This should probably have some snarky reference to the events of September 11th, 2001 --- a day which will live in infamy. The day that I quit the police force.

But, instead, I want to talk about American Werewolf in London.

John Landis may be a flippant dick responsible for the deaths of one Hollywood legend and two young children, but holy shit is that a good movie.

Also, R. Budd Dwyer anyone? How much blood does the human head have anyway? 2-3 liters? Stop bleeding everywhere, Budd, you're gonna ruin the carpet. WE GET IT. YOU DID SOMETHING ILLEGAL. You don't have to spew it.

Also, the Football Rays are pretty terrible. Granted, I watched 5 minutes of the game. Once I saw Michael Bennett as the starting right end, I didn't really need to pay attention.

But, which one's the quarterback?

Justified. We should talk about it.

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Good mescaline comes on slow. The first hour is all waiting, then about halfway through the second hour you start cursing the creep who burned you, because nothing is happeningand then ZANG! Fiendish intensity, strange glow and vibrations...a very heavy gig in a place like the Circus—Circiii.

“I hate to say this,” said my attorney as we sat down at the Merry—Go—Round Bar on the second balcony, “but this place is getting to me. I think I’m getting the Fear."

“Nonsense,” I said. “We came out here to find the American Dream, and now that we’re right in the vortex you want to quit.” I grabbed his bicep and squeezed. “You must realize,”I said, “that we’ve found the main nerve."

“I know,” he said. “That’s what gives me the Fear.” The ether was wearing off, the acid was long gone, but the mescaline was running strong. We were sitting at a small round gold formica table, moving in orbit around the bartender.

“Look over there,” I said. “Two women fucking a polar bear."

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The basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who must use the words. George Orwell made this clear in his novel 1984. But another way to control the minds of people is to control their perceptions. If you can get them to see the world as you do, they will think as you do. Comprehension follows perception. How do you get them to see the reality you see? After all, it is only one reality out of many. Images are a basic constituent: pictures. This is why the power of TV to influence young minds is so staggeringly vast. Words and pictures are synchronized. The possibility of total control of the viewer exists, especially the young viewer. TV viewing is a kind of sleep-learning. An EEG of a person watching TV shows that after about half an hour the brain decides that nothing is happening, and it goes into a hypnoidal twilight state, emitting alpha waves. This is because there is such little eye motion. In addition, much of the information is graphic and therefore passes into the right hemisphere of the brain, rather than being processed by the left, where the conscious personality is located. Recent experiments indicate that much of what we see on the TV screen is received on a subliminal basis. We only imagine that we consciously see what is there. The bulk of the messages elude our attention; literally, after a few hours of TV watching, we do not know what we have seen. Our memories are spurious, like our memories of dreams; the blank are filled in retrospectively. And falsified. We have participated unknowingly in the creation of a spurious reality, and then we have obligingly fed it to ourselves. We have colluded in our own doom.

And—and I say this as a professional fiction writer—the producers, scriptwriters, and directors who create these video/audio worlds do not know how much of their content is true. In other words, they are victims of their own product, along with us. Speaking for myself, I do not know how much of my writing is true, or which parts (if any) are true. This is a potentially lethal situation. We have fiction mimicking truth, and truth mimicking fiction. We have a dangerous overlap, a dangerous blur. And in all probability it is not deliberate. In fact, that is part of the problem. You cannot legislate an author into correctly labeling his product, like a can of pudding whose ingredients are listed on the label... you cannot compel him to declare what part is true and what isn't if he himself does not know.

It is an eerie experience to write something into a novel, believing it is pure fiction, and to learn later on—perhaps years later—that it is true. I would like to give you an example. It is something that I do not understand. Perhaps you can come up with a theory. I can't.

Worst economic recession since the Great Depression. Worst economic recession since the Great Depression. Worst economic recession since the Great Depression. Worst economic recession since the Great Depression. Worst economic recession since the Great Depression. Worst economic recession since the Great Depression. Worst economic recession since the Great Depression. Worst economic recession since the Great Depression. Worst economic recession since the Great Depression.

I'm sorry you retarded baseball players can't seem to understand that.

• Davin Joseph might be our only above average offensive linemen and he's not even being used to his full potential. Trueblood's blocks as well as menstrual fluid, Vincent has heavy ankles, Faine gets no push, and Penn is a lightweight. Part of it may have to do with our system -- Joseph, Faine, and Zuttah are all the type of interior linemen that should be pulling into space. The zone system was supposed to make blocking assignments easier, but it's become apparent that it does not our fit talent level. Vincent, Penn and Trueblood aren't quick enough to execute it.
  
• Freeman was rattled all day and I don't think it had anything to do with the pass rush. There were plenty of opportunities for The Motherfuckin' Time to get into his drop and pick out a pass, but the Steelers' coverage was confusing him. LeBeau must have used five different looks in the second drive alone, using stunting linemen, mixed zone/man coverage (including Polamalu doing shit like picking up a wide receiver), and crossing blitzers. After that drive, Freeman was very timid about his throws, often pushing the ball out of his hand in hesitation instead of actually following through with his mechanics. I'm not sure the playcalling helped either. Most of our success came with crossing patterns and shorter routes -- Free's beautiful rollout, side-armed pass to Mike Williams comes to mind. Yet for extended periods in the game, three receivers would be running intermediate to long routes, all 12 yards are further down field.
  
• Kellen Winslow's catch on the sideline between Lamar Woodley and the safety was absurd. 
• No pass rush whatsoever today. The only time I can remember our defensive line penetrating was Gerald McCoy getting the best of his man, forcing Batch up into the pocket.. and then Batch beat Cody Grimm today. Raheem wasn't nearly creative enough with his blitz package. Once Batch threw the opening interception, the Steelers went max protect and it came down to individual match ups in the secondary.
• Which we lost. Cody Grimm getting beat deep when he had a chance to make a play, Talib deflecting a sure interception on a terrible throw into Mike Wallace's hands, Ronde getting beat on the sideline and not catching up to the receiver... Lose the majority of your 1v1 situations and you're probably going to lose the game.
  
• Also, Connor Barth couldn't abort his own baby by kicking his wife in the stomach. What a pussyfoot.

Just wanted to say: Sunny would have been 0/10 last night if not for Uncle Jack. The League was a 10/10.

blah blah blah blah blah blah 75 words blah blah blah blah blah blah 75 words blah blah blah blah blah blah 75 words blah blah blah blah blah blah 75 words blah blah blah blah blah blah 75 words blah blah blah blah blah blah 75 words blah blah blah blah blah blah 75 words blah blah blah blah blah blah 75 words blah blah blah blah blah blah 75 words blah blah blah blah blah blah 75 words

Glory, glory, Tottenham Hotspur!Glory, glory, Tottenham Hotspur!Glory, glory, Tottenham HotspurAnd the Spurs go marching on. Tottenham are the greatest team the world has ever seenTottenham are the greatest team the world has ever seenTottenham are the greatest team the world has ever seenAnd the Spurs go marching on. Glory, glory, Tottenham Hotspur!Glory, glory, Tottenham Hotspur!Glory, glory, Tottenham HotspurAnd the Spurs go marching on. We're the pride of North of LondonWe're the kings of White Hart LaneWe're the pride of North of LondonWe're the kings of White Hart LaneWe’re the pride of North of LondonWe're the kings of White Hart LaneAnd the Spurs go marching on. Glory, glory, Tottenham Hotspur!Glory, glory, Tottenham Hotspur!Glory, glory, Tottenham HotspurAnd the Spurs go marching on. We've got loyal Spurs supporters and they come to every gameLoyal Spurs supporters and they come to every gameLoyal Spurs supporters and they come to every gameTo watch the Spurs go marching on Glory, glory, Tottenham Hotspur!Glory, glory, Tottenham Hotspur!Glory, glory, Tottenham HotspurAnd the Spurs go marching on.

You see, the night that Corky walked into the Blue Bottle, and before he knows what's happening, Bob here takes a shot at him! And he misses, 'cause he's so damn drunk. Now that bullet whizzing by panicked old Corky, and he did the wrong thing. He went for his gun in such a hurry that he shot his own damn toe off. Meantime Bob here, he's aiming real good, and he squeezes off another, but he misses, because he's still so damn drunk, and he hits this thousand-dollar mirror up over the bar. And now, the Duck of Death is as good as dead. Because Corky does it right. He aims real careful, no hurry, and... BAM! That Walker Colt blew up in his hand, which was a failing common to that model. You see, if old Corky had had two guns instead of just a big dick, he'd would have been there right to the end to defend himself.

[A bottle of Wild Turkey is introduced.]

HST: Aw, man. I drank this like some sort of sacrament for -- I mean, constantly -- for I think fifteen years. No wonder people looked at me funny. No offense. This is what I drank, and I insisted on it and I drank it constantly and I liked it. Jesus. I laid off it for six months and went back to it -- an accident one night, in a bar -- and it almost knocked me off the stool. It's like drinking gasoline. I thought, what the fuck...? 

[At HST's request, a cardboard placard is brought into the room, bearing HST's obituary of Richard Nixon for Rolling Stone, dated May 1, 1994, and entitled, "He Was a Crook."]

HST: Here's one of the things I'm proudest of. It's about time you read something. Why don't you read that for us? This will be a lesson for you. Start at the beginning. If you haven't read this, it might explain a little more. Take it from the top. Headline and all.

[MH proceeds to read aloud the entire scathing obituary.]

[ottle of Wild Turkey is introduced.]

HST: Aw, man. I drank this like some sort of sacrament for -- I mean, constantly -- for I think fifteen years. No wonder people looked at me funny. No offense. This is what I drank, and I insisted on it and I drank it constantly and I liked it. Jesus. I laid off it for six months and went back to it -- an accident one night, in a bar -- and it almost knocked me off the stool. It's like drinking gasoline. I thought, what the fuck...? [At HST's request, a cardboard placard is brought into the room, bearing HST's obituary of Richard Nixon for Rolling Stone, dated May 1, 1994, and entitled, "He Was a Crook."]

HST: Here's one of the things I'm proudest of. It's about time you read something. Why don't you read that for us? This will be a lesson for you. Start at the beginning. If you haven't read this, it might explain a little more. Take it from the top. Headline and all.

Ulysses towers over the rest of Joyce's writings, and in comparison to its noble originality and unique lucidity of thought and style the unfortunate Finnegans Wake is nothing but a formless and dull mass of phony folklore, a cold pudding of a book, a persistent snore in the next room, most aggravating to the insomniac! I am. Moreover, I always detested regional literature full of quaint old-timers and imitated pronunciation. Finnegans Wake's façade disguises a very conventional and drab tenement house, and only the infrequent snatches of heavenly intonations redeem it from utter insipidity. I know I am going to be excommunicated for this pronouncement.
--Vladimir Nabokov, interview 1967

Originally I wanted to write a full-fledged article about Gaines Adams' little coming out party, but I haven't had the time to properly break down the game, much less put together a coherent, engaging essay about it. So, this will have to suffice.

I've been following Gaines' progress since he was a junior at Clemson, the year he really broke out onto the draft landscape. Quick-twitch athleticism, graceful body control, terrific closing speed, and an explosive first step have long been qualities that Gaines has possessed. However, since his junior year, there has been a very slow progression when it comes to turning skills into production. In fact, despite being selected among the first five picks in the first round, I thought his senior year was extremely subpar and, frankly, less impressive than what Jamaal Anderson had done for Arkansas. There had been no improvement in Gaines' awareness, snap anticipation, and pass rushing arsenal between his Junior and Senior seasons. In fact, there were several games, most noticeably against Georgia Tech, where Gaines was shut down by offensive tackles who would have next to nothing to give to an NFL team. Add in a long history of Clemson players underachieving in the NFL, and you could consider the pick to be especially risky for the Bucs.

Of course, being a Bucs fan has allowed me to follow his progression from day one in the NFL, and I haven't been impressed. Despite accolades from our well-respected friends The Football Outsiders, Gaines made very little progress in his first two seasons. His pass rushing moves were basically limited to running himself out of the play and attempting to spin back into the pocket in vain. Although he racked up some sacks and his discipline playing the run had improved, there was no consistency on a game-to-game basis, no sign that he was ready to turn into the dominant pass rusher he was supposed to be. When you consider that elite pass rushers tend to have immediate success in the NFL, as well as the stories about eating McDonalds and never doing squats, you had to wonder if it was ever going to click.

The beginning of his third season was more of the same until his recent performance against Washington. Although he couldn't maintain his outstanding performance throughout the entire game, his first three snaps against the Redskins deserves recognition and hope that he may yet live up to his draft status.

1st Quarter, 14:29:

Adams is lined up as the right defensive end, just off the left tackle's shoulder on the second snap of the game. The Redskins motion RB Clinton Portis out of the backfield, leaving FB Rock Cartwright alone and clearly announcing QB Jason Campbell will be throwing the ball. Adams gets an excellent jump of the snap. In a shocking turn of events, Adams elects not to try running by LT Chris Samuels, but instead fainting side to side and then directly engaging Samuels, getting his hands right inside the tackle's chest. Samuels, obviously confused by this sudden use of a power move, is taken aback and then tossed aside as Gaines uses his left arm to knock Samuels aside, creating a clear lane to the quarterback. Sack recorded, writer Suttree amazed.

1st Quarter, 13:58

On the third snap of the game, the Redskins present their offense from the shotgun formation. Adams has now switched to the left side of the line, just off the shoulder of TE Chris Cooley. The ball is snapped and Cooley gets into his route without engaging Adams, leaving Gaines one-on-one with RT Stephen Heyer. As he did on the previous play, Gaines attacks Heyer directly, staying low, getting into Heyer's body and use his hands to shock Heyer backwards. It works and Adams is able to use his outstanding agility to manuever away from Heyer and towards an unprotected Campbell. Feeling the pressure, Campbell steps up into the pocket, where he is hit by DT Jimmy Wilkerson. The hit forces the ball lose, and Gaines, in a surprisingly aware play, picks up the ball, putting the Bucs in perfect position to put points on the board, which they would do. Although Wilkerson gets credit for the sack, this is a play I would notate as a "force" - a play where Adams may not get noticed on the stats sheet, but initiated the defensive stop.

A new world has opened for Gaines Adams, one in which it is obvious the clearest path to the quarterback is in a straight line. Even "soft" pass rushers like Simeon Rice knew how to leverage his long arms, strength, and great first step into knocking offensive linemen off balance. Dwight Freeney, renowned for his speed and agility, derives almost all of his pass rushing skills from his ability to quickly get into a tackle's body and disrupt the tackle's balance. The ability to round the corner and get to the quarterback is only valuable if the opponent knows it has to shut down the direct route first. Violence has not been a major factor in Adams game before this series, but maybe he's been listening to a little Ludwig Van lately.

Note: These opinions were copy and pasted from DRays Bay, without permission. Any edits were made solely for formating purposes, so there are some grammatical and spelling errors, as well as jokes in bad taste. My opinions stated in this roundtable are based upon 6 games I saw of Josh Johnson's senior season at San Diego.



PlayOnWords: Which of you tards wrote that JJ is a 3rd round talent?

Suttree: THIS GUY.

PlayOnWords: That your legit opinion? Never saw him play in college; or, as FreeZo's commie brethren in Asiatown call it - university.

Suttree: Actually, yeah. His tools are as good as anyone drafted in the first round, his only negatives are competition (which Joe Flacco/Tony Romo/Steve McNair and others have squashed as being a legitimate criticsm), an iffy deep ball (though excellent arm strength), and on the thin side (though plenty tall).

He could be a Randall Cunningham that doesn’t turn over the ball. No matter who you’re playing, you don’t throw 1 interception wihout some degree of intelligence, patience, and ability to read a defense.

Suttree: In all seriousness, I'll take Josh Johnson murdering II-A competition then Josh Freeman performing poorly against the Big 12. Especially when the only tool Freeman has on Johnson is size.

rglass44: He could be a Randall Cunningham So Steve Young?

Suttree: Honestly? There's a big disconnect between where he is and where Steve Young was with the Niners (obviously), but he's cut from the same mold.

rglass44:  Cunningham without the TOs= Steve Young...
 
Suttree: Well, you say a guy's upside is Randall Cunningham and you're okay. You say a guy’s upside is Steve Young and people immediately laugh at you, but depending upon how his deep ball has developed, this could be the case.

rglass44: Well, you say a guy's upside is Randall Cunningham and you're okay. Especially if he’s black…

Suttree: Beyond Steve Young, name me a list of quarterbacks known for their mobility and short to intermediate accuracy.

rglass: Rich Gannon

Sandy Kazmir: Joe Montana
Ken Stabler
Rich Gannon

Suttree:Gannon and Montana were mobile, but not to the degree that Johnson is.

Sandy Kazmir: We've seen him execute one run, and he has said he would prefer to be a drop-back passer than running around like a fool.

Suttree: Oh, he is much more of a drop back passer. Actually, Gannon is probably the most apt comparison. Johnson plays a very simple game and it’s fantastic.

rglass44: Jeff Garcia PLEASE GOD NO

P Brady: Garcia throws INT. He’s basically Fran Tarkenton.

Suttree: Oh no, Johnson's much more patient in the pocket and has a better arm. Though, vintage Garcia was pretty badass.

Sandy Kazmir: I want to see more of it, sneak peek at my next article, if I'm still on board looks I did a data pull to look at all QB’s (on a single game basis) in their first season that had a completion % <= 40%,
QB rating <= 50.4, and at least 15 yards rushing. It’s a pretty sweet list with a quite a few good QB’s on it

Suttree: His numbers are super deceptive. Yeah, he was facing soft coverage, but he had a third down pass dropped and a sure touchdown dropped. Those two drops completely skewered his numbers.

Sandy Kazmir: What about the drops that Leftwich had 3rd down drops are absolutely killer, we have now talked more actual football in this thread than Buc Em has all day

Suttree: I feel bad for Leftwich. He's a decent quarterback in a situation that was not good for him. The receivers let him down, the play calling has been unimaginative, his tight ends can’t block, and his offensive line is decent, at best. He’s made some bad decisions, but there have been a lot of plays left on the field thanks to his receiving core.

I’m excited for Johnson because he can bring some life to the offense that Leftwich can’t without better playcalling and design. He’ll take what the defense gives him, which will mean some success for us until teams start clamping down on the underneath routes and force him to prove he can lace a pass between a corner and a safety on the sideline fifteen yards downfield.

Suttree: corp, not core.
 
Top Gun Numba 1: lol, got that one wrong too. corpS

Buc Wild: This is all the dialogue I was looking for over there. Acknowledgement that JJ has his upside but that this wasnt a Leftwich fail and he can succeed (and did) with the right scheme and help.

rglass44: Leftwich was better than Big ben in Pittsburg...

Suttree: Right. Although people say,“Leftwich has a big arm – let’s run a run heavy scheme!” that’s actually counter productive. His lack of mobility is a serious issue and by making him such an easy target (play the run on first down, understand you can blitz the offensive line because the tight ends are awful in pass protection), you expose him to getting hit on a regular basis and eventually making terrible decisions, which is exactly what happened.

Sandy Kazmir: So basically a faster Gradkowski As far as clamping down and forcing the deep ball. I think JJ has a much better arm, but he has to prove it. That deep throw down the sideline was on the money too bad no one can catch. With a top-5 pick next year I’m seriously debating whether we should just say screw the defense and get a great receiver. Our offense is a big-time playmaker away (assuming competent QB play) while our defense is an absolute mess and will not be solved by one draft.

Suttree: Better arm, less retarded than Gradkowski. Gradkowski also racked up his impressive completion percentage totals in an offense based on screen passes and wide receiver hitches. Johnson ran a pro-style West Coast offense where he was hitting slants and post patterns on a regular basis.

P Brady: I remember thinking his deep ball was a bit too floaty in college, actually. Officially now the head of the Lobstein bandwagon.

Suttree: Johnson has an issue with his deep ball, namely he doesn't consistently throw a rainbow. But, neither did Phillip Rivers. They both had a low release point, but I think Johnson can make the adjustments in his release so he can drop it over the shoulder without leaving it hanging. He’s got the arm strength for it.

rglass44: Rivers was also one of the ebst passers teh ACC has seen...

Suttree: Is dominating his competition as impressive as what Rivers did? Of course not, but it is impressive and frankly, better for his development than what Josh Freeman went through. You learn bad habits at the college level and they are tough to shake. I don’t think the speed of the game will catch up to Josh. The complexity of blitz packages and coverages? Possibly, but he’s had a whole year of breaking down tape and practicing against an NFL defense. If Joe Flacco, who looked retarded any time a team through a zone blitz at him in college, can succeed in the NFL, I think Josh Johnson has a shot.

rglass44: I still can't get over the fact that TYLER PALKO was the cause for Flacco transferring.
 
Suttree: It's outrageous, but Dave Wannstedt isn't the best evaluator of quarterback talent. Also, it takes certain situations to bring out the best in a player. Tom Brady was a huge underachiever in college, consistently beaten out by Brian Griese, but the skills we see at the NFL level were there at the college level. He just needed the right environment to bring out the best in him. Maybe it was the same for Flacco.

rglass44: I almost touched on that as well. He’s such an idiot.

The tree was down and cut to lengths, the sections spread and jumbled over the grass. There was a stocky man with three fingers bound up in a dirty bandage with a splint. With him were a Negro and a young man, the three of them gathered about the butt of the tree. The stocky man laid aside the saw and he and the Negro took hold of the piece of fence and strained and grunted until they got the log turned over. The man got to one knee and peered into the cut. We best come in this way, he said. The Negro picked up the crosscut and he and the man began sawing again. They sawed for a time and then the man said, Hold it. Goddamn, that',s it again. They stopped and lifted the blade from the cut and peered down into the tree. Uh-huh, said the Negro. It sho is now, ain't it?

The young man came over to see. Here, said the man, look sideways here. See? He looked. All the way up here? he said. Yep, the man said. He took hold of the twisted wrought-iron, the mangled fragment of the fence, and shook it. It didn't shake. It's growed all through the tree, the man said. We cain't cut no more on it. Damned old elum's bad enough on a saw.

The Negro was nodding his head. Yessa, he said. It most sholy has. Growed all up in that tree.

Look, look at it this way, you know uh, a man, a man takes a job, you know, and that job, I mean like that, and that it becomes what he is. You know like uh, you do a thing and that's what you are. Like I've been a, I've been a cabbie for seventeen years, ten years at night and I still don't own my own cab. You know why? 'Cause I don't want to. I must be what I, what I want. You know, to be on the night shift drivin' somebody else's cab. Understand? You, you, you become, you get a job, you you become the job. One guy lives in Brooklyn, one guy lives in Sutton Place, you get a lawyer, another guy's a doctor, another guy dies, another guy gets well, and you know, people are born. I envy you your youth. Go out and get laid. Get drunk, you know, do anything. 'Cause you got no choice anyway. I mean we're all fucked, more or less you know?

When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and eight oclock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather's and when Father gave it to me he said I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it's rather excruciating-ly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father's. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools. 

Vulcanic lake, the dead sea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the earth. A dead sea in a dead land, grey and old. Old now. It bore the oldest, the first race. The oldest people. Wandered far away over all the earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, being born everywhere. It lay there now. Now it could bear no more. Dead: an old woman's: the grey sunken cunt of the world.

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And viddy films I would. Where I was taken to, Brothers, was like no cine I ever viddied before. I was bound up in a strait jacket and my guliver was strapped to a headrest with like wires running away from it. Then they clamped like lidlocks on my eyes so that I could not shut them no matter how hard I tried. It seemed a bit crazy to me but I let them get on with it. If I was to be a free young malchick again in a fortnights time I would put up with much in the meantime, O my Brothers. So far the first film, was a very good professional piece of cine. Like it was done in Hollywood. The sounds were real horroshow, you could slooshie the screams and moans very realistic. You could even get the heavy breathing and panting of the tolchcoking malchicks at the same time. And then what do you know, soon our dear old friend the red red vino on tap. The same in all places, like it was put out by the same big firm, began to flow. It was beautiful. It's funny how the colors of the real world only seem really real when you viddy them on the screen.

Now all the time I was watching this, I was beginning to get very aware of like not feeling all that well. And this this I put down to all the rich food and vitamins. But I tried to forget this concentrating on the next film which jumped right away on a young devotchka who was being given the old in-out, in-out. First by one malchick, then another, then another. When it came to the sixth or seventh malchick leering and smecking and going into it, I began to feel really sick. But I could not shut my glassies and even if I tried to move my glassballs about, I still not get out of the line of fire of the picture.

I'm going to be sick! Get something for me to be sick in!

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I have of late - but wherefore I know not - lost all my mirth; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! How like an angel in apprehension. How like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me: no, nor women neither. Nor women neither.

All train compartments smell vaguely of shit. It gets so you don't mind it. That's the worst thing that I can confess. You know how long it took me to get there? A long time. When you die you're going to regret the things you don't do. You think you're queer? I'm going to tell you something: we're all queer. You think you're a thief? So what? You get befuddled by a middle-class morality? Get shut of it. Shut it out. You cheat on your wife? You did it, live with it. You fuck little girls, so be it. There's an absolute morality? Maybe. And then what? If you think there is, go ahead, be that thing. Bad people go to hell? I don't think so. If you think that, act that way. A hell exists on earth? Yes. I won't live in it. That's me.

You ever take a dump made you feel like you'd just slept for twelve hours?

Alright then. Two of 'em. Both had my father in 'em. It's peculiar. I'm older now then he ever was by twenty years. So in a sense he's the younger man. Anyway, first one I don't remember too well but it was about meetin' him in town somewhere, he's gonna give me some money. I think I lost it. The second one, it was like we was both back in older times and I was on horseback goin' through the mountains of a night. Goin' through this pass in the mountains. It was cold and there was snow on the ground and he rode past me and kept on goin'. Never said nothin' goin' by. He just rode on past... and he had his blanket wrapped around him and his head down and when he rode past I seen he was carryin' fire in a horn the way people used to do and I could see the horn from the light inside of it. 'Bout the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was goin' on ahead and he was fixin' to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold. And I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up.

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That right there is the mail. Now let's talk about the mail. Can we talk about the mail, please Mac? I've been dying to talk about the mail with you all day, okay? "Pepe Silvia," this name keeps coming up over and over again. Every day Pepe's mail is getting sent back to me. Pepe Silvia, Pepe Silvia. I look in the mail, and this whole box is Pepe Silvia! So I say to myself, "I gotta find this guy!" I gotta go up to his office and put his mail in the guy's goddamn hands! Otherwise, he's never going to get it and he's going to keep coming back down here. So I go up to Pepe's office and what do I find out, Mac? What do I find out?! There is no Pepe Silvia. The man does not exist, okay? So I decide, "Oh shit buddy, I gotta dig a little deeper." There's no Pepe Silvia? You gotta be kidding me! I got boxes full of Pepe! Alright. So I start marchin' my way down to Carol in HR and I knock on her door and I say, "Carol! Carol! I gotta talk to you about Pepe." And when I open the door what do I find? There's not a single goddamn desk in that office! There...is...no...Carol in HR. Mac, half the employees in this building have been made up. This office is a goddamn Ghost Town.

There is a natural order. The way things are meant to be. An order that says that the good guys always win. That you die when it's your time, or you have it coming. That the ending is always happy, if only for someone else. Now at some point it became clear to us that our path had been chosen and we had nothing to offer the world. Our options narrowing down to petty crime or minimum wage. So, we stepped off the path, and went looking for the fortune that we knew was looking for us. Once off the path you do what you can to eat and to keep moving. You don't blow your ghost of a chance with nickel and dime. No possessions, no comforts. Need is the ultimate monkey. A pint of your blood can fetch you fifty bucks. A shot of cum, three grand. You keep your life simple and you can literally self sustain.

http://baseballprospectus.com/article.php?articleid=9242#commentMessage

Also featured? This completely fantastic rant that basically sums up what I was going to say about the article.

My point is that FanGraphs built up a body of stats that they rely solely upon to write their articles. BP used to do that, but their defensive stats are pretty low on the reliability factor at this point and their statistic page and links are almost to the point of being worthless in comparison to a site like FanGraphs. BP used to be the de facto standard, but now it seems like they're playing the respondent blogger to FanGraphs' very strong database of statistics and authors. Sheehan has been the most acutely overt in his cribbings from FanGraphs, too. BP should be working to improve their own statistical language and database, not borrowing from others unless they want to be seen as merely freeloading bloggers as opposed to the progressive statistical mavericks they started out as. All I know is that Joe Sheehan and a few other BP authors had no idea what defensive and overall run values were until FanGraphs came along. I'm happy they're realizing their oversight, but it just seems like they should be figuring this stuff out on their own instead of standing on FanGraphs' ever enlarging shoulders.

And look, I get the Sheehan type of columnist. He's the guy who gets to spout off outlandish ideas and prognostications that have very little chance of ever meaning much but really rile up the masses and occasionally get people thinking. That has its place on any major publication, and I can't fault BP for wanting Sheehan to continue. What I can fault them for is not taking defensive metrics and values and the subsequent changing landscape of the overall player valuations a lot more seriously in the past few years. BP is and has been the gold standard of mass sabermetric reading, and I want them to start ponying up for the next level of player evaluations before it's too late.

If you go to the statistics link on the BP homepage, you get categories defined as Offense, General, Pitching and Team. Nowhere on that page does it list individual defense. Nowhere does it go into detail about the most important pitching information to come along in the last few years either (i.e. PitchFX). For a website designed to analyze players statistically, that's darned near a crime. That page should have PitchFX database analysis along with a defensive database (hopefully based off of UZR or some comparable). It's time to upgrade the stats department for the site if you ask me....

maybeofftopic365 (teaneck, nj): As a guy who has followed him for years, how did Ben Zobrist suddenly turn from minor league .300 hitter with very little power into a guy with 13 home runs so far? Change in approach, natural progression, or perhaps something more nefarious? Perhaps the question I'm really asking, is: Is accusing someone of performance enhancing drugs ever a reasonable assumption?

Will Carroll: DRaysBay did a big thing with his hitting coach. On the accusation, yes, that would be wrong. No one should ever say "this guy's doing steroids" without evidence. Now, could you wonder it? Absolutely. As the Raul Ibanez brouhaha has shown, some in the media didn't learn from the late 90's when we didn't ask questions. Ask the question, prove your case, let the athlete make his (and let me make a case for the Athlete's Passport here ...) Baseball fans are going to wonder. That's a price for lost trust, in the same way that a cuckolded spouse is going to wonder if his wife is really going to the store. It's not right, it's not comfortable, but it's how things work.