great white hope was nearly invisible this postseason. And while he did hit one homer and drive in a few runs, none were in big spots as he left 18 runners on base during the playoffs, including 12 in the LCS, as he hit .216. Still, it’s his first postseason, and I’m not worried about his future. I’m mean, he’s no A-Rod! GRADE: C-

Shawn Green – First of all, Green automatically receives extra credit for being the first Jewish player the Mets have had since Jeff Musselman. Still, after a nice Game 3 vs. the Dodgers, Green was fairly invisible for the rest of the playoffs, save for turning Scott Spezio’s LCS Game 2 drive from a homer into a triple, though some have said he probably should have caught the ball anyway. While he hit .313 in the postseason, he drove in just four runs. GRADE: B-

Jose Valentin – This is the only Met that can take any blame for the Game 7 loss. You gotta put the ball in play in that spot, cat. Make contact. Foul tip the fucking ball. Call the pitcher’s mother a whore! Something! Jeez! Anyway, after being as useful as yours truly anchoring a relay with his 0-for-9 against Los Angeles, Valentin decided to take the LCS off, too, save for a bases-clearing double he had in Game 4 vs. St. Louis with the Mets already leading. He finished the playoffs hitting .182. GRADE: D

Endy Chavez – Chavez may have hit just .229 during the postseason with no RBI and just two runs scored, but I have never seen a better defensive play in a bigger spot than the catch he made in Game 7. For “The Catch” alone, Chavez’s grade skyrockets. GRADE: B+

The Bench
Cliff Floyd – Hampered by injury, Floyd homered as a starter in Game 1 vs. the Dodgers and then wasn’t heard from against until striking out two on and no outs in the ninth inning of Game 7 vs. the Cardinals (yes, I know he pinch hit in Game 5). I cannot blame Cliffy for the strikeout. Like I said before, Wainwright’s curveball was that good. Shit, even MY knees buckled, and I was sitting on a couch in Union! GRADE: B

Julio Franco – Went 0-for-4 with three strikeouts in the postseason. Personally, while I am well aware of how good Franco is in the clubhouse, I don’t see why he was bought in here. Mets should bring him back as a coach, not a player. GRADE: F

Michael Tucker – Was 2-for-6 as a pinch-hitter without an RBI. Did score two runs. Failed to deliver in big spots. GRADE: C+

Chris Woodward – Doubled and scored in his only postseason at bat. Should have been given more pinch-hitting chances, especially with Anderson Hernandez on the LCS roster as a backup infielder. One of my few complaints with Willie. GRADE: A

Ramon Castro – Did not play in the postseason at all. Thanks for being there. GRADE: Inc.

Anderson Hernandez – Pinch ran for LoDuca in the fateful ninth inning of Game 7. At least his uniform was clean. GRADE: Inc.

The Manager

Willie Randolph
Did as well or better than could be expected. I was impressed with his ability to read his players and make the tough choices, whether it was to leave someone in or take them out. Managed the bullpen well. Would have liked to see Woodward and Castro get a swing or two, despite the matchups. Willie could be second-guessed for a few of the moves he made in the NLCS; i.e. leaving Heilman in to start the ninth inning of Game 7, and pitching Wagner in a tie game in Game 2. But those moves could have been second-guessed had he decided to go the other way, too. In fact, I agreed with both of those decisions at the time. All in all, a fine job for the second-year skipper. GRADE: A-

WHEW!!!

2006-10-06T10:59:00.000-04:00

In the last week, my attitude toward the Mets went from supreme confidence that they would dominate the National League on their way to the World Series, to cautious hopefulness that we would get just enough starting pitching from those left standing and dominant performances by the offense and bullpen to reach the same goal.

The supreme confidence is back.

John Maine did a fine job in Game 1 of the LDS. Though it wasn't dominant by any means, and it wasn't even among some of the best performances he turned in during the regular season, Willie Randolph played that hand perfectly, taking the 4 1/3 good innings by Maine and making the most out of arguably the best bullpen of any other playoff squad.

Pedro Feliciano and Chad Bradford did exactly what they're paid to do, retiring a lefty and a righty, respectively, to get out of the fifth inning. Guillermo Mota, who to me will always be a pussy, pitched a dominant sixth inning, before allowing three runs, one earned, in the seventh (some of you who might have forgotten Mota vs. Piazza in spring training a few years back. Mota hits Piazza intentionally, then, when Mikey charges the mound, Mota turns tail and runs away, into the dugout).

The Mets offense looked like it did early in the season. Responding to every rally and coming up with huge hits from the middle of the lineup.

Carlos Delgado and David Wright were the catalysts in Game 1, with Cliff Floyd chiming in with a homer. These are the players that carried us early on, before Reyes and Beltran got hot, and it was great to see them get out of the gate in the postseason with their bats ablaze.

Aaron Heilman pitched a flawless eighth inning, and Billy Wagner got the job done in the ninth, despite giving up a run.

A HUGE win. Precisely the kind of victory the Mets needed to exorcize the negative vibe of the injuries to Pedro and El Duque.

Game 2 was about Tom Glavine, who showed the kind of veteran poise and experience that led the Mets to acquire him in the first place.

Glavine turned in six shutout innings in Game 2, and probably could have gone seven or eight, but, once again, Willie played to the team's strength, and went to the bullpen in the seventh inning, as the Mets won 4-1 -- a solo homer by Wilson Betemit off Heilman in the eighth the only blemish.

This one could have easily been 6-1 or 7-1, as a couple of balls by Wright and Floyd that would have been homers on most days, died on the warning track with the wind blowing in.

The biggest hit of the game, however, though it drove in what proved to be a meaningless run, was by Jose Reyes with two outs in the bottom of the sixth inning.

Let's face it, despite what others in the lineup may do, Reyes makes this offense go. He is the spark. The hit he delivered in the sixth is exactly the kind of hit that can get him going. He had been noticeably pressing during the first career postseason games -- swinging at bad pitches, looking to jack everything -- precisely the kinds of bad habits at the plate he displayed during his early days as a Met. Now that he has his first playoff hit under his belt, he can relax, bear down, get his ass on base, and turn the opponent's pitching staffs into nervous wrecks.

One other note; Carlos Beltran, despite having drawn four walks through the first two games, is not quite there yet. We need him. Look for him to break out on the road. One homer should get him going.

Game 3 at 7:30 p.m. Saturday night in Los Angeles. Steve Trachsel vs. Greg Maddux.

Should be another good one. I don't fear Maddux. In fact, if I recall correctly, the Mets rattled him around pretty good earlier this season. And I have confidence in Trachsel to go out and give us a strong performance.

The confidence is back, baby. I'll be watching the game Saturday night with a broom well within reach!

Um

2006-10-03T22:48:00.000-04:00

I'd love to blog right about now, but unfortunately it's impossible for me to concentrate with El Duque's foot shoved up my ass.. right to the calf.

We're SO fucked!

Settle Down

2006-09-29T11:45:00.000-04:00

"I have lost the will to live, simply nothing more to give, getting lost within myself, nothing matters, no one else. I have lost the will to live, simply nothing more to give, there is nothing more for me, I need the end to set me free." -- METALLICA, "FADE TO BLACK," 1984

Alright Mets fans. Come down off the ledge. Put the Clorox away. Give Terrell Owens his pills back.

There's no need to panic!

As you know, the Mets announced Thursday that Pedro Martinez is done for the season and playoffs with a torn muscle in his calf muscle. Ironically, it isn't the calf that has bothered him of late, but the other one. Go figure.

And while the media and fans of the Mets and other teams have all but already written the Mets 2006 obituary, let's look at this from a realistic standpoint before we run ourselves into a frenzied panic and storm the gates of St. Peter.

Fact it, Pedro's injury will have little to no effect on the Mets' chances for postseason success. Pedro hasn't been a factor since April. He has had two DL stints this season, and aside from a couple of flashes of brilliance, has been ineffective. The Mets are 12 games over .500 during Pedro's official time on the DL, while getting plenty of quality, sometimes fantastic performances from the rest of the staff (Jose Lima and Jeremi Gonzalez excluded). Pedro did very little this year as the Mets blew away the National League.

But it's not like the Mets will be carting Anthony Young and Calvin Schiraldi out to the mound once the playoffs begin.

Tom Glavine is a former World Series MVP, who has been money in the postseason during his career, while Orlando "El Duque" Hernandez won the 1999 ALCS MVP and is also a proven big-game pitcher, having posted a 9-3 career postseason mark with a 2.54 ERA.

Steve Trachsel is a good Major League pitcher. He may not be flashy or overpowering, but he has won 15 games this season. Yes, I know, he's gotten all kinds of run support. Well, last I checked, he has the same offense behind him as he's had all year. And John Maine is a young pitcher who's looked great this year. Give the kid a chance to prove he can do it on the big stage.

Fact is, Pedro's injury hurts, sure. I mean, what team wouldn't want a Hall of Famer on staff for a playoff run. But his absence is by no means a death sentence. The Mets postseason success will be contingent on getting solid starting pitching -- brilliance is not required, the kind of timely hitting they've gotten all year, and continued effectiveness from what has been the best damn bullpen in the Majors.

NLE CHAMPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-09-18T23:52:00.000-04:00

Forget the 2-4 road trip. Forget getting swept in Pittsburgh. Forget that I got so thrashed at the Jets tailgate yesterday that I spent the entire second quarter passed out in the bathroom at Giants Stadium

THE NEW YORK METS ARE CHAMPIONS OF THE NATIONAL LEAGUE EAST!!!

One crown won, two more to go!!

BIRTHDAY SONG

2006-09-13T09:17:00.000-04:00

Someone sent me this link. It's pretty, cool, actually.

The idea, as they presented it, was to be able to look up which song was #1 on the U.S. or U.K. charts the day you were born (mine was "The Streak" by Ray Stevens (U.S.) and "Sugar Baby Love" by The Rubettes (UK) -- two songs I've never heard of).

The site also encourages you to look up your "life's theme," which is the song that was No. 1 on your 18th birthday -- mine was "Jump" by Kris Kross (U.S.) and "Please Don't Go/Game Boy" by K.W.S. (UK).

Check it out.

The Brooklyn Alphabet

2006-08-22T01:35:00.001-04:00

As some of you know, I spent much of the summer of 2002 traveling around New Jersey reviewing all the minor league parks in the state for an enterprise piece I did for the Courier News.

And when the story came out the following May, well, let's just say Somerset Patriots owner Steve Kalafer was none-to-pleased with his ballpark being ranked fourth of eight -- as he showed by pulling about $250,000 worth of advertising and writing a letter to the editor, ripping me.

Anyway, four years later, I finally had a chance to check out another minor league stadium, a park I had been meaning to get to since it opened six years ago.

Jersey Girl and I made the trip into Brooklyn on Monday evening to take in the Cyclones game at Keyspan Park vs. the Staten Island Yankees (I'm sure she will blog about the trip, too, so forgive us if we duplicate).

The park is great. It's on Coney Island, right on the boardwalk, a stone's-throw from Astroland, which features the world famous Cyclone, the roller-coaster from which the Mets' NY Penn League affiliate (A ball) got its name.

Among the great features of the ballpark is the famous Coney Island parachute jump tower, which is just beyond the right field fence, the lone landmark remaining from the old Steeple Chase.

It was Hawaiian night at Keyspan Park, with former Mets left-hander Sid Fernandez on hand to throw out the first pitch.

As a Mets fan, the game itself was stench. Very sloppy. Plus Jersey Girl kept smacking me because I couldn't control my potty mouth around the young children. So that was not very pleasant. To her credit, however, she did atone later in the evening with a fantastic Spike From Bensonhurst reference (fucking A!). I didn't think there was anyone left who still remembered that flick!

Also, Cyclones pitcher Tobi Stoner -- my new favorite sports name -- did not make an appearance, and neither did Mets catcher Ramon Castro, who was supposed to be in Brooklyn on a rehab assignment.

The Cyclones took a 4-1 lead after an inning, but by the time the third inning had concluded, nearly an hour and a half later, they trailed 9-6.

The game ended with a 21-6 Staten Island victory.

Much like the disaster I experienced a few years ago when I trekked down to Philly to see Guns n' Roses, only to have Axl not show up and a riot ensuing, at least there was a bench-clearing brawl in the top of the ninth inning to somewhat satisfy me.

All in all, despite the outcome, I had a great time, and was very impressed with the operation. I recommend you all make the trip if you can.

In other news, the Local Shill's engagement party was held Saturday in Freehold, and a nice group of clowns were on hand.

Joe Pendleton and family, Jersey Girl, Todd A, The Professor, as well as several other luminaries were present to celebrate the Local Shill's impending nuptials.

Perhaps the most impressive part of the festivities was the pool shed, which was stocked to the max with beverages, both alcoholic and benign. We all enjoyed it.

We were also able to head into the house at 7 p.m. to watch the ceremonies at Shea Stadium honoring the 1986 Mets World Championship. A very emotional thing for me, since my life pretty much peaked that season.

Every member of the Mets 1986 team was on hand, including coaches Bill Robinson and Bud Harrelson. The only cats missing were manager Davey Johnson, who is coaching some junior Olympic squad; Roger McDowell, who is the pitching coach for the Atlanta Braves; Lee Mazzilli, who is the bench coach for the Yankees; World Series MVP Ray Knight, who had some speaking engagement he supposedly couldn't get out of; and Dwight Gooden, because he's in fucking jail.

After victories Saturday night, and again Sunday, the Mets completed their much-needed series sweep over Colorado and are rolling once again.

Sunday's news that Tom Glavine might be done for the season with a possible blood blot in his pitching arm did put a damper on an otherwise enjoyable weekend. If that happens, we can pretty much forget about a championship, and possibly even a World Series appearance.

Speaking of bad news, the fucking Yankees swept five from Boston over the weekend and Monday afternoon, in sometimes dominant fashion. But I blame Sunday night's extra-inning loss to manager Terry Francona.

After a leadoff double by David Ortiz, and an intentional walk to Manny Ramirez, the Red Sox had runners on first and second with no outs in the bottom of the ninth against Mariano Rivera.

Why Francona didn't immediately pinch-run for Ortiz, is beyond me. It is a managerial miscue of Grady Little proportions, and Francona deserves to be locked in a small room with Wayne Tillman for three hours as penance for his crime.

Of course, Ortiz was promptly gunned down at third base on Mike Lowell's ensuing bunt, which was followed by a passed ball that would have plated the winning run. As it was, the Yankees got out of it and scored three in the 10th, and held on to win.

The only positive to come out of Sunday night was that I bought my poker winnings for the month over the $4,000 mark, as I took down just over $1,000 during a Sunday night/Monday morning cash-game session in Montclair.

I love that game!

Denis hearts Mel

2006-08-17T22:15:00.000-04:00

Denis Leary, doing a guest spot in the Red Sox broadcast booth, had a few things to say about Mel Gibson, in regard to Boston's Jewish first baseman, Kevin Youkilis.

Check it out

RETURN OF THE KING

2006-08-17T16:40:00.000-04:00

While the last two weeks of July and the first week of August were pretty dull in my world, things have definitely picked up.

On Tuesday, Aug. 8, after spending the morning and much of the afternoon in my office in Brooklyn, NY, I returned to Jersey, picked up my father in Union, and headed back into the Empire State, through downtown Manhattan, over the Williamsburg Bridge, down the BQE, over to the Grand Central Parkway, and arrived at the holy of holies in Flushing at around 6:00 p.m.

By the time we parked and made our way into the stadium, we had plenty of time to relax and grab a bite to eat before heading to our seats to prepare to witness the return of Michael Joseph Piazza to Shea Stadium.

As I was waiting for my dad outside the men's room on the loge level near Section 6, I was wondering who I would run into that evening. I always seem to run into someone I know whenever I go to Shea, and as I was pondering that very though, the Local Shill emerged from the bathroom, trailed by Rich DeMarco.

After exchanging greetings and discussing the validity of the Mike Piazza-Sam Champion urban legend, I found out the Shill and DeMarco were sitting about seven row behind us -- with their fathers -- in Section 2 of the Loge Level, right behind home plate.

I wonder if they paid as much for their seats as I paid for mine (Stubhub.com rocks!)

Anyway, as Mikey made his way out to left field to warm up, the first of several standing ovations washed through the crowd, the second coming soon after, when the lineups were announced. As he completed his warmups and headed back toward the Padres dugout, the Mets presented a moving video tribute to him, on Diamond Vision, which he stopped to watch along the left-field line.

As the video concluded, and I wiped the tears from my eyes, Piazza received another standing ovation, this one longer than the previous two, as he tipped his helmet and ducked into the dugout.

Soon it was game time. Steve Trachsel vs. Woody Williams. I was kind of hoping the Pads would get a man on in the first inning, just so we could get to Piazza's first AB quicker, but that wasn't to be, as Trachsel retired the side in order.

After the Mets recorded their final out in the bottom of the frame, I turned around and asked the Shill and DeMarco for an over-under on the standing ovation Piazza would be receiving. Rich said "30 seconds," I told him I thought it would be closer to a minute.

As Piazza came to the plate, Shea Stadium erupted. The ovation lasted almost a minute and a half and Piazza had to step out and tip his helmet three times.

The he struck out.

Mikey finished 1-for-4, singling to chase Trachsel in the sixth inning.

He hit two homers the next night. That I watched on TV.

Saturday was another red-letter day in the life of the Sandman.

The underground poker club I frequent in Montclair was holding a freeroll tournament (meaning no entry fee) to celebrate its first anniversary. The prizes were $1,000 for the top three finishers.When we decided to split up the prize money with six of the 68 players left, I was the big stack and took home $800 (the other five players took down $400 each, with the balance going to tip the dealers).

It was my biggest tournament victory to date.

Good times.

Your gotta love Ted

2006-08-09T17:32:00.000-04:00

During a recent interview with metal guitar God Ted Nugent, a noted bow hunter, by a French journalist, he was asked, "What do you think the last thought is in the head of a deer before you shoot it?
Is it, 'Are you my friend?' or maybe 'Are you the one who killed my brother?'"
Nugent replied, "They aren't capable of that kind of thinking. All they care about is, 'What am I going to eat next? Who am I going to screw next? and, can I run fast enough to get away?' They are very much like the French in that way."

Something to ponder

2006-08-07T12:42:00.000-04:00

Someone sent this riddle to me. I think it should hit home with this crowd.

Q: You are on a horse, galloping at a constant speed. On your right side is a sharp drop off, and on your left side is an elephant traveling at the same speed as you. Directly in front of you is a galloping kangaroo, and your horse is unable to overtake it. Behind you is a lion running at the same speed as you and the Kangaroo.
What must you do to safely get out of this highly dangerous situation?

A: Get your drunk ass off the merry-go-round!

Yawn

2006-08-05T01:58:00.000-04:00

After a week's vacation where the only thing resembling fun was a Friday-Saturday stay in Atlantic City (a profitable couple of sessions at the Borgata's poker tables), I have returned to the hell that is the waitering staffing business this week and I have absolutely nothing to report.

Hopefully, tomorrow evening will pull me out of my rut.

As most of you know, Pete's in town, and Todd, myself and a few others will be making the trip to Hoboken to bang down a few tastes with the man who deserted the Garden State for the Colorado Rocky Mountain sky.

After Hoboken, the plan is to head into NYC to the Mecca of 80's music, the Culture Club, and meet up with my friend, Christine, who is in town from Wichita, KS (another fool who has abandoned her Jersey roots).

After Sunday morning's softball tilt, I will spend the rest of the day lamenting the fact I will be missing Sunday night's Poison/Cinderella/Slaughter engagement at PNC.

I cannot believe I couldn't find anyone else who wanted to see this show.

You people all suck!

SNOOCH TO THE BOOCH!

2006-07-23T00:35:00.000-04:00

There's been a lot of hype, especially the last few weeks, about Clerks II, which was released this weekend.

Is it possible for the great Kevin Smith to do justice to the original, or even the other kickass films he's made over the last 10 years?

Many have speculated that Clerks II would be a bomb, and the speculation wasn't entirely unfounded. Sequels that suck ass are common place, especially the sequel to something as mind-numbingly awesome as the original Clerks.

Well, Todd and I just returned from seeing the new Kevin Smith offering and let me just say; THAT MOVIE WAS FUCKING AWESOME!!!!

Smith not only lived up to the original and his other movies, he totally blew them out of the water. This might have been the lewdest, crudest, most twisted movie ever made. And it was pure heaven.

Smith not only pushed the envelope with this flick, he grabbed it, tore it up, stuffed it down his throat, shit it out and lit the fucking thing on fire!

Go see it. Now. Stop reading this blog. Sign off the Internet, get in your car and drive, really fast, do all the lights, speed, run cats over, it's ok... just get to your nearest theater as soon as humanly possible.

Seriously. I'm not writing anymore. Leave!!

Oh, and one more thing. Remember, sometimes it's ok to go ass to mouth.

FUCK!! FUCK!! FUCK!!

2006-07-20T18:54:00.000-04:00

For the last half hour or so, I've been wandering around the house, cursing at the top of my lungs and hitting things.

I found a listing of Wednesday nigh't Bon Jovi setlist online, and, as it turns out, not only did Tuesday night's lightning storm cut the Bon Jovi show short, but it probably cost those with me and around me seeing a reaction no one woul believe any human could display.

There are about three Bon Jovi songs that I am in love with, though would have bet my life there would be no way in hell they would ever play live.

"These Days," "Something to Believe in" and "Dry County."

Well, guess what, kids; THEY FUCKING PLAYED DRY COUNTY DURING WEDNESDAY NIGHT'S ENCORE!!

This is proof that there is no God. And if there is, he really, really hates me -- not that I can blame him.

Come to think of it, when we were tailgating and "Dry County" came on the CD player, I believe I commented "Here's a song that there's no way in hell they would ever play live, yet if they did I might shit myself."

Oh, yeah, and they played "Blood on Blood," too, my favorite song, which they play from time to time, but didn't Tuesday night.

KILL ME!

Bon Jovi and the Wrath of God

2006-07-20T00:35:00.000-04:00

So, it’s been a while since I’ve blogged. It’s not that nothing blog-worthy has happened, it’s just that I needed to give you all as much time to digest my last blog as it did for me to put it together.

I was getting my 23 pages of Word Perfect worth one way or another.

A quick review of the last three weeks before we get to the most recent happenings:

*** Had a nice bout with a kidney stone July 1, causing me to miss a Buddhist wedding I was looking forward to. Played softball the next morning, but used the stone as an excuse to blow off my cousin’s wedding in Connecticut.

*** Totally enjoyed David Wright’s performance in the home run derby, even though I was not happy that he entered it in the first place. I see no reason to risk fucking up his swing. Judging by his homer in the All Star game, as well as his performance since the Mets have resumed their season, it’s all good.

*** I don’t know why everyone was so fired up by what Carlos Beltran did in the All-Star game. Sure, he had two hits, including a double, and scored a run. But the fact is that he stole third base with two outs to set up that run, and to those of us who still hold fundamental baseball dear, there’s no excuse for that, especially with a lineup full of fucking All Stars behind you. Beltran got lucky and was safe, but that easily could have gone the other way and killed a rally.

*** Courier News sports editor Dave Siminoff and his wife, Peggy, welcomed twins last Thursday, Shane and Madison. A hearty mazel tov to the Siminoff clan.

*** I discovered I actually like deviled eggs. They never appealed to me before. Go figure.

*** Bunch of cats left the building, including Pink Floyd co-founder Syd Barrett.

*** Had a root canal.

Now, on to more recent news.

The last few days have definitely had its ups and downs.

One of my best friends, Matt, was supposed to come up from Florida for his brother’s wedding and Tuesday night’s Bon Jovi show at Giants Stadium. He moved there two years ago after growing up in NJ, and he was actually a major reason why I got into Bon Jovi as hardcore as I did. Still, as he did when he was supposed to come up for the arena show in December, Matt bailed at the last second. I won’t get into the details about why he didn’t make it... again… but it really but a damper on what had promised to be a great long weekend.

His not showing up meant my plans for Saturday were shot, as were our plans to go to AC Sunday, among other things.

The one good thing to come out of Matt’s absence was that it opened up a ticket for Jersey Girl to join us for Bon Jovi -- she had apparently not known she would be in town for the show when tickets first went on sale, so Matt’s no showing up worked nicely for her. She thanked me by serving me up three homers Sunday when she made her return to the softball field and the pitcher’s circle, after being gone a couple of weeks. In all, she gave up 10 first-inning runs, and back-to-back-to-back homers in the sixth inning, with yours truly anchoring that particular relay.

Which reminds me, I’d like to take a moment to wish a speedy recovery to the Local Shill, who left the game early after injuring his hand diving for a ball in the outfield.

Anyway, after much debate about the start time for our tailgate Tuesday, (I wanted noon, others in the group had other ideas), we finally got started at about 2 p.m. Myself, Brooke and her fiancé, Clark Kent, who was easily the most intoxicated and the most out of control in our group Tuesday, arrived and set up, getting a comfy spot at the back of Lot 8, adjacent to Gate B.

As a reminder for those of you who might have missed it, Brooke went through quite the difficult time at the December show. She, and, by association, Clark Kent, got tossed without seeing the band because Brooke couldn't hold her liquor and spent most of the time puking in the ladies room, so this was somewhat revenge on his part. I wish I could link to the story I blogged about on MySpace at the time, but no link is available. If you really want, go to my My Space blog and look for the post from Dec. 20, 2005.

Anyhoo, Jersey Girl arrived just before 3 p.m., while Bryan arrived soon after. Bryan’s fiancé, Jen, joined us at about 6:00.

We had a nice little tailgate. The booze was a’flowin', the food was a'grillin’, the tunes were a’playin' and the shtick was a’flyin'.

Oh, and it was 102 degrees out.

Still, we persevered, heading inside just after 7:00 p.m. – Bryan and Jen went in at about 6:15 – but the remaining four agreed we couldn’t give a toss about two no-name opening bands and Nickleback.

Bon Jovi hit the stage at 8:15, opening with Neil Young’s “Rockin’ in the Free World.” They followed that up with “You Give Love a Bad Name,” and away we went.

A little more than half way through the show, the heavens opened up and it started to rain – on and off and fairly lightly at first, but it grew steadier as we went.

“Nor rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail will stop us from playing tonight,” Jon Bon Jovi told the crowd on a couple of different occasions. Well, apparently he didn’t consider lightning; because once the light show started we knew the show wouldn’t last much longer.

Oh, and then Jon had to go and piss of God, saying, “Lord, don’t fuck with me when I’m playing in Jersey!”

Mr. Bon Jovi soon realized that wasn’t such a great idea, and later recanted, but the show was still cut short by five or six songs, as the band finished the main set with “Raise Your Hands” and “Who Says You Can’t Go Home?” and played just one encore, “Living on a Prayer,” before saying good night.

A quick review of the show itself before I get to the post game:
I have seen Bon Jovi about a dozen times now, and I would say, all-in-all, this may have been the worst show I’ve seen.

First of all, they cut it short. Not the band’s fault, but still. Secondly, while they played the songs you expect to hear, “Prayer,” “Wanted,” “Bad Medicine,” etc., they did not play one thing that made me stand up and go “Yes! They’re playing this! They NEVER play this!” For me, that is a must at a concert. Play something that wasn't a radio hit! I mean, they've been playing "Wild in the Streets" on this tour, as they do on most tours, but they didn't even get to that Tuesday!

But perhaps the worst of Bon Jovi’s transgressions was that instead of playing “Bed of Roses” the good old fashion way... y’know, the version that made the song a hit, they played the shitty assed near-acoustic version they put on the album “This Left Feels Right,” that turd they dropped on the world a few years ago, containing a whole album full of their hits they decided to go and fuck up for no good reason.

Stench in digital.

I guess if I had to point to one highlight, it was when they played “Captain Crash and the Beauty Queen from Mars,” off the “Crush” album.

Anyway, when show was over, and after waiting in gridlock on the concourse trying to get out of the stadium and to our cars, we finally headed down the escalator – out seats were first tier, section 113, for those of you familiar with the stadium – we headed to our cars. But the short walk was not without its entertainment, as a nice little rain-soaked brawl erupted. Bunch of cats went at it, throwing haymakers and rolling around in the rain and broken beer bottles.

Eh, I’ve seen better fights, but that held my attention for at least a minute or two.

Upon returning to my car in time to hear the highlights from the Mets 8-3 victory over Cincy on Mets Extra, I sat there for a while to give traffic a chance to thin.

When I finally pulled out – at around 11:10 – things did not go smoothly. I’ll spare you the boring details, but let’s just say I took the Turnpike to Route 3, got off Route 3 when that backed up heading for the Parkway, went through local streets in Passaic Park and Clifton, dodged a couple of detours caused by downed power lines and fallen trees, went down Route 21, through Newark, over to Route 22 through Hillside and Union and onto the Parkway home to Edison.

I arrived at about 12:45 a.m.

Still, all in all, I enjoyed the day. But more because of the company I kept than the band I went to see.

Though all the bullshit and Mother Nature’s wrath, a good time was had by all.

Tuesday night’s shortened setlist:

"Rockin' in the Free World"
"You Give Love a Bad Name"
"Bounce"
"Born to Be My Baby"
"Story of My Life"
"I'll Sleep When I'm Dead"
"Runaway”
"Captain Crash and the Beauty Queen From Mars"
"It's My Life"
"Wanted Dead or Alive"
"In These Arms"
"Bed of Roses"
"I'll Be There For You" (with Richie Sambora on vocals)
"Someday I'll Be Saturday Night"
"Have a Nice Day"
"Bad Medicine"
"Raise Your Hands"
"Who Says You Can't Go Home"

Encore:
"Livin' on a Prayer"

MY TOP 108 MUSICAL ARTISTS OF ALL TIME

2006-06-29T20:19:00.001-04:00

Where will Guns 'n Roses rank on the list?

So, I finally finished this blog, which I’ve been working on for the better part of a month (it’s 23 pages on Word. TWENTY-THREE!!!).

What can I say, it was either that or go to the gym.

We all know how self-serving the whole blogging thing really is. I mean, we assume people actually give a shit about what we have to say!

Following that logic, and in light of several music-related rankings I have read on some of your blogs lately, I present my Top 108 Favorite Musical Artists of All Time.

Why 108? Simple, before a certain Italian catcher came along, Gary Carter was my favorite baseball player of all time. And since the only thing I love as much as music is baseball, it is only fitting that I honor The Kid and his uniform number, 8... that and I couldn’t find a reasonable place to cut off the list at #100.

Now many of these choices are going to open me up to ridicule and ripping. Fuck if I care. I will defend each and every one of these selections, and at the end of the day ya’ll can kiss my white ass if you don’t like ‘em.

I have very eclectic taste in music, as you will see. Everything from rock to country and folk, and metal and punk to bubblegum pop, old shit to new shit. You will, however, notice how prominent those 80s hairbands are on this list and the almost entire absence of rap, hip-hop or R&B of any kind.

I have left off all religious acts – Jewish and Christian -- from the list. No, I don’t own Muhammad’s Greatest Jihads.

I welcome your comments.

********************************

108. THE TRAVELING WILBURYS
Comprised of Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, the late George Harrison, the late Roy Orbison, and Jeff Lynne of ELO, these guys released two albums together before Orbison left the building. Check out "Tweeter and Monkey Man," a song that features a line that has become something of a personal mantra; "In Jersey anything's legal, as long as you don't get caught."

107. KELLY CLARKSON
I’ll admit, I’m hooked on American Idol, largely for its wagering potential, but that has nothing to do with why I own both of Kelly Clarkson’s CDs (I didn’t even watch Season 1 when she won). Clarkson is not the typical pop singer. Her songs are edgy, more rock than pop, and she still has an air of humility, not yet tainted by the biz, it seems.

106. KISS

I never got into Kiss, hardcore, but they are largely responsible for my beloved hairbands gaining popularity, and they have quite a few tunes that I dig. They even have a great power ballad, “Forever.” Makeup, no makup, whatever.

105. VAN HALEN
My feelings on Van Halen have been well documented on various blogs by other authors. David Lee Roth is annoying, and I definitely prefer VH with Sammy Hagar. “Right Now,” “Dreams” and “Top of the World” are among my favorite tunes, all with the Red Rocker singing lead.

104. JANE’S ADDICTION
The pioneers of alternative rock, lead singer and Lollapalooza creator Perry Farrell’s high-pitched tones lend itself perfectly to Jane’s Addiction’s often head-over-heels pace. Guitarist David Navarro, now of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, made popular a half-riff guitar style that has become a norm among today’s axe-men. You probably know “Jane Says” and “Been Caught Stealing,” but there’s oh, so much more to this band.

103. THE GO GO’S
Doing drugs, banging dudes, and cranking out catchy pop anthems, the Go Go’s featured four pretty hot chicks that could all play. I even dug most of Belinda Carlisle’s solo offerings, not to mention Jane Wiedlin in VH1’s “the Surreal Life,” even if her solo career never took off.

102. BODY COUNT
Sure, the marriage of metal and rap has brought forth all kinds of musical disasters, but when a bunch of rappers decided to form a metal band, the result was not only highly entertaining, but a whole new kind of edgy. Body Count is rapper/actor Ice-T’s band, and he is the lead singer. Their debut album, “Cop Killer,” caused quite a controversy in the early 90’s, and I was immediately hooked. I know I can’t relate to not being able to catch a cab or being harassed by the cops simply for the color of my skin, but any band that can croon “...she got wild in the backstage bathroom, sucked my dick like a motherfuckin’ vacuum. She said ‘I love you, but my daddy won’t play, he’s the fucking grand wizard of the KKK,’” as well as “I fell in love with Tipper Gore’s two 12-year-old nieces,” as they did in the song “KKK Bitch,” well, they’ve got my respect. Also check out “There Goes the Neighborhood.” (the version I’ve linked to is edited for language, but you get the gist). But Body Count isn’t all shtick, “The Winners Lose,” is a great song about the dangers of drug abuse.

101. BOWLING FOR SOUP
Musicians have often been accused of taking themselves too seriously. This foursome from Texas will never have to deal with that stigma. Their songs are all shtick. They were nominated for a Grammy in 2003 for “Girl All the Bad Guys Want,” and in addition to a bunch of other kickass tunes, also recorded a pretty damn good version of Ah Ha’s “Take on Me.”

100. RATT
One of 23 hair bands on this list – and no, I don’t consider the likes of Guns n Roses, Iron Maiden or Slayer hair bands. Ratt is just a fun band to listen to, and to see live. Their songs are full of energy, and lead singer Stephan Pearcy can fucking howl!

99. DOKKEN
Guitarist Don Dokken has made beautiful music with many other artists, but his efforts with the band he named for himself should not go unnoticed. A classic hairband that didn’t gain the popularity and notoriety as some of the other groups of its genre, Dokken did release two of my favorite songs from the glam rock scene; “Alone Again,” a beautiful power ballad that I count as one of my favorites, as well as the haunting “Dream Warriors” from the flick “A Nightmare on Elm Street 3.”

98. BOSTON
Pure, melodic arena rock. Boston was ahead of its time when it hit the big time in the late 70s. By the time the late 80s rolled around and most other arena rock acts had faded into the sunset, Boston reemerged once more with the power ballad “Amanda.”

97. PETER CETERA
Whether as lead singer of Chicago, or as a solo act, Peter Cetera has one of the most recognizable voices in the industry, and he used it to crank out hit after hit in the 80s. My favorite, “Glory of Love,” appeared on the soundtrack for Karate Kid II.

96. KENNY ROGERS
As far as I know, this Kenny Rogers never slugged a cameraman. Dubbed “The Gambler” long before the left-handed pitcher by the same name, Rogers is one of the most successful male solo artist in country music history, with classics such as “The Gambler,” “Coward of the County” and “Lady.” But if you’re looking for something a bit more obscure from the white-bearded legend, check out “Tomb of the Unknown Love.”

95. EUROPE
There is more to this band than “The Final Countdown,” the intro to which is played adnausium at sporting events all over the country. The album of the same name is one of the first I ever owned. The power ballad “Carrie,” though recently ripped by a certain reader of this blog and author of his own, kicks ass. But there’s also “Cherokee” and “Rock the Night,” both great tunes.

94. MADONNA
Go ahead, rip me. I like Madonna, but because of her slow stuff. While songs like “Holiday,” “Material Girl,” “Like a Virgin” and “Papa don’t Preach” are all well and good, it’s tunes like “La Isla Bonita,” “I’ll Remember,” “Used to be my Playground” and “Live to Tell,” that earns her a spot on this list, the latter of which is one of my favorite songs of all time. Check out the video, it co-stars Sean Penn. Madonna’s work in the film version of “Evita” also scored her points with yours truly.

93. JOHN DENVER
I am not gay. I swear. But my father used to play John Denver in the car when I was a kid and how do you not get hooked. I mean, Todd could kick this guy's ass! Well, mostly because Mr. Denver is dead, but still.

92. HOLE
Courtney Love is a disgusting pig. I acknowledge that. But that pig can rock! Hole's first album, "Live Through This," is nearly perfect, and their follow-up effort "Celebrity Skin" is also pretty damn good.

91. PET SHOP BOYS

Another group that scored big in the 80s electronica scene, the Pet Shop Boys had several hits in the 80s, including “West End Girls,” “It’s a Sin” and “What Have I Done to Deserve This?”

90. BLINK 182

When Green Day hit in the mid-90s, it opened the door for pop-punk bands all over the country to stake their claim in the music world. Blink 182 and its good-natured, fast-paced energy is probably the best of that class. “What’s My Age Again?” is my favorite from among their offerings, good, solid shtick.

89. SLAUGHTER
These glam rockers had several tunes that made a splash, including "Spend My Life," "Up all Night" and "Fly to the Angels," from their first offering, "Stick it To Ya." They also had a couple of more hits on their follow up "The Wild Life," including "Real Love," which featured a young Shannon Dougherty in the video. Oh, and I once caught a Mark Slaughter guitar pick at a show.

88. KIX
One of the more obscure of the 80s hairbands, Kix had hits with the haunting power ballad, “Don’t Close Your Eyes,” as well as the more upbeat “Blow My Fuse” and “Cold Blood.”

87. LINKIN PARK
First there was Run DMC and Aerosmith with “Walk This Way,” then there was Anthrax and Public Enemy with “Bring Da Noise,” but when the soundtrack to the movie “Judgment Night” hit in 1993, featuring even stranger bedfellows from the rap and metal worlds, all hell broke loose. Suddenly rap and metal was intercoursing in every orifice – like Ice T and Slayer – and what was born was the bastardly offspring that has plagued the music scene ever since – see Limp Bizkit and Korn. Then came Linkin Park to restore some sense of calm. A mix of rock, rap and electronica, Linkin Park is delightful. A pleasantly bodacious romp through daises. Two enthusiastic thumbs up! Check out “Numb” and “In the End.”

86. NIGHT RANGER
There was more to Night Ranger than the super-hit “Sister Christian,” which was featured prominently in the movie, “Boogie Nights.” More of an arena rock band than a hairband, Night Ranger also hit with “Don’t Tell Me You Love Me” and “(You Can Still) Rock in America,” as well as recording the theme song for the movie by the same name, “The Secret of My Success,” starring Mike Fox. Bassist Mike Blades went on to form Damn Yankees with, among others, Ted Nugent and Styx guitarist Tommy Shaw.

85. TOM PETTY and the HEARTBREAKERS
From “Free Falling” to “Into the Great Wide Open,” Tommy Petty’s tunes have always been there. Even some of his later stuff, like “Mary Jane’s Last Dance” tickled my fancy, and not just because Kim Bassinger played a dead chick in the video. How she never managed to parlay it into a third installment of “Weekend at Bernie’s,” I’ll never know.

84. MOTORHEAD
Perhaps Brendan Fraser and Steve Buscemi said it best in the movie "Airheads," when Fraser asked Harold Ramis, who was playing an undercover cop, "Who would win in a wrestling match, Lemmy (Motorhead lead singer and bassist Lemmy Killmeister) or God?" When Ramis responded "Lemmy," Buscemi retorted, "Wrong, dickhead, trick question, Lemmy is God!" Yes, I am aware of the SNL "Ditka" sketch rip-off, but Adam Sandler was in this flick! There are so many fantastic Motorhead tunes, but I guess “Ace of Spades” is my favorite.

83. U2
I like U2. Most of their tunes are pleasantly melodic with intelligent lyrics. I’m just not fucking ga-ga over them like some other people. Yes, their place in music, past and present, is undeniable.

82. MANOWAR
Dubbed by many as the "cheesiest band in metal," Manowar (pronounced Man-o-war) still kicks ass. The 80's speed metal freaks riff about subjects straight from a game of Dungeons and Dragons, with lyrics rife with stories of kings, knights, wizards and swords. Check out the tunes "The Defender," "Heart of Steel," "Brothers of Metal" and "Black Wind, Fire and Steel," among others, for a head-banging good time.

81. THE DESCENDENTS
If any among you have actually ever heard of the Descendents, I would be most impressed. These guys are an edgy, scrappy, independent punk band who don't have a major label, but are highly revered among the punk community. The kind of band you would see playing on a Sunday afternoon at the Recs Plex in Elizabeth.

80. AMERICA
Another band I got hooked on thanks to the cassette player in my father’s car, America’s classics include “Horse With No Name,” “Sister Golden Hair” and “I Need You,” which would have made a fantastic power ballad, had America not been all acoustic and around in the 60s. Another of their hits, “Sandman,” is not where I got my nickname.

79. ENYA
I don’t know what the fuck country this dame is from, or what exactly is her drug of choice, but I’m mesmerized by here music, even if it is mostly digitally enhanced.

78. ALICE IN CHAINS

While Pearl Jam's "Ten," Nirvana's "Nevermind" and the soundtrack to the movie "Singles" were the best albums to come out of the Seattle music invasion of the early 90s, Alice in Chains was the best band. "Would?" and "Man in the Box" are my favorite tunes from dearly departed lead singer Layne Staley, guitarist Jerry Cantrell and friends.

77. GREEN DAY
Unquestionably, Green Day’s bursting on the mainstream music scene in the mid-90s with the album “Dookie” changed things. Much like Nirvana did earlier in the decade. But while “Dookie” is a kick-ass album in its own right, it wasn’t until 2004 that Billy Joe Armstrong and his little friends became relevant to me. Green Day’s arrival ushered in the era of pop-punk, sparking bands like Blink 182, The Offspring and Good Charlotte. But “American Idiot” goes beyond all that. It’s a masterpiece. Something I would rank – and probably will – among the best albums ever released. I love concept albums, and this is one of the best.

76. THE BEATLES
I know what you're thinking; how could I have one of the greatest, most influential bands in rock n roll history this low on the list? (Wait until you realize Bruce Springsteen didn’t even make it!) Well, for one thing, most of the early Beatles stuff is cheese, and not good cheese. It's like stale Limburger. Secondly, this list isn't a testament to influence, talent or impact. There are simply 75 artists I prefer to listen to.

75. BOB MARLEY
The bottom line here is that if you’ve ever smoked the herb, and love music, you have to list Bob Marley among your favorites. "Redemption Song" tops my list of favorite tunes by the late, great reggae legend

74. BLACK SABBATH
Take Black Sabbath’s darkness and Led Zeppelin’s speed and energy and you have heavy metal. Every hard rock and metal band that has ever played a power chord owes their existence to Sabbath. Ozzy Osbourne, bassist Geezer Butler, guitarist Tony Iommi (no relation to Hillsborough HS softball coach Cheryl Iaione) and drummer Bill Ward are Gods. My father owns a first-run copy of their first album on vinyl, and that shit better be in the will under my name!

73. OASIS
Call them the Beatles Lite, call them a couple of redneck Brits, whatever. Oasis rocks. Brothers Noel and Liam Gallagher may have done more feuding than recording, but when they did manage to stay in the same studio together, the result was sweet. “Wonderwall” and “Don’t Look Back in Anger” were the biggest hits off their multi-platinum album “What’s the Story (Morning Glory).

72. FOO FIGHTERS
To me, Nirvana is one of the most overrated bands of all time. That said, they were good, I enjoyed them. But when Kurt Cobain swallowed that shotgun, it instantly propelled Nirvana into legend status, which I don’t feel was warranted. The best affect Cobain’s good aim had on the music scene, however, was that his death freed up Dave Grohl to form the Foo Fighters. The ex-Nirvana drummer got it right with this band. They can be light-hearted at times, like with the videos for “Big Me” a parody of the Mentos commercial, and “Learning to Fly,” which features Jack Black and Tenacious D. Perhaps the funniest thing I’ve ever seen is their attempt at the Led Zep classic “Stairway to Heaven” on the Craig Kilbourn Show. But they can also be hard-driving serious rockers, with tunes like “This is a Call,” “Everlong” and “Monkey Wrench.”

71. JAMES TAYLOR
I love folk rock, and nobody did it better than JT. With classics like “Carolina on my Mind,” “Fire and Rain” and “Sweet Baby James,” this man is a legend, and rightfully so.

70. SLAYER
The godfathers of death metal, Slayer is everything you would ever want in a metal band. Speed, power, dark lyrics, mind-bending guitar riffs and haunting ballads, if you have never seen these guys live, you haven’t lived… and probably have never gotten your head split open in a mosh pit. Their albums “Reign in Blood,” “South of Heaven” and “Season in the Abyss” defined death metal in its heyday, with tunes like “Angel of Death,” “War Ensemble” “Dead Skin Mask,” “South of Heaven” and “Seasons in the Abyss."

69. LED ZEPPELIN
As I said before, Led Zeppelin, along with Black Sabbath, is responsible for hard rock and metal as we know it today. Robert Plant was one of the first male singers to hang out in the high octaves, while Jimmy Paige revolutionalized the lead guitar. John Bonham left us too early, while John Paul Jones was in the right place at the right time. “Stairway to Heaven” is considered by some as the greatest song ever written, but don’t miss “Kashmir” “Black Dog” and the “Immigrant Song.”

68. PANTERA
Thrash metal at its finest, Pantera shook the hairband label in the late 80s and launched into a career of brutal metal and two-foot long joints like the one they showed in a documentary in 1995. Featuring singer Phil Anselmo, bassist Rex Brown, guitarist Dimebag Darryl Abbot and his brother, drummer Vinnie Paul, Pantera was a key part of the 90s metal scene, releasing two of the finest albums of the genre; “Cowboys from Hell,” which featured, along with the title track, “Domination” and “Cemetery Gates,” and their follow-up “Vulgar Display of Power,” which bought us the likes of “Walk,” “This Love” and “Fucking Hostile.” Pantera spilt in the late 90s, with Vinnie Paul and Dimebag forming the band Damage Plan. They had some success until 2004 when Dimebag was shot and killed on stage by a deranged fan.

67. CREEDANCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL/JOHN FOGERTY
I put John Fogerty and CCR in the same slot because even though Fogerty has had a successful solo career since CCR broke up, his solo music could have easily been recorded with the band. “Fortunate Son” is probably my favorite CCR tune, but Fogerty’s “Centerfield” is a must for any baseball fan, and I ceremoniously play that tune every opening day. If you’ve never seen the video, make sure you check it out!

66. DIRE STRAITS
As I recently commented on Pete’s blog, Squawking VFR, Dire Straits is not only responsible for some of the best music of the 80s, but the go-to band whenever under the influence of hallucinates, I mean, you can actually SEE the music – err.. or so I’m told.. Mark Knopfler is a God! I will, however, disagree with one thing, I do not, in any shape or form, want my MTV. Check out “Romeo and Juliet,” very underrated!

65. NEIL YOUNG
The Godfather of Grunge, Neil Young, along with Bob Dylan, is my father’s favorite artist, and 32 years of listening to them has gotten me hooked. While Young’s singing voice sounds something like a camel with its nuts in a vice grip, his song writing is top of the line, and his lyrics are poignant and on the mark. While his catalog is littered with classics, “Unknown Legend” from the album “Harvest Moon” tops my list from Mr. Young. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a video of it to link to.

64. MEGADETH
Dave Mustaine’s unceremonious dismissal from Metallica right before they hit it big is well documented. Mustaine’s success with Megadeth is not, outside the metal community. Always in Metallica’s shadow, Megadeth put out some of the best metal records of the 80s and 90s, including “Rust in Peace,” “Peace Sells, But Who’s Buying?” and “Killing is My Business, and Business is Good.” Among my favorite Megadeth tracks are “Hanger 18,” “Peace Sells, but Who’s Buying?” and “Sweating Bullets.”

63. STEVE MILLER BAND
You never realize how many great songs the Steve Miller Band has churned out until you really look through their discography. It’s not just “The Joker” and “Take the Money on Run,” don’t forget about “Abracadabra,” “Jungle Love,” “Dance, Dance, Dance” and “Jet Airliner.”

62. SUICIDAL TENDENCIES
The first time I saw Suicidal Tendencies live – opening for Metallica and Danzig at the Arts Center in 1994 – I was blown away. Talk about speed metal! It wasn’t just the pure energy of their performance, but when lead singer Mike Muir left the stage and ran through the crowd, up the aisles, and joined the HUGE mosh pit on the lawn, I was hooked. Check out the songs “Institutionalized,” “You Can’t Bring Me Down,” “Send Me Your Money” and “How Will I Laugh Tomorrow.”

61. PAUL SIMON
Leave it to Paul Simon to write a song about his drug dealer. The creative force behind Simon & Garfunkel, Simon has made a nice solo career for himself with hits like the aforementioned “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard,” as well as the cult classic, “Call Me Al,” the video to which might be the last good thing Chevy Chase ever did... despite his presence.

60. THE CURE
Sometimes, you just like a band and you can’t quite put your finger on the reason. “Just Like Heaven,” “Boys Don’t Cry” and “Pictures of You” are among my favorite Cure tunes.

59. ABBA
Here you go, another chance to rip me. Yes, I like ABBA. Granted, disco sucks. But there’s something about these bubbly Swedes that keep my toes ‘a tapping. While my father has had a fairly big impact on some of my musical tastes, here’s a case where my mother has had an effect. I remember being a kid and hearing ABBA playing in the basement while she did laundry. “The Winner Takes it All,” “Fernando” and “Waterloo” are my top three favorite tunes from ABBA.

58. KING DIAMOND/MERCYFUL FATE
There is something about a grown man, adorned in makeup, alternating vocally between octaves, as he rips out fierce metal runs. King Diamond, the lead singer of Mercyful Fate, had a successful solo career as well. His concept album, “Abigail,” about a haunted house and the fate of the family that moves in late in the 1700s, is still one of my favorite records to date. For an added treat this holiday season, check out the King’s classic, “No Presents for Christmas.”

57. COUNTING CROWS
Their first album “August and Everything After” was so fucking good, that despite my not really getting into anything they’ve released since, the Counting Crows are still 57th on this list. It just goes to show it’s all about quality, not quantity.

56. FIVE FOR FIGHTING
One of only a handful of artists to hit in this decade that is worth a damn, Five for Fighting is the stage name for singer/songwriter John Ondrasik, and you gotta admit, the moniker is great – you gotta love someone that names himself for a hockey penalty. Five for Fighting had hits with “Superman” and “100 Years,” but has recorded a bunch of other great songs on the albums “Message for Albert” and “America Town,” including “Easy Tonight” and “10 Miles from Nowhere.”

55. TONIC
Tonic had minor hits in the late 90s with “If You Could Only See” and “You Wanted More,” but there’s much more to them, as I discovered. That albums “Lemon Parade” and “Sugar” are both fantastic rock records, a nice mix of upbeat tunes and ballads.

54. BOB DYLAN
Bob Dylan has written as many hits for other artists as he has had for himself, Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower” is a prime example. But there are plenty of masterpieces Dylann has recorded. So what if you can’t understand half the words the cat is saying? My favorites include “Tangled Up in Blue,” Knocking on Heaven’s Door,” “License to Kill,” and “Hurricane,” which is set in Jersey. Dylan’s “I Remember You” was also featured prominently in the Mets 1986 highlight film, “A Year to Remember.”

53. CROSBY, STILLS, NASH (& YOUNG)
Harmonic geniuses, CS&N (and sometimes Y) was a big part of the late 60s music scene, and continued producing quality tunage well into the 80s and 90s. Still, I went to see them at PNC a few years ago, and boy have they lost it. Steven Stills spent half the show clutching one of the amps, trying to stay on his feet. Check out “Helplessly Hoping” and “Wasted on the Way” for fine examples of three-part harmony done right.

52. SAVATAGE
You might know these guys as the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Radio stations play the shit out of their tune “Christmas Eve in Sarajevo” during the holiday season. But first they were Savatage, an 80s hairband known for their rock operas. “Gutter Ballet,” “Edge of Thorns,” “When the Crowds Are Gone” and “Believe” are the tunes they’ve released that top my list.

51. THE REFRESHMENTS
Like Bowling for Soup, The Refreshments are another band that relies on shtick. They hit the charts in 1996 with “Banditos,” but their entire collection is quality. (clip isn’t their video, but at least you’ll be able to hear the song).

50. THE BEACH BOYS
I’ve been throwing the word “genius” around quite a bit here, but as I use it again, for Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys, you can use the literal definition. The man is a trailblazer, a musical genius, one of the greatest songwriters of the last 100 years. Too bad he doesn’t know his own name, nor can he form a coherent sentence anymore.

49. GREAT WHITE
Go ahead, make all the fire jokes you’d like, but before these guys were responsible for killing 97 club-goers, a couple of roadies and their rhythm guitarist at a 2003 show in Rhode Island, they rocked. Aside from glam rock classics like “Once Bitten, Twice Shy,” and “Rock Me.” Jack Russell is also credited with belting out the power ballad “The Angel Song.” Thankfully i've only seen them play outdoor venues!

48. FLEETWOOD MAC
Between the love triangles and internal bickering, Fleetwood Mac still had time to put out a catalog of great music. Stevie Nicks’ unique voice lends itself well to Fleetwood Mack’s soft, melodic stylings, while the rest of the voices provide a nice contrast when they chime in. “Rhiannon” tops my list of Fleetwood Mac tunes.

47. EVANESSENCE
Power, range, heavy rock. Evenessence not only can rock the house, but lead singer Amy Lee is probably my favorite female vocalist to hit in the last five years. That dame has got some pipes! After scoring hits in recent years with “Bring me to Life,” and the haunting power ballad, “My Immortal.” They’ve since broken up, so, yeah, that’s the end of that.

46. REO SPEEDWAGON
If you grew up in the 80s, or even if you were simply conscious during the decade, REO Speedwagon has some place in your memories, even if you never attended a school dance or saw the movie “The Last American Virgin,” which featured their hit, “Keep On Loving You.” REO Speedwagon also hit with “In My Dreams,” "Take it On The Run” and “Can’t Fight This Feeling,” but there’s plenty more goodness where those came from.

45. RICHARD MARX
Another staple of the 80s school dance scene, Richard Marx was a big-time hit maker in the late 80s. His “Right Here Waiting” was also the first song I learned how to play in its entirety on the piano. Marx also hit with “Angelia,” “Satisfied” and “Hazard,” among other tunes.

44. AMERICAN ANGEL
Though they never hit it big, the Cranford, NJ natives were one of the 80s most underrated and lesser-known hairbands. You would be hard-pressed to find a copy of their self-titled debut or their follow-up EP, but if you listened to 89.5 WSOU (Seton Hall’s radio station) during the late 80s, you have heard American Angel. Their “hits” included “How Can I Miss You,” “Open up the Balcony” and “Lessons.”

43. ROXETTE
Another of my guilty pleasures from the 80s, Roxette’s first two albums, “Look Sharp!” and “Joy Ride” were played over and over again during my junior high and high school years. There were upbeat tunes like “Dangerous” and “The Look,” as well as ballads like “Listen to your Heart” and “It Must Have Been Love,” their smash hit from the movie “Pretty Woman,” which remains my favorite pop ballad of all time.

42. STING
After he split with The Police, Sting kind of went in a new direction as a solo artist, leaning more toward jazz and blues than the synthesizer-heavy pop songs we were used to hearing him croon. My favorite is “Fortress Around My Heart.”

41. DISTURBED
Today’s metal, for the most part, is shit. Disturbed is one of the few exceptions. After bursting on to the scene in 2000 with the album “The Sickness,” which included radio hits like “Stupify” and “Down with the Sickness,” they followed it up with 2002’s “Believe” and “Ten Thousand Fists” in 2005. What makes Disturbed unique in today’s metal scene is that they’re not your typical band with one yahoo pounding away on a drum kit, and two or three others playing the same three power chords over and over, while another clown yells incoherently into a microphone about killing this and destroying that. With lyrics about intelligent subjects like religion, society’s ills and the absolute incompetence of our leaders, Disturbed melds powerful riffs and melodic hooks behind lead singer David Draiman, who can actually carry a tune, while at the same time providing the power metal needs. Disturbed’s reaching #41 on this list is also helped by the fact that I used to hang out with Draiman when we went to the same school in Israel in ’91-’92. The cat would lead the prayers in synagogue, and now he’s got facial piercings! It still makes me laugh to watch him trying to act all angry and hardcore in his videos and interviews. Check out “Prayer,” which is my favorite Disturbed tune.

40. SIMON & GARFUNKEL
While Saturday Night Live credited Simon and Garfunkel’s success to a deal with the devil, I credit it to top-notch song writing and tremendous two-part harmonies. “I’m just a singer,” Art Garfunkel said on many occasions, and he proved it, never playing an instrument, simply standing there, hands in his pockets, crooning along with Paul Simon’s masterfully crafted songs. “The Boxer,” “Mrs. Robinson” and “America” are my favorite S&G tunes.

39. SCORPIONS
A hairband from Germany, the Scorpions hit in the mid-80’s with “Rock You Like a Hurricane,” and later released a song that became a soundtrack for the end of the Cold War, with 1990’s “Wind of Change.” But there is a lot more to Klaus Meine, Rudolph Schenker and friends than those tunes. “Still Loving You” is one of my favorite power ballads of all time, while I also count “Hit Between The Eyes,” “Tease Me, Please Me” and “Send Me An Angel” among my favorites from the Scorps.

38. FIREHOUSE
There’s more to Firehouse than the pop success they achieved with “Love of a Lifetime.” “Reach for the Sky,” “Don’t Treat Me Bad,” and the title track from their second album, “Hold Your Fire,” are all great tunes.

37. LIFE OF AGONY
The mid-90s hardcore scene never got off the ground, commercially, and, for the most part, that’s a good thing. The one exception to that is Life of Agony, which mixed hardcore riffs and beats with a singer in Keith Caputo that yelled, yes, but on key. The boys from Brooklyn were best known for “This Time,” which was featured in an episode of Beavis and Butthead (“Aw, his daddy doesn’t have time for him, awww.”). “Through and Through” and the title track from their first album, “River Runs Red,” as well as “Lost at 22” and “Other Side of the River” from their sophomore effort, “Ugly” are my favorite tunes from LOA.

36. ANTHRAX
I have been to a lot of metal shows in my day, and I have participated in many a mosh pit. But there was no better than at an Anthrax gig. These guys rocked the fucking house and raised the crowd into a frenzy every time they played. Perhaps the most memorable Anthrax show I’ve been to was in 1994 at the old Academy Theater in NYC. Life of Agony opened, and by the time Anthrax hit the stage I was quite worked up. That was, by far, the best pit I have ever been in, as the entire floor in front of the stage was moshing in perfect unison. You always know it’s a good pit when there are few injuries. To top it off, Mike Piazza was in attendance that night! “Got the Time,” “Caught in a Mosh” and “Antisocial” are my favorite Anthrax tunes.

35. THE EAGLES
One of the first bands to have success on both the country and mainstream music charts, The Eagles churned out great song after great song during the 70s and 80s, including classics like “Hotel California,” “Take It Easy,” “Lying Eyes,” “Tequila Sunrise” and “Peaceful Easy Feeling.” But my favorite Eagles song is still “Desperado.”

34. POISON
In difference to Pete and Joe Pendleton, Poison does not suck. They are the quintessential 80s hairband. They represent everything that is good, and bad, about the genre, and the fact that they are still touring every year with the original lineup is a testament to their place in music history. Take a lead singer in Brett Michaels, a drummer in Rikki Rockett and a base player in Bobby Dahl who are decent musicians, but more about hairspray and makeup, and lead guitar player in C.C. DeVille who is a walking, squawking advertisement for the dangers of doing speed, yet might be the worst guitar player ever to have recorded a note, and you have Poison. But then there’s the music. It’s decadent, mindless and simplistic, but still has the ability to fire you up and get chicks to take their tops off. “Fallen Angel” and “Ride the Wind” are my two favorite Poison tunes, but they are probably most famous for “Every Rose has its Thorn.”

33. TESLA
If I were doing a list of the greatest power ballads ever written, Tesla’s “Love Song” would be at or near the top. From it’s mesmerizing acoustic guitar intro (which is unfortunately missing from the video I’ve linked to) to its anthem-like hook, Jeff Keith and the boys have shown how to write a power ballad. But Tesla has also produced some other fantastic tunes. From their better-than-the-original cover of the Five Man Electrical Band’s classic “Signs,” to original hits like “Modern Day Cowboy,” “Getting’ Better” and “Edison’s Medicine,” Tesla rocks.

32. THE POLICE

A hit machine in the 80s, The Police were not like most of the pop bands infesting mainstream rock. And while most of the genre’s artists were singing almost exclusively about chicks, partying and whether or not to wear their sunglasses at night, Sting, Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland wrote tunes about, among other things, hookers (“Roxanne”), pedophilia ("Don’t Stand So Close to Me”) and the tedium of the middleclass (“Synchronicity II”).

31. JUDAS PRIEST
So what if lead singer Rob Halford loves the cock? Judas Priest is still one of the most influential metal bands in history, setting the bar for anyone that came after, and they are still kicking ass. Check out the songs, “Breaking the Law,” “Painkiller,” “Screaming for Vengeance,” and Priest’s unbelievable cover of Chuck Berry’s classic, “Johnny B. Goode.”

30. ELTON JOHN
Speaking of loving the cock, Elton John comes in at #30, which is about the same number of years as he has been rocking both sides of the pond. Lady….er, I mean SIR Elton is a musical icon, with countless hits over the years. My favorites include “Levon,” “Tiny Dancer” and “Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters,” which features the line “...subway’s no way for a good man to go down...” Well, he would know.

29. TOAD THE WET SPROCKET
Known for radio-friendly tunes like “Walk on the Ocean” and “

All I Want,” Toad the Wet Sprocket’s best songs were those they never released. The haunting “Pray your Gods” is my favorite, with “Windmills,” “I Will Not Take These Things for Granted” and “Before You Were Born” also among their best.

28. WARRANT
Any band that can get away with wearing white leather jump suits in a music video has to make this list. It also doesn’t hurt that lead singer Janie Lane was married to Warrant video vixen and ex-Star Search spokesmodel Bobbie Brown. Despite all their great power ballads and hairband anthems, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” tops my list of Warrant tunes.

27. MOTLEY CRUE
If Poison is the quintessential hairband, than Motley Crue typifies how a rock band should live. Whether its wrecking sports cars, banging four chicks at a time, drinking and drugging themselves into oblivion, or, on a slow night, simply trashing a hotel room, Vince Neil, Tommy Lee, Nikki Sixx and Mick Mars live up to the image they project. While the Crue have released several albums that are eye-poppingly awesome, “Dr. Feelgood” is probably my favorite, with “Same ol’ Situation” my favorite tune. Still, don’t forget classics like “Home Sweet Home,” “Girls, Girls, Girls,” “Too Fast for Love” and “Live Wire.”

26. BRYAN ADAMS
I would love to start this blurb by calling Bryan Adam’s music “good old American rock ‘n roll,” but the cat is from Canada. Sure, everyone knows “Summer of ‘69” and the highly successful ballad “Heaven,” which was actually my sister’s wedding song. But there are better tunes in this cat’s collection. “One Night Love Affair,” which was featured in the classic 80’s flick, “Real Genius,” is among them.

25. HEART
Heart should have been a hairband. Then again, Ann Wilson should have been a parade float. Ok, who am I to make fat jokes? In any case, Heart rules. The powerful vocals, the power ballads, the power chords. Hell, I even dug “All I Want to Do is Make Love to You.” But Heart was at its best in the early to mid-80’s, releasing classics like “Alone,” “Never” and “These Dreams.”

24. CINDERELLA
Discovered by Jon Bon Jovi, Cinderella is fantastic. A classic hairband, their simple, melodic stylings, Tom Keiter’s vocals, and good, old-fashioned cheese, makes them my 24th favorite artist. Check out “Coming Home,” “Night Songs,” “Gypsy Road,” and “Somebody Save Me,” as well as power ballads “Don’t Know What You’ve Got Till It’s Gone” and “Nobody’s Fool.”

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23. IRON MAIDEN
Right next to Judas Priest at the top of the 80s metal food chain is Iron Maiden. These guys took metal in another direction. Lead singer Bruce Dickinson has the same power and range as Priest’s Rob Halford, and he used it to spearhead the genre that eventually led to the hairband revolution. Maiden kept it dark, fast and heavy enough to still be called metal, mostly by using occult images, like their signature character, “Eddie.” Bands like Metallica, meanwhile, kept Maiden’s original pace keeping metal hairspray-free. Maiden cranked out a host of classic albums, including “Seventh Son of a Seventh Son,” “Power Slave,” “Killers,” “Fear of the Dark,” and, most notably, “Number of the Beast,” which featured one of their signature songs, “Run to the Hills.”

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22. SARA MCLACHLAN
My friend, Christine, has the prefect name for artists like Sara McLachlan, “The Bitter Bitches.” But while she is definitely part of that genre, what McLachlan does not have is the whiny, bastarded folk sound of artists like Tori Amos and Ani Difranco – not that’s necessarily a bad thing. I first discovered McLachlan at a small club in the West Village in NYC in the early 90s, and I was delighted when she achieved commercial success. She is a tremendous songwriter and lyricist, as well as possessing an amazing voice, as well as a fantastic mastery of the piano. “Good Enough” from her first album “Fumbling Toward Ecstasy” is my favorite Sara Mac tune.

21. DEF LEPPARD
Not even an amputation could stop Def Leppard. After bursting on the scene with the album “High and Dry” in 1981, Def Lep cemented their place in rock with 1983’s “Pyromania,” which featured classics like “Photograph,” “Foolin” and “Rock of Ages.” After drummer Rick Allen lost his left arm in a car wreck, Def Leppard rebounded to take a step up to rock Gods. They released “Hysteria” in 1987, and, at the time, it became the biggest selling album of all time, surpassing Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” The album featured classics like “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” “Love Bites,” and “Animal.” In the wake up of the death of guitarist Steve Clarke, the album “Adrenalized,” released in 1992, also enjoyed commercial success, with tunes like “Making Love Like a Man,” and “Let’s Get Rocked.”

20. WHITE LION
While White Lion only had a couple of mainstream hits, with “Wait” and “When the Children Cry,” they are probably the most underrated of all the 80s hairbands. Vito Bratta’s riff-riding guitar work and Mike Tramp’s vocals made magic, as White Lion rocked the 80s and early 90s with tunes like “Lady of the Valley,” “Cry for Freedom,” “Little Fighter,” and a kickass cover of Golden Earring’s “Radar Love.” White Lion also recorded a couple of mind-blowing power ballads in “You’re All I Need” and “’Till Death Do Us Part.”

19. BILLY JOEL
I’d like to dedicate this spot in the rankings to our own Joe Pendleton, who has the audacity to declare, “Billy Joel sucks.” I’ll save myself some time by simply cutting and pasting excerpts from my comments on Joe P’s blog: "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant" is an epic masterpiece, both musically and lyrically. It makes me think of how my parents grew up -- ironically, my father's name is Eddie. "Miami 2017," "Goodnight Saigon," and "Angry Young Man" are also, all, masterpieces. And "Only the Good Die Young" is a great song. (Billy Joel) displays the ability to craft fantastic, insightful lyrics, that people can relate to. But what makes him great is that the man can play the shit out of a piano! I can't think of anyone that is his superior. Go listen to the prelude to "Angry Young Man" or the intro to "Miami 2017" and tell me Billy Joel doesn't kick ass. Go listen to some of the runs in "Scenes from the Italian Restaurant" and tell me he doesn't rule. Bold, general statements like "he sucks" should be reserved for the likes of N’Sync and the Human League.

18. THE DIXIE CHICKS
Their political rambling aside, the Dixie Chicks have it all. Three hot dames who can sing, harmonize and play their instruments to perfection. Lead singer Natalie Maines, along with Emily Robinson and Martie Seidel, first hit with “Wide Open Spaces,” before releasing a pair of multi-platinum albums “Fly” and “Home,” which featured tunes like “Sin Wagon,” “Traveling Soldier,” and “Top of the World,” as well as the hilarious “Goodbye Earl,” which stars NYPD Blue’s Dennis Franz in the video, as well as Lauren Holly and Michael DeLuise of 21 Jumpstreet and Wayne’s World fame. A must see! This year, the Chicks released their fourth album “Taking the Long Way,” and their first single is “Not Ready to Make Nice,” which addresses the George W. Bush controversy.

17. SKID ROW

When a wild man from Toronto, with the singing range of a eunuch, met four bums from Jersey, the result was one of the greatest hairbands of all time. And while Skid Row’s self-titled debut got all the accolades, with songs like “18 & Life,” “I Remember You” and “Youth Gone Wild,” it was their second album “Slave to the Grind,” to me, that was their finest work, as Baz and the boys evolved from glam to Gods. With hard-driving metal goodness like the title track, as well as “Monkey Business” and “Get the Fuck Out,” along with power ballads “Quicksand Jesus,” “In a Darkened Room” and “Wasted Time,” it remains one of my favorite albums of all time.

16. THE DOORS
Acid rock at its finest, The Doors led a revolution in the late 60s, promoting mind-altering drugs, free love and deep thought. Only the death of Jim Morrison in Paris during July of 1971 could put an end to the reign. If you’ve never seen the Oliver Stone movie, “The Doors,” definitely check that out. Not only is it full of Doors music, but Val Kilmer’s portrayal of Morrison was an acting job for the ages. There are so many Doors songs I absolutely love, but if forced to name only a few, I recommend “Peace Frog,” “Riders on the Storm,” “The Soft Parade” and “Twentieth Century Fox.”

15. ALANIS MORISSETTE
The queen of the “bitter bitches,” no artist has moved up this list faster in the last few years as Alanis Morissette – of course her cameo in my favorite movie of all time, “Dogma,” where she played “God” helped her gain favor in my eyes. Alanis turned heads in 1995 with her debut album “Jagged Little Pill,” and the world thought, “Damn, this chick is angry!” Well, if you had been banging “Joey” from Full House, you’d be angry, too! It is said that Morissette’s first hit, “You Oughta Know,” was written over her break up with Dave Coulier, but it could have been worse; she could have been singing about Bob Saget when she inquired, “…does she go down on you in the theater.” Morissette, whose lyrics have always been very personal, chilled out a bit after that, releasing “Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie,” which featured a much more mellow and laid back collection of tunes, like “Thank You” and “Unsent.” – I guess life improved after making millions. She’s followed it up with “Under Rug Swept,” “Feast on Scraps” and “So-Called Chaos,” all of which show her growth as an artist and as a person. Check out “Excuses,” “Everything,” “Hands Clean,” and the haunting ballad “Uninvited” from the motion picture soundtrack, “City of Angels.” Lately, she’s hit again with a cover of Seal’s “Crazy.”

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14. BAD RELIGION
The pioneers and reigning kings of the new school punk movement, Bad Religion has set an example that every band should follow. Despite the prospect of millions of dollars and world-wide acclaim, these guys never sold out. A force for social change since the early 80s, Bad Religion melds uber-intellectual lyrical concepts with hard-driving, ultra-fast punk riffs to bring their message to the masses. I recommend the albums “Against the Grain,” “Stranger than Fiction,” “Recipe for Hate,” “Suffer” and “No Control.” Also, make sure you check out the tunes, “Stranger than Fiction” “21st Century Digital Boy,” “New America,” “Fuck Armageddon,” “Get Off,” and “American Jesus.” Their latest album, “The Empire Strikes First,” contains the song “Let Them Eat War,” about Bush’s re-election and the accompanying smoke-screen that was blown up the nation’s collective ass, as well as the satirical “Los Angeles is Burning.”

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13. GOO GOO DOLLS
I was a big Goo Goo Dolls fan long before they ever hit it big with their fourth album, “A Boy Named Goo,” in 1995, which featured hits like “Name” and “Long Way Down.” The band took it to the next level in 1998 with “Dizzy Up the Girl,” which released hits like “Iris,” “Slide” and “Black Balloon.” Still, to their credit, they stayed true to their roots and never lost their edge. Among the highlights of their earliest work, is the tune “We Are the Normal” off the album “Superstar Car Wash” (1993), and, from their first album “Hold Me Up” (1990), a great cover of the Plimsouls’s “A Million Miles Away,” which was featured in the movie “Valley Girl,” starring a young Nick Cage.

12. OZZY OSBOURNE
There are many reasons I detest MTV. Not only are they responsible for the dumbing-down of America’s youth, but they also managed to turn a God into a joke in the eyes of the masses. Ozzy Osbourne is the godfather of metal – yes, I know I’ve used the term “Godfather” quite a bit in these rankings). No single man is more responsible of the genre than he is. But when MTV’s reality show “The Osbournes” depicts him as a bumbling idiot and not the icon that he is, well, that really get my goat. Sure, the man has done more drugs and drank more alcohol than 99.9 percent of people who have ever walked the face of the planet, and it’s definitely caught up with him, but that’s no reason to disrespect the cat! The former lead singer of Black Sabbath had a solo career that topped his days with that band, churning out hit after hit and classic after classic, like “Crazy Train,” “Goodbye to Romance” and “Bark at the Moon,” as well as the power ballad “Close my Eyes Forever” with Lita Ford.

11. PINK FLOYD
If there is one artist I’ve always regretted never having seen live, it’s Pink Floyd (they’re also the only one in my top 14 I haven’t seen in concert). While the creative marriage of Roger Waters and David Gilmore has dissolved, they were together long enough to produce several masterpieces. Sure, the Waters-less album “The Division Bell” was fantastic, but it didn’t come close to “Dark Side of the Moon,” “Wish You Were Here” or the epic masterpiece, “The Wall,” which is one of the top three albums ever made. Even the movie they made out of it was mind-blowing. That flick, like the aforementioned movie “The Doors,” is one of those movies that you can watch completely sober, yet halfway through realize that, somehow, you’re stoned off your ass.

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Before we get to the Top 10, just a quick rundown of the artists who didn’t make the cut.

The honorable mention, if you will (in alphabetical order):
Aerosmith, Asia, Bad Company, Blue Oyster Cult, Bruce Springsteen, Celine Dion, Cheap Trick, The Cowboys Junkies, Damn Yankees, Debbie Gibson (yes, I said Debbie Gibson), Depeche Mode, Dido, Eric Clapton, Jackson Browne, Lita Ford, Nirvana, Pat Benater, REM, Smashing Pumpkins, The Bangles, The Coors, The Offspring, Tori Amos, Type O-Negative Van Morrison, The Who, Wilson Phillips (yes, I said Wilson Phillips)

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The Top 10:
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10. JOURNEY
As I write this, I have just returned from seeing Journey for the first time. I have heard for years that Steve Perry’s replacement, Steve Augeri, sounds just like him. That’s not entirely untrue, he does sound like him, but he isn’t nearly as good, neither as a vocalist or a showman. Aside from my disappointment after seeing them live, Journey is still an amazing band. For one thing, nobody’s got a voice with the effortless upward range that Perry does, though some can fake it, I suppose, and his bandmates put it to good use with the songs they play behind him. Arena rock at its best, Journey’s catalog is full of classics. In addition to super-ballads like “Faithfully” and “Open Arms,” don’t forget memorable tunes like “Don’t Stop Believing,” “Separate Ways,” and “Lights.” Perhaps my favorite of the non-ballad Journey tunes is “Only the Young,” which was featured in the 1985 movie “Vision Quest,” starring Matthew Modine as a high school wrestler that hasn’t been covered by Harry Frezza. The movie also features Linda Fiorentino, Daphne Zuniga, of Spaceballs and Melrose Place fame, and James Gammon, who played Indians manager Lou Brown in the Major League movies.

9. METALLICA (Pre-1996)
American history is littered with tragedy. From Pearl Harbor to Kennedy’s assassination, from Vietnam to 9/11, many have suffered and lost. From a musical standpoint, June 4, 1996, to quote President Franklin Roosevelt, will forever be, “a date which will live in infamy.” Few tragedies in the music world can compare to what happened on this date, not the murder of John Lennon, not even disco. Fifteen years after grabbing the music world by the balls and squeezing, Metallica released the album “Load.” It was then we realized the greatest thrash metal band in history had sold out. It was the day the metal died (though Don McLean still has yet to return my phone calls about writing a song about it). The signs were there with the 1990 release of their self-titled fifth studio album, the record that has come to be known as “The Black Album.” Sure, the record was great, with hits like “Enter Sandman,” “Sad But True” and “Nothing Else Matters.” But you could see Metallica turning for the worst. By the time Load was released, the mutation had been completed. Gone was the band that gave us “Kill ‘em All,” their first album, which included classics such as “The Four Horseman,” “Whiplash” and “Seek and destroy.” Or 1984’s “Ride the Lightning,” with tunes like “For Whom the Bells Tolls,” “Creeping Death” and one of the greatest metal tunes ever written, “Fade to Black.” In 1986 they gave us “Master of Puppets,” which, in addition to the title track featured “Battery,” “Disposable Heroes” and my favorite of all Metallica tunes, “Welcome Home (Sanitarium).” And, of course, that most perfect of albums “And Justice of All” in 1988, which bestowed upon us the mega-hit “One.” All we have left is the history. From the time I was 17 until about 22, I lived and breathed Metallica, seeing them about 15 times in various venues around the country. On April 1, 1997, I went to see them at the Meadowland Arena, figuring, “Ok, they may have cut their hair and care now more about making money than good metal, but at least they’ll play the old shit.” That didn’t happen. They basically played a ton of new shit, a couple of old songs in their entirety, and made medleys out of the rest of them. I should have stayed home and watched Ken Griffey Jr. hit three homers that night. That was the last time I ever saw Selloutica.

8. NATALIE MERCHANT/10,000 MANIACS
Whether it was with the 10,000 maniacs or solo, Natalie Merchant is amazing in every way. Not only is she a fantastic songwriter and lyricist, but the tone of her voice gives me chills whenever I hear it. After producing gems like “Eat for Two,” “Edan” “Jezebel” and “These Are the Days” while with the Maniacs, Merchant went out on her own and the gold kept coming. In 1995 she released her first solo album, “Tigerlilly,” featuring hits like “Jealousy,” “Wonder” and “Carnival.” But her debut also featured masterpieces that were never released, like “Beloved Wife,” “San Andreas Fault” and “River,” which just might be my favorite song of all time, period. Her follow up, “Ophelia” was also fantastic, check out “Kind and Generous,” as well as the haunting title track.

7. DREAM THEATER
While hairbands might be my favorite genre of music, progressive rock and metal is a close second, as three such bands occupy spots in the Top 10. Long Island natives Dream Theater are one of the best. Featuring intricate musical compositions, deep, though-provoking lyrics, a lead singer who seemingly has no limit to his range, one of the greatest, most mind-blowing drummers to ever sit behind a kit in Mike Portnoy, and some of the most talented musicians to ever take the stage, DT is probably the most underrated bands of all time. While they had a college radio hit in 1990 with “Pull Me Under,” they’ve largely gone unnoticed by the mainstream music market, and it’s really their loss. Everything this band has ever done is golden, with hard-hitting tunes like “Peruvian Sky,” epics like “Metropolis” power ballads like “Surrounded” and concept albums like “Scenes from a Memory,” about a man who realizes he was a murderer in a previous life. I can’t help but get all fired up whenever I listen to these cats.

6. INDIGO GIRLS
There is something to be said about being the only straight male among 20,000 chicks, a large majority of which prefers fish to sausage. But when I've gone to see this lesbian folk-rock duo in concert, that’s me in a nutshell (help, I'm trapped in a nutshell!). The Indigo Girls – Emily Sailers and Amy Ray – achieved moderate radio play with “Galileo” and “The Power of Two,” but it is their cult following that keeps them going. It was in Israel in 1992 that I was sitting in a bar doing shtick when I heard this amazingly haunting music. Two chicks, singing a song I later found out was called “Kid Fears” (for some reason this link goes to the song played over clips from the ABC show, “Lost,” don’t ask me why). As the song reached its end, I heard Michael Stipe from REM chime in and I was like, “I gotta know who these dames are.” All anyone could tell me was that it was a group called the Indigo Girls. As soon as I returned to the States, I immediately went to the record store to purchase their self-titled album, which also features “Closer to Fine.” Since then, they have released eight others CDs, all full of outstanding music.

5. BON JOVI
In the world of pop culture, the state of New Jersey is known for three things; The Sopranos, Bruce Springsteen, and Bon Jovi. And if you’re from Jersey and you rip any of the three, you oughta be forcefully relocated to Western Pennsylvania, or, better yet, Utah. I expressed as much, Mr. Pendleton, in my recent letter to the mayor of South Plainfield. After two decent, yet unspectacular albums, Bon Jovi hit paydirt in 1986 with “Slippery When Wet,” and haven’t looked back. I don’t have to list all their hits, you know them or you’ve been in a coma since the mid-80s, but I will list my top five favorites (album in prentices): 1. Blood on Blood (New Jersey); 2. Something to Believe In (These Days); 3. Wanted Dead or Alive (Slippery When Wet); 4. Runaway (Bon Jovi); 5. Livin on a Prayer (Slippery When Wet). I look forward to another great night of Bon Jovi at Giants Stadium in July, as is Clark Kent, if Brooke can stay sober enough.

4. RUSH
If this were a ranking of the greatest artists of all time, as opposed to my favorites, Rush would top the list. Take three cats from Toronto who are amazing musicians, tremendous song writers, mind-boggling lyricists and as imaginative and innovative as they come, add the greatest drummer to ever walk to surface of this planet, and you have Rush. Lead singer and bassist Geddy Lee, guitarist Alex Lifeson and drummer Neil Peart are masters, nay, magicians. Between Lee’s high-pitched vocals and riff-roaring bass licks, Lifeson’s guitar and synthesizer work (which he, like Lee, often play with their feet during live shows), and Peart’s rhythm-defying, rule-breaking, how-the-fuck-did-he-do-that work on the drums, all I can do is bask in their glory. Since 1974, Rush has turned out masterpiece after masterpiece, epic after epic and mind-blowing album after mind-blowing album. With 18 original studio albums to their credit, I couldn’t possibly go through all the highlights, but I will put forth a few recommendations. You all probably know “Tom Sawyer” and “Limelight,” and possibly even "Spirit of the Radio," but make sure to check out “The Trees,” “Subdivisions” and, especially, “Force Ten.”

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3. GUNS N’ ROSES
There is no band in history that makes us wonder what could have been like Guns n’ Roses. When W.Axl Rose, Slash, Duff McKagen, Izzy Stradlin and Steven Adler burst onto the scene in 1987 with “Appetite for Destruction,” it turned the music world on its ass before flipping it back over and giving it a swift kick in the nads. Hairbands ruled mainstream rock in 1987, but in Gn’R you got the hairspray and spandex, just complete with anger, violence and a general “fuck you” to everyone, including their fans – as was evidenced by their complete inability to arrive at a gig on time, or, sometimes, at all. And, when they did, there was always a good chance it would end in a riot. “Welcome to the Jungle” was the single that introduced them to the world, and the world was ready. They followed it up with the power ballad, “Sweet Child of Mine,” followed by “Paradise City” – the video to which was filmed at Giants Stadium – before releasing “Gn’R Lies” in 1988, which featured the acoustic hit, “Patience,” as well as controversial underground classics “Used to Love Her” and “One in a Million.” By the time they released “Use Your Illusion I” and “Use Your Illusion II” in 1991, the Gunners had the world in their hands. The separately sold albums produced megahits like “Don’t Cry,” “November Rain” and “You Could Be Mine,” as well as the cover of the Bob Dylan classic “Knockin on Heaven’s Door” and the Wings hit “Live and Let Die.” Too bad it didn’t last much longer, as the band eventually crumbled, thanks mostly to the fact that Axl is, and has always remained, a fucking looney tune. For some of GnR’s deeper cuts, check out “Mr. Brownstone,” “It’s So Easy,” “Night Train,” “My Michelle” off Appetite, as well as the first song I ever got high to, “Rocket Queen.” Also “Civil War,” Dead Horse,” “Pretty Tied Up” and “Coma” off the Illusion albums.

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2. THE CRANBERRIES
Of all the things I've been ripped for in my life, many of them legitimate, none has been more off the mark than those who have ridiculed me for loving the Cranberries. Their tunes range from soft melodic east to listen to ballads to hard-driving rock, and everything in between. What can I say, they had me at “Linger.” The Cranberries, comprised of Limerick, Ireland natives Dolores O’Riordan on vocals and guitars, lead guitarist Noel Hogan, bassist Mike Hogan and drummer Fergal Lawler, arrived in 1992 with the album “Everyone Else is Doing it So Why Can’t We,” and released “Linger” as their first American single. I still remember where I was the first time I heard it, just getting off the Brooklyn Bridge near Gleason’s Gym and I was floored by O’Riordan’s Irish-accented, octave-defying voice. I was hooked immediately. The album, which also produced a huge hit with “Dreams,” was followed up by “No Need to Argue,” which contains “Ode to my Family,” the politically charged “Zombie” and “Ridiculous Thoughts.” Three more studio albums have followed, “To The Faithful Departed,” which included “Salvation,” "Bury the Hatchet" and "Wake Up and Smell the Coffee," and I eagerly await their next record. My favorite Cranberries tunes, in addition to “Dreams” include, “21,” “Yeat’s Grave,” “Animal Instinct,” “No Need to Argue” and “Just My Imagination.”

***************************

1. QUEENSRYCHE
I know some of you are saying to yourselves, “who the fuck are Queensryche?” or “Queensryche??? You mean those butt-puppets who did that song 'Silent Lucidity'

in the early 90’s is his favorite band of all time? That’s insane!” Well, my friends, if you can’t believe it, perhaps you should be listening to more Queensryche. After three moderately successful albums, “Queensryche,” “The Warning” and Rage for Order,” the Seattle-based progressive metal band carved their place in music with the 1988 concept album “Operation Mindcrime,” which I can only describe as “perfect in every way.” To me, it is the greatest album of all time, with Gn’R’s Appetite for Destruction” and Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” coming in second and third (maybe one day I will post a ranking of my favorite albums of all time). Mindcrime is genius. The story of Nicky, a confused, heroine-addicted dropout sucked in to a cult by the evil Dr. X, intent on revoluton. Nicky falls in love with a hooker-turned-nun, Mary, who is “saved” by Father William, a corrupt priest, who “takes her once a week on the alter like a sacrifice.” In the end, Nicky is ordered to kill Mary – “she knows too much” – and Father William – “get the priest, as well” – but he cannot bring himself to kill the woman he loves. So Dr. X does it for him. “Suite Sister Mary” is my favorite song on that album, where Nicky confronts Mary after taking out the priest. Other favs on the album include “Eyes of a Stranger,” “The Needle Lies,” “Revolution Calling,” “Spreading the Disease,” and the title track. The band released a live version of Mindcrime, a boxed set containing audio and video, called “Operation Livecrime” in 1989. To date, the best concert I ever saw was Q-Ryche at the Arts Center in 1994, where they played the majority of Mindcrime and even had skits on stage acting out certain parts. But when I saw them in 2004 at the Starland Ballroom in Old Bridge – I was right up front against the stage in the general-admission venue – they played the entire album, in order, and even bought out Pamela Moore, who provided the vocals for “Mary” on the original record. Queensryche released Operation Mindcrime II in 2006, their 10th studio effort, but it didn’t quite get it done. 1990’s “Empire” was also an awesome album, featuring the title track, as well as “Silent Lucidity,” “Another Rainy Night Without You” and “Jet City Woman.” Highlights from other albums include “The Lady Wore Black,” “Queen of the Reich

,” “Damaged,” “Sign of the Times” and “I Dream in Infrared.” Here's to lead singer Geoff Tate, guitarists Chris DeGarmo and Michael Wilton, bassist Eddie Jackson and drummer Scott Rockenfield. You guys rule!

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Am I insane for taking the time and effort to put this together? Probably. Was it worth it? Definitely. Will Joe Pendleton rip every one of the artists on this list, probably not, I’m sure he’ll leave two or three alone.

Rip away, boys and girls.

*Special thanks to Youtube.com, which, unknowingly, provided all the video links. It’s an amazing site, peruse it sometime!

ROCK OF AGES

2006-06-28T01:26:00.000-04:00

So I saw Def Leppard and Journey at the PNC Bank, Garden State, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Ahmeds Falafel House Arts Center this evening, and let me tell you, Def Lep has not skipped a beat in 25 years! This was my third time seeing them in concert and they get better every time, it seems.

Though they didn’t play my favorite song, “Foolin,” they still rocked the mother effing house.

Journey, fronted by Steve Augeri these days and not Steve Perry, was ok. Augeri does sound a lot like Perry, but they didn’t have the umph I expected. I was kind of disappointed, being it was my first time ever seeing Journey play live.

To top it off, they didn't even play "Open Arms," as well as several other key tunes you would expect to hear, so I was not too thrilled with Neil Schoen and his pals.

We got there early and had a low-key tailgate, just drinks and whatever food we bought along, no grilling. Since I haven't been eating much other than salad lately (Atkins sucks), my stomach was pretty empty, and six Captain and diet cokes in those big solo cups really lit me up.

Still, I sobered up enough by the time Journey played its second or third song to enjoy the how.

What did suck, however, was that three or four songs into Def Leppard's set, my fucking glasses broke (the screw popped out and one of the lenses fell). After flagging down one of the ushers for a flashlight and finding the lense, I pretty much had to watch the rest of the show without glasses on, which wasn't too bad, but not great. Luckily I had some scotch tape in the car, so I was able to do a temp repair job.

I will have to get one of those eyeglass repair kits in the morning on the way to work.

In other news, I’m almost finished with the granddaddy of all blogs. I hope to have it up sometimes within the next few days.

I’ve tipped off a couple of you what I’ve been working on, but as for the rest of you, all I’ll say is it’s of a musical nature.

No words

2006-06-27T00:42:00.000-04:00

I'm speechless.

In case you haven't seen this. Check it out. Here's a baseball manager that knows how to make the most of an argument.

STENCH

2006-06-22T12:50:00.000-04:00

According to Google.com, the population of the United States is 295,734,134. The population of Ghana is 21,029,853.

That means the USA has 14 times more people, yet, in today's World Cup game, they only had half the goals.

Sickening.

How we can't find 11 dimwits that can play soccer from among nearly 3 billion people is beyond me.

And people wonder why nobody gives a fuck about the MLS

Genius

2006-06-21T00:47:00.000-04:00

Someone emailed this to me. I forwaded it out to a few people, but this is too good not to share with as many people as I can.

Scientific Explanation of Hell

The following is an actual question given on a University of Washington chemistry mid-term. The answer by one student was so "profound" that the professor shared it with colleagues, via the Internet, which is, of course, why we now have the pleasure of enjoying it as well.

Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic(absorbs heat)?

Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant.

One student, however, wrote the following:
First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving.
As for how many souls are entering Hell, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today.
Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell.
With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added.
This gives two possibilities: 1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.
2. If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.
So which is it?
If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa, (Cheerleader Captain and Class Valedictorian) during my Freshman year that, "it will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you," and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night and again this morning, then number 2 must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over.
The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct...leaving only Heaven, and thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, Teresa kept shouting "Oh my God!!!"

THIS STUDENT RECEIVED THE ONLY "A."

Counting My Chickens

2006-06-15T14:02:00.000-04:00

I am not the kind of baseball fan that gets all excited in June.

I am a pessimist by nature, and being a fan of the New York Mets, as well as the New York Jets of the NFL, I know heartache; I know blueballs and I know what it's like to be cockteased.

That said, something feels different about the 2006 Mets.

I received an email from Joe Pendleton last Sunday, as the Mets were getting ready to embark on a 10-game road trip to Los Angeles, Arizona and Philadelphia.

"Cat," he wrote. "We gotta go at least 5-5 on this road trip."

He preceded to break down the next 10 games, figuring the Mets would lose 2-of-3 in LA, split four with the Diamondbacks, and take 2-of-3 from Phili -- though, he noted, a series victory over the Dodgers and losing two to the Phillies was possible. He the went through the rest of June's schedule, and the first two weeks of July, projecting 52 victories by the All Star break as a good, attainable goal. That would put them on pace for about 95 victories, which should be enough to win the NL East.

And I agreed, not only with his 52-game summit, but his view of the West-Coast, Phili swing.

As I sit here waiting out a rain delay this afternoon, in this, the final game of the aforementioned road jaunt, I am all smiles.

The Mets scored runs in the first inning for the eighth straight contest, and now lead 4-2 in the third inning. If they win today, they will have wrapped up the trip 9-1 and will have a record of 42-23.

That means, in order to reach Joe P's goal, the Mets only have to go 10-13 between now and the break.

I count 100+ chickens.

Chokeback II: The Next Day

2006-06-08T23:12:00.000-04:00

Some of you have seen this, which I posted on my old My Space blog a few months ago.

I now bring you the sequel

Enjoy

Bagles and Baseball

2006-06-05T23:22:00.000-04:00

Heard anything amusingly ridiculous lately?

Try this.

Not that I'm opposed to baseball in the holy land, but there isn't even a word for "baseball" in Hebrew!

Perhaps the most disturbing part of this tale, however, is this:

"Intent on building up a local talent base, the league has named Dan Duquette, former general manager of the Boston Red Sox, as its director of player development.
Duquette, who now runs a sports academy in Massachusetts, plans to open a similar facility in Israel to train young baseball and softball players. He hopes to build a national team -- comprised of Israelis as well as Jewish-American players - that can compete in the 2009 World Classic.
"I understand it's a challenge," Duquette said. "I've had a knack for turning around baseball organizations with good players and development operations. This project is along those lines."

Needless to say, if Duquette lets his cousin, Jim, anywhere near this, there will be no fire-balling left-handed pitchers allowed in the Israeli league.

In other news, former Major League umpire Eric Gregg left the building Monday after suffering a massive stroke.

Somewhere, Livan Hernandez is shedding a tear.

The Cream, The Clear and a Broken Cell Phone

2006-05-31T19:42:00.000-04:00

<<< Barry Bonds' rookie card.

The long holiday weekend was nothing if not eventful. And not all of it good.

Work, as usual, sucked. Plenty of waiters canceling, showing up late, or not showing up at all.

Sunday I actually had to work a party, which is rare. I spent most of the day running 80-some-odd waiters at a VIP wedding in Oakhurst, next to Deal and Long Brach. At the same time, I had to deal with all the other bullshit that was going on at the other jobs around the Tri-State area.

The shindig, which easily cost mid-six-figures, was at a mansion on the beach. There were about 1,000 guests, and I think 90 percent were Middle Eastern -- though Jews, so I wasn't worried about exploding wedding cakes, though I'm sure my bartenders weren't tipped.

Upon departure from Little Syria, I trekked cross-state to scenic Mount Laurel, to the home of a man Jersey Girl often refers to as "The Professor." Ironic, though, that in my case, when I refer to him in the same way, I mean it, since at one point he was actually my professor during my freshman year of college. And it was he who subsequently hooked me up with the gig at the Courier News.

Anyway, in the nearly 10 years I have known him, I have seen him intoxicated on many, many occasions. But in all that time I have never seen him even close to as drunk and out of control as he was Sunday night. I won't get into the gory details here, but some of you were there, so feel free to support my claim in comment.

Now, perhaps the biggest tragedy to strike during Sunday's craziness was that at some point, me cell phone decided that if I want it to work properly I would no longer be permitted to close it (I have one of those flip-phones). If I close it, it freezes or shuts down, forcing me to open it up and take the battery out, put it back in and then re-boot the phone.

This sucks.

If you know how much I'm on the phone with work, and that I pretty much have to carry it with me everywhere I go, even if it's just to the bathroom for a quick whiz, not being able to close it or put it in my pocket is a major inconvenience. I refuse to pay for a new phone. Let me company pay for it.

Monday was a nice day at my mother's house, as we had a BBQ in honor of mine and my sister's birthday -- they're a week apart (mine is today, 5/31). So that was nice, seeing family and the few friends I was permitted to invite (my mother limited us to four apiece, including spouses and significant others). One of those friends, Levi, who is also my boss, was there, so though I get shitty cell reception at my mom's house, I let him handle most of the calls on a day that also went to shit with latenesses, cancellations, etc.

Thankfully, after the stress of the last three weekends, this weekend is quiet at work, thanks to the Jewish holiday of Shavuot.

We get back to hell on Monday.

Some other news and notes from over the weekend:

Todd may have gotten me the best damn gift I have ever received when he presented me with a karaoke machine this evening. I would like to recognize his girlfriend, whose general idea it was.
But not only that, he also gave me eight karaoke CDs chock full of tremendous tunes, ranging from Guns 'n Roses and Poison to The Steve Miller Band and, yes, even Kelly Clarkson.

A fine, fine job by Mr Todd A.

Lastly, a couple of noteworthy deaths.

Former NFL fullback Craig "Ironhead" Heyward , who played mostly for the Saints, left the building Saturday, succumbing to a recurring brain tumor.

Heyward's death, for me, is sad, not only for his cool nickname, but because Heyward grew up in Passaic, NJ, a place where I spent much of my teenage years and early 20s.

After moving to Hillside from Brooklyn, NY when I was 15, my friend, Sam, who used to live in my old neighborhood before moving to Passaic some years earlier, ended up in my high school in Elizabeth.

Through Sam, I met most of the friends I still had today, who lived in Passaic, too. So when Heyward ended up in the NFL, many of us knew him from the Third-Ward Park.

Another noteable death was that of actor Paul Gleason, who starred, in among other things, Die Hard (as the dickhead cop in charge at the scene), the mysterious Clarence Beeks in the Eddie Murphy/Dan Aykroyd classic "Trading Places," and, most importantly, as Principle Richard "mess with the bulls and you get the horns" Vernon in "The Breakfast Club."

That is all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get my stash out of Bender's locker.

Unholy matrimony

2006-05-25T13:58:00.000-04:00

I would like to thank Jersey Girl for tipping me off to this.

I mean, I love Axl as much as the next guy, but does this cat REALLY want him at his wedding?
Now, if it were me, I wouldn't care. I love debauchery. Shocking displays of bodily functions, bridesmaids brawls, and anything else Ziggy Freud couldn't properly diagnose would be sadistically entertaining enough for me to make it worth while. Hell, I got fired up in 2002 when the Wachovia Center in Philly turned into a firery riot when Axl and his new G'nR buddies bailed on a concert. I had driven all the way to Philly in the snow, I was gonna see a show, one way or another.

But let's get real. Even is this cat DOES manage to get Axl to commit to playing his wedding, as I told Jersey Girl, he's got a better chance at Axl FOLEY showing up than he does at seeing W. Axl Rose.

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

2006-05-22T14:40:00.000-04:00

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!

Some things never change

2006-05-21T00:59:00.000-04:00

Oh, Axl. Sweet, sweet Axl. Trouble just seems to find him.

Whether it's inciting riots in St. Louis, or causing them by his absence in Philly, W. Axl Rose -- AKA William Bailey -- just can't escape it.

Oh, yeah, and he hasn't released any original material in 15 years!

I still love you, Axl

NEW YORK (May 20) - It was a one-two encounter between Axl Rose and Tommy Hilfiger. The rocker and designer capped a Thursday evening out at a new club called The Plumm in Manhattan's Chelsea neighborhood with midnight fisticuffs.
"There was an issue between the two of them," Plumm owner Noel Ashman told The Associated Press.
The scuffle reportedly started after the Guns N' Roses front man moved the drink of Hilfiger's girlfriend, Dee Ocleppo.
"I moved his girlfriend's drink so it wouldn't spill," Rose told the Los Angeles radio station KROQ on Friday. "It was the most surreal thing, I think, that's ever happened to me in my life."
According to the 44-year-old singer, Hilfiger, 55, smacked him in the arm and told him to put the drink back.
"He just kept smacking me," Rose said.
Attempts to reach Hilfiger or a representative were not immediately successful.
Rose was there to play a surprise set for "Rent" actress Rosario Dawson for her 27th birthday party.
At the time of the dustup, The Plumm was packed with a celebrity crowd including Lenny Kravitz, Mickey Rourke, Kid Rock, Peter Beard, Molly Simms, Wentworth Miller, Ann Dexter Jones, Lydia Hearst and Damon Dash.
Rose did perform, and dedicated the song "You're Crazy" to "my good friend Tommy Hilfiger."

Losing my Religion

2006-05-19T17:00:00.000-04:00

Suddenly, despite my orthodox Judaic upbringing, I have found myself really into Christian pop music.

Don't tell my mother, I've caused her enough t'suris over the years.

I have always enjoyed those late-night advertisement for those Christian pop compellation CDs, just hearing bits and pieces of those songs, I dug what I heard. It's good shit. Nice, simple, melodic, enthusiastic, heart-felt music, even if the subject matter isn't something I put any stock in.

Still, I was never very motivated to further explore the genre.

A couple of months ago, my brother emailed me a song by Michael W. Smith. You may remember him, he had a Top 10 hit on the mainstream Billboard chart in 1990 with "Place in this World," and is one of the most popular Christian music artists in the world.

After that, my brother and I downloaded many Christian pop tunes from the Internet, and found a few gems, including some lesser-known Amy Grant tunes -- she of the late 80s hits like "Baby, Baby" and "I will Remember You." These days, I'm told, she has been blackballed in the Christian pop world because she was found banging some cat behind her husband's back.

Anyway, last week, I struck pay dirt.

While working a phone shift at ye old C-N, something caught my eye, (I'm there filling in after some dame quit abruptly after one day. I had to take, and pass, another effing drug test, which sucked, but I managed). While sitting at Mosher's old desk, I noticed in the working space of one Bob Makin, the Courier's loveable entertainment editor, a "Wow hits" CD, a double album filled with Christian pop hits.

Score!

I quickly sent Bub May-Kin a message, inquiring as to his plans for said CD -- he always gets a ton of shit sent to him by various record labels and they usually end up in the Wish Book drawer. When I saw him the following day he offered to burn for me not only the double-CD I saw on his desk, but three other double discs.

He's a nice man.

Cheaper than a tab of acid

2006-05-17T23:27:00.000-04:00

For a quick musical, gyrating trip down memory lane, check this cat out.

Some funny shit

Nudie Magazine Day

2006-05-17T08:53:00.000-04:00

"A new independent baseball league plans to bring a grass-roots mentality back to parts of the South and Midwest. The Continental Baseball League will begin play in 2007. Tickets will be priced at $5-$12, and every team will play Sunday doubleheaders.
While nostalgia will be important, the CBL plans to get a little crazy in the seventh inning. In that inning, the first home run hit by the trailing team will count double -- a two-run homer will score four runs, a grand slam will score eight." -- from USA Today Sports Weekly, May 10-16, 2006

To quote the great Adam Sandler in that most classic cinematic masterpiece Billy Madison, "Hahahahahahahaha, SHUT UP!!!!"

I would love to throw out some twirlly six-syllable adjective to express my displeasure here, but the best I can do under these most flabbergasted of circumstances is, simply, THIS IS SOME BULLSHIT!

For starters, I take serious offense to them calling this league the "Continental BASEBALL League." An eight-run homer? This isn't baseball. It's something else. Pick a different name. "Baseball" is already taken!

Besides, didn't MTV already cover this shit with their annual Rock 'n Jock softball turd?

Teams, especially those in the minor league, and even more-so in the independent leagues, have always tried to come up with the wackiest shtick to attract fans. But none of these stunts have had an effect on the game itself. That has always remained pure.

I mean, sure, we've had the midget pinch-hitter, Eddie Gadel, or the one-armed outfielder, Pete Gray, or even Minnie Minoso, playing in five different decades, his last at-bats coming as a 58-year-old in 1980, but these stunts have stayed within the rules of the game.

If this new league wants to attract attention and fan interest, there are plenty of things they can try that haven't been attempted yet, while still maintaining the integrity and tradition of the sport we love as baseball.

I don't care if they have Clowns-Raping-Poodles night, or Senior-Citizen-Colonoscopy-Day, nothing would be as vile as them altering this most sacred of rule books and tainting this most holy of games.

Now go out and FIND THE FUCKING DOG!!!

TRADITION

2006-05-15T11:49:00.000-04:00

During my years at the Courier News it became somewhat of a joke among the editors that no matter how hard I tried, my tales were always over the allotted inch count. Often well over.

Well, in keeping with that tradition, this, my second Blogspot blog, is a long one. Please bare with me as a weave a tale of shadiness, backstabbing, and the mooning of values.

I'll admit that I am a creature of habit and I resist change -- kicking and screaming -- at every turn. Even when it's an obvious upgrade, like my not joining the CD-buying world and lingering in my cassette fetish until I was in my 20s. But I still maintain that change for the sake of change, or even change for the better when sacrificing things like tradition, is not all good.

Case and point, my Sunday morning softball game.

For nearly 20 years, since I was a sophomore in high school, I have been playing softball on Sunday mornings at a quaint little field on the Union-Elizabeth border. Some of you have become regulars at this game, while many of you have attended on occasion. Even before I started playing as a wee lad, the game had been going. I estimate it has been in existence at this field for 40 years or so. In fact, we don't even have a permit anymore. After all, possession is nine-tenths of the law.

It is a relaxed low-pressured pickup game -- though heatedly competitive at times -- made up of people from the neighborhood and friends. We have people who drive from as far as upstate NY and the from down the shore to attend.

Now the field we play on is far from perfect. It is often neglected by the county for weeks, even months, at a time. The grass grows long, the infield sprouts foliage in spots, and the surrounding trees have become unkempt and, in spots, littered with thorn bushes, often making retrieving balls quite treacherous.

Some of us have done our own groundskeeping on many occasion. Mowing, filling in holes on the infield with sand we purchased, and even bringing in ladders and saws to trim the trees overhanging fair territory.

Also, over the years, a root has become increasingly uncovered right near third base, and sinkholes and other obstacles have become more prominent in the outfield.

Still, to me, all this is what gives this field personality. Lots of ball fields have them. That hill in center field in Houston; the jutting stands at many ballparks, the latent and lewd acts of homosexuality and satanic worship that goes on in the home clubhouse and dugout at Yankees Stadium, and even the ivy-covered brick walls at Wrigley Field.

This season, an uprising of sorts has begun to fester at the old ball field.

After a one-week weather delay, we opened this year on April 30th and I noticed that at least three or four regulars -- I mean hardcore cats who NEVER miss a week -- were not in attendance.

One week later, I had my answer as to why.

At some point over the last few years -- unbeknownst to those of us who are regulars at the field we have affectionately come to call "Palsy Park" -- it is located right next to the Cerebral Palsy Treatment Center of Union County -- another Sunday morning game has sprung up in town.

After an attempt by certain parties to get us to abandon our game in week 2 and join their's, I drove over to the new game to see who exactly the traitors were and subtly nudge them back into the fold -- with an aluminum bat.

As it turns out, the upstart game was being played on a pretty nice field a few minutes away from Palsy. They even had a permit. Several regulars were there and my blood began to boil.

What of tradition? What of loyalty? What of the fact that I have busted my ass for the seven or eight years to keep this fucking game going when the old guard got too old to play, many of the people my age married and moved out of town and attendance had dwindled to a dangerous level?

We have a hard enough time getting a game on a week-to-week basis without the rats jumping ship -- though we usually manage. Now what?

After much debate, and the realization that with several regulars not in attendance in that particular week due to family obligations our only hope for a game would be to combine what we had with what they had -- they were reportedly down from their regular 20+ attendance due to some sort of community function in town. Reluctantly, I agreed to join their game, and it was a good game, and in some ways I can credit the quality of this new field.

When I announced afterwards that we would be reconvening at Palsy the following weeks, there were some moans and groans, but everyone pretty much agreed.

I should have seen the coup coming right then.

By the time I got to Palsy this past Sunday, I had gotten calls from people that they were going over to the new field, tradition be damned.

Bunch of savages in this town!

EPILOGUE:

We only had a bout five of us at Palsy when arrived Sunday, with nine of our regulars reported at the other field. Funny part was that the upstart game was already full and had started already (they start at 9:00 a.m., I found out, we have traditionally began between 9:30-10:00). Our mutants were playing on the adjacent field, which we hadn't check out the week before.

Not wanting to screw our regulars that had not arrived yet and I wasn't sure if they were coming (Local Shill) and did not know about the upstart game, I fashioned a couple of signs with directions to the new field out of an old reporters notebook and some tape that Todd's brother had with him, we posted them at Palsy.

Upon arriving at the new field, I saw that it wasn't a well-kept, manicured softball field as we had played on the week before. It was a baseball field which had not had its infield dragged in a while, and there were puddles and mudslides all over the outfield, resulting from the weekend's rain.

By the time we got finished playing, many of us agreed that we would rather play at Palsy than on this baseball field which was way too big for softball.

We'll see what happens.

My change for $2.00 on a purchase of $1.98

2006-05-12T16:46:00.000-04:00

The title of this, the first of what I hope will be regular posts on this site, was almost the name of my blog, but I figured, ehhh... that would be was pushing it from a shtick perspective.

Instead, I have gone to an old standby.

"My Two Cents" was the title of my column while sports editor of the Kean University student newspaper, "The Tower," and before that "The Independent." I wrote the column for nearly six years -- yes, I was on the six-and-a-half year plan in college.

While I enjoyed ranting and ripping on all topics sports while I pursued my degree, I intend to broaden my horizons here and hope to one day stir up as much shit in calling someone non-sports related "out to lunch" on this space, as I did with Muhammad Ali while at Kean.

It took until the mid-1990s for me to purchase my first CD -- I owned only cassettes and vinyl until then -- and I didn't become a regular Internet user until 1999.

I'm a bit slow to give into change.

So what finally prompted me to join the rest of the free-blogging world?

I have enjoyed the bloggings of other over the last few months -- see the side of this page for my favorites -- yet I limited my mental-vomit to my My Space page's blog (myspace.com/sjpsandman). Nothing hardcore, just random musings when the mood struck.

But when Todd started his blog, well, I refuse to be topped by a man who dwarfs me in stature, waist-size and hairline (that's me keeping it clean.. at least for now)

I am not going to type some long description of myself, my interests, my history, etc. If you are reading this, chances are you know what I'm pretty much about already. For those of you who don't, reading this blog should make it clear pretty quick -- no, this will not be a running account of what I hope will be the first championship season for the New York Mets in 20 years, though I'm sure the Orange and Blue will be discussed regularly.

I hope you enjoy what my sick, twisted mind has to offer.