This article has been submitted by Sports Socialite.

Okay. Admit it. We all do some pretty wacky things when we’re drunk, and it’s not our fault. Whether it be sliding down the stairs on a mattress, streaking through the quad into the gymnasium, or puking on a peacock, we’ve all been “that girl/guy.” But Allan Muir of Sports Illustrated wrote an article while he was apparently completely shitfaced, which is something even I have never done (though I can’t say the same for Blake).

You can read the drunken ramblings here.

First of all, let me mention that Sports Illustrated ranks up there with Damian Cox and Erin Andrews in crappy attempts at sports reporting. Sure, SI is great if you want to know the entire life story of every NCAA basketball or football player. Ever. Or if you want to fawn over some very fancy and expensive swimsuits (but obviously not the foreign supermodels wearing them… right?), but when it comes to any sport not on the radar of middle America, then you’re better off reading Wikipedia.

With a mere 550 days until the Vancouver Games begin, I think I should put on my Sumi/Miga/Quatchi shirt, light my replica Olympic torch and set Mr. Muir straight.

First of all, WTF is with his top line of Iginla-Crosby-Heatley? Was this guy even watching the WHC this year??? It would be bat-shit Britney Spears-style crazy to break up the Getzlaf-Nash-Heatley line. As for “silky smooth” Lecavalier? He’s skating on thin ice (forgive the pun) with Team Canada execs. Sure he’s had above average seasons in the NHL and flashes of brilliance in international competition, but he’s never ascended to the “Michael Jordan of hockey” greatness projected when he entered the league. Time is running out for him to prove himself as more that just an above-average player, or else he could see his first class seat on a flight to Vancouver traded in for a flight to Vegas and enough Jack Daniels to drown his sorrows as he watches players that actually fulfill expectations take the ice for Canada.

On the plus side, Muir had the reigning Captain Canada Shane Doan on the list, who has rightly usurped the title from Ryan Smyth (the runner up in most tearful Edmonton Oiler press conferences of all time). Doan is definitely a lock, but Smyth seems destined to wallow in past-prime obscurity with pretty much every member of the Colorado Avalanche.

Contrary to what Muir believes, there are many Hockey Canada execs who are high on Jason Spezza (does that mean he’s a drug? I’d smoke that… ummm nevermind). There was a reason he was one of the reserve players brought to Torino. Between that experience and having more pressure on him at the Worlds this year, he’s been groomed for a roster spot, and it’s his to lose. When Canada lost to Russia in 2006, one of my memories from that night was seeing how beat up Spezza was about the loss, having to watch it and not being able to get on the ice and do anything about it. My bet is that by 2010 he’ll be chomping at the bit to get some revenge for Canada’s last 2 losses against the Red Army.

As for defense, it looks like Muir was pretty dead on. But come one, would anyone bet against guys like Dion Phaneuf, Chris Pronger and Jay Bouwmeester making the team? However, recent headline-maker and drama queen Dan Boyle looks like he’s past his expiry date, especially with guys like the Free Agent Frenzy winner Brian Campbell and Mike “shades of Bobby Orr” Green. The defense isn’t as set in stone as the offense, but it will be an interesting battle to get in.

In goal, I definitely back the choice of Roberto Luongo as the starter. He’s matured, refined his skills, and will be in his prime by the time the 2010 games roll around… barring the birth of another child. I sure hope his wife is on Alesse for the good of the country.

But Brodeur? Honestly? He’s not the not the goalie we used to know and sister-in-laws loved. His physical build is similar to Philip Seymour Hoffman, and they rank about the same level on my “potential creepy stalker” meter. Brodeur is done like a turkey dinner. No, Martin, you can’t have seconds!

I also believe that Mr. Muir is riding the Pineapple Express for his belief that Marc-Andre Fleury will be the 2nd back up. Sure! Let’s put a guy on the roster who’s scored on himself in the 2 most important games of his life! There’s no way this can backfire! You may say that he won’t even get to play in a game, but with the kind of luck Fleury has, Luongo’s wife will have another kid, our back up (Ward/Leclaire) will trip over a homeless guy on the streets of Vancouver, then Fleury will score the most fantastic lacrosse-style goal in overtime of the gold medal game… on himself. I hate the Habs, but I’d welcome Carey Price over black sheep Fleury any day.

Of course, you can’t talk team Canada without mentioning the coaches. Yeah, Babcock would be a great coach… if Team Canada was comprised entirely of Swedes. It may be a shocker, but when Wayne Gretzky is announced as head coach pretty soon, I’ll try to refrain from saying “I told you so.” And look for Mario Lemieux and Steve Yzerman to be behind the bench too, from what I’ve heard.

Last but not least, there’s the question of captain. Joe Sakic for sure, you say? I don’t think Team Canada wants a captain that tried to scurry back home and abandon his teammates in Italy after the loss in Torino. When the entire team was booked to stay until the last day of the Winter Games, Cap’n Joe wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, and didn’t care about being there to support his teammates, even though they had lost. Not exactly captain quality if you ask me.

Sidney Crosby? Please. Team Canada doesn’t need to sell more sweaters, so they don’t need to buy into the Crosby Fever that for some reason continues to rage. Anyone can tell you that Gary Roberts was the leader in the Penguins locker room, and Evgeni Malkin was the leader on the ice. Jonathan Toews is another kid named captain over more qualified veterans. He definitely has the international pedigree and leadership qualities, but that would be too much too soon.

The C will most likely go to Shane Doan. The previously mentioned Captain Canada is the epitome of what a captain, a hockey player, and most importantly, a Canadian should be. He’s not outrageous or outspoken, but he’s a diligent worker, knows when to talk in the locker room and exactly what to say. Most guys that have played with him share the Man Love for him, and I don’t blame them.

So there you have it. I’m not saying this is will all go down, but I’m extremely confident from what I’ve been hearing around the Hockey Canada circles. The roster will be announced just before Christmas next year… I already have my “I told you so” post ready.

And hey Allan, next time you’re feeling tipsy and literarily-inclined, fire off some dirty text messages to a hot co-worker. You won’t feel as stupid the next morning as you will when the 2010 roster is named.

This article has been submitted by Sports Socialite.

This article has been submitted by Kabeir Dilawri.

Animated, hedonistic, and incomparably entertaining, cereal mascots are an invaluable cog in the cereal industry’s $237 million strategy to market their sugar-infested products to today’s youth. While the morality of such shenanigans by multi-billion dollar corporations, such as General Mills and Kellogg’s, are up for debate, there is no denying that these characters, in hindsight, were an integral part of any adult’s childhood, in the same category as Hot Wheels, Nerf Guns, Pogs, and, of course, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Now that the forces of nostalgia are running rampant, below is a list comparing the world of sports to these affable characters:

Tony the Tiger: The God of cereal mascots, Tony the Tiger’s greatness is exemplified through his unparalleled level of athletic ability, and, more importantly, his “servant-leader”-esque leadership. Numerous commercials showcase the legendary character as being that “extra push” that children need to realize their potential and fulfill all of their wildest aspirations.

In the realm of sports, nobody embodies Tony the Tiger better than Canada’s own Steve Nash. Not only because of his status as two-time NBA MVP, but also because of his ability and commitment to bring out the Tiger in those around him. Before his migration to the desert, the Phoenix Suns were a talented, yet unorganized bunch headlined by young phenom Amare Stoudemire and the ultra-versatile Shawn Marion. Nash and his supreme playmaking abilities proved to be the missing piece to the puzzle, thrusting Phoenix to the upper echelon of the NBA, tapping the full potential of Amare, the Matrix, and the rest of the team, and revolutionizing basketball with their “Seven Seconds or Less” offensive philosophy. Nash’s servant-leader like approach is recognizable off the court as well, with the Steve Nash Foundation and his recent work in helping Vancouver inch closer to attaining an MLS franchise.

Sugar Bear: The Bizzaro World cereal mascot. Unlike the prototypical overly-energetic cereal mascot, the Sugar Bear conveys an almost stoner like vibe, and has carved out a recognizable niche in this homogeneous segment.

To make a comparison within a comparison, Sugar Bear is analogous to Sam Jackson’s character of Jules in Pulp Fiction. Cool, calm, and collected, both characters are revered as icons in their respective worlds. While Sugar Bear (probably) doesn’t have Ezekiel 25:17 memorized, he does possess the same swagger and “whateva, I do what I want” attitude as Jules. Also, they both have the ability to inflict substantial pain on adversaries – Jules with his proficiency in silencers (and overall imposing demeanor) and Sugar Bear with his brute force that he exhibits when laying the beatdown on rhinos, tigers, snakes, etc.

Both characters draw parallels to the Big Aristotle – Shaquille O’Neal. Although not the force that he was in his Laker days, Shaq, at a gargantuan 7 ft 1 inch and 325 lbs, still is an intimidating figure and is definitely the last person someone would want to throw it down with. Simply put, Shaq is as composed as both characters, commands the type of respect that Jules does in Pulp Fiction (maybe even on the level of Winston Wolf) , and, for some reason to me, Sugar Bear’s voice sounds like a slightly higher pitched Shaq. So for those of you keeping track at home: Shaq=Sugar Bear = Jules.

Trix Rabbit: Full of angst and constant disappointment, the Trix rabbit is by far the most complex cereal mascot. His sole goal in life is to consume a bowl of Trix cereal, yet he finds himself at a recurrent impasse with his chief adversary, children, who keep him from fulfilling his ambition. Despite innumerable, crushing failures, the Trix rabbit remains persevering and dedicated towards achieving his goal, and, in turn, elicits sympathy from audiences.

The Trix rabbit’s struggles are akin to Jim Kelly’s, the Hall of Fame quarterback who wins the award for the “uber talented individual who failed to win the big one.” The centerpiece of the K-gun offense (one that would usher in the prominent rise of the ever-entertaining hurry-up offense), Kelly took the Bills to 4 consecutive Super Bowls, but could never pull out that elusive victory. A volatile concoction of “America’s team,” the Dallas Cowboys, and his own kicker, Scott Norwood (“Wide Right”), can be considered the children in this analogy, being the barrier that prevents Kelly from achieving champion status.

Note: Thanks to a marketing ploy, the Trix rabbit finally reached the pinnacle of his existence, enjoying Trix cereal in the 80s. However, this is a mere aberration from the fate cast upon him.

Toucan Sam: The Shawn Kemp of the cereal mascot world, for the following reasons:

1. Kemp’s fall from All-Star status was precipitated by his inability to maintain a Slim Jim figure. Similarly, Toucan Sam, and toucans in general, are revered as a large-billed birds, hindering their ability to fly on the same speed level of other bird, a predicament that Kemp knows all too well. Fruit Loops, however, appear to improve your speed if you are indeed a toucan.

2. While Toucan Sam constantly sniffs out sources of Fruit Loops, so does Shawn Kemp seemingly every year in search of any team that will give him the chance to rejuvenate his once enviable career.

3. Both follow their nose…albeit in different ways. Toucan Sam’s goal is to satisfy his insatiable craving for Fruit Loops. Conversely, Kemp’s tendency to follow his nose has led to run-ins with the law in concerns to cocaine possession, merely emboldening his reputation as a cautionary tale to young athletes today.

4. While Toucan Sam shares his expertise in scouring the environment for Fruit Loops with his nephews, Kemp has done away with competing with Travis Henry on who can father the most illegitimate children, and is becoming a true role model for his talented son, who is recognized by scouts as having a legitimate shot at making the NBA, and advising him on avoiding the pitfalls that ruined his career.

Snap, Crackle, Pop: The lifeblood of the Rice Krispies franchise, this cereal mascot squad is the equivalent of arguably the greatest trio in the NBA during the 90s: Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, and the one and only Dennis Rodman. In commercials, Snap and Crackle are portrayed as the stalwarts of the team, focused on helping kids realize that Rice Krispies are an intricate part of any complete breakfast. Conversely, Pop is conveyed as the one who is always disappearing, getting into unthinkable predicaments, and, all in all, being that entertaining element that a successful cereal mascot team needs to appeal to their child viewers.

Similarly, MJ and Scottie were the leaders of the Bulls second three-peat of the 90s, counted on to make timely plays and take the key shots. The aforementioned Rodman, with his rebounding and defensive forte, was a key factor in re-establishing the Bulls as the Team of the 90s, and without him, it is conceivable to believe that MJ’s return wouldn’t have been the success that it was. Despite his erratic conduct both on and off the court and the overall imbalance of his eccentricity ratio, Rodman effectively shut down Karl Malone during the Bulls-Jazz Finals rivalry, paving the way for victory. Rodman was that Pop, that proverbial X-factor that propelled the Bulls to dynasty status.

In today’s NBA environment, it seems as if the Houston Rockets are hedging their bets on Ron Artest being that Pop that will propel them past the point of being a perennial 1st round disappointment.

Possible other comparisons:
Count Chocula – Steinbrenners and the Yankees’ “Evil Empire”
Cookie Crisp Crook – Pacman Jones/Chris Henry
Office Crumb – Roger Goodell
Captain Crunch – ?
Lucky Charms Leprechaun – ?

This article has been submitted by Kabeir Dilawri.

This article has been submitted by Jason Petznick.

While A.J. Burnett’s fate as a Toronto Blue Jay garners the majority of the media hype, I think there’s another spot in the Jays’ lineup that deserves just as much attention with the trade deadline quickly approaching.

During the past few seasons, Aaron Hill and John McDonald have made numerous appearances on highlight reels with their defensive prowess up the middle for the Blue Jays. Most nights it seems as though these guys could turn the most difficult double plays with their eyes closed. However, with Hill on the disabled list, a number of other players have shown that they can perform just as well up the middle.

Up to this point in the season, the second base and shortstop duties have been shared primarily between five guys: the previously mentioned duo of Hill and McDonald, as well as David Eckstein, Marco Scutaro and Joe Inglett.

If the Jays are to trade away one of these players, who will it be? Let’s see if the numbers can help us out.

Aaron Hill has played 55 games this season, and is batting .263, with 2 homeruns (HR) and 20 runs batted in (RBI). On the defensive side of the ball, Hill carries a .996 fielding percentage (FPCT) and has been a part of 27 double plays. In my opinion, Aaron is the cream of this crop. He has shown in the past that he can hit for power as well as consistency. His defense is impeccable and I feel he would be one of the Jays’ most productive players if he hadn’t been struck by injury.

John McDonald may very well be one of my favorite players. How can you not like the guy? You can count on him to Hoover up any balls hit near him and then proceed to make the unbelievable plays that make you smear your shorts. The best part? When he steps up to the plate and gets a hit, you’re even more excited because you’re usually expecting him to be an easy out. As for his stats, Johnny Mac is hitting .182, with 2 RBI in 25 games and he holds a .953 FPCT.

David Eckstein was one of the major additions made to the Jays’ lineup during the past off-season. He is batting .269 and is fourth on the team in doubles with 15. He holds a .958 FPCT and has contributed to 32 double plays. Ecky has definitely done his job this year. He has earned his playing time with solid defense and decent numbers at the plate.

Marco Scutaro (or Scoots, as he shall be known from now on) has come out of the woodwork this season to put up some impressive numbers. The utility man (he has played six different positions this season) is batting .261, with 3 HR and 31 RBI. He has a combined FPCT of .979 at second base and shortstop, and has been a part of 21 double plays between the two positions. He has also played 83 games, 23 more than David Eckstein.

Finally, Joe Inglett has made his mark filling in for Aaron Hill at second base. He is the only player on this list batting above .300, and he also has 18 RBI with five doubles and five triples. Inglett has a .979 FPCT and has been a part of nine double plays in only 23 games at second base.

The Jays really only need four of these guys, and in my opinion they have to be Hill, Eckstein, Scutaro and Inglett. As much as I love Johnny Mac, I think his time as a Blue Jay may be coming to an end. He would be a valuable asset to any team looking to add some depth on defense, and bundled up with another player (Shannon Stewart perhaps?) and a prospect, the Jays should be able to get something decent in return.

Only time will tell, but it’s apparent to me that the 2008 Toronto Blue Jays may be a little bit too deep up the middle.

This article has been submitted by Jason Petznick.

This article has been submitted by the debuting Kabeir Dilawri.

“Winning is a habit; so is losing” – Vince Lombardi

Is it not ironic that the Green Bay Packers, one of the most storied and successful teams in all of professional sports, are not heeding the mantra of one of the two individuals synonymous with the franchise and breaking a habit? If Lombardi can be characterized as the undeniable brains of the Pack from a historical point of view, a 2nd round pick of the Atlanta Falcons in the 1991 NFL draft that goes by the name of Brett Lorenzo Favre can be considered the infallible brawn. This is why it absolutely ludicrous that GM Ted Thompson, Head Coach Mike McCarthy, and the rest of the Packers brass have given the holder of the record for most career wins by a starter at the QB position a less than attractive ultimatum wrapped up in their decision to not grant his unconditional release: Be a backup to unproven protégé Aaron Rodgers (whose meteoric rise to starting QB status is comparable to that of Matt Schaub’s last year – someone who has had limited experience, yet has shown flashes of brilliance) or continue to sail off into the sunset.

Before analyzing the Packers’ brass’ decision, I have to say that I was not always a #4 fan. Being a long-time 49ers fan, Favre represented what Michael Jordan was to Utah Jazz fans during the 90s – someone who, when the road to victory was all but paved, would always show up to make an amazing play and lead his team back into the game, and onto a devastating win. However, at the same time, you could not help but respect his talent and perseverance just a little bit. In 1995, 1996, AND 1997, Favre was that thorn in my Niners side.

Quite possibility the pinnacle of my sports viewership occurred during the 1998 Wild Card round, with Steve Young connecting with some receiver by the name of Terrell Owens on a TD strike across the middle of the endzone (i.e. the Catch II) to end the game and allow the Niners to conquer their demons (i.e. Brett Favre), and also ushering in Owens’ rise to prominence (and numerous headaches for the NFL).

When the rivalry between the Niners and Pack began to run its course is when I started to gain an even greater appreciation for Favre. Here was a man who would leave it all on the field and even when the Packers were a subpar team, took them to the next level and made the plays needed to be made by a team’s leader. While the NFL has resembled more of a Thug Life culture over the past several years, Favre could be counted on to be the one good citizen that the NFL could rely on (editor’s note: see There’s Something About Mary for more). While Pacman Jones was making it rain and Travis Henry was adding to his list of illegitimate children and failed drug tests, Favre was showing that hard work and practice really do translate into success.

So what will happen will Favre?

One thing is certain: Favre simply cannot be a backup. Not to an unproven Aaron Rodgers. It would be like Robin fully assuming the role of guardian of Gotham when Batman was still fit to do so. Nor would I suspect that Favre would be willing to be a backup – and not just on the Packers, but on any team.

Favre cannot be released either. Both the Minnesota Vikings and Chicago Bears are a decent QB away from contending for the title, and with Favre having close ties to individuals within the Vikings organization, there is no reason to think he would hesitate to join one of the Pack’s chief rivals. This would mean Thompson facing the embarrassment of not only losing the division to a Brett Favre-led team, but also the potential of Favre coming back to Lambeau and picking their defense apart. After all, we all know he has a flair for the dramatic (example: game vs. Oakland Raiders after Brett’s father passed away).

It is conceivable that the Packers could trade Favre. However, to see Favre in another uniform would just not be right, and, after all, how many veteran players have really been successful in adapting to a system they are not accustomed to having been in the same one for so many years? Failed experiments such as Jerry Rice and Emmitt Smith automatically come to mind. Even more, does Thompson really want to cement his place in history as “that guy who traded Brett Favre to a team that, with his acquisition, immediately vaulted themselves to a Superbowl title?”

One can understand the Packers’ approach in this situation. Favre is to the Cheeseheads front office what the Soviets were to Winston Chuchill: “A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma” that the Pack have given up on solving. For the past couple of years, they have had no idea what #4 will do, how his mind works, what drives his decision-making, and as a result, he has tormented the Pack with his waffling in concerns to the issue of retirement. It is now evident that the team has simply grown weary of this indecisiveness. In a way, it is admirable that the Packers are sticking to their strategy and continuing to place so much confidence in Rodgers. After all, sports is a business ( see: Brand’s disloyalty in the NBA last week), and you have to do what’s right for your organization not only in the short term, but for the long-term as well. The Pack just believe that Rodgers times has come, and to take Brett back would set his development – and the organization’s – back considerably.

However, the bottom line is that, as exhibited last year, Favre still has game. A lot of it. And coming oh so close to a shot at the title last year, Thompson has to roll the dice and bring Favre back as the infrastructure of the team is, much like last year’s, built for a championship. That is, of course, with an experienced, playoff savvy QB like Favre.

Favre is the Packers. Kind of like what Tony the Tiger is to the Frosted Flakes; bigger than the brand itself, and there should be no hesitation by Thompson to bring the legend back. If not only to ensure that the Packers remain a top team for the foreseeable future, but to avoid a potential bad reputation for the team. Favre is well-respected around the league, and this “tough love” by the Packers’ brass would not be viewed favourably in the NFL community. Even more, how would free agents view the Packers organization? Needless to say, this would be another excuse for free agents to avoid playing in the harsh Green Bay climate.

It should be noted that divorces such as what this one appears to be are commonplace in our society. One that immediately comes to mind in the business world is that of Steve Jobs’ forced departure from Apple, the company that he built, in the 80s. Once he left, Apple’s growth became stagnant (and it wasn’t until 1997 when Jobs returned as CEO that the iRevolution began and the company started to become the superpower it is today.)

Does a similar iFate await the Packers should they decide to keep Favre from playing?

This article has been submitted by the debuting Kabeir Dilawri.

This article has been submitted by Sports Socialite.

As I sit on my couch watching the Home Run Derby and cursing the staining powers of Cheetos, I am shocked by three things.

1) Erin Andrews – OK, so I’m not her biggest fan. No, I’m not jealous that she is (relatively) attractive, blonde, reporting for ESPN and lusted after by millions of frat boy NCAA fans and pot-bellied armchair GMs alike. Well maybe a little. Whatever. Not only was I disappointed with her choice of attire (THAT shirt with THAT skirt???), but she needed a written script to MC the trophy ceremony at the end of the Derby. If you’re working for the “world wide leader,” you should probably know who the bigwigs in MLB are.

Seriously, in a battle of the wits between Jennifer Hedger and Erin Andrews, it would be a bigger beat down than Pacman Jones vs. a stripper.

2) ESPN – sure Josh Hamilton was absolutely ridiculous through the first 2 rounds of the derby then choked like the Ottawa Senators in the finals, but the very first thing said by the panel after the great CANADIAN Justin Morneau wins is “Nobody will remember who won this, because the story is all about Josh Hamilton.”

…the f$#@?

Can’t ESPN give Canada one ounce of respect? He’s the first Canadian to win the derby, and is immediately overshadowed by a former junkie who couldn’t close the deal in the final round. Even the main page at ESPN.com has a picture and story about the guy that came in second. Well I once heard a saying from the bible… or maybe it was a song by Creed: “Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and f*** the prom queen.” You enjoy yourself, Justin.

As for ESPN? More like “World Wide Leader in Sports When America Dominates The Competition And Fails To Recognize The Achievements Of Other Counties”.

Chris Berman, “leather” may be with you, but I most certainly am not.

3) Black Monday – Monday there were no professional sports games in North America. None. I feel oddly empty. The newspaper will be full of re-hashed Eklund rumours, sports news stations will be forced to continue discussing the A-Rod/Madonna fiasco (my fantasy?), and Blake will probably accidentally post a graphic love letter meant for Paul Pierce’s eyes only.

Thank god we only have to go through a day like this once a year. But what if this was every day? What if sports just stopped? Where would we find an outlet for our athletic prowess, passionate loyalty and belligerent beer drinking?

During the lockout year I developed a crippling addiction to CSI, but at least I still had the NBA and NFL to fall back on. But if professional sports were to disappear for more than one day, what would happen?

Imagine meeting up at your buddy’s house to down a case of Molson while watching the Oscars instead of the Superbowl.

Imagine decorating your room with stuff from Pier One instead of merchandise from every AL team.

Imagine paying a scalper five times the face value to see The Phantom of the Opera instead of a Leafs/Habs playoff match.

Imagine rocking a Von Dutch hat instead of your vintage Lakers lid.

Imagine seeing Emmitt Smith doing the cha-cha instead of rushing 50 yards for a TD.

And worst of all, imagine the Stanley Cup being used to potty train Kris Draper’s daughter instead of being the centerpiece of every hockey player’s dreams and every Leaf fan’s therapy sessions.

All of this is too much to handle. Let us quietly thank the Sporting Gods for the glorious gift of professional sports, and take this day without them to truly appreciate what they mean to us.

Because, honestly, would life have any meaning without the Rally Monkey?

This article has been submitted by Sports Socialite.

This article has been submitted by Andrew Chestnut.

The last time I watched a home run derby, the year was 1998, when presidents spoke in complete sentences, people still had AOL and CD players, and gasoline was still cheaper by volume than Russian beluga caviar. Back then, Ken Griffey Jr. was still wearing a Mariners uniform, and stuck 19 baseballs through controversially rarified air and out of Coors Field to win the contest.

Since then, the ordeal has completely failed to interest me. There are no stories or meanings behind the long bombs to make me care which 280 pound human specimen hits the most. It’s not like the winning guy gets to add five wins to his team’s overall record, or anything like that. To make matters worse, the guys at ESPN seem to be making the thing more and more gimmicky each year, evidently more concerned with capturing the attention of semi-fans flipping through channels than retaining the attention of real baseball fans. The derby reminds me a lot of Slamball.

So this year I returned to watching the derby to see this Josh Hamilton guy who apparently hits baseballs the way Mike Tyson used to hit people (hard). There was talk that he might be the first person to ever hit a ball out of Yankee Stadium.

When he first took the plate in round one, receiving pitches from his 71-year-old lifelong hitting coach, history was made. As you have probably heard by now, Hamilton broke the record for one round by hitting 28 balls out of the park—nine more than the total that had one won the contest ten years ago. At one point he hit 13 in a row, even one that traveled 518 feet. Hank Steinbrenner must have been watching this, salivating over his imminent free agency like Bruce Pearl at an Erin Andrews look-a-like contest.

It’s a truly spectacular, special thing when a person rides such a streak; when they catch fire. It is catching the perfect wave; trapping lightning in a bottle. I remember making 27 consecutive free throws when I was in third grade, and feeling like I had stolen fire from the gods. You are so locked in that confidence becomes certainty; probability transforms into fact. You are God within the simple reality that you will hit this next homerun, or shot, or beer pong cup, or whatever it is. The sensation is surreal and electrifying.

So to see Josh Hamilton capture this experience was exactly what the homerun derby has been missing. ESPN stuck themselves with the grim responsibility of making the event seem more exciting—to improve ratings—by incorporating useless stunts such as the golden ball and the car on the warning track. But sports should be compelling in and of themselves, without needing extrinsic factors that add superficial meaning, which seems to be what the derby does in the first place.

However, this year’s event was interesting in its own right, and it had nothing to do with Hamilton’s story of recovery. In a compulsive side note, one of my roommates, during the bomb-fest, mentioned that not only was Hamilton a perfect striker of baseballs, but also a good role model. I didn’t think much about the comment at the time, but now can’t seem to agree with this statement.

Not to take anything away from Hamilton. To escape from a nearly-fatal addiction to heroin and wind up crushing balls into the thermosphere at the House That Ruth Built is as incredible of a feat as everyone agrees it is. I just wouldn’t call him a role model. When I think of that term, I envision someone you would tell a kid to replicate. But to replicate Josh Hamilton would first require you to seriously screw up. Would you tell a kid to go get massively in debt, or commit a felony, or get addicted to heroin, and then turn his or her life around? No. Would you choose to do that? Hopefully not. Hamilton’s saga is undeniably inspirational, especially for someone mired in addiction, depression, or anything awful. Mainly what I’m saying is that I look to him as a triumphant recoverer, but not as a role model.

ANYWAY, neither of those elements are even the most intriguing thing that Josh Hamilton did. More specifically, it’s what he didn’t do. Even more specifically, it’s the fact that after that record-breaking first round, just when he seemed and probably felt unbeatable, he lost. His victory was a foregone conclusion. He needed a mere six for the title, and at the rate he was going, he probably could have done that with a wiffle bat. But he pulled a Big Brown and hit just three. And… Justin Morneau is the homerun champion? Huh?

The ending was so anticlimactic it is almost funny. But actually, it is confusing. How does something that inexorable and momentous suddenly collapse just before the end? We should know by now, because this has been happening recently in the sports world. Tom Brady would tell you it happens when your offensive line is more penetrable than the U.S.-Mexico border1. Big Brown would tell you it happens when your hoof gets cracked2. The ’07 Colorado Rockies would blame it on an eight-day layoff, and they would probably relate to Hamilton’s break down closer than anyone, because they too dealt with the loss of rhythm.

The worst thing that could have possibly happened to Hamilton’s swing was stepping away from the plate for a few minutes and having to reflect on what he just did. After I missed my first out of 27 free throws as a kid—a shot which barely rimmed out, I might add—I couldn’t string together three in a row to save my life. I simply wasn’t the God of Free Throws anymore. When he sat, Hamilton lost the ephemeral sensation of omnipotence that had carried his first 28 bombs into the nether-regions of Yankee Stadium, and when that happens, it’s impossible to get back. And that is what makes it so special; it really is catching lightning in a bottle.

1Though probably not in those words.
2Though probably not in any words.

This article has been submitted by Andrew Chestnut.

This article has been submitted by the debuting Jason Petznick.

Will the Jays break the .500 mark before the All-Star Game?

As I’m writing this, the Toronto Blue Jays are down three runs in the bottom of the 6th against the L.A. Angels, and A.J. Burnett is on the verge of another lacklustre outing. Never mind, make that a five run deficit.

Lets face it Jays fans, the odds of the boys in blue breaking the .500 mark before the All-Star break are slim-to-none. Even if they manage to pull off a win tonight, they still have to finish up with at least a 6-2 record (something they haven’t done since the end of May) going in to the break.

The Jays will have two more games against the Angels, three games against the Orioles and three games against the Yankees to try and make this happen. None of these teams are currently below .500, and all of these teams are currently leading their season series against Toronto. In fact, New York is the only one of these three teams that is currently below .500 in their last 10 games.

Don’t hang up your caps yet though Jays fans.

While the schedule may not get any easier for Toronto, with six games against the American League leading Tampa Bay Rays in their first 13 games following the All-Star break, I firmly believe the Jays will find their form with the addition of Adam Lind and the returns of Aaron Hill, Shannon Stewart, and, most importantly, Cito Gaston.

This is a team that, when it’s on top of its game, has shown it can be the best in baseball. I think the Blue Jays will finish the first half of the season 4-4 on the backs on Halladay and Litsch, head in to the All-Star break with a record of 45-50 on the season and have a lot of catching up to do in the second half. Don’t worry though ladies and gentlemen, it’s just a matter of time before the boys in blue find their groove again.

This article has been submitted by the debuting Jason Petznick.

This article has been submitted by Sean Meister.

Like any good hockey fan, I spent my Canada Day hitting the refresh button at NHL.com. It’s difficult to find meaning in the signings when the pace is so fast, but I’ve come to two conclusions so far.

1. Tampa Bay is on a mission. Roberts, Malone, Kolzig, Vrbata, etc. There was a feeding frenzy, but apparently only the Lightning were invited.

2. Stemming from the initial Tampa Bay signings of Roberts and Malone came the slow downfall of the Pittsburgh team of 2007-2008. Pittsburgh is in a bit of trouble.

I have a lot of faith in Ryan Malone, and seeing him pack his bags was an ominous sign for me. Pittsburgh needs players like Malone to create a strong core to build a team around. Crosby, Malkin and Fleury can’t carry the team. Then Adam Hall decided to follow his teammates to sunny Tampa Bay, where ice only exists in man made form.

Then Ty Conklin, the person I credit with giving Pittsburgh the confidence to enter the post season with Lord Stanley on their minds, agreed to terms with Detroit. Now Detroit, already a powerhouse in the hockey world, has the underrated goaltending duo from heaven. The losses of Malone, Roberts, Hall and Conklin were all painful, but a few smart free agent moves could repair the damage. I kept saying, as long as Hossa stays, Pittsburgh can recover. But Hossa isn’t staying.

Detroit has some of the best two-way players in the NHL. Datsyuk and Zetterberg have amazing offensive talent, but are equally strong on the backcheck. Hossa is one of those dangerous players who can score 30 or 40 goals in a season, but also prevent just as many. As much as I dislike Detroit, for reasons I still don’t know, I have to admit that with the addition of Hossa, they have the most potent offense in the NHL.

To add insult to injury, Jarkko Ruutu has left the Penguins for the Ottawa Senators. The only true agitator on the Penguins team now is newly acquired Eric Godard.

The problem for the Penguins is that they just lost Hossa, Ruutu, Malone, Roberts and Hall, but they’ve also lost Colby Armstrong and Eric Christensen. The trade for Hossa was a risky trade. Two young, albeit inconsistent, forwards were lost to gain what turned out to be a rental player. The Penguins contended for the Cup, but at what price? Hossa is gone and there are no younger guys to fill the wing for Crosby. What is even worse for Pittsburgh is that Hossa wasn’t gone for sure until day two, which means many of the better free agents were already taken. The Penguins have plenty of salary cap room (despite the massive salaries for Malkin, Crosby, and soon Fleury), but where can they spend the money?

Markus Naslund or Mats Sundin? Or do you go with several good but not great players like Kristian Huselius? I wish I could give Pittsburgh some great advice to get their roster looking deadly again, but I don’t have the answers. Unless Ray Shero has some tricks up his sleeve, I have a bad feel about 2008-2009 for the Penguins.

This article has been submitted by Sean Meister.

This article has been submitted by the debuting and oddly named Sports Socialite.

WAAAAZZZZZAAAAAPPPPPP????

Ok, maybe a dated reference to an (awesome) old Budweiser commercial, but that’s just how I roll. Before I jump in to my first post, I just wanted to introduce myself. You’ll know me as the Sports Socialite. By good fortune I’ve grown up in the sports industry and have had the pleasure of attending a lot of wicked events in my young life. From the wealth of knowledge (and liver damage) I have acquired from my travels, I hope to bring you insider sports info, amusing chirps and the occasional song. So let’s do this, bitch…

I figure I’ll do my first post on a topic of expertise… the Toronto Maple Leafs… specifically, Mats Sundin.

The Free Agent Frenzy is gearing up, and clearly everyone wants to know where our favorite balding Swede is going. And no, the “balding Swede” is not a sex move… that I know of. Anyway, much has been made about Mats peacing out to either Montreal, Detroit or New York. Well I am pretty confident that whoever believes he would go to another team is a few lessons behind on their Hooked on Phonics.

Mats Sundin is going to retire. (P.S. if this doesn’t happen, pretend I never wrote this.)

I was told a while ago that the Leafs weren’t going to resign Sundin, and that they were going to buy out Tucker (happened) and McCabe (will happen if he doesn’t wave his no trade clause).

Sundin clearly demonstrated at the trade deadline his admirable love for the dysfunctional, backward, special-ed franchise that is the Leafs (a love that I share). He refused to go to a potential Cup winner because he felt that winning with the Leafs was more important (P.S. thanks for screwing us over the rest of the season, Mats. I had to cancel that pre-ordered Stamkos Leaf jersey. You owe me $300). Whatever. Not only did that show that he had no passion or drive to be a winner (AKA he’d never win it as a Leaf anyway because he doesn’t want the Cup), it also showed that the name on the front of the sweater matters a hell of a lot more to him than the one on the back (thank you Herb Brooks…Kurt Russell?).

Now ask yourself, would Sundin really taint his time with the Leafs by ending his career with the despised Habitants? Or in any other city for that matter? I doubt Old Man Winter has had a life-shattering revelation in the past few months that winning the Cup actually matters more than limping out your career with one team (fine, two if you can count the Nordiques). Sundin would be the Johnny Damon of hockey… except Sundin didn’t win a championship title before allying with the enemy. And Sundin looks more like that flamboyant VJ from MuchMusic than a caveman.

So Mats, it’s time to say good bye. We had a good run, and you probably would have had a better career if you had been given anyone better than the Twin Tards or Alexander “OHIP” Mogilny to play with, and if you had never had the unnecessary pressure of captaincy placed on you. I wrote you this song as a farewell present… (feel free to sing along to Don McLean’s American Pie)

A long, long time ago,
I can still remember
How your scoring used to make me smile
And I knew that when you had a chance
You could make that black puck dance
And then make Leaf fans happy for a while

This February, season’s shittier
You tried so hard, didn’t deliver
Deadline’s on the doorstep
You wouldn’t take one more step.

Into my beer, I did cry
When you refused to wave goodbye
We started winning because you tried
Why, oh Sundin, Why?

So bye bye, Mister former Leaf guy
Go get married, no more Cherry
Life in Stockholm is dime
And thanks for screwing us with Stamkos, it’s fine
Just retire and we’ll say our good byes
Don’t be a Hab, don’t even try

This article has been submitted by the debuting and oddly named Sports Socialite.

This article has been submitted by the debuting Andrew Chestnut.

Sheryl Crow seems to think that “good is good, and bad is bad.” As far as being a baseball fan, she may be wrong.

We are in an age of rampant, unregulated, bandwagoning; an age when more Red Sox fans show up to Tropicana Field than Rays fans. As a response, the collective subconscious of baseball traditionalists (real fans) has deemed it cooler to follow a team that isn’t very good, as if that makes your fanhood more legitimate.

With so many idiotic imposters out there, flocking en masse to away games to ensure “their” team never experiences a real road game, it is easy to see why Orioles fans garner more respect from true baseball disciples than Sox or Yankees fans. They must be real fans, we communally imply, because they like a team that has sucked for a long time.

Arbitrarily deciding to follow a historically popular team like the Yankees, Red Sox, or Cubs—especially when they are winning—is a baseball felony comparable to taking steroids or wearing a Roger Clemens jersey. It’s like committing credibility suicide.

This phenomenon seems to be an inherent paradox: it is unpopular to like popular teams, and fun to root for loveable losers. It means that, in some twisted sense, it is more desirable to be a fan of a bad team, as if the fundamental goal of being a fan were earning as much credibility as possible, rather than following your team to a championship. Perhaps because only eight teams each year make the playoffs, baseball has become more about you as a fan than the team. Much in the same way affirmative action seeks to repair racism, this reactionary sentiment is a reversed manifestation of the same problem it opposes in the first place.

There are bad teams, like the Pirates and Brewers, and then there are Losers, teams that (1) have a celebrated history of losing, and (b) have been successful playoff contenders recently. Losers became lovable in the fall of 2003, when both the Cubs and Red Sox, both of which at the time were known for patently interminable World Series droughts, were in their respective league championships series. Both teams possessed some supernatural quality in the minds of fans; their consecutive years of losing signaled mysterious Curses. They had mystique, glamour, a story. Something about their cursed identity transcended normal sports, and they became very fun to root for, captivating even. Many people hoped they would meet in the World Series… the same people who eventually formed the next generation of Cubs bandwagoners and Red Sox Nation.

During that postseason and in 2004, the public was bombarded by images of the Great Bambino in fresh pinstripes, of bloody socks, of Steve Bartmans and Bill Buckners. As the Sox stole the ALCS and rode the wave of momentum and history over a hopelessly insignificant St. Louis team, the sports media wrote Curse story after Curse story, using the mystique to inflate the event to an impossibly high level of significance. Everyone had to be as interested as possible in the Series, and frankly, it worked. All of these newly interested “baseball” fans flocked to the Sox, causing the biggest bandwagon emigration in the history of organized sports. Red Sox Nation experienced a baby boom, with all these newborns clad in Ortiz jerseys and pink Boston caps.

It is now four years later, removing the Cubs from their most recent World Series by a century. With the Northsiders in first place, it isn’t surprising that the “Losers” are getting to be extra lovable these days. Nor is it surprising to feel the vague, general disdain for bandwagoners by real baseball fans grow even harsher in response.

But I ask, should a team’s recent record of success matter at all in regard to being a fan? The degree of one’s fan credibility should be a combination of loyalty, knowledge, and how hard they throw the remote into the wall when their team can’t play defense…you can’t blame someone for liking a good team. That’s what we all want.

That being said, I am a Yankees fan.

I’m not from New York. Even worse, I don’t have any family from New York, and hadn’t even been there until less than a year ago. Until high school, I had never even met anyone else who liked them. There is literally no tangible or traditional reason I have to like Bronx Bombers, and for someone who is morbidly terrified of being labeled a bandwagoner, I am irrationally paranoid about my fanhood.

Here is the quick explanation I give to everyone who asks Why choose to align yourself with the Evil Empire? When I was a kid, I loved baseball. There was practically a glove on my hand when I was born. I grew up in Indianapolis, in a family that had also lived there their whole lives, to parents who didn’t follow the game. In the early 90’s, when I was obsessed with the national pastime and the relative significance of my little league games could not possibly be overstated, I had no home team to follow.

If The Crossroads of America happened to have a pro team, I surely would have been and still would be a diehard, as I am for the Colts and Pacers. But as an eight-year-old with no moral compass in these matters, I started following the Yankees. Learning the history of the game, it seemed all the greats played for the Yanks. I loved the tradition, and I loved the uniform.

As I came into my high school years I slowly encountered the horrors of the Evil Empire. The preposterous payroll. The buying of aging star players rather than developing a good farm system. George Steinbrenner. And all that dirty, sexy winning.

Worst of all was the sudden awareness of the awful stigma that comes with being a Yankees fan. It was like discovering that I had been walking around with a “Kick Me” sign on my back for my whole life. I was the least respected, most hated fan in all of American sports.

These revelations occurred in the years following the proverbial last night of the Yankee dynasty. The team was starting to lose, and my Yankees hats and T-shirts were earning me an increasing number of nasty looks from peers who were becoming more knowledgeable as well. The pressures to rescind my allegiance piled higher, but I stuck with them, although part of me started to hate them for all of their crimes.

Not to sound like a victim, but if you think rooting for a bad team is hard, try rooting for a team that you don’t even want to root for. I easily could have started liking Cubs; Chicago is reasonably close to Indianapolis, and their games were always on WGN. The Reds, maybe, because I had been to a few of their games. But I would have been doing the same thing people assumed I did in the first place, which is to arbitrarily pick a team for the sake of popularity. Plus—and this is what being a fan is really about—I was emotionally attached to the team, and couldn’t stop liking them even if I tried. But is that not the essence of fanhood anyway?

Today’s general notion postulates that fan credibility is derived from the “thin” portion of liking a team through thick and thin, and frankly I agree with this. For a fan, the losing years are like the two-a-days and suicides and puke buckets where championships are won for athletes. But following the Empire from a thousand miles away in the Midwest is a different kind of “thin.”

While you watch your teams lose year after year, my personal fanhood is called into question all the time. I constantly have to justify why I like them, to others and to myself. Your team probably plays about as well as they are paid (unless they’re the Mets). Mine has had the highest payroll in the league since the Industrial Revolution and still underperforms. I had to deal with the shame of bringing in Roger Clemens last year, then having to rely on A-Rod in October. It’s a different sort of frustration, but it’s frustration all the same. It’s more personal when the question is always why are you rooting for them. Liking this team is like being married to someone you truly love, but argue with all the time. I hate them constantly, but I still love them. It can’t be helped.

I’m certainly not trying to defend the Yankees. We all know they have earned every amount of scorn and hatred they have received over the years. Just recognize that it isn’t cool to like the Yankees anymore; the Red Sox and Cubs undeniably have the two hottest bandwagons. I will admit it is easier to be a fan of a team that gets 93 percent of national TV spots and makes the postseason every year. All I want is to be respected as a fan.

This article has been submitted by the debuting Andrew Chestnut.