An Interview with Playboy Model Angela McLin

Yes, it's another Flip the Script Friday and another interview. Introducing Playboy Model Angela McLin. Enjoy.

The Serious Tip: Hi Angela, how are you?

Angela McLin: I am great! I have never worked so hard in my life! I have a full time job as a hair stylist /makeup artist and holding down lots of networking on the side for modeling!

TST: Where are you from?

AM: I am from Fort Worth, Texas. I went to Southwest High School class of '01. I have been here my whole life.

TST: How old are you?

AM: I am 24. I will 25 in September, can't wait! Every year I get older I get wiser and more established!

TST: How long have you been modeling? How did you get into it?

AM: I tried modeling when I was in cosmotology school years ago. I shot a few times for some of their ads. But it was not till Playboy called that I had my 1st real job. I was kind of a surprise find, I went to just say I had tried and then they really called me; it was a huge shock to me. They then flew me to LA (my dream spot) to shoot for PlayboysFreshFaces.com (NSFW - ed.) and here I am!

TST: What is your ultimate goal as a model? What is in your future? Will we see the "Angela McLin Show" competing with Tyra Banks anytime soon?

AM: My ultimate goal as a model is to prove that dreams really do come true if you work really hard. I don't have to be the next Gisele but I would like to be known as someone who made it as a savvy buisnesswoman. Not just a pretty face and big boobs! Oh, and I am 1 1/2 inches too short for Next Top Model! LOL!

TST: How did you get involved with Playboy? Were you a surprise find or have you been working your way up the modeling ranks?

AM: I went to the web page and got signed up for the casting call and my boyfriend drove me to Dallas where I bared it all for Hef!

TST: Are you an exhibitionist at heart, or was it difficult taking that step from bikini to nude? If so, how did you overcome the fear?

AM: Not an exhibitionist at all. I am very shy but I love the camera, always have. Playboy photographers make you feel very comfortable; they are very professional.

TST: What was the popular opinion from family, friends, etc after you appeared on a Playboy web site?

AM: Everyone that knows seems to be happy for me. Playboy is not as frowned upon as it used to be. Some really big names have been in there! Plus this is 2007, it takes alot to get in the door, there are beautiful girls everywhere you look. Playboy is a great company to get your name out there and they take great care of you!

TST: You've been to the Mansion. Is it the party nirvana everyone thinks it is?

AM: It is awesome. Beautiful girls everywhere. Everyone takes your picture like you are someone special too! The scenery is beautiful. There are birds and monkeys. There is a landmark on every corner!

TST: Ok, enough small talk, are you single?

AM: No, I have an amazing boyfriend that I have been with for about a year. He's a really great guy like no other, possibly the one!

TST: What kind of guy gets your attention?

AM: I like guys who are real! A nice, funny, hard-working guy with goals in life that he actually acts on. Someone who knows how I am feeling and understands exactly what's wrong. Someone who makes me feel special and does not make me cry. Oh, and of course, someone who knows how to touch me in all of the right places!

TST: What about guys who write for sports web sites and blogs?

AM: If I was not already in a relationship, sure I would give you a shot! I really do like all kinds of guys, just not losers!

TST: Describe your worst date ever. Did you see the guy again?

AM: Never really been on a bad date but if you ever took me out for sushi I would puke! Oh, and I hate loud obnoxious guys who try and talk to you when your boyfriend leaves for a second to go to the bathroom or something. I mean come on. Does that really work!?!

TST: Is there a set number of dates before you'll sleep with a guy?

AM: There is no set number of dates, I wait as long as possible. When the time is right I will make your night! LOL

TST: What if he was this great writer and you were absolutely smitten with his words even before you saw him? Would you still wait?

AM: Everything good in life is worth waiting for.

TST: Been with another girl? Open to the idea? Thoughts?

AM: I have kissed another girl just for fun. I have always known exactly on what side of the line I stand.

TST: You mention in your Playboy video interview (again, NSFW) that to turn a guy on, all you would have to do is look at him. What if he was blind? How would you get his attention?

AM: LOL! Good question! I guess I would whisper something sweet in his ear, that always tickles my fancy!

TST: Stranded on a desert island with one famous guy - who would it be? Why?

AM: The Survivor Guy from the Survivorman show on the Discovery channel. He could keep me alive for a long time; he knows all kinds of crazy stuff. Did you know Fritos Corn chips are like little coals you can add them to a fire to make it last forever? Crazy!

TST: Stranded on a desert island with one famous woman - who would it be? Why?

AM: Well, Paris is my favorite so I choose her. That's hot! She could call a jet to come get us. Plus the paparazzi are never too far behind her so she could never be lost!

TST: Of course, because this is a sports blog, are you a sports fan? If so, favorite teams? Why? Favorite athletes? Why?

AM: I did get into the Mavs when they were in the playoffs, I never had sat down and watched a game before and it was fast paced so it kept my attention. I liked it! Now I love Texas Hold-Em and depending on who you ask these days it may or may not be a sport. Now my favorite player is Daniel Negreanu but all my friends say I play like Mike "The Mouth" Matusow. LOL. It is true, I must admit!

TST: What is the craziest thing you have ever done at a sporting event?

AM: I cuss people when playing poker or any kind of competitive game, I am a very sore loser!

TST: Web site? Myspace? Where can fans see more of you?

AM: Myspace: you can enter my full name Angela Mclin or my fake email (cause someone on there stole mine) enter angelashairdesign@myspace.com. Check me out on http://www.playboysfreshfaces.com/ (one more time - NSFW - ed.)

TST: Give a shout out for people to vote for you.

AM: Thanks to all the friends who took the time to go and vote for me. Every vote counts. And all the people who write to me on Myspace, you all have been a blessing! I am just a normal girl who's trying to make a name for myself in this big world. I never knew how many people would play such a role in my success.

Thank you, Angela. XOXO

TST: Thanks Angela, and the best of luck to you.

Bill Simmons mocking the less fortunate

I used to be a Bill Simmons fan. No longer.

Maybe I am a little sensitive because he chose to belittle my local team in his most recent "column" (and I put column in quotation marks because all it contained was pictures and captions). I know Simmons is supposedly writing the next great NBA novel, but to mail in his effort by picking on the Devil Rays was a poor show indeed.

If you didn't read or view Simmons' so-called "article", here is the premise: ESPN writer Bill Simmons went to "Tampa" (actually St. Petersburg) to visit his buddy "Stoner". After being scooped on his great idea to write about the expansive nation-wide Red Sox bandwagon, Simmons decides to create a first-hand documentary of a Red Sox Nation pilgrim and the Pink Hat Brigade on a sojourn in a foreign land, namely Tropicana Field.

(Where do these fans come from? Who knows? Maybe a bandwagon island in the Gulf of Mexico.)

Anyway, Simmons embraces his new bourgeoisie status by making completely unwarranted negative comments about the Devil Rays organization, their stadium, and their fans. While some actual baseball fans are opening their eyes to the Devil Rays, Simmons resorts to taking cheap shot after cheap shot at an organization that has struggled for respect in a division steeped with tradition. As one of the few bloggers who openly root for the Devil Rays (others here, here, and here), you won't see me writing anything positive about Simmons or his beloved Red Sox on this site. (It's a shame my fellow high school alumnus Tim Wakefield pitches the Sawx - I'll still discuss him on occasion.)

Unfortunately, in other news, the Rays have more important fish to fry than to respond to the empty jabs of an ESPN writer. "Rising Gas Prices Force Devil Rays To Forfeit Games". (CAP News)

Baseball's Secret Ointment

Major League Baseball has a secret. It likes to rub its balls.

OK, that was a cheap joke. But in a sport where creams, compounds, and other ointments have gotten quite the publicity of late, I bet you didn't know the ball itself also receives a rubdown before every game.

Years ago, I read about the family of a guy named Lena Blackburne. Blackburne was baseball's "mud man". Apparently, every new baseball used in the major leagues gets rubbed in mud from the old Blackburne farm before it can be used. The use of the mud is even specified in the baseball rule book. The rule requires that the shine and slickness of a ball be removed before it is used in the field of play.

"3.01 Before the game begins the umpire shall: ...

(c) Receive from the home club a supply of regulation baseballs, the number and make to be certified to the home club by the league president. Each ball shall be enclosed in a sealed package bearing the signature of the league president, and the seal shall not be broken until just prior to game time when the umpire shall open each package to inspect the ball and remove its gloss. The umpire shall be the sole judge of the fitness of the balls to be used in the game;"

Although I heard about Blackburne's mud years ago, there is not much on the Internet about Baseball's secret muck. Back in 2005, a Philadelphia News station ran an article about the mystery farm and its new proprietor, Jim Bintiff, grandson of John Haas, a friend of Blackburne's who inherited the land when Blackburne died in 1968. Then a Pittsburgh news site went a step further, discussing the mud and interviewing the Pirates "rubber". There is also this forum that discusses the life of Mr. Bintiff. More recently, Michael Cochran of Big O Sports provided a pretty in-depth history of the mud. But still what is in the mud remains an opaque mystery.

Personally, if I was Barry Bonds, I would demand Bud Selig reveal what officials have been rubbing their balls in on the ball for over 70 years before I even think about mentioning anything about the cream or the clear.

Here is the homepage of the mud: www.baseballrubbingmud.com. You can even buy your own.

Tuesday's Circular Ramblings

Time for a short exercise in circularity …

To start, I have two complaints about the Little League World Series that ended Sunday (and I happen to like it moreso than others): 1) push back the fences. Every game ended with a walk-off. WTF? How unrealistic. The game winning homerun was an opposite field bloop hit strictly with the wrists. Come on. Push the fences back at least another 10-20 feet. 2) the pitch count= ridiculous. They don't have pitch counts in streetball or broomstick ball, where I cut my teeth, so why have them in LL? I used to pitch for hours, until sundown or rain, whichever came first. Stop worrying about these kids “professional potential”. Just teach them how to throw change-ups. I didn't see one kid with a good change in the four or so games I watched. It's not hard. And what about a knuckleball? Do you know how wicked a 12 yr old with a knuckler would be?
Speaking of knuckleballs, fellow Eau Gallie Commodore alumnus (that would be my old high school) Tim Wakefield won again this weekend. If you didn’t know, he is tied for the AL lead in wins with 16 and hasn’t allowed a run in 22 innings. Where is his consideration for the Cy Young? Or is it because the man hasn’t thrown a pitch over 85 mph in his career?
On the subject of 85 mph, Hulk Hogan’s kid was in a bad accident in Clearwater Sunday night. I’ve driven where he wrecked, I think. Jeez, dude, I’m all about going over the speed limit (as my 10 tickets can attest), but keep it on the highway, brother. Hopefully the kid has a speedy recovery. Apparently they had to use the Jaws of Life or something to get him out. Not good.
Which reminds me, I like the fact that the Mets are putting some breathing room between themselves and the Phillies and Braves. I haven’t written much about the Mets this season but they are pulling away from the pack of late. I like knowing the Mets can bury the Braves and Phillies this week and put the rest of the NL East's hopes on life-support. Unfortunately, the Braves no longer have Bob Wickman for the Mets to beat around.
Between Wickman and David Wells, it has not been a good year for portly pitchers, although Wells is back pitching for the Dodgers. Which reminds me of Southern California, which reminds me of the Rose Bowl, which reminds me of the Stormtrooper Parade, which reminds me, everyone needs to watch the Robot Chicken Star Wars video collection on these here inner nets. Definitely recommended. The intimate scene between the Skywalker kids brought to mind the scene in Joe Dirt with David Spade and Jamie Pressley. Great movie. Personally, I think all of life’s lessons can be learned from Joe Dirt. Like being nice to dogs (Mike Vick), sometimes home is what you make it (Kenny Lofton), and life’s a (Boston) garden, dig it (Kevin Garnett). You know what would be cool, to live the life of Dirty Joe. Just cruise, listen to tunes, make friends, travel the country. Although you would have to have a traumatic childhood, a childhood where parents eventually use you to their own advantage and try and make you their mealticket. Like an over-obsessed Little League parent. Which reminds me …

Is Analyzation without Representation Tyranny?

A thought hit me while watching the Georgia-Japan Little League World Series game on ABC Sunday afternoon: why doesn't ESPN have any Asian baseball analysts? Considering the impact of Asians in baseball worldwide, this seems to be a hole in the network's coverage of the sport.

According to Wikipedia, there were 26 Asian players on major league rosters at the beginning of the 2007 season. Comparatively, there were 68 black players, 182 Latino players, and 484 white players. (Not sure how players are counted, but those are the wikipedia numbers). As of 2007, ESPN had three current baseball tonight hosts (all white), three white analysts, two black analysts, three hispanic analysts, four white reporters, one hispanic correspondent, and one white correspondent. No Asians.

Admittedly, Baseball Tonight has had two personalities with connections to the Japanese game. Current analyst Orestes Destrade once played in Japan for the Seibu Lions and former analyst Bobby Valentine currently manages the Chiba Lotte Marines. However, Valentine is not on the ESPN payroll and Destrade last played in Japan in 1995.

In defense of Baseball Tonight, am I looking for something that shouldn't be there? Possibly. I'll admit, if you work the percentages, one person out of 17 Baseball Tonight personalities is just under 6% of the roster. Asian players make up 2.8% of all current players. Statistically, they would have to double the amount of players in order to qualify for "fair" representation. But for a region of the world where the game is and has been so immensely popular, wouldn't it be prudent to have a correspondent who represents that segment?

(About the title: I know it's not tyranny; it's a shout out to James Otis for you history buffs out there.)

Mrs. Rizzuto's Bat

Yankee great Phil Rizzuto passed away last Monday. Although I intended this post to be up sooner, I had to first ensure its accuracy.


My dad grew up in the same Brooklyn neighborhood as Phil Rizzuto. According to legend, as Phil was away playing for the Yankees, Mrs. Rizzuto, the Hall of Famer’s mother, would invite the local kids over and pay them to help her with household chores. A nickel here, a piece of candy there; no favor was too large. To the neighborhood, the Rizzutos were like family and Phil was their pride and joy.

Of all the times my father did chores for Mrs. Rizzuto, one payment towered above all the rest. As the story goes, my father was out and about one summer afternoon when Mrs. Rizzuto called him over. According to my dad, the Rizzuto basement had been neglected of late and Mrs. Rizzuto needed someone to clean it out. Of course, my father eagerly volunteered.

After he complete the epic task of straightening the Rizzuto basement, Mrs. Rizzuto came down to negotiate payment. She was out of change and candy she said, but if he wanted he could take his pick of items from an old dusty footlocker her son Phil had left behind. Not one to go home empty handed, my father quickly strode over to the footlocker to find his compensation.

The footlocker was old, alright. The type used in the 1920s and 30s before suitcases became the rage. There was also a name engraved on the top: G.H. Ruth. Sensing nostalgia, my father eagerly popped open the locks and lifted the top. Inside, among the trinkets and miscellanea, was a baseball bat. A huge bat, far bigger than he could use in any streetball games. But Mrs. Rizzuto had said he could have anything, and he wanted G.H. Ruth’s bat.

Although the adult-sized bat was too large for my father, he kept it through the years. Rarely used for over two decades, it sat in a spare garbage pail in the garage with other lighter bats, shovels, soccer balls, and random sporting equipment. As we moved from New York to Florida, the bat stayed a seldom-used icon. Then, in the mid-1990s, I, your humble narrator, took my chances with G.H. Ruth’s bat.

One of my favorite hobbies after school in my teens was self-hitting tennis balls up and down my block. Whenever possible, I would use a tee to practice my swing. One afternoon, lacking a functional tee, I decided to balance one of the balls on a local fire hydrant and hit the ball as far as I could. Whereas I knew if I missed with one of my aluminum bats, I could seriously dent it on the hard metal fire hydrant, I decided to use the heavy lumber of G.H. Ruth.

With the ball carefully balanced, I stood ready, sizing the target up with a few half-swings. Then, with an attempt that could only be equaled by a Greek god, I swung as hard as possible. With a bang, the bat smacked against the fire hydrant, missing its intended target by inches. Although the concussion made the ball roll ten or so feet down the road, the vibrations from the immovable hydrant shocked my hands with a stinging pain. Yet the pain in my hands was quickly secondary to a sense of impending doom. I had broken the ancient bat, cracking it right down the middle. I destroyed a cherished family heirloom. A priceless piece of history owned by Mrs. Rizzuto, and before that, G.H. Ruth.

Oddly enough, my father was far less upset than I thought he would be. There were no repercussions. I was not grounded, punished, or sent to bed without dinner. I still had my privileges, and could go out with my friends whenever. Life just went on.

Later that year, while helping him work on his car, I asked my dad who invented the bungee cord. Without hesitation, he answered, “Arthur J. Bungee, during World War II, in order to preserve rubber for the war effort.”

I had to believe him. My dad doesn’t lie.

The Giant Life Choices of a Giant

With the release of Rush Hour 3, the epic film career of The Serious Tip favorite Sun Ming Ming has begun. At 7 feet 9 inches, Sun Ming Ming follows in the footsteps of other large actors who began in the world of sports. Epic giants of the silver screen such as Andre the Giant (The Princess Bride), Gheorghe Muresan (My Giant), Dalip Singh "The Great Khali" Rana (The Longest Yard), Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (Airplane, The Game of Death, etc), and, of course, Shaquille O'Neal (Kazaam, Steel, and other Grammy-worthy pictures).

Rather than trying to "rank" these stars on who played the best role (definitely Andre followed by Kareem and Muresan, in my opinion), let me pose this question, if you were over 7 feet tall and unemployed, what would you do? Would you take a crash course in basketball, try your hand in pro wrestling, or attempt the life of a thespian?

Here are the advantages and disadvantages of each, according to me:

Basketball:
Probably the most physically demanding of the three, playing pro basketball would take the most dedication, practice, and training. And save for true freaks of nature like Yao Ming, most giants of the hardwood are deadwood on the court. But there are advantages, namely NBA groupies.

Wrestling:
While not as consistently demanding as pro basketball, being a wrestling giant would be grueling. Years of long travel, followed by constant banging and falling. No wonder most giants are immobile in the squared circle. However, the individual fame of even the briefest wrestling giant can dwarf that of a brief giant pro basketball player. Quick, who is more famous: Giant Gonzales or Pavel Podkolzin?

Acting:
Probably the least athletic of the three but yet the career path with the lowest barrier to entry. It would easy to be a giant enforcer in the next Vin Diesel movie and have little to no dialogue. Being a great giant actor, however, might be near impossible. Although there will always be places for giant centers or giant ring grapplers, it is doubtful the next great leading man will be over 6'6. Height discrimination, I know. So as a giant, roles are limited, although the work might not be, if you are willing to act in Ninja Kids 12.

My opinion:
Tough call. As much as I love shooting hoops and always wanted to dunk, I'll pass on being the next big baller. And as much fun as it would be to choke slam Vince McMahon, the life of a wrestler just seems too painful. So by process of elimination, I'd chose acting. Where else can I rub elbows with Jessica Alba, Megan Fox, and my personal favorite, Reese Witherspoon? Maybe the ladies like the 7 footers. You know what they say about a guy with big feet.

So what would you do? Play ball, wrestle, act? Perhaps a fourth option? Maybe join the circus? Maybe fortune and glory aren't your thing and you would rather live the quiet life of staying home and tending the chickens.

Whatever your choice, let it be heard in the comments.

The PacMan Jones Wheel of Good Ideas

To say PacMan Jones has made the most of his suspension from the NFL would so far be an understatement. In the last few weeks, the banished NFL cornerback has opined on dining at stripper-less strip clubs, thrown his hat into professional wrestling, and discussed the possibility of blessing the world with his lyrical talents.

But what to do next? With pre-season 2008 a little less than a year away, PacMan has to do something to pass the time. So to help the adventurous Mr. Jones, I have created what I like to call "The PacMan Jones Wheel of Good Ideas".

Simply print, attach a spinner, spin, and presto! your daily activity is set. And if you land on "Work towards reinstatement", feel free to spin again!

(May have to click to enlarge - sorry.)

Rise of the Orange Roundie

If the sports blogosphere could for a moment be compared to the Mos Eisley Cantina, then The Cavalier from YaySports! would surely be Muftak, the enigmatic mysterious writer few knew anything about. For as long as I have been blogging (and much, much longer than that) The Cavalier has intrigued his readers with numerous hints of a major creative endeavour - a motion picture event starring his most famous creation: The Orange Roundie.

On August 13th, we loyal readers received the greatest hint of all ... a website. Who Shot Mamba? has a home.

The Cav promises greatness. Epic adventure. Dizzying acts of bravery. Romance. And one odd smiling snake.

Soon enough our wait will be over.

Who Shot Mamba? will arrive.

L.I.N.K.s: Bloggers moving, Blog suicide, Interviewing Scoop Jackson, Chris Rix still clueless, Re-Drawing Florida, History of Drugs in Sports

Before giving you a few links to start your week, I want to say I was very disappointed Chuck D never appeared on the Comedy Central Roast of Flavor Flav. That's like roasting Keith Richards without Mick Jagger. I blame The Man.

Ok, on to some links and random thoughts ...

First, the amazing moving blogger: Jay Busbee, formerly of Sports Gone South, has moved Right Down Peachtree. Last time I was in Atlanta I found a little bar right off Peachtree that had good beer and a smoking hot bartender. Jay isn't a hot woman (I don't think) nor does he pour beer (at least not on his site), but he is entertaining in his own way and one of my daily reads. Check him out. (Right Down Peachtree)

Keeping it down south: former FSU disappointment Chris Rix threatens a blogger. Trust me, the blogger has nothing to worry about. No matter how big a game Rix talks, his attempt will probably hit the wrong target anyway. Ugh, I was at FSU for the entire debacle that was this guy's QB career. We should have just mailed the playbook to the Marx Brothers. (Flash Warner.com)

Some more southern sports news: Remember that Nike Baseball Map? Cool idea, but they got the state of Florida completely wrong. Thankfully, Rays Index re-drew it appropriately. (Rays Index)

An old writer friend of mine from college is planning on gallivanting across the U.S. and needs some tunes. Drop him a line and suggest a few. (On the Road 2 Epiphany)

Another former colleague from my college days is now a comedian in L.A. Check out Michael Nelson. His Alicia Keys skit is pretty damn funny. (Michael Nelson Comedy)

Those most righteous brothers over at the Nation of Islam Sports Blog interviewed Scoop Jackson. Yeah, they cover the race issue, but Scoop definitely won me over as a fan for his points on BBQ. (The Nation of Islam Sportsblog)

Ever just click the "Next Blog" option at the top of the Blogger.com site? I just did and found this site: a well-written analysis of one of my favorite cartoons: The Boondocks. Hope to hear more from you, EbonyEyez871. (The Boondocks)

David Pinto of Baseball Prospectus talks about re-vamping the criminally overrated save rule. I think it's a good idea, but I don't think the players' union would approve of massive overhauls to rule book. Baby steps. And on the subject, how soon until single-season saves leader Bobby Thigpen becomes as obscure as single-season triples leader Owen Wilson? (Baseball Prospectus)

In Bill Simmons's most recent mailbag, a reader suggested the "Lindsay Hunter All-Stars" composed of male players whose names sound like hot females. May I suggest their patron saint? How about Candy Cummings, inventor of the curve ball? How can Candy Cummings not be a porn star's name?

The Cavalier of YaySports is trying blog suicide again. I'm really not sure if I should even link to his site. That might encourage you to go there. Don't. He is trying to get his readership to zero before a big announcement on August 21st. Then you can go there. (YaySports!)

More basketball: The Blowtorch has some really cool caricatures of this year's NBA Draft selections. Yeah, I printed out the Thornton pic and brought it to my local sports jersey store and said "order me one of these jerseys, pronto". I would have said "bitch" but the dude was bigger than me, so I said "pronto". (The Blowtorch)

National Geographic looks at the history of drugs in sports. Looks like Barry Bonds, et al aren't too far removed from the ancient Mayans and Greeks, although I doubt scrotum-eating is still in favor. (National Geographic)

This is really old in Internet years but still rather interesting: can a Ninja escape a black hole? The better question may be, could Einstein or Stephen Hawking figure this out before a ninja kills them? Because as everyone knows the purpose of the ninja is to flip out and kill people. (Evil Brain Jono's Natural Log)

Speaking of kicking ass, what if I told you there was a movie with David Carradine of Kung Fu, Gary Busey, Mixed Martial Arts-fighter-turned-actor Oleg Taktarov, Martin Kove (a.k.a the Cobra Kai sensei), and Bruce Lee-era bad ass Bolo Yeung? I don't think a movie with these guys needs a plot, but this movie has one. And apparently it's been out since January. Slipped by me I guess. (Blizhniy Boy <-preview link)

And to end it all today, here is five minutes of highlights from The Last Dragon - the epic tale of Bruce Leroy. Highly recommended.

Later.

Hallowed be what numbers?

One day I would like to conduct a test. I would like to stand on a street corner and yell numbers at the top of my lungs at complete strangers.

"56!"
"511!"
"191!"

According to many baseball scribes such as Jayson Stark of ESPN, the strangers should smile, give a wave, and reply with "Joe Dimaggio's hit streak, Cy Young's win total, and Hack Wilson's single-season RBI record."

My guess is that the common person on the street would actually sooner have me arrested for being a nuisance than know the baseball significance of the aforementioned numbers.

Sorry to break the news, folks, but there is no such thing as a "hallowed number". In sports, as well as in society, there are hallowed dates, such as the day Babe Ruth supposedly called his shot, the day Jackie Robinson took the field for the first time in a big league uniform, and the day Joe Cowley started a game by striking out the first seven batters he faced. Well, maybe not the last example. But my point is to call a number "hallowed" is a joke. It is just a way for baseball writers (read: old white guys) to preach about how great they think the game was at a certain point in time. Before Tuesday night, Hank Aaron's 755 home runs meant as much as Rickey Henderson's 1,406 stolen bases or Reggie Jackson's 2,597 strikeouts or Pete Rose's 3,215 singles. Merely numbers. Numbers that measured greatness, yes, but numbers nonetheless.

I wish someone could tell me what makes a baseball number more "holy" than a number in any other sport? What about Wilt Chamberlain's 100 points in one game? Why is that not a "hallowed" mark? Or Kareem's all-time points record?

Don't get me wrong, I am a huge baseball fan. Have been for years. I can recite the last 30 or so World Series champions, tell you all about the 1899 Cleveland Spiders, and recall the Florida Marlins' Inaugural Opening Day Lineup. I just don't understand the pretentiousness that a baseball number can supposedly transcend the sport and bleed into our national subconsciousness. I don't believe it. Final case in point, if I yelled "SEVEN" at you, are you more likely to respond with A) "Eleven", B) "Up", or C) "the amount of career no-hitters thrown by Nolan Ryan"?

I rest my case.

500K can buy a lot of guitars

When I first heard a guy named Matt Murphy caught (or fought for) Barry Bonds's 756 home run ball, I though what was the guitarist from the Blues Brothers doing in San Francisco?

You know Mrs. Murphy doesn't take kindly to ol' "Guitar" Murphy running around, getting into mischief.

The Best Baseball Player of this Generation

22 Seasons.

Over 2,950 games.

Nearly 10,000 at-bats.

Over 2,900 hits.

Almost 600 doubles.

Almost 2,000 R.B.I.s

Over 500 stolen bases.

Over 2,500 walks.

A near .300 career batting average.

An on-base percentage well over .400.

Five Gold Gloves.

And in my opinion, one of the top three left fielders to ever play the game.

Without mentioning home runs or grand juries, plead your case as to why Barry Bonds is not a first-ballot Hall of Famer. Keep in mind, Pete Rose bet on the outcome of his own games and Joe Jackson supposedly played to lose (more on this some other time). The numbers speak for themselves.

The only question remaining is who will be chosen to co-author quite possibly the most anticipated sports autobiography in history? You know you'll read it.

Who's faulting Gilbert Arenas?

Maybe this belongs on MCBias's Blogging Laws, but Gilbert Arenas's little thievery last week bothered me quite a bit. Arenas's heisting of Ian Edwards's intellectual property was wrong, plain and simple. He should not get a "pass" because he is a "blogger".

People love Gilbert Arenas because he is, in the words of Henry Abbott of ESPN's TrueHoop, "real and genuine". Yes, he is a great player, a joy to watch, and seems more down-to-earth than athletes like Alex Rodriguez or Tiger Woods. In the old days, Arenas might have been the type of player to hang out with the fans at the local pub. But stealing a comedy sketch and passing it off as your own is still stealing. And claiming you helped the person become famous in the process is ridiculous.

What if, for example, Curt Schilling posted an old George Carlin sketch on his blog? Would he be vilified? He is not the biggest fan favorite in the sports blogosphere, and definitely not as "cool" as Arenas. But because Arenas is hip, happening, and the "bee's knees," he gets a slap on the wrist. Will Leitch of Deadspin, for example, pretty much wrote the transgression off, adding "Don't steal, Gilbert" as the last note on his blog post on the matter. Henry Abbott even joked that we should "name Gilbert Arenas U.S. Czar of Intellectual Property".

Now I understand where these other writers are coming from, and blogging is supposed to be a fun exchange of ideas and let whatever happens happen, but what is the difference between Arenas using Ian Edwards comedy routine and one blogger posting the thoughts of another blogger and not giving any accreditation? What if it was Will Leitch of Deadspin, to use a previous example? Leitch's blog is immensely more popular than The Serious Tip, probably getting more hits per day than I've gotten in my nearly one year of blogging. But what if Leitch confessed to stealing my ideas word for word and when pressed on the issue, stated "well, you didn't know him before and now you do, right?" Personally, I wouldn't want someone stealing my ideas in their attempt to make me famous. I don't need that type of help.

As for Arenas's attempt to defend himself by saying Puff Daddy and Ashanti "made careers out of stealing other people’s beats", this is such a sad way to pass the buck it's almost funnier than Edwards' joke. Because so many of us download songs these days, we are lost when it comes to the origin of sampled beats. All we know is we have heard it before. The truth of the matter is, for those who still buy CDs, the source of a sample and the legal authority to use it are spelled out in the liner notes. Unfortunately for Ian Edwards, there are no liner notes on the Agent Zero blog.

Breaking News: Major Misunderstanding in the Michael Vick Case

Normally I am not in the business of breaking news. However, I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who works for the FBI's Canine Accusation Team (CAT). While talking to this guy at a bar a few nights ago, he said there is a major mix-up in the Michael Vick case that will be announced next week. This mix-up will put such a dent in the prosecution's attempt to convict Vick that he could be back in Falcons' camp by the end of next week.

According to my source, the problem is with the term "dogfight". Apparently, Mike Vick wasn't into animal dogfighting, he was into aerial combat.

"What has not been reported by the media is the amount of World War I aerial paraphernalia taken from the house. In the media's rush to judgement, no one has mentioned Vick's extensive collection of Red Baron models. He had hundreds of dogfighting pictures and videos and could sing the Snoopy vs. the Red Baron song by heart."

My source also discussed the indictment, saying the PETA people have nothing to worry about.

"A lot of the indictment is wrong. Take charge 83, for example, when the indictment says 'Vick executed approximately eight dogs that did not perform well in testing sessions by methods such as hanging, drowning, or slamming at least one dog's body to the ground' it should actually say 'Vick eliminated eight planes by means of banging, downing, or slamming them around'. Vick has even admitted that even though he paid thousands of dollars for some of the models, it was fun to re-create the battles in his living room."

After a few beers, my source told me how Vick and his friends would tie the model planes to the ceiling and swing them until they hit each other.

"One of the guys we talked to, you know, the one with the blacked out face on ESPN? He said Vick had an annoying habit of making the worst machine gun noises every time the planes missed each other. Even though everyone knows machine guns go 'brrrap, brrrrap', the guy said Vick would say 'bllllap, blllap'."

Despite his irritating tendencies, Vick's model planes usually survived the "battles", staying together as friends' and visitors' planes were destroyed.

"Yeah, Mike Vick was well-known for his dogfights, no doubt about it."