Farmer Ted

I couldn't pull an Al story out. Hmm. Where have you gone Ambler, JSW52, & Met Jim?

Wright peaked in the WBC. I blame Selig.

With the NFL draft this weekend, it's still football season in PGH. The crowds will start showing up in June when they have free fireworks and post-game concerts featuring Donnie Iris.

I want more Santos.

I always thought Spanky LaValliere should be in movies. He reminded me of Ron Jeremy.

Paul. Lukas. Is. Awesome. What a great read.

Perhaps it's beacuse your pitching SUCKS. When they decided to build the new Yankee Stadium, the Bombers wanted everything to be picture-perfect. From pristine clubhouses to wide concourses to the new Monument Park, the Bombers' new palace was designed to put every other ballpark to shame. Most important, the dimensions of the field were the same as they were at the remodeled Stadium, from the deep walls in left-center and center to the short porch in right. So why is the new Yankee Stadium already being called Coors Field East? The first four games at the Yankees' new cathedral saw 20 home runs hit by the Yankees and Indians, a total matched in just four of 84 seasons at the old park. According to a Yankees official, engineers performed a wind study during construction of the new ballpark that showed there would be no noticeable difference between the two fields, so this weekend's numbers clearly caught the team by surprise. The team is planning another study, but it remains to be seen whether the results will clear things up. --NYDaily News

I see a guy with an orange vest. The guy with orange pants is nowhere to be seen, though.

Meanwhile, a little league team shows some class, unlike the money greedy MFYs. Just tear down your old piece of shit, assholes. Anyway... Washington Nationals outfielder Elijah Dukes was fined $500 and benched for being late to Saturday's home game against Florida. But he won't pay the fine himself. The Great Falls Little League, where he was speaking prior to the game, says it will pay it for him after a fundraising effort, according to the Washington Post. "The point is, this guy gave back to our community, and now he's in a hard spot. We need to help him," said Jim Mraz, the Great Falls LL president, according to the Post. "It's not a question of whether this guy can afford the 500 bucks. We're just trying to send a message to our kids: He was here for us. Now we've got to be there for him." On Saturday, Nationals acting general manager Mike Rizzo and manager Manny Acta decided to fine and bench Dukes because Dukes was late and the appearance was not sponsored by the Nationals. They warned Dukes that if he was late again, he could be sent to the minor leagues. "We are going to change the culture here, regardless of how well a guy is playing," Acta said, according to MLB.com. "It was a bizarre situation, because he was doing something that we encourage our players to do. He was out in the community doing something for some Little League program and he just showed up late for work. "He was very remorseful about it. He felt bad, but we have to lay down the law. Regardless of who is out there, we are still losing ballgames. We have to change the culture somehow." Dukes, who was paid $500 for his appearance, signed autographs, watched the parade of teams and spoke to the players for about a minute. He then sprinted to his car and headed to the ballpark, the Post reported. The league was surprised by the fine and benching, and jumped into action with an e-mail campaign. Mraz will present $501 -- $1 for "administrative expenses," according to the Post -- to the Nationals. Dukes had no comment. Said Mraz: "You're a little stunned. Like, 'Whoa, wait a minute.' Here's the game of baseball -- it's got steroids hanging over it, all these issues. ... Needless to say the Nats kind of need help with what they're doing. I could see if he was out trying to do something small or private, but he just came into my community and gave us a shot in the arm."

I wasn't feeling that great after yesterday's loss. Thought it would be a nice to showcase this classic post to bring our spirits out of the obstructed views of Citi Field. Maybe this will put the Mets on a run of good luck. Thanks, Big Al. I knew it was a bad sign when my ex called me at work to tell me my boy wouldn't be coming down to the city to go to the game with me. She says he had a math test in the morning and she didn't want him getting home at midnight. I razzed her about that it was only one test, the Mets had their backs against the wall, it would be a good night for him and me, and on and freakin' on and then she just comes out and, blammo, hits me with the whole thing. She doesn't want the boy hanging around with me anymore after what he saw last time in the city, which was this girl who lives downstairs from me flopping on the couch. Also she said I was a drunk and I said doesn't going into N.A. and A.A. count for shit with you? But when I went into the rehab again that just set off all kind of alarm bells with her. She had forgotten that I had a problem I guess and it worried her that the boy would be hanging around with a man always on the verge of heading over a cliff. I said Come on! I haven't touched even a freakin beer in three months. But forget it. My son would not be going to the ballgame with me. You know I am not like these season ticket holders. I am in a "share" and go to a few ballgames a summer. I thought I was being cagey as hell, back in the winter, when I selected this Sept. 26 Atlanta game as one of my nights as Shea. For the last month or so I'd been staring at the ticket and thinking I was some kind of freakin genius. You and I, we were made for each other! That was my attitude. Even two weeks ago, I thought I was going to be present for the climax of the pennant race. But it turned out a whole hell of a lot different. And not only was creaky old Hershiser on the mound for a game that was just a backs against the wall game instead of a true pennant fight game, but my kid couldn't go with me... and my new boss at this new freakin place where I have been on my "best freakin behavior" for two months was holding me back, keeping me at work until almost 8 freakin o'clock. Christ, I hit the N and took it to Queensborough Plaza, switched to the 7 train there. Read that free paper, New York Press, on the way. That rag always depresses me. I was also listening to the game on the FAN. Down 5 nothing. Didn't bother me. I thought, "I will be there when we make our comeback." I had almost that same thought one Sunday night earlier this summer when I was helping the junkie girl through a bad time, and the Mets were down 5 zip to the Phils in the 8th and I nearly turned the radio off but something told me NO and we rocked Schilling for 5 runs in the ninth. What a ballgame that was. But that's a long freakin time ago now. Anyways, there was Shea. First thing I tell myself is, "I will not get a beer tonight. I will not get a beer." Because that could start the whole slide all over again. A losing streak of my own. I go in gate B with my two tickets and right away hit the Italian sausage cart. The line was long and I swear the guy was makin us wait for no good reason. You always see a lot of funny guys at Shea, guys who really make you laugh, and the guy in front of the sausage line was watching the guy turn over the onions and green peppers with his spatula and searing the meat until it had black stripes on both sides, and the guy was saying, he said, "I'm gettin' delirious here! I'm having a hallucination, I'm so hungry. Finish cooking it already!" But the cook kept taking his damn time. I guess that was the one power the cook had over other people, making them wait for their freakin sausage, and he was going to take every advantage of it that he could. I do the same kind of bastardish things at my job, too, I guess. Because who wants to be a freakin worker, an employee, a cog? Nobody. We were all kids once. Nobody aspired to be middle management or to stand at a hot sausage cart. Christ. So I said to myself, "Christ. This world is fucked up, get me a beer." And I paid the freakin $5.50 for a 16 ounce can of Bud poured agonizingly slowly into a cup. Got to my seat. I saw Weissman seated a few rows ahead of me and to the left. I wished my life were simple like Weissman's. Belief in God. Belief in a team. No alimony payments. No woes beyond what Valentine did or did not do. The girl sitting right in front of me was just a peach. Man, she looked like a young Stockard Channing. I always liked Stockard Channing. I have a thing for her. My wife used to say, my ex wife, I mean, used to say, "What do you see in her? She looks like a puppy dog! With you it's her and Swoozie what's her name. Why can't you be normal and like Christy Brinkley and those kinds of girls," and I would say, "Stockard and Swoozie just kind of do it for me, what can I say?" She secretly liked it, that I wasn't into the supermodel types. I quaffed down the beer. God it tasted good. It felt good too. I immediately kept my ear open for the beer man but now they got those bonehead waiters by the field and the beer man never comes. This Stockard Channing girl was damn smart and she knew it. Her boyfriend was a bonehead. He says to the other guy they were with, "She was a classics major. Do you even know what a classics major is?" And the guy goes, "Sure, Roman and Greek." As the girl starts talking about studying at Oxford and tra la la la di da, I did something I don't usually do. I started just winking at her blatantly and smiling and making goofy faces. Her boyfriend couldn't see me. He was directly in front of me. She was to the side. She smiled at me and gleamed up her eye for me and met my eye a couple time. God she was great. On the field the Mets were in hell. Cook couldn't get it over the plate. I felt funny from the beer and guilty. When Cook came out of the game and started giving it to the umpire, a weird thing happened to me. I started feeling all jittery. I was WITH Cook. You know what I mean? I know what it's like to be squeezed by an ump and it's freakin frustrating. I thought of all the calls I didn't get, maybe, and I stood and clapped like hell with everybody else. When Cook started covering the outer half of the plate with dirt, I tried to shout something, but my voice caught and I realized I was crying. Not like blubbering, but really tearing up and they were running down my face. I told myself this was not good. But I was really so touched by Cook and his frustration and the whole damn losing streak and my son not being there and paying that freakin much for the tickets and getting to the game late and the beer and the pretty girl it just sprung out of my eyes or something and I thought it was very beautiful, what Cook was doing on the field, and sad, too. And even as I was crying a little I wanted to kill the ump, too, and I mean really kill him. Chase him with torches through Queens. The Stockard Channing girl turned around to me. "Are you all right?" "Yeah, yeah," I go. "It's just... boy they were squeezing Cookie out there." She goes, like, "Whatever." Probably didn't know what "squeezing" or "Cookie" meant. I wiped my face. She still had the gleam. The boyfriend, a handsome soft guy, turns around and gives me the fish eye. "What are you looking at?" I go. He does the classic, "You two know each other?" I go, "Not yet." That was all. He didn't want a piece of Big Al. The bottom of the eighth inning was one of those beautiful baseball moments. The fans really got up and cheered, even before Henderson's single. It was loud, World Series loud, and everyone was following the counts and it was great. But then Piazza hit the ground out and Alfonzo had that soft, soft fly ball his second terrible swing of the night. I've never seen his swing the bat with such lack of authority. He is messed up right now. Either hitting sixth does not suit him anymore or he is in a radical slump and needs a night on the bench. All the "good" people filed out after that, including the Stockard Channing girl, who would not look at me now, after my little altercation with her beauty boy, and it was only the rabble left. I went behind home plate because I thought I saw an old friend of mine there, but it was someone else. A guy was wearing a Yankee jacket and a funny guy started giving him the business from a few rows away. "Yankees suck dick!" the guy shouted. The usher told him to can the profanity. And the guy said, "I said a bad thing. I'm sorry." Then he said things that were almost profane but not quite after that. Another guy started yelling at Rickey in the on deck circle. "You're old, Rickey! You can't do it anymore. Hall of Famers don't run, right, Rickey? Hall of Famers don't run!" Rickey shook his head and smiled. It got uglier thought when another heckler called him "boy." I wanted to kill that guy. That guy would have been cheering Rickey like crazy if things were going better, so why the "boy" crap? Why bring this racial shit into it? Man. Even in the field seats, the Mets fans can get freakin ugly. I mean, I will boo and yell, but not like that. After the ragged ninth inning, everybody left, but I noticed these two hot girls sitting with some guy. I mean, these women were incredible, one in tight leather pants with humongous cha chas under a tight sweater. "What's going on here?" I said to myself and waited for them to leave their seats. I followed them into the parking lot, and I was right. These were not usual fans. They were strippers from this place called the Airstrip and outside they and some other girls started passing out fliers to people. I took one. Christ. I got in a cab with some drunk fellows, Wall Street guys, who were going to check the place out. We got there and it was... you know. It's in the zone where you can legally have a strip club in New York. A "waitress" asked me what I wanted. I said Scotch, God help me. You know when Chris Rock does that routine, something about the girls don't do it in the Champagne room? Well, they do it, friends, they do it. I left there at about 5 A.M., much poorer both financially and spiritually. I was drunk, too, and couldn't find a cab. I walked out to the water. There was trash in it. What a losing streak. What a night. I had for some reason a pack of cigarettes in my pocket. I smoked one there. A guy was waking up by the dock. The planes started coming in from Europe overhead. The dirty seagulls and pigeons were battling it out as usual. I started walking until eventually I found the Jackson Heights subway stop and rode the 7 back to Manhattan. I stopped by my place for a shave and shower, slugged down a hell of a lot of coffee, went to work. And here I am at my desk, still looped a little bit, and the boss has been giving me kind of a cold look. I must look the way I feel. Hungover. This far from being a bum. But if that guy could have seen me when I was 17, 18, when my arm was at full strength, and you had the scouts and everything... ahh, Christ, what's the use. What's the use?

The Yankee faithful in the rich section got a bargain of $110 for each Indians run.

Randall Tex Cobb in right for the brewers.

Randall Tex Cobb in right for the brewers.

Offense, check. Livan, check. Steady as she goes with a 3-0 lead. YOU CAN DO IT!

She's clearly not taking a picture of Jeter. She's angling at something above and behind that asswipe. Julia has that look like "fucking Jeter, get that Kid-'n-Play hair style out of my way!"

Brewers = Bud Selig. I hat the Brewers.

same douchebag sitting next to her? http://blogs.suntimes.com/sportsprose/assets_c/2009/04/julia-stiles-new-york-mets-thumb-531x337-6053.jpg

I wubba her.

I have more respect for Ray Barone.

This is just brutal. NORTHBOROUGH, Mass. -- Former All-Star pitcher Mark Fidrych suffocated after his clothes became entangled with a spinning part on the truck he was working on, Massachusetts authorities said Thursday. The state medical examiner's office ruled the death an accident, according to a release from the Worcester District Attorney's office. A friend found Fidrych, 54, beneath a 10-wheel dump truck on Monday at his Northborough farm. "He appeared to have been working on the truck when his clothes became tangled in the truck's power takeoff shaft," District Attorney Joseph Early Jr. said in a statement. A power takeoff shaft is a driveshaft that spins at high speed and can be used to power another piece of equipment. The investigation is now closed, a spokesman for the DA said. Fidrych went 19-9 with a 2.34 ERA for the Detroit Tigers in 1976 to win the AL Rookie of the Year award, becoming as famous for his mop of curly hair and on-the-mound antics as his skills. The Bird, as he was known, was beloved by Tigers fans for appearing to talk to the ball and smoothing out the mound between innings. He never matched the heights of his first season, as injuries derailed his promising career. He attempted a comeback with the Boston Red Sox in 1982 and 1983, but never again pitched above the Triple-A level. Fidrych remained a popular figure in his hometown, known for his friendly demeanor and generosity. Visitation is scheduled for Thursday at the First Parish Unitarian Church in Northborough. A funeral service is scheduled for 11 a.m. on Friday at the same church, followed by private burial. Fidrych is survived by his wife, Ann, and daughter, Jessica.

Yeah, put the world series trophies out next to the Shake Shack, Fred. Just below the Skyline that you put over the Nathan's stand. With complaints rising that Citi Field lacks a significant " Mets presence," team chairman Fred Wilpon said Wednesday that the team would establish a Mets Hall of Fame, most likely in centerfield at Citi Field. "We're intending to have a Mets Hall of Fame," Wilpon said after the dedication of the Jackie Robinson Rotunda. "We haven't put it into practice. We'll have a Mets Hall of Fame, Mets memorabilia. Things of that nature." At Shea Stadium, the Mets had a team Hall of Fame display in its Diamond Club. Asked where the new display would be, Wilpon said, "We haven't really exactly said where it's going to be. We think it's going to be out in the food court, where so many people will get to see it." The items from the Shea Stadium Mets Hall of Fame exhibit are currently in storage.

The guy is so full of optimism it's contagious. Wally Matthews, dog kicker.

I wish the Yankees all the best in their new federal building/post office.

Ryan Howard supposedly showing his respect to Harry by taking a puff with Jayson Werth. http://www.totalprosports.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/ryan-howard-smoking-during-the-pre-game.jpg

BOSTON -- Former All-Star pitcher Mark "the Bird" Fidrych was found dead Monday in an apparent accident at his farm. He was 54. Worcester County district attorney Joseph D. Early Jr. says a family friend found Fidrych about 2:30 p.m. Monday beneath a dump truck. He appeared to be working on the truck, Early said. Mark Fidrych was the American League rookie of the year in 1976. The colorful right-hander was the American League rookie of the year in 1976 when he went 19-9 with a 2.34 ERA. He spent all five of his major league seasons with the Detroit Tigers, compiling a 29-19 record and a 3.10 ERA. His career was cut short by injuries. Fidrych attempted a comeback in 1983 with the Boston Red Sox and went to their Triple A team in Pawtucket, R.I. But he never pitched in the majors after 1980 and retired in 1983. The Worcester, Mass., native later owned a trucking business. Fidrych acquired the nickname "the Bird" because of his resemblance to the Big Bird character on the Sesame Street television show. During games, he would bend down and groom the mound with his hands, appear to talk to the baseball and slap high fives with teammates in the middle of the diamond. He started the 1976 All-Star Game after opening the season with seven wins in eight decisions. He finished that season with 24 complete games. But he tore knee cartilage during spring training the following year and was placed on the disabled list until May 24. He sustained a shoulder injury in July 1977 and ended up pitching in just 58 games during his major league career. State police detectives are investigating the circumstances of his death, Early said. (Merged from The Bird, 4/13/2009)