Steelers squeak by Ravens in Monday Night Football OT; Game winning field goal slips inside uprights by less than the distance between Joe Flacco‘s eyebrows.

Mariano Rivera’s decision to have season ending shoulder surgery eased by the fact that the season has already ended.

Johan Santana named NL pitcher of the month; Also to be nominated for Sainthood for not systematically murdering each member of the Mets bullpen.

Marbury says he is ready to play somewhere and doesn’t care where it is… Lock your trucks and hide your interns!

Liberty fall to the Shock in bid to reach WNBA Finals; Rick Mahorn just glad he didn’t have to snuff anyone to defend the honor of the game.

SHEAme old story as Mets SHEAmeful performance closes stadium with fans uttering “SHEA it ain’t so“… New York newspaper headlines still rife with witty cleverness.

Favre sets personal records with 6 TD passes, 10 minutes of post game interview without weeping.

Mike Mussina hits 20 win mark for first time in his career; Hank Steinbrenner, shocked that having a 20-game winner does not earn an automatic bid for the playoffs, files for appeal with league office.

Despite Mets’ shortcomings, GM Omar Minaya will likely recommend hiring of manager Jerry Manuel for next year; Manuel’s heart specialist will likely recommend the Mets shore up bullpen issues if they plan to have Manuel survive entire season.

Former players, legions of loyal concession stand vermin honored at Shea Stadium closing ceremonies.

We hate Philadelphia. We’ve made no secret of that. And we think it’s hilarious that someone in Citizen’s Bank Park thought hot dogs for the Phillie Phanatic’s cannon were suspicious packages, especially considering how the Phillie Phanatic obviously doubles as Philadelphia’s bomb squad.

In fact, we wish we were there for the detonation of the hot dogs that people thought were bombs. It must have stunk of beef and nitrates, and, as baseball fans, we’re programmed to love that smell. Plus, it’s got to be the best Philadelphia has ever smelled.

But the one thing that bothers us about the whole affair is that Philadelphia has a hot-dog cannon when the Mets have only a t-shirt cannon. Sure, Girls Gone Wild has shown the lengths people will go to for free t-shirts, but have you ever seen the t-shirts Mr. Met fires into the audience? They say Pepsi Party Patrol on them, because that’s exactly the crew you want to be repping when you put your free t-shirt on and hit the streets. Plus they’re paper thin, so your nipples and (if applicable) chest hair are totally exposed. And people jockey for those t-shirts like they’re woven from gold.

With the destruction of Shea Stadium should come the dismantling of the t-shirt cannon. In its place, Mr. Met should hold the world’s greatest and most powerful hot-dog cannon. Because hot dogs, unlike crappy t-shirts, have real, tactile, wonderful value. Delicious value.

We were going to finish this post with a staggeringly genius conclusion about how hot-dog cannons somehow embody all that’s awesome about our society, but that will have to wait until after we go get a hot dog.

Beltran keeps Mets’ heads above water; Team joins in group prayer that Dale Sveum isn’t electing to just start CC Sabathia for all remaining games.

Pavano exits early once again in Yanks loss; Model of consistency expecting Mike Hampton-esque contract next year.

Allan Houston making a comeback for the Knicks; Hoping to somehow be even more one dimensional than the first time around.

Beavers overcome Trojans in huge upset; Implications on prophylactic industry abound.

Lil’ Wayne’s admission of loving tennis concludes short-lived blogging, and rap career.

The Mets were the victims of a huge loss last night, falling 9-6 to the Cubs in extra innings and putting them into a tie for the National League wild card.  The loss was extra tough to swallow thanks to the fact that the Mets failed to put the nail in the Cubs by leaving a man on 3rd base with no outs on 3 separate occasions.  They did however, make some impressive progress on driving a nail into the coffin of their playoff hopes.

Bobby Abreu’s grand slam put the Yankees ahead to stay, giving them a 6-2 win over the Blue Jays in 10 innings.  The Bombers earned what has been a rare win in a start with A.J. Burnett on the mound, although they are hoping to extend that streak infinitely further when Burnett is in pinstripes next season.

Marbury not released just yet, will be in Knicks camp next week; “We need someone to occupy that ridiculously annoying intern,” says team prez Walsh.

Burress suspended after unexcused absence from team practice; Giants worried agent Drew Rosenhaus may be making play for second contract extension of the year.

The Mets won for the first time in four games last night, maintaining their 1-game lead in the Wild Card race with a 6-2 win over the Cubs.  After throwing an unusually high 125 pitches in the victory, ace Johan Santana said he had no problem going all or nothing in this, the final year of his career.

The Yankees stayed hot with a another big win beating the Blue Jays 4-2 last night, but were officially eliminated from playoff contention thanks to a Red Sox victory over the Indians.  The Bombers did find some solace however, in the fact that the Cleveland loss was due in large part to a freakish swarming bug attack.

Mets GM Omar Minaya was reassured of the team’s trust in him when he was told he’d receive a four-year extension yesterday.  The team did ask however, that from now on Minaya look more closely at a player’s career history and stats when making an acquisition, rather than basing his offer solely on how Hispanic the player’s name sounds (*cough* Luis Castillo *cough*).

Favre’s X-rays reveal his bones are made of indestructible, 100% gunslinging moxie; quarterback will make scheduled start Sunday.

Clemens devastated by non-inclusion in Yankee Stadium ceremonies; intent on figuring out whether HGH can speed up the healing process of a broken heart.

We’re not talking about the Mets today. Too traumatic. There’s all sorts of nasty things to say about the Amazins, but we’re all out of jokes.

The Jets, though? Ripe for comedy. That’s because the Jets are quickly becoming the joke that they seemingly always are, even though everyone thought Great Big Brett Favre would somehow make the team “relevant,” whatever that means. Is a team relevant if it’s led to an 8-8 record by a Hall of Fame quarterback? Is a team relevant if its defense can’t get out of its own way, if it’s high-priced offseason additions are pulling lame and pulling up bad?

The Jets only have two types of seasons: Mediocre and bad. Sure, they could end up 9-7 or 8-8 and squeak into the playoffs, only to lose to some barely superior team and get that 15th overall pick they covet. Or they could go 4-12 and get the third overall pick, which they’ll blow on someone who stinks.

Of course, we’ve counted out Fav-ruh before and he’s come back to bite us. And since we’re big Jets fans and big Favre haters, it would only be fitting that Favre would lead the Jets to a championship this season so the one time our team wins in our lifetime the quarterback is some old dude we can’t stand.

Still, until that happens, we’re going to revel in Favre obviously wishing he stayed retired.

One-time Mets pitching prospect and incipient “D-minus” actor Joseph Petcka (allegedly) recently manifested his professional angst in a most dramatic fashion, Michael Vicking his girlfriend’s cat in a fit of rage. Petka is now on trial for the crime and is being correspondingly savaged by prosecutor Leila Kermani, who told jurors that the “washed-up, never-made-it-to-the-big-leagues athlete” has “zero income and no prospects.”

Clearly, Kermani never saw Petka’s inspired work on “Sex and the City,” on “Early Edition,” or in a paper towel commercial. She probably hasn’t seen the Mets bullpen lately, either.

Listen: We know Yankee Stadium is a memorial to all that is great in baseball of time gone by. And that’s fantastic, really. But last night’s ESPN-ification of an event that absolutely everyone knew was coming — and during a meaningless game, no less — made us sick.

It felt like the Yankees were leaving the Bronx entirely, or Major League Baseball was finally closing its doors and there’d be no baseball anymore. But neither of those things are happening. The Yankees decided to leave the Stadium for a newer, nicer stadium with more luxury boxes for corporate sponsors. No one forced them out of Yankee Stadium. So let’s hold back the tearful goodbyes.

Besides, anyone who knows anything knows that the Stadium hasn’t been the Stadium since it was renovated in the early 70s. What we fawned all over last night was a pre-disco era restoration and renovation of the Stadium that hosted Ruth, Gehrig and Mantle. We waved goodbye only to the home of the great late-70s teams and great late-90s teams.
And incidentally, most of the members of those great late-90s teams are still playing for the Yankees, aging before our eyes yet getting long-term contracts, creating a logjam of first basemen that will hinder the Bombers for their first several years in the new digs. The new digs, which, by the way, will be more comfortable and fan-friendly and everything than the old ones, which we’re still wailing over.