February 28, 2011

Voodoo Sex, Animal Wrestling, and X-Rated Narcotic Smuggling. Or, Stupid Athletes and Criminals.


Blame global warming or whatever, but it seems like people are becoming dumber.  I am really not a big fan of stupid people - they are up there with torture and AIDS and herpes and mayonnaise and whatnot - but I do find their recent adventures somewhat amusing and, more importantly, very educational.  For example: 
  
1.  Do not wrestle tigers. 

So this high school junior, Kaz Dymek, is training for a state wrestling championship.  To do so, he has been sparring with a tiger. Like a real one.  A 400-pound, 30-pound-of-meat-a-day-eating, ferocious fangs and claws tiger.  His family owns the Big Cat Habitat and Gulf Coast, a wannabe zoo in Florida.  He says that “it’s like wrestling with your brother . . . only this guy’s got bigger teeth.” Um, yeah, your brother, unless related to Hannibal Lecter, is not drooling to tear into your delicious flesh.  


He is 28-0 this year, so I am really not one to question his techniques; wrestling wild deadly beasts seems to work for him.  That said, at the end of the day, he sort of always has to lose during practice. Because if the tiger thinks he is going to win, or feels actually threatened, it will probably, you know, kill him.  So I really don’t get it.  Go find a fat man on steroids or something. I mean, really.  But what is worse: that he could get eaten at any moment or that his name is Kaz? Only time will tell. 

2.  Do not wrestle alligators.  

Listen, my boy Kaz is not the only freak who fights with deadly animals.  Apparently JD Drew wrestles alligators. He gets injured tying his cleats or skipping over the foul line, so I don’t understand how he has not died yet.  Then again, this is the man who has given an interview to the Jesus Journal – literally that is what it is called – so maybe he has greater forces working on his side.  I keep waiting for lightning to strike me while walking down Chambers Street, so I probably shouldn’t even be joking around about this.  But it is nice to know that there are rednecks in Boston, too.  I am sorry if that offends some of my alligator-hunting readers, but really? It sort of seems like a form of child abuse to take your kid out on some dinghy and then jump on the back of a gator with a knife.  What happens if the alligator ate him, and his son was a tasty dessert sitting on the boat? JD Drew is dumb.  Obvious bottom line: supporting the Red Sox is supporting child abuse.

3.  Do not join the redneck religion. 

Speaking of rednecks, it is apparently a religion in the south. I would say “who knew?” but the truth is, we probably should have guessed. A 20-year-old in Texas was arrested for engaging in a lewd and lascivious act with a minor.  When asked by the police about his religion, the alleged child abuser told the police that he was a member of the “redneck” faith.  I guess it is better than him saying the KKK, right? This supports my theory that we would all be much better off if Texas just secedes like they have been plotting for centuries anyway - for the future of our children.


4.  Do not smuggle contraband in your vagina. 

Now going back to Florida, but staying with stupid criminals, let’s talk about this poor 25-year-old woman named Sara King, who was recently sentenced to 30 days for drug possession.  When she was going through basic inmate processing, she was asked by a deputy if she had anything on her that she was not supposed to have.  Instead of politely declining, as per the usual response, or even telling the officer to go fuck herself, Sara King responded: “Just my pills in my vagina.” She then removed the pills – eight tablets of Buprenorphine SL – and was charged with introduction of contraband, a felony in Florida.  

To demonstrate the depth of her stupidity, the drug she smuggled in?  It is used to treat drug addiction.  It wasn’t even anything good, like Dayquil or Excedrin or ecstasy. I am sure that she could have requested permission to continue using this drug in jail.  Sometimes dumb people make me sad. Like, if you are going to smuggle contraband into jail, don’t confess to the contraband when you go through the expected search. She obviously knew this search was coming or she would not have hidden the pills in her special box to begin with. She will now be given additional jail time for being honest. And really stupid.   


5.  Do not become an arsonist and/or voodoo sex priest.  

But is it dumber than this?  A voodoo priest from Brooklyn known as Pepe Pierre caused a huge fire that burned down a building, killed an old woman, and left 47 families homeless. He was paid $300 to perform a weird sex ritual that would supposedly change some ignorant woman’s life.  His ritual included surrounding the bed with candles and then banging it out.  As he was consummating his voodooness, the sheets caught on fire, igniting the rest of the apartment.  Instead of calling 911 like normal people, these two geniuses tried to put out the fire with water from the bathroom sink.  At least the poor vagina pill addict only fucked herself.  Voodoo FAIL. 
 

February 25, 2011

Batting Practice, Bitches: The One with Space Jam, Pot Brownies, and La La Vazquez

This is like CDTF's version of Hot Topics, minus Baba Wawa, Tracy Jordan's wife, that cranky conservative bitch, the menopausal liberal, and that Mel Gibson-loving reggae lady. An awkward setting, fueled by mutual animosity/adoration, where we tee up against softball topics and discuss things that do not matter.
Everyone is talking about Carmelo Anthony, but no one is talking about the woman behind the jersey.  Today, as this week’s guest moderator, we welcome La La Vazquez.  


La La: What up? What up? I am baaaack, bitches. Back to New York, that is.  Some people say that I was a driving force behind Melo’s big trade, but I just want to set the record straight right here at CDTF: I was. I was, motherfuckers. I plotted this “dream come true” for the past eight months. I wanted out of Denver.  Denver stifled my star, my shining star, but now here in the bright lights, I will sparkle again. And it is about damn time. But here’s how the story goes: Both of my parents are Nuyorican, as we call it back in Brooklyn. I moved to Hotlanta in high school, met up with my boy Luda on a show called Future Flavas, studied communications at Howard University, and then moved out to L.A. because I thought it would be cool to live in a city named after me.  MTV begged me to audition and then made me wait a year before they finally gave me a job.  Let me tell you, no one puts La La in a corner. I hosted Total Request Live, Direct Effect, and MTV2 Hip Hop. Before I knew it, I was getting an 8-carat rock and popping out our little Kiyan. I know you all have seen me recently in one of the 36 reality show reunion specials I have hosted or in my blockbuster movie Soul Plane. If you haven’t, you can catch me on my new show, La La’s Full Court Press on VH1, where we document our move to New York and I hang with my besties, Kelly Rowland, Trina, Ciara, and Kim Kardashian.  But right now, I am chilling with these ladies who want to be my besties, so let’s humor them.

La La:  You may or may not be aware that I am married to an NBA superstar. And I happened to be in L.A. last weekend for all of the festivities, so I was wondering:

What are your thoughts on Justin Bieber winning MVP at the celebrity All-Star game and/or taking over the world?

Carrie:  There's a chance I will never know why (I do know why, it's because I was lame and a home alone on a Saturday night - case closed, mystery solved) I was watching the All Star festivities last weekend. I do not enjoy professional basketball, and you know what else? I don't like TNT. But I happened upon TNT (four clicks down from Bravo) in the first half of the Celebrity All-Star game and immediately saw Scottie Pippen's beautiful (sort of flat) face and there I stayed for the next like five hours. Even though my man Scottie (on whom my crush dates waaaaay back at least two decades) was clearly dominating the entire game and in truth, was really the actual MOST valuable player out there, I was proud of Lil' Biebs. He for sure held his own and was definitely facing more skepticism and doubt as a teeny bopping celebrity about whether he could play than like a seven-time NBA all-star. I'm just going to come out and say it, though: I am not a big fan of Bieb's new haircut. There's something awk about how trimmed up the ends are, no?

Amber: I really, really struggled with my feelings for Justin Bieber. The first time I heard "Baby," I was like, "Ugh, I wish that little girl would shut the fuck up," and then I turned my radio to my usual station foxy107, where baby-making music and the occasional Kirk Franklin song are the norm. But THEN, one night after Cosby reruns on Nick at Nite, I saw his little cherubic face, and bowlcut2k on the screen. I didn't stand a chance. I immediately wanted a Beiber of my own to sit on my dresser and sing to me while I pick my clothes in morning. At first it was a guilty pleasure. I would just turn it up on the car, or wiggle a little bit if it came on at work. But that wasn't enough, I needed Beiber when I wanted him, so I bought some songs on ITUNEs. Now, Justin Beiber's first album is part of the six CD rotation in my car, and the ticket stub from 'Never Say Never' is pinned to my bulletin board. If he is taking over the world, he got me.

La La: That’s…nice? You probably weren’t courtside like me, but did you catch the game, Jill?

Jill:  At the time, while the television was on TNT, it was muted; I was giving my neighbors an impromptu concert, much to their delight, mostly rocking out to the Glee soundtrack. I am a baller, I know. I happened to glance up, and I was mesmerized by this little person with hair that shimmered like an angel’s halo, and a jumpshot that rivaled a sixth-grade girl’s.  Crossover, step back, drain a high-arcing three-pointer? Is that…? Nooo, it’s not… But maybe….? Yes, yes it was. The Biebs! To demonstrate the extent of his powers, I found myself lowering the iPod volume and listening in awe to the announcers explain how this tiny basketball wizard had never even played on an organized team before; I watched as D-list celebrities, such as the cousin of an uncle of the brother of a Kardashian, looked on in bewildered confusion at the rock of their offense, a 105-pound white kid with a famous haircut.  They were impressed. We were all impressed.  And stunned. Justin Bieber was MVP of the celebrity all-star game over Scottie Pippin, a real-life actual all-star.  Hide yo kids, hide yo wife.  

La La: Please don’t talk shit about my best friend’s family or I will cut you.  Seriously. I got kicked out of Game 4 of the 2009 playoffs after I fought with some Mavs’ fan. Do not test me.  Robin, thoughts?

Robin:  There are just so many places to go with this. I mean we are talking about a CHILD who has BANGS that beat a MAN who still ends his first name with an IE. Like is this for real? Or dare I say fo'rizzle. I've been dabbling with bangs my whole life. It's a constant on-again-off-again debate. Do I grow them out? Do I thin them out (remember thin bangs?!). Do I just suck it up and wear headbands (at this point, I don't wear headbands, I ROCK headbands. I noticed this morning that, besides the delightful one atop my head, I have three other choices in the car. Question to the audience: should I change my headband for my hot date tonight?). Nonetheless, I know that Beebs has talent vocally, and because he's an actual TEEN and not an OLD MAN, like of course he is going to be "better" in a celeb-type basketball game (Also who remembers "Rock and Jock" on MTV? Dean Cain (a.k.a. New Superman) was AMAZING at R&J basketball and making the 50 point shots. Would anyone else sign my petition to try and bring it back? Cause I'd have more to comment on Bieber’s "winning" if he were to wear an obscene number on his jersey (pretty sure Brit Brit Spears was 1/2) and go one-on-one with my MAN Scottie WITH the 50 point shot). (Also, have I mentioned that I LOVE parentheses.? The world should be forewarned).  ALSO, doesn't "Bieber and Bangs Take On America" sorta remind anyone else of "Hanson: Three ‘Boys’ That Made Girls Scream?” A modern day rendition of sorts. True Life: I have been to THREE Hanson concerts in my lifetime. Hmm, I wonder what Taylor Hanson would look like with bangs?

La La: I hear you, girl. People confuse Bieber for a girl like people confuse me, a proud Black Puerto Rican, as simply black. And there is nothing wrong with that, I embrace my heritage. Hold on. The producers are telling me to move on, so we don’t have another scandal like last time.  I don’t know what they want from me, I just tell it like it is, fools:

If you could have front-row tickets to any fake sporting event (i.e from a TV show or movie), what game/championship would you want to see live?

Robin: Okay, I would like to ask the panel if it could be a book? Because if so, the obvious answer is a battle of "Kristy's Krushers" vs. "Bart's Bashers" in Stonybrook Little League. Yes ladies and gents, I am talking about The Babysitter's Club. Cue up, "If you really need a friend, ho na na hay." (True Life: When I would get home drunk in college, my roommate and I would watch The Babysitter's Club movie on VHS). To see the battle between the tomboy and Bart (who we really never learned that much about) would just be STELLAR. I'd totally see Maryanne with the gorgeous penmanship being the manager/scorekeeper (Confession: I was the manager of the men's basketball team in college and have a piece of the net from when we won our Division III Conference tournament. Yep, I got to cut down the net. Then a reality star tried to take my job...). Stacey would go into Diabetic shock from overexerting herself. Claudia would help design kick-ass uniforms (probably including scrunchie socks), and Dawn would be picking the grass in the outfield or yelling at people about the environmental dangers of pesticide use. (What about STEROIDS, Dawn?!). I'd have Karen Brewer sit next to me and provide EXPERT commentary with her blankets (she has two cause she's a divorced kid). I can pretty much write whatever I want right now, because not ONE person is still reading this. But you asked it, so you got it.

La La: Um, yeah, it cannot be a book.  Does anyone have a movie, like I fucking asked for in the first place?



Amber: This is hard. I THINK I would want to go to the basketball game in Space Jam. I would bring weed brownies.



La La: This is not hard. You are trippin', maybe literally.  Come on girls, just a movie or television show!


 
Jill: There are so many fake sporting events that I have actively yearned to attend. The Mighty Ducks beating the Hawks on Pacey Witter’s penalty shot.  A.C. Slater’s Bayside wrestling championship. The Gellar Cup on Friends. Billy Chapel’s perfect game.  Happy Gilmore’s final round with that crazy trick shot, when he fought Bob Barker, an alligator, and saved his grandma’s house. The Olympic figure-skating final in The Cutting Edge; the sexual tension was electric. But if I could see only one fake sporting event? Hands down, the final game between the Racine Belles and the Rockford Peaches.  I would have been proud, I would have loved the historical aspect of it, I would have been incredibly into the game itself, and I would have idolized the players. Rocking my Hinson #8 jersey, it would have been devastating when Dottie dropped the ball and the Peaches lost.  I mean, it would have been my own personal Zapruder film. Was it intentional? Did she want her sister to finally achieve a past-due moment of glory?  Would the heroic Dottie Hinson ever give less than 100% or purposely throw a game?! I think I would have hated that Kit Keller; bitch was always causing drama. Sure, she was good, but she was like the ARod to Dottie’s Derek Jeter. A constant distraction and headache. And she may have cost the Rockford Peaches the championship. Clearly, this bothers me. Jesus, if I had actually been at the game? I think that I would still be talking about it. And that, my friends, is the making of a can’t-miss fake sporting event.

La La: I am not your friend. And I asked for one. ONE FUCKING MOVIE. Oh my god, what is wrong with these whores? One can’t follow directions, one is a stoner, and one is a rambling conspiracy theorist. What about you, can you answer the question?

Carrie:  I figured out a couple of years ago that it's not that I hate football, it's just that I vastly prefer cinematic football to actual real football. Give me an inspirational highlight clip set to a kickass song with a couple of quick cuts to a few hand-wringing moments in the stands or celebratory make-out sessions scattered throughout and I will profess to LOVE football. I'm sloooowly developing an enjoyment of real football, but I could seriously watch TV/movie football all day every day and die happy. So, I have a few favorites, but hands down, the season one finale of Friday Night Lights is the one I'd most want to re-experience in person. Hailing from a Varsity Blues-esque town myself, I love the idea of how invested those local fans are in their team (though I never was, obvi) that they'd travel all that way in dry desert Texas just to see the Panthers compete at the 'ships. And then I would like to have my own personal highlight reel of making out with Tim Riggins. Set to this song.

La La: I hate football, too, but you know that this topic had nothing to do with football, right? You could have talked about any sport at all. So no, apparently no one can listen. What about baseball, maybe that subject is more compelling:

Do you consider the New York Yankees (and their $200M payroll) an "underdog," as Mark Teixeira called them last week?

Amber: I don't consider the Yankees underdogs. They are one of the three baseball teams I can name. Also, I can name two or three of their players. But $200M? FOR REAL? I feel like for $200M the owners could support gubernatorial/senatorial race of the dude from the "Rent is 2 Damn High Party.” That would REALLY bring some pride to the city.


La La: You’re right. It would bring almost as much pride as having native-born La La Vazquez back home. Holla. 

 

Jill: Tex needs to stop bitching and focus on hitting, which he seemed to partially forget how to do last season.  The Yankees, given their payroll and stature, can never be called an underdog. It is a ludicrous notion. Do I think we will be as dominant as in years past? No, I think this season is shaping up to be tumultuous and disappointing.  But would it really surprise anyone if we won the World Series?  I expect us to have a shot at it every year, and this season is no different. The only difference is that we are not predicted to win the championship this year - but that is how it has been for 29 other teams, each year for the past decade. And god knows that the Yankees did not win each of those pre-season predicted titles.  We still have an all-star at every position in the line-up. We still have one top-notch ace, a budding ace in Phil Hughes, a broken ace in A.J. Burnett, and then a collection of spare parts. Our bullpen is rock solid. It would be foolish and shortsighted to ever consider the Yankees underdogs. I only hope that Boston fans are that stupid, and I am pretty confident that they are.  

LaLa:  Jill stop glaring at Carrie, she is only a casual supporter of the Red Sox.  You really should not take the Yankees so personally, it is unbecoming.  Do you have a response, Carrie?

Carrie: I think the Yankees aren't going to be great this year, that's for sure. But underdog? That's a little melodramatic. And I know from melodrama, folks. As a huge fan of comebacks and unexpected victors, there's very little intrigue or drama involved in the fate of the Yankee's win-loss record in any year. If they suck this season, no huge surprise since their roster's not looking real solid right now, but also no real heartbreak. If they're good, it's easy to just be like "well, they're the Yankees, of course they were going to end up being great." It's a lose-lose if you're looking for a fun comeback/rise up! story. Their pinstripes, on the other hand? Win-win.

Robin: I could totally stand up on a soap box (like on Friday nights at camp), and speak from my non-profit salaried heart about "underdog" gazillionaires, but then I would inevitably have to talk about Latrell Sprewell and how he "had to feed his family" on only $14.6 million a year. But I've recently come to the conclusion that these jerks start foundations, and foundations fund my job and me helping kids, so like call yourself whatever you want underdog, just send us a check. Is it sad that with $200 million, I'd probably just pay off the remaining payments on my Honda Civic, buy my apartment and order more takeout sushi? G-d I am so boring and predictable. I'd also probably just buy a Droid or IPhone and say a big FU to Verizon about having to wait for my "New Every Two." And pay for the upgrade on my Comcast so that I can get the Oprah Winfrey Network. SPLURGE for sure. Ohh and I'd probably want a building named after me at my alma mater. But like a building that serves smoothies and has a sauna and cooking classes (A "Happiness" Center as opposed to a "Wellness" Center). I am sorta mad at myself for being so boring.

La La:  You know who isn’t boring? This lady:

Karen Sypher (i.e., convicted extorter of Rick Pitino): crazy bitch or victim of a political system? 

Amber: Wait, for real? CRAZY BITCH, obviously! I was a little unfamiliar with this case so I had to do some googling. The first link I came across was about the testimony of an attorney who she was using to sue Rick Pitino. In his testimony, the attorney reveals that Karen gave him a bj and agreed to photographed! adljkfadshfajkfhjkah! There are pictures! Homegirl needed a hot oil treatment, BAD. But, she also looks happy and excited. I guess the oral sex was kind of a coupon for lawyering fees, and who doesn't like saving money? Really though, I think she is desperate lady approaching middle age, and whose looks are fading. Karen, booboo, if you want a sugar daddy, move to Boca and hang out at the mall.

 
Jill: Remember on 90210, when Valerie Malone pretended to get knocked up and tried to extort $100K from that married dude, even sending his wife Pampers, before Brandon gave her an ultimatum to return the money? Yeah, Karen Sypher is sane like that.  Throughout this whole scandal, she has pulled some ridiculous stunts.  Like trading sex for testimony.  Trust me, if you could rely on such witnesses, I’m pretty sure I’d advise my clients to do the same. But no one should be that stupid, okay? And that is my problem with this – Karen Sypher was so DUMB. She changed her story, her allegations, and her lawyer. She lied to the FBI. She deserves to be penalized.  That said, 87 months is SUCH a long time.  I mean, I have represented cocaine traffickers and wife beaters and million-dollar-credit-card-scammers who have gotten less jail time. I know that it was the minimum sentence, but I just think that this case should have been disposed of ages ago.  She should have taken a plea bargain and moved on.  She should have apologized publicly instead of amping up her rhetoric. She should have offered to give the judge a blowjob instead of her clearly unreliable witnesses.  Anything other than the weak defense she presented at trial.  I think she got in over her head and then became desperate (and continues to be desperate) to get out of the mess she created. But 87 months is an incredibly long time for a non-violent criminal who has children at home.  It is a dirty, unnecessary, sad situation for all. Like when Halle Berry fucks Billy Bob in Monster’s Ball. Can you…make me…feel good? Ugh, I cringe every time. (NSFW).

La La: That was truly horrifically unnecessary.  I don’t know if you all remember this, but three bastards, three bastards who spit on me, tried to extort $3 million from my man after they videotaped him in a bar fight. He had only been in that bar fight to protect me.  I feel very strongly about this subject.  How do you feel about extortion, Carrie?

Carrie: Can I be honest here? I don't actually understand what extortion is. Like, it sounds awful (probably because of how it rhymes with abortion). But it's one of those things that I pretend to understand in context, but I've never actually had to understand in a more nuanced way than that. Anyway, I haven't been following this story. And from what I just confessed, even if I had, it stands to reason that I would not have understood what exactly I was following. But, if I had to pinpoint a victim in all this... I'd probably go with Rick Pitino's hair. Because? What the eff is going on there? Poor, helpless hair. That bouffant's the bitch.

 
Robin: I know nothing about the woman, nor do I even really care. But I have to give my New Jersey Nets a shoutout and bring us all back to the John Calipari years. John Calipari was a coach at UMass (yes UMASS, not like Duke) and then became a coach of an NBA team?! (This is connected, Rick Pitino was coach of the Celtics during this time too, and I sorta think the two look alike).  I love the random-ass conferences, and I love UMass (a lot of my "Boston Besties" went there). But like, the NBA? Are we serious?! No wonder the mascot "Super Dunk" was held together with duct tape and on Chris Morris's sneakers, written in marker, said "Trade Me.” (Right again, no one cares or knows what I am talking about. But I know my 90's NBA basketball, especially when it involves my NJ Nets. Speaking of which, I once saw Tate George, a Stanley Roberts caliber player at a Ponderosa Steak House when I was 12. I spotted him eating with his family at a Sizzler knockoff. Talk about NBA). So like, yes the woman probably extorted Rick Pitino (John Calipari), but like Rick Pitino (and John Calipari) extorted the NBA with their coaching. So I am calling for a tie.

La La: I need a drink after that. You ladies are a real piece of work. You can have those Nets; Newark would have stifled my star, too. I just couldn’t have that. Poor Deron Williams. Thank you everyone and tune in next week. I won't be here, but some other lucky bitch will be.

February 24, 2011

Chicks Dig The Fastball: The Back Story.


I planned to write a blog for the longest time, but the only thing stopping me was that I could not think of a title. I wanted something sports-related and snarky, something related to pop culture, something that I instantly loved, and it took me forever to come up with CDTF. Considering the awful potential titles that I debated in the interim, it was worth the wait. In the past few weeks, however, I have found myself explaining the title of this blog to more people than I expected. In particular, my female friends have no memory of one of the greatest commercials ever created. Which is sad for them. So, rather than repeating the same story another seventy times, I am just going to relay it here.

In 1999, Nike produced an iconic and witty commercial – one, in my opinion, which rivals the old SportsCenter commercials – starring Atlanta Braves Cy Young Award winners Tom Glavine and Greg Maddux.  Inspired by the ‘roid-induced homerun derby season of Mark McGwire, the two aces strive to become powerhouse hitters to impress the ladies.  Because, as the saying goes, chicks dig the long ball.  With a cameo by Heather Locklear, a.k.a. the one and only Amanda Woodward, the commercial defined an entire era in Major League Baseball.

Now in hindsight, the commercial, while still iconic, is also ironic.  No one would aim to be Mark McGwire in 2011.  Instead, an elite pitcher is worth infinitely more than an elite hitter. Thus, a blog was born in tribute to the memorable, witty, and seemingly irrelevant 1990’s classic.  I have this fantasy that Nike will remake the commercial with ARod and Albert Pujols seen working on their sliders in the bullpen, as they flashback to Roy Halladay’s perfect playoff game, ending with one of them saying: “Chicks dig the fastball.”  I also fantasize that they will then put my web address under their swoosh, but that may be pushing it.  Nevertheless, thank you for reading and hopefully it will be much less confusing for you now.


Batting Practice, Bitches: The New Cast

This is like CDTF's version of Hot Topics, minus Baba Wawa, Tracy Jordan's wife, that cranky conservative bitch, the menopausal liberal, and that Mel Gibson-loving reggae lady. An awkward setting, fueled by mutual animosity and adoration, where we tee up against softball topics and needlessly discuss things that do not matter. 
Today, with tremendous gratitude and an excitement that rivals a teeny bopper for Justin Bieber, we welcome the new and much-improved cast of Batting Practice, Bitches.  These ladies hail from all over the United States, offering their witty commentary and groundbreaking analysis solely for the CDTF viewing audience. It has been rumored that they are the real reason why Regis Philbin opted for an early retirement.  Please look for their first episode later this week; but for now, some quick hellos and headshots are in order:

Amber

I am a southerner, a VERY casual sports-watcher (I like the Olympics for the pageantry and ice skating/rhythmic gymnastics outfits), and a valuer of my own opinions. I am not Amber Riley.

Interests/Activities: Being sassy, not angry; Justin Timberlake; Determining whether or not Justin Timberlake is into black girls; Barack and Michelle; Learning from Whitney Houston's mistakes.

Sports hero(es): Quincy McCall and Monica Wright, later, Quincy McCall and Monica Wright-McCall; Muggsy Bogues.

Favorite Quotation:  Quincy: “What are we playing for?”
                                        Monica: “Your Heart.”

Carrie

In the course of one of the million icebreaker activities in which I have participated over the course of my touchy-feely people-person professional life, someone once made the mistake of asking me what I am particular about. First, I casually laughed it off and said "Oh, me? Gosh, I'm pretty easygoing most of the time, really...," and then, in an effort to do my part in keeping this scintillating introductory conversation going, I tried to push on: "Well... I guess I'm sort of particular about…fonts? It's not a big deal, but yeah, I mean, I really can't stand Times New Roman. Because seriously, how boring? And god, don't even get me started on Comic Sans, like what the fuck? I'm not typing a circus. But Kristen, which I like, is cute but a little informal for something like a paper or a cover letter, so I usually go with Arial, unless I am sort of sick of that, in which case, I'd probably go with Tahoma, but only if I can use it in size 11, because it's a little overbearing in 12pt."

"Oh... interesting. Anything else?"

"Well, now that you mention it...I'm not a huge fan of crowded places, I don't really like when guys use excessive amounts of hair gel, I can't stand if I am peeing and there are huge cracks in the bathroom stall doors that people can see through even if I don't think they'll look, I go out of my way driving to avoid making unprotected left-hand turns, I can't stand when carnations are involved in flower arrangements, not super crazy about any form of the word "tit,” and I have to physically restrain myself from punching people in the face that spell c-words with k’s. But…I think that's pretty much it?"

Hi, I'm Carrie. Turns out I am particular about practically everything - including things you didn't realize people could form opinions about.  Lucky for you? That includes sports. Any other open-ended questions you'd like to ask? 

Jill

Jill hails from the suburbs of Long Island, home to Amy Fisher and Jill's childhood idol, Debbie Gibson. There, she developed a mouth like a sailor and shared the same fifth-grade teacher as Rosie O’Donnell. Jill then spent a decade in the south, where she was inducted into the cult of Cameron Crazies and trained to be an officer of the (non-basketball) court.  Her college athletic highlights include becoming a varsity beer pong player and baby oil wrestler.  Later, she returned to the Big Apple, where she obsesses over sports, orders in dinner much too frequently, and often goes out on disastrous dates.  Jill is thankful for her friends, George Steinbrenner, cotton candy, crossword puzzles, champagne, the Convention Against Torture, inheriting her father’s metabolism, the ability to juggle, cheeseburgers, free internet porn, Taylor Swift, her Blackberry, women leaders who aren’t Sarah Palin, and sweatpants.  A cross between All the Way Mae, Nancy Drew, Brenda Walsh, Monica Gellar, and Erin Brockovich, Jill is in fact none of those women.  She is currently the starting centerfielder of the Central Park reigning champion Wolfpack softball team, as well as a rookie for the One Sip, One Flip kickball team.  Jill is afraid of bumble bees. 

Robin

A non-profit gal that loves summer camp (where she met Carrie and Amber), Robin is everybody's favorite Jewish American Princess sports fan. While Snooki and J-Woww have defaced her home state, Robin moved to Boston after grad school and has reconsidered her self-proclaimed "life long" dedication to the New Jersey Nets. While she can school you in mid-90s to early 2000's NBA basketball, she is not averse to picking her March Madness bracket to ensure that every team has at least one person in the world that thinks they may win a game. This strategy was learned when she continued to pick Stanley Roberts (a 400-pound basketball player) for the NBA All-Star game starting at age 8 as to preserve his confidence and feelings. She can't tell you much about football or hockey, but her denim mini-skirt fell down in the parking lot of a New Jersey Devils game when she was in the 1st grade, and she spent the rest of the game obsessed with the Zamboni machine and has never really cared for anything besides the good fights she sees on sports replay on the evening news.  Favorite sports memories include barking like a dog at age 9 in a basketball game to distract the other team (which her dad had mentioned he saw on TV – she has always been a daddy's girl and thought it would work well in her rec basketball league too, though her team was losing by 15), insulting Carla from Top Chef via Twitter by comparing her looks to Reggie Miller and "Singing for Her Supper" at a Kissimmee Astros minor league baseball game (10 free chicken wings at Hooters--SCORE!). Unrelated to sports (besides maybe the snacking which she finds equally important), Robin is a HUGE fan of Trader Joes and her crockpot.
These bitches are sure to hit it out of the park. Consider yourselves forewarned.

February 23, 2011

Coach Bob's Bladerunners and the Kanye West of High School Wrestling.

Joel Northrup, a 16-year-old home-schooled wrestler from Iowa, refused to wrestle a girl in the state championship, thereby forfeiting his chance at the title due to his religious beliefs.  With all due respect to Joel and his faith, something really bothers me about this. Forfeiting, regardless of one’s gender, is lame. I know that he did not technically “forfeit” (instead, he defaulted), but he purposely chose to allow someone else to win a state championship match. After months, if not years of practice and training, he threw in the towel. Quitting is not sexy. 
I keep trying to put myself in the shoes and weird spandex wrestling uniform of Cassy Herkelman, the first female to reach the Iowa state wrestling tournament in 85 years.  Because of Joel’s refusal to wrestle, she is now the first woman to ever win a championship match.  She was purposely kept from the media, so we are in the dark about her thoughts, but I am curious how this made her feel. I know that many women would react to this in different ways, but as a super competitive former tomboy, I am pretty sure that I would be insulted and frustrated. This bittersweet win cannot be easy for Cassy. She worked her ass off to excel in a sport ruled by men; she was so good, so unique amongst her peers, that she made it to the top of the field.  When she finally got to the height of elite competition, she was ostracized solely because she has breasts. And she beat this asshat, like all of the others before him; he just cheapened her victory. He made it all about him, and that sucks for her. Like when Kanye West interrupted Taylor Swift at the VMAs.

Then again, maybe I am just taking this personally. I was once the only female in an all-boys roller hockey league.  Sometime around the age of twelve, I was asked to play for the kickass awesome sounding Bladerunners by my friend’s dad, Coach Bob, an incredible man who I have admired ever since.  Based on skill alone, he took a chance on me, which is rare for little league fathers. Most of them scoff at the notion that a girl could compete with their son, let alone invite one to play next to their son on the team that they are coaching.  I was honored and motivated. I put new wheels on my 'blades and taped up my sticks. I proudly wore my Adam Graves jersey with an extra bounce in my step. I was ready to do the damn thing.  And then I was informed that the league would not let me play, because I was a girl.  As I dealt with my jumble of teenage emotions, my mom and Coach Bob fought my way in.  Once there, my opponents were either overly nice to me or specifically targeted me, but hardly anyone treated me like I fit in other than my own team. It was an experience to say the least – an amusing and memorable one in retrospect, but challenging at the time. And it meant a lot to me; out of about fifty team jerseys that I ever wore growing up, it is the only one I still have today.
 
So I can’t help but admire Cassy Herkelman for what she is going through now.  It might be 15 years later, but gender politics still invade amateur athletics, which does not altogether surprise me. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, though. Sex, race, and religion have no place in sports; they should simply be about competition, skill, and fun. The rest, after all, is just demographic detail.  Unless Cassy was wrestling in California, Hawaii, Tennessee, Texas, or Washington – each of which fund high school wrestling for girls – she had no other option than to take the mat against Joel.  He had no right to put his own agenda above that of the league which allowed Cassy to participate. And remember. He wasn't even a "real" student; he was homeschooled and everyone knows that those freaks do not count. 

When I was finally asked to play with the boys, I badly wanted to prove that I belonged.  And I did - but only because Coach Bob gave me the opportunity to show it.  In part, Joel took that away from Cassy.  She will never know if she could have beaten him fair-and-square, but she will always be tagged as the-girl-that-religious-dude-forfeited-against, rather than just the first female to win a championship wrestling match.  I get that Joel was trying to respect women, I do.  I will even concede that it was somewhat noble of him to put his faith before seemingly meaningless competition. But, as far as I know, Jesus does not support sexism in high school sports.  By forfeiting based on gender alone, Joel selfishly disrespected women. He implied that we have no place in, as he called it, a “combat” and “violent” sport created for men.  And in the process, he acted like a huge pussy. 

February 22, 2011

The All-Star All-Fake Box-Office Smashers: A Made-for-the-Movies Baseball Team

After Hank Steinbrenner’s latest unnecessary comments about the Yankees being too focused on “building mansions” than winning championships, it dawned on me what a soap opera this season is already turning out to be.  Andy Pettitte said it’s not us, it’s him, and galloped back to his Texas ranch.  The Yankees, on the whole, are obese whalecows.  ARod is getting fed on national television.  Tex is whining that we are the $200 million underdogs.  Derek Jeter is nearing the age of elderly. Robbie Cano was late to spring training, because he thought it was winter and no one ever taught him to read a calendar. The only thing missing so far is Bartolo Colon fighting a Gatorade cooler.  I mean, it is not even March. This is all new levels of drama.  And I feel like I am being forced to watch something that I have no desire to see. Like Avatar, but worse. 

So in light of the upcoming Academy Awards, I found myself thinking about baseball movies that I would want to see. Starring a cast of players that do not scare the bejesus out of me. After careful consideration of numerous cinematic sources, I came up with a starting roster.  At worst, I promise that it would be more entertaining to watch than this ongoing prequel entitled “New York Yankees 2011.”  Without further ado, the CDTF All-Star All-Fake Box-Office Smashers:

The Line-Up

  1. Willie Mays Hayes, Centerfield (Major League):  He plays like Mays and runs like Hayes, making him the perfect lead-off hitter.  A constant threat on the base paths, he would be a nightmare for any pitcher (other than Andy Pettitte with his incredible pick-off move. Oh wait).  He strikes out too often, so his on-base percentage may suffer, but he has definitely improved in that area.  The guy bought 100 pairs of batting gloves to nail to the wall for each stolen base; he deserves a chance based on audacity alone.   
  1. Benny “The Jet” Rodriguez, Shortstop (The Sandlot):  In the social hierarchy of backyard baseball, Benny is a legend and a leader.  He can play every position, so he makes a great utility guy, and he was good enough to start in the major leagues until he was in his late thirties.  I also think that he grew facial hair by then, but who knows? He is not afraid of huge beasts, so he would be able to face Joba.  Everyone in his fam says that he reminds them of his creepy uncle Alex, when he was much younger. But then Uncle Alex started doing drugs and having relations with blonde women, and no one wants that for Benny. Especially Smalls, who is currently writing Benny’s uncensored biography. 
    1. Dottie Hinson, Catcher (A League of Their Own): The consummate professional, Dottie is by far the best player in the league.  She hits for power and is a defensive cat behind the plate. She also does splits while running for foul balls, and I would pretty much guarantee that Jorge can no longer (ever) do that.  Dottie is quiet, a workhorse, and can shoulder the stress of a dramatic pitching staff.  This woman has dealt with her husband fighting in a world war, her jealous sister trying to attack her, and constant harassment from men at The Suds Bucket who don’t know any better.  She has been my idol since I was 11-years-old.  
    1. Roy Hobbs, Right Field (The Natural): Well, this seems obvious.  The dude has an unnatural natural ability to rock the ball wherever he wants.  Even though he missed games because of injury and became distracted by crazy bitches, he was a monster. He was so good that the leather literally jumped off the ball. Roy also made the most of a second chance, and I like that attitude in my ballplayers. Bill Simmons once predicted his stats, based on his one season with the New York Knights: 
      G   AB    R    H   BB   K  HR  RBI  AVG  OBP  SLG
    115  400  92  140  75  85  44   106   .350    .447   .750
               
          I mean, that is ridiculous. 44 homeruns in 115 games, with a .350 average. So yes, sign us up for Roy Hobbs. And I am sure it would tweak the Yankees to sign our cross-city rival’s biggest star. Please, the Mets do not count.  Also? I may or may not want to sleep with him on road trips.  Thanks.  

          5.  Crash Davis, DH (Bull Durham): My feelings for Crash are well-known. A switch-hitter with pop, this former catcher has gotten too old to play behind the plate every day. His knees bother him, and he is most likely headed to a position on the coaching staff in a few years. For now, however, his leadership and experience could provide the glue and chemistry needed in any locker room. And he still a threat to knock in runs, especially in late-game situations. Let’s give him one last shot at The Show.


          6.  Jack Elliot, First Base (Mr. Baseball): Speaking of players  in the twilight of their careers, Jack Elliot is pretty ancient.  A former World Series MVP, he is coming back from a stint overseas, where he fixed a hole in his swing and proved that he can still provide solid production in the middle of a line-up. He also learned to adjust to a new culture there, which will make him an example for all of our celebrity players to follow.  It is rumored that he is still the “biggest thing to hit Japan since Godzilla,” other than cheap internet porn.   This could be great for marketing and our international following.  That said, I will only sign him if the mustache is included.
      

    7.  Doris Murphy, Third Base (A League of Their Own):

     This bitch can hit. She is a sassy New Yorker, loyal to her teammates, and doesn’t take shit from anyone.  She even threatened a child with a bat and I like that in a lady. Surprisingly, she protects the hot corner well, stabbing line drives and diving for balls in foul territory.  Since Dottie is on the Smashers, I am confident that Doris will remain in line. Her best friend is also a huge slut (there ain't men in this country who haven't seen her bosoms), so I feel like the other players will enjoy such a perk. 

     
    8.  Kelly Leak, Left Field (The Bad News Bears): A blue chip prospect with the makings of a big league hitter.  He is also the best available left fielder on the movie market.  My one concern is his Hanley Ramirez-like attitude.  He knows he is good, he knows he is needed, and he doesn’t give a fuck.  He could cause locker room problems down the road, but with a veteran line-up like the Smashers’ and some guidance, he could be the next big thing. Since the approximate age of our roster is 68-years-old, young talent like Mr. Leak is vital to our balance and competitive ability in the future. 

    9.  Mickey “Domo” Dominguez, Second Base (Summer Catch): Domo is one of the best second basemen in college baseball, scores a lot of runs, and makes some big plays in the field…  Listen, I couldn’t draft any additional players from the Rockford Peaches or Cleveland Indians; Marla Hooch and Roger Dorn were unavailable.  So we were left with Domo, which is not a terrible thing, but not like the Carmelo Anthony of this pre-season.


    The Pitching Staff:

    Ed (Ed): The publicity alone is a gold-mine, even better than Pat Venditte, that crazy switch-throwing pitcher that the Yankees discovered.

    Henry Rowengarten (Rookie of the Year): Forget the crazy Strasburg-like arm and injury-plagued career, he took the Cubs to the World Series.  Enough said.  

    Ricky “The Wild Thing” Vaughn (Major League): Former felon + nerd glasses + mullet + 100 mph fastball + ladie’s man + theme song that rivals “Enter Sandman” = awesome. 


    Billy Chapel (For Love of the Game):  In a roster of baseball movie stars, it seems silly not to include Kevin Costner.  Billy is nearing 300-wins, a sure-thing Hall of Famer, and offers veteran guidance to an otherwise immature and non-human pitching staff.

    Jimmy Morris (The Rookie): Not everyone can be as good as Ed, okay?

    The Front Office:

    Coach: Jimmy Dugan (A League of Their Own)

    General Manager: Annie Savoy (Bull Durham)

    Owner: Billy Heywood (Little Big League)