2009 World Series: A Game of Numbers

27: It’s the number of Chase Utley World Series swings that made all of Yankee Nation cringe at once. It’s the number of times every Yankee fan thought last week, ‘will you just put in Mo already?’ Twenty seven marks the amount of times Fox 5 candidly cut to Kate Hudson and Jay-Z cheering in the stands throughout the 2009 Yankee post season run and it’s also the average number of times every Yankee fan frantically clicked the refresh button after World Series tickets went on sale last month.
On Friday, however, as the Yankees made the glorious trek up the Canyon of Heroes to the tune of over one million screaming New Yorkers, 27 meant only one thing: sweet, sweet victory.
The Yankees won the World Series for an unprecedented 27th time last Wednesday, dethroning the defending champion Philadelphia Phillies with a 7-3 game-six victory at home. After falling behind early to a 1-0 series deficit, the Bombers battled back, overcoming a tenacious Philadelphia team, relentless Philly fans and unfavorable odds to bring the Commissioner’s Trophy back to New York for the first time since 2000.
The journey toward 27 wasn’t easy, but as players and fans alike will attest, it was a journey well worth the anguish. Prior to the start of the 2009 season, the stars appeared to be aligned for what we now know to be history. The big-money signings of free agent pitchers A.J. Burnett and C.C. Sabathia, as well as slugging first baseman Mark Teixeira, had baseball fans everywhere predicting a parade up Broadway long before the season even started. Off-the-field issues and injuries involving Alex Rodriguez, however, quickly put a damper on what was expected to be inevitable. Untimely injuries to Xavier Nady and Brett Gardner, as well as the frustrations surrounding Ching Ming Wang’s unfathomably poor start and eventual trip to the disabled list further clouded New York’s pre-season oracle.
But 2009 was a war of Yankee attrition. 2009 was a war that saw the Yankees, who spent an unprecedented $384,500,000 on three players during one recession-infested summer, limp out to what was considered an unacceptable 12-10 start in the month of April. They went 0-8 to start the season against the rival Boston Red Sox and when the most expensive team in Major League Baseball history fell 22-4 in its own brand new ball park to the hapless Cleveland Indians, it seemed as though the Bombers were destined to be the priciest bust since Carl Pavano.
The Yankees, however, had other plans. Sixteen 2009 Yankee walk-of wins, consistent pitching from Sabathia, Burnett and Yankee mainstay Andy Pettitte and gutty performances from unlikely heroes like Melky Cabrera, Francisco Cervelli, Phil Hughes and Damaso Marte all amounted to countless Burnett-trademark cream pies and ultimately, Yankee Championship number 27.
So what is it about the number 27 that sets the Yankees apart from all other Major League Baseball teams? What is it about the number 27 that further distinguishes the Yankees from all other professionally competitive organizations?
For starters, 27 has long been a numeric mark of legendary greatness. In music, Wolfgang Mozart completed 27 concerti for piano and orchestra. In baseball, ironically, 27 is considered to be the modal age of peak performance for Major League Baseball positional players, as based on a study put together by sabermetrician Bill James. 27, in its holy existence, is also argued to be one of the most divine of numbers, as there are 27 letters in the Hebrew alphabet and 27 books in the New Testament.
But 27 also accounts for more than 25 percent of the 104 World Series Championships ever played. New York, with its latest triumph, now boasts over one quarter of all the Commissioner’s trophies ever handed out. Together, the next three winningest teams in Major League Baseball history [Cardinals with 10 World Series Championships, Athletics with nine and Red Sox with seven] only account for 26 titles. No other Major League baseball team has even made 27 World Series appearances, while the Yankees have made 40.
27 trumps the 17 National Basketball Association titles won by the Boston Celtics, the six Super Bowl victories earned by the Pittsburgh Steelers and the 23 NHL titles won by the Montreal Canadians.
So on Friday, as Yankee fans took to the ticker tape-infested streets in celebration of the arduous journey that was the 2009 Major League Baseball season, they were in fact celebrating more than just another title; they were there in honor of 27, the number that pays homage to the many years of pinstripe tradition and achievement.
9: 27 divided by three equals nine, the number of innings in a Major League baseball game. Cats are said to have nine lives, and expecting mothers wait impatiently for nine months before giving birth. New Yorkers, however, will argue that the nine years they spent impatiently waiting for another World Series ring were more trying than any mother could ever understand. The nine years, marked perpetually by Luis Gonzalez walk-off bloop singles (see 2001 World Series vs. Arizona Diamondbacks, game seven), a series loss of historic proportions (see 2004 American League Championship Series vs. Boston Red Sox) and Joba Chamberlain- infesting mayflies (2007 American League Divisional Series vs. Cleveland Indians, game two), have been the cause of countless broken televisions, doorframes and hearts.
How the Earth has changed in the nine years that Yankee fans have been waiting for restoration to glory. Since the last Yankee World Series (prior to last Wednesday), there have been three presidential campaigns, one resulting in the nation’s first ever African-American President. Since the Yankees’ 2000 World Series victory over the New York Mets, the world has seen unprecedented economic downturn and unparalleled political unrest. The world’s biggest banks have gone under and so too, have some of America’s once proud cities. New Yorkers saw two airliners fly directly into their very emblem of civic pride, forever revolutionizing the world as we once knew it. The United States has gone to war with two different nations and the entire planet has become one giant revolutionary melting pot.
To a Red Sox fan, maybe nine years doesn’t seem like that long of a wait, but nine years were all it took for New York, and the Earth alike, to spin on its axis, and nine years was all that was necessary to remind New Yorkers how important, and how interrelated the New York Yankees are to the very pulse of the city.
So on Friday, when the Yankees hit the Canyon of Heroes for the first time in nearly a decade, the celebration was about more than World Series number 27. It was a tribute to the nine years that the city has waited, and all the tribulations that it has undergone, in the process.
3: nine divided by three equals three, the amount of hours Yankee fans spent daily watching the Bombers take to the field in search of retribution. Three marks the number of hours we will now have to fill with some arbitrary hobby until Feb. 13, 2010, when pitchers and catchers report for spring training. Perhaps “So You Think You Can Dance,” or “Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader” can provide New Yorkers with some temporary solution. Some may even hit the gym or the books to fill the void left behind. But three hours is a lot of time and perhaps it is not unusual for a Yankee fan to go through a period of baseball withdrawal or an unusual sense of postpartum depression. Three is the amount of months that fans will have to wait for Jorge Posada and Mariano Rivera to return to the diamond.
1: and that leaves us with one. Three divided by three equals one. After seven months of baseball, there is only one team left standing: 2009 World Series Champions, the New York Yankees.

What's in a name? Just ask the Sox!

"Paging Doctor Schimmel to the third-floor men's room. There seems to be a bit of a situation by the do-it-yourself Depends bastille."
Those of you who know me well can say what you want, but whoever coined the term, "what's in a name?" never met me-- or my unborn children. Say what you want about my tactics, cheap and unfulfilling as they may be, but I believe that instant gratification is the only kind worth seeking.
Let's break this down:
"Paging Doctor Schimmel to the third-floor men's room. There seems to be a bit of a situation by the do-it-yourself Depends bastille."
To the unsuspecting listener, one might assume that there was some sort of medical issue of the geriatric nature on the top floor of the Queens Bridge Bed, Bath and Beyond.
"Wow, lucky this fine retail tycoon happens to have its own in-house doctor on hand," the surprised, yet unquestioning shopper would think as he continued to sift through an endless pile of "Tropical Twist Blast," Pomegranate Potpourri," and "Harvest Peach Infusion" hand sanitizers. "It's not weird at all that this particular retail establishment felt the need to hire a licensed physician."
And if I were on hand, I would be proud to see my oldest son, rightful aire to my throne of nonsensical achievement, swoop to that bathroom like David Hasselhoff on Santa Monica Beach. Or Michael Jackson, the ball pit of a temporarily unsupervised Chucky Cheese-- too soon?
So what if the white coat he wears every day is just part of his personal ensemble? And so what if the key ring on his belt opens up a circuit of closets, rest rooms and "employee only" storage rooms, rather than a motorcade of Corvettes and Bentleys?
My son, Doctor Schimmel, will be the first janitor in history to give hastily respected medical advice on the morning bus to work. AND THAT'S SOMETHING.
"Hey doc, I noticed the name tag. Mind if I ask you a question about this rash?
"Hey doc, can you take a look at this inner-ear infection?
"With pleasure."
My son, the janitor, will attend to each of his unsuspecting patients carefully and completely. That just comes with the territory of being a doctor.
So why wouldn't I name my first son Doctor P. Schimmel? And why stop there?
Moving forward would come President Schimmel, Professor Schimmel and Coolest Guy Alive Schimmel.
Why put my children through the troubles of medical school-- or peer pressure in Coolest Guy Alive's case-- when I can spring on them an unearned sense of instant gratification at birth?
"IT'S A BOY-- I shall call him... KING SCHIMMEL THE MERCIFUL."
A six-pack of Natty Ice and time to bro' out beats six years of grad school, right?
NOTE TO ALL READERS OUT THERE EAGER TO SWAGGER JACK MY PLAN: Should you decide to bestow upon your children any of the above mentioned names, I will have a team-- Officer Schimmel, Esquire Schimmel and my friend, Snake-- ready to cease and assist.
And while in no way, shape or form do I, with pride, liken my plans to anything that is "RED SOX NATION", it comes with great ease that I do so.
Following yet another volatile first-half-of-the-Major-League-season in which we watched the Boston Red Sox (55-38), New York Yankees (56-37), and Tampa Bay Rays (52-42) duke it out for top billing in the American League East, it comes with great pleasure that immediately following the MLB All-Star break, BAWW-STIN has already relinquished what many fans and writers alike considered to be a stronghold on the division. A four-game losing skid was all it took to knock the SAUX back into second place (one game back of the Yanks), and with Boston's 24-year-old Clay Buchholz on the hill tonight-- against Vicente Padilla and the Texas Rangers-- the Sox will be hard-pressed to keep their streak from dropping to five.
What's my point? What happened to all the bombastic Boston banter and the thoughtless medi-at-ric verbal regurgitation that stormed the airways not more than one week ago?
ESPN "First Take's" Skip Bayless referred to a 2009 Boston American League Title as imminent-- and he was not alone-- less than two weeks ago. And now what?
Of course, ushering the Red Sox to the realm of all together insignificance as a result of their recent struggles would be just as frivolous in its own right. Perhaps like the claim that Bayless made when he said the Yanks didn't have the grit to hang with the Sox for the second half of the season, based entirely on a first-half performance put together by a second-half team filled with second-half players like CC Sabathia (9-6) and Mark Teixeira (.277 batting average with 23 home runs) and a still rehabilitating core that includes Alex Rodriguez (.252 batting average, 19 home runs), Xavier Nady (Disabled List) and Chien-Ming Wang (9.64 ERA)?
So yes, the Red Sox won the American League's first half of the season. But now what? Does winning 55 games get you to the playoffs? If so, than maybe I should just name my son Baseball Player Schimmel.
Led by an offensive unit of left fielding Jason Bay (.254 batting average, 20 home runs), first baseman Kevin Youkilis (.303 batting average, 17 home runs) and second baseman Dustin Pedroia (.301 batting average, 40 runs batted in), there is no denying that Boston has talent. But are we to believe that a line-up that gives journeyman infielder Nick Green (249 batting average, 30 runs batted in) regular playing time at shortstop is destined for a World Series? Right fielding J.D. Drew (.236 batting average), third baseman Mike Lowell (.289 batting average) and center fielding Jacoby Ellsbury (.290 batting average) are all dangerous in their own right, but I have a hard time regarding them as threats to the Yankees' bid for the American League. When comparing the Yankees' MLB-leading 512 runs scored to Boston's sixth-place 477, it's easy to see that the Red Sox don't have the fire power to keep up. Any injury to the Josh Beckett-led Boston pitching staff, which is arguably the strongest in the league, will prove much more detrimental than an injury to the Yanks' pitching staff-- New York is in first place with Wang sitting atop of a gruesome 1-6 record because of its ability to put runs on the board.
Ultimately, New York is built to last and the Red Sox, while formidable in their own right, are at all times, one injury away from mediocrity.
So to all the Red and White fans naming their 2009 baby as Championship after just 93 games, please take heed to my advice.
WHILE NAMING YOUR SON DOCTOR MIGHT HELP HIM GET HITS ON E-HARMONY, WITHOUT THE PROPER SCHOOLING, HE IS NOT ACTUALLY DR. DOCTOR SCHIMMEL; JUST ANOTHER HIGH-POWERED CUSTODIAN.
And one more note: Please don't steal my idea!

Lebron vs. Moses

The story could have been completely different-- I can see it now...

Moses (what's his last name again?) leads the Jewish people through the Red Sea, miraculously escaping an unruly band of ancient Egyptian slave runners, enduring 39 years of biblical heat, crushing winds, cold nights and beerless weekends. Bubbling blisters mount up beneath his camel skin moccasins as he tries to ignore the endless complaints of broken air conditioners and unleavened bread.
"Moses, my feet heart."
"Moses, you're always working late."
"Moses, you need to take on a second job. We just can't afford Zeek's retainer."
39 years of endless, inescapable badgering and the poor guy just can't take it anymore.
So after nearly four decades, finally standing at the foot of Mount Sinai, Moses decides to throw in the towel, change his name to Thomas and renounce his Judaism.
Sound preposterous? It should...
So why do we fail to notice the similarities between this year's run to the NBA Finals and a possible restoration to the glory days of New York City basketball?
I do not want to compare Lebron James to Moses because he's better at basketball. As far as I know, Moses couldn't dunk from the foul line or dribble a basketball between his legs.
But think about it: Moses vs. Lebron-- neither of them need a last name, neither earned a college degree and both have led their people (the Jews/ the Cavaliers) to better lives.
So why, after seven years of successful yet ultimately fruitless seasons in Cleveland, would Lebron leave his home state of Ohio and move to New York? Why, standing at the foot of Mount Sinai, would Lebron, who has already stared through the window to the promised land (like a virgin standing behind the velvet rope outside Hugh Hefner's mansion), leave without a ring?
Lebron's Cavs earned a trip to the 2007 NBA Finals (courtesy of Lebron's legendary game 7 performance, scoring 29 of his team's last 30 points, against the Detroit Positions in the Eastern Conference Finals) but lost to the San Antonio Spurs in four.
With newly acquired point guard Mo Williams by his side, James looks poised to make another run to NBA glory, this time with success, and all New York fans should be chomping at the bit.
The New York Knicks, who have been more obvious in their shameless anticipation than me on prom night, await Lebron's free agency during the summer of 2010, hoping for a holy pilgrimage to the Big Apple.
But why would Lebron reach the foot of Mount Sinai and throw in the towel? Why would he earn another trip to the brink of professional glory and decide to move zip codes? Lebron entered the NBA as one of the most heralded rookies of all time and took the league-worst Cleveland Cavaliers from worst to first. And it didn't happen over night.
Knick fans claim that the only shot that New York has of catching him in 2010 is if he doesn't win a title. He'll get so fed up with the Cavs and desperate for a real shot at a ring, he'll come to the.... Knicks????? To play along side of.... Eddy Curry?
I think these New Yorkers have been drinking too much of Moses' Manishevitz.
If Lebron got fed up enough to leave the Cavs because of lacking championship success, you can bet your favorite camel that he wouldn't wind up in New York.
But what would cement Lebron's place amongst basketball gods? Taking a league-worst Cavs team to an NBA title in seven years, moving to New York, starting over with the Knicks and getting one with the greatest city in the world as well?
It's no secret that Lebron relishes Michael Jordan's top spot amongst the list of basketball greats, but he knows that he won't get there without a ring to his name. Even two or three won't do it. But getting there Cavs there, moving to New York and then taking the Blue and Orange there as well? That might just do it. But Knick fans can rest assured, if after seven years in Cleveland the King still doesn't have a banner in the rafters, he will NOT be taking the subways to Madison Square Garden for practice with Mike D'antoni-- he will probably still be in Cleveland, looking to finish what he started with the town that he grew up in.
Knicks fans have a lot more on the line than the realize in the 2008-09 playoffs and as far as I'm concerned...
GO LEBRON!!! If not for the Cavs, do it for the Knicks!

Damned if they do, damned if they don't Yankees

Damned if you do, damned if you don't. It's just one of those
things. We all know that Orenthal James "O. J." Simpson didn't
brutally murder Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman in a heated crime of
passion inside Brown's Los Angeles, California home by way of countless
knife slashes through the neck and vertebrae to the point of near
decapitation between the hours of 10:15 and 10:40 p.m. Pacific Time on June
12, 1994 because he loved her so much that he couldn't stand the thought of
her being with anyone else and if he couldn't have her, no one could. NOOOOOO. We all know that didn't happen,obviously.
But what many people don't realize about the O.J. case is that
following the trial, his relationship with gloves forever changed.
If he continued to wear them, well, that's it, case closed, O.J. did it.
It'd be like rubbing salt in a knife wound. But if after 48 years of incessant Italian leather glove wearing, he suddenly stopped, well wouldn't that be a bit suspicious as well?
So when O.J. prepared to head out that first morning after the October 2, 1995 not-guilty verdict, Simpson had a choice to make: "should I wear them, or not?
On one hand, it's a bit cold and the occasion calls for gloves. But if I
wear them, well, that would look a little strange.
"On the other hand,everyone knows that I LOVE gloves. They're kind of my thing. In high school,people used to call me the gloved killer just because I always wore gloves and I killed opposing defenses on the football field. It'd be a little
strange for me to not wear gloves on a brisk day like this.
"On second thought, I think I'll just stay in today."
And so it went: for the remainder of his free life (before a totally
unrelated crime landed him in prison last December), Simpson only left his
house for confessional. Damn those gloves.
And what about former NASDAQ chairman and America's favorite new
money laundering sweet heart, Bernard Madoff? OK, we all know that Madoff
robbed countless investors of a crap-load of pennies (or $65 billion for the
mathematically ordinary) through a Ponzi scheme. Is that really a big deal?
It's just money, right?
But what many people don't know about Madoff is that he was planning
a surprise birthday party for his long-time wife, Ruth (what a handsome woman).
From what I hear,there was supposed to be cake, punch, a ball pit, pizza, live music and even an open arcade. How AWESOME does that sound?
Following the uncovering of his Ponzi scheme and the ensuing legal
troubles, however, Madoff was forced to do away with the ball pit and the
live music. What's an open arcade without live Jock Jams?
I know what you're thinking: it's not like Madoff doesn't already
have ALL of Kevin Bacon's money, anyway. So he should spend it, right?
WRONG. If he still throws Ruth that rockin' party, he looks selfish, greedy
and reckless. But doesn't he already have billions of dollars? If he goes
half ass on this thing, it's going to reflect poorly on his image. He'll
look stingy and tightfisted. UGHH. What to do, what to do. Damned if you do,
and damned if you don't.
That brings me to my next victim: the New York Yankees. Those poor
bastards don't stand a chance. After a summer in which the Steinbrenners dropped an unprecedented $384,500,000(during a recession) on four players (pitcher Andy Pettitte: $5.5 million, pitcher C.C. Sabathia: $135.5 million, pitcher A.J. Burnett: $82.5 million and slugger Mark Teixeira: $180 million), it's hard to imagine any scenario where the Yankees lose a single game.
I'm putting my money on the Yankees becoming the first team in Major League Baseball history to win every single game (162-0).Seriously. If God wanted to put together a first-team All-Divine baseball squad, my guess is that the Bronx Bombers would be an exact replica. With Captain Derek Jeter, who Head Coach Joe Girardi is thinking of moving to the top of the batting order, back in full swing, catcher Jorge Posada back from the shoulder injury that side-lined him for most of last year, the clutch-hitting Teixeira and a revamped bullpen, does it really matter that Alex Rodriguez will be out for 6-9 weeks after getting surgery on his right hip? I almost feel bad for opposing teams, like I should broadcast a commercial with little baby David Otiz (Boston Red Sox) wrapped in a tickle-me-pink blanket.
"You can't imagine the pain that little David has gone through, but he can imagine the beating heart that exists inside of you. And for just 10 cents a day, you can feed, clothe and care for David. Won't you please call and donate now?"
But at the end of the season, when push comes to shove, the Bombers are damned if they win and damned if they lose. Think about it...
Let's say the Yanks do finish the regular season at 162-0 and they do go on to sweep the playoffs, winning their first World Series since beating the New York Mets 4-1 in the 2000 Fall Classic. Well isn't that what they're supposed to do? Didn't they spend $384,500,000 on four players this off-season. Compare that to the $21,836,500 that the Florida Marlins spent on their entire team all of last year. Or the $43,820,598 that the defending American League Champion Tampa Bay Rays spent on their entire team. Pinning the Yankees against the Marlins is like pinning America against Vietnam (oh, wait). The fact is, if payroll has anything to do with success (which Yanks fans know all too well hasn't lately), the Yankees are SUPPOSED to win the World Series this year.
So when they do win, writers, fans and critics will all be letting go a collective, "big deal, they spent enough to bail the country out of debt."
BUT, BUT, BUT, what happens if the Yankees lose?
"You mean to tell me that the Yankees spent enough to feed millions of David Ortiz-es for all of eternity and they still couldn't pull out a win?"
Think about it... The Yankees vs. the MLB?
"UNITED STATES FINDS MILITARY SUCCESS IN IRAQI LEGO AIR BASE"
Well.....Duhhhhhhhhhhh

Breaking Old Habits

Like a newly-transgendered female who forgets to sit down in the ladies' room or a longtime-stripper suddenly turned fire chief; old habits die hard, sometimes too hard. Anyone who watched the Knicks get blown out by the Devin Harris-less New Jersey Nets last night in what was to date, arguably the most important game of the season, was quickly reminded of the new-millennium Knick fan's daily reality: utter disgust, inevitable disappointment and
unequivocal anguish are more unavoidable than sexual advances at the Neverland Ranch (Michael, for the 100th time, your bed is monster-free).

Last night, old habits thought to have been long-abolished by new Head Coach Mike D'Antoni resurrected like the stench of cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey clinging to your hoodie until the next wash cycle. An ugly relapse to past transgressions was reminiscent of VH1's Celebrity Sober House-- it was truly hard to watch (the only difference is that while no one expects Andy Dick to live a life of moderate respectability, Knick fans, perhaps imprudently, still cling to a glimmer of Nate Robinson-induced hope).

Watching the Knicks go 2-27 from beyond the arc, 11-19 from the foul line, give up 15 turnovers and 115 points (29 for Vice Carter) to a team missing its top player (point guard Devin Harris) was tough to do. Still, however, their biggest failure was one that did not show up in the box score. Their biggest failure was one that we have not seen the knicks commit since Stephon Marbury's exile.

The biggest disappointment was that the Knicks showed a complete lack of effort, the likes of which we hadn't yet seen this season. The Nets, on their first game back on the east coast after a brief trip west figured to be lackadaisical, especially without Harris, their top gun.
The Knicks pounced on the Nets in the first quarter and headed into the first intermission with a 30-27 lead. It was all downhill from there.
Knick fans can handle losses-- we're used to them. It's the way New York lost last night, however, that was most unsettling. Showing a lack of defensive pride and overall effort in a game that had huge playoff implications is inexcusable.
Old habits die hard and last night, the Knicks of old crept back into our collective memory.

Stephon Marbury: the face of workmanship

I still remember my first day of work like it was eight months ago-- a wet behind the ears, fresh-face college kid on the threshold of journalistic success. I was more than on my way.

Somebody pinch me. Writing for the Verona-Cedar Grove Times seemed like an impossible reality. I grew up in New Jersey, so to be back in my home state after a brief stint in Ithaca, NY writing for all of my fans was a dream come true.

After showing up on day-one, I wasted no time in alienating my co-workers.

"I am the best writer in this office," I boldly announced. "By the way, my name is Steve," I said as I pulled my Ninja Turtles lunch box out of my black Italian leather Simpsons brief case.

After only a few days in the office, however, it was clear for one reason or another that my co-workers were not particularly fond of me. A public feud with my senior editor further divided the break room and it wasn't long before trade rumors began to surface (the Verona-Cedar Grove Times reportedly tried to send me to the Montclair Times in return for cold cuts and office supplies--the Montclair Times rejected).

So I finished out the high school football season and waited to field offers from other newspapers-- none came. I subsequently fired my agent and deleted my account on Monster.com.

An aura of hope surrounded my return to the office as I headed into the basketball season.

That's before I sexually harassed my editorial assistant.

"I thought you said you wanted to be a star," I said to her, caressing her knee in the back of my Hyundai.

A media circus ensued and my reputation as a sports writer was quickly deteriorating.

On December 24, 2008, the North Jersey Media Group signed a new senior editor to take the place of my former editor. It didn't take long for my new boss to make his intentions clear-- the Times was heading in a new direction.

"It's not fair to ask a writer of Steve's caliber to do spot writing," my boss told reporters. I was thus relegated to the bench.

"We want Schim" chants from my fans had no impact on my boss, and the bench is where I remained for the rest of the season before being released with the opportunity to sign with other newspapers.

Oops. I always get myself confused with former New York Knicks point guard Stephon Marbury. Terrible habit, I know. If nothing else, however, my confusion does provide enlightenment for the few remaining Steph fans out there-- and believe me, there are plenty.

First, let me ask you Starbury fans, did you eat glue as a kid? I just need to gather some background information on your past before I can properly diagnose the various mental disorders hindering your ability to view things as a fully functional human being. Also, are your parents related in any way (is your mom also your aunt)?

As we've done in the past, let's look at Starbury's track record in New York. After several LOSING seasons, he told reporters that he was the best point guard in the league (remember when my co-workers got pissed off at me for saying I was the best writer in the office). After Marbury's bold statement, the Knicks went on a losing streak of titanic proportions.

Marbury publicly feuded with Larry Brown, Lenny Wilkins, Tim Thomas, Quentin Richardson, Kurt Thomas, and every other leader thrown into the Knick locker room.

Oh, and remember when Steph sexually harassed New York Knicks intern Kathleen Decker?

Truth is, aside from the fact that Steph has always been a loser (the one playoff appearance throughout his entire NBA tenure came in 2004 during his first season as a Knick), he is a bad worker. Is it acceptable for a reporter to sexually violate his assistant, alienate his co-workers and fight with his bosses? Why then, amongst you Steph fans anyway, is it OK for him to commit such unprofessional acts (all while losing games I might add)?

Not that winning games would make Marbury's behavior any more appropriate, but he never did. So to those of you who have said Head Coach Mike D'Antoni is at fault for not even trying to use his star point guard, let me ask you this: why would he? Marbury has been here since 2004 and he has never experienced a winning season. OK, he's talented, but clearly, talent is not getting the Knicks wins. D'Antoni made it clear that this was a new era for the orange and blue when he sat Steph. Throwing him into the mix would only result in more of the same.

So to you Knick fans upset with the way D'Antoni handled the Marbury situation and angry with his exile to Bean Town--why don't you just move to Boston, throw on a Kevin Youkilis jersey and root for the Celtics? WAKE UP!

*My Name is...*

It was like finding out that Santa Claus is fake—and so is Pam Anderson—on the same day. Bruce lip-synced his Super Bowl performance (I know, it wasn’t his choice, but still…) and Elvis was never really a king.
On February 9, Major League Baseball’s supposed savior, Alex Rodriguez, confirmed in an interview with ESPN’s Peter Gammons that Saturday’s Sports Illustrated report of him testing positive for two illegal performance enhancing drugs in 2003 was true. Say it ain’t so Alex.
Baseball’s golden boy isn’t looking so golden anymore (aside from the frosted tips adorning his hairline) and suddenly, neither is baseball. The steroid crucible that has plagued the MLB since the San Mateo Narcotics Task Force raided Bay Area Laboratory Co-Operative’s (BALCO) facilities to find a potluck of performance enhancing drugs—steroids and growth hormones—has nearly destroyed the game’s credibility. Professional baseball players, formerly known as the key holders of “America’s great past time,” are nothing but cheaters and liars. How are Mark McGwire’s fabricated biceps any different than National Basketball Association referee Tim Donaghy’s propensity to gamble on games that he officiated? And why is it that while the NBA has made every possible attempt to rid its reputation of such corruption, Bud Selig and the MLB are content on “cleaning up baseball” with an asterisk? Did that make steroids disappear? Can we see some retribution, please?
In response to the MLB’s response, I have decided to use the asterisk in my own everyday encounters.
“Hey Schim, that chick you went home with last night had more facial hair than my truck driving uncle and we call him sideburns at family get-togethers.”
“That’s ok. I put an Asterisk on it this morning.”
“Mr. Schimmel, you’re fired. You can’t buy Jack Daniels for the CEO’s seventeen-year-old daughter.
“Can I get a pass on this one? I’ll use the asterisk.”
“Stephen! What are you doing? Take off my dress!”
“Mom, it’s not what it looks like. See- asterisk.”
How can anyone respect a league sustained entirely by the asterisk? Why even play the game if everything is a fake? It’s like watching the WWF. Personally, I’d just as soon open a Playboy.
I’m taking a stand here. I know I’m getting off topic, but if baseball can do it, so can I. But back to A-rod.
Yes, A-rod, the man whose power had formerly been justified by a picture perfect swing. The anti-asterisk, the Mr. Clean of baseball, is nothing more than a tiny star next to a name. The saddest thing is, he was one of the sports few remaining hopes. Now that his use of steroids is out in the open, they might as well change the name of the league to the *MLB.
I suppose, however, that keeping the asterisk next to every name does create jobs, and in this job market, we can’t take anything for granted—somebody’s gotta implement all those tiny dots into the system.
Still, making it the *MLB would help to avoid misunderstandings.
“Hi, my name is *Steve Schimmel. I touch kids.”
“You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” I’d add with a smile. “If I were you, I’d consider moving.”
At least then you wouldn’t have to go through the charade of deciding whether or not to trust me—or hire me as a sitter for the weekend.
All I’m saying is that the game of baseball, as we knew it for the past 20 years, was built entirely on false pretenses. How can anyone have any respect for the record book, baseball’s bible, when it’s filled with lies, cheaters and prostitution? Would anyone go to church on Sundays if it were suddenly discovered that Jesus had invisible water skis?
As much as I enjoyed the seemingly annual Yankee World Series appearances that I grew up with, I wish that we could somehow erase the last two decades of Major League Baseball. But we can’t. We have to live with it, the way Selig has. I’m not a conspiracy–theory kind of guy, but what was the one thing that saved baseball after the 1994 players strike? It was the long ball. McGwire and Sammy Sosa’s race for Roger Maris’ previous record of 61 home runs in1998 suddenly “juiced” the league, resurrecting it from the doldrums. Is it possible that Selig knowingly overlooked a few things for the sake of the sport? Who knows? Jose Canseco (not exactly the picture of integrity) has attested to that fact though.
The point of all this, in some roundabout way, is that with Rodriguez’s departure from cleanliness, so too comes the league’s dying hope. Basically, *-rod proved that even the game’s “purest” stars are not always what they seem. Derek Jeter, we need you. Please don’t follow suit.
Oh, by the way. You can’t really believe a thing that I have said here because I took steroids in 2001. Or perhaps more appropriately—every dictionary that I have ever read was stolen.
Love,
*Steve Schimmel

The New York Giants??! Get Your Beer Goggles Off!

Here's to the end of another cold winter week in New York City. Eddy Curry, we hardly knew ye' and LET'S GO CARDS (who would'a thought)!The weekend is here, so let the good times roll. Another booze infested, maldigestive two days (or three depending on how gainfully unemployed you are) of brew chugging, stomach pumping shenanigans. Yep, just another weekend on 20-something Boulevard.
Here's to you dudes...
What's in store for the weekend?Most of you have no doubt attended your fair of frat parties, sorority mixers and five-dollar-all-you-can-drink- Busch Light bashes. For those of you who haven't…well… let me enlighten you (but first, is it too early to call shotty on your liver).
A five dollar bill (or other sundry cast of analogous items determined by the bouncer to be of equal value—use your imagination) handed over at the door will earn you entry into the all-you-can-drink keg buffet line. Sorry, no Stella or Blue Moon here. We only serve the best (Milwaukee's Best actually). Enter the zoo at your own risk, but look out for fly-by beer pongers, scantly dressed, card-carrying sexually transmitted disease proprietors, shell-necklace-wearing, acoustic guitar plucking bros, ice louges, beer funnelers, belligerent drunks and of course, the token vomit queen.
Walk hard through the festivities my son, but do so with caution, for beer goggles await you. For all of you unaware of the the power of the goggle, the incorrective lenses apply as follows: there's a reason we don't drink and drive. Alcohol is an all-natural source of judgement impairment. It makes you see things that aren't there, say things you shouldn't say, and love people that you probably shouldn't love. Not good. So why should a drinker consume and bring a romantic companion back to one's room (you might unwittingly wind up operating heavy machinery--OH THAT's why it says that on the back of the can).
The goggles don't hit you at once (and ladies, you're just as guilty). The typical frat bro will walk into a party, take a once-around lap probing the room for prospective draft picks and begin a night of drinking. That's when you spot two first-rounders conversing with a bench warmer. The benchee isn't bad—aside from that giant atom's apple anyway. She begins to look better with every Yeager bomb. 12 beers later, the two lottery picks are nowhere to be found. The party is clearing out and the crop of women seems to have dried up. Suddenly, atom's apple is queen of the gorganites and she whisks you away back to your bunk bed (don't let this be you kids).
I vision a world safer for our children, one that rallies enough supporters in congress to amend a new law to the constitution, effectively banning drinking and well… you know. Until then, lock your children away, google a list of all possible suspects in your neighborhood and be wary of what is known throughout college campuses abound, simply as the curse.
This year, the New York Football Giants were queens of the gorganites, nothing but the last female left at a party full of drunk frat bros.
Allow me to explain...
The Big Blue walked into the 2008-09 season escorted by two Maxim cover girls-- after all, the Giants were the reigning Super Bowl Champs. Haven't you ever noticed that hype increases attraction? Like when a mildly attractive specimen walks into a party surrounded by "10's"? Similarly, the Giants began the season surrounded by an inherent degree of unearned, yet completely explicable excitement.
New York's 4-0 start didn't discourage the hype. Neither did the way they were winning. Before the start of week six, the Giants had outscored their opponents by a total of 127-49, a staggering statistic that showcased New York's supposed prowess on both sides of the ball. The Giants' first victory was a 16-7 win over the Washington Red Skins, a team who looked lost in the season-opener. Week two showed Big Blue's ability to beat up on the League's perennial door mat St. Louis Rams, with a 41-13 victory. Next up, the reigning champs defeated the league-embarrassment Cincinnati Bengals with a 26-23 win (they had to do it in over time). After a bye in week four, the Giants then went on to beat the Seattle Sea Hawks, 44-6.
Why is it that after four weeks, New York fans and football analysts alike failed to notice that the Giants still hadn't played anyone of legit respectability? Their first loss came in week five to the previously hapless Cleveland Browns, and from then on out, the schedule didn't get much more difficult. The Giants did nothing early to merit such high expectations.
Next, take a look around the league-- as I have been saying since early November, this is not exactly a landmark year for the NFL. In fact, as far as team power rankings are concerned, this is probably the weakest year in recent memory for the NFL. Think about it: the New England Patriots were Tom Brady-less, and thus, relegated to the land of mere mortals. The Dallas Cowboys-- need I say more? The Indianapolis Colts were for much of the season, defunct, until resurrecting in December for a late-season playoff push. The Philadelphia Eagles were a non-event until the Cowboys blew it. The San Diego Chargers lost a lot with the decline of "superstar" running back LaDainian Tomlinson, and the Green Bay Packers threw away the season when they let Brett Favre throw for the New Jerk Jets (that's a whole 'nother story). My point: Any year when the Tennessee Titans can "steam roll" into the NFL playoffs with a number-one seed is a down year for the NFL. The Miami Dolphins? The Atlanta Falcons? Come on DOG! They were competitive by default this year (sorry Greg, sorry Stu). And alas, the Arizona Cardinals are in the National Football League Super Bowl. Are they a real team? Most people in the United States probably didn't even know of the franchise's existence until filling out the inter-office Super Bowl pool yesterday. "The Cad-nals?? Are they new?"
Thus, my theory is further qualified. In the land of she-males, she with the smallest amount of male is queen (or King).
In the dwindling hours of yet another frat party, even the chick with the bald spot can look attractive by comparison when the right amount of beer goggles are involved. The Giants, who failed to pass every late-season test thrown their way (the Cowboys, the Vikings and the Eagles twice) lost four of their last five games. They stumbled into the playoffs because of what an easy schedule and weak competition allowed, and they proved that they cannot win without suspended wide receiver Plaxico Burress.
In 2008, the Giants were prom queen at the TKA formal. Only problem is, they were the only ones left at the party and everyone was wearing their goggles.

2008: A year in review

‘Twas the night before New Years, and here’s a look back
At Roger Clemons’ steroids and Travis Henry’s crack
The Redeem Team got the Gold, Michael Phelps got the bling
And even Kevin Garnet, well he finally got a ring

The Yankees were low, Isiah Thomas got high
Sabathia says hello, but Marbury bids goodbye
And Plax can beat safeties, just not glock revolvers
The Giants beat the Patriots, with Tyree’s catch over the shoulder

Stuck in the Garden, the Knicks still can’t win
Hungering for Lebron like starving kids in Beijing,
From Favre’s interceptions to D’antoni’s interjection
Just ask the Steibrenner’s, this is no recession

So here’s to 2008, and although it might be gone
We remember Antonio pierce getting off, and our governor getting it on
So I bid you one last wish, before 2009 begins
Happy new year to all, and a party like Jaba Chamberlain’s (but seriously, don’t drink and drive)

2008, we hardly knew ye'. I've never been one for goodbyes, but I'll give this one a shot--from the stock market's plummet and Governor Spitzer's rise (get your mind in the gutter), to bombings in Georgia and a new quarterback in Atlanta. It's safe to say that 2008 saw it's fare share of news. So here's a look back at the top five most memorable New York sports moments in 2008-- as I see them anyway.

5) Broadway Brett Jets into New York
Screw the starving kids, what about those poor Jets? Perennially the "little brother" of the National Football League, we watch them struggle mightily, rise majestically to the brink of success, and eventually crash and burn like the helpless child that they represent. It's been that way for longer than most Jet fans care to remember.
But wait... what? Brett Favre's renouncing his retirement? And Green Bay has removed the welcome mat? And he might land in the New York green and white? Hold up...
After a stint in Green Bay that lasted upwards of 15 years. the gunslinger finally decided to hang up the cleats in 2008 following an unforgettable season marred by a 23-20 loss to the New York Giants (eventual Super Bowl Champions) in the NFC Championship game. But apparently, Favre wasn't ready to move to Boca and dip into his retirement funds (Brett was first in line to buy a Washington Wizards Michael Jordan jersey in 2001-- not to mention Jay-Z's Kingdom Come in 2006).
When in July, it became clear that Favre was not part of Green Bay's future plans, the former Packer wrote a letter to the organization asking for his unconditional release-- thus began a media circus more controversial than a Mel Gibson rendition of Schindler's List. Much to the delight of Jet fans everywhere, however, the Hall of Fame quarterback eventually landed in "Jets Stadium" following an August 7 trade that cost the Jets a conditional fourth round pick in the 2009 draft (and indirectly, Chad Pennington, the 2008 comeback player of the year).
Unfortunately for the Jets, however, Favre's stint in New York was as disappointing as a virgin's prom night-- and just as short. After a promising 8-3 start that left many New Yorkers calling for a "Subway Super Bowl," thus began a downward slide that resulted in a disappointing 9-7 season, another playoff absence and an immediate release of the once-heralded Head Coach Eric Mangini. Doesn't this seem like an annual charade? Maybe the Jets and Mets are victim to the same sick disease-- an inability to close out seasons. Regardless of the outcome, Farve's journey to New York was indeed a memorable one.

4) Rangers Burn Devils
Just two years after suffering a four-game sweep at the hands of the New Jersey Devils in the 2006 playoffs, the New York Rangers trekked into the second round of the 2008 playoffs. Following a five-game victory over New Jersey, becoming the first team in history to win three road games against the Devils in a playoff series, the Rangers found redemption.
After a long hiatus from post-season glory, the Rangers finally restored splendor to the Garden. This after a roster overhaul that included the induction of two of the most talented centers on the market, former Devil Scott Gomez and Chris Drury, prior to the start of the season.
New York took the first two games at the Rock (Prudential Center) and then returned to New York to split the next two, giving the Rangers a commanding 3-1 lead. The Rangers won the fifth and final game back in New Jersey. The Rangers were one of the only two major professional New York sports teams to make the playoffs in 2008 (with the New York Giants).

3) A New York Spending Spree

What's a recession to a Steinbrenner? Lavish hotels and caviar? Try CC Sabathia and Mark Teixeira. No need to warm up by the stove or unplug the clocks at night-- just ask uncle George. He's dropped more green in one summer than most lumberjacks do in a lifetime.
Never had a team held such a stronghold over the league's biggest free agents, but if money talks, the Steinbrenners can't shut up. Just ask Sabathia ($161 million over 7 years), Teixeira ($180 million over 8 years), or A.J. Burnett ($82.5 million over 5 years)-- talk about a supermarket sweep,
After the Bombers' string of 13 consecutive playoff appearances came to an end last autumn, the Steinbrenners did some serious soul searching. And just what did they find? More money than many countries gross annually? Who is Bernard Madoff?
The Yankees' most recent off-season was characterized by the richest spending spree in the history of professional sports. This was a memorable off-season for the Bronx Bombers.

2) New York Nicks Isiah Thomas

Remember when the Knicks were good? I know, I wasn't alive when the 10 Commandments were published either. For us Knick fans, glory at the Garden seems an ancient memory, a blur that may have occurred some time between Optimus Prime's glorious conception and President Clinton's administration of copulation. But if you can, sift through the puddles of beer (most often caused by Knick losses) clogging your brain and think back to the days when Lord Ewing and King Oakley patrolled the paint; when John Starks kissed the Garden floor and Pat Riley had an endless canvas of flowing mahogany hair. Luckily for the 90s' Knicks, Isiah Thomas was still in the league (as a player), for part of the decade anyway. Unfortunately for the Knicks, however, Patrick Ewing's exile caused an eventual desperation-driven roster (and culture) overhaul. From the induction of Glen Rice to the draft of Frederic Weis, to the injury-plagued Allan Houston and the eventual hiring of Isiah Thomas as Knicks General Manager. Oh, what a millennium it's been for the Blue and Orange.
For argument's sake, let's call Thomas the proverbial "straw that broke Paris Hilton's bed" (or was that Nick Carter, Jason Shaw, Stavros Niarchos, Benji Madden, Rick Salomon, ...well, you get the picture).. When the Knicks hired Thomas on December 22, 2003, they welcomed with him a history of blunders that included the destruction of the Continental Basketball Association (CBA). Why was Isiah the right choice for the knicks? ??? ???????... Still waiting...

The new general manager wasted no time in shaking things up, bringing in troubled point guard Stephon Marbury to right the ship just two weeks later. Ooops.

By the end of the 2005-06 season, the Knicks had the highest payroll in the league and the second worst record. Apparently what Thomas didn't realize was that, just because something looks good on paper, doesn't mean that it's going to pan out.
With Isiah at the helm, the Knicks went through more transformations than Andy Dick (just minus the success-- I know). Why was Isiah the right candidate for replacing Larry Brown in June of 2006? ??? ????... Still waiting.

Despite predicting a future championship, Thomas never once led the team to the playoffs as coach and in 2008, one night after New York tied a franchise-record with 59 losses, he was relieved of his duties (too bad he already crapped the bed).

Apparently there is someone listening to prayers. For the Knicks, that man's been new Head Coach Mike D'antoni. Although they are still not a winning team (Rome wasn't build in a day, and Thomas' Knicks couldn't be destroyed in one either-- although Donnie Walsh, the knew GM, is doing his best), the Knicks are at least watchable again.

HALLALUJAH!!

1) 1 Giant Loss

1)18-1! 18-1! 18-1! 18 wins and 1 GIANT loss!
Where were you when JFK was assassinated? What about when the Giants won Super Bowl XLII (My apologies for the gross comparison)?
Perhaps the most memorable victory in New York sports history (at least since my conception), the Big Blue stormed Scottsdale, Arizona for what was arguably the most improbable win of all time.
On Feb, 3, 2008, the heavily discounted Giants took on the previously undefeated New England Patriots. Up against what many considered to be the best team in the history of the NFL and more obstacles than a pair of multi-sexual Siamese twins in a JC Penny dressing room, few gave the Big Blue a chance. The Giants fed off of the doubt.
Most said that the Giants weren't even supposed to be there. But impenetrable defense by a stalwart line kept Tom Brady and his chins at bay, setting up what was an unforgettable 17-14 Giant victory.
New York fed off of the Dec. 29 three-point season-finale loss that came at the hands of New England. Never had their been such a productive loss, and the Giants steamrolled into the playoffs.
Then there was the Super Bowl.
After both teams combined for ten points in the first three quarters, New England leading 7-3 heading into the final period, NY took the lead following a go-ahead David Tyree touchdown with 11 minutes remaining. New England responded with a touchdown of their own, taking a 14-10 lead with less than three minutes to go.
That's when it happened-- the drive heard 'round the world (not Helen Keller's joy ride to the super market). Catalyzed by a fourth-and-short conversion, a poised Eli Manning and the grace of football's divine spirits, the Giants moved down field toward Super Bowl immortality.
Then it happened-- the most insane play of all time. On third-and-five, from their own 44-yard line with 1:15 to play, Manning escaped a plethora of New England linemen to find Tyree who made a leaping one-handed/one-helmet catch on the Patriot-24-yard line. Four plays later, giants wide receiver Plaxico Burress caught the winning touchdown in the corner of the end zone. What else can I really say? I can't imagine the berth of my first child being any better.


Happy New Year to all and to all a memorable 2009. To all of those not on this list, don't feel slighted because there's always next year (sorry Plax. I was never one for guns). Only time will tell what 2009 has in store, but I'm feelin' lucky. What do ya' say NYC?

Yankee General Manager Brian Cashman Frequents the Red Light District

Try walking across Flatbush (Brooklyn) at 3:30 in the morning-- without protection. I dare you. It'd be like walking through Patpong, Bangkok (an ORIGINAL RED LIGHT DISTRICT)-- without... well... protection. Either way, you're liable to come to the following morning with an empty wallet and a few inexplicable bumps.
So if the hearsay about either scenario is true (I swear it's hearsay), both entirely hypothetical situations are pretty damn dangerous.
Apparently, New York Yankees General Manager Brian Cashman has spent some time spelunking Thailand's red light district (or getting roughed up in Flatbush) because the addition of former Los Angeles Angel Mark Teixeira makes the previously defunct Yankee lineup more dangerous than a sword fight with Lorene Bobbit. And more expensive then a night with her freaky twin sister.
That's right-- the 28-year-old Teixeira is packing his bags for the Bronx and Pin Stripe fans are already anticipating a return to the Fall Classic (all courtesy of a $180 million flight). The Yanks can only hope, however, that Teixeira didn't have to check his BIG BAT (one that the Count himself couldn't even stack up against-- sorry, that one was too easy) at LAX. After all, even Big League Chew is a code orange commodity these days.
If he did somehow manage to sneak his lumber past security, the new Yankee Stadium will be greeted with more long balls than a certain Curb Your Enthusiasm episode (I hope Brian Giovinazzi won't be the only one to catch this reference).
Along with a stellar defensive reputation, the former Angel is lugging with him a 2008 .303 batting average, 33 home runs, 121 runs batted in, a .552 slugging percentage (.200 points higher than the league average) and a big-situation ability that the Yankees have been in desperate need of.
Of course, there is always the possibility that the bright lights of Broadway will cramp the new Yankee's style (see Jason Giambi, Carl Pavano, or Chuck Knoblauch. Even Alex Rodriguez has fallen victim to some pretty dismal slumps in the Bronx). New York seems to have a way of getting to athletes the way few other cities can (unless, of course, you're former Indiana Pacer Reggie Miller).
IF Teixeira can manage to grace Yankee Manager Joe Girardi with the bat that the Steinbrenners bargained for, the New York lineup suddenly seems dangerous again. That is, of course, IF Captain Derek Jeter can wake up after an uncharacteristically poor 2008 campaign, A-Rod doesn't move to Argentina with Evita-- I mean, Madonna, Jorge Posada returns to old form, and Xavier Nady can replicate last season's success. As Yankee fans know all to well, however, all of those are MAJOR IFs. Perhaps only time will tell.The 100 RBIs that free agent Bobby Abreu (one of last year's few bright spots) will be exporting from New York won't help, but a revamped lineup might be the only remedy.
One thing is for sure though-- IF Teixeira DOES come through with the bat that he carried with him for most of the 2008 season, Pin Stripe fans can expect a playoff berth. The slugger's ability to hit from both sides of the plate makes him a threat at any spot in the lineup and his prowess from above the pitch count make him a nightmare match-up for opposing pitchers. Throw him behind A-Rod and the Bronx will be burning once again this summer (hopefully just not the way Cashman was after his trip to Thailand).
So yes, the addition of Teixeira makes the Yankees more dangerous than a protection-less trip to Flatbush (or Thailand). Cashman has spent more this past summer than Eliot Spitzer did in one year as governor (including money spent on his own prostitution escapades).
CC Sabathia's $161 million contract, A.J. Burnett's $82.5 million and Teixeira's $180 million make this summer the richest in New York sports history, but will the Bombers see the benefits? The addition of Teixeira certainly fills one major need for the previously hapless Yankee offense. What do you think New York?

Brian Cashman Overdosed on Cough Drops

Remember going to the nurse's office every time you skinned your knee in elementary school? A paper cut might as well have been a machete wound and a bump in the head, an atomic blast. Any excuse to get out of a reading lesson that covered Ramona Quimby's "big trip to the barber shop" was one never discounted. Regardless of the ailment, however, the remedy was always the same-- a "sweet herbal mint" Halls cough drop that tasted a lot like the inside of an air conditioner.
Trip and fall? Take a Halls; Punctured with a staple? Take a Halls; Kicked in the forehead during a reenactment of yesterday's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles episode? Grab a Halls.
Halls, Halls, Halls (and they're not even paying me for this).

Yesterday, New York Yankees General Manager Brian Cashman and the Bombers went for a routine trip to the nurse's office. What did she (or he-- can't be too careful in this crazy, mixed up world) order? You guessed it, a cough drop (a prescription powered one at that).
On Wednesday, ESPN The Magazine's Buster Olney reported that a preliminary agreement between Cashman and former Milwaukee Brewer CC Sabathia had been reached-- to the tune of $161 million over seven years (or 16,100,000,000 pennies over 2,555 days). If George Steinbrenner's wallet could talk.
My first instinct-- Awesome. My second-- sweet. My third-- Ballllllin'.
The 28-year old left-hander has a 117-73 career record over eight seasons with a 3.66 life-time earned run average. After going 19-7 in 2007 to help the Indians reach the American League Championship (beating the Yankees 3-1 in the American League Divisional Series along the way), Sabathia earned the American League Cy Young award. It should also be noted that Sabathia, who has proven capable of pitching in any any league, has dominated the AL East (more so than he has any other) with a 2.96 ERA and a 21-8 record.
But is Sabathia really the answer? Do fat kids eat salad?
So why wouldn't picking up Sabathia be a huge play for the Pin Stripes? Because they went to the nurse with a bloody nose and when they came back, it was still bleeding.
Think back to last spring when, aside from Bobby Abreu and Jonny Damon, the Bombers couldn't buy a hit with runners in scoring position (the Yankees finished the 2008 season batting a dismal .261 with runners in scoring position, fourth worst in the American League-- the League RISP batting average was .273).
How many times did poor Mike Mussina (who still managed to finally get 20 wins) throw a gem and still lose? Let's face it--when it came to run support, the Yanks were no sports bra. Overall, the Pin Stripes were seventh of fourteen American League teams in run production (most of those runs coming in big streaks when the game was over, one way or the other). In general, the pitching was solid, even in the absence of Yankee ace, Chien-Ming Wang. Statistically, the Bomber pitching staff gave up an average of 4.28 runs per game, an average that Cashman's billion-dollar roster should have been able to surmount.
So how much better are the Yankees, based only on the acquisition of the $161 million man?
Don't get me wrong-- adding Sabathia to the Yankee rotation will NOT harm the Yankees. How could it? But will it propel last year's underachievers back to the playoffs? Probably not. Unless of course, the Yankee batting lineup wakes up from last year's mysterious roofie nap.
The answer to last year's failure is not pitching (although once again, I was just as happy as any other Yanks fan to get Sabathia). Perhaps Cashman should have hired a $161 dollar therapist to get to the bottom of Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter's inability to hit with runners on base.
While Cashman's trip to the nurses' office yesterday was undoubtedly a productive one, cough drops, as we all remember from elementary school, do not stop the bleeding.

Stephon Marbury Throws Rocks at Cars

When I was a kid, it was hard for my parents to get a hold on me. In pre-school, aside from the daily notes home, Mrs. Shames told my mother that I was a ring leader, nothing but a future criminal (true story). Harsh, I know-- apparently those graham cracker deals behind the jungle gym weren't as secretive as I thought.
In kindergarten, my mother warned Mrs. Shulace of my prior transgressions, but aside from the cowboys and indians beating that I put on Gabe Levine, there was seldom a peep of misbehavior coming from my direction.
Swerving in and out of "behavioral traffic lanes" more sporadically than Jaba Chamberlain on the Nebraska Expressway after a fifth of Whiskey, I reverted back to my class-clown ways just in time to subject my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Sattan (who I aptly dubbed Mrs. Satan, even in first grade), to a year-long miscellaneous cast of ridiculous antics and juvenile wrong doing (my apologies to anyone who I scarred in the past that may be reading this-- See Billy Madison). How is it that I went from being a criminal at six years old, to Mr. Goody-Two-Shoe at seven, back to the classroom terror by eight? The answer is tact.
I may have been a mere tike, but I was tactful, more cautious than a butcher at a bris when it came to my criminal misadventures. I was aware that while three consecutive years of Broad Street bullying might land me in some type of diaper detention center, sporadic stints of angelic activity would, if nothing else, confuse my parents. So despite my inner Axl Rose, the voice that told me to throw a rock at a car while waiting for the morning bus to come, and the same voice that told me to threaten my first-grade classmates with a tiny screw--one that I found in the Livingston Park Elementary School gymnasium--in order to get what I wanted (damn you Jesse Leiter for diming me out. You wouldn't last a day on Hidden Lake Drive) my parents were under the impression that I was a tolerable kid.
If only exiled New York Knicks point guard Stephon Marbury had half the tact that I had at age six, maybe a couple of us Knick fans would line with him in the Starbury-D'antoni soap opera. Instead, Steph has become New York City's own Darth Vader. Think about it-- both Steph and Darth look like aliens, they both provide cheap labor (Marbury's sneaker company, Darth's stormtroopers) and both have a propensity for sexual harassment (Natalie Portman is to Darth Vader what Kathleen Decker, the former Blue and Orange intern, is to Stephon Marbury--I swear I'm not a Star Wars nerd). The point is, while I had the good sense to keep nay-sayers guessing with occasional classroom serenity, Marbury continues to prove haters right, city after city.
Marbury was drafted fourth overall by the Milwaukee Bucks in the 1996 NBA draft, then traded promptly to the Minnesota Timberwolves for the draft rights to Ray Allen and a future first-round pick. As a result of MARBURY's inability to coexist with former teammate (reigning NBA Champion, 2004 Most Valuable Player and consummate team player) Kevin Garnett, in addition to a major discrepancy with former Wolves Head Coach (one of the most respected coaches in the league) Flip Suanders, Marbury demanded a trade during the 1999 lock-out season. For argument's sake, we'll call Marbury's tenure with the Timberwolves his pre-school days.
As a result of his misbehavior in Minnesota, the disgruntled point guard was shipped to the New Jersey Nets in a deal that sent Terrell Brandon to Minnesota from Milwaukee, and Sam Cassell to Milwaukee from New Jersey. In three seasons, Marbury's Nets never once made it to the playoffs, and in 2001, after ongoing disputes with teammates and New Jersey management, the point guard was sent to the Pheonix Suns for Jason Kidd. (It should be noted that in 2002, Kidd's first year as Marbury's back court replacement, the Nets were transformed from perennial doormats to playoff contenders). Coincidence?
After teaming with Pheonix's Amare Stoudemire and Shawn Marion to make a playoff push in the 2003 season, Marbury's suns fell to the San Antonio Spurs in the first round (note that a Stephon Marbury team has never managed to make it to the second round of the NBA playoffs). An inauspicious beginning to the 2004 season caused trouble in the locker room (a locker room that, as coach, D'antoni was part of) and Starbury was a catalyst for much of the drama. On January 5, 2004, Steph was shipped to New York in return for the inured Antonio McDyess and long-time Knicks point guard Charlie Ward.
Thus began Marbury's first-grade stint, a stint that the recently exiled point guard seems to be very fond of, as he never seemed to graduate. The Brooklyn native's homecoming, masterminded by a pill-popping Isiah Thomas, was expected to result in Samuel Adams-eqsue heroics. Instead, Starbury has just driven us Knick fans to a life-long dependency on Samuel Adams Lager.
Marbury's problems with the cast of New York coaches and teammates have been the center of a media circus since his arrival. What started as one of the most well-documented clashes in New York sports history (Stephon Marbury vs Larry Brown), has become nothing less than a trend, giving Knick fans little choice but to side against the point guard. Remember how the Marbury-Brown squabble made Don Vito Corleone vs Virgil Sollozzo look more like N'Sync vs The Backstreet Boys? Once again, it goes back to tact-- if Marbury had the good sense to get along with at least one of his coaches, perhaps some of us fans would support the sneaker tycoon .
Instead, what started with Brown, continued through his struggles with Isiah Thomas (most heavily publicized when Steph deserted his team after learning on the team plane that his starting job had been revoked), Mike D'antoni, Donnie Walsh, Quentin Richardson, Kurt Thomas (Mr. Knick himself), and a host of other Knicks. How could it be any body's fault but Marbury's when he has proved his inability to coexist with other members of the locker room time and again throughout his career. The current saga is just another dirty sock in the laundry list full of Marbury-mishaps.
So for any Knick fans in support of Marbury in the most recent New York soap opera (I hear there are a few. I couldn't believe my ears when I heard, "we want Steph" coming from the stands on opening night at the Garden), look back on his past inability to get along with some of the most well-respected coaches and players in NBA history, all who brought a different style of leadership to the team (while Brown was a hard-nosed manager, D'antoni is the ultimate player's coach). Can you really chalk this one up to anybody but Starbury? The man has spent his entire Knick career throwing rocks at cars-- this is nothing new for the tactless guard.
What do you think Knick fans?

Chrome for the Holidays: A Plaxico Burress Story

When Christopher Columbus' posse landed at the New World on October 12, 1492, the vast island territory now known as the Bahamas was inhabited by a peaceful native people. Known for its lavish beach resorts and potent rum (know a better way to deal with the sun?), the culture that Columbus submersed himself into was ill-equipped to handle the white man's vices (this, even prior to Vanilla Ice). Noting their lack of modern weaponry, the famed explorer wrote in his journal, "I could conquer the whole of them with 50 men and govern them as I pleased...They ought to make good and skilled servants, for they repeat very quickly whatever we say to them." Thus, began the early stages of what was arguably the bloodiest exodus in the history of mankind-- that of the native North Americans.
Since the Mayflower's arrival, Native Americans have endured oppression, abuse, violence and betrayal (Note: this is NOT the diary of Ike Turner). While most Americans celebrate Thanksgiving on the third Thursday of every November, members of the Oklahoma-bound packs formerly known as the "Five Civilized Tribes" (Cherokee, Chickasaw, Muscogee, Choktaw and Seminole) are reminded of the the Trail of Tears-- the forced western migration of thousands of natives. And while we watch our 11-1 New York football Giants rout a 7-5 Washington REDSKINS team, natives are reminded of a once prominent racial slur.
So 516 years after Columbus' arrival, 395 years after what was the first of many Thanksgivings (Plymouth Plantation, 1621), and only slightly removed from the volatile mess of "diplomacy" that was Anglo-Native relations, can anyone really be shocked that wide receiver Plaxico Burress was packing at a New York City Club on the Friday night after Thanksgiving.
Perhaps the wide out was just trying to get into the holiday spirit of firearms and gunpowder. Maybe Plax doesn't like All Hallows Eve. Maybe the third Friday of every November is when No. 17 likes to play dress-up. After all, that is what this nation, land of the free and home of the brave, was founded upon, wasn't it-- a cloud of gun smoke and a pocket full of shells?
In case you are just now waking up from your Tryptophan coma, Burress was on the brunt end of his own Glock semiautomatic pistol when he accidentally shot himself in the right thigh inside of the Latin Quarter, a New York City night club, early Saturday morning (for most, late Friday night). While the rest of us were getting dropped off after a fuzzy night out, Burress was checking into New York City's Cornell Medical Center for treatment on a self-induced bullet wound.
Let me Tarantino this for you: The 6'5 wide receiver was turned away from Lexington Ave's Latin Quarter on Friday night when the bouncers noticed that he was strapped. When Burress, who was stuntin' out with flashy jewelry, expensive gear and rolls of Benjamins, told the bouncers that his gun was for protective purposes only, the Super Bowl champion was allowed to enter the club.
As Plax' was making his way into VIP, several drinks after his arrival and long after breaking the seal, Burress' concealed weapon slipped down his pant leg and spontaneously went off, releasing a bullet that tore through the flesh of Plaxico's right thigh (luckily, the bullet did not damage any muscle tissue or bones), prompting a trip to the emergency room.
As was to be expected, much has been made of Burress' most recent transgression. Since the Pittsburgh Steelers drafted him eighth overall in the 2000 National Football League draft, Burress has had quite the bipolar career. After a rocky four-year stint with the Steelers, Plax' arrived in New York with high expectations. On the field, Burress has been nothing short of a pro-bowler-- 244 receptions and 33 touchdowns in 57 games as a Giant (including the SECOND BIGGEST catch in New York history--one that gave the G-Men a 17-14 Super Bowl XLII victory over the New England Patriots)-- while playing through a potpourri of injuries.
It is Burress' off-field antics, however, that have troubled fans, teammates and Head Coach Tom Coughlin since his first Sunday brunch on Broadway.
After a summer in which a disgruntled Burress refused to take part in mini-camps because of a contract discrepancy, an October 5, 2008 suspension from New York's 44-6 victory over the Seattle Seahawks (Violation of team rules: Missing Monday afternoon practice) and a host of other on-field confrontations with Coughlin, the latest run-in with the media should come as no surprise. But it does! An accidental gun shot? Surely, everyone who heard the news on Saturday morning thought that they were still dreaming-- it was far too absurd to be true, right? Wrong!
Now, with Plaxico's season (and his freedom, due to a possible jail stint consequent of the fact that Burress did not have a license to hold a concealed weapon) in the balance, Giant fans everywhere are sounding off about the fact that the reigning Super Bowl Champions are better off without their star wide receiver. Sure, wide receivers Amani Toomer, Domenik Hixon, Steve Smith and Sinorice Moss have shown all season that they are more than capable of making big plays, but Burress' presence alone commands respect and usually, double-coverage. Come playoff time, fans will remember, one way or the other, why Burress was such an important part of last year's improbable Super Bowl run. Would David Tyree have even been "open" (in any mangled sense of the word) to make what will be the most famous reception in Super Bowl history had Plax' not been on the field? Will tight end Kevin Boss continue to dominate through the middle if the secondary is no longer forced to commit to the sidelines? Will Hixon and Smith continue to dismantle opposing defenses the way they have without single-coverage? And will running back Brandon Jacobs be able to power through the line of scrimmage without Burress' deep-threat capabilities?
Claiming that the Giants are better without Burress is like saying that they are better without X-tight end Jeremy Shockey-- wait, bad example. scratch that. It's like saying that Pocahontas would have been better off without John Smith. Or that turkey is better served without a side of mashed potatoes .
Plaxico's status as a member of the 2008 New York football Giants is currently unknown, but one thing is for sure-- while opposing cornerbacks wouldn't mind seeing him on the bench for the remainder of the season, the Big Blue could use him on the gridiron.
What do you think Giants fans?

Watching the Knicks cuts into my AA time

The New York Knicks were seeing red last night. Every time 5'7 Nate Robinson looked up (isn't he always) before leaving the game with a strained groin, there they were-- Lebron James' hidoues new sneakers, a pair of bright reds that he debuted last night for his trip to the Big Apple.
Unfortunately for the Knicks, however, King James' "Brian Scalabrine red" kicks weren't the ugliest thing on the court last night. Nope, not even close. Take Lebron's sneakers, throw in Drew Gooden's haircut, Shawn Marrion's jump shot and Joakim Noah's face-- then you might have something that borders on the attractiveness, or lack there of, of the Knicks' embarrassing performance last night( embarrassing is an understatement. Like saying Hillary Clinton is a handsome woman).
Last night's game against the visiting Cleveland Cavaliers was the first time the new-look Knicks took the court together. New look quickly turned into no-look, as I found myself unable to watch the massacre that was the 119-101 loss at home last night (Down 32 in the first half, the score did not justify the magnitude of the Cavs' victory).
When Knick fans learned of Jamal Crawford's exile last week, it was like opening a Warhead (remember the candy that gets sour before turning sweet). After suffering through six seasons of unwatachable basketball-- basketball that Knicks fans keep watching nonetheless-- it became clear that the Garden faithful would have to suffer through AT LEAST two more before things can POTENTIALLY get great. Despite a promising 7-6 start (the Knicks' best start since President Ewing owned the paint), New York took a step back last night, reminding Crawford-trade proponents, spoiled by the promising start, just how bad things have been and how bad they are going to be.
While my reaction to the Crawford trade was slightly negative (see below: Knicks' General Manager had too many dogs), I, like many Knick fans, was numb to the move that sent Zach Randolph to the Clippers for perpetual under-achievers Tim Thomas (sending him to Chicago in 2005 was addition by subtraction-- like trans-gender surgery) and Cuttino Mobley (hasn't been relevant since Stevie Franchise could dunk).
What many Knick fans didn't consider at the time of Walsh's second move: shipping Crawford to Golden State formally annouced that New York basketball will be in a state of hibernation until the summer of 2010. So Randolph's presence would be about as pointless and ironic as a Michael Jackson Save the Children Benefit concert. Alone, Zach would never be enough to keep the Knicks respectable, so keeping him around would be a mute point (would an extra five or six victories be worth his three-year/ $37 million contract).
Perhaps last night, however, was a necessary reminder for all who supported Walsh's recent moves. Not to say that the new direction is the wrong one for the New York Knicks, but it is important for New York fans to remember just how painful that direction has been since the post-Ewing era.
Awaiting the 2010 free agency of notable players like King James, Paul Pierce, Dirk Nowitzki, Yao Ming, Kobe Bryant, Dwyane Wade, Richard Jefferson, Michael Redd, Steve Nash, Kevin Durant, Amare Stoudemire, Tony Parker, Chris Bosh and Greg Oden, Knicks fans will have to continue cutting out early and heading to the bar, the way I did last night and the way a 67-38 halftime score will often make you do.
Viva la 2010 Knicks fans. Until then, see you in AA-- I'll be the guy in the bright red sneakers.

Tom Coughlin was an Original Member of Puerto Rican Boy Band, Menudo

"What do I think it is that has enabled Puerto Rican boy band, Menudo, to withstand the test of time?"
Well. I'm glad you asked that imaginary generic reader. As with most pop culture phenomenons (Paris Hilton excluded), success comes from hard work, stability and and a resolute work ethic. When famed producer Edgardo Diaz founded Menudo in 1977, it was those very principles that served as the basis. As evident in early hits like "Fuego" and "Mi banda toca rock," all the way up to Menudo's 2008 SMASH HIT, "Lost,"Menudo has shown what it takes to keep us movin'. Despite the band's revolving door tendencies, the band has pressed on through the ages.
This is not to say that Menudo didn't undergo its fair share of controversy and hardship. When famed pop star Ricky Martin left the group to pursue a solo career in 1989, many Menudo fans feared the worst: the end of the road for the iconic Puerto Rican boy band. Much to the delight of Menudo fans all across the globe (believe me, they do exist), however, the band came back with more fire in 1990 with songs like "A force do rock" and "Os ultimos herois," proving two things.
1) You don't need Ricky Martin to be the hottest boy band on Earth
2) Menudo's main catalyst for sustainment through the ages is a world class feeder system.
On Sunday, the New York Football Giants proved themselves, once again, to have a feeder system that is comparable to Menudo's.
When seven-time defensive end Pro-Bowler Michael Strahan announced his retirement in the summer of 2008, few critics gave the reigning Super Bowl Champions a shot in hell. Even more skeptics stepped on the Giants when two-time Pro-Bowler Osi Umenyiora tore the lateral meniscus in his left knee during a pre-season match-up with the New York Jets. With the additional loss of tight end Jeremy Shockey and defensive cornerstones like linebacker Kawika Mitchell (Buffalo Bills) and safety Gibril Wilson (Oakland Raiders), New York fans knew that Head Coach Tom Coughlin would have his work cut out for him. What has been the result?
A resolute New York Giants that have thrived under the emergence of up-and-coming stars like tight end Kevin Boss, wide receiver Steve Smith, running back Brandon Jacobs and defensive ends Justin Tuck and Mathias Kiwanuka-- this, of course, in addition to veterans Plaxico Burress (wide receiver), Amani Toomer (wide receiver) and Antonio Peirce (inside linebacker).
After an off-season characterized by the questioned validity of the 2008 New York Giants team, as well as that of 2007 Super Bowl Champions, the G-men have established themselves as (fairly indisputably) the best team in the National Football League. They have done so as a result of a feeder system that has replaced the aforementioned stars of yesterday's team.
Whether the 2008 success is a testament to Assistant General Manager Kevin Abrams, Defensive Coordinator Steve Spagnuolo or Coughlin himself is unknown-- perhaps it's a combination. Whatever the case, what's at work for the Big Blue is quite impressive.
After a 9-1 start, the Bombers finally appeared to be getting the respect that they deserved before Jacobs (knee) and Burress (hamstring) were sidelined for last weekend's game.
Playing against the offensive juggernaut Arizona Cardinals, which consists of rejuvenated quarterback Kurt Warner, along with wide receivers Anquan Boldin (starring in Face-off 2) and Larry Fitzgerald, few bought the Giants' ability to keep up.
Once again, however, Coughlin's "Menudo" feeder system proved invaluable. With "Plax" and Jacobs (Ricky Martin and Fernando Romantico) both relegated to the bench, up stepped the baby boomers.
In Jacobs' absence, Wind (of Earth, Wind and Fire) Derrick Ward rushed for a respectable (game-high) 69 yards, while special teams standout Domenik Hixon caught six passes for 57 yards and carried the ball into Cardinals territory on more than one kick return.
Much to the dismay of Eagles and Cowboy fans abound on Sunday, the Giants proved more than capable of stepping up to a challenge, advancing to a league-best (tied with the Tennessee Titans) 10-1 record, even in the absence of Mr. T, I mean Brandon Jacobs and Plaxico Burress. That is why the New York football Giants are without a doubt, the Menudo of professional sports and the best team in the national football league

Knicks' Donnie Walsh Had Too Many Dogs

As a kid, the closest thing I ever had to a pet was a little sister (sorry Sam). Air Bud showed me at a young age that all it took to gain the adoration of your peers was a Golden Retriever who could dunk a basketball with his nose. Needless to say, I was infatuated with the idea of finding a partner in crime and using him to get in and out of sticky situations, much the same way Michelle Tanner used Comet in Full House (what crazy schemes that Olson twin cooked up. This, of course, was before she learned to cook up other things).
Day after day, I pleaded with my parents to get me that dog.
"You're too young," my dad would say.
Finally, on my eighth birthday, more than likely to end the constant badgering, my family came around: "Steve, on your tenth birthday we'll get you a dog."
The next two years of my life were blissful. Daydreaming about dogs in sunglasses and puck-handling golden retrievers, I had little a care in the world (other than my concerns over why any Ninja Turtle would choose purple as his badge of honor).
The day was finally approaching-- November 13, 1995.
My birthday list read as follows:
1) Dog leash
2) Dog collar
3) Dog house
4) Dog pen
5) One eight ball slammer to complete the ultimate pog collection.
November 13 came and went. My soccer party was a big hit and there was even an extra goody bag for me (thank you for not showing up Allan Amusen). Still, no dog. I was sure, however, that at some point, a young Golden Retriever would come scampering out of my mom's minivan. But the afternoon turned to evening--nothing. Time to unwrap the gifts...
"Awesome... the collective works of Rafi. How'd you know guys? Does anybody have a cassette player so we can rage to rising smash hit "Brush your teeth?"
My birthday came and went and so too did my confidence in getting a dog. It never showed.
The moral of the story: Don't count your chickens before they hatch.
Apparently, that's a lesson New York Knicks General Manager Donnie Walsh never learned. He had four dogs as a kid and they were all great at sports-- spoiled bastard.
DON'T COUNT YOUR CHICKENS BEFORE THEY HATCH.
Seldom has that moral been more relevant than it is today.
As ESPN the Magazine's Rick Bucher confirmed early Friday morning, " The Golden State Warriors and the New York Knicks have received league approval to complete a trade that will swap disgruntled Warriors forward Al Harrington for Knicks guard Jamal Crawford."
As a die hard Knicks fan, I find myself baffled. Was Walsh drinking the same shot of Jamo that Steinbrenner was when he offered a record high contract to CC Sabathia (see below article-- Big Pimpin Baseball in the Bronx)?
Of course, there is one underlying factor that was clearly the catalyst for what would appear otherwise to be an absurd blunder of a trade. Why else would the New York Knicks trade their all-star caliber shooting guard for a head case like Harrington, who has spent the majority of the season on the bench hampered by a back injury (see Danilo Gallinari)? After playing in only five games, the disgruntled Warrior has averaged 12.4/ 5.6 rebounds a game compared to Crawford's 19.6 in a Mike D'antoni offense that is much better-suited for a run-N-gun player like Jamal.
And don't the Knicks already have enough side-show acts to take over the Big Apple Circus, which appears to have hit the Garden early this winter? Between the Stephon Marbury and Eddy Curry sagas, don't New York fans have enough to deal with. Throw Harrington into the mix and we might as well give Isiah a uniform.
Despite an obvious need for a big man (see below: Knicks come up short-- and small), a run of the mill center like Kendrick Perkins would have done the trick in a locker room that prides itself in putting up points in a hurry. New York averages a league-leading 105.3 points per game while giving up a league-worst 105. 9 points per game defensively. While making the Orange and Blue a much worse offensive team, this trade has succeeded in making them a slightly better defensive team, something that a stubborn D'antoni never preached anyway.
So why did the Knicks make this trade? Because they counted their chickens before they hatched.
One of the biggest selling points for Harrington is his contract which pays him $9.2 million this season and $10 million next season, meaning the Knicks can shed themselves of the big man by the summer of 2010, when free agent to-be Lebron James will become New York City's most attractive prostitute.
Didn't Donnie Walsh ever learn that a Jamal Crawford in the hand might be worth a Lebron James in the bush? While many New York fans might not agree with me on this one, I say that it's so, especially since there is no guarantee that Lebron will come to the Knicks in the first place (isn't he best bud's with New Jersey Nets owner, Boss Hove aka Iceberg Slim aka Jay-Z? The fact that the Nets won't be moving to Brooklyn should hurt their bid for the American idol, but it certainly doesn't kill it).
What if Lebron doesn't come to the Knicks in 2011? Haven't Knicks fans suffered through enough titanic seasons? Are we seriously expected to suffer through two (two being best case scenario) more? I don't think there's a Knick fan in the world who won't take a trade like this for a guaranteed shot at Lebron James. But in life, there are no guarantees-- just Jamal Crawford for Al Harrington swaps.
Don't count your chickens before they hatch Donnie Walsh. I wish you never had a dog!!
What do you think New York fans?

Mussina-- a professional athlete

I never did get a chance to see the legendary Ozzy Osbourne perform. Sadly, the Prince of Darkness was last relevant before my time, despite a brief reality TV stint on VH1 that brought him to near Youtube superstardom (Who ever thought that the prince would be mentioned in the same sentence as Gary Brolsma? To save you a trip to Wikipedia, he's the fat Numa Numa guy who took over everyone's facebook walls when he mimed O-Zone's "Dragostea din tei" in front of a web cam).
I would imagine that Ozzy put on quite the live show, however. Engulfed in a minefield of explosions, decked out in bedazzled black vests and tight leather pants (which by today's standards would probably be considered pretty homosexual), belting out "Bark at the Moon" to a brigade of screaming fans. I can imagine it was a sight to see. Ozzy, however, is most notably heralded for his run-in with animal cruelty activists, a clash that began after Osbourne bit the head off of a bat during a 1982 show in Iowa.
Today, with the announced retirement of New York Yankee Mike Mussina's, we are reminded just who the five-time all star truly was-- the anti-Ozzy Osbourne. As a director of the International Little League Baseball Association, the only thing Mussina ever took a bite out of was crime (sorry, too easy). In fact, Mussina makes the Dallas Cowboys' Tony Romo look like John Rocker (Romo, the man who spent yesterday treating a random Dallas bum who apologized in advance for the obtrusive stench that resulted from his inability to shower, to a movie-- true story).
Fact is, as opposed to many of his colleagues, Mussina will always be remembered as a baseball player, not an entertainer. You rarely see Mussina so much as pump a fist after a big strikeout or yell at an umpire after a questionable ball. The 17-year veteran who began his career in 1991 with the Baltimore Orioles will never be confused with Roger Clemens, who ended his career in a quagmire of controversy. The seasoned control pitcher--despite beginning his career with a 4-seam fastball that topped out at 95 miles per hour-- quietly and efficiently did his job with never a peep of controversy (often to the discontent of the media).
In a me-first, "wide receiver" dominated-era that rewards big egos with bigger pay checks (Boxer, Floyd Mayweather, Jr closed the year out with $40,250,000 in earnings, while Los Angeles Dodger Manny Ramirez, the third-richest baseball player in the world, closed the year out with $22,500,000 in green (Ramirez trails only New York Yankees Derek Jeter and alex Rodgiguez, two of Big Pimp Steinbrenner's most productive hoes).
Mussina, however, one of only four Major League Pitchers to reach 20 wins in 2008-- accompanied by Cliff Lee, Brandon Webb and Roy Halladay-- earned $11,071,029 from the Yankees. That's almost $2 million less than designated hitter Hideki Matsui who missed nearly half of the 2008 season (93 games played). As a journalist still forced to sleep on a set of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bed sheet's in the room that I grew up in at my parents' house, Mussina's salary is of course nothing to laugh at, but somehow, he still doesn't seem to get the respect that he demands.
Less than 24 hours after Mussina's announcement, journalists and baseball analysts everywhere are caught in a frenzy. Does the 270-153 (.638 winning percentage compared to a league average .501) career pitcher deserve to be enshrined in Cooperstown?
My sentiment is yes-- if Abbot and Costello, the goofy pair responsible for the "Who's on First" bit, earned the right to be forever immortalized in the Baseball Hall of Fame, so too has Mussina. The former Bomber is one of only 20 pitchers to retire over 100 wins above .500 and he is nineteenth all-time in strikeouts. Considering that the man spent his entire career in the DH-dominated American League East in the midst of a steroid-infused era, I'd say Mussina has earned the right to date my future wife, let alone grace the Baseball Hall of Fame, if he so chooses.
Amidst the controversy surrounding Mussina's retirement and his status as a future hall of famer, it leaves baseball fans wondering, are we simply overlooking the quiet family man in an era dominated by dog fighters and killers (not to throw OJ under the bus)? Are we forgetting what it means to be a PROFESSIONAL athlete? PROFESSIONAL!! If Mussina was known for wild strike out celebrations or off-field flings with Madonna, would his legacy even be in question?
Couple Mussina's stats with his off-field demeanor in a league that was nearly sabotaged just a few year's ago by a steroid crucible that still taints the league today, and I think you have your answer.
What do you think baseball fans?