Reminiscing on Park Jams

In the spirit of easing back in to barely posting updates, I took a little trip down memory lane within the past hour, and I'm plain befuddled. There once existed a time when we, your mighty DR overlords, were actually funny, dare I say good at this blogging shit. While we wipe away the cobwebs and warm up the writing engines, I urge you all to take this walk with us to a better, more prolific time. With pride, I present to you:

THE GREATEST MONTH OF YOUR LIFE

I even finally opened some of DVDubs youtube links in the comments (not all, I know it's a long weekend but I'd prefer to leave the house at some point). The guy has some serious issues and conditions that clearly need to be addressed, but not bad work at all really. Salute.

Back Like I Left Something

Without shame, I am admitting that I have made a power jump on to your FIRST PLACE Sixers bandwagon. A first place, I may add, that I solely attribute to the death of the reprehensible Hip-Hop. While I fight my way up to the driver's seat, I assure you that all are welcome and that the water is warm. The real question is, and this is important, as some giveback for flying the flag this late in the game, should the DR be resurrected? The ball is in your proverbial court, DR readership. Do we got next, or do we take this ball and go home. Time is yours folks, comments decide it.

Go Sixers.

??

He's Gone.

This admittedely half-assed, sheer reactionary post is brought to you in pure shock. I can't find the words...it's just, I mean, the wound, it's too fresh and raw. There will be plenty of time to regain composure later, and write from the heart, but all I can say now, is that our fearless leader, our hero, Samuel Davis "Slammin Sammy D" Dalembert is no longer a Sixer. He and his severely bloated contract have just been traded to the Kings. For two fucking white people.

More very sure to come, in the meantime, let's all take a moment, pour out some liquor, raise a lighter in the air, and watch the following.



Fuck you, Stefanski.

Africa...soccer..AND KELS?

If the Phanatic was in this video, it would have absolutely everything I love in the world.

Shut Up, Dan

DR stalker DVDubs sent the below vid to me this morning, insisting it be posted. While I wanted to spite him, I also don't want him breaking into my house to steal my dirty underpants, so here it is. As this genre of video goes, nothing will ever top Bert and Ernie doing "Ante Up", but this has Jake, so that's cool. Enjoy, and if you don't, tell that to Dan.

Awkward is as Awkward Does

I was trying to think of the most awkward moment in my life the other day, and struggling to find that one perfect instance of unbelievable discomfort. Few have had the "shit-pants-on-bridge-then-tell-future-wife-about-it" moment to reflect on, laugh about, and ultimately relish. So when a most unremarkable Sunday became, well... remarkable, it provoked some thought. Query: can someone else's most insufferable awkward moment become one's one awkward moment? Quite simply, yes. Yes it can.

Let me set the scene. Eldiablgogrande recently decided to move into a beautiful new home with his lovely wife and two dogs. To execute this task, he collected the finest and strongest, the most diligent and energetic, the best strategic thinkers LWFs can buy -- Mr. Fine Tone and Mr. Juice. And what does one do after they move? One holds a makeshift sidewalk sale to sell one's crap. Well "sell" would be a misnomer. Apparently there isn't a high demand on the streets of Northern Liberties for 5 inch bright colored pumps. Or any of Sayeh's shit.

But what is there a high demand for in what used to be the badlands of our fair city? Gays. Gays, trannies, well-groomed chest hair, super tight shorts (on dudes), and festive people feasting on water ice and enjoying a sunny, humid day in their finest overpriced shades. That's right, NoLibs was having a gay festival of sorts. And we have decided to sell things that don't appeal to anyone other than our favorite new homeowners, a shameful shortcoming to say the least. So there we sit, comfortably reclined in lawn chairs on a very small sidewalk, where winter coats are draped over doors, can openers are offered at discounted prices, pit-stained wifebeaters are practically giving themselves away.

Contemplating leaving because (a) sales are slower than a tased phillies fan, and (b) I don't want to get stuck packing this worthless crap up, I glance to my left and take inventory of the scene. Fast approaching are three gentleman, gliding through the air, chests thrust in the air, chins held high, hands interlocked (ok, maybe I made that up). One white, one black, one presumably latino, it's all a blur at this point. I look to Eldiablo, he glances back...is it? Could it be? No. Is this happening? I feel awkward, awkward for him, awkward for myself, awkward for Campy, wherever he is.

Like any mature soon-to-be thirty year old man, I hide behind a newspaper, blushing like a 7th grader walking back to the Wissahickon Skating Rink from the Chestnut Hill Academy fields, praying the discomfort passes like a fart in the wind. What does our fearless editor-in-chief do? He stares the feared enemy down, cracks a sly smile, and utters "Hey, howwwwwyaaaadoing"? To which he gets nothing. Perhaps some meat gazing, a rise out of the other man's loins, but nothing more. No hello, no "go phillies," no "i hate you, you ruined my life." Nothing.

And seeing as there are only a select few who frequent this here blogesphere, and one of them witnessed the crime itself, dare I challenge our readers: NAME THE CULPRIT IN QUESTION, he who momentarily redefined the term "awkward." Who floated by our stoop wearing a safari hat? Who you all know? The floor is yours...

Locked Down

Attempting to have a debate about Philadelphia sports with a fan of Philadelphia sports is without fail a maddening experience. While it has been well documented that these debates tend to turn violent if you are taking a stance against Philadelphia sports teams, trust me when I say that it is FAR worse and frustrating when both sides of the argument are Philly fans. As a prime personal example, for the past year or so, I have been in many frustrating arguments with Phillies fans regarding the future of Ryan Howard. There are MANY among us who already had him wearing that disgusting looking navy-pinstrip adorned uniform, some who assumed he'd be pahkin his fahkin cah nea Harhvad and playing in Fenway and many making assumptions that he would be Albert Pujols slightly cheaper replacment in Howard's hometown St. Louis. Any suggestion that he may actually stay here was met with stares of both incredulity and sheer anger, accusations of mental illness/developmental disabilities were hurled wilder than anything in Kyle Kendrick's repertoire. Yet, I carried through, staying firm in my position that unless Pujols made it very clear that he would not return to St. Louis and a spot was open for RyHow to take center stage in his hometown, it was supremely beneficial for him to remain a Phillie.


Why any of the above is relevant, is as you most likely have heard already (we're not freakin insiders, we find out when you do, many times LONG after), Ryan Howard, aka Big Brown, has agreed to a 5-year, $125 million extension that keeps him here through 2016. This is not only the third richest contract in the history of baseball, but is amazing news, and the perfect situation for the Phillies, RyHow and us fans. I understand that there are some RyHow haters out there, and some of you have some valid points - be it his tendency to slump, his long-standing inability to hit a left-handed breaking ball, impatience at the plate, large amounts of strikeouts are the most commonly used - but I will happily take some of the bad because his upside is GAME CHANGING. What he offers to the Phils with his bat (and now, shockingly also his glove) is a player that can singlehandedly win games, and his history down the stretch of the season has been nothing short of jaw dropping. For Howard, playing in the cozy confines of Citizens Bank Park in the lineup where it doesn't necessarily benefit a team having him pitched around, against National League pitching greatly increases his chances at attaching his name to some hitting records and helping pave a path to Cooperstown. Finally, for us, the fans, we get the pleasure of being part of the excitement the big guy brings every time he puts on the red and white. Also, it can't be discounted that potential free agent signees like to see a team that has locked up guys like Halladay, Howard, Utley, etc., as not only does it show them that they will be joining a team with proven winners locked in, but proves that they are considering a team that will take care of their biggest performers. Considering how our pitching is looking these days, I am happy for anything that could persuade any top notch hurlers. But that is a different column for a different day.

One final thing that needs to be addressed about this signing is that lost in the outcry over the Cliff Lee trade was that signing him to a long term deal after doing the same with Roy Halladay would have tied up the Phillies' hands and not allowed them to make a move like this. Hidden between the lines of the head-scratching move that was the Cliff Lee/Mariners deal was something big, and many of us were too shocked to see it, but as I see it today proved that even when they seem to be making business decisions while concussed, we may very well have found ourselves in an era where the Phillies are doing their best to think ahead and always have something up their sleeve. Something like this creates enough good will for me to not question the next seemingly boneheaded move of the front office, and I suggest maybe we all give them some slack for the time being.

But only if Kendrick gets sent down to the Iron Pigs. Oh, and fuck it, sign Pedro again. I'm not joking.

Another reason to love Chop

Getting His Unemployment On

The Shawn Andrews Era has finally ended and what is there to say? The dude shoulda coulda woulda. In the end I feel justified for my initial feeling when we drafted him: "Wait, we drafted a dude who had to lose 50 pounds to get down to 350?!?!" It seemed like a bad idea then, and it turned out that certain large men have delicate psyche's and bad backs. In general I think it's bad business taking on talent that weighs over 400 lbs, unless it's a talented actor, dancer, or both. So goodbye Big Kid, and good luck, and may you're convergence of twitter and god bring you a life of happiness.