"It's hard to believe you, sir."

"You always got my back, right Andy? No matter what, right?"
"Ummmm..."

I Can't Wait for the Movie

I wasn't going to bother with any of this Clemens bullshit, because this blog is about baseball, whereas that's about lying, backstabbing and dry legal proceedings. But despite our best effort to look the other way, the human drama on view on Capitol Hill demands our attention, and besides, Jeff Blair's there (he's got a good rundown on the day's events here).

The key moment - the "You can't handle the truth!" kicker, the historical soundbite nearest to Joseph Welch's berating of Senator McCarthy, and the Oscar-baiting scene whenever this mess is made into a movie - had to be when Democratic House member Elijah Cummings said to Clemens, "You're one of my heroes. But it's hard to believe you, sir."

That's high drama.

Pomes?

The Drunk Jays Fans got all poetic today, and this just days after their stirring stylistic homage to Fellini. Who knew a liberal arts education was a prereq for joining the DJF ranks?


The Last Few Desperate Hours

Heaven almighty, end our suffering. For the love of all that is good and just, play some ball, fellas! Shag flies! Hit fungoes! Play pepper! This boy is exhausted for the waiting, already. If I have to hear any more crap about Ray Emery or the latest Sens acquisitions, I'll lose it. Just my luck, I live on the fringes of a hockey town, a place where Daniel Alfredsson's injuries lead the newscast - not the sports report, mind, but the newscast. I need some meaningless briefs from FLA and AZ by shirtsleeved reporters flanked by palm trees, their 'dos buffeted by the stiff Gulf breeze, just to leaven my February dread. Just a taste, please.

This is a Baseball Blog, But This is Not a Baseball Post

What a game.

I've heard chatter from some corners that it was the best football game of all time. I'm not really qualified to make that call, but what's apparent to me is that anybody saying that probably doesn't watch the CFL, because in my estimation, the best game to have been played during my lifetime was the 1989 Grey Cup. But Super Bowl XLII was a close second, and the fourth quarter may have been the single greatest quarter of football I've ever seen.

Eli Manning had no right - no right - to elude that sack. And David Tyree (who the hell is David Tyree?) made a circus catch with his head on a third and 5 play that was so pivotol and so exciting that it deserves one of those nicknames - The Scramble? The Catch II? - and suddenly, the Pats' march toward utter perfection, which seemed to be only a hairsbreadth away from completion after Brady engineered that Q4 scoring drive, was in doubt.

Deadspin impresario Will Leitch, who spends his days lording over an army of too-clever wiseasses, moonlights as a columnist (sorry, blogger) for The Old Gray Lady, and he's got a hell of a piece about the game (read it here, though registration might be required). It's a terrific piece of sportswriting, though it's nearly outdone by one of the commenters (comment #5, by one William Rivers Pitt).

As Leitch says, "It was sports at its absolute best: Random, unimaginable, insane." It was perfect because it defied the script we were all but certain had been written in stone. I don't deny the historic nature of the Patriots' season; it was one for the ages. But the story needed a special ending, and on Sunday night, in Glendale, AZ, in front of the world, it got one.