Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting

Tomorrow night is a big night of boxing for the true fan, with not one, not two, but THREE potentially exciting bouts to watch, involving three under-appreciated, top-ten pound-for-pound guys who would dearly like to catapult themselves into the PPV-money stratosphere.

Here’s the Large breakdown:

MIGUEL COTTO v. CARLOS QUINTANA


Cotto is probably the best bet of the big names going tomorrow night to turn into a superstar – an undefeated Puerto Rican brawler with a penchant for bloody, Gatti-esque wars in the ring (above Cotto, left, gives Paulie Malinaggi the beating he so sorely needed). He’s making his debut at 147 against his fellow undefeated countryman, Carlos Quintana, a hard-punching southpaw who surprised Joel “Love Child” Julio last June. They’re fighting for the WBA welterweight belt that Ricky Hatton vacated to go back down to 140. I confess I don’t have a solid prediction for you. I’ve seen Cotto fight a lot, and I was at his slugfest with Ricardo Torres in 2005, one of the best fights of the year. The only Quintana fight I’ve seen is his Julio win, where he looked impressive, but then again Julio looked like shit. I would venture to guess that Cotto will win by KO, but his propensity to open up and find himself on the canvas along with Quintana’s clear power make me think that it could easily go the other way.

ANTONIO MARGARITO v. JOSHUA CLOTTEY

Margarito is making quite a name for himself these days as “The Man That No One Wants to Fight.” Bob Arum has told the entire world a hundred times over that he offered Floyd eight mil to fight Margarito and Floyd turned it down to fight Baldomir, which means absolutely nothing to me, because the only man Floyd wants to fight is Oscar, and so why would he risk an eight mil bloodbath with Margarito and scotch a 20 mil superfight with ODLH? Nevertheless, the fact remains that Margarito is a dangerous fighter, a tall welterweight with dazzling speed, a (very) poor man’s Tommy Hearns. Clottey is a brawler from Ghana by way of the Bronx with no a-listers on his resume. Could be explosive early, but I’d wager quite a bit that Clottey won’t go the distance.

WINKY WRIGHT v. IKE QUARTEY

This is the fight I'm really worked up for. I said it when the fight was made and I'll say it again now - Winky is ALL motherfuckin man for taking on Quartey right now. The Wink fights anyone, anywhere, and if people still appreciated boxing as an art form and not a forum for pure bloodlust, he would already be a PPV attraction. This fight's on his home turf in Tampa, and Quartey is about seven years off his prime, but still... did you see that Quartey/Forrest bout? Ike is anything but a shot fighter. He's still a technician, still throws that beautiful hammer of a jab, and still has the heart of a lion. Winky remains the number two pound-for-pound in my book despite the draw with Jermain, but if he's looking past Ike to a Taylor rematch, he could get himself whupped up in front of the home crowd tomorrow night. I say Wink in a decision (probably a controversial split decision given Quartey's history), but should be some excitement getting there.

If you've by chance forgotten what kind of heart the Bazooka possesses, check this shit out - Feburary of 1999, round twelve with Oscar. It's the jaw-dropping finale of the defining fight of Ike's career, one that he still thinks he won (Large had it a draw):

Kronked Out

Detroit's Kronk Gym, on queer street for a few years now, is officially out for the count due to unpaid heating bills, faulty plumbing, and some thieves who jacked its copper piping in September. Sly Stallone is holding a benefit in Detroit tonight to raise money for a new Kronk, which Manny Steward is hoping to open right away to keep the Kronk tradition alive.

The gym is/was one of the true boxing landmarks left in the States. The list of great fighters who trained there is much too long to mention - basically, if they were great, and they fought in the last 30 years, they probably put some time in at that sweaty little basement known as the Kronk. We here at No Mas deeply regret its passing.

Detroit's legendary Kronk Gym: Down for the count (Detroit Free Press)

Grays Fade to Black

On this day in 1948, an era ended, as the Negro National League officially disbanded. Jackie Robinson had played his second season in Brooklyn - Larry Doby had just finished his first full season in Cleveland as a key member of the Indians championship squad. Integration was in full swing in the bigs, and interest in Negro League baseball was plummeting. Negro League teams found themselves in an epic catch-22 - they could not protect their own players without seeming to be standing in the way of racial progress. So they stepped aside.

The Negro National League contained perhaps the most legendary of all the Negro League franchises, the Homestead Grays, a team that at one time or another boasted 12 players who are now enshrined in baseball's Hall of Fame, including the black Babe Ruth, Josh Gibson (pictured above), the speedster Cool Papa Bell, and fireballing pitcher Smokey Joe Williams. The New York Black Yankees also played in the Negro National League. At the end of the 1948 season, the Black Yankees folded, while the Grays went out on a barnstorming tour. It was an unsuccessful venture, and they were forced to pack it up in 1950.

The Negro American League continued to play ball until 1958, although 1951 is considered to be the last season of record. The Indianapolis Clowns were the last Negro League team to suit up, continuing to play exhibition games into the 80's as a sort of baseball version of the Globetrotters.

Just give them the damn ball

There's been talk this month (perhaps a little too much talk) of two disgraced sprinters making a go of it in the NFL - American Justin Gatlin and Dwain Chambers of Great Britain.

Chambers is a BALCO boy, the former European champion in the 100 meters who tested positive for THG in 2003. His coach was Remi Korchemny, who is currently under investigation for his BALCO ties. Chambers returned to track and field this past summer with some success, but reportedly wants to jump ship to the NFL. He joined an NFL Europe camp at the beginning of November with the hopes of getting a tryout in the U.S. for next season.

Meanwhile, reigning Olympic champion in the 100 meters and former world-record-holder Justin Gatlin had a workout with the Houston Texans this week. This past summer, Gatlin tested positive for excessive testosterone and agreed to an eight-year ban from track and field. Gatlin's coach, Trevor Graham, is a central BALCO figure, the inital whistle-blower of the whole sordid scandal. He is one of the dirtiest figures in recent track and field history and was banned, at long last, from USOC facilities in August.

The roids aside, these high-profile track-to-gridiron aspirations can't help but bring to mind the greats of the genre:

BOB HAYES
















Bullet Bob Hayes became the world's fastest man at the 1964 Olympics in Tokyo, winning the 100m in world-record time despite the fact that he was running in borrowed spikes and occupying a mangled lane one of the track. He signed with the Cowboys at the end of that year and went on to be an All-Pro wide receiver. He was a stalwart on the Cowboys Super-Bowl-winning squad in 1971, making him the only man ever to win an Olympic gold medal and a Super Bowl ring.


RENALDO NEHEMIAH
















Skeets Nehemiah was one of the greatest hurdlers in history, the first man ever to run the 110m hurdles in under 13 seconds. He held eight different hurdling world records but was prevented from winning an almost certain Olympic gold medal by the U.S. boycott of the Moscow Games in 1980. In 1982, Nehemiah joined the 49ers, and he played with them for three seasons as a largely ineffective wide receiver. He returned to the track in 1986, retiring in 1991.


WILLIE GAULT

















Though Gault was never quite the track star that Hayes and Nehemiah were, he was a member of a world-record 4x100 relay team while at the University of Tennessee and he also would have gone to the Moscow Games as a hurdler if not for the boycott. Gault was drafted by the Bears in 1983, and played in Chicago until 1988, when he was traded to the Raiders. He was a dangerous wideout, a constant long threat, and a combustible kick-returner. In Super Bowl XX with the Bears, he had four receptions for 129 yards. And Gault's talents did not stop at track and football - he was also a performing ballet dancer, an Olympic-level bobsledder and a successful actor.

Reggie you taste pretty good...

On November 29, 1976, the Yankees signed Reggie Jackson to a five-year contract totalling close to three million dollars. It was an epic move of the early era of free agency, and it had dire consequences - brawls, slander, hubris, hatred, not to mention two World Series titles and one very, VERY tasty candy bar.

Here at No Mas, we're not ashamed to say that it's the candy that really interests us, and so to commemorate this anniversary of the unofficial birth of the Bronx Zoo we invite you to check out this classic Reggie Bar TV ad, where His Reggie-ness is seriously digging his own indisputable deliciousness.

Birthday Smackdizzle MLB-style

This right here is some shit. You better have been nursed on pine tar if you want to get down on this action, because we ain't playing. This is an official No Mas Birthday Smackshizzle - The MLB Platinum Edition.

For those about to rock, some guidelines. All the suspects below were born today. First to name them all in a comment wins No Mas booty, and trust us, we are breaking out the grade-A goods, the primo gear for this late fall classic. So get into it, get involved...

Claire Huxtable, you are so fuxtable...

On this day 21 years ago, Thanksgiving Day 1985, Ahmad Rashad proposed to Phylicia Ayers Allen on national television during halftime of a Lions/Jets game. Allen accepted, thereby cuckolding Cliff Huxtable's pudding-pop-eating-ass and taking up with the cheesiest Black Muslim bad makeup has ever known. The duo had a child in 1986, and divorced in 2001. Evidently the breakup occurred after Ahmad discovered that the Cos wasn't the only one with his hands in Mrs. H's cookie jar. "It works every time," smiled Billy Dee, and we all knew what that meant.

Rated Rookie

Motherfucking Fred Lynn. Man didn't even warrant his OWN baseball card in 1975, and yet he went on to be the Rookie of the Year AND the A.L. MVP. What the fuck did Terry Whitfield do? And Eddie Armbrister? Other than looking a lot like George Foster, dude was useless.

On this day in 1975, Lynn was named the MVP of the American League, making him, to that point, the only rookie ever to win the award. In my book, he's still the only man to do it - Ichiro did it in 2001, but he was a 27-year-old seasoned professional at the time.

Just as an aside, Lynn has a few other "only''s on his resume as well - he's the only man to win the ALCS MVP as a member of the losing team (with the Angels in 1982) and the only man ever to hit a grand slam in the All-Star Game (1983). He's also the only man, with his fellow outfield-mate and borderline Hall-of-Famer Jim Rice, to ever make me even think about rooting for the Red Sox. Lame though it is, I think I deserve a pass on that, because I was very young and impressionable, and his 1977 All-Star card was dope.

Marco or Marquez?

Who's next for Manny Pacquaio? To me, it seems like a layup - Barrera. If Pac Man fights Marquez, I'll watch for sure, but if he fights Barrera? To me, that's a superfight.

I must say, I didn't even think Marquez was in the running until I watched that HBO fight on Saturday night and Manny and Max Silverman were pumping up the Marquez/Pac Man possibility (and on that score, Max, please - Pacquiao got Barrera in the 11th round, not the 5th).

I thought Marquez looked a step slow and on the whole pedestrian against the Filipino, Jaca, who certainly did seem to be a poor man's Pacquiao. The question to me boils down to this - do you really think Marquez would beat Barrera right now? I emphatically do not. If Barrera brawled like the old days, it might be touch-and-go, but if he mixed in his boxing rounds with his brawling rounds, I think he'd probably get the stoppage.

K.O.W. - Beware the Cobra

For our second official No Mas Knockout of the Week, we turn to Tommy Hearns, which is appropriate, because if Tyson was the most devastating knockout artist of our time, Hearns is certainly a close runner-up.

We take you back to August 2nd, 1980, when the Hit Man won his first title, the WBA welterweight crown, from the ever popular Jose "Pipino" Cuevas. At this point in his career, Hearns was 29-0, with all but two of his wins coming by stoppage. He had become a feature attraction because of his devastating punching power - of his previous ten fights leading up to Cuevas, nine had ended in a stoppage, and none of those after the sixth round. After his second-round KO of Cuevas, the hype for a Leonard/Hearns showdown would begin in earnest.

Like all Mexicans, Pipino is gamer than game in this fight, and he comes out swinging for the fences, but about a minute into the first round Hearns staggers him with one of those cobra-sprung straight right hands. After that things turn ugly. By the second round, it's target practice for Hearns. His epic reach, the ferocity of his combinations - he's a terrifying fighter. In two rounds, Pipino takes a lifetime's worth of KO-worthy haymakers, and when he finally does go down for good, it seems like he's been shot with a gun. He shimmies in the air, suspended, barely conscious, and then Hearns finishes him with another short right. Enjoy.

NO MAS! NO MAS!

Twenty-six years ago tonight, unbeknownst to little Large and even littler I-Berg, our humble sports brand found it’s name, when Roberto Duran unexpectedly threw up his hands in the middle of the eighth round of his fight with Ray Leonard and either did or did not utter the words, “No mas.”

It was at the Superdome in New Orleans. Five months before in Montreal, Duran had shocked Sugar Ray and the world, luring the Olympic golden boy into an ill-advised brawl with his taunts and then doing what he did best – brawling like a motherfucker. It was a hard, close fight, but Duran won a well-earned unanimous decision.

In the rematch, Sugar Ray used his feet and his brain against the Panamian, and that was that. Like Barrera against Juarez a few months ago, Leonard simply outclassed a thuggish fighter he had been stupid to stand toe-to-toe with in the first place.

In the seventh round, pretty much throwing a shutout to that point, Sugar Ray started to clown and taunt Duran. By the middle of the eighth Old Hands of Stone had seen enough. He suddenly backed away from an exchange, waved a glove in the air as Leonard shoe-shined his ribcage, and reputedly said “No mas.” Then, according to referee Octavio Meyran, he said it three more times on the way back to his corner. Duran claimed afterwards that he never said the infamous words in the ring, and that he quit because of severe stomach cramps, not because of Leonard’s humiliating antics.

Either way, he quit, and for a macho Latino boxer like Duran, that was a lot to live down, especially to the Panamanians who had revered him like a god on earth (imagine if Manny Pacquiao pulled something like that in a rematch with Barrera – the Philippines might actually sink into the Pacific). His image was somewhat restored when he outbrawled Davey Moore at the Garden for a junior middleweight belt in 1983, but still, the legend of “No Mas” lives on - in the minds of boxing fans everywhere, and of course, on the tags of those stupid fly shirts you pimps be wearing every day.

Check the shit out below - it shows the seventh and eighth rounds in full and then a post-fight Cosell interview with Duran's trainer Ray Arcel, who seems genuinely flabbergasted and heartbroken.

Will o' the wisp

We lost one of the greatest fighters of the 20th century today. Willie Pep died at the Alzheimer's unit of a nursing home in Connecticut, where he'd been confined since 2001. He was 84.

Pep, called "Will o'the wisp" for his famed elusiveness, was known for both his balletic footwork and his savage combinations. Owner of the featherweight title for six years and the veteran of an astounding 242 fights, Pep was a beautiful fighter to watch, a true matador. Legend has it that he once won a round without throwing a punch.

When he did throw punches, however, they were precise and damaging, often coming in breakneck flurries. He was a prodigy when he burst onto the New England boxing scene in 1940, winning 63 times before losing a fight, and then winning another 72 straight before his next loss.

That loss, however, was a turning point in Pep's career. It was at the hands of the great Sandy Saddler. Pep would go on to face Saddler three more times in his career, winning once and losing twice, in fights that would make "Pep/Saddler" a single word in history, like "Ali/Frazier" and "Robinson/Lamotta." The four-fight series between Willie Pep and Sandy Saddler may in fact be the greatest boxing rivalry of all time, epic in its ferocity and the dirtiest load of fighting you'll ever want to see. This shit is not for the faint of heart.

Below is a condensation of the fourth fight, in which Pep fails to answer the bell for the tenth round. This bout was highly controversial at the time, both for the quality and frequency of the fouling (at one point the ref hits the canvas - borderline WWE material) and because the rumor after the fight was that Pep rolled over for the mob. Which is hard to imagine when you watch him getting pulverized in there, but with fights back then, who knows. Check it out for yourself, and bid farewell to a true legend, the one and only Willie Pep.

Pat Dobson, 1942-2006

Former Orioles pitcher Pat Dobson, second from left in the picture, died today at the age of 64. Dobson was one of that fearsome foursome of pitchers for the '71 Orioles (along with Mike Cuellar, Dave McNally and Jim Palmer) to win 20 games, which has only happened twice in history. Dobson also threw a no-hitter against the Yomiuri Giants on an Orioles tour of Japan in 1972. His curveball was legendarily filthy. In 1969, before his tenure with the O's, he was traded with Dave Campbell from the Tigers to the Padres for Joe Niekro. So Brother Dave, where you are son, watch your back. Seems like that trade might have had a 2006 hex on it.

November 23, 1984

As you lay back on your couch tonight with your pants loosened to watch the Miami/B.C. game, take a moment to think back 22 years when you sat there on that same couch, probably wearing those same pants...

K.O.W.

We have a new feature here at No Mas, the knockout of the week, and we kick things off with Iron Mike's pulverization of Trevor Berbick to become the youngest heavyweight champion in history. That fight was twenty years ago today, and if you're like me, you've watched it on Classic maybe a hundred times since then. So scroll down to this post and check it out on You Tube once again, or just sit back and replay it in your mind, watch as Berbick does the dance of dances, the Monster Mash, trying to stand up after that last Tyson barrage of fury.

Philly Will Rise

Yo dig in there and find Ryan Howard's wallet. It's the one that says "Most Valuable Motherfucker" on it. Mos def.

Short... but mean

Looking for some fresh leadership to steer their squad into the new century, France hired Napoleon Bonaparte as head coach and Commander-in-Chief of the Armies of the French Republic on this day in 1791.

Of course, Bonaparte, who was equal parts Bum Phillips, Buddy Ryan and Bill Walsh, proceeded to almost immediately catapult France into the top-tier of the European division. A first-ballot Hall-of-Fame commander, he pretty much conquered the shit out of all of Europe during his tenure leading the French, acquiring the elite “Emperor” status for himself along the way. Russia finally fucked up his team in 1812, mostly because of Bonaparte’s hubristic decision to play it as an away game, and the Russians brilliant strategy formulated by their Hall-of-Fame commander, Prince Barclay de Tolly. Barclay's plan pretty much boiled down to a straight-up “rope a very cold dope” and the shit worked like frostbite.

Napoleon got exiled to Elba in 1814, but he still had some fight left in him and made it back to Paris where he put together a ragtag squad of ex-All-Stars and ham-and-eggers. He hung on for a while, but eventually got his medicine from Wellington at Waterloo, definitely a top five all-time showdown, one that I wish they would show more often on Classic.

The Little General died in exile in 1821. His last words were “Tete d’Armee!” Head of Army. Motherfucker loved the game till the very last. Respect.

No Mas Presents: Kid Dynamite Boston & Brooklyn

--November 22, 1986

It was the left hook so nice it layed him out twice...



In celebration of the twentieth anniversary of Tyson v. Berbick, No Mas and 5Boro are releasing “Self Destruct”, a limited edition (250) skateboard set with art by Mickey Duzyj, which pits the young Kid Dynamite of ’86 vs. the aging ear-biting Iron Mike of ’97. No Mas is also releasing a poster edition of the "Kid Dynamite Montage" by Mickey Duzyj.



There will be two release parties. One in Boston on Monday the 20th 6-8Pm at Bodega (6 Clearway street) and another back in New York on Wednesday the 22nd 6-8PM at Boundless in Williamsburg (143 Roebling at Havermeyer).

There will be 8 sets of the boards available at both functions, and a special package which includes a poster and an extremely ill Tyson inspired CD mix by DJ Monk One with purchase of a set. There is strong demand for the boards and very limited quantities, so come early if you want to cop.

We hope you can join us,

ci

RSVP: to [email protected]

Pac Man Fever

Look at that shot over there. Manny's like, "aight, I'll stop, but truth be told, I would sincerely like to keep hitting this motherfucker."

A little earlier than Large predicted, Manny "Pac Man" Pacquiao KO'ed Erik Morales on Saturday with an impressive display of hand speed and all-out, Tasmanian-devilicious fury. Props to El Terrible for conducting himself like a true Mexican warrior even though he knew he was overmatched. He stood in there and fought like a man and took his medicine. Motherfucker is a living legend and hopefully he will now retire with dignity.

Pac Man, on the other hand, is in the prime of his career and his life. A rematch with Barrera is in the offing, but right now he's on his way home to the Philippines to meet with the President, presumably to discuss what he should do when he takes over her job by popular demand. In the meantime, he will travel the country taking his pick of luscious virgins and local produce. Holms is a god these days in his homeland, and he should be approaching that status here in the States. He's hands down the most exciting attraction in the sport. We here at No Mas look forward to Pac Man/Barrera II with at least as much gusto as we do Oscar/Floyd, if not more.

THE BAND IS ON THE FIELD! THE BAND IS ON THE FIELD!

November 20, 1982 - A last-second kickoff, about a dozen laterals, a most unlikely touchdown, and one sorryass bandgeek about to get decked. On its 24th anniversary, we here at No Mas invite you to relive the glory of The Play about 20 times.

D.K.K. - R.I.P.

Duk Koo Kim died on this day 24 years ago at the age of 23, five days after a brutal beating in the ring from Boom Boom Mancini. Days before the fight, Kim had written "kill or be killed" on the mirror of his Las Vegas hotel room.

The fight led to a number of reforms in boxing - most notably, the reduction of title bouts from 15 to 12 rounds.

Kim's death haunted Mancini for the rest of his career and continues to haunt him to this day. As for the fight's referee, Richard Greene, he killed himself three months after Kim died. Kim's mother killed herself soon after that.

Three is the magic number

Trust me No Masians, I love me some El Terrible, but I think holms is in trouble. He looked shot to me in that last Pacquiao fight, and before that there was the Zahir Raheem debacle. I know he didn't train, blah blah blah, but look, Zahir Raheem, despite being a Philly boy who I give all respect, is also a straight-up b-level fighter. If you're Erik Morales and you can't skate past the Zahirs of the world, no matter how much time you been spending in the gym, then you have definitely lost a lot from your glory days, from the days when you whupped up on folks like Barrera and Chavez and Pocket Rocket Wayne McCullough.

So I'm betting this one goes much the same way the last one did, with El Terrible getting some quality work in early but eating a lot of those Pac-Man straight right hands and wearing down quickly. I say Pacquiao gets the stoppage in the eighth.

Lot of talk on ESPN the past few days about where Pac/El Terrible will rank with the great boxing trilogies of all time. Personally, my feelings are... Graziano/Zale it aint. But then son, what is right? What is... Below, the two old battle-axes head down memory lane and narrate their third fight, from back in the days when men were men and sheep were nervous.

Some Swiss ho named Heidi...

...showed up on mothafuckas screens across America on this day in 1968, just as the Raiders were about to fuck up the Jets. J-E-T-S Jets were leading 32-29 with 65 seconds to go. NBC goes to Heidi. Daryle Lamonica gets bizzzle-dizzle. Later on Jets fans learn that Gang Green lost 43-32. Fourteen points in the last minute. And they like... damn I'm a kill that bitch Heidi! Where she at? And Heidi's all, "yeah right a bunch of Jets fans gonna fuck with me, I'm SWISS yo..."

The Great Cy Young Winners in the History of the National League

1963 - Sandy Koufax
25-5, 1.88 ERA, 306 K's

1968 - Bob Gibson
22-9, 1.12 ERA, 268 K's

1975 - Tom Seaver
22-9, 2.38 ERA, 243 K's

1984 - Dwight Gooden
24-4, 1.53 ERA, 268 K's

1996 - John Smoltz
24-8, 2.94 ERA, 276 K's

2002 - Randy Johnson
24-5, 2.32 ERA, 334 K's

2006 - Brandon Webb
16-8, 3.10 ERA, 178 K's

Let the smacktalk begin

My early prognosis? Floyd, TKO, 7th. That's right, 7th. I know I'm not getting any love on my prognostications after that C. Brock bullshit, but look, I'm wrong once a year. Anyway, let's hear it from the gallery people. Cause this shit is big like Biggie.

"I signed my contract today to play for the Seattle Pilots..."

So begins one of the great baseball books ever written, Jim Bouton's "Ball Four," a diary of a season in the bigs as told by a player. It kicks off with Bouton signing with the lowly Pilots on November 15, 1968, 28 years ago today.

If you've never read this book (and I know that the chances are slim that you are reading this blog but have never read "Ball Four"), you should do so right now. The supposedly scandalous revelations - that management was cheap and ruthless, that Mickey Mantle partied, that players popped pills and cheated on their wives and "shot beaver" (going to absurd lengths to look up women's skirts from the dugout or bullpen) - are toothless now, little more than quaint and frequently ridiculous.

Bouton was and remains today a smug son of a bitch, so proud of himself for being flagrantly different from the rank and file of big leaguers that you just want to punch him. It's easy to see why people hated him, even without the betrayal of his clubhouse tell-all.

Asshole or not, though, his book is a masterpiece, and not because it takes you behind the scenes of major league baseball. That part is undoubtedly fun. But "Ball Four" isn't about baseball so much as it is about a frightened man battling against the facts of time, his diminished powers and the loss of youth. You don't need to care much about baseball to feel that shit in your bones. You just need to be over 30.

Newsflash: Donovan McNabb is allergic to Florida

Here's an exchange I just heard on WIP, the main sports radio station in Philly. The hosts of the afternoon show are two dudes with the Philliest possible names imaginable - Steve Martorano and Anthony Gargano:

CALLER: Yo I ain't a doctor but I think I got a serious medical opinion about Donovan McNabb's throwing-up problem.

STEVE: Okay. Let's hear it.

CALLER: Well, all right... the first time it happened was at the Super Bowl in Jacksonville. Then it happened a couple weeks ago in Tampa. And see, I remember Jon Runyan talking about how the air in Florida made his allergies go crazy-

STEVE: I think I see where you're going with this. You think that Donovan McNabb might be allergic to Florida.

CALLER: Well, not exactly. But he's got some kind of allergy problem that-

STEVE: Yeah, yeah, I get it. Donovan McNabb is allergic to Florida. It's an interesting theory.

CALLER: No, Steve, listen I'm serious about this-

STEVE: I'm serious too! I gotta think about it a little more, but you may have just figured out the problem.

ANTHONY: No look, he didn't. I got something here that's just going to blow this whole theory out the water. Cause McNabb also threw up at the Carrier Dome when he was with Syracuse.

STEVE: Huh. Was he playing Florida?

Large Defeat

As I sat there in disgust at fight's end, the Ukrainian mooks raining their beery good tidings all around me, my man Aaron Cohen turned to me and said, "There's just not that much you can say about that... he got knocked the fuck out."

And so it was.

Look if you bet heavy on Brock due to Large laying it down like that, I apologize. But you probably still owe me from that Briggs/Floyd difecta I handed you, so let's call it even.

That's me over there looking highly displeased during the post-fight mayhem. I was baffled then, and trust me people, I still can't get my mind around what an uninspired performance Brock put out there Saturday night. And even then... HE STILL COULD HAVE WON THE FIGHT! He was tagging Clinch-ko's body early, had him all red around the ribs and tentative about throwing the right hand, because it was opening him to Brock's low left hook.

God did Brock eat that jab though. What it came down to was very simple - Brock didn't move his head, and did not move laterally. At all. Manny Steward has made Klitschko into a very dangerous one-two artist (although let me just say that talk of Wlad's left hook is a freakin joke - guy throws a left hook like he's trying to wipe a booger off your ear) and with his size and reach, standing in front of him and coming straight ahead is a death wish.

The Human Klinch got cut on the eyelid in the sixth from a butt, bad gash, lots of blood. That gave him a sense of urgency. Then Brock stood in front of him in the seventh like he was posing for a portrait. Goodnight Irene.

God I hope Briggs knocks Wlad into tomorrow. Somebody, SOMEBODY. I just cannot stand to watch this guy fight anymore. It's a disgrace. Jab and grab, jab and grab. A friend of mine told me that Lamps and Larry called this fight like it was Ali/Foreman. A virtuoso performance by the best fighter in the sport has those two windbags calling for the abolition of boxing, and this bullshit is the Rumble in the Jungle.

As for Calvin Brock, farewell, farewell. Do yourself a favor and call up Citibank. Or go fight James Toney.

What else can I tell you? Zab Judah, Vito the fat gay guy from the Sopranos and most of the cast of The Wire were at the HBO party. Zab's lady is about 6'7" and fine, although slightly scary. The Greatest showed up for the Laila Ali debacle, got himself the requisite standing O. Klitschko's walk-in was ill, I must say. The Big K, indeed. God bless America.

A Call to Arms

Dear Larry,

Look, you got to step up. All night it's been running around my head and I just can't take it. Unfortunately, Muhammad is in no condition to redress the situation, and so I say it's up to you.

Just in case you don't read No Mas, and weren't trolling the internet in general yesterday, let me recap. Manny Steward says that Klitschko is now in a class by himself. He says, and I quote, "Klitschko would be a problem right now for Ali."

Larry Larry Larry we can't have this bullshit. You and I both know that Klitschko right now would not be a problem for Joe fucking Bugner, let alone the king of kings. You got to stop this man from running his mouth. Get back in the gym, drop twenty pounds, and then, for the good of the sport, for the good of MANKIND Larry, drop Wlad like a bad habit and defend the greatest generation, you know what I'm sayin? Send Manny back to his basement in Detroit with his tail between his legs.

This is an open letter call to arms. We need you.

Love and respect,

No Mas NYC

I'm gonna git you sucka

On November 11th, 1990, Chiefs' linebacker Derrick Thomas introduced himself to Seahawks' quarterback Dave Kreig, and then was like, "allow me to re-introduce myself..." He sacked Kreig seven times in one game, which is an NFL record that will probably last until the glaciers melt and football is played on jet-skis.

Thomas almost added an eighth sack in the closing seconds of the fourth quarter, but Kreig slipped out of his grasp and threw a game-winning TD. Seattle 17, K.C. 16. Seven sacks and nothing to show for it. Sometimes your best just isn't good enough.

Evidence that Emanuel Steward may be on the pipe

As an addendum to the post below, I give you this recent quote from The King of the Kronk:

"Wladimir is in a class by himself. Wladimir Klitschko would be a problem right now for Ali, for Lennox Lewis, for anybody. The man is too big and too fast and too explosive."

Man, I got stupid respect for Manny Steward, stupid, but MOTHERFUCKER SAY WHAT? Wlad Klitschko would be a problem for Ali? All's I can hope is that Steward means right now, right this second, Wlad would be a problem for Ali. Because yes, I would say that Klitschko against Ali tomorrow night, given the fact that Muhammad is 64 years old and has Parkinson's and is borderline immobile... I am prepared to admit that this would be a very close fight. If Manny means ANYTHING other than that, then he is clearly smoking crack, which is yet another reason that you should bet on Brock. Because if I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times - brain damage on the mike don't manage.

Bank on it

People I know it's crazy, but Large is reaching deep for this one - I predict that Calvin Brock will take Wlad Klitschko's IBF and IBO heavyweight belts at the Garden tomorrow night. Brock is a heavy underdog. Last I checked the Vegas odds, a hundred on Brock was winning you $330. Large doesn't gamble (anymore) but if he did, he would be sorely tempted to put down a few bills on The Banker. He's got power in both hands, he's got a chin, and he's big enough to stay close to Wlad and push him around the ring a little. Klitschko is soft at the core. Brock will expose that the same way Sam Peter did, but he'll have the skills and the size to back it up. Only thing that makes me nervous is Manny Steward, but the one thing he can't give a fighter is heart.

Large himself will be at the bout on some HBO muscle. Look for me. I'll be the one with my arms folded, giving the slow "how you like me now?" nod as they read the UD for C.B. and the belts change hands. Then we can start thinking Brock/Briggs and get a little mo back with the big boys.

LARGE SAYS - Brock in a unanimous decision. Wlad hits the canvas sometime around the 9th.

God Bless Kate Smith

On November 10, 1938, on her ever-popular weekly radio show, Kate Smith first performed a rousing little ditty that Irving Berlin had recently written for her called "God Bless America." The song would go on to become the second national anthem, which is... whatever. More importantly, Kate's rendition of the song would go on to become the Philadelphia Flyers' national anthem, and lead them to the Stanley Cup.

Kate's "God Bless America" was first played before a Flyers game at the Spectrum on December 11, 1969. Philly beat the Maple Leafs 6-3 that night, and the legend was born. From there, Kate's voice became the ultimate good luck charm for the team that they broke out whenever they needed a win. She brought down the house when she made a surprise appearance at the Spectrum to sing the song before the team's home opener in 1973. At that point, she became official Philly royalty. Her second appearance at the Spectrum was even bigger - game 6 of the Stanley Cup finals between the Bruins and the Flyers. The Flyers clinched their first Cup with a 1-0 victory. The Kate Smith mystique was at an all-time high.

In all, Kate sang the song four times at the Spectrum. She was 3-1 live, and her record in all, on tape or in person, when played before Flyers games was 69-19-3. The picture up on the right is Kate celebrating the 1974 Cup victory with Flyers owner Ed Snider and the inimitable toothless Clarkie.

Kate Smith sings "God Bless America"

You know the rules, fools

Today's birthday boodoggle is AN OFFICIAL NO MAS CONTEST. That means you will win something. We decide what you win. If you've won before or are a No Mas affiliate or are just plain wack, you are ineligible. Otherwise, get in there and mix it up. Leave your entry as a comment, first winner is the new heavyweight champ. Next thing you know you're wearing a supafly No Mas wristband or a jockstrap that says "BALCO."

All born today, the playas down below:

Write to Dwight

As you're probably aware by now, Dwight Gooden was released from prison today down in Gainesville, FL after serving seven months of a year-and-a-day sentence he received for violating his probation.

On October 27th we hosted a party at Classic Kicks to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Game 7 of the 1986 World Series. That night, in the tradition of the open letter we posted to Dwight this summer, we had a table set up where people could write well-wishing letters to Gooden. We included those letters in a small care package we sent to Dwight which we are hoping will reach him through the Tampa office of the Yankees. Some highlights from the letters are posted below.

We also would like to give those of you who couldn’t make the party an opportunity to send your good wishes. So please post something for Dwight in the comments. We will send a second envelope down with a transcript of all the notes.



Doc,

You thrilled me! A Yankee fan supporting the Mets all the way. And when you joined it was beautiful. Much love.

Stay Good,

Michael Figgiani

********************

Dear Mr. Gooden!

Please stay strong. Your abilities and heart helped everyone I know.

Much respect + goode lookin!

Sosa

********************

C’est Dommage

(It’s nothing)

Courtney

********************

D. Good,

B. Good. Saw your no-hitter with the Yankees. One of the highlights of my life. You gave that to me! Be real, man. We love you in NYC

Ed M

********************

Dwight,

We only met once but you made a lasting impression on that 16 year old. Keep it tight when you are out, K?

Best,
J.P.

********************

Dear Doc,

Thank you so much for your years in ’85 and ’86… You were truly an inspiration and gave us all something to root for. This year brought us Mets fans plenty to cheer for but nothing like it was then! Hopefully you can throw our first pitch in the playoffs sometime soon. Good Luck and keep your head up.

Pat

********************

D-Wight,

I feel your struggle. We still love you in NY.

Peace,

The Ruffian

P.S. You are the reason I watched baseball.


********************

Dwight,

I won’t hold anything against you for where you are now. We all have vices and make mistakes. You brought the Mets back to credibility along with the crazy team of ’86. Fuck the Yankees…

You’ll always be a Met!!

Respect,

DJ Emskee

********************

Dwight,

I hope I find you in good spirits with this letter. You’ll be happy to know your name was evoked many times during the evening and the magnitude of your success was celebrated. We are about the same age and the trajectory of your career mirrored my coming of age. If possible please contact me, I’d be honored to speak with you.

Bud Schmeling

Basketball's Babe Ruth

On this day in 1946, a 6'10" center out of Depaul made his professional basketball debut. Young George Mikan suited up for the Chicago American Gears in a 66-61 loss to the Oshkosh All-Stars in the National Basketball League.

Mikan's size and skill was already changing the sport. While at Depaul, he swatted away so many shots that college basketball was forced to institute the goaltending rule. With the Gears in Chicago, MIkan played two seasons, leading them to a championship in 1947, before joining the Minneapolis Lakers in 1948 and becoming the game's first superstar.

Mikan was such a big attraction that when the Lakers came to play in New York, the marquee at the Garden read, "Geo Mikan vs. Knicks." The NBA doubled the width of the free throw lane because of his size, and stalling tactics that teams used to keep the ball out of his hands led to the advent of the 24-second clock.

In 1959, Mikan was named to the inaugural class at the Basketball Hall of Fame. He died of diabetes in 2005 at the age of 80. Shaquille O'Neal paid for his funeral.

Not quite the last Straw, but close...

Darryl Strawberry signed a lucrative contract with the L.A. Dodgers on this date in 1990, leaving the Mets and plummeting further into a downward spiral that would consume his career and his personal life.

Of course, the Straw was already miles down the road of excess before he went to Los Angeles. A convicted wife-beater, he'd done his first stint in alcohol rehab the previous February.

Despite his legion of problems, his first season in L.A. was productive, 99 RBI’s, 28 dingers (that's probably about 125, 43 when adjusted for 'roid inflation). But after that he dropped off the map due to injuries and his ongoing private nightmare. In 1994, he disappeared during spring training, and when he was found he was in such sorry condition that the Dodgers immediately checked him into Betty Ford for a month. The team released him soon after that - so ended the Straw's adventure in La-La Land. Darryl infamously once told a magazine interviewer that he wanted Los Angeles to burn in hell. And no wonder.

Me and you and a dude named Lou

Ten years ago today, 1983 Heisman Trophy winner and former NFL star Mike Rozier was hanging in the early morning hours with one of his boys, Bart Merriel. According to what they told police, they were doing some serious drinking with this dude named Lou. They were hanging outside a club in Camden (Rozier is from Camden) and the story goes that everything was cool until suddenly for no good reason Lou whipped out a gun and started shooting. Just shooting in general, although mostly shooting Rozier. Mike took three bullets from old Camden Lou, two in the gut and one in the hand. Predictably, after that shit, Lou made himself mighty scarce, which was a little lame of him, but you see his point.

Now, that story might seem a little cockeyed to you, like there had to have been more to it that that, but trust us – we KNOW Camden Lou, and that’s probably exactly how it went down. That’s just how CLou like to do. He’s hanging with you, drinking with you, chilling with you, and he drops all this dynamite weed on your ass, gets you all stupid high, and then he’s all like, “yeah man, I DIG that Heisman trophy yo word” and then suddenly he’s got his gun out and he’s shooting the shit out of you and you’re like “damn Camden Lou what the fuck is this all about,” but before you can get a explanation out of the motherfucker he’s running down the street and you’re just laying there all shot. If we had a dime for every time he’s pulled a stunt like that, trust us, we’d be wearing diamond boxing gloves. And people, listen here - that’s why we here at No Mas have long endeavored to avoid the company of Camden Lou.

Birthday Smackdown

All you punkass bitches better come correct today, because this smackdown is slathered in grade-A asswhup. You feel me? Playas only. So get up in it. There's no contest, nothing's at stake except for the essence of your manhood. All the photos link back to the source, so, you know, don't be wack like crack. Fucking guess them first before you look them up. And that's that. All the hustlas you see below were born todizzle. Now let's crown the king of the Birthday Smackshizzle. I say drummer count it off...

Larry Merchant is a wet-brained retarded drunk, and other thoughts

First, let me just begin by pointing out that I am a genius. Briggs in a knockout, Floyd in a unanimous decision shutout? Sound familiar? Yeah, yeah, I had Briggs sending out Liakhovich in the fifth, but look, it’s hard to knock out a man who doesn’t want to fight. He got him in the end. And I reiterate, I am a genius.

Aight, back to Floyd. My thoughts on the evening:

-Tiger Woods and M.J. in the crowd. Floyd is one of their elite brethren.

-Pete Rose chatting with a chick who was definitely a stripper or a hooker. I wonder where Pete’s money was? I’m thinking he probably had a few large down on Baldomir, just given the Vegas odds (4 to 1) and, you know, Baldomir is a very Charlie Hustle kind of guy.

-God I hate Larry Merchant and Jim Lampley. Yeah, Floyd is wearing a gladiator outfit. Yeah, it’s outrageous. So what? The guy’s into the show, into the spectacle. All they do later on is bitch about the fact that they’re bored, but when it comes to walking into the ring, any type of showmanship is bullshit in their eyes. They’re both hypocritical morons and I wish someone would fire them.

-The size difference between the fighters was striking. Baldomir was two weight classes removed from Floyd, and it showed. Size, of course, wasn’t going to be an issue with someone as fast as Floyd, and in fact, it seemed like it really hurt Tata. He had all the telltale signs of someone who had cut too much weight. His punches lacked snap and he ran out of gas quick, which was very bad news – his only chance was to smother Floyd and he just didn’t have the juice.

-He didn’t really have a chance, though, no matter what he did. That was clear about twenty seconds into the first round. He looked like a club fighter in there. Here’s what you should take from that fight last night. Arturo Gatti is completely fucking shot and should never fight again. Gatti made Baldomir look like Carlos Monzon. Floyd made him look like your uncle after his fourth martini.

-Floyd stopped throwing the right around the seventh round. No word yet on what the injury is, whether he broke it or not. But at that point, all the drama was out of the fight. There was no way he would get the TKO without the right. Nevertheless, he fought the rest of the way one-handed and still humiliated the big Argentinian.

-Still, this wasn’t enough for Lamps and Larry. With no other way to harp on Floyd, they started with the “this is a boring boxing exhibition, a truly great fighter would have knocked Baldomir out by now.” JESUS! I couldn’t believe that Manny Steward jumped on that bandwagon. Fighting a man 13 pounds heavier with one hand? Give the guy a break! How great does he have to be to get some credit from you shitheads? I really thought Floyd might punch Merchant in the ring interview, and I wish he had. Let me just say one more time – HBO PLEASE FIRE LARRY MERCHANT! He’s like the announcing equivalent of a fighter who’s WAY past his prime and still keeps getting in the ring and embarrassing himself. His brain is wet, he’s lost in the old days, his observations are illogical and frequently just stupid. He needs to be put out to pasture for the good of the sport.

-In the post-fight press conference, Floyd told us one thing we all knew – “It was a cakewalk if want to know the truth” – and then dropped a bombshell. One more fight and he’s retiring. Of course, everyone thinks that one more fight will be Oscar, and NO ONE thinks he'll retire after that. Personally, I’d miss Floyd if he retired – he’s the best show in the sport as far as I’m concerned (you see, Larry, I LIKE great boxing) – but I’d respect him if he walked away after a fight with Oscar. Hard to believe he'll do it, but you never know.

November 5, 1994

After the boxing lesson Floyd Mayweather gave to Carlos Baldomir last night, it seems fitting to take you back twelve years, twelve years to the day in fact, to another boxing clinic that turned into a slaughter with a single punch. Michael Moorer was embarrassing George Foreman that night, jabbing him, boxing him, landing at will. Big George looked old and fat and slow, every one of his 45 years. But then in the tenth, in the blink of an eye, he looked something else - strong as an ox. One straight right hand dazed Moorer, and a second one put him to sleep. Wearing the same trunks that he'd worn against Ali in Zaire, Foreman had finally regained the heavyweight title, becoming the oldest heavyweight champ in history. Afterwards, George asked Larry Merchant what he thought of the fight and Larry said, "well George, I have to say, I thought you lost every round." And George replied thoughtfully, "you know Larry, you're right, I did lose every round... until I knocked his ass out."