An NBA Dinner Party for the Ages

With the NBA taking a night off from playoff games, the league decided to throw a private dinner for its members. The get together took place at a Chili's in downtown LA. It was a night reserved for good conversation, a few laughs, and a couple dozen fajitas. Thankfully, the restaurant's audio/video security equipment was able to capture the epic evening, giving us a glimpse into the personal lives of real NBA stars and how they interact during a fine meal.

Hostess: Welcome to Chili's, guys! Right this way.

(The NBA guys take their seats around a large circular table. The commissioner kicks off the festivities with a greeting and mini-toast.)

David Stern: Hello, everyone. I'd like to say thank you to all the guys that showed up here tonight.

Big Baby Davis: Hey man, it's our pleasure. You say free food...I come callin'!

Stern: Actually Glen, each man will be responsible for his own check tonight. I apologize for that misunderstanding.

Davis: Aww, you gotta be kiddin' me! I was planning on doing some major damage here tonight. Guess I'll have to tone it down, now.

Anthony Johnson: Dang, me too! I'd already set my mind on downing at least a dozen corn dogs up in here! Guess it's a good thing since I got a game tomorrow night, and the guy playing in front of me, Rafer Alston, has suddenly turned into Damon Jones.

Tyronn Lue: I know, man! Coach Van Gundy even told me to be ready!

Johnson: Alright, now you're goin' too far! Coach never said that.

Lue: Haha, I know. But a man can dream, right?!?

Shane Battier: Pipe down, the both of you! It's time to order. (Talking to waitress) Yes, I'm going to have an appetizer of the Southwest Egg Rolls.

Waitress: Anything to drink with that, sir?

Battier: Yes. Just go ahead and bring me all the Rogaine you can find in this square mile radius, and I'll take it from there. (Rubs scalp and forehead simultaneously while the rest of the table looks on in horror)

Waitress: And for you, Mr. Oberto?

Luis Scola: Scola! My name Luis Scola!! Why does everyone think I Fabricio Oberto? Just because we both from Argentina and have hair style of 15-year old girl??!

Chauncey Billups: Yo, chill out big fella. I actually thought you were Sasha Vujacic when I walked in, so we all make mistakes.

Scola: Meester Big Shot!! I did not even know you here.

Billups: Actually, I was sittin' in the other room, but the table I was at said my meal was too expensive to cover. Get this. I'd been with them for over three hours...I'd been nothing but good to all the other people...we were doing a ton of fantastic things during the meal...and they sent me away just because I was a tad on the pricey side. You guys believe that? They will miss me when they realize I'm gone from their table and I aint ever comin' back.

Commissioner Stern: Well, Chauncey, you do seem very motivated. That's very nice to see.

Billups: Yeah, man. It's a whole new me now. I'm even gonna start takin' it to the hole and drawing contact again.

(While saying this, Chauncey shows an example by pretending to bump into the man walking by. No contact was made, but the customer goes flying backwards with his arms flailing, and winds up knocking over several tables and dishes along the way.)

(Violet Palmer jumps out of her chair with one hand behind her head and the other arm extended forward)

Palmer: I got a charge on the offensive player...we're going the other way!

Billups: Are you f#*$ng serious?!? I didn't even touch the man!

The fallen customer slowly rises, with a devilish grin draped across his face. It is revealed to be Cavaliers' forward Anderson Varejao.

(The Chili's staff comes over to help Varejao out of the restaurant. He is able to make it out to his car, but only after a wheelchair was retrieved for his short transport to the door. The man knows how to sell a call.)

Chris 'Birdman' Andersen: What a disgrace that Varejao is! Sure, I've done more drugs in the last 10 years than Whitney Houston and Josh Hamilton combined, but at least I can sleep at night knowing I play D like a real man!

Maitre D': Excuse me, Mr. Birdman. Hate to interrupt your meal, but we do require that each of our restaurant patrons wear sleeves at all times. Those tattoos you have are frowned upon here, as are pets, so may we ask that you also get rid of your snake.

Andersen: Snake? What snake?? I didn't bring any sna...

George Karl: Alright Chris, we're outta here. Pull up your pants and get up from the table.

(Chauncey has finally stopped arguing with Violet Palmer over the Varejao call from earlier. She sits back down and starts conversing with her fellow refs.)

Violet Palmer: You guys will never believe what happened when I got home last night! My husband was already fast asleep in bed, and when I reached over to wake him, I realized that he'd positioned masking tape all over the sheets to create a "restricted area," and he'd placed himself perfectly in the semi-circle. I couldn't even touch him! I mean, I knew all the NBA players hated me, but my own husband?!??

Steve Javie: C'mon Violet, you coulda woke him up. You've never understood that circle anyway, have you? I can't remember the last time you got a block/charge call right!

Palmer: You're right, Steve. That thing is impossible!

(A little kid approaches Palmer holding a yellow pad of paper and a big Sharpie marker)

Kid: Oh my god, I can't believe it's you! You're my favorite!! Wow!! Hey Mom, come over here, Larry Fitzgerald is about to sign an autograph for me!! Thanks, Mr. Fitzgerald, you're the best!!

(She signs the autograph quickly and begins to stand up from the table)

Palmer: Alright fellas, that's enough for me. I'm turning in. How much do I owe?

Javie: Ahh, don't worry about it. Your atrocious officiating makes us all look so good in comparison...that is payment enough! Just go have a good night.

(A waiter approaches a side table where Laker sidekicks Shannon Brown, Jordan Farmar, Luke Walton, and Sasha Vujacic are all eagerly anticipating the arrival of their food...)

Waiter: Here you are gentlemen, four giant helpings of our special Rice Pilaf.

Farmar: No, no, no!! You got it all wrong. We didn't want Rice Pilaf...we are Rice Pilaf!!

Waiter: Oh, I do apologize, sir. We will correct the error right away, Mr. Pilaf.

(Over at the Hawks' table, Zaza Pachulia is quietly sipping on a Corona while Josh Smith clumsily picks at his Grilled Chicken Salad)

Mike Woodson: Dang it, Josh! Keep that food on the table. I don't want to see one more drop fall into your lap!

Josh Smith: Back off, coach! I'm on the phone with Bibby's family...they're trying to set up a funeral service for Mike. Not easy holding my cell and my fork at the same time.

Woodson: Listen to me, boy. Put the cell phone in your left hand, and place the fork in your right. That way you can do both.

(He awkwardly tries to clutch his fork with the right hand...after a dozen unsuccessful attempts, Smith angrily fires it to the floor and begins tearing through the salad with his bare hands)

Smith: It's impossible!! I can't do it! How do you expect me to hold my fork using only my right hand?? I'm lefty, ya know!

(The rest of the table erupts in laughter.)

Woodson: Yeah, Josh. We've all noticed. Maybe you should think about using both of your mitts out there on the court. I mean, for Christ sake, I haven't seen a guy this dependant on his left hand since Pachulia was a sophomore in high school!!

(Smith and Woodson begin to tussle and have to be separated by several Hawks players. To nobody's surprise, Flip Murray remains expressionless throughout the entire altercation.)

Commissioner Stern: Attention, everybody. I would like to thank all of you for coming. It's been another tremendous night for the National Basketball Association. Remember...same time, same place, next year. Just don't tell the Birdman.


Which NBA players would you like to grab a bite with?? Drop a comment below or shoot me an e-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Time to Put my Thinking Cap On...

Man, how irritating are those employees at Best Buy, just staring you down waiting to make eye contact?? Once they lock on, you're done; they're already making a bee-line right at you to throw out the obligatory, "Is there anything I can help you with?" Yea, I'm really lost here trying to find a movie when they are all in ALPHABETICAL ORDER. I think there is only one solution to this problem. Every time I know I'm going to Best Buy, I'll grab a sword or an axe or something from the attic, then head on in. Think I'll have my fair share of privacy shopping with this method.

Why is the salmon so special that it gets its own color named after it? I mean, why can’t trout have a color named after it too? People say it wouldn’t work because trout doesn’t have a distinct color. I say, “Yea, it’s TROUT!”

Some people are starting to take way too much credit for these store bought birthday cards? They buy this card with all these beautiful, poetic, statements…"you’re the wind beneath my wings," "your love makes my heart melt like butter." All of these sweet words were clearly penned by Hallmark, but then at the bottom, they add the finishing touch with the all-important, "Love, Bruce." “Yep, I wrote allll that…it was ALL me. The poem might be typed out perfectly, and my handwriting is nowhere to be found, and there's a price tag still on the back of the card, but trust me, I came up with it!” Is the girl supposed to be like, “OH MY GOD…I can’t believe you feel that way! What a beautiful card…oh, you are so amazing! How did I get so lucky?!?” Stop takin' credit for all these heartfelt poems that you probably couldn't read...let alone write.

You ever realize the way that the pizza delivery guy says goodbye is directly related to the tip you gave him? You give him 2 or 3 bucks, and he'll toss out an uber-friendly, “Now you have a nice night and take it easy. Hey, enjoy that Za!” On the other hand, you throw 70-80 cents his way, he counts the money, realizes what you gave him, and turns and walks away with tears welling up in his eyes. You try to make it better by yelling out, “Drive Safe!,” but by then he’s already started the car and is halfway to pizza suicide.

Alright, is anyone else absolutely perplexed any time you get out of the shower and cannot figure out which side of the towel is the one to dry off with?? You've got these solid blue or red or whatever color towels, and somehow the tag on the inside has been removed over the years. You start searching on every corner of the towel for some kind of identifier, but it’s the same material everywhere. I spend so much time trying to figure out which is the right side that I’ve air dried completely by the time I make a decision. And no, I have zero idea what I just wrote.

I love the movie King Kong. Only one thing I can’t seem to figure out. The girl loves King Kong and she’s so sad when he gets killed on the Empire State Building. I get that. I always end up feeling pretty sad because they seemed like perfect soul mates. But then I think, "what exactly was the 'endgame' there?" I mean, were they gonna get married and start a family?? I always feel bad for them that they can’t be together, but what in the world does “be together” mean?? Dude is like a 50,000 pound ape with very little means in the way of communcations. What was the best case scenario for the "couple"? Was Big Fella supposed to get a little desk job on the Upper West Side while she took care of their "half man-half giant gorilla kids" at home? And I could never really figure out how the "sleeping situation" would work out. I would venture to say the King would need his own personal quarters, but that's got to affect the overall intimacy level in their relationship. Maybe it's best off for everyone that he got shot down off that building. But I'd be lying if I said I haven't spent 30-40 hours in the last couple years trying to think of a better solution...

Shaving…you just can’t get away from it. I often wish I could just shave for like 72 straight hours on a day in early January and then not have to do it again for the rest of the year. But noooo, you gotta do it every damn day! If I wanna build a deck, I can cut out a weekend, work my tail off, and BAM…I got a new deck! I’m done working on that deck. For good. But shaving is a never-ending process. It's not really fair, though. A girl might go a few weeks without shaving her legs. But who's to know?? She throws on a pair of jeans every day and her secret is safe. Us guys don't have this same option. The face is exposed to society at least 80% of the time. We can't just be like, “Screw this. I’m not gonna shave for the next three months. And nobody will know because I will just wear this ski-mask every day!!”

You ever wake up before your alarm goes off, but forget to turn it off? Man, when that thing starts blasting and you’re already ACTUALLY awake and up, it scares the living bejeezus out of you. I know from experience, dude...

Had this one friend when I was younger...I'd go over to his house, we'd play video games, action figures, stuff like that. Just one problem with this kid…he was not very smart. Noticed one day when we were playin' that he had one of the Berenstain Bears books laying around. I think it was 'Too Much Junk Food.' Fine, no crime there. It's an excellent series of books. Maybe the best of all-time. One problem…homeboy had a frickin bookmark stickin' out of one of the pages. Who in their right mind doesn't finish a Berenstain Bears book in one sitting? Not only are the books extremely short, but how do you just put the story down with so much left in the balance? Are they gonna stop eating the junk food, or will this problem finally be the one that takes down the whole Bear family? I will never know how this kid got through the day not knowing how these books finished. And what is with these 'Bears' anyway? It always seemed like they couldn't figure out if they were bears or humans. I mean, even though they were wearing the same darn clothes day after day after day, at least they're wearing something. That tends to say human. But then they never put on any shoes. That's kind of bear-like behavior. And yeah, they lived in a house, but it was a tree-house. I'm no genius here, but wouldn't you probably want to be wearing some kinda shoe walkin' through a tree-house all day? And how about the book when they had "Trouble with Pets?" Ummm…I don't know if you got the memo, but YOU ARE BEARS!! How can you have "pets"??? You're the pets! And what about your boy Papa Bear? Man was about 11 donuts short of a dozen, if you catch what I'm sayin'. Mama Bear would tell the whole family on one page that they were absolutely forbidden from eating any more sweets…you flip the page, and BAM! Papa Bear is halfway through a bag of "Choco Yums!!" What a moron! And weren't he and Mama Bear taking a huge chance naming that 1st kid "Brother Bear." What woulda happened if that 2nd kid was another boy? They'd have been screwed!! And at least some of the Bear family members tried wearing normal clothes. Brother Bear wore a regular shirt, Papa Bear had the overalls…but Mama Bear was always in that same old blue and white polka-dot nightgown. Hellooo, you are out in public…wearing a nightgown is not appropriate!! I thought I went through all those books, but I must have missed that title, "Mama's Nightgown is Surgically Attached to her Arse." Seems like it would have been a good one...


Share your favorite Berenstain Bears memory here...or drop me an e-mail about the Bear crew at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Secretariat Who?

"It's always more fun to root for the underdog."

The day was May 5th, 1973, and Secretariat was preparing to begin his assault on horse racing's famed Triple Crown. A record crowd of 134,476 stuffed their way into the Churchill Downs infield to get a glimpse of the mammoth chestnut colt.

One horse racing aficionado described Secretariat at the time as "A Rolls-Royce in a field of Volkswagens."

Everybody knew it was Secretariat's day. Well, almost everybody.

My mom was also in attendance at the Derby that afternoon. She has two distinct memories from that trip.

One is that she claims to have never seen a horse. It's surely an odd sentiment coming from a person that was actually at the Kentucky Derby, but an understandable one considering the circumstances. She and her friends were amidst the throng of people; elbow-to-elbow on the infield, which was not exactly "prime viewing" in terms of actually observing the action. It would be like watching a Cubs game from the rooftop of an apartment building a half mile from Wrigley. You're there, but you're not really there. Secretariat could have been a blue horse with a bushy orange tail, and my mom would have had no idea. She never saw a horse.

The second recollection from that day involves her wagering strategy and the results that followed. As post time approached, Secretariat was still holding steady as a significant favorite (3-2 in most spots). Everybody was plunking down money on Big Red. It was a sure thing. But my mom had her own ideas.

She liked Warbucks. As she told me this past Saturday when we watched the Derby together, "I like the long shots." And old Warbucks definitely was that. It is near impossible to find exactly what odds Warbucks was getting that day (trust me, I've looked), but it is also just as impossible to find any account of anyone heading into the race that thought Warbucks had a chance. Didn't matter to my mom.

The race started and a couple rabbit horses bolted, leaving Secretariat and a host of others biding their time in the back. But as most of the horses began tiring and slowing their pace as the distance increased, Secretariat only got better. He ran each quarter mile of the race just a little bit faster than the one before it. He blazed the final leg in a blistering 23 seconds, on his way to a record-setting Derby time (a record that still stands today). It was a breathtaking performance by a horse that would eventually come to be regarded as the best in the sport's history.

But what about Warbucks?? What happened to that cute, little longshot that was supposed to pay my mom bundles of dollars?? Turns out, Warbucks was a longshot for a reason.

There were 13 horses entered in the Kentucky Derby that day. And Warbucks finished 13th. Dead last.

I recently came across a fairly long-winded recap of that race. Several sentences are devoted to each participant and interesting anecdotes are sprinkled throughout.

Our guy got three measly words. The final sentence read, "Warbucks was dull." That's it. No in-depth analysis or explanation for his performance. He was just dull.

But truth be told, how Warbucks actually performed that day really meant nothing.

My mom drove from Ann Arbor to Louisville, pushed and pulled her way through over one-hundred thousand sweaty fans, and spent an entire day at Churchill Downs without ever seeing a horse. After all that, there was no way in the world she was simply going to fall in line with all of the other sheep. She liked Warbucks.

Anybody could have sidled up to the betting counter that day and threw a fiver on Secretariat. It was the safe play. He was going to win. But, as Tom Hanks so eloquently stated in Big, "What's fun about that?"

Go up to any random sports fan at the bar and ask 'em who won the '73 Derby and you're likely to get an immediate response. Everybody knows that was Secretariat's year.

But nobody knows who came in last. Except my mom.

And she's got the losing ticket to prove it.


Reach the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com
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"The Steve Buechele Experience"

It's a phenomenon that goes on for years before it is fully recognized. It requires the perfect combination of uninterrupted incompetence, bad fortune, and overall futility. When all these things are melded together, and the Earth is rotating at just the right speed, you end up with the unstoppable force known as "The Steve Buechele Experience." The Experience comes to be when any team undergoes an extended lack of production at a particular position for a long period of time. As a professional sports franchise, it is a disease you do not want to be afflicted with. Sadly, the Detroit Tigers have been dealing with their own personal Steve Buechele Experience for a while now. The evidence is found in the gaping hole found in leftfield at Comerica Park. This vast space has been screaming for a new tenant for years, to no avail. First, a little background on the man that has come to personify this unfortunate reality.

Steve Buechele was a longtime Texas Rangers third sacker in the 1980's. He was basically the face of mediocrity, and his career was about as memorable as the overdone grilled cheese you put away late last Wednesday night. But when he came to the Chicago Cubs, he did more than just man the hot corner. He epitomized the franchise's immense struggle to find a respectable replacement for the long retired Cub legend, Ron Santo. Third base for the Chicago Cubs had grown to be the weakest position in baseball over the last 20 years. Since Santo hung up the spikes, the North Siders had trotted out a sad collection of castoffs, often trying out a new player every spring, with similar results. The name changed...the game didn't. The likes of Len Randle, Vance Law, and Luis Salazar all made their way through the revolving door. And then in 1992, our boy Steve Buechele arrived on the scene. He was the quintessential struggling Cubs 3rd sacker. He would show a little power, hit about .250, and boot a couple ground balls a week. Buechele would occupy the spot for a few seasons before passing off the infamous torch to the "great" Todd Zeile. Several more journeymen would try to end the curse with limited success. Finally, in 2003, after close to 30 years of third base failure at the Friendly Confines, a slugging hero in the form of Aramis Ramirez came to the rescue. Ramirez became an All-Star, providing a menacing presence in the middle of the order and helping the Cubs to become fixtures in the baseball postseason. The hex on the Wrigley hot corner was gone. Which brings us back to the Tigers...and the fruitless search for their next leftfielder.

The Tigers have played just 24 games in this young season, and they have already had four different players start a game in leftfield. Carlos Guillen was shifted there in the off-season. However, many people forget that while Guillen was born in 1975, his Achilles was born in 1931, making it very difficult for him to roam the outfield in Comerica Park for more than a couple games in a row. Josh Anderson was acquired right before the season to provide insurance at the position. His speed and defense would be welcomed, but there were doubts about his bat. Thus far, it's been just the opposite. He has swung the bat consistently, but his fielding has been shaky. Anderson badly misplayed a looping liner against the Yankees, leading to a disastrous 10-run frame when it could very well have been zero had the play been made. Marcus Thames made his annual appearance in left before he landed on the DL with a pesky rib injury that could keep him out for up to a month. Finally, the Tigers summoned Ryan Raburn from Toledo, hoping maybe he could grab hold of leftfield. Unfortunately, he has never really been a classic outfielder. To his credit, Raburn has managed to continue to live his life in peace with no legal repercussions, despite it being widely known that he stole the identity of Shane Halter in 2004, taking the man's family, possessions, and below average skills in the process. Guillen's old feet...Anderson's bum glove...Thames' same old story...and Raburn's quiet past in serious criminal activity. Leftfield is a scary place right now for the Tigers...and it has been for a long time.

Throughout most of the 1960's on through the 1980's, leftfield was actually a position of strength in Detroit. Willie Horton occupied the position for close to a decade, and was the picture of consistency while doing so. "Willie the Wonder" belted 325 long balls in his career and made arguably the most important play of the 1968 World Series by gunning down Lou Brock with a picture-perfect throw to rip the momentum away from the Cardinals. As a homegrown product that played high school ball at Northwestern High, Willie garnered great admiration from the fans, even prompting the High Socks Legend's Mom to pluck grass from Horton's front yard and wear #23 in her softball league in his honor. Following Willie in leftfield was Steve Kemp, the former first overall pick. Kemp would have a very successful five-year run in left, despite playing on less than stellar Tiger squads. He became an All-Star and even managed to pick up a few points on the MVP ballots in a couple years. Larry Herndon arrived on the scene in 1982 and picked up right where Kemp left off. Herndon became a fixture in the Tigers outfield for the next few seasons, culminating in his game winning 2-run homer at Jack Murphy Stadium in the opener of the '84 Fall Classic. There might have been certain things to worry about during those years, but leftfield was not one of them. Then it all changed...and the "Steve Buechele Experience" came to life.

While Herndon was still the Tigers regular in leftfield in 1986, it was clear that his best days were behind him. It's been a long, downhill trip ever since. Kirk Gibson was shifted to left for one season before he jumped ship to the Dodgers, where he would win the league MVP the very next season. After Gibson, a collection of journeymen and former greats would all try their hand in leftfield . An older Fred Lynn was brought on board. Pat Sheridan stopped in for a cup of coffee. The team tried grabbing players (Dan Gladden, Tony Phillips) from the past World Series champions, hoping to catch a little bit of that winning flavor. Didn't work. In the 8 seasons that spanned 1986-93, the Tigers employed 8 different regulars in leftfield. Looking back, you could make a strong argument that the best guy during that whole time period was Billy Young, the aging Tigers legend played by Roy Scheider in the underrated made-for-TV movie Tiger Town. Sure, he looked like he was about 75 years old in the movie, but Scheider could still mash. Leftfield was still a problem spot in Detroit, and things weren't changing anytime soon.

Milt Cuyler could have stolen 100 bags with his blinding speed if the rules didn't unfairly require him to reach base before attempting a theft. Melvin Nieves came to town with supreme power and the innate ability to strike out four times in a game when he only came to the plate three. Watching him play, I couldn't help but think "I wish we had somebody else." Then Geronimo Berroa arrived, and I realized, "I really miss Melvin Nieves." The inspirational story of deaf outfielder Curtis Pride made you really feel for the guy. Unfortunately, the opposing pitchers in the American League offered no such sympathy. Bobby Higginson was a prime candidate to end the Tigers' Buechele Experience, but he kept moving back and forth from left to rightfield. Eventually, he signed a monster deal that paid him close to $10 million a year, though by this time Higgy's production was dwindling, and he was mostly concerned with creeping out flight attendants on the team plane with inappropriate remarks and various "images" displayed on his computer screen. In the late 90's, the Tigers caught a break and picked up baseball vagabond Luis Gonzalez to handle leftfield duties. Gonzo was just starting to show signs of becoming a legitimate major league power threat when Randy Smith curiously shipped him off to Arizona for Karim Garcia and a generous side portion of rice pilaf. When you are deep in the throes of a Buechele Experience, pretty much anything that can go wrong will go wrong. It was no surprise when Gonzalez flourished in the desert, walloping a mind-boggling 57 homers in 2001 on the way to leading his Diamondbacks to the championship.

(Sidenote: that 57 home run year by Gonzalez has somehow flown under the radar despite all the rampant speculation over the last decade about steroid-fueled power surges. You hear about Brady Anderson's 50, Barry Bonds' 73, and Sosa and McGwire's crazy 1998. But Gonzo jumps from 31 to 57, then never again reaches 30, and not a peep from the conspiracy theorists. Something aint addin' up here...)

There were also players with the "can't miss prospect" label along this leftfield journey. Juan Encarnacion was hyped up to be the next great five-tool player in the Willie Mays-Roberto Clemente mold. Unfortunately, one of those five tools happened to be "the propensity to swing at any pitch that was within 12 feet of the strike zone." It seemed like pitchers even took a certain sense of pride in issuing a base on balls to Encarnacion since it was such a unique accomplishment. Fellow hot prospect/Tiger flameout Andres Torres only played one game in left. We can safely assume that Andres failed to hit the ball out of the infield that day.

The list goes on and on. Rondell White could have been the answer, but he was always one awkward check swing away from a trip to the 60-day disabled list. Then there was the apocalyptic year that saw legends like Craig Paquette, Wendell Magee, Jr., and Hiram Bocachica all spend time in leftfield . I still wake up in a cold sweat some nights just thinking about that summer. It really was a bone-chilling time period. But finally, in 2006, it appeared as if Craig Monroe was going to bring us back to the days of Horton, Kemp, and Herndon. He smacked a career-best 28 dingers, 5 more in the playoffs, and you could only imagine the numbers he would post in the years to come. Except one thing happened. The various scouts around the league noticed that Monroe's swing was loopier than a Robin Williams' stand-up special. Pitchers stopped grooving him fastballs and started working him over in a serious fashion. His habit of stepping up in the clutch was now a distant memory. With only about a month left in the '07 campaign, the Tigers cut ties with the punchless Monroe, and showing just how far his value had fallen league wide, dealt him to the Cubs straight up for Kerosene Clay Rapada. After his playoff dramatics just 10 months prior, everyone expected him to hold down the fort in left for the next decade. Now Monroe was silently exiting Motown with his anemic .222 batting average in tow. The Steve Buechele Experience is a most powerful force.

Not much has changed in the last couple of years. Jacque Jones was signed to bring some veteran stability back to the position. Turns out the only thing stable was Jones' pulse...and even that fact was hotly debated. Young Clete Thomas made some noise for a quick minute until you got a better look at him and realized he should probably be doing some kind of calf-roping activity on the Vs. network where the first prize is $5,000 and a brand new first name. Brent Clevlen is another kid that has all the necessary skills to be a big-league outfielder, but you can't help but worry a little bit when the guy has been in Erie and Toledo for what seems like an eternity. Clevlen is destined to be the next Mike Hessman, a fellow Tiger "prospect" that has hit approximately 800 home runs during his highly decorated minor league career. Gary Sheffield ventured out to left for a handful of games where it was tragically revealed that his once cannon-like throwing arm had now been surgically replaced with a foam swimming pool noodle.

Leftfield is a tricky position when you look back at past World Series champions. The Red Sox won a pair with one of the best of all-time in Manny Ramirez. The Cardinals knocked off the Tigers with the ghastly Preston Wilson-So Taguchi duo. It is proven that a title can be had without a superstar leftfielder in the lineup. But that is not the point of this piece. I am here to educate about the all-powerful Steve Buechele and the Experience that he has created. Once you are firmly entrenched in a Buechele Experience, the only way to get out is to first admit that you are powerless in doing so. The Tigers need to spend as much money as it takes to track down Lord Buechele and express their utmost respect for his empire. Only then might this dark cloud over leftfield at Comerica Park finally be lifted.

In today's game, Carlos Guillen started in left, went 0-4, and saw his average drop below the Mendoza line. If there was ever a time to reverse the curse, it is now. The Cubs eventually overcame their own version of the Buechele Experience by acquiring Aramis Ramirez, proving that the phenomenon while strong, can be defeated. Maybe one day the Tigers can do the same. But until then, it's a little Guillen, a touch of Anderson, a hint of Thames, and a shot of Raburn. It makes you wish the Steve Buechele Experience was merely a creation. A wild theory "out of left field." But this time, it is all too real, and it sits directly in leftfield. The only saving grace is that nowhere in the major league rulebook does it state that a team must station three players in the outfield. I think we may be on to something here...


Who was your personal favorite of the past 25 years of Tigers leftfielders? Drop a comment below or reach me at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Around the World with the HSL

No "Strings" Attached

Fruit by the Foot...a few Girl Scout cookies...or even the sticky, slightly overrated, but always there for you Fruit Roll-Up: all highly acceptable elementary school lunchtime treats. What you brought as an entree or main course, whether it be a sandwich or a cold piece of chicken, was secondary to the all-important snack. Most people understood this process. You wolfed down the PB & J or turkey sangwich so you could finally get to something sweet. The cafeteria by-laws were in perfect order. Until one "snack" came along and started wreaking havoc. Our sacred lunch room would never be the same. Meet "String Cheese."

The product itself was very mysterious to me. At the age of 9, you're used to seeing cheese in its melted form only. I could identify with grilled cheese. Macaroni and cheese I connected with. Pizza was a dear friend. Even mozzarella sticks, while still in their infancy before bursting onto the national stage in '96, were something I could wrap my arms around. But seeing someone pull out an unclothed, unmelted log of cheese from their brown bag for snack-time was inconceivable. As Tom Hanks perfectly stated in Big, "What's fun about that?" You got me. But somehow, it started catching on. You couldn't get through one peaceful afternoon at Forest Elementary without encountering String Cheese.

A couple things have always confused me about Sir Strings. Exactly what kind of cheese was this guy? Back in the day, I just assumed he was "String." But maybe 10-12 years later, I discovered that this was indeed not a real faction of the cheese family and that it belonged to a different group. But which one? Even now, the answer is unclear. Some speculated that it was Swiss, but that's never been documented, and the lack of holes in Strings makes that theory highly unlikely.

And why were people so obsessed with eating it in stringed segments? Yeah, I understand that it might be more fun this way, but just do us all a favor and take a normal bite out of the thing like a civilized human being. I probably saw somewhere between 500-1,000 string cheese consumptions in my school years, and not once can I remember someone just pickin' the bad boy up and attacking it. With its appearance much resembling a stick of butter, I guess some kids were hesitant to take a big ole chomp for fear of looking like a complete savage. While that might have been the case, at least they would have preserved some level of personal pride.

If there is one thing you can take away from this hard-hitting piece of journalism, it is this. The next time a friend offers you a slice of their String Cheese, just follow these three simple steps. First, let that person know his or her friendship will no longer be welcomed. Second, just say NO. You will be sparing yourself a lifetime of regret, while contributing in some small way to the eventual elimination of String Cheese and the cruel game it has been playing with us for the last 15 years. And lastly, go grab yourself a celebratory snack consisting of a sugar cookie and a mini-carton of chocolate milk...because you just made the best decision of your life.


NBA Playoff Thoughts

-When Latrell Sprewell put the choke hold on P.J. Carleismo back in the day, he did more than just leave a nasty scar on the coach's neck. He also did some major damage to the man's voice box. If you've heard P.J. do any color commentary on TNT for this year's playoffs, you can't help but feel like you're listening to Super Dave Osborne. But once you get past that, he has actually been very enjoyable behind the mic. I always enjoy color guys that were recently coaching in the league, and Carlesimo fits the bill having just spent a couple years with the Sonics/Thunder organization. He does a nice job of focusing his attention on all of the players on the floor, not just the superstars as some color guys are prone to do. As proof of this, Carlesimo spent a good 8-10 minutes on Tuesday night gushing about Spurs veteran forward Kurt Thomas and the effectiveness of his cross-screens to get Tim Duncan open. By the time he had finished with the verbal massage, you half expected P.J. to ditch the headset and go hop onto Thomas for a little cross-screening action of his own.

-I'm fairly confident that if Steve Blake went without shaving for the next four or five years in hopes of growing a real man's beard, he would still just end up with a few cat-like whiskers on his chin and along the side of his face. It always looks like Blake is trying to get some legitimate facial hair workin', but he just does not have the capability. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two from longtime professional beard grower P.J. Carlesimo.


A Good Bit Never Gets Old

Me and my Dad have had a running joke for years about the NHL. When we see a team leading in the 3rd period, we always try and figure out what that lead would translate to in a basketball game. For instance, if the Red Wings were up 3-2 with ten minutes to go, that would be about a 15-point margin. If they were able to tack on a goal to make it 4-2, the lead is now somewhere in the 30-40 point territory. If we ever flip on a game and see a team ahead by three goals, that would mean a comeback would be akin to a basketball team storming back from down about 80 points. It's just a fun, little dig at hockey by intimating that scoring goals is near impossible and that even 1-2 goal leads are basically insurmountable. Turns out this "bit" carries much more truth than originally thought. The Carolina Hurricanes scored two late goals in last night's Game 7 to steal the series from the New Jersey Devils. But get this. Prior to that comeback, teams that had a lead going into the 3rd period in this year's playoffs were an astounding 29-0. You might think our routine is silly, but next time you see a team carrying any kind of advantage into the final 20 minutes, just go ahead and turn the channel. That team is down by 50 points...and they're not coming back.


An Unsolved Mystery on the Diamond

The Tigers signed Adam Everett in the off-season to stabilize the shortstop position with his reliable glove and semi-occasionally frisky bat. However, the early returns are in, and the comparison that keeps coming to mind is that of Jeff Blauser for the 1998 Cubs. The Cubbies were set to make a big run that year (they wound up winning the wild card) and they felt that Blauser, despite his advanced age, was the perfect fit. At least it sounded like a good idea at the time. Blauser wound up hovering around the .200 mark for most of the year while his range in the field started resembling that of Roger Dorn in Major League. By the time the playoffs came around, the Cubs were scrambling for production at short, shuffling between strikeout machine Jose Hernandez and known steroid abuser Manny Alexander. Blauser had just turned 32 that year in Chicago, the exact same age of his current version in Detroit, Mr. Everett. If the Tigers end up making a run late in the season, look for the younger Ramon Santiago to see more and more time up the middle. The more I think about it, with Blauser and Everett's facial features eerily similar, I'm not totally convinced that they are even two separate people. Is it so inconceivable that Blauser hung it up in 1999, took a year off, decided he still had an itch, and started back up again in 2001 under the name "Adam Everett"?? I think not. In one final, almost chilling twist to this bizarre saga, we come to find out that "Adam" isn't even Everett's real first name. It's Jeff. This just got very interesting...


If you've seen Jeff Blauser or have heard anything of his whereabouts, call your local law enforcement agency or e-mail me at highsockslegend@gmail.com