Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Oh Pedro Gomez, What Will You Do Without Mr. Bonds?

Poor Pedro Gomez. His current life's work is to follow around a certain San Francisco slugger, filing reports for the World Wide Leader. Pedro has been on the Bonds case for quite a few years. He has spent his time on Sportscenter telling the world that Bonds ate chili for breakfast or has a sore hamstring or hit a ball really hard in batting practice. He is utterly devoted to covering the record breaking career of Barry Bonds. What will happen to our pal Pedro once Barry Bonds breaks the all-time homerun record? Tell Pedro not to fear, because BBBC has a comprehensive list of careers that he can choose from once Bonds is the homerun king!

The List

1. Eel Farmer

2. NASCAR food vendor

3. Chris Berman's towel boy

4. Electronics store manager

5. Sean Salisbury's phallus photographer

6. John Clayton's head polisher

7. Stephen A. Smith's nigga

8. President of the Federation

9. Renaissance fair jockey

10. FOX baseball studio analyst


Pedro can earn $650 per week as Stephen A. Smith's nigga

11. Pedro Feliz biographer

12. Gatorade flavor tester

13. Pedro Gomez biographer

14. Napolean Dynamite fan club operator

15. Astronaut

16. Time-traveller

17. Insurance claims adjuster

18. Chris Berman's personal cheese maker

19. Figurine afficianado

20. Clown God

21. Pirate

22. Priest

23. Pagan Priest

24. Craig Biggio stalker

25. Chairman of some sort of board

26. Super villian

27. Normal villlian

28. Blogmaster

29. War Czar

30. Connect Four legend

31. Ghost Pirate

32. Infomercial actor

33. Professional playa

34. Puzzle master

35. Senator

36. Nail store worker

37. Boxcar story teller

38. Macaroni farmer

39. Secret pie chef

40. African proverb dispenser


Pedro Gomez could be the Lou Gehrig of Connect Four

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Greg Oden Actually 960 Year-old Mystical Sage From Taihang Mountain Range

SHANXI, CHINA- 7-foot center Greg Oden, the probable first pick of the NBA draft, is actually an ancient and mystical sage who has dwelled in China for nearly one thousand years. It is still unknown how Oden, known as "The Ancient Sage of the Willows" in his homeland, first took interest in the American game of basketball and became one of the best college players in recent years. However, it is clear that at some point after the game of basketball was invented, the wizened Oden decided to come to America and embark on a career in the NBA.

BBBC reporters discovered Oden's dwelling, a small temple hidden in a bamboo patch on the base of mountain, while out on a panda-hunting expedition. In this temple the tall center was found deep in meditation. At one point he was seen hovering above the ground, surrounded by a glowing purple aura. According to Oden, he had practiced "battosai meditation" for 400 years, using his mind as a weapon against the imperial forces of the invading Tokugawa shogunate. Oden believed he learned his strong basketball defensive skills from battling the Japanese invaders. His longevity has allowed him to master 512 different martial art styles and the ability to control his sprit energy or "chi." Oden showed reporters his personal basketball court, a simple pit of sand lined with rare "gencho stones." Instead of using a basketball, Oden practiced with a 600-pound mountain rock, moving the tremendous boulder through the air with his sprit energy. After the workout, he gave one reporter a golden staff to commemorate the visit and told him that it was time for the public to learn the truth. "They must know I am not 19 years-old," he said.

The revelation of Oden's age is not completely shocking. Oden's wrinkled face had led many to wonder if he was much older than 19. Now that it has been revealed that Oden is centuries old, many experts have speculated that his draft stock will drop. "I definitely think his age is a concern," said ESPN NBA analyst Kiki Vanderweghe. "Although Oden has proved he can live far longer than any mortal, his foot speed, blocking ability, and overall agility must have been hindered by hundreds of years of rugged living. His career could be shortened by his advanced age." However, fellow NBA analyst Stephen A. Smith disagrees with the Oden doubters. "Greg Oden is one of the great prospects of our generation. Whether he is 19, 30, or even 900 years-old, it doesn't make a difference. If anything, Oden's ability to teleport, levitate, and survive the sting of ten thousand arrows only enhances his draft stock. Portland should not hesitate to take Oden!" Smith also added that he wishes Quite Frankly with Stephen A. Smith was still on the air.


Greg Oden killed this man and his flying ox 753 years ago


Ohio State issued a statement, acknowledging that they knew of Oden's true age but believed he still should have been allowed to pursue a college career. "The Ohio State University does not discriminate based on age. Mr. Oden wished to pursue an education with us and we obliged. His abilities to fly and bend the space-time continuum had no bearing on him being admitted to The Ohio State University." The NCAA has yet to comment on Oden's true age. NBA commissioner David Stern issued a statement. "Greg Oden will be a wonderful addition to the National Basketball Association. His Chinese heritage will help to market the game globally and his mastery of the martial arts will attract the burgeoning "NBA fans who are martial artists" demographic."

Oden flew to America yesterday after the NBA draft lottery. He answered questions at a New York hotel, seemingly unfazed by the media scrutiny. "The pressures of the NBA will not affect my play," said Oden. "I only want to help my future team win and contribute to the growth of our sport. After opposing the mighty forces of Takeru Kensei and his dragon on the fields of Nanjing 640 years ago, playing in the NBA will be an easy task."

Friday, May 18, 2007

Friday Special: Put Me In the F--king National Spelling Bee!

Every Friday we at BBBC bring you a very special message from a professional athlete. This week's guest is former baseball player Carl Everett.

What's going on? Ever since the Mariners cut me last year I've been getting down to doing some thinking. Deep-ass thinking, ya know what I mean? I was always into books and shit, ya know, the intellectual type. I read my fuckin' bible on road trips and even checked out the educational shit in Playboy. So anyway, I was thinking about why the Mariners and that fat eggroll cracker fuck Hargrove let the main man Carl go. I think it was because they feared my awesome brain. I wasn't fooled by all the lies that were told, like that bullshit about dinosaurs and white men on the moon. Only person that can get on the moon is Jesus. He's got enough super magic in his fuckin' power belt to fly all around the moon like fifty million times.

Ok, I'm gonna get to the point here. I've always been good with words and books and learning. Last week I was watching some news and started spelling words all of a sudden. Like "news." And "spelling." And even "breaking news." I was on fire like a motherfucker, in the zone, man. My son Carl ran in the room and asked for some juice and I told him to jump off a bridge and die because daddy Carl was in the spelling groove and couldn't be interrupted. Before I took out my diamond belt on lil' Carl's face, lil' Carl tells me that in Washington they have this shit called the National Spelling Bee. It's even next week! Holy shit, I thought, I could spell fucking words! That bitch is mine!

So I called up some ho who told me about where to call for the spelling bee. I nailed the ho softly, then gave the spelling bee niggas a call. Some old dude answerd talkin' shit about "qualifying" and being "over the age limit." He was obviously either afraid of my giant elephant brain or just a fucking racist. I think it's a little of both. After that I was pissed and took lil' Carl out back for a spanking. I used the extra hard wood planks cuz I was really pissed. Then lil' Carl tells me to go to Washington anyway and ask to enter. Lil' Carl's got an elephant brain like daddy Carl so I stop beating him and let him have his fruit roll-up.

I get to Washington and tell some dudes I'm Carl Everett, baseball legend. That didn't know who I was so I fucked 'em up real bad. No one disrespects a baseball legend! At the spelling place I saw a bunch of brown kids with weird looking eyes. Shit man, this kids are like two feet tall and the girls got bigger sideburns than me. One little kid named Ho-cho-poo or some made-up shit like that comes over and asks me if I play baseball. I tell him he's looking at a baseball legend and he says he loved watching me play in Seattle. He gave me a piece of paper and said to write "To Ho-chun-fungwang, you're the best, your friend Ken Griffey Jr." Fucka thought I was Griff! Well then I picked him up by his little blue suspenders and shoved his ching chong ass in the garbage can out back. Then the security comes and arrests me. Racism against Carl! Finally I woke up a few hours in jail and I realized that I wasn't gonna be in any spelling bee.

It's cool though, cuz I got other shit to do. I'm gonna be making movies or writing books. I don't need to spell in a bee. I already own that bitch. Yeah, Carl Everett is sure doing good. Sunny skies all around! But if you hear from any teams, like the Devil Rays or Rockies give me a call. I think I got another fifty homer season left in my body.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

International Globular Legion Opening Day!

The International Globular Legion held its Opening Day fesitivites in Sjorkgen, Luxembourg, marking the very first time the IGL began its Opening Day parade outside of North America. (Of course, the IGL is in its first season, so everything is "for the very first time.") A slew of teams met on the grassy fields today, fresh with optimism and hope that they will in the Nakrab Jar, the IGL's version of the Stanley Cup. Here are the scores and highlights from today's games:

Boston Wicked Awesomes 9.3, Philadelphia Rocky Balboas 4- The Wicked Awesomes prevailed in the sixth and final period when Boston center guard Petey "Pants" McGillicudy scored a back-handed double homer against vaunted defensive swinger Lucious Zing. McGillicudy was 3-4 shooting on the day, with five assists, two singles, and a double homer.

New York Greaseballs 44, Los Angeles ToxicFish 41- Tied at zero after two periods, the game escalated when New York shortstop Roscoe Bernini forced the ball through the north ultra goal, giving New York a 20 point lead. Los Angeles countered, sending wingmen Phil Andrea, Andre Yurnioff, and Cal "Peanuts" Dunn over the hurdles for 17 points. The star of the game was New York left ringman Hall Donald: Donald netted two double homers in the final period along with two assits and five tackles.

Greenland Icebabies 1, Alaska Dogbeaters -6 - The story of the game was Greenland roundback Higgins Smith and Alaska power wingfooter Kulu Rejavich each stepping into the negative zone during the third period. At the time of the negative zone infraction, the score was tied at 79. With the score returned to zero, Greenland returner Rik Holdash hit a ball over the fence, giving Greenland a one point lead. Alaska couldn't recover and was eventually tackled in its own net twice, losing six points.

Switzerland Neutrals 18, Paris Chimpanzees 7- All of Switzerland's scoring was done by star first ringman Justino Grolash. The strapping Grolash knocked a quadrangle, scored a semi-ultra goal, recorded nine tackles, and made a stupendous catch robbing shootingback Claude Davier of free-throw in the final period. Paris was dominated the entire game, only managing to score in the final minute after Pierre Boler launched a desperation shot beyond the seven-point arc.

Beijing Rocketdudes 106, Hong Kong Screaming Ninjas 105.9- This game became an instant IGL classic when Beijing first bagback Mei Feng drove a triple through the ultra goal with only two minutes left to play. Beijing was trailing Hong Kong by 95 before the heroics of Feng. Hong Kong managed a spin tackle in the final minute scoring a ninth of point. However, it was not enough.

Tokyo Megamonsterdestroyermons 6, Korea Guppies 4- Defense dominated this conest. Tokyo defensive swinger Hiroshi Iwamura had three stops and four blocks on goal. Iwamura teamed with south defensive swinger Akira Masomato to form a "flying ozuma" block in the third period, knocking out half of Korea's offense. Korea roundback Di Sun-Yap avoided the "flying ozuma" and kicked three balls in beyond the two-point arc.

Check back next time for more International Globular Legion updates!


The Nakrab Jar is the IGL's championship trophy

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

What In Jebus' Name Is That??

Ok, I know I'm not the first person to notice Drew Gooden's clump of random neck hair but seriously, what the hell is that? What do you call it? Why is it there? What does it mean? Are the aliens involved? Perhaps we shall never know...

We Will Be the ABA to the World League's NBA

The World League is a thriving international sports league that features dozens of different teams competing against each other in a fictional (and ambiguous) game. The game could be soccer. The game could be baseball. The game could even be dodgeball. Either way, cities across the globe battle for the right to be fake champions. You can be a part of the World League by paying a fifty dollar fee. For your hard-earned cash, your name is featured on a roster of any World League team of your choice. You even get a team magnet! If your team wins the fake 90 game season, you receive a fake championship trophy. Why is BBBC divulging this information? Fuck you, that's why.

Just kidding, folks. We at BBBC have decided to mount a challenge to the World League. However, we will not charge money for people to join our league because we believe in freedom. Instead the "BBBC World League", now officially called the International Globular Legion, will form its own teams and hold random (and fictional) games. How many games will the season last? We dunno. How many teams will there be? How about 24. How will the scores be generated? Through legitimate international competition, duh. Will there be stats? Of course. What sport is the International Globular Legion involved in? That's a secret. Can I ask anymore questions? No.

Presenting the inaugural teams of the International Globular Legion!

Apple Pie Division
Boston Wicked Awesomes
Chicago Weaklings
New York Greaseballs
Philadelphia Rocky Balboas
Los Angeles ToxicFish
San Francisco 69'ers

Frosty Balls Division
Toronto Syrups
Montreal Omelettes
Greenland Icebabies
Alaska Dogbeaters

Salsa n' Cheese Division
Mexico City Diarrhea
Cuba Sugardaddies
Buenos Aires Flamers
Brazil Tree Worms
Venuzuela Hugobombers
Dominican Republic Mud

Eurotrash Division
London Biscuits n' Tea
Paris Chimpanzees
Munich Trainsarealwaysontimesomehow
Switzerland Neutrals
Madrid Sleep Sox

American Electronics Division
Beijing Rocketdudes
Hong Kong Screaming Ninjas
Gobi Desert Dryballs
Tokyo Megamonsterdestroyermons
Kyoto Swordhandlers
Korea Guppies

Tommorow is opening day! Yee-ha!

Friday, May 11, 2007

Friday Special: Yeah...I'm Not Really Into Pitching Anymore

Every Friday we at BBBC bring you a very special message from a professional athlete. This week's guest is Yankees pitcher Carl Pavano.

Hey Yankee fans, it's your friend Carl Pavano. I know things haven't gone exactly as planned in my time here in New York. I've acquired nicknames such as "The Rajah of Rehab" and "American Idle" for my lack of pitching. Now I face another injury and might not be able to pitch until 2014, I mean 2008. I haven't been completly honest with the fans of New York about my condition. The truth is...um...well...ahem, the truth is that I don't really like baseball.

There, I said it. I don't want to pitch. It's freakin' scary out there. All of these crazy people telling me to throw this little ball past some giant freak at homeplate...it's insanity. Jesus Christ, I urinate in my expensive velvet boxers just thinking about it. Besides from being scary, baseball is boring. There are so many other things that I'd rather do. I was thinking of taking up pottery actually. Last July, I saw this great special on the Discovery Channel about pottery around the world. I see myself in five years as "Carl Pavano, the potter of the Gods."

If pottery doesn't work out, I can always become a hair stylist. I love hair. When I was in high school, my dad always made me hang out with the smelly ballplayers. My dad used cheap conditioner, by the way. Ugh. I think I could open up a little place in Manhattan and style for the rich and famous. Hightlights will be my speciality. Any girl in the city will be looking 30 years younger after they come out of "Carl's Cuts." Hmm..or maybe I can just call my salon "The Pavano." Yeah...

Trust me, it's been so liberating not having to play anymore. With the money I'm being paid, there is so much to do. Those sweaty trolls are hanging out in Yankee Field or whatever it's called playing there little ballgames while I'm cruising the 'burbs, just chilling. On these hot spring days I love to buy a tub of Ben and Jerry's chocolate mint and just pig out, ya know? I stretch out on the park bench and just nap for a few hours listening to Celine Dion. After that, I hang out in my jacuzzi and call over some of the guys to snuggle...I mean play poker. Once the guys are out of Casa de Carl, I open up one of my safes and count my money. I don't know what I love more: watching The Rachel Ray Show, the Oxygen Network, or counting my money. My maid Javier and I watch Oxygen in the mornings so I would have to vote for "the big O." Girl power!

Sorry baseball fans, but you'll just have to realize I'm more than just a ballplayer. I am a beautiful human being with a variety of deep interests, such as ice cream and Celine Dion. Excuse me now, but I have an appointment with Dr. Yocum. Wow, suddenly my arm is feeling really sore.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

You Will Bless America Along With God or Face Electrocution

Yup, the New York Yankees are the moral arbiter of our nation. Not only will "God Bless America" continue to blare over the loudspeakers but now you won't even be able to freaking move when the song is playing. If Yankee Stadium is this bad now, one can only imagine the civil liberties crackdown in the future. Strap on your Orwell pants, children, because I'm about to show you Yankee Stadium, circa 2012.

(God Bless America played over loudspeakers. Security guard walks over to fan)

Guard: Sir, you can't be moving while God Bless America is playing.

Fan: Um, these shackles are kind of tight and I dropped my 18 dollar soda cup.

Guard: I'm going to have to report you to Android Steinbrenner.

Fan: Oh God, please, anything but that, please I'll do anything!

Guard: Mr. Android Steinbrenner needs more human fluids to keep his life-support pod running. You'll have to come with me.

Fan: I won't move anymore, I promise! See (holds shackles binding feet and legs to chair) I can't move during the song! I love America! Jesus, I love America soooo much! (Begins to sob)

Guard: Time to settle down, sir. (Injects sedative into fan's neck. Fan passes out.)

Fan #2: I'm so glad I was forced, I mean willfully listened, to that song. And I'm even more glad that I get to listen to it after every inning!

Guard: Excuse me, what color is that shirt?

Fan #2: Um...green, I know its not an official Yankee shirt but all of my jerseys were in the wash and...

Guard: (Moves closer, brandishes syringe) You are not wearing Yankee merchandise and/or red, white, and blue. You will have to see Android Steinbrenner.

Fan #2: Look, if you loosen these shackles I can show you my official Yankee money clip and pencil. And see my hat? My hat is an authentic pre-batting practice warm-up Yankee cap! I got it in the Yankee store with my Yankee credit card! So you can't arrest me and I don't have to see android Steinbrenner, right?

Guard: (Listens to walkie talkie, nods slowly) That was Mr. Levine. He informs me Mr. Android Steinbrenner hungers for human flesh.

Fan #2: No! I have a daughter, please I just want to watch the gaaaaame. I love Amer- (injected with syringe, passes out)

Guard: We've got the body, Mr. Levine.

Fan #3: (turning to Fan #4) Oh man, did you see Wells for Toronto last night? Blasted another homer. That dude is on fire.

Fan #4: I know, I have him on my fantasy team and he is not for sale! (laughs)

Guard: Excuse me, what did you say?

Fan #3: We were talking about Vernon Wells and the Blue Jays.

Guard: (pulls out laser pistol invented in 2010) You can't talk about a team that is not the Yankees and/or America-based. You will have to leave.

Fan #3: You can't control what we talk about!

Guard: (Fires laser pistol, vaporizes Fan #3's skull) Mr. Android Steinbrenner will enjoy your fleshy torso.

Fan #4: Oh my fucking God! I gotta get out of here. Hey, the song is over, my shackles won't loosen!

Guard: That's because Courage, the Great Bald Eagle of America, hasn't flown around the stadium yet.

Fan #4: Oh.

Guard: And your shackles will remained fastened throughout the ballgame.

Fan #4: But I have to pee.

Guard: (Vaporizes Fan #4's testicles with laser pistol) Problem solved.

Fan #4: Thanks a lot, mister. (Dies)

Go Yankees!

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

My Xtreme Baseball League Will Be More Xtreme Than All Other Xtreme Baseball Leagues

Are you tired of boring, dull, and normal baseball? Have you ever wished that there were two pitchers on the mound instead of one? Do you want to see the game of baseball evolve??

(waits for answer)

No? Well, The National Xtreme Baseball Leauge doesn't give a shit. Created in 2006, Xtreme Baseball is a radical (and batshit insane) version of baseball that includes two pitchers, two batters, eighteen fielders, lots of baserunners, and the potential for twenty-nine players to be on the field at once. Sound Xtreme to you, bitch? Good! However, this strange waste of time isn't Xtreme enough. We need more Xtreme pumped into this confusing game! You know why, punk? Because confusing is Xtreme!!!!! Hold on to your pants and try not to wet yourself as I present the updated version of Xtreme Baseball, reshaped in my image.

Rule #1- Not only will full contact on the base paths be allowed, but now it will be required. You wanna run through the first base bag without touching anyone, you pansy? Too fucking bad. Spear the first basemen into the ground or you are out. Keep beating up ballplayers to advance bases. And yes, weapons are allowed and encouraged.

Rule #2- A third pitcher will be added to the pitchers mound. The sole purpose of this third pitcher will be to throw as many baseballs as possible at the two batters. No longer will batters only have to worry about pussy fastballs and curveballs. Now they will have to factor in the 90 mph heat coming at their faces. That's what I call strategy! Also, the balls will be laced with titanium to create extra blood spillage.

Rule #3- If a runner is trying to score, he must have a sword fight with the catcher in order to touch homeplate. These swords will specifically be katanas of the samurai order. If the catcher is stabbed three times, the runner can score. However, if the runner is stabbed three times, he is out and denied any medical treatment for the rest of the game. Only homos get first-aid.

Rule #4- If each batter has two strikes, they will be permitted to charge the mound and challenge the two pitchers to a game of ultimate frisbee. First score wins. If the pitchers win, the batters are out. If the batters win, they are rewarded a base and given nail-guns. These guns may be fired without discretion.

Rule #5- In the top of the 6th inning, four wild rhinoceroses will be released from the bullpen. All players on both sides must kill the rhinoceroses with the hunting spears provided by their managers. Survivors of the rhinocerose attacks will play the rest of the game. All of those crippled or dead will be fed to the cougar pen located beyond the left field (or right field) bleachers. Crippled players may fend for themselves with either: a) rusty spoon b) box of tissues c) Fantastic Four action figure (choice of Invisible Woman or The Thing)

Rule #6- Have fun!! (Two umpires will be designated to determine if players are having fun or not. Any player deemed not having enough fun will be tasered at will)

Roger Clemenspalooza '07: 300-pound Drunk Guy Who Fell On Woman At Shea Stadium

Due to the magnanimity of the Roger Clemens signing, the BBBC task force is asking sports celebrities to give their thoughts on Clemens coming back to the Yankees. Today's Roger Clemenspalooza '07 guest is the 300-pound drunk guy who fell on a woman at Shea Stadium, severely injuring her back.

What? What's a goin' on over here, man? Ohhh I was just taking this wicked piss by the nacho guy and, and I think Delgado was battin' or something. Or maybe it was a mom. I don't really remember...hey what's this about all this Clemens, huh wise guy? I don't have no opinion, I just have sexy. And this burned toast in my pocket. I don't have no ideas why that's there, do yous?

Yeah soooo Clemens think he's so cool and stuff, right? He walkin' around with his pants on like he's the king of the...the...um, king of the, eh fuck you I don't gotta owe you nothin'. I falls where I falls lady, I like my sausages and if you don't wanna fuck me than I got no use for ya, ya here? Yeah that's right, you ain't no tricycle. Fuck those Indians stealin' my jelly.

Yankees suck worse than uh...than that guy out there in those movies, he's the, white one, eh think his names starts with a.....letter. Fuck you, gimme those milk duds, I-I only had nineteen and three. Leave me alone, Jimmy, you gots no bidness butting around here with your car and your big words, hey there's a fucking cashew in that soda puddle, lay off asshole. Good.

Yeah so I was sayin how the Yankees suck worse than that...movie with the actor...fuck the Yankees and their grass. Roger can't pitch cuz of his balls cancer that makes his, er..balls like small somethings or other. Lady, moves yer ass from under my ass I gotta get that fucking cashew. Shit, I see cheese spots all over it, now I really needs it lady, get your boobs out of my ass cheeks or I'm gonna call over Jimmy, that fuckface, who.....eh what? I don't remember.

So there you gots what you wanted me to say, crap-face. Now my cashew is cold and the cheese don't look so hot cuz some goombah splashed his brown tobasco sauce all over. Hey, eh, you goddamn lady your nose is in my fat rolls. This means we at war now! Woooh, bring it on, I want some sexin'. Fuck the Yankees, Clemens is just a graham cracker for s'mores, ahhhh yeah, make me some s'mores. Jimmy the ass clown better pass over the Buds or I'm gonna pop him somethin' good, ya here? Yeah yeah, I know, I gotta sleep now anyways. Stop cryin' lady, will ya, you distracting me and my nachos. Thanks.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Roger Clemenspalooza '07: Suzyn Waldman

Due to the magnanimity of the Roger Clemens signing, the BBBC task force is asking sports celebrities to give their thoughts on Clemens coming back to the Yankees. Today's second Roger Clemenspalooza '07 guest is Yankees broadcaster Suzyn Waldman.

Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!! Roger Clemens is a Yankee!! This is the greatest moment of my life. No, forget I just said that. This is the greatest single moment for all of humanity! My goodness gracious, he's in Mr. Steinbrenner's box. He's actually there! It's as if he floated down from the heavens on a cloud of angel hair and baby kisses to save us all!

John, I know you want to announce the game in your irritating timbre but I just can't resist. He's heeeeere! Awaken, spirits of the spring, and sing our lord's praise! Oh my, my...I might actually have to meet and talk to him. Talk to the lord himself!! That's...that's impossible. I am unworthy to be in his presence. Did you hear, John? We can't interview Mr. Clemens because our sinful souls will not be tolerated by his piercing gaze of divine justice.

I am too awe strunk to go on. Who cares about the Mariners, John? Who the hell cares?! I mean, Roger Clemens has shocked the entire world by announcing his return to the Yankees. They should close the stock market! Close them all I say! Someone needs to arrange a Roger Clemens bobblehead day. Who's going to do that?? Jesus Christ, why isn't anyone answering me? Who is going to make that happen? If we don't act now, there might never be a Roger Clemens bobblehead day in 2007! John, we must act NOW!! Time is of the essence. The Rocket, I mean Mr. Rocket...I mean Lord Rocket cannot have his bobblehead day delayed.

Attention fans, Roger Clemens is now a Yankee! John, I know I said that already but who gives a flying fuck? Everyone must know!! Joy to the World! Joy to the World! Joy to the World! Joy to the world! Joy........to......the......world!!!!

Goodness gracious, he's coming to our booth! He's walking...like a mortal...like me. He's like me, John, Mr. Lord Clemens and I have something in common! What do I say? How do I act? Do I look stupendous John? If I don't look stupendous I can't please Him. He's sit-sitting d-down. I c-can't s-s-say any...

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! Roooooogeeeeerrrrr!!!!!!

Roger Clemenspalooza '07: Pud Galvin

Due to the magnanimity of the Roger Clemens signing, the BBBC task force is asking a sports celebrity to give their thoughts on Clemens coming back to the Yankees. Today's Roger Clemenspalooza '07 guest is 19th century pitching legend Pud Galvin.

Well salutations there, young fellers. I was listening to the radio in heaven when I found out that this apple-cheeked wonder named Clemens signed with the Highlanders. Oh sorry, my editor informs me that they call them the "Yankees" now. That baloon-headed crank should know that I haven't followed base ball much since I died of lumbago in 1902. I don't care much for the League of Americans that challenged our prestigious National League. However, I like to keep a special eye on the hurlers of the horsehide since I was one myself.

After this Roger Clemens signed a contractual obligation document with the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players, my comrades asked me how I felt about this momentous event. I turned to my comrade Phineus T. Wilstonmur (who died of a salmon bite in 1896) and told him "I swear on the body of president McKinley that the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players made a tremendous misjudgment!" Why did I utter such a sentence? I will divulge my reasons in the following writings of the third paragraph below.

The first reason is the absurd amount of gold the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players were willing to transact to the bank account of this Clemens. How is it that the American economy can support such a transaction? The depression of 1892 was not long ago. 28 pieces of gold was enough to buy the Landersville locomotive corporation in my day! One could have a top-rate phonograph for a three-pence of silver. Certainly this knocker-lipped Clemens with his rousing trousers is not worth this much in gold.

I also hear from my comrade Thorton J. Delphinley (who died of land sickness in 1888) that this feller Clemens has won the prestigious amount of games, three-hundred, that is needed for entrance into the hall of exceptionally talented base ball particpants. I was made aware recently that I was elected into the hall of exceptionally talented baseball participants because I acquired 364 victories in my career. I did this over the course of 15 seasonal segmentations, as oppossed to this veal-chested Clemens who is now pitching in his 24th seasonal segmentation. How can this hurler be considered so successful when he has never won 40 games in a seasonal segmentation? I recorded 46 wins in 1882 and 1883 pitching for the greatest team of all-time, the Buffalo Bisons, who captured the hearts of America and her colonies and was never forgotten. For my great number of wins I was only paid 14 greenbacks per game. I had to accept the dastardly paper greenbacks over a piece of gold, the monetary standard of our country. A pitcher like this kettle-throated Clemens who has never even won 30 games in a seasonal segmentation cannot impact a team to a great degree and is therefore not worth all of the fuss that has built-up around the signing of his contractual obligation document.

Finally, the conditions that this spinning jenny-armed Clemens is pitching under are far too easy in my opinion. In my day I had to hurl the pellet against the sharp-witted Protestant boys of the northeast. They all had attended grammar school and were educated in basic plow techniques. Today I see brown-skinned heathens who swear their allegiance to the Papal authority playing the game of base ball. Their minute brains and incorrigible tempers make them ill-suited for the sport of base ball. Clemens can easily toss the leather pill three times past the Pope-lusters and record a triple strike, or "strike out". Any pitcher who only faces such ignorant competition should not be playing for the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players.

There you have my thesis on the Clemens question. Not since the presidential election of 1876 has such a folly been committed! This sawmill-stomached Clemens, with his lightbulb-equipped dwelling, is too unqualified to pitch in a Union city. I will contact the lord controller of the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players through the heaven telegraph and tell him of some other rawhide-horse-pellet-tossers to stradle the mound for the remainder of the seasonal segmentation. My comrade Ellsworth O. Mortimer IV (who died of a biscuit explosion in 1895) informs me of a good Lutheran prospect hurling for the Boston syndicate with the apellation Denton "Cy" Young. Perhaps this Young is what the New York base ball association of professional Yankee players really needs.

To see a true base ball player, utilize your sorcerer magic and "click" here.

Sunday, May 06, 2007

The Roger Clemens Contract Negotiation Transcript

Brian Cashman: So Roger, what do you think about our latest offer? We believe it tops the offers presented from the Astros and Red Sox.

Roger Clemens: (clasps hands, smirks) Yeess, it's goood, very goood. There are just a few items that need to be worked out. (Turns to agent Randy Hendricks) Randy, fetch my golden cane, the one lined with the rare Dodo feathers, and meet me outside by the red hover jet. Keep the engine running!

Randy Hendricks: Yes, your excellency. I am nothing more than your humble servant, a mere piece of dirt in your benevolent presence.

Roger Clemens: I wish to negotiate this last portion of the contract alone. C'vest lou coiselles van chez?

Brian Cashman: Huh?

Roger Clemens: Oh, it was just some French I picked when I was ostrich hunting last year with my offspring Koby and Kory. I named them all with the letter K to recognize my immortal achievements on the baseball diamond.

Brian Cashman: (rolls eyes) I know...

Roger Clemens: How dare you roll your eyes in my general direction! I demand ten million more in pure sterling silver!

Brian Cashman: Ok Roger calm down, we'll work this out. Right now we are down to about 120 million guaranteed. I think that is a bit excessive. I am afraid we cannot pay you this much, especially considering that you are 44 years-old and only want to start pitching on the last weekend of August.

Roger Clemens: Why yes, I must not pitch until then. There's simply too much to do this summer. For one, my spouse and I wish to glide around the world on a parachute constructed of dollar bills and gilded pennies. My beaches need tending as well. And of course I must watch my son Koby play baseball. Did you know he recorded a hit last night?

Brian Cashman: Yes I know, you tell me every ten minutes. You also keep asking me to cut Jorge Posada and start Koby at catcher. I can't do that either. Forty million is as much as I will pay you.

Roger Clemens: Well I never! How droll you are, Mr. Cash Man. To think that a man with such a moniker can only pay like a pauper. I will call the Red Sox on my Roger Clemens customized cellular phone, the one with alabaster buttons and chrome screen and tell them that I will play for them!

(Five minutes pass)

Roger Clemens: How sad, the Jewish merchant who is in charge of the Red Sox will not pay me the 120 million I demanded. He even refused to buy me an ivory, bronze-tipped shotgun to hunt wild ostrich. I will pitch for you, Mr. Cash Man, if you buy me this gun and a Hummer to chase the ostriches with.

Brian Cashman: That can be arranged. However, I don't understand why you need another Hummer. I recall that you already have six.

Roger Clemens: Nine actually, Mr. Cash Man. But they are all H3 models and I wish to have new model customized for a man of my stature. I wish for my face to be carved in each of its twenty-two doors...

Brian Cashman: You want a stretch-Hummer?

Roger Clemens: Affirmative. It must have twenty-two doors, twenty-two wheels, twenty-two pistons, twenty-two gas tanks, twenty-two plasma TVs, twenty-two computers, twenty-two crystal statues of me, and twenty-two android servants draped in Turkish velvet to serve me and my friends champagne.

Brian Cashman: I will let you indulge in your sick lust of the number twenty-two if you sign for twenty-eight million instead of 120 million.

Roger Clemens: You will give me my customized Hummer and ostrich rifle?

Brian Cashman: Yes, but I want you to pitch by June.

Roger Clemens: Only if you present me with a prostitute of a different ethnic heritage before each of my starts.

Brian Cashman: Deal.

Roger Clemens: (smiles deviously) One more thing Mr. Cash Man...

Brian Cashman: What?

Roger Clemens: I want the announcement of my signing to be made public at this Sunday's Yankees-Mariners game. The jumbotron much read "Rogers Clemens is now a Yankee" and all of the peons below must cheer for me as if I am their God. After this is done, I will be flown from the press box on a throne propelled by hydrogen rockets. In my hand I will to hold a sceptre engraved with the number twenty-two. A blue cashmere cap will flow to my knee-caps. When this throne lands on the pitcher's mound, all twenty-five Yankees must scurry to the mound and support it on their unworthy backs. I will descend from my throne, walking on the bowed heads of Yankee players as if they were stairs made of flesh. Then a virgin cow will be flown down to home plate from a helicopter. Once on home plate, the cow will be sacrificed in my name. You will drink its blood, Mr. Cash Man. Give me that and I will pitch for your baseball squadron.

Brian Cashman: Err...how about we stop after the jumbotron message but instead I offer you an extra prostitute before each start?

Roger Clemens: I accept, Mr. Cash Man.

Brian Cashman: Welcome back to the Yankees!

Friday, May 04, 2007

Friday Special: Rawwwwwr, I Will Make You Suffer, King Ghidorah

Every Friday we at BBBC bring you a very special message from a professional athlete/monster. This week's guest is mutated dinosaur Godzilla.

Stop shooting at me, you retards. I'm trying to kill this three-headed pussy and you keep trying to hit me with your missiles. Seriously, stop. Get the fucking Tokyo militia off of my ass, I got this shit covered. I am Godzilla after all.

Oh sorry, didn't see you there. While I shoot an atomic blast from my mouth that can incinerate iron, I want to give my thoughts on a few sports stories. You see, I love sports a lot. I usually avoid crushing baseball stadiums, especially the Tokyo Dome. I'm a die-hard Yomiuri Giants fan. I've followed them since I was spawned from a nuclear explosion back in the 50's. Fuck. General Hirakawa, if you fire one more ultra-plasma ray gun blast at my neck, I will stomp your fucking face off. Oh sorry about that, I try not to swear but it's just that this stingy Japanese military always feels the need to get in my way. They always bitch about me sitting on a hospital or something, even though I save the world at least four times per year from a galactic space monster or a renegade smog-beast.

I was able to watch a lot of the Warriors-Mavericks series this week. Wow, that was just amazing. It was an even bigger upset than the time I beat the first Mechagodzilla. That metal thing wouldn't quit. The Warriors' play was really inspiring. Don Nelson coached a great game, running the small quick players at the Mavericks who Ghidorah, what the hell man, what the hell? I am trying to share my thoughts about the NBA playoffs and you're blowing a goddamn lightning blast at me? You really are a dirty fucker. That's gonna leave a mark, you know. Look, it's all blue on my knee now. Faggot. Sorry for the interruption. I was saying that I really enjoyed the way Don Nelson forced Nowitzski to take all of those outside shots instead of letting him drive to the hoop. The Warriors play basketball the way it's supposed to be played. And what else can you say about that Oakland crowd? True basketball fans, really. When I rampage in America later this month, I'll make sure to only partially destroy Oakland. They earned it.

As that pasty small American Bill Simmons points out, the crowd can really make a difference in the game. I know what he means. The people of Japan rarely cheer me on when I'm going toe-to-toe with an evil radioactive space-mutant. They always run away, shrieking really loudly. Hey geniuses, how about parking your little hybrid cars nearby and getting on those rooftops to root for me? Don't you think I would've beaten Gigan more quickly with a little support? Even now as I fight King Ghidorah, the Tokyo militia, and the soon-to-be-arriving Anti-Godzilla Task Force, the only fans I see around are the crazy homeless guy who always sleeps in that parking lot and a pigeon who's either asleep or dead. All I want is a little Jesus Christ that plane flew into my fucking eye! Who the hell did that? Commander Owakaza, you are fucked. This tail is going to flatten your whole tank squadron. Then I will snap all of your bones on my nine rows of awesome white teeth. Sorry again, I was saying that all I want is a little support. Is that so much to ask for?

You will be my bitch forever and ever, King Ghidorah.

Later tonight I think I'll catch the Yankee game. I've been a huge fan of Hideki Matsui since I ate his uncle about twenty years ago. They even nicknamed Matsui after me! It's so flattering, really. When he went on the DL last year I was so depressed that I sunk an oil tanker. The best part about Matsui's game is holy shitcakes, I am going to kick your ass so bad, Ghidorah. Fly those batshit wings of yours in my face, will ya? I think you're pissed off because you have three heads and no dicks. That's right, golden bird feathers don't count, you asexual fuck. Don't be a whiney bitch just because my phallus can't even fit in the Kyoto tunnel. I was saying that the best part of Matsui's game is his ability to drive the ball to all fields and hit lefties and righties equally. I also would like to point out that his left field defense isn't as bad as everyone says it is.

Keeping up with the box scores is getting harder these days. I'm usually punching the clock 9 to 5 (sometimes literally, I knocked down the clock tower in Edo last week) and I don't get much time for rest. Mothra is always whining about some new threat that I have to take care of. Sometimes I just feel like destroying Japan once and for all and taking a nice long vacation in Bermuda or some other tropical island. Boom fucker, I knocked your ugly face into that missile silo! Sit down Ghidorah, I'm gonna take a nice big atomic green shit all over your chest. Then I'm dropping your saggy ass in the Pacific. There you can think about being a loser with no friends and no penis. Raaaawwwwwrrrrrrr!!!!!!

I want to thank BBBC for allowing me to post my sporting opinions. When I bathe the BBBC headquarters in atomic flame next week, I'll try not to char your innards too badly.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

Prince Fielder's Daily Work Out Regimen

In celebration of the Milwaukee Brewers' first place record, BBBC presents an exclusive copy of Brewers slugger Prince Fielder's work out regimen. BBBC appreciates all of the Brewers fans and hopes they treasure this item from their hero.

7:30 AM- Wake up, jog three times around bed.

7:45 AM- Finish jogging, call personal chef to prepare breakfast.

8:15 AM- Eat breakfast of mashed potatoes and gravy, Twix bars, fried bacon strips, frosted Eggo waffles, chocolate lard, and a sesame-seed bagel (extra cream cheese and butter)

8:16 AM- Request seconds.

8:17 AM- Begin half hour "power nap."

12:10 PM- Overdo power nap to build more power.

12:30 PM- Drive to ballpark, stop at Mario's Famous Pasta Barn. Eat brunch of baked ziti, jumbo lasagna, salted/fried cheesecake, and basket of garlic bread.

12:32 PM- Eat two more garlic bread baskets.

12:50 PM- Arrive at ballpark. Jog around first base four times.

12:56 PM- Finish jogging, begin stretching routine. Stretch quads, shoulders, and stomach rolls. Do 10 sit-ups. Do 5 push-ups if physically possible.

1:00 PM- Hit soft-toss, ridicule Bill Hall for being anorexic.

1:50 PM- Study film of tonight's pitcher. Order stuffed crust pizza from Dominoes, request sausage bits, bacon grease, and chicken strips be forced into crust.

1:53 PM- Finish pie. Do not give any to J.J. Hardy or Rickie Weeks.

2:15 PM- Raid Dave Bush's locker, consume power bars and 10-pack of Jack Link's Beef Jerky.

2:18 PM- Tell Dave Bush rodents ate his food, offer condolences. When his back is turned, eat piece of chili left on clubhouse carpet from Tuesday.

3:00 PM- Sleep in clubhouse, eat healthy salad. Give rest of salad to Bobby the clubhouse attendant.

4:15 PM- Awaken, do jumping jack in left field with teammates. After jumping jack, sit down on grass and stretch calf muscles.

5:00 PM- Take batting practice. Practice hitting to left field. See hot chick in third row, start hitting to right field.

5:20 PM- Batting practice again. Eat case of Ramen noodles after second round. Attempt to have sexual relations with hot chick.

5:40 PM- Geoff Jenkins asks hot chick out first. Bludgeon Geoff Jenkins with bat rack. Blame the rodents again.

6:15 PM- Throw warm-up tosses with Kevin Mench. Ask Kevin if he smells cheese fries.

6:35 PM- Finish tosses, ask food vendor by first base line for a medium-size container of cheese fries.

6:36 PM- Change order to large.

6:50 PM- Starting lineup announced over PA system. Blow huge fart in Kevin Mench's face when his name is announced.

7:00 PM- Game time. Eat good-luck packet of licorice. Blow one more fart in on-deck circle.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Zero Hour Has Arrived!

I report this news with great sadness but "Zero Hour" has come. Our friend Mel Kiper Jr. fought bravely with a battalion of supporters but his efforts were in vain. His last words before being forced back into the cryogenic chamber were "Holy fucking Christ, not again! Why, God, why?! Stop laughing Berman, you fat fuck!" Profound, so very profound.

The resistance movement to save Mel Kiper Jr. ultimately failed...


...because of this

It's a little-known-fact that ESPN has a fully operational squadron of robots...


...and they also have the one true weapon of total destruction...

Yup, we're all fucked

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Dr. Orgasmo's Time-Travel Journal

BBBC's animal correspondent Dr. Orgasmo recently journeyed twenty years into the future in a time machine. His mission: to document the changes in the world of sports. The good doctor accomplished this task thanks to BBBC's time-aeronautics engineering lab hidden under a rocky crevice in northern Idaho. We at BBBC are not sure if we are willing to share the secrets of time-travel technology with the public but we are more than happy to share Dr. Orgasmo's view of the future. (The good doctor is pictured above in his time-travel suit)

Note: Entries were translated from Dr. Orgasmo's native language of Portuguese

The world of 2027 is a strange and bewildering place. First of all, no one wears underpants. I don't know why but I think it is just a fashion trend. At some point I hope to journey another ten years into the future to the year 2037 to see if the world has rediscovered underpants. I'm sure you want to know other things about the future before I delve into the world of sports. I am sorry to report but there are no flying cars. Just flying tricycles. Again, I am not sure why. The president of the United States is a homosexual, black, communist woman. Nah, I'm just kidding. I think he's a white guy named Steve Johnson or something generic like that. The most popular piece of technology is a toothbrush/computer/cell phone/condom-holder/music-player/letter-opener/DVD store called the iLotsofShit, which is produced by Macintosh. When I visited in April of 2027, the most anticipated movie (it was coming out in June) was called Awesome Action Explosion Force 9, starring the much older Olsen Twins. Again, I was quite bewildered.

The iLotsofShit is the most popular gadget in the year 2027

Now I will discuss the sporting world. Like everything else in 2027, the world of sports make little sense to we of the year 2007. The most popular sport in America is American Idol Gladiator Death Boxing, a reality-show/sport that incorporates singing and dangerous combat. I am not quite sure how the sport works. When I watched it on my MechaHD TV (MechaHD allows you to actually see the germ cells of people on TV) there appeared to be four feminine-looking men jumping around on trampolines with spiked boxing gloves. They were singing some song by the Bee Gees and trying to punch one another. After a few minutes, a referee clad in a white tunic parachuted down from the top of the arena and administered an electric shock to one of the contestants. I really was confused by the whole affair.

I should talk more about the traditional sports. Baseball, football, and basketball are each popular but pale in comparison to AIGDB. NASCAR was outlawed after Tony Stewart's drunken rampage in 2016. I believe he slaughtered hundreds in the Los Angeles area with his murderous driving skills. The NHL is now a semi-pro league existing only in Mexico and Canada. In the future, the Mexicans seem to like Hockey a lot.

Valerio Ojeda Galragesazanzo scores a goal for the Cancun Spider Monkeys

The defending World Series champion is the San Jose/Fremont/Boca Vista Athletics, who defeated the Kansas City Royals in six games. The Royals won both the 2024 and 2025 World Series thanks to strong pitching from Felipe Bernstein (he won 20 games both years) and slugger Sammy Sosa Jr., who is 7'3'' and weighs 400 lbs., making him the second largest player in baseball. The A's were the underdogs going into the '26 season and won because of Julio Franco who at 68 years of age hit thirty-two homeruns. It was widely speculated that Franco spliced lizard DNA with an HGH serum. As of April of 2027, he was the only player to have a tail and two stomachs. Other than these oddities, baseball is relatively unchanged. The highest paid player makes 100 million dollars per day (players are paid daily in the 2020's) and the average utility infielder hauls in about 5 million per day. Due to crazy-ass inflation, a loaf of bread costs 800,000 dollars, thus making these salaries seem less insane.

I totally forgot to mention that Felipe Bernstein is a Jewish robot

I didn't pay as much attention to football and basketball. My chimpanzee curiosity only takes me so far. I did read in The Daily Future News that the Cincinnati Bengals led the league in suspensions again. There was talk that the Bengals were going to form their own crime syndicate instead of playing football because apparently selling high-grade uranium to terrorists pays better than football. Morten Anderson, now in his 60's, still kicks in the NFL. Commissioner Goodell approved the use of a cybernetic leg around 2023, thus prolonging Anderson's career. Also, all uniforms in the NFL are bright orange because the commissioner signed a five-year sponsorship deal with orange-flavored Gatorade.

In the year 2027, every fucking football jersey looks like this

Basketball is a little different in 2027. The ball is made out of a shiny green goo and all players must wear gloves when handling the ball. Michael Jordan clone #3 dominates the NBA, averaging 245 points per game. The hoop is now only four feet high so scoring has become much easier. Unfortunately, short-shorts are back in style and are even shorter than they were in the 80's. It is not an uncommon sight to see Michael Jordan clone #3's clone testicles. I should mention why clones are now playing. The NBA was the only sport to permit clone participation. All other sports banned clones after Michael Jordan clone #2 tried to play baseball but instead impaled the entire Detroit Tigers' roster with his super-clone fist.

Michael Jordan clone #2's fist of fury that killed so many Detroit Tigers

I hope to travel more and document my visits to these strange new worlds. Next time I will travel to the year 2037 and investigate the underpants issue mentioned earlier. After that quest, the sky is truly the limit. If BBBC continues to finance my expeditions, I could be telling you about giant gorilla ping pong in the year 3954 or ice age hockey in the year 12000. Perhaps I will journey backwards in time as well. I always wanted to kick King Phillip II in the balls for some reason...Ok I'm rambling now, happy trails, you crazy homo sapiens!