Hurricane Ike update: we survived. Sort of.

Okay, there's no other way to put it: that sucked.

And it continues to suck. I stayed in Houston through the entire storm. Ike was much, much, much stronger than forecast and it really messed up the city. My neighborhood did not fare very well in the storm. Somehow, my house remained fully intact - even the roof - but I remain without power, TV, A/C or Interwebs access at home.

Which is why I type this from the office...

My fantasy football teams all bit the big one because I couldn't update my lineups at all. Too many Texans putting up goose-eggs for me. Worst part was that I wasn't even able to *watch* football this weekend. I had to be told about the Broncos/Chargers game. I had to rely on hearsay statements to get any updates on anything football-related. Ike ruined my weekend. And I get really, really angry when someone ruins my Sundays anytime between September and December!!!

I really need the Rockets and Texans to do well this season now... hurricane diversions are going to be in great demand here. (I'm still waiting on the Astros to get a freakin' hit...)

The good news is that I'm okay and everything will be back to "normal" soon. But Saturday morning was some scary stuff. And here I thought Canadians were supposed to be a peaceful sort. F-U, Ike!

Site news: We hate hurricanes

Hurricane Ike remains projected to kick Houston's ass this weekend.

One of us has already evacuated.

The other is stuck in Houston.

Don't expect much, if any, updates to this blog in the meantime. Or rants. Or raves. Or anything that would include a "Rafer Alston sucks" tag. Even though he does. Just know that.

I hate hurricanes.

Not the best start to the day

Uhhh, let's hope the Rockets don't f--k up tonight the same way the Texans f--ked up their first round pick today. That was just... I don't even have the words. The Texans may have just made Matt Millen look smart by comparison.

Ugh.

Weekend plans? Oh, I have many!

In addition to watching the Rockets continue to stun Utah and their crazy fans (seriously, would a Rockets fan ever get ejected for trying to shake the basket and cussing out a referee?)...

there's also this NFL Draft thing on Saturday. And while, yes, this is predominantly a Rockets blog, I happen to love the NFL. And its Draft. And the ability to make fun of Mel Kiper's hair. I do not love when Berman ruins the suspense and tells me who is being picked though. FU, Berman. Now that the Texans are no longer a losing franchise (8-8, bitches!), and because we've done well with the last couple drafts... there's a lot of suspense building up for the 18th pick.

So, before I put my Scola jersey on tomorrow night and get ready to yell at Rafer/McGrady (9:30pm CST on ESPN)... I will be watching various NFL teams mortgage the future and spend mega-millions on 21 year old dudes whose intelligence is based on a 50 question multiple choice test. But not the Texans. We will draft wisely.

Why do I bring all this up?

Because there will be an awesome (dare I say "legendary"?) live-blog, NFL Draft chat thing going on over at DGDB&D beginning at 1:30pm tomorrow afternoon.

Assuming it doesn't take too long for me to eliminate all of my competition in a morning poker tournament, I'll be over at the DGDB&D chat shortly after it starts! See ya there?

This is why!

This is why I do not bet on NFL games:

Elisha Manning... in the Super Bowl? No freakin' way!

Point / Counterpoint

Hey, Roger Clemens:

F-U!

Look, Lee may not care that you and 85% of the MLB players from 1988 through, oh, today, took HGH and 'roids. But I do.

(And by the way, HGH has always been illegal to obtain without a prescripton. Anabolic steroids have always been illegal. Just because it's not in baseball's rules didn't make it okay. Kinda like how baseball doesn't need to write a rule/bylaw that says you cannot murder the umpire when he makes a bad call. It's obvious.)

Yeah, the Mitchell Report was a witch hunt. But without it, we would have never known about your fetish for ass-injected B12. Or lidocain. Or the rabies shots you had to get after Mike Piazza touched you. For it is certainly not information you would have volunteered had it not been for the MLB-sponsored witch hunt.

Too bad you don't play for the Astros now, because you and Tejada would apparently have gotten along great! Just ask Raffy!

Look, you did the 'roids. You did the HGH. You know it. We all know it now. You're still going to get into the HOF, just not on the first ballot. Just sack up and admit what you did. Waiting a month to get your buddy to throw you softball questions and then answer prepared questions by the media is not exactly going to prove your "innocence".

Trying to get me to believe that you have no idea why your friend would lie about you just insults my intelligence. And I hate the fact that I supported you for 24 years even when everyone else hated you for being a prick. Now you prove them right. Thanks, a-hole.

B12 and Lidocaine are Life's Little Miracles

The Dream Shake was founded to talk about everything Houston Rockets, but we certainly reserve the right to talk about whatever we want (It's my ball, if you don't like it I go home and take it with me!) And to me, Roger Clemens stating that the steroids he is accused of injecting were:

"Lidocaine and [vitamin] B-12. It's for my joints, and B-12 I still take today,"

Why do I care about this little story? Because Roger is a Houston, University of Texas, Red Sox and Astros icon. And those all happen to e things I care a lot about. Yes I know he plays for the Yankees, I try to ignore that because I genuinely like Roger. I've met him multiple times, he always been great, especially with kids. He signs autographs, and will shoot the shit with you, I like that in my sports heroes. Plus, he came home (even if he went and played mercenary this last year) and that is a big deal to me.

Here's my quandary, we all know Roger did the roids and the HGH, I just don't care. I also don't care that Jeff Bagwell or Barry Bonds did them, or the other 85% of the players in the MLB. It just doesn't matter to me. And some can say it was against the rules, but an unenforceable rule is not really a rule in my book. And hell, HGH wasn't even against said rules until much later. The problem I have is that Roger is obviously not telling the truth, and I'm not sure why. He lives in Houston and people idolize the man here. He was unlikely to play baseball next year and has more money than a few of the owners in the league (not based in fact.) Why does he care? I mean, he's a man, he's over 40, so maybe it's just a fire that says he has to defend his own honor. But come on Roger, just let it go.

That's not to say in any way that he should have, or anyone should have for that matter, cooperated with Mitchell. Fuck him and his witch hunt, he had no authority and had no right to ask anyone to come talk to him. You are a fucking idiot no matter how innocent you are if you would have talked to him ahead of time.

Roger, I'm just going to have to remember you like this:

and this:

The good news is that while it's a ridiculous traveshamockery, I won't have to see you in Cooperstown with a Yankees hat on your plaque.

Without Choke City, there is no Clutch City

January 3, 1993.

It was fifteen years ago. The Houston Oilers set the standard for embarrassment in professional sports. The Oilers, led by future Hall of Fame QB Warren Moon (and the prolific run-and-shoot offense) took on the hated rival Buffalo Bills. The Bills were usually led by Jim Kelly, but not this time - Frank Reich was in at QB due to an injury to Kelly.

The Oilers quickly built a 28-3 halftime lead. Warren Moon was unstoppable.

And yet I'll never forget the halftime interview of Bill Cowher by Bob Costas. Pittsburgh was set to play the winner of the Oilers/Bills game, and Costas asked Cowher if he was already preparing to play the Houston Oilers due to the "insurmountable" halftime lead.

That smug midget jinxed us.

The Oilers took the field in the 2nd half ready for blood. And on the Bills' first pass of the half, Bubba McDowell took Frank Reich's errant pass all the way to house for a TD. The score:

35-3.

There was no way we could lose this game. Check that...

Offensive Coordinator Kevin Gilbride (douchebag #1 - ask Buddy Ryan) and Defensive Coordinator Jim Eddy (#2) then decided to go into a wussified conservative offense along with a prevent defense. As everyone at home knows, but apparently no NFL coach knows - the prevent defense only prevents you from winning. The Oilers went into a lock-down mode playing not to lose instead of playing to win.

Next thing I know... the Bills run one in on a seemingly meaningless 1 yard TD. Then the Bills recover an onside kick.

Then Don Beebe runs OUT OF FUCKING BOUNDS... and catches a TD in the end zone. The ref was not paying attention to the guy 10 feet out of bounds who still caught the pass and did not throw a flag. 35-17 all of a sudden. Fuck.

By that point, my 15 year old head was spinning and next thing I know the Bills score on a TD pass to Andre Reed. And then another. All of a sudden it's 35-31. And on another Reed TD reception... the Bills somehow took the lead at 38-35.

Oilers somehow tie it up to force OT (thank you, Al Del Greco for delaying the inevitable.)

Early in the OT session, Moon attempts a third-down pass to Ernest Givens. But Givens was given the Woodland Critters treatment by the Buffalo defense. The gang-rape prevented him getting to the ball, and Moon's pass was picked off. Bills ball at the 20 yard line. Game fucking over.

Now, it goes without saying that this game sucked huge Donkey Balls. And at that point was the basis for the worst day of my entire life.

But, on the flip side... while the Oilers introduced us to the concept of Choke City -- without this game (and the Rockets collapse against Phoenix in Game 2 in 1994), there could never be a Clutch City. And I guess I should be thankful for that.

Go Rockets!

People That Piss Me Off (Week the Fourth)

And we meet again.

Though, for obvious reasons (I would think), this week's list will be light on NBA-related topics. For those that came to read about Rafer, Kobe, the FatAss or T-Mac... be patient. Yes, I recognize this is a Houston Rockets blog. I also recognize that it is my blog and I can write about other sports if the need arises. Moving along, the people and things that piss me off this week:


1. Roger Clemens

I wish I could write you a letter. It would be short, and sweet, and to the point. Okay, maybe it won't be so heavy on the "sweet" part. But it would be short. And the content would be very straightforward, simply:

F-U.

I think you understand why. Ten years of 'roiding up and making me think you were just that good? I mean, we knew Bonds roided, and he was a smug prick about it. You, Roger, were a smug prick that we kinda liked because you were a smug prick. But now you are a liar AND you dragged Andy Pettitte into your world. Seriously, F-U.

2. Critics of Mario Williams.
(Who now are trying to shamelessly back-track)

This goes out to Richard Justice and all the "worst pick since Sam Bowie" journalists. Hey, did you see last night? (I was there, so I definitely did.) 3.5 sacks... 13 on the season. Hell yes. Oh, and how's Reggie Bush doing? Really? That bad? Wow... sorry, New Orleans. Someone is going to the Pro Bowl. It is not the scatback from USC.

Jay Cutler agrees that Houston made the right decision. He just wishes we didn't.

3. The MLB Players' Association
(and by default, Donald Fehr)

You assholes knew that steroids was ruining the game, its history and the relationship with the fans. You made no effort to stop it. As if the 1994 Strike didn't put you in a bad enough light. Now it is revealed that you went out of your way to tell players (even *former* players) NOT to assist Senator Mitchell in his research and investigation of steroids in baseball.

I may not be a lawyer (oh, wait a second, I *am* a lawyer)... but this sounds an awful lot like a tacit admission of guilt across the board. If you are not guilty of anything - you encourage people to talk. If you know you are guilty and about to be caught, you run (it's like your own version of OJ and the White Bronco).

Now I have to recind my support of Roger Clemens and pretty much every player not named Ken Griffey Jr. or Alex Rodriguez that played baseball from 1998 through the present time. Oh, an exception will be made for Frank Thomas. Much respect for you today, Big Hurt.

4. The 4th Quarter Tracy McGrady.

T-Mac... I really do like you. I do. Promise. But I like you a lot more in the first three quarters of a game than I do in the fourth quarter these days. I know you have the ability to be clutch. I saw your 13 points in 35 seconds spree against San Antonio. I know you can do this almost whenever you want.



And yet we have many games so far in the 2007/08 season where you shy away from being aggressive in the fourth quarter. Are you afraid to shoot free throws? Afraid of physical contact? Afraid of getting injured? A combination of all three?

For me, please, stop being such a wuss at the end of games. Dunk on someone's head when it counts. Or else I may encourage Yao to call you out by name for being soft.

5. Professional basketball players that cannot shoot free throws.

Yes, I am referring partially to the 6-for-22 debacle from Wednesday. Yikes. I don't have the stats in front of me but the average FT% across the NBA is something like 74%. It's a freakin' free throw. The fact that a professional athlete cannot make 80% of his free throw attempts is just sad. The old excuse used to be that the players are too tall and have too large of hands to shoot free throws consistently. Yeah, Yao put that stupid theory to rest. He's 7'5" and shoots nearly 90% every year. No more excuses. Learn to shoot, people.

Until next week..........

People That Piss Me Off (Week the Third)

Another week, another round-up of things that annoy me to no end.

Who is the guilty party this week? No, Rafer, it's not you. Quit being an attention whore. It's okay, I still think you suck though.

Instead we lead off with:

1. Jason Kidd

First, you have annoyed me since you were a rookie. Then in your second year get cock-blocked by Jim Jackson when he stole Toni Braxton from you. Okay, that was actually kinda funny, but you got all passive aggressive, refused to pass him the ball - and then demanded a trade.

Then you introduce your wife to the NBA viewing audience. And your annoying kid.


Instead of enjoying watching Robert Horry beat your ass in the NBA Finals... I have to keep seeing cutaways to your wife and kid on the sidelines. Joumana is a media whore and your kid has a more mis-shaped head than Billy Madison.

That post-season annoyed me so much, I almost agreed with Bob Ryan's assessment of Joumana.

Oh, let's not forget that you beat your wife. I have no tolerance for wife-beaters. None. I bet Lee doesn't, either (unless your name is Warren Moon.)

This week you make the list because you are now on strike apparently. Don't deny it. You don't like your teammates so you didn't feel like playing. Making googly-eyes at LeBron and Kobe will not help your cause either. Your story doesn't add up for one basic reason: you've played through knee problems for many years now (microfracture surgery, etc.), and yet one lousy headache keeps you stuck in the locker room? Weak, dude.

Yes, Mr. Kidd, you piss me off.

2. This guy:

Dude, your team lost. You choked. You are not God's Linebacker (Kitna would certainly veto that notion). Quit blaming the refs when you, in fact, got the benefit of all the calls for the first three quarters. And put that knife away.

3. Lee -- yeah, I'll blog when I get a chance to blog! Some of us have work to do!

4. Over-betting poker players whose favorite two words are "all in".

(really, do I need to explain this? I thought not.)

5. The white, yet also Spanish, reincarnation of Gary Payton. Also known as this guy:

Juan Carlos Navarro. He made Rafer look foolish a few times. And he was killing the Rockets in the first quarter on Wednesday. And he can actually *make* that floating flip shot Rafer airballs all the time. Makes me jealous. And pissed off.