Word Association

Santana - The acquisition that made this Met fan feel like after months of agonizing cervical herniations, his neck had been snapped clean by a chiropractor. I can't stop that (Carlos) Santana song, "Winning" from playing in my head.



Winning - Looks like Huckabee won Kansas.



Kansas - I forget whether it's still against the law to teach evolution there. If you answer "false" on an exam there to a true or false question, "Is the Earth less than 6,000 years old", do you fail?



Fail - I think there's a picture of Isiah Thomas next to the dictionary definition of the word, no?



Dictionary - What the President calls a speech instructor.



Instructor - What McNamee served as for Mrs. Clemens (allegedly) so she could pose for Sports Illustrated. I assume Rog did the honors to her posterior to protect marital sanctity.



Sanctity - Now that Romney's out, does he still think that there's a sanctity of life? Or does he think what he thought before he opened his first focus group?



Focus - the Mets sign Santana, and within 48 hours there's a youtube video about Pedro Martinez officiating at a cockfight at least two years ago, where that activity is perfectly legal. I mean, can we focus?



Cockfights - Some people are outraged that a foreign country allows this sort of thing. I assume that means they all don't hunt and staple moose and bear heads to their den walls, and no doubt it means they refuse to visit Spain because it has bullfighting.



Bullfighting - One of my favorite jokes:



A Texan, on vacation in Spain, goes to a bullfight. Near the end of the bullfight, drained because he bought the cheap ticket forcing him to sit in the sun, leaves the bullring as the crowd roars while the matador is nearing the kill. He walks to the restaurant across the street. The maitre d' greets him with a wide smile:



"Senor! Congratulations! You are our first customer today! That means you win the 'Matador Special', our house delicacy!!!"



"Uh, Matador what? Naw, I just want a nice juicy steak and some sangria," replies the Texan.



The maitre d' wags his finger in disapproval. "No, no, Senor! You have not been to Spain unless you have had this marvelous opportunity to feast your taste buds on our famous Matador Special."



Weakly, the Texan agrees. In a few minutes, with flamenco guitars and maraccas in tow, the "Matador Special" is wheeled out to his table. He stares down in disbelief. He has never seen such a dish. Suspiciously, he cuts a tiny slice and takes a nibble. Then a full piece. He is in heaven - this is better than any steak back home in Dallas. He hogs the remainder down in no time. The natives "ole" and cheer at the sight of this new-found foreign convert.



"Mister," the speechless tourist implores the maitre d'. "You gotta tell me what that was! Delicious! Best meal I've had in my life! What is the 'Matador Special'?"



"Senor, the 'Matador Special' is the testicles of the bull who was just killed in today's fight!"



The pedestrian shock is not enough to stop the Texan from changing his plans. He cancels his return flight and stays for the rest of bullfighting season, always making himself first to go to the restaurant when the fight is over. For the next three weeks, he feasts on a daily helping of the 'Matador Special', savoring it more and more with every bite.



Then one day, the tourist walks into the restaurant. The wait staff, normally full of smiles and enthusiasm, has long faces and shake their heads.



"What's wrong with y'all"? demands the Texan. "You know, giddy up - get me mah table and fix me mah 'Matador Special'."



"Er, Senor," replies the desperate maitre d'. "We have an excellent fresh paella today..."



"DON'T GET MAH DANDER UP!", growls the angry Texan, grabbing his erstwhile Spanish friend by the sleeves. "GET ME MAH MATADOR SPECIAL...NOW!"



Reluctantly, the maitre d' nods and instructs the staff. Several minutes later (without guitars and maraccas) the dish is wheeled out. On the plate is an item about one-tenth the size of what the Texan had been feasting on for three weeks straight.

"NOW WHAT HERE IS THIS??" screams the Texan to the still-subdued staff, now almost foaming in the mouth. "I can barely see this!! You call this the 'Matador Special'???!!"

"Senor," says the maitre d', shrugging his shoulders. "The Matador cannot win every fight."

The Brahmin