Wednesday, June 30, 2010

World Cup!

Shep Buckingham

I apologize in advance for my weak coverage of this year's World Cup. I mean, I meant to apologize in advance a month ago but was too busy.

Either way, I'm hoping to make amends with posts-a-plenty for the remainder of the tournament. If you're thinking, "What the hell does Mazzola know about soccer, anyway?"-- think again, my friend. This is no kid and I'm not no bandwagon soccer hipster... I know what I'm talking about. I grew up on Long Island, for Pete's sake! I missed a week of school in the third grade to play soccer down in Coral Gables, Florida. I can't even count the number of times I played in "The Robbie" up in Canada, including one time when my host family practically lived in a school bus with their name painted on the side. I was at the legendary "Europe vs. the Rest of the World" match at Giants Stadium, along with about 75,000 other people. I played in Belgium when I was thirteen years old and got wasted on Jupiler and Stella Artois. I saw Steve Zungul score at least 75 goals for the Arrows in Uniondale. I kicked the ball around with Franky Vercauteren before an Anderlecht match. I took a stiff shot to the nuts blasted by none other than Werner Roth at a summer program at Hofstra. I had the high score on a Ms. Pacman machine at Shep Messing's complex for a month or so. I know what I'm talking about.

Stay tuned for more!

Monday, June 28, 2010

Sonic Terrorism

Saturday, June 26, 2010


I don't know where to begin... I've been looking forward to watching this game all week, and I can barely stand to be in the same room as it (the game). I spent most of the day arguing (to myself) why baseball is so much better than soccer, and this is what I'm rewarded with?!

I realize that I'm not the first person to complain about Fox's MLB broadcasts. In fact, I've recently gone on record saying that Tim McCarver's "not really that bad" and even praised the "professionalism" of Joe Buck. Those two nitwits are probably the least offensive thing about this horrible crap.

First off, the game itself has been awful. Watching A.J. Burnett pitch this season has been a bit like trying to watch a redneck meth addict teach calculus to a bunch of retarded kids. It's not even funny. Things are getting even worse-- they just brought in Chan Ho "Hairpie" Park.

How does Fox think it's okay to spend an entire inning interviewing people in the booth while there's a goddamn baseball game being played?!! Not only that, but they feel it's important to actually show everyone sitting around talking to each other... why would anyone want to see that? The Yankees are putting guys on base, and all I get to see and hear is Tom Lasorda and Reggie horsing around with Tim and Joe. Then they kiss Billy Crystal's annoying ass for a half hour. How many times do we have to hear about 61*  in our lifetimes?

Plus, there's stuff going on that I'd like to know about! Some kid named Colin Curtis is on the field in a Yankee uniform, and all I get is Billy Crystal talking about how close a friend Joe Torre is. This Curtis character just made an absolute little league play out in left field, and I was in no way prepared to deal with it.

I swear, we always lose these damn Fox games. The new Rush movie is on VH-1 right now, which I'm an idiot for not watching. Hell, I might even check out Alicia Keys on Iconoclasts for a little while. Our only possible saving grace just entered the scene in the form of Jeff Weaver. Ah shit! Joe just took him out. I'm going to eat some Vanilla Swiss Almond ice cream.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

The Ypsilanti Era

It's been an exciting June! Galarraga, Griffey, Strasburg, R.A. Dickey... I can go on and on. After last week, it might be time to add Mazzola to the list.

I already detailed my ascencion into the 600 club in February. We all knew I'd pass that druggie freak Sammy Sosa, which I did on my Mom's birthday in April with a well-placed jab to my right thigh. When Ken Griffey Jr. retired earlier this month, I thought I was a lock for the coveted #5 slot. I wish I could say A-Rod was right on my tail, but I'm a lot more concerned with his groin at the moment.
Anyway, looks like I'm joining Junior in retirement. I performed what appears to be my last A****x injection two weeks ago, freezing my career stats at 622. Not that my legs could take much more abuse-- I'm walking around on a couple of voodoo dolls at this point.

You know what they say... when one recombinant humanized glycoprotein door closes, another recombinant humanized monoclonal antibody door opens. I began the Ypsilanti treatment eleven days ago, and boy are my leukocytes tired! I was infused with a steroid/Ypsilanti cocktail at around 6pm, and was out the door by 8. Save some minor itchiness and the metallic taste of pocket change in my mouth, I felt OK.

The first wave of side effects kicked in about two hours after I got home: moderate-to-intense itching on my legs, nausea, dizziness, headache, and some chills. In fact, the only list items I seemed to be missing were depression and vaginitis. I figured these two would come together or not at all.

Not much else to tell so far... I'm still alive and regenerating cell tissue in my thighs by the minute. I might even be able to wear a swimsuit this July! Joy, joy!!!

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Yankees 5, Mets 3

As you've probably noticed, I haven't been posting much lately. THAT'S BECAUSE I'M FUCKING BUSY!!!!!!!!!! It's enough to find time to do all the shit I have to do-- to then write about it is ridiculous. It's like doing everything twice! It's like doing everything twice!

But all's good. Today was especially good... the Mz and I actually went to a game together! We even made a clean getaway from Jr. & Li'l Mz, but it wasn't easy. Our third string babysitter (funny, since she's an utter pro) showed up fifteen minutes early, which meant Jr. got fifteen extra minutes to scream bloody murder about us leaving. Miraculously, we slipped out the front door without things getting even worse.

I was already suffering from exhaustion when we got to the Stadium, evidenced by my bizarre and erratic behavior (purchased Premio sausage, refused offer of free beer from wife, considered taking dump in men's room, etc.). I hunkered down in our seats (which I officially hate) for at least four consecutive innings, which is kind of a lot for me. Not that I had a choice; our row was littered with dozens of half-full (and half-empty) sodas and beers, cardboard containers, and countless peanut shells, as well as the assholes that consumed said items. Nobody ever gets up from their seats in our row. Nobody. Ever. Every time we want to get a good beer or take a piss it's like we're getting up during the second hour of Schindler's List... groans, dirty looks, and rolled eyeballs.

Well, the game was really fun. Mz even got a little buzz going. Came home to a quiet apartment with one napping and the other smiling. Nice.

Jeez, I never posted about my Legends Suite seats two weeks ago. I mean, I did write something but never finished it. I have a ton of unfinished drafts right now, some of which are pretty good. Anyway, the whole thing was amazing. The only points of reference I was able to articulate in my original draft were "greatest Bar Mitzvah ever," "George Costanza's Forbidden City episode," and "like the dinner scenes in Defending Your Life without the white robes..." You get the picture.

In case you're an idiot you have no idea what I'm talking about, Legends Suite means you're sitting a few rows from the dugout, and you have access to unlimited food and drinks (no booze) for the entire game. People are serving you left and right-- a guy even walked right over and gave me a thing of sunblock right at the beginning of the game (which I characteristically slathered on myself sloppily and unevenly, resulting in pattern-burns and painful red patches all over the backs of my hands). The seats are worth just about any price (not that I paid for 'em!) you're asked to pay.

So I've been to four games this year, and the Yanks have won 'em all.