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Wednesday, May 20, 2009

It's My World, So Where's My Damn Rent Money?!



It's funny. While I've never been one to think that the world revolves around me, this past week in sports, and my latest jaunt to New York City have me thinking that for all these years I've simply been trying to deny the obvious. The world does in fact revolve around Brett Ferruccio, and all you see and all you hear is just the natural order, the karma of the universe if you will, reacting to me and adjusting to me and my thoughts. Astonishing, I know, but take a look at a few of the stories below, and try and tell me that you still think I'm crazy.


Making appearances in this week's edition of the Nation will be none other than Olympian Michael Phelps, actor Barry Pepper, my buddies Frosco and Sean P, and a Ted from the 'Cuse that could very well replace "Teddy Cranston" as the worst thing to happen to that University since the hiring of Greg Robinson...


Oh yea. And a gay Kanye West impersonator, and what he "might" have said to me and my boys while we swilled booze with townies under a rotary on the West Side Highway...

Yeah, it's been that kind of week. So let's get to it...




First and foremost, to address my original point of how my brain controls the universe, I want to revisit my attempt on ESPN to "Streak For the Cash". For those that don't recall, I've been participating in this contest in which you pick games with the goal of putting together the longest streak of correct picks possible. ESPN.com provides the matchups, and I make the picks. Simple as that...

So in the playoffs, the Bruins and Celtics combined for a record of 14-11. When I picked them during the streak, including both game 7's this past weekend? I went 0-11. They were 14-0 when I didn't pick them, and 0-11 when I did pick them. Coincidence? Yeah, I think not. Maybe at 0-5 you could have convinced me it was a coincidence, but by the time the streak reached 8, I realized both teams' fate was in my hand, and took the only action I deemed appropriate. I continued picking them to win, in hopes that they would continue to lose...

Was it selfish? With all my friends caught up in Bruins and Celtics fever, should I have maybe directed my negative energy towards the opposition?

Nah, man. That's just not my style. I say bring on baseball, baby. Get all this poser fan talk off of my radio, out of my office, and let it stop infesting every semi-enjoyable social setting. It's time to focus on the Sox, and begin the countdown to the Patriots opening up the NFL season on Monday Night Football. I know this means the pink hats will now realize that the Sox have actually already started playing this year, but I've gotten used to them by now, and I'm at least prepared to deal with their ignorance and front running tendencies...

It's just too bad for them that their pre-op tran job of a chauffeur got suspended for crashing the T while text messaging. Knowing that a he-she was transporting them to and from the park on a daily basis would have really made my summer...

And for the record, and just to prove I'm not insensitive to gender confusion issues: Tranny Arquette was one of the best participants the Surreal Life ever had. There, I said it...




Next up, while it would be appropriate to segue to the Red Sox, or just baseball in general, allow me to take a detour for a minute or two to discuss my trip this weekend to New York City...



Upon our arrival, my good friend and former Rooch Nation editor, Kevin "Frosco" Tomasso, met up with my boy Sean P at his place on the Upper West Side, and headed down to a place called The Basin Bar. On our journey, 2 things happened...


1) On our walk through the park that runs along the Henry Hudson Parkway (or the Double H, if you will), we walked through 3-4 small tunnels that reminded me of a scene from Spike Lee's 25th Hour. You know, the scene where Ed Norton doesn't want to go to prison looking all pretty, so he asks his good friend, played by Barry Pepper, to blast him the face a few times for good measure? No? You haven't seen it? Well you should. Not only does Pepper just wreck the shit out of Norton's grill piece, but Philip Seymour Hoffman spends the whole scene doubled over against the side of the tunnel with Norton's dog, half dry heaving and half crying like a little girl...


And speaking of Hoffman, if you haven't seen Charlie Wilson's War, it's worth checking out if for no other reason than he gives an amazing performance. Whenever the phrase "Go fuck yourself, you fucking child" is followed by a man with thick glasses and a puffy mustache breaking a plate glass window with a wrench, you know you've just witnessed an Oscar caliber performance. And it's roles like that, that can finally erase the label of "The fat, gay guy from Boogie Nights"...



2) After we arrived at The Basin Bar, which was literally right below the 79th St. rotary exit off the Henry Hudson, things continued to get interesting. Once we got our barrings at the open air bar, a group of 5 of us gathered in what I would describe as a traditional guy drinking circle. And in traditional Rooch fashion, I started in with a story about one of our friends from home, and a particularly funny story about how we once stumbled upon him after hours in the Attleboro High School parking lot with a female acquaintance...


Halfway through the story, the term "blow-job" came up, as it often does when re-telling tails from our youth, and it seemed to catch the attention of a passer by. Who was it you ask? No, not Barry Pepper, although that would be amazingly appropriate. The one who was attracted to our conversation, and decided to bust up our circle to drop in his two cents, was none other than a guy that looked exactly like a homosexual version of the one and only Kanye West. Gay Kanye, if you will, penetrated our cipher and piped up to say something about how "that sounded like his kind of story". What he really said, we might never accurately recall, because thanks to my genius wit, what will be remembered is that he said "I sure wish it was one of you fine gentlemen who was doing the fellatio in that story". And then he tugged on his white-t, adjusted his white plastic glasses, gave a patented Michael Jackson "Ah-he-he!", and moonwalked his way away from our circle...


OK that's not at all what actually happened, but since the world reacts to my whims, and I'm the only one that ever remembers how things like that actually happened, that's the story that I'm gonna make sure is the one we remember when we retell it 10-15 years from now. No one else will remember, so that's how it's gonna go down in the history books...

Cuz you ain't messin with no broke, broke....Ah-he-he!...




Next up in the city adventure, was the next day's trip to the Shake Shack for lunch, where we were waited on by none other than Michael Phelps. OK maybe it was just a kid that looked like the 8 time gold medalist, but you can't tell me it's just another coincidence that after we ate those delicious burgers, we return to Sean's place to a TV story about none other than....Michael Phelps!

No, it wasn't the story about how he had a 3some with some Vegas strippers in a 3 hour marathon session, although from the way NBC's Jimmy Roberts was reporting it, you might have thought he wished he was one of those hookers. To quote Roberts "Phelps won the races despite not shaving any of his body hair, and wearing an old bathing suit". OK, maybe not a totally homosexual comment, but when your a small man, wearing a pink tie, one can't help but start making assumptions...

Now where the conversation went from there was rather interesting. I mean, would we have ever even noticed something was amiss with Phelps having a goatee had Roberts' not brought it up? And what kind of arrogance is that? In a sport where guys do their best Powder impression in order to get as aerodynamic (or is it aquadynamic?) as possible, isn't it rather "F-U" of Phelps to step out there wearing no doubt the first beard he's ever been able to grow? We certainly thought so. Then again, he did win, didn't he? So I guess there's no harm in it at all. What I wanna see next, is Michael Phelps step onto the blocks in a hoodie and baggy jeans, take a rip from a 4 foot bong, and them proceed to win the race. Think about it. Most of us would drown due to the bong rip, and the other half of us would drown due to the clothes, right? But not this guy. He's so damn slick, he can wear an old mankini, get higher than Cheech, and win the 200 backstroke dressed in what would be equivalent to Jamie Kennedy's outfit from that Vanilla Ice biopic he did circa 2001...

Oh wait. Scratch that. The next two events Phelps raced in, he finished second. Beard 'n all...


Go back to flippin' those delicious burgers, you Ashton Kutcher wannabe. And take a cue from the Celtics and Bruins by staying off my TV until the next time your "sport" actually becomes relevant. Remember, people. There's a reason you haven't been clamoring for a pro swimming league all these years. And that reason, is that swimming is for Teds. You know. I know it. And Michael Phelps is doing his very best to prove it to us on a daily basis. Even if Jimmy Roberts thinks he's cute...



Speaking of gay midgets, next on the agenda is a long awaited reunion of sorts. You see, for years now, Sean, Frosco and I have all played phone tag in order to have Sean place our bets for all of the Triple Crown races at his local Off Track Betting parlor. This time, with all of us in the city together for the Preakness, we all made the journey down to the OTB together in order to put down our money on favorites Rachel Alexandra and Pioneerofthe Nile. Now I know what you're thinkin'. You're thinkin' "Oh well at least you had money on the winning horse", right? Wrong. We may have had that philly to take the thing down, but thanks to our limited bankrolls, we only had her in a few different exotic bets, and for 6th straight Triple Crown race, we came up empty handed...



Oh, well. At least we were finally able to make the journey to the OTB together, which provided moments such as these...


Me: "Where is this place anyway?"

Sean: "You'll be able to spot it a block away by all the fat degenerates out in front smoking butts"

Also, Sean almost got murdered inside the joint when he came up $2 short on the amount we wanted to bet a mere 20 minutes before post time. Oh and did I mention that there was a tiny elderly woman in there, who apparently was a regular, that was not only dressed head to toe in some sort of leprechaun suit, but also had whiskers on her chin reminiscent of that kung-fu master from Kill Bill 2? Yeah, that happened. And not only did she exist, but she asked Frosco and I for the time, and shuffled her way back inside through a sea of butts to presumably continue bothering the tellers and bettors inside until someone threw her a dollar or two...

Remind me if I ever get that old to have someone A) shoot me in the head, or B) dress me up in a little green suit, and park me outside the OTB. I figure they're basically the same thing, except in the little green suit at least I'll have a shot at scorin' some cigs...



Now to wrap up the story of my NYC adventure, I could spend time telling you about all the dog shit on Sean's block, the Emo bar he took us too, or the delicious wings we dined on at a Mets bar, but I won't (even though those wings are bomb, and yet another example of wings better than Wendell's). Instead I'd like to inform you that my campaign to convince everyone that will listen that Yankee play-by-play man, John Sterling, is the greatest radio guy around, and his broadcasts with Suzyn Waldman are hysterical, has gained yet another another supporter in my traveling companion, Kevin Tomasso.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know we're supposed to "hate" the Yankees and whatnot, but having produced about a million of their games for the radio station I work at, AM 790, I haven't been able to help but become enamored with his style. His newest homerun call of "Ohhh what a Text message! You're on the Mark, Teixeira!", has me rolling in the aisle every time. Team it up with such classics as "Robby Cano! Don't Ya Know!", "A Thrilla by Godzilla!" and of course, everybody's favorite "The Melk-Man Delivers!", and I'm baffled as to what anyone could find not to love. Add in the fact that Sterling treats Waldman as if she were a middle school newspaper reporter who's only there because she won some contest, and by God you've got yourself some radio gold...



Take a listen yourself, at the legendary back and forth that ensued the day after the 2007 season, Joe Torre's final game as head coach of the Yankees. Suzyn is crying her eyes out, and John basically responds as if he doesn't give a shit, and that she needs to calm down. Maybe because he's a pro, maybe it's because he's half in the bag, or maybe it's just because after years of working with Michale Kay and Charlie Steiner, they stuck him with Suzyn "Georgie Girl" Waldman, a Boston native with a background in Broadway. I feel your pain, Johnny Boy, but keep up the good work...


Oh and if the Melk-Man could deliver a few more times this week, my fantasy team would really appreciate it...


And speaking of my fantasy team, they are going to serve as the proverbial red bow on this week's column. If you can check out these trends, and you're still not convinced the world revolves around me, then I'm gonna go head and say you're some sort of evil, heartless witch, and perhaps even the witch that decided to curse me with this power to begin with. Feel my pain when you read these numbers...


*This season, my pitching has lost 5 games in which they have surrendered 0-1 earned runs. That's right. LOST. Not "got a no decision". LOST. And what makes it all that much more enjoyable, is that the two main culprits, Johan Santana and Cliff Lee, have their team's offensive struggles during their starts chronicled nearly every day on SportsCenter and Baseball Tonight...

Oh, and I shit you not. As I was writing this, Cliff Lee was tossing a 2 run, 8 inning gem against the Royals. He left the game with a 5-2 lead, only to watch Kerry Wood give up 4 runs in the 9th, allowing the Royals to win the game 6-5. And to make matters worse, the crucial blow in the 9th was a 2R HR my Mark Teahen...who was on my bench yesterday because I didn't want him going up against Lee...


*This season I have had 9 different guys I am playing against have 2 HR's in one game. NINE! Now I don't know how many times that's happened this year in the major league's, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's happened to me at least 6 more times than it's happened to anyone else in my league...and probably anyone else in fantasy baseball, period...


*One guy that's actually gone yard for me twice in one game this year is Reds 1B, Joey Votto. He's not playing right now, though, because he's hurt. Yeah I know, injuries are a part of any sport right? Especially baseball. But get this. Votto has been out for more than a week with...ya ready...dizziness. That's right, dizziness. Odd, huh? Well not if you're my team, who's already lost 7 games this year to the flu, and has seen 2 guys with no history of arm trouble hit the DL with Tommy John surgery...


*You need look no further than last week to see how my team brings out the best in the oppositions players. Going into last week, Rockies starter Ubaldo Jimenez was 2-4 with a 5.45 ERA and a 30/20 strike out to walk ratio. Against me? Over 2 starts he went 1-0 with a 1.38 ERA and an 11/3 strike out to walk ratio. Oh, and it gets better. His teammate, 2B Ian Stewart, was forced into action for my opponent for 1 game when Dustin Pedroia went down. Pedroia was out for more than one game, but seeing as my buddy Keith had already waived Stewart earlier that day, this would be the only game Stewart could play for him. That one game, Stewart, who on the season was hitting a Ruthian .164, went 2-4 with 2 HR's and 5 RBI.


...Oh and when I said "look no further than last week", I meant that Mark Teixeira is playing against me this week, and if he could keep this pace up for an entire season, he would finish the year with 273 homeruns..


Granted my team wouldn't be in first place anyway, but in a game of inches, I'm beginning to feel like a white midget taking a shower at the Compton YMCA...

That's it for me kids. If I failed at convincing you that I somehow control the world's karma, or failed in my attempt to entertain you, I don't care. I do control the universe, and I am funny. Grammatically incorrect at times? Sure. Lacking proper syntax at others? Of course. But this is the Intraweb, after all. And until Al Gore says we aren't allowed to rush through our columns in the interest of actually accomplishing something in our daily lives, then I'm just gonna plod right along, adding soldiers to my army one John Sterling homerun call at a time...

So come back next week. I'll actually have time to get to my hatred for Greg Paulus, the struggles of Big Papi (roids?), news about Michael Vick possibly joining the Patriots, and a Cheeto that may or may not be the second coming of the Lord Jesus Christ...OK here's the Cheeto right now. They call him, "Cheesus"...



Apparently it's much harder being "Cheezy" than we thought, huh? Well thank you, Chester, for dying for our sins. Really appreciate it...

Peace in the Middle, kids, and remember. It's my world. And by my count, your rent is long overdue...

100...

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