This week's col: Pete Rose's Zen

It seems to be a season of revisiting older stars having new moments. Last week it was Jerry Lewis, this week it's Pete Rose. But their names endure because they don't really ever disappear or give up. So here's the latest on Rose, who seems like a changed man from just three years ago. Enjoy. -sf

The Humble Hustle of Pete Rose
By STEVE FRIESS

If his face weren’t so famous, I’d be sure I was speaking to a different man. The Pete Rose I met three years ago was bitter, irascible, impatient, fidgety. The guy I sat with last week at the Forum Shops, where he signs autographs for a living, seemed possessed by the Dalai Lama.

There were two reasons to chat up Charlie Hustle now. For the first time since he was banned from baseball for betting on games as manager of the Cincinnati Reds, Rose is being honored on the field at the Reds’ ballpark this month on the 25th anniversary of breaking Ty Cobb’s hit record. Also, seven-time Cy Young Award winner Roger Clemens is being indicted on charges he lied to Congress about whether he used performance-enhancing drugs.

Rose remains an official pariah, ineligible for the Hall of Fame while people who did real long-term and widespread damage to the game—Clemens, Bonds, A-Rod—remain eligible. Not to mention, have you seen the list of all-around assholes enshrined in Cooperstown?

Read the rest at LasVegasWeekly.Com

Vegas Sunday Sillies

My screen-shot and photo folder runneth over, so time to share the smiles.

Miles' sister sent this card, which gave me a chuckle...


...as did this Bizarro cartoon from a few weeks ago.


See, the balloon dog pooped balloon turds and that's funny, get it?

Those wacky folks at The View section of the R-J are back with more weird, dissonant art to go with their articles. See, it's a piece on how real bones are dangerous for dogs and the suggestion is do give them smaller treats so, naturally...


...the photo they select shows a dog chewing a plastic bone. Nowhere in the piece is that alternative suggested -- perhaps because chewing a plastic bone really doesn't do anything to improve dental health -- and the caption under the photo is irrelevant to the photo shown. Click on the image above to see it better.

Meanwhile, over in the sports pages, imagine my thrilling surprise when I saw that the New York Mets are on a 524-game winning streak!


OK, OK. I get that it's a five-game winning streak, but someone over there in the Review-Journal sports section needs to realign this grid. Pittsburgh Pirates fans are suffering enough without momentarily thinking their team has lost 914 games in a row, y'know?

I was in Boise last week, as I Tweeted, getting my state capital fix. The Idaho Capitol was closed for construction and renovation last time I was there, so I got a new money shot of me with the building since this was a more proper visit:


Oh, wait. That's the most obscure, weird artifact I've seen in a state exhibit anywhere. Look! It's the ex-first lady's fake diamond belt! Woo hoo!

Here's the real shot:


Meanwhile, even in Boise I couldn't quite shake the Vegas media. I mean, Jane Ann Morrison even has a road named for her!


I needed to book a room in Boise for my first night, and this one hotel site wanted me to "sumbit." Dunno what that means, but it sounds slightly naughty or crude.


As for the next image, I've asked this before, but it's worth repeating: WHY in this day and age do we have to wade through these state-name menus AND the ZIP code?


Why is the ZIP code good enough for Google but not for these archaic web forms?

And finally, Strip guest host Amy Turner wanted to know if...


...Wayne Brady's fly is open in this Leila Navidi photo from a June 14 report by John Katsilometes in the Las Vegas Sun. Click on it to enlarge and take a good look. It sure is dicey.

Prose Unbecoming a Publisher

There were some very interesting pieces in today's Sunday paper, my favorite being a fun feature by the Review-Journal's Henry Brean on movies set at the Hoover Dam and creepy ones from the AP about a machine being taught to beat people at poker and the trend toward companies and hospitals putting microchips in humans to track them for various reasons. I even learned in Sports today that there's a BoSox centerfielder named Coco Crisp, which made me giggle.

Still, the thing that got me was that, just when we thought it couldn't sink any lower, the feud between the publishers of the Review-Journal and the Sun sank to new depths when R-J publisher Sherm Frederick delved into mastubatory allegories unbecoming a family newspaper. To wit, he wrote:

On a related note, I had to smile at the weekly "I hate Sherm" column by my steamed colleague Brian Greenspun over at the Sun. As usual, his taunts are sophomoric, boring and a chore to read.

For those who try, I have a story (which is absolutely true) that may help.

It's about a monkey I once saw as a kid in my neighborhood pet shop.

This little monkey had a problem with ... well ... let's just say as politely as possible that the little guy had a penchant for engaging in repeated acts of self-gratification.

When unsuspecting customers wandered near the monkey's cage, he would squeak in anger, pull a blanket over his lap and then furiously continue on as if no one could see what he was doing.

That's Brian Greenspun in a nutshell. When he is caught in his journalistic acts of self indulgence, Brian angrily squeaks and pulls a blanket over his figurative lap. Then, he pounds away, as it were, as if people are unable to see what's really going on.

But, of course, they can.

Sigh. Insert your spank-the-monkey joke here. When are both of these kids gonna grow up? How embarrassing for both of these men, their publications and their staffs. But, I admit, endlessly amusing to the rest of us.

[Disclosure: I worked for three years at the R-J and I have written for several Greenspun and Stephens Media publications.]