Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Incredibly enough, it wasn’t long ago that guys like Patrick Ewing, Charles Oakley, John Starks, Derek Harper, Larry Johnson, Allan Houston, Latrell Sprewell, Marcus Camby, and a few other legit ballers called MSG home. To bring back memories of the good ol’ days– like you know, when being 9 games OVER .500 got you fired like Don Nelson– we’ll post a video at the end of each week featuring great moments in (fairly) recent Knick history. Needless to say, the Isiah Thomas era won’t figure too prominently in these little tributes.

So this morning I supplemented my partial season ticket plan by purchasing tickets to the first Yankees/Red Sox series of the season at The Stadium, and to be honest, I was kinda pissed I had to do this. Back in the day, the Saturday Plan (basically tickets to every Saturday home game, minus Old Timer’s Day) came with a bunch of perks: the option to keep the same seats for the playoffs, the ability to get tickets for either Opening Day or Old Timer’s Day, and a crapload of games against the Red Sox. Now? They give you a game against the Sox, one against the Mets, and then jack sh*t. And I’m sorry, but one game against the Sox just ain’t gonna cut it.

Fuming after the cost of my tier reserved seats easily soared into triple-digits, I needed something to cheer me up, something to let me know that the 2008 season was going to be different– that the Yankees would do everything in their power to visit pain and sorrow upon Boston like the Giants did in Super Bowl XLII. Well, after Hank Steinbrenner’s latest verbal grenade, I’m feeling a whole lot better about things: Red Sox Nation? What a bunch of [expletive] that is. That was a creation of the Red Sox and ESPN, which is filled with Red Sox fans. Go anywhere in America and you won’t see Red Sox hats and jackets, you’ll see Yankee hats and jackets. This is a Yankee country. We’re going to put the Yankees back on top and restore the universe to order.

A lot of people are going to paint this as another example of Hank putting his foot in his mouth, but honestly, isn’t it about time someone said something like this? Ever since they laid down like dogs in ‘04, the Yanks have been playing the “We’re better than that card,” refusing to say anything even remotely controversial about the BoSux. Well, losing gracefully is for Pop Warner scrubs and not the team that has baseball’s highest payroll with nothing to show for it since 2000. And kudos to Hank for calling a spade a spade. ESPN’s been stockpiling its ranks almost exclusively with New Englanders– where every kid north of Hartford must worship the Boston “B” or risk being sacrificed at the altar of Red Sox Nation. Goodness though, it’s only spring training! You’d have to think the regular season trash-talk will go up a few notches, no? I dunno if anything can top Hank dropping a humongous deuce on Sux Nation, but if this is a sign of things to come, then at the very least we’re all in store for an entertaining ‘08.

We here at Subway Chatter try to make light of things, even when talking about fairly serious matters. However, every now and then a situation arises that poignantly calls for reflection unadulterated by comedic dalliance. This is one of those times. Yesterday, Bobby Murcer revealed that an MRI discovered a spot on his brain, one doctors fear could be a return of the cancerous tumor that was removed last year . Whether you’re one to pray constantly throughout the day, before you retire at night, or maybe never at all, take some time to send some well-wishes skyward for an all-time great Yankee, and more importantly, an all-time great person.

While Bobby may not have as many hits as Derek Jeter, not nearly as many home runs as Mickey Mantle, nor as many RBIs as Donnie Baseball, he forged his status as a Yankee legend by playing a hard-nosed, gritty, and determined brand of baseball that fans around the country could not help but admire and respect. Then, when Phil “Scooter” Rizzuto retired from the broadcast booth, Murcer took over the role of the aloof yet folksy commentator, the one who, despite being short on analysis, has always been full of lighthearted personal anectdotes that have endeared countless fans to the game of baseball, and to Bobby himself. And while many a broadcaster have come and gone, Murcer has spanned the lean years of ’80s (1983 to be exact) right up through the glory days of the past decade-plus, in the process becoming a fixture in the heart of Yankee fans everywhere. So again, say a prayer or two for Bobby Murcer when you get a chance. It’s the least we can do for a man who has helped kindle and sustain our love for the Bronx Bombers.

The second of our “Insanely Hot Chick Reader Challenge” co-champs comes to us courtesy of Consiglieri, and it’s none other than SI swimsuit model Marisa Miller . My younger brother asked me a question the other day that many of us likely pondered back when Mark Wahlberg was “Marky-Mark”: “Why aren’t there girls as hot as Marisa Miller in high school?” Well, it’d be kinda hard to learn anything with the fire alarm going off every two seconds, no? Blondes may no longer have the market cornered on fun, but this goldie-lock-ed hottie continues to bring it, swimsuit edition in and swimsuit edition out.

Thanks once again to our readers. If anyone actually did lose their job over this, just drop me a line at monniedesq@subwaychatter.com and I’ll be happy to make you our new “Internet Research Specialist” (just has a better ring to it than “Dude who spends countless hours scouring the net for attractive women”). And feel free to continue sending us pics at hotchicks@subwaychatter.com. We’ll post any girls worthy of the title “Insanely Hot Chick.”

Last Thursday, Behjota issued a challenge to Subway Chatter nation: find a chick hotter than Paige Butcher. Well, after a week’s worth of submissions, we finally have a champion, er, co-champions I should say. Firstly, props to everyone who sent us pics (and risked getting fired for trolling the internet for scantily clad hotties at work)– thanks to you, we had no shortage of gorgeous girls to choose from.

However in the end, two lovely ladies stood out above the rest and claimed victory in our first ever “Insanely Hot Chick Reader Challenge.” I wish we could’ve selected them all, but honestly, are there really any losers in this situation? Our first Insanely Hot Chick comes to us courtesy of C-rod (no relation to A-rod), and her name is Adriana Lima.

You may or may not have heard of her before, but she’s fairly attractive. Call me crazy, but if she plays her cards right, she could have a pretty decent modeling career ahead of her… I’m talking Victoria Secret’s decent. Ok, so maybe we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves, but for now at least she can settle for being the first-ever “Insanely Hot Chick Reader Challenge” co-champion.

Tune in tomorrow to see who copped co-hottie honors…

This past weekend I made my way down to Durham, North Carolina for a business school interview. I purposely scheduled the interview for a weekend that Duke had a home game so I could make an attempt at viewing my first basketball game at Cameron Indoor Stadium. I arrived on Friday morning, an hour late because freezing rain kept my connecting flight in Baltimore grounded for an hour. The delay caused me to miss my scheduled tour of the school, but I was able to sweet talk the girl in the admissions office into squeezing me into the later tour. (Actually, there was no sweet talking necessary. When I asked if there was another tour later that day, she confirmed that there was and threw me into it without any effort on my part.) During the tour I met another life-long Duke fan who had never attended a game and intentionally scheduled his interview weekend to coincide with a Blue Devils’ home game. This guy is from Wisconsin, and of course is a Packers fan, so in true MFH fashion I reminded him about the Giants NFC Championship Game victory in Green Bay. While the two of us discussed how great the Super Bowl was, another prospective student from Boston joined the conversation with his opinion on the Super Bowl, which needless to say was not quite the same as mine. He then began to gloat about the Red Sox being the reigning World Series Champions and their relative superiority to the Yankees in recent years, until I politely interjected that I am a Red Sox fan. The disappointment on everyone’s face when they realized they were in the presence of a man, who not only was much cooler and better looking than them, but also was able to celebrate the most recent World Series AND Super Bowl Championships, was priceless. Despite our differing allegiances in the NFL, my new friend and I came together on the fact that we had to find a way to get into the Duke basketball game the next day.

Our tour guides were first-year MBA students, and when we asked them about the possibility of getting into the game, we were met with a laugh, followed by, “good luck.” Only slightly discouraged we proceeded to a weekly Friday evening gathering of the MBA students that included free food and beer (they know how to appeal to MFH). Unfortunately, we were unable to procure any good advice on how to get tickets to the game, but I was able to impress some nice female students with my New York charm.

Saturday, after our interviews, my new buddy and I put together our plan for the game and purchased some tailgating materials. About an hour and a half before game time we ventured up towards the arena looking to buy tickets for no more than $100 each. The first thing we noticed was that there were significantly more people looking for tickets than there were looking to unload them. The first scalper we approached was a fat mess, who, although the temperature was in the mid 50s, was sweating through his dark-blue tee-shirt. We asked the elephant how much he wanted for two, and he came back with, “What are you offering?” I resisted the urge to say, “___” and instead told him we’d give him $60 apiece (for $35 face value tickets). The great beast let out a hearty bellow which angered me a little and this was the rest of our exchange:

MFH: “Well how much do you want for them?”
Fatso: “How much are you offering?”
MFH: “I just told you what I’m offering you didn’t like it. What are you looking to get?”
Fat Ass: “What’s the highest you’re willing to go?”
MFH: “$75”
(Fat guy just laughs again)
Wisconsin: “How much do you think you’re going to get for those?”
Kool-Aid Man: “At least $200 each”
MFH: “For St. Johns!!? Get the F#%K out of here!”

So we headed for the front of Cameron, blowing off the couple other scalpers we saw who were asking about $150 per ticket. We parked ourselves in between the students line and will-call, hoping to find a better deal. We still had about an hour before tip-off so we sat back and took in the atmosphere, along with some adult beverages. The pregame festivities were a little tame. Granted, the game was against St. Johns, but still, considering the undergrads have to camp out for tickets to each game, I would expect a little more excitement leading up to game time. I also noticed, once again, that there were a hell of a lot more people looking to buy tickets than to sell them, and as an economics major I can tell you that leads to very high prices (that’s four years’ worth of a quality SUNY education right there). Just as I began to think that I may not be able to get a ticket for under $100, a nice older woman came up to my new friend and I, and asked us if we needed a ticket. When we asked how much we were blown away by the answer: “$35.” “Absolutely,” I replied. We decided we’d buy the ticket from her and then do Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide who would get it. She warned us that she didn’t want the ticket resold, she would be sitting in the seat next to the one she was giving us and she had better see one of us there. We reassured her that there was no way we would part with the ticket and completed the transaction. Then the real excitement began: a best of three R-P-S to claim a ticket at face value, with no guarantee that the loser would even be able to acquire another ticket.

The butterflies began dancing in my stomach as I loosened up and began to concentrate on the task at hand. All those years of practice had come down to this one—an all-important best of three match. We settled in, face to face, and the crowd in the background all blended into a rainbow blur. I was in the zone. I came out firing, throwing an unorthodox scissors to open. The move paid off as he threw paper and I took an early 1-0 lead. On the next throw we both threw rock, followed by another rock from me and a paper from him. We were deadlocked at 1, with the next round set to decide it all. I could see the nervousness in his eyes as I remained cool under the mounting pressure. We came out with a paper each. Then we each threw rock. What to do now? One…He hadn’t thrown scissors all match, and I didn’t see him going to a new move in such an important spot. Two…He did seem to find comfort in paper, never going two throws in a row without it. Three…plus he caught me in back-to-back rocks in the last round and that must still be fresh in his head. …I came out with scissors and he threw…PAPER! The $35 ticket was mine!

We spent another half-hour trying to get him a ticket, with him pausing every five minutes to remind me, “You really got lucky.” Lucky that the nice old lady offered us a $35 ticket? Definitely. Lucky to be the one holding that ticket? Not a chance. That was all skill, baby. Finally with about fifteen minutes to go until tip off, Wisconsin was able to score a ticket for $75 (it was a better seat than mine). We quickly finished off our adult beverages and rushed inside.

Inside Cameron was much different than outside; the small arena was buzzing with excitement. After a little searching I found my seat…all the way in the corner. It actually wasn’t that bad; Cameron is so small, there really isn’t a bad seat in the place. As soon as I sat down and looked out over the court, a huge smile crept across my face. The atmosphere is indescribable. It really is something you have to experience for yourself, and if you are a college basketball fan I strongly, STRONGLY urge you to do so. The entire crowd is way into the game, more so than I’ve seen anywhere else, and that includes Penn St. football against Ohio St. The student section is amazing. I know the Cameron Crazies look nuts on TV, but it’s even wilder in person. One reason is that even during time outs (EVERY time out) the crowd stays involved, interacting with the band and/or cheerleaders. I have never seen a group of fans, especially one so large, have so much fun at a sporting event, especially one that isn’t hammered. The Crazies stayed involved for the entire game. Even when it was a thirty-point blowout in the second-half, they were just as loud, and just as amped. There’s not much to say about the game itself— Duke won handily. The experience, however, was amazing.

After the game, I met back up with Wisconsin and we headed out to a barbeque for MBA students and prospectives. After some good food and more free beer (did they know I was coming or what?), went out to a few bars with the students, where I watched the only chick I was interested in the whole weekend spend the entire night with some goofy looking little dweeb. I guess the South really is different than the North. I got back to my hotel at 2:30, not happy with the prospect of waking up at 4:30 to catch my flight home (which was spent in first class because that’s just how I roll; not that I’d be able to tell you how that was because I slept the entire time).

Being a life-long Blue Devil fan, I am incredibly happy that I was finally able to experience a game at Cameron Indoor— it was a thrilling experience. And whether I end up attending business school at Duke or not, it’s a memory I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life. It doesn’t matter if you love Duke or hate them, every sports fan should try to catch a game at Cameron, you will not be disappointed (unless, of course, you go there hoping to see some hot cheerleade

I knew the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry would pull me out of my winter doldrums sooner or later. I just didn’t expect it to happen now, and in this fashion. My guess was that I’d hear a “Yankees Suck” chant during our first trip to Fenway on April 11th and I’d be ready for blood. Instead, it’s Theo Epstein and Mike Mussina going toe-to-toe in their own little rendition of “Revenge of the Nerds.”

Here’s Epstein on Boston’s WEEI last Friday, talking about the Sox opening their season in Japan: The research that we’ve done on the Japan trip from the teams that have previously gone is one or two bad apples can spoil the lot. Kevin Brown and Mike Mussina spent the whole time bitching about it … and by the time the Yankees team got back from the trip they were all using it as a crutch.

Mike Mussina’s response? Yeah, we used it as an excuse for winning the division. You need a comment from me about him calling me a bad apple? I don’t have one.

Zing! Now I’m not going to even bother handicapping these two in a fight because they’d just end up slapping each other like two chicks waiting in line outside of Tenjune, but this is great stuff. Ever since ‘04, it’s seemed like these two teams haven’t hated each other enough. Everyone was hoping to see some fireworks every time they got together– a la the 2003 ALCS when Fenway turned into the 4th ring of hell during game 3– but instead all we got was the “We have a lot of respect for those guys” line over and over again from both sides to the point where you started to wonder if these games mattered as much as they used to… at least as the players were concerned. Well hopefully those days are behind us, and now Yankees versus Red Sox can revert back to being the WWE cage matches we all used to know and love.

This pic was forwarded to us by Consiglieri with the caption, “Here is a picture of one of the dogs that Clemens rescued from Vick’s estate…it must be that new Puppy Chow formula…” Either that, or it’s lidocaine and B-12.

Just like Zeke drew it up.

Thanks to Xcell for the link.

But the hits just keep on coming for Barack Hussein bin-Obama, and this time he can’t blame the Hillster for this latest eye-opener. Leave it to those cheeky Brits to uncover what America’s politically-correct-burdened media is too impotent (or just flat out unwilling) to discover itself:

A British-Iraqi billionaire lent millions of dollars to Barack Obama’s fundraiser just weeks before an imprudent land deal that has returned to haunt the presidential contender, an investigation by The Times discloses.

Three weeks later, Mr. Obama bought a house on the city’s South Side while Mr. Rezko’s wife bought the garden plot next door from the same seller on the same day, June 15…Mrs. Rezko paid the asking price for the garden but the Obamas bought the house for $1.65 million– $300,000 less than the asking price. The sellers deny they offered the Obamas a discount on the house because the garden had fetched full price from Mrs. Rezko.

One day bin-Obama’s rockin’ Muslim garb. The next day he’s being endorsed by the head of the Nation of Islam. And the day after that? His million-and-a-half dollar mansion is being financed by an unsavory Muslim billionaire. If Barack’s heretofore innocuous message of “change” really means $3.5 million “loans” for all of us, then damn, what the hell are we waiting for– get this guy in office! Well, so long as Mr. Rezko’s goons aren’t breaking our kneecaps the day after tomorrow. The name “Tony” Rezko just screams “Sicilian,” and I’m not talking about the pizza. Supposedly Will Smith’s already lined up to play bin-Obama if a biographical flick about the Senator goes into production. The working title? “American Gangster II: as-Salaamu ‘alaykum, bitches”.

So apparently Roger Clemens’ whole spiel about never attending the now infamous banger Jose Canseco threw in 1998 is getting torpedoed once again , but this time for reasons none of us could have seen coming:

The Daily News has learned that in the days since the Feb. 13 public hearing on steroids in baseball, another major leaguer has informed congressional investigators that Clemens often joked in the clubhouse about a memorable account of the party– a scene in which Debbie Clemens and Canseco’s ex-wife Jessica [pictured above] compared the results of their surgical breast enhancements…

“I mean, they talked– no disrespect, but they talked about how great Jose’s wife’s augmentation job was to Debbie and showed her,” McNamee said. “And then Debbie showed her her augmentation job.”

Wow. I mean really, what else is there to say? Now I know The Rocket comes off as the single-most heinous individual in all of this, but has anyone ever had more damage done to their otherwise sterling reputation in such a short period of time than Debbie Clemens? She’s gone from trophy wife, to HGH-user, to absolute ho-bag in a little under a month. And I love how McNamee used proper anatomical euphemisms when speaking to investigators. I’m pretty sure the conversation was something more along the lines of “Blah-blah-blah hey Jessica, your (insert demeaning slang for breasts) look amazing… yeah Debbie, your (insert demeaning slang for breasts) look incredible too… TAKE-IT-OFF, TAKE-IT-OFF, TAKE-IT-OFF!!!” And I thought only college chicks fell for this stuff! Damn, these guys really are getting paid to play a kids game.

Alright, so there isn’t much going on in the sporting world right now. Football, as you may have heard, ended a few weeks ago, and try as we may to get amped for baseball, there are only so many “Are Jeets and A-rod homies again?” stories I can read before just calling it a day and asking someone to wake me when it’s March 31st. So rather than manufacture some mindless nonsense, I’ll talk about something important today– the Oscars. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve never watched an Academy Awards in all my 20-something-years, so I’m not about to feign an interest in it now. I’ll save all that for when the future Mrs. Monnie D., Esq.– whoever that may be– forces me to do stuff like that in exchange for not canceling my Yankees’ season tickets.

But what did catch my eye was this little exposé on Oscar-winner Tilda Swinton: The willowy, redheaded actress has twins with Scottish artist and playwright John Byrne, 68, while traveling the world with New Zealand painter Sandro Kopp, 29. The relationships have become fodder for the British press, who have called Swinton’s personal love life “a ménage a trois style arrangement.”

Um, am I missing something here? I know she’s famous. Heck, now she’s even an Oscar-winner. But how the hell are these two guys getting sandbagged by a chick who looks like she died about six or seven years ago? If it were Alessandra Ambrosio then I’d say, “Fine. I’d probably give my left whatever to be in the same position as one of these guys.” But Tilda f#@%ing Swinton?! She makes Kyra Sedgwick look like the second coming of Marilyn Monroe. (Sorry, Kevin Bacon, I guess your career went down the crapper along with your taste in women.) Honestly, do we really want to bring children into a world where Tilda Swinton is porking two dudes while Jen Aniston can’t even get a date? I think not.

Supposedly the Jets have given disgruntled LB Jonathan Vilma the right to seek a trade with any team in the NFL… except the Patriots, of course. Now what shocked me about this story wasn’t that the Jets are refusing to send Vilma to the Pats; all the bad blood spilled over Spygate explains that all away. And Vilma asking for a change of scenery didn’t surprise me either considering Eric Mangini delayed Vilma’s season-ending knee surgery so he could play a game of charades with Vilma’s name on the injury report for two weeks. No, what got me was the fact that there’s another football team in New York not named the Giants. Who knew?

But Monday had to fall into the “bad day” category for Barack “My middle initial ‘H.’ stands for ‘Hussein.’ Right, as in former Iraqi dictator Saddam’s last name” Obama, didn’t it? First he shows up all over the internet in Muslim garb (and is that a plastic explosive I see poking out near his right leg?), and then he gets called the “Hope of the entire world,” by Louis Farrakhan . Yeah, you know, the guy who’s the head of the NATION OF ISLAM!!!, the same guy who’s made his fair share of antisimetic, racist, and homophobic comments over the years.

You know who’s in for a heeee-uuuuge day today though? Your friendly, neighborhood Subway Chatter. We thought we hit it big when we made Sports Illustrated, but that’ll be nothing compared to when Pakistan causes a world-wide Yahoo outage while trying to block our site for posting this story.

There are certain things that are just non-negotiable if you’re a Yankee fan. Among them are: never set foot in Fenway Park unless it’s for a Yanks/Red Sox game, never take the side of a Sox fan in a Yanks/Sox fan altercation, and never root for the Mets… unless they’re playing the Sox in interleague, and even then it’s probably just better to keep a neutral eye on things. So, I’m wondering– does buying MLB 2K8 with Jose Reyes on the cover violate any of the 10 Pinstripe Commandments?

As many of you know, The Captain had been the cover athlete for 2K Sports’ baseball sim since 2005. Now it’d be one thing if Jeets was replaced by Alfonso Soriano, Matt Holliday, or some other random star. But Jose Reyes? Talk about giving the finger to every Yankee fan out there. It’s no secret that Met fans have spent the better part of the last 3 years trying to convince everyone, including themselves, that Reyes is somehow better than Jeter. And now the “most exciting”… and immature… and lacking-in-fundamentals player in the game supplants Jeter as 2K’s spokesperson? Met fans everywhere must be having a collective orgasm over this. In fact, I’m pretty sure Chuck Wipple’s already waiting in line to pick up his copy when it comes out March 3rd.

I can’t say I won’t be forking over the $60 to get it either. But geez, talk about a catch-22.