PaulKatcher.com

Homer Simpson: The World's Healthiest Man

Big news out of the holier than thou New York Times, who reported today that drinking in moderation has multiple health benefits, including prevention of strokes, amputated limbs and dementia. Those are certainly my three biggest worries as the calendar turns to 2003.

Moderation is defined as one or two drinks a day, so I must drink in extra, extra moderation, as I usually hit 7-14 drinks around lunchtime Tuesdays. Just think how healthy I would be if I had one or two drinks an hour, which is not too far off the way things are going.

Next week, the Times will reveal findings on beer-goggling, overtipping strippers and spending weekends in Tijuana.

Other Web Finds:

• Drunk Elk Shot Dead After Attacking Boy — Yes, but it died with a healthy heart — and no evidence of dementia.

• Justin Timberlake Dating Alyssa Milano, Still Has Feelings for Britney — Dude, just pick one and give my phone number to the other. (This is the same guy who gets blasted online by similarly aged kids whose idea of a rockin' Friday night is happy hour with a cigar and five dudes — and a morning wake-up with a puke bucket.)

• Coffee, Tea, or Should We Feel Your Pregnant Wife’s Breasts... — One man's tribulations with Portland International Airport security, who left his wife in tears and him in a jail cell. (I was stopped this year for setting off the metal detector with a condom in my wallet. Trust me, I tried to blame everything but until I had to take it out. Evidently the packaging had metal it in. Who knew?)

• Ten Truths About Women and Pornography — Apparently, they don't like it. Then why are so many making it?

Who's Up for Some Dirty Talk?

One of the smartest website ideas I've seen in awhile is DirtyQuestions.com, a place for people to share (anonymously, if they want to) their thoughts on sexually related topics that everyone is interested in, even if they don't usually admit it. So far, the regular audience is thoughtful and respectful, but like any online community not requiring registration, it could get overrun at any time by idiots.

My thoughts on recent topics:

Role of fantasy
This is why god invented masquerade parties, is it not? I guarantee you that for every fantasy you might have, there are people within driving distance who would be happy to help you fulfill them. Tonight! I guarantee it. Why it's so hard to connect these people remains a frustrating mystery — and why everyone should go down to Hedonism II at least once.

Can you learn from porn?
Not that I've seen any, but I understand there's erotic material put out by people who do not have perfect bodies or John Holmes-like plumbing. I don't know a single guy who hasn't seen his share of porn — and, frankly, I think the girls are lying — and if you haven't learned one thing about technique or grooming or have gained a better understanding of the many varieties of body shapes and colors, then maybe your dorm just wasn't as fun as it could've been.

Can you be friends with a woman without sexual tension?
Yes, completely and wholly possible. At some point you have to weigh the value of friendship and a blowjob and come to some sort of reasonably mature verdict.

Oral sex
What's not love? (Also re-read "Role of fantasy" section.)

Other Web Finds:

• Which Golden Girl Are You? — Let your inner Dorothy come out.

• Wrestler Lawler: Kaufman Feud Was Hoax — Now the three of you who thought otherwise know better.

• Extreme Cabaret Star Rachel Arieff — A New York-based wild child who combines music and comedy in such performances as Smokin', Tapdancing Grandma. I need to check this chick out.

• Gaywads, Dorkwads Sign Historic Wad Accord — The Onion reports on a historic show of wad solidarity.

'This Team Is Going to the Playoffs'

I've never seen a better 10-7 game. I've never seen a player account for 270 total yards and not score a touchdown. And I've never been to a luckier bar than Mo's Caribbean on Second Avenue at 76 Street.

As if the $2 drafts of Stella weren't enough. As if the three huge TVs and plenty of elbow room weren't enough. As if the two hotties with big juggs who didn't care about sports and just came to drink on a Saturday afternoon weren't enough, Mo's continues to provide the victories — two series-clinching victories for the Knicks at Miami and three straight postseason victories for the Giants. (I stupidly watched Super Bowl XXXV at another place where girls danced on the bar and flashed the crowd.)

What I remember most: whites, blacks, Latinos, guidos, preppies, hipsters, casual fans and fanatics screaming, high-fiving, drinking and hugging as if we'd just won the Super Bowl. No movie produces that kind of unscripted drama.

Next week against San Fran or Tampa Bay: I gotta go to Mo's. Giants fans, get on board.

Also, there is a drought emergency in NYC: there are no No. 80 Jeremy Shockey jerseys to be had. I looked high and low this week to no avail. If anyone spots one, let me know where to direct the cabbie.

Also in Sports:

• Top 10 Orangemen Hoops Games — A fellow Syracuse grad ranks the 10 best, not including any from 1990-94, when I was there. Only once did we charge the court after a win — in 1994 after beating Kentucky — when I was one of the first to center court and had to wait for the crowd to join me. It wasn't as exciting as it looks.

• USC Alum O.J. Simpson hangs With Trojans at Orange Bowl Practice — Said Southern Cal coach Pete Carrol: "At SC, our guys hold a Heisman Trophy winner in high regard." You think that would be the case so long as a civil jury doesn't find one liable for the murders of two people.

• 30 Years of George Steinbrenner — The Daily News sits down with the most successful owner in the baseball, who penned an editorial in the New York Post last year, saying that New York is a tough place because, no matter who you are, you have to fight for a cab and a spot at the lunch counter every day. Ol' Stein said that years ago and my coworkers and I laughed at the thought of King George fighting for a stool at a sandwich shop. Especially with those degenerate Mets fans around.

• Flops of the Year — As part of ESPN.com's year-ender they rank the U.S. Men's hoops team as the only bigger flop than the N.Y. Mets. Congratulations to them.

• KMart Sells Phallic Nebraska Cornhuskers Foamhead — I got out of the sports media because there are people willing to put things like this on their head. (Found on Sports By Brooks, a dynamite sports blog.)

Review: Dave Attell at Caroline's

On the right is a picture of two of the funniest guys in New York. One makes a lot of money as Comedy Central's "Insomniac," and the other runs a website that attracts demented college kids who just got done watching it. (Had I known my left eye was nearly shut as this picture was being taken, I probably would have opened it. Perhaps I was distracted by Dave telling my friend, who was struggling with the automatic shutter, "You probably have to hold it down.")

Dave headlined the 12:30 a.m. show at Caroline's comedy club on Broadway Friday night, doing a 45-60 minute marathon set that concluded right around 3 a.m. He rocked, and he more than made up for the night's first performer, who got a merciful early hook after losing the crowd quickly and plummeting into a chorus of boos, an amateur showing by some people in the crowd, courageous enough to boo while lost in a dark room.

The middle performer was Patrice O'Neal, and he killed. (That's a good thing.) The perfect set; come on with flash and energy, hit 'em with your best stuff and leave the crowd thinking, "Man, if Dave is funnier than that, he's gonna be a riot."

Here were some trends:

• Everyone did jokes about midgets, masturbation and hooking up. No shock there
• Arabs took some hits, something I thought could have been avoided in NYC
• No one did smelly cab jokes, thankfully
• Comedy clubs need to refresh crowds on protocol: hoot, holler, but the show's not about you. If you break a comedian's rhythm with asinine call-outs, you're not helping

Best parts:

• The idiot blonde who raised her hand when asked if there was anyone from the Mideast in the crowd. When asked where she was from, she said, "Oklahoma." She was then asked if she could be any stupider, as Oklahoma isn't even in the Midwest, which wasn't the question to begin with. She was genuinely insulted and left early. Thanks for playing.

• Attell's "Tell Me What You're Drinking and I'll Tell You How Your Night Will End Up" bit is perfect comedy. It's interactive and has the appearance of being totally improvisational, even though the punch lines are clearly sorted by beer/hard liquor/pussy drink. So it doesn't matter whether someone yells Apple Martini or Cosmopolitan, you get the, "You're going to go home — alone — watch the Sex in the City and yell, 'That's so US!,' to an empty room."

• The emcee's distaste for Montrealeans' phony European attitude: "Hey, you're four hours from fuckin' Buffalo," and why he likes dating homeless chicks: "After sex, I can drop her off anywhere. 'Hey, we're home,'" and why he supports racial profiling at airports: "Hey, when a plane blows up, I don't think, 'Damn, those Scottish are at it again.'"

• O'Neal's fingering technique, and his criticism of a young stud wanna-be's two-fingered rapid-fire thrusting motion.

• Attell on why there are famous drunk writers but no pothead writers. "Because no one wants to read 500 words on how great a cheese sandwich is."

Admission, two-drink minimum and tip came to $50 a head, but it was worth it, considering hookers cost much more these days.

• Dave Attell's official website

Review: Kelli Graham, Entertainment Reporter

I've got some good news and some great news for those who have been following this site for awhile and remember the interview I did with model/actress Kelli Graham this past July.

The lovely Florida native e-mailed me today to say she's landed a gig delivering entertainment news via online video.

And now the great news: the gig is with NakedNews.com.

Fellas (and bisexual women out there), let me tell you something. I don't care if you don't know Avril Lavigne from Advil and Aleve. I don't care if your idea of "King of Queens" is that gay guy in the graphics department. I don't care if you think Tony Soprano is your neighbor's gardener. This is one entertainment news segment you don't want to miss.

Kelli and her plastic surgeon have done amazing things with her body. I cannot stress that enough. Frankly, I needed a few minutes to recover after reviewing her first few clips, which are available in the Kelli Graham Yahoo! Club. Send the wife out to pick up a pizza — from the good place 30 minutes away — and check 'em out.

Kelli has poise. Kelli has spunk. And lord does she know how to shave those hard-to-reach areas.

Leeza Gibbons should have done this a long time ago.

Thank you, god.

Time to Strap 'Em on, Pound Away at the Holes

When is pro football like a lesbian porno movie? When it's Week 17, the playoffs are on the line and, as Akeem in Coming to America would say, the Giants of New York will take on the Eagles of Philadelphia and, in the end, the Giants hope to triumph by kicking an oblong ball made of pigskin through a big H.

And if the kicking game fails the G-Men, it's gonna be just like Coach Calhoun said in Grease: "We're gonna yank 'em ... tear 'em... rrrrip 'em ... We're gonna take 'em and roll 'em around, and rip 'em up to pieces ... and then we're gonna slaughter 'em!"

Fuck yeah, coach. And if we have to win the game on account of Jim Fassel's genius, we will. But let's be careful in throwing around that kind of adulation. As NFL commentator Joe Theismann says, "Nobody in the game of football should be called a genius. A genius is somebody like Norman Einstein."

Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, though. The Giants need to take it one step at a time Saturday, as did the great George Rogers, the former Saints running back, who once said, "I want to rush for 1,000 or 1,500 yards, whichever comes first."

But some athletes really do know what they're talking about. Take former St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Joaquin Andujar, who once said, "There is one word in America that says it all, and that word is, 'You never know.'"

How right he was. You never know. You just never know.

One guy who did know was pre-three-peat Shaquille O'Neal who clearly knew more than his detractors when he said, "I've won everywhere but college and the pros."

But what this game all boils down to is revenge. Revenge for 1989, when I sat in freezing cold Giants Stadium and watched Eagles QB Randall Cunningham, buried in his own territory, "pooch" punt on third down for 91 yards, wrenching my heart with each rotation of the ball in the luckiest damn play I have ever seen in the history of sports.

Randall, I have not forgotten. We're gonna get you, sons of bitches.

• Dumbest Sports Quotes

• Humorous Sports Quotes

Review: Gin & Juice (Acoustic Version)

I'll never forget where I was when I first heard the words "Gin & Juice, the acoustic version." It was at the tail end of my buddy's bachelor party, and we had just arrived at Yogi's, a place on Broadway at 76 Street that's best described as a shithole, only it's not as clean.

We were almost oblivious to the fact that the jukebox was broken, because the four of us who didn't pass out already were laughing too hard at my friend, who was wearing Speedo goggles and being shot in the face with water from the buxom bartender who I once took back to my place in a state so drunken that I fell off the couch and rolled into my coffee table.

Moving on...

In walked a local musician who plays guitar at a nearby bar, and he had his six-string with him. We comanded him to play the bar's favorites — "You Never Even Called Me by My Name," "Sweet Home Alabama" and "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw." That's when a drunken patron asked him, "Hey, do you know Gin & Juice, the acoustic version?"

Now I really thought I was going to die laughing. The patron asked if I knew "Gin & Juice."

"Know it?" I replied. "I live it."

Now we were all rolling, and lucky for us, it was only 3:30 a.m. Still more time to act like complete idiots in a town known for accomplisment.

And today, while pilfering songs from people's Kazaa libraries, I came across an .mp3 of "Gin & Juice" (yep, the acoustic version) as done by Dave Matthews Band. (Ed note: See comment for correction.)

I don't want to kill too much bandwith by posting this song on PK.com, but I'll be happy to e-mail it to anyone who requests it. I promise it's worth it.

And remember, G's up, Ho's down, while you motherfuckers bounce to this.

• Lyrics to "Gin & Juice" (that I swear on Derek Jeter's life it begins with *man pissing*)

My Favorite Christmas Present Ever: Intellivision

The year was 1980 and the card on the large, wrapped package said it was for me and brother from my late aunt and uncle. The box was almost bigger than I was, then 7 years old. Someone asked me to guess what it was, and I wished more than anything it was an Intellivision. But the system cost somewhere around $200, and kids my age didn't get $200 presents. So I withheld my guess until we tore into the package, and sure enough there it was: a brand-spanking-new Intellivision, the cream of the crop in high-tech video games.

Over the years, I would buy myself an Atari 2600, Atari 5200, Colecovision, Nintendo, Sega Genesis, Nintendo 64, Dreamcast and, finally, Playstation 2. Still, nothing came close to topping Intellivision in terms of that sudden realization that I held in my hands the ultimate source of euphoria. (Intellivision would, of course, be replaced first by beer and then by sex as that ultimate source.)

I mastered the sports games, including Baseball (the difference between a home run and a single that stuck to the edge of the screen was purely a judgment call by the God of Intellevision), Football (9-9-1-9 and 9-9-2-9 were play calls for a bomb to the two eligible receivers), Skiing (I'd never even been skiing, but I was flying down mountains like an Olympian), Bowling (gimme the 16-pounder, man, those lighter balls are for wussies), Soccer, Basketball and Hockey.

Today's games are so sophisticated that sometimes I play them twice, give up, toss them on the shelf, and see if there's any porn in my e-mail box. Not so in the early '80s, when I devoured each game, when there were only a couple of buttons to press and maybe an alligator to swim past. Unlike Grand Theft Auto: Vice City (which I now own), there were no hookers to bludgeon, no cops to decapitate, no gangers to spray with automatic weapons. In so many ways, it was much better then. But I guess it's never as good as Christmas Day when you're 7.

• Screenshots/descriptions of Intellivision's sports games

• Screenshots/descriptions of Intellivision's action games

• Intellivision exhibition

New Message Board Is Ready

A quick note to announce that a new PaulKatcher.com message board is up and ready for you to ignore it as much as the last one. There are topic areas for you to post your web finds, promote your own sites, share your thoughts on current events or comment on PK.com.

Also, I continue to tool around with my new Canon S-30 digital camera and encourage you to check out my expanding portfolio of photos.

Other Quick Notes:

• Me and a bunch of friends are going to see Insomniac Dave Attell this coming Friday night at Caroline's Comedy Club. Should be a blast, and I'll post a review, for sure.

• Martin Gramatica kicked a 50-yard field goal Monday night to vault my fantasy football team, the Syracuse 44's, into their fourth Super Bowl. But after a penalty, Bucs coach Jon Gruden took the points off the board and I ended up with squat. Thanks, Jon, you fair-haired bitch.

• I'm so jacked for the Giants-Eagles game this coming Saturday, that I tried to emulate it on NFL 2K3 for Playstation 2. I took hold of my beloved G-Men and set the game difficulty at Pro. The Eagles returned the god-damn opening kickoff for a TD. So I quit and restarted the game at Rookie level. I lost in overtime. God help us.

How to Communicate When You're Drunk

One of the great things about bars is that women can be found there. The bad part, of course, is that sometimes they speak. That's why I go to bars with loud music, and why I'm glad my buddy J-No from H-Town sent me a link to Modern Drunkard Magazine's bar signs. The site contends correctly that when words come out, whiskey cannot get in, so it's important to be able to communicate nonverbally. For example, the image to the left illustrates the universal signal for "Shut your lip and order us a nip." Word.

Other Great Web Finds:

Clone Your Bone: The Penis Casting Kit — "Over here are my two softball MVP trophies, and this is my collection of old TIME magazines and, oh yeah, on the mantel there is my dick."

Tha Shizzalator — Translate any site into Snoop Dogg-speak. Not only that, but smoke will come pouring out of your monitor.

Tales of a Video Game Salesman — A retailer reminisces on some of the folks who've come into his store, having left their brains at home. (Thanks to Joe for the link.)

Oscars Telecasts Should Focus More on Breasts — The Candid Critic has some advice for ABC and pictures for the rest of us.

Jacko's Baby Drop Game — See how many babies you can save from hitting the pavement in this silly-but-you-gotta-try-it-once game.

Uncle Melon's Christmas Spectacular — Get into the holiday spirit with this very special People magazine parody.

Election 2003: The Baseball Hall of Fame Ballot

CNNSI.com has the best interactive Baseball Hall of Fame ballot on the web, providing snapshots of all eligible candidates on one page. Tonight I provide my thoughts on who belongs and who doesn't, based on my own criteria, which is the answer to one simple question: Can you write a book about the history of baseball without devoting some coverage to their careers?

(This is why I think Roger Maris belongs in the Hall of Fame. How can you have a shrine to baseball history and not include the man who held perhaps sports' most revered record for 37 years?)

I Would Vote for These Guys:

Gary Carter, Catcher: The best player at his position for an entire era, and a key cog to some very successful teams. He was the Carlton Fisk of the National League, and even though I think all former Mets (who didn't play for the Yanks) should be banned from baseball indefinitely, Carter is getting jobbed by the voters.

Andre Dawson, Right Field: The biggest knock is that he played on some crummy teams, but he defined the term "weapon" before the modern era of juiced balls and juiced sluggers. The Hawk was a power hitter with speed and had a rifle in right field.

Steve Garvey, First Base: Garvey was a little before my time, but I just can't overlook these stats: 2,599 hits, 1,308 RBIs, 10-time All-Star, five times in the top six NL MVP vote-getters.

Eddie Murray, First Base: Over 3,000 hits and 500 home runs. Automatic, though I think his career is a bit diluted. A lot of very, very good seasons (top five in MVP voting five times), but you can't remember one year in baseball and think, "Wow, that's when Eddie Murray really kicked the league's ass."

Jim Rice: Left Field: Ask anyone who played in the late-'70s to mid-'80s to name some of the great hitters of their era, and if they don't all mention Jim Rice, I'll mail you $20. That's the definition of the Hall of Famer — players whose careers you remember on your own, with no prodding.

I Would Not Vote for These Guys:

Bert Blyleven, Tommy John, Jim Kaat, Pitchers: All of them are pleasant fellows, and I love Jim Kaat's work an Yankees television announcer (and would be happy if he got in), but I don't think any batter ever got out of bed and thought, "Shit, gotta get it together tonight. I'm facing an all-time great."

Don Mattingly, First Base: If Mattingly ever got elected, I would throw a party at my apartment. I'm dead serious. And I do think he deserves consideration because he was a dominant player for five seasons. But the rest he wasn't. To a generation of Yankees fans, he was the only favorite player we ever had. His No. 23 was retired soon after he did, and I'm satisfied just having him in the Yankees' hall.

Goose Gossage, Lee Smith, Bruce Sutter, Relievers: They may have been pioneers, but I don't know how to qualify their Hall candidacy. To me, it wouldn't feel right to see their plaques alongside those of guys like Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan and Reggie Jackson.

Jack Morris, Dale Murphy, Dave Parker, All-Stars: Each had his moments: Morris' '91 World Series, Murphy's back-to-back MVPs, the 1979 All-Star Game rocket thrown by Parker, but each fall short, I think.

Finally:

Pete Rose is a dick. Whatever he bet on notwithstanding, it's very clear he's a dick. I don't care what happens to him. I'm not a big fan of people who hide things, seek media attention, then refuse to answer questions.

Who do you think belongs from this crop of candidates? (Click on the comments link below.)

Also in Sports Today:

Dr. Z's NFL Hall of Fame Ballot — Sports Illustrated's fountain of NFL information shares his thoughts on those eligible for the NFL Hall this year. Another of my all-time faves, Phil Simms, is up, but I think that's a pipe dream, too. Zimmermann makes a strong case for Joe Klecko, one half of the New York Sack Exchange and dynamite bit player in Cannonball Run.

Column: Nobody Else is Jim Brown — ESPN.com Page 2's Ralph Wiley contends that not only was Syracuse University product Jim Brown the greatest football player ever, but that he, more than Muhammad Ali, deserves to be called The Greatest.

Maxim Interviews Miami Dolphins DE Jason Taylor — You know I'd never link you to some boring Q&A. Find out which players Taylor says are pussies, which offensive lineman he says he owns, why Jets fans "settle" and how much cash he carries around.

Rivers Overflows on 'Stupid Bitch'

If the Yanks end up losing Roger Clemens, there's another flamethrower in New York who could fit the bill — and she's a better dresser than The Rocket.

It was reported in the New York Post today that the Queen of Fashion sent a Dollar Rent a Car employee to the hospital Friday after beaning her, Mike Piazza-style, with a yellow marker.

At Lexington Avenue and 84th Street, just a stone's throw from the original PK.com headquarters, Rivers grew impatient at having to wait in line with the rest of the humans. Instead of simply asking, "Can we talk?" Mount Rivers erupted with the one question that could get anyone's ass kicked around here: "Do you know who the fuck I am?"

I know who Rivers is. She's a Hollywood Square who rents from Dollar Rent a Car, for Christ's sake. Next time, try throwing a hissy fit in a Four Seasons, not a 12th-rate car rental service.

A surveillance camera reportedly caught the incident on tape, and I would pay a lot of money — as much as it costs to rent a Hyundai Sonata from Dollar Rent a Car — to view the plastic one going ape shit over having to wait in line in New York.

Also in the News Today:

• TIME's Person of the Year — It gets announced Sunday, and I already know who it is. And that's all I have to say about that.

• Nike Gives Foot Locker the Boot — Apparently not happy with the sneaker retailer's decision to devote more shelf space to products that are $120 or less — that's $120 for those of you, like me, who never spend more than $80 — Nike says it will not ship it's most expensive (read: overpriced) sneakers to Foot Locker at all.

• The Myth of Media Fairness — In the ring-wing New York Post, Michael Kelly says that there is indeed a media bias toward liberal politics, saying that it's not "fair" that Republican politicians never get as much positive press as their Democratic counterparts. Neither did Pat Buchanan or David Duke, my friends. Was that "not fair," either?

• North Korea Shuts Off U.N. Surveillance at Nuke Plant — If I die of natural causes it will be a miracle.

• Poll: Hillary Clinton Top 2004 Candidate Among Dems — I'd bet the ranch that Bill Clinton becomes the first First Lady with hair on his chest since Eleanor Roosevelt.

The White House Through a Dog's Eyes

One of the most popular web activities these days is to view video of Barney Bush in action. No, I'm not talking about porn. Barney is one of two dogs — Spotty being the other — who roam the White House and pee on Ari Fleischer's leg.

The misconception of this warm holiday video is that a camera was affixed to Barney. In reality, the biggest lackey in all of the U.S. goverment (pictured) ran around in the snow, dressed in a suit, closely filming a dog's rear end. Now that's public service. Hope he enjoys his compensation — lunch with the assistant to the assistant secretary of the House Public Works and Transportation Committee's vice chairman.

Other Interesting Links Today

• You've Got Sex ... Almost — Michael Wolff argues in New York magazine that AOL blew it by not capitalizing on what it did best — facilitate sex between its users.

• Despair Inc.'s Demotivational Art — Includes such gems as "Get to Work: You aren't being paid to believe in the power of your dreams."

• New Tool Makes DVD Copying Easy — Um, yeah, I'm just "backing up" that Spider-Man DVD in case one day I spill coffee on it.

• Woman Survives 33,000 Foot Drop From Exploded Plane — More than 30 years ago, Vesna Vulovic redefined the term lucky.

• View Your Home From Space — At least NASA's $15 billion budget is good for something.

Top Sports Books of All Time

Before I could get McNuggets of content online, before I started receiving 8,000 magazines a week, before my commute was only 20 blocks, I was a fairly voracious reader of books, almost all nonfiction, and many related to sports. The best ones spent less time describing the ball's leather and more on racism, finance, fame, disease, hard work and big business. I never felt guilty reading them, even if they weren't located next to Hemmingway at Barnes & Noble.

It was only after Sports Illustrated released its list of the top 100 sports books of all time that I realized just how many I'd read. Here are my abbreviated reviews of the 12 on SI's list that I've read...

(3) Ball Four, by Jim Bouton — The original tell-all, Bouton exposed myths of America's baseball heroes and illuminated the personal politics that interfere in any high-pressure industry. Among the most revealing anecdotes: the coach who instructed him to put on his hat back-to-front, because only the black players did it in the reverse.

(4) Friday Night Lights, by H.G. Bissinger — A season of West Texas football at Permian High School in Odessa, where the locals cared a lot about oil and the Panthers, and not much about else. You never heard them say "the n-word." They just called them niggers.

(7) Semi-Tough, by Dan Jenkins — A hilarious fictional tale of TCU football by the really, really un-PC author, who wrote mostly about college football and golf for Sports Illustrated. It's a frivolous read, unless you hope to get something out of the fact that one of the characters likes his ribs "barbequed, not chinked."

(8) Paper Lion, by George Plimpton — The wiry author goes through training camp with the Detroit Lions in the '60s. Ever wonder how an average person would fare on the gridiron against supremely conditioned athletes? Pick this one up.

(13) Loose Balls, by Terry Pluto — Where to start in this endearing account of the ABA? Baby announcer Bob Costas counting fans one by one? Fly Williams taking a plane to Austin, Texas when he was expected at Austin Peay in Tennessee? The owners pooling money just so one of their teams could draft Lew Alcindor? This was sports the way it oughta be: fun.

(14) Heaven is a Playground, by Rick Telander — The original Hoop Dreams. The heady author and former Northwestern football player balls one summer in Brooklyn. And another appearance from Fly Williams.

(17) The Breaks of the Game, by David Halberstam — An account of the Portland Trail Blazers' downfall after their 1979 championship season. This is where I gained a true understanding of a healthy Bill Walton's dominance.

(26) When Pride Still Mattered, by David Maraniss — The life and times of Vince Lombardi, who was the Giants' loss and the Packers' gain. How do you get to be a legend? You win. Everywhere.

(44) The Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract by Bill James — I used to buy this annual statistical analysis every season, right around the time Don Mattingly was kicking ass and taking names all over the league.

(53) The Bronx Zoo, by Sparky Lyle and Peter Golenbock — Time in the Yanks' volatile clubhouse with the reliever who went from Cy Young to sayonara after Goose Gossage was acquired. You can't even write fiction as strange as what goes on between Lyle, Steinbrenner, Martin, Jackson and Rivers.

(67) Cosell, by Howard Cosell — How great was Cosell? Just ask him. But would you rather read an autobiography by another guy who took no chances and mailed it in to the publisher?

(70) The Last Shot, by Darcy Frey — The Marburys might soon be able to move out of the Coney Island projects if can't miss kid Stephon makes it to the NBA. But that's what they'd hoped for his older brother.

My favorites of the bunch? I would recommend Ball Four and Friday Night Lights to even non-sports fans. I also enjoyed greatly the following:

A Good Walk Spoiled, by John Feinstein — A year on the PGA Tour before Tiger, when anyone who brought his mettle could win big. Or lose his Tour card.

Playing Off the Rail, by David McCumber — The author bankrolls a relatively unknown pool shark with the idea of gambling their way to fortune around the country. You win some; you lose some.

Plus,

Nothing but Net, by Bill Walton; A Season Inside, by John Feinstein; Wilt, by Wilt Chamberlain; For the Glory, by Ken Denlinger; Tall Tales, by Terry Pluto, Flashing Before My Eyes, by Dick Schaap, Hell-Bent, by Skip Bayless, and a bunch that I would not recommend before these.

The Least Popular Book Ever Published

Each day, publishers from around the world mail books to my company, in hopes of getting them reviewed in a magazine with a subscription base of over four million. And each Friday, scores of rejects are put out to pasture, in front of my friend's office, where employees are free to take whatever they want. It is then we learn who among the staff is especially literary — and especially cheap.

Today, we were alerted hours ahead of time that picture books would be laid out at 5 p.m., and you could imagine the holiday "bargain shoppers" that descended in front of the designated area at said time. You should have seen this mob go to work. Around 50-70 people attacked the pile, leaving nothing in its wake. Hell, even "On This Date in NASCAR History" got picked up by a softball teammate with family in Virginia. You can't make this stuff up.

When the dust settled — and I was fully expecting someone to come out of the free-for-all with a serious head wound — only one book remained... Mother Earth: Through the Eyes of Women Photographers and Writers. (The problem, clearly, is that this was photography by women and not of women.)

I felt bad for the book. All the others had found good homes within seconds, and this one just sat on the floor, neglected and looking less like a free stocking stuffer and more like a piece of litter. I hope it has a happier life after it's been recycled into a cardboard box.

Review: Coyote Ugly

No, not the dumb movie. I mean the bar that inspired it (along with a few other joints where the road goes on forever and the party never ends).

First Avenue between 9 and 10 Streets may not sound like the most happening part of Manhattan, but it's worth the trip if you like a loud mix of southern/rock/pop metal music, your tourists energized and wide-eyed, your locals appreciative of the company and bartentders that are equal parts rowdy and charming.

Like any watering hole worth a spit, it's just as happening during the week as on the weekends. I've been going on Wednesday nights, when Sara (pictured, with Brandi) has been inspiring the Hump Day crowd for two years. She just wrapped up her NYC duties with a going-away party, and now she's headed to the New Orleans campus of the University of Coyote Ugly. She'll be the most fun bartender in the French Quarter; that's a guarantee.

But the cupboard is not bare, and Coyote Ugly continues to be, to me, the most consistently entertaining bar with no cover, with just enough elbow room and beers as cheap as $2.

In Five Words or Less: Topless chicks are not uncommon

Links:
Official Site | NYCBP Profile | My Coyote Pictures

Ron Jeremy Has Seen Sam Kinison's Johnson, Plus Other Insights From the Hedgehog

Not to be outdone by Trent Lott's sitdown on his favorite network, BET, porn legend Ron Jeremy participated in Metal Sludge's latest round of 20 Questions.

In it, the Hedgehog discloses to having played Chopin for Axl Rose, to still wanting a Hepatitis-C-carrying Pamela Anderson and to (brace yourself) having given himself oral sex — but not since three years ago.

AMONG OTHER INTERESTING WEB FINDS TODAY:

• The Least Essential Albums of 2002 — Included is the debut effort from LMNT, a boy-band who I swear to god put on a lunchtime performance in my company's cafeteria and signed (or tried to) autographs after the show.

• Results From Caption Contest: Jason Giambi and Muppets — The one associating Gonzo with Nomar Garciaparra made me laugh out loud.

• The Jerk List — Includes everyone from the supposedly dead Rodney Dangerfield to the 4th grade teacher of the writer's brother.

• Lyrics to Ice's T's "99 Problems" — Me and the rest off my lily-white friends used to pump this on the campus of Syracuse University, laughing our asses off. OK, it was mostly me.

• Chris Rock: Sexual Harassment vs. Just Trying to Get Laid — The NY product says none of that Anita Hill-Clarence Thomas would have happened if the judge had looked like Denzel Washington.

World Trade Center Design Proposals Released

A quick AP photo search reveals all of the proposed designs for rebuilding the World Trade Center.

They all look so futuristic and symbolic, and I'm not sure that any feel right to me. I suppose if I had to choose, this Peterson/Littenberg creation seems to fit New York best.

I visited Ground Zero for perhaps the fourth time last week, and many of the impromptu memorials and gifts from around the world simply have not been altered. I took plenty of pictures of downtown NYC and felt as I have for most of the time since: a profound sadness for those lost and a renewed sense of humanity among most Americans. Not to be forgotten are the survivors and rescue workers who saw things that will remain in their memories forever. We cannot forget our responsibilities to them, either.

But what I thought most as I walked around that now-solemn area was that, on that horrific morning, people ran for their lives. I envisioned the chaos that ensued in the very positions in which I stood, and it was very powerful.

How Much for the 1986 Yankees? Only $15

One of my favorite sports sites is baseball-reference.com, a text-only database of MLB statistics, perfectly organized so that any bar-stool argument can be solved in mere seconds. Soon thereafter I usually collect my bets.

This site is so cool that even the advertising is interesting. Each page can be sponsored by someone for a fee that varies based on how many views that page generates. For example, the 1986 Yankees page costs $15, while the Bob Feller player page costs $55. Championship years for teams are, of course, in demand. I couldn't find any World Series teams that weren't sponsored. Same with some who just missed, like the 1986 Astros and the 1978 Red Sox.

And some of the sponsorships are fairly entertaining in themselves, like the tribute to Luis Sojo's seeing-eyed grounder to win the World Series for the 2000 Yankees. The 1918 Red Sox page promises that "there will be another." Don't be so sure, there, Sully.

One of the great, new features is a history of each team's pitching staff, perfect for those who can barely remember that Steve Farr was the Yankees' closer for three long years, or that the most common Mets starters since they started stinking up the joint in 1962 have been Seaver, Koosman, Gooden, Fernandez and Darling.

Cool stuff from a site that's smart about how it generates income — by doing so without ruining the user experience.

Review: Tiger Woods PGA Tour 2003

I have to admit, lately I've been spending too much time with a joystick in my hand while working on my putts. You guessed it: I've been whacking around the bushes on one of the most addicting video games I've ever played: Tiger Woods PGA Tour 2003 for Playstation 2.

The core of the game is to create a new profile and work your way up the ladder of success by defeating 28 golfers in match play, or completing a series of tournaments and scenarios. With each victory, you can buy attributes that increase your power, accuracy, putting and even luck, setting you up nicely to shove a 3-wood up the ass of Jesper Parnevik or Colin Montgomerie.

Unlike many of today's games, working the controller is simple. You won't have to hit six buttons simultaneously to get a good shot off. Can't say the same for getting a good woman off.

In short, I found this game to be addicting — I shot an 18-hole round of 54; that should give you a clue — even though I'm not known for having a passion for golf, Golden Tee or video games. Man, that Tiger knows what he's doing.

In Five Words or Less: Tee up, drive those balls

Other Reviews:
GameZone | GamePro | GameSpot | Maxim

Someone's in a Lott of Shit

If you're gonna make the cover of TIME and Newsweek in the same week — as 26-year-old Bruce Springsteen did famously in 1975 — it had better be for something good. Otherwise, your career is pretty much fucked.

Which brings us to today's news item, Trent Lott, who, according to U.S. News and World Report, will be yesterday's news by the end of the week.

Dick Morris, a former advisor to Bill Clinton and Lott who knows something or two about slip-ups and their consequences, goes to bat for Lott in an editorial for the right-wing N.Y. Post, claiming that his record speaks louder than his words when it comes to racial equality.

Lott, of course, had his own chance to clear the air Monday night on BET, a network he may have flipped past once or twice on the way to finding a NASCAR telecast.

Slate's William Taletan was not impressed with Lott's performance in a piece linked off the news site's main headline of "Dead Man Talking."

The sharks are just starting to circle, and my guess is that there will be blood in the water pretty soon. This is where those Capitol Hill public servants are at their best: attacking others. Go for it, gentlemen. I don't care which of you out-of-touch, disingenuous robots benefit.

Just think, none of this would have happened if Strom Thurmond would have just died already.

An Open Letter to Google

Dear Most Popular Search Engine in the World,

It has come to my attention that loading one's page with sexual-oriented keywords is an effective way to generate tons of traffic from your ungodly wealth of users. I would like to make it clear that PaulKatcher.com in now way, shape or form stoops to those cheap ploys. So please do not send any visitors searching the Internet for pictures of Britney Spears' breasts, Christina Aquilera's ass or Anna Kournikova's legs. On this site, you will not find photos from wet t-shirt contests, bachelorette party stories or midgets playing with fruit.

Furthermore, I understand than 0.48% of web-searches are not sex-related. Apparently, there is a great desire among the masses to learn all they can about The Simpsons, Christmas gift ideas, tattoos and Eminem.

Those topics may be addressed at a future date, and I ask that you refrain from sending traffic to PK.com until the proper time.

Thank you,
Paul Katcher

The Ritter Acting Dynasty

A couple of funny things I came across during my "blackout period," and I'm not referring to the times when I go from Yogi's to Gray's Papaya at 4 a.m.

"His acting is far ahead of mine at his age," says Ritter, of his son Jason.
- Thespian John Ritter in People

If that kid's got dad's acting genes, we'd better polish up the Oscar statues now. Really, the sky's the limit.

I actually think John Ritter is pretty funny, even if his comedy is sometimes limited to getting hit in the face with a swinging door and spitting up his drink when he learns he's talking to some chick's father.

• The Coalition of Decency's Anti-John Ritter Page
• Ritter's rooter pops out on camera

Even more shocking than someone coming through Hollywood with more acting ability than John Ritter was a look into my future...

"Uranus is in a playful mood, heating up your social life..."
- My horror-scope (Pices) in the Dec. 5-12 issue of Time Out New York

I made it through the week without getting raped in the West Village. Shows you what TONY knows.

Bravery, Unity and Polish Submarines With Screen Doors

War is hell, and man has never encountered a hell like Operation Marketgarden, the suprise airborne attack remembered so emotionally and accurately in a Saturday Night Live sketch titled Bravery & Unity.

From the inspirational Greek brotherhood ("Never Leave Your Buddy's Behind") to Elmer Watkins' loving letter to his wife, sister and mother in Alabama, you will never forget where you were when you peed in your pants while reading this.

Mets Get Stanton to Stop the Runs

It appears the Mets have found the final piece to the puzzle that should vault them from their cozy spot in the NL East cellar: Yanks hand-me-down setup man Mike Stanton, who sold his soul to the devil Monday and will now cruise the 7 train to the Purple Dump next season.

This comes on the heels of the Mets' signing of Tom Glavine, and baseball supporters can only hope they don't ruin his future Hall of Fame career, as the Second Bananas did with Roberto Alomar.

The Yankees, meanwhile, are mulling an offer to bring Expos ace Bartolo Colon to the Bronx. If it happens, expect crybabies around the country to bitch and moan about how the Yankees always win. Which is not true, of course. These last two seasons without a World Series title have been very trying. You Red Sox fans know what I'm talking about.

ALSO IN SPORTS TODAY:

• So Long to Veterans Stadium — Peter King has a soft spot in his heart for the Philly sin bin, where I watched a baseball game in 1992 and danced to some stupid song in my boxers to get on camera, as any drunk 19-year-old should do.

• How to Rip Off Your Fellow Fantasy Team Owners — The Sports Guy on how to orchestrate a one-sided trade like the one Rocky Dennis made in Mask, when he conned his buddy out of a Rube Walker baseball card.

• The Almost-Strike and Nine Other Things That Pissed Sports Fans Off — ESPN Page 2's top 10 of the week lists the worst sports moments of 2002 from a fan's perspective. From a Mets fan's perspective, this would be called Opening Day.

• Rose-Bud Smells Like a Ploy — The NY Post's Phil Mushnick, always on the lookout for a rat, finds two in the potential deal that could see baseball welcome back Pete Rose. Mushnick believes this has more to do with rehabilitating Selig's career as much as Rose's.

Start Spreading the News

OK, I'm back, as promised. I've been gone less than two months, though it feels like a lot longer. I've done and seen a lot of crazy stuff in the last eight or so weeks, and I'll share a lot of that in the future.

I'm still tweaking everything: templates, functionality, design, etc., so if something is ugly or doesn't work right now, please be patient.

This is going to have a blog format, but I'm not going to log on every night and bore you with my inner thoughts. I am going to have real content here — with the occasional boring inner thought — and everything will be categorized into such sections as New York, Sports, Web Finds, News, Quickie Reviews, etc.

I am also going to update much more frequently than once a week. I expect to post at least once a day, if not more, in the beginning, and we'll see how it goes from there.

I encourage any and all feeback, and you may do so by posting a comment by clicking the link under each post.

So let's start with this: How do you like the new design?