Babod Wants Out of Oakland?

You heard it here first. Apparently, things are not going well for Raiders superfan Babod (Black Ass Bringer of Death) in the cyberspace treehouse of Silver and Blackdom. Seems that relations between him and various members of the Oakland Raiders Darkside (www.oaklandraidersdarkside.com) have been acrimonious dating at least back to last year's infamous Denver road trip and assuredly before that. After said incident in Denver, he was banished from the Darkside only to make an appearance at the Summit tailgate with a ready-made apology. After pleading for forgiveness, he was brought back into the fold.

However, relations since the offseason began this year have been definitely strained. Some point to Babod's extreme intoxication at a tailgate at one of the last home games of the year. Others note that he was never fully pardoned due to the severity of the offense on the roadtrip. Regardless, word has it that Babod is fed up with the draconian abrasiveness of the group and now wants to take his fan membership elsewhere...that is, to another team.

According to a source speaking on condition of anonymity, two teams up for consideration are the San Francisco 49ers and Kansas City Chiefs. Babod is reportedly taking a serious look at joining an AFC West team "so he can come back to haunt the Silver and Black. He was broken-hearted at first when he began to see the writing on the wall...but now he's pissed. Really pissed."

Stay tuned for fireworks, people. I get the feeling this ain't over yet--and you can bet your ass that a certain group of cyber cavemen haven't heard the last of this loquacious crazy mofo.

We’re on our way to Wollongong

We're on our way to Wollongong
Peace and joy in every bong
We're gonna see Miss Tracy
The cute little lass who writes so racy

We're gonna have fun in Wollongong
Feed Tracy's spider and get some hot cider
And just for some good measure too
We'll take a ride on her kangaroo
And when I'm done getting back rubs
She'll cook up some tasty grubs

We're gonna have fun in Wollongong
I know it, so why's your face so long
Dry those tears, Tracy's cheers
Will have me warm so can't go wrong!

Raider Nation National Anthem (Sung to the tune of Borat’s Kazakhstan National Anthem)

Raiderfornia greatest country in the world.
All other countries are run by little girls.
Raiderfornia number one exporter of porn dolls.
Other countries have inferior porn dolls.

Raiderfornia home of Acorn project housing.
It's length thirty meter and width six meter.
Judicial system a marvel to behold.
It remove 20 percent of human fuckoffs and addicts.

Raiderfornia, Raiderfornia you very nice place.
From bathhouses of Ninerville to Norther fence of Boltfagtown.
Raiderfornia friend of all except Boltfagtown.
They very gayish people with semen on their brain.

Raiderfornia industry best in world.
We invented malt liquor and cracksmoking.
Raiderfornia prostitutes cleanest in the region.
Except of course for New Orleans'.

Raiderfornia, Raiderfornia you very nice place.
From bathhouses of Ninerville to Norther fence of Boltfagtown

Come grasp the mighty penis of our leader Alholio.
From junction with the testes to tip of its face!

Letter--Marcos Breton, Sacramento Bee (2006)

Recently, I have noticed that you've been under a lot of fire by readers for your pro-minority approach to sports coverage. Many readers who followed the World Baseball Classic were dismayed by your perceived elation at Mexico beating the United States. Now I'll say this: Marcos, I can't say that I agree with some of your views, but I do applaud your perspective on the changing face of baseball and your vigilance on bigotry in sports (which occurs even in the year 2006). The people who express anger at your pro-minority viewpoint need to learn a lesson from your columns and realize that sports isn't made up of the Norman Rockwell paintings they would like to make it out to be.

Regarding Barry Bonds, I agree that most of Barry's problems and controversies are of his own doing. His personality and people skills flat out suck most of the time. But I think people dog Barry mostly because he doesn't fit the desired American image of a smiling, happy-go-lucky, carefree non-threatening black man. Babe Ruth was a heavy drinker, carouser, womanizer and sloth, yet he's not just a baseball immortal, but an American cultural icon. Ty Cobb was a malicious, mean-spirited bigoted alcoholic who played the game with abandon but was a very despicable person. Steve Garvey was a philanderer but had a carefully crafted apple-pie media image on the exterior. Steve Carlton refused to talk to the media for years but made the Hall of Fame anyway. Jeff Kent got in a fistfight with Bonds in the dugout and has one of the gruffest personalities in the the game, but people don't think about that.

So yes, I think Bonds' predicaments are of his own making...BUT...he gets more negative press and scrutiny than he would if he were a white superstar. Just my thoughts. Peace.

Mark - Thanks so much for the very thoughtful note. I really appreciate it.

Marcos Breton

RE: A life squandered away, yet celebrated

From: Mark Bryant [mailto:bryant_mb@yahoo.com]
Sent: Wednesday, December 07, 2005 2:04 PM
To: Marcos Breton
Subject: RE: A life squandered away, yet celebrated

RE: A life squandered away, yet celebrated

Alcoholism is a specific disease. It is an affliction that severely impairs the ability of an individual to avoid those "bad choices" that plague just about everyone who has lost a job, been uprooted or otherwise had life difficulties due to this illness. It was and is something beyond the control of people like George Best, Darryl Strawberry, Mickey Mantle, Sad Sam Jones and Thomas "Hollywood" Henderson. While there is no excuse for a mismanaged drunken life, people who do succumb to this disease deserve compassion and loving remembrance just as any other individual in memoriam.

It is also common knowledge that, just like in every other profession around the globe, a significant number of writers-yes this would include sportswriters-are sufferers from alcoholism. So, Mr. Breton, would you care to venture that should a colleague of yours someday fall prey to the bottle, they should be only remembered for their weakness and faults and not their accomplishments in life? Just something to think about.

Mr.. Bryant - Thanks so much for reading and for taking the time to write. I really appreciate it. I am in complete agreement with you on alcohol being a disease and never suggested otherwise. The quote you cite about bad choices was a quote within my column. But even in quotations, I didn't take it to mean that the man I was quoting - Leroy Chatfield - meant that literally. He was quoting a misperception about alcoholism, one that people often wrongly boil down to choices. His point was the Georgie was just as afflicted as the destitute alcoholics that Chatfield had known in his life. And I wanted to explore that idea in this column. Georgie had a terrible disease, one he couldn't even kick after he had been given a liver transplant. He died at 59, way too young for a man of his means. And really, Mr.. Bryant, your point about alcoholics deserving loving remembrance is well taken because my column was a form of loving remembrance. I spent most of the column waxing poetic about a goal I saw a quarter century ago - a moment I'll never forget. I loved Georgie even though I didn't know him and if they sold his jersey anywhere - I've scoured the internet to no avail - I would wear it proudly. He made an impression on me and I admired him very much. But I do think that you can love someone while also being honest about who they were and what they did. You mention colleagues falling prey to substance abuse? I've been though that, saw a college classmate get fired from his job at the Stockton Record because he couldn't stop drinking. I've also known family members - two dear uncles, to be specific - who died alone and estranged from their families because of the bottle. I still love them today and remember them fondly. But I remember them drunk too - and those scenes in my mind are much darker. Georgie was touched by the angels and had a gift but he also left a neglected son, battered and abused wives, policemen he hit and countless friends he let down, in his wake. His life was horribly mismanaged to the end. Despite squandered millions and a soiled career, he kept drinking. Even when a team of doctors basically volunteered their services to get him a liver transplant, he kept drinking. All of Britain rallied around him - just as we fans in San Jose had done the same 25 years before - and damned if that guy still didn't break our hearts. The doctors said drinking would kill him if he started again after getting his new liver, but there was Georgie - drinking again even as his gorgeous second wife left him. And what did he do the photographer who snapped the photo of him drinking again? He punched him. Georgie punched a lot of people. It's just who he was. Thanks again and I hope you keep reading the column. Happy Holidays.

Marcos Breton

I Need A Beer

6/23/08

One bright and early morning, I'm on my way into work and I pull into the 7-11 for a pack of smokes. No sooner than I pull into a parking space right outside, than I see some fuckass--errrr, street resident, errr, indigent person--standing there just licking his chops waiting to solicit my ass so he can be that much close to his drunk or fix or whatever his high of choice is.

I'm already pissed because (A) I'm on my way to the motherfucking salt mines, and (B) I don't dig giving away my hard-earned coin to some goddamned able bodied con-man standing on a corner someplace, and (C) this fool ain't got nothing better to do than hassle my ass for my hard-earned coin.

Even when I was going through that shit, I never stooped low as to beg motherfuckers. Fuck that shit.

I just did dumpster diving instead. Nice, independent work with little interpersonal contact. Interacting with people sucks shit anyway.

Anyway, I head to the store entrance, and dude starts up his tired-ass spiel of need. I'm thinking, if I give you a dollar, will you go the fuck away?

"Uhhhhh.....uhhhhhh.....I need a beer."

Fuck it.

"OK dude, you want a beer? I'll get you one. Just hold on and I'll be right back."

I go inside and buy a tall can of O'Doul's with my smokes, get a brown bag and stick the O'Doul's in it so it looks like any old normal leaded beer. In fact, it's neutered beer, but homeboy won't know this till it's too late.

I got outside, hand him the brown bag with the contents. "Uhhahhhh, thankya thankya thankya," in that inimitable goobbledygook mumbling that only drunks, junkies and retarded fucks can perfect so well. I start walking to my car giggling under my breath. I'm just getting to the door and preparing to get behind the wheel, when evidently homeboy has decoded my hoax:

"MMMMMMMMOTHERFUCKERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Gotta love street people.

It’s Free

6/23/08

On break today, I'm thumbing through Sac's Alive and Kicking music rag; it's a way to keep up on all the local bands without so much as coughing up a penny. I'm reading about how this dork went to his first rock concert in 1985 and had to leave early so his mommy wouldn't worry about him. In the process, he missed Ratt and Scorpion play. Talk about fuckin' gay. Anyway, David Jones comes sidling up to me at the paper rack in the snack shack. "What are you doing, Mark? You can't just look at that you have to pay for--"

"It's FREE, faggot!!!!!!!!!!!" I duly inform him of his erroneous assumption. OK, maybe in a pitch higher than I intended to and a couple of heads may have turned.

But fuck, it was hella funny. One bright spot in a boring ass day at the motherfucking salt mines. Sarcasticness and nastiness uber alles, baby!!!!!