WHAT A GREAT 2008

This blogger has an amazing feature, the ability to look into the future and then blog about it. OK, anyway, instead of predicting what will happen in 2008, let's pretend this is being posted on Dec. 31, 2008 looking back at the year. You get the point.

Dec. 31, 2007 into Jan. 1, 2008 - In a bizarre start to the year, Dick Clark, without any writers to help him, forgets how to count down from 10 to 1, confusing the thousands in Times Square and Ryan Seacrest, who, without writers' help, doesn't know what year it is.

Jan. 3 - The Tonight Show with Jay Leno is cancelled after Leno, also with no writers, tries to do an entire hour-long show of dopey headlines and recycled Michael Jackson jokes. The strike is settled the next day, Leno returns, and then viewers of the Tonight Show go on strike until Leno is booted permanently.

Jan. 5 - Greg Schiano leads Rutgers to a close win in the International Bowl, but after the game he his pressed about rumors he in considering leaving RU to take the St. Louis Rams job. Schiano stays at RU, but only after the school announces plans for a $300 million, 150,000-seat stadium with a retractable roof.

Jan. 6 - Roger Clemens, trying to explain steroid accusations on 60 Minutes, lets it slip that he and Andy Pettitte were more than friends and that Yankee phenom Phil Hughes is actually their child. When asked about this, Pettitte says, "I only did it once."

Feb. 3 - There are mass suicides all over America, as football fans, faced with the dilema of seeing the Pats go 19-0 or the Cowboys winning the Super Bowl, decide to off themselves instead. It's later revealed that Jessica Simpson's halftime show is the reason for the unthinkable death toll. Those that don't take their own lives, actually do it the next day at work when some dopey co-worker starts talking about his favorite commericals from the game.

March 30 - With the season just days away, Omar Minaya finally breaks down, trading Jose Reyes, David Wright, Carlos Beltran and Mike Pelfrey to the Tigers for Kenny Rogers. Citi Field is burned to the ground the next day.

April 1 - After Appalachian State basketball team beats Florida in the NCAA tournament title game, the dopes on ESPN and every other sports network start clamoring for a playoff system in basketball, not realizing they already have one.

June 5 - The New Jersey Devils capture the Stanley Cup, but the celebration is ruined when ESPN's Barry Melrose is stabbed on a Newark street during the victory parade. The suspect is quickly arrested as the 10 fans who actually care about the Devils are the only ones to attend the parade.

July 27 - Bruce Springsteen opens a three-night stint at Giants Stadium, but when he utters his "Is There Anybody Alive Out There," line to start the show, he's stunned by thousands and thousands of empty seats. It is later determined that many folks forgot they even had tickets to the show since they bought them in December. It's also found out later that thousands of Springsteen nerds were hanging around Gate D, hoping to see a set of tits for the first time in their lives.

Sept. 9 - During his opening game with Bound Brook High, Penn State coach Joe Paterno collapses on the sideline. Greg Schiano, in attendance, jumps out of press box and immediately starts coaching the Nittany Lions, who win on a late field goal. Construction on the new Schiano Dome is immediately halted and is quickly changed into a 400-seat gym to host Rutgers mens and women's basketball games.

Sept. 12 - The New England Patriots' season gets off to a rocky start when it's revealved Tom Brady has impregnated every woman in New England.

Sept 22 - Jamie Lynn Spears gives birth to a bouncing baby boy. The next day, Kevin Federline, Larry Birkhead and Howard K. Stern file for custody of the tot.

Oct. 1 - Barry Bonds' head explodes, yet he is able to survive thanks to the second head that has grown out of his back.

Oct. 9 - Rudy Guiliani's push for president get a major boost when he promises voters that if he's elected president, he will convince David Chase to explain the Soprano's ending once and for all. The millions of Americans who are still obsessed with the show say they will vote for him. He looks like a clear winner.

Oct. 10 - David Chase reveals that the entire Soprano family was wiped out in the ending of the show, causing heartbreak all over the country, and Guiliani to give up his bid to be president.

Oct. 11 - James Gandolfini shows up at a campaign rally for Barak Obama, but nobody remembers who he is anymore. Obama drops out, too.

Nov. 5 - In perhaps the most stunning election result in the history of the world, the Sandman is elected president of the United States thanks to a few write-in votes by fans of his blog. As it turns out, the rest of America, faced with the choice of voting for Hillary Clinton or not voting at all, stays home.

Nov. 11 - Joe Pendleton posts his first blog of 2008.

Nov. 25 - Almost one year to the day he debuted on WABC radio, Don Imus collapses on the air. Help doesn't arrive for nearly three days since no one was listening when this happened.

Dec. 18 - Tom Coughlin is fired after the Giants lose their 10th straight to fall to 2-10. Greg Schiano threatens Penn State he will leave unless they build at 120,000-seat stadium. He's reminded that Beaver Stadium already holds 120,000 and that he is free to leave whenever he wants.

Wow, what a year that was. We'll recap 2007 in a few days.

HISTORIC OCCASION

Yes, your eyes are not deceiving you. This is a new post. The first since Oct. 12 and believe it or not, according to the fine folks who run this site, my 100th post. And it took a trip to NYC and Mrs. Pendleton's run-in with some a-hole on the subway to get the blogging juices flowing again.

First, some notes since my last post.

-- I actually made it from Oct. 10 - Nov. 19 without having 1 beer. But then it got all shot to hell, with an open-bar shindig on the 19th, the holidays, christmas hijinks. Still, the 6-week layoff gave me hope that I can go tasteless from Jan. 2 - March 17*

*-I'm pondering a 3-day ski trip to Utah in Feb with my brother and four cousins, so that won't count. Weak yes. But let's be realistic, especially since the odds of me skiing are not great. Therefore, getting loaded in the lodge might be the only thing I can do. Actually, i do plan on skiing, but haven't done it in about 14 years.

-- This Wii thing is the greatest invention those Japanese geniuses ever came up with. I've gotten more exercise the last two nights playing video games than I have the last two months. It's pretty cool. I bowled a 216 yesterday. I feel good about myself.

-- The 42nd birthday is coming up Sunday. Holy shit am I old.

-- Not much planned for New Year's just yet. Maybe some neighborhood tastes. However, I know exactly where I'll be at 1 p.m. on New Year's Day - on the couch, with a taste, watching the Sabres and Pens drop the puck at Ralph Wilson Stadium. Speaking of the NHL, I went to the NHL store in NYC today, and let me tell you, they have to be kidding me. They had a t-shirt with a Winnipeg Jet logo on it. I was fired up to purchase it, until I saw the price tag of $44 dollars. For a fucking t-shirt. Good move by the folks at the NHL - let's overcharge the miniscule fan base to make a few extra bucks. Screw you.

By the way, speaking 2008, the big 2007 lookback and 2008 lookahead are coming in a few days.

Now, the Mrs. Pendleton story. We - along with every other person on the East Coast, decided to take the kids to the Museum of Natural History in the city today (FU Ben Stiller). Our daughter, Georgia, is a huge dinosaur fan, so she was in heaven.

Anyway, we leave the museum, head to 30 Rock to see the tree, and then head for E train back to Penn Station for a NE Corridor train.

We enter the E subway stop at 5th and 53rd, and it features a huge, huge escalator down to the platform. It also features a stair case between the up and down escalator. Anway, it's about 5:30, and the place is packed, so we load the kids on the down escalator. About 15 seconds in, some women comes walking down the escalator, and pretty much brushes by me on the right hand side, prompting Mrs. Pendleton to say, "you know, there's a staircase if you want to walk." The dame keeps going, and some other dude then brushes by us, goes a few more steps and turns and says to Mrs. P. "The way it works is, the right side is for the walkers and the left is for the escalator riders." Mrs. P responds by saying, well, "If you want to walk, use the stairs," and this guy, being a polite asshole, says, "I'm just telling you how it works, because obviously you don't know subway protocol." The which Mrs. P. responds, "Dude, it's the holiday season, it's crowed on the escaltor, use the stairs." The guy, who was about 25 and could have easiliy used the stairs, turns proceeds to walk down the rest of the way. Of course, he got the bottom about 10 seconds before us, where we all proceeded to wait another 10 minutes for the train.

I really felt like going up to the dude and doing one of the following:
A. Punch him in the nose to show Mrs. P I have her back.
B: Point out to him that the subway isn't the only place in the world with escalators, we know the right side walking schtick - hell, I practically invented it. But if there's a staircase right next to it, protocol is out the fucking window.
C: Thank him for directing some of Mrs. P's ire toward him - and away from me - for a few fleeting moments.

Of course, enjoying the whole confrontation, I did nothing but tell Mrs. P how right she was with the hopes of parlaying that into some post museum action. Results still pending.

Well, that's it. Happy 100th post. Happy New Year. Happy International Bowl.

YOUR OWN WORST ENEMY

My name is Joe Pendleton, and I am an alcoholic. OK, a weekend alcoholic, but an alcoholic nonetheless.

What other conclusion can I draw from last Saturday's trip to Philly to check out Bruce and the boys at the Wachovia Center.

Here's what we'll do. I'll give you a rundown of my day and you can draw your own conclusion. (Some names have been changed to protect the innocent).

1:45: Me and Mrs. Pendleton meet up with the third in our group in Central Jersey and head to Philly armed with a cooler full of tastes and Tastee subs, and believe it or not, low expectations for the show since Slim Steve, who was there the night before, said it was quite dull.

3:00: Roll into the Wachovia Center lot, bang down taste No. 1, and work on taste No. 2 as we head to check out the wristband scene.

3:20: With wristbands and an order to be back in line at 4:20, head back to the Pendleton minivan, where, on our way, we stumble across a young Sqawking VFR lookalike who is wandering around aimlessly and muttering something about leaving his ticket at his hotel.
3:25-:3:45: Have tastes 3-7.

3:46 Ticket dude strolls by with a buddy and asks if he could "buy a beer or two off of us." Now, while I don't have any proof, I like to think I invented this move. Knowing full well nobody is going to charge you for a beer, you ask to buy one, get a freebie and move on. However, ticket dude (he got it back) didn't realize we were the same folks he ran into a just a 1/2-hour ago, so, while giving him and his buddy a free taste, we start doing schtick. They are cool and hang out with us. Not only am I a weekend alchie, I'm also an enabler. So, by the time 4:20 rolls around (the time we have to leave to lineup for a chance to hit the Pit), I'm on taste 11 and these cats are on about 3 or 4.

4:20: Armed with taste No. 12, the five of us head to line up. We line up, and in the meantime, thanks to Jersey Girls suggestion to go on Backstreets.com, I'm able to unload our extra ticket for face value. Thanks JG.

4:40: We realize this wristband thing is gonna take a while, so our third _ who will remain nameless - heads back to the van for more tastes.

4:50: While banging down tastes 13-17, I call work a few times to catch a Texas-OK score (one of the cats was from Texas) and tick off the folks at work. At one point, they ask me how many tastes I've downed, and I tell them 20 or so, which, I thought at the time was an exaggeration, but now I realize how close I was.

5:10: After a false alarm where I had dreams of being in the first row for a Bruce show, we get screwed on the wristband deal, and head back to the van. On the trip back, the third reveals we are now out of beer. OUT OF BEER? Of course, most non weekend alcoholics would've taken the cue right there to stop, but not me. Using a Philly cab driver, we give our two new friends a $20 and orders to bring back more beer. Did you hear me ladies and gentlemen of the jury? A beer run.

5:30: Fearing we've been conned out of $20, the two cats arrive with a 30-pack of Coors Light. After initial complaints about the beer selection, I proceed to down tastes No. 18-24 in the two hours or so (as you can see, I'm slowing down a bit). Of course, the van needing a battery jump due to playing Bruce tunes without the engine running for two hours, may have slowed me down a bit, too.

7:45: With taste No. 25 in hand and No. 26 in my pocket, we start our walk to the show. I think I only had a few sips of 25 and had to dump 26 before entering, but no we are in the show.

8:00: The third brings me a paid-for taste on the floor of the Wachovia Center. We'll call it 26, since I didn't really drink the first 26.

8:20: The show starts, Bruce opens up with Night. It's an early clue that he's not mailing it in like some reported he had the night before. When song No. 4 is Prove it All Night, it's obvious this is gonna be a good one.

9:45: I see Scialfa getting ready to croon, and see this as good chance to unload tastes No. 15-26 from my bladder and get taste N0. 27. On my way up the stairs from the floor, I trip and nearly kill myself. Only my left shoulder saved my noggin from hitting cement. Some dude, also not impressed with Mrs. Springsteen's act, helps me to my feet. Undeterred, I still head for the beer stand. Thankfully, the line for the men's room resembles one you would find at a WNBA game (there is no line) and there's no one on the beer line. After a near stumble down the stairs I almost fell up just minutes ago, I reach the floor, find Mrs. P and the third just in time for Bruce to break into "Incident on 57th Street." Now, I'm really fired up, and since this is the first time he's playing it on tour, I tell everyone around me - most didn't appreciate it - that after this he's gonna let the piano solo roll into Rosalita. Everyone tells me I'm wrong, which turns out to be true.

10:00: With 27 tastes down the hatch, the highlight of the night comes when Bruce pulls an audible and busts into Cadillac Ranch. The joint goes wild.

10:50: After a rockin version of Dancin in the Dark, Bruce breaks into "American Land," which everyone knows is the final tune of the night. About 3 minutes in, me, Mrs. P and the third head for the exit, and see the end of the show right before we head for the door.

11:00: Dilemma time. While I want to bang down a few post-game tastes, Mrs. P and third want to get in the rig (hope it starts) and get out of Philly before we sit in traffic for an hour or two. I figure at this point I've tested Mrs. P's patience, I chug beer No. 28 and hop in the rig.

1:00: We roll back into Casa Pendleton: The ride home is pretty much a blur, the only thing I remeber is rooting against the Phillies on the radio as if they were the Yankees.

8 a.m.: I wake up in the rack alone, with Mrs. P down the hall in our daughter's bed (our kids stayed a grandma's hut).

So there you have it, ladies and genteman of the jury. Now you vote.

One final thing. I never, never, never have tastes Mon-Thurs and Sunday (since I work on Sunday). So most of this activity goes on Fri and Saturday, hence the weekend tag.

By the way, since that show I have not had one beer, and have decided to try and stay dry until Jan. 1

We'll see about that one, since I'm going to two adult b-day parties in the next 3 weeks. When I say adult, I mean adults only, not like porn star parties, though if that were the case, I would certainly stay sober.

Anyway, great Bruce show. Great time.

A few more quickies:

Another shout out to Jersey Girl, and this one really saved me. While chatting with her Saturday morning, I told her how I actually felt bad for Joba in the bug incident. Without any hesitation, she sternly said, "He's a Yankee." You know what, she's right. Thanks for the reality check. Fuck Joba.

As for the Yankees, I'm still debating which team - Mets or Yanks - had a more disappointing season. Afterall, both teams didn't win a division title, both teams were non-factors in October.
From a Mets standpoint, I'm gonna say the Yanks were a bigger disappointment. I mean, it was clear on about Sept. 10 the Mets - even if they had made the playoffs - had no shot of going anywhere. The Yanks, on the other hand, looked like a force heading into the postseason.
Also, the Met loss could actually turn out to be a good thing as Tom Glavine is a goner and I'm sure Omar Minaya will try to overhaul this team in the offseason. The Yanks, on the other hand, will bring back pretty much the same team (A-Rod, Posada, Mariano, Giambi, Mussina, and I think, Torre). It will be more of the same. Plus, none of our announcers cried like blubbering idiots when the team lost (at least on the air, they didn't).

Plus, all Met pain ended with the Phillies getting swept. The Yankee pain will resurface in about 2 weeks, when the Red Sox win their second title in four years.

One more thing on the baseball playoffs. I'm already sick of this Frank TV guy and the show hasn't even started.

A few things Frank:

-- You can't do a Pacino imitation if your 300 pounds. It doesn't work.
-- My daughter can do a Nicholson imitation. It's not hard to do.
-- Your George Bush is great. Who the hell cares.

Cheer up, though Frank, as long as Chip Caray is employed by TBS, there will always be someone more annoying working there.

Well, that's all for now.
Thank you for your time and courtesy.

Let's Go Rangers.

MAN, I HATE BEING WRIGHT

Well,. the Mets are officially done and if you're a regular reader of FNC, you would've know the weekend after the All-Star break, when this little paragraph appeared on a July 16th post:

One final thing, and you heard it here first on July 16 - THE METS WILL NOT MAKE THE PLAYOFFS THIS YEAR. I hope I'm wrong, but I don't think I am.

You see, I knew back then this team had no guts, no starting pitching, a shitty bullpen and a "we're already in the playoffs" attitude. Had I seen Jose Reyes totally playing the second half of the season like a whiny little baby, I probably would've bet some heavy cash on the Met demise.


You see, the main reason for making that prediction was the Mets' habit of taking games off during the season, not showing up. I went over the schedule last night and I picked out 10-11 games where they completely mailed it in - and this was before the awful skid in September.

Here are the games:

Saturday, April 14: I remember this one, because I listened to most of it in a hotel parking lot with localschill waiting to make a "connection." Mets are in the early going, with a 7-3 record, but they take the day off against the Nationals, falling 6-2. Not a huge loss, but starts the trend of having no killer instict.


Wednesday, April 25: Rockies at Mets: After taking first two games against Colorado, Mets fail to show up for afternoon afair, falling behind 10-0 and eventually losing 11-5. Mike Pelfrey gets shelled again, but Mets, once again, display this "we can give away a game attitude," without any repurcussions. Just think. If we win that game, we're playing today instead of the Rockies.


Sunday, May 20: Yankees at Mets. After winning first two games from reeling Yanks, Mets send John Maine to the hill against Tyler Clippard. Instead of relishing chance to bury cross-town rivals, Mets manage just seven hits and two runs. It's the first of many mail ins.


Sunday, June 3: A day after localschill's wedding, the Mets appear to have been partying all night, getting baffled by Arizona's Doug Davis in a 4-1 defeat. It also starts a string where they will lose 8 of their next 9, including three straight at home to the your NL East champion Phillies.


Sunday, July 1: After taking first three games in Philly, the Mets are primed for a four-game sweep that would put the Phillies away for good. Instead, they can't touch Kyle Kendrick, and fall 5-3. It's the first of 8-straight losses to the Phillies.


Monday, July 16: After taking 3 of 4 from Reds to start second half, Mets are baffled by David Wells in San Diego. This game, where they play as if they don't give two shits, is one that prompted me to predict they wouldn't make the playoffs.


Friday, August. 10: Marlins at Mets: Mets score only three runs against the Fish, and Billy Wagner can't hold a lead in the 9th, as Hanley (fuck the Mets up) Ramirez, delivers two-run double. Who would've thought at this point in the season, that within 6 weeks, not only would Jimmy Rollins be a better NL East shortstop than Joe Reyes, Ramirez would be, too. Anyway, Mets lose the next day, too, with Aaron Heilman giving it up. Two days, two bullpen meltdowns. It's the beginning of the end.


Sunday, Aug. 26: This one really pissed me off. Dodgers at Mets. After taking first two from L.A., Mets are primed for another sweep, but David Wells, who was cut by the Padres two weeks ago and hadn't pitched since, completely baffles the Mets on national TV. 3B coach Sandy Alomar kills any shot at big inning by getting Lastings Milledge gunned down at home in first inning when mets have fatman on the ropes. And David Wright, after doubling in two runs in third, gets picked off second with one out and Beltran at plate.


By the way, Reyes is getting killed for Mets collapse, and rightfully so, but to me, David Wright should take plenty of the blame himself. Sure, he hit for average, but he didn't homer in his last 15 games, his throwing error in Florida with Mike Jacobs running cost us a key game, and his not knowing there was a force play Friday night also killed us.


Weds. Sept. 7: Mets at Reds. After getting swept in Philly, Mets take three in Atlanta and roll over dead Reds for first two games. However, in series finale, Mets do not show up, getting three hits off some guy named Tom Shearn. Think they would like to have this one back.


Of course, after this, Mets come home and sweep the Astros, take two of three from the Braves, before the Phils come in for the weekend series that turned the whole season around.


A few more points, before I put the Mets to bed for until April.


1. If they re-sign Tom Glavine, I will never, never, never, never, never spend another penny on anyting to do with the franchise. I will still root for them, but I figure, if they can't waste their money on that piece of garbage, they don't need mine.


2. My days of watching every pitch, checking the score every five minutes - no matter where I am - are over. The last straw was Sunday. While I stayed home to watch Glavine give us Mets fans one last F-U, my daughter Georgia was not only playign field hockey, but scoring her first goal of the season. Never again will the Mets come first. EVER


3. As I stated above, Jose Reyes takes plenty of the blame for this, but to me, he's the poster boy for their cavalier attitude all season. Let's face it, Carlos Delgado was awful. Paul Lo Duca was awful. Tom Glavine, once he got win No. 300, could've cared less about this season. David Wright had a good year, but any time, at any time of him being an MVP candidate was a joke. He can't throw from first to third. He didn't homer for the first month and last 15 days of the season. He's a great player, but ask yourself this, and be honest. Would you rather have him and Reyes or Utley and Rollins? Think about it.


4. I heard a guy call the FAN last night, and he had a great point. He wondered why is losing unacceptable in the Bronx, but not in Queens? Seriously, when Yanks get off the slow start, it's as if the sky is falling. When we do, it's "oh, it's just the Mets." Well, that's crap. To me, it all started after the 2000 World Series. Instead of cleaning house after watching the Yanks celebrate on their field, the Wilpons went out and passed on A-Rod, signed Kevin Appier to a big deal and allowed Timo Perez and Armando Benitez to continue playing for the franchise.

Do you think George Steinbrenner would've allowed any of this too happen? The mets need to put more pressure on these guys to win. Make it known, losing is unacceptable. If that means, canning Willie, or Minaya. So be it.

That's all for now. And I just have three words to say: LET'S GO RANGERS

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE BASEBALL GODS:

Dear Gods:

I know this is very busy time of the year for you, with the playoffs starting next week and the pennant races being decided this week, but I just ask for a few minutes of your time to hear me out.

Now you know I've been a very big supporter of your sport. In addition to spending countless dollars on tickets and merchandise over the years, I've also made your sport my top priority throughout my life.

Whenever I'm out at a party or a restaurant, I slip away whenever I can to catch the score. In 1995, while at my friend's wedding, I snuck out into the parking lot to listen to the last inning of the Braves-Indians Game 6. Last year, after getting a precious ticket to the Penn State-Michigan football game from a friend, I sat in the crowd, walkman in my ear, listening to Steve Trachsel quit on an entire city. You also know, on the rare occassion Mrs. Pendleton actually tries to initiate sex, I will stall her until the game is over. When I scored Springsteen tickets for Oct. 6 in Philly, my first thought turned to a potential conflict with a Met playoff game.

Hell, I even named my kid after one of your stadiums - one of your shittier stadiums, too.

Let's face it, baseball is my life. The Mets are my life, a life, that for the most part has been miserable.

Sure, you gave me some great years from 1984-1989, but really, you only gave me one title. Now, I know most franchises don't get any titles, so I appreciate what you did in 1986, but the way I see it, the Mets won that year by a process of elimination. You guys had it all set up to break our hearts once again, but when push came to shove, you couldn't let the Red Sox, or the Astros win. The Mets won by default.

In 1988, you ripped our hearts out and until you gave us Mike Piazza, you made the Mets irrelevant. 2000? Sure, you let us get to the World Series, but you put us right back in our place by having the Yankees spank us in 5. (Thanks for the Game 1 tease, by the way). And last year, well, last year couldn't have been more heartbreaking. Again, you gave us some nice foreplay in the Endy Chavez catch and a Yankee elimination in the first round, but when all Mets fans were about to shoot our loads, you turned on the light, zipped up your pants and sent us home horny.

All of that, however, is nothing compared to what you are doing to me and all Mets fans this year. If you planned all along for us not to make the playoffs, you should've done it the fair way. You know, a season-ending injury to David Wright in June would've been fine, or having the Phillies run away with the division from Day 1 would've been just. But no, you had to suck us in to thinking we were the team to beat, and now, in the waning days of the season, you are going to break our hearts again.

Now, I know me and all Mets fans aren't completely innocent in this. Not only did we start thinking about a World Series title in May, we also starting talking smack regarding the demise of the Yankees. We all knew better, but we couldn't help oursevles. Well, with four games left in the seasons, you've made your point. We realize our mistake.

I, like all Mets fans, know deep down the Yankees are the greatest franchise in baseball and all of sports. I know the playoffs wouldn't be the same without them. I know, whether it's the Babe Ruth trade, or the Bucky Dent HR or this Joba Chamberlain coming out of nowhere, most of you are Yankee fans. I get it. I really do. I bow to the wild-card winning Yankees.

So, please, I ask you, can you just give our Mets a little break? Could you give Pedro Martinez a litttle something extra tonight? Could you give Billy Mota just one call on the outside corner. Could you let one of Jose Reyes' pop flys fall in? Could you just once, let Carlos Delgado's bat actually hit the ball? Could you give William Wagner a set of nuts, for just one weekend? I mean, do you really want the Phillies or the Rockies in the playoffs? The last time the Phillies made it, they let a team from Canada - CANADA - win the Series. Think about it.

Finally - and this is not a threat, rather a fact of life - I will tell you should the Mets not make the playoffs this year, I'm done with you and your game. Yes, I will always follow the Mets, but the days of going out of my way to watch them or check on a score will be over. The days of blowing off my kids to watch a day game in June against the Diamondbacks will be done. I will listen to music on the radio, I will sleep at night, I will have sex with my wife win or lose. I will, well, get my life back. But I'd much rather have a playoff spot. It's up to you.

Thanks again for listening. And remember, Let's Go Mets.

Sincerely, Joe Pendleton.


P.S.: If you get a chance, see what the NFL gods can do about the Rams.

P.S.S: If the Mets don't make it, do your best to remind everyone that on a July 16 blog entry by me, I said the Mets wouldn't make the playoffs.

SHORT AND LONG OF IT

Well, the first FNC road trip was a big success.

With $1.50 drafts flowing like shitty keg beer at the Shorty Long show in Seaside, the beer count hit about 25 (for the night). Thankfully, honest Joey Belotti had a beach house and sofa for me to crash on and some place called the Steak Exchange was open at 3:30 a.m. dealing out incredible cheese steaks and fried balls of cheez whiz.

A great time was had by the tw of the three Pendleton brothers (Deiter and Marshall).

And let me tell you, Shorty was on fire. A great show, a great time. Sorry, all FNC fans couldn't make it. We'll have another road trip soon.

Not much else to report. I was happy to hear John Sterling blow the call on A-Rod's 500th homer. Not sure where you can hear it, but make every effort too. In the biggest homer of the season, the cat totally shit the bed. What an a-hole.

Anyway, the Pendletons are heading down the Shore next week, so this could be my last post for awhile.

BAR NONE

Ok, here it is, my top 10 favorite bars of all time. Some are gone, some I haven't been to in years, but all were important in my development as a lush, drunk, weekend alcoholic - whatever you pick. Some also played a huge part in my life. So without further ado, here wer go:

10. Sharky's - Venice, Florida
A great outdoor bar on the water gives you a perfect spot to watch the sunset, but its best feature is the frozen drinks. You see, they have a sign up that says you will be cut off after just two frozen drinks because they are so strong. And let me tell you, they are. How much do I love this place? While honeymooning with Mrs. Pendleton, we drove about 2 hours from Clearwater Beach, Fla. to this place just to get there again. Someone told me a few months ago it was closed down, but website says otherwise. If you are ever in the area, go there. Mrs. Pendleton says they have the best ribs ever.

9. Goal Post, Scotch Plains, New Jersey
This is perhaps the most important bar in my life as it's where I met Mrs. Pendleton. It was also one of the first sports bars ever. Before meeting Mrs. P there, I would enjoy the Tuesday night bikini contents. My other famous story from that place is a night my friend The Knocker and I went there. That afternoon we had gotten wrist bands for the Rolling Stones show at Shea Stadium in 1989, with tickets going on sale the next day. Well that night, we went to the GP, with the Knocker driving and me drinking. Well, as we are getting ready to leave, the Knocker meets some dame who is not only totally into him, she also needs a ride home. So within seconds, I went from being the drunk to the driver. So while I'm navigating my way back to Metuchen New Jersey, he's in the backseat of his car, letting his fingers do the walking on the broad. I mean, from my view through the rearview mirror, his entire hand was up her skirt and maybe even further. So not only am I worrying about getting pulled over, I'm also worried about him losing the wristband up there. Well, we made it home OK and got tickets to the show.

8. Leggetts, Manasquan, New Jersey:
Had this list been compiled in 1989, this may have been No. 1 for a few reasons. First, there's nothing like strolling off the beach and walking into a nice air-conditioned joint for a cold taste. Also, for some reason back then, it didn't really attract the usual a-holes you find down the shore, but did attract beautiful babies.

But the No. 1 reason it's on the list is because this joint helped me make the most important decision of my life. In the summer of 1989, my brother and his buddies had a beach house for 4th of July week in Manasquan. Well, I was invited, along with the dame I was seriously dating in college for about three years. How serious? For her college graduation, I gave her a claddagh ring, which was interpreted as a pre-engagment ring. Well, anyway, as the trip to Manasquan neared - a trip I wouldn't be able to pull off without bringing her along - it really hit me that I would have much more fun at Leggetts and Manasquan without her. And it hit me, that I shouldn't be feeling that way about someone who I may be spending the rest of my life with. So, on about July 1, 1989, I pulled the plug on the relationship, and along with Knocker, headed to Manasquan for 2 days of non-stop drinking and dame chasing. Thanks Leggetts for making me see the light.

7. Knight Club, New Brunswick, NJ: Long before Greg Schiano turned RU into a football school, this dive was the best thing the Hub City had to offer. In the summer of 1989 it was my home office on Tuesday nights. The reason? $2 pitchers. My and the aformentioned Knocker would head there, drink a bunch, talk to dames also enjoying the $2 pitchers, do some dancing and after sobering up at Campus Pizza, drive back to our respective Middlesex County towns. I knew it was time to stop going there when one night I met some dame, got her phone number and was getting set to call her. However, since i couldn't really remember what she looked like, I called the Knocker first to see if I should and he politely told me to lose the phone number as fast as I could.

6. Dalina's, Fords, NJ: This was the hangout for me and my cronies at my first real newspaper gig. A perfect mix of dive bar and great bar. It wasn't a place to pick up dames, rather it was just a good drinking bar. It's also the place where I watched Stephane Mattieu score the biggest goal in NY Rangers history (sorry, LS) and it's was holding karyoke nights before there was karyoke. It's now turned into a family diner, but everytime I drive by it, I get a little sentimental. And, it was in this bar that Jim McGreevey gave me a free weiner. (he was the mayor of Woodbridge at the time and he was handing out free hot dogs during a Tommy Morrison fight.)

5. South River Pub, South River, New Jersey. In my young, impressionable years, this was, by far, my favorite bar. It had it all. Cheap drinks, cheap women, great tunes, and perhaps the best bar gimmick ever - 5 days before and after your birthday, all your drinks were a quarter. That promotion helped earn Mrs. Pendleton earn an engagment ring, as on my 26th birthday, she gave me a roll of quarters for a gift and shuttle service too and from the SR Pub, which resulted in me barfing in her parents' ice bucket that night. It was the place to go the night before Turkey Day. It was the place to go every Thursday night. The only downfall was its narrow walkways, so going to take a squirt could take hours.

4. Dresden Room, West Hollywood, Calif. Long before Swingers made this joint famous, this was one of my all-time favorites. It has that old school Hollywood feel, and of course, the world famous Marty & Elayne (right) as the entertainment (they were the couple singing Staying Alive in Swingers). I've only been there about 2-3 times, but everytime I go it's a blast. It's sort of the place to go before going out.

3. Shandygaff, State College, Pa. - Okay, localschill, as much as I like to bust your chops about Penn State football, this place is the only reason I make my annual pilgrimage to the middle of nowhere. Honestly. On a college football saturday you can watch about 20 games, drink tons of beer while John Cash's 'Ring of Fire" blasts over the speaker system. And then, when the sun goes down, it becomes sort of an 70's and 80's dance club (they bang out Dancin' Queen about 3 times a night). Of course, by then, you are dealing with most of the drunken a-hole PSU students, who start requesting hip-hop crap that the DJ plays, but usually by then, I'm ready to call it a night anyway. Still, if this place closes down, it's no more PSU football for me. Well, actually, I'll just find another joint.

2. The Sawmil, Seaside Park, NJ: How much did I love this bar? It has a day named after it. From 1992-1998, me, the Knocker and Gerry B would designate the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend "Sawmill Day." We would leave Central Jersey around 10 a.m. and make a bee-line for this little dive on the Seaside Heights boardwalk to kick off the summer in style. The reason we picked this place? It was the only bar we could find that served Mickey's Big Mouths. Every year, the bartender would dust off the green grenade bottles and get us going. The tradition ended in 1998, when after an entire day of celebrating the Mike Piazza trade, we had to find a way home. We made it, but pledged that the following year, we would have to find a place to stay. Well, the Professor provided that place, but it was about 35 miles North in Belmar, and a free place to stay won out over awful tasting Malt Liquor in green bottles. To me, this place no longer exists. Oh sure, it's still there. But what was once a little corner bar, has turned into a huge place with an adjoining dining room, and - get this - a kid's menu. Adios Sawmill. We had a blast.

By the way, speaking of Seaside, remeber the first annual FNC road trip is this Thursday, Aug. 2 at the Beachcomber for the Shorty Long & The Jersey Horns Show.

1. Hange Uppe, Chicago, Ill. As much as I love the previously mentioned 9 joints, this one is by far, head and shoulders above all of them. I sometimes wonder if the cats that own this joint tapped into my brain when they were creating it. Oldies music, friendly midwestern dames, endless supply of Old Style beer, and a closing time of about 5:30 a.m. A block off Chicago's overrated Rush & Division streets is the greatest bar in America. My dream scenario: It's 3 a.m., I have an ice-cold Old Style longneck in my hand, Carl Douglas' Kung Fu Fighting is playing and I'm leering at some college dames on the dance floor. I roll out of the joint about 5 bells. Get back to my hotel, get about 4 hours of sleep and head to Wrigley for a day in the bleachers. Or in the case of my last trip there, got in the car for the 3 hour drive to Lambeau for Jets-Pats. Anyway, if you are ever in Chicago hit this place on a Friday or Saturday night and they may have to drag you out of there.

Well there it is. Hope to see you all THursday night.

Stephon

Not sure if all of you out here have seen this already, if not, watch the whole thing and enjoy, Pretty damn funny. Tell me this dude's not on something

LET'S GO NORFOLK STATE

I promise this post is not designed to get Localschill and the Joker and all other Rutgers football schills out there wound up. I promise.

About a week ago, I was talking to a relative who lives in Arizona and I made tentative plans to visit her around New Year's Eve. The main reason for the trip would to see my beloved St. Louis Rams play at the Cardinals on Dec. 30, which happens to be my 42nd birthday. Also, the Coyotes are hosting the Lanche that the night before, and of course, New Year's Eve in 85 degree weather would also be nice.

And I also plan on staying out there for the Jan. 3 Fiesta Bowl.

So I started thinking about the possibility of my beloved Fighting Irish making that game, but after looking at their schedule, I realize there's little shot of them getting a BCS bid this year. You judge for yourself.

NOTRE DAME SCHEDULE
09/01/07 vs. Georgia Tech
09/08/07 at Penn State
09/15/07 at Michigan
09/22/07 vs. Michigan State
09/29/07 at Purdue
10/06/07 at UCLA
10/13/07 vs. Boston College
10/20/07 vs. USC
11/03/07 vs. Navy
11/10/07 vs. Air Force
11/17/07 vs. Duke
11/24/07 at Stanford

Pretty brutal. They play the first 8 weeks in a row, two games against legit National Champion teams (Michigan, USC). Back-to-back road games at Penn State and Michigan. 4 straight games against Big 10 schools (3 on the road). Two games against better ACC teams, and they close out the stretch with USC (perhaps the best team in the country) at home. Sure, after that, they get Navy, Air Force and Duke at home, but by they, they are sure to have at least two losses, pretty much taking them out of BCS contention.

Then I started wondering what the mighty Scarlet Knights schedule looked like, and I couldn't believe what I found:

Thursday, August 30 vs. BUFFALO
Friday, September 7 vs. NAVY
Saturday, September 15 vs. NORFOLK STATE Homecoming
Saturday, September 29 vs. MARYLAND
Saturday, October 6 vs. CINCINNATI
Saturday, October 13 at Syracuse
Thursday, October 18 vs. SOUTH FLORIDA
Saturday, October 27 vs. WEST VIRGINIA
Saturday, November 3 at Connecticut
Friday, November 9 at Army
Saturday, November 17 vs. PITTSBURGH
Thursday, November 29 at Louisville

Let's review:
-- Their first five games, and seven of their first 8, are at home.

-- They play 8 home games out of 12 total games.

-- They have a week off to recover from their big homecoming game with Div. I-AA Norfolk State.

-- Until they play at Louisville the last week of the season, the farthest trip they make is to Syracuse, with the other two road games at Army and UConn.

-- They won't play a ranked team until Oct. 27

-- They get 11 days off before their toughest game of the year in Louisville.

I know the schedule is made years ahead of time, but let's be honest, this is a joke. 75% of their games at home. Buffalo, Norfolk State.

All I'm saying is there is no excuse for this team not to get a BCS bowl this year. None. If they somehow finish less than second in the Big East this year, they should be ripped. But of course, they will be celebrated as another feel-good story. But honestly, even the Joker and Localschill must agree, nothing but a BCS berth is acceptable this year.

All they have to do is go 2-1 against Pitt, Louisville and Wva to do it and not lose to any of these other patsies on the schedule.

While I'll expect them to be 7-0 heading into the WVA. game, it will be funny to see how quickly the bandwagon empties if they lose 1 or 2 of those first seven games.

Also, if the season falls apart, what will happen first:
A. Plans to expand stadium to 53,000 seats will be shelved.
B. Greg Schiano will be in the middle of Pennsylvania wearing blue and white
C. Reps for the Charlotte Bowl will cancel their trip to Piscataway
D. All of the above.

List of bars coming soon.
By the way, don't forget the first annual FNC Fanclub trip is less than a month away. It's Aug. 2 at the Beachcomber in Seaside Heights to see Shorty Long and the Jersey Horns.

Beer count already in triple digits.

TIP OIF THE ICEBERG

The top 10 favorite bar list is taking more time than I thought. It's an intense selection process, so it may be a few more days before it's posted.

In the meantime, a few thoughts from FNC.

I went to an ice cream place the other day and on the counter was a tip jar that said something to the effect of "college tuition fund." Naturally, being the sucker I am, I dropped all of my spare change in there and left.

Of course, the more I thought about it, the more I got wound up.

First of all, if you a really trying to save up and go to college, get something better than working in an ice cream place. I mean mow lawns in the heat for the summer or work road construction.

Second, if you need my spare change to pay for college, you got some huge problems.

Anyway, it really got me thinking about this whole tipping thing. Remember when I got screwed by the fridge repairman? Well, since then and this ice cream thing, I've taken a whole new approach _ NO TIPPING EXCEPT FOR WAITERS, WAITRESSES AND BARTENDERS and DELIVERY PEOPLE.

First, I'll explain why I'll tip those four: As for waiters and waitresses, I used to work at a Bennigans, and I know that's about 90% of their income. Plus, they are making sure you get your order right and your food on time. As for bartenders, I'm generally against tipping them, especially when all I get usually is a bottle of beer, but let's be honest, if you don't tip a bartender - especially at a busy bar - you could get shutout and that sucks. As for delivery dudes, thanks to them I get to sit on my ass, so what's a nickel or two?

Now, here's my take on other places:

Why is there a tip jar at Starbucks & Dunkin Donuts, but not one at McDonald's? Honestly, what the difference between going to Starbucks and getting a coffee or going to McDonald's and getting a soda from the drive-thru? It's the same thing.

As for food places. One night, Mrs. Pendleton and I got take out from Carraba's or something like that and when she got back from picking up the food, I asked her is she tipped the guy who handled the order. Her response, "Do you tip the person when you pick up Chinese food?" I didn't have to answer the question.

As for other service workers, a question, Have you ever considered tipping the dude who pumps your gas? Of course not, so why should you tip anyone else? Do you tip the dude at the supermarket deli who cuts the cheese for you (sorry, I couldn;'t resist)? Of course not.

That's all for now. I have to go tip the deliver dude.

One final thing, and you heard it here first on July 16 - THE METS WILL NOT MAKE THE PLAYOFFS THIS YEAR. I hope I'm wrong, but I don't think I am.

Bar list coming soon.

Beer count off the charts,

18 AND LIFE

With the Simpson's movie coming out at the end of the month, many 7-11s across the country have changed into Quik-E-Marts for July. I think it's funny, clever promotion, but as a huge fan of 7-11, I hope it only lasts for the month.

My love affair with 7-11 began in high school, picked up steam in college, and became practically a marriage in the 90s. How serious was it? Let's just say from about 1991 to 2002 I averaged about 2-3 Super Big Gulps A DAY. Yes, I was addicted to soda, mostly diet soda. I never drank coffee, had an occassional tea, but my fuel of choice was diet pepsi and tons of it. Someone even nicknamed me "18" (7 + 11), due to the face I always, ALWAYS, had a SBG cup in my hand.

Well, that love affair ended a few years ago when I did some research on the sweetener in diet soda, something called aspartamane. Most of the stories I read mentioned brain tumors as a result of too much aspartamane. NOt sure if it's true, but when I quit diet pepsi one day cold turkey, I had an intense migraine for about 14 hours. I couldn't even get out of bed, it hurt so bad.

Lately, I've had a few big gulps - maybe about 1-2 a week - and when the Simpsons promotion started this week, I got to thinking about my 10 favorite 7-11s on the planet. So here they are, in order.

10. SOMEWHERE IN NEBRASKA: Not sure if this one even exists, but it's the 7-11 Jim Carrey comes out of in "Dumb and Dumber." As he's walking out of the store, he says to a group of kids, "Alright guys, Big Gulps." Great line. And since I was a huge Big Gulp fan at the time, I also said someday I would get to that 7-11. Someday I will.

9. STORE #11452. EDISON, NJ: This one was crucial as it was right across the street from my softball team's home field back in the early 90s. It was a Sunday morning league in the summer and nothing beats a hangover than 96 oz. of diet pepsi.

8. STORE #32414: EDISON, NJ: This could be No. 1 on Localschill's list as it is right by his hut. It's very close to the Menlo Park Mall, but more importantly, it's right across the street from my favorite White Castle. Nothing like a sack of rats and a double gulp to get the blood and smelly gas flowing.

7. No. 23655: SEASIDE HEIGHTS, NJ: One hint for all you youngsters out there, unless you want your stomach to catch fire, don't chug Dr. Pepper into a stomach filled completely with beer and nothing else.

6. STORE NO: 11446: SOMERVILLE, NJ: This Somerset County headquarters of the Southland Corporation is one of about 4 reasons I survived three years at Gannet's Bridgewater franchise. When I needed a shot of energy on my way to work, I stopped there. When I needed to escape the madness, I went there. When certain miserable fucks were driving me nuts, I could send him, I mean them, there to get them out of my hair for a few minutes.

5. NO. 25398: BELMAR, NJ: Nothing like getting a big gulp while some chick in a bikini is right next to you banging down a slurpee. No morning after in Belmar was complete without a stop here. If I recall, their Big Gulp selection was also top notch.

4. STORE NO. 10977: EWING, NJ: The love affair really took flight in this little beauty within walking/stumbling disance of Trenton State College. The usual Thursday night treat would consist of a Super Big Gulp and a pack of Hostess Suzy Qs. Add to that mixture about 15 cans of Meister Brau and you got yourself a party.

3. STORE NO. 27877: ROSELLE, NJ: This is the store that spawned the 18 nickname. While coaching a high school hoops squad nearby, I would stop here everyday before and after practice. I got so bad that the dudes who worked there actually knew me by name.

2. STORE NO. 24608: SOUTH PLAINFIELD, NJ: Ah, the home base. I can't remember how many times in high school I would go here for a big gulp and a chipwich (as you can tell, I didn't get laid much then). I would say of all the big gulps I've had in life, about 70% have come from this store. I was just there today. It's not the best store of the bunch, not even close, but it's mine.

AND AT NO. 1

NO. 21087: CHICAGO, ILL.: The adress is 3554 N. SHEFFIELD AVE, the location is about 1 block from Wrigley Field. I've only been to this one about 3-4 times, but I still dream about it. How's this for a dream scenario. Roll into this one around noon, fill up a double gulp cup with soda, grab a 99 cent doggie and some chips, and roll across the street into the bleachers at Wrigley. That was about 16 years ago. I'm sure the a-holes that run the Cubs no longer let you bring Big Gulps into the park, but for that one glorious day, they did, and that's all that matters.

And there it is. Coming next week, my 10 favorite bars on the planet.

A few other things:

I took the kids to Wendys yesterday and the toy in the happy meal was a kid's audio book. What a shitty prize. Anyway, my kids wanted to listen and the story was about this dude named Arthur who has a show on PBS. Well, after this lame story ended, some other guy comes on to read the credits, and guess who the reader of the book was: None other than Mark Linn Baker (aka Cousin Larry from Perfect Strangers). Nice to see his career is still doing well.

Finally, congrats to Greg Schiano. As the picture below will prove, It appears I'm now the only person on the planet who isn't fooled by his soft schedule and bogus bowl win.

CUTTING COMMENTARY

Well, leave it to your local hard-core barber to put things in perspective.

While getting one of my 5 budgeted haircuts for the year last week, I was in the barber chair, and of course any cat knows when you get in the barber chair, salty language and talk of current events is not only expected, it's required.

Well, all I needed to do to get the cat going was mention Paris Hilton and her jail controversy.

And he proceeded with a rant about "assholes" getting all upset about that c-word and whether or not she's going to jail and the end of the "fucking" Sopranos, but there's still a war going on and nobody seems to "give a shit" about that.

I was with the cat, until he started going into a rant about how great Rudy Guiliani would be for this country. I pretty much just sat there and let the dude trim my locks, and then chimed in that he should run for office. And said something to the effect of, "you have to be a fucking millionaire" to get elected in this country. Again, I was back with him.

Dude gives a pretty good hair cut, too.

BREAKING NEWS: As I sit here typing, Carlos Beltran just got a hit.

Some other notes:
Beer count continues to skyrocket, and there's no end in sight.

Last Wednesday, I coached daughter Georgia's softball finale, and at the end of the year ice cream shindig, one of the moms of the kids on the team gave me a six pack of Coors Light. Now, that's certainly not my favorite beer - not even close - but hell, it was free, and you know my slogan, "if it's free, it's for me." Anyway, that night, while watching the mets get their asses kicked for a third straight night at Dodger Stadium, I banged down a few silver bullets.

On Friday night, I took Georgia to a father/daughter girl scout dance. Of course, I had a great time, and was able to keep my mind off the goings on in the Bronx for most of the night. I got home just in time to see William Wagner close it out and at that moment it dawned on me that my mood depends a lot on the fortunes of 25 millionaires who call themselves the Mets. It's really sad, really. I mean all last week I was in a shitty mood, but from about 10 p.m. Friday til about 3:30 Saturday, I was on top of the world.

I wonder if David Wright is cranky on days I have a rough night at work.

Anyway, back to the beer count: I had about 2 on Friday watching the replay of the mets-Yanks game, and then about 12 Saturday at Joe. Sr.'s house for a little Father's Day Shindig.
And now I find out the softball team I toil on will play a Saturday night double header with a kegger to follow at the Knights of Columbus Hall.

I'll do my best to keep count.

Sorry for the lack of schtick here, I just figured I'd weigh in. Look for some sort of music list at the end of the week or early next week. I'm pondering listing the 10 most underrated bands, since the overrated list created quite a stir.

Let's go Mets . . . please.

WHAT A MAROON

Most people that know me would say that I - when not drunk - am a pretty nice guy. I'm rarely rude (again, while not drunk), and I'm not confrontational. Sure, when loaded I tend to stir it up and harp on things (like a "Yankee fan" not knowing Babe Ruth's No. 1 or arguing that Fletch is not the funniest movie of all time), but when sober, I'm pretty low key.

Well, after two incidents this week, I say No More Mr. Nice Guy.

The first:
While picking up a cable box at my local provider Monday, I was just finishing up with the dame behind the counter and I said "have a good day." She quickly responded, "You have a better one." At first I was impressed with her snappy retort, but as I headed for the door, I realized that she was ripping me in one of two ways.

She was either taking a shot at my hollow, standard "Have a nice day," by hitting me with an umcommon response, or - and I think this is it - she was ripping me for only wishing her a good day. As if what I wished her wasn't good enough, and she therefore had to wish me a better day than the one I wished her. I felt like walking back to the desk and saying "I hope you have a shitty day," but I didn't care that much. Until...

Fans of FNC know all about the Pendleton fridge situation, well, the repairman - after several unreturned calls to him by me and a call to the store manager where I bought my extended warranty - finally showed up at my hut this morning to put a new compressor in there. Well, he was in my house about 90 minutes working pretty hard, so my "should I tip him" alarm starting going off. After consulting with Mrs. Pendleton, I decided to slip the cat a 10 spot on the way out the door. And, feeling some gratitude that the dude fixed my fridge, I hooked him as he walked about my front door.

Well, I go back in my house and see that he left a medium-sized, yet heavy box behind. I pick it up, lug it to the front door and say to him, "I think you left this here." He says "that's just garbage," gets in his car and drives away. What it was was the old compressor, which I now have to deal with. Had young Kurt Price not been in the house alone, I might've handed the box to the dude and demanded my 10 beans back. However, with the shitty way fridges are being made these days, I may need the dude back in a few years, so I let it go. But this day I swear no more Mr. Nice Guy. No holding the door for dames at the mall or at work - unless they are hot, no more letting people cut in front of me in traffic, no more covering my mouth when I sneeze.

-- Well, everyone with a keyboard has weighed in on the Sopranos finale, so I will, too. But with a totally different take. While I was first appalled that they would chose Journey to end the show, I was convinced by Sandman and Jerseygirl it was a good choice.

But it started me thinking, when there's a TV show 20 years from now, what song from this day and age would it chose to end it? And then I realized, there's not one song from this day and age that will stand the test of time that Don't Stop Believing did, or 1,000,000 other songs from the 60s', 70's and 80's would've. Honestly, ask yourself, have there been any popular rock songs (not some album cuts ) I mean real rock songs, or even popish rock songs that will be listened to 20 years from now. I can't think of any. Honestly.

I know the music biz has changed with FM radio becoming a medium with a future worse than that of newspapers, and with I-pods and I-tunes and all that crap, but really, have you heard a song that you can say will stand the test of time?

A lot of this stems from a few weeks back, when my neighbor was blaring his I-pod which featured "current hits" from Maroon 5 and Jim Blunt. I know they are huge acts, but if you ask me, you have to grow a vagina before listening to that stuff. I seriously wonder what my kids will be playing for their kids in 20 years. Honestly, I think stuff like Journey and Bruce and Zeppelin from 20-30 years ago has a better shot than the shit being churned out today. Honestly.

--- Quick stat: The Mets are 1-8 and the Yanks are 8-1 since Localschill got married. Thanks LC for throwing the earth of its axis.

-- Finally, plans of a low summer beer count have already been and will continue to be sabotaged by several different factors. First of all, after taking my kids to the local pool Friday, I decided I needed a taste to take the edge off. Only a broken fridge kept me from getting bombed, as I only had three in the emergeny cooler. Saturday, I wasn't planning on drinking, as I had to work a game booth at the local church fair. Well, after dealing with pimple-faced teens spending countless dollars trying hard to win their slutty girlfriends stuffed animals worth about 30 cents, I needed a few, and headed to the local bar afterward with my brother. I had 5 at the bar and one when I got home. Finally, Monday night, I got to test out my new backyard furniture, and wouldn't you know it, my neighbor of the shitty music and a fridge full of beer in his garage shows up with a few. I only had three, so the beer count stands at 12 after one week.

The other factors that will hurt the beer count:
-- The emergency fridge I bought on Saturday has now been moved to the garage, where it's sole purpose will be to keep tastes on hand and nearby.

-- We are having a big family party in LBI in early July and the family throwing it, well, they enjoy tastes and meriment almost as much as I do. Need proof? My one cousin who will be there, at my wedding, took the disposable camera every table was equipped with into the can where he took a nice shot of package. Needless to say, when I was looking at all the photos with my new bride and mother-in-law, we got a nice shock.

-- I have no self-control, especially when it comes to tastes.

-- The shitty play of the Mets would drive anyone to drink.

-- The kids are out of school starting next week. Beer count could be in the hundreds by end of June.

Sorry about the long post, had a lot to say. I mean, if you don't like, go fuck yourself.

.

WHEN THE SANDMAN CRIES

Many months back, I blogged about how underrated a foot can be. You take it for granted, but when it hurts, you realize how valuable it is. I learned that lesson on Memorial Day weekend, when, while stumbling around my house drunk, I stepped on one of my kids' toys and cut the bottom of my foot.

In addition to taking heat from Mrs. Pendleton, who had to clean up the bloody carpet the next morning, I had to deal with about 5-6 days of every other step I took being extremely painful. It really hurt. Now, I know I sound like a huge puss, but hey, it friggin hurt. It did teach me a very valuable lesson, though. If I'm gonna drink and pass out down stairs, I should at least be wearing flip-flops.

Fortunately, my foot was fully healed for last Saturday's Localschill nuptuals. Let me tell you, it was a great time. In addition to seeing Localschill get married twice in the course of 5 hours, I got to do schtick with the Sandman, Jersey Girl, the Joker, the Professor, Squawking VFR, Localschill and of course, the Colonel (aka Boba Frets).

What's scary is, besides Localschill, we were all the same table, and had quite a blast. The Professor pretty much held court. It was a great time.

Speaking of the Sandman and the Colonel, I'm sorry to hear that White Lion has been removed from the big Ratt/Poison summer tour due to legal issues. I know you were looking forward to it. Anyway, though you'd enjoy this shot of some nutty cats playing air guitar, air drums and air keyboards at the wedding (Note: The faces have been covered up to protect their identities.)

Surprisingly, the beer count did not skyrocket at the wedding as I thought it would. There are two reasons why it didn't. First of all, I had to play two games of softball on Sunday morning at 9 bells and then head to Shea Stadium to see the Mets mail it in. (Believe it or not, I accomplished both). Also, with the Pendleton children sleeping at grandma's hut that night, I figured if I stayed mostly sober, I might have a shot with the Mrs. and an empty hut. Let's just say, I spent the rest of the night trying to do what the Professor tried to do to himself years ago.

Speaking of my hut, we've been without a fridge for about a week as I wait for the repairman to get a part. Like a foot, a fridge is very underrated. However, I'm taking the breakdown of my Magic Chef as a sign to stop drinking again, as I lost about 25 bottles of beer in the fridge malfunction. And since the beer count is such a popular deal (and I've lost count since Jan. 1), I'm gonna start a summer beer count, retroactive to last Monday (6/3). So right now, the count is at O. I'm so fired up for this, I'm about to book a beach house in Ocean City, NJ, which has no bars in town. Also, I'm working on the 4th of July and have no weddings planned. The killer day could be Aug. 2, which I'll remind everyone is the big FNC outing to the Beachcomber is Seaside Heights to see Shorty Long and the Jersey Horns.

Speaking of Seaside Heights, this line appeared in a Star-Ledger story today about a sewage spill in Monmouth county. I just wonder, was the writer referring to the sludge or a-holes who tend to flock to the shore from North Jersey and Staten Island. Here's the graph:

If it had been raw sewage, there would have been large grease balls washing up on shore, Simmons said. "It would have been a mess," he said.

Anyway, the goal is to keep the count under 100 by Labor Day. No shot you say, we'll see.

Finally, can someone please tell my why Julio Franco is still on the Mets.

Thank you for your time and courtesy.

THE OBSTRUCTED VIEW

Ok, it took me longer than I promised to get back, but here I am.

Most of my shows are done for the season, except The Shield, which is the best show on TV, so I have plenty of free time to empty the thoughts that run around my demented brain onto my keyboard.

Here goes:

-- I was walking out of work tonight and someone wished me a "Happy Memorial Day." I said thanks and wished the same to them, but the more I thought about it, Memorial Day shouldn't be happy at all. Rather, we should take the day off to reflect on those who gave their lives for our freedom. It's sort of like seeing someone on Sept. 10 and saying, "Hey, have a great 9/11."

That being said, I plan on spending Monday getting totally bombed and then watching the Ducks and Sens battle it out in Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Finals. If I see cat in uniform, I'll thank him. Still, I wonder, what an old-time veteran must think when he sees people having Memorial Day parties or stores having Memorial Day sales. He must get really pissed.

-- Something was proven this week on TV. You know the old bullshit where some guys say they would rather have an intelligent dame over a dumb one, well like me ask you this question, if you have to spend the weekend with either Elisabeth Hasselbach or Rosie O'Donnell, who would you pick? I rest my case. I mean, I've seen men who are more attractive than Rosie

-- Speaking of hot chicks (no, not Rosie), there is a huge billboard for the Fantastic Four on a building near work, and it features about a 15-story image of Jessica Alba. As someone who else saw the ad say, "the movie should be called the Fantastic Two." God blymie.

-- I have to admit I have never been a huge Led Zeppelin guy, until know. About 3 weeks ago I was in the SP public library and saw LZ 2 sitting in the bin. I decided to take it home and let me tell you, I am now a full-fledged Zeppelin fan. And it's not just me, as young Kurt Pendleton has to be the only 4-year-old in his preschool to know all the words to the Immigrant Song (no lie, he does).

-- I'm already pumped for the Brian Leetch jersey retirement ceremony at the Garden. Cat had a great quote about what he thinks his legacy should be. His quote, "As long as they remember I was Ranger, that's good enough for me." Class act.

-- Is their a dumber human being on the planet (besides Hasselbach), than Jason Giambi. Not only does he open his mouth about doing steroids, but on the day he has to go to MLB's offices to explain his words amid a report that he failed a test for amphetamines, he shows up drinking a Red Bull. I would never wish any ill health on anyone, but it's gonna be real interesting in about 8-9 years when all these athletes who have abused steroids start dropping dead one-by-one.

-- Finally, the beer count is nearing triple digits already, and with localschill's nuptuals next weekend, it could hit 4 digits by the All-Star break. Speaking of the all-Star break, how great is it going to be when Roger Clemens shits the bed every fifth day? As if there is not enough reasons to hate the Yankees.

Thanks for your patience, I promise I'll be back soon, maybe after a wonderful and joyous Memorial Day weekend.

HIATUS OVER

Since all of my prime-time shows are winding down this week and with the New York Rangers finished for the season, blogging will resume on this web site sometime this weekend.

I apologize to all my fans for the huge layoff.

As a great woman once said, "thank you for your time and courtesy."

Things I will be weighing in on:

Led Zeppelin
Entourage
Beer
24
Roger Clemens
Dames

Talk to you soon

HARRY FROM WORK

Being the father of two young children who watch plenty of TV, I've seen many awful kids shows over the years.

Dora the Explorer - Brutal

Teletubbies - I'd rather drink piss

Land Before Time - Pretty much stench

Barney - I'm ready to swallow a .44

If it weren't for Spongebob and Kim Possible (you all know how I feel about her), I might consider enforcing the no-TV rule for the kids.

Well, just yesterday, while watching TV with young Kurt, I stumbled across the worst kid show in the history of awful kid shows.

It is called Hip Hop Harry.

Just think of Barney, M.C. Hammer and the Philly Phanatic all rolled into one.

It's bascially the same idea as Barney - a big fuzzy thing teaching kids about reading, writing, the five sense, the basic food groups, crap like that. However, while Harry talks like a wanna be gansta and does every Hip Hop hand gestures with the exception of grabbing his crotch. He ever wears some bling - a obnoxious medallion with a big 'H" on it. He even yells "It's On" at the beginning of the show.

And of course the songs are awful. He pretty much raps about manners and washing your hands and nonsense like that.

How awful is it? Even my kids recognize as awful and goof on it.

If you want to check it out, it's on Discovery Kids channel. I would think a 30-pack or some Mary Jane would certainly add to the entertainment.

On a much more serious note, I finally brought myself to watch United 93 last night and let me tell you, it was well worth the wait. This movie is awesome. If you haven't seen it, you should. It's that good. The best thing about it is it doesn't cheapen 9/11 or give it the Hollywood treatment. The movie makers did it exactly right. How this wasn't considered for an Oscar other than best editing is beyond me.

Not much else to report. The Pendleton's are probable for Belmar tomorrow but Mom Nature will make the final call there.

Beer count at 24. I had one Thursday night as I prepared to watch a new episode of The Office. However, it was a repeat. As great of a show that it is, is there one that shows as many repeats as The Office? For goodness sakes, Medium has shown a new episode for 8 straight weeks.

Maybe NBC is even getting tired of Jim making that stupid face every two seconds.

Speaking of Medium, I totally forgot to put Allison DuBois (above) in my top 10 TV hotties. Awful job by my part. I should be ripped. As the Stones once sang, she could "make a dead man. . ." you know the rest.

Pendleton . . . OUT.

OSCAR MEYER WEINERS

Well, the Oscars have come and gone, now we can all get on with our lives.

Since the Pendleton children arrived, I don't get out to the movies much, so I really have little interest in the Academy Awards. The one thing I do like watching is the tribute to all the dead people, it's actually my favorite part. But I have to say, I was quite disappointed in this year's video due to one glaring omission - the late great Anna Nicole Smith.

I mean how does someone as popular as her, who was in four movies, including the Hudsucker Proxy, Naked Gun 33.3 and Skyscraper (in which she starred in and was exec. producer) get left off that list? And don't forget all her fine works from Hefner Studios. I mean, they put on there cinemaphotographers you've never heard up, yet this dame gets left off.

Of course the answer is because the elitist a-holes in Hollywood would never put her on there, but who are they to judge someone's life? She was in movies, she was a big star and she died. That's all there is to it. I'm sure if you delve into the personal life of many Hollywood stars, it would get ugly. I mean, she may have been nuts, but at least she didn't think there were aliens in her blood. At least I don't think she did.

As for the Oscars themselves, congrats to Forest Whittaker. The dude should've gotten an Oscar for Fast Times, so it was a little payback. I am pissed that Jackie Earle Haley (aka Kelly Leak) didn't win. Again, he should've won for the Bad News Bears (him and Matthau).

As for the best picture winner the Departed, a few thoughts:

Good movie. Certainly not Scorsese's best, but what can you do. They probably figure that cat is gonna be on next year's dead guy video, so hook him up while they can. If you haven't seen the movie, skip the blue text coming up, if you have, you can read the many complains I have with this film:

1. Perhaps my biggest fault with the Departed is the fact that both Matt Damon and Leo are secretly text messaging their sources while shit is going on like a: a major deal with chinese dudes, b: a major sting operation, c: while riding in the back seat of the car with Jack Nicholson and Mr. French. If I have to text message anyone one word, it takes me like 15 minutes, but here these guys are doing it secretly and having no problems and of course, not getting exposed. Shit, Damon even does it with his phone in his pocket.

2. That Jack Nicholson couldn't figure out Decaprio was the mole from Day 1. Let's see, he's never had a rat in his pack before, and the second a dude who is an "ex-cop" arrives, he has a mole. Hmmmmmmmmmmmm. I wonder who it could be.

3. That nobody in the entire police force - the same folks who know when Jack Nicholson takes a dump - knew that Matt Damon's character has been hanging around old Jack since he was 8 years old.

4. That these two cats, Leo and Matt, would be banging the same dame. Of all the dames in Boston, these two find the same chick.

5. That Matt Damon, knowing the rat was coming to see him, would leave a piece of evidence (the envelope) in plain site on his desk.

6. That Decaprio, when mailing the incriminating CD to Damon, would put his last name and return adresss on there, just in case Matt Damon wanted to find him and kill him.

7. That Damon, who has no problem killing anyone who gets in his way, would let his chick roam around freely after she knew he was a bad guy.

Ok, that's it. I know I'm supposed to suspend reality while watching a movie, but I've come to expect better from Scorsese. Anyway, it's still a great flick. Wasn't violent enough for me, and it could've used some stronger language, but besides that, it was good.

Big news in the beer count. It practically doubled Saturday night, going from 12 to 23 during a dinner party me and Mrs. went to at the local Knights of Columbus Hall. I have to say, after not drinking for a while, the beer tasted pretty good. But after not drinking heavily for a while, the hangover was pretty awful.

One last thing, I'd love to kick the arse of the guy who came up with term "wintry mix" to describe freezing rain. It's freezing rain or wet snow. That's what it is? Why does everything have to have a catchy name? It drives me nuts.

Pendleton .... OUT.

CALL THE POLICE

Well, isn't it great news that Sting finally decided to throw Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland a huge bone by reforming the Police and going out on tour this summer? For fans of the band it certainly came as great news. Shit, even their performance at the Grammys last Sunday got everyone geeked up (I swear the backing vocals were pre-recorded, but that's another story.)

That was of course until their tickets went on sale this week.

In case you missed it, The Police held a presale for their Garden shows on Wednesday. The only thing you needed to do to get in the presale is join The Police Fan Club. Sounds like a great deal, right? I mean, Pearl Jam's fan club costs something like $20 for the year, and you get a free record at X-mas and great seats to their shows and other shit like that.

Well, as it turns out, for the right to purchase $254 tickets before anyone else, you had to pay a $100 fee to join the fan club. $100? Are you fucking kidding me, boys. The real police should be called in on this one. This is outrageous. I think you could also get seats for $95 beans. So let's say, you do that and get 4 seats at that price. So that's $120 for the ticket, plus about $15-20 more in other fees, and you are paying $150 beans to see three cats who haven't put out an album in 20 years. Plus, you know half of the show will be Sting doing his boring solo crap.

Last summer, I ripped Bruce for charging $100 beans for his jug band act. Bruce, I'm sorry. While the tickets were a bit high, at least you didn't pull this crap.

Honestly, this really pisses me off. These cats have money coming out of their arses and all they do is bilk their fans. Now, the people who pay this should be ripped as well since they are pretty much telling these a-holes charge us whatever you want, we'll pay it. Last fall, Todd hooked me up with Chili Pepper tickets that were $75 a pop. That seems like a frigging bargain now.

In think when the Garden shows come along, I'll drop $18 beans for a 30-pack of Miller Lite, put on my Police greatest hits CD and stare at the picture I have of me and Stewart Copeland from the 2005 Emmy awards.

A few other notes:

-- I spotted some kid checking out my daughter today in A&P. Now, my daughter Georgia is only 7, and this kid was about the same age, but it gave me a good glimpse into what I'll be dealing with in about 6-7 years, and let me tell you I'm not ready for it. Hopefully, my young son Kurt will be big enough to deal with all of these cats. Either that, or I may start taking her to some WNBA games.

-- As I sit here typing this, I have The Tonight Show on in the background and I'm wondering what ever happened to that Jay Leno guy who used to be so funny about 20 years ago. Holy shit does this show stink. Plus, to see Stuttering John all cleaned up just doesn't seem right.

-- Speaking of Stuttering John, congrats to Howard Stern on his engagment. Speaking of Stern, I'm getting pumped for the all Sinatra station coming to Sirius in a few months (man, am I getting old or what). Sirius also just unveiled a 90's alt rock station, which is pretty strong as well.

-- Finally, in an effort to make peace with the fans of FNC, I've told the Sandman I could in be for the Rush show at PNC this summer. He told me I'm welcome, but I have a feeeling he's gonna lure me into a whole arena full of Rush heads and then expose me as the guy who called them overrated. Hopefully, the beer count will be extremely high before the show, so I won't care what happens.

-- Speaking of the beer count, it stands at 12.

SNOW BUSINESS

Well, we here on the East Coast are expecting a possible big snow storm Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. Will it snow or not? Who the hell knows? But what I do know is when you turn on your local news tomorrow afternoon or night, I guarantee you will see this.

1. The channel will have some dopey name for its (see that JG) coverage: Something like

"Stormwatch 2007" or "Winter Blast 07."

2. The channel will have some a-hole posted at the Home Depot in North Secaucus interviewing folks buying rock salt and shovels.

3. The channel will have another clown outside the place where NYC dispatches its salt spreaders and plows, possibly interviewing the head of the road department.

4. If - and this is an if - the storm turns into a Nor'easter, some poor dude will be in Sea Bright, NJ, talking about possible flooding.

And finally:

5. If it's a huge snowfall, the weatherman will somehow take the blame for it. If it doesn't snow, he will somehow take credit for nothing happening.

Enjoy your show.

A few more things:

The beer count has doubled to 12. Last Monday, I went to see Rangers-Red Wings at the Garden and banged down a few Guiness before the tilt.

Speaking of hockey, did you see the story last week where it was reported a recent Devils game on TV was watched by only 700 households in the tri-state area? 700? Are you kidding me?

Now, localschill, before you remind me how many Cups the Devils have won over the past few years, don't waste your breath. I know how good the team is. I know how good Brodeur is. This is actually a rip at so-called Devil fans. Again, not you localshill, I know you are hard core. Who I can now laugh at though, is all the folks who someone show up during playoff time or who rip Ranger fans during the season or playoffs.

You see, the miniscule TV rating proves to me once and for all that A: There are only about 20,100 Devil fans on the planet, and B: That most folks who go to Devil games go for entertainment purposes, meaning, that once the game is over they don't think about the Devils until they go to their next game. They don't read about the team in the papers, they don't lose sleep after bad losses, they won't watch away games or home games they don't attend. They don't give a shit until the team is right in front of them.

Of course, alot of this is Lou Lamoriello's fault. While he's done an amazing job of building a great team, he's done a shitty job of promoting it. Actually, he's gone out of his way to not promote the team and its star players. Hence, nobody gives a shit.

But don't worry, once they open the new arena in Newark, no one will go to their games and therefore, maybe more people will watch on TV. Who knows, they might even hit triple digits in households.

I have one idea, during breaks in the action, they can show replays of Shakira's arse-shakin' performance from last night's Grammys. Good God. I nearly ruptured my undercarriage watching that.

Have fun in the snow.