Although I caught a little of yesterday's Yankee game, I missed the sickening spectacle of seeing Roger Clemens's Evita/Lou Gehrig moment, announcing to the huddled and pinstriped masses his intention to return this season to the Yankees (at $8,888 per pitch). To commemorate the event, ESPN.com has freed up Bill Simmons's 2001 column in which he explains why Clemens is more than just another guy who leaves his team for big free agent money; rather, he's the Antichrist. Slate does the same thing with Seth Stevenson's 2004 piece:
Also: You are fat. They say you've got this hard-core training regimen, with calisthenics and whatnot. I'm not seeing it. You're wicked fat.
Oh, perhaps that was uncalled for. You know what else was uncalled for? Sucking, every time it mattered. You ruined my childhood, fatty. Because the trauma you put me through as a young, impressionable Red Sox fan has stunted my emotional growth, I revert to a juvenile mind-set whenever I see you. Like repeatedly calling you fat.
And you know, people forget this now, but there was a time when Clemens was really, really out of shape. Double chin and everything. Like, "Is that Clemens or Clemenza?" fat. It's good to be reminded of this from time to time when TV guys are fawning over him about his offseason training routine.
Along the way Stevenson offhandedly drops in a suggestion that Clemens would probably give very serious consideration to if he thought of it: hiring himself out start by start to the highest bidder. In fact, I bet you he tries that next season.
News on teams we actually like
I've got night-game-itis this week. If I couldn't make it past the second quarter for any of those ridiculous Mavs-Warriors games (go Warriors!), then there's no way I'm going to manage to get past, say, the fifth inning of these games versus los Gigantes. With that said, Zito v. Perez tonight is a really compelling matchup. Two young(ish) enigmatic lefties squaring off always makes for a good time. I'll do my best to stick it out.
Mets2Moon and I will be there Friday to welcome the Mets back to Shea. And we'll be sure to avoid the parking lot.
Green is the valley blue is the night
Now, finally, a Sopranos episode you could sink your teeth into. Not perfect, mind you, but who's expecting that anymore? Nothing else last night quite hit the same pitch-perfect tone as the Los Lobos song they used for the closing credits, but all in all this was more like it. No more "who's that guy?" out-of-left-field characters wasting our time. Paulie, Christopher, Tony, A.J., Dr. Melfi. Sad-sack Tim Daly, just trying to hack out a Law & Order episode. Lap dances. Some poor schlemeil getting his ass kicked over owed money. The old, good stuff. When Tony grabs a gun hearing a car revving up the driveway behind him, a genuine "here we go" chill moment.
I don't expect the show to regain its old fastball in the last four episodes, but if it can keep changing speeds and locating, we'll be fine. And when Chris Moltisanti gets got, and I'm convinced he will, that'll be the most genuinely sad death of a sociopath in TV history. Ever notice how his name is an echo of Frank Pentangeli's from Godfather II? "Many saints"/"five angels"? If Tony has to do Chris in himself, it'll be like Big Pussy + Tony B. times infinity.
