Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Gravlax and the revenge of the bugs, chowda...

That's me slicing gravlax at a party. This will get me to almost drowning in the North Atlantic in a circuitous way. The Nordic delicacy is one of my favorites, and there were too many vegetarians hanging around so I jumped in and did the deed. Funny, I saw some of the aforementioned vegetarians glomming the salmon as the liquor flowed and the phrase, "I sometimes eat fish", came into play. Those are what I call "beady eyed vegetarians"...they eat fish and chicken. Then, of course there are the "no-eyed" vegetarians that eat stuff like conch and eggs (especially if the eggs are in a particularly good dessert). But hey, I'm an omnivore with a heavy lean toward the vegetable side. I get into some terrific discussions with vegetarians about wearing leather and cow flatulence blowing holes in the ozone layer. I fully believe that last statement, but what would we do with cows? I haven't been to India, but I saw the movie. There are some major problems with cow shit there. Problems like these are more complex than the economy.

So, the place where I trucked lobster in the seventies (remember me passing the kidney stone in a cramped bathroom in an earlier post? 9/28), had us filleting salmon when the bug (Maine for lobster) business was slow. Hence, the gravlax connection. It was a really early start down there at the bottom of Main Street in Belfast, Maine. We left early, before dawn, touring the coast of Maine picking up crates of bugs. It was an amazing thing to be cruising down east (check the map of Maine for an explanation of that term) before dawn, sometimes I thought I was the first guy in the continental USA to see the sun rise...even if I was somewhat bleary-eyed most of the time. I had some hard nights in those days, actually some hard days too.

One December morning, before the sun rose they were playing way too many Beatles's songs on the radio. Before they said it I figured one of them had died. As the sun came up on the way to Prospect Harbor I learned that John Lennon had been shot. I wasn't a fan, but the tears ran anyway. I'll never forget, I got out of the truck near Bucksport to take a leak and could feel the frozen tears on my face. It was a shitty morning.

But not as shitty as the time I fell in the water, off the pier in Prospect Harbor, in January! They say you have a few minutes in those kinds of waters, but I was having none of that. My knee high, steel tipped rubber boots were filling up, but I was swimming like Mark Spitz. Donnie, the guy who ran the lobster pound just happened to be in his house (right where the pier started) when I lost my balance hoisting a one hundred pound crate (that's net, the crate itself probably weighed another thirty pounds) and went ass-over-tea kettle into the drink. I had on long johns, jeans, a long underwear shirt, a flannel shirt, rubber gloves and a down vest that was duct taped together like a patchwork quilt. All of it made it out of the water with me as I somehow scrambled up the ladder to the pier.

By then I was screaming for Donnie and running to his house. He took one look at me, dragged me into his living room and told me to strip everything off. I was quickly naked and he was stuffing my stuff into a dryer in the mud room. He had given me a wool blanket to wrap myself in, nonetheless I felt like a human popsicle. It was then that I noticed his three daughters were sitting around the kitchen table at the opposite end of the room. They were pretty big, they introduced themselves and one went and got me one of their gigantic, terry cloth robes. Still shaking they poured me a hot coffee while we gathered around the kitchen table. Donnie went out and finished loading my truck while I made small talk with the daughters.

Now this was way down east Maine in the seventies. These girls hadn't seen a long-haired, hippie freak (let alone nude!) too often, maybe once or twice up in the big city, Bangor. They just looked at me and asked every once in a while if I was okay. They heated up some fish chowder, that's "chowdah", as we listened to all my shit tumble in the dryer. I think Donnie was thinking I might take a fancy to one of them, but it wasn't happening.

I finally got dressed, thanked them all profusely, got the receipt for the lobsters from Donnie and headed out to my truck. Donnie had it all warmed up, with the heat blasting...I had to drive with just my socks on because my boots weren't going to be dry for a while. I fished an emergency doobie out of the glove compartment and started the two plus hour drive back to Belfast, still freezing my ass off. It took days and a lot of liquor to warm me up.

When I got back to the shop I had to call a guy back into work (no cell phones in those days) to help me unload. I had him bring me his extra boots. He also brought a pint of Jim Beam for me to start the defrosting process in earnest. The boss came by, he wasn't much for heavy labor and asked us, "Hey there's some salmon in the cooler, you two want to fillet some tonight?" In perfect synchronization were both spat out "f... you."

So, I love gravalax, but whenever I see it that trip often comes to mind. That lobster pound has a million stories, like the time my buddy Leo flipped the truck in Rumsford, and there were bugs all over Route 2...but that's for another time.

Later, biff

Sunday, November 16, 2008

No pizzaz and Yaz...

All right, a thousand kudos to those of you who have labored in corporate America for long than ten minutes! I just did it for a week and feel like I have mono, a hangover, dengue fever and double vision! I am out of gas. In an effort to keep up with my other temporary data stewards I just kept working, almost all day long. On the computer at nine, with a dazzling slowness in operating it, and off at five feeling like I just played defensive tackle for a 0-10 college football team. I did have a few cups of tea and an apple or two. I went home at night and tried to eat 4,00 calories of anything to recover. Let's see if I make it through next week. Once again, for all you people with real jobs (something I'm really not familiar with after fifty some years of working, hats off! But get this, I can now use a mouse with my index and middle finger! There's something to tell the grand kid about!



While writing that piece on Keith Richards I thought of some of the worst people I had to deal with in the somewhat non-corporate world I've inhabited. Working in a medium-fine dining clam shack on the coast of Maine I came across one of my worst for a multitude of reasons. It wasn't that he was more than a considerable pain-in-the-ass, I couldn't stand the people he was involved with...the Boston Red Sox. Yet, being in Maine he was revered like royalty because he was, bow down now, Yaz. Carl Yastrzemski, who was then the recently retired left fielder of the Beantown ball club. The odd thing was that he wasn't as recognizable as he thought he should be. Being the manger at the time he gave me a small list of requests; he wanted to be seated immediately (there was an hour wait), in a Sopranos like corner table, no one was to come up to his table and, get this, he would give me one autograph. Like I wanted one! (I satisfied that offer by getting him to sign something for one of my son's friends, who turned it into a shrine of some sort in really rural Maine). So Yaz ensconces himself at his table with his wife or girlfriend and starts filling up the ashtray. The man could smoke like Gary, Indiana. The poor waitress spent most of her time dumping his butts. He grumbled and growled his orders,"See an empty glass, bring another drink," I paraphrase. I kept an eye on the table, making sure he wasn't rushed like Elvis at a concert, like I think he was hoping. The food was of a secondary nature...smoking and drinking was his dining experience. When he left, leaving a shitty tip I might add, you could tell he wasn't comfortable with his lack of recognition. I made a salutary comment about his meal, and wasn't even given the courtesy of a reply. I know Carl didn't come from the greatest of backgrounds, he grew up on a potato farm on the eastern end of Long Island before it became McMansion Central for the rich and famous summer people and his Dad drove him pretty hard...but you'd think he'd have compassion for the little people. My thought was that he might be just having a bad day, but his countenance was confirmed by other restaurateurs I came across later in life.

You know the Red Sox have had a great line of left fielders; Williams, Yaz, Jim Rice and Manny. Jason Bay isn't ready for election into that pantheon. I've met them all but Manny. The pariah of the bunch, in Boston, is Jim Rice. I spent a day with him during Spring Training, and guess what, he was one of the most cordial celebrities I've ever met...and all he wanted to do was talk baseball. I could write all day on why he should be in the Hall of Fame.

Maybe next time I'll tell you about another job in Maine...like the time I fell into the North Atlantic loading lobsters into a truck, in January. I took the week off in the prognostication department after last week's four winners and one cover...but I probably would've suggested Alabama this week, but that's called betting the "red board".

Later, biff

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Score, the law and Bama...

I''ll always remember that night in May of 1957 was Cleveland fireballer Herb Score was hit in the face by the Yankeees Gil McDougal. I was a kid in bed listening to the game on a school night. I was a really passionate Indians fan, and h....(I can't stand to use that word, I reserve it for Hitler and diseases) the Yankees. I knew from the crack of the bat, I swear I could hear the ball hit Score's orbit bone. Even as a pre-teen I knew, I knew Score would never be the same. Luckily he lead a great life after his career was over.

I started a mind-numbing job for a law firm (temporary) this week as a data steward. Not bad money, but it doesn't make me want to jump on this computer after seven hours of looking for lawyers, companies, CPA's and legal minutia. I'll be okay, but me inside the bowels of an old white shoe law firm is comical, if you think about it.

My prognostications last week were dismal...all teams win, but only one cover...that was Alabama, and I will ride them into the BCS. Of course they will most likely have to get past Tim Tebow and the Gators in the SEC Championship, but I love their defense. Gnarly old farm bred boys up front and guys that run like my old greyhound in the secondary. We'll see.

The Jets will lose tonight, although they are probably the better team on paper...but the serpentine intangible, Bill Bellichek, looms like a crappy winter around here. My vision is Favre throwing throwing a hail Mary as time runs out...

Okay, back with some more of the book soon. Bear with me while I catch my breath at this new job, AND, how about those Knicks and Rangers! Later, biff

Saturday, November 8, 2008

So, You think you've had a weird job?

Odd jobs have a different meaning for me. I'm am the classic factotum. Please, someday, read Charles Bukowski's book, Factotum, especially if you grew up with any comforts of middle class at all. I was young and couldn't stay still. I'd been that way since the first time I ran away from home at the age of four. I had a small collection of belongings wrapped in a bandanna that was tied to a pole slung over my shoulder. Classic hobo of the forties, now known as homeless or something more derogatory. I made it about a half of a mile from my great uncles house when the cops found me. Not far, but I had my first on the road experience before Jack Kerouac wrote the book.

Then he wrote the book (1957). I was hooked and unfortunately I had a ready made partner in crime; we'll call him PB, for pin-bladder...he had to pee after every beer. We hitch-hiked from Greenwich, CT to Cape Cod when we were fourteen. That was the first time there was ever an APB out on me. I didn't know until quite a bit later, but that trip should have scared the road out of my ass pronto! We were picked up by a couple of exceptionally drunk transvestites in the middle of the night, and thought they were older babes coming on to us. The term "cougar" was a half of a century away from daily use. I'll spare those details, but we managed to escape unscathed. We spent the night after that under route 128, way under. The next day we hitched home, having completely avoided the All Points Bulletin. Aside from being more knowledgeable about the variances of sexuality (don't you love that Billy Bragg song?) our appetites for hitching were whetted beyond belief. It would be interesting to know the amount of miles PB and I hitch-hiked over the years. Times were different, that mode of travelling was still viable. I digress, but you couldn't hitch-hike on Maui in the sixties, but, if you sat at the side of the road, reading a book, that was the signal that you needed a ride.


Back to the oddest job. The summer of my nineteenth year I had a rather pedestrian position as a laundry truck driver. I guess it wasn't pedestrian because I was driving. I drove this clumsy step van filled with paper wrapped laundry through the wealthy back country of Greenwich. Everything from ball gowns to jockey shorts. It wasn't a hard job...until I took my first turn, then the load shifted, everything was out of order, and delivering the proper sheets to the proper house became a problem. I generally turned a six or seven hour job into ten. The best times were showing up at some gabled mansion...and not having a thing in the truck for them. Back-tracking, and trading packages with maids was really tough, and embarrassing. The part of the job that was scary, were the dogs. There were no electric fences in the sixties, but there were big, scary ass dogs. Little ones too. I always had a big box of Milkbones by my side and it was a sight to see me running, with the laundry on my shoulder, throwing handfuls of biscuits at canines that were trying to attach themselves to my leg before I made it to the house. But that wasn't the odd job.


By this time PB and I had Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarity ( On the Road's main characters) fully ingrained in our subconscious. We were in a bar in Port Chester, New York one night and we must have been itching for a road trip. I said to PB, "If this song (Like a Rolling Stone) comes on the juke box again, we're going to Dayton , Ohio." Sure. Well, sure enough, it did and we went home to get a limited amount of fresh clothes, leave notes for our parents and split. The Dayton part was due to a woman that I knew, not particularly well, but she had said to me that she wouldn't mind a visit if I was in the area. At that time people who lived in New England weren't in Ohio that often. So we headed out for Dayton.


One really sad (or hilarious) oversight; it was Saturday night, and my laundry truck was fully loaded in the back yard for Monday's deliveries. My step-father, in his Brooks Brother's suit and brogans had to drive the truck down to the laundry on Monday morning. We've never talked about it at length, but it isn't one of his better memories.


So PB and I were on the road by about one AM. I had a VW bug by the time, so we weren't thumbing it. Along the Pennsylvania Turnpike PB quoted directly from Road, "We're ballin' that jack..." Not quite like Sal and Dean in their great American behemoth of a vehicle, but we were going down the road on four wheels. Early in the morning we were sideswiped, I was crumpled up and asleep in the back, the passenger door was tied shut for a long time. Not a great impression when we landed in Ohio. The Dayton part was sort of disaster, well, not sort of. My woman friend fixed up PB and we went to a down club in Dayton, Little Mickey's Twist Palace. It was a great place, but a bit raw for country club girls. We lasted a couple of days, and were back on the road.

What to do next? We were too old for our parents to put out APB's, and going home voluntarily was out of the question. But, we didn't have the balls, or money to complete a cross country run. So we did what came naturally, we went to Cleveland. I'm and Indians fan, and PB had friends there. Drinking eighty-nine cent six packs from the super market and twenty-five cent hot dogs from street vendors we we coming perilously close to running out of money. Somebody said you can always get a job at Lake George, New York, so we filled the car with gas and beer and headed to Buffalo where PB had some more friends. He specialized in having friends in the rust belt in those days.

And that's where we ran out of money. I rememeber spending my last, what thirty-five, fifty cents on a bottle of cheap beer in a smokey bar in downtown Buffalo. Bumming cigarettes was our only source of anything at the moment. PB's friends were broke too. Then somebody came said they found us some work...as professional pall bearers! Have any of you ever even heard of that job? I don't even remember Kerouac or Cassidy even tackling that type of employment.

The deal was this. Lynettes Funeral Home in Buffalo was having two funerals the next day and they needed a few strong arms to bury a couple of nuns. And they were willing to pay us six dollars each for two burials! A veritable jackpot for PB and myself, we'd get to Lake George with money to spare (it was the early sixties), and get some jobs.

It went off with just a couple of minor problems. Both PB and I had to wear ill-fitting winter, dark suits that we borrowed from his friends on the sweltering Saturday afternoon. And I fumbled the Holy Water trying to hand it off to the priest during the second internment. Other than that our careers as professional pall-bearers went well, and we retired.

More gas, more beer and the crippled car headed for Lake George. We made it and worked the summer there, and believe me, it was also another Sal and Dean experience. We started out living in a disabled '57 Dodge convertible (the bug was just too small for double occupancy) outside of a bar, and it went up and down hill from there.

Maybe sometime I'll tell you about training rhesus monkeys (don't worry, it didn't last long, the anti-vivisection got to me quickly, one again, it WAS the sixties) on behavioural apparatus for a management consulting firm in Boston...later, biff

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Miles,Obama, CC, Maine women, foxes?

So goes the nation...nah. My guest writer's state is as good a prognosticator as I am.

All right, back from delivering the monster (in size) dog to Florida. We took what seemed like the longest route possible from Vermont to Florida. We actually went through Scranton, PA and Charlotte, NC. While in Charlotte we stopped to see an old friend who actually lives next to NASCAR driver Greg Biffle. Too bad I couldn't have met him, you know the old, "Mr Biffle meet biff " gag. Lowest gas price paid was $2.07 in Georgia. I couldn't get a fake beer (NA) at most of our stops south of Virginia. One thing I noticed was the lack of signage considering it was a presidential election year. I'm sure people were stealing the Obama signs as soon as they went up...and they'll be on ebay soon. It was a tremendously long drive, but it was beautiful in our destination, Coconut Grove. Though obviously off season the economy's lack of energy was quite evident. Outside cafe tables were way too empty even for early November, and closed store fronts were obvious. It's a live (gag) Jimmy Buiffet song when the tourists aren't around. You know, the rigging of the sailboats serenading the gulls, and there seems to be more flip-flops per capita anywhere other than a college campus. But it's not the seventies, when I lived there; too many white table cloths, Prada and designer sunglasses. And, not a whiff of pachouli.

We new Obama would win..but I'm a little suspicious about how quickly W put the olive branch out for the transition. First time we've seen the guy in quite some time. Can anyone remember a more lame duck president?

All the news of Sarah Palin being a pain-in-the ass to her handlers doesn't come as a surprise, but the fact that she thought Africa was a nation is quite hard to swallow. I guess it came up when she asked if South Africa was part of Africa or a separate nation. The sale of "Palin in 2012" tee-shirts were on sale in Wasilla, Alaska...but I think she's going to remembered more like Dan Quayle in a skirt.

McCain was gracious in defeat...but if I had a tree to sit under near Sedona, AZ to contemplate life, I promise, even I could be gracious.

I really wish Obama had picked Bill Bradley as vice president...unbeatable White House basket- ball team. I know Obama played on his Hawaiian High School state championship basketball team in 1979, but I would like to know if he started or how much he played? I wonder who was the best athlete to occupy the top job? Ford played football at Michigan and Bush the elder started at first base for Yale.

The first time I was aware of Obama was when my wife wrote an article about him for Black History month in February 2007. It's amazing that the campaign has been going on almost that long. Don't you think there should be a time limit on running for office?

The Prop 8 defeat was such a drag...who gives a shit who marries? My brother told me one of the 26 props in San Francisco was to name a dump after George W. Bush. It was defeated, but it's more amazing that it was on the ballot.

Okay, my guess is most of you are happy about the election, but what a mess this man has to clean up. Clinton let me down on some issues (gays in the military, for one), but he didn't step into the quagmire that's facing the president elect.

The Knicks have won two games. I'm amazed. The NBA has been great so far...but none of you care.

The Yankees, according to New York sports radio, are going to offer C C Sabathia (he has asked for the periods to be dropped from his C's) thirty million a year. I can't believe it, but I always have been in favor of athletes getting what they can. I'd rather them have the money than the owners. I figure it gets back into the economy quicker that way. After all, how many guys that have made millions in professional sports are broke? It's sad, but most of that money went directly into the economy...not into the ether of the stock market. Sabathia has said he'd rather stay on the west coast, and in the National League so he can hit...but thirty million a year? The Dodgers have offered Manny a large contract...I suggest he take it. He's invisible in LA. The NFL salaries were listed in the USA Today and Ben Rothlisberger makes $27,701,920 this year.

Tell me women aren't tough in Maine. A female jogger near Presque Isle ran with a rabid fox gripping her arm for a mile to her car! Then she pried the jaws of the fox open and threw it in her truck! She then went directly to a hospital for repairs and have the fox tested...oy!

College football has come down to the BCS arguments. My Missouri friends, you gotta lay the 27 points over K State and THEIR lame duck coach. And Rice, who averages about forty points a game, has to beat Army by more than eleven, no? Colorado should cover (9 and 1/2) over Iowa State and I like Alabama giving LSU three and a half. Way too many predictions this week.

It's full on ugly fall here in Connecticut...rain, fog and arthritis inspiring dampness...I did see some Christmas crap going up...but I won't get started on that...too soon...later, biff

Friday, October 31, 2008

as Missouri goes, so goes the nation...

Hi loyal followers of the BiffBlog! The old man is still cruising down I-95, so the youngun gets to guest post for a while. No worries, though, I've been promised on-the-road updates, which will then of course be put up here.

Anyway, it's Saturday, and that, of course, means utter college football madness. This particular Saturday was without question a truly epic one--for multiple reasons, but mainly because of the Texas-Texas Tech game. I would describe it here, but really, it's something that needs to be seen (ESPN's highlight reel is at this link: http://sports.espn.go.com/broadband/video/videopage?videoId=3677736&categoryId=2378529&n8pe6c=2). Suffice to say that Tech beat a number one team for the first time in their history, and a minute-thirty on the clock is just way too much time to start slacking off on defense. Mack Brown, of all people, should know this--he's the one who beat USC in the '06 Rose Bowl with 19 seconds left.

In other exciting news around the conferences, Rice clinched bowl eligibility (this'll never get top billing in other media outlets, so I'm giving the event its due right here and now), Michigan clinched a losing season in a last-minute fall to Purdue, Florida stomped all over Georgia in a cold-blooded act of revenge (I want to see the new Heisman rankings, even though I suspect McCoy will still be leading), and the Huskers got shucked by the Sooners. ESPN, that master of self-promotion, floods the airwaves with Monday Night Football reminders throughout these games, but frankly, I find the college game infinitely more exciting and interesting than that of the pros (and to think I didn't even pay attention to it until, well, I got to college). The rivalries are more intense, the plays and players less refined and more gritty--football started at the college level, and it's here, still, that the game is best watched.

However, Chris Berman is interviewing McCain and Obama during the MNF halftime show, which is something definitely worth watching.

Sen. Obama spoke at Mizzou this past Thursday to a crowd of about 40,000 people, of which I was one. I had seen him earlier this winter, when he was still campaigning for the primaries in Texas, but to have a presidential candidate come to your school in the waning days of election season...well. That's something entirely different. The speech he gave was much more focused than his Houston talk, zeroing in on the economy (no surprises there), and encouraging all to go out and vote on Tuesday. I know the audience for this blog is not quite at 40,000 yet, but I'll do the same on that latter issue. VOTE. Please. You can't complain about the government, be it Democratic or Republican, unless you cast a ballot. My excitement levels over the election probably have a lot to do with this being only the second time I've been able to participate, but I hope they don't decrease in the future. Having spent the past couple weeks working on a research paper detailing apartheid policies, I appreciate all the more my right to have a say in how things are run. It's not something to take for granted--I don't buy the "principled non-voting" argument. Plus, you get the "I Voted Today" sticker!

Stepping down from the soapbox, here's to an extra hour of sleep tonight! Peace out, and look for a Biff update in the near future :)

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Phillies win the World Series...in Vegas, Goodbye tomatoes, feet...

I had the last yellow heirloom tomato of the summer today for breakfast on an asiago bagel. Karen's extraordinary green thumb produced over seventy-five pounds of delicious tomatoes this year. Along with, peppers, grapes, arugula and squash. With her flower garden being like a botanical garden there isn't too much room for vegetables. Current economy trends may change the proportions next summer.

How many people know that the World Series is over in Las Vegas? Not really, but they paid off the Phillies bet from the rain-out. According to a twenty year old rule, an official game is an official game. In a three inning game you have to bet the Phillies, right? The Phils get four at bats to the Devil Rays three. I still like the Devil Rays. Truly, this proves Las Vegas is a different country. I haven't been there since Meyer Lansky was alive. Karen wants to go, I'm fending her off as long as I can. Her Grandmother, an all-time gambler told me a few years before she passed away, "It's like Disneyland now, too many kids." I prefer the back alley casinos in the Dominican Republic that friends of mine took me to decades ago. There's a great one in San Jose, Costa Rica, the Hotel Delray...Rick's (Casablanca) without the tuxedos. I talk about gambling a lot for a guy who makes about six team sports bets a year. I find college football the easiest team sport to bet. I really like those giant spreads...but generally fail to act on them. By the way, I'm really not a big fan of this team, Notre Dame looks nice laying 5 and 1/2 at home against Pittsburgh. Rice fans, one more win and you're bowl eligible (you've got Army down the road)...they're a live one giving UTEP 2 and 1/2. To my Colorado friends, spoilers, that's their fate for the rest of the season. But hey, the good times will be rolling at the Sink as usual...according to alumni from Maine who have been out there lately. I wish I had a friend from say, Harvard, wait, I do...one of my kid's best friends is a grad, and their QB, Chris Pizotti looks like another NFL possibility. The friend played in the band, one of the most entertaining in collegiate sports. Memory pause; 1962, NFL Giants halftime entertainment, the Florida A & M marching band, a fantastic show. Ivy League betting takes a much better handicapper than me. I went to a Crimson game a few years ago, it's one of those weird deals, the games are much better live...the TV production leaves something to be desired. I worked in New Haven during one of Calvin Hill's seasons, a great pro running back. I also saw Dick Jauron play DB there. He's now doing a good job coaching the upstart Buffalo Bills. Will they beat the Pats in that division? Incredible, the Patriots are 5-2 after losing numerous starters to injury this season. Tom Brady might be the best QB in my lifetime. Hopefully this injury and the attendant complications will not leave him permanently off his game. Begrudgingly, you must give Bill Belechik credit. When Brady went down I think the Jets started printing playoff tix...maybe a bit too soon. Seems like Favre wants to play one way, and it's not head coach Mangini's. In watching them, my impression is that he (Favre) feels he has to win the games himself...and in heroic fashion. The poor old guy has certainly been on his ass a lot this year, and the interceptions just keep coming at the wrong times. Will THEY make the playoffs...NO. He did bring them back nicely against the hapless (Jim...) Chiefs.

I know I'm the only NBA fan left in this country, but the Celtics/Cavs game was great. I think in a few years Lebron James will be compared favorably with Michael Jordan...but the rings, he has to win. Paul Pierce always amazes me too, but his talents are a lot more subtle. He has that not-made-for-the-NBA body that fools you. Kobe Bryant was his workman-like self in the late game. I guess Oden will be up there in the Rookie of a the Year tally... oops he got hurt again last night. Sam Bowie ring a bell? Must be a problem with big and feet in Portland, though they did win with Bill Walton's terrible tootsies. I really want to see O. J. Mayo, he'll probably be in the hunt.

Okay I'll be leaving with the giant dog (not a wager, a real mastiff) and the little buddy from Vermont tomorrow. Luckily the snowstorm already passed through our route...friggin' snow in Pennsylvania...middle of October, that ain't right. I will try and be in touch, but we will be doing some serious driving. Karen may sub for me with recipe's and moaning about the Red Sox, she's quite shy though.

I'm a little dissapointed Obama is taking out those infomercials tonight. I understand he has campaign money to burn, seems like overkill. I'd rather see a large donation to a needy organization...that would be a great political advertisement...but maybe it isn't legal. Either way, I implore you all to vote for the man of your choice. Michelle, out of mothballs, filled in nicely (if not briefly) while Barack visited with his grandmother in Hawaii. I wonder where their vacation spot (outside of Camp David) will be? Anyone know? Be nice if they just took two weeks, with pay, of course.

May all your Halloween treats be gooey, later, biff

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Peace, the Price is Right...

Okay, a lot of cogent commentary has come out of the horse racing issue from; you can't just do things about "the worst things" to "what happens to the horses if there is no racing." I just wish I could come up with a subject that would bring this kind of discussion to the table more frequently. I truly respect all opinions, and I know I've been wrong on many issues (three marriages for a five star example), so we will continue fresh now. Unless anyone else...nah. Read the comments from that post, they're all well thought out.

How in the hell could major league baseball have screwed up more with this World Series? Choosing to play in the weather they have chosen, and the umpiring, oy! You HAVE NOT heard this here first, but this year's World Series will always be remembered for those last two factors...does anyone really know a TRUE Phillies or Devil Rays fan. I have a wide range of friends and acquaintances, and at the moment I can't think of one. Well there is one guy in Florida, but I'm sure he was an Indians fan first. The strike zones have been widely varied, and that call at third, well the whole world could see that one BEFORE the replay. Being an umpire, I'm questioning my self! Now there's a possibility that the World Series will end up with a three inning mini-game, but those are the rules. I'm all for the current system, but does anybody think the Series should be played in a warm weather or domed site? That would be too much to take...it's not the Super Bowl, which is slowly turning into a national holiday. Unfortunately, too close to Martin Luther King Day.

If your are seriously into the psychology of the psychotic (there's a pleasant topic) read The Thrill of it All by Simon Braatz. It's about the famous Leopold and Loeb case of the 1920's, a little slow at times, but as I stated before a great glimpse into the period also. I have no extra fascination with murder, but how the mind works...I've spent a lot of the past five years trying to figure out how this one works. I go to bed a lot of nights wondering where space ends. I'm hitting the road soon with a friend, and must pack some very light reading.

I truly fear for Obama. It's hard even to type those words. I listened to a secret service agent on NPR, and it was chilling. The white supremacists, skinheads...whatever, are real. You've all heard about the recent plan by the two idiots who were going to attempt to assassinate Obama and kill 88 kids. I'm not trying to be redundant here, but the 88 thing...HH...the eighth letter in the alphabet...sixty some years later that misogynist Hitler still has influence at this level! Time does not heal all wounds quickly enough.

On a lighter note, how about Ted Stevens, Alaska, Republican congressman getting what he deserved for taking bribes...including a Viking grill! Did it come with a spatula and all the trimmings? I heard Gov Palin's take on the deal, but it didn't make any sense. He was also the prime mover on the "bridge to nowhere". Who am I'm kidding, thinking a new regime in Washington is going to change anything. It all goes back to the old saw, why would someone spend millions to get a job that pays thousands.

They just officially cancelled tonight's continuation of the World Series. Good deal for both teams. The Devil Rays only have to win a three inning game, and the Phillies can bring back Hamels if there is a seventh game. The Devil Rays have to throw their best pitcher tomorrow night...Garza will need more rest, so roll out the rookie Price.

Ask not what your country can do for you...ask who's running it...later, biff

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Loser at BCUP, Horse Racing Horrific? How about the rest of the world...

Please go the the comments page of my 10/24 post for the most eloquent descriptions, good and bad, about the sport of horse racing. For the record I lost $19.80 (the first race exacta I had yesterday paid twice as much, they showed the one dollar price on the results screen) on fourteen combination bets ($56.00). But I hope you all took Missouri and laid the 23 and 1/2 points. I feel sorry for those Buff grads out there...just like when we play cribbage.

Someone actually said horse racing was the most horrific sport taking place in the world today! Even allowing for a modicum of hyperbole...you've gotta be shittin' me! Let's see, in bullfighting I think the all-time record is Bulls 7-Bull Fighters-10, 876,012. There's a sport where the object of the game is to taunt a bull to death by a guy dressed up like Madonna in her third wardrobe change at a concert in the seventies. Let's see, then there's deer hunting, when was the last time a deer won one of those matches? Fishing? Except for Jaws and The Deadliest Catch (Palin's husband) I think the fish have been losing since since the Geico guy started angling during caveman times. I guess a rodeo or two beats a non-stop flight to the slaughterhouse. Another great one is trapping...but they make that one out to be a commercial venture; but I know guys who do it for fun in Maine. You know, the head on the wall, and a nice stole for the old lady. They do a lot of wrong things for fun up there. I could go on-and-on about worse sports, but you get the picture.

Not to belabor this, the best explanation is on the 10/24 comments page, but what would happen to the thoroughbred breed if there was no horse racing? I actually know one couple who actually keep horses for pets. They don't ride them, and in fact there was a time my buddy would take his pony for a ride in his convertible. Long ago, big car, small pony. As with greyhounds, I put my rescued treasure Flame (crappy racer, gate shy, all-world pet) down last October; what would happen to these breeds? Within two hundred years they would be added to the endangered species list. You see we don't need horses for anything anymore, though we may if we can't figure out the fossil fuel issues in the world. And please, please don't tell me about show horses! They are treated worse than any race horse...and they're so valuable, that when they just begin to fade some unscrupulous owners hook them up to a twelve volt car battery and collect the insurance! Well documented. And just think about how they train jumpers. If horse racing ended tomorrow what would they do with the horses? The thought is harrowing. Oh yeah, if you feel you'd like to adopt one, be prepared to add a couple of car payments a month to your budget for feed and upkeep.

I worked with horses in the early seventies. I saw both sides of the fence (pun intended) on the issue. I loved the four horses I took care of as a groom. Before dawn they would come alive and anticipate the day ahead. On non-racing days they'd be taken to the track for a workout, excuse the cliche, but chomping at the bit. While they were gone I'd clean their stalls, not a turd in sight when they returned, and their bedding was fluffed like a king-sized at the Ritz-Carleton. The exercise rider would bring them back from the track for a nice bath, brushing and a rubdown with a comforting, stimulating liniment. Then a hot walker would walk them for forty-five minutes or so and they returned to their stall for a great meal that included alfalfa and molasses. Some days they would get a pedicure from the farrier. Some would even be turned out to graze. And man, could they sleep! The schedule was different on race day, but they were still treated like the kings and queens they were. I always had treats in my pocket that ranged from carrots to sugar cubes.

I am not quite naive enough to believe all horses and dogs are treated this way. I know there are nasty training methods and disastrous accidents that occur. (At this year's Breeder's Cup the new poly surface resulted in not one major on-track injury. It was also without steroids for the first time, but the average defensive lineman uses more steroids than a horse, and that's a fact!) But both breeds have been bred to do what they love the most...run like the wind. I know a horse knows when he wins. His demeanor coming back to the barn is the greatest indicator, a winner prances head held high, a loser tears up his tickets all the way to the waiting hot walker. I also realize that both sports need more regulation (and they both bring much needed money into state's coffers), but what in society as we have built it doesn't need more regulation? Apologies to the Libertarians...if only the world could really work that way...responsibility, respect and the golden rule. Ain't happen'.

I love horses and dogs. I'm driving a one hundred and forty pound mastiff to Florida on Thursday. He'll be in the back of capped a pick-up that the owner has turned into and overly plush, padded pimp-palace on wheels. (While we're at it shouldn't we spend more time on correcting societies ills on white-slavery, etc?)

Travel through Kentucky and Florida and view the pastures with weanlings and their Moms galloping around free as the wind. Would you rather have more golf courses? There's enough already, and the chemicals they use to manage those seep into our nostrils and groundwater every day. Come to think of it, golf can be a pretty cruel sport. Lots of critters lose their habitat, and players lose their minds. Ski areas tear up beautiful mountains and expend one of our most seriously fading commodities, water, making fake snow. Takes an inordinate amount of electricity to do it too. And no, it all doesn't just get recycled. Everything has a price.

Here's another thing I find odd. I am one-hundred pro-choice in that arena and many of the people that find horse racing horrific are of the same ilk. With their love for all things living, it seems like a strange dichotomy.

I appreciate all the views I've heard on racing (by the way the Bryant Gumbel piece on HBO should have had a sub-title; One Way Street...there wasn't anything presented from the decent side of the sport), but must ask the question, would the world be better off without the thoroughbred and the greyhound? Also, before we put a serious amount of energy into ending these breeds shouldn't we take a walk down a street in Dar fur, or even Detroit? PETA has its place, but so do people, and there a lot of thoroughbreds and greyhounds treated far better than people in this world.

The ball game ended at 1:47 AM last night on a bizzaro play, and I think the series is shaping up to continue in that fashion....I'm bushed...later, biff

Friday, October 24, 2008

Breeder's Cup...money Departed, Palin puck problems...

So I had the first exacta...with a morning line 6-1 on top paid 12.80! Not a a good sign. There was a heartfelt story in the second race. The twenty-nine year old trainer of Maram, Chad Brown, missed his grandfather's funeral to supervise the saddling of the winner. It was nice to see an American horse win a turf race. With these synthetic tracks (less abusive) I have no clue. Some horses don't really like the stuff, even though it's easier on them. So my strategy was to bet one exacta (both ways) in all fourteen of the Cup races. In the fifth, third BC race, I had half of the exacta and my other horse was in in until the final three hundred yards. So I'm one for three with eleven to go. I'll need at least two more scores to come out of the two days a winner. In the sixth, winner Forever Together has an interesting part of her training regimen...she gets a pint of Guiness every morning. They're still looking for my duo. The first day looks dim for the old man...sucks when you cash the first ticket. In the next, and last race on today's card, I had to go against the odds on favorite Zenyatta. Well, she, with the name from the Police's (which the original vinyl is on the shelf,right behind me) third album ran away like her tail was on fire. She did what the Patriots couldn't, she ran the table. If Curlin gets beat tomorrow she could be The Horse of the Year.



The best line in the Departed is when Matt Damon tells the shrink what Freud said about the Irish, "They're the only people who are impervious to psychoanalysis." I'm Irish...and Im buyin' it.

How about Sarah Palin causing an injury at an NHL game? In St. Louis, the mat laid out for her to drop the opening puck tripped up goalie Manny Legace, and he had to leave after the first period. Anyone else think this was taking the "hockey Mom" bit a little too far?

You know, when Obama throws out the first pitch in D.C. the Nationals might sign him when you think of their pitching staff. I've seen his jump shot...

The fact that Jimmy Rollins didn't go ape shit when the ball hit his shirt the other night is simple in my mind. I don't think he really knew he was hit. Bear with me, I umpire on the High School level and have awarded a kid first in that very situation...and the batter looks at me like I'm nuts. He doesn't realize he's been hit! Rollins, had he been positive (being 0-9 at the time, and at such a critical time of the game) he would have lit up the blue like an umpire bon fire.

All right it's Saturday morning and hope springs eternal for my afternoon at the races...which is known as the "dungeon" in my house. It's actually very nice, I'm surrounded by books, albums, sports memorabilia and the washer/dryer is in the next room. The latter sort of allows my existence down here.

So, after hitting the first exacta yesterday (a measly $12.80), at four dollars per bet ( for the sake of conversation), two dollars each way on the combinations...I'm down $27.20. In order to come out ahead I need to hit at least two out of the nine races today. I have a total of thirty six dollars invested today. For those playing along at home here are today's bets:
Race 1 1-4
Race 2 2-5
Race 3 1-6
Race 4 5-11
Race 5 6-11
Race 6 4-8
Race 7 1-2
Race 8 2-11
Race 9 1-2

Yes I went against the returning champ in the last race, Curlin, for two reasons...the price has no value, and he's never been across the synthetic track.

I'm still solid with the Devil Rays, but with a looming monsoon in this area, I doubt they'll play tonight. If they do, Digger Phelps son-in-law, Jamie Moyer could be in for a long night. Once again I say bunt on the forty-five year old guy. It's funny, but the Phillies and their big sticks and the Devil Rays with their jack-rabbit running game has sort of reversed the roles of the leagues in this World Series.

May the horse be with you, later, biff

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Keith Richards, regular...

Yeah, there's my choice for president ...of the world. You see Keith and I go back a long way, 1964, Union College, upstate New York. It was a great time to see the Stones, still on a small college campus. I saw them later in large venues, like the University of New Mexico, who's gigantic basketball gymnasium is like a silo. I had gone deeper into hippiedom by then, and manged to get my dog into the concert...don't ask me why. Stevie Wonder opened that one, and rocked himself off the stage. Like I've said, the mid-seventies, they were the sixties on steroids. Back to Keith. In the year two thousand we decided to abandon Florida for a better education for my youngest. She'd been doing well in public school, after years on the Montessori buzz, so we, the family decided she need to go one of those high falutin' New England prep schools instead of the powerhouse football team in Naples, FL. Conveniently a friend of mine was opening "the" restaurant on Martha's Vineyard that summer. I could go and work there while the girls moved the household to Connecticut. This place was something, and staffed by a crew of serious professionals. You know, one of those place where your server pulled a crumber out of his pocket and swept the stray bread surreptitiously off the table. It was on the cutting edge in a lot of ways...like we sold you your water. International staff; Irish, English, Czech, Portuguese, Brazilian, Egypt and , oh yeah, the USA. It was a boon to me when the number two man at lunch quit the first day...I doubled my income by taking that job and schlepping tables at night. It was the hottest spot on the Island. Mike Wallace and some of his Sixty Minutes cohorts were there all the time. Booked full every night. One particularly bizarre night I soloed Happy Birthday to Beverly Sills. Even though it was very late at night she told me not to quit my day job. But hey, this is about Keith Richards. You see, we had this tiny little area in the kitchen that was called the chef's table. This usually went to some high-powered group that wanted to see how the whole show was run...from the back side. It also provided for the celebrity types that wanted to be kept away from the usual island, star-f&%#*@ riff-raff. You were really shielded from the rest of the clientele, right in the middle of a bustling, two hundred dinner-a-night, white table cloth eatery. Each night before service, after setting up, Chef Joe brought the special out to the servers and went over the night's menu. There were usually five servers, and I was often the only natural born citizen, very continental. Four professional waitstaff and one semi-pro clown. So, this one night, Joe says Biff you have the Chef's table. A few invectives went through my head until he said it's Keith Richards and his family. Needless to say the rest of the staff went ape-shit in all sorts of languages I couldn't understand. I was pumped. They arrived at sunset, came in through the back door, Keith with and armload of wine and cognac (Vineyardhaven is a dry town). Patti Hansen, still a four star knockout and their soon-to-be model daughters were very happy to sit in the kitchen. I walked to the table, probably a little too comfortably and introduced myself to the family and told them the specials. Not to drag it out they were surely the easiest celebrities I have ever waited on. Keith ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, a chicken dish, and the girls ate like models. He was the only one to drink, and it was in moderation...and every time I poured he offered me a taste...which couldn't resist, I was still an imbiber then. The best time of my restaurant career came after dinner. Keith said, "Anyplace we can have a smoke and a beer mate?" Since the town was dry the staff always had a cooler of beer on the back porch. It was somehow bottomless, we pitched in and a liquor store in another town kept it full. We were making tons of money, who knows, the beers might have been costing us five bucks a piece...we didn't care. "Sure Keith, follow me." We hit he back porch and he tapped me out a Marlboro Red (I'm not much of a smoker, but hey) and I pulled him an icy Budweiser from the bottom of the cooler. We shot the shit, I told him about Union College and he couldn't believe it! "You must be the last man standing from that show..." we had a couple of beers and smokes and then went back in to settle up. He tipped me about 100%, and invited me out to the Hot Tin Roof to see Burning Spear. Back stage! He was going to sit in with them. But my duties at the restaurant were going to keep me there too late. He signed the check to me wit a nice inscription about Union (I still have it), and headed out the back door. He left me a half bottle of high-end cognac to boot! Yes, I shared.

He was a stand up regular (not Joe, after recent political developments) guy and treated me better than most. The rest of the staff pummeled me with questions after we hit the porch after service. My Irish buddy had the best query, "Who was that ugly guy with Patti Hansen?"

I've already voted, and since Keith isn't a citizen...later, biff

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Palin's remake, Favre's fake...

As the campaign trail nears what seems to be Donner Pass, we're hit with the really important news that the GOP spent $15000.00 to spiff up Sarah Palin for the run for veep. I guess you can put lipstick on a pig, her cosmetics tab alone was over four grand at Nieman Marcus in St. Louis (now there's a fashion hot spot if there ever was one), and the rest must have been spent on hair extensions and stiletto heels from Fredericks of Hollywood. I wonder how much they paid Frances McDormand to teach her that Minnesota accent? Now less than two weeks out, I'll declare it officially over, again. This incident sort of makes that $4000.00 haircut Edwards supposedly got look a little petty. Hey, does anybody out there think these guys are going into their closets for their wardrobes and coiffures? Hell no, sartorial expenses take a huge chunk from those political war chests. Funny, I can't tell if they over spent or under spent in Palin's case.

Brett Favre is embroiled in his biggest beef since the percocet days. New York is all a twitter because Brett spent time on the phone telling Matt Millen and his pals how to beat the Packers. First of all Brett was really pissed when he threw six TD passes in a game, and the New York tabloids had the Mets all over the back page as they were circling in their NL death spiral. Then he tells Peter King the phone call to Millen was , "BS", via text message. During his press conference today the NYC media drilled him for fifteen minutes about his discussion with Millen. He came back finally that he had spoken with him, but it was about hunting. In the end, Harry Potter couldn't help the Lions win on any given Sunday. Packer fans are pissed that he'd diss his old team, and Jets fans are wondering why he isn't learning the new playbook instead of helping somebody beat his old team. If that wouldn't give you a headache, hey, see the team doctor, he might have some...

Cole Hammels will be the pivotal player in the Series. If he can't handle the Devil Rays at least two times, maybe three, the Phillies are history. The youth of Tampa Bay can cause some suspicion, but Philadelphia is not a playoff tested team either. I will stick with the Devil Rays in six, and Longoria as the MVP. Tonight's first at bat for the Devil Rays third baseman will tell a lot.

Colorado at Missouri this weekend, family rivalry, seems like the Buff's aren't quite the cupcake you'd want for homecoming. Missouri is coming off an asss whuppin' by Texas, so if I were a betting man I'd lay the 21 and 1/2...you know Missouri is going to score forty plus, let's call it 48-17...with apologies to certain readers. I know one reader is pulling heavily for Rice to be bowl eligible, Tulane this weekend, a solid maybe...and they still have Army on the menu. Four wins in the bank, I think they'll make it. For the serious gambler, and I'm doing better than the stock market since I started this, Alabama should handle Tennessee giving six and 1/2. Breeder's Cup selections soon. Remember it's now two days, with the distaff side running on Friday.

Went to a High School soccer game this afternoon...friggin' cold...later, biff

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Jeter, winter, road trip

Sorry, been a couple of very busy days. Should be back tomorrow with a full head of steam.

Did anyone else out there notice that Derek Jeter hung up his cleats with three games to go...and his batting average sitting right on .300? Just a thought.

I'm thoroughly convinced the Devil Rays will prevail...jumped in quickly to get that on the record. Prediction, World Series MVP...Evan Longoria.

The Breeder's Cup is coming up this weekend from Santa Anita, I will fill your heads with great investments. I'm sure every one's other investments are going so well you won't need these...but hey...

Two hard frosts in a row...looking for invites to southern climes; don't drink, do dishes, will babysit and take out the garbage. Other duties negotiable. I will be road-tripping to Florida with old buddy Bobby...soon enough to take some of the edge of autumn off the pumpkin.

Knee has come around gamely, all the best from central Connecticut, later biff

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Boston justice & hypocrisy...Joba juiced...

You have to love Boston justice. With the Sox being pounded 7-0 the other night, a rather rotund Boston fan in the first row down the first base line decided to remove his shirt and lead some sort of rally cheer in the almost quiet Fenway Park. This is not an uncommon sight in sports all over the country. Okay, some back-bay-bitch called security and the goon squad descended upon him quickly and made him put his shirt back on. They gave him the ejection threat and were back to watching for other improprieties. Shortly after that the Sox famous (ugh!) comeback started. The fan, Nick Melanson, said frig' it, and stripped the shirt off, went into a horrendous dance routine, and warily eyed the security guys. Their response, "Forget it dude, it's working." After the game the phone-whiner has her photograph taken with the XL cheerleader. Bean town hypocrisy at its finest.

While on Boston sports (way too much of that lately), we had another case of "which body part is hurt." We all remember the story about Manny not knowing which knee he needed to have an MRI on during his revolt to leave town. Now the Celtics point guard Rajon Rondo sprains his ankle in a pre-season game, and the obvious question is asked, "Is it the same one you sprained against the Lakers during the playoffs last year?" No chicanery here...he honestly didn't know.

It's one of the biggest nights in Tampa Bay sports history tonight. Not only is the seventh game of the ALCS going on, but one of the worst Sunday night Football games in history will be taking place also; Buccaneers hosting Seattle. No problem, the two venues are twenty-five miles apart...and separated by, what else, Tampa Bay.

Kelly Pavlik was schooled by old man Bernard Hopkins last night. I love it when the old dudes (except Roger Clemens) manhandle much younger opponents.

Joba Cahmberlain was arrested for speeding, DUI and open container last night. Let's see how the rabid NY press treats this incident. I have an inkling that they'll be preaching the "slap on the wrist" philosophy for the young, hard throwing almost matinee-idol Yankee. I'm sure if it had been Jose Reyes or ARod the reportage would be much different. The tabloids missed a shot of one of the all-time back page headlines, JOBA JUICED.

Tonight's dinner includes the tail end of the constant gardener's (Karen) tomatoes and arugula. But that's nothing compared to the fact the lime juice was provided buy one of our own indoor/outdoor trees. Connecticut is not known for citrus tree production. Besides the lime tree, we have an orange, lemon and banana to go with it. In the winter we walk them like a dog on sunny days. This year she's going to try and winter over a banana tree outside. After the first heavy frost she's going to chop it to ground level, and then cover it heavily with mulch. I suggested a layer of plastic or newspaper... a stern no was shot my way. Hey, couldn't we use recycled plastic bags?

Bret Farve, rather clumsily, just led the Jets to an overtime defeat by the lowly Oakland Raiders. It's funny, his drug past (he confused percocet with M & M's for a few years) never seems to come up when they're (endlessly) taking about his consecutive game streak. Some guys have all the luck...

The Devil Rays should win. If they don't the Red Sox will be well ensconced as the grittiest team of the century already. Horrid thought.

Christmas crap is out in the stores! Did I miss Halloween and Thanksgiving?

Coiln Powell, my man...later, biff

Friday, October 17, 2008

TV, McCain and pizza

Here are some things I've learned from television lately. Tough to admit, but my guilty pleasures are immeasurable.

Okay, I'm not too familiar with the Mixed Martial Arts craze, but why aren't these guys fighting on pavement without gloves, knee pads and mouth pieces. Don't they teach you these martial arts so you can fight...anyplace you get jumped? I realize this stuff is replacing boxing, but that's only because boxing isn't violent enough. Man, our culture is really making great strides, no?

Ben Affleck offered an interesting view of MaCain's "defense" of Obama when he was accused of being an Arab. While being a panel member on the Bill Maher show he pointed out that saying "Obama is not an Arab, he's really a good guy", doesn't have any meaning at all. I mean you could say, "Biff isn't Irish, he's just an asshole." One really has nothing to do with the other. A lot of my republican friends were quick to point out this "gracious" gesture by Palin's running mate.

It's really easy to tell when my wife is displeased...William becomes my name.

I've been reading a great book by Simon Braatz, a professor at John Jay College of Criminal Justice in NYC. For the Thrill of it All is the latest in a small list of accounts of the Leopld & Loeb murder of 1924, and early "crime of the century". I have times when I just can't get enough of well written true crime stories. One of the more interesting aspects of the tale is that the perps never denied the crime. All parties are from wealthy, high-society Chicago and the families hire Clarence Darrow to save their children from the gallows. Period pieces have always entertained me (The Bridge Over the River Kwai is my favorite movie), and this one is particularly loaded with specifics of the time. It's really a good read, chilling with psychosis.

Finally, Robert Wuhl, while beseeching everyone to stop worshipping the founding fathers (hey, they were good guys, had good intentions, but if we were following the original template; slavery, women as second class citizens, etc, where would we be?) had a really good point. The FIRST sentence of the Constitution has a serious grammatical error. You can't have a "more perfect" anything. It's either perfect or it isn't.

My next point isn't a direct TV observation for me, but the tube has sort of helped. We have heard a lot of talk about John McCain's time in a Vietnamese prison during that conflict. There are a couple of troubling ideas that emanate from that situation for me. I admit fully to avoiding participation conflict, but I do respect McCain for his strength to survive his horrid experience. But, I'm leery of those who think that his incarceration qualifies him for the job of President. In a real sort of way, couldn't that experience have handicapped his ability to run the country? My brother is quick to remind me that he was never treated for Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I have no idea if that's true, but I haven't heard anything to convince it's not true. Of course he also tells me "W" never completed a twelve step program. My self, a Wild Turkey to cold turkey guy, I don't know if AA is a foolproof remedy for alcoholism.

Looks like Karen is going with the Big Papi (#34) tee-shirt tonight for the Red Sox/Devil Rays game. Me, I'm going for Pizza...at one of the greatest pizza joints of all time, Frank Pepe's Napoletana (1934) in New Haven. It's located almost in the heart (at the least the thoracic region) of Pizza Alley, which stretches from the Village in NYC to the North End in Boston. It doesn't stray too far from I-95 along that route. Anything west of the Hudson is Wonder Bread and pasta sauce. Please don't talk to me about Chicago deep dish or California designer crap...it just ain't apizza. My usual whole clam white will be replaced by a mushroom, garlic & onion delight tonight. Check out their website sometime.

Okay, have a good night, May the Devil be wth the Rays...will know about Beckett early, bunt and run, later , biff

Beckett, see if he's hurt...bunt...Bonds

Before I get to last night, a quick note to Joe Madden; your guys can all run like Senator McCain from an issue...drop a few bunts, and if Beckett is hurt, we all know fielding bunts and making those twisting, quick movements can really exacerbate any injury; and then maybe you get into his head a little bit.



Last night's game, and I am truly loathe to admit it, was one of the best comebacks I have ever seen in a playoff, or any other game for that matter. The fact it was an elimination, go for broke situation, well we know the story. It was about mid-nite, and I had an early call for the doctor in the morning. Pedroia was my "last" batter. He's out, I hit the sack. Of course after that little prick (no I would not say it to his face; it would be strictly "Yes sir, no sir") gets a hit and then my next "last" batter, no home runs in his last sixty-one at-bats Big Papi (it hurts, really, to type that) smacks one like a Mickelson drive, but straighter. Now there's no more "last" batters, I'm there to the finish. It wasn't pretty, but it was beautiful. I love baseball, and sometimes you just have to give the team, no, the god damned Red Sox and their fans, credit. Hey I was right, Kazmir was out of there after six, but he had a seven run lead! Unfairly, malingerer J. D. Drew miraculously reverted to his FSU form for and, the bean-eaters won. Speaking of Drew, has there ever been a guy who they stick with for so long to get such brief moments of brilliance? I hope Stephen King didn't miss it because he was reading a book. If I see that shot one more time...well, I know where he lives in Maine...shit he does all sorts of good stuff for little league in his state. While I was living up there he did do the area a tremendous solid. At the time you couldn't get the Red Sox on the radio unless you you had one stolen from NASA. So Mr. King buys a radio station and puts on the Sox and heavy metal, head banger dreck when they're not playing! I wonder if he reads at Metallica concerts? There was one saving grace last night, Karen had given up and gone to bed! She didn't believe me when I told the Sox won this AM, and invectives inherited from her very cultured mother were spewing from her articulately when I left for the orthopedist.



The orthopedist said I'll have no problem umpiring when baseball season starts next spring. Hopefully he'll forward that message to the school districts around here. Actually, the school games are a breeze...it's the summer league action that gets a bit testy. For those games at least one umpire has to have a cell phone on his person for any needed 911 calls. Parents living vicariously through their kids is a growing malady. I haven't experienced a seriously bad situation, but last year was my first season and I only did about fifty games.



How about the world's most famous plumber being a fraud? He has a list of out standings longer than Free Bird (Frampton Comes Alive version) and the guy lies to Obama; McCain makes him a hero and it turns out the Obama plan would have helped his ass! By the way I have already voted...I will be out of town 11/4.



Thank you, I just got an eight per cent raise (SS) from "W", can't wait to see the movie either.



Hey, does anyone out there listen to Rush Limbaugh? I was wondering how he beat that oxycontin rap? I remember he had his maid copping for him, he Dr. shopped and wasn't he snagged coming back from the Dominican Republic with a jar of Viagra with somebody else's name on it? Could you imagine how many women (unfortunately, probably poor working girls) he could crush to death if the dreaded "...lasts for more than four hours" issue came into play? I guess this was all alleged. All right, I never said the was PG.



Hey, you guys at Tulane, bring me an oyster po' boy when you come home for Christmas.

This just in, where I am anyway; the Major League Players Association allegedly has a memorandum that demonstrates there was collusion in the possible signing of Barry Bonds this season. This underlines the utter stupidity of baseball ownership at the moment. Years ago baseball was virtually an owner/slave arrangement. Then, with the advent of free agency (i.e. see Curt Flood, Andy Messersmith, et al) the worm turned. Now the players have the joy-stick, and they're about seventy-five years away from getting even. No matter how much you detest Barry Bonds...somebody, especially an AL team, could have used him this year for the pennant run or the post-season. Wouldn't the Devil Rays like him on the bench right now? Or at DH? He wasn't looking for a pant load of jack, he just wanted to play some more and pad that HR stat...ARod is hard at his heels on that number, and with the recently acquired Madonna and her stash of Kabalah bracelets, the sky could be the limit. Myself, even with my marriage heavily influenced by Karen's identification of Barry as Bobby's son his rookie year, I feel he should just have gone away (unless the Indians could have used for a playoff drive, alas...). But by law he didn't have to. I'd enjoy nothing more than to see MLB take one up the butt for an illegal embargo on Bonds, Barry Bonds. I could see this headline in an 1850's tabloid: PLANTATION OWNERS SUED FOR LABOR VIOLATIONS.

For a certain Missouri fan out there, may the Tigers roar in Austin.

Thank you for flying biff airlines...later

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Racism in New England

You know, New England, the home of American intelligentsia, tolerance and , well just good old superiority. I've lived here on and off since the forties. I've also lived in Florida and New Mexico for decent amounts of time, and travelled extensively in the lower forty-eight (I used to want complete my states list in Alaska, but I'm afraid to now) and Hawaii. I can say with impunity that New England is as racist as any place I have ever been. Karen went to fill up the car yesterday and saw a car with these two bumper stickers: NOBAMA, and a hand made one that read BARACK HUSSEIN OBAMA TERRORIST. Did anyone ever stopped to think that Obama is half white? It's friggin' 2008 and the USA is still shackled to eighteenth century thinking. McCain tried to work that angle throughout last night's debate (hah!)...I thought he was close to crossing the line more than once. The land of the free, right?



Luckily my introduction to black people came at an early age. I had a gigantic black Nanny in Panama, Marina, and she hugged more than anyone else until, well I don't know when. At two people are people. I was also lucky to grow up in a family that for the times was very liberal...though they did vote Republican once in awhile. My step-father owned a gas station in uber-wealthy Greenwich, CT when I passing into puberty. In those days, the late fifties, you could work when you wanted to...despite child labor laws. I started my career in a professional church choir...five bucks a week in '54 was giant bucks for a kid. And, best of all it turned me off to religion for life. Then I caddied at the blue-blood country clubs in town. The highlight of that was falling in love with my bag (player) in a girl's national under eighteen tournament at the Greenwich Country Club. She had an asshole for a Dad, who called her every move. If he had let her play, who knows. When he paid me without a thank you I felt like a booger being flicked off a fingernail.



Then the time to work in the old man's gas station presented itself...a buck an hour, tax free, some of my friend's Dad's weren't making that kind of money. Although some were making millions, even then. But the benefit of working, the most important of all, didn't take hold until some time when I was in college. The reason, the pump jockeys (no self service then) I worked with were two black men from the south, who had moved north for opportunity. They were probably the two most visible black men (colored then) in town. Of course they didn't live there. But my step-father didn't have a second thought of hiring them. Their names were out of central casting, Jimi Pinnix and Otto Phillips. They taught me the moves for kissing ass on our self-important customers. It was a race against time then. You stuck the filler hose in the tank and then proceeded to wash the windshield, check the oil, water, battery and sometimes even the air pressure in the tires. Washing the windshield gained in prominence as the skirts of the late fifties started rising in the early sixties. I was too stupid not to make small talk with any good looking young girl driving Daddy's Caddie, I honed my mid-minor league flirting skills with girls while wiping their windshields, praying for a glimpse of leg before I had to check their tires. Hey, I even thought they liked me when they'd give me a quarter for the service. I couldn't have asked for a cooler job at the time. I wore a pressed uniform with a Texaco Star on it, can you beat that?



Can you believe we had a locker room? We all wore street clothes to work and went up to put on our uniforms, and slick our hair in place. Otto had a process, and wore a "dew rag" in every morning...part of a knotted woman's stocking, and placed over the straightened, pomaded hair style that looked like a shiny black birthday cake. Jimi sported the close cropped look, and I felt like the most special kid on the planet when they shot-the-shit with me before we hit the tarmac. The room resonated with James Brown, Bobby "Blue" Bland or the Temptations while we performed our morning ablutions. They manged to complete the change wile dancing around the room and singing exactly as the performer on the radio was. Slick as shit, we opened the place up before the mechanics and the manger got there; stacking quarts of oil in silvery pyramids, putting out the windshield wiping rags and filling the buckets of water for the thirsty radiators. I was a professional. Yes sir, "You Could Trust Your Car to the Man who Wore the Star", Texaco' slogan of the era. Sure I knew they were "coloreds", but more important, they were my co-workers..and they were teaching me to dance. (They also were teaching me to drink, but that's for another time.) They also talked about reefer, but that they never offered.Those guys were really special to me, the first people to treat me like a man, albeit, maybe a tad early.



So the enduring story of the time was the "whisk broom". My step-Dad, in the never ending battle to give MORE SERVICE, land on what he thought was the genius plan of all time for the summer. With a fill-up, along with the aforementioned services we were to whisk broom the beach sand out of each and every car. It was a bit much. Cars would be waiting while all they could see were green clad Khaki legs sticking out of the cars in front them, whisking the precious Greenwich beach sand onto the ground. It was evident this added feature was slowing down business rather than improving the bottom line. Otto and Jimi badgered me to approach my old man to have the sweeping jettisoned from or duties. Dad, being a reasonable man, said fine. "We'll drop it tomorrow."



It didn't cause many problems, we had a loyal clientele and a good location...but we did have one little snag. You see, Otto had some serious hearing loss from the war. He didn't talk too much to the customers so it wasn't generally a problem. Until a little old lady, typical over-bred, liver-lipped stockbrokers wife who asked "Where's the restroom?" I was at the next pump and heard Otto reply, thinking she had said whisk broom instead of restroom, reply, "Sorry mam, but if you pull over to the air pump, I'd be more than happy to blow it out for you."



She went all fourth of July fireworks on him, and I think she asked to speak to the president of Texaco. My old man cleared it up with tank of gas and an extra book of green stamps.



Leaving those guys to go to college was tough. They would smile from ear-to-ear when I came home for a holiday. They had gone from co-workers to friends. On those rare trips home we'd celebrate with Imperial and orange soda. I have to thank my Dad for one of the most important life lessons one can get.



You know, whomever you're voting for (especially if you're from New England) skin color issues were supposed to have gone away a long, long time ago.

So, on that note I hope the Red Sox get their asses kicked tonight, though if my wallet was involved...let's just say Kazmir will be gone by the sixth.

Great article by an Inuit (Nick Jans) in Salon on the Bering Sea Bimbo (Palin). He totally elucidates here shortcomings and tells us that you can only see Russia from a small island she's never stepped foot on.

Later, biff

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Red card, Yellow card...Red Sux

I have to admit the JET Get Born CD is one of my most deeply embarrassing guilty pleasures. I could listen Are You Gonna be My Girl way too many times in a row. Funny, I never favored black hair, but oy, the boots line...

All right, I'm sure all those Red Sox fans out there feel the the Devil Rays (I refuse to acknowledge the religious rights ultimatum to get rid of the Devil) have the them right where they want them. You know the comebacks (3-0,3-1) against the Yankees and the Indians (@#$%&) are still fresh in their minds. But you know what? It ain't happenin' this time! And the moaning about the Red Sox starters is being way over played. Hey, when you know a team can't score, the ball looks bigger and the bat feels lighter when you're at the plate. These Devil Rays know this isn't the SUX that had Manny and Mike Lowell in the lineup. Okay Bay is a decent hitter, but when you look over in the on-deck circle and don't that crazy, bug-eyed mutha' fer waiting to hit, Ortiz doesn't seem so threatening. I know the supposed experts are saying it's his hand, but it has to have something do do without having Manny. So, he pouted and got the trade he wanted. But still, this is his walk year, and he doesn't lay down in the post-season. The cliche about making the players around him better fits here. Even if said player can be an A-hole at times. The converse to this is that the Red Sox batters is that the ball looks like a pea, and the bat feels like a telephone pole. I think they'll win (Sox) tonight, if Dice-k can keep the walks down; and I don't like the switch to Kasmir as the Devil Rays starter. He's a five inning, soft tossing Johan Santana...then he turns into Carlos. It's hard having a wife and daughter that are so enamored with the Olde Town team. The wife won't watch, and I was in deep shit when I blurted the first inning score to her last night. My daughter's away message on IM "GOD DAMN TIM WAKEFIELD!" By the third inning I was thumbing back and forth between the Knicks pre-season and the baseball game. The Knicks may still suck, but they get over a hundred points a night with this D'Antoni offense...run, run and run some more. It's a trip seeing Randolph running the floor! They scored fifty-nine points in a game last year. Last night they had fifty-one at halftime! Too bad tickets cost two car payments, a bag of af-gooie and a weeks groceries. For now though, the Rangers are 5-0-0. Dubinsky...star on the rise.

My bitch du jour are these head-hits in the NFL. I'm waiting for a helmet to come off some QB's head...and his head will still be in it! So while watching the USA annihilate my precious Cuba team in the World Cup qualifier, it came to me like a rum injected bolt of lightening. (Cuba, what memories; chopping cane with Che, watching Hemingway make a fool of himself on daiquiris in the bar at the Hotel Floridita, and of course taking BP against Fidel. But I digress, and I'm not supposed to talk about anything before the Bay of Pigs fiasco.)

The fines (could management be helping out with these, many former players have cited "bounty issues") these guys get, and the occasional suspension are not going to stop this excess violence. Sure, I know people who have stopped watching. My own brother, a producer/director for HBO's Sunday pre-game show wouldn't know the difference between Santana and Sinorice Moss. (I had to get Santana in this piece twice...he's on the CD player now. By the way, all you techno geeks out there, stop laughing. I have Sirius on line, but I like the feel of the CD. You know it's like reading the news on-line instead the tactile pleasure of a of a newspaper.) Anyway, while watching the soccer game, the original football, the answer to this was obvious . Apply the red card, yellow card system to the NFL. Doesn't that sound like a Dr Zeuss book? An overly zealously shot, but not malicious, would give the team on offense the penalty and the guilty party would get a yellow card to boot. (Nice pun.) Two cards, he's ejected and misses then next game. Those big, fifteen yard start, four seconds after the whistle intended to send the QB in orbit would be the red card offense. Immediate ejection and suspension for the next game. All other professional sports have similar legislation, but football, the closest thing to the events that were held at the Roman Colosseum...nada. They sure keep an eye on the crimes and misdemeanors during the players off-time (after years of looking the other way), but how about what goes on every Sunday afternoon during the NFL season.

Aren't Sundays a sports degenerates delight this time of year? Wake up to the Premier League, maybe some La Liga, the NFL, baseball, hockey and if your thumb is well-enough developed some golf (sucks without Tiger), NASCAR (start and finish only), bull-riding (a big, big mea culpa to PETA, but hey, the bulls win most of the time, and you know what that means, lots of stud time) and the when all-else fails some west coast pre-season basketball. All you need for this is a wife who loves baseball and tolerates the rest of the bullshit. Yes, I am a lucky man. We've been to all the major American sports (she was once run over by Eric Metcalf while doing the photography for a Browns/Pats game I was covering), World Cup Soccer and I think she went to a few holes of either the senoirs event or the LPGA in Naples, FL. I think she could have passed the test in Diner.

Too bad about Big Brown tearing his hoof again. He and Curlin would've been a helluva match in the Breeder's Cup.

All right, thanks for listening, the knee feels well enough to walk to the mail box...later, biff

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Sarh Palin's gaff helps recovery...

I'm not too comfortable sitting at the computer yet, and this might be really old news...but Sarah Palin showed her extreme lack of intelligence/experience when she responded harshly and critically to a crowd that was chanting, oh my, "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah..." Who knows what was going on in her head when, after way too much dead air she said (I paraphrase) "I just hope all you protesters out there give thanks to our troops protecting your right to use the First Amendment." She has single handily set-back the feminist movement by about fifty years.

Really sad note, the Rangers (3-0-0) finally look respectable, and their number one draft-pick drops dead in the Russian League. Some irony to this tragedy; Alexi Cherepanov nineteen, had just taken a shift with former Ranger star Jaromir Jagr.

My knee is going well...look forward to sitting here longer soon. Congrats to those recognizing the Cuba hat...

later, biff

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

McCain, WITHOUT A LEG TO STAND ON, mulls...

After pulling out of the race in Michigan, Senator John McCain (R-AZ) is considering the offer of my right leg for: two of his thirteen houses, a Prius and all the percocets he can find in his wife's underwear drawer. Said offer will expire in 24 hours and then injured Red Sox third baseman, Mike Lowell will have an opportunity to outbid the Senator until noon Thursday.

Medical donations can be made through the BIFFINFO/HMO division.

Later, biff

Monday, October 6, 2008

OH J, say it ain't so

You know those poor sports memorabilia dealers (talk about a scummy group, they've ruined baseball card collecting and other harmless activities of that ilk that should be reserved for kids) could have been saved from from all this if Marcia Clark had just done her job. We all knew that Mr Simpson had committed the heinous crime he was accused of...and Clark couldn't close the deal. Her voire dire skills were lacking, and I think she might have spent a little too much time concentrating on her associate Chris Darden. "The glove didn't fit, and I don't give a shit" should have been in here closing statement. But, hey, it took thirteen years and the tragic figure will probably die in the can. Bummer. Ron Goldman's Dad (OJ's wife's co-victim) had the best quote from this trial, "I hope his cell window has a view of a golf course." As one of the Sports Reporters" (ESPN) mentioned Sunday morning, this does have all the trappings of a Greek tragedy. Supplemental justice is always one of the best of ironies. You heard that here first, but it is what happened. The prosecutors in Nevada came up with a tremendous list of charges to keep loophole circumvention at a minimum. They did well in jury selection too, lots of white women. The race card was way down in the deck in Nevada, and they couldn't find a crooked dealer to move it into to play. Another thought. OJ's post exoneration demeanor (looking for the killers on various golf courses, road rage, mistreatment of his DEAD wife's look-a-like girlfriends; they all had 911 on speed dial) has always lead me to believe that his subconscious wanted to get his criminal ass behind bars where it belonged. In my mind Simpson was the second best running back I've ever seen, nobody can touch Jim Brown. He (Simpson) was a stud at USC, and manged to run for over two thousand yards in a season at the NFL's Ice Station Zebra, Buffalo. Plus, nobody has ever run through an airport with such elan. Who knew Hertz would would lead to such hurt. (Did I just write that?) I'll admit to OJ trial addiction in '95, but it taught me a valuable lesson: Don't watch that shit.

Remember the slow chase? The white Bronco and Al Cowlings? I watched it in a bar on Bimini. I have an old friend who sails anywhere at the drop of a hat, and we decided to hop over to Bimini in his twenty-seven foot sloop from Coconut Grove. In those days I indulged a little more than I should have. You know booze, combustibles and the occasional dabbling from the huge drug smorgasbord that was readily attainable in south Florida where I lived. (Full disclosure; I was BAD, for many years, but I am approaching four years out of the bottle...it's a drag, but it works.) Anyway we set out from Dinner Key for the tiny island just forty-eight miles from Miami. We had a cooler of beer and some mind altering/stimulating substances...and matches. No wind, so at sunset we're motoring with the smallest outboard imaginable. Just as the sun went down, the light that illuminates the compass went out. So, to follow the heading we have to light the compass with matches. If you haven't done it, you can't imagine the degree of difficulty of that dive! Then the wind never came up. Dead air. We're motoring to Bimini, heads full of the aforementioned brain candy through the Gulf Stream, in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. Not a problem. There was one, we ran our of beer just before dawn. We always managed to have the little sloop on the compass heading (lots of burnt fingers), and we'd see the lights of other boats just to know we were still out there on the right road. Oh yeah, the radio was dead too. Well, it wasn't dead, nobody would answer us. As the sun was coming up I saw lights that must have been heading into Bimini. Short story; those lights were Bimini! Hungover like a beer league softball team that just won the town championship, we made the tough maneuver through the channel into Bimini's picture perfect harbor. All we had to do was clear customs and hit the sack at the Compleat Angler (Hemmingway's favorite hotel on the tiny island). My goal was to be at the corner of the bar when the Knicks playoff game came on that night at eight. Customs was a breeze, though my pal had a bag of weed in his pocket as we we went through the small customs house. That's the way it is in the islands. I slept most of the day, and was ready for the Knicks game that night. I was seated under the TV with a plate of sumptuous conch fritters and a frosty Red Stripe...perfecty situated in paradise to watch my beloved Knicks. Life was good. Then that god-damned slow pace chase came on and I was tidal waved off my bar stool as the locals cheered on OJ like he was breaking a seventy-yarder against Notre Dame. I was out of the bar, and out of luck. There were three other places on the island, I opted for the End of the World Bar down the street a bit. Nice spot, dirt floor and an almost working television. The bartender and I shared a spliff and I watched the Knicks through a slight snow storm. The islanders at that joint appreciated the Bahamian Patrick Ewing. On his list of his crimes, making me change bars is way, way down on OJ's list.

McCain pulling out of Michigan is a white flag if I ever saw one. Oh Yeah, Suzanne visited this weekend and guaranteed an Obama victory. She was told by a legit medium. And, get this, said medium predicted a medical problem in Biden's life...that makes her one-for-one.

I'm sure Earl will be watching, the USA plays Cuba with Joey Altidore and Freddy Adu this weekend, as World Cup qualification continues.

Sorry about the Rice pick...but they did (with Tulsa) cover the ridiculously high over... 79! Ninety-one points is more than just a few college basketball games will see. I will have a winner for you this weekend. FRod looks like he has about four innings left...in his career. He looks like a wind-up toy on acid, but he's real a treat to watch. With major league pitchers approaching NBA small forward size, it's nice to see guys like Lincecum, Kazmir and most of the kids from the DR. Somebody is going to give him a ton of scheckels...and the payoff will be somewhere between Carl Pavano and Tom Glavine (Met contract).

All right, I'm headed for knee surgery in a couple of hours. Don't know if I can concentrate for a day or two...but hey, read the comments from the post prior to this one, some good stuff.


Later, biff

Friday, October 3, 2008

Longoria, 'nuff said...Palin/Biden snore

Evan Longoria, 'nuff said , okay. At twenty-two he could be the best player in baseball for the next decade. Unfortunately, as I mentioned, he's tied to that bat cave of a stadium in St Pete. On a normal night (when the Yankees, Red Sox or Cubs aren't there) attendance is less than ten grand. It's an ugly place to go to a ball game. I have actually seen a rat running across the out- field there. No, I'm not talking about Jose Canceso.

Friend Jim wonders aloud about the vegetarian zeppelin playing first base for the Brewers. He must be a vegetarian with benefits. Jim says,"I realize ice cream, potato chips, cookies and pizza can be vegetarian..." it's tough to keep a body like that without animal fat. And, by the way, who's designing his uniforms? They look like they're off-the-rack from old harem movies. Please, don't let yourself wonder what's under that suit. Also, along with Sabathia, McGlung and Gagne the Packers might be able to fit them into their o-line.

Before touching on the debate, how about McCain as the Manchurian Candidate. If there's a God I'll be struck down soon...that abscess on the left side of his face...could it be from a badly done dental procedure? My other thought on his looming presidency is equally disturbing...could he take office and immediately bomb Vietnam? Hey little George got back at Iraq for Daddy as quickly as he could. McCain's pull out of Michigan is a bit disturbing, there has to be something fishy about that maneuver. That's a lot of electoral votes to throw in...my biggest fear is that he'll win the state!

All right the debate was about as big a snore fest as a Royals/Mariners game in September. One thing for sure, Palin has to stop punctuating with that quick, left eye wink. Who's that for. If I heard "betcha" one more time I was going to ask the television what the line was. I nodded off, woke up to a betcha, and thought I was watching the out-takes from Fargo. While that was going on, since there was absolutely no substance to the debate, I couldn't take my eyes off Biden's forehead. Plugs? High-end rug? Natural...nah. If anybody can shed some light on Joe's hair system I'd really appreciate it. I had a friend in Florida who could tell me in a second. A real PHD in fake hair, but sadly, we've lost contact.

The "Joe six-pack" references caught my attention, but my brother claims that's one of her connectors to the "real" people. "Biff twelve pack", could have moved me in a sentimental sort of way. That and not answering questions she doesn't know the answer to...savvy move. My friend Chris told me today that the fact-checkers (on NPR) were going ape-shit trying to figure out who was lying and who wasn't...my score-card was a mess after it was over. I do know they both have different views of what the vice president is supposed to do according to the constitution...I always thought smiling and waving were the most important job qualifications. I was really impressed when Palin said "McCain knows how to win a war." What conflict would that have been? If I were Biden I would have brought up McCain's better half starting a medical aid program and then getting opiates out of the non-profit organization. But that's just me. At least he could have thrown some shots at Palin's hubby winning the gas powered Iditarod. But, the silver lining is now these two will go away and eat shitty cookies in VFW Halls until this ratings (TV) driven piece of democracy is over with. It was either a hung jury, mistrial or a tie. Whatever, if you were undecided, you still are. And how in-the-hell could you STILL be undecided after all this?

Hopefully somebody will figure out how to apply HBO's compustat to the presidential debates. When a candidate makes a salient point (if it happens) a bell will ring and a point will register on the screen. I've never been big on subjective judging. You know, all those Olympic events that have judges instead of a finish line or a scoreboard. But that's another rant. (Hint, chess is more of an Olympic sport than gymnastics...game, sport whatever. No doubt the gymnasts are some of the best athletes, but put a clock on them, or have them dunk a basketball or swim to the starting area. Crazy, I don't think so...)

Take Rice and the 16 1/2... against Tulsa. I have a feeling they will go over a hundred. A ton of bad blood between the schools... Later, biff

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Longoria-not desperate

Evan Longoria has started to look like the heir apparent to ARod as the third-baseman du jour. I guess David (clutch is something in my car) Wright will remain in the bridesmaid position with his only reward being the unwarranted Gold Glove he won last year. Now Longoria isn't going to put up the numbers ARod has accumulated, but he seems to have that winner's aura that has escaped the make up of the hit-machine Rodriquez. Before I go to far with this it must be noted that Longoria is tied to the Rays (the Christian Right will go ape-shit if Tampa Bay wins after dropping the "Devil" from the team's appellation) until he is twenty-nine. Hopefully they'll come up with some dough down there to move the team out of the bat cave they play in. I made the bold prediction that the Rays would win seventy-five games this year (see wife for proof)...wrote it on the calendar, and now feel like the town idiot because it went so lo low. Anyway, along with Longoria you have to love a manager (John Maddon) that gets a mowhawk for team unity. Too bad Tony Parker didn't marry this Longoria...could you imagine the athletic kids!

The TBS announcing team is mostly generic, but Harold Reynolds has always sounded like Chris Rock to me. Hence the uncontrollable laughter when listening to the games. Thankfully the wife doesn't question it...I guess she welcomes the behaviour after enduring few years of my shall we say "troubled times".

All this baseball...and we get the Biden/Palin debate. I'll be working the DVR and clicker like a meth-addicted rhesus monkey on behavioral apparatus. (Training those guys was my first real job, actually my only real job, after college.) I'm still hung up on the idea of this woman being president of the United States. Does it really work for anybody out there? My old neighbor was a Secret Service agent for the Bush girl when she was down the road at Yale. For four years he had to keep track of the lesser of two evils while dressed as a prepster...packing all sorts of heat and high-tech communications stuff. I would love to get his view on the circus that must be shaping up as the campaign trail events dwindle down. How long has this election season been? It makes me think of the warning that the ED ads throw at you every time..."lasts more than four hours, seek immediate medical attention." Haven't we had our four hours of Politicking? By the way has anybody heard of Viagra or Cialis causing the aforementioned problem. If so, please send a brief description...I'm thinking of a book proposal.

Okay I'm getting ready for some knee surgery. When you get older, after they've fixed one, your good knee becomes your bad knee. Then if you live long enough it rotates again. Hopefully, fueled by some medication, my creativity level will rise somewhat next week.

If John Lester wasn't a cancer survivor I really would have been upset with the Angels futility at the plate last night. I used to like two Red Sox, but Manny's gone.

Somebody needs to tel AJ Perzynski he isn't Ricky Henderson...later, biff