Cape Cod Sports Desk

My style broke mother lovin' backs like Ken Patera

Back in the saddle, beating other bloggers like I had a paddle....

 I done did a little travelling recently, mostly related to our house in Maine. Never hire French-Canadian roofers. If Moses had hired francais labor, there'd be an 11th Commandment... and if you actually read the Code Of Hammurabi, there are sections devoted to shoddy construction, punishable by death.

The Code Of Hammurabi was carved into rock, so you know they were only taking serious applicants for admission. The eye-for-an-eye here was that the carpenter was to have the dwelling collapsed upon him- no mean feat when everything was made of stone.

 While I don't want anyone Collapsed, I have missed my little friend Miss Blog here, and we have two important matters to discuss 'fore I head off to get some ice cream.

 A) Randy Moss

B) Roger Clemens

Randy Moss is a 6'5" burner who can match a cheetah stride for stride for 50 yards. He's gathered scores of touchdowns in his career, which featured the Patriots refusing to move up to get him in the draft so they could stay where they were and select Tebucky Jones.

Randy- who played with Troy Brown at Marshall- had an entourage following him when he was 19 years old. When asked to state something positive about Moss, his college coach says "Let me tell you what a nice boy Troy Brown is." I'm not making that up.

Randy also smokes enough weed that his arrival in Massachusetts drove down Cape Cod marijuana prices. He's left the field before the game was over. He's mooned a crowd of 75,000. He has an afro you could hide a child in. He went to Oakland last year and dogged it to the point where they gave him to us for a 4th round pick.

Time heals all wounds, though... and there aren't 5 guys on the planet with his particular combination of speed and height... and we have the one with the best hands.

The QB throwing to Moss last year wasn't that more effective than sending out a short French girl who sort of pushes the ball at him because she can't get her fingers around the laces. I could get more than 5 touchdowns throwing to Moss, and I'm sure Randy has already ejaculated over the thought of playing with Tom Brady. If all works out, they may be each other's favorite person by October, 2007.

As for least favorite people, the Spankees managed to ink Roger Clemens to an abominable contract for this summer and beyond. Roger comes to the AL East with the express purpose of saving the league's big ticket franchise. NY could afford the man, and money makes the world go 'round, kids...

 Roger is 45, but that's only like 32 in Texan years. You know he's throwing smoke, and you know the Yankees are going to mount a furious charge right around the time we figure out that our zillion dollar Jap fireballer isn't up to snuff. I've seen it too many times already not to see it coming now.

I'm already preparing myself mentally for this inevitability, although I may have to get a night job if things are really, really ugly in early September. Children shouldn't see their parents cry.

Of course... I was present the last time the Sox bats went after Rocket Rog.... the 2004 All Star Game... and both Big Papi and Super Manny beat his ass bad enough to be able to command Newports for it in prison. Right in his hometown, too... in one of his previous retirement tours. I loved it.

You know that burned his ass, and he'll be screaming for vengeance off that mound like Nolan Ryan Jr. this summer.

No worries. It's not as much fun winning the pennant against the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, or whatever the hell they call themselves these days. I want Yankee blood on my hands while i enjoy my World Series victory beer. Eff them. Go sign Mo Vaughn, too... it doesn't matta.

We will sail in the Bay of their Misery.

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