Wasif's World

Testosterone through the roof. Must ... punch ... someone ... then make their home explode for no good reason.

I know this is a sports blog, but guys love sports. Guys also love fight scenes and explosions. So what better platform to review a true guy’s movie than SportsFanLive?

Warning: I’m going to spoil the movie “The Expendables” for you. This is not to say that you shouldn’t see it. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t go see it ... unless you’re a little girly man. That said, you shouldn’t go see it for any sort of revolutionary storytelling, which is why I can ruin the movie for you.

However, if you truly want to be “surprised,” fine, stop reading. Otherwise, light up a stogie, display that tattoo of your favorite bird of prey, and enjoy.

What we have in “The Expendables,” the latest from Academy-Award winning director Sylvester Stallone (Really? ... Is that right? ... Well, which academy? ... The one that does the movies? ... Seriously? ... That doesn’t sound right at all) is a fun movie whose action scenes make “MI:3” look like “The Notebook.”

Stallone put together a who’s who of every action hero from movies past. If Errol Flynn were still alive, he would have appeared in it too.

So we have Stallone, Jason Statham, Jet Li as the main leads, and then lesser characters on the team of mercenaries Terry Crews (who possesses the biggest guns, both literally and figuratively), Randy Couture, and Dolph Lundgren. A former member of the team is Mickey Rourke, who is given the only real chance to act in the movie.

Steve Austin, formerly both stone and cold, is the bad guy’s head henchman. And of course, Bruce Willis and the Gubernator, Arnold Schwarzenegger have cameos in one scene.

Jean Claude Van Damme was also offered a role but turned it down. He wanted a role with some juice to it. Uh, yeah, JCVD, if we wanted “acting,” we would’ve asked Sean Penn.

And Steven Seagal was asked too. He really had no excuse for not taking it.

Here’s the plot: A team of mercenaries cooler than "The A-Team” is hired to take out a general/dictator of a small South American island nation, but really, they’re there to take out the former CIA operative who’s controlling the general.

Here’s what happens:
Gun battle
Statham finds his girl with another man
Stallone gets contacted to do the job (Willis, Stallone and Schwarzenegger reunite in a church, sadly, and not in a Planet Hollywood)
Statham and Stallone go down to the island for reconnaissance work
Gun battle
Gun battle in an airplane
Dolph Lundgren turns rogue
Mickey Rourke showcases his acting chops
Statham takes on five weekend warriors playing hoops and stabs a basketball to death
Car chase with gun battle
Fight scene (Jet Li versus Dolph Lundgren)
Stallone shoots Lundgren from about 100 feet away, making sure to hit two inches above his heart, only mortally wounding him
Team mobilizes around general’s palace on island
Continuous gun battle mixed in with fight scenes
Fight scene (Stallone versus Austin)
Fight scene (Austin versus Couture who kills him -- hey, Couture needed something to do, right?)
Explosive destruction of island
Good guys save the day
Lundgren apologizes for his behavior and they all share a laugh about it

It does have a “Team America” feel to it. At the end, Stallone tells the daughter of the general, the damsel in distress, whose father was shot in the back by the CIA guy, “Take care of yourself” as he and his team leave the island.

The subtext is, “Your father’s dead and we’ve destroyed much of your beautiful island including anything of any historical significance ... You’re welcome.”

Are there plot discrepancies? That depends. What does "discrepancy" mean? (If you can answer that, you’re way too smart for this movie.)

First off, be warned, there are subtitles. The filmmakers chose to subtitle some of the Spanish spoken by the general and his army. However, they didn’t choose to subtitle most of the main actors. So much of the time, you’re wondering what the heck the Swedish Lundgren, the British Statham, the Chinese Li, the Austrian Schwarzenegger and the slurring Stallone are saying. Not that it matters much.

Steve Austin and Terry Crews were the most intelligible of the bunch (Willis and Rourke aside). Austin, if only because he says his lines deliberately and in a drill sergeant’s cadence – “DO ... YOU ... UNDERSTAND ... ME?!” The Southern drawl is your only obstacle for understanding him, but it’s not that bad.

(For the record, if I ever run into any of these guys, I thought they were the most brilliant actors I’ve ever seen and you can’t prove I said otherwise, ya hear me?!)

A friend remarked to me during the post-mortem held in the lobby after every movie seen in a Hollywood theatre that Stallone looked like he was in between steroid cycles or just coming down from one that’s lasted about 30 years. Unfortunately, his body may still look like that of a 40-year-old, but it runs like someone in his mid-60s. Having him pulling the girl to freedom while she’s actually pulling him was humorous.

STALLONE: “Quick, come with me!”

DAMSEL IN DISTRESS: “Uh, I’m in front of you.”

The funniest moment (and there were several of them) was when Terry Crews unleashes his gun. Though it’s more like a mini-rocket launcher that can fire at a machine gun clip. Just when you get sick of hearing high-pitched machine gun fire, he starts unloading low-pitched machine gun fire.

Then Crews finds Stallone trying to lift some big, combustible metal tank. He offers to help, “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Just throw it as high in the air as you can over that thing over there that we want to explode. I’m gonna shoot it!” And with a mighty grunt, Crews chucks it in the air, and in his best skeet shooting maneuver, Stallone shoots it causing whatever wasn’t already exploded to explode.

One thing that may get overlooked in the shuffle is Stallone’s ability to reload a pistol. It truly is legendary and underused. Apparently he can reload while still firing. Impressive.

Overall, this movie will win the Oscar for “Most Explosions.” And if there isn’t an award for that, there should be. Also, it should have taken over the title of “highest body count.” It’s up there with previous record holder “Hot Shots: Part Deux.”

You don’t always know who’s punching whom, but you can be sure, when someone goes down, it’s going to be the bad guys.

In conclusion, the next time you face an army of hundreds and only have enough money to hire six people, look no further than “The Expendables.”

I’m going to go chew on some metal now.

They say the sun rises in the East ... unless he’s on the West Coast.

It’s not every night you get to meet “The Most Interesting Man In The World.” Township maybe, city perhaps, tri-county region unlikely, but the most interesting man in the world? No. So when you do, you stop what you’re doing and you take notice, for you know it’s not just any occasion. It must be the most interesting event in the world. And on Thursday August 12, at the Century Plaza Hotel in Los Angeles, it was.

I mean, we’re not talking about dime story sports figures at the 10th Annual Harold Pump Foundation dinner. Harold Pump -- though falsely recognized as the inventor of the “pump” fake where he would fake the shot, and then when you jumped to contest it, he’d kick you in the balls -- was actually the father of foundation founders Dana and David. He succumbed to cancer in 1999 and the foundation helps raise money for the Northridge Hospital’s cancer center.

This was not your run-of-the-mill, haul-out-the-retread celebrities (“Hey, is that Floyd Landis over there?”) dinner. No, this was le crème de la soul and I got to attend. Yep, me, myself and I. Definitely an interesting guest list.

Yes, he’s "the most interesting man in the world," but I set out to see if he was even the most interesting man in the room. Yes, sir, "the most interesting man in the world" had some competition.

“His blood smells like cologne”

Gale Sayers, among the top five running backs of all-time, was an early arrival, slowly making his way down the carpet, but not too focused that he wouldn’t spend a moment with this admirer. “Mr. Sayers, I once wrote a book report about you, and I remember that it was the first time I read the term ‘intestinal fortitude.’ Tell me, how did you get so much fortitude into your intestines?”

He looked at me for a moment like I had three heads, a most interesting thought, and then laughed as he moved in closer. “Listen, I did what I could with my God-given abilities.”

He went on to say that Barry Sanders was the running back he admired the most because they shared lots of the same abilities.

It’s interesting to think that Emmitt Smith, the leading rusher of all-time, who just got enshrined into the Hall of Fame, is not generally regarded with the same reverence as these two, though certainly still one of the greatest of all-time, just a rung below.

Say, with whom did Emmitt get elected into the Hall of Fame? Oh, yeah, that guy over there.

“His legend precedes him, the way lightning precedes thunder.”

Jerry Rice walked by, and was more than gracious to give each member of the press his time. He’d conducted upwards of two million interviews during his time in the league and since, but the last few weeks had to feel like Super Bowl Media Day all over again, for he was the star.

“Jerry ... may I call you Jerry?” He had soft eyes just like his hands, all the better for looking another touchdown straight into his gloves and running for daylight. He looked me right in the eye.

“Jerry, who, in your opinion, is the best receiver playing today?” I asked, almost repulsed by the

hackneyed nature of the question.

“Aw, c’mon, man, there are so many – Larry Fitzgerald, Randy Moss, Terrell Owens (watch out, he’s going to have a big year this year), Ochocinco, Andre Johnson.”

“Thanks, Jerry.” Hmm. He was humble and polite, quite interesting given that lots of receivers now just want the damn ball.

Though there’s not always something wrong with a football player with an oversized personality.

“His personality is so magnetic, he is unable to carry credit cards.”

Speaking of which, here comes Deion Sanders! DEION Sanders!!! He’s the only player in history to hit a home run and score a touchdown in the same week (in two different sports, not in the failed endeavor "Basefootball").

But this night is much more interesting to him than his achievements. “To be among my heroes,” he started, naming the list of attendees. “I even called Denzel ‘Dad’ at one point.”

Hmm, that’s very interesting. Perhaps if we had more time and a leather couch, you could elaborate

more on that.

But though you are a Hall of Fame personality, you’re not officially in the Hall of Fame like this guy coming down the carpet now.

“His beard alone has experienced more than a lesser man’s entire body.”

In this case, it was his moustache. It’s recognized before he is. It’s hypnotic; you can’t look away as much as you may try. I even noticed the “Entertainment Tonight” crew interviewed his mustache and ignored the man.

It’s Rollie Fingers, one of only four players to have his number retired by the Oakland A’s. Let’s see if he can name the other three.

“Well, there’s Reggie ... I gotta say Rickey ... and ‘Catfish’ Hunter.”

Is he right? How many readers say, “Yes?” If you agree with Rollie, you’re ...

[This trivia moment has been brought to you by Old Spice. Smell like a man, man.]

Back to the trivia contest to reveal that Rollie Fingers, one of the greatest closers in baseball history, got two out of three. Rickey Henderson has not had his number retired by the Oakland A’s (probably

because the A's don't want to reward a man who's mainly known as a thief), but Dennis Eckersley has. Thanks for playing, Rollie.

He definitely has the most interesting mustache in baseball history. And he’s been an MVP before. Who else here has been an MVP?

“He is the only person to ever ace a Rorschach Test.”

Steve Garvey was there. He’s one of only four people to win multiple All-Star Game MVPs. (Can you name the other three? If so, you get a cookie ... assuming you can find a cookie.) But he’s more impressed with the fact that he’s 10-0 in All-Star Games. Hmm, that's perfect ... and very interesting.

The other three, by the way, are Willie Mays, Gary Carter and Cal Ripken Jr. Now Cal, he’s another classy guy, right Steve? Say, who was that Hall of Famer he played with?

“If he were to punch you in the face, you’d have to fight off the urge to thank him.” Never mind. Here comes Eddie Murray now. I can ask him in person.

You know, I never noticed it before, but Eddie Murray has a good mustache as well. Interesting.

“Eddie, you’re the second most successful switch hitter of all-time (after Mickey Mantle), you’ve won a World Series, driven in the winning run in Game 3 of another World Series (1995), multiple All-Star appearances ... do you ever sit back in your living room, an iced tea in your hand, and think about all your accolades, saying to yourself, “Wow, I did all that?”

Eddie stared at me. He seems less amenable to questioning than Jim Rice earned a reputation for. He took a breath and started, “You know, people were always pushing me to look at my accomplishments while I was playing and I didn’t want any part of it.”

Uh oh, I thought this was going to get messy. Not that Eddie Murray was known for fits of temper, but it could’ve gone downhill in a hurry.

“But now that I’ve been out of the game for a while, yeah, I am proud about what I did.”

Phew! That ended well. Crisis averted.

“Y’know, Eddie, I grew up as a Red Sox fan ...”

He rolled his eyes.

D’oh! I’ve done it again. Quick, cower! No one would dare hit a man while he cowers. "I was an Eddie Murray fan and always enjoyed watching you play.”

“Well, thank you very much.”

And with that, he was gone. That was an interesting exchange and did nothing to harm my opinion of Eddie Murray. In fact, it only enhanced it, though I did forget to ask him if he was related to Anne. Hmm, that would make for an interesting family reunion.

Oooo, I can’t spend too much time thinking about that now as “Big Shot Rob” Horry was nearing. His ability to connect in the clutch is most interesting, but I was caught up in a conversation with an interesting subject already and missed my shot.

“He has amassed an amazingly large DVD collection, and has never once alphabetized it.”

I was speaking with Don Newcombe, the only player in baseball history to have won a Cy Young, Most Valuable Player andRookie of the Year award. And since they’re really not giving MVPs to pitchers anymore, it’s probably not going to change. Is Strasburg eligible for the Rookie of the Year next year? He won’t be. That’s interesting.

“He once punched a magician. That’s right, you heard me.”

Now things got really interesting as Sugar Ray Leonard stopped over. With all these synthetically created sweetners out there like saccharin and sucralose, it’s darn nice to see someone all-natural like Sugar.

“Sugar Ray, I grew to know you from the Hagler fight. We know that you came out on top there, but tell me, who’s the better actor?

“Well,” Sugar Ray positioned his feet as a fighter would to square off, for this question was no easy opponent. He put his hands out like we were going to play “slapsies,” and tried to indicate the level of acting ability each fighter had. “See, Marvin, he’s up here, but I’m ...” Sugar couldn’t allow the five-fingered representation of himself to float below the hand standing in for Hagler.

He continued, “... Marvin, he’s a character actor. He’s better looking than me.” So you’re more the leading man, I offered. He laughed and we had that settled. That was muy interesante.

“He lives vicariously . . . through himself.”

Dr. J is that type of person who would live vicariously through himself. Another book report subject, he was my favorite basketball player growing up. I tailored my game as a chubby Jewish kid with glasses and no vertical leap to be like his. And by “tailored my game,” I mean, I pulled my socks up to my knees.

"The first game I ever attended was at the Boston Garden, the game where you got into it with Larry Bird."

“Well, that was an exhibition,” Dr. J said.

“It certainly was an exhibition,” I responded, recalling the spectacle of one legend teaching another one some manners.

“No,” he said, “it was an exhibition game.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. It was October.” It’s interesting that I wouldn’t remember that.

“Sure, anything can happen in an exhibition,” he added, indicating to me that there was nothing more to the fight.

Well, to talk to Dr. J, a man who I said had reinvented the way the game was played, was a treat.

He, by the way, claims “that’s not universally acknowledged” and then modestly described how he just wanted to bring the ABA style to the NBA.

Tomata, tomatoe, I say, Doctor. It worked and generations of players and fans respected what he did for the game.

Sheesh, isn’t there anyone who isn’t among the top professional athletes of all-time?

“He once had an awkward moment, just to see how it feels.”

Hey, here comes Jaleel White! Quite possibly the coolest man to walk the carpet that night made a career out of having awkward moments and cutting them with a nasally, “Did I do that?” The man known as Urkel on “Family Matters” oozed cool in his suit and dress hat.

He sang doo-wop on a recent episode of the USA Network series “Psych.” Though he won’t be releasing a singing album, he’s writing, producing, and starring in his own web series, utilizing all his talents. It’s called, “Fake It Til You Make It.” Check it out on his website. I just watched it and it’s funny and, dare I say, interesting.

Speaking of faking it ...

“Even his enemies list him as their emergency contact number.”

All right, let’s get this straight once and for all – for the past few years, I’ve had to put up with Jerry, the Colts fan, claiming that former New England Patriots linebacker Willie McGinest faked an injury at the end of a Colts-Pats contest just to get a breather, only to return to the game and stop Edgerrin James cold on fourth down at the goal line, thus solidifying the win for Belichick's Bruisers.

“First of all, I was out for two plays," McGinest said. "No one would ever tempt fate to fake an injury like that. You just don’t mess with that.”

So there you have it, Colts fan Jerry. In case you still have questions about it, why don’t you ask all 6-foot-5, 270 pounds of him yourself. Or better yet, ask this next guy coming down the carpet.

“He’s a lover, not a fighter ... but he’s also a fighter, so don’t get any ideas.”

Oscar-nominated actor Michael Clarke Duncan ambled down the red rug. I feel a kindred spirit to the “Green Mile” actor and “Two and a Half Men” recurring guest star. For you see, I weigh 170 pounds and so does one of his arms.

“What kind of sports were you into as a little, er, young kid?” I inquired upon the 300-plus pound man.

“Basketball and football. And I loved baseball. Anything Chicago. But I’m taking jiu-jitsu now.”

That’s both interesting and frightening. So now, instead of just crushing someone, you can throw them as well? Here’s my number. Let’s grapple someday. I’ll demonstrate my “figure-four pee-in-my-pants lock.”

“Years ago, he created a city out of blocks. Today, over 600,000 people live and work there.”

But of all those in attendance, each with reason to be honored, it was the man walking through the paparazzi now that deserved the most praise – Hank Aaron, Hall of Famer and Home Run King.*

The evening was to raise money for cancer research and prevention, but also to honor the excellence both on and off the field done by “Hammerin’ Hank” and his fellow honorees, Muhammed Ali and Denzel Washington. Talk about interesting.

It was truly a collection of the greatest, most interesting men in the sports and entertainment world.


But still, in many ways they cannot hold a candle to “the most interesting man in the world.” I spoke with him for about 10 minutes, each minute more interesting than the last.

In real life, Jonathan Goldsmith has appeared on myriad television shows, including a recurring role on “Dallas;” he’s a philanthropist; he lives on a yacht; he’s saved two people from drowning, in separate instances; he’s thrown out the first pitch at Dodger Stadium; he’s met Jim Thorpe; and he doesn’t always drink beer.

“I’m having a martini tonight. But you know, you should try the amber beer. A lot of people are not partial to amber, but I’m here to tell you, it’s quite good. There are many other uses for beer too. You can cook with it; my wife uses it to shampoo her hair.”

That's fascinating. I could've listened to him talk all night, but he had other people to regale with tales of his choosing.

So I had my answer. Among the most interesting, there is no one more interesting than “the most interesting man in the world.”

Stay thirsty, my friends.

*Home Run King among non-steroid users

Growing up the son of a milkman and C.I.A. operative/P.T.A. treasurer mom in suburban Boston, I remember going to Fenway Park and seeing the lettering on the padded wall behind home plate that read, “No Pepper.”

Today, it’s gone, but there’s no truer statement to reflect the current state of what is frequently referred to as “the greatest rivalry in sports” and what is less frequently referred to as “so boring, I would rather watch a bird pick mites out of his feathers than tune in.” But the prevailing mindset may be shifting.

The Red Sox-Yankees rivalry needs spice! There’s no pepper, nor is there paprika, oregano, parsley, sage, rosemary, and there’s definitely no thyme.

But you know what they say, there’s no thyme like the present. [Ahem] You’ll graciously excuse my horrendous pun. Thank you.

There’s no time like the present to fix this. We know of the history and its explosive elements between the two teams, and subsequently their fans, but it quickly morphs into ancient history. And baseball is about entertaining people, correct? Unfortunately, the baseball season is so long, they’ve run out of story lines and we've become nonplussed with much of what we see.

It’s like the news. They’ve got to come up with stuff every day, which is why news bureaus send employees out from time to time to start fires or kidnap a baby or something like that.

Baseball needs to start manufacturing some excitement. Like the WWE (or the NBA) writing its own material, so, too, should baseball. In fact, why not hire their writers for a season or two to get you going?

Imagine a scenario where at one moment during the All-Star game, Derek Jeter and Dustin Pedroia are turning double plays together. They're high-fiving like best pals impressed by their grace and synchronicity.

Then, all of sudden, the next moment, when Pedey suddenly notices that Jeter’s getting more applause than he is, his jealousy takes over. The next time Jeter stands at the bag to turn two, instead of a lightly tossed ball right into his glove, he gets a rocket fired at his head knocking him out. He comes to with the diminutive Red Sox second baseman on top of him unleashing a fury of lefts and rights to his noggin as the crowd counts them out, “... SIX ... SEVEN ... EIGHT ...” as a couple of umpires stand harmlessly by pleading with the him to stop.

That, my friends, would get the rivalry started again.

Oh, and he could have like a signature finishing move where he puts a Yankee in a headlock and holds one of his rank workout T-shirts in his face until the guy turns green. He could call it “The Green Monster.”

The whole issue speaks to the flaws of the unbalanced schedule and interleague play. Back in the old days, the teams met each other a uniformed four times, for three games at a clip (barring the ol’ twi-night doubleheader). Twice at home, twice away; twice before the All-Star game, twice after. That's how it should be.

Either go with 12 games a year or 162 with no in between.

If you have the two teams face each other 162 times a year, they’ll start to hate the way A-Rod adjusts his batting gloves or Papi’s spitting will start to make their stomachs crawl or just Posada’s ears will piss them off. There will be blood.

Brandon Phillips has the right idea. He hates the Cardinals. I mean, really hates the Cardinals. You can just tell he does by the way he tells you he does.

However, it really doesn’t carry much past that. Because it’s the Cardinals. Their fans are so nice, they’ll probably offer to take Phillips out on the town to show him the amenities of their city.

The fans aren’t going to get into it. And Cincinnati doesn’t even have its own airport. It’s in Kentucky. That’s not going to be good for a rivalry. No one wants to fly into a different state just to cross the state line to go torment and harass Reds fans.

Boston fans used to believe that Yankees fans would shut their collective holes if the Red Sox won. Well, they did, and it didn’t happen. Now they’re resigned to living with them like some ingrown toenail that hurts when they walk.

And Yankees fans, well, they really haven’t changed. They’ve just ratcheted up the murder of Red Sox fans in the last decade from zero to two. So don’t mess with them.

But that’s off the field. We need to get that kind of stuff on the field. (Um, not the murder as that is wrong in most circumstances pertaining to sports.)

We need to get back to the old days. Carlton Fisk didn’t need a reason to beat the crap out of

Thurman Munson. He just needed an opportunity. Pedro Martinez probably would’ve thrown Don Zimmer down after the game in the street if he didn’t get a chance on the field.

Remember when Clemens threw a ball up by Manny’s head and Manny shouted some things to him while pointing and approaching the mound? We need that type of emotion; almost an unnatural level of emotion.

I’m just spinning here, but what if we introduced some sort of synthetically-engineered substance that causes flashes of anger along with enhanced athletic performance?

Nah! That’s just crazy talk.

Maybe add one Pakistani player to one team and an Indian player on the other. Those countries hate each other so that might start some hate. Or add a kid. When a sitcom starts to fail, they always add a kid which makes it – er ... fail faster. (OK, forget the kid.)

How about if the Red Sox name former pitcher Bill "Spaceman" Lee their manager and the Yankees can hire Graig Nettles to be their manager? “Spaceman” hates the Yankees. And he reportedly carries a baseball card of Nettles in his back pocket so the former Yankees hot corner attendant is constantly kissing his rear end. Nettles, by the way, wasn’t waiting for any invitation to slam Lee to the ground damaging his pitching shoulder. It’s just the way it was back then.

Sure, it could be cyclical, but do we really want to wait another 20 years to see an on-field battle? What would we tune in for? Baseball? Ha! Get serious.

Dustin Pedroia, what do you think?

“Let me tell you somethin’, Wasif! All the fans in all the bars in all the towns of Red Sox Nation are lookin’ for me to take out the Evil Empire. And that’s what I’ve been thinkin’ about for a long time. And you know what I’m gonna do? DO YOU KNOW WHAT I'M GONNA DO?! I’m gonna unleash a double play combination of rights and lefts on those little pathetic pansies. Whatcha gonna do, New York Yankees, when the Green Monster comes crashing down on you?!”

Now that's some spice.

Baseball enters its final phase – the pennant race. Now that the trading deadline has come and gone marking an end to all trades (except the ones that happen after the trading deadline), we can focus on the matter at hand – watching the Phillies and Yankees make it to the World Series.

I mean, seriously, is there any doubt of that? Oh, right, the Padres are going to “shock the world.” First of all, the local news barely covers that team, how is the world ever going to hear about it? Secondly, the team scores less than Cliff Clavin did (yet still more than the Dodgers).

Oh, but the Braves have some good, young talent.

Oh, but the Braves have some good, young talent. That’s me mocking you in my high-pitched italic font. You’re so naïve, it’s really quite adorable.

We all knew that only six teams had a chance to win entering this year. It’s how you can tell the difference between baseball and basketball; one is built for six teams to have a chance to win and the other only has four potential winners on a yearly basis. (Oh, that and one sport has more black people.)

Even those odds were too great for the big market juggernauts in New York and Philly. They had to narrow the playing field. The Phillies were a mess earlier which is the only reason other teams are still in it. And they got rid of Cliff Lee! If they had him, they’d have sown it up by now, which is why they picked up Roy Harvey Oswalt. (His middle name’s not “Harvey,” but doesn’t it feel like it should be in there?) They didn’t like having to work so hard.

Now they have Cole Hamels, who was the only lefty better than Lee until last year, and is an ace on most other teams; they have Roy Halladay who has already thrown one perfect game this year; and now, they have Oswalt who pitched the Astros into the World Series by himself in 2005. Where’s the challenge in that?

Then we have the Yankees. As if their lineup wasn’t enough to support their pitching staff (they did win the World Series last year, y’know), then they upgraded in centerfield, DH, and added more pitching.

They lost a few games and decided they needed to upgrade even further. So they got Lance Berkman. Naturally. And Kerry Wood. Of course. And Austin Kearns. Why not? The All-Star team didn’t have as many big name players as the Yankees do.

The Yankees hit the deadline like Paris Hilton hits the mall. “I want one of those and get me one of those and I’ll take ten of those ... and I want another dog to have something in my Milan estate when I visit.”

Oh, but their middle relief is “suspect.” Who cares? In October, your middle relief is Andy Pettitte and Javier Vasquez.

The Red Sox are among the six who go into each year with a shot at the crown, but have been so decimated by injury that they only have the fifth best record in the league right now. Imagine if they had more than five regulars among their starting nine and more than two pitchers healthy for the entire season.

Hey, what about the Angels? They added Dan Haren.

Again, that’s adorable. And the Dodgers got Scott Podsednik. Well, at least he can show them his ring, cuz they sure as heck aren’t getting ones of their own.

Can we just cut to the chase here? C’mon, Selig, start the World Series now. The NFL has started training camp and the closer they get to the season (the Hall of Fame game is next week!), the lower your numbers get. It’s downright embarrassing. Save some face and play your ace-in-the-hole now.

You’ll have two major markets with passionate fans driving ratings through the roof while the only talk right now is what Terrell Owens and Chad Ochocinco talk about during their lunch break.

The window is small, Bud, and it’s shrinking fast. Summer playoffs; I like it! That would make you a forward thinker. You came up with the wild card and that seems to be a success (after foolishly expanding to increase the need for the wild card system, but that’s another story); you came up with interleague play; and you implemented steroid testing only ten years too late ... so let’s go for the Grand Salami here!

Right now, Phils and Yanks, best-of-seven (starting in Philly this year thanks to Joe Giraldi’s decision not to pinch run for David Ortiz), let’s give America what they’re waiting for ... well, before football.

Sure, you won’t carry the Baltimore market ... or Cincy ... probably not anywhere west of Cleveland ... oh, that reminds me, Cleveland won’t watch either. But you’ll get New York and Philly ... and Boston (whose only desire will be for both teams to implode by some sort of scientific phenomena caused by the excess gaseous vapor generated by both sets of fanatics).

It’s your only hope. With basketball’s popularity in the ol’ dumper, America wants baseball to do well. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck watching jai alai matches on ESPN Doze to pass the summer months until ... well, until right now.

Did you hear Albert Haynesworth didn’t pass his conditioning test? Or that Darrelle Revis is sitting on his island instead of participating in training camp? Of course you did, because it’s football season!

Did you hear relief pitcher Scott Downs stayed put in Toronto? Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

That’s all I’m going to say. Tom Brady’s talking to the press about what it’s like to be a father. I’ve got to watch.

“It was my understanding there would be no math during the debate.” -- President Gerald Ford (Chevy Chase, 1975)

It’s funny. We, as Americans, turn to baseball to get away from the daily chaos of our trying lives and the strife we must endure. Baseball offers us a peaceful calming calm peace with its simplistic rules and slow pacing. (Of course, if you’re a fan of the Cubs, it serves as the main cause of your strife.) But that’s changing now as the sport contains more mathematics than you ever had to deal with in school.

Where we used to consider whether we wanted just peanuts or cracker jacks at the ballpark (why not have them both?!), now we’re forced to spend the down-time (95 percent of a game) understanding calculations with concepts we deliberately ignored in school, if not skipped altogether.

A new motto has been born: Baseball – It’s Math Class, Only with Beer

Baseball has become decidedly more academic. But is that a good thing for the sport? A recent study of 890 baseball fans revealed that just over 146 percent of them didn’t like math and found routine concepts such as percentages tough to grasp.

Instead of “see the ball, hit the ball” – the most famous Pete Rose quote before his now more famous quote, “See the game, bet on the game” – it’s become “How often do they pitch a certain pitch? How will hitting this first ball affect the rest of the balls I might see and, therefore, the game? Where should I hit it? How are they playing me?”

Remember the good old days when you just had to know the basics? Just give me batting average (comma) home runs (comma) runs batted in and we’re done. “How’s he doing?” “He’s hitting .280, 24, 91.” “Good enough for me. Put him in the All-Star game!”

I remember Jim Rice (excuse me, that’s Hall-of-Famer Jim Rice) always considered it a good year when he hit .300, 30, 100. He liked big round numbers. And therefore, we liked him.

But those big round numbers weren’t enough for the powers that be. There’s so much more to baseball than just batting in runs and hitting a ball over a fence. With the escalation of salaries causing stadium parking rates to bankrupt formerly wealthy families, every measurable now must be, well, measured. No player gets through without a thorough stat check.

On-base percentage is the new “golden stat” nowadays. Batting average is so passé, what with its average of batting and all. Yessir, O.B.P. – “You down with OBP? Yeah, you know me ” — is the new darling because it, get this, includes walks. It’s the difference between a chocolate sundae with whipped cream and a chocolate sundae with whipped cream and nuts. (Unless you’re allergic to nuts and then you should stay far away from on-base percentage.)

This calculates the percentage of time that a player reaches base. “Time,” of course, limits the dividend to only consider time spent at-bat and does not include a player’s time in the bathroom, at home, playing with his kids at the beach, sleeping in the clubhouse, or other non-game activities. Otherwise, I’m sure the numbers would be lower considering that someone like Albert Pujols spends a healthy eight hours per night sleeping.

The new breed of general manager loves this stat. If the government were to legalize interpronounal marriages and allow humans to marry stats, many GMs would pick this one to be their lawfully wedded significant other.

But the additional numbers don’t stop there. Seemingly out of nowhere over the past decade, the “basics” have given way to a glut of new stats. A baseball stat sheet reads more like a company’s prospectus, and has more numbers than a drum full of Lotto balls.

You can make a ratio for any two stats, really. BB/K is the number of walks received for every strikeout. 1B/GS is the number of singles for every grand slam slammed. BS/HT is, of course, the number of bats splintered to every holdout threatened by a player. GO/TL measures ground outs per every torn ligament a player has suffered. And TR/IF is the number of tickets requested by a player per the number of members in his immediate family. (That’s an important stat for the traveling secretary.)

Over the past few years alone, we’ve encountered a seismic shift that has led to an integration between simple, wholesome baseball stats and complex, evil calculus.

The man responsible for much of this is Bill James, otherwise known as “Wild Bill” (by no one other than me). He is the chief architect in what is being called “the Nerd Movement” (again, by no one other than me). The Kansas native and baseball writer has turned player evaluation on its ear with formulas that allow anyone to determine what will happen for sure, without a doubt ... unless it doesn’t.

He created Sabermetrics which, of course, is named after former Kansas City Royals star Bret Saberhagen which comes from the Dutch word SABR meaning Society for American Baseball Research and hagendaas, meaning “ice cream.”

These new general managers who never played an inning on the field as youngsters, but “batted clean up” for their middle school’s Math Olympiad squad are now en vogue. (En Vogue, on the other hand, hasn’t come out with a decent R&B song since the early 90s leaving many to wonder what ever happened to them and many more to wonder what the hell I’m talking about.) They subscribe to Sabermetrics religiously, many of them majoring in it at business school.

Instead of just looking at a pitcher and getting a feel for a pitcher’s stuff, James’ guide takes the guesswork out of player acquisition and promotion.

Take the situation of a pitcher jumping from the National League to the American League. The AL is known to have stronger lineups so it stands to reason a pitcher’s Earned Run Average will jump. How do you know if your new player won’t suck it up under the bright lights and loud bats of the new league?

In the old days, you would just sign him and tune in to talk radio to figure out how much he sucked. You don’t have to wait for an actual game anymore. Predicting a player’s performance can be done with this standard metric devised by Bill James's disciple Jim Hassenpfeffer who describes it here:

You add a pitcher's E.R.A. in his home league, walks to strike-out ratio, balls hit out of play, percentage of foul tips that glance off the umpire, and average number of signs shaken off, then divide that by the number of calluses built up on his pitching hand and if you've got a MTZLPLK under 18.76, chances are you've got yourself a winner.

It makes a lot of sense. In 2005, the Red Sox signed Matt Clement away from the Chicago Cubs to a lucrative deal because his MTZLPLK was a glowing 13.90 which meant that he would pitch well until just after the All-Star break when a batted ball would careen off his noggin causing him to suck for the rest of his career.

This type of projection is not unique in the offices of professional clubs. They can even rate you when you don’t play. It’s called VORP and it means “value over replacement player.” It calculates if one player is better than a fictitious guy they could certainly get to replace him.

This logical analysis proposes that most players on the field suck and can be easily replaced by other less sucky players. It was created by “Ron from Queens” who calls in with a trade suggestion every time the Mets lose.

There is still a small portion of baseball aficionados who don’t need these stats. They just need what they see in front of them. Did he make an out or not? Does he look scared stiff or not? It’s olde-timey baseball at its best.

Which reminds me of a story – the first batter hits a fly ball to the center fielder, who makes a nice running catch. A guy sitting in the bleachers writes it down and then turns to the man next to him and says, “Score that play an 8."

The next batter hits it directly to the right fielder who catches it in his tracks. The scorekeeper writes that one down and says, “Score that play a 9,” at which point the man leans over to him and says, “I though the first catch was better.”

This is the problem with baseball today – too much time for these stories. It beats doing math though.