National Baseball League

[jg2977]

1916 NL MVP Award

Ohhh would you look at that! Angelo freakin’ Liotta just won MVP at 24! TWENTY-FOUR! When I was 24, I was living in a one-bedroom with three other idiots and a mouse we named, alright? This kid’s out here rippin’ triples like it’s a video game.

He didn’t just win MVP — no, no, no — the guy nearly swept the vote. Got 29 outta 30 first-place votes. Who’s the lunatic that didn’t vote for him? What, did they accidentally fill out their All-Star ballot from 1987?

Let’s talk numbers — the dude hit .324, had a .409 OBP, 203 freakin’ hits, and TWENTY-EIGHT TRIPLES. Who hits 28 triples? I haven’t seen 28 of anything this year that wasn’t prescription bottles. And just to mess with you, he throws in one home run. One! Like he’s saying, “Yeah I could hit more, but I’m saving them for when it counts, sweetheart.”

And this guy scores 111 runs? That’s not baseball — that’s tax fraud. The rest of the league should sue him for emotional distress.

Meanwhile, poor Jason Sachtjen of the Marlins finishes second with zero first place votes — it’s like getting to prom and realizing the girl brought her cousin. Alex Ojeda, same deal, third place, still showed up, probably bought the suit, no one noticed. Vince Brown? He got one vote. Probably his mom. Maybe his dog.

Here’s the MVP standings in all their glory:

Player – Team – First Place – Total Points
Angelo Liotta – Reds – 29 – 415
Jason Sachtjen – Marlins – 0 – 252
Alex Ojeda – Reds – 0 – 242
Vince Brown – Phillies – 1 – 217
Jaylin Gaddy – Cardinals – 0 – 167
… and then it’s a long line of “hey, nice try, pal.”

Bottom line: Angelo Liotta just pantsed the entire National League. Twenty-four years old, MVP, and probably still gets carded when he buys a beer. It’s disgusting. I love it. I hate it. I’m gonna go scream into a pillow.

[jg2977]

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[jg2977]

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[jg2977]

Hall of Fame Voting, with Jim Gaffigan Energy...

“Ohhhh, Hall of Fame time… fancy!”

You know what says "you really did it"? Having your plaque mounted in a room no one’s allowed to touch, next to other guys with really shiny cheeks and names your dad talks about like they're war heroes. "Back in my day, we had Hiroshi Nakayama! Now that was baseball."

So yeah, the ballots are in, they did the math — which is already too much effort — and one guy made it in. That’s right, just one. Like they’re guarding the Hall of Fame like it’s Fort Knox and every other player had the audacity to just be “pretty good.”

Hiroshi Nakayama, first year on the ballot, boom, 85.4% of the vote.
"Hot Pockets... and now, Hall of Fame plaques!"

Meanwhile everyone else is sittin’ there like, “Hey... I hit a few homers too, right?”
But the voters? "Mmmm... not historic enough."

Let’s check out some of the “Thanks for playing!” crew:

Dustin Doughty got 52.9% — so basically the voters said, "We sorta love you, but not forever."
Miguel Sanchez, a closer, 50.8% — "You did your job... sometimes."
Juan Padilla, another first baseman... 41%. And I guess Nakayama just ate all the votes. Probably took his parking spot, too.
And some of these poor guys are hanging on like it’s Survivor:

Fabião Zegri, still hanging in there on year 2! Got 21.3%, which is technically more than zero, so… yay?
Eddie Lujano is on year FOUR with just 9.1% and probably just writing “please love me” on the back of the ballot.
Then you've got the ones who got dropped — yikes.

Sam Gingerich? Outta there.
Giorgio Alejos? Gone.
Patrice Lopez? Probably didn't even vote for himself.
Look, you need 75% to get into the Hall. Seventy-five! That’s like trying to get three out of four people to agree on anything. You can’t even get 75% of Americans to agree on pizza toppings!

So congrats, Hiroshi — you’re officially a legend. Everyone else?
Well… enjoy the buffet at the alumni banquet.

“You were a professional athlete for two decades… and now you’re standing next to a cardboard cutout of Hiroshi.”

Final Thought:
Baseball's Hall of Fame is like heaven for guys with OBP over .400 and no personality scandals. And this year? They let in one guy. The rest? Better luck next ballot, slugger.

[jg2977]

Baseball Hall of Fame? Why, Soitenly! Hiroshi Nakayama Gets His Just Desserts—Nyuk nyuk nyuk! 🎩⚾️

COOPERSTOWN, NY — Woop woop woop woop woop! The wind was blustery, the fans were bundled up tighter than Larry’s suspenders, but the cheers were louder than Moe’s slaps as Hiroshi Nakayama — the ka-boom! king of the diamond — officially got the ol’ marble statue treatment today! That’s right, the legendary slugger was inducted into the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame, and boy, what a hullabaloo!

With a whopping 410 home runs, 1876 hits, and a lifetime .314 average, this guy wasn’t just good, he was “look out, here comes another dinger!” good!

“I'm a very lucky person to be born with the skill to play baseball,” Nakayama said, giving his humble little speech like a real gentleman... unlike a certain trio we know who once got thrown out of a Little League game for chasing the umpire with a salami.
After playing in 1,556 games, driving in 1,210 runs, and scoring 1,167 himself, the 39-year-old San Francisco Giants icon hung up his spikes back in 1911. But today? Oh, today he’s getting poked with greatness, not fingers.

And would ya believe it? He got 85.4% of the vote. That’s more than the time Curly tried to vote three times with fake mustaches!

Nakayama stood tall (and didn’t even duck when the confetti cannon went off — brave guy!) and said:

“This seals it. To get the recognition that every ballplayer seeks—this is completion for me.”
Completion? Sounds fancy! We just hope no one slipped on a banana peel during the ceremony.

So here’s to Hiroshi Nakayama — a class act, a true great, and now, a Hall of Famer! And as Curly might say while balancing a bat on his nose:

“Hall of Fame? I thought we were going bowling! Nyuk nyuk nyuk!”
🎉⚾️🎩

(Exit stage left, chased by security and a guy with a pie.)

[jg2977]

NHL News

(Cue Doc Severinsen and the band, trumpet blares, Carson strolls out to applause)

JOHNNY CARSON:
Thank you, thank you very much! You're a lovely crowd... Either that, or you’re all Canadiens fans in shock. Heh heh heh...

Did you hear about this? The Montreal Canadiens — no, not the hockey team, apparently someone in the front office realized baseball exists too — have signed Jacopo Peterman to a two-year extension worth $35 million a year.

That’s right. Thirty-five million! A year! For two years! That’s not a contract, that’s a ransom demand!

(rimshot)

Now, Peterman — and this is true — has had a .388 career batting average, over 3,300 hits, and 1,177 home runs. I mean, forget Cooperstown, they’re clearing a spot on Mount Rushmore.

But here’s the catch — some fans are a little worried... about his age. Yeah. They’re saying he might be past his prime. In baseball terms, that means he’s got more cortisone in him than Gatorade.

(audience laughter)

Now, look, I don’t want to say he’s old, but when he started playing, the bases were still made of stone tablets.

(groans and laughs)

No, seriously — Peterman’s still got it. They say during batting practice, the balls leave the stadium so fast they have to warn low-flying satellites.

But hey, whether he delivers another MVP season or throws out his back swinging at a changeup — one thing’s for sure: at $35 million a year, he’s not the only one feeling the pinch.

(grins, points to Ed McMahon)
JOHNNY: Right, Ed?
ED MCMAHON: You are correct, sir!
JOHNNY: Hooo boy...

(theme music swells as Johnny straightens his tie)
Stick around, we’ve got a guy who once tried to charge $35 million for a hot dog. We’ll be right back!

[jg2977]

[David Letterman strides onstage, holding the blue index cards, crowd cheering wildly]

DAVID LETTERMAN:
Thank you! Thank you very much! Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! You're too kind. You’re too kind — like, “Baseball Writers Association voting someone into the Hockey Hall of Fame”-kind!

[audience laughs]

That’s right — legendary pitcher Jan Ruiter was inducted today into… wait for it… the National Hockey League Hall of Fame. I guess when you’ve got 276 wins and nearly 2,800 strikeouts, they’ll just put you anywhere.

[drum hit, Paul Shaffer chuckles]

Now, during his speech, Ruiter said, “My how time flies. It is only a mere moment from your first spring training game to your first old-timer's game.”
That’s poetic. It’s also the exact same thing I say every time I wake up and realize I now grunt when I sit down.

[laughter, Paul hits a note]

And get this — he thanked his first manager for giving him a shot. He said, “I was lucky — he was a Jan Ruiter fan.”
Yeah, well, Jan, when your career stat line is 276 wins, 2,795 strikeouts, and a 3.72 ERA, I’d say it’s not “luck” — it’s science fiction.

[audience claps, Letterman grins]

Seriously, this guy pitched in 662 games. That's more appearances than Cher’s farewell tours.

[band hit, crowd whoops]

Now the Baseball Writers Association put him in the Hockey Hall of Fame, which makes perfect sense — it’s all about hitting, skating, and chewing tobacco, right?

[crowd laughing]

Congratulations, Jan Ruiter. You pitched your heart out, struck out thousands, and now — you're officially a center-ice legend. Somebody get this guy a Zamboni!

[music rises, Letterman points at Paul]

We’ve got a great show tonight! Up next: a guy who actually did get inducted into the right Hall of Fame. Stick around!

[jg2977]

You know, when you’ve been around the game as long as I have, you start to realize that greatness — true greatness — it isn’t just about stats. It’s not just about the numbers you put up or the records you break. It’s about character. It’s about legacy. And today, we honor a man who embodies all of that: Javier Lopez.

Now, I know what you’re thinking — "Wayne, he was a baseball player, and this is the Hockey Hall of Fame."
Well, yeah. But if anyone could pull that off — it’s Javier.

This guy played nearly 2,900 games, mostly at shortstop — the quarterback of the infield. He hit .289, racked up 258 home runs, over 1,400 RBIs, and crossed the plate more than 2,000 times. That’s not just durability, that’s dedication. That’s a guy who showed up every day, gave everything he had, and made everyone around him better — something I always tried to do in my career, too.

But what really stands out — what makes this induction feel just right — is who Javier Lopez is away from the diamond. Quiet. Humble. Generous. The kind of guy who didn’t just write checks — he showed up. He gave his time, his energy, his heart. The Ottawa Senators community will tell you — he didn’t just wear the uniform of a team, he wore the heart of a city.

During his speech, he said something that really hit me. He said:

"Helping those in need and giving of yourself selflessly is what makes a person great."
That’s it, right there. That’s the lesson. Whether you’re on the ice, the field, or anywhere in life — greatness isn’t just about talent. It’s about what you give.

So today, we celebrate not just a Hall of Fame athlete, but a Hall of Fame human being. Congratulations, Javier. You’ve earned every bit of this.

[jg2977]

Alright folks, buckle up — big news out of Cooperstown this year! We’ve got not one, but two new legends getting their ticket punched into the Hall of Fame. That’s right — Javier Lopez and Jan Ruiter are heading to the promised land of baseball immortality!

Let’s start with Javier Lopez, the smooth shortstop who was a lock from the second he became eligible. First year on the ballot — boom — 98.2% of the vote. That’s as close to unanimous as you get without being named Ruth, Mays, or Maddux. The guy could do it all: hit for average, power, and command the infield like he was born with a glove on his hand.

Now let’s talk Jan Ruiter — an old-school workhorse on the mound. 81% of the vote in his first year — and if you saw him pitch, you know why. Guy had nerves of steel and an arm like a rocket launcher. Strikeouts, innings, big-game guts — Ruiter brought it every fifth day, and now he brings it all the way to the Hall.

But hey — not everyone made the cut, and that’s the brutal truth of Hall of Fame voting. You need 75% to get in, and while Reynaldo Estrella came close again at 70.7%, he’s still on the outside looking in. Josh Williams? Solid career, just 59.2% — he’s got some ground to cover.

And it’s heartbreak city for Justin Parris — ten years on the ballot and now he’s off it for good. A good bat, a great teammate, but the Hall? That’s a high bar, and the voters didn’t think he cleared it.

Here’s the bottom line: this is what makes Cooperstown special. You don’t just get in for showing up — you gotta dominate. You gotta be the guy that players feared and fans loved. And this year, Javier Lopez and Jan Ruiter proved they were those guys.

Congrats to both of them — well deserved, and man, I can’t wait to see those speeches. Let’s play ball!

[jg2977]

2002 NHL Final Standings

[jg2977]

[Field Journal – September 19, 2002 | Bell Centre, Montreal]
Subject: Florida Panthers at Montreal Canadiens — Winner-Takes-All Wild Card Showdown

It was supposed to be another quiet assignment. A one-game playoff tucked inside the cool stone walls of the Bell Centre, deep in the heart of Montreal. But like any expedition I’ve ever led — nothing ever goes according to plan.

The Florida Panthers, 102 wins strong and armed with the kind of firepower usually reserved for temple guards or rogue mercenaries, came into this showdown ready to claim their prize. Their objective? Escape Montreal alive and advance to the Conference Semifinals.

And let me tell you — they got the idol.

The opening moments felt routine. A run in the first, one more in the third, another in the fourth. No booby traps, no pitfall. Just cold execution. But in the fifth? That’s when Florida lit the fuse. A three-run blast of extra-base hits and power. The Canadiens were caught flat-footed, as if the floor had dropped out beneath them and they were sliding into history.

Big Salad — the man, the myth — went three-for-three, hammered a solo homer, cracked a double, drew two walks, and won Player of the Game without breaking a sweat. They’ll be carving his name into stone tablets after this one.

E. van de Griendt? He was everywhere. Three hits, three runs, a triple, a homer, and a stolen base. It was like watching someone swing across the field with a bullwhip, avoiding traps and taking treasure with style.

Montreal tried to mount a last stand — they summoned the spirit of A. Vandelay in the ninth with a two-run shot to close the gap — but by then, the sand was already spilling from the hourglass. The Panthers had slipped through the closing stone door. The Canadiens were left holding the bag — and it was full of sand.

Florida 7, Montreal 5. A final line that only tells part of the story.

Now Florida marches on to face the Long Island Islanders, who’ve been resting like a sleeping giant. But after tonight? The Panthers are no longer just another team. They’ve got the map, the momentum, and the medallion. And that, my friend, is how legends are made.

End of Journal.
Weather: 48 degrees, roof sealed tight — not even the ghosts could escape.
Time: 3 hours, 56 minutes.
Attendance: 47,808.
Artifact Recovered: Victory.

[jg2977]

VEGAS 7, VANCOUVER 6 (10 INNINGS)
— A Wild One Out West, Smuggler Style —
By Han Solo, Captain of the Millennium Falcon

You ever find yourself in a hyperspace dogfight, the Empire on your tail, your ship rattling, alarms screaming, Chewie yelling something about the hyperdrive — and somehow, somehow — you survive?

Yeah. That was this game.

The Vegas Golden Knights just pulled off a wild one on enemy ice. They dropped into Rogers Arena like a freighter full of contraband and walked out with the prize — a 7-6 win in 10 innings over the 114-win Vancouver Canucks. That’s right — the Canucks were the biggest, baddest Banthas in the quadrant. Didn’t matter. Vegas had the bigger blaster.

Let’s get one thing straight: Ivan Barbashev? That guy flew like a Corellian starfighter. 3 hits, 3 RBIs, 2 home runs — including a go-ahead solo blast in the 10th. You don’t pull off a jump to the next round without a pilot like him at the controls.

Vegas came out fast — two runs in the first. Classic Han Solo move. Shoot first, ask questions later. Then came more runs in the third and seventh. But Vancouver? Credit to them — they struck back in the sixth with a 4-run barrage. Tied it. Looked like they might take the Falcon right out of hyperspace.

But like any good scoundrel crew, Vegas didn’t flinch. Barbashev launched one to the stars in the 10th, and Vegas slammed the hatch shut with a clean save from Turnbull. Game over. Mission complete. Get the hell outta here before someone wakes Jabba.

STATS FROM THE CANTINA:
Vegas and Vancouver both had 10 hits, no errors. But Vegas made theirs count when it mattered.
Morales and Golfin joined Barbashev in the longball club — Morales with a clutch 2-run shot in the 7th, Golfin with a 2-runner in the 1st. Explosive firepower.
On the bump, Vegas’s bullpen pieced together a patchwork escape. Ramos picks up the win, Turnbull gets the save, and nobody blew up. Good enough.
Vancouver’s R. Ugalde tried to play the hero with a solo shot in the 7th, but that ship never left the hangar.
NEXT MISSION:
Vegas jumps to the Conference Semifinals to face the rested, well-armed Chicago Blackhawks. The Hawks skipped the Wild Card battle — but Vegas? They’re hot, tested, and flying high.

So here’s the thing, kid: Vancouver was the Death Star, and Vegas just fired the torpedo.

Let’s see if they’ve got another shot in them.

Han out.
(Cue Chewie growl.)

[jg2977]

2002 NHL Conference Semifnals

[jg2977]

DON CHERRY’S COACH’S CORNER: RANGERS DROP THE HAMMER WITH 5 STRAIGHT HOMERS!

Now listen up, folks — I don’t care if it’s September or the middle of a blizzard in Moose Jaw — what we saw at Madison Square Garden today? That wasn’t baseball. That was a full-on barnburner by a bunch o’ boys who came to play, take names, and launch missiles!

FIVE HOME RUNS — IN A ROW — IN ONE INNING! You kiddin’ me?! That’s tougher than takin’ a slapshot from Al MacInnis without a cup!

Look, I’ve seen a lotta things in my day — I coached Orr, I coached Macoun, I coached a guy who once fought his own reflection in the penalty box — but what the Rangers did in that fourth inning? That was old-time hockey... if hockey was played with bats the size of telephone poles!

Let’s run it down like a good ol’ Rock’em Sock’em tape:

Avery Grubin starts it off — boom! Three-run shot. That’s a beauty, kid. Got the name of a guy who’d elbow you in the teeth and then ask politely for a glass of milk.
Then you got Barton Sattler, steps in — kaboom! Solo shot! I think the Lightning were still looking for the ball in the upper deck.
Next? Kramer! That kid — hey, he can fly, eh? Bang — gone. That’s three!
Here comes Mark Grubin — no relation? Who cares! Whack! That ball was sent to Scarborough, folks!
And if you thought it was over — uh uh — Will Cuylle steps in and just destroys one. Like a truck through a Timmy’s drive-thru. Five dingers, back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back!
That’s not an inning — that’s a war crime against pitching!

And listen, Tampa Bay — I love you guys, I really do — but your bullpen looked like it was auditioning for a circus. Vollmer, Shimura, Gerg — they all got lit up like the Griswold house at Christmas.

Final score? 19–1. That ain’t just a win — that’s a message. A loud one.

Seong Gi-Hun? Fifteen strikeouts! That’s Don Drysdale stuff, baby! The kid was throwin’ smoke like a forest fire in Thunder Bay!

And one more thing — to the kid in the stands with the sign saying “Rangers (probably) 2002 Stanley Cup Finals Champions”? I love the confidence — but remember, it’s only Game 1. Don’t start measuring the ring finger just yet.

Bottom line? You come into New York, you better bring more than your glove and a hope. This Rangers club? They’re tougher than a two-dollar steak and hotter than July in Sudbury.

This is Don Cherry — keep your stick on the ice, and your bat on the barrel!

Now let’s go get some meatballs, eh?

[jg2977]

OHHH YEEEAAAH! DIG IT!!

Step aside, brother, because THE MADNESS HAS LANDED on Long Island and the Florida Panthers just dropped an elbow the size of the Empire State Building on the Islanders, YEAH!!

SEPTEMBER 21st, 2002 — write it down, JACK! Because that was the day Shiro “Savage” Saito looked destiny in the eyes and said “YOU'RE COMIN' WITH ME, OHHHH YEAH!!”

The stage was UBS Arena, the temperature was 59 degrees, but the action was SCORCHIN’, baby! Florida walks in calm as a cat in a creamery, and what do they do? THEY DOMINATE!

Final score: 7-1. Let me say it again for the people in the cheap seats — SEVEN TO FREAKIN’ ONE!

🥩 THE MEAT OF THE MADNESS:
Shiro Saito, the man, the myth, the grand slammin’ samurai of South Florida, went 2-for-4 with TWO ROCKET SHOTS into the STRATOSPHERE, bringing home THREE juicy ribbies and crossing the plate twice himself! WOOOO!

Fifth inning? Tie game? Nuh-uh! That’s when Shiro steps into the box, digs his heel in, and says:

“Hey Taylor Nance… you like fireworks, brother?”
KA-BOOM! Two-run shot! Panthers take the lead and NEVER LOOK BACK!!
Oh yeah, and in the 8th? Saito says, “Let me give ‘em an encore, OH YEAH!” Second dinger of the night, like a savage dropping the top rope on your ERA!

And don’t forget E. van de Griendt, baby! He’s out there floatin’ like a butterfly and stingin’ like an alligator — 2 hits, a homer, 2 runs scored! That’s what you call puttin’ the pedal to the metal and leavin’ the jabronis in the dust!

🧊 ROLL CALL OF RUTHLESSNESS:
S. Mills? Bam! Solo blast!
A. Kitunda? Double trouble!
B. Salad? Not just a side dish tonight, JACK! He’s servin’ up hits with a vengeance!
💪 ON THE MOUND:
R. McCutcheon went EIGHT WHOLE INNINGS like a diesel engine runnin’ on vengeance and fastballs!
8 hits, 1 run, 5 Ks — and not a single walk, brother! You don’t beat teams like Long Island with lucky hops — you crush ‘em with iron will and a blazing heater! SNAP INTO IT!

🏴*☠️ MEANWHILE… THE ISLANDERS?
Ohhhhhhh brother. Taylor Nance got lit up like a Christmas tree in Times Square. Two homers, five earned runs, and one cold hard L.

They said this Islanders team only lost 14 all year? WELL GUESS WHAT?
MAKE THAT 15, AND THIS ONE HURT!

🔥 NEXT UP?
Same place. Tomorrow night. The madness rolls on. And lemme tell ya, Long Island better grab their chinstraps and say their prayers, because the Florida freight train is comin’ back and IT’S GOT NO BRAKES, YEAH!!

SHIRO SAITO is your PLAYER OF THE GAME —
But the whole Panthers roster is oozing with intensity,
Dripping with desire,
And SNAPPIN' INTO THE POSTSEASON like only true champions can!!

THIS HAS BEEN YOUR WILD, WICKED WRAP-UP from the one and only MACHO MAN RANDY SAVAGE!

OHHHHH YEEEAAAAAHHHH!!!
DIG IT!!! 🕶️💥

[jg2977]

Ah, man… what a game, qué locura, hermano.

September 22nd, 2002 – American Airlines Center, Dallas. Let me tell you something, this wasn’t hockey, okay? No, no, no. This was more like a slugfest with a little salsa, a little fuego, and a whole lotta heart. And in the middle of the fire? Nazem Kadri. Like a pitcher with no fear, throwing high heat with every swing. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Three home runs! That’s not baseball, that’s art, papi.

You know, back in my day, if a guy did that to you, you tip your cap. You say, “he beat us.” That’s what Kadri did. He beat Dallas. He owned that game.

💥 The Flames Come In Hot
Calgary comes in like a Dominican thunderstorm—they start early, they don’t stop, and they don’t apologize. Seventeen hits, thirteen runs, no fear. Salles hits a bomb in the first, Kadri launches one in the third, and they just keep going. Like a lineup that refuses to go down looking. Like Pedro facing the Yankees—all guts, no excuses.

Even M. Grubin, that kid… he hits one, steals two bases, scores three times. You see that kind of baseball, you don’t forget it. That’s hunger. That’s ganas.

😤 The Stars? They Fought, Pero…
Give them credit, bro. Dallas didn’t just lie down. B. Grubin? That dude was ballin’ like it was Game 7 of the World Series. Two homers, a triple, five RBIs. Costanza hit one out too. These guys brought it. They didn’t go down soft, no. They just got beat by a lineup that refused to lose.

🧢 On the Mound?
Was it pretty? No. This wasn’t Pedro striking out 17. This was survival, man. B. Asai gave up six. R. Zuniga, R. Ruiz—they had to hold on like it was a rollercoaster in Cibao. But J. Torres? That kid? Two clean innings. Ice. Frio. That’s how you earn respect in October, mi gente.

🎤 Kadri Said It Best:
“You need to show up when your number's called.”
That’s the truth, baby. Doesn’t matter if you’re facing Jeter or throwing in Estadio Quisqueya—when the moment comes, you gotta show up. Kadri? He didn’t just show up. He lit the whole place on fire.

🥇 Player of the Game?
Kadri. Obviously. But you know who else? All of Calgary. From Grubin to Salles to Willems… they played as a team. Like champions. Like people who know they’re writing history.

Next game? Tomorrow. Same place. But if you’re Dallas? You better come ready. Because Calgary? They’re not playing around. They’re coming for the sweep.

And if you don’t believe me?

Ask Kadri.
Ask the scoreboard.
Ask anyone who was there.

🔥 Thirteen runs. Three homers. And one very loud statement from the Calgary Flames. 🔥

– Pedro

[jg2977]

HA HA HA HAAAA!

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, peasants and paupers, let me introduce you to Game 1 of the Conference Semifinals, where the mighty fell, and the rich just got richer — because when you’ve got talent, dominance, and swagger dripping like diamonds... YOU WIN.

And tonight? The Vegas Golden Knights cashed in.

💰 The Million Dollar Beatdown at United Center
Chicago! You may be the reigning Stanley Cup champions, but tonight? YOU looked broke!
The Golden Knights strutted into your house like they owned the deed, the ice, and your dignity. Why? Because everybody’s got a price… and tonight, that price was 12 runs, 16 hits, and one very expensive L for the Blackhawks.

You fans in the stands paid top dollar... but what you saw was priceless — unless you're a Vegas fan. Then it was just business.

💎 Ivan Barbashev: Worth Every Penny
Let me tell you about Ivan Barbashev — my kind of guy. Two bombs, four RBIs, three hits. This man wasn’t playing baseball, he was investing in pain.
While Chicago was still doing their warmups, Barbashev had already made his first deposit — a double off D. Perez in the first. But he wasn’t done. Oh no. The seventh? A homer. The eighth? Another. That’s called compound interest, baby.

"We were able to get some things going offensively," Barbashev said with a smirk.
Of course you did, Ivan — when you’re this rich in talent, the hits just keep coming.
💵 Aroche and the Boys: Making It Rain
You thought it was just Barbashev? HA! Vegas came loaded like a Swiss bank account.

Raul Aroche? Two-run moonshot in the fourth. That ball had more hang time than your mortgage.
Tiller, Morales, Squillino, Soto — these guys didn’t come to play. They came to collect.
Even the team LOB was rich — 7 men stranded on base like they were waiting for a limo!

💸 Chicago's Effort? Admirable... but Broke
Listen, I’ll give credit where it’s due:

Connor Bedard? A home run and a stolen base.
Nick Foligno? Two doubles and a triple? That’s what I call hustling for the bonus.
E. Trevino? Three RBIs from the DH spot — you’re on the payroll, baby.
But your pitching? Oh my… D. Perez gave up 6 runs faster than I spend six figures on a Tuesday lunch. Garduno? Showed up, gave up four, disappeared. Gould? Thanks for the two-run parting gift.

You can’t win the stock market when all your investments go bust. You need million-dollar arms, not bargain-bin bullpen scraps!

🏦 Final Thoughts From the Top Floor
You want to win in October? You want the championship rings? The custom suits? The jet engines warming up after the game? You better be ready to pay the price.

Because Vegas? They just walked into Chicago’s penthouse and said,

"This is ours now."
And Game 2? Let’s just say the Golden Knights are already writing checks that Chicago might not be able to cash.

I’m Ted DiBiase, the Million Dollar Man… and tonight? The Vegas Golden Knights proved it again:

EVERYBODY’S GOT A PRICE.
💰💰💰

Cue the evil laugh…
HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAA!

[jg2977]

Alright, alright, alright... hold everything. Let’s talk about what just happened at Madison Square Garden — and no, I’m not talking about Billy Joel playing “Piano Man” for the 800th time.
I’m talkin’ pucks, sticks, fists, and FIRE — because the New York Rangers just bodybagged the Tampa Bay Lightning, 12-5, in a game that felt like it was over before the first intermission snack.

🗽 BIG APPLE BEATDOWN 🗽
This wasn’t a hockey game — this was a public execution on Broadway. And you know who delivered the guillotine? BEN. FREAKIN’. RICE.

Four hits. Two RBIs. Three runs. A double. Two stolen bases. The guy was everywhere.
You look up the word "dominant" in the dictionary, and Ben Rice is there eating sunflower seeds and flipping you off while stealing third.

“Player of the Game”? NO KIDDING. He basically hijacked the Lightning’s bus and drove it straight into the Hudson.
🔥 SIXTH-INNING SLAUGHTER 🔥
Let me set the scene for ya: Bottom six. It’s close. Tension’s rising.
Tampa’s bullpen opens the door... AND NEW YORK DRIVES A TRUCK THROUGH IT.

Escandon? RBI single.
E. Grubin? See ya! Two-run homer.
A. Grubin? Triple and two RBIs.
Rice? AGAIN. RBI double.
Sattler? Two-run double just for good measure.
Six runs. One inning. They turned Tampa into a tourist trap.

😬 TAMPA BAY? MORE LIKE TAMPA BLEH
Listen, I’ll give Tampa a little credit. They tried.
Sifonte hit a bomb. Chew and Perez both went yard. And sure, Embree had two hits. Woohoo.

But Z. Ndadaye? My man threw 122 pitches and couldn’t get out of the sixth!
AND THEN! You bring in A. Hernandez, and the guy immediately gives up 4 runs on 4 hits in 12 pitches! That ERA? Not a typo — it’s 54.00.

I've seen better pitching at a lemonade stand in Newark.
🎤 QUICK HITS — RANT STYLE:
E. Grubin? Three bombs in two games. I don’t know what he’s eating, but get him tested.
M. Grubin? Zero hits, but stole a bag. Good hustle, kid. Stop swinging like you’re playing Home Run Derby.
W. Cuylle? Clean up your glove. Cost the team an error and nearly cost Menendez a clean inning.
W. Diaz? Came in, gave up a homer, shrugged it off. That’s confidence. Or indifference. Either way, it worked.
🏟️ MSG WAS ROCKIN’… AND WET
Yeah, it was raining and windy as hell, but the fans didn’t care. You give them 12 runs, a bunch of homers, and a Grubin family reunion at the plate — they’ll scream like it’s Game 7 in June.

📢 BOTTOM LINE:
The Rangers are up 2-0 in the series, and if you’re Tampa? You better regroup. You’ve got less than 48 hours to remember how to play hockey before Game 3 in Florida.

Because if this thing goes 3-0?

It’s OVER.

And I’ll be here to say: "I told ya so."

—

Back after this with your calls: is Ben Rice the best second baseman in the playoffs, or the best second baseman ever? Discuss.

[jg2977]

GAME 2: EASTERN CONFERENCE SEMIFINALS
FLORIDA PANTHERS VS. LONG ISLAND ISLANDERS
WRITTEN IN THE SPIRIT OF THE UNDERTAKER

The air was cold, the sky unforgiving, and the ice beneath UBS Arena trembled as if it, too, knew what was coming. The Long Island Islanders... rose.

In the shadow of defeat from Game 1, they dug their own grave, stared into the abyss — and then stepped out of it.

Final: Long Island 5, Florida 1. Series tied, 1-1.

You see, not everyone fears the dark. Some become it.

On this night, it was Raul Casarez — 39 years of pain-hardened wisdom — who cloaked himself in the gloom and cast silence across the Panthers' bats. Seven innings, two hits, one run. No walks. No fear. No mercy.

"I am not finished," Casarez said after the game, the weight of deathly intent behind every word. He didn’t need theatrics. The numbers on the scoreboard were his tombstones. He simply buried them.

In the Second, the first shovel struck flesh.

Andre Sijtsma uncorked a solo blast into the night. It echoed like a funeral bell over the sound of 43,427 souls roaring in approval.

In the Third, Warming Bernabel added his own grim exclamation point — a two-out bomb that tore through the cold air like a soul escaping its earthly chains.

Three runs. The Panthers blinked. The Islanders grinned. The grave was dug.

By the end of the third inning, the light had left the Panthers' eyes.

Casarez — relentless. Unmoving. Icy. As though every pitch was another nail in the coffin.

They managed just three hits all night. E. van de Griendt’s solo homer in the first was their only gasp of life. A momentary flicker... before the flame died.

You do not just play in UBS Arena. You are summoned there.

And the crowd? They didn’t cheer. They chanted. Like druids in the dark, calling on something ancient.

Five Islander runs. Eight hits. Pitch-black precision. Esparza, Clark, Brenton — each drove in runs. Each carved a name into the Panthers’ stone.

V. Bujanda of Florida was not ready. Three innings, two home runs allowed, five earned. He did not survive the reckoning. His ERA now stands at 15.00 — a number that should be carved in red.

The war moves now to Florida.

Tuesday, September 24th. Amerant Bank Arena will be the battleground. The Panthers will rise from the ice, hoping to shake the soil from their uniforms.

But the Islanders have seen death. And they... do not fear it.

Because when the night falls... and the bell tolls... it is the Islanders who walk among the living dead.

Rest in peace... Florida.

🏒 PLAYER OF THE GAME: RAUL CASAREZ
🕯️ BALLPARK: UBS ARENA, LONG ISLAND
☠️ SERIES: TIED 1-1
⚰️ NEXT GAME: 9/24 @ SUNRISE, FL