Nurse the Hate: Hate Kid's Sports

When I was a kid we used to have Little League. Every summer six teams were formed from the neighboring communities. We'd get some boring sponsor, a logo would be placed on the back of the jersey, and the Shannon's Auto Wrecking Pirates would hit the diamond. We'd win some games, lose some games, and have fun. About six weeks later there would be a championship game, a few kids got trophies, and everyone would go home. Good fun without a lot of hassle...

I am shocked at the current state of kid's sports. When did this shit get so out of control? I've got friends of mine getting up at 5am on a Saturday to drive four hours so their kid can play in a double elimination tournament all weekend. Another one cuts a check for $1500 to their 9 year old kid's team manager. What, is this guy the pre teen version of Joe Fucking Torre? "Listen Brendan, I know you like to chew gum when you bat, but if I let you chew gum, the next thing you know Dylan and Tristen will want to chew gum too. You and I know those kids can't hold your tiny little jock strap, but still, we're building a championship caliber team here. I need everyone on the same page. I need you to lead these kids out there. Now...let's get those shoes of yours tied and go beat the crap out of the Bay Village Lil Rockets."

The source of the problem appears obvious; unfulfilled dreams of the parents. They figured the only reason they flamed out was because they just didn't have the right coaching. Or maybe if their parents had only pushed them into more practice. If only I could have attended a specialty baseball camp for $5000! Well, if that had happened, that might be me out there right now hitting fourth for the Red Sox fist bumping Big Papi in the dugout on Fox's Game of the Week!

This just in...the reason you and everyone you know doesn't play professional sports is because you are not a freak of nature. When scouts go to look at kids they want to know the following: how tall are you, how much do you weigh, how fast can you throw the ball, and how fast can you run. Do you think these guys give a shit if Brendan was MVP at the Twin Oaks invitational when he was 14 years old? Do they look at batting stats and measure the level of competition? Nope, they want to see if that awkward 6 foot 4 inch kid on the bench nobody pays attention to can chuck a ball through a wall. If he has the genetic gifts, they'll teach him how to pitch/hit later. The Giants starting center fielder went to something called Mississippi Shores Community College. If you have the gifts, they'll find you. Don't worry. They'll find you.

So, are you going to teach your kid how to run a 4.4 forty? Maybe teach him to grow out of that 5-10 frame? Sorry kid...maybe you can walk on at Ohio Dominican. The good news is that the payoff of that decade your entire family spent driving around the Midwest to kid baseball tournaments from age 8-18 is that you can now play college ball in front of 19-37 somewhat interested onlookers in lawn chairs. Live the dream...

Despite the fact that all these suburban families must know in their heart of hearts that's true, they just can't give up chasing The Dream. For argument's sake, let's say that their intentions are noble and they want their kids to have The Good Life. (Although, I have a sneaking suspicion they want to hang out in a luxury suite, get on network TV shots, make outrageous demands of the Professional Sports Team, and spend the kid's money like drunken sailors. Forget that.) Why put your efforts into something you can't really control for the most part? The kid can either throw 95 mph or he can't. Why expend all this money and effort at baseball camp, when you could actually get some return for the effort at let's say, Math Camp.

There are 750 players in Major League Baseball at any one time. These players are from the entire planet. I think we can say it's a fairly large pool of prospects we are pulling from, no? Let me put into perspective the chance of playing at the major league level, even for just one at bat. If you are a high school baseball player, you have a 16,000-1 chance of appearing in a MLB game. Meanwhile, if you walk up to an average American walking down the street, there is a 15,000-1 chance they speak Cherokee Indian. Kind of gives you an idea of the chances of playing pro ball, no?

Here's the good news. The average major league salary is just shy of $3 million a year. That's pretty good cake. The average career lasts for 5 years. So if you somehow make it, you'll gross $15 million. Now you have to pay your agent, taxes, etc... Let's say you have a great accountant that you actually listen to. You don't buy a diamond house with mink sinks, and don't marry that gold digging 22 year old bleached blond with the breast implants you met at BW-3 while you were playing AA ball in New Mexico. I'd say you keep a third of our money. That puts you at 5 million (give or take) to be one of 750 guys that "make it".

Meanwhile, let's look at 350 of the largest corporations based in the United States. The average salary is $6 million a year for a CEO. Of course, you don't have to hit a 94 mph splitter to get that. You blow your knee out, you just show up at work in your knee brace and keep plugging away. That's the kind of gig you can stay around and get comfortable in. You can bank that $6 million for 10-20 years. On top of that, since you are a CEO, you help make the rules regarding tax laws with your crafty lobbyists at your beck and call. Even if you only keep half of what you gross (which is highly unlikely...I'd say 75% is more likely), you're at $60 million dollars.

So why aren't families talking about how they've got their child on the road to study with Bill Gates or Jack Welch for two weeks? "Yeah, Billy's breaking down some P&L numbers with Jack this weekend trying to figure out what the best move is on the home appliance division. It's costing us $1200, but after this weekend, he'll be networked in with everyone at the top of GE." Maybe it's just me, but wouldn't that be a better long range plan for the well being of the child as opposed to thinking he's destined for Cooperstown? Clearly, this driving around the country for overblown child sports tournaments and dreaded "travel leagues" is not for the kids. (Side note: I live in NE Ohio. There are 1.75 million people here. You mean to tell me that 9 kids have to drive three hours away to get a competitive game up with 9 other kids their own age? Do you mean to tell me that 12 year olds in Avon Lake OH really have the itch to see how they stack up against other 12 year olds in Morgantown WV?)

Let's put an end to this fiasco. To save face, we can chalk it up to the new #1 excuse in America: The High Cost of Gasoline. "Brendan, due to The High Cost of Gasoline, we can't drive to Dayton this weekend for your games. Let's just head to the local park and play there. Oh yeah, afterwards, let me see your math homework."

Nurse the Hate: Hate Gettin' Old

I thought I should share this photo someone sent to me. It's shocking when you see what Keith really looks like... Wow. (Last weekend Keith went to Ron Wood's scary looking daughter's wedding. I think he was there to make the bride look nice on "her special day".)

Random Notes: Now is a good time to pound the Brewers at home. They seemed to have turned some kind of corner at the plate and are smashing the ball. The public hasn't caught on yet, so the lines are pretty reasonable... I lost a big one last weekend on that Miranda/Abraham fight. It looks like Miranda is done as a legit contender at 160 lbs. I wish someone would have told me that before Sat night!...That new My Morning Jacket record is a piece of crap. Yet another band that has fallen into the trap Johnny Ramone said must be avoided at all costs. To paraphrase Johnny, "What band ever got better by changing what they did that first made them noteworthy? There's only one in rock history...The Beatles and you ain't them.". Smart guy...

Nurse the Hate: Hate Keith Richards

I am about to utter the ultimate rock and roll blasphemy...Keith Richards is a blowhard. There it is. It's out there. Now, before you lose your mind and dare ask how I defile the original rock n roll diety, let me explain.

About a month ago I read an article in GQ about Keith Richards. It was a piece that was seemingly placed with the sole ambition of promoting Keith's new sponsorship deal with Louis Vuitton luggage. (God knows he must need that promo money. Quick, what's more leathery? Keith or the $5000 bag? Ohhh...cheap shot!) In that article, there was the usual free pass that Mr. Richards enjoys in the press. Every article goes like this..."Keith, can you still party like you did in 1972?", asks the breathless interviewer. Keith answers vaguely, "Argh, Mate! You know, it's rock n' roll! Heh Heh Heh..." Uh, what? Follow up question: "So, what's it like being a dangerous man?" Keith then pulls out some knife or something, "I just gut anyone that gets in me way!".

As far as I know, Keith Richards has never actually gotten into a real fight with anyone except that hapless kid that got belted with Keith's guitar in the back of the head when he ran onstage towards Mick in 1981 in Hampton. Yet, he somehow has started to believe this press about him being some kind of pirate, and he thinks he's going to cut people up with his knife. C'mon...you're a 64 year old kazillionaire that hasn't so much as wiped his own ass since the early 1960s. Even that flimsy story about him pulling a gun on a local in St Tropez during the Exile sessions doesn't hold up under the light, and he really was out of control then. By the way, that was thirty six (36) years ago.

Anyone read that "interview" where Keith preens in front of Jack White and Hollywood's #1 starfucker Johnny Depp in Rolling Stone a few weeks back? Johnny has apparently latched onto Keith as New Father He Never Had #2, since Hunter S. Thompson inconveniently died leaving him orphaned. "I couldn't have pretended I was a pirate unless I saw Keith pretend he was a pirate first!" Then Keith responds with "Argh Me Matey!" Really heady stuff...

Anyway, that's all fine by me. The guy has definitely earned a pretty wide berth. Wrote some good songs, and so on. Did a few noteworthy things. Lived a very interesting life. However, I pick up an issue of Blender in a waiting room yesterday and see this stuff...

"Keith Richards still carries a knife for self-defense. The 64-year-old Rolling Stones' guitarist keeps a knife with a six-inch blade tucked in his pants.

According to Richards, he learnt how to use the knife while he was in Jamaica. As he told Blender magazine, "The actual cut doesn't hurt. All the blood comes down, and then you kick the f**ker in the balls. It's a very efficient way of dealing with problems. I learned it in Jamaica. I've always carried one."


You know how big that tough guy is? He's 5-10 and 138 lbs. I've taken bigger shits than him. You're telling me that this millionaire musician and his posse of pale Brits were getting in knife fights with Kingston street thugs when the Stones recorded there in the 70s? Uh, I don't think so... Those Kingston guys shot Marley and Tosh. You think they're going to give some 138 lb English drug addict a pass? "Quick back into the ghetto! That little leathery guy just knifed Toots! " Enough already...Keith, the stories swirling around you are good enough. Don't be like the 75 year old at the VFW Hall and start embellishing your war record. We know you were there. You don't have to impress us. You already did that years ago. Sometimes you say the most when you say the least. You don't hear Jimmy Page talking shit about conjuring up demons, do you? No way. Dude keeps that nice and private.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Deadlines

I realize I have been very quiet, but I have been hard at work trying to tame the lengthy tour diary document. Look for it this week as the cover story in the Cleveland Free Times, and a more full length option on their web site. That comes out Wed June 10th? 11th? Something like that...

Quick Notes: It's a real drag to come home to the United States and see what a bunch of slobs live here. The gate at Newark going to Cleveland was a horror show. Really, is there any reason to be 275 lbs and waddling around in sweat pants? How about wearing some clothes that match? Was that unicorn tattoo on your calf really necessary? Here's another idea! How about straightening out that stupid gold baseball cap on your head. Take some pride in your appearance, and get your shit together. It's embarrassing...I love the Twins today at +150 vs the White Sox. Those slugs from Chicago won't keep scoring runs like they have this week, and Hernandez is the perfect guy to slow them down. At +150 it's well worth the risk...Does the NBA Finals smell like professional wrestling? What good luck to have the Lakers v Celtics in the Finals right after a point shaving scandel was quickly swept under the rug. It seems a little too according to script, no?

Nurse the Hate: Hate the Little Things

I am in Europe right now. I love Europe for the care and attention to detail they pay to the little things. It is this attention to detail that improves the overall quality of life. This is one area that could use much improvement in the US. We are all about MORE instead of less but with quality. These Euros really have a few things down. However, there are a few things that really baffle me about the overall lifestyle here.

1) Showers: I have railed against this in the past, and I will address it again now. Why is every shower roughly the size of a phone booth? Why is every shower head located at about mid chest? These Germans, Swiss, and Dutch are very tall people. They are most famous for exporting things like luxury automobiles, fine watches, and jewelery. So these same guys that work all day fine tuning a seven thousand dollar watch never thought, "Hey, we ought to raise this shower head about 2 feet and widen this stall while we are at it."? Confusing...

2) Why is everything closed all the time?: From the time I landed on Saturday afternoon to Tuesday afternoon I was unable to buy a simple list of goods because stores, post offices and banks are apparently NEVER open. Every third day is a religious holiday over here despite the fact that NO ONE goes to any kind of church. I hate to even say it, but if you drop about fifteen hundred 7-11s in here with some well placed 24 hour super center supermarkets and the culture changes overnight. We can get them fat, and spoiled in no time.

3) What is with the Turkish mullet?: Turks are kind of like Mexicans over here. They are living outside the mainstream while nudging themselves slowly into the culture. As far as I can tell, they exclusively run kebob shops and internet cafes. The other thing they do is proudly fly the mullet. From what I have seen here, the latest fashion trend for the young Turkish male is a mullet accented with a cheap gold chain. It is a whole cross section of the population that looks like the male cast of Footloose. That brings the question. Is Turkey a country that looks like a midwestern American high school in 1987?

Random Notes: When did LeBron James start to refer to himself in third person? That is a real J Bag move. Dude, you put a ball in a hoop. On your biggest games only about 8 percent of the population is interested enough to watch. News flash. All that King James hype is to sell sneakers...Is there anything more boring than glam? Every town has a group of guys in skinny black jeans and eyeliner pretending to be the New York Dolls. Here is the glam rock playbook: Look slightly disinterested while playing nearly identical songs. Make sure all stage banter is about how fucked up you are on habit forming drugs despite the fact you have drank about 5 beers and will drive home to your parents house after the show. Wear one piece of women's clothing as a fashion accessory. Dye your hair black. Ready? Now you look like everyone else in this little glam army. Go get em kid.

Nurse the Hate: What's To Hate?

I went out on the town last night at a big wine event where I drank a heroic quantity of wine one ounce at a time. A painful lesson I learned was to never go to a four hour all-you-can-drink event without first eating something. Why they turned a thousand people loose on five hundred different wines without any substantial food is beyond me, but it sure was a good time. And the thing with wine is you never really know how shitfaced you are until reflecting on it afterwards. Like, "Hey, maybe it wasn't such a good idea to try and snip the dog after drinking 2 bottles of Cabernet."

After getting the boot from the venue, a friend and I stopped at an upscale restaurant by my house that serves good food late at the bar. I would have stopped at Taco Bell, but the thought of barfing up a nachos belgrande with a gutful of red wine was too grim to think about. Imagine it. Four in the morning and you struggle to the toilet to throw up in a daze. How bad would you freak out seeing the nachos coming back up mixed with wine so that it looked like a bloody mess? It would have been like hurling out your small intestines. Nobody needs to live through that...

The bar of the Cabin Club was full with their normal crowd, wheel heeled suburbanites in their mid fifties and beyond. This is the kind of place where empty nesters go to "get a nightcap" after having dinner at the country club, or maybe enjoy a well deserved 20 oz steak after a week of pushing papers around at Amalgatech Inc.. It is a "nice" place.

My friend and I ate our food as we watched the Celtics somehow get taken to seven games by the lowly Hawks. Out of nowhere, a fight breaks out between two white haired guys that must have been in (or near) their sixties. It was such an unexpected occurrence that it took me a moment to register what I was actually seeing. "Is that really a fistfight seven feet to my left between two men that look like insurance executives?" Here's what I saw...A guy that looked like an older and shorter version of Ed Begley Jr. was vigorously punching a guy that looked like a 55 year old version of Damone from "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" in the face. This was no pushy-shovey altercation. This was two men, in their advanced years, trading punches like Arturo Gatti and Mickey Ward. It was like a hockey fight, but with good traction.

Now, I don't think the Cabin Club sees too many fights. I say this with complete confidence because the two bartenders, women in their thirties/forties in crisp white dress shirts, stood transfixed as the events unfolded. The host, a thin gentleman in a fetching sport coat and tie, didn't want any of the action either. Since no one from the restaurant was stepping in, the two men continued to exchange punches to the face with loud "thuds" and "thwacks". I did what any sensible over served man in my position would do. I ate my blackened grouper sandwich and watched.

Normally in these situations, both parties are ejected from the establishment. Yelling then ensues out in the street as each combatant comes down from the adrenalin rush while the police sort the situation out. Everyone recaps what the hell just happened from their vantage point, and the cops finally just haul everyone away. Not in this case. It wasn't until Ed Begley Jr's wife jumped on his back that the punching stopped. It must have been a good 25 seconds after the fight first started. After that, he just sat down at one end of the bar while Damone sat at the other end. The bartenders sheepishly tried to look busy wiping down the bar and pretending that this whole event had never happened. Nobody got thrown out. No one from the restaurant yelled at anyone. The plan appeared to be that if we pretend it didn't happen, then it didn't happen. "Another J&B Mr. Grimes?"

People say the suburbs are boring? Let me tell you this. That was the best bar fight I have ever seen. I have never seen more solid punches landed in a fight in my life. If that had happened at "the trendy night club", it would have lasted about 4 seconds until the bouncers beat the crap out of everybody. Since this was a place that had never had this kind of thing happen, no one was going to get involved in breaking it up. It was like they entered the Octagon! What a great night...

Random Notes: The Fastest Two Minutes in Sports goes off in a couple hours and I have no idea who is going to win. With 20 horses, no one really has any idea. Since all the pre race publicity has been on Big Brown, don't bet him to win. Krusty advises all of you that a speed horse that gets stuck in the 20 position is going to have a rough time of it. I think I am going to take a flier on Col. John, and maybe box a trifecta of Col John/Big Browns/Bob Black Jack. Excuse me, I have to go change into my seersucker suit and mix up a julep.

Nurse the Hate: Hate Caution

Just when I was ready to hear about a “horrible accident” that had befallen Barry Zito so the Giants could get out of that contract (This just in! Streetcar crushes Giants hurler!), they send him to the bullpen. I was hoping they’d cut him loose completely in full on freakout mode. The joys of April baseball are in pressing the panic button as early as possible in a “sky is falling” manner. Most times this is completely unwarranted. For instance, I’ll bet Carlos Beltran will start hitting for the Mets. In some cases, a full on freakout may be completely justified. I present to you Travis Hafner…

From 2004-2006 Hafner was a beast. He hit 41, 42, and 31 home runs while averaging over 100 RBIs and batting over .300. The Indians signed him to a fat contract extension, and the guy immediately went into the shitter. Take a look at these numbers…

Hafner hit .338 (27-for-80) last April with five homers and 16 RBI. Since then he's hitting .243 (147-for-604). Those numbers include Hafner's horrific performance in the postseason last year when he hit .186 (8-for-43) with two homers and four RBI. Dude looked like he had never swung a bat before…
Now take a look at this, here’s Hafner's monthly batting averages: last May (.228), June (.218), July (.250), August (.253), September (.316) and October (.186). This April he’s hitting .219.

Despite these awful numbers, Hafner assures everyone he’s never felt better physically. That’s not good news. Scouts are saying he’s lost bat speed. Anyone even casually watching can see that he’s killing them in the middle of the lineup. The best part? He can’t play defense, so you’re paying him a kazillion dollars to go out there and exclusively hit like Chirs Magruder.

With the Indians window of opportunity to win the whole enchilada effectively closing this season with the expected exit of CC Sabathia, isn’t it time to see if Barry Bonds wants to pad his career stats for a year in the Progressive Field bandbox? Throw him in as a DH, and let him blast 35 home runs. Why even put him in the locker room? Just give him one of the empty luxury suites and let him shuffle down to take his cuts every couple innings.

It’s not like the Indians have an issue with Roids. Paul Byrd is still a swell guy and in the rotation despite testing positive (and admitting it). Their have been plenty of steroid guys through the doors here…Juan Gonzalez, Albert Bell, Jim Thome, David Seguii, and that spindly reliever that ratted everyone out in Arizona immediately come to mind.

C’mon, let’s do it! Let’s press the panic button! It’ll be great!