After another season of ‘Skins failure, futility, and frustration, all I have to say is this: I told you so.

Mr. $100,000,000 (I know!  Look at all those freakin’ zeros!) spent 40% of the season on the IR, or on the sidelines because he “didn’t feel well.” (How much goddamn money do you have to be making to overcome a little nausea?)  And, come Monday, we will be coachless once again.

Spoiler alert!!  Spending ridiculous amounts of money on one player did us absolutely nothing, because our offense continues to be pathetic, our defense has more holes than a donut shop, and our current playcalling scheme is helmed by a a bingo M.C. who tore out every page from the playbook that didn’t have the words “screen pass” on it.  I know this, and I’m just a spectator and fan.  Dan Synder should know this, because he’s the damn owner.

So the stands at FedEx Field will continue to be more and more empty until Snyder gets the message: fans don’t feel like giving their money to someone who treats it like green-colored toilet paper.  And from the choices he’s made in drafts, contracts, and staffing, Snyder would rather wipe his ignorant ass with cash rather than spend it acquiring a decent O-line and a capable secondary.  Perhaps, miraculously, Snyder will decide to hand the team over to someone who actually knows something about running a football team.  Hiring Bruce Allen was a stumble in the right direction, but he’s got his work cut out for him and then some.  And then some more.

Help us, Mike Shanahan, you’re our only hope.

Little did I realize back then that TV also does strange things to us; it turns criminals into heroes, crimes into mistakes, and insanity into quirkiness.  These things might happen without TV, but TV certainly helps facilitate the process.

Furthermore, considering I started this blog to comment on the idiodic things pro athletes do, I find it odd that I’ve not commented on the numerous idiotic things being done by pro athletes in the last year.

Bengals wide-out Chad Johnson changed his name to Chad Ochocinco, possibly one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard someone do, and I didn’t write a single entry.  I mean, just think about it: the guy changed his last name to match the number on the back of the jersey he wears to work.  I want him to get traded and have to wear 86, just because.  Chad also wants to use Twitter during games this season (I assume he means on the sideline, but who knows), and is mad because the NFL (and, one would presume, his team’s offensive and defensive coordinator) doesn’t think it’s a good idea.

Earlier, over the summer, I tried to watch the barely watchable “Superstars,” which featured Terrell Owens flailing around in a cargo net and getting chewed out by some egomaniacal supermodel who is really just the female version of him, and I just stared blankly.  Then I heard a radio commercial for Terrell Owens’ new “find me a girlfriend to worship me” show on VH1, a show I presume is meant to try and teach us that he’s soft and sweet and more than just the pompous ass everyone knows he is, and I simply shut my eyes and breathed deeply.

Then Michael Vick got released and Roger Godell is considering re-instating him, and my brain couldn’t even form a response.  And then, to top it all off, T.J. Houshmandzadeh decided to boycott a VIDEO GAME that hasn’t rated him as high as he thinks he should be rated.   To that, I merely dropped my head and shook it side to side.

Oy.  It’s exhausting just talking about what idiots these guys are; I can’t imagine what it would take out of me to examine it further through words.

I honestly don’t even know what to comment on; these stories all speak for themselves about the slowly rotting entity that is the NFL, about the more quickly rotting entity that is reality television, and the most likely already rotten entity that is the human race’s collective brain.  Why else would we put up with crap like this?  When I behaved like these people behave, I wore diapers and got spanked.  These days, you can shoot yourself (or someone else) in the leg, cheat on your wife, kill dogs, take steroids, and even murder two people, and people cheer and want to pay you millions of dollars.  Forgive me if I don’t state the over-simplified observation that something is wrong here.

Maybe it doesn’t require killing our TVs, but it might force us to finally do something to get rid of the “idols” worshipped on the screen.

On Sunday, early risers were treated to the men’s French Open final between #2 in the world, Roger Federer, and #25-ish, Robin Soderling.  Earlier in the tournament, Soderling dispatched with Federer’s long-time nemesis, Rafael Nadal, arguably the biggest upset of the Open, if not in the tennis world overall.

I’ve read many a blog that wanted an asterisk beside Federer’s name if he were to win, because he wouldn’t be playing against Nadal.  But sports don’t always play out like a comic book, where a climactic face-off between rivals is an absolute guarantee.  If beating Nadal was all that is required to win a title, then just give the trophy to Soderling.  Or to Federer, for that matter, who finally beat Nadal on clay just weeks before the French Open.  Certainly don’t invalidate Federer’s climb through the tournament simply because Nadal couldn’t accomplish the same feat.  The fact is, when you look at Federer’s numbers over the years, he’s reached what seemsl like an insurmountable number of semis and finals in the last few years; before turning 27, he’d already won 14 majors and was one win away from a career grand slam.  Give the guy a little credit.

When you have a player who appears to be so far ahead of the pack that it makes everyone else look like amateurs, like a Tiger Woods or Rafael Nadal, you still can’t dismiss the rest of the field.  After all, that’s who you’re setting these people against as a standard; without others to compete against him, a great champion like Tiger Woods is simply a guy walking on some grass.  Well… you know what I mean.  And besides, what is sports if it isn’t the underdog making a run for the big prize?  We get resentful when it’s the same team or person winning time and time again; we want upsets, we want drama.  It may not always be David v. Goliath-esque drama, but it’s still drama.   Look at Pats v. NY Giants for a recent example.  And even though people tend to root for champions like Tiger, there were sure a lot of folks glued to the TV when Rocco Mediate made a run for the US Open against Woods at Torrey Pines.

I’m hoping people watched some of Federer’s early French Open matches, where he fought like hell to even advance, coming back from 2 sets to love against Haas in an epic match.  He went from playing like crap to playing brilliantly in the span of a few minutes.  It takes a lot to dig deep like that when it’s do or die.  Oh, and let’s of course not forget that some crazy Spaniard darted onto the court in the finals and tweaked Fed’s rhythm when he tried to put a hat onto his head or whatever the hell he was doing.  How many other players would have let something like that rule the rest of their match?

In Federer’s case, I feel as though people will complain no matter what.  If he looses to Soderling, Fed has succumbed to the pressure; if he wins, it’s because he didn’t have to play Nadal.  Luckily, Fed manhandled Soderling in the final, so since the latter beat Nadal, it’s sort of like a surrogate victory, I suppose.  Federer also easily handled Monfis in the quarter-finals, when everyone was assured the latter would be the victor.  And even if Nadal had been in the final with Fed, but lost, I’m sure some douchy blogger like me would whine that it was because Nadal’s knees were jacked up, or whatever.  Enough already!   Federer survived the tournament, which is more than can be said for Nadal.   After losing three straight French Opens, Wimbledon AND the Australian Open, all to the same man, Federer showed a lot of perseverance and finally won his elusive 15th title.  Congrats, R-Fed, you deserve it!

Now, onto the Dodgers…

Last year’s NLCS, which the Phillies won 4-1, gave birth to a fun little rivalry between the Dodgers and the Fightin’ Phills.  After splitting a series in Philadelphia earlier this year at the irritatingly odd-shaped Citizens Bank Park, the Phillies took an early lead in their own road series when they beat the Dodgers in the first game at Dodger Stadium.

On Friday night, it looked as if the Phillies were going to take one more from L.A., especially when closer Brad Lidge stepped onto the mound with a 1 run lead.  With 2 outs, Casey Blake singled, and Loney walked, bringing up Andre Ethier.  Ethier had been struggling as of late, glomping his way through a horrendous hitting slump with one lone home run as the only recent highlight.  It seemed as though he might whiff at a few and hit a weak grounder to Chase Utley, but Ethier refused, instead hitting a double into right field, scoring Blake and Loney to win the game.  The effort cost Ethier a towel full of shaving cream in the face from teammate Matt Kemp.

The next night, the Phillies again threatened to take the game with Lidge on for the save.  This time, Furcal homered to tie the game, dragging the affair into extra innings.  In the bottom of the 12th, it was Ethier’s turn again, and he came through once more, hitting a home run into deep center to seal the victory.

Now, on Sunday, the Dodgers weren’t as lucky, and ended up splitting the series 2 games apiece, but the bigger picture here is Andre Ethier.  He needed those two walk-offs to regain his confidence.  Manny isn’t there to guide him during a game, and he needs to learn he doesn’t need him.  Can you make excuses for Lidge, saying he was hurt and wasn’t his same old self?  Sure, but don’t invalidate the effort, skill, and strength it takes to hit a home run in a pressure situation.  Just because one player elevates their game over another who is “supposed” to be better, it doesn’t mean it somehow doesn’t count.  After all, several years ago, the Dodgers hit four consecutive home runs off of lights-out closer Trever Hoffman, who wasn’t injured or hurt at the time.  Sometimes, things just don’t turn out the way you think they will.  That’s the beauty of sports.

Now, I was a fan of Cal Ripken, Jr’s.  Who wasn’t?  After all, fans would much rather their players abuse their wives than steroids (rumors, people, just rumors!!).  Ripken was magical, though, but since my family wasn’t into baseball, I couldn’t really appreciate his accomplishments until much later in my life.  

When I was about 12, my dad took us to a Pawsox game, and I didn’t understand that the guys I was watching were only one step removed from the majors.  In high school in the ’90s, I had a Kirby Puckett outfielder’s mitt, though I didn’t really know who he was at the time, and come to think of it, I knew so little about the strategy of softball and baseball that I’m amazed I played for so long.  

Anyway, over the last 3 or so years, I’ve been educating myself in baseball, probably to the point of overkill.  I’ve learned all about balks and infield flies, about pitcher/hitter counts, when to steal, when to squeeze, and when to sacrifice.  I’ve also learned the little quirks of the players — like how Matt Garza can’t stop spitting, and how Nomar’s pre-bat rituals are actually not even that weird when compared to some.  

I’ve also learned that Kevin Youkilis (pictured) is the sweatiest baseball player I have ever seen.  

I apologize in advance if it’s due to some glandular problem, but  I have to say it’s very off-putting.  He’ll be there at bat, in his usual butt-out, hands-up, mouth-open stance… they’ll cut to a closeup, and there it is: torrential beads of sweat falling down his face and into his Youk-Fu like a monsoon on a windshield.  

Maybe if he had hair, it would mop up the sweat, but that might result in a puddle of perspiration inside his batting helmet that would spill onto the floor of the dugout whenever he was done with an at-bat.  Not to mention his hair would be like a soggy carpet on the top of his head, and before long, the back of his jersey would look like the catch tray of a frier at McDonalds.  Just imagine those humid summer days at Fenway.  I know it’s wrong, but it makes me hope that’s the only place he sweats so heavily.  *shudder* 

I forgive Youkilis of his excessive sweating because he’s an amazing ball player, with both the bat and the glove, but I have to say, my first thought after saying, “Nice hit!” is “Jeezus, get a sweatband, for pete’s sake.”  Actually, that’s not a bad idea.  Plenty of sweaty, drippy guys in the NBA wear sweatbands, some for retro-aesthetic reasons, but I think Kevin might benefit from one.  Or twelve.  

…Yep, that’s all I’ve got.  Slow news day.

It’s official: Manny Ramirez has been suspended for 50 games by MLB for violating their drug policy.  He tested positive for a female fertility drug that jump-starts the body’s natural production of testosterone, and it’s often used by steroid abusers at the end of a steroid cycle (thanks, SportsCenter).  

My first thought was, “What the FUCK.”  I didn’t want to believe it.  As varied as my opinions have been of Ramirez over the years, him being a possible steroid user never crossed my mind.  Being a good, clean player with amazing skills at the plate was how he justified his attitude, his often casual play in the outfield, not to mention his exorbitant contract.  

When Manny was first signed from Boston, I thought, “Shit, like we need another outfielder, great.”  But then I fell under his spell.  I went to the NLDS,  to the NLCS, watching him hit home run after home run until the Dodgers were ultimately eliminated.  I am now grateful the Phillies knocked us out.  Had the Dodgers somehow won the World Series last year with Manny at the helm, his suspension would have left a taste so bad in the mouths of everyone involved in baseball that no amount of water could wash it away.  

When I was in high school, I played on the softball team.  We had rules that we had to obey, or there were consequences.  If you missed a class, you couldn’t play, or even practice.  If you did, you could cost your team the game.  If you were late to school without a note, you couldn’t play, etc.  I took it very seriously, not only because I wanted to play, but because I didn’t want to let down my team.  I was 17 then.  Manny is 36.  

The irony of this is that yesterday, I was considering a post about why fans all over the country boo Manny when he comes to the plate.  I was going to ask if it was because he was a jerk in Boston, or if it’s just something people do to good players who ask for too much money, I wasn’t sure.  It was going to be a mostly rhetorical post.  

But now, today, I’m disillusioned.  Manny was supposed to prove everyone wrong, but now, we’re being laughed at for believing in him.  What if the Dodgers lose tonight?  What if they tailspin into failure?  Will it be because of Manny’s absence, or because of what he did to the team emotionally?  I feel sad that Ethier is watching his mentor fall before his eyes.  I feel silly for even wondering how Manny passed other drug tests, but I guess you only need to fail one.  I feel a lot of things.   Of course, Manny’s “doctor” may come forward and say that he was struggling with sperm count, but considering the history this particular drug has in the world of steroid abuse, it’s really hard to give Manny the benefit of the doubt.  What do his stats mean now?  They don’t “feel” valid.  What about the Dodger’s record 13-0 home start?  It casts a cloud over everything, and right now, even if his use of the drug is found to be remotely legitimate, I hate him for it.

Thankfully, ESPN realizes the WBC as a significant tournament and, along with the wondrous (if not a bit repetitive) MLB Network, faithfully broadcast nearly all of the games.  

I was able to attend the USA/Japan Semi-Final at Dodger Stadium (unable to attend the Finals, I happily sold my tickets to a desperate Korean fan), and it was the most enjoyable game I’ve ever seen there, and that’s including the sweep of the Cubs in last year’s NLDS.    

Last September, the excitement in Dodger Stadium was electrifying.  There was a sea of white towels, and people smiling, and unanimous chants of “Let’s go, Dod-gers!” *clapclap…clapclapclap*  There was also taunting, beer-throwing, and general asshole-ish-ness.  In no way am I suggesting that this wouldn’t have been the case in any other ballpark, but that doesn’t make it any less awful.  I mean, cheering for your team is one thing, but throwing an entire beer at someone for cheering for theirs is just stupid.  

On Sunday night, I sat in near a large crowd of Japanese fans.  The man next to me was so quiet and docile, I wondered at times if he was taking a nap, but as soon as Team Japan would do something cool, he would lunge forward in his seat and start “ooh”ing and “aah”ing and rattling off a mouthful in Japanese.  Two rows up from me, there were Japanese banners and headwear, people dressed as furry cartoons, and lots of “Ni-ppon!!” *clapclapclap*  Although they were cheering for the other team, it was a treat to watch them do it.  And I never saw anyone throw any beer.  

Anyway, onto the Finals…

If you by chance missed this amazing game, I feel sorry for you.  I missed almost six innings, and feel sorry for myself.  Over a week later, and most of the details of the game are gone, but I’d just like to talk briefly about Ichiro’s final at-bat.  

The Koreans purposely walked two players in the Finals; neither one was Ichiro.  When he came up to bat early in the 10th, with men on 2nd & 3rd, the announcers kept wondering why Team Korea would bother pitching to one of the best clutch hitters in baseball.  A man who had earlier laid down a perfect bunt that was good enough for a single, thought it was meant to be a sacrifice.  Over and over, they kept saying, “1st base is open, the next batter’s been struggling, just walk him!”  While I agreed with their strategy, I had a theory of my own: I think it was a matter of pride.  How much of a boost would it have been if Korea had been able to strike out/ground out their nemesis in a key moment of a huge game like the WBC finals?  It would have been huge.  That stadium in Seoul would have been shaking from excitement.

Alas, Ichiro had a 9-pitch at bat.  He almost struck out on a ball that was about an inch off the ground that he somehow managed to foul off.  But after the 6th or 7th pitch, I began to wonder: would they just throw him crap, or would they make a mistake?  My question was answered when Ichiro got a big, fat pitch over the middle of the plate, and shot it up the middle for a 2-run RBI single.  Oops.  

I had to feel bad for Team Korea.  They kept up with Team Japan despite being outhit and often outplayed.  They showed guts and heart and all that good stuff, but it just wasn’t enough in the end.  Japan’s big players came through when they needed to, without thought of ego or individual achievement.  It was an awesome thing to watch.

I have many reasons for loving Andre Ethier.  Firstly, and most superficially, he’s adorable.  Just look! 

Awwwwww.  (And yes, he’s married, and is also a proud papa as of last year.)   My friend Drew likes to call him “LL Cool Ethier,” since the Ladies Love him so much.  

Secondly, I like Ethier because we’re both outfielders, and both (sort of) lefties (I actually don’t play all sports left-handed, but I write and eat that way).  Outfielders have a different mentality than infielders, at least that’s my experience.  There’s always something going on in the infield, but there’s usually time to daydream out there in the grass, moreso when you’ve got a low-ball pitcher on the mound.  It can get seriously boring and lonely out there.  However, at the drop of a hat, you’ve got to be able to spot a tiny white dot, run to it as fast as possible, catch it, then throw it as far and as accurately as you can back toward the bases.  And in right field, especially, you need a extra strong arm and lots of mobility (well, so your team hopes).  

Thirdly, Mr. Ethier has himself a blog!   Apparently he loves food, and loves writing about food.  He doesn’t update all that often, and right now, I’m sure he’s busy with spring training, but if you like Andre and you like food, you might want to take a gander:

Dining with ‘Dre.

Breathe in, breathe out. Ahhhhhhh. Now doesn’t that feel better, Dallas?

The second step is to look back and ask, “Was it all worth it?”

The third step is to join the ever-growing support group founded by previous dieters San Francisco, and later, Philadelphia.

For those a bit skinny in the drama department, you can pick up T.O., or, if you’re really hankering for the drama of an animal abuser, go and pick yourself up a Michael Vick at your local house arrest supermarket.

Yay for the NFL.

If you can’t already tell, I’m not exactly thrilled about this.  It isn’t that I don’t think Haynesworth is a good player — it’s so much more than that.  

First of all, he’s replacing the much cheaper, and better-tempered Marcus Washington, who was released earlier this week.  There’s a lot to be said for locker room dynamics, and Washington had been with the team a long time.  He was a fan-favorite, and teammates spoke highly of his leadership and attitude.  Marcus may have been injured from time to time, but he made up for it when he was playing.  I’m not sure how Haynesworth is off the field, and on the field he’s obviously one of the league’s best defensive tackles, but he was also once suspended for raking his cleats over another player’s face.  

Second, Dan Snyder is an idiot.  There, I said it: idiot.  He is notorious for overspending for players who don’t end up making an impact, and the thing is, their shortcomings have more to do with him than with themselves, and that’s because Snyder overspends where it’s needed less.  The Redskins’ issues last season had much more to do with how they lost games than how they defended them; you don’t win unless you score more points, and while defenses are obviously helpful in winning, without any effective offense, you will lose.  And the Redskins had a pathetic offense last year.  Haynesworth was successful in Tennessee because they prevented offenses from scoring AND also scored points.  Defense may win championships, but it sure does help if you can score a touchdown once in a while.  Just ask the Browns.  

During the Reskins’ most recent “good” season (in my opinion), ’05-’06, the star players weren’t even really stars at all, and they certainly didn’t cost $100 each.  I’m not even sure they cost that put together.  They were an aging but experienced quarterback named Mark Brunell, a tiny but speedy wide receiver named Santana Moss, and a punishing safety named Sean Taylor.  The lone exception was running back Clinton Portis, the current face of the franchise.  This was smack in the middle of an era when Snyder seemed to be interested in making good trades by getting rid of players who didn’t want to play in Washington, and picking up talent that did: Lauverneus Coles going to NY for Moss and Champ Bailey going to Denver for Portis are just a few examples, along with acquiring Taylor from The U in the first round of the draft.   Of course, I’m leaving out the part about how Joe Gibbs was the coach at the time, and most likely had a good influence over Snyder.  Presently, we aren’t as lucky, as Jim Zorn was decidedly underwhelming in his freshman effort last year.  

A quote from this article states: “As [the Haynesworth deal] got put together, you could see my eyes get big,” Redskins head coach Jim Zorn said, “and (owner) Dan (Snyder) said, ‘don’t jinx it, don’t jinx it’, so we had to act medium through the whole process, but it was very exciting.

Maybe Zorn’s eyes were so big because he couldn’t believe the team owner was blowing such a huge wad of cash on one guy who can’t possibly fix what’s really wrong with the team. 

These days, Snyder seems more interested in becoming the next Al Davis.  A few more years, a lot less hair, a tasteless leather jacket, and the firing of a few more coaches, and the transition will be complete.  Maybe they’ll make a film about it and Snyder’s friend Tom Cruise can play him in the movie.  

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want Snyder to fail — I want my team to be as successful as they can be — I just don’t think this is the way to do it.  

I sure hope I’m wrong.

[Insert creepy mental image of Davis here.  I refuse to post a picture of him.]

Well, this deal should solve all of Oakland’s problems.