SAY "CHEESE!" - FRIDAY

Although Rafael Palmeiro Hopes 'A Door Remains Open,' Miguel Tejada Reminds Him That It's The Kitchen Door at the Cheese Cake Factory

ME and the KEY(S) to UMPHREY'S MCGEE: THE JOEL CUMMINS INTERVIEW

Rivalfish traveled this month to the Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival to explore the connection between music and sports -- from the perspectives of both fans and performers. What follows is our humble-but-fantastic-looking editor's narrative and interview with Umphrey's McGee keyboardist, Joel Cummins.

By Tello Real, mraspatello@rivalfish.com

On October 11th, 2001, I dragged my band of suburbanite hippy friends out of their Ann Arbor rental palaces and into the western suburbs of reemerging Detroit - for a dose of Chicago culture. We were U of M students, teeming for Hash Bash and our generation's dose of the counterculture. The best we future Rivalfisherman could do was an overpriced bubbler, an eighth, and an Umphrey's McGee show.

Spreading jam like a butter knife, the boys of Umphrey's took the stage with a task for the nine likeminded fans on the floor of this miniscule venue. A new tune needed a name. At this point in the band's evolution, they hadn't yet reached the festival-packing status they've attained today, so they sometimes enjoyed more modest crowds when playing an I-94-trip-away from their adopted hometown of Chicago.

Tonight was one of those nights. I had a suggestion for that song title and I knew it would be heard. All 20 years of my maturity shouted in unison, "DIRTY SANCHEZ!" They nodded almost knowingly and began the song. Had I named a rock tune? Had they merely wanted to shut me up? I immediately dismissed the entire happening until perusing the show's setlist the following day online. There it was, "Dirty Sanchez," the third song played in the second set. I had named a rock song. My counterculture-obsessed pops hadn't done that shit before. For weeks and months and years to come, I'd check on my creation, which was later changed to "Hurt Bird Bath (Dirty Sanchez)" and eventually just "Hurt Bird Bath." Nevertheless, I had made my stamp on the patchouli-soaked pantheon of jamband lore.

Upon returning from Bonnaroo, where Rivalfish ventured as esteemed media in search of the truest correlations between music and sport, I had the opportunity to ask Joel Cummins, Umphrey's keyboardist and backup vocalist, a lone question: Was my anecdote the mere delusion of a kid who spent the remainder of the night in question mesmerized by the movie being played on the back of his eyelids? Or was I due for a writer's credit?

"No offense to your creativity, Mike, but there's been many instances when we had a song that needed a title and asked the audience. Pretty much every time, someone has yelled "Dirty Sanchez," Joel responded.

Fuck.

He felt bad and warranted me an interview. No Keith Emerson to add to my resume, but then again I never saw Keith Emerson sing Michael Jackson's half of the "Girl is Mine" duet and make a psilocybin-filled teenager shit his pants with the key solo from "Kimble."

I think he made a good choice, as Rivalfish and Umphrey's are practically cut from the same sheet of bud brownies. Rivalfish was birthed by two Cubs fans and a Sox fan. Umphrey's boasts a Cubs-sympathizing majority, with guitarists and lead vocalists Brendan Bayliss and Jake Cinninger joining Mr. Cummins himself as foolish supporters of the baby bears. Meanwhile, percussionist Andy Farag is the only non-insane band member that roots for the handsome champs in black. While drummer Kris Myers can't even decide which team to root for, what does superfan Joel think will transpire this weekend in the new incarnation of The Crosstown Classic? 2-out-of-3 for the Cubs, exactly like 2-out-of-3 of the douchebags behind Rivalfish have predicted. Joel is so sure of this outcome that he has arranged a friendly wager with Bob Ston, Umphrey's Monitor Engineer. If the Cubs do in fact take the series, Bob, a lifelong Sox fan, has to wear a Cubs jersey for the next nine years. Vice Versa if the Sox win the three-game set. Likewise, per their annual arrangement, the boys of Rivalfish are wagering their blood plasma. That shit sells for straight cash!

So who knows about the athlete/musician correlation, but the sportswriter/musician correlation is picking up steam. On to my next quarry!

When and if ladies aren't impressed with their current life and profession, do the boys of Umphrey's mimic the boys of The Fish and recall tales of past athletic accomplishment in a second attempt at successful courtship? Supposedly they don't need to, as they are all happily involved, but in a jam, sound man Kevin Browning can mention his marathon training, and bassist Ryan Stasik can drop panties with his stories of sharing a diamond with Derek Jeter back in Kalamazoo, MI. Even Joel admitted to ties that can be easily parlayed into a night of passion and canoodling, at least in Ann Arbor. As a kid he went to summer basketball camp. At that summer camp, he allegedly beat Juwan Howard in a left-handed layup contest. Then he injured his knee jumping off of a car and dancing like an asshole, ending his chances of ever playing "21" with the entire Fab Five. Foolish rock star!

Spooky. We sportswriters love doing that too! I usually tell chicks that I was Academic All-State, even though Illinois doesn't even give that award, and I think Ticklebass Ansell still wears his Amherst Baseball rain pullover whenever we set him up on a blind date with a deaf girl. Cornelius Merz, the only true athlete of the bunch, beat Michelle Wie on the links the day after her 5th birthday. Rivalfish and Umphrey's McGee are practically brothers.

There is one last linkage between my posse and the instrumentalists behind the band that Rolling Stone called the most likely successor to Phish's "jam-smeared crown" that I yearn to prove: Everyone that has ever been affiliated with Rivalfish or related to anyone that has ever been affiliated with Rivalfish absolutely loathes all things Notre Dame. The mention of the Gold and Blue makes my dead grandmother pray for purgatory and my girlfriend puke in my trousers. I'm not even going to tell you what the thought of The Irish did to Ticklebass' parents' marriage.

So do the boys of Umphrey's McGee concur with the views of the Rival Room's own? Are sportswriters and rock stars truly one in the same? Should I start prowling the backalleys of the Sunset Strip in search of a groupie slamhog? Joel, do you guys all despise Notre Dame?

"Mike, pretty much the entire band studied music at Notre Dame."

Fuck. I didn't want more brothers anyway. Especially older ones. My girlfriend's already wondering.

Rivalfish staff note: Pick up your copy of Umphrey's latest and greatest, [Safety in Numbers].

PARIS HILTON DATING GUIDE

By Ted Walker, tedwalker25@gmail.com

Paris Hilton, Here, Finally, Is Help.

Hey Paris, I know that times are tough for ya. I also know that you are a Hall of Fame jersey chaser. Given those two undeniable facts, I’ve decided to offer you some semi-professional help. Love help, that is. Matt Leinart, Jose Theodore (great name, Theodore), Brian Urlacher, Andy Roddick, Oscar De La Hoya, and the list goes on, and on, and on. They’re all wrong, Paris, all wrong. So, given that you likuh-da-athletes, I’ve decided you to offer up the advice that I’m roundly positive that you are looking for. That is, I’m gonna give you a list of jocks that will curl up with you on the Chihuahua-skin rug, rub your claws feet, and give you some long-term, healthy lovin’. Fortunately for us both you’re a regular reader of the Rival Room, ‘cause I seem to have lost your Blackberry number. But anyhow, sit right down like you’re a dysfunctional housewife, and I’ll sit right down like I’m good ol’ Doc Phil, and I’ll present you with options for some athletic courtship that will really hold water:

[Full disclosure: since the Rival Room has lately committed the A-Rod’s share of their researching resources to procuring Brangelina’s baby shower photos and scraping up dirt on Jay Mariotti, my own research did not extend into determining the current marital status of these suggestions. Not that you care much, I’m sure.]

Scott Podsednik, LF, Chicago White Sox: This is a conservative choice, but we’re just getting warmed up here. Pods has got the mug of a fashion model, he’s only quick on the basepaths (I’ve heard!), and he’ll challenge any Greek millionaire’s son-in-law’s brother for finger-bling, especially if you wait ‘til after next October to “get on with it.�





Rudy Gay, 1st Round Draft Pick, Memphis Grizzlies: Great athleticism, first round bonus money, could be a great player—c’mon, no, it’s just his name! He’s not really—Paris, you are so dumb. Anywaayyy...





Jerome Bettis, RB (ret.), Pittsburgh Steelers: The future Hall of Famer, now retired, has got the time to devote to a flowering relationship, and he’s really great in those Man-Rule thingies. For that matter, I wouldn’t turn down a spin around the racetrack with old Burt “Stroker Ace� Reynolds either, if you’re into the whole silver-toupee bit. That might be more of a “fling� suggestion. I bet Reynolds can really bring it.





Ozzie Guillen, manager, Chicago White Sox: Two words: dirty talk.





Dustin “Screech Powers� Diamond, “actor�, Saved By the Bell: I know, Paris, you’re not like: “Oh yeah, Screech, he’s an athlete.� I will remind you, however, that the Screech-man almost battled Ninick in an epic wrestling match during Season 3. And he would’ve wrestled, too, if that meddling A.C. Slater hadn’t had a last minute change of heart. Point is, Screech looked awful good in that uni-suit, and I hear that ear guards are next season’s man-capris. If his brief wrestling career doesn’t do it for you, don’t forget that Screech ain’t exactly coming to bat without…well, without a bat. A big bat.





Greg Biffle, NASCAR driver: I’m not really sure who this guy is, but NASCAR is huge. Deal with it.





Ben Roethlisberger, Quarterback, Pittsburgh Steelers: Here now, you talk about one of the up-and-coming young athletes in the country, this guy won a SuperBowl, he seems like a great person, and I’m sure they don’t call him “Big Ben� for noth—say what? He…really? His face? Whoa. Okay, wow. You know what, let’s scratch that one.





Mike Commodore, D, Carolina Hurricanes: So you’ve done the hockey player thing, I know, but the playoffs are over now, so beard-burn shouldn’t be an issue anymore, and—huh? No, those are, uh, those are hockey pads. For protection. Yes, I’m sure he’s pretty muscular underneath the pads. Well, no, I don’t think he would want to wear them out to the clubs. Alright then, how about a Barry Bonds? Jason Grimsley?





Jonah “Ticklebass� Ansell, RivalRoom Editor: Here’s a good looking guy, outgoing, likes to have a good time, and get this: he’s a bona-fide NCAA athlete! A pitcher, y’know, like Phil Niekro or Jeff Samardzija. You could look it up. Listen, I say just give him a chance, move away from the high profile celebs for a bit, and—no, no I don’t have Jeff Samardzija’s number. Sorry.

LUNCHTIME UPDATE: DIGEST THIS!! - THURSDAY

Kyle Orton Starts Night Grinding With Hottie, Ends Night Blowing Guy (KSK)

More People Boning US Soccer Team Than Prostitutes (Wash Post)

Grand Theft Auto: BALCO (Deadspin)

Dock Ellis To Endorse New Candy (Houston Chronicle)

Victoria Beckham: Slimmer Than USA’s Chances Of Winning In 2010 (MG)

12-Year Old Accomplishes Feat I've Only Seen Peter North Pull Off (SI.com)

March Madness Expansion Revisited (My FantasyBall Blog)

Which ACC Team Has The Best Stadium? (FanBlogs)

SAY "CHEESE" - THURSDAY - NBA DRAFT RECAP

Steve Kerr Emerges from Tyrus Thomas' Body and Choke Slams John Paxson to Ground Before He's Cuffed by Chicago Police

WELCOME BACK TO THE AL PEDRO

By Ryan O'Donnell, rodonnell08@amherst.edu


Pedro Martinez returned to the fabled Fenway Park last night and as I sat on my ass with the humidity opening up my pores I slammed a piece of bacon-sausage-hamburger-pepperoni pizza. A meal that had about as much grease as Pedro’s geri curl hairdo he sported in 2004 with the Sox. Already in a disgusted mood having watched A-fag bomb one to beat the lowly Braves, and further depressed by the Celtics decision to trade the 7th pick for Sebastian “I can’t lift 100lbs� Telfair. I'm positive that I leave bigger things in the toilet than that guy. Nevertheless, it was still the game to see last night and he was the man for duration of time he spent in Boston. A Pedro masterpiece was something Red Sox fans held onto as the Yankees continually won pennant after pennant in the late 90’s. Pedro was my hand job to the Yankees three-some year after year, much needed pleasure with no real hope of getting past second base.

As he opened the game up with the vaunted breaking ball that Youkolis watched dance over the heart of the plate, something told me the Red Sox were possibly in for a vintage Pedro performance. They were, a vintage Pedro post-100 pitches performance that is. Youki took the next breaking ball and roped it into left center field followed by Loretta tagging one to right center and all of a sudden the real beast of the East was in control early. When Papi grounded back to the mound, I dropped an expletive only to watch Martinez resemble Manny Ramirez in that situation rather than an all-star pitcher as he faked to third, stared at second, only to lob it over to first where Mr. Hustle David Ortiz was lumbering down the first baseline like he wanted to be out. (Probably trying to keep the game close so he can one up A-bitch with a walk-off in prime time) Nixon eventually popped a sac-fly and then a Lowell fly ball made Lastings Milledge look foolish in left field causing Willy Randolph to demand that Beltran pull a Kelly Leak in the outfield and catch anything hit in the air. 4-0 after the first inning and the drama that was Pedro’s return disappeared faster than a kilo of coke in front of Lindsey Lohan and Kate Moss.

Pedro straight sucked last night, plain and simple. I don’t really know what else I’m supposed to convey to you loyal rivalfish readers. Pedro was World Cup referee bad. I guess the only point that needs to be reiterated is that the Mets are essentially the best that the NL has to offer? I mean seriously, I think we can find better teams in the Cape League. I loved Pedro to death when he was here, but he’s like the girl you lose your virginity to, great while she’s yours, a slut when she bangs someone else, and then someone else, and then she’s pregnant at 19. But seriously what should I do, cheer for this guy? Do I want the Mets to beat the Red Sox? I hate the Mets, they’re still a New York team with the same stupid grease balls cheering for them. And even worse, rich ass Long Island private school punks who pretend to be hard by cheering for the Amazins because their parents are too afraid to take them to the Bronx to watch a Yankee game. Sure I want Pedro to toss on a Red Sox hat when he hits up Cooperstown, but right now I’m concerned with bigger things like winning baseball games because in the AL, there are five fantastic teams (Red Sox, White Sox, Yankee, Twins, Tigers) battling for three playoff positions.

But I will tip my hat to Pedro for starting the “leave Boston and dominate the NL� trend that Jeff Suppan, Bronson Arroyo, and to an extent Roger Clemens have so perfectly followed. I wish that I could have some fall back plan with my life. Like when my wife leaves me with massive amounts of child support to pay and I put on 45lbs trying to hold onto my 9-5 insurance job, I can just head over to my National League life and score with Scarlett Johanson, beef up like Barry Bonds circa 1999, and cap it off by hitting the mega lottery.

Yea, that would be sweet.

SAY CHEESE - THURSDAY- CELEBRITY EDITION

Nation's Experts Anticipate Record Year for Still Births as Courtney Love and Billy Corgan Begin Sexual Relationship

SAY "CHEESE!" - THURSDAY

Bob Probert Continues to Advocate Cocaine As Only Necessary Performance Enhancing Drug for NHL Enforcers

STICKLER'S WORLD OF EURO-YODELING

"Our close personal pal, Stickler, of that sassy-saugage-filled breakfast burrito of a blog, Stickler’s World, was to been sent to Europe on behalf of Rivalfish for some on-site coverage of an age-old Austrian Pickle Sheathing Festival. We asked him to cover the World Cup. We couldn't offer him plane fare, salary, or an apology for the stain on his parents' bathroom sink, but we thought he'd do it out of his love for us, er, the game. But now he hates us and writes spiteful e-mails to his co-editor (his foxy sister) over at Stickler's World. But we know a guy that banged her, and we get his e-mails anyway! Isn't counter-spite spite a beautiful thing?!?!?! :) ;)" - Rival Room Editor

by Josh Stickler, www.sticklersworld.blogspot.com, sticklersworld@gmail.com

"Bitte ein birre." I said with a smile so wide, some may have confused me for the joker in Batman or Mark Chmura at a Hilary Duff concert. The bartender just laughed at me, because my pronunciation was so bad and the she wouldn’t serve me until I got it right. Three more attempts and I had a frosty pint of Ottakringer in my hands and a restraining order from the broad behind the bar. I walked across the bar where a large screen had been set up.

Ever since arriving in Vienna, Austria the pulse of German Football could be felt everywhere. I nudged past all the people and found an open seat in the front of the room. I was sitting in front of a little boy, clearly blocking his view, but he was with both of his dads, so I figured he wasn’t interested anyway. The Germany vs. Sweden match was about to start and the crowd was fueled with the sensations of German loyalty and body odor. I turned to the guys sitting next to me and asked, "Sprechen Sie Englisch?" They came back with a resounding "nein." I had once again wandered into some unknown territory and it seemed no one could, or wanted to, communicate with me. Much like middle school.

The game began and every German in the crowd started singing fight songs that I wish i had known. They waved their flags and were absolutely crazy. As the game took off I noticed the Germans around me couldn't open their beers, so I pulled out my wine opener and offered it to them. Then one their kids starting acting a fool and distracting everyone by pacing back and forth and obstructing peoples’ views of the screen. His dad pleaded for sympathy, declaring his son a victim of harsh case of Attention Deficit Disorder to the massive and irritated crowd. Someone amongst the crowd shouted that he should send his kid to a concentration camp. I sat aghast until someone whispered to me that it wasn’t what I was thinking. It was more like a Huntington Learning Center.

This is when they began speaking to me in English. Suddenly the game took on a lot more meaning as I understood what their songs were about. Many were about the United States’ harsh economic sanctions against Suriname, actually. Really pisses those Krauts off. Germany scored the first two goals during the first half. It was extremely fast-paced and Sweden definitely put up a very dirty fight that reminded me of the time we caught that blind kid in our tree house. Lucico from Sweden went out with a red card. It was the 873rd given thus far in the tournament, in the elimination round exclusively. It was the first time in the history of the games that I had seen a ref smile as brightly as he pulled it out of his pocket. I ’m sure it felt good, even better than when he subsequently put his member away, and exchanged its presence with the impending red card. If anything, I was starting to see that the refs held some loyalty to their country as well.

At halftime I brought down some Italian wine I had been stowing since Cinque Terra that was as warm as a murder weapon and as stinky as a corpse. My German friends and I shared the bottle and watched as Germany decimated Sweden in the first round of the sweet sixteen. Everyone cleared out of the bar and I sat their by myself. Suddenly, one of the German girls returned. Her name was Piam and was interested in my plans for the evening. I knew I had promised to call my ailing grandpappy back in the states, but I responded "nothing" nonetheless. She invited me to come out with her and her friends. I said a prayer about my grandpa and got dressed for the evening. I didn’t want my cell phone to ring and my mom to try to have a conversation about my grandpa dying while I was trying to noodle this German bird, so I put it on vibrate. They were going to go to the Donau Fest. Accidentally, I had scheduled my trip to coincide with one of the biggest festivals in Vienna, where 18 stages fill a tiny island with music, beer, and sausage. So with our newly forged friendship these 6 Germans from Munich showed me the best night of my life. We heard bands play songs I knew in English and I would teach them the words. I thought the stars had aligned as I heard the harmonica solo to the Cranberries hit, “Linger,� and stared into the German girls’ thigh cleavage.

They taught me German and watched as I botched many attempts at talking to German girls. In the end I discovered that Germans know how to party, especially after a World Cup win. The whole way back to the hostel I sang German songs on the train with them and at the end of the night kissed a German girl. (Stickler, we all know you’re lying – Rival Room Editor) Not too bad for not knowing the language at the night’s onset. Now I have places to stay in Munich, so hopefully I won’t be sleeping in the train station and instead lying about hooking up with a drooling bum. So now on to Salzburg, where the World Cup really begins, and the ice caves dominate my very existence.

HOCKEY-CLIP-TO SWAY-YOUR-AFFINITY OF THE DAY

"What's more entertaining? NBA highlights remixed to shitty Hip-Hop or NHL highlights remixed to shitty Hip-Hop. You all know my opinion. Decide for yourselves. No fence sitting. It makes Ticklebass upset." -Rival Room Editor

LUNCHTIME UPDATE: DIGEST THIS!! - WEDNESDAY

England: World Cup Champs In Beer Consumption (Mirror)

Andy Roddick IS A Man Purse (TMZ)

New Brett Myers Comparison Is Well Deserved (Bastardly)

Joe Mauer Is Banging Pure Hotness (SportsFrog)

Guillen Promises To Keep Homophobia In The Clubhouse (Brushback)

Nike’s Newest Shoe Scares The Sh*t Out Of Me (Brandejs)

Derek Lee Wants Back On DL, Rooftop Patrons Start Jumping (LBCubs)

Rugby Player Brain Dead After Senseless Beating (IOL)

Cancer Has No Cure, But If You Want A Flat Ice In Your Yard... (Courant)

Chinese Commentator Hates Aussies With Venomous Spite (SMH)

SAY "CHEESE!" - WEDNESDAY

President Bush Triumphantly Unveils New
North Korean Missile Defense Program

BFFs!.......FOREVER

“As we constantly tout, us Rivalfish writers somehow have friends in the outside world. And they aren’t ALL bloggers. Just most of them. To keep in touch with our collective posse, we engage in an extensive group e-mail chain that allows us to speak freely, out from under the cock-strangling censorship of our overbearing mail-order girlfriends. And what do we do with that e-mail chain? We talk sports. In the meantime, our girlfriends try to save enough money cleaning houses to ship themselves back to their strife-ridden homelands. Good riddance! Just stop interrupting the game, ho! So if we are going to lose the “love’s of our lives� (or so we tell them every time we feel like getting laid) we might as well publish the e-mails that fill our cubicle-confined wieners with blood. Enjoy!� - Rival Room Editor

FROM PETE “DON’T CALL ME LARRY� KEELEY, LOSER BLOGGER BEHIND THE STRANGLY SUCCESFULL JO-TEL.EDITME.COM:

So they finally did a Baseball Tonight segment about the AL's complete dominance of the NL. I noticed it the first day of interleague when I think the AL maybe lost 2? Anyhow, especially of note, the AL Central's record against the NL Central. As of press time the records are as follows:

Royals: 6-5
Sox: 10-1
Detroit: 9-2
Cleveland: 4-7
Minnesota: 9-2

AL CENTRAL: 38-17

The ROYALS! The worst record in baseball! Have a winning record vs. the NL Central. That's f$cking incredible. Perhaps even more so, the top three AL teams are 28-5, and 14-2 vs. the NL top three (White Sox are 8-1). Oof. For some perspective, that's even more dominant that the White Sox were last season when they began the year 37-18 vs. everybody... oh, and then they won the Series in four games. Vs. Houston.Here's my point. Not to rub anything in the Cubs fan's faces, but do you realize how much worse this dominance of the White Sox's division makes the Cubs look?

Put it this way, if the Cubs switched with the Royals, the Royals would maybe be at .500 while the Cubs would DREAM about being ONLY 17 under. They'd orgasm to think about maybe, by the end of the season, being able to pull it together, get Wood and Prior healthy, D-Lee back to his ‘05 form, and maybe climbing their way back to 17 under. Maybe. Probably not though.

Also consider the Sox switching with the Reds or the Cards. The Sox would have lost like, 9 games while the Cards would be locked in a dead heat with Cleveland for ‘06s most disappointing team. The Reds would have traded Dunne and Aroyo for prospects. And Detroit wouldn't have anyone within 10 games (and still have a better record than us). This has to be depressing to think about. I mean, really one of the only excuses you could made this year, since the Yanks ruined your "Injured Stars" defense, was that the NL Central competition was so stiff. And here comes the AL Central to prove that the two best records in baseball being in the same division is no mistake, and not the Royals' doing. See you in four days for the Cubs v. Sox slaughter at Wrigley. Ashamboolikan



FROM JOSH “AMONG THE HMONG� DOWNS, EXPATRIOT LOTHARIO, dtrain692@yahoo.com

Here's my point. Not to rub it in your face, but I hate you Keeley. Take a look at the numbers. The games played at home in the AL vs. NL central matchups go this way AL-36, NL-24. Don't try to pretend that home-field advantage doesn't weigh more in interleague games where NL teams have to play AL teams whose rosters are made up with the DH rule in mind, so your precious pitchers don't chip a nail by actually playing the sports of baseball, and you know, swinging a bat.

While the NL central teams are forced to use their fourth outfielder (or in the Cubs case backup catcher) to fill that DH spot in the lineup, the AL teams come to bat with the likes of Travis Hafner, Jim Thome, Chris Shelton, Mike Sweeney, and to a lesser extent Jason Kubel and Rondell White. Why don't you nudge John Kruk on his hairy shoulder, tell him to get off of you and go make breakfast, and then you and the rest of your Baseball Tonight ass-buddies can wait until the interleague series are over before you talk about dominance. Not arguing one thing though, if you put the Cubs in the Texas League they would be 17 games under .500 and happy, and Dusty would still be talking about "Gimme my Horses and I'll win."

Go f*(K something with herpes.
Love
Josh

LUNCHTIME UPDATE: DIGEST THIS!! - TUESDAY

Jay Mariotti Got His Daddy To Take His Side (Pittsburg Live)

Goofy Lookin’ Baseball Cards (Joe Sports Fan)

Minor League Coach’s Outburst Caught On Video (Deadspin)

Sports Guy Does A YouTube Article, Pure Hilarity Ensues (ESPN)

The World Worm Charming Championships Website (Worm Charming)

The Ukraine Is Weak. It's Feeble… Ukraine Is A Game To You? (SO)

Ricky Williams Moving To England (Breitbart)

Go Figure, Ditka Loves Ozzie (Sun-Times)

A Brief History Of Bad Ideas (Surviving Grady)

World Cup Chicks – Oh, What A Beautiful World (Fox Sports)

A Gay Guy’s Funny Critique of HBO & Aquaman (Bent Post)

I KNEW Bush Had Something Up His Ass (New Line)

SAY "CHEESE!" - TUESDAY

John Rocker Joins Ozzie Guillen in Finally Outing All Fags in Sports, Self

HOCKEY EVEN HAS RIVALRIES! (And This Was Only One Game!)

HOCKEY WILL WIN YOUR FANDOM, ONE RAD GOAL AT A TIME

AMONG THE HMONG: FIXING THE CUBS, PART II

"A dear friend of Rivalfish was decidedly asked by the powers that be to vacate the premises of the Western Hemisphere. Long Story. Something about an overdue videotape. So he begged for a plane ticket from a family friend with an "in." Now he's among the Hmong people of Vietnam teaching our fine language. Or he's sitting in the woods with his laptop and lying to us all. He faxes us these letters about what's going on in OUR sporting scene, signing them with a different assumed name each time. But we all know it's Josh. He's probably just trying to show off that he still knows the most about sports, even when exiled. It's really pretty impressive, so we're going to post his letters without his permission!"- Rival Room Editor

As I read the box score of the Cubs latest boofing, in which we were literally dismantled by a rookie pitcher named Boof, I have to stop myself from throwing the computer monitor out the front window of this internet cafe, thereby inciting the ire of a dozen Vietnamese speaking staff who outnumber the customers 12 to 1. I simply fool myself into thinking that maybe this isn't that bad, maybe there is a bright side in all of this.

We still have on our roster the best first baseman, (defense and offense combined of course) in all of baseball, one of the best starting pitchers in baseball (Carlos Zambrano) and, ummm...well a statue of Harry Carey!

Now the bad news. Not only is Dusty Baker a manager who is incapable of inspiring this talentless nightmare of a team, he may be clinically insane.

When asked who on his team deserves an allstar spot, he said "Carlos Zambrano (who absolutely does) JACQUE JONES AND MICHAEL BARRETT BECAUSE OF WHERE WE ARE."

Jacque Jones and Michael Barrett because of where we are, Dusty? Where are we? Do you know where you are right now? You are in the National League tank. If you want to talk about people who put you there, then, yes you can talk about Jacque Jones. If you think Jacque Jones deserves an allstar bid, you have about a 24 hour window to commit any crime that you want to and get away with an insanity plea, using only that quote as evidence.

Clearly it is time for change. Fire Baker, sell off as many nonessential parts as we can, and write this season completely off. And by nonessential parts I mean everyone but the aforementioned Lee, Zambrano, and Harry Carey statue. Get prospects and contractual relief, put some fricking hitters in the farm system.

Try again in the future.

Remember Cubs fans, the reason to treat this season with a happy faraway look to the future, is that getting a top pick in the draft means a lot more to the Cubs than most of the teams that usually frequent the toilet of the league standings. Before the Royals and Devil Rays pick the best player in the draft, they must first consider whether they have enough money to sign the guy, and secondly, whether the guy is stupid enough to want to play in Kansas City or Tampa Bay.

With the Cubs in possession of a high pick, money is clearly not an object (As witnessed by the ludicrously loaded contract the Cubs just gave Wide Receiver Jeff Samardzija, good player, wrong sport). And as to whether a young ballplayer would want to go to a storied franchise that plays in the most beautiful ballpark in baseball that is surrounded by scores of bars packed with beautiful women who would do anything for someone who could help their favorite team win, well I know I would take it.

So cheer up Cubs fans, better days they are ahead. So long as the Cubs realize that once we are going into the allstar break at least twenty games below .500 we can stop talking about what the Astros did last year like it is going to happen to us (Remember what the Astros did last year? They came back from insurmountable odds to make the world series just to get swept in 4 games by the White Sox. I would rather have this season than have that happen to the Cubs).

Dusty needs to be fired, the team needs to go into "selling mode" immediately, and we need to get ready for next year by playing youngsters and letting them take their lumps. Baker was right about one thing recently, he noted that the same Detroit pitchers who were piling up record numbers of losses a few years ago are now the best staff in baseball. He forgot to mention that Detroit fired Alan Trammel and hired a competent manager for all this to happen, but he was nonetheless right. Marshall, Marmol, Guzman, and to a lesser extent Rich Hill may not be coming into their own this year, but at least they are learning against major league batters, and can share an after-loss cooler bash with one of the greatest pitchers in baseball history.

So look at the bright-side Cubs fans. At least you don't like the White Sox.

Love,
Don Denkinger

AND HE'S WEARING ICE SKATES WHEN HE DOES THIS!

"It's great to laugh, but fun to celebrate greatness. I am a male ice hockey jersey chaser" - Tello Real

THE VAN DAM DANCE VIDEO THAT MAKES PRODUCTIVITY IMPOSSIBLE

LUNCHTIME UPDATE: DIGEST THIS!! - MONDAY

Randy Moss Wants To Know If You’d Like A Free Boost (Deadspin)

Mets Rookies Dress Like Women… Probably Under No Duress (Ben Maller)

Playboy Playmate Stephanie Adams Suing Blog (Blog NYC)

Octopus vs. Shark: The New Yankees vs. Red Sox (Zipped)

The Problem In St. Louis: Pujols Or The AL? (Sports Frog)

Ghana Victory Over USA Means No More AIDS Funding (Sports Pickle)

Dirk Nowitzski Has His Game Face On (Mr. Irrelevant)

David Wright Anxiously Awaiting The Gay Rumors (Sports Pickle)

FIFA President Says Refs Should Get Yellow Card (ESPN)

Tim McCarver Makes Worst, First Scrabble/Sports Reference Ever (DAFH)

Enough World Cup Highlights To Make You Sick (FIFA & Yahoo)

Minor League Coach Has Major League Tantrum (ESPN)

Dave Coulier & Tawny Kitaen Couldn't Find Anything Better Than This (YouTube)

SAY "CHEESE!" - MONDAY

Gulf High Gearing Up for Possible '07 NCAA Tournament Berth

NOW THAT THE WORLD CUP IS OVER

By Adam Briner, adamcbriner@yahoo.com

As far as I’m concerned, Ghana is the World Cup Champion.

Rumor and logic tell me that there will be other soccer games are currently being played, despite the USA going down in round 1 like my ex-girlfriend in frat house basement. As ridiculous as soccer is, I don’t think they would play just one round and, if they did, they would have the sense to call it something like “the finals� or “los championshipos� or something.

So there will be other matches played in the FIFA World Cup, but who honestly cares? Not who pretends to care, but who actually cares?

I’ll admit it; I got a little swept up in the fever of FIFA. I’ll never admit it to my sports friends. I’ll deny it to the end, but I watched a couple of games. I especially watched games that involved my red, white, and blue. Why would I, a die-hard futbol hater, walk over to the dark side? Well, it’s because my team – and, damn it, I pay taxes so they are mine – was supposed to be good. Finally, soccer was going to be respected and enjoyed by more than 9,000 people nationwide. I’m in, I guess. So I thought.

They were ranked fifth in the world. They’ve got a shot. They may not win or accomplish anything significant, but at least they’ll make a lot of noise. If it’s a good enough strategy for a war on terror, it’s good enough for our soccer team. But alas, like our country’s foreign policy, our soccer came up short. Very, very, very short.

Their first game was a blow out against the Czech Republic. We lost 3-0. A quick diatribe – a score of 3-0 is a blow out. That’s ridiculous. Three goals is the equivalent of 100 points in a college football game. It just doesn’t happen. Unless you’re playing a country with limited protein supply. Like Ghana. That, if nothing else, is proof that soccer is boring. Anyways, the U.S., which I was told was the fifth best team in the world, got smoked by some country that doesn’t have toilet paper. Apparently, they wipe their asses with our national pride.

Fine, whatever. We were probably hungover and tired from hanging out with German broads and their tantalizing beer. No one can turn that down, especially horny hooligan soccer players. But then we tied with Italy. I tried desperately to come up with an excuse. As I stated earlier, there are ties (apparently) between war and soccer. If that’s the case, there is no excuse – NO EXCUSE – for tying with Italy. My feeble loyalty to U.S. soccer was crushed. But wait! Italy is shaped like a foot (boot, foot, whatever) and soccer is played with your feet. I learned that much, at least, about the game. Maybe the shape of a country can make it extraordinarily good at sports that utilize that shape. Like people from Florida being good at penetrating women. And people from Oklahoma are good at frying things. Isn’t the Netherlands shaped like a nine-chamber bubbler?

Plus, as long as the U.S. beat Ghana in the round-one finals, we moved on to round two. Apparently, .500 is good – see Cub fans, there is hope. (Actually, no there isn’t - Rival Room Editor) Well at least it’s good enough for soccer. Surely, we can beat Ghana. No one has ever heard of Ghana, let alone taught them how to play soccer. All the British ever taught them was to get in the ship and lay down on the wood shelf. Fucking British. Travesties aside, we were in for a win and an advance to the real finals. Boo-ya.

Boo-no. We lost to Ghana. We lost by the uncommon soccer score of 2-1. That means, I think, that Ghana is the champion of the world. If you ask me how to logically explain that, I will ask you how you can logically explain how I ended up getting roped into soccer viewership. Fair enough? Give me one good reason why Americans should still care about The World Cup. I’m waiting.

CUSTOMER SERVICE IN THE SPORTING WORLD

by Adam Briner, adamcbriner@yahoo.com

I work customer service for a newspaper distributed in the Chicago area. Essentially, what this job entails is sitting and listening to the elderly gripe and complain because they had to walk down their front step to get their overpriced newspapers. They remember when newspapers were a nickel. It was before their hemorrhoid flared up and their wife ran off with that Nazi sailor, blah, blah blah, blah blah…

The general result of me working this job is delirium. I actually spend more time reading the sports page than listening to the calls. Most likely just like the rest of the customer service world. However, between listening to the customers (at least subconsciously) and reading about my Cubs’ results, my mental stability has become at the best questionable. So I’ve started to look at porn at work, inevitably leading me to fantasize. About sports. Show me boobies, I want baseballs. A nice fur pie? How about a shaving cream pie fight in post game interview! Nevertheless, my mental meanderings eventually led me to imagine sports celebrities calling in to me to complain about the newspaper delivery.

The following are the transcripts of said imagined conversations. For legal purposes, only my side of the conversation has been transcribed. Rivalfish already slangs nickel bags to Middle Schoolers, so I don’t want to bring any additional heat……


Ozzie Guillen

Me: Customer service…Hello, sir…whoa, sir slow down…sir…sir, you’re going to have to…What?...sir, I can’t understand a word…slow down, SLOW DOWN. I can’t…we’re feuding? Hello…Hello..HEY! I’m not a fag!…[he had hung up]


Wade Boggs

Me: Customer service…sir you sound…no need to get aggressive, sir. I’m just having a difficult time understanding you. No sir, I’m not implying that you are retarded; you’re just slurring your words…you have been drinking?...6000 beers? Come on, sir. No one could…so you can’t read your paper?...I see, you threw up on it. Ok, sir, I’ll request that they deliver you another.



Dwayne Wade

Me: Hello, customer service…you hurt yourself getting your paper? I’ve never heard of that…I see, sir. I do show on your account that you call almost everyday with a different paper related injury…I’m sorry, sir, say that again…oh, ok, you’re just going to read your paper anyways, despite the injuries? Alright, sir, have a good day and good luck!


Any Soccer Player

Me: Hello, customer service…I apologize, sir, but the reason there are no articles on the World Cup is because no one cares about it…ok, sir, I’m glad you understand. Now go slap your parents for starting you in a worthless sport as a tot. Have a good day.


Ricky Williams

Me: Customer service…no, sir we sell NE