Deep Thoughts: FML

I gave Argentinian Juan Martin del Potro zero chance of defeating Roger Federer. I figured Federer, owner of the U.S. Open, would take the final in straight sets.

When I think of Federer, I think of the saying: "the relentless pursuit of perfection." And I want him not to deviate from that path. I want him to be perfect. I want him to be, without a doubt, the best tennis player to have ever played the game. While in every other scenario as a fan I cheer for the underdog, I find it impossible not to root for Roger Federer. It shouldn't, and it sounds rather juvenile, but it sucks when he loses.

Here's hoping he takes the Aussie. Greatest Tennis Player of All-Time. GTPAT ...

You can add last night's ridiculous Buffalo Bills vs. New England Patriots Monday nighter to the list of Bills-related nightmares I suffer from. Some night's it's Scott Norwood's "wide right." Other nights, Troy Aikman. Sometimes Emmitt Smith makes an appearance. One of the worst is a trip down "Music City Miracle" lane. Even the 2007 Monday night epic failure at home to Dallas stings in ways it probably shouldn't.

It's amazing how many different ways the Bills have found to kick their collective fan base in the nuts. And each time hurts just as much, if not more, than the one before it.

Growing up, a young eyebleaf and his older brother became Bills supporters because two of our best friends (the same age as big bro and I, and our respective tennis doubles partners) had family in Buffalo, and were fans by proxy. Without a home team to cheer for (sorry Boatmen), we hopped along for the ride. Who knew it would be so tragic?

Thankfully those four Super Bowl losses happened when I was nine through 12 years old. Little time, and emotion, had been invested then. Imagine, now, watching the Toronto Maple Leafs lose four straight times in the Stanley Cup Final? I'm not sure I'd ever recover.

There aren't many people in this world whom I'd wish Buffalo Bills fandom upon. It's not the best way to live. I hate you today, Leodis McKelvin. And you too, Tom Brady ...

The Toronto Blue Jays. Those bastards. Unfortunately, they're still playing. And you knew you could count on them to blow a 5-2 lead, and add to an already miserable Monday night.

You know why people are sick to death of this team? You know why nobody is showing up at the SkyDome? Because Brian Wolfe has pitched 12.1 innings this season, while Jeremy Accardo has pitched only six and two-thirds more. That's bullshit, plain and simple. And there is no excuse. There can't be for not be fielding the best possible team, night in and night out.

Errors be damned, Marco Scutaro is still the man. Yeah, he fucked up last night. Yeah, his .770 August OPS and .598 September OPS aren't exactly worthy of phone calls home. But he'll have to mail it in a lot worse than that for me to start taking away from what he's been able to accomplish in 2009.

The Blue Jays cannot play out the stretch soon enough. If you're not depressed enough, read the most recent from Jeff Blair.

I don't know about you, but I'm doing my best to forget this season ever happened. I'm looking towards the future. Stay tuned, either late today, or Wednesday morning, for a Q&A between 2009 Blue Jays third-round draft pick Jake Marisnick and the few, the proud, the Blue Jays blogosphere.

Imagine The Iguodala

A part of me understands that the NBA draft is a crapshoot. There's a certain element of luck involved. Sometimes a guy just doesn't work out. I get that. 

Another part of me wants to absolutely pummel former Raptors GM Rob Babcock for drafting Rafael Araujo over Andre Iguodala back in 2004.

Araujo. Over Iguodala. Oh, the humanity. All these years later, after I've bitched about it and bitched about it some more, I'm still bitching. It still smarts.

Iguodala was in town last night, along with his Philadelphia 76ers teammates, to remind us once more of what could have been. The 76ers were 2-5 coming into the game, and winless on the road, but they left the ACC victorious, of course.

The ghosts of Araujo, that useless lug, were in the air. Iguodala put on a clinic. He didn't have his best shooting game, going 5-for-13 from the floor, but finished with 18 points, 10 assists, and nine rebounds. Andre Iguodala is one athletic mother sucker.

He is, to a mother fucking tee, what the Raptors lack: a presence on the wing, who can play either the two or three, that can take the ball to the rack. And defend. It kills me, absolutely kills me, to know that we could have had him. 

I don't think any of Anthony Parker, Jason Kapono, and Jamario Moon are starters in the NBA. Not that there's anything wrong with that. All three would be more effective in a defined role off the bench. AP was 4-16 from the floor last night, Kapono was invisible in 30 minutes of action, and if Moon settles for another jump shot, I will kill him myself.

I think Bryan Colangelo knows that the honeymoon is over, and that he's got to fix the team's glaring weakness at the wing. We're not getting points, or defence, from the position. I just don't know what the hell BC can do about it. 

To add to mine and the Raptors' woes, it looks like Jose Calderon might be in civilian garbs on Sunday after he tweaked his hamstring yesterday. I was impressed by Will Soloman during last Sunday's snoozefest in Charlotte, but any injury to Jose has to be considered the Raptors' worst nightmare. It's typical, I guess. 

Seriously, though. It's one thing to err on a draft pick. It happens (see: Adams, Russ and Cereda, Luca). It's another to draft Rafael "Hoffa" Araujo over Andre Iguodala.

Fuck you, Rob Babcock.