Tom Cruise is Nuts

Keep it in your pants, Cruise.

Over the past ten years or so, more and more convincing evidence has been surfacing that shows that blockbuster movie star Tom Cruise is, in fact, completely insane. Experts we are not, but you hardly need to be an expert to agree with the truth. In this case, we think that a circus monkey would jump up and down hyperactively in agreement. Since it is not a crime to be crazy, nobody's gonna be locking up this idiot anytime soon, but that's just fine with us. Let the proof keep rolling in. Laughing at other peoples' misfortunes has long been a staple here at HPO, but this Cruise guy just scares the living bejesus out of us, to be honest.

Here are just a couple of juicy nuggets of sweet truth that we came across during our daily research:

Exhibit A: Tom is a scientologist, meaning he believes in scientology.

If you actually read about that fake religion, you realize how much of a total moron you have to be to buy into it. But much more importantly, you just plain look like a retard whenever you use the word "scientology" in a sentence.

It's just not a word.

Period.

Exhibit B: Tom bought his own sonogram machine so he and his almost-as-crazy-as-he-is wife could watch their unborn fetus develop.

That's charming, Tom. Last time we checked, you weren't a practitioning nurse, meaning you're probably not qualified to be using professional medical equipment at your home on your wife and child, you jackass. We can only hope for the kid's sake that Tom doesn't go overboard with this whole 'pretending he's a doctor' thing and doesn't harm the poor child.

Exhibit C: Tom Cruise is a shitty tipper.

Exhibit D: People who are not totally nuts do not behave like this.

Tom shows off his non-gay belt loops for a crowd of teenage boys.

If you believe in any kind of god, be it Jah, Yahweh, Allah, Barbara Streisand, or even Cheebus, give thanks to them that the world isn't full of people like Tom Cruise, because it wouldn't be very much fun. We would all be deranged, short, and pretending we are doctors.

Bring the Problem to the Jackass

What did Joey Gathright do to deserve this?

Julian Tavarez, ex-Cardinal hot-head and disgrace to baseball, punched the D-Ray's Joey Gathright in the jaw on Monday during a play at the plate. OK, we understand that he was upset about the previous day's altercation, but that's no excuse to fight like a girl. He was standing on Gathright's leg, and then punched him as he tried to stand up.

Next time this idiot tries a stunt like this, we hope he breaks all the bones in his throwing arm, while at the same time tearing his digital nerve.

The best part is that they actually put his name up as "Coconut Jones."

We here at HPO have been wondering if life is even worth living after the end of the NFL season and Clinton Portis' weekly thursday press conferences. Talk about breaking stereotypes! This blows them out of the water. A Florida-educated professional athlete, who generally would be thought of as dumb as a box of rocks, is doing character acting on the side. He makes it look easy, and anyone who has seen it would have to admit that he is not half bad as a thespian. Clinton has brought us classic characters such as Southeast Jerome, Inspector Two-Two, Coach Janky-Spanky, Dolla Bill, and Sir Lend-me-a-Hand.

He better start doing this again during training camp.

Right now, we could sure go for a drink or two... or eight.

Poop on the Boots Can Always Be Washed Off

Chalk one up for the goldfish tenders.

You won't hear us admit this often, but we here at HPO were wrong.

At this time, we would like to offer our most sincere apologies to the fine Japanese people, who soundly proved their field-ball prowess in the international limelight.

So, if we offended anyone, anyone at all, we are sorry. But can you really blame us?

Correct us if we're wrong, but didn't Japan come into this whole thing riding a cockstrong tsunami of boasting, bollocking, and brags? Were they not the first ones to sling mud on an otherwise pure multi-national convention of baseball-loving nations?

Be that as it may, their dominance was clear from day one, and we for one are forced to wonder just who is king of the mountain in a sport that is plagued with scandal, controversy, and crapulence, at least within the borders of our Union.

If you hadn't been laid in 25 years, would you be this happy?

As Adriana Lima bounced down the runway in Nice, what the men in the audience remembered most was her countless philanthropic contributions, her unrelenting patriotism, and her love for children of all races.

But, according to a story recently published in GQ, via deadspin, this presumptuous primadonna is actually claiming to be a virgin.

If this makes you mad, just think about what it's doing to Lenny Kravitz.

He's always been just like a little puppy dog.

Now, he wants an apology. Makes sense.

In other news, Iran has officially petitioned to the UN and NATO to have its name changed to "Backwards Land." Their president, Mahmouod Ahmadinejad, claims that this is a fitting name for Iran because there, left is right, up is down, you hang up the phone before it rings, and hamburgers eat people. Oh yeah, and another reason why he wants it to be called Backwards Land is because, apparently, in Iran, you apologize to people after they threaten to nuke their neighbors and then take half of the world hostage with the nuclear weapons that are being developed by their crackpot nuclear scientists, who probably couldn't even get a leisure studies degree from Arizona State.

Baseball Been Berry, Berry Good to Me

He'll be just fine, as long as he has his solid gold house and his rocket car.

Before Sammy Sosa became hated in Chicago for his corked-bat stunt and locker room antics, it truly was difficult to try to convince a Cub fan that Sosa was as crooked as an Englishman's teeth. Of course, after his fall from the grace of being America's beloved slugger, culminating with his painful exit from the Second City, everyone wanted a piece of Sosa. But before Sosa was blacklisted, not too many people were bashing Sammy.

We here at HPO have been doing it for years. But nobody listened when we would say he was dirty.

Like the time Sosa and his brother, Jose, were in a Caracas hotel lobby and misplaced $20,000 cash.

Think about it. A couple of double-dealing Dominicans are in a South American hotel lobby with 20 grand wrapped in a towel. I think that's pretty much the textbook definition of under-the-table dealing, having that much bread wrapped in a towel.

Exhibit B: We all remember those commercials for the "Sammy Sosa Charitable Foundation" that WGN used to run during Cubs games. You know, the one with Sammy loading a truck full of supplies to go to needy children in the DR for hurrican relief? Apparently, Sammy thought the best way to help those children was by spending the money on exotic cars.

Funny how people just forget about this kind of stuff.

Piazza appears to have recovered from that wicked groin pull.

And, of course, everybody's favorite Sammy Sosa moment, courtesy of Curt Schilling, Chris "I'll never be your beast of" Berman, Mike Piazza, and world-renowned idiot Joe Morgan.

July 8th, 2002. MLB All-Star weekend in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

After Sosa crushes 12 moon-shots in the opening round of the Derby, ESPN's Rich Eisen asks Sosa if he "got all of it", and Sammy's replies get nothing but laughs from the booth.

Then, in the greatest broadcasting blooper of all-time, the camera catches Schilling saying "He's gotta say it! Baseball been berry, berry good to me." More laughs from the booth follow, and then, the camera catches Berman shushing Curt.

Here is the video.

To quote legendary broadcaster Ken Harrelson, in the booth with Don Drysdale and Howard Cosell during Tom Seaver's 300th career win, "YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!"

Hello, Jugs.

The beautiful woman in the picture above is Osama bin Laden's niece.

Seriously.

Selection Sunday

Sweet Lou is a strong #1 seed.

Selection Sunday is here, which means it's time for March Madness. And, of course, the MLB Manager Fight Tournament that comes with it. This year, the rules have changed. The bracket is packed with new faces, some old heavyweights, and long-time veterans. The competition consists of a no-holds-barred fight to the death between the manager pairings. The man who wins the fight, advances to the next round. One man will be left standing at the end of the month.

Results and summaries of each bout can be found here at HPO throughout the month of March. We think this will be one hell of a tournament.

Here are the seedings:

Midwest Region

(1) Lou Piniella
(16) Sparky Anderson

(8) Jim Fregosi
(9) John McGraw

(5) Ozzie Guillen
(12) Gary Pettis

(4) Marge Schott
(13) Tommy La Sorda

(6) Eric Wedge
(11) Bob Brenly

(3) Mike Hargrove
(14) Grady Little

(7) Jeff Torborg
(8) Dusty Baker

(2) Mike Scioscia
(15) Jack McKeon

South Region

(1) Billy Martin
(16) Jerry Manuel

(8) Ron Gardenhire
(9) Bobby Valentine

(5) Bruce Bochy
(12) Bruce Kimm

(4) Frank Robinson
(13) Terry Francona

(6) Tom Kelly
(11) Willie Randolph

(3) Cito Gaston
(14) Jim Leyland

(7) Joe Torre
(10) Branch Rickey

(2) Lee Elia
(15) Felipe Alou

West Region

(1) Lloyd McLendon
(16) Sam Perlozzo

(8) Terry Bevington
(9) Al Lopez

(5) Clint Hurdle
(12) Mickey Cochrane

(4) Joe Mikulik
(13) Casey Stengel

(6) Bill Veeck
(11) Stump Merrill

(3) Buck Showalter
(14) Davey Lopes

(7) Jim Tracy
(10) Buddy Bell

(2) Don Baylor
(15) Bobby Cox (with Leo Mazzone)

East Region

(1) Earl Weaver
(16) Joe Maddon

(8) "Pants" Rowland
(9) Ned Yost

(5) Phil Garner
(12) Ken Macha

(4) Alan Trammell
(13) Ken "the Hawk" Harrelson

(6) Charlie Manuel
(11) Bob Melvin

(3) Kenesaw Mountain Landis
(14) Don Zimmer

(7) John Gibbons
(10) Yogi Berra

(2) Pete Rose
(15) Tony La Russa

Hell in a Handbasket

Say hello to my little uranium-enriched friend.

Returning to a story that we've been covering for quite some time here at HPO, the situation in Iran just got a little closer to the war that we have been predicting for quite some time now.

For those of you new to this story, here is what has been going on recently in this Middle Eastern confrontation. The March 6th deadline came and passed, and with all talks with the Iranians going nowhere, Iran was referred to the UN security council for its nuclear development program. Iran says it is using its nuclear program for power, not for making weapons to "wipe out Israel", as the US fears. And, since Iran refuses to let anyone monitor their nuclear development, we have a problem.

Now, as reported in The Guardian on Monday, US ambassador John Bolton has already stated that specific military activity (airstrikes and selected special ops) will be taken against Iran if they do not comply.

Why on earth would he do that?

Rarely (if ever) are specific military plans revealed to the mainstream media by key political insiders in such blatant form. It's like Cowher saying before the Super Bowl that he will run that double-reverse option pass to Hines Ward during the fourth quarter. It just doesn't happen, people.

We here at HPO were curious about this, so we went to one of our field men, Hector Golightly, an ex-employee of the British government's Foreign Office, and an expert in international politics. According to him, the situation looks like this: America wants Iran attacked because of their nuclear program and because they have a whole mess of oil, but America does not want to do it. So, by announcing to the world that we will do it through the press, that gives someone else (in this case, the Jews) a chance to attack first. They already had a motive; they now have permission, too. Then, presumably, the US establishes a puppet government in Tehran, takes over the nuclear program, and sells Iran's oil to the west for less than before.

Problem solved!

But, bombing Iran may not be so easy. France, Germany, and other major countries believe Iran may have secret nuclear facilities buried so far under the Persian desert that no airstrikes would ever touch them. This, they say, is just the "tip of the iceberg."

Now that's scary stuff.

Now, we here at HPO are God-fearing, working-class, blue-collar Joe Punchclocks, and the idea of war makes us sick, no matter who's doing the killing. But when you cross that line in the sand, as is dangerously close in this situation, there is little than can be done to avoid the inevitable death of a whole lot of people.

That's a spicy meatball.

The Life and Times of an Urban Chicken

Oscar de la Pollo

We have never written an obituary for a chicken before, but then again, we had never met a chicken like Oscar either. Like his idol, James Dean, he lived fast, and died young. You cannot tell his story without telling a story of the true American dream. Our East-Coast man, "Freeballin" Colin, contributed to this entirely true story, the story of one white chicken from the ghetto of Chicago, and we are now sharing this story with you.

Oscar de la Pollo was a Foghorn chicken born into captivity circa early 2005. Legend has it, that the night he hatched, the moon turned blood red. Hard times awaited Oscar from the day of his birth, and his formative years were spent on Chicago Avenue in a building marked "Live Pollo," an unexplainable mix of English and Spanish, even more bizarre considering that the establishment was under the care of Pakistani livestock peddlers. He lived on a sawdust covered floor, with countless other chickens and rabbits, waiting for the day when his number would be called. People closest to him would later say, "If it wasn't for bad luck, he wouldn't have any luck at all."

For almost a year, Oscar survived in these conditions, until the fateful eve of July 21, 2005, when the Carmines were in town to play our beloved White Sox (an evening forever to be known as "Chicken Night"). This day marked a turning point in Oscar's life: He was purchased by God-fearing working-class men for $8.50, and brought to an East Village apartment in a cardboard Corona box.

After the ballgame, Oscar was fitted with a red cape and was unanimously elected official mascot for the post-game festivities. A first-hand account of that evening's events:

We were off to the party, where, God willing, Oscar had made it alive. By the time we got there, Oscar was already half-in-the-bag, having eaten almost a full piece of beer-soaked bread. He was just clucking around, struttin' his stuff (those chickens sure are social butterflies). He had also been fitted with an acceptable cape, made out of red felt, with 'Urban Chicken' written on it. By the time we got Oscar up to the roof of the apartment, he was hammered; stumbling around, picking a fight with the dog, and attempting to fornicate with girls of less than appealing visual quality. Or was that picking fights with girls of less than appealing visual quality, and attempting to fornicate with the dog? I can't really remember.

Either way, by the end of the night it was time to figure out what to do with Oscar. The original plan was to set him loose on the neighborhood, cape and all, and have him become a local celebrity. Another idea run up the flag pole was to have Oscar for dinner the next night, possibly involving some bizarre sacrifice platform and some Pedro-Cerrano-praying-to-Jo-Bu-style ritual. The last idea was to throw him off the roof, and let fate again decide Oscar's future. Pretty cut-and-dried, simple but effective. Once the ladies at the party got wise to our plans, they felt the need to intervene. One of them offered to drive Oscar a few hundred miles north to her farm in Wisconsin, a sort of poultry Club Med, and allow Oscar to live the rest of his life in chicken luxury. Well, let me tell you, we were sold. Oscar deserved it; he had thrown one hell of a party.

So after "Chicken Night," Oscar de la Pollo left the shores of Lake Michigan, the city where he was born and raised, for the green pastures, rolling hills, and easy living of Wisconsin. He lived a life of luxury in "Hen Heaven", and was always easy to recognize, because he was the only white chicken on the farm. However, the excesses of the blue nosers' lifestyle got the most of poor Oscar, and he picked up every bad habit that drifted through his transom. Rumors of weight problems, altercations with other chickens, and barnyard debauchery spread, until one sad day, the tragic news reached the big city.

Oscar was dead.

He ate like a bird, but unfortunately for him, that bird was a California condor. He grew too fat for his legs to support him, and had to get put down. He literally ate himself to death. Apparently, the luxury of five-star living was too much for Oscar, and he fell victim to his own vices.

However, like remembering Elvis Presley looking good in his gold lamé suit rather than dead and bloated on the crapper with his pants around his ankles, we will remember Oscar in the glory of that one sweet summer night, when he was King of the World, and not as a power-crazed, disgruntled party animal in the twilight of his life, an angry chicken the size of a V8 engine.

He taught us to never take life for granted, and to stick to your roots. You can take the chicken out of the ghetto, but you can never take the ghetto out of the chicken.

Good night, sweet prince.

Where's the Beef?

Dezaato wa nani ga arimasu ka?

OK, so maybe they were right to brag and boast.

Japan let their sticks do the talking while walloping China 18-2. They went yard thrice, and every single player in their lineup (except for their pinch-hitting catcher) had a hit.

No golden sombreros for Japan.

Now we know we gave Japan a hard time a few days ago, when their cocksure manager guaranteed victory in a very un-Japanese display of hubris and boasting, but they looked good out there. China, meanwhile, was limited to 7 hits. Their star, Lingfeng Sun, was 0-4 (he is still in a WBC funk and people are starting to wonder when he is planning on showing up).

A job well done by the Japanese pitchers, which supposedly were not firing on all cylinders at the The Big Egg on Friday. They are not 100% yet.

A healthy Japan could be a force to be reckoned with, people. Watch out.

Who'd have thought an elephant could be so heavy?

We love Texas. What a great state.

In Waco, which we already know is a haven of normality and average living, a woman inexplicably climbed into an elephant enclosure at the Cameron Park Zoo.

She had to climb over a fence, an 8-foot-high rock wall, and then an electrical wire to get in to the exhibit, which housed 2 extremely pissed-off 6,000 lb African elephants.

Why would she do such a thing, you ask?

Because she wanted to play with them.

Seriously. That's what she said.

The elephants, however, did not seem to want to play with her, and smacked her to the ground instead.

Good work, Yolanda.

Putting things into perspective.

We can't speak for everyone out there, but we sure were glad to hear that Pokey Reese was OK after going missing from the Florida Marlins for 2 days. His agent contacted the team, and confirmed that Pokey was just fine.

Is Pokey gonna get in trouble for this little disappearing act?

Probably not. And that's just fine with us.

When you have the kind of past that Pokey Reese has had, we think it's acceptable to let stuff like this go.

Not exactly all smiles and sunshine.

Somebody stole his enchilada, and he ain't happy about it.

The Tamil Tigers are at it again. After a scary December and January in Sri Lanka, the situation appeared to be getting closer to another ceasefire.

Maybe, just maybe, all-out war and the horrors that come with it could be avoided. Talks in Switzerland went well in February, everyone took a deep breath, tensions eased, and it looked like this whole thing was cooling off.

But sure enough, attacks on Tiger forces by the Sri Lankan military quickly prompted a retaliation from the rebels, and now we could be heading for another civil war.

REAL AMERICAN HOT PIPE

Hot Pipes.

Time to share the greatest baseball/guy-that's-consistently-filling-Lisa-Dergan story of all time (courtesy of Deadspin):

"So, a buddy of a buddy, etc. etc. was at a high-end bar in Chicago, when Podsednik walks in with an unbelievably hot girl on his arm. (Ed. Note: We’re guessing it’s Podsednik paramour Lisa Dergan.) He makes a beeline for the bar, and she heads to the ladies room. He orders a drink for her, and three bottles of Bud Lite. He chugs, and I mean, chugs, the three bottles of beer before his woman returns. Then he looks around, sees his woman isn’t back, and order three more bottles of Bud Lite, and chugs the crap out of those as well. Finally, and just before his woman gets back, he orders a high end microbrew, picks that up with his woman’s apple-tini or some such horseshit, and goes to sit down with her. The rest of the night he just sips at that microbrew. I need to do this more often."

Hi Lisa.

A Growing Problem

A lively two-seamer, a wicked slider, and blonde highlights.

This is starting to be a little off-putting.

Joe Crede, understandable.

AJ Pierynski, expected.

Freddy Garcia, too much.

At least Podsednik still has a haircut you could set your watch to. Oswaldo seriously needs to have a talk with the guys, and straighten this whole thing out. Because going into the regular season looking like this guy is not a good idea.

We have many baseball technique.

Japan is cocky and confident entering the WBC. Victory is guaranteed, according to Japanese manager Sadaharu Oh, and their "stylistic variations" and "thrilling defense" will leave the other Asian teams wondering what hit them. Their players have followed the skipper's lead, and have also said that they're sure that Japan will win their group.

Put a leash on that puppy, Japan.

He was lights-out.

A Texas-sized congratulations goes out to England's Paul Collingwood. Today, he scored 134 runs in his turn at-bat, including leaving the yard 4 times against India.

He was up to bat for almost 6 hours.

If we were betting men, we'd wager that Paul will celebrate by horsepounding a whole bunch of snakebite at the local saloon tonight.

You deserve it, Paul.

Back in the USSR

Iran's self-proclaimed "face guy."

Okay, we might have underestimated those Russians. They're trying again. Today, in Moscow, Iran's top nuclear officials are involved in closed-door talks with the Comrades in an attempt to avert a modern-day Cuban Missile Crisis.

With only days remaining to the deadline for a much-anticipated report by the UN's nuclear watchdog committee, last-gasp efforts are being made by the Russians.

No surprise here.

If Iran does not back down from its not-entirely-sane nuclear policy, the UN will impose economic sanctions on the Islam state. Then, the Russians will lose a lot of money, seeing as they are a big economical partner of Iran's. Then, Iran will continue its claims of wiping out entire countries. Then, people are gonna die, which is never good.

Good lord.

Barry Bonds doesn't need any help making an ass out of himself, but he sure as shit needs some lessons in attempting to be funny by dressing up. We think we know someone who could give him some advice regarding his wardrobe choices.

His teammate Mike Sweeney said, "It was almost embarrassing to have him do it."

Almost embarrassing? Almost?!

Sweeney, that picture is gonna haunt us for the rest of our lives.