Not To Be Confused With The Bionic

OK, after a little bit of hullabaloo, Dunph and Lane are back in the links. I took Lane out because he wasn't updating; he complained that Dunph wasn't taken out since he didn't update anymore either; I used the reasoning that he still commented all the time so he got to stay; when I finally did take Dunph out, then Dunph was mad. So to avoid getting yelled at again, I just put them both back in. So there they are; don't bother clicking on them if you already have in the last 8 months, they haven't updated. Whatever.

However, there are couple of new additions to the batting order: BeachBum, another Bostonian (Bostonite? Bostafarian? San Diego-ans? San Diego-ites? San Diego-uns? San Dieg-ons? San Diegans?...he's from Boston) who has been a mainstay in the comments for quite a while now; and Cheese, who was a mainstay at Culligan parties back in the day. They do update. Give them a clickarooski.

After the impromptu episode of PTI that just broke out between me and Dunph (which has been going on since 2nd grade, although I'm fairly certain we weren't calling each other 'dipshit' and 'cum guzzler' back then) I figured that this would be as good a time as any to say that I'm not just some know-it-all that can't admit when he's wrong. In fact, I can think of the dumbest sports-related things I've ever said, right off the top of my head....

"The Vikings were stupid to trade Daunte Culpepper"

I staked my credibility, my fantasy team, and my wallet on this prediction before the '06 season. All 3 were in shambles just a couple months later. Here is my exact quote on Culpepper, from The Slice a year and a half ago.

First off, my biggest rant of this offseason: Daunte Culpepper is still good. He had 6 (six!) bad games last year. I am with you, they weren't just bad, they were terrible. But that's it. Six games. The year before that, he had arguably the 3rd best season in NFL history for quarterbacks. Except Peyton Manning had the best one ever, so Daunte flew under the radar. But all it took were those six shitty games last year, and everyone is throwing him under the bus. I don't care that he has the hands of an 11 year old girl. I've heard that before. I'll take the Dolphins for 11-5 and Daunte to throw for 3,500 and 27 TDs, as well as being the key to my fantasy team. I am firmly buckled in and my Dolphins bandwagon is pulling out of the driveway. There are spots available, if anyone is interested.

Holy F.


Here's Daunte and his family, solemnly leaving the funeral of his NFL quarterbacking skills. 1999-2004. RIP.



"Michigan St. only giving 3 1/2 points to George Mason is the biggest first-round gambling lock in NCAA tournament history"

I know that is an exact quote because I said it to at least 20 people that day. I know that NOBODY saw that upset coming, which diminishes the stupidity of that statement, but this one gets bonus points because a) not only did George Mason cover the spread, not only did they win the game outright, but they went all the way to the fucking Final 4 as an 11 seed; and b) I took a lot of people down with me on this one. Everyone who was with me in Vegas (Fundy, Noles, Dunph, Horp.) Everyone back home that I called and told to put money on it (Bergman, Ike, others I can't remember.) Even some innocent dudes from Arizona that were ahead of me in line at the sports book, who were perfectly content to just put down a little money on their beloved Wildcats....before my dumb ass convinced them otherwise.



Hey, dude, put up a couple more fingers, add a couple of zeroes, and that's how much your Cinderalla story cost me.



"I'm going home, I just can't watch the Yankees celebrate again, especially in Fenway"

I said this just before the bottom of the 9th inning of Game 4 of the 2004 ALCS. Jake, Ike, and I were watching at the Hub, and I had hit rock bottom as a sports fan. I've always been a pessimistic spectator, one of the things about myself I dislike the most. I'm always waiting for something bad to happen, plus 2003 had been pretty rough on me, and as a result, I had absolutely zero faith the Sox were coming back. Luckily Jake and Ike told me to quit being a pussy and watch, and then Millar walked, and Roberts stole second....






...and everyone knows what happened over the next couple weeks.

Thank you Jake and Ike. If I had intentionally skipped that 9th inning, I may be writing this from a mental institution, or prison. And not one of those white collar resort prisons, one of those federal pound-me-in-the-ass prisons.



"LeBron James is wayyyyy overrated"

I saved the best for last. This little gem gets more and more ridiculous by the day. I said this during his senior year of high school, after my expert opinion (determined after watching a couple televised games) was that "he has no jump shot, and once he gets into the NBA, he'll be the same size as everyone else, so he won't be able to just blow by everybody." Wow. Just- wow. I forgot to take into account that he would get bigger too; cause, you know, that's what happens when you're still going through puberty, and now he looks like a middle linebacker who throws up triple-doubles just for kicks.

Here's a picture of Bron-Bron throwing down as a high school SOPHOMORE. This is about 180 pounds of muscle (rough estimate), a couple of inches, and a couple of kids ago. Yep, looks overrated to me.

The Ballad Of Carl The Assbag

A bonus Saturday post! I am just trying to get this out of my head quick before I forget some of the details. Here is the story of the assault and battery of Curtis the Altima. A fairly routine situation turned into quite the ridiculous story...


I get a knock on the door Friday night. Police Officer tells me some people have been "kicking on my car." I chuckle, grab my jacket, and head outside with him. This is far from the first the time that my car has been vandalized, so I'm not too pissed. (Note: this is one of the fundamental imbalances in my personality. A cop can tell me that someone has been trashing my car, and I just kinda laugh. However, if the same cop had knocked on my door and said "I'd like to inform you that the Boston Red Sox have traded David Ortiz and Josh Beckett to the New York Yankees for Derek Jeter and Joba Chamerlain" I would've thrown a gigantic shit-fit right there on the patio, and my entire weekend would've been ruined. That's just me.)


I should tell you that when the cop told me what happened, it sounded to me like he said "Some girls have been kicking your car." So on our way to the parking lot, we pass another cop and the two girls. The cop says to them, "There's your victim right there." One of the girls looks at me and says "Aww, poor guy!" Incredulous, I manage to mumble "Uhh, yeah" but in my head I'm saying "Fuck you bitch! What the fuck?" As the cops are taking pics of my car, it becomes apparent to me that he said "some girls HEARD someone kicking your car." Which explains why the girl had the nerve to say something to me. All of a sudden, the cops get something in their radio, say "We gotta take care of something, we'll be back." Umm, OK. After standing there by myself in the cold for about 20 minutes, deliberating on how cool it would be to jump in the idling cop car and take off, I decide I'm gonna walk around front, or go inside, or just see what the holy hell is going on. There is a huge commotion in the quad, with multiple cops, a party getting broken up, and a dude in handcuffs. I see the girl (referred to from now on as Witness1) who had said something to me earlier, and I tell her how I thought she was the one who had kicked my car, we laugh, and she fills me in and what happened.


Apparently, Witness1 was sitting in her bedroom, next to the window, when a white truck pulled up. These guys get out of the truck, make eye contact with her through the window, WAVE TO HER, and immediately start booting the shit out of my car. Are you kidding? This is when she called the cops.

There is quite a crowd outside now, so we all get to talking. It is quite the shitshow here tonight at the Reserves. Besides the car booting, there are about 3 parties getting broken up; some other dudes, fearing that they were getting busted next, frantically emptying their apartment of all their stolen road signs; and a guy getting arrested for attempting to steal the purple Vespa that has been sitting at the bike rack since August. We find out later that he was one of the dudes who had been giving my car the Daniel LaRusso treatment.

Another girl (Victim2) comes up with her side view mirror in her hand. I guess Curtis wasn't the only one who got roughed up. Finally, 45 minutes after my initial meeting with Cop1, another guy (Cop2) approaches myself and Victim2 and we go back to the parking lot, along with Witness1 and Witness2. As Cop2 is getting Victim2's info, fate intervenes. A couple dudes (Assbag1 and Assbag2) come stumbling into the parking lot, hesitate when they see us, whisper to each other for a couple seconds, and start getting into the white truck! Witness1 and Witness2 alert Cop2 that these are, in fact, the guys that committed the crime that they were investigating. Cop2 calls backup. Assbag1 realizes, as luck would have it, that he was blocked in by Cop2's car. Cop2 tells him just a moment, he'll move in a second.


This is when Assbag2 decides to get involved. This guy is HAMMERED. I'm talking like "Haley dressed up as Richie Tenenbaum, after 20 beers, a nasty fall on the Culligan roof, and a concussion" drunk. It's 11 pm, and he's rocking sunglasses and everything. He staggers up to Cop2.


Assbag2 "OK, we'll just, we'll just wait for you to move your car then."

Cop2 "Yep, just a minute, I'll move in a second. Lemme get this gal's info, I'll be right with you."

Assbag2 "I understand. I understand. I understand. I understand." (all of us are staring at him in amazement; I'm trying desparately not to bust out laughing) "I am under your jur-jur-jurissss-jur-jurisdiccctionnnn, sir."

Cop2 "OK, good. Now just wait a couple minutes."

Assbag2 "You are in con-control. You are in control. Youuuu!"

Cop2 "Yes, I am. Now GO WAIT OVER THERE!"


Assbag1 apparently isn't Special Olympics drunk like his buddy, and he's getting nervous, starting to realize that the Cops really aren't going to just move their car and let them walk away from this. Smart guy. Assbag2, however, sees me standing there, thinks I'm just another shitfaced dude hanging in the parking lot, and comes up to me. I decide fuck it, I'll bullshit with the dude who kicked the shit out of my car. He's getting arrested anyway. I'm glad I did. I will never forget this conversation, ever.


Assbag2 "Heyyyyyyy, man! What is UP?"

Me "Hey, BROSEF, what's goin' on? Havin a good fuckin' night? Damn, your future must be so bright that you gotta wear sunglasses all the time, huh?"

Assbag2 "Your future....pssssshhhh hahahahaha that is awesome! Future! I like you. I like you! I LIKE YOU! You are the fuckin man! What's your name?"

Me "Adam Banks, nice to meet you."

Assbag2 "My name is Carl. You are awesome!"

Me "Hey, CARL, GOOD TO SEE YOU!"

Carl "Hahahaha, Billy Madison, I get that shit all the time, man. All the time. Allllllll the tiiiiiiiime!!!! Billy Madddddddisoooooonnnnnnnn!!!!"

Me "So you havin' a good time then or what? Fuckin' Friday night, man!"

Carl "It IS Friday! I like your outlook, you have a positive outlook on shit. Welllllll I was havin a good time until all this shit started happening, man. But you know, shit can't always be-be-be-be-ummmmm......"

Me "Glorious?"

Carl "Glorious! I fuckin love that word! Yeah, glorious! It can't all be glory, man. Glory. And you know what you do when it's not glory?"

Me "I have no idea..."

Carl "You wait! You WAIT! You wait for it to be glory times again, man!"

Me, laughing my ass off by this point "Yeah, Carl, yeah. Glory times...Glory times."

And it goes on and on like this for a while. Pure magic. It was at this point that Cop3 came over to me. He tells me it's my turn to give my info. Here's the best part of the whole incident:

By this time, since we've been talking for all of 3 minutes and Carl has decided I'm the coolest guy in the world, he is standing with his arm draped around me like we've been boys for 10 years. When it finally sinks in that I'm one of the people whose car he fucked up, and that I'm going to talk to the cop now, the look on his face is PRICELESS. He slowly takes his Oakleys off, gives me a look of betrayal like I just shot his dog or something, and slowly removes his arm and backs away from me. While I am holding my stomach and trying not to fall in the snow laughing, he turns and starts "running." He could've moved faster in a motorized wheelchair. I tell Cop3 "Um, we've got a runner...." and the cops chase him down within 4 seconds.

So basically I give them my info, Assbag1 and Carl stick to their story of denial, but the cops assure me that they will be prosecuted. I'll hear back next week. So now Curtis has a bunch of dents, scratches, and a kicked in side-view mirror. But as long as the judicial system works for me, it was well worth it for the chance to meet a character like Carl.

I mean, how drunk do you have to be to go boot a bunch of cars while someone is watching you? Classic.

It was nice to meet you, Carl. I already miss you. Glory Times.

Basketball Jones

Now is a very good time to be a basketball fan, friends. Both the NCAA and NBA have title chases more wide open than the race for which toolshed can bang Britney Spears next. I just realized I've barely said anything about college basketball so far this year...mostly because I get nervous when KU is one of the best teams in the country and don't like to talk about their chances too much.





You know how there are the 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance? (At least I think that's what they are.) Well, I go through 5 stages of cheering for KU in a given season:

1. Guarded optimism: reading about the hype before the year starts.
2. Slightly dubious enthusiasm: when they're killing everyone non-conference.
3. Complete and total confidence: after a few good wins in conference, usually a sure sign a loss is around the corner: sure enough, I had this feeling directly before the K-State game this year.
4. Fatalistic pessimism: where I'm at currently: I think everything about the Jayhawks right now is screaming "3-point Elite 8 loss to an inferior team like Washington St. or Louisville."
5. Unbridled excitement: usually after they finish strong, either win or play well in the conference tourney, the whole atmosphere of March kicks in, and my hopes are impossibly high.

As for the rest of the country, there are a number of teams that have legitimate title shots. Memphis, Carolina, UCLA (the team that scares me the most), Tennessee, and Georgetown are all ridiculously good. Then there's a second tier of teams that is even bigger (Duke, Texas, Michigan St., UCONN, Louisville, Indiana, K-State) that are really, really good too, and I wouldn't be surprised to see any of them in San Antonio this year. Just thinking about Selection Sunday, filling out brackets, the CBS theme song, Gus Johnson screaming incoherently following a routine basket with 17 minutes still left in the game, buzzer beaters, 12 seeds upsetting 5 seeds....watch out, I think somebody just set the thermostat to "boner" in here.

I don't think that my excitement level for any sport wavers as much as it does with the NBA. Either I am really into it, or I can't stand watching it, and right now it is fucking ON. Gasol, Shaq, Kidd, all get shipped out west. Spurs, Suns, Lakers, Mavs, Jazz, Hornets, Rockets, Nuggest, Warriors, are you kidding me? The western conference playoffs are gonna be an absolute free-for-all like we've never seen before. 9 teams (Nine!!!) can win that conference.

The east is for the most part brutal, but Lebron is always fun to watch, Dwight Howard is just about at the same level of goofiness and excitability as Shaq was in his prime, and a Boston/Detroit east finals would be every bit as good as any series in the west (minus Suns/Lakers.) Damn those teams have a good rivalry going. Last night's game had a playoff atmosphere. Like I've said numerous times, if all NBA games had crowd and player intensity like that, I would love the NBA all the time, instead of just here and there. Unfortunately, a very small percentage of games have that feel. (Random note from that game: ever notice how when there's under 10 seconds left, home team down like 8 or 9, and they hit a three, but they're still down like 6 with 3 seconds left, a high-pitched shriek, as opposed to a cheer, goes up from the crowd? That's because the only people who cheer for those bullshit shots are the 13-year-old girls still in the crowd. Settle down, Suzy. Go home and study for your Life Science quiz, 3rd period will be here before you know it.)


All things considered, this spring and summer could well be the most exciting stretch of basketball of my life. Buckle up for a few months of fucking awesome basketball. Happy trading deadline day.