NEW YORK, NY—As Ace Frehley would say: I’m back, back in the New York groove. The vacation was nice, but a week away from the greatest city in the world and this site full of malcontents and degenerates is one week too many for me. Lotsa anger and other assorted thoughts have been backing up in my so-called brain like unsold McRib sandwiches in the downtown Tel Aviv McDonald’s. But before getting to all of that, I’d first like to take a look at how my preseason predictions look at the halfway mark. In the American League I had the Red Sox winning the East (check), the Twins winning the Central (no, but they’re in striking distance) and Clancy’s A’s winning the West (12 out but never say never), and the Yankees as the Wildcard (check). In the NL it was the Mets taking the East (and they will, when Reyes, Beltran, and Delgado return, and Manuel gets fired, and they stop making errors, and Minaya gets fired, and they start hustling on every play, and everyone at Citi Field starts caring more about the game than they do Shake Shack. So I am confident this one will also be a check mark), NL Central I took Wisconsin Walt’s Brew Crew (they’re two and a half back, and I’m still calling this a check), in the West I had the Dodgers (check) and Wildcard is the Phillies (bonus points because I mentioned they would make it because of Raul Ibanez). Anyway, a Mets/Red Sox series does seem at least 50% far-fetched at this point, but ya never know. OK, now onto more important matters.

• I didn’t watch much of the All Star Game last night. Did that Mummy Bud Selig release a million flies out of his mouth to start the game? If so, probably a good thing that Joba Chamberlain wasn’t there.

• Airports and airplanes are like glue traps for morons. Seriously, if someone knows where you can find a more concentrated collection of the dumbest humans around, aside from Citizens Bank Park, please tell me. Make an announcement that you will be only loading first class passengers and watch the zombies queue up anyway. Ask folks to please clear the boarding area and watch them not move a muscle. Tell everyone on the plane to please take their seats and prepare for takeoff and witness at least one mental defective get up and start going through his or her bag for a word search puzzle or bag of Fig Newtons. Request that everyone please leave their seatbelts fastened until the plane has reached the gate and just listen to all of the belts click open the minute the plane touches down. I’m not sure what purgatory is supposed to be, but I’m thinking an airport or airplane would probably be about right: Almost as annoying as hell, packed with the dimmest bulbs on the planet, but you still get drinks, lousy food, and a bathroom.

• What kind of nincompoop do you have to be to use one of those Nextel Phones? You know what I’m talking about, the one’s that are no different than a Radio Shack walkie talkie? The last thing I want to hear during my morning commute is how “that b**ch Shavonda is cheating on her boyfriend” or some contractor yelling at his sub-minimum-wage help about drywall.

• This one is for locals only, and I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but NY Post Sports columnist Kevin Kernan is a jackass. If his smarmy byline photo isn’t evidence enough, then how about the fact that he once championed Hank Steinbrenner (anyone seen him lately?) and recently called on the Yankees to trade for Roy Halladay. Sure, let’s ruin another player I admire by putting him in pinstripes.

• People that throw their trash onto the sidewalk or street when there is clearly a garbage can only feet away from them need to be forced onto a reality TV show entitled: “CITY DUMP SUMMER CAMP.”
• Who are these guys (and I use the term lightly) who go to the gym in tandem and act as each others’ personal trainers? When did trying to keep your beer belly at bay become a frogging team sport? Do these same dudes get together for Ultimate Fighting Championship bouts? I am guessing that’s the case.

• I still have no idea why the Matts feel the need to sign my weekly piece “by Angry Ward” when it already clearly says Angry Ward Wednesday. Maybe this means that they are going to sell the Wednesday rights, keep the name, and hire Stephen A. Smith to write it. I hear he’s looking for a new gig.

• Finally, for no reason whatsoever and with the hopes that it may spark a lively debate, what is the worst candy bar ever made? Everyone has their favorites and it is always very subjective, but I’m guessing that perhaps we can come to some sort of conclusion on the worst. My vote is for the Charleston Chew.

See you next week with hopefully something more thought provoking. Someone is posting tomorrow, but I am pretty sure it ain’t Maria at Bat.

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About Angry Ward 747 Articles
Angry Ward, who has admirers at the New York Times, is the quintessential angry sports fan but for one exception... he's flat-out funny. And the angrier he gets, the more amusing his work becomes. Psychiatrists say, "Angry Ward's 'anger' is a direct result of "Bronx/Mets syndrome: growing up in the Bronx as a Mets fan." As if that weren't enough, his Minnesota North Stars abandoned him for Dallas, forcing him to embrace The Wild the way Nancy Pelosi embraces Mitch McConnell at charity events. And while his Vikings only tease him with success, his Golden State Warriors actually win these days. A-Dubya is MTM's longest-tenured indentured servant, its Larry David and quite simply, "The Franchise." (Junoir Blaber disputes this). Vent, curse and giggle with him on Angry Ward Wednesdays.