Written by Michael Kramer

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Three o'clock rolled around on Friday and it was great. The snow had come and gone. It was a bit cold, but dry. I was sitting at home with a beer in my hand and the TV on. My day off. And then the game started.

Things weren't too bad at first. Carmona got slapped around a bit, but didn't look too bad. He was throwing strikes. He gave up a few hits, but they were lucky (I told myself). They were little slap hits that just found a hole and they were coming mostly with 2 strikes.

So what if he gave up 2 runs in the first, it's not like I was expecting a shutout. Sure, I was hoping for one. But, I didn't expect it. "If Fausto just keeps throwing like that we will be in good shape" I said to nobody in particular*. Besides, like any good Cleveland fan I was fully convinced that the umpire was squeezing him in the first. He'd get better calls as the game went on.

*OK, I didn't say that. But I thought it so it's the same thing.

The second rolled around and Fausto set them down in order. No problem. Then, right on cue, my 2 year old son starts banging stuff around upstairs. He's supposed to be sleeping. Doesn't he know that daddy's drinking...I mean watching the game? I swear, it's like he doesn't even care. So, I disappear upstairs for a short time. When I re-emerge the Indians are down 6-0.

And, just like that, my day is ruined and the season is over. The 4th inning is even worse. The White Sox send 12 men to the plate and 8 of them cross it before the inning is over. It's now 14-0 and I'm wondering if the Indians will win a single game this season. That didn't take long. I'm not even one full beer into the season yet.

But, then they came back, sort of. Sparked by that pederast Jack Hannahan and Carlos Santana, the Indians clawed their way back to respectability. Somewhat. They ended up losing 15-10, but it's the best feeling 15-10 loss I've ever endured. And, it kind of gave me hope for the season. Really.

Fausto Carmona isn't going to pitch that poorly and unluckily the entire season. And, even though Justin Germano came in in the 4th and immediately gave up something like 37 straight hits*, he settled down over the next couple innings and looked like an actual major league pitcher, something the Indians have been lacking the last couple years in the bullpen.

*By the way, I was one of those "brilliant" people who just couldn't understand why in the world the Indians would sign Chaz Durbin this offseason. Why would we want some old dude who is going to take away innings from young bullpen fireballers like Germano, Herrmann, and the immortal Vinnie Pestano, who's salary is so miniscule ESPN doesn't even bother listing it on their website? Well, they all made the team anyway and Germano's debut, while not suicide inducing, doesn't have me lamenting the presence of Durbin. The lesson, as usual...I'm an idiot.

Fast forward to yesterday, and things seemed to come together the way that they were supposed to when Chris Antonetti and Travis Hafner were talking about contending this year. Justin Masterson pitched with command and held the White Sox to one run. The Indians hit when it mattered, taking the lead in the 6th on a home run by Orlando Cabrera*. They tacked on a few more in the 7th and 8th to push the game out of reach.

* Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, can we not call him O-Cab. Those are the worst, most uninspired nicknames in the history of the world. We can continue to call Alex Rodriguez A-Rod, mostly because he's an uninspired A-hole (and also because that ship has sailed), but that's it. No more "First initial – Three letters" nicknames. They suck.

Think of how much worse "S-Cho" would be than the wonderful "Big League Choo" lovingly applied last year by Buffum. I heard someone at the park say that too, so I think it's caught on.

I think that instead of O-Cab (barf) we should go with something along the lines of Flapjacks OC. I'm not saying that's it. I'm definitely open to suggestions. But, for now, I'm sticking with it. Flapjacks OC.

It was a wonderful day, and a wonderful game. It put a spring in my step. The attendance is bad right now, even embarrassing.  I'm sure you'll hear a lot about that in the next few days. But what I believe is that poor attendance is nothing that winning won't take care of. Winning cures all. This is a beaten down, disenfranchised fan base, but it's simmering and bubbling just under the surface, waiting for a winner. A winner that we believe isn't a fluke. I believe this.

Just win. That's all it takes.

Or maybe I'm just delusional because this is my favorite time of year and I always talk myself into thinking this is the year. Or maybe it's the beer. Probably it's both. This is Cleveland, after all, where the mixture of spring, baseball, beer, and hope turns into something wonderful, even if it's just for a short time.

An Awkward Glance At The Indians:

It doesn't get any easier at the beginning of the week when the Indians welcome Boston and take on one of the American League favorites, the Red Sox. At least it's here and not in front of their fan base of intolerable massholes. After that, the Indians swing out west to start a short 6 game road trip to the west coast, starting in Seattle.

I know what you're thinking. I won't argue. This is going to be huge. It will be like December 2nd all over again. It will be another circus atmosphere. That's why I think it will be good to get it out of the way early.

As I'm sure you all already know, I'm obviously referring to the clash of the Indians vs Aaron Laffey for the first time since he was released by the Indians this winter. Let's just all try to keep it civil and get through it. I just hope that nobody in the crowd does anything to bring shame upon themselves or the game.

But, what I really want to talk about is something that I brought up earlier.

Nicknames.

Nicknames are important. Whether it's Shoeless Joe, the Splendid Splinter, Rapid Robert,Pizzaface Tavarez, or Twinkleballs Michaels...nicknames have carved out an indelible notch in the very fabric of the game. It does the game a disservice to just lazily refer to some of our greater (and maybe more importantly lesser) players with an ill considered moniker.

I tell ya, I just won't stand for it.

So, since nobody else seems willing to do it, I'd like to appoint myself as the Nickname Czar of the Cleveland Indians. And, I'm open to suggestions. Nothing is set in stone and if I hear a good nickname, that will be it, until I hear a better one.

Here are the rules:

1. I'm the decider. What I say goes. This isn't some sort of mamby pamby democracy. If you don't like it, that's tough.

2. There are not other rules. If you email me a particularly vulgar suggestion, well, I obviously may not be able to post it. This is a family site after all. But make no mistake. I appreciate ALL participation.*

3. I reserve the right to add other rules. This is very fluid.

I'll keep a running log of the nicknames right here every week until we have one for every player. I'll even post good nicknames for opposing players if I feel it's warranted. I will declare total success when I hear Hegan or Manning or someone refer to one of the players using one of our nicknames.

And if I get a single O-Cab...well, I hope whoever sends it is either joking or burns in hell forever.

Here is the short inaugural list:

Shin Soo Cho      â€“ Big League Choo (Steve Buffum)

Orlando Cabrera – Flapjacks OC (Mike Kramer)

That's it so far.

So much potential.

My email awaits.

* If you send a particularly stupid suggestion, I also reserve the right to post it here with the express purpose of mocking you. It's all in good fun.

An Awkward Glance At The Cavs

Last Tuesday was a good time. The Cavs beat the Heat, and LeBag-O-Farts was denied entrance to the parking garage under the Q. Good times all around. The win was the most enjoyable of a mostly joyless season.

The best part is that the Cavs have done the right thing in rejecting the Minnesota Timberwolves assault on our hard earned ping pong balls by not wining a game since then. The Cavs have only 6 games left in which to win 3 in order to screw the whole thing up. I just don't see it happening. I have to admit though; things got a little bit dicy there last week when viewed through the draft kaleidoscope.

But, that didn't stop me from enjoying the win against the Heat thoroughly. The Cavs looked like a completely different team, led by a 7 foot monster who owned the paint. Ryan Hollins.

He was so impressive, I've been thinking about petitioning the Cavs to change their name to the "Fighting Ryan Hollinses" for the rest of the season. (Not forever, obviously. That would be stupid. Besides, everyone would think I was kidding and wouldn't take me seriously). It would make sense to do this because 100% of the Cavs jerseys sold in the last 7 years are LeBag jerseys, and as such have either been burned or given to the Miami homeless.

In fact, only three non-LeBag jerseys have been sold in Cleveland since 2003, two, believe it or not, being Joey Graham jerseys. One was bought by Joey's mother. One hangs proudly in my closet next to my Ernie Camacho Retro 1987 Indians jersey (It's pretty effing sweet).

The third jersey is a Ryan Hollins jersey bought by a guy named Larry Funderhoff of Lakewood as a gag gift for his friend Chuck's 28th birthday.

Not such a gag anymore. I have a feeling these things are going to be flying off the shelves. I'm going to get one myself, just in case I run into Chris Bosh this summer. I'll get a kick out of it when he falls on the ground and starts complaining while trying to keep from crying.

Another development this past week is that ESPN's Bill Simmons came out with some sort of NBA power poll. ESPN does love their polls. The poll starts off in reverse order with the Cavs naturally taking up the last spot.

I have no argument with the Cavs taking up the rear of the poll. It's where they belong. They lost the best player on the planet. They have the worst record in the NBA. They have a bunch of players hurt. Heck, even Boobie Gibson has missed time with a fractured vagina. They kind of stink.

But in Cleveland that's not the worst thing that can happen. In Cleveland, if we can't be in the playoffs, there's no place we are more comfortable than in last place, looking at the top of the draft. It doesn't matter what sport it is. We love us some draft here on the shores of Lake Erie.

We have no use for mediocre. There's not a lot of in between for us, and we've grown very comfortable with that. We are merchants of hope.

But Simmons, bless his stupid heart, goes on to say that the Cleveland fan base will be more invested in the 2011 NBA playoffs than any fanbase who doesn't actually have a team playing.

He's wrong. We won't care. It will barely register.

I don't think anyone in Cleveland is going to watch the NBA playoffs. I don't think anyone is going to give much of a shit at all. Sure, when the Heat inevitably lose, we will all smile and raise our glasses, wherever we are, and make a little toast to karma. Then we will go back to discussing the NFL lockout, or the who we got in the NFL draft, or what the hell is taking so long for the Tribe to call up Lonnie Chisenhall.

And if the Heat end up winning it all? Well, then we'll still drink, maybe a bit more than before. We'll mutter something obscene to whoever we're drinking with and we'll curse LeBron for a douchebag. And then we'll go back to discussing the NFL lockout, or who we got in the NFL draft, or what the hell is taking so long for the Tribe to call up Lonnie Chisenhall.

And some of us will continue to question why the Indians didn't just sign Cliff Lee, or curse Mark Shapiro for not somehow landing Clayton Kershaw, Ryan Braun, and Buster Posey in exchange for CC Sabathia.

Honestly, anyone who was going to burn a LeBag jersey has already burned it. Simmons thinks that Gilbert should open Quicken Loans Arena for the Heat playoff games and have some kind of "Miami Hate" viewing parties. I think he's serious. I guess I can't blame him. Maybe that would work in some other normal city. He's not from here.

But it wouldn't work here. Nobody would show up. As a city, we're too used to this kind of stuff. And it's not due to lack of hate. We have plenty of that. We can hate with the best of 'em. Usually better. What we lack is the effort. Sure, we'll show up to boo LeBag a few times a year. But, to expect people to show up to boo a TV screen in an empty arena? Please.

Miami winning wouldn't be some sort of tragedy in Cleveland. Sure, it would suck, but on the scale of awful shit we've already endured it would be barely a blip.

But, where I really differ with Simmons is in his characterization of Dan Gilbert. He calls him petty. In big bold comic sans. Can you imagine?

OK, I guess you can. And you can because Gilbert IS petty. Simmons isn't wrong about that. Gibert is petty alright. It's one of the things he is the most. On the Gilbert scale "petty" falls somewhere between "rich" and "short.  It's right there near the top.  But Simmons is wrong about why. He sites Gilbert's "Not in our garage" tweet. That's not petty, that's funny. And right. If Bill wants to call Dan petty, it shouldn't be because he didn't let LeBag and two entire cars full of asshat sycophants park in the Cav's underground private garage. Why  in the world would LeBag be permitted to park there? Two cars even! And, what kind of asshole thinks that it would be OK to do so? Especially after all that has happened in the last year.

A very wise man recently said that LeBron is a giant douchebag; Gilbert is a tiny douchebag.

But he's our little douchebag. La Petite Douche*. And there's another great nickname.

*This wonderful nickname provided by JB.

Actor In My Movie

The casting couch is once again closed this week as I scout locations. Sorry.

Youtube of the week

Betsy Lynn George. When you see her, you'll remember. One of the greatest videos of all time.