So, Do You Like ... Stuff?

Looking around, no one seems to be that excited about the upcoming World Baseball Classic, which isn’t that surprising, considering very few of the players themselves seem interested in participating, as evidenced by their refusal to participate. Apparently, nobody wants to get hurt. And I’m not talking about feelings getting hurt, as in “I just couldn’t cope with losing to the Dominican Republic when WE invented this sport.” I’m talking about groins. Which begs the question: Are there bigger party-poopers in the world than baseball players? I think not. Now granted, while I believe the idea of a World Baseball Classic is a great one, the planning behind this inaugural event makes little sense. For starters, why is this Classic being held one month before the regular season, thus ruining spring training, and providing us with a tournament full of rusty athletes who are trying to moderately represent their country while at the same time, trying not pull a hammy? Wouldn’t it have made mo...

I’m just going to go ahead and put this out there – I want to be traded. I know, I know. I don’t actually operate within a field that can cater to such requests. And, I really like where I’m at anyway, to be honest. But still – I want to be traded. I don’t care where either. Send me somewhere where I can write captions for brochures advertising toaster ovens. Send me where the weather is warmer, so I can write outside. Send me where the weather is colder, so I can buy those popular furry boots. Send me somewhere that I can be reunited with a former editor, with whom I had a great working relationship in some past life. Send me closer to home, because this particular part of New Jersey scares me. Send me where we can win…NOW. Win what, you ask? I don’t know. Just trade me. And if you refuse to trade me, I will continue to churn out mediocre columns in my sleep, like the one you are currently reading. Now, if this were, say, professional sports, this request would immediately be followed...

I am very good with dates. For example, say I am at the bank, and I am filling out some paperwork alongside another person who is doing the same, and this person asks me the date. After a few seconds of pensive thought (which often includes looking at what date I put on MY deposit form), I will always tell them the date. And at least 8 times of out 10, I am right. Call it a gift. Unfortunately, I am not as keen at the assignment of EVENTS to various dates. This is especially odd considering that I was a history major in college, which, quite often, constituted the act of matching up dates with events. I made up for this area of detriment with my inherent ability to bullshit my way through any 18-page paper thrown my way. My dates may have been off, but details are often irrelevant when you are waxing poetic about why King George III was legitimately insane. (Sample: “King George III of England was born simply ‘George’ sometime around the time of Jesus. And let me tell you – that guy wa...

Last year, before Super Bowl XXXIX, we encouraged the females to ask “Big Time Sports” some football-related questions, in order to prepare them for the big game. It was a huge success, even though none of the women who took part in my poll actually watched the game, instead opting to go in another room and gossip about the hot topic at the time, which I think was whether or not Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey were EVER going to have a baby. Mystery solved. Nevertheless, it bothered me that, after all of the fun we had with football-related questions, none of the women managed to watch the game. I felt duped. Used even. So I wanted to delve further into why, exactly, the women still avoided watching the Super Bowl last year. I gathered up the usual suspects, and implored them as to their reasoning for not watching the biggest football game of the year. And lo and behold - every single one of them responded the same: “I always feel bad for the loser.” Being a veteran of Super Bowl parti...