Is Tim McCarver a Racist?

Call me crazy, but I sensed some racist undertones in the ever-enlightening colour commentary provided by Tim McCarver in last night's Sox-Tribe game.


Anyone who watched last night's game can attest to the open and unequivocal disdain with which McCarver was describing the eccentricities of Manny Ramirez. It was pretty obvious that Manny's mere existence on this earth sickens the former Yankees broadcaster. He was absolutely disgusted by the way Manny stopped at first base to argue with the umpires after crushing the world's longest single, a sentiment for McCarver that obviously stemmed from the way Manny admired his previous game's solo shot to cut the deficit to four. I mean, McCarver was practically begging C.C. to drill Manny in the ribs, saying that that was the way to keep him from admiring his bombs - hit him in the ribs until he learns.


But what McCarver doesn't understand is that Manny wasn't taunting the Tribe by admiring his moonshot; he just doesn't know any better. Walkoff blast in the bottom of the ninth to go up 2-0 in the Angels' Series, or meaningless shot to dead centre in a game they've already lost, it's all the same to Manny. As Bill Simmons put it in his Game 4 running diary (a perfect example of how misery breeds great comedy):


"It's always funny when Manny plays in Cleveland, if only because he always has a bemused look on his face, like he's thinking, "This is so weird, I feel like I used to play here or something."


Manny lives in a different world than the rest of us live in. As detailed in the fantastic New Yorker piece back in April, he's just a crazy motherfucker. I mean, he was breastfed until he was four years old; nobody can be held accountable for their actions if their breastfeeding at one time resulted in their mother receiving beard-burn.


This is why Manny lives in Manny-World. This is why he agreed to sign an 8 year, $160 million dollar deal with the Red Sox only if they also agreed to hire Frankie Mancini, the Indians clubhouse attendant, who regularly set up the pitching machine for him. This is why he routinely disappears inside the Green Monster during pitching changes. This is why he plays left field with a water bottle in his back pocket and MP3-playing sunglasses on his head. But maybe the best Manny being Manny story comes from his rookie year, back in 1994, with the Cleveland Indians:


As teammates were gathered in the Indians clubhouse watching news of the O.J. Simpson Bronco chase, Ramirez asked what was going on. A player responded that "they are chasing O.J.", to which Ramirez responded in disbelief, "What did Chad do?" (in reference to their current teammate Chad Ogea, who was likely in the same clubhouse just several feet away)


How could you ever pick on the guy for being who he is? I am by no means a Red Sox fan. In fact, ever since they won the World Series, their fans have been nothing short of obnoxious. But the one thing I could never help but to love was Manny. And for McCarver to pick on him? It's like picking on a child.



Which brings me to why Tim McCarver is a racist. After berating Manny for being Manny for most of the game (has there ever been a more "Manny being Manny" kind of game? The day before, he says that it doesn't really matter if the Sox lose and that it wouldn't be the end of the world, and then he proceeds to mash the ball the way only he can, walking out of the box and stopping at first base to argue a call on a 390 foot single), when it comes time for Jonathan Papelbon to enter the game, McCarver practically performs fellatio on the guy.


They showed a clip of Paps doing the YMCA dance in the bullpen while warming up, and McCarver starts going on about how he loves the free spirit of Papelbon... How can their possibly be a freer spirit than Manny? It's absolutely absurd to love Papelbon for doing the Riverdance in his underwear in front of the Fenway faithful after clinching the pennant, and then to rip into Manny for being Manny.


McCarver went on to call Papelbon "a beauty"; one can only imagine what he called Manny when the mics were turned off (shades of Ron Atkinson, I'm sure).


I have no problem with McCarver having a Papel-boner. It's hard not to love the guy. But he needs to cut the Michael Richards act, and cut Manny a little slack.




"Forget about the trade, man. This is the place I want to be, man. It's great, man. They love me here, man. This is the place to be. 'Manny being Manny,' he's great, man... we've been through a lot, this is the place for me, I'm just happy to be here... I'm back!"


- Manny Ramirez, July 31, 2005 (an hour after the trading deadline passed with him remaining a member of the Red Sox)

Kent Huskins or Bobby Orr?

What a Legend.

Almonte's favourite son notched his first career big league goal last night, putting it past none other than future Hall of Famer Dominik Hasek less than two minutes in.

The question is now officially open for debate: If you had to pick one defenseman today to build your team around, who would it be?

Here's a link to a nice little article from the Los Angeles Times

Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band at the Air Canada Centre

Wow... I mean, just... Wow.

That may not have been the best Springsteen show I've ever seen, but it was certainly one of the most fun to be a part of. From Radio Nowhere straight through to American Land, I was literally singing and dancing all night long (this fact may or may not have anything to do with the multiple pre-MLB-steroird-policy-Carlos-Delgado-sized beverages consumed over the course of the evening {on a side note: would a modern day Carlos-Delgado-sized beverage come in a plastic cup in the shape of Alfonso Soriano?}). I can't even begin to explain how great a time I had.

The night began for me with my parents arriving at my place where we promptly listened to the new album and then walked up to the subway, picking up my brother and his girlfriend on route. Being a Springsteen fan is a family thing for us. As my dad likes to say: "I raised my kids the right way." Some people might say otherwise, but I'll go with him on this one.

Unbelievably, Ronnie didn't have tickets to the show but was able to score a couple of 300 level seats for $50 each off the scalpers out front. I have no idea how he does it. We met up with my buddies Foley, Skeeter, and Trish, and some of my parents die-hard friends (this was show #49 for my dad's buddy Watson. The man has seen it all. It was #20 for my dad, which meant that I felt like a scrub because this was only my 9th show), and headed into the hangar.

We had about an hour before the show began with which to soak in the vibes of the crowd. And for my money, there is no better group of people to be with than a bunch of Springsteen fans. More than with any group I can think of, these are the people I feel connected to. We think the same way because we listened to the same music growing up. We feel the same way because we've sung all of the same songs to ourselves in times good and bad. And we think the same way because we've gone to the same ridiculous lengths to see the man perform. I'm not even close to being a religious man; but I'm a believer in the Boss. And these were his people. And I felt right at home.

Which is why I had no problem sharing stories with the people sitting in front of me about all of the times they've seen Bruce perform in the past (they said the best show they've ever seen was the gig in Buffalo back in July of 2005 - the show at which my sister requested "Everything is Everything" on a piece of paper before the show, only to have Bruce say: "Lisa, that is the incorrect title of the song", before giving her You're Missing). And it is also the reason that I, albeit drunkenly, promised the dude that if they played Thundercrack, I would kiss him.

(As a side note, I try to make a habit out of not reading the setlists of the preceeding shows. Call me old fashioned, but I just like to be surprised by what they pull out. Now, had I done my homework, would I have promised to kiss a bearded stranger on the cheek? Probably not. But what the hell. We were all brothers here tonight.)

We were also finally able to get to the bottom of the whole, "is it okay to wear the T-shirt of the band up on stage?" debate. This has been a long-standing dialectic between my friends and I, stemming all the way back to a story I once heard about Hugh Dillon (frontman for the now-defunct Headstones) bringing some kid up on stage at a show in Sault Ste. Marie because the kid was wearing a Headstones T-Shirt. The dialogue went a little something like this"

H.D. - "Hey man, what's your name?"
Kid - "Jimmy"
H.D. - "Jimmy. Great. Hey everybody! This is Jimmy! SPIT ON HIM!!!"
(the crowd proceeds to blanket the kid and his Headstones T-shirt in a layer mucus)

The thinking is, if you are physically at a band's show, that says enough about your appreciation for the band, and the T-shirt is simply overkill. But at a Springsteen show, it seems like every third person is either a) wearing a Springsteen T-shirt, or b) dressed like a 70's version of one of his Jersey shore characters. And like I said, I am one with these people, so they can't be all bad. So my buddy Foley and I came up with a definitive statute regarding wearing a shirt with the logo of the band up on stage. And the Rock Show T-shirt Rule states:

You are NOT permitted to wear a T-shirt of the band performing on stage unless:
a) The T-shirt was purchased at a show which took place more than 20 years earlier
and/or
b) The venue at which the T-shirt's show took place is no longer in existence (ex: Exhibition Stadium, The Boston Garden)
and/or
c) You are at least 50 years of age and simply don't know any better

These are your only outs. No exceptions. But I digress.


When the lights finally went down the place went crazy, and as Bruce and the band entered the stage to the sounds of a carnival calliope (I love the quirky entrance music, which peaked with the Tunnel of Love tour carnival music in 1988), the place seemed ready to explode... and when he asked "Is there anybody alive out there?", it promptly did.

Radio Nowhere has all of the makings of a poppy hit, and was a decent opener. Night was fantastic, as always, and did a little to separate the true fans from the less than devout. Lonesome Day is one of my favourite songs off of The Rising album, and just about everytime I've seen him perform it live, I end up getting close to choked up when I sing along... Tonight was no exception. I wish I could explain this phenomenon. I may have some deep rooted issues that need to be sorted out. Moving right along.

Gypsy Biker is a fabulous song, one of the real gems on the album. But like my buddy Skeeter pointed out, I wish Bruce would talk more about his new songs. It doesn't need to be anything elaborate like the way he used to introduce The River, but a few words would go a long way. Like when he introduced Magic by saying that the song "isn't really about Magic, it's about ticks... and their consequences..."; that song now means about 10 times more to me than it did before, and watching him sing it up on stage with Patti, after what the two of them have allegedly been through lately... that's just a great song.

The band debuted For You for the first time. That is an absolutely killer song, but no live version of it could ever rival the version released on the Japanese Import that simply blows every other version out of the water. Bruce played this one while sitting at the piano during his acoustic show in Toronto in 2005. "Your cloud line ugers me, my electric surges for you..." Love it.

Loved the Stevie Ray Vaughan infused version of Reason to Believe (done to the tune of Norman Greenbaum's Spirit in the Sky) because nobody rocks the harmonica like the Boss. Candy's Room was one of the supreme sizzling highlights of the night, prompting me to call my buddy DVZ to allow him to enjoy his favourite track via the magic of cellular technology. SHE SAYS BABY IF YOU WANNA BE WILD.... Max was absolutely killing on the drums by this point, only to be outdone by She's The One, the very next song on which the boys in the band turned back the clock. It honestly felt like 1978 at the Agora Ballroom in Cleveland on this track. Out of this world. I half expected them to mix in Gloria and Not Fade Away.

When I was a kid, Promised Land was my favourite song, and it felt like it all over again as we screamed "Mister I ain't a boy, no I'm a man / And I believe in a Promised Land".

They slowed things down for one of Patti's songs (A Town Called Heartbreak - her new album is fantastic, by the way), which may have prompted the line of the night, overheard by my buddy Foley in the bathroom: "Bruce put this song in 'cause he knew we'd have to take a piss halfway through". Too funny. But hopefully all of the small-bladdered die-hards made it back in time for Incident on 57th Street. Along with New York City Serenade, this is my all-time favourite tune, the imagery more evocative than a Steinbeck novel (is there a more brilliantly descriptive set of lines than:

Johnny was sittin' on the fire escape watchin' the kids playin' down the street
He called down "Hey little heroes, summer's long but I guess it ain't very sweet around here anymore"
Janey sleeps in sheets damp with sweat, Johnny sits up alone and watches her dream on, dream on
And the sister prays for lost souls, then breaks down in the chapel after everyone's gone

With the exception of "Barefoot girl sittin' on the hood of a Dodge, drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain", I think not)


Needless to say, this was a huge highlight for me. I had Sandra on the phone to share the moment.

Darlington County was a classic rocker, and to the best of my knowledge remains the only decent rock song to reference the World Trade Centers. Devil's Arcade is another great new song that was superbly done, and the feeling the Springsteen put into The Rising brought that song to another level for me. There was anguish in his face while he sung about those heroes... As Trish pointed out (this was her first show), he feels every song. No doubt.

The Long Walk Home is a beautiful song, and a nice little nod to the town of Freehold. Loved it live. Badlands was another supreme highlight, taking the religious feeling to a whole new level as the crowd vehemently screamed to let the broken heart stand as the price you gotta pay.

When they did Thundercrack in the encore I kissed another man on the cheek. Enough said. It was that kind of night. An absolutely killer version, like Main Point in '73, and it truly separated the die-hard fans from the rest. If you were twirling around-and-around-and-around-and around after learning that her hair ain't brown and her eyes ain't either, then you know what time it is. And we might be soul mates. That's why I had no problem laying a wet one on the Jim Kelley lookalike.

Born to Run always brings the house down, and with the lights on and my buddy Dunner living vicariously through the phone, this was no exception. Dancing in the Dark was also fantastic, but I definitely thought he should have pulled one of the lovely ladies up on stage with him a la Courtney Cox.

They closed the show with a Pogues-esque, follow-the-bouncing ball track called American Land that had the entire place dancing as if it were St. Patrick's Day at Cooper's. Just an incredible party (at least where I was sitting).


I honestly felt like they could have played for another hour, and when the lights briefly went down again after the encore, there was the flicker of hope that they'd come out and do two or three more... maybe something from The River (inexplicably, the setlist was devoid of a track from that classic double LP) or Tunnel of Love (also conspicuous by its absence, along with everything released in the 1990's). To me, this longing for more was a combination of the fact that the band was definitely on on this night, and the idea that maybe they could have done a little more.

By just about any band's standards, this was a show for the ages. But for the E Streeters? For the "earthshaking, heartbreaking, history making E Street Band"? There could have been more. But I guess it isn't the mid-70's anymore. And it's tough for a 58 year old man to be jumping off the Professor's piano and running the length of the stage to slide on his knees. And we probably won't see Nils doing his backflip anytime soon. And we might have seen the last of the young girl's hearts growing weak as the man child gives them a double-shot (At the 7 minute mark of this clip is the definition of what it means to be a rock star).

But even as we admit that maybe we ain't that young anymore, my dad's buddy Watson put it best in the wake of his 49th veneration: "There's no such thing as a bad Springsteen show."

Damn straight. And it ain't no sin to be glad you're alive.

This was one of those nights where we knew it.

Public Service Announcement

The next time you have your toddler at the mall, make sure you hold her by the hand at all times... particularly if there is a demonstration being put on by a break dancer moonlighting as a Mortal Kombat character.

Hey Ya Cover

Now, does the fact that I almost prefer this version mean that I'm getting old, or does it simply mean that the original was one of the most overplayed songs of all time? Regardless, this is a pretty killer version done by Obadiah Parker, and his decision to splice it with the original video is nothing short of sheer brilliance.

I really wish I had one of those interactive voting scales like they do on BarStoolSports.com so I could get my legions of readers to vote on which version they prefer (1 for the original, 10 for the acoustic cover). But seeing as I have neither the interactive voting scale nor the legions of readers, I guess I'll have to leave it to you to place your votes in the Comment section.

Thanks to M@ for passing on the link.

Excruciating

I think that this one will go down right along with the Scott Norwood missed FG and last time the Bills played a meaningful game in December (you might recall something about the Tenessee Titans throwing a forward pass that the officials somehow ruled a lateral). The Monday nighter tonight nearly killed me. I'm sitting here waiting for the post game press conference, returning text messages from heartbroken fellow Bills fans, and half expecting Dick Jauron to stand up at the podium so he can scream "THE COWBOYS ARE WHO WE THOUGHT THEY WERE!!!" before pounding his fist on the podium and walking away in disgust.

This had all of the makings of a magical night. Jim Kelly and Thurman Thomas on the sidelines, a promising rookie quaterback doing his best Tom Brady impression, and a national television audience with whom to share the goosebump-inducing experience. Five picks, a fumble recovery, and a kick-off return later, it seemed like this would finally be the game where the Bills turned the corner. Hell, even Jaws was waxing poetic about his Lackawana youth. I had the perfect entry all ready to go, complete with video of the Chris Kelsay INT TD and a headline ushering in the Trent Edwards era... But then the absolute worst case scenario began to unfold.

First the Edwards interception inside the 15 when a field goal would have essentially sealed the game, only to be followed by the jubilation of the DiGiorgio pick immediately thereafter. And then the Romo drive inside two minutes that absolutely ripped my heart out, only to be followed by the elation of watching T.O. drop the two point conversion... As my buddy Foley put it: "I now know what it feels like to be a heroin addict. Triumphant and manic jubilation followed by bouts of extreme depression". And then that miracle on-side kick that the Bills inexplicably botched, followed by an impossible three play drive that culminated in an all-time freeze job by Jauron, only to be outdone by the rookie kicker nailing a 53-yarder as time expires...

There really are no words to describe what it feels like to be a fan of this franchise. I'm pretty sure there will be a mass suicide going on in the Queen City tonight. And it would be hard to blame anyone.

This was supposed to be the game we finally got to stick it to Wade Phillips for inexplicably benching Doug Flutie for Rob Johnson on the last day of the '99 regular season and then unconscionably starting Johnson in the Music City Miracle game. This was supposed to be the game that Kelly and Thomas passed the torch on to Edwards and Lynch. And this was supposed to be that one game where the Bills were finally able to hold on to win one that mattered, unlike so many other times where they end up heart-breakingly choking it away in the dying seconds (has any football team lost as many games in the last five seconds as the Buffalo Bills? Scott Norwood. The forward pass. Byron Leftwich in 2004. Jason Elam hitting that opening-day field goal with no time left four weeks ago... and now this... it's just too much).

In The Sports Guy's Levels of Losing, this one has to rate as a no-brainer Stomach Punch. All of the symptoms are there: "any roller-coaster game that ends with (A) an opponent making a pivotal (sometimes improbable) play or (B) one of your guys failing in the clutch. ... Usually ends with fans filing out after the game in stunned disbelief, if they can even move at all. ... Always haunting, sometimes scarring."

Roller-coaster game? Check. Opponent making a pivotal, improbable play? Check. Fans filing out in stunned disbelief? Check. A loss that will haunt and scar? Check and Check.

There is nothing more excruciating than being a fan of the Buffalo Bills. And tonight was just another night in the long and storied life of...

Just kill me.

Happy Thanksgiving

At the time, this was the most outrageously hilarious scene in the best Thanksgiving Movie ever made. I remember being shocked and stunned into disbelieving silence the first time I saw it. Today? You'd expect to catch something like this on Showcase at 10pm on a Friday.

Have a great Thanksgiving everyone. Gobble-Gobble.