Dear Stagnant Teams Clogging Up My League,

I have been playing fantasy baseball on and off since I was in 7th grade. It's a fun game - it makes me follow baseball more closely, and I am a very competitive guy. It gives me something to cheer for in inconsequential games, and makes me appreciate just how ridiculously tough it must be to manage a major league team.

I had stopped playing all gambling related sports games when I started writing professionally. But then I left my job and came back to school and got challenged to an NCAA hoops bracket by my fraternity. And I beat the tar out of everyone.

Then they wanted to play fantasy baseball. So I said sure. It'd be fun. And it was - we trash-talked like crazy and the race came down to the last day of the season - when I lost by a single stolen base. So we played again last year. And though my team staged a valiant comeback from 4 season ending injuries, I finished a distant third.

This was supposed to be my year. I couldn't make the draft because I was working, but after a number of free agent steals, I was in great shape. Made a few trades and I was ready to go - started out in last, and I climbed all the way into first for a few days, and have been fighting for the position ever since. But it's over now. Because of you selfish bastards.

Now that a few of my players have come back off of injuries, I have 3 extra outfielders I can't use. I have an extra first baseman. And the best two catchers in the league (I really only need one). I have two many starting pitchers and I'm going to max out my innings. And it's your damned fault.

The teams who need starting pitching and outfielders and first basemen and catchers have been stagnant the entire season. You registered, and you skipped town. You won't answer my e-mails. You won't even log in to check how many of your players have been on the DL since April. You are ruining this league.

I don't know why you started playing. Maybe you were bored. Maybe you've seen all the reruns of Star Trek. Maybe your dad, who you still live with after graduation, ripped up your Dungeons and Dragons book. Whatever the reason, something brought you into my fantasy baseball league. Now something needs to get you out.

I don't understand why you did this to me - nay, to us. But rest assured, it will not be forgotten.

What joy do you get from ruining our fun? What brought you to that sign up screen, where you spent at least 30 seconds committing to play this game, only to back out because of commitments in the "real"� world. Why would you passively destroy the one chance I had at coming in first?

It still may happen. Buehrle and Wakefield were finally solid this week. I traded Penny to one of the teams that cares. And if I have to keep a few sluggers on my bench, it's better than giving them to the other teams I'm fighting with. Those other three teams.

But you - you do not get anything. You will not be allowed into the league next year, if we can even muster the enthusiasm to form one after this debacle. You will not even be allowed into the next NCAA pool, unless you pay your money up front because you can not be trusted.

We could have filled the last few slots in the league with other people. But the fun of Fantasy Baseball is being among friends. We should have never sent you that e-mail. Because now your team, laced with stars that should have been distributed amongst real fans, is clogging everything up.

You, sirs, need to get a life.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

I travel frequently. This year alone I've been to 37 states, many of them more than five times. But I've never been out of the continental US. Until this weekend, when I went to Pittsburgh.

Pittsburgh itself is part of America, but located within the surrounding environs are Bahama Breeze and the Olive Garden. I was magically transported to both the Caribbean and Italy on consecutive days.

When we set out on Friday, we didn't know we'd end up in the Bahamas. We were originally thinking Mexico, but the only authentic south of the border eatery was "Mad Mex," and we weren't in the mood for anger. I don't know why they were so mad - NAFTA was a pretty sweet deal for them, and their soccer team is generally better than ours.

Justine, my trusty flight companion, spotted the Bahamas first. Located just a half mile from Mexico, I figured we may as well stop in. If we were going to go island hopping, we should probably eat.

The deck was the first thing I noticed about Bahama Breeze. It was covered in varnish, just like the decks in the islands. After leaving our names with the hostess and being given an authentic Caribbean pager, we walked across said deck. During our initial approach, the restaurant obscured the fantastic view of the Pittsburgh Ocean. But when we reached the end of the factory installed boards, we could see for miles. To our left, waves lapping against the sandy shore. To our right, Dick's Sporting Goods and Home Depot, (where they probably got the varnish). Before we could skip stones across the parking lot, our pager rang.

"Justin?" the hostess asked.

She must mean "Justine." Oh, that quaint island accent.

Once inside, we realized that the steel drums being piped through the standard Bahaman speaker system were actually live. The drums were so loud that it was hard to concentrate on the fresh fish being served straight from the Pittsburgh Ocean. The drummer played music from authentic Caribbean artists like Jimmy Buffett and Elvis Presley. "Ah hah hah hah hah, welcome to de islands."

Saturday, we wanted to try something new. Mex was still pissed so that wasn't an option, and though we thought of foraging for our own meal in Dick's Sporting Goods & Ocean, we didn't want to have to buy the rods (aisle seven). Instead, we settled on the Olive Garden, a real taste of Italy, conveniently located in the same shopping center as Bahama Breeze.

The sign on the door said, "Benvenuto," which means "welcome" in Italian. Beneath that it read, "Sun-Thurs, 10AM-10PM, Fri-Sat, 11AM-11PM." My Italian is a bit rusty, but I think that means "$14 for the same pasta you can buy for $1 at Walmart." Which is conveniently located in between Dick's Sporting Goods and Home Depot.

We turned in our Italian pager, which was circular unlike the square pagers often found in the Bahamas. The breadsticks were fantastic. The Manicotti was also tasty, and Justin(e) thoroughly enjoyed her salad, which came with authentic Italian dressing. And after dinner, we were treated to a complimentary mint - an Andes Candy. And even though the Andes are located in Peru, you know where they usually have Andes Candies after dinner? Italy!

If your sarcasmo meter has not exploded by now, you need some serious help. I enjoyed eating both dinners - the food was quite good. But the guise of "authenticity" didn't do it for me. And I'm not sure why it does it for other people.

I don't need to feel like I'm in the Bahamas to enjoy Caribbean cuisine (and tropical blue and pink plates don't instantly transport me). I don't ever want to eat a dish called "Tour of Italy" (and I don't imagine that fettuccini alfredo, lasagna, and chicken parm make up the complete tour). And why does Mex have to be so mad to get people to eat there?

My favorite foods are Americanized versions of ethnic cuisine: Chinese food with vegetables not actually grown in China, Italian food that may or may not have pictures of Paul Newman on the package, and Mexican food that comes from a restaurant with "Taco" in the name (Johns, Bell, Box, and Del are all fine with me).

There's no reason to belittle someone's real culture by creating an artificial, watered down version of it. I want to see a commercial for Bahama Breeze that says, "Okay, we're not in the Bahamas. We're in Pittsburgh. But man, is this fish good." If they advertised like that, I'd eat there every day. Assuming they toned down the steel drums. I like my fish sans steel drums. And my welcome sign can just say "welcome" - that way I can understand it.

If you need a new welcome sign, I hear there's a sale at Home Depot.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

"Iran defeats Iraq. Thousands are devastated as Iranians cheer neighboring country's loss."�

This is what basically happened today, but due to the current world climate, the headline simply reads "Iran 2, Iraq 1."�

It was a soccer game. Iran's Javad Nekounam (of whom you've never heard) scored a goal just five minutes into the game. And after Ahmad Abbas (of whom you've also never heard) tied it up for Iraq thirty minutes later, Arash Borhani (a household name if there ever was one) put Iran ahead for good. But the real question is, who freakin cares, and how do I know this?

I care. And I know this because the period between the NBA Finals and the start of the football season is slowest part of the sports year, since it's the only time just one of the four major sports is in season.

Baseball, despite it being my favorite sport, doesn't really start to get interesting until the trade deadline. The NBA draft talk doesn't excite me when there aren't many good players available, and track's latest steroid scandal is just annoying. But I'm keeping up on world soccer.

I'm not a soccer fan. I'm especially not a middle eastern soccer fan, and I'm not eagerly anticipating the West Asian Football Federation championship game between heated adversaries Iran and Syria. Who are heated because they play in a desert, and adversaries because that's how they do things in that part of the world.

What I love about international soccer is the possible headlines. I used to work for Sports Illustrated for Kids, where my main job was to write headlines. That summer, the World Cup coupled with America no longer sucking at soccer to get a LOT of our attention. So my job was to prevent kids from having to read boring things like, "Iran 2, Iraq 1."�

One morning, a colleague of mine suggested we could not use certain words because kids might think we were reporting on war. I thought that if an eight-year-old was smart enough to use a computer, he'd be smart enough to know the difference between CNN and CNNSI (The difference being "S"� and "I"�). As it turns out, it wasn't the kids that were the problem; we had to watch out for the parents.

We received an angry letter from a mother who felt "duped"� by the standard "Blank defeats Blank"� headline. How did she not realize this was a soccer story until she clicked on it? Her first clue should have been that the two nations weren't at war. Her second should have been the headline's placement between "Sosa Swats St. Louis"� and the in-depth coverage of WUSA.

It quickly became a contest among the writers to come up with the most offensive headline we were not allowed to use.

Germany ran up an 8-0 victory over Saudi Arabia early in the tournament. But we couldn't write that Germany "defeated"� Saudi Arabia. So we joked about writing, "Germany Rampages Through Saudi Arabia, Thousands Killed. Metaphorically, of course."�

Offensive? Sure. But that was nothing compared to the rest of the tournament. Countries were mauled. Destroyed. Bombed. Invaded. Until we got to the finals.

The last two teams were Germany and Brazil. When Germany made it there, one writer suggested, "Germans End Battle For Place in World, Run to Brazil."� I suggested, "Germany Discovers Finals Solution."� It was good that we weren't allowed to use any of these. Not because they were atrociously offensive, but because the historical significance would have been lost on the eight-year-olds. And their dumb parents.

Brazil won the final game, 2-0. There were lots of suggestions on how to cover it - but none funnier than one from my friend Dave. I'd relayed the story of our fake headlines to him - he didn't even work at the office.

"Germany Loses on World Stage,"� Dave suggested. "Third Time Evidently Not Charm."�

Dave and I were both disappointed when the magazine instead went with, "World Cup: Brazil 2, Germany 0."�

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

Trying to use this column to teach anything may come off as dorky. But someone needs to take a stand against bad poetry before the cancer spreads any further.

Universally criticizing non-rhyming poetry is difficult. One person's terrible poem is another person's Gertrude Stein. So for the purposes of this article I will only discuss rhyming poems. Rhyming, non-metered poems.

I'm going to be mean in this column. I'm going to be picky. But I'm also going to provide you with fodder for when your aunt sends you a card that says something like, "I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Which is not Earthday." That's a real card sent to a real friend of mine, who had a real hard time patching up things with his aunt after she overheard him mockingly suggest she should submit her work to the fine folks at Hallmark.

Meter is a part of rhyme. It is the structure that makes rhyme catchy; it is the foundation of a good rhyming poem. And it's insanely easy to figure out, unless you're either deaf or the vast majority of people who write rhyming poetry.

Meter is the rhythm of the words. Do you notice that words "rhyme" and "rhythm" are pretty close to being the same thing? That should be your first clue that rhyming poems need meter. Your second clue should be this following excerpt from Kay. She was kind enough to post her poem on the internet, where people like me could make fun of it.

As I sit here in class,
I observe my friends
And look forward to the year
Coming to an end.

Meter is created when there is an equal number of syllables and pattern of stress throughout corresponding lines of a poem. That is not what happened here. What happened here was Kay observing her friends instead of paying attention in class. Had she, she'd have learned how to count. Continue, dear Kay.

I remember the day
When I came back
To be with my friends
And get on the right track.

This, aside from lacking meter again, makes little sense in the plot of the poem. This was Kay trying to continue writing, coming up with nothing, and saying, "Screw it! I'm writing this anyway!"

We had so many moments;
Some bad, most great.
I'll always remember the love
And erase the hate.

Erase the hate? I swear I once got chain mail like this. It said if I forwarded it to ten of my friends, the society for punctuation would donate money to research errant semi-colons.

Kay later ends with the stunning conclusion that she doesn't want the year to end after all, because she will miss all of her classmates with whom she's totally BFF. Couldn't see that one coming.

Even if Kay's poem didn't take five stanzas to explain a feeling that could have been summed up in seven words, it would still grate on my nerves. Because it reminds me of every bad poem ever written. When I write a poem, I do not choose rhyming words despite their meanings, and I do not compromise the flow of the poem to say something that doesn't fit. I choose the medium of poetry only when I think that whatever it is I'm writing can benefit from the addition of rhyme and meter. Not because I thought of two words that happened to rhyme and decided to write four more stanzas hoping more would come to me.

If you must express your feelings in rhyme (and for some odd reason, a few people must), do it correctly. Pay attention to stress. Don't get bored halfway through and stop rhyming, only to start again when you can think of an easy one. Don't use imperfect rhymes, like "end" and "friends" (I'm looking at you, Kay). And for the love of Ogden Nash, don't rhyme good and food. The words may look similar, but they are pronounced differently. Despite the internet, poems are not meant to be appreciated silently.

Kay is now old enough to be a freshman in college, where I hope she's learned a bit more about poetry, or stopped writing it altogether. And if neither scenario is true, perhaps she, my friend's aunt, and maybe even you, can benefit from the following stanzas.

A sense of humor's certainly commended
When work you've done is lampooned to instruct.
I hope Kay understands no harm intended.
I only used her poem because it sucked.

I hope, if feelings hurt, they are now mended.
Despite her being laughed at by a dork.
I'm glad her poem eventually ended.
If not, I'd gouge my eye out with a fork.

"Spork" would have also been an adequate end to that last line.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

The world now remembers that sports can be fun. Thank you, Larry Brown.

When the Pistons beat, nay, embarrassed the Lakers in the NBA Finals, I was thrilled. As you might remember if you've been reading this column since two weeks ago, I just moved to LA and was rooting against the Lakers. My requests were answered by the lousy play of everyone who has ever worn yellow, as the Pistons won the series 4-1. Sort of 5-0, since they gave away Game Two.

I was thrilled partially because I got to see the Pistons upset a team I was rooting against. I was thrilled mainly because I got to see an upset at all. Upsets are fun. And that's what sports are for.

Later that night, I was at a bar in LA where tons of Laker fans were dishing out conspiracy theories as to why such a dominant team could lose.

"They paid em off!"� one guy said.

"Someone paid the Lakers off?"� I asked.

"Sure!"�

I then asked him how someone who makes 20 million a year can be paid off. He told me that the owner of the Lakers paid them off, in order to bet against his own team and make more money than he would have had he won the championship. I didn't ask him how he came by this knowledge (or why, if he had this knowledge, did he not use it to his own financial advantage). I simply asked him if he really believed it. The man said that stranger things have happened - like, for instance, the Pistons beating the Lakers.

The Pistons could have lost to the Nets. The Pistons could have lost to the Pacers. The Pistons should have lost to the Lakers. But they didn't - they opted instead to win the NBA Finals. I admit, it was against all odds. But that's what makes it cool - and that's what makes it a great sports story.

Obviously, Laker fans are not happy with what happened. But the rest of the world is, because of the story. Sports are full of cool stories of underdogs dethroning championships, with no fixes involved. Just ask Bill Buckner.

And there were tons of great stories in this year's finals.

Chauncey Billups was the unlikely MVP winner, which might be the first time someone named Chauncey has won MVP in anything.

The same guy that owns the Pistons also owns the Tampa Bay Lightning. That means he had two underdog teams win major championships in just over a week. He also owns the Detroit Shock, who won the WNBA Championship. Which he was probably pretty proud of, until he got a real trophy.

Detroit Coach Larry Brown became the first coach to ever win an NCAA National Championship and the NBA finals. Philadelphia's Allen Iverson called to congratulate his former coach, which was especially heartwarming since Iverson only gets one phone call. I'm kidding. Iverson never called.

I'm always being asked why I think sports matter, and my usual answer is something complex about being part of a larger entity, community, and forgetting your problems while living vicariously through your team. But one thing I never thought of before is that they matter just because they produce cool stories. I had a lot of fun talking about the game after it ended - more fun than I had while I was watching.

I had fun talking about whether or not Kobe was going to be back or if Darko Millaroundonthebench would reach his potential or if the finals trophy looked a bit like an MTV movie award. That's really what these finals were about. Detroit is happy to have won, and LA is upset to have lost - but both sides are happy that we can talk about it.

Though I am way happier than I'd be if the stupid Lakers won.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

I recently got in and out of the DMV in less than 45 minutes on a Monday morning - with no appointment. I shouldn't have told you that this early in the column, because now you will not believe anything I say ever again.

I really did go through the DMV that quickly - and not just any DMV, but a DMV in the middle of Hollywood. I didn't believe it either. That speed was extremely unlikely, since Hollywood is a geographically small area with a large amount of people, and most of them have an acute understanding that they are more important than everyone else. The line at the Hollywood DMV is usually so long it is also the line for the Chicago DMV.

However, it was a distinctly Hollywood moment that made my incredibly short journey take 45 minutes instead of 40. Because there was a woman there who had an acute understanding that she was more important than me. But she also had an understanding that some day, she was going to make it! Coming off a driver's license and into a theatre near you!

This particular woman was in line in front of me to get her picture taken. And she must have thought it was a headshot, because the way she approached it was insane.

This was the DMV. If you are doing anything but trying to kill the camera with your eyes, you are the exception to the rule. I'm smiling in my new picture, but that's only because I was laughing about the ridiculous woman before me.

This woman looked like she was in her 60s but looked 50s. She had a "younger than her age" look, in that her face had been recycled a few times. She probably used to be beautiful - came to Los Angeles decades ago to become a star, and found nothing more than a few roles where she played a part with a number in the title (i.e. Party Guest Three). If you ever saw the Seinfeld where Kramer moves to Los Angeles, imagine the neighbor that kept hitting on him. If Ms. DMV actually played the role of the neighbor, I wouldn't and would be surprised. I wouldn't because she fits the part perfectly. I would because I bet she's never had a role that big in her life.

When it was time to take the picture, the woman asked how long it would last. When she was told that she'd need a new picture in four years, she was noticeably upset. (I know because she said, "Oh, that's upsetting.") She tried to convince the photographer to make the picture last longer, an odd thing for her to do since he had nothing to do with the expiration date on her particular license. Or anyone's, really. He's just the freakin photographer.

I am guessing she didn't want the picture to expire because she, unlike her headshot, was aging quickly, and she wanted to hold on to her youth. Except it looked like she already dropped that years ago.

After the photographer insisted he could not extend the validity of her driver's license, the woman took out her compact and began applying her make up. For a driver's license photo! She also brushed her hair.

Before she put on enough makeup to make Tammy Faye Baker jealous, the woman looked a bit like one of the characters in "Witness," the Harrison Ford movie where he goes undercover as an Amish man. I chuckled while picturing this woman at the Department of Horse Drawn Carriages, asking how long the pencil drawing would last.

There is something to be said for wanting to look good. Especially if you're pursuing a career in entertainment. But this was a driver's license. No one who matters to her career will ever see this. But I can imagine the scenario playing in her head where someone would.

It's a nice day, and she goes out for a drive along the beach, as she so often did before the Dodgers moved to town. She speeds a bit, because she likes things fast (mainly because she doesn't have much time left). A policeman stops her, and while he's taking down her information, he says, "say, this is a snazzy picture! My brother is the head of a major studio and is looking for a star for his next talkie. You have what it takes, my dear woman! Forget downtown, you're going straight to the top!"

Maybe I'm inventing all of this and the woman just wanted to hold on to her fleeting youth. But I can't imagine the florescent lighting, solid background, and antiseptic atmosphere of the Hollywood DMV helped that picture much. Especially since I saw the printout, and she totally blinked.

Good thing that picture only lasts four years. Ironic, since that's how long I was expecting to be on line.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

I recently sat down with comedian Dan Levy before a show at Westwood Brewing Company in Los Angeles, California. The location was appropriate, as Westwood is home to UCLA, and Levy is one of the top comedians on the college circuit. Sitting down sucked though, because we were totally in the way of all the girls with the black pants.

Levy is the 22 year-old host of MTV's brand new "Your Face or Mine," a game show that destroys the egos of everyone who participates. After a round of celebrity photos, each episode features a college-age couple as the contestant, going through several rounds of predicting how hot the crowd thinks they are compared to strangers, exes, and even each other. I saw a taping of one of the episodes and holy crap, this one is going to be good.

"Your Face or Mine" airs on MTV every weekday at 1:30 and 4:30 EDT. But prepare to scream like only a high school girl can, because this interview airs right now.

CH) How did this all happen?

DL) I've been performing for five years. When I was a sophomore in college, I was selected as one of five people to compete for the title of Funniest College Comedian at the Aspen Comedy Festival. I won, which put me out there in front of all this industry. Freemantle [the production company that does American Idol] really wanted me, and so did MTV so it all worked out.

CH) Is it fun to say that MTV really wanted you?

DL) It's fun to say anyone wants me. Especially that drunk girl sitting in the corner. Is that a girl? I don't care.

CH) Does the show help you get girls?

DL) As of now, no. But that's only because I already lie and tell people I'm on a different show that's more successful. "You don't recognize me? I'm one of the Friends."

CH) Where'd you go to school?

DL) Emerson College in Boston. Go Sox! Just kidding, I don't really care about sports.

CH) You're calling the Red Sox sports?

DL) I wish I knew what you were talking about.

CH) I wish I did, too. Give me one piece of advice for college students.

DL) Don't light anything on fire in your dorm room.

CH) What about in the quad?

DL) Yeah, that's fine.

CH) How many colleges did you play last year?

DL) Probably 60. I skidded off the highway in Fargo on the way to a show so it may have been more, I don't remember. Great school, lousy weather.

CH) Name the best three schools you've played.

DL) Embry-Riddle, Juniata, UMass-Amherst. Juniata was like 700 people.

CH) What's the smallest crowd you've played to?

DL) 12 people at a school in upstate New York.

CH) Would you ever go back there?

DL) The sad part is I would. Twice. In a semester.

CH What can we expect from "Your Face or Mine"?

DL) Me making fun of celebrities everyone hates and college couples embarrassing themselves on national television.

CH) Are you going to have a good show tonight?

DL) Probably not.

CH) Better than me?

DL) Absolutley.

CH) Damn.

"Your Face or Mine" with Dan Levy, every afternoon on MTV. You heard it here first.

1. Matt's got a new column out today so go rock that.

2. If you're looking for something to see this weekend and think a half-assed opinion would help you make a choice, check out our new column "Trailer Talk" by Todd Womack. He writes movie reviews based on nothing more than previews and it's pretty funny.

3. Thanks to HC Muscle for sponsoring this update. If you need anything for your workout routine, get it from 'em here. Have a bitchin' weekend!

It's 92 degrees. Do you know where your Stanley Cup is?

This week, Calgary Flames fans and sane people everywhere were shocked to see the Tampa Bay Lightning overcome a 3-2 deficit in the Stanley Cup Finals and take the last two games and win the championship. Which is great, because Spring Break needed another punch bowl.

The high in Tampa this week is 92 degrees. Ice melts at 32. There's something wrong here. Finding out that Tampa Bay is the best hockey team is like Sweeden winning all the medals at the Summer Olympics.

"Coming in first in the 100-meter dash, it's Bjorn!"�

The lowest it has ever gotten in Tampa, in the history of Tampa, is 18 degrees. That was 1962. In Calgary, the average temperature for two whole months a year is lower than that. But is that reason enough to root against a hockey team? Sure!

When this season started, the Flames had been in Calgary for 23 years, during which they made the playoffs 15 times. That's not so impressive, considering everyone in hockey who doesn't totally suck makes the playoffs (read, everyone but the Rangers). The Flames were a big underdog. Seven of the eight times they've missed the post season were in the last seven years. Since they won the Cup in 1989, the Flames have exited before round two of the playoffs every season.

The Lightning were also an underdog. Though they made round two of the playoffs last season, it was only the second time they've ever seen May. They are 12 years younger than the Flames, but they've managed to suck just as much in recent years.

So the deciding factor was whether or not Florida deserves a Stanley Cup. They just missed one in 1996 when the Florida Panthers lost in the finals. If you're a hockey fan, you know that the Panthers play in Florida, which is a city in Florida. (Okay, so they're from Miami. But even they recognize how ridiculous it would be to name a hockey team the Miami anything).

Is it wrong of me to dislike hockey teams from Florida, just because they're from Florida? No, because everyone dislikes them. This year, there were four teams that averaged a road crowd below 16,000. Two of them were from Florida.

You may be saying that if the state can support two teams, I should be all for it. Except the state can't. In an effort to boost sales, the Lightning recently unveiled a plan to give free beer to season ticket holders. What a great message: "our product is so great, you have to be wasted to fully enjoy it."�

Though that makes sense because you have to be drunk to enjoy Tampa. I've been to almost every major city in the United States, and was surprised that Dante never write about this particular ring of hell. Ironic that a city built in the path of hurricanes would be built so unstable that it could be wiped out with a small gust of wind. Though that's partly because so many houses have wheels.

People from Tampa told me that I didn't enjoy myself because I didn't go to the right bars. Like I said, it's a great city if you're wasted. I don't want to offend any Tampa residents with this rant, but you're probably drunk anyway.

While Americans should want to get even for the Blue Jays winning the World Series twice, I feel bad for Canada. We've already taken so much from them. We've taken Michael J. Fox and Kids in the Hall and the idea of a beer-pez dispenser. Which will probably be given out at the next Lightning game. It's got to be even more insulting that a city whose low temperature is higher than Calgary's high could be better at ice skating.

So toast to your Stanley Cup, Tampa Bay, while you still have it. Pour a few cold ones in there and drink to victory and success and a job well done. Drink to winning the most coveted cup in ice hockey, in a city that hasn't had ice since 1962.

Congratulations, Tampa Bay. Hell has officially frozen over.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

Somewhere between Kuwait and Waco, my generation lost one of the most valuable resources we were blessed to have: John Hughes.

Hughes is the writer behind "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and "Breakfast Club" and every other great movie you ever saw. The unofficial founder of the Brat Pack, Hughes' work includes "Sixteen Candles," "Pretty in Pink," "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles," "She's Having a Baby," and the first three "Vacation" movies. And in 1990, he was responsible for one of the top grossing films of all time, "Home Alone."

Of his first 17 movies, 10 were fantastic, and another four were pretty darn good. But what's more important, Hughes was the voice of the 1980s. If that damn "Children of the 80s" forward ever started re-circling, someone should edit it to discuss how freakin great John Hughes was. WAS.

John Hughes is still alive. And he's still writing. But I say we lost him because all indications are that he is no longer writing for us.

After Home Alone in 1990, something inside him must have snapped. Hughes may have realized he was too successful, had too much money, or was positively impacting too many people. Because after "Home Alone," came "Dutch." And after "Dutch" came "Beethoven." Followed by "Home Alone 2" and "Dennis the Menace" and "Beethoven's 2nd" and "Baby's Day Out" and "Home Alone 3" and "Beethoven's 3rd" and "Beethoven's 4th" and "Home Alone 4" and "Maid in Manhattan" and "Beethoven's 5th." There was some other crap in the middle there, but you get the idea.

I should point out that Hughes wrote the screenplay for only some of those, and just the story or characters for others. But he had to have known how terrible those stories and characters were - on the Beethoven movies and Maid in Manhattan, Hughes didn't even use his real name.

Hughes was 35 when Breakfast Club came out, yet he managed to capture the angst and social hierarchy of a high school perfectly. So why, at 53, is the only thing he's capturing is rights to a straight to video sequel?

The day I realized John Hughes had stopped writing good movies terrified me. As a writer, because it made me worry that I might get soft. But more so as a kid. Because if John Hughes can willingly stand behind "Baby's Day Out," then I guess we will all get old sometime.

We lost Eddie Murphy, too. Murphy went from Axel Foley to Pluto Nash, using the same reasoning Hughes gave - he wanted to do more kids movies. Which is fine, but why not good kids movies? And Hughes doesn't even have Murphy's Shreks to bail him out. Though after Daddy Day Care and Haunted Mansion, the price of Eddie Murphy's bail ran pretty high.

We need John Hughes back. America has been living scared for a large part of the last two years. We were scared of terrorists and unemployment and SARS and unemployed terrorists with SARS, and we do not need to be scared of "Home Alone with Beethoven's 9th."

I know it is unfair of me to expect that Hughes will entertain me. I'm sure he has his reasons for what he has done (though "Maid in Manhattan" is pretty inexcusable). But I do think it's fair to lament what we had. And what we had was a genius who helped us realize that we were all a brain, and an athlete, and a basketcase, a princess, and a criminal. What we now have is a dozen movies about dogs or kids solving crime.

John, if you are reading this, and I know you are because you've apparently got nothing better to do, we need you. And we don't need a made for TV "Vacation" film or a remake of an old Disney movie. We need you to forget about the easy money of sequels and adaptations and create another Cameron Frye.

We need you to help us get through high school and family vacations and our first job. We need you to show us that growing up is a part of life, and that getting old isn't the worst thing that could happen. We need you to be there, speaking for those of us who are still unsure of what we'd like to say.

And not like in "Baby's Day Out" because that was ridiculous.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.

I don't just want the Lakers to lose. I want them to lose hard. I want them to lose so hard that Shaquille O'Neal becomes a Clippers fan.

I have lived in Los Angeles for exactly one day. But I have rooted against the Lakers for 15 years. When I was a kid, I loved Kareem Abdul Jabaar, which prevented me from cheering against Los Angeles. But Kareem retired, and I loved John Starks and Patrick Ewing and Mark Jackson a heck of a lot more.

I am a Knicks fan. I will always be a Knicks fan. I didn't stop rooting for the Knicks when they started losing, and I didn't start rooting for the Nets when they started winning. I stay true to my teams. And moving across country won't change that.

The Knicks have not won in my lifetime. They made the playoffs most years I've been alive, and lost the finals twice, but the last time they won a championship was six years before I started dribbling.

I remember 1994 - that hurt the most. When the Knicks lost to the Spurs in 1999, it was expected. Hell, I was thrilled the series went to five games. But in 1994, the Knicks were a win--nay, a John Starks buzzer beater--away from the title. And like so many John Starks buzzer beaters, it didn't happen. I remember crouching in the coatroom during my sister's wedding listening to them lose that game. I'm usually not one to cry at weddings.

People say that New York sports fans are spoiled. I disagree. Maybe Yankee fans - they've won more championships in the last eight years than most teams have ever played in. But the rest of our teams are really known for losing in the post season.

I'm a Mets fan. They won the World Series when I was seven - I admit that was pretty cool. But I saw them lose the playoffs in 1988, lose the playoffs in 1999, and lose the World Series (to the Yankees, no less) in 2000.

I saw the Giants win the Super Bowl after the 1986 season. But that was before I was a football fan. Their Super bowl win in 1990 was alright - I was 11, and had followed the season a bit. But after that, I saw them lose the Bowl in 2000, and lose early in the playoffs three other times.

In hockey, I root for the Rangers, who took the Stanley Cup when I was 15. That is the only time I've really been old enough to see one of my favorite teams win it all. I've also seen them become a laughingstock since then, paying an exorbitant amount for early playoff losses, followed by paying an exorbitant amount to not even make the post season.

And then of course, there's my St. John's basketball team, which alternates between being the worst good team in the country and the best bad team in the country. We're all so proud.

I have spent my life disappointed by the almost-wins of my favorite teams, especially the Knicks. And now, in my first week as a resident of Los Angeles, I may have to see a team I severely dislike win the whole she bangs.

When I get to LA, I can root for the Clippers, because they're harmless. I can root for the Kings because I've been following them loosely since their amazing comeback filled playoff run a few years ago. And though I will be rooting against the Dodgers because my father grew up in Brooklyn, it's not like LA cares about them anyway.

"We'll have to stay to the end of the game if we don't want to get caught in all the 6th inning traffic."�

But then there's the Lakers. When the Knicks actually won in 1973, they beat the Lakers. When the Lakers won in 1972, they beat the Knicks. The Knicks have been in the finals eight times, and five of those were against the Lakers (some even before they moved to Los Angeles).

I have been raised to root against those yellow and purple uniforms (seriously guys - yellow and purple?). I don't care much for their players, either. I don't think Kobe raped that girl, but I can still root against him for being an egotistical adulterous grandstanding jerk. And I like him a lot better than I ever liked Shaq or Malone.

I don't want to be part of the impending parade and I certainly don't want to be there when there's a riot (again). It was bad enough to see the Lakers win so often from across the country. Now I have to do it in person.

As a sports fan, I will watch the finals. And as an LA resident, I'll watch at a local sports bar. But I'll be doing it all in a Clippers jersey.

Wait, I don't have a Clippers jersey. Maybe I can pick one up during the riots.

Steve Hofstetter is the author of Student Body Shots, which is available at www.SteveHofstetter.com. He can be e-mailed at steve@observationalhumor.com.