When the going gets tough, the weird turn pro and right now nothing is weirder than the nightmarish scenario of Barry Bonds signing with the Yankees.  I'm all for Bonds wearing prison stripes but never pinstripes.

How could Yankees GM Brian Cashman answer any question about signing Barry Bonds without snappily retorting "That sack of #### will never soil these pinstripes until they pry the franchise from my cold dead hands."

I understand Cashman has a business to run but seeing that fat, slob waddle out in pinstripes and take a big wet steaming dump all over the legacy of Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, Mantle, Maris, Jackson and every other Yankee who inspired a dream inside a kid to play baseball, (even if 99.9998% of us grow up to be anything but...), is nothing short of eye rape.

I know where I'd like to see Barry play next, in a Legends of Steroids Game at a State Fair.  16,632 games unraveled under the pinstripes without Bonds and they didn't miss him one bit, let's play 16,000 more without him.

The alternative to signing Bonds isn't pleasant it's Richie Sexson who eked out a dismal .211 average and 32 potatoes over the last season and a half for those Seattle Mariners.  It's weird to see a power hitter's numbers decline as he gets older in this brave new world of steroid free baseball.  Sorta like seeing Heather Locklear get ugly...kinda makes you miss the glory days when Rex "The Wonder Dog" Hudler was rocking the pinstripes...or how the length of Mattingly's hair enthralled the entire baseball nation.  Good times...

The biggest, fastest, and possibly dumbest creature to roam the earth since dinosaurs is professional baseball and like dinosaurs baseball's inevitable extinction is just as predictable. What pushes a sport to the brink of doom? Let's examine how baseball illustrates a disturbing fact; the age of the sports dinosaur is drawing to a bitter and sudden close.

Baseball. Why did it resonate for so long? Why was it cherished for almost 150 years? Why does it seem so hollow and phony now? You have to go back to the beginning to see why the end of professional baseball is near.

Baseball isn't just the national pastime it is the national pastime and for good reason. Baseball was incubated in the civil war and afterwards became the panacea that healed a divided nation. Baseball was bigger in all aspects than we can imagine today, it held the promise of spring, the struggle of summer and the decay and finality of fall so perfectly in balance it's hard to imagine life without it.

The rhythms and pace are as perfect as the diamond it's played upon. It's the great equalizer. There is a profound truth to its demands. The ball, the bat, the glove, the dimensions immutably played across nine innings, three outs, and a box score that sings the game across time. Brandeis said, sports is truth because once it was reduced to a box score there were no interpretations, no gray areas just the game as it was played forever fixed in the amber of Linotype.

The earliest professional teams rose and fell like summer corn. The players an amalgam of college graduates, drunks, and shifty characters were every bit as dodgy as the grifters and con men that owned the clubs. There was no privilege between the lines that mattered save your baseball pedigree. It didn't matter that Rube Waddell was mad as a hatter and twice as childlike, on the mound he was un-hittable and just as likely to chase a fire engine, as he was to strike out the side. His manager, Connie Mack, for fear he would disappear on a bender, doled his salary out a few bucks at a time.

Race played no part in the beginning it wasn't until Hall of Famer Cap Anson, a de####able racist, led a cabal that drove Black players from the game in the late 1800's and then like a Shakespearian tragedy it took the man who saved baseball Judge Landis to maintain that prejudice until his death when Branch Rickey and Jackie Robinson shattered that vile barrier six decades later. But don't get all misty-eyed.

The Negro League in its day was the 3rd largest black owned and operated business, and cornerstone of the Black community, their players were every bit the equal of any major league player. Robinson may have broken the barrier but the barrier fell directly on top of the Negro League. Nor were the Dodgers all that racially smart or advanced. To maintain a quota system that suppressed black players in the majors after Robinson and Larry Doby broke the color barrier they lost Roberto Clemente to the Pirates in the Rule 5 draft because they already had their quota filled on the Dodgers roster. But none of this is news to any real baseball fan.

Baseball stars in every era were considered family heirlooms passed on from father to son, each adding his own layer. It was a legacy and a trust. But all that began to change in the 1970's. It isn't fair to blame baseball for the changing environment of sports or even society. Nevertheless baseball withstood much change without the bedrock shifting. But like a Brontosaurus or a T-Rex seeing the meteor cross the sky that would kill them it didn't understand its time was over.

Baseball has spilled more ink than any other sport. It has a lyricism that attracts great writers to scribble great things. But suddenly newspapers faced their own extinction. Great dailies fell all across the country, as cable supplanted print media and now sports, once the favorite section of the daily paper, was a click away for an increasingly lazy and entertainment jaded public. Baseball a sport that thrived because it was the only affordable entertainment for the poor and middle class saw it's impact and place dwindle as the price of tickets pushed aside all but the deepest corporate pockets.

Family owned teams sold out to corporations who care only about the bottom line. Media companies bought teams for programming and chucked them into the hungry maw of 24-hour sports channels without understanding or caring about tradition. Baseball became another commodity measured in ratings. Like earth inverting underneath a flood ravaged dike, tradition washed and whirled away and by the time of the last real commissioner, Fay Vincent, the only thing owners cared about was whacking up billions in profits and everything else be damned.

Over expansion, fueled by a lust for the billions it brought current owners in entry fees, diluted the quality of the players, to compensate the mound was lowered until pitchers could barely pitch six injury free innings a game over an entire season even on 5 days rest. Under the greedy and clearly dumbest commissioner, Bud Selig, owner by proxy of the Milwaukee Brewers, major league baseball extorted new stadiums from taxpayers and then priced them out of attending. Attendance still rose as corporate box seats and the wealthy supplanted the dopes that paid for the stadium and ratings rose like a bubble until an unlikely pin, steroids, popped it.

Steroids are the genie let out of the bottle of real fan discontent. Players like Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds put a real face on a problem created, fostered and supported by MLB, owners, and teams. Baseball was all a lie. The thing we cherished and grew up with was gone. Replaced by a shimmering Vegas resort mirage. When fan outrage finally brick walled the mealy-mouthed Selig he tried to whitewash it with the Mitchell Report. But nobody was biting. With each new revelation, an ugly truth was left flopping and gasping for air like a fish made out of raw sewage.

Look at the baseball landscape today. There are only two teams, the Yankees and the Red Sox and $100 million dollars in salary behind them is every other team. Sure they don't win the World Series every season, but most. It isn't even a league it's like Batman and Superman fighting to the death with the rest of the Justice League happily sucking mocha lattes at a Starbucks.

The other teams are content to grab the TV cash and act as a feeder system. But the sport no longer resonates. It no longer captures the heart, mind and soul of our nation. There isn't a single player that isn't playing under the su####ion of performance enhancing drugs. Their personal lives are displayed like a colonoscopy so any hope of them ever being a hero to a small child is unlikely and finally when you do go to a ballpark, they fiscally rape you so hard it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

Baseball should look at hockey and figure it out. Once a sport stops resonating, canceling a season or signing the wrong TV contract, makes it very easy for Americans to simply walk away. Right now baseball is kicking dirt over that cliff. Baseball will reap what it sows. Fans unfortunately inherit the wind.

Remember when CBS owned the Yankees? For many New Yorker's it's a repressed memory equaled only by being a current Jets fan. Those were dark days when the Bronx Bunglers were the laughingstock of the American League.

George Steinbrenner managed to make the Yankees hated again and in the course of three decades built a perennial winner. He meddled, investigated, castigated and forbid facial hair below the lip but his wallet was every bit as big as his mouth.

18 times the Yankees made the playoffs and brought home a fistful of World Series rings. Whatever the Yankees needed George bought. But George hit the wall in 2006, age and illness forced him to the sidelines and like a lot of family businesses sometimes the son isn't a chip off the old block.

2007 started like a horror film, the Yankees stumbled out of the gate and were 18 games behind the BoSox by the end of May. Hank Steinbrenner was called Steinbungler and Hankenstein, Joe Torre made 500 pitching changes in 2007 crawling out of that hole to win the wild card. It was his last and possibly best hurrah. The Yanks were steamrollered by Cleveland in the playoffs 3-1. The ax soon fell on Joe in the form of a mumbled pay cut.

A-Rod made the off-season memorable with a bad agent and bad math skills, and the Yanks re-signed other veteran stalwarts like Rivera, and Posado. Unfortunately the well that brought the Yankees so much success ran dry. The open checkbook for pitching didn't matter. Every team in baseball desperate for pitching snapped up or traded circles around the Yankees, gone are the days where the Yankees culled the cream of the crop with money that left other teams gasping like fish out of water. Unwilling to trade their top prospects the Yankees saw Johan Santana come to New York as a Met. It was an ill omen for the Bronx Zoo.

The 2008 Yankees equaled last year's dismal April performance dropping 14 games. The better news is they're only 2 games out of first. The bad news? A-Rod and Jorge Posado are on the 15 day DL which spells real trouble for half of May, while A-Rod's pulled quadriceps might heal there's no definitive word on whether Posado will need surgery on his bum shoulder.

The pitching staff is good to fair to gut-wrenchingly putrid. The good, Chien-Ming Wang, (5-0, 3.23 ERA), and Andy Pettitte, (3-2, 3.23 ERA). The fair, Mike Mussina, (3-3, 4.73 ERA). (Is Moose headed for another meltdown like last season that got him sent on vacation in the middle of the wild card race?)

The gut-wrenchingly putrid; the young tandem of Phil Hughes and Ian Kennedy are throwing pillows and batting practice for opposing teams. Winless in April, getting shelled early and often, both sport ERA's that look like snowmen on a bad round of golf.  Maybe they should take the bus to Yankee Stadium to remember what the minor leagues feel like.  They did inspire Hank Jr. to throw an April shower about wasting Joba Chamberlain in a setup role.

Does Joe Girardi have the temperament to handle a powder keg owner foolishly shooting his mouth off to the press all season long? Despite the great job he did with the Marlins he got the boot for not #### kissing one owner who while completely insane isn't anywhere near as nuts as Steinbrenner aching to prove to Daddy he can man up before the daughter steps in to clean up his mess.

The Yankees are finally damned, by the one thing they can't buy, trade, release, or send to the minors; squabbling billionaire siblings. Like every other baseball fan in America I'm going to enjoy watching the bonfire of the baseball vanities...Stay tuned for May.

The Phillies attempted to curse the New York Mets yesterday burying ace hurler Johan Santana behind a concession stand at Citizens Bank Ballpark.  The Phillies took their cue from a construction worker who buried a David Ortiz Red Sox jersey, (dubbed Hex Shirt), in the new Yankee ballpark to curse the Yankees.  The Phillies went one step further burying an actual player.

"I was eeting breakfasts burrito when banditos keecked ze door in and I was keednaps," commented a perplexed Santana before being buried under two-feet of Portland reinforced cement.
                    
Excited fans crowded around the site jostling for a better view as Phillies owner William "Cheap" Giles and General Manager Pat Gillick pressed their hand prints into the quick drying cement.  Giles in a prepared statement said, "We hope this brings the Mets as much bad luck as possible while preserving the good natured rivalry we enjoy."  Santana's reply was a cryptic, "Blurb, blurb, blurb."

Mets executives were understandably outraged.  "We intend to file an immediate grievance with the Commissioner's Office we strongly condemn this practice and seek the return of our ace," said Farleigh "Skip" Mellon, Mets VP of Marketing.  "Anytime you innovate there are bound to be fuddy duddy's who disagree," replied Ruben Amaro Jr. Phillies Asst. GM.
         
Meanwhile MLB Commissioner Bud Selig fresh from his triumphant announcement reversing tepid punishments doled out during his steroid whitewash was reluctant to comment.  "Can they do that?"  Selig asked before being hustled away to attend the American Pharmaceutical Association Banquet where he is accepting an award for Lifetime Excellence in Promoting Pharmacopoeia in the Workplace.
          
In related news, United Local Building and Trades Council 903 threw up picket lines around the Santana burial site protesting the use of undocumented day laborers to dig the hole and pour the cement.  Local President Faffy "####" Ionini had this to say, "The use of non-union scabs to construct this site is shocking as well as distressing on many levels."  When asked if the Local would interfere with Santana being dug up at Selig's order Ionini replied between bulging mouthfuls of greasy cheese steak, "Who the @%#! is that @#&hole?"   

    A-Rod's one man assault on math continued yesterday when he claimed "Last year, I got tested 9-to-10 times..."  Most of us distinctly remember how many times we've taken a drug test, the whole aiming for the cup thing but not so Mr. September.  

    Quicker than you can say opt out of my contract during the World Series a Yankees spokesman trotted out the rest of what we might call the truth.  Speaking for A-Rod who can't be trusted to speak for himself any longer, Yankees spokesman Jason Zillo swiftly ended any doubt A-Rod's math skills improved since A-Rod's horrific contract blunder cost him tens of millions of dollars in the off season..

    "My quote from earlier today was taken literally. I was not tested nine or 10 times last year."

    How else can somebody take your quotes A?  Figuratively?  A-Rod's poor math skill set might be better served if he spent more time on Sesame Street and less time whiffing with runners in scoring position during the playoffs which leads to another problem.  How do you tell them apart?  There have been a few Sesame Street characters who didn't end up bullet ridden corpses in a heroin shooting gallery when they grew up like the Grouch.  They know how to count and a few even made the bigs...    
 
    A-Rod
    11-time All-Star, last season swatted 54 dimples and 156 RBIs, won his third AL MVP award.  17th on the career HR list with 518 home runs.  Not perfect, 8-for-59 (.136) in the post season dating to 2004 and hitless in 18 consecutive playoff at-bats with runners in scoring position.
           
    Bert and Ernie
    Best middle infield to play for the hapless Tampa Rays,  Bert, pointy head, cucumbery nose and no-shoulders, a vacuum cleaner at shortstop and Ernie, flat head, red nose, bad hair, throws with both hands as well as spits the ball to first.  Bert's tragic beaning on the last game of the 1999 season broke up the duo but not before they set an MLB best .1000 fielding mark and a RF of 815.4 over the course of an entire season.  Bert currently makes Popsicle stick arts & crafts in Florida while Ernie surfaced recently as an announcer for the Single A Souderton Wombats.  
              
    Big Bird
    Full body Muppet, can roller skate, ice skate, dance, sing, write poetry, draw and even ride a unicycle, appeared on the cover of Sports Illustrated. In 1977.  Cannot hit a curve ball.  Called up by the Expo's and sent back down after leading the league in strikeouts because he only has one hand.  Lifetime Major League batting average stands at .102 mark.  Named in the Mitchell Report and currently retired raising Alpacas in Montana.
          
    Mr. Snuffleupagus
    Resembles a woolly mammoth without tusks or ears, which means hardly at all.  Spent a good deal of career invisible or Endy Chavez as it's called in baseball.  Has a decent four-seamer and known to over-rely on a change-up when behind in the count.  Signed with Kansas City in the off-season as a middle reliever.  Often mistaken for George Stephanopoulos.

Oh they look so good when you're having more than one, but when Miller time expires the moment of truth leaves a bitter taste in your mouth...

Beer Goggles...
Imagine Shaq running like Bambi's Mom should have, his hip problems forgotten like Pauly Shore's movie career, and Amari Stoudemire crashes the weak side glass while Steve Nash & Raja Bell drop mad treys like names at a Hollywood Nite Club. Kobe chokes on his own bile as Shaq gets a fifth ring.
The Morning After...
Steve Kerr shouldn't foolishly squash $20 million dollars a year in salary cap on elder statesman role player like Shaq. Looks good on paper looks bad on the court. Think driving a golf cart with restrictor plates from the pole position at the Daytona 500.
                     
Beer Goggles...
Johan Santana pitches the Mets into the World Series, eats up 235 innings and notches 20 wins on his way to a Cy Young. Boston fires Theo Epstein and the Yankees announce Steinbrenner's daughter Georgina will now run the team because she has a bigger set than Hank and Hal combined.
The Morning After...
The back of the pitching staff and the team pulls September Collapse 2008, and mis-manager Willie Randolph exits stage right. Santana barely wins 11 while the harsh glare of publicity and an entirely different NL strike zone make him look like Kei Igawa.
      
Beer Goggles...
A mutt named Scooter who spends his life drinking public toilet water and eating out of garbage cans wanders into Madison Square Garden and wins the Westminster Kennel Club Show when he drops a #### next to a judge and then dry humps her leg.
The Morning After...
A big beagle named Uno with a better pedigree than most Harvard University Law School Graduates wins the 69th Annual Westminster Kennel Club Show while Scooter is euthanized after nobody adopts him at the Puppy Shelter.
             
Beer Goggles...
Roger Clemens never took steroids and is a better pitcher every year because it's a fluke. Once his name is cleared he comes back to pitch an entire third of a season for a prorated $28 million. During the playoffs he wins three games and posts an ERA under 1.00...Roger is a role model for school children the world over.
The Morning After...
Not only does Clemens DNA match, McNamee admits he shot up Clemens son right before a Father-Son potato sack race at a church picnic, which the Clemens won handily. Clemens refuses to return the trophy to the church.
                   
Beer Goggles...
Tony Stewart and Kurt Busch take NASCAR's warning to heart and run a clean Daytona 500. The race between them is considered one of the most exciting ever run.
The Morning After...
Stewart and Busch take each other out of the race with one lap to go and bump each other all the way back to pit row. Once out of their cars they're shown on FOX getting into a fistfight. If you define Kurt holding Smoke's head with an outstretched arm while Smoke swings back and forth like a petulant child hitting nothing but air, a fistfight. NASCAR fines Stewart for his assault and Busch for making one of the most popular drivers in NASCAR look utterly foolish.

I know a bunch a you will claim a guy wrapping his legs & arms around your torso and hanging on for dear life is a mean #### sport, albeit horrifically ####, or some guy named Derek swatting the pill is all that and a bag of Sun Chips, or Brady bunching two picks in the AFC Title game wasn't the beginning of the end of his career... but for my money Steven Seagal is badder than them all...here's why...First off, people call him Sensei because he's an expert on being Steven Seagal, which is not as easy as it looks...other facts you need to know...
                     
If birds fly over Steven Seagal they drop dead out of the sky.

If you make eye contact with Steven Seagal you get a nosebleed.

If you take Steven Seagal's picture he steals your soul.

If Steven Seagal met Chuck Norris, Chuck would back way the #@$! down.

If American Indians didn't allow Steven Seagal to claim he was the Chosen One in On Deadly Ground he would have neck snapped every remaining Indian left on the face of the earth.
                         
Steven Seagal's movies go straight to video because movie screens aren't strong enough to hold them.

Steven Seagal still has a mullet, business in the front, party in the back.

Even though Steven Seagal is really, really fat he still wears pajammies everywhere he goes because he will neck snap you if you laugh at him.

Steven Seagal doesn't want to run for President of the United States because then he wouldn't be able to neck snap anyone he wanted to.

Steven Seagal flosses his teeth with Jason Statham.
                     
When Steven Seagal goes to a proctologist chunks of Randy Couture are in his stool sample.

Anderson Silva calls him Mr. Seagal, politely.

When Steven Seagal laughs angels die.

Steven Seagal once killed a man simply by explaining his ideas on Oriental philosophy.

If you dream Steven Seagal kills you, you stay dead and the coroner secretly knows why.
            
When Steven Seagal plays the guitar he doesn't bend the strings he bends the guitar.

Steven Seagal isn't fat he's getting in character to star in Oliver Stone's The Last Days of Ninja Elvis.

Steven Seagal uses Jean Claude Van Damme as a sunshade in his Hummer.

If you put Superman, Batman & Steven Seagal in a room, Seagal would come out with two capes and a utility belt.

Texas is replacing the death penalty with Steven Seagal.
                 

The lead attorney for Roger Clemens began his own investigation into allegations linking Clemens to the use of steroids and human growth hormone.  Not since OJ Simpson began his now infamous quest for the murderer of his ex-wife on the back nine of the Port St. Lucie Country Club has justice been so vigorously and privately pursued by an alleged criminal athlete.
                         
Bilgewater T. Horns####gle of Dewey, Screwem & Howe admitted there was a better chance of the Statue of Liberty giving birth before Jamie Lynn Spears than clearing his client of the mounting evidence athletes do not get better with age unless they replace the 60% of water in their bodies with 100% of chemical compounds like Deca-Durabolin.
            
"Structurally nandrolone is very similar to testosterone, although it lacks a carbon atom at the 19th position..." said Clemens when asked if he knew what Deca-Durabolin was and then strenuously denied ever taking it.
          
Horns####gle says the issue is what did Clemens know and when did he know it rather than why did he do it and why does he keep denying it.  Clemens deserves not only the benefit of the doubt but also wishes reporters would stop snickering every time he asks for it.
         
"I don't care if he did them why didn't he do them in the post season?"  Asked Hank Steinbrenner.  "The guy couldn't buy a victory past September for the Yankees and that 's the real crime story here."
                  
Clemens threat to sue anyone who suggests he did steroids had a chilling effect on the media who now refers to him not-so-cryptically as "...the unnamed steroid swilling hog who sucked eggs last season and despite 7 Cy Young awards will never get in the Hall of Fame."
         
Meanwhile OJ Simpson announced he would scour the nation's golf courses for steroids since he was going to be there anyway looking for his wife's killer.

I am willing to step in and help the Rocket by giving the speech he should have given at the Texas High School Baseball Coaches Association...

I took steroids. Lots of them. I even wore a steroid patch. Because if some steroids are good, lots must be even better. I wear the cream like a face mask at a day spa and even though you can't see it I'm covered in the clear. I even replaced the milk in my cereal with steroids.

I plagiarize, I plagiarize so bad I'm stealing ideas that haven't even been written yet. Why do I plagiarize? To save time. Cut corners. Get most of the job done half as well in one third of the time.
              
I want to be the best there ever was without all that practice and hard work. Anybody can win 200 games fairly. It takes determination to win 300 games unfairly. Same with a blog. If you aren't exceedingly clever in a couple of years you have 30,000 words that would have had productive careers in book reports, term papers and doctoral thesis' standing around smoking cigarettes like day laborers wondering where it all went south. And by south I mean the dog killing south of a short story written by Michael Vick.

I can't stand criticism. The slightest insult will make me brood for a week before I finally get so mad I have a mealy-mouthed shyster tepidly reply with a cutting jibe like, "...at the appropriate time in the appropriate way." Sit down and finish your fruit cups, I got three more pages of this inspirational banquet #### to plow through.
         
I've won seven Cy Blog Awards. Seven. That gives me benefit of the doubt big enough to drive a truck through metaphorically speaking. If you actually drove a truck through my benefit of the doubt you might kill a lot of innocent people especially if he was having a burrito at the mall food court. You may have noticed I pronounced burrito as Bore-Ree-Toe, that's because I'm taking SSL, a Spanish as a second language course. I figure since I'm down here I might as well sneak across the border and become a burden on Mexico's school, health care and welfare system. That's a joke Paco put on your big coach panties and deal with it. I figured it would go over better than a coach and three boys go camping anecdote that ends with "So you want to go camping sometime?" See I told you that wouldn't have gone over at all judging by the reaction of table twelve.

Now I know a lot of you here are wondering if Roger Clemens got injected in the buttocks four to six times with testosterone from a bottle labeled Sustanon 250 or Deca-Durabolin, and quite frankly I'm a little disturbed whenever a group of guys stand around talking about another man's buttocks but the reality is what difference does it make? He bent over for glory and isn't that inspirational in itself? Think about it, who here hasn't been bent over and taken like a girl by their employer? See, that whole let he who is without sin cast the first stone really works in this instance.
           
I've strayed a bit from my topic but I think we found the kernel of truth in that steaming dump I just took from the podium and while many of you couldn't stay for all my remarks the few of you who did deserve some kind of payoff. So I'll share a little story from my first week of blogging. Sure I wasn't all that good and quite frankly worried I was going to be replaced by "Today in Soccer History" so I went to a major league clubhouse, it isn't important which one, there was a grizzled old vet who was coming off a lackluster season and probably headed to the minor leagues for the last time.

He said, "Kid I wish I could tell you how to hit a curve but if I knew that I'd be a starter. What I can tell you is what an old coach told me when I first started, take as many swings as you can, field as many grounders and run your legs off. Make the other guy outwork you and maybe, just maybe you'll crack the lineup." His eyes misted over in the recollection. He patted me on the shoulder with his gnarled calloused hand. "So go ahead kid what did you want to say."

I gulped, thought hard and said, "You suck."

 This is a tale of two cities, Seattle and New York. It's a tale filled with greed, lies, and extortion. The kind of tale the Coen brothers chuck a corpse in a wood chipper and call "Fargo." We have villains like Clay Bennett who demand millions or he'll take his ball and team home to Oklahoma. We have villains like Scott Boras who sold his client the biggest bill of goods ever sold, the promise of a contract spun from pure fool's gold. Underneath the avalanche of greed we have the victims, the shmoos who pay for it all, the fan.

In Seattle you'd think they were playing basketball on straw mats piled on a dung heap if you listened to Clay Bennett. According to the Associated Press he calls KeyArena outdated. Seems reasonable enough, how old is the joint? Try 12 years old. Completely rebuilt at a cost of $95.5 million dollars between 1994 and 1995 KeyArena seats 17,702 Sonics fans with luxury suites accounting for an additional 1,160 seats. By comparison Madison Square Garden, renovated for $200 million in 1991, seats 18,202.
How much did the Sonics pay? About $21 million, how much did the shmoos pay? $74.5 million dollars. How much did the shmoos pay in New York? $0.00...Ouch. Over the last decade Seattle dropped $6.2 million dollars a year to watch the Sonics. Talk about getting hosed. Does Bennett want more seats? Nope. More luxury boxes? Nope. He wants Seattle to shell out a whopping $220 million for new restaurants, shops and a practice court. All essential tools to building a championship caliber team. Especially the shops. One question remains, where will Clay park his yacht in Oklahoma?

Public officials have no right spending taxpayer money on a toy for a billionaire. It should never even make the ballot. A soccer fan shouldn't have to pay for a basketball arena. Common sense. But that's a trait sorely lacking in pro-sports. Let's look at the strange case of A-Rod. Or is it nimrod?.

After swatting 54 dingers & 156 RBI's with 3 years left on an $82 million dollar contract, A-Rod was sitting on top of the baseball world. Including a $10 million dollar kicker A-Rod was guaranteed a crispy $30 million dollars a year. But along came an evil troll named Scott Boras. He whispered in A-Rod's ear, void the deal, void the deal. Boras schemed the Yankees would bite on the richest contract ever devised rather than lose A-Rod. A contract George Steinbrenner might have swallowed hook, line and sinker. $350 million over the next ten years. Can you feel the love? One slight problem. George retired and turned the family over to his sons.

Hammerin' Hank Steinbrenner can actually do math. Horrified the $10 million dollar Texas Rangers "Stupid" subsidy would end if A-Rod voided his contract, Steinbrenner nuked the very heart of Boras' plan. If A-Rod left for free agency the Yankees would not bid.

Athletes aren't too good at math but ask the average working shmoo if he'd risk a guaranteed $185,185 dollars a game for the chance to make an extra un-guaranteed $31,000 per and before telling you to get lost, he'd laugh so hard he'd hark milk through his nose. But not A-Rod, despite the pay cut thrown at Joe Torre who ended up signing with the Dodgers for less money, A-Rod blindly took the plunge.

Key concept here, less money. At which point the evil troll realized there will be no bidding war that ends north of $20-25 million per for A-Rod. Boras is already backpedaling. He's still willing to negotiate with the Yanks. Hank's reply? Fat chance. If I were A-Rod I would sue Boras for loss of income, this is agent malpractice on a scale only Scott Boras can conceive.

The time has come for the revolt of the shmoos. Pigs get fat hogs get slaughtered. When sports greed and stupidity starts reaching into your wallet, ask yourself this question, why should you be subsidizing a billionaire? What have they done for you lately?

Hi it's me Bobby De Niro, you might remember me from movies like Marty's Taxi Driver, Goodfella's or even Star Wars. Yeah that's right Star Wars, I played Darth Vader and you know what, none of you sci-fi dorks ever figured it out, "Luke I am your Fadda..."  See? I crack Pesci up every time I say that almost as much as when I call him "Mini-me."

Recently my favorite team the Bronx Bombers was eliminated from the playoffs. So what am I gonna do? I'm not like Jack or Spike I'm not going to sit and watch a bunch of guys dribble, I don't do dribble. And hockey? Hockey? Forget about it. Figure skating with sticks. I don't mind football except it happens on Sundays and I usually go up to the Hamptons where everybody calls me Bob and we eat them little hot dogs wrapped in dough.  Which reminds me, we call them "pigs in a blanket" in the old neighborhood but up there they call them ####-something or other which sounds like a snooty hooker but what am I gonna do?

So I signed on with FOXSports to do a little reporting, observing and pretty much just being De Niro. For my first story I decided I would invite my buddy Joe to lunch with my other buddy George. They're both in baseball so I won't have to keep picking topics like gambling, cigars, drinking and why does a haircut cost so freaking much in Tribeca anymore? Which really cheeses me off, do they know who I am? (Perry if you read this and call me a sack I'll cut your's off and feed it to Pesci).

De Niro: Joe I'd like you to meet my good friend George.

Joe Torre: George? George? Is that you? I thought you were cryogenically frozen midway through the season when your half-wit son gave a press conference saying you were concentrating on licking stamps and getting the best buy on Depends.

George Steinbrenner: Joe you old so and so. Hey did we win the Series? Are you going to finish your asparagus? I love asparagus. Sometime I call it A Spear of Gus.

Joe Torre: No George we didn't win the Series we got bounced in the 1st round cause that fat stiff Clemens pulled a hamstring and Mussina stunk like dead fish all season long.

George Steinbrenner: Geez that's a shame Joe, I guess we'll get 'em next year.

De Niro: Rumor has it you're gonna whack Torre, George.

George Steinbrenner: Really?

De Niro: Are you talking to me? Are you talking to me?

Joe Torre: You gotta stop doing that Bobby I almost choked on my jumbo lump crabmeat. That is too funny...

Joe Pesci: What do ya mean, funny? Let me understand this cause, I don't know maybe it's me, I'm a little f-cked up maybe, but I'm funny how? I mean, funny like I'm a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh... I'm here to f-ckin' amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?

De Niro: Whoa Pesc, don't be shootin' anyone here. (Laughs), Pull up a lawn chair we were just going to have a gelato. Joe you ought to take a look at Pesci's swing, he's pretty good with a bat.

There you have it. Stein ain't gonna whack Torre after all. Its just another rumor floated by his one of his spoiled kids. Let's face it if Schuerholz is a freakin' genius and Hall of Famer for getting the Braves 14 Pennants then what is Torre for rackin' up 12 straight years in the playoffs and a fistful of World Series rings? I'm not too good at this reporting thing but I do know this. You don't kill a good earner for the family...I'm Bobby De Niro and are you talking to me?

Fox News Channel is reporting a small plane owned by Yankees pitcher Corey Lidle has crashed into the 20th floor of a NY apartment building killing both occupants of the plane upon impact.  Corey Lidle is reported to be one of the victims.  His passport was found on the street at the scene of the crash.  The plane flew out of Teeterboro Airport, flew around the Statue of Liberty, proceeded up East River.  There was a distress call broadcast at some point by the pilot of the craft before it hit the building.

With the best Christmas present imaginable dangling in front of the Phillies since Rick Wise was an equitable exchange for Steve Carlton, FoxSports baseball analyst, Ken Rosenthal, reports Joe Torre is out as Yankees skipper.

While the Phillies would have to pay off Charlie Manuel's remaining 900,000 circus peanuts and sign Torre to a minimum of $8,000,000 per year there is no excuse for the handsitting Phillies management to not leap like a spawning small mouth bass at a manager who led his team to the playoffs 11 out of 11 seasons and won 4 World Series.

Not signing Jim Leyland in favor of Charlie Manuel was a horrific blunder. Failing to sign Torre would dwarf that mistake on the scale of a Jurraissic mass extinction. Notice It isn't tried to sign Torre, made a good presentation, made a competitive offer, nothing short of success at any cost imaginable is minimally acceptable when Torre is available.

If Giles and the Gang of 4 let this opportunity pass the people of Philadelphia should consider petitioning Major League Baseball to remove Giles as owner of the Phillies for obscenely gross malfeasance or failing that bring another team to the city and make the Phillies move.

Here at the Fowl Line I try to take a whimsical approach to the right conclusion, I guess I could have talked about RISP's and other such statistical boogery to support my conclusion that the A's and the Tigers are headed for the American League championship series.  I could've gone to a gypsy and paid her $50 to read tea leaves or bury my paycheck with a rooster's egg to tell me the same thing.  I could've just played both series on my Play Station and drawn the same conclusions. 

But I didn't.  Nope I just looked at the names on the A's and then on the Twins and realized the Twins had no shot.  Call it a hunch, intuition, a lucky rabbit's foot, whatever.  The simple fact is it was darn good sports reporting.  The meaty, beefy Dinty Moore kind that sticks to your ribs and makes your dog beg to lick the sharp can lid. 

Same thing with the Yankees.  They had no chance against the dollar store Tigers.  Oh sure the Yankees have the best lineup, the best pitching, best coach, but see I'm from Philadelphia and I know something you don't.  They have Bobby Abreu and he's a jinx, a moosh, he sucks the heart out of any team he's on.  The kind of player sabermites love because they don't actually watch his gutless tiptoeing in right field, or his worthless homeruns he only hits when the team is down by a hundred, nope, if there's one thing you can bet the ranch and dog on, it's Bobby Abreu will never get a WS ring.

So in the future when you need the kind of insightful sports blogging sadly bereft elsewhere on FoxBlogs (except all the blogs I have listed in my favorites and the usual gang who are nice enough to comment on my scribble), look no further than the Fowl Line.  If it's bloggable you'll find it hidden inside the creamy nougat of this blog...

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