Trapped In The Rundown Of Love

Anything involving Roger Clemens these days has descended into pure unintentional comedy (you couldn’t come up with parody as good as his testimony in front of Congress over Brian McNamee), and you’ve likely read the news that has been all over sports and music blogs better than this one you are reading about an “intimate” relationship that the Rocket had with country star Mindy McCready that started when she was 15.

McCready told the NY Daily News she couldn’t refute a word of the original article. Clemens’ attorney Rusty Hardin says the relationship was never sexual (um, sure it wasn’t), and I can’t add a whole lot of indignation outside of the “god, that’s absolutely vile on his part” type, although it did take a while for this story to get a lot of play, on, say, SI or ESPN (betcha it would have been faster if it was a new item on Kimberly Bell, right?) Isn’t it typical that McCready’s got both plans for a new album and a reality show as this breaks? All press is good press if you’re in entertainment. That aside, I can only expand upon this with the fun of song titles about the whole matter (and baseball in general) for her comeback. Some of them would be for Mindy, and others likely for an aggrieved Debbie Clemens (provided she’s actually bent out of shape about this.)

  • “Don’t Let Our Love Go Inside The Foul Pole”
  • “Walk-Off Love (Bottom of the Ninth)”
  • “You Hit One Into The Upper Deck of My Heart”
  • “Broken Bats and Broken Hearts”
  • “Hit By The Pitch of Love”
  • “I May Be Young, But I’m Ready For The Call-Up”
  • “Suicide Squeeze (Trapped In The Rundown of Love)”
  • “Double Switch, Double Talk, Double Cross”
  • “Sliding Head First Into You”
  • “Calling for a Pinch Hitter (Hit The Showers!)”
  • “My Bases Are Loaded, Now Swing For The Fences”
  • “He Wanted A Double Play, But Struck Out Swinging”
  • “Slump Buster (Driving One Into The Gap)”
  • “You Stole My Heart When You Stole Home Plate”
  • “Make It A Doubleheader, Baby (Let’s Play Two)”‘

If you’ve got others, drop them in comments….

Photo: Getty Images

Mindy McCready weeps as she confirms affair with Roger Clemens [NY Daily News]


When A Verbal Apology Just Isn’t Enough.

Scene: New York City, in the offices above Tiffany & Co.’s store on Broadway. One of the company’s executives sits in his office, evaluating designs for its newest collection, when the phone rings.

Receptionist: Mr. Lamont, there’s a call waiting for you regarding an Elite Account.
Lamont: Entertainer, politician, or athlete?
Receptionist: Athlete, sir.
Lamont: References?
Receptionist: Codes provided by the NFL’s offices, usually given to their higher-profile players. Plays in Baltimore, name of Steven McNair.
Lamont: Put him through, Anne.
Receptionist: Yes, Mr. Lamont.

(Soft click, as lines patched through.)

Lamont: Hello, Mr. McNair. How can I be of service to you today?
Steve McNair: I was hoping you could help with a gift selection, Mr. Lamont. I thought of coming into the store, but I figured it might be better to do this over the phone.
Lamont: Understood. We keep Elite Accounts completely private, no surprises. Is there a particular order you’re looking into? Mother, wife, or girlfriend?
McNair: What?
Lamont: It’s easier to evaluate what you’re looking for if I know the nature of the relationship.
McNair: Um….wife.
Lamont: Appreciation or apology?
McNair: Apology. I may need one in advance, even though none of the stuff being floated in the papers is remotely true, y’know?
Lamont: You’ve called the right man. We’ve assisted high-profile men such as yourself when they find themselves either directly involved with or implicated in…delicate situations.
McNair: So, how much money should I be looking into here?
Lamont: Depends. We have the A-Rod level, which is $10,000+ — very popular, and if extremely necessary, there is the Kobe level — $500,000 and up per piece.
McNair: Neither level’s really appropriate. Anything in the 5-10K range?
Lamont: Plenty, at least as far as necklaces go. Rings, not as much. We’ll send along the catalog with those levels immediately, Mr. McNair. Give my assistant a call when you receive it and she’ll guide you through the process.
McNair: Wonderful. Thanks again, Mr. Lamont.
Lamont: We do what we can. I’d advise you set up an account with us in the future — keep a bit of it on hand in case something more…serious should happen.
McNair: I’ll take it under advisement.


(Thanks to the Big Lead for inspiring the idea. Odd tidbit that came across while semi-researching: Tiffany & Co. designed both the Lombardi Trophy and the current NASCAR trophy that goes to the Nextel Cup winner.)

Right, You’re Posing In Playboy To Set The Record Straight.

One of the mysteries of the whole Barry Bonds saga is why his ex-girlfriend Kimberly Bell gets so much respect and credibility from certain sportswriters. Michael O’Keeffe of the New York Daily News (not exactly the most objective of folks when it comes to the Giants slugger) gives us the latest (puff) profile as Bell’s Playboy spread is due to hit newsstands this Friday, and it rehashes the usual things Bell has said to the media: she says Bonds admitted steroid use, was threatening (especially the whole “cut your head off” part), and welshed on the agreement they had to buy her a house.

The best part is that she has the temerity to imply to the Daily News that it’s not about the money (it’s about defending her reputation), when the agent who got the deal with Playboy said it was about getting the money that she was owed, and since she wasn’t getting it from Barry, it was coming from somewhere else.

Bell said she agreed to the Playboy story and the nude photos because she has been erroneously characterized in the press: She is not a gold digger.

“A lot of people have said a lot of rotten things about me,” she said. “It comes to a point where you have to defend yourself.”

Hm. If you want to defend yourself and look credible in the eyes of a grand jury and federal government that you’ve testified on behalf of, it probably isn’t the best move to pose nude. Just a thought.  I certainly don’t condone any of the behavior towards her that she accuses Bonds of if it turns out to be true, but wouldn’t you think that the best way to make one’s case, if you believe someone has done wrong and you are a witness to it, is to keep a low profile?

Leave The Women Alone, Please.

God knows I’ve cracked a couple jokes (at least) at the expense of the WNBA (mostly due to comical mismanagement by the NBA), but I think in mentioning the victory of the Phoenix Mercury in this year’s finals, we’ve kind of gone off the rails with the apathy wisecracks, and it’s time to lay off the lesbian and trans-gender jokes that invariably crop up whenever any site of note mentions the league.

I admit I don’t watch much, if at all — that’s in the middle of the baseball days, and the finals occur as college and pro football get started. So, maybe I’m part of the problem. Thing is, I remember going to catch a couple of ABL games when I lived in Denver — remember the Colorado Xplosion? I thought not. Anyway, the worst thing that could have happened to women’s pro basketball was when the NBA decided to get in on it — the ABL was more than prepped to grow organically, it seemed, and even though the NBA put its muscle behind the new WNBA, which eventually took the players when the ABL folded, it’s been nothing but a comical screw-up. The NBA doesn’t know how to market the women’s game at all. Some would argue it can’t be marketed, but anything can be sold if you’re smart enough, and selling a competitive sport with quality players shouldn’t be too hard.

Continue reading

Sean Salisbury Is Totally Jealous Of Rob Stone.

Via Awful Announcing, we find out that, yes folks, ESPN’s Rob Stone is popular with the ladies…

This is one of those ideas that probably sounded really, really awesome in the meeting that afternoon between the writers and the talent, but comes off kinda skeezy and very questionable. Forget the Awkward Turtle; you need an Awkward Hippopotamus for this.

In other ESPN-related news, sources are informing me that both Sean Salisbury and Woody Paige are applying for transfers to cover soccer.

The Congratulatory Phone Calls.

A logical extension of February’s post on the subject, really. Scene: an unnamed hospital in the Los Angeles area, likely Cedars-Sinai. The newest daddy in the NFL is taking phone calls on his cell while outside the glass and peering at his newborn son.

Tom: Now, who’s Daddy’s little fantasy QB of the future? Yes, you are! That’s right! You are gonna be throwing it downfield with ease, kiddo. (Cell phone rings again.) Hello?
Matt: Hey there, Tommy! Congratulations, dude! I’m drinking in your honor! This is the best thing that could have ever happened to you.
Tom: Oh, I know; it’s awesome.
Matt: Kid got a name yet?
Tom: No, Bridget and I are still going over it. Got any advice for me, I mean, what did this feel like for you?
Matt: Greatest moment of my life, being a dad. It really focuses you, tells you what’s really important in life, you know?
Tom: Oh, definitely. (Hears noise in the background.) Where the hell are you?
Matt: Dude, I got into town a couple hours ago. I’m actually a few minutes away and the party is ON. Wanta join us, or do you want me to come over to the hospital?
Tom: Isn’t it your weekend with Cole?
Matt: Totally, but not until tomorrow, so, y’know…
Tom: Brynn’s gonna be pissed if she shows up with the kid and you’ve got someone over.
Matt: Dude, for what I’m paying her a month, she can deal. Besides, this girl will be gone in the morning, won’t you, sweetheart? (Semi-audible “you bet” in the background).

(Tom’s cell phone rings again; caller ID reads “Urlacher.”)

Tom: Matt, I’ll catch you later. Got another call.
Matt: Peace, dude!

(Tom flips over.)

Brian: Congrats, Tom. Boy or a girl?
Tom: It’s a boy. I’m so proud. Bridget’s doing okay.
Brian: Awesome, dude. You always remember every kid’s birth.
Tom: Yeah.
Brian: Just don’t let Bridget start controlling the kid too much, man, honestly.
Tom: What?
Brian: I’m telling you. With your schedule, she’s gonna turn him against you, might not raise him right, might just raise a fucking pussy without you around.
Tom: I think Bridget’s a bit more mature than that, Brian.
Brian: We’ve all been there, man. Look, just trust me — get someone to handle this, nip it in the bud early.
Tom: Um….

(Text message tone sounds. ID reads “Gisele.”)

Tom: Brian, I gotta take this. I’ll talk to you later, OK?
Brian: All right, man. Again, congratulations.

(Tom opens the text.)

Message from “Gisele”: “ok, the stupid kid is born, so DITCH THE BITCH ALREADY!!!”

(Tom closes the phone, sighs, and looks through the window again.)


(Author’s Note: I actually wrote this about an hour ago, then, this KSK post floated into my Google Reader, thus making me feel completely inadequate as a human being and writer, but I decided to finish this anyway.)

“Yeah, The Prescription’s Under ‘Buster Iraq.'”

Given that trusting a source calling itself L.A. Rag Mag screams credibility, I’m just going on the humor potential of such a story alone: the site is claiming via someone who used to work for Alba that while she dated Derek Jeter, he left her with the gift that lasts forever; in this case, herpes. Now, usually, STDs are not terribly funny (especially when they happen to otherwise beautiful people that we would fantasize about.) Derek Jeter is supposed to be a defense asset — I can’t imagine him going without a glove. Major E-5 on his part.

Now, given the track record we have from the more carefree days of Michael Vick and the mileage earned from “Ron Mexico,” I ran it through the Ron Mexico name generator and got the name you see in the title. Now, that’s just dull. Here are some alternate suggestions that are slightly more plausible for nom de STDs — and feel free to leave yours in the comments.

  • Eric Belize
  • Mark Lesotho
  • Jason Cyprus
  • Danny Ireland
  • Leo Suriname

Tipping the cap to: The Big Lead, Larry Brown, and Sports by Brooks.