The Break Room

Mornings: 6:00 - 10:00


My new fetish

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I am OUTRAGED over the East Side Flasher

Is this not the year 2010? Can I not go to the internet and see video of things happening around the world? So how is it that a man is able to “flash” women at 4 different locations on the “East Side” of Rochester, maybe even 5 locations and there is not one picture, video or anything? Yes, there is a picture from a security camera on the Nazareth College campus, but this picture is only slightly better than any Big Foot picture I have ever seen! I am outraged that citizens on the East Side are not ambidextrous enough to endure both the shock of being flashed and catching the event on a cell phone! How is it that right now I can watch video of a guy falling on a city street, someone one slipping illegally through a red light or peeing in the company coffee pot, but not of the East Side Flasher! I am sure I am not alone in my outrage. For crying out loud people we have the technology, let’s use it! Let’s use the technology to not only try to catch this pervert, but at the very least to entertain our fellow suburbanites. Imagine the flasher video in slow motion, whipping open his coat, the slow gurgled scream of a shocked citizen, the slow motion turn and run of the flasher with his lily white backside gleaming in the sun! You know you would watch it over and over. Yes, we are missing quality internet entertainment from our own backyard. It’s an outrage!
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Awkward moment with Carrie Underwood

Carrie Underwood stopped by the radio stations before her concert at the Blue Cross Arena. I decided to become a "star stalker" and go back to the station to try and meet Ms. Underwood. I had a plan to not appear like just another "middle age creepy guy." I would bring my wife, Jennae, and our new born son, Jameson! The result? Still awkward. Check it out.
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Cast Off!

About three weeks ago I punched a wall in my basement. A cinder block wall. It broke my knuckle and a fractured other bones. Good times. First I was splinted and after the swelling went down, I was fitted with a blue cast. ( I never took a picture of the cast!) Look how swollen my un broken fingers are! Today the cast was removed. Cast-less hand.  Looks like an old man's hand...I guess it really is! It was recommended I have brace put on, I declined. However, I do have my pinky "buddy bandaged" to my ring finger. Buddy bandage We all have been told 'it's what is on the inside that counts.' I guess that's true 'cause when the insides are HURTS! Here's a look at some of my insides. X-Ray Best
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Black Licorice

Our son Jordan had another test today at Strong. It was not painful, just time consuming and he really wanted to go to school! Really wanted to go to school? Today was gym and he wanted to show off his new kicks, makes sense. He went to Strong and despite wanting to be somewhere else, he did the test without complaint. That deserved a treat. He licorice?!
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Phil Sherman on the cover of the D@C

  Philbilly Driving School
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Luge Crash at the Olympics

The New York Times has an interactive graphic of Nodar Kumaritashvili's fatal luge crash at the Olympics. View at your own risk.
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This is our biggest fan

  Meet John
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Thank you! This morning we raised close to $875 for Intervol, a Rochester community based non-profit organization dedicated to serving others through the recovery and redistribution of medical supplies and equipment; to bridging local hospitals and medical professionals with other countries and care-giving organizations in areas of need. For the next few months Intervol will be focused on Haiti. Learn more about Intervol at We like to go "grass roots" when we raise money. It's just us and you! We put people on street corners with home made signs begging for money and you give! Thank you! It is a very unconvential fund raising method, some people do not give because they do not believe it is legit. It is! And some of the Break Room faithful, Pat Duffy, Toothless Eddie, Willie Lightfoot, Carl the Bills Fan, and listener Cathy with her family, stood freezing in various parts of town with their home made signs for about 3 hours and with very little pre-promotion raised close to $875! Thank you, thank you, thank you! We have the best listeners. Cathy's home made sign Toothless Eddie and his home made sign in the Break Room Your cash donations turned into a money order for Intervol
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A look into the future...

I have enjoyed watching the bull shit wrangling with the Tonight Show, proving that show biz is a fickle mistress! A guy who has been through the wringer with NBC, David Letterman, has a look at the future of the Tonight Show. [kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]
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Riveting Haiti talk from Wyclef

Wyclef Jean has been catching some crap about his charity's history and we'll get into that in the Break Room. But, Wyclef has been to Haiti to see the devastation first hand and to roll up his sleeves and help. This video is nine minutes long, but I found it riveting. Let me know your thoughts. [kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]
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Favre does "Pants on the Ground"

I had to cheer for Favre and the Vikings; being in my late 30's, seeing a guy 40 do what he did, is pretty fucking cool! Oh, and Pat Williams, P Diddy, loved him when he was with the Bills!

This Viking post game celebration made me laugh! Larry Platt, the 62 yr. old guy, who did "Pants on the Ground" on American Idol, just got a bump (as if he needed it) from another guy who is too old for Idol.[kml_flashembed movie="" width="undefined" height="undefined" wmode="transparent" /]

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Time Travel for the Holidays!

My favorite beverage at my favorite bar, Thirsty's. I knew Arthur Guinness was B-R-I-L-L-I-A-N-T! But, I had no idea just how BRILLIANT! He invented time travel! No really! The above picture is of the time travel potion, also know as Guinness. This beauty was poured by one of my favorite bar tenders and a favorite person, B.C. at Thirsty’s. I swallowed this concoction and about 4 others and the next thing I knew I was waking up in my bed at and it was 6:30PM! This picture was taken at 1:33PM, I leaped through time! Granted it was only about 5 hours, but can you do that? Not with out the help of Arthur Guinness and his dark magic potion! Hell, I am thinking about drinking a bunch and leaping forward to Christmas Day just to see what I am going to get. That way I will know how to act when opening specific gifts, reaction is everything on Christmas Day. One gift you may consider is an 18 pack of Guinness . Yes it’s delicious and now you know it is magical. Imagine the power of time travel! Oh, side effects include loss of memory, nausea, pissed of spouse, upset stomach, diarrhea , crying children, vomiting and excessive sleepiness. Arthur Guinness was B-R-I-L-L-I-A-N-T!
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It's the most wonderful time of the year!

Jordan getting ready 1 It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Last week our oldest son Jackson was hospitalized for long term EEG monitoring of his brain and three days later the worst was ruled out. It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Today was our younger son Jordan’s turn. Jordan has severe food allergies. Severe is a strong word, but appropriate. Jordan is allergic to milk, soy, soy lethicin and a lot of other crap that goes into creating our food. Read the labels on foods and you’ll see what a challenge it is to feed Jordan, but we (really his mother) have and well. His mother, Jennae, even makes him special desserts, so the guy never feels left out at parties or celebrations. Lately he has been complaining that his stomach hurts after eating, despite taking a host of medicine to help control his severe acid reflux. Back to the specialist, then back to the hospital for an endoscopy. Jordan’s third of his life. How many parents have pictures of the inside of their kid’s esophagus and stomach? We have a photo albums worth. As expected Jordan’s is abnormal. The new photos show that Jordan’s esophagus tissue is thickening because of the reflux, there are also abscesses, and where most people’s esophagus is smooth, his has little bumps. The doctor took seven biopsies and doesn’t want to say much about what she saw until the results of the biopsies are back. Some presents you can not wait to tear into, others you hesitate. It is the most wonderful time of the year, right? It is the most wonderful time of the year! It’s busy and rushed, a great distraction. I study, or attempt to study, Buddhist philosophy and find the teachings to be of great help to keep “present,” not easy to do when the “what ifs” and the “what the fucks” sneak in. However, when my attempt to stay “present” fails, I tear into my other favorite presents, Guinness and Jameson. (Pardon me while I take a CHUG!) Then I come back to the moment. In the moment I remember, we’re all here and these are some good times. Jordan was cracking jokes with the anesthesiologist, even blew the doc’s weak joke which was, “What do you call a pig that knows karate?” Jordan blurted out “A pork chop!” Plus, there is snow to ski, sled and pummel each other. My buddy Tommy always makes me laugh, especially when he awkwardly calls to see how we’re doing. Jennae, who is 7 months pregnant , makes the holidays great no matter what is going on around us and she has the perfect egg-nog to brandy ratio! Yeah, it IS the most wonderful time of the year! Jordan in hospital wares<
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Genny "Pounders"

It is no secret I am Guinness guy. However, I also love Indian Pale Ales and in my college days preferred Genny "Pounders," pint size bottles of Genny and Genny Light. Looks like the Pounder has been replaced by "BIG ASS GENNY BEER." As you are shopping for the "hard to get for man" on your list, (there is no such thing!); think local and buy him a case of Genny! Big Ass Genny
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Why I was out today...

If you have kids, you know how stressful things can get and it is not always due to their behavior. Sometimes it's their health! Our oldest son Jackson has been having a series of odd "spells." That sounds like what your relatives say when 90 year-old Great Aunt Millie does a swan dive into her buternut squash soup at Christmas dinner, "Pick Aunt Millie out of her soup and BE CAREFUL OF HER WIG, she's had one of her spells again!" Jackson has been falling a sleep, mid-sentence and can not be woken up and it's not for lack of trying. The kid is out! Cold! He is a typically active nine year-old boy who sleeps for an average of nine to nine and a half hours a day, so what the...that's what the doctors want to find out! Last night we kept him up all night, he went strong 'till 4 AM, then I got him up made him touch his toes a few times and walk around, but had to let him sleep a little at 5. The idea was not to torture him, but he had to sleep during his EEG test this morning. Try being nine, having all this hooked to your head and being told, "Go to sleep!" He did and we'll get the results later in the week. Jackson - with leads on his head Jackson - head wrap
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Thanksgiving Tour 09

Jeannette and the Dick
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Phil Jackson covers up snub

My oldest son is named after Phil Jackson. Jennae and I always admired Phil's zen approach to working with people. Not sure if this is the zen approach to being snubbed, but it is funny to watch Phil Jackson try to cover up!
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Fake Trick or Treater

This is great! I wish I though of it and if it happened to you, you know you would be creeped out!
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Bald Pussy...Cat

Nothing is really free in life. Not even the cute kitten in the box marked "free kittens." We, my family and I, have one of those said "free kittens." She has cost over a $1,000.00 so far for spaying, de-clawing, shots and repairs. Repairs? Look at this!
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People are silly

A couple things made me laugh today, like Tommy, The Office, My kids and this video! People are silly!
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John the BRPC

At 7:30 we'll meet John the Break Room Prison Consultant. We love this guy! He did some hard time and now works to help people who have anger managment and other problems. This is what I think he looks like... This is what I think John the BRPC looks like
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who's better looking ?

We had a debate in The Break Room on who is better looking  Robinson or myself. Are you fuckin' kidding me!2639_1026964806547_1598106016_30095168_2579771_ns1591091671_59472_5297
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Rockin' Robert

Remember this guy? Rockin' Robert called our pitch line looking for work. We invited him in the Break Room to learn more about him and he showed us his Kariokie talents!
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Happy Labor Day!

If you own a house, you probably did something like this over the long weekend!
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It's two o'clock somewhere

We talked to a drift boat captain in Florida with a side web- cam business that features his wife. Check it out and let me know what you think.  here's the links:                                sinfulstudios-YAHOOIM
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Baboon Butt is interesting!

Friday afternoon we took our boys to the zoo and Baboon butt was a hit!
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Emotions Run Deep on Health Care Reform

This guy got very upset during Eric Massa's town hall meeting in Victor last night. This guy and I were part of the "overflow" group that did not get a seat in the auditorium. Eric could not hear this guy, however we could hear Eric, but not see or interact with him. Be sure to check out more video from Eric Massa's town hall meeting in Victor, inculding the follow up to this in our video section!
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Back to School Can't Come Soon Enough!

Once the web heads figure out the nuances of this site I will start my video blog "Bill's Eye View," videos of what happens in the Break Room during commercials.  Until then, for Kane-o's sake, I'll blog the "old fashion" way. If you have school age kids you probably have September 8th circled, starred, and asterisk'ed on your calendar.  Why?  (Cue the Hallelujah Choir) IT'S THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!  This is the time of  summer, when camps have ended and boredom sets in, that the parental advent calendar begins.   At my house boredom paid a visit today and brought it's friend injuries.  My 8 year-old son wanted to see what it would be like to slide down the basement stairs in big rubber storage bin.  The equivlent of indoor luge, or bob sledding.  If you are a dude, you can see where this idea would be appealing to an 8 year old boy.  The whole event lasted less than 3 seconds, began with a WOOO - HOOO and ended with a crash, a painful scream and a few big scratches down his back!  I am learning that this time of year is dangerous.  I am sure as my boys get older their creative ways to idle away the hours will lead to more exotic injuries, yes I said exotic injuries.  Look for a blog in a few years about how they jumped from the roof into the pool, but's coming! I know I am not alone in this, what creative things have your kids done during these final days of summer that have ended in the Emergency Room?  What kind of stunts did you pull off as a kid in the final days of summer?  Think about it.  Now admit it, if you saw your kid doing the shit you did, you'd lose your shit!
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Does that make me a boyfriend?

Question: If you're seeing someone and it's only been a month and they ask you to watch their dog for a week  does that make me their boyfriend?
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Bill's Eye View

This past weekend Tommy went to the Rochester Yacht Club, Christian Dan numbed his taste buds at The Rochester Brewers Fest and Sally watched a fat guy have a hooker home delivered!  What did I do?  The episode of Bill's Eye View shows most of my weekend in under 96.5 seconds.  I call this the "Average Middle Aged Guy's Weekend!"[kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]
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Patterns of Summer Insanity
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Time. Place.
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Worth It?
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Tommy's afternoon coffee run

[kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]  Sally's staying at Tommy house and learning about his weird lifestyle... 
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How many pushups in 30 seconds?

[kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]We hear there are going to be bikini clad woman atthe East End Fest this Friday, challenging folks to see how many push ups they can do in 30 seconds...
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Get a good look at Chaz!

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Kellie and Kris' backyard in Greece

Break Room listeners, Kellie and Kris, invited us to their back yard for a BBQ while we were in Greece.  It was a blast, especially Uncle Charlie!  [kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]
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Tommy Got Tanked

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Mel Kiper's Juniors

It's safe, ladies. The NFL Draft is over. Take down your yellow ribbons. Your prognosticator has come home.   Every guy seems to know the NFL Draft better than the next guy. They read, and re-read pages of recycled scouting information from real football experts and writers and twist and regurgitate it enough to call the ideas his or her own.   Watch enough NFL Live on ESPN, draft specials, SportsCenter vignettes and NFL Network and you could be as good as your team's next general manager.   We've all done it. However, some of us eventually outgrow the idea that we can prophecize the success of our team or any team with letter grades and commentary on players who haven't even touched the football without the white stripes.   The NFL Draft can be fun to watch. It's fun when New York Jets and Giants fans cheer and jeer their team's selections. Philadelphia Eagles fans are also heavily represented, as the proud patrons whom once booed Santa and celebrated when Michael Irvin lay nearly paralyzed.   Then there's the collective clapping of hands and smattering slapping of heads. If you're STILL a fan of the Cincinnati Bengals, the Oakland Raiders, or the Detroit Lions and have lived in the doldrums of awful teams yearly stocked with early picks leading to thugs, or unfulfilled promise, you're allowed to kill your franchise if you disagree with management. You've earned it.   One condition, please: be fair.   Fair criticism is questioning when a team drafts several projects. Fair criticism is when a team with character issues drafts another player with character issues. Fair is ripping a team for trading their entire draft for one player, or failing to trade-out of a spot when offered and immediately reaching for a player with the pick in question. Fair is killing a team for drafting more skill position players when they already have a glutton. Fair is killing a team for trading up into the early first round to draft a player nobody's heard of, or taking a quarterback from a system offense in a weak conference.   Here's what's not fair: skipping college football season altogether, then reading publications that rank talent back in January and ripping your team for not falling in line with your particular draft guide.   Not fair: believing everything you read and calling it your own.   Not fair: killing the Buffalo Bills for not getting "value" for their picks. Based on what? YOUR prognotications?   This one's for you "draftnicks" crying over the Bills taking defensive end Aaron Maybin from Penn State at eleven, and NOT Brian Orakpo from Texas.   Hmmm. Texas players have made quite an impact on their respective NFL teams. After getting traded from New Orleans to Miami, Ricky Williams traded the cash for the cashcrop.   Then there's Mike Williams. Taken by Buffalo fourth overall in 2002. The Tony Mandarich of his time.   Then there's defensive back Roy Williams. The 2001 Nagurski and Thorpe award is still looking for work.   Chris Simms: has never been a consistent quarterback.   Michael Huff: underachiever.   And the crown jewel of the Longhorn alumni: Vince Young. The poster child for Madden jinxes.   All but Simms were selected in the top ten.   Those stats don't lie. They're all bigtime athletes from the same school, same coach, who all have failed to live-up to their top-billing. Maybe those stats with proven NFL results (albeit bad) weighed a little more heavily than Orakpo's Nagurski, Hendricks and Lombardi awards.   Four picks into Saturday's selections, and one local sports talk show host ripped the Bills for not selecting for value.   The difference between that guy, the couch quarterbacks, and Mel Kiper, Jr. is simple. Mel watches college football DURING THE SEASON. Then he watches the same games throughout the week ON TAPE. Then he reviews his tapes, goes to the combine and ranks EACH PLAYER, whom he's seen with his own eyes. He also studies each team's needs.    In other words, he doesn't spend half the year watching Sabres games, too. Too many fans worry about their own teams, watch zero tape, go to zero combines, casually watch college football if they do at all, and watch way too much television, garnished with opinions. Turn on the radio during the draft and you'll hear callers spit out some of these pearls:   'Kiper said...Todd McShay said...Pro Football Weekly said...Adam Schefter said...Ron Jawarski said...My brother, who played in college said...'   Ugh. Everyone forgets these players still need to be coached, too. As the adage goes, "Everyone's a Hall-of-Famer on Day One. Championships are won on Day Two."   Here's a new one: Everyone's a GM on Day One. Then they take Sunday off.   The Bills needed to address their lines and they did. Whatever happens now is between the players and their desire and how they're coached. Period.   Which brings us to the next issue. If you're a Bills fan and lack even the faith of a tiny French's mustard seed in the coaching staff to begin, then the draft shouldn't make much difference to you anyway.   Then again, if the Bills do one thing right, it's marketing hopes and memories like insurance companies market fear.   Which brings us back to the draft. Then back to minicamp. Then to the Bills Store. Then to Pittsford. Then to Orchard Park. Then to the Bad Word Jar. Then to the drawing board.   Then back to the draft. Do you still have a girlfriend?
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Stuck On An Eiland

Two weeks is not enough of a sample space to make a snap judgment on a season that lasts 162 games. But in New York City, that's how they sell newspapers. Everybody who saw CC Sabathia's atrocious pinstriped debut against the Baltimore Orioles could tell you how bad it looked. However, the next day, the New York tabloids all but suggested Sabathia should refund his $161 million contract after his lone Yankee loss. Then, after two starts, those same papers dubbed A.J. Burnett the stopper the Yankees have longed for since the late 1990's. Just two years ago, he was compared to Carl Pavano. All this after two games, not 13. But wait, there was more. Joba Chamberlain has drawn comparisons to Kenny Powers, the fictional pitcher from the HBO original series "East Bound and Down" - a hard-throwing, relief-pitching phenom who burst on the scene only to succumb to injuries and burnout, thanks in part to excess. Chamberlain's speed and control haven't been what it was a year ago before getting ping-ponged from the bullpen, to the rotation, to the disabled list, back to the bullpen and now back to the rotation. Throw in a DUI as well. Then there's Chien-Ming Wang. The man who won more games than any pitcher in baseball with back-to-back 19-win seasons in 2006 and 2007 has now surrendered 23 runs - all earned (34.50 ERA) - in only six (official) innings of work. Somehow, however, only two of his famed sinkers have become souvenirs for outfield patrons. Of course, the Yankee bullpen continues to follow suit during each of Wang's three nightmarish starts, tiring from combining for 18-innings pitched, which doesn't include Nick Swisher's first-career relief appearance. The pen tires during Wang's games, then collectively impersonates the starter on his off days, thanks to the inherited workload. Then there's the new stadium, which now has already earned several nicknames of its own. According to Yankee lore and pinstripe-blinded beliefs of imminent domain, the Yankees were supposed to win that game. Apparently the ghosts got lost admiring their own Fathead banners along the concourse area on their way to the diamond. Then again, after 20 home runs were hit in four games, perhaps The Babe himself invaded the bodies of both the Yankees and Cleveland Indians alike and took some extended batting practice. Either that, or he was too busy sampling the new restaurants, rather than spooking the competition. "The House that You Built" is a nod to taxpayers. "The House that Mute Built" is a dig at corporate fans who'd prefer wearing sweaters tied over the shoulders of their monogrammed button-downs, offering golf claps over high-fives. "The New Launching Pad" is the name dubbed for the vapor trails left behind each of the 20 roman candles that left the yard over the extended weekend. Much of this - fair or unfair - could be corrected with one move. Every sports car owner takes pride in his vehicle. He washes it. Waxes it. Details it. Houses it in a nice garage during the winter months. Never lets it see snow or rain. It's an expensive hobby. It's much like owning the New York Yankees. The only difference here is, with the Yankees, Hank and Hal Steinbrenner and general manager Brian Cashman for that matter, have decided to equip their Porsche 911 with tires found at a junk yard. The Yankees may finally have a rotation rivaling the great ones of yesteryear, but their pitching coach is a guy whose two "can't miss" kids from his days in Triple A, won as many games in the Yankee rotation as The Break Room. In only his second year, pitching coach Dave Eiland needs time, but these are the Yankees. Even their deep pockets can't stop the world's rotation so they can fix their own. Legendary pitching guru Leo Mazzone is available while manager Joe Girardi can't be thrilled with his pitching staff. Even Joe Torre had an all-star team of coaches to complement his roster. Eiland's only claim to fame (or shame) is from the dark days of pre-Steinbrenner exile. Not to say Mazzone wants to return to baseball, but money, along with rectifying his two-year blip with the Baltimore Orioles, could be tempting. This isn't to blame Eiland for the troubles of all-star caliber pitchers, or shoddy stadium design. Simply put, it's the Bronx, where sacrificial lambs are easier to find than Monument Park. If things don't change, Girardi may have to make a move before somebody moves him. Payroll aside, the Yankees have over one billion reasons to fix their pitching problems. Some of them may be yours, taxpayer. The Yankees have a new home, oddly with the same 161st St. and River Avenue address. They also have some new Steinbrenners running the show. But like the address, their father's win-or-nothing mentality has been passed down to the next generation. Forget about the ghosts of The Babe and The Mick making appearances at the new park. If the Yankees pitching continues to struggle, the ghosts of Billy Martin and countless other former managers will be the only ghosts that count during those late nights in Girardi's office.
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So, It's the Schedule that Bothers You?

The Buffalo Bills could replace this year's 50th Anniversary patches (if they decide on wearing them) with commemorative badges that mark a decade since Rob Johnson led the franchise to its last playoff appearance. That alone is the only real reason Bills fans have to cry, whine and bitch. If you're shortsighted enough to think games in Toronto are bad now, realize that the team's future in or out of Western New York has nothing to do with games being played in Canada last year, this year, or in the next four years, and the money the Bills make makes them much more solvent in today's NFL. Heck, if they had a real general manager and head coach, they could be a playoff team. Some fans' braindead jock-ocracy continued this morning with outcries of fans and media alike ripping the organization for scheduling another divisional contest along the other side of Lake Ontario rather than Lake Erie. The kvetching (yes, it's a word, spelled properly) continued when they learned the game would be on NFL Network, NOT on Time Warner Cable. My, my, my. For a team that hasn't played one-and-done January football since Frank Wychek's lateral to Kevin Dyson sealed the Bills' Super Bowl dreams to a single decade--perhaps for eternity--fans are still awfully spoiled. Entitled even. They shouldn't be. First, let's tackle the latter controversey. You can a) purchase DirecTV with all the complaints regarding cable prices; b) Go to a bar December 3rd and watch the Bills and the J-E-T-S; or c) Find a friend who owns a dish and watch the game there.  We used to complain when a game was blacked-out. Talk show lines were loaded with redundant hacks saying the NFL should obliviate the 72-hour sellout rule, to which few free-thinking hosts ever disagreed. Except this one little detail: if your stadium can't sell games out, maybe you SHOULD move the franchise, since NFL blackouts are about as a rare a Detroit Lions victory. Sellouts are less frequent in other pro sports, so blackout restrictions would kill them entirely in today's on-demand world. If an NFL owner actually has seats remaining for a game that sells out everywhere else, he should be allowed the necessary incentive to sell those seats--that, of course, being the threat of a blackout. More simply: supply and demand. The Bills-Jets game will be sold out. Rogers Cable will see to it, simply from a public relations standpoint. The Canadian media giant has already doubled the amout of seats sold for under a hundred bucks from 4,700 to 11,000. They want football. The dome will be filled. Period. The question is where to watch it. Well, it is only Tax Day, so consider yourself warned, a little over seven-and-a-half months in advance. Find a place. Find a way. Watch the game. But first, stop and ask yourself: Heck, what makes me think I'll even want to stay-up and watch it in the first place? Again, another example of fans taking football for granted. There's nothing in the last nine years that suggests this team will be worth our precious Thursday night prime-time hours, or warrants cutting into our sleep. Go one step further: do you know what you're doing next Thursday night? Let alone 33 Thursday nights from now? Sure, it's the NFL. Our rite of passage. Only the NFL could not snap a single down and infuriate an entire country seven months before kickoff. Then there's the Jets, who have no idea who they'll start at quarterback that cold, domed day in Toronto. The Bills pulled a Bud Selig for a second straight year and "leaked" a rumor about who they may play, to justify to fans when they book the team they may really have in mind when the schedule officially makes its way to the printer. Last year, Browns backers in western New York were angered that they may have to forfeit their quick jaunt to Orchard Park for an expensive trip along the QEW. So the Bills and the NFL decided to give the Canadians the 1-15 Miami Dolphins instead. Rabble! "How can they give 'em the Dolphins game?" Apparently, even any 1-15 team would be good enough for those (dang) Canucks, just not Miami. This year, NFL Network reported the Bills may "host" Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts... Rabble! So, the Bills and the league got together again and settled on the New York Jets. Rabble! (Again.) Aye. How about giving the Canadians the Saints? Or the Bucs? Or the lowly Texans? Sure, those will boost ticket sales. Rogers Cable is spending roughly $76 million for these eight games, and reportedly are inquiring about more. Sorry folks, they're the only real vote that counts. If a nationally televised night game shown in the league's largest market is the best way to showcase the game, that's just smart marketing. From a paper standpoint, the Jets are the perfect team on the slate to put there. If Bills fans want something to complain about, the Indianapolis game January 3rd is probably worth a gripe or two. If the Colts continue being a playoff team, there's a good chance Peyton won't be playin' in Buffalo that Sunday afternoon. Meanwhile, it's just a schedule, a brutal one at that for a bad, bad team. But as ABC, ESPN and NBC have learned over the years, this year's schedule based on last year's records doesn't guarantee good games. This is the parity league. Remember? So forget the schedule for now. You have more important things to worry about, Bills fans. Nine years of research proves it.
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Putting the "I" in Hypocrisy

By now you've probably heard the Buffalo Bengals jokes. And by that they don't mean Buffalo State.   Buffalo Bills safety and team captain Donte Whitner became the team's third player to be arrested this offseason after the defensive back was tasered and arrested early Saturday morning for aggravated disorderly conduct and resisting arrest near a Cleveland nightclub.   Sure. Get on your stump and pretend you really, really care. Show us how offended you are. Many Bills fans are bothered by Whitner's arrest. For now, at least. Sure, the arrest is troubling. Sadly, though, it's not just the defensive back's behavior that bothers fans. It's the fact that Whitner is Buffalo's third player this year fitted for handcuffs instead of rings, COMBINED with the fact they haven't made the playoffs in almost a decade. Hypocritical? Of course it is. Silly? Absolutely. But true? Ummm...   This isn't about athletes. It's about fans and how we unfairly compartmentalize on-field vs. off-field antics against our chances to stand on top of the world, as if we even belong there in the first place.   The word "fan" is short for fanatic. It's not far-fetched. We don't get rings and we buy our own championships hats. We celebrate touchdowns like the Apostles rejoicing after the Resurrection. It's not eternal life; it's six points.   Three Bills have been arrested, literally since the Ball Drop. Yet, there was more of an outcry regarding Terrell Owens' acquisition and how it would affect the ballclub, and his offseason training whereabouts than arrests which would mean huge fines and jail time for us regular folks.   Al Davis may have coined the phrase "Just Win Baby," but we all subscribe to it.  Networks pay billions of dollars for pro sports because we pay hundreds, even thousands "for a distraction." Right. For some, real life becomes the distraction for the distraction and even sadly, an inconvenience.   We've all heard the guy complaining in the beer line at the Ralph about how much money a player makes after a turnover before he helps finance said player's lifestyle by handing over another Jackson to pay for four more beers. He's bitter. Bitter that there's no clone in a parallel universe paying $20 for beer to sit and watch him in HIS line of work. For as many lives as doctors and nurses save, nobody pays to watch live surgeries or CPR. Nobody buys tickets to attend trials, or calls the cable companies when C-SPAN goes dark, even though it affects our lives more than a 3rd-and-17. We all want athletes' money, we just don't want athletes to have it, while we complain how self-centered and selfish they are, or that overused adage how nothing good ever happens at 3 o'clock in the morning.   Here's a new adage to chew on: You don't live in their world.   But we all wish we did.   Six days a week during football season, T.O. may be considered by some as a malcontent, but on the seventh day, he's worshiped if he leads Buffalo to victory. People were angry Marshawn Lynch got arrested for illegally carrying a loaded gun. Come September, they'll be more angry he got himself suspended. Once he returns to rush for a hundred yards and score two touchdowns, all will be forgiven. Until what's left of our consience reminds us what he may have done in the games he missed. D'oh!   Who the devil are we kidding? Certainly, not the devil himself. In July, 1997, Bruce Smith was arrested in for D.U.I. and refusing a blood alcohol test. In August, he strode down the tunnel of the then Rich Stadium end zone in street clothes before a Bills-Bears preseason game to a standing ovation from the end zone patrons, who actually paid to see a meaningless game. Jim Kelly had just retired, and with Todd Collins at the helm, Bills fans wanted to let Smith know how much they really needed him this year.   "Yeah, hey Bruce? Hey it's me, Dan, out here in section 117. How are ya? ... Yeah, I'm great! great! Hey, this Collins kid probably won't be the next Jim Kelly. Do you think you could muster a few more sacks this year? Maybe a couple defensive touchdowns?...Yeah, I heard about that whole D.U.I. thing...Just be more careful next time, OK?...Yeah...Yeah, we don't want you getting into any accidents. You could get hurt, y'know?...(Our defense will be screwed)... Well, as long as you know better... Yeah, I forgive you. No worries... Thanks Bruce! Go get 'em! We still love you!!!" Four Super Bowl appearances and a Hall-of-Fame career buys that type of quick forgiveness.   This isn't about condoning or ridiculing athletes when we question their actions. It's about realizing when we sound silly. Example: the NBA is considered a thug league. The NFL-- "America's New Pastime." Why? Football brings Las Vegas into our living rooms. Sound silly now? Check back in another year when Michael Vick is available to see how many Bills fans overlook his little dog fighting ring if Trent Edwards follows the Collins lineage instead of becoming Kelly's longawaited heir.   When you stop renewing your season tickets because of an arrest instead of another 7-9 season, maybe all that talk about "today's athletes" will finally not sound so ludicrous. Nah. It's more fun the other way.   In all seriousness, nobody wants to read or hear about a player getting arrested, or have to explain it to their kids. Duh. But a little consistency with our forgiveness and disappointment might make us a little more credible, even to those same little eyes who believe in Santa. Speaking of Santa, hopefully he'll bring Alex Rodriguez back to the Yankees soon. I mean, I forgive him. What? I don't have any kids...
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World Baseball Crapshoot...

There seem to be a lot of college basketball experts out there. Like leprechauns, they appear from nowhere every March before rehibernating en masse closer to April. Perhaps you've met them. They run up to you, bragging on how they picked 12th-seeded Western Kentucky to beat No. 5 Illinois, yet had no idea 13th-seeded Cleveland State beat Syracuse at the Carrier Dome earlier this season and somehow missed the Vikings upset over No. 4 Wake Forrest. Ask them about that sometime. Ask them when the last time all 12 ones, twos and threes survived to make the Sweet 16, how often four number ones reached the Final Four, or which original member of Michigan's Fab Five is still persona non grata in Ann Arbor. Well, you don't have to because it doesn't matter. If you can print, you can win a bracket. It doesn't matter if you know John Wooden won ten titles, or that Bobby Knight has the most wins in men's hoops. College basketball, like football, is made so easy, even the office secretary can win the (shhh!) office pool. You don't even have to watch. Just take the teams with the low numbers and hope for the best. Once you start thinking, or even knowing what you're doing, you lose. The only time you need to know anything is when you open your mouth. So how about those "Cinderella" Arizona Wildcats, huh? Meanwhile, basketball gets credit for having the playoff tournament that college football lacks. However, most overlook the thing that college football has that college hoops will never sustain; the thing its tournament kills: A regular season worth watching. * Here's the final solution to fix the World Baseball Classic once and for all. Put it on ESPN Classic and keep it there. As in mothballs. As in the eternal resting place for the USFL, SportsCentury and the Washington Senators. Baseball's season is too important, its records are too precious, its arms are too brittle, its investments are too expensive and its seasons are too long to add meaningless games that supposedly count in March, or compete with the NFL and college football in November. Many have pointed to the NHL suspending its season for the Olympics. That's brilliant for a league that desperately needs national attention. Of course people will watch the Olympics because the Olympics find you. Nobody cared about Team USA hockey winning the gold, let alone beating the Soviets in 1980 until IT HAPPENED. Now everybody somehow remembers where they were and the politics of the day. The NHL still uses that team's free publicity to give Americans a reason to watch a game they normally don't. Hockey NEEDS the Olympics. Baseball doesn't need the WBC. Frankly, the WBC hurts the game more than it helps. Team USA became a MASH unit while baseball is a game of series of teams playing at their best. Ones-and-dones, double-eliminations, pool play, mandatory pitch counts and women's softball baserunning rules are as foreign to baseball as the concept of an olympic-style playoff to determine the best baseball country in the world. Japan and Korea don't really have the best players the world has to offer, or else the majority of them would be Asian. When the best American and Canadian pitchers don't even sign up to play, it doesn't count. Perhaps when the Roman Empire reunites against us, or the Chinese, and threaten our freedom, and, oh yeah, play baseball better than we do, then maybe we can ressurrect this "classic." And perhaps Rocky will come out of retirement for a seventh movie. Let's hope we get neither. * Speaking of A-Rod, The New York Daily News reports the admitted steroid-user also used the same "escort" service as our former governor, Elliot Spitzer, and even had a connection with the madam. Before you cast stones at today's athletes, beware of another famous slugger, whom everyone still loves, yet who also enjoyed hookers: Babe Ruth. Athletes don't choose to be role models. And they all make both good choices and bad choices. However, you DO choose how to influence your kids on how they choose theirs. * Reports have surfaced that Rogers Cable is polling Canadians on their interest in the company hosting an additional Buffalo Bills regular season game in 2010, '11 and '12. The Bills have said there have been no agreements to play more than one regular season game in Canada for each of the next four years. If the Bills lack of free agent activity says anything (aside from the bargain-basement signing of Terrell Owens which speaks for the rest of the league's "interest" in T.O.), it shows the team is gearing for slowed ticket sales from a rough economy, aside from a ninth straight season without a playoff appearance. The Bills reportedly make over $70 million from their five-year Toronto series. If they can generate more to keep the franchise viable in western New York, while making season tickets cheaper for fans in Buffalo, fine. Now is not the time to worry about the Bills leaving Buffalo. Without being disrespectful, when that time comes, you'll know it. Want something to worry about? How about the possibility of the Bills visiting the New England Patriots in Week One on Monday Night Football? Haven't you suffered enough?
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North America's T.O.

Yes, it's Tuesday morning. It's still March, it's still cold, and you still live in western New York. And no, it's not a dream, nor a nightmare depending on your perspective. Stop pinching yourself. Terrell Owens really is a Buffalo Bill. The same Terrell Owens who put a signature on a touchdown pass with a Sharpie lodged in his sock, torched the San Francisco tenures of Jeff Garcia and Steve Mariucci, refused a trade to Baltimore, did a sketch in the visiting locker room with a towel-dropping Nicollette Sheridan ("Desperate Housewives"), and ripped Donovan McNabb. The same Terrell Owens whose pain pills got mixed with his supplements, who rode a bike with a Lance Armstrong jersey during training camp while driving Bill Parcells into the front office and reportedly accused Tony Romo and Jason Whitten of play-calling him out of the offense. Yet, this is the same Terrell Owens who tearfully defended Tony Romo's trip to Mexico during a playoff bye week after losing a playoff game to the New York Giants. The same Terrell Owens whose nine catches for 122 yards carried the Philadelphia Eagles during Super Bowl XXXIX while his quarterback, McNabb, single-handedly sabotaged his offense's final drives. The same Terrell Owens who caught ten touchdowns last year--at 35 years old--while his new teammates caught 14 TD passes COMBINED. The same Terrell Owens who's bringing his Hall-of-Fame credentials which include 951 catches for over 14,000 career receiving yards, 139 TDs, his VH1 reality show, Sunday Night Football, Monday Night Football, and every major sports network to both 3690 East Avenue in Pittsford and One Bills Drive in Orchard Park. Forget saying Terrell Owens is the biggest signing in Buffalo Bills history since Drew Bledsoe. He's their biggest signing ever. In April of 2002, Bledsoe may have gotten the hero's welcome, but come minicamp, T.O. is bringing the parade, and his big blue Dallas star with him. That star may as well replace that dot marking Buffalo on your GPS. Terrell Owens is bigger than both Buffalo and the Bills right now, and will attract more traffic to western New York than Niagara Falls. Any Bills fan who thinks this is a bad move clearly needs to think a little less. There's little risk here with a bargain price of $6.5 million. Until the weekend, the Bills had ten straight off-seasons of unfulfilled promises of high draft picks and free agents. Even if Owens causes the problems that nay-saying pundits say they think he will, the Bills still have a better shot of January football WITH him than WITHOUT him. And, they'll sell more tickets, suites, Toronto packages, gear, jerseys, and of course, hope WITH him than WITHOUT him. Not only should Bills fans be doing back flips, the players need to get on the Owens bandwagon themselves. Marshawn Lynch should be the first after his second offseason incident with the law and his first possible suspension as a repeat offender. Not only should wideout James Hardy offer his No. 81 to Owens, but Lynch should offer his No. 23 just to thank T.O. for diverting attention from him come minicamp time. Ko Simpson may as well write him a thank you card himself. If there's any player who can play the "do you know who I am?" card, it's the guy who needs no intro, rather than a little-known defensive back now with an arrest under his belt. Meanwhile, for a guy like Owens who supposedly brings so much baggage, he seemed quite reserved at Saturday's press conference, perhaps even humbled. The guy is coming to Buffalo with something to prove to those supposed contenders who snubbed him--the biggest free agent of this offseason--to play with a bunch of guys who haven't proved anything in their careers (save Kawika Mitchell). Owens' press conference sounded more like Doug Flutie's rather than the boorish introductions of Reggie Jackson, or Rickey Henderson. It could have looked like a shotgun wedding at City Hall, as shocking as it was symbolic. Yet it ended with smiles and laughs, forging a symbiotic alliance nonetheless. The Buffalo Bills are clearly in a battle to save their franchise. Period. Terrell Owens is battling for one last big contract, and his chance at a Super Bowl ring. This time, the Bills, who haven't been good in nearly a decade, got lucky instead. No stroke of genius here, unless you count Owens overcoming his "North America" bobble only to turn his words calling the Bills "North America's Team." Hmm. Where were the "marketing geniuses" last year on that one? Leave it to T.O. to not only give the Bills a cover for their 2009 media guide, but a campaign slogan to boot. Come to think of it, you can't even spell North America without T.O. (There, fellas. A freebie.) This move doesn't necessarily make the Bills a playoff team. But it can't hurt, regardless of the proverbial circus that may ensue and its 10-city fall tour. Like Bruce Springsteen sings, "at the end of every hard day, people find some reason to believe." T.O. has six-and-a-half million reasons now, and potentially millions more in 2010, to believe he can prove 31 other NFL teams were wrong. Terrell Owens is the biggest reason Bills fans have had to get their popcorn ready since the Jim Kelly days. And the Bills front office had every reason to ask, "What the heck?"
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How bad is the economy?

My 8 year-old has been very effected by the news coverage of our country's current economic state.  Saturday morning I looked out the window to see this... [kml_flashembed movie=""width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]
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My Mother lives in a rural area and is having a bit of touble with mice!  We made it mice minus one, but is wasn't easy! [kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]
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A-Roid Rage

Enough already. It's not our fault that Alex Rodriguez is his own worst public relations enemy. His admissions, his changing stories, and his pinstripe protection plan will all due him more harm than good in the coming months. For a man who once admitted he needed three different psychiatrists (if you can even believe that now) to help him through his mental midget state despite his statuesque size and his three AL MVPs and now pre-fabricated Hall-of-Fame numbers, if he couldn't hit in the clutch during playoff time, what makes anyone think he'll be able to survive road games, playoff at-bats, a year without Madonna, an expose due in May, and the ghosts of steroid users' past following him through October? If the Yankees even make it that far. That's another story for another day. It was bad enough in 2006 when even his All-Star numbers were hardly A-Rod numbers and needed the bat of a fellow user, Jason Giambi, to help him through a season where he admitted he may have had only three friends in the Yankee clubhouse. Alex's season hasn't even started yet. Only in A-Rod's world could baseball actually provide a distraction to the turmoil that surrounds his life, rather than the other way around. If only it weren't Alex Rodriguez in Alex Rodriguez's cleats. Ironically enough, in 2003, many die-hard Yankee fans protested the audacity of non-pinstripe patrons to swap Derek Jeter for A-Rod. Sure, Alex was the better player, but as Bucky Dent once told this writer after a charity dinner for Camp Good Days, "Alex has all the ability, but Jeter has all the intangibles." Who would have thought almost six seasons later that the Yankees would not only have both players manning the left side of their infield, but no pennants or championships to show for it? Even more intriguing, who would have believed that Jeter would still be more popular than Rodriguez, that the captain's legend would outgrow even his neighbor's, and that Yankee fans were absolutely right all along? # # # If the Buffalo Bills plan to draft guys with good "football character" in April's draft, could they at least draft guys who can win? Sure, Marshawn Lynch is a Pro Bowler, but after his third brush with the law in as many years (yes third, and he has Barretta's attorney to show for it) maybe it's time to, hmm, hire a real general manager who can decipher which punks can bring a Super Bowl run to Buffalo. Yes, a Super Bowl RUN. We have recalibrated our expectations after ten fruitless seasons. The Buffalo Bills of the early 1990's weren't exactly choir boys either. It's the NFL. You won't find a team without law breakers. But they won. Let's see: Donte Whitner, James Hardy, Ko Simpson, Lynch and even OJ. Playoffs? You kiddin' me?
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In Honor of Racin' Randy...

Nobody likes when their favorite sport gets mocked for a dumb rule that doesn't make sense compared to other sports. Every year, NASCAR get killed for the sport's "Super Bowl" race being the first contest of the year, unlike every other mainstream American sport. This year, however, NASCAR got a double-whammy of insults from haters. Every so often, rain ends NASCAR's biggest race well short of the 200 laps needed to complete its famous 500 miles. Matt Kenseth won his first Daytona 500 simply because he had the lead when officials suspended the race. As if avoiding wrecks is simple. Baseball commissioner Bud Selig took a stand last October and evoked his "best interests in baseball" clause when he adamantly refused to let any World Series game end prematurely due to weather. He was right. However, NASCAR was right as well, preventing tragedy, and allowing common sense considering it would take three hours to dry the track. The consequence: hacked comparisons to NASCAR's Super Bowl, already ripped for being the opening race, ending in the third quarter. This writer is not a NASCAR fan. But he's hardly a NASCAR hater, either. It's drivers are always courteous (except Tony Stewart), accomodating toward their fans (except Tony Stewart), do interviews (sometimes Tony Stewart) and unlike many high-priced athletes, are all held to family standards (especially Tony Stewart). You rarely hear about drivers beating their wives, how much money they make, getting nailed on weapons charges, or fathering children in several states. And a guy like Tony Stewart would be considered almost a saint by NFL standards. The fact is, there are things in every sport that deserved to be mocked for idiocy. So, in honor of those who enjoy NASCAR, here is an equal opportunity to rip every mainstream American athletics for the things that don't make sense in those sports, either. FIRST: Basketball. A former varsity coach once said to a bunch of elementary students at Silver Creek Central School in the early nineties that basketball was his favorite sport because it was a "team game." Then for the next eight Saturdays, two kids on each team dribbled and shot while the rest ran wind sprints up and down the gym floor. True, it is a team game. But compared to football, or baseball, basketball is the LEAST team-oriented game. The term "ball-hog?" Yup, we can thank basketball for that one. "Cherry-picker?" That's another basketball term. Football has eleven guys defending an end zone against eleven other guys with specific roles. Some block, some catch, some run and one throws, and they all take their cues from a guy in a headset on the bench. Baseball needs solid pitching, defense, and good hitting. Most of the time, you can't score unless the guy behind you knocks you in. Granted, all sports have their divas, but never has a football or baseball player been accused of being a "ball-hog." SECOND: Basketball (still). Free throws and fouls. Instead of that old, stupid argument that "they" should raise the net another five feet, how about taking a page from hockey and inserting a penalty box, instead? Fouls and free throws slow the game down, especially when they oddly become a losing team's best friend in the game's final minutes. Fouling a player to stop the clock is not "good strategy." It's "duh!" And it's irritating. One other thing: awarding free throws for fouls is like baseball putting a ball on a tee after a hit batsman. It's like the NFL allowing a field goal kicker a free shot from the 30. C'mon. Don't rip NASCAR. As far as college basketball goes, the NCAA has finally moved the men's free throw line back. An entire foot. Wow. THIRD: Hockey. The game makes sense. What kills it is how expensive it is to play. But this writer has two arguments. One, there are way too many NHL playoff teams. Why play 82 games to eliminate a minority of teams from playoff contention? It'll never change because of money. Imagine how bad it was when there were only 24 teams. The other knock: a team can ride a hot goaltender as far as he will take it. The 2005-06 and '06-'07 Buffalo Sabres were a lot better than the '98-99 Stanley Cup team. The difference: Dominik Hasek. Admit it. Ryan Miller is no slouch, but he's no Hasek, either. Oh yeah: the shootout. Another clever idea. Why don't we just end baseball games by home run derby, or basketball games with G-E-I-C-O? FOURTH: Football. Ready? All those crazy rules regarding possession, in-bounds, out-of-bounds, pass interference vs. holding in the secondary, fumbles vs. tucks, and "football moves." They're all judgment calls, in need of replay to bail out its aging referees. If the referee misses the flag toss from the sidelines, or the buzz from upstairs, so be it. If you rip the refs for blowing obvious calls they actually apologize for, you get fined. You also get fined for having your socks down, or a shirt sleeve out, for taking off your helmet on the field, handing balls to fans after touchdowns, or not wearing the right hat on the sidelines. But it's the NFL, America's sacred sport, where gambling problems are born, while steroid use and most arrests go overlooked. FINALLY: Baseball. Other than its steroid problems, its the only sport without a salary cap. Other than that, baseball is perfect. Balls and strikes, fair or foul, safe or out, and no clocks. Of course, that whole clock thing could come in handy in October.
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Uncomfortable Moments with Mom

There are just some things that no one, especially a man, should do with their mother.  Yeah, we all know the obvious.  However, there are grey areas, like discussing “grooming” techniques or best things to read while on the dumper.  Sure, you can discuss these things with “Dear Old Mom,” but, having a choice between Mom breaking down her post Garbage Plate bathroom Olympics or eating glass, I’d take the glass.   How about movies?  Not porn, just movies with hot sex scenes like the 80’s classic “Road House” or Halle Berry in “Monster’s Ball,” probably not on your top 10 films to watch with “Maaaa!”  Have you seen Ben Stiller’s “Heart Break Kid?”  Typical stupid flick, but the sex scenes are a cross between smoking hot and awkwardly uncomfortable because of Ben. And the awkwardness rocks to eleven when your sixty something mother is in the room!  I’ll spare you the whole re-cap of Ben Stiller’s  “The Heart Break Kid,” except to say that Ben meets women who is on her way to do laundry when her ex- boyfriend rides up on a scooter and steals her purse – knocking her and her laundry everywhere.  Ben helps her gather her things and tells her where he works, blah, blah, blah…oh, and Ben’s character has no idea at this point in the movie that the guy on the scooter is the blonde’s ex-boyfriend.  In the chaos the blonde drops a pair of panties and takes off before Ben can give them to her.  So, like any horny man he carries them around with him and shows his best friend, played by Rob Codry, and his father, played by his real life Dad, Jerry Stiller.  The scene in Ben’s sporting goods store where the blonde is “shopping” and Ben and Jerry see her, is hysterical because of Jerry; and it involves the “lost” panties.  Ben, after a little prodding, dates her, falls for her and too prevent her moving to Europe for her job, marries her.  Here comes the awkwardness.  As Ben and his new hot bride a driving to Mexico for their Honeymoon, she says let’s find a hotel and fuck!  Weird to hear women say that with you mother in the room!  Then she doesn’t just fuck, she goes RODEO – Swedish helicopter, screaming “Jack hammer me.”  Ben looks like he is pain and even embarrassed as his bride is flipping, twisting, breasts bouncing and screaming at him to fuck harder!  Every guy would love to hear this and even learn more about the Swedish Helicopter, but to watch this with your mother, not knowing these scenes are coming…UGH!  I couldn’t flip the channel fast enough. After some awkward conversation, my mother said she was going to bed.  A few seconds after she left the room, I went back to “The Heart Break Kid.”  About 5 minutes later Ben and his Bride are a t a resort in Mexico and she is tearing him up in the bed AND MOM WALKS BACK IN TO TELL ME ONE LAST THING.  I scramble for the remote, it falls, and she mutters something and says “I’ll leave you to your porn” and walks out!  The problem is I am at her house.  I feel like I am twelve.  At least at my house I can rely on the fact that I pay the bills and can watch what I want, but at her house…uhhh, hmmm, AWKWARD!  Add to the list of movies you may want to avoid with Mom, Ben Stiller’s “The Heart Break Kid.” Or watch it with Mom and see how she reacts, you might learn something about your mother you wish you never knew!
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Fun Time!

Here's  a little of what I've been doing over the long holiday weekend, that will extend to[kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /] all week!
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Punting On Steroids

It's time to punt on the issue of steroids in sports. Admit it. We've lost. Yes. WE. As if "we" had nothing to do with it. Which is why this should serve as an intervention. "Hi. I'm Dan. And I've enabled steroid use." (A chorus of readers yawn back: "Hiiiiii Dan," in your best Ben Stein voices.) It all started back in 1988 when Jose Canseco had 900 numbers for tee-ballers like me to call and learn hitting tips from the biggest player in baseball and the game's first 40-40 man. Little did we know baseball's three 40-40 guys were tipping back a little more than muscle milk. Hence, there are no 40-40 men in baseball. Or are there? It continued a decade later when I rooted for Mark McGwire to break Roger Maris' record, (sorry Dad). But it was history, so those of us who didn't see the M&M boys all joined the watch. Meanwhile, I watched football players morph into sizes that now make William "The Refrigerator" Perry look like an ice box. But unlike baseball, the NFL had a testing policy to hide behind. Then we learned the truth about McGwire. And Barry Bonds. And Jason Giambi. And Roger Clemens. But as a Yankee fan I still rooted for Giambi afterward, because there was now a policy in place and he couldn't cheat anymore. Right? Just like Clemens never failed any tests, either. Right? Now I've learned like the rest of you that Alex Rodriguez failed an "anonymous" steroid survey test back with the Texas Rangers in 2003. But none since, so, uh, he must be clean by now. Right? It's the same lame rationale football fans have enabled their favorite linebackers and running backs for years. "There's drug testing! It's all good!" Who's next in the room to share their story of steroid enabling? You get it. We don't need intervention. We just need to take Senator George Mitchell's advice, cut our losses and move on. Time to wave the proverbial white flag the same way we unfurled our support for McGwire and Sammy Sosa. Time to admit we're all hypocrites. That we can no longer separate wins and losses from sacred milestones when it best suits our teams' best interests. Time for fans to admit we hate performance enhancing drugs in baseball and pro wrestling, but ignore the epidemic in the NFL, or in baseball during a pennant race. Cash. Wins. Scholarships. Looks. Chicks. Who is anyone kidding? Some pass. Some fail. And may the Lord be with you if you're one of those needing only a splash of juice to achieve that dream. Nobody should be shocked about A-Rod. If you are, clearly you didn't learn from Big Mac, the Rocket, or Rafael Palmeiro, who presumably washed down his little blue pills with some Boost of his own. Yankee fans need to admit they rooted for Giambi after he admitted he used steroids. Red Sox fans need to admit they're lucky Kirk Radomski and Brian McNamee didn't work in Boston, even though Paxton Crawford spilled his tell-all to "ESPN The Magazine" the year before they broke "The Curse." Football fans need to admit they want their athletes built like warriors to cover the point spread, or bring home that elusive Lombardi Trophy. Pundits need to admit that steroids did little to help most of the names cited in the Mitchell Report, other than prolong their careers or give them a chance to play pro ball in the first place. Clemens, Barry Bonds and Gary Sheffield are the only players of the 89 listed that would have a chance of getting their own plaque in the first place. Three in eighty-nine. And that's only a small sample based in two cities. Everyone needs to admit that amphetamines, or "greenies" have always been as prevalent in baseball clubhouses as Folgers. And we all need to admit that come baseball season, or when NFL training camp picks back up, we'll all be back. Fans have to admit we've been playing by athletes rules and are now entering a new game. It's their autographs we want, their jerseys we buy, their games we watch and bet on, hence, their steroid use we endure. We've been warned. We do it anyway. It's not fair that athletes cheat. But it doesn't seem to bother us on a warm summer's seventh inning. Eventually, the Baseball Writers Association will have to make a decision on A-Rod, and eventually everyone else. Fifteen years from now, we may learn that a majority of today's major superstars-future Hall-of-Famers-cheated. In other words, steroid users will get into Cooperstown to prevent the Hall from getting relocated to the Smithsonian. A-Rod will likely pass Barry Bonds and become baseball's all-time home run king*. He'll have several years by then to re-invent his image. By then, other big names will be revealed for steroid use. Then baseball has to consider letting him, and those who failed before him, into Cooperstown. Because the game has passed us by, and we waved to it thinking we were watching a parade. Baseball will eventually have to welcome A-Rod to Cooperstown, followed by his fellow users. By then, we'll all be conditioned to it. But for now, like A-Rod, we have to come clean ourselves: we only care about records. Not steroids. Dan Borrello is an OBSERVER Sports columnist. Send comments to
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The Bible on CMF--Right Here!!!

If you need or are interested in reading The Bible, here it is: Enjoy!  -- Christian Dan Borrello
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Constitutional Renewal

If there was ever one time for mass American repentance, it was one week ago today, on Capitol Hill. If there was ever one time where millions of Americans and other citizens of the world could assemble peacefully, without a single issue--not one--it was one week ago Tuesday, at Capitol Hill. If there was ever one time where true peace, love and happiness took place without the fluffy Woodstock romance, it was one week ago today on Capitol Hill. If there was ever a time where two million people could stand in one place for nearly seven hours, frigid from the cold, stiff from their train or bus rides, sore from their miles and miles of walking, their toes numb and their fingers achy, and yet be excited, smiling and celebrating the entire wait, it was one week ago today on Capitol Hill. For the first time in history, an African-American was sworn-in as President of the United States. But to say that was the only moment of significance would sell the day short. Yes, that was the most important part. But with it came so much more. Tuesday, after 232-plus years, came the final stamp to the Constitution. America had collectively tore down it's own Berlin Wall. Now, any American child can say they can do anything, and actually believe it. And it couldn't have come at a more necessary time in American history since World War II. And President Barack Obama answered the call given to him by his fellow citizens in an inaugural address that was more than just a statement to us and to the rest of the world. It was a pep-talk. It was a directive. And at the mall on Washington, two million people took their cues from the man they helped put into office and marched, and calmly carried their President's sentiments en masse into the streets of Washington, bringing that message back where they came from. Silver Creek, New York. And Greensboro, North Carolina. And Sidney, Australia. And Columbus, Ohio. And Kansas. And even Jamaica. And Ireland. And Rochester. And Buffalo. And Batavia. This writer was one of those two million people who stood a mile from the Rotunda, but heard every word spoken from the podium Tuesday morning and early afternoon, leaving via bus Monday evening and riding all night to the DC corner of 17th and L Streets before walking an estimated four miles to the mall, passing the Washington Monument along the way and eventually stood alongside millions of Americans, for for six hours before trudging all the way back. Aye! Yet, we all had the same idea. And if there was one day and place to take a loved one back to, Tuesday January 20th at the mall in Washington DC would be near the top of the list. Sure, it started out as just another radio bit from a Rochester morning show. It ended-up being a life-changing experience. It's cliche to say, "You had to be there" and "I wish you were there." However, as often as writers hate regurgitating those redundant sayings, the reason why they're used so often is because, they're true. Peace. Love. Happiness. Sounds like party in the Asbury-Haight neighborhood of San Francisco in the 1960's. Only it was a cold January morning in Washington. Yet five decades later, millions withstood the elements not only to witness a culmination of that decade's civil rights movements, but to seek the answers to the grave problems that face today's America. What separates this inauguration from others, however, is that everyone seemed to nod, smile and believe every word from their new President's mouth instead of just hoping it will happen. President Clinton preached change in 1993. But even the popular and charismatic leader started his administration after being elected by plurality, mocked by infidelity in the Arkansas governor's mansion, and a polarizing wife. President George W. Bush was elected by recounts, then re-elected by reluctance. President Obama's slogan was "Change We Can Believe In." Only time will tell, but when you can motivate record crowds to congregate from all over the country on a pitch of grass in the nation's capitol on a frosty winter's morning, that's a pretty good start. Aside from that, historically, there was much more to it. Watching from several jumbo-trons interspersed throughout the mall, the Million (or two) American March mouthed the words reading them from the closed-caption chyrons from the bottom of the screens as Barack Obama took the Oath of Office. It was if America, in all its colors, sizes, shapes and backgrounds collectively renewed Lady Liberty's Constitutional vows for our founding fathers, and more importantly, for generations, present and future. It was a day where all Americans crowded--yet not crammed--the mall and took a vow to bring the nation back from the depths of doom that have encapsulated it since September 11, 2001, a day that has still gone answered. America renewed its Constitution last Tuesday, actually believing in each of the words written on it instead of the idea behind it. America stood on its tippy-toes to catch a glimpse of the man taking the oath from President Lincoln's Bible, despite Chief Justice John Roberts (a native Buffalonian) botching the words. America announced to the world it would reclaim its rightful place as "The Land of Hopes and Dreams" Bruce Springsteen once wrote about--the same place my great grandparents and perhaps yours dreamed of when they arrived long before they'd ever learn there would even be a YOU down the line. Lucky you. Lucky me. Yet, we should never forget, hardly an easy decision. America, united, stood like a faithful married couple after 50 years, renewing their promises, showing their children and grandchildren that all can truly be worked out, that life and love can still stand throughout many dangers, toils and snares. That America, created by the rest of the world from the castoffs of fascist regimes, will return as it once was, but this time, not leave anyone behind due to race or anything else. Much of the two million people stood and amened Rick Warren's prayer. Much of the two million people sung alongside Aretha Franklin and her pretty, gray bow hat. Two million people donned caps and hand warmers and mittens and gloves. Two million people stopped traffic. Two million people of every race represented. If that's a microcosm of unity, America is in good hands, regardless of whom you voted for last November. On that mall Tuesday morning, President Obama talked to America. But he was also talking to himself. And the millions who watched may as well have been reciting the speech in the mirror. There was real hope in store, real change to take place, and real work to do in getting it done. Meanwhile, down on floor, there were no schemes. Nobody selling garbage products. No beggars. There was no violence. Nobody attempting to even sneak a cigarette (from this guy's vantage point, three-and-a-half big screens back) until Mr. Obama had taken the Oath, when one gentleman lit a Macanudo, signifying a satisfying sense of victory. And it continued all the way back to the bus, four miles later. And everything was calm, cool, and jubilant. No pushing, no shoving, no idiots. Just everyone looking after each other, ensuring each other's safety, helping with directions, with loved ones, with groups, and even over the barriers as nobody was either arrested, or trampled. What a country. What an idea. For once, millions stood listening to their new leader, who promised to restore The Land of Hopes and Dreams to its rightful owners. No, Barack Obama is not a messiah. He didn't promise a new Jerusalem to fall from the sky into Washington, followed by a thousand years of peace. He didn't bring an easy button, nor say he found the one lost on President Bush. He just said we need to get back to who we are. If you never read the Constitution, you got the best cliff notes in Washington, Tuesday. People talk about the ghosts of Yankee Stadium. Well, if there is such a thing, the ghosts of Presidents Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and even Benjamin Franklin may have been meandering the Capitol in their colonial wear that day. There was that sense, let's just put it that way. For once, millions stood with real hope that they'll never have to congregate at the altar of America begging for hope and change again with caps in their hands waiting for miracle to fill them from the sky to take back to their families. Instead, they took that message to the streets of Washington. Then to their buses and airplanes. Then to their hometowns. And it's a privilege to share the experience with you. Hopefully, in 2013, I'll be able to attend the next inauguration. And if you told me the same man will be taking the same oath, it's a safe bet that America, and the rest of the world, got Tuesday's message.
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Rosa Wims

[kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]On Sunday January 18th I read a letter to the editor of the Democrat and Chronicle written by an 86 year-old black woman named Rosa Wims.  She wrote about how exicted she was to witness the inauguration of Barack Obama and how tears of joy were going to be streaming down her face as she watched.  Can you imagine what this woman has experienced in her life?  The hatred, the segregation, the less than human treatment and in her life-time one man, whose skin color is the similiar to hers, rose above to hold the highest office in the United States of America. On inauguration day we called Rosa Wims. She spoke of her amazing life.  She was a practicing registered nurse in the 1940's, a time as Tommy put it, white folk probably did not want her touching them!  In her 60's she started a health clininc in the inner city that she ran for almost 20 years.  I learned how she never took payment from the center, but did pay in with her own money.  And she raised 6 children all who grew up to work in health care as doctors, hospital administrators and nurses.  I was so immpressed by Rosa, I asked if I could take her to lunch.  She accepted and on Friday January 23rd she and I broke bread at an Indian restuarant, Rosa's favorite kind of food.  Rosa has unbelievable energy.  She walks with a slight limp, a result of a bought with polio in her childhood.  However, nothing, not polio, not lack of money, not people - nothing slows Rosa Wims down.  She was excited to show me photos of her family, spoke lovingly of friends, talked about the health center and the difference it made in the lives of less fortunate families.  Rosa said she never had a problem with anyone in the almost 20 years she ran the health center in one of the roughest parts of Rochester.  How can this be? Because Rosa commands respect by her very presence and respect given, gets respect, help and love from Rosa.   Rosa has a set of values she lives by and they have worked for her for over three quarters of a century.  This includes saying grace before every meal.  At lunch I had a mouthful of food, as Rosa bowed her head a said a prayer.  I too bowed my head, more out of respect for Rosa, as I tried to quietly swallow my mouthful.  Sometimes we meet people that show us something we may be missing.  As queer as it sounds, Rosa showed me that having a "loving" attitude does not mean you are a doormat, no it's being firm and accepting, it's living better.   Rosa makes it look easy, but then again she's been a it a long time!
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Dan's Top 25 Favorite People of 2008

Yes, the list is back. Last year, I made many friends and many more enemies putting this exclusive list on myspace. Same rules apply as last year: 1) No blood relatives or current girlfriends are eligible. But since I'm single, only the former applies. 2) No Saviours of the world are eligible because He'd win every time. 3) They have to be currently alive. However, fictional characters are welcome. 3) Take this with that proverbial grain of salt. If you're not on the list, there's always next year. FIRST -- Here's a list of all the people who made last year's list, but somehow missed this year's... 10. Joba Chamberlain, RHP, NY Yankees. Don't get hurt in 2009, and you'll be back here. 9. Tony Soprano. Come back and prove to us you didn't really get whacked, and you'll be back here. 8. Kristen Miranda, former reporter, Channel 13. Come back to Rochester and you'll be back here. 7. John DiTullio. I still love ya. Miss ya buddy! Ohh! Ohh! Miss ya! :-) 5. Doug Emblidge. Still cool. Just haven't talked to him. Maybe he should join Facebook. Don Alhart did and we're friends, Doug. 3. Nat Ellis, former drummer, Digglers Bridge. Where the (heck) did you go? TIE 2. The Killers... Your new album sucks. 2. Paulie Walnuts. What, did they whack you, too? 2. Marv Levy. Thanks for leaving the Bills and putting them back into the hands of the Crypt Keeper. Honrable mentions from last year that did not make this year's list: Dem Jones -- You're still cool, though. Brian Robinson -- You couldn't let Lumpy get into the computer for 90 seconds during your four-hour show? C'Mon bro. Matt Basille -- We get coffee, you're back. Here we go. DAN BORRELLO'S 25 FAVORITE PEOPLE OF 2008: 25. Brad Davies. Number 25 in the program, but number 16 or 17 in my heart. Move back and you'll make the Top Ten. Then treat me like a colleague for once. 24. Craig Mosher. Occasional sound guy for Digglers Bridge. Missed you Saturday night. Oye! 23. Lou Aliquo. Left "The Dude" just in time... 22. Erin Miller. The first Silver Creek person to attend a Digglers Bridge gig. Then she got all hot. Just ask her. She'll tell ya. 21. President Elect Barack Obama. I really wasn't enamored for either candidate in this year's election. But this is more about NOT being President Bush than anything else. And for all you idiots who championed this Regan wanna-be in 2004, this was a re-do. 20) Megan Carter. Ex-girlfriend who bitched about not making last year's list thanks to the rules. Well, you finally got whatcha' wanted. Here you go. 19) Mike Danger. Did better last year, except this year he made me fill-in for Megan Carter after giving her my job, then giving The Break Room an aircheck of mine to rip the following morning. Douche. 18) Pastor George Grace, FBBC. Helped frame my current state-of-soul. Knows his Good Book. 17) Andrea Holland. "Fif!" 16) Scott Pitoniak. Still can't believe the guy got fired. Somebody's gonna die. (Figuratively speaking, of course.) 15) Joe Torre. Last year's winner. Doesn't look as good in Dodger Blue, but still the man. By they, did Joe Girardi make this list? Geez, I don't see him. 14) Kane-O! Enjoy our good discussions on Rock-n-Roll, Judaism, and the stuff I have yet to inhale... ;-) 13) Joy Scheible. Got to know her pretty well this past year. However, she loses points here because her dog, Daisy, tried to bite me once. Bitch. No, not Joy, the dog. That and she once tried to mix vodka and wine and pass it off as lemonade at a party. Throw-in some rufies, and she may have been number one! No, not the dog. Joy. 12) Racin' Randy Salerno from Newark. Should run for Mayor. Great dad. Great man. If you need "a guy," he's got "a guy." 11) Pat Duffy. Rochester's funniest radio comic. Wait, am I forgetting anyone??? 10) Derek Jeter. Playoffs? You kidding me? Playoffs? TIE 9) Joe Santa Maria. One of my best friends from Albany who knows all of the four digit beer sales codes between the Mississippi River and Switzerland. And F-Molson-Coors-Miller for firing him. TIE 9) Joe Venniro. Always there. Always ready. 8) Digglers Bridge. Steve Horton, Ken Welling, Anthony Ciulla and former member Dan Barney. We hope to continue mimicking rock legends for money well into 2009. "Digglers Bridge: We'll Do Better Next Gig." PS--Thanks Barney! Like the gravy, no lumps! ;-) 7) Jennae Moran. Only a mother and wife of three Moranimals deserves such an honor. 6) Derek Cornwall. Yes, a cousin by marriage, but according to the rules, that's a loophole. NOW, FOR DAN BORRELLO'S FAVORITE PERSON OF 2008... Yes, you're only on five...because I need five spots... This group of people changed my life, helped me grow a spine, taught me what real radio and humor sound like, and came through and bailed me out of one of the darkest periods of my young life. It's the best radio show in Rochester. And that's not bias. It's troof. Remember, I'm Christian Dan, and I don't lie. (Often.) DAN BORRELLO'S FAVORITE PERSON(S) OF 2008: 1) The Break Room on 96.5 WCMF. Bill Moran--Hardest working man in radio. Besides Randy Gorbman who, like news, never sleeps. Tom Mule--Laziest man in radio, but the funniest. Besides Pat Duffy, but Pat will probably have a heart attack so it won't matter anyway. Sally Carpenter--If we married, I'd have TWO bosses who were Jewish carpenters. Yeah, I suck. Rich "Lumpy" Flaherty--Has no real quirks or issues. Easily the most normal guy I know. Phil(Billy) Sherman--Wiffle Ball/Karaoke/Mario Kart King of the 315 with big hopes, and bigger dreams. Thank you all. And if I get fired from that show, it's machete time. And finally, the Worst Person of the Year is: Ralph Wilson, Jr. The Buffalo Bills would have made the playoffs at least once this millennium of it weren't for that meddling senior citizen. Now, they probably won't see the postseason in his lifetime or mine. Happy Holidays and better luck next year! db
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Wednesday's Proof.

WARNING: This may scare you. And if it gets to Art Bell, then you have to admit there may be something to it.
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Message From Black Santa

This is a holiday message from Black Santa. He sounds pretty bitter.
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Holiday Message From Tommy

Here is a happy holiday message from our own Tommy Mule'!
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Today's Proof

All right, so I haven't written here in a while, so here's what I'm going to do. As often as possible, I'm going to provide proof that The Bible is real, authentic, and the Word of God. Here's Lesson One: Job 26:7. "He (God) stretcheth out the north over the empty place, and hangeth the earth upon nothing." Long before Galileo, Columbus, or the Hubble Telescope, God (via Job) declared the earth round and suspended in space. Evolutionists may mock this passage from Job, however, the book is the oldest in the Bible recorded about 1520 BC. -Christian Dan
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Thanks, Hank.

New York Yankees fans received another scare over the weekend. And if they're thinkers and not followers, it should haunt each one of them well beyond Halloween.

It was news from Tampa, of course, but not of those idiotic post-season pow-wows led by Hank and Hal Steinbrenner, the Veruca Salts of Major League Baseball. It wasn't Joba Chamberlain's arrest for suspicion of D.U.I, less than a day the Brothers Duh decreed Chamberlain a front-runner for next season's rotation. And no doubt, this lapse in Lincoln, Neb. will be forgotten as Chamberlain's legend grows like that of Michael Phelps, whose 16 medals (14 gold) have all but erased his same mistake. It wasn't news the Yankees can't sell memorabilia from the "old" stadium at Picasso prices, the cancelation of one last bash, the planting of new sod across the street at the same address, the pinstriped futures of Mike Mussina and Andy Pettitte, or the clubhouse backlash of manager, Joe Girardi. It was their future flashing before their eyes. A future as bleak as the past of the Boston Red Sox and the Tampa Bay Rays. In 1920, the Yankees acquired Babe Ruth from the Boston Red Sox, and for the next 85 seasons (no, those aren't typos -- 1918 was the last Red Sox championship and 1920 was the Bambino's first season in pinstripes, which equals 85 years), that was the defining moment of both franchises. Then, the Red Sox came back from three games down and three outs away from an 87th season of futility, and took Boston off the map of cursed sports cities. What the New York Yankees didn't expect was another Red Sox comeback in 2007, down three games-to-one to the Cleveland Indians in that year's ALCS, compiling seven straight wins en route to another World Championship. And last Friday morning, at 12:16 am, five years to the minute Aaron Boone added another year to The Curse, JD Drew's game winning RBI single sent the ALCS back to Tampa. Saturday night's BoSox win made Yankee fans think even harder about a team that has looked more like Bizarro Sox since 2004, compared to the ones that came up short in 1946, '67, '75, '78, '86 and 2003, and all the years in-between. Sure, names like Williams, Pesky, Cronin, Doerr, Lomborg, Rice, Fisk, Lynn, Yaz, Lee, Boggs, Buckner, and Garciaparra hold special places in Sox history. But names like Schilling, Ortiz, Ramirez, Veritek, "Youk", Lowell, Beckett, Mill-ahhh, Pedro and Theo hold rings. Some of them two. Shortly after the babes of Red Sox Nation--who know not the anguish of their parents--were sent to bed for one last dream of another dream ending, the Rays ended the ALCS with a 3-1 win in Game Seven. It was a brief sigh of relief for Yankee fans; it that lasted as long as the relief of Ambosol on a root canal. Tampa Bay has been a last place team throughout its existence until this season's 200-to-1 World Series surprise, and even a second-place team in its own town, evacuating the city every February while the Yankees blew through like a hurricane. Now, they're only four wins away from capturing not only baseball's biggest prize, but a city championship as well. The Bronx Bombers may start next season in a new stadium, Band-Aid their problems like a federal bailout, and always have enough folks in Bristol, CT convince you they'll be the team to beat. The fact is, the hapless Rays have left their past behind with the Devil, the Red Sox have changed the culture of New England baseball to a new generation, and the Toronto Blue Jays finally inked best free agent manager of the last decade, who led them to a 51-27 record. This Yankee fan remembers his late father warning him during one of the last games we shared. "Danny Boy," he said shaking his head, "it looks like that curse may be going the other way." Butch Borrello said these words much like a father telling one of those not-in-my-lifetime-but-yours stories with the same conviction he told this twenty-something how he'll eventually learn the truth of President Kennedy's assassination, and the consequences of American excess, headphone-enduced deafness and backwards-hat-patterned baldness. Get used to this idea, Yankee fans: your team has been replaced. Until a 27th trophy gets presented to another Steinbrenner, the Boston Red Sox will be this century's version of the never-say-die, Bernie Williams-Paul O'Neill-Tino Martinez-Derek Jeter-Scott Brosius-Mariano Rivera-Andy Pettitte-David Cone-El Duque-Jim Leyritz-Joe Girardi New York Yankees. Tampa Bay still has time and the lack of pricing power to become this year's and next year's 2003-04 Florida Marlins, or the '07-'08 Colorado Rockies. The difference, however, is they seem to have more youngsters on the way, starting with Game Seven closer, David Price. Ninety-six combined years of tears in Beantown and Tampa-Saint Pete are not only over, but they've evaporated as if God himself wiped the sniffles away. The Red Sox and Rays have emerged as new creatures boldly claiming what the Yankees--Jeter, Rivera, Pettitte, and Jorge Posada notwithstanding--have expected to be their inheritance, long after they've been evicted from the paper Promised Land. Go ahead, Hank. Sign C.C. Sebathia. Sign A.J. Burnett. Trade for Jake Peavy. Bring Joba into the rotation. Grab Mark Teixeira. Sign the Red Sox castoffs. It won't matter. Not when the Red Sox and Rays continue to out-draft you and out-develop youngsters. Not when you award your GM a three-year extension based on what happened between 1998-2000, after you let your previous manager walk after 12 straight postseasons, ten division titles, six pennants, and four titles before taking the LA Dodgers to the NLCS for the first time in two decades. Not when your players hate his replacement. Not when you embarass your father's organization everytime you see a microphone. The Yankees are playing in a brave new baseball world, and those old tricks don't work like they did in your father's century.
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Rochester's Newest Music Venue

This is a quick 2 min. tour of Rochester's NEWEST music venue. It's in Webster and you can see the FIRST SHOW THERE EVER! We have ONE pair of tickets left to see Pat Duffy and Diggler's Bridge at Mule` Manor on Saturday October 25th. All you have to do is offer us a service or product up for barter! So far we have been offered a one-night stay at a suite at the Marriot in Henrietta. If you can beat that, you get the tickets. Time is running out! Call us at 222-6000 to barter!
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The Last Goodbye

Yankee Stadium deserved a better sendoff than this. The final game played in the greatest playground in sports history has to share the spotlight with Football Night in America. But don’t blame the NFL, or baseball’s schedule makers. Blame the hosts. Yankee Stadium’s finale was determined by over $200 million of excuses, inconsistency, and failed expectations. Instead of an October homecoming–a rite of passage for a team with 26 World Championships, 39 pennants and 13 straight postseason appearances–the last contest for the House That Ruth Built will be how much money the Yankees will plunder from the city after gutting the place and selling the pieces. No matter how the season would end, the stadium would inevitably be treated like a brothel in its final hours. But it was it’s team’s job of putting that off until AFTER October. Sure, if there’s any team that should be able to script the way it says goodbye to one of the few remaining plots of sacred ground left in America, it’s the Yankees. And Sunday’s contest will be adorned with the same elements that enveloped this year’s All-Star Game.For example, if there’s any pitcher the Bronx Bombers want pitching this last game, it’s their ultimate gamer, Andy Pettitte. The Boss, and the remaining Yankee legends should all be there. But, while the Yankees set the standard for baseball tradition, it’s the franchise’s postseason accomplishments that made the canvas for honoring those who best symbolize pinstriped pride. It would be fitting that the Yankees close the stadium on a cool October night to be announced instead of an otherwise meaningless game against the hapless Baltimore Orioles. The Orioles do have their places in Yankee history. It was Baltimore who purposely threw knuckleballer Hoyt Wilhelm out of the bullpen to face Roger Maris on a windy Maryland night in the final inning of Game 154 (September 20, 1961) to deny Maris one last blast to tie Babe Ruth’s single season home run record. It was the Orioles whom Bobby Murcer drove-in five runs against only hours after he buried his good friend, Yankee catcher and captain Thurman Munson. It was Orioles’ shortstop Cal Ripken, Jr. who passed the Iron Horse, and it was Baltimore right fielder Tony Tarasco who was robbed by Jeffrey Maier in Game One of the 1996 ALCS, which started the Yankees on their last dynasty. Those footnotes don’t hold a curveball to the history between the Yanks and Red Sox. Like anything else in sports, the right to play that final game should have been earned instead of created. And the only reason Baltimore gets the honors is because its scheduled opponents didn’t play this year like they have the previous 13. Yankee fans, quit blaming injuries. This was a total team effort–or lack thereof. For every Chien-Ming Wang injury, there’s a Curt Schilling chatting on a shelf in Boston. For every win by pitchers Phil Hughes and Ian Kennedy, there are losses by Johan Santana for the Mets since the All-Star break. (Hint: zero.) And for every team in the American League East who’ll be playing in October, there’s a Yankee owner in his first season kicking himself for saying goodbye to Joe Torre last offseason. And if you disagree, for every dollar the Steinbrenners spent putting the team together, there is a Yankee hater laughing at you and your pathetic rationale. Need more reasons for a bad year? Here they are in no particular order: 742 runs scored (as of Saturday) versus 968 and 930 each of the previous two seasons. For more perspective, this season the “Bombers” outscored their opponents by only 44 runs thus far, whereas the previous three seasons they beat their rivals by 106, 163 and 191 runs in 2005, ‘06 and ‘07 respectively. That’s just to start. Here’s a few more: Robinson Cano’s lazy letdown; Melky Cabrera’s free-swinging; the Tampa Bay Rays; Andy Pettitte’s “off” season after a tumultuous off-season; Jason Giambi hitting 31 home runs, while doing little else; Hughes and Kennedy; Mariano Rivera’s failing to maintain five different tie ballgames; jumbling Joba Chamberlain from the bullpen to the rotation, to the disabled list, back to the bullpen; Alex Rodriguez’s inflated homer total and a pitiful .268 average with runners in scoring position; Madonna; Ivan Rodriguez’s .228 and three RBIs since joining the Yankees; Hank Steinbrenner; a rotation filled with castoffs and unknowns with last names such as Giese, Ponson, Pavano, Aceves (don’t get your hopes up), Rasner and Igawa; the failure of Brian Cashman and Damon Oppenheimer to develop that young talent they’ve stumped the last two years; Joe Torre managing in Chavez Ravine instead of The Bronx; an overrated bullpen; losing records against sub-.500 teams such as Cleveland, Detroit, Texas, Cincinnati and Pittsburgh while splitting ten games with the lowly Kansas City Royals and getting owned by Toronto and Boston. And finally: they’re just too (darn) old. Here are their core veterans from youngest-to-oldest:  A-Rod is the baby at 33; Derek Jeter, Bobby Abreu, Johnny Damon and Hideki Matsui are 34; the battery of Pettitte and I-Rod are 36; Giambi and the injured clubhouse cop Jorge Posada are 37; the most conistent Yankee, the ageless Mariano Rivera is 38, and the rotation’s biggest surprise, Mike Mussina, is 39. In all fairness, nobody knows if Joe Torre could have done a better job than Joe Girardi this season. But all reports from Los Angeles say the clubhouse is in the best mood its been in years–with an aloof Manny Ramirez who was shipped out of Boston. There were too many problems for the pinstripers to blame on a perfect storm. Every team has injuries, but not every team can Band-Aid them the way the Yankees are accustomed to doing. This year, not even the Yankees could buy enough boxes. The fact is, this writer told you back in April if there was a year to bet against the Yankees (paging Mr. Rose?) this would be it. It would be apropos for baseball if Alex Rodriguez hits the final home run in the same place Babe Ruth hit the first, if the future Hall-of-Famer does eventually set the game’s all-time home run record. But his Yankee Stadium legacy will leave behind demons instead of those famous ghosts Derek Jeter assures us will travel next door. It’s curtains for the ‘ole ballpark. The living legends will take their bows and wave their goodbyes, before they head next door next year to christen the House That YOU Built (credit: the New York Daily News). Yes, the remaining heroes of Yankee yesteryear planned on meeting at the corner of 161st Street and River Avenue tonight as soon as the 2008 schedule was printed. But those same favorite all-time Yankees must have expected curtain calls for an October return. Heck, they made October baseball a Yankee pastime. Instead, this is it. From those of us who sat in those sky blue seats, toured Monument Park, lost track of the ball from the upper deck as it neared either foul pole, watched countless Yankee games and championships on TV, and on behalf of those ghosts who may make one last inconspicuous appearance tomorrow, but aren’t physically here to say goodbye, thank you for all those Octobers. And thank you to all those who brought us to our first Yankee game. Thank you to all those great Yankee teams and legends, whom without, tonight would just be a formality. And sure, there are Yankee haters out there who want to thank those teams who beat the Yankees on the game’s greatest stage. Well, here you all go. Yankee Stadium has given its fans everything any group of one team’s loyalists could ask for, except for the one thing its team of millionaires couldn’t give it back: One more October.
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Welcome Back, Old Friend...

Another Sunday. Another steal. Another late win thanks to another cardiac kick from Rian Lindell. The Buffalo Bills 24-23 victory seemed like an impossibility after JaMarcus Russell capped-off a DeAngelo Hall interception with a third quarter touchdown plunge, giving the Oakland Raiders a 16-7 lead. Hope was rekindled in the fourth after quarterback Trent Edwards  led the Bills offense on a touchdown drive that ate nearly five minutes, only to be doused by an 84-yard touchdown from Russell to Johnny Lee Higgins only three plays later. Maybe Bills fans got their hopes up too soon. Again. But for another week, Buffalo eschewed its here-we-go-again expectations of the 21st century with another comeback reminiscent of the Jim Kelly Era. And with each completion from their second-year signal caller to Josh Reed, and Lee Evans,  and Roscoe Parrish, the bubble of hope for Bills fans grew bigger and bigger, while their stomach bubbles grew larger, and their collective blood pressure went higher. If you're a Bills fan, you've waited an awful long time to develop fourth quarter agita. No, not from guzzling countless Coors Lights between breakfast and dinner, washed down with footlongs, wings and beef on wick. Agita from the Bills. Agita from believing in a football team's chances to play meaningful January football. Unless you wrongly compare those teaser games from the Drew Bledsoe error or the Tennessee blackout of 2006 to those Bills-Dolphins shootouts of the 1990's, for a consecutive Sunday, Bills fans reminisced what it's like to get sick to their stomachs for good reasons. After the Bills lost their third and fourth Super Bowls, idiots actually said they'd rather go back to the 2-14 seasons of the mid-'80s than deal with the embarrassment of coming up short so often. That theory has been well-tested since the infamous Home Run Throwback (or, Music City Miracle) game in January of 2000, the last time the Bills played a postseason contest. And the consensus in western New York is that they'd rather lose four more Super Bowls than go through one more long winter. The Bills racked-up 17 fourth-quarter points and eventually the lead that eluded them the first 59:59 of their Week Three surprise. Edwards and his receivers connected on six of the quarterback's last seven pass attempts and 14 of his final 19, making the waning 16:54 look nothing like the previous 43:06. Those forty-three minutes and change were loaded with plenty of gaffes. There was the 69-yard opening kickoff return from Higgins which set-up an Oakland field goal. There was Edwards' fumble in the second quarter after Jason Peters allowed his second turnover-causing sack in as many games--both leading to field goals. There was Lee Evans' first turnover--a fumble--after the Bills called timeout only two plays after plans for fake field goal went awry. There was Rian Lindell's missed 46-yard kick on the opening drive of the second half. The would-be go-ahead drive is the very reason head coach Dick Jauron chose to defer after winning the coin toss. There was Roscoe Parrish's cardinal sin of catching a punt near the goal line, leading to a holding penalty that pushed the Bills back to their own end zone just before an Edwards interception ripped from the hands of Lee Evans led to a Raider touchdown. There was Leodis McKelvin misplaying a kickoff after Russell's third quarter touchdown--a prequel to another Bills three-and-out. And, of course, Johnny Lee Higgins reinforcing Bills fans thoughts of bad luck with his long TD reception. Yet, the Bills channeled the resilience made famous in the days of Bruce Smith. Perhaps the most prolific sack master in NFL history brought a little magic back from the good 'ole days when his name was unveiled on the Wall-of-Fame at halftime. Edwards. Marshawn Lynch. Robert Royal. Freddie Jackson. Josh Reed. Evans. Parrish. The offensive line that could have been mistaken for names like Wolford, Ritcher, Hull, Davis and Ballard. And finally, Lindell. Their final three possessions resulted in all of the 17 points needed while their defense forced the three-and-out necessary to beat the Raiders and go 3-0 for the first time since 1992. Suddenly, that heartburn of the glory years returned like an old friend--perhaps Bruce Smith?--reminding Bills fans it's still OK after all these years to be nervous when its for good reasons. As the adage goes, that anxiety means there's something to lose. Welcome back, old friend. Eight years without you was long enough.
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Simply amazin'. The Mets hung in last night, after the Nats bats whittled New York's 7-1 lead down to a 9-7 squeaker in Washington. Only a day after dropping two to the worst team in baseball, Jose Reyes' "who me?" look in the New York papers told the story of the Mets' entire season. Unfortunately, Willie Randolph isn't around to absorb the abuse of ungrateful fans who root for the blue-n-carrot-topped stepchildren of New York baseball. They were all wrong for blaming the former manager for last season's implosion. They were wrong when he was fired. And they're all wrong now when crediting interim manager, Jerry Manuel, for their would-be comeback. Carlos Delgado's turnaround season and his MVP-type second-half would have happened under Willie, Manuel, or Dallas Greene for that matter. In fact, Delgado IS the Mets turnaround. Sure, they can blame this late-season collapse entirely on Billy Wagner's bum elbow giving-out. In doing so, Mets fans forfeit all rights to rip the Yankees for their MASH unit's failure to reach the postseason. The Yankees have no excuses. And their fans are bright enough to tell you so. Sure, the wild card parachute may be there to bail out the interim Mets manager--the guy whom many-a-Mets fan wanted to hire as the skipper to christen Citi Field next April, breaking the bottle of Cristal on Jackie Robinson's statue that will welcome Mets fans in the rotunda. Hold the champagne. This year, and next year. No, Manuel is not entirely to blame for his team's potential sequel of 2007. Just like Willie Randolph was never entirely to blame for last year's horror flick. Perhaps could it be--ahem!--the players? For every pundit pounding Alex Rodriguez for his ho-hum eight homers and .271 average with runners in scoring position, there's the City's bizarro third baseman across the river, David Wright, hitting 32 points lower, with half as many round-trippers. For every Johnny from Queens who says he'd rathuh' have Reyes over Derek Jet-uh' at short--now is the time for the Mets' young catalyst to be more of a captain than a clown. The fact is, however, the guy to blame is the guy everyone credits for the Mets turnaround: Omar. Minaya reloaded the Mets instead of rebuilding to bring the franchise back to prominence and catch the Yankees as soon as the World Series was no longer their divine right. In today's era, teams can no longer just plug-in veterans and give longterm deals to has-beens with torn labrums, or players whose contracts expire after their pensions kick-in. You also can't ask the youth of the left side of the infield to make-up for the AARP collection from the other seven positions. Players like Pedro Martinez, Orlando Hernandez, Tom Glavine, Moises Alou, Damon Easley, Paul LoDuca, Delgado, and Brian Schneider may have been good stop-gaps, but a collective curse that may haunt them for Septembers to come. Sure, the Mets landed Johan Santana at a lower cost than the Yankees or Red Sox would have paid to garner his services last season. And while the two-time AL Cy Young winner has been good, he's hardly been the dominant ace expected to mimic former AL pitchers like Roger Clemens, who've crossed into the National League. And its hard to praise the GM, when a stalemate between arch rivals and a big bank account made Queens the only destination left for the lefty.While it was a major Met coups, it's hardly brilliant. The story hasn't changed. Willie wasn't the problem. When win totals rise, players credit the "new" clubhouse atmosphere, the same way they blame losing on bad locker room vibes. Jerry Manuel shouldn't stand around any bus stops for a while. Because the same guys who got Willie fired will either write their manager's ticket, or throw him under like Billy Wagner's last rehab pitch. Doing their eternal GM's bidding, win and lose.
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A Break Room Blessing

First, we thank You for the opportunity to do what we do, and that we've now been blessed with the ability to trust each other after all most of us have been through. Your hands guide this show, even though no one will admit it, and even though you blush every time you hear it. A lot of people assume anyone can do radio, but they have no idea what really goes into it. So thank You for allowing us to continue in a business that is shrinking like so many other industries in this country. Father, I want to ask for your blessing on The Break Room. The  people in this room have been a blessing to me, and to each other, no matter if they do or do not realize it. As far as I'm concerned, You put me here at a time in my life when I needed this band of misfits the most, and I know I need them a heckuva lot more than they need me. So thank You. Lord, I'm going to ask You to bless this room, and each individual person in it, and those who have something to do with it's success. First: JT. Watch over him, his marriage, and his new family. Sue Munn and Mike Doyle: Every little bit helps! Kane-O! He's a good man, Lord. Guide him. Help him win the Marconi Award. Next: Racin' Randy, that those funny stories he tells us will continue without jeopardizing his life. We love Randy. Big Marc: Are You sure he's not sick with that weight he's lost? He looks good. Now if You could just help him pick out his own clothes. And Robinson: Why not? And Sales. Because we need to eat. Now for the room itself: Philbilly, because he seems like he needs Your help the most. If You could make him full time, that would be great, so he wouldn't have to watch the book at the "li-bary" anymore, and can spend more time with his wife, Tandy. What they do after that, Lord, only the three of (Y)you know, until he breaks it to the rest of us. Lumpy, bless him, his girlfriend, his mom, his pets and his button-pushing fingers, that have been falsely accused of douchebaggery, according to a co-worker. Please forgive that co-worker, for he knoweth not what he doeth. Sally, Lord, what she believes is between you and her, but Lord Jesus, we know this much: you're cousins! And you're both carpenters. So if You take care of Your own Lord Jesus, the rising tide will float all our boats. Also, please bless her dad, Stu, and her dog Luther as well. Next Lord, Moranimal, whom You knew long before as William, whom we all now know as Bill. He works hard, Lord. Harder than everyone in radio I've ever met. But he has two kids, who are just like him, and a darling wife, whom I hope my wife ends up being half as smart as, whomever she is. Behind every great man, is a greater woman. Thank you for Jennae, Jackson, Jordan, and Bill himself, Lord. Watch over all of them, their health as well as giving Mo the ability to do less work, and spend more time enjoying Guys' Nights with his boys, and that they all have the ability to be here together for a long, long time. Lord, last, but certainly not least in Your kingdom...well, YOU KNOW WHO. He calls you the Easter Bunny; I call you God. He calls you fiction, I call you a Fisher of men. Where I pray TO You, he preys on everyone who prays to You. And his name is apropos to his character. But I love him, just like I love everyone in this room. And I know, that he knows, that you know, that he's the funniest guy he knows. Just ask him. He'll tell you. Well, maybe not YOU Lord. But You hear him, even though he ignores You. Lord, thank You for Tom Mule, who calls us out on the carpet, who says what everyone cowardly fails to admit--even to themselves--and who helped me get my "guts" out from that proverbial jar, and my spine back, up until this morning. He's the least phony person I've ever met. And Lord, since he probably won't accept You as his Lord and Savior, if I die, can I take Tommy with me? An eternity in a new place can be rough if you're the new guy, and I'm pretty sure there's no one up there right now doing hooker jokes. Ask Mary Magdaline. In the meantime, please bless him, his dog Scotch, and that his cups runneth over with laughter, blessings, his car deal, and a special someone, for years to come. Because I know, that if there's ever been a time he's rooted for me or Christianity at all to be right, it's right now. :-) See Lord, nobody listening to this prayer right now can ever say they've never witnessed one of Your great miracles. Praise Your name, Dear Jesus. In the meantime, thank You for every person in this room, the Entercom Marketing Results Group for their faith in us, WCMF, and most importantly, its listeners, whom without, we have nothing. Bless them, Lord. And bless the other shows here, too, Lord. Because the more good things that happen at home for them, the less they'll have to talk about on the air, and then we'll win! Lord bless our show, the hands who prepare it, and Newman from the Bee, going through what he's endured down in Houston, and Kimberly from The Buzz, and all she's gone through as well. In the coming months, the seas shall rise, but if we trust in You, You shall calm the storms. And so far, I don't know of any other radio show in town asking for Your blessing. You'd think The Bee would have beaten us to the proverbial punch by now. And no matter what, we have more Jewish people working here than any other show. That counts. Thank you Lord, for every person in this room, who mean so much to me, to the listeners, and to each other. In Jesus Name, Amen.
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Shadenfruede at One Bills Drive

If Tom Brady is out for the season, it was good news.  

Yes, that is a sick statement. And it's a sad commentary of countless Bills fans who celebrated as word spread of the quarterback's misfortune during the first quarter of Buffalo's Week One 34-10 victory over the Seattle Seahawks.

With grown-men relieving themselves in the sinks of Ralph Wilson Stadium--this is only news to those who have never used the Men's Room at the Ralph--news spread like the digested Coors Light that missed the urinals, collecting on the floor. And if you need any more evidence Bills fans were excited over Brady's pain--remember the sinks served as temporary toilets--few bathroom patrons cared about germs as they high-fived just after zipping-up.

Only the thrills of Roscoe Parrish's 63-yard punt return for a touchdown rivaled their joy.

It's sad enough when a team's fans hang their hopes on hope alone after a millennium without (meaningful) January football. But what's pathetic is the shadenfruede Bills' bretheren rejoiced in while sharing the news that the greatest quarterback in this generation could be finished for 2008.

This may have happened in the Meadowlands, Indianapolis and even Miami. It may have happened in your living room. But this writer can only speak on what he witnessed, and it's disappointing.

And now, those who revelled in New England's misery have allowed Bills haters point at their new shiners. Sure, this happens everywhere, but nobody wants to hear your when-I-was-in-Cleveland story when there are enough Bills tailgates on YouTube to make WWE fans look civilized.

These are same Bills fans who bought Browns fans lunches the Monday after Dan Marino tore his achilles in Cleveland--five games into the 1993 season.

In a decade, true sports fans will appreciate the Joe Montana of this generation and annoint some can't-miss kid the next Tom Brady, if they don't appreciate what he's done for the league already. Meanwhile, the rest of them will be hoping the next Brady will tear his ACL to better the Bills' (or the Toronto franchise's) hopes of winning a Super Bowl.

Folks, before you return to thinking like a delusional Bills fan maybe you should pop that Sunday Night Bills-Pats tape into the VHS player to keep yourself humble. Some Bills fans will think and talk playoffs after a big win like yesterday.  They think they'll win the Mega Millions because last week they guessed right on two numbers. Sure, yesterday's season opener evoked memories of a time when the playoffs were a certainty and not just a wish. A Week One blowout is the perfect fuel for perpetual hope--that of the longsuffering faithful whose wounds are re-opened every Super Bowl week, and in films such as Ace Ventura: Pet Detective and Buffalo 66. For once, Bills fans didn't mind being soaked thanks to bad weekend forecasts from Buffalo meteorologists.

However, it could be a fluke and these may be the same 'ole Bills and Patriots, so hang-on.

But after a fluke injury, Tom Brady's season is over and his career may never be the same and some fans seem to be enjoying every second of it. While you're at it, go dance on Babe Ruth's grave, rip Michael Jordan's 23 from the United Center rafters, and take a club to Tiger Woods' good knee.

The most famous number 12 since Terry Bradshaw (sorry, folks) was 2:39 away from grabbing his fourth Super Bowl ring in eight seasons and quarterbacking the only 19-0 team in NFL history during the league's parity-enduced, "Any Given Sunday" era.

If the NFL has a Jordan, it's Brady, and he's done. And like those two Houston Rockets championships won during MJ's retirement/hiatus, we may forever wonder what might have been about 2008, just like those would-be Bulls-Rockets NBA Finals dream match-ups, or what Tiger what have made of this year's US and British Opens, as well as the Ryder Cup.

There are two different types of Bills fans. There are sports fans who love the Bills as their chosen team, and there are Bills fans who only know about the Bills, show-up for a party, and don't care about history. That outspoken minority basked in their own selfish glory, spitting in the face of history yet again. We'll never know what would have become of this season had Tom Brady walked off the field after the fourth quarter instead of halfway through the first. But before Sunday, more pundits predicted the Pats would return to the Super Bowl than the world champion Giants.

So, where did we put those famous asterisks again?

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Perpetual Mope

Football season. It's coming. It's not here yet, no matter what you read or see at 6 or 11,  but its coming. Training camp and preseason--outside of the first 15 minutes of tonight's Bills-Skins match-up near the District--really don't count. It only counts after that Thursday night affair on NBC when the Giants take the field against those Redskins who've made the team. Meanwhile, this "blogger" has given the Bills a lot of flack on The Break Room. It's hard not to when your C.O.O. has a background in marketing instead of scouting, hired basically as an extension of Ralph Wilson's meddling hands. I'm not killing Russ Brandon, but Bills history has taken a karma-tic downfall since Mr. Wilson canned Bill Polian and the owner's best move since Jim Kelly's retirement was signing Doug Flutie. Think about that. Then, it was Wilson who reportedly overruled Wade Phillips and started Rob Johnson for the Music City Musical. And the Bills haven't seen the playoffs since. Call Wilson a Marcel Paton of his day. And he has many days to choose from. It's pretty sad when you can't pick a favorite memory in Bills history from an entire millennium. But since the 1999 season, there hasn't been any. Actually there were. Does the day Tom Donahoe came to town ring a bell? Then there was  the day they drafted Mike Williams. Remember the Welcome Drew Bledsoe parade on Abbott Road? Then there was the day where the Bills introduced their new uniforms at Ralph Wilson Stadium. Hmm, remember that one? And the day they took a flier on Willis McGahee. And the days they hired Gregg Williams, Mike Mularkey, Marv Levy, and Dick Jauron. Sure, if anyone can sell perpetual hope to a bunch of saps, its Wilson and his C.O.O. And sadly, people are buying. Yup, pile them all up and they mean about as much as two barrels of German Deutsch marks after World War I. That's why I'm writing here today. Do I think this is "the year?" The year to what? Finally make the playoffs (only to be sent home a weekend later)? With a young team, an infusion of free agents on defense, and half the team's injured reserve list returning (for now at least), my hopes swelled a little more than last year. Then came the ice pack of Brett Favre to the New York Jets. The Jets have stopped at nothing to improve their team from last season's 4-12 campaign, spending over $100 million to get the team from near worst to near first in the AFC East. What's another $12 mil, right? The Dolphins went and inked Bill Parcells to be their VP of football operations, and while he was a Hall-0f-Fame head coach, many pundits say it was his skills as a talent evaluator that gave him the edge. Then there are the Patriots, who have to just keep-on being themselves. In other words, how do you look at the Bills with any hope for this year, or even the future for that matter? Especially, when the Bills spent more time taking home games to Canada this offseason than worrying about replacing Marv Levy as GM with a football guy, or replacing their awful offensive coordinator with his underling quarterbacks coach, who has zero success coaching anywhere in the NFL. Not to mention, their Pro Bowl left tackle Jason Peters hasn't been in western New York since Locker Clean-up Day. Maybe it is Peters' agent's fault. So what? If you're the Bills, you don't trust JP Losman to take the reigns, so why would you trust your right tackle to guard the blind side for your second-year quarterback (Trent Edwards) who beat Losman out? Get ready for another year of Bills football. As those Lucky Baby commercials say, "Be There." Parcells. Patriots. A Packer legend now taking snaps in the Meadowlands. Meanwhile, the Bills will now play games in Toronto. Which one of these things is not like the other? That's not to say the Bills don't have a chance this year. Just like any other year.
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A lot of people hate the New York Yankees and that’s fine.They’re arguably the greatest franchise in sports, which lends itself to millions of baseball fans either loving the team, or hating them. That’s sports. And that’s the way it should be. But if there’s one guy Yankee-haters could never complain about, it was Bobby Murcer. The former shortstop-turned outfielder-turned Yankee broadcaster passed away on Saturday. He was 62. Murcer was the lone link between Yankee legend, Don Mattingly, and the iconic Mickey Mantle. By now, you may know Murcer came through the Yankees’ system just like the Mick–a shortstop from Oklahoma who would eventually make his way to centerfield. What you may not know is how great a person he was. NY Post columnist Joel Sherman wrote a blog on the Post’s website about how Murcer–the idol of Yankee fans who suffered through some lean years–was everything a fan would want his favorite player to be upon meeting his idol as opposed to his heroes: Pete Rose and Joe Morgan. Both disappointed him with their arrogance after meeting them. After eulogizing his friend and teammate Thurman Munson after the catcher’s tragic plane crash in August of 1979, the Yankees were slated to play the eventual American League champions, the Baltimore Orioles. Murcer, now placed in left field, was responsible for all five Yankee runs, including a 3-run bomb that catapulted the Bombers to victory that night. Murcer gave the bat he used to his fallen teammate's widow, Diane. The game is still remembered as one of the greatest in Yankee history. The first Major League Baseball game this writer ever watched came on April 5, 1988. My father told me the Yankees would be playing on SportsChannel NY, channel 32 on Adelphia cable. The Yanks beat the defending World Champion Minnesota Twins and the eventual AL Cy Young winner, Frank Viola, 8-0 at Yankee Stadium. The first Yankee I met that day watching the game wasn’t Don Mattingly, Rickey Henderson, Willie Randolph or Rick Rhoden. It was a guy in a suit-and-tie holding a microphone, who made a name for himself long before this new convert was born, let alone pick-up the Pinstriped Bible. It was Bobby Murcer. Murcer wore number 1 after Billy Martin did, and number 2 long before Derek Jeter became the greatest in the lineage of Yankee shortstops that included that smiling Sooner. Murcer was unfairly asked to be Mantle after Mantle. As the lone bright spot of some bad Yankee teams, knew what it was like to be Don Mattlingly before Mattingly. And as NY Daily News scribe Mike Lupica pointed-out on ESPN’s The Sports Reporters, he was a far better player than his numbers indicated. In an era where it seems there are fewer and fewer class acts, Murcer, just like his early years with the Yankees, was one of few bright spots in professional sports. Nowaday, broadcasters have egos just as large as the players whom they lambaste with the same proverbial brush. Murcer was both a player and broadcaster and, by today’s “standards”, acted like neither. Last year, when Murcer’s old broadcast partner and fellow Yankee shortstop Phil Rizzuto died, Yankee owner George Steinbrenner wrote that “heaven must have needed a shortstop.” Heaven must've also needed someone to keep Scooter in line. As Rizzuto's wingman, Murcer perfectly complemented his mentor's shtick, pairing themselves as one of baseball's most entertaining booths, especially during some tough Yankee years. Heaven is a better place today. It has another shortstop, and one of baseball’s most lovable broadcast teams are reunited. And for another year, the Yankees have each been handed another black armband in honor of a departed Yankee hero. Meanwhile, heaven has just handed out another halo. bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1216050326&sr=8-1
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Tommy's Latest VLOG

Tommy's Latest VLOG.
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Calcium Deposit

I really want to use this space to break my typecast of talking about only Christianity, sports, or my dad. So how does the calcified vein on my testicle sound? It's the left one. Guys, you know the one--the olive that seems to cling a little closer to the branch than his twin. Yeah, that one. Being Italian, I'm already paranoid of the "evil eye", wiretaps, and the occasional yacht invite since nobody I know ever goes fishing. Since cancer runs in my family, I'm also nervous about bumps, lumps, coughs and even Camel Lights. A few days ago, I noticed some soreness in my nether region. So I checked myself. And found something. Turns out it was nothing. But I didn't know that something was nothing until a doctor (well, a PA really) told me it was just a buildup. (You can interpret that however you want.) And having nothing has never sounded so good.
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Big Butch and Me

I would like to thank Scott Pitoniak, Jim Nantz, Rick Reilly and the late Tim Russert. Not just because of their contributions to sports writing, sportscasting, the sport of people, the sport of politics, or being proud a Buffalonian while western New York is mocked as the eyesore of snow globes. While those are all important, I'd like to thank them because they're the gentlemen who made it fashionable to write love letters to our fathers. Scott Pitoniak is the best sports columnist in western New York and has covered the Buffalo Bills for the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle since 1985--when the Bills barely outdrew the Bisons. I remember when my cousin Shawn Borrello and his wife Michelle (they were just high school sweeties way back when) took me to see Frank Reich at Sidey's (now a Big Lots) after Buffalo's most-famous No. 14 stepped into the pocket for Jim Kelly during the 1989 season and won three games over the Rams, Dolphins and Jets. My cousin whispered in my ear that he would buy me a Buffalo Bills trivia book if I told Reich he was "a better quarterback than Jim Kelly." I had no problem doing this, even without the book, but at 9 years old, I knew how to play the game. I told old Reich what I thought of him that Tuesday night in Fredonia, and my cousin delivered. That book, The Official Buffalo Bills Trivia Book, was one of ten authored by Pitoniak. Little did I know that I would have that columnist as a professor at St. John Fisher College in Rochester, let alone a friend. Pitoniak's recent books are "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly: Heart Pounding, Jaw Dropping and Gut Wrenching Moments in Buffalo Bills History" and his latest, "Memories of Yankee Stadium." In the Introduction, Pitoniak talks of his father taking him to his first Yankee game--Bobby Richardson Day, September 17, 1966. He also talks of his dad's premature death, and how he didn't go back to Yankee Stadium until nearly a decade later. Pitoniak dedicated the book to his father, Andrew, and summed-up the reason for writing it: "...Yankees manager Joe Torre there are ghosts in this building. I realized he wasn't just talking about the ghosts of Ruth, Gehrig and Joe D., but also the ghosts of loved ones who have moved on..." If your first trip to Yankee Stadium was with your dad, like ours was, you know exactly what they mean by that. Jim Nantz has covered the PGA, the NFL, the NBA and college hoops for CBS for over two decades. He's also the first man to do play-by-play for a Super Bowl, the Final Four, and the Masters--a 63-day journey chronicled in his new book "Always By My Side – A Father’s Grace and a Sports Journey Unlike Any Other." He talks about he and his father sharing many of Nantz's career milestones until a stroke, coupled with Alzheimer's, took those opportunities away. Jim Sr. is still alive, but Jim Jr. writes about how he can't even ask his dad if he needs his pillow adjusted, or if his feet are too cold. Jim also writes that his father's aides have the TV on CBS whenever "Jimmy" is broadcasting, hoping somehow his father will somehow hear his name and recognize it, even for a brief second. More importantly, even though his dad couldn't partake in that 63-day triumph he once knew meant so much to his son, Jim Sr. was always with his son, and still inspires him. "Always by My Side" is written much like "Big Russ and Me", penned by the late Tim Russert. Russert turned a proud, unknown dad into a household nickname. And sadly, the one man who gave western New York a genuine voice while transplanted politicians lip-sync scripts, has passed well before his time. Rick Reilly left Sports Illustrated in November to join ESPN. An 11-time winner of the Sportswriter of the Year Award, Reilly made the back page of SI the first page readers turned to when they opened their mailboxes. Two weeks ago, Reilly introduced himself to readers (as if he needed to) by writing about his father who passed away while the columnist served the six-month no-compete clause of his SI contract. Reilly and his father both loved golf. But his father seemed to love the game more than his own family, even missing out on his kids' milestones for golf outings. If that wasn't bad enough, Jack Reilly also treated every hole like the nineteenth. The piece discusses the fears Rick had as the youngest child living with an alcoholic father, as well as how golf brought them together and the peace they made after the elder Reilly had quit drinking, and how its never too late to make things right. This Father's Day is the first I'll have to spend without my dad. Last Christmas, I talked about all the things I wished we could have chatted about since his death, June 25, 2007. However, this time, I want to just thank my dad. Thank you for not being like Rick Reilly's dad. Thank you for always being there. Thank you for tearing your rotator cuff throwing me fly balls in the backyard because there was nothing I hated more than hearing my friends tell me "you (stink)." Thank you for being a dad for kids who didn't have one, or had one, but might as well not have. Thank you for coaching each kid as if he was your own, unlike so many coaches who keep jobs simply because they're teachers, or wish to fulfill some bipolar, Bob Knight-like complex. Thank you for all the great advice you not only gave me, but everyone who came to you for counsel, and called you "Godfather." Thank you for hanging-on long after you could have given-up. Thank you for siding with teachers, principals, police officers and authority figures any time any of your kids did something wrong. (Unless mom got a ticket, of course. No officer ever gave her a ticket without hearing from "Butch.") Thank you for giving me your name. Thank you for spanking us. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for sweating out 33 years at Al Tech for us. Thank you for sharing your love of Jesus, your family, the Yankees, baseball, and the Bills with us. Thank you for never embarrassing us, even when you thought you did. Thank you for being you. Thank you for buying me my first glove, as well as my second, and my third. Thank you for teaching us a small lesson every time we saw something out of the ordinary. Shame on you for taking all the credit any time we accomplished something. Mom had a lot to do with it, too. Thank you for trying to pay for our entire college graduation party, even though my friends' parents protested. Thank you for telling me to marry someone like my mother. Thank you for reassuring me that we still haven't had our last conversation, nor will we ever have a last chit-chat. Thank you for allowing me to smoke cigars with uncle Tony, even though you said it looked "totally out of character." I've cut back to two per year. Thank you for being the family leader. Thank you for shaving your mustache once in a while. Thank you for all the stories, even though I learned last Christmas you inserted yourself as the main character in many of them, when it was really uncle Richard. Thank you for teaching me professional athletes are not gods, and that autographs really are useless most of the time. Thank you for telling every hot girl you met you had a son that would be perfect for her, and that it wasn't Joel or Ryan. Thank you for telling us to tell mom how pretty she looked before we went to church. Thank you for not choking us when we were born. Thank you for being you. Babe Ruth's daughter, Julia Ruth Stevens, once said she wished every kid could have the Babe as a father, but I respectfully disagree, albeit with a smile, because I know how she feels. And I hope someday I can make "Butch" as well-known as Tim Russert made Big Russ. And I pray I can be half the dad our dads were. I also learned a valuable lesson from this. Not every kid has a dad, or even a dad like I did. So most importantly, thank you for being the dad I wish every kid could have. And thank you to my friends, Scott, Jim, Rick, and Little Russ, for making it cool to pay tribute to my old man one more time.
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The Sounds of a Curse... won't let me embed the clip here. Just copy and paste into your browser. Somewhere, Bill Murray needs more drugs.  Allegedly.  -Christian Dan
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Y'know, I've received some flack about my opinions, beliefs, thoughts, blogs, etc. And believe me, I expected it before I ever walked into the studio now known as The Break Room. And I think it may have to do with the idea that I don't take myself seriously. And in this industry almost everybody takes themselves seriously. I used to produce a midday talk show in this town. I truly think the listeners of that station believe the hosts put-on capes and masks after each show and solve the world's problems. But its not just personalities. It's callers and listeners, too. I used to produce and host sports talk shows and I'd get the same 12 guys calling into each show. I won't name them, but if you've followed the local radio scene, you've probably heard at least one of their calls. If you need a hint, they're the only guys who call with nicknames. Then there's the guy (or "lady") who calls-in to anonymously yell at the producer and then hangs-up, says they're a "loyal longtime listener who's turning the dial," threatens to call the FCC, calls in NOT to go on the air, but to tell the producer to let the host know their opinion, or call for a host to be fired as if the station hotline rings to a red-lit phone under a clear plastic dome. So it doesn't surprise me when I say or write something and people think I'm a p---k, a d--k, a s------d, an a-----e, an elitist, ignorant, a douchebag, a typical Yankee fan, a Bible-thumper, or a loser. I've heard it all before. And I'm flattered you take me seriously, because I sure as heck don't. :-) Then again, maybe that's one of my biggest flaws. In fact, I know it is. I recently wrote a piece complimenting true Red Sox fans, who now can finally feel the way true Yankee fans once did. Instead, I got a bunch of flack for it. So I defended myself. Then got some flack for that, too. I never write anything for shock value. Effect, always. But never for sheer "ohmigods". But one thing I never want to happen is that I get teed-off (I have my Christian censors up) and just berate someone who may half listen, or misread something I say or write. Because, at the end of the day, we're not curing (the proverbial) cancer. Lumpy said something on the air today that made me even re-think what I said and wrote in regards to Red Sox fans: When I say "bandwagon" fans, I should probably be saying "fairweather." All fans are on a bandwagon of some sort. He's absolutely right. I'm just used to the idea of the term being associated with the word "jumper" next to it. So I just flippantly used it without thinking it through. For that (and that alone) I apologize. I hate fairweather fans. And if you're a diehard fan of anything--Ultimate Fighting or The Grateful Dead--you know exactly the poseurs I mean. Some of the best baseball discussions I've ever had were with Red Sox fans. Steve Hausmann and Curt Smith are just a couple. They know the game. When I hosted my own show, my best callers were Red Sox fans. I don't need to kiss their arses--it is what it is. Discussing baseball with only Yankee fans can become redundant, and you hardly ever learn anything new. My last piece was a tribute. It was just taken the wrong way. This isn't a retraction. It's just me stopping myself before I make enemies where I needn't. I understand some people are longtime listeners to station I just joined. I do appreciate that kind of loyalty, but don't ever think that'll influence anything I write here. But I'm not here to make enemies. I'm just here because they tell me I have to write this stuff. So I might as well tell you what I think I think (all respect, Peter King). But one thing I read a lot of on those anonymous message boards is that I need to ask John DiTullio for tips, or need to be more like Tools. Sorry. I'm not John DiTullio. And I say this because he and I are good friends. I'm not a "stathead." John can recall the '72 Rose Bowl with the vivid clarity of the Vizio in his mind. I can barely recall the '04 ALCS after Game Four because it nearly put me into therapy. That's why I do what I did in that last piece--look stuff up. I don't do sports like John. I won't do sports like John. Because it's not me. I could do a typical sports guy report, but that's not what you wanna hear. So as long as we understand each other, I think we'll get along fine. I do appreciate your thoughts and comments. Even the dirty ones. :-)
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Tommy's First Vlog

[kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]  Here is Tommy's first VLOG.
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Digglers Bridge This Weekend

Hey folks! Just wanted you to know if gas prices are causin' you to stay in town for the extended weekend, join me an my bandmates, Digglers Bridge, who'll be following Primetime Funk this Saturday night @ High Fidelity. We start at 11 and we'll go the rest of the night. High Fidelity is located at 170 East Ave. right next to Spot Coffee and across from Channel 10. Yes, there is a $5 cover. But just think about all that money you're saving on gas by staying in town to support local musicians and establishments by heading down to the East End Saturday night. More info: or Hope to see you there. db
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Congratulations Red Sox Fans. Ugh.

Jon Lester just threw a no-hitter--the 18th in Red Sox history--the year after he overcame non-Hodgkins lymphoma and still managed to throw the clinching game of the 2007 World Series.After 86 years of futility, you now have won two world titles in four years, while Yankee fans still don those stupid "Got Rings?" shirts, or 2090 hats.First, any Yankee fan who buys one of those shirts needs to just swallow the sour grapes and accept a lifetime banishment from Yankees Universe for actually wearing something that screams "loser."Second, (blank) you, Red Sox fans.Yes, I still hate you people. Even though my girlfriend is a Red Sox fan. All her little girlfriends are Red Sox fans. My bandmates ( Ken and Steve are revisionist Red Sox fans. Lumpy is supposedly a fan of the "Saux", though he claims his Red Sox Nation membership card is still in the hands of the US Postal Service.Sure, you may ask any of these people what number Kevin Youkilis wears and they'd have no idea. You could mention the Boston Massacre of '78, and they'll think you mean 1778. You can try to discuss Pesky's Pole and they'll think of either the Indy 500 or a DVD they forgot to return to (INSERT CMF ADULT VIDEO SPONSOR HERE).I don't truly hate individual fans, per se. But I hate you as a group.It's a good hate. A fun hate. It's not Nation-of-Islam-hates-whitey hate. It's a ball-breaking hate. And since we Yankee fans don't have any juevos left to grapestomp since 2004, it makes me love to hate you wanna-be chowda-heads even more.Like I said, it's a wink-wink hate. But a hate nonetheless. And a fear.A fear of walking into Fenway Park donning a Yankee jersey. A fear of naming my firstborn, Derek Jeter Borrello, knowing this could actually be detrimental to her life.Or most scary, a fear that the Olde Towne Team--once known for the Curse of the Bambino, Johnny Pesky incident in '46, racism toward both Jackie Robinson AND Willie Mays, Bill Buckner, the Big Red Machine, pissing-off Ted Williams, booing Jim Rice, losing three games in '67 to Bob Gibson, Bucky (F'n) Dent, Grady Little, Gordon Edes and his "curly-haired boyfriend" (Dan Shaughnessy), Harry Frazee, Tom Yawkey, Dan Duquette, Tony Conigliaro, Margo Adams, Sam "Mayday" Malone and trading Roger Clemens before he found started misremembering things--may be this century's version of the New York Yankees.My father warned me that old curse may have actually reached its former juxtaposition. And it now may have invaded the new Yankee Stadium thanks to some BoSox memorabilia some no-show construction mobster says he mixed into the concrete like Jimmy Hoffa's TEAMSTERS card.But what's almost as infuriating is the Beantown Bandwagon is growing faster than Ted Kennedy's tumah.If you're truly a formerly long-suffering, dyed-in-the-stirrups, card-carrying member of Red Sox Nation who can tell me which Met hit Bill Buckner's famous gaffe, what the score was beforehand, the order of pitchers who helped blow Game Six, and where you were when it all imploded, you know the "fans" I'm talking about.And in all honesty, admit it, you hate these Red Sox fans, too, just like I hate these chick Yankee fans who say their favorite Yankee is Alex Rodriguez. Thank God the YES Network canceled Ultimate Roadtrip, even if one of its "fans" was from Rochester.You (true red-n-blue Saux fan) and I probably know more about the Red Sox--a team I hate--that those who have grew grizzly beards and joined that artificial, ESPN-created Red Sox Nation, born in Bristol, Conn. long before Curt Schilling's sacred Sock of Turin.Yet, who'da thunk at the turn of the century that a pinstriper like myself--who has documentation of being a Yankee fan since age 3--would actually become jealous of a bunch of "idiots?"Yes. It's true.Your team and your legions of fair-weather fans have given me even more reasons to hate you besides just being yourselves.I could crack wise about Ted Williams freeze-dried head, but you're still the world champs.I could make a joke about the KKK sponsoring a Tom Yawkey white-hood night at Fenway--you're still the world champs.I could say it all doesn't bother me, but you're still the world champs.And that would make me a liar.Even if most of you are lying about how long you've loved the Red Sox.But you're still the world champs.
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It Could've Been Worse

I really have nothing to add today after having Tommy rip my soul to pixie-dust this morning. So 'll just leave y'all with this: [kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /] db
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Comfort Food for Thought

I've found a new love in my life. No, it won't replace my girlfriend. Sorry, Sally. No, it won't take the place of my beloved, yet bottom-feeding Yankees, my band (Digglers Bridge), or of Jesus. But it can compliment each of those--well, most of them anyway--and since I don't drink, it could actually make all those awful Yankee games a little bit easier to digest. Literally. After years of settling for the Godfather sub, or the Danny's favorite at DiBella's or Wegmans respectively, I have discovered a brand new sub, that will soon become the official sub of Christian Dan: The No. 1 at DiPisa's. I don't even know what they call it, but it is in the same vein as those capicola (pronounced gabba-GOOL), salami and pepperoni heroes smothered in mozzerella cheese (pronounced mutz-uh-RELL--we I-talians chop off those last vowels) lettuce, tomato and mayo. It's prosciutto ham (arguably one of the worst hams you can eat) with huge chunks of mozzerella cheese, drenched in (what else?) Hellmans, balanced-out of course by shreds of the cheapest iceberg lettuce and tomato slices you can find. Sure, it's not healthy. Neither are garbage plates. I don't smoke, rarely drink, and have never done drugs, and I'm currently not fornicating, so if I continue to indulge myself at least once a week, I don't think this will kill me. And if it does, everyone has to go at some point. * Could The Buffalo News chill-out on its columns regarding the Bills possibly leaving western New York? These stories alone have helped Warren Buffet pass Bill Gates for the title of World's Richest Man. Fans have talked about the Bills leaving town since 1989. Until we see Mayflower trucks arrive at One Bills Drive, or reports of passport workshops, let's just enjoy the fact that season tickets are now cheaper to buy, and the Toronto games will give the Bills' a needed economic boost. The last time the Bills needed a little spark, you all know where it came from. Toronto, Canada. No, Doug Flutie didn't save the franchise. But he did provide the Bills with their last two playoff appearances. And that's indisputable. * There's only one thing worse than attending a game at Yankee Stadium where you drive six hours to the Bronx only to watch your pinstripers lose to the hated, cross-town Mets: Driving six hours to the Bronx to watch your pinstripers lose to the Boston Red Sox. I've done both. * Does anyone still care about the Indy 500? How about Indy Racing League in general? * The Senior PGA Championship is at Oak Hill this week, so for one week everyone will say they care about the Senior Tour--a bunch of legends taking to the links to remind golfers all over western New York that no matter how old they get, they're still better than you. That's the beauty of golf and it has to be appreciated. Rochester has an opportunity this week to get up-close to the legends of yesteryear and watch them do what they still do best, even if their best is well behind them. Sure, you can catch an old timers' baseball game somewhere. And if you're lucky, Reggie Jackson may hit one over. There's a better chance he'll sign a Reggie Bar for you. You can't see Ali-Frazier IV, or get the 1972 Dolphins to play the 1985 Bears in a meaningful game. But you can watch Tom Watson, and Tom Kite, and Fuzzy Zoeller, and Jeff Sluman, and Hale Irwin, and Greg Norman, and others tee-it-up one last time, and still have it count. Baseball has its legends. On a good day, they'll sign a ball or take a picture with you. Golf has its legends, too. And this weekend, they may sign a ball or take a picture with you. Then they'll go do what made them want you to have your ball signed by them, or have your picture taken with them. I'm not golfer, but in what other sport can you get that? Only one that I know. Unless you consider Ric Flair.
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Manny Being Manny

I hate the Boston Red Sox. I'm a New York Yankees fan. Of course I do. But I am a fair baseball fan and will give credit where credit is due. Red Sox left-fielder, Manny Ramirez, had gotten a lot of criticism for being lazy, a daydreamer, and just, well, "being Manny" as most people have diagnosed it. But I had to laugh yesterday when I saw this highlight on SportsCenter. [kml_flashembed movie="" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /] If I did that right, there should be a video of Man-Ram robbing ex-BoSox teammate Kevin Millar of a double, climbs the left field wall ala Bo Jackson, high-fives an Orioles fan, then doubles-off Aubrey Huff off first base. And to think the Red Sox have either waived or tried to trade this former World Series MVP on four different occasions. Because wonderboy general manager, Theo Epstein is such a frickin' genius, huh? Yeah, I know, he has two World Series rings. Thanks to his bosses.
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I'm Christian Dan, and you are...?

Hello, I'm Christian Dan Borrello, (two R's, two L's, two O's), the sports guy for The Break Room morning show here on CMF, and the token Christian in the room. (Trust me.) Since I'm the new guy, for all intents and purposes, let me give you a little background about me. * I've lived in Rochester since September of 1998 when I entered St. John Fisher College as a freshman. I graduated (on time) in May, 2002. * I've worked in radio for six years now, as well as 13WHAM-TV and write a sports column for the Dunkirk (Chautauqua County) Observer--the paper that serves my hometown of Silver Creek. You can read my already-published columns here: * I'm in a band called "Digglers Bridge" where I sing and play guitar. (, *  My radio history includes producing shows on that right-wing 50,000-watt AM station, hosting and producing shows on that lesser-known sports talk station you can't even get in Webster, working on an FM signal that flips formats like the Chili Peppers switch guitarists, and a formerly live-and-local-now-defunct traffic service. So far, so good, right? And yes, after all that, I still believe in God. I'm sure in reading this space, you'll learn more about me. I don't want to reveal everything right how more than you already know. I also plan on writing my takes on sports, life, misconceptions about Born-Again Christians, and most importantly, The Break Room. Any way, apparently we're writing blogs now. By "we", I mean broadcasters, radio people, morning show personalities and not columnists, beat reporters, or journalists. However, as a columnist (I still don't really believe it myself) writing a blog comes as easy as rattling off baseball scores. So I figured I'd use this first one to introduce myself and set the standard for how this space shall be used: YOU CAN EXPECT ME TO: ...tell you the truth--ahem--or at least my version thereof. ...tell you what I think I think (all apologies to SI's Peter King). DO NOT EXPECT ME TO: perfect, in behavior, or in any thing said or written. golf, NASCAR, any type of racin', rasslin',  or UFC events. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I barely care about the NBA and NHL and that's almost because I have to. ...know anything about golf, NASCAR, any type of racin', rasslin',  or UFC events. ...tell you where Tommy lives. ...act self-righteous. ...give Sally daily massages. ...get into religious debates every day. ...match. I'm colorblind. ...rant. I look forward to interacting with you and getting to know each other. I'll also try to tell you something new about me on a blog-per-blog basis. So let's start with today: Back in 2002, after I graduated from Fisher, I received an internship from the Buffalo Bills Media Relations Department. While I never would recommend that job to any college student who wants to be an objective media member in their lifetime, one of my jobs was getting guests from the Bills to appear on CMF's morning show. (While I worked part-time at 1180 WGOP. ) I got to watch several shows, drink lots of Dunkin Donuts coffee, and knew that that was the kind of show I've always wanted to be a part of--sitting on the couch and doing real morning radio. Thank God I'm finally here. Even though I'm sure He blushes every time He listens. - db
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