2011 MLB Preview: The American League East

I did it last year. I might as well do it this year. I am nothing if not a model of consistency. My picks weren't any worse than anyone else's; I correctly named four out of the eight playoff teams and foresaw the renaissance of both Texas and Cincinnati. I whiffed on the collapses of St. Louis and Colorado and wasn't harsh enough on the Red Sox. All in all, I'm ESPN material. I've got Stark and Olney shaking in their boots and Neyer's already cleaning out his desk.

But what's this Hollywood Starlet Equivalent crap? I'm glad you asked! As you've no doubt noticed everytime you've seen my face on the cover of Us Weekly, TigerBeat, and Flex, America is infatuated with celebrity. Examining the every move of rich, occasionally talented people has supplanted baseball as the country's pastime. Used extensively in the baseball prognostication industry since 2010, Hollywood Starlet Equivalent provides the baseball layman with an easy means of comparing and understanding teams. If I say that Team A's expected wins are higher than Team B's, your eyes cross, you start to drool, and you decide you'd rather read Perez Hilton than my highbrow crap; if I say Jennifer Aniston's better than Lindsay Lohan, your stupid American brain immediately understands.

Now, without any further ado, the first batch of 2011 picks.

1. Boston Red Sox - On paper, this is the best squad in the game. When the Sox signed Carl Crawford, I wet myself. When they finally traded for Adrian Gonzalez, I crapped myself. I am quickly running out of clean undies and it's all Theo Epstein's fault. The rotation after Jon Lester and Clay Buchholz could potentially be a concern; Josh Beckett, Jon Lackey, and Daisuke Matsuzaka are a talented crew, but relying on all three of them to bounce back with only the ageless Tim Wakefield as legit insurance might be asking for trouble.

Hollywood Starlet Equivalent: Mila Kunis. My favorite.

2. New York Yankees (wild card) - Their lineup is loaded, and you've got to figure Jeter's going to be unnecessarily diving into all kinds of crap in an effort to validate his earlier contract demands, but that rotation has disaster written all over it. Maybe they can pitch Sabathia every fourth day. They'll make the playoffs, but not easily.

Hollywood Starlet Equivalent: Katie Perry. I don't like them despite how well they're put together, but I understand why other people enjoy their work.

3. Tampa Bay Rays - Most people are already writing this team's obituary. They're down a left fielder (Crawford), a slugging first baseman (Carlos Pena), a solid shortstop (Jason Bartlett), and a big time starter (Matt Garza). Their once dominant bullpen has evaporated in free agency. They've attempted to restock with the likes of Rowdy Kyle Farnsworth and the decaying corpses of Manny Ramirez and Johnny Damon. But don't count this squad out-they've still got the best rotation in the American League, and youngsters Desmond Jennings and Reid Brignac should plug the holes left by Crawford and Bartlett. If there's one rule I live by, it's to never count out a team who's manager wears such awesome ear flaps on cold nights.

Hollywood Starlet Equivalent: Courtney Cox. Still feistier than most people think.

4. Toronto Blue Jays - GM Alex Anthopoulos has this team in full-on rebuilding mode. Dumping the albatross that was the contract of Vernon Wells upon the Angels, a team so dumb they can't figure out whether they're from Los Angeles or Anaheim, was a stroke of genius. This should be an interesting team to watch, if only to see if Jose Bautista is truly the slugger he pretended to be last year (I doubt it, but stranger things have happened).

Hollywood Starlet Equivalent: Morena Baccarin. It's a damn shame she always gets stuck on shows about to get cancelled, and it's a damn shame the Jays are stuck in this division.

5. Baltimore Orioles - Ugh. I'm not even going to bother. Peter Angelos is the Al Davis of Major League Baseball; the poor fans of this franchise are just waiting for him to go away so someone competent (and preferably alive) can take charge.

Hollywood Starlet Equivalent: Every female contestant from the last season of Survivor. They just suck, and not even in a fun trainwreck sort of way. Get off my TV.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

It's been cold and snowy in the greater Boston area since that last stupid holiday, whatever the hell day it was everybody was supposed to be happy because the numbers on the calendar were just so. I've lived my entire life up here, so such events are not unexpected. I get it, and I'm a man--some might compare me to a lumberjack or an ice road trucker--so I just shrug and deal with it. That's not what I'm about to bitch about.

My beef is with the side effects. The things people really should be complaining about, rather than "My heat's soooooo expensive!!!!!!!! I totally didn't see that coming!!!!!!" or "It gets dark sooooo early!!!!!! I totally didn't see that coming either!!!!!!" The problem is that none of these people walk anywhere, so they miss the things that are truly important. I, on the other hand, walk pretty much everywhere. I am too impatient to wait for the bus driver to finish his Olde English and get his ass to work. I refuse to spend more than $50 on something with only two wheels and no engine, so every bicycle I've ever owned has barely been able to get me to the corner store in one piece. And the rigamarole that is owning a car in the city is NOT for me, although I'll happily take a ride if you're going in my direction.

But I digress. These are the bullshit things I've noticed while trudging through this frozen tundra shit. Obama, I hope you're paying attention.

• People who don't shovel their sidewalks. You people are assholes. Put the chocolate creamy drippy delights down, turn off "Jersey Shore vs. Flavor of Love Girls Ultimate Challenge," pick up the shovel, and get your fat ass to work. Every fart I've farted in the last month has been farted in your general direction. I hope they lingered.
• People who won't get their asses in gear. Loyal blogonauts will recognize this as a consistent theme in my epic prose, but this problem has been exacerbated ten fold because the weather has reduced Somerville's once spacious sidewalks to narrow, treacherous pathways to hell. Normally it takes a whole group of dumbasses to clog a sidewalk, but now just a single idiot can ruin it for everybody. Put a fat broad with "Apple Bottom" emblazoned on her ass in the way and you get a recipe for a nervous breakdown and possibly a blog entry. Something about that logo just makes people forget how to walk. Maybe it falls off if they go too fast, or maybe it creates some sort of velocity sucking time-and-space rift that can only be semi-thwarted by incessantly talking on one's cell phone and IGNORING THE PERSON BEHIND YOU EVEN THOUGH YOU COULD'VE STEPPED INTO FIVE DIFFERENT DRIVEWAYS IN THE LAST TEN MINUTES TO LET HIM PASS. Seriously, this has happened to me at least three times. The last time I got so pissed I woke up in the Foggy Goggle. It literally made me travel back in time.
• The yellow snow. The aforementioned narrow, treacherous pathways to hell are walled in by piles of snow, much of it yellow and, depending on the quality of the shoveling job (often extremely poor), extremely difficult to avoid walking into. I know you've got a bag for disposing of little Fluffykin's sphincter spears (I couldn't come up with a good word so I totally just Googled "other words for poop," which of course lead me to The Poop Thesaurus). I know you've got a scooper of some sort. How about you combine those two tools and take care of his little yellow freeze pops too?
• The blogging. I couldn't fight the urge anymore. I needed an outlet. But even a bulleted list couldn't save this stupid train wreck.

Dear Cleveland

I'm sorry things went down the way they did. I don't blame LeBron's desire to ditch you for the white sands, hot ladies, and warm weather of Miami, but I think we can all blame him for constantly referring to himself in the third person and for potentially starting a terrible new trend wherein douche bag free agent athletes announce their decisions with hour-long television specials. I for one cannot wait for this winter's Adrian Beltre: The Choice, wherein he announces which lucky team's outfield he's going to decimate next.

But it's ok. After all, you're still known for your steamers.

No no no, get back from that ledge! That was just a little humor. A little ha ha. You've still got a lot of people to look up to, Cleveland. Take this guy:

That handsome devil is the host of the Price is Frickin' Right, and he's from right there in Cleveland! He's also hosted a hilarious comedy show and starred in his own sitcom. Is it any wonder that the ABC network stopped being relevant about the time he stopped CARRYING their primetime network? Not at all my friends. Not at all.

You know the best part? Old people love the Price is Right. A lot of them end up there, like there's a bus to it or something, and where are a lot of those old people from? FLORIDA! No more Plinko or Hole in One for those old farts; it's nothing but Card Game and Safecracker for those LeBron loving bastards!

Wait, what's that? You say he's fat? You say it was actually the "will they or won't they" dynamic between Louis and Oswald that actually carried "The Drew Carey Show?" You liked Bob Barker better and wish he'd come back? The only thing you'll "Witness" with him is the complete and utter destruction of a ham sandwich?

Hey, get out of the bath tub and put the hair dryer down, IN THAT ORDER! Ok, maybe Mr. Carey can't quite replace the King. Maybe we should try another local sports hero.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Cleveland Indians designated hitter Travis Hafner! Part of the Tribe since 2003, Hafner hit over 100 home runs and tallied over 400 RBI in a four year stretch between '04 and '07. And he's got an awesome nickname: Pronk! It's because he's part PROject and part dONKey. No one embodies your city's working class whatever like the hard nosed Pronk!

Hmm? Nobody gives a crap about the Indians anymore? They've turned Jacobs Field into a homeless shelter? You say it's been three years since Pronk was any good, that counting stats are stupid and modern sabermetrics say he's kind of a bum? That you're actually a "Witness" in a lawsuit against that racist logo on his hat?

WHOA WHOA WHOA! Drop the razor blade! You're doing it wrong anyway. You want to go down the road, not across the street. Can't you Clevelanders get anything right?

Fine. Last try. And I guarantee there is no way you'll be able to refuse this next guy as your new savior.

Even though he (sadly) doesn't sparkle like that in real life, Mike "The Miz" Mizanin has made quite a name for himself in the entertainment world, first as a giant douche on "The Real World," then as a giant douche on several seasons of that Real World vs. Road Rules nonsense, and now as a giant douche as one of the WWE's top sports entertainers. In the past two years he's held the Unified Tag Team Championship and the United States Championship, both multiple times - so he's already won more titles than any other Cleveland-based athlete ever will. He's the Miz, and he's AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWESSSSOMMMEE! (It's on his shirt so it must be true.) (Seriously though, he's one of the only reasons to watch Monday Night Raw nowadays.)

I can tell by the blank stare on your face, Dear Cleveland, that I have won you over. As always, professional wrestling can solve all of life's problems.

Wait, why is there an empty bottle of Drain-O in your hand.........?

Mt. Rushsomemore

I Stole Your Lunch is bursting with patriotic spirit today. Let's add a few more faces to Mt. Rushmore to memorialize a few individuals who've been vital our nation's success:

Jack Bauer
There's a reason those terrorists everybody's so afraid of haven't been able pull off anything better than shoe bombs, underwear bombs, and other such clothing-related works of genius, and it's not because the Feds have limited the amount of toothpaste you can carry on a plane. It's because of these black ops types that we will never hear about. Who better to represent our shadowy, morally-ambiguous-but-well-meaning heroes than Mr. 24.

Ted Williams
Iconic ballplayer of the forties and fifties spent many of his prime years as a naval airman, flying 39 combat missions in Korea and occasionally serving as John Glenn's wingman. Often displayed the uniquely American trait of hating absolutely everybody. Conveniently his frozen, severed head will provide great reference for Rushmore's sculptors.

Tiger Woods
If there's one set of ideals the American Dream stands for above all others it's making money, getting famous, and collecting broads as if they're Pokemon and you gotta catch 'em all. Unluckily for Tiger he left his Pokedex where his wife could find it.

Hulk Hogan
He's got the red, white, and blue running through his veins. He successfully fended off both the Iron Sheik in the 80's and Sgt. Slaughter in the 90's when that no good maggot defected to Iraq and started burning Old Glory on live TV. When handed a microphone he is the modern day Abraham Lincoln. The Big Boot/Atomic Leg Drop combination has felled more evil foreigners than Teddy Roosevelt, the Patriot Missile, and the Predator drone combined. Get him up there.



Interesting aside: I Stole Your Lunch tried very, very hard to add a woman to this list. For a whole twenty minutes our crack brain trust suggested and then cast aside suggestions including Vanna White (discarded because most Americans can't afford a vowel anymore), Paula Deen (not enough stone in the Dakotas for giant, poofy hair), Janet Reno (leading candidate until intern reminded us that epic dance parties were actually led by Will Ferrell in disguise), Elin Woods (feisty but Swedish or something), and Sandra Bullock (being just so damn cute and likable are not traits for which the country is known). Tank Girl, Princess Leia, and Judge Judy also received various levels of support, but none of them seemed to fit. Are we here at ISYL just stupid? Are we missing someone? Is it Hollywood's fault because they'd rather have a big, strong man rescue Angelina Jolie when they should just hand her a pair of shotguns and tell her to shoot terrorists for 120 minutes while wearing nothing but an American flag? Is it the media's fault that our most influential female politician is known mainly for scaring her cheating husband so badly that he was willing to lie about his adultery in front of a grand jury? Is there something lacking in the X chromosome that prevents female songwriters from dreaming up ditties about how America is awesome and everyone else can go to hell? Are women merely less susceptible to jingoist baloney? Regardless of the answer, I Stole Your Lunch finds this problem quite troubling.

Hold on - I've just been handed something:

Serena Williams
Tennis is the only truly international sport that Americans care about on a regular basis rather than just every four years and then only for pretend because it's an excuse to drink and Serena's right at the tippy-top of it. Routinely beats the crap out of the perfect blonds the Russians keep cranking out in secret Siberian genetic labs. Athleticism not hindered in the least bit by badonkadonk unique to American women.

You're a placeholder for now, Serena. Consider us locked in eternal deuce until the Anti-Palin comes along and dropkicks the sexism out of the country or until Toby Keith gets that operation. Hopefully they will look kind of alike so we won't have to completely rework the monument...

Happy NSAAM!

Halter Top Day has come and gone and the temperatures here in Beantown have climbed up into the high 80's, taking an existing problem and amplifying it ten fold. In response, I Stole Your Lunch would like to remind everyone that July is National Swamp Ass Awareness Month. Originally conceived by the overly sensitive nose of one Benjamin Franklin, NSAAM seeks to educate us all about the dangers of body odor and the steps that can be taken to prevent it.

Dangers:

• Smelling like swamp.
• Smelling like ass.
• Smelling like all of the above.

Preventative Measures:

• Daily bathing. Not just your face and hands; everything.
  
• Washing your dirty undies. Turning them inside out and putting them back on will not do the trick.
  
• Deodorant.
  

Sounds simple, right? And yet so many people get it so wrong. Many err so badly that they leave in their wake a stinky trail not unlike a rainbow of rotten eggs tracing the way to a pot of sour milk. In the spirit of Arizona's new immigration laws, the following set of stereotypes will aid you in recognizing and avoiding those afflicted with swamp ass.

1. Fat Man in Jorts - Perhaps the easiest to spot. The bigger you are, the more you're going to sweat on a hot day. Science has proven that a thick layer of denim keeps any potentially cooling breeze while simultaneously amplifying stench. Especially rank when carrying lost cheese or bacon in unreachable fat folds.
   
2. Sketchy Old Dude Brown Bagging It On The Bus - Do not dismiss this character's random shouts and seemingly inane rants - this is actually a complex mechanism of ecolocation evolved to replace the subject's blurry, often spinning vision. Little known fact: his sweat glands are where flavored vodkas come from.
3. Hippie Girl On A Bicycle - Often attempts many of the preventative measures outline above, but decreased mental function due to frequent crashes and/or use of too much cheap hair dye has left her incapable of understanding that organic soap made out of cabbage does not clean a damn thing.
4. Cab Driver - Orson Welles got it all wrong in "The Time Machine." It won't be factory workers that devolve into Morlocks, it'll be these half-man, half-machine horrors. As a very wise man sings every Thursday night: Boston Cab/ what's the deal?/ Who put you/ Behind the wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel?/ Learn the language,/ Learn to drive,/ Take a shower, try to get me home alive!
5. Anyone Leaving An ATM - These things are veritable incubators of swamp ass. If you see the tell-tale worn blankets and pile of garbage that mark an ATM as being stinky enough to have spontaneously generated a toothless hobo, just put whatever it is on your credit card lest you be jumped from behind and forced to sing hobo songs.
6. Jersey Shore Looking Douche Bag - If you haven't learned by now to avoid those exhibiting popped collars, frosted, spiky hair, and the hypnotic orange shimmer of tan-in-a-can, I Stole Your Lunch has yet another reason: these beefy buffoons typically skip the deodorant and just dump a 16 oz. glass of cheap cologne over their heads. Congratulations, fool, now you smell like cologne-covered shit.

I Stole Your Lunch hopes you enjoyed this little Safari of Stink. If not, blame loyal blogonaut Candace; it was her idea. Happy NSAAM!