Is Sanchez A Marked Man?

Mark Sanchez's "New York Minute" may be up. The Jets' 29-14 loss to the Giants Christmas Eve wasn't any old loss. It was an embarrassment coming against, of all teams, their fellow MetLife Stadium tenants. And this coming just days after coach Rex Ryan said his guys were the better team over the last two years. He was right on that point. But that story turned out to be as worthless as a "Jets 2010 Super Bowl Champs" tee shirt. The game wasn't anywhere near as close as the score. Sanchez completed 30 passes on a career-high 59 attempts but put up only 258 yards and was picked twice. The Jets were also 4 for 21 on third-down conversions. No ground just pound, like in pounding headache. Rex, Sanchez' biggest supporter, was forced to eat a big helpin' of humble pie. "They were the better team today, and they're the better team this year. Clearly, I was wrong." Never a good idea to make your boss look like a clown.

"Give Him Time"

Yeah, this season we've all heard all kinds of theories about why Sanchez stinks: he's only in his third year and he needs more time; it's his lousy offensive line decimated by retirement and bad draft picks; it's dopey play calling by offensive coordinator Brian Schottenheimer. Or just maybe Jets fans' agita began two years ago when Sanchez was caught wolfing down a hot dog on the sideline in Oakland with the Jets up by 38.

But let's be real. Sanchez didn't take the Jets to the AFC Championship Game the past two seasons. He managed them there. He held his own in the wins against Cincinnati, San Diego, New England and Indianapolis. No great numbers but no disastrous interceptions or safety's either. His effort was like having lunch at KFC - filling. No health benefits but no food poisoning either. A full belly until a few hours later when the more-important dinner would be served. The problem this time is that it looks like players and fans alike will have to hibernate until next fall when dinner, or more precisely another chance at a Super Bowl will be served. According to Las Vegas odds makers the Jets have a 6% chance of making the playoffs Sunday. They'll have to win in Miami while the Bengals, Raiders and Titans all lose. In other words, "forgettaboutit!"

A Real Pain In The Neck

The turning point in the Jets' season came in mid-November. After it looked like they got back on track with a 27-11 win against Buffalo, they were exposed at home 37-16 by the Patriots in front of a national tv audience. If a challenge by the Jets on an end zone catch by tight end Rob Gronkowski failed, he would've had three td's and Rex's halftime one liner thrown at a Pats fan might've cost him even more than $75,000. Sanchez came up small in that one also finishing with one touchdown,  two interceptions and a qb rating of 64.7 (Brady with 3 td's, no picks and a 118.4 rating).

But Jets faithful stayed the course. After all Denver was up next  just four days later. Surely Sanchez could out play Tim Tebow, the hyped-up chosen one who couldn't hit the ocean with a pass from 20 yards. Nope. Sanchez couldn't even shine in that one. A claymation battle to the death between Richard Simmons and Tommy Tune would've been more manly.

  

Sure enough neither threw a touchdown pass, but in the third quarter Broncos cornerback Andre Goodman picked off an ill-advised Sanchez pass and ran it back 26 yards for a game-tying td. Tebow's 20 yard touchdown run with :58 left gave Denver a 17-13 win and dropped the Jets to 5-5. Sanchez also suffered a pinched nerve in his neck which may or may not be the reason he's been flatter than a day-old egg cream ever since.

From that point on it's been all downhill. Sanchez has regressed on down field passes this season, completing only 34.9 percent of his throws traveling 15 or more yards. In 2010, his mark was 41.7 percent. According to ESPN, Sanchez has really struggled over his last 6 games, completing only 17 percent of throws on such distances, the worst rate in the league.

Looking At The Big Picture

It really comes down to whether or not Mark Sanchez has the ability to become an elite NFL quarterback. The kind opposing players say they have to stop to beat the Jets. So far he hasn't. Aaron Rodgers, Peyton Manning and Tom Brady aren't "game managers". If he does have those tools he sure hasn't showed them to this point.Rifle arm? No. Namath-quick release? Again no. Roethlisberger ability to stay on his feet? Sheech! All that adds up to the sobering conclusion that Sunday's regular season finale in Miami could mean his New York Minute has come to an end.

And On Sunday God Told Tim Tebow To Rest

     It was the highest rated NFL game of the season and the second highest in the last 14 years. Tom Brady and the New England Patriots against Tim Tebow and the Denver Broncos. Brady, the three-time Super Bowl Champ against Tebow, the guy who can't throw but who was 7-1 since taking over for the late (in Broncosville) Kyle Orton.

     Yes, on this Sunday for awhile it looked like God was indeed comfy on his favorite cloud once again infusing his favorite football son with ungodly football prowess.

Tebow's nine-yard run (and missed two-point conversion, oops!) gave the Broncos a 6-0 lead. The Patriots came back to take a 7-6 lead on a 33-yard td to Chad Ochocinco but Lance Ball's 32 yard run regained the lead 13-7. Matt Prater's field goal stretched it to  16-7.


TV Preacher Gets Really Pissed Off

Evanagelist Pat Robertson had to be in heaven at this point especially after blowing his lid over a Saturday Night Live skit the night before. In the skit, Jesus appears in the Denver Broncos' locker room and asks Tebow to tone down the praise and pick up his game a little bit. Jesus then leaves saying,  "Mormonism? All true. Every word. All right, peace."

But that damn devil was back working his evil as the Patriots regained the lead and then some with two touchdown's and a pair of field goals.

A Lucifer-inspired Danny Woodhead 10 yard run in the third made it 34-16. And he breathed Hooter's Three-Mile Island hot wings-fire letting BenJarvus Green-Ellis jam a one yard run right down the poor throats of the angelic Broncos closing it out at 41-23.

What Conclusions Can We Come Up With?

A whole bunch. At the top of the pile would be this one: Tom Brady is a thousand times better than Tim Tebow and the Patriots are ten times better than the Broncos. Nah, that's logical. Based on rational thought. No good. Hey, we could say God took the day off! After all Sunday is His day. Or maybe He was watching the Green Bay-Kansas City game and decided to give the poor Chiefs something to be happy about by helping interim coach Romeo Crennel get a win in his first game. Or even better yet, perhaps He tuned into the Indy - Tennessee game (assuming it wasn't blacked out in Heaven) and decided it was time to punish the Titans for firing former offensive coordinator Mike Heimerdinger shortly after he found out he had terminal cancer. Hmmm. Maybe it was simply just a case of Tim Tebow not going into his prayer stance enough during his win against the Bears the week before.

And Speaking Of This Prayer Stance

Imagine your at work and Julie, one cubicle over, pulls out pictures of her kids and insists on showing them to you every time she does something good. "Nice job on that Nurmlinger file Julie," bellows the boss. And you say to yourself, "Damn it here she comes again."
"Let me show you pictures of my kids Caleb, Jonah and Mary," says a proud and determined Julie.

I know what I would say to Julie. After being polite the first time, I'd say something like, "Julie, don't bother me. They're wonderful but leave me alone." Same thing with Tebow. You love God Tim? Great. I'm not paying $125 for a ticket on my day off to see you pray. I don't care what you believe. Just throw the damn ball. Hopefully to a guy on the other team.

Sorry Tampa, But You Don't Need The Rays

There comes a time in life when you just have to put your foot down. I'm not talking about being like House Speaker John Boehner (that tan's gotta come out of a tube or a tanning bed) and his billionaire supporters who are against everything that doesn't include tax breaks for those with a net worth three times the GNP of Mexico. I'm talking about important stuff. Stuff like small market baseball teams.

Not long ago, in the days when Americans vacationed each Thursday on Gilligan's Island and each Saturday in Miami Beach with Jackie Gleason, Art Carney, Frank Fontaine and the June Taylor Dancers, there were ten teams in the American League and ten in the National.

All for the most part, like Yogi might say, big time cities. New York, LA, Chicago, Philly, St. Louis, yada, yada, yada. Yeah you had Milwaukee but the Braves were a team that won back-to-back pennants in '57 and '58 and had a pretty rich history with players like Hank Aaron,Warren Spahn, Eddie Mathews to name a few. And even they got the boot (or they gave the boot to the city) in '65 and moved to Atlanta the following year.

189,241,798

No, that's not how many silk smoking jackets Rush Limbaugh has (he probably has more), but the number of people living in the U.S. in 1963. And it seemed like a good number of them thought baseball was the only thing goin'. I'm not going to do a full expose on life back then compared to now. But the quality of baseball was better back then. The main reason is that with only 20 teams, you didn't have Double A players filling out rosters. Today we see guys in the starting rotation who back then would be spending their summer night's throwing balls at a stuffed giraffe at the local carnival.

Guys like switch-hitter Jorge Posada, well past his prime and pushing 40, is batting close to .200 against lefthanders. If now was then, Jorge would have been well into his insurance-selling career.

So I decided to take a peek at small market baseball with my own eyes. On my day off I decided to take a ride to Tampa-St. Pete from my home in Port St. Lucie to see the rubber game of the Yankees vs. Rays. Good pitching match up with 13-5 CC Sabathia facing 8-8 James "Big Game" Shields. The ride isn't for the weak - 190 miles each way right through the middle of Florida. Large stretches of no where's land where if the car decides to stop rolling you're basically a pile of skeletal remains.

My first surprise was after I passed downtown Tampa. I know, they always say "Tampa-St. Pete" but I really never took it seriously. They really are two different places. And the Rays aren't really in Tampa, they're of course in St. Pete. To get there you have to cross a seven mile bridge that runs a few feet over the Bay. Visions of tsunami flashed before my eyes, but aside from the old man in the hat doing 50 in the left lane and the Goth chic in the Jeep doing 85 in the right, things were cool.

Finally, 3 1/2 later, I peeled off onto 8th avenue. There it is, the Trop, the place Johnny Damon now calls home. You can practically sense the ghosts of Scott Kazmir and Rocco Baldelli hovering over the white Hefty Bag roof.

Parking was a breeze and for ten bucks it was worth it instead of trying to find free spot on a side street. They sure got the big boys beat on that one. I remember outside of AT&T Park in San Francisco they were charging $30 four years ago. It's probably a
half-day's pay at Yankee Stadium.

Now it's a matter of getting a ticket. I did research and found the Rays averaged about 23,000 a game against the Yankees the first time they came into town this season. So, no sweat. Actually lots of sweat. The five block walk to the ballpark left me drenched. Now that I'm here, where the hell are the ticket windows? I walked halfway around the place and couldn't find one. I see a huge line, with most wearing some kind of Yankee stuff.  Sweating like a pig under my own Yankee hat I figured I'd ask a my Yankee brethren where the ticket booth was. And sure enough, they were very helpful. Probably would ignore me up north, but hey we're in this together on foreign soil!

I asked the ticket guy what happened to the $17 seats and he tells me that price ends five hours before the game so I'm bait-and-switched to a $20 seat way up top. No biggie, twenty bucks would barely get me a hot dog and soda at the House That Jeter Built. So chalk up another one for the small market guys. But five $7.50 bucks for hot dog and $5.00 for a small Pepsi? I'll take two and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for three days when I get home.

The first thing I noticed inside the place was the lack of a/c. I know they don't draw, but please at least keep the place cool. Then I look around to see hands down the ugliest ballpark ever. This IS the K-Mart of ballparks. I didn't think they still made AstroTurf, but sure enough it's here. The sagging Hefty Bag ceiling looked like something I'd expect to see at a stadium in Budapest.

Dim lights. And try finding out how many outs there are or out-of-town scores, forget-about-it. Bare cement where there should be stuff to cover it up. And the best yet - a maze of catwalks above the field.  I didn't see one person up there the whole game but I did see a ball bounce off it into Evan Longoria's glove and play continue like it was a do-over.
Now for the fans. My informal survey showed that six out of ten males looked like Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh. And about of ten females looked like WKRP's Loni Anderson (the other six like Roseanne Barr). I got the feeling though that if an eathquake suddenly hit and everbody was running for their lives, these people would at least say "excuse me" after stepping over you. Back in the Bronx they'd just step on you. And pick up any loose change. So I'll give points to Rays fans, but I'll take them back because they basically don't show up unless the Rays are playing the Yankees or Red Sox. And even then they're outnumbered.

As far as the game went, Tampa won 2-1 with Kyle Farnsworth getting the save. Funny, he couldn't do that with the Yankees. The big dude with the heat who always got beat. Oh well.

So now I'm in the car for the long ride home and I'm tuned into the Rays post-game. The host took phone calls but constantly complained about how the small market Rays have such a disadvantage against those big, bad guys from up north. I wanted to call and set him straight but I was too worried I'd weave out of my lane and get pulled over by old smokie. So I listened to his sarcastic rants. How the Yankees just buy their way to championships (did they win any from 2001-2008?) forgetting of course their home grown players like Jeter, Rivera, Pettitte, Posada, Cano, Gardner, et al. Not to mention the dozens of free agents they did sign who weren't worth a bag of balls. And not to mention the revenue sharing millions teams like Tampa Bay get to help them stay competitive that all to often end up in the owners pockets. I said to myself, it's time to put my foot down. A sunny, lazy, laid back place like Tampa-St. Pete doesn't have to have a major league team. If you can't run with the big dogs, don't run period. If you can't pay, don't play.

Just like in 1963 MLB would do just fine if the teams like the Rays, Marlins and A's would fold.

And just like Jackie Gleason used to say, "Good night everybody!"

Jose Can't You See, You're Just Not Worth It

Is Reyes worth Carl Crawford money? No. Carl Crawford's not worth Carl Crawford money. He put on a ski mask and robbed the Red Sox out of $142 million over seven years. He's going to be 30 next month and he's batting .243 with 6 home runs and 31 rbi's. Not to mention he's coming off the dl with a Rickey Henderson-like bad hammy. Now don't get me wrong, I love to see the Red Sox get robbed. I'm a Yankee fan. Boston's a nice little town, quaint, full of history. But the people there don't need a great baseball team. They should be eating lobster, drinking Sam Adams, strolling around Faneuil Hall for overpriced chachka's and reminiscing about Dom DiMaggio instead being an annoying fruit fly buzzing around the champagne bottle of Yankee greatness. But I digress.

Oh God, What Have I Done?

Jose Reyes reminds me of a guy just out of a mental institution getting ready for a date. First day back home, getting all dressed up like nothing happened. Puts on his best clothes, great cologne, shines up the car. Fresh haircut. Looks in the mirror all afternoon making sure the smile is perfect. Like nothing ever happened. Forget the past eight years spent in a straight jacket. But an hour into the date the voices in the head return and it all unravels. "Get me outta here" screams the date. And "Get me outta here" is what the Mets will scream if they sign Reyes to a long-term mega deal.

Thanks For The Cash, Now I Feel Sick

Jorge Posada comes to mind. In 2007, the last year of his last contract, Posada was a monster. Everything he hit seemed to either end up in the gap or in the seats. From both sides of the plate no less. Posada hit .338 with 20 home runs and 90 rbi's that season. What could the Yankees do? Even though he was 36, Posada was a key member of the "Core of Four" with Derek Jeter, Mariano Rivera and Andy Pettitte, a clutch go-to guy in each of their four championship seasons ('96, '98, '99 and 2000). But sure enough after signing a four-year $52 million dollar deal, his numbers dried up faster than Newt Gingrich's presidential campaign. In mid-July Posada was placed on the dl with a bad shoulder. Then a week later the team said he would have season-ending surgery. In 51 games Posada batted just .268. He bounced back in 2009 to hit .285, but dropped to .248 last season, and got off to such a brutal start this year only his name and fond memories saved him from getting cut altogether. He even took himself out of the lineup for a game against the Mets of all people and told the front office to "get me out of here," but later apologized postponing for the time being a very ugly end to a great career in pinstripes.

But with Reyes things are even worse. Like a car with cheap tires, bad things seem to happen to his wheels. When he sneezes he blows a hamstring. Very bad for a player who's entire game revolves around his legs.

His rookie season in '03 was cut short by a month because of a sprained ankle. In '04, his season got off to a slow start as he suffered a strained hamstring and came off the dl on June 19th. Throw in a back problem and Reyes finished the year batting .255. But he managed to finally stay on his feet over the next four seasons showing Mets fans there was hope after all. Reyes played in 161 games in 2005, 153 in 2006, 160 in 2007 and 159 in 2008. He batted .273, .300, .280 and .297 respectively with a combined 258 stolen bases.

They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

Luckily for Jose he's not a horse because if he were he would've been put down in 2009. In May he was back on the dl with a calf injury. But while rehabbing he tore the calf muscle keeping him out until August. And just when he was about to come back he tore his right hammy. Thirty-six games played and his HMO had the best year of anyone. Then last year looked like another lost cause when he was diagnosed with a hyperactive thyroid gland during spring training. That landed him back on the dl causing him to miss the start of the season. When he managed to actually play he did pretty well batting .282 with 30 stolen bases.

So now's his walk year. Just like Posada did in his walk year, Reyes looks like a man on a mission, not a man looking to spend the rest of his career on the trainer's table. He's been a combination of Ricky Henderson and Rod Carew - 30 stolen bases through July with a major-league leading .354 batting average.
Could this be the real Reyes? One prominent ESPN reporter even did a piece proclaiming Reyes as a guy the Yankees should jump at to replace Derek Jeter. Can you see Reyes running full speed into the 3rd base box seats smashing his face up like Jeter did in a July 2004 game against the Red Sox? Or running the bases like Johnny Damon against the Phillies in the 2009 World Series? I can't. I see a Jose Reyes running the bases like a freshman at Queensboro Community College and running after a foul ball and pulling up lame like-well like Jose Reyes.

And Guess What?

Yep, he's back on the dl. With another hamstring injury, this one suffered against the Yankees. He'll miss his third All-Star Game because of injury and who knows how many games after that. Shame. Turning it on like a madman in his walk year and ending up back where he started.

So if you're GM Sandy Alderson, do you tell owner Fred Wilpon to spend Carl Crawford money on Reyes or trade him to a contender for some hot prospects? Wilpon, who's facing a billion dollar lawsuit in connection with the Bernie Madoff mess will have one helluva time finding the cash for that. The real question is whether there's a sucker out there who will overlook Jose's medical chart and see the numbers he put up in the first half.

Just like the mental patient, the GM of that other team will overlook Reyes' past history. And just like the mental patients date will end up screaming, "Get me outta here!"

Dodgers Dodge A Bullet (For The Time Being)

In the days of the Wild West, a place some of our politicians want to take us back to, snake oil salesman made their livings selling worthless elixirs and potions to the simple minded promising cures for everything that ailed them. Today we get bombarded every hour of every day by their great great children who tell us via talk radio and Fox News that it's best to let the richest of the rich, the most influential insiders in our society do whatever they want. We will all benefit. Trickle down effect. Belly laugh, guffaw...Who needs rules and regulations? When Mr. Moneybags takes more of our money through tax breaks, it'll mean bigger paychecks for the rest of us. Just keep waiting for the mailman, it's coming soon. Just like the missing hair on our heads returning via The Helsinki Formula.

I think MLB is getting a taste of its own snake oil. The Dodgers, the game's second most storied franchise is officially bankrupt. The canvass with the Duke, Jackie, Gil, Sandy and Orel just had a big bucket of stinking slop thrown at it by team owner Frank McCourt. We aren't talking about a minor league hockey team having it's books wiggled and jiggled by its owner and then everybody losing their jobs because of it like I experienced first hand ten years ago in Arizona. Buried somewhere on the back page of the Tucson Pennysaver. This is The Dodgers people! Now commissioner Bud Selig and the owners he represents should be thinking long and hard why they allowed McCourt to buy the team in 2004 without a penny of his own money! That's right, $430 million bucks and none of it his own. Kinda reminds me of those late night "Make Millions in Real Estate With No Money Down" scams. Big money. Big profits. Lots of chics. No work. Awsome!

 Big Trouble in LA LA Land

The hanky panky began in 2009 when on the eve of the NLCS Frank and his ex Jamie announced they were separating after 30 years of marriage. A week later Frank sent Jamie, who was the Dodgers CEO a letter asking her to contact human relations and work out a time to clear out her office and scram. Then according to the LA Times, a little less than a year later the Dodgers Dream Foundation comes under investigation by the California attorney general's office for payments it made to club executive Howard Sunkin. According to tax returns, Sunkin, the charity's chief executive, earned a salary of nearly $400,000 in 2007, almost a quarter of the foundation's budget. Nothing to worry about, everything's under control says the commish.

Three months later, the paper reports, the judge in the divorce case invalidates the post nuptial marital property agreement that Frank had claimed provided him with sole ownership of the Dodgers.  McCourt's lawyers said Frank would use other legal avenues to establish his sole ownership of the Dodgers, while Jamie McCourt's lawyers said she would be confirmed as the co-owner of the team because it was community property of their marriage. Ah, now it's finally sinking in. Last April, Selig appoints a trustee to see what the hell was going on. This gets Frank out of the picture as far as running the team goes.

It looked like Frank and Jamie had a deal worked out, but it all depended on Selig approving a long term, very expensive tv contract with Fox. But Selig basically says, "Frankly Frank, the deal stinks." So this unravels the agreement between the McCourts and really puts Frank on the hot seat.

The Rat Gets Cornered

Now it's the bottom of the ninth with the Blue and White down by three but there's no steroid - pumped Manny at the plate. Just a good 'ol American entrepreneur doing the best he could to keep the dream alive.
An estimated $30 million dollars in payroll is due at the end of the week ($7 million of it going to Manny who last we heard was vacationing with dad somewhere in Spain).

So what to do? The only thing he can do, declare bankruptcy. And that's what he did. But he also managed to get a $150 million interim loan. That means if the bankruptcy court approves it Tuesday, McCourt would meet Thursday's payroll deadline and could still call the shots throughout the bankruptcy proceedings.

Doesn't Matter Franky, You're Still Toast

Selig though, says the bridge loan doesn't change a thing and does even more damage to the franchise. League rules say if an owner declares bankruptcy the commissioner can kick him out. But bankruptcy court proceeding usually override MLB rules. So for the time being, Frank is still able to fog the mirror.

The bottom line is this: the commissioner and the owners want him gone a.s.a.p. So do the fans. So does every sane person who has ever been the victim of a fraud. And the guy who I really feel sorry for? Donnie Baseball, a.k.a. manager Don Mattingly who waited patiently years and years for his chance to manage. The guy who was the heart and sole of a Yankees team that finally made the playoffs for the first time in his career in the last year of his career only to lose a heartbreaking ALCS game five in Seattle. And then they go out and win it all a year later after his retirement. Now all he has to show in his rookie season on the bench is a 35-44 record and a once-proud franchise that's now broke.

Like Snake Oil Sam said, "Step right up folks...it will heal anything that bothers you..."

Are The Mets Really Worth Just A Buck? Talk About Ripoffs!

Bad things sure do happen when you're in a financial mess. Just ask Mets owner Fred Wilpon. His dealings with crook extraordinaire Bernie Madoff is launching him into the real world of knocking your brains out to make a crap living.

How did that song go on the tv show Good Times? You know the one about a a struggling black family in Chicago in the '70's just trying to make ends meet starring Jimmy Walker? The lyrics went like this:

Good Times.
Any time you meet a payment.
Good Times.
Any time you need a friend.
Good Times.
Any time you're out from under.

Not getting hastled, not getting hustled.
Keepin' your head above water,
Making a wave when you can.

Temporary lay offs.
Good Times.
Easy credit rip offs.
Good Times.
Scratchin' and surviving.
Good Times.
Hangin in a chow line
Good Times.
Ain't we lucky we got 'em
Good Times.

  

In 2002 Wilpon bought out the rest of Nelson Doubleday Jr.'s stake in the Mets for $135 million. Including the 2002 season, the Mets win total looks like this: 75, 66, 71, 83, 97, 88, 89, 70, and 79. Their best year came in 2006 but came crashing down in game seven of the NLCS when Carlos Beltran, with the bases loaded and two outs in the ninth, down by two, struck out looking against Adam Wainwright.

Then, sometime during the eight years of Bush deregulation which gave birth to Enron and $800 a month electric bills along with a Herbert Hoover 1930's economy among other wonderful things, Wilpon played financial footsie with Madoff and his now legendary Ponzi scheme. It was reported that Wilpon lost about $700 million. But Madoff's bubble burst in December 2008, and Wilpon revised his figures saying his “losses” were a lot less. In fact, reports later had Wilpon actually making $300 million on the deal. Give this man a tax break John Boehner! Alas, in December Wilpon was named in lawsuit by other “investors” and now faces a $1 billion tab if he loses.

All this of course puts “W” in about the same place Beltran was against Wainwright in the 2006 NLCS. Down by two, bottom of the ninth just struggling to stay alive. Last month, Wilpon said the Mets could lose $70 million this season and that Madoff was actually once offered a stake in the team. Kinda like when Dick Cheney offered Enron executive and thief-to-be Ken Lay the position of head of the U.S. Treasury back in 2001.

Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?

Well because his baseball empire, much like the Mets did in September of 2008 and 2009, is about to pull a major Humpty Dumpty, an investor appears to have come to the “rescue.” Hedge Fund manager David Einhorn has agreed to buy a $200 minority share in the Mets mess. He runs Greenlight Capital RE Ltd., a Cayman Islands based reinsurance company (ahhh, there's something about a Cayman Islands outfit that makes me feel real confident about this whole thing). But Einhorn didn't make his mega millions being a putz (not the J.J. kind anyway).

According to Forbes.com, if the Wilpon family doesn't pay Einhorn back his $200 million in three years, Einhorn can obtain a 60% stake in the Mets for an additional $1. Yes you read right. $1. Enough for half of an Egg McMuffin without ham. And according to ESPN.com, Einhorn would still control 1/6 of the team if the Wilpon's do pay him back his original $200 million investment.

So Einhorn's $200 million could keep the Mets from becoming property of MLB like the old Montreal Expos and possibly the LA Dodgers, for the time being anyway.

And what if Wilpon loses his Madoff lawsuit? Terms of the deal won't matter because Wilpon will be next door neighbors in the projects with JJ.

Good Times. Ain't we lucky we got 'em?

LeBron, You Look Like You're Throwing Games on Purpose

Yeah, it's unthinkable. The NBA's greatest player, two-time defending MVP LeBron James throwing a game. Ridiculous! Who would do such a thing? What would he have to gain? The most sought after free agent in NBA history - the guy who held sports fans (and Cavaliers owner Dan Gilbert) captive for months before letting the world know where he was taking his talents - LeBron James on the take? Isn't that something you see in some old 1940's flick during a Cubs rain out?

Of course no one would be stupid enough to throw a game, especially in the championship round. Well come to think of it, it did happen at least once that we know of. Eight members of the 1919 Chicago White Sox were banned for life for throwing the World Series to the Cincinnati Reds. First baseman Arnold Gandil, who had connections to the mob, convinced his friend and professional gambler Joseph Sullivan that the Series could be fixed. The rest is history. Say it ain't so, Joe, but Joe knew better. And considering how big baseball was back then, it was unthinkable.


But basketball's different, right? No. No different. There was the college basketball point shaving scandal in the late 1940's and early 1950's. Several star players including a few on the CCNY team in 1951 took bribes from gamblers and in return saw to it that their teams didn't cover the spread. It also happened in 1981 at Boston College. And at Arizona State in 1997. And a year later at Northwestern. Oh yes, wasn't there an NBA ref named Tim Donaghy who worked NBA games for 13 seasons who bet on games he officiated from 2005 -2007 and made calls affecting the point spread in those games?

Having an off night in any sport is just part of the game. But there's something not right here with LeBron. Is he hiding an injury? Maybe. But I don't see it. No limp, no grimacing, no hobbling onto the court on one leg like Willis Reed did before game seven against the Lakers in May of 1970. Flu? In game four Dirk had a 102 degree fever and hacked and wheezed his way to a 21 point (10 in the fourth quarter) 11 rebound night. Are you telling me that all of a sudden in one week James goes from an Adonis/sharpshooting hybrid to an eight point South Beach talentless garbage-time scrub? Or that a guy with his drive and pride suddenly doesn't care?

Probably the most likely explanation for LeBron's new zombie style is that he's either physically and/or mentally drained. But that in itself is tough to swallow because Dwayne Wade has to be just as tired and he's on his way to the Finals MVP. He's driving hard to the basket while LBJ has the best seat in the house - to the right of the foul line.

I guess time will eventually tell and we'll find out the truth. I sure hope it doesn't involve a perp walk.

Shaquille, You Shoulda Done This Sooner

I saw Mantle do it. I saw Namath do it (and I'm not talking about their working relationship as owners of a temp agency in the '70's called Mantle Men and Namath Girls), and I saw Willie Mays do it and enemies like Celtics center Dave Cowens, Orioles shortstop-third baseman Cal Ripken and pitcher Jim Palmer do it. Now I can say I saw Shaq do it. Hang 'em up way, way, way after he should've.   

Mantle, who not only hit for average but had gorilla power from both sides of the plate (and is the all-time leader in walk-off home runs with 13) and had race horse speed, could barely walk in his final season in 1968 and was exiled to first base. He destroyed any chance he had to finish with a .300 career batting average when he hit .237 that year.

By 1973, Namath's arthritic knees were about as bad as a Bangkok hooker's, and I'm not sure what was more excruciating to watch - him feebly scrambling away from Dolphins linebacker Manny Fernandez or his backup, Al Woodall attempting to hit tight end Rich Caster eight feet away. After getting picked 28 times in 1975 and 16 a year later, Namath finally bolted Broadway and finished up his Hall of Fame career in 1977 with the L.A. Rams where he played in just four games. Joe Willie in a Rams uni looked about as ridiculous as Prince Charles driving a Yugo.


But the most pathetic of all was seeing 42-year-old Willie Mays, arguably the greatest all around ball player ever, fall down while chasing a fly ball in the 1973 World Series against the Oakland A's. Say Hey Willie should've said "hey, that's it for me" after the 1967 season when he dropped from 37 home runs to 22. He hit just 40 more in his final three seasons.

Now we have the big, cuddly, lovable and quotable Shaq signing off after 19 seasons. How can anyone not like a 7-1, 325 pound guy who always seemed to have fun? Especially after making a fool of himself in the 1996 train wreck "Kazaam?" Or when was asked about then-rookie Yao Ming, O'Neal told a reporter, "you tell Yao Ming, ching chong yang, wah, ah so." And his legendary feud with Kobe and his antics with the media will be fodder for sports talk radio for years to come.

Let's face it. He was the centerpiece for three straight Lakers titles, four altogether. He led the league in scoring twice and finished with a 23.7 average. But his last decent year was 2008-2009 when he averaged 17.8 points and 8.4 rebounds for the Suns. When you start moving from city to city like an '80's hair band, you know you've hung on too long. He shuffled through four towns - Miami, Phoenix, Cleveland and Boston in his final seven seasons. And the past two years were a complete waste. He played in just 90 out 164 games and averaged 12 and 9 points respectively.

OK, Shaq scored lots of points - 28,596 of them. But do you remember how he scored them? For the most part, they were dunks or shots within five feet of the basket. He led the league in field goal percentage 10 times. No surprise with that size and strength. He couldn't shoot a jumper and had no hook shot like Jabbar. He was a complete lunatic at the foul line hitting just 53% - hell, I hit 75% when I played street ball in Queens. In fact, in 19 seasons he hit just one three-pointer! I'll never forget a playoff game during his final title year with the Lakers when he took a foul shot and chucked a line drive off the front of the rim. Phil Jackson sat on the bench with his hands palms-up and said, "What the hell was that?"

There are greats and then there are GREATS. But I have a lot more respect for a great who quits while he's still ahead.

Without a doubt Shaq will be a first ballot Hall of Famer. But just like with Mickey, Joe, and Willie,  it sure was hard to see him out there the last couple of seasons.

Marlins Logan Morrison, Freedom of Speech, Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah

His teammates call him LoMo. Florida Marlins president David Samson may have another name for him. If he does, he's not saying. But he is saying to knock off the Tweets. Not the Rings Dings, Twinkies or those other sugary pleasures, but those snappy one-liners the 23-year-old left fielder belts out on Twitter.

Morrison's tweets include a wide assortment of topics from sex and the human body to stinky cab drivers.

The Marlins front office is watching and they're getting nervous. Samson says he told LoMo to go slow. "People are waiting for you to make a mistake. They're going to bait you on Twitter to say something inappropriate that you can never take back. It takes an entire career to build a reputation, and one tweet to lose it. As long as he understands that, it's fine." OK, let me get this right. Morrison's gonna get himself blackballed like 1950's actor John Ireland because he tweeted that the cabby who drove him to Checkers had b.o?

Last November, Charlie Villanueva of the Detroit Pistons chirped on Twitter that Boston's Kevin Garnett called him a cancer patient during a game the night before (Villanueva with bald head and all due to an autoimmune skin disease) and challenged him to a fight. And Bengals receiver Chad Ochocinco (who has nearly 2 million followers on Twitter) was nailed  $25,000 by the NFL for tweeting during a preseason game last August. Just two of many instances where pro athletes spoke their mind and the world keeps turning. By the time Charlie and Kevin face each other again the only thing different will be that they're both a year older. Ocho will still be trying get get his gray matter unscrambled from his 1.5 second ride on a bull in May.

So here's Morrison, two months into his major league career getting his bosses nervous over his tweets. Unfortunately for the rookie, he's too unimportant in the big picture to have them look the other way. No weak grins and "It's just Manny being Manny" here. LoMo better be damn good because if he keeps it up and he's not, he'll earn himself a one way ticket to Single A Hooterville where Arnold the Pig is the team mascot.

What I don't get is that the Marlins, an organization known for being super cheap with a fan base that couldn't even fill their stadium for the World Series in 2003 would see Morrison's tweets as a bad thing. No guys, it's a good thing. Young player with potential saying funny things to his followers. That's good. It develops a relationship between player and potential paying customers. After the Marlins deal with Miami to build a new stadium turned out to be a major fraud, they should take Oscar Wilde's quote that "any free publicity is good publicity," and run with it.

And of course there's always the First Amendment to the Constitution: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances." I think Morrison should tweet that to Samson. Stand up for your right to speak or tweet!

I just hope he makes sure to bring some comfortable pillows for those long bus rides back to Hooterville.

The Heat vs. The Mavericks. Can They Both Lose Please?

Man, what a choice. Miami against Dallas for the NBA title. Red state versus purple. The city where my beloved JFK was murdered and the ensuing investigation whitewashed, bleached, botched, bungled, fabricated and processed into the biggest pile of nonsense in the history of American crime.


Dallas - a place where we're forced to watch George W. Bush, an economy and foreign affairs wrecker who did more to destroy the American middle class than Hitler, Tojo and Khruschev could ever have imagined, sit next to Nolan Ryan who in my book was the most unhittable pitcher who ever threw a baseball in the majors. Heads up on that pop up Dubya! Better luck next time. And of course we all know how the Miami Heat got to this point. Pat Riley shipping everyone and everything not Crazy Glued to the floor at the American Airlines Arena out of South Beach to clear cap space for LeBron, Dwayne and Bosh.

It's funny to look back ten months after LBJ's "Decision" and recall how so many hoop experts were saying that the Heat were top heavy and didn't have the bench guys to win it all. How center Joel Anthony was a zero in the paint and how the Heat would melt fast because they didn't have a point guard. Well Anthony's lefty layup during Miami's 18-3 run in the closing minutes of game five went through the hole and counted for two just like any of Luc Longley's when he took up space between Pippen and Rodman.

And yes, Mike Bibby went scoreless with just two assists, and Mario Chalmers had just four points off the bench. But LeBron's 28 including a pair of throat-stomping three's in the final four minutes along with Wade's 21 were enough to make up for it. Bosh's 20 and 10 meant the "Heatles" scored 69 of Miami's 83 points. Bench? Like Cheech or Chong (I still don't remember who was who) would say, "I don't need no stinkin' bench!"

 Here I was at a local sports restaurant having the greatest hot wings I ever had, watching and almost rooting for the Heat. I say almost because even though I moved to South Florida six years ago, I can't root for a non-New York team. I'm sure the United States Supreme Court of Sports would rule in my favor if I claimed a new allegiance because of my address, but I just can't do it. James Dolan or no. I do admit though that as the game went on, I fantasized that I was rooting for LeBron. Just to see what it would feel like if he took the challenge of bright lights, bumper-to bumper traffic and an Inspector Clouseau-like owner and signed with the Knicks. It felt pretty cool. Instead of squirming in my chair hoping he'd miss on a drive through the lane, I imagined him doing it for my guys. And it worked. He came up huge in the final minutes just like he did all his career with the exception of last year's Cavs loss in Boston.

So it's come down to this. Miami, a place with hands-down the worst drivers in North America and a state with a newly-elected governor who's approval rating is already down to 29%, against Dallas a city in a state who's former governor was a major player in wrecking my net worth. My "decision" is Miami. After all, Pat Riley did do one pretty good job for us back in the mid 90's.