Den Cotton

I’m feeling a little more A.D.D. than usual today. And being the super-spaz child that I am inside, I’m looking for answers to a thousand (and one) questions. Discuss amongst yourselves… please help me answer my most pressing doubts, concerns, and fears. Take your time… this is one of those new age classrooms where we give you all the time you need to finish your work…

1) Who will lead the NBA in ATA (ass taste average) next season? 1A) Could Barack Obama go old school on Jesse Jackson with a “Tell me how my nuts taste” freestyle rap?

2) How awful will Michigan be with Rich Rodriguez this season? 2a) How good will West Virginia be without RR? 3A) Will WVU take the buyout settlement cash and celebrate all the victories RR gave them?

3) Will Aaron Rodgers officially retire this season in Brett Favre’s shadow? 3A) When Favre sent a text message to Ted Thompson, did the Packers GM reply with WTF, OMFG, STFU, or TTYL?

4) Will Detroit declare Kid Rock its own Johnny Cash after his All Summer Long smash hit?

5) If the Yankees manage to earn a playoff spot, will the New York Post call it the Sticky & Sweet Tour? 5A) Will Jeter stop playing hard to get now?

6) When we’re all homeless during the NBA finals next year, will illegal immigrants teach us to grow and pick our own vegetables — or will they hold a grudge?

7) Why should we care about MLS soccer when its teams continue to lose in the Open Cup against squads from less notable leagues? 7A) Will U.S. soccer fans quit whining about their second rate fields and stadiums until their teams are actually legitimate? 7B) How is it possible for the LA Galaxy defense to suck so badly?

8.5) When the Cubs lose in the playoffs, who will dress up as the scapegoat mascot?

9) Will people stop pretending that tennis is exciting to watch on TV? 9A) If there were a grunt-off in women’s tennis, who would win Wimbledon? 9B) Is the art of grunting more valuable on clay or grass?

10) If the price of gas keeps climbing, will we have the pleasure of seeing less Nascar? 10A) Is it o.k. to discriminate against racing or is that reverse racism?

11) If two lesbians are making out at the ballpark, do you alert security or just pretend you’re in the porno Where’s the Italian Sausage?

12) If the aging veteran McCain knocks off diaper dandy Barack Obama this fall in the presidential finals, will he get a shoe deal from the Capitol Senior Living Center?

13) If no one is there to see it, does the NHL really make a noise when it falls in the woods?

14) If horse racing were banned, would anyone actually consider living in Kentucky?

15) Will Congress investigate performance enhancing vocals on pop radio?

“You’re looking down again
and then you look me over
we’re laying down again
on a blanket in the clover
the same boy you’ve always known
well I guess I haven’t grown”– jack white III

OK, Lima Bean posse, this is where I openly rant about anything and everything affecting our general mental health diet. We’ll call it Organic Sports Therapy…

Grocery bagger guy: I don’t need a bag for a banana dude! And I won’t feed your bagging addiction. Stop being such bagwhores. Baggers everywhere, grocery and retail: Please stop bagging my one item!!! This includes hand fruit, toothpaste, and condoms… maybe I want to put it on my banana in the store. And no, I don’t want my milk in the f#!&ing bag!!! I am protesting your invasive baggery by purchasing two cloth bags. I’m taking my manpurses to all your little shops, buying a tiny item from each of you, and then asking you to put it in my gigantic sack.

Cubs fan: Even though you guys are probably doomed to choke this year, quit whining every time the Cubs drop a ball game. You’ll have plenty of time to whine in October. So for now, leave that up to Cardinal fan who is boo-hooing about injuries, and all the Cards that are with the Cubbies now. If nothing else, just let Sweet Lou shoulder your frustration by going on some kind of crazy press conference tirade; he’d be good at that. It apparently works for Ozzie next door — so just go with it and you’ll put together another nice little streak, making your manager look like some kind of mad genius with coprolalia disorder, who shags blowup dolls.

Boston: Please no more damn contrived drama from any of your teams. You want attention… we get the picture… bloody socks, walking boots, knee knocks… I could go on. If somehow the Bruins make it to the Stanley Cup Finals next year, we don’t want to hear about a miraculous two-day turnaround from any player who had an artery severed by a skate. Enough is enough!

Jesus fish guy: No more damn Jesus bumper stickers on your car dude! Look, Jesus shouldn’t be pimped out on your ride or your license plate. Jesus is suing someone’s ass for trademark infringement and unlicensed use of the chosen one’s name—if they miraculously get to heaven.

Nascar: Stop praying before every race (also see above). When your fans are throwing up in the bathroom on their Dale Jr. t-shirts during lap 156, God is not listening.

Cedric Benson: Please do not enroll in flight school.

Grocery store produce guy: We’re out of fresh lima beans.

“The catcher hits for .318 and catches every day
The pitcher puts religion first and rests on holidays
He goes into cathedrals and lies prostrate on the floor
He knows the drink affects his speed, he’s praying for
a doorway
Back into the life he wants and the confession of the bench
Life outside the diamond is a wrench”

–Belle and Sebastian (Piazza, New York Catcher)

I’m not saying you’re not a vegetarian Prince Fielder, but I just don’t know a lot of 5′11″, 260 pound non-carnivores. I’ve been eating mostly vegetarian fare for the last couple of years, and I think you’re trying to pull the lima beans over my eyes.

I saw you play against the Cubs earlier this season, and I think you might have eaten a couple of vegetarians in between innings; that’s not vegetarianism, no matter how many bleeding-heart animal lovers you have swallowed up in Milwaukee. I’ve been there, and I’m willing to bet you could order wiener schnitzel soy milk.

How do I really know if your home run production plummeted because you went veggie — or if you stopped taking human growth hormone?

Sweet Jesus, you didn’t see Andy Pettitte go veggie in the effort to cover his tracks. He took the easy way out and just asked help from the Lord.

I know you apparently read this veggie book you got from your wife. But just because I read a book about body building, I don’t go around telling every poor schmuck I meet that I’m Arnold Schwarzenegger. “Yeah, Den, what have you been lifting? Your feet off the ground? Good one half-pint.” They just wouldn’t believe me, ya know?

I’m sure you spend a lot of time in the dugout eating sunflower seeds, but you just can’t put them in a bowl of ice cream. Sure, I guess that’s technically not eating meat. I just think you probably need to eat a couple of green beans to qualify for veggie status.

I wouldn’t doubt if Brian McNamee is injecting you guys with tree leaves. It’s not detectable by Major League Baseball yet, although giraffes can smell you a mile away. Maybe that is why Congress was asking Roger Clemens if he was a vegan earlier this year? Because you guys are so paper-thin now, and God knows Clemens looks like he’s been eating 20 years worth of black bean hummus. Good work Congress; that’s what we pay you for; your investigative reporting is on steroids. Last time I checked, Roger Clemens weighed in at 235, apparently overindulging in a strict diet of tofurkey and greek tempeh pitas?

Anything is possible I guess, since I read an internet article recently, suggesting soy is making kids gay and fat. Congress can go ahead and keep thinking Clemens is a vegan, but I think we all know he is not gay. Next season, I can’t wait for Prince to announce he wants to have sex with vegan men. His wife will definitely take that book away and cook up a fat steak.

I just don’t know what to believe any more. Next thing I know, every player on the Chicago White Sox, including manager Ozzie Guillen, is claiming they don’t like to have sex with Synthetic Cindy in the clubhouse.

Maybe we’ll see a trimmer Prince next season, who knows? But I think we need to cut you open and see if there are any license plates or old tires in there; and so I can get my left arm back.

Soy bomb.

First of all, let me start by saying that I am not LMAO right now. In fact, I want to kick you in your chuckling ass every time I get a reply via e-mail with Internet slang, jargon, shorthand, Tech-talk, Netspeak, Nu English, computer language or any other cutesy phrase that has been promulgated to describe this form of communication; or laziness as we called it back in my day when the teacher slapped you upside the head and told you to act right, damn it!

While we are on the subject of annoying technology, let me also tell you that instant replay in sports is a pain in my (!). You and your sports cronies think it makes the game so much better because referees will get the calls right — even though they still, sometimes, get it wrong. And it only delays my hip and groin therapy; and that makes me get a little crotchety.

Sorry, life is hard pal. The ref just FUBAR’ed your little fan party. Your team lost. Sometimes, you lose in life too — and there ain’t no rewind. Better learn it. Yeah, you don’t like it so much when the boss is using instant replay. “Hey, let’s watch Steve screw up the Happy Meal order for the forty-seventh time.”

Yeah, technology is wonderful. $6.00-a-gallon gasoline coming to a pump near you, fish genes in my tomato, pesticides on my peaches, global warming in the forecast, we’re paying for water, and Roger Clemens didn’t use performance-enhancing drugs in a house with a mouse (rat); or with his spouse.

Coca-Cola will be selling you fresh oxygen in a bag before you know it — just like the stuff we breathe every day. I think it’s called air — which is pretty contaminated, by the way.

I also think sports news — considered to be newsworthy — is completely and utterly ridiculous. ESPN is silly, but I still watch it. I’ve loved sports my whole life — even a sportscaster for a brief time — but if the Cards or Cubs lose tomorrow, I ain’t losin’ sleep. Honestly, I think I only watched the Cubs when I was a kid because of Harry Caray — to be entertained. And secretly, that’s who I want to be when I grow up; or grow old as I presume will happen. I just want to run around saying outlandish things and getting laughs whether I meant to be funny or not. But I guess I’m too peevish and cantankerous for that now. Maybe I can settle for being a crazy uncle.

I’m like the Grumpy Old Man skit from Saturday Night Live — vintage Dana Carvey — except I’m grumpier. The older I get, the more cranky I am. When I’m 70, I fully expect to be a complete alcoholic and/or drug addict since I won’t be able to understand anyone around me. The attendants at the nursing home won’t even speak to me anymore. We have chips in our brains, and we just relay messages to each other in the effort of saving precious time. Except, the Alzheimer’s keeps fouling up the transmitter — so the nurse keeps shaking me in hopes that everything will clear up.

So, now you know … technology is ruining us. We can go faster, foul things up faster than ever before — and for many of us, that means living in a more complicated world; a world where I can blog about nonsense from the comfort of my own home with a little box, which has lots of pretty colors and words scrolling across the screen.

I just wonder if we’re going to be walking around with no emotions and casually evoking the occasional LOL when somebody says something even remotely humorous. Every now and then, it would be nice if someone would send a little e-mail with something like… “Dude, you are one funny, grouchy bastard, and I’m laughing my ass off so hard right now that I won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

“We must talk in every telephone
Get eaten off the web
We must rip out all the epilogues in the books that we have read
And in the face of every criminal
Strapped firmly to a chair
We must stare, we must stare, we must stare”

–bright eyes

Politics can be a lot like sports, but not nearly enough — as far as I’m concerned — when it comes to hiring and firing of the people who manage the land; your land; my land.

When someone isn’t getting the job done in baseball — batting average dropping below .200 — they usually get benched or traded. If you’re a star, it’s a different story — because then, you have already proven yourself, people trust you, and you have respect. Slumps happen, and you’ll probably bounce back. Otherwise, we’ll see you in the minors — or perhaps your career is just over.

When it comes to politics — the commander in chief specifically, the general manager — we have to endure the strikeouts in the clutch for four consecutive years unless someone is, of course, “not a crook.” And sometimes you might get fired for just being involved in a scandal of Lewinskian proportions. Which makes me wonder if Bill Clinton was using performance-enhancing drugs.

So what if we could trade George W. Bush to another nation?

See, the problem is we could only release him, because chances are, we couldn’t get any draft picks, cash, or governors to be named later. Most civilized countries just wouldn’t come to the table on it. Well, we could probably get that loose cannon from North Korea I guess. But we’re not in the business of even trades at the moment.

Perhaps we could demote Bush instead?

“Look Dubya, they need a mayor back down in Salome, West Texas.” (Everyone keep it quiet that Salome is a fictional town from the movie Tin Cup. )

No wait, I change my mind. We should be able to fire him in the middle of the season — just like big league managers. “Sorry, G.W., but our country is 27 games out of first place … we need to bring in someone fresh to tinker with the lineup.”

Bush’s run in the White House is worse than the Cubs; he’s not even lovable.

We all need to find our inner Steinbrenner — just clean house every once in a while — and be totally hostile in putting together a better team, no matter what it takes. Sure, the Steinbrenners are meddlesome — perhaps a little misguided — but at least passionate about the team.

New Yorkers are the perfect protesters. They don’t put up with a debacle whether it’s a point guard, head coach, manager or president. You think Isiah Thomas could possibly come back for one more term after the years he had? Joe Torre got canned for making the playoffs 12 straight seasons.

That’s the problem with us as Americans. We’re not vocal enough when it comes to politics; we’re the owners, remember? So let’s go out and hire Theo Epstein away from the Red Sox and maybe we can end the curse of the “Dumbino.” Until then, I guess we’ll just sit around having profanity-laced tirades that only Ozzie Guillen and Lee Elia could muster during a bad streak.

While there are a few devoted American patriots, there aren’t nearly enough carrying the “Fire Bush” signs at home games in Washington. I guess most of us can’t afford the gas to get up there — or perhaps are out of the country dodging car bombs.

I’m Den Cotton and I approve this message.

“Dissent is the highest form of patriotism”

– Howard Zinn

Greatest Hits Volume I

It’s a Do or Die Situation (and I’m Drunk)

I Love This Game (but not as much as this bar)

I’m in a Zone (so gimme’ another shot)

Favre’s a Hard Working Man

Can’t Buy a Bucket (to piss in)

Sox is a Four Letter Word

I Bet You’re a Cubs Fan (and a Dixie Chicks Fan Too)

Bar Clearing Brawl

I Only Get Drunk When the Dolphins Lose

There is no Tomorrow (and it’s last call)

Thank God for the Win (let’s drink)

That’s Toby with a Capital T Baby! (featuring Dick Vitale)

He Threw up A Prayer (and six shots of whiskey)

I Got Skillz (and a six pack)

You Can’t Stop Me… (you can only hope to cut me off at midnight)

I Wanna Talk About My Stats

Liquored Up and Trash Talkin’

Ocho Cinco, You Ain’t Much Fun (anymore)

Pivotal Shot of Whiskey

Slam Dunk Night (featuring Willie Nelson and Josh Howard)

Should’ve Been a Cowboys Fan

The Payoff Pitch (is a Bitch)

Courtesy of the Crimson and White

Greatest Hits Volume II

Nail Biters and Whiskey

David Wells Blues

A Tie is Like Kissing Your Sister (when you’re drunk)

It’s Showtime (so the let The Big Dog eat)

A Win is a Win (and a beer is a beer)

I’ve Got Bragging Rights

A Yeoman’s Effort Ain’t What it Used to Be

Force on The Inside (of that bar)

He’s Unconscious (and I ain’t taking him home)

I Rewrite the Record Books (that make the whole world sing)

Unsung Hero

He’s Listed at 300 (but that’s before last call)

It Ain’t Over ‘Til T.K. Sings

Shot the Lights Out (with my 12 gauge)

This Could Get Ugly

Student of The Drinking Game

I Feel Fortunate (to get out of there without a hangover)

Wakeup Calls and Last Calls

It’s been over a couple decades since the Wrigley family sold the Cubbies to the Tribune Company — and there haven’t been any Life Savers for Chicagoans or anything as sweet as a World Series title during that time; or for the last, say 100 years. So now that Mars Inc. is buying Wrigley Jr. Co., I’m wondering …

What if Mars were to turn around and buy the Cubs? Sure, you might hear a few Snickers at the thought — but over the years, there have been a few long fly balls off Cubs relievers deposited somewhere near the Milky Way; some even landed on Mars from time to time — if they didn’t find a home on Waveland Ave.

Think that Mars wouldn’t ever buy the team? Just a sweet dream? Mars had a little help from Berkshire Hathaway — Warren Buffett’s baby — in buying Wrigley, which again makes sugar plums and Skittles dance in my head …

Who has more cash and clout than Buffett’s empire to spend a few hundred million dollars for a storied baseball team and — crispy, chocolaty goodness?

But on the other hand, you have to take into account that Berkshire Hathaway — we’ll call B.S. for the purposes of my candy-coated propaganda — deals in property and casualty insurance. Not a good investment I guess in purchasing a team that might be a natural disaster in the playoffs — should they make it.

I guess the thesis of my speculation here is that Cubs fans deserve something sweet. I used to come home after school with a Twix in hand and watch Harry Caray — errr, I mean the Cubs — from the time I was in 3rd grade until I discovered girls, which I guess was later that summer. Sure, I like caramel and chocolate, but how ’bout a few extra victories in October?

Mars sells cat and dog chow, why not Cubs food? And the Cubs lineup has a pretty good Pedigree for a playoff run, at least on paper or candy wrappers.

Mars brand doesn’t stop with just candy bars and pet food. Dig into some Uncle Ben’s rice at the concession stand. I guess Aramis Ramirez commercials for chicken (and rice) would probably be a bad P.R. marriage.

Jason Marquis and Carlos Marmol could pitch M & M’s. Ok, that’s reaching a bit — I’ll admit — but Marmol does have a pretty delectable 1.65 ERA. That is worth at least a Kudos or two.

Not sold on the idea yet? 3 Musketeers: Soriano, Ramirez, and Lee. Come on, that’s an M-Azing lineup when Alfonso gets off the D.L.

Mars also branches out into rough-around-the-edges types of brands like Promite (similar to Vegemite) — a food paste, with a salty personality like Lou Piniella, who some folks seem to think is on the sweet side, depending on their taste buds. Do you speaka my language? No, you just smile and give me a Piniella sandwich.

And what about Zambrano? His name needs a candy bar, a snack food, something with a little pizazz. Starburst to Z-burst? Perhaps Z-brats.

Didn’t you see my Halloween costume? I’m a desperate fallen-away Cubs fan, so gimme’ some candy!

Honestly, the best thing that Mars could bring to the table is all of its most notable mini-candies in a nifty little tin — better known as Celebrations — which is something Cubs fans could sure use in ‘08.

“Sugar never tasted so good
Sugar never tasted so good
Sugar never tasted good to me
Yeah

Until her eyes crossed over
Until her mind crossed over
Until her soul fell next to me”
- white stripes