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A-Rod 2.0™ (that's right, I trademarked that!) is a man possessed. He's playing baseball like he needs to put food on the table, which is something I never could have imagined. But what's more important than 2.0 playing out of his mind (or maybe he's finally IN his mind?) is that our bats came alive, and Joe Girardi kept his non-managing behind on the bench.

For once, we didn't eke one out and sheepishly tip our hats to brain dead plays from the opposition. With CC Sabathia and 2.0 leading the charge, we completely dismantled the Angels, and there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. But watching 2.0 play like Roy Hobbs at Wrigley Field raises an important question about his past: Is Cynthia Rodriguez 2.0's Memo Paris? 

Hang in with me here! In his post-season career, 2.0 has managed the following numbers: 

Before Cynthia ('95 - '00)
18/53, .339 BA, .375 OBP, .566 SLG (World Series MVP in the making?)

Cynthia ('04 - '07)
23/94, .244 BA, .372 OBP, .436 SLG (Pinch hitter in the making?)

After Cynthia ('09)
11/27, .407 BA, .469 OBP, 1.000 SLG (Oh my bloody G-d)

As you can see, that ravenous bitch sucked out 2.0's life force and stored all his power in her biceps, so this theory is totally valid. But this revelation begs another important question - if Cynthia is Memo Paris, who is Iris Lemon? I'd say it is Kate Hudson, who is not only cute and friendly but also seems to be the first woman in 2.0's life who can't bench press him with her vagina's labia majora. Then again...

... who's to say who serves as Alex's muse? All I know is that this person needs to be wary. A-Rod 2.0™ is in beta until the end of the 2009 season, and the last thing the Yankees need is some random glitch jacking up the final stages of installation.

I posted this image by mistake but since it's been up for a couple days, I'll add a little text -- not really for your amusement but because I hate the way the post formatted without it.

For Americans who don't know the identify of this modern day Venus, meet Camilla Parker-Bowles. She not only serves as the Duchess of Cornwall but also concrete proof that money, fame and blue-blood status have no bearing on one's taste in women. 

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In other news of pure awesomeness, the New York Yankees just signed Mark Teixeira to an 8-year, $170+ million deal.

Sabathia, Burnett (meh), Tex. Who are these mysterious chaps in the front office and what have they done with Brian Cashman?! It's as if someone wants the Yankees to win again!

Now, I'll be honest - I remain thorougly unhappy that we solve problems by dumping billions of dollars into the laps of high-flying free agents. $400+M are tied up in our 3 recent acquisitions but at least Sabathia and Teixieira don't require Metamucil and Flomax prescriptions. At least they aren't 8 years past their primes. If we're going to spend money like a drunken hillbilly in a whorehouse, the least we can do is spend it on the best tarts in the building. Two of our recent moves reflect such thinking.

You know, when Madonna's roided up vagina prison trapped Alex Rodriguez a few months ago, I knew the Yankees could be in serious trouble for years to come. With the Yankees' hitting troubles and complete lack of pitching, the last thing we needed was that evil succubus turning A-Rod into the Guy Ritchie of baseball.

But with Teixeira in the lineup, we might just be okay. All we need now is another starter or bullpen arm and a relationship shakeup and the New York Yankees are back in business... the business of winning championships (that was cheesy and I am ashamed. My apologies).

Huzzah!

While having my senses abused by Joe Morgan during the Yankees/BoSux game last night, I noticed that Peter Gammons' teeth are an amazing shade of butter. I know he's this legend and all but he's not so big that someone at ESPN - or maybe even his bloody wife - can't force him to put a tube of Crest and maybe even some of those fancy White Strips to use. Being a Hall of Famer shouldn't mean that you can get away with having teefuses that, if pulled out and sold, can put Parkay out of business. Unacceptable.

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But to the story at hand. It's well known that huge sporting events like the World Cup, Olympics and Super Bowl are boons for the skin trade. After the host site is announced, girls from far and wide grab their chinchilla coats, head to the destination like birds flocking south and get prepared for the influx of indiscriminating, drunken chumps with money to burn on cheap ass. You'd think they'd be unbiased about the fans coming in to cheer on their teams but it seems that when you're in the game of blowing and blanking as many men in possible, the nationality of your punters can be an important factor. At least, that's what these South African hookers believe. 

Meet Levola, Yolanda and Samantha [Note: moments before the interview, the trio was fined by police for exposing themselves to drivers] - three prostitutes from a South African shanty town that link England's success in World Cup qualifications to the prospects of escaping prostitution. According to them, the Army of the Three Lions (that's really what we should be called, you know) will bring in a wealth of cash:

“We just can’t wait. We only get paid about £10 for sex when drivers stop for us here. English men will pay a lot more...

Why, because they can't do better at home?

"We’ll probably have to fight over them with the girls who already have pitches in that area, but it will be worth it." - Yolanda Lorika

Now, a part of me thinks, "Hey! Maybe it's time you raise your games, you filthy mingers! Work harder, blow faster, incorporate something new. There are three of you - maybe you can put on a show! If you get creative over the next two years, you may not have to worry about having the jackhammer taken to you 1,800 times over by insane Englishmen and getting your hips broken. Besides, if that happens, then how will you make money??" But then I realize I'm just being a a foul asshole. So let's look at this realistically:

Assuming England actually reaches the World Cup, we'll most assuredly have two uninspired, nauseating showings before going down 2-1 to some sad sack side like Poland. One of these matches will feature a controversial performance by David Beckham that not only reflects how talentless we are as a nation but also shows that he's 8 years past his prime, remains the source of too much agony and must die. Under the circumstances, it's only good manners to be looking forward to servicing thousands of drunken reprobates for a tenner apiece, right? Ease the pain? A little salve, so to speak, for the perennial wound?

But when those good feelings come with a side of HIV, that's no good for anybody. You see, one in every two South African hookers is dogged with that pesky, fatal occupational hazard and no matter how much bad I wish upon our stupid hools, all that will happen is that these diseased bints will infect them and they'll bring the bug back to the Isles. How delightful.

Our only hope is that every single one of them chooses to forgo the hordes of toothless women lining the dirt roads and opts instead for 3 or 4 minutes with the chicks in this interview - modern marvels that have beaten the odds thus far by stealing heaps of condoms from the free clinic. 

“They would give us some for free, but not enough for our work,” said Lavola, who spurned paid sex with a Somalian man because a Nigerian man was willing to have sex in the comfort of his own home (and give her £7).

How very classy of the Nigerian man.

It's fantastic that these chicks are eager to get drilled into oblivion by the debauched nutters in our fanbase but let's be real here --- The Three Lions have left England in a state of perpetual pain and heartache since the 1960s, with each year more shameful than the last. The more people depending on this team's success, the worse they fail. So why these dumb bitches really think England is going to come through and help them get off the mean dirt streets is beyond me. If anything, we're more jinxed now than ever.

Thanks, South Africa! 

I leave XM Radio's MLB Home Plate on in my office most of the day and when I came back in yesterday afternoon, Rob Dibble was busy fellating himself over being so fearsome on the mound from about 1990 - 1992. This is a pretty run of the mill occurrence on The Show, a shitefest hosted by Dibble and Kevin Kennedy - a couple of assclown braintrusts with no opinions that make any sense. When they aren't congratulating each other on careers well done or getting unnecessarily furious about this topic or that, they attempt to answer questions from hapless callers.

Yesterday featured a call from a panicked Tigers fan that was concerned over the (then) 0 - 7 squad's chances of making the post-season. No really - I'm serious. And I don't mean that he was worried. He was in an absolute fright. How could that hack Jim Leyland engineer such a catastrophe? How can the 2nd highest payroll in the league not make the post-season? So much for hope.

And he's right. Looks like it's time for that paper bag, Tigers Fan.

Though no team has ever gotten to the post-season after losing its first 7 games, you don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that there are 154 games left to play and these are the Detroit Tigers, not the Texas Rangers. [I can't believe I just said that.] Hell, you shouldn't even have to be a Rob Dibble.

But rather than talk about a week's worth of games full of flukes, aberrations and mishaps or the fact that the Tigers are a good ball club with good hitters making mental errors and pressing a bit too much, the Nasty Boy took up the torch and pitchfork. After excoriating the organization for being such a colossal waste of talent, he and Kennedy then tried to calculate the number of games Detroit would need to beat the odds, eventually deciding that going .500 in April MIGHT leave Detroit with a chance but even then - who knows because other teams are good too - like the Royals and the Cubs!

Seriously? Is this where my subscription money is going? To keep this mindless dickbag employed? They can't find anybody better than this? The reality is that at 1-7, the Tigers are 3 games behind the Indians - their true competition come September. And with their lineup, this team should be able to sleepwalk through April and still be able to hit their way into the wild card. Christ, the Yankees don't even get out of the rocking chairs to participate in the league schedule until it gets warm in mid-June.

Case in point, here's where we are now:

• .244 BA (.167 RISP), 21 walks and 25 runs (Detroit has 22 runs)
  
• Errors in seven games in a row and no steals
  
• Like Torre, Girardi seems unaware that Kyle Farnswacker sucks balls
• Posada has a dead arm and Jeter has some flaws in his nether region.
  

And honestly, I can deal with all of that for now. Even being outscored 19 - 7 in two losses to Tampa Bay, which is pathetic, can be taken in stride... I think. But something that cannot be tolerated - and something even the Tigers wouldn't allow - is scoring just 2 runs in 2 games against the Kansas City Royals.

We're missing Jeter and Posada, sure, but that's no excuse for getting pwned by the dregs. Zach Greinke shut us down and shut us out, allowing 6 weak sauce hits over 8 innings.

Have we no pride? Is there no line that is drawn where the team agrees to not be bent over and rogered by every perennial bottom dweller in the league? Now, I know that the Royals are all new and improved but they're still the Royals and managing 2 runs with Rodriguez, Matsui, Abreu, Damon and Cano in the lineup is nothing short of foul. That said, at least we're not the Tigers. If you haven't heard - they're not gonna make the playoffs. Chumps.

I'm sure I'm late on this but am I the only one that didn't realize that with Opening Day just 24 hours away (not that hyped up bullshit on ESPN), the true Opening Day has already come and gone?

Last Tuesday, I caught all of the news about the Red Sox trip to Japan to take on the A's and what a magical event it was. Hell, I even caught a small portion of the game before flipping on MTV to watch that horrific yet oddly captivating America's Best Dance Crew (Go Kaba Modern!!).

As it turns out, the entire country of Japan showed up for this spring training nonsense. Highlights included Daisuke Matsuzaka being treated like the Second Coming of Jesus and Manny Ramirez jacking a couple homers so monstrous another Godzilla was likely awakened in the Pacific. Now, I paid this news no mind because, like I said a moment ago, this was spring training nonsense.

But alas - this was actually Opening Day. The Opening Day. The only day of the spring so holy and glorious (and non-denominational even) that it deserves to be revered and celebrated at least on the same level as Thanksgiving. This a day that brought us Hank Aaron's 714th and Bob Feller's no-hitter. It's a day so woven into the fabric of the national consciousness that it has become the only true symbol of rebirth - not just a sign that the despair of winter is long gone but of your team's hopes and your ability to bump gums all year about your chances. Not only that, it brings millions together - all playing hooky from their respective life situations - in the joy and anxiety of knowing that if your team wins that day, you're not gonna lose em all and maybe, just maybe that "next year" you're always crowing about, has finally arrived.

But no. Leave it to the federal government to thumb its nose at a nation and celebrate President's Day instead. Where does that get us? A day off to hit that big sale at Kohl's and pick up a piece of cherry pie down at the senior center? Please. But leave it up to Bud Selig to take advantage and shit all over our special moment by shipping Opening Day off to Tokyo and then having the nerve to brag about it:

"Not only do you feel that you're watching history in the making, but we're doing what we really set out to do.... "The game has never been more popular than it is in the United States today. Our goal is to take that popularity and make it worldwide."

Hey dummy, here's a tip - THE JAPANESE ALREADY LIKE BASEBALL! This is about like the English Premier League shipping its opener to Brazil to drum up international support and then sucking each other's dicks over the success once a frenzied riot breaks out in the stands and the stadium catches fire.

Yet again, it's time for someone to kick Bud Selig in the sodding face... GO YANKEES!