Blogging on Meds

I’m not going to condone felony hit-and-run on the 55 in a monster truck. Nor am I going to make light of driving said monster truck (complete with a giant picture decal of yourself) down the wrong way of a crowded Balboa street “causing pedestrians to flee in terror.” Running red lights, crashing into cars, driving on the median and almost killing innocent people in Newport Beach… none of these things constitute normal behavior. I can’t even begin to speculate on what caused the UFC and PRIDE fighter, Quinton “Rampage” Jackson to freak out like this last Tuesday, but I sincerely feel for him.

It’s easy for even the most compassionate people to dismiss a guy like this. He beats people up for a living, he’s testosterone personified, a giant ego with a giant truck to match… I get it. They attribute his actions to steroids and/or drugs and claim it was his choice but don’t bother ask if there could be a bigger, more complex problem that not only made this possible but even probable.

I met Quinton after I moved to Huntington Beach, California around early 2000. I was running my gear company, called Next Level – designing and marketing merchandise and starting to sponsor fighters. I was also training Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu almost full-time and backstage at a lot of fights. A bunch of gyms at the time were either in location limbo or wrapped up in partner politics, so I was a constant visitor to several simultaneously around Orange County and LA. Quinton had moved to HB recently as well, his goal was to become a professional fighter but he was basically living in his car he was so broke. But he was always a nice guy that never complained, he was never too good to learn from anybody smaller or less experienced than him, never too prideful to ask for help, never too egotistical to see his own flaws and never too tired to work. He got hyped when you caught him in a knee-bar and was quick to congratulate you, but he would only let it happen once (true story). When it became pretty obvious that all the pros were buzzing about him and those top pros that visited were starting to get their asses kicked by him in training, he still talked humbly about his aspirations and his kids. He later beat almost all of those pros in Pride and UFC rising quickly to the top.

It’s fair to ask if steroids or drugs were involved when it pertains to the mixed martial arts world - steroids are fairly common throughout the professional social ranks and the in-crowd of hobbyist fighters in the United States and even more in countries like Brazil and Japan where the sport is absolutely huge and winners are national heroes. Up until somewhat recently, MMA was considered an outlaw’s sport in the U.S. with ex-military fighters from fallen third-world countries (where drugs and roids are plentiful) and old-school juicers dominating the top international levels of the sport. Sympathizers of Baseball’s (or cycling’s) steroid problem take notice - all excuses apply, ie: the pressure is too much, everybody’s doing it, can’t be competitive without it, we’ve got hungry mouths to feed, etc. The most serious painkillers are around too; you just have to ask anybody on the mat if they know a good sports medicine doctor and you’ll soon be drugged up enough to giggle through arm-lock training with your torn rotator cuff.

See Mark Kerr shooting up opiates in the HBO documentary “The Smashing Machine” or Rico Rodriguez’s first episode on Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew for good examples.

A couple of weeks ago, Quinton lost the UFC Light Heavyweight Championship to Forrest Griffin. Then Tuesday something we don’t yet understand obviously triggered Rampage to freak out. We don’t know if it was drugs, roids, depression or some other serious problem but in time we will find out the truth. If you’re so quick to judge Rampage as guilty of his own vices and condemn him to bad karma, you should have your “compassionate” card pulled.

Dana White, President of the company that owns the UFC was on a plane reportedly in 17 minutes to help. To the best of my knowledge, companies don’t usually show that kind of love for their employees and that might just be what this industry and many others need. After being released on $25,000 bail on Tuesday, Quinton was 5150’ed (committed to a mental hospital) for a three-day mental evaluation on Wednesday. White mentioned that Quinton been fasting - drinking only energy drinks and effectively not sleeping for a few days straight.

Before we move on to labeling Quinton “crazy” let’s just slow down and compare this to other famous freak-outs. If Quinton were a comedian, where would your prejudices lean? After Dave Chappelle walked away from like $50 million with Comedy Central and went to Africa, the press and the public called him crazy only when they weren’t alleging hard drug abuse. After the dust settled, Dave came back for an interview on Inside The Actor’s Studio where he used the example of Martin Lawrence to put this subject into perspective. “The worst thing to call somebody is crazy, it’s dismissive,” Chappelle said. Dave asked how Martin Lawrence, having survived great success and a stroke with a smile ended up screaming on the street waving a gun? Seems like a valid question to me.

“These people are not crazy. They are strong people. Maybe the environment is a little sick.” Chappelle said

These photos of the Haitian food crisis are from May, but I never caught them. By Eric Thayer.

Yesterday I mentioned that children should be causing trouble in the woods not rolling around on Heelys and listening to Wilco.  Judging by the graphics from  newly launched New Jersey based comapny Totally Skateboards, they agree.

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I see muscle cars, fire, butterfly knives and chains. All things of these objects seldom lead to anything productive but they are fun as hell. In fact if you put them all together, marinate them in yellow beer and drop them in New Jersey you have a good fucking time in the making…unless you’re a girl I guess.

Jersey boys Dave Wasnak, Pat Guidotti, and Anthony Anastasio were united in the desire to create a skateboarding first company with quality products using top notch wood and simple, functional shapes.

Peep the promo to see new and old blood rip and get ready to be wiped out TOTALLY! (If you’re a surfboard dude of course….AYE!)

Totally Skateboards

Papelbon takes it easy. JD Drew, ASG MVP, hits 7th inning homer.

Best All Star Week Ever? ASG in Review

On Monday night I sat in Yankee Stadium’s right field lower deck, two rows back from the foul pole, just barely in fair territory. Great seats for a Home Run Derby. And a perfect vantage for watching Josh Hamilton’s dingers fly during his record breaking first round. By home run number 12, all 55,000 Bronx fans chanted “Hamilton, Hamilton!” Corny as it sounds, the chills were a-goose-bumpin. When he railed like 13 straight with 7 outs, most to the upper deck or deep into the bleachers, my awe-factor reached boner status. Ending with a dead center shot, Hamilton’s 28 homers broke Bobby Abreu’s record of 24 and earned him a long standing ovation and place in Yankee lore (barf).

It was my fourth or fifth time at the Toilet this year. On previous visits, as much as I tried to get nostalgic for The House That a Bad Trade Built, it never hit me—until Hamilton. Seeing an entire stadium—the biggest in the majors—packed with baseball nuts on their feet cheering for some guy who spent his early 20s smoking crack was beautiful. I’m hardly a mystical, metaphoric baseball fan (it’s just a game), but I love communal energy focused on pure athletic power and talent.

This was my second Derby. Back in 99, I was at the Home Run Derby in Boston. Then, Mark McGuire hit 13 homers in the first round, a record, some of which flew above the old Green Monster Coke bottles to heights still unmatched in Fenway history. Like Hamilton, McGuire lost the Derby (to Ken Griffey Jr). Like Hamilton, McGuire’s performance legitimized the Derby, making it more than just a dunk contest or some dumb spectacle. When a guy like an Ortiz or Abreu goes on a Derby tear, it becomes a once-in-a-lifetime oppurtunity to see the hardest feat in sports at the highest level.

Yesterday I went up the All Star parade on 6th Ave in Midtown. Arriving late, and finding it sparsely attended, I missed A Rod and Jeter, but caught JD Drew and Captain Tek sitting together in the back of a Chevy truck (official MLB sponsor). The fifty people on the corner of 57th barely booed, but boo they did. Mo Rivera drove by wearing the worst brown-on-brown biz casual/Latin yuppie outfit.

Then Josh Hamilton came by and was given the best non-Yankee response. Doing his best Tom Brady, Hamilton, in a white shirt tucked into chinos, was all humble smiles. The “Josh” chants, overwhelming cheers, and so many happy onlookers (”That’s him!” screamed a girl in a sundress to another, who responded, “The cokehead who hit all those home runs last night! He’s hot!”) made me realize this guy’s about to score some big time endorsement deals. You don’t come to New York and steal the spotlight without Madison Ave noticing. Look for a Hamilton NIKE deal by week’s end.

When the most hated man in NYC, Jon Papelbon, rolled by in a grey suit and tie, he flicked off the crowd with a World Series ring. (Love it.) Boos and “faggot” chants came in response. Pap’s comments the day prior to reporters, saying him not Mo Rivera should close the ASG, were plastered with a “Papelbum” headline on the back of the day’s Daily News. He later blamed the News for blowing up a non-story, “My wife was really upset. We got threats, everything. I wish I hadn’t taken her.”

I don’t know why, but before every All Star Game people always say, “I only care about the first two innings. These game’s usually suck.” Except they don’t. And last night was maybe the greatest ASG ever. 15 innings. 7 Red Sox. 4 Yankees. 34 strikeouts. 3-3 tie for seven innings. An amazing 11th inning . JD Drew hit a 7th inning game tieing two-run shot and the whole Stadium cheered—for a Red Sox! Obviously, The Rivalry was the true star (Jeter-A Rod/Pedroia-Youk starting infield, the Papelbon-Mo closer beef, Terry managing at the Stadium) even if ESPN and the Steinbrenners want you to believe the Stadium was.

On ESPN Derek Jeter said New York has the “Most intelligent fans in all of sports. They pay attention to detail here.” Incorrect. Boston has more knowledgeable fans. I’ve been to The Stadium enough to know that Yankee fans don’t pay attention to nearly as much Sox fans do. In Boston, the Red Sox are all people have. New Yorkers actually have lives outside baseball.

I’m not too familiar with New York Mag’s new sportswriter, Will Leitch, but he totally misses the beauty of last night’s game by focusing on the scene at the Stadium:

It is a unique quality of baseball that an event can hold such magnitude that the best tickets are running nearly $10,000 … and then, just four hours later, those same people are leaving before they know who wins. Yankee Stadium looked pretty last night, but it wasn’t an epic sendoff of the old bird. In fact, people couldn’t wait to leave. Considering the sorry lot of the Yankees this year, it’s more than likely this will be the stadium’s last night in the national spotlight. Fox’s last shot? The box seats, nearly empty. “This time it counts.” Obviously, no, it doesn’t.

First off, the assholes paying $10k for tickets are just that—assholes. All Star Games aren’t filled with average baseball fans. They draw show-offs and rich guys trying to impress chicks, especially in the expensive seats.

But really, all the baseball fans I know (mostly AL East maniacs) were texting about this game right up until 2am. No one said, “Please end this.” Rather, I read “Best game,” “Holy shit,” “Am I rooting for or against Mo here,” etc. Some fans I know even went out to celebrate post-game. That’s right folks, an impromptu party for an All Star Game AL win was held at a downtown sleaze den.

To the players and real fans, last night’s game counted. If you think Terry Francona, whose team is in first place, doesn’t want home field advantage for the World Series, you’re high. The game features all the best players in the league, and no one wants to get showed up, especially the young guys from small market teams making a national appearances for the first time—in New York of all places! There were thirty f–king four strikeouts against the best hitters in baseball! These guys weren’t playing an exhibition game (certainly had no meatball tossing like to Cal Ripken back in 01). These guys were playing to win, playing like it counted, because it did.

And finally, what of A Rod, the most amazing human ever? The guy didn’t do much at the game, but he did throw a funny, weird sounding party at 40/40: 

Instead, his mommy, Lourdes, and his new best friends, Guy Oseary and Ingrid Casares, were by his side in a corner booth as he threw back shots. And Casares was then spotted leaving A-Rod’s Park Avenue pad yesterday afternoon.

Reps from Berk Communications, who’d slapped Madonna’s name on their tip sheet for the event, kept insisting she was on her way, but she never showed. Instead, A-Rod was entertained by big-busted hotties who shimmied to Material Girl tunes and desperately tried to make eye contact with him.

Overall, the ASG NYC energized the city and made me happy to live in a baseball-mad town even if I hate both teams that play here. The Derby was record breaking. The gossip and shit talking unprecedented. And the game was the best ever. Now, bring on the second half!

Last night former first round draft pick Josh Hamilton hit a record 28 home runs in the first round of the MLB All Star Game Home Run Derby breaking Bobby Abreu’s record. Hamilton had a break out season last year with the CIncinnati Reds hitting .292 and swatting 19 home runs before being traded in the off season to the Texas Rangers.

Hamilton’s well documented battle with drug and alcohol addiction lead to eight trips to rehab and a temporary ban from the major leagues. Since being drafted by Tampa Bay right out of high school he’s fought his was back and was rewarded with his first All Star appearance at age 27. Despite actually losing the contest to the Twins’ Justin Morneau he’s become and amazing story about battling addiction but there is an inaccuracy in every article stating that he’s a former heroin addict.

I too thought Hamilton was once addicted to Heroin as I texted back and forth during the contest : “Damn,  a dude who was on Ron Ron is killing it” and “Hamilton has an ill her-ron flow! R U watching this?”. (Yes I text like a 14 year old girl, I watch Gossip Girl too)

Something didn’t make sense to me though. I had a tough time believing that Josh was a heroin junkie. All the former junkies I knew did three things :

1. Talk about how long they’ve been clean before going into some sexy tale of addiction with a 10 carat twinkle in their eye.

2. Make the worst music of their career, usually country or folk influenced with songs about children.

3. The most productive and noble and path least traveled, help other addicts recover. This one is tough because you’re forced to be around what almost destroyed you, help people who probably don’t want help and everyone who kicks heroin smokes like a thousand cigarettes so you’re probably going to die from second hand smoke.

I looked around for pictures of Josh Hamilton with his shirt off to see if he had that leathery Iggy Pop/Anthony Kiedis thing going down but no dice, in fact in all my searching I only found him talking about his former addictions to alcohol and crack cocaine. That’s right  like Tyrone Biggums, Josh smoked rocks but didn’t boot Ronzo.

Now it all makes sense. I could see Josh and his flame tattoos roasting a rock, getting aggro and smashing shit with a bat but I couldn’t picture his goatee junked out on a couch with the lock groove of a record skipping while he stared at the ceiling. So people, get that fucking shit right! My man over came an addition to the white stuff, that cooked crack, not heroin. It’s still and amazing story, I’m still stoked for him, and the performance brought a tear to my eye.

Applaud Josh Hamilton getting his shit together for himself and his family and breaking a record held by a guy who looks like he’s always getting an allergic reaction but don’t call him a junkie.

The Globe’s Jim Davis snapped this pic of Manny Ramirez during a pitching change on Wednesday. The Globe brilliantly asked readers to write what Manny was saying. Almost every comment is funny too.

An Appreciation of A Rod (No Homo) 

A Rod is the best worst guy ever, and I was always pretty sure he was gay. (What straight 30-yr-old man do you know who likes Madonna, would invite Jeter for sleepovers, sunbathes in just jean short shortz in the Ramble, or has frosted tips?) But ever since US Weekly broke the Madg-Rod story, a parade of strippers, strip clubs, swinger clubs, and one night stands have come to light. A Rod sounds like a world class scode. Now I have my doubts. Is A Rod really hetero?

Meanwhile, dude is hitting 320 with 18 jacks and 50 RBI despite missing like a month of the season. Or, he’s gonna win MVP—again. All while in the middle of the biggest sports-tabloid divorce ever. 

As a Red Sox fan, I’m predisposed to hate A Rod. But since Yankee fans have never really taken to him and he’s never really beat the Sox, I secretly enjoy watching him play. Last year I caught a dozen games during his legendary first half when every other at bat he hit a homer. I hate to say it, but it was f–king awesome. Bad haircut and all, the guy is the best I’ve ever seen besides Bonds*. 

US Weekly just released more reportage:

“He kept smiling, acting as if he was a little kid,” the dinner companion tells Us Weekly in its latest issue, on newsstands now. “He told me it was Madonna,” A-Rod’s friend says. “I was shocked.” The highest-paid player in baseball then “proceeded to say he was in love with her,” the pal tells Us. “I thought he was kidding, but he wasn’t.” By February, the 32-year-old slugger had upped the ante. “He said, ‘She’s my f–king soul mate, dude.’”

Tonight begins a four game set between the Yanks and Sox at The Toilet. I’m excited, even if the Rays are still somehow the best team in baseball at 3.5 games up. Still, it’s wonderful that the Yanks, despite being irrelevant in third place, can still inspire so much hate. Giambi’s mustache is the latest idiotic Yankee device of scorn. And A-Rod, you lost your wife to Lenny Kravitz? He’s the black Robert Goulet. Lame!

Go Sox!

Some teams go to Disney World, the World Champion Boston Celtics go to Rehab.

I checked in with our enemies at Red’s Army and they actually turned me on to this one via the BosHerald:

MVP Paul Pierce, along with Ray Allen, Sam Cassell, James Posey,Rajon Rondo and Kendrick Perkins, cheered Danielle Rueda-Watts on to the $10,000 grand prize over the weekend by whooping and hollering for the pole princess from their perch in the Bellagio club’s VIP booth.

“The fact that the Celtics were in the house - the DJ brought up the fact that they were there a couple of times and everyone cheered - contributed to her victory,” said our spy on the scene. “Because when they said, ‘Let’s hear it for Danielle from Boston,’ all the guys cheered and pumped their fists.”

See, people can hate Boston sports all they want, but at least our athletes aren’t running around with frosted tips screwing Madonna while their team is 5 games out (A-Rod sucks). Boston teams win championships, then help women in need—like Danielle, a Somerville-born pole-dancer. Or think of Tom Brady. He gave Bridget Moynihan the best child support package ever before giving Giselle his love and GQ editorial contacts.

Here’s some video of the C’s in Vegas…

Oh no he didn’t—A-Rod slapping away in the ALCS 04. When she was hot: Madonna before she started looking like an alien.

Gross!!! The two worst people in world history, Madonna and A-Rod, are f–king, says US Weekly:

Us Weekly reports in its new issue, on newsstands tomorrow, that Madonna’s seven-year marriage to Guy Ritchie has stalled out –and the singer has been hosting late-night visits from New York Yankee Alex Rodriguez at her Central Park West apartment in New York City.

I will give Mr Rod some credit for being such a scumbag. Very Dimaggio, only Joltin Joe got Marylin when she was a hottie. I can’t wait to hear the crowd at Fenway dissing A-Rod on this one…

Boston Police try and explain why they left a not breathing 22-yr-old handcuffed college student on the sidewalk for 6 minutes after C’s Game 6 victory.

David Woodman had an enlarged heart, and the Boston Police Department claims this caused him cardiac arrest after being arrested for drinking beer from a plastic cup. He was brought in to the ER with brain damage from lack of oxygen. He died from his injuries Sunday.

BPD’s spokesman says “excessive force was not used.” Of course, nine cops causing brain damage to a kid drinking beer from a plastic cup is excessive to any rash human. And how do you not notice your “perp” isn’t breathing? Isn’t that a cop’s job?

The Globe, doing news reporting at its best at, smothers the story today:

In another twist to the case, officials confirmed that all nine police officers - eight patrol officers and a sergeant - involved in the confrontation with Woodman went immediately to the hospital after Woodman was rushed from the scene, to be treated for “stress-related injuries.”

Much of the focus of yesterday was on the 6 minutes that Woodman was lying on the ground after his arrest for allegedly drinking in public and resisting arrest.

Woodman’s family wants an independent autopsy.

Two officials, one of whom works in law enforcement, said the initial autopsy showed that Woodman had an enlarged heart.

Woodman was born with a condition known as Transposition of the Great Arteries, which led to an enlarged right ventricle. Doctors at Beth Israel Deaconess told the family that Woodman did not have a heart attack, but they were still trying to determine what led him to stop breathing that night. His parents pointed out that he led an active life and played basketball and baseball.

“The idea that he suddenly stopped breathing goes totally against his health and what we’ve been told,” Cathy Woodman said in an interview with the Globe Thursday at the hospital. “The idea that [police] came to his aid, that’s not true. They made this happen.”

On the night of the occurrence, Woodman and his friends went to Boston Billiard Club in Kenmore Square to play pool and watch the game. Afterward, they headed home. Woodman’s friends told the Globe he was carrying a plastic cup of beer as they passed a group of uniformed officers at the Fenway and Brookline Avenue.

One friend, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said Woodman loudly said, “Wow, it seems like there’s a lot of crime on this corner.”

One of the officers yelled “Hey you,” and several officers grabbed Woodman, pushing him against the fence and slamming him to the ground, the friend said.

“They dropped him really hard. It looked like he needed help,” said the friend, adding that Woodman was motionless and quiet on the ground.

The officers then yelled at the friends that they would be arrested if they didn’t leave, two of the friends said.

“We were so intimidated,” said the first friend. “There were so many police officers we felt there was nothing we could do.”

Friedman said he believes at least 4 to 5 minutes passed before the police noticed Woodman was not breathing and began to administer cardio-pulmonary resuscitation.

Davis said that Woodman tried to flee, resisted arrest, and was extremely drunk.

His friends said Woodman was drinking but was not intoxicated.

Friedman questioned why police’s initial reports stated that as officers attempted to handcuff Woodman, they immediately realized he had stopped breathing.

Davis said that police noticed Woodman had stopped breathing between 12:47 and 12:53 a.m., while he was lying face down with his hands handcuffed behind his back. The officers immediately took off the handcuffs and began to administer CPR, as other officers called for an ambulance, Davis said.

Richard Serino, chief of Boston Emergency Medical Services, said yesterday that the first call from police for an ambulance at 12:47 a.m. was a low-priority call for a drunken man on the ground, who was already being attended to by officers. Then at 12:53 a.m., police urged EMS to “please push” because the man was unconscious, according to Serino, who said it became a top priority.

Although police indicated the EMS ambulance arrived at 12:58, Serino said he believed it arrived minutes earlier, but he was still reviewing tapes of the incident.

At the hospital, doctors realized Woodman had suffered significant brain damage. He was placed in a medically-induced coma, according to his family. He awoke June 23 and was able to speak and smile. But he was not coherent, Friedman said, and he had no memory of what had happened.

David Woodman, 22, died yesterday.

Did Excessive Force Help Kill a 22-yr Old College Student?

This site has been critical of the Boston Police Department’s tactics after the Celtics’ Game 6 championship victory and during the parade two days later. As a witness to both celebrations, I saw cops acting aggressively, using racist language, targeting minority youths, and generally using overwhelming force in unnecessary scenarios. Often these tactics led made matters worse, even inciting mini-riots. Now, a kid arrested and assaulted for—get this—drinking a beer out of a plastic cup is dead. What happened? The Globe reports:

Arrest, death bring inquiry
Man, 22, was held in Celtics celebration; Parents contend medical aid delayed
By Shelley Murphy, Globe Staff | June 30, 2008
A 22-year-old man who stopped breathing while in police custody after his arrest during the June 18 Boston Celtics NBA championship celebration died yesterday, prompting an investigation by Boston police and the Suffolk County District Attorney’s office into his death.

The parents of David Woodman, a former Emmanuel College student who was living in Brookline, said their son did not receive prompt medical attention while lying unconscious, face down on Brookline Avenue with his hands cuffed behind his back. They also accused police of failing to give them a full account of what happened.

Boston police say they immediately administered cardio-pulmonary resuscitation, flagged an ambulance after noticing Woodman was in distress, and did everything they could to help him before he was taken to Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. But Jeffrey and Cathy Woodman of Southwick say their son must have been deprived of oxygen for at least four minutes because he suffered significant brain damage.

“We don’t know what happened,” said Jeffrey Woodman, contending that police have left them with more questions than answers. “We are left to surmise that something occurred while he was in police custody that stopped his heart.”

Woodman said his son had a preexisting heart condition, but he led an active life and had been playing basketball earlier that day. He said doctors told him his son’s heart was functioning normally.

Thomas J. Nee, president of the Boston Police Patrolmen’s Association, said he understands the family’s anguish, “but nothing those officers did that night caused his death.”

He said that the officers, who have not been identified publicly, have cooperated with the investigation, and that the family’s questions will be answered.

David Woodman, who was charged with drinking in public and resisting arrest, remained hospitalized after the incident and awoke June 23 from a medically induced coma. His parents said he recognized them but had difficulty communicating and whispered, “What happened?”

He smiled at a Globe reporter during a brief visit Thursday, spoke softly to his parents, and appeared confused. A large scrape was visible near his right eye. On Saturday, he was asking to go home, according to his parents, who believed he would survive and face lengthy rehabilitation.

At 2:30 a.m. yesterday he died at the hospital. The family is awaiting autopsy results.

Jake Wark, spokesman for Suffolk District Attorney Daniel F. Conley, said Conley “pledged a thorough and impartial review of the facts.”

The Boston Police Department launched an internal investigation shortly after the incident into how the officers handled Woodman and will join the district attorney’s office in investigating his death, Elaine Driscoll, a spokeswoman for the Boston police, said yesterday. Several officers were treated for stress and have returned to work, she said.

“Based upon what we know thus far we do not believe that any excessive force was used and we do believe officers responded reasonably,” Driscoll said in an interview Friday.

Boston Police Commissioner Edward Davis declined to be interviewed, according to Driscoll, who said the commissioner tried to meet with Woodman’s family June 18 but was turned away at the hospital by staff who said the family didn’t wish to see him.

Cathy Woodman said she was alone with her son, who was on life support with scrapes that looked like road burns all over his face, and felt too overwhelmed to meet with Davis.

David Woodman, who had been a history major at Emmanuel College and planned to return in the fall after taking a semester off, was walking from a bar with friends after the game when they passed about 10 or 12 uniformed officers at the corner of the Fenway and Brookline Avenue, according to two friends who spoke on the condition they not be named.

According to one of the friends, as Woodman passed the officers, he said, “Wow, it seems like there’s a lot of crime on this corner.”

Officers grabbed Woodman, who was carrying a plastic cup of beer, and as they struggled to handcuff him pushed him face down onto the ground, according to Woodman’s friend.

“He wasn’t being a punk or anything like that,” said the friend. “I don’t understand why the officers used such brute force to arrest him.”

Woodman’s friends said an officer yelled at them to leave, saying they would be arrested if they didn’t.

One of the friends said he returned a few minutes later but was ordered to leave or face arrest. “They were all just around him and he was on the ground and not moving,” the friend said. “I didn’t see them giving him CPR.”

A Boston police report given to Howard Friedman, a Boston lawyer who represents the Woodmans, says that Woodman “began struggling with the officers as they attempted to handcuff him. Officers immediately realized that David Woodman was not breathing and they began to give CPR and summoned EMS to that location.”

Initially, Driscoll said Boston police called for an ambulance at 12:47 a.m., reporting an extremely drunken man on the ground, and immediately began CPR. Later she corrected that information, saying that officers didn’t begin CPR at that time and initially just put out a low-priority call for an ambulance to tend to a drunken man. Then sometime in the next six minutes, she said, officers discovered Woodman wasn’t breathing, began CPR, and at 12:53 a.m. put out a second call for an ambulance, warning “please push.”

The police report says one of the officers flagged down a private Cataldo Ambulance, before a Boston Emergency Medical Services ambulance arrived.

Cataldo Ambulance workers arrived at 12:58 a.m., treated Woodman at the scene, and delivered him to the hospital at 1:11 a.m, said Ron Quaranto, chief operating officer of Cataldo Ambulance.

Thomas Drechsler, a Boston lawyer who represents the officers, said, “They responded as quickly as they could; there was no time that he was neglected. . . . Nobody is trying to hide anything.”

During an emotional interview at the hospital last week, Woodman’s mother said her son was being unfairly portrayed as a troublemaker, but he wasn’t one of the people breaking windows or causing damage after the Celtics game.

She said she was haunted by the notion that her son was struggling to breathe while he was with police. “There are people who are covering themselves,” she said.

Bleacher Bar view and the scene at C’s party c/o Flickr

The Lyons Group, purveyors of such Boston nightlife entities as Axis, Bill’s Bar, Avalon, Sonsie, and Game On, have about the worst track record in America. Despite two decades of trying, they could never open a decent club, bar, lounge or restaurant.

Or they couldn’t until now.

Somehow the Lyons Group wound up with a lease for the former storage space underneath the bleachers in dead-center at Fenway. They converted it into The Bleacher Bar, which opened last month.

I visited the space a few times in the past week. The bar’s ceiling is the actual bleachers, crooking down step by step ala MC Escher from about 25-feet at the Lansdowne-facing backside to 15-feet along the field. At over 3000 sq ft, the space could fit 400 comfortably. Its walls cut diagonally, making the bar’s widest area right in front of a garage door that, get this, looks out on a panoramic view of Fenway Park.

I mean, this is a better view than many bleacher or right field seats and you even don’t need tickets. Getting in to Fenway will cost, at minimun, $100. Best deal in Boston? Check. The Bleacher Bar is free and has cheaper beer than Fenway. It offers a full bar and serves excellent bacon cheese fries, sliders, and hot pastrami sandwiches at reasonable prices. A half-dozen high tables dot the area in front of the garage door. Wood booths line the walls. A grand, mirrored “Green Monster Bar” scales the back wall. The men’s restroom is elevated above the fray, but the architects were genius: a window above the urinal looks down on the bar and out to field. The light fixtures and ventilation system are exsposed and tastefully industrial, making the space like a Tribeaca loft/sports bar embedded inside a Fenway Park cave.

On a recent Thursday at 10pm, when the Sox had the day off, there were only about six or seven customers. We took a seat at the open garage door, a cool summer breeze a-blowing. Fenway Park was all epic hard-angled shadows, save a few emergency lights and the luxury boxes’ glow. Our waitress told us, “Yeah, we just opened so no one knows about this place yet. The Globe hasn’t done a story or anything.”

Were Boston any other city, Bleacher Bar would have a DJ and the place would be hopping on a Thursday night. Imagine dancing and raging in the shadows of Fenway?

A few day later I returned at 5pm on a game day. Bleacher Bar definitely had more customers, but it was still half-empty, and my party scored the best seats in the house—right in front of the garage door.

A few days prior, the Celtics, having just won their 17th title, had been invited to throw out the first pitch at Fenway. The team held a pre-party at Bleacher Bar. Our waitress refued to confirm whether the C’s were smoking weed. A bus boy, who was there all night, said he didn’t see anything, but did say that during a rain delay the C’s came back to the bar from inside the Park and partied with customers.

By 6pm the bar was packed with your usual Fenway rats and families, so many of whom said, “Wow, this place is great.” Suddenly, I looked out the garage door and saw Josh Becket, my hero and that night’s starter, stretching on the door. Like two feet from me!

Boston is a city with a lot of bars but very few good ones. Actually, I can’t think of one must-see bar in Boston, except Sullivan’s Tap by the New Garden. The Rat is closed. Allston’s Common Ground is good one night a week. The Middle East is in Cambrdge. Maybe there’s some other place, but there’s no chance they combine form and function as well as the Bleacher Bar.  

Sports Blog Wars

I’m Jewish; Nazis suck. But I also recognize that had Hitler not pussied out on Operation Sea Lion and invaded the UK, we’d all be speaking German. Likewise, had he not gone south to annex Czech-ville before heading to the USSR, the German Army may well have taken Stalingrad pre-winter and we’d all be sprechen deutsch. Actually, I’d never have been born, but whatevs.

Somehow, our boy ‘Dolf came up in a b-ball column on ESPN’s website a few weeks ago. A black woman, Jemele Hill, compared rooting for my beloved Celtics as akin to rooting for Hitler. What I think she meant was that it was like rooting for Citi or GE, but her next sentence featured Gorby, so she was on a politically metaphorical level. It was a dumb statement, that’s all.

But these b-ball fans at Red’s Army ran a “Let’s Get Jemele Hill Fired” post:

For those who don’t know,Jemele Hill is a horrible sports journalist. I once watched her host Jim Rome’s show and thought to myself, “A high-school kid could do a better job.” She’s attacking the Celtics in her latest ESPN Page 2 column…but here’s a line sure to piss some people off:

“Rooting for the Celtics is like saying Hitler was a victim. It’s like hoping Gorbachev would get to the blinking red button before Reagan.”

Amazingly, that line made it past the editors at ESPN.com (Journalism 101 - Rule 1.1 - Never reference Hitler). As Deadspin so deftly points out, someone finally had the smarts to take it down. For me, that’s not good enough. Let’s email ESPN and demand Hill be fired for the simple reason that we shouldn’t be exposed to her garbage any longer.

Jemele got fired, and gave this interview:

You posted something on your personal blog saying you got e-mails calling you the N-word. How many such e-mails did you get?

A lot. But I hesitate to get into that because I’m not a victim and I don’t want it to come off like I’m saying, ‘Oh, look what happened to me.’ These are the consequences of my action. It doesn’t give anybody the right to call me that, and this is the nastiest batch of mail I’ve received, ever, in my 11-year career. But I don’t want that to be the focus.

To which Red’s Army responded:

I’m hoping… HOPING… that none of you sent that sort of email to her.  If you did… I would invite you to never come back.  That beyond worse than what she wrote.  What she wrote was dumb.  What people said in those emails was disgusting and hateful.  It kills me to read things like that.

I just don’t get people sometimes.

In between these episodes (Red A’s firing campaign, her firing, the n*gger emails, and Red A’s denouncing of n*gger emails), we at Med A engaged in a battle with Red’s A over whether Boston was a racist city. Red A accused Anthony of using generalizations when describing Boston’s racism. In fact, Anthony used specifics. He along with many others at Med A have seen the Boston police single out people of color for lesser crimes than we were committing at the exact same time. We’ve seen entire black neighborhoods paved over to make way for college dorms. And so on.

Red’s A countered by saying: “Racism, obviously, still exists in EVERY city… not just Boston. Boston has gone to great lengths to combat it. But times change… and even incidents of racism in certain cities shouldn’t color the entire city as racist.”

Actually, few northern cities are as racially segregated as Boston. Fewer still have as deep a pervading mistrust of one another as Boston’s blacks and whites.

Finally, it seems Red A’s campaign against Hill led to many-a-racist emails, further proving that racism is a Boston forte. Red’s A should have listened to us when we said a crusade of protest against a young, female, black sportswriter would lead to further racism. We suggested their petition would be better directed at, say, the genocide in Darfur or crisis in Zimbabwe. Or maybe they should have just stuck to sports writing and not ventured into journalism ethics.

  

The scene in Copley Sq: fans and the racist cops who hate them, arresting a doo-rag-men. Pics by Geoff Kenyon.

In Europe they’re called hooligans, sometimes thugs. Americans call them delinquents, punks. In Boston, Mayor Menino calls them “knuckleheads.” Others use the anti-Irish Sully or Mick. But the most unique word to describe Boston’s insane fans is “Yahoo.” As in, “You see that fahkin’ Yahoo on TV throw a street sign through that window?”

For the past week, I’ve been among the Yahoos in Boston and various towns along Massachuesetts’ North Shore and Merrimack Valley, and in southern New Hampshire. This area truly is Celtic Nation, and it’s where I grew up. Remember, the Pats play 30 miles south of Boston, in Foxboro, and the C’s above North Station. Admittedly, I think I am a Yahoo. 

The latest episode of Yahoo-ery started Tuesday night with KG’s post-game interview. The Celtics had just won their first NBA victory in 22 years, a record 17th for the franchise. Still, it was the first ring for C’s superstars’ Ray Allen, Paul Pierce, and Kevin Garnett. Green and white confetti rained down as the Big Three got emo on the parquet.  KG—tears in his eyes, scowling, yelping, hat pulled lowed—suddenly thanked “Peanut” on network TV. 

Of course, no one knew who Peanut was. But every Yahoo in Boston has a friend nicknamed a Peanut. And with this, the streets began to fill with Yahoos, myself included, our collective inhebriated brains thinking, “Yeah Peanut!!! This one’s for you!!! Peanut…ooowwwoooowaaaawaa!!”

I was by Northeastern University—Yahoo Central—my alma matter (ok, I went there for one year), bottle of tequila in hand, a “Wooooo” on my tongue, celebrating on St Stevens St. There I spotted two Yahoos in wife-beaters aptly beating up a mailbox. One had sweet ink: a tribal armband enmeshed with a Red Sox “B.” Around the corner, in front of Our House (a bar famous for selling $3 32 oz. beers called Bruebakers aka “‘Roid Rage-ade”): ten Yahoos hugging while pogoing and yelling “Boston, Boston!”

Inside the bar, TVs were tuned to live footage of fans rioting downtown—dancing around mini-fires, running into trees, climbing trees, kissing trees, facing off with cops. I soon found myself fighting the bouncer at Our House for absolutely no reason. Kicked out, I put on another shirt and snuck back in. “Lollipop” was playing; chubby fake id chicks dancing; ‘roid bros started fighting. Damn, it felt good to be a Yahoo…

(more…)

Attending Thursday’s Celtics’ victory parade, I was amazed by how high a percentage of the crowd were women. After the parade ended, I borrowed Geoff Kenyon’s camera to document the scene on Newbury St. Never has Boston’s most famous commercial strip had such a cool, young, and festive spirit.

See you at the parade!

Hey ya’ll, just got back from 24 hrs of rioting in Boston after the Celtics beat the Lakers in Game 6 by 40 points, scoring 131. Yes, 131 f–king points! Drank one too many Uncle Sal’s (tequila shot chased by beer)…

I’d like to report that Boston sports fans are cockier, wigger-ier, and more violent than ever.

Also, I scuffled with the manager of Our House after he talked shit to me for accidentally bumping into him during the trophy presentation. It got to the point where I was in the street calling him a “b*tch” as he tried to lock the bar and call the police. Thus improving our record vs the staff of Our House to 13-0. Of course, right after the beef ended, I changed clothes and went back in to the bar…

There are several achievements tonight for the Boston Celtics and the city of Boston. Buried beneath the fanfare and confetti is something very real and human to us all, it’s Ray Allen rising above adversity and the devastating news that his son had fallen ill during Game 5 to win the NBA Championship title, it’s Pierce dousing Doc with Gatorade, it’s KG hugging Bill Russell after the victory and our favorite story line, the Cigar that Red lit up somewhere during the 4th when he knew it was a lock. Boston fans are drunk off this victory and hopefully some champagne as well but let’s not forget the passion and drive that brought us here, what these individuals have gone through and most importantly what Ray-Ray has been through, this man didn’t sleep, he played this game with a heavy head and heart and was able to rise above and drain 22 three-point shots in total in the finals, the most in NBA history and lead the Celtics to an emotional victory.

Growing up in the suburbs of Boston, one thing was fact, the Celtics were gospel, they were Winners! They were a tradition much like going to Church and Sunday dinner. My Italian family would gorge after mass and then enjoy the Celtics, often times it was a playoff situation where I quickly learned to hate players named Rambis, Lamibeer, Thomas or Worthy. Ultimately the results were favorable and I wore my “Six Pack” shirt with pride as the Celtics were Champions, they inhaled the fumes of Red Auerbach’s cigars and raised banners. My father pooled together with friend to buy Celtics season tickets for a good portion of the 1980s. He could have taken anyone to some of the most important and pivotal games in NBA history but he chose his son, barely in the double digits. He shared these moments with a young boy who would barely remember the humid Boston Garden where even Greg Kite was a hero. My memories are foggy, the details are aren’t sharp but with every passing year I realize what a sacrifice my dad made, taking a young boy to so many epic games and I him and his unselfish acts for the gift he gave me. I was lucky to witness so many classic games and I realize the importance more and more each day.

One must remember that in the 1980s the Red Sox were the puffy faced hard luck girl that you could convince to date you, she was flawed and cracked but she filled a void and ultimately you knew it would end in some shouting match that stung. In the end she was a quick fix, she left you upset and asking for more even though she wasn’t your first choice but the Celtics, the Larry Bird led Celtics were that hot blond that was way out of your league. They helped you develop a swagger, you wore the color green with pride and you felt like you had the biggest cock in the room even if you hadn’t really used that cock yet. In contrast, the Red Sox, now the copyrighted Red Sox Nation®, were really the Irish bartender chick who looked ok after a few shots, the one from Southie that cursed a lot and smelled like body spray. The edge of the bar conveniently hid her big ass and the whiskey shots blurred her ruddy alcoholic features and borderline see-thru complexion. She was second place, your consolation prize but not your holy grail. She was your Calvin Schiraldi. You didn’t expect jack shit from the Red Sox aside from pain and frustration mixed with a few highs, you weren’t bringing your hard luck girl home to meet the parents but the Celtics were the talk of the town, tthe press darlings, they ruled the 1980s in Boston and were the Boston fans’ trophy girl.

As I reside in Williamsburg, Brooklyn where Red Auerbach grew up I am overwhelmed by the moment, by KG exclaiming “Anything is possible!” and “I’m on top of the world!”. Oh yeah and I forgot he also said “What you gotta say now!” before he hugged Bill Russell and asked Bill he had made him proud. Even in his ultimate moment he was humble and conscious of what was happening, big shout to KG! It’s these moments where a multi-millionaire star player is being candid with a legend where I realize how special these celebrations are. It’s Doc Rivers’ Gatorade tie-tied suit, it’s Rajon Rondo hoisting a championship trophy, it’s Big Baby getting his first minutes in the finals and most importantly it’s the fucking shit bag, soul patch having Zen-Master not getting into the history books, that’s right fuck you Phil you fucking douche. Oh did I mention that was the biggest ass kicking in a deciding game in the NBA finals?

Finally, let’s celebrate Paul Pierce, the first thing he did is thank us for supporting him, despite the emotion, the moment, the history, the energy he chose to immediately to address the regular ass guy, thank you Paul, we love you, you ARE the truth, get that SHIT in to PIERCE!

Congratulations to the Boston Celtics, to a history, a tradition and a moment Boston and its fans are enjoying now.

PS- There was a brother in a rain coat and goggles being incredible during the celebration repping hard with the mic being the master of ceremonies, big shout to that dude.

PPS- KG is on ESPN right now being humble, would Kobe or Shaq ever do that? Nope. KG always considered himself as a champion in his heart, tonight he’s one in the history books. Holler at your fucking BOY!

PPPS - Lakers, did you really lose by that much, GOD DAMN.

PPPPS - If this doesn’t make sense fuck you, it’s 1:33 AM and I am crunked, eat my shit!

ESPN Page 2 columnist Jemele Hill has everyone heated with her controversial comments that were pulled from her latest article :

Rooting for the Celtics is like saying Hitler was a victim. It’s like hoping Gorbachev would get to the blinking red button before Reagan.

The column got past her editors with this comment which isn’t surprising because they let Bill Simmons submit the same article every fucking day. Just a side note, does he have a “Sports Guy Column Generator” that spits out tired 1980s guy pop culture references in Men’s Mag Slang centered around a Boston team or his latest man-crush? Bad news Bill, Karate Kid sucks, Star Wars sucks, the Godfather is long and fucking boring and you have Bank Teller hair. Now back to Jemele, in keeping with ESPN Page 2’s style, she’s a terrible writer and she used a pretty raw comparison. Hitler and 9/11 comparisons normally result in someone going “Whoaaaa man stop it don’t go there!” as if some imaginary line has been crossed that could only be crossed by a complete asshole. I don’t have a problem with people making such comparisons, when Katie Holmes’ tits are described as the opposite of the holocaust it was cool and what Jemele did is cheap, in poor taste for an ESPN writer but the Celtics fans, especially the ones that call Boston their home are the ones who are offending me right now.

Everyone is upset in Boston, popular fan site Red’s Army is calling for her to be fired and wbztv.com posted some fan responses yesterday :

“We’re not talking about war; we’re talking about basketball,” one fan outside the Garden said. “How can you compare Hitler to a basketball game?”

“I don’t think you can say Hitler is a victim no matter what the circumstance is. That’s over the top,” another fan said.

These responses sicken me, Celtics fans are as fucking soft as the Celtics’ performance in the 4th quarter of Game 5. Boston Massachusetts is a city that was pissed off that a Holocaust Memorial was being constructed downtown too close to whatever the fucking Bank World Dunkin Donut Garden Center was called that week and too close to the Italian district, the North End. How dare they make us remember Holocaust victims while we’re staring at a statue of Paul Revere en route to a Celtics game (who the fuck went to Celtics games in 1995) belly stuffed full of carbs from the North End. This is a city built on racism, where Smitty O’Houlahan can blame anything he wants on a “nigger” and cops will turn the other red alcoholic cheek. Some area Jews didn’t even want the memorial in Boston because they felt it wasn’t an appropriate location. Downtown Boston is so fat and white that Jewish people actually felt bad breaking up that vibration

So now the poor fans are pissed off and are calling for the head of Jemele Hill the latest goat. It probably helps that she’s black as it’s easier for the city to rally against her. There is a bigger task at hand for the Celtics and their fans and that’s winning a Championship not whining about bad journalism and cheap shot comparisons.

Oh yeah, the Celtics fan side of myself would like to get a jab in though because that side of me is petty, Jemele your gummy grin and bulbous features are as shocking and offensive to me on this Tuesday afternoon as your attempts at journalism. Leave the vulgarity and cheap shot comparisons to bloggers, it’s all we have, you get the pay check, the paid appearances and fanfare, we just want to have exclusivity on swearing and Hitler comparisons if that’s cool with your fat ugly ass. Thanks.

KG misses crucial fourth qtr game-tying free throws after C’s stage another big comeback, Paul Pierce scores 38, Kobe makes clutch steal and dunk to force a game 6 in Boston, series 3-2…

Paul Pierce showed once again why he’s the most underrated player in the league. He was the game’s top scorer and still had 8 assists. He guarded Kobe for over three quarters with efficiency, but was taken off him when he got a fifth foul with about 7 minutes to go. Overall, the game was exciting from the second quarter on, when the Celts made a 19-point comeback. But without a win it’s hard to get too pumped up with sports exuberance. See you Tuesday.