Realm of Red Presents: Ronald McDonald Files a Report From the Winter Meetings, Day One

I'll be the first to admit. I have a weight problem. I also have a drinking problem, three children out of wedlock, horrifying cholesterol and a bizarre hatred of the elderly*. But you know what? I also have a great sense of direction. Not so much 'direction in life' so to speak, but getting from Point A to Point B, that kind of shit. Of course that all goes out the window after a couple of Apple Pucker-Absinthe mixers, but that's neither here nor there. What I'm trying to say is that Ronald McDonald doesn't get lost.

So here I am, ready to file my first report from the Winter Meetings. The problem? I'm in Florida. Since when have the winter meetings been in Nashville of all places? That seems both illogical and ill advised. Clearly I should have just Googled the son of a bitch.

Instead, defying all logic, I took direction from a one Thomas Buzanis, who called me from his houseboat. The conversation went something like this.

T: Oh Ronald, hey motherfucker! Why don't you come down to the coast, hop on the houseboat and we'll go fishing for marlins...and WHORES!

(This sounded strangely enticing at the time.)

R: Tommy your reception is really bad. I can barely hear you.

T: Yeah, I'm on my portable phone.

R: A portable phone? On a boat? Jesus 'Miami Vice', do you have a salmon colored blazer on without a shirt too?

T: Yeah, why?

(Pause)

R: Anyway, Tommy I need to go to the winter baseball meetings. It's God's calling for me.

T: I thought God's calling for you was giving children diarrhea by way of greasy, sloppily prepared beef burgers. Naw, come on down here. The meetings are going on right now. I can see them from my boat.

R: That's unlikely. Are you sure you're not thinking of spring training?

T: No, no. They do all that baseball shit down here. Spring Training, Hall of Fame, Home Run Derby, all of it. Come on down. I'll get you a one-on-one with Commissioner Giamatti. Paul.

R: For Christ Sakes Tommy, Bart Giamatti died of a massive heart attack almost 20 years ago.

(Silence)

T: My son likes that band Massive Attack.

R: Huh?

T: (shouting) Hey everybody, drinks on Uncle Tommy. We're gonna toast Commissioner Giamatti. That fat son of a bitch was a good man. (Singing and clapping) Born in the USA! I was...BORN in the USA! (phone goes dead)

So here I am, Day 3 in Florida, holed up on Tommy's houseboat. living off of cheap gin and Gardetto's. To recap my stay here so far:

Day 1: Tommy declares it a 'day of celebration' and invites over Jimmy Johnson, Barry Switzer, Sam Elliot, Pat Hughes and a bevy of Eastern European 'dancers'. He gives us each a copy of The Who's "Tommy", all of which he autogrpahed with a silver Sharpie.

Day 2: We are all decidedly hungover and Tommy declares this a 'day of rest, like Jesus would want'. Tommy's hangover cure all consists of putting a raw steak on our forehead and leaving it there for no less than six hours. This actually seems to make it worse.

Day 3: Tommy spends much of the morning prank calling his ex-wife on his portable phone. Later, we decide to drop by his estranged daughter's high school graduation open house to score some free booze and complimentary ham. This does not go well. After being escorted from the premises by a deceptively strong homosexual couple, we end up at Bennigan's, eating Monte Cristos and steak sandwhiches while splitting a pitcher of strawberry daiquiris. Tommy tells me to regale him with stories about Nam', even though I explain to him repeatedly that I never went to Nam'. He won't let it drop though, so finally I just make some shit up.

Day 4: A mid-morning game of strip poker becomes awkward upon the realization that it's only me and Tommy playing.

Alas, don't worry dear reader. I have a one-way Greyhound pass to Nashville and I'm on the Red-eye out of town in a few hours. I will then be able to file reports on America's past time in a horribly untimely fashion, provided I don't meet up with Mark Grace and end up playing tonsil hockey with Tanya Tucker at a bar called Fat Patty's.

Until next time queers.

*It was this irrational hatred of the elderly that led me to wander into a theatre showing 'No Country for Old Men'. "Goddamn right it isn't", I exclaimed as I walked into the crowded theatre. Long story short, I didn't get it and ended up catching the last 20 minutes of 'Dan In Real Life'. I didn't really get that one either.

Realm of Red: Redhead of the Week

Each time Guns N Roses release a new album, I will profile various redheads who paved the way for our own Thunder Matt. These men and women opened doors (often times kicking them in due to their fiery tempers) that would have otherwise kept Thunder Matt toiling in Independent Baseball leagues, shagging fly balls in Newark and frequenting seedy hotels. We tip our Cubs hats to these fair-skinned pioneers.

Today's Redhead: (yelling over techno thud) Lindsay Motherfucking Lohan y'all!

Lindsay Lohan is clearly the world's redheaded stepchild. Always a poor man's Paris Hilton, a 12 year-old freckled Lindsay (henceforth referred to as 'Firecrotch'*) burst onto the scene with The Parent Trap, a movie you've never seen but your kids and the Bosnian child you have locked in your closet have each seen a dozen times. She was like Macaulay Culkin, but with different shaped private parts. Unlike MacCauly she had a career past age 13 (though one could argue 'barely'). Like Macaulay, she developed a coke habit.

Lindsay then starred in Freaky Friday with everybody's favorite hermaphrodite, Jamie Lee Curtis. Talk about 'different shaped private parts'. Whoa! (Insert boat horn noise.) This movie co-starred Mark Harmon, who has appeared on both JAG and Navy NCIS, two shows catering to the ever-important demographic of old people who really miss Murder She Wrote but also enjoy a good Naval tale to boot.

Lindsay's career was on the upward swing. She was really coming into her own and even experimenting with alcohol. Yay! But people were starting to ask...why is her voice huskier than my JAG-loving grandfather? Good question America. Keep em' coming.

Then Lindsay went on to star in Mean Girls, a movie of which I have nothing bad to say, and will even watch parts of it in a hungover stupor on when it is on cable, while I lay semi-conscious on the couch.*** This movie made lots of money and got Lindsay into cool clubs and onto SNL. But then came 'the tipping point'.

What comes next could fill (and has for that matter) volumes of discarded US Magazines. Hell, you're probably better of checking out Perez Hilton for all of the sorted details, but let me give you the crib notes version of the downward spiral, because I'm lazy and this is clearly unimportant drivel. Says Buzanis, I don't have time for this shit.

• She starred in Herbie Fully Loaded. The omission of Don Knotts hurt both the box office and street cred. This was also the last era in which I would ever think of Firecrotch as being attractive.
• Her dad Michael got thrown in jail for a virtual smorgasbord of charges. Enter the textbook "searching for a father figure/acting out/not being able to trust/trying to replace Daddy's love with material goods and mind numbing substances" phase.
• Uh oh. Here comes the obligatory Hollywood eating disorder! I'm sure it's just "stress".
• Lindsay releases a couple of CDs. Predictably (yawn) there is a song about her dad not loving her and lots of 'dance tracks'. Anti-American sentiment grows by over 200%.
• Breaks up with Wilmer Valderrama, representing one of Lindsay's few unintentional good career moves and in effect ending Wilmer's short lived 'career', if one can call a sitcom with Ashton Kutcher and pumping some skanks a 'career'.
• Stars in Just My Luck, Bobby and Georgia Rule. Also known as the Trifecta of Shite**. Look for the Trifecta of Shite to be lazily packaged together in one of those bargin bin 'Lindsay Lohan 3-packs' at Wal Mart. "Take home Lindsay Lohan today!" Oh I will. Oh...I will.
• Becomes raging cokehead.
• Gets in a bunch of 'paparazzi related' car accidents. Bitch can't drive!
• Feuds with Paris Hilton. This includes being called a Firecrotch by this fat, sweaty rich kid. Wouldn't you just like to see this guy get hit by a bus?
• Arrested for DUI, with cocaine found in her car. Admits herself into 'rehab' at Promises. I mean does anyone really believe that these celebrities who check themselves into rehab really want to get better? A thinly veiled PR stunt if there ever was one. Just make sure when you check out you're only photographed drinking bottled water and Red Bull!

Lindsay will soon check out of rehab and relapse. But America loves a good comeback story. So look for Lindsay in coming years on such hits as Surreal Life: What the Fuck? and Celebrity Fit Club: Gettin' Clean Edition. She is also available for club appearances, bar mitvahs and bachelor parties.

*Lets be honest with each other. Typing out 'Firecrotch' every time was time consuming and repetitive.

**Shite. A cool, British way of saying 'shit'.

***That sentence was clearly too long and should have been edited.

Mmmm...mommy made brownies! Can I lick the knife?

Realm of Red: Redhead of the Week

Each Halley's Comet or so, I will profile various redheads who paved the way for our own Thunder Matt. These men and women opened doors (often times kicking them in due to their fiery tempers) that would have otherwise kept Thunder Matt toiling in Independent Baseball leagues, shagging fly balls in Newark and frequenting seedy hotels. We tip our Cubs hats to these fair-skinned pioneers.

Today's Redhead: Dude. Shawn White. Duh.

(Shaking fist) Get off my lawn Shawn White!

Shawn White is a snowboarder and a skateboarder. He does nothing if not perpetuate the stereotype of Southern California youth that we've all come to abhor. Thanks Shawn White. Thanks MTV.

Shawn White was born in 1986. He's not even old enough to drink. When I was in the movie theatre, watching Gremlins and making farting noises with my armpits, Shawn White probably wasn't even a fetus yet. Yet Shawn White has made more money than I will probably make in my entire life. (That's right kids. Blogging, along with crime, doesn't pay.)

He is known for his shock of bright red hair and has been dubbed in more hip circles than mine as the 'Flying Tomato'. Doesn't really have the ring of 'Thunder Matt' and seems a bit too obvious, but I digress. Word is (and by 'word', I mean according to Wikipedia) that he has grown tired of this nickname. Really Shawn? I've grown tired of my own lack of physical prowess and inability to hold down a steady job. But guess what? That's life. Deal with it Shawn. Or should I say, Flying Tomato? (Biting finger and looking over shoulder seductively)

Shawn is the only person that I, and most people over the age of 25, can name that has ever participated in the X Games. Shawn White 'does the Dew'. Much like NASCAR, people watch Shawn White in the secret hope that he biffs it really bad. Not enough for him to get seriously hurt, just enough to get a good chuckle out of it. Assuming I were to watch the X Games. Given free choice, that is not likely to happen.

He also apparently won a medal in the halfpipe in the Olympics. I'm sure his mother, if not his country, is proud. He has also been in two movies which no one has seen. The White Album, soiling the Beatles legacy, and First Descent, easily one of the most annoying movies of all time which proves once and for all that slow motion is a dead artform.

Right now you can find Shawn at the mall wearing a trucker hat. He's nonchalantly skateboarding in the parking lot, smoking, making fun of crippled people and wearing his shorts dangerously low. It's doubtful that he has showered in the past 3 days and more likely that he will spend the better portion of the night playing Xbox 360 (playing 'himself' in a game!), smoking pot, eating Cheetos and texting some girl who is not his girlfriend.

Realm of Red Presents: Fantasy Baseball Advice from Ronald McDonald

Today: Outfield

I mean, Christ in a Prius, let's get this show on the road. I'm holed in a Motel 6, I've been drinking since noon (5 O'clock somewhere baby!) and there's a call girl named Wendy on her way over. Without further ado, I give you the guys that catch the flyballs and widely consider themselves 'too good' for the infield.

Double Filet-O-Fish, a Large Fry and a Diet Coke (Spectacular, especially during Lent)

Alfonso Soriano, Cubs: Last year he didn't even want to play in the outfield. Flat out refused. Don't get your feelings hurt outfield...that was more a reflection on the Nationals than it was you.

Carl Crawford, Devil Rays: A poor man's Carlos Beltran. When will the power come Carl? When will the power come? No seriously Carl. The power. Where is it? I'm not fucking around here.

Carlos Beltran, Mets: A rich man's Carl Crawford.

Jason Bay, Pirates: Is this guy white or black? And yes, that matters where I draft him. Where is Pittsburgh? Somebody get me a GD map. I feel uncomfortable drafting this guy. I honestly don't know him from Honus Wagner.

Vlad Guerrero, Angels: I've never heard of this guy, but my nephew tells me he's good.

Grady Sizemore, Indians: Ladies love him. I love you too Grady. I'm a thrice divorced bachelor who likes to party. (whispers) Call me.

Double Cheeseburger Meal with a Sprite (Reliable)

Manny Ramirez, Red Sox: I haven't smoked pot since my last stint in Sing Sing, but this is a guy I would really like to get high with.

Matt Holiday, Rockies: See Garrett Atkins. File under 'Guys I know nothing about but will draft because they're Rockies and their stats look good on paper.'

Ichiro, Mariners: He is to Asian baseball what Ricky Martin is to the Latino music explosion.

Vernon Wells, Blue Jays: Look for him to be deported back to America within the month.

Hideki Matsui, Yankees: The second best Hideki ever! (Irabu was just misunderstood.)

Snack Wrap with Ranch (Sleeper)

Matt Murton, Cubs: THUNDER MATT! THUNDER MATT! Sing it with me now fuckers!

Rocco Baldelli, Devil Rays: That sound you hear is Rocco Baldelli collapsing in pain and your draft going to shit.

Josh Hamilton, Reds: What I said about Manny? Same thing goes with Josh, but replace pot with heroin and a late night motorcycle ride.

Chris Duffy, Pirates: You fast for a white boy, but you sho' are crazy!

Asian Chicken Salad with a Bottled Water (Trendy)

Delmon Young, Devil Rays: He will throw a bat at you! I am SERIOUS. He WILL throw a motherfucking bat at you! So just shut up and turn around. You can draft him, sure. Just don't fuck with him.

Alex Rios, Blue Jays: What can you say about this guy that hasn't been said already? Well, probably quite a bit, but I'll choose not to go there.

Johnny Damon, Yankees: Johnny, you are SOOO New York. Love ya babe.

Big Mac (Overrated. Will make you go #2 alot)

JD Drew, Red Sox: As I write this, he was just diagnosed with AIDS. And back spasms. And a really bad tummy ache.

Corey Patterson, Orioles: Your surliness recalls Albert Belle. Your productivity recalls Gary Varsho.

Bobby Abreu, Yankees: Like the Stones. Sure he's good, but c'mon. He's not THAT good.

Ken Griffey, Reds: Ouch. I've made enough injury jokes already. See my writeup on JD Drew if you want some more of that comedy gold.

Brian Giles, Padres: Hasn't been good since Nam' but people draft him anyway. Nice tan Brian!

Realm of Red Presents: Fantasy Baseball Advice from Ronald McDonald

Today: Shortstop AND Third Base

Let's be honest with each other. I have a drinking problem. And I'm certainly not young anymore. I've spent the better part of the last 3 days recovering from St. Patty's Day (one too many Shamrock Shakes for this guy!) and Florida A&M's loss in the play-in game. Any excuse to drink is what my father always said. Then he would beat me mercilessly.

Point being, I've really slacked on this whole fantasy rating stuff. The season is creeping up faster than the goots after a 2AM quarter-pounder binge. So I'm going to need to start combining positions. First up, the hot corner and for lack of a cool nickname, shortstop. I figure, hell, if Troy Glaus can play both positions, it only makes sense to combine their ratings. If that didn't make sense to you, then you must be sober.

Double Filet-O-Fish, a Large Fry and a Diet Coke (Spectacular, especially during Lent)

Jose Reyes, Mets, SS: Remember when this guy would strain his hammies every time he ran faster than a light jog? Well, worry no more. He has now been implanted with some sort of futuristic, unbreakable synthetic hamstring that can withstand any amount of stress, including torture. Draft without reservation.

Alex Rodriguez, Yankees, 3B: So overrated that he's actually underrated. Huh? Pass me an Altoid.

Miguel Tejada, Orioles, SS: As long as he keeps using undetectable steroids, he has a place on my fantasy squad.

David Wright, Mets, 3B: Caucasian. All-American good looks. Will mow your yard for a reasonable rate. Delivers your newspaper right where you ask for it on your porch. Hits for power. What's not to like?

Jimmy Rollins, Phillies, SS: This would be the guy in the clubhouse that would gamely try to teach me black slang and then laugh at me for f'ing up the cool clubhouse handshake. Shit Jimmy!

Aramis Ramirez, Cubs, 3B: Keeping the Kevin Mitchell razorblade Oakleys in style is no easy task. Look for Aramis to be productive and healthy so long as the Cubs are still in the pennant race.

Garret Atkins, Rockies, 3B: I know nothing about this guy except that he replaced the well respected Vincent Castilla in Colorado. Will he ever escape the shadow of the Wet Fart? Hard to tell, but my money is squarely on 'no'.

Derek Jeter, Yankees, SS: Draft him for his fantasy leadership and fantasy intangibles.

Double Cheeseburger Meal with a Sprite (Reliable)

Michael Young, Rangers, SS: Like the Hilary Swank of baseball: He ain't pretty but he's damn good at his craft. He also had a fling with Chad Lowe. Wait, that may have been me, and by fling I mean stalked mercilessly.

Chone Figgins, Angels, 3B: Chone Figgins is fast and versatile, or so Buster Olney tells me.

Rafael Furcal, Dodgers, SS: This sprightly firecracker is my pick to be the next player to face offseason murder charges back in his Dominican homeland.

Chipper Jones, Braves, 3B: Rumors of his bad health make him the Fidel Castro of his position. But like Fidel, he puts up big numbers when healthy.

Bill Hall, Brewers, SS: This guy plays everywhere. Imagine if Jose Oquendo were good and you've got Bill Hall.

Snack Wrap with Ranch (Sleeper)

Scott Rolen, Cardinals, 3B: Once considered an elite 3B, the undervalued Julia Stiles doppelganger looks to bounce back big.

Freddy Sanchez, Pirates, 3B/SS/2B: Position eligibility my friends. Play him anywhere and watch him hit. He's Chone Figgins minus the steals but with a higher average and more facial birth marks.

Jhonny Peralta, Indians, SS: You may be able to pick him up late since everyone else will likely be searching for 'Johnny Peralta'.

Mark Teahen/Alex Gordon, Royals, 3B: They can both hit, but who will play? And if a star rises, and it happens in Kansas City, did it really rise?

Asian Chicken Salad with a Bottled Water (Trendy)

Miguel Cabrera, Marlins, 3B: Falls into this category because I forgot to put him in with the first guys. None-the-less, he's certainly more trendy than Shea Hillenbrand, no?

Hanley Ramierez, Marlins, SS: All these Marlins on the list, one would think they are good. A potentially great player who strikes out more than me at various teen nightclubs.

Stephen Drew, Diamondbacks, SS: We can only hope that Stephen lives up to all of his talent and potential like his older brother did. Oh wait.

Big Mac (Overrated. Will make you go #2 alot)

Edgar Renteria, Braves, SS: Maybe it is because they played together, but this guy is essentially the hitters version of Livan Hernandez. Guys you think are old cause they've been around since God created the McRib, but they're just not. And guys that you think are good too, but they're just not.

Orlando Cabera, Angels, SS: His legacy will be that dirty helmet.

Eric Chavez, A's, 3B: Dan Johnson, Eric Chavez, Nick Swisher...who cares? A goatee and laid back likable attitude do not make you any more draftable. Kissable maybe.

Adrian Beltre, Mariners, 3B: Keep hoping chumps. Keep hoping.

Bobby Crosby, A's, SS: Peter Gammons told me he was going to win MVP last year and I drafted him early. Remember when Peter Gammons was hospitalized later in the year? Shhhh.......

Barry Bonds celebrates his record-breaking home run.

Realm of Red Presents: Fantasy Baseball Advice from Ronald McDonald

Today: Second Base

Don't have a good enough arm to play third base? We'll stick you at second. Not enough range for shortstop? That's fine, we'll stick you at second. Too short? Nah, there's always second base. Second base has always been a spot for convicts, poseurs, queers and Joe Morgan. On the company softball team guess who played second base for us? That's right, the Hamburglar, that little fucker. Not a fan of that guy. I have it on good authority that he may be responsible for putting me in prison for a few months so he could make the moves on my second wife. Who steals hamburgers anyway? They're only a couple of bucks. Jesus. That guy.

Anyway, on with the list. Why am I giving this info away for free anyway? I should be writing for the Worldwide Leader in Sports. I'm Ronald McDonald. Ever heard of me? American Icon? Whatever. Instead I dispense my pearls of wisdom on a blog read by a half dozen people and dedicated to a man I know nothing about other than that we share the same hair color. The downward spiral known as my life continues.

Double Filet-O-Fish, a Large Fry and a Diet Coke (Spectacular, especially during Lent)

Chase Utley, Phillies: What's not to like? Man-whorish good looks, a porn star name and stats that arouse me more so than the time I walked in on Grimace taking a shower. True story. I'm at a smoky dive bar in Philly, drunk off my ass. We've got the Phillies game on one TV and the movie *batteries not included on the other. This rookie comes to bat and lines a frozen rope to left field. I say aloud to no one, "That kid is gonna be good, or my name ain't (voice going up two octaves, very femme)Ronnie Mc-fucking-Donny!" Next thing I know I wake up in bed, half naked laying between a couple of Philadelphia Soul cheerleaders and Tommy Buzanis. Christ, what a night. Anyway, that rookie? Chase Utley my friends, Chase Utley.

Double Cheeseburger Meal with a Sprite (Reliable)

Brian Roberts, Orioles: Boring. Hit a few homers a couple of years ago and fantasy owners started shitting their pants. Snore. He'll give you few steals and hit for average, but he plays for the Orioles. That automatically cancels out any legitimacy he may have earned.

Ian Kinsler, Rangers: What a weak position this is that I'm typing this guy's name right now. Ian Kinsler is how I wish my son turned out. In fact, I've often said to my son, "Why can't you be more like Ian Kinsler?" Instead, he's 22 years old and still flipping burgers. Oh, sweet irony.

Robinson Cano, Yankees: Like a greasy double cheeseburger followed up by a post meal smoke, Robinson delivers.

Tadahito Iguchi, White Sox: Asians seem to like McDonalds, so they're not all bad in my book. Tadahito, I may not know how to pronounce your name or tell you apart from Kaz Matsui, but you're alright by me.


Snack Wrap with Ranch (Sleeper)

Richie Weeks, Brewers: Not so much a sleeper as much as I'd just like to sleep with him. There I go.

Josh Barfield, Indians: Don't worry Cleveland. I know you toss and turn at nights, wondering who will ever replace Ronnie Belliard not only in the lineup, but in your hearts. Cleveland, meet Josh Barfield.

Chris Burke, Astros: Hey Craig Biggio. Take a cue from your buddy Bagwell. Don't you have some hunting to do, or a log cabin to build?

Asian Chicken Salad with a Bottled Water (Trendy)

Howie Kendrick: Trendy like Fall Out Boy. Endearing and annoying at the same time. That's right. Ronald McDonald listens to Fall Out Boy.

Big Mac (Overrated. Will make you go #2 alot)

Dan Uggla, Marlins: Ugggggghhhhh...

Marcus Giles, Padres: Maybe since he's "reunited" with his brother (what, were they orphans?) in San Diego, Marcus will find that old spark and revert to his old hitting ways. (Vomits a little) It's like I'm watching the decline of Bret Boone all over again.

Joe Morgan, Reds: Sure, he retired ages ago, but I think we can all agree that he's a fucker and needs to be included here. Rescind his Hall of Fame plaque! Erroneous! Erroneous!

*Note: For the sake of relative brevity, I have left many players off this list and will continue to do so for future positions. To quote my good friend Tommy Buzanis, "I don't have time for this shit."

Put on some clothes and step away from my children.

Realm of Red Presents: Fantasy Baseball Advice from Ronald McDonald

This week: First Base

Ah, first base. Also known as the farthest I've gotten sexually with my third wife in the past two years. First base. Where they stick you when you can't play anywhere else. Basically a position for retards and cripples. So there you go. Forgive my uncharacteristic vulgarity. It's 8am and I'm not drunk yet, so naturally, I'm cranky. Let's run down this hastily composed list that I pulled off of ESPN.com. I choose to include the always vague DH/1B in here too, because I'm lazy.

(Clearing throat, turns into hacking cough)

Double Filet-O-Fish, a Large Fry and a Diet Coke (Spectacular, especially during Lent)

Ryan Howard, Phillies: This large black man from Philly replaces Will Smith as the city's Prodigal Son.

David Ortiz, Red Sox: They call him Papi. I have no idea what that means. Remember when he was a underachieving Twin? Does he even qualify at first anymore? I don't think he even knows how to field a ground ball.

Justin Morneau, Minnesota Twins: Hey, it's the AL MVP that most people won't remember won MVP just two short years from now! Hell, I've already forgotten. He's no Kent Hrbek, that's for sure.

Travis Hafner, Indians: Another DH masquerading as a first baseman. Hafner, you son of a bitch.

Albert Pujols, Cardinals: This surly bastard can hit. Some people less clever than I would call him Poopholes. I won't stoop to that level, nor will I correct the pronunciation of those who choose to do so.

Double Cheeseburger Meal with a Sprite (Reliable)

Paul Konkero, White Sox: A working man's hero, so nondescript he could easily assume the role of shift manager at the Golden Arches.

Derrek Lee, Cubs: Lately he's been like me after a Tuesday night bender. Out of commission and on the shitter for hours. When healthy, it can be said that he is tall and an above average hitter. The fact that he steals bases makes me tap my giant red shoes with unadulterated joy.

Lance Berkman, Astros: He loves hunting and from what I've heard he also secretly loves men. I would go there wouldn't I? The one player who could probably pull off wearing those camouflage color unis worn by the Padres for a spell, even though he isn't a Padre. If that made any sense.

Snack Wrap with Ranch (Sleeper)

Adam LaRoche, Pirates: For years in Atlanta he split time with Julio Franco, thinking to himself "Christ, is this guy EVER gonna die retire?" Now in baseball purgatory, expect some solid under-the-radar stats.

Adrian Gonzalez, Padres: Too bad his home field is the Grand Canyon. Think Ryan Klesko, but back when he was worth taking a shot on.

Ryan Shealy, Royals: Apologies to Pittsburgh for referring to them as purgatory. Hello Kansas City. The kid can rake. Mike Sweeney, just retire. Christ already.

Asian Chicken Salad with a Bottled Water (Trendy)

Prince Fielder, Brewers: Can he escape his father's shadow? Not necessarily because his dad was that great, but because Cecil was extremely fat and literally casts a huge shadow.

Big Mac (Overrated. Will make you go #2 alot)

Sean Casey, Tigers: Unless your league has 'clubhouse presence' as a category, why are you drafting this guy?

Richie Sexson, Mariners: That's fine. You can have his 30 odd homeruns. I'll pass on his low average and painfully long slumps. And he's just too fucking tall. That's just annoying. Almost as annoying as being over 30 and still calling yourself "Richie".

Frank Thomas, Blue Jays: It's painfully obvious that he just goes up to the plate now and tries to hit a homer every time so that he doesn't actually have to "run" the bases. I give it until mid-May before him and manager John Gibbons get in a fist fight.

Nomar Garciapara, Dodgers: He can still hit when healthy, but do you really want him on your team when he crumples to the field one month in, and your backup plan is Chris Shelton?

Shit, and your doctor told you fish was good for you. McDonald's owns the exclusive rights to putting American Cheese on fish.

Realm of Red: Redhead of the Week

Each leap year or so, I will profile various redheads who paved the way for our own Thunder Matt. These men and women opened doors (often times kicking them in due to their fiery tempers) that would have otherwise kept Thunder Matt toiling in Independent Baseball leagues, shagging fly balls in Newark and frequenting seedy hotels. We tip our Cubs hats to these fair-skinned pioneers.

Today's Redhead (punching a wall and collapsing into a heap, sobbing uncontrollably): Mark McGwire

Mark McGwire was a prolific power hitter throughout the 1990's. Put another way, he was on steroids. Mark would like you to believe that he was born big. In fact, he'll tell anyone that will listen that when he was born, he was already 2 feet tall and 86 pounds of muscle. Truth be told, 'Big Red' was of average birth weight and contrary to popular belief, was not born with a bat in his hand or acne scars.

Mark began his career as an Oakland Athletic, a scrawny redhead much like the namesake of our humble site. As one half of the feared 'Bash Brothers', he and Jose Canseco struck fear into the hearts of opposing pitchers, much like the lesser known *Jose Bream Brothers, a team made up of then Pittsburgh Pirates Jose Lind and Sid Bream.

Mark won Rookie of the Year in 1987, smacking a whopping 49 home runs (coincidentally the same number of women that his Bash Brother, Jose, smacked that year). Things were looking up for Mark. His hair was red and often time tousled by his teammates, he could afford some of Oakland's finest drive thru's and he had opened a free checking account. But by 1991 he had bottomed out with a .201 batting average. Mark would toss and turn at night and have horrible dreams. These dreams usually involved Rob Deer and Dave Kingman, boxing without gloves for the rights to Mark's soul. Oddly enough, Dave Kingman always got beat in a controversial 12 round decision.

Then something magical happened. Mark was walking through an abandoned science lab when he was bitten by a radioactive ladybug. Mark thought nothing of it at the time and continued wandering through the lab, rifling through old beakers and test tubes.

Mark awoke the next morning and took a shower, naked. (This sentence does nothing to advance the story, I just thought it would be nice visual for our lady and/or gay readers). Then he looked in the mirror. Why did he have these zits on his face? "I knew I shouldn't have ordered the 'Death By Chocolate' at Friday's", he cursed, kicking his dog into the wall. Removing his towel, he then noticed that his testicles were much smaller than normal. "I knew I should have fixed our hot water heater", he cursed, crushing his pet bird in his hands. But then Mark looked down and noticed how big his arms were. He felt more powerful than he had ever felt in his life. Forgoing the door, Mark ran through the bathroom wall, tipped over his snake cage and slid headfirst down the stairs and into the weight room. After a few nude and spirited lat pulls, he got online and ordered a bunch of ladybugs. "Those bugs are fucking awesome."

In 1998, Mark McGwire made Major League Baseball history by hitting 70 home runs and along with Sammy Sosa, brought baseball 'back to life'. 1998 was also fondly remembered as 'The Year of the Homerun Montage'. In 1999 he actually had 147 RBI with only 145 hits. Ricockulous. He even had a cameo on The Simpsons (though to be fair, he was also on Mad About You). He was a national hero. People naturally gravitated towards Mark. He was white, strong and hairy, three traits Americans have always been able to get behind.

Privately though, Mark was torn. He was surly and the attention all seemed like too much. He would sit at his locker, trying to do Sudoku and these pesky reporters...well it's just more than one man could take. Mark finally decided that he needed to get rid of these ladybugs. They had brought him luck, but it was like he had sold his soul to the devil. Not only did he still have the zits and shrunken testicles, but now none of his hats fit. What's up with that? Stupid bugs.

Mark immediately listed his bug collection on Craigslist, where he began an email correspondence with someone who just identified himself by his email address, bbonds69party@giants.com. Once Mark got rid of the ladybugs to bbonds69party@giants.com, his production began to lag and he began to miss his old pets. Mark could not catch up to the fastballs like he once could. He was losing playing time to John Mabry and Bobby Bonilla. "Fuck this," he snapped, much to the shock of the underprivileged children on the set of his 'United Way' commercial. Realizing his mistake, he blushed and corrected himself. "No, no. Not fuck you kids. Fuck baseball. Not you guys. Don't fuck yourselves." The children were relieved to hear this.

Mark retired from baseball in 2001 and lived a rather anonymous life until March 17, 2005 when he was summoned from a golf course to testify on steroids in front of a House Committee. There, his lawyer advised him to wear glasses. "But I can see fine", Mark complained. His lawyer countered sternly,"They make you appear more sympathetic."

During the hearing, Mark refused to answer several questions regarding his steroid use. "I'm not here to talk about the past. But what I will tell you about is my new instructional baseball video, available on my website, as well as a new energy drink I'm developing with my brother, former Seahawk quarterback Dan McGwire."

Mark was denied induction into the Hall of Fame this year, receiving only 23.5% of the vote. He now fronts the heavy metal outfit Metallica.

*The 'Jose Bream Brothers' label was the brainchild of season ticket holder Cory Griffin, who thought it was a clever way of combining not only the two players names, but also 'Jose Cuervo' and 'Jim Beam'. It was a stretch and he knew it, but none-the-less, for the better part of 2.5 seasons Cory would clap enthusiastically and try to start a chant of 'Gimme a shot of Jose Beam!' For obvious reasons, this failed.

Yep kids. He really did get that big from drinking milk.

Realm of Red: Redhead of the Week

Each, ahem, month (or so) I will profile various redheads who paved the way for our own Thunder Matt. These men and women opened doors (often times kicking them in due to their fiery tempers) that would have otherwise kept Thunder Matt toiling in Independent Baseball leagues, shagging fly balls in Newark and frequenting seedy hotels. We tip our Cubs hats to these fair-skinned pioneers.

Today's Redhead: (beating bare chest, flicking cigarette at camera): Danny Bonaduce

Don't laugh at that picture. Seriously. If you do, Danny Bonduce will find you. What will ensue, more than likely, is the following:

Danny Bondaduce driving to your house and knocking angrily on your door. A verbal confrontation, to include adult language and frantic hand gestures. Danny Bonaduce headbutting you ("That was out of nowhere," you think to yourself). Danny pulling you off the ground by your lapels, your vision blurred and the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. Danny apologizing, saying he's had a rough time lately, and asking you off the cuff if you've ever watched 'Breaking Bondaduce'. You say no. He says, well you should, then you would know the head space that that he's in. You resolve to Netflix the DVDs when they come out. A shaky truce is reached.

Weeks later, after consulting with your lawyer, you move forward with a lawsuit. Danny shows up in court shirtless. The judge is confused and slightly aroused and calls for a mistrial. In the end, you settle out of court, but for a sum that is much lower than what you had hoped for. In fact, after paying your legal fees, you are essentially breaking even. Long story short, Danny Bonaduce just wrecked your life. So please, look at that picture, but do so respectfully.

Danny Bonduce may be the toughest of all the redheads. He gained fame as a child actor in The Partridge Family, playing the aptly named 'Danny Partridge'. He apparently would get confused when called by a different 'character' name, which led to lots of on-set awkward silence and more than one pants peeing. Given the fact that Danny looked nothing like any of the other members of the family it is widely assumed that he was the product of a tequila and ecstasy fueled tryst between Shirley Partridge and their manager, Reuben Kincaid. Anyway, the show was apparently about four Vietnam vets, framed for a crime they didn't commit, who helped the innocent while on the run from the military. Shit, actually that may have been The A-Team, but lets be honest...The Partridge Family would have been way cooler had that really been what it was about.

After doing the whole 'child actor gone bad' thing (you know, drugs, unemployment, the erosion of one's boyish good looks, general strife, etc), Danny took the next logical career step, boxing Donny Osmond in a charity boxing event. Was the outcome of the fight really ever in question? I mean, really, Donny Osmond? Really? Barry Williams of Brady Bunch fame was next in line for the prestigious 'former 70's child star middleweight title' and was handled by Danny as well. Naturally, this fight aired on Fox. Todd Bridges patiently awaits his title shot.

Danny is famous for beating up a transvestite in 1991. This saddened Eddie Murphy. So Eddie allegedly had sex with said transvestite. It was a win-win for everybody in the end.

Danny then went on to disc jockey fame, hosting various radio shows and generally pissing off the listening public. He also starred on the ill fated male version of The View called The Other Half, with Dick Clark and Slater from Saved By the Bell. Color me shocked that that one never took off. Sure sounded like a foolproof ratings bonanza on paper.

Danny, always one to think things through and make rational choices in both his career and personal life, later married his wife after knowing her for seven hours, so that he could have sex with her. Always a good idea. He then lived out his marital and personal strife on the VH1 series 'Breaking Bonaduce', which as I mentioned before might be a good idea to Netflix, lest he show up on your door and headbutt you. His verbal confrontation when he was approached by some dude from a 9/11 conspiracy theory website (named John Connor...huh, Terminator?) while eating lunch helped seal his legacy and did nothing to dispel the notion of redheads having tempers. That fact that he continues to eat throughout the confrontation leads me to believe that Danny is nothing if not hungry.

Danny now is one of the co-hosts on Adam Carolla's radio show. He will occasionally interject something in his 4-pack-a-day rasp, which I often mistake for radio static, so I fiddle with the radio dial, trying to correct what seems to be an interrupted signal. Nope, just Danny.

He wears very tight t-shirts (when he decides to wear a shirt) and has a fitness workout called Podfitness. The basis of this fitness program is that is you don't want to work out, Danny will make you. He will come to your house, and if you try to stop exercising he will put a cigarette out on your arm. He will threaten your children by glaring at them and cracking his knuckles. He will rummage through your cupboards, crying out "What is this shit?" as he violently rips open boxes of sugary cereal and rummages through your medicine cabinet. He will then watch Survivor as you complete your 3rd hour on the treadmill, running up a gigantic long distance bill while he's at it. This really pisses you off, as you at least wanted to be able to hear who got kicked off Survivor, but Danny is blabbing to his shrink. How rude. Never the less, the Bonaduce regimen is a proven winner. Podfitness helped me lose 12 pounds and add muscle. I can wear a swimsuit without shame for the first time in years. Thanks Danny!

As for what the future holds for Danny, look for him to soon star in a sitcom pilot with David Spade, playing two womanizing brothers who are taught a lesson in humility at the end of every half hour. This show will serve as a midseason replacement to a failed Michael Richards 'comeback vehicle' and will fare poorly in the ratings. After only 3 episodes, 2 backstage tirades and countless annoying promos of Danny getting David in a 'playful headlock' for the camera, Fox will cancel the show.

Despondent, Danny will box, but not other celebrities. He will literally just stand on the corner of Hollywood Blvd. and challenge everyone that walks by to try to kick his ass for five bucks. Few will take him up on this offer and even fewer will succeed.

I couldn't find a good enough picture of young Danny. Instead, by default, I will post this picture of a young Jonathan Lipnicki.

The First Annual Rick Astley Awards Sponsored by Realm of Red

Hey, it's another crappy year-end list/awards/recap! (Children screaming in joy, hands raised!) Sure to be lumped in with the American Music Awards, VH1 Big in '06 and any bestseller 'list' that contains an Ann Coulter book, this comprehensive list/awards/recap is sure to turn you off from this site for good. In honor of someone actually buying one of our 'I Was Ast-Raped in 88' T-shirts (half off to the next lucky schmo!) and also to pay homage to my idol, I've named my first annual awards after everybody's (scratch that, nobody's) favorite crooner. No, not Taylor Hicks silly! And everything needs a sponsor right? Though we don't see a red cent. Pun intended. And just for good measure, I've thrown in some random comments and appearances by some of your favorite Realm of Red characters. Besides, since they're our sponsor, we are contractually obligated to include them. So if you're looking for rhyme, reason or clarity, you've certainly come to the wrong place. Surely there's a Pirates blog somewhere where you can find answers.

So, without further ado (and much ado about nothing), lets bring our first presenter to the stage.

THE NHL AWARD: *Given to the world's worst sport - Ronald McDonald nervously tears open the envelope, his makeup running and his breath reeking of a three day bender. Pants soiled.
The Winner: The NHL! (Crowd is silent. Ronald has a little throw-up burp.)
Commentary from Rick Astley in heavy British accent: "I certainly thought for a minute that boxing might pull of the upset. When the most well known, and arguably talented fighter in the heavyweight divison is the fictional Rocky Balboa, you know something is bloody wrong.

THE WANG ZHIZHI AWARD: *Given to a larger than average Asian disappointment.
The Winner: Hee Sop Choi. (Rusty Staub to Reba McIntyre: "He what? Who in tarnation is that? I think I had that for lunch.")

THE SAM CASSELL AWARD: *Given to the ugliest sports star.
The Winner: Randy Johnson. Is that original? Probably not. But the NBA is riddled with so many ugly players (must be something with being ridiculously tall) that I couldn't pick just one. Plus, let's face it, ole' Randy ain't gettin' any cuter. And, because I am in the holiday spirit and don't want to lose our 4 or 5 fans left out there, I decided to give Peyton a pass. Though don't think I wasn't tempted.

THE SAMMY SOSA BOOMBOX AWARDS: *Given to the year's best albums
1. The Killers, Sam's Town - No sophomore slump here.
2. TV on the Radio, Return to Cookie Mountain - Weird and glorious.
3. Pete Yorn, Nightcrawler - A solid and overlooked gem.
4. Paul Stanley, Live to Win - Extremely satisfying slice of American cheese.
5. Butch Walker and the Let's Go Out Tonites, Ladies and Gentlemen... - Putting the 'cock' back in rock.
Honorable Mention: Muse, Black Holes and Revelations, Brian Vander Ark, Angel Put Your Face On, The Strokes, First Impressions of Earth, The Decemberists, The Crane Wife, Incubus, Light Grenades
Songs of the Year: The Killers, Read My Mind, Incubus, Anna Molly, Buckcherry, Crazy Bitch, TV on the Radio, Hours, The Raconteurs, Steady as She Goes, Pete Yorn, For Us

THE THAD BOSLEY AWARD: *Awarded to the best Cub off the bench.
The Winner: Thunder Matt Murton, of course. C'mon, we have to mention the guy every once in a while. He is after all, our namesake. If you were hoping this was Neifi Perez, well then Santa Claus is going to shit in your pillowcase.

THE NOBODY GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT YOU ANYMORE DUDE, SO JUST FUCKING SIT DOWN AND POP SOME MORE PILLS. DOUCHE.
The Winner: Terrell Owens (Caruso: "Finish the job Terrell, you pussy!" Re-adjusts sunglasses, tilts head and looks into the camera. "Or will the job finish Terrell?")

COLLEGE FOOTBALL TEAM OF THE YEAR: (Lion-O emerges shirtless to the NWO theme music, grabbing the microphone.)
The Winner: Cornell Big Red. Suck it Nebraska!

THE GARY BUSEY AWARD: *Awarding excellence in cinema. Let me preface this by saying that this list really isn't complete without me having seen Rocky Balboa yet. Yes, I really am excited to see that. Goddamn it, I'm an American. I don't listen to Toby Keith and I don't like apple pie or chocolate chip cookies, but give me my two slices of Americana: Baseball and Rocky.
1. The Departed - If Clint beats Marty for the Oscar this year, Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg won't even let him get to the stage without giving him a Boston beatdown.
2. Children of Men - If you only see one movie in the theatre all year...contains not one, but two 'knock your dick in the dirt' continuous action scenes, shot all in one take with one camera. Simply amazing. One seven minute stretch will almost have you gasping for air, literally. A cinephile's wet dream.
3. Little Miss Sunshine - an understated Steve Carell plays second fiddle to the rest of the stellar cast in the feel good indie of the year.
4. Borat - I likes this moviefilm. Biting satire, social commentary, poop jokes and nude wrestling. A thinking man's Jackass.
5. The Prestige - C'mon, it's got David Bowie in it. Enough said.
6. Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby - 'If you don't like Big Red gum, fuck you.'
7. Casino Royale - Finally, we can all stop talking about how great Timothy Dalton was. If not for a spectacular sequence in Children of Men, the opening chase scene of this would be the nail biter of the year.
8. Little Children - Suburban angst done up right, with lots of naked Kate Winslet. Oh, and the ugly kid from Bad News Bears playing the town pedophile. Sign me up!
9. Inside Man - Oh Spike Lee. I've been Bamboozled!
10. Pan's Labyrinth - A fairy tale for adults. No, not porn. Surreal and enchanting.
Honorable Mention: Shut Up and Sing, Half Nelson, Miami Vice
Worst Movies: American Dreamz, Man of the Year, The Black Dahlia.

THE OLIVIA MANNING AWARD: *Given to the best southern cookin' recipe.
The Winner: Biscuits and Gravy (Georgia Frontiere appears out of nowhere to read her recipe.)
Recipe: Buy those roll-out, biscuits in a can. Eat some of the dough raw. Mmmmm! Put on cookie sheet. Preheat oven at 625 degrees. Cook. Pour gravy out of a jar on top. If you don't have gravy, feel free to substitute ketchup, olive oil or rum. (Sutcliffe to Clooney: "You writin' that down? That will feed a lot of them kids in Africa.)

THE DRUNK GIRL WILLING TO EXPERIMENT AWARD: *Given to the hottest WNBA player.

The Winner: Stacey Dales, Chicago Sky. You work it straight girl! You work it!

THE RICH PRICK TALKING ON HIS BLUETOOTH WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY TYPING ON HIS BLACKBERRY AWARD: *Given to those players who were erroneously awarded way too much money.
The Winners: Gil Meche, JD Drew, Gary Matthews Jr., Jason Marquis and any other free agent starting pitcher really. (Sutcliffe: "Where was that shit when I was around? Christ on a bike, I was 16-1! Vicente Padilla? I mean, really?")

THE 'MICHAEL JORDAN FOR THE WIZARDS?' AWARD: *Given to tough luck veterans hanging onto past glories.
The Winners: NFL veteran QB's. Kurt Warner, Mark Brunell, Brad Johnson, Daunte Culpepper, Drew Bledsoe....c'mon down. (Shawn Bradley, helping Brad Johnson to his walker. Johnson: "Thanks Shawn. You're a good boy.")

"Daddy's gonna give you a whisker rub!"

THE COREY PATTERSON AWARD: *Hero. Goat. Hero. Goat. Goat.
The Winner: Rex Grossman. Has a QB tickled the taints of so many fans only to not seal the deal and leave you with blue balls more than Sexy Rexy? He's just so damn nice that you hate to be mean to the guy. But then you watch the Cutlers, Leinarts, Youngs, Palmers and Riverseses.. of the world who make it seem so fluid and effortless at times. And Rex, he's out there and you're rooting for him, and he's throwing off his back foot, chucking it as hard as he can. Pretending he's Brett Favre, in the backyard, his mom with a fresh batch of cookies waiting for him in the kitchen. Dammit Rex, I want to like you. I need to like you. You're our bastion of hope. A beacon in the dark sea of past Bears QB's. Dammit boy, don't do this to me. Don't do it Rex.

What we're out of time? Yes, it's 1:00 in the AM and I'm not getting paid for this shit. It's a damn blog, not a magazine. You want closure? Go read your Hemingway and your Bill Shakespeare. I know, I know, worst segue to end a list ever. Shit, I still have to add some pictures and funny links. That's right, I'm taking you behind the scenes of my blog writing thought process. Did that just blow your mind?

Until next year. Keeping the 'Christ' in 'Christ on a bike!',

Chaim.




They just passed a law where it is now legal to actually murder this guy if you ever see him.

Realm of Red The Drinking Game

It's a thinly veiled fact here that we here at the Saloon like to drink (thus the Saloon moniker). We are also constantly inspired and awed by redheads, none moreso than the maiden member of Realm of Red, David Caruso.

So when we stumbled across this little 7 minute slice of heaven on You Tube, which painfully strings together a montage of Caruso one-liners from that juggernaut CSI: Miami, we thought it too good to be true. (On a side note, who watches that show? It's an enigma the likes not seen since JAG.)

Watching this clip is sort of like listening to 'Stranglehold' by the Nuge. It's long to the point of almost being unbearable, but at the same time, there is something perversely entertaining about it and you can't shut it off. In fact, the unwritten rule is that once you start listening to 'Stranglehold' you have to finish, no excuses, even if you are just flipping around on the radio. I once sat in my car in the parking lot of Best Buy for a good 5 minutes and 36 seconds with the car idling, because I had to obey this rule. I'm pretty sure I would have been arrested had I gotten out of the car. Anyway, it's the same way with this Caruso clip. You have to watch it, no matter how painful.

But to ease your pain, I give you this wholly unoriginal concept. Drink while you watch. More specially, drink every time Caruso puts his shades back on. You may think it's childsplay, but be warned. You will be drunk and it will not be pretty. If you are in a relationship, and you decide to throw caution to the wind and play while your significant other is in the other room...well seven minutes later, you will wonder what happened to your life and why your wife has left you. So grab at least 4 or 5 beers and a catheter and get ready for David Caruso to wreck your life.

Your life ends HERE.

Realm of Red: Redhead of the Week

Each week (or so) I will profile various redheads who paved the way for our own Thunder Matt. These men and women opened doors (often times kicking them in due to their fiery tempers) that would have otherwise kept Thunder Matt toiling in Independent Baseball leagues, shagging fly balls in Newark and frequenting seedy hotels. We tip our Cubs hats to these fair-skinned pioneers.

Today's Redhead (whispering): Shawn Bradley

All cliches aside, Shawn Bradley is a tall glass of water. As a young, painfully innocent Mormon in West Germany, people would often tell Shawn, in rough German baroque, without a hint of irony, "You're tall. You should play basketball." Problem was, Shawn didn't want to play basketball. Shawn wanted to be a goddamn astronaut but he couldn't fit into a normal sized spacesuit. Shawn also had dreams of being a horse jockey. Shawn loved horses almost as much as he loved his mom and the Mormon Bible, but every time he got up on to one, whoops! Little Shawny fall off and scrape his freakishly skinny knee!

Shawn finally thought to himself the Mormon, non-swear version of 'fuck it' and decided to give basketball a go. Like most other things he tried, he was not very good at this. But, alas he was tall, leading some cigar chomping, spouse beating NBA scouts to utter, "He's tall. He should play NBA basketball." So Shawn was selected number two in the 1993 Draft by the 76ers, who could have instead had Acie 'The Fade' Earl.

Shawn didn't fall prey to the salacious NBA lifestyle we all read about in Slam Magazine. Instead Shawn was a good boy. He would go out onto the court, get his quick foul trouble, gamely try to block a couple of Robert Pack dunks and then take his spot on the end of the bench next to Jeff Hornacek, where they would hold hands, say the Our Father and then argue over who was whiter and/or more unattractive. Let it be noted that in the 1994 season the 76ers employed both Shawn Bradley and Manute Bol. Surely the most fearsome pair to ever lace up a pair of Reebok Pumps. Shawn could never escape the stigma of being 'The White Manute Bol.' Who can live up to that though? It's like the inevitable Jordan comparisons that all slightly above average shooting guards go through.

Later on in his career, Shawn spent an inordinate amount of time getting dunked on for the Mavericks and honing his Red Skeleton impression on the end of the bench. Was Shawn ever good at basketball? To quote K-Fed, 'Aw, hells no!'. But you know what? They guy was a solid human being. Shawn is currently in the recording studio with Clay Aiken putting the finishing touches on 'The Songs of our Fathers: Old Time Duets with a Modern Twist-Sung in the Key of A Minor: Remastered". Look for the album to drop around Mormon Christmas.