A Week of Stories and Thoughts

It was a great first week of freedom. I slept in, I golfed, I drank to excess and I spent hours upon hours watching old World Series games on MLB Network (which is the greatest specialty network yet...blows NBA and NFL out of the water). Oh yeah, I also went to Palo Alto...where I golfed, drank to excess and partied with a bunch of law students who had just finished their finals. If you thought you partied in college after finals, you were having a tea party compared to these recently freed law students. They flat out get after it, and anyone who knows me knows I'm into that. Anyway it was a great week for me, and I have a few thoughts on what was a busy sports week, and some tales from what happens when you don't have a job.

Let's start with Manny. Anyone who has read this blog before is probably at least a little familiar with my feeling about Mr. Ramirez...and his anatomy. This whole thing is all very easy to explain when you apply my theory of Manny-tivity. Let's break this thing down a little bit.

Why does Manny wear baggy pants? Why does Manny fall down all the time? Why did he used to wear the number 24? Why does he stand in the batters box and watch his own home runs like an art critic in the Louvre?

All of those questions have the same answer. His is 4 times bigger than yours. Which explains why he was taking a women's fertility drug, that some men take to reduce testosterone. MOST men that take the drug human chorionic gonadotropin (HGC) are doing so to reduce testosterone levels after coming off of a steroid cycle. But as we all know, Manny is not MOST men. Manny is you, your dad, your brother and your neighbor. He is your entire carpool. It's only natural that he would have four times the normal male testosterone level.

I plan to submit this case to the MLBPA tomorrow, so worry not Dodger fans, Manny should be back by the weekend.

Alright, moving on to other non-male genitalia related stories, I want to talk about beer pong. Everyone knows what beer pong is, everyone plays it, and everyone loves it. Before my trip to Palo Alto I was guilty of the first two statements in the last sentence, but I never really loved it. Maybe it was due to the fact that I was overexposed to shirtless douche bags listening to Sublime while playing beer pong in college. Maybe it was due to the fact that most guys that are good at beer pong are good at little else, and I hate losing at physical activities to people with next to no physical gifts. Or maybe it was due to my tendency to try to reject certain aspects of the college culture in my post college days. Whatever the reasons may have been, I was dead wrong. Beer pong is awesome. I am sorry for any people that I may have offended over the years in avoiding the game, or denying it's play on my ping pong table. Later this week I'll tell the story of why I now love the game so much.

My trip to Palo Alto wasn't all golf and beer pong though. I actually did make one potentially productive step towards my future. Last Friday I was lucky enough set up a meeting with the Program Director of KNBR, the sports radio station in San Francisco. KNBR has such a strong signal that you can get it here in Seattle (it's 680 on your AM dial) and it's the home of the Giants and Warriors. I suggest you give it a listen, because their hosts are badass.

Anyway, the Program Director's name is Lee Hammer. So if I wasn't nervous enough about just meeting the big boss of one of the biggest sports radio stations in the country, I had to deal with the fact that his name is Mr. Hammer. It's a 45 minute drive from Palo Alto to Downtown San Francisco, and the whole drive I was imagining my meeting with Lee Hammer, the 6'5'' monster that would literally hammer my skull if he didn't like what I had to say. I pictured this huge hulk of a man hurling San Francisco sports trivia at me, just hoping I'd slip up so he could smash me. By the time I finally got to the station I was pretty sure I just drove 30 miles to get my ass kicked.

I was further tortured when I arrived 10 minutes early for my meeting, only to receive notice that Lee was running 15 minutes late, so I had an extra 25 minutes to think of ways that I could get "Hammered" by the Big Boss. After an excruciating half hour in the lobby, I was finally called into the office...to be murdered I was pretty sure. But what I was greeted by was not even close to what I had imagined. Lee Hammer wasn't 6'5''. He wasn't even 6 feet. He was about an inch shorter than me, bald, and the only thing that could have been read as intimidating was his all black outfit. Black slacks, with black Giants polo shirt. My fears had all but melted away, and we were headlong into a full fledged job interview.

"Your resume is strong. And if all the stuff you have on here is true, there is more than likely a place for you here at KNBR," said the unintimidating radio boss.

So, I'm moving to San Francisco.

No, no. I'm joking. But it was nice to hear that I may have that option if I want. I wasn't going into the meeting with the hope of getting a job, I just wanted Lee Hammer to know who I am when I apply for a job there in 10 years or whatever. I guess it worked out a little better than that. At the very least, I am no longer afraid of Lee Hammer, so that's good.

Now, on the to the most prevalent part of my trip to California, and my recent vacation in general. As you all know, I've been on vacation for 2 weeks now. And my major vow was to golf as much as possible, and blog here and there. While the blogging has been infrequent, the golfing has been anything but.

I got the chance to play the Stanford Golf Course while I was in Palo Alto, and more importantly I was lucky enough to play with a professional caddy named Juan Ramos. He has caddied for a couple guys on the Senior PGA Tour, and is currently bag jocking for a high school kid who is trying to qualify for the US Open. The difference that a pro caddy can make is amazing. After 3 holes, he knew pretty much what to tell me, and everything he said helped. I played great, I putted well, and I even made an eagle. It was on the par 5 7th, 498 yards which dog legged to the left. I cleared the corner with huge drive, and had about 173 yards to a back pin placement. I pured a 6 iron to about 45 feet, and drained the uphill putt for a clean 3.

As a matter of fact, I am playing quite well these days. I guess you would be too if you had played 13 of the last 14 days like I have, but I just want to relay how pleased I am with my game currently. I have a tournament this Sunday, I plan to relay the results to all of you via blog. Let's hope I play well, and if not let's hope I play hilariously bad.

Back to my trip. The whole point of the trip was to help my lady pack up her things after her first year of law school, and drive back up here in her car. She drives a 1994 Ford Taurus. It sucked. The company could not have been better, and the trip went very smoothly. But nonetheless, driving 1000 miles sucks. Further proof that NASCAR is crazy. Although had we been going 200 MPH it would have more fun...especially through the Siskiyous.

All in all it was a great trip. I hope to make more trips throughout the summer since as we all know, I have nothing but time on my hands. I plan to visit some pals in DC, and maybe try to see some ball parks on the West Coast. I will be sure to blog about anything that seems interesting.

I am about to watch Aaron Brooks and HIS Rockets play the Lakers in game 5. I hope he goes off again for a lot of reasons, but mostly just so Magic Johnson can freak out again on national TV. He was "embarrassed" by the way the Lakers played in game 4. And he knows a thing or two about being embarrassed...as you may recall he contracted HIV while cheating on his wife, boy was his face red. You know what's really embarrassing? Grown men who can't describe the game that they once thrived in. Magic Johnson is inarguably one of the greatest NBA players of all time. At the same time he can't form three consecutive sentences without sounding like a moron. He's terrible. He is a starter on the All Terrible Ex-Player Announcer Team (I know, a very clever name for the team). It consists of Eric Snow at the 1, Craig Ehlo at the 2, Magic at the 3, Chris Webber at the 4, and playing center is Todd McCullough. Sorry Todd, I love ya, but it's not pinball. Anyway, I hope Brooks busts the Lakers asses again so Magic can lecture them on national TV.

Until next time, try not to contract HIV while cheating on your wife, it's unbecoming.

And Stay Out...

Well, as some of you know, I was "laid off" the other day. And now the rest of you know, because you just read it in the last sentence.

Laid off is a funny phrase to me. Honestly, I think it's a stupid phrase. It's a lot less like getting laid, and a lot more like getting offed. So, in an attempt to find a more suitable description for what happened to me, I consulted the Wikipedia. The Wikipedia almost always has something to say, and when it comes to layoffs, it has lots to say. This was Wikipedia's explanation for the origin of the term layoff: "Originally the term "layoff" referred exclusively to a temporary interruption in work, as when factory work cyclically falls off. However, in recent times the term can also refer to the permanent elimination of a position."

Great, so in this definition they refer not only to the fact that "temporary layoffs" are outdated, they also talk about factory work...which renders thoughts of GM and Ford and the city of Detroit as a whole...thanks a lot Wikipedia.

I was unhappy with what I found in Wikipedia's first paragraph on Layoffs so (this is something that before the layoff I would have never had time for, I was very busy all the time back then) I read on. I came upon the "Further Euphemisms" section. You know how shitty left-handed pitchers are described as "crafty", or slow white point guards are referred to as "heady"? Well that is what this section does for laid off people like me. Here are some terms that Wikipedia suggests that I try: downsized, rightsized, smartsized, redeployed, workforce reduced, workforce optimized, simplification, force shaping, and reduction in force.

Again, thanks a fucking lot Wikipedia. Workforce Optimized? Really? Further down it read: "Look Bunktown, sometimes you just gotta cut off the fat. Don't be such a smelly douche about it." Well, maybe that part isn't true, but nevertheless, I am still unhappy with the term "Laid off", as well as the majority of it's euphemisms.

One euphy (that's what I am calling euphemisms now, feel free to join me in spreading the new slang, another thing I now have plenty of time for) that I actually did like though, was redeployed. I actually liked that one a lot. I like the idea of being deployed in the first place. As if I had been sent to KJR by the Army on a reconnaissance mission. Now that I had served my tour of duty under the Panzer Group that was Groz and Gas, I am being reassigned. What I like best about the term redeployed though, is what I'll be doing on my new mission. Golfing.

You see, while this truly does suck huge gorilla balls, there is a silver lining for me. It's called severance, and it's the greatest thing in the world. It makes no logical sense whatsoever, but at the same time this is the same company that paid me to watch Mariners games, so what do they know about sense. Basically, they are going to pay me my same salary for the next 9 months, and I get my health benefits for another 18 months.

Join me now for a reenactment of what I imagine was the meeting leading up to my dismissal.

My Boss: Well, we are going to have to let a few people go...you know lay them off.

My other boss: Yeah, this is really too bad. This economy really sucks.

First boss: Yeah, this is going to be so hard. Hey! I have an idea!

Second boss: Really? You have a solution?

First boss: Yeah. Why don't we redeploy Andy Bunker to the golf course.

Second boss: What? How will that help?

First boss: No, no. I'm not finished. We will send him to the golf course, but we'll still pay him his same salary, and give him health benefits.

Second boss: I don't know if that's going to solve our financial problems.

First boss: Of course it will. We'll just keep paying him not to work here anymore. And since he will still be getting paid, not to work, he can just focus all his time and energy on golf and not have to worry about getting another job. And...if he's lucky, he can apply for unemployment too, so he'll actually be making more money than we he worked here.

Second boss: You're obviously joking.

First boss: Nope. It's final. Recession over.


Alright. Now that I've had a little fun at the expense of the situation, and the people involved in making these insanely hard decisions, let's talk seriously for a little bit. This blog started because I got an internship on the David Locke Show in the Summer or 2005, and a few of my friends wanted to hear about the funny stuff that I had to do as an intern. From getting Norm Charleton Chinese food from Safeway every night (he loves their General Tso's) to being verbally and emotionally abused by Too Short. I called it Road to the BigTime to make fun of what I was dubbing "my journey to the top of the Seattle Sports Scene." The Road has encountered quite the speed bump this week. Anybody who knows me knew just how much I loved my job, and not being able to do it anymore is really going to be tough. And even though I plan to make a lot of fun of a lot of the people that I worked with at KJR, they were my family I love them for everything. Anyway, I want to say thanks to all the people who have sent me emails, or facebook messages, or bought me shots, or just hung out with me over the past few days. Everyone knows the economy is in shambles right now, and lots of things are changing, it's nice to know that friends don't rise and fall with the fate of the stock market.

Alright, enough of that sentimental BS...what is this a blog about Brett Favre or something? He wears Wranglers by the way. Let's get back that Silver Lining stuff. As I was saying earlier, I have a wealth of free time on my hands now. And along with shaving some strokes off the old handicap, I intend to get this blog back on track. You may have noticed that I am back on blogspot and no longer on Bunktown.com. There are a couple reasons for that: first, I think that whole thing was a bit ambitious, I'm not sure that I need an entire website dedicated to me calling people douche bags and lamenting about the Sonics. Second, I forgot to pay the URL dues, so they canceled my account. Se la vie, back to blogspot it is. I am not sure if I should still call it Road to the BigTime, since I am not exactly working towards anything right now. When it started I was writing for my college buddies, the economy was thriving, and we were all pretty sure we were all going to be rich and famous. Now we're all unemployed, the economy is in worse shape than Vin Baker, and we are hoping they start taking Bachelor of Arts Degrees at Safeway instead of actual money. Maybe I should rename it "Broken Down Car on the Side of the Road to the BigTime."

Anyway, I'm going to do my best to resurrect the blog. Maybe I can even guilt Gas into mentioning it on the air. Another thing that I want to try to do is get the Podcast back going. I have a few more phone numbers than I used to, so maybe we can get some funny conversations with me and some Seattle Sports Guys on tape. At the very least you can read me bashing people unfairly again.

So I didn't get laid off, I got redeployed. I hope you all like reading about how my short game is coming along.

Douche Bag of the Week

This weeks biggest douche bag has been on our list before, and will most likely be on it again. Only next time he'll probably either be unemployed or play for the Winnipeg Blue Bombers. Yes, this weeks biggest DB is the soon to be ex-Seahawk RB, Shaun Alexander. In a week where the Hawks went out and signed two running backs that are both younger, and have smaller contracts, Shaun Alexander appears to be on his way out of town. I don't know about you, but I couldn't take another year of dodging contact, missed blocks, and excuses. And as many memories as 37 has provided, the last two years have been increasingly frustrating. And while I do feel a little bit bad for the guy, I felt like one last Douche Bag of the Week award was the best way for Road to the Big Time to send him out.

Since most of the current Seahawks fans have only been fans since 2005, it is probably going to be pretty hard for them to imagine the Seahawks without Shaun. Let me be the first to tell you that it is going to be okay. Life will go on. You will love again. The first time Julius Jones runs for 100 yards and does the sprinkler dance you'll all forget about old Shaun What's His Name anyway. If you don't believe me, here is a story that might help you quantify the loss you are about to feel.

Growing up, many of us had dogs as pets. I had a small white retriever named Squirt. I got Squirt when I was seven, and he and I were best friends. He was fast, agile, great at fetch, and pretty good at sitting and rolling over too. But as Squirt got older, he became less and less able to do the every day dog activities that I was used to. Fetch went from an hour of fun and exercise, to one or two throws followed by lots of water and panting. And as hard as it was to admit that Squirt wasn't a puppy any more, my family and I came to grips with the fact that we may have to some day replace Squirt with a new puppy who could fetch.

The day my dad came home with Rover was a very strange day. Squirt was washing one of his arthritis pills down with about a gallon of water, when his entire world changed. One minute he was the center of our domestic world; Hours of petting, monthly trips to the vet, even the expensive food from the can. Who was this new dog? So young. So agile. Squirt didn't know exactly what was happening, but he was pretty sure that his run at the top maybe soon coming to an end.

Running backs are like dogs. Families, like football franchises, last for decades. Dogs, like running backs, last about 10 years. One day you are eating a milk bone in the den while getting your tummy rubbed, the next day you are in the back seat of the Le Baron on the way to the vet for a "shot".

Shaun Alexander is on his way to the vet...so to speak.

He was the first MVP in franchise history, he led us to our first ever Super Bowl appearance, we aren't going to forget him. But for the good of everyone involved, Shaun Alexander included, it is time to move forward. So whether you are sad to see him go, or you have waiting for this day for two years like me, pay the guy your respect. And hey, at least we aren't injecting him with an overdose of an anesthetic solution. Sorry Squirt.

Save Our Sonics, Call Your Legislator

PLEASE call your legislators if you have not already done so. The number is:

1-800-562-600

These calls really do have a huge impact. The fate of the Sonics may be decided in the next three days. I am sure you have read about the proposed Key Arena remodel. This deal is an absolute no-brainer and must be approved during the current legislative session. Please call your legislators and voice your approval. Here are some key talking points:

1) This is extremely time sensitive: Must be done before the NBA owners meeting (mid-April) to be effective

2) This is an unprecedented offer of private money that will support the Key Arena and Seattle Center as a whole

3) Even Critics of Arena spending are finding this to be a GOOD DEAL. This bill actually puts MORE money towards public programs in the long term because it finds specific revenue streams to make needed debt paydown and improvements to the Key Arena. If the Sonics leave these items will still need to be done and with no specific revenue streams allocated for them the improvement will have to come from the general fund.

4) The state CAN do this if they so choose. They will have to make an exception to the rule but have the ability if they want.

5) City funds will be collected via a user fee and NO state funds are required. The state is ONLY being asked to authorize King County to collect the funds from existing sources.


If you really want to make a difference the time is now. The reality is that Sonics can be saved, and sports fans like us are the key to getting this done. Save Our Sonics.

Funny Picture of the Week

I was at work a few Saturdays ago, when I got a frantic call from my estranged roommate. Barry had been gone on his snowboarding sojourn for over three weeks, and aside from a few facebook wall posts, and late night drunken text messages, I hadn't heard from Barry at all. So needless to say, I was excited. But before I could utter a single word, Barry staring rattling off some crazy line of questions about a former Utah Jazz basketball player.

Now, as I do know a little bit about sports, I am used to calls like this from friends. Whether it be call from a Sonics game from a friend who can't remember the name of that tall left handed guy, who used to shoot all those three's back in the mid 90's (Sam Perkins), or an angry and confused buddy who wants to know why the Mariners would pay $40 million for some fat guy from Minnesota (Carlos Silva), I am pretty used to answering random questions. But I wanted to talk to my buddy Barry.

Here is a script of our conversation:

Me: "Hey, whattup Barry?" I answered excitedly.
Barry: "What is the name of that big tall guy that used to play for the Jazz?"
Me: "What? Where are you?"
Barry: "Utah...what is that guys name?"
Me: "Uh...what? Tall guy? Utah? Uh...when did you get to Utah?"
Barry: "I can't talk long dude, what is that really tall guys name?"
Me: "Tall guy from Utah? I don't know, is he white?"
Barry: "Yeah, he's white and really really tall...like 7 foot 5."
Me: "Oh, that's Mark Eaton...that guy is a huge freak."
Barry: "Mark Eaton...cool dude, thanks. Gotta run."
Me: "What?....."
"Click"

This is how Barry operates. I guess it is impossible not to run at 100 miles per hour when you are constantly high on Skittles and Starbursts. I remained confused about this whole interaction until I received the picture posted above in an email two days later. Barry explained that the pointedness of his call was necessary because they had to chase big Mark down and ask for the picture...but they didn't feel comfortable asking him if they didn't know his name. Even before I knew the extent of the story, I was proud of my quick pull on Eaton's name, but when I found out that the picture wouldn't have happened had my mental rolodex of sports knowledge not been so astute, I was downright proud. It isn't every day that I can apply my sports geekiness in any sort of practical fashion, and it makes me very happy any time I can.

Other funny notes on this picture:
1. Barry is 6'6'', and he looks like a little kid next that giant freak.
2. The skier in the background has a full body, turquoise jump suit.
3. Barry has a moustache.
4. How is it possible that Mark Eaton could play a full NBA career, be that tall, and still be able to ski? That is unbelievable. How can his knees handle it? He is a freak.
5. Can you think of anything funnier than seeing Mark Eaton hit a huge jump? No you can't, it'd be hilarious.

Mark Eaton's career stats:

Games: 875, Games Started: 815, Minutes: 25169, Field Goals Made: 2072,
Field Goals Attempted: 4526, FG Percentage: .458, 3-pointers made: 0,
3-pointers attempted: 2, Total Rebounds: 6939, Assists: 840, Steals: 368,
Blocks: 3064, Points: 5216

Love vs. Haters

I try my hardest to avoid writing serious blogs. I know that this is a place that you all come to laugh...or at least I hope it is. But there are some things that I cannot avoid talking about, as they strike a chord so deeply rooted in my love for sports that I have no choice but to write about them.

There are reasons that we all love sports specific to our own personalities. Some people love hard work. Some people love athleticism. Some love tradition, or trash talkers, or underdogs. There are as many reasons to love sports as there are sports, or teams, or athletes. But there is one thing in sports that is simply universal. Something that everyone that is truly a sports fan understands. It's what made you jump up and scream with delight, and hug your best friend as you danced around your living room when the Seahawks crushed the Panthers. It's what made you kick a hole in your mom's wall when Richard Hamilton made that last second fade away. It's what made Griffey smile from here to Cooperstown on the bottom of the pile at home plate. It's what made Joey Cora cry in the dugout, and it's what made Alex Rodriguez console him.

It's what made Brett Favre tick.

It's love. The love of the game.

I know a lot of ridiculous, corny, romantic, and possibly even unnecessary things have been written about Brett Favre. And this blog maybe one of them. But for once, in a sports world that completely blows everything out of proportion, I am going to buy into it. And for once, on a blogsite that usually makes fun of the "feel good" story, I am going to try to make you feel good.

Brett Favre announced today that he will call it quits after 17 years of record setting football; that part you already know. What you don't know is how this, whether you loved Favre or not, directly effects you the sports fan. Because as sports fans we are war with haters. People who do not, and will not, love sports. The Nick LaCottas of the world, who feel that sports have no cultural value. The high brows who scoff when you turn the game on or laugh at you if you ask them if they know the final score of the Mariners game. Call them what you want. But for the purposes of this blog, we will simply call them Haters.

You maybe asking what Brett Favre has to do with our fight, Haters don't care about football. Haters only like Emo and coffee. You're right, Haters don't care about football. You could sit there and tell a Hater every single record that Favre has broken. Tell them that he passed for more yards, or touchdowns than anybody else in history. Tell them that he played in 275 games in a row. Tell them that he won more games than anyone else who ever played. You could tell a Hater what ever you wanted to about Brett Favre's football stats, if they turned their Zune off for long enough to listen, and they would never ever care. But that isn't why we love him, and that isn't how he is going to help us.

The next time a Hater gives you that steely-eyed glare, that every fan knows so well, as you open the paper and go straight for the sports page, ask them this. What do you love? But before they can rattle off some condescending response like "art", finish the question. What do you love, as much as I love sports? If they don't have anything that they can admit that they love, then you have already won the argument. But chances are, they will have some sort of answer, whether it actually be art, or music, or politics, or law or whatever, as long as they have an answer then you are playing ball. Excuse the pun. This is where Brett Favre can be used to your advantage. Because whether you like Favre or not, he the embodiment of love in sports. The way he wore his emotions, and played with his heart. The improvisation that he played with. His unconventional style. The joy that he evoked and invoked. His passion. His love.

Spell it out to a Hater like that, and even if they don't like sports, they will see Favre as the icon that they love. Favre is Picasso. He is the Rolling Stones. He is the reason that sports are great. It is lame, and difficult to give one man that much responsibility, or even that much credit, but it's true. I'm not saying that there should be pictures of Favre in the Louvre, or that he should be on the Supreme Court. But in the context of sports, he is what we love. And while it maybe difficult for some to find value in sports, only Haters can't find value in love.

By the way...he will come out of retirement in June or July.

My Friends Look Like Famous Athletes

Here it is, the triumphant return of "My Friends Look Like Famous Athletes." And I have a look alike that is my favorite so far. Did you hear what I just said?!? My favorite one!! I like it better than the Gelinas/Medvedenko duo, more than Scarpelli/Reali, even more than Emmick/Brady. So, without further ado, I give you Pau and the Pony.

Here is the newest Laker, and every ones favorite unshaven Spaniard, Pau Gasol.




And here is my buddy, The Pony, Ryan Delaney.