The Big Q with...Bill Belichick

BBBC: Today we have a very special guest for the Big Q! More special than that fairy Rich Hill. Welcome to the program, Coach Belichick.

Bill Belichick: (mumbles)

BBBC: Although we are Jet fans at BBBC, we really appreciate what you've done with the Patriots. What has been the toughest part of coaching this great team?

Bill Belichick: Many things. I cannot elaborate further.

BBBC: Ok...Are you excited for the Brady-Moss tandem? How will Moss impact your team?

Bill Belichick: There will be an impact of some degree.

BBBC: But what degree?

Bill Belichick: To a certain degree or extent.

BBBC: How is your relationship with Jets Head Coach Eric Mangini?

Bill Belichick: I cannot disclose any information on my relationship with this possible coaching figure.

BBBC: Possible? He is the Head Coach! Please, answer the question.

Bill Belichick: Eric is a person.

BBBC: Why are you so fond of the 3-4 defensive scheme?

Bill Belichick: I don't know of such a scheme.

BBBC: Yes you do, you secretive asshole.

Bill Belichick: I can't confirm or deny anything.

BBBC: Did you enjoy playing football at Wesleyan?

Bill Belichick: If I did attend such a school and play such a sport, I can only answer perhaps.

BBBC: What makes Tom Brady so special?

Bill Belichick: (mumbles) Tom could possibly be playing quarterback this season but nothing is definite.

BBBC: Are you telling me there is a chance Tom Brady won't start this year?

Bill Belichick: If this player exists, then this possibility could occur in the near future unless other circumstances arise.

BBBC: You're fucking kidding right? You won't even acknowledge that Tom Brady exists?

Bill Belichick: The status of my player's existence or non existence is not available to the public at this time.

BBBC: Will you tell me anything at all about your coaching career, life, family, hobbies, or even fetishes?

Bill Belichick: The Patriots organization, which might or might not participate in the 2007-2008 NFL season, forbids any disclosure of such matters.

BBBC: Do you have sand in your vagina?

Bill Belichick: I cannot disclose the status of my possible vagina(s).

BBBC: Would you screw a llama for two thousand dollars?

Bill Belichick: Depends on the girth.

BBBC: What?

Bill Belichick: Nothing.

BBBC: If you could be any other person besides yourself, who would you be?

Bill Belichick: Perhaps I would be a gray, ambiguous blob that dwells in some sort of non-descript housing area. However, I cannot confirm if this is true.

BBBC: Thanks for your time. Asshole.

Happy Birthday, Dead Horse!

As I type this, trumpets play in the background and thousands are in mourning. Today would would have been Barbaro's birthday, the sweet horse who died just a few months ago. I personally never knew or spoke to Barbaro and never much cared for horse racing. However, this horse, with his galloping, neighing, and eating of grain truly moved me. Barbaro was more than just a horse. He was the single greatest being to ever live on this Earth. He was the Horse Jesus. Nay, he was the Horse God! I hope that somewhere in Horse Heaven he is watching over humanity, thinking about all the things he thought about when he was still alive, such as food, sex, and defecation. I also pray that his remains are made into the finest and sturdiest glue this country has ever seen.

Because Barbaro was so truly special, I would like to start a fund to build a memorial for Barbaro. I suggest that this memorial stand at exactly 200 stories and consist entirely of oats, because I heard Barbaro loved oats. This behemoth memorial can be built in the shape of horse, with eyes made entirely of rare crystal. Since I am from New York, I hope Mayor Bloomberg will demolish several homes or schools to make room for Barbaro's memorial. The citizens of New York will understand.

Happy Birthday, Dead Barbaro. You were the brownest and the most horse-like of all the horses.

(Photo from The Onion, America's finest news source)

The BBBC Guide to Old-School: Part I

We've all heard the term "old-school" applied to sports. An announcer or coach will often call a player old-school, using the term as a form of praise. Old-school players are usually associated with good work ethic, strong character, and a certain scrappiness or "never say die" attitude. What else constitutes an old-school player? We at BBBC have commissioned a scientific task force to analyze this issue and create the perfect formula for the old-school player. For your convenience, we have translated this complex formula into a guide. The traits of the perfect old-school player are listed below.

Trait #1. Whiteness. All old-school players must be white. White old sportswriters/coaches/announcers love to identify themselves with nonathletic white players. For example, David Eckstein is beloved by the baseball community because he is the consummate old-school player. He lacks height, weight, power, strength, and melanin. Thus, he is the perfect the old-school player. In addition, in the eyes of many in the sports community, Latinos, Blacks, and others are not hard-workers. They are hot dogs who like to listen to rap CD's, get drunk, and frequent strip clubs. Old-school players do not do this. After all, in the old days players like Ty Cobb never listened to dirty music or had rampant, unprotected sex. Instead, they beat up black people, cripples, and cursed at small children. And then they went home and slapped their wives senseless until they cooked them a roast turkey. They just don't make 'em like they used to.

Trait #2. Mild obesity. Not all old-school players need to be overweight, but a slight beer belly or man tits never hurt. In the old days there wasn't any weight-lifting, dieting, or sports medicine. The only medicine was a buttered bagel and side of sausage. Fans and sportswriters love players like Bob Wickman for this reason. Wickman has never been a particularly great pitcher, yet he was adored in Cleveland. This adoration stemmed from the fact that his blood is actually composed of gravy, not oxygen cells. Gravy blood=old-school.

Trait #3. Being born in a small-town. The sports world loves the small-town player. "Delbert Forgenzstonksi grew up in Pasty Nuts, Iowa. He learned to hit by swinging a wooden plank at corn seeds and having sex with baby cows. Because he was raised in a small-town, Forgenzstonksi has great work ethic and selflessness which he inherited from his father, who was a farmer, truck driver, coal miner, manure extractor, and semi-pro swamp boat racer. Father and son woke up at 3 o'clock each morning and took five hours of batting practice next to the old red barn which was thrice destroyed by raging tornadoes..." You get the idea. Old-school players come from small-town America because unless your town or city has a population under 4,000 people, you are a lazy fuck.

Part II will be available soon, you impatient plebians.

I Have a Very Small Favor to Ask...

Yeah, um, Yankee starting rotation, it would be like really nice and stuff if you, well...I'm not sure how to put this, if you um...pitched (awkward cough) betterish. I mean, n-not that you're pitching bad or anything, no no, I would never imply...that. It's just, like there (stammer) are nine innings in a game and of course you know that, you are all smart, smart people, yes very smart, and I would just like, I mean I beg...oh that's too strong a word, I politely request that you pitch more than five innings. You know, if it's not too much trouble and all that would be fantastic. Well, maybe five is a bit much. Four? Yeah you're right, four is kind of stressful. How about three? Oooh, I know what you mean three innings is a third of nine, right? Yeah, that is a lot. Two innings? Two's a great number, you know what they say about two...(Pause)..great things come in twos and...well (awkward cough) I forget the expression. Glad we got that out of the way because Scott, Luis, and Sean look a tad tired. I mean, not that tired because it's not like you're not going deep into games. It's just Scott's arm kind of looks like jell-o...but not the bad jell-o like lime or anything. It looks like cherry, which is good I guess. Can I have a word with Mariano? Thanks, I appreciate it. Hello, Mariano, I know it's been rough. I mean great. Super great. If you could err...perhaps, not lower but, maybe adjust...very very slightly, your earned run average. It seems a bit, and I stress a bit, high. Not high, no Mariano, not at all. You don't have to stare like that. I mean you can if you want to. Yes, I do bleed easily.

Cool, I am soo glad I told you all of that. I didn't mean to offend, really. Wait, why do you look so angry? I am sorry, ok! Jesus, don't hurt me. Yeah I have a sore back so putting me in the laundry cart would hurt and...oww my back is kind of tender, so the iron rod isn't helping. Oh...OUCH...ok that's enough, you can let go of my pants. I mean, please let go. Thanks. I'm gonna go head over and talk to Bobby for a minute. I won't be long.

Heyy, Bobby, what's going on? I see you're not hitting well, I mean hitting well, I mean hitting very well, exceptional even. But I just think you could be even more exceptional. Ok, not more exceptional because you're perfect but slightly more perfect. Just raise the greatness a little. Sure Bobby, you can punch me in the chest but only a maximum of six times. Great, it's good to see we're on the same page. Here's the thing: on a scale of one to ten you're at about a forty-five. But usually you're at fifty. Fifty-two I mean. Fifty-six. Err...I had pink eye last month so jamming that utensil there might not be a good idea...unless you think it's a good idea, then it's a great idea! Stupendous! Yes Bobby, I'll get in the laundry cart. Sorry for the inconvenience I might have caused you.

Friday Special: What a Load of Shit!

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Babe Ruth or Babe Dahlgren? Vol. 2

Babe Ruth or Babe Dahlgren is a periodic feature that highlights five ballplayers/teams that are succeeding (like Babe Ruth did!) and five ballplayers/teams that are failing miserably. This is a blatant rip-off of Baseball Tonight's 3 up/3 down segment except I am discussing 10 players instead of 6.

*Note to all those who don't know who the hell Babe Dahlgren was: the other Babe played with the Yankees and some other crappy teams for 12 seasons during the 30's and 40's. His career obp is a robust .329 and his career slugging percentage is an awe-inspiring .383. God, you plebians don't know anything.

Babe Ruth

1. Alex Rodriguez- No one stops The Rod anymore. He can hit any pitch and screw any bitch. He should surpass Hank Aaron's homerun total by August.

2. Travis Hafner- Pronkers has decided to work on hitting a lot of singles which is cool when he's hitting about 4 of them per game. Throw in some more dingers, Travis, and you will be the alpha dog of this list.

3. Sawwwx- Average Boston Red Sox fan, take it away: "The Sawwwx raped the shit out of those fackin' Yanks and it was more than wicked awesome. The score in the first game was like 176-4 Sawx and Schill pitched all nine. That was sweet, man. Then Murph and I had a lagah and smoked some cigahs and banged some broads in front of the Auerbach statue. Let's go Celtics!"

4. Jake Peavy- Peavy would be higher if he hadn't stunk in his start against the Diamondbacks last week. Sixteen strikeouts in one game gets him on the list because strikeouts are like philly cheese steaks: they are soooo satisfying.

5. Ian Kinsler- Kinsler has eight homeruns and is attempting to be like A-Rod, but we all know that it is impossible. Still, Kinsler might be good enough to be A-Rod's stunt double.

Babe Dahlgren

1. Carlos Delgado- Carlos, you are killing my fantasy team. You hit like a sick baby. Do better, and you will be rewarded handsomely with extra playing time on my squad.

2. Washington Nationals- I have a feeling they will be in the Babe Dahlgren zone all year. Nick Johnson won't even want to come back to injure himself again.

3. Gary Sheffield- Sheff recently wrote a book filled with angry rants. With the way Sheff is hitting, Jim Leyland might have an angry book of his own in production.

4. Alex Gordon- The Great White Hope of Kansas City is slugging a robust .290. But look at the bright side, at least the Royals are...um, well, doing sort of bad and...well, you have your health and then there's the fun of playing baseball and...Ok fuck it, there really isn't a bright side.

5. Gerald Laird- Gerry, baby, heyyy what's going on? I heard you're a catcher for the Texas Rangers now! How's that going, old buddy? Ohhh, you're batting .113. Yeah....Gerry, I would try carpentry or interior decorating. Rewarding careers, I'm tellin' ya!

Sal Fasano's Ravioli Will Now Be Heated In A Major League Microwave

The Lord of the Mustache is ready to reclaim his rightful place in the realm of Major League Baseball. Pleasantly plump Sal was promoted from Triple A to join the Blue Jays after an injury to Greg Zaun, which is now officially the most awesome injury ever. Fans all over the country adore big Sal for many reasons. For all not aware of Sal Fasano's greatness, here are five arguements for why he should be in the Hall of Fame.

#1. The Fu-Machu

#2. The Fu-Manchu

#3. Sally Meatballs!!!

#4. There is no need for reasons four and five. Sal Fasano is a God among mortals.

Prepare yourself, American League. The Violent Man-Beast That Is Sal Fasano will dominate you all.

The Big Q with...Rich Hill

Hello and welcome to Bring Back Bubba Crosby's popular question and answer segment, the Big Q. We are here with Chicago Cubs left-hander Rich Hill.

BBBC: Why have you been so successful this year?

Rich Hill: I've really been locating my off-speed pitches. My curveball has had a lot of break this year and my change is deceptive enough to get these hitters out. Another reason for my good start is confidence. When I go out there, I always feel like I have a chance to win.

BBBC: You've been called the "Gay Barry Zito." Any thoughts about that?

Rich Hill: It's a great honor to be compared to such an outstanding pitcher. However, I am not a homosexual.

BBBC: You hail from Milton, Massachusetts. What is it like growing up as a gay man in Massachusetts?

Rich Hill: I would not know because I am not gay.

BBBC: What was your "welcome to the big leagues" moment?

Rich Hill: It would have to be the first time I ever jogged out to the mound at Wrigley Field. The grass was so green and everything was electric.

BBBC: When you have group sex with the other Cubs players, are you on the top or bottom?

Rich Hill: I am not gay.

BBBC: Bigger man sausage, Carlos Zambrano or Derek Lee?

Rich Hill: I must reiterate that I am not gay.

BBBC: Who is the toughest batter that you have ever faced?

Rich Hill: I would have to say (Albert) Pujols. He kills the pitches in and loves going the other way. It is almost impossible to get him out.

BBBC: Favorite color?

Rich Hill: Blue

BBBC: Favorite ice cream flavor?

Rich Hill: Chocolate Chip

BBBC: Favorite sexual position?

Rich Hill: I don't know how to answer that.

BBBC: If you didn't play baseball, you would have been a...?

Rich Hill: Probably a school teacher. I love to work with kids and help them learn new things.

BBBC: Like the proper way to ejaculate in someone's mouth?

Rich Hill: Ok, I've had enough. I am ready to leave.

BBBC: Sorry about that. I promise I won't ask any more questions related to your obvious homosexuality. What is your favorite band?

Rich Hill: Green Day and AC/DC

BBBC: Does my bright green tie frighten you?

Rich Hill: No

BBBC: How many pieces of bubble-gum can you fit in your sternum?

Rich Hill: Jesus Christ, I have no idea. This is absurd.

BBBC: The one item you can't live without? No wait, I'll answer that one. Dildo.

Rich Hill: Fuck you, I am getting out of here. This was the worst experience of my life.

BBBC: Thanks for your time, Rich. We'll be back next week with another great interview!

Please God, I Don't Want To Be Put In the Cryogenic Chamber Anymore

ESPN's NFL Draft guru Mel Kiper Jr. would like to share a few words with football fans everywhere

Greetings, fellow football fans. Draft Day is nearly upon us and I know you are all excited about the players your team might pick. However, I am not here to analyze the draft and discuss such top-rated players like JaMarcus Russell (excellent throwing arm, ran a 4.71 at the combine, can bench press 320 lbs., and is above average in the shuttle run) or Joe Thomas (strong pull blocker, adequate vertical leap, and can push a blocking sled 50 yards in under thirty seconds) or even Gaines Adams who can...damnit Mel, you're not here to talk about the draft! Remember that!

Sorry everyone, I know I said I would not discuss the draft. I want to speak to you about more grave matters. You probably are not aware that I only see sunlight three out of the twelve months of the year. Some of you might be shocked by this but other one-sport analysts endure similar fates. Dick Vitale is only allowed four and a half months of "living time." Pedro Gomez is forced into the darkness when Barry Bonds is not in the lineup. The darkness I speak of is the Bristol Cryogenics Lab, where many analysts are kept frozen in suspended animation during the off-seasons of their respective sports. I am writing you, the beloved fans, for one simple reason. I want to end this practice once and for all.

You do not know what it is like to be put in a cryogenic chamber. My family never sees me. My dog doesn't recognize me. I haven't experienced the glory of summer since I was 28. I want to watch something other than college football highlight tapes! I want to see a real college game. I want to feel the excitement of watching an NFL game on television with a few friends and a cold glass of beer. That stupid ovine Chris Berman is allowed to live in the open all times of the year! I want that too! I even remember that there used to be other sports played in the summer, like baseball and tennis. Is George Brett still playing? Was Miami Vice ever cancelled? My ESPN bosses forbid me from acquiring outside knowledge of other sports and culture. Please God, Jesus, or even Jewish God, help me!!

I don't know what else to do. "Zero Hour" is three days after the draft. In the past I have tried to resist it, I really have. The ESPN men in suits always find me. Each time the serum that they put in my ear hurts a little more. In a fit of blind rage I try to fight back but I am always dragged through the halls of ESPN headquarters, past that traitor Stuart Scott and that virgin Scott Van Pelt. It all happens so quickly. I am thrown into a chamber that is constructed of glass, quartz, and lined with steel rods. My mouth is gagged and my hair is filled with industrial strength gel to keep the roots from dying. Then it is over. A frosty haze fills my body cavities and ice stabs my skin like a thousand rusty daggers. My world turns to crystal. Nine months later I emerge, forced to write massive quantities about another NFL draft.

They all pretend it's ok. Berman is always ready with a "hey what's going on, Big Mel?" when I leave the cryogenic chamber. I give him an icy stare and reach for his throat, but an ESPN sentinel is always there to stop me. Do you know why I seem so perky on all of those draft telecasts? Because the pigs at ESPN inject me with adrenaline shots and radioactive amphetamines. I am always cold. The frost never leaves my cuticles and I am forever sterile. My blood is thinned to the point that any small abrasion might kill me. However, the insidious devils at ESPN ensure that I am always alive so I can earn money for their NFL Draft coverage machine.

It must end now! I implore you, the people at home, to rise up against the oppressive and totalitarian regime that is ESPN. Fight them in the streets, fight them in the forests, fight them in the Bristol coffee lounge! I want to live life, goddamit. Bring me freedom and great riches will await you! Not only will you have my eternal gratitude, but you will also win a free subscription to ESPN the Magazine (6 months), a free copy of Mel Kiper Jr.'s 2007 Draft Guide, a PTI coffee mug, and two tickets to the ESPY's. Fight with courage and do not hesitate to kill. Mel Kiper Jr. will be freed from the shackles of ESPN slavery!

Let's Dish About 'Roids

An inside source wrote to BBBC about the rampant steroid use in Major League Baseball. He/she wished to report his/her findings with the rest of the world.

We all know who's 'roiding and who's not, right? Wrong. I've been around quite a few clubhouses this past year and let me tell you, there are many ballplayers juicing up who you might not know about. Take that imp David Eckstein, he's totally on steroids. The little guy is pumping hormones in his ass every other hour. Remember those multiple homeruns he hit last year? Steroids....I'm sure you think Prince Fielder is just a fat fuck who stores jelly donuts under the folds of his man tits. Little do you know that he also stores syringes in there too....Guess who else is raging on 'roids? Jose Valentine. Anyone with a moustache like that has to be hiding something....Ok, enough hitters. We all know they have shrunken testicles and shortened lifespans. How about some pitchers? Mike Hampton is on the DL again and will not pitch in 2007. Last year he had something called "Tommy John" surgery which is a bullshit fabricated excuse to cover up the fact that he uses more HGH and horse steroids than an Austrian street fighter.....David Wells is fat and has diabetes. Little do people know that the yodels he eats for breakfast are laced with gorilla hormones, amphetamines, and extra potent HGH.....Oh and how about that closer Billy Wagner? Only 23 years ago he could barely throw 80 mph and now he is throwing 98 mph routinley. That guy is taking some good fucking steroids.....Last, but certainly not least, is Jason Kendall. That lying, constipated raccoon managed to more than double his homerun total last year. One homerun is hell of a lot more than zero, you roided up motherfucker.

That's all the dirt I have for today. I want to thank BBBC for funding my investigation and strategically placing me in all of those laundry bins and closets.

Hair Here, Hair There, Hair Everywhere!

The 2007 Boston Red Sox: Hairier than any team in the history of baseball? Perhaps. Not since the 2004 Red Sox has the world laid eyes on such atrocious head and facial hair. Some scientists have even classified Manny Ramirez's locks as a living organism. David Ortiz's beard-like thing has an atomic number. Kevin Youkillis has been placed on welfare solely because of the reddish fuzz sprouting from his face. Curt Schilling thinks the feathered mullet is cool. Clearly the Red Sox hair situation needs some further examining.

First, a look at OBP machine and Jew Kevin Youkilis

Yooks has a lot of class by donning the VT hat. But after that, it's all downhill. The beard screams either "Mazel Tov!" or "sir can you spare some change." It's thick enough to store an extra grilled cheese sandwich if he is hungry, but other than that I don't see much use for this beard. By July the pools of sweat on his face will be so immense that he will be depositing spare gallons in Mike Lowell's water bottle and giving the rest to malnourished African children. And of course, small animals will find the warm crevices of his beard too inviting to resist. "And here's the one two to Youkilis, the pitch is...what the hell? A small rodent, possibly an opossum, has sprang from Youkilis' beard and is running onto the field! He's escaped, ladies and gentleman, and he looks hungry."

Next we have Disgustingly Fat, I mean Big, Papi

David Ortiz has always been known for interesting facial hair. This year he has gone beyond the realm of interesting and into the realm of insane. What is that on his face? You don't know. I don't know. Theo Epstein doesn't know. I don't even think Big Papi knows. It's as if he pasted a flat piece of tar on each cheek instead of bothering to grow any hair. That's a Halloween costume waiting to happen.

And finally, here's ManRam

What do we make of this? Perhaps fiery serpents have laid their seed in Manny's skull, producing these frightening serpent offspring. Perhaps Manny's hair requires nourishment, just like all other organisms. We can even give those little guys a name. Or names. The red ones can be Jose and Abner. We can call the black ones on the left Big Mitch, Horatio, and Julio G. The rest of Manny's hair will remain nameless to honor the fallen lice who died bravely in Manny's scalp last week. Fortunately, the lice colony will continue to thrive, creating a harmonious society that is certain to last for generations to come.

The BBBC fashion task force decided not to breakdown Curt Schilling's feathered mullet because they believed society already knew that the mullet speaks for itself.

I Have Not Forgotten About the Large Men and The Peach Baskets

Yes, yes, I know today is the beginning of the NBA playoffs. Who doesn't love playoff basketball? I do, but I can't help but feel the climax being drained slowly out of the whole thing by the fact that I will still be talking about playoff basketball in June. Let's at least make the first round 3 out of 5 and cut a round out of the postseason. I have a few other requests/demands as well... I want Dikembe Mutumbo to always play in the playoffs because nothing is better than hearing Dikembe utter a syllable. Furthermore, I want each player to have to grow a playoff beard and wear a huge afro (even the whiteys) because it will entertain me more. In addition, Nate Robinson must be allowed to fight anyone he wants during the halftime of all games; he can fight fans, announcers, cheerleaders, mascots, small children, large basketball players, and a cardboard cut-out of himself. I also demand....

"Umm Ross, your demands are absurd. After the plea to shorten the first round of the playoffs, I completly lost you."
"Alter ego, I don't care what you think. My demands are awesome and should be implemented now."
"I believe Nate Robinson would violate six different laws by partaking in that brawl. Surely that would be bad for the league's image."
"The league's image doesn't concern me. I only want to be entertained."
"That is very egotistical of you."
"That is very egotistical of you."
"Do not mimic me."
"Shut up fuckface, you have no say here. You are the second-string ego and I am number one. You are the Chris Weinke of alter-egos."
"Sorry, master."
"That's right, my bitch."

Now that I have sublimated my alter ego, I bring you my predictions for the first round of the NBA Playoffs!

Miami over Chicago- Ben Wallace looks hungry but Shaq can definitly eat more blueberry pie and vanilla wafers

Detroit over Orlando- Someone needs to feed Tayshaun Prince. The Magic have a chance in this series if Prince is blown off of the court by the Palace's ventilation system.

New Jersey over Toronto- My Nets will kick the shit out of Chris Bosh and co. after Bostjan Nakbar drops 123 points in game three. Oh yeah, and Vince Carter will do stuff too.

Cleveland over Washington- No Agent Zero, no fun. But hey, the fans can look forward to crazy catch phrases that back-up center Calvin Booth has in store.

Houston over Utah- 5'3'' balding white man and 7'5'' Asian unite for victory!

Phoneix over LA Lakers- Kobe and co. fall to the magical Canadian and his large black friends.

San Antonio over Denver- Tim Duncan will show his violent and passionate side by putting his towel next to Manu Ginoboli's locker without asking for permission first.

Mavericks over Warriors- Pitying the Warriors, the Mavericks let the Fort Worth Community College Wombats play the second half of game four.

Game Recap: Somehow Hideki Okajima Is Now Better Than Mariano Rivera

There comes a time in everyone's life when they just say "what the hell??" really loudly. After tonight's 7-6 loss to the Sawx, I had my "what the hell??" moment. Alex Rodriguez continues to be Roy Hobbs (the good Roy Hobbs who hit about 100 homeruns during that montage and never ever hit a single) which of course is awesome. No one should be surprised by this: the man just plays baseball at a higher plane than everyone else. The real shock came from Mariano Rivera's second blown save of the year. He's been Superman for so long and now he's getting knocked around by little elfs like Marco Scutaro and Coco Crisp. C'mon Mo, don't let the elfs beat you. Yankee fans might want to freak out but most sane fans realize that Mo is entitled to his moments of suckitude and will most likely pitch well again.

The real purpose of the post is to hand out some game awards. I don't usually give out awards for individual games, but this crazy contest makes it seem worthwhile.

The "Boogie Nights" Unintentional Porn Reference Award- Yankees broadcaster John Flaherty, who spent a good two minutes discussing Jason Varitek's "soft hands" and "his ability to receive the ball."

The J.C. Romero Award for Royally Fucking Up- Mariano Rivera. Sorry Mo, but it just was not your night.

The Roys Hobbs Montage Where He Hits A Million Homeruns In Two Games And Breaks That Clocktower Which Was Badass Award- Alex Rodriguez. Who'd ya think would get this one, Will Nieves?

The Asian Memorial Award for Best Asian Pitcher- Hideki Okajima. During his wind-up, he jerked his head more times than the average call girl in a three way.

The Kool-Aid Man Award for Most Timely Hit- Coco Crisp, who like Kool-Aid man, knew the right time to break through that wall and offer up some fruit punch Kool-Aid.

The Julio Franco Senior Citizen Medal of Honor- Jason Varitek. He might be an old, broken-down, blind, and senile dog but he certainly hit the crap out of the ball.

The Chris Farley Look-a-like Award- Curt Schilling. He clearly is enjoying his peanuts and ice-cream and the scraggly blonde hair only adds to the image. Yeah Schill, you stay classy.

Friday Special: I Do Not Not Hate Alex Rodriguez

Every Friday we at BBBC bring you a very special message from a professional athlete. This week's guest is Derek Jeter, shortstop for the New York Yankees.

Hey guys, it's Derek. What's going on? I wanted to clear up a few things about my relationship with Alex Rodriguez and I decided to do it here on the internet. I know my fans love to read blogs and I have decided to communicate through this medium.

Before I start, I wanna give a big shout out to all my young fans out there. Keep working hard and studying and all of your dreams will come true. School comes first, kids. If you want to improve your batting while still having time to hit the books, check out my hit away batting trainer. Buy one for yourself, one for your friend, and nine more because you love the Yankees.

Ok, so I know a lot of things have been said about my relationship with my teammate Alex Rodriguez. I support him 100% of the time at least half the time. I am extremly happy that he has hit 10 more homeruns than I have and has doubled my rbi total. I am glad that he is no longer viewed as a weak, selfish, choker who cries in his sleep after popping up with the bases loaded. Alex and I have a fine relationship. We're like two peas in a really, really big pod.

The newspapers like to speculate about a lot of silly things. They say I told the Yankee fans to stop booing Jason Giambi when he was having his health issues. They also say I did not support Alex when the fans were angry at him. This is a complete lie. I told the fans to stop booing Alex many times. It was a sad coincidence that no reporters were around to hear my cries of support. Alex and I still maintain a healthy relationship. When he gets a hit, I clap for him. My clapping does not grow softer after every hit Alex gets and I do not wince when he crushes a homerun. I am in no way jealous of his tremendous strength.

Alex and I still hang out. He will come to my place to sip some tea and sit quietly. Then I will come back and he will leave, but he will always say good-bye on the way out the door. I even shared my Porsche with him once. I let him drive mine when his limo had a flat tire. I didn't even mind that he left a disgusting brown stain on my car rug. I didn't mind at all. I am the captain and I have to maintain a good relationship with everyone for our team to function. If I am playing cards with Jason Giambi, I always make sure to allow Alex to watch our game. He can even pass out tips if he so desires.

Some say that the "shoe is on the other foot" this year because I have been struggling in the field. Alex has hit and fielded flawlessly while I have not done the same. This does not bother me at all. I always made sure to pat Alex on the back or say "good job buddy" when no one is looking. I don't need to show affection in public. Alex knows how I feel in private and this all that matters. A person with true character does not act differently if people are watching. No matter if he is struggling or succeeding, I always make sure to treat Alex the same way. I remind him of his duty to the Yankees and to wear the pinstripes with pride. I remind him of the four World Series rings I won. If he forgets what our wonderful organization is all about, I will pull out my four rings from a special container in my locker and show him the rings again. Occasionally I will allow Alex to wear a ring so he can experience what it feels like to be a true champion.

Alex is a great competitor and winner. He wins our batting practice homerun derbies. He wins when I feel like playing him in a board game. No one competes harder when we are swimming laps in the private hotel swimming pool. Alex is a top-flight competitor in almost everything he does. I can only tip my hat to him. He has the courage of a mouse and the brain of a lion...I mean the courage of a lion and the brain of a mouse. Oh wait, I meant owl. Yes, owls are smart, aren't they?

I hope this has made everything clear. I have nothing but the utmost respect for Alex. He is an integral part of our team and hopefully will continue to thrive with the Yankees for years to come unless he opts out of his contract after this season which I hope doesn't happen because it would mean I would be all alone in the infield, once again the superior player on the Yankees. Alex is my good friend. I don't want anyone to think otherwise. I definitly probably don't not hate Alex Rodriguez in anyway. Go it?

Mark Buerhle Owns You All

By now you know that the White Sox's Mark Buerhle has pitched a no-hitter, etching himself in the history books with legends like Bud Smith and Hideo Nomo. Buerhle only walked one and worked a quick two hour game. Perhaps he has finally rediscovered awesome 2005 Buerhle and ditched fantasy baseball-killing 2006 Buerhle. All kidding aside, it was a great job by the lefty. Seriously Mark, kudos and congratulations and salutations and whatever.

I don't write this blog to praise others. I write it to piss you off. That's right, you. But today I am going to try to be less offensive by simply playing oddsmaker. Who will be the next pitchers to pitch no-hitters? I'll set the odds with the assistance of my odds-monkey, Dr. Orgasmo. (That's the good doctor in the picture above)

5:1 Johan Santana- Johan is the Sandy Koufax of our generation. He's left-handed and can buzz you with the heater or drop the dirty change. His name also sounds Swedish, which is a huge plus.

9:1 Jeff Weaver- Bums like Jeff always seem to walk into the no-no's. Weaver is just crazy and lucky enough to do the same. His name also sounds Swedish, which is a huge plus. (Dr. Orgasmo insists this is true but I have to disagree)

20:1 David Wells- The diabetes ain't helping the cause but the Hefty, I mean Morbidly Obese, Lefty might have one more magical start in the tank. He's a True Yankee and True Yankees never ever ever fail to deliver the magical goodness. (Dr. Orgasmo insists there are many Yankees who are not good at baseball and have no "magical goodness." The good doctor is a real downer)

50:1 Rick Vanden Hurk- Who? Exactly. He pitches for the Marlins, a team that already had a no-hitter last year from Anibal Sanchez. Vanden Hurk has the combination of anonymity and an amazing foreign-sounding name to become a baseball immortal. And yes, his name actually sounds Swedish. (Oh shit, according to Yahoo! he was born in the Netherlands which means he is actually a foreigner and most likely a fan of Bjork. Dr. Orgasmo has similar musical tastes)

300:1 Carl Pavano- "Pittsburgh, PA- Carl Pavano's first start as a Pittsburgh Pirate was truly magical. Pavano pitched 9 glorious innings en route to the second no-hitter of the 2007 season. He walked one and struck out fourteen Cardinals, looking every bit the dominating player he was thought to be. Pavano expressed joyful relief after retiring the final batter. 'After the Yankees put me on waivers, I thought my career was over,' said the right-handed hurler. 'But thanks to my loving girlfriend, my faith in God, and the sudden disappearance of numerous injuries, I now feel that I can play a part on this great Pirates team.' Pavano and the Pirates are now atop the Central Division, while his former employers the Yankees sit in fourth place after a 14-2 loss at the hands of the surging Tampa Bay Devil Rays..." (Seriously Dr. Orgasmo, go fuck yourself. That will never happen. The Yankees rule.)

10,000:1 Dr. Orgasmo- You are a failure, doctor. Monkeys can't pitch because they don't have adequate motor skills. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. (I must concede that you have excellent aim when throwing your clumps of feces. You're the Greg Maddux of shit-tossing)

I Want To Be On the Cover of Madden '08!

A football player wrote in to BBBC asking to voice his opinion about the new Madden 2008 cover. We acquiesced to his demands and allowed him to sound off on our site.

Yo, what the hell man? Why aren't I on the cover of Madden '08? The Tank needs to be on with his fucking ammo and shit! Yo Vince, you oreo pussy, get the hell off of my cover. Tank Johnson wants to roll all over that. I'm marketable and can sell that game faster than anyone. Who ain't heard of Tank? Tank's all over the news because he gots what it takes. I played defensive tackle for the Super Bowl Champion Chicago Bears! (Ed. note: The Indianapolis Colts actually won the Super Bowl. We feared telling Mr. Johnson the truth) That skinny shit Vince Young ever won something like that? Nigga, all he won was some division six college bowl game that no one ever watches except Vince's ugly mom and maybe Lovie Smith cuz he's scouting prospects and shit.

I've been playing that fat ass' game since the fucking 90's man. I was rolling out with Drew Bledsoe's ass on the Patriots throwing bombs to that fucker Terry Glenn. I was designing crazy ass defenses like "omega bullet" and "monster crash 4,000 super gorilla." Vince was sucking his momma's milk while being raped by his dad. He's a loser. Tank's a winner! I been winning since my pee wee days, runnin' all over some asthma kid and his mom on the way to the endzone for my touchdowns. That's right son, the Tank played both sides of the ball like he played both sides of yo sister. But that's not the only reason Tank's qualifies (big fucking word I know, I learned it from the cops) for the Madden cover. My brain's as big as my one-eyed chocolate cobra. (Ladies know why they call me Tank) Check this shit out at the wikipedia site that has pages and stuff about sexy bulldogs like me.

"He (Tank Johnson) attended McClintock in Tempe, Arizona where he had a B-plus grade point average."

Tank demands that he play both offense and defense in Madden

B-plus fuckers! That's like five C's put together. Now you know how Tank had his assault rifles all orderly and shit in his crib? I know how to organize! Vince Young can't even take a piss without his agent helpin' him unzip his baby-sized fly cuz his dick and brain are small. Vince got like a 6 on his Wonderbread test before the draft. Tank got a 9. Again, my crazy math skillz are crazy. When I was in school in super-Math calculoid class the teacher was all like "what's the square root" of some shit and I was like "nigga I don't have to tell you, I'm Tank!" and that pasty fool would shut the hell up becuz no one gets in Tank's grill askin' questions. Anyways, my giant-sized brain qualifies me for Madden.

Oh yeah, I also forgot that I own on the football field. Fucking own. That turf is my bitch to hump all night if I want. No o-lineman in the league can stop me. Kids play Madden with the Bears and click on Tank all day cuz they knows he can get that quarterback blowing shit bubbles in his pants. No one can stop this nigga. It's all about respect, you know what I saying? Tank walks down the street carryin' the M14 and all the pretenders clear to the side. Only Tank walks the walk cuz he knows what shit is going on. And he knows he should be on Madden. I'm gonna call my agent and fly his ass to the Madden crib and fuck that saggy-balled fatass up until he makes Tank the cover nigga of Madden. Then he will know my super power that could get me like a 99 rating for tackling.

Yeah and Vince Young, you mine next year. I don't care if we playin' the Titans or not, I'm gonna mess you up for stealing the Tank's glory. The Tank is gonna roll his treads all over your face and then he's gonna roll through your house and leave the treadmarks on yo momma. Tank Johnson 4EVER!!!!!!

John Kruk Interviews French Prime Minister Jacques Chirac

BBBC international correspondent John Kruk was a gracious enough to take time out of his busy schedule with Baseball Tonight to interview French Prime Minister Jacques Chirac, who will be leaving office in May of 2007.

John Kruk: Hello, Mr. Chirac. Nice to meet you. Let's get right down to buisness.

Jacques Chirac: Yes, sounds fine.

JK: I see that you're a Prime Minister now. What's that like and stuff?

JC: Well, it is a fascinating and nuanced profession. I have had to handle many pressing domestic issues such as the Clearstream affair and the Islamic riots. However, I believe our administration has handled these domestic issues with aplomb. Economically speaking, my administration has pushed for more privatization of business and a more unrestricted economic policy. This has to be balanced with our nation's affinity for a more central and interventionist style of government. Free trade needs to be preserved but with certain restrictions. As a Prime Minister, I must be aware of the different sides to issues, like one needs to be aware that there are many sides to a polygon.

JK: Hmm, yeah but how would you deal with the pressing issues of when to serve French toast, French fries, or those awesome French muffins they sell at the Bristol deli for like 3.99 and come with the extra butter packets?

JC: I do not understand how this question pertains to me. The French government is a parliamentary democracy that does not have jurisdiction over the foodstuffs served in local restaurants and cafes. Intrusive domestic policy is not our aim.

JK: Ok Jacky, but what do you think about the NL East? Do the Mets have enough pitching to win it?

JC: I do not closely observe American baseball to conclusively answer that question.

JK: Did you see me in that awesome fantasy baseball commerical in leather? Leather is sweet, man, sweet. Sweet like a boston-cream donut from that Dunkin' Donuts on Crest Street where on Mondays there's extra sugar for the coffee. Ohhh...I could use one of those and box of jelly-filled munchkins right now, man. You ever had a huge hoagie, with a spicy salami with those crunchy onions?

JC: Your question confuses me.

JK: Oh, sorry, you know I'll wipe that drool off of your shoes later. Hey wait where'd you get those loafers?

JC: They were custom-made by a tailor of mine in Versailles.

JK: I'll drive down there next week and pick up a pair. Anyway...

JC: Mr. Kruk, you cannot drive to France from America. There is an ocean that separates our countries.

JK: Look eggo waffles, I don' t have time for your geography lessons and syrup. Sweet syrup, poured slowly on a steaming hot pile of pancakes with a side of raspberries...and nine strips of bacon burnt on the tip. The tip, man.

JC: Are you feeling well, Mr. Kruk? Your pupils appear cloudy and the saliva has not ceased rolling from your lips.

JK: Jesus, pecan pies. Big fucking pecans.

JC: I don't think you are mentally fit to do this interview anymore. I will be leaving.

JK: Dammit, don't take my marshmallows, (Lenny) Dykstra. I want my fucking marshmallows. You sonofabitchmotherflamerwhore come back with the fudge pringles, man. You too, Mitch (Williams). Ahhh gravy! Gravy everywhere!!

JC: Thank-you for your time, Mr. Kruk. I hope to see you again when you are not delirious.

JK: How do you answer your critics who believe there is perceived social rift between those living in more opulent urban areas and those dwelling in the more rustic countryside? Hello? Mr. Chirac? Dammit Krukie, you gotta stop thinking about food when guests are around. But I am as hungry as an anorexic Ervin Santana. I think I'll head down to the deli and pick me up some fried chicken and Haagen Daz. Stevie (Phillips) man, get your ass in the Honda, we're going to the deli!

What the F--k, Ryan Freel?

I hate you Ryan Freel. I really think your soul is full of darkness, your heart and its aortas as frosty as Satan's. You wanna know why I am saying this? Do you, you little piece of shit? I put you in my fantasy baseball lineup all the time. All the fucking time. What do you contribute? Almost nothing. An occasional steal isn't enough for my squad, Ryan, it isn't enough. You think you are so cool by being eligible at 2B, 3B, and OF? Well you aren't fucking cool. I benched you tonight because you were sucking immensely. I played Freddy Sanchez in your place, you waste of space. What does Freddy Sanchez do? Oh...how about he didn't even fucking play. Already screwed once, I hoped you would fail again because your stats wouldn't count for tonight. Instead, like the rat fink turd you are, you got 4 motherfucking hits! In 4 fucking at bats! That's a 1.000 batting average, you community college reject. You even had the audacity to throw in a fucking double (like the only one you've hit this year) to piss me off even more.

You know what Ryan? I've had enough of this bullshit. I'm way too old for this. You wanna hit only when you sit on my bench, fine. The next place you will be hitting is on the waiver wire which is as cold and lonely as a witch's tit. I'm going to give you one more chance. Tommorow night I will play you at second base. Your ass in on the line. Produce, or go home. And if I ever see another 4-4 game on my bench, I will personally fly to Cincinatti and tell Adam Dunn that you fucked his mother extra rough. By the end of the day, your vertebrae will be in fifty different pieces and your urine will be as red as fucking wine.

That's all I have to say, Ryan. Don't fuck me over again.

Ha! You Lose Again, Luddite Society of America

For the 20th consecutive year, Wrigley Field will host a night game. Baseball purists will weep on their Roger Kahn memoirs and gush about the days of pure, white, daytime baseball. They'll tell you how "them's was the good old days" and then they will rant about the new fangled wireless telephones and hand-held phonographs. Then they will tell you about a fat Irish utlity infielder who played in 1943 but had a heart of gold. And then you will walk away, bored and confused.

(Ed. note: A luddite is a person who is violently opposed to technological change. You dim-witted plebians really don't know anything)

Tony La Russa, Take Off Your F--king Sunglasses

Dear Tony La Russa,

It has come to my attention that you always wear your sunglasses. By always, I mean during day and night games. Why do you need them during night games? There is a clear lack of sunlight during the nightime. Therefore sunglasses would be rendered useless under such conditions. However, you continue to wear your sunglasses during these ballgames played under dark skies. I am going to assume you don't have an acute eye condition that forces you to always wear sunglasses but that you wear sunglasses because you are an arrogant prick. People who wear sunglasses all the time aren't cool, Tony. I repeat, you are not cool. In fact, these sunglasses shout to the world that you are a pompous douchebag. I realize that your cock is still tender from the fellatio author Buzz Bizzinger gave you a few years ago in the book "Three Nights in August." Still, you should be able to realize that despite the tingly feeling you still have down there, you are a smug asshole. In summation, Tony, I beseech you to take off your fucking sunglasses.

Your friend, Ross

Yankees Loss Prompts Me to Come Up With Retarded Theory

Today the Yankees lost to the Oakland Athletics 5-4, thanks to a 3-run homer by the immortal legend of greatness Marco Scutaro. The homerun was not given up by Kyle Farnsworth or by Kyle Farnsworth wearing a Mariano Rivera costume. It was given up by (gasp) Mariano Rivera! This gut-wrenching loss prompted me to come up with a strange, stupid, somewhat insentive, and most definitly retarded theory. Today's date is April 15th, the 60th anniversary of Jackie Robinson breaking the color barrier. Players across baseball are honoring Robinson by wearing number 42. But Mariano Rivera is not honoring Robinson because he is the only current player allowed to wear 42 after it was retired in 1997. Which means that the ghost of Jackie Robinson gave magic ghost powers to Marco Scutaro to hit the homerun off of Rivera because Robinson wanted revenge for Rivera not giving up number 42.

"Ross, that is so fucking stupid. Ghosts aren't real and you are a racist."
"Shut up alter-ego, you know I like the blacks."
"The fact that you are calling them 'the blacks' makes you even more of a racist."
"But c'mon, the theory could be kind of true, right?"
"No."
"But can you at least concede that if ghosts existed, they would have magic powers?"
"If ghosts existed, you would belong to MENSA. But they don't. So you are a stupid, mindless, monkey turd-eating jackass."
"Thanks, alter ego."
"Don't mention it."

We Need More Fans to Run on the Field

Excuse me from not posting about Jesus, the contract demands of Johan Santana, or ultimate Japanese player showdowns. I want to talk today about the insanity that occurs when fans run onto the field, especially at baseball games. We all know how righteous announcers become when a crazed fan jumps the wall and zig zags on the outfield grass, avoiding furious security guards. They channel their inner Joe Buck, saying things like "this is so disgraceful" and "disgusting" and "awful." To avoid giving the fan on the field any attention, cameras will no longer pan to the action. We, the TV audience, are forced to watch the first basemen scratching his ass or the shorstop smiling sheepishly. This is horrible. I demand that not only the cameras show these attention-starved people but that more fans run onto the field.

A few nights ago I was watching a Phillies-Astros game in rainy Philadelphia. During the game, a fan ran onto the field and was chased around by security guards. Instead of seeing this awesome action, I was subjected to watching the pasty Craig Biggio chuckle. What the hell? I want to laugh too. Let me see awkward tackling by the security guards. Let me see the out of shape fan stumble breathlessly away from the outfielders. Who doesn't love the craziness of games being interrupted? I want more interruption. I want an army of fans jumping onto the field with nerf guns and super soakers. I want Manny Ramirez to have to spear some trashy bald guy trying to touch him. Then I want another trashy bald guy to hit Manny in the back with a nerf dart.

I know we can make this happen. We the common people can form organizations dedicated to fan interference. We can create 'Soviets', if you will, small organizations that are committed to deploying the proletariat on the battlefield. We can trip the right fielder, moon the umpire, or pour stale gatorade on the first base coach. We can even engage security guards in sissy combat, flailing at them until they realize we are weak and pummel us into the ground. You might ask why I want this. Why? For Freedom. For Sparta. (Um...ok I don't want this for freedom or for Sparta) I want this for my right to be Entertained. Dance, monkeys, dance and amuse me. Because the day we make Joe Buck cry from a righteous-indignation overload is the day we have succeeded. Now men (and women), I want you to come together and fight for what is right.

Misfits of the World, Unite

Friday Special: Hi, I'm David Eckstein And I Want To Talk To You About Jesus

Every Friday we at BBBC bring you a very special message from a professional athlete. This week's guest is David Eckstein, shortstop for the World Champion St. Louis Cardinals.

First, I would like to say that I am very happy to be a guest at Bring Back Bubba Crosby. I do not know Bubba personally but I hope he succeeds in all endeavors he puts his mind to.

I want to discuss a very important subject in my life with you wonderful readers. That subject is Christianity, a religion that revolves around the teachings of the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I have been a devout Christian since my early years. I know I have been mistaken for being Jewish because my last name sounds very un-Christian. My father was raised a Jew but fortunatly I have been able to cure his dreaded disease and bring him over to the side of Jesus. Don't get me wrong, the Jewish community is very important to me. They will always be in my heart even as they burn in eternal hellfire.

However, I am not here to condemn the heathens. I am here to help you understand the role of Jesus in your life. Jesus made me who I am today. When people see me at the ballpark, they often think I am a young boy, a bat boy, a sick albino child, a sun-deprived mole person, an elf, a sprite, a white pygmy, a bat boy's child, the mascot, and a living lawn gnome. Despite my small stature (I am only 5 feet 7 inches tall) I have been able to play with the bigger ballplayers, earning the respect of my peers. How have I done so much with so little? Scouts and analysts like Mr. Joe Morgan say I am "gritty" and I have the ability to "outhustle" others. They praise my work ethic and my intangibles. I am thankful for this praise but none of this people know the true reason for my success. That reason is Jesus.

Jesus is with me wherever I go. He is with you too. Jesus is there when you are celebrating a birthday with friends and family. Jesus is there when you watch your favorite television shows. Jesus is there when you take a long walk on the beach alone, contemplating the universe. Jesus is even there when you committ sins, such as manipulating your penis to produce semen while having impure thoughts. Think of Jesus as a "super" Santa Claus. When you give your life over to Jesus, great things can happen.

Jesus was with me throughout the 2006 season. We had our ups and downs but I prayed extra hard everyday, knowing that Jesus would help our team make the playoffs and win the World Series. There were some spiritual crisises that truly tested me during the season. Jeff Suppan and I began a bible study program that was met with a less than enthusiastic response. I knew Satan had infiltrated our players' souls and they could not control themselves, but it was still frustrating when Chris Duncan didn't write his essay about the symbolism in the Book of Matthew. Our Japanese outfielder So Taguchi barely knew who Jesus was, forcing Jeff and I to consult the clergyman I always keep on speed dial. He suggested we flog our friend and force him to repent. After the flogging, we had a wonderful winning streak, passing the less devout Astros and making the playoffs.

Jesus made his presense felt in the playoffs. So Taguchi hit an important homerun in the NLCS, a clear sign that Jesus had forgiven So for his sins. So now prays with us daily and the flogging scars around his neck are barely visible. Yadier Molina delivered the final homerun of the NLCS against the Mets (who play in a Godless city) after I urged him to recite ninety-six hail marys the day before the game. In the World Series I hit very well, again thanks to Jesus Christ. One moment stands out in that series. It was a difficult at bat against a large, fierce Tigers pitcher. He was Goliath and I was the boy king David. I crouched outside the batter's box and offered a prayer to Jesus. Surprisingly, I heard catcher Ivan Rodriguez praying to the very same Jesus that I would strike out. Of course my love for Jesus is infinite and no one could ever out-pray me, not even a fiery hispanic. I ignored him, swinging at a fastball and driving it toward centerfielder Curtis Granderson. That is when the miracle happened.

I saw Jesus, aglow in a golden aura, hovering above the warning track. He held a sack woven from the hair of God. As Curtis tracked the ball, Jesus reached into the sack and pulled forth five angel feathers, each as golden as the morning sun. Jesus smiled in my direction. He tossed the feathers near Curtis and Curtis stepped on each one, tumbling to the ground in a pile of golden dew. The ball sailed over his head and I had a double. The announcers said the wet grass caused Granderson's fall but I knew better. "Thank-you Jesus," I said.

Jesus can help you forever if you accept him into your heart. I did and look what happened. I am holding that trophy you see in the picture, smiling gleefully like one of Jesus' cherubs. That trophy was not won by me. It was not won by the St. Louis Cardinals. It was won by Jesus. Next week I'll be back to discuss the eighty-four ways one can sin when being near a woman. Thank-you and God bless.

(Ed. Note: Holy shit, that crazy lawn gnome will never write for BBBC again)

Santana to Twins: More Money, Bitch

SI's Jon Heyman (the Sports Illustrated version of ESPN's nebish, lovable, virginity-ridden John Clayton) reports that Twins ace Johan Santana has rejected the Twins' offer to add 18 million dollars per year for two years to his current contract. A club option would be included for the 2011 season. Santana says that he will not negotiate with the Twins until he hits the open market in 2008. Even though Jon HEY MAN! broke the scoop, I was fortunate enough to be the proverbial fly on the wall during Santana's recent contract negotiations.

Twins GM Terry Ryan: That is the offer, Johan. You will receive a pay increase that will bring your salary to 18 million dollars per year. A club option will be included for 2011.

Twins Ace Johan Santana: More money, bitch

TR: I understand that you want a contract like Barry Zito's. Unfortunatly, we are small-market franchise and cannot afford to pay that much for a starting pitcher.

JS: But bitch, I need more money. How will I be able to build a parking garage for my gold-plated escalade collection? How will I be able to buy a small Balkan country and rule over it as the mighty warlord, Johan the III?

TR: We are still offering you fine compensation for your services. 18 million is as high as I can go under my budget constraints.

JS: Mr. Rhino, bitch-

TR: It's Ryan. My name is Terry Ryan.

JS: Ok Tim, but my point is that the Yankees, Red Sox, Mets, and Giants can give me more money, bitch. The Giants GM promised me an offer of 70 years, 990 million when I go on the free agent market. He even promised to throw in the zebra farm I demanded.

TR: You might not even be alive in 70 years. What a moron...

JS: Bitch, can you even offer me one zebra? I'm getting a farm from the Giants dude and my agent tells me the old guy over in New York promised me 40,000-seat arena for chimpanzee gladiator games. And I can be the commissioner of the whole chimp-fighting league!

TR: Jesus Christ. Ok, how about this? I'll give you the 18 million through 2011 plus a rare albino zebra from the plains of Zimbabwe.

JS: Bitch, I want a Portugese sex slave too.

TR: What?

JS: And he better be Portugese.

TR: He? What? Who? My God...I don't know what to say.

JS: Good, because unless I get my sex slave, zebra farm, escalade garage, balkan country, more than 990 million, and a life-size bobble-head doll made entirely out of sour onion ruffles, I am ending negotiations.

TR: I think we can call it a day.

JS: Ok Theo Ringold, I'll see you later. Hey Manuel, bring out the Hummer! I want to drive around St. Paul and mock poor people again.

You've Been Pronked

Travis Hafner (God among mortals) slugged his first homerun of the year to lead the Tribe to a 4-2 victory over the Angels. The game was played at Jacobs Field, of course.

"Ross, you're a dolt, they moved the contest to Miller Park. Don't you pay attention?"
"No."
"There was an abundance of snow in the Cleveland metropolitan area."
"Hey alter ego, you wanna know something?"
"Yes, I would like to know what you think."
"You talk like a fag"

For all of you who don't know, Travis Hafner is one of my favorite players. He comes from a town in North Dakota with a population of about 9 people, he eats the same cereal everyday, and he enjoys wrestling and chess. Seriously, that's a crazy combination of hobbies. He also was the greatest junior college player ever and never played in high school. In other words, Pronk is the big dude down the block who thinks the WWE is real, loves lucky charms, kicks everyone's ass at whiffle ball, and owns the nerds at chess. That's an MVP candidate Average Joe Soiledhimself can support. And as an Average Joe Soiledhimself, I officially cast my vote for Pronk.

Recap: The Super Ultimate Miracle 10,000 Happy Courage Energy Genki Dama Showdown of Destiny

Ichiro: Daisuke-san, you have bested me. You are truly a great warrior. I am humbled to be in your magnificient presence. In numerous journies to the ivory plate of shimmering battle, I could not succeed in the task I set out to accomplish during my 300 years of secluded training.

Dice-K: I can only hope I fuelded the fire of valor that burns deep in your heart of purity.

Ichiro: Your miracle pitches were of too great a power. I must retreat to the mountains to train for our next confrontation. I will test your will again, Daisuke-san.

Dice-K: Ichiro-san, I look forward to raising my sprit energy against your bat of 1,000 surging swans once more. The light of competition glows in each of us, casting a radiant brilliance throughout the meadows of glorious Japan.

Felix Hernandez: ....the fuck are you talking about?

Babe Ruth or Babe Dahlgren?

Babe Ruth or Babe Dahlgren is a periodic feature that highlights five ballplayers/teams that are succeeding (like Babe Ruth did!) and five ballplayers/teams that are failing miserably at baseball. This is a blatant rip-off of Baseball Tonight's 3 up/3 down segment except I am discussing 10 players instead of 6.

*Note to all those who don't know who the hell Babe Dahlgren was: the other Babe played with the Yankees and some other crappy teams for 12 seasons during the 30's and 40's. His career obp is a robust .329 and his career slugging percentage is an awe-inspiring .383. God, you plebians don't know anything.

Babe Ruth

1. Alex Rodriguez- So he takes off his shirt on Letterman? What's it to ya? Right now A-Rod could hit a homerun blind-folded while taking a dump and listening to Crime and Punishment on tape.

2. Arizona Diamondbacks- Baby backs yeah! Black Chris Young, Conor Jackson, The Drew Everyone Hates Less, the other other Hairston, and Orlando Hudson have this sizzling squad at 7-2.

3. Miguel Cabrera- Miguel Cabrera did one of three things in the offseason: A) Steroids B) Steroids C) Hard-core weight-lifting or D) ate at White Castle three times a week. Is he muscular, fat, or just plain ginormous? Either way he is crushing the ball like always.

4. Akinori Iwamura- "Now Ross, who the hell is Akiwhathisname Iwajima? Is he that dude from Street Fighter who's always screaming "aduken" or some shit like that?" Another stupid question by the theoretical voice in my head. A good 3B in Japan, the now slap-hitting Iwamura is slapping hits like Darryl Strawberry slapped his wives. He's batting a cool .458, making all four Devil Ray fans proud.

5. Felix Hernandez- Felix requested that I post his thoughts instead of eloborating on his performance. "No shifty Asian turd sandwich can outpitch the motherfucking KING! King Felix bitches! A thousand year reign of terror on the fucking American League of pansy tampon-wearing ass clowns! You say you throw a gyroball? I eat three fucking gyros a day and I can shit them out of my ass faster than you can throw your queer fucking gyroball!" I swear that's what he said.

Babe Dahlgren

1. Albert Pujols- The legendary A-Pu is struggling. .265 obp and only 1 HR this season means A-Pu has to step it up or he is in danger of being demoted to triple A Memphis forever. So Taguchi's Ruthian power could make A-Pu disposable by May.

2. Washington Nationals- They have scored about one total run in all of their games. Their team ERA is around 147.45. Kory Castro is a communist. Dmitri Young weighs more than a baby walrus. Things aren't going too well in the capital.

3. Ken Griffey Jr.- Quick, who has more extra base hits in 2007, Ken Griffey Jr. or Ken Griffey Sr.? The answer is.....neither one! It's a tie you mental reject. Jr. has yet to hit more than a single in 27 abs. Even his seven walks can't save him from this list.

4. Adam LaRoche- With 3 hits in 31 ABs, LaRoche is upholding the glorious tradition of Pittsburgh Pirate futility. He leads MLB with 14 K's and so far is a true 2007 Babe Dahlgren. Go get 'em, Adam!

5. Lance Berkman- Mr. Astro usually can slug with the best of them. But he's hitting .185 and something seems wrong. Lance requested that I post his thoughts here. "Man, fuck this team. Hey Carlos Lee, way to protect me in the lineup, you fat asshole. Oh and great job getting on base for me, Craig Biggio, you sodomizing douche. Too busy focusing on your 3,000 hits and the fans sucking your wee little pee pee to get on base? And don't think that I forgot about you, Ensberg. You might not be a Jew but you're sure Jewing me out of rbis. Oh and also, Mark Loretta has big fucking man tits. What a loser."

Again, I swear Lance Berkman told that to me.

Analyzing the 2007 NY Yankees...Cereally

Cereal is awesome. No one can deny this. The combination of milk, flakes/cheerios, and sugar makes for the ultimate breakfast meal. Thirst and hunger are quenched simultaneously. You know what else is awesome? Baseball. More specifically, the 3-3 New York Yankees. Sure, many fans hate the Yankees but few can deny that they will probably make the playoffs again.

"But Ross, what does the awesomeness of cereal have to do with the Yankees?"
"Shut up, that's a stupid question."
"Ok."
"I'm kidding of course. Cereal and the Yankees go together like Adolf Hitler and anti-semitism. Or happy bunnies and Easter. Each Yankee position player has a cereal counterpart."
"That makes no sense."
"Shut up, no one asked you, I can say what I want."
"You're high again."
"Seriously alter ego, go away."

Without further ado, the 2007 New York Yankees compared to yummy and sometimes nutritious cereal:

C Jorge Posada-----Cheerios. Cheerios are bland but reliable. They are the cornerstone and backbone of the cereal world. Jorge Posada has been a consistent, healthy, and reliable franchise player for the Yankees. He isn't flashy and won't post hall of fame numbers. Did you see his Sportscenter commerical? Everyone is yelling "hip hip Jorge!" but Jorge doesn't care. He's too serious and focused on his work for that kiddy shit. But he is there. Just like Cheerios.

1B/DH Jason Giambi----Coco Puffs. You know what Coco Puffs are? Chocoloatly. Freakin' sugar and chocolate greatness everywhere. They're somewhat large, filling, but obviously not nutritious. Jason Giambi is big like Coco Puffs. His homeruns are the enticing chocolate. His high obp is like the great taste. But the strikeouts are like the shitload of sugar. His defense at first base is the eventual sugar crash you will get from eating too many Coco Puffs. Also, the Coco Puffs bird is always "Cuckooooo For Coco Puffs!" and appears to like partying (and perhaps doing bong hits) a lot. So does the Giambino.

2B Robinson Cano----Frosted Flakes. The flakes are like the average 2B but Robinson Cano is above average. He has the frosting! Tasty white stuff everywhere! Yum! When you look at a Frosted Flakes box it seems like there is so much potential for the cereal. And Frosted Flakes kind of lives up to that potential. However, there are warning flags. The frost isn't quite as amazing as it looks (Cano's high batting average is contrasted by his low obp). The flakes aren't super scrumptious (Cano's fielding needs work). Frosted flakes could be the Rod Carew of cereals but nothing is guaranteed.

SS Derek Jeter----Cap'n Crunch. The old mustachioed captain (cap'n??) leads by example. Ditto Jeter. When the Cap'n wants to take the kids on a magical pirate adventure to eat his cereal, god dammit those kids will follow him straight to hell if it means eating his cereal. Derek Jeter is the face of the Yankees and possibly baseball. The Cap'n is the face of Cereal. Jeter hits for contact but also has power. Cap'n Crunch has crunch berries. I needn't say anymore.

3B Alex Rodriguez----Raisin Bran. Raisin Bran is an all-around, five-tool cereal. The flakes provide the crunch and the raisins add the great taste and obligatory sugar. Alex Rodriguez has already hit 6 homeruns and is making all pitchers his bitch. A-Rod does it all, just like Raisin Bran. But how clutch is Raisin Bran? I sometimes find myself hungry by lunchtime after eating Raisin Bran. Shouldn't all cereals be very filling? Sometimes A-Rod and/or Raisin Bran doesn't deliver when it counts. Or I could be nitpicking and acting like a moronic sportswriter who says A-Rod can't make it in New York after he won the motherhumping MVP. The point is, Raisin Bran and A-Rod dominate their respective fields. Two scoops of raisin bran indeed, bitch.

LF Hideki Matsui----Lucky Charms. Hideki Matsui is a very lucky man. He was never injured in his career up until last season. He is worshipped as a baseball god in Japan. He is called Godzilla, a 300-foot atomic lizard who beat the crap out of numerous inferior monsters and is a complete badass. Matsui even owns a legendary porn stash. You have to wonder if he actually keeps a little leprechaun named Lucky in his pants pocket.

CF Johnny Damon----Fruit Loops. Johnny Damon is a colorful guy. According to Michael Morissey, last year he encouraged the Yankees to "free ball" for an entire game. No cup. No underwear. The lil' guy was unsheathed. Fruit loops taste great and bring a certain special quality to the breakfast table. Someone can look into your bowl, see the rainbow cheerios, and say "man that lucky bastard is eating fruit loops." Johnny Damon is that lucky bastard. Or the fruit loops. These analogies are really starting to confuse me.

RF Bobby Abreu----Corn Pops. Underrated sugar cereal. A consistent producer. Corn Pops might look boring and lame but watch out! Those mothers are crunchy. Bobby Abreu can look boring and lame at the plate too. "Oooh a walk," you might say. "Big friggin deal." Well it is a big deal, asshole. He fouled off like forty pitches to get that walk. And his obp is like .420 every year. Sure, maybe he wont hit a lot of sexy homeruns like A-Rod, but Abreu is a professional hitter. Pros before hos, as they say.

Sometime in the future I will do Yankee pitchers and Doug Mienkfdkakffdiavzzawicsz. But before I go, here's a special bonus cereal for a special former Yankee.

SP Randy Johnson----oatmeal. Old people eat oatmeal. It looks and tastes like crap. To quote Anchorman, it "smells like bigfoot's dick." I think the Big Unit and oat meal belong together.