As many of you know, the house that Babe Ruth built over a series of three years with nothing more than a lightning-stricken bat and a hot dog bun will close at the end of this year, and by the end of this year, I mean September 21^st at approximately 10:45 PM, because the Yankees are going anywhere this year.  Deal with it.

I hope the Orioles win 21-0, too.

You see, I, a native of, like many fops, Upstate New York, recently spent my hard-earned money to travel to the Big Apple in order to see the Boston Red Sox take on the hometown Yankees in the 36^th to last game ever at Yankee Stadium.

Now, the game was wonderful.  I as a stocking fanatic rooted for my beloved Bostons, and the event itself was well worth my $145 second-hand market ticket.  It was what occurred before the base ball game that upset me so and made my hat bill froth so.

Approximately 90 minutes before the presumptive start of the game, my companion and I-we will call him “Dandy” for anonymity’s sake-did what any man would do at his first and final six hour bus ride trip to Yankee Stadium: go see Monument Park.

In all of sport, there is no more majestic, more pointless collection of bronze figureheads than Monument Park.

Thus, Dandy and I waywardly wandered through the tunnels of Yankee Stadium until we reached the general left field area.  As we gazed out from the top of the section, we noted the line that peeled back from the Park into oblivion.  “Where dost this line end?” queried I to Dandy.  “Where dost?”

So we began to walk alongside the line to trace its origins.  Until of course some security guard who spoke broken English-clearly a newcomer to the Bronx, possibly Pudge Rodriguez-said we could not do as such.

And thusly we had to discover the end of the line another way.  Now, most other stadiums would have signage noting where to get into line for a major attraction, but New York? Nah.

Dandy and I walked up and down flights of stairs until, lo, the line!  We scurried to the end.  Until of course the lady behind us kindly rudely pointed out that the line wove up the secret passageway another floor.

We trotted up another floor, our monocles steaming from our perspiration, when we finally and truly found the end.  This end had to be the end.  We were at the top of Yankee Stadium, right field by this point.  There was no farther back than this.

So we scurried once more.  Until of course a security guard, again in broken English, told us the line was now closed.

FOP!

Defeated, we waddled back to our seats, noting that some man with a bookbag-not allowed into the stadium per anti-terror rulings-was able to get in line after we were denied.

I’m a Yankee, born and bred in America.  It’s Yankee Stadium.  It’s My Stadium.  I want to see the monuments.  I want to be able to touch Babe Ruth’s forehead and smell the vaporizing Clemens steroid sweat brewing forth from it.

This was an injustice chronicled for all the ages.  My ire for the New Yorks now has a true and personal reason.  A reason not just of sport, but of man.

–The Egalitarian

A thousand pardons.  I can’t do this.

Goddammit, this blogger’s alphabet runs A through W.  The X-games to a dude like me…pointless.

“Ooo, my motorcycle goes faster or higher than your ATV.  Suck lead, turdbro!”

The sole ecksception is if a dude plummets from the stratosphere onto a hard, padless floor.  In this case, I want a nameless brethen of sport to call me 13 seconds beforehand to tell me that it’s going to occur.  At this time, I will find ESPN2 on the cathode tube as well as a strategicallee placed champagne bottle to drop this blogger’s monocle in out of shock when the free fall takes place.

OOOOOO! SICK AIR!!!

–The Egalitarian

The Earl Grey is ready and the monocle is freshly polished. It would be most auspicious if the football season were to start soon. Or perhaps even sooner.

Meet Fop and Dandy.

Though their adjectival names might be synonymous, these two powdered wigs of men have disagreed on many topics through many meetings through many years.  From arguing about appeasement in Neville Chamberlain’s private bath to arguing about Joba Chamberlain in Joe Girardi’s private bath, they cannot agree on anything.  Mythology states that their contests began when the question of the fastest game bird in Europe arose.  Fop argued the golden plover while Dandy argued the grouse, and, well, you can infer where it went from there.  Their encounters have since been the sport of legend—sport of the mouth.

For your pleasure, one dictated dispute between Fop and Dandy.

Time: 1:15 AM

Place: Flannery’s Pub

Topic: Should the British enunciate?

Fop: In the name of the king, Dandy, how can you be against the British enunciating?!  I can’t understand a word any of them say…and I’m British!

Dandy: Tut tut, gentle Fop, we both know the reason.  You see, you simpleton, British mumbling is a part of Britannia, just as George Washington’s wooden teeth or the fuzzy arm hair on a trucker is a part of Americana.

Fop: Pshaw! I say, if I weren’t too inebriated from this fine ale, I would have the urge to slap you on the face!

Dandy: That’s because you know I’m right.  I’m always right.  Remember the grouse?

Fop: Of course I remember the grouse!!! But this time you are wrong.  When an American mumbles, they are lazy, stupid, dull.  When a Brit mumbles, it’s charming.  It’s sexy.  I’ve never been called sexy, and I powder with lead eight times a…whoa, I feel woozy.

Dandy: Can’t hold your liquor, eh?

Fop: I’m sorry, I can’t understand your mumbling.

Dandy: Seriously? You don’t mumble?  You’re pretty much a communist.  Communist.

Fop: There are benefits to this communist enterprise.  By not mumbling, people can understand me when I order food at the behest of my communist brethren.  I can be the next Morgan Freeman, and my paycheck can be put into our common pool of funds.  Seriously?  You do mumble?  You’re pretty much a normal member of society.  Normal member of society.

Dandy: Well at least this didn’t degrade into a senseless argument based on name calling, you slag cobbler.

Fop: Pussywillow.

Dandy: Twat twiddler.

Fop: Ricky Gervais.

Dandy: Ouch, that’s cold.

Fop: Like ice.

Dandy: Speaking of which, I do believe it’s time for another round.  Agreed?

Fop: Agreed.  Barkeep!

Irish bartender:  Oh, tuh toy toy toy toy toy. Me counter’s banjaxed!  Ale’s on me gaff, says I, tuh toy toy toy.

Dandy: What the hell did he just say?

Fop: Victory!!!

–The Egalitarian

National League

East Division: Philadelphia Phillies

The Mets are red-hot since the 3 AM firing of Willie Randolph and, as of two days ago, didn’t show any signs of cooling down. The injury to Billy Wagner is worrisome, and Philadelphia’s offense has been much more impressive than New York’s, with a +77 run differential to just +33 for NY.

Central Division: Milwaukee Brewers

The addition of CC Sabathia gives the Brew Crew two bona fide aces in Sabathia and Ben Sheets. Braun, Fielder, and Hardy provide pop at the plate, while the defense as a whole is a solid unit. More on the Central Division in the Wild Card section.

West Division: Los Angeles Dodgers

Let’s face it; this division blows more than the Big Bad Wolf. None of the teams are good, and none deserve the playoffs. Right now its a close race between LA and Arizona but I’m going to pick the Joe Torre-led team to stick it out in September.

Wild Card: Chicago Cubs

I would love to pick the Cardinals here, I really would. Tony LaRussa is doing a fantastic job with mediocre talent and Albert Pujols. But the Cubs are just too good. Chicago is a complete team with a solid rotation and strong lineup. Kosuke Fukudome has been a pleasant surprise. While Milwaukee’s rotation will carry them to the division lead, Chicago has great potential to be the most feared team in the NL playoffs.

NL MVP

1. Ryan Braun

1a. Chase Utley

2. Adrian Gonzalez

NL Cy Young

1. Ben Sheets

2. Tim Lincecum

3. Edinson Volquez

**Statistically, Sheets is the worst of these three, but his team will be in the playoffs.**

Playoff Predictions

Division Series

Tampa Bay over Chicago

Los Angeles over Boston

Milwaukee over Los Angeles

Chicago over Philadelphia

Championship Series

Los Angeles over Tampa bay

Milwaukee over Chicago

World Series

Los Angeles over Milwaukee

Let’s pray for no RallyMonkey.

With that said, lets discuss the looming summer and its effects on the current baseball standings, shall we? My colleague, unfortunately, may not be of much help in this department. He vaguely remembers the Baltimore franchise being renamed the “Highlanders” and moving to New Amsterdam, and sometimes passes into diatribes regarding whether or not a baseball can truly curve. Someday I shall explain the concept of the Wild Card, and how it has succeeded despite a ‘nay’ vote from a Mr George W Bush.

The so-called second “half” of the baseball season has begun, with just over 60 games remaining for each team. My playoff predictions are as follows;

American League

East Division – Tampa Bay Devil Rays

I’m concerned that some of the young players may lose steam towards the end of the season, but, from now until the end of August the Rays play just 3 games against both the Angels and the White Sox, and none against either the Red Sox or the Yankees. September is a different story, with 6 games against each division rival, but the ease of the August schedule will allow the Rays to win while staying rested and healthy.

Central Division – Chicago White Stockingsx

Chicago’s superior pitching staff and hard-hitting outfielders will carry them over the Twins in what is right now a toss-up for the division lead. My over/under on Ozzie Guillen F-bombs before the end of the season is set at 43.

West Division – Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (No really, that’s their name. The Dodgers don’t like it, but they should have never left Brooklyn)

Texas is already 8.5 games back, and Oakland has traded away its most battle-tested pitcher. Right now the Angels are the best team in baseball, but they still have the Mariners to feast on, while Boston and New York can no longer go 15-3 against the Devil Rays. As long as Francisco Rodriguez keeps getting Thiggy with it, and even if he doesn’t, the Halos will coast to an easy division title.

Wild Card – Boston Red Sox

Because I hate the Yankees, who can’t start Joba or Moose every night and have no middle relief to get from their starters to Mo Rivera. That and the Red Sox are pretty good too. Gotta get Varitek (.298 OPB) out of there though. Can Youkilis catch? If Ortiz ever gets back and returns to form they may steal the division in September, but Boston is doing a good enough job without him that he probably wont add many wins and will only force Crisp/Drew/Ellsbury out of the lineup.

AL MVP

1. Josh Hamilton

2. Carlos Quentin

3. Ian Kinsler

AL Cy Young

1. Cliff Lee

2. Roy Halladay (best pitcher in baseball IMHO)

3. Justin Duschscherer

I’m not sure if I can edit posts or not, but I’m tired and will add the National League later. That’s what they get for losing a decade of All Star Games.

Also,

Cabrera has 31 RBIs in his past 35 games to up his season total to 67, putting him among the American League leaders.

Does that really matter when Josh Hamilton has ninety-seven? No one is even within 20 of him.

That is all.

You know what I’m talking about.  That time of year when you pull on your Eddie George jersey, hitch up your knee socks, slide on your 2001 NY Giants NFC Champions hat, and venture outside to smell the smell: the smell of training camp.

Of course, it’s way too damn hot for a sports nerd like you to leave the friendly confines of central air, so you sit down at your computer and begin prosnosticating instead.

Now this is where I come in.  I, personally, own no team apparel in my attempt to keep the revenue-tied salary cap as low as possible, so I don’t follow your ritual.  Rather, I skip right to sipping fine wines and slowly scrolling, pinkie out, through team schedules, guessi—er, predicting—the result of each game while wearing my heavily starched nightcap.

This usually results in my humiliation come February—usually sooner depending on when a team’s 1,200 yard running back goes down for the year.  If anybody paid attention to hockey, people would be laughing at my prediction of St. Louis winning the central last year, too.

With further ado, I would like to mention that football is not on my good side (in other words, they are on my monocled side).  In all of sport, no league can attest to the level of mediocrity that the NFL has.  I love hot 8-8 v. 6-10 action!  Who will be on the bubble this year?  Tennessee?  Carolina?  Washington?  Can Oakland climb from the depths of 4-12 to join the prestigious 7-9 club?  Oh the thrills!  Only more commercials could dull this staccatoed 17 minutes of 4 yard at a time ecstasy!

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Here are my game-by-game predictions arranged into what I will call projected “standings.”

By the way, that thing was a fromatting nightmare, so don’t bitch that your team is 6-10 instead of 7-9.  Suck it up or trade for Brett Favre.

-The Egalitarian

What the hell.  “Two Dudes with Monocles”?  Frock coats?  Casual moustache stroking while sipping fine wines?  “Sport”?  Are these guys serious?

Nah, not really.  We’re just goofing around, realizing that, like Starbursts and Airheads, all blogs are pretty much the same, and the only way to get really popular is to use terrible English and to type in caps while screaming about gas prices or to make stuff up.  Since we both are somewhat articulate and probably know more real rumors than the guys who spread rumors, we won’t be getting popular, so frock coats and monocles it is.

I guess that’s it for now.  I’ll be busy thinking up cool ways to sign off my posts over the next few days before I post my first article on sport.  Maybe an elaborate story about my rise from the streets of Sussex to the monocled heights of the Internet?  I’m sure the other guy will be around to write something zany shortly, too.

By the way, if you actually were sitting in a highback chair, drinking Diet Coke, and dropping Moises Alou from your fantasy team, I believe you owe me money.

-The Egalitarian