Tags: Chris Isaack, Derek Jeter, Jessica Alba, Jessica Biel, Michael Vick, Scarlett Johanssen
It takes someone special to knock Ashlee from the top spot on Lucy the Blog, especially on the eve of her opening.
But on this day in 1974, the Lord blessed all of us mere mortals with the gift of Derek Sanderson Jeter.
On his kickass blog, Yankee beat writer Peter Abraham recounts that a reporter once asked Jeter what the best birthday he ever had was. Jeter’s response: “Aw, you know I can’t tell you that.”
Undoubtedly, it involved finding a cure for cancer and feeding the hungry while in the midst of some ungodly sex romp with Jessica Alba, Jessica Biel, Scarlett Johansson, your mother, or any combination thereof.
And surely, his performance was clutch. For clutch is all that Derek Jeter knows.
So today, we salute you, Oh Captain, My Captain.
And may I please offer you my firstborn daughter as a gift on this monumental occassion. I know it is not much for a man of your riches, but she is all that I can give.
I would offer the wife as well, but she foolishly thinks you’re too full of yourself. I know, I know. I hate her.
Also born on this day were Chris Isaack, who gave us Helena Christensen in sand-covered black-and-white, Jason Schwartzman, who gave us Max Fischer, and Michael Vick, who sucks.
Hap-Hap-Happy Birthday to you all, from Lucy the Dog!
Tags: Marey Carey, Melky Cabrera, One Son, Peanuts
There is so much awesomeness packed into this short video; I hardly know where to begin.
Love Melky’s farmer’s tan. Love his inability to communicate with Marey Carey and his apparent indifference toward doing so.
Love the dedication with which he stuffs those peanuts in his mouth. Love his lack of a reason for picking number 28. Love his answer to, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
But mostly, I love that a little boy with nothing can come to the Big Apple from the Dominican Republic and become a New York Yankee and nail porn stars who once ran for governor of the state of California. What a country.
In short, I love Melky Cabrera. And I love America.
RELATED: I (Heart) Melky
Tags: Alfonso Soriano, The Miz, Yankees
Courtesy of Barstool Sports, my guilty pleasure destination for nip slips and local co-eds with their cleavage on display, comes this video of Alfonso Soriano at a recent WWE event.
I haven’t felt this awkward watching something since…well, actually, it wasn’t that long ago. We watched “Rachel Gets Married” on Saturday night, and that toast scene is just brutal.
Alfonso Soriano is easily one of my favorite Yankees of all-time, and I was crushed when they got rid of him in exchange for my least favorite Yankee of all-time. I don’t care if he was an inadequate fielder or if he swung at lousy pitches or whatever. I just loved him.
This video is terrible though. Apparently Alfonso’s not much of a talker. He barely spoke any English when he was with the Yankees, but you’d think he would’ve picked up a few phrases here and there in the last decade. He looks like he doesn’t even know where he is. And of all people to be dressed down by, a douche like The Miz? Get it together, Fonz.
Tags: Biz Markie, Heineken, Vomiting fantasies
Why do I love this Heineken commercial so much?
I want to hang out in a taxicab with people who wear sunglasses at night. I want to get the spins and eventually vomit on that blond chick who raps off-key.
Then we would go to a diner and each smoke 19 cigarettes before returning to our cramped Lower East Side apartment to pass out on one another. It would be wonderful, or at a pleasant change of pace from falling asleep on the couch while watching the Yankees lose again.
The closest I ever came to such a carefree, jubilant NYC taxi ride was with the Sherpa’s cousin, Daisuke, as we sang drunken but pitch-perfect harmonies to “More Than Words” by Nelson.
In hindsight, that performance was a little more gay than this Biz Markie sing-along. And the driver did not seem inclined to participate. But it was fun nonetheless. Ah, to be young again.
OH BAB-EE, YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU…GOT WHAT I NEEEEEEE-EEEEEEED…….
Tags: A-Rod, Curt Schilling's Neckfat, Melky, Yankees
The last few years have not been kind to Yankees fans. And for those of us living among the red-faced Sullys and Murphs of greater Boston, with their pink-hatted muffin-topped tramps, it’s been an even rougher ride.
Not that long ago, or so it seems, I was walking into the Evil Tribune newsroom with my chest puffed out, basking in the afterglow of Aaron Boone’s moon-shot off of Tim Wakefield. Who knew that in the days to come, they would pull up oh-so lame against the Marlins?
And who could have imagined the collapse of 2004, made worse not only by the fact that it came against the Red Sox, but by the fact that it made a legend out of chubby turd Curt Schilling. The aging process and years of soft-core drug use have made it difficult for me to generate hatred toward my fellow man. But Schilling is the exception. I will go to my grave hating that phony. I hope bad things happen to you, Curt Schilling. Very bad things.
The losing has, of course, continued, and it’s been a bit strange. Sometimes I haven’t cared as much as I thought I would because they’ve lost with some real losers. I don’t quite buy into that “true Yankee” thing. But it was never easy to root for Gary Sheffield, Randy Johnson, Kenny Lofton, Kevin Brown, Kyle Farnsworth, Carl Pavano, etc. (Some might add Jason Giambi to that list, but I always had a soft spot for Giambi simply because he didn’t seem to take himself too seriously.)
More recently there was the steroids shit, first with Roger and then with A-Rod, two Grade-A frauds right up there with Schilling. If you give all of your kids names that start with K, then it’s safe to say that you’re pretty much an asshole. And Roger is pretty much an asshole. I hate that he was a Yankee, and I hate that he won a championship with them. I hated him when he was winning and I hated him when he was losing. And most of all, I hate that he exerted his evil influence over Andy Pettite, a lovable chap who is clearly susceptible to too-good-to-be-true schemes (see: steroids and wild affection for Jesus Christ) and is also probably not too bright (see: he comes from Texas).
As for A-Rod, I had almost started to forget about him this season. And what a pleasant respite that’s been. This fruity bitch has single-handedly almost ruined baseball for me. And to think that they could’ve gotten rid of him a couple of years ago! Now we’ll have to deal with his pussy shenanigans for the next decade, including what will surely be a gloomy and torturous march toward the home run record. It’s almost too much to bear.
Thus far this season, as with every season, it’s been quite fashionable to bash the Yankees. Wang sucks ass. There was a 29 to -6 game against the Indians, or whatever the hell it was. CC has been mediocre. The bullpen has been less than mediocre, aside from Bruney and Mariano. And there’s the not-so-small matter of no one being able to afford to attend games in the new Yankee Stadium. That ocean of empty blue seats does indeed look pathetic, at least on television, which is the only way I’ll ever see it. And there doesn’t seem to be much energy at all in the stands, though hopefully that’s because it’s only April.
Yet, with all of this, I’m more excited about the Yankees than I’ve been in a long time. CC and Texeira seem like good guys, and AJ’s been far more likeable than I’d anticipated. Nick Swisher’s easy to root for. Brett Gardner remains both gutty and gritty*. And there’s not a ton of back-page drama.
But then the camera cuts to A-Rod, with his stupid purple lips, lurking in the dugout during the Tampa Bay series. Goddamn I wish this douche would just go away. I’d rather lose 162 games with Cody Ransom than win with A-Rod. But there’s still a few games before he returns, so I plan to cherish what little time remains. This weekend brings the first Red Sox series, and I can cheer unabashedly for Joba and Hideki and The Captain, without groaning each time #13’s turn comes up in the order.
As silly and trivial as sports are, it’s fun to love your team. Excluding a rabid teenage obssession with the NBA, I feel like I’m more into sports now than I ever have been. It’s one thing that still makes me feel young, and as my head gets grayer and my armpits get stinkier and Nola gets bigger, it’s nice to feel young once in a while. It’s nice to see Melky hit a walk-off homer in the 14th and celebrate at home plate like a little leaguer. It makes me feel like a little leaguer myself, except without the wetting my pants on second base part. And that’s nice.
So in summation, go Yankees. Take your time coming back, Alex. And suck it, Curt Schilling.
*If you’re into Yankee reading, you should follow the great and prolific Peter Abraham at the LoHud Yankees Blog. He will keep you updated on all that is gutty and gritty about Brett Gardner.
Tags: Boston Marathon, Guns for Ganja, Lucy the Blog Relaunch, Red Sox
Today is Marathon Day here in greater Boston.
This means that the EZ Ride Shuttle does not operate. And that means that I had to take the subway to work.
Which means that I saw lots and lots of bloated Red Sox fans drinking Dunkin’ Donuts ice coffee en route to getting tanked at the Caskon Flagon, or whatever it’s called, prior to the first pitch at 11:05 AM.
Why are they so bloated, these Red Sox fans? We know they are retarded, but the same can be said of most sports fans, including those of our dear New York Yankees. But Red Sox Nation is without question the most fattiest of all nations. Imagine what those Fenway bathrooms will look like by today’s final out, following hours of iced coffee and beer. Absolutely vile. And certainly, a handful of these neandrethals will be riding my train home this evening, nice and boozy.
(On a semi-related sidenote, I was taking a leak at North Station last weekend, and a drunk guy in the stall was LOUDLY singing Joni Mitchell’s “You Turn Me On (I’m a Radio)” during an equally loud bowel movement. A true mash-up if ever there was one.)
Elsewhere in town, people are running very long distances. This is something I would like to do myself some day, though not really. Instead, I would settle for someday being the type of person who wants to run a marathon some day. But even that is unlikely. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, after all.
Finally, happy 4/20 to all you potheads out there. You really need to give that shit up though. Seriously, grow up. It’s kinda pathetic.
To help you toward that end, while honoring Patriot’s Day and the soft relaunch of Lucy the Blog, today we announce a public safety initiative designed to sweep soft-core drugs off the street. We’re calling it “Ganja for Guns.”
All you need to do is drop off any amount of unused marijuana at Lucy the Dog’s home, and she will personally issue you a brand new firearm. That’s it; no questions asked.
So let’s get those drugs out of our neighborhoods, people, and into the secure paws of Lucy the Dog. Immediately. Post haste. Please. For the kids.
Tags: Kei Igawa, meatballs, Yankees
We’re supposed to get more snow tonight and that makes us even more ornery. But wait!
If we can just be patient, March is only a day away!
And if March is a day away, that means Yankee baseball time is upon us. That, dear readers, warrants excitement. Hells yeah.
So we will exercise patience where the calendar is concerned. This stretch of unpleasantness is almost behind us. And the quest for 27 is underway.
But we will not be patient with you, Kei Igawa. In today’s spring training exhibition, the Yankees were cruising with a 9-0 lead heading into the sixth inning against the formidable University of South Florida South Floridians.
At that point, Igawa took the mound to pick up where he left off last season, pounding the
strike zone area outside the strike zone before serving up a meatball to Eric Baumann for a grand slam.
For those of you keeping score at home, that’s one hit, two walks, one hit batsman, one wild pitch, and a lean 36.00 ERA over one inning of work on this young season.
I know it’s early, but I think I’ve seen enough of Kei Igawa. So either squirt some Rocket juice up his ass, or let’s cut our losses now. It’s only a $47 million investment, Cash. I’ll buy an extra hot dog next time I’m at the Stadium.
God it feels good to be an unreasonable and obnoxious fan again. Baseball season is back, baby. And it’s Friday. So do what you feel!
Tags: A-Rod getting jacked, Yankee witch hunt by corrupt Sox employee
UPDATE: I should have titled this post Schauden-froid Rage.
But at least we have confirmation that Roger Clemens is, indeed, the biggest phony in sports. Even worse than A-Rod.
The Pettitte thing saddens me. But I should’ve known better than to trust and love a Texan and born-again Christian.
Of course, at the end of the day I don’t give a shit.
And if it means they return to championship form, then get on the junk, boys. You especially, Moose. You looked pretty tired last season, and we’re gonna need a fifth starter. Don’t pay with a check.
Worst. Steroids Investigation. Ever.
As a result, there’s been little of the wisdom and hilarity you’ve come to hope for at Lucy the Blog. And much of the inconsistency and YouTube space filler that you’ve come to expect.
Today you get more of the same. Here’s a clip I just ran across of Bernie Williams rocking out with the Allman Brothers. What’s remarkable about this video is how cool Bernie looks. Perhaps it’s the mushrooms. But check out how pleased he is with his little solo at the 50 second mark. Look at the guns! That is one cool cat.
While I love him dearly, this may be the only time I’ve said those words while looking at Bernie Williams. And for a black dude, or even for one of those Latin American dudes who looks black, it’s pretty much impossible to not look cool. Most of them have it easy. In fact, a 2002 Brookings Institution study concluded that the only non-cool blacks of the 20th century were Bernie, Condoleeza Rice, Allen Keyes, Roj, and the guy who throws a javelin in “Revenge of the Nerds”.
Apparently those Brookings folk don’t spend much time at the Beacon. Because Bernie may have looked lame and sometimes even confused in his playing days. He may have looked like a complete tool when he whiffed at a pitch and ended up stuck in that awkward, crouched posture. And he may have even worn Coke bottle glasses early in his career.
But during this moment on stage, Bernie was cool as can be. And also during this moment on stage, specifically at the 2:35-ish mark, Warren Haynes finds something in his hair.
More of Bernie tearing shit up here: Part II
Like I’ve been saying all along. I love A-Rod.
He is a True Yankee.
And there’s no one else I would rather see at third base.
ESPN: Yanks talking to A-Rod
And check out my mad Microsoft Paint skillz, yo! —————->