Gossage to Hall of Fame?

Gossage hopes this is his year12/26/2006 10:00 AM ET
By Barry M. Bloom / MLB.com

Rich Gossage is hoping that his eighth year on the Hall of Fame ballot will be sprinkled with some magic.
Each year since the Baseball Writers Association of America has had the opportunity to vote for him, Gossage, one of the top relief pitchers in history, has been less and less optimistic about his chances.
"I've felt the best this year, though, about the possibility of going in," Gossage said from his home in Colorado Springs. "I don't know if that's because of the feedback I'm getting from the writers who are calling me or what. The funny thing is, I always hear the good things. Nobody ever calls to tell me why they didn't vote for me. I guess they never would, but I never even hear it through the grapevine."
The man they called "The Goose," who strode to the mound to close games with his spitfire fastball, was heartened by the fact that Bruce Sutter, another premier reliever from his era, was elected during the class of 2006.
Sutter was preceded by Hoyt Wilhelm, Rollie Fingers and Dennis Eckersley, three closers, like Gossage, who also started during their stellar careers. Sutter was the first reliever inducted who hadn't made at least one start.
But Gossage still believes he separated himself from the rest. "I don't think anybody did it the way I did it," Gossage said. "Power against power. There was no messing around. All those strikeouts I had, none of that is padding. Just about every one of them meant something because the game was on the line."
The Goose's baseball career line over 23 seasons is a road map of baseball stops around world: Chicago (White Sox), Pittsburgh, New York (Yankees), San Diego, Chicago (Cubs), San Francisco, Yankees again, Fukuoka, Japan, Arlington, Tex., Oakland and Seattle.
Gossage finished 124-107 with 1,502 strikeouts -- nearly one an inning -- and a 3.01 ERA. His 310 saves are 16th on the all-time list, but he never had more than 33 saves in a single season -- reaching that mark in 1980 with the Yankees.
A power pitcher who snarled beneath his mustache and intimidated hitters with his 98-mile-per-hour fastball, along the way Gossage went from rookie closer to starter back to veteran closer and finally finished as a setup man.
Near the end of his career, Goose set up for A's closer Dennis Eckersley, who was elected to the Hall of Fame in 2004 and may have broken some ground for relievers. Eckersley had the added advantage of spending the first 12 years of his career as a competent starter.
But when it comes to closers, Gossage doesn't want to be compared to Eckersley or any other in the recent era, such as the Yankees' Mariano Rivera or the Padres' Trevor Hoffman, who took over the all-time saves lead in 2006. "We're not even in the same league," said Gossage, who is 54 years old now. "Whether I belong in the Hall or not, I don't even know. I really don't. I guess what I based my hopes on, the reason that I thought I had a good shot, was that Rollie Fingers is in. I don't know what I did that Fingers didn't do. Is there something that I'm missing? I'm even more baffled because he's in the Hall."
Fingers, who was inducted in 1992, had 341 saves and threw 1,701 innings in 17 seasons. Gossage had 31 less saves in 1,809 innings. Fingers was used by the A's as a starter, too, and appeared in both roles early in his career, many times in the same season. Even so, Fingers had seven seasons as a reliever when he logged 100 innings or more. Gossage did it four times and came close in several other seasons.
In comparison, Eckersley did it as a reliever only once. So has Rivera. Hoffman has never done it.
And that's the real dilemma. The role of the closer has so dynamically changed since Gossage played that there's no criteria for how writers vote. But Gossage's star has been rising among that privileged class.
In 2006, when Sutter was elected, Gossage's name was penned on 64.2 percent of the ballots, up from 55.2 percent in 2005 and a big rise from the scant 40.7 percent he garnered in 2004.
A former player needs to be named on 75 percent of the ballots cast to be elected and has 15 years of eligibility.
Gossage would routinely pitch multiple innings in big games. Eckersley, with his 390 saves in 12 seasons as a reliever, Hoffman with his 482 saves, and Rivera with 413, usually were and have been restricted to one or two innings.
Most of the time, the trio would be handed the ball with a lead to open the ninth. "I think I had a lot to do with setting the bar for relievers and doing the job the way it should be done," Gossage said. "I went and set up for Dennis (1992 and 1993), so I know the way he was handled, how pampered he was over there. Not to take anything away from these guys, to compare what I did with what they did ... It was even a joke with the coaches. We joked with Eckersley all the time. He's a good buddy of mine.
"Don't even compare me with Dennis Eckersley or Mariano Rivera. I'd love to have been used like them."
This story was not subject to the approval of Major League Baseball or its clubs.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.

Halloween Joke

A black man and his wife were going to a Halloween party in a couple of days so the husband tells his wife to go to the store and get costumes for them to wear.

When he comes home that night he goes into the bedroom and there laid out on the bed is a Superman costume. The husband yells at his wife, "What are you doing? Have you ever heard of a black Superman? Take this back and get me something else I can wear.

"The next day the wife, not too happy, returns the costume and gets a replacement. The husband comes home from work goes to the bedroom and there, laid out on the bed, is a Batman costume. He again yells at his wife, "What are you doing? Have you ever heard of a black Batman? Take this shit back and get me something I can wear to the costume party!

"The next morning his irate wife goes shopping. When the husband comes home again from work, there laid out on the bed are three items: one is a set of three white buttons, the second is a thick white belt, and the third item is a 2x4. The husband yells at the wife, "What the hell are these for?

"The wife yells back, "Take your clothes off. You can put the three white buttons on the front of you and go as a domino. If you don't like that one, you can put the white belt on and go as an Oreo.

And if you don't like that one, you can stick the 2 x 4 up your ass and go as a fudgesicle!

Airplane Crashes & Baseball

Careers cut tradgically short. WTF?

Pictoral Hoot III: The Hoot Warrior

"Thank you for flying White Pointer Airlines. If you have any comments, complaints or suggestions, a representative from our public relations department will be happy to eat you now."

An Oldie and a Newbie

Tim Burton Really Grinds My Gears

Actually, I'm more pissed off at the legion of morons who think Burton is more than just a hack polluting the pantheon of so-called "visionary" filmmakers. Anyone who considers Burton to be "visionary" knows absolutely nothing about the German filmmakers from a century ago, who, Burton doesn't as much pay homage to as much as blatantly rip off, with every spooky tree or pointed building seen in his films.

I saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for the first time last night, as it was the HBO weekly premiere, and upon viewing Burton's latest bastardization of a classic tale, it only further solidified my statements in the opening paragraph of this rant. Has there ever been a filmmaker that has proven, beyond reasonable doubt, that they are incapable of re-telling an old story as Tim Burton has?

Batman (and its first sequel), Sleepy Hollow, Planet of the Apes and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory are all the proof Hollywierd needs to implement a union stipulation forbidding Tim Burton to remake classics.

It's the same song and dance for Burton with each remake; his insulting and agonizing need to twist endings or place a Burtonesque spin on an already great concept blaringly distracts the viewer from the message of the story, if not the story itself, and is a constant reminder of how inferior his new ideas are to his inspirations. Burton constantly shows he has an uncanny gift for taking magic from these classic tales, dilluting it with his nonsensical "new twists" and hence, boiling it down until all that remains is a borderline parody; a gray blob of gelatinous goop whose only remaining similarity with its namesake is, well, its name.

I liken Burton's filmmaking skills to Michael Jackson's long line of surgical procedures:
You fix something, fix it again, and again, and again, fix fix fix fix fix until the original thing (which was never broken to begin with) is finally decimated beyond all repair.

Now I expect some responses to this blog from people who disagree, and it's only natural. With the millions of people out there who actually like this jerk, the odds are favorable that some of them may actually read this blog in its entirety. And they may feel free to defend Burton all they want, and I will give the responses their due attention.

However, I will save my self some time by responding to all that disagree by saying this now, rather than later:
If you actually think that any of Burton's remakes are even on par with the originals, than just kill yourself now. Wrap your lips around the business end of a pistol and end it all right now, because if you think Planet of the Apes with Mark Wahlberg is superior to Charlton Heston's, or if you think Johnny Depp's over-the-top yet wooden portrayal of Willy Wonka is superior to Gene Wilder's, than you have officially surrendered and called it quits.
Suicide is the only logical next step.

Glossary of Specialized Terms

All praise to Jabootu. www.jabootu.com


Glossary of Specialized Terms for Jabootu’s Dimension of Bad Movies

In an effort to aid the casual reader who may not be up on all the jargon of the dedicated Jabootuist, this glossary will explain words and phrases ranging from general ‘film’ terms to the more specialized language of the Jabootuite.

Atomic Grenade (n): Any explosive device that results in an explosion far out of proportion to it’s apparent capabilities. EXAMPLE: "You’re telling me that whatever was in that little purse blew up that entire building?! She must have been carrying an Atomic Grenade!"

The Avoid the Limbs Rule (n): This stipulates that when confronting a monster who can be damaged by gunfire (i.e., we can see chunks blown off) but not killed, that the shooter will never try to blow the creature’s legs off, so as to disable it or at least slow down pursuit.

The Borgnine Proviso (n): An obscure Hollywood Union rule which stipulated that, should one choose to produce a Disaster Movie during the 1970s, a role must be provided for Ernest Borgnine. Should he be otherwise engaged, one may opt to substitute either George Kennedy or Slim Pickins.

Box Picture (n): A film, usually a Disaster Movie, which spotlights its large cast in a series of small boxes along the bottom of the poster. These are usually highlighted with thumbnail credits revealing the generic nature of the actor’s role: "Leslie Nielsen is The Captain." Eventually, Box Pictures died out when rising salaries made the required mix of major and minor stars too expensive. Perhaps the last major Box Picture was Delta Force. ("George Kennedy is The Priest")

The Cricket Rule (n): Dubbed in cricket sounds always indicate that a scene is taking place at night, no matter how bad the day-for-night photography is, or even if (ala The Curse of Bigfoot) the sun is prominently visible throughout the scene.

Day-for-Night (adj.): Photography shot during the day using tilted filters to decrease light levels. Done properly, it makes a scene look like it’s taking place at night. Done improperly, it makes a scene look like it was ineptly shot day-for-night. See also the Cricket Rule.

Designated Hero (n): A character who we know the film regards as its ‘hero,’ even though he or she is not, in any objective sense, all that heroic. Designated Heroes usually get a ‘free from responsibility’ pass from the filmmakers, even when their actions result in mass deaths. Take, for example, Ally Sheedy’s reporter character in Man’s Best Friend. The movie ‘blames’ its generic Mad Scientist for the film’s mayhem. Yet it was the film’s ‘heroine’ who illegally broke into the guy’s lab and, in fact, loosed the killer dog upon the world. She then hides the dog at home, over the objections of her boyfriend, who is later horribly killed by it. Yet the film never explores (or even mentions) her culpability in the resultant carnage, pretty much just because she’s ‘the hero.’ This concept is most deeply explored in Douglas Milroy’s review of The Beast, which contains a bonus Designated Villain as well as a Designated Hero.

Exploitation Filmmakers’ Credo (n): "Come on, these dummies can’t remember what they saw five minutes ago!" Upon hearing this line in Terminal Island, Jason posited that it represented the EFC.

Foley Work (n): The insertion of sound effects on the soundtrack, as in putting in footstep sounds when someone on screen is walking about. Named for legendary soundman Jack Foley. I personally use the term informally, often as a verb: "The filmmakers’ helpfully foley in a rather exaggerated splat sound when he hits the ground."

"Fruit Cart, Fruit Cart!" (n): (Coined by Roger Ebert) Phrase chanted by movie buffs during any car chase taking place in either a foreign land or an ethnic neighborhood, in the certainty that the contents of a fruit cart will be spilled sometime during the proceedings.

Hero’s Death Battle Exemption (n): This rule stipulates that a monster or murderer will have to spend at least ten times the amount of time and effort killing a hero/heroine (or his/her significant other) than anyone else in the picture. EXAMPLE: In Prophecy, the killer mutant bear instantly kills folks throughout the movie with one swipe of its claw. Yet it ‘chooses’ to pick up the hero and hold him up to its face long enough to allow him to repeatedly stab it in the head with an arrow, eventually killing it. This despite the fact that the hero’s attack takes well over ten times the amount of time that it took the bear to kill any other person in the film. Even then, the hero emerges from the bear’s claws unscathed.

IITS (n): (i.e., ‘It’s in the Script’) Explanation for actions taken by any character that make, in context, absolutely no sense, but serve merely to advance the plot. EXAMPLE:
Perplexed Viewer: "Why is she wandering around when there’s a killer on the loose?"
Knowledgeable Viewer: "IITS!"

Idiot Picture (n): (Coined by Roger Ebert) A film who’s plot can proceed only if everyone in the film is an idiot. For instance, you’re among a group trapped inside a house. One of you is a murderer, but you’re stuck there until morning. If you all decide to split up rather than stay together as a group all night, then you’re in an Idiot Picture.

Idiot World (n): The setting of any film, usually sci-fi or fantasy, which portrays a world that we, the viewers, feel we could immediately wrest power over. EXAMPLE: "That doofus is the Evil Overlord?! Man, I could seize control of this Idiot World in about 10 minutes!"
Informed Attributes (n): When a character displays a mediocre or even inept level of skill in some discipline (anything from dancing to writing to fighting), yet we are shown other characters lauding their talents. This is to signal the audience that, at least in the universe presented in the film, these people are to be considered as highly proficient at their craft, however much this belies the evidence of our eyes and/or ears. EXAMPLE: When we watch actor ‘Frankie Fane’ chew up the scenery in The Oscar, yet learn through dialog that his performance was considered to be skilled. Informed Attributes can also pertain to non-apparent character traits, as when one character notes another’s purportedly high intelligence or sexual magnetism.

James Bond Exposition Rule (n): Film convention that dictates that a supervillain isn’t allowed to kill the hero until he has meticulously revealed his master plan, including vital data regarding time elements and such. Traditionally, this takes so much time that the Villain must leave before personally seeing to it that the hero is taken care of. Inevitably, his goofball assistants then mess up the job, allowing to hero to exploit his newly gained knowledge and disrupt the villain’s plan.

Jason’s Rule of Explosive Endings (n): The habit of Bad Movies, having run out of ideas, to end the picture by just blowing things up. Formulated in his review of The Island of Dr. Moreau.

Ken and Andrew’s Rule of Plot Holes (n): This rule, formulated with the help of fellow Bad Movie aficionado Andrew Muchoney, stipulates that if a viewer is forced to construct (or attempt to construct) an elaborate framework of suppositions in order to cover over some hole in a film’s plot, then somebody on the production side of things hasn’t been doing their job.

Ken’s Rule of Guns (n): This stipulates that people will invariably forgo the ‘space’ advantage of a firearm, i.e., that it can be used at a distance. In effect, it means that gun bearers will move close enough to their targets so as to lose their weapons in a fight. This rule has saved more heroes than the James Bond Exposition Rule. Example: In On Deadly Ground, one character, who spends the entire movie ranting that Seagal’s character is the greatest commando in the history of the planet, gets the drop on him with a shotgun. Instead of just shooting him, however, he moves close enough to invoke Ken’s Rule of Guns. Seagal, by the way, has probably profited from KROG more than any other actor in film history.

Ken’s Rule of High Altitude Mortality (n): This stipulates that anyone who plunges off a tall structure (a building, a cliff, etc.,) will let loose with a loud death shriek, no matter how much damage he takes before the fall. EXAMPLE: In Robocop, villain Ronnie Cox has his chest perforated by a full clip of cartridges from Robocop’s machine pistol. Despite the fact that his lungs must be shredded, he manages to loudly scream as the impact of the dozens of bullets punches him through a high story window.

Ken’s Second Rule of High Altitude Mortality (n): No one in any sort of raised position will ever die without falling to the ground. This, mysteriously, using involves falling forward after being shot, despite the fact that the human body naturally falls backwards and that the impact of being shot would seem to add to this tendency.

Light Bulb Moment (n): When a character is enacted in such a way as to indicate that he or she is getting a big idea of some sort.

McGuffin (n): (Coined by Alfred Hitchcock) A McGuffin (also MacGuffin or Maguffin) is a term for whatever generic whatsis is driving the plot of an action or suspense picture. EXAMPLE: In the espionage flick Ronin, the characters are chasing a briefcase. We never learn the what’s in it, but its existence drives the film. For a more concrete example, the mystical Ark of the Covenant is the McGuffin in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Misdirected Answering (n): The habit of Bad Movie to spend time answering little questions you’ve probably not even thought of while ignoring truly gigantic plot holes. EXAMPLE: In Irwin Allen’s The Swarm, a film with as many gaping plot flaws as there are stars in the sky, a hunk of dialog is used to explain why Michael Caine’s scientist character sports a British accent.

The Misleading Masculine Moniker Rule (n): This stipulates that any incoming scientific expert in a ’50s sci-fi film will sport an androgynous or downright mannish first name (or be referred to by initials) like Pat or Steve, only to turn out to be a woman. This will set up a ‘meet cute’ "Why, you’re a girl!" scene between her and the film’s hero, which in turn will establish her as the film’s obligatory Love Interest.

Monster Death Trap Proviso (n): This stipulates that any stratagem to destroy a monster, once it has failed, may not be attempted again, even if it only failed because of some bizarre fluke. Nor can the same plan be refined and tried again. Instead, a completely other plan must be formulated.

Nut o’ Fun (n): Generic term for any prop or object meant solely as set dressing, but which is so interesting as to provide a much needed distraction from the film. The term was created by Douglas to describe a specific background prop in his Exorcist II review. It was then appropriated as a generic designation by Liz for reviews posted at her And You Call Yourself a Scientist! site (see our link page), thus becoming the first Jabootuian term to cross over from our borders into the world at large.

Offscreen Teleportation (n): The ability that allows an older or pudgier star, for instance Charles Bronson in his later movies, to keep up with a fleet youngster during a foot chase scene. When both are in the same shot, the star will invariably be seen to be rapidly losing ground. Yet, as soon as the camera tightens on the pursued, we know that the next wide shot will show the star right on the guy’s heels. Monsters (including Psychos from Slasher Movies) also employ this talent. Once they leave a potential victim’s field of vision, they can materialize anywhere they please. This allows, for example, Jason Voorhees to appear from behind exactly the right tree when a victim runs from a house, no matter which exit they use or what direction they run off in.

One Radio Rule (n): No matter how large a ship or secluded base or compound is, it’ll only come equipped with one radio. Once something’s happened to that, they’re on their own. The most egregious example probably occurs in Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. Sybok, Spock’s half-brother, has wrested control of the Enterprise. In order to alert Star Fleet, Kirk must get to the Enterprise’s one emergency radio, located up near the very top of the ship were it’s hardest to get at. This on a vessel, mind you, with voice controlled computers, making you think that Kirk should be able to say one word anywhere on the ship and automatically send out an emergency distress signal to Star Fleet.

POV Shots (n): (i.e. ‘Point of View’ shots) Camera shots that are meant to represent what a character is seeing. EXAMPLE: John Carpenter’s Halloween opens with a famous extended POV Shot of a character stalking and ultimately killing a young woman. This is used to hide from us the fact that the killer is a six year old boy, which we learn only when the sequence has ended.

Selling Wood (adj.): A term used to indicate that an actor is giving a particularly stiff performance. Adapted from Jason’s favorite line from Bad Girls, wherein one of the film’s ex-prostitute heroines tries to convince the others to enter another line of work: "We sold our bodies, why can’t we sell some wood?"

Spring-Loaded Cat (n): (Coined by The Phantom of the Movies) The ubiquitous kitty that invariably jet propels itself out of closets and cabinets during horror movies, creating a false scare.

Superfluous Racking (n): The habit of idiots in movies to constantly pull back on the slide of a pistol, because it looks ‘cool.’ Actually, all you’d accomplish with this would be to eject an unfired cartridge while raising the probability of the gun jamming. Similar actions include unnecessarily pumping the action of a pump shotgun, spinning the cylinder of a revolver or constantly shooting the bolt on a rifle or submachine gun.

The Stealth Monster Rule (n): This provides that any monster, no matter how gigantic, awkward or noisy, will be able to sneak up right behind victims at will. See The Last Dinosaur or From Hell It Came for examples, or better yet, think of the end of Jurassic Park. There, the T-Rex, which earlier literally shook the earth with every movement, silently appears out of nowhere to eat the velociraptors that are threatening the cast.

"Watermelon, watermelon, cantaloupe, cantaloupe" (adj.): (also the shortened ‘Watermelon, watermelon’) Used to indicate obviously bogus ‘crowd’ murmurings. Taken from the venerable stage tradition of informing extras to say the above to each other to indicate mass communication, so that they wouldn’t ask the director, "What should I say?" This is especially amusing when the ‘watermelon’ noises are overlaid with obviously dubbed-in and spotlighted dialog. EXAMPLE: As in On Deadly Ground, when the generic ‘watermelon, watermelon’ sounds of the assembled Press are overlaid with lines like "Answer the questions, you weasel!"

Whooshing Powder (n): A standard issue item for all Witch Doctors, Shamans, etc,. which when tossed into an open flame causes it to whoosh up. See Jungle Hell and From Hell it Came for examples.

Thank you, Jabootu. www.jabootu.com

The Truth About Pinstripes

a.k.a: The blog that Yankee fans can neither handle nor dispute.

Hey kids.
I'm gonna take the risk of angering Yankee fans. Not that I care if they're pissed; it's just that they get all hot and bothered whenever somebody bad-mouths their team. Yankee fans don't care if they're wrong. They consider it blasphemy tp point out the shortcomings of their blessed Bombers. So any Yankeefan response to this will be considered null and void because of their bias, but the fact remains:
THE YANKEES ARE CHOKING, AND THE RED SOX CAN'T TAKE ADVANTAGE.

There you have it. There is absolutely no reason why the Yankees cannot dominate the AL East. Here's why

Yankee fans are so quick to bring up the lame and tired excuse (and Joe Torre has been guilty of this as well) of injuries being the rhyme and reason to their failure to dominate the AL East, but in this case, it's a sorry excuse, and it's not even an accurate assesment.

So committed to this excuse are they, that Yankee fans will admit that their starting pitching is shaky, and their bullpen, at best, leaves a lot to be desired, but their focus remains on these injuries. Let's examine exactly who is gone...

Hideki Matsui and Gary Sheffield. Granted, they are both essential cogs to the Yankee offense, and constitute the corner outfield positions. Now let's look at the rest of the Yankee lineup, starting with the infield.
Alex Rodriguez (who's slumping, but that's synonymous with choking) at 3rd, Derek Jeter (El Capitan, Mr. Yankee, Mr. New York, Mr. Clutch, hell, Mr. Everything except October) at shortstop, Jason Giambi (who is still a major threat despite kicking the juice) at 1st, and Robinson Cano (who is the least known of this bunch, but he's hitting .324 and has reached base safely in 9 of his last 10 games, including hits in 8 of those 9) at second.
If you throw in Jorge Posada at catcher, the Yankees have themselves with an infield that, offensively speaking, any team in the majors would kill to have.
There is not a team in all of Major League Baseball that can boast an infield like that.
Add to that Johnny Damon in center and Bernie Williams (who is playing more this season than he ever could have hoped) is putting up great numbers. With Bernie as the DH, the Yankees have a starting lineup with 7 (out of 9) of the best offensive players a team can field.

My oh my, imagine if Sheffield and Matsui were both healthy. The Yankees as a team would be among the league leaders in runs scored, surely? They would, wouldn't they?
Umm, they already are; sans Sheffield and Matsui. Surely the Turzman jests, no?
Not even close.

With 404 runs scored, the Bombers are second in all the majors in that category, behind the White Sox.
If you take a minute to look at team ERA, you'll see that the Yankees are 4th in the American League at 4.30. These numbers are usually indicators of a great, dominating team that's running away with a division.

But one need only look at the AL East standings to see that this Yankee juggernaut finds itself in the very embarrasing position of 2nd place, 2 games behind the hated, arch-rival Boston Red Sox. Not only that, but the new-and-improved Toronto Blue Jays are only 1.5 games behind the Yankees and as of today, are winners of 2 straight and have been keeping pace with the Yankees for 10 games now.

The Red Sox, winners of 6 games in a row, are starting to make a push to run away from the Bombers, but this push should have began at the beginning of June. The Sox should have been salivating during the Yankee woes in late April and the most of June, but they instead brought their killer instinct into question, and the Yanks, as inefficient as they have been this season, can never be counted out.

It's time for Yankee fans to stop crying foul and playing the injury card. Let me make sure I'm crystal-clear about this:
the corner outfield is the least of Yankee problems. Worry about your pitching.

Mike Mussina has, surprisingly, carried this team on his crooked back. Randy Johnson has pitched better of late, but the Big Unit has moved over for the Old and Slow Unit.
After those two, the Yanks have a lost starting rotation. You want proof? Chien-Ming Wang is the most consistent starter, after Mussina. There's your proof.
Jaret Wright will give them, at most, 5 innings each start, if they're lucky. Unacceptable. Shawn Chacon stinks. Aaron Small is gone, and Carl Pavano still hasn't shown up (he's the injury-card Ace of Spades for Yankee fans).

Do I have to mention the bullpen? I'd rather not, it's so bad. Joe Torre is so desperate to get Mariano Rivera into games that he's not even waiting until the 9th inning to bring him in. 8th inning entires are so commonplace for Rivera lately that it's just a matter of time before his arm falls off, or something breaks down. Let's not forget, just 3 weeks ago, Rivera strained his back while tying his shoes (!?!?).
The Yankee bullpen situation is so bad that the delay of Octavio Dotel's return post Tommy John surgury is seen as a major setback! Oh lord, it must SUCK to be a Yankee fan these days.
"We can't wait for the return of mighty, mighty Octavio!" Disgraceful.

Stop crying, Yankee fans, and start worrying. If you don't win the AL East, you're not going to the playoffs, because the wildcard is out of your reach, thanks to Detroit, but you'll have nobody to blame except your precious Yankees.

Sayonarra, sucker.

In what can be summed up only as the greatest thing to happen to the New York Mets since GM Steve Phillips was fired, the Mets have TRADED THE IMPORTED WASHOUT, KAZ MATSUI.
I thought the Amazin's would be stuck with that under-achieving jerk until his contract was up, but the Colorado Rockies, the official Huckleberries of the Mets, are taking a chance on Kaz and sending OF/1B/C Eli Marrero to Flushing.
Of course, now that he's no longer a Met, Kaz will probably bat over .360 and hit 30 homers at Coors Field, but who cares?
He's no longer a Met and Eli Marrero is my hero.

It's Official...

David Lee Roth is a confused, out of touch, country retarded, redneck wannabe.
Check out this disturbing footage from Jey Leno's show the other night-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vp6e321eOLs

A bluegrass version of Jump. What a goddamn disgrace.

Here's a joke, ripped from Webmaster Steve's site...

Al Zarqawi is dead, and here's what happened when he got to heaven...
He was rushed past St Peter's pearly gates and taken direcly to God's study, where he found God and Jesus chatting about Clint Eastwood movies (Jesus is a particular fan of "Paint Your Wagon.")
Deeply humbled, Zarq says to God, "Oh great god blah blah blah I am so honored to be in your glorious presense blah blah blah..
Could you tell me, however, where I could find the prophet Mohammed? I would like to finally meet him face to face."
"In a little bit, yes, Zarq."
"Can you tell me when? Please forgive me, but you've gotta understand I've been waiting for this moment my whole life!" His excitement was hard to contain.
"Just as soon as we sit down with a cup of coffee.. there are a few things I'd like to chat with you about regarding some of the stuff you did on earth. Would you like some coffee, or am I drinking alone?"
Well, would you turn down a cup of coffee when offered to you by God himself? so Zarq said, "Yes, I'd love some coffee.."

"Mohammed! Two coffees!"

priceless

How NOT to Steal a Sidekick II

http://www.evanwashere.com/StolenSidekick/

The story of the stolen Sidekick II cannot be described, it can only be experienced.
Click on the link and check it out.
Some people are so dumb, it's amazing.
I swear, if breathing were not an involuntary action, a lot of people would forget to do it and die.
Which would not be a bad thing, by the way.

http://www.evanwashere.com/StolenSidekick/

Excuse me, Mr. Randolph, sir?

"Say Willie, you remember all those things I did for you, right? Well I'm calling in a favor. You got any room for another bench coach? Managing the Yankees has become a BIGGER FU*KING HEADACHE than it's worth!"

Pictoral Hoot II: Revenge of the Pictoral Hoot

"Ishmail soon came to realize that, despite what he had been told as a youngster in school, Amish helicopter pilots, in fact, ARE very appealing to Great White Sharks."

Pictoral Hoot

"To her dismay, Janet's theory that Great White Sharks are afraid of giant bananas is proven wrong."

Emiliano Fruto Makes MLB Debut

That's right, kids. The Seattle Mariners called RHP Emiliano Fruto up to the bigs from AAA Tacoma this morning, and he made his major league debut in relief against the Anaheim Angels.
Now, you may ask, "Who the hell is Emiliano Fruto?"
He's nobody, really. It's just that my dad and I saw him pitch at just about every Inland Empire 66er game we went to when he played for them 3 seasons ago.
And every time my dad and I would heckle the sh*t out of him.
Cries of "Fruuuuutooooooo" would echo throughout Arrowhead Credit Union Park and waft into the deadly streets of downtown San Bernardino, and we would giggle our asses off every time.
Oh, the memories. FRUUUUUUTOOOOO!
So anyway, we didn't think much of him back then or much lately until I'm watching the Angel game on www.mlb.com and lo & behold, there's Fruto, coming in to relieve Gil Meche with a 3 run lead in the 6th inning.
So you might ask, "How did Fruuuuutoooooo fare in his mlb debut?" I'm glad you asked.
On only the third pitch of his Mariner career, he got Chone Figgins to ground into an inning-ending, rally-killing double play.
In the 7th, Fruto retired the Angels in order, including a weak pop-up from Vladimir Guerrero.
In the end, Fruto earned his first professional save. Here's the line:
Fruto pitched 3.2 innings, allowing ZERO runs on only one hit. He walked one batter and didn't strike anybody out.

So here's to you, Emiliano Fruto, on your major league debut. May you have many successful seasons with the Seattle Mariners. This battle cry is for you:

FRUUUUUUUUUUUTOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

My Sentiments Exactly

What About Love?

"It's overrated. Bio-chemically, it's no different than eating large quantities of chocolate."

New York Hockey Really Grinds My Gears

Well, the NHL's regular season is over, and both the Rangers & Islanders have shown their real colors in recent days.
The Islanders, with a piddly 78 points for the season, missed the playoffs by a country mile, but could have played a major spoiler role last night against Philadelphia.
What do the Isles do? They give up four goals in the 3rd period after leading for the whole game. How embarrasing.
Not as embarrasing as say, the Rangers, who through mid-season was playing like the team to beat in the east. But, since the entire team except Jaromir Jagr took a nap for a month, they lost a lot of ground in the standings, and they lost a lot of close games.
They lost the last five regular season games, including last night to the cold Ottawa Senators, in which a victory would have secured them the Atlantic Division, and home ice in the first round of the playoffs.
Of course, they lost and now they find themselves facing the hottest team in the east, New Jersey and will probably face an ugly elimination.
The Devils have won 11 straight to finish off the season, and they have the best goaltender in the Eastern Conference in Martin Brodeur.
Say goodnight, Rangers. Defensively, you are very weak. Heinrik Lundquivst, the young and promising goalie, has no playoff experience and will overwhelmed by the onslaught of New Jersey's offense. The Ranger offense needs more production from people not named Jagr.
So basically, New York hockey fans will have to watch the DEvils make another push for the Stanley Cup, and they'll probably win it too, although I like San Jose's chances coming out of the Pacific Division.
A more in-depth look at the west will come soon, but as for the east, look for Ottawa and Carolina to make the strongest surges against New Jersey, but Buffalo can be a dark horse.

Movie Review: Scary Movie 4

It was a Saturday night, I was with Ezequiel in a cowboy bar in Mentone while he's going thru his phone book, looking for someone to hang with.
I told him, "It's 8:30 on a Saturday night, everyone you know has plans already, except for us."
So he says, "Okay, do we drink or see a movie?"
EZ and I have radically different taste in films, so I wanted to drink. But I was driving. I ask him what movie. He says, "V for Vendetta."
I said, "Let's go drink."
So we leave the cowboys to do whatever the hell cowboys do when they're not beating up their girlfriends, and decide on a bar next to the movie theater so we can decide on what movie to watch over drinks. (The best of both worlds, as it were).
As it turns out, we didn't need the drinks because as we drove past the theater marquee, two words and a didgit pop out at us, and EZ and I say in harmony, "Scary Movie 4."
Let me say this, for the first 20 minutes of this film, I didn't stop laughing. And unlike most other slapstick comedies, the comedy remained fresh throughout.
Scary Movie 4 tears apart War of the Worlds (the shitty Speilberg version, not the good one), The Grudge, Brokeback Mountain, The Village, Saw (1 & 2), and takes especially mean (yet accurate) potshots at Tom Cruise and President Bush.
Ever since Zucker, Abrahams & Proft took over the Scary Movie franchise, their stamps elevated this dead celluloid to the levels of Police Squad and Airplane.
No offense to the Wayans brothers, but they still have a lot to learn about slapstick, although their newest project, Little Man, looks hilarious.
Oh yeah, and I can't wait for Clerks 2. Saw the preview last night and it looks just as good as the other films from the Jay & Silent Bob vein.

Philosophers Can Kiss My Dick!

I was sitting here, staring into oblivion (as I sometimes do when I ponder the useless) when all of a sudden, a thought occurred...
Is there a more worthless set of individuals than philosophers?
Think about it, they waste countless hours upon hours of their lives asking questions like,
"What is the meaning of life?" or "Why are we here?" or "Why is the sky blue?"
I'll tell ya why the sky is blue-
The sky is blue because if it were green, people would not know when to stop mowing!
Yes, sometimes the answers are that simple.
What is the meaning of life? None of your goddamned business. That's the meaning of life.
Why are we here? Because we are here, dumbass. Just be thankful for it and stop asking so many stupid questions.
Here's my advice:
Stop worrying yourself with such deep questions that are beyond your shallow form of thought.
Stop asking so many rhetorical questions that cannot be answered and contribute something useful to society.
Like flipping burgers or hauling trash.
There's the meaning of life for ya:
Red meat and Garbage.
Philosophers really grind my gears.

Briana Banks

Ms. Briana Banks: World Champion of Checkers, 2001-2006-

Don'tcha just wanna... PLAY???
King me, Briana.
Sweeet!

Meet Sonny

I got a new puppy for my birthday-





Sonny is about 6 months old and sharp as a tack. He gets fixed tomorrow.
Leave comments at the guestbook.

The Big Easy: Prostitutes and an Alligator Po-boy

So we got back from New Orleans last night. We arrived at LAX at 9:40, but didn't get home till after midnight. Don't get me started on that monument to poor planning that is Los Angeles International Airport. I'd rather blog about the infamous Rue Bourbon.
Big Mike and I were there on business; we're shooting a documentary on a Catholic Priest named Father Tony, and he will be the centerpiece of a future blog o' mine. I need to get the pix developed first.
We didn't have a lot of free time because we were on location shooting for 12 hours a day, but I wasn't going to be in N'Orleans and not see what all the fuss was about.
I ate alligator, and it was good, very good, indeed.
Our first night in town, Cindy the producer took us out to dinner at a restaurant in the French Quarter on Bourbon Street. I went there with the full intent to sample the local cuisine, but was expecting some sort of jumbo-lyah gumbo or Tabasco-drenched crawdads (which I did sample the next day) but the first thing that caught my eye on the menu was alligator tail.
I said to myself, "Oh yeah. I'm getting some of that." The waitress suggested I eat the gator in the form of a po-boy, which I guess is a big thing in Louisiana. I took her advice, and I came to find out that a po-boy is no different than a hero sandwich. But I digress...
The gator meat was not unlike chicken, save a rubbery texture. Regardless, it was good eatin' and I recommend alligator meat if you have the opportunity. It is quite choice.
The next night, I was wide awake at 1 am despite a long day of work. Big Mike went to bed, but I decided to venture out on a solo mission and sample the local titty-bar. (Big Mike is happily married and I would never ask him to do that because I know he honestly does not want too.)
The door to our hotel room was not even shut when I was approached by a pretty young black girl right there in the hall.
"How you doin'" she says to me.
"All right." I replied. "And yerself?"
"I'm fine. Whatcha doin' right now?"
"I'm just going out to kill some time. How 'bout you?"
She says, "Nothing special, you want some company?"
Now at this point I really didn't think she was soliciting. She wasn't dressed all skanky-like, she wasn't made up like a clown and she didn't reek of perfume. So naturally, I think she sincerely wants some company, so I say, "You bet."
"Okay sweetie, let's go back to your room."
Damn.
A pretty young girl wants sex with me for money not four feet from my hotel room and Big Mike is sleeping.
"We can't," I say to her. "my friend is sleeping."
"Well let's wake him up and talk to him."
Damn damn damn damn."
No. He won't want to, he's married."
"Is he happily married?"
DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN!
"I'm afraid so."
"Okay then, g'nite sweetie."
"G'nite, and have fun out there." Nice comeback, Turz. Very polite, yet mushy.
After an hour at Larry Flynt's Hustler Club, I head back to the hotel. Who's coming out of the door as I saunter up? A pretty young white girl, who sees me and asks, "Where are you going sweetie?"
"To my room." I say.
Down the block is this tall, skinny black dude watching us. Her pimp, I assumed. I was right, because as I walked away, I had to know for sure. So I looked back and there they were, both standing together, looking at me, and the girl waving her finger for me to return.
I did not.
Damn.

Peter Benchley Dead at 65

The literary community lost a groundbreaker Saturday night, as "Jaws" scribe Peter Benchley passed away in his home in Princeton, NJ from scarring in his lung tissue.
The best selling author was best known for "Jaws," the phenomenon that single handedly made going to the beach the stuff of nightmares.
After witnessing the affect his novel and the subsequent Steven Spielberg film had on the Great White Shark, Benchley became one of the world's strongest advocate of shark preservation and protection, stating over and over that "Jaws" was merely a work of fiction and the film did not necessarily accurately depict Great White Shark behavior. His words fell on deaf ears, as the Great White has been hunted to the brink of extinction, and only recently has the importance of White sharks to marine ecosystems been realized; due largely in part to Benchley's work, post "Jaws."
Other novels to Benchley's impressive credit are, "The Deep," "The Island," "The Beast," "White Shark" (which was later re-titled "Creature") and "Shark Trouble!"
Many of these novels were made into major motion pictures or made-for-TV movies, and "Shark Trouble!" is an excellent non-fiction read about the behavior of the ocean's top predators.
So Literature and Hollywood has suffered a great loss, but personally the wounds go a little deeper. The Turzman lost a hero, and I don't use that word casually.
I remember the time in 1975 that I am about to tell as if it were yesterday. I was 4 years old, and my bedtime story each night was this kiddie version of Daniel Boone's biography that my mother read to me each night. At the same time, my father was tackling one of the newer novels on the market at the time each night, and the cover attracted me like a moth to flame.
It was a giant, triangular form with massive teeth and four letters sprawled across the top.
I asked my dad, "What's a Jaws?"
To make a long story short, I have never read anything about Daniel Boones since. The particular Boone book I spoke of earlier is probably still sitting on the same shelf, 3000 miles away from where I now sit for all I care, for Jaws became my new fascination, and it has stuck with me ever since.
Each night for about a week during that faithful year, my dad would read passages to me as I tried to follow along. Any normal child would have lost interest immediately afterward, but being a genius-in-the-making, I insisted that we read it again.
My father, in one of the most brilliant moves in child-raising ever, challenged me to read it back to him, and I did.
Modestly, I admit I needed help with some of the longer words, but for all intents and purposes, I learned to read by reading "Jaws" at age 4.
So you see, friends of the Turz, Benchley's passing is gonna hurt this author for a long time, because with the help of my dad, Peter Benchley taught me to read.
Imagine my elation when my father explained to me that a movie was being made about this grand story, and as we eagerly awaited its theatrical release, my parents pulled a similar stunt to continue my reading practices. One of my favorite movies at the time was this animated version of Tolkien's "The Hobbit," and my parents informed me of the novel that cartoon was based on.
"They made a book from that movie?" I questioned.
"Yes."
So, "The Hobbit" was the second novel I ever read. It may be hard to swallow, friends, yes I read Benchley and Tolkien before Dr. Seuss or even those "Dick & Jane" tales, but it's true.
And I'm forever in the debt of my parents and J.R.R. Tolkien, but mostly to Peter Benchley.
Please leave thoughts & comments on the message board or at the guestbook.

Mike

Piazza Inks Deal with Padres

The San Diego Padres and former Dodger and New York Met catcher Mike Piazza agreed on a one-year deal worth $ 2 million, according to Fox Sports Internet news services.
Before signing Piazza, the Friars were set on platooning career backup catchers David Ross and Doug Mirabelli behind the plate.

I can't be the only one surprised to see "Pizza" sign with another National league team. His defensive catching skills have always been lousy at best, and constant injuries prevented his bat from being the major threat it once was, many years ago. The only American league teams to consider signing the prematurely over-the-hill backstop were unwilling to part with their respective DH's to make room for Piazza.
Baltimore move have had to move catcher Javy Lopez, Texas would have had to part with Phil Nevin, and the lowly Tampa Bay Devil Rays would have had to trade Aubry Huff. None of them were willing to make those moves.
The only other team to show interest were the New York Yankees, and apparantly Steinbrenner finally learned how to spend his money wisely, and balked at bringing Piazza across the Big Apple.

Did San Diego make a good investment with a mutual option for a second year worth $ 8 million? Does Pizza have any gas in the tank and if he does, can he stay healthy as a full time catcher? Leave your thoughts on the message board or at the guestbook.

Shark People Excerpt, post-script

I cut and paste the sneak preview from my first novel, "The Shark People" from a Word doc and apparantly, blooger does not recognize some of the characters, like quotation marks.
After all, they are universal in all English-speaking circles, but of course, blooger doesn't recognize them.
So, I apologize for the unfamiliar characters in the excerpt, but please make do and leave comments and critiques at the guestbook or message board.
Cheers,
Mike

Excerpt from "The Shark People"

Hey everybody. It's been a while since I blogged anything new, so I figured I owe my readers an explanation...
I've been feverishly working on my novel, trying to scratch some coins together, and I'm ready to show some of it and receive criticism.
With the exception of mySpace, this is the first sneak peek of "The Shark People" anywhere. Check it out and let me know whatcha think.
Please leave comments at the guestbook or the message board.
Enjoy,
Mike


Sheriff Freeman sat in his cruiser parked behind the Audi, wondering what was going through the minds of these kids. He laughed to himself and picked up the microphone. “One to Base, Angie. Did you run the plate on this car? Over.”
Static popped and Angie replied, “Affirmative Chief. California, five Roger Roger Baker, zero one niner. Registered to a Benjamin Brian Phelps, he’s clean Chief. Is John Thomas there yet? Over.”
“Negative Angie. I’ll give him another minute. Stand by.” The owner of the car had no criminal record of any sort, but Freeman was willing to bet dollars to donuts that Mr. Benjamin Brian Phelps was not driving the Audi. It sat motionless, which told Freeman that the occupants had calmed down and prepared their lie. No doubt they were wondering why the cop that had them pulled over was sitting in his cruiser. The anxiety that cops put on people was the last true delight Freeman had for his job, especially here in Brody. There were not nearly as many perks to the job here as in New York City, so the chance to instill fear in clueless teenagers was something that he was keen on kindling whenever the opportunity presented itself.
The radio popped static and John Thomas said, “Three to One, Chief.”
“Go ahead Three, what’s your twenty? Over.”
“Coming up on ya right now Chief, over.”
Freeman smiled. “Acknowledged Three. Are you ready to have some fun? Over.”
“Always Chief. Over.”
Freeman looked in his rear view mirror and saw John Thomas pulling up. Thomas passed Freeman’s cruiser and parked his in front of the Audi.
“Three to One, Chief, what’s the plan? Some ass kicking or a simple fright night? Over.”
“A little bit of both. Follow my lead Three. Out.”
“Ten-four.”
Freeman grabbed his nightstick and exited his cruiser. The red and blues were still twirling on the roof, as was the case on Thomas’ car. Both officers approached the Audi from opposite sides, and on the way, Freeman noticed the old man by the market, sitting and watching with little more than disinterest. Freeman tipped his cap with the nightstick and said, “How goes it Lloyd?”
The old man returned with an informal salute and, “I’d complain, but who’d listen Sheriff.”
“How’s Mavis?”
“The same.”
Freeman acknowledged Lloyd with a nod and as he came upon the Audi’s rear bumper, he threw on his game face and cleared his mind. No more Angie, no Old Lloyd or his ditz of a wife, not even Deputy Thomas, who was now walking along the Audi’s passenger side, checking the interior and staring daggers at the boy in the passenger-side front seat. All that mattered to Freeman right now was the carload of little fuckers driving fast in his town.
As Thomas came to a halt at the Audi’s rear, still on the passenger side, Freeman walked up to the driver’s door and tapped the glass hard, three times with his nightstick and motioned the driver to roll down the window. The driver complied. The plan was to be firm at first, without too menacing a demeanor.
Freeman said, “Boy, when a police officer pulls you over and walks up to your car, roll down the fucking window to see what he wants.”
The driver, obviously shaken by this stern piece of advice said, “Oh. Yes sir. Sorry sir. But I’ve never been…”
“Save it, sweetheart.”
The boy kept quiet. So much for not being too menacing. In a less intimidating tone, Freeman smiled and said, “Now shut the goddamn engine please.”
“Yes sir.” Again, the driver complied.
Freeman took a glance around the interior and all the passengers. Both girls in the back were staring at their laps, unwilling to make eye contact. Freeman said, “Well now,” and turned to the driver, “let me see your license, registration, proof of insurance, all the goodies. C’mon now boy, you know the drill.” As he watched the driver fiddle with his wallet, Freeman asked, “You were driving kinda fast, don’tcha think?”
The driver extracted his license and looked at Freeman. With a smile he said, “Oh, well, I, I wasn’t driving too fast, y’know? We’re on vacation and um, just havin’ a little fun in your town, is all. Um, sir.”
“Ah.” Freeman said, smiling. “Sure.” He received the license, gave another glance to the passengers, and then read the document in his hand. “Well now, Roderick, I can appreciate a little fun but there are rules. Where’s your registration and proof of insurance, son?”
Roddy’s eyes quickly roamed up, to the right and back at Freeman; a telltale sign that he was about to lie. “This is my father’s car, sir. I don’t know where he keeps those.”
Freeman bent down to be at face level with Roddy, and stuck his face just inside the car. With the nightstick, he pointed past Roddy to his companion in the front seat. “Maybe it’s in the glove compartment?”
The passenger took this as an opportunity to get involved in the conversation, and quickly said, “It’s not there.”
Freeman shot him a glance that suggested, “Prove it, punk.”
“I checked already sir,” the kid continued, “when we first stopped, I mean. It’s not there.”
Freeman gently arched his head, just a little bit to one side and said, “You sure? Should I double check for you?”
Roddy must have thought his friend was about to make matters worse, for he quickly countered, “That’s not necessary sir. I could call my father to confirm I have his permission to use the car.”
“No-no, no” Freeman said. “I believe you have his permission.”
Roddy smiled and nodded his head, “Yes.”
“I would like to ask him,” Freeman continued, “why his car smells like a brewery.”
Roddy’s smile abruptly left his face. He looked around the car quickly, sniffing in deep breaths as if he didn’t believe Freeman was accurate in his assessment. Still sniffing, he looked back at Freeman, shrugged his shoulders, raised his eyebrows and shook his head, “No.”
“Freeman stuck his head in a little closer to Roddy’s and asked, “Does he work for Coors?”
“No sir.”
“Budweiser?” Freeman asked with a strict tone.
“No s…”
Before Roddy could answer, Freeman yelled, “Then why does his car stink like a frat house on Sunday morning?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve beat down on drunken rowdies in truck-stop bathrooms that smelled cleaner than this foreign piece of shit car. Do you think I don’t know the fuckin’ scent of beer, Roderick?”
“I don’t know sir.”
Freeman noticed how uneasy the girls in the back had become. “You girls all right back there?”
In unison, they answered, “Yes.”
“You been drinkin’?”
Once again in unison, “No.” they replied.
The accord of their answers could not have been in better synchronicity if Freeman were a musical conductor and the girls were his choir. “Oh really?” he said, his words dripping with sarcasm.
Freeman took another look at Roddy, who was sweating profusely. There was more to be found in the Audi, and he and Thomas were sure to have a fairly decent payday courtesy of this bunch. He motioned to the passenger, “What’s your name, Fucko?”
“Tim.” He replied.
“Okay Junior,” Freeman pressed on, “open the glove box.”
Hesitant, Tim looked in the side view mirror and saw the shadow of Thomas approaching the door. “But I…”
“Open it, boy.” Freeman ordered.
“It’s not my car.” Tim offered weakly.
“Open the fuckin’ box, now!” Freeman yelled. “Not my car.” He thought to himself. How pathetic.
Tim slowly released the latch and to his horror, a corner of the map he apprehensively stuffed on top of the marijuana had caught in the upper crevice of the glove compartment. So when the box was open, the pipe and bag were exposed for all to see. Tim swallowed a gulp of nerves as he heard Roddy sigh and moan “Nice one, dickhead.” To add insult to injury, Tim looked out his window and saw the other cop peering back at him, and in a moment of grotesque realization, the cop winked at him.
“Well lookie there.” Freeman said as Tim’s head jerked in his direction. Both cops saw the stuff Tim was designated to hide. Freeman continued, “Tiny Tim, would you kindly roll down your window so my associate can take a closer look in the glove box?” Roderick, engage the battery, if ya please.”
Roddy turned the key once and when the lights and bells sounded, Tim lowered the automatic window on the passenger door.
“Thank you boys,” Freeman said. “Turn the car off Roderick.” Freeman scratched his head as Roddy followed directions, and said to his deputy, “Officer Thomas, what appears to be in the little bag right there?”
“I don’t know, Chief,” John Thomas answered, “but it appears to be some sort of vegetation.” he said with a mock sense of intrigue.
“Vegetation?” Freeman echoed. “Let me guess boys, broccoli, right?” Freeman recognized this as one of those times it was great to be a cop. With a sarcastic tone that was meant to remind these children that they were, in fact, just ignorant children, he said, “Your mommy and daddy packed you all a nice lunch for the long car trip and you didn’t eat your vegetables?” In a louder tone directed to his deputy, Freeman said, “How about you Office Thomas, did you eat your vegetables today?”
With a chuckle Thomas replied, “No Chief, I don’t believe I have.”
“Well luck for you, Roderick and Tiny Tim have some extra broccoli. Would you like to eat some broccoli, Officer Thomas?”
“With the fresh scent of pine, Chief?”
“Oh there’s a fresh scent of something I’ll bet.” Freeman said with a chuckle. Of the four deputies under his command, Freeman had a favorite, and it was this snappy John Thomas because he played the game better than the rest. He wiped his nose and said to Tim, “So how ‘bout it Tiny Tim? Would you mind if my hungry fellow law enforcement agent had a piece of your broccoli?”
Tim said timidly, “He can have all of it, sir.”
In a mock appreciation, Freeman said, “Why thank you very much, young man.” Everyone sat still and Thomas stood there, waiting. Freeman said to Tim, “Well give him the bag, dummy.”
Tim handed the marijuana to John Thomas, who snatched it quickly.
Freeman said, “Officer Thomas, what is your favorite part of the broccoli?”
“The part that looks like tree leaves, Chief.”
“Yeah, me too.” Freeman said. He nonchalantly looked at Roddy, who appeared to be very sick and said, “I don’t care too much for broccoli stalks. It’s like smoking marijuana stems. You just don’t get the buzz, right Roderick?”
Roddy timidly met Freeman’s eyes and said, “Yes sir.”
“Chief?” Thomas said.
Freeman, who was now resting his chin on his crossed arms on the window opening said, “Yes Officer Thomas, is something wrong with the broccoli?”
“Chief, I don’t believe this is broccoli.”
Freeman scrunched his eyebrows and gave a quizzical look to Roddy. “Well what can it be?”
“I’m no expert Chief, but I do believe this broccoli is really oregano.”
Freeman shot his head up and ridiculed the Audi’s occupants with a sardonic look of amazement. They all shared the same surprised look of bewilderment. “Oregano?” Freeman asked. “You mean the stuff Italians put in their pizza sauce for flavor?”
“No Chief. I mean the stuff people put in their pipes and smoke to get high.”
“That’s not oregano Officer Thomas, that’s called marijuana.”
“Oh that’s right.” Thomas said. “This stuff is marijuana. Isn’t that illegal Chief?” “Yes Officer Thomas,” Freeman said with a sigh. “I’m afraid these kids are in possession of illegal marijuana.” He ascended from his crouch position, tapped the roof of the Audi with his hand and said, “Okay fuckers, everyone out of the car.”