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Saying he was “extremely insulted,” New York Yankees captain Derek Jeter turned down a 10-year, $200 million offer from himself on Friday.

Jeter, who awarded himself a Gold Glove earlier this month, told the Associated Press that “the offer just doesn’t take into account all I’m worth to myself.” 

“Look, I’m an icon, man. I’m a freaking brand!,” the Yankees shortstop screamed to no one in particular. “I’m very disappointed in me and will be giving myself a stern talking to. I mean, who the hell do I think I am anyway?”

The Yankees star was reportedly offered a miserly three-year, $45 million contract offer from the Yankees. Shortly afterword, GM Brian Cashman told Jeter that if he didn’t like it, he should test the market. 

But it wasn’t long before his agent’s phone was ringing off the hook with calls for the Bombers player. “Sure, it was Derek himself that was calling, but it shows we called their bluff—Derek does have other options,” said Casey Close. 

“And how can a guy named Cash-man expect us to believe he isn’t going to offer up whatever the hell we want anyway?” 

Despite coming off his worst season statistically, Jeter allegedly compared himself with Babe Ruth in discussing his worth. 

“Not true,” insisted Jeter. “Everyone knows the Babe couldn’t play shortstop.” 

Pointing to rings on each finger of his left hand, Jeter went on to say, “How do you think the Yankees won all these freaking titles? You really think I had any help?  Now I know how David Lee Roth must have felt.” 

Upon being informed of the Yankees reluctance to give their long-time captain whatever he wants, MLB’s commissioner Bud Selig announced that an investigation was underway. 

Selig suggested that the league may be forced to take drastic steps to prevent the Yankees from disgracing their legacy and indeed, the good name of baseball itself, by not re-signing Jeter to an eternal contract. 

“I think he has earned the right to name his own terms. I mean, what’s next—Minka Kelly refusing to pretend to be engaged to Derek?” 

Close said that reports that his client is looking for a six-year, $150 million deal are “erroneous and reckless.”

While he wouldn’t put an exact dollar value on it, Close did imply that if the Yankees really wanted to make Jeter happy, they would help him achieve his goal of becoming “the all-being master of time, space and dimension.”

 “Actually,” added Close, “I wish the damn Yankees would just stay the hell out of the negotiations, to be honest with you.”

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I was watching The Daily Show the other night when Jon Stewart said something that reminded me of some old fake headlines I wrote in 2003.

Stuff like (some are dated but still funny if you know the reference),

“New York Mets Win World Series: Cite Snow in Hell”

“President Bush Renames Three Stooges: Axis of Brilliancy.”   

“Up Next on FOX: Why CBS is Brainwashing You”

“Lobbyists Distraught by Lack of Influence: Cite Growing Voter Interest”

“Up Next on ESPN: The World Series of Tarot Reading”

“President Bush Declares War on Evil Ottoman Empire: Operation Orwell”

“California Gov. Gray Davis Fiddles as State Burns: More Than Just Gonorrhea”

“Hick Sees Elvis in Spit Cup; Then Realized It Was His Reflection”

“France Reluctantly Announces Original Name of French Fries: Hitler’s Delight”

“NBC’s ‘Must See Thursday’ Added to Axis of Evil: Bush cites Rachel’s Bastard Child”

“Saddam Hussein’s Bunker Explored Dramatically by Geraldo Rivera: Then Trapped”

“Bah Mitzvah Clown Takes Wrong Turn: Ends up at Home of Jehovah’s Witnesses”

“Creepy Theater Vendor Makes Sweet, Sweet Love to Extra Spicy Nachos”

I wrote those fake headlines for a radio producer, amongst other material that was humorous and otherwise.  It goaded some nostalgia from way back when I thought I was paying my dues to work in radio.  I was and I wasn’t. 

You see, the producer I worked with hailed from the Great and Powerful New York Media.  He was on his way to having a talk radio show at KFBK in Sacramento and wanted me on the staff as a producer.  I was nearly hired but as fate would have it, I wasn’t.  
 
After which I thought I should get with reality and find a real job.  As fate would have it, that job would be at the Liberty Lake Home Depot in Washington state, where shortly after I started, a guy known as UFO Phil was kicked out of the store while trying to film his movie. 

The reason that seemed unreal to me is that UFO Phil made his first appearance in fall of 1997 on the KDON radio show produced by the producer I knew.

I took it as a sign that I was being called to media, which seems hypocritical, because I often express my ire with the mainstream media.

The fall of 1997 is also when I began my inexplicably incessant interest for media.  I was the type of kid that was interested in Nielsen ratings, surveys and demographics.  My only “crime” was to think that the Internet was the future of the media.

I do not think of my articles as personal attacks, but rather constructive criticism.  I do not feel pretentious in doing so, because I simply state things from the perspective of a viewer, which are needed for them to stay in business.  I do so, because I believe that people in media are generally smart enough to be disdainful of predictability.

Around the same time, that I started working at The Home Depot was the same time that Anna Nicole Smith died. 

You see, growing up, I was the type of teenager that went to convenience stores to buy Time Magazine and US News and World Report, and a healthy dose of Mad Magazine.  I actually wanted “real” news (but what is real news?), because I was a geek and proud of it. 

Something had to change.

Thus, I like to think that criticism from a viewer would have a Heisenberg effect that would catalyze change in the media that has become addicted to sensationalism and weak narratives, out of expeditiousness but not stupidity. 

How would I know that the people I write about would read?  I gambled that they Google their names or subjects of their interest, or they have people do it for them.

Just predicting the next move from rational possibilities, so in a way, they should be flattered by the fact that I assume that they are rational.

There is nothing worse and creepy than knowing that someone is viewing you. 

Reverse voyeurism is in essence is what I have used on The Bleacher Report, in hopes that people in the media would become jaded by self-indulgent narcissism and focus on substantive news once again.  Criticism from within inner circles is never quite the same as the words of an outsider that ring true.

News had and has sunk so low that there really is no discernible difference between bloggers and some (not all) people in the media, except money. 

Most cable news these days boils down to the question, which political side is more hypocritical?  That is not to evaluate the validity or virtues of someone’s politics or professionalism, but simply to say that the common good is never served when people are only interested in winning debates.

So, why predicate this article from something on The Daily Show, which spoofs the same mainstream media that has jaded me? 

Just thought it was ironic in its own ironic way.

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Rihanna became the first female pop singer to have achieved seven number one songs on the Billboard pop charts.

That’s an impressive accomplishment for anyone.  But to top it off, Rihanna is also a well-loved WAG in the sports world.  She’s been dating Matt Kemp since early this year. 

As a result, she’s been chosen as Bleacher Report’s WAG of the Week. 

Get to see more of Rihanna in this slideshow. Enjoy!

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After all this time, not only can I not believe the Giants won the World Series, I’m still amazed that they made the playoffs. It’s a little different for me since I watched a good chunk of their games (not always by choice) and never thought they really had a chance of doing anything, especially with the way the San Diego Padres were playing all year, but especially because of their G.M. Brain Sabean, who refuses to make any trades to acquire any kind of offense.

Watching him instead relying on picking up Pat Burrell or a Cody Ross, and signing Aubrey Huff, a guy who couldn’t get any at bats on an Oriole team last year. This team does have excellent pitching and while riding hot bats, really defied the odds and became World Series champs.

The big name movies that are in the theaters coming up, Due Date, The train thing with Denzel Washington, and Skyline (the more I see the previews for this movie, the more and more it looks like a comedy). On a scale of 1-10, my excitement to see any of these movies in the theatre is a less than one. These movies just seem like remakes of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, Speed, and Independence Day, respectively. This is the best Hollywood could come up with? They have clearly run out of ideas, I can look back at the movies that came out in 2010 and can recommend two or three movies maybe, that’s it.

The 2010 Giants would make a heck of a movie, and it would play out like this.

Opening scene at training camp, with journeyman Aubrey Huff as the cleanup hitter, and the rest of the Giants lineup clinging to hope that an overweight, out of shape Pablo Sandoval will be their money hitter, and that everyone else will contribute where they can. The only reason there is a little hope is because of the great pitching, and the kicker is they have a 18 million dollar a year pitcher that can’t pitch!  Other comedic relief would be when Pablo shoots a commercial for kids to tell them how important it is to eat right, and to keep their heart healthy. Yes, this actually happened!

As the season progresses it plays out just like we’d thought it would. The pitching is great, hitting is worse than bad, causing the Giants to lose games: 1-2, 2-4, 0-1 and with an emerging San Diego Padres team, it doesn’t look good for the Giants. To make the movie more interesting we follow Tim Lincecum, Brain Wilson and Juan Uribe (he looks like he can party) around as they go out on the town, just because I would like to see what these guys would do. Plus we can add Scarlet Johansson, Jessica Alba, and maybe even Brooklyn Decker in her movie debut, as love interests.

As the season progresses the offense continues to struggle and Sandoval continues to get bigger. Fans are now begging and pleading with the crusty old G.M. Brian Sabean (played by Brian Dennehy) to make a trade for some kind of offense, “Prince Fielder available, let’s go get him” fans cry out, while Sabean thinks, let’s sign Pat Burrell and see what happens.

Then, something did happened. As soon as Aubrey Huff wears a pink thong and declares “We’re making the playoffs, let’s get it!” the Giants came alive. With their five starters, the have a great shot to win four of five games, (the movie still shows Barry Zito going out there and pitching for a little while longer, but for his sake we give him a “injury” which is why we never see him again). As the Padres start losing games, the Giants continue to win, fans are now clinging to the hope that if by some chance we make the playoffs, with our pitching, we have a chance.

Then the bald guy from the Hot Tub Time Machine arrives as Cody Ross, as the gimmicks start coming out, Fear the Beard, Beware of the Hair, and Huff Daddy provide inspiration for a team and a city looking for their first title ever. As the Padres continue in a downward spiral, the Giants, on the final day of the regular season beat the Padres to clinch the N.L. West title.

Now as the rest of the world is paying attention to this team, announcers everywhere are saying,  “They have good pitching but with that offense they have no shot.”  Yet somehow the Giants bats continue to stay hot and a new star emerges each game (We can even play “Cinderella Man” as we show clips of someone else stepping up at the plate), leading them to beat Roy Halladay, Roy Oswalt, Cole Hamles, Derrick Lowe, to get to the World Series, where they would face an imposing figure in Cliff Lee, who hasn’t lost a playoff game ever. And, you know the rest of the story…

We’ve got it all, the heroes, Tim Lincecum, Matt Cain, especially with two young guys in Madison Bumgarner and Buster Posey breaking out. Unlikely heroes in Ross, Huff,  and Edgar Renteria. The tragedy figures in Zito, and Aaron Rowand (they account for a third of the teams payroll), Pablo Sandoval who is a tragedy figure in himself, and a character we all dislike in Sabean, but all come around to like in the end.

The villains, the Atlanta Braves chant, and we’d have to make the Rangers and their fans look like they were bad people, (this is the only non accurate part in the movie) all this with a Cinderella team, with a happy ending. The end credits would even be Lights by Journey. There it is, it would make a great movie, and if you paid attention the whole year, made a great movie.

Span out here with “Lights” playing, what an ending

There, using a story that has already happened, that took me what, 20 minutes and is already a better movie that anything Hollywood has shown us in a long while.

Congrats to the Giants and all the Giants fans, I know how long it’s been, make it a month-long celebration. Just don’t count on a sequel being made.

TheSportsGospel.com

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Besides the East Coast bias-based awards announced each day this week, there’s not much going on in mid-November for baseball.  The top story today involved Brian Cashman flying to Arkansas, not particularly interesting considering everyone already knew the Yanks are going to negotiate with Cliff Lee. 

 To fill in some of the empty space between news of an executive boarding a plane and complaints about the Gold Glove voting system, I have skipped ahead of this winter, got out my crystal ball and compiled a list of ten things for fans to watch for in the near future.

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The San Francisco Giants just won their first World Series since 1954.

Their previous championship seasons had left various memories, such as John McGraw refusing to play the Boston Americans in 1904 and presiding over their next three championships until handing over the reins to Bill Terry in the 1933 championship expedition.

And of course, who could forget the underdog Giants in the 1954 World Series and Willie Mays’ dramatic over-the-shoulder catch leading to a sweep of the Indians?

This World Series, however, will have a different legacy.

No, it’s not that it is the first title to come to San Fransisco since the team arrived in 1952. It’s not even that it’s two-time Cy Young winner Tim Lincecum’s first ring.

No, this one will have a much more profound meaning in history.

The legacy of this series will be, of course, Brian Wilson’s beard.

This is a great moment in baseball facial hair history, of which there have been many in its storied past.

The annals of Cooperstown are littered with Grizzly Adams-style full beards, Fu Manchus, handlebars, mutton chops, chinstraps, soul patches, goatees, pencil-thins, Marios and an endless array of five o’clock shadows.

Here are the top 10 facial-hair-having champions in baseball’s storied past.

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Twas the night after Halloween and all through the stands

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I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate the Giants on winning the 2010 “Fall Classic” (TM), otherwise known to the rest of the world as the “World Cup,” 4-1 in front of a thrilled national audience of approximately fifteen people from outside the San Francisco area (almost thirty if you count their various pets). It was truly a hard-fought battle that involved many impressive feats of strength and struggle that I’m sure would have been amazing had I actually watched any of it. I considered tuning in last night for the finale, but then a new DVD of NCIS came from Netflix, and no mere mortal can overcome the allure of the Gibbs.

I would also like to extend sincere and heartfelt gratitude toward the Giants for choosing to wait and win their first championship since the fifties until well after Barry Bonds was forced into retirement via national popular vote and/or grand jury indictment. I can only hope his vast collection of bobble-head memorabilia will give him comfort on those lonely, cold winter nights when he has nothing but an array of international super-models, millions of dollars and dozens of MVP trophies to keep him company. It must be quite a challenge to live with such shame. I wonder how he can cope.

I do feel a little bad for Texas, mostly because of their star outfielder Josh Hamilton, who overcame a serious and life-threatening addiction to Grand Theft Auto before making his first post-season appearance this fall. You may remember him as that guy who hit 217 home runs in the 2008 Home Run Derby before passing out from exhaustion and not waking up until almost August. I was hoping that he would win a trophy this year, considering all the trials he has endured over the years, but I can take solace in knowing that he is still far richer than I will ever be, even if I sell both of my kidneys on the black market.

I will offer genuine praise for one player, however, and that is Tim Lincecum. He is a man that is so awesome, so talented, so special that you are almost able to overlook just how tiny he is compared to everyone else in the league. He looks how I imagine a fifteen-year-old kid would look if he tried on a uniform made specifically for Dwayne Johnson and tried to pitch. The only difference is, this fifteen-year-old is the product of some bizarre and illegal government-run genetics experiment, the result of which has caused him to be able to see ultraviolet light and throw 137 MPH, even after eating Italian. I have high-hopes for this man’s future, and can only hope that he becomes so spectacular that he becomes unaffordable to the Giants and signs with the Red Sox.

Until next season, I hope that all seven baseball fans in San Francisco enjoy this special day and remember that real cities celebrate championships by setting fire to random vehicles and committing acts of violence. I have yet to see flames on the news, so it’s time to get to it! I hear the Prius smells lovely when burned with mesquite.

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Hello there! Perhaps you recognize me? You’ll often see Joe Girardi, manager of the New York Yankees, bent over me in the team’s dugout, flipping through my pages and perusing my invaluable information.

You know, they say experience is the teacher of all things. That’s what Joe has me for. I hold all the past experience he requires to make the appropriate decisions regarding various game situations, such as who should bat against who and who he should bring in from the bullpen in certain situations.

Who cares if information ascertained in the midst of summer heat is not necessarily applicable in the midst of the October chill of the pressure-packed playoffs?

My repeated counsels to Girardi to put David Robertson in the game has become a topic of much derision.

What! must I hold a candle to my shames?

Truth is truth to the end of reckoning. Putting Robertson in was not a sin! Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Fortune, which has a great deal of power in other matters but especially in baseball, can bring about great changes in a situation through very slight forces.

It matters not that Robertson pitched to a 20.25 ERA in his four appearances, bad fortune does not make a decision incorrect. In hindsight, those of less knowledge can strike forth at me for if to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces.

Now all blame for this appalling defeat falls on my shoulders, a binder who spent his formative years on the shelves at Oxford!

Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit and lost without deserving. So now I have borne this reputation of evil without deserving.

Still have I borne it with an ancient shrug, for sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog and spit upon my binding. And all for use of that which is mine own.

How am I then a villain. To counsel Girardi to this parallel course, directly to his good?

Of course my pages contained no common sense. It said nothing of the fact that Dustin Moseley had pitched two no-hit innings against the Rangers in Game 1, striking out four in the process.

A fatal flaw indeed!

To be a slave to reason and unfettered by the better parts of passion is a curse of binders, as we are a most academic lot.

I, who am not shaped for sportive tricks, nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love’s majesty to strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, cheated of feature by dissembling nature, deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, and that so lamely and unfashionable that dogs bark at me as I’m placed before them.

Who am I kidding? This heinous defeat is all my fault!

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, and every tongue brings in a several tale and every tale condemns me for a villain.

I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; and if I die, no soul will pity me: nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself find in myself no pity to myself?

I pray you, in your letters, when you shall these unlucky deeds relate, speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice: then, must you speak of one that advised not wisely but too well.

The die is cast.

Demand me nothing: what you know, you know: from this time forth I never will speak word.

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Whereas the Texas Rangers are set to go where no Texas Rangers team has gone before; whereas legendary Rangers’ minority owner and president Nolan Ryan is a bona fide baseball man, while Dallas Cowboys owner/president/general manager/attention harlot Jerry Jones is a frustrated-but-overmatched head football coach; whereas, the 1-5 Cowboys still delusionally believe they are “a good team”; whereas Ron Washington, grammatically-challenged and homeless-looking though he may be, is a leader of men while Wade Phillips is a leaner on excuses; and whereas this is my blog and I will dadgum well do as I please, I hereby declare the SilverandBlueblood website the Red-Shoed Rangers site for a day.

So, forget football. Let’s talk World Series. More specifically, let’s talk Dallas (I know the Rangers are in Arlington, but you know the drill: This is Dallas) versus San Francisco, DFW versus the Bay Area. A generation ago, that would mean Cowboys versus the 49ers.

My, how the times have changed.

Which city boasts the best baseball team, or, as Ron Washington likes to say, “The team that played the best on that day,” will be decided over the next few days. But which city is best? Well, I will decide that, thank you very much.

Why? Because I can, and because I am highly qualified to do so.

I am a native Texan, born in Abilene, raised in Mineral Wells, married in Arlington, living in Grand Prairie. However, I lived an hour from San Francisco in the ’80s. I spent many a happy and carefree summer day freezing my butt off by the bay.

Frisco is a world-class city. There is no denying that. It is one-of-a-kind. It has mystique, beauty and charm. Dallas, conversely, is a town of true grit, a go-getter’s paradise. Dallas rises out of the north Texas prairie like a silver-and-chrome debutante emerging from a covered wagon.

The people in San Francisco have that weird, eclectic vibe that says “We’re cool, and we don’t even have to mention it. You know it.” Dallas people are busy adding that third-car garage to their suburban mansion that they may have to abandon soon if Obama isn’t stopped.

The girls in Dallas are definitely more attractive than the drag queens in SF, but the hippies down in the Haight-Ashbury district are more laid back than the gangsters in South Dallas or the uptight yuppies in North Dallas.

San Francisco has Pier 39; Dallas has the Trinity River. San Francisco has Lombard Street; Dallas recently got Cesar Chavez Drive (or Street or Way or whatever), after much wrangling. San Francisco has Ghirardelli Chocolate; Dallas has Frito-Lay.

San Francisco is wine country; Dallas is Dr. Pepper Nation.

San Francisco has the Golden Gate Bridge; Dallas has the George Bush Turnpike. San Francisco is the heart of the Silicon Valley; Dallas is the heart of the most recession-proof economy in the nation.

San Francisco is the bastion of liberalism; Dallas is the adopted home of President George W. Bush for a reason.

San Francisco has Joe Montana; Dallas has Roger Staubach. Each city’s NFL team has won five Super Bowls, but the 49ers still suck. Right, Cowboys fans?

If you want beauty and charm, go to San Francisco. If you need a job, come to Dallas.

Maybe the deciding factor is sister cities: San Francisco has the misfortune of being just a bay bridge away from that toilet known as Oakland, while Dallas has the western charm and artsy grace of beautiful Fort Worth for its prairie mate. Oakland has Al Davis; Fort Worth has “Hell’s Half-Acre.” The former appears to have spent a few years in the latter.

In the end, give me a piece of San Francisco sourdough bread to go with my Texas barbecue, and I am happy. (Well, that and the knowledge that we have the better baseball team here in Texas.)

Go Rangers.

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