The Water Cooler

SOMETHING BAD: I understand that Justin Verlander is the best starting pitcher in Major League Baseball.  I understand that he's an All-Star, workhorse, centerpiece of a franchise that you can build multiple championships around.  The numbers are undeniable.  He led the American League last year in strikeouts, innings pitched, and complete games.  He's also just two years removed from 2011 when he won the Cy Young AND the MVP award in the same freakin' season.  He's also bangin' Kate Upton, a Sports Illustrated supermodel.

Yeah, yeah, I get all that.  I just don't understand how you justify giving him $180 million over seven years.  Ladies and gentlemen, the new standard has been set: raise your kids to be starting pitchers in professional baseball.  They'll want to deviate and try some random crap like boy scouts or stamp collecting but you make sure you get their little asses back out in the yard and practice pitching!

Seriously?  One hundred and eighty milllionnnnnnnn duealllers!  I almost stroked out writing that!

The man works every five days, minimum.  If he gets hurt and misses a start or two, now we're paying a man $180 million to rub his hamstrings with petroleum jelly.  And he'll be able to buy that fancy petroleum jelly with the gold flakes in it.

I'm not going to look into the logistics of the contract, well, because I'm lazy and also I want to try and stifle my vomit this evening.  However, a basic mathematical breakdown goes something like this:

$180 mil over 7 years = $25.7 mil a season.  Verlander worked 238 innings last season in 33 games.  That's an average of 7.2 innings per game, which means that if he averages about the same pace this season that Verlander will be earning $107,983 per INNING and roughly $750,000 per GAME.

If I make $750,000 in my lifetime I've probably robbed a bank at some point and Verlander can potentially make that on a night he loses a baseball game.  Commence the jealousy-fueled hatred!


SOMETHING GOOD: UCLA has recently removed the man that was previously their men's head basketball coach and is now looking for a new man to take up that spot.  That man was rumored to be Butler's current head basketball coach, Brad Stevens.  But Stevens has come out today and said, "No dice" to UCLA.  I'm not really sure if he actually said, "No dice," but he's not taking the job.

I commend Stevens.  I always admire coaches sticking with the little guy that made them famous to begin with and not bolting to the first flashy name to open up.  You don't ever hear about Butler until it's NCAA Tournament time but when the big dance comes around, those scrappy bastards put on their best shoes.

Plus, leaving Butler and going to UCLA is like a "ruler in Hell, servant in Heaven" type of thing.  Why on Earth would you go to a place where you are always going to be compared to John Wooden, the greatest college basketball coach of all-time?  You're never going to fill those shoes.  Literally.  John Wooden had enormous feet.

I mean the man was so fiercely competitive that he lived until he was 99 years old.  99!  Give it up already and leave some air for the youth!


SOMETHING WEIRD: Tiger Woods is dating Lindsey Vonn.  Finally!  We've got that "Word's Greatest Golfer and World's Greatest Skier" pairing that we've always wanted!  When I first heard that they got together I wondered how they even met in the first place.  Then I remembered that one of the individuals is Tiger Woods and he probably met Vonn when he was banging her sister...or her mother...or both.

Things seem to be going well for Tiger.  He's number one on the PGA Tour again and he's dating a hot, young, blonde athlete.  But he used to be married to a hot, young, blonde model and that ended with a nine-iron through the back window of his SUV.  Remember ladies, once a cheater always a cheater and for Tiger's sake it can't feel good to get stabbed with one of those ski sticks.

Enjoy your Easter weekend, kids!

The Luckiest Man In The World

I've got news from across the pond today! Hah! Most international blog ever? I think so.

Fabio Capello, current England soccer coach, has said that David Beckham, title guy from 2002's Keira Knightly film, "Bend it like Beckham," is too old for the English team and will not be picked again.

Cue sound of a million crumbling macaroons.

Naturally, the English media has lost their minds and demand satisfaction for such remarks. The Daily Mirror and the Telegraph (harsh media names, bro) have even gone so far as to call the debacle "Dumb and Dumber" and "Another Fine Mess".

Scathing.

Well let's hope that some of the British population subscribes to the Studly Pastures because I'm about to rock your boats.

David Beckham is 35-years old and is coming off Achilles surgery. Remember how every time a goal was scored against England in South Africa's World Cup the camera would pan to Becks writhing in agony in a tailored suit? That's why. He tore his Achilles. Becks doesn't play soccer in a tailored suit, contrary to popular belief.

(I'm not going to refer to him as "Becks" anymore though. I have to pay royalties every time I do that and he's just not worth the money anymore.)

So, being 35-years old and coming off major surgery might as well make you 65-years old in the world of soccer.

I thought England was supposed to know soccer?

Look, Beckham has a very storied international career with England. He's played 115 times for England, that's second in their history. He married my childhood idol, Posh Spice. His hair is crafted by Zeus, the Greek God of lightning.

And it goes without saying, he has tremendous "Sexy Room" ability.

What's that? You need clarification on the "Sexy Room" theory? Sure thing.

I've mentioned this before with Tiger Woods. (By the way, of course I noticed he shaved his goatee after my last post. And YOU thought I was just always talking out my ass!)

Back to the "Sexy Room" thing. I walk into a room full of people, nobody cares. Tiger Woods, David Beckham, and uh, for these purposes, let's say George Clooney. They walk into a room, at least HALF of the room says, "Oh I'm having sex with one of these guys tonight based simply on their looks." Some of those people are men, too.

It's science. That's why I'm a writer. Eventually some girl out there is going to read this and think, "Oh I'm going to force this guy to do shit he doesn't want to do because I'm way better looking than him." Science.

So David Beckham isn't going to play soccer for England anymore. Hopefully he won't play for the MLS anymore either because that shit's embarrassing.

So, England, throw him a parade when he 'officially retires,' build him a statue, and name some small village 'Beckingham.'

Oh, what's that? You already have that? Well, I'm tapped.

Beckingham Palace

Close enough.

Tiger, Tiger Woods, Y'all.

The persecution of Tiger Woods, as set by the court of the all-powerful MEDIA.

I wish I had the power to bring someone, not from this world, here one day and then let them do what we consider pretty much the normal everyday activities.

Wake up. Get the paper. Make breakfast. Go to work. Come home. Watch the news. Make dinner. Go to sleep.

Then I would like to ask them what they thought of Tiger Woods.

I'm pretty sure it would go something like this. "Oh, he's the guy that started the holocaust and killed all those nice Dutch people at Pearl Harbor."

After all, they've only been here for one day. They can't get ALL the details right.

Somehow the media, the entire collective media, got confused and thought that Tiger's putter is somehow an extension of his penis.

Now, I'm not a champion golfer. I know some things. I know that in order to ensure a great swing, you first have to say, "dollar bills." Bingo. Great golf swing.

I also know that at any given time I decided to swing the wrenches, it had nothing to do with my penis. It's a sport. The only sport that involves the penis is "sword-fighting." No, not that kind of sword-fighting. You're thinking of fencing.

So Tiger goes out this weekend and, wouldn't you know it, has the worst professional tournament of his career.

Duh. Of course he does. Didn't you see him on Thursday? He had a goatee, it was Evil Tiger. Evil Tiger doesn't play golf, he plays WOMEN.

Somehow the media, has forgotten this. They like to think that Evil Tiger plays golf. They like to make us think that Evil Tiger plays golf.

He doesn't.

Regular Tiger does and he's the best at it. As soon as Regular Tiger kills Evil Tiger, or at least shaves off that awful goatee, he'll be back to being the best at golf.

It's like the real-life version of those Priceline commercials with William Shatner. In fact, it's exactly like that. Only he's trying to make you spend more money on hotels.