The Bit Character Hall of Fame

       The idea of a “bit character” can be exceedingly broad, so here’s my only parameter to make it into the Hall of Fame: who does the most with the least.  That is, which character has the most impact in the smallest amount of screen time.  In some cases, these characters singe-handedly make the movie worth watching.  In others, they take the movie from merely watchable to the promised land of re-watchability.  

However, in all cases of legendary bit characters, there is “The Line.”  The Line is one quote that I fall back on whenever I talk about this movie.  Laughs win points.  Subtly wins points.  Also, if the actor who was cast is the only person on planet earth who could could properly deliver The Line, major points are awarded.  

Lester Bangs, Almost Famous

The Line: It’s cuz they make you feel cool.  And hey.  I met you.  You are not cool.

PSH is the Babe Ruth of character actors.  He is the Michael Jordan.  He is the Joey Chestnut.  Therefore, he is the first inductee in the Bit Character Hall of Fame.  Hoffman makes the audience feel like he weeds through scripts and purposefully chooses the one that we don’t think he will be able to play.  Oh, you don’t think I can play the manager of the Oakland A’s?  Or a world renown violinist?  Hunger Games??  You think I can’t do Hunger Games??  Who do you think you’re dealing with here?  And, each and every time, we are proven wrong.  Hoffman is so amazing he even made Along Came Polly (a debatably terrible movie) watchable.   

Furthermore, Hoffman has a seemingly never-ending number of variations on homosexuality: (1) His Level Two Gay: As Jude Law’s friend Freddie in Talented Mr. Ripley.  (2) His Level Six Gay: In his Oscar-winning role as Capote.  Or (3) His Level Nine Gay: As his iconic Boogie Nights character, Scotty, who not-so-subtly tries to come onto Mark Whalberg by saying “can I kiss you on the mouth?”   No other actor has this kind of range.  

        So versatile is PSH that I think the argument could be made for him as the greatest actor of this generation, and he could have been mentioned on this list for a myriad of different roles.  But, for my money, his portrayal of Lester Bangs in Almost Famous is his ultimate masterpiece.  His opening line - Here’s a theory.  For you to disregard.  Completely  - grabs the audience by the throat.  And he never lets go.  

In a movie with such a dynamic script, so many iconic moments, and such a great cast, PSH needs only 10 minutes of screen time to steal the show.  10 minutes over the course of a two and a half hour movie.  Yet, somehow in such minimal time, Hoffman transitions his character along an intricate web of un-truths, a kaleidoscope of personality.  One foot steps off the land of pretentious insecurity, as the other settles into a diatribe of heartfelt sincerity, only before striding forward, once again, into another rant of caustic cynicism.  One that is both horribly hypocritical, yet beautifully self-aware.  A static picture of any one of these steps is to confine Lester Bangs into a box, and would only capture of sliver of his true character.  One has to look at the entire web to understand the person that PSH brings to the screen.  It’s subtle in its obviousness.  Abstractly real.  Opaquely transparent.  And pure acting genius in its most powerful form.

Charlie, Blue Streak

The Line: I’m bad, baby. I’ll rip your lips off, and kiss my ass with them shits.  I do that.  It’s how I get down. 

God, I’m so happy that this picture exists on the internet.  

        Remember when Martin Lawrence did good movies?  You might not even remember this era, as the collective stench of Wild Hogs, Rebound, Welcome Home, Roscoe Jenkins, and (oh god) Big Mama’s: Like Father, Like Son, might have wiped your memory of the time when Lawrence was watchable.  However, Blue Streak is one of the most underrated movies in the unbelievably overdone genre of “renegade black guy teams up with rule-following white guy buddy movies” (aka Martin Lawrence’s entire career).  And every moment that Chappelle is on screen is gold.  He plays Charlie, Martin’s extremely gullible buddy who also happens to be the worst gangster in the world.  All in all, Chappelle’s relatively weak acting ability probably puts him just out of range of these other iconic characters, but then he caps off his performance with the “gut and eyes” move, and he hurdles his way into the inaugural class.    

Harry Ellis, Die Hard I

The Line: Hey babe, I negiotate million dollar deals for breakfast.  I think I can handle this Euro-trash.  Hey, sprechen ze talk?

(actually, slash that) The Real Line:  Maybe you’re pissed off at the camel jockeys.  Maybe it’s the heebs.  Maybe it’s the northern islanders - it’s none of my business.  

(no, no, no) The REAL Line:  Hey, business is business.  You use a gun, I use a fountain pen.  What’s the difference?   Am I right?  Hans - BOOBY - I’m your white knight.

The biggest sleeper of the inaugural Hall of Fame class.  Harry is one of those special characters that gets more and more funny each time you watch the movie.  I don’t even know the name of this actor.  All I know is that I need a lot more of him in my life.  

First, the not-so-subtle coke habit that’s insinuated throughout the entire movie without showing any drugs.  Hilarious.  Secondly, the laugh.  Cheesy perfection.  A perfect dose of cheese.  Third, the amazing (anti)chemistry between Harry and Hans.  Every time he says “Am I right?” to Hans and Hans looks at him with a visceral hatred, I laugh harder.  Harry is the kind of character that brings the kind of comedic depth to a movie like Die Hard (a hugely underrated action-comedy) that turns it into an iconic film. 

Buffalo Bill, Silence of the Lambs

The Line: Would you fuck me?  I’d fuck me...

Is it bad that I download “Goodbye Horses” because of this movie?  I think guarantees me a spot somewhere on the serial killer spectrum.  Whatever, don’t worry about it.  

This scene still creeps me out after years and years of watching Silence of the Lambs.  The obvious choices for The Line were either “It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again” or “PUT THE LOTION IN FUCKING BASKET”.  But they both seemed too surface level to capture the full essence of how cringe worthy Buffalo Bill really is.  However, he is not gratuitously creepy like most villains in horror movies nowadays.  He is necessarily creepy.  In fact, even though there is never any crossover between their characters, Buffalo Bill’s disgustingness is the piece that moves Hannibal Lector character into awesome gray-area of hero/villain.  Without Bill, I don’t think that Hopkins wins Best Actor and I don’t think that Silence of the Lambs wins Best Film.  

The biggest compliment I can give to this character is that fact that my mom is too grossed out by him to even watch this actor play other roles.  Legendarily disturbing.

Versace Salesman, Rush Hour 2

The Line: Croc Skin!! Buttercream, buttercream, croc skin, buttercream.  What size is the waist?  Let’s go in!

In case you’re not a charter member of the Rush Hour 2 fan club like me, in this picture, Piven is currently in the midst of saying, “Let’s put a dead animal on you.”   Lines like that make your chances of making this list very high.   Also, if you haven’t watched this scene half a million times, you may not have noticed the conversation that Piven is having when Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan first walk into the store.  The only line we hear is “it was a cowboy hat, and how it’s a pith helmet, and I wanted to spank - hold on.”  Subtly, my friends. Subtly guarantees induction.

Angry Smart Tech Customer, 40 Year-Old Virgin

The Line: Ok, check this out tho.  First of all, you’re throwing too many big words at me.  OK, now, because I don’t understand them, I’m gunna take them as disrespect.  Watch your mouth and help me with the sale.

Kevin Hart is a comedic hit man.  A mercenary-for-hire that will come in and burn your stage to the ground, for a price.  He doesn’t need lines.  He doesn’t need direction.  Shit, he doesn’t even need another actor in the scene.  For all he cares, everyone can stay home the day he shows up because it’s going down with or without them.  

Out of all the people on this illustrious list, no one gets more done in less time than Hart does in 40 Year-Old Virgin.  In less than two minutes, he and Jay have a full conversation that goes from friendly to Hart threatening assassination attempts on both Jay and Andy.  Furthermore, the phrase “we fuck dwarves in the ass” is used in response to his shit talk.  With range like this, Hart was a lock to get into the Hall.

      And just to think about my boy Wagman doing this impersonation wraps up the argument.  


Just Missed, But Received Enough Votes to Be on Next Year's Ballot

Big Earl, Starsky and Hutch

The Line: Two dragons.

I have also pushed the “less is more” theory when it comes to Will Ferrell.  The gravitas of Ferrell’s performance is heavily dependent on the brevity of the audience’s encounter with him.  Old School, Zoolander, Superstar.  All movies where Ferrell momentarily pops in and steals the show.  And for my money, Big Earl in Starsky and Hutch is the best one of these bit roles but...I’m not gunna lie to you it’s gunna get a little weird. 

Jesus, The Big Lebowski

The Line: Nobody fucks with da Jesus

The Big Lebowski is a top ten movie of all time, yet I seem to encounter a lot of people who haven’t seen it.  So, if you are one of these sad individuals, stop reading. Close you computer.  And do whatever you gotta do to get your hands on a copy of it.  Torrent it.  Rent it.  Buy it.  Break into a cool person’s house and steal.  Trust me, they’ll already own a copy.  It will be a far better use of your time that reading my opinionated bullshit. 

Hal, Happy Gilmore

The Line: You could trouble me for a nice, warm glass of SHUT THE HELL UP.  You will go to sleep, or I will put you to sleep.

The same Illuminati group that got to Martin Lawrence must have gotten to Adam Sandler as well.  I swear there was a time when he was funny, but then I watch his movies from the past ten years and I feel horribly mistaken.  Grown Ups 2???  Who is going to the theaters to see these movies?

Anyways, Happy Gilmore is the best movie Sandler ever made (if you say Billy Madison I will fight you.  Joke-for-joke is doesn’t even compare) and Stiller’s role as Hal is the most iconic bit Character (my apologies to Kevin Nealon and Bob Barker).  

Holding Out For the Veteran's Committee

Captain Koonz, Pulp Fiction

The Line: Five long years he wore this watch, up his ass.  Then, he died of dysentery.  He gave me the watch.  And I hid this uncomfortable hunk of metal up my ass for two years.  

One scene.  Five minutes.  Continuous monologue.  Cinematic history.  And Walken is the only person who could have delivered it in a way that seemed like it is 100% serious.  He doesn’t introduce himself, he doesn’t sit down.  He just jumps right into the story.  He doesn’t pull punches.  He uses vivid imagery and racist euphemisms as if he was telling the story to his PTSD therapist.  And it does not seem like a stretch at all to picture Walken taking part in every single piece of this story.  This could be a real story taken from the day-to-day like of Christopher Walken.  And that’s what makes it so funny.

Also, I like to imagine how many bath salts Tarantino must have been sniffing when he came up with this character, having the child version of Butch getting his Saturday morning cartoons interrupted by this story.  Classic.

Drill Sergeant, Full Metal Jacket

The Line: (wow, choosing one would be impossible - see below)

I’ll be honest, I don’t even really like Full Metal Jacket.  It’s a little slow, a little dated, and incredibly depressing.  That being said, it is totally watchable if only for the scenes with the Drill Sergeant played by R. Lee Emry.  Furthermore, his iconic screaming scene, which makes a Bobby Knight rant look like Mother Teresa whispering a bedtime story to Baby Jesus after taking a quaalude, is all improvised.  This Holy Grail of homophobic shit talk includes the lines:

I’ll PT you until your assholes are sucking buttermilk.

I admire your honestly.  Hell, I like you.  You can come over to my house and fuck my sister (punches the kid in the stomach).

You best un-fuck yourself, or I will unscrew your head and shit down your neck.

Five-foot-nine, I didn’t know they stacked shit that high.

Only steers and queers come from Texas, private cowboy.  And you don’t look like a steer to me, so that pretty much narrows it down.  Do you suck dicks?

I bet you’re the kind of guy who would fuck a person in the ass and not even have the common courtesy to give him a reach-around...I’ll be watching you!

You’re so ugly, you could be a modern art masterpiece.

I bet you could suck a golfball through a garden house.

Lawrence?  I don’t like the name Lawrence.  Only faggots and sailors are named Lawrence.

I will gauge out your eyeballs and skull-fuck you.

TJ Lavin: Is It Worth It?

        The title above is simple.  It is the one question that I wish to ask TJ Lavin before I die.  Bill Simmons actually had the spoon-fed opportunity to answer this age-old question, and missed out (although, I’ll give him a pass, as this is by far the happiest I have ever seen TJ Lavin on camera - he’s actually smiling - and Simmons may have not wanted to darken the mood with such a depressingly reflective question).  
I do not know how, when, or why this encounter will happen, but it most certainly will be a momentous occasion.  Perhaps it will be at the 2035 Emmys, where TJ will be accepting his lifetime achievement award for “redefining the meaning of 'taking one for the team' by sticking it out on one TV show longer than anyone thought possible.”  I will note the flashes of homicidal anger that flash across the other nominees’ (CSI’s Marg Helgenberger and Law & Order SVU’s Mariska Hargitay) faces as “apparent, yet subtle and understated through the decades of Botox.”  Or perhaps it will be via video interview from the set of The Challenge: Space Rivals (I’ve already written their promo for them: marathon arguments between Bionic CT and Bionic Wes are no longer stopped by the sunrise.  Because the sun never rises...during winter on Mars!!  You're welcome, MTV.  You've got one guaranteed viewer).  However, whenever it happens, it will undoubtedly be the most hotly-anticipated interview in the history of mankind.  And I’ll promote the lead-up to that shit like a CT fight.
For many years now, I have argued that The Real World Challenge is the best reality show on TV.  Unfortunately, that bastard Bill Simmons also happens to love/talk about this exact same topic all the time.  Thus, much of my thunder is being stolen here.  And Simmons also had the opportunity to do this (Timeout.  Timeout.  Timeout.  I am physically unable to move past that video in silence.  First, Simmons and Jacoby are playing a HORSE game with TJ pretending to host like The Challenge.  That’s a wet dream in and of itself.  Second, they’re spelling K-I-L-L-E-D I-T, TJ’s signature line??  And, if that wasn’t mind-blowing enough, they have an impromptu Leeroy appearance??  If you’re not a fan of The Challenge, these series of events mean nothing to you, and you’re going to another website right now.  However, if you are a fan of The Challenge, you’re too busy furiously drafting a letter to Santa for Christmas this year to be reading this.  Outside of scenes in Game of Thrones where Khaleesi gets naked, things as amazing as this do not happen).  So, Simmons is pretty much a god in my mind when it comes to anything involving TJ Lavin and/or The Challenge.  However, humor me and let me give you my reasons why The Challenge is the best reality show:

1) Step Up or Get Fucked Up:  The Challenge is called “The Challenge” because it is actually a fucking challenge.  Nothing about reality TV pisses me off more than when the show promotes itself as being super badass and then there is not a single moment on the entire season where any contestant is in real danger.  Yeah, I’m talking about you, The Hero.  Just because The Rock flexes for 45min with cutoff Under Armor and Ray-Bans does not make your show cool and/or badass.  Do I want to see deaths?  No.  But a catastrophic injury or two would be nice.  On the other hand, The Challenge features legitimate opportunities to show off one’s incredible athleticism or risk horrible injury.  People don’t just “show up” to The Challenge, they train.  And they don’t “just train,” they do steroids.  Lots of them.  And, if you’re trying to roll up into the house and step out of line, you will get regulated.  So don’t be a jackass like Derek (that sad little leg-kick is hands-down one of the most classic moments in the history of television).  And if you suck, you’re going to end up in an elimination challenge. And, most of the time, elimination challenges consist of two incredibly roided-out dudes smashing into each other, or two incredibly alcoholic chicks doing the same.  So step up or get fucked up.  Think: the best aspects of Survivor, Jersey Shore, and Wipeout all bundled into one.  

2) Very Little Payoff:  A very underrated aspect of the show.  The fact that there isn’t a redonkulous amount of money on the line definitely contributes to people acting like bigger idiots.  Thus, the pure entertainment of the experience often times trumps monetary reward at the end.  “Living in the moment,” if you will.  And the idea of big risk, very little reward just makes the show even more hilarious to me.  This season, TJ announced that there will be an unprecedented amount of money on the line this year.  “Life-changing” I believe was the adjective used.  $125,000 to the winner.  Which is what?  $75,000 after taxes.  Using conservative estimates, CT drops that much on cut-off tees, weird hats, and HGH each year.  This lack of payoff baits contestants back for season after season whether they win or lose.  Genius.  

3) Never-Ending Feuds: Unlike every other contest-style reality TV show, arguments on The Challenge don’t end.  They fester.  They span season-to-season.  And they get infected after years and years of reopening old wounds.  Some faces come-and-go, but the truly degenerate, shit-starting, fame whores will never leave The Challenge.  They will die on this show.  They were here when they were a doe-eyed 22 year-old rookie with no alliances.   And they’re on the show now (30-going-on-60 after almost decade of heavy drinking), and they’ve got a web of conspiratorial allies bigger than Kevin Spacey's on House of Cards.  And there’s no doubt in my mind that they’ll be on the show in years to come (yeah I’m talking about you, Aneesa.  Weren't on on Real World: Chicago from like 2001?  How old are you?).   Anyways, if you can forget the contestants’ depressing dependence on the show, this format has yielded some of the most explosive rivalries in the history of television.  Some have been violent.  Some have been funny (Katie...I’ve seen some crazy drunk bitches in my life, but you are the G.O.A.T.).  Some have been...wet?   Some people have gone on for so many years that they come full-circle and morphed into a beautiful friendship.  

4) Political Maneuvering: You think it’s tough to diplomatically make your way through Survivor?  A bunch of randos you just met on an island where the hunger and mosquitos are the biggest issues?  Try getting smashed, dormitory-style, into a house with your closest frenemies and worst nemeses, playing a game that you’ve all been playing for years, trying to organize of a bunch of drunks, all the while attempting to backstab the same person you’ve already stabbed in the back a half dozen times.  From what I've learned on this show, it gets significantly more difficult each time.  In all seriousness, I were considering politics, I would try to get some game time in on The Challenge before I started.  I would wager that there isn’t a politician out there who could fuck with Wes when it comes to controlling people’s minds (although I think Anthony Weiner would fit seamlessly into the cast.  He is pretty good at trying to pull the same move over and over again).  

5) A Hilarious Self-Awareness of its Own Ridiculousness:  The producers of The Challenge are the true geniuses who make all the magic happen.  First off, they’re sifting through the ever-growing pool of human filth that infests the Real World, which must be a arduous task to begin with.  Then, they have to weed through countless seasons of The Challenge to decide which “veterans” to bring back.  Yet, despite the difficulty, their knack of bringing back hilarious characters and running narratives season-after-season-after-season is uncanny.  Yes, I could nitpick and say that the fact that I haven’t seen Katie, Kenny, or Coral in a few seasons is a travesty, but that would be overly critical.   They always appease my perverse sense of humor with a solid dose of Wes and Johnny Bananas (life tip: if you find a show with a guy named “Johnny Bananas,” stick with it for as long as possible).   Furthermore, as each season passes, the producers take it upon themselves to take the depravity to the next level.  My favorite:  the final challenge of Fresh Meat II, when they made the final groups climb up a mountain (a legitimate mountain, one that necessitates picks, helmets, and cramp-ons.  Hard, but not impossible), only to have them stop half-way and chow down on a Thanksgiving-esque dinner before finishing.  I picture the pre-season meeting:  Ok so we got kayaking, mountain biking, running, and climbing...what can we do to bring the finale to eleven?  What about copious amounts of projectile vomit?  Perfect.  All the crucial aspects of a great show.  We really covered all the bases on this one, boys.

...and, last, but certainly not least:

6) TJ

TJ Lavin is the X-factor of The Challenge.  TJ holds the dubious distinction of being the only TV show host who openly hates their job.  Whereas other hosts probably pop an adderal or do a couple shots to get their “pretend happy” face on before an episode, TJ somberly walks up to the cast each episode with a face that looks either: (A) stoned or (B) stuck in the eternal contemplation all of the other things he could be doing with his life.  Me thinks it's about 10% (A) and 90% (B).  Furthermore, it seems that TJ’s hatred of the people he is forced to work with grows with each passing season.  But, in the ultimate twist of ironic awesomeness, his complete lack of effort and obvious destain for every contestant on the show makes him so unintentionally hilarious that he will never get fired.  It’s like he’s trying to get replaced, daring MTV to find anyone else, but the more he tries, the funnier he gets.  
Thus, despite his determined effort not to be so, TJ has become the only irreplaceable person on The Challenge.  And he has started to push his bounds to see how far he can take things.  Two episodes ago, the two losing teams set up for the elimination challenge and TJ called it off, saying “I’ve decided I’m not sending any home tonight.”  Thus, everyone went back to the house, essentially turning the entire episode into a kind of symbolic dress rehearsal for the next week.  What kind of a move is that?  Does TJ have the kind of pull to make these kinds of decisions?  This would be the equivalent of The Bachelor not giving a girl a rose, and Chris Harrison saying, “Nah, I've decided we’re gunna keep her.”   Has any other host in reality TV history commanded this level of respect?  I don’t think so.  
TJ, or simply “Teej” as my friend Angela and I refer to him, has lived a life most of us can only dream of.  He is a BMX legend.  He’s worth almost eight figures.  This is his wife.  Did I mention he raps?  Oh yes, my friends, Teej raps.  So it’s easy to see how such a Renaissance man of the dirt ramp and the microphone would be unsatisfied baby-sitting a large group of aging, chain-smoking, reality show contestants year after year.  Yet, no ones stopping him from quitting.  He could walk off into the sunset at any moment he wanted to.  And, this lead one to the obvious question, TJ Lavin, is it worth it?  One day, we will have this answer.  And what a day it will be.  But, until then, we can only sit around the campfire and ponder.  Is it worth it, Teej? Is it worth it?
America has become the dude who “only wants what he can’t have” and TJ is the chick who keeps rejecting us.  Only calling us for bi-monthly booty-calls in the middle of the night.  And the more he indifferent he gets, the more valuable he becomes.  It’s like the way Phil Jackson hates getting interviewed by Craig Sager, yet the hilarious destain only ensures that the interviews will never stop coming.  So I guess the joke is on us.  But it’s also on the contestants...and the producers...and TJ.  And this is exactly why The Challenge  is the best reality show.  Because it’s all a fucking joke.  And it’s on everyone.

Vanquishing the "Why Me?" Mentality

       In terms of describing my day-to-day outlook on my respective sports teams, one can use many negative adjectives.  Obsessive.  Pessimistic.  A relentless reverse-jinxer.  However, the one thing that I cannot be charged with is complacency.  Over the past three years, the Giants have met my life’s quota of unforgettable sports moments.  My brain has yet to even start processing last year’s ring, as I’m still basking in the glory of the improbable 2010 run.  Honestly, they could lose every game for the next ten years, and it wouldn’t bother me a bit.  Ok, I know that statement is bullshit, on par with naive hyperbole of a glowing newlywed.  Honey, tell the story about the hilarious “possum on the sailboat” incident.  Oh gosh, doesn’t she tell the best stories??  In the moment, things like this seem like the truth, and, in the moment, they probably are.  But truths are a malleable bunch, and they change over time.  What happens in ten years?  Twenty years?  Fifty years?  Godammit woman, can you please stop telling the story about the possum on the sailboat every fucking day?!  We all get it.  Possum are scary.  The jury has rendered its decision on possums, and they never need to be brought up again.  Ok?!  At some point, the things that were at first so easily dismissed become little droplets of burning-hot oil filling up the cavities in one’s mind.  Really 2 innings, Zito?!  Calm down...it’s ok...he’s doing his best.  Drip.  Maybe Pablo is just exceptionally big-boned.  Drip.  Hey, Belt is still young-ish, maybe that supposed power will eventually show itself.  Drip.  And repressing such feelings is just prolonging the inevitable overflow.  They must be addressed early on or risk an embarrassing, and possibly criminal, Exxon Valdez-like spill that will irreparably fracture the relationship, and will be incomprehensibly annoying to the people around you (ask anyone who knew a Red Sox fan before 2004). 

At the moment, I am in the midst of a Nicholas Sparks-ian love affair (the one with the two old geezers and the flashbacks) with the Giants.  However, if the Giants were to hypothetically fall into another half-century dry spell, I know in my heart-of-hearts that I would morph this aforementioned homicidal loon.  Because I have done it before.  Lost myself in the vast and highly populated sea of sports-fan-self-pity.  And, now that I am in a reflective, Sparks-ian state of mind, I think that it is important for me to recount my circular downfall into the drain, my emergence out from it, and what I’ve learned moving forward.  Because I know many of you are unknowingly sinking deeper into its contemptuous waters as we speak, and sometimes we need an emotional life raft cast out in the form of ridiculously cheesy/contrived/stupidly-too-good-to-be-true Ryan Gosling lines.

After the Giants blew Game 6 of the 2002 World Series, lost their awesome BALCO pick-me-ups, and entered the 2005-2009 stretch that I’ll simply refer to as “The Dark Period,” my faith in the Giants was slipping.  The thing is, when your team hasn’t won a championship since the Eisenhower Administration, a ring seems to be all that matters.  The regular season wins are nice, but they all are seen through a contextual lens in which they are merely individual steps towards the overall goal of crossing the ultimate finish line.  And, each time the team falls short, it seems to become more unjust and more painful.  The “why me?” moments seem to pile up, one after the other, like your team is being singled out from all the rest.  This begins a vicious cycle of codependency and hatred that only a truly degenerate fan can know.  And I was most definitely a truly degenerate fan.

But then, a miracle.  To say I was merely skeptical as I looked over the 2010 spring training roster would be giving myself far too much credit.  The ’09 team had missed the playoffs (in the perennially pitiful NL West no less) and the only offseason additions were Mark DeRosa and Aubrey Huff.  Two players that I liked, but who were not exactly “game changers.”  The murder’s row they rolled out on opening day left a lot to be desired:

1. Aaron “If Only You Could Trade Heart For Hand-Eye Coordination” Rowand, CF

2. Edgar “How Does This Guy Have So Little Power?” Renteria, SS

3. Pablo “Is That A Fat Dip or Food In His Mouth?  I Swear It’s Food” Sandoval, 3B

4. Aubrey “If This Guy’s Your Cleanup Hitter Your Team Has Problems” Huff, 1B

5. Mark “Wow, This Guy Hit Fifth??” DeRosa, LF

6. Bengie “Probably the Only Professional Athlete That I’m Faster Than” Molina, C

7. John “I Shit You Not, This Happened” Bowker, RF

8. Juan Uribe, 2B

(I love Juan way too much to give him a sarcastic nickname.  One of the best Dodger double agents ever - second to Jason Schmidt who is, of course, the unanimous G.O.A.T. of Giants-to-Dodgers double agents.  Although Brian Wilson *wink, wink* I see you working)

If Nostradamus would have arisen from the grave, dressed in an Aladdin-style genie costume, and told me that the fate of the world rested on me betting $10 that this team would win the World Series, I would have told him I’d rather go see The Last Airbender in theater.  And, as the team left the field on July 4th with a 41-40 record, I would have been busy vandalizing Nostradamus’s grave in retribution for trying to plant such a ridiculous notion in my head.  However, a couple trades, a Pat Burrell resurrection, and a Torres/Posey/Bumgarner emergence later, the team snuck into the playoffs on the last day of the season (side note: this improbable run required a 1.78 Team ERA in September - the lowest monthly ERA in the history of divisional play in the MLB - and 18 straight games of allowing 3 runs or less).  

What happened next is difficult to describe.  I’d love to tell you that what occurred during the Giant’s 2010 payoff run was simply the result of well-played baseball, but that would be an obvious and outright lie.  This shit was 5% defense, 10% Brooks Conrad, 10% Cody Ross, 25% pitching nirvana, and 50% divine intervention.  Nothing could go wrong for this team.  The only equivalent I can draw from personal experience is the sound of an un-restrainable laugh that bursts through as one looks down and sees Aces for the third hand in a row.  Here’s how the Giants robbed the NLDS from the Braves:

Game 1: Lincecum wins the game single-handedly, 1-0.  Seriously, he could have batted in all nine spots in the lineup and had Bochy ghost-run for him and the Giants couldn’t have lost this game.  You might ask, how did the Giants manage to squeeze out their measly run?  In classic Giant’s fashion: on a two-out Cody Ross RBI single after a bad call kept the inning alive.  If it wasn’t for that call, they might still be playing this game.

Game 2: The Giants blow a 4-0 lead and the Braves win 5-4, scoring 3 runs in the 8th and winning on a Rick Ankiel splash hit in the 11th.  I repeat:  a Rick Ankiel splash hit.  An absolutely soul-crushing loss.  The kind of loss that team’s can lose and entire series over.  My pessimism?  Probably a 9 on a scale of 1 to the Warrior’s blowing a 22-pt 3rd quarter lead in Game 1 against San Antonio (I can’t see this losing its death-grip over the “10” level of my pessimism scale any time soon.  It still hurts.  Goddamn you, Warriors, goddamn you).  

Game 3: The Giants lead 1-0 through 7 innings - their only run?  Scored on a cupcake of a pop-out that second baseman Brooks Conrad dropped (let me take this moment to thank the crime syndicate that paid off Mr. Conrad in this series.  Along with the countless millions you cashed in on, you made my year, and possibly my life).  Eric Hinske hits a pinch-hit, two-strike, back-breaking two-run homer in the 8th to put the Braves up 2-1, and now Kimbrel is coming in.  Oh, and we got Cody Ross and Travis Ishikawa starting off the inning?  Does anyone have a gun?   An Ishikawa walk,  and two-out singles by Torres and Huff, and the game was tied.  Posey comes to plate and hits a gimme-ground-out to second base.  But (thank you unknown mob boss, whom I will now simply refer to as “Godfather”), Conrad lets a ground ball go through his legs, his third error of the game.  The Giants win.

Game 4:  It’s Bobby Cox’s last season, there’s no way the Braves lose the elimination game. The Braves take a one-run lead and Derek Lowe carries a no-hitter into the sixth, but the Giants finally get through to him.  How?  A walk, an infield single, a questionable walk, a fielder’s choice, a real single, and two errors (the second of which was on the classic double play-ball where the second baseman turns it without ever actually touching the base.  This occurs on like 75% of double-plays and never gets called by any umpire.  For some unknown reason (is this you again Godfather?), the ump decided this would be the one time he’d shatter this implicit truce and call the runner safe).  A shaky, scary, nail-biting Brian Wilson-special later, and the Giants won 3-2.

Ok, so it only took half a dozen bad calls and Brooks Conrad meltdown for the Giants to pull out three one-run victories against the Braves.  So they must be totally fucked against the Phillies right?  These were my thoughts literally seconds after the Giants advanced.  The 2010 Phillies are, in my opinion, one of the best teams that the National League has fielded in my lifetime.  They are a poor man’s version of the Braves from the mid-90s, in terms of their three-headed-monster of a rotation, and I would argue that this Phillies team is superior offensively.  When I looked at the match-ups before this series started I did not see a single game that the Giants had an advantage in.  Yes, the Giant’s pitching was (maybe) on par with the Phils, but their lineup was so vasty inferior:

Phillies	Giants
Victorino	Torres
Polanco	Sanchez
Utley	Huff
Howard	Posey
Werth	Burrell
Rollins	Uribe
Ibanez	Fontenot
Ruiz	Ross

       As the pessimism was back in full-tilt, I set myself up with the expectation that the Giants could maybe put up a fight and steal of couple of games, sign a game-changing outfielder in the offseason (maybe Carl Crawford, Adam Dunn, or Jayson Werth - holy shit, all Giant’s fans can collectively rejoice that I’m not the GM), and make their run in 2011.  However, no one informed me that Cody Ross had unlocked the real-life version of the Backyard Baseball power-up “Aluminum Power.”  For those of you who are unfamiliar with this power-up, let me give you its definition, as defined on Wikipedia: “Aluminum Power - the rarest and most valued of power-ups and can disappear after one or no tries when in use.  Players use an aluminum bat to hit a definite home run.”  Ross managed to skip out on the infuriating “one swing version,” instead wrangling himself the unheard of “every at-bat for the rest of the season version.”   

Cody Ross?  Really?  This is like back-to-back hole-in-ones.  On par 4s.  While winning the lottery.  In multiple states.  The Giants won in six games, although they were outscored 20-19 in the aggregate.  Of course.  Because that makes total sense.  Ok, on to the World Series, I guess.  

When the Giants made the World Series in ’02, I felt like it was destiny.  This was the year Bonds was finally going to silence his critics and win a ring.  This was the year where the front office had gone out and made the team a force to be reckoned with.  There were a lot of expectations.  And there was a lot of emotional currency on the table.  Therefore, when they blew it, I was crushed.  This was the exact opposite from the 2010 team.  When this team stepped onto the field in Game 1, I was playing with house money.  I couldn’t believe what was happening.  In my mind, they shouldn’t have even made the playoffs.  Much less advanced.  Much less won it all.  So it was all gravy.  It was all fun.  But, you see, this team was also a team of destiny.  Not the projected, forcefully self-imposed kind that I felt about the ’02 team.  Or the kind that the Yankees feel every season.  The real kind.  The kind where everyone is looking around and one another with silly grins on their faces, all thinking the same thing, but not willing to say it out loud.  What the fuck is going on here?

To be clear though, over the course of the season, this had morphed into a much different team.  And, in my defense over the whole “Nostradamus diss,” the World Series roster was miles better than the opening day version.  Compare the Game 1 lineup to the opening day lineup:

Opening Day	Game 1
Rowand	Torres
Renteria	Sanchez
Sandoval	Posey
Huff	Burrell
DeRosa	Ross
Molina	Huff
Bowker	Uribe
Uribe	Renteria

 

This team truly believe that they were meant to be there.  And they played like it.  Unlike the nail-biting NLDS and NLCS, the Giants wiped the floor with the Rangers in the World Series, 4 games to 1.  All relatively one-sided, straightforward victories.  A TV producer’s nightmare, a Giant fan’s dream.  

Boom.  Curse lifted.  Pessimism gone.  “Why me?” mindset eliminated.  Let’s be clear: I am not claiming enlightenment or anything, but since the Giants have won the World Series, and the “why me?” haze has been lifted from my life, I have come realize that is not the frequency of the heartbreaking moments that increases, but rather one’s susceptibility to feel them.  And, although I am currently floating through this disappointing Giant's season with the cloying optimism of a tear-soaked Taylor Swift fan watching the end of The Notebook for the 50th time, I know that this is a fact that I will have to come back and read aloud to myself when the Giants resign Zito in the offseason.  Or when Lincecum allows 9 runs over an inning and a third.   Or when I look at the calendar and it's the year 2045, the Giants haven't won another World Series, and they are 15 games out of first.   It's all a matter of perspective, Cody, it's all a matter of perspective.  

Major League Baseball’s First Annual Finance Awards

          Welcome to the Inaugural MLB Finance Awards!  The idea for this prestigious award show was conceived when I recently noticed that the Los Angeles Dodgers went from a $95 million payroll last season to a $216 million payroll this season, yet are only projected to win one additional game.  I thought to myself, this has to be the most fiscally irresponsible team of the last decade.  And then I thought, oh fuck, I forgot about every Yankees team of the past decade.  But I had to know for certain.  So, being the unbelievably not-nerdy kind of guy that I am, I created a spreadsheet with most irresponsible franchises and the most frugal franchises of the past decade.  And what I found shocked me. 

Team Awards

Most Likely to Be Featured in a Movie With Charlie Sheen: 

‘06 Florida Marlins

$192,000 per win.  Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a record akin to Cy Young’s 511 wins, or Ricky Henderson’s 1406 stolen bases, or the amount of sweat that constantly pours from Kevin Youkilis’s bald head, in that, it probably will never be broken.  Their team payroll of $14.9 million seems like a typo when you’re scrolling through years of salary data.  But, if you look at their players salary-by-salary, you realize it’s not.  Alone, Dontrelle Willis’s (relatively paltry) $4.35 million salary took up almost 30% of the overall payroll.  This would be the Yankee equivalent of Arod making $70 million a year.  To put that in perspective, here are Yankee’s players who made more money than everyone on the Marlin’s roster whose names weren’t Dontrelle Willis in ’06:

Johnny Damon

Jason Giambi

Randy Johnson

Hideki Matsui

Mike Mussina

Jorge Posada

Alex Rodriguez

Gary Sheffield

Derek Jeter

Yet, despite all of this, this Marlins team managed to squeeze out 78 wins.  Joe Girardi must have lost ten years off his life trying to negotiate for more free agents in the offseason.  No wonder he went to the Yankees (unfortunately, he’s probably lost ten more dealing with Arod in New York).  Fun fact: the Marlins paid Miguel Cabrera (.339 BA, 26 HR, 114 RBI), Hanley Ramirez (.292 BA, 17 HR, 51 SB), and Josh Willingham (.277 BA, 26 HR) a combined total of $1 million this season.  Can someone file criminal charges for something like that?  Isn’t that in the Constitution?  Do the Marlins have the Cuban Mafia handling their contract negotiations?  This team is the real-life equivalent of the Indians in Major League I, where the owner is trying so hard to suck, yet the players continue to some how pull out a decent season.  Cabrera is definitely Pedro Cerano, I can live with Dontrelle as Willie Mays Hayes (for a pitcher, he does kinda hit like Mays and run like Hayes), and I like Girardi strapping back on the catcher’s gear and playing Tom Berringer’s character.  I would continue on with a paragraph bashing owner Jeffrey Loria further, but there will be much more time for that.

Most Likely to Handle Annual Budgeting For the U.S. Government: 

’12 Red Sox

If you would have asked me which team was the least effective spender of the past decade, I would have been jumping up and down in my seat like those crazy dudes in sports betting commercials.  This is my LOCK OF THE CENTURY, the New York Yankees are the most irresponsible team ever assembled!!!  However, just like those sweaty, red-faced idiots on TV, I would have been wrong.  And now that I know the answer is the 2012 Red Sox, I feel foolish.  I should have guessed that this train-wreck of a team would have been in the running.  $173.2 million input, 69 win output.  That’s good for $2.510 million per victory.  That’s a U.S. government number if I’ve ever seen one. 

Most Likely to Be Schizophrenic: 

The Marlins

In all seriousness, I am doing Jeff Loria a huge favor by suggesting he’s schizophrenic.  It actually implies that he is trying to do a good job, but he is just mentally incapable of doing so.  This is far better than the (much more likely) alternative that he simply doesn’t give a shit about the Marlin’s franchise, fans, players, or employees.  I picture Loria’s secret lair, with intricate spreadsheets and elaborate flowcharts covering the walls, decoding secret messages from Bud Selig and uncovering devious plots by the Rays to take over the South Florida market, and then Mrs. Loria walking in and seeing that it’s all a figment of his imagination.  
Before the infamous ’06 team, the Marlins spent $60.3 million in ’05.  That's over a 400% drop in payroll.  And then, in 2012, after hoodwinking everyone into thinking he was actually trying with a $118 million payroll, Loria sold off the entire team mid-season to get to his current payroll of $36 million.  That's over a 300% drop.  Seriously, can Bud Selig get this over with and 5150 Jeff Loria?  Or just make the Marlins a Triple-A team?  I refuse to believe that you can run an organization like this and get away with it outside of fiction.  Or politics.

Most Likely to Be Involved in a Ponzi Scheme: 

Just Pick Any Met’s Team 

Pretty self explanatory if you look at owner Fred Wilpon’s Wikipedia page.

Most Likely to Be the Subject of Moneyball II: 

The Tampa Bay Rays

Ray’s GM Andrew Friedman is one of the most under-appreciated people in the game of baseball.  For some reason, manager Joe Madden seems to get all of the credit for the miraculous turnaround of the Ray’s franchise (it must the awesome glasses), and Friedman remains the mysterious Wizard of OZ character behind the curtain.  Yet, no other team can match his track record of minimal dollars yielding maximum wins.  Not the A’s (10-year average: $726k per win).  Not even the ridiculous Marlins (ave: $631K per win).  Over the past ten seasons, the Rays have won an average of 81.8 games per season at an unfathomable $554k per win.  And those numbers are still short-changing Friedman’s genius, as he has only been at the helm for the past eight of those seasons.  His personal numbers?   85.1 wins per season at $584k per win.  
When opposing GMs look down at their cell phone and see Friedman’s number, it has become more of a pants-shitting occasion than when Billy Beane calls.  Through some kind of strange alchemy, Friedman pulls off moves that look terrible at first, and then suddenly look like bank robberies.  As of ’08, the Ben Zobrist for Aubrey Huff deal looked horrendous, as Huff was hitting .304 with 32 home runs for the Orioles.  In the five seasons since?   Huff is out of baseball, and Zobrist has made multiple All Star teams while racking up an absurd 30.6 WAR.   
In 2011, Friedman let Carl Crawford, the best player on the team and the face of the franchise, leave to join the divisional rival Red Sox.  Crawford’s per season averages before/after leaving the Rays:

	G	R	H	2B	3B	HR	RBI	SB	BA	OBP	SLG	WAR
Before	137	85	164	24	12	12	66	45	0.296	0.337	0.444	3.9
After	78	43	79	18	4	6	31	11	0.266	0.303	0.416	0.5

But wait, it gets even more one-sided.  Crawford was making an average of $3.92 million per year with the Rays, and has made an average $18.12 million the past three years.  Oh yeah, and he’s owed another $82.5 million over the next four seasons.  Go fuck yourselves, Dodgers.  
Friedman’s heist de jour?  James Shields for Wil Myers.  And, as Shields opened up this season putting up more All Star caliber numbers and Myers was still in the Minors, I once again found myself second-guessing Friedman.  Since?  Shields has been solid, but not world-changing (6-7, 3.08 ERA, 1.254 WHIP), while Myers is well on his way to locking up the Rookie of the Year and looks like a star of the future.  Forget the players, someone needs to test Andrew Friedman for performance enhancing drugs.  
         For his efforts, the Rays will be the spotlighted team in my remake of Moneyball II: How to Actually Advance in the Playoffs (ouch, I'm sorry A's fans. That one must have hurt).  And, sticking with Moneyball tradition, I am casting Hugh Jackman to play Friedman.  Because, as everyone learned in the first Moneyball movie, all nerdy baseball GMs are also ridiculously charasmatic and good looking.  And to play the role of Madden?  I’m breaking any sense of continuity and casting Phillip Seymore Hoffman again, as any opportunity to cast PSH in any role should be always utilized.  

Key: A's - Marlins - Rays - Dodgers - Red Sox - Yankees

Individual Awards

The “Have You Hired Scott Boras Yet?” Award:  

Craig Kimbrel

Short of saving babies from burning orphanages and creating a peaceful resolution in Israel, I’m not sure if there’s much more Craig Kimbrel could have done over past four years:

W	L	ERA	SV	IP	H	BB	SO	WHIP	WAR
13	6	1.41	123	203.2	109	77	350	0.913	8.6

Rookie of the Year?  Check.  All Star game every eligible year?  Check.  Un-hittable fastball?  Disgusting off-speed?  Check and check.  Combined with the fact that he’s made $1.6 million total over that span, and Kimbrel has been one of the most valuable players in baseball, dollar-for-dollar.  
Obviously, Mike Trout would have been the easy choice for this award, but that motherfucker gets everything, so I decided to mix it up with Kimbrel.  Also, the fact that Mariano is (supposedly) retiring, means that the title of best closer in baseball, which has been thoroughly on lockdown in pinstripes for the past 17 years, will be moving to Kimbrel’s mantle.  He becomes arbitration eligible next season, so it will be interesting to see how much of a raise he will get.  

The “Thank God You Hired Scott Boras” Award: 

Mark Teixeira

Seriously, the Yankee’s accountants must have the routing number to Scott Boras’s bank memorized by now.  And Mark Teixeira should be thanking his lucky stars that this is the case.  In the summer ‘08, I picture Boras sitting Tex down and having a very serious conversation.  Ok, Tex, so you’re a free agent at the end of this season, and here’s what we’re going to do.  I’m going to get you traded to a playoff team, you’re going to go nuts for two months, then I’m going to leverage that into a retarded contract with one of the New York teams.  Then, you can basically hang out, get little nagging injuries, and live out the rest of your life in style. Trust me, I pulled this one with Beltran, if the Yankees don’t bite, the Mets will for sure.  
Anyways, Boras managed to get the Yankees to agree to 8 years, $180 million, and here are his before/after per season averages:

	G	R	H	2B	3B	HR	RBI	BB	BA	OBP	SLG	WAR
Before	151	94	165	37	2	34	113	74	0.290	0.378	0.541	5.2
After	122	75	120	27	1	28	87	11	0.266	0.303	0.416	2.7

And he’s on the hook for another three years, $67.5 million.  Thank god for Scott Boras.

The “You Need to Fire Your Agent and Hire Scott Boras” Award:  

Evan Longoria

Here’s a rule of thumb for all MLB players:  if Andrew Friedman puts a piece of paper in front of you to sign, you probably shouldn’t do it.  Keep in mind, this is a man who somehow got Ben Zobrist for 4 years, $18 million, with team options for the fifth and sixth year.  He’s like a Moroccan carpet salesman who somehow gets you to buy six full-length carpets when you don’t even have six rooms in your apartment.  He’s a gypsy who gambles with you and lets you win a couple times before getting you to bet big, then takes every dollar to your name.   
Friedman served up another Friedman-special with Longoria’s recent contract extension of 10 years, $136.6 million.  I realize the lunacy of saying a nine-digit contract is a ripoff, but it is.  Longoria is a Gold Glove corner infielder, entering into his prime, who has put up an average 650 Plate Appearance WAR of 7.4 up to this point.  If Boras was his agent, he would have burned the entire Ray’s organization to the ground before signing anything less than $18-20 million per season.  This was the man who got fucking Oliver Perez $12 million a year for god’s sake.  I must admit, I have a personal motivation here, as I would love nothing more than to witness the dogged ferocity of a Boras-Friedman standoff.  The unstoppable force meets the immovable object.  Who would win?  It’s like the sporting finance version of the  hypothetical Lebron vs. Jordan one-on-one game.  However, in the end, we all know this deal would never come to fruition, as Boras would just end up going to Magic Johnson and crew.  Hey, Magic, what about Longoria for 12 years, $300 million?  Hmmmm...fuck it, why not?

Conclusion

Major League Baseball needs to grow a pair and institute a salary cap.  They have taken positive strides with the luxury tax, but the prevalence of additional revenue streams, the most crucial of which are multi-billion dollar TV contracts, for big market teams makes the pain of the tax minimal (see the Dodgers, Yankees, and Red Sox).  Additionally, a salary floor would prevent bumbling idiots like Jeff Loria from cutting down to a $14.9 million payroll and throwing the entirely league out of whack.  These are not unreasonable requests.  In fact, I’m sure sure that one could do the math, in terms of the level of both the ceiling and the floor, and determine what level would keep the overall pool of money at relatively the same size.  A preliminary suggestion?  What about a floor of $75 million and a cap of $150 million?  That way, fans of small market teams could be assured that their team would be fielding a watchable squad, and fans of big market fans could still be assured that there will be ample funds to throw around in the offseason.  The goal is to protect against the outliers.  The teams who are gaming the system.  Choosing money over skill.  And taking away from the entertainment of the sport.