A Cultural Pop to the Skull

I realize that when I write about sports, some of my loyal readers, more likely reader, are lost due to a lack of interest. This is something that I am not going to apologize for, sorry. Shoot, I apologized, and now I have offended my reader. Oh well. Anyway, I thought I would take a moment and put in my two cents, more likely several cents, on a few of the pop-culture issues that have come to my attention in the past few days.

First and foremost we go to the wonderful world of our favorite national passtime, no not keeping in touch with celebrities, that is next. I am talking about the real national passtime, baseball. Everybody's favorite bobble headed big-leaguer, Barry Bonds, is a free agent now. Word on the wire is that there are a number of teams in conversation with his agent, sweet talking and doing whatever they can to aquire the Bay-splashing bomber. This is ridiculous. Bonds has spent the last 15 years in San Francisco juicing dinger after dinger into the water and or into other dimensions. He is now just 21 homeruns shy of obtaining his coveted asterix and a place in the history books, and we are to believe that the Giants are actually entertaining the thought of allowing their biggest crowd drawing figure in what is sure to be the biggest and most publicized season of his career just amble off into the darkness of another team? I doubt it. Sure, he may be the biggest controversy and "conversational pleasure" in the major leagues, if not all professional sports, but let's give the Sanfrancisco brass a little more credit than this. For them to spend millions of dollars over the course of 15 years, back him on all of his steroid induced allegations, put up with his wise decision to get knee surgery from "Doctor Nick" under an overpass in downtown Frisco, and simultaneously enjoy the spectacle of sending smash after smash over the wall as he closes upon a seemingly unbeatable record, only to drop him just 21 short of 755 career homeruns, and a major league record, is ludicris.

What is even more funny to imagine is that Oakland, San Diego, and any other team persuing the crome-domium slugger actually think they have a shot at obtaining him. Then again, money talks, and stranger things have happened.

Now on to a more touchy subject. This is big, yet devistating news. The kind that needs to be taken seriously. If Kevin Federline-Spears doesn't secure a portion of his soon to be ex's estate and riches, as well as custody of the children he has worked so hard at raising, then he will release what he claims to be a four hour "special relations" tape of him and his bread winning wife Brittany. Well, we should take this seriously. I mean, other than his go-nowhere, Vanilla-Ice-wannabe rap career that he is hanging on to with all the deadbeat power he posseses, has he ever lasted more than a few minutes at anything? If he is going to put his incredible mind power to work on a failsafe blackmail plan, he probably ought to have been realistic on what it was and the details of what it needed to contain. Okay, let's say said alleged tape exists, for the topic of conversation. What would be on that tape? My best intelectual guess suggests this is what we would find, if it were released and is true. First, there would be nearly an hour and a half of only sound because the lens cap was left on. On top of that, the sound you'd here would be Kevin serranading his highly interested successful recording pop-star wife with a few of his "choicest raps". After they realize the lens cap was on, you would then see about forty-five minutes or more of fighting in regards to who was responsible for such a careless error. You would also hear, brought up by Kevin, "you didn't get on tape the crazy awesome moves I did while I was singing 'Popazou'." After that argument goes nowhere, you would somehow see it transform into another heated argument regarding camera angles and locations for their "hot" video production. This would then be somehow followed by another on film battle as to what all of the buttons on the camcorder do, which would then escalate into what all of the buttons on Darth Vader's chest plate do. This would last for another hour followed by one of the two locking themself in the bathroom refusing to continue with this absurd filming idea. After some groveling, or until they both forget what it was they were arguing, there will be a brief few recorded seconds of kissing followed by little Sean Preston falling off the bed and exposing yet another "careless mommy moment" and the camera running out of tape.

The lesson learned in these two pop culture tid bits is that, though celebrities have a lot of money and fame, it doesn't always mean they are smart. However, they do give us plenty to write and talk about.