KSK Top Secret Playoff Scouting Report Bukkake - Eagles vs. Giants

It's playoff time, so we at KSK asked a high-ranking NFL scout to analyze the playoff matchups. This man was offered anonymity in exchange for his complete and utter candor. In this post, he analyzes the Eagles-Giants game:

"The way to defend Jeff Garcia is to blitz him hard, then lay off, then blitz him hard again, then lay off, then blitz him really hard again, then lay off, then release all your men and flood the pocket. By then, he should be exhausted... Tiki Barber was brilliant versus the Redskins, but that was because the game was on NFL Network. If people had been actually watching, that asshole would have sprinted for the nearest teleprompter. What a douche... Eli Manning just doesn't look comfortable out there. I heard him walking off the field two weeks ago muttering something about working on his serve... Plaxico Burress is full to the brim with pussy juice...

Dude, have seen the cock on Darwin Walker? Good fucking Lord. You could hang Saddam Hussein with that thing and have enough left over to dock a battleship... LJ Smith is black, but I think there's a lot of white diluting that blood. He's lighter than Debbie Allen. I bet he dug Taylor Hicks' Orange Bowl halftime show... I'd totally bang AJ Feeley's wife. She's the one that plays soccer, right? Some of those chicks are dogs like Brandi Chastain, but she's definitely worth a dedication jerk... I've studied tapes of Michael Strahan's ex-wife's sister. Total whore...

We usually taunt Chris Snee by telling him that he's the only Giant that will have to deal with Coughlin for fucking life. You should see how pissy it makes him... I think Dhani Jones painted his toenails once. I'm sorry, but that's fucking gay... If you make fun of Bill Simmons enough, he gets all paranoid and bitchy. Is that slanderous enough for you, Mr. Cellophane Skin?... You know who makes a great cassoulet? Will Demps... If you send a Chinese hooker to Sheldon Brown's suite 16 hours prior to game time, he'll usually shoot his load both literally and figuratively.

Oh, and I like the Eagles by two touchdowns."

Now THAT is some good analysis. Suck it, Salisbury.

Beyond the Sea*: The Hater's Guide to the Postseason

* Because the Seahawks are Kevin Spacey gay.

If, like myself, you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Ok, well, lust probably won't do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is one in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.


NFC 4th seed -- Seattle Seahawks (9-7)

There's not a team in the playoffs this year that I'll be watching more attentively than the Seahawks, only because I plan to spend the next five weeks watching my Super Bowl XL DVD on loop. It never gets old. Can I get Fake Toss 39 X-Reverse Pass tattooed somewhere on my person?

Despite hobbling into the playoffs with a 1-3 record, including losses to the Buzzsaw and the 49ers (I savor none of it, really I don't), I actually like the Seahawks chances in the NFC. In the opening round they draw the only coach Holmgren has managed to outsmart in a Super Bowl. Who can blame him for falling to a master criminal and a dribbling retiree? Having won that, a few errant discharges of the Sex Cannon to whoever fills in for Kelly Herndon (let's just hope they don't have to try to tackle anyone - though taking people down is one thing Jerramy Stevens gets right) and the C-Hox could find themselves in a conference title game against a Saints team drowning in self-satisfaction.

Say what you will about an ownership change, I credit the Seahawks recent era of good feelings to having the good sense a few years years ago to upgrade their logo from Slightly Displeased Bird to Ornery Bird With Ugly Dark Plumage. The former always bore that Flintstones animal appliance look, with its meek "It's a living" shrug. Look at the articulation of that brow on the new one. Fearsome.

And look on the bright side - by beating Dallas you're keeping them from being the first team to six SB titles (like they'd get it anyway), and really, that's all I care about. See, everybody wins! Best of luck, shitbirds.

Eat, Drink, Man, Boob: The Hater's Guide to the Postseason

If, like myself, you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Ok, well, lust probably won't do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is one in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.

AFC 5th seed -- New York Jets (10-6)

And so, the weak yearling suckles at the teat of a beneficent and generous schedule maker, even rolling off a surprise win over the Patriots and notching another victory over the Titans that without context (pre-Vince Young) looks halfway impressive, and grows into a mighty Mangiant.

Honestly, seriously, comtemptuously, I can't recall a 10-win team as wholly unremarkable and unimpressive as these Jets, and not only because I watched less than fives minutes of any of their games this season.

HEY EVERYBODY! THESE GUYS ARE PHONIES! BIG FAT PHONIES!

That's not the reason to hate this team. Unworthiness isn't just the domain of the NFC. It's more the predictable media storylines that we fear if they win: a team so lacking in storylines - Curtis Martin retires! A fait accompli years ago - its a storyline in and of itself. The Cotchery is a nice touch (or is that the bad touch?) but otherwise, we're not working with much here. This team of semistars with a prodigy coach has risen, grown, given a free pass to the playoffs and now, with a chance to prove themselves on centerstage in Foxboro, they...shit the bed? Steal another from the Pats before being destroyed by the Chargers or Ravens? Bore me to tears?

Ah, fuggit, your big tits don't compensate for your paucity of personality.

Yes, that's right, I write things I would never say.

Miami firefighters called to scene as Nick Saban's trousers burst into flames

Notorious lies:

• "The British Government has learned that Saddam Hussein recently sought significant quantities of uranium from Africa." - Geo. W. Bush
  

• "I did not have sex with that woman, Miss Lewinsky." - Bill Clinton
  

• "Don't worry baby, it's only a cold sore." - Monday Morning Punter

Now we can add this whopper to this list:

"I'm not going to be the Alabama coach." - Nick Saban

That's right kids, Saban is going to Bama, all the while hoping he has a Pete Carroll-esque reputation rehab in his future. He sorely needs one because right now he looks like a liar, quitter-- and a loser to boot. Have fun jumping every time one of those fat redneck Bama boosters says so. Rammer jammer yellow hammer and all that.

Sabes sez:
Gonna raise me an army, some tough sons of bitches
I'll recruit my army from the orphan-itches

Many KSK readers in South Florida have reported seeing flames in the sky over Key Biscayne; we can confirm this is Saban burning his NFL bridges.

Now the Fish need a new coach. Dolphins owner Wayne Huizenga may have gotten some ideas while watching last night's Orange Bowl. I've got some friendly advice for Wayne Huizenga: Don't come to Louisville, Blockbuster Boy-- your ghetto pass is hereby revoked. Don't call anyone in the 502. Make other plans for the Derby. You stick to that, Wayne, and everything else is cream cheese.

No freakin' Deacon is taking these oranges.

Ask Tony Dungy!

From time to time, KSK has reeled in big-name NFL players and analysts to answer questions from fans the world over. We had Mark Schlereth, and, of course, Yukon Cornelius. Well today, we have a very special guest here with us. It's Tony Dungy, head coach of the Indianapolis Colts and a man regarded as one of the nicest people in all of football, a true gentleman of the sport. Through both personal and professional turmoil, Tony Dungy has remained a rock of poise and grace. He is unflappable. Nothing can... uh... flap him. And did it ever show in our Q&A session. Onto your questions!

Bob T., Indianapolis: Coach, I just wondering how you planned to address the run def... HOLY SHIT! WE HAVE TO PLAY AGAINST FUCKING LJ?! SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT! OH MY GOD, WE'RE FUCKED!

Tony Dungy: Well, Bob, I understand your concern. But we really do think we've made some improvements. If we can just bear down and play our game, I think we should be fine.

Mary J., Indianapolis: How the fuck can you say that?! Ron Dayne just had a record day against us! My God, man! Ron Dayne only runs fast if someone's dangling a bucket of popcorn shrimp in front of him!

Tony Dungy: Again, we're not going to panic in this sort of situation.

Roy K., Indianapolis: Dude, our d-line consists of Nicole Richie, Kate Bosworth, Mary-Kate Olsen, and Keira fucking Knightley. What the fuck do we do? My God! It's Larry Johnson! He's not like Christian Okoye. He's actually fucking good! GAAHHHHHHH!!!!!

Tony Dungy: Well, we get Bob Sanders back for us this week. He's been a big playmaker for us, and I expect him to give us a little bit of a boost on our run support.

Frank R., Indianapolis: Coach, I'm with you. You can't let a string of bad games get you running around like a chicken with its head cu... OH MY GOD, MY DAUGHTER JUST STABBED ME! AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! MY DAUGHTER! MY ONLY DAUGHTER HAS BETRAYED ME AND BURIED A BUTCHER KNIFE INTO MY SIDE! I AM BLEEDING PROFUSELY! IT FEELS WARM AND GUSHY! WHY, MY CHILD?! MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD! I NEED HELP! PLEASE SOMEONE, CALL A DOCTOR!

Tony Dungy: Again, this is not a time to make rash decisions.

Shannon B., Indianapolis: Coach, my father chained my mother to a radiator and beat her death. I've moved to another county and called the police, but they seem indifferent to my situation. I think he really wants to hurt me. He said if he ever found me, he'd seal me in the drywall. What do I do?

Tony Dungy: As I said before, you have to keep a level head here. We all face adversity, but anyone can handle it with some calm and rational thinking.

Dan Q., Indianapolis: Good God man, does nothing bother you? WAKE THE FUCK UP, MAN! It's the fucking playoffs! Show some goddamn fire for once in your life, you eerily calm bastard!

Tony Dungy: I don't really think pointing fingers and looking to blame others is productive at this point.

Jimmy D., Indianapolis: HELP HELP HELP!!!! I'M ON FIRE! MY STOVE EXPLODED AND NOW MY BODY IS BURNING!!! I CAN SMELL THE SICK STENCH OF MY HAIR MELTING! AAAHHH, THE FIRE'S ON MY DICK! NOOOOOO!!! MY MANHOOD IS TURNING TO ASH BEFORE MY VERY EYES! I CAN SEE THE FLESH PEELING OFF IN LONG, CURLING RIBBONS! DEAR GOD, PLEASE HELP ME!!!! CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT! THE NUMBER IS 407-785-9054! HURRY! SOMEONE!

Tony Dungy: Well, let's not jump to conclusions here. I think you want to gather yourself before you go ahead and do something you regret.

Gary S., Indianapolis: I have your wife. I want a car and six million dollars in unmarked Barra Bonds. Do not call the police or your wife will die. You have my instructions.

Tony Dungy: Let's all just stop and take a breather for a moment. That way we can find a way to improve things.

Julie O., Indianapolis: Uh, Coach, you have a very small mustard stain on your shirt.

Tony Dungy: I do? Really? Oh man, I just bought this shirt. Motherfu...

Stars and Garters: The Hater's Guide to the Postseason

If, like myself, you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Ok, well, lust probably won't do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is one in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.


NFC 5th seed -- Dallas Cowboys (9-7)

This week, as the Cowboys prepare for their Wild Card contest at Qwest Field, a few peculiar letters showed up for Seattle's own nationally syndicated sex columnist, Dan Savage.

I'm a guy in my mid-20s who's come into some recent success in a high-profile job. Given the nature of the profession and where it's based, it's not the sort of environment where I can pursue the relationships I'd like. Because of the charade that other people in my field in this city have to put on, I've had to fake my way through some trumped-up trysts to play the part.

There's one guy in the organization that I think would be willing to indulge me, but I worry if it's the right move to approach him. My boss, a guy who's into ladies wear, is fond of referring to my already somewhat femmed name objet du desire, Terry, as "she". What am I to make of that? is the fact that these two guys exhibit vague femme qualities a sign that I'm still borderline on the gay designation?

-- Reaching Out to My Offense

Thanks for writing, ROMO, though I'm usualy inclined not to respond to the bevy of letters I get from self-hating homos too chickenshit to come out throughout the country, something about your letter piqued my interest.

And that something is just how chickenshit you happen to be. I'm sorry if you feel I may sympathize with you, but it seems like you have an ideal working situation for what you want. Your boss is clearly having gender identity issues - he wears a bra ferchrissakes - and he refers to the anus of your eye as "she"? Intolerant though your surroundings may be, he certainly strikes me as GGG, and someone who is willing to keep what you have going with Terry discrete, if not getting involved himself, and as long as your work doesn't suffer, he'll make sure that the fundies won't find out.

I've been putting myself in a compromising position by the owner of the company I work for to help "straighten out" this rising star in the organization, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one. I'm tired of taking it from behind with a football jersey on, while he calls me his speedy, petite receiver, whatever the fuck that means. I'm attractive and I have other suitors - one internet stalker comes to mind - but I have lingering doubts about whether this guy can't be saved and that there's something I'm doing wrong.

--Britches Entice Captain Caveman's AdmiralBECCA, let me explain to you from someone that knows: you're no more likely to "straighten out" this coworker of yours than you are to make your boss any less of a lecherous, overweening dickhead. At least your online stalker, as likely as he is to mash your guts as he is to remove them, won't give you anywhere as near a headache as this obvious, self-hating fag. DTMFA.

I don't have a problem accepting the fact that I'm completely, utterly in love with myself, rather my beef is with the society that says that I'm not supposed to be. I'm the best at what I do, unfortunately what that something is is not a solitary enterprise. I've spent untold hours on my driveway perfecting sit-up techniques that would allow me to fellate myself with extreme facility. However, taboos being what they are, this has caused me endless friction at work, forcing me to move from place to place, resulting in some stray emotional problems. What advice do you have to help me find a situation where people love me for loving myself for being loved?

-- Totally Onanistic

Good lord, you're one sick, twisted fuck, TO.

It's Like Being Raped, Passing Out From Trauma, And Then Waking Up To Discover You're Still Being Raped

I just... I just really don't know what to say to you Detroit fans out there. You get at least one more year of this colossal shitdick, and likely more beyond that. This is the point where seething hatred transforms into callous indifference. There's a whole generation of kids growing up in Michigan who will eschew buying tickets to Ford Field and spend their time auditioning for Pants Off Dance Off. And that's as it should be.

Ford's slogan is "Bold Moves". Know what would be a bold move, William Clay Ford? Dying. Dying so that the Lions can fire this braindead asshole and your company can produce a car that won't end up on a fucking Avis lot within two weeks off the line.

At least Al Davis has the courtesy to be currently dying. Why don't you try the same, shitbox?

Pass the Herm, We Be Chiefing: The Hater's Guide to the Postseason

If, like myself, you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Ok, well, lust probably won't do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is one in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.

AFC 6th seed -- Kansas City Chiefs (9-7)

As a connoissieur of hatred, it pleases me greatly to watch players like Larry Johnson. LJ hates white people. So much so that he refuses to listen to Handsome Boy Modeling School's last album, and not only because it's mediocre. That rock 'n' roll could never have a racism like this. Okay, maybe it has.

Anyway, I know, I am given to exaggeration. What LJ really said is that because Chiefs head coach Herm Edwards is black, he can better identify with LJ as a person, and therefore is better equipped to handle him as a coach. That makes some sense. I mean, who is blacker than Herm Edwards? Most white coaches might wonder why Johnson left the Knicks in the first place, because, hell, they can't tell them apart. I don't much understand Larry Johnson either, but not as much as I don't understand how a team that lost to the Steelers 45-7 is in the playoffs.

Of course, little does LJ realize, one of the three black head coaches in the playoffs will be eliminated because of the Chiefs/Colts Wild Card matchup. Is it a matter of the cutthroat nature of being a minority coach in the NFL or is the league purposefully grouping the black coaches into a playoff ghetto from which they know they have reduced chances of survival? Clearly it's another Machiavellian plan hatched by HNIC Roger Goodell.

Herewith we welcome, in the comments section, to engage in a reasoned discussion of these and other matters pertaining to race are noted academics Dr. Henry Louis Gates Jr., Mark Anthony Neal, associate professor of black popular culture at Duke University, and, as always, thebigo.

Eight is Enough: The Hater's Guide to the Postseason

If, like myself, you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Ok, well, lust probably won't do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is the first in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.

NFC 6th seed -- New York Futbol Giants (8-8)

The advent of free agency coupled with the league's expansion to 32 franchises brought with it the expectation that talent would become diffuse and there would parity throughout the NFL. And while this has more or less come to pass, it is positively staggering how so high a percentage of the league's fucktasters ended up on one team. It's just teeming with shitheads, this Giants squad: Eli Manning, Jeremy Shockey, Michael Strahan, Plaxico Burress, Tiki Barber by virtue of the NFL thinking I care that he's transitioning to a career as an annoying announcer. They don't even need Lavar. They've found a secure place in my heart (mine is to hate, not love, as I understand is its common usage) and that's why they win at football nearly half the time.

I will say that with the awe-inspiring game winning streak they rode into the playoffs, it's hard to take this seventh 8-8 playoff team since 1988 lightly. Knowing they would make the playoffs following their resounding 14-10 victory over the Texans on Nov. 5, they made the sagacious decision to take the next eight weeks off. Tom Coughlin, impressed by the bumptious, bastard genius of Brian Billick, stripped his offensive coordinator of play-calling duties with a week left in the season, handing them to wundercoordinator Kevin Gilbride, a decision no team has ever regretted.

Okay, we're all aware of a few Manning family shortcomings come January, but with the weapons Eli has to wield come next week in the Link, he's bound to at least...blame one of them when they lose. Top receiver Plaxico Burress in his last four playoff games has seven catches for 117 yards and a touchdown. That's, like, one great performance there. I mean, if you average it out, it's not so good, but, uh, just shut up for a second you fucking nerd.

One thing that has long bothered me about this team is the G-Men nickname, not only because it gives Berman the opportunity to show his O-face on air every week. Now, I watched The Good Shepherd and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out who was supposed to be Wellington Mara. William Hurt, Robert DeNiro. Matt Damon, Alec Baldwin, they all seemed to be concerned with intelligence gathering and shoving people out of planes from 20,000 feet. They really glossed over the whole football franchise ownership aspect. Damn liberal Hollywood.

This post didn't end strongly, you say? How apropos for this team.

You Fools! You've Ruined The Master Plan!

Oh, no! Nedney's kick is good! This wasn't part of my master plan! Not at all! Had my master plan been executed properly, it would have been YOU, San Francisco 49ers, wallowing in the despair of your untimely demise. Alas, you have foiled me.

And no thanks to the handy work of these underlings of mine! You fools! You ruined the master plan! It had all gone so perfectly. My goal was to start out the season with a flourish of defensive power unlike anything the world had ever seen. Columnists and analysts would tremble in awe at the majesty of Mr. Bailey and his cohorts.

Then, my master plan was to lose an unspecified number of games. To make everything think we were weak. Vulnerable. You see, in order to make my team better, I first had to destroy it. And I had the perfect accomplice for that task. Mr. Plummer, you played a perfect Judas for me. Everyone turned against you, thanks to my elaborate plan to showcase your purposeful treachery. No one would suspect the awesome weapon I had in store...

CUT-LAHHHHHHH!!!!!

He was perfect. TOO perfect. No one suspected that a 12-year-old boy could inflict such damage. But no one knew of my master plan! I kept it hidden from you all! It was in a red binder marked, "Line Calls!" Ha! Who would have guessed such an innocent piece of office equipment would host to such a grand and elaborate scheme for world football domination! No one suspected a thing! Not even Bowlen! He was too busy ravaging that floozy of a wife of his! Oh, people knew old Shanny was up to something. But this? Never in a million years, I tell you!

You see, Cutler was designed to be the ultimate weapon. I had him bred personally using my own seed. Then, I had a group of scientists engineer the zygote for increased physical strength and extra moxie! He was the perfect specimen of my specimen. In fact, he was TOO good. That’s why I sent Cutler to Vanderbilt. Who would have guessed that some pathetic SEC school that doesn't even have a fucking AD would be the testing ground for the most sophisticated piece of football weaponry ever devised? Only I could possess such vision! Let me pause here for a moment to laugh maniacally in a gradual crescendo.

Hmm mmm mmm...

Huh huh huh...

Ha ha ha ha ha...

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!

Alas, now everything has been ruined! You fools! I gave you men the perfect plan and you executed it with Neolithic incompetence! Criminy! This was even more poorly realized than my elaborate Alphabet Robberies! Foolish mortals! Soon you will taste the sting of the back of my hand, you pathetic goons!

And you, Mike Nolan! You have done me in! Oh, people think you're oh so debonair in that suave sweater vest of yours. Who knew that, in reality, you were such a caged animal! You have proven yourself a worthy foe by exposing Cutler's one weakness (base pass defense). But I assure you this is not the last you have heard from Master Shanahan!

Right now, I am devising an even greater plan, one so meticulously detailed it would make Belichick shit a brick. I cannot disclose any of it to you now. All I can tell you is that it involves a pulling guard, a Namibian lemur, a child in Papua/New Guinea with the amazing power to pass through walls, and Darrent Williams' murderer. You thought that was an accident? Why, you've walked right in to my hands.

You'll see! Soon my plan will come to sweet fruition, and the world will cower before my unnaturally tanned complexion! Huzzah!