Oden injured again ( thoughts from the Night of, and the day after)

I'm searching for words to say. I haven't given tonight's happenings enough time to process. It's probably going to come out in the form of disorganized babble and make no sense to anyone after I publish it. Fuck it, I need some therapy now.

4 minutes 15 seconds into tonight's game against the Rockets and we watched out season get kicked in the balls. Greg Oden, who I have defended and hyped up so much over the last year that I should be on payroll as his publicist. No exaggeration here, but I would bet no one has been in more near fights about him then I. I am literally the Flava Flave to his Chuck D.

This season, we watched him make such a big strides towards justifying his selection as the first overall pick in the 07 draft. He transformed from an awkward foul machine, which he was so often last season to this year, simply becoming a presence. Defensively, you feared him and his ability to challenge any shot. He cleans glass like he as o.c.d. I'm positive he play's with a travel-sized bottle of windex in his shorts. And lately he began to make you pay for sleeping on him offensively, displaying an array of low post moves as well as often throwing down rather aggressive statement dunks. Tuesdays game recording a 13 point, 20 rebound 4 block performance against the Heat. Ladies and gentlemen, Greg Oden had arrived.

Or not. At the 7:45 mark in the first quarter, defending an Aaron Brooks drive to the hoop, Greg Oden broke his knee cap. HIS FUCKING KNEE CAP.

Poor dude. I actually feel twisted up over this. And not because my favorite basketball team just lost it's starting Center for the season. I'm twisted up because he is by all accounts a good dude. Everything I've read and everything I've heard (friends of friends kind of scenerios, but from multiple sources) have him pegged as genuine dude.

He worked hard to get back from the last injury. It was hard physically as well mentally. Not only was he coming back from an injury (microfracture surgery) that takes almost two years to get back to normal from, but he had to deal with all loads of negative shit from the press. Everywhere he went he had to hear about how he is Sam Bowie 2.0 and how the TrailBlazers once again made a mistake with their first round pick of a center.

Lets cut the bull shit and get the facts straight. The man deserved to be the number 1 pick that year. He led the Ohio State Buckeyes to the National Title Game with a broken shooting hand. Yes he played his Freshman year shooting (and shooting well) with a BROKEN SHOTING HAND. He was the best 18, the best Center in college Basketball, and he was making due by making everyone look stupid with his left hand.

We drafted him, because we had Brandon Roy, LaMarcus Aldridge, Martell Webster, and Travis Outlaw already. Also this was the draft when we pulled out Rudy Fernandez. If you're telling me with a franchise center in Greg Oden or another skinny perimeter player, that you're going to take yet ANOTHER perimeter player?!? Not if you value your job. Greg Oden was the perfect fit for this team and the right pick. You don't watch basketball if you think I'm wrong in this one.

Now whats happened to him since this has just been unfortunate. The injury he sustained takes two years to come back. If you don't believe me, I have mountains of evidence proving you wrong and is the subject of my favorite argument. Greg Oden rushed back so he could play ball. Both him and the Blazers were wrong. We should've eased him back. The pressure was intense and his body wasn't ready. Again, if you think I'm wrong go read about Amare Stoudimire. See how long it took him to come back.

Last year sucked because he wasn't ready. But this year, this year we saw what he could be. Monster dunks, ridiculous blocks, game changing rebounder. He was developing into what we drafted. Then he got struck again by the injury bastard.

I can't imagine what it's like trying to be an athlete these days. In this, the age of Internet where we have constant blogs, podcasts, 24/7 radio and tv shows devoted to sports, everything an athlete does is dissected on their shows (it's hard to fill up 24 hours of programing). Even if it's a stretch to find the relevance.

"Today Brandon Roy ate a Egg Salad Sandwich and jerked off at noon. Unfortunately his wife had gone Christmas shopping and he needed to relax before the game. Lets hope it pays off. Now back to you Guy in the Studio."

(I was done writing after that. From here on was written the morning after)

The Talking Heads are so much louder then they were in the 80's and early 90's. IF the draft bust talk in the 80's would've been heard at a low mummer, the 90's it would've been heard with what would be considered "outside voice" volume ( you know, that is if you were still in Grade School). Now, it's full fledged Rock Concert volume. He will not be able to ignore it. He's gonna have to use it. Use it to get motivated, Greg.

One bright side is that as painful as a broken knee cap sounds it's not damning. In 2005, Washington Wizards Forward Jarvis Hayes did the same thing. After trying to play on it afterwards was proven a bad call, he sat out from February to the end of the season. But had a full recovery and played everygame except one for the next two seasons. It can be done.

As shitty of a time for this to happen, this isn't worse case scenario. I think he believes that too. Here is a quote from him after the game, " I'm obviously disappointed having worked so hard to get where I was. This is a setback, but I'll be back. It's in God's hands now."

And if anyone is bouncing back from an injury like this, it's Greg. Shit, he's done it before.

The best Basketball player, ever.

When I was 15 I made the declaration that I would enter into the NBA draft straight outta High School. Unfortunately, this eventually turned into my moms second favorite running joke, right behind my self given Indian name 'Mowing Slave'.

It was one of those things you say kind of serious, but when you see the reaction (in this case people shitting themselves trying to top the last person in a 'loudest most obnoxious' laugh contest, while I sit there grinning trying not to cry) you pretend that you said it to get a good chuckle out of people. Then when no one is looking, you turn around and wonder out loud if anyone will miss you if you were to drop a plugged in toaster into your bath later on that night.

But after last night, my friends, I am the Lone Ranger when it comes to laughing at my jokes.

You see what happened last night started out as just a friendly game of '21' before my work out. Again, it only started out as friendly. It transformed into an over competitive display of raw athletic ability and served as my coming out party as a deadly marksman from behind the arc.

If you aren't familiar with the rules of '21,' first and foremost, shame on you. But if you don't, they are simple you play basketball against atleast two other people, acting as every man for himself. You make a basket, whether it be a '2' or a '3' you get freethrows. If you missed shot gets tipped in by an opponent you lose all your points. If your point total ever ends up a '13,' or ends up higher then '21' you start back at 0.

Now that you're familiar here is the recap of the game: My buddies Weezy and Chaz were taking advantage of me being a little under the weather but at the same time, taking turns tipping in their shots and consistently keeping a 0 score.

During this time I had no energy to drive to the hoop, and wasn't hitting my jumper. Any time I decided to take it to the hoop, Weezy sent it away effortlessly. It was not looking to go my way.

After twenty minutes of play, and one such blocked shot by Weezy, something inside me snapped. The preverbal monkey was tired of being pissed on and there was no banana to satisfy my blood lust. Over the following twenty minutes I hit 11 threes and scored over 40 points (21 is a cruel game) including a Dwayne Wade esk, game winning up and under.

It didn't matter if it was wide open, one on one, or two on one I was hitting everything. Fall aways, runners, jumpers, they were all falling. I imagine it was like watching a baby's conception.

I was f***ing magical.

So as it still might just be a joke about me entering the NBA draft, what's not a joke is my game. I seriously might be the greatest white non NBA player ever.

Lets relive that previous statement so we can understand the magnitude. "Greatest white non NBA player EVER!!!" Ever? Yes, Ever. And if you would've seen me playing last night, you wouldn't hesitate to stand by my claims.

Allen Iverson is known as the Answer, Paul Pierce is the Truth. From here on out, Andrew Belvin is the Proclamation.

Chalk it up.

Venting about the Natural

I wasn't going to write about this, I just couldn't get myself to do it. Then after a nice hour and half work out/soul searching session at the gym I decided it was my civic duty to get my thoughts out there. It was quickly decided against when I came home and opted to play video games.

Fast forward to three in the morning and I can't fucking sleep. It needs to be said. I need to get something off my chest. I must warn you, it's heavy.

Brandon Roy, my favorite basketball player (neigh, my favorite athlete), is being a giant vag and is really starting to piss me off.

That was really hard for me. Lets take a second and regroup...Alright, I'm ready to continue.

Lets break down my frustration. First things first, my Portland Trailblazers are playing terrible basketball. Lately, they have been round house kicked three consecutive games, including two at home. Two of these three loses have been absolute ass beatings. They have now lost four games in the Rose Garden this season (they lost seven ALL SEASON last year).

We are struggling offensively. Our bench severely misses Travis Outlaw (out with a broken foot for 3 to 5 months). Travis came in off the bench and gave our second unit it's juice. Now our second unit comes in and just shits on the tempo. The last three nights these guys couldn't score on a team of autistic midgets. If the juice Travis provided was Tropicana Orange Juice, then the juice the bench is bringing now is like some generic artificial Orange flavoring. And let me tell you, that tastes like ass.

The other problem, and the one that is becoming the most frustrating is with my homeboy, and one of the possible namesake of my unborn son, Brandon Roy ( the other being Shawn Michaels). Brandon, a two time all star and the unchallenged king of Portland is struggling this season to get his shit going. Despite having a 42 point game earlier in the season Brandon needed 25 points in tonight's latest loss, just to even out his average at 20 ppg.

The team and Brandon don't seem to be on the same page, and it's uncomfortably noticeable.

Recent reports have Brandon mentioning his frustrations and highlighting Portlands need for a offensive "pecking order" which would seemingly involve less involvement from Portland's free agent acquisition Andre Miller and prospective franchise center Greg Oden.

The Miller thing I can understand. No one thought these two were going to play well together. They both require the ball in their hands at all times and they both need to drive to the hoop to get their points. This was not a relationship destined to work. However, the Oden thing is a little troubling. Oden, who scored 13 points tonight and grabbed 20 rebounds tonight ( 11 of which offensive boards) gets most of his points from clean up work, is not what you would call the crucial part of the offense. Nor does he appear to be trying to be that guy right now.

Oden isn't demanding the ball right now. So if Roy is having a problem with Odens point totals maybe he needs to watch some game tape. Alot of the big mans touches are coming from the little mans mistakes. Case and point, Roy drove the lane tonight, threw up some twisty, 'I'm trying to draw a foul' lay up (didn't get the call) and missed the layup. Only instead of the ball falling into the other teams possession, Mr. Oden deposited it for 2 of his 13 in highlight fashion. Translation: Roy missed a poor lay up attempt, and Oden dunked the mistake home. Saving everyones face.

So what the hell is the deal?!

This whole thing becomes even more of a stomach punch when you start adding in the fact that for the first time since Zach Randolph's huge contract (and ass) took off, this team doesn't seem to be clicking.

Roy wants a pecking order. Ok, I can dig that. A young team needs order. Roy is tired of the 'sacrafices' he is making for this team, while none of his other teammates seem to be following suite (check out Dwight Jaynes blog here: http://www.dwightjaynes.com/brandon-roy-and-his-sacrifices). If we read beneath the surface he is clearly worried about the point totals and amount of shots (points= all star appearances). The only thing I'm having a hard time figuring out is why he isn't getting the shots or the points he thinks he is being robbed out of. HE TOUCHES THE BALL EVERYTIME DOWN THE COURT. He can shoot whenever he wants to.

There has been many games this season where the Blazers have practically begged Roy to step up, earn his paycheck and take over the scoring load. Games where we have come out and laid an egg offensively as a team, and could really use that All-Star push that we got last year from him (think the Suns game where he dropped 52 in a come from behind win against the Suns). There have been a many games where we could've used him flipping into 'eff you mode' and take it over. We could've used offensive explosions out of him, like for example in games like the last three losses. It seems like the only one thinking that he needs to be this un-selfish playmaker is himself.

Brandon Roy is the leader of the offense. The pecking order is set. No one is going to question it. No one will question him if he shoots the ball (as long as he is making them at an acceptable pace). Who has told him to not be selfish? That doesn't make sense. We pay him to be our All Star! (again, points=all stars)

Brandon, we are BEGGING you to be more selfish. Not Iverson-like, but definitely someone deserving of a max-contract. Be the leader. Make the pecking order how you see fit. You're the highest paid player, you're the only All-Star, you're coach McMillians on-court assistant, and you're the freaking King of Portland. Stop bitching and get aggressive. If you don't want to swing the ball then don't. No one will kill you for that. Drive that ball. Just make sure if you don't knock it down that you're getting to the line. Because I'm sick of seeing these 9-25 with only 5 FTA box scores.

If you want to be king dick you better start playing like it.

And if playing with Andre Miller is bugging you that much just pretend his is Pryzbilla and forget he is on the court. ( and if that doesn't work you could always have him killed, I mean you did sign a max deal).

ClinicallyAwesome is 1 year old

It's a happy day to be Clinically Awesome. One year. One whole year I've been babbling blog style and sodomizing your minds with my words. Yes, this is big time.


One year ago I wrote about the "safety" game, posting my first blog outside of my myspace and started an internet revolution. It's been called the biggest thing to happen to the internet since Janet Jackson's titty fell out. You hear that mom?! I'm bigger the Janet Jacksons titty! Seriously, step up take a bow, you should be proud.

Basically, I've made it.

Don't worry, I haven't allowed all my success to go to my head. Sure, i have my moments but whats the point of being an undeserving celebrity if you're not taking advantage of some of the perks?! Plus, who is turning down a sexual throw down with Kim Kardashian in a Womens bath room stall of a TGIFridays? Not this guy, thats who.

Other then a few altercations and purchases I've kept a pretty stable head on my shoulders. No diva fits here. Unless you count the incident in July when I was speaking at a writers convention in Tulsa. This little pole smoker of a man who was hosting the event knew damn well to have a bowl full of blue M&M's ready for my enjoyment. So what did I have waiting for me? Green M&M's. Green? Really? Someone needed to learn his colors, and foot is a perfect instructor. He had beautiful shades of blues and purples on his dome after class.

The thing that has been hard to get used to is how people react to me now. I wish they'd treat me like they did before I launched the site, but I guess it's hard when I have people like the Cast of Tv's The Big Bang Theory consuming my written word.

Ok, lets face it. I'm pretty much a big deal.

Speaking of Celebs lets find out what some of them have been saying about this site over the year:

Jessica Alba, " Everytime I read this site I remember what my first orgasm felt like." Yes, yes she does.

50 Cent, " This shit blows me away like gun shots." He should know, he got shot nine times.

Tom Brady, " Sometimes I read this on the road, when I'm away from my wife and kid. No matter what happened that day it brings a smile to my face." You're welcome Tom. Now stop losing me money.

John Cena, " Me and the boys of the WWE get a big kick out of this site everytime it's updated. Keep it up, man" Uh, John this isn't for you. This is awkward, but I'd appreciate it if you'd stop reading.

But for the rest of you, thanks for reading. I appreciate it. Keep on doing it and I'll keep on writing it.

Peace.

The Director of Paranormal Activity can lick my butt

This weekend the girlfriend, the girlfriends roommate and I went and saw Paranormal activity. For those of you who don't get out much, it's about a young couple dealing with a haunted San Deign (?) house. It has the same low quality feel that made the Blair Witch project what it was a decade ago. And it is scary.

Scratch that. That movie is scarier then shit.

I haven't been scared by a movie like that since I was a Junior in High School (the movie was the Ring. The movie had me screaming helpful advise at the screen like, "RUN, BITCH RUN". Sadly, Naomi Watts didn't listen to my advise, and the girls I was with remained un impressed. I digress). The Ring ruined my shit. At the time, my parents were in China adopting my second sister, and my old buddy Jobany and I took these two blondes to go see a scary movie (good idea right? Usually speaking, yes, but in this case if the movie makes you scream like a bitch then no. Not a good move).

After the movie, me and Jo (yes, just me and Jo) went home. I walked into my parent house and low and behold my dads big screen tv was. It wasn't doing the static-y sound that implied danger in 'the Ring' but for only seeing that movie 30 minutes prior and having my parents be out of the country, that was as close as it needed to be.

Needless to say, sleep was not had that night. Nor was it had on Saturday night. I thought I had grown out of the "scary movies ruin me" thing. I guess I haven't.

I think I can speak for all three of us when I say, I thought that movie was going to be gayer then two men doing it to the 'over the rainbow' song on loop. Trying to spice up the evening, we decided to go out and get a few drinks in before the movie.

It was like an ambush. None of us knew what we were about to whiteness. That movie would've done the trick had we been sober, and we weren't. The creators of this movie(first time writer and director Oren Peli) is a sick, sick bastard, and that is all I need to say about that.

Girlfriend and Girlfriends Roommate were so scared after the movie, that they refused to go home. They decided they wanted to go to a bar (only thing really open after midnight around here). I had to work the next day, so I put the kabosh on that idea for me (yes, I'm maturing).

I opted to go home and try to sleep. My brother had a few buddies over and after I showed up we began to talk about the movie-which spawned the worst conversation for a drunk kid to have before bed- a conversation about weird, un explainable shit that has happened to either us or someone we know. After a few stories of the paranormal, I decided sleeping in my room was not an option for the rest of the night. I went grabbed my pillow and my blanket and laid it right in the middle of the living room.

"Dude, we're gonna be gaming." My brother said (implying they were going to be loud).

"I don't give a shit. I'm not sleeping in that room tonight." And I didn't.

GF and GFR were worse off then I was. Where I was fine the next day, they didn't even sleep the next day, and GF hasn't been able to sleep right unless I've been there all week.

So this weekend, if you and your Special Lady Friend are trying to decide what movie you're going to see just remember this, 'Paranormal' ruins lives.

For at least the week.

status update 2

I'm off today, thank God. Work has been kickin my ass from end to end lately, and I'm so thankful the weekend came when it came. Lately, I've been super stressed. My mind has been off As you can tell by the disturbing lack of up dates on this thing.

My bad.

I've had a few little ideas to write the last week or so, but never have my computer with me and never the motivation to get those ideas written out when I do have a computer.

So they're coming. Just chill.

In the mean time, here is a poster documenting my professional wrestling career.

Ramblings: Red October

I'm at Sarah's new place right now waiting for her and Michael ( her brother) to come back with a couch. Yup, currently all I'm armed with is a lap top and pirated internet ( no tv, no place to sit, I'm laying on the floor) so I'm going to do some rambling for the first time in a bit. I hope you're all wearing your sexy panties...

• Last couple weeks have been a real bitch, especially at work. I started taking the bull shit people dish at me personally and it really started to screw with my chi.
• I'm currently wearing boxers that could've used an extra couple minutes in the dryer. My ass feels like I just got done doing 20 minutes on the tredmill (no, I don't actually know what 20 minutes feels like)
• A few months back I began purchasing and re-watching the Sopranos. I forgot how much of an asshole Tony is. I find it incredible that I could feel any sympathy for a man that evil. But I do. I care about him as much, if not more, then I could for ANY protagonist. And that my friends, is the DEFINITIVE example of a good character.
• I want be Hayden Panettiere's Gynecologist. (Just in case you need a reminder...)

• The Trail Blazers regular season opens up in 10 days. I feel as confident in this team as I ever have with ANY of my teams in the past. It should be an exciting regular season. In a related story, I have still NEVER washed my Brandon Roy Jersey.
• Tomorrow is TNA Wrestlings flag ship PPV 'Bound For Glory'. I'm not afraid to admit I love wrestling. If you don't you can suck it. In fact, in celebration of BFG '09, I'm going to hit a woman and grow a mullet.
• Dallas Cowboy fans are annoying. They make me want to fashion a shiv with my own tooth brush then use it on myself. Hara-kiri is a better way to die then listen to them ramble about Tony Romo.
• I gotta take a dump. Be Right Back.
• Ok so I went and shit out today Enchilada I got from Azteca, and sure enough no TP in the crib. This might the thing that up sets me the most. I remember one time we ran out of TP at my apartment and I found out that instead of buying TP while I was gone the boys just used MY BOXERS. In case you're wondering I wiped my ass with un naturally rough paper towels. My anus is less then thrilled.
• Speaking of huge dumps, I took one today at Nordstroms in Westfield Mall that was so foul that the person who went in after me was probably given free shit.
• Mexican grub is worse on my stomach and bowels the booze. Chalk it up.

Well I hear the load of furniture pull in so I'm going to bounce. Maybe it won't be a week and half before the next one.

Peace.

Just Saying Bye

I remember when I was kid whenever we'd drive through Woodland, we'd make the rounds. "This is where your dad lived." "This is where mom lived" and of course "this is where we got married." Everytime. In that order.

As weird as it sounds, as I got older, I began to appreciate the nostalgic stories and mini dives into someones history (I use to not like them very much. The exception, as usual, is my Grandpa Tom. I've always loved listening to his stories. Still do. If you ever get the privilege of talking to him, just get him talking about the things he did when he was younger. Would make a great movie).

As I got older, I stopped making weird faces in the back seat and began to actually listen to the stories my parents would tell me. They were cool in their own way. And as I got more and more interested, I felt myself being able to actually imagine what it would be like when I got to take my kids around to tell them MY stories.

Stuff like "this one time a janitor found toy guns in my car while I was in gym class... that didn't go well". Or how about "This is where me and your uncle Jobany used to skip school and go eat breakfast." You know what, I don't want my kids to be criminals so I won't be telling them those stories.

But I do know what story I would tell them. I wanted to take them to the end of Childs Road, right before it turns to Orchards, stop at the last house on the right and say, "this is where I grew up. " Point to the front yard and be like "your Grandma Peggy beat the shit out of me with a broom on Thanksgiving right there. Me and your uncle Jesse use to play whiffle ball right here." Sneak them to the back yard and point to the pool, "I use to make myself feel really cool by having the older High School Cheerleaders come swim there."

Unfortunately after last night, I won't get to do that.

A fire started at my house (of course we don't occupy that place anymore, everyone lives in Vancouver right now, and my Mom has been trying to sell it) and burnt the place to the ground.

(unrelated note: it's becoming a trend to tell me bad news while I'm waking up/ or before I do wake up. I'd like to change this. I propose if it's bad news, but someone isn't dying (like the story about the death of my xbox or this) can we write it down, or send it in text form, so I can handle it when I'm emotionally right and ready? I don't think this will be difficult)

No official word on what caused the fire. From what my mom has said, whiteness have called it quite a spectacle though. Something about huge fire balls (again I was asleep, details a bit fuzzy to me right now). Oh well, At least it was entertaining :(. (Yes I put a frowny face).

I never even imagined this was possible. Me, with my hyper active imagination, has never prepared a scenario where I would lose the house where I grew up. Last time I was in White Salmon, it was there. Now it is not. All those years of memories are now served extra crispy.

So now when I'm taking Brandon Roy Belvin and Shawn Michaels Belvin back to where dad grew up, we don't get to go down the old street, and look at the last house on the right. We won't be looking at the house I grew up in. We won't get to hear stories of one handed catches, and whiffle ball. We'll probably be looking at a house, but it'll be foreign. It won't be mine.

That sucks.

I feel really sad right now. I haven't lived in that house for 5 years now. My dad moved out after he split up with my mom, and she left a year and a half ago. I know there was another family ready to buy it from my mom. But that is still where I grew up. I don't care if I haven't lived there for 2 months or 2o years, I grew up there. I shaved for the first time in that house. I had Christmas joy, and high school heart break-all in that house. I went from playing X-Men with Jesse, Jonny, Dane and Heather to learning to masturbate( that was a solo thing. Jesse, Jonny, Dane and Heather were not involved) - in that house.

So this is goodbye 1501 Nw Childs Rd. We had some times, but now you're gone. I'll never forget you.

And when it comes to me getting nostalgic when I'm 50... well, at least I still got the gun story.

Drinking in Spokane, through the majesty of Picture.

So I recently took a trip to Spokane Washington for a weekend of drinking and boating with my life partner in crime, Jeremy. I tried to keep notes of funny shit that took place, but it became increasingly unimportant as I was focused on not throwing up. 

So I'm not going to write  about what I remember, or make up stories (because honestly, it's kind of hazy to me right now). Instead, I'm just going to show you pictures from our Saturday night trip to John Stockton's dads bar "John and Zekes".

Without further ado, the picture blog:]

As you can see, not drunk. In fact I believe this is before any alcohol had entered my system. Jeremy is the devil in human form so this would not last long.

Picture number 2. Me, Jeremy and Crazy Ass Joe. If you look past the customary middle finger you will notice drink number 1. Dry Fly Vodka and Gatorade. 

Ok we're at the bar now, and I'm probably another beer in. Nothing exciting yet.

Meet Cami, she had a birthday a week before. So We shot Patron.

It has begun.

The buddy pose, the exhausted eyes.  Yup, we are officially trying to go drink for drink with Jeremy. He can drink forever. His liver should be studied.

We should've been cut off.

 I'm not going to tell you what the bar tab was. But I can tell you multiple AMF's, shots of Patron, and Jack was involved. So the bar tab wasn't small. And my liver was working over time. I'm probably leaning on these girls for support.

...... Houtson, we have achieved black out.

Good friends don't help you when you're throwing up, they take pictures to make sure you can never run for president.

And they let you sleep on the sidewalk too. Jeremy, you asshole.

Good Night now.

Why Tom Brady is Awesome

Week one has been spectacular so far. Some real good ass cinema if you ask me. We had some drama in the Kyle Orton to Brandon Stokely last second 80 yard touch down. We had some comedy, on the same play where Brandon Stokely announced to the world that he is an avid Madden player when instead of scoring he ran parallel to the endzone to waste as much time as possible to help his team secure the win. Truely an epic play. It was like 'fat person tripping on their face' levels of funny. For those of you who haven't seen it, enjoy and you're welcome: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3J7d73ScB98.

We had action. Adrian Petersons long touchdown had the most vicious "bitch get off me" stiff arm I have ever seen. Adrian Peterson should be charged with assault. Watch this clip with the understanding that this not for children. Enjoy bitches:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6pKIj87CYA. Is it too early to call him MVP?

And if that weren't enough, we now have the NFL's leading man making his prime time return. After a year of knee rehab, Tom "the luckiest man alive" Brady, returns to the NFL's regular season. The last time we saw him healthy he passed 50 touchdowns and his team went 16-o through the 2008 season (don't bring up the Superbowl, I'll kill you). I'm seriously 13 year old girl giddy right.

He is all that is man. League MVP, 3 time Superbowl champion and Bridget Moynahan's babies daddy. And if Bridget Moynahan isn't hot enough, he upgraded that piece of ass into the world hottest supermodel Giselle Bundchen. In case you're slow, he is arguably the best quarterback EVER and he is banging Giselle. Please take this moment to examine Giselle.

God loves Tom Brady. And so should we all.

Whats there not to like about him? He is a born winner. The man hates losing more then I hate working. Take Buffalo for example. In 2003 he threw 4 interceptions and the Pats lost 31-0 (the worst loss of his career). Since then the Patriots have won 11 straight games against the soon to be Bills of Toronto. Tom Brady holds grudges, and executes his enemies like he is the second coming of Attila the Hun.

Another example: the 2007 season. After week 1, then Jets coach Eric Mangini ( a former Patriot Coordinator) blew the whistle on some questionable scouting tactics (lets leave it at that. Spygate is over and I don't want to talk about it). Brady, obviously loyal to his coach and team, and upset that his championships were being questioned, went out and won 9 of the first 10 games by over 20 points.

Sadly, the man was injured last year and we didn't get to see what kind of shit he had in stored for the league. There was no ceiling on how many "f**k you touchdowns" he would've thrown following his first Superbowl loss. We were robbed of weeks of big Touchdowns and awkward celebratory hugs because stupid Bernard Pollard had to fall on his leg after a pass, destroying his ACL.

Here we are in the present day. We should all welcome back the man. The man who holds grudges, the man who bangs Giselle, the man who is so pretty that if you look long enough at a picture of him you come away confused about your life and question your perception of reality. It's been 20 months since his perfect season was ruined by little Manning and the New York Giants. It's been 12 months since his ACL was ruined. He was silent the whole time. You're hard pressed to hear any interviews with him. He rehabed like a crazy person, and watched other quarterbacks get praised for being great. The Cherry on top, he watched Ben Rothlisburger (won his second superbowl), Drew Brees( passed for 5000 yards, the second QB to EVER do that), and Payton Manning (won his third MVP) take ownership over the attention the media usually spends on him. They made the "elite" NFL quarterback group a little more crowded.

I can't imagine Tom the Terrific being too happy right now. Get ready for the excitement. Tom Brady is going to remind us all how awesome he is, and it's going to be freaking cool-well unless you're fantasy team is playing him that week. Then thats not too cool.

Belvin out.

Week1

Week 1 is the happiest week of September. Chalk it up.

Sarah called me early this morning as a wake up call to go to church. I wasn't trying to get up. I hung up the phone then went back to sleep. Then off in the distance from the living room I could hear the familiar fall sunday mourning rumblings. It started off as a soft murmur, but didn't take long before the volume arose to where I had no doubt what was going on. It was the sound of men getting ready for football.

"HOLY SHIT!!! LETS DO THIS!" I screamed as I ran into the living room and hopped over the couch. And I continued to watch games until Sarah picked me up for some quality churching.

Real quick I'd like to thank the Seattle Seahawks for showing up today and beating the shit out of the Rams. 28-0 is fun for the whole family.

I'd also like to thank the following teams for making me look smart: the Niners, Ravens, Redskins, Saints, Jags, Jets, Broncos, Cowboys, Philly and Minnesota. I would've put the Falcons on that list, but I'm not sure if I actually went with them to cover. True not all of these teams won but I played the spread. LOVE THE SPREAD BABY!

And, oh yeah, HOLY CRAP Adrian Peterson is a freak. First of all, every time I see his commercials (you know which ones I'm talking about... the ones where he doesn't have a shirt on) I die a little bit inside. He is rock on rock. I'm not even sure what work outs you would do to shred up some of the muscles on display in these commercials. The first time I saw his commercial I had a well gerthed penis. After all the games were done, I now have a Vagina.

All jokes aside, A.P. rushed for 180 yards while sick. I mean they had to hook him up to an iv when he threw up at half time, then he went out and had like 150 yards in the second half. That my friends, is a fucking man.

Mark Bulger is not a man, while we are on the subject. The Seattle Defense made him cry. Thats not even a joke. There was a play in the forth quarter when he got hit so hard by Aaron Curry that he popped back up but his eyes look awfully soggy. Once again, SEATTLE IS AWESOME.

I'm going to go play beer pong now. Hopefully I'll actually have a story to tell tomorrow.

Belvin out.

Clean at last, clean at last,

15 days ago I went in for a physical. No particular reason, I guess I figured if I can't find a girl to touch my nuts maybe I can get a doctor to. Even if it is for medical reasons. That actually wasn't the reason. I guess I felt like I haven't been to a doctor in 6 years, and there is no time like the present to make sure shit is still running properly. 

So I go to the doctor, not expecting anything to be wrong. I'm not sick, well, physically atleast.  But the second I get in there I start questioning things. 

What if they do find something?!?!

Well the way my mind works is that I can talk myself into a green sky if you give me enough time. And the good people of Keizer gave me more then enough time. I sat in the little room, with no magazine to read for a good 15 minutes. Lets just say by the time the doctor got into the room I was convinced he was going to find signs of cervical cancer.

What came next can only be described as a cross between  a terrible first date and police interrogation.

Some of the early highlights:

Doctor: so what brings you here today?

Me: uh, I guess it's been 6 years or so since I've been in for a physical. I guess I'm just here to make sure I'm runnin right.

Doctor : (stares at me blankly) ok. So, do you smoke?

Me: Uh, cigerettes? No.

Doctor: Pot?

Me: I have 

Doctor: Well smoking a joint is the equivalent of smoking a pack of cigarettes. 

Me: (now I feel like Ron Burgendy, "I don't believe you." but I kept my mouth shut) Oh, thats wild.

Fast forward a minute...

Doctor: so are you sexually active?

Me: Uh, kinda? 

Doctor: You're 23. Have you ever been tested?

Me: No...

Doctor: well you need to be. I can have the arranged for today.

Tested? Uh, like for Aids? ARE YOU F***ING KIDDING ME!??!?! So I agreed. I mean what do I have to afraid of? There are Catholic priests who have had more sex with women then I have.  But he was right, it is a good thing to know. So I agreed to it, and go get my blood drawn, and pissed in the cup. Not a big deal.

Nope, not a big deal at all. Well it wasn't a big deal, until these medical bastards took 15 f***in days to get my results back to me. Lets break it down. If after 15 minutes I had talked into myself into the possibilities of cervical cancer (remember I have no vagina), think about what 15 days can do. 

By the 15th day I was sitting in my cubical thinking about how I was going to tell my mom I have aids. Thinking about how I was going to tell my dad. Or even the scary one, my ex girlfriend.  

By the 15th day, I was making my peace with God, and preparing my bucket list.

By the 15th day, I was convinced it was done for me.

Note: This is what a good imagination brings. Paranoia. It's not good for relationships, and it's sure as shit not good for medical tests. So parents, be careful when you wish your kids grow up with good imaginations.

So tired of waiting for these bastards to get back to me, I called them. Even after that I still had to wait two more hours for them to get back at me. Finally, while I was sitting in my cubical before lunch a strange number calls me. I rush to the break room, where I was informed that I was clean...well all but HIV. I still had to come in to get those results.

I got there as soon as I hung up the phone. 

I rushed to Keizer and immediately ran up to the dude behind the desk, and handed him my card. 

Me: I'm here to get results...uh, for a test.

Dude behind the desk : ok (typing in my shit) uh...( staring very intensly at the computer) uh...(I'm now officially shitting my pants) hold on a second. I'm not sure what to do. 

Me: HUH!? 

Dude gets up and goes into the back. A few moments later a smiling lady comes from the back and tells me to come with her. I got more knots in my stomach then in a hippies hair. The lady sensing my un easiness quickly takes me to her computer which gave me the verdict...clean. CLEAN MOTHER F***ER! I'M CLEAN! 

I smiled. Thanked her for the good news then promptly went home and changed my underwear.

In hindsight I don't know why I was freaking out. Cartoon characters get more ass then me. I guess thats why it's 20/20. I need to learn to pump my breaks about shit and take a deep breath. I let myself get too freaked out about things. It'll probably be the death of me.

Shoot, maybe I should start smoking weed regularly. That seems to calm people down. Reference Snoop Doggy Dog. Oops, sorry scratch that, the good Doctor would not be ok with that. Apparently it's worse then a pack of cigarettes.

And Cigarettes kill.

Favre is back?! GTFO

Espn Headlines from this weekend: Brett Favre says he will not be coming back this season to play for the Minnesota Vikings.

Two Days Later : Brett Favre has signed a deal with Minnesota Vikings.

It's August so that means there are two constants. One, it's hot as hell and I spend my afternoons praying for snow. And of course, it's time for Brett Favre to once again call his retirement off. He is becoming the adult Urckle. Just when we think he's gone, he appears. Which like Urckle was endearing in the begining. "oh look at the nerdy black kid! It's funny how much of an out cast he is! And he always shows up and bothers the Winslows! Now THAT is funny!"

But after two episodes of that, you're done. Which is exactly where I am (and I don't think I'm stretching by assuming most of America is there too) with the Brett Favre scenario. We've seen it before. We saw it last year when he went with the Jets. We saw it the previous three years before that with the Packers. This dude has been thinking about retiring for the better part of a decade now. MAKE UP YOUR MIND BRETT.

Shoot, even Jordan is like "this dude needs to hang it up".

Speaking of Jordan, atleast he let us breath. When Jordan talked "retirement" ( I put quotes around it because I believe Jordan was suspended for gambling, at least the first occassion) he atleast left for a year or two in between. Favre retires in March and is back with before the start of the previous year.

I don't get what the issue is here with him. He is old. His body is breaking down. His talk of retirement started after the 2005 season. Four full years and two actual retirements later and he is back again.

But why!?! What does he have to do? He holds every notable career passing record. He has a Superbowl. Whats left Brett? Why do you hate us?

It just doesn't make sense, for anyone. He is not the young chicken he was when his Shot Gun arm took Green Bay to back to back Superbowl appearances in the 90's. Shoot, the last time he took a team to the Superbowl was 11 seasons ago. And he was a veteran then.

His body is breaking down. The last retirement was primarily because he nearly threw his arm off last season. Who knows how healthy he is. Why come back unless you're able to keep up your production level? Last year he started off hot, but when the weather got cold his arm fell off and he finished with the most turnovers in the NFL.

Now if you're Brad Childress are you really willing to put your job on the line of a 39 year old who led the league with 22 interceptions last year? A 39 year old who is famous for making stupid ass decisions but having the big time arm to make up for it... only now he doesn't have that arm anymore.

Quick note to Mr. Childress... ask Eric Mangini how this story ends.

Bottom line, this is a gamble. And like all gambles it can end one of two ways. Either very bad, or very good. The Vikings have the talent to win a lot of games this year. So if Favre ends up able to be productive then the fine people of Minnesota are going to celebrating a good team this year.

But if he craps the bed like he did at the end of the year, then not only are the people of Minney going to be in a bad mood, but Mr. Childress is going to be updating his resume in January.

Time will tell. But for right now, lets move on to a new subject- Like Michael Vick, Dog lover.

Dude, I'm scared.

Before I begin lets get one thing straight. Weed is not a drug. It's a plant. It's no worse the tobacco, and certainly not worse the booze. You parents have tried it. Successful people do it. It's not a drug.

Drugs are bad. Weed is not. Therefore weed is not a drug.

By definition they, drugs, are a waste of fucking time. They are for losers and wastes of space. It' doesn't matter whether it's Coke, heroin, Meth, pills whatever the fuck, it's all bad. There is no justification. 

This conversation is not ever going to happen:

Dude Doing Drugs "oh man, I'm doing (insert drug of choice here)"

Friend Who Doesn't Do Drugs "Why man?! Drugs are bad!"

DDD" Because man, (insert half ass reason for justification for killing yourself)"

FWDD "Oh, that makes a ton of fucking sense. Lets do it together!"

Tonight I had a buddy (and by buddy I mean probably one of my three best friends) tell me they've been doing a few of the previously named shit head substances recently (and at an alarming pace). I immediately went into, and remain in absolute shock. I wasn't sure what to say. At first, I just got real quiet, and REAL angry. How can this happen. This has got to be a tasteless joke. I mean, I knew he wasn't all there. I've always known that. Hell, thats what our friendship is based on. We aren't there. We both had a hint of self destruction, and have a lot of fun exploiting that.

But drugs, especially of this magnitude, is insane. It doesn't make sense. I've been sitting on this knowledge for an hour and half and still can't wrap my head around it.

I mean REALLY DUDE!?!? 

Seriously dude, what the fuck. You have so much shit going for you and you just want to fuck it all up. I know you grew up rough. I get that. I also get that coming from where I come from I can't fully grasp that. But dude, your life isn't bad. You have a good job, and a ton of friends that love you. 

And I'm not throwing the Love word around like 17 year old BFF's either.  I mean it man. We are as close as brothers, and to hear this shit is ripping me apart.

I don't want you to die man. I want to be an old dudes together and reminisce on how we use to drink a case of beer in your car before Brand New concerts. Or how we would bull shit for hours over hooka.

Tonight you told me you can see your funeral. This isn't much different from your common drunken claim where you exclaim that you won't see 29. Before tonight, I use to laugh when you would say shit like that. Now I see where you are coming from and I'm scared.

I texted you just now telling you I'm scared, and you replied "I'm dying anyways". This is true, we will all die. But that doesn't mean you need to speed up the process.

Half wasted.

So I'm kinda half shit faced right now and really hankering for an ol' fashioned milkshake. Oreo Milkshake, from Sharies. That sounds awesome right now. Seriously, it sounds better then 18 virgins (or in my Utopia, 18 girls who have had sex with one guy).

I want to wake Derek up and make him come with me. Because who really wants to have Sharies by themselves?? I'll tell you who, fucking losers. And I'm not a loser.

It's always awesome to see the variety of people you see at Sharies. You get quite the slice of life. Everything from Drunk High School kids, to a family of 9, 8 of which have Mullets (the only one missing is 1, but they put PBR in his bottle, so it works)

After I eat Sharies, I want to watch Arrested Development. I'll finish that thought later, Derek just showed up and volunteered to come to Sharies with me. 

God is smiling.

Just got back from Sharies and it was spectacular. I had an Oreo Milkshake and it was like the holocaust, only 180 degrees of opposite. 

OK time to walk the Joan Rivers Roast, which promises to have little ditty's like "Joan Rivers has been stitched up more then the aids quilt, only she's more depressing. 

Smiles kids, smiles.

Status Update

Yo YO YO. 

Ok so I've been a real slacker again. Work has been bitch slapping me to no end. I promise I have a few un finished things, that will get thrown up there as soon as their done. It'll hit you like a storm, or not at all...depending on how many readers I actually have.

But they're coming. Just not this weekend. I'm going to go fishing and drinking with the boys. But when I'm back I'll finish those previously mentioned and probably have a few new stories to tell you.

All hail weekends of drunkenness and testosterone.

Who Wants 18 Virgins?

The muslim  religion says if you are a good little muslim you get 18 virgins in Heaven.

I say who wants virigns? Wouldn't you rather have 18 girls who have had sex with like one other dude? That sounds like a better plan to me then dealing with the emotions and blood.

You also don't want them to be packing a huge body counts. Because then you have to worry about them comparing you to High School boyfriends, college flings, the Altanta Falcons and that dude that dated her and her best friend at the same time and neither of them figured it out for a while.

But if you rock a girl that only has like one dude...then you don't have anything to worry about. Well unless that one guy is a French Yoga instructor named Jean Luc, then you're screwed. Because then you're risking the only reason that the girl is only available because she got too sexed out and needed to find a guy that she could conversation with. Because she only speaks very little French, so their relationship is only bang bang bang. And damnit, she's tired of that. Poor girl isn't a shallow human.  And who wants a girl that is burnt out on banging?!?!

Also, can you even imagine the horror of having 18 girls head over heals in love with you? Lets face it, girls are already an emotional lot. Now add the fact that they are recently relieved of the shackles of virginity. AND REMEMBER YOU'RE DEALING WITH 18 OF THEM! 

Who wants that stress? Not me. Plus the promise of Heaven is good enough for me. Eternal life and a perfect body? As opposed to eternity getting tortured? Uh, where do I sign up. Thats a no brainer. Heaven sounds like, well, heaven. 18 Virgins would just be taking away from the fun. Like a fat dude blocking your sun while you're trying to tan. Which is never good. 

Thank you for listening.

Beer Goggles Phenomenon

I drank my face off last night, and I'm hurting right now. 

The old Jim Brewer joke held true last night. The one where he describes his stomach as a party with a bouncer.  Youtube it if i you haven't heard it before, cuz I'm sure as shit not going to repeat it. Nothing bombs more then someone trying to recite a joke they thought was funny. It's never as funny as you thought it was, and then it's a real awkward moment. 

But my night started with beer and finished with Tequila. Shiiiiiit. We all know where I'm at right now. I'm cage fighting a sever headache.

I came to stunning conclusion last night. Actually, more of a re-remembering (hahahaha Roger Clemens is so dumb). Because this actually wasn't NEW information. But when you're drinking, and drinking in excess, certain realities become altered.

Arguably, the most apparent is with girls. It's crazy. Throughout the night of self destruction, a girl really does get better looking. You could meet some chick, at beer one, who has no chance with you. But as each beer goes down, or you start moving to shots or what not, I don't know if you just become less aware, or if you just stop caring, but the looks become less apparent. 

Beer Goggles are real people. For good or bad, those things are real, and ugly chicks have good stories to tell at work the next day because of them.

Does that mean beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Or is beauty at the bottom of a Budwiser? You be the judge.

Through my experiments and during my research (ie. many drunken evenings) I have found that all it really takes is on trait on the girl to make her attractive during a drunken evening. You find that one thing that they have that is awesome, and get fixated on that. Honestly, the most common trigger to this reaction is big tits (which would explain how you can wake up with a fat chick).  To prove this point I remember one night, way back in the day meeting a girl. Now, I don't remember what she looked like, hell I can't even tell you what her name was. All I remember from this interaction was finding out she was a baseball fan, and being overtaken with desire. We were making out right in front of the whole party only moments after I met her. Thats all it takes sometimes.

One thing and you stop worrying about the fact that they could be a creature from the black lagoon or whatever. I mean come on, she has monstrous tits ( or in my case, she liked baseball)! 

I don't know. Maybe it's not as interesting a phenomenon that I'm pointing it out to be. Maybe I'm just making an aunt out of a mole hill. Who really knows. I know I find it interesting. And since this is MY blog, I can write about what I want. In fact, I think this subject is so interesting that I'm going to go do some more research tonight.

Ramblings: July Edition

Welcome to July ladies and gentlemen. Lots of stuff has happened the last couple weeks. Tons of good topics for me to ridicule and rip in vulgar fashion have just landed in my lap. It's been a writers utopia. 

Unfortunately for all, I've been balls deep on Tiger Woods 2010 to worry about stupid writing.

Yes, I missed covering the end of NBA finals, some key celebrity deaths and now Forth of July (which is probably my top drinking day of the year) because I've been so wrapped up in making my character good. You would think I'm a virgin.

So lets just briefly cover the things I missed...

• I was actually ok with the Lake Show winning the title. A summer of talking heads rotating between Brett Favre and Kobe can't win stories would make me blow up. Or make me sacrafice my shoe through my new tv. Which ever came first.
• Do you think the boys that Michael Jackson allegedly molested were sad when he died? After all, it is said that you never stop loving your first.
• While we are on the subject, kinda crazy that the best thing the King of Pop did for his career in over twenty years was die. Before two weeks ago, MJ was a boy touching freak who used to be black and once upon a time wrote billie jean. Post two weeks ago, HE IS THE KING OF FUCKING POP AND THE MAN WROTE BILLIE JEAN.
• Saw the UFC 100 this weekend. Good times. One major note George St. Pierre is either over compensating with a massive cup, or the man has an absolute rope for a dick. His cup looks like it might've been Patrick Roy's goalie mask once upon a time.
• Brock Lesner is married to Sable. 14 years ago this would've been awesome.
• One last thing, Bisping...how does Hendo's ass taste???

Is KP above the law?

Over the last two years, philosophers have been trying to answer the question, " If Kevin Pritchard chopped up two hookers in the center of a packed Rose Garden, then took his pants down a dropped a duece on a poster of the pope...would he get in any trouble?"

Lets see if we can't find the answer.

KP  could bring in an autistic amputee to play the 3 spot and I wouldn't doubt him. He could come out and say that he is giving Sue Bird a 6 year max deal because he feels teaming her up with Roy would be a good idea, and I wouldn't even raise an eye brow.

Why we haven't sent him to North Korea to "pritch-slap" Kim Jong Il is beyond me. I bet he could barter Mr. Il to stop being a bitch  and get a discount on korean hookers for three years without even rolling up his sleeves.

Thats why when news hit that we were going after a slow, 30 year old small forward (Hedo) and I didn't really get it, I refused to say anything negative about it. Sure we have three small forwards already, and another who is capable of playing that position. And sure our problems were at the point guard position...but if KP feels like Hedo would've helped then Hedo would've been right.

Think about it, he is the man that ultimately turned Seabstan Telfair into Brandon Roy. Even on video games thats robbery (legend has it is he was the only one during the Nash and Patterson era that wanted to draft Chris Paul over Martell Webster. Shit).

 

So the next time you see KP sweaty, smeared with blood, eyes blood shot and smelling like the last wishes of hookers, and you want to know if the Blazers Gm is going to have some legal issues a head...the answer is no. He won't.

Keven Pritchard is above the law. Next question.

Proof God Exists

I woke up Sunday morning, to my brothers asking me if I want to go to church. Now, I had gone out for a night on the town the night before and common logic would say that I still had another hour of sleep in me. 

Not this time. I was fairly alert so I got up showered off stale awesomness and prepared for a steady dose of the G-O-D.

We went to Living Hope Church, which is this little hip set up over near my parents house in the BG. I gotta say, not your typical church. You get in there, and you aren't instead of typical church folk in their sundays best, you're greeted by dudes in flippy floppys. My kind of people.

Then the service, as usual seemed to be tailored for me personally. It was like as soon as John (the pastor of the church) started doing his thing, that everyone vanished and he was just talking right at me and my brother. Not preaching at us, like damning us to hell or anything, but having a frank conversation about our relationship with God and our struggles.

I'm not joking. It was incredible. Everything that had been bothering me over the last month or so, was explicitly addressed during the sermon. It was like God himself wrote it and told John to hammer it home. 

After the service I just sat there for a moment letting it sink in. I haven't been to church consistantly in a few years. I go randomly, when life allows me to(which is a rough translation to 'when I feel up to it') And in that moment of realization, I found a huge chunk of what I've been missing in my life. I need God.

You want proof there is a God? I mean more proof in the abundance that is already out there in your every day life. Just got to church. Randomly, one time. Go with that friend of yours thats been inviting you every so often. We all have one of those friends. 

Or go By yourself. Just go. One time. Listen to the service. It will speak to you. You will be able to relate to it. It'll be a testimonial, the sermon, or just someone you meet there. It will peak your interest. And that my friends, is God working in that mysterious way we hear about so often. 

As I was sitting there on Sunday listening to John talk, I could feel my anxieties over my day to day stresses slip away. Every point, every sentence relaxed me more and more. I was shown that it was ridiculous and premature to have gotten worked up like I did. It was incredible.

Not to get too in depth on what the sermon was about, because that would make this entry HUGE, but it was about the hardships of the times and all the parties it effects. Now I know in this economy that there are many people who are facing the situation that my brother and I have been facing lately, and so there are many people who could've related to that sermon.  But it felt like we had a big spot light directed right on us. I just kinda lowered my head and smiled. I mean for that to be the topic the day I decide to go back to church, and to try a new church... well thats not just incredible, to me thats proof. 

Well played God. Well Played.

Quick Thoughts

I was watching the Mariners game today and got a few things to talk about here real quick. First things first, todays win gave us a sweep of the Arizona Diamondbacks. Take that you desert dwelling schmucks.

With this big win, we have moved to 2.5 games out of the division lead with a home series against San Diego starting Tuesday. Not what you would call a daunting task. Especially with no Peavy. So I'm pretty excited for the next couple of weeks. Who knows, maybe we could be hearing about the American League West Division leading Seattle Mariners heading into the All-Star break (yes I'm half mast after writing that sentence).

Felix pitched good today. With the exception of that slider that Reynolds took out, I'd actually say he pitched his ass off. At the time, I was really up set with mr. Reynolds, but he later made it up to me.

Obviously, now I'm talking about the game winning error where he came charging a Franklikn Gutierrez grounder, tossed it over to the ancient Tony Clark, who promptly let the ball bounce in and out of his glove allowing for the game winning run to cross the plate. HAPPY FREAKING FATHERS DAY!

A glimpse of something super cool. It was like seeing Bruce Willis drink a smoothie. Arizona Diamondbacks reliever Clay Zavada has the greatest mustach since Adam Morrision. It curls up like a tribute to the Gods. He looks like the Red Baron. It would make Heraldo Rivera jealous.

Seriously, it looks like baseball is just his other job. His real one is reimagining scenes from famous pornos in the 1970's. I bet he has a 7 inch bush.

I defy you to not google Clay's pictures and smile.

Belvin out.