Houston: The city of goodwill

By Lynn DeBerg
Housewife

Though I'm not going to cry like that flaking makeup flake Paula Abdul, I sit here moved at the charity I've seen today in the National Football League. A lot has gone on in the past year in the ravaged city of New Orleans, due to the horrible aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. I have to say, my eyes did well with tears as I watched the people flee from their city nearly a year ago, many to Houston in nearby Texas.

It wasn't easy for the Astrodome Capital of the World to bear these domestic immigrants, to integrate thousands of new people into their workforce and residencies. And yet, you never heard the mayor of Houston complaining, or the people demanding that these New Orleanseans go somewhere else. And now, you see Houston reaching out to New Orleans once again.

I just think it's so nice.

Rather than taking that freak of nature Reggie Bush, possibly the most exciting college football player in more than a decade, Houston owner Bob McNair elected to pass, instead taking North Carolina State defensive end Mario Williams with the first pick of the NFL Draft. Pundits howled that McNair was throwing up smokescreens when he said he might not choose Bush out of Southern Cal, and everyone just assumed Bush would be first and New Orleans could settle for sloppy seconds.

But McNair is a true humanitarian. When news of the flood broke, we searched our house high and low for ways to help, and we donated several bags of Chee-tos, dog food and Slim Fast milk shakes. I even forced my son Timothy to donate some CDs. This guy, though, makes me look like I barely tried.

He offered to take something less while New Orleans was permitted to collect the boost it needed. Bush will give hope to the thousand of displaced citizens, re-energize a city and bring the sports spotlight to the Superdome. Houston, meanwhile, will continue to have arid weather and oil derricks while David Carr and his beautiful face continue to get sliced and diced.

It warms your heart, really.

McNair obviously knew that highly drafted running backs have the highest success rate among positions, and defensive ends have the worst success rate. He knew that while Williams will have a great career, he'll always be seen as the "dude they chose over Reggie Bush." Clearly, the scenes of flood, Kanye West infomercials, FEMA whoopsies and slew of aid from all corners of the globe has impacted McNair.

I love older men with a conscience. Come to think of it, I also love men with smooth skin and diamond stud earrings like Reggie. And that organized crime family he has certainly adds an element of intrigue. Is he single? Just curious.

Chris Berman reminds me of my first boss when I was secretary at a law firm ... the one who tried to hit on me while his breath reeked of beer and muenster cheese.

In defense of No. 8

By The Count
Can you count to three?

AH AH AH, welcome sports fans! As I'm sure many of you know, I'm an arithmomaniac. That means whenever I see numbers, I can't help counting, AH AH AH! A few days ago, I was looking through the NBA news over at ESPN.com and I saw a story about Kobe Bryant looking to change his uniform number as early as next season.

Of course, this sent me into a counting rage. I counted my teacups, I counted my gothy candles, I counted the hairs in my widow's peak, I counted my ex wives and when I was finally done with all that, I settled down and pondered why a man would change the most important number in his life. Well, the most important number besides three (the number of NBA rings he has), 4,000,000, (the number of dollars he spent on his wife's "sorry" ring) and four-to-life.

Eight is a wonderful number! AH, AH, AH! It's the number of bits in a byte, it's a power of two, it's the atomic number of oxygen (that's pretty important, AH, AH!) and it's the number of legs on a spider.

It's also a very attractive number aesthetically: Its winding nature suggests the infinite talent and wisdom of the man who has grown to embody it. And if Kobe leaves eight behind, the only eight we'll have left in the NBA is that assclown Antoine Walker. And while I thought that old Adidas commercial with him as "Employee No. 8" ("I make baskets," what a great line, AH, AH, AH!) was good, let's face it: He's not half the octal embassador Kobe is.

Though I do appreciate that the new number he's considering taking -- 24 -- is still divisible by eight, I believe Kobe would be making a big mistake in switching numbers. Not to mention I'd have to go buy a new jersey to stay current. I guess it'd be worth it if my Lakers crush the shit out of those smarmy Suns, though. What I wouldn't give to throw on my purple and gold and shake my blood-sucking fanny in front of Grover. Bitch won't shut up about how they're this "team of destiny" and how great they are even without their starting power forward and how Steve Nash is like Cousy squared (No. 14 squared is 196 ... dammit, there I go again). I'll show that blue bastard what's up at the Finals when I moon him from my seat in the Staples Center. AH, AH AH!

Old Murph's mock NFL draft

By Murphy Kramer
Punters win championships

Coach Murphy Kramer is the head football coach at Plano Horizons High School in Plano, Ohio. His Fighting Broncos have a 16-68 mark in his nine seasons at the helm, including a 1-8 mark last season

Nothing gets my blood pumping in the morning like the sunrise, a good cup of Folgers coffee, maybe a little hanky panky with the old lady and the NFL Draft. Only once a year does this beautiful creature come into my den, where it consumes me over the next 12 hours of my life (I like the second half of round one as well, but usually I hit the hay before that). Last-second judgments are made that determine many years' worth of success or failure.

Without further ado, I present my scouting reports and mock top 10 for this year's main event.

1. Houston Texans - Reggie Bush, RB, USC
Drawing comparisons to the great running backs of all time, like Sayers, Dickerson and Natrone Means ... can shift on a dime with exceptional foot speed and explosive ability ... capable of kick-returning with the best of them ... experienced endless success with National Championship program ... a better pass receiver than most of his contemporaries, could serve as a wideout with his skills ... high character, got more than half right on the Wunderlich ... shifty, with his feet and with his eyes as he explains how he wasn't involved in this whole house scandal business ... anyone who can generate the headline "Bush facing probe" is OK by me ... a guaranteed superstar if the Texans pass on him, and looking at serviceable success if they take him ... will be filthy rich.

2. New Orleans Saints - D'Brickashaw Ferguson, OT, Virginia
Probably will make Paul Tagliabue giggle with glee when he gets to say "D'Brickashaw" on the podium ... graduated from Virginia in 3 1/2 years, demonstrating his intelligence; athletic, surprisingly strong for his size, will have trouble holding 300 pounds and thus seems grossly undersized for someone in top-five consideration ... will probably be more comfortable around 260 pounds ... the boy doesn't eat three meals a day at Wendy's like most offensive linemen, cut him some goddamned slack ... God I could go for a Frostee.

3. Tennessee Titans - Matt Leinart, QB, USC
Beautiful system quarterback with a great smile, good arm and mechanics ... probably bisexual, not that I'd mind, I'd do him ... fantastic ability to see the open field ... intelligent with 35 on Wunderlich ... Wunderlich indeed ... questions about his ability to handle pressure and his accuracy for a quarterback without immense velocity on delivery ... gets more tail than a confident squirrel at an acorn convention.

4, New York Jets - Mario Williams, DE, NC State
Jets will be looking for franchise-defining player that will build prominence for a new regime ... may thus trade up to obtain Leinart and aid in treacherous quarterback situation ... Williams a superior pass rusher with sundry moves for someone at the college level ... not as explosive as a current Pro Bowlers such as Dwight Freeney but still very capable ... questions about his desire and occasional knack for taking plays off ... shares a name with video game icon ... no relation.

5. Green Bay Packers - A.J. Hawk, LB, Ohio State
If he cut his long hair, he wouldn't look like such a Faggity-Andy ... great skills across the board without weaknesses, though no one area of sheer dominance ... consistent player who accelerates well ... possible questions about play strength ... Isn't he dating some really hot chick? ... Packers, looking for someone who can be a greater distraction than Brett Favre, may choose Vince Young instead ... Packers have had success with OSU linebackers, most recently Na'il Diggs ... One gets the feeling Hawk would fit in just fine with the Wisconsinites and their beer.

6. San Francisco 49ers - Michael Huff, CB, Texas
Hardly anyone threw his direction in college, so his pass defending abilities are judged on limited evidence ... average tackling ability and instincts, but a versatile competitor who can play both safety spots ... will see a lot of action on the field along with rest of defense while Alex White examines cloud patterns from his backside in stadiums across the country ... Haha, the 49ers suck.

7. Oakland Raiders - Vince Young, QB, Texas
Built well at 6-4, 228 and yet the fastest quarterback in the draft class by far ... two-time Rose Bowl MVP who has succeeded on a high level with amazing individual effort ... dad in prison, which screams volumes about his potential character ... scouts worry about his ability to manage a complex offense, because the dude is an idiot ... Oakland owner Al Davis, who lost his mind in 1996 and has remained clinically insane ever since, is said to be enamored with Young, probably because neither one of them can read.

8. Buffalo Bills - Haloti Ngata, DT, Oregon
Big bad Samoan dude looks fierce in his headshot ... early entry who has vast ability to chase down ball-carriers from sideline to sideline ... scouts worry about his consistency and ability to get into shape ... suffers from mental lapses and loses focus despite immense physical talent ... is named "Haloti," which sounds like a Native American princess ... incredibly strong, just like every other college-level defensive lineman.

9. Detroit Lions - Pass.
Matt Millen, stuck in the can with diarrhea thanks to some bad pre-draft nachos, will be unavailable to select in the alotted time.

10. Arizona Cardinals - Jay Cutler, QB, Vanderbilt
Played for one of the shittiest teams in America and still managed to get four wins out of his senior season ... great athlete with a strong arm, though technique needs work ... lacks dreaminess of Matt Leinart ... a combine talent who had little fanfare until post-season workouts ... intelligent and capable of taking over games ... will have good wideouts to work with in Arizona, and club may choose to select tight end Vernon Davis to continue establishing an unstoppable passing game ... Arizona will suck until the end of time no matter what.

I'm Keith Hernandez

By Keith Hernandez
I wear cleats

Hello, I'm Keith Hernandez.

Some of you may remember me from my days playing with the Mets, when I won the 1979 MVP award, or when I won two World Series with the team. I have more than 2,000 career hits, and a lifetime average of .296. And for those of you who find defensive prowess to be sexy, I'm an 11-time Gold Glove winner. Top that, Steve Garvey.

I also did a two-episode cameo on Seinfeld a few years back. I dated Elaine and called George a "chucker."

But enough about me. Let's talk about you out there. Are you a man? That's great. Glad to hear it. Are you a woman? Well, if you are, please get out of the dugout. You have no place there.

A lot of people are upset with me because I voiced those exact sentiments on-air during a game this past Saturday. After former gay Met Mike Piazza hit a home run, my eyes spied him giving a high-five to a raven-haired woman in the Padres dugout. Naturally, I was stunned. Not only because Piazza actually hit a dinger, but because he was celebrating with someone who had a vagina. In the dugout.

Now let me say that I'm all for "celebration" with women. After all, I'm Keith Hernandez. Say you have a big game -- by all means, live it up. Knock out two homers and drive in four one hot evening in Philadelphia? Take a buxom young blonde back to your hotel room and ring her liberty bell. Then let her make you a stack of pancakes and dust off your furniture. That's how it's done.

But please, don't engage in such tomfoolery while in the dugout. The dugout is a place for baseball talk, sporting gumption, tobacco chewing and sunflower seed spitting. It's where men adjust their genitalia and scratch that itch on their ass that just won't go away. A dugout is a sacred place. Its rugged steps are for cheering, the benches for lounging and the bat racks for idle talk about the opposing pitcher's two-seamer. And his wife.

Don't get me wrong. Women certainly have their place. Like I said, take them to your hotel room. Let them use your kitchen to cook meals for you. Hell, even let them use your bathroom to shower if you're feeling generous.

But they don't belong in certain places. The dugout is one of those places. So are board rooms, school administrative positions, executive offices, on stage as stand up comedians, in the military, in manual labor positions, as college professors, newsrooms, on Wall Street, any sort of engineering position, steel mills, scientists, airline pilots, Web development, the auto industry and book publishing.

So please, women, just get out of the dugout. You don't belong there. Would a man ever try to infiltrate your sewing circle or your weekly baking club? How about your frequent bitch-and-moan-about-everything-and-eat-a-pint-of-Haagen-Daas sessions? I don't think so. And if we did, you'd be just as upset as I am. We know our limits. Now you need to learn yours.

Thank you for your time. Until next time, I'm Keith Hernandez.

I yearn for the past (but that's nothing new)

By Harvey McGuffin
I remember when ...

An event happened yesterday that took me back to a better time, a better place, a better state of mind.

Gone was the talk of steroids, potential asterisks on home run records, any images of Astros pitcher Ezekial Astacio and quibbles over revenue sharing. Instead, in my head, was a simple tune.

Doo Doo DooDoo Doo, Doo Doo DooDoo Doo, Doo Doo DooDoo Doo, Doo DooDooDooDooDooDooDooDoo.

That's the sound of RBI baseball on Nintendo, you punks.

Julio Franco, older than I am and still hitting baseballs out of ballparks, became the oldest man to ever homer in a game when his 47-year-old eternally-young-because-of-voodoo corpse went yard for the New York Mets. He should be collecting social security and taking Sunday drives with his wife down to the flea market, preventing me from speeding up beyond 25 miles per hour on a 35 mph one-lane backroad. But instead, he is showing whippersnappers who weren't even born when he started playing how it's done.

But here he is, a Tuck Everlasting relic from the days of yore, when everyone was small, white, stocky and caught the ball by raising their hands to the sky and praying for the best. It was a time when every struck ball -- fair or foul -- sounded like the highest key of a xylophone. Fans cheered for you no matter which team you played for. And there weren't so many goddamned teams at all! Just eight of them, all good ones.

I remember the way it felt to see Vince Coleman fly up the first base line, unstoppable unless the ball was hit directly to the second baseman. I remember the way Jack Clark was guaranteed to hit a homer with runners on base, or the way nobody could touch a Bobby Grelts fastball. I loved the way players cried and acted momentarily stunned as they committed an error or the way every outfielder scampered with his little legs, showing teamwork with his other fielders as they moved in concert toward the direction of the musical baseball.

This was the golden era. Julio Franco, bless his soul, is a staple of that era and when he dies, probably within the year, he's going to leave a gaping hole in the hearts of throwback baseball fans everywhere, like myself. We salute you Julio, for hearkening back to that time, and for not dying yet.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to prove Mrs. McGuffin wrong when she says the AL All-Stars cannot be beaten by the 1988 Boston Red Sox.

Flotsam Frank's fantasy fixes

Frank Randall, IT guy

With the increasing popularity of fantasy sports, Flotsam has decided to have Frank Randall, IT Guy, to write an occasional column that addresses reader questions relating to current issues in the fantasy sporting world. Frank is an avid fantasy sports player, having won multiple championships in all three major sports in the last five years, including a four-year run as winner of the Birmingham Internet Technicians Champions Haven (BITCH) baseball league. As always, Frank is here to help you.

I'm the owner of Johan Santana in two fantasy leagues, and he's just not producing right now. Is this the year that the league finally catches up to him, or should I be patient and stay with him? He's been a slow starter in the past, and I don't want to give up on him too early. But I also don't want to carry dead weight through the season. Help me, Frank.
-Tim Granger, Knollwood, Iowa

Tough call. This might be the year the league catches up to him, but maybe not. You may want to be patient with him since he's started slow in the league before, but maybe not. But you also don't want to carry dead weight during the season. Problem solved.

Chris Shelton has been great so far this year. He's got good minor league numbers, so it's not totally unexpected, but it seems unlikely that he's going to keep up the current pace. Should I try to sell high with him? Or do I hang on and just let him be a solid producer for me this year? Thanks Frank, love your work.
-Jason Hoffman, Billings, Montana

Shelton ripping ball cover gone currently Detroit loves work smart ethic hounding grass field dirty uniforms haha! Funny face no doubts in the hole about the first baseman has his strengths pitchers get a book may punch in the nose numbers dip force lower than rectify baby never know but don't want to see chili dip flaming so hot in the start of the year. Esophagus. Will keep going most internal likelihood just don't know expect the rates of things in selection won't stay so troposphere.

Hey Frank, I was just offered a trade in my league. I would get Jake Peavy and Manny Ramirez, and I would give up Curt Schilling, Grady Sizemore, Johnny Gomes and JJ Putz. Is it worth the loss in depth to acquire those two top-level players? It's a tough call for me, and any help would be appreciated!
-William Stern, Bakersfield, California

Laughs and giggles Putz. Solo tron what in the world with the scanner connectivity depth issue how is your bench before deciding to replace the spots you'd flagellate trade with boom shakala. Manny being Manny going to get going going gone USB port. Peavy genuine stud grilled salmon spawning Curt Schilling assbag filtered water clean up your desk would you? Just power down how are you in the steals department unassociated pathway muffins and try again before trading but overall depends on need and such

Do you have any sleeper pitcher candidates for my NL-only league? My hitting is great, but I could use a little help on some guys to target either on the wire or in trades. My league's pitching categories are wins, ERA, K/IP, WHIP and saves.
-Jerry Evans, Perth, Australia

Cleaning the drive space allowing league's deepness affects much of playing lots yellow birds rips. Many starters some slow server access denied do not ever touch that again Harang, Bannister, Davies, Williams but not a lot whipped in some sort of butter under the keyboard got to get many ratios low or high lens filter scam blotter.

Your official guide to the NBA playoffs

By Bandwagon Burt
Wind sock

There is NOTHING that parallels the NBA playoffs ... it's the SECOND SEASON with the 16 best teams out there with the BEST DAMN ATHLETES on the face of the planetoid. I am officially taking the next six months off just to watch the NBA PLAYOFFS with my lawn chair parked squarely in front of the tv screen with my beer and my SUN CHIPS. I'm also taking off because I lost my job. Don't tell my WIFE!

So who's gonna win it all?! Burt knows!

Am I feeling in the East? The Bucks take on the Pistons in what's going to be the BEST FIRST ROUND SERIES EVER featuring a top seed and the eighth seed. G'day mate! The Bucks have Aussie Andrew Bogut and he's the man with the Outback plan and they also have Michael Color Me Redd! They don't really win many games though, and Detroit is the DEFENDING CHAMPIONS A COUPLE YEARS AGO! They have masked man Rip Hamilton -- he's like the Phantom of the Palace Opera oh my god that's such a good line! -- and they have The Wallace Brothers, who grew up blocking each others' shots and now they're really good. They also have coaching genius LARRY BROWN. Or did. Anyway, Pistons in four.

The Heat play the Bulls and oh my god D-Wade was on the cover of Men's Health a few weeks ago and I couldn't take my eyes off his cover shot, the man is RIPPED and he's a LEGEND. Have you seen him take it to the hole? AND THEY HAVE SHAQ. He is still a Diesel train and he's rapping and jamming and philosophizing and he's still the main man in Miami, except for D-Wade who is a STUD FORCE. The Bulls have Andres Nocioni, who is FOREIGN and they also have Ben Gordon and some other guys. But they're SO GOOD because last I checked, Michael Jordan's statue is still outside the United Center. D-WADE! Heat in four.

The Nets won 25 games in a row or something near the end of the year and Jason Kidd averages a quadruple double, so they're in good shape when they take on the Pacers. The Pacers have a lot of heart, though, because they're playing for the late great Reggie Miller. They also have Jermaine O'Neal and CORNROWS and no more Ron Artest, who was a distraction nightmare on Elm Street. RICHARD JEFFERSON! That man has all the tools to be the next NBA MVP. I like the Nets, but I love the Pacers. Nets in six.

LeBron! LeBron! LeBron! LeBron! LeBron! Did I forget LeBron? How can the Cavaliers not win it all with the chosen one the son of god the Cleveland Cavalry LeBron James? I'll tell you how -- because the Wizards are playing some damn good basketball, led by Gilbert Arenas Rock Music! OH MY GOD nobody has thought of that before and I love it. I can hear We Will Rock You right now. Buddy you're a young man make a big noise playing in the street gonna be a big man someday, you got mud on your face you big disgrace kickin your CAN ALL OVER THE PLACE SINGING...Cavs in seven!

Go West young man! You can't underestimate the presence of RON ARTEST to the Sacramento Kings this season ... he's turned the franchise around after a bunch of losing seasons in a row. Plus he averages like 3.5 steals per game! That's AWESOME. HAIL TO THE THIEF. Okay, I guess it's only 2.18 but that's still good. Plus, the Kings have Brad Miller and some really crazy owners. But they still have to play the Spurs and Tim Duncan, who is like a quiet four-star general in an army of San Antonio marines, and they did win it all last year. Damn, though, Greggy Popovich is UGLY. They'll lose at least once because of that. Spurs in five.

Do you think Joe Thornton or Jaromir Jagr should be the NHL MVP? Oh my god! PSYCH.

The Suns have The Great Canadian Hippy running the offense and everyone on that team is an instant star! They have a guy named Boris and Raja and Shawn -- It's like a LEAGUE OF NATIONS! -- and the Shawn guy is pretty good. Did you know they call Shawn Marion the Matrix! Whoa (said like Keanu Reeves in the MATRIX), I know kung fu! But Steve Nash, that hippy, is the BEST. I can't understand you, you're speaking in Canada! But this is quietly the best matchup in all of the playoffs, because the Lakers' Kobe Bryant will be a better player than Jordan, Marc Jackson tells me so. I don't know who to PICK!! Tie.

How good is George Karl? He has made the Sonics into a playoff team, the Bucks and now the Nuggets, and then he leaves them in the dust when he's done! He's like my first girlfriend in college! She was good, though. Carmelo Anthony is kinda lazy, but he's soooooo smooth with that headband and that shot and Kenyon Martin is K-MART Blue Light Special in the lane. The Clippers though, they're hungry, they're out to show once and for all that they are THE TEAM in Los Angeles. They have Sam Cassell, who is the ALIEN and have you seen that man dish the rock? He does, sometimes. Tough, tough, tough call, but I'm going with UPSET MADNESS and taking the Clips in seven.

Pau Gasol is FOREIGN. Dirk Nowitzki is FOREIGN. They'll put their European Superpowers to the test when the Grizzzzzzz take on the Mavvvvvs in the final meeting of the first round. How can you not love these two guys? Moreover, how can you not love the Mavericks, because the Grizzlies have never won a playoff game! They're 0-for-FOR-EVAH! And wise people tell you that you cannot turn your back on history, but I will because I'm a betting man. I say, Grizzlies in seven!

I can't wait for the playoffs! Let's go N-B-A!

Give me Shelton

By DeJuan C3PO
Fly Scribe

Dog, someone electrocuted Chris Shelton.

I mean, just look at that trainwreck of a face. He looks like he hasn't been in the sun since he popped out of his mama, and his eyes are all googly and such. Dude is getting a jolt of lightning straight up his ass. And if that wasn't proof, how about the nine homers he's hit in the first two weeks of baseball?

But who is Chris Shelton? I, DeJuan C3P0, master journalist of the people, did an in-depth profile of the greatest sensation to sweep the Major Leagues since entrance music for closers.

(Yo, and what of that? My boy Mariano Rivera getting all huffy cuz Billy Wagner also wants to use "Enter Sandman" when he walks onto the field? Dog, EVERYBODY enters to Metallica or some damn rock band. Be original, homies. Shit, if I was closing down a game, you better believe I'd be entering to "Straight Outta Compton" or "Stop Being Greedy" by my MAIN DOG DMX. Shit, ain't nobody that wants to mess with DMX. He'll just kill your ass if you hit his two-seamer. Then he'll kill all your friends, your agent and your goldfish. You better believe he'll lead the league in WHIP and K's.)

Anyway, Chris Shelton was born in Utah and never left the state until he was drafted in the 33rd round of the Major League Baseball draft in 2001. He lived in Salt Lake City and went to the University of Utah, where he got down with his four wives and spent lots of time being white with his colleagues, like Andrew Bogut.

Let me tell you, I've seen the Pirates. If they think there are 32 people better than you in the draft, dog, you need to take up something else, like lawyering or missionary or something. Pittsburgh has Victor Santos in the rotation, dog. DMX would crush that dude just by looking at him and saying "Stop! Drop! Shut 'em down open up shop!"

Oh-oh. No-oh.

But still, this white boy was special. After the Detroit Tigers selected Shelton in the Rule 5 draft (which is some complicated shit ... I give him credit for just surviving), he hit 18 homers or something in 2005. In 2006, after smoking the same magic gange that Brady Anderson lit up a few years back, the little white boy that could is hitting home runs like they're going out of style.

Dog, let's ponder a laughable moment ... what if Chris Shelton breaks Barry Bonds' 72 homers? Dude already has nine, in 13 games. What the hell would the media talk about? Barry Bonds, records, perjury, asterisks, big heads ... shit, none of that matters if Chris Shelton and his four wives are on the cover of Sports Illustrated and in the record book (for most homers AND most wives by a Major League Baseball Player). I giggle and raise my glass.

Yo, that's good vodka. Oh-oh. No-oh.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this damn in-depth look at the unstoppable Greek God force that is Chris Shelton. We are moving into a new era, my bitches. Between Thome and Shelton and David Eckstein, we are back to the time when wholesome white boys dominated the sport, and also one lawn gnome.

Made with 100 percent real juice *

By Dakota Brezinski
Six-year-old

I am on the juice.

Someday, I want to play Major League Baseball like Barry Bonds, but I am sad, because you’re not supposed to be on the juice when you play. That’s not fair. Daddy says the baseball players have to eat their vegetables and drink lots of milk so they are big and strong, but I think that’s dumb. I hate vegetables and milk. Why can’t they have their juice, too?

My favorite juice is CapriSun. It’s squishy like a pillow and when you jump on it in the middle of lunch, it will explode all over Jessica Murdock, who will never get to wear her stupid white dress again (She says it makes her look like Cinderella. I say she looks more like that fat mouse Gus who sings the Cinderelly song). My favorite is the orange kind, but pretty much all kinds of CapriSun is tasty delicious and squishy.

Sometimes mommy makes me drink apple juice, and that’s okay, but it is not my favorite. She also gives me Hi-C boxes sometimes, and my favorite is Jammin’ Strawberry. I like orange juice and pineapple-apple-orange-banana juice, which is always on sale at Pick and Save.

Daddy says I’m drinking the pink Kool-Aid if I don’t think it’s my bedtime yet. I don’t know why he thinks I’m drinking the pink Kool-Aid, but it sounds tasty. I want some.

Barry Bonds cries a lot, because all he wants is his Jammin’ Strawberry. If this makes him better at the baseball, then I don’t know why everyone is mad at him. So what if baseball players don’t want to eat vegetables and drink milk all the time? It’s yucky. Just because they are famous and spectacular and crazy like Bonds doesn’t mean people should care what they drink.

I also heard that the ball is juiced in baseball. Juice balls!! They sound like jellybeans, only bigger and better. I want some.

I am the greatest message board poster ever

By Brandon Martin
Web dominator

I am a god, quite simply. Much like Rodney Carney is a physical freak, I am likewise a freak. Have you encountered me before? Have you felt my wrath? Have you met my tart tongue, my wily wit and my scintillating sarcasm? Have you been burned by my carefully researched points and my perfectly-constructed arguments?

If not, you are in for a treat. For I am BMart77, the greatest message board poster ever.

Sure, you may scoff at that claim. It's possible you've never seen my work -- though I bet you've heard of it. The infamous Jessica Simpson vs. Britney Spears argument on gorillamask.net. The 2004 NFL draft analysis on the scout.com boards. The Hee Seop Choi debate on nsbb.com. Those were all mine. The work of a living legend. Tears were shed, wrists were slit, children were conceived as a result of these epic spectacles.

I was schooled early in the Internet's existence. I honed my lethal tactics on the Alamak.com chat rooms, shooting down poseur theories and bucking conventional wisdom. I graduated from there to Yahoo! newsgroups, where I took on all comers. My skills were increasing at an alarming rate and the masses quickly learned my handle. So often, a thread would grow to several pages, with both sides bantering back and forth. Then I would appear, much like aurochs stampeding across the plains, devastating anything in their path, and end all possible debate.

You will never see me cheapen a post with emoticons. Each word is precious, and I do not need to accentuate my prose with such pithy symbols. If I see a poster use an emoticon, I make a mental note that they are weak, and I shall crush their will at a later date. God help your soul if I come across one of these things in your post. The ensuing evisceration will remove your will to live, I promise you that much.

Consider my carefully chosen handle: BMart77. It's simple -- my self-prescribed nickname and the year of my birth -- but it identifies me. It is not boring, yet it also is not silly, like so many other message board handles. If I see a name like TruffleShuffleMonster, I know you are a silly bitch who will one day be a target of my ire. And rest assured, that day is coming sooner rather than later.

I use the quote function of the message board flawlessly. Some posters fail to realize the value of brevity and allow themselves to quote six or seven posts that stack on top of one another. Please. How will the other posters know exactly which sentence you plan to blow apart in a blaze of bombastic glory? My secret is to quote each line individually, and painstakingly evaporate any notion of common sense from your stupid, banal attempts at debate one at a time.

Fools.

I am in my element in these portals. Whether you want to argue the latest movies, politics, hipster music (Wilco is the greatest band ever, bar none, no contest about it, end of story, shut up right now) or sports, I will win. It won't even be close.

Roger Clemens the best pitcher of this era? Please. I have spreadsheets that will prove you wrong. And I know the code to post them, with formatting still intact.

Best Jewish athlete ever? Give me Sandy Koufax and try to prove me wrong.

Best way to grill a steak? The Better Homes and Garden people know what happens when you bring up that topic.

Is Scarface better than Godfather? Obviously you know my answer, and if you think the Godfather is better, then you are just a troll. And I don't feed the trolls.

So if you feel like challenging me, step into the ring, punk. I'll take you on any time, on any board you can think of. Just look for the name BMart77, and the scores of weeping simpletons who have tried to overtake me, and were strewn aside like a single, solitary ant on a picnic table.

I'll be waiting for you.