'Dis, 'Dat an' d'Other

I BEG YOUR PARDON...
...and go fuck your Rose Garden, Mr. Bush!  Let's review here:  Scooter Libby was convicted by a jury of betraying his country, big-time (treason charges, anyone?), yet with the stroke of a pen, Dubya lets him off the hook.  All I gotta say is "Buck Fush!"  Need I say more?

JIMMY WALKER, 1944-2007
Sad news in the sports world with the death of former NBA player Jimmy Walker (no, NOT the arsehole from "Good Times"), who lost his battle with lung cancer last night.  J. Walker was one of my favorite players in the early years of the Kansas City and/or Omaha Kings back in the '70s, and prior to his arrival here, he was the #1 overall draft pick in 1967 out of Providence, and an All-Star in 1970 and 1972 with Detroit.  I wasn't even aware until today that he is also the father of current NBA star Jalen Rose.  R.I.P., JW...

HOMER "BOOTS" RANDOLPH, 1927-2007
Who, you say?  Well, if you're a fan of "The Benny Hill Show", you know of this man's work.  He was a saxophone player who scored with a major hit in 1963 called "Yakety Sax", which became even more famous as the theme music for the "lad himself"'s show in the '70s and '80s.  He was also a session musician and played on Elvis Presley's "Return To Sender", among others.  Mr. Randolph died of subdural hematoma today.  R.I.P., Boots...

BARELY BONDS
Lots of hubbub this week about Barry Bonds making the National League All-Star team as a starter, following a mysterious last-minute surge in the voting that would put the Diebold people who manipulated the 2000 Presidential election to shame.  That don't confront me (as long as I get my money next Friday), seeing's how Bonds is actually having a decent season, and there's no one else on the San Francisco roster worth putting on the All-Star team, anyway (as per the Major League mandate of each team being represented by at least one player).

Bonds also hit career HR #751 tonight, putting him just four shy of tying Hank Aaron (thus putting ESPN in a tizzy once again), but I couldn't care less, really.  I was nine years old when Hammerin' Hank was chasing Babe Ruth for #715, and I remember how exciting it was to watch him break the record live on TV on April 8, 1974, but when (or if) Bonds gets #756, I'm not sure how I will react.  Maybe I'll yawn, fart or scratch my balls—honestly, I haven't decided, yet—but I'm pretty nonplussed about it at this point.  And it's not a racial thing—Hank Aaron is black, and I want him to KEEP the record that I rooted for him to attain 33 years ago.  It's not even about the steroids thing, really—who are we kidding? Bonds isn't the only one who's used this shit.  No, I think my indifference might have something to do with Barry Bonds being a total fucking prick!  He's such an arrogant douche that it's damn near impossible for me to root for him to do anything but fall on his ass...

The good news is that the Giants are in last place and bound to stay that way, thus meaning there should be a ticket or two available during the final week of the regular season at AT&T Park (or whatever it's called this week) when yours truly invades the Bay Area for the first time in the history of the world...

HAPPY TRAILS TO THE "HUMAN RAIN DELAY"...
Most intriguing maneuver by Seattle Mariners manager Mike Hargrove, who resigned on Sunday during an 8-game winning streak.  Now, that's what I call quitting while you're ahead! Just as well—the M's got hammered by two touchdowns at the hands of the lowly Royals tonight, 17-3...

CLASSIC MISHEARD LYRIC #38
"(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone"—PAUL REVERE & THE RAIDERS (1966) "You've been awful careful 'bout the friends you choose/But you won't find my name in your book of Who's Who, I said..."  To my three-year-old ears, it sounded like "You won't find my name in your boogaloo's who's this?"  Yes, I know The Monkees had the big hit with this song (written by Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart), but PR&TR recorded it first, and their version is far superior—it's punchier, Mark Lindsay's vocals are grittier than Mickey Dolenz' wimpy rendition, and the Raiders were a real band to begin with—end of discussion!!

MY NAME IS SUE...HOW DO YOU DO?!?
After checking out my newly-acquired Johnny Cash CD box set, I was a taken aback a tad by the true meaning of a song called "The One On The Right Was On The Left".  My brother Earnie used to have an 8-track tape with that song on it when I was a kid, and back then I thought the song was some sort of musical chairs thing—little did my eight-year-old mind realize that this song was actually a precursor to the current conservative vs. liberal conflict!  Talk about your childhood delusions.  Still and all, the Man In Black rules...

WHAT I COULD BE DOING RIGHT NOW...
If I'd been properly motivated, I could have driven 30 miles tonight (one-way) out to what used to be called Sandstone Amphitheater to watch three (count 'em), three has-been bands in concert—Def Leppard and (what's left of) Styx and Foreigner.  Somehow, I couldn't get properly motivated...

My friend Tom and I caught all three bands in happier times when it was real.  We saw Def Lep on their first U.S. tour in 1980 at Kemper Arena, opening for Fred Nugent and Scorpions.  Great show, as I recall, but over the years I've come to realize the limitations of Joe Elliot's voice—he sounds like some 15-year-old kid trying to sound cool in an amateur garage band at times.  We also loved Foreigner in the rain at Arrowhead in 1982, but I'm so sorry—Mick Jones alone today is not a big draw—at least give me Lou Gramm on the vocals instead of some nobody posing as Brother Lou.  Meantime, Styx drops by here every five months or so anyway (along with REO Speedwagon every other time, it seems), and minus Dennis DeYoung, there's something missing, so I'll just reflect back on the night of March 16, 1981 when (thanks to a nasty stomach virus) I was as sick as a child pornographer at Kemper Arena when Styx hit town on the Paradise Theater tour, and they still managed to blow me (and Tom) away, anyhow.  Even that silly Kilroy thing in '83 was mildly amusing from the top row of Kemper (whilst watching some doofus to our left puking his guts out all over his newly-bought Styx t-shirt), but I can really do without this current nostalgia act crappola...

I'd rather fondly remember the above concerts instead of driving 60 miles round trip for some half-assed re-hash, thank you...