Well this shouldn't come as a surprise.

With the Mitchell Report out, perhaps the worst kept secret in professional sports has been aired for the world to see. Nearly 90 players have been named, and again there's nothing shocking. Upon reading the list of offenders, your mind either screams, "Well that was obvious," or, "Didn't cross my mind, but it makes sense."

I guess the glory days of old when the only thing baseball players would abuse was a bottle of hooch at the end of a double header. At least then, their legend status still couldn't be questioned. Regardless of how many shots Mickey Mantle put away after a game, you could not deny his talent on the diamond. Steroids, performance enhances and HGH do not allow for such wiggle room. In fact, the question has to be (and likely will) be asked about what is to become of the records set by the guilty.

Hell, some of them have been questioned from the onset.

I guess the question now is, why state the obvious? It takes a quick peak at Barry Bonds' rookie card to realize that 20 years later, something is drastically different. Even ten years ago, I knew something was up with Mark Maguire, having watched him from the time I was a kid. It's ridiculous for some players to assert otherwise, and when Roger Clemens, the 40-plus-phenom of pitching refutes such allegations, it looks silly and petulant.

Another question is how to clean it up. That's up for baseball's governing bodies to decide, and they'd better decide quick. It's not gonna be pretty… there will be a painful transitional period and there are probably going to be several suspensions before things begin turning around. Given the buzz surrounding steroids this year between Barry Bonds, Chris Benoit and the WWE's inconsistent Wellness Policy, you can expect Congress to take action sooner rather than later.

But I think the looming question in the back of everyone's mind is, "How did this happen?" How did America's favorite pastime become synonymous with synthetic testosterone?

Ultimately, no one is going to hold a gun to someone's head to make them take drugs. They will do it of their own volition. However, one question has to be why so many are making that choice. And the follow-up question should be, "Is it due to excessive pressure?"

Professional sports have changed, and many would argue not for the better. Expectations are far higher than they were years ago. You'll note that three of those names on the list were big names for the Yankees. Given the fact that Big Stein fired Joe Torre for not getting the Yanks into the World Series this year (in spite of 5 titles during his 12-year tenure in New York), can you imagine the type of pressure that has to have been coming down on the players?

Is it any wonder?

Baseball has been drawing lower ratings than ever before. Even this year, the fact that the Red Sox won seemed predestined as the World Series drew it's second lowest rating ever. Despite being well attended and beloved by purists, baseball is in a slump. You have to figure that the heat is on a lot of players to perform and produce results. With some players getting astronomical "A-Rod Salaries," you'd best believe that they are getting pressure from all angles to be worth that paycheck. This can only lead to mounting strain, and in many cases, anabolic therapy.

Now I know I recently joked about steroids in comedy with my tragic run-in with Carrot Top, but seriously, there's no joke when it comes to these drugs. This stuff is bad medicine, sometimes even at therapeutic levels.

Pro wrestler Kevin Nash was recently interviewed online following the Chris Benoit tragedy earlier this year. Obviously the topic of steroids came up, and Nash mentioned that after tearing his quad in a match, he was prescribed a low-level form of synthetic testosterone to help rebuild the muscles internally. At 6'10" and typically tipping the scales and about 320 lbs. naturally, he notes that he swelled to over 400 lbs. of muscle while still maintaining a "safe" testosterone ratio.

Now imagine overuse in any athlete.

What honestly frightens me is the potential usage in professional football (American style, not soccer). Those players are under what I think would be even greater amounts of pressure to produce results, and compete in a far more aggressive competitive landscape. Despite the shorter season, the physical rigors are infinitely more intense, and the size of many NFL players dwarfs even the most obvious users in baseball.

Being America's most watched sport doesn't help either. I find the psychological aspects of sports fascinating, and I really feel that intense media exposure coupled with the millions of dollars poured into just a single game run a risk to the competitors' lifestyles.

Now this is not to say that coaches and owners are outwardly approaching their players and encouraging them to dope. Rather, they are left looking for a way to make it happen. The demands placed on them by the culture threatens to amplify the expectations they set for themselves as perfectionists. That's when people start looking for back doors.

Sure, there are other factors at hand. Ego, the yearning to make more money, the thrill of competition, striving to set records, and probably on a deep level, the desire to play as long as possible for fear of what one's life will bring after they "break out of Shawshank" and are forced to survive in the real world. But I think more than anything else, the culture of these sports really needs to be thoroughly examined as a supplement to penalties and regulation.

Look at combat sports like MMA and boxing. You hear very rarely about steroid charges and suspensions in those sports. That is not only because they are so heavily regulated, but also because fighters have more time to recover between fights -- as much as 2 months between battles. This in comparison to the harsh schedule of football and the endless season of baseball. There's something to be said for the body's natural ability to mend itself.

One thing is certain: drug culture in sports is at least in part due to the sporting culture itself. If MLB wants to repair its reputation and not suffer even steeper declines in their ratings due to this all-pivotal "D-Day," an inquest of some sort had better be done fast into correcting the problem at the foundation rather than beefing up reactionary discipline.

Not only that, but as a fan, part of me would still like to believe that the Rocket I beheld so dearly during his early days in the Boston Red Sox really is an "all-natural" miracle man that can still get it done on the mound.

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Henry Rollins recently released a commentary via his TV show regarding freedom and how the truth in the nation and how it is being obscured, manipulated and thoughtlessly perverted. However, in spite of such injustices, there is a tool, a venue, if you will (and I will) to “out” the truth.

”That’s right, the Internet. Perhaps responsible for the most substantial shift in our culture in decades. There’s so much freedom and potential on the World Wide Web that one is barely able to get one’s head around it.”

Right, wrong or indifferent, Rollins does bring up one very essential point: the Internet is a remarkable outlet for the intellectual masses to clamor and voice their opinions and insights, in turn influencing the undecided and uninitiated.

Perhaps that’s why I’m so wary about the fact that we seem to be squandering it.

Look, I’m not gonna sugarcoat things. I like the Internet. I’m a card-carrying member of Generation Y. I check MySpace, Facebook and YouTube pretty much daily. Being that I don’t have cable (revolutionary, I know), the Internet serves as my primary source of entertainment, news and enlightenment. And for my personal reasons, it has served as the nominal venue for me to express my opinions vis-à-vis my comfy home on the blogosphere.

That said, yes, the Internet offers endless opportunities for people from all walks of life to express themselves. But like most good things, it seems to go overboard at times. You know that happens when the two rocket scientists renowned for mixing Diet Coke and Mentos are showing up on Leno. You know something’s up when the term “All Your Base Are Belong To Us” is absorbed into the contemporary lexicon. And you know something’s really twisted when Law & Order is doing an episode inspired by “lonelygirl15.”

(Even scarier when you read an article that the aforementioned webisode series became so popular that it featured Katherine McPhee from American Idol. Want more head-scratching minutiae? It also garnered sponsorship from Neutrogena, leading to the legendary “sell-out” method of product placement and a new character who works for the company. The product life cycle seems to have petered out with the show jumping the shark due to its titular star being killed off. This was of course because the actress playing her now has a film career and her contract requires her full attention. This shit is utterly fascinating to me… how a viral webisode could be victim to all the standard pratfalls of standard network television… replete with a spin-off, of course. For serious.)

Is this the new medium? Is this the influential entity imparted upon us? You have to wonder.

I can’t lie; for every off-color cultural meme that circulates the world’s web browser, there are a handful I dig. I find the humor behind “Ask A Ninja” to be vastly amusing, not unlike classic “Strong Bad” e-mails. And every once in a while there’s something sobering and thought-provoking like Noah Kalina’s photography project. I’ll even fess up to being a fan of Mahir’s page back in college.

But for the most part, these amusing little time-killers and viral elements don’t appear to carry much weight in the long run. From the moment the hit counters start climbing, the clock reaches 14:59:59 and seems to move at a lightning pace. These web icons seem to vanish as quickly as they appeared, yet all having left an indelible mark on culture.

No lie, I was at a Greek event recently and the DJ played the “Numa Numa” song. Dead serious, folks. Someone went to the trouble of getting this CD because of… well, this.

Pretty incredible, huh?

So why am I writing about this now, so late in the game? Why didn’t this begin to bother me during the heyday of Star Wars Kid? I’ll tell you why.

Meet the Internet’s newest phenomenon: Chris Crocker.

Chris’s sob-laden rant about Britney Spears, whether real or fabricated, has unleashed a sea of coverage, commentaries, and of course, parodies. Within days, a similar vlog was uploaded featuring a (terrible) George W. Bush impersonator demanding that we all “leave General Petraues alone!”

This is where I begin to draw lines in the sand… when Internet memes go from confounding to outright annoying. I’m going to say this once: can we please avoid giving this guy the attention he’s clearly craving? We’ve had enough pop cultural trainwrecks in the 21st century to last us a whole millennium. I, for one, do not intend to add to the downward trending of our collective IQ. Mr. Crocker’s “star” already seems to be on the decline as most folks I’ve talked to now regard him as completely abrasive rather than amusing. This is compounded by viewings of his prior work… I would personally rather stab my eardrum with a red hot poker than be subjected to such a half-assed form of “self-expression.”

I guess the entire Catch-22 of the Internet and freedom of speech in general is that it gives anyone the ability to voice their opinions. It’s what makes this nation great and what also makes it pretty goddamned ridiculous at times.

Which is why I will stay on my personal mission to use the Internet to inflict truth as Mr. Rollins so aptly addresses. I understand that these bizarre moments will come and go… sometimes they’ll draw my attention, other times they’ll leave me completely befuddled. With that said, I’ll keep my method of personal persuasion limited to the written word, as it is the primary draw for me to absorb information to begin with. Regardless of whether it’s on paper or on a screen.

And when all else fails, I can still remember the glory days of "Napster, Bad!" Now that's comedy.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

It’s no secret that the topic of steroids in sports has become scalding hot in the media these last two months. Between Barry Bonds breaking Hank Aaron’s homerun record and Chris Benoit’s savage double murder/suicide, there is clearly a lot of debate. People want answers and are going so far as congressional hearings to get them. Rightfully so. Steroids in professional sports or even sports entertainment is a dire matter for the athletes and the impression they leave.

It’s also a pretty dire matter in the realm of standup comedy.

I wish I were joking.

Let me set the stage for you. This past Saturday night, after a fun evening of antics and high jinks, I felt compelled to pop in on my local gas station, not to fill up, but to grab an impulse purchase snack to satiate those early AM munchies. Grabbing a Snickers bar, I waited in line at the register. Idly turning around in observance of my surroundings, I happened to notice this man.

I’m not making this up. Carrot Top was in my local gas station convenience store. My first thought?

Jesus H. tittyfucking Christ, what have we done? What hell hath the Lord wrought on us all? Is there even a God that could create such a monstrosity as this?

It should be duly noted that Carrot Top was wearing a top not of the carrot variety, but of the tank family. As in the type that doesn’t have any sleeves.

In short, I was a few spools of cotton away from this image.

Dude, steroids are bad in professional sports, but they’re even more devastating in comedy. If Shaun White is the “Flying Tomato,” then Carrot Top is the “Juicy Tomato.” As in, he be juicing. And I know, carrots are vegetables and tomatoes are fruits, but his material onstage is fruity enough as it is. So he qualifies.

He could also qualify for Mr. Olympia. He’s bigger than me. Bigger than the picture I just offered. I don’t know how else I can get across how terrifying it was to see this man in person. He wasn’t right to begin with. But now… egads.

Steroids are evil. Just like prop comedy. Carrot Top is immersed in both. He is the lord of all that is unholy and wrong.

I need someone to hold me. Please tell me everything will be OK.

Goodnight and have a pleasant tomorrow. Maybe.

What does it mean for someone to have a hero be usurped, uncovered and disgraced? What does it mean to have an image of another human being tarnished?

Twice in the last month and change, I have caught people in the midst of a lie (that’s a subject for another post… literally, it’s on the chopping block), and I know the level of respect I have lost for them as human beings. But there are much graver offenses out there.

It is traumatizing, to say the least, when someone you revere or admire proves to be anything but a quality, decent human being. That said, it must be earth-shattering when they prove to be the complete antithesis of their projected self.

Earlier this week, pro wrestler Chris Benoit and his wife and 7-year-old son were found dead in Atlanta. WWE ran a full-scale 3-hour tribute to Benoit and his shimmering career through Japan, ECW, WCW and WWE. However, just before the program ended, word broke on the Internet that the primary suspect in the homicide investigation was the man being honored on TV.

Chris Benoit, respected man and role model for up and coming wrestlers, was called out as a murderer. And not just a murderer… perhaps the most heinous sort. He killed his own family.

I won’t go into the grisly details of his crimes. Frankly, there’s more than enough coverage already on the Internet and in the mainstream media. Moreover, given the nature of the deaths, the sinister aura behind them, and the seemingly endless list of oddities regarding Benoit’s behavior and his son’s condition, it’s difficult to even think straight. Seems just when the hauntingly bizarre nature of this story has piqued, another skeleton tumbles out of the closet and adds to the immense pile of bones on the floor.

Not to mention the fact that mainstream media coverage (read: TV news networks and sensationalist reporters) have essentially labeled this a case of ‘roid rage gone berserk. I think enough evidence has amassed to speak to the fragile mental state of this man. Not sayin’ drug abuse doesn’t play a role. I’m sure it does. But it’s only part of the puzzle, not the whole picture.

At the end of the day, the motives are practically secondary to the crime. I don’t think anyone can disagree that for anyone to do what he did is completely heartless and reprehensible. And the driver behind his actions will probably never be known in full.

The point of this post isn’t to analyze the case or come up with the grand solution to his erratic behavior and final act. The fact remains that a man who inspired many both in and outside the wrestling business practically stabbed those people in the back.

It wasn’t long after word first broke about the tragedy that a number of tribute pages and videos were strewn throughout the Internet and YouTube. This was no ordinary man to wrestling fans. He was notorious for his dedication to the business and to his craft. He wasn’t known to the scale of a Hulk Hogan or a Steve Austin. He wasn’t as big as those guys in name or in stature. But to longtime fans, to purist fans, he was by far one of the greatest names to ever lace up the boots.

I don’t want to give a glowing retrospective on the career of a murderer, but Benoit’s track record speaks for itself (and for the purposes of this post, is somewhat necessary). Here’s a guy who spent years honing his craft, working to make it look believable – a daunting task when everyone knows wrestling is “fake.” He’s not the biggest guy, not the best talker by a long shot. Doesn’t even have a character per se, and has spent 90 percent of his career working under his real name.

Simply put, he was different from the big names. But for hardcore fans, that was more than enough. He did his job and did it well. He allowed for us fans to suspend our belief for a while and appreciate something seemingly stupid and scripted like pro wrestling as something more; as an art form.

Once he made it to the big league, his hard work shone through, and his fan base increased rapidly. The so-called “vanilla midget” earned high praise from even mainstream fans and slowly but surely worked his way to the top of the food chain. And after nearly two decades, he earned his place by winning the big one: the world heavyweight championship.

Non-fans have to understand that the belt is a reward of sorts; an acknowledgement of trust and hard work. Think of it as a temporary promotion. You’re the spokesperson for the company.

And as a spokesperson, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone like Benoit. Soft-spoken, humble, determined and driven. All business in the ring, and a devoted family man outside the ring, always willing to shake a hand or sign an autograph from the sound of it.

And to people in the business who were young and training, he was the ideal role model.

And now two cruel, unforgivable acts of senseless violence have caused it all to come undone. The image of Benoit the man has been replaced with Benoit the monster. The fans who used to cheer him now squirm when reminded that his nickname was “The Canadian Crippler.” Memories of his earliest interviews where he methodically and coldly wrung his hands in anticipation of his next opponent, once fun and engaging, now seem chilling when we think of what he did with those hands just a few days ago.

Even his face seems different. It’s frankly unhandsome: rough and haggard, adorned with a stubbly beard, noticeably scarred forehead, and topped off with a thinning hairline and absent incisor. These features used to be regarded as representative of his tough, physically intense style. Aggressive, no nonsense, and to the grindstone. They were traits of pride and accomplishment, like Rocky’s sloped forehead and crooked mouth.

Now they seem perfectly appropriate for the face of a cold-blooded killer. Funny how the only thing that needs to change in this case is the frame of reference.

For the many Benoit inspired, it’s impossible to look at him in the same light now. Impossible not to feel for his wife and son, for their friends and families who have been permanently scarred by this atrocity. Forget the fact that this tragedy will forever change wrestling and its mandates. It has forever altered lives.

Even for me, it’s a hard thing to swallow. I’m no wrestler, nor do I aspire to be. I am a fan but do not watch WWE regularly. Honestly, Benoit was one of the few reasons for me to watch their programming at all. I admired his dedication, the dignity he carried himself with and his tenacity. Those are respectable qualities, and when they were learned, he was not known for being inhumanly violent in reality.

He was flawed. Horribly flawed at the end. Who is to say that he was infallible at all? Who is to know how long he was in this state of mind? Was it because of drugs? Did pressure and depression slowly unhinge him? Truthfully, this is anyone’s guess. There are only a few people who may know for sure, but they can’t tell that story anymore.

The sad thing is that Benoit’s final act will forever mark his name and reputation. It is the defining characteristic that he will always be remembered for in an otherwise exemplary career in the public eye. And given the nature of his crime, that’s not inappropriate.

It’s a shame when heroes let down those who love them. They go from being revered to reviled. All it takes is the loss of trust and character. This happens to be an extreme case. But not the first. OJ. Bill Clinton. Michael Jackson. Clearly there have been others. All flawed. All with legions of fans and followers. In fact, compared to those names, Benoit is not even a blip on the radar. But he was an inspirational entity nonetheless.

For those that loved the rusted hero, the final opinion is the matter of the individual at hand. Some will label him a ruthless sinner beyond forgiveness. Others will admit the horrifying nature of his final act while remembering what a great wrestler he was. Others still will struggle with dissecting the man behind the image for years to come.

What is important is to remember what was learned from him, what we learned about ourselves for those who did admire or respect him, and if a cause is ever determined, to learn from his mistakes. To avoid going down the path he did, whatever that entails.

It’s been a difficult week for me, because even though I have no connection to Benoit and never met him, I picked up some good characteristics from him over the course of following his career. I don’t know that I can ever look past what he did. His DVD is already stowed away in my trunk and away from the rack in my living room. I may never be able to watch his matches again. Certainly not in the same light… the thought of watching him manhandle opponents and making them submit is more frightening than exhilarating now.

However, despite the source, the values are essential. And how I apply them in my life is beneficial. I’m resentful that one who offered so much to me has disappointed me so wretchedly. It’s the worst kind of betrayal. And yet the life lessons are undeniable.

Heroes rise, inspire, fall, disenchant. It’s a harsh cycle. But we’re human. None are infallible. No matter how magnificent they appear.

We cope somehow.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

I hate disclaimers… however, this is atrociously late for two reasons. One is an untimely passing in my extended “family.” The other is the simple fact that there’s no way I could possibly condense my thoughts on this man in just one day.

“Still and all, why bother? Here's my answer. Many people need desperately to receive this message: I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone.”

We lost a good one recently. A great one, in fact. Though he’d never claim as much.

I don’t often comment on the subject of fallen public figures. I oftentimes find the subject morbid. In spite of my recent rant about Anna Nicole Smith (which was intended as more of a swing at news media), I’ve really only offered my thoughts on Richard Pryor, Dimebag Darrell and Johnny Cash.

But Kurt Vonnegut’s passing has jarred me significantly, and many others.

It was Vonnegut’s writing that really drove my style and my perception of life as we know it. While I don’t necessarily share all of his opinions (we would likely never have engaged in theological discussion, being that I’m Christian and he was a skeptic), I feel as though his stance on life in general resonated with me over the years.

I first discovered Vonnegut’s work in London some six years ago this time. I took a class in postmodernism in literature, and there were some real gems on the syllabus that I still have. The New York Trilogy, The Crying of Lot 49, Ulysses, and of course, Slaughterhouse-Five.

The latter is the one that really sticks out with me.

I was utterly mesmerized with Vonnegut’s prose and non-linear structure. It was something all too new to me in the world of literature. Not to mention the fact that the book’s protagonist, Billy Pilgrim, the perfect portrait of the unreliable narrator. To say that Slaughterhouse is an important contribution to American literature would be a massive understatement.

It’s not just an anti-war book, although that is surely a component. There’s something special about that one, but all of his works, really, are enlightening, refreshing reflections.

Vonnegut’s contributions are significant for a multitude of reasons, the least of which was not his message. No matter how bizarre or absurd his topic, the thrust of every one of his books is to make the reader question everything. Think for yourself. Whether the matters at hand be political, sociological, religious, scientific, whatever. He really covers the breadth of humanity.

And a humanist he was. Ultimately, Vonnegut’s fascination with humankind, be it from the stance of a cynic or an optimist (I really think it depends on the person in question), truly drives his stories and engages the reader in the plight of doing what’s best for humanity. Or at the least just exhibiting some goddamn good common sense, something we seem to lack a lot of these days.

The remarkable thing about Vonnegut’s books are really the protagonists. Or what he considers to be protagonists. Ultimately they’re not terribly proactive, certainly not in the classic, heroic sense. They also don’t fit the archetypal template of the textbook protagonist. They aren’t particularly good looking and are typically riddled with self-doubt. Moreover, they don’t have any real goal in life… they just sort of meander through the story, giving the impression that their fate is predetermined no matter what their goals.

Billy Pilgrim is a perfect example, perhaps the finest. He spends practically all of Slaughterhouse as a passive observer, merely bearing witness to the various atrocities of Dresden and the war in general. He is literally forced to glide through time, falling away wherever the space-faring Tralfamadorians take him.

It’s an interesting concept, and it’s something that’s gonna force people into working to figure it out. Like many aspects of life in general, it’s not terribly cut and dry. There are pieces that have to be assembled, loves. To quote a good friend of mine, the day of Vonnegut’s passing was “a sad day for anyone with a brain.”

It’s not light fare, and it’s not fluff. It’s easy to read but sometimes tough to dissect. It’s complex, phenomenal literature from a brilliant mind that will not be soon forgotten. They’re contributions that cannot be understated, and Vonnegut’s message needs to be loud and clear, now more so than ever.

Question everything, accept nothing.

“We are here on this planet to fart around and nothing more.”

So it goes.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.