Ozzie Guillen is at it again. By now, everybody who follows sports has heard that he referred to Jay Mariotti with the same derogatory epithet that Jeff Spicoli used to describe the surfing prowess of his rivals, Mark "Cut Back" Davis and Bob "Jungle Death" Gerrard in the dream sequence from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. He was wrong to do so, and he apologized.

One can debate the merits of his apology, and its sincerity all day. At least you can. I have to be somewhere in an hour and a half. The real problem with living in an ostensibly free country is that you have to allow people the right to be ignorant. If Ozzie wants to shoot off his mouth and deal with the consequences in the form of a fine or sensitivity training, that's his right. He shouldn't lose his job over something like this. He is paid to win games. He is not paid to be a role model.

My problem with this situation is the hypocrisy in attacking Ozzie for being ignorant in this instance. Jay's own reaction is well worth reading, if only to see him hide behind his status as a journalist. He can claim he is merely staying above the fray, not descending to Ozzie's level. It is, of course, an admirable sentiment. You can check Skip Bayless to see a justification for avoiding locker room confrontations which dances nicely around the issue of whether or not the columnist who does so lacks intestinal fortitude.

Or it would be if it weren't a convenient cop-out. Let's not forget that Mariotti once threatened Hawk Harrelson and then backed off when answered in kind. It's hard to get tougher than a guy changing his tune to "I'll sue you" in an altercation. Mariotti's a bully and a coward, and shame on you Ozzie for expressing it with the regrettable term you used.

But back to Jay's response...

He opens with this gem worthy of Hemingway, provided of course that Hemingway had been lobotomized and a bad writer to boot: "Try as I do, it's hard to view sports as some sort of guiding light for humankind." This isn't 1947 any more, Jay. Sports is entertainment, now. Only this, and nothing more. Of course, I am running a grave risk with this post, since Jay staked the claim to the moral high ground. But the post must go on.

This particular passage, the link that connects what I've said to the central theme of tonight's stream of consciousness, is particularly noteworthy. Mariotti claimed that after an incident where Ozzie made an insensitive comment toward a homosexual that he criticized Ozzie for it. Not only that, but Sir Jay was "the only writer in Chicago who did, which is often how it works in a town softer and more politically driven by the sports franchises than a genuinely tough, independent sports media town such as Boston."

So, to quote Hans from Die Hard (for only the second time in the short history of this site): "I could discuss industrialization and men's fashion all day, but work must intrude." I leave aside the Ozzie vs. Jay mess and move on to the "genuinely tough, independent sports media town" which Mariotti apparently loves so well.

Boston has a sizeable gay community. Massachusetts has taken the lead on gay marriage rights. I am not interested in politics, at this point. I reserve the right to keep my opinion on these matters my own. But I must say this. A baseball manager calls a reporter a fag in Chicago and it's national news. He's being treated like Homer Stokes from O Brother Where Art Thou after he revealed that he was a Ku Kluxer. Ozzie certainly deserves punishment, whether or not it should be as severe as Mariotti wants is another question.

What is more important is the institutionalized homophobia of Red Sox Nation. Ozzie calls Mariotti a fag, and everybody has a problem with it. Thousands of fans in Boston wear "Jeter Swallows" t-shirts, and chant Gay-Rod at the Yankee third baseman, and no one says anything about it. Where is the outrage?

In case I missed the reaction in the media, I googled "Gay-Rod" and "Jeter Swallows." The closest I could come to finding anything like a repudiation of this phenomenon is this site. To its credit, Harvard stopped students from selling the shirts when gay student groups complained. A regrettable level of immaturity and ignorance pervades a more representative sample of the sites, like this tool's MySpace profile.

I checked a few other sites too. I went to the Yankee Hater homepage (because of a strong objection to the methodology of their top 10 Yankee haters of all time, I will never link to that site). They didn't seem to have much to say about the homophobia in the stands at Fenway Park. I came across this site which is full of pleasant little snippets calling various Yankees homosexuals. Yeah, the Red Sox were on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy last year, but does that make the Gay-Rod phenomenon go away?

As far as the Red Sox are concerned, they turn a blind eye to this particular aspect of Red Sox Nation's behavior. In Fenway Park A-Z, there is a section on ejection from the park for what the team deems inappropriate actions. Although it states:

Fans are also reminded that anyone observed with offensive articles will be promptly ejected from the park. The Club is committed to maintaining a high level of morality and denounces all forms of misconduct. The Red Sox will continue to make every effort to ensure socially acceptable behavior in order to allow fans to enjoy the game in comfort,

I have yet to hear of anyone ejected from the stadium for Jeter Swallows shirts or Gay-Rod cheers or any other homophobic act.

I managed to unearth this particular gem, by a Boston transplant writing for an Orlando paper. In his way of thinking, the same spirit that motivated the Sons of Liberty to throw tea into Boston Harbor inspires Red Sox fans to wear the infamous shirts and jeer at A-Rod. It reminded me of a professor I had when I was in college. He was fond of saying that in 1773, men disguised as Indians threw tea into a harbor to protest a three cent tax. Now we hand over one third of our pay to the government without thinking twice. Perhaps I would have reacted more favorably to the article if I shared the author's interest in the Red Sox, or the title didn't remind me of Ralph Wiggum's reaction to the card Lisa gave him at the end of the President's Day Pageant.

I looked pretty far and wide on google for any kind of criticism of this sordid mess of childish behavior. I even looked up psychological projection on Wikipedia, in case I could think of a decent joke to lighten the tone of this post. I haven't been able to come up with anything. I don't know why I am the only person that has noticed this behavior and thinks it's a problem.

I'm not gay. As a guy going to a Catholic school, I was as homophobic as the majority of my classmates. I've called people a fag in the same way Ozzie Guillen called out Jay Mariotti. It's just one item in the long list of things I've done and regret as I look back on it. The road to enlightenment has been difficult for me, like it is for most people. Like driving down Dorchester Ave. these days. My problem is with hypocrisy (except, as I've said, my own).

There is no way you can convince me that Ozzie Guillen can be justly punished for his stupid, insensitive, childish comments while sports fans, sports writers and MLB officials turn a blind eye to the homophobia in Red Sox Nation. I agree that Guillen's comment warrants a suspension and sensitivity training, but I don't think MLB can do anything to him without looking foolish (of course, the Selig administration has no problem looking ridiculous). You can't say that one man's homophobic comments are wrong, but the homophobic behavior in a whole group of fans is all in good fun.

While I am two days late to the party, I really meant to post this after Miami won. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance because I had to get up early in the morning to TCB (not that I own any TCB memorabilia, but Elvis' motto should be good enough for anyone). Then I started watching Firewall last night, and just didn't feel like posting last night. But it's official now, the Heat are the champions of the NBA.

Antoine Walker has a championship ring, and Danny Ainge is locked up in a secure location planning to draft the player that will cost the most money, take the longest to develop and compete for playing time at the 2 or the 3, like 9 other players on the current roster. There is always the possibility that Kevin Pittsnogle could be available. What a compliment he'd make to Raef LaFrentz (he's far too awful to get a link from this site). They'd have the tallest, softest front line that the NBA has seen in many a year. Read the profile in the link above and see if this is a fair synopsis: "He'd be a pretty good pro player, if he didn't suck." BTW, that site with his profile has Pittsnogle going to Charlotte at #50. Ainge won't let that happen.

Something occurred that was slightly more important than Antoine earning a measure of redemption (yes, his shooting percentage was everything the CHB et al. could have hoped for, but he played defense very well and he did pull 11 boards in game 6). The hexagonal conspiracy against Mark Cuban claimed another victory, although it was by the slimmest of margins. Mark Cuban served notice that he was through taking crap from David Stern's minions by staring the commissioner down after Game 5. Stern, however, seems not to have received the memo that Mark Cuban was not a man to be trifled with lightly. Game 6 went off according to plan, Miami won. Dallas lost. Wait till next year? Justice delayed is justice denied.

Every thinking person in America knows that Dallas should have won the series. Not only that, but they should have accomplished that feat in five games. No less a light than Ric Bucher said so on Sportscenter at the start of the series. Alas, he didn't say it in print on the ESPN site, so you have to take my word for it. And we all know that Ric is never wrong. Just ask him, and he'll tell you so.

For his part Mark Cuban denied that he stared the commissioner down, and denied that he ever said the series against Miami was rigged. You really have to read the blog to get a sense of the level of oppression endured by the Benefactor on the course of a given day. Tears sprang to my eyes when I read his impassioned plea to the editors/publishers/fact checkers at the Miami Herald to take the time to find out whether or not he owned a boat. It is a pleasant surprise to see Mark Cuban react to the events of these playoffs with everything but magnanimity. It makes it so much easier to criticize him.

blogMaverick is a treasure-trove for someone like me, who cannot stand its author. Aside from the fact that he's whiny and has a morbid aversion to the apostrophe, there is so much to criticize. This particularly entry, on the merits of cursing, Cuban comes off like a 12 year old talking trash to an authority figure to make his friends think he's hard. The Benefactor says he has no patience with people who waste his time. I wonder what else he had to do other than answer a simple question. A reporter asked him if the loss in question was the worst loss ever. Not the most intelligent of queries, I concede, but it was a chance for Cuban to drop an F bomb.

The Benefactor announced that he was commencing a crusade against corporate crime on HDNet in a recent post. It was unclear from his language whether his sale of broadcast.com to Yahoo! will be among the topics covered. According to his bio on NBA.com, broadcast.com is the "leading provider of multimedia and streaming on the Internet." Wikipedia does not present such a rosy picture. Here is an interesting case study of the build-up to the Yahoo! acquisition of broadcast.com. This guy seems to share my opinion of Cuban's business acumen, although it would be nice if he knew Jerry Jones owned the Cowboys and not Jerry Johnson.

The level of discourse present in the comments section of blogMaverick is pathetic. So pathetic in fact the author has discontinued them. But if you look on some of the older entries I linked up above. It seems that there is an infinite number of Dallas/Cuban fans willing to massage his ego and drink his Kool Aid. But based on the fact that they've met their demise, I must not have been the only person that had a problem with them. Perhaps Mark Cuban has at long last learned that the postings of a legion of sycophants in Dallas aren't enough to get a billionaire into a trendy New York City night club.

While I don't much care for the journalistic integrity of the New York Post, every now and then there's a gem like this in there. Read it to unearth tidbits like Mark Cuban seemingly making reference to his endowment (or lack thereof). Gossip must be taken with a grain of salt, and hearsay and conjecture aren't admissible in a court of law. Of course, this blog isn't a court of law. To me, the story has the ring of truth because I won't give the Benefactor the benefit of the doubt and because nothing can make Mark Cuban look more ridiculous than his own actions. All the money in the world, but not much in the way of class.

Mark Cuban was quick to declare that Bill Simmons is his new hero (based on the way his superstars played in crunch time against the Heat, he needed one) . Of course supporting almost everything Mark Cuban says is the surest path to wisdom. The Sports Guy's claim to that pinnacle rests on this plaintive lament about the future of the NBA. Of course, his statement that a Dallas victory might be better for the NBA because Miami riding Wade's success would inspire imperfect imitators (Vince Carter, Paul Pierce, Gilbert Arenas, et al.).

These would-be Wades will drive into the teeth of the defense time and time again at crunch time with their teammates watching them in Simmons' nightmare scenario. Dallas, in his view, is a much better role model because their offense is more diverse than that. So many players can shoot and score they never become a one man team. Of course, one could easily posit the argument that no one on the Mavs is man enough to take over a game when it really matters which is why their offense didn't stagnate at the end of the game vs. Miami. It disappeared entirely.

Yet one more reason to go after Mark Cuban is that he inspired Bob Ryan to write this column, which very nearly made me regret inducting him into the Max Mercy Hall of Fame. This particular tidbit just might be the second best evaluation of the Benefactor's behavior:

Each time a call is made against the Mavericks, [Cuban] stared intently at the big screen to see the replay. Invariably, he reacted to what he had seen by a) making a face, b) shaking his head vigorously, c) making a face while shaking his head vigorously, or d) spinning wildly while making a face and shaking his head vigorously.

I don't think that captured the ridiculously childish behavior of the Mavs owner as well as the quote I used from "As I Please 6," where George Orwell described someone as "looking more like a monkey on a stick than you would think possible for anyone who is not doing it on purpose." That is Mark Cuban in a nutshell.

I think by now I've spent enough time on the Benefactor, so I will move on to the series in general after a parting shot. This link will take you to an article by Jason Whitlock where he argues that the NBA ought to suspend Mark Cuban for a period of time to get him to tone down his criticism of officials. I think the writer overstates his case, but the parallel between Artest and Cuban is not entirely unreasonable. I think (perhaps hope might be a better word) that an owner cannot incite a riot. But the idea of banning the Benefactor from the arenas until he can behave like an adult is intriguing. Also, since I pride myself on giving the devil his due, I must applaud Cuban for his charity work on behalf of families who have lost loved ones in the ongoing unpleasantness overseas.

I noticed that the Maverick PA system played the Eye of the Tiger down the stretch in a timeout. Would that it had worked out to inspire the team. While Dwyane Wade came up big, the Dallas stars came up small (no pun was intended on the performance of the Dallas Stars hockey team who also came up small this postseason). I saw a woman in the crowd wearing a Nowitzness shirt. I hope the round-trip tickets to St. Louis, KC, San Antonio or Houston (courtesy of the Benefactor and American Airlines from Fan Appreciation Night) are enough to console the fans of the Mavs who found themselves Nowitzless in the 4th quarter.

I will not jump on the Wade bandwagon. He is a great player who was unbelievably clutch in this series, but I am not a bandwagon jumper. Never have been, never will be. I will dwell some more on the Mavs. Dirk did have 29 points in Game 6, but he went 0 for from the field in the 4th quarter and only had 2 points. He helped cause a turn over late in the 4th when he threw a relatively difficult pass to Erik "Hands of Stone" Dampier rather than take a shot himself. And when the Mavs were down 3, it was Jason Terry who took the last shot, not Dirk.

I understand that Miami took great pains to keep the ball out of Dirk's hands as much as possible. That said, great players are expected to find a way to lead their teammates to the promised land. Look at the lyric sheet for Springsteen's Promised Land, and tell me whether Dirk qualifies as a boy or a man. Miami got big contributions from role players. Haslem shot very well, Antoine got some big rebounds. Without Marquis Daniels, who knows if Dallas could have kept it close.

In the immortal words of Jim Morrison: "when the music's over, turn out the light." As the lights go out on the Mavericks, they and their can take consolation from the fact that it took all the Commish's horses and all the Commish's men to get Miami the title. That should tide them over, provided that they don't dwell on the infinite improbability that they are the only victims of human error in officiating.

Ladies and gentlemen, tonight isn't a good night for us here in Cincinnati Kid land. It's Friday night, and I'm updating my blog. I am a giant loser, apparently. Of course, I could have done something interesting. I elected to take it easy, since I overindulged myself last night.

Since it's Friday and I don't have anything better to do, it's time to revisit the Max Mercy Hall of Fame. Tonight, we have a double induction. The Globe's own Dan Shaughnessy and all the way from Chicago, the pride of the Sun Times... Jay Mariotti.

What can I say about Dan Shaughnessy that hasn't already been said by the legion of people who hate him. This site also hosts a blog that tracks the CHB's career and highlights some of his "finer points" as a journalist. I don't know anybody who likes him as a writer. And yet he's paid to write. There is no justice in this world.

A lot of people have noticed that the CHB hasn't writing about the Sox much, until the recent departure of Chris Snow. Most people seem to have enjoyed that respite. The optimists I talked to about this situation had a variety of opinions. Some people thought that the years of antagonism and backstabbing had finally caught up with him and shut him out of the clubhouse. A few even thought that the NY Times might have put pressure on the CHB as an employee of their subsidiary to stop attacking the team in which the Paper of Record owns a 17% stake.

I think the CHB confined his "talents" to puff pieces because he was otherwise occupied. I think Dan Shaughnessy has been leading a double life. Not only is he employed by the Boston Globe to strip mine the simple joy a fan should feel watching a grown man play a child's game, but he is also a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey defending the space-time continuum from the Daleks. That's right. Dan Shaughnessy, the hero whom you so callously call the CHB is the real identity of Dr. Who.

(Sorry about the formatting, still learning this stuff)

Yeah, it's a bit of a stretch, and I probably vaulted myself into the extreme upper echelon of losers throughout the world with the Dr. Who reference. It is, however, something that doesn't seem to have been done before when someone criticized the CHB. In all likelihood I'm wrong, but I tried. I googled it, and everything. I also tried Yahoo! and came up with nothing. Of course, somewhere there is a record of hits on Dr. Who websites that increased by one on a Friday night. Soon the nerds will emerge from their nerderies to drag me off to join them. All I ask is that you who read this tell the world my story. And try to make me look just a bit cooler than I have managed thus far.

But now he's back, with a vengeance.

I could spend hours combing through his columns to find each and every flaw, but I am colossally lazy and I like to pretend I have a life (even though I already fessed up to staying in and searching for Dr. Who tonight). But this article from this morning's Globe has more than enough of the quirks that have made Dan Shaughnessy a favorite among masochists everywhere.

I hope you got a chance to read it, or to click on the link above. Among the many words/phrases which should be grounds for capital punishment, boffo has to be near the top of the list. If you use a word like boffo, you are a douche. The CHB referred to the pitchers' duel between Schilling and Santana as a boffo pitching match-up. Boffo. In the 21st century. I imagine he wrote that piece, he made his way down to the soda fountain to have a malt with Potsie.

The CHB called the Sox the "Henrymen." With any luck, that odious little nickname won't stick. He also referred to the team's principal owner as "Papa Jack." He also took yet another swipe at Manny Ramirez, reminding us that Manny went hitless as the team was swept by the Twins. "0 for Minnesota" was the CHB's blithe epigram to describe the cleanup hitter's failure to, of all things, clean up. Maybe it's ego on my part, but I think mine was the cleverer split infinitive and all.

There was also the recent gem of a column specifically about the pitcher's duel mentioned above. Aside from the constant references to the 16 inning game between Spahn and Marichal as though he'd been there and the Coffee Talk allusion, the biggest problem with this particular "effort" is the mention of the election in 2004. According to the CHB we must: "never forget that [Curt Schilling] delivered Ohio for Geroge (sic) W. Bush in 2004." The typo was there on Boston.com. Check it out if you don't believe me.

I know Schilling appeared at a rally for the president the night before the votes were cast. I'm sure that the president didn't lose to many votes because Schilling appeared on his behalf. In fact, I'd concede that the appearance may have garnered him a few votes. However, the final margin in Ohio was over 100,000 votes. As a pitcher for a team beat out the Indians for the AL Wild Card, it seems unlikely that Schill brought 50,000+ votes to Bush. It seems like nothing more than a mean-spirited attempt to create animosity toward Schilling among Red Sox fans. For all their failings (and they have many), Red Sox fans seem to recognize that the politics of the individual players have little or nothing to do with their effectiveness of the field. The CHB needs to start acting like a man, or stop writing. Better the latter, but I have learned to live with disappointment.

Jay Mariotti and the CHB go into the Max Mercy Hall of Fame together because they're a lot alike. Both seem to have proprietary rights to the moral high ground in their respective sports markets. Both have personalities which make Marvin the Paranoid Android from The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy seem like a top of the line sentient being to roll with at cocktail parties. Both have bizarre histories of feuds with the local sports teams (Mariotti vs. the White Sox/Hawk Harrelson, The CHB vs. Theo, Carl Everett and Manny). And nobody I know seems to like either of them (I must admit that I only know a few Chicago fans, but they all hate Mariotti).

For a reasonably accurate sample of Mariotti's writing, you can read this column about the World Cup. This particular sentence (I use that word for lack of a better term) seems like a good place to start: "What the rest of the world calls football, we call soccer, simply because we already have our football and it reflects America's desired macho profile of bleeding, crippling physicality." That is a run-on (and yes, I am aware of the hypocrisy in criticizing another writer when my blog cries out for competent editing). Not only that, but it is preachy, whiny, cliched and devoid of insight.

One run-on is insufficient. The next sentence takes his inelegance a step further: "Our soccer is a fringe sport of moms, kids and diehards, contrary to their football, a life-and-death psychosis that can breed hooliganism, suicide and occasional murder if a player heads a ball into his own net." Another sentence: "To this day, our biggest and best kid athletes play football and kids too small generally play soccer, which could be a metaphor for American life" begs the question who edits his columns and why isn't he/she doing his/her job? Last time I checked, kid isn't an adjective. I'm reasonably sure that nouns aren't supposed to modify other nouns, but then again it's been a while since I last perused the MLA book.

Read the rest of the column at your own risk. Jay Mariotti has achieved the status that every bad college sports writer yearns for in the wee hours of the morning. He's on Around the Horn. His whiny, nasal voice can shout down his fellow disputants. The lions of Chicago sports tremble in their dens at his approach. He is free to pander, to drown readers in strident hyperbole, to wallow in his self-satisfaction like a pig in a sty and to bully his inferiors with impunity. In short, Jay Mariotti is Max Mercy, without the redeeming quality of being a character in a work of fiction.

It is a curious dysfunction in the psyche of a sports fan that makes them want to be set on edge by the people who cover their teams. The CHB and Mariotti command large salaries to browbeat and annoy readers. They're on TV and radio, they have a celebrity status that far exceeds their talents as writers. Then again, we've come a long way since Grantland Rice and Ring Lardner.

Grantland Rice gave us the image of the Four Horsemen of Notre Dame. He drew his imagery from the Bible. The CHB gave us the Curse of the Bambino. His inspiration...New York Times writer George Vescey. Ring Lardner covered the Black Sox. Dan Shaughnessy brought us Jurassic Carl and Theo-gate '05. Yet again, I find myself glad not to be a Sox fan.

P.S. I am not a Dr. Who fan. I got all that stuff from google. I do remember it, as I'm sure is the case with a lot of people who are old enough to remember the dark days before cable came to town. In the Stone Age, you were lucky to get 2, 4, 5, 7, 25, 38 and 56. Finding something good on TV was, at times, almost a miracle. I also remember when V66 showed music videos and it was such a novelty that normal people would sit and watch something like "Careless Whisper" by WHAM and like it. I had a huge crush on the lead singer from 'Til Tuesday because of the video for "Voices Carry." The difference between myself and you is that I admit this stuff. I have nothing to hide, but my true identity.

About an hour ago, it looked like this was going to be a very melancholy post this evening. I could take a Red Sox win in extra innings, and maybe I could take Dallas beating Miami big. I wasn't sure that I could take both on the same day.

And then, things went far better than I could plan. Julian Tavarez melted down like only he can. Without any Devil Rays in the immediate vicinity for him to punch without provocation, Tavarez let up a walk-off grand slam in the bottom of the twelfth. Just like that, it went from a 1 run lead, two outs away from a series opening win to a 5-2 morale crushing defeat. Good times.

I was much more pleased with the end of the Miami game. I am sure blogMaverick will contain a laundry list of reasons why the Mavericks should still be shooting free throws right now. Unfortunately, no one else has the rose colored contacts Mark Cuban wears to each game. The horribly cruel and capricious system of officiating has conspired to delay the just reward for Cuban's investment again.

What is even better is that the law of averages struck again. When you make 90% of your free throws, you miss 10% of the time. Too bad for Dirk that his miss had to come when his team trailed by 1 with 3.4 seconds to play. Then he went down and fould Dwyane Wade a bit harder than the situation probably required. Of course Wade committed at least 3 separate lane violations and 4 variations of loose ball fouls on the play in Mark Cuban's mind.

I don't like Dirk. I have hated him since he came into the league, and I'm sure I'll still hate him when he slinks back to Germany without winning a title, God willing. I must confess, I am mildly xenophobic. I hate the French and I hate Germans, other than that I don't have any specific dislikes where foreigners are concerned.

I hate Germans because they made David Hasslehoff an international singing sensation. Baywatch was inspired TV and Knight Rider sort of didn't suck at times, but Hasselhoff is a total cheese ball and a terrible singer. And yet German people love him. And Dirk has said that he sings "Lookin' for Freedom" to himself when he stands at the foul line. A tool of that magnitude deserves to fail in pressure situations.

Since the Red Sox were supposed to have a double header today, I might as well throw up two posts in one day. This will probably be short, as I have somewhere I am supposed to be in one hour.

RANDOM THING I HATE #2

It's been a while since I posted the first installment of the Random Things I Hate series. These things are random in the sense that they do not pertain to the Red Sox or the Boston sports scene. I should probably come up with another title to distinguish these short segments from the randomness of the things I hate about the Sox, but I am somewhat lazy and not particularly imaginative. This evening, I think it's time to talk about the Dixie Chicks.

I like some country music. I am a big fan of George Strait. I love Johnny Cash. A lot of the old time country music is great stuff. Some of it isn't, but I can put up with it. I don't like too much of what has come out of Nashville of late. The Dixie Chicks are at the top of the list of the acts that I hate.

Unlike a lot of people, or so it seems lately, I don't really care about the politics of musicians. Republican, Democrat, Communist, Nihilist, whatever. If the music is good, I listen. I think that celebrities should probably stay away from their misguided efforts to influence voters. First of all, no matter which side of the spectrum they're on, they should remember that they really aren't smarter or better informed than the average person. Also, they probably do more damage to their own cause than they help.

That said, it's a free country. So they can say and do whatever they want. The Dixie Chicks have every right to say what they want about the President. And people who like the President (few though they may be right now) have every right to react to those comments as they did. I've now gone a long way to say this: the Dixie Chicks, like Mark Cuban, are frauds.

What got my attention was the fact that they compared themselves to Bruce Springsteen. They may have similar political leanings, they record music, and as far as I know they breathe air, but that's about all they have in common with Springsteen.

In the apology one of the Chicks made to the View, she did say that they consider the Boss a role model and not a peer. She said the Dixie Chicks often ask themselves: "What would Springsteen do?" I would offer this as an answer to that rhetorical question: "Springsteen would make good music."

By a conservative estimate, Springsteen has at least 3 songs that are infinitely better than anything in the Dixie Chicks' songbook on the Seeger Sessions alone. "Wide Open Spaces" and "Ready to Run" aren't ready for comparisons to "Tenth Avenue Freezeout" and "Backstreets," let alone "Born to Run" or "Thunder Road." "Earl's Gotta Die" has nothing for edge or power on anything from Darkness on the Edge of Town or Nebraska.

I hate the Dixie Chicks. They were ready to trade on their appearance and their cutie-pie redneck image to make it big, and now they're not ready to make nice, if I can take their recent album title at its word. Not ready to make nice. Would that they were ready to make something approximating music.

This man is the man I have
on my mind today!

I'll tell you who he is.
This is my opposite number!

General Bogel, commanding
the Second German Armored Division!

When I look at that face,
I can read that character.

This guy's a loser.

Here I am sitting in his headquarters.

I'm drinking his scotch.

I've even got one of his broads
hanging around here somewhere.

The guy's a born loser...

...but you, gentlemen,
have not buried him yet.

-You call yourselves leaders of men?

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. As you might have gathered, the picture at the top of this post isn't General Bogel. It is, believe it or not, Terry Francona from his days as manager of the Birmingham Barons. The text is from the script of Kelly's Heroes, a highly underrated film starring Clint Eastwood, Telly Savalas, Don Rickles, Donald Sutherland and many others (including Uncle Leo from Seinfeld). I copied it from Drew's Script-o-rama.

The lines above are delivered by General Colt, played brilliantly by the late Carrol O'Connor, better known as Archie Bunker. Truly one of the great comic geniuses of all time. I think they apply quite nicely to the manager of the Red Sox. Not that he holds a commission in the German army, drinks heavily or is anything but an excellent family man. I just think that particular scene I'm quoting is so well written and delivered that it would have been a shame to edit it lest I offend people I'm trying to offend already.

When I look at Francona, I see a loser. I don't wish him any specific misfortune, outside of failure with the Red Sox. If he managed any other team, I wouldn't have anything against him. But so long as he's here, I hope he loses a lot of games.

There is something about Francona that screams incompetence to me. I am willing to concede that I might be blind to his virtues as a leader and a manager because of my irrational hatred for the team he manages and the uniform he wears. Terry Francona has a vacant expression as he watches from the dugout. He seems tired and overwhelmed. He might not be as bad as Grady Little, but it seems to me that he takes a lot of risk in leaving pitchers in the game too long.

And yet, he wins. Perhaps he's like some sort of idiot savant (I'm willing to concede the first, but I see little evidence of the savant in him). Some sort of Forrest Gump manages the Red Sox, blundering into wins, handling the difficult players with some sort of homespun lunacy and thwarting my desire to see the team fail. It's very frustrating.

This is why we have the Kelly's Heroes quote. Terry Francona was born to lose games for the Red Sox. Every other manager in baseball should be working to make sure that he does. To this point, they haven't delivered (with the notable exception of Ozzie Guillen) anywhere near as often as they should have. So MLB managers, you call yourselves leaders of men? Prove it by beating this man and his team of misfit toys.

Start spreading the news... the Sox have lost two straight to the Yankees. I wonder now, what the confident Red Sox fan who told me that he'd live with a 12-7 split in the season series will have to say tomorrow. I laughed when he said it to me, and I'm laughing now. Granted, it's still early in the season and two games remain in this series, but the Yanks beat Josh Beckett like he stole something, and they survived a tight game where David Pauley pitched disturbingly well.

One has to wonder what might have been had Manny not been thrown out at second by Johnny Damon of all people. I imagine the Jim Romes and CHBs of the world will have a field day with that one. Of course, Manny was wrong. But at least he was running full speed. I am inclined to sympathize with him when the media attacks him, even though his mistakes and inconsistent behavior is good for the stated purpose of this blog. I just hate the CHB and Jim Rome. Where have you gone, Jim Everrett? Please come back and beat Jim Rome down for auld lang syne.

And if Melky Cabrera didn't make that amazing catch to rob Manny of the game tying home run, would these tools still be sharpening their cleavers for ManRam? I'm sure they would, but even the self-described "hard edged commentator" Jim Rome would have to tone down his burn. Or maybe he wouldn't, since he doesn't seem to be overly concerned with looking ridiculous, sanctimonious and hypocritical all the time.

A while back, I happened to be watching Cold Pizza even though it usually ends up irritating me. They had the frauds from Yankeehater.com on to talk about their site, the Sox Yanks rivalry and the seemingly viable lawsuit against them for trademark infringement. I don't think these guys are frauds because they hate the Yankees, or even because they like the Sox (for the record, some of my best friends are Red Sox fans). I think they're frauds because of their top 3 Yankee haters of all time list they mentioned on the air.

This list is so pathetic that I can't adequitely ridicule it, or even comment on it more fully without descending into profanity, which, to this point, is apparently the only virtue of this blog. Number one on the list is Ben Affleck. This is so obviously an attempt to grandstand and garner attention, not to mention fawn on one of the worst actors of our time. I think Ben Affleck's career was best summed up by the South Park guys in one of the songs from Team America. Since this is a blog, you can Google the lyrics, but if must download the song, please do so legally.

Number two on the list is Larry Lucchino. I don't know Larry Lucchino personally, and God willing, I'll never have the distinct displeasure of making his acquaintance. From the little I know about him, I suspect that he harbors no genuine emotion against the Yankees. I think it's a convenient way to call more attention to himself in an effort to acquire the cult status enjoyed by many associated with the team (mostly without reason or merit, like Jerry Remy).

Number 3 was Carlton Fisk. If even half of the legends told about Fisk are true, he was 3 times the Yankee hater that Affleck and Lucchino would make if they became some sort of Voltron made out of grandstanding, phony Yankee haters. I understand that there was a huge personal and professional rivalry between Fisk and Thurman Munson, and naturally, since Fisk is human, Carlton seems to have downplayed that in the wake of Munson's tragic death. Nevertheless, Fisk was the only legit guy on the list and these frauds had him in third place.

As a concerned citizen, I demand an investigation into Don Orsilo's hairline. What is going on there? Is it human hair, animal, vegetable or mineral? I can't decide myself. Part of me thinks that it is in fact human hair, but some (if not all) was grown on a different head than the one rocking it now. Part of me thinks he was victimized by a bad dye job and insuffienct hair plugs. But I think the most likely explanation is that he gets his hair styled by the guy who used to paint the hair onto the old GI Joe action figures that I had when I was a kid. Perhaps the hair is what makes him think he could hit .260 in the majors (a feat that seems surprisingly difficult for Big Papi so far).

Before I begin, I think I have to clear up a matter that confused at least one of the people who reads this blog regularly. He wondered whether I intended to demean Bill Russell and KC Jones when I said that Prince and Ben Wallace are their evolutionary versions. If I did demean the two Celtics' legends, I apologize. I intended to criticize the way the NBA allows its players to play, at times, a full contact brand of a non-contact sport.

A certain amount of phyiscal contact is inevitable on a basketball court. Every play shouldn't be whistled, but the level of physicality should be controlled a bit more than it is. The thing that bothers me the most is the late whistle. A play is either a foul or it isn't. It doesn't suddenly become a foul merely because the shot in question didn't fall.

Another practice that ought to be regulated is the nasty habit certain players have (among many, I have noticed Kobe, King James, Rip Hamilton and even my man Toine doing this) of picking up the basketball and carrying tucked in their elbow like they were Jerome Bettis plowing for the goal line. I'm pretty sure that is illegal. There probably should be a better definition of what is and isn't continuation. In game 5, I swear Prince was fouled at least two steps and one dribble before he dunked. And yet it was still ruled a 3 point play situation.

To make a long and meandering story short, basketball has indeed come a long way since the rugby scrums of the 1990s, but a few minor practices must be curtailed in the interest of playing a better team game. That's why Prince and Wallace are the evolutionary KC and Russell. If the Celtics dynasty teams could get away with what NBA players get away with now, they might have let up 25 points a game and scored in the 130s.

On to the stated purpose of this site...

The Red Sox took 2 of 3 from the Tigers, so it's fairly safe to assume that they'll be celebrating their 2nd championship in 3 years this fall. The Tigers do have the best record in MLB right now (4 months before the season ends, let's not forget). And they beat that kid Spurling, whose name I only remember because it called to mind that bald tool who was not only the president of the Hair Club for Men, but also a client.

They did win game one thanks to the late night heroics of the man with the worst soul patch since that theoretical tool with the soul patch of many colors who appreciates art from a recent post. But there are some alarming signs, Kenny Rogers handled the mighty Sox pretty well, until Doug Jones got into the charity business in the 9th. Imagine if the Sox had faced Maroth or someone not making his first career start today. SO don't get too optimistic Sox fans.

Also, since the Last Boy Scout is on TNT and I must go watch it because I have no life, there are three things that will be discussed in this space in the ensuing weeks. First is the fact that you have to pay for the privelige of official citizenship in Red Sox Nation. Second is the mystery of the hairlines of the NESN broadcast crew. And as for the third, well I guess I won't ruin the surprise...

Great Moments in Red Sox History #4

Dateline: 10/1/61

On October 1, 1961 Jackie Jensen retired from baseball for good. In 1958, he'd won the AL MVP. He was a three time All Star. He led the league in RBI and won the gold glove for right field in 1959. He retired after that, but came back in 1961 and gave baseball another shot. His numbers weren't great so he gave the game up again.

Those of you who haven't heard of Jackie Jensen might assume that he retired because of injury problems. Not quite. Baseball's expansion to the West Coast in the mid 1950s ended Jackie's career. Granted, the first two teams to move to California were in the National League, but it was only a matter of time until an American League team moved out there too. Playing games on the West Coast meant that teams could no longer travel by train, the distances were too great and there simply wasn't enough time.Jackie Jensen retired from baseball because he was afraid of flying.

I had intended to post this earlier, but I myself had to do a bit of air travel in May. Even the Cincinnati Kid is a bit afraid when it comes to the miracle of heavier than air flight. I don't get cold sweats, and I don't need the Dutch courage to get on a plane, but I don't like flying. I don't like it when the plane banks suddenly. I'm not a fan of looking out the window and seeing the ground at a 45 degree angle. That is not a good time.

I also watch My Name Is Earl (the absolute best show on TV, and if you try to tell me Idol is better, then you're a moron). Karma can get you. The last thing I need is a post making fun of someone for being afraid of flying before I get on a plane. That would look quite funny in my obituary: "A guy afraid of flying dies in a plane crash after he made fun of some other poor guy whose career was ruined by aviphobia." Of course, there are only about 10 people in the world who know the Cincinnati Kid's real identity, so there wouldn't be much of a story. Outside of unrequited love, there's nothing sadder than unappreciated irony.

Another reason I held off for a while is that Jackie Jensen died in the 1980s. Speaking ill of the dead isn't particularly cool. But I am (as I've said a time or two) a sad, small, bitter person. I can't let an opportunity pass to remind Red Sox fans that times weren't always this good for the Old Towne Team. There was a time when star players retired because they were afraid of a little bit of air travel. And one day, if the Universe decides to do the right thing, those days will come back.

P.S. Why is alcohol called Dutch courage? If I were Dutch, I think I'd be just a little bit bent about that. After all, France is practically next door. There's no way the Dutch are any less tough than the French. And what about Belgium? Why not Belgian courage? Obviously Luxembourg is out, because there'd be too many syllables. The sad thing about this post is that I haven't even started drinking yet. I have some problems.

Ladies and Gentlemen, you might have expected that there would be no post this evening following the unfortunate Tiger collapse. But more important events have induced me to launch the new feature I have been promising for quite some time now. Miami defeated the Pistons and eliminated them from the NBA playoffs. More importantly, Antoine hit a devastating 3 down the stretch, and I saw a sight that could make up for any number of late inning rallies by my mortal enemies. The Walker Wiggle was seen tonight. And, for the purposes of this site, it couldn't have come at a better time. Without further eloquence (or whatever quality I possess that stands in the stead of eloquence)...

THE MAX MERCY HALL OF FAME INAUGURAL EDITION

For those of you who don't know, Max Mercy is the parasitic sports writer from the classic Bernard Malamud novel The Natural ( proper MLA documentation eludes my skill as a writer in the present format, forgive me for not pacing greater emphasis on the title). He is played quite well by Robert Duvall in the film version.

Max Mercy is a weasel, a scumbag (and yes, I'm aware of that word's original meaning) and a jock sniff. For those qualities and more, in my way of thinking, he stands as a perfect avatar for the modern sports journalist. There are obvious exceptions, who may be named later provided that I have more time and am infused with a sudden influx of industry. Furthermore, as long as the Red Sox manage to win more than they lose, there is no place in this site for positivity.

Based on the preceeding paragraph, and the earlier posts (if you're crazy enough to have read them), you might expect the first member of the Max Mercy Hall of Fame to be the CHB. I do have a number of problems with the CHB as a writer, and rest assured he will be enshrined in this pantheon eventually. Tonight's lucky inductee came to the Boston Globe from New Jersey, via Boston College, and that about sums it up for him. He is...
Bob Ryan.

As a writer, Bob's prose style is no worse than any other sports journalist. His voice does have a nasal quality that resembles a dentist's drill in the middle of a root canal. It can be particularly annoying when he forgets to use his inside voice in one of his inexplicably frequent television appearances. All of these are reasons to dislike someone in Cincinnati Kid land (for those of you keeping score at home, that is how I refer my own little corner of paradise, the island of normalcy in Red Sox Nation).

My biggest problem with Bob Ryan, and the reason he vaulted over the CHB (and others who will join them in time), is his delight in kicking someone when he (or she, I can't think of an instance when Bob's done this to a woman, but I'm sure an enlightened gentleman like him wouldn't discriminate based on gender) when he is down.

A case in point is the recent (and long delayed) departure of Nomar. I don't know whether he was the first, but Bob Ryan hinted that some of Nomar's injury problems might be related to steroid use. I don't know whether Nomar did or did not use steroids. I never liked him. I was glad to see him go. I don't miss the braying morons screaming "Nomahhh." I am quietly amused a how quickly the morons who insisted that Nomar was better than Jeter shut their faces.

I still don't like Nomar. But even more than I hated him, I hate it when a guy facing a deadline throws somebody under the bus because they lack creativity and the effort that it takes to do legitimate research (this blog is exempt from that statement, as it is a monument to my misanthropy, bitterness, negativity and above all insanity). That is what our beloved Bob Ryan did with that one, as far as I can tell.

Then there is Butch Hobson. I was too young to remember him as a player. I do remember him as Red Sox manager, and I remember wishing ill on him professionally. I had no real interest in seeing him suffer personal tragedies, I just wanted the Red Sox to lose every game. Then one night, he was arrested for cocaine possession. Here in Cincinnati Kid land, we do not condone the use of illegal drugs, but the man was going through a rough patch.

In minutes, it seemed, a column appeared under the Bob Ryan byline in the Boston Globe. In it, we found out that Butch Hobson the player was not a very savory character. Among his great sins, Butch never seemed to miss a last call. Intead of asking questions like how would Bob Ryan know he never missed a last call, I, good guy that I am, assume that Bob Ryan acquired that red nose of his picking cherries (if you don't know that expression, feel free to look it up) and not frequenting the same drinking establishments that Mr. Hobson visited. Butch had enough problems without Bob Ryan taking his soap box and getting all moral majority on us.

Then there is the case of Antoine Walker. When Danny Ainge is his infinite incompetence traded Employee Number 8 to Dallas for magic beans, of course Bob had an opinion there. He called Antoine a punk. Brave words, indeed, when over a thousand miles intervene. I will not go into a long discourse on Antoine's virtues. Bill Simmons did that over a year ago (I might be inclined to quote him if the ESPN archive fee weren't infinitely in excess of this site's current budget).

I merely offer this as an illustration of how much it meant to Antoine to play in Boston. The day after his trade was announced, he put his ad in the Boston newspapers thanking the fans and the organization. Johnny Damon signed with the Yankees on December 23. His ad ran in the local papers in February. Only a cynic would assume that the erstwhile darling of the Inside Track and the 80 IQ set in Fenway deliberately waited until the weeks between the Super Bowl and March Madness to ensure his artificial display of magnanimity received the most media attention.

Watching Antoine do his wiggle tonight, and seeing him go to the Finals with a new team should have hurt. It didn't. Celtics fans have Wyc and Irv and Danny, a veritable confedracy of dunces. Boston fans didn't appreciate him because he shot a low percentage and complained to the officials (no more than most players, and much less than the more visible stars like Kobe and Dirk). The Boston media didn't appreciate him either, ostensibly for the same reasons he didn't inspire the fans but more likely because he refused to pay homage to the graven image of each individual writer.

This was quite a post, in addition to attacking a famous writer from a major metropolitan newspaper, I think I worked in some nice touches. There was at least one use of the royal/editiorial we in there. A couple of references to myself in the third person brought a lot to the table. But I have to say, I was glad I managed to throw a furthermore and an erstwhile in there. Words like that really dress up a post. Throw in a Warren Harding allusion (he ran for the White House in 1920 advocating a return to normalcy) and you're off and running. Good night and go Tigers.

The universe keeps conspiring to delay the new feature I keep promising. First it was computer trouble. Then it was travel. Then America's Prom Date got engaged. Now Roger Clemens has returned to baseball again. For those of you who live under rocks and rely on my site breaking this story some 48 or so hours after every other media outlet in the known world, he signed with the Astros.

Like anyone who has the ability to while away the hours talking to the flowers, I knew that he wasn't going to sign with the Red Sox. Of course, Red Sox fans and the media in Boston managed to convince themselves that they had a chance to land him. Among the reasons that were bandied about, my favorite had to be that Roger Clemens is a student of baseball history.

Whether or not he is a student of baseball history is not really all that important at this point. What takes the jam out of my doughnut is that Red Sox fans fly to their computers and dredge up all manner of statistics to prove that would induce the Rocket to return. The logic underpinning their argument, in one instance, depended on the fact that Roger Clemens remained tied for the lead in wins by a Boston Red Sox starting pitcher with Cy Young at 192. Apparently, Roger would be so eager to knock Cy Young from first place in the franchise record book that he would sign to play in Boston.

I would be willing to concede the fact that this is a compelling point but for two things. First, only a moron would leave the situation Roger had in Houston (proximity to home, retractable roof, only having to travel when he was slated to pitch, etc.) to come to Boston. Second, Red Sox fans are endowed with a marvelous ability to delude themselves into thinking that their team exists in a idyllic paradise wrapped in a vortex.

What would fans say when the Rocket passed on a road trip when his turn in the rotation came up if he played for the Sox? What would the media write about and talk about when the Rocket elected not to travel with the team? I can see wave after wave of tripe flowing from the laptops of the CHB, Steve Buckley, Bob Ryan and the rest of the knights of the keyboards. Apparently Boston fans have an insatiable appetite for clches and unimaginative prose. New heights in those areas would be reached with that media feeding frenzy.

That's pretty much all I have to say on that score right now. I don't want to get too far out on that limb until I see Clemens win a couple of games. The last thing I need is to end up looking like a tool because Clemens came back to the well one time too many.

I do have two other comments to make on Red Sox Nation. First, how did Jerry Remy become some sort of cult figure? I don't want to get in too deep about his playing career, since he nearly put a beating on Don Orsilio in that whole "I could hit .260" spat they had a few days ago. The man is a below average broadcaster. He hypes himself and his business interests without pause, and without shame. There are at least three or four plays per game where the audience is left in the dark about the actual action on the field so that Remy and Orsilio can babble about totally pointless and bizarre things (I am aware of the inherent hypocrisy in my criticism of anyone on these grounds, since this blog is nothing but one insane tangent to an insane tangent. I, however, am not paid to do this. There is also no editor or support staff to help me here.)

The other comment I want to make is back on Theo. Why does he insist on skulking around the city in disguise? I'm sure it must have been the thrill of a lifetime to jam with Pearl Jam. Imagine how much more thrilling it could have been if Pearl Jam had released a decent album in the last 8 years. And as for Pearl Jam's local fan base, I'm sure they felt cheated out of the chance to give Amerca's Prom Date a standing ovation when they found out the next day.