Time To Make The History

On the radio this morning, I heard the official song of summer - one none other than 'Summertime' by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince.  That song is still fantastic and has held up over time as well as any other.  And with that, Memorial Day weekend has arrived.  Relaxing, BBQing, alcoholing, and all around good times are to be had for the next few days.  I believe there's even a little sporting event starting tonight...

In about 6 hours, the Stanley Cup Playoffs will begin.  Get ready for some fun... and history in the making.

GO FLYERS!  And grillin' goodness!

The One Where We Discuss Pitch Counts

Much has been made of the use and effectiveness of pitch counts in baseball. The way MLB is currently managed, it seems nearly all teams enforce the pitch count out of fear their multi-million dollar walking investments stay healthy.  But does it all really matter?

Glad you asked anonymous reader. The Wiz Wit is taking it upon ourselves to hash out this pitch count hubbub. Our good friend Mike is on board to take the side of pro-pitch-count. Yours truly is here to show you why pitch counts make about as much sense as thewizwit.com without dick and fart jokes.

And away we go...

The Donovan McNabb Era, Summed Up By A Woman

[This is from the latest Bill Simmons' mailbag.]

Q: Isn't the Eagles letting go of Donovan the ultimate "it's not, you it's me" scenario? Donovan has been dating the Eagles fans for years now. In the beginning it was exciting and risky. You never knew what he was going to do with the ball and he kept you on your toes. Like when my boyfriend liked to give me massages and surprise me with a card or a have breakfast for me. Each encounter (insert mood music) is hot and fresh. Then after 12 years you've found yourself faking moaning and hoping things get moving so you can fit in your 40 minutes of DVR before bed. I know all his moves and when he's going to high-step it two yards short of the first down. I know when he's going to throw it at DeSean's ankles. K-squared may not be perfect but at least his faults will surprise me. Donovan, it's been great. I loved the good times. But it's time to move on. It's not you, it's me.
-- Lauren

SG: Funny e-mail, concise, original angle. That's what I'm talking about! And by the way, only a woman could have summed up the McNabb Era in Philly.


I have to agree with Simmons on this one...she nailed it. I feel bad for her boyfriend though. He obviously sucks in bed.

Will We Ever Score Again???

Slumps happen all the time. It's a part of baseball, any self-respecting player, manager, reporter or fan will tell you that. But this is just ridiculous. The Phillies haven't scored in 27 straight innings, three full friggin' games, AND were swept by the absolutely hated Mets. No matter how you look at it, this team isn't very good right now.

Obviously it isn't time to hit full panic mode yet. Remember, this team was 39-37 last year in late June before they finally turned it on and ran away with the division. The same could happen this year, especially when you consider we now have Roy Halladay, a better Cole Hamels and J.A. Happ set to return in a few weeks. But the fact remains this team has been shutout in four of the their last five, all against non-ace type pitchers (although, admittingly, Pelfrey is pitching that way this year). If it wasn't for a three run ninth inning on Sunday, we'd be staring at five consecutive shutouts. Yuck.

No Michael Jordan, You Can't Just Wear a Hitler Stache

Now I know that this is pretty well-worn territory, but I feel compelled to speak up as a blog that leans on racial humor as a crutch features some colorful material. You know what, internet? There are some things I just won't tolerate. Very high on that list: Hitler Mustaches.

Michael Jordan, I know you're Michael Jordan. But I think you still live in this fantasy world where it's 1996 and Space Jam is still a big deal and everyone loves everything you do. The truth, Michael, is that you're really just a former basketball player.

Not a motorcyle rider/team owner, not a baseball player, not a golfer, not a professional gambling....person, none of this. You are a dude that was really good at playing basketball at one time. Maybe the best. But you were still just a basketball player. You know what that means? YOU CAN'T WEAR A HITLER MUSTACHE LIKE ITS OKAY.

You know why? Cause when the all-time leader in worst person ever has one unique feature about them, the person that later adopts that unique feature looks like an asshole.

And you look like an asshole.

No Black People Work For The Reading Phillies

This is the semi-racist giveaway of the family-friendly Reading Phillies.  I'm not sure who signed off on this, or thought a Ryan Howard lawn jockey garden gnome was a good idea, but you can have your own at their August 3rd game.  [philly.com]


Regardless, all gnomes are creepy little buggers.  And yes, I'm looking at you David.  Without Swift, you were NOTHING.

Stanley Cup Finals Preview (With Jokes!)

By TWW friend Rich
1997. That was a great time to be 13; Nike was in it’s prime and everyone my age craved the butt ugly 190 dollar basketball sneakers they made. Nike even made hockey cool, with commercials featuring Sergei Federov and our very own, Rod “The Bod” Brind’amour. A lot of boners happened in 1997, too, thanks to MTV spring break specials and scrambled porn.  However, the biggest boner I received that year came when the Flyers made it to the Stanley Cup Finals for the first time in my young life. Unfortunately, The Redwings took me to CB Perkins and ordered me cockblock waffles with blueball syrup.

And yet, here we are, 13 years later, as Flyered up as ever. The memory of the sweep still haunts us, but in retrospect, that 97 Redwings team was one of the best teams of all time(s) so it eases the pain a little, but damn, what if.... Anyway, the time has come to punish bad memories, win some mutha fuckin hockey games, take home the Stanley Cup, bring it to Old City, party with it at some stripper’s sorority, and drinkith from its herpes infested glory! Oh yes my friends, I can taste the Abreva already.

In order to drink from Stan’s mug of champions, we gotta take down the Blackhawks…like in that movie. The Flyers are the Somalian warlords that shoot down helicopters with bazookas, but instead of bazookas we have heavy slappers from the point. It’s gonna be great, I’m so Flyered up right now ova’ here!

Take a look at the matchups:

2010 Eastern Conference Champions.

I don't know much about hockey, but this is a pretty big deal. Chicago, here we come.

Go Flyers.