#1 Fan

Rihanna was pacing around her Beverly Hills mansion one Thursday afternoon when she decided she was bored.  She was tired of riding on her pet unicorn and she couldn’t find her diamond encrusted, solid gold iPhone to call up her friends so instead she paced around her room and tried on different leopard and zebra printed outfits.  She looked stunning in all of them and couldn’t decide which one she should wear downstairs to see what was in the refrigerator so she opted to just stay in her room and update her facebook profile.  Facebook was sort of her guilty pleasure and she gave a quick glance through her friends file and laughed at Eve’s pictures she had posted from her night out with the girls at Novu last night.  Eve was so funny!

Next she clicked on Ashleigh Simpson’s profile and Ashleigh had posted new pictures of her baby.  Gross!  Rihanna didn’t like babies at all and she defriended Ashleigh.  ”Boo yah, how you like me now!”  She yelled at her macbook.  She looked at her status page and updated it to FEELING FIESTY RIGHT NOW!!!!!!1 and looked over at her Relationship Status (In a Relationship, it read) and heaved a lusty sigh.  As if on cue she got an IM from her boyfriend, Matt Kemp.  Their exchange went like this:

UmbrellaGirl: Just chillin around da house.  Can’t find phone, LOL

UmbrellaGirl: Yup.  Ca’nt find it!!1

The car arrived later than expected and took her into the stadium in the middle of the second inning.  She made her way down towards the box seats and waived at Larry King as she walked past.  ”Hi Larry!”  She shouted.  She continued on through the crowd and gave the stink-eye to Jon Lovitz and hissed, “Deadbeat!” Rihanna had to kick some kids out of her seats who had moved down into her section; “Shoo!  Shoo!”  She said, flicking them away while she stuffed a mustard covered pretzel into her mouth.  Matt Kemp stepped out of the dugout and walked to the ondeck circle.  ”Go Matty!”  Rihanna screamed at the top of her lungs, spraying the couple in front of her with bits of pretzel.  Matt Kemp looked over his shoulder and gave a sheepish grin of surprise.  The last game she had been to was at the end of last year and had been a bit of a disaster.  She had thrown a fit when she wasn’t allowed to sing the National Anthem and another fit when she was denied Take Me Out to the Ball Game and it wasn’t until Jonathan Silverman gave her a stern talking to near the All You Can Eat Right Field Pavilion that she calmed down.

Two Peas in a Pod, BFFs!

Ned Colletti was not happy.  The Dodgers were in the middle of a terrible swoon, his prized possession (and the man who had completely and totally saved his job by being run out of Boston) was on the DL and he had a terrible case of moustache gout flaring up.  There was only one thing to do when he was not happy and that thing involved rollerblading.  A lot.  Ned turned the volume up on his stereo so he could still hear the faint strains of the new Black Eyed Peas track as he walked to the garage to retrieve his gear.  He hummed along with “Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Good Night” while he located his athletic bag, heavy with his equipment.  “This song should really win the Pulitzer for best song, the people that vote on these things are idiots if it doesn’t win,” he thought to himself.

Ned kept his rollerblades in top condition because they were his most prized possession.  He had bought them from a shop named Radd Skatez when he lived in San Francisco but it hadn’t been until he moved to LA that he really tricked them out with high performance bearings and totally bitchin’ stickers.  He’d felt he had earned the right to spoil himself after hunting down and signing some of the top talent in the league: Jason Schmidt, Andrew Jones, JD Drew…the list was impressive and Ned let out a chortled grunt of satisfaction at the amazing crop of free agents that he’d brought into the fold.  His skates were fire engine red and he oiled them down with tri-flo lubricant after each usage so he could achieve top speed as he rocketed along the Santa Monica boardwalk, weaving in and out between the awe-struck passersby.

After lacing up his blades and strapping on his elbow pads, knee pads, wrist guards, cut off gloves and locking his chin strap he gingerly walked through the living room towards the front door, trying his hardest not to scuff the hardwood floor in the landing.  He was tired of his wife yelling at him every time he left rubber marks on the new flooring they had gotten from Home Depot six months prior (in celebration of the Vicente Padilla contract extension).  The front steps posed no problem as he clutched deftly to the banister on the way down, taking the stairs one at a time on his way to the street below.  Out of his fannypack (which he wore on the side) he whipped his polarized Oakley Blades and placed them firmly over the bridge of his nose.  He cursed as he noticed his iPod Nano hadn’t been charged after its last use; if the batteries died during the Ke$ha record he was going to be pissed.

Fifteen minutes later Ned found himself screaming along the boardwalk, whizzing with incredible speed past street vendors, overweight tourists, and homeless bums.  Even though he was going too fast to get a good look at their faces he imagined they stared at him with reverence as his blurred form whistled past them.  His mustache curled into a grin as he lowered his head and pumped furiously along the smooth surface.  It was with great displeasure that he heard his Motorola Razr ring in his fannypack.  Slowing just a hair he expertly unzipped his pouch and turned a small pirouette as he jabbed the phone to his year and snarled, “Hello?”

“Hi Ned,” the voice on the other end of the phone said.  “This is Richard Azwater of KKPX Radio, are you ready for your phone interview with Sportz Nation?”

Now Ned was really upset.  He’d totally forgotten about his radio spot!  He made a mental note to fire his personal assistant but then remembered Frank McCourt had laid off his PA last year.  How was a man of his stature supposed to operate under these conditions?

Barely breaking stride amongst the throng of humanity Ned intoned back into the receiver in what he thought was a calm and cool voice, “Yes, of course I’m ready.  Let’s talk about Dodger baseball, now is a great time for me to be talking about the team, I’m just out getting a bit of exercise but I’m Ned Colletti I’m very capable of multitasking and doing many things at once.”

“Hey, that’s just great Ned…you’re live in 5-4-3-2-and 1.  Ned you’re on the line with Xavier Stone.”  Ned slowed another tick, still going faster than any mortal had the right to travel but at least this way he could put more effort into giving a great radio interview, something he was completely famous for.  “Hi Xavier, this is Ned Colletti of the Dodgers.  I’m the General Manager of the team and I sign all of the players to their deals.  I’m very capable of answering all of the questions that you are going to ask me, let’s begin the interview.”  Unfortunately the howling wind created by the skate’s incredible velocity made it impossible for Ned to hear any of the questions asked; rather than slow to a stop and ask for clarification he instead decided to just anticipate what question was asked and respond with what was on his mind and what was on his mind right now was that the Dodgers were not good and it was probably Matt Kemp’s fault.  It was Matt Kemp’s fault that all the rocket line drives served up by the crappy pitching staff and worked-to-the-bone relief corps weren’t getting caught.  Kemp was the center fielder after all, he had priority over the entire field!  If batted balls weren’t being converted into outs, it was probably (definitely) Kemp’s fault.  “Willie Mays would have caught most of those balls,” Ned found himself saying time and again as Kemp went crashing into the wall at full tilt only to see the ball nick off the tip of his glove.  “I’m positive Ken Griffey Junior circa 1995 would have gone clavicle first into the fence to make that play,” he lamented after Kemp couldn’t come up with a rocket off the bat of Ike Davis yesterday.

Ned hadn’t meant to get worked up but once he got started he found he couldn’t stop.  He ranted into the phone for thirty minutes before finally hanging up.  He never actually heard any of Xavier Stone’s questions but he figured it really didn’t matter anyway.  It was probable that Kemp was their best player and sometimes you had to light a fire under your best players by telling random radio programs that they basically sucked.  Ned flipped the Razr shut and jammed it back into his fanny pack, picking up speed as he approached the end of the boardwalk.  He thought about grabbing a corndog for the push back home but decided against it at the last minute.  Ned’s Nano was on shuffle and he grinned a grin of triumph as the opening strains of “Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Good Night” bleeped awesomely into his ear buds.  “My lucky day,” he said aloud to nobody in particular, ducking his head and increasing his pace.

I have no idea what this picture is but I like it

Hello sportsfriends.  Who you got in the Derby?  I know it’s impossible to ever root against Albert Pujols in any way shape or form but I’m going to go with Ryan Howard.  Howard’s numbers have been backsliding for the past three-plus years but the one thing he DOES still do is put balls over the fence.  In case you missed the rain slogged Futures Game last night you should know Saint Louis is looking a little damp so it’s possible we’ll see a few balls die on the warning track from guys like Inge or Mauer so Howard’s balls will only go 2nd deck instead of out of the stadium entirely.  For what it’s worth here’s me and GS’ $1 picks:
Snide: Pujols
BG: Howard/Pena
Snide: Mauer
The whole “this guy got snubbed from the All-Star Game” thing is a boring argument but nevertheless Hudson getting voted in over Chase Utley and Shane Victorino (and Jason Werth) getting last second nods over Matt Kemp is a disgrace.  Well, the Hudson thing is a disgrace, the Kemp oversight is just lousy management thanks to Charlie Manuel.  G Slim and I had a protracted back and forth the other day about a hypothetical Matt Kemp for Roy Halladay swap (GS being the biggest Halladay supporter outside of Toronto) which I was vehemently opposed to (a straight up swap is a different story but from reports Toronto would want at least 3 Major League ready players).  Here’s a quick breakdown of the pros/cons:

Pro Trade:
The Dodgers are going to the post season with the same staff that got bounced last year (the same top three at least) and Halladay puts them over the top.  Juan Pierre can fill in in CF and the Dodgers become favorites to win the NL.  Of the four teams currently leading the races and Wild Card (LA, SF, STL, PHI) the Dodgers have arguably the least depth at SP, possibly tied with Philly but the Giants and Cards are significantly ahead.  How terrifying is the prospect of facing Lincecum and Cain twice each in a seven game series?  Throw in one good outing from Randy Johnson and you’re in serious, serious trouble.

Anti Trade:
Pierre in Center and Manny in Left?  Who is going to catch these balls hit to the left of second?  You think Pierre is making this play?  If Halladay guarantees you the NL then sure, let’s get it done but weren’t the Dodgers favorites going into the NLCS last year too?  If you’re going to do anything how about a trade for an Erik Bedard type who offers ace upside but would come at a fraction of the cost of Halladay?  Kemp is a five-tool freak of an athlete who has gotten by on raw athleticism and is just scratching at the surface of his offensive potential.  Don’t get me wrong I’d love to see Roy in Dodger blue and if there’s a way they can turn Ethier, MacDonald and a prospect into Halladay I’m all for it but I don’t see the Jays jumping at that offer.  Say the Jays want to throw in Alex Rios (who I hate but whatever) and the Dodgers throw in James MacDonald though…now that’s something I can get on board with.

If I’m Ned Colletti I am burning up the phones to Toronto and everybody not named Manny, Matt, or Chad is on the table (yes, I’d trade Kershaw for two potential post seasons of Halladay) and then I’d pencil in Matt Kemp’s name in CF for the next 5 years.  And then I’d tell Joe Torre to move him up in the lineup for the love of Buddha.

It Was the Best of Tourneys it Was the Worst of Tourneys. But Mostly the Worst.

Hello friends, how have you all been?  It’s been a busy week for me so let’s get caught up with some fun old sports talk.

Did you know there is a sport called “tennis“?  Yes, it’s true and people play it!  The Golf Exec and G Slim entered the doubles draw of the Santa Barbara Open and finished with a respectable (not respectable) 0-2 mark.  In fairness the matches were closer than the final score indicates (which is not close at all) as they dropped both in a semi-heartbreaking third set tiebreak.  Whatever, the good news is both JB and GS were in Santa Barbara for a few days (with their assorted girlfriends), plus a MEXECUTIONER sighting, and that is good times for one and all.

I have been enjoying this website lately.  Want to know what direction home plate is oriented in all of the stadiums?  Want to know the high/low cost of tickets at each park?  Question answered.  Oh, and Bloc Party released a new single (of course they did.  Never have so few done so much for so many) which isn’t out yet but the video is over here.  Try to get the piano bit out of your head.

And how about Manny coming back mad?  In the first game back against the Pads Manny was nipped at first on a sick play by Elbreth Everth Cabrera (that guy is going to be good, defensively at least) and jawed with the first base ump for a while and then he got tossed yesterday after arguing a third-strike call that looked to be away.  I thought going on Roids was supposed to make you more upset but apparently coming off of them is no day in the park either.

What does a guy have to do to get some surf around here?  I don’t think there has been one single wave break in Santa Barbara for like three months.  I don’t even remember how to surf anymore.

And finally, a vote for Matt Kemp is a vote for my fantasy team(s).  And that goes for Chone Figgins too.