The New York Knicks' Plan B: "God, if you're listening…"

Little help!

I’ve had 12:01 a.m., Thursday, July 1 marked on my calendar for 11 months. Guess what time it is.

Hypothetical scenario…

You’re surrounded by a group of beautiful women who are 1) throwing themselves at you 2) cash-flushed sugar mommas 3) clingy, but so hot it doesn’t matter 4) want to spend the next six years of their lives with you, and 5) willing to bring in another “playmate” to keep this relationship fresh.

You’ve played the field for a couple months now, but at this point you’re ready to settle down. And not only that – you want a trophy wife. You want the girl that completes you, that makes people say out loud when you walk down the street,”That guy is the f*ckin’ man.”

So now let’s say one of these women approaches and asks you if she has a chance. Do you say:

A) Girl, you cannot be serious right now.

B) If you’d seen the other ladies I’m talking to, you would not even be asking this question.

C) Hell no.

D) This is a joke, right?

E) Girl, you don’t know how fine you are. A chance? You’re at the top of the list! (*double dimple grin*)

Bingo, Dr. Love… Then we agree that Chris Bosh telling the Miami Heat as much at a charity golf tournament Saturday means absolutely nothing. And, similarly, that an unsubstantiated rumor – perhaps floated by LeBron’s whoring entourage, yet still reported by the New York Times – that LBJ and Bosh to Chicago “is a done deal” is just that… Unsubstantiated and rumor. We agree that no matter what Stephen A. Smith falsely reports, none of the big time free agents sure to ink a fat (like buy-African-nation fat) contract in the next two weeks would say anything other than “yeah, I’m listening” at this point. The time for burning bridges begins tomorrow morning. All the other fodder you can more or less discard.

"Chris, picture me on South Beach with D-Wade. Sexy."

I share the above with you to cover my ass for everything to follow, because it’s quite possible that all the “sure things” and “absolute locks” we’ve heard regarding The Mythical July 1 are nothing but a steaming heap of BS glossed over by a bunch of money grubbing agents and freewheeling power brokers. It’s quite possible that the New York Knicks do have a legitimately awesome pitch to land James or Wade or Bosh – that they aren’t days away from cementing the “over promise/under deliver” hook in Jay-Z’s next smash single. It’s possible, at least, that Donnie Walsh and James Dolan don’t really have their pants around their ankles with fingers crossed for ‘Melo 2012.

It’s possible.

But as we approach early Thursday, it looks increasingly more like New York severely overestimated its Big Apple cache and the value of its few building blocks (or are those plastic Legos?). Look, I like Danilo Gallinari as much as the next guy, but being the Michelob Light in a cooler full of Natty is no great distinction.

The Knicks appear to have screwed this up so badly as to make Plaxico Burress’ pocket-on-leg violence look positively genius in comparison. Here’s where we stand as of 6:13 p.m. on Wednesday evening.

LeBron, the Alpha Domino, has most likely whittled down his choices to Chicago (a lock according to the Times), Miami (highly likely according to Stephen A.), and Cleveland (a sure thing according to Veep Joe Biden).

My bet.

Dwyane Wade, who apparently hosted a LeBosh summit over the weekend, now says that everything must be exactly right to re-up in the 305. Conflicting reports also suggest that Wade’s flirting with Boozer and that he wasn’t even in Miami this weekend.

Chris Bosh, the consensus No. 3 for scouts who like losers, shot the Holy-Trinity-to-South-Beach notion to hell this afternoon when he told ESPN that Wade/LeBron/Bosh together is “pie in the sky.” Pat Riley just threw up in his mouth a little. Toronto’s currently exploring a sign and trade for Bosh and I suspect that if he’s indeed hitching his wagon to LeBron, he’ll end up in Chicago for Gator great Joakim Noah and the Remains of Luol Deng. If he’s not, Raptors’ GM Bryan “If My House Was On Fire, I’d Grab the Marshmallows” Colangelo would do well to hit up the Gold and Purple for Andrew Bynum and Klomar. Can you imagine the Kardashians in Canada? I can. And it spells less TV time. Make this happen, Mitch Kupchak.

Joe Johnson, who might’ve cost himself a bazillion dollars had anybody watched Hawks/Magic, is busy giving Mike D’Antoni a crazy case of the “Oh Shits,” as he’s mulling a freshly minted max offer via Atlanta. This seemed like an impossibility just two months ago, but Hawks management has since brain-teased itself into thinking that Joe Johnson doesn’t suck come crunch time. A day ago, we were speculating about Amare Stoudemire/JJ to New York as part of newly constituted Suns West. Worst case scenario for the LBJ-less Knicks, right? Wrong, says Atlanta’s some $119 million change of plans.

Amare Stoudemire, who scoffed at the remaining $18 mill on his Phoenix deal some hours ago, looks more and more like Miami’s fallback guy… which is curious given that Riles wouldn’t trade pot fiend/headcase/underachiever/Sponge Bob enthusiast Michael Beasley for him at the deadline. Amare’s still negotiating with Phoenix, but “negotiating” implies no max. He’s not going to find a better or more unselfish wingman than Stephen A. Nash, but he will find more money and maybe an old coach in D’Antoni. New York better be all over this because Amare might be their only way to save face. Too bad Walsh just passed on a scheduled chat to woo Johnson instead. Nice move, Donnie.

Carlos Boozer is Carlos Boozer, so I’m not going to spend much time on him. He’ll take your team to the second round of the playoffs, but only if armed with the best point guard in basketball. He’s interested in Miami, New Jersey and Chicago… and Miami, New Jersey and Chicago – bless their souls – are interested in him.

Dirk Nowitzki just flew back from Germany to negotiate with Dallas. “This is a very good sign,” according to Mavs camp. And a lucrative sign, I imagine, for Dirk to pass up a mid-summer frolic with blond, blue-eyed ice queens. He stays.

Carmelo Anthony, who can’t opt out until Strike Year 2012, wants in on the fun and has thus hinted to Denver that it can take its 3-year, $65 million and shove it. The Denver Post reported today that both ‘Melo and the Nuggs are open to a trade. Hello, New York! Just kidding. It’s a possibility, but I have trouble believing Denver can’t get something better than Gallinari and Gallinari’s Posse Italiano for a top seven player in the league. Maybe if they throw in Al Harringon? Nah, that’s a joke too.

Asleep at the wheel.

So I guess my question to you, the New Yorker, is this: how do you feel about Nike’s Rudy Gay/David Lee/D-Gal banner on the side of the Empire State Building? Would you prefer Darren Collison/Anthony Randolph/Peja Stojakovic? Do you wanna just give up on this whole basketball thing altogether?

Last week, Coach D told reporters about the Knicks’ typically crappy draft, “Our big date is circled as July 1.” You’ve heard this before – hype, promise, return to glory. Here’s the problem: every GM and his mother is pushing the exact same thing. We’ve long known that some team walks from this free-for-all star grab empty handed. And if you had to put money on it right now, you’d bet on the team that’s built a franchise on 10 years worth of colossal eff ups – the team that traded away it’s 2010 first rounder to the Jazz, its ’09, ’11 and ’12 picks to the Rockets, gave away Nene and Trevor Ariza, took on T-Mac as future sign-and-trade bait, and is still paying human pin cushion Eddy Curry $11.3 million.

Cap guru Walsh did his job, admirably finagling $32 million in free agent dolla dolla bills even with Curry’s disastrous contract on the books for next year. This money was for King James and Pippen Comparable. Maybe it still is. But at this point, all signs point to spectacular failure for a braintrust who gave the finger to contingency in favor of pushing chips all in.

Say a little prayer for Spike Lee tonight.

- Robbie

And So Begins Four More Years of Indifference

Trust me, you'll get over it.

The following was written between 4-11 p.m. on Saturday, June 26… I’ve cooled off slightly since then. Slightly.

Let’s make this clear right off the bat: I harbor no pretenses of being a soccer expert, soccer fan, or soccer [insert anything that constitutes caring]. Zero. I couldn’t give a damn about any of it. I’ll pass on the jacked up crowds  (give me Lambeau in December), the preponderance of ties, those godforsaken blow-horns.

As an American too concentrated on sports that don’t ebb and flow in four-year cycles, it all works for me on some level – on the same flash-in-pan plain cluttered with flannel and pogs. On the fad level. And if I’ve ever been 100 percent sure about anything in my life, it’s this: the vast majority of Americans feel the exact same way.

Regardless of how “anguished” or “emotionally drained” we’re teasing ourselves into feeling this Saturday afternoon (and let me tell you, these people in Starbucks are crushed), come Monday morning, we’ll all wake on another beautiful morning in the best country in the world without the slightest twinge of anything resembling heartache.

Why? Well because we have LeBron James and pennant races. Because we watch College Football Live in June. Because soccer, or “futbol” if you want to be really elitist about it, isn’t our sport no matter how many times we try to forcefully adopt it from countries who live and breathe it. This isn’t an Angelina situation – we can’t poach our soccer baby from intensely nationalist populations that have little else to celebrate. I would’ve loved to see those Rustenburg clusters of stars-’n-stripes-clad hooligans not look like total clowns today, but win or lose, they couldn’t possibly feel the elation or agony that’s in store for an entire African continent over the next several days.

See the difference?

Wait, you say, in your whiplashed patriotism. The United States built its reputation on nationalism. We’re criticized for our nationalism. Nobody has more civic pride than us!

Yeah, but its the kind that revolves around shopping malls and Chevrolets. It’s the kind that manifests itself in Super Sized Value Meals and bandwagon politics, arrogance abroad and a Bigger, Stronger, Faster mentality. In some cases, it’s totally acceptable - You can take that Smart Car back to France, thank you very much - but should we artificially apply patriotism to things in which we’re not invested in the first place, it just comes off as hollow and obnoxious. We don’t need to have our hands in everything, and we shouldn’t hope to be the best at everything, let alone expect it.

This myth, perpetuated ad nauseum by credible news outlets, that Team USA had an intrinsic advantage because Ghana is the size of Oregon stinks of American egotism. If sports worked like that, China would be a worldbeater.

No, the reason we thought we’d defeat Ghana and Slovenia is because we think we’re better than them. Not just at soccer, at everything. So what we saw with our eyes – that Michael Bradley is a string bean, that Clint Dempsey can’t hold a candle to Gyan – simply didn’t matter.

To be quite frank, ABC’s constant fan-cam shots of those drunken soccer gatherings in Kansas City, MO stirred in me a violent gag reflex I didn’t even know I had. It strikes me as odd and more than a bit off-putting that a bunch of novices in the heart of the Barbecue Belt can whip themselves into such a fabricated frenzy. And let’s not kid ourselves. That’s exactly what it was – fabricated.

If only this phoned-in fervor carried over to MLS, but alas, the KC Wiz ranked second to last in 2010 attendance.

Like you, I’ve witnessed this fairweather rah-rah bullsh*t up-close. I’ve seen the sudden proliferation of Team USA jerseys, and the 9 a.m. free Natty specials, and the car paint. I’ve heard the insufferable sports talk radio and its haphazard transitions from Donovan McNabb to Landon Donovan. I, too, have been confused for a footballer when, really, I’m just a guy who chose to wear his “Italia” shirt on the wrong day.

Chant of Champions: "Real cheap beer! Real cheap beer! Real cheap beer!"

I’ve not once, though, pretended to be anything other than a black hole for soccer knowledge. I couldn’t pick out Robinho in a police lineup, and in fact Googled his name three times just to pull up the correct spelling. Hell, I’ve laughed at my own ignorance in conversation with a real live Brazilian.

Of course, most of America is not wired this way – neither humble or self-aware enough to see through this self-perpetuated wall of BS. And to those people I say this: spare me your condescending name-dropping and wiki-flavored expertise. I get that you played a year in youth league and caught the second half of a UEFA match last month. Doesn’t make you qualified to lecture me on the “artistry” of the game. Your façade is wearing thin.

ESPN’s Steve Levy said it best: “Even without us, the World Cup will continue.” “Without us,” as you can no doubt tell, is just fine by me. I’m tired of the scoreless draws, the laughable officiating, FIFA’s god complex, the flopping, the stretchers, the magic healing spray, the vuvuzelas, and Jeremy Schapp.

Not for one second do I apply any of these sentiments to the players themselves. Howard, Donovan, Altidore – those guys played their asses off. I’m certain that they love soccer and want to win just as badly as the most ardent Spaniard. They did their country well. Should be damn proud of it. Not withstanding, though, what Joe Barhopper told you with a mic in face Saturday afternoon, they’re not “going all the way” four years from now. Sorry Joe, our best athletes still play basketball and football, not that you’ll care either way come Kickoff Classic.

I don’t mean to paint everyone with the same brush. As Kyle Rancourt said in a similar rant, “If you genuinely enjoy watching soccer on a regular basis, then I am not talking to you.” And shame on me should this craze last until next Tuesday. I’ll be the first to admit I was wrong.

But I suspect that I’m not wrong, and that this could very well be the last time I ever write about soccer. So my plea to you is this: let’s drop the act for good and let Ghana, with its $1500 per capita GDP, have its day in the sun. I promise you we’re taking the other 364 for ourselves.

- Robbie

World Cup Exclusive: Interview with Mick Jagger

Cool, calm, and collected

Sir Mick Jagger was one of many British celebs on hand to witness Germany’s shocking 4-1 thrashing of the much scrutinized English soccer team. SC’s World Cup correspondent caught up with the Rolling Stone moments after the match.

Mick Jagger: Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of wealth and taste. I’ve been around for a long, long ye (*cut off*)

SC: You need no introduction, sir. Do you have a few minutes to talk to Sports Casualties?

Mick: I’m in no hurry. I can take my time… (*sighing deeply*) Oh my.

SC: Well then tell me what you’re feeling after such a brutal loss to your German archrivals?

Mick: I want to shout, but I can hardly speak.

SC: I think much of England shares your frustration. It’s now been an astounding 44 years since (*interrupted*)

Mick: You’re a HEARTBREAKER with your “Forty-four!”

SC: It is hard to fathom. What were you doing the last time you took a loss this hard?

Mick: Making bets on Kentucky Derby day.

SC: This could be the last go round for many of the British stars, particularly Frank Lampard and John Terry who are 32 and 29, respectively. Your thoughts?

Mick: What a drag it is getting old.

SC: It looked like England had equalized at 2-2, but after the disallowed goal, they just couldn’t stop the bleeding. What was the mindset at that point?

Mick: Let it bleed.

GOOOOAAA… No.

SC: Describe those finals moments as the last seconds ticked off.

Mick: Well I felt so sad – so lonesome – that I could not help but cry.

SC: And in the press box rows?

Mick: Heard the wires a hummin’ all down the line. Hear women sighin’ all down the line.

SC: Must have been anguish. But anger, too. There are already reports of riots on the streets of London. I guess my question is… Why?

Mick: ‘Cuz summer’s here and the time is right for fighting in the streets, boy.

SC: I assume you found a safe place to wait out the chaos?

Mick: When the sh*t hits the fan, I’ll be sitting on the can.

SC: Very candid, sir… Just a day ago, the British tabloids speculated that this team could go all the way.

Mick: Who wants yesterday’s papers? Nobody in the world.

SC: Sir, you’re British royalty. Do you know how the queen’s taking this?

Mick: The queen is bravely shouting, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOIN’ ON?”

SC: And what do you make of that kind of behavior?

Mick: She’s educated. Doesn’t give a damn. She’s very complicated.

SC: Can you draw a connection between Wayne Rooney’s subpar play and the team’s overall performance?

Mick: Connection? I just can’t make no connection.

Street fighting man.

SC: Well alright then. But tell me… This loss is particularly painful given your repeated assertions that God would lead the English to victory. How did you get that notion?

Mick: I was driving home early Sunday morning… through Bakersfield… listening to gospel music on the college radio station. And the preacher said, “You know you ALWAYS have the Lord by your side.” And I was so pleased to be informed of this that I ran 20 red lights in his honor.

SC: And you took that to be a sign of victory. Now, take me back a couple weeks. U.S. against the heavily favored English. America unexpectedly managed two points. You said you thought you were dreaming?

Mick: Then I awoke! Was this some kind of joke?! Much to my surprise, I opened up my eyes…

SC: … And you realized that this team might not be as solid as you thought. I mean, really, is there anything worse than media hype?

Mick: When I’m watching my TV, and a man comes on and tells me how white my shirts could be.

SC: Well, yeah, that. So let’s talk about Beckham and his move to America. Words for him?

Mick: You don’t know what’s goin’ on. You’ve been away for far too long. You can’t come back and think you are still there.

SC: What about his wife, Victoria? Her celebrity’s managed to rub a lot of players the wrong way.

Mick: The way she powders her nose, her vanity shows and it shows. She’s the worst thing in this world.

SC: You heard it here first, Casualtists. Jagger: not a fan of the Beckhams… How are you enjoying yourself in Johannesburg?

Mick: I got no expectations to pass through here again.

SC: It must be difficult to keep a low profile.

Mick: I see people turn their heads and quickly look away. Like a newborn baby, it just happens every day.

SC: You spent some time with Bill Clinton this week. Television cameras caught the president looking quite sleepy while talking to an attractive young lady. Can you tell us, by chance, what she said to him?

Mick: She said “my breasts, they will always be open. You can rest your weary head right on me.”

Hillary HAS to know about this, right?

SC: Coach Fabio Capello’s been under more pressure than anybody these last few weeks. What would you say to him after such a dreadful loss?

Mick: You better stop and look around. Here it comes.

SC: What comes?

Mick: Here it comes…

SC: What comes, sir?

Mick: Here it comes…

SC: Sir?

Mick: Here it comes.

SC: Still don’t follow.

Mick: Here comes your 19th nervous breakdown!

SC: Hmm… I see where this is going… Any shoutouts you’d like to give our SC readers?

Mick: Candy and Cathy, hope you both are well. Please come see me in the Citadel.

SC: Thanks so much for your time, Mr. Jagger. Final thoughts?

Mick: You can’t always get what you want.

SC: Let me guess. But you get what you need?

Mick: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

- Robbie

(Note: click on “Mick” links for songs)

"Architectural Marvel" and Other Google Trends: The Week in Review, Redux

Paradise.

The day of the week with the most potential? Not if I have anything to say about it… Bryan is already here.

Great news. Everything is more expensive in Miami. Everything. Gas (buying solely from BP now to counteract inflation), haircut ($20 from Feliciana at Super Cuts), hipster jeans (that’s the “sales rack”?), beer ($1 Coronas, $3.75 limes), parking meters (cash only) and air (three days, eight total breaths).

It’s not like I didn’t know this, and so I’ve kept costs down the best way I know how: by doing nothing. I would blame this on my lame-ass best friends – one’s taking a real estate crash course, one’s laying diplomatic groundwork in South Africa – but they’re actually both decidedly non-lame. I’ll let it slide. Plus, it’s not like I have a lot to complain about given this kind of daily schedule:

8 a.m. – Think about waking up/decide against it.

11 a.m. – Typical breakfast… with mango.

1-7 p.m. – Poolside blogging, girl watching, coffee shop blogging, lunch… with mango, poolside doing nothing, planning thesis (in head).

I also stumbled upon something today that I stumble upon every day, because I live two blocks away: the renovated University of Miami baseball stadium. A few things you should know about said venue…

1) It use to be an eyesore on par with the equally ugly sorority row houses it neighbors.

2) Cheater/non-UM alum Alex Rodriguez donated $3.9 million to get his name pasted on the outside. The money was quite unexpectedly put to good use… One can only assume that U President Donna Shalala was circumvented in the process.

A match made in… a tanning salon.

3) It’s home to a traditional power that’s won four national championships and would very much like to display the extent of such prestige to street-level passers-by… in theory.

Now do me a favor. As you look over this SC Exclusive “photo essay” of Alex Rodriguez Park at Mark Light Stadium, I’d like you to pay specific attention to point no. 3 and see if you can detect anything wrong with this, uh, picture…

Front entrance, from street level

Thanks, Alex. Well done.

Championship lettering from side view… Clean and attractive

Championship close-up.

Now let’s pull back a bit…

Hmm… Where did the titles go…?

And a bit further…

(*shaking head*)

And a bit futher…

You CANNOT be serious.

So I guess my question to you, Captain Common Sense, is this: who the f*ck decided it was a good idea to plant the trees RIGHT IN FRONT of the national championship signs?

This is a total embarrassment, and yet 1oo percent on par with the Orange Bowl’s (RIP) inconspicuous title signs and tucked-away 58-game home winning streak poster (trust me, it was there).

Come on, guys. If you ran your own hot dog stand, would you hang the “World’s Best Hot Dogs” banner in the back of the kitchen above the starter light?

Any chance of showing off our past with competence, you know, instead of turning our baseball stadium into a big red flag to parents considering sending their children to the UM College of Architecture?

Deep, angry breath…

___________

Let’s play Pros/Cons

Pro: The Indiana Pacers proved Thursday they’ve learned a valuable lesson – namely, white guys don’t win championships. Way to pass on Cole Aldrich, Larry Bird. I know that took incredible restraint.

White people.

Con: Even Jay Bilas hates the NBA Draft.

Pro: After a series of draft week salary dumps, the Miami Heat now have more cap room than God and the Knicks combined.

Con: LeBron/Wade/Bosh… or Wade/Lee/Gay?

Pro: Traffic in Miami made far more palatable by wealth of beautiful women in convertibles.

Con: You thought the MetroRail would get you to the airport? What do you think this is, New York, Boston, D.C., San Francisco, Chicago or any other major American city?

Pro: Two dudes at Wimbledon played the longest match in tennis history: 3 days, 11 hours, 1 Frenchman disproving every negative ethnic stereotype relating to quitting, laziness, and ability to extend a battle overnight.

Con: You didn’t seriously think I’d wake up at 7 to catch the ending.

Last Friday, the President of the Free World was in attendance to see Barack Obama at Nationals Stadium… Or was it Obama in attendance to see Strasburg? Bottom line: both were in the building at the same time.

Also on Friday, three generations of Boston greats convened in Fenway Park, as the Dodgers’ Manny Ramirez returned home to David Ortiz and the Red Sox with Roger Clemens looking on from atop the Green Monster.

No truth to the rumor the gathering was part of Stanozolol Giveaway Night.

On Sunday, when asked how the galleries were responding to Tiger Woods, ESPN’s Rick Reilly said, “People at Pebble would cheer Osama Bin Laden if he birdied.”

This is true – Rick Reilly, who I stopped reading in fifth grade out of maturity, actually made this comparison on live TV. Ironically, I would very much like to see Reilly spend the rest of his life in a cave in Pakistan.

Phelps with rodeo clown.

Over the weekend in Alabama, President Obama promised people of the Gulf Coast the government would leave communities affected by the spill better off than it found them… though, it’s still unclear whether the president will lift the drilling moratorium so half the population can go back to work.

“News” broke this week that Rays pitcher Wade Davis hit teammate David Price in the groin with a change-up during a game of catch. This comes after Tampa Bay was kicked in the balls by the Braves and Marlins.

In an unsurprising turn of events, the French soccer team walked out on their coach during practice days after star striker Nicolas Anelka was sent packing for insubordination. Sure France isn’t putting up much of a fight, but hey, at least this time there aren’t armed Germans on the other side.

On Monday, world no. 60 Alejandro Falla pushed six-time Wimbledon champ Roger Federer to five sets in the tournament’s opening center court match. Falla, a relative unknown, was actually two sets up on Federer before completely collapsing, or as it’s been known since Sunday, “Channeling his inner Dustin.”

On Thursday, the Washington Wizards selected Kentucky guard John Wall with the no. 1 overall pick in the NBA draft. I like this move a lot, though some insist the Wiz already have enough firepower at the point.

On Tuesday, conservative commentators jumped on President Obama for spending his weekend on the golf course.

Chillin.

Look, the guy’s fighting multiple wars, trying to cleanup a disaster in the Gulf, struggling to pass immigration reform, squabbling with top military brass, hanging out with Paul McCartney, attending Nats games, trying to keep up relations in Chicago, and vacationing in the North Carolina mountains with his family.

THE MAN NEEDS A BREAK, ALRIGHT! Lay off, you Palin-loving, right-wing fanatics. These are exactly the kind of things your last president was doing.

No, I’m kidding. Bush wasn’t a Beatles fan.

A Rolling Stone article profiling Gen. Stanley McChrystal and the war effort in Afghanistan hit newsstands today. Though the chief counterinsurgency strategist burnt many a political bridge by roundly offending just about every member of the president’s administration, McChrystal did endear himself to Bryan Holt, who said afterward, “He had me at Bud Light Lime.”

On Wednesday, President Obama relieved the general of his duties. The meeting went something like this…

President Obama: (*uproarious laughter*) Bud Light Lime? BUD LIGHT LIME!? (*more laughter*)

Gen. McChrystal: (*hides head in shame*)

President Obama: (*still laughing*) Sorry, we’re all out. Can I get you a chardonnay?

Gen. McChrystal: (*stands up, turns toward door*)

President Obama: Rahm, bring the good man a mango vodka spritzer, would you?

Gen. McChrystal: (*walks out of Oval Office*)

President Obama: BUD LIGHT LIME! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

No soup for you.

The magazine piece came about when a young, freelance journalist for Rolling Stone convinced the general and his band (of officers) to let him tag along on cross-country travels. A part of me suspects this is all an elaborate Cameron Crowe set piece for the sequel to “Almost Famous.”

The city of Gary, Indiana on Tuesday announced that it would hold a vigil for native son Michael Jackson in a ceremony that can only be described as “timely.”

Here’s your buzzer beater.

America: great at celebrating AND soccer.

- Robbie

Stadiums and Stirrups: An Unfocused Look at the Past Week in the World

It’s been a historic week. Time to cheapen it to the level of every other week.

It has been a magnificent week, Casualtists.

World Cup soccer has captivated the United States and left every strange soccer enthusiast that you once bashed saying “I told you so!” And the Tampa Bay Rays have devised an apparent solution to their current slump. No, it doesn’t come in the area of personnel or strategy. It is instead a revert back to 1980s baseball fashion.

More on both of these monumental moments later. Let’s do this,.

I will start off by saying that this will be my final post on Sports Casualties for the next nine days. On Saturday, I will be catching a low-budget flight to southeast Asia to take part in a very important mission trip. I hereby declare myself the Tim Tebow of SC.

Just kidding.

In truth, I am headed to Port Canaveral, Fla., tomorrow where I will be boarding a cruise ship bound for the Caribbean. The week that follows will take me to locales such as Cozumel, Jamaica and Grand Cayman, and through an unhealthy amount of gourmet food and alcohol.

Aside from World Cup games, I plan on doing my best to completely disconnect myself from all Internet and the world during this week, so expect me to be the Forrest Gump of sports commentary upon returning.

"That's my boat."

Robbie Hilson will hold the site down as he does so well as I sleep on pool decks and drink a Dos Equis for each and every one of our loyal readers.

I haven’t studied the bracket yet, but I am genuinely hoping that there is no possibility of the USA playing Mexico on the day that I spend in the country of Mexico. I’ll go ahead and guess that it wouldn’t just be the water that is unsafe for Americans to drink on that day.

Speaking of soccer, why jump into anything else?

Landon Donovan’s amazing-but-not-really-so-amazing game-winning rebound goal still has the USA buzzing about its national team’s chances in the round of 16. Yes, the goal cemented many people’s future plans to name their son Landon and generally made him a rock star amongst the Yank populace.

Iconic

But what his goal actually did is begin a period of historic adventure. For as big as Donovan’s goal seems right now, every moment in the upcoming game against Ghana will seem even larger. A couple of victories could truly make this a savory stretch that absolutely hypnotizes a nation.

The thrilling victory over Algeria and the possible deep run into the tournament has everyone in America feeling pretty damn jubilant. Everyone except Dave Zirin of “The Nation,” the bleeding-heart publication that overthinks everything as bleeding-hearts tend to do.

It reminded why these kinds of international competitions can leave me with such a sour taste. Why can’t we just recognize that Algeria played gallantly against a better US team, which won by the skin of its teeth? Why must an insanely miraculous athletic victory also be a reinforcer of cultural supremacy? It’s yet another reminder why it is so important for progressives to not just thrill to the joys of sport but be conversant in the politics of sport.

Fair and Balanced

Um, because it’s a damn sport not a conference on sociology. I’ve always leaned toward the “I live here, so I cheer for the team” model in international play, and quite honestly, I don’t understand people who don’t. I’m sure to”The Nation,” this makes me some kind of uncultural, ignorant jackass, but I could honestly care less. I also cheer for any team with any kind of a tie to Tampa. It’s what I do.

Suck it, “The Nation.”

In possible chick flick news, Donovan’s game-winning goal appears to be just what was needed to regain the affection of ex-but-not-really-ex-because-they’re-not-officially-divorced wife Bianca Kajlich. Donovan reportedly had an emotional phone call with the actress after giving her a strange shout-out on ESPN after his goal.

Oh sure, play the “I just scored the winning goal and became an American hero” card. Like that’s going to work.

Okay, it might work.

I’m going to guess that this was not how Bill Clinton and Carlos Bocanegra (posted at the top) spent their winning evening. Mr. Clinton, I don’t often agree with your politics or your taste for women, but damn, that’s an awesome picture.

On Monday, Rays’ owner Stu Sternberg announced that serious talks on a new baseball stadium need to begin immediately and noted that professional baseball cannot survive in downtown St. Petersburg. Translation: Move me to Tampa or get me the hell out of this place.

St. Pete Mayor Bill Foster basically responded by saying “tough s**t.” He said that the team and the city are bound at the hip until 2027 whether they like it or not, and St. Pete will not agree to any talks outside of Pinellas County. Sternberg says that he will sell the team if serious talks do not include Tampa and Hillsborough County. He also added that “the new owners would have no reason to keep the team here.”

I'm on his side.

Congratulations, St. Pete. Much like you are able to chase young kids off your front lawn with a cane in your whitey tighties, you are managing to chase off a professional baseball franchise. Seriously, St. Pete, I have a strong distaste for you and it is not improving.

In happier Rays news, the Rays won on Thursday, a rare feat during this recent miserable slump. The win can only be credited to one thing. That is the amazing striped stirrups that were ordered by the equipment manager and worn by no fewer than eight players and every coach on Thursday. Players sporting the great retro touch included Evan Longoria (who went 3 for 4), B.J. Upton (who hit a home run) and Willy Aybar (two RBIs).

Perfection

When asked what training camp is like, this was the response of Tampa Bay Buccaneers head freaking coach Raheem Morris.

When asked for comment, owner Malcolm Glazer said “What the hell are you looking at? I’m saving money!”

The funny thing is that Morris used the exact same line that Lawrence Taylor uses when he first picks up a hooker.

Because we’re supposed to cover everything: John Isner and Nicolas Mahut played a really long tennis match.

AND NOW, I BRING TO YOU…AMERICA.

Bring on Ghana.

-Bryan

Rolling Stone's Bad News About the "Good" War

This looks like a job for Donald Trump.

Rolling Stone’s profile on Gen. Stanley McChrystal hits newsstands Friday… Score another one for the Internet! The views expressed here are mine and those of people with a conscience.

CNBC Fab 5 Pics has been preempted by my DVR-less trip to the MIA. Luckily I’ve come prepared with a backup topic.

Namely, the clusterf*ck in Afghanistan.

Now as matter of general principle, I usually stay away from Rolling Stone on account of its crappy music reviews, bleeding heart liberalism, trimmed down physique and overall suckiness. But it’s not every day that a writeup in a pop culture mag singlehandedly upends an entire political system, redirects efforts in the longest-running war in American history, ousts a four-star commander, and pegs all the president’s men a bunch of spineless ninnies.

For the two of you who haven’t heard the news, get up to speed with bullet points designed to repair your reputation as lazy, politically disinterested Americans!

• Freelancer Michael Hastings finds himself tossing back a few beers at an Irish pub in Paris with Gen. Stanley McChrystal, commander of allied forces in Afghanistan, and his men… Hastings tags along for a week afterward

• McChrystal’s aides take it upon themselves to trash every single important figure in the Obama Administration sans Hillary Clinton, who’s the kind of woman who favors giving the military all of what it needs instead of, uh, half of what it needs (…and who should be running the country in the first place?)

• McChrystal’s peeps aren’t big fans of sit-down dinners with French ministers (“It’s f*cking gay”), the old culture of the International Security Assistance Force (renamed “I Suck At Fighting”), and in many disgruntled cases, the war effort in general (“We should just drop a f*cking bomb on this place.”)

• McChrystal, the chief architect of counterinsurgency (COIN), prosecutes the war as follows: 1) Win the hearts and minds of the Afghan people 2) Introduce high-tech ops and diplomatic tact to a military that’s otherwise just content with blowing shit up 3) Build up an Islamic country and its government from scratch with Western tools 4) Only fire when fired upon

• No. 3 and 4 are sticking points with soldiers… ”F*ck, when I came over here and heard that McChrystal was in charge, I thought we would get our f*cking gun on.”

• Despite best efforts, McChrystal says, “We’ve shot an amazing number of people.”

• President Hamid Karzai is the kind of “tin-pot” leader who sleeps through meetings with McChyrstal and couldn’t tell you in which regions his men are fighting (Also, I’m pretty sure his brother conducts Afghanistan’s opium trade)

• McChrystal sleeps four hours a night, runs seven miles a day, eats once, guzzles Bud Light Lime and pops up unannounced in the deadliest trenches… “The f*cking lads love Stan McChrystal,” says a British officer who serves in Kabul. “You’d be out in Somewhere, Iraq, and someone would take a knee beside you, and a corporal would be like ‘Who the f*ck is that?’ And it’s f*cking Stan McChrystal.”

• The Pentagon and White House hate each other; the power struggle within our own government is as heated as the fight on the ground

• “The president finds himself stuck in something even more insane than a quagmire: a quagmire he knowingly walked into, even though it’s precisely the kind of gigantic, mind-numbing, multigenerational nation-building project he explicitly said he didn’t want.”

• Six more allied troops died Wednesday, making June the deadliest month of the nine-year war

Apparently, about a quarter of these bullets constitute insubordination. McChrystal was replaced Wednesday by Gen. David Petraeus, the guru behind the Iraqi “surge”/most decorated man in the army.

In what was designed to be a show of authority in the Rose Garden, Obama actually ceded power to a war hero, Petraues, who commands even more respect and political goodwill then the president himself. MSNBC’s Andrea Mitchell went so far as to compare Petraeus to WWII legend/aspiring commander-in-chief Douglas MacArthur.

The president with War Savant Patraeus

And here’s the ass-backward crux of it all: Al Qaeda is not in Afghanistan, so continuing to pump blood and money into that hellhole is much like force-feeding quarters to a broken Pac-Man machine frozen on the “Game Over” screen. The change in command from McChrystal to Petraeus is pretty much a lateral move – the latter is just as fervently COIN as his shamed predecessor.

I’m stepping down from my soapbox now, but first urging you to take a look at this thing… or check it out in the Times or the Post, or on O’Reilly or Maddow. Whatever. Just know what’s going on, because, to quote one of McChrystal’s top advisors, “If Americans pulled back and started paying attention to this war, it would become even less popular.”

Uh… Hoorah?

- Robbie

Reassessing The Atlanta Braves

Martin is pumped.

Turns out they’re actually really good. Who knew? All stats as of Wednesday.

Per usual, I jumped the gun on my beloved Atlanta Braves and shamefully wrote them off in the midst of a nine-game losing streak back in late April. This usually works the other way around (i.e. I claim the division after a 6-3 start). You’d think that in my roughly 19 years of baseball watching experience, I’d have learned my lesson by now – long season, can’t decide anything by May, power hitters heat up with the weather, etcetera, etcetera.

You’d be wrong, Casualtists.

So now, with the Bravos 13 games over .500, a game and a 1/2 up on the soon-to-implode Mets, and coming off series victories over the vaunted Twins and Rays and a sweep of the less-vaunted Royals, it’s prime time to recant for my myriad of hasty sins and even offer up some further analysis. Might even heap some love on GM Frank Wren. Just kidding.

But first, the season in lines:

Both lines moving rightward; Original artwork by Yours Truly.

Let’s talk pitching. With the reversion of once-studly Jair Jurrjens to a meatball-dealing, injury waiting to happen and the historically bad performance of Japanese import Kenshin Kawakami, you’d probably venture that starting rotation is the achilles heal of a team that has the best record in the league. You’d be half right. Kawakami, 35, who’s in the second year of a 3-year, $23 million contract, makes me want to have the following sit down with the aforementioned Wren…

Me: *angry stare*

Frank: *blank stare*

Me: *evil eye*

Frank: *shrugs*

Kawakami’s rocking a 4.78 ERA, a 1.46 WHIP and 10.2 H/9. I’d go ahead and impress you with some geek stat, but I think the following is pretty telling regardless of whether you think wins and losses are a valid metric: he’s 0-9. There’s something to be said for this since A) no Braves pitcher in history has posted 0-9 and B) said history goes back 140 years. Atlanta’s 4-10 in his starts, which makes them.. doing the math… a mid-90′s-like 38-19 when he doesn’t start. Apparently Bobby Cox favors the latter because he’s recently hinted that KK’s bullpen bound as soon as Jurrjens gets off the DL (hamstring, shoulder). To me this seems like trading glaucoma for skin cancer, and I suspect, instead, that he’ll be optioned or given the North Korean soccer team treatment before mid-July. One can only hope.

Far East down and bound.

Double initialed guys aside, the rotation’s been rock solid with the 1-2 front end of Tommy Hanson and a rejuvenated Tim Hudson, the predictably ho-hum play of Derek Lowe, and Kris Medlen’s occasional turn as a guy who doesn’t suck at all. Medlen, for his part, made the impressive leap from pen/long relief man to gritty workhorse who went 8 innings strong just 10 days ago. Lowe’s $15 million per reminds me of the time I bought five Super Nintendos over a fully-loaded Xbox 360 (Cliff Lee makes $6 mil less), but I can’t knock a guy with a 9-5 record too much, especially since this is suppose to be my “Hey, the Braves are great!” post.

Damn you, Frank Wren.

Hudson’s been an absolute pleasure to watch. He’s finally pitching like the guy the Braves thought they’d traded for in ’05 , and I suspect it has a lot to do with that Drew Breesian ligament transplant he underwent two off-seasons ago. He still rolls with the high-80s/low-90s two-seamer, but that devastating cutter’s developed more bite than my Aunt Celia (that woman is a biter… it’s an Italian thing).

Hanson’s consistency has been problematic – he actually went from a 7-3, 3.38 ERA guy to a 7-4, 4.17 guy over the course of this post – but he’s shown signs of being the ace phenom last year’s hype hinted at (note: Tuesday’s 3 2/3 IP, 13 H, 9 ER shelling to CHW was impeccably bad timing… Tempered enthusiasm to come). Big Red’s velocity isn’t as originally advertised, but he’s got the horsepower to crank the fastball up to 96-97 when the situation dictates. See his 3-hit performance against the Rays last week. At 23, the kid still doesn’t have that Eff You, frontline mentality to match his imposing 6’6″ frame, and his on-the-nose 100 pitches per outing tells you Cox hasn’t taken the leash off yet… But his stuff isn’t the problem. Tommy’s already got two double-digit strikeout games on his ’10 resume, and he’s looking at a 2.55 ERA should you exclude Tuesday’s meltdown and a similar May 20 shellacking to Cinci. Young man’s a stud. Or he will be at some point.

So now we’ve come to the part of the show where I eat crow and offer a formal apology to one Billy Wagner, or as he’s been known to you, the Casualtist, “The Remains of Billy Wagner.” He’s already announced his plans to retire at season’s end, which is exactly what you don’t want to do when you’re 5-0 with 14 saves, a 1.23 ERA, 43 K in 29.1 IP, and working on a 15-inning scoreless streak. The elbow is healthy, the fastball overpowering, the 9th inning hell for the opposition. I am, though, a little antsy about how he’ll perform down the stretch should he make it to September – his late season antics sunk the gagjob Mets in ’07.

On the horizon: 400 saves/SC's respect

Sticking with old dudes, Takashi Saito is still 40, which is to say, he’s quite expectedly fallen prey to a bunch of nagging injuries that’ve so far sidelined him for the entire month. This worries me for a couple reasons: 1) I know the same could happen to Wagner any second now and 2) his return to the rotation on Tuesday sent young stud Craig Kimbrel (22 y-o, 1.08 ERA in 8.1 IP) packing for Gwinnett. I’d have preferred shipping out the young, equally studly Jonny Venters (25 y-o, 1.45 ERA in 31 IP), if only because SC corners the search market on Kimbrel scouting reports (see, I told you). But I digress. Both have taken advantage of spot-8th-inning duties, and that Saito is back excites me less than an X-Treme Cuisine frozen dinner.

I’ve managed this much without mentioning Jason Heyward, probably because he’s having a worse 30 days than oil baron Tony Hayward. Fine by me. He’s 20-years-old, he’s on a winning team and, for now anyway, he’s just another one of the guys. I hope for his sake that Chipper Jones – who’s finally starting to hit again - sticks out the rest of the season to fill the de facto “face of team” role. The longer Destroyer (.195 avg., 25 K in June) can fly under the radar, the better. And since he’s on track to become the youngest all-star starter since Junior and the second youngest ever, I’m guessing the scrutiny of superstardom’s coming sooner rather than later. I can hear the pre-game Mid-Summer Classic banter now…

Joe Buck: You know Tim, Heyward’s struggled of late, but when he puts it all together… (*pauses for effect*)…  Lookout.

Tim McCarver: I think you’re right, Joe… (*pauses to watch a colorful object pass*) … But for a kid known for his uncanny plate discipline, he sure does swing at a lot of bad pitches. Then you remember… he’s only 20-years-old! And when you think of the Atlanta greats that he’s following, you think of one name. Aaron.

Look, Fictional Tim McCarver, I could go without the grandiose comparisons for a while. I’m sure Heyward could, too. Either way, I’m not worried about stunted growth, especially when he’s surrounded by head-down professionals like Chipper and Cox, and the champ pedigrees of Melky Cabrera (seriously) and Eric Hinkse. After a clutch game-winning double against the Royals over the weekend, Hinske told clubhouse reporters that the team expects to “go out and win every day.”

David Justice, is that you? Haven’t heard this in forever.

And it sounds really good. I’m also a huge fan of Troy Glaus singlehandedly salvaging Frank Wren’s reputation (14 HR, 55 RBI for a $1.75 million flyer) and Martin Prado’s turn as the second coming of Roberto Alomar (NL batting leader, .340 avg., 103 H). I’m also heartened that Atlanta’s leading the league in runs scored despite no-show years from Yunel Escobar (injuries), Matt Diaz (injuries) and Nate McLouth (death). Brian McCann hasn’t hit either, but you expect that to change eventually.

Bash brother.

I’d like to see the Braves shore up their bullpen at the deadline and go after a bat that can better handle big time lefties, but asking for anything at this stage feels like milking Santa. We’re looking down the barrel of July. Hotlanta’s thinking pennant race. This feels like déjà vu all over again. You know, 14 straight years of déjà vu.

- Robbie

Judgment Day: USA-Algeria, Live and Patriotic

Heroic

 The following is a live account of the greatest damn soccer game ever. Read it backwards to truly appreciate my stress.

And it is over! The Yanks take the 1-0 victory and move on to the round of 16. England advances as well out of Group C. I dare you to question the greatness of World Cup soccer. That was beyond amazing. I’d continue to comment on it, but I’m not pulling together logical thoughts right now.

God bless America, and God bless Landon Donovan.

92′ Algeria’s captain gets kicked out of the game after getting a red card. No. 19 with the curious blonde mohawk tells the referee to “f**k off.” Sweet kid. Nice to see he has brushed up on his English.

GOAL! GOAL! GOAL! GOAL! LANDON DONOVAN SCORES! 1-0 USA IN THE 91ST MINUTE!

90′ Four minutes of stoppage time are added. My stomach is in my throat.

87′ We may not advance, but we are currently dominating the realm of hot nervous girl crowd shots.

85′ The apparent “bad boy” of Algerian soccer enters the game. Call me ignorant, but I get nervous around Arabic-speaking people that are described as “bad boys.”

81′ NO! NOT AGAIN! Dempsey is elbowed in the face by an Algerian player while in the box. The referees call nothing although it should have been a straight red card to a player who already holds one yellow. Dempsey has a look of shock on his face as blood runs down his chin. And oh yeah, it would have resulted in a penalty kick as well. The bad luck continues.

79′ Algerian player takes too long to get up from a fall, so the USA crowd boos. Meanwhile, I’m trying to decide if I am on the brink of a serious heart failure or a humiliating piss pants situation.

77′ Free kick upcoming for the US after a foul on Dempsey…Like so many other chances, Bradley’s shot lands right in the gut of the Algerian keeper.

74′ The offensive pressing of the US is causing an occasionally very vulnerable defense. Luckily for them, Algerians specialize in exporting oat, not scoring goals.

Where is he when you need him?

71′ There are Nazis taping our game. I repeat, there are Nazis taping our game.

66′ An anti-climatic thought at this moment of the game, but does anyone else find it strange that there are so many empty seats at this game?

I can tell you that the England game is packed and has a very noticeable lack of vuvuzelas. For at least one game during this tournament, singing is the backdrop for the England-Slovenia fixture.

63′ Maurice Edu, a midfielder, subs out of the game in favor of another striker. Prepare for an all-out assault.

56′ Jozy Altidore has a huge break that ends in yet another Dempsey near miss. This time it is off the inside post on an excellent opportunity. A scoreless end to this game would be beyond frustrating after all of these chances.

54′ US goalkeeper Tim Howard speaks in two word phrases with half of each phrase being a profanity.

Get some.

50′ Back from  my feast. A few minutes ago, the British announcer said “If there was a World Cup for fight and spirit, the US squad would be in the final.” My orange slice and Gatorade comment is starting to sound more and more accurate. I haven’t heard that line since second grade recreational soccer.

Random Halftime Note: I really don’t like Alexi Lalas. Now off to my breakfast of chicken wings. AMERICA!

45′ The first half is given just one minute of additional time. Technically it is stopped after 55 seconds. As the players and referees head to the locker rooms, a more familiar sound is briefly heard over the overzealous vuvuzelas. That’s right, boos for the Dempsey offsides call.

That’s the America I know and love.

41′ There was just another unsuccessful USA shot on goal. I’ll let you guess who shot it.

38′ I love but am perplexed by the random slow-motion replays that ESPN decides to show during these games. It’s always a 3-5 second clip of someone yelling or talking passionately often with no real explanation. I have no idea if this is common in, say, soccer broadcasts in England or anything.

34′ Dempsey has yet another close scoring chance, this time he is rejected by the short-sleeved Algerian goalkeeper. No, Dempsey is not the only USA player taking part in this game, but he is currently the only one worth mentioning.

Man

30′ The limey announcer informs us that Algeria was victim to one of the biggest scams in World Cup history when their entire team was attacked by sheep on the final day of group play, or something like that.

28′ The soccer field has always been a mecca for awful hair. Algeria is doing its best to make sure that stands true.

23′ Replays and announcers show that Dempsey was possibly even with the defender and therefore not guilty of being offsides. “Here we go again,” says the announcer without the British accent.

An update of the England game shows that the Brits have taken a 1-0 lead over Slovenia. If these two scores stand, England moves on, and the Yanks get sent back to the land o’ pigskin.

20′ GOAL! GOAL! GOA…not so fast. A USA goal is disallowed when Clint Dempsey is called for offsides. Excessive flag waving delayed…for now.

13′ USA coach Bob Bradley’s son Michael plays for the national team. One can only assume that Michael’s mom brings orange slices and Gatorades for the team to enjoy at halftime.

Mrs. Bradley

11′ The official USA-Algeria drinking game: Everytime the British announcer says “tense,” take a drink.

8′ Clint Dempsey sends a long shot over the goal. In case you are wondering, USA players will be mentioned by name while Algerian players will be referred to as “Algeria.” Deal with it.

5′ USA almost gets off to a disastrous start when Algeria has a huge opportunity hit the post. Algeria has yet to score in this World Cup, so that would have been extra bad.

A quick run through of the referees assures us that public enemy Koman Coulibaly has been sent home. All is good as we ready for kickoff.

Few moments are better at a World Cup than the national anthem. I hereby petition that we outlaw celebrities or local kids singing national anthems at all sporting events and let the fans sing. Gives me chills every time.

Cameras bring us to Loftus Versfeld Stadium where the game will take place. The players make the traditional march out to the field holding the hands of confused youngsters.

Loftus Versfeld: South African for "American Miracle."

-Bryan

50 Things You Should Know About Miami

Like any other city, except way better.

I’m in The 305, people. Come on down! But before you do, brush up on paradise with this crash course guide to El Ciudad de Awesome.

Bonus: make sure you bypass the right zone on your home security system. Because it really sucks when a cop shows up at 7:04 in the morning thinking that you broke into your parents’ house, especially when you went to sleep four hours before… That’s my bad, Pops.

50) These guys enjoyed their stay.

49) Every so often, a person living south of Red Road will tell you he or she has a home in Coral Gables. This is called “deception.”

48) It is not only appropriate to stare in public, but in fact a pastime for males between the ages of 13 and 87.

47) One of every four drivers has an actual license. Should you slow for a yellow light, expect a front bumper in your backseat.

46) Honking is a sign of affection. The finger is a sign you’re going the speed limit.

45) Joe Robbie Stadium, Pro Player Park, Pro Player Stadium, Dolphins Stadium, Land Shark Stadium, and Sun Life Stadium are all the same thing.

44) For 71 years, Little Havana housed a cathedral called The Orange Bowl. My great grandfather built part of it.

RIP, Old Lady

43) If a 60 year-old man with slicked back hair comes up and says he’s “drivin’ around with my windows down,” congratulations, you’ve just met Dolphins great Jim Mandich. Make sure he doesn’t hit on your mom.

42) Those glamour shots you see on TV aren’t glamour shots. In fact, there’s a good chance the city was having a bad day.

41) General sentiment favors “bottom heavy” over “top heavy,” though it’s common to see both on the same woman.

40) You don’t have to be multilingual, but good luck ordering dinner.

39) “Talking sports” is code for talking Dolphins or Dwyane Wade.

38) If you say to yourself, “that chick looks a third Korean, a third Haitian and half Italian,” there’s a 50-50 chance you hit it on the head.

37) Consecutive “L’s” make the “Y” sound.

36) Civic heroes include Livan Hernandez, Gloria Estefan, Dan Marino, and Elian.

Exactly 10 years and 1 day ago.

35) There’s no such thing as “indoor voice.”

34) Budweiser is still the King, but most prefer El Presidente.

33) Though it looks like free parking, that line of ’88 Monte Carlos is actually somebody’s front yard.

32) If you’re on the beach for longer than 30 minutes without recognizing a celebrity, you need to come out of your cave more often.

31) Should you see a buildup of CNN camera crews at Cafe Versailles accompanied by people dancing in the streets, pull over and join the celebration. Fidel just died.

30) You don’t have to say “Joe’s Stone Crabs.” Joe’s will suffice.

29) The city’s professional baseball team has won two of the last 13 World Series. They play in a football stadium in Broward.

28) To calculate Cuban Time, add 30 minutes to desired times between the hours of 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. Add a full hour otherwise.

27) You’ll dry off eventually, just not between May and August.

26) “Noche Buena” means “Christmas Eve” and, alternatively, “Night of Much Pork.”

25) Everything comes with a wedge of lime.

24) Jaywalking is thought of less as crime than an art form.

23) Rush hour. Daylight. Same thing.

22) The crowds aren’t late arriving per se, they just shoot for early second quarter.

21) Cocaine is actually legal and sells under the street name “cortadito.”

Cuban expresso/liquid lightning

20) You’ll probably need a GPS to get around Coral Gables. The blocks are numbered in 12-point font and ranked by renown of Spanish conquistador.

19) It’s a ‘Cane thing. You wouldn’t understand.

18) Guayaberas make the kind of fashion statement that says, “I’m not trying very hard,” and “I have four more exactly like this in my closet.”

17) The Bagel Emporium is the best Jewish deli in town. Though usually out of bagels, it’s particularly well-stocked with a variety of hungover UM coeds, and an Alex Rodriguez once every four visits.

16) If you do run into Alex Rodriguez at the Bagel Emporium, you don’t have to check the license plate of the $800,000 Mercedes out front (Mom). You can just assume it’s his.

15) The crime isn’t nearly as bad as reputation suggests, but try not to wear jewelry in locales with a “historical” designation.

16) The Publix in South Miami stocks the finest selection of cantaloupes anywhere South of Lincoln Road. Hopefully your home doesn’t catch fire in the early afternoon, because the firefighters will be in Publix checking out the cantaloupes.

15) Cuban cigars are both a sign of good taste and technically against the law.

The good stuff.

14) Should you schedule a tee time at a local golf course, bring a pair of tennis shoes and jean shorts so as not to stand out.

13) Your hips need to move unnaturally to appreciate the local music.

12) Plain Jane

11) Café con leche is in fact leche con café.

10) Crockett and Tubbs aren’t real people, but the phonebook does list a Montana, Antonio (1593 NW 6th Ave).

9) There’s an old saying that “Miami never gets above 90 degrees.” This saying hasn’t been true for 20 years.

8) The women wear form-fitting clothes regardless of whether they have the form.

7) Should you find yourself caught in Hialeah traffic at 5 PM… see you next Tuesday.

6) Typical weekend

Saturday morning

Saturday afternoon

Saturday night

5) Havana, Cuba and Orlando, FL are equidistant.

4) We have Diddy, Madonna, Shaq, J-Lo, D-Wade, Riles, A-Rod… Your celebrities probably need two names.

3) The University of Miami football team went nine years without actually losing a game in Miami, and is generally credited for ending big time college sports in Houston and Washington state. Six and half years after this was published, the program won its fifth national title in two decades.

2) Whatever “they” are, there’s a good chance they aren’t real.

1) People are generally happier.

Have a humid Tuesday.

- Robbie

WWE RAW: Semi-Live Coverage From the Trailer Park

Not in the building tonight.

That’s right, Casualtists. It’s the return of sports entertainment.

RAW is now considered a family show, yet it has the words “all in, balls out” in its theme song. Oh well, we’re live from Bridgeport, Conn. Let’s do this.

9:02 WWE chairman Vince McMahon comes out first to a huge crowd reaction. Fun fact: His wife is the frontrunner to be the Republican senator for this state in the Fall. Lots to look forward to for them.

9:05 Vince “fires” Bret Hart from his duties as general manager of RAW. Crowd boos. The new “GM” of RAW will be kept anonymous.

9:07 Vince goes to wrap up his promo when…you guessed it…somebody else’s music started playing and interrupted everything. It’s Sheamus the large, ginger Irish man who won the WWE title at last night’s Fatal Four-Way pay-per-view. A sign in the crowd reads: Sheamus glows in the dark. Good stuff.

9:12 You’ll never guess what happened to Sheamus’ rant. Yep, it got interrupted too. This time by everybody’s favorite Jonas Brother, John Cena, or as he is occasionally known, Hulk Hogan in jean shorts. Cena is for some reason cheerful about losing his title last night. Maybe they’re making a sequel to “12 Rounds.”

9:15 The new “anonymous” GM literally sends his commands through E-mails that are read by uber-douchey announcer Michael Cole. I wish I was making this up, but I am not.

Bronzer, check.

9:18 So after a jumbly, kind of jumpy promo segment, we have determined that Cena will face Sheamus for the WWE title in tonight’s main event and the seven NXT rookies who have been raising hell for the last two weeks have officially been given contracts by the anonymous GM.

Match: Evan Bourne vs. Chris Jericho

Jericho has a losing streak storyline going. Bourne beat him last night. Jericho just announced that if he loses this rematch, he’ll leave the WWE “forever.” Uh, yeah.

We get our first example of a wrestling commercial break during a match. They always go the same way. Bad guy gets out of the ring and stares into space as if to say “alright run your damn commercials now.”

In contrast to popular belief, NASCAR drivers do not pull over to the side of the track during FOX commercial breaks,

Evan Bourne does not look like a pro wrestler at all. He’s short, he doesn’t have scraggly, long, washed-up dude porn star kind of hair and he has no tattoos. He fits into the WWE like a good-looking girl fits in at the Taco Bell by my house.

Like Wally Cleaver in tights.

The most predictable moments in pro wrestling: Rest holds. When wrestlers pretend like they’re about to tap out to some awful submission hold except really they’re just taking a breather from the match. Announcers always try to sell the “Oh my! He’s gonna tap out!” Doesn’t work.

Chris Jericho wins by pinfall. Pretty good match for television. I for one was completely shocked that Jericho won. I mean who wouldn’t want their grand exit from wrestling to come in some second-rate arena in Somewhere, Connecticut in an un-advertised match on the USA Network?

9:42 Ted DiBiase, Jr. fires his dad’s longtime right-hand man, Virgil, in favor of valet Maryse. A quick Wiki search tells us that Maryse is a “glamour model.” I think I might know what that means.

When Virgil asks DiBiase what he is going to do for protection, DiBiase smirks and says, “I’ll go to the drug store.”  A quick Wiki search tells us that DiBiase is a married born-again Christian. This duo is promising.

Out with the old.

In with the new.

9:45 When I was a little kid, I always got excited when I saw mysterious limos show up at wrestling shows. One just showed up, and I’m assuming that it is loaded with the NXT rookies as they are set to address the “WWE Universe” (read: fans) tonight.

Match: Natalya vs. Tamina

Natalya is part of the Hart Dynasty, so they’re pissed because Bret has been fired. She’s facing the valet of the trio that they are feuding with.

These women look like they could legitimately kick ass. Natalya is growing on me in the looks department. Natalya is the daughter of Jim Neidhart, Tamina the daughter of Jimmy Snuka.

Match ends in a no contest. The NXT Seven invades the ring as we get sent to a commercial for this “Despicable Me” movie. If the little green dudes are featured heavily in this movie, I’m all about it.

9:57 The NXT Seven begin their promo after commercial break. They begin issuing “apologies” to all the people that they have beaten the hell out of the last two weeks. Each one is getting more and more sappy. They are acting nice to a cheesy point. This is kind of like a movie where the kidnappers draw the kids in with kindness. Honestly, this is creepy.

The men continue their speeches to chants of “you suck.” I’m not exactly sure what they’re going for here. Leader Wade Barrett is now challenging Sheamus for his title. If this is meant to be some kind of face turn, it is very, very strange.

10:09 One of my current favorites makes his slow-motion entrance. Yes, it’s the Monday Night Delight, the Shaman of Sexy, the Admiral of Abdominals, John Morrison.

He’s scheduled to face DiBiase who comes out with Maryse. He has “better things to do”…obviously. So Zack Ryder takes his place and DiBiase heads to the back with Maryse where he will surely spend the rest of the night on the phone with his wife.

Match: John Morrison vs. Zack Ryder

Morrison’s gimmick is that he is basically Jim Morrison without the heroin and acid. Okay, maybe not. Ryder literally has a Jersey Shore gimmick. G-T-freaking-L.

Morrison wins by pinfall. Short match, but I’m in favor of anything that gives John a push.

10:17 Cena goes into his kind of whiney, kind of preachy promo mode backstage. In case you’re wondering, he doesn’t accept the NXT apology.

At this time, I’d like to say that this has really been a great episode so far. Excellent progression of storylines with a lot still hanging in a tweener cloud. Hopefully the next 40 minutes keeps this going.

I’d also like to name-drop Robbie Hilson in case he’s struggling through this coverage. Robbie, you’re not fooling anyone, you watch wrestling matches on YouTube.

10:22 A Randy Orton commercial airs which reminds me, I haven’t seen him yet tonight. Randy Orton is by far the best singles wrestler going on RAW right now, so this is disappointing.

Match: Great Khali and Eve vs. Primo and Alicia Fox in a mixed tag team match

This is a time-killer throw-away match, so I’ll treat it as one.

How do you write two hours of live programming every week? You write a decent amount of good stuff and fill the rest with this. Eve does make up for it with a pretty sick moonsault. The fact that she is stupid hot doesn’t hurt either.

The ever-improving match.

Great Khali and Eve win by pinfall.

10:29 Randy Orton is shown walking to the ring as we go to commercial break. He’s going to talk about something. Prepare for awesomeness.

10:32 “I hear voices in my head!” That’s how Orton’s entrance music begins. I told you so.

In a world of faces that get cheers by sucking up to crowds and smiling, Randy Orton is a badass who does nothing to be a “good guy” but gets cheered the most anyways.

He is interrupted (shocking!) by The Miz, yes the guy from “The Real World.” The Miz is sick of seeing Orton in the main event and he wants a WWE title shot from Sheamus. Because this is the WWE, they’re now fighting. Edge comes out of nowhere to spear Orton and leave him lying in the middle of the ring.

Weird but interesting segment that leaves plenty of open storylines.

10:39 It is announced that the WWE title match is up next. Much more time than a RAW main event is typically given. Hopefully this is a good thing.

10:43 Oh yeah, Vince McMahon is the special referee for the main event. I’ve been a wrestling nerd for long enough to know that this is probably some kind of set-up.

Match: John Cena vs. Sheamus for the WWE Championship

The match begins as Cena throws his shirt into the crowd. I am assuming that he intends for some screaming teenage girl to catch it. It’s instead caught by a pimply dude in his late teens. Cenation is out in full force.

The crowd is overcome with dueling “Let’s go Cena!” and “Cena sucks!” chants. Guess which one is coming from the portion of the crowd with the deeper voices.

You get the picture.

The show goes to commercial as Cena and Sheamus go take a three-minute beer break. Unless you’re there, you can’t prove me wrong.

Beer break over, we’re back and both guys are on the ground. I told you so.

Many who hate Cena hate him because of his “Super Cena” gimmick where he mysteriously becomes awesome instead of selling the other wrestler’s offense. I’ve seen him go from stretcher to domination in roughly two minutes before. This is unrealistic, and as you know, there is no room for unrealistic nonsense in pro wrestling.

Cena does three moves and Cole screams “Vintage Cena!” This is vintage Cena because Cena just performed three out of the four moves that he does in the entirety of every single match.

And now we bring to you…a rest hold….Did I mention that John Cena wrestles in jean shorts? And no, not the cool cut-off kind.

Sheamus throws Cena ”head” (read: hands) first into the steel steps. One of the fun facts of pro wrestling, everything that isn’t in the ring is made up of pure steel. Just ask Michael Cole.

NXT Seven invades again!

Sheamus flees the scene, so it’s all brought down on Cena once again. Vince McMahon takes the microphone and calls the NXT guys into the ring.

Yes, Vince has been “partially” behind the whole NXT thing. But of course it’s not that simple because this is pro wrasslin’.

The NXT Seven surrounds McMahon and begin beating him senseless. We get the same drill that they did on Cena two weeks back. Clotheslines and finishers.

Vince is left motionless in the middle of the ring as the gang walks away and the show goes off air. Wrestling revolves around the audience and this crowd has no idea how to respond.

The NXT 7 + the recently fired Daniel Bryan.

The message is pretty clear. The NXT Seven isn’t following traditional face/heel lines. They protect each other and everyone else is fair game.

Happy Monday night.

-Bryan