Cubs Press Release: Steve Bartman injected Sammy Sosa with Performance Enhancing Drugs

Tuesday night, Cubs officials issued a press release to renounce the statements made about Sammy Sosa relating to PEDs and also to provide unquestionable photographic evidence of the suspected assailant’s actions:

“We were deeply saddened to hear the allegations leveled against Chicago Cubs legend, Sammy Sosa, who by all accounts is a deeply devoted family man and champion of many charitable causes in the Chicago area as well as in his hometown of San Pedro de Macorís, Dominican Republic. Sammy has always been a hero to skinny teenagers who aspire to grow bulging muscles on every inch of their bodies, aided by a strong work ethic, a healthy smile, and the occasional unbanned substance.

Upon hearing the allegations, our thoughts drifted to a cryptic picture we received in the mail a few days ago. The man in the picture was none other than our old friend Steve Bartman; one hand trying to catch the infamous fly ball and the other hand vicously flinging what appeared to be a loaded syringe onto Wrigley Field. Right now, Steve Bartman is expanding and improving facilities that were used for the production of PEDs. Intelligence gathered by this and other organizations leaves no doubt that the Bartman regime continues to possess and conceal some of the most lethal PEDs ever devised. We are learning more as we interrogate or have discussions with Bartman scientists and people within the Bartman structure, that perhaps he destroyed some, perhaps he dispersed some. And so we will find them. We'll find him. It'll be a matter of time to do so.

Legal action will be taken in the event that Bartman is apprehended. We would like to take this last moment to send a message to Cub Nation. If you see Mr. Bartman in the streets, please do not attempt to harm him [wink] or otherwise engage in any heinous act of vigilante justice [wink].”

VoML was unable to reach the Chicago Cubs front office to discuss the accusations that the photograph was doctored.

-PSon

On the heels of new "Mamba" look; Kobe signs 3-movie deal

Kobe and Pau's season ends and they find out they no longer have an outlet for their intense passion. Problem solved...

Kobe bursts onto the scene as America's most polarizing new male model, "Black Mamba", making immediate enemies of standout Derek Zoolander. Can Zoolander keep his stranglehold on the modeling world or will Kobe prove that turning both ways is the way of the future?

A sinister cell of Albanian pedophiles infiltrates the Los Angeles Lakers and steals another chance at a ring for Kobe. Kobe unleashes his inner beast as he snaps his teeth all over the greater L.A. area, leaving confused citizens in his wake. He will not stop until he's broken every one of his poor shooting teammates.

Soundtracks by Shaq "Diesel" O'Neal.

-PSon

Big Shot Rob to MJ: "Tell me how my @$$ tastes."

-PSon

Small man wins race by choosing fastest horse; staying atop said horse

-PSon

Birds of a Feather...

In each person’s life there are seemingly inconsequential moments, that alter the course of that person’s life and may ultimately serve as a precursor to who that person is. Depending on what side of the nature v. nurture argument you fall on, you may not agree that one’s character can be altered by these experiences but they can certainly alter the course of one’s life. Foremost, the relationships we have with people are what pushes us; knowing that we can alter the lives of loved ones, for better or for worse, is a significant driver in our lives. Those aforementioned moments often decide whose lives we affect and who affects ours.

One of those moments came for me during my sophomore year in college. I first started to play ultimate in high school, my friends and I would go down to the local park and play an extremely unorganized version of the sport. There was no out of bounds, no real end zones, and I’m pretty sure we never kept score. Nevertheless, it was an introduction. The next fall I went to college at CU and my RA mentioned he was thinking about getting a dorm team together. Not knowing what to expect, I said I would play with the disclaimer that I could not throw, but was pretty good at chasing the Frisbee down. It just so happened that our dorm fields were the same ones that the club team practiced on. Every day we would go out to “practice” and would see those guys throwing not only backhands, but forehands and sometimes even the unthinkable hammer. There were numerous times that I wanted to walk over to see what those guys were all about but intimidation got the best of me. Those guys were good and I was an intramural player with no semblance of throwing skill.

Well it turns out that our team was pretty good… well, relatively good. We had another guy in our hall that would eventually play a year on Mamabird along with me (the Burb, who needs no introduction). We took the intramural title and felt pretty good about ourselves. I had a lot of fun playing with those guys but I was always itching for just a little bit more. The next year, one of my high school buddies (who was a year younger than I) and I decided to go down to the field and throw for a bit. We were out there probably 30 minutes before a bunch of guys started showing up. Turns out the ultimate team was having their first practice of the season. Just before they went to run, a guy asked if we wanted to practice with them. I looked at my friend and we said, “Why not?”. Why not. I could have easily decided to go back to my apartment or continue throwing on a different part of the field, but the simple act of saying those two words in a questioning manner forced me to make an impulsive decision that would forever alter the course of my life. I guarantee I would have never had the courage to approach them on my own. The next 2 hours were truly a lesson in humility but I stuck it out and even came back the next day, and the next, and so on.

I was always a competitive person and tried my hand at a number of sports during my childhood. I was always good at some facet of each sport but never had all the necessary tools to succeed. I learned I was too small and shy to play football, my baseball career was highlighted by great defensive plays but I could not put bat to ball, I could rebound well in basketball but was a streaky shooter at best, and I was a flexible, gritty wrestler without any strength to speak of. In Ultimate, I found a sport that I loved and could excel at, but by far the greatest outcome has been the people with whom I have shared both triumph and defeat. Mamabird was a huge part of this and I know I would not be the same man without having worked and played with those men.

Last weekend, the newest installment of Mamabird (University of Colorado ultimate team) travelled to Columbus, OH to compete in College Nationals. That tournament also marked the first time since I began playing ultimate that I have not travelled to College Nationals. It was a gut-wrenching experience for me, partly because I felt like some invisible bond was broken by my absence. I was now relying on others to keep me updated. Mamabird made it to the finals, losing 15-11 to the same Carleton team that defeated Mamabird in my first year on the team, by the exact same score. Mac and Kibbles, who played with me in my last season on Bird (their first), saw their careers end with a finals appearance every other year, all losses. They should be proud, this year's team certainly made us alumni proud. I have been on teams that were decimated by the loss of multiple play makers, as they were before this year; it is not an easy thing to overcome but they certainly did. From all accounts they played hard and played with class and have left the program in good standing. My last two links to the team are gone, things have come full circle for me.

In the time since my first year on the team, Mamabird has made the semis 7 times, the finals 5 times, and has won 1 championship. I would have liked for that last number to be higher but can I really complain about the success that this program has had? I can't, because I know the culture of this team and I remember the hours worked and the tears shed in reaching for that crown. One night during my first year on the team, I was driving with a senior member of the team and I was overcome with emotion and very nervous at the thought of the impending tournament. "Why?" he asked. I replied that it was, "my only shot to win a championship." What a crazy thing for a freshman to say, I know. We did not win that year, and I wept. We didn't win the next year, and I wept. In fact, I wept every time my season ended, even the one time our season did not end in a loss. What I came to realize since making that statement is that it's not about having that medal around your neck; it's about the path and your relationship to the people that help you along that path.

-JA

Nuggets/Lakers Game 4 Twitter Diary

You may have noticed the Quick Hitters we started posting on the left side of the page. I basically started a Twitter account so I could post small stuff that I couldn't turn into a real post. Well, I've found that it's a lot more fun than I thought it would be. I decided to post a running diary (to steal a phrase from Bill Simmons) of sorts with the Twitter Updates I threw out during Game 4.

• It's good to know Melo is still getting no calls. I should have a significant amount of rage built up by halftime.
• Poor shooting by both teams so far. The only jumpshot Denver has made was Kenyon's bank.
• Nene is eating up the boards. Another non-call on Melo. 0-7. WHOA! DJones with a windmill. While mid-air, I had visions of him bricking it.
• Chris Anderson flying ALL OVER THE PLACE. Hitting the floor, blocking shots, trying to wash Gasol's hair...
• I defy you to name one thing that Sasha Vuja-chick is good at, besides being a greasy Euro and getting under people's skin.
• J.R. Smith must have been watching old Magic Johnson videos. He's made 3 highlight reel passes already.
• That's not to say all "Euros" are greasy. In fact, Argentina may have more grease-balls per capita... allegedly.
• J.R. tries to snack tray Kobe and commits the foul. Van Gundy glosses him "Smitty", I'm sure J.R. is down with that name.
• Melo is clearly hurt. They've played well without him but they can't expect to win a series with him out.
• What a sight. Birdman sauntering to the scoreboard, casually chewing gum. He definitely has a little Captain in him.
• Balkman has seen the court and the Nuggets aren't down or up by +20. This is what happens when Melo is out.
• Nuggets up 7 at half without Melo. They aren't shooting well but are winning this game with their legs. Less jumpshots, more drives.
• 3 straight missed 3s by the Nugs has the Lakers within 3 right out of the gates. Melo is back but doesn't look right.
• J.R. Smith is currently being triaged courtside. Meanwhile, Odom tries to throw an oop to Gasol. Forgot about Gasol's 2-inch vertical.
• Tough going out there. The court is flooded with Kobe's tears. Nuggets up 70-59.
• Melo slips on the tears and flying burritos Ariza. It's getting testy with players flying all over the floor. Kobe bout to get T'd up.
• Martin is playing out of his head. 13 pts, 13 boards. Birdman follows up a Martin miss with a dunk!
• Karl can expect to pencil somebody else in the lineup for Dahntay in Game 5. He will be suspended for that Kobe trip.
• Denver up 11 after 3. They need to play well in the 4th after the Game 3 debacle.
• Billups... AND 1 baby! Andrew Bynum strikes again. Twisted his ankle when he came down. Not good.
• Billups is unconscious at the moment. He drains an arching 3 in Ariza's face after a good J.R. steal.
• SMITH CLIMBS THE LADDER! Nene hits him with a nice feed and he throws one down.
• Luke Walton draws a tech. Daddy's gonna take the keys to the your Lexus for that one.
• Now Mark Jackson is calling him "Smitty."
• J.R. picked up one of the weakest technicals I've seen. We'll call it even after the D Jones trip.
• Flagrant on Bynum. He goes with the 2 handed chop technique on Anderson. It's either that, or bag and balls to the face.
• The chick in the Biz Markie Heineken comm clearly only knows the words to that part of the song.
• Classic case of softly mumbling until the part she knows comes on, then she starts bringing the heat.
• Luke Walton must be wearing the "heavy socks" tonight.
• The line on Walton: 0 pts, 6 fouls, 2 ill-advised tattoos, 1 kickin' jheri curl.
• I smell a riot cooking. Game 3 all over again with the technicals.
• Melo about to foul out again. The Lakers are running a press, fouling, and otherwise using all of Kobe's Cordillera moves. Too soon?
• The officials are blowing whistles like they're trying to fill a quota. It is almost the end of the month.
• 105-93 Nuggets with 2:51 remaining. I am optimistic that the Nuggets might win this one.
• J.R. with 2 straight 3s. Let's get thirty, Smitty!J.R. with 2 straight 3s. Let's get thirty, Smitty!
• Garbage time, benching starters. Nuggets get a steal, miss 2 layups, get 2 offensive boards, and D Jones gets fouled on another layup miss.
• 120-99. D Jones throws one down over some stiff. Petro with the steal, then he runs the court like Tyus Edney only to airball a finger roll.
• Nuggets win big. Shades of the Rockets series except the Nuggets haven't been blown out yet and they could have swept with some breaks.

George Karl didn't exactly give J.R. a ringing endorsement, he basically called Smith a pain in the ass. Let's hope J.R. doesn't get upset about this because he really did have a good game. Yeah, he made a couple of bonehead plays but he hustles on every play and easily creates more opportunities than he kills. His shot selection was good tonight and he took it to the rack early and often, creating opportunities for teammates, and causing the L.A. bigs to commit fouls.

Kenyon, Nene, and Birdman killed L.A. on the boards all night. It's amazing what they can do when not in foul trouble.

Game 5 on Wednesday. Big one for the Nuggets as it would be nice to avoid a Game 7 in L.A.

-PSon

Halladay to Peavy: “Grow a pair”

Hey Jake, this is your buddy Roy Halladay. Remember? We met at the all-star game a few times. You were iceing your elbow and drinking Mai-Tais in the lockeroom after pregame warm-ups while I squat-thrusted 500 lb dumbbells. I don’t know if you noticed, but I did over 500 reps. Why? Because I am a man.

I heard your team tried to trade you to the White Sox yesterday. But you turned it down with your no-trade clause because of your long-held aversion to playing in the American League. Why is that Jake? Are you afraid your meager pitching skills won’t hold up in a man’s league. Is your ERA dependant on getting that free out every 8 batters? Or are you that in love with a Padres team that lost 100 games last year and is desperately trying to rebuild. Why won’t you let them rebuild? Your contract is clearly the millstone holding back their efforts.

Why won’t you let your team move on? I think I know why. Fear.

I felt fear once. I was camping with my family in Manitoba (that’s where I vacation, because I live in fucking Canada because I play for the Blue Jays). We were setting up camp when a 800 pound grizzly bear wandered into our camp. I could tell he was trouble because he had a manic, starved look in his eye. Before he could grasp my wife in his swarthy mandibles, I was able to wrestle the poor bear to the ground and submit it. By hand. That bear is now my family pet. I even take him on the plane for road games. I don’t even have a cage and he cleans up his own poo. His name is Harold and he fetches the paper. Why? Because I am a man.

You’ve built a reputation over the years as one of baseballs most dominant pitchers. Unfortunately this whole trade debacle is like a hurricane bearing down on the desperate house of cards your career is. You’ve always pitched half your games at Petco Park. BY FAR the friendliest park to pitchers. You’ve also feasted on the pathetic excuse for offense of the National League, especially the NL West. And now that you have the opportunity to go to a big man’s league, play for a team with a team trying to win and play in the third biggest media market in the country, what do you do?

You retreat to your beachside villa. You sit your wife and children down and say, “You know what guys? Daddy isn’t a ‘competitor’. He’d rather prosper at the expense of his teammates’ development, continue padding his career stats and never transcend his own talent. The status quo is quite all right for your old man. I’m sort of a pussy like that.”

Sure. You’ve got a nice life. I understand that. What you don’t have is WILL. That’s what separates the greats from footnotes in history. I live in Canada. DO you have any idea how much that sucks? I also pitch in the AL East. That means, roughly every five days, I wake up and have to think “All right, game day, how am I going to pitch to one of the three most dominant offenses in the history of baseball”. Every couple starts I face the Red Sox, the Yankees, or this new Rays team. Do you know what that’s like? Can you imagine what my career numbers would be like if I pitched in Petco vs the Giants? I had to stare down Ortiz and Manny, in Fenway, when you could still see the needles poking out of their asses! This whole time, the Blue Jays have been on the cusp of being a solid team. Hell, for a couple years we could have won any other division in baseball. But against the two biggest payrolls in the history of sports, we couldn’t keep up. But do I complain? Do I bitch? Do I demand a trade to a “contender”? No. I go out every five days. And I pitch my heart out. I pitch like it’s the last game of my career. I pitch like my family is on the line. And I pitch great. I’m like Walter Fucking Johnson. I pitch complete games in my sleep. When was your last complete game? Never? Fuck you. Grow a pair.

- Roy

P.S. Go Nuggies (because i am from Colorado)