Thinking is what a great many people think they are doing when they are merely rearranging their prejudices. ~William James
Public Knowledge:
1. Kobe Bean. The Mamba. First he ran Shaq out of town. Three rings and run out of town. Rocked this town, rocked it inside out. They rocked this town, made ‘em scream and shout. The Lakers have not won a playoff series since O’Neal was traded. The Lakers have a 121-125 record the last three seasons. Now that Kobe has ruined his team, he wants out himself. Is there anything to get you to remain with the Laker organization? No, Bro. Is there a more selfish player in all of sportsdom than this cat? No, Bro. And they say Lenny Bias hurt the Celtics.
2. A-Broad. Ha ha ha ha! Nobody loves me. Everybody hates me. I’m gonna eat a worm! Why don’t they love me? Because you’re a phony. A-Broad: I certainly don’t think this will be a distraction to our team. Wanna bet?
3. Last month’s totals. Mike Lowell: .343. A-Broad: .235. Mike Lowell: Six bombs. A-Broad: Five bombs. Mike Lowell: Twenty-one RBIs. A-Broad: Eleven RBIs. What distraction? You’re my big distraction. Or biggest companion. I’m falling fast. Like an avalanche. A petite stripper at the Hustler Club: ”A-Rod likes the she-male, muscular type. They brought me up to the champagne room one time. I spun around once and that was it. I’m not his type.” Ha ha ha ha!!!!!
4. Those Juggernaut Spurs just keep rolling. Keep movin’, movin’, movin’. Though they’re disapprovin’. Keep them doggies movin’ Rawhide! Just smashed the Jazz. Start the car I know a whoopee spot. Where the gin is cold, but the piano’s hot. And all that Jazz. The Spurs are hot. Tony Parker’s hot. Tim Duncan’s hot. The Finals begin a week from Thursday in San Antonio, regardless of who comes out of the East. The Spurs begin their Championship run a week from Thursday in San Antonio, regardless of who comes out of the East.
5. Is there a hotter hitter in baseball right now than the Greek God of Walks. Youk! Youk! Youk! Superstar hot. Kevin Youkilis. Superstar. Do you think you’re what they say you are? Grinding it out. Working the count. Fouling off the tough pitches. Making opposing pitchers sweat. I want to make you sweat. Sweat till you can’t sweat no more. And if you cry out, I’m gonna push it, push it some, mo-o-ore. Pushing it for a twenty-one game hitting streak. Pushing it for nine consecutive multihit games. Pushing it for a .358. batting average. Pushing it to be the hottest hitter in baseball.
6. Making me feel young again. The Big Eunuch can etch his name in record books once again. He won the battle with Jaime Moyer in the oldest matchup of lefties in MLB history, giving up just one hit in six innings as the D-Backs swept the three-game series with the Phillies. Moyer is 44 years old while Johnson is 43. And I feel old.
7. Yankees playing scared. Pushing the Rocket lift-off till Monday. What a difference a day makes. What a diff’rence a day makes, twenty-four little hours. Brought the sun and the flowers. Pure cowardice. They’re yella. Yella that Boom-Boom Beckett will smash the air right out of their big yella tires. Yella that a Rocket loss to the Sox on Sunday night in front of national TV audience will shatter all morale. They’re playing scared and I love it.
8. The Giants held their third team workout of the spring yesterday, but they are still waiting for Jeremy Shockey and Plaxico Burress to participate in their first. Just Gross. Blame Eli all you want, but as long these two cats continue to do whatever they want, this team goes nowhere. Not for nothing, Randy Moss was at camp. Rings on his fingers and bells on his toes. Say has anybody seen my Sweet Randy Moss? Yup, at camp. Where Shockey and Burress should be.
9. Speaking of hot hitters, don’t look now, but here comes Gary Sheffield. .321, ten Bombs and twenty-one RBIs this past month. Think the Yankees could use him? Ha ha ha ha ha! Na, they got Giambi. Ha ha ha!
Public Acknowledgements: Stray Cats, LA Times, ESPN Radio, Gwen Stefani, NY Daily News, Velma, Buster Olney, UB40, Tony Bennett and Tony Orlando.
Public Spectacle:
Peace out homies. Six two and Even!
has no idea what it means to have a plethora. Magglio knows what a plethora is. I do too. I also know Ordonez is on fire. Up in here, it’s burning hot. He on fire. Last seen, Mags completed the Tigers` sweep of the ALCS with a three-run homer with two outs in the bottom of the 9th. In the air to left field! The Tigers…March to the World Series! And Mags just keeps on marching. He ain’t taking his sneakers off. He’s Sneakers O’Toole. Sneaking his way onto the leader board. Had his twentieth two-bomb
game last night. Boom boom, shake the room. Spanish bombs, yo te quiero infinito. Yo te quiero, oh mi corazn. Twelve for the season. Three in the last two games. Forty-two RBIs. One shy of A-Broad for the AL lead. Batting 345. He does it like this. He does it like that. He does it with a baseball bat. Now he’s on the run. On the run leading the AL in slugging. On the run leading the AL in OPS. On the run for a MVP. On the run, carrying his team into first over the Tribe. Mags: I’m feeling good. I’m seeing the ball really well and being very patient with my pitches. Yup, Mags feels good. Yup, Mags feels nice. Like sugar and spice. He feels nice, like sugar and spice. So nice, so nice, Magglio Ordonez!
.jpg "Mets Yankees Subway Series Photo")
No big splash in swimming pooler. This one doesn’t make the big dog drooler. No one cares. Willie Randolph doesn’t care: “To be honest with you, and tell you the truth, we’d rather not play these games really, to tell you the truth. But the fact that we have to play ‘em, might as well have fun with it.” Exciting. Riveting. Breathtaking. And turned to hear you say. If only for today. I am unafraid. Take my breath away. Hardly. This rivalry is a travesty. A travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of two mockeries of a sham. Let me hear you say, this shit is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S. This ain’t Sox/Yankees. This ain’t Cardinals/Cubs. This ain’t Dodgers/Giants. 
Stanley, see this? This is this. This ain’t something else. This is this. From now on, you’re on your own. Met fans hate the Yankees. Yankee fans hate Met fans. That’s about the extent of it. New York Newsday’s Mark Herrmann says: “This rivalry is not what it used to be.” Not what it used to be? What was it? What was it you wanted? Tell me again so I’ll know. What’s happening in there? What’s going on in your show? Interleague play only started in 1997. They 
played once in a World Series. What memorable moments of this “rivalry” are there. I scoured my big brain for hours. This is all I could up with: 1) Rocket throwing a bat at Sam Champion’s boyfriend. 2) 1976. Rick Cerone makes a 10 Jeans ad. To counter, the Mets call up Lee Mazzilli, teen idol. 3) While George Costanza is working for the Yankees, the Mets recruit him for the position of Director of Scouting. That’s it folks. If anyone can think of anything else, anything at all, please let me know; because I surely can’t. And don’t call me Shirley. Petey throwing Zimmer to the ground. Doc and Bird grabbing each other by the throats. Playoff game after playoff game. That’s the stuff rivalries are made of. Not dungarees and Sienfeld. Sure this is an intriguing match-up. Baseball is full of intriguing match-ups. However, to call this a rivalry, is just silly. I’ll be watching this week-end. I’ll be watching for the same reason I always watch. To see the Yankees lose. Let’s Go Mets! 
seven innings in any of them. Another Yowza! As a matter of fact, no pitcher has had four straight double-digit strikeout games regardless of his number of innings pitched since the Big Eunuch did it for the 2004 Diamondbacks. Yowza! Yowza! Yowza! Richie Cunningham style. Peavy has nasty stuff. Disgusting stuff. Revolting stuff. What a revoltin’ development this is! How revoltin’? Just ask Phat Albert Winnie the Pujols: ”He was filthy out there. Today was the first time I saw the ball real well against him and I still couldn’t get him.” Nobody’s been able to get him. Peavy is 5-1. Peavy leads all of baseball with sixty-six Ks. Sit on it Potsie. Peavy has the second best ERA in baseball at 1.52. Peavy is having a career year. He already has tied his franchise record with sixteen punchados back in April. He already threw a one hitter. He already is making his case to be the best pitcher in the world. The Dixie Cannonball.
Dice-K. Now do you believe it? Like Christmas Eve it? From here to Tel Aviv it? All we heard was his stellar career in Japan meant nothing. All we heard was his MVP performance in the World Baseball Classic meant nothing. All we heard was his ten Ks against the Kansas City Royals meant nothing. All we heard was Michael Corleone saying: “You’re nothing to me now. You’re not a brother, you’re not a friend. I don’t want to know you or what you do. I don’t want to see you at the 
hotels, I don’t want you near my house. When you see our mother, I want to know a day in advance, so I won’t be there. You understand?” Is he your brother now? Is he your friend now? Do you want to know him now? Do you want to know D-Nice? Dice-K. Baby, I can’t stay, you got to roll me. And call me the tumblin’ dice. Yup you got 
to roll him. Roll him every third day. Yup you got to call him the tumblin’ dice. He was tumblin’ last night. Rumblin’, stumblin’, biumblin’ and tumblin’ his way to a complete game victory. Rumblin’, stumblin’, biumblin’ and tumblin’ his way to a complete game victory against the defending American League Champeen Dee-troit Tigers. A one run complete game victory against the defending American League Champeen Dee-troit Tigers. A no walk complete
game victory. Red Sox manager Terry Francona: “I didn’t see any reason to take him out. He was better at the end than he was at the beginning.” And that’s the way it’s going to be all year. It’s just going to keep getting better. I’ve got to admit it’s getting better. A little 
better all the time. I have to admit it’s getting better. It’s getting better, since you’ve been mine. Yes friends, it’s getting better. Getting better since Dice has been mine. And it’s going to keep getting better. Getting better as D-Nice makes adjustments. Getting better as D-Nice learns batters. As he learns this game. He just pitched his first complete game since he had thirteen in Japan last season. He just got sixteen outs on grounders. He just got five on strikeouts. He just allowed no walks for the first time in his eight starts. He just gave up a meager two runs in his last two games covering sixteen innings. He just keeps getting better all the time. The Sox now have their biggest lead in the standings in twelve seasons. The Sox now have the best record in all of baseball. The Sox are now the team to beat. Roll Sox roll!
ninth. The Orioles had a three-hit shut out going into the bottom of the ninth. The Red Sox scored six runs in the bottom of the ninth. This was only the second time in Red Sox history in which the team was blanked through the first eight innings, trailed by five or more runs in the ninth inning, and still won the game. Still overcame. What’s my name! In fact, no major league team has won a game in regulation after coming to bat in the ninth scoreless and trailing by at least five runs since April 29, 1979. On April 29, 1979, the Cubs scored six in the top of the ninth, capped by a three-run bomb by Bobby Murcer, to take a 6-5 victory over 
Atlanta. So here we are. Here we are in first. He we are on top. I know you like it. You like it on top. Tell me momma, are you gonna stop? The Sox ain’t stopping. Ain’t no stoppin’ us now. We’re on the move. Ain’t no stoppin’ us now. We’ve got the groove. Movin’ and groovin’ baby, movin’ and groovin’. Only thirty-six games into the season and the Sox lead the AL Beast by eight 
games. Eight games over Baltimore. Eight games over the Yankees. Did you hear that Ted Sarandis? Eight. Only one other time in Sox history were they in first place by such a large margin. By such a large margin so few games into a season. In 1995, the year of its last division title, Boston led by an identical margin through thirty-four games. It’s a sign of the times, and I know that I won’t have to wait much longer. It’s a sign of the times that your love for me is getting so much stronger. The Red Sox are getting stronger. We won’t have to wait much longer. Roll Sox roll!
homer. That’s what the frequency is. He just moved into a tie for ninth place with Rafael Palmeiro. That’s what the frequency is. Just four back behind Harmon Killebrew. Fourteen back behind Mark McGwire. That’s what the frequency is. Griffey has been on a tear since the Red Legs moved him back into his accustomed third spot in the order. Since the Red Legs moved him back into his 
knocked down. But he got up again. You’re never going to keep him down. Throughout the nineties he was a beast. The high priest. The best from West to East. Junior was arguably the best player of the decade. Cashing that checkade. A one man wreckade. He produced runs. He hit for average. He hit over .300 in seven years of the ‘90s. He hit for power. It’s gettin’ it’s gettin’ it’s gettin’ kinda hectic. He’s got the power. He smashed 422 bombs during the decade. He was the best center fielder of the
decade. Gold Gloves from 1990 to 1999. Great range. Sick range. Home, home on the range. Where the deer and the antelope play. Diving plays. Spectacular plays. Say Hey Kid plays. Wheaties boxes. Knock off your sockses. Bagels and loxes. He was the man. He won games with his legs. Saving baseball in Seattle with his legs. You remember. You remember Game Five versus the Bombers. Series even at two apiece. Bottom of the 11th against the Bombers. Junior on first. Edgar with the hit. Hit it just a little bit. Hit it lickety split. There goes Griff. He…could…go…all…the…way. He does! He does! He scores from first base! Mariners win! Mariners win! Then he moved to Cincinnati. Then the injury bug hit. The injury bug hit hard. From 2001 through 2004, Junior was plagued by an endless string of injuries. Season-ending injuries. The injuries lowered his bat speed, lessened his power and curbed his home run production. He slugged only .426 before going down in 2002. His lowest output in seven years. He’s never been the same. A candle without a flame. The glory gone out of his game. But not so fast. He’s back. Back again. Griffey’s back. Tell a friend. Yup, Griffey’s back. Tell a friend. Tell ‘em the Public sent ya.
.jpg){kind=small}
