The Barrister


Oh, spring. The time of year when I have already given up on baseball except on the days when my team's improbable Cy Young candidate is pitching; when the Sabres have, not so improbably, retired for the off-season; when sports are a simple backdrop to thoughts of day drinking in the sun and cutting out of work as often as possible.

For the next three months or so, soccer will really be the only sport I care about, and that's just fine with me. While the Buffalo Bills tempt us into a familiar land of hopes and dreams, I'll be in the corner enjoying a sport that hasn't yet beaten me into submission with annual kicks to the nuts. 

/looks at prior Liverpool season results

/kicks self in aforementioned nuts as penance for blatant lie

Of course, paying any attention to this sport flies in the face of certain opinions set forth by certain creepy sports journalists in Tuffalo, but I think it goes without saying that Mike Harrington is simply out of his element when he tries to talk about anything that doesn't fall within the following categories:

• the availability of Terry Pegula for sarcastic, caustic interviews;
• the quickest way to climb a tree outside an unsuspecting woman's window;
• tying knots;
• the best proportion of Miracle Whip and Fritos to put on a bologna sandwich;
• the fragrance of a minor league baseball locker room;
• buying bulk candy;
• Jerry Sullivan's jock; and 
• LOL ROFL Doh! Thanx

So, when it comes to soccer, don't worry about this knuckledragger's opinion. When he hears "The Beautiful Game," his mind instantly shifts to family reunion Twister. He's gross.

On to the #Hot #Sports #Takes!!!

The Barrister 

God help me for bothering to do this today. Pretty sure it's that asshole Dan Sterlace's fault, but whatever. I'm in too deep now. 

Today, unless you're a Sabres fan living under a rock that doesn't allow for decent wifi, you know there was a press conference with Ted Black and Darcy Regier. Awesome! I seem to remember they didn't have one of those last year! I bet those pros over at the Buffalo News were so excited and put on their nicest Burger King pants for the occasion. I bet they even decided not to be their usual turd burgling selves and act like adults for once. 

Or not. 

Oh mannnnnnnn, was this a terrible shit show. Everyone walked away from this looking like a terrible human being - Darcy, Mike Harrington, Jerry Sullivan, Paul Hamilton (though to be fair he waddled away looking like a walrus with terrible grammar, as per usual), Ted Black, some asshole from Channel 2 named Scott Brown and one or two guys named John, one whom I can only assume was Jon Vogl and the other who I learned was John Wawrow. Of course, the key players of Rusty Tromboning were to be expected, but fuck. The dipshittery was flying from every direction. Pretty sure I've interviewed inmates on Rikers facing murder charges evince more of a commitment to civility than I saw on display.

Oh, and they also talked about the terrible hockey team we inexplicably love. Good times.

What's the solution? Oh, I'm going to FJM this motherfucker. It's the only way we get right again.

HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

AS IF YOU NEEDED ONE, AMIRITE??

The Barrister


I hate having to write this, but I'm a sucker for accuracy and specificity and setting the record straight when it's been sullied by knuckledragging journalists who couldn't care less about accuracy, professionalism or personal hygiene, and today was a perhaps overlooked adventure in misrepresentation in media and the willingness of fans to fall down a rabbit hole of obfuscation.

How's that for a fun potshotting intro? You're hooked! You're blissfully unaware I'm just a hack, basement-dwelling blogger!! Success!


The good (great) news is that this isn't a fan piece on booing. It's a fan piece on why the #WhiteVanBrigade has failed us, again.  

Today...

NEWSFLASH: RYAN MILLER AND RON ROLSTON CALL SABRES FANS ASSHOLES FOR BOOING; FANS RETORT BY CALLING THEM UNDERPERFORMING PUSSIES

It's probably more fun to just believe that our favorite players and our coach are talking directly to us after a game, giving unsolicited comments about the game we just watched. It's more fun to think of just those comments, and not the context of those comments when assessing a game story because, among many reasons, Paul Hamilton and Mike Harrington are both creepy and weird looking and who wants to think that they're part of the scenario.  Hell, I can't be bothered to watch locker room interviews after a Sabres game anymore for fear of a walrus peeking out in the corner of the frame, voice recorder in hand, pastrami sandwich in pocket.

The Outlander

Tonight the Buffalo Sabres take to the ice in the land of meth labs and man-eating sinkholes to attempt to do something they haven’t done once during this mercifully shortened season: win their fourth hockeypucks game in a row. If Winnipeg and Philadelphia win their games in regulation, the Sabres will suddenly find themselves one point removed from the final playoff spot with a game in front of 13,000 empty seats on deck Thursday night in the Everglades. Ten of their final fourteen games will be played at home and, despite all of this, some of you are despondent, downtrodden, terrified that they might win, that they might turn that puncher’s chance into a playoff berth.

Why is this case? Well the prevailing logic seems to be that the team is better served by finishing with a top three draft pick, buttressed by the sweeping assumption that if the Sabres sneak into the playoffs, Darcy Regier will be rewarded with keeping his job and this team will be thrown into some sort of perpetual mediocrity as true as our orbit around the sun. I can’t say I don’t understand this logic; the idea of giving this general manager a second crack under Pegula at assembling a roster would accomplish little more than hemorrhaging the fanbase and leaving us a few more years closer to death without a sniff at a cup. What I don’t understand is how people are willing to assume that this is black and white, that wins equal the general manager staying. Because drive-time radio pronounces it true? Because a WGR beat reporter who spent the entire football season telling you Chan Gailey wasn’t going anywhere is now saying the same about Darcy? Because TBN staff members that haven’t broken a team story since the Ford administration pronounce it true? For shame.

I don’t know what the owner thinks about the general manager’s future. Neither do you and neither do any of the local media. What I do know is management espoused a three-year plan to win a Stanley Cup (that has been shot to shit) and pledged to win multiple Stanley Cups under the new owner. I know the owner allowed or ordered the firing of a coach that had been involved with the team for the better part of three decades. I know that perennial eighth place finishes and first round exits are quite removed from the sixteen wins that it takes to win a championship. I know that no one who builds a business worth more than a billion dollars does so by accepting continuous underachievement and incompetence. 

I also know that telling the fans that they’re being neglected, ignored and mistreated sells papers and ad space, and allows fans to wallow in the “woe is us” attitude that gets ingrained into your DNA at conception in this region. I know it’s the safe column to write, the safe position to take. I know Pominville, Vanek and Miller have contracts that expire after next season and the general manager himself has already bucked tradition and stated to local and national outlets that any changes that will be made will be focused on next season. 

My point is that there’s at least enough empirical evidence to argue that the general manager is gone no matter what happens short of a conference finals appearance, right? There’s more than enough evidence to support the idea that columnists and radio hosts are trolling the fanbase by using Darcy as a boogeyman to get you to tune in or use one of your ten free page views (I’m not silly enough to assume any of our readers are also TBN subscribers). 

Making it harder to accept even a slight run of success is the fact that we had finally embraced, welcomed the idea of hitting rock bottom. After half a decade of mediocrity this was going to be the year we finally said “fuck it,” and took the losses laughing instead of crying. We were ready, and then these, these ASSHOLES had to go and start winning! God can’t they do anything right!?

The Barrister and The Apologist

I don't even care that the title of this episode rips off 'Friends' - it's accurate. We're mean in this one. Well, really only with respect to certain creepy members of a certain local newspaper's sports staff.

Recorded during and after the Sabres' most recent game - a win?!?? - against the Maple Leaves of Toronto, we talk plenty about the Sabres, how sad we are about the lack of silver linings this season, and then whistfully predict the inevitable Cup run.  Oh, and Joe from Buffalo Wins makes a cameo to talk about striking out with the smokeshow bartender at Gleason's, further adding to the list of things we'll make fun of him about when he returns to Twitter on Easter.

Musical additions by the way of Jefferson Airplane, Homeboy Sandman and Kasabian. 


Download here and here, or stream below in the media player. And if you haven't, subscribe to all of our "great" "podcasts" via RSS or the iTunes button below. LIKE A BOSS.

The Barrister


Never has a CrapTastiCast required so much editing. 

Sunday didn't go quite as planned. Our special guest for the afternoon was absent due to the failings of Time Warner's high-speed never really works internet so the rest of the NYC-based crew soldiered on with discussions of the Bills, Sabres, NHL and a silver platter of other topics that I can't be bothered to remember. We finish it off with another installation of our game "Scizz is a Douche," thereby giving us all the opportunity to show how stupid we are when we're a few deep. 

Musical interludes care of Radiohead, Dr. Dog, Kendrick Lamar and 2 Bears. Download and stream below, or hit our libsyn podcast page for access to all of our podcasts. 

The Scizz

I don't know about all of you, but I'm simply having a wonderful Christmas time! Tomorrow I start a lovely 11 days away from work that will be absolutely glorious. Since I'm in such a great mood, I've decided that I would pass on some holiday cheer to our dear reader(s?).

As you surely know, receiving gifts is a fantastic part of the holiday season, but nothing really compares to spreading joy and the feeling you get when you give that perfect gift. So today, instead of another painstaking Bills preview, I've decided to share with everybody my gift-giving list this year. Somebody has to make your life more interesting, right? Insecure, Low rent Deadspin to the rescue!

To my dear old friend, Mike Harrington: Night vision goggles, new tinted windows for the van, Misogyny for Dummies handbook, and a gift card to Super Cuts.

To the official Buffalo Bills twitter handler: A bottle of scotch, an application for the New England Patriots social media department, and a "I would NOT want that job" face.

To Jerry Sullivan: A mini-fridge. Maybe if Jerry knew how awesome a mini-fridge at the work place is, he'd lighten up and stop mailing it in on a weekly basis. If not, a book of stamps for said mailing it in.

To Jay McKee: A book of non-gay insult jokes, Ultimate Fighter Season 2 on blu-ray, and a brony t-shirt.

To C.J. Spiller: A new team. Demand a trade. Hold out for obscene money. Just go somewhere else where you will be used properly and have an MVP season. As long as Tweedle-Old and Tweedle-Older are around, you'll be wasted.

To the Buffalo Bills front office and coaching staff: A lovely holiday party cruise with top-shelf open-bar, 5-star catering, and no life boats as it heads over Niagara Falls.

To Ralph Wilson Jr.: A silver cross, some garlic, and stake through the heart you blood-sucking piece of shit. (Watch him live another seven years, just in time for the relocation fee to be waived #becauseitsbuffalo)

To the intelligent Bills Mafia members (they do exist!): A different nickname. I know you do a lot of great things for charity, but go back to Bills Nation or anything for that matter. Or I'll even give Bills Legal non-profit organization if you want it, just try to avoid a name of a group that is associated with exploiting minorities, murdering thousands of people, and creating Atlantic City.

To the other Bills Mafia members (those who compared Fitzpatrick to Jim Kelly, still defend Chan Gailey, brag about getting Dm's from players, or have Bills tattoos): Your gift is Mark Sanchez or Tim Tebow. Let's see you spin this one, you neanderthals.

To the NHL: This giant dump I just took because that is what you have become.

To Matt Ellis: A request to remove the restraining order so that we can finally be together. Don't lock ME out, Matty. 

To Jeremy White: A sincere thank you for appearing on our shitty, little podcast. You have been doing a great job, now please take a 20% pay-cut, slash your benefits, and just suck it up and accept it.

To Joe from Buffalo Wins: A Strip Club of the month membership, a dictionary, and a niche.

To my new pal, Mike Straw: He went out and BOUGHT my original gift for himself; A snazzy new Buff State hat!  So now I'm going to get him a new benchmark for "making it" since apparently being made fun of by us was his original goal. I mean we are all very successful and handsome, but he can do better! I'm going with "learn the definition of irony".

To the city of Buffalo: With a new ten year lease for the Buffalo Bills and an added $400 million relocation fee, I'd like to give you a sadness hug. Just take a shower first you dirty fuck.

To the DGWU Sports house band, The Jambrones: T-shirts from the first batch of the #becauseitsbuffalo clothing line and the Barrister singing background vocals on your next song.

To Paul Hamilton: A new salt water tank with below zero temperatures so he can feel at home.

And of course I cannot forget my colleagues here at DGWU Sports:

To the Yachtsman: A book of big word British insults to continue making the rest of us feel inferior.

To the Apologist: The NBA league pass so it hopefully inspires him to start consistently writing again.

To the Outlander: A shiny new lawyering job in NYC so he can get drunk with us more often.

To the Continental: A plug for how amazing her #BuffaloFestivus tweets were last night and a Jim Boeheim inspirational poster.

To the Barrister: A new bow-tie for my wedding and a separate twitter handle for his political tweets. (I just registered @DubslovesWeiner)

To myself: Therapy for my ragestorms, a sober January, and a Knicks collapse by early February so I can stop getting my hopes up.

The Barrister

It sure has been a while since I dusted off my gloves and took the media to task for its latest absurdity in the sports world. Sometimes, these venomous hit jobs are directed at The Network - an easy enough target, what with the willingness to sit on apparent evidence of child molestation at Syracuse, only to run the story without even giving the authorities the opportunity to vet that evidence and find that, in sum, it was demonstrably false. And sometimes, these hit jobs are directed at Buffalo sports media - also an easy target, what with the spelling errors, the apparent desire to merely yuk it up with a failing, entrenched hockey coach and the pathetic derision of a blogger community which has arguably provided better and more insightful sports analysis over the past couple years. (Not here at the Deeg, of course. We are more than happy to be the slime scraped out of the bottom of the barrel, presented as food for your more carnal cravings. It's what we do.)

One of the things I've noticed about Buffalo sports fans is that they can tend to believe that their town is getting jobbed at every opportunity. It's certainly no surprise, given the history, but it can leave people with a lingering sense that, in essence, whatever we get in Buffalo is a class below what everyone else gets in other cities. Sports teams? Inferior from top to bottom. Local theater and music? Undeveloped and of poor quality. Government? Corrupt and ineffective in a way unseen throughout America. Schools? Underfunded and forgotten. Cheerleaders? Sixes instead of tens. (This one may be right). 

Some of this is true. In many ways, other cities do have it better. In a lot of ways, though, Buffalo has the exact same problems as other cities, but has convinced itself that the grass is greener in New York City, in Boston, in D.C., in Philly. I've found this to be especially true when it comes to how we digest our local sports media in Western New York. There always seems to be a lingering sense that Bucky and Harrington and Hamilton and Sully are on a lower tier than the guys who cover sports in the big markets. With the internet, though, we can verify that this is simply not true, and never was this more apparent to me than during the post-game presser following last Friday's Rangers-Devils Game 6. 

Dear God, it was brutal. 

So, in keeping with the overlap between "media hit piece" and "mailing it in," here is the transcript of the questions asked to Rangers coach John Tortorella following Game 6. My thoughts are in italics.

The Grouch (guest contributor) 

One of the most unique attributes of the American culture, or any culture, really, is the way in which that culture deals with its most basic problems. Think about death for a second, and the many ways in which different places in the world handle that issue. The predominant American method, on the other hand, is a stridently Anglo-fied rendition which includes a whole mess of things from grief, to fundamental Christian religion, to economics. There are, as it goes, surely better means available to us.

This is the usual derivative, trash of a piece on the failings of, *sigh*, us as a people, but so it goes. At the more finite levels, our failings rear their ugly head in all manner of pithy domestic issues. Put broadly, it is, essentially, this: we are not particularly good at sorting out the many messes that entail any problem, and certainly no good at handling foresight.

My favorite phrase for this is that we are hopelessly addicted to building fire stations after the fire.