As Jorge can tell you, it was different world growing up in the Biggest
Little back in the '50s. Television had arrived, but it was still a novelty
(especially for kids since the only programming specifically for them was Howdy
Doody and, later, Captain Kangaroo), professional football and
basketball were decidedly minor sports, and baseball remained the unquestioned
National Pastime. There were certainly plenty of New England sports heroes.
Before the original Boston Patriots and the AFL, the New York (football)
Giants games were broadcast in New England. Frank Gifford and Y.A. Tittle
qualified as New England sports heroes, even though they played for a New York
team, and Bill Russell and Bob Cousy of the dominant Celtics were bona fide
athletic stars of the region. But nobody stood as tall as Ted Williams. The
others were stars; Williams was a god. This explains why such a big deal is
being made of his passing. It is a big deal because Ted Williams was a big
deal, the biggest deal ever in New England sports.
But this being the 21st century, it's well nigh impossible for one of the
greatest icons of the last century to go in peace. Shall we be merciful and
just say that John Henry, the great number 9's boneheaded son, is wracked by
grief and finding it hard to let go? Or should we just state what seems
obvious, considering the younger Williams's track record of keeping Ted's old
friends at bay and jacking up Teddy Ballgame money-making schemes in recent
years -- the Kid's kid needs a good spanking.
It's unimaginable that Ted Williams ever came up with the notion to have his
body frozen in order to have it thawed out years from now. Why? So he can hit
.400 in 2041? It's all too believable that the greedy bloodsucker of a son came
up with this bad Roger Corman-type scheme to sell vials of the old man's DNA
(with a 1939 rookie card thrown in) at $5000 a pop. Rocky Horror meets
Rocky Colavito.
Let's just hope that the overwhelming negative public reaction to this
atrocity will convince the idiot son to do the right thing -- cremate the body
and have the ashes spread over the Florida Keys, per Ted's earlier
instructions. Do not ask for whom the bad taste bell tolls; it tolls for John
Henry.
Much ado about nothing
GOP gubernatorial candidate Jim Bennett has apparently never been in a room
with a bunch of people, a few cameras, and Buddy Cianci. Why else would Jim be
demanding an apology from Democratic candidate Sheldon "Whitebread" Whitehouse,
for being caught smiling with a mugging Cianci, in a photograph that appeared
in the BeloJo? What were Whitebread's options? When the Bud-I leapt into camera
range should Sheldon have made a mad dash for the nearest exit or jumped under
a table? That would have made for even better copy.
We say, much ado about nothing and, Jimmy, get a life! Get a campaign! That's
not the Bud-I's pitchfork, horns, and flames you're sensing on the nape of your
neck, but rather the hot breath of Don Carcieri.
We honestly disagree with your excuses
Only a fool would believe that insider trading and the cooking of books across
corporate America haven't been rampant for years. The evidence of all these
lies, obvious deceptions, and illegalities is now clear. Were it not for the
financial devastation suffered by so many members of the US non-elite, Phillipe
and Jorge would find the explanations being offered by Dubya, Big Time, Kenny
Boy Lay, and the rest of their abhorrent tribe of white people in business
suits to be almost comical. A solid horsewhipping on the steps of their
exclusive country clubs is the least that these lying fat cats deserve.
Speaking to the media this week, Boy George's excuse of being an out-of-touch
director of the Harken Energy Corporation -- and there being "an honest
disagreement about accounting procedures" -- didn't even pass the laugh test.
Georgie conveniently dumped his Harken stock just before the bottom fell out,
declared his trading 32 weeks late, and claimed not to know about the company's
sautéed and grilled financial records.
After he declared "All I can tell you is that in the corporate world, things
aren't exactly black and white when it comes to accounting procedures," the
Washington Post reported, "Mr. Bush, who appeared irritated by the
questioning, glared at reporters when he heard titters after that answer."
Dubya was very quick to imply that he's as dumb as many people believe,
claiming, like his Daddy before him (on dubious wheeling and dealing involving
weapons sales), that he was out of the loop when it came to knowing about
Harken's sleight of hand with their books.
These shenanigans prompted an "investigation" (honk!) by the Securities and
Exchange Commission, which, of course, exonerated Dubya. However, he's now
refusing to release the SEC report, claiming "You've seen the relevant
documents." What this shovel full of Crawford Ranch bullshit ignores is that
Georgie, during his gubernatorial campaigns in Texas, claimed the SEC had lost
the forum. No doubt it miraculously appeared on the same White House residence
table that magically produced Hillary Clinton's "lost" Whitewater records.
It's this avarice and questionable set of ethics that enabled Big Time Cheney
to become a millionaire at Halliburton. And there are countless others out
there who constantly screw their employees and the public while taking home
obscene profits and benefits wrung from insider info. This chicanery has
accelerated the unspeakably vast concentration of wealth among the richest five
percent of people in this country, who control 95 percent of the wealth,
obtained by hook and by crook.
Dubya the Dumb and his Big Bidness buddies are the ones who have benefited
from lax SEC enforcement and the absence of any threat of going to jail. So no
matter what Poppy's Boy says about bringing the hammer down on these shady
dealings, you know no one's going to do real time or have to pay back their
ill-gotten gains. Oh, and while you're having a good chuckle, bend over and
drop your pants, Dubya and his friends have something especially for you, John
and Jane Q. Public.
File under "Organs"
As previously mentioned in this space, the wonderful pfolks at Pfizer have
enlisted Rafael Palmeiro, the good-looking Texas Rangers All-Star first
baseman, to be their pitchman for Viagra. But it appears that his use of the
drug may be having the side effect of making the user irritable.
Sports Illustrated reports that at a recent game between the Rangers
and the Pittsburgh Pirates, Palmeiro became incensed at the Pirates' PNC Park
organist (no coincidence intended). This was due to the fact that when Palmeiro
came to bat, the talented musician, who has an obviously wicked sense of humor,
played "Pop Goes the Weasel" and the theme from The Woody Woodpecker
Show.
Said the rampant Rafael, "It's really not a joking matter. Whether it's
hemorrhoids or hair loss, none of us is perfect." Nonetheless, look out for
more of those high hard ones in the future, big guy.
Ben Dover, Burger King
What can one say but congratulations to Sony/Columbia Pictures for what appears
to be the biggest commercial tie-in campaign ever for Men in Black II.
From wristwatches, cell phones, and action figures to Mercedes-Benz
automobiles, it looks like everybody's in on this one. But a word of caution to
anyone out there who might have a son named Ben with a predilection for Men
in Black and fast food hamburgers.
Casa Diablo regular Bob Smith, publisher of the respected Privacy
Journal, tells us of a young friend named Ben who recently happened into a
Burger King, another of the many corporations with a MIIB tie-in. Burger
King is passing out a promotional sheet containing, among other games and
amusements, a "handy chart you can use to give yourself an official alien
name." The key gives letters to correspond with other letters (e.g., A-I, B-F,
C-P, D-W, etc.). For instance, if your name is "Chad," your alien name,
according to the chart, is "PBIW" (no suggestion on how to pronounce this).
Ben was somewhat amused to find that his alien name was "FAG." Being a
sophisticated young lad, Ben wondered how the rocket scientists at Burger King
could release a promotional flyer for Men in Black II that is bound to
be discovered by thousands, if not millions, of Bens around the country. Being
painfully aware that homophobia and adolescent cruelty still run rampant on the
playgrounds of America, P&J want to alert parents to yet another hidden
danger associated with eating at Burger King.
Sturdy span
Although the Rhode Island Lottery Commission has dismissed our suggestion that
a new $5 betting game be based on picking the day when the old Jamestown Bridge
will fall down, our old pal Senator Linc Chafee is urging the state Department
of Transportation to tear down the obsolete old span because it's an eyesore
and indicative of a half-assed approach to doing state business.
This week, Linc even went so far as to brave a walk across the narrow, rickety
Erector Set-like bridge, which was closed 10 years ago, and isn't set to be
officially torn down by the DOT for at least four more years. (That's OK, just
wait for the first barge to break loose and crash into one of the pilings. That
should make fast work of it.)
Scuba diving friends report that the bridge pilings don't even meet the parts
coming down in some places, and you can wave your hand between the two
unattached columns. Perhaps Chafee should be encouraged, however, by the way in
which the deteriorating structure was able to support the considerable weight
of DOT director "Banquet Bill" Ankner as he strolled across it with the
entourage that accompanied the senator. Now that's carrying capacity.
Ask us anything!
As your superior correspondents requested last week, "Ask us anything!" We will
draw upon the accumulated font of knowledge gleaned during our 22 years of
writing the "Cool, Cool World" to enlighten our inquiring readers. The first
query came from a fan in Groton, Massachusetts, who asks:
"With the preponderance of plastic bottles being used these days instead of
glass, what will happen to Molotov cocktails?"
P&J can confidently say, "We don't know." But when it comes to cocktails,
we suggest that you, like P&J, stick to drinking Pernod and grapefruit, a
concoction that if thrown, is generally thrown only up.
Send ice, cocktail shakers, and Pulitzer-grade tips to p&j[a]phx.com.
Issue Date: July 5 - 11, 2002
