It's usually because they're just so absurd or really lack even the most tenuous of news angles to give them the go-ahead. Other times it's because they're just absolute horseshit. But every Friday until we get sick of running them, we'll present to you some of these not-so-shiny gems. All items should be treated as [Sic'd]. Enjoy...

Texas Lawyers Love To Send Letters

LEGAL DEMAND NOTICE -

Mr. Daulerio & Mr. Bennett;

This email is from the Texas Rangers Baseball Club legal department. It has come to our attention that your website has posted a photograph of our family-friendly Texas Rangers "Six-Shooters" female group with the headline "Whores Are Coming To Dallas " as the immediately preceding caption, at: here

We hereby demand that you promptly remove the photograph of our group. Placing our group's photograph by the word "whore" is libel and implies an association between our family-friendly group and that highly offensive word. Failure to remove the photograph promptly may result in legal action. Please let me know if you have questions. Thank you.

Lindsay Caldwell

Legal Department

Texas Rangers Baseball Club

And This Is Why Drew Sticks To Dick Jokes

•

Just out of curiosity, why do random nobodies at ESPN who allegedly had affairs get named on Deadspin, but someone who voluntarily and admittedly lies about their treatment at a charity event remains nameless? Honestly, they all seem like assholes and I could give a fuck about any of them, but it seems unfair.

•

The guy who claimed he got tossed around while seeking Ali's autograph is indeed an asshole. But wouldn't the whole problem have been avoided if you'd sought confirmation of some sort from ASU and Murphy before slapping the guy's accusations on the Internet?

I love your site, but it might be a good idea to tread with just a little more care.

CTW

•

I hope you reach out to him and personally apologize. In fact, I think you owe an apology to the entire ASU family.

Pat Murphy has not only been a great coach, but an outstanding human in his almost 20 years coaching at ASU. When I read your posting earlier today it made me sick. Not because of the alleged behavior, but because I knew that the story was obviously BS and that Murph's reputation was being unfairly through the mud. The only saving grace was that the commenters seemed to see through the story, that fact speaks volumes.

I like most of your stuff Drew, but you f#$cked up big on this.

BTW, if you give me the clown's name that sent in that story, I'll be glad to pay him a visit.

•

Drew,

The least you can do for Coach Murphy is offer an apology and provide contact information for his charity. The story may have been fabricated, but you were the one who posted it without fact checking it or following up in any way. In fact, it would still be up right now if not for the thoughtful words of Mr. Policar, who demonstrated tremendous reserve in his response. I cannot even imagine what I would do if someone posted such egregious lies about a close friend of mine. Your non-apology of a post makes you this biggest asshole out of this whole situation.

But WHITE IS RIGHT

Barry:

I read your excerpt regading Sammy Sosa's lightened complexion and agree with you until you say: "He just wants to be beautiful."

Sammy Sosa wants to be WHITE. It is unclear what his motivation is behind turning white. Being BEAUTIFUL is a totally different motivation and one would NOT need to be white in order to be beautiful. Naomi Campbell is beautiful, Denzel Washington is beautiful, Iman is beautiful, Michelle Obama is beautiful, Tyson Beckford is beautiful, Halle Berry is beautiful, and the list of beautiful black people goes on and on.

Your wording continues to perpetuate the illogical conclusion that White = Beautiful. Its illogical because all Colors are beautiful, including white. Not just white in and of itself.

Now, This Is More Like It

Hey, how you doin'?

Just ran across your piece of shit website.
Sent this e-mail because there is no way I would register on your site
I am 50 years old, a life time steeler fan. Born in Jersey Shore, PA. (west of Williamsport, Home of little league world series. check a map, if you know how to read one!)

The only thing I agree with you on is band wagon jumpers are fucking ass holes. That's why I hate COWBOY fans.
I have been a steeler fan through good AND bad.

Quit your sniveling cry baby.

Have nice day.......

There Are Drawbacks To Being Number One On The New York Times Bestseller List

Hi,

Would you pay money for an exclusive picture of Bill Simmons' wife? If so, how much?

Thank you,
Ed

I swear to Christ, there's a book in here somewhere, and probably a pretty good one. Unfortunately, at this point, it appears that I'm going to need diamond-tipped drill bits, Bruce Willis from Armageddon, that rock-eating thing from the original Star Trek, 5,000 pounds of gelignite, and several members of the Leakey family to unearth it. But I know it's there. It has to be. After all, The Book Of Basketball is at the top of The New York Times bestseller list, and it already has done the world the great service of dumping from that spot Mitch Albom's latest exercise in Flintstones Chewable Eschatology. And it may just be big and heavy and lumpy enough to keep Sarah Palin's upcoming tome, My Vengeful Screaming Vagina, out of the top spot. This volume already has done much good for American letters in general. In gratitude, we should do it the favor of digging down through its many layers to find the book itself, wherever it may be. Therefore, let us first decide what to discard.

1.) Malcolm Gladwell Should Shut Up: Anybody who writes, "The other part about being a fan is that a fan is always an outsider" is pretty plainly from Neptune. And that is not even to mention the fact that, as we shall see in a moment, Simmons long ago stopped being any kind of an "outsider," even though he may never shut up about the fact that, long ago, the editors at the Boston Herald failed to recognize his genius.

2.) I Am The Cosmos: Not my line. The late Molly Ivins used it in her epochal takedown of the egregious Camille Paglia. But it applies just as well here. Skip any passage having to do with Bill's gambling, Bill's taste in movies, Bill's friends, and Bill's ongoing wonderment that there are bars in this great land in which women take off their clothes for money. Also, lose most of the footnotes. You're not the cosmos, and you're not David Foster Wallace, either.

3.) The Deep End Of The Pool: Oh, Lord, reading Simmons on race and/or history is like watching those guys in The Wages Of Fear drive the nitroglycerin down the mountain. As to the latter, anyone who can claim, seriously, that "having Larry O'Brien for a boss and then Stern was like jumping from Single-A to the majors," and even leaving aside the fact that the simile doesn't make a lick of sense, needs to do more work. The assertion is completely ahistorical. It was O'Brien (along with Players Association head Larry Fleisher, who gets one mention in the book) who carved out the 1976 and 1983 CBAs that ultimately allowed the NBA to survive long enough to make it possible for Stern, who'd worked on both of them himself, to become, in Simmons' words, someone we "don't need to waste words blowing." (You first, Bill.) And, as to race, he dances frenziedly around the topic, even at one point ruminating that, "I'm not nearly black enough to write this paragraph" before proposing an altogether banal plan for his revamped Basketball Hall of Fame. I have no idea what he means by "not black enough," and I'd rather not try to figure it out, but it's an oddly timorous contention from someone who is fulsome throughout the book about his affection for David Halberstam's The Breaks of the Game. It's hard to conceive Halberstam ever thinking he wasn't "black enough" to write about Billy Ray Bates, say, or John Lewis. And, as I recall, Halberstam was pretty much as white as Bill Simmons is.

Someone long ago should have pried Bill Simmons loose from The Phenomenon. (Read 700 pages of Simmons and you start typing in Capitals about Important things that you seek to Emphasize. It's like reading one of those Pamphlets from 1772, except that the Author's name is not spelled, "Fimmonf.") He is an amusing writer who saw the vast potential of the Internet before just about anyone not named Gates or Gore. He has carved out a remarkable career. However, and I know this may break hearts around this place — Good Lord, earlier this week, the former Landlord hereabouts wrote this, apparently while weeping over a portrait of Simmons in a heart-shaped frame — but that's the sum total of what he's done. He is not a transformational figure. He did not reinvent sports writing, or even the way people write about sports, which is not the same thing. He didn't even really break down the formidable "kicked in the gonads" barrier as far as the language of journalism goes. (Did anyone arguing that point ever actually read Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail? Hunter Thompson wrote some pretty wild stuff before he got to ESPN.com.) He didn't pioneer the use of pop culture reference in sportswriting; Andre Laguerre's Sports Illustrated did that and, anyway, Simmons' vaunted pop-cult knowledge is carved out of a very thin loaf of Wonder Bread. He did very little that was new. But he did it on the Internet. He created a gig for himself and sold it well. That should be good enough.

But, alas, he seems to have bought into a lot of this messianic bullshit, and it shows. Witness the celebrated — at least, among his fans — anecdote about his epic encounter with Isiah Thomas. It's 12 pages long. You can't miss it, unless you get sidetracked somewhere in Bill's hilarious account of playing drunken blackjack with his buddies in "Vegas." (Bill loves "Vegas." Reading Bill on "Vegas" is what the original Ocean's 11 would have been like, had Anthony Michael Hall been in the Rat Pack.) Simmons, it seems, had regularly ripped Thomas in his column, on the highly empirical grounds that the former Detroit Pistons star pretty much sucks worse at being a human being than he does at being a GM. Simmons spends a couple of pages trembling about the imminent confrontation — the kind of thing, it should be noted, that all those workaday sportswriters, the ones whom we are told Bill has rendered obsolete, have to deal with practically every day. When it finally ensues, well, this happens:

"We shook hands and sat down. I explained the purpose of my column, how I write from the fans perspective and play up certain gimmicks. ... He understood that. He thought that we were both entertainers, for lack of a better word. We were both there to make basketball more fun to follow."

Having established their mutual bona fides as Important Figures In The Glittering World Of Show Business, Bill and Zeke then talk basketball and Zeke imparts to Bill what Bill calls The Secret.

"The secret of basketball is that it's not about basketball."

It was about at this point that the book flew across the room. Who the hell is this guy when he's at home, as my Irish grandmother used to say.

Jesus Mary, you spend your career rightfully pointing out that Isiah Thomas is a transcendent dickhead, and then detente is established because the transcendent dickhead, your Fellow Celebrity, hands you a threadbare bit of wisdom like that? (Hint: People have been ladling out that kind of hooey in reference to baseball literally for centuries.) You've got to be pretty damn easy for that scam to work. It's a wonder he's not doing his book tour swathed in aluminum siding.

I suspect that the actual book here involves one man's love for a game, and not himself. As an argument starter, this is the best one since Dave Thompson's I Hate New Music. (God, is Simmons wrong about Oscar Robertson and, in a shrewd cameo defending Wilt Chamberlain, Chuck Klosterman demolishes the basis for Simmons's entire anti-Oscar argument.)

And, most surprisingly, Simmons actually reveals himself to be a better than passable memoirist; the passages about his father are touching, and they hint at a family subtext that actually would have been worth exploring in a little more depth. The book ends with a warm pilgrimage to the home of Bill Walton. There is some real writing in this section. Unfortunately, it is interrupted by Bill's wondering if Walton will read his book and Walton's assurance to Bill that he will, and Bill's leaving the Walton manse, apparently on a golden cloud. You are not the cosmos, son. Get the fuck over yourself. But, prior to the universe's once again becoming Bill's personal hand mirror, there is something very, well, sweet going on here. Somewhere in these pages is a real book, and somewhere in that book is a very real heart and a very redeemable soul, and that just may be worth the digging.

Charles P. Pierce is a journalist whose most recent book, Idiot America: How Stupidity Became a Virtue in the Land of the Free, will be out in paperback in June. He's also the author of Sports Guy; Hard to Forget: An Alzheimer's Story; and Moving the Chains: Tom Brady and the Pursuit of Everything.

You might have seen this earlier today:

Here's Courtney's own fawning-but-meaningful tribute to the Sports Guy's literary achievement:

One of my favorite Espn men is doing a book signing today. Bill Simmons, he is their MOST talented sports writer. I am a big fan of his and have heard he may be a fan of mine. I have some DVDs that I am going to bring him. A little gift for him. I want to buy some of his books and have him autograph them. I thought they would be good gifts for my brother and dad. What do you guys think from a guy's point of view? Is this a good gift? I thought so; I am going to take pics with him also. Can't wait! This is why I need to go get my nails fixed. I can't show up looking busted! Lol.

I was so nervous standing in line. I had butterflies in my stomach. I wanted to make sure he liked my gifts that I brought. He was so happy to see me. He hugged me and rubbed up against my titties. My pussy was so wet! I wanted to do him right there!! He was so sweet as he asked me who my favorite sports teams are. I can't wait to read his book. I bought four total!!

Or... he made the culture cum to him.

****

Thanks for your continued support of Deadspin. Barry P rocks the party that rocks the body electric or something in a little while.

An hour ago, in fact, "bill simmons wife picture" was the No. 4 hot trend:

Huh. So people are more interested in a woman they know only through her occasional cameos in her husband's popular Internet sports column than they are in a mousy character actor. Go figure.

Still via this Sports Guy cartoon

Google Trends: bill simmons wife picture, Nov. 10, 2009 [Google]

Daulerio will never admit this, and I probably shouldn't, but on January 23, 2003, we, along with fellow Black Table editor Eric Gillin, a Boston guy, stayed up to watch the debut of "The Jimmy Kimmel Show." We did this solely because Bill Simmons was a writer for the show. I'm not sure what we were expecting to see: Late-night talk shows aren't in the habit of giving guest appearances to lower-tier writers in their first episodes. (The show was a mess: This is back when they were openly drinking on set, and it was chaos. I think at one point, Kimmel tried to deep fat fry a ventriloquist dummy while "guest" Adam Corolla plaintively attempted to remind a piss-drunk Kimmel that "YOU ARE ON TELEVISION RIGHT NOW.") But it felt important somehow. A television show smart enough to hire Bill Simmons to write for them, well, that was something we couldn't miss. We felt like we knew him.

It's easy to forget this now, now that sports blogs are everywhere, now that Simmons is as much of an establishment figure as Chris Berman, now that the man produces his own television show, but back when he first came to ESPN, in 2001, he seemed like a revolutionary figure. I remember working in a doctor's office in May 2001 and reading his Is Roger Clemens the Antichrist? column. (I was not familiar with his Boston Sports Guy work.) I couldn't believe someone was getting away with this. Today, phrases like "kicked in the gonads," "this was the musical equivalent of U2 asking for a contract extension from their record company on the heels of "Zooropa" and "Pop")" and "looking like he was auditioning for the 'Chris Farley Story'" are familiar Simmons tropes: Everyone writes like that now. But not in 2001. In 2001, Skip Bayless was the "hip" columnist at Page 2. The other column I vividly remember from the period was Simmons' guide to the Atlanta Gold Club trial, which featured graphic descriptions of Patrick Ewing receiving oral sex from two women and this immortal aside:

During [Andruw] Jones's susbsequent testimony, the prosecutor asked which of the women Jones had sex with, and Jones answered, "Both of them," adding, "to tell you the truth, I wouldn't remember one of their faces right now." One of my personal favorite quotes from the trial.

What Simmons was doing was so different from what anyone else was doing that it didn't even seem to be the same medium. They were letting him do this? (Eventually, they would stop, somewhat: That Gold Club column got a solid scrubbing from ESPN back in 2007.) Other sportswriters hated Simmons immediately, ostensibly because of those tired Doesn't Sit In The Press Box arguments, but mostly because he was connecting with people, he was proving that the empty Verse Chorus Verse of the inverted pyramid and Fire The Manager! wasn't going to cut it anymore. Simmons was talking about sports the way people actually talked about sports. It's no wonder he was so disliked by the insiders and so embraced — tentatively at first, like a viral meme that spread, have you seen this guy? — by the masses. He gave hope for a lot of people — including, yeah, me, and Daulerio, and Gillin — that maybe the landscape for this shit, maybe it existed.

That turned, of course. It always does. Eventually the obsessives began carping — I think the Red Sox winning the World Series in 2004 was when the minor Bill Simmons Is A Douche! movement began — and the mainstream folks, unable to deny his success any longer, began meeting him halfway, featuring him above everyone else on the site and encouraging their own writers to impersonate him. (That Rick Reilly sits next to Simmons on ESPN.com's front page today is wonderfully surreal: No one's reputation as Sports Wit suffered more from Simmons' ascendance than Reilly. He morphed from Jim Murray to Henny Youngman, seemingly in a matter of weeks.) Sports blogs blew up, including this one, sites that put the Establishment (whatever that was) in their crosshairs and started firing, ultimately blasting in every possible direction, no matter what got hit. Inevitably, Simmons would become a target. He was the biggest name — to us, anyway. But even in those attacks, sometimes justified, sometimes not, there was always a little bit held back. After all, everyone still read Simmons: No matter how many Karate Kid and Teen Wolf references there were, you still always read him. You still took him seriously, even if it were to trash him. Nobody does that with Jay Mariotti, or Bayless, or Reilly. (Honestly, when's the last time you seriously read anything by those guys?) They're easily dismissed. They've been mailing in their work for a decade. No one has ever accused Simmons of that.

A large part of Simmons' appeal has always been that sense that you knew him, that somehow you were invested in his success. Malcolm Gladwell and Chuck Klosterman will sell more books in their lifetime than Simmons, but people don't wait in lines spanning around the block just to have them sign their book like they do for Simmons. (A search for photos of Simmons brings up hundreds of shots of him posing with fans.) People want to know what his wife's like — type "Bill Simmons" into Google, and the second hit is "Bill Simmons wife," and the fourth is "Bill Simmons wife picture" — and what his kids are like and whether he's different in Los Angeles than he was in Boston. This is all absurd, of course. The guy types into a computer at a coffee shop all day. But it's what fans have always done with Simmons, even those who purport to hate him. Simmons turned into an indie rock band from the early '90s. "He's hanging out with Jimmy Kimmel and Matt Damon now? SELLOUT!" We treated Simmons like he was a guy from our neighborhood who made it big, like it was important that he remember the little people who got him there. In a way, he kind of was.

Now there he is, atop the New York Times Bestseller list, as establishment a pedestal as one can imagine. Simmons did something incredibly rare, particularly in our fractured, niche media world: He made the culture come to him. His triumph is his own, but, in a strange way, it feels like a victory for all of us. The sports culture needed changing, and Simmons is walking evidence that it can, and did. Somewhere out there, there's a college student with a viewpoint different than everyone else, and he/she will show up and change everything too, exposing Simmons (and the rest of us) the way he did to Reilly. That'll happen again. Thank heavens. Good ideas win out. Perseverance and new perspectives break through. The old rots and washes away. Sometimes the good guys win.

(Photo via this outstanding Flickr set.)

The Holy Cross tattoo is always a good icebreaker

The Hurricane O'Reilly's staff [Boston signing] weren't allowing Simmons available for pictures while he was about to leave but we told the bouncer my girlfriend went to Holy Cross (which she did), and has a Holy Cross tattoo on her back (which she does), and he agreed to take a picture with her after he showed her the tattoo. He's a really nice guy.

Why could possibly be frightening about a guy who asks you sign his meat?

Casey Stengel once said "I love signing autographs. I'll sign anything except veal cutlets. My ballpoint pen slips on veal cutlets."

Despite being a yankee fan, I gave Simmons the opportunity to one-up the yankee legend, in NYC, during a yankee world series. Simmons obliged and signed(/attempted to), despite being very confused (and seemingly a little frightened). The guy really is fan-friendly.

*Consolation to Stengel: Simmons did have the advantage of using a sharpie

Glad we could help

Last night I was at the book signing, and before I left I printed out the "Biggest Loser-Jeter" pic from yesterday to bring to the bar.

When I went up to get it signed by him, Jack-O looked over and commented "That was on Deadspin today", Bill proceeded to sign it along with my book. Photo of the signed photo attached.

-Yosef Feldstein

Sports Guy Supports The Troops

Just a quick note about Simmons. My Dad went to the signing today at the Prudential in Boston and waited in line for over an hour. There were over a thousand people there and the line was very strict: book cover folded back with the book open to a certain page and a sticky note on that page with your name. However, when my Dad went up to Simmons and told him that I was in the military and currently deployed to the middle east Simmons took the time to talk to my Dad for a few minutes, shake his hand, and write a full note in the book for me.

I'm Boston born and bred and been reading Simmons since back in 99, so it was great to hear that he is still true to his fans, and appreciative towards the military.

Anyways, with all of the posts about Simmons on deadspin the past few weeks I think that was something that had to be shared.

Regards,
Nick Soughley, SrA, USAF

Do you actually know how long a mile is?

The line wrapped around the block by ESPN zone. [Chicago] I think were about 200 in an hour before the signing starts.

The signing has started and the line is now over a mile long with more people coming.

Both bill and his dad spacing away.

These things are always much better when no one shows up

I'm a long time reader, first time emailer. I felt compelled enough to email you guys about how crappy the Simmons book signing was at the ESPN Zone in Chicago. First of all the people at the ESPN Zone acted like they were airport security, i.e. they were huge douchebags. I read in one of his columns or whatever that he would write pretty much whatever you wanted in your book. However, some lady asked people in line what your name was and put it on a post-it in your book so he could sign your name. She asked if you wanted him to put Merry Christmas or Happy Birthday in it. Um, how about neither? The guy in front of me asked someone who worked there if we could take a picture with the Sports Guy and she said we could take a picture OF him signing our book. Oh boy. His dad was there too. I sat by him at the bar for like 5 seconds before he got up. I thought maybe I could wait til after to take a picture with Bill but the line was too long and I left. In short, it sucked.

Clint

Wow, this is even more boring that actually waiting in a long line

Chicago Loves Bill Simmons and The Book of Basketball [In Game Now]

You know the other guy didn't actually write any of it, don't you?

Waited on line at the Simmons book signing [New York] last night. Got online at 6:30pm and the line was already around 13th St. Once we made it around the corner and to the front door of the bar and the Ving Rhames looking bouncer told me "Ya know, if the fire marshal comes by here we're fucked. We're way over capacity." Once inside it was "asshole to elbow" for about 90 minutes until we got our numbers called to head up and meet the Sports Guy himself. At the time I got up there (maybe 9:30ish) he looked like he was starting to tire although he was greeted by a hot blonde that he seemed to know personally (wonder if the sports gal knows about her). For the brief moment that I was up there he was very nice, wrote what I asked and shook my hand. Also had Jack-O sign the book which was cool. Anyway, all in all it was a good night (except for the Yankees losing) but the bar handled the crowd like shit! Will never walk into that place again.

But "The Colbert Report" appearance was his "Achtung, Baby"

Can you please do something about Bill Simmons' rampant expansion?!?!?!

His latest video piece with Kenny Mayne was either his "jump the shark" moment or his "Rattle & Hum." Or, maybe, that's redundant.

Please, help put a stop to his neverending tentacles. Columns and podcasts are enough. And, I'll grant him a good book every once in a while. But he's becoming the media equivalent of banks and Starbucks...one on every corner. ENOUGH!

T. Reilly

In the third installment, Simmons talks about his future book projects. One idea seems like a goldmine:

Of course. It's so much more fun than writing columns - not having deadlines, being able to swear, making fun of announcers, and working on the same section for a week until you get it right. I loved it. I want the Book of Basketball to do well if only so I can shop an absolutely ridiculous topic for my next book: like, a book about basketball cards, or an unauthorized biography of A.J. Daulerio. Something that would make a publisher say, "That's an absolutely terrible idea, but his last one was a best-seller, so we can't say no, and maybe he could pull this off." I want to get to the stage professionally where you can get paid a lot of money for a loony idea that has like a 2.3 percent chance of working. I was always jealous of those people.

Although, the more I'm thinking about it, an unauthorized Daulerio autobiography is not a bad idea ...

I don't know. Is there a market for 12-page novels?

An Interview With Bill Simmons [NYMag.com/The "Sports" Section]

Tears, anger, underage drinking. Last night apparently had it all. Pictures and stories from the front lines ahead. Everything [sic] of course.

[Top photo from David Matthews, aka "Cecil's Wielder"]
[Tweets via The Stephen A. Smith Heckling Society of Gentlemen]

7:02 p.m. from David Matthews, aka "Cecil's Wielder":

"The line for the bill simmons signing at professor thom's is absurdly long. Lots of people hoping that they are selling books at a bar."

9:22 p.m. from Joe M. From Brooklyn:

"i am happy to say, without any reason to lie, that i have the FIRST book bill simmons singed in the entire NYC!!!

It was tough to get it but i did, i was 10th online and wasnt allowed in the bar because i was underage, but i did not let that stop me! Thanks to Bill's publicist she told bill he should sign my book (and a couple of other underage fans) right inside the bar before he actually walked in! it was amazing, there were hundrands of ppl and i was out of there by 7:15!!

I got him to write "this is ourrrrrrrrr country"! Havent put the book down since i got it!!

Love you bill!"

10:44 p.m. from Phil, aka "Peter Cavan":

"Subject: I met Bill Simmons!!

Ok, not really, since I didn't get to shake his hand. But he did sign his book for me.

I got to Professor Thom's at 6:45 pm and the line was already around the corner and down the block. They handed out wristbands around 7 and told us that if we already had the book we could go inside the bar. I didn't have the book yet as I hadn't decided until 5 today that I was going to the signing. So I waited in line with a few other Deadspin readers and several hundred strangers. The line behind me continued to grow until it reached 3rd Avenue.

By 8 pm we had turned the corner and could see the WS game through the windows of the lounge next door. At 8:30 I was inside the bar. That's when we learned how they were running the signing. They called us up in blocks of 20 based on the numbers on our wristbands. My number was 5872 and they had just reached 5700. It took about 10 minutes per block of numbers so I figured I had about another 90 minutes to wait. The bar was ridiculously crowded. People were pressing in from outside, people with signed copies were trying to get out, and many, many people were sitting at the bar watching the game. Surprisingly, the mood wasn't all that bad. I got to meet CPSL as he and his girlfriend were leaving. Around 9 pm they told us that if our numbers hadn't been called yet we should wait outside, so I went around to 14th St, got a sandwich and came back about 20 minutes later. At 9:45 I went back into the bar and bought my copy of the book from the Borders staff working at the back. A few minutes later and it was my turn to meet the man himself.

The signing itself happened so fast I hardly had time to think about it. They had Simmons and a few other guys sitting at a table at the back beneath a large TV. One of the guys looked like Jack-O. Simmons was standing up and signing a book for someone who seemed like one of his friends (based on the conversation that was wrapping up). He was taller and thinner than I expected. He sat down again and I stepped up to the table. He said hello and I thanked him for taking the time to sign for all these people. Then I told him I'm not really an NBA fan but that maybe I'd become one after reading the book. He said he thought I'd like it. He handed me my book and I made a quick exit from the bar.

My legs are tired from standing, I'm $23 poorer and I missed half the WS game. And I suppose I have to read the book now. On the other hand, I did get to eat a great sandwich from Thai Me Up. So I got that going for me. All in all, not a bad night."

11:22 p.m. from "Taish":

"I wore my Knicks Starbury jersey and Simmons let out a big laugh when he saw me wearing it. I was one of the first 30 people to get mine signed but I heard he stayed for 4 hours until everyone had a chance to get a signature. He even signed books outside of the bar for those who weren't 21 and couldnt get in. He's a good guy."

11:37 p.m. from Jeremy C.:

"I'm a Cubs fan (was wearing a Cubs jacket) and had the Sports Fella sign my book thusly (calling back his post '04 column to Cubs fans). The line / bar situation was a bit fubar, but once things got rolling, he got through 20 people every 9-10 minutes."

11:42 p.m. from David Matthews, aka "Cecil's Wielder" (again):

"After a three hour wait, a bouncer that looked a lot like ving rhames, several smoke breaks and chickening out on having simmons inscribe "avoid the clap" I finally got Jacko to sign a copy of a book right before the Phils broke things open in the 8th. What a magical night."

Fin.

Why, tell the entire world that Bill Simmons is only the super smartest basketball expert on Earth who really SHOULD be a GM, of course. I took a look at a copy of the book this morning. It's girthy, that's for sure. But it's clear right from the get-go that this is less a book than it is a resume for Simmons' basketball credentials. Let's go right to the opening paragraph of Gladwell's little reference letter…

Not long ago, Bill Simmons decided to lobby for the job of general manager of the Minnesota Timberwolves. If you are a regular reader of Bill's, you will know this, because he would make references to his campaign from time to time in his column.

Let's stop Gladwell right here and correct him. Simmons has been pimping himself as an NBA GM candidate since well before that Timberwolves job opened. He devoted plenty of column space to demanding the Milwaukee Bucks hire him. And he didn't just lobby for the T-Wolves job from time to time. He tweeted about the idea incessantly, and even devoted podcast time to it. He interviewed with Mike Rand to lay out his qualifications. There was even a Facebook group created specifically to advance the cause.

But if you are a regular reader of Bill's column, you also know enough to be a little unsure about what to make of his putative candidacy. Bill, after all, has a very active sense of humor.

Indeed he does, for someone who has seen a grand total of eight movies in his lifetime.

He likes messing with people, the way he used to mess with Isiah Thomas, back when Thomas was suffering from a rare psychiatric disorder that made him confuse Eddy Curry with Bill Russell. Even after I learned that the Minnesota front office had received something like twelve thousand emails from fans arguing for the Sports Guy, my position was that this was a very elaborate joke. Look, I know Bill.

No. Apparently, you do not. Because it's a classic Simmons move to do something like lobby for an NBA GM job, go to great pains to illustrate how many people support him and why it would be crazy awesome for a team to hire him because he inherently makes things more interesting, and then deflect all criticism of his efforts by saying he was only joking. He does this constantly, and it's one of his worst qualities. Because it means he's either being disingenuous, or just fucking obnoxious. Even in his excerpt from the book…

I explained the purpose of my column, how I write from the fan's perspective and play up certain gimmicks — I like the Boston teams and dislike anyone who battles them, I pretend to be smarter than every GM…

He keeps up with the "pretending" bullshit. Let's go back to Gladwell:

He lives in Los Angeles. When he landed there from Boston, he got down on his hands and knees and kissed the tarmac. He's not leaving the sunshine for the Minnesota winter. Plus, Bill is a journalist, right? He's a fan. He only knows what you know from watching games on TV. But then I read this quite remarkable book that you have in your hands, and I realized how utterly wrong I was. Simmons knows basketball. He's serious. And the T-wolves should be, too.

ZOMG! He was serious?! I'm SHOCKED! That wasn't the impression I got at all when I first thin sliced him!

Let's get a few things straight here. I don't think many people doubt that Simmons is a devoted basketball junkie who knows the minutiae of his favorite sport as well or better than most people. I certainly don't doubt it. The NFL is another matter. But yeah, I'd say the Sports Fella knows himself some basketball. And I don't even need to read his book to tell you it will be both entertaining and informative, and that it deserves to sell the zillion copies it ends up selling.

But the guy has spent his entire adulthood being either a writer or a fucking bartender. And wouldn't you know it: NBA General Manager is a job position that requires you to fucking MANAGE people. Isiah Thomas knows a shitload about a basketball. But guess what? He was the fucking worst manager of people in the history of everything ever. So while Simmons may clearly have the basketball IQ to warrant consideration for such a position, that's not the only skill you have to master in a job that requires hiring people, firing people (perhaps people you may feel affection towards), getting people to work together in harmony (Simmons feuds with his editors all the fucking time), being a canny marketer, not banging the office Hundley, and dealing with striking beer vendors or whatever the fuck else those poor schlubs have to do.

Oh, and it probably requires one other thing Simmons may lack: fucking humility.

Special thanks to Craggs, who provided the book excerpt and Napkin Gladwell.

Well, judging by Tuesday's installment, the verdict is clear: It's really good.

Last night's documentary was "The Band That Wouldn't Die," by Baltimore native Barry Levinson ("All I did was I parked the car on a nice lonely road, I looked at her, and I said fuck or fight."), about the Baltimore Colts band that continued playing on after the team left for Indianapolis. And while it had the occasional goofy flourish (odd camera angles, constant shifts between black-and-white and color photography, but a surprisingly low amount of star wipes), it still made for excellent television.

The best part was watching old footage of Robert Irsay, who was a fucking LUSH, going off on reporters during a press conference where he adamantly denied talking to officials in Phoenix about moving the team (he had). There was also a story from Jim Irsay about his father calling him while piss drunk and demanding he fly to Indy to try and move the team there, then not remembering the conversation when Jim called him from the city the next day. Drunk, old, shitty people never stop being amusing. They also interview Steve Bisciotti, who looks like he goes clubbing with Steve Lavin at least six nights a week.

On the surface, 30 for 30 is a foolproof idea. You take 30 gifted filmmakers, and you let them shoot an hour-long documentary on various sports stories from the past 30 years. Sounds like a perfectly reasonable idea that would be easy to get approved and execute. But the fact that the simplicity of that idea made it through the halls of Bristol unscathed is clearly some sort of small miracle. There wasn't a single sepia cutaway to Chris Berman during the entire movie last night, and Lord knows how many retarded ESPN execs probably asked for something inane and pointless like that to be included.

I do a lot of work in advertising. Good ads, in theory, are the result of very simple, good ideas. The reason most ads SUCK is because those ideas usually get put through a wringer of jackassery that leaves them lumpy, battered, and ruined. Remember five years ago? Remember ESPN25? Remember seeing Stuart Scott for three hours a night lecturing you about just how awesome ESPN made the world over the past quarter century? The fact that the network decided to pull its head out of its own ass and go down a more tasteful, rewarding route is quite the feat. I'm betting it wasn't easy. I'm betting Mr. Simmons had to do quite a bit of fighting to make sure this thing wasn't fucked with. So hats off to Billy Boy and company for pulling it off.

NOW FUCKING FIRE GRUDEN.

You can read the chat here. A handful of exchanges allude to Carolla and what is now known the world over as the Retard Chicken Pussy Address.

Patrick Swayze (Heaven)
You reference me and my movies in 85 percent of your career columns and all you can say for a tribute is RIP?

Bill Simmons (8:37 PM)
I'm still sorting out my thoughts. This might be the week to do the special Road House podcast with Dameshek though. I'd invite Carolla but the authorities are still looking for him after he blew up the Bristol bridge.

Drew (Seattle)
speaking of Carolla, is it true you're no longer allowed on his podcast? How the might have fallen..

Bill Simmons (8:39 PM)
No. It's not true. It was never true.

John (Philly)
Did you even bother calling Carolla to yell at him, or was it like how you treat that one uncle who gets way to drunk at parties but nobody ever says anything to his face?

Bill Simmons (8:40 PM)
He has reached Manny Ramirez status. You just shrug your shoulders and say that it was "Adam being Adam." This is hard to explain to other people though. Especially people you work for.

Missing is the following comment, which an editor saw fit to delete soon after it appeared (but which was up long enough for a user on an Adam Carolla Message Board to make note of it.)

Mike (Reno)
If it's not true how come you haven't been on his podcast recently, we all know Disney cut your balls off Bill, just admit it and move on.

That may or may not have prompted this response from Simmons, also deleted:

Bill Simmons
See, this is why Carolla's stupid rant made me mad. Carolla always leaves out the part where you have to drive to some warehouse in the middle of nowhere California at specific times of his convenience to do his podcast... where he records the pod is 35-40 mins from me. Also, he made it seem like his podcast is doing better numbers than mine and it's not true - my download numbers are better than his. His ITunes ranking is higher because that's how people consume his pod. People consume mine from ESPN.com. I would take the Pepsi Download challenge against him any time. And also, I wasn't banned. So other than that, he made some solid points.

(In an e-mail, Simmons writes: "Can't comment on things deleted from chats unfortunately.")

So, to recap: The Sports Fella goes on Carolla's podcast in February and talks about poop. This leads to what Carolla believes to be an ESPN ban preventing any of its personalities, including Simmons and something called Dave Dameshek, from appearing on his show. Simmons and Dameshek deny that any such ban exists. Then Simmons, annoyed at the suggestion that his podcast derives a substantial benefit from an appearance on Carolla's, goes a step farther in his chat and does the podcasting equivalent of comparing dick sizes, something the alleged retard chicken pussies at ESPN quickly scrub from the record. This is particularly rich. He may have been wrong about the ban, but everything Carolla said in his rant about ESPN's paternalistic handling of its audience was borne out the moment an editor took a red pen to Simmons' chat. Somewhere amid all the "retards" and "pussies," the man actually had a point. I will now light myself on fire.

Chat with Bill Simmons [ESPN]
Bill Simmons addresses some Carolla ?s on his chat, DEEE-LEEEEEEEETE! [The Adam Carolla Messageboard]

Carolla was under the impression that Simmons — along with something called Dave Dameshek — had been banned from his podcast; this, Carolla believed, had something to do with the Sports Fella's infamous February appearance, in which Simmons worked a light shade of blue and generally Dice Clayed himself all over the place and which Carolla's sidekick, Teresa Strasser, characterized as "a little too jizzy." A lengthy rant ensued. You can listen here (skip ahead to the 42-minute mark). Some highlights:

CAROLLA: Let me just say a little something to the retards who call themselves bosses over there, because we live in a fucking time where everyone does that, "good call, good call, good call." You're running a fucking business. This is one of the most popular podcasts on the Internet. Your two clients — Bill Simmons does a podcast, popular, probably not as a popular as this podcast but very popular, and Dave Dameshek does a podcast as well, not nearly as popular as Bill Simmons', but he still does a podcast. Now, you guys generate income via those podcasts. We share the same audience, essentially. White guys who don't have delicate sensibilities who are in their 30s and like to play fantasy football.

TERESA: There's no white guy in his 30s who does not read Bill Simmons.

CAROLLA: And doesn't like to make fun of a culture, of an ethnicity different than his own. So we share lots of the same audience. ... Bill Simmons came on this show and said something last time that may have pissed off way less than 1 fucking percent of his audience. Way less than 1 percent. ... I guarantee he didn't get one shitty letter for every 100 people that were listening to the podcast.

TERESA: Why does his audience care about jizz talk?

CAROLLA: That's the whole thing! They're a bunch of guys — they love beer, and the only thing they love more than beer is bone-crushing hits. They love it when LT's coming around the backside and there's a compound fracture of Theismann's shinbone.

TERESA: He's like the poet laureate.

CAROLLA: This is what fucking drives me nuts about these retards. And it's all sports. It's not just ESPN. They're so fucking sanctimonious. Look, your audience is predominantly made up of alcoholic gamblers who don't pay enough attention to their kids or their family and who would really prefer a night with Tom Brady over their own wife, sexually. Honestly. And who sit around all Sunday with their like-minded friends and get loaded and make racial jokes and off-color jokes and sexist jokes and misogynist jokes.

SOME GUY: It's a lot of fun.

CAROLLA: It's a lot of fun. That's what you do. That's your fucking audience. Stop pretending like they're not those people. No. 1, I guarantee everyone who reads Bill Simmons' column or who listens to his podcast or Dave Dameshek's podcast, column, whatever, are not what you'd call delicate — their sensibilities aren't delicate. They're not born-again Christians. They're not Jehovah's Witnesses. They're nothing of the sort. They're just regular guys, and the kind of guys we spend every Sunday with over at Kimmel's, watching games. You would literally have to lynch someone in front of them to offend them, and even then they'd probably shut up if you gave them a 12-pack.

[...]

CAROLLA: So they overcompensate and they don't want Bill Simmons coming on this show and then they banned Dave Dameshek from coming on this show, and then everyone applauds that executive. "Oh, that was a shrewd move." Not, it wasn't, you fucking retard. You just lost money. Because one guy wrote a shitty letter or five guys wrote a shitty letter, you have now alienated the thousands of people who enjoy Bill Simmons on this show and who are, possibly and potentially, new ears for his podcast and new eyeballs for his column and who can generate more income for your shitty company. So whoever it is who made that deciscion, you're a fucking retard. You're not a hero. You're a fucking idiot. Whoever your bosses are, they should be pissed off. Not happy about it. They should be pissed off. Because it's a fucking business. It's not a church. ... You've made a horrible fucking business decision. You made a shitty, fucked-up business decision. You have taken a couple of voices and put them above thousands of voices.

[...]

CAROLLA: Good luck. You're a pussy. You're a pussy. Do you like that? You like when you wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and you see a big fat fucking pussy staring back at you? Does your wife know she's married to a pussy? Does your kids know that daddy's a pussy? Awesome. Get a job and you just become a giant fucking fat fucking pussy.

[...]

CAROLLA: So there you go. Retard chicken pussy coward. You know what? I'm calling you yellow. We don't call men yellow very much anymore. But I'm calling you yellow.

End scene. You will note the expert deployment of the "retard" leitmotif. And somewhere between that first "retard" and that final, thumping "retard chicken pussy coward," Carolla even makes one or two good points, mostly about ESPN's corporate sanctimony. (He certainly has a better feel for the company than ESPN's own ombudsman.) The problem is that, well, no one actually banned Simmons from Carolla's show. We know this because Simmons told us so. He writes in an e-mail:

My pal Carolla can be prone to ranting exaggeration from time to time, especially when he hasn't had enough coffee. I am not banned from his podcast and nobody from ESPN ever said that I was. Hoping to make another appearance later this year.

So never mind all that. How retarded.

UPDATE: Dameshek e-mails to say he's not banned, either:

Hey man -

As far as I know, I'm not banned from Carolla's show. Really not sure where this came from.

- Something Called Dave Dameshek

The Adam Carolla Podcast [adamcarolla.com]

At one point, though, you'd think that ESPN editors (or Reilly®) would make sure his recycled bag of sports zaniness hasn't already been written by a.) The Artist Formerly Known As Rick Reilly or b.) Bill Simmons, if only to quiet those readers who enjoy stoking the imaginary rivalry between the two of them.

Here's Reilly's 10 reasons why you can abandon your team:

1. You actually play for that new team. In this case, you must still wear the cup of your old team during games.

2. You purchased that new team. However, you must have had a damn good reason for purchasing a rival. Michael Jordan can buy a piece of the Charlotte Bobcats because the Charlotte Bobcats can't win if locked in a gym with three pygmies. But if Jordan bought the Detroit Pistons? Bonfires of Air Jordans everywhere.

3. Your team hired male cheerleaders.

4. Your town's law enforcement permanently banned you from coming within 500 feet of your team's players, staff or stadium. Sure, sure, we know it was all a big misunderstanding. You were parked outside Peyton Manning's house with a telescope and three months of detailed charts because you are his personal astrologist.

5. Your spouse cheated on you with somebody from your team. With a starter, not some backup, coach or crappy PR intern. And you had to find out by some stomach-turning means, such as skywriting.

6. Your team is approaching its 50th year of one-family ownership and still hasn't won diddly. This is known as The Darwin Rule and allows you to escape, free of charge. Good example: The Fords of Detroit. No wonder 10 of the 22 declared NFL fan free agents at Fan-Free-Agency.com are ex-Lions fans.

Rule 6b. Your owner still wears Members Only jackets. His initials are Al Davis.

7. Your team's home games are no longer televised. You are free to go, Jags fans.

8. Your team folded or left town. In this case, you are automatically an unrestricted fan free agent and can immediately put yourself up for bid. A writer named Scott Soshnick did this recently with every big-four franchise. Only nine wrote back. But one — the Golden State Warriors — had 28 employees send him we-want-you e-mails, mailed him a jersey with his name on it, sent a DVD with rookies wearing that jersey, signed him to a $1 lifetime contract and wrote a mock press release announcing a new fan acquisition.

9. Your team changed its uniforms to teal.

10. Your team is the Cubs. Seriously. Go already.

And here's Simmons' version, circa 2002.

19. Once you choose a team, you're stuck with that team for the rest of your life ... unless one of the following conditions applies:

# Your team moves to another city. All bets are off when that happens. In fact, if you decided to turn off that sport entirely, nobody would blame you.

# You grew up in a city that didn't field a team for a specific sport — so you picked a random team — and then either a.) your city landed a team, or b.) you moved to a city that fielded a team for that specific sport. For instance, one of my Connecticut buddies rooted for the Sixers during the Doctor J Era, then happened to be living in Orlando when the Magic came to town. Now he's a Magic fan. That's acceptable.

# One of your immediate family members either plays professionally or takes a relevant management/coaching/front office position with a pro team.

# You follow your favorite college star (and this has to be a once-in-a-generation favorite college star) to the pros and root for his team du jour ... like if you were a UNC fan for the past 20 years, and you rooted for the Bulls (because of MJ) and then the Raptors (because of Vince). Only works if there isn't a pro team in your area.

# The owner of your favorite team treated his fans so egregiously over the years that you couldn't take it anymore — you would rather not follow them at all then support a franchise with this owner in charge. Just for the record, I reached this point with the Boston Bruins about six years ago. When it happens, you have two options: You can either renounce that team and pick someone else, or you can pretend they're dead, like you're a grieving widow. That's what I do. I'm an NHL widow. I don't even want to date another team.

# If you're between the ages of 20-40, you're a fan of the Yankees, Cowboys, Braves, Raiders, Steelers, Celtics, Lakers, Bulls, Canadiens and/or Oilers, and you're not actually from those one of those cities ... well, you better have a reason that goes beyond "When I was picking a favorite team as a kid, they were the best team, so I picked them."

Young New York fans
If you live in New York, you can't root for both the Yankees and Mets. Pick a side!

At least give me a reason like "Reggie Jackson was my favorite player growing up," or "I always liked the red Bulls uniforms," or even "Everyone in my gang wore Raiders colors." Do you really want to be known as a bona fide Bandwagon Jumper?

Minor similarities, if only in subject matter, but you can see how the one writer who penned the idea seven years ago might be a little annoyed that the other writer used a similar approach, given that they ride the same waves sometimes. In fact, one could say that a person who would do such a thing is lower than a crawlspace under a flounder's basement, even.

Only abandon your team with good reason [ESPN]

Traber, of course, took his annoyance to the airwaves, blasting Simmons on everything from his lack of sports knowledge to his voice to his nose-in-the-air attitude. This all because of this Twitter update Simmons let fly last week after he was asked to be on Traber's radio show to talk about the Collison mess:

"Note to unpopular, low-IQ sports radio bully/hosts in non-Top40 markets: I'd never come on your show to bring you attention. Ever. Not ever."

Traber retaliates:

• "It's pretty obvious that he is one of the wimpiest little dudes I've ever seen in my life. And I cannot believe for as high up of a job as he has-supposedly-that he would act like that, but I guess that's the way he is."
• "He doesn't do any homework. He's not a guy-he knows nothing about sports. He's just a writer who goes out there and writes crap."
• "Did you hear that voice? No wonder the dude doesn't like going on radio. I'm not telling you not to love the dude-read his tweats…The fact of the matter is, the dude is a little sissy. He has no accountability, he writes whatever he wants to write. If you're cool with that, go for it."
• "I will tell you that Bill Simmons and the grungy little punks in Seattle are made for each other."

Awesome. Simmons=Mudhoney.

For He Is Traber, Lord Of The Idiots [Daily Thunder]