The Tampa Track Meet

It's purely just coincidence that I'm going to talk about baseball on the same night that Miami just got stomped on Monday Night Football.

Ok, it's not. Screw, Tom Brady.

However, there is a topic that just cannot go ignored anymore and I'm looking at you Yankee and Red Sox fans. No, not the "I don't really like baseball but if I have to root for a team, I'm going Yankees" fans. I'm talking to the ones that really know their stuff. I'm talking to the ones that were resting comfortably on their laurels a week ago and are now anxiously looking behind them.

Brace yourselves, conventional wisdom, the Tampa Bay Rays have closed the gap significantly and are moving in on the wild card spot.

Boston, who was in first place at the beginning of the month, is now in second and just a mere three games ahead of the team that was supposedly dead in the water, the Tampa Bay Rays.

I will only touch for just a second on how dangerous this team can be in the post-season, simply because I hate looking like an idiot. Have you seen their rotation? David Price, James Shields, Jeremy Hellickson, Wade Davis, and Jeff Niemann. Aside from the Phillies, who wouldn't face them until the Series, who can match up with that rotation in a 'best of' series?

I have spent time on it, and I just don't see it. The fact of the matter is, this is a very scary team in the post-season.

If Tampa reaches the post-season, and despite recent success it's still a very big IF, they are a force to be reckoned with.

But they are already a force to be reckoned with, aren't they, David Ortiz? Ortiz promptly pressed the panic button Monday after being destroyed by the Rays yet again.

Ever hear of a bell curve? It's that chart where at the start and the end is really low, but the middle is the fattest. Sound familiar, BoSox? Remember that 0-7 start? Have you seen yourselves lately?

Boston was constructed like a summer blockbuster. They have their moment in the sun and then nobody really cares that they get released on DVD. The Rays are built like the little engine that could, and they are proving it. As September days tick away, the Rays are increasing momentum.

People are quick to forget that in the face of the "Evil Empire" and the "Red Sox Nation" that the team from Tampa has won the division two out of the last three tries. We are not to be trifled with any longer.

Little brother has grown up, and guess what? They're taller than you.

Tampa has a 41 million dollar pay roll. That's second to last, ahead of only the Kansas City Royals, a team that is currently 24 games below .500. Does it matter that New York has the highest pay roll at 201 million and Boston has the third at 161 million?

Apparently not. The Rays are winning because of a very dangerous aspect. They have seemingly embraced the 'underdog' status. They seem to win night after night, simply because, the world doesn't want them to.

If the Rays complete this huge comeback and overtake Boston for the wild card spot, make the post-season for the third time in their history, and prove their detractors wrong yet again--it won't make a lick of difference.

And I'm completely comfortable with that.

I'm a Rays fan, I love the hunger and intensity in their play, and I will be more than happy to let this continue on for as long as possible.

There is talk around the MLB about realignment in the divisions. I would hate to leave Boston and New York. I love our 'little brother' status and I love mucking with history. Every time that Tampa beats Boston and New York, there is a rift in the system. Frankly, it shouldn't happen. But it's happening more and more frequently.

And if it happens just a little bit more, Boston will be out, watching Tampa roll.

The Death of Man

Today is the annual reminder of the day of my birth and like most men, I view it as a crude slap in the face of my own mortality.

I understand that in the grand scheme of things, I'm not that old (shut up, I'm not), but it's the bigger picture that I'm always interested in.

Twenty-six years have come and gone and every single second of those years will never be had again. I'm not going to make any trite cliches about grains of sand in an hourglass because that's just not the case. It's more like watching a movie. As you watch it, you take it all in and don't really care to go back and watch it again unless you found it particularly interesting. It's why we buy DVD's and why we take pictures.

At the end of it all, only the best scenes stick in your head and are worth re-watching.

As narcissistic and cocky as I like to be at all times, my best scenes are always provided by the other actors that I surround myself with. It's them that make me flourish and deliver my best lines.

Now before I go passing out daisies and hugs, let's get back on topic.

The point is, everything that happens leaves a thumb print. (First rule of writing is not to alienate your audience and I just pissed off everybody that doesn't have thumbs)

What I mean by that is absolutely everything you do is remembered by somebody in some way.

I used to say that I live my life free of regret but that is a bold-faced lie. It's impossible to live your life full of regret. Whether it's something as simple as wishing you never ate that fourth slice of pizza or something as complex as wishing you never killed that guy, we all have something we wish we could take back.

It's human nature, and despite our recent adaptations, we're pretty natural beings.

I have things I wish I could go back and do-over again and I think about them all the time. It doesn't seem like it at most times, but the fact that I can't change a thing is absolutely beautiful.

We have one shot to do it right and every single miscalculation sends us on a different path. We're like NASA.

So, today, as my life-abacus sends another bead to the left, I choose to get as humanly drunk as possible. Think about it: It's never a waste if you can't do it when you are dead.

All I can do is hope I have nothing to regret tomorrow and odds are I won't. Like I said, I surround myself with the best possible actors.

The Death of the Blog

Who would have thought a little blue bird would have been the death of the blog?

Probably the same people who thought the blog would be the death of the newspaper.

In the world of journalism, well traditionally speaking, I am considered a hypocrite. I vaulted for the survival of the American newspaper and then promptly started my blog and my Twitter account simultaneously. These are conflicting ideologies.

I have embraced social media from the start. Sure, just like all new things, there is a lot of crap to wade through first. There is too much potential for good to shine through for it to be ignored though. It encourages free thought from something other than what gets delivered from a faceless entity to our doorstep every morning. It's free thought from random people! Insane!

Regardless, I fought for the newspaper. I wrote, not necessarily, for something that I still believed in, but for something that I wished would adapt. I want my kids to see a newspaper outside of a museum, for Christ sakes. It upsets me that paper is taking a back seat to computer screens.

There are plenty of different means to access information nowadays, that I understand. But understand this: it's all in a completely different context.

What the Associated Press is posting on your home page is just facts. Cold, hard, and never-want-to-cuddle facts. And that's all fine. We're in a hurry these days and can't be bothered with trivial things like description and emotion. The fact that I like to think that when I read something, it's being written just for me, might just be another tally mark for my narcissism.

So with the advancement of technology, came the means for the average person to produce what they perceived as news and distribute that across the internet. Yes, I get the irony, leave me alone.

Behold, the blog. My opinions, 24/7, because that's what I want to hear, dammit!

However, if for whatever reason, I want to read your opinions, or your cheesy jokes, or where you are having lunch today, how could I do that? I would have to take the trouble to FOLLOW your blog in the first place, then wade through your mindless drivel to find what I was really looking for.

Like I said, too busy, can't be bothered.

Behold, Twitter. The device that connects me to my friends and favorite strangers and keeps our interaction to 140 characters or less. Because, if there is anything I can't stand, it's actually speaking to someone I know.

Twitter, however, is actually pretty cool. It's managed to spider-web an entire world. I've never been to California but I can tell you what the porn star Sasha Grey did last night. (She had sex)

And that's all thanks to Twitter. And just like newspapers met their demise to the newest and coolest, so goeth the blogeth. If I can't get across to you in 140 characters or less what I'm trying to say, then what's the point? There possibly can't be anything worth reading beyond that.

Twitter makes me proud in the way that the guy who developed the first microchip for Cyberdyne felt. Except, maybe, I'm a little more paranoid.

R.I.P. Blog. Don't rest on your laurels too long, Twitter. Your eulogy will come swift enough.

Until then, be sure to follow me @natedeezybaby.

The Best Of Morgan Freeman?

There has been one voice in my generation that has gone unmistakable and that voice belongs to Morgan Freeman. Besides being an uncanny narrator, the man has been a fantastic actor. Hell, he's been in almost every movie. Since he's loaned his actor talents to so many different outlets, there's a very interesting debate to be had. Which of Morgan Freeman's projects is his greatest?

A bold question, of course. Well, there needs to be some ground rules before we begin. First, I'm not talking about which of his movies grossed the most amount of money, that usually means nothing in the grand scheme of things. Also, it might not necessarily be a movie in which he won an award. That would just be too simple. I guess this is going to be just simply what I think is Morgan Freeman's greatest accomplishment, which hell, it's my blog so why not?

So, my ground rules. I was born in 1985. Shut up, I'm not old. I've taken a penchant to some movies that were around before my birth, but none with Morgan Freeman in them. So anything before '85 is out. Until the time I was five, the only significant movie he was in was Glory. A fine movie, except that two things happened: Matthew Broderick was the lead actor, and there was another prominent black actor, Denzel Washington. So that's out.

So basically, anything post 1990, starring Morgan Freeman as the lead, in which he wasn't trying too hard to win an oscar, is in the running. Let the games begin.

First Nomination: Unforgiven (1992)

Morgan Freeman plays a retired hired gun in this western about the redemption of prostitutes, no seriously, that's what it's about. He plays the old partner of Clint Eastwood, who particularly needs the reward money to feed his pig-farming children. When it comes time to pull the trigger, Morgan gets cold feet as he can't live that life anymore. As life is such a cruel bitch, he ends up being killed for it anyways as Gene Hackman plays an incredible dick in this movie.

Second Nomination: The Shawshank Redemption (1994)

Oh hell yeah. Great movie. Morgan played "Red" the prison lifer who was best friends with co-lead Andy Dufresne (played by the lame ass Tim Robbins). This was also the first film that Morgan also narrated, as far as I'm willing to research. Red was a man who could get things, things that were simple for us in the real world to obtain, but behind a fortress made of stone...it was downright next to impossible. Red achieved such wondrous feats like obtaining posters of hot women from the 40's, being really well-rounded for someone who spent the majority of their years in a prison, and fixing most things that relied on chance for his favor.


Third Nomination: Se7en (1995)

Boom. Morgan followed up the ruby of Shawshank with the diamond of Se7en, pronounced seven. He played Detective Somerset, an aging, fed-up detective living in a city of evil that he's just had too darn much of. Brad Pitt played the new gun on the block and wouldn't you know it, it just so happens that the case they are working on is the strangest and most profound of Somerset's career. Kevin Spacey is running around killing people based on the seven deadly sins. The seventh, wrath, dooms Brad Pitt, causing Somerset to stay on the force and fight for something he doesn't really believe in. Yeah, I still don't get it.


Fourth Nomination: Million Dollar Baby (2004)

So Morgan took a bunch of time to do some "eh" movies, a lot of them based on James Patterson novels. He did play God in a movie with Jim Carrey and that deserves a mention, but not a nomination. Then he got back together with his old pal Clint Eastwood and made a heart-wrenching female boxing movie...in which he also narrated. This was a great, great film. He played the old, worn-out boxer who stuck around his old trainer's gym to basically clean up the place, I guess. However, this movie is out because he won best supporting actor for this. Wow, I guess I totally wasted your time reading this paragraph.


Fifth Nomination: Batman Begins (2005)


Here we go, a friggin' superhero movie! He played the confidant of Bruce Wayne/Batman, Lucious Fox. Morgan was the man that supplied Batman with most of the stuff that made him Batman. More so, he didn't narrate the movie! He was the level-headed genius that saved Batman's ass time and time again. This is a good one...


So let's see, after this, he narrated a bunch of crap, starred alongside Jack Nicholson in some crap, blah, blah, blah...I didn't see Invictus...ok, I guess that's it.

And the winner is...uh, Se7en! Why not? The reason being, of course, is that I just watched it on AMC and it's fresh in my mind. So there you go, the greatest movie that Morgan Freeman has ever done is Se7en. Se7en.

Heat Wave of Tears

Miami Heat Head Coach Eric Spoelstra revealed to the collective media after Sunday night's loss to the Chicago Bulls that the players were crying in the locker room.

Really coach? That's the way we are going to play this?

We care so much about the triumph and turmoil of this team that it brings us to tears in our locker room...and you air it out in the internet age? Not to mention, why are these robots crying?

What about the savior, Mike Bibby? (Had to mention him, just to appease NBA conspiracy theorists)

If the Miami Heat storyline wasn't juicy enough, Spoelstra went ahead and made sure we were grabbing lemons so big that the citric acid turned our hands purple. It's not supposed to make sense, most of you never passed chemistry in high school.

Look, it's one thing for a coach to say something to inspire his players. In fact, words of encouragement, words of inspiration are qualities of a great coach. Players need to be sure that the man in charge has their best interest. It's how they gain faith.

So, for the big guy in charge to admit that his team was blubbering and sobbing...well, that just doesn't look good in the outsider view. Beyond that, it doesn't look good in the locker room, um, for the fans, or for anybody that watches tv.

King James...D-Wade...and to a lesser extent...that guy from Toronto...were potentially crying?



For some people, these are their heroes. What if it was Bruce Willis crying?

That's unsettling for me.

I'm a die-hard NBA fan and Bruce Willis fan. I long for the lost rivalry of Bird-Magic. There will never be a single-handed domination like the ways of Jordan. The Houston Rockets will never be relevant again. These things were treasures of the past and I'm OK with that. Things change by the minute. But, in the end, I'm still unsettled that the "super team in America" might be calling foul.

And why?

Because, in this day and age, we are no longer sure that the super stars we are supposed to acknowledge, may or may not be cry babies.

And it's because of their friendships. Due to the world championships and Olympics, most of the NBA stars have played together...and hung out together. Thus, they have developed friendships...and it's very disturbing. This is not the nature of the sports. We are supposed to hate our opponents. It's the way of the game.

When Jordan played, he hated everybody. Even Pippen. He hated Pippen.

The point is, Miami has been fed to the general public as this year's "team". And I don't blame you if you don't care about anything about today's NBA and you root for the Heat. Because villains get fans too. And with that said...they cry in the locker room.

Think about this, What if the Joker lured Batman into a trap and all of sudden Batman cried, "Not fair!"

We would all laugh and tell him to deal with it. He's Batman. We've been raised to know that Batman is invincible and that any outcry would have to be some sort of distraction.

But then, what if Commissioner Gordon said, "Hey, leave Batman alone."

Well, now we have a different story.

The hero we thought he was, ended up being a fraud. Simply because someone came to his "rescue". The big, bad team that was promoted in the off-season has feelings? Are you kidding me?

They are supposed to be ruthless. James, Wade, and Bosh are supposed to run through opponents like construction paper. Most off-seasons for teams don't end in some weird 80's rock band concert like the Heat had when they revealed the "Big Three". They were portrayed in a way that made them seem material. They aren't human. Crying is very human. I'm conflicted.

So, the Heat can cry after a regular season loss to a potential contender in the Eastern Conference, and we can buy into their wolf crying...or...

We can all see that they finally don't even know their own identity.

Look at it this way, who is the best player on the Heat?

James? Wade? Bosh? Can we even tell because we group them all together now after the Decision? Did anybody care about them until James signed?

The Miami Heat doomed themselves to be the perfect storm of ambiguity. They are now the Bruce Wayne of the NBA.

They are the true identity of what they hope to be perceived as some sort of super hero. They can be one thing by night, and another by day. Unfortunately for them, one of these identities is a crier.

The coach himself proclaimed this.

LeBron, Dwayne, and sure, you too, Chris, grab the tissues. I guess life was harder than you thought.

In Defense of Wild Thing

It's a natural fact in the world that most baseball movies are pure crap.

They are usually sensational, overblown ridiculous scenarios that will never happen in real life. (See Little Big League and Rookie of the Year)

Then there's the ones that are the feel-good, emotionally charged family pieces. (See Angels in the Outfield)

And then there's a whole new category for any baseball movie that Kevin Costner is in.

But then, something miraculous happened in 1989. A great baseball movie was made.

Tom Berenger portrayed the aging, baseball-lifer, chasing the dream one more time. Wesley Snipes played the flashy, Willie Mays-wannabe. Rene Russo looked awesome. Plus, Bob Uecker was actually playing Bob Uecker.

There was also one more piece that was integral to Major League becoming the greatest baseball movie of all-time. It had the Wild Thing, Charlie Sheen.

Sheen was only 24-years old when he portrayed Ricky "Wild Thing" Vaughn but he managed to capture our hearts.

His torn sleeves, his rebel haircut, his skull and crossbones glasses, and his deadly fastball are the glorious images and weapons of the Wild Thing.

The part where Vaughn believes himself to be cut from the squad was absolutely priceless. He launched into a verbal tirade against the manager and then turned it into a physical altercation with the player that pranked him.

In fact, the majority of the film's out-bursts and profane moments came from Vaughn. Even though it was unbeknownst to him at the time, he was involved in an affair with the wife of fellow teammate, Roger Dorn.

The carefree use of alcohol, the adulterous lifestyle and the bouts of cursing were the what made the Wild Thing.

He was indeed, a rock star from Mars. People would burst into song whenever he emerged from the bullpen! Women threw themselves at him like they were under his magic spell.

The Wild Thing wasn't bipolar, he was bi-winning. Underneath his tough "California Penal" exterior was a man who cared deeply for his teammates.

Without him, the Cleveland Indians would have lost the pennant and Major League would have sucked.

Let's hear it for the Wild Thing.

Super Bowl Commercial Ideas

Ok, kids, let's have a little fun today.

I know a lot of you are looking forward to the Super Bowl on Sunday and there's a large population of you that are doing so with no regard for football.

The Super Bowl is an event, the pomp and circumstance is so big that it attracts even non sports fans.

A big part of this is due to the highly touted Super Bowl commercial slots.

Big companies will spend upwards of three million dollars on thirty second spots so these commercials are generally the cleverest and funniest of the bunch.

Being a journalism major, which is essentially a skip away from a marketing major, I figured I would lend some ideas to these companies looking to make the water cooler conversations come Monday morning. I figured there had to be some at least a few CEO's that read the Studly Pastures...

1. UGLY CHICKS
Ok, first off, everybody is doing hot chicks these days, so in order to really stick out from the rest of the crowd, you should really jam pack your commercial with dog-faced women. Beautiful women are stunning, so stunning that you might actually confuse your consumers with what you are actual peddling. People will remember something so awful that it sears into their brain. Memory is key, and ugly chicks will help you achieve that.

2. C-LIST CELEBRITIES
You're gonna need an endorsement from somebody with real credibility to sell your product. The key here though, is to not go too big. A-listers come off as pompous and untouchable entities...not real people. B-listers try too hard to bridge the gap to A-listers. We need to go C-level here. Ashton Kutcher pitches me a camera, I'm not interested. Ashton Kutcher is a douche bag. The guy who played Puddy on Seinfeld mentions the word "Arby's" and I'm headed out the door for a roast beef sandwich. It's that simple.

3. CUDDLY ANIMALS
This one is essentially a no-brainer. Women, even the cold, heartless ones, will slit a man's throat to save a puppy. The best commercials that people will remember will have a puppy in them. For extra points, dress it up in some little costume like a little lab coat with a tiny stethoscope and have it be named Dr. Piddles. Perfect. Word of advice though, limit the puppy count to under three. If you overdue it, things can get messy.

4. CATCHPHRASE
This is the money maker right here, the golden goose. You get your C-lister celebrity to wink at the camera and yell something like, "Slammy Whammy!" and you're good to go. It doesn't have to make any sort of sense, in fact, it's probably better if it doesn't. I guarantee you, you won't make it through Monday without hearing like seven people yell "Slammy Whammy" in your daily routine.

So there you have it. All you need to do is have Patrick Warburton come out holding the product you are trying to sell, he mentions how it's doctor suggested, turns to Dr.Piddles for his recommendation, makes out with ugly woman, winks at camera, and yells "Slammy Whammy."

Instant gratification.