Cramming

I've been outta school for awhile, but every year around this time, I'm studying like I've got a final the next morning in a class I just bought the book for. Unfortunately, this has much more dire consequences: I'm getting ready for my annual fantasy football draft.

It's non-stop fun scurrying around the internet trying read every little news update on players who I had no idea existed. By the time I make it to the draft and pound the traditional beer and partake of other, uh, party favors, all of the knowledge I've accumulated by then is gone.

I consider my draft a success if I:

1. Have all of my starting positions filled. Nothing says "bad draft" like getting to the last round and realizing you're missing a starting WR.

2. None of my fellow owners have heckled any of my picks too badly. Bonus points if I get to heckle others.

3. I am completely faded and ready for the traditional after-draft poker game.

Number 3 is a given, so wish me luck in getting points 1 and 2 taken care of.

RIP, Gene Upshaw

In recent years, Gene Upshaw has been known as the head of the NFL players union. For me and the rest of the Raider Nation, he'll always be remembered as one of the leaders of those legendary Raider teams of the 70s.

He's not seen in the video below, but his spirit is well represented. The work he did after his playing career for all players, Raider and non-Raider, is proof of his ongoing Committment to Excellence.

Poker 101

In no-limit hold 'em, you must be able to put your opponent on a hand. It's not enough to just play your hand: figuring out what hands he/she plays and how they play them is one way to win consistently.

When your opponent enters a pot, are they raising with a big pair (AA, KK)? Are they limping in (i.e., calling) with suited connectors (e.g., 9 of hearts and 8 of hearts)? Are they smooth-calling (i.e., calling another player's raise) with garbage (e.g., 8 of spades and 4 of diamonds) in hopes of outplaying you after the flop?

Using your opponents' "tells" (body language, betting patterns, conversation, etc), you should be able to put him/her on a range of hands. If you go to the flop, then you'll be able to narrow that range down a bit. Poker is a game of incomplete information and in hold 'em, each card that's shown will help you make decisions as the hand progesses.

Scroll down below for a screen capture from one of the dozens of poker shows saturating TV these days. Professional Mike Matusow thinks he has the best hand, but it's pretty obvious that his opponent has a Big Pair. The correct play is to fold.

Ba-dum-dum. Thank you, I'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waitress.

Freeroll

I've finally recovered after the Lakers loss in the finals a coupla weeks ago. Honestly, I wasn't as bummed as I should've been. Sure, it sucks losing to the hated Celtics, but if you would've told me at the start of the season the Lakers would be two games away from winning the championship, I would've called you an idiot. And I would've used most, if not all, of Mr. Carlin's seven words in doing so (RIP, George. I always loved your work, especially your breakdown of football and baseball).

The Lakers amazing playoff run was what poker players call a freeroll. This is when you can't lose a hand -- it's a tie, but you still have a shot to win. This normally happens in hold em when you and your opponent have the same starting hand (for example, Ace-King), but the board has flush cards and they match your hand. You both have ace high, but now you're freerolling because you can win by hitting the flush. In other words, you can't lose. Got it?

The Lakers were freerolling this postseason. Seriously, after Kobe asking to be traded and Buss confirming that they were shopping Kobe, anything other than a trade or an early playoff exit was a win for us Laker fans. But to go all the way to the finals without our best big man in Bynum? That's a freeroll, my friends. Yes, the Lakers lost, but after the offseason and early season turmoil, this team is ready to begin yet another dynasty for the Greatest Franchise in All Sports. Boston was lucky to win their title this year cuz now they're gonna go another 20 years until they show up in the finals again (unless Kevin McHale stays in Minnesota for another 20 years and "trades" his best player to the Celtics again).

Thanks to all of my friends who emailed/texted/called with their condolences. You like me, you really like me! And major props to the lady who cheered me up by sending a photo of her cleavage. That helped me forget about the Lakers loss for two minutes ... although it might've been three.

Another thing that helped me get over this season: The Girls of Stare. This is the Greatest. Show. Ever. I'm going out on a limb here, but I think this will sweep the Emmys (preview below).

GO LAKERS!!!

You Are the Government

Been reading a buncha stuff on the upcoming election and instead of boring you with my take, check out this video someone made for an old Bad Religion tune.

I dig this song, but it's too damn short! So punk rock.

Sin City

I’ve been thinking about Las Vegas lately, so here’s something I’d written for a friend's myspace blog a few months ago. Hooray for cut-and-paste.

Kim Kardashian in Las Vegas. Good times.

10 Things About Me, the Vegas Version:

1. I once spent an entire Saturday night/Sunday morning at a strip club. In the middle of my umpteenth lap dance, I realized I hadn’t gotten my NFL bets down. I jumped in a cab, made it to the sportsbook with minutes to spare and placed my bets. I then took another cab back to the club to continue my lap dance. I don’t know if this makes me a degenerate gambler or degenerate sex addict. Probably both.

2. I shot craps with a goodfella who was a dead ringer for Junior Soprano. I lost $100 in about 10 minutes ... the same amount of time it took Junior to lose nearly $10,000.

3. One of my birthdays I ended up drunk, stoned, and puking my guts out in my hotel bathroom. Naked.

4. Over the years I’ve learned that when a beautiful woman asks, "Are you a cop?" she’s not just making conversation.

5. Back when he was still the champ and before he went to prison, I saw Mike Tyson shut down an entire jewelry store at the Hilton. Dude had the biggest neck and the meanest don’t-fuck-with-me-while-I-try-on-my-bling scowl I’d ever seen.

6. Unfortunately, in keeping with the traditional bachelor-party gag order, I cannot reveal the details of any of the bachelor parties I’ve attended in Vegas. I’ll just say that I could’ve (should’ve) been arrested for various misdemeanors ... and felonies.

7. Brett Favre has single-handedly cost me more money than any other professional athlete. It never fails to happen: the Something About Mary star either throws the dumbest interception or makes the miracle touchdown to ruin the point spread. I’m convinced that when he finally retires, I’ll be able to recoup some of the thousands he’s cost me in NFL bets. (NOTE: Now that he’s retired, let’s go to the sportsbook!)

8. I’ve fallen in love more times at the Crazy Horse Too than at any other place in the world. The feeling lasts until I’m all out of money.

9. I’m a non-smoker, but I always go through a pack of smokes whenever I’m in Vegas.

10. I couldn’t believe how crappy I felt at the end of my last trip to Sin City. I was actually drinking hot tea, hoping to fend off my impending illness. I wonder if it had anything to do with the fact that I played poker for 28 of the 36 hours I was in town? Nah ...

Scorecard

Long before ESPN, the Internet, and cell phone updates, I got all of my sports-related information from the Los Angeles Times. My dad would bring home the paper every night and I'd go straight to the sports section. Sometimes on the weekend we'd go down the street to pick up donuts and the paper. Other times, we'd get the paper before a stop at the barbershop. I preferred donuts to haircuts, but those were the breaks.

If the Lakers had played the night before, then I'd read that story first before turning to page two for Allan Malamud's “Notes On A Scorecard” column. Malamud (“Mud” as his colleagues and thousands of readers called him) was my favorite sportswriter, along with the legendary Jim Murray.

“Notes” ran a few days each week and was filled with Mud's insider views and observations on the L.A. sports scene. I loved how he covered every sport, pro or college, in his quick, concise style. A few years later, I'd appreciate how he'd occasionally offer a tip on a horse at Santa Anita or Hollywood Park. I always wondered how much his column affected the odds at the track.

When I became sports editor of my college paper, I wrote a weekly column based on Mud's template. While I felt my professor/editor would’ve frowned on me handicapping the horse races, I did provide my own insider take on our school’s teams. It was a great experience and I briefly considered a life as a professional sportswriter.

Mud died years ago and it's a bummer that not much was written about him. I still think of him and Jim Murray whenever I open up the Times sports section. Click here for a nice tribute to Malamud.

So, in honor of the late, great Allan Malamud, here are my thoughts on recent events in the sports world. I'm not an insider, but a fan ... so let's call this Notes on a Fan's Scorecard. (Patriots and Celtics fans, you should probably stop reading now. You've been warned)



As a Raider fan, I gotta admit that it was sweet watching the Patriots lose the Super Bowl and their quest for a perfect season.

After referee Walt Coleman screwed the Raiders in New England with his bullshit interpretation of the Tuck Rule, it was fitting that a New York player named Justin Tuck had a major hand in beating the Cheating Patriots.

While I don't think Belichick's walking off the field with one second left was as bad as the Pistons walking off the court against the Bulls in '91, it was still a pretty shitty thing to do.

Of course, this is the same asshole who routinely made a mockery of the post-game handshake and ran up the score in various games this season, so it's not that surprising.

Karma's a bitch, Bill.

Worst call of the Super Bowl came after the game: The Giant's defensive line deserved to be MVP, not Eli.



Super Bowl commercials that scored high with the crowd I was watching with: Naomi Campbell and the “Thriller” lizards, the Budweiser “Rocky” Clydesdale, and Pepsi's Night at the Roxbury.

Honorable mention: Justin Timberlake's magnetic attraction.

My personal favorite: the Victoria's Secret ad. Sure, it was boring and lame, but Adriana Lima on a 60-inch HD television can sell me anything, anytime.

Worst commercial: the one featuring pandas with bad Chinese accents. Memo to ad executives: stick to funny animals, beautiful women, or celebrities getting slammed in the groin to sell your products. There's a certain time, place, and manner for joking about racial stereotypes and this wasn't it, morons.



Laker fans, repeat after me: “Mitch, I'm sorry.”

Like every other Angeleno, I've bitched and moaned about Mitch Kupchak since he took over for Jerry West, but he's pulled off two Logo-like moves this season: first, Brian Cook and Maurice Evans for Trevor Ariza and now Kwame “Expiring Contract” Brown and Javaris Crittenton for Pau Gasol.

David Stern and the NBA are creaming in their jeans right now thinking of a possible L.A.-Boston finals. I expect every referees' calls to go the Lakers and Celtics way until they meet in June.

It'd be a lot easier to guarantee a Lakers-Celtics final if Tim Donaghy was still an NBA ref.

The best part of the Lakers-Grizzlies deal is that Jerry West is no longer the Grizzlies GM and can't be accused of helping his former team, unlike the Cheating Celtics' GM Danny Ainge and his “trade” for Kevin Garnett from former teammate and Wolves GM Kevin McHale.

To paraphrase Pat Riley, I guarantee the Lakers will win the NBA title next year ... if not this year.



Let's hope Joe Torre pulls a Phil Jackson and gets the Dodgers to start playing like champions.

Even with the addition of Torre, though, I don't like the fact that the Dodgers raised ticket prices in the top deck to $11. I paid $6 just two years ago.

Go support your local minor league team. Mine is down the street and for less than $20 I can get a ticket, parking, a hot dog and a beer. That's half of what it costs to do the same at Dodger Stadium.

In L.A. the first true sign of spring is Vin Scully's voice on the airwaves.



Unfortunately, spring also usually means the end of the Kings' hockey season, when they're long out of the playoff picture. This season, the Kings' spring started in December.

Luckily for the Kings, nobody watches the NHL anymore, so their horrible season has gone by unnoticed ... much like these last few sentences after the photo above.

Happy Holidays!

I've posted links to these Christmas stories before, but they're worth revisiting. The first features Mel Torme and the second you might recognize as the coda from the film Smoke.

If you don't feel like reading, then check out this video version of a classic Christmas song. Happy holidays everybody!

P.S. Actually, this might be the Greatest. Christmas. Song. Ever.

UPDATE 12/26: The above video ("Jingle Bell Rock" from the film Mean Girls) was removed from youtube. What a drag. It features Lindsay Lohan at her absolute peak and Lacey Chabert looking pretty hot (and making me feel like a dirty old man for watching an episode of Party of Five). Anyways, here's a photo from the movie. Now go rent it.

No Sale

I'm staying away from the Day After Thanksgiving Sale madness today. I did it years ago and was scarred for life.

The top three reasons why I don't do Black Friday anymore:

1. I don't wanna spend money I don't have

2. I don't wanna deal with finding a parking space

3. I don't wanna deal with the crowds

Of course, when I went to a club in L.A. the night before Thanksgiving, these same reasons could be applied to why I shouldn't be in a club in L.A. the night before Thanksgiving. I guess I just couldn't resist the allure of $10 drinks and the headache-inducing volume of the latest dance hits.

It was a lot of fun, though (not the $10 drinks, but shaking my ass with the masses). In addition to my health, family, and friends, the go-go dancers gave me plenty to be thankful for.

I made it home in one piece and was fully functional for the next day's festivities at my brother's place. We ate, drank, and laughed all day and late into the night. I slept off my remaining hangover and woke up today ready for the traditional leftover turkey sandwiches.

Panic set in when I realized we were out of bread and I'd have to brave the retail world. I decided to improvise and wound up with a surprisingly delicious Top Ramen Turkey and Egg soup. Now I'm trying to figure out what to do with this leftover stuffing. I've got a bag of fried pork skins that's been calling my name the last coupla days. Do I dare merge the two?

Since I'm seriously considering a stuffing-and-fried-pork-skins meal right now, I guess I'll have to go to the store now. Or smoke a joint.

Evolution

The other day I was working on my annual Laker blog, but it wasn't coming together. I was so frustrated and bitter about the whole Kobe Bryant situation that all I ended up with were blogs like "101 Reasons Why Kobe Will Never Win Another Championship," "What Really Happened That Night in Colorado," and "Screw Kobe: Trade His Multi-Millionaire Whining Ass, Then Lower Beer Prices at the Staples Center."

Before last night's home opener, I told my brother that no self-respecting Laker fan should cheer for the (alleged) rapist when he was introduced. So it was nice to see that most of the fans in LA last night were booing him as loudly as I was.

So long, Kobe. Have fun not winning a championship for whatever team you end up on.

I need something to cheer me up. How about the Evolution of Dance in only six minutes?

Chatting

During my weekly poker game, it can be a real gabfest, as long as it's not during the hand being played. Usually, it's a poker-related or politically incorrect joke, but sometimes a juicy bit of gossip will get us going like a bunch of Chatty Cathy dolls. There are two women who are regulars in the game, but it's usually the guys who chat like it's a damn sewing circle.

The other day someone mentioned that he went to the same high school as Jessica Alba. He graduated the year she was a freshman and before she became The Jessica Alba. We all did our best Wayne-and-Garth "We're Not Worthy" bit before getting back to the cards.

Not much point to this story, except it gives me an excuse to post Miss Alba's scene from Sin City. Call me crazy, but I thought she deserved an Oscar for this performanc.

Covered

Many moons ago, I played guitar in a few metal bands that you've never heard of. It was a wilder and simpler time back in the day, when men were men and women were groupies.

Just kidding, ladies, I know I'm being bad. You can spank me later.

The bands I was in usually did a song written by someone else. Why? Well, sometimes we wanted to honor a band that inspired us by playing one of their songs. Perhaps one of our new tunes wasn't working out, so we'd use the cover song to round out the set list. Or maybe we wanted to score a sure hit with the audience, since there's no better way to guarantee applause than playing a song you know they already loved.

One summer I played at a campground near Magic Mountain. There were six bands, a buncha kegs, and various substances of questionable legality. It was our version of a thrash metal Woodstock. My band was up third in the order and we took the makeshift stage before the sun was set to go down.

Our show went well and as we closed our set, the crowd roared when they heard the sustain of the opening notes to Slayer's "Raining Blood." The moment the drums kicked in, everybody went crazy. I tried to concentrate on my playing, but couldn't help watching the bodies flying everywhere and the big cloud of dust being kicked up by the mosh pit. Of course, the inevitable fight started in the pit and one of my buddies was shot as we finished the song.

Park rangers, medics, and nearby police were on the scene in no time. My buddy was fine – the bullet grazed his hindquarters and caused no serious damage. The cops, however, didn't look too kindly on the hundreds of drunk, stoned, and in some cases armed, longhairs and were threatening to shut the whole thing down. My girlfriend and I took off, looking for a place where we could have a few drinks and listen to music without a bunch of drama.

It turned out to be the last show that she would ever attend. I guess she wasn't into going to thrash metal shows in the middle of nowhere with a buncha gang members shooting each other. Not even for the free beer.

Here are the videos to a few of my favorite cover songs. Try not to get shot while watching them.

Imagine by A Perfect Circle (covering John Lennon). Lennon has never sounded heavier.

My Humps by Alanis Morissette (covering Black Eyed Peas). Alanis took a sugar-coated pop song and gave it substance.

Metro by System of a Down (covering Berlin). I didn't think an 80s pop song would work for SOAD, but I was wrong.

Satisfaction by Devo (covering the Rolling Stones). Brilliant in the fact that it sounds nothing like the original.

Walk This Way by Run DMC (covering Aerosmith). A pretty straight-forward version of classic Aerosmith, but an important one since it helped show that hip hop and rock weren't musically exclusive.

Where Did You Sleep Last Night? by Nirvana (covering Lead Belly). This version doesn't stray too far from the original, but when Kurt starts wailing in the last half, it's all Nirvana.

My Way by Sid Vicious (covering Frank Sinatra). I wonder if Sid and Frank are jamming this one in the afterlife?

Hurt by Johnny Cash (covering Nine Inch Nails). If I hadn't been familiar with the original, I would've sworn this was a song written by the Man In Black himself.

Gin and Juice by Richard Cheese (covering Snoop Doggy Dogg). More rap needs to be covered like this, biatch.

Hazy Shade of Winter by The Bangles (covering Simon and Garfunkel). I was best friends with the drummer in my first band. Sometimes after our practice sessions, we'd switch instruments: he'd take over my guitar while I banged away on the drums. Even though we played music influenced by the Big Four of thrash metal (Metallica, Megadeth, Anthrax, and Slayer), we LOVED the Bangles. We had many intense, hours-long debates over who was hotter, Vicki Peterson or Susanna Hoffs, before we finally covered their cover of Simon and Garfunkel's "Hazy Shade of Winter." It was much more thrash-metal-sounding than "Walk Like An Egyptian."

Video Killed the Radio Star

When I get married to my next ex-wife, I want these guys to play my wedding. They're the geniuses behind three of the Greatest. Music. Videos. Ever.

Ten

My last Top Ten List was written over a year ago, so it's time for an update. I sacrificed many hours this weekend for you, Dear Reader, scouring the Internet for photos of my favorite female celebrities. It was an arduous task, wading through hundreds and hundreds of not-safe-for-work photos. I continued the search long into the night for your reading pleasure. No need to thank me, though; the search was reward enough. Maybe I'll reward myself again this weekend.

Top Ten Hottest Female Celebrity List, Version 2.0:

1. Aishwarya Rai
2. Angel Locsin
3. Beyonce
4. Megan Fox
5. Kat Von D
6. Jessica Alba
7. Salma Hayek
8. Rose McGowan
9. Scarlett Johansson
10. Gillian Anderson
11. Rachael Ray (my WTF?! Pick)

The Breakdown (* was on last year's list):

1. Aishwarya Rai: If I was at the Crossroads and the Devil asked me if I wanted rock n' roll immortality or one night with Miss Rai, I'd jump on the next Satanic Express to India for the Greatest Night in the History of My Soon-To-Be-Ending Life.

2. Angel Locsin: I can't think of a more fitting name for this young lady, although I prefer She-Who-Wants-GMP Locsin.

3. Beyonce*: Marlowe once wrote of Helen of Troy, "Was this the face that launched a thousand ships?" If he'd seen Beyonce, he would've written, "Was this the face that launched a thousand websites?"

4. Kat Von D: Reminds me of a cuter Joanna Angel (see below). She's the only tattoo artist I'd let tattoo me ... with a nail gun.

5. Megan Fox: Millions of teenaged boys did naughty things after seeing her in Transformers while millions of older men also, uh, enjoyed her role in that film.

6. Jessica Alba: Narrowly missed last year's list, but she can't miss two years in a row. She'll always be in contention, even if she continues to make crap like Fantastic Four.

7. Salma Hayek*: If your pants are still on by the end of this clip featuring Salma, then you're either a) not attracted to women or b) dead.

8. Rose McGowan*: Almost didn't make it back this year, but the opening of Planet Terror sealed the deal.

9. Scarlett Johansson*: I finally saw Match Point and even though I'm not a big Woody Allen fan, I gotta give the man props for letting Scarlett do what she does best: be smoking hot.

10. Gillian Anderson*: On my list years ago and made it back for this version, only because I've been watching a lot of X-Files re-runs lately. If the FBI was after me, I'd want Scully assigned to the case. She could slap those handcuffs on me and I'd enjoy it.

Those who didn't make it back from last year's top ten:

Joanna Angel: My favorite porn star has been keeping herself busy by releasing the cinematic classics The XXXorcist, Ass Angels 5, and Cum On My Tattoo.

Hiromi Oshima: My favorite Playboy Playmate.

Raquel Gibson: My other favorite Playboy Playmate.

Fergie: She's talented, she's hot ... but I still have nightmares of this photo.

Gwen Stefani: I'll always have love for Gwen. At least she hasn't pulled a Fergie.

Rachael Ray: Didn't make the Top Ten, but she's now my WTF?! Pick. She's as perky/annoying as ever, but also hot in that perky/annoying kinda way. I'd pour EVOO all over her in a New York minute.

From Concrete

"Hey, I just realized today is a sad day," I emailed my friend, a big Tupac Shakur fan. "I don't wanna make you cry, but 11 years ago today, Tupac died."

She reminded me that it was also the same day that her best friend had been killed in a car accident.

"Well, since I just made your day," I typed, "I guess I'll go club some baby seals now."

Eleven years ago, Tupac released the double album All Eyez On Me. It was one of my CDs in heavy rotation that year, along with the first Cypress Hill album, Dr. Dre's The Chronic, and James Brown's Greatest Hits. I remember listening to the first disc of All Eyez On Me dozens of times before I even popped in the second disc. The album wasn't as political or incendiary as his earlier work, but it was an instant classic and cemented his reputation as one of the genre's greatest performers.

I was fascinated by Tupac: he was a walking, talking contradiction at times, not only in his music, but also in his life. He sang praises to single mothers in "Keep Ya Head Up," then sang praises of the player's lifestyle in "I Get Around." He stole scenes as a thug in Juice, then as Janet Jackson's love interest in Poetic Justice. He was a well-read poet who'd studied in performing-arts schools and was involved with a theater company before hitting the big time and living his self-proclaimed thug life.

I was finishing my final year at UCSB when All Eyez On Me was released. I was taking a full load of courses, working part-time at the campus newspaper and living in a shitty apartment in Goleta with my girlfriend. That spring we took a trip to Las Vegas. My game of choice back then was pai gow poker and in between hands, I'd serenade the dealer with a selection from the latest Tupac CD. I slurred the chorus, "Scandalous, you're so scandalous," as the dealer took my chips and began dealing the next hand. I sounded exactly like Tupac; that is, if Tupac was a drunk Filipino playing $5 pai gow poker at three in the morning.

I took my final class that summer and was in a post-graduation funk, trying to figure out what to do next. Most of my friends were still around, and one night in September, Mike Tyson was unifying the heavyweight title against Bruce Seldon in Las Vegas. My buddies and I drank cheap beer and watched the pay-per-view prelims before the main event, bummed we couldn't be in Sin City, but surprised to hear Tupac's "Ambitionz Az A Ridah" as Tyson's ring-walk music. Tupac and Tyson? Damn, it was a good night.

A week later, Tupac was dead.

He'd been shot several times after the fight, at the corner of Flamingo Road and Koval Lane. He was on life support for a few days, but finally succumbed to the wounds on September 13, 1996. He was 25.

The morning of his death, I saw the news on TV and walked outside of my apartment. My neighbor asked, "Did you hear about Tupac?" I remember answering yes, but nothing else from our conversation. I talked to a few friends, then my brothers and it seemed like we were all in a daze.

In the years that followed, Tupac's legacy flourished as posthumous albums, movies, and books were released and various conspiracy theories about his death were hatched, and like so many other great artists, the What If? question will always be attached to discussions of him.

Below are two my favorite pieces by Tupac that reveal his paradoxical nature: the first is a poem that shows his sensitive, contemplative side; the second is a video that shows off his raunchy, don't-give-a-fuck attitude. I miss them both.

The Rose That Grew From Concrete

Did you hear about the rose that grew
from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature's law is wrong it
learned to walk with out having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping it's dreams,
it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else ever cared.

How Do U Want It (video from All Eyez On Me)

Hammer Time

For my poker-playing buddies ... Happy Hammer Day!!!



Yup, it's July 2nd, or 7-2, which in poker terms is The Hammer. Why? Because 7-2 offsuit is the worst starting hand in hold 'em and if played properly, can crack aces (the best starting hand).

In my regular poker game, we have an ongoing side bet where anyone that wins a pot with The Hammer, be it through getting lucky or by bluffing everyone, gets a buck from everyone at the table. Hundreds of dollars have been won and lost via The Hammer.

Add this nifty little side bet to your next poker game and you'll soon be singing the praises of 7-2 offsuit.

All Hail The Hammer!

300

Been awhile since I've gone to the movies, but there was no way I was gonna miss 300. Let's cut to the chase: this movie kicked MUCHO ass! This is what Gladiator wished it could've been. I'd never read Frank Miller's graphic novel before, but from what I've read online, this is a faithful adaptation. The dialogue is definitely Frank Miller, albeit set hundreds of years B.C.

The plot: the king of Sparta leads 300 of his finest men on a suicide mission against the Persian army, which is tens of thousands of soldiers strong. I'm sure y'all are smart enough to figure out how this one ends, so there's no reason for the usual *SPOILER* warning.

300 is a guy's movie through and through. TONS of fighting, gratuitous nudity, some drug use and a rock n' roll soundtrack. I agree with the reviewer who said it was like Gladiator meets Sin City. It's totally over-the-top, comic-book style violence and it works perfectly. The body count is high (literally, in one scene) and the bloodshed is by the bucketful.

Of course, seeing any gladiator movie makes me think of Peter Graves in Airplane and there is plenty of male flesh to satisfy all. There are also a coupla *slow clap* moments and a few politics-of-war scenes, but like any good guy movie, they're kept to a minimum so we can get more shots of warriors slaughtering each other and the king giving no-mercy-take-no-prisoners speeches.

Highly recommended if you like guy films. Not recommended if you don't like lots of maiming, killing, beheading, dismembering, and bloodshedding. And did I mention the gratuitous nudity? Honestly, not enough nakedness, but the early love scene with the king and queen is hot. Seeing her boobs is just enough to offset the huge sausage-fest that is any good gladiator movie.

And it's all over

Like the Super Bowl every year, the Oscars never live up to the hype. And like the Super Bowl, the Oscars are never as much fun without a friendly wager on it.

And I'll be watching both next year.

Best Picture

Jack Nicholson rules. Even more so than Clint cuz Jack's a Laker fan. Props again to Scorsese for winning best picture. I was 4-for-5 tonight.

Best Director

Finally! Props to Scorsese, who's directed some of my favorite movies of all time: Goodfellas, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, The Departed, etc.