Mandatory Dress Code for the Greater Phoenix Area

Big boys weekend and with our google-doc based fantasy basketball draft taking up almost all of my free time I haven’t been able to blog it.  Until now.  That’s right, folks-it’s update time.  And sorry, I’m too much of an emotional wreck to write anything about the Dodgers…I just can’t do it.  I have opinions and I have thoughts, I just can’t put them down.  Oh, ok last thing: I don’t have DVR.  I have a VCR that I seriously don’t even know how to use anymore so if I don’t catch an event live I’m basically screwed but everybody that has DVR always tells me how amazing it is for sports, will change the way you live your life, etc etc etc.  So the two times I have ventured into the DVR-sporting world have both ended badly though, the first being Super Bowl XXXwhatever when we were watching the game on tape and thinking it was live and ended up missing the Patriot’s last second (and thankfully futile) drive against the Giants and then this last weekend where Game 3 of the Cards-Dodgers didn’t tape due to some mysto-error.  So whatever, that’s where I stand on DVR.

Now, back to last weekend-Greenie and I drove from his place in Irvine out to hellhole paradise on Earth Blythe to visit G Slim and take in the sight.  And yes, that was “sight” singular and not “sights”.  THESE PLACES ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. The highlight of Blythe was going on an extended “Deliverance” style float down the Colorado River which ended with me huddled around a cooler of beer in a rubber raft trying to fight off the shivers.  After a lovely (and that is not sarcastic, the place is good) dinner in Quartzsite at Grubstake (less scary at night it turns out) the three of us got our game faces on for the much anticipated Cardinals game the next day.  University of Phoenix Stadium is, just like everything else in Phoenix, impossibly new.  Since I forgot my camera I was forced to take some images with my phone which didn’t really do justice to the niceness of the environment or the number of food options available.  Our seats were fairly pure, unobstructed views and a nice little escape aisle right behind our seats so we could exit behind our aisle rather than have to fight through people to get to the concessions.

It's Nice

The game itself was solid…slow first half but as fantasy owners of both Larry Fitzgerald and Owen Daniels it was a points bonanza (sadly we were going against Andre Johnson who might be the best receiver in all of football, in fantasy at least).  I was all ready to complain about the parking situation there which essentially consists of parking (for free) at a high school about a mile and a half away and then being bussed to the Stadium Friday-Night-Lights-style but the total wait time round trip was maybe five minutes which is outstanding.  No traffic whatsoever either there or back (coming from the other direction might be a different story though) and a mere ten hours later I was comfortably back in my bed in Santa Barbara.  Obviously you can’t put a price on hanging out with two of your best friends for a weekend but if you were to do so you’d be looking at about $80 for the tickets, $50 in gas and then a few bucks for food as well (food is cheap in those parts).  Good times.

This weekend: Vegas for Silver’s bachelor party.  Any tales from the sports books will be passed along at will.  As I type this Ryan Howard has just gone deep to put Philly up 1-0.  Dammit all to hell.

**UPDATE**

Much rejoicing.

Injuries are the real X-factor, just ask Tom Brady (last year), Wes Welker (Sunday) and the Patriots.

Injuries are killing me, literally.

Donavan McNabb, Matt Cassel, LaDainian Tomlinson, all sidelined this week on my fantasy football squad, which begs the question: why did I give in and play this season?

But all those injuries are just the tip of the neck-pain iceberg this week, considering I was rear ended at a stoplight on the way to work Thursday: hit so hard it rammed my sick-ass 1997 Nissan Sentra into the back of the 2009 Mustang in front of me.

Total damage to my car? $2,500.

How much my car is worth? Probably not $2,500.

Total damage to the car who hit me? Well, a $5 license plate frame broke, but that was about it.

Total damage to the car in front of me? Don’t even want to know.

Jacked up back/neck and a doctor who doesn’t accept your auto insurance claim? Priceless.

Yep, it’s been one of those weeks.

But at least I get to milk this little whiplash thing for the weekend, loungin’ around the house in the lazyboy, enjoying some college football until: bam! the Washington Huskies blindside me again with a 16-13 win over third-ranked USC.

Not that I should’ve been surprised an injury affected the outcome of that one, too.

USC starting quarterback Matt Barkley, who a week earlier orchestrated the game-winning drive against Ohio State and had me claiming USC would be in the BCS Championship Game, missed the game with a shoulder injury – which made his throwing motion look hideous during warm-ups by the way. So this is serious business for the Trojans, who must now run the table if they have any shot of leaping past Florida or Texas to get back in that title picture.

Barkley’s replacement, Aaron Corp, was almost as hideous as Barkley’s jacked up throwing motion Saturday, going 13 of 22 for 110 yards, 0 TDs and 1 INT. Brutal.

It was the worst passing performance in the Pete Carroll era as the Trojans also managed to get skunked on each and every one of their 10 third-down conversion attempts. Nice. 0-for! The Trojans!

Injuries are the real X-Factor in sports. And if you don’t believe that, watch what happens to Philly and San Diego this weekend without their big guns. And keep a close eye on my Florida Gators while you’re at it. Injuries to LB Brandon Spikes, not to mention concerns over a Swine Flue outbreak, have the Gators in “panic” mode.

Yep, there goes my BCS prediction, not to mention my insurance premium, thanks to injuries.

Ugh, my head hurts. Someone get me some HGH.

"Yeah the Monday night crowd can get a little rowdy but Thursday night is usually pretty tame."

Hank: Are you ready?

BG: What’s that Hank?

Hank: I said ARE YOU READY?

BG: Ready for what Hank?

Hank: Blah blah blah blah blah gonna get it kick started blah blah blah blah blah!

So yes, friends–it’s that time again.  That time of the year when we all get together and cheer on our favorites while drinking PBR and eatin’ wings.  But enough about the US Open, let’s talk about THE NATIONAL FOOTBALL LEAGUE for a moment.  Wait, actually back to the Open for a moment–where do these Russian girls come from?  Like every other man who tells everybody he is 5’7″ when really the truth is somewhere south of there, I dream of bedding a six-foot woman so my children have a chance of having a normal life.  The closest I ever got was with TiAnn Asquena (sorry if your name is spelling wrong Ti) who was 5’10″ and I met her at a party on DP I think at Brian Six’ house?  Does that sound right?  It sounds right to me.  Anyway, it was weird.  I mean 5’10″ is pretty tall.  When we would walk around downtown I would walk on the sidewalk and I would make her walk in the gutter so at least we were at eye level then.  She was also a dancer and of course her Dance Team (are they called Teams?  Are they Troupes?  I really don’t know) step your game up performed at half-time at some random UCSB Basketball game.  Needless to say, I don’t date dancers.  Not because I think I am too good or not good enough for them but it’s just one of those rules I live by.  I’ve seen The Last Dance (I think) I know that there is some Dance Code where Dancers can only date other Dancers and I am many things but Tiny Dancer is not one of them.  So that didn’t work out.  Anyway, teenage Russians that all look like they were berthed from the same test tube…yeah, I can get on board with that.

But I digress.  I was writing about football because today, of course, is Monday and what I thought was the 14th and final week of Preseason Football Action (it’s faaaantastic) so I logged onto my compuserve account through my 1200 baud modem to see which two giant helmets would come flying towards each other and then explode.  But what the heck?    Could my Gateway computer be lying to me?  No game tonight?  The season starts on (20% less rowdy) Thursday?  I had to do a mental checklist and ask myself, am I really ready for some football?  Let’s run through the playbook:

Beer in fridge? One bud light, left here four weeks ago by either Jeff Greenfield or Scott Linklater so yes, that is a check.

Potato chips ready? Automatic check mark, don’t even ask ridiculous questions.

Two fantasy teams drafted? No.  I only have one but I have the next two days off and I am sure I will be able to take some Yahoo Public League down to freaking Chinatown with a quick and painless live draft.

Random Favorite Team to Root For This Year: As the semi-proud owner of Marques Colston and Pierre Thomas, I’m just one good excuse away from buying a New Orleans Saints hat.  Check.

So four-for-four on the check marks = I am 100% ready for the start of the season Mr. Williams Jr.  I’ll work on getting some more beers because just that one in there is sad.  If it helps my cause at all I do have two bottles of champagne in there.  Why?  No clue.

Fantasy Football: Burns So Good.

With a 2-year-old taking up most of my time on the weekends, and another one on the way, I’m seriously considering retiring from fantasy football this year.

Then again, I could just pull a Brett “Flip-Flop” Favre and find myself starring in one of the three fantasy drafts my friends are talking me into this weekend.

But, after struggling to find a running game, or a passing game for that matter, the past couple of years, I don’t know if I have Favre’s kinda heart this year.

Add in all that Favre, Michael Vick and Plaxico Burress drama, and I’m actually starting to get sick of football already, which is blasphemous I know.

In fact, the only thing that usually gets me through an entire season of fantasy is bagging on my players on this blog (BG does this very well, too), and changing my team name at least once a week to reflect how lame NFLers can be.

For example, in 2005 I named my team the Whizzinator Warriors after Minnesota Vikings RB Onterrio Smith got busted at the airport with the infamous “Whizzinator” – a fake penis contraption that was designed to help dopers pass drug tests but backfires and puts your dumb ass in the news and on waivers more often than not.

So this year, I’m definitely not playing unless I come up with a good name. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far. Vote on your favorite in the poll at right, and I’ll pick that name if I decide to play:

• Whizzinator Warriors 5.0 – A throwback in honor of the Smith, actor Tom Sizemore, bodybuilder George Spellwin and American Gladiator Jonathan Byrne, all of whom have been busted with the Whiz.
• Favre from Good – Speaking of the Vikings, people can’t seriously be considering Favre as a starting fantasy quarterback this season, can they? My first thought was Favre’s Flip-Flops, then I saw everyone on the Web already lists that one. 40-year-old Viking is pretty good, too.
• Philly Beagles – Yeah, I’m sure the Vick angle will get beat to death (no pun intended, again) this year, too. But I’m still pissed Michael Vick went to my Philadelphia Eagles, and is just waiting for my boy Donovan McNabb to go down. Freaking brutal. I hope Donavan has an MVP year and never once leaves the field: unless it’s on his team’s shoulders after the Super Bowl. Has anyone suggested the ConVicks yet?
• Bust a Cap in dat: Kneecap? – I know, Burress shot himself in the thigh, but it’s not like anyone’s going to remember exactly where he got shot the next time we see him on the field. How do you shoot yourself in the leg? And go to jail for two years for doing it? Didn’t Plax learn anything from Cheddar Bob in 8 Mile. Maybe that should be my team’s name: Cheddar Burress. If only he played in Green Bay. Cheese Head Burress has a nice ring to it … but nobody but me and Slim Shady would get it.
• T.O.B.A.S.S.C.O. (Terrell Owens Be an ASS Co.) – As a Philly fan, this one has a special place in my heart (some might call it heartburn), and it’s my early favorite.
• Team CrabFree! – Man, the 49ers are going to suck this year, again.: And I’m starting to feel really bad about getting our boy Beau C 49ers’ home opener tickets as a wedding gift, but what are you going to do?: When they sign Crabtree, I guess you could always change the name to We Got Crabs!
• Droppin’ Deuce – Yeah, these are getting cruder by the second. But that’s fantasy football for you. I have to admit, I’m still surprised Deuce McAllister is still looking for a home.

Don’t like any of these? Offer up your suggestions in the comments section, and I’ll consider ‘em. In fact, if they’re original, I use it, and if I win my league, I’ll give you a portion of the winnings.

UPDATE 8/23: So I decided to go with Team T.O.B.A.S.S.C.O — Terrell Owens Be an Ass, Same Said for Chad Ochocinco. Word.

It may be hard for some to believe, but there are certain rules to this profession we call sports writing. Avoid cliches like the plague. Stay away from excessive adverbs and those annoying, maddening and often bothersome adjectives.

Steer clear of starting sentences with and or but.

And fragments.

I’ve broken nearly every rule in the handbook in my day, including all of the above in just five sentences.

But there is one sports writing rule I’ve never broken and never will: Comparing the games people play to war.

Until grenades begin exploding on the 50-yard line or missiles begin whizzing by the mound, warfare should never be used as a metaphor for a sporting event.

To do so would be a disgrace to anyone who’s ever enlisted, including those athletes who have bravely done so.

Jocks-turned-soldiers like Kevin Tillman , a former Cal Poly baseball star who just recently returned stateside from Operation Iraqi Freedom with his brother Pat . The two will be honored at next week’s ESPN ESPY Awards.

Kevin, an all-conference second baseman for the Mustangs in 2001, gave up a minor league career in the Cleveland Indians organization to enlist in the Army in the wake of the World Trade Center disaster.

It was the third time he had turned down a chance to play professional baseball. He had been drafted by the Houston Astros out of high school and the Anaheim Angels while at Arizona State in 1999, but insisted on earning his college degree.

“Kevin Tillman is one of the most unique

individuals I’ve ever met in my life,” said Kansas baseball coach Ritch Price, who coached Tillman at Cal Poly. “He was a young guy who wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with his life, but he wanted to make a difference out there. I’ve never seen anything like what he’s done in my life. He’s just an amazing story.”

Pat Tillman made their story draw national attention when he walked away from a three-year, $3.6 million contract with the Arizona Cardinals to enlist with his younger brother.

Both opted for a uniform that, to them, really meant something, committing to three-year military terms and becoming part of the U.S. Army Rangers team, considered by many to be among the most elite combat soldiers in the world.

Both went on to serve in the Middle East and witnessed the war as we didn’t know it.

While the Tillman brothers saw the reality of war first hand, we often saw a war that was sanitized and embellished with a veneer of glory and patriotism.

But neither Kevin nor Pat will utter a word about what they saw in Iraq and want no part of the spotlight ESPN and the media have tried to thrust upon them.

Kevin is “a real humble kid,” said Dick Morrow, an administrative assistant to the Cal Poly baseball team who has followed the team since he played third base for the Mustangs during the 1950s. “I just can’t say enough about Till. It’s unusual for someone to give up a promising pro contract like he did, to fight for his country. And to do it in the special forces like he did is the hardest way to do it, but that’s the only way Till would have want it.”

Since enlisting in the Army, the brothers have refused all media interviews, a policy they still enforce.

They’ve even declined to attend ESPN’s 2003 ESPY Awards ceremony where they will be awarded the Arthur Ashe Courage Award, which is presented annually to individuals whose contributions transcend sports.

The brothers will remain stationed near Tacoma, Wash., where they will soon participate in a grueling, three-month-long elite Ranger training regimen.

“To tell you the truth, the boys are not too pleased about the ESPY thing,” father Patrick Tillman said in a rare interview with the Arizona Republic. “But I am. I’m very happy about it. I’m proud.”

Patrick Tillman said the award will be accepted by Richard Tillman , Kevin and Pat ‘s younger brother, Wednesday during the live ESPY Awards telecast.

Kevin and Pat ‘s parents as well as other family members are expected to be on hand for the presentation.

“The Tillman brothers’ story is remarkably inspiring,” senior vice president for ESPN Original Entertainment Ron Semiao said in a statement. “They turned their backs on stardom and potential fortune, dedicated themselves to a larger cause and never once sought glory or recognition. Pat and Kevin’s approach of leading by example is reminiscent of the way Arthur Ashe lived his life and like Arthur, the Tillmans’ decisions have had a profound impact.”

A tribute piece on the Tillman brothers is expected to accompany the presentation.

ESPN officials said the piece will include comments from the family and others – marking one of the few times that family and friends have spoken publicly about Pat and Kevin’s situation.

But don’t expect to hear any war stories.

Patrick Tillman , an attorney in Alameda, refuses to elaborate about what his sons saw overseas, other than to say, “That’s something they won’t talk about very much.”

– Brian Milne covered college sports for The Tribune in San Luis Obispo, Calif. He is now a WCBias.com representative, not that there’s anything wrong with McClatchy’s business practices or the newspaper industry for that matter.