Tag Archives: factory wrapped douches

Mike Francesa, Presidential Scholar

fran1.jpgMy New Year’s Resolution was to stop listening to WFAN, apart from Mets games and the occasional Schmooze. I’ve been tuning in to that station practically my whole life, and ramped up my listenership back in the days when I wrote a now-defunct sports blog.

But now WFAN just makes me angry. And not Dynamic Anger, which pisses you off so much it inspires to do bigger and better things. It pisses me off to hear so many ill-informed opinions and caveman sensibilities and thinly veiled racism.

And then on top of everything, they added Craig Carton to their morning program, who is made from the slats at the bottom of the barrel. The epitome of everything that is wrong and stupid and adolescent about radio.

Listening to WFAN now is the audio equivalent of finishing a huge bag of Cheetos all by yourself. You’ll get absolutely no nutrition from it and you’ll feel sick and wrong and ashamed afterwards. There’s nothing to be gained from the exercise except orange fingers.

Here’s the thing, though: I have this Pavlovian response whenever I go to the bathroom in my house. It stems from the baseball season: whenever I go to use the facilities, I flip on the radio on top of the toilet so I won’t miss any of whatever game I’m watching. Except that now it doesn’t matter if any game is on. I do it anyway.

I’ve been pretty good about curbing this impulse lately, but this Monday I wasn’t, and I heard about 20 seconds of Mike Francesa that infuriated me so much that I couldn’t even bring myself to write about them until today.

Francesa was talking about the inauguration, which was a big red flag right off the bat. Whenever Francesa talks about anything other than sports, batten down the hatches. It’s bad enough when he talks about music or movies. He loves to pretend he’s Paulina Kael, if Pauline Kael had completely middle-of-the-road taste in everything. “You know who’s a pretty good director? Steven Spielberg!”

But when politics enter the picture, oh lord. I caught his show on election day, just as I was leaving work, when it was slowly dawning on everyone that Obama was probably gonna win big time. You could hear how much this realization was killing him. It was so sweet, because in his voice you could hear the panicked thoughts of every Wall Street asshole and moneyed buffoon in the land. “Oh no, now I’m gonna take home only several million dollars a year instead of many millions! I might have to sell my third house!”

All he could get out was, “Hey, Obama ran a brilliant campaign, what can I say?” He said it in the same condescending way he begrudgingly hands out compliments to the Mets (granted, they rarely give him cause to do so).

If you do nothing for the next 4 years, Obama, thank you for that moment.

So day before the inaguration, the biggest one of our lifetimes, possibly the biggest ever, what is Francesa talking about? He’s complaining about all the inauguration balls and how much money they’re gonna cost. How it’s not right to be spending so much dough during this time of financial hardship. “Hey, I got nothing against him. He’s my president too!” he was quick to add.

You know, Mikey, your argument might track a bit better if your show wasn’t simulcast on the YES Network, the channel owned by the team that just spent $400 MILLION DOLLARS ON THREE PLAYERS.

I’m sure Francesa would counter with the fact that the Yankees are a private corporation. Well, they are and they aren’t. After all, they just had THE CHROME-PLATED BALLS TO BEG NEW YORK CITY FOR MORE
BONDS TO FINISH THEIR 1 BILLION DOLLAR MONUMENT TO THEMSELVES.

Now, to be fair, the Mets asked for (and received) extra bonds for their stadium, too. But they just didn’t spend almost half a billion dollars on players before doing so, then turn around and cry poverty to the city (even though, after Bernie Madoff, Fred Wilpon can probably cry poverty). They also don’t have a paid mouthpiece on their own network bitching about somebody else’s “misuse” of public funds.

I don’t recall Francesa saying word one about the Yankees feeding from
the public trough in such a brazen manner after unloading dump trucks
full of cash on free agents’ doorsteps. So don’t play like you’re all of a sudden concerned about wastes of public money, you fat mess.

I mean, what’s more gross a use of public moneys: celebrating the inauguration of a president, or making A.J. Burnett richer?

Jeff Kent Play No More

jeff-kent.jpgYeah, I’m done with baseball. Played 17 seasons, had a lotta highs, lotta lows. Never won a championship, but hey, you can say that about a lot of the greats.

And I am one of the greats, by the way. You reporters write that down, or so help me, I will snap your necks like sourdough pretzels.

I’ll miss lots of things about the game. I’ll miss putting on the Dodger blue. Especially at spring training time. Every year at Vero Beach, I used to try and “accidentally” tip over Tommy Lasorda. Watching that guy struggle and wriggle around on his back is the funniest thing you’ll ever see. When he’s on the ground, the guy is like a turtle. A turtle packed full of undigested pasta.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how much I’ll miss the sweet, sweet road beef that awaited me at every hotel we stayed at. Your ladies’ indiscriminate taste in athlete wang served me well.

Oh, and if any of you are considering a paternity suit, I’d just like to remind you that my lawyer will crush you like grapes. Cheers!

My proudest achievement? I guess it’s being in the top ten of All-Time Guys Who Everyone’s Glad Never Won a Championship. Yeah, being up there with Barry Bonds and Dan Marino and Karl Malone, it’s kind of humbling. I mean, it would be if I had any humility at all.

P.S.: I don’t.

My biggest regret? I wish I’d kicked more children. It was so easy to do! When you’re a big time athlete like myself, kids come up to you all the time and ask for your autograph. You just fly that leg right out there and pretend you had a muscle spasm.

Y’ever kick a kid wearing shorts? Just cleat on bone. Oh, it’s great.

Sure, I did it a couple of times, but I was always like “Oh, you’re gonna get sued!” and “Hey, just kick the next kid!” I didn’t realize that one day, there would be no next kid to kick. Youth is wasted on the young.

Oh, and old people. Wish I’d punched more old people. The only thing that comes close to kicking a kid is punching a dessicated, wrinkly face.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for the beginning of my super awesome motocross career.

Playoff Preview: Cardinals at Panthers with Matt Leinart

Today, we preview this weekend’s playoff games with a whole buncha celebrity guests. To discuss the exciting Carolina-Arizona matchup, here’s Cardinals backup QB, Matt Leinart.

leinart.jpg

Last weekend, the Cardinals played their first home playoff game in over 60 years. It must have been exciting to be a part of that historic event.

Yeah, whatevs. Mind if I burn one? Coach was really ridin’ my ass in practice today. I’m like, “Sheesh, it’s not like I’m gonna play,” and he’s all like, “blah blah what if something happens to Warner?” Total buzzkill.

Um, okay. After enjoying so much success at USC, is it hard to sit on the sidelines and watch Kurt Warner take charge, or are you just happy to be along for the ride?

Bro, the only thing that’s hard is me, when I’m checkin’ out the primo babeage in the crowd. Runnin’ slant routes in my pants, if you know what I mean.

Eww…So what does Arizona need to do take care of business in Carolina this weekend?

An experienced wingman and endless Jagerbombs for the ladies. Keep ’em comin’!

I was talking about the game.

So was I bro–the game of ‘tang. And when you play that game with the Lein-man, you always win. You just strap in for three minutes of pure adrenaline.

Ick. Wow, you really are a factory-wrapped douche, aren’t you?

Got a Sonic ’round here? I could drink like a hundred of them cheesecake shakes.

SB prediction: Panthers 28, Cardinals 10.