Demon Spawn

We've got the original Halloween film on the tube right now. The original John Carpenter 1978 classic that jump started pretty much every slasher film to date. It's only about fiftenn minutes in, and already I know I'll be locked in for the next couple hours.

Thirty years later and the shit still stands up. From the eerie piano/70's synth soundtrack to the "...and introducing Jamie Lee Curtis" in the opening credits, to the opening scene where six year old Michael Myers dons his first mask and wrecks shop at his baby sitter's place.

Good for Halloween.

Also this All Hallow's I caught the Raptor's season opener vs. Philly. The Bosh, Bargnani barrage bludgeoned the '76'ers to the to a 107-96 final. Unlike other years, where Vince whined, dunked and then collected 10 mill, resulting in a last place finish, these Raptors look as calm and lethal as Michael Myers.

And like Myers, when they go on a tear...look out. At one point they were up twenty points, and looked like they could throw down with the Spurs ala Freddy Vs Jason or Alien Vs Predator.

If, in the final, I see Tim Duncan slap on a hockey mask and Bosh glove up with a Freddy Razor contraption this will be very good. First game only, I know, but like the first Halloween flick, a solid opening performance laying the foundations for a successful franchise/genre.

Bangin'

An observation.

In the world of pro sport today, there seems to be one surefire method that franchises are employing to reach the top. Sheer brutality. After watching the San Antonio Spurs tip off the 07/08 NBA Season against Portland this eve, I couldn't help but think that those freshly received Championship Rings should bear the same shame as if they were adorned in blood diamonds.

A stretch? Maybe. But those that watched the Spurs in the playoffs know what I'm talking about. The way they cheap shotted their way through Phoenix, practically hospitalizing Nash night after night was just plain shitty. Playing hard is good. Playing with intent to injure, inducing profuse bleeding is cheap. Especially when it pays off for said squad.

Let's jump to the NHL. As hockey is admittedly more gladiatorial, last year's Stanley Cup Champs, The Mighty Ducks Of Anaheim (I've had it with Anaheim squads changing their names every six months. I'm only addressing them by their original monikers from here on) were notoriously one of the roughest teams in The League, leading it in fighting majors. Granted, chucking knuckles is a more acceptable in the NHL than in other sports, but with other teams upping the ante this year we are now faced with:

The New Broad Street Bullies. Or more aptly, "The Broad Street Bitches". The Philladelphia Flyers this year have been responsible for three brutal hits resulting in serious injury. And it's still October. Their reward? Besides the combined 60 game suspension between their players involved, they sit atop the Atlantic Division. Will they be sipping champagne alongside Eva Longoria, Tony Parker and the Spurs? Quite possibly.

Hell even the Red Sox bashed their way to their second World Series in four years by fucking crushing everything in their path. National League small ball and savvy management seeming as quaint as a Rockwell plate as the Rockies got swept out of The Series.

A stretch? Maybe. But look at who's wearing all the bling.














I want to see the Flyers vs the Spurs on the next season of "The Ultimate Fighter."

On The Subject Of D

First things first.

A huge shout out and congratulations to the OakTown Dangler for being selected to Team Canada East in the World Junior A Challenge. The international tourney is being played Nov 5-11, in Nelson and Trail. Mon frère will lace up for The Nation next Monday as his squad takes on Belarus in the preliminary round. To have one of the clan rep Canada and wear the Maple Leaf on his jersey makes me so proud I that I might sprint up the Grouse Mountain stairs to sing "Oh Canada" at the summit. Good luck to him and the lads.

A debate arose at work this eve re: The Canucks and their early season woes. The subject of defence being in contention. One of the servers, Mike stated that we need a defenceman that will jump up in the rush and help provide some offence. Ronnie Bigtime in the kitchen refuted that notion stating that we need a stay at home defenceman that will hang back, block shots and protect Luongo.

Admittedly not having watched more than a full period of the Canucks this season (which will most likely change now that The Series wrapped up last night), both men made compelling arguments. However the tipping point came when both acknowledged that the Canucks are scoring more than last year.

Which is where I was mislead, as I thought this year's team were the same Canucks of last year's playoffs, the one's that couldn't score a goal to save their collective Haida Orcas. With this stat thrown into the mix, I must side with Bigtime. If we are scoring more, yet still losing, and our goalie is not the problem that leaves one thing. A weak defence.

And in The League where shots on net are starting to resemble CNN footage of the "Shock And Awe" campaign used in the Gulf at the start of the war, a good defenceman is hard to find. It's like mining for gold in the Klondike in the 1890's. A lot of sifting for little return. But when you finally find that shiny rock, you hang on to it because it will pay dividends.

Thus, I am actively starting a campaign for the Canucks to sign the OakTown Dangler. No really. All you scouts go down to Nelson and tell me I'm wrong. He does not score a lot of goals but as the record has been stated, this in not what we need.

The Team Canada East D-Man's +/- is something like + 4 million, but most of all he plays intelligently by making heads up passes, and positioning himself well. Let Bieksa, Salo and Ohlund run and gun (and most likely turn the puck over making me scream Death Metal growls at my television), but give the kid a chance. Let him hang back and kick it with Luongo as they lay down mortar putting up the brick wall. He'll stop block that shot. He'll clear the traffic. He'll make that play. And the squad will become an even better squad.

Hey, if you don't believe us let me remind you that I work in Stanley Park.

Word Series Champions

So they won. I have yet to see the highlights, but I caught the score on my phone. This time I missed the game for a very good reason. Namely putting on the hip hop show. Three solid hip hop acts not to mention a DJ that dropped some old school awesomeness. We had a hardcore crowd come out that was both good for hip hop and good for baseball. We had people behind the scenes that donated their skill and time and energy to help further the cause for underground indy music.

The Red Sox once again became World Series Champions tonight.

Everyone that was involved with the show became Word Series Champions tonight and I am going to the jewelers tomorrow to get their rings fitted.

I DEMAND A SERIES!!!!!

Holliday's three run blast, putting the Rocks one run behind Boston in the seventh, was the closest we've come to an actual series. If I see yet another four game sweep in the Classic this year, next year I'm going to stop watching after the League Championship Series wraps up. That's it. Meaningful baseball will be done after both teams have clinched their League Titles and the World Series will be as redundant as the NFL Pro Bowl.

Everyone on the Rockies whose name is not Matt Holliday...I'm looking at you. Hit a ball. Score a run.

Win a game.

The Plug

Sometimes you win some. Sometimes you lose some.

Sometimes you score court side center tickets to the only NBA game played in the city in 6 years. Featuring Steve Nash and the Phoenix Suns.

What?

How does this happen?

Absentmindedness and old acquaintances.

Let's begin. As the Suns are in town playing a pre-season match versus the Sonics, I went down to GM Place tonight to promo the hip hop show I'm putting on on Sunday.

Only to discover that I'd lost my wallet, or so I thought. Not finding it in my pocket, there was a slim chance (I hoped) that I'd left it at home. After targeting potential hip hop fans amongst the masses filing into the stadium and handing them my propaganda, I jetted home to indeed find my wallet sitting by the key bowl.

Whew.

So over joyed I was that I immediately raced back to GM Place in hopes of scoring very cheap tickets to the game. Box Office or otherwise. Didn't matter. This time as I approached , I ran into an old buddy, Rio (who will be referred to as "The Catalyst" from here on in these pages), and we sat down, smoked a cigarette and caught up.

Turns out it was good for basketball.

After parting ways, I sauntered over to the box office only to be told that the last two tickets for the night had been sold. Of course they had. This was par for my ridiculous week, so keeping with routine, I cursed my tardiness and started looking for an escape line. All the scalpers had left the premises already so it looked like I would be watching the highlights on Sportsnet.

All scalpers save for one. One who might as well have been a supernatural apparition, like something out of "A Christmas Carol." This Ghost Of NBA Past had one ticket left that he desperately wanted to hawk and asked how much I'd pay for what read a $300 face value. I said 45 bucks. After some haggling, we settled on $60 and away I went.

I walked in and tried to navigate to my seat. I descended down many flights of stairs but still couldn't find the elusive row "A" that was printed on the ticket. That's because it was on the floor. Front row. On the floor. Nash and the lads were running drills and dropping 3's preparing for the second half as I hunted for my seats.

Trying to decipher seat numbers by asking random people in the row, I finally made it to my spot where this animated dude motioned to the empty seat next to him and his homie and said I could sit there. He inquired as to how much I paid and congratulated me on my deal as it was him that had sold the original ticket to the scalper. This dude was Ash and his compadre was Nolan. Good cats.

So I took my seat and proceeded to watch Nash put on an absolute showcase. Everything they say about this guy is for real, and you can see why he was a double MVP. He does it all. He nails that pass. He does it behind the back. No look. He drives. He fades away.

He makes that shot.

I have seen many sporting events live, countless Jays games, a few hockey games, pro soccer, one football game and one Grizzlies game, and never have I seen anything like this. The guy is a fucking X-Man. And not some second tier schlep like Sunspot or Cannonball. Nash is fucking Wolverine. Tonight it looked like he was slicing and dicing his way through the Sonics like they were The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. Just stunning.

The rest of the squad didn't look too shabby. Both of them actually, the Sonics looked as well. The Ash/Nolan tandem, who were quite well versed in the doings of the NBA, got me up to speed on some shit like:

1. The Seattle GM sharing the same alien DNA as Theo Epstein, helming a pro sports franchise at 31.

2. Sonics Guard and Allen Iverson disciple, Delonte West, who looks absolutely thugged-the-fuck-out (I'm talking neck tattoos. That you read), came up in Boston College and then from the Celtics in the blockbuster trade for Ray Allen. This West cat also ran the show this evening setting up plays that were executed to perfection by his team mates probably out of fear of getting capped if they fucked up.

3. Suns Guard DJ Strawberry is in fact the son Darryl Strawberry, the undisputed ringleader of the coke fueled, rockstar trainwreck that was the '86 Mets.

I realize that if you're a die hard NBA fan this is as rudimentary as knowing which team MJ played for, but I'm not. My basketball experience is limited to watching Reggie Miller sink 3's like they were going out of style vs the Knicks in the '95 playoffs, a season opener Grizz/Trailblazers tilt viewed live and a grand total of four points scored, back when I was a guard for the Canora Cougars in '87.

One thing that was cool to see, that translates from Junior High all the way to the bigs, was watching Nash put up one finger to call "Play #1." Man, I just about ran on the court and tried to execute "Play #1" from when I came off the bench for the Cougars and scored those four points in Kamsack. From the high school prairies to the pro courts in the desert, you can't stop "Play #1."

Or maybe you can. "Play #1" all went to Hell, sending Amare Stoudemire somersaulting unto the floor over some random Sonic. Probably West. I just about jumped out of my chair and started screaming at the ref for a foul ala Mark Cuban, or Jack when he's had to much Jack and has to be restrained.

And now I can see how these cats like Jack have a hard time keeping it together, and how they just about storm the court nightly. I was writhing in my seat, looking for a straight jacket and a tongue depressor to chew on just to stop myself from getting ejected. All after just one hard foul that resulted in a missed bucket.

For the last five minutes of the match Nash was benched, which drew chants of "We Want Nash! We Want Nash!" from the jam packed GM Place. But to be quite honest, it was still amazingly entertaining ball. You didn't know if West was going to pop someone or if Stoudemire was going to step on someone, or if a genetically modified Dennis Rodman cyborg, complete with plasma cannon would march on the court and vapourize someone. You just didn't know.

What you did know was that Vancouver DEFINITELY needs another squad. We have the support, we have the facility, and at the rate the Canucks are going, we are going to be needing some serious sporting options soon. Overall, this was WAAAYYY too much fun to have once every six years. Court side or none, this game is just too good not watch live regularly.

To the Commish:

Quit debating if Iverson should be able to wear his bling and get us a team back! ASAP. I'll buy a 20 game pack faster than you can say Shareef Abdu Rahee--.

To Steve Nash:

Let's see you in our new squad's front office. Or even better, coaching the team. Or even better, winding down your career here.

Thanks Curt

Now at least we had a game tonight. The Rockies pitching was able to hold the Sox to only two runs. In the end those runs would stand up as the Final was 2-1.

Nonetheless, you have to feel bad for Matt Holliday getting picked off at first to end the 8th with Helton up to the plate. Would've Helton hit the jack to give Colorado the lead? I'm leaning towards probably.

I can't root against the Sox, but yet I feel bad for the Rockies as their Cinderella run will most likely come to an end. Maybe because I've watched a good portion of it. This World Series is bizarre as usually there's someone to at least root against. I can't remember the last time in any sports finale where both squads were really likable. Maybe I can resolve this conflict by claiming observer status, acting as a proud father and rooting for baseball.

For example, watching Schilling leave the mound, for most likely the last time in Fenway, and tipping his hat for the crowd. The speculation being that he'll probably be dealt next year, so when he got yanked in the fifth, it was most likely the end of his Boston tenure. But what a run he had. They'll most likely build a statue or weird futuristic holographic replica of him in front of Fenway so that kids a hundred years will know why their rocket boots come with blood stains on the heels.

Good for baseball for years to come.

That's A Wrap

So there I was. Missing Game 1. On set.

Here's the story. Watchmen, the single greatest piece of graphic literature ever to be published, is being transposed onto the Silver Screen. And it's filming right here in the Vancity.

Always mildly curious, but ultimately unmotivated in pursuing background performing set work, I decided that the time had finally come to join the legions of lower mainland extras. The end result being to hopefully land on the Watchmen set and contribute a small part to this epic work. Maybe as a random NY resident, or a rioter in 1977, or a pirate.

But the road to accepting the Extras Oscar for "Manhattan pedestrian #457" does not unfurl itself neatly and cleanly. Hence, my first screen appearance ever was this evening, as part of a theatre audience on, "Aliens In America." No Rorshach grapple gunning his way to the conspiracy, but I'll take it.

I was in an "extras holding" area, which was the upstairs of the theater where filming was taking place. It was reminiscent of the Cuban refugee holding facility in "Scarface." There was a lot of commotion, and we were yelled at alot and instructed to stand in long lines for processing. The food ranged from nonexistent to terrible and we were routinely herded up and shipped off. I kept to myself and tried not to get shanked.

Eventually I met some savvy extras employees, Tina and Gord, who filled me in on the lay of the land, and I blended in with the pack. They were quite jovial and informative and quite frankly, were the buoys keeping me afloat in this Bay Of Pigs...I owe them my life.

In addition to providing me with information on the inside, they gave me a link to the outside as well. Via their contacts they were able to funnel in real time sporting scores. Both the World Series (fuck yeah!!) and the Canucks. (fuck off !!!)
The Canucks predictably lost 3-2 to the Red Wings, but the Boston/Colorado score was 4-1 Sox in the fourth when I caught wind.

After I "wrapped", i jumped on a train back home, only to walk into an ESPN website announcing that Francis and the lads got just shelled. 13-1 Final.

That is one big OW-IE. That's travelling 40 miles back to your home town, crying the whole way. With no ice cream.

I still hope for a series, but if this is any indication of things to come, we might actually see The Rockies "wrapped" in four matches.

'07. The Series. The Preview.

Ok, looking back at the calls for the '07 Season, I see some some peaks (predicting the Phillies/Mets going 1-2 in the NL East), some valleys (calling the Cubbies to lose the NL Central), and some out and out massive avalanches. (callously dismissing the Rockies and calling their manager out by name)

But really.... Who saw this coming?

Not to flog a dead horse, we've all seen the Rocks' X-files-esque stats, we've all oooohed and ahhhhed over their Silver Screen run, and we've all felt pretty darn good about them doing what we wished our team would do, but now that the Grand Spectacle is upon us I have to get down to brassies. Namely making a solid call.

And that call, dear Maniwaki faithful, is this:

Every night, for a good two weeks, I have watched these Rockies...and every night I expected the wheels to fall off. But it is here, definitively in the '07 World Series, that those rims rolling the Rockies' SUV around Denver undeniably WILL come off.

It's been a good run for the lads, but they're playing with the Big Boys now. The BoSox have depth, experience, and experience having depth of experience. They wrote the book on October Spectacles and while the Rockies have put on a dandy of a run, they are an '80's Nintendo Game Character meeting the Ender Ender of End Bosses.

And everyone knows that unless you're have the title "of Nazareth" following your first name, you don't beat the End Boss on your first try. Hell, even Wayne and Mess couldn't do it against the Isles in '83. They needed a warm up round before hoisting the cup in '84. So sorry Rockies, your run has been most entertaining and inspiring, but Lo-Lo Land ends here.

Consider:

1. Aces. Show me a Jeff Francis, I'll up the ante with a Josh Beckett.

2. Then after that I'll throw a Schilling in the pot.

3. Closers. Corpas is lights out, but Paplebon will probably punch someone's lights out in this series.

4. Big Guns. Matt Holliday vs Youkilis, Papi, Manny, Lowell and if things continue on from Game 7 the ALCS...JD Drew and Dustin Pedroia??!!

Yes, I will give the Rockies the edge in bullpen, speed, management, and even luck, but in the end it won't be enough. It will be thrilling and fun to watch, not like the blowouts we've seen in recent years, but Beantown will indeed prevail. Ladies and gentlemen I preemptively give you the World Series Champions of 2007, winning in six contests:

The Boston Red Sox.

Recognize.

Looking Ridiculous In Raleigh

Heard a great quote from a guy walking out of the restaurant tonight. It was regarding the Canucks in their new unis losing to Carolina 3-1 tonight;

"They look like a beer league team from Tsawwassen."

Some things you just can't argue with.

The Feel Good Story Of The Year

Manny and Pappi get absolutley shackled by Cleveland pitching and who serves up the Jack O'Fenway, but Dustin Pedroia??????

This guy looks like he should be hanging out at the ol' fishing hole in Mayberry Countey with Opey and Andy. Not showing up the meat of the Red Sox order by launching Game 7 Beantown bombs over the monster.

And how about Kevin Youkilis deciding to put the entire Slayer catalog on his iPod, going 3-5 and assigning the ball he hit out of the park in the ninth to the 7 circle of Hell?

And the 100 million dollar man, Dice-K, silencing the critics by gyro balling his way to the win?

My compadre of many years, and witness to many epic October BoSox matches, Darren (who will henceforth be referred to in these pages as "Dice-C") remarked that Matsuzaka had pulled his spandex superhero sleeves down ala "The Greatest American Hero" in order to summon the strength to throw the smoke.

In the classic '80's series, William Katt, is granted a costume by aliens that gives him super powers. In one predicament, he finds himself pitching a ball game, but needs to throw some heat. As for whatever inane reason, the costume must be visible to work, so Katt, who is wearing it under his ball uni, pulls down one of the sleeves and the rest is NBC history.

And how about the benched Coco Crisp being injected onto the field in the ninth, and making the final out? His stunning sliding grab in center to clinch the game was as heartwarming as troubled reliever, Eric Gagne's appearance in the ninth yesterday to close out the game. Yes he came in when the score was 12-2 last night and 11-2 tonight but that doesn't matter.

It's just nice to see ex-Montreal Expo, and current Boston Skip, Terry Francona give the guys that are struggling a piece of the action as well.

Good for baseball and the feel good story of the year.





Never mind HGH. Was Matsuzaka wearing this under his uni? Probably.

Re: ALCS Game 6

...and yup.

Never Mind Phillies Fans..

....Indians fans truly frighten me.

Some cat at the bar tonight ordering margarita concoctions lost his mind when he got on the subject the ALCS. He proclaimed Beckett the reigning pitching heavyweight champ of MLB after owning Cleveland in Game 5. This Ohio native also warned that Fausto Cormona and the Tribe better get it together for Game 6.

All at 4000 decibels.

Maybe this doesn't sound so bizarre. I am the last one to judge someone for giving a passionate tirade about their favourite squad. Especially if said team is in the playoffs,and especially if a few drinks have been had.

But you didn't see his eyes...

Truly frightening.

And if this isn't enough just take a peek at what's been coming out the Jake recently:



Is it just me or is the entire Indians franchise the embarrassing uncle of MLB? The one that stumbles through Thanksgiving Dinner fuelled on really bad rye cracking racist jokes like it's as commonplace as breathing oxygen?

Cleveland should not win The Series until they remedy this shit by changing the name of their squad and getting a logo that doesn't make we want to call the Hate Crimes Unit.

ALCS Game 5 Recap

Yup.

Atlanta Thrashers Axe Coach Hartley

Good thing, because I have Ilya Kovalchuk in my hockey pool, and like the Thrashers (0-6), am in last place. I have to avenge my last place finish in my baseball pool this year, so the Thrashers better hire some awesome coach and get Kovalchuk scoring. Maybe Clint Hurdle from the Rockies will be available after the World Series. At this point I'll take anything.

World's Finest Will Force Game 7

Yes, it seems that the Indians did wake up, winning 7-3 tonight, handcuffing Manny and Papi in the process, and taking a 3-1 stranglehold on the series. However, if you think that the ALCS is wrapped up I have two words for you.

Ready?

Josh. Beckett.

As you read this, this post season superhero is pressing his cape and sewing an "O" for October onto his uni for the big start on Thursday. Maximizing the pepper on his fastball by flying close to the yellow sun thus charging his Kryptonian metabolism. Like the Big Red "S" of DC comics lore, Beckett is a proven professional with a job to do. And EVERYTHING rides on it. He will not lose.

And as he prepares, I have one more word for you to mull over.

Ready?

Curt.

If Beckett is Supes, Shilling, in contrast is The Bat, meticulously dissecting the Tribe line up, assessing the opponents' strengths, analyzing cracks in the overall security system, devising attack scenarios...

Coming up with a plan.

Like The Dark Knight of Detective Comics, Schilling is a relentless, omniscient FORCE. A veteran guardian that responds decisively when his city is threatened. A player that amps up his game when The League Of Assassins/Tribe threaten Beantown.

To put it simply, in my adult life I have bought a total of one action figure. Purchased in Montreal in '04, the day after the bloody sock game, it is a replica of Curt throwing off the mound.

Because if anyone deserves an action figure, Curt does.

And he'll show you in Game 6.

Coors Field Of Dreams

Every night I watch these Rockies expecting the wheels to fall off and every night they just keep on driving...


You know something is really wonky when you're actually hoping the ALCS game featuring Boston and Cleveland ends early so you can get to:

1. ...the NLCS game ??!!
2. ...featuring the Rockies and Diamondbacks ??!!
3. ...in which the Rockies could clinch and go to the World Series???!!
4. ...and do it at home in a 4 game sweep??!!
5. ...after winning 21 of their last 22 games???!!!


Ok what's going on here? Did someone in the front office make a deal with Beelzebub? Did Helton finally just say, "Fuck it, what's a soul anyway? Where do I sign?" Did Jose Canseco and Rafael Palmeiro come back from the planet Zenon with an alien hybrid super steroid and use the Rockies as test subjects?

Nothing would shock me at this point.

Or is this squad just playing with old fashioned "Field Of Dreams" heart? Their play is truly inspiring. They hit. They pitch. They catch. They do it when it matters and everyone chips in. Loose as a goose. Every night for just about a month. I have never seen anything like this.

Now I'm not jumping on the bandwagon. If the heavens truly did fall and they were playing The Jays in the WS, I would be screaming Blue murder against the Rocks, even if the Rockies posted a 160 game winning streak and the Jays were fielding a squad of Jose Canseco clones ripped on super steroids.

But there is a real feel good story in all of this, and it's not some Disney flick where 10 year olds who can pitch 130 mph talk to Angels and while becoming acting GM of the team. The feel good story of '07 is that this team did what you wish your team would do. They proved it can happen. They fought and won night after night, to at best earn a shot at the post season in a one game playoff and then in extras of said game finally moved on. THEN once getting to October for real, proceeded to win again night after night and nigh..

Who wouldn't want this for their squad? Tell you what the Rockies didn't do. Give up a plethora 4-1 leads in the ninth against the scrubbiest team in their League during their Wild Card push. (Not that I'm bitter. Or counting.) These guys truly are The Spartan Warriors from "300."

You can't help but feel good for a guy like Todd Helton who has played in Colorado for a decade, is the face of the franchise and has never been to the Grand Spectacle that is the World Series. How can you not feel good for that guy? And with that, let's just end with a jpeg I jacked from a major broadcaster's site.

No caption necessary.

Through Rain, Through Sleet, Through Snow...

I will never go to Granville Street again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

Went to check out one of the pubs that supposedly has killer wings, the first one from last night, only to be greeted with a packed bar and fifteen TVs all tuned to the NFL.

Enough of this shit. The playoffs are on, and unlike last night, I had no time to haggle. Just hit the ejector button and carry on.

So hit up "The Score" on Davie, my new go-to haunt, and sure enough they had Game 3 of the NLCS on front row center.

Good for baseball.

So I kicked it with a Caesar, a plate of wings and even a bona-fide Rockies fan. This cat Rob from Denver, on vacation with his compadre Chen from Singapore, were taking in the match (most likely chased away by floor managers at shitty Granville Street pubs). So we all rooted on the Tulowitzkies and Heltons as once again these Rockies did not disappoint. They even win in a torrential rain. This game (which should have been postponed in my books) resembled an AL match as it was a bomb fest, the game winning jack by Yorvit Torrealba.

Who?

I know...but like I keep saying. Every night I watch this squad, and every night I expect the wheels to come off. And every night they just don't. The Rockies are bolted on, shined up, spinner rims in a hip-hop Jay Z or Paul Wall video. Just tight.

After Corpas made Corpases (sorry..) of the Diamondbacks yet again in the ninth, I downed my draft, congratulated Rob on his squad's win and hit the bricks.

And got stoked thinking about seeing Jeff Francis in about a week, open GAME 1 of THE WORLD SERIES.

Granville Street BETTER be showing that shit or I'm going to carpet bomb the entire strip...

Unleash The Demons

I'm heading out on the piss later tonight and I don't know if I'm going to make'er back in one piece. Yup, one of those, where the demons jump in the driver's seat and put their hooves on the gas. I'm starting at a local pub that serves killer wings, and commandeering a TV from the local yahoos that will undoubtedly be screaming as the Canucks lose in their tacky uniforms. So what's going to happen here is, starting at game time (which is very soon), I'm going to do a running score sheet of ALCS Game 2 from my couch, until I leave this joint and my game time begins.

Top of 1st.
-First pitch. Schill on the hill. Strike one. Of course.

- Victor Martinez bangs one off the Monster which scores one. Indians up 1-0. Question is will The Tribe wake up tonight? You know they're capable...

Bottom of 1st.
-James Taylor is reading off the Red Sox starting line up on Fox as his '70's acoustic nonsense plays in the background. And he could barely pronounce some of the players' names. I might have to leave earlier than expected.

-Indians hurler, Fausto Cormona has one of the dopest names in baseball. He sounds like some uber diabolical Venezuelan Cocaine Kingpin that Frank Stallone would have to battle in '87 screaming "COR-MON-AAHHHHH!!!!" after he killed Stallone's partner.

-RedSox 1B, Kevin Youkulis looks like he should be the third guitar player in Slayer.

...aaand that will be that...I'm out the door to catch the rest at the pub....

...

....

......

.........

............and holy fuck I hate this town sometimes!!!

Walked into one sports pub only to have eight TVs going not with the Canucks but with the Leafs. Nary a ball game to be seen. During the ALCS. Featuring Boston and Cleveland. Unbelievable.

So we jumped ship for a pub down the street that we were sure would be showing the contest.

Which was. Up until the puck dropped. Immediately we were sweated mafia style by the management as they didn't want us watching the FUCKING ALCS FEATURING BOSTON AND CLEVELAND BECAUSE WE HAD TO DEDICATE ALL FIFTEEN TVS IN THE ROOM TO THE SHITTY CANUCKS AND THEIR "WHAT NOT TO WEAR" UNIFORMS.

Like I've alluded to in previous posts...this year is RAPIDLY becoming the year that I take a year off hockey. EVERYTHING is bugging me about this team, the lack of off season moves by the front office, the unis, the fans, I hate to say it but I might be closing the book early on the 07/08 season.

So after fighting and clawing with the management for one fucking TV amidst the fifteen in the joint, there we were in another classic ALCS tilt. Schilling pitching another gem. Cormona countering. When we walked through the doors of the pub it was still the fifth and the score was tied. But the game rallied back and forth like a good badminton rally until the thirteenth.

And what I say next, I say with grand determination and Canadian resonation:

Don't blame Gagne for the Sox meltdown in extras. I have to stand by the Mascouche Warrior. Sure he allowed a few on base. But the score was tied. He didn't give up the extra base hits and jacks that eventually made the score 13-6 for the Indians!!!!?? It was a text book meltdown. And exactly what Cleveland needed.

And maybe what we all needed. Because now it's a series.



"In accepting the 'Please Don't Shoot Me Award' for '07, I would like to remind everyone that it was John Lester that gave up the run scoring double and the three run pomme-de-terre dans le tresieme. Pas moi."

Rockies Koopa Troopa

So there I was at the bar, watching the timely television. Surprisingly, the Red Sox were STICKING it to Sabathia and the Indians. Papi, Manny, Papi, Manny, Papi, Manny. Put these cats in October and all they do it hit. Beckett (who is rapidly becoming the Elliot Ness of October ie, Untouchable) spun yet another post season gem. Sabathia was unable to answer. Perhaps experience was the deciding factor. It was something like 8-2...

The locals were getting restless. They wanted to watch the Canucks game. Usually I would deny such a ridiculous request as it is the post season. But the game was so lopsided I gave in.

For five minutes.

These new Canuck's uni's are so painfully hideous that I can't even bare to watch the team. The schizophrenic logo scheme, the green slashes of colour on Luongo's pads, the gaudiness of it all detracts from me watching the game. This coupled with the fact that we were coming off an embarrassing 40-2 loss and probably wouldn't fare any better tonight, made the Red Sox blow out that much more favourable. Never again will I doubt playoff ball, even if it is a complete pasting.

So I switched back, saw the Red Sox do their thing and then watched the Rockies/D-backs Game 2.

And yet again another tilt. Another perfect, thoroughly entertaining, edge of your seat thriller. The shit deserved an Oscar. Mind you, I tuned in sporadically as I was getting shelled at the bar, the night was ludicrously busy. But when things finally did start to slow down, and I was able to hunker down and truly pay heed, I was once again on the edge of my Bell ExpressVu.

Rockies pitcher, Jimenez, pitched out of a bases loaded jam to preserve the 2-1 lead. Arizona could't answer. Inning after inning. It seemed like a lock when they get to the ninth and Colorado Closer, Corpas, came on.

And finally proved he was human. He hit a batter, which resulted in a run being scored. Game tied. Extras.

And unbelievably, D-backs closer, Darth Valverde suffered a similar meltdown, only worse. After intentionally loading the bases, he walked in the winning run. The Sith Lord defeated. By himself no less!!! The expression on his face looked exactly like Darth Maul's in Episode I when Obi Wan, from out of nowhere, up and slices him in half. This was Valverde tonight.

And after that you knew that the D-borg could not answer.

Every night I watch this Rockies squad thinking "When will the wheels fall off? Tonight must be the night. And every night they stun me. Has someone in their front office made a Faustian deal with Beelzebub?? In 2-5 games we will see.

This team is like a Nintendo game from the '80's. Similar to Mario and his cronies, you know the Rockies will just keep plugging away, always making it to the next level, sometimes finding a warp zone, until they reach the end bosses, Manny and Papi.

But will they have enough extra lives?

Garbage

Here is what is not garbage about the Rockies' win over the D-backs in Game 1 of the NLCS:

1. Jeff Francis repping Vancity (ok...South Delta to be exact), out dueling Arizona Ace Brandon Webb by going a strong 6 2/3, striking out 4 and allowing 1 earned run. Not to mention laying down a sweet bunt which helped to manufacture a run. Hey...the NL has a pretty good game going there. Seeing Manny and Pappy smack bombs every night is great and all, but sometimes a little small ball is pretty ok.

2. The controversial call made by second base ump, Larry Vanover, in which he awarded the Rockies a double play, when he called interferance on Justin Upton's hard slide to second to break up said double play. On first glance the call looked completely bogus, just a hard aggressive slide, but the TV replay showed what the rest of us missed. Interference indeed. And Vanover didn't miss it.

This just goes to show, once again, the eagle eye of MLB umps. The amount of calls these field bossmen get right, and close calls at that, is astounding. I sometimes wonder if they have bionic retinal implants. If anyone ever uses the phrases "professional baseball" and "video review" in the same sentence, smack them. Immediately.

3. Rockies Skipper Clint Hurdle, who looks like the ultimate hockey dad. He probably has a li'l tyke in snowflakes, twins in bantams and a daughter in the girl's league. The family has a MONSTER sized cabin at the lake with a fleet of brand new ski-doos in the front yard.





Hey Braden!! Fire up the new Arctic Cat!!!







4. Jay's catcher, Greg Zaun manning the desk with Jamie Campbell between innings on Sportsnet. Well spoken with solid insights. Sure TBS in the States has baseball icons, Cal Ripken Jr. and Frank Thomas, but I could think of worse guys to have for the Canadian feed other than Zaun. Like Rick "The Temp" Campenelli.

Here is what is garbage about Game 1:

1. Justin Upton staring down Francis after being hit by a wild pitch. Like he wanted to put you on base you retard.

2. Eric Byrnes. I've never been able to stomach this guy. Even back when he was on the A's. If he's not pissing you off by strutting around like some Ivy League frat boy, he's routinely showing up "The Best Damn Sports Show Period" bro-ing down and cracking wise the "Dibbs" and the guys as they affectionately call him "Byrnesy." If someone doesn't put and end to this lunacy we might have lines such as this this coming over the Arizona loudspeaker:

"Starting at second base for the Diamondbacks, Byrnesy!"

Or Greg Zaun might comment on the heads up base running by Byrnesy.

This has already gone too far. Byrnesy has become the Ryan Seacrest of MLB.

3. Garbage being thrown by the Arizona fans onto the field after Upton's questionable slide. Actually this isn't that bad. Who would've thought the sunny climes of the desert would inspire such hooliganism? I would expect this from Phillies fans, but Diamondbacks fans? What will they do if they win?

Never Mind The Leafs...

...Here's the Vancouver Canucks. The only thing good about the 8-2 drubbing we took at the hands of Philly is that I have three Flyers on my fantasy team. It got so bad that even Kruk laced up for the Broad St. Bullies this eve. And scored. If you don't know who Kruk is, highlight, google and brace yourself.

A quiet night.

Cycling through the satellite channels on the job tonight, I had a choice of two contests. First and foremost...

..meet the Chicago Cubs of the NHL, the Toronto Maple Leafs. A classic franchise, playing in a huge market, that perpetually and inevitably underwhelms. Yet, will never suffer from attendance problems. Ever.

The Leafs playing the Carolina Hurricanes tonight looked like they could've been beaten by the Oaktown Dangler's Snowflake Squad of '93. I'm not kidding. They were piss. A 7-1 paper bagger. I could've scored on Toskala from my bar in Vancouver. Forget about the Stanley Cup that the whole of Southern Ontario has been waiting for for 40 years. If this franchise has a hope in hell of making the playoffs in the next few years they are going to have to somehow contract the league back to six teams.

Flip to...

....NBA preseason action in Spain!!!???? Featuring The Memphis Grizzlies (uuuugghhhh) vs hometown heroes Unijaca???!!! And Unijaca wins !!!!???? After this, I'm happy this squad left town.

Just give us a few years after Nash retires and inevitably comes home to roost. In which he'll bring an expansion squad of fresh faced play meisters and dunk masters to the lower mainland, who will win ring after ring after ring after ring.

It will be gross. Jay Z, Paul Wall and Nelly will all want to take up residence in Van. Larry Bird will want to set up coaching clinics here. Hoosiers 4 starring Gene Hackman's illegitimate son will be filmed here.

And we will probably seen an NBA Championship in Vancouver before the Leafs see a Stanley Cup.

So Long Joe...

Ding dong the witch is dead again.

Another Division Series defeat for the Yanks tonight. This time at the hands of the Indians. 6-4 was the final. This just doesn't get old. The posterity shots of the somber players in the dugout and the long faced fans do nothing to inspire the remotest iota of sympathy from me. This is an organization that has 26 World Series Titles, scores more playoff appearances and division titles, and boasts a bank account that rivals many 3rd World Nations. If they don't win the World Series for another 263 years they will still probably hold the record for most number of Championships.

Not a shred of sympathy.

Who I will feel bad for is Yanks skipper, Joe Torre, who despite steering the evil ship, is a complete class act. If he gets fired by The Boss, Steinbrenner that not only would be bad for baseball, it would be reprehensible.

Here are some stats that I jacked from ESPN.com re: Torres' tenure as Yankees manager and "unacceptable" playoff record.

Observe the ludicrousness:

First 5 Years

1996 92-70 Won WS
1997 96-66 Lost ALDS
1998 114-48 Won WS
1999 98-64 Won WS
2000 87-74 Won WS
Avg. wins/season 97

Last 7 Years

2001 95-65 Lost WS
2002 103-58 Lost ALDS
2003 101-61 Lost WS
2004 101-61 Lost ALCS
2005 95-67 Lost ALDS
2006 97-65 Lost ALDS
2007 94-68 Lost ALDS
Avg. wins/season 98


Ok, lets look at this for a second like a normal baseball fan and not a Yankees fan. This record is stunning. Sure he hasn't won the World Series in 7 years, the Cubs haven't won it in 100. Name me one other manager that can boast 13 straight playoff appearances with 4 World Series Titles?

Ok, let's make it easier. Name me a manager that has 6 straight playoff appearances with 2 World Series titles.

Can't do it?

Of course you can't.

With all of the divine intervention surrounding playoff ballgames as of late, I am lead to believe that if the Boss cans Joe, he will doom the Yanks to a Title drought that will last 263 years.

And I won't mind one bit.

Like I Said...

...there's no other way this can shake down. None. Sox/Yanks American League Championship Series. The Red Sox did their part today by sealing the deal in Anaheim. A 9-1 bash fest which resulted in them clinching the series. Schilling, as always, pitched like a PhD, and even the once dominant-but-now-really-shakey, Mascouche Mauler, Eric Gagne, was even given the ball in the ninth. Sure he gave up a run, but it didn't matter. Even he couldn't blow a 9-0 lead and as a result the Red Sox are now headed back to the grand AL Dance.

And we all know that there's only one worthy partner.

Yes, the Yanks were down 2-0, in the best of 5, and have now made it a series at 2-1. You know that they weren't going to lose tonight at home , in THE STADIUM. Just wasn't going to happen.

You knew that the pinstripes weren't going to let their beloved Skipper, Joe Torre walk the plank tonight, as his job was publicly put on the line by everyone's favourite lunatic owner and Seinfeld stalwart, George Steinbrenner.

So if you need another reason to hate the Yanks think about this. Joe Torre, who although he is a Yank, is the Patron Saint Of Managers was publicly called out by The Boss. Steinbrenner pretty much stating that if the game/series was lost tonight, Torre would be on his way out. Some pundits think that this was a ploy by Steinbrenner. I say this:

Give Joe some fucking respect.

This is a guy that has lead the Yankees to the playoffs every fucking year he has managed it, and who's reward is being called out like some scrubby, under-performing third line from some scrubby Southeastern NHL team?

Absolutely disgraceful and if I were a Yanks fan I would be walking around with a paper bag over my head. Even if...(who are we kidding?) WHEN they bounce back and beat Cleveland to advance to the ALCS versus the Sox.

Like I said...

If he's such a terrible manager, we'll gladly take him in T.O.

NL = No Luck For Two Squads

There was no joy at Wrigley...

A first pitch jack. First. Pitch. I just I fired up the ol' Mauler here and Diamondborg player 6 of 9 has just doubled to second. Top of one. None out. I sense bad things....

...let's see how this shakes down...

...(watching)

...(watching)

....aaaand not so well. Arizona 5. Chicago 1. FINAL. SERIES OVER. ONCE AGAIN. RUNNING TALLY: BILLY GOAT: 437. CHICAGO CUBS: 0 SINCE '08. IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THE BILLY GOAT IS, HIGHLIGHT AND GOOGLE PROMPTLY.

Maybe if the unthinkable would've happened and Sweet Lou would've granted Kerry Wood starter status for day, we'd be seeing a Game 4 tomorrow. Wood looked ready to roll...

But for now all Cubs fans can say is the same thing they've been saying for 100 years:

"Maybe next year...."

Let's see what's going in Rocks/Phills Game 3...

....and what's happened here? The lights have just gone out at Coors Field in Denver?!!! Like I said last night. Baseball Dieties. Having a lark. Perhaps even on the piss. The Spouse, who is watching alongside me, just compared Denver to The Hellmouth aka the town of Sunnyvale, California from "Buffy The Vampire Slayer". A burgh that acted as the portal between the Earthly plain and the warmer real estate of Hades in the series. I swear she just came up with this analogy on her own. She wasn't reading what I was writing. Dieties on the piss I tell you.

...and the lights are back on. Let's see how this shakes down. I am predicting a questionable Phills victory.

...(watching)

...(watching)

....(harsh winds. Giving more credence to my divine intervention theory. I am actually scared to watch the World Series now. Petrified.)

...and we have a winner!! Rockies 2. Phillies 1. Series over.

Wow. A double header sweep. First the Cubs, now the Phills. Broom and dustpan. The purists' dream for a National League Championship between these two teams has evaporated faster than you can say Bartma-...or Wild Thi-.

This NLCS looks more like a recent Stanley Cup Contest with upstart squads squaring off instead of classic clubs. Who knows may Rod Brind'Amour and the Carolina Hurricanes will show up for batting practice...

...And From The Jake Came A Plague Of Locusts

This is why I love baseball. You would never see a swarm of bugs descend on a hockey rink, biting and pestering the players to the extent that it would cost one of the teams the game winning goal. In the playoffs.

Not so in Jacobs Field this eve as smoke throwing upstart Yanks reliever, Joba Chamberlain threw a wild pitch to allow the Tribe's Grady Sizemore to score, tying the excruciatingly close game. The TV closeup beforehand of Chamberlain's insect occupied neck looked like something out of some 3rd rate horror film from the '70s. Or the Old Testament. If this isn't a direct sign from the Baseball Gods that they enjoy meddling in the affairs of men, I don't know what is.

And how about another thrilling extra innings ending to a game this fall? This time Travis Hafner knocking in the winning run for the Tribe to put Cleveland up 2-0 in the series. Splendid.

One thing I will never get tired of watching: A-Rod tanking in the post season as the entire Yanks squad play as if they have been sprayed with Ring Repellant. It appears that after their epic '04 collapse to the Red Sox, they are The Major's newest cursed team. The Gods have spoken. When locusts show up to the ball field and cost you a key run, and eventually the game, you don't question. You know. Your time is up.



Flip to Fenway where even more hi-jinx were afoot. Where 17-year-old Danny Vinik, sitting in the ground level stands, actually pulled a pop fly out of the glove of Halos catcher Jeff Mathis, keeping Sox Slugger Manny Ramirez alive at the plate. Alive enough to watch 4 straight Balls and walk to first. And then watch the next batter, Mike Lowell, hit a sac fly tying the score at 3 a piece. This wackiness is usually the stuff that goes against Boston, but after '04 (and as I stated above re: Yanks) the curse has not been reversed. It has traversed.

Another thing I will never get tired of watching, the Red Sox hitting timely post season walk off jacks. I recently mentioned Trot Nixon's blast to cap off the Skip and I's Tremblay beer soaked triple header marathon of '03. That jack being the only thing that went right for us in baseball land that day.

When I get around to writing my colossal saga that was the '04 playoffs, there will be two chapters dedicated to Big Papi himself, David Ortiz, and his otherworldly knack for smashing game ending bombs that year. That's the kind of shit scribes write poetry about so that school kids in jet boots 100 years from now have something to "ooooh an aaahhh" over. That shit is Lore.

So much so that mighty Papi's plate prowess was feared tonight by the Angels, so they walked him intentionally in the bottom of the ninth. Which opened the door for the equally dangerous, dreadlocked Manny Ramirez to crack the jack that you knew was coming. Final score from Fenway: Bosox 6. Angels 3. Boston up 2-0 in the series.

At work, we all crowded around the timely television, patrons and staff, ball fans and soon-to-be ball fans, and bore witness to the Grand Ju-Ju that is October baseball.















The Authors of "How To Hit A Post Season Walk Off Bomb"

Day Of The Rout

"IT'S CLOBBERIN' TIME!!!"

Did The Thing and The Incredible Hulk suit up for the Indians and Rockies respectively?

The Tribe laying a 12-3 smack down on the Yanks that would floor even Galactus. Talk about a Yankee spankee.

The Rockies, not to be outdone, hurling millions of tons of granite at the Phillies in a 10-5 drubbing. The display resembling issue #4 of "Marvel Superheroes Secret Wars" in which the Hulk had to lift up an entire mountain that had been dropped on him and his pajama clad campadres by Dr. Doom and the dastardly Molecule Man. Classic.






"HULK SMASH PUNY PHILLIES WITH MOUNTAIN!!!"










Not forgetting the Cubs getting assimilated 8-4 by the DiamondBorg. A predictable predicament. There was, however, one lone bright spot in this game that came in the sixth and seventh innings. Let me hearken back to a conversation the Skip and I had a few years ago.

The Skip: "You know what makes me sad?"

Me: "What's that?"

The Skip: "Mark Prior and Kerry Wood."

Indeed. Prior and Wood were hailed as the Jedi Padawan Proteges that would bring balance to Wrigley Field with their off the charts ability to wield the force. Except that they never got to the Battle of Naboo because they were always landing in the Cubs infirmary with chronic injuries. Wood, who pitched a one hit 20-strikeout shutout in his fifth start in the bigs back in '98, would never fully realize his full potential.

Yet, there he was looking like an old battle worn Jedi when he took the hill in the sixth, sporting an Obi Wan beard. For two innings he dazzled the galaxy once again closing the blast doors. Decisively.

Unfortunately though it wouldn't be enough tonight and won't be enough in Game/Episode 3 when the trilogy will sadly end once again for the Chicago faithful.

Scary Checklist

I know Halloween is still weeks away, yet I feel a certain chill in the air... I have witnessed many frightening phenomena on this, the first day of the '07 Playoffs:

1. That I am watching my third game of the day (currently Cubs/D-Backs, bottom of the 2nd) thanks to the television, timely installed at my work last week. I managed to take in Game 1's of both Rocks/Phills and BoSox/Halos back to back. The last time I took part in such a marathon was in Montreal in '03 watching a triple header with the Skip drinking coffee after coffee. Which graduated to beer after beer. Which morphed into case after case. By the time Trot Nixon cracked a walk off jack to cap off the BoSox win over the A's at what felt like 11 billion O'clock we somehow both summoned our last remnants of giddeeyap to trot down to the local saloon. Yikes.

2. Phillies fans. The volume remains off on the timely television at work. Yet even muted, the Philly Phaithful scare the Phuck out of me. Like if you were walking through one of their tailgate parties you would see a Mets fan spit roasting in the middle of the parking lot amongst roving packs of amped up Phills Tribesman. Random signs and t-shirts that read "Kruk 3:16" would also pop up. If you don't know who Kruk is just highlight the name, Google and brace yourself.

3. Josh Beckett. How about twirling a complete game shutout for the Sox in Game 1 vs the Angels? How about it's the first time he's pitched in the post season since slamming the door on the Yanks to win the World Series in '03? How about he makes it look easier than spitting Skoal? How about he's only 27 and could quite possibly add enough rings to make a full fist of World Series bling? About as untouchable as Jason Vorhees in the Friday the 13th franchise.

4. Cubs Skipper, Lou Pinella.

5. The Arizona Diamondbacks. They look like that team. A squad of no names, that according to TBS, came in last in practically every stat in the National League including Runs Scored and Runners In Scoring Position. Yet somehow they managed to garner home field advantage by claiming the best record in said League. Like the television at work, they are timely. A collection of no names who move like a well trained Navy Seal Unit, who all take turns chipping in to manufacture wins in key situations. Teams like this, more often then not, go on to win the World Series. I don't know why this is, but it is. The Diamondbacks are an unrelenting faceless collective like The Borg or those pesky pod motherfuckers from "Invasion Of The Body Snatchers". Regarding this team, I am more than mildly concerned.

6. Carlos Zambrano. Sometimes the word "fiery" when used to describe a pitcher, can imply a sense of competitiveness that is so passionate and unparallelled that it immediately translates into said pitcher's performance being perenially solid. ie. Roger Clemens. Other times it can be a warning sign that the pitcher's internal combustion engine (which has up to this point has served him so well) is about to reach critical mass. Meaning only one thing: that a meltdown is not only probable, but imminent. It is in this category I would place Zambrano. This is a guy that during the regular season, punched out his own catcher in the dugout. He looks like he would be more at home tossing cartoon canon balls to Bugs Bunny in a Warner Bros classic rather than trying to garner a strike out against Borg Diamondback Player #3 0f 9. If "Space Jam 2" ever gets made, I vote for Zambrano to play the villian.

7. The Cubs pulling Carlos Zambrano in the 7th (who's not doing so bad actually in Game 1 that I'm watching as I write) in favour of Carlos Mar-(as I'm typing his last name, faceless D-Back 5 0f 9, cracks a solo jack for Arizona. I'm not kidding)-mol. 2-1 for the Borg. I sense the end. I don't know...I have the Spider Sense of a Cubs fan. I can just tell when the ivy's going to hit the fan. Oh look. It's now 3-1.

8. Jose Valverde coming on for the D-backs to close. He is described by TBS as being "emotional like Zambrano." By the look in his eye, he looks possessed. Demonic even. Yet focused... harnessing the power of the Darkside in the same ungodly fashion as Darth Maul. I feel he will shut the door decisively. And go on to make a name for himself game by game so that when he reaches Game 7 of the World Series he will have his own video game and fragrance. Which will smell like brimstone.

9. The fact that although Darth Valverde has just sealed the deal, and this third game of the triple header has just finished (DiamondBorg 3. Cubs 1.), I could actually watch another.








Which of these images most gives you the heebeegeebees?

All Quiet On The Western Front...

....
.....
......

I feel like it's that scene in the historical battle flick where the cinematographer earns his pay cheque by panning across the picturesque plain. A serene field that will inevitably and ironically serve as a gory, blood soaked battlefield in the following minutes of screen time.

And then some buzzard, or eagle, or lark, or flock of, darts across the screen...

And Hark! I think hear said feathered harbinger's stereotypical screech now!

Eerie and foreboding it's shrill cry announces!

That if the coming NHL season will be "The Last Samurai", the MLB playoffs will most definitely be "Braveheart".

Carlos Zambrano, face painted Chicago Cub blue, brandishing a crude Celtic weapon as he takes the hill tomorrow in Game 1 is NOT out of the question...

Punching The Clocktober

A management shift in the front office of the restaurant at which I am employed, has resulted in the timely addition of a monster flat screen TV. Installed at the bar which I routinely patrol.

How timely was this addition?

So timely that I was able to catch the entire 13 inning Rockies/Padres tie breaking tilt determining the 2007 National League Wild Card. A contest that's 4:30 pm PST first pitch seamlessly coincided with my own shift's start time. Now that's a ticket I'll gladly punch.

And what a ticket it was. Just epic. A grand slam, an overturned jack, a blown save, extra innings, a top of the 13th two run jack, an answer to said jack in the bottom of the 13th, and a mad dash to the plate to score the winning run. All taking place in the Rockies' home park and all capping off a 14 out of 15 game win streak. This gargantuan come from behind drive from Colorado in the final weeks of the regular season actually made the Red Sox '04 ALCS push of coming back from 0-3 seem paltry in comparison. The Rocks, in essence, have come back from 0-11.

So, if you haven't heard me utter these words before, pay heed now, because as I said last night, I believe that we're in for a baseball display so grand the Gods Of The Infield themselves are rolling up their sleeves and grabbing mountain sized hunks of Skoal to prepare.

To reassert my feelings on the subject of said sport set afield after September:

I FUCKING LOVE OCTOBER BASEBALL.

The Maniwaki October Surveyor

3:23 am PST. That officially makes it Oct 1. So with out sliding headfirst into a very grimy diatribe, (plenty and I mean plenty of those to come) let's just take a second, kick back and survey this very, very interesting playoff landscape. If you have a beer, I suggest you crack it. If you are brewing a pot of coffee, I suggest you grab your favourite mug and fill that baby up.

If you are smoking, I suggest you quit. But wait at least a month...

Let's assess.

1. What the fuck do they put in the water in Denver? HGH? Bags of spinach? Who would've thought The Rockies would've taken formation like the lads in "300" and marched to an 11-1 campaign at the end of September???!!! Thus forcing a one game playoff tomorrow to decide the Wild Card against:

2. San Diego. Who could've clinched said WC berth by winning yesterday and/or two days ago. The same squad, who Saturday night was up by a run in the ninth vs Milwaukee almost assuring another trip to the post season, was thwarted by Tony Gwynn Jr.!!!! The Son Of Mr. Padre himself acted as the catalyst laying the smack down off uber closer Trevor Hoffman in the Pad's late inning collapse. This would be akin to Wayne Gretzky's kid lacing up for the Blue Jackets and lighting the lamp in OT vs the Oil. In which the Oil would need a win to make the post season. At least SD has another kick at the can tomorrow. Unlike:


3. The Mets that Shets their Stadium. I have witnessed Space Shuttle explosions that are less horrifying. Two weeks ago they were a lock to win the Div, up 7 games with 17 to go. But not so fast. Why don't you go on an epic losing streak, puking up the last remnants of the bitter apple on the final day of the season? Not that I feel bad for them, to lose big you also need those to win big. Namely:

4. Those dirty Phills. Finally put it together and made the post season, stealing the NL East from The Mets. The first time playing in October since a certain year that ends with the numbers "9" and "3" as well as a Monster World Series clinching Jack by Jumpin' Joe.

Hey let's just take a look at that one one more time:



Nope. Never gets old. Not like:


5. The Chicago Cubs. A squad older than dirt. Older than rind. Older than dirty rind. We know they won't win. We know that they'll bring everyone along on an emotional roller coaster until at least the NLCS. And not the shitty, rickety, travelling Exhibition brand of coaster. I mean one of those suped up Six Flags doom rockets. Just when we all think the Cubs will finally win their first World Series since 1908, something cosmically inane will happen. I don't know, maybe the ivy at Wrigley will come to life and rob Derek Lee of a jack sailing over the wall. Even maybe eating said ball. I know I won't be surprised in the least when that happens. Exactly like:

6. I am not surprised by the entire card of American League's entrants into this year's Fall Tourney. Sox/Yanks ALCS. We know this already. The Angels and Indians should really just do us all a favour and at least make it interesting by throwing their B squads up in their respective Division Series. "Starting at second base for The Cleveland Indians, Asdrubal Cabrera." Who doesn't want to see this?

I do. As I feel that this Oct. should be a good one. Hopefully making up for the clunkers we've had to endure the last couple of years.

Hey let's look at that Carter Jack again!