Grood.com

To whom it may concern:

Hi, my name is Doug Dixon. I’ve attended somewhere in the neighborhood of 125-150 Dodgers games since moving to Los Angeles in 2005 which translates, estimating conservatively, to just a shade below 30 games per season. I bleed blue, at least in a figurative way. Throughout those four and a half years I have amassed quite a collection of bobbleheads, seen in the picture I recently posted on Twitter (http://yfrog.com/ne1mqj). It’s quite the conversation starter and I feel it really ties my living room together.

I attended last Tuesday’s game against the Giants, now commonly referred to as the “Mattingly game.” As you know, it was also James Loney bobblehead night. You can probably guess that I was more than excited to pick up a Loney bobblehead or as I like to refer to as “Lil Loney.” Unfortunately, I opened the box for the bobblehead when I got home to discover, much to my horror, that Lil Loney’s leg had been broken in several places. As you can see in this photo I posted on Twitter (http://yfrog.com/3ujf2xj), it looks like Lil Loney might have taken a bit of a spill on his way to me.

Is there any way I could get a replacement for Lil Loney? It would mean a lot to me and my ball club which, as you can see in the team photo, is sorely lacking a quality first baseman. I am more than willing to cover the retail price and shipping for a replacement Lil Loney if need be.

Thank you for your consideration, and Go Blue!

When LeBron and the Cavs were knocked out of the playoffs last week, a media firestorm erupted all centered about which team LeBron would be playing for next season. That was all the talk on ESPN as well as the countless sports blogs out there, and it’s still goin going on right now. My brother sent me a sarcastic text, “In case you haven’t heard, LeBron is a free agent.” It was funny, but it also sent a subtle chill down my spine. Here’s why.

A little over two weeks ago, the Denver Broncos selected college football golden boy and possible direct descendant of Jesus Christ, Tim Tebow, in the first round of the NFL Draft. Most quote unquote experts and analysts and my heroin dealer had picked him to get taken in the later in the rounds, citing his sluggish throwing mechanics and his devastating heroin addiction. ¹

Initially, I was happy for Tebow. Even though the press had forced Tebow down our throats for the past three years and I even contemplated suicide on several occasions to escape the pain of his overexposure, I was still pleased to see him go early. And then it hit me: If Tim Tebow goes on to have a successful NFL career, we are all fucked.

One of my eleven regular sexual partners just happens to be a pretty big Denver Broncos fan. She (I’m pretty sure she’s a she) watches every single one of their games, owns a healthy amount of memorabilia and has probably contemplated getting the Broncos logo tattooed somewhere on her body. Despite her Broncos fandom, which makes absolutely no fucking sense given that she has lived in Southern California her entire life, she has no idea who or what Tim Tebow is. Not being interested in college football in any tangible way, she has miraculously dodged that bullet. A big bullet indeed.

So, for the uninformed, who exactly is Tim Tebow? Well, let’s sum it up: 2 national titles and a Heisman Trophy. Additionally, he won pretty much every award that the NCAA can give to a player as well as setting a few dozen or so records, including being the only player in NCAA history to score 20 touchdowns rushing and 20 touchdowns passing in the same season.

Big deal, right? The guy can take a ball and run with it and/or throw with it. Plenty of people can do that. Michael Vick, hello? But it wasn’t just Tebow’s on-the-field exploits that got the media’s pants all in a bunch. When not prancing around the field like a dandy, Tebow would often be spotted in far away locales such as the Philippines doing missionary work. On top of that, he claims to still be a virgin and ends almost every interview with “God bless.”

Jesus Christ, this guy’s perfect. Of course, anyone who watched a single game of college football game between the 2007 and 2009 seasons knows this. And I don’t mean a Florida Gators game where he played, I mean practically any college football game during that time. If there’s one thing the media likes, it’s a feel-good story. And if there’s another thing the media likes, it’s not having to be creative. Announcers would not STFU about Tebow’s talents and accomplishments, constantly reminding the television audience of their own inadequacies. And we got annoyed.²

To sum it up: Tim Tebow became more Ned Flanders than even Ned Flanders. And that was just in college. Imagine if his success continues in the pro game. Because then, it won’t just be the media who will have their mouths set to auto-fellate. Not in the NFL, where money talks, where someone can endorse anything. It’s already starting. Tebow’s recently been named as the coverboy of NCAA ‘11 and his NFL jersey was the top selling pro jersey for the month of April. Not bad for someone who doesn’t even have a signed NFL contract.

Long story short, you better pray to the Gods that Tim Tebow tanks in the NFL.

It’s game six versus the Lakers and the Thunder tonight. I’ll be rooting for the Thunder but not because I have any loyalty to my home state. No, it’s because Kobe really, really bugs me and, as a result, I have grown to loathe the Lakers. It’s extreme. In fact, I’d root for a team made up of Hitler, Satan, a parking enforcement employee, Xerxes from 300 and the guy who stole my lunch in preschool if they were playing the Lakers.

It’s annoying how into the NBA Playoffs I get when I could care less about the regular season and the NBA as a whole, for that matter. I stopped caring about the NBA the day after Game six of the 1998 Finals when Jordan sank the game winning shot, the last one he’d take in a Bulls uniform. Then the Spurs started their reign, along with, ugh, Kobe.

It’s reassuring to know that Kobe is starting to show signs of age. He’s actually played more minutes than Jordan ever did in a Bulls uniform, remarkable since he’s only 31. It’s really only a matter of time before Kobe starts losing and LeBron actually wins a ring. Remember, kids: Every time Kobe scores, God kills a puppy.

It’s Earth Day, you say? FUCK YOU, IT’S DRAFT DAY! YOU HEAR THAT?! IT’S DRAFT DAY!

Pardon the all caps, but could anything in sports possibly get overhyped and blown out of proportion more than the NFL Draft? I suppose the Super Bowl gets more hype but, c’mon, it’s the Super Bowl. It has the word Super in it.

The draft, all it is is a bunch of 20-year-olds walking up to the stage and posing with Roger Goodell for three days. Three days of this shit. Wow, catch the excitement. And I have hordes of friends who will be glued to their TVs. Why? All the draft is is speculation. So what if Sam Bradford is the #1 pick? That doesn’t mean he’ll be any good nor does it mean his team will be any better. Historically, the NFL Draft has been riddled with busts. Ryan Leaf and Tony Mandarich, anybody? Bueller?

Speaking of busts, I was looking for something to do this Saturday in lieu of watching THE FUCKING DRAFT!!! and I came upon The Grilled Cheese Invitational. It sounds like a great idea but here’s the catch: the $10 admission only gets you in. You still have to buy the sandwiches once you’re there. So basically, you’re paying ten bucks to stand in a long line with a bunch of assholes for a grilled cheese sandwich. No thanks.

Another day, another mothereffing earthquake. If we get one more of these, I may pack my bags and head back to Oklahoma where people are safe from danger (except for tornadoes, meth addicts & nothing to do). Want to hear my exciting account of the earthquake? Well, buckle the fuck up, brother!

I was sitting in my living room with my laptop and noticed the chandelier & windows blinds were swaying back and forth. At first, I just dismissed it as the wind. My roommate and I routinely leave all of our windows open so we can enjoy that cool Southern California breeze which brings with it the fresh scent of lilac and jasmine and love. But then, I realized all the windows were closed. Did you read that? ALL THE WINDOWS WERE CLOSED!!!

I then did what I do with every earthquake I’ve felt. I sat there debating whether or not to get up and do anything and by the time I decided to do something, which was go stand by the door of my apartment (for some reason), the earthquake was done. I was left feeling a little bit nauseous after the fact, too. True story.

Speaking of exciting true stories, here’s a few from today that I found to be neat:

Space shuttle Discovery launches for some reason. If someone can give me one good reason why we still have NASA, I’m all ears. Actually, keep your damned whiny liberal stance to yourself, hippy boy.

Emmit Smith’s family tree has slaves in it. In equally shocking news, I brushed my teeth this morning. That was the only comment I could make about this story without coming across as a complete racist.

According to Deadspin.com, Jay McGwire, brother of controversial former baseball player Mark McGwire, has been busy pitching a book to publishers about how introduced the slugger to steroids and even injected Mark himself.

“Mark is a man I think most would like to forgive because his reason wasn’t nefarious - it was for survival,” Jay’s proposal says (read the rest here). “My bringing the truth to surface about Mark is out of love. I want Mark to live in truth to see the light, to come to repentance so he can live in freedom - which is the only way to live.”

First off, no shit he did steroids. We got it. Look at the pictures. Pleading the fifth in court doesn’t help you, either.

Secondly, this is directed more to my own brother, Steve:
Steve, you and I can both agree that we are probably closer than most brothers are. You and I both know we’ve been through a lot together, maybe even more so than most people do growing up. I love you. Hell, I even shed a tear while standing next to you at your wedding.

But, if I happen to become hugely successful at something I love and then you write a book that outlines how I cheated at accomplishing that success, I will fucking kill you. I’m just saying.