Still crazy after all these beers, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

Former President George W. Bush is getting his own library. Is it just me, or does giving George W. Bush a library make as much sense as giving President Bill Clinton a convent?

Since you asked:

Fine, you asked for it (no we didn’t) you got it. Here is Lex’s secret for the Cubs to have a decent season.

Let’s just start with the fact that the Cubs aren’t very good this year. Pitching staff of Wood, Samardzija, Jackson looks better than folks thought. But the Cubs are young and they will be really good in two years. But they have to play teams like the Reds and the Angels who are packed with superstars now.

It’s not so much the Cubs are really bad, but that other teams are really good.

So what is the key this year? Just focus on winning one series at a time. If you win the first two games of a three game series, I am not saying quit, but rest starters. Three game series tied 1-1? Third game is do or die. Give that game a playoff intensity. It will be good practice if they do make the playoffs. (they probably won’t)

Lose the first two of a three game series? Take it easy on the third and focus on winning the next series. 

A 162 game season is silly. By focusing on winning each series you break it up. When you run a marathon you don’t think, OK, I am going to run hard for 26.2 miles. You break it up. Make it to the top of that hill. Stride hard to the end of that fence.

Ah, screw it, who wants cake?  

Well, I dreamed I saw the Knights in armor coming saying something about a Queen, Torn Slatterns.

Happy 40^th birthday to the cell phone. 40 years of listening to douche bags say; “I’ve got to take this.”

Contracts for NFL quarterbacks have gone berserk. A few over a hundred million. To give you an idea how bad it is, on Easter, Jesus came back just to tell Tim Tebow he was over-paid.

Happy 40^th birthday to the cell phone. Remember how big cell phones used to be? Good thing they got smaller or they would be exhibit A in countless road-rage murder cases.

The Rolling Stones have announced their US Tour. The Stones are getting up there. This is the “Turn Down That Damn Noise, oh, wait, that’s Us” Tour.

Draft experts say the Chicago Bears will pick Manti Te’o for their 20^th pick. The Bears are a perfect fit for Te’o, they don’t have cheerleaders, they have imaginary cheerleaders.

Prior to the NFL Draft it looks like a lot of the top picks will be linemen. Except for the New York Jets, they’re looking to pick up a quarterback who won’t suck as much as Mark Sanchez.

18-year-old Justin Bieber’s monkey is still in quarantine. That’s OK, I didn’t get my monkey out of quarantine until I was 18 and in college. Oh, wait, were not talking about virginity, are we?

Happy 40^th birthday to the cell phone. 40 years of overhearing douche bags say; “Yo, my man, what’s happening?”

Since you asked:

The always awesome Louis C.K. told a hilarious story on “Conan” in '06 about being mistakenly sent to a camp for retarded kids when he was in third grade. (Search YouTube, Louis C.K. Conan retarded camp. For some reason it won’t let me upload it to my blog)

When I was in pre-school Sunday school, there was a girl in the class called Rosealie. The teacher told us that Rosealie was – yes, they used the word back then – retarded and we had to be especially nice and patient with her.

Rosealie was pretty seriously retarded. Her speaking abilities were limited and she was extremely excitable and emotional. She was either laughing or crying. 

The big problem? Rosealie loved me to death.

No lie, Rosealie could not get enough of me. This was so awful because, at that age, I didn’t want to have anything to do with girls anyway, but especially Rosealie.

My parents and the teacher were proud of me because I was so nice to Rosealie, but the truth is I was miserable. She always wanted to hug and kiss me. She kind of drooled and always had food around her mouth and, truth be told, she was kind of smelly.

And I am four-years-old, I didn’t know you couldn’t catch being retarded like a cold.

When I couldn’t take being hugged by Rosealie anymore, I would try to get away and she would track me down and slug me. Hard. What could I do? A, she was a girl, B, she was retarded.

One time I ran away from her so hard while carrying an American flag on a stick, I tripped and the arrow tip actually punctured the roof of my mouth. (Still have the scar, and can still taste all the blood) It bled quite a bit, but my parents were not big believers in the emergency room, so we just went home.

But I got to get away from Rosealie for the day.

Cut to: Summer after third grade, Fourth of July. Something serious is about to take place because my mother gave me a sit-down talk;

“Alex, the Stevens family is coming over for a barbeque and to watch the fireworks.”

“OK?” I said suspiciously.

“One of their sons is mentally retarded.”

“Noooooooooo!” Memories of Rosealie flashed through my head like a brush fire.

“Calm down, he’s not like Rosealie,” my mom said, “He just has trouble with school, that’s all.”

With much trepidation, I wait their arrival. There are a couple of girls, but there is a nice guy my age, Danny, and we hit it off immediately. His brother, Billy, however, is a  couple years older than us. His hair is a little greasy and messed up, he has glasses and kind of a pot belly, shirt tail sticking out. Obviously, Billy is the one who is retarded.

But, much to my relief, Billy is no Rosealie. He is very nice, gentle and calm.

Danny and I spent most of our time playing together, but we would include retarded Billy in games that required more people like Croquet and catching the Frisbee. Unlike Danny and me, (or is it I?) Billy was not good at sports. When Billy dropped a Frisbee, I would run over, pick it up and say;

“Oh, nice try. Here . . . you . . . go.”

“Thanks.” He would say, looking a little surprised at my over-politeness.

This went on for three Fourth-of July’s in a row. Always looked forward to the Fourth of July with the Stevens and my good friend Danny and his retarded older brother Billy.

One night, after the fireworks, I was sad because the Stevens were getting ready to go home. 

“Oh, let me play you my new Bill Cosby record before you go.”

Retarded Billy, Danny and I listened to Coz, and suddenly retarded Billy started laughing really hard. Out of the blue, he said;

“It is amazing how Cosby can take such a poor and tough childhood and turn it into such great comedy.”

What the . . . ? Was retarded Billy suddenly cured?

So I leaned over to Danny and whispered;

“Your brother doesn’t seem retarded at all.”

“He isn’t retarded,” Danny said; “I am.” What the . . .?

Danny went on to explain to me he just was way behind everyone his age in school in math and reading. (Now he would be called learning disabled, but his social and verbal skills were fine)

We were such good friends, Danny and I, (or is it me?)  Suddenly it hit me: maybe I am retarded too? My other good friend, Hughie, sure seemed like a likely candidate.

After they left, I ran up to my Mom and said;

“Tell me the truth, I can take it. (deep sigh) Am I retarded?”

“What? No, Alex, you scored off the charts on your aptitude tests.”

“Don’t lie to me, Mom.”

“Why on earth do you think you’re retarded?”

Suddenly the sheer body evidence against me not being retarded seemed overwhelming;

“What about the time I threw the barbeque fork in my ankle? Or the time I ate a shovel full of sand on a dare? Or the time I tried to save my bubble gum by putting it in my Army helmet and then put the helmet on. Dad had to shave a hole on the top of my head to get all the gum out of my hair. Or when I jumped off the roof of a garage into a moving shopping cart? ”

“Those were all pretty stupid, I admit,” said Mom,  “but no, you’re not retarded.”

To this day I still have my doubts. Or is it ME still have my doubts about I? 

Forgot to include this in best sports uniforms. How awesome are the UCLA uniforms? They even make Bill Walton look good. 

Look at that scrounge-hound go to town, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

A report from the CDC claims one-in-five high school students has ADHD:

“What do we want?”

“A cure for ADHD.”

“When do we want it?”

“Look, a bird.”

While shooting hoops at the White House Easter Egg Hunt, President Obama missed 20-out-of 22 shots. Afterwards he was immediately traded to the Charlotte Bobcats.

Did you see the viral clip of President Barack Obama shooting hoops at the White House Easter Egg Hunt and missing 20 shots? Worst presidential shot since Clinton hit Monica’s blue dress.

The National Zoo had to artificially inseminate their female panda because the male panda refused to have intercourse with her. This is what happens when you name your male panda Ryan Seacrest.

USC has hired sweet 16 Cinderella FGCU coach, Andy Enfield, who is married to the lingerie super model, Amanda Marcum. The Enfields have received several “Welcome to USC” invitations from fraternities for a meet and greet brunch and wet t-shirt contest.

A report from the CDC claims one-in-five high school students have ADHD. You know what happens when you combine ADD with dyslexia? Dad!

Good news for that brave kid, Louisville’s Kevin Ware, who broke his leg against Duke, the operation went great and he is going to join his team in Atlanta to watch the final 4. Did you see his injury? It was the most gruesome thing in sports not counting Louie Anderson’s dive.

Since you asked:

Was talking to someone about diving due to “Splash” and how hard it is. It is one of those sports, like gymnastics, where you have to be a certain type to do it. Good athletes can play shortstop, guard, quarterback. But a diver has to be a diver.

Which reminded me that divers are basically the same type as gymnasts. And they are the biggest assh*les in the world.

For reasons I still can’t figure out, a guy I knew in high school was a gymnast at Long Beach City College. He was a nice enough guy and invited me to his gymnast parties. The other gymnasts? Silliest, goofiest pack of little monkey a-holes you have ever met.

The out-of-proportion egos on these guys was hard to believe. How could some jockey-douche competing for a city college think they were such hot poop? But they did.

Same thing when I got to Long Beach State. There was a diver living in our dorm who truly believed he was a rock star. There was a fair-to-good 24-foot long jumper who looked exactly like a midget Magic Johnson who wouldn’t even speak to people he deemed unworthy, which was everyone but a javelin throwing buddy of his. 

Dwight Stones never won a gold medal in the high jump, yet he truly had the ego of the Prime Minister of France. Everybody, and I mean everybody, associated with the Long Beach track team despised Stones due to his insanely rude arrogance.

We need to form a reality show called “Biggest Tools In Sports” and interview and film the most out-sized egomaniacs in all of sports. Because most people wouldn’t believe how much of a world class jerk a guy could be who is riding the bench for a crappy team at a crap college.

How great a show would it be to film a guy who is every bit as much of a psychopathic moron as was the Cleveland Indians’ Albert Belle, but he is a relief pitcher for Rancho Cucamonga City College?

Find the guy who is a runner up to second bobsled team who talks about himself in the third person. Or the backup outfielder on a minor league club who won’t talk to his teammates. Or the tennis player ranked #140 in the country who makes his mother carry his gear.

Here is a list of the sports, in my experience, who have the biggest tools participating:

#1 Cyclists. (They might be one and two) Those shaved-legs, spandex-wearing oxygen-thieves riding side-by-side out into traffic? They’re even bigger a-holes than you think. Even aging weekend warrior cyclists are as horrible as people as is Lance Armstrong.

#2 Gymnastics/Divers. Take all of the egomania of a prima donna ballet dancer, throw in a bad case of short-man’s disease and make him think he is a cool jock, and that is why gymnasts are such utter tools.

#3 Baseball players. Guys on the football team who were my good friends during football season turned into the biggest idiotic prank-pulling, immature potty-humor-minded morons when they played baseball. There is no dick joke too gross for a baseball player.

#4 Swimmers. They think they’re studs. They’re not, they’re dorks who spend all their time in a pool. There is nothing worse than a dork who thinks he’s a stud. (Think: Tiger Woods, but golfers are generally good dudes)

#5 Tennis players. Remember how embarrassingly John McEnroe used to behave? He was well-mannered next to the brats I saw playing at tournaments at the Winnetka Neilson Tennis Center. Tantrums were expected and approved.

#6 Soccer parents. Soccer players, except for the French, are pretty cool. Their parents are frustrated non-athletes who not only didn’t play soccer, didn’t play sports. But because they have reached some success in their line of work, they think they can transpose the back-stabbing and intensity that pays off in their job to their kid’s success in sports. They can’t. They’re dicks. Period. 

#7 20% of surfers. 80% of surfers are really cool, almost spiritual. But the 20% who are small-minded, stupid, stoned and territorial skateboard-yankers are so bad they ruin it for the 80%. If you hate someone because they surf a different style board than you do? You are, without any question, a world class schmuck.

#8 Sailors. Spoiled brat wanna-be athletes who are hyper-competitive to the brink of insanity. Think of that fat load, Dennis Connors. 

Elton John - Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters

Look out, everybody, 'cause its a Stand Up Paddle Board surfin' daaaaaaawwwwwwwwg. 

I'm just sayin' what I'm sayin' when I'm saying it, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

Traveling to Germany, Justin Bieber had to have his monkey quarantined; apparently the monkey was acting up, it was picking up Bieber's music and hurling it at people. 

There is a new bacon-flavored condom. How do I describe how stupid this is? Guys, if she can taste the bacon on the condom, why do you need a condom? 


Since you asked:

In my extensive/obsessive rock biography and documentary research, one fact is becoming clear: the groupie scene is not nearly as great as we guys have been misled to believe. 

Keith Richards rarely partook and he had literally thousands of chances. He describes how pathetic and sort of awkward would be the experience of having a girl come into your hotel room just for sex and then leave less than an hour later. He says something to the effect of why not just take care of yourself?

The Eagles allude to the fact that not all towns have the same high standards of groupies as say Los Angeles or New York. Henley went too far as to fly girls in on a private jet.

Another unmentioned consideration is what kind of woman goes to the trouble of sleeping with a guy because he is a rock star? "Almost Famous" is gracious in it's depiction of this messed-up group of vagabond  drug-addicted women gypsies. Something tells me they didn't look at all like Kate Hudson. 

Truth be told, I knew one woman who was a legitimate star-effer. She would convince herself she was in love with various rock performers like Jackson Browne and James Taylor and go see them. And she was very good looking. And yet she didn't sleep with either one after seeing them in concert several times. She either didn't get backstage or, if she did, they had already gone off with their wife or girlfriend.

The only rock performer she slept with was one she happened to meet at a celebrity gathering she arranged to get invited to and even that relationship was more like a secret affair than a post-concert groupie one-night-stand. 


Most rock stars didn't go to college and if they did they didn't go to UCSB and join a Fraternity like Sigma Chi that had dress-up parties with the incredibly pretty sorority sisters of Delta Gamma and Pi Phi or Kappa and Theta. 

And they probably haven't seen the mind-boggling parade of hot drunk women dressed up as hookers and French upstairs maids that is Halloween in Isla Vista. 

Or the other-worldly sight that is the Pi Phi beach volleyball tournament at East Beach in Santa Barbara. Words cannot come close. And the parties afterwards? Let's just say a lot of these sorority girls volleyball teams came to town with a mission. 

And it wasn't just to play volleyball. 

And the rock stars sure as hell didn't live in a Long Beach dorm that was part of the all-girl Brooks Institute of Fashion Design and Modeling. 

Did you notice what I noticed? Get off your knees, you bunch of Pocahantases. It's called Stand Up Paddle for a reason. Sheesh.

YOLO, Hope Solo, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

North Korea has stepped up its rhetorical threats against other countries ; it is serious, today, France rhetorically surrendered.

In England, a baby was born that weighed 15 pounds, 7 ounces, twice the normal size; asked to comment, the mother said; “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

A North Carolina company has an I.Q. test for dogs for $60 called Dognition; the first question is, A, are you a good doggy?, B, who is a good doggy?, C, is this my good puppy? D, none of the above.

I had a good Easter, I went to the beach and saw a silver-haired older man playing with his grandson in the water. Then I heard the 14-year-old boy call him Dad, and then I remembered: Happy 15^th Anniversary, Viagra.

In the NCAA elite eight, Michigan stomped Florida 79-59. The last time I saw a Florida team lose this badly it was in a spelling bee.

Traveling to Germany, Justin Bieber had to leave his monkey in quarantine. And no, leaving his monkey in quarantine is not a euphemism for treating an STD.

Since you asked:

How about the unending lessons sports doth provideth?

One second I am in post-workout mirth blasting my outdoor speakers, firing up the lump charcoal chimney on the Weber, chopping up red onion for my Greek salad of cucumbers, Spanish olives, tomatoes, feta cheese to go with my grilled rack of lamb while enjoying both a young, smart cocktail and watching a great Louisville-Duke game, the next moment I am not sure if I am going to cry or wretch at the injury to Kevin Ware.

Happy Opening Day. Cubs win! Cubs win! 3-1, over Pirates.

Here are some of Lex’s Baseball Lexicons. Some mine, some borrowed.

A Gwen Steffani Homer. (No Doubt)

Linda Ronstadt fastball (Blue Bayou)

A Google hit (Random search that connects)

Let’s get some Politicians on the scoreboard (Crooked numbers)

You got Kardashians in the pool (Opponents with ducks on the pond, i.e., runners on base)

He Justin’d that Bieber (A lucky hit)

I’m your Huckleberry (A home run call)

Tattaglia's a pimp, he could never have outfought Santino (Bogus player team received in a bad trade) 

He is ready to eat his guts and ask for seconds (Home run call)

Say ‘ello to my leettle friend (Home run call)

A Leno tune (Close pitch to face, i.e., chin music)

Grab some real estate, Century 21 (Hitting the dirt after a brush-back pitch)

A Steven Wright (A hit that is off the wall)

He’s a Nike Factory worker ( A productive young player)

Uno, dos, you’re a ghost (Out on three straight strikes)


If you start me up, I'll never stop (Home run call) 

That is a playmate turn-on ( a nice walk)

That’s a Seal Team Six (a huge out)