Last night I went to The Billabong XXL Global Big Wave surfing awards, and flew solo. The event, which took place at The Grove of Anaheim, is for general analogy reasons, referred to as the “Oscars” of big wave riding and featured the biggest names in a sport which consists of being towed via jet-ski into skyscraper-sized, mountains of thunder and death on top of a foam plank.



(*disclosure* During the first half of this post I don't really include any useful awards information, instead I recount a harrowing near fatal cougar attack I endured while simultaneously struggling to secure a frosty beverage. If you want the Awards results, please skip to the second half.)

Sadly, while I should have been in awe of the walking immortals and legends of big-wave riding among me, I was wrapped up in my own self-consciousness, being not only the only person at the party who didn't know anyone, but also completely oblivious to the sport itself. For the first half, anyway. The second half is kind of fuzzy, but got way more awesome.

When I arrive, I am ushered through the line like a celebrity. Once inside, I stand there by myself, feet on the red-carpet, looking around helplessly at all the gorgeous surf babes and dudes with over grown soul-patches. I sort of back, inconspicuously like I'm pulling a fast one, into the beer line.

Seeing my press badge, a guy leans over and says, “Do you know who that is?” pointing at some dude who looks like any guy you'd see sharing a pitcher with his bro's at Mutt Lynch's on a Sunday afternoon, “That's Cody Graham,” the guy announces loudly, pointing toward him, almost verbally shoving me to go get an interview or snap his photo.

There's a reason why most sports-minded people don't talk about political issues, and that's because they're idiots at most everything else (the brilliant Dave Zirin excepted). A great example occurred this morning on ESPN2's ESPN First Take, after they showed footage of bubble-maker extraordinaire Fan Yang trying to put a bubble around an elephant, the same stunt he tried to pull at SanTana's Discovery Science Center before activists shamed the place into canceling the event. I wish I took notes of the exchange between First Take anchors Jay Crawford and Dana Jacobson, but it broke down something like this: Jacobson argued that the stunt actually brought positive attention to the plight of pachyderms, while Crawford mumbled that people look too much into things sometimes. Don't worry too much about losing any context in my interpretation, because the words of Crawford and Jacobson were as convoluted as my paraphrase!

What’s 105 miles off San Diego and 17 miles long, lurks just three feet below the surface at its highest point, earned San Clemente’s Mike Parsons a nifty $60,000 for about two minutes’ adrenalin-stoked work in January ’01, and generates waves so freakin’ huge they show up on radar?

It’s Cortes Bank, a submarine mountain range, where the right combination of light winds, low tides and big storm swells from the northwest—a Pacific surfer’s version of the perfect storm—can generate waves up to 85 feet and, reportedly, higher. A lot higher.

The ballsy gentlemen who do at Cortes Bank and elsewhere what you and I don’t have the cojones for—namely, rocket down the face of a fast-moving, lethal, six-story blue monster on a piece of polyurethane and fiberglass—will be at the Grove of Anaheim tomorrow night (April 11), for the eighth annual Billabong XXL Global Big Wave Awards.

Parsons and fellow San Clemente ace Greg Long, who took last year’s XXL Biggest Wave honors, both rode bombs at Cortes Bank this past January. Video of these, and many other outings, can be found at www.BillabongXXL.com. Six categories include Ride of the Year, Biggest Wave and Girl’s Best Overall Performance.

There’s edge-of-your-seat footage of the finalists and others at, among other places, California’s Trestles (where veteran Mark Foo died in 1994) and Ghost Tree; legendary Jaws, off Maui; Belharra Reef, France; Mullaghmore Head and the Cliffs of Moher, Ireland; Spanish hotspots Playa Gris and Isla Ancha (didn’t they star in Maria Does Madrid?); Teahupoo, Tahiti; and notable big breaks off Tasmania, Chile and South Africa.

While the 200 seats at the event are invitation only, the entire evening’s activities can be viewed live through the website and will be televised on ESPN May 29.

The final word on Cortes Bank? Per Mike Parsons, whose ’01 Biggest Wave winner was a whopping 66 feet: “There will be a 100-foot wave ridden out there. It’s only a matter of time now.”

Much ink and megabytes has been and will be spilled regarding UCLA's embarrassing loss in the Final Four yesterday, but no one has yet discussed the "Final Countdown" curse.

Before tipoff, the UCLA band played a brass version of the 1986 glam rocker immortalized by GOB Bluth in greatest-show-about-OC Arrested Development (see below for a great SpongeBob Squarepants version). The last time couple of times I've seen a sports team play this song before the game, they've lost. Why oh why, UCLA did you play this anthem of losers?

Late last week, Cal State Fullerton issued a survey to gauge student interest in the school reinstating its laughable football squad, which disbanded in 1992 to a massive yawn from Orange County. Even more hilarious is the website, Bring Back Titan Football, which really believes interest in the sport at Cal State Fullerton is so prevalent that they're trying to mobilize alumni and students to pressure administrators into spending millions for a squad that probably won't compete above Division I-AA and probably lower. They even try to cite academic studies arguing that a football team would bring more money than building on their Big West champion cagers (the website has obviously never heard of Duke University). Hey, pigskin pendejos: methinks the average Titan would prefer an alleviation of their horrific parking situation instead of a fumbling, bumbling gridiron 11.

Before anyone asks what this has to do with Orange County, I'll tell you:

Headliner John Cena received his training right here in OC, at Rick Bassman's Ultimate Pro Wrestling.

and

Eight years ago, this year's co-headliner Triple H became the first ever "bad guy" to win the main event at WrestleMania...in Anaheim at what is now the Honda Center. WWE and OC have a history.

Results, as they happen:

-Kane won a battle royal to become number one contender for the ECW title.

-JBL defeated Finlay (with Hornswoggle) in a no-disqualification Belfast Brawl.

-C.M. Punk won the "Money in the Bank" ladder match that also featured Chris Jericho, Mr. Kennedy, MVP, Shelton Benjamin, and John Morrison. During the match, Matt Hardy made a surprise run-in that prevented MVP from winning.

-Batista beat Umaga

-Kane defeated Chavo Guerrero in less than a minute to become the new ECW champion. Good for Kane; he deserves a decent title run after all these years.

-Shawn Michaels pinned Ric Flair. Due to prematch stipulations, Ric Flair must now retire, and based on his recent interviews in the mainstream press, it seems this won't be just a gimmick. Odds are he'll still be around as a personality, but his in-ring career is done.

-"Glamazon" Beth Phoenix and Melina (with Santino Marella) defeated Ashley and Maria in a "Playboy Lumberjack Match." Snoop Dogg was the master of ceremonies for the match, and hit a clothesline on Santino afterwards. Santino and Jerry Lawler both got physically involved in the match.

-Randy Orton pinned John Cena -- in a triple threat match that also included Triple-H -- to retain the WWE championship.

-Floyd Mayweather beat The Big Show by knockout in a no-disqualification boxer-vs.-wrestler match, after hitting Show with a steel chair and brass knuckles.

-Undertaker defeated Edge by armbar submission to win the World Heavyweight Championship.

Only one surprise in the elite field at the 23rd Los Angeles Marathon yesterday ... 9 of the top 10 finishers being the usual flock of 5-foot, 102-pound Kenyans. (The dude listed as from Bahrain and the one from Marietta, GA? Kenyans.) How the hombre from Mexico snuck into sixth place, we have no idea.

Nice to see how the OC figured among the seniors - the senior seniors - in the 25,000-strong field.

Edward Salkin, of Corona del Mar, placed second in the men’s 75-79 age group, covering the 26 miles, 385 yards in a zippy 4:41:32. Mary Dugan, of Huntington Beach, won her 70-74 age group in 5:38:47. Must be something in the water that keeps so many oldsters down here so spry.

(In the interests of full disclosure and to establish my expert credentials, I ran the Long Beach Half-Marathon in 1989. I'm still recovering.)

According to an official inside the team-based mixed martial arts league known as the International Fight League, we will not have an Orange County team this year.

Last year, our local team-- the Southern California Condors--was coached by Brazilian MMA legend Laguna Niguel-based Marco "King of the Streets" Ruas and competed against teams of fighters from all over the country. However, IFL spokesman Jerry Milani says Ruas wasn't able to get a team ready this year in time to compete, but would not go into details.

The IFL has done some restructuring and has completely scrapped the team names from last season, its first ever, in favor of teams named after their sponsors. So teams like the Raptors, and the Anacondas were eliminated and replaced with teams like Xtreme Couture (an Affliction clothing line named after former UFC Champion Randy Couture) and Ken Shamrock's Lion's Den submission academy.

The news of the Condors demise is another serious setback following last year's tragic suicide of 27-year-old Condors fighter and Orange County native Jeremy Williams.
But Milani said that if Ruas can put a team together sometime this year, the IFL would be more than happy to sponsor them in competition, but they will not be able to vie for this year's team championship.

Since I was getting hassled by security for the first hour because I mistakenly thought my press creds sort of implied I was bringing a camera to the Honda Center Monday night, staff writer Luke Thompson gives this report of the dark matches:

"I got inside just in time to hear Hacksaw Jim Duggan’s music signal a victory for the board-wielding goofball, whose shtick still entertains all these years since the height of his fame. Was sorry to miss him. When I used to play with Hasbro action figures as a kid, Duggan was a major player in my wrestling federation, mainly because he was one of the few that came with a weapon. Hooooo! USA!

Charlie Haas’ music started playing next, so I figured I could get a beer and not miss anything. Watered down Miller Lite. Ugh.

Haas fought Hardcore Holly, who has a reputation for being an asshole that genuinely hurts his opponents, but the crowd loved him anyway. Haas has a gimmick now where he puts on a Lucha Libre mask mid-match and acts like it just gave him special powers. Holly ripped it off his head, then pulled out a mask of his own that seemed styled to look like that of Shark Boy, a competitor in rival promotion TNA. So then Holly starts imitating Shark Boy’s gestures, which is all way too meta considering that Shark Boy is currently doing a gimmick where he imitates Stone Cold Steve Austin. Holly wins.

Car keys, check. Protein bar, check. Sleeveless workout shirt, check. Reebok Classics laced up tight, check. Short-shorts, neon green...double check.

There comes a time in every man’s life when he must answer the call to greatness. For my friend Garret and I, that call rang loud and clear with only five words: American Gladiators open call tryouts. We knew the road would be tough, long and full of medical waivers that would pretty much sign our lives away, but we didn’t care. This was a golden opportunity to live out every AG fan’s dream: a chance to scale the Eliminator obstacle course on national television, butt heads with giants and the possibly shake hands with Hulk Hogan while wearing spandex. Garret would be joining me on this quest as my super sexy wingman, assistant, PR manager and water boy.

Dear Matt,

Congrats on all your success: Gatorade High School Football, Player of the Year (first junior so honored ever), the early commitment to USC, the many prep titles—oops, scratch that last one! And we loved the profile that the New York Times did on you yesterday. We especially were excited about your commitment to Jesus Christ, “Jesus Christ is No. 1 to me,” you told the Times. “That’s who I play for.”

Heaven knows this world needs more upstanding young athletes like you. Which leads to the following question: If the Nazarene is your man, why on Earth do you play for Mater Dei?

Matt: Mater Dei is as far removed from God as Gomorrah. It openly protects statutory rapists who help its athletic programs win. School administrators consistently try to brush aside its cover-up-plagued past. More importantly, your home base is Costa Mesa's Rock Harbor Church—aren't you evangelical types supposed to hate us Papists? We kid, but only on the last point. Seriously, Matt: Jesus doesn't take kindly to people who attend or support modern-day Mater Dei—and if you don't believe me, just ask the Virgin Mary. If you insist on athletic glory—and what kind of devout Christian seeks that?—drop out and attend Servite High: at least that school hasn't tolerated boy buggerers since the 1970s.

Super Bowl weekend ... no better time to acknowledge the ultimate, all-time, over-the-top act of devotion to one's team.

Oakland Raider hardcore sociopaths with their frothing-at-the-mouth, kick-the-crap-out-of-the-visiting-fans rabidity? Not even close. Green Bay/Minnesota/any cold-weather-team supporters stripped to the waist, or bikinis, at 20 below? Rank amateurs. Tattooed facially with team colors, attended every home game since 1973 and named his kids (girls included) after the one championship-year starting defensive line? Paltry.

(Warning: The following true story is NOT for the fainthearted - and WILL make every male reading it wince.)

By law, I'm not allowed to say anything nice about the University of Southern California--I'm a UCLA grad (fire Dorrell!), and many of the lords of Orange County (from Theo Lacy to John Wayne to Mike Schroeder) attended Troy. But I always liked current Trojans quarterback Mark Sanchez, not just because he's an OC guy, but mostly because he and his Mission Viejo High Diablos took the local prep spotlight away from the pedophile protectors at Mater Dei and Santa Margarita High for a couple of years. The fact that his last name is Hispanic meant nothing to me: I figured he was a half-breed of some sort, someone far removed from his Latino roots. Besides, quarterbacking while Mexican means nothing to Latinos if you can't guide your team to victory. That's why Jim Plunkett, Tony Romo, and Joe Kapp are always mentioned in a recap of great Latino quarterbacks, while Tom Flores tends to get cited more for his coaching days.

So imagine my absolute glee when KSPN-710 reporter Beto Duran clued me into a brewing controversy involving Sanchez and his mouthpiece. Seems that while leading USC's 38-0 victory last Saturday over Notre Dame (I'm a subway alum, yet another reason I despise 'SC), Sanchez wore a mouthpiece decorated in the colors of the Mexican flag, down to the eagle clutching a snake while perching on a cactus. Apparently, it was a joke between Sanchez and USC's dentist, a Cuban named Dr. Rojas. Apparently, people aren't pleased with Sanchez's chiste. Crazy non-sequitur racist rant after the jump:

For those who missed the action Saturday night at UFC 75, Irvine's Quinton "Rampage" Jackson defeated Dan Henderson to retain his Light Heavyweight Championship. Jackson won by unanimous decision after a tough fight that went the distance.

Jackson's trainer, Lake Forest's Juanito Ibarra, must be extremely happy, not only with Jackson's performance, but also with all of his fighters. Frenchman Cheick Kongo delivered a stunning upset over the highly favored Croatian Mirko "Cro Cop" Filipović.

The U.K.'s Michael "the Count" Bisping – who also trained with Jackson and Kongo in Big Bear, defeated rival Matt Hamill in a controversial split decision. Anyone who saw that fight could reasonably deduce that Hamill – who controlled most of the fight and inflicted the most damage – was robbed.

Rampage Jackson also won the quote of the night with this post fight remark about Henderson:

I knew he was tough, but I never knew he would beat up my fist with his face. Man, my fists hurt right now.

Our favorite OC boxer, Ronny Rios, came home this week after a decisive and controversial loss at the Olympic trials in Houston. The potent, artful boxer says he's ready to refocus, turning his sights to his pro career and to finishing out his senior year in high school. "It's time to move on," he says.

Ronny created such a stir this year when he nabbed both the prestigious National Golden Gloves and U.S. Championships title belts, and then headed to the Olympic team trials, that the Santa Ana City Council will issue a proclamation next Tuesday Sept. 4 declaring the date, rumor has it, "Ronny Rios Day" (See "Ronny," August 2).

He's come home to a lot of new hometown fans who plan to follow his pro career, including us. Go Ronny. We love you. (See slideshow).

High school football season is upon us, and there is no better time to remind prep stars about the textbook that is Todd Marinovich. The former Mater Dei and Capistrano Valley quarterback still owns the record for the most career passing yards in Orange County history, a feat more astounding considering it's the longest standing major record in OC prep football. USC signed him in the early 1990s, and Marinovich promptly won a Rose Bowl as a freshman. But the phenom fanned out in the NFL, due largely to drug abuse and general stupidity--there's a reason he's called Marijuanavich in some circles.

Now, word comes that Marinovich is facing drug charges yet again after Newport Beach police caught him with methamphetamine. That's not the biggest crime, however: according to the Los Angeles Times report, officers initially stopped Marinovich because he was skateboarding on the Newport Beach pier boardwalk. At 1:15 in the morning. C'mon, cops: don't you have more important folks to hassle than a beach bum skating in the morn?!

The premise was as simple as it's hackneyed: in anticipation of a mega-baseball series, writers from each city would trash the other team. At least that's what I proposed to Mike Seely, managing editor for our brother paper to the north, Seattle Weekly, because your Anaheim Angels and his Seattle Mariners start a three-game series tonight in the Emerald City.

But Seely couldn't do it: see, he *hearts* the Angels. And my journalistic knives weren't exactly sharp for slicing, either, as Mariners outfielder Ichiro Suzuki is the best hitter since Wee Willie Keeler. The following debate, then, will either earn Seely and I the enmity of our respective baseball tribes or serve as a guidebook in diplomacy for the Israel-Palestine conflict.

The lovefest after the jump:

As of today, it’s only 85 days until college basketball starts…not that anyone is counting, ahem. But in case you are, rejoice! The inaugural Anaheim Classic college basketball tournament is set for November 22, 23, and 25 of this year.

Twelve games of bracketed, idiosyncratic collegiate ball will be hosted by the Anaheim Convention Center, with eight teams from all over the country. University of California, Irvine will be the sole Big West representative; CSU Fullerton is set for next year, and Long Beach State in 2009.

Could this be the beginning of an NCAA tradition? Will the Convention Center become the OC Palestra? Will the spirit of collegiate competition finally have a presence in this otherwise basketball-barren wasteland? Considering the attendance at the Big West championship tournaments for the last few years, I doubt it. But for those of us who have countdown widgets for the NCAA opener, this should be fun. More info here.

The National Association of Collegiate Directors of Athletics released the final standings of their annual Directors’ Cup today, with three Greater Orange County universities making the top 100.

UC Irvine topped the OC representatives at 56th, followed by CSUs Fullerton and Long Beach at 79th and 91st, respectively. Stanford finished first, capturing its 13th straight title (seriously, Stanford, take it down a notch, okay?).

Universities are awarded points based on how many sports are fielded in national post-season events and how well they do. The scoring system is easy to follow. Here’s an excerpt of the Directors’ policy:

If three teams tied for 30th place in a 64-team event, the average of the points given to places 30-32 (44 pts., 43 pts., 42 pts.) will be given to all three teams. In this case, each team would receive 43 pts. ((44+43+42)/3=43).”

See? Simple. Anyway, local schools have three in the top bracket of Division I rankings, so it’s been a good year. Cheers and congratulations.

Gracias to the many people who submitted entries to our "Win Gustavo's Anaheim Ducks Season Tickets" contest. All of them were great 25-words-or-less arguments on why a hockey team should be named after ducks; some examples included bawdy limericks, testaments to a duck's loyalty, even a case where a duck was apparently kept in a refrigerator for two days and lived.

The winner, however, didn't even talk about Ducks at all. Thomas Dickan's response is beautiful in its simplicity and...eh, read it for yourself below! And if you don't agree, vent your anger in the comments section!

THE WINNER

Canucks,
Canadiens,
Predators,
Devils,
Rangers,
Flyers,
Islanders,
Kings,
Lightning,
Hurricanes,
Flames,
Capitals,
Senators,
Coyotes,
Blackhawks,
Sharks,
Bruins,
Thrashers,
Panthers,
Penguins,
Ducks, why the hell not?

My alma mater (at least for the MA) shocked USC, 13-9, a great joy for all of us who despise the lords of Orange County. Click over to OC Blog, where you can find a comprehensive list of these terrible Trojans (my boss and courageous Catholic lawyer John Manly excepted). Also remember that South Coast Plaza hosts a Trojans memorabilia store. Us UCLA grads? We get to revel in the upset of the millenium.

Mater Dei High is a haven for cover-ups (see our Ex Cathedra archives), but none are lamer than the one attempted by head football coach Bruce Rollinson in today's typical OC Register Mater Dei blowjob. Register sports writer Carlos Arias (who is a great boxing writer--too bad nobody sees the sport anymore) begins the piece by telling readers the Monarchs' offensive line is known as the "War Pigs," then asks Rollinson where he got the nickname. "He doesn't remember where they got the name, but the label fits because they do all the dirty, thankless work in the trenches," Arias reports. Either Rollinson is feigning stupidity, or the man is stupid. "War Pigs," of course, is the famous tune by heavy metal overlords Black Sabbath, and it's ironic Rollinson named his boys that phrase for two reasons--firstly, 'cause Black Sabbath was always accused of Satanism, and Mater Dei is a Catholic high school. More hilariously, however, Black Sabbath wrote "War Pigs" in protest of the Vietnam War, and Mater Dei doesn't take kindly to anti-war efforts. How long until Mater Dei officials reprimand Rollinson for embracing Satan and hippies? Don't hold your breath--the football team is 5-0 heading into tonight's game against their comrades in boy-buggering, Santa Margarita High.

One of baseball's great diversions is the Milwaukee Brewers' Sausage Race, where folks dressed in costumes that look like a bratwurst, kielbasa, Italian sausage and hot dog race each other after the sixth inning. It's really the only reason to visit Miller Park--well, that and the guy who slides into a beer glass after every home run--since the Brewers haven't finished over the .500 mark in 14 years. The sausage race is also the Brewers' homage to the various ethnic Europeans that made Milwaukee a socialist bastion for half a century. Now, the Brewers have announced Mexicans can play, too. "El Picante," a guy in a chorizo suit will run tomorrow, then head back to Mexico until the 2007 season. He's baseball's third Latino mascot, after the San Diego Padre's Swinging Friar and your Anaheim Angels' Arte Moreno bobblehead.

In 1969, the Argonaut carried the youngest crew in history to victory in the Transpacific Yacht Race. In next year's race, Disney aims to change history. Through the Morning Light Project and Pacific High Productions, Disney has a threefold mission: 1) assemble the youngest, most diverse team the race has ever seen; 2) train them to race a TP-52 (last year it raced as Pegasus, this year it's likely to be called Morning Light), and 3) film the whole shebang, then throw it up on the old silver (or even IMAX) screen. The object: to bring TransPac to the world.

Cool, right? So they took 538 applicants from around the world, then pared them down to 30. After trials in August, they'll take the final 15 and put them on the boat. My little brother (chronologically speaking—physically, he's actually much bigger than me) Graham Brant-Zawadzki just so happens to be among this final 30, but I figured the story wouldn't really pop unless he made the final 15. Graham's a sophomore at Stanford University studying human biology, but he likes himself some water sports on the side.

Apparently Jeff Miller at the Register disagrees with me. He thinks it's hot now; in fact, he took it upon himself to interview both my brother and another local finalist, Robert (Max) Moosmann, earlier this week. I don't know if he likes that there's two locals in the finals or what, but I'll be god-damned if I let the Reg beat me to a scoop on my own little brother. So here.

OC Weekly: So when did you first start seriously sailing? Graham: Two years ago; my sophomore year at school.

Wait, you just finished your junior year? Yeah.

Shit. I'm behind the times. Anyway, what'd you do before that? I rowed competitively in high school for five years, and one for freshman year in college as well.

How good is the Stanford Sailing Team comparitively? They're great – we're a pretty competitive team. We do well. This year our women's team took 4^th at Nationals. Our men's team did well too; we finished in the top ten at team racing. It was awesome.

So what the hell made you think you could get on the Stanford Sailing Team with practically no sailing experience? All my friends on the team were really supportive about it. No one was expecting me to become a huge asset to the team or anything, but it's fun to be able to sail with great sailors like them who are so understanding and nice.

ARE you a huge asset to the team? I don't consider myself so. Hopefully I don't drag them down too much.

So with two years' practical sailing experience, what made you want to try out for the Morning Light Project? Obviously I really wanted to apply but I wasn't going to because I didn't think I had anywhere near a chance to get in, especially because of my lack of experience. But a couple of friends told me I should apply anyway; the program wasn't just about getting the best boat. They wanted to have a range.

The Project is trying to get the youngest team in TRANSPAC history. Do you think your age, at 21, will hurt your chances? I don't think it will necessarily help me, but it definitely won't hurt. If I were any older, it would have been a problem. The younger you are the better, so it's good that I'm under the necessary age to make the average.

I'm just trying to decide if I should say anything bad about Moosmann. No, don't. He's a really nice guy. It's good that he's 18 because he's got a lot of experience and he's young. For example, they could take someone who's a really good sailor and young, and that would allow them to take someone who is a good candidate but might otherwise have been too old. That way the average age still stays down.

They're taking 30 kids from around the world—do you really think they'll take two guys from Newport Beach? Thinking about it practically, probably not—which is kind of scary because Max is definitely a much more qualified sailor. I'd rather not think about it. Besides, I like to think that now I live in San Francisco instead of Newport Beach.

Ain't nothin' like a Saturday spent on Huntington Beach watching surfers compete with actors and singers to see who ... actually, nah, just to rip shit up, check out fembot-lookin' fan girls and have good times at the 2nd Annual Surfrider Foundation Celebrity Surf Jam. And good times were had.

A group of people told Minnie Driver to smack me with her surfboard so I would get out of her way (everyone on the beach was shouting, how was I supposed to know the people nearby happened to be shouting at me?). Sorry, Minnie. Some gorgeous brunette Kate Hudson type made doe eyes at me once or twice. It made me want to be a better man. I was busy trying to figure out a decent approach when I looked behind me. There stood Brandon Boyd of Incubus fame. Enjoy Incubus. I dediced the girl probably wasn't checking me out.

The ladies lined up for photos with Rob Machado after a productive session at Rob's Peak.

As Peter DiStefano (Porno for Pyros among others) strolled into the VIP area, a Surfrider volunteer stopped him; "I loved your last album." This as he also racks up big points in this lark of a surf competition - how often do you bump into such multitalented guys? Oh, there's Brandon Boyd again. Serious lady-meat.

The girl with the Ignition TV-shirt is scathingly hot, and one of the very few females on the beach who doesn't seem star-struck by Incubi.

Surfer babies are indescribably, mind-numbingly cute. They're totes adobie.

Thanks to Kim Peterson of Surfrider for helping me find my way around and that three-quarters of a Rubio's fish taco that quite possibly saved my life. And to Minnie Driver for not actually smashing her board into the small of my back.

Last night, Anaheim was home to both The Happiest Place on Earth™ and a little corner of Mudville, where there is no joy, because last night in Anaheim, Team USA was eliminated from the World Baseball Classic. Mexico beat the major leaguers representing United States, 2-1. Only four teams now remain in the tournament: Japan, South Korea, the Dominican Republic, and Cuba.

This raises an interesting question: If the US All-Star team, made up of players whose combined annual salaries rival the Gross National Product of some of the other countries in the tournament, can't even make the finals of World Baseball Classic, what does this mean for the World Series? Every year the World Series is played between two US teams (except in 1992 and '93, when winning the World Series was outsourced to the Toronto Blue Jays), and the winner is declared "World Champion". But if the United States can't make the final four in an international competition, and, worse, can only field the third best team from North America (Canada beat Team USA, too), how can we boast of having the World Champion team? Fortunately, the site of the US defeat contains the answer. A very OC answer.

Thanks to Arte Moreno and his Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, Major League Baseball now knows the magic of the prepositional phrase-- that "of Anaheim" was powerful enough to win a lawsuit-- and it's a prepositional phrase which will allow the US to save face. From now on, the World Series should be know as the World Series of the United States. And the series victor will be the World Champion of the United States. So, if Angels ever win the series again, they would be the World Champion of the United States Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. A little wordy, I admit. And it would probably only look good on an XXL t-shirt-- but thanks to America's obesity crisis, all XXL is where t-shirt industry is headed anyway.

If having to qualify the World Champion status of US baseball teams gets you down, and makes chanting "We're Number 1! We're Number 1!" seem unappealing, just remember the words of Spiro Agnew, Richard Nixon's first vice president. "The United States, for all its faults," said the only vice president ever to plead No Contest to bribery charges, "is still the greatest nation in the country." Truer words were never spoken.

It's almost Valentine's Day, so it's only natural that dysfunctional relationships, crushed hopes, and the reek of squandered affection are in the air. What's a little less natural is that they are also in the sports pages. But when it comes Angel's owner Arte Moreno and Anaheim, you'd expect nothing less.

Like a classic bad boyfriend, Moreno has, over the years, made the occasionally gesture– lowering beer prices, spending money to buy star players– that makes his Significant Other thinks he really cares, before he starts demeaning and degrading the SO by dragging someone else into the relationship. In this case the someone else is Los Angeles, and on Thursday it took a jury only 4 hours to decide that Arte has every right to call his team, the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.

Anaheim had sued Moreno over the name change (in an attempt "to make sure our identity of Orange County and Anaheim [would] be preserved", according to Anaheim mayor Curt Pringle), but the jury found that all the Angel's stadium lease requires is that the team's name somehow include the word "Anaheim". So presumably, Moreno could legally change the name of the team to the Los Angeles Angels who are stuck in that Third-Rate, Disney-infested corner of Purgatory called Anaheim. Of course, it would be hard to fit that on a ball cap, so for the moment, the team will stick with the LAAoA.

But since it is almost Valentine's Day, let's follow tradition, and try to paper over the hurt feelings and humiliation with a little poetry. Hallmark doesn't make a card for something like this, but fortunately, exactly the right sentiment for the occasion can be found in the work of Stephen Crane. (When it comes to professional sports, it's always good to look to a author who wrote about prostitution– since in both prostitution and pro sports, the bulk of the money goes to some bastard who isn't putting his body on the line.) So for Anaheim and Arte this Valentine's Day, Stephen Crane's poem "A Man Said to the Universe":

A man said to the universe:
"Sir I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."