Why on earth should I care about this?

So I don't really have any kind of vested interest in the BCS Championship game tonight. I'm watching, yes, and kind of lukewarmly pulling for Ohio because I have a bunch of friends who are Buckeyes fans and none who are Tigers fans.* Also, it's an understatement to call OSU the underdogs here, and I always like upset victories. It seems to me that the only appropriate finale to this bizarre and unpredictable college football season would be for Ohio to beat an SEC team for the championship. So Go Buckeyes! (I guess.)

I did, however, have my less-than-overwhelming desire to see LSU beaten somewhat whetted by this ridiculous fluff piece (double entendre definitely intended) about how much Tigers running back Jacob Hester apparently loves Elvis in the Globe today.

Hester has been to Graceland eight times and gave serious thought to making it nine over the Christmas break.

His favorite thing?

"I guess I'd have to say the cars," reports the senior fullback. "I love 'em all, from the pink Cadillac to the golf cart."

Hester says his wife has indulged him to the point of allowing an entire Elvis room in his house. Hester has all sorts of memorabilia, his favorite a 2-foot bust of The King.

The movies?

He's seen 'em all, his favorite, "Viva Las Vegas," which co-stars the fetching Ann-Margret, and whose title song is one of Elvis's most underrated efforts. "I agree with you," Hester says. "And there are at least five great songs in that movie."

Yes, Jacob Hester is a terrific RB, but do we really need to hear about how much he loves Elvis? (And yes, Hester is 22 and married. With an entire room devoted to Elvis memorabilia in his house. Dear lord I'm glad I don't live in the South.) No one in Boston follows college football to begin with (I personally went to the Princeton-Harvard tailgate this year, but didn't even bother getting a ticket to the game), so why on earth would you use up valuable newspaper space that could be much better expended on yet another "Do you think the Pats will win it all?" or "Should the Sox trade Jacoby Ellsbury?" survey?

It's so sad, yet true: during the baseball offseason, sportswriters in Boston legitimately have no idea what to write about. I have visions of them all locked in a room somewhere in Quincy, drawing hatch marks on the wall and tossing baseballs aimlessly back and forth. At some point today, someone will bust in excitedly, yelling, "Guys! Guys! Something's coming in on the baseball wire!" and everyone will bolt up in anticipation only to have their hopes dashed when it turns out to be something about Ben Broussard.

I feel your pain, guys. Really, I do. But please spare me articles like this. At least give me another photo montage making fun of the Lakers' short-shorts from the other night, or perhaps an attempt to explain why anyone would want to hire Cam Cameron after this season.



* Correction for the sake of factual accuracy: I don't really have any friends.

Hideo Nomo still plays baseball

I know, I know, I didn't believe it either, but it's true. The 39-year-old righty and former-Asian-sensation-turned-punchline (kind of like Jackie Chan) has signed a minor league deal with the Kansas City Royals (I'm assuming that the Royals themselves qualify as a minor league team) that includes an option to join spring training.

Back in the day, of course, Nomo was brilliant; besides Ichiro, he is really the player responsible for the currently burgeoning trade in young Japanese stars. He's still the only pitcher ever to have tossed a no-hitter at Coors Field, and I think that was before MLB figured out that they needed to humidify the balls (heh) to make the park less hitter-friendly. I still remember his no-hitter against Baltimore for the Sox in 2001... gather round, children, and I will tell you a tale of the Dark Ages, before the 2004 World Series changed everything, when being a Red Sox fan meant grasping at fleeting moments of glory throughout the season with the knowledge that you would ultimately be doomed to yet another agonizing postseason collapse. It was a different time back then, and that no-hitter was the exhilarating kickoff of one of the more painful baseball seasons I can recall. (Sorry to mix sports metaphors.) In some ways, that 2001 season provides the perfect analogy for Nomo's own career: starting out with such promise, but ending in humiliation and defeat. Nomo currently holds the #1 AND #2 spots for Worst Season ERA among pitchers with more than 80 innings pitched in a season since 2004 (8.25 and 7.24 respectively). Brutal.

So good luck, Hideo!

In other news: The Oakland As' fire sale continues, as Nick Swisher gets shipped to the White Sox for 3 minor leaguers. Billy Beane is a smart man and is clearly laying the foundation for a strong team in the years to come, but he better cross his fingers that his entire pitching staff doesn't get injured again this season. True story: I love the A's because I sat behind their bullpen at the first Fenway game I went to this past season, and after the bullpen catcher (a sexy redhead) finished warming up Chad Gaudin, he walked over and handed me the ball. I was as giddy as a 12-year-old. Here's hoping their trades work out for them.

So do we get Santana, or what?

Mad Libs, the Gabe Kapler way

I really don't find it all that interesting that Gabe Kapler has decided to return to the majors. Of course, he will always have a special place in my heart along with all the members of that magical 2004 Red Sox team (except for you, Doug Mientkiewicz*), but this story really just doesn't have anything particularly compelling about it. So a journeyman outfielder whose career was steeped in mediocrity (.270 average, 64 homers over 850 games) gets bored after a year of coaching Class A ball in Hicksville, SC and decides to restart his career with a team coming off a season of blown potential and continued squandering of Prince Fielder's obscene talent. Yawn. Have fun hitting 9 home runs next season, Gabe.

What did catch my attention, however, was this little gem of a grammatical construction in a Boston.com post about Kapler's return:

"As far as the question about burning bridges, it could not be further from the truth," he said. "My relationship with [Sox] baseball [operations] is stronger than ever."

That looks to me like some pretty serious liberty being taken with brackets in the second sentence there. By those rules, Kapler's sentence could be mutilated to say any number of things. Observe:

"My relationship with [furry] baseball [mascots] is stronger than ever."

"My relationship with [footed] baseball [pajamas] is stronger than ever."

"My relationship with [eating] baseball [shaped cereal] is stronger than ever."

"My relationship with [crapping out] baseball [sized lumps of glass] is stronger than ever."

"My relationship with [bald, somewhat reminiscent of a storm trooper in a purple-and-black vest, and yet undeniably attractive with his bulging forearms and chiseled features that remind me so much of my own] baseball [player Matt Holliday] is stronger than ever."

and George Mitchell's personal favorite,
"My relationship with [taking] baseball [steroids] is stronger than ever."

That last one really calls the value of Kapler's legacy of competent fielding and lazy fly outs to center field into question.

And he and Matt Holliday would make a cute couple, if only the right-wing fascists of the Rockies management would allow them to express their love. Curse you and your god-fearing ways, Clint Hurdle!




*Yeah, I spelled that right on the first try. You wish you were me.

Congratulations Jake Peavy

This time of year, Major League Baseball reminds me of Tara Reid. In much the same way that Ms. Reid will resort to any number of drunken, titties-askew shenanigans rather than simply accept that her career peaked with Van Wilder and fade gracefully out of the limelight, the MLB drags out the GM meetings, free agent negotiations, and award announcements well into November (Is there only one November, too?) in a desperate bid to keep your attention as you inevitably leave them for the younger, hotter basketball season.

Apparently, their ploy is working on me, as I actually went to MLB.com at exactly 2:01 today to see who won the NL Cy Young award. (I'd make a "Baseball, I can't quit you" joke here, but it just seems inappropriate given the whole Phil Jackson snafu.) Predictably, Jake Peavy won the award in a unanimous vote.


Here's my favorite Peavy-related episode of The Dugout to celebrate.

Eric Wedge received the AL's Best Manager award for overcoming the twin challenges of having a young, inexperienced team and having to play Jhonny Peralta at shortstop (which is arguably worse than not having anybody there at all). Also, I hear he threatened to curse the BBWAA with a plague of flies if he didn't win. The Diamondbacks' Bob Melvin won NL Manager of the Year, presumably for his ability to duck the flying garbage Arizona fans like to chuck when they get pissed off.


I have nothing to say about the A-Rod thing whatsoever. Seriously, I don't care.