Friday, March 31, 2006

Some quick thoughts... (and by "quick," The Ford, of course, means an excuse to write 900 words once again, after a plan to drink 1-2 beers with his buffalo tenders turned into six beers in two hours, comped by a friendly hot bartender....)
On Anna Benson: SHE'S SINGLE! On one hand, has a quasi-single ex-stripper ever gotten this much attention? On the sports pages? Without a show on VH1? The Ford thinks not. On the other hand, The Ford, sad to say, would ... um ... "date" her in a heartbeat. Even though he refused to buy the FHM with her on the cover.
2006 truly is becoming the year of the stripper. Numerous Top 40 hits singing the praises of the low-class showgirl, The Pussycat Dolls, the exercise program based on pole dancing, all of these things suggest an ever-increasing acceptance by the mainstream.
Which just goes to show how far ahead of the mainstream The Ford was. He's been pro-stripper ever since he was knee-high to a main stage.
As for Ms. Benson? The Ford's favorite headline, following a quick Yahoo search? That would be "A. Benson Files for Divorce After 7 Years" from the Washington Post.
Really getting to the heart of the matter there, Posties. And yet, as much as I kid, I cared more about this way more than how Kris Benson felt on whether she led to him getting traded from New York to Baltimore.
Yet another reason to visit Baltimore.

On Barry Bonds: The Ford's not necessarily in favor of the roids, but he does note that, despite their illegality in the U.S., baseball didn't ban them. And considering Gaylord Perry made the Hall of Fame mainly on the strength of his OUTLAWED pitches, maybe we should relax a bit before starting a witch hunt.
And, y'know, if I'm Barry Bonds, and I've seen sluggers of all different abilities and races get accused of steroids and blatantly lie about it (Mssrs. McGwire, Palmeiro, Sosa, etc....) and then one book gets published about me, and all of a sudden MLB appoints a special commission, featuring Sen. George Mitchell, to get to the heart of the steroid matter, well, perhaps I'm a bit justified in feeling a bit persecuted. It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get The Bonds.

On The Ford: Is it wrong that The Ford feels a bit excited about this sculpture? Right? Right? Granted, The Ford is probably overlooking layers upon layers of symbolism, but still... Britney Spears? Quasi-naked? The Ford and his id are confused. And maybe a bit ashamed. Showing that, once again, the only good dirty thought is a dirty thought about Anna Benson.

On TV: Speaking of The Ford's Crushes of Shame, did he mention that Tori Spelling's got a show coming out? On VH1? That's sorta like Curb Your Enthusiasm, but with a 30-something, heavily surgeried Tori Spelling instead of a 50-something, heavily misanthropic Larry David? No, he didn't? (The Ford got a deal on question marks over the weekend... and ellipses...) Well, then, maybe you should consider this a mention? Yes?

Y'know, someday, The Ford will come out with a whole list of celebrities and other women he finds hot. But, for now, that list looks kinda long. (When Anna Benson and Tori Spelling are on the list, it's gotta go on for a while, eh?) Who has the time? Aside from The Ford, who certainly is not actually banging any of said women...

While we're at it, here's an argument AGAINST plastic surgery. (See, ladies, The Ford occasionally thinks with both parts of the body that monopolize his blood flow....)

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Well, after the first day back at work, The Ford is finally feeling recovered from his vacation.

A ton of fun was had in the Springs, but, man, the traveling to and from S-U-C-K-E-D.

Colorado Springs: Flight out of C-Springs left town at 6:30 a.m., but The Ford didn't arrive in Detroit until 6 p.m.

First up, a 2-hour flight to Minneapolis. Uneventful, except for the crapload of Springs middle-schoolers flying to New York via Minny on my same flight. The girl sitting next to me was watching Donnie Darko on her laptop. Cool, but a bit scary at 7 a.m.

Minneapolis: The Ford has decided that it's not waiting in airports that he hates; it's sitting around and waiting in airports. So he took off and made several circuits of the Minny airport, which, thankfully, is semi-circular. (There's only so many times The Ford can walk up and down the straight-line terminals in Detroit without losing it.)

Among the folks he saw while walking about...

1.) Hot women.
Seriously, Minneapolis might be one of the most underrated cities for women. Or maybe it's just the airport. But man, the talent at 10 a.m. on a Monday, well, it beats the hell out of the businessmen I was sharing a departure gate with in the Springs.

2.) John Thompson.
Well, at least The Ford THINKS it was John Thompson. Big giant black dude, looking a bit run down in a sweatshirt and hat, with a small backpack on his back, moving slowly on the moving walkway. Not standing. Just not hustling. It makes sense, too, before you start thinking The Ford is one of those people who thinks he sees John Thompson whereever he goes. Over the weekend, Georgetown, coached by John Thompson III, was playing in the NCAA basketball regional in Minneapolis. Of course, you'd think Mr. Thompson would fly on their charter, were he accompanying his son/former team, and not just be wandering aimlessly through the airport, but, well, The Ford isn't one to question John Thompson.
Which is actually why The Ford isn't sure if it truly WAS John Thompson. Unable to think of anything to say to John Thompson other than, "Hey, I just watched a documentary on how 'Nova beat your Hoyas in '85. That was cool," which would probably get The Ford beat up by a very old man.
Instead, The Ford coolly got off the moving walkway ahead of Mr. Thompson and stood next to a directory, appearing to be studying where the nearest Sbarro was, all the while keeping an eye on the big man on the walkway.
Of course, The Ford is notsomuch cut out for private eye work. (Keep your "private dick" jokes to yourself, please. This is a family blog, at least until we get to the semi-naked women.)
He never did get a clear look at the guy's face, since he veered into one of the news kiosks as soon as he got off the walkway.
The Ford chalked it up as a lost opportunity and moved on in his nomadic trip around the airport.
3.) Milo Bryant
Yes, The Ford ran into his former coworker from The Gazette flying back to the Springs from the NCAA hockey regional in Green Bay. The Ford thought he recognized Milo as he was walking by him, but after the John Thompson debacle, he wasn't up for any more detective work. So he motored on, until he very faintly heard a "Hey, Ryan." Turned around, and there's a guy who looks an awful lot like Milo staring at him. Bingo. So, we walked, we talked, a good time was had by all, though we did almost throw down with an airport employee who refused to go a foot out of his way to avoid hitting us with a trash can. Yeah, it's not a great story, but it's a nice coda to the unfinished nature of the John Thompson anecdote, don'cha'think?

But soon enough, it was time to leave the Land of 10,000 Lakes -- from Minnesota to Chicago.

Yes, the dreaded 2-stop flight. Oy.

And of course, while Minneapolis, which is a great airport (complete with pinball machines in strategic locations) was only a 2-hour wait, Chicago O'Hare, a lame airport that's actually regressed since it was build in the 1970s, presented a 3-hour wait. And, of course, O'Hare is so far in the boonies that you can't even LEAVE the airport to go do anything.

And so, The Ford walked. He walked through Concourse E, past the memorial to WWII hero Lt.Col. Butch O'Hare, into concourses B, C and D. All equally lame. All the while talking on the phone with a friend who lives in Chicago, who was, at that moment, driving past O'Hare on her way to home and work from a weekend in the 'burbs.

Good times.

And then, a single circuit of the airport enough for The Ford, he sat down with a crappy personal Uno sausage pizza, and waited. And waited. Finished off his pizza. Finished off that day's Chicago Tribune. Finished off that day's Chicago Sun-Times. Finished off two fantasy baseball magazines.
Folks, things were so bad, he was about 5 minutes from breaking down and buying either porn, or the copy of FHM with Anna Benson on the cover, once he decided which was less embarassing to be seen with. Luckily, at that point, The Ford's plane began boarding, meaning he only had to stand in line for 15 minutes, and trudge through a giant puddle of spilt chocolate milk, to finally be on his way back home to the Motor City.

Of course, once he got back to Detroit, he had to track down his suitcase. After waiting through three different flights' baggage, then giving the still-moving carousel 10 minutes to disgorge his garmet bag, The Ford was forced to admit his luggage might be lost.
A quick walk though seemingly half the airport put him in the lost-baggage-claim area, at which point a very helpful clerk noted his bag had already arrived. 3 hours ago.
Shipped ahead of his flight.
The Ford doesn't know much about the world of travel, but he's pretty sure having your luggage beat you to your destination is a HUGE sign you got screwed in your travel plans.

Never one to let a bad day of travel die, The Ford decided to hit Dearborn for a bit of grub and graphic novels. He also learned that despite living here for two months, there are still many parts of the city he can get lost in, especially since it appears to have TWO, non-contiguous Mexicantowns. This is good to know, but unpleasant to discover after 12 hours of travel.

Eventually, The Ford found his way to Dearborn, tipped off, oddly enough, by a familiar titty bar sign. And you thought The Ford studied the titty bars cause he was a perv. Heh.

And from Dearborn, he did eventually make it back to The Official Building, vowing never to leave town again, at least until he flies to Hawaii in June. (And if there's a layover at O'Hare then, he will kill someone, just to liven up his stay in Chicago. Chi-town, you have been warned.)

In other news: The Knicks, thanks to their adoption of Sacramento's "look like a stripper" approach, steamrolled into the Eastern dance bracket finals, earning the right to get steamrolled by Miami. Meanwhile, The Official Dance Team of The Official Blog of The Ford is in the Western finals. Oh, yeah. Of course, they're going up against the aforementioned Sacramento Pole Dancers, who, with their razor-thin margins of victory, are starting to gain a "Hoosiers"-esque status in The Ford's mind. I think we can all guess what the movie based on an upset of the squads from big-city Seattle, Miami or New York would be called.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Did The Ford say more posts this week? He meant it!

Strangely, The Ford is now in the habit of checking out Edmonton's Sunshine Girl everyday. The Official Social Life of The Official Blog of The Ford is sad, indeed, dear readers.

Though not as sad as the most recent Sunshine Girl.
Yesterday's did not bode well for the city, folks:

That would be SteFanie, who is apparently the hardest-living 22-year-old on record.

(The Ford could make a snide comment about the idiocy of spelling Stephanie as "Stefanie," as well as the idiocy of capitalizing the 'F' in "SteFanie," but, well, considering The Ford's propensity for unorthodox capitalization and spellings, um, she gets a pass.)

So, um, yeah, I'm now officially back from The Official Micro-Vacation of The Official Blog of The Ford's (aka, "The Return To The Springs," or "Does anybody feel a draft?") . So there'll be some new posts coming this week, including fun, fun travel stories. Though not too many, since I figure fully half the folks who read this were there for the vacation.

Rejoice amongst yourselves.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Breaking news!

Conan? Friends in Chicago? Road trip! (Wait, I have a job, with teams in the NBA and NHL playoffs? Well, I could commute for a couple of days, right? Or is that against the "road trip" spirit?)

The Ford tried to bring The Fury last night, but the site was down when The Ford showed up. And so, today, The Ford feels nothing but the pain of Fury past....

There's Fury for Alfonso Soriano, who had the seemingly Hamletian dilemma of 2B, or not 2B...
For what it's worth, I sorta understood his point, especially since he's a solid second baseman (offensively, if not defensively), but a poor left fielder (both offensively and defensively). Especially considering the Nationals (proving you don't need an owner to qualify as Major League Baseball's most annoying franchise) never asked his opinion.
Of course, he'd have been stupid to sit out, 'cause, really, only two things come out of his playing in left field:
1.) He's fantastic, and the club keeps him there, and he can continue playing there as he gets more used to it, or sign with another team next season, somewhere where he can play second base.
2.) He's horrible, and the club moves him back to second base, and they never, ever make that mistake again, and he signs somewhere else next year to play second base.

There's Fury for the stupidity of the Yankees, sueing a hat designer/fan Mike Moorby over a possible copyright infringement case. Which seems stupid. There's probably 20 defenses here, The Ford would think. But this dude has to spend his money fighting the good fight against the Yanks. (Did The Ford say the Nats were the most annoying. He blogged too soon, it appears.)

There's Fury on behalf of Iowa State's former basketball coach Wayne Morgan, who didn't even get the chance to fully finish out his first recruiting class. What The Ford has learned from Iowa State: If you know you're on a short least, it's better to go out like Larry Eustachy than like Coach Morgan.

There's Fury at The Ford for apprently getting lazy and not going beyond's shores for a full two days. Not to mention Fury at The Ford for a stunning lack of hot women over the past week. Or is that Fury for the overabundance of hot women in the weeks before that. Fellas, ask the ladies. Ladies, ask the fellas. Either way, it's well-deserved fury, to be sure.

There's Fury that the finest night of sleep The Ford's gotten in two months was accomplished soley by binge-drinking his way through the better part of two hours at The Official Bar, then heading home, taking a 30-minute warm shower, and then climbing straight into bed. And all so The Ford could show up 2 hours early for work.

Finally, The Ford's full of The Fury at his brackets. No, not the ones he filled out for that little get-together the NCAA's having; The Ford knew he was toast in that before it started.
No, The Ford's putting on a poor showing in his NBA dance team bracket.
The Ford got only five of the Easy Eight correct, a shockingly poor showing, considering he started picking when only 18 teams or so remained. The Ford blames the setup, as well as Sac-town's finest's gutty performance. (Or is that a "chesty" performance, after observing the sweatermeat the Kings team is packing? Who shoots their team photo in what appears to be a strip club. Oh, wait, the team's owned by the Maloof Brothers? Never mind.)
Still, The Ford did get three of four Eastern squads, going wrong only in underestimating the power of a New Jersey camel toe.
Also redeeming The Ford's picks? Miami's job of understanding the voting base, Phoenix's abandonment of the spandex from some very classy tank tops, and Seattle's surprising showing, marching into the Frisky Four like a team possessed (The Ford's voting them the squad most likely to stab you with a kitchen knife in the hopes of "rekindling the passion").
Of course, just as The Ford said they would, the Heat squad destroyed Detroit's own Automotion (despite the plucky Michiganders' discovery of some ocean-front property) ruining The Ford's hopes that a local entrant in the Frisky Four would score him some press passes.
So, who's in the semis? Miami's already there, and Seattle's crushing Houston. The Ford'd put his money down -- if any bookies were taking bets -- on New York, simply because, well, the Nets' squad appears to be a one-trick pony. It's a good trick, but The Ford's seen better in certain dark rooms in Vegas.
Over in the West, it's tougher to say, but The Ford likes the chances of the Phoenix squads, if simply becuase the tank top shot gives them a very "L-Word"-esque vibe, and if there's one thing folks who vote in these things (like, say, The Ford...) like more than busty cheer babes, it's busty cheer babes with a Sapphic bend...
At least, they like them more than busty cheer babes with balls.... Tough luck, Dallas.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Let's all take a moment to remember the day a great player nearly lost his career, and certainly saw his Hall of Fame chances destroyed.

April 3, 1993. Edgar Martinez shreds his hamstring taking the turn around first base in Vancouver's B.C. Place.

He could still hit, oh, that's for sure. But his days in the field were done. And so he'll likely be getting into Cooperstown only with his paid admission.

Something to remember in the next couple of weeks, as spring training rolls to a close, and players are logging just a few final meaningless minutes before the real action starts.

Oh, and let's remember Edgar, just the way the Washington Legislature did last year:

'Nuff said.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Well, dear readers, the hoops-womb is slowly starting it's contractions, but like Homer Simpson, The Ford is doing his best to stay within its fluidy goodness.

Which is why he's making the Wichita State Shockers The New Official Temporary Team of The Official Blog of The Ford.

Everyone put on your hats....

It's not an easy decision, for The Ford has long derided Wichita State and its WSU-appropriating ilk (Wayne State, Weber State, Wright State) as pretenders to the Wazzu throne. The Official University of The Official Blog of The Ford was around long before all these interlopers, and, The Ford willing, will be around long after them.

Still, there is a greater evil out there, folks: The Washington Huskies. If they get past Connecticut, there will be little stop them from reaching the Final Four.

Little that is, except the karmic power of facing a WSU in the regional final.

Imagine it, big bad UW going down to little ol' WSU. Seems sorta familiar, it does. Oh, that's right...WSU (the original one) was the only Pac-10 team to beat UW twice. How could the best WSU basketball team in the country not do the same? (Even if you do have to expand the definition of "branch campus" a wee bit.)

Yes, yes, this would please The Ford greatly. All hail El Shockeros (for though they are many, from hell's heart, they stab at the Huskies as one....)

Other Shockers of note....
The Supervillain.
The Movie.
The Gesture.
The Rapper.

These are not who we're rooting for. Just The Wichita State Shockers. The Ford's feeling good about this one. Really.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

The Ford sees himself like The Incredible Hulk.

No, it's not that he smashes buildings, destoys tanks, or has a greenish/gray skin tone (though the latter may be true by the time he's finished working on a baseball preview section.).

No, it's more that he can be wandering along, dealing with women in all walks of life without getting especially aroused, and then he meets a gal who gets his gonads churning.

In shot, you wouldn't like The Ford when he's horny....

Saturday night, it was this little chickadee who wandered into the The Official Buffalo Wing Joint of The Official Blog of The Ford.

Nothing truly special: She was about five feet tall, with a bust size easily in the 34-36DD range, wearing a short skirt and wobbling around on ridiculously high high heels. The Ford's not a dedicated breast or leg man, nor does he encourage the women he likes to be hobbled by their shoes.

But folks, one look at this gal, and The Ford was hard pressed to keep his mind on his din-din of boneless buffalo wings and Labatt's. Put another way, his dinner was the only boneless thing at his table after Madam Double-D wandered by.

Of course, it's not like The Ford went and talked to her; she was hanging out with multiple male and female friends. But it was sorta shocking how quickly The Ford could go from focusing on fine, fine buffalo wings and a fine, fine hockey game, to focusing on a fine, fine lady.

Not exactly a reassuring sign to a fella who prides himself on mental control.

And, now, if you'll excuse The Ford, he may or may not be off to a titty bar previously mentioned in The Official Blog.

Oh, Canada?
TheFord started his Saturday listening to the excellent Canadian alt-rock station 89x, which may or may not be also known as CBC 3, depending on how The Ford's neighbors to the south name their radio stations, as they're reporting from SXSW, which is pretty awesome in its own right.
The 20 minutes of coverage of Canadian bands at SXSW had The Ford singing "Oh Canada" in the shower, presumably to the annoyance of his neighbors, and to the disgust of his readers, who are now starting to picture The Ford in the shower. (Who says The Ford doesn't write for his female readers?)
He then ended up watching most of the Red Wings-Oilers game, starting on Fox Sports, but ending on CBC, where he was privy to the CBC's excelsior Hockey Night After Hours, which featured Manny Legace giving a shoutout to Detroit sports fans, noting that "they're hard on their goalies and their quarterbacks." Good to know Manny's a Joey fan.
All the while, he's drinking Labatt's Blue, the Americanized version at The Official Buffalo Wing Joint of The Official Blog of The Ford, and the imported version at The Official Bar of The Official Blog of The Ford.
So, is it any wonder that while messing around on the web, reading various sports design sites which shall remain nameless (though not linkless, since they've already linked to The Official Blog, and fair's fair.), The Ford would come across Edmonton's Sunshine Girl of the Day?
I'll tell you what, it's nice when The Ford's day comes together like that, all solid and such.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Second things second:
(Even though, frankly, this probably should be first -- random encounters with breasts always jump to the top of the priority list.)

Oh, what a day in the hoops-womb...

My first in-person NCAA tournament game, ever, well, that would be the A-MAY-ZING, BAY-BEE, opener between Iowa and Northwestern State.
Holy shit.
That was almost all I could say for the first five minutes after that game.
Holy shit.
Northwestern St. was down 18-4 to open the game (12-2 by the time I got to my seat, thanks to ridiculous traffic on the freeway and an insane lack of order getting into The Palace), then took the lead before halftime. Then trailed 54-37 with 8 minutes left. Hell, they trailed by 14 with 7 minutes left, and by 10 points with 7 minutes left.
Even good teams don't come back from those types of deficits, much less the Northwestern States of the world. Especially against an Iowa team known for its defense (complete with the Big Ten defensive player of the year, to boot.)
But come back they did, thanks to some ridiculous shooting from Clifton Lee. 13 straight points during one run, and four consecutive 3-point attempts went down in that span. Crazy. But let's also credit some atrocious shooting by Iowa. Their big man, Greg Brunner, scored all 16 points in the second half, and looked like a man among boys doing so. (He and Lee had everyone in my section saying "Damn! I've never seen that before" on opposite ends of the court.) And everyone else in Iowa yellow? 19 points in the second half. And Brunner would have had at least two more points if he could hit a free throw now and again. But he's big, thick, and bald, so we'll let that pass.

Just amazing stuff, really. If this is what my friends in Kansas and Missouri get on a regular basis, well, The Ford takes back most of the bad-mouthin' he's done on college basketball over the years.

Some thoughts from the game (plus some thoughts from the vastly inferior game that followed, West Va. 64, SIU 46)

Favorite players:
Clifton Lee: He's playing in Detroit, matching up with Iowa's freaky-big center, and he's got the giant Ben-Wallace-esque afro. So of course he hits 4 HUUUUUGE 3-pointers in the second half to pull Northwestern State into striking distance. And this wasn't getting comfortable in a certain spot, or taking advantage of a matchup. His 4 3-pointers came from three different spots on the court. Seriously, by the time 3-pointer No. 3 went down, everyone in Auburn Hills knew he'd be getting the ball the next time down the court, regardless of who was guarding him.
Greg Brunner: Big man, dominant in the paint. Played the entire second half with three fouls, but scored 16 points. Great moves, to the point that he was almost automatic from 10 feet out. And yet, Iowa refused to get him the ball, it seemed. Until the end of the game, when everyone knew he couldn't hit two consecutive free throws, and so N'Western State was just waiting to foul him. Seriously, in the final minute, they actually waited 20 seconds, until he had the ball, AND THEN FOULED him. Brilliant, even though he dominated for most of the second half.
Kerwin Forges: Dude lists at 6-4, 255 pounds. And that's a REALLY generous weight. He's easily 275. "Roast Beef" can't shoot (6.4 points per game), can't rebound (1.4 per game) and can't play defense (looked incredibly lost on the court, often guarding empty space in the key). In short, he's The Ford of Northwestern State. And yet, tremendous fun to watch, especially late in the first half when, for some reason, he kept getting tapped to bring the ball up court. Crazy. And then N'Western St.'s center fouled out late, so he got to stay on the court. Which is why he took what shoulda/coulda been the game-tieing shot with 11 seconds left, only to miss so badly that teammate Jermaine Wallace was able to rebound it, dribble around some, and set up his own game-winning 3-pointer with 0.5 seconds left.

Favorite cheer squads:
1. West Virgina
2. N'Western St.
3. Southern Illinois
4. Iowa

The Ford was seriously disappointed in the Iowa squad's talent. Girls were solidly average, uniforms sucked (spandex sports bras for the dance squad, really?), and the routines added nothing. And yet, all the frat boys in my section hit on them as they walked up the stairs at halftime. Southern Illinois was quality all around, but they didn't do many routines, and the uniforms weren't great. They do get props from being the most injured squad The Ford's seen. How much time did the Saluki squad lose to injuries this year? Two members were sporting the double wrist guards, and another member had a knee brace. Of course, she was also doing full flips. A true gamer. They also get props for having three members come out and watch the end of the Iowa/N'Western St. game. They apparently actually like basketball there. N'Western St. didn't do much, but they were the second-hottest squad there. West Virginia was dominant. Incredible hot, good routines and costumes, plus a move that was very architecturally sound.

Random observations:

The Herky Bird needs a nose job: Maybe The Ford is too used to the football incarnation of the Iowa mascot, with its giant helmet and tiny beak, but this helmetless version looked like it just ran into a wall. Not to mention having very, very bad "hair." Look at it. It's like a crappy afro. When The Ford is in charge of all mascots, he's going to make designers pay more attention to the hair. Too many mascots are ending up with weird, felt-like afros.

Wait, they're the Demons?: Of course, the Herky Bird wasn't facing a lot of competition on the mascot front from the entire pod. It took the better part of two halves for anyone not in the know to figure out Northwestern State's mascot was a demon. I, mean, it sorta had horns, but they looked more like the antennae from My Favorite Martian. Taken with gigantic, dog-like jowls and a potbelly, and most folks sitting around me were thinking it was some sort of bizarre hybrid of a dog and Mickey Rooney. Meanwhile, the Salukis' mascot just looked like a dog that'd been to one too many Dead shows, with its long, stringy hair and two-tone fur. West Virginia's Mountaineer was OK, but that's mostly because I'm reluctant to criticize a mascot that's packing heat at every game.

The sound and the fury: The Palace's crowd was moderately into the action Friday. Notable moments? Definitely the audible "Whaaaa?" when Forges took what looked like Northwestern St.'s last shot, followed by the entire non-Iowa fan base going ballistic when Wallace made the game-winner. Another great sound? That would be when the NCAA got the Oral Roberts/Memphis score mixed up, and had ORU up by 12 at halftime, after showing them trailing by 10-20 for the whole first half. The entire crowd -- and I mean the entire crowd -- gave another "Whaaaa?" that smoothly transitioned into a "Yeah!" even as most folks were pulling out the phones to check with friends that weren't at the mercy of brain-dead scoreboard operators. (Speaking of brain-dead scoreboard operators, y'all had to show me that Stanford was playing Missouri St. at 7 p.m. in the NIT three times as often as you could show me the Davidson-Ohio State score? Seriously, at a game that started at noon, I could give a fuck who's playing at 7 or 9 p.m. Just show me the games going on right then, and I'll get the later scores/game times when I leave the frickin' arena.)

Thanks be to the boss man: These were easily the best seats I've ever had. I got them from my sports editor (a Kansas alum and Pistons season-ticket holder), who bought them 18 months ago on a hunch that KU would make the tourney. They did, but they were playing at night, so I got the early session tickets. On the floor, behind the basket, four rows behind the Iowa pep band for the first game. Basically, I was close enough to look most of the players in the eye, but far enough back not to worry about loose balls or players coming into the stands. Just awesome. Of course, thanks to the late notice, I ended up with four seats, all to myself. (I thought I was getting one ticket. Late Thursday, I ended up with all four, and the instructions to "sell the rest if you can." Folks, at noon on a Friday afternoon, The Palace at Auburn Hills is a buyer's market for tickets. I passed so many desperate scalpers that I just ate the tickets myself, and luxuriated across four seats As did almost everyone else sitting in my section. 18,290 attendance, my ass.)

Band on the run: Overall, pretty good performances by the pep bands. Special shoutouts go to Iowa for a solid selection of 70s/80s hits that had the place rocking, regardless of where you were sitting, and to Southern Illinois, which was pretty quiet when their deficit reached double digits, but started out with a brilliant cover of Franz Ferdinand, and wasn't afraid to pull out the slow but lyrical "Georgia On My Mind" at halftime.

You've been Pittsnogled: It's not that his 18 points weren't solid, it's that he wasn't that impressive. A dominant inside player who completely took away Southern Illinois' drive to the basket (on one possession, they drove INTO him four times before kicking it out, and then turning it over), he also appeared to never have met a 3-point attempt he didn't like (2-7). Facial hair was only a 'stache/goatee combo, and The Ford got real tired of the 300 "You've been Pittsnogled" signs in the stands, and their owners' shameless attempts to get on TV. Watch the damn game, people. (The Ford's pretty down on the WVA/SIU game overall. A.) It just couldn't compare to the day's amazing first game, and (B) it was incredibly ugly, with something like 20 "traveling" or "carrying the ball" calls between the two teams.)

Drive time: And finally, becuase you can't have a TSTF without full-on Fury, what the hell is up with The Palace's parking lot? 5 entrances at noon, when no one is there, but ONE EFFING EXIT at 5 p.m. when everyone is leaving, plus folks are showing up for the night games? I sat in my parking spot for 30 G-D minutes because the only route that led to the exit cut off my ability to back out of my spot. I'd probably still be there if I hadn't just started backing up on the assumption that someone would let me in, or get plowed in the process. Oh, and a special spot in hell is reserved for the high school punks in front of me that not only sped up to prevent me from merging in front of them at Parking Lot Merge Point No. 2, but wouldn't allow anyone else to enter the lane in front of them. For 15 minutes. The nice thing? They probably didn't have to wait long for their spot in hell, since if there's any justice in the world (even if the trees are running things), their car flipped over on the way home.

First things first:
A tip from The Ford -- When you go drinking on St. Pat's Day, even if you're not going to an "Irish bar" or you know there won't be too many folks where you're headed, nevertheless, bring some damn beads.

'Cause The Ford's a little miffed after missing the three women who, um, displayed their talents, while he was sitting at the bar post-last-call. (Mostly, this tip applies to bars that award drinks for bare bosoms after last call, as The Official Bar of The Official Blog of The Ford apparently does.)

The first "unveiling" was random, but The Ford could have caught it had he been a bit more on the ball (the raucous applause at the other end of the bar tipped him off a second too late).

The second unveiling occured just as The Ford was returning from the men's room. He could have gotten a decent view, but it seemed rude to sprint back from the back of the bar, just to see some sweatermeat.

The third unveiling was mostly a private affair between the first unveiler and the hot female bartender. Not much The Ford can do about that, other than become a woman.

Still, despite entreaties from both him and various folks of both genders at the bar, The Ford got no St. Patty's Day flashing.

It's always nice when the big drinking holidays accurately reflect The Ford's day-to-day life.

Friday, March 17, 2006

OK, I'm still in the hoops-womb, even at work, so I've gotta say this.

I HATE Gonzaga.

Their coach is a prick who hardly talks to the media (an uppity move, considering he INHERITED a winning program), and really, it's the program that WSU should have, if it could ever get its head out of its rear.

But The Ford LOVES Adam Morrison. Great big giant man-crush right here.

And it's all because of the 'stache.

When Gonzaga was trailing Xavier on Thursday, he knew (and informed his West-Coast-dismissive Motown coworkers thusly) that Morrison was gonna settle down and let the 'stache take over.

This has been said many times, many places, but it's between Morrison and Plummer for the best 'stache in sports.

(Plummer gets credit since the Mountain Man Beard began life as a 'stache.)

Just makes them fun to watch. If only Gonzaga'd show some team togetherness like BC did and have everyone grown the 'stache.

That. Would. Be. Awesome.

When Gonzaga loses by 20 later this week, I really won't feel too bad. But I'll miss the 'stache, that's for sure.

(And for what it's worth, to show his commitment to the idea of facial hair in sports, The Ford's got tickets to see Pittsnogle and West Virginia tomorrow. Should be pretty sweet as well.)

Thursday, March 16, 2006

So, Thursday -- that's today by The Ford's calendar, don'cha'know -- is the first day of the NCAA Tournament.

The Ford has no favorites, no can't-miss teams, no bracket advice whatsoever. (Other than to avoid duplicating The Ford's recurring Final Four picks of Duke and Kansas; The Ford can't seem to see how they could lose, which of course means they will early.)

No, The Ford can't often put his heart into college basketball, even at this time of year; El Cougarros (team motto: "For though we are many, we lose as one.") have stomped on it a few too many times.

Mostly, The Ford just enjoys the first weekend as a proverbial return to the womb, nestling at work in the warm, liquid-filled, pillowy goodness that is 12 consecutive hours of sports on network TV, a hoops-womb, if you will.
(It's as fun to say as it is to experience. Hoops-womb. Hoops-womb. Hoops-womb. Now you try....)

The hoops-womb is made even more delightful this year with the outside shot that he can make it to a bar by halftime of the final round of Thursday's games. Y'know, if somehow The Ford also managed to get laid at said bar -- a highly improbable event -- he might never want to leave the hoops-womb, what with its alluring promise of beer and booty.

But if there is a God, and he/she/it cares anything about sports, two events will occur today in the hoops-womb:

1.) Air Force -- the runner-up to WSU in the pageant that named The Official Team of The Official Blog of The Ford -- will upset Illinois, showing that boring, precise, 10-pass basketball can win you games. Especially if you hit the damn 3-pointers.

2.) Utah State -- The Official Temporary Team of The Official Blog of The Ford, at least until they lose and TSTF has to pick a new Official Temporary Team -- will upset Washington, proving that the Huskies -- though they seem like a fun group of guys who just like playing basketball together, and have done so for most of their lives -- are really just one step above evil incarnate.

Of course, Air Force and Utah State will likely lose; they're heavy underdogs, and that seems more relevant than any hypothetical deity that might take an interest.

(Especially if trees are in charge of the universe. If the trees are in charge, I'm fucked all the way around. Of course, if the trees ARE in charge, they're doing a pretty shitty job of managing trees, what with letting their brethren get slaughtered, just so I can make some money and other folks can read their morning box scores. Unless they've got a persecution/martydom complex thing going on. Which would be weird. At least as weird as the trees being in charge of everything.)

No, the Illini will win, and I'll feel bad for the Falcons. And the Huskies will win, and I'll cuss a lot and be pissed and feel like the night has gone poorly.

But really, it'll just be a night like almost every other in the hoops-womb. It, like its real-life counterpart, always ejects you on its own timetable, sending you wet, naked and screaming to grow up into the rest of your life.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Folks, growing up in the Northwest, The Ford learned one thing: In blogging, just as in life, when it rains, it pours.

And thus you, dear reader, get even more cheerleader info....

That would be a member of the SuperSonics dance squad -- The Official Dance Team of The Official NBA Team of The Official Blog of The Ford -- that beat the hell out of the Memphis girls -- despite their full-on hoochie-fied appearance -- in the NBA's dance squad bracket. Go Sonics! (The Ford also takes some joy in seeing the Hefty-bag-clad Blazer Dancers get crushed by the Mavs Dancers, even if they're not really particularly hot.

Perusing the matchups, The Ford found some interesting things:

1.) The Pistons' team, Automotion, faces the Pacers' team, The Pacemates, on Thursday. Leaving aside the weird-ass names of these teams, (Seriously. You couldn't avoid the cheap Playboy Playmates pun and go for The Pacemakers?) is anyone else hoping for a recreation of Malice at The Palace? Maybe this time with pillows and lingerie? Someone should be working on this now.

2.) Meanwhile, The Hornets' squad is called the Honeybees. This pleases The Ford; it's a good tie-in with the team name, while still giving them an identity of their own.

3.) The Nets Dancers have figured out a way to harness the power of the camel toe for good, it appears. Of course, they still barely squeaked by Philadelphia. And I doubt they'd have even done that if the Sixers Dancers hadn't screwed up and worn cowboy hats. Teams on the East Coast should not "slum it" in cowboy hats. Period.

4.) The dumbest team name? Milwaukee's "Energee!" Hmm. Poor spelling, unnecessary punctuation and the evilness of purple. Thank you, Atlanta's A-Town Dancers, for putting them out of our misery so early in the tourney.

5.) The Heat Dancers DESTROYED Charlotte's squad, 91%-9%. This is probably understandable, considering the talent in Miami, and the poor photo of the Charlotte girls, but still....91%? Next up for Miami, it's Toronto's Raptors Dance Pak. Hmm. Team wears purple, has oddly spelled name? Doesn't look good for our Friendly Neighbors to the East, even if the one-piece A-frame dresses are a nice departure from the norm.

6.) For some reason, Utah, Toronto, and New York received byes in the tourney. Toronto, The Ford gets. We need more Canadian hotties in open competition. But Utah and New York? Meanwhile, the last time The Ford checked, the Kings Dance Team (again, a name befitting the sophistication of Sacramento) is on pace to upset the Laker Girls! The Laker Girls. A member of the Holy Trinity of professional cheerleading teams, facing a challenge from Sacramento? This cannot happen, folks. It cannot be.

7. Meanwhile, the Clips' Spirit Dancers get a cakewalk against the T-Wolves' cleavage ... I mean, the T-Wolves Dancers. There is no justice.

8.) Finally, in the spirit of March Madness, even when it's applied to dance squads, here's The Official Picks of The Official Blog of The Ford:

Western Conf. second round:

Utah over Houston (Utah should win, but Houston has a much bigger bloc of voters, unfortunately. This one should be tight.)

Seattle over Dallas (A mild upset. Dallas has a voting advantage, but is seriously lacking talent on its squad.)

Phoenix over Golden State (Phoenix overcomes its atrocious purple one-pieces, mostly because Golden State's girls are nothing special.)

L.A. Clippers over Laker Girls. (Yeah, The Ford's predicting the Laker Girls will survive the first round, but as life imitates, the Clippers-Babes are deeper than the Laker-Dears.)

Eastern Conf. second round:

Miami over Toronto (see above)

Detroit over Indiana (experience beats hotness in this matchup.)

Orlando over New Jersey (dueling camel-toe teams separated only by the Magic Dancers' brilliant decision to go with the stockings)

New York over Atlanta (If ever there was a time the NBA would rig things for the Knicks, it's this one.)

Western semis:

Utah over Seattle. (Utah's surprising diversity overcomes Seattle's Northwesterny goodness.)

L.A. over Phoenix (Either squad, really. Phoenix willbe brought down by the Spandex.)

Eastern semis:

Miami over Detroit. (Detroit's guttier -- they've got the girl-next-door thing going on -- but Miami is, well, Miami.)

New York over Orlando. (And now, guest analyst Hubie Brooks: "New York's just too deep. If you're Orlando, you've got to be happy with your trememdous upside potential for next season. They're very long, with surprisingly solid fundamentals.)

Western finals:

L.A. over Utah. (The Ford is rooting for Utah, but either L.A. is probably too tough. Still, he could very easily see Utah downing the Clip squad, should they advance.)

Eastern finals:

Miami over New York. (World class competition here, but Miami's domination of the three C's -- Costumes, Choreography, Cleavage -- puts them in the finals)

The Finals:

Miami over L.A. (Did The Ford mention the cleavage? Let's be honest, that's Miami's ace in the push-up bra here. Dance moves and hometown loyalty will take you only so far in the world of Internet voting. Don't believe me? This is the talent Miami's working with:

Yeah. I thought so.)

So, there you have it. Miami will win the NBA's Dance Squad Bracket. Place your bets now. Seriously.

(And yes, The Ford just churned out 900 words on the NBA's dance squads. He might just need a life.)


Um, Charlize Theron is single again.

The Ford's back in business, baby!

In more quasi-stalking news, apparently, Paris Hilton is convinced she could be Charlize Theron.


Now, don't get me wrong. I actually like Ms. Hilton.

The Ford has no problem with folks being famous for being famous. And it's handy to have her around, since she's another example of The Ford's maxim about how being seen as skanky can improve your hotness, but only so far.

(Other things that maximize your hotness? Being nude, rich, a woman in a traditionally male-oriented field, or a twin. Presumably if we ever get a female NASCAR driver who's independently wealthy and walks around naked all the time with her twin sister, our heads will just explode.)

But Charlize Theron she ain't, mostly because The Ford sincerely doubts he'd fear any psychotic serial killer she played in a movie.

Ms. Theron messed The Ford up for WEEKS after he saw Monster. Nearly ruined the whole concept of lesbians making out for him.

Luckily, that love is one that will never die.

The Ford shudders to ponder what Ms. Hilton will try to take from him.

Just as long as it's not his dreams of the movie role that would hit Lindsey Lohan with thoughts of an Oscar.

Not that. That's all I ask.

Monday, March 13, 2006

It's that time of year again for The Ford: Fantasy season.

But, "Wait a gol-durned minnit," you say, dear reader. (The Ford's anachronisms are rubbing off, aren't they?) "Isn't every Saturday night fantasy season for The Ford?"

No, no, it's fantasy BASEBALL season.

The Ford's got some teams. He's even flying to The Official Ex-Hometown of The Official Blog of The Ford in a couple of weeks to take part in a draft.

Like you didn't know The Ford is a dork.

But at least he's not the only one.

There's also columnist Bill Simmons, who's in a celebrity fantasy basketball league with luminaries such as Star Jones, Pam Anderson and Matthew Modine. Plus, there's Bernie Mac and Michael Rappaport, folks The Ford would expect to know fantasy hoops. Says Simmons: "I own Bernie Mac and Michael Rappaport in's fantasy league to the point that I might pay taxes on them next month just to be safe."

I really don't know which is better: the thought of Pamela Anderson playing fantasy basketball, or the thought of Bernie Mac trash-talking over said fantasy basketball.

The Ford must become a celebrity and join this league, posthaste.

You have been warned.

This whole World Baseball Classic is starting to grow on The Ford. The games have been pretty good. (or, probably more accurately, the competition has been fairly even, if you're willing to ignore those ugly 10-1, 17-0 games that pop up now and again.)

But more than that, you get to discover fun things like, say ...

The Korean team has six guys named Lee starting.

Which might explain what he overheard a little later...

Abbott: Well Costello, I'm going to Seoul with you. You know the Koreans gave me a job as coach for as long as you're on the team.
Costello: Look Abbott, if you're the coach, you must know all the players.
Abbott: I certainly do.
Costello: Well you know I've never met the guys. So you'll have to tell me their names, and then I'll know who's playing on the team.
Abbott: Oh, I'll tell you their names, but you know it seems to me they give these ball players now-a-days very peculiar names.
Costello: You mean funny names?
Abbott: Let's see, we have on the bags, Lee's on first, Lee's on second, I Don't Know is on third...
Costello: That's what I want to find out.
Abbott: I say Lee's on first, Lee's on second, I Don't Know's on third.
Costello: Are you the manager?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: You gonna be the coach too?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: And you don't know the fellows' names?
Abbott: Well I should.
Costello: Well then Lee's on first?
Abbott: Yes.
Costello: I mean the fellow's name.
Abbott: Lee.
Costello: The guy on first.
Abbott: Lee.
Costello: The first baseman.
Abbott: Lee.
Costello: The guy playing...
Abbott: Lee is on first!
Costello: I'm asking YOU Lee's on first.
Abbott: That's the man's name.
Costello: That's Lee's name ...

And, with that failed joke ringing in your ears, it's link time:
Normally The Ford isn't crazy about Linking to The Official Competition of The Official Newspaper of The Official Blog of The Ford. (Mostly because that's a lot of "The Official"s to type out at once. The Ford, is at heart, a lazy blogger.)

But this article in the Sunday biz section caught his eye, in the way that all articles featuring hot 24-year-old women with design skills will, even if said design skills are automotive, and not newspapery.

The Ford is perplexed, since he'd like to believe that good design is good design, regardless of what you culturally bring to the table. Good designers look beyond their own culture for ideas. (And now The Ford's rant about designing head-to-head with foreign papers in the SND competition are sounding a bit goofy.)

Then again, you've got your FUBU. You've got your Chrysler 300C. And you've got your, um, OB tampon, "designed for women, by a woman."

Of course, by this logic, I should've been a better designer in Washington than I was in Colorado or Michigan, since I had a special understanding of the needs of my constituency there than here.

Which is really just too depressing to think about.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

From the cleverly homonymed Mr. Fisch...

"I think the KC cheerleaders are hotter than the STL cheerleaders
But that's the only thing KC's done better than us. "

To which The Ford says: "Poppycock!"

(The Ford likes to use geezerisms sometimes, just to see if you, dear reader, are paying attention.)

There's at least five women on the St. Louis squad hotter than anyone on the K.C. sqaud.

Plus, they're wearing miniskirts, boots, and playing up the cleavage. This adds at least 10 points of hotness, right there.

Throw in that they cheer for a team named "The Steamers," a name that has the 12-year-old in The Ford laughing out loud for its quasi-raunchiness, and you're adding some "skanky hotness" to the mix.

Damn, St. Louis. That's the shit you need to play up in the "welcome to st. louis" brochures.

Speaking of cheerleaders, let's give a shoutout to the University of Minnesota, from whence the cheerleader originally sprang.

They're also notable for bringing the Freep's sports staff's discussion of Friday's sports news to a grinding halt as everone stared at their extremely revealing uniforms.

Folks, The Ford has seen cheerleader uniforms that show off the midriff. And then there are the two-piece unis the Gopher Gals were wearing, coming down maybe an inch or two below their bosomy goodness.

Am I sad that Minnesota lost to Iowa on Friday, depriving us of another couple hundred shots of the Minne-Ta-Tas in The Big Dance?
You betcha.

I'll admit it.
The Ford is a homonym-phobe.
He hates it when he types the word that sounds the same as the word that means what he wants to say.
I hate it so much that I will go back and fix it, even if I'm in a chat room. Most typos in chat, I could give a crap about. We're going too fast to stop now, baby.
There's no reason why this happens. I know the word. I'm not typing while I'm talking, or sounding something out. And yet, I end up with the wrong "your" or the wrong "their", like 60 percent of the time. My fingers are dumber than my brain apparently. And disconnected from it.
Is it The Official Fear of The Official Blog of The Ford? Well, probably not. But it's close.
Seriously, there is nothing that I'm more scared of/pissed off about than screwing up and using the wrong homonym.
Well, maybe ants.
Ants creep The Ford out. Ugh.

Friday, March 10, 2006

Detroit is getting an MISL franchise? Wooooo.
Man, The Ford used to love the MISL's Tacoma Stars, back when there was no pretender to the soccer throne named MLS.
In fact, he's still got a ball autographed by all the 92-93 Stars. Good guys, especially Preki.
Of course, that team is no more; the MISL has shrunk to a 7-team, centrally-owned league, with franchises in Stockton, Calif.; Baltimore, Philadelphia, Chicago, St. Louis, Milwaukee and Kansas City.
In fact, the K.C. franchise even has its own cheer squad, the Galaxy Girls. I know which Unamed Detroit MISL Franchise games The Ford will be going to...
What's that?
K.C.'s team is inactive because they don't have a place to play?

Thursday, March 09, 2006

So, while I wait for the rain outside to ease up a bit, (I'm a native Pacific Northwesterner, but I'm on foot, and I'm not crazy, y'know?), it's a rare third blog entry!
Soaking up the TV while I wait to get cable in The Official Apartment, I'm noticing a lot of chat line commercials.
Sorry, that's "chat line" commercials. 'Cause they're basically lame phone sex ads.
Which makes it appropriate that I've recognized at least three porn starlets in the past 60 seconds mouthing various "come hither" statements.
Not that The Ford, y'know, watches the porn.
No, of course not.

And so ends another shitty season of Cougar basketball.
At least they outscored Chamberlain Oguchi by the end of the game, 55-26 (Though it was 23-21, Oguchi 15 minutes into the game).
Dick Bennett, kill me now.

Apparently, The Official Blog of The Ford runs a little long sometimes, he's told.

He can't argue with this, though he notes he IS getting unpaid by the word.

Other notes:
"More semi-naked women!"

"More warning when you're going to run semi-naked women!"

"More paragraph breaks!"

"More semi-naked women!"

Folks, The Ford obviously walks a thin line when it comes to vague-quasi-partial nudity in his blog. (This is odd, considering the audience skews quite nerdly, as evidenced by the request for paragraph breaks.)

And yet, he's willing to walk that line. For you, the reader.

He's willing to give up his female readership for a boost in the lucrative "18-49, male, sports page designer" demographic.

But he won't give up his words. His babies. His prides and his joys.

At least, he won't until he figures out a way to segue into the hot women. Or until he can "sell out."

Either one.

Speaking of the hot women, it's a double dose of the FSU "Cowgirls" that seem to be all the rage right now:

First, an interview, mano-a-booby in the Tallahassee paper (what's pidgin Spanish for "breast"?), shockingly enough, by a woman. (Womano-a-booby?)
My favorite part?

Accoriding to the story, there's a 43-year-old dude named Roger Finger "helping" her with her Web site.

I could not make that up if I tried.

But wait, there's multiple Cowgirls!

Check out, where we learn that the trio actually consists of three clean-cut young ladies who attend the games only for the thrill of showing off their personally tailored FSU outfits.

OK, well, actually we learn that from the print edition of Maxim, which I succumbed to during a fantasy-baseball-inspired magazine binge. That would be the cover with Kristen Bell , by the way.

A 25-year-old native Detroiter (with a taste for hockey and older guys, as I learned from the print edition) always sucks me in, y'know?

Yeah, I know this is the spot for a joke, but I'm fresh out. Besides, this whole thing was pretty much just an excuse to run Ms. Bell's photo. Which I did.


Wednesday, March 08, 2006

The Ford supposes that being able to sign up for cable entirely online has its perks, such as not having to talk to an actual Comcast representative.
Of course, in the event that Comcast doesn't believe your building exists, you're also unable to yell at the representative and lay out a well-reasoned logical argument that they damn well know my building exists, since all of the neighbors in The Official Building have Comcast cable.
Which is probably also good, The Ford supposes, since he's much less likely to see his blood pressure skyrocket in a short period of time.
Indeed, all would be good, except for two things:
1.) The Ford is still without cable.
2.) The Ford will still have to actually CALL Comcast, and talk to an actual person, which would be fine, really, except for The Ford's sinking feeling that the actual person will be just as skeptical of the existence of The Official Building.
Technology is great, ain't it?

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Today was a sad day for me.
I'm in a bar, passing the time ogling various women, wondering why two of the three Freep columnists were on ESPN's Outside The Lines pontificating about Joe Dumars' success building the Pistons, and about Isiah Thomas', um, non-success with the Raptors, Pacers and Knicks.
And then SportsCenter starts running footage of Kirby Puckett.
And it hits me why they're showing this B-roll three minutes into it.
Kirby Puckett's dead.
I'm hoping it's not true. I'm hoping there's just nothing happening in the world of sports, so SportsCenter is killing time by covering the stroke he suffered the night before.
But, no.
The "death screen" comes on, followed by Bud Selig's comments.
Oh my God, Kirby Puckett's dead.
It's all I can do to keep from crying in the bar. No one else in the stupid bar is watching this, and probably no one else cares, and it's all I can do to stop myself from climbing under the bar and closing my eyes and willing the whole world to go away.

Kirby Puckett is dead.

Two things about me:
1.) I've been a baseball fan from almost the time I recognized the concept of organized sports.
I2.) knew, even as a kid, that I was not going to be small.
Every person on my mom's side of my family was, well, big-boned, if you're feeling generous.
My dad's family had a touch of lank, but there were definitely fat tendencies.
I throught I would be short and fat when I grew up.
Didn't bother me much when I did think about it. Except that I knew it pretty much killed my hopes of playing baseball. Sure, there was John Kruk. Fat, but also sorta useless in the field. Ditto Rob Deer. Even Tony Gwynn wasn't what you could call a star athlete. A star hitter, sure. But in the field?
And then there was Kirby Puckett.
Kirby was short, round, and didn't seem to care.
He was one of the best centerfielders in the game. A great hitter who stroked the ball for power AND for average. And through it all, he just looked like a fat kid having fun playing the greatest game in the world.
Well, if you were at all a baseball fan in the '80s and '90s, you probably know all this already.
So, I'll just say this: For me, Kirby Puckett was it. IT.
The first baseball game I ever attended, in Portland's Civic Stadium, was to see him play, when the Twins were visiting their Triple-A affiliate, the Beavers.
And it was great.
I probably became a baseball fan for life on that day.
I wrote him, to tell him about that game, and he sent me back a ton of Twins memorabilia, including a signed photo.
Was it personalized or anything? No.
But I remember being shocked that this major league baseball player, this All-Star, would take the time even just to send ANYTHING to a kid 1,500 miles away, a kid he'd never met, in a town he'd only played in once.
And so, my first (and only) dog, I named after him.
Looking back, I'm sure folks would have a field day with a nine-year-old in a lily-white Olympia suburb naming his gigantic black dog after quite possibly the largest black player in the majors.
But I didn't think about that.
Kirby Puckett was the greatest player ever, to my mind, so why wouldn't my dog be named after him? And every time I went to feed Kirby -- this dog that outweighed me by 30 pounds when he was 6 months old -- and he tried to knock me down, and I had to reprimand him, I felt a little bad. I hated saying the name "Kirby" in stern tones.
I think, growing up, I must've read everything ever written about him.
It almost killed me when he got hit by a pitch and eventually had to retire. For years, even as I became more and more of a Mariners fan, I'd start my day by checking the box scores for how he'd done in the previous day's game.
And then he was gone, out of the game for good.
To this day, when I meet, or even hear about, someone named Kirby, I like them right away.
It's that deeply ingrained.
Now, I know it's a goofy thing, this thing where we take athletes into our lives, seemingly make them part of our families without really knowing anything about them when they don't have the uniform on.
There were plenty of articles about how he was after he retired. He had his issues, his problems.
I can't, and won't, try to explain those away. Not here.
But, when he was on the field, he was great. He was who I wanted to be, more than anyone else in the world.
He gave me an autograph. He gave me baseball. He gave me hope.

Monday, March 06, 2006

Y'know, The Ford tries to be a nice guy.
He really does.
He overlooks a lot of the trivial, idiotic things that happen in his life, 'cause that's life, y'know.
But there are some things The Ford just can't ignore.
He can't ignore how hot Keira Knightley is.
He can't ignore how miserably disappointing Cougar basketball is this season, just like last season, just like the season before....
And there's one other thing he can't ignore.
What was it again?
Oh, that's right.
The Fury. (Y ou may have heard of it; it's The Official Emotion of The Official Blog of The Ford, y'know.)
Yes, dear readers, it's time to play THE FURY.
This all probably began sometime Saturday morning, when The Official Building started trying to convince him he was going to die.
That'll set anybody's nerves on edge, doncha'know?
Thought he had it licked after a short evening at The Official Bar (probationary status) of The Official Blog of The Ford, thanks to some cheap beer and good pinball.
Or was it good beer and cheap pinball? Anyway, The Ford digresses.
Suffice to say, The Ford was feeling good when he exited the premises a full 20 minutes before the doors locked.
So good he decided to swing by a fast-food joint that, while not abysmal, offends The Ford in a minor way by bragging about the billions it's served.
It's all about quality, not quantity, people.
Of course, at 2:30 a.m., it's reall about keeping the drive-thru line moving.
After 10 minutes of waiting in line (and keeping his calm, since this is what happens on a Saturday night, post-bartime), The Ford was pumped to get a chance to order.
Only to be told that the only thing remaining was a single spicy chicken sandwich.
A. Single. Spicy. Chicken. Sandwich.
At 2 a.m.
With 15 cars in the drive-thru lane.
The Ford was convinced they were fucking with him. Finally, after several repetitions of the multiple identical phrases, ("You say you're 'switching over to breakfast'? Now? Are you sure? Switching over to breakfast? No burger? None?) both sides were convinced they were speaking the same language. The Ford took the sandwich.
Now, The Ford hadn't wanted chicken. The Ford gets a lot of chicken during the normal hours of the day. He likes chicken, especially when it's smothered in some decent hot sauce. (Though The Ford supposes that he truly loves the hot sauce; chicken is simple the optimal delivery vector for said sauce.) Chicken is a wonderful meat, The Ford says. But at the end of a long, long, long day, The Ford wants some good ol', USDA prime ground chuck, grilled to perfection and smothered in cheese and condiments. Failing that, well, he'll settle for McDonald's.
But there was no beef to be had.
So, after accepting his consolation chicken, The Ford motored on.
The Ford wants beef, he's dang well gonna get beef.
On to White Castle!
White Castle is not necessarily The Official Burger Joint of The Official Blog of The Ford. It's not even close. But its jalapeno cheeseburgers can be a satisfying port in a shitstorm of annoyance. (Still, dear readers, The Ford can't endorse All Things White Castle. This site -- --is just not up The Ford's alley.)
Now, The Ford doesn't necessarily purport to be an etiquette expert in most situations. He cusses far, far too much for that. But etiquette in the drive-thru line at 2:45 a.m.? The Ford's got that down cold:
Rule 1: Read the menu.
They generally put the menus up 10 feet before the speaker for a reason, people. Read the menu. Decide what might please your sophisticated gullet. Remember that decision, and move forward.
Rule 2: Keep it simple.
Special order if you must -- indeed, it's usually the best time to special order, since in-store traffic is way down -- but (a) know what you want; (b) express it clearly; and (c) move the fuck on.
Rule 3: Be prepared.
They ask you for your order after you've sat in line for 5 minutes; you should know what the fuck it is. They ask you for the money 5 minutes after telling you how much the food costs; have that shit ready. They give you the food after you give them the money; check your order then, without sitting in place for an additional 10 minutes.
That is all.

Obey these three rules, and 99 percent of your early morning drive-thru transactions will sort themselves out pretty cleanly.
Now, no one's perfect. Everyone, including The Ford, has fucked up on one of them on more than one occasion. But if you keep the other two going, you'll still be ahead of the game.
The Ford is considering posting these three drive-thru commandments near the key establishments in town. Until he does, he'll probably get repeats of his Saturday night White Castle experience.
Pulled up in the shorter of the two drive-thru lanes. Things are moving quickly, and then the car in front of him insists on getting two separate checks. In a drive-thru.
The Ford concedes the possibility necessity of this in situations featuring passengers with differing modes of payment. Cash and charge do not always mix, especially when one is fresh from the bar.
And yet, when both people in the car are paying cash, as the inhabitants of the car in front of The Ford were, well, The Ford wonders why the fuck they couldn't just settle up in the car and give one perfect, unified order. The Ford had to wonder this again when even the window worker was surprised by the use of nothing but cash to settle up. And when late-night fast-food workers are surprised, you have done something quite impressive.
Strike one.
Of course, the folks who insist on separate checks are apparently also incapable of reading the menu ahead of time, or, seemingly, at all.
5 minutes of scanning the menu was thus followed by 5 minutes of Q-and-A with the window person, inquiring what, exactly, this particular White Castle offered. After being shot down on their first two choices -- neither of which was on the menu -- they soon reached a compromise, and pulled forward.
Strike two.
At this point, time stopped inside the White Castle.
Or so The Ford assumes.
To think otherwise would likely mean accepting a worldview revolving around the idea of life actively screwing you over.
Because at this point, there was no more food. No more contact with anyone inside. It was a solid 10 minutes before any acknowledgement was made of the folks outside in their cars. There were still people IN the building. The Ford could see at least four of them walking around with clipboards and headsets.
But as far as people in the building willing to give food to the people outside the building who had just ordered?
Not so much.
After 10 minutes or so, the WC workers escaped from their isolation within time/space and continued serving the car ahead of The Ford.
Strike three.
By the time, The Ford reached the window, he fully expected his food to be ready. No special order, no fried foods, small bills and a long wait time usually speed the money/food exchange process greatly, once one reaches the window.
Alas, twas not to be. Another 10 minutes passed; apparently the time-space continuum is VERY unstable around this particular White Castle.
Finally, The Ford received his food and his change. The food was all there, and so was the money. Considering the perfect storm of annoyance to hit so far, this was nothing short of a miracle.
The Ford sped home, hoping his not-so-hastily achieved bounty would still be edible upon arrival.
So, of course, the gates to the alcove where The Ford drops off The Official Truck with the valet -- also known as The Kingdom of Liberal White Guilt -- were closed. The Ford, having had about as shitty an hour as a man with money, transportation and dignity can have, was not nearly as bewildered as the young couple trapped inside by the locked gates.
The Ford felt bad for them. While he, driven by an ever-growing rage whose roots lay far earlier in the evening, could cuss and spit like an old man getting a prostate exam, they were bound by societal norms suggesting that such an inconvience, despite its staggering improbability, was obviously not the end of the world.
In short, the man who has suffered through a shitstorm of annoyance is much better equipped to accept it than the man who is merely feeling the first few drops coming down.
Eventually, the gates rose, The Ford dropped off his keys, and retired to The Official Apartment, consciously choosing to ignore the annoying fire alarm lights still blinking in the hallway.
Y'see, The Ford CAN choose to ignore The Fury. He just needs a little beef to help out.
Though a little Keira Knightley would probably do the trick just as well.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

The Ford is exiled from his home sweet home for at least a few hours -- thanks to a building fire alarm that went off once the mornig while he was trying to sleep, and once this afternoon while The Ford was showering (bonus for the ladies doncha'know) -- so it's a bonus TSTF tonight.
The Official Fire Alarm of The Official Building of The Official Blog of The Ford is really ridiculous.
It starts out with a couple of weak tones that sound more like an alarm clock than a fire alarm.
This is followed by The (very calm, collected and completely accent-free) Voice From The Wall stating, "This building has had a fire alarm event reported. Please leave the building by taking the nearest stairs. Do not take the elevator."
It's sorta like the "red alert" mode on Star Trek, but without any of the drama, or ever a quasi-sexy voice saying the words.
Because the dude saying the words is so calm, there is absolutely no sense of emergency. It took me 5 minutes to go from being in bed this morning to leaving the apartment; this seemed all right at the time.
The Ford even took the time to lock his apartment, just in case it was a drill, and to find his most recent renters insurance bill/contact sheet, just in case it wasn't a drill.
The Ford even considered starting an argument with The Voice over whether there was truly a fire in the building. He'd been duped before.
Now, had there actually been a fire, The Ford has the feeling that all his lollygagging efforts to leave the apartment would have ended very, very badly. Images from "Backdraft" keep flickering through his head.
All because some dude two years ago was able to keep his shit together in a recording studio.
When The Ford rules the world, his fire alarms will not fuck around like this. No alarm tones. No calm, accent-free dude.
No, whe The Ford rules the world, his fire alarms will start out with a sonic-boom-level rendition of the chorus from the Talking Heads' "Burning Down the House."
This will be followed by a stressed-out and, quite possibly, angry Voice From The Wall --either Kiefer Sutherland or Alyson Hannigan -- yelling, "There's a fire! Get the fuck out! And don't even think about taking the elevator! Go!"
Now, don't misunderstand The Ford. This will be annoying as fuck-all as well. That's a fire alarm's job, to annoy you enough to get you moving.
But it'll damn sure get your ass out of your apartment in less than 5 minutes, even if you're in the shower.

In other news, thanks to his belief that his building was coming down around him this morning, The Ford got to meet his immediate neighbors, as well as several other people who live in his building. Oddly enough, he maybe saw only 7 or 8 apartments' worth of people. Almost all of them -- including his neighbors (who also locked their apartment door before leaving the building) -- were in their mid-20s and paired off with each other.
Of course, there's, like, 100 apartments in The Official Building, so The Ford's a bit confused about where everyone else was at 8 a.m., but perhaps they just have better social lives than The Ford.
All this, combined with his recent reading of a book written by the grandson of the professor his college dorm was named after, gives The Ford the impression that he's all-of-a-sudden back at The Official University of The Official Blog of The Ford, living in good ol' S. Town Stephenson East, naturally enough, The Official Residence Hall of The Official Blog of The Ford.
Oh, and one of his neighbors is cute. Of course, she's living with a dude.
The Ford must be late for his 11 a.m. Western Civ class.

Friday, March 03, 2006

If The Ford's quasi-obsession with comic books has taught him anything, it's that you're only as good as your arch-nemesis.
Batman has the Joker.
Superman has Lex Luthor.
The X-Men have Magneto.
Green Arrow has ... Blockbuster?
Villains matter, in other words.
Where would we be without the folks who make us work harder, sleep less and drink more? Probably at home, taking it easy in bed. And bed is no place to be, people, on a Friday night. Unless you're hot and can get in touch with me.
Of course, since those folks are few and far between, The Ford can feel it growing, deep inside him....yes, it's time to play The Fury!
Today's topic -- Candidates for The Official Nemesis of The Official Blog of The Ford:
1.) Hot Bartenders
Pros: Eternally infuriating The Ford with poor service at bars across the country, occasionally allowing him to sober up.
Cons: Eternally breaking down and giving The Ford beer. Plus, y'know, they're hot. (Hotness goes a long way with The Ford, he's sad to report.) When in doubt, The Ford always says, don't make enemies of the pretty people, at least as long as you can look down their shirts.
Words to live by, dear readers.
2.) The good folks at Playboy
Pros: Nearly suckered The Ford into buying an issue at the newsstand with an implied promise of a nude Jessica Alba. And yet, no nude Alba. That's just criminal, not to mention medically dangerous, with all the blood in The Ford's body flowing two places at once.
Cons: The same as the cons for Hot Bartenders, but without the beer.
3.) The Internet People.
Pros: Taking money out of The Ford's pocket as advertisers look more and more toward the Web.
Cons: The Ford would hate to be on the wrong side of the folks who gave him e-mail, chat rooms, and easily accessible porn 24/7. It's like messing with the people above, except that they can zap your credit score as well. Plus, The Ford could now be construed as one of The Internet People, now that he's all wired up with a blog. One should never be one's own arch-nemesis, short of falling into a horribly scarring vat of acid.
4.) The good folks at Playboy, Part Dos
Pros: In addition to a cover that just gets more and more crowded every month, (When Vanity Fair does a better job of playing up ITS nude celebrities with a clean looking cover than Playboy does, we should all be afraid.) it seems this month's issue features nudie shots of Pussycat Doll Willa Ford, who could be like a cousin to me, were we in any way related.
Cons: Ms. Ford IS pretty hot. Despite the name promising a return of the issues The Ford has with the supermodel Caprice. (She's not named after his mother. She's not named after his mother. She's. Not. Named. After. His. Mother. ) Plus, again, The Ford's not into picking fights with the pretty people, especially the ones who make a habit of taking their clothes off. It just seems rude.
5.) The dude somewhere in the Freep/DetNews building who loves Lunchables as much as The Ford does, and keeps beating me to the punch and buying the only "turkey and cheddar" option right after first deadline.
Pros: That dude is really pissing me off, especially since he seems to share The Ford's disdain for the ham-and-cheddar Lunchables. I mean, seriously! Dude! Buy something else! Anything else. Live my life for a few days, and enjoy the double salami, or the flavored Ruffles, or one of the plethora of sandwiches that seem just as appetizing at 9 p.m. Just leave me my damn turkey Lunchables!
Cons: Not being able to buy your preferred combination of lunch meat and cheese out of the vending machine seems a really petty thing to go nuts over. And yet, it seems right up The Ford's alley.
6.) Justin Verlander.
Pros: Hot-shot Tigers rookie could make the team, forcing The Ford to come up with headline specs that fit the name "Verlander," when the Tigers already have pitchers named Robertson and Bonderman. This will not be a good year for one-column headlines in the Freep. Which is too bad, 'cause that's all they'll deserve come July and August.
Cons: The Ford isn't sure, but Verlander could probably kick The Ford's ass. Plus, saying his name is sorta like saying "Zoolander." Which was a pretty good movie, come to think of it. Maybe the Tigers can sign Zoolander, as well. The Ford is in favor of anything that brings hot supermodel-type chicks into his neighborhood.

Well, pals o'mine, we've covered hot women, baseball players and junk food. Which means this edition of Thus Sayeth The Ford (Motto: "TSTF: Dude, we gotta get a better acronym.") has gotta be coming to a close.
The Ford's even found a few nemesii to round out his Rogues' Gallery.
All The Ford needs now is a femme fatale sidekick.
That search should go well.

The Ford's quick hits from Detroit:
1.) Got my hair cut for the first time in Detroit this weekend.
Which, I guess, wouldn't be that momentous, other than I did it in Dearborn.
I feel like a resident of Dearborn a lot of the time. With a Target, Best Buy and Borders within three blocks of each other, The Ford finds himself drawn there every day off, like a moth drawn to moderately prices CDs and free comic books.
Now, Dearborn would be your average American town, save for its incredibly dense population of Arab-Americans.
Now, you get used to seeing gals at the Target in burqas and signs in Arabic pretty fast.
But it was a weird thing to walk into the soothingly named "Sam's Barber Shop" there and be the only guy not speaking Arabic.
Yes, once again, The Ford, Whitest Guy in America, had stumbled into another hilarious non-white episode.

Honestly, the language thing -- and the realization that everyone in the barbershop had stopped what they were doing to stare at me -- was so disconcerting that I might have left, had there not been a copy of the Freep on the counter, turned beguilingly to the Olympics front I'd done the night before.
No barber shop with such respect for the work of a genius such as The Ford could possibly be bad, right?
Actually, things went really well, once they were able to convince me there was no way I was escaping getting my hair washed.
Now, The Ford washes his hair every day -- just one of many personal hygiene habits The Ford has improved on a lot since high school -- and in this case, had taken a shower not more than an hour before.
The Ford just opposes getting his hair washed by a stranger unless said stranger has breasts and a vagina. And even then, The Ford will usually insist on at least partial nudity and a security deposit.
Nevertheless, there was no getting out of the shampooing. And so The Ford took his rinse like a man, and came out of the whole thing with a pretty good haircut, proving that a good haircut transcends cultural and languagical barriers.
The Ford likely won't be making a second appearance at Sam's Barber Shop, though.
You can take away hot women lounging around (either in the form of SuperCuts workers, or in back issues of Playboy charmingly kept around) and The Ford will come back
You can even take away his ability to converse with barbers.
Just don't make The Ford wash his hair a second time. That shit's annoying.
2.) Tried out a new bar last night, The Town Pump. Recommended as the hipster's fave, with hot bartenders to boot.
And yet, still, The Ford was willing to give it a chance.
The beer was cheap, the bar was sparsely populated, and the bartender was smokin' hot. Of course, for a while, she seemed to share the main drawback of so many hot bartenders before her: an quasi-sociopathic inattention to serving beer to people she's not on a first-name basis with.
And then the bar died.
Seriously, it died.
Went from about 10 people hanging out to 1 in five minutes.
The Ford doubts the place could have cleared out faster had he started dancing naked on the countertop.
Faced with the realization that I was her only paying customer, I started to get some attention from the waitress, eventually escalating to playing movie trivia for shots with her and the bouncer.
Of course, The Ford's Eternal Drinking Game Dilemma reared its ugly head once more: Is the point of a drinking game to get drunk or to make friends and influence people? 'Cause The Ford can't do both.
Like Paul Crewe, The Ford can't throw a game longer than halftime. Still, by then, we'd all had enough drinks that no one cared.
Yes, The Ford was gaining popularity fast.
Sadly, all good things come to an end; eventually customers returned to the bar and The Ford regained his semi-anonymous status. Though he's still on a first-name basis with the hot bartender.
Plus, there's been some movie trivia studying.
So, The Ford's got that going for him. Which is nice.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

While I while away the hours until my first visit to Buffalo Wild Wings in Michigan, (Boneless wings! 16 sauces! TVs with sporting events! I'm geeked in so many ways I'm going to use an extra exclamation point!!), it's time to visit the world of sports ... and beyond.

(The Ford's been getting tips on how to tease to later reports from his local TV newscasters, and you, the reader, are the winner.)

Big news! The Ford is no longer The Only Coug in Michigan. Surely, there are some alumni living in the Mitten State. Maybe up on the Yoo-Pee, who knows? But here, in the Motor City, the jewel of the Rust Belt? Well, they seem few and far between.
Unless you work in sports at the Freep. Turns out one of our sports photogs is a fellow Coug. Of course, he graduated 20 years before I didn't, but still, we were able to share tales of the metropolis that is Pullman.
Which reinforces The Ford's belief that the reason Cougs remain fans of WSU is because there is NEVER any danger of the town changing. It's a reassuring feeling to know that students 30 years from now will have the same experience students from 30 years ago had.
Like, say, a horrifically bad men's basketball team, not unlike the one Dick Bennett just stepped down from...
Yes, Dick's gone at the end of the season, but Tony's sticking around. Which means sports staffers around the country will have "I left my heart in San Francisco" rattling around their heads for the next three years of Cougar game nights.
Congrats, fellers.
And what did Bennett the Elder have to say about his tenure as the lord and master of the Palouse hardwood?
"The best way I could put it is: We got what we expected, not necessarily what we hoped for."
Actually, when you consider he watched every men's hoops game this season, the fact that he still has the power of speech is pretty impressive. So we'll give him a pass on the, um, uplifting nature of his judgment of Cougar hoops.
Good luck, there, Tony. Your dad's rooting for you, and so is The Ford. Which should be all you need.
Of course, standards at WSU are pretty low, considering this statement from the AD:
"He brought respectability back to the program."
Yes, the coach who went 36-46 in 3 seasons brought respectability back to the school that went 25-57 in the previous 3 seasons. It was apparently a short step.

Well, at least the Cougs beat the Huskies all the damn time now.

Go Cougs.

Of course, were you dedicated to college basketball, and not reliant on The Ford's blog for hoops news, you might have caught this nugget from Andy Katz:
Basically, he wrote about what everyone in the Northwest -- and, apparently, Michigan -- knew already: Dick's gone, but Tony remains. Still, we do get this brilliant analysis: "Tony Bennett is expected to let the Cougars play with a bit more offensive freedom."
Well, considering the team is averaging about 43 points a night, and actually scored only 10 points in one half this season, that seems like a fairly bright idea. Good thinking, Coach.
Of course, when you're talking NW sports, you've gotta be talking baseball.
And thus we have Kevin Appier.
Now, after reading this story, The Ford concluded Appier's a bit of an ass, the jerk you end up hanging out with all the time because you're too dumb to lie about where you're going. But maybe it's reading too much into this. Maybe he's a great teammate who keeps everyone loose with his crazy, prima donna-esqe antics. And maybe he'll make the team.
Let's come back to the Motor City, and The Ford's almost-hated competition upstairs, and this little tidbit about the Tigers newest Great-White-Hope -Who-Doesn't-Punch-Cameramen (whoo, hope that's not all on his business card), Jim Leyland.
Now, he'll probably end up in the 'burbs or somewhere, but I'd really like the idea of Leyland getting a loft in The Official Building of The Official Blog of The Ford if for no other reason then they might replace one of the hot Art Deco women in the brochure with an Art Deco rendering of him, maybe lounging with one of the Art Deco women in full Tigers regalia.

That. Would. Be. Awesome.
Speaking of awesome... (See, these are the types of quality transitions The Ford insists on when he's not drunk. Or getting drunk.)

Let's try again.

Speaking of hot women who are partially artificial...

(Now that's what I'm talking about...)

... we have Anna Benson.
Now, The Ford usually cites Ms. Benson as an example of how the generic hotness of a woman can be greatly enhanced by a general aura of skankiness, but only so far.

But now, well, The Ford's starting to feel a genuine affection for The Charm City's newest resident.
I mean, she's hot, first of all. And an ex-stripper. The Ford's got, um, a soft spot for most hot ex-strippers.
So ... that helped.
But she's also proving a bit loopy. Which is pretty sweet.
Even when you get past the whole "riding horses with Peter Angelos" thing, this is just a good look at the wonder that is Ms. Benson. So to speak.

Of course, The Ford believes in going beyond simple blogging and compling links. Yes, for you, dear reader, The Ford will actually interview the subjects he's blogging on. (And by "interview," The Ford means he'll take previously published quotes and snippets from Web sites and run them with the skimpiest of context. Which, he supposes, is probably better than running them with the skimpiest of clothing. Though a lot less profitable.)

So, Anna, it's time for the lightning round....

Who can you cite in favor of your position on everyone's right to own guns?

"Even Gandhi wrote that 'among the many misdeeds of the British rule in India, history will look upon the act of depriving a whole nation of arms as the blackest.' And who can dispute that Gandhi the Gunner was a great wise man?"

Well, sure, no one can argue with that.
How do you feel about becoming a media sensation in Baltimore?

"I am asking people to be patient and watch what I have to unfold."

Sure, sure. But what my readers really want to know is, are those your real, um, fun-bags?

"No, actually, these are not my real fun-bags. After breastfeeding three kids, I was constantly tripping over my jugs whenever I tried to walk anywhere. So, I got a much deserved boobie job. If anyone has a problem with it, they just might get slapped in the face with one of my ripe melons."

Here's what The Ford says. (C'mon, you knew this was coming. The Official Name of The Official Blog of The Ford doesn't pull a lot of punches.)

It's been said that gigantic TEEN ta-tas rule the world. Lindsey Lohan comes to mind, and, well, The Ford guesses that might even be related to the point he's making.

Anyway, um, who said it's all about the gigantic TEEN ta-tas?

OK, OK, it was The Ford, and, well, it still is. But grownup sweatermeat's pretty neat, too.

Man, The Ford has gotta go to Baltimore.