A New Unfortunate Thing That My Brain Did to Itself

Sometimes I have ideas that involve trying things that I've never tried before.  Today, my idea was to watch to guided imagery meditation YouTube videos while simultaneously listening to the end of the Yankees-Blue Jays game on the radio.  This was not a good idea.  The music made me visualize hypnotic raccoon faces leering at me from the Darkness of My Unknown Mind.  This felt bad, but instead of turning it off, I stopped focusing on my Inner Thoughts and made this picture:

While I was Photoshopping DJ, he hit a home run and tied the game at 7-7 in the ninth inning.  Why did THAT happen?  The music makes me feel like I'm drowning in an ocean of ice cold red Gatorade.  The music makes me feel like animals can talk.  The music makes the place between my eyeballs hurt.  One million, eight hundred and one thousand and thirty nine (1,801,039) people watched this video before I did.  One million, eight hundred and one thousand and thirty nine people have been subconsciously effecting the outcomes of Yankee games since this video was uploaded in September 2011.  Please do not listen to this music if your secret brain hates the Yankees.  

I guess I should be happy that I've used a free internet resource to unleash my psychokinetic sports powers, but I don't feel very good.  I will probably have awful dreams tonight and the Yankees still haven't won the game.

A Scientific Exploration of the Cole Hamels Contract, My Brain, and Representational Lawn Gnome Art. I'm Kidding. Just Another Post about Cole Hamels.

I wasn't expecting Cole Hamels to stay with the Phillies, but life is nothing if not full of surprises.  I haven't decided if this is a good surprise or a bad surprise.  On the one hand, I was eagerly anticipating the thrill of buying Cole Hamels Dodgers t-shirts on eBay.  On the other hand, I was dreading having to weigh my love of Cole Hamels, the person, against my hatred of the Texas Rangers, the ball club and symbol of everything that I irrationally fear and loathe in life. (Why do I hate Texas? I don't know.  It's an idea that formed in a deep animal recess of my brain where terror reigns and no logic flows. I like Michael Young and I like Adrian Beltre.  In fact, I like Adrian Beltre so much that I woke up last night yelling "WHO HIT ADRIAN BELTRE" and stayed awake long enough to google "Adrian Beltre concussion."  What part of my brain prompted those actions?  Again, I don't know.  Life is nothing if not full of mysteries about our unquiet, unknowable, ever-working brains.)

And, on the third hand that doesn't exist (i.e. the hand that represents things that we can imagine with no basis in reality), I REALLY wanted Cole Hamels to end up with the Yankees.

Anyway, this not-as-exciting-not-as-awful-as-it-could-have-been news about Cole Hamels provided me with a nice opportunity to revisit the internet's vast holdings of Cole Hamels images.  These are not my favorite Cole Hamels images, but they do touch upon three things that have not previously been said about Cole Hamels on this blog:  1) he chews gum; 2) he would probably be good at Bikram yoga; and 3) someone made a Cole Hamels lawn gnome that looks nothing like Cole Hamels (this lawn gnome would probably also be good at yoga if it were alive or if yoga were just one eternal, unbroken lotus pose).

(Okay, probably I hate Texas because of what they did to the Yankees in the playoffs two years ago.)
(A greater mystery than that, perhaps, is why do I love Cole Hamels? One answer is that I decided many years ago that he and I shared a specific brand of existential angst.  Another answers is that I took a gamble on him Fantasy-wise that same year and it has mostly paid off.  Another answer is, I don't know.  Another answer is, I don't care to know.  Another answer is that life is nothing if not full of me talking and thinking excessively about Cole Hamels for reasons that no one knows or cares to uncover.)
(And the greatest mystery of this post, honestly, is who were they looking at when they made that Cole Hamels gnome because it doesn't even look like they tried.)

Enough for now.  Congratulations on your gigantically expensive contract, Cole.

A Man After My Own Heart

Three of my favorite life activities are: watching the New York Yankees, doing the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle, and eating candy and/or ice cream. While my irrational heart may favor baseball beauties like Robbie Cano and Grady Sizemore, my logical brain dearly loves Mike Mussina.

Born in Williamsport, PA in 1968, Mussina missed being his high school's valedictorian by a few decimal points. (It's been suggested that he intentionally underperformed in one class so as to avoid having to give a commencement speech.) After his graduation in 1987, the Baltimore Orioles offered Mussina a $300,000.00 signing bonus. Instead, he chose to attend Stanford University, where he finished an undergraduate degree in economics in just three years.

You know that my dad's an economist, right?

After eight years with the Orioles, Mussina joined the Yankees in 2000. In 2008, he became the oldest pitcher to win 20 games in one season. I listened to his 20th win against the Red Sox live on the radio...IT WAS SO EMOTIONAL! At that point, despite a stirring late-season rally, the Yankees had already been shut out of the playoffs and had no real reason to exert themselves (because, fine, sometimes they just don't try that hard. I can acknowledge that. They are lazy). BUT THEY WON THE GAME JUST FOR MOOSE. I almost cried.

Deciding to go out on the top of his game, Mussina promptly retired. I almost cried then, too.

Goodnight, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

And so, in 2008, Mussina was playing for his legacy. He was also playing for ice cream. Here's the abbreviated scoop from the New York Times Bats blog:

The Yankees went on a health kick when Joe Girardi was named manager, prohibiting ice cream from the players’ lounge. Now the ice cream has returned, because the loudest critic of the policy, Mike Mussina, has reached 10 victories. It happened much quicker this season than last.

“It took me till September last year,” Mussina said. “They must have thought this was a lock-solid bet.”

He also created a special candy bar to help children. Apparently, it tastes good! I'm not sure if it's still being manufactured, but if it is, I WANT TO EAT IT.

Okay, enough with the sweets. I mostly love Mike Mussina for his strong intellectual ability. Moose's affinity for the New York Times crossword has been highly documented, including in the 2006 film "Wordplay." Someone also wrote a humor article about it. Washed-up pitcher, my ass! We'll talk about that when he (possibly) gets inducted into the Hall of Fame.

Here's Mike Mussina talking about Stanford and drinking and crosswords (later he talks about ketchup and hot dogs and hamburgers and the recession):

Q: You finished your degree in 3 1/2 years. Did you not drink a single beer in college?
MM: Um... how do I answer that? Yes I did, "drink a single beer."
Q: Which crossword is most challenging?
MM: Sunday Times [the incredulous look returns]. Sunday New York Times.
Q: Are you much for Sudoku?
MM: No. 'Cause it only has to be 1-9. Your options are limited. There's 40,000 words or more in the English language. Sudoku's 1-9.
Q: I don't know half of 'em.
MM: One-through-nine or half the words in the English language [laughs]?

What's another word for, "I'm too smart for this?"

I was recently told that the Sunday puzzle isn't the hardest one in the Times (I almost cried THEN, too), but I don't care. Mike Mussina is awesome. See you at the Old Timer's game!