Just Brilliant:

Peace out homies. Six two and Even!

Lawrence Mass’ own Robert Goulet passed away in Los Angeles at the age of 73. Peace out homie:

Those who have knowledge, don’t predict.  Those who predict, don’t have knowledge.  -Lao Tzu

Public Knowledge:

1.  All I’m saying pretty baby.  La la love you, don’t mean maybe.  Apparently Joe Torre has agreed in principle to a three-year deal worth $14.5 million and could be introduced tomorrow as the Manager of the Los Angeles Dodgers.  Good for him.  Good for the Dodgers.  If one of the top managers in baseball is on the market, and yours ain’t one of ‘em, you go out and grab him.  That’s what the Dodges done did.  Now the question is, does A-Broad follow him.  It makes sense.  One of the reasons Rodriguez opted out was he didn’t know what Bomber life would be without Joe.  Plus, the Dodgers need the two things A-Broad has:  A bat with some real pop and the star power to put fannies in the seats.  

2.  Swan song for Schilling.  I hate it when guys like this leave.  Thank Heavens for Dwight Evans in an Orioles uniform never sat right with me.  Or Freddy Lynn in an Angels uni.  Or Pudge in Pale Hose.  Or Petey in a Mets orange and blue.  Worse yet, Fat Roger and Johnny Damon in pinstripes.  But this one may be worse.  I know, I know, Curt was not one of our own.  He played for others before he got to Fenway.  But when he arrived, things began to change around old Kenmore Square.  Schilling:  “I’m going to Boston to break an 86-year-old curse.”  And break it he did.  Two years later, he was an integral part of another ring.  The time may be right for Schilling to move on, but there will always be a place in my heart for this biggest of big game pitchers.  Happy trails to you, until we meet again.  Happy trails to you, keep smilin’ until then. 

3.  Money well spent.  What can you get for a quarter these days?  A gumball.  Seven minutes in the dryer.  A two inch bolt.  That’s about it.  Except for the New York Post.  Coast to coasta, the New York Posta.  Now I grew up reading the likes of Peter Gammons, Bob Ryan, Will McDonough, Liegh Montville and Bud Collins, so consider me spoiled.  But here in NYC, the best sports section by far, is the New York Post.  Shave and a hair cut, two bits.

4.  Is anybody else watching Dexter?  Clearly the best show on television.  Where else will you find yourself on the edge of your seat rooting for the killer?  And not for nothing, if you liked the Sopranos, you’ll love Brotherhood.   Weeds is another good one.  Showtime, the best stuff on television.

5.  Adding insult to injury.  A Nevada basketball player, who was beaten unconscious and robbed at a Halloween party where three people were shot to death, has been kicked off the team because he had been told not to go out that night. 

6.  But Delta’s already on probation.  They are?  Well, as of this moment, they’re on Double secret probation!  So is former Major League All-Star Jose Offerman.  Offerman will serve two years of a special form of probation for attacking two players with a bat during a minor league game in August.  Bluto, D-Day, Otter and the gang would be proud.

7.  Hey Red Sox, can you please resign Mike Lowell?  Please. 

8.  Colorado Rockies.  Game over:

9.  Dominik Hasek.  The Dominator.  He better hope coach Mike Babcock subscribes to the theory that a player can’t lose his job due to injury.  With Hasek on the injured reserve with a hip injury, netminder Chris Osgood has been making hay.  Keeping foes at bay.  Shooing the old puck away.  Osgood, who was a starter for the Wings before being pushed aside in September of 2001 when the Wings first brought in Hasek, is 3-0 during Hasek’s absence.  6-0 on the season.  Don’t hurry back Dominik.

10.  Does anybody sign Barry?  Anybody?

Peace out homies.  Six Two and Even!

I like Slam dunks take me to the hoop.  My favorite play is the alley oop.  I like the pick-and-roll, I like the give-and-go.  Cause it’s basketball, uh, Mister Kurtis Blow.  -Kurtis Blow

Public Service Announcement:  OK, here we go!  NBA action.  NBA satisfaction.  NBA coming attractions.  It’s finally here.  Yes fans, the NBA season is upon us.  Like my main man the Big Fundamental always says:  “Good, better, best.  Never let it rest.  Until your good is better and your better is best.”  Who’s good?  Whos’s better?  Who’s best?  Answers to those questions and many more coming up in this edition of the NBA Awards Show. 

Eng and Chang Cup:    Eng and Chang, the most famous conjoined twins of all time. Jerry Buss and Kobe.  I’m stuck on Band-Aid, ’cause Band-Aid’s stuck on me! The question on everyone’s mind these is days is where will Kobe end up?  Probably in hell, but that is much further on down the line.  For now, much to his and Dr. Buss’ dismay, he stays a Laker.  Know this:  The Lakers ownership has always conducted business with two objectives in mind.  1)  They must contend for a championship.  2)  They must earn that almighty entertainment dollar.  I’ve got a pocket full of pretty green.  I’m gonna put it in the fruit machine.  I’m gonna put it in the juke box.  It’s gonna play all the records in the hit parade.  Buss may be able live with one and not the other for a short while.  But no how, no way does he live without either.  No how, no way.  The Lakers can’t win a championship.  No how, no way.  No trade they make for Kobe changes that.  So that brings us back to number two.  The pretty green.  Who can the Lakers get back for Kobe that will allow Dr. Buss to play all the records in the hit parade.  Nobody.  That’s who.  Not Madison Square Gordon.  Not Josh Howard.  So, Kobe stays.  Kobe pouts.  Kobe complains.  Kobe fills it up.  Both the basket and the stadium.

The Jesus Christ Grail:  Redeemer.  Savior.  Deliverer.   Struck me kinda funny.  Seems kinda funny sir to me.  At the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe.  Kevin Durant gives the good people of Seattle a reason to believe.  How good is he?  Really good.  Phenomenal.  Extraordinary.  Fantastic.  Yes, I’m high on this this kid.  But barring injury, he should take Rookie of the Year.  He has a silky smooth jumper.  He attacks the rim.  He will be all the Sonics asked for and more.  

The Jimmy Two Times Award:  And then there was Jimmy Two Times, who got that nickname because he said everything twice, like:  I’m gonna go get the papers, get the papers.  The San Antonio Spurs.  Repeat baby, repeat.  Like Bum Phillips said of Don Shula:  “He can take his’n and beat your’n, and he can take your’n and beat his’n.”   That’s how I feel about Gregg Popovich.  He gets the absolute best out of every player on his team.  He has the respect of each and every one of them.  At personalities he is the ultimate chemist.  Another championship is looming.  It also doesn’t hurt when you have the best player in the league on your team.

The Carl Spackler Prize:  Cinderella story.  Outta nowhere. A former greenskeeper, now, about to become the Masters champion.  It looks like a mirac…It’s in the hole!  It’s in the hole!  It’s in the hole!  This year’s Carl Spackler torphy goes to the Memphis Grizzlies.  A lifetime of mediocrity.  Last year, worse than that.  Last year, the worst team in the league.  This year?  The Grizz.  A team barely alive.  Gentlemen, we can rebuild them.  We have the technology.  Better than they were before.  Better, stronger, faster.  It all starts with a healthy Pau Gasol.  Throw in his talented buddy Juan Carlos Navarro, Mike Conley, Jr., second-year guard Kyle Lowry, returning from injuries, and the addition of Darko Milicic and you got yourself a derned good ballclub.  Derned good.

Butch Van Breda Kolff Cup:  Butch lasted sixteen days as Suns head coach in 1972.  Seven games in all.  Mike Woodson of the Atlanta Hawks should consider himself lucky if he lasts that long.  The Hawks must win now.  They must, they must, they must improve their bust.  Hot Lanta’s eight-year playoff drought is the NBA’s longest-active streak. Woodson has made some headway with his young roster, but the former Larry Brown flunky has not been able to get the Hawks out of the lottery in his first three seasons.   Mike Woodson, you’re on the Budweiser Hot Seat.

The Ronnie Dobbs Memorial Trophy:  Ronnie Dobbs.  The Most Arrested Man in America.  The competition is stiffening already.  Just last week, we heard the allegations that Jason Kidd harassed and groped a woman at a Manhattan nightspot.  Justin Williams sexually assaulted a woman. Nuggets guard J.R. Smith was issued a summons on charges of assault, disturbing the peace and destruction of private property.  But it’s early folks.  Really early.  My money’s on Stephen Jackson.  He just can’t help himself.  She can’t help it, the girl can’t help it.  If she winks an eye, the bread slice turn to toast.  She can’t help it, the girl can’t help it.  If she got a lot, of what they call the most.  She can’t help it, the girl can’t help it.  Brawling at the Palace.  Shooting off his nine at Club Rio.  Jackson just can’t help it.

Hatfields & McCoys Award:  AK47 and Jerry Sloan.  Last year the Jazz hardly challenged the Spurs in the playoffs.  Put no fear into the heart of men.  I blame Andrei.  Kirilenko could be heard crying like a little devochka from hear to Izhevsk.  It didn’t stop there.  This offseason, AK made another stink about not wanting to continue playing for coach Sloan.  If the Jazz want to do anything this post-season, Kirilenko must accept his role and start playing like force he was a few years ago.  Don’t bet on it.

Twinkle Toes Flintstone Trophy:  No not Mark Cuban.  Twinkle Toes was a bowler.  Chris Paul.  He says his bowling scores average between 180 and 190, but he has a high game of 256.  He hosts a charity bowling tournament each September in his hometown of Winston-Salem, N.C.  One of the league’s top young players, Paul was recently named a spokesman for the U.S. Bowling Congress.  Keith Glasgow, watch your back.

Gene Autry Prize:  I’m back in the saddle again.  Out where a friend is a friend.  Where the longhorn cattle feed on the lowly gypsum weed.  Back in the saddle again.  The Boston Celtics.  The Big Ticket.  The Truth.  Ray Ray.  The New Big Three.  The PGA Tour.  Cover of Sports Illustrated.  Cover of ESPN the Magazine.  Nineteen Celtics games are scheduled for ESPN, TNT, and NBATV, with more nationally televised contests possible.  The Celtics are back baby!  And not a moment too soon.

Public Acknowledgements:  Dallas Morning News, Winnie the Pooh, The Jam, Bruce Springsteen, Goodfellas, Caddyshack, Six Million Dollar Man, Mr. Show, Little Richard, Ben at Work and the Boston Globe

Public Spectacle:

Peace out homies.  Six Two and Even!

They got a long way to go, and a short time to get there:

Peace out homies. Six Two and Even!

Never yellow, never chicken, listen for my spurs draggin’.  And when I’m kickin’ dust you better circle up the wagons.  So when I rip thru your town don’t be gawkin’.  Just tip your hat and Tex, keep walkin’.  -Kid Rock

Public Service Announcement:  OK, here we go!  Now I’ve got time.  Time to speak my mind.  Time to sound off in kind. 

The Sox season is over.  Now I can focus.  Focus on the task at hand.  Focus on these Patriots.  These juggernaut Patriots.  These squashing teams like a buggernaut Patriots.  These keep on chuggernaut Patriots. 

I hear everybody.  Hear everybody crying.  Everybody complaining.  Everybody girling.  That’s all right.  That’s ok.  I got my Patriot hoody back on today.  I’m circling the wagons today.  All done with the Cask and Flagons today.  Doing some braggin’s today.  Slaying some dragons today. 

Cheatergate this.  Running up the score that.  Sit on it, Potsie.  Sit on it and spin.  This is the best football team I’ve ever seen.  The best football team there’s ever been.  I know it.  You know it.  Now the Redskins know it.  Soon, the Indianapolis Colts will know it. 

I’ve heard all the sound bytes. 

• Donte Stallworth:  “You can’t really send those guys a message.  They’re the defending champs.  If anything, they sent a message to us today with their convincing win over Carolina.” 
• Coach Belichick:  “They’re unbeaten and they’re the Super Bowl champions.  Until someone beats them, they’re the best team in the league.”  
• Rodney Harrison: “They’re the best team in the league. They won the title and they’re unbeaten.” 
• Tom Terrific:  “We know it’s going to take our best effort…I’m glad we have seven days to prepare.” 

I don’t believe it.  Not for a minute.  You’re under the gun, so you take it on the run.  The Patriots are taking it on the run all right.  The Patriots just crushed Redskins to the tune of 52-7.  The Patriots have just finalized the most dominant half season in modern NFL history.  More dominant than Larry Csonka and the 72 Dolphins.  More dominant than Sweetness and the 85 Bears.  More dominant than Bart Starr and the 62 Packers.  More dominant than The Capitol Punishment Defense and the 91 Redskins.  More dominant than all of them.   

Eight and oh.  An average of 41.4 points a game.   204 more points than the opposition.  That’s dominance.  So is this.  Tom Brady has connected for thirty TD passes.  Thirty!  Are you kidding me?  On a pace that will give him sixty for the season.  Yowza!  A pace that will give him eleven more than Peyton Manning’s NFL record set two years ago.  See what happens.  See what happens when you give the best quarterback in the league some weapons.  Some weapons of mass destruction.  But you tell me over and over and over again, my friend.  Ah, you don’t believe we’re on the eve of destruction. 

Stop kidding yourself Colts fans.  Stop kidding yourself Patriots detractors.  Stop thinking this ends next week against Manning and the Colts.  Ending where it ended last season.  Where it ended when the Patriots squandered a 21-3 lead.  Squandered a 21-3 lead and lost 38-34 when Indy’s Marlin Jackson picked off Brady on the final drive.  It ain’t ending.  Not this time.  Not to this Patriots’ team.  They are just too damned good. 

Destruction, terror, and mayhem.  Pass me the Colts so suckas I’ll slay them.  I’m gonna knock you out!  Mama said knock you out!  This is what the Patriots are going to do to the Colts on Sunday:

Public Acknowledgements:  Happy Days, REO Speedwagon, Barry McGuire, LL Cool J and Casino

Peace out homies.  Six Two and Even!

The party’s over, it’s time to call it a day.  They’ve burst your pretty balloon and taken the moon away.  It’s time to wind up the masquerade.  Just make your mind up, the piper must be paid.  -Nat King Cole

Public Service Announcement:  Ok here we go!  They did it.  They really did it.  We’re somebody’s now.  Millions of people look at this blog everyday!  This is the kind of spontaneous publicity – your name in print – that makes people.  The Red Sox are in print!  Things are going to start happening to them now. 

Things have been happening all season, and I’m going to miss it.  Deeply miss it.  Sorely miss it.  Like my main man Rogers Hornsby always says:  “People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball.  I’ll tell you what I do.  I stare out the window and wait for spring.”  That’s what I’m doing now.  I’m waiting for spring. 

Waiting for another Red Sox championship run.  Waiting for another wire to wire championship run.  But Secretariat is all alone!  He’s out there almost a 16th of a mile away from the rest of the horses!  Secretariat is in a position that seems impossible to catch.  As it turns out, nobody could catch the Sox.  Not the Yankees.  Not the Angels.  Not the Indians.  Not the Rockies.  Not nobody.  And I’m going to miss it.  There’s something missing from my life.  Cuts me open like a knife.  It leaves me vulnerable.  I have this disease.  I shake like an incurable.  God help me please.

Yes I’m going to miss these guys.  I’m going to miss my two favorite words in the English language.  Papi’s up!  On his gimpy knee, he was not the Papi we knew and loved but still a force to be reckoned with.  He played a flawless first base in the Series.  In game three, he hit a line-drive to right smack dab in the middle of a Red Sox six-run third.  Papi in the middle.  Where he at?  In the middle.  Yep, Papi’s in the middle.  Where that at?  In the middle.  In the middle of the line up and the middle of a championship-clinching inning.

I’m going to miss Manny being Manny.  Hat falling, bare handed of the walling, leaving Kenny Lofton balling, Manny.  Manny is the best right-handed batter in my lifetime.  Big game?  F you, pay me.  Little game?  F you, pay me.  Fastball?  F you, pay me.  Change?  F you, pay me.  While A-Broad deserts the teams he claimed he wanted to stay with, Manny stays with the team he claimed he wanted to leave. 

I’m going to miss Mike Lowell.  Throw in, Mike Lowell.  World Series MVP, Mike Lowell.  Gold Glove, Mike Lowell.  Lowell homered, doubled and scored twice in the Game Four clincher at Coors Field.  His dirty uniform typifying his whatever-it-takes attitude.  I hope I don’t have to miss him next season. 

I’m going to miss Boom Boom Beckett.  Has there ever been a bigger game pitcher?  I never saw Bullet Bob Gibson.  I never saw Sandy Koufax.  I’ve seen Boom Boom.  I’ll take my chances with him. 

I’m going to miss Curt Schilling.  I may be missing him forever.  His winning performance in Game Two may have been his last winning performance in a Red Sox uniform.  What he did one night in 2004 solidifies his place in my heart. 

I’m going to miss the rookies.  Mighty Mite, Dustin Pedroia.  Here I come to save the day.  That means that Mighty Mouse is on his way.  Yes sir, when there is a wrong to right, Mighty Mouse will join the fight.  On the sea or on the land, he gets the situation well in hand.  Dustin Pedroia, Rookie of the Year. 

Jacoby Elisbury, next year’s Rookie of the Year.  Inserted into the staring order in Game Six against the Indians.  Became the third rookie all time with four hits in one Series game and tied Matt Williams as the only player to hit two doubles in one series game against the Rockies in Game Three.  Burning down the base paths.  Hold tight, wait ’till the party’s over.  Hold tight, we’re in for nasty weather.  There has got to be a way.  Burning down the house.  Running like people were chasing him. 

No No Nanette Clay Buchholz.  Dice-K.  Okie.  The future’s so bright, they gotta wear shades.  I’m going to miss Tek.  The captain.  Calling a game like no other.  No one shakes off Tek.  No one.  I’ll miss Redemption Man JD Drew.  I’ll miss Coco Crisp’s circus catches in center.  I’ll mis John Lester. Was there a feel gooder story of the year. If so, I missed that too. I’ll miss Papelbon’s fist pumping, Irish jigging, lights out closing.  I’ll even miss Julio Lugo, the latest of the revolving door shortstops around here.  Yes, I will miss them all.  Until next year, Roll Sox roll!  Dynastic!

Public Acknowledgements:  The Jerk, Chic Anderson, Police, Monie Love, Goodfellas and the Talking Heads

Public Spectacle:

Peace out homies.  Six two and Even!

Two coaches. Each with three Championships. This is what the Patriots are going to do to the Redskins tomorrow:

Peace out homies.  Six two and Even!

I was going to write a piece on Kobe.  I changed my mind.  But when researching, I found this:

Ray Allen, 2004: 

“If Kobe doesn’t see he needs two and a half good players to be a legitimate playoff contender or win a championship in about a year or two he’ll be calling out to Jerry Buss that ‘We need some help in here,’ or ‘Trade me.  And we’ll all be saying, ‘I told you so,’ when he says that”

Public Spectacle:

Peace out homies.  Six two and Even!

You’re still the one that makes me strong.  Still the one I want to take along.  We’re still having fun, and you’re still the one.  -Orleans 

Public Service Announcement:  OK, here we go!  Schill the Thrill.  Taking the hill.  Filling the bill.  Still gots the skill.  The skills to pay the bills. 

Last night, maybe for the last time in a Red Sox uniform, Curt Schilling went out and did what he does best.  He went out and took over a World Series game.  Sherman, set the way back machine to 1993.  Ahh, 1993.  Rodney King.  Waco.  Schindler’s List.  Sienfeld.  Das EFX.  And Curt Schilling. 

Schilling was 27.  Beckett’s age.   Curt Schilling was Josh Beckett’s age when he made his first World Series start for the Fightin’ Phils.  He got knocked around.  Rocked around.  Shocked around.  He gave up seven runs to the Blue Jays in 61/3 innings.  Five days later, Schilling came back to shut out Toronto.  He hasn’t lost a World Series game since.  The rest is history. 

Schilling now owns an 11-2 record and 2.23 ERA in the post season.  He may have ceded his legendary status to Josh Beckett, but remember this, and never forget, Schilling is big game pitcher.  Schilling came to Boston a champion.  Schilling came to Boston a World Series MVP.  He came.  He saw.  He conquered.  Schilling:  “I’m going to Boston to break an 86-year-old curse.”  And break it he did. 

He may not have done it alone, but what he did in Game Six, against the Bombers, goes down as The Most Heroic Performance I’ve Ever Seen.  The win against the Cardinals, icing on the cake.  Idiot, and I do mean idiot, not in a loving, Red Sox way, but in a stupid idiot way, Kevin Millar, asked this: ‘’When he comes into the game, people cheer him like he’s the Pope…Why does he get a free pass?”  Are you out of your goddamned mind, Kevin?  Do you really need an answer to that? 

Schilling’s overall career in Boston has not been perfect for sure.  He’s been hurt.  He’s been about a .500 pitcher since 2004.  But it’s games like last night.  Big games.  Important games.  Imperative games.  Games like that there.  That’s why he gets a pass.  If that was indeed the Thrill’s last game in a Red Sox uniform, it was fitting.  Schilling:  “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet better than me in a game that matters.”  I don’t either.  Roll Sox roll! 

Public Acknowledgements:  Bill Burt, Beastie Boys, Mr. Peabody and Julius Caesar

Public Spectacle: 

Peace out homies.  Six Two and Even!