Horse Balls Dropped

That's a nice first half you put up Derek Anderson, with the benefit of a couple of short fields. How did you nurse that 12-point halftime lead? Going three of 12 until the final drive of the game, one-hopping and overthrowing your receivers when the Steelers didn't sack you once? Did the Browns return unit outgain its offense by 50 yards? I think so.

Roethlisberger has 22 TDs and seven picks, despite having a mediocre offensive line that makes him run for his life. But, yeah, he's totally an overrated game manager.

Give the retard his due. Or at least something shiny.

Bill Simmons Has Graduated From Retard to the Urtard

Since early this season, I've tried valiantly to avoid Bill Simmons, he of the puffy jowls, the nasally voice and the inept game predictions. His work this season is an unremitting stream of recycled jokes and ramped up Patriots gloating that is devoid of reason or the faintest whiff of shame. Punter summed it up nicely in a recent e-mail thread, "He's gone from openly insightful (though somewhat dated) to a fact-bending homer."

This weekend, I had to spend Saturday night working the cops beat for the paper. This is okay because you get the occasional gem like this one: 6500 BLK, 12TH ST. MALE ATTACKED BY FAMILY DOG WHILE STABBING HIS WIFE. ANIMAL IS ON THE LOOSE IN THE AREA.

But it also involves long stretches of inactivity, with which I must fill with football-related reading. Running through enough of it (or churning up enough masochistic urges) I eventually got to Simmons' Friday picks column and came upon this stretch of mind-boggling retardery:

For instance, 0-6 Miami knows the '07 Pats could knock the '72 Dolphins out of the record books in three months. But what could they do to stop them? They're not beating them in a game. If they made a fishy trade to help out one of New England's rivals -- like, giving away Chris Chambers to San Diego for a late second-round pick, for example -- everyone would find it fishy and the league would crack down, because, after all, you're not supposed to cheat in the National Football League. They're helpless to stop it. In fantasy, fishy trades happen all the time and you can't stop them unless you have a commissioner who's stronger and more powerful than David Stern at his peak. Unfortunately, 98 percent of fantasy football leagues have a Gary Bettman type.

(Note: Thank God the NFL doesn't work like fantasy and San Diego couldn't steal Chambers away for a measly second-round pick simply because Miami wanted to take a dump on their fans, tank their season and preserve the legacy of the '72 Dolphins. Because that would suck.)

Put simply, this is the dumbest fucking thing I've read all year from any writer. Take a million supermikes writing on a million Etch-A-Sketches for a million years and you wouldn't come up with anything half as fucking asinine.

Really? We're supposed to believe a team like the Dolphins, a winless team obviously in need of unloading big money players for value while they still can in advance of overhauling their roster, is dumping their no. 1 receiver for no other reason than to fuck the Pats chances at an unbeaten season? Taking that logic, maybe they might have shipped him to a team that the Pats HAVEN'T ALREADY BEATEN! Why? To protect a 36-year-old record?

We're also to ignore the fact that Chris Chambers for a second-round pick isn't actually that lop-sided of a trade?

We may need another bounty.

KSK Mail: If we use “Ookie” they may sookie

In case you missed it, last week we rolled out KSK’s new “FREE OOKIE” shirts to recognize Ron Mexico’s contributions to Western Culture. We reluctantly agree with the fashionistas who say these shirts have revolutionized the casual apparel market as the world knows it. No big whoop. Then a few days later this showed up in our inbox:

Hello folks,

You are using the name Ookie for promotional items but must be unaware that my company has a registered trademark for that name. Therefore I am sorry but you should no longer use the name. I appreciate a response.
You can see our trademark Ookie at www.babyemporio.com

thank you,
Clasina Valkenberg
Baby Emporio

We checked it out and, sure enough, Baby Emporio sells little rag dolls for babies called “Ookies.” Twenty-six bucks plus shipping and handling for a knotted up diaper that my son wouldn’t wipe his ass with. If he could wipe his ass. Which he can’t.

Our first inclination was tell Clasina Valkenberg to go pound sand. Where the hell does Clasina Valkenberg get off telling us what we can and can’t sell? Plus we had serious doubts over any exclusiveness Clasina Valkenberg claims to have over the word “Ookie” since it appears in other places on the web. But then the shit hit the fan...

We learned from MSNBC’s Darren Rovell that the NFL has forbidden fans from purchasing Mike Vick jerseys with the name “Ookie” on the back. Ye gods, we thought, had Clasina Valkenberg got to Roger Goodell? Had the mysterious baby novelty cartel forced the world’s most powerful sports league to its knees? If the NFL couldn’t stand up to Baby Emporio, what shot did a renegade band of sports bloggers have? Internally, we debated the course of action we should take. At long last, we came to a decision.

Since Clasina Valkenberg requested our response, here it is-- drafted and vetted by a fleet of white-shoe attorneys, every single one a wily Jew:

We don’t give a rat’s ass if Clasina Valkenberg has a trademark on Ookie for her rag dolls. Trademark law was adopted so consumers can identify products from one another. Trademarks aren’t infinite in scope. Miller Brewery couldn’t stop you from selling Miller brand pencils, gum, nails etc. There is no likelihood of confusion between Clasina Valkenberg’s rag dolls and KSK’s shirt, which, incidentally, offer commentary on a wholly unrelated public news event.

[Note to any IP attorneys / smartass law students: I realize leaving out trademark dilution, free speech and other issues which may also figure in to any potential legal claims, but this is an NFL blog, We’ve already spent way to much time discussing legalities. No one wants to read boring shit like that on a Monday morning.]

So, in summary, we are changing nothing and Clasina Valkenberg can take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.

Dear Scottrade Helicopter Guy: F--k You

Dear Rodger Riney, aka the dude in the Scottrade helicopter ads that I’ve been forced to watch during every televised sporting event over the past eight months:

Fuck you.

I get it. You’re the CEO of the company and you like seeing yourself in your ads. Why, I bet you even own that helicopter! Awesome! You sure are powerful and influential! The stock photo above makes you look so in charge and proactive! Message taken. Now fucking crash and burn, you rich fuck. You look like Artie Pie in those ads and nothing you do will change that. So move over and let some new ad air repeatedly until I have been whipped into a manic froth. Your time is over.

If I see that fucking helicopter of yours in the sky over my house, I’m getting my potato gun and firing it at the rotating blades. Then I will squeal with pleasure as you spin round and round and plummet back to Earth, dead and toasted. Then, I’m gonna walk up to you and hit you with a brick. That’s how we do things in Montgomery County.

Oh, and your trade fee blows. I hate you to death. Fuck you in the pants.