MichaelLortz.com/JordiScrubbings.com

Sorry folks, but I fear I have fallen victim to The Man’s evil doings. A wicked uncontollable virus struck my computer late last week and destroyed my Windows registry. So far, I have been unable to fix it. I am now in the market for a new system (preferrably a laptop). If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know in the comments.

We will return to our regularly unscheduled blog postings as soon as possible.

Thanks.

I promise this the last post about my vacation, especially considering I have been back home for three weeks. (I am really milking this, aren’t I? To be perfectly honest, I’ve been really busy with some personal issues and this is ideal filler, given you guys are actually reading it.)

Anyway, after visiting Memphis I drove an hour and a half down Highway 61 to legendary Clarksdale, Mississippi, birthplace of the blues and the place where Robert Johnson supposedly made his deal with the Devil. Unfortunately, modern times have changed the landscape of Highway 61, as it is now several miles east of its original route. The real legendary crossroads is now the intersection of Hwy 49 and Hwy 161, which, as I was surprised to learn, is a rather busy intersection. I’m not sure how ol’ Robert Johnson could have negotiated with the Devil without being seen; it’s definitely not at all like the crossroads in the Ralph Macchio movie.

(By the way, there is an amazing BBQ joint called Abe’s at the crossroads. According to the Abe’s menu, it is very possible Robert Johnson might just have been munching on some BBQ when the Devil arrived. Being that Johnson made his deal in the early to mid-1930′s and Abe’s has been there since the 20′s, their claim might be true. Although, to be perfectly honest, I don’t know why the Devil would concern himself with something as useless as a soul when there is tasty BBQ in the area. The Devil works in mysterious ways, I guess.)

While in Clarksdale, I caught all the high point tourist places: the Delta Blues Museum, the Ground Zero Blues Club, Red’s Juke Joint, and I even stayed at the world famous Riverside Inn. All of these are highly recommended not only for blues fans, but for anyone who wants to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city life and go to a place more simple, a place more quiet, and a place where you can kick back, grab some BBQ and a sweet tea, and listen to some good ol’ American music the way it’s supposed to be played: with heart, with feeling, and from the soul.

A few weeks ago I began chronicling my vacation to downtown Memphis and the Mississippi Delta. Unfortunately, due to my own laziness, I never finished the project. If you remember, I got through Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4 and left with the command for you to “Tune in tomorrow as I discuss my trip to Sun Studio, the Stax Museum, and Graceland, home of the King.”

Sorry about that. I hope you weren’t expecting too much.

Well, the “tomorrow” I mentioned is now upon you. Sort of. Instead of typing a lengthy 500-or-more word review, I’m only going to say that Graceland is overrated but quirky, the Sun Studio is one of the most important cultural landmarks in America, and the Stax Museum is amazingly underrated. I was most impressed by the Stax Museum, awed by the Sun Studio, and comically amused by the decadence of Elvis’s crib.

By the way, did you know Elvis is dead? They actually say so at Graceland. All this time I thought he was hanging out with Michael Jackson in a diner outside of Artesia, New Mexico. I don’t know what to believe anymore.

Coming soon … a review of my visit to Clarksdale, Mississippi, the Sunflower River Blues and Gospel Fest, and the locally produced blues documentary “M For Mississippi”.

Last week, blogger Rafi Kam of the blog Oh Word wrote an awesome piece on rapper Ice Cube’s classic hit “It Was a Good Day”. To summarize, Rafi Kam said that although most people now take the song out of context, Ice Cube’s classic isn’t “really about some kick-ass day. The day singled out was remarkable because for once none of the usual bullshit associated with the terror of life in the hood reared its ugly head. No hassle from carjackers or police, no one killed, the narrator can’t believe he didn’t even have to shoot at somebody.”

In other words, for one day in his life, Ice Cube didn’t have to put up with The Man.

Saturday night, another hip-hop star, Texas rapper Paul Wall, battled The Man in a more modern forum, the online world of Twitter. Once again, Ice Cube’s lyrics played a central role.

(That’s right, another Twitter-related post.)

Below is the actual exchange between Paul Wall (aka @paulwallbaby) and The Man (aka @TheManInc) that occurred approximately 2AM, Aug 23rd, 2009.

@paulwallbaby: Dodgers won, Astros won, i landed in iraq safely…. today was a good day

@TheManInc: @paulwallbaby I mess up your good day and I don’t roll right past you. I look in your direction as you run the intersection.

@paulwallbaby: @TheManInc no barkin from the dog. no smog

@TheManInc: @paulwallbaby I break up your fly dreams and flash the high beams. I look for the murder n close before 2AM so u can’t get the fat burger.

@paulwallbaby: @TheManInc i gotta go cause i got me a drop top

@TheManInc: @paulwallbaby I stop you from going on the court and causing trouble and I especially prevent you from getting a triple double.

@paulwallbaby: @TheManInc what about getting a beep from kim

@TheManInc: @paulwallbaby I swoop in n get girls when u try to hook it up for l8r n I don’t let u pick up girls u’ve been trying 2 get w since 12th grd

After this illustrious battle of wits and one-liners, Paul Wall decided to follow The Man’s twitter feed to monitor any further broadcasts by The Man. Smart move.

Oh by the way, props to Paul Wall for entertaining the troops in Iraq. If anyone knows about The Man and his daily BS, it’s the members of our military.

There is absolutely no doubt Twitter is revolutionizing the web. It is permeating every aspect of what we do online, making it live and instantaneous. It has the ability to make anyone a part of “the media”.

Today, on the 70th anniversary of the first ever baseball TV broadcast, the Hudson Valley Renegades, a Class-A minor league team of the Tampa Bay Rays, is taking baseball broadcasts into the Twitter universe. Via a website called twitcam.com, the Renegades are (currently in the 3rd inning as of 1:55pm) live streaming their game against the Staten Island Yankees.

So far they have nearly 70 viewers and have several people discussing the game through twitter with each other and the Hudson Valley Renegades twitter feed (@HVRENEGADES). There are even family members of the Renegades tuning in and contributing to the discussion. No word yet on whether there are any fans on location chiming in.

Yes, this is the future.

I wonder if they will incorporate sideline reporters into the Twitter discussion like someone (me) suggested?

Hudson Valley Renegades vs. Staten Island Yankees Live on Twitter

Update: Here is the broadcast as of 2:11pm, an hour and 4 minutes into the game.

A little over a week and a half ago, the New York Times ran an article on the growing number of high school and junior high pitchers going under the knife. Of course, this article evoked reactions from quite a few baseball fans and writers. Many gasped in terror to the thought of coaches putting young careers on the line for the sake of local championships.

Maybe I am showing my age, but when I was growing up I never played for a travel team, an all-star team, or even attended a baseball camp. I played in the Melbourne, Florida Little League. I played one season in one organized league per year. That was it. However, when not playing little league, I played in hundreds, if not thousands, of pick-up games with friends. You know the type. It was the baseball most kids played before Wii’s and PS3′s lobotomized the youth.

During my street baseball heyday, I played on several different fields, all with different rules. You had the stickball game, with automatics, a chalk strike zone on the back of building, and usually a rubber ball. There were the games on a real field, with “deadzones” – areas in which if you hit the ball to you were automatically out. There were games in the front yard, played both up the driveway or across the yard (these were generally abandoned at the age of 12). Then there was my most common field, the street.

Games in the street had much more room than games in the yard, were more contained than games on a real ballfield, and you could usually have bases, which made it more “realistic” than the stickball games. In my early to mid-teens, a few friends and I usually played ball on my block, with mailboxes for first base, a spare mitt for second, and a mark on a curb for third. For home, we had an actual rubber home plate, backed up by either a pitchback or a strategically configured stack of bicycles. Home runs were usually based on common agreement as long as the ball landed past the driveway of a neighboring home. It wasn’t The Sandlot, but it was our field.*

(Interesting aside part 1: a year ago or so I went back to my old block with the kids of my brother’s then girlfriend. As we tossed around a ball and played a game somewhat similar to pepper, a car came down the road. Not totally unexpected, as we were playing in the street. However, instead of showing contempt as the drivers did back when I was growing up, the driver actually commented how refreshing it was to see kids playing ball in the street again. I guess they don’t do that anymore.)

No matter where played or what style of game we played, there was one common theme: if you pitched, you were the pitcher for the whole game. And, for better or for worse, I was a pitcher. I threw wiffle balls, tennis balls, baseballs, or whatever else we used. It wasn’t uncommon for me to throw a steady mix of fastballs, change-ups, split-fingers, and knuckleballs for hours on end. I didn’t have a pitching coach, an instructor, or anyone else who knew anything about mechanics or proper technique.* There were no “high-pressure” or “low pressure” pitches. There was only going outside in the 90+ degree Florida sun and pretending to be everyone from Dwight Gooden to Dave Fleming (don’t ask). Heck, I don’t even remember taking much time to warm-up.

(Interesting aside part 2: For years I wondered why my fastball rode in on right-handed batters. Almost always. I thought it was just natural left-handed movement. A few years ago, however, I found out that for all those years I was throwing a two-seam fastball. I didn’t know you could throw a fastball any other way.)

My point is, are there still kids today who played as I did? These aren’t the kids who have people “protecting” their potential baseball careers, the ones with parents who can whisk them off to highly regarded surgeons for ligament surgery. There was no way my parents could have afforded to bring me to Dr. Andrews after I hurt my arm, and yes it did happen. It happened when I was 16 or so, after years of pick-up games, numerous little league seasons, and thousands of unsupervised pitches.

I don’t remember the exact date, all I remember is one summer a friend and I played a game a day for almost two weeks. That’s at least 75 or so pitches for approximately ten straight days (that’s 750 pitches for those counting at home.) Needless to say, towards the end of the second week my arm hurt. Yet, despite the pain, I went out and pitched again. As you could expect, my arm hurt even more.

Was I disappointed that when my arm stopped hurting I could no longer throw as hard? Of course I was. But that’s life. That was the Good Lord’s way of telling me I was never going to pitch at Shea Stadium, I wasn’t going to be the next Frank Viola or John Smiley (again, don’t ask), and I had no chance at making a living playing baseball.

But of course that didn’t stop me from giving it one last try.

Last weekend I had the pleasure of meeting Whit Watson of Sun Sports/Fox Sports Florida (check out his blog here). Of course, being that he is a sports reporter and I consider myself a sports fan/occasional sports blogger, and being that we are both in Florida and have been for several years, we started talking about Florida sports teams. Shocking, I know.

Included in our vast Florida sports conversation was a discussion on the Orlando Magic (odd, especially considering we had just both left the Rays-Blue Jays game.). For those who are familiar with Whit’s work, he was a television producer and radio reporter for the Orlando Magic from 1993 through 1997. Now, in his capacity with Sun Sports/Fox Sports Florida, Whit hosts Magic broadcasts and reports from Magic games. Needless to say, he knows his Magic basketball.

Eventually our conversation drifted from the current Magic team to the 1994-1995 Eastern Conference Championship team (aka “the team that lost to the Houston Rockets in the 1995 NBA Finals”). On the subject of this Magic team, Whit said something I could hardly believe. He asserted that during the 1994-1995 season Magic guard Nick Anderson and small forward Dennis Scott were among the top five in their respective positions.

(Actually, his complete assertion was that the Magic had top five players at every position. I didn’t argue Shaq, Penny Hardaway, and Horace Grant.)

I’ve always thought Nick Anderson and Dennis Scott were good, but top five at their position in 94-95? Since I put up a bit of a challenge to his claim, Whit sort of conceded Dennis Scott, but challenged me to write a post and prove him either right or wrong on Anderson. Ok ….

First and foremost, let’s look at Anderson’s stats in 1994-1995. (All stats acquired from Basketball-Reference.com.)

Nick Anderson – Orlando Magic:
Basic stats:
Points per game: 15.8
Assists per game 4.1
Rebounds per game 4.4

Advanced stats:
Player Efficiency Rating 17.5
Offensive Win Shares: 5.8
Defensive Win Shares: 2.7
Total Win Shares: 8.5
WS as a % of team wins: 14.91

Ok, now let’s look at some of the other quality shooting guards from that year.

Mitch Richmond – Sacramento Kings
Basic stats:
Points per game: 22.8
Assists per game 3.8
Rebounds per game 4.4

Advanced stats:
Player Efficiency Rating 17.2
Offensive Win Shares: 4.9
Defensive Win Shares: 3.0
Total Win Shares: 7.9
WS as a % of total team wins: 20.25

Reggie Miller – Indiana Pacers
Basic stats:
Points per game: 19.6
Assists per game 3.0
Rebounds per game 2.6

Advanced stats:
Player Efficiency Rating 20.1
Offensive Win Shares: 8.3
Defensive Win Shares: 2.7
Total Win Shares: 11
WS as a % of total team wins: 21.15

Clyde Drexler – Portland Trailblazers/Houston Rockets
Basic stats:
Points per game 21.8
Assists per game 4.8
Rebounds per game 4.3

Advanced stats:
Player Efficiency Rating 22.4
Offensive Win Shares: 8.1
Defensive Win Shares: 3.7
Total Win Shares: 11.8
WS as a total of team wins: 26% w/ Portland, 33% w/ Houston = 28.7%

(By the way, did you know Houston was actually only 16-18 during the 94-95 season after acquiring Drexler? I guess he didn’t jell until the post-season.)

Michael Jordan – Chicago Bulls
Basic stats:
Points per game: 26.9
Assists per game 5.3
Rebounds per game 6.9

Advanced stats:
Player Efficiency Rating 22.1
Offensive Win Shares: 1.2
Defensive Win Shares: 1.1
Total Win Shares: 2.3
WS as a % of total team wins: 4.8 w/ Bulls, ~ 1 w/ Birmingham Barons

John Starks – New York Knicks
Basic stats:
Points per game: 15.3
Assists per game 5.1
Rebounds per game 2.7

Advanced stats:
Player Efficiency Rating 13.8
Offensive Win Shares: 2.7
Defensive Win Shares: 3.3
Total Win Shares: 6.1
WS as a % of total team wins: 11.09

Dan Majerle – Phoenix Suns
Basic stats:
Points per game: 15.6
Assists per game 4.1
Rebounds per game 4.6

Advanced stats:
Player Efficiency Rating 15.1
Offensive Win Shares: 6.2
Defensive Win Shares: 1.7
Total Win Shares: 8
WS as a % of total team wins: 13.5

Survey says …

According to his Win Shares as a percentage of his team’s wins, Anderson was at best fourth, less important to his team’s success than Richmond, Drexler, and Miller, but better than Majerle and Starks (Starks is still one of my favorites though). Richmond was more of a scorer, responsible for more of the workload in Sacramento, and Drexler and Miller are two of the game’s best at the position. Sure, Anderson’s ranking takes full advantage of Jordan’s “baseball experiment”, but based on my crude analysis, I’m forced to agree with Whit Watson. Perhaps Anderson was a top five shooting guard during the 1994-95 season.

Who knew?

Even though I’ve only been able to drink legally for a decade, I come across some memorable bartenders. There were the big sports fans, the beer connoisseurs, the music fans, and of course, the ladies. All of whom made drinking even more enjoyable then it usually is. A good barkeep not only makes you feel welcome, but makes you feel at home, no matter had bad, how hole-in-the-wall, how run-down, or how much of a dump the place you are drinking is.

I tried my hand at bartending once. For three weeks, I worked once a week at a bar in Tallahassee. It was the end of December and I was supposed to hold the place down while the girls who normally worked there took their Christmas/Winter breaks. It really wasn’t difficult, to be honest. Then again, the most people I had at the bar at one time was three – my roommate, some random guy, and a homeless guy.

Although I worked probably close to 20 hours, I didn’t bring home a red cent. Not only did I not get paid, but I actually lost money. One night the aforementioned homeless guy came in and said he knew the owner and that the owner said to give him 10 bucks for some nearby McDonalds. Since I had seen the homeless fellow in the place before talking to the owner, I assumed maybe they were tight. I was wrong. Needless to say, the owner was not happy and I had to pay back the ten bucks, which considering I worked for tips, and I wouldn’t take my roommate’s money (it would go for food or beer for our fridge either way), meant I had to pay back the bar out of my own pocket.

Yup, I might be the only person who lost money working in a bar in a college town.

I tell this tale because my second saloon stint, albeit this time online, has come to a close. I will no longer be blogging over at Thunder Matt’s Saloon. They’ve decided to be more Cubs-centric and filter out any of the Tampa riff-raff they had floating around. But they did give me a nice severance package: a case of Old Style and a beat-up Cubs hat. So I have that going for me.

Anyway, I wasn’t the only one recently given the boot from El Saloon de Thunder Matt. A few weeks ago, the cops found out about little Baby Hack Wilson and his residence in the back of the Saloon. They not only took him away but threw him in jail for a while. So rumor has it he is not allowed in the Saloon anymore. Well, little buddy, that makes two of us.

The End of the Bottle: Baby Hack’s Sad Farewell

Greetings and salutations! Hope you remember me, I’m the baby with the bottle. The distant relative to ol’ Hack Wilson. We Wilsons never veer far from the happy spirits, you know. Great-great-great-grandpa once drank a fifth of Jack, hit a grandslam, threw back a bottle of ‘shine, walked, and then drank two beers per inning until hitting a game winning single in the bottom of the 16th. Then he went out for a victory brew. That’s why he is my idol.

Anyway, I had a little incident I think you should know about. Seems the authorities got wind of me living here in Thunder Matt’s place. I don’t know how. Maybe it was that guy who came in for a drink wearing the badge and carrying a gun. He seemed real suspicious. He kept asking White Chili if he heard a baby crying. I’ll admit I was crying, but it wasn’t my fault, Wolter was trying to wash me in a toilet bowl. And if you have ever been to the restrooms at the Saloon, you know those toilets haven’t been flushed since the Gary Varsho Era.

So the next day or so, a few cops came in the Saloon with some people from the Chicago Child Services Department. They asked some questions, got some answers, and ended up taking me away. I spent the last few weeks in the Cook County Prison. It was cool, no one messed with me. Some big guy named Zeus took care of me. He was real nice. Apparently, he was also a relative of a former Cub. Do you remember Mike Harkey? Me neither.

After a while, I was finally released from the slammer. Unfortunately, they told me I can’t live here in the Saloon anymore. Something about it being illegal for babies to live in places where they serve alcohol. Jordi said that was one of The Man’s rules. I’m not sure I believe in all that “omnipotent bugaboo” mumbo-jumbo Jordi is always talking about, but I’m going to agree with him this time.

The sad truth is now I am homeless. Perhaps I can find a home with one of the other bartenders. Maybe the College of Idiots will admit me, or perhaps the Mandfelt Family will adopt me. Or maybe those fine gentlemen of Unprofessional Foul will bring me in, or maybe I’ll go Hitler punching with Wolter. Maybe I can join Vinnie over at Mythological Inches or Ginger Russ at the Andy White Fan Club. Then, of course, there is the Shooter-loving crew over at Effectively Wild, or The Hundley’s crew over at Blog of Eternal Stench. If all fails, I’m sure The Slog or The Three Seashells will give me a place to rest my head. I’d ask Kayne, but he would probably blame my problems on the al-al-al-al-cohol.

Wish me luck as I bid farewell to the Saloon. To quote the great Snoop Dee Oh Double-G, “a tear drops my eye”.

Wow, it seems like I have doing this series for almost as long as I was on vacation. So to speed up the process, I am just taking selective tweets and elaborating on them and their meaning.

By the way, if for whatever reason you haven’t read Part 1, Part 2, or Part 3, follow the links.

a guy on the street asked me for 23 cents today. i think he was a big lebron fan. #vacation #whimsy 9:29 PM Aug 3rd

dear #memphis if i go off on the next panhandler, its your fault. you have a problem in your city. 9:47 PM Aug 4th

These tweets, although a day apart, definitely go together. If there were two negatives in Memphis it was the mosquitoes (worse than in Florida), and the beggars. By Day 2 I realized wearing my Rays made me an obvious tourist. So did going to the ATM, carrying souvenirs, wearing a blues-related t-shirt, or generally being on Beale St. It is one thing to be asked for a dollar once in a while, but the Memphis homeless do nothing short of harass people. I know the economy is rough, but my kindness has limits.

Greetings once again from #memphis. @ gibson #guitar factory. why no cameras allowed? 1:02 PM Aug 4th

Question not asked @ #gibson #guitar factory: where do they make air guitars? 1:47 PM Aug 4th

Being that Memphis is one of America’s music capitals, it only makes sense that someone build instruments there. And there is no missing the Gibson Guitar plant. Although they don’t really make clear how to buy a ticket, the plant is definitely worth checking out. Did you know a majority of the time it takes to make a guitar is spent on painting and lacquering? And that when a mistake is made the Gibson Guitar people don’t fret?

Just ate @ rendezvous in #memphis. damn good ribs. 9:42 PM Aug 4th

No trip to Memphis is complete without a visit to Rendezvous for some ribs, so said several people when I told them of my pending trip. With so many recommendations, I had to check it out. It did not disappoint. Fantastic. And to boot I sat next to two locals who told me about the city, the landmarks, and suggested several things for me to do while in town. Did I mention Rendezvous was around the corner from my hotel? Great times, indeed.

thanks #rays tweeters. on vacation, following the game thru you guys. 10:25 PM Aug 4th

come on #rays tweeters give me good news. i’m on beale st and i dont want the blues. 11:40 PM Aug 4th

if i am drunk before the #rays win, we have a problem. i started drinkin in 8th inning. #rays 11:53 PM Aug 4th

oops not trying to jinx, i meant whenb #rays end. stupid beer tweeting there. 11:58 PM Aug 4th

yay #rays i’ll tip a shiner bock for ya. thanks #rays tweeters! 12:14 AM Aug 5th

My use of Twitter while in Memphis wasn’t just commenting and pushing opinions. Through Twitter I was able to follow along as the Rays took on the rival Boston Red Sox. Rays fans such as @RaysIndex, @m_weber, and @draysbay provided plenty of real-time updates throughout what would eventually become a 13 inning marathon. Although I could have sought game updates on ESPN.com or some other sports site, reading along on Twitter made the experience much more authentic. Like fellow Rays fans were right there alongside me.

Tune in tomorrow as I discuss my trip to Sun Records, the Stax Museum, and Graceland, home of the King.