Friday the 13th Part VIII: Kevin Barker Takes Manhattan

Remember when sports existed solely as an escape from the muck of reality? When you could take a break from removing sulfur, nitrogen, or phosphorous from ore while creating steel in suburban Pittsburgh to, you know, watch the Steelers. Or forget the image of your deceitful wife under her boss's desk to take in a Memphis Grizzlies game. (Poor example)

Those days are done. ESPN works exactly like TMZ now, even resorting to getting their stories from them. You know why we even knew who Adam "Pacman" Jones was, despite his limited playing time or relevant statistics? Because Sportscenter talked about him every fucking day. You know why so many people know Terrell Owens as that asshole who rips his teammates on the sidelines? Because there's a T.O. camera constantly on him, almost provoking an incident, praying for even the slightest hint of a meltdown that can lead NFL Live, giving Mark Schlereth an aneurysm.

And all this Tiger Woods coverage? Funnier than Carrot Top, Gallagher, and The Diceman all rolled into one, especially when you add in The Network's recent bouts with infidelity in the mix.

Everybody knows cheaters (in sports, especially) prosper. They just do. Back in August, two friends and I (who follow baseball religiously) attended a San Francisco Giants-Cincinnati Reds game to watch Lincecum pitch. Reds manager/Cubs scapegoat Dusty Baker sent Kevin Barker in to pinch hit late in the game. He was 33 years old, and the three of us (who earlier at dinner rolled off every single team's five man starting rotation, their middle-relief holds guys, and closers) had never heard of him. Never. If he walked down my street wearing his own Reds jersey, I would go on a tangent about how stupid personalized jerseys are.

The immortal Kevin Barker, seemingly running towards Cooperstown.

Anyways, you don't think Kevin Barker would trade his six career home runs, .249 lifetime average, and integrity for Sammy Sosa's $125 million career earnings and 609 homers? Skin tone aside? Please. The real losers in all of this are the guys you've never heard of.

(By the way, Kevin Barker was just woken up from his mid-afternoon nap by a cold chill rushing up his spine before shrugging his shoulders and drifting back to sleep.)

Anyways, I'm not trying to hammer on the baseball steroid thing. Lord knows that's reached the Barbaro level of a dead horse. But here's a picture of Luis Gonzalez just for fun:

Maybe if I do this, people won't notice I only averaged 16.4 home runs in the ten year span leading up to my inexplicable 57 homer season in 2001!

Yes, I got off topic. Let's just not forgivingly sweep these guys under the historic rug, okay? Okay.

TONIGHT!

Adobo Grill. It's a really good Mexican restaurant and bar on E. Washington St. Lauren Mueller, a soon-to-be graduate of Herron, is having her senior thesis art show there from 6-11. It'll be worth your while, and it's half-priced margarita night! (And yes, I will be there the whole time. So as long as the lines don't distract the workers, or steal the intended ambiance of the evening, I will gladly sign laptops and printed out pieces.) (Everything's true except the first set of parenthesis. These parenthesis are the true ones.)