Sunday, March 01, 2009

The New York Yankees and Other New York City Tragedies

A The Daily Growler Sports Bulletin From marvelousmarvbackbiter
Hey ho, lads and lassies. I don't know, I feel rather Scottish today. Maybe it's all the Scotch I drank with my friend Plastered Ernie at the Chili's out by South Florida U that did it. We played 9 at Babe Zaharias in the morning then cruised over to Chili's around noon. Because Chili's is close to South Florida U and those cute college girls is why Plastered Ernie likes this rather ordinary place. It's cheap, too, which is why I like it. I lose a lot of golf balls when I play wild-man golf with a wild man like Plastered Ernie. I mean, you're putting and he's already teeing off on the next hole. Sometimes he waits for you, but if you lose a ball and can't find it within his timeframe then he hollers, "Play a new ball and come on." Hell, I went through 5 three-ball cartons of Titleists--god-damn expensive--new golf balls! Ernie paid for all the Scotches we had at Chili's. "Well, what'd'ya think of the Yankees this year, Bucky Boy?" We'd been over to Legends Field the day before and watched the new Yanks work out. A-Rod was getting booed--when the Yanks played the Tampa Bay Exorcised Rays in the afternoon, A-Rod struck out his first time at bat. The crowd was booing him and calling him "A-Roids." I was calling him A-Fraud after reading Joe Torre's new book where he vents his spleen against big-time asshole and baseball-team ruiner, George "Alzheimer's" Steinbrenner and the dog and pony show the old man put Joe and his winning Yankee teams through--and Legends Field, by the bye, is now George Steinbrenner Field--and it is new and it isn't the old Legends, but I still call it Legends. I didn't see anything wrong with old Al Lang Field, but what the hell do I know when it comes to building new everything ever 10 years or so now, whereas back in my heydays something lasted the longer the better it was made.

The Yankees look rich, which they are. They look confident, but they always do in Spring Training. I mean Shelby Duncan is back with the team--hell he got a hit against the Rays too. Bet they'll ship him back to Staten Island 'fore the spring training's over though--he's not consistent. And bad-boy son Hank is going to give Melky Cabrera a whole lot of a little hell this spring, teasing him to either start hitting .300 again or he's on his way to the White Sox or somewhere horrible like that.

A-Rod and steroids? Who gives a shit? A-Rod's a privileged millionaire now. What does he care if you fuck his head up about these steroids like these phony bastards tried to do to Barry Bonds and poor old sappy Rajah Clemens. I mean, come on, A-Rod's fucking Madonna these days! What a feather in his trophy-pussy hat! I saw him at an Oscar party t'other night on CABLE--bopping around with hot Hollywood babes all over his lucky ass. I mean, A-Rod's a Player now, a big time Player--fuck baseball. All that partying drains the energy out of him, yes, but he's still a more super-baseball player than most of the other Yankees put together--A-Rod can still hit when he's concentrating on the game of baseball instead of anticipating which hot party he's gonna go to next and being hopeful about what hot babe he's gonna get to fuck next. Just think of the confusion the dude faces every waking day. Alimony payments. Child support payments. Maybe getting ripped off a few million by some investment chiseler. Hell yes he needs steroids. All that partying and fucking. God-damn right--if not steroids, at least some Vitamin B shots are called for.

The Yankees's prospectus this year! Same as last year. Except this year, Lucky Joe Gerardi will have to face a start-off like Joe Torre had to face his last two years with the Yanks. Texiera isn't going to help--he's a fading star now--the Yankees always like to put fading stars at first base. C.C. Sabathia? He'll prove a disappointment, though he is a great pitcher; but so was Randy Johnson til he came to the Yanks! Jawbone Chamberlain, a millionaire before he's even had one successful season, is probably a young drunk by now and is on his way to a lousy season (remember the hot Chinese-American-babe teenie-bopper golfer, Michelle Wie? They made her a millionaire before she'd even won anything--no tournements--and soon after she got all that big publicity and those big handout sponsorships her golf game tanked and then she went totally bonkers and slid into the deepest of amateur states--in the tank for all of last year). The Yankees, yes, have some great relief pitchers, but coming to the Yankees puts these guys in a whole new spotlite. One let-me-down and young Steinbrenner and Brian Cashman, the worst general manager in baseball, will be trashing him and talking trades. Next, the Yankees have a weak outfield. I did hear yesterday that they hired Bernie Williams for something--and I'm still double pissed at how Steinbrenner treated Bernie--humiliating him like he did after Bernie had played his ass off. But Steinbrenner loves ruining ballplayers's careers. Like Bucky Dent's. Like Bo Wininger's. Old George Steinbrenner drove Bo Wininger into psychoanalysis. Like Tino Martinez's! Like he drove Billy Martin, one of the savviest managers George ever had, to drink--drink that eventually killed his ass when one dark night he drove his pickup into a tree on a dark road in Upstate New York. I could go through a much longer list, but every Yankee fan knows what I'm talkin' about.

Am I as fervid a Yankee fan as I was two years ago? No. Am I still a Yankee fan? You know, I honestly don't know yet. I hate Hank Steinbrenner. I'm not at all convinced Joe Gerardi can even win a Wild Card spot this year. I still don't see Gerardi as a great manager. Derek Jeter is the greatest Yankee player. Yes, you gotta like Derek Jeter. The others, I don't know. We'll have to wait and see. I'm here in Tampa--soaking up the sun and the Scotch and the Grapefruit League baseball. Whether I'll return to Gotham a Yankee fan--we'll have to see. Maybe, according to my soul, I have no choice.

for The Daily Growler
It's an Obama-Bashing Sunday

Already the Yahoos (read: Repugnican Knuckleheads) are attacking President Obama this morning on the corporate media. Heavy reporting of Rush Limbaugh's absolutely white-racist, assassination-insinuating pompous ass speech Friday night at some Repugnican shindig. Is Rush Limbaugh right in his assessment of the Obama's stimulus package supposedly helping poor people and the Middle Class by taxing the rich and giving tax breaks to We the People making $250,000-a-year or less? Even if the answer is yes, then so what, Rush? Fuck you, you big pompous ass. If you're making 200-grand-a-year that makes you Middle Class! I think the cut off should be $100,000. Under 100-grand-a-year is a more accurate Middle Class. Anything under 50-grand-a-year, to us, is poverty class. And Rush is ballsy enough to sort of hint at his wishing Obama would get sick and disappear! Yes, that pompous ass, ex-disc jockey, Howard-Stern copycat, not very well educated, is privileged enough the right-wing heathen commercial culture crowd give him ton after ton of publicity and promotion. How dare commercial teevee even bring up reporting on such a base fool especially when Obama can cut this dude's ass 26 ways to nowhere in thinking, in logic, and in shuck and jive? Don't play the dozens with a rocket-on-a-mission like Barack Obama, his hard-ass white mother's precious all-American-all-World son. Don't tread on him. He is half-white, you know.

Fuck all these petty clowns--like turkey-necked and face-sagging Bob Schiftlessskunk on CBS's Embarrass the Nation--and oh my Jehovah, what a weak-kneed ninny this David Gregory is who took over Peacockish NBC's Eat the Press.

We just had a multiple-stabbing incident here in New York City Friday night outside a Tribeca nightclub, a glitter-gang-bang hangout. Tribeca ("Triangle Below Canal") is a downtown Manhattan area right before you get to Ground Zero that once was a really cool Artist-in-Residence (A.I.R. buildings in NYC) progressive neighborhood that has now been totally taken over by fakes, fakirs, phonies, celebrities, and mogul investors and has been turned into a totally phony arteest playground full of choicy clubs--"snorting" bars; ecstasy dancehalls; conspicuously vulgar hangouts; 'Ho bars. And this place where these stabbings happened was called Deco--oooh, you see, bar owners are so hip--though they have no idea what Art Deco signified except to them it signifies "free" everything except the prices they charge to get in and then to drink and eat once you get in these gator-jawed bars and clubs--all of them phony as the interior decorations that the hip-culture zines call "Fabby, deluxe designs that sparkle a plenty when the celebs and urban wranglers hit the dance floor in their 'sclusive chic clothes and their superslick looks and carriages and attitudes and, of course, their big, big spending!"

What awed us about the stabbings was they were done by a youth of 19 on other 19 year olds--knife fighting over what do you think? Knife fighting over pussy? This loose goose stabbed 2 men and two women--maybe 5 people, we can't remember, but maybe another chick. All of these partiers like 19 years old. We mean, it makes you ask yourself, "Where in the Holiest of Hell's do these 19-year-olds get the money to party like they do?"--like the child-molester who they are accusing of picking up this missing Garza woman who's been missing for months now. They think this child molester killed her--I mean, this dumbass New Jerseyite was living like he was a duke or an earl--yet he was nothing but a registered child molester, that was his MO--partying hearty at another terribly expensive downtown Manhattan bar! And these beautiful women, too--Garza was a very pretty young woman--what the hell are they doing?...but we stop ourselves in midsentence and remember some of us are still young--some of us party hearty still--though, believe me, none of us party hearty at any of these trendy joints. Where big bald fat black guys harass your ass over you're trying to get in. "Dah babes can come on in but not you dudes!" "Hey, motherfucker, who the fuck are you? I'm Hollywood's own Dazzling Dick Prick, you...." "I don't give a shit if you the god-damn Pope, you ain't gettin' in my club tonight!" "Throw your cell phone at him, Russell. The law won't bother you about it." "Hey, I'll be over at Tatum O'Neal's fabby Lower East Side hi-rise luxury condo doing some blow with the Tate. Come on over later and maybe we can get her to do a train with us."

To get in these clubs costs say $20. Then once inside drinks are through the roof. We mean drinks at any old average NYC bar now cost around $7 to $10; beers cost from $5.50 for Bud up to $10 for one of those trendy home-brewed beers. So, $20 to get in; once you're in you start knocking back Buds at $5.50 a piece. Then, hell, you spot a hot chick you wanna jive with so you ask to buy her a drink, she says, yes, she'll have a mariposa slingshot with a Coke on the side (or did she say a line of coke on the side--wow, what's a line of coke cost you at a trendy downtown club?)--let's say a mariposa slingshot costs $9.00--ten bucks with the tip--let's say you had two beers before you bought the chick a drink--so already a stud has spent $36.50--entry fee plus 3 Buds--which means adding in the $9 girl's drink--that's $55--and you haven't even danced yet. By the end of the evening--say you've spent $200 trying to score--and you haven't scored--you're probably drunk--you're certainly pissed that you haven't scored--your head gets jicky and you go up to some snobby white bitch and you start barbing on her, "Hey, bitch, you think you're too good for me, El Swingo? Well, fuck you, bitch, who do you think you are?" "Hey, motherfucker, lay off my bitch." "Your bitch. Fuck you, she's my bitch now." And the fight begins. So this pissed-off stud the other night, lucky for the people he went after he didn't have a gun, started stabbing away out of frustration. Shit, poor bastard, he missed a chance to maybe kidnap and murder one of those hot trendy snobby bitches.

for The Daily Growler

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