Earlier today, the highly trafficked paragon of dumbfuckery known as Barstool Sports embedded a YouTube clip of gay pride marchers in Istanbul being sprayed by police with a water cannon. What follows is B.S.’s trenchant analysis followed by selected reader comments :
Listen I am down with the gays. I’m all for their rights and them celebrating. But this shit was awesome. And to be honest that dude was asking for it. He stood out there for like 5 full seconds waving that rainbow just waiting for the tank to adjust and blast him directly in the fucking face. The rest of those gayballs fell back REAL quick and stopped their march. Like “alright, we’re happy, but not THAT happy that I’m about to risk every bone in my body.” King of the Gays couldnt be swayed though. And in return he got like 200,000 pounds of pressure blasted right through his body.
Congrats on gay rights in America but this is Istanbul where we WILL kill you for no reason!
My name is (NAME REDACTED) and I’m writing on behalf of an Austin, Tx psych rock quartet called (NAME REDACTED).
We recently finished writing and recording our debut self-titled EP as a full band and are looking for someone to help us release it.
The album employs many different elements to create a unique mixture for each song. Among the influential genres for this EP: psychedelic rock, space rock, folk rock, baroque pop, R n’ B, funk, and grunge.
For reference, our style often gets compared to the following bands:
- Early Pink Floyd
- Fleet Foxes
- Tame Impala
- Grateful Dead
- The Shins
- Grizzly Bear
You can listen to the EP here:
The album was self-produced and the cover art was hand painted by (NAME REDACTED) of the band (NAME REDACTED).
Attached are the credits and lyrics for the EP.
If you wish to see videos of our latest performance, you can do so here:
Let me know what you think and if you would be interested in releasing it.
Ryne Sandberg jumped off the sinking ship that is the Philadelphia Phillies early Friday, departing MLB’s worst team this season with more than half a campaign to play. Putting aside for a moment what that may or may not say about Sandberg’s leadership skills, the Philadelphia Inquirer’s Bob Ford is blunt in his criticism of the Hall Of Fame second baseman, citing the Cubs’ refusal to appoint Sandberg manager 5 years ago (“the back-channel reason given was that they Cubs didn’t want to be in the position of having to fire a franchise legend…what GM Jim Hendry didn’t explain, however, was why the Cubs were so sure they would have to”) :
When Chase Utley showed him up June 16 by openly questioning strategy on the field, that was a tolling bell. Last week, when Utley went on the disabled list and Sandberg had not even been consulted or informed prior to the move, that was proof things had gone completely off the rails. The manager’s chair wasn’t officially empty for another few days, but it might as well have been.
Straight as a gun barrel, Sandberg believes in fundamentals, and he vowed to teach them regularly, which plays just fine in the minor leagues, where the guys have to listen to you, but not as well with big-leaguers. He had little blue squares painted on the inside corners of the bases at spring training so the players would be reminded how to run the bases properly. He instituted a regimen during the season that called for full infield, full outfield, and baserunning drills on a rotating basis before games, the sort of drudgery that the Phillies might have needed but not the sort that won Sandberg any support in the clubhouse. It won him eye rolls.
The Cubs aren’t a good measuring stick for how to operate a baseball team, but no organization knew Sandberg better. Major-league legends aren’t always suited to be major-league managers. In the case of Sandberg and the Phillies, this was particularly true for a major-league legend who found himself managing a team of jaded veterans and misplaced minor-leaguers, none of whom wanted to be told how to run the bases.
As you’ve probably read elsewhere, a number of major bricks & mortar / online merchants have announced plans to discontinue carrying Confederate flags and/or confederate-themed items in the wake of the mass killings in Charleston, SC last week. Slightly less than impressed with corporate America’s demonstration of conscience, The Nation’s Dave Zirin asks, “If the Confederate flag is too toxic to sell, then how can Amazon and Walmart continue to peddle the merchandise of a Washington football team that bears the name of a racial slur?”
I contacted Jackie Keeler, a Navajo/Yankton Dakota Sioux writer living in Portland and a founder of Eradicating Offensive Native Mascotry. Her words should be read and reread:
“When I hear an spokesperson for eBay calling the Confederate flag ‘a symbol of divisiveness and racism’ after announcing that they are banning the sale of it from their site, I wonder why I can still search eBay and find over 100,000 Redskins items for sale. Studies and the APA [American Psychiatric Association] have repeatedly warned of the harm being pigeonholed and stereotyped does to Native youths’ self-esteem—and Native youth have the highest rates of suicide in the country, three and a half times that of their peers, but it happens where the rest of America does not look. Native men have the highest rates of police brutality and Native women the highest rates of murder and rape. These deaths are invisible to an America that does not weep for our dead. They cheer for the stereotype and paint themselves up in grotesque caricatures of us, but do they think about what cost we bear for that bit of fun? Is it worth it? I look forward to the day eBay and others like Walmart refuse to make a buck off of a bit of our soul.”
Dan Snyder is the least popular owner in sports, seen as an interfering bully who has stood over two decades of futility of a once-proud franchise. He is also an awkward, sweaty, twitchy hot mess when out in public. But because of his sneering defense of the name, Snyder finally has a following. They chant “Keep the Name” in bars while Snyder grins and pumps his fist. He has taken this objectively racist name—a dictionary-defined slur—and turned it into the football version of the Confederate flag. But none of that matters to him, because finally, Dan Snyder has fans of his own. Hope he enjoys it in the present. Like those who have wrapped themselves in the Confederate flag, he will find that the future will not be so kind,
I’m of a split-mind where the Mets’ (organized) traveling fan contingent aka The 7 Line is concerned. The company’s shirts accomplish the near-impossible task of making my own sporting wardrobe seem classy by comparison. The prospect of attending an out of town Mets game with a gang of identically-attired (mostly) dudes sitting in the worst possible seats selected by the host franchise is frankly about as appealing to me as gargling with broken glass.
All of that said, there’s some small measure of satisfaction in knowing that that a team that’s spent most of the past decade teetering on the brink of financial ruin, terminally out of contention (this season aside) and consistently overshadowed by their crosstown rivals, still generates enough fan support to coax a few hundred guys in ugly orange t-shirts to visit enemy territory.
So when I read the 7 Line’s field trip to Atlanta’s Turner Field Saturday was interrupted by overzealous security, hellbent on killing the party vibes, my first reaction was, y’know, fuck the fucking Braves. However, that was until I learned the Turner security forces actually had a very reasonable, if not heroic mission : RIDDING THEIR SOON-TO-BE-DEMOLISHED VENUE OF THUNDERSTIXX. From the Shea Dugout’s Will Musto :
In the middle of the fourth inning, I walked down to say hello and introduce myself to a Twitter friend of mine, Keith Blacknick (@mediagoon), half of the duo over at MetsPolice.com. We talked about how exciting it was to have a near-SEC football atmosphere of Mets fans at Turner Field. When I returned to my seat for the home fourth, my Yankee-fan friend Dusty informed me that Darren Meenan, The 7 Line’s founder, said we had to put away our thundersticks or we would be ejected.
The PIX broadcast claimed that the thundersticks were confiscated; they were not. We were asked to put them away. Turner Field bans noise-making items. That’s understandable. But that did not appear to be the issue last night. I was told that security officers said we were being too loud and annoying the Braves fans around us.
The most inappropriate thing that I saw was the four sections joining together inchants of “SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE” at a duo of Braves fans sitting below us who thought it was a good opportunity to turn around and mock us for being told to put thethundersticks away. Otherchants during that period included, “WE DON’T NEED THEM,” (with regards to thethundersticks themselves), “WE CHANT LOUDER,” and “WHY SO QUIET,” after a NickMarkakis strikeout. It’s safe to say that the Braves fans in the sections around ours were more concerned with us and how we were watching the game, than the game itself. It’s also worth noting that the agitators sitting below us were escorted from their seats by security around the seventh inning.
In the ninth inning, the group as a whole seemed to decide that the ban on thundersticks was no longer necessary, and they were brought back out.
My dad is a wonderful man whose keen analytical skills, humor and generally withering POV probably have a lot to do with the contents of this blog (other than 99.9% cut and pasted from people with actual skills). If you like what you see here, thank him. Conversely, if you can’t stand CSTB, it’s all his fault.
Luckily, my dad didn’t get to where he is today (ie. slightly above the New Hampshire/ME border) by sitting around reading sports blogs, so I am perfectly free to say something nice about him here. Shawn Kemp, on the other hand, doesn’t have nearly as many people wishing him a Happy Father’s Day, despite his prolific output (of sperm). So here’s to you, Reign Man. May the rest of the world’s Dad’s be 1/7th the parent you are (otherwise we’ll run out of natural resources even faster).
“Well I am doing pretty well for someone so clueless. You on the other hand clearly haven’t a lot of any worth in your life so take to sending retarded texts to people you don’t know judging them …”
“… Sorry your life is so shit but that’s only your fault not mine. Enjoy the rest of your special needs day out.”
“Are you sure we have met, I would have remembered such a massive retard. Business is great thanks and awash with money …”
“… Impossible to have a meaningful conversation with such a fuctard as you. The day you ever advise me about anything other than paint colour will not come.”
“I do ask for help just not from an intellectual cripple like you. When and if I need it. You are hilariously stupid as your type always are. Done fuck all, got fuck all, full of ideas how other people should spend their money. Get real you thick twat.”
The Angels’ Class-A affiliate Orem Owlz have a number of predictable/traditional promotional dates on their 2015 Pioneer League schedule, amongst them, Bark In The Park Night, Shark Week, Cosplay/LARPing Night and the ever popular Loot The Stadium Night. Sadly, one date on said calendar that might be diplomatically called ill-advised given recent events in the land of the stupid free is August 10′s Caucasian Heritage Night. On the off chance there’s a Quiet Company post-game concert, maybe I could believe this is some high concept satire, but as Jay Jaffe notes, “every night is already white heritage night in Orem, Utah. Groups celebrating whiteness don’t exactly have a healthy track record.”
That LeBron James — denied the services of Kyrie Irving and Kevin Love —- put an otherwise unremarkable Cavaliers team on his broad shoulders and put a legit scare into eventual champs Golden State, says much about the Akron native’s determination & guts, if not his best-on-the-planet status. A day after the conclusion of the 2015 NBA Finals, ESPN.com’s Mark Stein — hardly the first person to suggest there’s a disconnect between LeBron and head coach David Blatt — offers a scathing critique of James’ insubordination, calling the treatment of Blatt, “a rather unflattering look for an all-time great.”
We saw LeBron emasculate Blatt in ways that are simply unbecoming of a player of James’ legend-in-the-making stature.
I saw it from close range in my role as sideline reporter through the Finals for ESPN Radio. LeBron essentially calling timeouts and making substitutions. LeBron openly barking at Blatt after decisions he didn’t like. LeBron huddling frequently with Lue and so often looking at anyone other than Blatt.
There was LeBron, in one instance I witnessed from right behind the bench, shaking his head vociferously in protest after one play Blatt drew up in the third quarter of Game 5, amounting to the loudest nonverbal scolding you could imagine. Which forced Blatt, in front of his whole team, to wipe the board clean and draw up something else.
How is any fellow Cavalier going to treat Blatt with something resembling reverence when LeBron treats him like a bench ornament in plain view. How can LeBron publicly laud his own leadership, as he so often does, when setting that sort of tone?
Allergic to the limelight and a delegator by inclination, Mr. Doubleday kept in the background. An exception was his lead role in a successful campaign to oust Bowie Kuhn as commissioner of baseball — Kuhn wanted the teams in major markets to subsidize teams in smaller cities — and replace him with Peter V. Ueberroth.
A stark contrast to his counterpart in the Bronx, George M. Steinbrenner, Mr. Doubleday left the running of the club to its general manager, Frank Cashen, and its managers, the first being Joe Torre.
“You get good people to do a job and then you don’t spend too much time looking over their shoulders,” Mr. Doubleday told The New York Times in 1980. In 1986, when Davey Johnson was managing the team, the pitcher Ron Darling said: “When the dugout telephone rings, you never imagine it’s Nelson Doubleday. It isn’t, and it never could be. Not with that owner. And not with that manager.”
The curious case of former Spokane, WA NAACP head Rachel Dolezal has dominated headlines over the last week,to say nothing of multiple social media references to Big Black’s “Passing Complexion”. While defending Dolezal as “a fierce and unrelenting champion for African-Americans politically and culturally,” in his most recent Time.com op/ed, Hall Of Famer Kareem Abdul-Jabbar argues Dolezal’s attempt to pass for black is “more a case of her standing up and saying, ‘I am Spartacus!’ rather than a conspiracy to defraud”.
Although I’ve been claiming to be 7’2” for many decades, the truth is that I’m 5’8”. And that’s when I first get out of bed in the morning. Just goes to show, you tell a lie often enough and people believe you. I expect there will be some who will demand I give back the championship rings and titles that I accumulated during my college and professional basketball career because I was only able to win them by convincing other players that they had no chance against my superior height. How could these achievements have any lasting meaning if I’m not really as tall as Wikipedia says I am?
Whatever the reason, Dolezal has been fighting the fight for several years and seemingly doing a first-rate job. Not only has she led her local chapter of the NAACP, she teaches classes related to African-American culture at Eastern Washington University and is chairwoman of a police oversight committee monitoring fairness in police activities. Bottom line: The black community is better off because of her efforts.
Dr. King said we should be judged by the content of character rather than color of skin, which is what makes this case so difficult. So, yes, it does matter. Apparently lying to employers and the public you’re representing when the lie benefits you personally and professionally is a deficit in character. However, the fight for equality is too important to all Americans to lose someone as passionate as she is and who has accomplished as much as she has.
Earlier today, the New York Times’ Michael Schmidt reported the FBI is investigating the St. Louis Cardinals’ hacking of the Houston Astros’ internal data, a scheme allegedly provoked by former Cards exec Jeff Luhnow departing to become Houston’s general manager. “We have done what we need to do to minimize information leaking,” Luhnow told the Houston Chronicle in 2014, but it would appear he might not have done nearly enough, at least when it comes to changing passwords when moving from job to job. The Cardinals’ attempts to infiltrate Houston’s network are certainly unethical, absolutely illegal, but as SB Nation’s Roger Sherman explains, most likely, they were also an utter waste of time (“if this were about competitive advantage, it would be a wider scale operation. It wasn’t: It was about making people on another team look dumb because of a personal grudge”).
For most teams, the ability to look into the Astros’ computer system, which has been lauded as an incredibly useful analytic tool, would have been a huge coup. But Luhnow had set up a similar one for the Cardinals, which is how they had the passwords in the first place. The most valuable thing the Cardinals could have discovered with this hacking was something they already had.
So far as we can tell, the information gleaned from the hacking wasn’t massively important. The data that leaked consisted of details of trade talks. It was interesting from an outsider’s perspective — we found out the Marlins kinda maybe might have been shopping Giancarlo Stanton! — but presumably, this is the type of information the Cardinals could have learned on their own as a result of also talking to other front offices.
I’m genuinely skeptical of the on-field advantage an MLB team could gain from even a very detailed peek into the day-to-day operations of one of the other 29 teams in the league. The Astros and Cardinals didn’t even play each other in 2014 nor do they play in 2015. Beyond that, teams post their lineups before games, starting pitchers are scheduled out ahead of time, scouting reports are available on everybody.
If you live in Fort Worth, the city of Coleman’s birth and where he first picked up a plastic saxophone, you can’t mourn Coleman in front of a statue or a mural or in a park or on a street or in a plaza.
The only place in Fort Worth — that I’m aware of — that mentions Coleman in any kind of laudatory fashion is the Fort Worth ISD Wall of Fame.
Not that the FWISD honor isn’t wonderful (Coleman was a proud graduate of I.M. Terrell High School), but we’re talking about someone who, in the span of his ferociously creative and critically acclaimed life and career, won some of the most prestigious honors that can be afforded a musician — or anyone, really: a Grammy; a MacArthur Genius grant; a Pulitzer Prize.
There are no highly visible memorials to any of the skilled, influential musicians who grew up here: Townes Van Zandt, Stephen Bruton; Ronald Shannon Jackson; Roger Miller, Dewey Redman; and Van Cliburn (though there is a street, Van Cliburn Way) — why can’t fans of these artists come to Fort Worth and find somewhere to pay proper respects?
DE Michael Sam, the first openly gay player to be drafted by an NFL team saw his career take him to the CFL’s Montreal Alouettes recently after failures to make the Rams or Cowboys’ playing rosters. Putting aside for a moment how cool it is for a football team to name itself after Felipe Alou and his sons, Alouettes GM Jim Popp and The Tapessays of Sam’s recently departure from the club, “he wanted to go home…I don’t think he doesn’t want to play football.” Some of NBC-affiliated Pro Football Talk’s commenters, however, have their own analysis’ of Sam’s woes.
Deicide make an all-too rare Austin appearance Monday night at the Empire Control Room atop a six band bill. I cannot promise I’ll be attending this glittering affair, but I am very confident those patrons who turn up will be graced with the considerable wit and wisdom of Glen Benton. Provided they ask their questions politely.
Hey, if you’re a good-looking, exceedingly well-informed person with great taste like me, I don’t have to tell you that Saturday night in Austin features an usually heavy slate of cultural highlights. For starters, one of the nation’s best bands, the Hex Dispensers celebrate the long-awaited release of their 3rd album with an instore set at South 1st Street’s End Of An Ear Records. Shortly afterwards, the very trusting and not-at-worried about apocalyptic possibilities folks at Transmission Entertainment have booked a twin-bill of Houston’s Geto Boys followed by Destruction Unit (sadly not on the same stage simultaneously)
That oughta be enough for one night, right? THINK AGAIN, FOX 7 WEATHERMAN SCOTT FISHER. Arguably the pick for Saturday night if not the entire month of June is the duo of percussionist extraordinaire Kid Millions (Oneida) and saxophone terror Jim Sauter (one third of the terminally blistering Borbetomagus). The pair are playing the Salvage Vanguard Theatre as part of this weekend’s NMASS Festival, but the event also marks the release of their excellent new cassette on Nathan Cross’ Astral Spirits label. If it’s nearly as good as their 2014 LP on Family Vineyard, well, why are we even trying to quantify this? Who do you think I am, Nate Silver? If the above samples haven’t already convinced you to blow off some or all of Saturday’s other offerings, there’s no hope for you or me. Or at least one of us. SHOW UP OR GET BLOWED UP.
For the past 30 years, Tony Erba has been a fixture in Cleveland punk, most prominently with the late great Gordon Solie Motherfuckers but with a dizzying array of bands before and after. Up until this point, no one has suggested that Erba was a crucial component in Dan Gilbert desperate drive for an NBA Championship, and well, no one really is saying that in any seriousness this time either. The Cleveland Plain Dealer’s Chuck Yarborough, however, insists that Erba and Cavs PG Matt Dellavedova, “could be one of those ‘separated at birth’ pairs”.
Cavaliers point guard Matt Dellavedova has emerged as the Aussie who has captured Cleveland’s heart with his scrappy play and gutsy, never-give-in performance.
At least he claims he’s from Australia, and has a pretty good Down Under accent to back it up. But he’s also got a twin in Cleveland – punk rocker Tony Erba. Soooo, you make the call!
Both attack their chosen professions with a don’t-quit vengeance. Delly is on his way to what we hope is the city’s first professional sports title since the Browns in 1964 (not counting soccer’s Cleveland Crunch back in the ’90s). And Erba, an aficionado of old-school professional wrestling (he once broke a beer bottle over his own head during a show and performed with blood streaming down his face) attacks his bass and microphone in his band Fuck You Pay Me with the same fervor as Delly goes after a loose ball.
Persons like myself who had the misfortune of tuning into Sirius/XM’s flagship sports talk program, Chris Russo’s “Mad Dog Unleashed”, heard the former WFAN host speaking at length about Richard Matt and David Sweat, a pair of convicted murders who escaped last week from Upstate New York’s Clinton Correctional Facility. Russo, overwhelmed by the story’s apparent similarities to “The Shawshank Redemption” (or as the Mad Dog shortens it, “Shawshawnk”) even took a lengthy call from a retired FBI investigator to discuss the case, then further calls from listeners with their own unique insights into the penal system.
As you know, as much as I enjoy giving Russo a hard time, I cannot honestly say his laser-like focus on this topic is taking valuable time away from other sporting matters. For starters, there’s no such thing as valuable time on “Mad Dog Unleashed”, not compared to frequent updates on the Russo children’s progress in myriad pee wee basketball leagues. And let’s be serious, what else could possibly be happening in sports these days that’s worthy of commentary and debate? The NBA Finals? The Stanley Cup Finals? The first Triple Crown winner in 37 years? The Mets, Yankees and Russo’s beloved Giants all in contention? The ongoing FIFA scandal?
It’s been far to long since I’ve updated CSTB’s Bidding War Alert, and while School Girl might lack the fresh faced party vibes of say, Intensity, I’m pretty sure their unique hybrid of Larry Lifeless-like vocals combined with the sort of sub-Zappa noodling that would rival Legion Of Rock Stars are enough to single-handedly revitalize a dying music industry. Better them than Residual Kid, anyway.
I’ve heard rumors of the US Bombs booking shows in the southeast. I came across this contact as the possible contact for booking the US Bombs? Hoping I’m right! Wondering if they will be anywhere near northern Alabama? I’m in a punk rock band full of skaters, and we just played a show with Total Chaos at an awesome DIY basement venue in Huntsville, AL. Was wondering if the US Bombs would be interested in anything in northern Alabama? Thanks so much for your time and sorry if this is the completey wrong contact. -(NAME REDACTED)