The Kramerican Way...

You know when you have that great idea, whether it be for a movie or a business, and you consciously decide not to write it down, because you're sure it's so good that you won't forget it? Yeah, that sucks. Hasn't happened to me recently, or anything. But I was reflecting last night on all the the great ideas that have probably been hatched during a drunken rant or in those last moments before your head hits the pillow, and how those unrealized ideas may or may not have influenced the world we live in today. Nothing philosophical, or anything. Mostly flying cars or new bladder systems for oil tankers. But I just couldn't help but wonder about all of the things out there that "could have been". OK, fine. Truth is I went to sleep last night with a great idea for a can't miss game show, and now I've got nothin'. Though I'm pretty sure it was centered around embarrassing your relatives and somehow leaving with an outdated dishwasher or Green
Ray player...

"Heh. Green Ray. It's a funny Ray..."

Yeah, I've got a Green Ray guy. What of it? Got me a great deal, too. Says Green Ray is gonna be the jump off once it gets approved by the FDA. Yeah, apparently there are some nasty rumors that it causes blindness. Freakin' bureaucrats and their red tape. Always tryin' to keep a good businessman down. Oooooooo they say, "your trunk is not an office". OK whatever, professor. You just keep watchin' those shitty discs that aren't so realistic and bright that they can potentially rob you of your sight. Your call...

But, that'll all have to wait, for now. At least until I can get myself in the same mindset that helped me come up with the idea in the first place. Which will likely require some illicit substances, a tub of peanut butter, and a decent amount of shame. So, at least until I can get to the grocery store and snag myself some more peanut butter. In the meantime, I've got these other musings to keep you entertained. And if you still want that Green Ray player, I'm sure something can be arranged...

It'll be a scam involving me taking your money and you getting a box filled with broken speaker parts. But, like I said. It can still be arranged...

OK, now onto the business at hand. And by "business", I mean a bunch of one-line-ish opinions and/or comments on what I deem important. This week, apparently fat chicks in bikinis made that list. Right? All of a sudden that Green Ray deal isn't sounding so bad. Nah, fat chicks need bathing suits, too. OR do they? Oooo. Guess you'll have to read on to find out...

Enjoy...

It's My Job, You Ted...

Sometimes, it takes a day on a boat to properly put things into perspective. You know, help bring you off of the ledge and calm you down with the ebb and the flow and the nature and the whatnot? Yeah, well this past weekend, in which I attended a charter fishing trip for some rat bastard I know's bachelor party, was not one of those times. The NHL still sucks, and I'm still bitter about how the PinkHub of hockey is RUININ MY SPORTS TAHHHK! Yep. Sometimes a fishing trip is just a bunch of dudes on a boat drinking beer and attempting not to cut themselves or drop their phones. And there's no that helps you see through the ether. This, my friends. Was one of those times. Still bitter, over here. And I think it's safe to say, at this point, that any rant against the NHL or the front running love for the black and gold will never be my last. No matter how many times I pretend to profess otherwise...

But, that's OK. Let those front running Teds have their Euro trash ice dancing convention. I've got me some quarterly baseball analysis to do. Besides, it's not the ocean's fault that the NHL didn't implode like a Vegas casino while I was out there enjoying myself on it's surface. I'm sure it did it's best. Probably tired of water always getting upstaged by ice, anyway. Stupid ice. Being celebrated when it was merely water that was just too slow to get away! OR maybe it's some sort of shady Darwinian punishment, where in the weak water is forced as punishment to serve as ice for the most inept sports league this side of the XFL? Yeah, either way. Even I don't have enough disposable time to ponder such things...

Nope, instead I'll just get to said "analysis", and mix in some commentary on Mad Men, Moonrise Kingdom, the massive job cuts at ESPN, and my new mainest mens 'n them,. Mr. Gary Clark Jr. I'll probably go a little overboard with the GIFs, too. Which is apparently pronounced "jif", according to the "creator"?(a man I'm assuming looks and acts just like Ed Harris in The Truman Show) Meaning we've all been saying it incorrectly since it's inception. Yeah, exactly. Ain't no peeps got time for that. They've barely got time for this! So let's use that time, and enjoy whatever it is those tiny moving pictures are. Because they're great. Especially when they involve the ample rump of a certain late 60's office manager. But, shhhh. I don't want to ruin anything. Mostly because 'ruin' reminds me too much of 'Bruin'. But mostly because I need to transition to the actual important topics at hand  before I completely ramble off into space...

So, there we go. And, now here we go. Time for me to do my job. Well, more or less. Enjoy...

Sox, Docs & A Few Smoking Assholes...

Seldom does a picture perfectly capture an era.
Sadly, this one hits the nail right on the Ted...

I know I've beaten this dead horse to the point where it's officially become a jar of Eight Belles souvenir glue. But the last time I checked, you can't win a race without beating your horse. So I'm gonna whip this sucker as if we're coming down a never ending backstretch...

The resurgence in popularity of hockey and basketball in Boston over this past 5+ years has really thrown a wrench into something that I used to hold very near and dear to my heart. My local sports talk radio. A treasured entity I never thought would fall upon such hard times. Especially when it comes to the city of Boston. What was once a hardened fan base, that rooted most loudly for it's least successful team (the Red Sox), has now become just another soft sports city, where winning not only reigns supreme. But has officially become the ONLY thing that matters...

BING!

For me, it's like I wake up everyday, from around the start of March to the end of June, in a bizarro world. Where all of a sudden, the WNBA and curling are Boston's most popular sports. What? Weren't they, too, punchlines in this town? Right along with the NBA and the NHL? Yeah. That's the world I live in. Where, apparently, I'm the only one who remembers those facts. Where, everyday, men hired, and rightly so, for their expertise in talking about baseball and football, are discussing the finer points of curling and whether or not Rebecca Lobo is worthy of the Hall of Fame. It's like my own personal Groundhog Day. With every sports talk jock and bandwagon riding PinkHat serving as my very own little needle nosed Ned "the Head" Ryersons. Yeah, so forgive me if I punch you out without giving it much thought if you happen to ask me if I caught the Bruins game last night. I'm the guy who thought we, as Boston sports fans, didn't like hockey because of the team's owner and the league's overall incompetence. Not that guy who jumped ship because the team fell upon some hard times. And if that sounds high and mighty? Then so be it. You people are RUININ' MY SPORTS TAHHHK! And if I don't let that out every now and again, then I'm liable to go insane. You know, even more insane than we all know I already am...

But, hey. This is my Hell. And just because I'm a bitter man with a pessimistic view of pretty much everything that affords me the opportunity, there's no need for me to drag you Teds down with me into this puck filled hole of depravity. Instead, I'll just use my limited power of narrative here, to help steer the conversation in a different direction. You know. A direction that doesn't require a duck boat parade in order to be labeled the least bit interesting...

BING!

Grilled Cheese & Whatnot: The Charles Ramsey Story...Kind Of...OK, Not At All...

I had two potential jumping off points for this week's post. It was either gonna be A) My All Time baseball team. An exercise where I put together a roster of my All Time favorite players and than attempt to explain to you why I picked them and why you should care. But I assembled the team in about 5 minutes, and had about as much fun making the list as I do picking gum off of my shoe. So I scrapped it. Ken Caminiti AND Raul Mondesi were in my starting lineup, though. If that does anything for ya. Unfortunately, Otis Nixon was not. Which, sadly enough, wasn't the worst piece of news he received this week...

Option B), was phrasing a potential debate on what is/are the defining characteristics that separate a "grilled cheese" from just a normal sandwich that just so happens to have cheese on it. But, once I realized that I was simply going to disagree and want to punch in the face every Ted simply claiming that any "grilled" sandwich with "cheese in it" fits the definition. So I scrapped that delicious option, as well. Right. Because Quizno's is Italian for "Grilled Cheese Emporium"...

So, here we are. No Raul Mondesi, and no grilled cheese. Thankfully, we do have Charles Ramsey. A man who, based on his actions, should from now on have his likeness appear in every dictionary next to the definition of the word, "American". That's not necessarily a compliment, mind you. But there are worse things a nation could be labeled than a bunch of barely literate fast food guzzlers. What? This is America. If you don't like "ribs and whatnot", then you can get the Hell out! Go enjoy your "lamb and tuna fish" in whatever country it is where they don't BBQ and dance to salsa music with their friendly neighborhood child abductor...

Now, obviously the kidnapping portion of this entire story isn't funny at all. But you gotta laugh where you can. And you have to laugh at Charles Ramsey. And not so much in a "point and laugh" sorta way. Though there's plenty of that going on. Nope, I'm laughing at and appreciating the fact that we live in a place where a criminal "mastermind" is just as likely to be busted by a couple of guys just funnelin' in some Mickey D's as they are by a SWAT team that's taken over your city and put it under marshal law. Not commenting as to whether or not one is more effective than the other. But it is interesting the mysterious ways in which this f'd up world of ours tends to work...

The man said, "May you live in interesting times". And thanks to characters like Charles Ramsey, it's pretty obvious that is indeed where we find ourselves. In interesting times. So, I'm going to take advantage of that fact and step away from the computer for a bit...

OK, I lied. I'm probably just going to go check my various fantasy teams. Either way, I'm done writing...and whatnot...

Enjoy the rest of your week, friends. And I'll catch you on the flipman. We'll dance to some salsa music. It'll be good times...


Teddy Williams...
100...

#$>

Collin' It Like I See It...

Whether you believe it or not, I actually do try to steer clear of exploring social issues when I discuss sports. Race, gender, religion, sexual orientation. The way I was raised, those differences weren't ever magnified and deemed "important". So, as hard as it is or some to believe, I tend not to give them a second thought. Granted, like any young whippersnapper, my cavalier attitude on those subjects has burned me in the past. But I think in my older age I've been able to find a happy medium...

That being said, between the Boston bombings and Jason Collins coming out party, there seems to be nothing but social issues dotting the sports landscape for which I can discuss. Either that, or I'd have to blindly stumble along pretending that these things aren't happening. Which is an option, don't get me wrong. But I'd rather toss my two cents into the proverbial fountain than let them burn a hole in my pocket. Lord knows I have enough trouble keeping my money in those bad Larry's as it is...

So, here we go. There'll be a little bit of social commentary, and I'll check in on the Red Sox hot start and the Patriots latest draft. Oh, and there'll be some underboobs. Granted, they'll be those of a spiteful bitch. But underboobs are underboobs. Whether they're attached to the mouth of a jealous wannabe, or not. Meh, that's something you deal with in the morning. You know, when you're telling her about the appointment you had totally forgotten about last night? You can't miss it, though. And you won't wanna miss what I've got for ya, either...

Enjoy...