Julio Franco Knows When it's Going to Rain

Rickey is fairly tired from having spent a soggy evening at Shea last night. Slogging home through the rain after a game is kind of a downer, but hey, the Carlos Gomez catch made it all worth it. And even though six innings isn’t exactly a grueling marathon, Tommy Glavine does seem to be back in the saddle again.

In other Mets news, this piece on Jose Reyes in USA Today is awesome, give it a read. Here are two of our favorite quotes from the article:

"The definition of a base-stealer is when everybody in the ballpark knows he's going," Tigers manager Jim Leyland says. "The pitcher knows he's going. The catcher knows he's going. The manager knows he's going. The fans know he's going. And he still gets that stolen base. That's Reyes. He's that f——— good."

First baseman Sean Casey says he didn't have time to drum up conversation when Reyes reached first earlier this month. "I tried to talk to him," Casey says, "and before I could complete the sentence, he says, 'See ya.' And takes off. He's like the Roadrunner cartoon. You see him one second, and he's gone."

Granted Reyes has been in a mini slump recently, which is kind of a bad thing if you’re like Rickey and decided to draft Reyes over Pujols to your fantasy baseball team… In fact, overall, the Mets are still struggling. But the fact that they still eek out wins even with their current issues (most notably: a shaky bullpen and lackluster hitting) is indeed a good sign of things to come. And called games due to rain don't hurt either.

Your Weekly Linkage

Right, because we’re the first blog ever witty and inventive enough to introduce a links section with a stock photo of sausage links. It’s hump day, give us a break for christsakes. Anyhow, the following items of note caught Rickey’s eye while he was angrily sticking pins into his Scott Schoeneweis voodoo doll.

Young Frankenstein, The Musical hits Broadway in November, and uh, good luck getting tickets. This recent development brings us one step closer to “Spaceballs: The Musical” and its glorious moychendising.

In 1938, Disney refused to hire an animator because she was female. Rickey loves stories that make the Tragic Kingdom look bad. You know how some people love to root against the Yankees? Well, Rickey enjoys rooting against all things Disney.

We won’t even spoil this by describing it, but suffice to say, Rickey finds this picture to be strangely arousing.

The iPhone comes out this week. And if you’re like Rickey, you’ve shamelessly sold out and are dying to switch to a cellular service provider that supports it. Wired has tips on how to do so.

David Denby at The New Yorker has a good write up about Michael Moore’s new film, “Sicko.” Rickey agrees with Moore’s political agenda, but the measures he takes in this new movie sound just a tad manipulative, even for a Michael Moore film. In hopes of kickstarting an angry political debate, Rickey encourages you to discuss this amongst yourselves.

To wrap things up, McSweeney’s gives us “My DVD’s User Manual (as written by Chuck Palahniuk).” Good to see that McSweeney's still has the market cornered on offbeat literary humor.

What's Rickey Listening to on his Way to Work?

In this column, Rickey will periodically update you on what music is revolving in his car’s compact disc player as he navigates his way to the office. Some material may range from noteworthy to foot-stompingly awesome, while other material Rickey may have blindly downloaded and listened to for the first time this morning. It’s a mixed bag of good and bad which Rickey will listen to and report in on periodically. If being hip is your thing, then proceed onward and feel free to adjust your musical tastes to align with Rickey’s.

To kick off this column, we’re starting up with a mini-review of Paul McCartney’s “Memory Almost Full.” Rickey downloaded the album after a family member recommended it to him, and it’s safe to say that aforementioned family member is now in the musical penalty box for the duration of the summer. Consider the fact that from age 56 to age 66, Bob Dylan gave us “Time Out of Mind,” “Love and Theft,” and recently the brilliant “Modern Times.” And then on the other end of the spectrum is Paul’s “Memory Almost Full.” Here’s the cold hard truth: no other musician could get away with making an album like this and having it reviewed so kindly by so many. Simply put, it’s painfully mediocre.

Now Rickey’s a Beatlemaniac, and he was mildly interested in hearing what Paul McCartney (“Macca” for those in the know) had created here. You’d think that with the recent shakeup in his personal life involving the peg-legged woman there would be decent fodder for something more original than what he gave us with “Wings.” Yeah, not so much. Overall, the album’s main problem is that all the lyrics are syrupy pabulum, the melodies are unoriginal, and you’re left with the overall effect of listening to a 60's bubblegum band. Needless to say, this does not make good driving music for Rickey on his way to work.

There’s just not much to any of the songs, nothing memorable whatsoever. The best track on the album is “That Was Me,” but frankly, that’s not really saying a whole heck of a lot. The tune itself sounds like classic McCartney but the lyrics are tired and unoriginal. “Dance Tonight,” is decent, but it’s also the most indicative of McCartney’s shortcomings as a musician. The song features mandolin strumming, rampant foot tapping, and some whistling by Paul. It’s pure fluff. But then again, no one ever accused Paul of being the deep thinker in the Beatles.

The rest of the songs follow in the footsteps of “Dance Tonight”: they’re compact, contain simple ideas, carry pleasant melodies, and feature underdeveloped choruses. For lack of a better word, they’re very “meh.” Skip this album unless you’re dying to listen to something mindblowingly derivative and whimsical. And let’s be honest now, if Paul McCartney was your favorite Beatle, then you’re kind of a pussy. In summation, we’re now pissed that we took the time to write a musical review on this.

Rickey awards this album 2 stolen bases out of a possible 10.

How does Jenna Jameson not have this problem?

"Jaw Arthritis" has afflicted that little Japanese guy who always wins the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest. As a result, Takeru Kobayashi is pulling out of this July 4th's festivities.

Now I did a little digging and it turns out that before today's announcement, Kobayashi was even-money according to Vegas odds, he wasn't the favorite to win-- that honor went to the American Joey Chestnut who had been rated a 4-5 odds favorite. I smell a rat- I think Kobayashi is trying to skew the odds so he will become a distant candidate, and he'll re-enter the contest at the very last minute. If you have a bookie, bet on Kobayashi now!

Your Mensch of the Week(end)

Ok, so our self-imposed moratorium on the Mets lasted all of five days. But this is totally worth breaking the silence for. This past weekend, Paul LoDuca was thrown out of a game for arguing balls and strikes. But wait, it gets better. Before leaving the field, LoDuca proceeded to throw all of his catching equipment onto the field, because ...well, we don't know, because he's an insane jackass, we guess. For those who haven't seen it, clips of the aforementioned shenanigans can be found here and here.

For Rickey's money, there’s nothing quite as entertaining as a player blowing a gasket and having a thoroughly entertaining argument with an umpire, (complete with the always effective, but often forgotten “equipment toss from the dugout” routine). So ladies and gentlemen, we give you Paul LoDuca, your “Mensch of the Week.” Strong work you fiery-tempered Italian.

And hey, if it means more wins, then more Mets should have meltdowns in the future. We really want to see just what it takes for Shawn Green to lose his cool and viciously charge someone like a rabid spider monkey. So here’s to hoping something similarly wacky goes down when Rickey is at the game this Wednesday with Adam, Ms. Henderson, and her sister.

Mmmm... Links....

Alright, Rickey’s done ranting about the Mets …for now. Hey, call us nuts, but it’s strangely cathartic to whine about your favorite regional sporting team to anonymous internet readers. Nonetheless, one man’s complaints certainly aren’t enough to stop the bleeding within the Mets organization, so we’re taking a page from our buddy Toasty Joe and putting the kibosh on all Mets talk for a little while. A watched pot never boils—especially when aforementioned pot is encircled by throngs of angry Mets fans wielding pitchforks.

So what to do today? Well how about a few links to pass the time while day dreaming about your 1991 Volvo suddenly and explicably transforming into a gigantic alien robot? Sound promising? Here we go then.

Let’s start off cheery. Screw it, it’s Friday, let’s make it insanely cheery. Rickey recently stumbled upon a site known as “Cute Overload.” (Thanks very much for bookmarking that site on Rickey’s laptop Ms. Henderson!) Anyway, we saw this video of an overly dramatic chipmunk, and were then very amused to see the chipmunk compared to Alfred Hitchcock. Good stuff. By the way, browsing through Cute Overload for more than thirty seconds causes you to have a full-blown diabetic attack. Fair warning.

Chris Berman, god help us all, is appearing on Sesame Street. Right now, The Count is probably wondering what he ever did to deserve thing kind of abuse. Despite having attended Rickey’s high school, we still harbor a deep resentment towards Boomer here at RwR. We would’ve preferred a Chris Russo Muppet, which really isn’t all that much of a stretch of the imagination when you think about it. Or even better: a Jose Reyes Muppet. (Because we're already 95% certain that Jose Reyes actually is a Muppet).

The new White Stripes album is awesome. How awesome? Mindblowingly awesome. It’s so awesome we couldn’t wait for the next “Rickey Recommends” column to talk about it. Remember how you liked Led Zeppelin back in the day but now think they’re kind of uncool? Listening to this album is like hearing Zeppelin for the very first time. Pick it up pronto.

Is Rickey the only one who thought that Hillary Clinton/Sopranos campaign ad was completely idiotic? Seriously, watching it completely ruined Rickey’s enjoyment of the Sopranos finale. And on a political side note, Rickey is completely sickened by the Hillary campaign. Only one candidate can possibly bring Rickey to the polls in 2008: Walter Fucking Mondale.

Also firmly in the realm of mind-numbingly idiotic campaign ads is this promo featuring a scantily clad woman declaring her affection for Barak Ombama. (No worries, Rickey’s looking out for you, the clip is SFW). Indeed, because nothing gets the ladies going quite like a chain smoking son of a goat herder.

In case you missed it, a Cardinal in the Vatican went batshit crazy and decided to issue The 10 Commandments for Drivers. Congratulations, Cardinal Renato Martino, you’ve officially become George Carlin’s character in “Dogma,” minus the witty satire.

Would you like to see a pic of Harrison Ford donning the Indiana Jones outfit again? Damn straight you would. The guy looks good for 60, this movie may work after all...

And that’s all Rickey has for today. Enjoy your weekend you inglorious bastards. Go outside and swim or something—assuming you’ve been following “The 10 Commandments for Drivers,” the weather should be relatively devoid of fire & brimstone.

Serenity Now!!!!

Rickey speaks for the entire Mets fan base when he says the following: fuck-fuck-fuckety-fuck! Seriously now folks, you can’t give us one satisfying win? Or heavens forbid, even back to back wins? When the hell did we turn into the Kansas City Royals? You’ve lost the last six series you’ve played, honestly now, what the everloving fuck? And are your weaknesses limited to one specific area? Oh no, for the sake of uniformity, you guys seem to insist on spreading it over all areas: bad hitting, poor bullpen performance, lousy fielding, and weak starting pitching. Strong work fellas. For the record, Rickey’s getting a wee bit tired of curling up into the fetal position and openly sobbing after watching the Mets play.

Rickey damn sure won’t be taking any more Spanish lessons from Professor Reyes until he breaks out of his mini slump. It’s fantastic that Mets fans now preemptively boo Scott Schoeneweis whenever he trots out of the bullpen (this is a guy we have a two year contract with by the way). Shawn Greene is doing what that can only be described as lollygagging out in right field and his hitting has dropped of substantially since his return from the DL. And we don’t even have the stomach to discuss Beltran, Delgado, Sosa, or Glavine. Indeed, the Mets seem hell-bent on screwing the pooch from every possible angle.

With a 4-14 record this month, that means the Mets currently have a .222 winning percentage in June. For those who don’t follow baseball, that’s an exceedingly bad statistic. The last time the Mets went a month with a percentage like that was August of 2002. Remember who was playing back then? That all-star lineup consisted of: Roberto Alomar, Mo Vaughn, Jeromy Burnitz, Tony Tarasco, John Valentin, Roger Cedeno, and Joe McEwing. Ouch. Obviously we’ve improved a lot since then, so why is the 2007 team insisting on mailing it in every night at Shea?

And with the team well on track to finish the season with a .550 season average, where is Willie Randolph in all this? Sleepwalking? As we’ve said before, the man clearly needs to step up and yell a little. Stop giving press conferences while looking like you just got hit in the back of the head with a piece of lumber and start laying down the law.

So what, the outcome of the 2007 NL Division is going to be determined by which team is slightly less mediocre: the Mets or the Braves? In case you haven’t been watching, right now, we suck a whole lot more than Atlanta does. Indeed, we’re the suckiest bunch of suckers to ever suck. Man do we suck. Things are indeed bad when the return of Moises Alou and Pedro Martinez now seems essential to any shot the Mets have at making a strong run at the postseason. Right now, this is a completely unwatchable team. For the first time ever, Rickey found himself not minding all that much last night when Ms. Henderson flipped from the Mets game to “So You Think You Can Dance.” That’s an extremely bad sign…

Yeah, We Got Nothing...

No new posts here at RwR today folks. If you're looking for reading material, Rickey wrote up an article over at The Jack Sack concerning Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia's curious decision to cite "24" as a legal precedent. Proceed there for a double dose of merriment and political gravitas.

Your Weekly Mets Update

Pardon the usage of the disgruntled Mets fan picture, but as of late, the Mets have been hard to watch. To clarify, we’re talking “gouge-out-your-eyeballs-and-hide-behind-the-couch-weeping” hard to watch. Last night, we got a respite and perhaps a sign of things to come. Even if the Metropolitans hadn't scored those four runs in the 8th, it would’ve still been an idyllic game. Maine was crisp, and the Mets actually wrangled some two-out hits with RISP. Catching it on SNY Fast Forward this morning, it was the first time in three weeks that Rickey felt like he was watching a legitimate Mets game.

Think their slump is coming to an end? Well fifteen hits in one game is a nice start, but last night’s game has left us far from convinced. In order to believe that the Mets are back on the right path, Rickey needs more evidence of their hitting skills than bopping around a lousy pitcher like Jose Silva. So let’s see what they do with Johan Santana this evening. Knock him around a little bit and Rickey will be convinced that things are back on track again. Santana can give up runs, and hopefully the Mets’ offense can make it enough for the win.

Venturing into the fun-filled realm of “what if?,” Rickey sincerely hopes that the Cubs completely tank in July (entirely possible) thereby making Zambrano available for a trade. Who wouldn’t trade Milledge/Gomez and Pelfrey to get the guy? It would be nice to have a young power pitcher on the Mets for a change, yes? Also, we recently learned that not only is Ricky Ledee still alive, but he’s apparently playing baseball as well. For the Mets. Yay. No, really: “Yay.”

Update: Some misbegotten madman thought it would be cute to pull a Jason Blair and write a ridiculous story about Julio Franco causing a racial divide in the Mets clubhouse between Latinos and non-Latinos. Lovely. Julio Franco may be older than cancer, the internal combustion engine, the Franklin Stove, single-celled bacteria, and me, Rickey Henderson, but if that's not enough of an argument for him not to continue to play for the Mets, now people need to make false accusations about him being a racist? Really? See, this is why anonymous blogs are a bad idea...

*Because we’re big fans of making lists (particularly when it comes to organizing Rickey’s chaotic life) we proudly present our newest column,

Things Rickey Learned Over the Weekend:

The Butterfly House at the Bronx Zoo adheres to the same rules and regulations as most American strip clubs: the butterflies can touch you, but you can’t touch the butterflies.

“John from Cincinnati” is a complete and utter mess. An hour of television has never dragged on quite like one Rickey spent last night watching this disjointed show about surfers and someone who appears to be Jesus Christ. Or an alien. However, Rickey loves what David Milch did with “Deadwood,” so based primarily on stubborn loyalty, he’s sticking with this show for now.

Tongue sandwiches totally rock. They’re like the Mick Jagger of the sandwich world—classic, daring, and still uncompromising after all these years. Suck it haters.

Judging by these photos, Batman will be playing the Joker in a lacrosse tournament in summer, 2008. Fan-freaking-tastic. Rickey's officially concerned.

It’s becoming very hot these days. We’re quickly approaching what can only be described as Gold Bond weather (the extra medicated variety).

FF2 is a study in how to make an exceedingly poor film. Go in with low expectations, or better yet, save your money for Transformers.

Willie Randolph is officially living in fantasy land. A closed door conversation within the Mets organization needs to occur, and pronto. Chairs need to be thrown. Heated language needs to be employed. Anyone named Carlos needs to be screamed at. Enough of this “steady-handed cool captain at the helm” bullshit. This team needs a yelling at—top to bottom—in order to snap out of their funk.

Bacardi 151 and mango nectar on the rocks causes Rickey to develop a powerful hunger for Mexican food. And provide in depth advice on proper canoeing procedures—whether the recipient wants it or not.

Today is apparently Rickey and Ms. Henderson’s two year anniversary. Yes, Rickey was oblivious enough to need to be reminded of this. Well-wishes, “atta-boys”, and “sweet fancy Moses, you wrangled a lady friend?”s should be left in the comments section below.

A Samoyed with all it’s fur shaved off (except for the hair on his tail and head) just looks absurd. Completely ridiculous. Dogs don’t suffer from low self esteem when something like this is done to them, right?

This is where Rickey posts recommendations of noteworthy consumables, practices, and pastimes that have been deemed invaluable for the reader’s betterment. All products and advice listed herein have been Rickey tested and approved. Again, this is in no way shape or form a complete rip off of McSweeney’s (fa-la-la-la-la, lawyers, Rickey can’t hear you). Enjoy this week’s installment of

RICKEY RECOMMENDS:

Registering a domain name entitled “Shea Stadium Suicide Hotline.” Pessimist that he is, Rickey’s dreading the horror that’s going to transpire this weekend in the Bronx. But on the plus side, now that the wheels are falling off the Mets bandwagon, finding good seats at Shea this summer might no longer be a daunting challenge. We know, we know, it’s not that bad, blah, blah, blah… Just let us be moody about this, ok? The main advantage to being a pessimist is that you get to be pleasantly surprised when you’re wrong.

Skyauction. It’s like Ebay, but rather than bidding on fake designer jeans and obscure region two DVD imports, you bid on vacations. This is how Rickey and Ms. Henderson wrangled a week in July at the Mt. Washington Hotel in Bretton Woods, NH. Good times will be had when Rickey gets severely inebriated and performs an interpretive dance rendition of the United Nations Monetary and Financial Conference of 1944.

Owning a wok. Because cooking up stir fry for dinner is easy, fun, and makes you look mildly sophisticated. The jury is still out in the Henderson household on the merits of stir fried tofu however.

Locating and visiting your nearby wineries. This adds to that whole sophistication thingy we were talking about in the previous recommendation. Bonus points if you seriously lose your shit and perform your Paul Giamatti impression from “Sideways.”

Downloading the single “Missed the Boat” by Modest Mouse. Now we’re not huge fans of Modest Mouse’s style, but every now and then they pull together a little ditty that makes you want to get up and dance around (i.e. “Float On”). “Missed the Boat” is one such song. It’s a terrific little anthem—listen to it, and by all means recommend it to others.

“Heart of the City (Ain’t No Love)” by Jay-Z. Yeah, you read that right, Rickey’s recommending Jay-Z. It’s kind of a shame that they apparently teach multiple fake retirements at “The School of Hard Knocks”… Anyway, we’re not sure who the jazz singer is that Jay-Z samples in this song, but they’re pretty damn good. Soulful even. Rickey likes to listen to this song while straight up illin'.

[And now that we’ve scared away our two African American readers, let’s proceed onwards.] Rickey also recommends:

Ajax Ruby Red Dish Liquid. A buddy informed Rickey about this stuff, which is apparently not only great for washing the hands with, but also kosher. We’re a little perturbed by the fact that we’re washing our hands with a product with a label stating “keep out of reach of children,” but you know what? We don’t fucking care.

Who's Harry Crumb? Simply put, this criminally underrated comedy features John Candy at his peak. Plus it features Jeffrey Jones's second best pre-child molestation charges performance, behind only “Stay Tuned.” Pick this flick up post-haste.

Odds and Ends

We here at RwR are still coming to grips with living in a world with no Sopranos. Sorry folks, but you’ll see a Saturday morning Sopranos cartoon show before Chase agrees to make a movie. To alleviate the pain, we thought we’d share one of our very favorite exchanges from the show:

Tony: (To Paulie) “He killed sixteen Chechens. He worked in the Interior Ministry.”

Paulie: (Later in the show, talking to Christopher) He killed sixteen Czechoslovakians. He’s an interior decorator.”

Christopher: “What are you talking about? His apartment was a mess.”

Sheer brilliance. The best part about the finale is that it allows us to weed out all the “not enough action” folks and mock them for missing the point of the entire series. This show could’ve been about a family of accountants and we still would’ve tuned in every week.

It’s a day later and Rickey still can’t get that “Can’t Stop Believinnnnnnn” song out of his head. You think after hearing it played for four years nonstop at college bars Rickey would be immune to it… (that song is like a mating call for an entire generation of Jagermeister stained sorority girls) …but apparently not so much.

And while we’re on the subject of The Sopranos, Rickey is bemusedly enjoying his fifteen minutes of regional fame. You know what that means: it’s time to go on a monster coke binge, punctuated by Dante-esque hallucinations.

Switching gears, perhaps this is another situation where Rickey’s immaturity inhibits his ability to be a normal member of society, but we found the following quote by Ichiro Suzuki (a baseball player for the Mariners) to be hilarious:

"To tell the truth, I'm not excited to go to Cleveland, but we have to," [Ichiro said through an interpreter] "If I ever saw myself saying I'm excited going to Cleveland, I'd punch myself in the face, because I'm lying."

Coincidentally, Lebron James most likely feels the same way right about now.

We really shouldn’t find this turn of events to be funny, but guess what? It most certainly is. And for some reason it reminds Rickey of Corey Haim in that movie “Silver Bullet”.

Finally, for those seeking 24 related merriment, Rickey has posted his musings on season one of 24 over at our sister site, The Jack Sack.

Rickey's Obligatory Sopranos Post

This morning, Rickey’s taking a time out from ranting about 24 to discuss that other television show he’s invested roughly 80 hours of his life in: The Sopranos. Since we’ll be discussing the finale, those moronic few who recorded last night’s episode and haven’t yet seen it should avert their eyes from the screen at this point. And good luck not running into someone foaming at the mouth with rage over the ending.

Yes, it was anticlimactic. And Rickey didn’t like the lack of closure either at first. But after waking up this morning and re-watching that final scene, Rickey’s attitude on the subject has shifted considerably. The decision to set the final scene in a new, previously unseen location was jarring, but we kind of liked the New Jersey version of a Norman Rockwell family gathering. (Rickey would've chosen "The Kosher Nosh" in Ridgewood however). While watching this mob family munch on onion rings, it occurs to you that very little has changed in these characters over the course of the show.

A.J., despite being given a leg up by his family, is still a complete and utter flake. Carmella is still the wife who refuses to judge her husband’s profession as long as he periodically comes home with a sparkly bauble of some sort. Meadow is still the know-it-all girl trying to come to grips with her Italian roots. And Tony is completely and utterly doomed. Even though we don’t precisely know what happens to him, there’s a short list of possibilities that await him: death, jail, or more existential unhappiness. The fact that Tony orders the onion rings (greasy fried food) underscores the theme that he's always provided for his family ...but badly.

For Rickey, the most moving part of last night’s episode was Tony’s scene with Junior. Confronting his nemesis at a state run nursing home, Tony is left wanting. All his life accomplishments are laid bare when Tony informs an incoherent Junior that he and his father used to run North New Jersey. Junior’s response: “that’s nice.” Tony’s walks out disgusted, feeling hollow and empty. So much for fame and glory. And as the scene with A.J.’s therapist indicates, the therapy with Dr. Melfi has gone nowhere and Tony is once again looking for a female to vent his emotional scars to. So much for a peaceful night’s sleep for Tony Soprano.

But getting back to the closing… In the very last scene, Chase slowly moves all the pieces into place. He sets us up with a nervous Tony gazing anxiously at the door as potential assassins walk into the restaurant. We see the Soprano family slowly meet up: the screw-up son, the complicit wife, and the arrogant daughter who cannot parallel park all assemble one by one. They even set up The Godfather homage with one stranger walking into the bathroom to potentially emerge with a weapon to kill off Tony.

And then, with that “Don’t Stop Believing” song by Journey playing, Tony looks up, and nothingness washes over the screen. They suddenly cut to black, thus causing Rickey to scamper into another room, fearing that his television is broken. (You gotta love it when a show pulls an Andy Kaufman-esque joke on you like that).

Pissed off? Well, in case you were unaware, this is your Tony Soprano. It’s up to you to decide if he dies, spends the rest of his life in jail, or lives happily ever after. By suddenly fading to black, Chase doesn’t kill off Tony, he does something much better, he kills off the whole damn show, along with any lingering hope you might have had for conventional resolution.

The decision to end it in that manner is the cinematic equivalent of a bullet to the back of the head. You never see it coming. Just sudden blackness. It conveys the experience of some Jersey mobster sneaking up behind your couch and wacking you. As Bobby said to Tony in the boat in the season premiere, “you probably don’t even hear it when it happens, right?” It’s bleak, powerful stuff, and Rickey’s probably in the minority in stating that he liked it. Disagree? Tough luck, it’s fun to be contrarian.

Ok, maybe Rickey would’ve changed a few things. Perhaps ending with Journey’s “Anyway You Want It” playing over the jukebox, with Rodney Dangerfield and the show’s entire cast dancing in the restaurant. That also would’ve worked. Now if you’ll excuse Rickey, he needs to go write hate mail to David Chase for putting that “Don’t Stop Believing” song in Rickey’s head… Anyone up for a road trip to that diner in Bloomfield for onion rings and Journey?

WORD OF THE DAY: Schadenfreude

Schadenfreude is a German word meaning 'pleasure taken from someone else's misfortune'.

You know what gives me pleasure? Seeing justice done for a change.



Back to the pokey you go, Paris.

Whither Shawn Green?

It’s been a while since we’ve felt the need to discuss the Mets, so lets get right down to brass tacks: Rickey is currently freaking out a little bit. Getting swept by the Phillies is painful enough, but when you factor in the manner in which it happened as well as the sickening Endy Chavez injury, it feels like a swift kick to the nether region. Looking at the schedule ahead, the Mets play Detroit, LA, The Yanks, The Twins, The Cardinals, The A’s and then the Phillies again at end of month. Make no mistake, this is a test, and the Mets need to prove that they’re still the best team in the National League.

Call Rickey nuts, but he believes that the Mets’ recent floundering is strongly linked to the notable Jewish vacancy in right field. Shawn Green (Ms. Henderson’s favorite Met by a landslide) has been on the DL for quite some time now and Rickey places the blame for the Mets’ mini-slump squarely on his absence. Now Rickey really isn’t “knowledgeable” on the intricacies of baseball in the way that some other fans are, and therefore has no statistics whatsoever to back any element of this theory up. But hey, it’s much more fun to go through life by relying on “feelings” rather than “proven facts.” (Granted, this is probably why Rickey’s fantasy baseball team is currently second to last in its league).

Point in case: on a recent car ride with some friends, the topic of gas mileage arose. Rickey informed his buddies that his aging Volvo gets good gas mileage. When asked to back this claim up, Rickey replied, “hey, piss off, I just feel like it gets good gas mileage.” And frankly, that’s enough for Rickey to sleep soundly at night. Stats are boring.

So getting back to the issue at hand, the Mets needs Green. Call him “Mr. Intangibles.” Call him “The Hebrew Hammer.” Call him “That lanky guy who under no circumstances should ever get his head shaved.” Call him whatever you damn well please. He’s a rock star at the plate. Word ‘round the playground is that he’ll be rejoining the Mets sometime this coming week, and his return comes not a moment too soon. So what if players usually don’t bounce right back after a 15 day stint on the DL? Rickey is once again ignoring proven stats and trends and going with his gut. Look for Greenie to call down the rain when he returns to the lineup.

In Which We Introduce our Newest Contributor...

As many people will tell you, comedy isn't easy. And the problem with running a blog like this is that eventually it devolves into Rickey trying to write like Rickey rather than writing about what’s actually on his mind. A sea-change is indeed necessary to shake things up a bit.

So in our perpetual effort to amuse and entertain you, we here at RwR recently posted ads in Craigslist for an ombudsman for this site. Because very few people are aware of what an ombudsman actually does, we received a wide variety of responses—some good, some not so much. We even got some queries from women looking to date men resembling Ulysses S. Grant. But in the end, the decision had already been made for us.

It is with great pride and restrained trepidation that Riding with Rickey presents Adam, our newest contributor. Over the past year we’ve watched with great curiosity as Adam has honed the craft of blogging about 24 to a sublime art over at The Jack Sack. This new endeavor frees up Adam to occasionally write about non-24 matters whenever he sees fit. Have no fear however, his fantastic posts on CTU: Denver will continue throughout the summer. Look, somebody’s gotta keep the entire 24 community from climbing up bell towers with sniper rifles this summer, and Adam’s definitely the man for the job.

In related news, Rickey is now a contributor to The Jack Sack. Indeed, think of this as a Marvel/DC crossover, except geekier, if that’s even possible. Or a Voltronesque meeting of minds if that works better for you skippy. Rather than adopt the moniker of Rickey Williams or Branch Rickey, Adam decided to keep his nom de plume with the knowledge that if “Highlander” has taught us anything, it is that there can be only one! …Rickey.

On a personal note, being a good friend of our newest contributor, Rickey would like to add that Adam is a helluva Mets fan and all around great drinking buddy. Moreover, the man knows his movies and enjoys frequently taunting Rickey about his extensive collection of Michael Bay DVDs. (Fuck everyone, “Armageddon” is a very underrated art house flick). In short, he’s a mensch amongst mensches. We’re excited to have him aboard.

Strength in numbers is a fantastic thing, especially when it provides Rickey with free time to cultivate his blossoming drinking problem. You’ve heard of the idiom about 1,000 monkeys at 1,000 typewriters, yes? Well RwR now has exactly two.

This is where Rickey posts recommendations of noteworthy consumables, practices, and pastimes that have been deemed invaluable for the reader’s betterment. All products and advice listed herein have been Rickey tested and approved. Again, this is in no way shape or form a complete rip off of McSweeney’s (fa-la-la-la-la, lawyers, Rickey can’t hear you). Enjoy this week’s installment of

RICKEY RECOMMENDS:

Oops, wait, wait, hold on just a second. We should note that you’ll probably notice a theme to this week’s this week's installment. The pervasive theme being that only a select few bunch of people will actually catch many of this week’s references. Indeed, this is the college reunion edition of Rickey Recommends. So pardon us if you don’t get a damn thing we’re talking about--we’re plowing ahead anyway. So lets try again. Ahem, here we go.

RICKEY RECOMMENDS: (THE REUNION EDITION)

Getting more than 4 hours of sleep over a three day period. Do we even need to explain why this is sage advice?

Waiting for your friends to arrive on campus before proceeding to drink yourself silly. Because belligerently stalking around a bonfire in search of a small unattractive Korean girl who wore braces in college would’ve easily been prevented if you’d had friends nearby to intervene. (No, aforementioned person wasn’t Rickey).

Not getting fat. Time marches on, but a scant half hour daily on the treadmill can forestall your inevitable metamorphosis into a fleshy human pear. Deciding to settle down in Central New York and own chickens should also be considered a poor decision.

Breaking up fistfights when they occur. At some point on Saturday night, Rickey wandered upon two fellows exchanging punches to the face. In a remarkable display of poor form, Rickey didn’t intervene. But in his defense, this was primarily because one of them spilled beer all over Rickey. (At the time, Rickey was on the verge of goading them on like Michael Vick at a pit bull fight).

Avoiding the "Coping With Menopause" seminar that your university has inexplicably decided to offer as one of its reunion events.

Trying to not wax nostalgic about your college days. Because “remember when…” is the lowest form of conversation. End of story.

Not assuming that your ailing fantasy baseball franchise is a suitable conversation topic for casual acquaintances from five years ago who barely remember your name.

Holding out for better alcohol options if none immediately present themselves. Rickey definitely regrets drinking Jack Daniels on the rocks when tonic water was unavailable for a G&T.

Not locking yourself out of your room (twice!) over the course of the weekend. Because nothing beats drunkenly ambling around your frat house in your boxers looking for something resembling a bed. Campus safety got to know Rickey quite well over the course of the weekend.

Not attending a college that’s built on a forty five degree incline. Seriously, what the everloving fuck? Rickey had forgotten how painful walking up large hills can be. Especially exhausted and hung over.

Eight dollar pitchers of beer. Where else in the known universe can one purchase a pitcher of Labatt Blue for eight dollars?

Not falling off of a roof. No, it didn’t happen to anyone, but at multiple points over the weekend, it easily could’ve.

Not leaving a laptop brimming with illicit material out for some oversexed misanthrope to wander off with and defile himself to. But hey, at least he was nice enough to leave a note.

Avoiding the college bookstore. Damn what a racket—Rickey’s credit card is hurting. But on the plus side, thanks to his new university branded flip flops, no one will dare question his college spirit again.

Hearty hugs. Because nothing says “I missed you bastards” quite like a good man-hug and slap on the back. Good times were had all around.