The Eighth Day

It is written that, "By the seventh day God completed His work which He had done, and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done."

This much, I believe is true.

But, the story as it exists in writing is incomplete. For there is a part of the story that exists only by word of mouth. At least, until now . . .

For generations, in every culture in every part of the world, the elders have passed on to the youth "The Story of the Eighth Day." It is told as follows:

On the eighth day, God slept in. He felt He had earned it, since He had been working for seven straight days without rest. When God arose in the latter part of the morning He found Himself desirous of sustenance. After sampling a morsel of each of His many creations, God found them lacking in both taste and nutritional value. This made Him sad. God contemplated destroying His greatest creation, but decided against it. For, overall, it was pretty good. Not good, just pretty good.

Then, He had an epiphany. In the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eighth day, God cleared his throat and said, "Let there be Wheaties. Let it be a simple comestible, to be consumed only with the milk of a cow. Let it be endorsed by only those that are capable of great feats of athletic achievement. And,* most importantly, let it be both good and good for you."

God looked at his newest and final creation. Using only a spoon, He sampled these Wheaties. Then, He smiled, for it was good.


*Editor's Note: God is allowed to start His sentences with And. He just is.

Conundrum!

It's happened to all of us . . . you're laying in bed. It's Saturday morning. You're not asleep. You're not awake. You're justifying staying in bed.

Then, it happens.

"Bu-dong!"

You know that noise. Of course you know that noise. It runs your life. It's the progeny of AOL's "You've Got Mail!"

Most importantly, it's a sign.

Not a sign to get out of bed. Well, maybe. But it's more a sign that something has happened in the electric world and you'll be damned if you don't find out what it is.

So you check your email. It's from facebook. "[Random girl] wants to be your friend," the email tells you. You rub your bloodshot eyes, shake out your hangover, and think, "I'm not sure I've ever met [Random girl]."

Now, chances are, you haven't. "But," you think, as any logical man would, "it's possible I just don't remember meeting her!"

So you check her facebook profile. Nothing too frightening there, except that she likes Grey's Anatomy. That can be overlooked. But that photo! Which one is [Random girl]?

Conundrum. You don't want some scud as your friend on facebook. Then again, that other girl is pretty cute . . .

So, you accept [Random girl]'s offer of friendship.

As it turns out, [Random girl] was the scud. And now you're stuck with her. Once again proving why you shouldn't talk to strangers.

THIS PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY TASERS. KEEPING STRANGERS OUT OF YOUR LIFE SINCE 1974.

Barbeque Sauce

Now that I have your attention.

It's almost impossible not to think about it once the amazing awesomeness that is Barbeque Sauce is mentioned.

That being said, it seems like we are experiencing a bit of a slow down here at TAMT, so in the meantime I have two words for you:

Barbeque Sauce.

Location, Location, Location

There's been some downtime here at TAMT, and there are a multitude of factors to attribute this to. One of which is that TAMT does not have a singular location that we operate from, and that's part of the problem. Dr. No has posited that our office is a metaphysical one that exists in the heart and mind of every man, woman, and child. Transcending space and time is pretty sweet, but I don't think we can get office supply shipments there.

It is this writer's opinion that TAMT needs a central space where we can Talk As Men Talk. There are some that argue that TAMT is a lifestyle, not a destination: they would be correct, but we also need to exist as a shining beacon to let the huddled masses know that there is hope in this grim world that forces them to talk as employees talk, as yes-men talk, as husbands talk, as siblings talk, as tax-payers talk, as the middle-class talk: we want people to be able to hold their heads up high and Talk As Men Talk.

That and we want to make some money. Partially for ourselves, but more to finance bigger and better TAMT operations - podcasts, radioshows, stripclubs, you name it. The goal here is to Talk As Men Talk not just as a hobby, but as a full time operation. I look to guys like Dick Vitale, a possessor of one of the greatest jobs in the world, who inspired me by saying something to the effect of, "I've never worked a day in my life. It's all been fun and I've gotten paid for it." Why shouldn't we all be so lucky?

That being said, we need an office. As anyone knows, you need a location to run business operations if you want to be an effective business. So far, our business model is borrowed from the South Parkian Underpants Gnome methodology:
Phase 1: Get an office.
Phase 2: ?
Phase 3: Profit.

As you can imagine, we aren't having tremendous initial success, especially since we can't complete phase 1. The other idea that we've been kicking around is starting a Bar. I think in concept this is great, because said Bar could double as an office and no one would think twice about us opening at 8am and pouring whiskey in the coffee to start the day. The disadvantage is that we'd probably have to shut down around 2 every day for a booze nap.

These are just some jumping off points. Food for thought, to be savored, then digested, but in this case, not excreted. But for now, it's back to work at the office that isn't a TAMT office, which is why we need the new one...

Kickin' it old school

TAMT noticed today that the Oakland A's are becoming one of the best teams in 2001 by signing such free agents as Orlando Cabrera, Jason Giambi, Nomar Garciaparra. With staple Eric Chavez, who had his better years in the past, they might make a run at the World Series title currently held by the Arizona Diamondbacks.

This isn't Haterade

Dr-No needs to do some fact checking. I am in no way saying that Bellicheat isn't a smart man, a genius coach, or possibly the only human being alive with a working heart of stone (medical records prove this). What Bellichick has done in his career is going to stand through the ages, and I'd hate to sit at the poker table with him. What I'm saying is that I have never seen a trade gift-wrapped like this since Gasol went to the Lakers. Cassel will struggle in KC because he probably won't spend a lot of time on his feet But if you're unloading a guy who has high stock, you get something equal to the value of that high stock. The 34th pick is not where this guy's stock was, especially with Vrabel thrown in there. Was this a fleecing by the Chiefs? Not by a long shot. But you would need six strippers with PhDs granted by Gregg Easterbrook himself all with statistical and empirical, pertaining to both the NFL season and the upcoming draft, to convince me that Bellichick didn't give his buddy in KC a gift.

Sippin the Kool Aid

I am sorry, but this is where j-dr and I will have to disagree. Like Wilbon, I'm sippin the Kool Aid. j-dr thinks that Bellichick is stupid, I think he is stupid like a fox. I am not so sure that Cassel is the super talent that everyone seems to think he is, but maybe that's just me. Sure, he threw for like 3,700 yards and had an 89 passer rating.

But, let's face facts. Who's Cassel dating? This girl. Sure, she's cute. But she's no Giselle. As a wise man once said, "Winners go home and f--k the prom queen." Since Cassel's girl is no prom queen, it only follows that he is no winner.

It was brilliant to unload him now, while his stock was still high. Trust me, a year from now, people will be saying Cassel who?

Oil? Who said anything about oil?

Bitch, you cookin'?

Seriously, even though Dave Chappelle's "Black Bush" sketch is a great satire of our former president, the section on oil presents a great way to avoid a conversation where you know you have nothing, and this is the only thing I could see the Patriots doing after giving away Matt Cassel and Mike Vrabel for the 34th pick in the draft and nothing else.

For a trade like this, you need to employ the "Fantasy test" which is - if this trade went down in a Fantasy Football league, would friendships be ended? Undoubtedly. Especially since it has come to light that the Patriots were offered the 12th pick in the draft for essentially the same thing by the Broncos. I've heard all manner of crap, that Belichick didn't want the fiscal responsibility of a first round selection - and I can't believe that simply because they just knocked at least 12 million dollars off the books in the trade, and many contracts aren't guaranteed money. So personally, I think Billy boy's got some splaining to do.

I'm looking forward to opening day of the NFL season, simply for Brady going down yet again and getting the opportunity to ride the pine all year, because if I had the option of staying in bed with Giselle all day, or hanging around with a bunch of sweaty 300lb guys who are supposed to protect me against a group of 270lb guys who run 4.4 40s and are trying to bury me six feet deep under artificial turf...well, is it even a question?

You know what was a crazy story?

Charlotte's Web. I mean, think about it. A spider saved a pig from being eaten by a human using words brought to it by a rat, which rat obtained those words from garbage at the fairgrounds? If that's not crazy, I don't know what is . . .

And you know who the real hero of that story is? Me. Because it takes two to tell a story, one to tell and another to listen.

It was all a dream . . .

So I spent the afternoon watching Jordan commercials on Youtube. An afternoon well spent, I assure you.

As I watched these commercials a shadow of a vision crept into my mind. At first, the vision eluded my sight. A vision that could not be seen! "How could it be?" I wondered. Every time I turned to look, the vision went away. The vision's shadow was all that could be seen. Every time the vision eluded my sight, my desire to see it increased.

And then, like a Friday afternoon, it was there. It's presence was fleeting, but vivid. I will describe what I saw as best I can, although candidly, I feel my description will be inadequate.

_____________________

A son on his way home from college. A father, awaiting his son's arrival. The arrival. Son, brimming with newfound confidence, challenges father to a game of basketball. "I've been playing a lot more lately," son confesses. "Let's see what you've got," is father's only reply.

Son and father change into shorts and shoes.

Son feels it is his time. The first in a series of moments he was born to experience. His apotheosis.

Father, weary, tries to shake out the stiffness of too many winters in his joints. "Let's see what you've got," he tells himself.

The game. Son gets an early lead. "Transcend," he tells himself. Father does not worry. He lacks the confidence of youth, but he has the wisdom of age. "Transcend," he whispers.

Then, it happens. A breeze pushes father's jumpshot through the rim. "There you are," he thinks, as his old friend returns.

A few quick points and father takes the lead. Son begins to panic as his plans begin to unravel. "This was not how it was supposed to happen," flashes through son's mind.

Father hits another jumpshot. "Great D," he says, "I thought you had me on that one." A comment intended to reassure misses its mark and enhances Son's exasperation. Much like an engine, which takes time to warm up such that it runs at peak efficiency, Father's game revs. He feeds on son's now-suffocated fire.

"Show him what you've got," Father tells himself. And he does.

Thirty three points to son's eleven later, Father has had enough. Son had enough twenty points ago, but the shame of quitting before the old man would have been greater than the shame of losing.

"Good game," Father reassures son. "Now, let's go eat."
_____________________

And that was the image whose shadow haunted me. As it's presence was only temporary, I soon found myself a new activity to pursue . . .

Oh, and here's the Jordan commercial that inspired all this.

Bear Grylls

I just watched Bear Grylls catch a stream trout with his hands, bite its head off, then eat it raw.  

To top it off, he was all like, "Mmm, that was delicious!"  

This is not the first time he's done something like this, nor is the stream trout the least appetizing meal that Grylls has referred to as "delicious."  

The man that bites fish heads off and eats them raw now endorses Trail Mix Cereal.  Would you eat a cereal this guy says is good?  What does it taste like Bear?  Is it as "delicious" as raw stream trout?  

TAMT is going to guess . . . Yes.

The Lei of the Land

I'm still in Hawaii, "reporting" on a homework assignment I gave myself when I realized I was going to have 10 days with essentially nothing to do: read The Yankee Years.

There's a lot of controversy surrounding the book, but it is both literally and figuratively yesterday's news as the A-Rod/A-Roid/Ster-Rod scandal broke, and then pitchers and catchers reported with CC Sabathia and A.J. Burnett taking the smallest rings in the Yankees' media circus. But despite the depressing fact that our over-indulgent society can't maintain focus on anything for longer than it takes a sailor on shore leave to find the nearest hooker, I decided it was still my duty to read, absorb, and understand what all the fuss was about.

So far, not a lot. I'm about 160 pages deep and these are the conclusions I've drawn:
1) Tom Verducci is not that great of a writer.
2) Roger Clemens is a weird, weird man.
3) I don't think Torre has screwed anyone over (so far).

I'll address ever issue by point, as this will turn into a week long saga, I'm sure.

1) This book is bland. The only reason I keep reading it is because I love the Yankees and the first 155 pages were about how amazing they were in '96-'00. The last five pages I read were a horrible re-living of the '01 Series against the Diamondbacks in which the game was wrapped up then stolen in the way the Yankees had stolen wins for the past five years; but that was just brutal and I had to relive it at some point.

Verducci's metaphors are primarily tied to combat and military existence - anything else comes off only a little less clumsily than Johnny Damon trying to hit the cutoff man when he's playing shallow center. It's not that Verducci's that bad, it's just that he's that not good, which is unbefitting of Yankee Pride.

That, and so far Brian McNamee is quoted just as much as Joe Torre. I'm calling shenanigans.

2) Roger: He is an asshole. He has thrown anyone and everyone under the bus and this book explains some of that behavior, but does not condone it. But for all the shit that has been written about him, and for all the shit he has actually done, this is one thing I didn't need to know. I direct you to a gem from page 132:

There was so much to hink about before even throwing a pitch. Clemens lost himself in his usual pregame preparation, which typically began with cranking the whirlpool to its hottest possible temperature. "He'd come out looking like a lobster," trainer Steve Donahue said. Donahure than [this is a typo from the book, not me] would rub hot liniment all over Clemens' body, "from his ankles to his wrists," Donahue said. Then Donahue would rub the hottest possibl liniment on his testicles. "He'd start snorting like a bull," the trainer said. "That's when he was ready to pitch." (Verducci and Torre, 132)

Marinate on that.

3) So far everything Joe has said has been honest and hasn't really busted anyone's chops. Are there maybe a few too many comments about how some players had trouble handling pressure? Yeah, but at the same time, he's just giving accurate accounts of his Yankee years. So far, I am glad Joe sticks by everything he has said, but am also convinced a lot more of this has to do with Verducci than Torre.

And on that note, I'm going to watch the sun set over the bay, and drink until I can no longer think about a grown man admitting that his job was to rub liniment on Roger Clemens' balls. That's how men celebrate Valentine's Day.

Pitchers and Catchers Reported...

...and it was good.

This pleased TAMT, and there was much rejoicing.

This TAMT contributor is currently vacationing in Hawaii, far away from my frozen, hardy northeastern roots, and on this glorious, perhaps second most wonderful day of the year (second only to Opening Day), I have only one suggestion to the great state of Hawaii:

Professional (or semi-pro) baseball teams all year round.

Not to rub it in the face of anyone who isn't lounging in 80 degree temperature at nine in the morning, but Hawaii is missing a serious tourist attraction here. Yeah, it's nice to go to sandy beaches and do absolutely nothing, but after I've done nothing, I want to do nothing while watching sports. The strength of Minor League Baseball and the draw it creates has proven that people don't need to see Major League caliber players to enjoy a game. Hell, someone out there has to be watching the WNBA, proof that you don't need to have the best game to be in business.

Even if Hawaii had spring training, extended spring training, and then some rookie leagues, it would be fantastic. Ball can be played here seven days a week, 365 days a year. It generally rains once a day, and sometimes big ol' storms come through, but for the most part, it's uninterupted beauty with untapped potential. Tourism is already booming on these islands, but if I had the option of going to one of two tropical places, and knowing I could watch live baseball at one and not at the other...well, would it even be a choice?

PITCHERS AND CATCHERS REPORT

For those of us here at TAMT, the greatest day of the year is upon us.  No, we are not talking about Friday the 13th.  And, if you think we're talking about Valentines Day then you are beyond our help and should navigate away from this page immediately.  This is Talking As Men Talk!  None of that nancyboy nonsense will be tolerated in these parts.  

The oh so special day to which we refer is SPRING TRAINING!  Pitchers and catchers have already reported.   

MLB.com put it best when it said:

"This is the moment we all have been waiting for through another inanimate and barren winter.  It feels so good when Major League Baseball returns that it actually is worth the pain of having it wrested from our tight grips in late autumn.  Were it a 12-month season, there would be no chance to miss it the way we have lately."  

And let's face it, we have had plenty of reasons to miss baseball this year.  The Super Bowl was a bust.  Sure, the game was exciting, but who cares about the Steelers and the Cardinals?  Steelers fans are some of the most annoying in sports and Cardinals fans . . . wait, did we just invent a word?  Is there such a thing as a Cardinals fan?  TAMT will check the dictionary and get back to you.  

Had it not been for a fun few weeks of NBA ball, TAMT does not know how we would have survived the winter.  How about Lebron dropping 52 on the Knicks just one night after Kobe dropped 61 on the downtrodden Knickerbockers?  TAMT was pleased.  

But, like the epiphany star that guided the three wise men (think they talked as men talk?) to Jesus, spring training served as the beacon guiding us through the dark months of winter.  And if you think its blasphemous to use Jesus as a metaphor for baseball, then you have a total lack of respect for baseball.  TAMT shakes its head and says, "shame on you."  

For our part, we cannot wait to hear the two greatest words in the English language.  

"Play Ball!"  

History in the making

Yeah, that's right. History is being made right here, right now. We are Talking as Men Talk. If you don't know what that means - then you don't know us and you don't know our style.

Things Men discuss: Booze, Women, Sports, News, Music (no string quartets, please), and all things awesome.

Things Men do NOT discuss: Our feelings.

That pretty much says it all. This is only the beginning. Big things are happening and they are happening here, soon to happen in an even larger forum. There's a lot on the way. We've got the A-Roid/Ster-Rod scandal to catch up on, we've got the Yankees winning the 2009 World Series despite the media circus, nobody giving a crap about the WNBA, and why the Knicks fans are to be forgiven for cheering for everybody else who plays in the Garden except for the New York Knicks.

And if you don't care what we think - then you're lying, because you're here reading this page.