A PTU Salute to WFAN

The idea that there was ever a time without sports radio is crazy to most of us. For as long as any of us at PTU can remember, 660 on the AM dial has been nothing but middle aged men yakking about New York sports. Any extended trip in a car with your father or a stop in a pizzeria for a slice was accompanied by a WFAN host arguing with a caller. You had Steve Somers and his creepy uncle vibe late afternoons with Russ Salzberg (who would later take his sweaters to UPN/My9 News), Bill "you had no idea I was black until I worked on MSG" Daughtry in the evenings, Mike and the Mad Dog all the damn afternoon along with John Minko and 20/20 sports updates and Don Imus before the world hated him and his cowboy hat in the morning. World spanning NBC sports anchor Len Berman was an original host, as was HBO boxing guy Jim Lampley and Greg Gumbel. Mike Breen and Clyde Frazier did the Knicks games (one a national announcer now and the other the coolest man in the world), and of course the Fan has been the home of the Mets for decades now (Let's go Mets! F.A.N.) It all seems commonplace now but in the late 80s it was revolutionary. Today, it's a formula that's been replicated all over the country. Two assholes sit in a studio for 4 hours taking calls like this:


Host: Vinnie in Bayside on the line, how ya doin Vinnie?

Vinnie: How ya doin, Mike? First time, long time. I wanna talk about the Mets.

It's really simple but that kind of exchange didn't exist until July 1st, 1987. Now you have nationally syndicated shows, and every city has at least one station dedicated to talking about their sports teams. Sports fans are almost all obsessive, and we don't go a day without talking about some type of sport for at least a couple minutes, be it on e-mail, text, social media or even sometimes in person. Blogs like this wouldn't exist without people's insatiable appetites for all things sports (ok this blog would probably still exist) but it's hard to fathom that there was ever a period in this country during which people thought there wouldn't be a market for that kind of stuff. For better or worse (probably for better), WFAN blazed the trail for the round the clock sports culture. A lot of the voices have changed but it's still the same basic format and Vinnie is still mad at the Mets. I'm going to get a slice of pizza this weekend and listen to the bickering.

So Long, Shaq

Shaquille O'Neal announced his retirement today via Twitter and while this might not come as a surprise to anyone (and it may be a season or two late), it's still an important moment for the NBA. Over the next few days, there will be a lot of obituary style profiles of Shaq on ESPN and on the blogs that will all remind us of what a ridiculous monster this guy was in his prime, and he was. The numbers he put up during the beginning of the Lakers 2000s dynasty are almost hard to imagine (he averaged nearly 40 points a game against the Nets), and were almost Wilt like; that is, people will read those numbers in 30 or 40 years and think that there had to be something up, like the competition was a bunch of 6"5' white guys or he must have been a huge ball hog, like when we try to diminish Wilt's crazy stats. Except, for those of us who watched Shaq (and were never able to see Chamberlain outside of grainy old footage and Conan movies), he really was that dominant; no numbers trickery needed. A 350 lb. (his weight was usually listed at about a small child's worth less than he actually was) behemoth, who not only could physically dominate inside, but also was able to move around pretty nimbly in his younger days. The overweight ogre trudging up and down the court for the past 5 years or so is not how I'll remember Shaq.

He also was a pioneering (so to speak) athlete/ multimedia icon. Jordan started it (and to a lesser extent Magic and Bird) by mixing fashion, movies and sports but the Diesel took the pro athlete as world wide entertainer to another level. Depending on who you ask, he may have done this to a fault, as some critics will tell you Shaq never had the commitment to basketball that could have vaulted him to greatest ever status. In the days before twitter (hell, before MySpace) Shaq was an expert self promoter who (for better or worse) paved the way for this generation of flashy one man brand names. No matter if his outside interests were a distraction, the man of many goofy nicknames was a truly one of a kind physical phenomenon on the court and that might be enough to forgive him for Kazaam, if not for Steel.

With his retirement, the era that has already begun it's fading away with the loss of the big 3 of the aughts (Spurs, Lakers and Celtics) to make room for the new big 3 is,if not officially, at least symbolically over. Shaq retires and brings with him the era of the dominant big man and leaves Grant Hill and Kobe as the last of the 90s all-stars,to make way for the new breed of superstar.

1st Annual PTU Hater J Birthday Extravaganza

We talk a lot about athletes being heroes, but next Monday America will celebrate actual heroism, and commemorate the courage that so many of us lack. And it's also Memorial day. Of course, I'm speaking of Hater J's birthday. Since that other holiday is going on at the same time, the PTU forefathers honored this occasion a week early the only way we know how: with copious amounts of beer, football and omelets.

It all started at PTU favorite Hop Devil Grill, which most of the country remembers as the site of one of the most memorable moments in sports: M@d $cientist's record breaking taco eating. Having already shattered the former record for tacos devoured, M@d decided to tackle the second most revered mark in sporting history: Mimosas chugged. The exact number is unknown (the homeless guy we paid to keep count passed out from excitement around the 20s somewhere) but let's just say there may be a shortage of orange juice in the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

After breaking another long thought unbreakable record and polishing off our steak and eggs and Captain Lawrence Liquid Golds we all travelled to Hater J's birth place, the mythical town of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. As most anyone familiar with the tri-state area can tell you, Willy B. has gone from a "keeping it real" Brooklyn neighborhood, split (as so many NY neighborhoods are) between orthodox Jews and mostly Hispanic and Black residents to a hipster artist and yuppie playground. Hater J and many o.g. W'burg people can tell you the love/hate relationship this has created for them; on the one hand the neighborhood has lost most of it's character and many of those who were born there were priced out by condos and other yuppie signifiers, but on the other, crime is down and you can pretty much do anything you please in the street without fear of police harassment. For that reason, Williamsburg makes for a great Sunday afternoon to drink styrofoam cups of beer purchased at Turkey's Nest and walk the streets like you're in some lawless hipster Mad Max world. It's great.

So, styrofoam cups of Coors light in hand, the next phase of the Hater J birthday extravaganza was put into effect: the 1st annual PTU football game. A hush fell over the crowd of assorted amateur rock stars and photographers, Jewish children celebrating their birthdays, and old people sitting on benches as the two teams lined up for what would be an epic match-up of blogging goof balls. Bottle led the attack, firing darts to myself and the chugging king with Favre like precision. The teams battled back and forth before a bone-crunching, teeth shaking birthday boy block (I'm not sure if he or $cientist took more of the punishment) freed up Snoot for a ridiculous Devin Hester like kick off return touchdown. The Jews looked away from their balloon animals, the hipsters put down their American Spirits, and it seemed like this would be the play of the day. That is until, the M@d Mimosa Chugger turned back the clock, diving face first for a one handed, ham string pulling grab that would make Dwight Clark cry like a little girl. Snoot, Mr. D and the rest of the opposing team slunk to the sidelines in disbelief and the First Annual PTU Hater J birthday extravaganza came to a fittingly dramatic close. Oh, and we also ate pretzels.

Until next year, happy birthday Hater J.

Congratulations to Us

It's finally happened. It seems like just yesterday that scruffy group up there decided to adapt their time-wasting work e-mails to a blog. After months of accolades and controversies, America's favorite blog about sports, politics, rap, tacos,sneakers, beer, 80s movies, betting, the Knicks, gay weddings and Kemba has reached 10,000 views. Thanks to all of our disappointed readers, our families and friends who make up so many of the views, and most of all to Kemba Walker for getting us here.

See you at 100,000 views soon.

Isiah Thomas: Misunderstood Genius

The other day, Kansas City sports columnist and Fox Sports contributor (and also genius) Jason Whitlock wrote a column defending Isiah Thomas. I couldn't agree more. Although he gets unjustified mistreatment from the media and fans, there is no denying the brilliance of this man.

Zeke has been a success in all ventures since his retirement from playing. His tenure as president of the CBA was flawless and was just a sign of things to come. Sure, his running of the Knicks might be maligned by everyone, but that is nothing but pure racism. Nobody ever booed or chanted for firing a white man in charge of the Knicks! Only a former player of his caliber could see the greatness in Jared Jeffries or Jerome James. The idiots who watch and write about basketball for a living only see insignificant "showy" stats like scoring, rebounding, defense, passing, intelligence, fundamentals, good team play, and whatever else you "stat geeks" want to throw around. He also showed his vision in trading for former great players like Steve Francis and Jalen Rose. Zeke really has a love for the aging athlete. And we all know about his great drafting record, but Isiah knew that draft picks weren't really a big deal. Who else would have the bravery to trade away unprotected lottery picks for unproven players? Not a coward, that's who.

Isiah's genius couldn't be confined to the court though. His impact on relations with female employees was the sign of a real man. None of that sissy stuff about respecting women. Go to the ballet with that, Lupica! And who among us wouldn't throw our own child under the bus when we almost overdosed on sleeping pills? What are children for, you bleeding heart liberals?

So next time someone tries to trash talk PTU hero, Isiah Thomas, you tell them just to look at the man's track record.

Isiah Thomas, PTU salutes you.

PTU Keeping it Real Hall of Fame Nominee: Crazy Horse 40's

While writing about the Snooty beer of the week, I got nostalgic about some of the keeping it real beer I used to enjoy prior to high class beverages like Ommegang. One stands out as being the king of keeping it real beer: the Crazy Horse 40 ounce.

Crazy Horse was that special type of 40 that would put even heavy hitters like OE to shame. Sure you had Big Bear as the cheapest 40 and Colt 45 as the classic standby, but NOTHING got the job done like Crazy Horse. We used to notice that no two bottles of Crazy Horse were ever the same, and you could tell how good one would taste by seeing how much white residue was settled at the bottom of the bottle. Although the alcohol content was similar to other 40's, there was something special about Crazy Horse that would really get you twasted.

Unfortunately, much like the St. Johns Redmen, political correctness caught up with Crazy Horse, eventually leading to it's demise. Nice piece of trivia according to "Modern Drunkard Magazine":

“In compensation for this insult and defamation to the spirit of Crazy Horse, G. Heileman Brewing Company, one of the early brewers of Crazy Horse, settled a lawsuit with a group of Native Americans by apologizing and compensating them with seven race horses, 32 Pendleton blankets, braids of tobacco and sweet grass."


Guess this wasn't enough to save the most keeping it real 40 of all time.....RIP CRAZY HORSE 40's.

The Best Bi-Racial Athletes of All Time

During a recent boring evening watching a Knicks game at a near empty bar, a few of us got to discussing Landry Fields (his possible over-ratedness will no doubt be an eventual post) which of course led to a discussion of bi-racial athletes. As a mutt myself, this is an important issue for me. The question is: Who are the best half-breeds in the history of the 3 major sports? (I supposed there might have been a hockey player who was Russian and Lithuanian or something but who knows or cares?).

Basketball
Jason Kidd


The best bi-racial basketball player of all time, his toughest potential competition would be Blake Griffin but it's too soon to tell if he'll ever reach the heights of his mulatto brother. Carmelo Anthony is also bi-racial (half Puerto Rican) but that barely counts. Honorable mention goes to Rick Fox, Shane Battier and Henry Bibby. Most pussy whipped bi-racial athlete is, of course, Doug Christie and gayest bi-racial athlete (by a landslide) is John Amaechi.

Football
Hines Ward



The half black, half Korean, 2 time super bowl champ Ward gets the nod but he is followed closely by Johnnie Morton and the Viking's Robert Smith. Almost every other decent player in the NFL is either fully black, white or Samoan. Go figure.

Baseball
Derek Jeter


This selection should come as no surprise. Not only the best bi-racial baseball player but maybe the greatest half-black athlete of any kind, Jeter dominates this field. Special honors must be given for the way that he has been able to get some of the hottest trim of any race. Honorable half-breed mentions to David Justice and Johnny Damon. If I missed any others (and I know I did) feel free to let it be known.

New Taco Tuesday Record

Congratulations to M@d Scientist, who last night set a new PTU record for tacos eaten during Taco Tuesday at Hop Devil Grill on St. Mark's. In a performance that would make Kobayashi cower in fear, M@d dominated churiso, beef and chicken crunchy and soft tacos like a true champ, downing an astonishing 45 in a half hour*.

This greasy, dead sea scroll looking thing is the damage done last night. It's kind of like looking at the box score from Wilt's 100 point game, only 100 times more dominant. M@d arrived late and had a limited amount of time, so it would be like Wilt entering the game in the 4th quarter and still hitting the century mark. I can only imagine what the toilet bowl at the slob den must look like this morning.



Salute to the M@d Scientist, PTU taco champ!

*a slight exaggeration

Happy Anniversary to us

Today marks one month of Pardon the Unemployment. I think we've come a long way. Let's keep it up.

Smokin' Joe, A Class Act

Muhammad Ali's greatness is something that people have written and spoken about for what seems forever, and rightfully so. He's arguably the greatest athlete of any modern sport. Like all great athletes, he needed his rivals to bring out the best in him and provide him with epic battles.

Watching the Knicks last night, I was reminded that today marks 40 years since the "Fight of the Century". 15 brutal rounds against two undefeated champs. People remember the fight for a multitude of reasons. I'd like to remember it for the example set by Smokin' Joe. Joe was the champ and wanted to legitimize his claim to the title. He could only do that by beating Ali. Rather than duck or hide, Frazier helped Ali stay afloat financially and did everything in his hands to make sure he got the fight.

Joe has gone on record as saying, "I didn't want the reputation of trying to duck or shun anybody." He certainly proved it by taking on the greatest fighter in the world and doing everything in his power to make sure the fight got off before a Supreme Court decision that would decide Ali's future. He proved it further by taking on an awesome George Foreman. After losing, he kept it real with saying, "I lost that fight fair and square...It ain't the first time I've been whooped."

Joe is an example of the chivalry that once existed in boxing and what a champ should be. Forty years ago today, he showed the world what a perfect left hook really looks like, and had his day as champ. Smokin' Joe, PTU salutes you.