Monday, February 28, 2011

The flip side of the Miguel Cabrera story

Miguel Cabrera of the Detroit Tigers has generated a lot of media attention lately because he got arrested in Florida for an alleged DUI and resisting the cops. Was he drunk? I don't know. Neither do you, because we weren't there. Normally, in situations like this, the only things reporters have to go by is the police account of what happened.
Excuse me if I cast a skeptical eye on that, because it's common knowledge the "law enforcement" folks have been known to overreact and/or "fudge" things here and there in the past, when it suits their interests. In this country, he's supposedly innocent until proven guilty, though sometimes I wonder about that. So let it play itself out before making any judgments. But that's not the point.
What do we know about Cabrera's personal life? He got in an argument with his wife a year and a half ago and alcohol was allegedly involved. There's probably several million other couples in this country that are guilty of that. It's called marriage, or living together, and it happens. They don't need counseling. They need to be left alone to sort it out. Most of them will kiss and make up, and get back to loving each other. Bringing in an outsider, expert or not, to pick and probe at their innermost secrets is only asking for trouble. Some things are better left unsaid.
By most accounts, Cabrera didn't have a drop to drink for that same year and a half until his recent incident in Florida. Now everybody's all up in arms ranting and raving about getting him help, because they seem to think he's some sort of raging alcoholic. To which I say -- BS, and let's get real.
Maybe he went out and had a few that night. Big deal. This is not to say driving a car while intoxicated is OK, but that's a separate issue. Nobody's talking about that. They're talking about alcoholism. According to them, the guy must need treatment, classes, counseling, rehab, you name it. I disagree.
What constitutes an alcoholic anyway? Depending on who you ask, you might be one too. Do you drink a small glass of wine with dinner every night? That's habitual. Some would say you're an alcoholic. Do you meet with your friends here and there at a local pub to hoist a few? You must need counseling. Haven't had a drink in months or years, then have a couple for a special occasion? Guess you "fell off the wagon". Maybe you need therapy.
The way the media is nowadays -- had a small amount of marijuana been found in Cabrera's car -- he might have been portrayed as some sort of dope fiend, and a menace to society.
See how silly that sounds? Cabrera can hit a baseball a lot better than we can, but he's still just a human being that makes mistakes like we all do. So why not treat him as such?
All this stuff is so overblown these days, mostly by people that make a living out of scrutinizing the lives of  others, while most of those same people would run for cover if the same spotlight was ever shone on them. There's a word for that. Hypocrites.
If people like Babe Ruth or Mickey Mantle were playing today, there's no way they would get all those hits and home runs, much less wind up in the Hall Of Fame. By the time they got done jumping through all the hoops the Carrie Nation type folks, the media, and counselors were throwing at them, they would have had precious little time left to actually play the game. Many would say they could have been better if they hadn't drank so much. Maybe. They might have been worse too. Some very famous people over the years were later known to do their best work when they had a little buzz going on. So who knows how that works, and who are we to judge?
As for me? I find this all very depressing, so considering all the uproar about alcoholism, there's only one thing to do. Go to Ye Olde Watering Hole tomorrow and drown my sorrows. No need for counselors and therapists there, because everybody's already beyond help. I may soon join them. That mysterious blond girl at the end of the bar is driving me crazy.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Hungry for baseball? Get in line, suckah

In the business world, the word "concessions" usually means the working stiffs having to give up wages and/or benefits. Sometimes this results in the executive types getting bigger bonuses. In the sports world that same word has to do with the likes of parking fees, and things you eat and drink, while at a stadium or an arena to watch a game. Somebody's getting rich here, and it isn't you.
Draft beer comes in kegs, or half-barrels. They have 15 and a half gallons. The most brilliant minds on the planet have yet to figure out how to get it all out of there considering the foam and whatever's left on the bottom. So let's say 14 gallons are recovered. Doing a little fluid ounce math, that comes out to about 150 cups of beer at 12 ounces each.
At $8 dollars a pop for this, that keg just brought in $1200. You can go to your local pub or party store and get one for under a C-note. There's profit, and then there's obscene profit. If these people were the only gas station in town, they'd have the state of Michigan after them for price gouging.
Nothing like a ball park hot dog? Baloney. That's only because we've been conditioned to think so over the years by the people that -- hello -- want to sell the hot dogs. Usually they're cooked into shoe leather and served on either a soggy or crunchy bun. Then you have to find your way over to the condiment table. It's pretty hard to screw up mustard and ketchup, but those onions might be with you until tomorrow, and the relish always seems to have this weird smell, like it's a few days past it's "sell by" date. And for the price, where are they hiding the #&$@! napkins anyway?
Like pizza squares? At about a buck a bite, shouldn't we at least get one slice of pepperoni for each mouthful? Is that asking too much?
Mixed drinks? A cup full of ice, a small squirt of booze, and soda filling the rest of the space between the rocks. All this can be yours for the very low price of -- maybe a Hamilton. 3 or 4 fifths of that stuff, and they're in keg territory.
What's truly amazing though, is why people will fight through a crowd to stand in line, just so they can pay 5 or 6 dollars for a bottle of water. This has to be the greatest scam of all time -- and it's legal. These patrons are probably the same folks that insist on waxing their no-wax floors, or buying scented toilet paper. And the point is? P. T. Barnum had it right. There's one born every minute. Too many dollars and not enough sense.
The seventh inning stretch sounds good in theory, but nowadays nobody sits there that long. If they had some of those onions or relish a few innings before, they've already stretched their legs by running to the bathroom -- which is another "get in line" adventure.
But the same song always plays on.
Take me out to the ballgame.
"Buy me some peanuts and crackerjack.". You can get peanuts for the price of semi-precious stones, cha-ching, but I don't remember them ever selling crackerjacks. Didn't they come with a surprise in the box? These days getting something to eat or drink at a stadium comes with a not so pleasant surprise to your wallet or purse.
"Root, root, root, for the home team. If they don't win it's a shame"
"And it's one, two, three strikes you're out -- at the old ball game"
No doubt about it. Root all you want, but after paying for the tickets, the parking, and trips to the concession stand, you're most definitely out -- of money.
There will be no joy in Mudville. Even the Mighty Casey wound up being out too, remember?

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Do you hate athletes strutting their stuff?

When you want to know something, there are options. You can go on-line or to a library and, if you know where to look, you can probably find the answer. I don't need any of that, because I have Ralph, a walking Google/Wikipedia/Encyclopedia Britannica. TV shows? Movies? History? Sports? He's all over it. Can't remember who sung a song many years ago? Ralph not only knows -- he'll sing it for you. He's a happy guy about most things, but there's something that really ticks him off, and he asked me to address it. 
So if I want to continue having access to the fountain of knowledge, I better do something.
Are you sick and tired of athletes showing off after they've made a good play? Does it grind your gears to see a visiting player dance on your home team's turf? It happens in several sports at different levels, but for the sake of this argument, let's narrow it down to pro football, where a lot of the more ridiculous offenders "do their thing".
There's a way to put a stop to a lot of this nonsense. We only need one person to get it started and the rest will start falling in place.
As an example, let's say Green Bay is playing the Detroit Lions at Ford Field. One of the Packers catches a touchdown pass or sacks the Lions' quarterback, and goes into a dance. 
Most major sports venues these days have giant video monitors, or "jumbotrons", and they're used in a lot of ways, such as live action views from various angles, crowd shots, and replays. Slow motion has been around for a long time, but let's not forget another tool that's available to them. Split screen.
While the Michael Jackson wannabe is going through his "routine", it should be shown on half the screen. On the other half, simultaneously show Richard Simmons in a tutu doing aerobics, or maybe Betty Boop dancing. If it involves several players acting like stooges, then compare them to Larry, Moe, and Curly in a pie fight. When a player exaggerates a signal for a first down, make him the worst clown. Have him side by side with Bozo on the big screen, doing the same thing.  How about Barney Fife, a line of "flappers" from the 20's, Homer Simpson, Charlie Chaplin, Fred Flintstone, Elmer Fudd, Bullwinkle, Tiny Tim, Wile. E. Coyote, The Keystone Kops, Snooki, Lady Gaga, or Justin Bieber, to name a few? Throw in the audio over the stadium's speaker system and the comparison possibilities are endless.
Sadly, there might even have to be the ultimate. As it would amount to the equivalent of capital punishment in the football world, it should only be used for the worst of the worst on-field offenders, to pay their debt to society. This would entail Matt Millen pointing from his half of the screen to the other half and saying, "I want YOU for my football team". With apologies to Mr. T, I pity the fool that finds himself in that situation.
Nevertheless, these guys feed off boos, so obviously that's never deterred them, but the whole crowd in attendance pointing and laughing at them might. Consider: The TV folks would quickly zero in on all this and, in my example, the Packer fans back in Green Bay would see it on their boob tubes, as would the people in charge of THEIR jumbotron. They might want a little payback for that, so the next visiting team that came into Lambeau Field would get the same treatment. In turn, THAT team would go home and do the same thing to THEIR next visitors, and so on. 
Also consider this would end the possibility of Lions' games not being sold out, hence blacked-out to local TV viewers. Regardless of how the Lions fared as a football team, many people would pay the price of admission just to see who got zapped next on the big screen. It would be a show of it's own.
If William Clay Ford can give us a Pinto of a football team for almost 50 years, I say it's high time we at least got a DVD player with some really good comedy routines as standard equipment. Are you with me on this?
If one snowflake in the right spot can trigger an avalanche, then one person running the jumbotron the right way can get this ball rolling.   
Granted, implementing this strategy would only solve half the problem -- the visiting teams.
But gimme a break. I'm only a grunt.
If you want to know how to handle the same situations with the home teams, you'll have to go to a higher power.
Ask Ralph.
He might even sing it for you.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Poker. Know when to hold em and know when to fold em

Does poker qualify as a sport? Both professionals and amateurs play it.
On the plus side, at the higher levels, there's a lot of money involved, players study their opponents' tendencies, probe their weaknesses, have a game plan, and will resort to most any tactic to eliminate the competition. Game management is paramount. They can run pick and rolls (check and raise), bunt (limp in), take a knee (fold), blitz (go all in), or resort to any number of other ploys. Two-a-days, sweating it out, are commonplace, and no other "players" make as many road trips as these folks. It's extremely rare they ever have a "home" game.
On the minus side, it's not like these boys and girls are highly conditioned in a physical sort of way. Also, there's no rain-outs, playing in a blizzard, technical fouls, or dodging thrown octopi; depth charts, leg cramps, special teams, and bullpens dont figure in, but getting a case of the yips or too many bad calls just might. And I can't remember a single poker player being placed on the disabled list -- unless of course, they went bust, but that's a little different.
Nowadays, only one poker game takes center stage. Texas hold-em. Sure, you might play 5 or 7-card stud, 5-card draw, jacks or better to open, or a lot of other games with your friends, but after a few hours, when everybody gets tired, and maybe a little tipsy, don't the games get goofier with more and more "wild cards", and isn't there always at least one hand of "showdown" that goes on before you call it quits?
There's the NBA and Stanley Cup Finals, the Super Bowl, and the World Series. Champions are crowned.
Then again, tennis and golf have their 4 "majors", and NASCAR has it's appropriately named "chase", but these rely on some weird point system to declare a champion at the end of the year. They lack a defining event. The NCAA basketball tournaments have their Final Fours, and various poker tournaments have their Final Tables. It's takes a lot of skill, perseverance, and even sometimes luck, to get to either.
But poker only has one true champion a year. Whoever wins the days long marathon of the unlimited hold-em tournament annually held in Las Vegas can wear the bracelet like a king for a year. (No offense ladies, but none of you have pulled this off yet, so I don't mention queen.) Most of the players ante up $25K just to enter the tournament, for a chance at glory. Wouldn't it be nice if athletes in other pro sports, already making obscene amounts of guaranteed money, had to pay out of their own pockets for the privilege of possibly achieving the same glory, rather than reaping even more bucks just to fold when the pressure is on? But I digress.
Other sports are covered on various major networks throughout the year, but poker will probably never get to that level. It's kind of like soccer. Either you're into it or you're not, most American sports fans aren't, and there's that little thing about the Nielsen ratings that, for some reason, the TV people take seriously. Poker mostly relies on getting people to visit various websites to spark their interest. Though I've never actually participated in what's offered on these sites, I happened to notice an interesting TV ad while watching a high stakes poker game on some obscure cable channel.
They boasted their site was played by people in over 225 countries. Considering there's only 196 countries on the planet earth, from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe, that's an amazing claim. I wonder where those other 30-some countries are.....  
Unless the Klingons, Romulans, Vulcans, Ewoks, or some other race in another solar system are busy logging on to that site, they might just have overplayed their hand.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

The Dennis Rodman story. Will the worm turn?

Dennis Rodman may have been a lot of things, but he's definitely a piece of work, in more ways than one.
His mother Shirley gave birth to him in Trenton, NJ. When he was 3 years old, his father deserted the family and went on to sire 27 more children by different women. Dad's name? Philander --  and no, I'm not making this up. Check it out.
Rodman went through a tough growing up period, from a slum in Dallas, to some obscure college in southeast Oklahoma. Then the Pistons noticed him, and took a shot by drafting him late in the second round.
He went on to become a charter member of the Pistons' Bad Boy era, a rebounding machine, and a 2-time NBA defensive player of the year.
Now the Pistons are going to honor him on April 1, by raising and retiring the #10 jersey he wore when he played for them into the rafters, alongside championship pennants, and the jersies with the names and numbers of great players that have played for the Pistons through the years. Is this a good idea? Maybe.
After all, Chuck Daly, a coach, never even wore a Pistons' jersey as a player, but he has his #2 up there. Vinnie Johnson, who Danny Ainge of the Boston Celtics, not the local media or his teammates, nicknamed "the microwave", has his #15 up there, and VJ wasn't even a starter. Even Rodman himself demanded a trade from the Pistons, got it, went to San Antonio for short while, then went to play with some guy named Jordan of the Chicago Bulls, and came back to trash the Pistons. After short stints with the Lakers, Mavericks, Madonna, Carmen Electra, and even pro wrestling, where he got jammed into a portable toilet, of all things, now the Pistons are going to give him a lifetime honor.
Let's get real. The Pistons aren't a very pretty sight right now. Playoffs are out of the question, they're on the auction block by the widow of the previous owner, and their attendance is dwindling accordingly. The brains overseeing the whole operation, Tom Wilson, bailed for the greener pastures of the rival Ilitch camp a while back, and even the highly respected Joe Dumars might be broomed as soon as a billionaire signs his name as the new owner, who might very well move them elsewhere. They're trying their best to drum up business in a very bad atmosphere with this Rodman thing. Do you think for one second if the Pistons were championship contenders, all this would be happening?
In the end, maybe it will work out for everybody involved, but Rodman has been a person of many faces over the years.
Here's hoping Dennis shows up in a suit, humbly accepts the honor, and everything goes smoothly. If he shows up as Denise in that bridal gown -- things might get ugly.
Remember the date. April fool's day. I wouldn't put it past him.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Nailed to the cross. Jerry Jones and Roger Goodell

Jerry Jones, the ever-present, flamboyant owner of the Dallas Cowboys said the Super Bowl held at his mega-stadium was a huge success. Excuse me? While it was a great game, between him and Roger Goodell, aka God, or at least commissioner of the NFL, they couldn't have possibly screwed everything else up much worse.
JJ managed to get his palace built at a cost of roughly $1.5 billion dollars. A lot of that money likely came from him leaning on his yee-ha, good ole boy, network deep down in the heart of Texas. And the taxpayers, of course, but they didn't matter.
A snowstorm hit the Dallas/Fort Worth area a few days before the game. While rare, it's certainly not unheard of in those parts. If he could afford to put a "jumbotron" screen above the field the size of Rhode Island, than he should be able to heat the roof, so there's no ice accumulating and sliding off it that might injure innocent bystanders. That might only cost as much as, say, one more politician.
Then there was the problem with "temporary" seating for out-of town fans. First, between JJ and the NFL, they had 2 weeks to pull this off. Second, the dome can be opened or closed, so the weather excuse goes out the window. Third, everybody available cubic inch in that building has already been accounted for (cha-ching), so where was he going to put temporary seats anyway?
Hundreds of fans with tickets never got in to see the game and had to watch it from a bar stool somewhere. They were rightfully not happy campers.
So what did the Roger the dodger and the NFL do to rectify the situation? Tried to make them an offer they couldn't refuse.
Free tickets, air fare, and accommodations to the Super Bowl of their choice in the next few years, along with a $2400 cash rebate. Sounds fair? Think again.
Most of those fans were coming from Green Bay or Pittsburgh to see THEIR team. Who knows if either team will get back to the Super Bowl anytime soon? As an example, would those same fans get the same thrill out of watching the Jets play the Falcons in a future Super Bowl, regardless of what city it happened in? I seriously doubt it.
The "devil is in the details" regarding the rest of the offer as well. Ask your tax person, but I suspect the NFL's offer would be considered taxable income. The "beneficiaries" of this rather, ahem, generous proposal, might be in for an unpleasant surprise on their 1040 the following year. Even if not, that would be several thousand dollars worth of stuff and it would have to show up on an IRS form somewhere, which would likely raise a red flag with those wonderful people called auditors. Good luck with that.
Besides, how would those fans know what they were getting? If they flew first class into Dallas or Fort Worth, would they have to settle for a "cattle car" with screaming babies the next time? If they put up big bucks to stay at a posh motel close to the stadium, within walking or cab distance, would they be relegated to a sleazy-easy 50 miles out of town the next time in the next city,and have to rent a car? Beats me, but I smell a rat.
The NFL rakes in somewhere between 8 or 9 BILLION dollars a year. While that's chump change to our federal government, you could probably lay $100 bills end to end from Earth to Neptune with that amount of money, or maybe even afford the courtside seat next to Jack Nicholson at Lakers' games. Well, unless the Celtics were in town.
Still, Goodell and Co. are being scrooges about this. $2400 dollars is an insult. A fair offer might be $100,000 each for the fans they screwed over, and to pay their taxes, if necessary. I dare say those people would be happy with that. Maybe it adds up to a hundred million dollars. Big deal. That's a little over one percent of their revenue, for only one year.
If I had the choice between giving up 1% of my revenue for a year or potentially facing a hoard of legal sharks smelling blood in the water, I'd gladly give up the C-notes. Of course, in my case, things are scaled down some. Those end to end bills would start from Earth and never find their way high enough to the wallet in my back pocket, let alone Neptune, but still -- it's all in what you can afford to make something bad go away.  Roger and his merry band of billionaires CAN afford it, their public relations people would have a field day with it, and it's possible a few of those fans could even afford to find their way courtside for the Lakers. If Cleveland was in town.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

One easy way to tune out the crap

People say _____ in the greatest thing since sliced bread. Fill in your own blank. Television? The Internet? Microwave ovens? The "octagon"? Put Rush and Hillary in there for a death match, and I'd go along with that. But for now, I vote for the "mute" button. What a great invention.
At the Super Bowl, Christina Aguilera couldn't remember the words to the national anthem. The apologists are already out in force. She's done it so well before, they say. I don't care. She probably got paid more for those couple of minutes than most of us make in a few years. The least she could do was get it right. So here's a mute for you, Chrissie Ag.
To be fair, other so-called performers have done the same thing, but Francis Scott Key only wrote the original one way. Would it be asking too much for the people that sing it to stop disrespecting and butchering our country's song for their own little photo-op, ego reasons, and keep it that way? Here's a mute for them.
Halftime of the Super Bowl is not the time for black-eyed peas dancing around and carrying on. They got a mute. This is the time when a lot of toilets get used, munchies are reloaded, and the beer supply is checked.
Besides, those halftime shows cost a fortune. All of that is reflected in the price of everything from tickets to T-shirts to TV ads. If they wanted to get it right and hold TV fans' interest, why not bring in those fat guys (The Spare Tires?)  that danced at Pistons's games? They were hilarious and they'd probably do it for nothing, no stage and fancy sound equipment required. Put them on the field and let them go.
Beautiful cheerleaders are a dime a dozen these days. Evidently, they aren't capable or allowed to talk, so the mute button isn't necessary. But can you imagine if the fat guys were out there shaking their booties on national TV, and what would be talked about the next day? They'd make everybody forget about the beer commercials I mentioned before. And forget "lite". Sometimes heavy is better. And a lot more fun.
While we're at it, let's do away with the fighter jets flying over the stadium before the games doing nothing except making a lot of noise. They don't accomplish anything more than wasting jet fuel. A mute to them.
The moral of the story? Everybody should get a mute once in a while, probably especially me.
My two 4-legged bosses, otherwise known as yorkies, have it covered. I don't know how they figured out which buttons to push, but it sure seems to work. On me. Not them.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Stupid Super Bowl commercials and stick women

The Super Bowl is almost here. Thank God. At least when it starts it will put an end to a 2 week pregame show. You name them, and they're on the air or in newsprint. Between scribes, current and former coaches and players, analysts, and announcers, it's been everywhere 24-7.
What players eat, drink, where they go and what they do at any given minute has been hashed and rehashed. Press conferences with stupid questions abound. Everything about the teams, players, coaches, and possible game plans has been dissected to the point where biology teachers would beam with joy.
Las Vegas, other betting hubs, and even local bookies are trying to juggle the point spread. People that don't know the difference between a blitz and a Blatz have bought into football pools, that can range from a buck to a thousand bucks a "square". The sports bars will offer buffets and make a killing on alcohol at their Super Bowl parties. And the jails will be jam-packed Monday morning with drunken drivers because every available cop will be out there lurking. They won't be in good moods because they had to be on duty while everybody else was watching the game, so no, they're not going to give you a break.
While it's on, we'll get bombarded with commercials, specifically beer ads. I dare say most beer drinkers already know which brand they prefer, and a funny commerical isn't going to change that. If we wanted laughs we'd be watching the Comedy Channel and if we enjoyed young women with long hair, capped teeth, big attitudes and small chests insulting us, we'd go to a fashion show. If they want people to try their product, maybe they should stop spending so many millions on commercials so they could afford to lower the price. It always seems to be about "light" this and "lite" that, like everybody's supposed to be on a diet. If their goal is to make people thinner, then why do they sell it in "jumbos"? And what good are grooves in a beer bottle anyway? Tilt it up to your mouth and it comes out. This isn't exactly high-tech stuff. Employing models and actresses with a little more "full-bodied flavor" in the right places couldn't hurt either. Earth to Bud and Miller: Beer-drinking guys aren't into stick women unless it's very late and they've had way too much of your product.
Back to the game. In the end, it's just that.  A football game. Either the Packers or Steelers will be champions. A lot of money will change hands, champagne will flow in a locker room, the Lombardi trophy will be presented, millionaire players will get a fat bonus, a billionaire owner will briefly come out of seclusion, the breathless folks will rant about it for a week or so, and there will be a parade in Green Bay or Pittsburgh. And then it's over. A few days later nobody will care anyway.
On to the Daytona 500 and another season of roundy rounds, spring training for baseball teams, March Madness, watching the Tiger Woods extravaganza at the Masters and the Danica Patrick show at the Indy 500, whether they're competitive or not, and the NHL and NBA playoffs.
And trust me -- more stupid beer ads with stick women poking fun at the people that actually buy the product.
Which brings me back to yet another old commercial.
Where's the beef?

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Mark Wahlberg as "The Fighter"

By most accounts, the new movie starring Mark Wahlberg as "The Fighter" is supposed to be really good. He portrays Mickey Ward, a pretty tough dude in the boxing ring during the 90's, with Christian Bale in a supporting role as Mickey's drug challenged half-brother.
From what I've seen, truly elite actors not only know the script, but they let the role consume them. They become, in effect, as close as they can, the person who they're pretending to be. In the case of sports movies, that might involve a lot of research, weight gain or loss, talking a different way, mimicking personal mannerisms, and any number of other things to be convincing in the part.
Evidently, Wahlberg did all of that, including training like a maniac to the point of being "ripped" like a world class fighter preparing for a title bout. He was definitely in shape when the cameras rolled.
Some people would say such actors are egomaniacs, but I disagree. A certain amount of ego is necessary for them to be confident in their roles, otherwise they come across as phonies, and the film will be a dud.
But that only goes so far. After all, it's only a movie, and no, the actor isn't really "the guy". They need to know when to quit the charade and get back to reality. I'm not sure Wahlberg gets this. How else to explain his comment about having a "puncher's chance" at defeating Manny Pacquiao in the ring?
By that logic, I could fire up my trusty leaf blower and have a shot at knocking out a tornado, but I don't think that would be a very good plan. Robert DeNiro portrayed Jake LaMotta in a classic movie called "The Raging Bull", but he saw the wisdom in not getting in the ring with the likes of Marvin Hagler. That might explain why he's still making movies and a ton of money, rather than trying to remember what his name is and where he's at these days.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but before Wahlberg got into acting, he was a successful rap artist that went by the name Marky Mark. He talked smack.
If he ever got in the ring with the Filipino Congressman mentioned above, within a few seconds after the opening bell, everything would go Darky Dark. If and when he woke up, he might not be able to even spell s-m-a-c-k, given all the consonants as a head start.
Here's hoping that was just more hype for the flick, but if he really means it, I would refer him to a certain segment on an NFL pregame show.
They sum it up rather well in just two words.