All indications point to Sean Avery coming back to the New York Rangers via Hartford. Will it help or did NHL commissioner Gary Bettman take the bounce out of Tigger? Let's hope it's the former because the Rangers need a spark. Losers of three straight, the Rangers have fallen to third in the division and sixth in the division--three points out of the eighth and final playoff spot. Why does it seem the Rangers are always in this position year after year regardless of the roster?
The Rangers just tied the game with Washington at 3 by Markus Naslund crashing the net. Perhaps Avery's Impending return is already paying dividends. Whatever happens with Avery does not help address the lack of scoring, the disappearance of Wade Redden, Chris Drury, and Scott Gomez.
I just loked at the standings. There's the Devils--without Marty Brodeur--rolling along. They were supposed to tank when their goaltender went down. Yet they are in first. How did that happen?
Oh my goodness....Defenseman Paul Mara just scored the fourth Ranger goal--and a power play to boot. What an embarrasment of riches!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
The Press Reveals Its Ugly Side
Anyone wanting to know about the state of the country, or the press for that matter, need only to have witnessed President Obama's question and answer session with the White House press corps following his first press conference as President.
Would you believe some well-minded journalist actually asked BHO's thoughts on Alex Rodriguez. That's right. A-Rod's foibles have been lifted into the same discussion as economic stimulus and avoiding another Great Depression. I can't believe I just wrote that sentence. Seriously. And this is what our country has come to...Almost as remarkable was the fact that BHO adressed it! Although being the adroit performer, BHO used it as public service about children and lessons learned. Blah Blah Blah.
Can you imagine Helen Thomas asking Ronald Reagan back in the day about the demise of one Lyle Alzado?
And keeping on all things A-Rod, what happened to Peter Gammons? This guy was once an earnest reporter. Then he throws in with ESPN and that's where the trouble starts.
He gets the interview of the sports year---no doubt handpicked by the evil Scott Boras. But what does Gammons do? He serves as the chief softball tosser to A-Rod. C'Mon Pete. Suzyn "Goodness Gracious" Waldman might have been tougher. At no time, does Gammons ask an intelligent follow-up or do some deductive reasoning. Instead we're forced to take in more spin and more deception. Ugly. If A-Rod besmirched a careerby taking steroids, than Gammons did equal damage to his by playing the part of A-Rod's hostess. Presumably Gammons can resume his career as a stand-in to Andrew Jackson--a.k.a the guy on the $20 bill.
Don't believe me? Check this out:
Would you believe some well-minded journalist actually asked BHO's thoughts on Alex Rodriguez. That's right. A-Rod's foibles have been lifted into the same discussion as economic stimulus and avoiding another Great Depression. I can't believe I just wrote that sentence. Seriously. And this is what our country has come to...Almost as remarkable was the fact that BHO adressed it! Although being the adroit performer, BHO used it as public service about children and lessons learned. Blah Blah Blah.
Can you imagine Helen Thomas asking Ronald Reagan back in the day about the demise of one Lyle Alzado?
And keeping on all things A-Rod, what happened to Peter Gammons? This guy was once an earnest reporter. Then he throws in with ESPN and that's where the trouble starts.
He gets the interview of the sports year---no doubt handpicked by the evil Scott Boras. But what does Gammons do? He serves as the chief softball tosser to A-Rod. C'Mon Pete. Suzyn "Goodness Gracious" Waldman might have been tougher. At no time, does Gammons ask an intelligent follow-up or do some deductive reasoning. Instead we're forced to take in more spin and more deception. Ugly. If A-Rod besmirched a careerby taking steroids, than Gammons did equal damage to his by playing the part of A-Rod's hostess. Presumably Gammons can resume his career as a stand-in to Andrew Jackson--a.k.a the guy on the $20 bill.
Don't believe me? Check this out:
Monday, February 2, 2009
Super Bowl Post Mortem
Great game. Pittsburgh wins in the game's waning moments. But for three-quarters of the game, it was a ho-hum affair. I don't know if it was because I was trying to match the world's worst Super Bowl square numbers or trying to outfunny everyone. I have that tendancy you know. At any rate, it seemed that Madden and Michaels were at sea. Madden was Madden. But Michaels seems to over-dramatize things. For instance, replays clearly showed Santonio Holmes' catch being legal Michaels gets all fired up. At any moment, I thought I was going to hear, "Do you believe in toes?"
I will pass over in silence the fact that Pittsburgh's Jeff Reed cost me $500 for his extra point.
And NBC had waaay to many commentators present. Perhaps this was the reason that guest commentator Mike Holmgren seemed overly pissed on the set? Only reason I can tell. Patrick and Olbermann are awful as is Tiki Barber. Normally, I like Costas but this was overkill. For my money, I'd like to throw a shoe at Olbermann. And why were the announcers wearing bankers striped suits yesterday? Was NBC's Dick Ebersol trying to tell us something?
Halftime? Bruce and the E Street Band. Sucked. Disagreed with all the song choices. Granted 12 minutes is 12 minutes. But when the pseudo referee comes out and declares Boss Time? I vomited in my mouth. Hokey. Bruce just say no next time. That's what happens when you let President Obama dictate your set list. Oh, he didn't?
I will pass over in silence the fact that Pittsburgh's Jeff Reed cost me $500 for his extra point.
And NBC had waaay to many commentators present. Perhaps this was the reason that guest commentator Mike Holmgren seemed overly pissed on the set? Only reason I can tell. Patrick and Olbermann are awful as is Tiki Barber. Normally, I like Costas but this was overkill. For my money, I'd like to throw a shoe at Olbermann. And why were the announcers wearing bankers striped suits yesterday? Was NBC's Dick Ebersol trying to tell us something?
Halftime? Bruce and the E Street Band. Sucked. Disagreed with all the song choices. Granted 12 minutes is 12 minutes. But when the pseudo referee comes out and declares Boss Time? I vomited in my mouth. Hokey. Bruce just say no next time. That's what happens when you let President Obama dictate your set list. Oh, he didn't?
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Color Me Converted...
I must share something. I wasn't a fan of the President...until now. I had no idea the guy was left-handed. And check out the crook of the arc--the tell-tale sign of left-handedness. The only thing BHO is missing here is the Charlie Brown-style tongue hanging out of the mouth. Not very presidential I guess.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Torre's Book Blasts Former Players
When you follow a team, it's usually a one-dimensional view. You glean snippets of a player's personality from interviews and dugout shots and you try to read body language. But that's about it. Rarely do you know team chemistry and who hates whom--unless a tell-all book is written. So thank you Joe Torre. I'm making a beeline for the bookstore on 2/2. Although there's probably zero chance that Torre takes a pop at phoney baloney Derek Jeter--otherwise we would have heard it by now. Some guys, such as Wells, you knew Torre disliked. Others, such as A-Rod, we finally get confirmation.
ON ALEX RODRIGUEZ: 'Alex is all about the game. He needs the game. He needs all of those statistics. He needs every record imaginable. And he needs people to make a fuss over him.'
ON KEVIN BROWN AND DAVID WELLS: 'The difference between Kevin Brown and David Wells is that both make your life miserable, but David Wells meant to.'
ON RANDY JOHNSON: 'It was sad more than frustrating when we got him, because I thought we finally had someone you could hook your wagon to, and that wasn't the case.'
ON CARL PAVANO: 'The players all hated him. It was no secret.'
Amen, Joe. Amen.
ON ALEX RODRIGUEZ: 'Alex is all about the game. He needs the game. He needs all of those statistics. He needs every record imaginable. And he needs people to make a fuss over him.'
ON KEVIN BROWN AND DAVID WELLS: 'The difference between Kevin Brown and David Wells is that both make your life miserable, but David Wells meant to.'
ON RANDY JOHNSON: 'It was sad more than frustrating when we got him, because I thought we finally had someone you could hook your wagon to, and that wasn't the case.'
ON CARL PAVANO: 'The players all hated him. It was no secret.'
Amen, Joe. Amen.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
A few thoughts on Andy Pettitte
So the Yankees brought back Andy Pettitte for another season. Good for them. He should solidify the backhalf of therotation. Funny thing about Pettitte though. I don't really trust him in a big spot. Don't get me wrong...he's pitched well in a number of big games. Pettitte's 1-0 Game 5 in the 1996 World Series when he outdueled Atlanta's John Smoltz is at the top of the list. However, for my money Pettitte has had his share of post-season stinkers.
I recall a Friday Night in October 1998 when Cleveland really lit him up. I can still hear Michael Kay's radio call "And Andy Pettitte is getting rocked..." This game set up El Duque's gem when he ostensibly saved the Yankee season the next game. Then there's the 2001 World Series when Arizona forced a Game 7 by pounding Pettitte for six runs in two innings in Game 6.
(A less meaningful--and equally horrendous--start by Pettitte last year lends itself to a quick story. The game against the Kansas City Royals last July...hottest day of the year. Great seats. I'm keeping score and willing Pettitte to get through five, maybe six innings. Didn't happen. Pettitte proceeds to give up 12 earned runs, the last four courtesy of a Jose Guillen Grand Slam. Pissed beyond belief, I leave the Stadium in time to listen to John Sterling's call of a Yankee comeback win in the car on Johnny Damon's sixth hit of the game. This story summed up my entire 2008.)
Personally, I like Pettite. Always have. But I always trusted David Cone, David Wells, even Mike Mussina, before Pettitte in a big game. I will pass over in silence the hatchet job of Game 7 against Kevin Brown and Javier Vazquez in 2004 because, well, why should I get upset? Still bothers me.
My comments on Pettitte aside, his post-season numbers look better than I remember: Pettitte is 14–5 with a 3.96 ERA and 139 strikeouts in 35 postseason games (1995–2003, 2005, 2007). Pettitte has pitched 218.1 innings in the postseason.
Maybe its me. I remember the bad more than the good. It's like that way with gamblers too: You don't remember the wins with nearly the same vigor and emotion. The losses? Most players can recall them with stunning alacrity.
I recall a Friday Night in October 1998 when Cleveland really lit him up. I can still hear Michael Kay's radio call "And Andy Pettitte is getting rocked..." This game set up El Duque's gem when he ostensibly saved the Yankee season the next game. Then there's the 2001 World Series when Arizona forced a Game 7 by pounding Pettitte for six runs in two innings in Game 6.
(A less meaningful--and equally horrendous--start by Pettitte last year lends itself to a quick story. The game against the Kansas City Royals last July...hottest day of the year. Great seats. I'm keeping score and willing Pettitte to get through five, maybe six innings. Didn't happen. Pettitte proceeds to give up 12 earned runs, the last four courtesy of a Jose Guillen Grand Slam. Pissed beyond belief, I leave the Stadium in time to listen to John Sterling's call of a Yankee comeback win in the car on Johnny Damon's sixth hit of the game. This story summed up my entire 2008.)
Personally, I like Pettite. Always have. But I always trusted David Cone, David Wells, even Mike Mussina, before Pettitte in a big game. I will pass over in silence the hatchet job of Game 7 against Kevin Brown and Javier Vazquez in 2004 because, well, why should I get upset? Still bothers me.
My comments on Pettitte aside, his post-season numbers look better than I remember: Pettitte is 14–5 with a 3.96 ERA and 139 strikeouts in 35 postseason games (1995–2003, 2005, 2007). Pettitte has pitched 218.1 innings in the postseason.
Maybe its me. I remember the bad more than the good. It's like that way with gamblers too: You don't remember the wins with nearly the same vigor and emotion. The losses? Most players can recall them with stunning alacrity.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Biff Destroys the Economy. But He's Hardly to Blame
By Michael DiMarco
If I tried to sell you a steaming pile of shit, would you pay me? A filthy, hulking, noxious lump of dung; in a paper bag for ease of transport. You’d appreciate that I bagged it, wouldn’t you? I mean, I could’ve just left it on your stoop, per our hypothetical agreement, and let you rummage through twenty years of garage surplus to pull out that rusty wheelbarrow, or hand truck, or pitchfork, all while fighting the swarm of flies now festering on my extraordinary gift. I’ll bet with a firm handshake and solid eye contact, you’d take this off my ass, excuse the pun. Look at me, for goodness sake; I’m not wearing a red and green checkered suit like that shifty maniac at the used car lot, or the vagrant that’s been making eyes at your wife from behind the gas pump. And you know what, because I like you, I’ll wrap this in cellophane and place it in a gift basket with a few colorful party favors and a sack of tasty nuts. My nuts score the highest marks in the ratings, you know. Consistently. Hell, everyone loves my nuts. Your wife loves my nuts. OK, now you’re sold.
Sound crazy? It’s a near mirror analogy to this Wall Street housing debacle cum economic implosion. When your buddy took out his 5-year option ARM interest-only embarrassment of a home loan, or when you locked in that 30-year fixed rate mortgage at 5.75%, there’s a very good change the lending institution sold the loan to be packaged into a pool of mortgages with similar terms. In the glory days of housing flips, these loan packages were peddled on Wall Street as investment securities. Much like stocks and bonds change hands over the course of daily trading, pools of mortgage-backed securities (MBS) were bought and sold like any other financial instrument. The interest payments distributed to investors were collateralized by the underlying mortgages. So long as homeowners continued making regular monthly payments to their bank, the securities could make regular interest payments to their holders. This worked great, until eventually, it didn’t.
Over the course of the past decade, Uncle Sam relaxed mortgage lending rules tremendously. For a while this was constructive, as it dropped the American Dream into the laps of countless, hardworking individuals. When combined with low interest rates, your boy Biff at the car wash could qualify for home loans at an obscene multiple of his yearly after-tax income. To the disbelief of more educated brethren, income documentation was nary a requirement. Of course, the terms of Biff’s mortgage weren’t quite so stellar once you read the fine print. But Biff doesn’t read because he was too busy crushing skulls before he dropped out of high school and failed his GED. To add insult to injury, Biff’s loan was packaged into a mortgage pool as well. True, it was a lower quality product, as anyone with half a brain could see, but perhaps there was a way to jam these low-rent loans under the same umbrella as the nobler ones. Surely some MBA pencil-neck could structure that complex instrument to afford it the highest score from the bond rating companies, namely “AAA.” And these polished triple-A securities were held by the billions, on the balance sheets of staid (and no longer so staid) institutions from Goldman Sachs to (*cough*) Lehman Brothers.
Well, eventually Biff realized that his insanely low teaser rate was going to balloon like an unloved housewife. Refinancing would be difficult because his credit score was an abomination. Likewise, income requirements were more stringent now, as the recession bit hard. So Biff defaulted, and the bank foreclosed on his expansive home in South Beach, or Scottsdale, or Riverside, or some other overbuilt sunbelt tract lacking character. In fact, foreclosures swept across the country like a tidal wave, decimating neighborhoods while bankrupting some of the largest holders of MBS. And suddenly that triple-A security has plummeted in price. Because it’s toxic, and because no one will touch it. The next morning, the AAA is a B. How long can a bank weather these losses before having to commit enormous write-downs on its books? How long can a firm survive when its peers on the Street have pulled their credit lines and shuttered their trading activities, for fear that said firm is burning through cash faster than Charlie Sheen in a whorehouse. Ask Dick Fuld of Lehman, or Jimmy Cayne of Bear Stearns (assuming he wasn’t toking up with his geriatric Bridge club when you caught his ear). They know the answer. And so do the hundreds of thousands of Americans losing their jobs in the midst of this fallout. Economists call this a negative feedback loop: Crippled banks institute layoffs. Layoffs curb spending and propagate defaults. Lower spending hurts retailers. Retailers close stores. Defaults hurt banks. The stock market plummets. Banks lose more money and institute additional lay-offs. And so on and so on.
What? You think this doesn’t affect you because you work at your old man’s tire shop in downtown fucking Des Moines? Vote against the bailout plan, right? Those money hungry crooks on Wall Street don’t deserve billions after they defrauded and defrocked the masses, then escaped with the spoils of guerilla ambush! And you got nothing! Well, relax for a second, cowboy. Do you have a retirement plan? A 401k? Have you checked your statement recently? Have you checked the Dow Jones average? Think you’ll make back that 30% shortfall if, say, Morgan Stanley blows up tomorrow? So the next time I come knocking on your door with my blistering bundle of crap, maybe you shouldn’t be so eager to open that wallet, even if I’ve got a few Tupperware containers to mask the smell and nuts to sweeten the deal.
Either that or take a ride to Sleepy’s, buy a big mattress, and start saving for the future. You’re still young. Right?
This is Michael DiMarco's first piece for TDD. For more on DiMarco, check out his blog at http://www.essentialbastard.blogspot.com
If I tried to sell you a steaming pile of shit, would you pay me? A filthy, hulking, noxious lump of dung; in a paper bag for ease of transport. You’d appreciate that I bagged it, wouldn’t you? I mean, I could’ve just left it on your stoop, per our hypothetical agreement, and let you rummage through twenty years of garage surplus to pull out that rusty wheelbarrow, or hand truck, or pitchfork, all while fighting the swarm of flies now festering on my extraordinary gift. I’ll bet with a firm handshake and solid eye contact, you’d take this off my ass, excuse the pun. Look at me, for goodness sake; I’m not wearing a red and green checkered suit like that shifty maniac at the used car lot, or the vagrant that’s been making eyes at your wife from behind the gas pump. And you know what, because I like you, I’ll wrap this in cellophane and place it in a gift basket with a few colorful party favors and a sack of tasty nuts. My nuts score the highest marks in the ratings, you know. Consistently. Hell, everyone loves my nuts. Your wife loves my nuts. OK, now you’re sold.
Sound crazy? It’s a near mirror analogy to this Wall Street housing debacle cum economic implosion. When your buddy took out his 5-year option ARM interest-only embarrassment of a home loan, or when you locked in that 30-year fixed rate mortgage at 5.75%, there’s a very good change the lending institution sold the loan to be packaged into a pool of mortgages with similar terms. In the glory days of housing flips, these loan packages were peddled on Wall Street as investment securities. Much like stocks and bonds change hands over the course of daily trading, pools of mortgage-backed securities (MBS) were bought and sold like any other financial instrument. The interest payments distributed to investors were collateralized by the underlying mortgages. So long as homeowners continued making regular monthly payments to their bank, the securities could make regular interest payments to their holders. This worked great, until eventually, it didn’t.
Over the course of the past decade, Uncle Sam relaxed mortgage lending rules tremendously. For a while this was constructive, as it dropped the American Dream into the laps of countless, hardworking individuals. When combined with low interest rates, your boy Biff at the car wash could qualify for home loans at an obscene multiple of his yearly after-tax income. To the disbelief of more educated brethren, income documentation was nary a requirement. Of course, the terms of Biff’s mortgage weren’t quite so stellar once you read the fine print. But Biff doesn’t read because he was too busy crushing skulls before he dropped out of high school and failed his GED. To add insult to injury, Biff’s loan was packaged into a mortgage pool as well. True, it was a lower quality product, as anyone with half a brain could see, but perhaps there was a way to jam these low-rent loans under the same umbrella as the nobler ones. Surely some MBA pencil-neck could structure that complex instrument to afford it the highest score from the bond rating companies, namely “AAA.” And these polished triple-A securities were held by the billions, on the balance sheets of staid (and no longer so staid) institutions from Goldman Sachs to (*cough*) Lehman Brothers.
Well, eventually Biff realized that his insanely low teaser rate was going to balloon like an unloved housewife. Refinancing would be difficult because his credit score was an abomination. Likewise, income requirements were more stringent now, as the recession bit hard. So Biff defaulted, and the bank foreclosed on his expansive home in South Beach, or Scottsdale, or Riverside, or some other overbuilt sunbelt tract lacking character. In fact, foreclosures swept across the country like a tidal wave, decimating neighborhoods while bankrupting some of the largest holders of MBS. And suddenly that triple-A security has plummeted in price. Because it’s toxic, and because no one will touch it. The next morning, the AAA is a B. How long can a bank weather these losses before having to commit enormous write-downs on its books? How long can a firm survive when its peers on the Street have pulled their credit lines and shuttered their trading activities, for fear that said firm is burning through cash faster than Charlie Sheen in a whorehouse. Ask Dick Fuld of Lehman, or Jimmy Cayne of Bear Stearns (assuming he wasn’t toking up with his geriatric Bridge club when you caught his ear). They know the answer. And so do the hundreds of thousands of Americans losing their jobs in the midst of this fallout. Economists call this a negative feedback loop: Crippled banks institute layoffs. Layoffs curb spending and propagate defaults. Lower spending hurts retailers. Retailers close stores. Defaults hurt banks. The stock market plummets. Banks lose more money and institute additional lay-offs. And so on and so on.
What? You think this doesn’t affect you because you work at your old man’s tire shop in downtown fucking Des Moines? Vote against the bailout plan, right? Those money hungry crooks on Wall Street don’t deserve billions after they defrauded and defrocked the masses, then escaped with the spoils of guerilla ambush! And you got nothing! Well, relax for a second, cowboy. Do you have a retirement plan? A 401k? Have you checked your statement recently? Have you checked the Dow Jones average? Think you’ll make back that 30% shortfall if, say, Morgan Stanley blows up tomorrow? So the next time I come knocking on your door with my blistering bundle of crap, maybe you shouldn’t be so eager to open that wallet, even if I’ve got a few Tupperware containers to mask the smell and nuts to sweeten the deal.
Either that or take a ride to Sleepy’s, buy a big mattress, and start saving for the future. You’re still young. Right?
This is Michael DiMarco's first piece for TDD. For more on DiMarco, check out his blog at http://www.essentialbastard.blogspot.com
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