Empty the Bench

Next time Paulius Parachomikas enters a European slam-dunk contest, he might want to consider practicing first. Nice try, Paulius, but she’s probably not impressed.

Funny, my girlfriend and I were just discussing athlete marriages the other day, then this popped up. From the “No, Really?” Department comes quotes from Lawrence Taylor’s ex-wife, Linda Garrett, who recently spoke with Chrisena Coleman of the New York Daily News about sharing LT with drugs and women during the life of their marriage:

“LT was my husband, but he belonged to everyone, especially the thousands and thousands of fans. I also shared him with the drugs and the women who would stop at nothing to get to him. One night a woman called my house in the middle of the night and told me that my husband had just left her house and would be home in 20 minutes,” said Garrett. “Sure enough, the garage door opened 20 minutes later. The women didn’t care he was married with children.”

Jacqui Kelly, who’s married to the Chicago White Sox’ Kenny Kelly, has a much rosier outlook on the ups and downs of being tied to a pro athlete. Something tells us that the 26-year-old might not carry the same opinion, in, say, another 5 years or so.

Despite their grumblings, the wives said their husbands’ careers have given them an exclusive lifestyle with financial security and all the trappings of the good life. “There are a lot of perks,” said Kelly, who created and runs the Pro Athletes Only Web site, a one-stop concierge service for athletes and their wives. “Like any marriage, there will be issues, but for us the focus is on being friends, good parents and keeping the line of communication open.”

In other words, perhaps ignoring the possibility your husband might cheat on you.

Dude, seriously, enough is enough is enough. Shut your hole. Shut it now, and don’t open it again. Ever.

From Metroville via Deadspin comes news that America’s all-time favorite murderer, the one who just can’t help but gloat about getting away with killing his ex-wife and her boyfriend, has tossed his knife, ergh, hat into the ring of suitors vying for Anna Nicole Smith’s moolah. No, seriously: O.J. Simpson thinks his super “slow-moving sperm,” as he so eloquently describes it, could have spawned the most talked-about baby since Jesus.

A photographer by the name of Norm Pardo, who has over 70 hours of Simpson footage compiled over 5 years (don’t ask), recently had this to say about The Juice:

“He said he knew Anna Nicole pretty well, and he said he had slow-moving sperm, and he might be the father.”

Just to clarify, if Simpson’s hypothesis is true, that means his sperm takes approximately 12 years to actually pregnate a woman once implanted. Simpson and Smith were castmates in 1994′s “blockbuster classic” The Naked Gun 33 1/3: The Final Insult. Pardo continues:

Simpson also joked to Pardo, “I hope they don’t do a DNA test on Anna Nicole’s baby. If they find out Dannielynn is mine, I don’t want Fred Goldman trying to seize her money -or the baby herself.”

Oh, O.J., you are such a kidder! Hilarious! OMG, that jerk father of the man you slashed up better stay away from the money your slow-moving sperm rightfully earned!

Hopefully FOX will now consider a reality show starring O.J. Simpson, Pacman Jones, and Ron Artest wherein they’re locked in a house for 2 months with an unlimited supply of knives, drugs, and dogs to see what happens when nutjobs stop being polite, and arrested, and start being real.
Our money is on the Tru Warrior.

With the outlook once again bleak for the Kansas City Royals offense this season, it seems it might be worth it for KC to contact the agent for faux-actor, faux-rock star Jared Leto to gauge his interest in possibly joining the team. Though Leto has proven mediocre at almost everything in his professional career (“My So-Called Life,” “Alexander,” and rocking out in his adorable little band 30 Seconds to Mars, for starters), he certainly sounds like he’s ready to step into the batter’s box:

Jared has revealed that he often wants to take a baseball bat to critics. Speaking about negative press, Jared said recently: “The music is close to us and we can take it personally when we hear something we don’t like. Sometimes you want to take a baseball bat to someone’s face.
Or maybe their kneecaps – that would probably be more fun. There are some people who might look better if you smacked them in the head with a baseball bat.”

Why can’t the haters just leave this poor, tortured soul alone? How could you criticize a man of this stature, this talent? Well, Jared, we’re in your corner, and just to prove it will publish our favorite passage from the 30 Seconds to Mars hit “Buddha for Mary.” We love Flea here at ETB, but he’s got nothing on our boy Jared:

Mary was an acrobat
But still she couldn’t seem to breathe
Mary was becoming everything she didn’t want to be
Mary would hallucinate
And see the sky upon the wall
Mary was the type of girl
She always liked to fly

Excuse us while we dry our tears… and wipe away the vomit.

Something tells us this guy is going to have a tough time getting a date for the rest of his life… or ever having a normal conversation with another human being, or getting a real job. But hey, if you get a little publicity for getting the lamest tattoo ever carved into your forehead, well, I guess it was all worth it.

The Mighty MJD pointed out a photo gallery on SI.com featuring tattoos from very serious fans. You can view all the dreadfulness here, but there’s no denying this kook his rightful claim to Worst Tattoo Ever… or “best,” depending on your sense of humor. Fittingly, this gentleman goes by the name of “Tattoo.” Simple, to the point, relevant. I like it. Folks, this ain’t a fake:

Apparently he did this as part of a stunt to get Lakers playoff tickets from a local radio station, and has also “been tasered by [rapper] Game, had mace squirted into his eye, and eaten worms.” Mmmhmm. We don’t have much to offer—a few discount movie coupons, a limited-edition Ben Wallace bobblehead, maybe some of my mom’s Xmas cookies—but if you’re out there, Tattoo, Empty the Bench would like to extend you a standing offer to eat from my cat’s litter box. Whenever you’re ready. No rush.

Wow. Just wow. In a week that we learned Pacman Jones smoked marijuana before meeting up with a SWAT team, that Wolfgang Puck Catering was letting an employee contagious with Hepatitis A handle food, that Cedric Maxwell wants a female NBA referee to make him bacon and eggs for breakfast, and that Red Hot Chili Peppers’ bassist Flea could be our next Poet Laureate, the following story might beat them all.

This one is nearly 2 months old, so we apologize if you’ve already heard about it and cringed/chortled/gasped appropriately, but we totally missed the boat, so here you go. Former high-school basketball coach Gregory Lynn Burr faces 39 charges of abuse and 1 charge of being a sick son-of-a-bitch. Here are the grisly details:

Gregory Lynn Burr, 28, faces 39 charges for allegedly hitting male students in the groin, showing them pornography and pouring water on his players then driving them to games in the winter with the windows rolled down.

A student in documents said Burr would ask them, “What is the capital of Thailand?” When they would answer “Bangkok,” he would hit them in the groin. Another student claims to have had scrotal surgery because of Burr’s alleged assault.

In arrest records, some of the victims portrayed the incidents as Burr’s misguided attempts at humor but said they kept quiet for fear of getting kicked off the team. One student estimated some of the players were hit in the groin 30-40 times. Another said the blows occurred at every practice,
with the coach hitting them with his hand, basketballs and tennis balls.

Something tells us it was not a good idea to ask Coach Burr for a water break, to come out of the game, or to stop hitting you in the balls.

In terms of interest, Empty the Bench ranks professional golf up there with cleaning out cat litter boxes and scrubbing the bathroom floor with a toothbrush. Still, John “The Lion” Daly’s various antics over the years have made him an ETB favorite and we love when he’s in the news for silly things like this:

John Daly was injured trying to stop his backswing after being distracted by a fan taking his picture, forcing him to withdraw from the Honda Classic after only two holes Thursday.

The [camera] clicking could be heard almost at the same instant he started his backswing. He stopped and reportedly glared at the woman before trying to swing again, but immediately complained of pain and walked off to seek treatment in the tour’s medical trailer.

It sounds like the folks driving the Honda Classic have some gritty, roll-up-your-sleeves-and-step-into-the-shit work ahead of them, too, in the wake of this shocking development:

“Like the rest of us, she is devastated that her use of a camera resulted in an injury to John,” Honda executive director Ken Kennerly said. “We will examine all options in our effort to eliminate cameras and cell phones from the course.”

Godspeed.

- The Lion has also developed his own line of John Daly Wine, which have “specially crafted range, conceived and blended to reflect unique and different aspects of one of the world’s most thrilling and big-hearted golfers.” Yum.

- And in the “What the Hell?” Department, Daly also roped Willie Nelson, Darius Rucker (Hootie of Hootie and the Blowfish fame), and country artists Johnny Lee and Daron Norwood into contributing to My Life, Daly’s first album which he describes as “mostly autobiographical.” Titles on this hotcake include “I’m Drunk, Damn Broke,” “Long Ball Rebel” (get it?), and “Mr. Fan.” This leads us to believe that Daly is currently employing Scottie Pippen’s old financial advisors.

R. Kelly, “I Believe I Can Fly”

I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky
I think about it every night and day
Spread my wings and fly away
I believe I can soar
I see me running through that open door
I believe I can fly
I believe I can fly
I believe I can fly

Attendees of Sports Illustrated‘s swimsuit edition bash may have been exposed to Hepatitis A, and surprise, it’s not from the models! SI reports that a member of Wolfgang Puck Catering diagnosed with the fun-filled affliction handled some of the food at the party, and that those who ate the food are probably none too pleased with the situation. While the risk of infection is “quite low,” you have to cover your ass these days:

While we’ve been advised this is a low risk situation, we’re strongly urging our guests and staff to follow the department’s recommendation to consult a physician to receive an immune globulin (IG) immunization in the next 24 hours.

Dr. Jonathan Fielding, county director of public health, said the caterer’s response to the situation has been “exemplary.”

Yah… but it seems not-quite-so exemplary that the Puck employee was found to have worked “nine other events at a time when [the worker] could have been infectious.” Man, I’m psyched to order some take-out now. That little Indian joint downstairs with the spicy pakoras and green curry sounds good. Maybe I’ll order a samosa too.

The so-called “Holy Grail of Baseball Cards” was auctioned off yesterday to a Southern California card collector who has concealed his identity so that the neighbors can’t rib him for spending $2.35 million on a baseball card. The uber-rare tobacco card for Pittsburgh Pirates shortstop Honus Wagner has long been described as the most “off the hook” baseball card one could possibly own, as there are believed to only be 60 still intact. This particular card was once owned by hockey great Wayne Gretzky, who sold it when realizing the value would decrease if put in the spokes of his BMX.

According to seller Brian Siegel, his Honus Wagner card is in waaaayyyyy better condition than the other ones in circulation. Still, you could put one in the bottom of your cat’s litter box for a month, dust it off, and still sell it for a cool $100 grand.

The others “you could stick in the middle of the street and let cars drive over it through the day, take it in your hand and crumple it up, and it still would be a $100,000 card,” said Seigel, CEO of Emerald Capital LLC, an asset management company, who lives in Las Vegas. “The Wagner card gave me a tremendous amount of pride, excitement and pleasure. I hope the new owner will have the same satisfaction I enjoyed over the years.”

Seigel went on to say he slept with the card, bathed with the card, took the card for walks, even dated the card for a short spell. He cited “irreconcilable differences” for the break-up.